Katrina's Bits of This and That

Guilty

2012-01-22T17:18:00.000-07:00

After a week of gray skies, lots of rain and a bit of snow in the valleys, and lots of snow in the mountains (it's about bloody time, winter), today was a gorgeous blue-sky day, absolutely perfect for skiing. But did I roll out of bed, get my ski gear on, and head up the canyon this morning? No, I did not. I tried to make myself look presentable, put on a skirt, and headed off to church, where I spent sacrament meeting trying to keep myself awake and Primary on bathroom patrol. I think the guilt I would have felt had I played hooky from church would be worse than the regret I have now about missing a fabulous day on the slopes, but I'm really not sure. And now I'm feeling guilty for even thinking that. I wonder if being irresponsible is something you can learn. Ah, more guilt. Sigh.

Sharing the Love

2012-01-15T17:09:00.002-07:00

Late last February, I came home from my first Zumba class and posted the following on Facebook: "I'm going to be sore tomorrow, but I could totally get into this Zumba thing!" Umm, yeah, that may have been a bit of an understatement. Over the last nine months, Zumba has given me quite a lot: new friends, a new body (actually just my old body making a reappearance—oh, how I missed you), a new wardrobe, a new appreciation for chips and salsa, more self-confidence, and a sure-fire way to get rid of stress. But the best thing is that I'm happy, and I don't need a vacation or a U2 show on the horizon in order to be OK with life. That's pretty incredible. So I'm taking it to the next level. I decided I needed to share the Zumba love with others, so next month I'm getting certified to be an instructor. I'm very excited and completely terrified, but it's the good kind of terrified—the "holy crap, this is scary, but it could be the best thing I've done in a very long time" kind of terrified. Whatever happens, it'll be a grand adventure. Woohoo!

Holes in My Ears

2012-01-04T21:52:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, I was a 12-year-old girl, and it seemed like all of my friends were getting their ears pierced. I, however, was not. Every time I would ask, my dad would say, "If God wanted you to have holes in your ears, He would have put them there in the first place," and that was that. Eventually, about the time I turned 14, I quit asking. The years came and went, I turned into even more of a tomboy than I already was, and I developed a healthy fear of needles. I no longer cared that I couldn't wear cute earrings. Then my lovely sister-in-law made it her project to turn me into a girl (thanks a lot, Megan). She got me to cut my hair in an actual style, start wearing heels, and get pedicures (seriously this time, thanks, Megan). Then she decided I needed to get my ears pierced. By this time, I was kind of back to wishing I could wear earrings, but there was that pesky fear of needles standing in my way. Ah, but it's not a needle, it's a gun, and it just shoots the earring through your ear. Yeah, that idea helped; now I was scared of guns shooting through my earlobes. But Megan told me that's what she was getting me for Christmas, and I started thinking I might really like getting holes in my ears—finally.

So the Thursday before Christmas, we went to our local Claire's, where I was very happy to see that the ear-piercing person was a bit older than 16, and I got these beauties shot through my earlobes:

I'm pretty sure I was more nervous than any of the 8-year-olds who usually sit in that chair. Megan was laughing at me, the Claire's worker was laughing at me, and I was laughing at myself. But I actually went through with it—and they even gave me a lollipop because I was so brave. And you know what? I love getting up in the morning or catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror and seeing sparkly things in my ears, and I can't wait to try putting all sorts of sparkly things there. This is gonna be fun!

Somebody Loves Me

2011-12-26T17:46:00.001-07:00

The weekend before Christmas, I spent the night at my nephews' house while their parents were in Vegas. I love those kids. We played games, Carter made me a big paper snowflake, and the three youngest joined me in bed on Sunday morning to watch a few cartoons. But my favorite thing? When I got there on Saturday afternoon, I took off my shoes and left them by the front door. A few hours later, I saw this:

Aww, Sean loves me!

A Little Prayer

2011-12-16T23:49:00.001-07:00

Dear snow gods, I just thought you might want to know that it's winter now, and I'd really, really like some snow. See, it gets kind of ugly around here when it's winter and there's no snow, and who wants it to be ugly on Christmas? Nobody, that's who. And next Friday, I don't have to go to work, so I have big plans for the day. Here's a hint:

And although 24 inches of snow at the resorts is better than no snow at all, it's not enough to really ski on, so please, please, bring on the white stuff! Then I can do some of this as well:

If you come through with a monster dump this week, dear snow gods, my skis, my snowshoes, and I will thank you profusely—and so will everybody who'd like a beautiful, magical Christmas instead of a smoggy one. In the name of all that is white and fluffy, amen.

Boots

2011-12-08T19:18:00.000-07:00

The following picture is for those of you who have never seen me in boots and who have doubted that I actually wear them.

Ta-da! They do exist! I must say, however, that it's much more difficult to get a good picture of my feet in boots than it is to get a good picture of my feet in nothing; I turned into quite the contortionist to get this shot. I love my boots (I have two pairs, by the way) because they're just so cute and they make me happy when I wear them, but I have one question for all of you people who wear real shoes all the time: What the heck do you do when your toe starts itching? It drives me completely bonkers. And because my feet are always so hot in those super cute boots, my toes itch a lot. Somebody needs to invent a bendable toe-scratching thingamajig—and air conditioners for your feet. Then life with boots would be perfect.

Grateful

2011-11-27T23:07:00.002-07:00

So my last few posts have been downers. I sincerely apologize to all four of my dedicated readers. It's amazing what a long weekend will do for your mood—until Sunday night comes around, of course. But I'm not going to bemoan the fact that I have to turn my alarm clock on again tonight. Instead, I'm going to stay out of bed for a little while longer, enjoy my Christmas lights, and remember what a great weekend this turned out to be, even though I wasn't in California.

Yes, it was Thanksgiving, so I thought about all the things I'm thankful for. The list was long and included all sorts of things, from my Primary class to peanut butter cups to the fact that it's unlikely that California will fall into the ocean before I get there again. But today I turned on my Christmas playlist and one of the first songs that came up was U2's "If God Will Send His Angels." (In case you were wondering, it's on the Christmas playlist because it has the lyric "Does love light up your Christmas tree?" in it. Duh.) Anyway, it made me think about how I've been especially grateful for angels that have shown up in the form of family and friends this past week. I don't know if God sent them or not, but either way, I'm grateful.

So thank you to my family, who make me laugh, who make delicious pies, who don't care that I swear at the Christmas lights, who have fabulous recipes for yams that they're willing to share, and who don't give me grief about skipping a party I don't think I could have faced. And thank you to friends who send me e-mails throughout the workday and who decide they need to go ice skating and invite me to come along. And thank you to coworkers who decide we need to visit Crown Burger for lunch or who stop by my office just to chat. And thank you to other friends who Zumba with me and then hang around afterward to talk or who go to Chili's after class and invite me to join them so I can avoid cleaning up my yard for another few hours and have a little more fabulous craziness in my life instead. All of those people are the ones who make life worth it, and they are what I'm truly grateful for this Thanksgiving weekend—well, them and the peanut butter cups, because you can't live without those either.

Wallowing

2011-11-22T21:15:00.003-07:00

I was supposed to be on my way to Disneyland right now. As of three weeks ago, my countdown calendar on my computer at work was running, I had bought road trip food, and my duffel bag was on my bedroom floor with my beach towel in it. Yes, I was a bit excited. It's Disneyland! And not only is it Disneyland, it's Disneyland all decked out for Christmas. There are huge Christmas trees, Mickey wreaths hanging on the lampposts, and the scent of gingerbread wafting through the air—and it snows on Main Street. Do you understand? It SNOWS on Main Street! It's like the regular Disney magic times ten! I was going to buy Christmas Mickey ears. I was going to have a churro and a Dole pineapple whip and a big ol' turkey leg for Thanksgiving dinner. And then I was going to spend Friday on the beach, doing absolutely nothing.

But I'm not doing any of that. Instead of basking in the Disney glow tomorrow, I'll be heading to work, where I'll be editing a phone directory. Yay, me. There won't be a Mickey wreath or even any snow in sight. No churros, no pineapple whips, and definitely no beach. You know what the really sad thing is? I usually love Thanksgiving. But this year I can't even get myself excited for pie—and I've really been trying. I don't want to be the downer at the party. Just think, I keep telling myself, there will be lots of food, you get to sleep in, and then on Friday you get to decorate for Christmas! Yeah, my pep talks aren't working.

So I'm trying a different plan. Today I went and bought all the ingredients for my sister-in-law's yams, which are really just butter and brown sugar masquerading as yams so you can pretend you're eating a vegetable (seriously, these things are like candy). Tomorrow I'm going to make a whole batch and just start eating until I get into the Thanksgiving spirit. And if that doesn't work, I'm going to move on to the last and most pathetic plan of all: put on an old pair of Mickey ears, turn on the Splash Mountain soundtrack, and jump in the shower with my clothes on. Hey, it's almost like the real thing, right?

Dark

2011-11-14T18:18:00.002-07:00

I love sunsets as much as anyone—in fact, more than a lot of people I know—but you know what? When you get to work before the sun is completely up and get maybe a few glimpses out a window during the day, and then this is what you see on your way home from work, it's pretty damn depressing.

How long until we get daylight saving time back?

Random Thoughts for a Tuesday

2011-11-08T18:53:00.000-07:00

Here are just a few of the random thoughts I've had the last few days:

You know you're a child of the '80s when a Madonna song you haven't heard in 15 years comes on the radio and you can sing every word.
People who live alone should not watch TV shows about zombies or read books about Dracula late at night.
Shopping sprees are very, very fun, especially when you ignore that little voice inside your head that's trying to say you don't need a really cute hat or a great pair of boots. (Yes, it's true that neither my head nor my feet have shrunk, but they were feeling left out after seeing all the stuff the other parts of my body got to try on.) Also, it's much more fun to buy skirts if you decide to buy cute ones and not boring ones—although I still prefer pants and shirts and sweaters and coats and shoes. It's best to just get everything!
Barnes & Noble is still a magnificent place to get over little—or big—disappointments.
When you start hearing songs on the radio and thinking, "Hey, that would be a great warm-up song for Zumba" or you hear a Zumba song and start choreographing it in your head, is that a sign that you should take the plunge and get certified to be an instructor (because it would be so much fun!), even though you can also think of quite a few reasons why you shouldn't?

And now back to your regularly scheduled Tuesday.

As Crafty as I Get

2011-10-31T21:50:00.001-06:00

I am not a crafty person. Not at all. Whenever I get conned into going to one of those Relief Society super craft day things, I end up swearing at whatever cutesy little thing I'm supposed to be painting or gluing or cutting up or shellacking, and then I leave frustrated and depressed because (1) I just said a few choice four-letter words inside the church, so I'm one step closer to hell, and (2) I'm a complete failure as a member of the Relief Society. (By the way, I know some of you are thinking I'm making up the swearing part, but you can ask my mom if you need proof; she's heard me—more than once.)

Anyway, there is one semi-crafty thing I actually like doing, and I get to do it every Halloween. I love carving pumpkins. Now, I don't draw, so I use templates and patterns and other cheats, but I really like going after those pumpkins with a knife. I'm also not very social when I'm carving; it takes too much concentration. I just turn on Pandora's Halloween party channel and start cutting. It's very therapeutic. I don't know why; it just is. And this year I got these guys out of my efforts (sorry about the picture quality; it's the best I could do with my phone):

Happy Halloween!

Nature's Playground

2011-10-28T00:59:00.001-06:00

Two weeks ago, I went down to southern Utah to see a few plays—The Little Mermaid at Tuacahn, which was good (much better than Mary Poppins anyway), and The Winter's Tale at the Shakespearean Festival, which was fabulous. But you can't go down to southern Utah without getting outside for a bit, at least I can't. This time we visited Snow Canyon, which is a rather tiny place but also a rather lovely one. We saw lots and lots of lizards, we went on a few hikes, we explored caves filled with lava rocks, and my toes got to enjoy some wonderful soft sand.

We played on the rocks in a little slot canyon.

I practiced my rock-climbing skills.

Yeah, I know, that picture would be a lot more impressive if you couldn't see the ground I'm standing on. What can I say? I don't know how to rock climb—but I'd be up for learning any time.

The best part of the trip? I got to frolic in the sunshine.

And yes, I'm frolicking, even though it might look like I'm trying to fly or practicing some ballet. I was actually skipping when this picture was taken. Let's just say I get a bit giddy when I've been cooped up for too long and then I finally get to be free. Ahhhhh.

The Downside

2011-10-18T21:16:00.000-06:00

I'm probably going to get hate mail for this post, but I'm writing it anyway. Twice in the last week I've been late to work because I couldn't find anything to wear. My closet is full of clothes, but almost everything in it is just too bloody big. It makes me look sad and frumpy and not at all put together. Plus, there's the very real possibility that my skirt will fall right off me as I'm walking down the hall. You think I'm kidding, but the other day I was in the bathroom and it wasn't until I was pulling my skirt back up that I realized it had a zipper I should have undone—not that I needed to. All my cute sweaters are too big (and I love my sweaters); most of my shirts are too big; everything that goes on my bottom half is way too big; heck, even my underwear is too big.

I know some of you are saying (or yelling at your computer), "Wait a minute. You're complaining about needing to go shopping for new clothes? That's ridiculous!" A few months ago, I would have agreed with you. I have had fun shopping for new pants—which included a bit of ecstatic jumping up and down in the dressing room—and a few new tops and some new Zumba wear and some new shoes (which I didn't really need because my feet haven't shrunk, but they went with one of my new outfits). But I hate shopping for skirts, mainly because I hate wearing skirts and I don't like spending money on things I don't like—especially when I also need to be buying things I do like. What I really need is for someone to just give me a few thousand dollars to go buy a whole new wardrobe, but I don't think that's going to happen. I just need to buck up and go do some serious shopping, hopefully before something embarrassing happens.

I know, poor little me. Sigh. Now bring on that hate mail.

Canning Stuff

2011-10-13T23:24:00.000-06:00

Whenever autumn comes around, I start thinking I should put stuff—food, mostly—in bottles. That's probably because that's what my mom always did (and still does) around this time of year. The problem is that I am not even close to being a domestic goddess, so my options are a bit limited. Luckily, my sister-in-law has a very tasty recipe for salsa that consists of chopping up vegetables and cooking them. Even I can't screw that up. And I'm just sayin', it's good stuff—and I have 23 pints of it. Time to stock up on the chips. Mmm.

Now, I'd made salsa before, so I was pretty sure it would work out, but I also needed to find a way to use the mega crop of apples my baby apple tree produced this year. Aha! Applesauce! I knew my mom had made that before, so I hauled my box of apples over to her house, and we started cutting them up. Before long, we had apples cooking in two huge pans on her stove and we were trying to figure out how to work the apple masher thingy. (See how conversant I am in canning lingo? I know, you're so impressed.) It turns out she hadn't used it for a while, so it took us and my nephews, who were visiting—and who were fascinated by the "old-fashioned" way of doing things—a few tries to get it going, but once we did, we cranked out that applesauce in no time. And my itsy-bitsy apple tree gave us five and a half quarts of very tasty applesauce. Good job, little tree.

Let the eating commence.

Bryce Canyon

2011-09-28T20:23:00.000-06:00

One of the things on my bucket list is to visit all of the national parks in the lower 48 states and Hawaii, plus Glacier Bay and Denali (I'm just not going to make it to the others in Alaska, I'm afraid), and thankfully I have friends who love going off to wonderful places with me. So a few weeks ago, I visited Bryce Canyon. My feet enjoyed it.

My stomach enjoyed it. I declare Becky the queen of the dutch oven—pasta with meatballs and then pineapple upside-down cake for dessert=yum!

My nose enjoyed it. A ranger told us these trees smelled like vanilla, and she was right.

The Utah fan in me enjoyed it. This was the weekend of the Utah-BYU game, and let's just say it was a good thing my Utes won big time. Yes, we're all wearing our hats celebrating our school of choice, but I was the one who really cared about the outcome of the game, so it all worked out. And we got some funny comments since we walked around in our hats all day.

So yeah, in spite of a few minor annoyances (being sick and getting caught in another rainstorm—although I didn't mind that as much since my jacket was waterproof and I've never thought that lightning is out to get me), it was a rather nice trip. On Saturday night we even got to do a bit of stargazing through some high-powered telescopes. I saw Jupiter's moons and the Andromeda Galaxy and Uranus (insert your own elementary school joke here). And really, it was three days in one of the world's beautiful places, so I'm not going to complain. In fact, I think I'll celebrate.

Nerd Alert

2011-09-21T20:21:00.000-06:00

You know you're a hopeless nerd when you get on a wooden walkway behind an elevated stone wall belonging to an old building (in this case, Cove Fort), and all you can think of is the French knights from Monty Python.

Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!

Remembering

2011-09-11T11:53:00.002-06:00

Even before I turned on the TV this morning to see some of the 9/11 anniversary coverage, I'd been thinking about how that day changed me and what I've learned over the last 10 years. I wasn't personally affected by the events of September 11, but I think everyone who was alive that day was changed in some way. I, along with so many others, lost something very real—a sense of absolute security that I never knew I had until it was gone. I started questioning things I had always believed in and began wondering if anything really mattered—after all, the ones who had been hurt most by 9/11 were those who had loved the most.

It took four guys from Dublin and the image of a heart in a suitcase to remind me that love is the only thing you can always take with you, even though it sometimes hurts the most. The U2 concert on November 9, 2001, was the first time since I started watching TV on the morning of 9/11 that I felt peace and hope and, most important, a tremendously energizing love. I can even hear the moment it happened on my bootleg copy of the show. During "One," the band scrolled the names of the passengers on the hijacked flights on the screen behind them and then on up to the ceiling. Halfway through the song, when Bono's singing "These are our brothers; these are our sisters; we get to carry each other," there's an incredible roar from the crowd. That's when the names of the New York City firefighters started showing up on the screen, and that's when I realized that life is precious, no matter how long or short, how wonderful or crappy, how boring or exciting it is. The heroes of 9/11 knew that, and that's why they sacrificed their lives to save others.

After "One," U2 ended the show with "Walk On" and an amazing chorus of hallelujahs to say good-bye. Yes, there are countless reasons to walk on, to keep going, and I can't let fear stop me from living a full life. I don't always remember that, but I'm trying. The important thing is that since that night, even though things haven't been perfect—sometimes far, far from it—I've at least been able to say that I have love and hope and faith, and that's all I really need.

Buried Treasure

2011-09-08T22:33:00.000-06:00

My mom has started to clean out the room I grew up in, and since she didn't want to throw anything away without my OK, over the past few weeks I've gotten to go through some of the bits and pieces of my life from age 6 to age 25. I knew I was a pack rat, so I knew I'd find a lot of junk (the sugar seagull from a birthday party at the Lion House was one of my favorites), but I also thought I'd find some real treasures. I was right. Among the honor roll certificates and girls camp memorabilia and teeth that the tooth fairy let me keep after she paid me for them was something that showed where my priorities really were:

Yep, I was campaigning for the rabbit so he could eat Trix because I was a "nice kid." And that wasn't the only treasure from a cereal box I found; there were lots of toys and stickers and other stuff I thought was really cool at the time. Thankfully, there wasn't any cereal (but there were a few old lollipops—eww).

Then there were the things that showed me just how much I've forgotten, like a stack of cards with physics equations written on them.

There were about 100 of these, and I used to be able to tell you what all of those symbols meant, what the equations could do for you, and when to use them. Now I have no clue, except that the ones in the picture have something to do with magnetic force. It's not that I need physics equations in my everyday life, but I spent a lot of time memorizing those things, and it's rather sad to realize all that knowledge has disappeared into the unreachable depths of my brain matter.

But then there was the really cool stuff that got put in the "to keep forever" box:

Among other things, that box has some of my old skating costumes, my first drill team sweatshirt, the corsage I got at my aunt's wedding (I thought I was so grown up!), the clothes I wore when I ran the Olympic torch, and a few belts my dad made for me when I was little. There's even one of my dad's Santa letters. He wrote us each a letter every Christmas, giving us advice and telling us what great kids we were, signed it Santa, and put it in our stocking. For a lot of years, I didn't listen much to my dad (we were way too much alike and way too stubborn, and I was a stupid teenager), but I always listened to Santa. Reading that letter made me feel closer to my dad again, and that was a real treasure, even if it only lasted a few minutes.

Thunderstorms and Raspberry Shakes

2011-08-30T19:22:00.002-06:00

On a recent Friday night, a few friends and I headed up to Bear Lake for a quick camping trip. We got there, set up camp, had some dinner and some s'mores, enjoyed the fire, looked at the stars, and went to bed. And then at 5:00 in the morning we were rudely awakened by a ferocious thunderstorm going on outside our tent. It went on for a good hour but then decided to die down a bit. Just as we were all falling back asleep, a huge bit of thunder and lightning hit—and it hit hard. All of a sudden, we were all sitting straight up in bed, I had said a bad word or two, and we were silently praying we wouldn't die (except for Michelle, who was praying that she'd die quickly). Michelle and Becky took shelter in the bathroom, and I decided to wait it out in the tent, counting on the rubber in my air mattress to protect me from any electric charge. Hey, at least I was warm and dry. Thankfully, the storm went away and the whole sky cleared up so we could enjoy a beautiful day at the lake.

My feet loved the sunshine.

Michelle tried to hide from the sunshine (crazy woman).

My brother just happened to be up there with his boat, so he took us for a ride that involved lots of laughing and squealing and swallowing of water. Thanks again, Richard!

I enjoyed my fresh raspberry shake. Mmm, raspberry shake.

And we risked hypothermia to enjoy the water some more.

Yep, great weekend getaway, even if we did almost die. It was totally worth it.

Multiple Personalities

2011-08-21T19:28:00.002-06:00

Do you ever feel like you're a different person when you're around different people or in different situations? I do. For example, I'm rather proper and dignified at work, and I don't especially like being proper and dignified. Work Katrina is kind of boring. (The exception, of course, is when I've had enough sophistication for one day so I shut my office door and play air guitar to whatever's on my iPod or dance in my chair for a few minutes. Thank goodness for doors.) When I'm at home or with friends, I feel much more like myself because I'm much less guarded. And at rock concerts and Zumba and a few other places, I can get completely crazy. I sometimes wonder if people I know from one part of my life would even recognize me if they saw me in another part of my life. Probably, since I'm still mostly there; I just suppress the wild side at times—sometimes more than others. I guess it's a good thing to not go all crazy in places where you're supposed to be professional, and I like the fact that I can be a professional, but I wish I could figure out how to get a bit of the fun Katrina in there too without losing all credibility.

When Tomato Plants Go Crazy

2011-08-09T17:54:00.001-06:00

Here's a picture of my cute little garden spot a few months ago, right after I planted my two tomato plants and a pepper plant. Aw, so nice and peaceful.

Here's what it looks like now:

Run away! The tomato plant is taking over the world! (Anybody who just started singing "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" gets bonus points.) That's the plant that's supposed to have the big, juicy tomatoes, but guess what? In all that greenery, there's one lonely tomato growing. That's just sad. The cherry tomato plant, on the other hand—yes, there is something else hiding behind this monster—has lots of tasty little beauties. Figure that one out. Anyway, I guess my gardening skills are improving; at least I can keep things alive. Now I just need to learn how to keep them under control.

I Love Camping

2011-08-05T22:52:00.000-06:00

So what kind of vacation can $75 get you these days? Well, if you like camping, a pretty darn fabulous one. It gets you three days of camping and hiking in one of the world's gorgeous places (this time, the Tetons); a few close encounters with moose, deer, a bear, and other assorted wildlife; very tasty food, including s'mores and a dutch oven pineapple upside-down cake that was rather heavenly; opportunities to sit around the campfire until it dies and then gaze at the stars until you start falling asleep in your chair; and time to chat and be crazy with two wonderful friends. Yep, that's $75 well spent.

Now if only I could perfect the self-portrait technique so you could actually see the mountains behind us.

Ah, there they are. Beautiful!

Birthday Adventure

2011-07-25T17:54:00.002-06:00

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you'll know that I love celebrating my birthday, just as long as I'm not celebrating how old I am. This year I didn't have any trips planned, J. K. Rowling wasn't releasing a long-lost Harry Potter book, and it was looking like I was going to have to spend the day at work. Hmm, what's a girl to do? Well, I can go out to breakfast with my friends. (Cinnamon French toast at Kneaders is heavenly, just sayin'.) I can go to Zumba on a Wednesday night and count on that being a party. (It totally was!) My mom can take me shopping to buy clothes that fit me now that I'm shrinking. (Yay!) I can watch the last Harry Potter movie. (Big disappointment, and I had such high hopes. Sigh.) But really, none of that covers the main goal of crossing something off the bucket list. All right then, how about skydiving? Excellent!

On the Saturday before my birthday, I went out to lovely Erda, Utah, watched a movie that told me all the ways I could possibly die, and signed a bunch of forms saying that I wouldn't sue anybody if I did—and neither would anybody who's related to me. Then I met my tandem guy, got my harness on, got in the plane, and rode out to the end of the runway—and then rode back to the hangar because the wind gusts made jumping out of an airplane unsafe. Bummer.

Take two, the Saturday after my birthday. The skies were beautiful and there was no wind, so I drove out to Erda and got all suited up again (I got to skip the movie and the paperwork this time). We got on the plane, taxied to the end of the runway, and then actually took off. Woohoo! And then, when we got to 13,000 feet, it was time to jump. Even bigger woohoo!

I didn't pee my pants, I didn't panic, and I don't think I even swore. It was just way too cool. Then I got to free fall for a minute, which is almost surreal. You're so high up that you can't tell the ground is getting any closer, and it just feels like you're in a super-powered wind tunnel, so there's nothing to be scared about. It's kind of like you're just floating out in the wide open sky—amazing!

For the record, I'm falling at about 110 miles an hour, which is why my arms look like rubber. Then the parachute opens (that's a nice thing),

and you get to have a fun ride back to earth. I even got to steer for a little while and make us turn in tight little circles. So much fun! And then we came in for a landing, and I must say, ours was beautiful.

So there you go, I can check that one off the bucket list. But it's one I'd definitely do again. It was amazing! If anybody gets the urge to jump out of a plane, call me up, and I'll be right there with you. Sweet!

Summer!

2011-07-04T12:28:00.001-06:00

While it's true that I love snow and Christmas and skiing in the winter, flowers in the spring, and hoodies and colorful trees in the fall, I live for summer. I always have. Summer means long days of sunshine and freedom. It means swimming and campfires and barbecues and snow cones and flash mobs (OK, flash mobs are new this year, but they are rather fun). It means T-shirts and shorts and sandals and sunglasses. It means running away on vacation, even if you only get away for a weekend—or just a hike in the mountains.

It means throwing a blanket out on the grass and—depending on the day—reading or eating or playing card games that involve whacking yourself on the head while waiting for fireworks to start (the bare feet are not optional).

And it means one of the best holidays of the year. Happy Fourth of July!

Always a Dancer

2011-06-23T19:33:00.001-06:00

Ever since I can remember, I've been a dancer. When I was little, I would turn on the record player (yes, a record player) in the living room and just move however the music told me to move. I danced all the way through elementary school, junior high, and high school, and I seriously thought about majoring in dance at college. Then I decided to be practical and major in English (hey, it's more practical than dance). I gradually lost my dancer's body, my flexibility, and my ability to pirouette forever and leap across the stage. But I never lost my love for dance. I dance in my car, around my house, and occasionally down the hall at work—sometimes to music on the radio and sometimes to music in my head. That's why it totally made my day when somebody came up to me after a zumba class last week and asked me if I was a dancer because, she said, I was so graceful and moved so well. I could have hugged her. It's one thing to feel something inside yourself, but it's another thing entirely to have someone else recognize it. It's part of my soul, and it's so nice to know it's still there.

How to Welcome Home a Missionary

2011-06-19T21:14:00.002-06:00

Step 1. Make a very large sign.

Step 2. Smother him with hugs at the airport.

Step 3. Get in the car, drive through the Joshua trees, and end up at a U2 concert in Anaheim.

Awesome! Step 4. Visit the beach.

Step 4b. Take the obligatory bare feet in the ocean picture.

Step 5. Drive home so he can speak in church on Sunday—and do an excellent job.

Step 6. Sleep. Welcome home, Jonathan!

Saturday Morning

2011-06-12T16:48:00.000-06:00

Saturday mornings are wonderful things. I get to wake up naturally and slowly after a good night's rest. But yesterday I woke up to something even better. A very cute boy had joined me in bed at 4:00 in the morning, and after about 30 minutes of wiggling and insisting he did not want to go back to his bed, he had decided he wanted to cuddle. About two hours later I woke up and saw this:

Aww. And then when he woke up, I got a very sleepy hug. It might be different if my sleep got interrupted in the middle of the night every night, but I enjoyed this particular Saturday morning quite a lot.

Huh?

2011-06-05T10:40:00.001-06:00

Last week I noticed this sign in a local grocery store:

Let's just ignore the less/fewer problem for now. What's up with this "about 10 items" nonsense? You either have 10 items (or fewer—sorry, couldn't ignore it forever) or you don't. Oh, but it gets better. Here's what the sign right above the register says:

Yes, that's "about 15 items." So just in case some knucklehead got in line with 15 items (or 16 or 23—whatever his definition of "about 10" is), now he's safe. When signs are this unhelpful, really, what's the point?

U2 Times Two

2011-05-27T23:11:00.001-06:00

It's been a U2 kind of a week. And for me, those are the best kind of weeks ever. We got into Denver last Friday just in time to hear the last half of a full band, full show rehearsal. Sure, we were outside the stadium and could only get little peeks inside. That didn't stop me from getting teary-eyed at the beginning of "Streets." Ah, just a warmup to the main event. For the actual show, we got in line at about noon and ended up about three people back from the outer circle. Mom was very excited to be so close (almost as excited as I was).

It was a great spot to experience the show from—we could see the whole stage, including the screen, we got serenaded by Bono a few times, all the band members came out on the walkway at least once, and the crowd was fantastic. Fair warning here: I don't take great pictures at concerts. For one thing, I'm way too caught up in the moment to try and figure out the settings on my camera, and for another thing, I'm usually jumping up and down and singing at the top of my lungs during all the best bits (like the whole show). I did luck into a few good shots; you can see more on my Facebook page if you're so inclined.

Great show, absolutely fantastic show that left me feeling completely exhilarated. So what do you do the next day? Well, you're a U2 fan in Denver, so of course you go visit Red Rocks.

Very, very cool venue. I'd love to see a show there sometime. I got on the stage, hummed a bit of "Sunday Bloody Sunday," and resisted the urge to pretend I was square dancing with Bono. (And if you have no idea what I'm talking about, you need to come watch Under a Blood Red Sky with me.) Then we came home. Usually it's quite depressing to come home from a vacation, but not this time, because U2 was following us home. Woohoo! Show number 2!

I have a little crush on The Edge. Bono's cool and all, and Larry and Adam are rather awesome, but Edge is my man, so I was beyond thrilled to get this close to Edge's spot on the stage:

Seriously, words can't describe it. If I thought Denver was fantastic, Salt Lake was going to be even better.

See, even better! You want to know what the best part of being that close to the stage is (other than the fact that you can jump up and down and dance and sing and scream to your heart's delight, and nobody around you cares because they're all just as into it as you are)? I love seeing the expressions on the band's faces and watching them interact with each other and with the crowd. I love seeing Edge get lost in the music and Bono share a joke with Larry. I love seeing the proof that they love what they're doing, they love who they're doing it with, and they wouldn't want to be anywhere else. And I love that through the music, they include me and the other 50,000 people in the stadium in that love.

There's really nothing like U2 live, except maybe heaven. Maybe.

I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight

2011-05-18T17:39:00.001-06:00

Signs you're getting overly excited about a few upcoming concerts:

You start naming your blog posts after U2 songs.
You find yourself playing air guitar at random moments during the day.
The dreams are getting weirder (concert in an outdoor cultural hall, complete with basketball hoops decorated with crepe paper streamers, anyone?).
You've become obsessed with the weather app on your phone. Denver looks good for now, but Salt Lake's still a bit iffy; of course, the forecast changes every few hours, so who knows?
You're planning a trip up to the stadium, just to see the stage being built, even though you can watch its progress on the Internet.
You're comforted to know that someone is documenting the stage's growth online, because that means you're not alone in your craziness.

Yeah, there's really no hope for me, is there? Sweet! Bring on the crazy!

Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own

2011-05-09T22:15:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I discovered something I'm just not strong enough to handle anymore: I can't make it through church on Mother's Day. After an hour of listening to speakers talk about how women were foreordained to be mothers and how God shows his love for women by letting them be mothers and how women hold an honored place in the eternal plan because of their ability to be mothers, the ever-present hole in my heart has grown to a gaping chasm, and the pain isn't just emotional; it's physical as well. That hole hurts. So I escape through the back door and try to avoid the men who are handing out little boxes of chocolates to the women (a pity gift is what it looks like to me) and escape to Primary. Oh, but in my ward, the men think it's a nice thing to give the women in Primary a day off, so I get to go sit in Relief Society, surrounded by mothers rocking their babies and talking about the joy of families.

Thankfully, I have my own family to visit afterward. Talking on the phone to my missionary brother, making dinner for my mom, watching her get excited about the tree we got to plant in her yard, and just being with people I love and who love me back—those simple things go a long way toward shrinking that hole in my heart. It's always going to be there, but at least after a night of family love and craziness, it's back to a manageable size. Next year, I think I'll bypass the pain and go straight to the party.

It's Finally Here!

2011-05-06T19:40:00.001-06:00

Yes, I know, I live in Utah, so the chances that we'll have another snowstorm are high, but for now I'm just going to enjoy spring. Today when I got home from work, I put on some capris and went out in my yard to enjoy the sunshine. I also enjoyed the tulips. (Yes, they actually grew—at least the ones up near my house.)

And I enjoyed the apple blossoms.

And I enjoyed having my bare feet in the grass.

And then I realized that I really need to mow my lawn. Dang. So tomorrow I get to enjoy the smell of freshly cut grass. I love spring.

A Confession

2011-05-01T11:48:00.000-06:00

I kept telling myself that I couldn't care less about the whole royal wedding hoopla last week. "It's silly, it has absolutely nothing to do with me, and I have much more important things to watch on TV, so I don't care," I said. To quote the great Dr. Seuss, "I said and said and said those words. I said them, but I lied them." I got totally sucked into the recaps Friday night. It's sad, I know, but guess what I discovered? Somewhere underneath (way, way underneath) the independent, skirt-hating, froufrou-mocking woman I've become, there's still a little girl who wants to grow up to be a princess—but only if I can be a princess in a place where people don't wear fancy hats, because those really are just silly.

Reality Check

2011-04-17T20:05:00.001-06:00

You're only as old as you think you are, right? I mean, I have a real job, a mortgage, and gray hair, but that doesn't mean I have to act like an old fuddy-duddy. I still want to travel the world, find true love, and go skydiving. I'm even relearning to shake my booty (the technique is coming back to me, thank you very much). I feel young and free and happy! And then I go to the grocery store and somebody has the nerve to call me "ma'am." Suddenly I'm just an old fart. Sigh.

Better Than Awesome

2011-04-10T11:45:00.000-06:00

I'm just as anxious for spring as everyone else is, but when my brother offered me a free pass to the Canyons, I jumped on it. I took Carter, my very cool 9-year-old nephew, with me, and we had a blast. There was lots of new snow—beautiful powder, not the normal spring snow that has the consistency of ice cream. And there were not a lot of people, so we got to enjoy the sound of our skis silently swooshing through the snow practically by ourselves. On our way down the mountain, Carter described the day as "better than awesome." So true.

See, I live in Utah. It always snows in April in Utah. I figure I can either complain about it not being spring yet or find a way to enjoy the extended winter. I'm so much happier when I do the latter. Better than awesome, indeed.

What I Learned from the Dork at Conference

2011-04-10T11:27:00.000-06:00

If any of you haven't seen the video of the guy who turned around and grinned at the camera after the last session of general conference (either because, like me, you had started your Sunday afternoon nap by that time or because none of your friends shared it on Facebook), go to YouTube and search for "smiling guy at general conference." Done? OK, now you can continue reading.

This guy is my new hero. He's a total dork, but he's also my hero. Conference broadcasts are so very, very controlled. I was in the control booth at the Conference Center on the Friday before conference, and they were testing how the flowers behind the pulpit looked on camera from every angle with people of varying heights. Yeah, they don't leave anything to chance. I guess that's a good thing for the most part; it's nice to not be distracted by an orange flower growing out of someone's head. But some of the best conference moments are the unscripted parts, where you get to see the General Authorities as real people.

This guy's antics reminded me that members of the Church are also real people. We're not all proper and solemn all the time—and we shouldn't be. There's a place for everyone, whether you're a dork who likes grinning into cameras or a rock 'n' roll rebel who hates skirts.

I Love New York

2011-03-21T21:54:00.001-06:00

Airfare from Salt Lake to New York: $191.74. Three nights at a hotel in the theater district: $179.52. Tickets to three Broadway musicals: $221.82. (Yes, we got some killer deals.) Cheesecake, pizza, frozen hot chocolate, bagels, and other yummies: around $125. Shopping: quite a lot of $. Spending four days in one of the greatest cities in the world with two people I love: priceless.

Faith Rewarded

2011-03-15T22:30:00.000-06:00

My yard doesn't like to grow flowers. Tomatoes are fine. An apple tree is fine. Grass is fine. But plant bulbs or flowers or a shrubbery, and you get nothing—the flowers and the shrubbery die, and I think the bulbs disappear into some alternate universe. Being an eternal optimist (or just plain stubborn), I continue to plant these potentially beautiful things. And guess what I saw the other day?

My tulips are sprouting! Good morning, tulips!

Shakin' My Booty

2011-03-06T21:51:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I got all the exercise I needed by simply doing things I loved—dancing, ice skating, hula-hooping, playing tag, and trying to do flips on the couch. Then I grew up and exercise became a boring, monotonous chore. Sure, I get a few fabulous days of skiing and snowshoeing in every winter, and I can go hiking the rest of the year, but that doesn't quite cut it if I don't want to end up as a 400-pound woman stuck in her bed full-time—and I don't. So I tried running. Boring! Then I got an elliptical and stuck it in front of my TV. That's better, but it's still rather dull since I'm just doing the same thing over and over and over again.

But now I've been introduced to zumba. I know I'm late to the craze, but better late than never. I found something that's fun! And it makes me sweat! And I'm not bored! And I feel fantastic afterward—sore but fantastic! And that was a lot of exclamation points! I do feel like a bit of a fool when I try to shake my booty. It wasn't always like that. When I took a hip-hop dance class in New York back when I was in high school, the teacher complimented my booty-shaking ability. Yes, seriously. Maybe my problem is that I have so much more there to shake now. But who cares? There aren't many in the class who can really shake it anyway, so we're all fools together. Fabulous. And another fabulous thing? I got into zumba right at Girl Scout cookie time. Now I can eat my Tagalongs and Thin Mints without feeling even the tiniest bit of guilt.

A Holiday Worth Celebrating

2011-03-02T22:22:00.001-07:00

Way, way back in another lifetime, I worked at an elementary school. The best school day of the year was March 2. Why? Because it's Read Across America Day (also known as Dr. Seuss's birthday), of course, and we got to put on Cat in the Hat hats and read Dr. Seuss books and do fun activities all day. And any day that celebrates reading is a day for me. Unfortunately, I did not get to read anything Dr. Seussian at work today, so I came home and went through my collection—and then added to my collection, since I decided it was high time I owned Green Eggs and Ham. Now I'm going to snuggle in my covers and read all four stories in The Sneetches, which is still my favorite Seuss book. You just can't fail with "The Sneetches," "The Zax," "Too Many Daves," and "What Was I Scared Of?" all in the same book. Then I'm going to be thankful that I was born to parents who read to me and who helped me discover the joy of good books. And then I'll go to sleep.

P.S. Yes, I know it's time for a monthly book review, but I've decided to join Goodreads and just let those who want to read my reviews read them there. Look for a widget in the next few days (once I've added enough books to my "read" list).

Perfect Monday

2011-02-21T21:21:00.000-07:00

Yes, there really is such a thing as a perfect Monday. All you need is two feet of new snow in the mountains, a sunny day, and a ski resort named Solitude that lives up to its name—even on a holiday.

Happy Books

2011-02-20T22:09:00.002-07:00

I have a bit of an obsession with books. "Well, duh," you're thinking. But I also have an obsession with having my books nicely arranged on bookshelves. That isn't a bad thing until you move into your own house and vow that you won't buy another mismatched set of bookshelves; you're going to get those built-ins you've been wanting since you were 12. But then the books start piling up on the floor because there's nowhere else to put them. Pretty soon the piles start taking over the room. I was almost ready to break down and get some planks of wood and some cinder blocks, but then my brother came to the rescue. He's very good at woodworking, but he's also very busy. (Four kids and a love for skiing—on both water and snow—will do that to you.) Late last year, he decided he could make some time to build me some shelves. Here they are under construction:

Nice, huh? After a few weeks and a bit of dust, they were all in and just needed to be painted. It took me forever to get the primer on, so I thought I might just finish by May, but then my mom came to the rescue. She volunteered to help with the last two coats, so we finished in a week. As I side note, apparently my feet get exceptionally hot when I paint. See how red they are?

And apparently my mom thinks it's funny to paint my toenails bright, shiny white. Anyway, hot feet aside, we got the painting done, I waited patiently (well, I tried to wait patiently) for the paint to dry, and then I finally—finally—got to introduce my books to their new home.

They're so happy to be home. It's such a beautiful home, and there's room for all of them—but just barely. Sheesh! My obsession had gotten even more out of control than I thought. There was supposed to be room for a few more knick-knacks. And even more important, there was supposed to be room for more books, since I know I'm not going to stop buying them. Oh, bother. But I'll worry about that another day. Today I'm just going to sit back and enjoy my fabulous wall o' books.

Holiday Schmoliday

2011-02-13T20:46:00.000-07:00

For some unknown reason I own a Valentine's Day candy dish, which I feel the need to fill every year. I guess it's just a good reason to have chocolate sitting on my counter (not that I need a reason). Anyway, this year I bought some Dove dark chocolate hearts. I had temporarily forgotten that the wrappers have sappy little sayings on them. They're even worse than the cough drops. You're just sitting there, enjoying a little chocolate bliss, when suddenly you're accosted by some inane, lovey-dovey crap. It almost ruins the chocolate. Then I opened this one:

First it made me laugh. Then it made me depressed. It's just too true; I'm the only Valentine I've got. Stupid Valentine's Day, I fart in your general direction.

That said, I do enjoy the treats I've received from friends and family. And somebody left flowers on my doorstep last night. I have no idea who they came from, but even though I don't have a vase to put them in, they totally made my day. So yeah, I guess it's not all bad, but I'll still be wearing black tomorrow.

Dreaming My Life Away

2011-02-06T11:46:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year when I start spending way too much time browsing travel sites. I like winter, so that's not the problem. I even have a few short trips planned—a long weekend in New York and a few U2 concerts—so that's not the problem. The problem is that I start getting antsy when I don't have a long getaway planned. In Katrina World, a long getaway consists of going somewhere on an airplane, being away for at least a week, and not caring that I've forgotten what day it is. It's even better if it's to a place I've never been and I have to use my passport. The last time that happened was last May, so it's high time I get planning.

Italy was on my list for 2011, but unless there's a great deal on Vacations to Go, I don't think that's going to happen. Ooh! How about Australia? That sounds fabulous. Yep, fabulous and just as expensive as an African safari. Israel? Nope, not with what's going on in Egypt. Hmm, there's always somewhere in the United Kingdom. I could go for my birthday! Too bad flights to the UK in July are hovering around $1500 right now. A Caribbean cruise? That has potential—if my tax refund is ginormous. I finally realized that I was driving myself crazy, so I decided to just let myself enjoy life as it happens—enjoy the short trips I have planned and not worry so much about where I'm going next. Ah, calm. But then this showed up in the mail:

This lovely magazine included articles about Tuscany, London, and the Caribbean. I think the travel gods are mocking me.

January Book Review

2011-02-02T22:05:00.000-07:00

Sarah's Key, by Tatiana de Rosnay. This book starts with two stories: one about Sarah, a 10-year-old Jew living in Paris in 1942, and one about Julia, a journalist living in Paris 60 years later, who is working on a story about the roundup of the French Jews. The two stories are woven together in the first half of the book, but the second half is told completely from Julia's point of view. This was a part of World War II history I had never heard about, so the historical aspect of the novel was eye-opening. And Sarah's story is incredibly powerful and heart-wrenching. I couldn't put the book down until the second half, when Sarah's voice disappears. Julia's story, including her search for the rest of Sarah's story, is good but not compelling, but the book as a whole was wonderful. Definitely not a beach read, but definitely one that will stick with you for a while.

Ender in Exile, by Orson Scott Card. Yes, I'm enough of a geek to like the Ender books. However, I really only like the Ender books, meaning Ender has to be the main character. And because Ender's story is too complex to sum up, I'm just going to write this as if everyone has read at least the first two books in the series. This one expands on events that are just mentioned at the end of Ender's Game, so I was intrigued. I'm happy to say that I liked it. It doesn't feel like Orson Scott Card decided to rewrite history (which is what I was afraid of); it just expands Ender's story. You get to see how he deals with the aftermath of Battle School and the war in more detail than you get in Speaker for the Dead, and I enjoyed seeing his transition from boy hero to the man he ultimately becomes. Very nice.

Not-So-Helpful Advice

2011-01-24T20:49:00.000-07:00

Did you know that cough drops now come with inspirational thoughts written on the wrappers? I didn't either, but look, here's proof:

See, there's a pep talk in every drop (TM)! OK, I can see the wisdom of betting on yourself and putting your game face on when you're sick, but are you really going to inspire envy when your nose is red and your eyes are watering and the high point of your day is getting up enough energy to get in the shower? And then there's that little piece of advice telling you to show off your battle cry. When I read this, I was so drugged up with Robitussen that it sounded like a good idea, so I did a little Tarzan yell—and promptly started hacking up a lung. That's the last time I trust a wrapper.

Going Back

2011-01-17T10:21:00.001-07:00

Before last Thursday, it had been over 10 years since I had put ice skates on my feet and almost 20 years since I had skated for real. (Holy cow, I'm old.) I had almost convinced myself that skating was something I had done in the past and I that could just remember how wonderful it was without ever doing it again. But then I got invited to go back. I was all kinds of nervous. What if I couldn't even stand up on skates? What if I fell all over the place? What if it turned into an awful experience that made me forget all my good skating memories? I have an overactive imagination sometimes. But as I laced up the crappy rental skates with practically no edges and even less ankle support, all those fears were very real.

Then I got on the ice. It took all of one lap around the rink for the joy to come back. Sure, the left blade was so dull I couldn't even stroke properly. Sure, there was no way I would even be able to try a layback with the way my ankles were wobbling. But I was flying again, and it was just as wonderful as I remembered. By the end of the night, I had landed a spectacular waltz jump and a wimpy split jump, and I had done as much of a spread eagle as I could with no edges. I was extremely frustrated that the skates wouldn't let me spin or do any cool footwork, but as I drove home I realized even that didn't matter so much. All those things that made me love skating as a kid were still there, and I'm grateful that some friends got me back in the rink so I could discover that. Now I'm itching to go again. If only my real skates weren't three sizes too small.

Still Asleep

2011-01-07T17:59:00.000-07:00

I know I'm not a morning person. I've always known I'm not a morning person. I know that if I have to take something with me to work, I've got to put it right in front of the door—you know, so I'll trip over it if I don't pick it up—or it gets left at home. I regularly realize that I've forgotten to put on a bracelet or a necklace when I'm about halfway to work, and then it bugs me for the rest of the day. I've also been known to put on only half my make-up. But this morning was the best yet. I got halfway through the day and discovered that I had put my underwear on inside-out. And that was after I got quite a bit of sleep last night. Sheesh. It's only a matter of time before I get to work and realize I have no shoes on or I've forgotten my shirt. I just hope I notice before I get all the way to my office.

December Book Review

2011-01-03T16:56:00.000-07:00

I rediscovered one of the simple joys of life over the holidays: reading in bed under the covers until the wee hours of the morning. I think I rediscover this every Christmastime, but it never gets old. It reminds me of when I was a kid and would read with a flashlight all night to finish a book. I don't think I fooled anybody with the flashlight trick, but kudos to my parents for never telling me to stop. There's just something magical about books at night; they seem to come alive even more than they do during daylight. Maybe it's the feeling that the rest of the world is asleep and you're alone with your book in a secret, silent place where anything can happen.

Anyway, on to the books. I finished Shannon Hale's Books of Bayern series with River Secrets and Forest Born. I liked River Secrets, but I loved Forest Born, probably because it has more girl power. It's up there with Enna Burning as my favorite of the series. Shannon Hale's characters are just so wonderful and real, and I really identified with Rin, both because she's just trying to figure herself out and because I used to sit outside under our cottonwood tree and listen to it "talk." Yes, I'm weird.

Saving CeeCee Honeycutt, by Beth Hoffman. I loved this one too. It's about 12-year-old CeeCee, who moves to Savannah with her great-aunt after her mother dies. She's lost everything, but she finds so much more, including a strength she's always had but never realized it. Lovely characters, lovely story, and more girl power. (I think that was the theme for the month.)

It's a Book, by Lane Smith. OK, I usually don't include picture books in my book reviews, but this one is fabulous—and it's really a picture book for grown-ups anyway. It's a book about a book that doesn't tweet, blog, text, scroll, or do anything else "cool." It's just a book, one that will suck you in for hours and, if you're lucky, have you reading under the covers at 3:00 in the morning.

Sock Day

2010-12-27T22:13:00.000-07:00

There are very few things in this world worth putting on socks for. This is one of them:

Not only do you get to spend hours outside under the actual sky (clouds, sun, snow, whatever—it's all better than being stuck indoors), but you also get to see this kind of view on your way down the mountain:

Yep, totally worth it.

Merry Christmas

2010-12-24T16:58:00.001-07:00

Even with music and movies and treats and presents and snow (when we have it), Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without the most important thing. So today I'm grateful for my knowledge that a child was born to one day save the world and make it possible for me and my family to live together again. It's what makes a trip to the cemetery on Christmas Eve full of hope instead of sadness, and it's the real reason this is my favorite time of year. Merry Christmas, everybody.

Kids at Christmas

2010-12-23T10:39:00.001-07:00

I like to think that I turn into a bit of a kid at Christmas. I get giddy about hanging lights, making treats, wrapping presents, and watching Christmas movies. I even have an advent calendar. But there are some things you just need real kids for. Real kids watch for Santa's boots in the chimney, paint snowmen ornaments brown and red, and decorate the tree by hanging multiple decorations on one branch. Mom and I had decorated her tree quite nicely, I thought, but she didn't think it was finished until her grandsons got to help a little.

It was only after she had ornaments hanging off other decorations and a mouse sticking out of a mailbox that she pronounced her tree perfect, and I must say I agree. And now I'm off to decorate cookies with those same wonderful kids. I'm expecting green reindeer, brown Santas, and lots of sprinkles all over everything. It's gonna be a good time.

Hanging Lights

2010-12-07T22:33:00.003-07:00

The Friday after Thanksgiving has been hang the lights day at my mom's house for as long as I can remember. And since I'm the one who's willing to climb the ladder and risk falling and breaking my neck in the name of Christmas cheer, I'm the one who gets to hang them. So I found my one pair of socks and the boots I use for snowshoeing and headed on over. I love Christmas lights—love them—but I still tend to curse at them when they won't do what I want them to. It's all good-natured cursing, I assure you. Anyway, after all the cursing and risking of my life, Mom has a very festive house that she and her neighbors can enjoy until New Year's.

But then guess what happened? Those &#*@! lights started falling down on one side. We can't have that, so I went up to rescue them, wearing the shoes I had on at the time.

Hey, they are some of my more substantial flip flops, and my feet were nice and warm when I finished.

November Book Review

2010-12-03T21:32:00.000-07:00

I was so lazy (maybe "busy" would be a better word—yeah, I'll go with that) in November that I finished only one book. Weird, I know. I'll try to do better in December.

Unforgettable Fire, by Eamon Dunphy. Yes, the one book I read was a U2 book. It's the "definitive biography" (I know because it says so on the cover) written in 1987, right after The Joshua Tree came out and I fell in love. There are times when the book turns into a bit of a lovefest, but overall it's a good one and a worthy addition to my U2 shelf. (Thanks, Nicole.) You might think I already know all there is to know about U2. Well, you'd be wrong. I actually learned stuff while reading this, mostly about the years before they first got together to play songs in Larry's kitchen. I also loved reading about shows that have become the stuff of legend—specifically Red Rocks and Live Aid and their first show at Croke Park—and discovering that they gained that legendary status pretty much as they were happening. Very cool. But the coolest part was discovering that even though a lot has changed in the 23 years since this book was written, the core of the band is still the same. Sure, they're currently touring the world's largest rock show ever, but they're still the same four guys from Dublin just trying to make sense of the world by getting the music in their heads to come out of their instruments. That's what they were in 1976, that's what they were in 1987, and that's what they are now—and that's just one of the many reasons I'm still a fan.

Go Utes!

2010-11-28T17:14:00.000-07:00

My four-year-old nephew, Ethan, is quite possibly the most mischievous kid I've ever met. He's also one of the cutest, and he knows it. When he does something wrong, he's so darn cute about it that you can't stay mad; in fact, you usually have a hard time not laughing. A few months ago we were all at my mom's house for Sunday dinner, and Ethan wanted to say the blessing on the food. My brother Richard was helping him, and here's how it went down:

Richard: "Dear Heavenly Father."

Ethan: "Dear Heavenly Father."

"We're thankful for the food."

"Thank you for the food."

"Please bless the food."

"Bless the food. Go Utes!"

Then while we all tried (not very successfully) to stifle our giggles, Richard finally got out an "in the name of Jesus Christ," and Ethan said a very matter-of-fact "amen." Classic.

Now flash forward to Thanksgiving. The whole family is there, we've got the feast spread out in front of us, and my mom asks me to say the blessing on the food. Ethan's sitting next to me, and he decides to say a quick prayer of his own, which includes another enthusiastic "Go Utes." (He doesn't do this for every prayer, by the way. In fact, these are the only two times I know of.) After the giggles die down, Ethan's mom tells him that it was a very nice prayer, but I'm going to say another one. Thinking I have myself completely under control, I begin. Ethan's got his arms folded and his eyes closed, but as soon as I start talking, he starts whispering in my direction, "Say 'go Utes.' Say 'go Utes.' " Needless to say, it was a very short prayer—and a great start to our feast. So in honor of Ethan and the fabulous result of a little football game yesterday, I say, "Go Utes!"

Frightful? I Think Not

2010-11-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, the weather outside is frightful, but I'm not outside. I'm inside, in front of this delightful fire:

Yes, those snuggly flip flops are my idea of slippers. They're fabulous! And you know what else is fabulous? Getting out a mug for hot chocolate and looking in my cupboard to see so many choices (because you never know exactly what you'll be in the mood for, and you should always be prepared).

Mmm. Know what else is fabulous? I'm wearing a hoodie. And I'm going to wake up to a winter wonderland. And it's almost time to decorate for Christmas. And it's snowing in the mountains, which means skiing and snowshoeing aren't far away. Now really, what's not to love about winter?

Pit Stops

2010-11-19T18:40:00.000-07:00

On the way to California last month, the check engine light in my car came on when we were about 30 miles outside of Las Vegas. We had left St. George really early that morning because we wanted to get in as many hours as possible at the happiest place on earth. Dang. Now what to do? Since we didn't want to get stuck in the middle of the desert, we pulled off the road and found a repair shop that opened at 7:00. While everybody else walked across the street to get some breakfast, I sat in the shop and worried that I had ruined the trip and that we'd be stuck in Vegas for three days. Thankfully, it was nothing that couldn't wait to be fixed until we got home, so we were on our way—and only two hours late.

Then the next week, on our way up to Yellowstone, my mom's car got a flat tire just outside the thriving metropolis of Rigby. Dang again. (By the way, I think this may have been a sign: You don't have to take a road trip every weekend.) Thankfully, some strapping young men had seen the blowout and decided to pull over and help us change the tire. Also thankfully, my mom's car has a full-size spare, so we didn't have to worry about driving on a dinky doughnut. Soon enough, we were on our way again and all was well.

Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck at a pit stop in my life. I'm just waiting at a smelly repair shop outside Vegas or on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, I don't want to be there, and I'm not quite sure what to do next. I know there's something fantastic waiting for me if I can get back on the road, but for now, I'm just stuck. Thankfully, pit stops don't last forever and they usually tend to make the destination—once you finally get there—that much sweeter.

For the Love of Burgers

2010-11-08T17:49:00.000-07:00

I've written before of my love for In-N-Out burgers. The double-double is quite simply the best hamburger on the planet, and just the thought of eating one makes me salivate with joy. Well, there's now an In-N-Out 10 minutes away from my house. It's been open for about a month. Have I been there yet? No, I have not. Here's the thing: having a double-double and a chocolate shake means I'm on vacation, and not just any vacation—I'm on vacation in a warm, sunny place where palm trees grow. I can't bring myself to stop by on a random Tuesday. Some things should just be special, right? Or am I being completely loony?

October Book Review

2010-11-04T22:06:00.000-06:00

The Great Typo Hunt, by Jeff Deck and Benjamin Herson. Here's another one for all the editors out there—and probably just for the editors out there. These two guys form the Typo Eradication Advancement League and take a road trip around the United States fixing typos—deleting superfluous apostrophes and commas, correcting spelling, and basically having a wonderful time. Yes, really, that's all. And it's fabulous. A little drama comes into the story when they get arrested for fixing a sign at the Grand Canyon, but that's not what's most important. As Jeff Deck (my new hero, by the way) says, "I wanted to change the world somehow, but editing was all I had." You go, dude!

Eat, Pray, Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert. I read this one because I wanted to see the movie, but I can't see a movie based on a book unless I read the book first. I'm weird that way. Anyway, it was a good book—not fantastic, but good. I had heard that it's a good book for divorced women only, but I think that's only true of the last third and other little bits here and there. I quite enjoyed the Italy and India sections, but maybe that's because I'd love to leave everything behind for a little while to go away and find myself. Well, kind of. Actually, I'd just like to have the opportunity to immerse myself in another culture for a few months (preferably somewhere in the British Isles or the South Pacific). And I need to go to Naples to find the margherita pizza that apparently is a transcendent experience.

Day at the Park

2010-10-30T20:31:00.000-06:00

First off, let me apologize for my lack of posts in the last few weeks. My Internet connection at home has been sketchy at best, and although I can do a lot of things on my snazzy new phone, blogging isn't one of them. It's kind of been driving me crazy. Anyway, here we go. A few weeks ago, my mom and I decided to spend a Saturday at Yellowstone. It turned out to be a drizzly day, but luckily the geysers don't stop working when it's raining. In fact, the rain only adds to the surrealness of the place.

And you can take silly pictures with Old Faithful and make it look like you're the only people there. Of course, that's because you are the only people there. Too bad for the rest of you.

Then you can take a look at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone (again, all by yourself).

It's lovely and all, but it doesn't seem quite as grand if you visited the real thing three months ago. In fact, it's kind of tiny. That's OK, though, because there are things in Yellowstone that don't exist anywhere else in the world—weird things like signs telling you to stay away from the elk.

Apparently the bison and the bears are OK, because there weren't any signs warning us about them. Well, then, I guess I can get a close-up shot of this guy.

Then there's the really cool stuff—the landscapes that look like something from another planet, or at least from a spooky movie set.

Ah, another great road trip. Happy Halloween, everyone.

Why I Love Disneyland

2010-10-14T21:02:00.001-06:00

Sure, it has the 8th wonder of the world (the back side of water, for those of you who have forgotten your Jungle Cruise), but that's not what makes Disneyland the happiest place on earth. What makes it so magical for me is that when I walk through those gates, the 7-year-old version of myself gets to come out. And the 7-year-old Katrina knows how to have fun. She rides on carousels, spins herself silly in teacups, and blows pixie dust on her pirate ship to make it fly. She skips and dances down the sidewalk and sings along to the music—and doesn't care who sees or hears. She screams on roller coasters and laughs so hard she cries. She wears really cool hats and eats Mickey ice cream bars.

Basically, she loses herself in imagination. Of course, there's also something for the grown-up Katrina. Please let me introduce you to heaven in a bowl:

That's right, folks, that's a world-famous Dole pineapple whip. Add that to a churro, and you've got yourself a meal. And it's even better when you're wearing those really cool ears.

Thanks go to some wonderful friends who didn't run away when they saw the 7-year-old in me come out and who were perfectly OK walking around with a 30-some-odd-year-old with pumpkin mouse ears on her head. It was fabulous, ladies!

Last Week

2010-10-11T18:13:00.000-06:00

My taste buds found utter happiness (in a place with palm trees, which is very important).

My feet found the ocean.

And I found my laughing place.

It was nice to discover that all those things still existed.

September Book Review

2010-10-03T21:02:00.000-06:00

The Year of Living Biblically, by A. J. Jacobs. This is by the same guy who wrote The Know-It-All, which I really enjoyed, and I liked this one even more. It’s so nice when authors don’t disappoint you. This time Jacobs, who’s an agnostic, decides to take a year to live the Bible as literally as possible. He grows a beard, stones adulterers (with pebbles), tries to obey the commandments, and becomes what he calls a “reverent agnostic” along the way. His journey was eye-opening for both him and me, and it made me think about what I do to follow the Bible. Pretty good for a secular book from an agnostic author.

North and South, by Elizabeth Gaskell. It took me a while to get into this one, and I found it to be a rather slow read. For me, that’s usually a deal breaker, but this time I was glad I persevered. The title refers to the north and south of Victorian England, and it’s interesting to see the difference between the pastoral south and the industrialized north. Margaret is the heroine, and she is very enjoyable—I love her growing sense of social justice, and her romance is worthy of an Austen novel. Lovely.

Bathroom Etiquette

2010-09-29T21:34:00.001-06:00

Two things:

1. If you go into a public restroom and the end stall is the only one occupied, don't go into the stall right next to the end one. Let's all just agree to give each other some space when we can.

2. Please don't talk to me while I'm doing my business or while you're doing your business. The background noises are just . . . eww. Whatever the conversation is, it can wait.

That is all. Thank you.

Geeks

2010-09-19T16:19:00.001-06:00

The other day I found myself caught in a bit of an awkward spot. There were about 20 people in the room, and 3 of those people were having a rather boisterous conversation concerning all things Dr. Who. The rest of us were just kind of looking at each other. How do you politely butt into a conversation like that and say, "Excuse me, but the rest of us would like to talk too"?

Now, I'm not complaining about geeks; I know I'm a geek about some things, and I'm glad there's something out there for everyone to get uber-excited about. But I try to keep my geekery (I think I just made that word up, but I like it so I'm going to use it) under control unless I'm, say, in line for a U2 concert. Then, and only then, it's perfectly OK for me to go on at length about The Edge's choice of hats and why The Joshua Tree is my favorite album even though I can admit that Achtung Baby is probably their best and why it's so very, very cool that they finally played "Mercy" live, even though I like the original lyrics better than the ones Bono's singing now, so if they ever get around to actually releasing it, they darn well better give us both versions. However, if my geekery ever gets out of control when I'm around people who don't share my geekiness, please feel free to slap me upside the head. I'll get the point.

It's Not Over Yet

2010-09-12T15:52:00.000-06:00

According to some people, Labor Day is the official end of summer. I was bemoaning this idea last week, since I love summer and fall is my least favorite season of the year. To keep myself from succumbing to depression, I tried listing the good things about fall: I get to wear my hoodies; I love fall hiking; and winter, with Christmas and skiing and snow, is right around the corner. That's all I came up with. Then I looked outside and saw this:

The one and only sunflower that came up after I planted about a dozen had finally bloomed. Yay, summer's still here!

Swimming with the Boys

2010-09-05T17:41:00.002-06:00

Since Richard and Megan decided to celebrate their 10th anniversary by going on a cruise for a week and a half, I got to spend a lot of time with my nephews during the first two weeks of August. The boys are the greatest nephews in the world, but when I'm with them for a few days, they completely tire me out with their constant questions, their arguing, and their ability to create spectacular messes. Sometimes I just needed a break, so we went swimming a few times. This might not sound like a break, but it was. The swimming pool is a happy, magical place that turns four hooligan boys into the angels I know they are. Seriously, they even pretend to like each other for a few hours.

When Max was saying his prayers on the night I left, he prayed that I wouldn't be lonely when I wasn't with them all the time (see, I told you they were the greatest nephews in the world). The first day I was back full-time in my own house, I didn't miss the noise. Or the messiness. Or trying to figure out something to make for dinner that everyone would eat and would be at least a little bit healthy. The second day, I kind of did. I also missed getting hugs when I walked in the door, building forts out of blankets and couch cushions, and having Sean play with my fingers while he drank his bedtime bottle. And I got a little bit lonely. Then I thought about how lucky I am to have such a fabulous family who live so close and who let me be a part of their lives. So I invited them to come swimming at my place.

Bear Lake

2010-08-28T22:29:00.001-06:00

I kind of feel like I'm becoming a broken record here, but I have once again found a fabulous way to spend a Saturday. This one starts on Friday night, with s'mores and a campfire. Then you go to bed in a tent before the rain hits. This is important because then, even though you're going to be really tired the next morning, you can listen to the rain pattering on the tent for half the night. It's much more enjoyable to listen to if you're already in bed. Then, after a bit of sleep, you can wake up here:

Next, make sure you have a good breakfast. I recommend dutch oven egg casserole and these beauties:

Then you can break camp and head out to a beach. No, it might not be a beach with an ocean, but it's got a great view and your toes will be happy.

Now an unfortunate thing happens: the wind starts blowing. You don't like having sand blasted into your eyes, ears, nose, belly button, and every other part of your body, so you decide to leave the beach a bit earlier than you had planned. No matter; this is what's next:

Yep, that's a fresh Bear Lake raspberry shake, my friends, and it's pretty darn tasty. And once again, all is right with the world.

Summer Book Review

2010-08-26T23:42:00.002-06:00

My monthly book review took a few months off because I didn't read a whole lot of new stuff this summer; for the most part, I just kind of enjoyed things I've enjoyed before. I did read a few new things, though, so here's the short list for the whole summer.

Extra Virgin, by Annie Hawes. This is a story about two sisters who decide to go live on the Italian Riviera, and the title refers to olive oil, not what you were all first thinking. The characters are charming, the descriptions of the food and the countryside are spectacular, and it convinced me that I need to go live in Italy for a while (not that I needed much convincing). A perfect summer book.

Persuasion, by Jane Austen. Yes, can you believe it? This was the first time I've read Persuasion, and I loved it (of course). There's a little battle going on between it and Pride and Prejudice to see which will come out as my favorite Jane Austen novel. No need to fight, really, they're both quite wonderful. I get lost in the language, and I realize that in spite of everything, I'm still a romantic at heart.

Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins. I've been waiting for this one for a year, ever since I read the first two books in the Hunger Games trilogy. So I took a walk to Barnes & Noble for lunch on Tuesday and then tried really hard to keep my mind on my work until I could come home and read all night. And read all night I did—and then I stayed up even later just thinking about what I'd just experienced. I love books that can do that to me. It's emotional, exhausting (if you're like me and completely lose yourself in the book), and a very worthy end to a fantastic, well-written, unsettling story. Now somebody else needs to hurry up and finish it, because I have things I need to discuss!

More Outdoor Time

2010-08-21T22:07:00.000-06:00

OK, so if you've ever read my blog at all, you know I crave Saturdays for the opportunities they give me to spend time in the great outdoors. Well, I've spent some wonderful Saturdays admiring the wildflowers (and the moose, although we did that from a distance) up at Alta lately, and I thought I'd share.

Ah, Saturdays are wonderful things.

The Second Time Around

2010-08-16T19:08:00.000-06:00

Last Saturday I went to The Lion King at the Capitol Theater. When they first announced that it was coming to Salt Lake, I wasn't sure I wanted to go, and I didn't even get tickets when they were first available. I know, coming from me that sounds completely crazy. The problem was that I saw it first in London, and Salt Lake City is no London. I loved the show, and I was afraid I'd be disappointed if I saw it on a much smaller stage in a theater I could drive past every day.

I know that might sound silly, but I've been disappointed before. I saw Les Mis in New York, and I was very disappointed in the touring production when it came to Salt Lake. And I never loved Les Mis like I love The Lion King. But then I got thinking about all the things I've seen and done that were just as good, or even better, the second time around. I once heard the host of a Travel Channel show say, "One of the best things about traveling is returning to a place you've loved and finding that it loves you back." So true. After coming home the second time from places like Ireland and New York and Hawaii, I found I loved them even more than I did after my first trip—and it rained for two days straight during my second visit to New York. If it worked that way for places I've loved, why couldn't it work that way for plays I've loved? So I took the chance.

It's a good thing I did. No, it wasn't as fabulous as it was in London, but it was pretty darn fabulous. The first 10 minutes of that show are still the most amazing 10 minutes I've ever seen on stage. Ever. And as I got all teary-eyed (yes, I'm a bit of a dork), I was grateful I hadn't let the fear of disappointment keep me from falling in love all over again.

Why I Love My Yard

2010-08-07T12:55:00.001-06:00

I can put my toes in the grass:

I can get a tasty snack:

I can anticipate getting more tasty snacks in the fall:

And I can decorate however I want:

Taking a Walk

2010-08-04T19:02:00.000-06:00

Sometimes it's good to take a walk with a 17-month-old. It doesn't even have to be a long walk. I've been spending a lot of time with my nephews the past few days, and on Saturday we went swimming at a city pool. There's a sidewalk that leads from the pool to a play area—just a regular sidewalk, nothing interesting about it. But the first time I walked that sidewalk with Sean, he stopped to examine an interesting patch of grass, a small puddle of water, and a stray rock. It made think about what I'm missing by always taking the shortest way home or the straightest route from point A to point B. When do we lose the instinct to meander our way through the world, examining all the little details that pop up in front of us? I'll almost always stop to admire a sunset, and I try to never be in so much of a hurry to get to the future that I miss out on what's happening in the present, but I wonder what I'd learn if I slowed down a little more often just to soak it all in.

How to Spend Your Birthday

2010-07-27T22:38:00.000-06:00

For the past few years, I've planned something exciting around my birthday so I can celebrate without thinking too hard about why I'm celebrating. Don't get me wrong; I still like my birthday, and I loved hearing my phone ring all day, letting me know I had Facebook posts and text messages and even some phone calls from people wishing me a happy birthday. I just don't like to have time to think about how old I'm getting. So this year my mom and I decided to go to Cedar City for the Shakespearean Festival. It was fabulous, as it always is. We also decided to take two extra days to visit the Grand Canyon, since the last time I was there I was three and it doesn't count if you don't remember it. And we love road trips! OK, we love trips of any kind; this one just happened to be a road trip. Anyway, one of those Grand Canyon days just happened to be July 21. This is how you should spend a birthday:

Yes, I went hiking in my flip-flops. It's my birthday—if I'm wearing shoes, they're going to be flip-flops! (Besides, it wasn't a very long or strenuous hike.) There's nothing like standing on the edge of one of the natural wonders of the world to remind you that God exists and He loves you, even if you are 33 and single.

Summer Saturday

2010-07-18T10:30:00.000-06:00

Saturdays are wonderful things. Especially summer Saturdays when I get to wake up without an alarm clock, leisurely eat my bowl of cereal, put on a T-shirt and capris, and go enjoy the great outdoors with some friends who love the great outdoors as much as I do.

Ah, and all is right with the world.

My Toy Story

2010-07-10T19:00:00.002-06:00

If any of you haven't seen Toy Story 3 yet, get yourself to a theater. It's a fabulous show. I've already seen it twice, and I cried both times. There were lots of sniffles in the theater, so I know I wasn't the only one who had a toy they loved as much as Andy loves Woody. But here, let me introduce you to my Woody:

His name is Skiffy, and today's his birthday. My parents gave him to me before my first skating competition, and he's been with me ever since. Unlike Woody, Skiffy never got stuck in a toybox. He's been everywhere with me—Ireland, Hawaii, England, New York, and every other fantastic (or not so fantastic) place I've ever spent the night. Yep, he even came to camp when I was in Young Women. And he's had a few adventures of his own on our travels. In Alaska he made friends with a few towel animals and Skippy the sea otter.

And when I was in Disney World, one night I came back from a day at the park to find him sitting on top of the remote control watching the Disney Channel.

When I was little, I knew Skiffy was real. Every morning he was in a different place in my bed from where he had started the night before—how could he not be real? I gave him birthday parties, read him stories, and told him my secrets. Now his eyes are faded, his stitching is coming out, he will never be white again, and he usually stays in the same place in bed all night (it helps that I have a bigger bed now). But he's still always there for me, no matter what. And you can't ask for a better, more loyal toy than that.

I Hate Skirts

2010-07-02T18:00:00.001-06:00

Skirts are stupid. They make it impossible to sit comfortably and impossible to show of your impressive karate kicks or fabulous arabesques, and if it's windy you can't go outside for a lunchtime stroll without giving everyone a peep show. And I have to put one on every bloody morning. (I was punching the keys really hard while I typed that "bloody," just so you know.) Seriously, I'm sick of them. What idiot woman, back when pants were invented, said, "No, I'll just stick with what I have, thanks; you men can wear those new-fangled trouser things"? Definitely not woman's best hour.

Wow, it felt good to get that out. And now it's a good thing it's a long weekend.

Paradise Found

2010-06-19T20:07:00.001-06:00

My brother's family recently got back from spending a week at my sister-in-law's parents' beach house in California. Today Ethan (who's 4) and I were having a conversation about my parents. We've had variations of this conversation before, but this time Ethan came up with a very insightful conclusion. He quickly figured out the concept that my mom is his grandma. But then he wondered why I didn't have a dad. I explained that he was dead, so Ethan asked where he was. "In heaven," I said. "Oh," he replied, and then after a bit of thought he asked, "Is heaven at the beach house?" Ah, a boy after my own heart.

OK, so this picture was taken in Hawaii, not California, but I'm not picky; almost any beach with sand and an ocean is heaven for me. Now if only heaven wasn't quite so far away.

World Cup Fever

2010-06-18T21:54:00.001-06:00

Right now I'm rather obsessed with the World Cup. They say the first step in overcoming your problem is admitting you have one. I don't really want to overcome this particular problem because it's quite enjoyable, but right now I need to stop obsessing about a goal that wasn't, so I'm blogging about my obsession instead. Here's my list of things about the World Cup that drive me crazy:

Vuvuzelas. I do not tune into matches to hear what sounds like a very large swarm of angry bees.
Referees who don't have to explain themselves after they make horrible calls on imaginary fouls.
The fact that I live in a country that doesn't come to a standstill when our team is playing. I'm seriously considering being sick Wednesday morning until about 10:00.

Now some things about the World Cup that make it one of the few things worth getting up in the middle of the night or really, really early for:

No timeouts, no cheerleaders, no commercials—just 45 minutes of 22 men playing the beautiful game, followed by a short break and then another 45 minutes.
Kids get to escort the players onto the field before every match. Watch the kids' faces as they walk into the stadium holding the hands of some of the best players in the world—totally cool.
Really good-looking men in shorts, even if my German boyfriend, Michael Ballack, isn't there because he's injured.
The U2 songs ESPN uses in their commercials and previews of upcoming matches.
It's inspired my missionary brother and the other elders living in his apartment to get up every morning to play a soccer game, since they can't get up early to watch one.
My ability to get emotionally invested in a game, even when I'm watching a recording of it and I already know how it turns out. My poor neighbors.
The complete unpredictability of it all.

It really is a magnificent spectacle. Now I just have to figure out how to move to Brazil or England or Argentina—heck, anywhere but America—for one month every four years. Olé, olé, olé, olé!

May Book Review

2010-06-09T18:50:00.001-06:00

Yeah, yeah, I'm a bit late, but I was distracted by the lumberjacks.

Things That Make Us [Sic], by Martha Brockenbrough. Here's a confession: I occasionally read grammar books for fun. It's true. Now, that doesn't mean I'm going to curl up in bed with my edition of The Chicago Manual of Style (much too bulky), but I once took Eats Shoots and Leaves on vacation with me and found that it was a rather enjoyable beach read. Martha Brockenbrough started the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar and her blog is quite entertaining, so I couldn't resist getting her book. It's also quite entertaining, but only if you're the kind of person who takes grammar books on vacation. Grammar nerds of the world unite!

The Know-It-All, by A. J. Jacobs. This was my vacation book this time, and I really enjoyed it. Connie and Becky can probably attest to that, since they often heard me let out a random snort or giggle while we were sitting on the deck soaking up the Alaskan sunshine. Anyway, A. J. Jacobs decided to read the entire encyclopedia—which I must admit I've contemplated doing—and then wrote about it. It's a rather fascinating and really funny look at both random tidbits of information and connections that seem to help life make a bit of sense. And then there was the time I was reading about the Young Men's Christian Association and Becky started humming "YMCA." Weird, very weird.

Lumberjack Hunting

2010-06-05T07:54:00.003-06:00

I know you've all been waiting anxiously, so here comes the thrilling tale of my search for a lumberjack. Connie, Becky, and I got to Ketchikan on a beautiful, sunny Friday morning. We got off the ship and did a bit of sightseeing (Creek Street: where fish and fishermen come up the creek to spawn—hmm, sounds promising). We found the home of the lumberjack show and heard cheering coming from inside. Those lumberjacks must be good!

The excitement was building. Can you feel the excitement? First we learned how to yell like a proper lumberjack. (Yo-hoe!) Then the men came out. Woah, look at that! They can saw through logs!

They can climb really tall poles!

They can run on logs in the water!

Yep, they were definitely manly men. Excellent! But the question remained: Would we be able to meet them? Would they want to come home with us? We waited patiently with a lot of other people who apparently came to Alaska in search of lumberjacks and finally got up close and personal (mine's the one on the right, by the way).

And then, before we could ask any of them if they'd like our phone numbers, they moved right on to the next lucky lady who wanted her picture taken. Oh, crushing defeat. So I consoled myself with a travel-size lumberjack who will never leave dirty suspenders lying on the floor. Maybe next time I'll have more luck with the real thing.

Alaskan Adventure

2010-05-31T17:19:00.002-06:00

Yes, Alaska really is as amazingly beautiful as people say it is. And no, pictures don't come close to showing off how magnificent it is. It's something you have to experience for yourself. (Although if you're interested in pictures, there are more on my Facebook page.) I spent a wonderful week with friends watching glaciers calve; finding whales, sea otters, and bald eagles; and simply enjoying the grandeur of nature.

We also had a lovely time finding lumberjacks (more on that in a later post), eating ice cream and baked Alaska and way too much other food, and making friends with puppets and towel animals. I'm very good at going on vacation and leaving everything else behind, but this time I was able to relax even more than usual. Maybe being able to take 45 minutes every night to soak up sunsets like this one had something to do with it.

Feeling Giddy

2010-05-15T16:30:00.000-06:00

I love shopping for shoes quite a lot. Shopping for books is even more fabulous. But nothing makes me as giddy as buying travel-size toothpaste, little bottles of shampoo, and itsy-bitsy deodorant. Putting those miniature toiletries in my shopping cart gives me an amazing high. It's a declaration to the world that I am going on vacation; I am going to explore the world and discover magnificent things. I'm going to be free of alarm clocks and dirty dishes and work clothes, at least for a few days. I'm going to get to be me. And that's a feeling that never gets old.

I Didn't Die! (The Sequel)

2010-05-10T21:04:00.000-06:00

I somehow got roped into running another 5K Saturday, and I'm glad to say I survived again. This time it was the Race for the Cure, and it was fantastic. This is the 5K to run if you're not in it for the running. It doesn't matter how fast you run or even if you just want to take a leisurely stroll; the point is that you're alive and doing it. Just being in the midst of thousands of people joining together for such a great cause is worth getting up for. This is one I'll do every year.

April Book Review

2010-05-02T17:06:00.000-06:00

Love, Stargirl, by Jerry Spinelli. Yep, I loved Stargirl so much I had to go out and buy the sequel. This one is written from Stargirl's perspective, as a letter to Leo, so you get more of a sense of who she is, not just who she looks like to outsiders. She's just as wonderful as she is in the original, but she also shows her vulnerabilities, which I loved. It makes her more real. Now I can't decide if I want a third in the series or if I want to come up with my own happily ever after for her. Hmm, either way, she's going to live on in my memory for a long time.

Cold Sassy Tree, by Olive Ann Burns. I had a really hard time getting into this one. First of all, the dialect is hard to read. I don't mind a bit of dialect here and there, but when an entire book is written that way, it tends to drive me nuts. It forces me to read every word slowly, which is what I do at work all day, not when I'm reading for pleasure. Second, nothing much happened for the first half of the book. It's a nice little portrait of a small Southern town in the early 1900s, but that's about it. However, I liked the characters and I'm glad I kept reading for their sakes, because the last third of the book was quite enjoyable.

That's all for this month. Oh, except one more thing. I will never be able to get through Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows without half a box of tissues. Seriously, I get way too emotionally attached to that wizard.

Just Look Up

2010-04-26T21:30:00.000-06:00

I now share with you a little bit of the gospel according to Katrina. I think that when God was creating the world, He added some places that were amazing, beautiful, and just plain cool because He knew life wouldn't be easy and sometimes we'd need a break. We would need to get away from what we pretend is the real world—the world filled with worries and stress and self-doubt—and lose ourselves in the majesty of the world that He created. When I visit places like Arches, the Giant's Causeway, or almost anywhere on Kauai, I can't help but remember that He's there and He loves us. That's what's real.

But I think He also knew that not everybody would be able to visit these magnificent places, and even if we could, maybe sometimes we'd need a little reminder of His love even when we can't get out of our own backyard. That's why all you have to do is look up. It doesn't matter what time of day or night it is or what the weather is like. If I can see the sky, I find it impossible to doubt.

The Perfect Souvenir

2010-04-15T22:10:00.004-06:00

Before I went to Hawaii a few years ago, I decided that I was going to find a nice souvenir on my vacation—a man to bring home with me. Good idea, right? Even if he didn't want to come home with me, I'd have a really good excuse to visit Hawaii again. Yep, I had it all planned out. Too bad it didn't quite work the way I'd imagined. Sure, I saw some very fine men, one of whom was my surfing instructor, but he was taken. I got my picture taken with some rather handsome Polynesian men, but they were posing with all the girls at the luau, so I decided to ditch them. No Hawaiian man for me.

But then I decided to go to Ireland last year. Sweet! An Irishman! Well, I had a very cute guy's very drunk friend ask me to join him for drinks, but since I figured he wouldn't remember anything about me the next morning, I decided to say no and stay sober. I thought maybe I'd find a nice Mormon boy at church (and he wouldn't be drunk—well, at least I hoped not), but alas, no luck.

So the search goes on. I'll be in Alaska later this year. Maybe an Alaskan man? Hmm, not as fabulous as a man from Hawaii or Ireland, but a man nonetheless. My friends and I decided earlier this week that we're going to go to a lumberjack show, which is supposed to feature log-rolling and ax-throwing and other games of all-out manliness. So there you go: I'm gonna bring me home a lumberjack!

Raise a Twinkie

2010-04-08T21:59:00.000-06:00

Thirteen years ago today, on what would have been my dad's 45th birthday, our family held our first Twinkie toast in his honor. My aunt had made a bouquet of Twinkies for his funeral (I wish I had a picture—it was brilliant), so on his birthday we went to the cemetery, took one "flower" each, raised them in his honor, clinked them together like they were goblets, and ate. In the ensuing years, Twinkies have shown up on the tree we made for the Festival of Trees, as favors at my brothers' wedding luncheons, and always on April 8. I'm not quite sure why the Twinkie has become Dad's symbol, but it has. I guess part of it's because Twinkies are something tangible; you can't just dial up his sense of humor, for example. But we can celebrate his love for us and our love for him by enjoying something he loved while he was here. So here's to you, Dad. Happy birthday, and I hope there are Twinkies in heaven.

Easter Weekend

2010-04-06T21:00:00.001-06:00

Last weekend was a rather fabulous one, and not just because I got to spend two whole days in jeans. It was Easter, conference, and my mom's birthday party—a full weekend, yes, but full of stuff that makes weekends wonderful.

Coloring eggs is much more fun with little boys around. See how exciting the third green egg in a row can be if you're three?

My mom brought me an Easter basket Sunday morning, and then we hid each other's eggs. This was the best "hiding" place ever, even if it was in plain sight. Very nice, Mom. :)

I'm still a kid. I have to have my conference games and coloring pages to keep myself awake during those afternoon sessions. Of course, having all that sugar to eat also helped. Bingo!

Max is an expert tree climber (maybe a bit too reckless for his own good, but still, you've got to admire his total lack of fear).

Homemade carrot cake is very tasty . . .

. . . even after three boys helped Grandma blow out her candles. Can you say saliva frosting? Yeah, still tasty.

March Book Review

2010-04-05T17:52:00.000-06:00

Three books I'd highly recommend to anyone this month:

Stargirl, by Jerry Spinelli. Stargirl is who I wanted to be when I was in high school, but I didn't have the guts. She's wonderfully different and doesn't care what anyone else thinks about her. At first, her nonconformity gives everyone else in school the license to be who they really want to be, but then high school politics and jealousy gets in the way. Even then, she ends up changing almost everyone who knew her. I'm still trying to figure out how to be me—just me, without any of the faces I present to the world—and I don't think I'm alone in that. Maybe someday I'll figure it out, but Stargirl at least gave me the hope to keep trying.

The Help, by Kathryn Stockett. This is set in Mississippi in the 1960s and tells the story of white women and the black women who are their help (hence the title). I hadn't heard much about this aspect of the segregated South, and it was fascinating to read about. This is why I love fiction. And the characters are brilliant—real, strong, spiteful, generous, heartbreaking, and sometimes downright hilarious.

Enna Burning, by Shannon Hale. I think this is my favorite Shannon Hale book yet, but I'm not really sure why. It's a sequel to Goose Girl, but it stands up very well on its own. I love that the stuff we see as magic isn't magic to the characters; it's just how the world works. That's part of what makes the story so believable, and I loved it.

The Little Things

2010-03-24T21:30:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I get to the end of the day and realize I did nothing exciting all day. It was just one of those days: get up, get dressed, go to work, come home, run errands, eat dinner, read a book, and go to bed. Boring. But sometimes I remember all the little things that made the day worth getting up for. Take today, for example. I'm getting over a cold and my voice is almost completely gone, but:

On my way to work I made it over all four sets of train tracks before the lights started flashing.
I had a Sesame Street band-aid to put on my finger after I got a paper cut.
I finished a part of a project (hey, it's a big project).
A funny e-mail from a friend came at just the right moment, when the day was starting to feel like it just might go on forever.
The sun was shining as I drove out of the parking garage, so I put on my sunglasses, turned on "Beautiful Day," and pretended I was really making a break for it.
I had strawberries with my dinner.
My home teachers did not show up unannounced after I had changed into my pajamas, and as it's the last week of the month, there was a good possibility that could have happened.

See, even if it is the big things that make life spectacular, it's the little things that make it nice to be alive every day, even on days when you sound like a sick duck.

Food Forever

2010-03-11T19:59:00.002-07:00

"I hope there's food in heaven." That was my thought last night as I started in on my bowl of Tagalongs ice cream. (Yes, Tagalongs ice cream: vanilla ice cream filled with Tagalong cookies and peanut butter and fudge ripples. It's like heaven in a bowl.) Food is definitely one of the best things about being mortal. Sure, there are some foods that aren't at all tasty—fish and all their cousins should stay in the ocean and raisins should never be allowed in cookies, for example—but for me anyway, life would be pretty boring without lots of tasty goodness. Who would want to live forever without lasagna, Reese's Puffs, spaghetti with my mom's homemade sauce, french fries, Oreo milkshakes, In-N-Out burgers, Dole pineapple whips, Disneyland churros, nice juicy steaks, strawberries, macaroni and cheese, Girl Scout cookies, pork burritos, teriyaki chicken, hot chocolate, cold chocolate, and any chocolate in between? Nobody in their right mind, that's who.

Now, maybe there's something even better than food waiting for us on the other side. Who knows? And maybe those people who weren't quite so good on earth will be subjected to an endless ward party, complete with salad pre-drenched in Ranch dressing and croissants stuffed with that icky chicken-grape-celery concoction drowning in the white goop people called mayonnaise. (What a way to ruin croissants. And chicken. And grapes. And even celery.) Anyway, I'm going on the hope that there will be food forever—and that it'll be even better in heaven because I'll be able to eat a whole carton of Tagalongs ice cream without having to follow it with 45 minutes on my elliptical.

Ahh, Saturday

2010-03-06T21:56:00.002-07:00

Waking up slowly on a Saturday morning is one of the true joys of life. Waking up slowly on a bright, sunny Saturday morning and deciding you're not going to worry about any house cleaning all day is even better. Instead, you decide to eat your cereal and then go watch your nephew's basketball game, make some cookies to send to your brother for his birthday, and take a trip up the canyon for a few hours of skiing with some friends.

Ahh . . . and all is right with the world.

February Book Review

2010-03-01T20:06:00.001-07:00

I was apparently on a children's/young adult book kick this month. That's all right; it just means I got some reading done even though I was staying up late to watch the Olympics every night. The first two I'd read before, but all I could remember about them was that I liked them. Good reason to reread, don't you think?

From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, by E. L. Konigsburg. I remembered almost from the first page why I liked this when I first read it in fourth grade: I am very much like Claudia. She wants to have an adventure, but she's also very practical so she can't just go off and do something wild and crazy. Running away to the Metropolitan Museum of Art is just the sort of adventure both she and I would love. Add that to the relationship she has with her brother and the writing style that is just wonderful, and you've got a very good read.

The Westing Game, by Ellen Raskin. I knew this was a mystery, and I'm not usually a big fan of mysteries, so I had to remember why I liked this one. I think it's because the relationships between the characters are just as important as the mystery itself. You have to have real people inhabiting the books, or there's not really a point in reading them.

Now on to the new books. The Wednesday Wars, by Gary D. Schmidt. I really enjoyed this book. You might be tempted to see it as just another coming of age book, but it's much more than that. It's heartfelt and real and occasionally downright hilarious. And it feels like it was written by a seventh grader, with the "Oh my gosh, this is the worst day of my life" attitude and everything. Loved it.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief, by Rick Riordan. This was a fun read, but completely a Harry Potter wannabe. It's exciting and has lots of action, but I just didn't fall in love with the characters, which is too bad, since they have lots of potential. There's just too much going on to get a sense of who they are when they aren't fighting for their lives. Oh, well. I'll probably still read the sequels, but maybe when I'm on vacation and I want to give my brain some downtime.

What I Miss

2010-02-25T19:22:00.001-07:00

Yep, that's me—a long, long time ago after my very first skating competition. It's been 19 years since I've really skated (public sessions at the rink don't count as really skating), but when I watch it on TV, it all comes back like I've never been gone. I remember becoming one with the music, the sound my blades make as they carve deep edges into the ice, the thrill of doing the perfect layback, and having the outrageous idea that I can defy gravity. Sonja Henie described it as "the wind splitting open to let you through . . . and an illusion of no longer having to move because movement is carrying you." Perfect. You'd think I would have gotten over it by now, but you'd be wrong. I guess after you've found something you love so much, after you've experienced the freedom and joy of flying—and experienced it so often when you're so young—you just never forget. And I don't ever want to forget, because it's an amazing feeling.

How Old?

2010-02-19T21:49:00.000-07:00

I went skiing on Monday (which was a fabulous ski day, by the way). On one trip up the chair lift, I rode with a dude. Yes, a dude. That's really the only word to describe him. We were chatting a bit, and he asked me what school I had gone to. After I told him I had gone to the U, he asked, "No, what high school?" Really? What high school? OK, I played along and told him. But then he asked when I graduated. Um, 1995. "Oh," he said and then got very quiet for the rest of the ride up. Apparently I look like a 19-year-old in my goggles.

Oh, well, it could be worse. One of my co-workers, who is just a few years older than I am and doesn't look any older than she is, was buying clothes for her baby when a woman asked her if she was shopping for her granddaughter. I guess I should be happy I get mistaken for a teenager rather than a grandma. But still, sheesh.

I Love the Olympics

2010-02-13T18:54:00.001-07:00

If you're an Olympics hater, stop reading now. Just a warning, because I'm about to get all sentimental and stuff. OK, for those of you still reading, I love the Olympics. I love everything about them, and every time another opening ceremony comes around, I find myself reliving the Salt Lake games because, let's face it, they were pretty awesome. How often do the Olympics come to your hometown? Yeah, it's once in a lifetime, and I lived it up. I used my poor man's scanner (meaning I took pictures of my pictures) so I could share some of my favorite memories. Here's the view from the nosebleed seats during the women's figure skating long program.

Yes, I was there, and that was huge. Being in the arena for an Olympic figure skating event had been on my bucket list long before I knew what a bucket list was—and I was there for the event. Amazing. I also got to go to the men's short program, where I made Evgeni Plushenko fall. See, I was whispering "Fall, fall," every time he went up for a jump, and then it happened. He fell. I felt a bit guilty, but only a bit.

Here's me outside Canada House.

I also saw the Barenaked Ladies at the Medals Plaza, so I figure I was just celebrating the Vancouver Olympics eight years early.

And this is me by the cauldron. How did I get so close, you ask? Well, it's because I had the greatest job I've ever had and maybe ever will have, and it was a volunteer thing. I worked backstage at opening and closing ceremonies, which meant being at the stadium sometimes for 18 hours straight, in freezing temperatures, doing the same things over and over and over. (I have great appreciation for how great those flags look during the parade of nations, because I know how many times we steamed the ones in Salt Lake to get out every single wrinkle.) It also meant I got some pretty great perks, like getting to be a stand-in U.S. athlete for the dress rehearsal's parade of nations; hanging out with Dorothy Hamill before the closing ceremony; handing the Olympic flag off to Steven Spielberg, Desmond Tutu, Jean-Claude Killy, John Glenn, and a few other outstanding folks; watching the closing ceremony fireworks from the top of the stadium; and being part of the group that helped hand over the flag to the mayor of Turino. Sure, my part in that was all behind the scenes, but I did get to pretend to be the mayor during dress rehearsals, and then escort the real mayor backstage during the real thing.

But the best part of the gig, by far, was watching the athletes. Since we were handing out the flags, we got to see them just before they walked out into the stadium for the parade of nations. As Bob Costas likes to remind us, the parade of nations is the Olympic moment for most of the athletes. As much as I dislike Bob and his snarky comments, this is one thing he gets right. They know they have no chance of winning a medal; they're there for the Olympic experience, and they're so excited to finally be there that most of them just can't contain their joy. I got lots of high fives and lots of "this is so cool" grins, but my favorite was a giant bear hug I got from a Croatian skier. He was so giddy he was hugging everybody. How can you not love something that brings out that sort of reaction?

And that's why I'll be losing sleep for the next two weeks. Not for the medal count or the media darlings or the Visa commercials (although I actually like the Visa commercials), but to watch people as they see their hard work pay off and their dreams come true. There's nothing else like it.

December and January Book Review

2010-02-04T19:48:00.002-07:00

And you all thought I forgot. Well, I didn't. I just didn't read much new in December, so I thought I'd combine two months this time. For the record, The Sweet Smell of Christmas is my favorite Christmas book ever, and Prisoner of Azkaban is still my favorite Harry Potter book. Now on to the new stuff.

Big Russ and Me, by Tim Russert. This is one I don't think I ever would have picked up on my own, but it was the choice of the month for one of my book groups. If you're a fan of biographies, this is a good one. I enjoy books that show there are good people everywhere, just trying to do the best they can with the circumstances they've got, and Tim Russert's father is one of those people.

Austenland, by Shannon Hale. This book had a fun premise—well, fun for me, anyway, or for anyone who has found herself hopelessly in love with Mr. Darcy. However, I found myself thinking "This is silly" a few times, and not in a good silly kind of way. That being said, the conversation on page 19 is really quite fabulous; reading the whole book is worth it just for that page. So there's something you can check out on your next trip to your local B&N. Just stand there and pretend you're browsing, and try not to snort when you come to the line with "poop" in it.

Dear John, by Nicholas Sparks. Another book group suggestion. I like girly, romantic movies, but I've never been a fan of sappy love stories in book form. This one wasn't too sappy, but I think it would have been better if I had been reading it on a beach somewhere. It's that kind of book. I think I'll still watch the movie though; I do enjoy the chick flicks.

What a Year

2010-01-27T19:09:00.005-07:00

It's performance appraisal time at work, that glorious time of year when I get to attempt to list all my notable accomplishments without sounding either completely lame or completely full of myself. Some days I feel quite accomplished when I come home from work and realize that I haven't yet gone insane from being trapped in a windowless office and staring at words all day. Sometimes those words even make sense at the end of the day. But somehow I don't think that's quite what they're looking for on that list. Yes, I do think I accomplished some good things at work, but I didn't do them by myself, and taking credit for the entire sharing time outline or for getting the new Personal Progress stuff out on time sounds a bit pretentious. (Although just for the record, I had no say over the design of that Personal Progress stuff. Seriously, can you imagine me getting excited about all that frilly pink girliness? I may be turning into a girl, but I haven't gone off to live in Fairy Princess La-La Land.)

Anyway, I'd much rather think of all the other things I accomplished last year, and now that it's past the new year, I can do that. For instance, I survived leaving my baby brother at the MTC six days after my mom had open-heart surgery. That was a big one. I got a new nephew, got a new sister-in-law, finished a 5K without dying, and went surfing behind a boat. OK, those first two things would have happened with or without me, but I really enjoyed them both. I also saw the Cliffs of Moher, walked on the Giant's Causeway, kissed the Blarney Stone, learned to drive on the wrong side of the road, and sang myself hoarse at two U2 shows in Dublin. Yep, it was a pretty great year. I learned a lot, laughed a lot, cried a lot, and enjoyed myself immensely. And just like at work, I couldn't have done any of it on my own—and wouldn't have wanted to even if I could.

"Art" in the Parking Lot

2010-01-13T20:45:00.003-07:00

And I thought all the wacky decorations got packed away with the Christmas trees. Last week this fancy little number showed up in the parking lot at work. (Please forgive the low quality picture. I had to take it surreptitiously while pretending to text on my phone.) Notice the elegantly draped beading that beautifully brings the frostbitten flowers, dead twigs, and antiqued urns all together. Also notice the sparkly, spiky snowflakes dangling majestically from the pipes near the ceiling. If you look hard enough, you can see a few lonely strings from which other snowflakes used to dangle. My guess is that a few custodians got bored one night and used those snowflakes as target practice. Poor snowflakes. Some ruffians just don't understand real art when they see it.