Dear friends/family/blogstalkers:
This all started with one very funny story shared at a dinner table with some dear friends. I'll never forget that night. I am always pleased when a story gets such a reaction, but I was also pretty embarrassed. It was a delicious combination. Rare. Maybe that's what made it so delicious...
At that time, I was looking for a creative writing outlet and I thought this, Taco Tuesday Confessions, would be the perfect venue. And in many ways it has been. However, as the months have gone by and I have grown and changed, my need for public blogging has waxed and waned. I had originally started this blog to entertain. I like to entertain. I like to tell stories. I like to craft and build and suspend until just the perfect moment. I also like to write introspective pieces, insights I can share with those around me. However, I have found recently this venue has become a little too unwieldy for me to handle anymore. I miss the dinner table conversations, the close-knit friends who hear the deepest and darkest, the coming home with great pieces of news, the one-on-one time in the dark sharing secrets and hopes and dreams with those I love most. Most of all, I miss my family.
I know, it seems strange that this blog would make me miss my family. But I write them less; I call them less, mostly because I figure they are reading my blog. Some of them are. Some are not. And frankly, I shouldn't rely on this. I should call. Often. Oftener than I do, anyway.
So it is with some sadness that I bid the public blogging world farewell, at least as it concerns Taco Tuesday Confessions. I have enjoyed laughing with you all ... virtually and in person. I look forward to building stronger face-to-face bonds of friendship.
Thank you to everyone who has given words of encouragement over the last year and few months. I have grown up a lot through this experience, not only through crafting things to write to you all, but in the conversations I've had outside of this blog. I'm hopeful those conversations will continue and increase.
Peace out my friends.
With much love,
Your indiscriminate confessor no more,
Julie (a.k.a Cookie Monster - that remains unchanged)
p.s. I'll leave the blog public for another week or so, just so the word gets out. After that it will be private until I can find the time to get the significant postings off for posterity's sake. :)
Showing posts with label confession. Show all posts
Showing posts with label confession. Show all posts
Monday, June 8, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Milkshakes and The Excited Feeling
I was falling asleep at my desk today. I mean, literally head in my hands asleep (pretending to read whatever paper I had on my desk, of course). When I snapped awake at the ringing of my phone, I knew I had to get moving. So I went downstairs to Potbelly's to get a milkshake. Why not a cookie? Because it's hot outside and I was feeling a little thirsty. (However, I did buy their mini-cookie bag so I could at least have a little taste of cookie with my milkshake.) Let me tell you, though: milkshakes are always a bad idea. I mean, they are delicious, don't get me wrong. They are creamy and sweet and chocolatey and COLD and wonderful. But I'm lactose intolerant. Dairy = FAIL. Epic fail, even. I do such a good job of avoiding all other types of dairy. Why do I feel like my intolerance does not extend to milkshakes?! Because guess what. It does. I will pay dearly in about 2 or 3 hours...if not sooner. And it's not like this is a hit and miss kind of reaction. It happens every time.
To better understand this behavior, let's visit why I was so tired in the first place. I have a bedtime that I'm usually pretty good about keeping but have failed miserably to do so the last week or two for various reasons. Last night I was all set to make it on time because I was getting up at 5:30 to swim and was determined not to flake. But then I started chatting with friends , and secrets were being shared, and before I knew it, it was midnight. At some point somehow the conversation turned to The Excited Feeling and how it's a deceptive friend. You know the Feeling I'm talking about. It's the one where you meet someone really great and you feel like you click and you are really attracted on multiple levels (or maybe just one...) and you start making irrational decisions and jump headlong into a potentially (and likely) 2 feet deep pool. Or, to use last night's example, crash a speeding vehicle into a brick wall. I argued for a while on the side of giving into The Excited Feeling. I felt the reasons for killing The Excited Feeling were cynical and constituted an abandonment of hope. I argued that it was better to feel than not to feel, better to crash into the brick wall than to never approach it at all, better to experiment and fail than to never even try. Halfway into my argument I saw my faulty logic (a common occurrence), but I didn't want to admit that giving into The Excited Feeling is a mistake, because (1) I usually can't help myself, and (2) I'm not very good at admitting certain kinds of mistakes. But as I followed the logic of the opposing argument, I realized they weren't advocating killing The Excited Feeling altogether; they were merely saying that you can't trust it to guide you to good decisions, that it must be felt and tempered and that no decisions should be made based solely on that Feeling, because those ones are usually the mistakes. And not just hit and miss mistakes, but consistently bad choices.
Conclusion: Easy in, easy out. If you want something lasting, you do your homework, date for real, let The Excited Feeling give you momentum but don't let it drive!!! Let it out in small doses.
Like milkshakes.
If I have one or two sips of your milkshake, it's going to taste really good, but it won't hurt me. I don't need to feel the pain a full one would cause. In fact, I will arguably derive more satisfaction from two sips than I would from an entire one because even though I will have a tasty treat for longer with a milkshake all to myself, the consequences for that poor choice will last a long time. However, if I have one or two sips, I get the yummy taste and refreshing feeling without the consequences.
As I considered all of this last night and today, I realized that as I've gotten older, I've actually converged to this way of living without really realizing it. At least over the last few months I've noticed a difference. My feelings are tempered. I'm more patient. I'm more rational. There is still life in me, but I'm not engaging in self-destructive behavior. In other words, I'm MATURING, people. Goodness, I never thought it would happen. And it only took a Potbelly's chocolate milkshake on a sleepy afternoon to realize it.
To better understand this behavior, let's visit why I was so tired in the first place. I have a bedtime that I'm usually pretty good about keeping but have failed miserably to do so the last week or two for various reasons. Last night I was all set to make it on time because I was getting up at 5:30 to swim and was determined not to flake. But then I started chatting with friends , and secrets were being shared, and before I knew it, it was midnight. At some point somehow the conversation turned to The Excited Feeling and how it's a deceptive friend. You know the Feeling I'm talking about. It's the one where you meet someone really great and you feel like you click and you are really attracted on multiple levels (or maybe just one...) and you start making irrational decisions and jump headlong into a potentially (and likely) 2 feet deep pool. Or, to use last night's example, crash a speeding vehicle into a brick wall. I argued for a while on the side of giving into The Excited Feeling. I felt the reasons for killing The Excited Feeling were cynical and constituted an abandonment of hope. I argued that it was better to feel than not to feel, better to crash into the brick wall than to never approach it at all, better to experiment and fail than to never even try. Halfway into my argument I saw my faulty logic (a common occurrence), but I didn't want to admit that giving into The Excited Feeling is a mistake, because (1) I usually can't help myself, and (2) I'm not very good at admitting certain kinds of mistakes. But as I followed the logic of the opposing argument, I realized they weren't advocating killing The Excited Feeling altogether; they were merely saying that you can't trust it to guide you to good decisions, that it must be felt and tempered and that no decisions should be made based solely on that Feeling, because those ones are usually the mistakes. And not just hit and miss mistakes, but consistently bad choices.
Conclusion: Easy in, easy out. If you want something lasting, you do your homework, date for real, let The Excited Feeling give you momentum but don't let it drive!!! Let it out in small doses.
Like milkshakes.
If I have one or two sips of your milkshake, it's going to taste really good, but it won't hurt me. I don't need to feel the pain a full one would cause. In fact, I will arguably derive more satisfaction from two sips than I would from an entire one because even though I will have a tasty treat for longer with a milkshake all to myself, the consequences for that poor choice will last a long time. However, if I have one or two sips, I get the yummy taste and refreshing feeling without the consequences.
As I considered all of this last night and today, I realized that as I've gotten older, I've actually converged to this way of living without really realizing it. At least over the last few months I've noticed a difference. My feelings are tempered. I'm more patient. I'm more rational. There is still life in me, but I'm not engaging in self-destructive behavior. In other words, I'm MATURING, people. Goodness, I never thought it would happen. And it only took a Potbelly's chocolate milkshake on a sleepy afternoon to realize it.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
A speech like that deserves at least five cookies.
This is maybe too much of a confession for a Tuesday, but I've been sent a YouTube clip of how my psyche works and I felt it was only fair to share. Seriously, it's scary how close this comes to the truth some days...
Those who ran Ragnar Relay with me can attest to the single-tracked mind.
p.s. I haven't forgotten the fact that I never got my donut.
Those who ran Ragnar Relay with me can attest to the single-tracked mind.
p.s. I haven't forgotten the fact that I never got my donut.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Another one about cookies
I can't help it.
Today I was thinking about a funny incident that happened about a month ago and started laughing.
A Sunday night in early April found my roommate Kim and me in my bedroom. I upgraded to a big girl bed (read: queen-sized loveliness) in January and my room has hardwood floors, so the bed is generally the place of congregation. Kim had a story and had just launched into it when she stopped suddenly and looked down at my bedspread. She picked up something from off of it and said, "Julie, have you been eating cookies in bed?" I started to deny it (quite passionately -- I don't eat in my room), when I realized she was holding up an animal cracker, the very kind I had bought the day before. I still denied eating cookies in bed, but I couldn't figure out not only how the animal cracker got upstairs but how it had sat in the middle of my bed without it coming to my notice before that moment (I had been in my room, on my bed for most of the afternoon). We laughed over it, and I tossed it into the garbage can across the room. Our laughter attracted Niki who came and joined us on the bed for storytime. Kim restarted her story only to stop in the exact same spot. I followed her eyes to find yet another animal cracker on my bed, only it hadn't been there a second ago!!! Even they admitted it hadn't been there. Our laughter only got louder as we considered the possibility that animal crackers were reproducing on my bed, a concept made even funnier by the fact that my bedspread is of Noah's Ark.
Emily was drawn upstairs by the laughter. We told the story of the animal crackers, whereupon she suggested there was some connection between that and the wacky dreams I'd been having (which will not be recounted on this blog, sorry to disappoint - I do have some boundaries...). Then someone remembered there was pie and ice cream downstairs, so down we went. Boy were we one one... ("Is there any ice cream?" [as someone looks in the oven.] "I know you don't spend much time in the kitchen, but that is an oven. The freezer is over there."... "Is this a pie?" [as I took a pie out of the fridge. In my defense I had meant to say "is this the pie," as in "is this the pie we are allowed to eat?"]...).
It took me three days to figure out how the cookies had made it upstairs. I got home late on Saturday night and had wandered into the kitchen to find something that might quell the garlic I'd eaten earlier in the evening. I must have grabbed a couple of animal crackers on my way to bed and walked upstairs with them and then gotten distracted and put them down on one of my blankets that I, on Sunday afternoon, eventually curled up with. Turns out they weren't reproducing after all, though that image still makes me laugh...
I love cookies.
Today I was thinking about a funny incident that happened about a month ago and started laughing.
A Sunday night in early April found my roommate Kim and me in my bedroom. I upgraded to a big girl bed (read: queen-sized loveliness) in January and my room has hardwood floors, so the bed is generally the place of congregation. Kim had a story and had just launched into it when she stopped suddenly and looked down at my bedspread. She picked up something from off of it and said, "Julie, have you been eating cookies in bed?" I started to deny it (quite passionately -- I don't eat in my room), when I realized she was holding up an animal cracker, the very kind I had bought the day before. I still denied eating cookies in bed, but I couldn't figure out not only how the animal cracker got upstairs but how it had sat in the middle of my bed without it coming to my notice before that moment (I had been in my room, on my bed for most of the afternoon). We laughed over it, and I tossed it into the garbage can across the room. Our laughter attracted Niki who came and joined us on the bed for storytime. Kim restarted her story only to stop in the exact same spot. I followed her eyes to find yet another animal cracker on my bed, only it hadn't been there a second ago!!! Even they admitted it hadn't been there. Our laughter only got louder as we considered the possibility that animal crackers were reproducing on my bed, a concept made even funnier by the fact that my bedspread is of Noah's Ark.
Emily was drawn upstairs by the laughter. We told the story of the animal crackers, whereupon she suggested there was some connection between that and the wacky dreams I'd been having (which will not be recounted on this blog, sorry to disappoint - I do have some boundaries...). Then someone remembered there was pie and ice cream downstairs, so down we went. Boy were we one one... ("Is there any ice cream?" [as someone looks in the oven.] "I know you don't spend much time in the kitchen, but that is an oven. The freezer is over there."... "Is this a pie?" [as I took a pie out of the fridge. In my defense I had meant to say "is this the pie," as in "is this the pie we are allowed to eat?"]...).
It took me three days to figure out how the cookies had made it upstairs. I got home late on Saturday night and had wandered into the kitchen to find something that might quell the garlic I'd eaten earlier in the evening. I must have grabbed a couple of animal crackers on my way to bed and walked upstairs with them and then gotten distracted and put them down on one of my blankets that I, on Sunday afternoon, eventually curled up with. Turns out they weren't reproducing after all, though that image still makes me laugh...
I love cookies.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Confession: Cookie Consumption
Let's analyze:
Sunday: I made cookies for the first time in weeks. I ate three (plus a shameful amount of cookie dough).
Monday: There were gingersnaps on the counter. I don't usually like gingersnaps but I was hungry and the fridge only had stuff in it that required work to make edible. So I partook. They weren't half bad. Then I went to FHE, where I usually avoid the treats, but I got embarrassed while telling a story and insisted on having a cookie before I continued. Then I had two more to follow it up, trying to wash away further embarrassment. I felt sick before I even got home.
Today: A friend/boss brought in her baby [sigh] which she gave birth to in Argentina, even though neither she nor her husband are Argentinian (long story). She brought me back some Alfajores...I couldn't resist....
This has got to stop. I feel so ill. What has happened to me???
Monday, May 4, 2009
Confession: I sort of wish I was Maid Marian
I really thought the confession well had run dry, but apparently as I live life, I continue to generate more confessions. I should probably be more embarrassed about aspects of this confession than I'm going to be, but the embarrassment is outweighed by my current enthusiasm. I'm sure in a few months it will wear off and I'll reread this blog post and blush a little bit, but for now...
Some of you know of my medieval...leanings. I studied medieval history at Cambridge for two summers during my masters program, did most of my masters work on Tolkien, have a penchant for King Arthur, love the brilliance of Monty Python and the Holy Grail and am generally drawn to other various medieval appropriations, whether in book, film, or song. [Side note: No, I did not go to BYU and therefore no, I was not part of the "medieval club".] My interests are primarily scholastic in nature. However, I have been known to indulge in the occasional guilty pleasure.
(If you're still not convinced (this reference is primarilyfor the ladies because most men I know have not seen North & South), Mr. Thornton plays the Sheriff of Nottingham's right hand man...so if Jonas Armstrong (Robin Hood) is not enough to tempt you, just think about that one.)
(Picture courtesy of Emily via email this morning. Subject line: "welcome to work ms. bradshaw")
Some of you know of my medieval...leanings. I studied medieval history at Cambridge for two summers during my masters program, did most of my masters work on Tolkien, have a penchant for King Arthur, love the brilliance of Monty Python and the Holy Grail and am generally drawn to other various medieval appropriations, whether in book, film, or song. [Side note: No, I did not go to BYU and therefore no, I was not part of the "medieval club".] My interests are primarily scholastic in nature. However, I have been known to indulge in the occasional guilty pleasure.
Behold:
Robin Hood.
Be still my beating heart.
I know he doesn't look like much here, but rent, check out, buy, whatever, this BBC series. Trust me, you won't be sorry. It's smart, it's funny, the music is great, and the cast amazingly stacked with talented, reprehensible creatures as well as surprisingly charasmatic ones.
I was up until 1:00 this morning finishing season one, and for those who know how strict I am about my bedtime on a weeknight know, it takes a lot to break that routine. But I just had to know what happened.
I can hardly wait for season two to arrive...waiting...waiting...not so patiently...(If you're still not convinced (this reference is primarilyfor the ladies because most men I know have not seen North & South), Mr. Thornton plays the Sheriff of Nottingham's right hand man...so if Jonas Armstrong (Robin Hood) is not enough to tempt you, just think about that one.)
(Picture courtesy of Emily via email this morning. Subject line: "welcome to work ms. bradshaw")
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
In some ways I might be a 12-year-old boy...just sayin'
Okay, not really, but I sort of felt like it last night. I'd had a long day...it did perk up mid-day, but then there was the metro break-down on the way home and subsequently a very crowded train and a man who did not need to be standing as close to me as he was, smelling the way he did. Then the pollen explosion during my "hill workout" (I'm not kidding, I could feel it coating my mouth and skin) and the cramping hamstrings and calfs...I know, I'm borderline whining. But all this to get you to the end of my day, which was really great
I'm laying in my bed, watching season one of Robin Hood (greatest Netflix find this year), brushing my teeth, trying to decide if it's too early to turn in for the night, when Emily gchats me from the second floor asking if I'm home. Then asks what I'm doing. I tell her. Then I say, though I think we should be playing Nintendo. She agrees. I head down to the (much cooler) second floor.
Super Mario Brothers 3: I love that game so much. I think it was the first videogame I ever won. Countless hours spent on it as a teenager. It was actually kind of scary to find that after this many years, I still go to the same blocks, use the same turtle shells, the same tubes, fly in the same places, and still play with the B button constantly pushed. AND, we both found ourselves playing along with the other when it was their turn. There were lots of close calls and gasping, but we made it all the way to level 3 without losing one life. But let me just tell you, the water world is HARD!! It always has been. But Emily has a cheat book (seriously, 12 year old boys!) and we got the frog suit out of one of the mushroom houses.
I'm laying in my bed, watching season one of Robin Hood (greatest Netflix find this year), brushing my teeth, trying to decide if it's too early to turn in for the night, when Emily gchats me from the second floor asking if I'm home. Then asks what I'm doing. I tell her. Then I say, though I think we should be playing Nintendo. She agrees. I head down to the (much cooler) second floor.
Super Mario Brothers 3: I love that game so much. I think it was the first videogame I ever won. Countless hours spent on it as a teenager. It was actually kind of scary to find that after this many years, I still go to the same blocks, use the same turtle shells, the same tubes, fly in the same places, and still play with the B button constantly pushed. AND, we both found ourselves playing along with the other when it was their turn. There were lots of close calls and gasping, but we made it all the way to level 3 without losing one life. But let me just tell you, the water world is HARD!! It always has been. But Emily has a cheat book (seriously, 12 year old boys!) and we got the frog suit out of one of the mushroom houses.
I love the Tanooki suit.
I can't wait until the next Nintendo night.
p.s. I ended my game at level 3 with 15 lives. Just sayin'...
Monday, April 27, 2009
Educational weekend
This was one of those weekends where I learned various random things about myself.
1. A weekend vacation in Jamaica really can derail you for an entire week post-vacation.
2. My bedtime really is 10:30 whether I like it or not. I fell asleep sitting up in the backseat of a car during a fully interactive conversation for what felt like 5 minutes but I'm told was more like 40.
3. My allergies really are that bad. I ran out of medication and thought, I should be fine now, right? Wrong. By the time we made it to PA I was all croaky and my sinuses were building with pressure. We got meds but not soon enough, as evidenced by the fact I could barely breathe once we got back from our bike ride. It was not that big of a deal, but I guess it's sort of comforting to know that I'm not spending all this money for nothing...
4. I am still a little bit afraid of my bike, but a 60 mile ride did a lot to help me feel more confident, especially after my chain fell off and I put it back on like a pro and managed to catch back up with the group.
5. Despite my fear of clipless pedals, I'm determined to put them on my bike in the next week or two so that I can quit being a poser and be a real cyclist...or at least attempt to be one.
6. I realized I might be able to do a half-ironman at the end of the season...maybe.
7. I still won't eat soggy bread, no matter how starving I am. Seriously, if you (and by you I mean any restaurant) are going to have a gooey BBQ pork sandwich, you should really invest in more hearty buns for the sog-averse eater.
8. Paying someone a total of $6 ($1 per buggy) for saying good morning in German to the Dutch Amish is definitely worth it.
9. I'm too nice to make a "vroom" sound while passing a cyclist competing in an actual race.
10. I should never get off my bike after 50 miles with 10 to go. Ever.
11. My "happenings" tree is even more beautiful in bloom but casts the same spell over me as before. If I could lay under that tree every day for even just a few minutes I would be so happy.
12. I have great potential as a music producer.
1. A weekend vacation in Jamaica really can derail you for an entire week post-vacation.
2. My bedtime really is 10:30 whether I like it or not. I fell asleep sitting up in the backseat of a car during a fully interactive conversation for what felt like 5 minutes but I'm told was more like 40.
3. My allergies really are that bad. I ran out of medication and thought, I should be fine now, right? Wrong. By the time we made it to PA I was all croaky and my sinuses were building with pressure. We got meds but not soon enough, as evidenced by the fact I could barely breathe once we got back from our bike ride. It was not that big of a deal, but I guess it's sort of comforting to know that I'm not spending all this money for nothing...
4. I am still a little bit afraid of my bike, but a 60 mile ride did a lot to help me feel more confident, especially after my chain fell off and I put it back on like a pro and managed to catch back up with the group.
5. Despite my fear of clipless pedals, I'm determined to put them on my bike in the next week or two so that I can quit being a poser and be a real cyclist...or at least attempt to be one.
6. I realized I might be able to do a half-ironman at the end of the season...maybe.
7. I still won't eat soggy bread, no matter how starving I am. Seriously, if you (and by you I mean any restaurant) are going to have a gooey BBQ pork sandwich, you should really invest in more hearty buns for the sog-averse eater.
8. Paying someone a total of $6 ($1 per buggy) for saying good morning in German to the Dutch Amish is definitely worth it.
9. I'm too nice to make a "vroom" sound while passing a cyclist competing in an actual race.
10. I should never get off my bike after 50 miles with 10 to go. Ever.
11. My "happenings" tree is even more beautiful in bloom but casts the same spell over me as before. If I could lay under that tree every day for even just a few minutes I would be so happy.
12. I have great potential as a music producer.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Dad's Counsel
My dad is full of wisdom and good counsel. Having him as a mentor has made it so that as I get older, the stage at which I bring a problem or a decision to him for advice gets pushed further and further down the line. I will admit, though, sometimes we as his children would roll our eyes when he would give us the same few pieces of advice over and over again. Almost without fail, regardless of the problem, a counseling session with dad would elicit his most famous phrase : "Just tell that person how it makes you feel. Say 'I feel ________ when you do _______.' No one can argue with how you feel." We thought it was the lamest advice as kids. I mean, what kid uses that sort of sentence construction? But lame as we thought it was, we remembered it. Just this morning, Tom and I were talking about how wise that counsel was and how we use it a lot now in our adult lives, though I think it's probably been years since either of us have heard those words from our father.
The other piece of counsel my dad frequently gave has definitely been a governing force in my life. He used to tell me, "You can gauge how much you want something or how important it is to you by the price you are willing to pay." That counsel used to frustrate me so much as a teenager (and even as a college student), because he usually said it when I just wanted him to give something to me or tell me the easy way or find some way to circumvent the path that everyone else had to take. I felt cheated at times, feeling that certain paths were not open to me because of one thing or another, when in reality many (not all) were closed to me because I was unwilling to pay the price.
As I've set about trying to make some pretty serious life decisions for myself the last couple of years, I have used both this counsel and the feelings of the spirit to explore and make decisions. I have had some idea in my mind of where I have wanted to go and what I have wanted to do, but have been frustrated by my lack of experience required for some programs or jobs as well as various fears, such as failure, standardized tests, being poor, choosing the wrong path, etc. Earlier this year I took a break from actively pursuing and researching various ideas. I figured I either didn't know myself well enough to know what I wanted (or what I wanted enough to sacrifice for it), or that it just wasn't time to move on from this particular phase of life. Instead, I chose to focus on other short-term things I knew I could be successful in, racing being one of them.
I got involved in some intense training and planning and even coaching a little bit. I became aware one day of all the time I was putting into this and remembered my dad's counsel. Clearly this was something that was important to me because of the time and effort I was putting in, and, while it was taxing at times, it didn't feel like sacrifice. I filed that feeling away (but not too far away) hoping to be able to access it when I felt it was again time to start exploring job and life options.
That time came not too long after. I think because the training experience was so fresh in my mind, and because I had been mulling over Dad's counsel, I revisited a path that had initially felt closed to me but suddenly became an option. And not only an option, but upon investigation was the obvious choice. The amount of work required to go down this path did not change, but I found that I was no longer daunted by the steps required. In fact, it has been fun and exciting, and I feel confident I will succeed.
I mentioned this all in passing to my dad soon after I had set the plan in motion. He listened to the details and then said, in that soft and low voice he uses when he's really proud and feels both rationally and spiritually that something is a good decision, "I think this is a really good path for you, Julie." I didn't need his approval to move forward but because I had used his counsel to make a decision that I felt great about, his reaction was so satisfying. And when he followed that up with, "I have complete confidence that you will continue to make good decisions for yourself," I cried just a little bit. The only words that came to my mind were, "Because of you Dad. Because of you."
I hope I will have the same unflagging courage (and capacity) to give unpopular but wise advice to my own children. I will always be grateful to my own father for his wisdom and courage to share freely what he knows to be true.
The other piece of counsel my dad frequently gave has definitely been a governing force in my life. He used to tell me, "You can gauge how much you want something or how important it is to you by the price you are willing to pay." That counsel used to frustrate me so much as a teenager (and even as a college student), because he usually said it when I just wanted him to give something to me or tell me the easy way or find some way to circumvent the path that everyone else had to take. I felt cheated at times, feeling that certain paths were not open to me because of one thing or another, when in reality many (not all) were closed to me because I was unwilling to pay the price.
As I've set about trying to make some pretty serious life decisions for myself the last couple of years, I have used both this counsel and the feelings of the spirit to explore and make decisions. I have had some idea in my mind of where I have wanted to go and what I have wanted to do, but have been frustrated by my lack of experience required for some programs or jobs as well as various fears, such as failure, standardized tests, being poor, choosing the wrong path, etc. Earlier this year I took a break from actively pursuing and researching various ideas. I figured I either didn't know myself well enough to know what I wanted (or what I wanted enough to sacrifice for it), or that it just wasn't time to move on from this particular phase of life. Instead, I chose to focus on other short-term things I knew I could be successful in, racing being one of them.
I got involved in some intense training and planning and even coaching a little bit. I became aware one day of all the time I was putting into this and remembered my dad's counsel. Clearly this was something that was important to me because of the time and effort I was putting in, and, while it was taxing at times, it didn't feel like sacrifice. I filed that feeling away (but not too far away) hoping to be able to access it when I felt it was again time to start exploring job and life options.
That time came not too long after. I think because the training experience was so fresh in my mind, and because I had been mulling over Dad's counsel, I revisited a path that had initially felt closed to me but suddenly became an option. And not only an option, but upon investigation was the obvious choice. The amount of work required to go down this path did not change, but I found that I was no longer daunted by the steps required. In fact, it has been fun and exciting, and I feel confident I will succeed.
I mentioned this all in passing to my dad soon after I had set the plan in motion. He listened to the details and then said, in that soft and low voice he uses when he's really proud and feels both rationally and spiritually that something is a good decision, "I think this is a really good path for you, Julie." I didn't need his approval to move forward but because I had used his counsel to make a decision that I felt great about, his reaction was so satisfying. And when he followed that up with, "I have complete confidence that you will continue to make good decisions for yourself," I cried just a little bit. The only words that came to my mind were, "Because of you Dad. Because of you."
I hope I will have the same unflagging courage (and capacity) to give unpopular but wise advice to my own children. I will always be grateful to my own father for his wisdom and courage to share freely what he knows to be true.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Confession
I'm actually a little bit embarrassed to offer up this particular confession because it's just the sort of thing I make fun of my mom for.
Up until about a week ago I thought
The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man
was actually
The State Puffed Marshmallow Man
I know, I know. It makes no sense, but I saw Ghostbusters for the first time when I was pretty young and that's what I heard and I've had no reason to even consider I had heard wrong. Imagine my surprise when, while purusing last year's Peep Show contest on The Washington Post's website, I saw a diorama of the famous scene from Ghostbusters with a caption that had the correct spelling (and therefore the correct concept). It was like this gigantic lightbulb went off in my head as I thought, "Aaaaaah, now that makes more sense."
Thursday, April 9, 2009
A boring, mish-mash day
1. I've been listening to the same two songs on repeat for the last 2 days.
2. In an attempt to get my hands on my SAT scores, I've discovered I need to submit by mail, a form to drudge my scores out of the SAT archives. It brought to my remembrance the days of yore when I had to register for college classes over the phone and I felt a teeny bit old.
3. Generic allergy medicine does not equal brand name. I will never make that mistake again.
4. I watched a movie this past weekend that made me want to compete in track and field again real bad. I've been working hard to move from marathon mode to 10k-and-below mode but I forget how much "quick" hurts. I'm not used to my lungs feeling like they're going to explode, but I kind of like it. Today I noticed that, tired as I was, there were hints of that old familiar feeling of sore but strong muscles that can and will work through anything. Mmmmm...I can almost smell the hot rubber of an all-weather track now...
5. I had an inexplicable urge to watch a Bollywood movie while on my run yesterday and my celebrity-crush on Hrithik Roshan came rushing back. I kind of want to watch Kaho Naa Pyaar Hai. Or Krrish.
One of my favorite clips from KNPH, for your viewing pleasure:
And maybe a picture of Hrithik, just so you get the idea:
6. I ate a cookie on Sunday and felt sick. I haven't had one since then. I got a little scared today that perhaps -- I'm almost afraid to say it outloud -- I'm reexperiencing an extended period of time during college wherein I lost all desire for sweets. I suppose there are worse things in life, but still, it was a strange realization.
7. I had a really funny thought when I woke up this morning but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Then around mid-morning for some reason a quote from the movie Emma to my mind: "And I know how you like news." I love that quote. And I love that movie, except for the middle part with Jane Fairfax and all that nonsense. I always have to fast-forward through the picnic scene because it's just so uncomfortable.
8. The sunrise was beautiful this morning.
9. Today, due to a series of events I will not outline here because (if you can believe it) they are more boring than the rest of this blog posting, I revisited the story of David and the Bathsheba aftermath. You know, the part where the prophet Nathan tells David the parable or the rich man taking the poor man's only lamb and then tells David "thou art the man." I remember the first time I was taught about David's fall. I felt so betrayed that all through primary we learned about David and Goliath and about David's friendship with Jonathan and all these wonderful things and then BAM! You get to seminary and learn about Bathsheba and all that mess...I remember that day in seminary so clearly. I literally cried through most of the day. It was the cause of some great soul searching during my sophomore year. Every time I think about that story, my heart feels so heavy, both because it is so tragic and because feeling the weight of the Lord's chastisement is my worst nightmare. Basically, he told David, I've given you everything, and had you felt like it wasn't enough, I would have given you more. And yet, and yet...you had to go and take the one thing you shouldn't have taken, and that was where you fouled up. You can hear the love wrapped up in the tremendous disappointment and feeling of tragedy in God's voice. My worst fear, truly, is for God to be disappointed in me because of a lack of faith and obedience.
10. Can't end on that downer. I found, no joke, an eyebrow about an inch long this morning, hiding. In fact, the only reason I saw it was because sometime, somehow it had turned BLONDE. Weird. I plucked that sucker right out. I almost sent it to you, Tom. You know why.
2. In an attempt to get my hands on my SAT scores, I've discovered I need to submit by mail, a form to drudge my scores out of the SAT archives. It brought to my remembrance the days of yore when I had to register for college classes over the phone and I felt a teeny bit old.
3. Generic allergy medicine does not equal brand name. I will never make that mistake again.
4. I watched a movie this past weekend that made me want to compete in track and field again real bad. I've been working hard to move from marathon mode to 10k-and-below mode but I forget how much "quick" hurts. I'm not used to my lungs feeling like they're going to explode, but I kind of like it. Today I noticed that, tired as I was, there were hints of that old familiar feeling of sore but strong muscles that can and will work through anything. Mmmmm...I can almost smell the hot rubber of an all-weather track now...
5. I had an inexplicable urge to watch a Bollywood movie while on my run yesterday and my celebrity-crush on Hrithik Roshan came rushing back. I kind of want to watch Kaho Naa Pyaar Hai. Or Krrish.
One of my favorite clips from KNPH, for your viewing pleasure:
And maybe a picture of Hrithik, just so you get the idea:
6. I ate a cookie on Sunday and felt sick. I haven't had one since then. I got a little scared today that perhaps -- I'm almost afraid to say it outloud -- I'm reexperiencing an extended period of time during college wherein I lost all desire for sweets. I suppose there are worse things in life, but still, it was a strange realization.
7. I had a really funny thought when I woke up this morning but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Then around mid-morning for some reason a quote from the movie Emma to my mind: "And I know how you like news." I love that quote. And I love that movie, except for the middle part with Jane Fairfax and all that nonsense. I always have to fast-forward through the picnic scene because it's just so uncomfortable.
8. The sunrise was beautiful this morning.
9. Today, due to a series of events I will not outline here because (if you can believe it) they are more boring than the rest of this blog posting, I revisited the story of David and the Bathsheba aftermath. You know, the part where the prophet Nathan tells David the parable or the rich man taking the poor man's only lamb and then tells David "thou art the man." I remember the first time I was taught about David's fall. I felt so betrayed that all through primary we learned about David and Goliath and about David's friendship with Jonathan and all these wonderful things and then BAM! You get to seminary and learn about Bathsheba and all that mess...I remember that day in seminary so clearly. I literally cried through most of the day. It was the cause of some great soul searching during my sophomore year. Every time I think about that story, my heart feels so heavy, both because it is so tragic and because feeling the weight of the Lord's chastisement is my worst nightmare. Basically, he told David, I've given you everything, and had you felt like it wasn't enough, I would have given you more. And yet, and yet...you had to go and take the one thing you shouldn't have taken, and that was where you fouled up. You can hear the love wrapped up in the tremendous disappointment and feeling of tragedy in God's voice. My worst fear, truly, is for God to be disappointed in me because of a lack of faith and obedience.
10. Can't end on that downer. I found, no joke, an eyebrow about an inch long this morning, hiding. In fact, the only reason I saw it was because sometime, somehow it had turned BLONDE. Weird. I plucked that sucker right out. I almost sent it to you, Tom. You know why.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
[insert big fat smiley face right here]
During lunch I went to buy these:
Which I did.
But I also bought these:
You might be asking why I need two new pairs of running shoes (and why the second pair makes me smile bigger than the first pair). Or you might not actually care, in which case you should stop reading because I'm going to explain and it might be boring for you.
The pair on top, the Mizuno Wave Creation 10, are my trainers, the pair I do my long runs in, the pair that are for sure going to take care of my feet, shins, knees, and back. They are my reliables. I realized the other day I had put close to 450 miles on my current pair (oops!) instead of the 350 I thought I was at. (You really should only put about 350-400 miles on a pair of shoes, especially if you are injury-prone.) So yeah, I needed a new pair. Check. Nice, but not necessarily exciting.
Now the Brooks Racer ST4...those are exciting. Why? Well, because they are racers. What are racers? Racers = speed (they weigh less than half what the Mizunos weigh), and it's been years since I've put on a pair (even though I've been researching them almost every year). These babies make track workouts fun, hill workouts easier, and races faster. These babies are going to take me to a sub-6 mile this summer.
Which I did.
But I also bought these:
[insert big fat smiley face right here]
You might be asking why I need two new pairs of running shoes (and why the second pair makes me smile bigger than the first pair). Or you might not actually care, in which case you should stop reading because I'm going to explain and it might be boring for you.
The pair on top, the Mizuno Wave Creation 10, are my trainers, the pair I do my long runs in, the pair that are for sure going to take care of my feet, shins, knees, and back. They are my reliables. I realized the other day I had put close to 450 miles on my current pair (oops!) instead of the 350 I thought I was at. (You really should only put about 350-400 miles on a pair of shoes, especially if you are injury-prone.) So yeah, I needed a new pair. Check. Nice, but not necessarily exciting.
Now the Brooks Racer ST4...those are exciting. Why? Well, because they are racers. What are racers? Racers = speed (they weigh less than half what the Mizunos weigh), and it's been years since I've put on a pair (even though I've been researching them almost every year). These babies make track workouts fun, hill workouts easier, and races faster. These babies are going to take me to a sub-6 mile this summer.
I saw them. I wanted.
I succumbed to temptation.
I tried on a pair. I caved. I bought.
I'm so excited.
I'm so excited.
p.s. On a completely unrelated note, I just saw an advertisement for X-Men Origins: Wolverine and got a little shiver of anticipation. I can hardly wait.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Yeah, NOT a kid's movie.
Last night was an interesting night. The ranks gathered for TT and the jokes about yesterday's post were flying. One of the attendees hadn't had a chance to read the post (hey, at least someone's working at work) and so Kim decided to read the post aloud in the kitchen as we finished cooking.
I'll admit, I've never heard my work read aloud in a non-workshop setting. It was slightly unnerving. It was also a little exhilerating. It made me sort of feel like a real writer. Everyone laughed in just the right places, moments were relived, and some even clapped when it was done. I self-consciously stirred the beans and occupied myself with serving up dinner, but was secretly a little bit pleased.
We ate, talked, and confessed, and eventually the crowd dispersed and I was left in the kitchen with Leanna and Katie. Leanna was cooking up a storm, as usual, and I was trying to learn by observing, as usual. Leanna cooks with lots of different vegetables, which I love. Last night she pulled out these:
Radishes.
I'll admit, I've never heard my work read aloud in a non-workshop setting. It was slightly unnerving. It was also a little exhilerating. It made me sort of feel like a real writer. Everyone laughed in just the right places, moments were relived, and some even clapped when it was done. I self-consciously stirred the beans and occupied myself with serving up dinner, but was secretly a little bit pleased.
We ate, talked, and confessed, and eventually the crowd dispersed and I was left in the kitchen with Leanna and Katie. Leanna was cooking up a storm, as usual, and I was trying to learn by observing, as usual. Leanna cooks with lots of different vegetables, which I love. Last night she pulled out these:
Radishes.
I have an irrational confession to make, and it deals with radishes. It's not that I don't like them--I can't actually remember the last time I ate one (I was maybe 7?)--but they scare me. I know. Who gets scared of vegetables, right? Well. Hi. My name's Julie.
I decided I hadn't really confessed to anything earlier in the evening, and I've always kind of wanted to have this fear quelled, so I decided to share:
"So...I've always been a little bit afraid of radishes." [Leanna paused in cooking and Katie looked straight at me, ready for a good confession.] "I know this sounds weird but one of my earliest childhood memories involves a movie, and in it there's this woman who's pregnant and I think she craves radishes and --" I paused, uncertain I wanted to continue. Why? Well, other than the fact that it is ridiculous to feel the way I do about a vegetable, I've always been afraid that it's been a made-up memory, and yet it has seriously governed my feelings towards radishes. (And dreams, come to think of it.) That's when Katie chimed in with "--and her husband goes out to the garden to get them for her?"
Relief washed over me. The memory was real!
"Yes!! That's it!! And then something totally creepy happens in the garden and it's dark and then she can't eat the radishes for some reason and...and...I don't remember what else!"
Neither one of us could remember the movie's name or what it was even about, but we both had the same memories of the movie. I was convinced it was some horror/thriller movie that I had inadvertently walked in on my brothers watching. Anyway, the scene in the garden was so traumatizing that I have avoided radishes my whole life. I know. It's ridiculous.
Want to know what's even more ridiculous? I got up this morning, still thinking about how I felt like a missing piece of my life's puzzle had been found, and decided to google a few terms ("radish husband garden movie") to see if I couldn't locate the movie that scarred me so badly. Yeah. Not a horror film.
I decided I hadn't really confessed to anything earlier in the evening, and I've always kind of wanted to have this fear quelled, so I decided to share:
"So...I've always been a little bit afraid of radishes." [Leanna paused in cooking and Katie looked straight at me, ready for a good confession.] "I know this sounds weird but one of my earliest childhood memories involves a movie, and in it there's this woman who's pregnant and I think she craves radishes and --" I paused, uncertain I wanted to continue. Why? Well, other than the fact that it is ridiculous to feel the way I do about a vegetable, I've always been afraid that it's been a made-up memory, and yet it has seriously governed my feelings towards radishes. (And dreams, come to think of it.) That's when Katie chimed in with "--and her husband goes out to the garden to get them for her?"
Relief washed over me. The memory was real!
"Yes!! That's it!! And then something totally creepy happens in the garden and it's dark and then she can't eat the radishes for some reason and...and...I don't remember what else!"
Neither one of us could remember the movie's name or what it was even about, but we both had the same memories of the movie. I was convinced it was some horror/thriller movie that I had inadvertently walked in on my brothers watching. Anyway, the scene in the garden was so traumatizing that I have avoided radishes my whole life. I know. It's ridiculous.
Want to know what's even more ridiculous? I got up this morning, still thinking about how I felt like a missing piece of my life's puzzle had been found, and decided to google a few terms ("radish husband garden movie") to see if I couldn't locate the movie that scarred me so badly. Yeah. Not a horror film.
Rapunzel.
With Jeff Bridges.
What?!
I opened the synopsis and was horrified to relive this memory that was so traumatic at 3 or 4 or however old I was. Sure enough, there in the synopsis was the dream, the radishes, the garden, the WITCH, the baby-stealing, everything. I don't remember this movie having anything to do with Rapunzel. I just remember the dream. And the radishes. And the husband. And the garden. And the creepy thing that happened in the garden. And BAM! Just like that, at the tender age of toddler was born a fear of radishes. Not of witches, or baby-stealing, or gardens. Radishes .
Yeah. Not a kid's movie.
Yeah. Not a kid's movie.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Love Versus Lust (a.k.a. Samoas v. Granny B's Pink Cookies of Death)
Oh, the composition of this blog post started off so differently than it's going to end up. That's one thing I really love about writing. Thinking you're going to write about one thing and then you get to the end and realize you have to rewrite the whole thing because you're last sentence was dynamite and the whole blog post should really be about that. Yeah, this is one of those.
This post is ultimately going to be about cookies and love.
Let's start at the beginning.
There was an...incident in the kitchen the other night. It was Taco Tuesday and I thought as a nice treat to the group, I would purchase some Girl Scout cookies for dessert. I thought for sure I would be strong enough to bring the contraband into the house and not partake. [sigh]
I won't go into details of how we ended up here, only to say that around 10:30 that night, I found myself in the kitchen with three of my roommates and one honorary roommate. I had purposefully brushed my teeth to avoid consumption of the Samoas I knew were in the kitchen. We started chatting about the day, etc. when someone opened the cookies. They smelled really good, and I figured I could probably just eat one and be fine. Problem is, everyone knew about the cookie fast. I think Kim could sense my shifty eyes, because she moved them farther away. I finally decided I wanted one, and because I didn't want to have to justify my decision before I ate the cookie, I lunged across the counter and in one fell swoop swept up the cookie and popped it into my mouth, all before anyone could say anything. I don't know what I expected, maybe for the conversation to go on without interruption, but the reaction in the kitchen was...well...funny. First there was stunned silence. Then came the laughter and reenactments. Emily likened me to Buddy the Elf with the cotton balls. Reed said he'd never seen such a deft lunge. I did it to be funny (the lunge, not the consumption), but I think it was seen as an act of desperation. After all, I did break the cookie fast in one deft lunge; or, rather, it broke me.
Today I was listening to a segment of RadioLab (I will blog about my love for RadioLab another time) and laughed at its appropriate timing. This week's short podcast was on Mischel's Marshmallows, an experiment in which they were testing the ability of children to delay gratification.
This is the link to the podcast:
http://blogs.wnyc.org/radiolab/2009/03/09/mischel%e2%80%99s-marshmallows/
And below is the video associated with it. If you don't listen to the podcast (it's only 15 minutes) basically this is the video of 4- to 6-year-olds put in a room with three cookies. They are told they can either have one cookie now, or two cookies later...if they wait.
I love this video because of the tactics these kids use to stave off temptation. I especially love the kid who licks the insides of the cookies and then tries to rearrange them so that no one will notice. I know which kid I would probably be. I know what you're probably thinking, that I would either be the kid licking the cookies or the kid not shown leaping across the table to grab all three. Not so. I would be able to resist. I have lots of willpower.
I wrote as much in an email to those who witnessed the kitchen incident.
To my shock, these are the replies I received:
From Reed: "Yeah, in my mind Jules, there's no doubt about it. You'd have definitely failed. But you would have dominated the eat the cookie in one bite test!!"
From Kim: "Dominating that test while killing all others who may be in the path to said cookie..." (Just because there was almost an additional incident involving a "cup"...)
And my favorite, from Emily:
Now, here's the thing. Maybe I should be embarrassed. Along with all of this, recently a friend remarked to me that he had never met anyone who took so much joy in the making and/or consumption of cookies. And I was embarrassed at first (I mean, who wants to be known as the girl who eats cookies, let alone the one who lunges across counters for them?) but then I realized that my love for them really has become more...pronounced as I have spent more time away from my family.
My mom used to make her famous chocolate chip cookies every week. She would time them to come out of the oven for right when we got home from school. We were allowed to have one spoonful of cookie dough and one hot cookie with milk. We would stand around and eat them as we talked about our days. I can still feel the sunshine coming into the kitchen through our awesome 70's wavy-glass window as I tried to pick out the perfect cookie. So, I guess cookies = love. Could I resist them? Yes, of course. But that's like saying I can resist love. Sure, I can do it, but why would I want to? It's much more satisfying to give and receive than to eschew, even if it does require I run a few extra miles to accommodate.
But do all cookies = love? you ask. I say, nay. Some cookies = LUST. Specifically, Granny B's (a.k.a Granny B's Pink Cookies of Death). I can be funny and lunge across a counter for a Samoa because they are yummy and little and sold once a year. You can be funny about love like that. Granny B's Pink Cookies of Death...I don't know. The first time I ever had one was in Nauvoo. We had participated in Mississippi by Moonlight or something to that effect and done some reel dancing and our treat was these individually wrapped sugar cookies. I normally don't like sugar cookies, I told myself, but I'll go ahead and try it. [sigh] I had never tasted anything so wonderfully sinful. I mean, the cookie is not even that good, but something about it spoke to my guilty pleasure meter. Those are not cookies you lunge for. Those are the cookies you sit and stare at, walk by, walk around, and tell yourself in no uncertain terms should you eat one. And yet. And yet...
We have a box of them sitting on our kitchen counter.
I saw them last night and I think a wimper might have escaped. I have had imitation versions of these cookies over the years, but I have never since had a Granny B's. Not since that fateful night in Nauvoo, 8 years ago. It might be more than I can take, I thought. But this morning I saw them again and did not feel tempted. It's not worth the sugar jolt to my system, nor is it worth jeapordizing my run in the morning. I can tell the difference between love and lust...I will prevail.
Take that.
This post is ultimately going to be about cookies and love.
Let's start at the beginning.
There was an...incident in the kitchen the other night. It was Taco Tuesday and I thought as a nice treat to the group, I would purchase some Girl Scout cookies for dessert. I thought for sure I would be strong enough to bring the contraband into the house and not partake. [sigh]
I won't go into details of how we ended up here, only to say that around 10:30 that night, I found myself in the kitchen with three of my roommates and one honorary roommate. I had purposefully brushed my teeth to avoid consumption of the Samoas I knew were in the kitchen. We started chatting about the day, etc. when someone opened the cookies. They smelled really good, and I figured I could probably just eat one and be fine. Problem is, everyone knew about the cookie fast. I think Kim could sense my shifty eyes, because she moved them farther away. I finally decided I wanted one, and because I didn't want to have to justify my decision before I ate the cookie, I lunged across the counter and in one fell swoop swept up the cookie and popped it into my mouth, all before anyone could say anything. I don't know what I expected, maybe for the conversation to go on without interruption, but the reaction in the kitchen was...well...funny. First there was stunned silence. Then came the laughter and reenactments. Emily likened me to Buddy the Elf with the cotton balls. Reed said he'd never seen such a deft lunge. I did it to be funny (the lunge, not the consumption), but I think it was seen as an act of desperation. After all, I did break the cookie fast in one deft lunge; or, rather, it broke me.
Today I was listening to a segment of RadioLab (I will blog about my love for RadioLab another time) and laughed at its appropriate timing. This week's short podcast was on Mischel's Marshmallows, an experiment in which they were testing the ability of children to delay gratification.
This is the link to the podcast:
http://blogs.wnyc.org/radiolab/2009/03/09/mischel%e2%80%99s-marshmallows/
And below is the video associated with it. If you don't listen to the podcast (it's only 15 minutes) basically this is the video of 4- to 6-year-olds put in a room with three cookies. They are told they can either have one cookie now, or two cookies later...if they wait.
I love this video because of the tactics these kids use to stave off temptation. I especially love the kid who licks the insides of the cookies and then tries to rearrange them so that no one will notice. I know which kid I would probably be. I know what you're probably thinking, that I would either be the kid licking the cookies or the kid not shown leaping across the table to grab all three. Not so. I would be able to resist. I have lots of willpower.
I wrote as much in an email to those who witnessed the kitchen incident.
To my shock, these are the replies I received:
From Reed: "Yeah, in my mind Jules, there's no doubt about it. You'd have definitely failed. But you would have dominated the eat the cookie in one bite test!!"
From Kim: "Dominating that test while killing all others who may be in the path to said cookie..." (Just because there was almost an additional incident involving a "cup"...)
And my favorite, from Emily:
Now, here's the thing. Maybe I should be embarrassed. Along with all of this, recently a friend remarked to me that he had never met anyone who took so much joy in the making and/or consumption of cookies. And I was embarrassed at first (I mean, who wants to be known as the girl who eats cookies, let alone the one who lunges across counters for them?) but then I realized that my love for them really has become more...pronounced as I have spent more time away from my family.
My mom used to make her famous chocolate chip cookies every week. She would time them to come out of the oven for right when we got home from school. We were allowed to have one spoonful of cookie dough and one hot cookie with milk. We would stand around and eat them as we talked about our days. I can still feel the sunshine coming into the kitchen through our awesome 70's wavy-glass window as I tried to pick out the perfect cookie. So, I guess cookies = love. Could I resist them? Yes, of course. But that's like saying I can resist love. Sure, I can do it, but why would I want to? It's much more satisfying to give and receive than to eschew, even if it does require I run a few extra miles to accommodate.
But do all cookies = love? you ask. I say, nay. Some cookies = LUST. Specifically, Granny B's (a.k.a Granny B's Pink Cookies of Death). I can be funny and lunge across a counter for a Samoa because they are yummy and little and sold once a year. You can be funny about love like that. Granny B's Pink Cookies of Death...I don't know. The first time I ever had one was in Nauvoo. We had participated in Mississippi by Moonlight or something to that effect and done some reel dancing and our treat was these individually wrapped sugar cookies. I normally don't like sugar cookies, I told myself, but I'll go ahead and try it. [sigh] I had never tasted anything so wonderfully sinful. I mean, the cookie is not even that good, but something about it spoke to my guilty pleasure meter. Those are not cookies you lunge for. Those are the cookies you sit and stare at, walk by, walk around, and tell yourself in no uncertain terms should you eat one. And yet. And yet...
We have a box of them sitting on our kitchen counter.
I saw them last night and I think a wimper might have escaped. I have had imitation versions of these cookies over the years, but I have never since had a Granny B's. Not since that fateful night in Nauvoo, 8 years ago. It might be more than I can take, I thought. But this morning I saw them again and did not feel tempted. It's not worth the sugar jolt to my system, nor is it worth jeapordizing my run in the morning. I can tell the difference between love and lust...I will prevail.
Take that.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
New crimes, new culprits
Today is one of those glorious days where blog material after blog material comes screaming into my life. And it's only 10:00 in the morning.
Let's start with the fact that I was a touch late to work because I stood in the shower for far too long this morning. I keep looking at the weekend forecast, looking heavenward and kissing the sky for the forecasted 70 degrees we are going to be blessed with on Saturday, and thinking that my runs in the morning should feel like that balmy. Yeah, no. There's still snow on the trail. And ice. Not a ton, but enough to make my feet sore and me nervous about breaking or twisting something. Anyway, the shower was divine and it's going to be 70 degrees on Saturday. Gosh, okay, the weather = not interesting blog material. But all that was to get us to breakfast.
Everyone seemed to be running late today, not just me, which made me sad because preparing lunches and eating breakfast is sometimes my favorite part of the day with my roommates. It's where we talk about the previous night's activities, dreams we've had the night before (usually that's just me), plans for after work... There was no time for details this morning, only allusions to funny stories that must be shared. The suspense is killing me. I do love a good story.
Then, I got into work. On the high of story delight, I was called back down to "reality" upon the discovery of a new printer issue. Yeah, remember how this blog started? The confession involving the legal assistant who never filled the printer with paper and my daily routine of ream...opening? Read here if you're lost. The rest of this story won't make sense otherwise, and as this is the incident this post has been building up to, it's really in your best interest to read it. Ahem, anyway. As I was saying, we now have a new culprit and a new crime.
Lately, when the orange light blinks and I walk over to fill the printer with paper, I find that someone has already been there. Recently. How do I know? There is an almost complete ream of paper still inside a mangled wrapper sitting by the printer. Whomever is doing this is simply putting just enough paper in the printer to finish their print job. What?! I have two issues with this:
1. It seems incredibly self-centered to put in just enough paper for your own print job and no one else who might come after you. It is, after all, a shared printer. And what about the next print job you're going to send there? Huh? What are you going to do then? Just put the whole ream in. Then I won't have to look at the mangled shreds of your attempt. Which takes us to number two.
2. (And this probably should have been number one) Why are you mangling the wrapper?! It hurts my heart to see it opened so haphazardly. For several reasons. The first being my need for order and cleanliness. I don't know why it extends to the ream of paper, but it does. Second, it's like finding out that girl you don't really know but get the feeling that you don't really like has started dating your ex-boyfriend. She doesn't necessarily know that every time you see them together a little part of your heart aches, so she goes about her business, oblivious to everything but her own needs and happiness. Okay, so maybe that's a little dramatic. I mean, it's not like I anxiously await my opportunity to fill the printer with paper, but it does feel a little strange to know that someone else is doing it, and doing it without the thoughts that plague me. I sort of wish sometimes that I could live a more normal life with a less-active imagination and/or internal dialogue. But then, I wouldn't be me and this blog would be a lot more boring.
All of this, along with poorly-chosen g-chat statuses and subsequent chats have given me quite the entertaining morning.
I hope the afternoon passes a little more quietly. Wait, no I don't.
Let's start with the fact that I was a touch late to work because I stood in the shower for far too long this morning. I keep looking at the weekend forecast, looking heavenward and kissing the sky for the forecasted 70 degrees we are going to be blessed with on Saturday, and thinking that my runs in the morning should feel like that balmy. Yeah, no. There's still snow on the trail. And ice. Not a ton, but enough to make my feet sore and me nervous about breaking or twisting something. Anyway, the shower was divine and it's going to be 70 degrees on Saturday. Gosh, okay, the weather = not interesting blog material. But all that was to get us to breakfast.
Everyone seemed to be running late today, not just me, which made me sad because preparing lunches and eating breakfast is sometimes my favorite part of the day with my roommates. It's where we talk about the previous night's activities, dreams we've had the night before (usually that's just me), plans for after work... There was no time for details this morning, only allusions to funny stories that must be shared. The suspense is killing me. I do love a good story.
Then, I got into work. On the high of story delight, I was called back down to "reality" upon the discovery of a new printer issue. Yeah, remember how this blog started? The confession involving the legal assistant who never filled the printer with paper and my daily routine of ream...opening? Read here if you're lost. The rest of this story won't make sense otherwise, and as this is the incident this post has been building up to, it's really in your best interest to read it. Ahem, anyway. As I was saying, we now have a new culprit and a new crime.
Lately, when the orange light blinks and I walk over to fill the printer with paper, I find that someone has already been there. Recently. How do I know? There is an almost complete ream of paper still inside a mangled wrapper sitting by the printer. Whomever is doing this is simply putting just enough paper in the printer to finish their print job. What?! I have two issues with this:
1. It seems incredibly self-centered to put in just enough paper for your own print job and no one else who might come after you. It is, after all, a shared printer. And what about the next print job you're going to send there? Huh? What are you going to do then? Just put the whole ream in. Then I won't have to look at the mangled shreds of your attempt. Which takes us to number two.
2. (And this probably should have been number one) Why are you mangling the wrapper?! It hurts my heart to see it opened so haphazardly. For several reasons. The first being my need for order and cleanliness. I don't know why it extends to the ream of paper, but it does. Second, it's like finding out that girl you don't really know but get the feeling that you don't really like has started dating your ex-boyfriend. She doesn't necessarily know that every time you see them together a little part of your heart aches, so she goes about her business, oblivious to everything but her own needs and happiness. Okay, so maybe that's a little dramatic. I mean, it's not like I anxiously await my opportunity to fill the printer with paper, but it does feel a little strange to know that someone else is doing it, and doing it without the thoughts that plague me. I sort of wish sometimes that I could live a more normal life with a less-active imagination and/or internal dialogue. But then, I wouldn't be me and this blog would be a lot more boring.
All of this, along with poorly-chosen g-chat statuses and subsequent chats have given me quite the entertaining morning.
I hope the afternoon passes a little more quietly. Wait, no I don't.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
It's like real life Mad Gab
Have you guys played that game MadGab? It's the one with cards that have sentences that mean nothing on them. You read the sentence aloud with the hope that if you run the words together just right it will actually sound like a phrase with which you are familiar. Well, sometimes, my life is like MadGab.
I have real problems with hearing sometimes. It's not that I'm hard of hearing (when I want to I can actually hear lots of things that aren't intended for anyone to hear). It's just that sometimes I space out when someone is talking in a group or during periods of silence and I tune back in either very slowly or at the very wrong time. Or sometimes I'm friends with mumblers who provide me with a treasure trove of malaproprisms. :) Or sometimes I don't think too hard about what a song is really about and just assume the words are what I'm hearing.
Some recent examples:
What I heard: "By the grace of God"
What was actually said: "The grapes are gone"
What I heard: [said very mysteriously as we walked down the street] "Ooh, look. Duplex apartments. I wonder who's in them."
What was actually said: "Ooh, look. Two black suburbans. I wonder who's in them."
What I heard: [in the chorus of a hip hop song] "Birdseed"
What was actually said: "Mercy"
What I heard: [in the chorus of a good running song] "Candied Heels"
What was actually said: "Canned heat in my heels" (Yes, I know the name of the song is "Canned Heat" but I didn't make the connection until one day on my run after listening to the song for the umpteenth time.)
Sometimes I know I couldn't have heard correctly, but I also can't help but repeat what I thought I heard (lack of filter). Sometimes I'll realize what was actually said mid-question, but I can't put those words back in my mouth. Sometimes that's okay. Sometimes that's disastrous.
Most of these have happened in the last couple of weeks (the "Grace of God" one was quite a while ago -- my roommate reminded me about that one). I'm sure there have been more...many more. Do you remember any? Do you have any of your own?
I have real problems with hearing sometimes. It's not that I'm hard of hearing (when I want to I can actually hear lots of things that aren't intended for anyone to hear). It's just that sometimes I space out when someone is talking in a group or during periods of silence and I tune back in either very slowly or at the very wrong time. Or sometimes I'm friends with mumblers who provide me with a treasure trove of malaproprisms. :) Or sometimes I don't think too hard about what a song is really about and just assume the words are what I'm hearing.
Some recent examples:
What I heard: "By the grace of God"
What was actually said: "The grapes are gone"
What I heard: [said very mysteriously as we walked down the street] "Ooh, look. Duplex apartments. I wonder who's in them."
What was actually said: "Ooh, look. Two black suburbans. I wonder who's in them."
What I heard: [in the chorus of a hip hop song] "Birdseed"
What was actually said: "Mercy"
What I heard: [in the chorus of a good running song] "Candied Heels"
What was actually said: "Canned heat in my heels" (Yes, I know the name of the song is "Canned Heat" but I didn't make the connection until one day on my run after listening to the song for the umpteenth time.)
Sometimes I know I couldn't have heard correctly, but I also can't help but repeat what I thought I heard (lack of filter). Sometimes I'll realize what was actually said mid-question, but I can't put those words back in my mouth. Sometimes that's okay. Sometimes that's disastrous.
Most of these have happened in the last couple of weeks (the "Grace of God" one was quite a while ago -- my roommate reminded me about that one). I'm sure there have been more...many more. Do you remember any? Do you have any of your own?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
A Hodgepodge of Confessions
My problem with confessions these days is that I haven't had a lot of time on my hands with which to get into trouble. Okay, that's not entirely true. I did have this dream the other night that I thought was really funny and randomly shared with my house (and one other - this turned out to be the mistake) and that got me into a lot of trouble--funny trouble, but trouble nonetheless. A few days later I unveiled to a friend a special "talent" and was informed by him that, while "guys will say certain things are awesome [like the talent I just performed], in a way it says 'welcome to the guy club.' But you don't want to be in the guy club...right?" To which I had to stop and think a moment, and then responded, "Sometimes I do, but most of the time I don't." You all know, I grew up with a lot of brothers. I feel comfortable with guys, sometimes more so than with girls. That being said, I got teased by the boys growing up (and even still sometimes now) for girly tastes and tears and so it's just easier sometimes to slip into "brother mode." But lately I've started to realize that it's okay to be a girl. And not only is it okay to be a girl, it's good to be a girl. At least it's good to be the good parts of being a girl.
I still don't love shopping (though I do like to look cute...hard to reconcile the two of those sometimes) or chocolate, two things I feel are somewhat characteristic of being a girl, but I do love me a good Jane Austen or Elizabeth Gaskell book and/or screen adaptation. I can outburp anyone (this is the "talent" I displayed--my mom is always surprised when people (guys especially) are grossed out by this. In fact, she recently said, "It can be pretty impressive." To which I responded, "Mom, I love that you think that." Mom's response: "Well, you know that I try to teach you guys what is proper but I also appreciate all your talents." My dad has also expressed similar sentiments. I love my parents.) and I really like getting dirty when I play sports or work in the yard. I also love a good hot shower and getting clean and smelling pretty and having soft skin. I guess it all balances out. At least I hope it does. All in all, I like being a girl. This is a big step coming from a girl who at one point in life refused to wear anything even remotely pink. (All of this of course has nothing to do with the eternal quality of being female, though it is an interesting discussion for another time.) Thoughts?
I just rewatched Return of the King and cried (not just welled up with tears, but cried) for the last 10 minutes of the movie. This also happened to me when I, for grad school, read The Lord of the Rings in a matter of four days and cried for the last I don't even know how many pages and then sat in my living room and cried for a solid I don't even know how long. I felt exhausted for days afterwards. I don't often cry at the end of movies or books guys expect a girl to, but kill off Dumbledore or send Frodo to Valinor via the Grey Havens leaving Sam behind and I'm a mess.
I wore my pink Chucks all day at work again today. I just don't see the need to change out of my commuting shoes when it's sort of slow and I'm at my desk all day long. It makes me happy, wearing my Chucks.
I hope there's dancing and Candy Cane Jo Jo shakes at Taco Tuesday tonight.
I ran a 7 minute mile last night and then followed it up with several 7:20 miles. It hurt. A lot. But in a good way. I have a goal to run a sub-6 minute mile by the end of the summer. Just one. Just to see if I can relive the glory days of high school again. I'm not sure I know how to make myself hurt quite that badly anymore, though. Anyone want to try with me?
I still don't love shopping (though I do like to look cute...hard to reconcile the two of those sometimes) or chocolate, two things I feel are somewhat characteristic of being a girl, but I do love me a good Jane Austen or Elizabeth Gaskell book and/or screen adaptation. I can outburp anyone (this is the "talent" I displayed--my mom is always surprised when people (guys especially) are grossed out by this. In fact, she recently said, "It can be pretty impressive." To which I responded, "Mom, I love that you think that." Mom's response: "Well, you know that I try to teach you guys what is proper but I also appreciate all your talents." My dad has also expressed similar sentiments. I love my parents.) and I really like getting dirty when I play sports or work in the yard. I also love a good hot shower and getting clean and smelling pretty and having soft skin. I guess it all balances out. At least I hope it does. All in all, I like being a girl. This is a big step coming from a girl who at one point in life refused to wear anything even remotely pink. (All of this of course has nothing to do with the eternal quality of being female, though it is an interesting discussion for another time.) Thoughts?
I just rewatched Return of the King and cried (not just welled up with tears, but cried) for the last 10 minutes of the movie. This also happened to me when I, for grad school, read The Lord of the Rings in a matter of four days and cried for the last I don't even know how many pages and then sat in my living room and cried for a solid I don't even know how long. I felt exhausted for days afterwards. I don't often cry at the end of movies or books guys expect a girl to, but kill off Dumbledore or send Frodo to Valinor via the Grey Havens leaving Sam behind and I'm a mess.
I wore my pink Chucks all day at work again today. I just don't see the need to change out of my commuting shoes when it's sort of slow and I'm at my desk all day long. It makes me happy, wearing my Chucks.
I hope there's dancing and Candy Cane Jo Jo shakes at Taco Tuesday tonight.
I ran a 7 minute mile last night and then followed it up with several 7:20 miles. It hurt. A lot. But in a good way. I have a goal to run a sub-6 minute mile by the end of the summer. Just one. Just to see if I can relive the glory days of high school again. I'm not sure I know how to make myself hurt quite that badly anymore, though. Anyone want to try with me?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Darn you, Jay
My cookie fast is going just fine. But this morning's gchat conversation with Jay is threatening to submarine me. He started off by asking me what my favorite kind of cookie is (it's like asking a parent which child is their favorite). I tried to answer his questions to the best of my ability and then asked him if he was trying to sabotage my cookie fast. He hadn't read yesterday's blog entry yet, so he didn't know. So he says. He claimed he was just asking the advice of the cookie expert. I'm not convinced.
So then of course that got me thinking.
I used to work at a law firm on 4th Avenue in San Diego, on Banker's Hill right between Hillcrest and Downtown. I hadn't been working there long when one day my boss handed me some cash and sent me to a place on 5th Avenue I had never heard of before--Karen Krasne's Extraordinary Desserts--with instructions to buy half a dozen of their cherry chocolate chip cookies for our office meeting (which I discovered was really an excuse to eat pastries from Karen Krasne's--best job ever).
I can still remember my intimidation at walking into such a high-end dessert shop. In fact, I don't think I had ever set foot in a shop dedicated solely to desserts, unless you count the donut place down in Ocean Beach. But this was nothing like that.
The cookies are in the upper right hand corner of this delicious dessert montage.
I successfully purchased the goods and made my way back to the office, unsure of how I felt about cherries in my cookies, but willing to give it a try.
The verdict? Best. Cookie. Ever. Perfect moistness, perfect ratio of cookie to chocolate, and the cherries...wow.
If you live in or are visiting San Diego, go to Karen Krasne's. You won't be sorry. Everything there is, well, extraordinary. And if you are there and want to buy me a cookie and send it to me, I won't say no. I'll break my cookie fast for Karen Krasne's.
I'm so weak.
So then of course that got me thinking.
I used to work at a law firm on 4th Avenue in San Diego, on Banker's Hill right between Hillcrest and Downtown. I hadn't been working there long when one day my boss handed me some cash and sent me to a place on 5th Avenue I had never heard of before--Karen Krasne's Extraordinary Desserts--with instructions to buy half a dozen of their cherry chocolate chip cookies for our office meeting (which I discovered was really an excuse to eat pastries from Karen Krasne's--best job ever).
I can still remember my intimidation at walking into such a high-end dessert shop. In fact, I don't think I had ever set foot in a shop dedicated solely to desserts, unless you count the donut place down in Ocean Beach. But this was nothing like that.
The cookies are in the upper right hand corner of this delicious dessert montage.
I successfully purchased the goods and made my way back to the office, unsure of how I felt about cherries in my cookies, but willing to give it a try.
The verdict? Best. Cookie. Ever. Perfect moistness, perfect ratio of cookie to chocolate, and the cherries...wow.
If you live in or are visiting San Diego, go to Karen Krasne's. You won't be sorry. Everything there is, well, extraordinary. And if you are there and want to buy me a cookie and send it to me, I won't say no. I'll break my cookie fast for Karen Krasne's.
I'm so weak.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Multiple Confessions
Confession:
Whenever I type the word "marathon" without fail I first type "marathong" and then have to go back and fix it, provided I actually catch my mistake.
What does that say about my typing autopilot?
******
I'm running another marathong in five weeks, March 21. I'm on a cookie fast from now until then in an attempt to fine tune the running machine. I made it through day one (yesterday) without a hitch. I'm also doing fine today. Funny how sometimes the switch just flips and it's not hard at all. Funny how I feel like I have almost no control over when that switch gets flipped. It's like I just wake up one morning and decide. Like yesterday, when I was waking up from a Candy Cane Jo Jo Shake hangover it was really easy to promise myself that no matter how fun the party is, I simply will not partake.
Dumb Trader Joes. Selling Candy Cane Jo Jos for 99 cents long after we thought we were safe from their clutches. Maybe the cookie fast will get harder once I detox, but I think I'm committed.
I think.
I hope.
The shakes really were amazing...
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Taco Tuesday Confessions - all dried up?
I've been trying to think all day of a really good confession, one along the lines of the one that birthed this blog. But alas, I can't think of any more incriminating confessions that I haven't already blogged about. Is it possible my reserve is all dried up? Have I really become so boring that I haven't created any more confession-worthy experiences? Or am I merely wising up in my propensity to share?
Maybe I should open it up for you to confess for me? Incriminating stories? That could be dangerous. Maybe you all should confess something for a change. (Do I allow anonymous comments on this blog? I don't think so.) Hmmm. What to do, what to do...
On another note: Not confession-worthy, but noteworthy (for me). I know I told many of you I swore I'd never do another marathon, but I decided to make an exception so that I could have a comeback story for myself (of sorts). i've been slowly working my way back for the last three months (well, five months really, but calculated training for the last three). I finally went on a seriously long run a couple of weeks ago and felt great. It was the first time since August that I really felt like myself health-wise. I was beat, but it was the normal kind of beat. The beat you expect to feel after 18 miles. I felt really grateful that my body has healed completely (one month sooner than the doctor had anticipated even!) and that I'm right on target for a successful race. 7 weeks and counting until the big day. Then the real fun begins. Maybe another race in April (we'll see how this marathon goes), Ragnar Relay in NY in May, triathlon #1 in June, have fun and gear up during July and August for triathlon #2 in September. It's going to be a great race season. I actually have more than one person to train with this time around so it's almost like being part of a team again. It's made me the happiest I've been in a while (athletically speaking, anyway, which I guess does translate to general happiness).
But seriously, refocusing from the side note of the comeback. Help the blog. Confess. Please.
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