But really, it IS your thing

"Mommy!  You're hoooome!"  My 3 year-old little girl ran to greet me, she was hugging me at the knees and telling me about a book dad had found under the couch for her as I took my coat off.

"Where you go mom?"  She asks before I could tell her I was glad she found her missing book.  Three year-olds don't always give you a chance to respond to all their news.  I wait a beat to see if she really wanted to know or was ready to move on.  

"Where you go mommy?"

"I went to a meeting sweetheart." 

"What's your for meeting?" (Translation: what was the meeting for?)

"Well,"  I thought for a moment.  I love her curiosity and the way I can hold her attention sometimes while she waits for answers she sincerely wants.  I kneel down and give her a light squeeze. 

"What's your for meeting mommy?"  She asks again, still holding her found book in her chubby fingers.

"Hmm, well, it was about you." I know she will love this answer.  Her eyes light up and she runs away happily, knowing that I was gone for two hours having an important meeting about her.  (Three year-old narcissism is perfectly healthy.)

Of course the meeting I went to wasn't exactly about my little girl.  But it was.  It was about her, and her three brothers and even my handsome, babysitting husband who bravely battled 2 1/2 hours alone with all four kids so I could go to something that was important to me.  

I went to an event put on by a Utah group called Real Women Run.  The event was billed inviting  women to attend who were interested in holding public office or supporting a campaign or serving on a public board or commission.  I heard from past female lawmakers and women who have helped shape the public policy in Utah.

I came home with a lot of information and great ideas.  Women are a marginalized group.  We are over 1/2 the country, 1/2 the state of Utah, and yet, as elected representatives, women are vastly underrepresented. 

20/100.  For the 100 senators in Washington, 20 of them are women.

77/435.  Congresswomen: 77. Congressmen: 358.  

Women are not involved in politics and policy.  We need to be.  Before you stop reading and tell me that "politics isn't your thing," I want to leave you with a few numbers.

47 - Only 3 states besides ours have worse wage disparity between men and women.  Women earn less than men in Utah (and across the country) and 46 other states do a better job than we do in closing this earning gap.

50 - Every other state in the union spends more money per pupil on public education.  Every. Other. State.  We also have one of the largest student to teacher ratio in the country, yet we spend the least on our students.  Our teachers have the biggest classes and the least amount of money per classroom.  

50 - Utah is also dead last in the percentage of women who start, then graduate from college with a 4 year degree.

43 - Seven states have a worse percentage of women in the state legislature.

These numbers make me very uncomfortable.  As women, we are also mothers and wives and employees and business owners.  These unpleasant statistics affect all of us.  The type of problems that need solving require thoughtful men AND women.  We need a bigger voice.  To say that "politics isn't your thing" means letting someone else decide what kind of education your children will receive, how much (less) you'll get paid to do the same job as your male counterpart and how the state will spend your tax money.  (Schools?  Roads?  Parks? Giant ski gondolas?)   

Being "into politics" doesn't just have to be something that consumes your Facebook page every four years.  Being "into politics" means educating yourself on what is happening in your communities and knowing who you sent to the big building on the hill to draft bills that will become your laws.  

Women are leaders.  We are leaders in our homes.  We are leaders in our churches.  We are leaders in our communities and workplaces.  We need to make sure our voice is heard.  The seemingly boring legislation and political jargon that happens between lawmakers directly affects you and your families.

The apathy about our public officials and discourse has to end.  Get involved.  Care.  Vote.  Run for office on the municipal, county, state or federal level, whatever your political persuasion or ideals.  Get elected to your school board or city council. Also, the worst anecdote I heard tonight was this:

Candidate: So, who have you decided to vote for?

Utah Woman (more than one, according to the candidate): Well, my husband hasn't told me who we are voting for yet.

Ladies!!

You have your own mind.  Use it.  We've had plenty of healthy debate and votes for different political ideas in this house.  Democracy is a beautiful thing.  

What we debate and engage in now, will shape the future for the next generation.  And I believe we need more women at the table.

Here are a few links to put you on the train of getting involved:

Real Women Run website

How to find your elected state representative

For Utah residents - who represents you (scroll to bottom left)

RWR has another event in March for women interested in running or supporting a candidate.  It's like a boot camp and training day for getting involved.  Saturday, March 16th from 8:30am - 4:00pm.  You can register on their website.

The Utah League of Women Voters is also holding a training and orientation for anyone interested in how state legislation works.  Monday, January 28th, noon, in the capitol and later that night at the Salt Lake City Main Library.  A new session is about to start, keep up on what kind of law making is going down.  More information on their website here.

Look at all those resources I gave you!  Don't you feel informed and full or power?  Full of potential?  Now go help make the world a better place for those you love.  Then come home and tell them you were in a meeting about them.

Your voice matters and your voice counts.  Use it.      

    

I Am Annoying

I am THAT girl.

Chris calls me a maven.  I call myself concerned with the truth and facts.  But everyone else probably just calls me annoying.

The other night  I was in a conversation with a fellow pregnant lady. (Along with a couple other women.) As most pregnant conversations go, the talk turned to bathroom breaks.  She mentioned how she had to go more at the beginning of her 2nd trimester than any other time.  She thought it was strange and didn't know why that was.  

But I did!  I had JUST read about it, like 3 days ago.  I was her answer.  I was able to solve her mystery.  She would no longer wonder why the frequent bathroom trips at that point.  Wouldn't she be thrilled to know!?!  How could I even wait for her to finish the rest of her story.  

Her:  "So I'm not sure why that was, but now that I'm further along -"

Me: "You know, I just read -"

She kept going.  The others listening didn't care what I just read.  It was slightly embarrassing.  So I listened and let her finish.  In fact, the conversation went in another direction.  My important fact was completely irrelevant.  But did I care?  No.  The truth had to be known.  I couldn't let a mystery that I had the key to go unsolved.  

So I spoke up.  

"Hey, remember when we were talking about you going to the bathroom..."

Yea.  It was as awkward as it sounds.  

Annoying.  She was nice though and listened to my ever so important fact.  I'm sure she slept better that night knowing the truth.

PS - it's the increased blood flow.  Your blood increases at the beginning of your second trimester which adds more fluid which accounts for more frequent potty breaks.

You're welcome.

   

You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman

My body is a little chock full of overflowing hormones right now. I'm not competely thrilled with the fact that I have manufactured hormones flowing through my blood and brain. But the reason is welcome. Although I'm not sure the extra weight gain is. But sweet supportive husband says he likes the new curves that have popped up the last week. I'm trying not to think about the fact that developing curves in a week is never a good thing but if he thinks I look good, than that's all that matters. Right?

The best part of extra hormones are the extra emotions. (Sarcasm is always hanging around, extra hormones or not.) I scored a sweet deal on Season Two of Full House. $10 for the entire season. Awesome. Yes, I really do like that show. No sarcasm there. I've already admitted in a previous post that it was a guilty pleasure of mine. But I've never really gotten teary eyed at the closing scene of wrap up. The music starts to gently swell, Danny Tanner sits on his daughter's bed and tells her she's the best 1st grader in the whole world and their family wouldn't be complete without her...hugs...audience awws, AND I'M CRYING! What the?

One more confession. After a mediocre yoga class, (running off limits due to said hormore therapy...grrrrrr) the instructor tells us to assume the corpse pose and relax and let our minds float over a candle flame or the reflection of the sun off of a lake. Ahh, that's nice. I do feel relaxed. Then, she starts to play a Josh Groban song. His beautiful tenor voice soothing and seranading in a different language while I'm floating over my shimmery, sun drenched lake, AND I START CRYING! Oh brother. Estrogen and Progesterone be danged. I'm feeling just a tad too womanly right now. I need to go hawk a loogey or something. (Ewwwww!)

That's all for my little rant for the day. Yes, I do feel better, thanks.

Just Call Me

Runner 9 for the next 36 hours.

The First Step

is admitting you have a problem.






Hello, my name is Kara and I'm addicted to blueberry pancakes.

Ask my stove. 12am heat ups.

Ask my grocery receipts. Fresh blueberries are sooo much better than frozen.

(I just had one and already my mouth is watering for another.)


Ask my over priced real maple syrup. It's already out. At six dollars a bottle for the syrup and three dollars for a small stash of blueberries, this addiction is not cheap.

I know all the slang too. Griddlecakes, flapjacks, hotcakes, blinis, johnnycakes, caterpillar cakes...I know the lingo man. I'm in too deep. Wheat or buttermilk. It doesn't matter.

Please don't plan an intervention. A person has to want to get better. I don't.

But seriously, real maple syrup on above mentioned drug of choice is the only way to go. You'll never go back. Remember, six dollars a bottle. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Swim, Swam, Swum?

The last two summers have provided me with the opportunity to try new things. Granted, the things I have done could have been done in spring, winter or even fall. But, our summer circumstances in a new place with new people present the opportunity to do NEW things. You dig?

So, last summer I tried water color. I made a few lovely (now priceless) works of art. As soon as I'm dead, they'll be worth tens, maybe even hundreds. Depends on how dramatic and crazy I live the rest of my life. Maybe I'll cut off part of my face or something to get up in the thousands. I'll think about it.

This summer, oh boy. This summer I will swim. I've talked to several people (my supportive husband included) who are a little shocked that I don't know how to swim. I should clarify that I don't sink like a rock when in water. I can tread water, back float and in a pinch of needing to actually move through the water, a backstroke or doggy paddle might show up. But I wanted to learn how to swim. Like laps in the pool with my head under water most of the time type swimming. Like smooth, even stokes moving as fluid as the water I'm moving through type swimming. Swim a length of the pool instead of gasping for breath about a 1/4 way into starting. You know, swim.

I needed lessons. Supportive husband kept saying he would teach me, and he has tried a couple of times. But I need more than "just moves your arms and breath out every once in while." He means well, but even with those thorough directions, I still found myself snorting and gasping and heaving for air after "moving my arms" a few times.

So I signed up for "Adult Beginner" swim lessons at the local YMCA. Just signing up for lessons was already victory #1. Showing up on the first day of class in my swimsuit and getting in the pool was victory #2. After that, a bunch of little victories started falling into place. My adorable, spicy, Southern teacher was just what I needed. She showed me "how to breath honey." She had excellent beginner's tools to help me with the rhythm of breathing and moving my arms all together. We started in a 3 foot pool that was about 1/2 the size of a regulation lap pool. It kind of felt like the short bus for swimmers. But I was glad to start somewhere. I tried not to notice the pre-school age kids that had a lesson right after ours. They stared at the grown-ups in their pool. I could read their expressions and questions in their eyes. "Those big people don't know how to swim?" Short pool and pre-schoolers aside, I kept practicing during those 45 minutes of class time.

And then something amazing happened. It was lesson #3. Southern spicy teacher decided to move class into the actual adult pool. She had me do a few drills. I practiced a few new things. Then, she sent me on a lap. Front crawl. The entire length of the pool. And I did it. I got to end and almost wanted to cry. To some, yes that seems silly. Yes. But to me, this was the biggest swimming victory yet. I swam a length of the pool without stopping. I didn't have water up my nose. I didn't swallow a gallon of chlorine. I actually swam. It was a great day. Now I know what Michael Phelps must have felt like when he won 36 gold medals in one afternoon. Totally awesome.

Triathlon anyone? ( I need a bike.)

Part of An Email From a Best Friend

ok it is official-your mom has a facebook page now so you need to get on that! I am friends with your whole family except you :)


Must resist peer pressure. Must not join Facebook. Not sure why resisting. Hoping readers of this post will imagine me grunting and straining while reading the italicized lines. Must not join.

A Few Things

I have been really enjoying lately...


Kings of Leon. Where have they been all my life? Revelry, Use Somebody, Be Somebody, more - all on repeat on my music player.

Wicked Soundtrack. My little sis went last week and I was pining to go again. No one mourns the wicked!

The Simple Faith of Mister Rogers. Great little book by Laura Hollingsworth. So many good people out there who have lived a good life. I like scanning certain sections of Dewy's decimal system for surprising finds. This was one of them. (Yes, I know my library reference is wrong.)

The Office reruns. I think Andy is my new favorite.

The brilliant, bounteous, green popping blossoms on all of the trees. So many trees! Where do I get all my oxygen from when I live in Utah? Seriously.

Ray Charles. Is it okay for an ultra-uber white girl born in Utah County to like soul/gospel as much as I do? In fact, do yourself a favor and download/listen/youtube yourself some Mavis Staples.

Sting's All This Time live album. Can't get enough. During Roxanne, when he states, "But she did anyway," in his Sting-like, cool, low-down way... man! That gets me every time.

The Grapes of Wrath. Lost track how many times I've read it. So far, being almost three decades old, (me, not the book) this is my all-time favorite book. Steinbeck does no wrong in my eyes. I'm trying to figure out why I'm such a sucker for suffering, heartache and down and outedness. (New word I just made up, don't try to look it up. Not in Webster's yet.) I'm open to new all-time favorites however. Currently, I have two. I have a lot of life left. I'm working on some great recommendations right now. Feel free to leave me yours.

29 And Feeling Fine

Friday marked the day. Now I have 353 days left until the big three-O.

Whenever I have a birthday, for some reason, I always think back ten years.

Wow twenty-nine. I can't believe I'm really 29. It seems like only last Tuesday I was 19. Livin' it up in good old Rexburg. Yes sir. Just last week I was sitting in the big, brown dome that was Hogi Yogi, studying at the library on campus.... (wavy lines going through the air, blurring my image as we all travel back in time to yesteryear and my nineteen year old thoughts....)

I bet my life is going to be amazing in ten years. I'll have been married for at least six years to a knight in shining armour who never argues with me. I'll have 2 -- maybe 3 kids. I'll have a journalism career...unless I decide to switch majors on Monday...then my OB/GYN practice is going to be the coolest. Or my peace corps time will have been well served...haven't decided yet. And I will live on the most beautiful tree lined street and know all my neighbors and be settled and live there until we retire. Ahhh, it's going to be great. Shoot, I have an algebra test tomorrow. I can't believe I'm actually getting a C. How embarrassing. What was that? The library is closing in ten minutes? Already? How long have I been here day dreaming? Hey, he's cute. I wonder if he'll be here at the same time tomorrow night. I wish I knew his name. I could look up his entire class schedule. (Yes, this was really possible back then. Class schedule, where they lived in Rexburg, where they lived when they went home for break, phone number. It was quite ridiculous really. Back to flash back.) Wait, is tonight Wednesday? Oh man. I missed Dawson's Creek. Again! Now I'm two weeks behind. I need to buy some blank VHS tapes at the book store. Oh well. I'm sure the girls will fill me in....

Oh young, naive, 10 years ago Kara. If you only knew. Allow me to fill you in.

Ten years later I am married. But only for 4 years so far, not 6. He is amazing. Not a knight in shining armor though. At least not what you had in mind. But don't worry 19 year old Kara. He's much, much better. Turns out that the knight types you imagined usually end up being weirdos anyway. They never live up to their own hype. I prefer the genuine, warm, flawed man I married. He's real. And really, really in love with us. Much more than I ever thought was possible. Oh, and (surprise!) we argue. Sorry to disappoint. But again, don't worry. The small tiffs never last. Turns out making out --- er, I mean, making up can be a lot of fun. You'll see.

And just so you know little freshman/sophomore in college, no kids yet. Having a bit of a difficulty in that department. But again, no worries. We have a rough patch for a few years. And it's still not over, so I can't tell you how it's going to end. But brace yourself for a few heartaches and major disappointments. However, we are very blessed. The more that comes our way, the more strength and support we get from heaven. And 29 year old Kara feels pretty good about our life right now. No kids, but no worries. Things will work out. We've been promised this by a loving Creator. Keep the faith in the beginning though. It might be hard.

About that whole career thing. Umm. I'm glad you are studying. It is a great thing. However, no lasting, sustainable career to put on a resume. Don't panic. We finished school. We loved college. We are very grateful for our education. But it turns out that changing majors 6 times was a little indicative to how restless we are in jobs. I don't really want to explain it too much, but the kid thing also has something to do with this. The good news is, we are only 29. Mom just picked her career when she was 50! That's right, our mom went back to school and now she's an amazing fourth grade teacher. And she's happy and doing great work and changing little 4th grader lives. There's always time to develop and find something that will fulfill us. Journalism? Sure. (However, it will probably be in electronic media. The newspaper is dying. We are sad about this.) Doctor? Nah. We are no good at science. (You'll find out.) In the meantime, we are very happy supporting our husband and stay busy with various projects and tasks and businesses. (You'll see. We're busy. But I'm pretty sure we'll never have the opportunities we are having in our lives like this again. So 29 year old us is trying to live it up, make the most of it and appreciate where we are at.)

One more thing. About being "settled" by now...let's see. How do I tell you? I'll just say it. We have moved and lived in 5 different cities in the four years we've been married. Our husband recently picked a job (which he loves) that will cause us to travel around and live in different places. Before the job, we moved 2 times. Our husband is kind of a mover and a shaker. So get used to change. It behooves us to keep up with him. (He's really great. I can't wait for you to meet him.) So we might be hopping around for a while yet.

So just to sum up. Not married to the kind of man we thought we would marry. No kids yet. No fulfilling, life sustaining career. No picket fence by now with peach trees growing in the backyard. Our life is nothing like you imagined it would be by now. It's better. We are happy. This might be the best time of our life yet.

(Now hurry home to 119. Those girls end up being your friends for a long time. Take care of them!)

See ya soon Kara.


Love,
Kara

A Brand New Me

I've had the same hair for nearly 7 years. Seven years people! How does one not go mad? Although he is always so sweet with his compliments of how much he loves my long hair, I blame my husband, the love of my life, for my hair style rut. Rut? No, more like giant gravel pit. Previous conversations have gone something like this:

K: I really want to cut my hair.

C: No baby, don't cut it. I love it. It's so long and pretty.

K: (Stare.)

C: (Gorgeous smile while stroking said hair.)


What would you do? Consequently, it's been long our entire relationship/marriage. So many of these conversations have happened since the 6 years we have been together. You can't imagine the fantasies I've had sitting in the stylist's chair for a "trim." Sometimes I've wanted to reach back and grab the scissors from her while she is carefully cutting off the standard inch and half every 6 months and just start hacking away. Can you imagine me wildly cutting at my own hair? CUT IT ALL! TAKE IT ALL OFF! YES! YES! THAT'S IT! HA HA HA HA! IT'S SHORT! GREAT GADZOOKS AYE CARUMBA! MY HAIR IS SHORT! But then I wake up from my day dream when she would ask, "Is that too much? Is that where you wanted it?" A smile, nod. Gracious thank you, it looks lovely. But still the same. The same. The same.

But finally, one fateful day, in a small Lehi Thai restaurant, it happened. I don't know if it was the perfect combination of massuman curry and the fact that the next day was a day of rest, the vernal equinox, the restaurant served Pepsi products instead of Coke, whatever it was...

K: I really want to cut my hair.

C: Ok! You should! Go for it.

K: (Stare.) What? Are you serious?

C: Yeah, what they heck? You caught me on a good day. (Laugh, wink.)


What would you do?

It wasn't the next day if you can believe it. I had to let it marinate. I went out of town for a few days. (Not because I was getting my hair cut. It was a trip that was already in the works.) When I got back, I had to drive Chris to his office building. He asked me why I hadn't cut my hair yet? Uh, I don't know. Seven years people! And I was stalling. He suggested I go right then. So I did. I had no appointment. I had no idea who was going to cut it, or where it was going to get cut. I just started driving and decided to let fate control those details.

I ended up at a salon in Orem on 8th South. It's called Platinum Studio. Everyone, go see Chelsea. She was amazing. I decided it was providence that I found her. She was the perfect person for the job.

Good bye long hair. We had a good run. It's nothing personal. I'm sure we'll see one another again.

Please forgive my self-indulgent "before" pictures. It's kind of a big deal all my hair is gone. I know, get over myself.









And now, I present to you, BRAND NEW GIRL!

I loved, loved it straight. I might even do it myself more often. Now that it won't take me 2 years to straighten.

Look at this lonely little pony tail! It looked so forgotten sitting on the counter. I didn't feel guilty though during my hair cut. The Cousin It like thing staring at me...what did I do? I'm sorry you were constantly needing to pull me back. Did I really create headaches some days? No, that is just a myth. Seriously, are we really done? What can I do? I CAN CHANGE!

Don't worry weird looking ponytail Cousin It thing. It's not you, it's me.

By the way, did you know "Locks of Love" isn't the only option when wanting to donate hair? My hair is going to weaved into some kind of mat and used to grow vegetation in countries that are suffering from drought. Who da thunk it? ps - Love of my life digs my new look.

December 2006

.............................................................

Day one - joy! We finally did it! Positive! Two lines! Joy! Joy! Joy!

Day two - lots of library books checked out. And still joy.

Day three - spotting. Books say this could be normal.

Day four - still spotting. Phone call to the doctor. Blood test that day.

Day five - just worry.

Day six - another blood test.

Day seven - a lot of blood. Bleeding, bathtub, sadness. It's over. I know it is before the doctor calls to tell me what the blood tests mean. It's over. Within a week.

Sadness, despair, pain. Searching, praying, pleading. Love, support, prayers.

Hope. Faith. Understanding will come eventually. Peace also follows months - well, years later. Because it happens again. Then again.

Quiet peace and budding hope come eventually. Not in the week whirlwind that caused my need to pray for peace and hope, but it does come.

My hope is rooted in the Savior. He heals my hurt. My faith is rooted in my Heavenly Father's plan for me. He hears my prayers.

2 Nephi 2:15
And to bring about his eternal purposes in the end of man...it must needs be that there was an opposition...the one being sweet and the other bitter.

Guilty Pleasure

Within 30 minutes, you have a family conflict, laughter, follies and it's all wrapped up with a heart warming moment set to music. Within that 30 minutes you have such tag lines as "you got it dude." The ever popular "how rude!" And of course you can't leave out Uncle Jesse. Have mercy! What's not to like?

A Few Favorite Wintertime Activities

1. Wear big fluffy pink robe over all my clothes at any point I am inside my house. (Thanks Frosts, it was one of my favorite presents!)

2. Lay about 14 inches away in front of the fireplace with some sort of book.

3. Toast face up nicely and get those red cheeks from laying in front of fireplace too long.

4. Take little nappy in front of fireplace.

5. Never worry about nap being too long because being too warm is what wakes me up.

6. Bake anything.

7. Cuddle with adorable spouse who has won several awards for world's greatest cuddler.

8. Savor a warm car that has heated up from the rare January sunshine.

9. Wonder what is the draw to ice fishing behind my house. (Seriously people, a) it's carp! b) it's 12 degrees outside!)

10) Fantasize about warmer days past and those to come. I wish the Ghost of Warm Days Past would visit me at night and take me to all those great days I've had at the beach or in July or a day where I was sweating outside walking around just because it was
hot!

I love how the sun shines off the ocean and makes diamonds. Warm, warm sun.

Yes Ghost of Warm Days Past! I remember how hot this day was. That is why my hair is back! I remember, I remember! Don't take me back to the present, I want to stay here on this beautiful, hot day on the dock with the cute man. (Who loves his smile line? Raise your hand!)




Lovely, isn't it? Let's put the top down because it is so nice today! (The car is a vacation rental. No, we do not have a convertible.)

This is one of my happy places I go to when I am walking outside in 12 degree weather. Hot sand, blue water, white legs and lots of sunblock. I LOVE buying a large bottle of sunblock. It means I am going to be spending a large amount of time in the sun. The tiny bottle I just use on my face this time of year is so depressing.

I prefer this set up for reading. Have you ever heard of following your bliss?

Sometimes

Free flowing thoughts that dance around in my head all day can come together on a blank page, blank screen, blank something. Spewing out sentences and structure and stanza.

Trying to make sense of the world I live in. The one that moves, ebbs, floats cascades all around me. Or the one that is rooted, stuck, cemented at my feet. Fingers become my tool. Striking keys or grasping the pen, pencil, whatever I can find.

So much paper out there, waiting to be scribbled on, jotted on...wasting time. Words come out! Creative expression and simple communique.

Vocabulary tested, not wanting to bore the reader with dull descriptions of the blue lake against the tall mountain - yawn.

The glassy lake beneath the watchful peaks? Yawn.

The serene water reflects the majestic heights. Yawn.

The lake begins to swallow the mountains. The shallow water looks hungry. Its glassy eyes have a perfect reflection of the stalwart, uncaring mountains. If it is concerned of how ravenous the lake is, it never lets on. Just stares straight ahead. Pretending not to notice the salivating ripples that form each time even the tiniest rock finds its way into the starving water below.

Eeh. Maybe.

From My Window

For a few weeks I've heard a slight knocking sound when I'm standing in my bathroom. Knocking, tapping, rapping. Rapping, that's it. rap, rap, rap, rap, rap, rap

A quick succession of this noise. The first time I heard it I moved in the direction of where the noise was coming from. A spot right by a window. I peered out the window but couldn't see anything. rap, rap, rap, rap, rap, rap, rap, rap

I knocked on the wall in a quick response. knock, knock, knock, knock Then a flash of brown flew past my eyesight and up over my roof. A woodpecker? I stepped out on the balcony to see if I could spy a nest or hole, but I didn't see anything.

A few days later a giant flock of little black birds swept past my windows in that same area causing me to turn in alarm. There were so many of them, they blocked out the light for a few moments. I didn't know what it could be. There must have been over a hundred. All flying and flitting in strange, swaying unison. It's been so cold, I wonder where all these little black birdies sleep at night.

Same window, different day I watch a truck spin it's wheels trying to get out of the marina parking lot. It's a big truck too. Big tires complete with the trendy studs all around them. The kind of truck that if you are under six feet tall you might need a step ladder to climb inside the cab. The kind of detail and tires that make you think the owner is very proud to be driving this truck around town. Possibly listening to his music very loudly. However, I wondered how he was feeling now. His giant truck spinning out on a small incline in an unplowed parking lot.

Sometimes from this window I look for my eagle. I spotted her one day on an afternoon jog. My neighborhood is a victim in the recent years national economic struggle. I was jogging down a lovely paved road complete with street signs, cul-de-sacs, and not even one lot with as much as a hole dug. Lots of pavement and absolutely zero houses. Perfect for running. As I huffed and puffed somewhere around mile 1.5, I spotted this enormous bird crusing the sky. I stopped because I had never seen a bird that size near the lake. Then I saw it had the beautiful white head and dark brown body. When it came to rest and perched high up on a bare branch, it was unmistakable what she was. A North American Bald Eagle. I just stared and was amazed this part of the state was part of it's habitat. I had no idea. I'm not the greatest nature observer because I always want to see more and get closer. So I inched forward. As soon as I took one step, she took off and continued her flight path along the edge of the lake. She flew right over my house. I watched her as long as my eyes would allow.

Since all the snow, and since there are no houses, thus no reason to, this perfect running road does not get plowed. I haven't been able to run on it in weeks. I have adapted to the more crowded, plowed streets with houses. There is a road that is parallel to my perfect deserted road, but not as close to the lake. There aren't as many tall trees either. I wouldn't come near it if I were an eagle. So for now, I glance out my window to try and catch one in the same flight path.

Still January. Still cold. Still snow. No eagles. Just the occasional woodpecker (I think), little black birds and ice fisherman getting stuck in the parking lot.

Winter, why are you so long?

Extreme Makeover - Oakely Edition

In true tradition, my parents decided to remodel, re-paint, re-carpet, weeks before a major family gathering. They're busy too. My mom works, my dad works. My brother and sister at home are busy with school, sports, stuff. It was a big project. There was a lot to do. And I was happy to help. Toasted oat, arabian sands and cherry cobbler red was the color scheme. That's toasted oat mixed with pastel base, not medium. Very important. Otherwise you might find yourself repainting over 3 hours worth of work. By the way, thanks for the free paint Home Depot. That alleviated the pain-slightly. (The pics were taken on my phone, sorry they aren't that great.)

You can't tell in the picture but this ladder was high. The peak of the ceiling was about 16 feet. I wasn't thrilled to be up there. My dad made some comment about "being a fireman's daughter" and questioning that fact. Whew! I hope my mom really likes this color for years to come!


I'm excited to post the after picture. This fireplace used to be black and white tile with a white mantle. The carpet in the picture is being replaced. I wondered how many jokes I could handle about not dripping paint on the carpet that was about to be ripped up. It never got old.

This is what I woke up to on day two of painting. Nothing like a fresh fall of snow in Oakley. It's beautiful.

Pathetic Fallacy

is a term used in literary theory.  When nature reflects a human emotion, state of mind or mood - pathetic fallacy.

A dark sky and clouds today.  A storm is coming.  It's been threatening all day.  Wind, cold, looming swirling clouds.  Not sure why I feel the same way.  Dark.  Like a storm is coming that I'm not ready for.  It doesn't help that today arrives my monthly reminder of what I'm missing in my life.  For now.   I'll feel better tomorrow.  I always do.  For now I have my new running shoes that need 2 more miles racked up on them and Jenny Oaks Baker locked and loaded in my play list.  And breathe.

If You Were a Fly On the Wall

in our household on a Monday night, you might have heard this conversation during a Monday Night Football game.

What spurred the exchange: a free safety nails a wide receiver right after he catches the ball. Hard. They actually give the fs a flag for dangerous contact. (I don't know if that's an official penalty, but the guy got drilled - big time.) After this happens:


C: I used to hit guys like that.

K: (Without looking up from her computer and in the most dead pan voice imaginable.) Of course you did babe.

Literally a minute passes...

C: Hey! Why do you have to hate like that? Comments like that are not necessary. 'Of course you did.' Hrumph.


Love you dear. I know you were the man. And you still are. I mean that. You know I'm your biggest fan. I'm getting ready to tape your highlights that will in abundance on Thanksgiving morning at this year's turkey bowl. There will be some 40 year old ankles broken.

Crowded Cafe

I live in Utah County so I try to embrace it. Truly I do. I lived here for the first thirteen years of my life for crying out loud! I was born in the hospital at the bottom of the hill in Provo! The UC has roots to me. But I keep getting reasons and reminders of why I try to stay out of the Orem/Provo area.

Cafe Rio at two-thirty in the afternoon. Not a lunch time rush but still a line. I'm no stranger to the cafeteria style ordering process, but the lady behind me seemed to be. I ordered a tostada (it has to go through the oven) and she ordered a salad. If you're familiar with how these are served, you might know that the salad is done before the tostada. In front of us there are about 12 or 13 people waiting to be rung up or for their burritos to come out of the cheese melter or whatever.

The salad belonging to the lady behind me is done. Keep in mind she is about two steps too close. She is officially in what one might call my "comfort zone." I can almost feel her breath behind me as she says, "Mine is done. Do I go up there and pay for it?" Meaning does she bypass all the other people in line in front of us to get her salad. I don't want to turn around to answer her because I'm afraid we might accidentally kiss.

"No." Is all I can manage to say in an awkward half turn. All the while I'm getting dangerously close to the comfort zone of the guy in front of me. As we get toward the end of the ordering process the normal questions of "What dressing?" "To stay or to go?" "Would you like anything else?" These are fired at me and before I can answer Ms. Salad is answering over the end of their questions. "That one is my salad...I need mine to go...I want the light green dressing...I need a drink with my order..."

I'm waiting for the two guys in front of me to pay. I'm trying to give them their socially acceptable cushion of space before I move toward the cash register. Salad lady behind me is ready to pay. I know she is ready because the 20 dollar bill she is anticipating paying with is crinkling in my ear. I should have guessed she would be an interesting Cafe Rio customer when she asked for extra sauce on her chicken and the guy behind the counter told her it would twenty dollars extra. She didn't give a polite smile and chuckle. She raised her voice to the incredulous level and said, "What?!" She must have processed what he said after she responded and realized it was a joke. I'm guessing this is her normal communication process. One step ahead of where she is actually supposed to be. (I also don't think she realized the Cafe Rio order takers have super human powers of keeping everyone's order straight.) Deep breath salad lady, and breathe...breathe.

Despite all this, my tostada was delicious. And this Cafe Rio had the hot sauce I love. Secret ingredient that makes it the best hot sauce ever: carrots.

At The Moment

I am currently baking. I'm preparing my humble donation to a baby blessing tomorrow. So, what to do between the 9 minute intervals of batches? Why, blog of course! Why not. I actually have some real thoughts on making chocolate chip cookies. I am also wondering how boring my blog really is. Who posts about chocolate chip cookies? I advise anyone who is actually reading this to stop. Seriously, I'm sure you can find something more interesting that what is in my head about cookies. But if you're still reading, it's your wasted 2-4 minutes (depending on how fast you read and level of comprehension). Read on.

I never realized how therapeutic making cookies is for me! I can feel tiny endorphins and pleasure sensors and whatever else happens in your brain that tells you like what you are doing. I love gathering all the ingredients. It's simple, I know, but I love how 4 eggs by themselves are just eggs, but mix a little sugar and butter with them, and you've got the best part of the cookie! I love watching it all come together in my bowl. When I first mix the gooey mix with the flour, I always think, "Oh boy, this is never going to work, way too much flour!" Then, little by little, stir by stir, wammo mamo, cookie dough. I love making the uniform rows of cookie balls on the baking sheet. I always turn the oven light on. I like to check up them, sometimes see their slow formation from ball to cookie. But, my absolute favorite is getting out the cooling racks. As I'm typing this, I'm realizing this might be coming off a little odd. Oh well, still typing. Anyway, I love getting out the cooling racks and carefully placing the hot cookie on the rack. It's final step before it is savored.

So now you have my thoughts on making cookies. Wasn't that exciting? But really though, I have to post the recipe along with my random, silly thoughts on making them. This recipe is extremely popular in the DeGering family and is made often!

A few notes on the recipe - you have to follow the directions exactly to make sure they are superb. Don't use margarine when it says butter and don't think those Albertson's brand chocolate chip cookies can substitute for using real Ghiradelli milk chocolate chips. Oh, and this recipe make a ton of cookies. Be prepared.

In my family we call them "Fat Stan's Cookies." Uh, you'll have to ask me in person if you want to know why we call them that. Without further ado...

Fat Stan's Cookies

Cream together:

2 C brown sugar
2C granulated sugar
4 eggs
1 lb of butter (yes, one pound)

Add:

2 tsp vanilla
2 tsp baking powder
2 tsp baking soda

Add:
6 1/2 cups of flour (yes, six and a half)
2 packs Ghiradelli Milk Chocolate Chips

Bake @ 375 for 9-10 minutes. Do not over bake! They might not look like they are done, but they are.

Yumma yumma.

Chris informed me tonight that these cookies have officially replaced a treat recipe of his mom's! (First of all, don't tell his mom. And second, is it bad that I think this is some kind of tiny victory in a marriage? What's wrong with me?)
And I just realized I missed the extra 1/2 cup of flour. I only used 6 cups. They are a little cracky. Oh well, still edible.