Two Happy, Crazy Mormons

Frobscottle and Whizzpoppers

2012-02-07T19:01:00.000-08:00

[Andy and I have been reading The BFG, a book neither of us have read by one of our favorite writers. The subject matter is quite juvenile, but it's presented in such a charming way that I can't help but love it. I love the creative use of language, and the deep-thinking side of me likes the interest in cultural sensitivity. When I read it aloud, I had to stop in several places because I was laughing so hard. Maybe I'm really just as mature as a fourth grader. Still, I think it's worth sharing.]

"Here is frobscottle!" he cried, holding the bottle up proud and high, as though it contained some rare wine. "Delumptious fizzy frobscottle!" he shouted. He gave it a shake and the green stuff began to fizz like mad.

"But look! It's fizzing the wrong way!" Sophie cried. And indeed it was. The bubbles, instead of travelling upwards and bursting on the surface, were shooting downwards and bursting at the bottom. A pale green frothy fizz was forming at the bottom of the bottle.

"What on earth is you meaning the wrong way?" asked the BFG.

"In our fizzy drinks," Sophie said, "the bubbles always go up and burst at the top."

"Upwards is the wrong way!" cried the BFG. "You mustn't ever be having the bubbles going upwards! That's the most flushbunking rubbish I ever is hearing!"

"Why do you say that?" Sophie asked.

"You is asking me why?" cried the BFG, waving the enormous bottle around as though he were conducting an orchestra. "You is actually meaning to tell me you cannot see why it is a scrotty mistake to have the bubbles flying up instead of down?"

"You said it was flushbunking. Now you say it's scrotty. Which is it?" Sophie asked politely.

"Both!" cried the BFG. "It is a flushbunking and a scrotty mistake to let the bubbles go upwards! If you can't see why, you must be as quacky as a duckhound! By ringo, your head must be so full of frogsquinkers and buzzwangles, I is frittered if I know how you can think at all!"

"Why shouldn't the bubbles go upward?" Sophie asked.

"I will explain," said the BFG. "But tell me first what name is you calling your frobscottle by?"

"One is Coke," Sophie said. "Another is Pepsi. There are lots of them."

"And the bubbles is all going up?"

"They all go up," Sophie said.

"Catasterous!" cried the BFG. "Upgoing bubbles is a catasterous disastrophe!"

"Will you please tell me why?" Sophie said.

"If you will listen carefully I will try to explain," said the BFG. "But your brain is so full of bugwhiffles, I doubt you will ever understand."

"I'll do my best," Sophie said patiently.

"Very well, then. When you is drinking this cokey drink of yours," said the BFG, "it is going straight down into your tummy. Is that right? Or is it left?"

"It's right," Sophie said.

"And the bubbles is going also into your tummy. Right or left?"

"Right again," Sophie said.

"And the bubbles is fizzing upwards?"

"Of course," Sophie said.

"Which means," said the BFG, "that they will all come swishwiffling up your throat and out of your mouth and make a foulsome belchy burp!"

"That is often true," Sophie said. "But what's wrong with a little burp now and again? It's sort of fun."

"Burping is filthsome," the BFG said. "Us giants is never doing it."

"But with your drink," Sophie said,"what was it you called it?"

"Frobscottle," said the BFG.

"With frobscottle," Sophie said, "the bubbles in your tummy will be going downwards and that could have a far nastier result."

"Why nasty?" asked the BFG, frowning.

"Because," Sophie said, blushing a little, "if they go down instead of up, they'll be coming out somewhere else with an even louder and ruder noise."

"A whizzpopper!" cried the BFG, beaming at her. "Us giants is making whizzpoppers all the time! Whizzpopping is a sign of happiness. It is music to our ears! You surely is not telling me that a little whizzpopping is forbidden among human beans?"

"It is considered extremely rude," Sophie said.

"But you is whizzpopping, is you not, now and again?" asked the BFG.

"Everyone is whizzpopping, if that's what you call it," Sophie said. "Kings and Queens are whizzpopping. Presidents are whizzpopping. Glamorous film stars are whizzpopping. Little babies are whizzpopping. But where I come from, it is not polite to talk about it."

"Redunculous!" said the BFG. If everyone is making whizzpoppers, then why not talk about it? We is now having a swiggle of this delicious frobscottle and you will see the happy result." The BFG shook the bottle vigorously. The pale green stuff fizzed and bubbled. He removed the cork and took a tremendous gurgling swig.

"It's glummy!" he cried. "I love it!"

For a few moments, the Big Friendly Giant stood quite still, and a look of absolute ecstasy began to spread over his long wrinkly face. Then suddenly the heavens opened and he let fly with a series of the loudest and rudest noises Sophie had ever heard in her life. They reverberated around the walls of the cave like thunder and the glass jars rattled on their shelves. But most astonishing of all, the force of the explosions actually lifted the enormous giant clear off his feet, like a rocket.

"Whoopee!" he cried, when he came down to earth again. "Now that is whizzpopping for you!"

-Roald Dahl, The BFG

2012-02-03T12:03:00.000-08:00

I just realized it's been a month and a couple of days since the last post. I'm sorry. I've been somewhat uninspired lately, at least where blogging is concerned.

Part of it, though, is that we're waiting right now, and posts about waiting are not that much fun. Especially if you don't want to talk that much about the thing that has you waiting. We're at the stage in our lives that it could be a lot of things, so go ahead, kids! Let your imaginations run wild.

It's a quiet Friday afternoon, and I'm sitting on the couch next to two kitties (by the way, we are currently housing two kitties) who are snuggled in the warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the window. It's been an uncharacteristically mild winter so far, much more like the Texas winters I'm used to, so the heat is off in our apartment today. It's beautiful, actually, and I enjoyed my walk to and from the bus station today. The groundhog must have been wrong.

Work is still going great. Unsolicited hugs and kisses from tiny humans are highly recommended. We were able to participate in Read Aloud with our buddies in the apartment downstairs (South Hills Interfaith Ministry), and it was a lot of fun. I really, really love these families. Check it out:

Yeah, it's awesome. I am so fortunate!

I've been practicing a little more (i.e., at all) lately, too. It's funny, though. In a lot of ways, the time away from my instrument has relaxed my playing, so I feel like it's actually easier to play in some respects, even though I'm pretty badly out of shape. I think it's removed some of the anxieties I have about my own playing, and a lot of the negative self-talk that so often came into the practice room with me isn't an issue at the moment, because I can count it a success that I'm behind the instrument at all. The result, then, is that I can focus on dissecting my playing to make it better, which allows me to be more clinical about it than emotionally driven. Pros and cons. Interestingly enough, though, this is probably the first time in my life that I have ever practiced willingly, without any attached (outside) expectations. Maybe not having those expectations is good for me, at least for the moment. The sad thing is that I don't always have time to practice, so even when I want to, I can't always act on it. The allure of the unobtainable, I suppose, may also add to the appeal.

Anyway, all this talk about practicing is making me want to . . . you know . . . practice. Bye.

Christmas Break Photo Essay

2012-01-01T18:46:00.000-08:00

We kicked off our Christmas vacation by building gingerbread houses with our friends the Seegmillers. Cristy's was the bus, Neal built the tower, Andy built the two-story cottage, and I built the "Merry X-mas" house. Good times!

We went to Texas, and visited our favorite park for some high-adventure box sledding.

Andy's turn. This is probably one of the steepest inclines in my hometown, and box sledding is a time-honored tradition.

Linda (sister-in-law) takes her turn. Looks like she lost the box!

Andy and I walked at this park a lot when we were dating.

My brother (Jonathan) and his wife (Linda).

Just look at that face! Sweet old beagle, Zoe.

"Hi, my name is Rachel, and I am a Mormon."

Beth Marie's. If you know, you know.

Rocky, the pug.

Andy's (maternal) grandparents. MoMo seems to be disapproving of something that PoPo finds very funny.

It was a great trip--but altogether WAY too short.

Hope your Christmas was great, too. And Happy New Year! Any good resolutions this year?

The Santa Myth

2011-12-14T19:16:00.000-08:00

WARNING: THIS POST MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN, or the young at heart.

I've been thinking a lot about Santa lately.

Working with ESL students from places like Burma and Bhutan means that many of our students have not experienced Christmas like we celebrate it here in the U.S.--and many of them have not celebrated it (or even known anything about it) at all. Adults and children alike are fascinated by the story. Imagine trying to explain Christmas to someone (with limited English) who has never heard of it before:

"A special baby was born in a barn 2000 years ago, so now there's a fat old man in a red suit who flies all over the world in a car pulled by reindeer, one of whom has a red nose, and he lands on rooftops and goes down the chimney at night and gives presents to good kids, and we write letters to him and give him cookies and milk, but he's actually not real--but that's a secret, so don't tell your children. Oh, and there are little people that help Santa, and he lives at the North Pole, which is near Canada."

And yes, we have been focusing mostly on the secular side of Christmas. Not because we don't like Jesus, but because it's confusing enough without the religious side of it . . . "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" is about as deep as we get into that aspect (and even that really only works with the Christian refugees anyway).

So, I started thinking about my own relationship with the Santa Myth. I, like many, was introduced to Santa at a young age. There were certain things I never bought: I knew the Santa at the mall was not the real Santa (who was, of course, too busy making toys at the North Pole to go to malls--plus, it didn't make any sense that he could be at so many malls at the same time). I knew it wasn't logical for Santa to be able to travel all around the world in one night, but I had to factor in the different time zones, plus a good bit of magic (and he could skip the houses of the bad kids, and the ones who didn't celebrate Christmas), so that didn't pose too much of a problem, either.

One Christmas, we were vacationing in Florida, and I was very concerned that Santa wouldn't be able to find us. My parents calmly reassured me that he'd know where to find me--he followed these things very closely. I was similarly concerned that we didn't have a chimney, but I supposed that he could also come in through a window, or maybe the back door. We put out the cookies and milk, and when we woke up, they were gone, our stockings were stuffed, and there were new presents under the tree. I listened for the jingle bells, but never heard them. I looked out the window as I drifted off to sleep, but I never saw the glow of a red nose.

I realized the truth when I noticed that the wrapping paper, gift tags, and handwriting that Santa used were all the same as my mother's. My suspicions might have been fueled by other kids at school, or perhaps my (mean) older brother, but in any case, I eventually put all the pieces together. I don't remember feelings of betrayal; I don't even think that I cried. In my memory, I let that part of my childhood drift away, silently, and without protest.

I posed the question on Facebook to find out how some of my friends were brought into The Truth About Santa. There were some common themes: parental missteps, other kids at school, Some had parents who outright told them (or, in one case, a teacher). Andy, for example, was told The Truth, and we recently found out that his mother has been carrying guilt around for 20 years. She called to apologize a few weeks back, an hour after a conversation about Santa.

Now, I'm not a parent myself, but I find the whole Santa Myth to be a point of ethical confusion. Which is the greater crime, lying to your children, or robbing them of a childhood experience and rite of passage? (I suppose the answer to that is obvious to anyone who never believed in Santa, and much less so to anyone who ever did.) And if you choose to indulge in the fantasy, at what point do you pull the plug? Is it more damaging to dash your child's hopes, or to wait until someone in their (middle?) school does?

The truth of the matter is that Christmas is more fun when that hope of something magical exists. And while The Santa Myth does not make any sense at all, I'm sure we'll be passing it to our children. And as they grow older, I'm sure we'll be fighting to keep the hope alive in their little eyes . . .

P.S. It will be harder and harder to conceal The Truth. Thanks again, Internet.

Long Time, No Write

2011-12-01T17:32:00.001-08:00

For the past three days, I've been suffering from incapacitating back pain.

I came to work on Tuesday, my first day back after the Thanksgiving holiday, and halfway up the stairs I felt a spasm in my back, paused, and continued up. By the time I reached the top, I could barely stand, and I felt funny.

Stupidly, I continued back downstairs to my ECE room. Again, I pretty much collapsed when I reached my destination. By this point, the students were coming in. I felt paralyzed, both by the situation and by my pain, and still fuzzy. At one point, after having stood for a little while to give some incoming children hand sanitizer, I broke into a cold sweat ("Why are you so wet?," asked one girl. "Maybe because of the rain," she reasoned), and my co-worker said that my face looked funny, yellow. I was lightheaded, a little nauseous, and in a horrible amount of pain.

I went to lie down in the back room, and some of the children followed me (thankfully, a few were equipped with play-stethoscopes, so I got immediate medical attention). One of my favorite little boys (who always gets scared when I play "hurt" with some of the other children) was watching carefully, though I think most of the children were unaware of what was going on. After a while, I was able to stand up, go back up stairs to collect my things, and make it back to the car, praying I'd make it home safely since it was painful to drive (especially to brake).

Yesterday, I had some numbness in my left foot, too, and a stretching pain down my leg. I could barely sleep at all.

A tribute to my sweet, wonderful husband, though. He is the best.

He stayed home from work to take care of me. He helped me out of bed. He helped me put my socks on. He helped me get dressed, take a shower, eat my meals . . . AND he brought me chocolate. And though I was writhing in pain, he never stopped telling me I was beautiful, giving me kisses, and massaging my back and feet when it didn't hurt too much to do so. If I've ever wondered what love looks like, Andy has just shown me.

From our honeymoon. He is so handsome, too!

I'm now on a pretty serious battery of pain killers, so I feel a lot better. I can walk, get out of bed, and make it to the bathroom without passing out (a marked improvement)!

All in all, today I feel very grateful for the little things in life. You never know how blessed you are to be able to walk, sit upright, and dress yourself until you have those things taken away from you, even temporarily. My heart goes out to anyone who lives with physical pain as a constant in their life, or who doesn't have the ability to take care of him or herself. It is hard, in so many ways. I've only had the experience for two days, and they have probably been the worst two days of my life!

So, be grateful if you can move under your own power, free of pain. It is a blessing. A huge blessing. Trust me.

And be careful with your backs! Again, trust me.

Why I Love My Life

2011-11-04T16:36:00.000-07:00

So I realize it's been over a month since the last post, and things have changed. Quick update:

1. Declined the DC Teaching Fellows offer. Things are too good with my current position (more on this below), and the timing just wasn't right. They won't defer, but I can reapply, and [probably] be accepted again for the Fall 2012 Corps.

2. Received (and took) a final interview with Teach For America, which I felt good about. My 5-minute lesson went very well, as did the personal interview. (I got to talk a lot about my work at Prospect Park, which, again, I love--see below). I will know the results on November 8 (eeeek)!!!! [Side note: I passed the Spanish test, which would qualify me to teach in a bilingual classroom, or to teach Spanish as a foreign language, if accepted.]

Okay. So, there you go.

Now, back to what I wanted to post about: PROSPECT PARK.

Prospect Park is the new love of my life. At Prospect Park, I teach a pre-school class in the morning, lead an Interactive Literacy Activity with the children and their parents (who are in English classes while we are hanging out in the Early Childhood Ed room), and in the afternoon, I teach a small group of low-beginner Adult-ESL students. We have a few immigrants, but most of our students are refugees--mostly from Bhutan and Burma, though there are other countries represented as well. My colleagues and I teach out of three apartments in an area with a high concentration of refugees. They (and my supervisor) are awesome, our students are awesome, and it is a fantastic place to be.

This, for example, is the Early Childhood Education (ECE) room. The murals were lovingly painted on the wall by my predecessor. The kiddos always love playing in the kitchen--they probably make me an average of 3 birthday cakes every day!

Want to see more? Let's take a tour:

This is the book corner. The kiddos like to crawl back there for peek-a-boo, to cuddle, or to "read" stories to each other.

Here's our snack / coloring table. It's in the opposite corner of the book nook (above), in the back area of the ECE room. You can see into the (real) kitchen--and just to the right of where the picture ends is where the play kitchen (first picture above) is found.

This is the story corner--on the opposite side of the room as the play kitchen. We (mostly unsuccessfully) try to get the tiny humans to sit here in the bean bags or in our laps while we read stories, and then sing songs. The kiddos get to choose their favorite songs by pointing on the wall. (Right now, the favorites are "Old Mac Donald", "Twinkle, Twinkle", and "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes", with the Alphabet Song close behind.) For most of them, English is not the language that is spoken in the home, so it is great to hear them sing these songs! They love it so much, and it warms my heart.

This is the wall adjacent to our front door. Below the mural we have blocks and other toys, but I really just wanted to show the mural.

I'd love to show you pictures of the adorable children, but this is not the place. I'll just tell you that they are so loving, and they fill my heart every day. I love how they sit on my lap (three, four at a time!), play "doctor" as they give me shots of who-knows-what straight into my brain (dubious medical practices, maybe, but they're very attentive!), play and share with one another, and just how they interact with the world around them. I also love when they speak to me in their own languages--even though I have no idea what they are saying (though, mostly, they are very good about making themselves understood).

Our relationships with the students are very special--they invite us into their homes quite often, and we have a great time learning about their culture. This is me after having been "tikka'ed" at a Nepali festival called Dashain. On my forehead is a mixture of rice and yogurt (I think), dyed red. I received a blessing, sung to me by the eldest member of the household, and some "culture" ($5, which the family insisted I take. "It's not really money, it's blessings. Culture! Culture!"), along with lots of yummy food.

Yes, I love Prospect Park. Are you jealous? You should be.

Times are Changing.

2011-10-02T17:01:00.000-07:00

There is a lot going on in our galaxy. We have a lot of balls in the air, and we're waiting to see where everything lands. Nothing is certain, but ONE thing: next year will look nothing like this one.

The first news was that I was offered an elementary education fellowship with DC Teaching Fellows, a teaching fellowship program based out of DC (I know, go figure). Very similar to Teach For America, the program allows its fellows to receive training and certification while they are on the job, earning salary, and gaining classroom experience, while they teach in hard-to-staff schools (in case you're wondering, that usually means "low-income"). Admittedly, the prospect of no longer living from paycheck-to-paycheck (considering neither of us has ever been salaried) is a very inviting one. Not to mention the full benefits, another thing that has as yet eluded us. I know it is a difficult path, especially when you're coming in with little training to the hardest schools in one of the hardest districts in the country, but I am ready for a challenge. Besides, DC would be a great place for Andy to be, as there are loads of non-profits based there. There is a pretty major down-side to this, having to do with the timeline, which is virtually the only thing holding me back from being totally gung-ho. (Details as they become available.)

The second news is that I was also accepted to the M.Ed. program at Duquesne University here in Pittsburgh, with a bit of a scholarship. Truth be known, my application to the school was definitely a whim, and was basically my "If Andy gets a job in Pittsburgh" contingency. "Just in case." School is definitely a less-appealing option, since it would COST money rather than EARN money, and then I'd graduate with the certificate, but little experience. Besides, I think four degrees between us will be plenty for right now . . .

Lastly, I'm currently in the process of applying / interviewing with Teach For America. I had my phone interview last week, and I felt pretty good about it, but I never know about these things. TFA is definitely more competitive than DCTF, and carries with it more notoriety. If I advance to the next (final) round, there will be an all-day interview, similar to what I did with DCTF, and I would find out about my status in early November. I won't know about where they place me until I receive an offer (if I do, in fact, receive an offer), so there is some question there, as well.

Andy will be done with school in April, which means that (other than the dear friends we've made here), there is nothing tying us down to Pittsburgh. We are about to enter the next phase of our lives (so help us!). We've also discussed New York state, the Pacific Northwest, Austin, and Canada, among others.

Anybody have any input?

UPDATE: I did, in fact, make it to the final interview round with TFA (happy thoughts and prayers requested on October 20)!!!!

Also, thanks for all your support and perspective on this. In any case, it will be a challenge. But I've decided that I am capable of doing hard things, and doing them well. Making sure that every child has the right to a good education is something I believe in very strongly, so despite that things will be (I'm sure) much more difficult than I can imagine, I'll still be able to make it through.

Oh, Crap.

2011-09-22T19:57:00.000-07:00

Oh, Crap Moment #1
Um, I'm taking the GRE tomorrow. Do people usually study for this? I mean, I've had the book in my possession for a while, does that count?? I even opened it up once!

Oh, Crap Moment #2
Andy and I will be running a 5k this weekend. It snuck up on us. It was going to be a quick-train, but somehow starting a new FT position has worn me out to the point of not training very much at all. Whoops.

Birthday Wish List

2011-09-11T17:22:00.000-07:00

It was surprisingly difficult to come up with my birthday wish list. I usually try NOT to think of things that I wish I had, and instead concentrate on the many things that I am so fortunate to have. These days, I'm so happy with the way things are going, I barely even have time to think about what I'm lacking. I guess that's a good thing, though it makes for a pretty boring wish list (sorry). So, without further ado:

RACHEL'S BIRTHDAY LIST 2011

First and foremost, I would ALWAYS welcome handwritten, kind, and thoughtful prose. You know, sometimes I forget that people love me, and of anything else on this list, love is the most precious thing of all (go ahead and puke now, but I'm serious!).

Okay, now that THAT'S out of the way . . . onto the materialism!

Cute(ish), comfortable flats. Shoes that I can wear to work, out walking around town, or anyplace I want to look cute and put-together. I'm currently relying on my sneakers for any time I'm going to be standing for any length of time, which is very frumpy (I'm aware), but I'm not willing to sacrifice my knees and / or back for the sake of fashion. These ones are from Keen, and fit the bill pretty well.

Games for the game "closet." Right now our collection is paltry at best: dominoes, Skip-bo, Bananagrams, and Snorta (my favorite). Cranium and Apples to Apples are, of course, favorites, but I would also like pretty much any word game thrown at me. Or other classics like Clue, Monopoly, etc.

A cast-iron skillet. Yes, I want a cast-iron skillet. We have a teflon skillet that is losing its nonstick power (which, apparently, is hazardous to our health), and a cast-iron skillet is a kitchen must-have. This might be the most boring gift ever.

The Cello-Phant. This would help me teach my beginning students how to not have crazy bow-holds. When did I get to be so practical?

A New All-in-One Printer. Ours is so temperamental, and it never prints anything of any professional quality. We end up printing "important" documents at school or the library, and we'd really like to upgrade. This is an HP, which had reasonably good reviews. I haven't really done my research here, because it's not really in the cards for us right now.

Like I said, this is a really yawn-inducing wish-list. Maybe I should go a little more exotic . . .

A trip for two to Galapagos. Or India, Thailand, Patagonia, Paris, Rio de Janeiro . . .

Or for experiences instead of things:

Yoga or Zumba classes. That would be awesome.

Cooking classes. Again, awesome.

Pittsburgh Symphony tickets. We're too poor to go on our own.

A makeover. Hair, makeup, facial, mani-pedi . . . yeah, I could handle that.

A MASSAGE. Hell yes. I've never had a professional massage, and I think I could use one!

There you go, that's better!

And, of course, there are also gift cards:

Old Navy

Target

Fandango

Restaurants (I don't really like chains, but I have to admit that it makes for a good date night)

Starbucks (hot cocoa season is fast approaching)

Shar (do they even have GC's?)

So, woohoo! There you go. Any other suggestions? What should I want??

I Should Be Asleep.

2011-09-07T22:31:00.000-07:00

. . . but I'm not. Please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes, as my brain went to sleep two hours ago at least.

I also accidentally closed the tab I had open for this post, so we're starting over from ground zero* scratch.

Things have been busy--I started orientation for my new position this week, so a lot is happening there. I've had a lot of good blog post ideas, but haven't had the time and / or energy (or focus) to turn them into real live posts. So, I'll submit to you my teasers, and you can vote on which you'd like to see as a full-on blogstravaganza.

In no particular order:

I. Service
How do you define service? Sacrifice vs. duty? Man-hours or dollars donated? Number of lives touched?

II. So Funny, Y'all Forgot to Laugh
I used to be funny, but now I'm not. I don't know what happened.

III. Birthday Wish List
Heck, it's my birthday. I'll be greedy if I want to.

IV. Introversion vs. Extroversion
Is one better than the other?

Vote away! And if none of those sound interesting, then I'm moving to Morocco. Or something. Or maybe I'll just ask you for suggestions on what you think would be interesting to read about.

Flugelhorn.

*I guess I shouldn't say "ground zero" in the days approaching the 10th anniversary of 9/11.

Transitions . . .

2011-09-03T08:33:00.000-07:00

The 2011-12 academic year is looking to be an excellent one. Lots of change--new jobs for both of us, new horizons, and new attitudes. It feels good, for once, to be optimistic about the future.

I had my last day at the nursing home on August 23rd, and I surprised myself by actually being sad. I hadn't told any of the staff (except those in my department) or the residents that I was leaving, and had even considered not mentioning it at all, but finally decided that to just walk out on the residents would not be very nice of me. I did get a little misty as I said my goodbyes, but the past week-plus of not working there have cemented in my mind that quitting was absolutely the best decision I could have made. I feel better: more motivated, more like myself, lighter, freer . . . and healthier.

Andy really likes his new internship, too, and it's been a good change for him to be working at a job relevant to his field. He likes all his classes and professors this semester (it was the first week of class this week), so things are definitely on the upswing for him, too. We will be busy, but we'll still have weekends, which seem such a luxury!

Also, I finally joined the rest of the world and got a smartphone. I got an email from my Pops (the technophile that he is) saying Best Buy was giving away an iPhone 3GS to anyone who signed on a contract with AT&T, so I did. I gotta say, having an iPhone is awesome, even if it is the old school type. The phone I was using before was a hand-me-down that Dad cast off when he got his first iPhone (2008), and while I kept waiting for it to kick the bucket, it just wouldn't die. Unfortunately, I had to pass on the dinosaur to Andy, whose LG recently decided to stop taking a charge . . . if anyone has an old AT&T phone they want to donate, it'll probably be in better shape than the Samsung (ca. 2006).

The old Samsung A707. Still kickin', but not too high.

So, I guess that's about it for now. Hard to believe it's September, and even starting to feel like Fall (though not in the past couple of days--it's been pretty steamy). I'm ready for Fall, just not for what follows . . .

I Want to Leave My Comfort Zone, But It's So Comfy!

2011-08-16T05:15:00.000-07:00

Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself.
-Charlie Chaplin

Success is going from failure to failure without the loss of enthusiasm.
-Winston Churchill

In order to succeed, your desire for success should be greater than your fear of failure.
-Bill Cosby

Andy and I have been talking recently about what is holding us back. We are two young, intelligent, (graduate level) college-educated people. On paper, we look pretty good, but somehow, that hasn't yet translated into real life the way we'd like (i.e., instead of being up-and-comers in our careers, we're working multiple part-time jobs for little pay). Why?

We've come to the conclusion that we have one big handicap that is keeping us from being successful:

We are terrified of failure.

People who are terrified of failure don't attempt difficult things, because the more difficult the task, the greater the likelihood that they will fail. People afraid to fail will take what comes to them because it's there, and a bird in the hand is always worth two in the bush. So take the safe road, right?

Unfortunately, I don't think real success comes without the risk of failure--and probably, most successful people will tell you that they have failed, often and hard. Think of your favorite writer / actor / singer / composer / athlete / entrepreneur / musician / artist / whatever . . . was everything they ever put their name to an undisputed success? I think I've been under the (mistaken) impression that failure is the worst thing that could happen to me. Now that I'm thinking about it, though, that's so wrong and so limiting.

Athletes, for example, experience failure on a very regular basis, at both personal and team levels. Even the very best athletes miss free throws, lose tennis matches, don't stick the landing, double the triple lutz, and watch championships slip through their fingers. It happens, and it's disappointing, but if you're not failing, then you're not stretching yourself enough. (After all, who dreams of being the best pitcher in the minor league?)

How do you really know your potential if you don't find your breaking point? If you only attempt things you're already sure you can do, where is the growth? When you're doing strength training, you have to break the muscles down before you can build them up. That doesn't happen until your last rep, when you're at the point that it's difficult, and you don't feel like you can possibly do another. Growth comes from struggle. Success comes from struggle.

This is all very cliché, very trite. We've all seen these aphorisms posted on the walls of 7th grade classrooms and school libraries. Why is it so hard to believe and act upon? Are Andy and I the only people who haven't figured this out yet? I mean really, even babies learning to walk do so by falling--over and over again.

There's an old (Chinese? Japanese? Buddhist?) proverb: "Fall six times, and get up seven."

So, maybe falling isn't as bad as I'm afraid it is.

The Big Announcement

2011-08-10T18:07:00.000-07:00

Well, folks, it has finally happened!

Oh, wait. Wrong picture. (But you should check out these other great cakewrecks.)

Sorry, folks, that's not the announcement I'm making--at least not today.

*Drumroll*

I am officially moving on.

Yesterday morning, I accepted an offer to teach Early Childhood Education (under the age of 5) through AmeriCorps and the Greater Pittsburgh Literacy Council in a community of refugees and immigrants just outside of Pittsburgh. Despite the fact that I don't start until September 6, I promptly put in my notice at my current place of work.

Hooray for steady income! And even though it's a "modest living stipend," it's significantly more than what I'm making right now. And while I'll be working more hours, I will have a blessed, regular schedule. This means that instead of having seven possible work days in a week (and sometimes working all seven of them with no day off), I will have five like a normal person! Weekends off (I haven't been to a full 3-hour church block since May--you mean I can go now)?! Holidays too?!?!! What an amazing stroke of luck.

Not to mention that it's in a field of interest for me, instead of . . . well, a field of disinterest. Maybe I haven't told most of you this, but I'm looking to transition into teaching as a career. I've been taking my Praxis exams, applying for work-study fellowships (I've got an interview with one later this month!!!!), and exploring my options of ways to reach my ultimate goal. I feel more optimistic right now than I remember feeling in a long time.

Life is good. I am excited to have something in my life again that I can pour myself into. I've spent the past few months coming home from work just trying to forget about my day, and I'm looking forward to a change.

Thoughts? Advice? Anyone?

A Change'll Do You Good

2011-07-31T06:15:00.000-07:00

Life is a moving target. Just two weeks ago, I posted this.

Since then, Andy has been awarded a paid internship with the Student Conservation Association, doing program evaluation (i.e., using his education and experience). I have taken several interviews which would get me out of my current work situation. The most recent one (for my number one choice) went well, and I am going in tomorrow to see the site, and make sure I'm still interested. I don't want to jinx anything, but I feel pretty good about it.

Change will be good. In the past few weeks, we haven't been taking very good care of ourselves, and I think I've underestimated the effects that can have on one's physical person. I work in a high-stress environment (ask anyone who works there), and that, too, has been taking a toll on me. I've put on weight, I've been experiencing aches and pains that weren't there before, and my patience with myself and others around me is very thin. Having a schedule that changes from day to day and week to week doesn't help--there is no semblance of a routine in our house. Sleep patterns and mealtimes are subject to change on a daily basis. It's no wonder my body is rebelling. Enough is enough!

So, I'll petition for prayers and happy thoughts tomorrow afternoon. Change is requisite for my physical and mental health.

Summertime . . . and the livin' is easy.

2011-07-22T18:09:00.000-07:00

It has been hot here lately. Now, any self-respecting Texan would beg to differ, especially in light of the recent weather in my hometown:

Yeah, that's gross, and I am in no way trying to diminish that, but it has been gross here, too. Today's high was (only, I know) 93F, but with 68% humidity, it felt like living in an armpit. It wouldn't bother me so much, but there is no escape! We live in a small third floor apartment, with a window unit (ca. 1988--no joke--I looked up the serial number today) tucked back in our bathroom, which is the only room with the right kind of window to support it. As you can imagine, it gets stuffy very fast. Plus, it's really hard to look professional and well-kept for job interviews when you have a constant greasy film and / or sweat covering you at all times. So yesterday and today, Andy and I have been looking for ways to beat the heat.

1. Ice Pop Molds.

Our mixed berry yogurt pops, which were prettier before I wrapped them in Saran wrap (but we had to make way for the chocolate pudding pops, so we sacrificed).

I was a total skeptic. First of all, Andy and I are both really cheap (i.e., although we've had four lightbulbs burn out since we moved into this apartment a year ago, we have resisted replacing them until just very recently), so the thought of spending money on something so frivolous wasn't high on the list. Secondly, it is a unitasker, and we don't have the real estate to support lots of gadgets like that. However, yesterday, the heat had us both in grumpy moods, so I went on a quest to find an ice pop mold, hoping that would cheer us up. Found these at Kmart for the modest price of $2.99, which was just about my limit. (I found others online, but couldn't justify spending 10 bucks on one, much less $50.) We whipped up a batch of raspberry-strawberry yogurt smoothie, and froze it . . . with delicious consequences. We're currently freezing PB-chocolate pudding pops, and I am VERY excited about that.

2. GRILL.

We've been wanting a grill ever since the weather started warming up, but due to our aforementioned cheapskatedness, haven't taken the plunge. We just wanted something small, and the Smokey Joe had good reviews. $30 at Target! Still, $30 for us is a big purchase, and again, not justifiable.

Enter our wonderful friends, Hannah & Spencer! We dog-sat for their cute little Pomeranians while they were on vacay in Cali, so for our thank-you gift, we got our own little Smokey Joe! It's just the one we wanted. Are they great or what?? (I swear, we weren't hinting when we invited them over for the 4th of July for hot dogs and burgers cooked in our toaster oven [un-American, I know]! They're just thoughtful.)

Sooooo, basically, what I'm saying is . . . LET THE PARTY BEGIN!

Shish kebabs anyone?

Grilled pizza? (btw, if you've never had grilled pizza, DO IT.)

Grilled fish, chicken, pineapple, peaches, zucchini, CORN ON THE COB?!?!

It is summer now. Just listen to the Fresh Prince . . .

P.S. I know you love this post, because anything bookended by Ella Fitzgerald and Will Smith has to be good.

Who Knows?

2011-07-18T12:23:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been feeling excited and optimistic about the possibilities before Andy and me. We're young, oh-so-attractive, intelligent, and (after a difficult year) more motivated than ever to make our lives full of meaning and worth.

On Grad School and Following Your Dreams

2011-07-15T18:34:00.000-07:00

"Allons voir un coucher de soleil . . ."

2011-07-11T18:15:00.001-07:00

. . . I am very fond of sunsets.

I went to the grocery store this evening to pick up a few sundries. As I checked out, I noticed the pink glow coming from outside--one of the most beautiful sunsets I've seen in a while. One of those sunsets that makes you wonder what's wrong with people who are going about their daily business as if there isn't a miracle right before their eyes.

Why do I love sunsets so much?

They are so fleeting, ever-changing. Sunsets are a point of transition, and if you blink, you'll miss them. If you're not in the right place at exactly the right time, you can miss out completely.

Part of my route home was spent driving into the sunset--the last lingering bit of daylight--with all the colors before me. As I turned a corner, I was driving into the night, watching fireflies glow around me and cats begin to lurk in the darkness. The sunset itself is neither day nor night, but it's the point of connection between the two.

We rarely give our transitions enough credit. If you think of it, though, they are hugely important. In writing, transitions go a long way in taking a reader with you from idea to idea. In music, it's the transitions that set truly great musicians apart from mediocre ones, those moments that hold the audience transfixed, wondering what will come next. In life, though, transitions are most often viewed as something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

Our time here in Pittsburgh was always meant to be transitory, and we haven't really tried to make anything beautiful out of it (even to the point of avoiding most attempts at building friendships, until recently). As uncertainty looms, and we (like so many other [soon-to-be or] recent graduates, and Americans in general) are left to wonder if we'll be able to "make it" any time in the near future, this transition time seems as though it's just an obstacle--something standing in the way of us and our successful, comfortable life ahead.

Maybe I've been judging our transition too harshly. Maybe I shouldn't be frustrated because I'm in the space between day and night, but I should stop and appreciate the beauty and uniqueness of my every moment of transition.

Tonight's sunset.

CRAZYHARLOSINVASION!

2011-07-10T17:32:00.000-07:00

We had some visitors this weekend. My folks came in for a quick jaunt over to see what our life is like in Pittsburgh. They kept us pretty busy; in just three days' time:

1. Went to the Phipps Conservatory. Something must have been funny.

2. Carnegie Museum of Art & Carnegie Museum of Natural History.

3. Duquesne Incline

4. Found "Kewpie Mayonnaise" (in a pouch) at the Asian market in the Strip District.

(More Strip District. I love my Daddy!)

5. Went to see Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater. (I can't post any pictures of the actual place, so here we are at the Visitors' Center . . . )

6. Ethiopian Dinner

7. Andy got his PhD!

Look at those crazy kids and their iPhones . . . my parents are so much cooler than me.

Other events (not pictured): Shakes at the Milkshake Factory, Breakfast at Pamela's, Lunch at Uncle Sam's Sub Shop, visit to the Andy Warhol Museum, visit to the Cathedral of Learning Nationality Rooms, walk at Frick Park, play "special music" at church, and take a driving tour of the city. Also, my Dad bought me a brownie pan, so of course I had to make some brownies.

Happy.

2011-07-03T18:57:00.000-07:00

Sorry to have frightened some of you . . . I'm not as depressed as I apparently seem. I suppose I've just been in an introspective mood lately, trying to look at my life objectively. It's a form of problem-solving. And yes, it is certainly true that my life is not at all where I would like it to be, but I'm not too bent out of shape about it--I'm just really anxious to get to the place where things are better. Figuring out what I could have done better previously can help me not to make the same mistakes in the future.

The good news is that I feel improvement is imminent. The more I think of it, the more I feel like the Rachel that has been overtaking me for the past few years is not the Rachel that I really am. I never used to doubt myself so much, and I don't think it's a coincidence that success used to come so much easier. I never doubted that I could successfully complete any task placed before me. Somewhere along the line I lost that, and I'm ready to find my Mojo again. So there! Don't worry, just send me your happy thoughts and prayers. :-)

Hope everyone has a great Fourth tomorrow. I'll be working during the day (happythoughts), but come the evening, it's time to PARTY.

Grandma & Grandpa Higa, I love and miss you.
This picture was taken on New Year's Eve 2007, but I love it, and it has fireworks in it, so THERE.

(This was actually a New Year's Eve spread from Hawaii, 2007-08. Impressive, yes?)

On Being Poor, and Following Bliss

2011-06-25T13:29:00.000-07:00

Liz, one of my colleagues from the BYU School of Music, recently wrote a post asking how we felt about majoring in music now that all was said and done.

Let me explain my current situation, and we can delve into the details from there.

I have Bachelor's and Master's degrees in Cello Performance from BYU and UNT, respectively.

I am working two jobs (one totally unrelated to music, another more related), and teaching privately . . . and living below the federal poverty line. I married an idealist like myself--and, to be clear, that is exactly why I love him--who would not be happy working at a job that wasn't fulfilling at some deep level, and so, we're holding onto our hope that we can find some combination of fulfillment and sustainability . . .

We live in a tiny, 3rd floor apartment, we buy our groceries on Food Stamps, and for "health insurance," we try to exercise, eat right, and pray that nothing will happen to us. We are the working poor.

I've rewritten that last paragraph several times already, trying to remove any twinge of bitterness that may still come across, but the honest truth is that when I see people who are the same age as me (or, better yet, younger!), who are living "grown-up" lives, I can't help but feel bitter. Alas, envy green isn't a flattering color on anyone (especially not half-Asians whose skin, already tinged with yellow, looks especially jaundiced by any green), so back to the discussion at hand.

Do I regret majoring in music?

The short answer is no.

The long answer is no, but I regret everything about how I did it.

Why music, anyway?

Both of my parents are musicians. Growing up, I knew one thing: I liked playing cello, but I did NOT want to be a music major in college. However, that all changed when it came time to actually choose my major.

During my senior year of high school, my youth orchestra played a concert featuring a handsome young piano soloist, Alessio Bax.

During that concert, in a flurry of handsome-pianist-playing-Rach 3-induced passion (that piece is sexy), I knew more surely than I've ever known anything else in my life that

I
NEEDED
TO MAJOR
IN MUSIC.

It's the rush that I get when I'm onstage, the feeling that nothing else matters, the compulsion to expel every emotion I've ever felt and many that I haven't so that someone can hear me, understand me, and appreciate me. It's that feeling that made me cry when I last saw a Symphony orchestra performing live, and even sometimes when I hear a piece on the radio. Even as I write this now in the public library, my eyes are welling with tears. It means a lot to me.

So, what do I regret about majoring in music?

1. I shouldn't have done it at BYU. This is tough. I was looking at my old pictures from the HFAC this morning, and I *love* my BYU friends, and I cherish the memories we shared. At the same time, I spent a lot of time at BYU being very lonely, depressed, and self-hating. Aside from that, it wasn't a good place for me to develop as a musician. There are myriad reasons for that, only most of which I blame myself for, but I was never my best at BYU. Which leads me to . . .

2. I should have worked a hell of a lot harder. I gave my all onstage, but never in the practice room, where it would have reaped more reward. As a result, I've always been (by my less-than-humble estimation) a compelling but sloppy performer. I've always thought it was much better to be "compelling-but-sloppy" than "clean-but-boring", but I never really figured out that I could be "clean-and-compelling" if I just worked my tail off (and, to be sure, it's still just a theory).

3. I should not have allowed myself excuses. I am simultaneously too hard on myself, and too lenient. I berate and belittle myself while I'm working on something ("You are so stupid, why can't you get that bowing right?!"), and give so many allowances after the fact ("I've been too busy to practice lately, or else I could have nailed that audition!"). [In case you're wondering, that is always how I talk to myself. When it's negative, it's a "you" statement, and when it's positive, it's an "I." I can't even own up to my own weaknesses in my own thoughts!] I regret not having been more honest with myself, especially about my level of playing, and what I could expect from the amount of effort I exerted.

4. I should have dreamed bigger. I shied away from the dream of playing in a Major Symphony Orchestra--too competitive. I shied away from the dream of playing chamber music--too hard to come by. Everything I could have done seemed inaccessible, which left me with the reality of playing Pachelbel's Canon (all 8 notes of it) in wedding quartets (see below).

No musician can tell me that this doesn't sound familiar. Unless you're a musician from Utah; in that case, you're thinking, "Whoa! $30 to play music?! Cool!!!"

If I'd had a complete, envisioned dream, I think I would have been successful. Thus, I can't say it was a mistake to be a music major.

My mistake? Not having a plan.

As a result of my poor planning, I'm still trying to figure out the place music has in my life. Sometimes, I forget why I loved it so much. Some days, I don't miss playing at all. But some days, it aches so much that I cry, and I remember that a part of me is dead. Some days, it feels like no one can ever really know me again, because Musician Rachel has disappeared, and she's the only Rachel that really ever had anything interesting to say.

I believe that if you work hard enough, you can succeed at anything.

What do you believe? Are you happy with your career choice? How do you wish you'd done it differently?

(P.S. Here is another interesting take on the subject. I just read an adapted version in my BYU Alumni magazine.)

Winner of 9 Tony Awards

2011-06-20T07:19:00.000-07:00

[NOTE: I have not seen the Book of Mormon musical. I have read lots of reviews on it, I have heard and read interviews with the creators, and I have listened to a lot of the music. I don't claim any authority on the matter, but I also refuse to unilaterally declare it unfit for all human viewing.]

I'm sure many of you--especially my fellow Mormons--have read this article from the Washington Post about the Book of Mormon musical, calling it the modern-day equivalent to the Amos and Andy show.

I'm a pretty sensitive person--I get my feelings hurt if someone honks their car horn at me!--but this musical just doesn't bother me. Maybe part of it is because I heard an interview on Fresh Air that really led me to believe that there was absolutely no malicious intent to the creation of the show ("I don't think anybody would want to see a two-hour-long Mormon-bashing, and we wouldn't want to see that either."), but I just can't work myself up about this, like any self-respecting Mormon would.

It is caricature. And yes, we Mormons are portrayed as being naive, overly optimistic, and repressed. But what Mormon can honestly look him or herself in the mirror and say that at least some of that isn't true? Who has ever looked at a 19-year-old greenie on his way to PerUruGuateMexiCaliFiji without thinking about how innocent and enthusiastic he is, and how he's in for a harsh reality?

Experiment.
Here are two lyric samples. Which do you think portrays Mormons in a better light?

Example 1:
Crooked generation, we demand your veneration.
Will you shake your heel at us as we call you to your knees?
Crooked generation, will you scoff at ordination?
We are warriors by a rite, so respect us if you please!

Example 2:
I've always had the hope that on the day I go to heaven
Heavenly Father will shake my hand and say, "You've done an awesome job, Kevin."
Now it's our time to go out and set the world's people free.
And we can do it together, you and me – but mostly me!

Those of you better versed in Mormon Culture may have recognized the first lyric sample, from the song, "In Our Humble Way," from Saturday's Warrior, a musical written by, for, and about Mormons. The second is from the song "You and Me--But Mostly Me," from the Book of Mormon musical. Both are taken out of context, of course, but the sentiments of both songs are strikingly similar: "We are going to make the world a better place, because we are awesome!" Seems pretty innocuous to me.

Mormons do tend to suffer from a persecution complex, a result of our heritage of being tarred and feathered, unjustly imprisoned, and forced into migration. True, it hasn't been an easy road for us (though I take serious issue when people say--as they do at times--that we have had it as bad as the Jews and / or the slaves), but that doesn't mean that everyone is still out to get us.

We often talk about the difference between faith and logic, and any religious person knows that faith absolutely defies logic. The Book of Mormon musical shines a light on this fact (the song "I Believe" highlights it), but I get the feeling that people get uncomfortable with this kind of scrutiny just because they've been afraid to question things for themselves--or to recognize that, to an outsider (or even--shockingly!--some insiders you may sit next to in sacrament meeting!), the gospel presents some ideas that challenge previously held beliefs. But when these challenges arise, instead of confronting them head-on, we get defensive--and that actually pushes people away from hearing what we have to say.

Yes, there is explicit language. Yes, they literally curse God. Yes, Mormons are portrayed in a humorous light. But I'm still not offended, and I can only find one other difference between the Book of Mormon musical and Saturday's Warrior:

The music in the Book of Mormon is wayyyyyyyyyyyyyy better.

[P.S., I watched an episode of Amos and Andy, but I actually think that there are more offensive examples that have taken place much more recently in our history. See below.]

Date Night: Putting it in Perspective

2011-06-18T13:24:00.000-07:00

I feel like I'm falling in love with Pittsburgh all over again.

Last summer, I began to love Pittsburgh for its temperate summers, endless community activities, and beautiful library. Winter put a quick stop to our honeymoon phase, but when the sun starting coming out again and there was green all around . . .

It's really a great city. Tonight, for example, we're meeting up with some friends to see a free outdoor jazz concert, and then to watch Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in the park.

Yesterday was Date Night--our first in a while, since we've both taken jobs that require us to work on weekends, and neither of us has what you would call a regular schedule (oh, how I long for a M-F, 9-5!). Fortunately, though, Andy's job does come with connections: since he works with Kayak Pittsburgh, we get to kayak for free anytime we want!

We took out a tandem, me in front, and Andy in the back. It was a beautiful day to be out on the river! Perfect, in fact.
We then went to get an Italian picnic. Our friends Hannah & Spencer had graciously given us a GC for Buca di Beppo, so after we finished our kayaking, we called up for some Italian take-out. The original plan was to take our dinner up the Duquesne Incline and have a picnic at the top. Unfortunately, we figured out too late that they require cash fare, and we were starving, so we decided to have our picnic in the parking lot for the Incline. We roll with the punches.

After our dinner, we found an ATM so we could make it to the top of the Incline. When we did, this is what we saw:
Beautiful. I think Pittsburgh is a beautiful city, especially at night. We saw the city from so many different angles yesterday. It's amazing what a huge impact perspective has.

So, we paid $0 for our kayaking, $10 out-of-pocket for our dinner, and $9 for our round-trip tickets up the Incline.

Spectacular Date Night: $19.
Memories: Priceless.

Now then, who wants to come visit us in the 'Burgh?!

I Pity the Fool . . . oh, wait--that's me.

2011-06-16T12:25:00.000-07:00

You know what feels terrible? Being made a fool. I am not an aggressive person, but I felt like lashing out today. I would have written such an angry email . . .

I MIGHT HAVE EVEN USED ALL CAPS.

I know--but I really was that mad. And next time, I'll press "send," I really will . . .

Having recently become disenchanted with our current landlord, who seems to drag his feet about things like cashing our rent check, getting our washing machine fixed, and / or sending us a lease renewal, I decided to see what was posted on craigslist.

I found what looked like a beautiful apartment in a great neighborhood, for less than what we're paying for our current apartment, in all its tiny, almost windowless, awkward, right-angle-lacking glory. My interest was piqued, so I sent the inquiry to the reply-address.

A lady responded, and gave me a pretty good story about how they thought it was going to be rented, but they haven't heard back from the couple, blah blah blah. If I am honest with myself, I will say that there was a lot that had me uneasy about the whole interaction--BUT, I ignored those feelings, because I *really* wanted that apartment to exist at that price. (And why is that smart voice inside of me so quiet, anyway?!) She said I just needed to do a credit report, and then we could set up a time to look over the place.

The link she gave me was to a credit-reporting site, which has apparently been running this scam for a while. As far as I know, they're not taking people for all they're worth, but they are taking out a $30 monthly fee and making it really hard to cancel. (Said company has an "F" rating at the Better Business Bureau.)

At least I figured it out quickly, and canceled my debit card. I eventually (after getting a busy signal [A BUSY SIGNAL. IN 2011]) got a hold of the company and "canceled" my subscription to the "service," fighting the urge to go Medieval on the poor guy on the phone who may not have even been aware he was working for a scam-operation.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

T and Sympathy

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show Full Episodes

Political Humor & Satire Blog

The Daily Show on Facebook

Well, at least I can feel better about knowing that even Mr. T has, at times, been made a fool.

Happy Birthday, dear Andy!

2011-06-11T12:32:00.000-07:00

June 9th was Andy's twenty(cough)th birthday. Being that we are currently those "living from paycheck to paycheck" people, and his birthday (unfortunately) fell at the end of a long stretch between paychecks, we played it pretty low-key this year.

Last year, for Andy's birthday / our going away party, I designed a special cake wreck just for Andy. He likes Star Wars, and it's kind of a joke between us, since I don't really care at all for the series, but when he asked for a Yoda cake, I had to oblige.

"May the 4's Be w/ Yinz"

I made it without consulting any actual image of Yoda, and I was kind of disappointed. It just wasn't all that ugly!! It did bear a resemblance to Elder Dallin H. Oaks, though . . .

This year was a bit more random. Andy wanted a carrot cake. He wanted this cake wreck, to be exact. Unfortunately for me, it was harder than I anticipated to find weird tiny babies. I was still pretty happy with how it turned out, despite everything:

Again, it's not the wreckiest cake (only one misspelling), but Andy just wanted it to be funny. (Side note: we each picked out an element of the cake's wreckorations. Can you guess who chose what?)

So, we had some friends over to help us kill the cake. We only got one bit of photographic evidence that they were there, but it wasn't a very good picture. Boo! You can see, though, that it was a pretty killer par-tay:

Little Sidera was enjoying her first "big girl bottle" (no worries, fellow Mormons--it's only ginger beer!). We've been very self-conscious about having people over to our tiny, poorly furnished apartment, and so we haven't done it much, but it's something we've missed. It was nice to be surrounded by great people, and to just enjoy the good times. Thanks, Hannah, Spencer, Sidera, Neal, Cristy, Lisa, and Joseph for coming out! We love you guys.

So, happy birthday to Andy!

South Carolina Vay-Cay

2011-06-06T12:19:00.000-07:00

We took a few days off in May to go to the Harlos family reunion at Pawleys Island, South Carolina, held in commemoration of my Pop-Pop's 85th birthday.

Happy Birthday, Pop-Pop! Real Southern Red Velvet + Lemon Cake. Yum!

We (all 18 of us!) stayed at this beautiful beach house, courtesy of Pop-Pop. It was so nice! Andy and I got to sleep on the back porch, facing the ocean. We could hear the waves gently lulling us to sleep, and feel the ocean breeze (when we were lucky).

Our agenda was PACKED:

First and foremost, of course, was beach time . . .

. . . then, getting ahead on those Summer Reading Lists . . .

. . . hammocking . . .

. . . and, of course, a good Harlos Family discussion. Pop-Pop likes to pontificate, and we all like to indulge him in that. We always try to talk about issues of great controversy, like gays in the Church, UFOs and other paranormal activities, and the like. The way it divides our family somehow brings us together . . . or something . . .

It was good to see Dadnmom, too. We were so spoiled when they were just a few miles down the road, and we could have Sunday dinners with them every week! We did get to enjoy our final SC meal with them, at the Charleston airport. Who do you think I take after?

Yes, it was a wonderful trip. Family, the beach, good food, and definitely good times!!

Whoops.

2011-06-02T20:06:00.000-07:00

I posted almost every day, until I didn't post anymore. Then I just gave up. I figured it wasn't worth pretending--didn't want anyone to think I was actually trying anymore. This might be typical of me in other areas of my life . . .

A few random thoughts for the day:

1. Driving over Pittsburgh's plentiful potholes is more pleasurable when you have a plethora of tambourines in the back seat of your car.

2. I saw some lawn service guys in orange shirts today, and it made me miss Denton.

3. I am a total fair-weather fan, but GO MAVS! Our wonderful neighbors gave us a TV a while back, and I hadn't had very much interest in hooking it all up until the NBA Finals started. So, tonight, I finally figured it all out, and got the TV working . . . only to discover that ABC (the channel carrying the Finals) is the ONLY station not to come through on our rabbit ears. Sigh.

4. Last night, I dreamed that Lady Gaga and I went to the abortion clinic together. (Don't worry: I'm not pregnant, and if I were, that is not the course of action I would choose. I don't want to invite any tirades onto my blog, but that's what happened in my dream.) I learned a few things about Lady Gaga: (1) her given name is Sutton, and (2) she has had many abortions before. Apparently, too, at the abortion clinic, they grade you (Lady Gaga was a Z-, which I'm guessing is pretty bad).

5. If anyone has any old VHS to unload, send them my way. I work PT at a nursing home in the dementia unit, and one of my new favorite pastimes is seeing their reactions to different films. I figure none of you probably want to hang onto your old VHS tapes, but if you have DVDs, that would also be welcome.

Some past reviews:

*Dr. Doolittle (Eddie Murphy, 1998)--very well received.
*101 Dalmations (Glenn Close, 1996)--residents were cussing at the bumbling henchmen, and cheered when they got their comeuppance.
*My Best Friend's Wedding(Julia Roberts, 1997)--"That was just crappy."
*Big (Tom Hanks, 1988)--"Very poignant."

Wrachel Rites: Dear Mom

2011-05-17T16:04:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom,

Things are great here in Swissvale. I found a nice place to crash, and my new roommates are really good cooks, if a bit messy. I don't mind cleaning up after them, though. I try to stay quiet and out of the way as much as possible.

I love and miss you!

Yours,
Benjamin

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Mom,

I know you're my Mom, so you're supposed to worry, but I assure you, I'm safe. I have no idea where you picked up all those horror stories about people like my roommates going on violent rampages and killing guys like me, but as far as I can tell, these two are definitely not the type. They know I keep a different schedule than they do, so they set out food for me every night. They even gave me a new nickname. You have nothing to be worried about.

Yours,
"Simon"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Mom,

Of course I remember what happened to Aunt Minnie, may she rest in peace. And with all due respect, I do have to point out that her situation was different than mine. Anyone would have been startled if they'd been caught by surprise by her sneaking around in the dark like that all the time. And her roommates didn't know she was there in the first place. Mine are well aware of me, and they even stay up late some nights to say hello. Despite myself, I'm beginning to like them.

Yours,
Benjamin / Simon

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Mom,

Last night the craziest thing happened! I was out for my snack (it was a lemon cupcake--homemade!), and all of the sudden, it was like the room was closing in on me. I'm not entirely sure what happened--it was all so fast--but I kept hearing my roommates' voices. It was the weirdest thing, though: I couldn't see them anywhere! I came out of it pretty quickly, though, and before I had time to think about it, I was running back into my room. I don't know what that was all about. Maybe they put something in those cupcakes.

Yours,
Benjamin / Simon

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Mom,

Yes, I have been eating my greens. I found a carnation the other day, it was so tasty! I have to admit, though, it is getting harder to eat well. I don't have time to go to the store, so I'm always left to just forage for whatever is around the apartment. I found some corn tortillas yesterday, which I just had to eat plain (my roommates didn't label it, so I figured it was fair game). I helped myself to some other stuff: bulgur, rice, some bread, granola bars, and even some chips. Hopefully my roommates won't mind . . .

Love,
Simon

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Mom,

It turns out everyone has their limit. After I binged on their groceries, my roommates decided it was time for me to go. Don't worry--they were very kind about it all. I think they felt bad, the whole ride to my new place, they kept apologizing and saying how sorry they were, but that I'd just overstepped the terms of our contract. (And yes, Mom, you were right. Turns out the thing that happened to me before was some sort of trap, only the second time around it worked.)

I've been relocated to the country. It's very pretty here. It's green and lush, and there are lots of friends to be made out here, especially for a guy like me. In fact, I think I may even be able to start dating again. Maybe you'll have those grand-babies after all.

Love,
Your Simon

P.S. Here's a picture of me and the girl I was telling you about. Her name is Trina. Isn't she pretty? Wish me luck . . . !

Wrachel Rites (Day Whatever: I Can't Get No Satisfaction)

2011-05-15T13:24:00.000-07:00

So, Blogger being shut down messed up my "writing every day" thing. Thanks, guys.

Anyway . . .

When I was a senior in high school, my Dad gave me this CD. I'm not really into the whole "inspirational music" deal. Neither is my Dad (in fact, I don't even know how he came across this CD), but he said he heard one of the songs and it made him think of me. I was thinking of some of the lyrics as I was showering this morning:

Reaching
We are reaching for the future
We are reaching for the past
And no matter what we have we reach for more
We are desperate to discover
What is just beyond our grasp
But maybe that's what heaven is for

Lately, I've been doing a lot of reaching. I dream of a future where we're not living from paycheck to paycheck and crossing our fingers that it will all work out at the end of the month. I dream of the past, where I had good friends and felt like I was important to people. I reach for better opportunities, a better situation . . . and I have an infinite capacity to be dissatisfied. (I think there's a fine line between the dissatisfaction that keeps a person from becoming complacent, and the dissatisfaction that breeds ingratitude, and I've been on both sides of the line.)

One of my favorite pieces of music is a piece we played on tour with the BYU Chamber Orchestra, Ravel's "Le Jardin Feerique" from Ma mere l'Oye. To me, this piece symbolizes this perfection, just out of our reach. It always leaves us with a reason to keep our hands outstretched. Perfection like that doesn't exist for us--at least not in this world.

The cadence near the end (about 2:34 in this performance) always has something of that yearning, and that's why this movement often brings me to tears. (I happen to know I'm not the only one who feels this . . . in fact, I'm pretty sure I've read this on some of my colleague's blogs! Also, if you read the comment thread on the YouTube video, it's pretty apparent.)

It's always better to be left wanting a little more out of anything you might do. In fact, if you give in and try to find complete satisfaction, you'll probably never find it. It could very well be impossible.

So, here's to never being completely satisfied.

Wrachel Rites (Day 9: Pittsburgh Limericks)

2011-05-11T18:05:00.000-07:00

Limerick #1 (The Sinkhole in Lawrenceville)

While driving my car 'round in Pittsburgh,
A hole in the road had been split. Birds
flew away when I said it,
(I guess I regret it).
My reaction: exclaim "Holy s- word!"

Limerick #2 (Playa Schenley Plaza)

Perhaps I should not try to preach,
And it isn't my place to beseech,
But bikinis and towels
Seem to me a bit foul
In a park miles away from a beach.

Limerick #3 (Diplodocus Carnegii)

With his long, graceful neck, you could see,
What his monstrous attraction might be,
Though, he makes me forlorn,
With accessories worn,
That dino's dressed better than me!

Wrachel Rites: Day 8 (Papa's Papas)

2011-05-10T18:07:00.000-07:00

Some people find it odd how much I love potatoes. When I try to explain it to them, they say, “I know! Carbs! Who doesn’t love ‘em?!”

“No,” I say. “You don’t understand. If I were on a sinking boat, and had a choice between saving a human, or a five-pound bag of Yukon Golds, I’d be eating latkes the next day—alone.” They are uneasy now. “I love potatoes.”

I remember the first time I ate a potato. After having consumed nothing but breast milk and rice cereal, mashed potatoes were my ambrosia. Though the rice cereal would end up all over my clothes and in my hair (a clever trick I played on my mother—it at least looked like I ate it all), my dish of mashed potatoes would be licked clean, without a spot gone to waste. This made Ma-Ma (as I called her in those days) very happy.

In grade school, I was horrified at what the other children ate on their lunch trays, the slop masquerading as my beloved mashed potatoes. I tried to save them from what I was sure was poison (I would shout, “No! Potatoes don’t come from a box! DON’T EAT THEM!” as the lunch monitor dragged my flailing, six-year-old self out of the cafeteria), but after several dozen detentions, I gave up my fight. Let them die—at least I tried.

In middle school, when other boys my age had posters of busty women and rock bands, I took my favorite portrait of a Red Bliss to the photo shop to have it blown up and framed. My younger sister’s friends would come over and laugh at me, but it didn’t faze me. There was no image that could still my heart like that knobby little fistful of starch. It concerned my father, but my mother assured him it was just a phase. “All kids go through something like this,” she’d say. “For me, it was Barbies. For Elroy, it’s potatoes.” By the time I was in high school, I could tell just by the smell when my boiling potatoes were done. Sniff. Done parboiling. Sniff. Perfect for my German potato salad. Sniff sniff. Ready to be mashed. It’s a subtle difference, but you can definitely smell it.

One day, my junior year at college, I spotted the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen across the courtyard. Her hair was russet brown, her beady eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and her figure was the first perfect 10 I had ever seen. I sauntered over to her.

“Hey, beautiful,” I winked. She was taken aback. “Come to my place. I’ll make you dinner. From the looks of you, I think I’d like to get to know you better.” A gentleman isn’t supposed to be so forward, but I couldn’t help myself. I could not let such a beauty just walk out of my life. She timidly nodded, and took the hand I offered her.

At my apartment, I turned on some soft music, turned down the lights, and told the girl—her name was Janice—to wait in the living room while I worked on dinner. I pulled out all the stops. For our appetizer: Spanish-style Fried Potatoes. My favorite salad: niçoise, minus the lettuce, tuna, and eggs. Soup: vichyssoise, but without the leeks (I’ve never liked them, and I didn’t have any on hand). Then, the piece de resistance: Pommes de Terre Dauphinoise. (Dessert: ice cream.)

After the several hours it took me to prepare all this, Janice was visibly restless. I was glad I had prepared such a perfect menu—each course leading to the next, progressing from good, to better, to the very best . . .

“Janice,” I said, looking into those beady eyes, “you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” She blushed.

“No one has ever called me beautiful before,” she smiled, shyly. “It means a lot.”

“I can’t believe that!” I exclaimed. She was so enticing, I could have just eaten her up. “You look absolutely . . . delicious.” My eyebrow flickered involuntarily as I said the last word. Janice’s eyes flitted between my gaze and her vichyssoise.

“Would you consider yourself more of a Kerr's Pink or a Vivaldi?” I asked her.

“Excuse me?” Her face twisted a bit as she tried to make sense of me.

“You are so perfect. Those lumps, the nice full middle . . . I’ve been trying all night to decide out if you’re more of a Kerr’s Pink or a Vivaldi. At first I thought fingerling, but obviously you’re much too round for that. Your skin doesn’t have the luster of a Beauty of Hebron, so maybe you’re more of a Kerr’s Pink than anything else. Yes, that’s it. A Kerr’s Pink!”

“Kerr’s Pink? What are you talking about?” she asked, by this point, very confused.

“Kerr’s Pink: the most beautiful potato!”

“A potato?!” she exclaimed, incredulously.

“Yes! I’ve been waiting so long to find someone like you,” I said, and started to kiss her. Surprisingly, she pushed me away.

“You think I look like a potato. And you want to kiss me?”

“A BEAUTIFUL POTATO!” I was in love.

And that, children, is how I met your mother.

Wrachel Rites (Day 7: Fifteen Minutes)

2011-05-09T14:26:00.000-07:00

When I was in elementary school, they used to make us do writing exercises where we don't pre-write, don't edit, and just write whatever comes into our minds. It's really hard for me not to edit. I'm a self-editor. But, for today's activity, I'm just going to write for fifteen minutes, and see what comes out.

I was just doing some online shopping for "sundresses." I tried some on in Old Navy the other day, but they all looked like muumuus, and I felt ridiculous. Maybe I'm not the type of person who can wear those cute, flowy maxi dresses and still feel good about life. My husband keeps telling me I should buy things. Yes, that's true. Yellow heels (finally found those) and sundresses. And Chucks, he wants me to have some Converse. I have the best husband ever.

Not just because he is my fashion consultant. The other day, I came home from a hard day at work (well, I work in a high-stress environment, so every day is a hard day) to find that he had cleaned the apartment. Then he gave me a footrub. He stopped just shy of a pedicure, but only because I told him to stop. Why am I so lucky?

The sun is out today and it's a beautiful day. I feel like I haven't seen the blue sky in forever. I sun-bathed on our balcony today, which felt amazing. I love the sun.

We have some buttermilk in the fridge that needs to be used.

Do you know in Pittsburgh, people leave out that "to be" part of the phrase? They'll say something like,

"The dishwasher needs fixed."

Does that make sense? I suppose the infinitive is implied, but it feels weird to me. I hear that all the time here. Crazy Pittsburghers.

I haven't had a burger in years. I can't even remember the last time I had a real live hamburger. I was a vegetarian from the time I was 15 until a few months ago (I'm still a part-time vegetarian), but I don't really like beef, anyway. I had bacon for the first time in years a few weeks ago, and it totally changed my perception of life, though.

The couch I'm sitting on is probably ruining my back right now. In fact, I can feel it. All the springs are broken, and I feel like I'm only sitting about 6 inches off of the floor. But you sink in--and not in the "comfy couch" kind of way. This couch was in the apartment when we moved in. The previous renters must have been lazy, because they left this couch, AND a washer / dryer. I wish our refrigerator would break. It's from about 1980, and to be honest, I'm surprised it does still work. I think it probably increases our electricity bill by about 20% each month.

Anyway, I'm taking the Praxis II tomorrow. I'm going to be a teacher someday. I hope soon. Then I can have a job that doesn't make me want to cry.

THE END.

(Note: sorry, I missed yesterday. I just . . . I don't know. Anyway, back on track!)

Sleepy

2011-05-07T21:24:00.000-07:00

Today:

*Dog-sit.
*Korean Food Bazaar with "Auntie" Sandy & family.
*Light shopping at the Waterfront.
*Pirates v. Astros at PNC Park (they gave us free ball caps), with the awesome Seegmillers.
*Zambelli fireworks show.
*Dessert at Eat 'n Park.

*Sleep.

Sorry, no creative post today. I'm bushed.

Wrachel Rites (Day 5: Technology Traps)

2011-05-06T16:09:00.000-07:00

Emily shook the box. It was small, but quite heavy. Electronics, definitely, she smiled to herself. It was probably the new iPhone 4 she needed. Her mother would say that it wasn't technically a necessity, but her mother didn't even have a cell phone when she was in high school. She made a point of reciting all her high school friends' phone numbers to Emily every time Emily forgot her phone at home and didn't know her mom's cell number to let her know she was going to be home late. That didn't matter, though, because with all the apps she'd load onto the brand new, white iPhone 4 she was certain was in that precious box, it would never leave her side. She started composing her tweet in her mind, the first task of her new phone: "oMg . . best Bday EVr! iPhone4 is my lvr!"

"Open it!" suggested her father. Emily relented without a fight. She stared at the now-unwrapped box on her lap. No.

"I figured since you're driving now, it would be good to have one of those e-maps," beamed her father.

"There is a GPS on the iPhone 4, Dad," Emily answered, with more than a twinge of displeasure in her voice. She recognized it and tried to mask her disappointment. "Thanks. I do get lost a lot around town."

"Why don't you give it a try?" asked her mother. "We can have cake when you get back."

"Yeah," Emily smiled. "I think I will." She wanted the time to get over the heartbreak. She took the GPS out of the box and went out to her Corolla, plugging it into the cigarette lighter.

"Hello, Emily," the robotic voice greeted her. At least they took the time to program it, she thought. "Now, where to go?" she said to herself. "We'll try Wal-Mart," she decided, entering the address.

"At the end of the road, turn right," said the voice. It was a woman's voice, and she seemed disinterested in the whole affair. Emily obeyed.

"Follow the road for point two miles, then bear right." Again, Emily obeyed.

"Are you sure you're taking me to Wal-Mart?"

"Keep straight," the voice seemed to be speaking more urgently now. "Follow the road for five miles." Confused, Emily followed the directions of the steely voice. She was in a dark wooded area, a place she'd never been before. She turned on her brights, and saw it was a cemetary.

"Creepy," she muttered. "I don't know, I've never been this way before."

"Don't second guess me," said the cold voice. "I'm a GPS. Are you? . . . Recalculating."

Emily was sure she must have imagined. Or maybe the technology was just getting more advanced. "Well, anyway, let's get out of here."

"Keep straight," said the voice. Emily was now driving on a country road. There were still no signs of civilization. "Keep straight," the voice insisted. Emily was approaching a bridge. "Keep straight. Keep straight. KEEP STRAIGHT." The voice was getting louder, faster, more insistent. Emily kept straight. There was no bridge.

As her Corolla plummeted down the ravine, the complacent voice said, "That's what you get for backseat driving."

* * * * * *

"I wonder where Emily is," said Emily's mother.

"I bet she went joyriding out in Krum," suggested her father. "Well, no sense in letting good cake go to waste! Em can have hers when she gets back."

Lili Escribe (Día 4: Cinco de Mayo)

2011-05-05T19:20:00.000-07:00

Sorry to those of you who don't speak Spanish. And, come to think of it, sorry to those of you who do (it's been a while since I've written anything other than casual emails and the like in Spanish, so my chops aren't what they used to be)! You can always get a humorously choppy translation . . .

Cinco De Mayo Graphics - Tumblr Backgrounds

Desde mi primera clase en el colegio, a mi me encantaba el español. Recuerdo aprendiendo las sonidas de los vocales en el primer día de la clase, y como me fascinaba que las palabras que estaba usando mi profesora tenía sentido, aunque a mi me parecía muy confuso.

De verás, a mi me encantaba también la profesora. Se llamaba Sra. Parton, y ella fue joven, bonita, inteligente, simpática, y todo que pudiera pedir en una profesora. Era una freshman, muy tímida, y no me gustaba hablar en clase (desafortunadamente para mí, participación era parte de la nota), pero Sra. Parton me hizo creer en mi misma. Ella fue mi profesora desde Español 1 hasta Español 4 AP (y con su instrucción, recibí un 5 en mi Examen AP).

En realidad, lo que Sra. Parton me ha dado es mil veces más importante en mi vida que mi nota en el Examen AP. No hay otra clase que he tomado en mi vida que ha abierto la puerta para comunicarme con otras personas con quienes no pudiera antes. Tengo queridos amigos ahora quienes solo hablan el Español. Cada vez que uso mi Español, agradezco que he estudiado, que tengo esa habilidad, y que tenía esa profesora bien especial. Y aunque me odiaba el Language Lab (tal vez me parecía el FCC, escuchando mis palabras sin mi conocimiento), y tratando de ganar "pesos," me encantaba la lengua.

Ya lo me encanta.

¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo! ¿A quién le gustaría ir a México conmigo?

Wrachel Rites (Day 3: Haikus)

2011-05-04T20:08:00.001-07:00

I'm not used to blogging every day! Almost forgot.

Haiku #1
Today we went out.
Andy is very corrupt;
He wants me to cheat.

Haiku #2
Andy isn't bad.
He just wanted to help me
By feeding me words.

Haiku #3
Today we went out.
Spanish food, and dinosaurs,
And cupcakes for us.

Haiku #4
Simon is our pet,
Though many would disapprove.
We feed him cupcakes.

Haiku #5
Washington, DC,
Is a nice place to call home,
Probably, we think.

Wrachel Rites (Day 2: Lighting a Candle is Difficult for Someone Who Has No Desire to Burn)

2011-05-03T16:43:00.000-07:00

One surefire way to be a loser in high school is to ride the school bus. By the time you're in high school, you should have friends who drive, or at least an older sibling (or that of a friend) who can take you to school and save you from certain social death. I pretended to loathe my bus rides, but secretly, I loved it. Bus 50P changed my life.

We were a cast of misfits:

Sam (Spam, Spermie): the only openly gay high school student I knew at the time (and Mormon, too). Skinny kid, red hair, rrrrrreally likes the Smashing Pumpkins.

Cari (Cari-Lynn, CaVincent): Sam's younger sister, and one of my favorite people in the world. Likes soccer, drawing stars, and the color green. She thinks she is The Hulk.

Matt (Fatty Matty): Nickname is deceiving, as Matt was actually not fat at all.

Josh: Chubby kid who once yelled "You can't ride a bike!" to a child of about 8 or 9 years out the window. Not mean-spirited, though perhaps experimenting a bit with the boundaries of personal censorship.

Jo (Ho): A pretty girl with long hair who played volleyball and had a crush on the Hot Bus Driver (not the Alcoholic Bus Driver or the Weird Bus Driver).

Me: Shy, awkward, and with a strong desire to be numbered among the Cool Kids.

We'd yell, "DON'T FORGET TO STOP!" as we crossed the railroad tracks (Jo usually led us in that one). As we crossed the bridge where it was spray painted, we would all scream at the top of our lungs, and as fast as we could, "LIGHTING A CANDLE IS DIFFICULT FOR SOMEONE WHO HAS NO DESIRE TO BURN!" We always sat at the back of the bus, and tried to make the drivers behind us uncomfortable by staring at them (it's amazing how many things in a car become very interesting to a driver who suspects they're being watched: the radio, the dust from the dash, their loose change, making sure the light is still red . . . ) I recall Sam stripping once, and whipping his belt out of the window.

We had a great time on Bus 50, whether we were listening to the awkward boy sing Shania Twain's, "Man! I Feel Like a Woman!," watching the rebellious girl light up a cigarette on the bus, tormenting the quiet kids, or making up rumors about why our drivers were fired.

Deep down, I think we all loved Bus 50.

Wrachel Rites (Day 1: Kory)

2011-05-02T20:01:00.000-07:00

If you were approached by a balding man with a little broom of a moustache and round glasses, you might be inclined to hand him a big black brush, and say, “Sweep my chimney, guvnah?” If I were approached by such a man, I would give him a hug, because standing in front of me would be Kory Katseanes, and as every alumnus of the BYU Philharmonic knows, he happens to be one of the coolest guys any of us will ever meet. Unlike most conductors, there is not even a hint of megalomania in Kory. You call him “Kory,” not “Maestro.” He knows everyone in his orchestra by name—not only those in the first two stands, which is most often the case. He encourages us to be better, and we get the sense that it’s because otherwise, we’d be doing a disservice to the composer, and it would hurt Kory’s feelings. His quotes were legendary:

“Seconds violins, you’re acting like the world’s best lettuce. Be the meat!”

“If you’re going to sin, sin in tempo.”

“There’s a difference between passion and commitment. You guys have been on enough first dates to know that.”

And voted the favorite quote (during our run of Shostakovich No. 5, to Nate Watson, our timpanist), “Back to your battle station, Nate! Darth Vader's comin', baby!”

Yes, Kory was a lot of fun. True, he fed us with coconut macaroons, mint brownies, and BYU Sparkle (the Mormon-approved champagne alternative) at the end of the semester. Yes, I did fall a little more in love with him each day when the point came in every rehearsal for him to get serious, taking off his golf sweater and mussing his fluffs of hair in the process (He would smooth the sides, but there was always an unruly tuft in the back). Those aren’t the real reasons we loved Kory, though.

To know Kory was to love him because to know Kory was to be loved by him. He cared about us as a group, but also as individuals. I think for any of us, he was more than a teacher: a mentor, a father-figure, an inspiration, and a friend.

Happy May Day Lei Day

2011-05-01T16:20:00.000-07:00

The pursuit of an advanced degree has led my writing down a terrible path: I now find it difficult to depart from Academese. I wrote for pleasure until I realized it wasn't "cool" to do that, and while I've always been pretty confident about my writing skills, I'm afraid that now, I'm just a really boring writer. So, I need to exercise my creativity.

For the month of May, I will provide you with 30 days of short writings on various topics. This is more because I want to flex my writing muscles than because I think anyone wants to hear from me more often, and I'm sorry you get caught in the crossfire.

I do need your help, though.

What should I write about?

I could write fictional stories, reminisces, fictionalized accounts of real-life events, short essays, poetry . . . I'm pretty much open. What do you want to hear about, though? It will help me in my exercise if I get a more random scope of topics. Otherwise, I'll just be writing about all the boring stuff I think about day-to-day, and nobody wants to read a sonnet about how much I enjoy vacuuming.

So, tell me what you want to hear about. Anything. If it's not too offensive to me, I will sincerely try to work it in.

100 Things

2011-04-26T12:52:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about my writing lately. I used to love to write, insomuch that I would spend much of my time after school writing short stories. By the time I got to high school, there was no longer any such thing as "creative" writing, and it has all but disappeared in the course of my pursuit of higher education.

Sooo, I'm going to write a short post (300 words or less) EVERY day in the month of May. Your task, dear readers, is to challenge me! What do you want me to write about? Any topic (fair warning: I'm not going to research anything, so if I don't already know about it, I will be B.S.-ing). You can suggest characters, scenarios, settings, conflicts, etc.

Today's challenge was suggested by the lovely Liz.

100 THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY
(in no particular order, and not including people):

100. bare feet
99. The Adventures of Pete & Pete
98. extra-sharp Vermont cheddar cheese
97. spring rainstorms
96. reaching into my pocket and finding surprise money
95. Christopher Guest movies
94. The Daily Puppy
93. coming home and changing into fat pants
92. Skype video chats
91. Saturday NPR
90. breakfast for dinner
89. Groupons
88. running in Frick Park
87. public libraries
86. the smell of fresh basil
85. speaking Spanish to Spanish speakers
84. payday
83. listening to NPR podcasts
82. The Denton Jazzfest
81. pedicures (though I've only had three in my whole life)
80. old movies and classic TV shows
79. watching my nursing home residents make funny faces
78. kids who climb onto your lap
77. text messages
76. sunny days
75. when they play good music on the radio
74. Trololo

73. the entire process of baking a loaf of bread (but especially the baking, slathering in real butter, and eating part)
72. real conversations
71. eating out
70. having friends just stop by
69. bad movies / MST3K-ing
68. making someone laugh
67. using office supplies
66. people-watching
65. cooking and baking
64. Pizza Fridays
63. little baby smiles
62. really good writing (but, like, REALLY good)
61. Hawai'i
60. birdsong
59. woodland creatures
58. Reese's PB cups (even better: Reese's PB eggs at 6 / 99 cents the day after Easter)
57. wide streets
56. left turn signals (both this and the above are hard to come by in Pgh)
55. Brazilian music
54. warm, clean laundry from the dryer
53. the shower after a good workout
52. the feeling of the sun hitting my skin
51. good, healthy, "I mean it" hugs
50. Tuvan throat singing
49. one of the greatest musical comedy numbers of all time, Make 'Em Laugh
48. Funk music grooves
47. snail-mail
46. sno-cones
45. English, spoken with an accent (any accent, domestic or foreign)
44. documentary films
43. mockumentary films
42. the human touch
41. sunsets
40. picnics in the park
39. dinner parties
38. word games
37. poetry
36. animals
35. art museums and galleries
34. live music
33. jazz combos
32. things that are handmade
31. the quirks that make us who we are
30. listening parties
29. A415 and gut strings
28. cuddles
27. clean sheets
26. the beach
25. Blue Bell ice cream (the only real Cookies 'n Cream there is!)
24. Scottish fold kittens who look like they don't have bones
23. free things
22. running, but usually only after the fact
21. Noxema face cleanser
20. comments on the blog *ahem*
19. probably every nice thing you've ever said to me
18. a clean apartment
17. Peanuts classic TV specials
16. trying new recipes
15. the Bach Cello Suites
14. observing experts in their field of expertise
13. languages
12. open windows and a cool breeze
11. lip balm
10. traveling
9. magazine subscriptions
8. silliness
7. dreams
6. peanut butter and jelly on a toasted English muffin
5. bike rides on a pretty day
4. walking the dog (and our crazy cat)
3. hearing children outside my window
2. getting non-business emails from real people
1. using chopsticks

Honesty / Vulnerability

2011-04-17T16:54:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about honesty and vulnerability lately. Aside from the fact that our lesson in church today was about honesty, and aside from the fact that my friend Sallie posted this great TedTalk on her blog about vulnerability, it's just been on my mind lately.

I've come to the conclusion that I am completely averse to weakness. Of course, I have plenty of weaknesses. I could list hundreds of them--but if you ask me to my face what I'm struggling with, I probably won't tell you. Vulnerability terrifies me. As a music student, I would routinely cry my way through my private lessons because they exposed weaknesses, and that made me very uncomfortable.

Maybe I'm afraid that I'm too weak to withstand any criticism that may arise as people discover the chinks in my armor. My walls are protective.

Moving to a new place has left me pretty vulnerable in itself, but I avoid the bulk of it by shutting myself off to people. I sit by myself at church. When people ask how everything is going, I say "fine," despite what might really be going on (though most of us do this at least to a point: we recognize that the cashier at the grocery store doesn't really want to know our life challenges).

Recently, I realized what a mistake this has been.

Vulnerability is endearing. When first you realize that someone you admire has faults, weaknesses, and personal hurts in his or her life, you don't shun that person--you feel more connected to them. They become human, like the rest of us.

The problem is, it requires a great deal of trust to willfully expose your weakness to others. I have problems with that. I do really well at accepting the weaknesses of others, and in different stages of my life, I've been a trusted confidante who heard many deep secrets and painful realities. Unfailingly, when someone revealed to me what was troubling them, I felt more love for them as a person. It never had a negative effect on our relationship--always, always brought us closer. So why do I deny myself the same kind of strengthening power to my relationships?

To pretend that I am without weakness builds a wall around me. Yes, it may protect me from being hurt, but it also keeps out any potential friends. You can't pick and choose, really, what the outcome will be when you build that wall. The funny thing about it is that no one will really believe you anyway, if you pretend to be without weakness. News flash: we ALL have weakness!

Part of honesty is allowing yourself to be vulnerable. It means giving an answer because that's how you feel, instead of answering how you think the person asking the question might want you to answer. Honesty means that you'll be wrong sometimes. Honesty means that you are willing to accept the consequences of your actions. Honesty means failing. Perhaps the most difficult: honesty means coming to terms with yourself as you are, not as you wish you were, or as you wish others would see you. You can't make any improvements in your life if you don't know where your starting point is.

I'm well aware of this. And I want to grow. I want to allow others into my life. But after so many years of hiding my weaknesses, I don't know how one goes about letting others (i.e., aside from my sweet husband and my family, who thankfully know pretty much all of my weaknesses) see who I really am.

Sunday School Cookies

2011-04-17T06:14:00.000-07:00

So we've been teaching a youth Sunday school class since about last September. The average attendance is about three. They're not the liveliest bunch we've ever worked with, so we try to entice them to participate with treats. Today we're bringing chocolate thumbprint cookies.

Survival

2011-04-16T17:15:00.001-07:00

I'm happy to report that I found summer employment this week: a seasonal gig working a kayak rental concession*. It's not exactly career enhancing, but it's decent work with an organization I respect (the kayak program is a revenue-generating venture for a local outdoors recreation nonprofit). Plus, I wanted to spend as much of the summer outside as possible anyway. Why not get paid to do it, right?

This new opportunity is definitely a financial stop-gap, but it will nonetheless allow for some additional saving that we wouldn't be able to do otherwise. If anything, it'll help buy some time before we figure out our next move, which may or may not literally involve relocating to another city, state, country, etc.

*Interesting factoid: This will be my sixth job since Rach and I got married in 2009. It's my seventh if you count 'informal' work (For those of you who remember, I'm referring to the Clubhouse Bakery).

Rachel and the Case of the Anonymous Book

2011-04-10T14:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I got a package in the mail, addressed to my maiden name. The return address was from a company called Green Earth Books out of Portland. It seemed like it might have been ordered from Amazon, and I was excited to see that it had arrived.

Then I remembered that I hadn't ordered anything off of Amazon.

I opened the package.

Inside was this book:
Obviously, I thought, someone misses me. Andy thought it must have been sent to me by mistake, that it was intended to another person sharing my maiden name. He thought I should send it back. I, on the other hand, believe that there is only one course of action when you receive a book that has no explanation.

Read the book.

I figure maybe it's a message from the Universe. (It may be more likely that it's from one of my family or friends, and the message was simply lost by the company, but the Universe works in mysterious ways . . . )

It turns out the book is about a family from Pittsburgh, which says to me it was definitely intended for me, by the Universe or otherwise. By now, I'm baffled.

The book, having received 3.5 stars on Goodreads, seems totally unexceptional. It was published in 2002--not recently--hasn't really received any critical acclaim of note (the front of the book hails it as the "perfect summer by-the-lake read," which I would call lukewarm), and wasn't even one of those pesky Oprah book club books. The writing, so far, is fine (not great!), and the plot is pretty mundane. (I have just started the book, so maybe it gets better. I say that for the benefit of the person who may have sent it. I don't hate it--but I am a pretty picky reader.)

Now then--who would send this book? Obviously, they would have to know about it to think to send it. They might have read it, or they might have just heard someone talk about it. My father would send me a book simply based on the fact that it was set in my current city of residence, but this isn't the type of book that my father reads. My mother might read it, but probably wouldn't be inclined to send it to me. It was addressed to my maiden name, which says to me that it's someone from my at least slightly more distant past (more than 2 years ago)--or in the very least, someone who has known me longer as Rachel H than Rachel R.

So, whoever you are, thank you. In a way, I almost hope that the mystery never gets solved. Mysteries are much more intriguing when they're unsolved. Then I could go on this show . . .

I'll let you know if it ever gets solved. In the mean time, I'm going to enjoy the Spring weather that has finally decided to grace us here in the 'Burgh, and finish baking my homemade English Muffins.

TOMS = SWEDOW = FAIL

2011-04-06T06:51:00.000-07:00

In the aftermath of the TOMS Day Without Shoes event, I figured I would weigh in on why some people (myself included) argue why such campaigns are utterly pointless and potentially harmful.

But wait, isn't doing something better that doing nothing at all?

Not necessarily. Just because an activity makes you feel good about yourself doesn't mean it is in any way helpful to the poor. TOMS B1G1 model create the false assumption that social change is easy. Its not. The reality is that TOMS shoes fight poverty about effectively as a LIVESTRONG bracelet fights cancer.

But by going barefoot, I'm 'raising awareness' about all of the shoeless children.

Maybe so, but this method of 'awareness raising' is so focused on the supposed good work that TOMS does in the third world that it seems more like a for-profit marketing campaign than a social statement.

Wait, free shoes can actually be harmful?

Sometimes. An infusion of free goods in a fragile market could crowd out local businesses owners trying to make a living. These type of goods are referred to as SWEDOW (stuff we don't want).

Well, what should I do then?

Educate yourself about poverty at home and abroad. Learn about aid projects that actually work, and find a way to support them in a meaningful way.

There are many, many other good criticisms of TOMs, Project Red, Susan G. Komen, and other 'commercial philanthropy' initiatives, but we'll leave it at that.

Now, before you get too self-conscious about that church project you're helping with that plans on sending 1,000 used sweaters to Uganda, here's a good SWEDOW flow chart to help ensure your 'help' does more good than harm.

*Update: Great post on how cause-related products may lead us to give less to charitable causes courtesy of View From the Cave.*

Stuff I Miss About the Little D: Jazz Fest

2011-04-05T07:08:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I wish I could just take a week off and hang out in Denton. This would be one of them. *Sigh*

Serendipity.

2011-04-03T06:48:00.001-07:00

Life is so unpredictable.

A week ago yesterday, Andy and I saw one of my former UNT colleagues, Derek, perform as the Evangelist in Bach's St. John's Passion with Chatham Baroque. Yesterday, as the eventual result of my attending that concert, I performed with the Pittsburgh Baroque Ensemble.

It all started with a Facebook ad.

It's taken us a while to get out to concerts since we've been in Pittsburgh. The very first musical performance I attended was pretty underwhelming, so maybe that was keeping me. Lots of them have been cost-prohibitive, as we're not exactly carrying around large sacks of money these days. Part of me, too, was afraid of how going to a concert would make me feel--that maybe it would remind me of my feelings of total inadequacy. For all of these reasons, I stayed away.

I happened to see an ad for Chatham Baroque on the sidebar in Facebook one day. Since the early music community is a small one, and the ad boasted of guest artists in the upcoming performance, I decided to click on it and see if I knew anyone who would be performing. Sure enough, I saw Derek, with whom I've performed on a number of occasions. Figuring he'd want to know there was a familiar face in the audience, I sent him a message letting him know we were planning on going. He replied, saying he'd comp our tickets (which ended up being a VERY good thing, because it turns out we wouldn't have been able to go otherwi$e).

After the performance (which was great), he and I chatted. He said he'd been telling some of the instrumentalists that there was a baroque cellist around, and that they were surprised and always happy to find local musicians. "You should contact them," he said.

Yeah, right. That is so not me.

But, I did it anyway.

I sent out three quick emails, and I only got one reply, from the Pittsburgh Baroque Ensemble. They were really excited to know I was around. I sent the email on Thursday, I think, and received a reply the same day. Friday afternoon, I received another email, saying that their cellist was sick; would I be able to come to a rehearsal this afternoon for a gig tomorrow? How's that for timing?

So (not having a baroque instrument), I tuned Gus (steel strings and all!) down to 415, and off I went to the rehearsal. It went well, and the director decided that whether or not their cellist was better by the concert, since I played the rehearsal it made more sense for me to play. (Unfortunately, the cellist didn't get the three messages left for her on the topic, so she showed up right before the downbeat, instrument in hand. Awkward all around. I felt bad . . . kind of.) Turns out it was a pretty cool gig--a benefit concert in support of Japan. The emcee was one of the hosts of the classical music station, and there were members of the Pittsburgh Symphony and other really good local musicians. It restored my faith in the music scene here.

A perfect confluence of events. If I hadn't seen that Facebook ad and decided to see who was performing . . . if I hadn't contacted Derek (with whom I was only barely acquainted) . . . if he hadn't offered the comps . . . if we hadn't had that little conversation . . . if I'd sent the email a day later . . . if the cellist hadn't gotten sick . . . if I hadn't been at my computer (I got the email an hour before the rehearsal) . . . if this hadn't been the perfect "experimental" gig to try out a new cellist . . . if if if . . . !

So, who knows what will come of this, if anything. But, the gig went well, and I think everyone was pleased (except the other cellist, probably). Just goes to show you the power of a little initiative, being prepared, and perhaps a little divine help.

Swear Jar

2011-03-31T07:32:00.000-07:00

I think I've sworn more in the past nine months than I have in the five years preceding our move the PA. There are a lot of reasons, but they can all be linked back to some form of stress. Relocating can be difficult, but that's not really a good excuse for self-debasement.

That is why I (tentatively) propose starting a swear jar to facilitate a decrease in swearing inside and outside the home. This isn't solely out of some puritanical sense of propriety, either. "Sentence enhancers" are linguistic crutches. Not only do they offend some people, I think they also make me sound dumb.

If I did this, I would need some kind of incentive for good behavior. I can see one of two options. The money could be used for something we probably need, like a parking ticket payment fund, or it could go toward something I find distasteful, like, say Sarah Palin's PAC, the Alliance Defense Fund, or the NRA.

I think I could agree to never swear again if it meant the latter option.

***Update: Never mind. Apparently swearing is good for your health :)***

Adulthood Rant

2011-03-30T05:21:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I were better at making decisions. Perhaps I would have a career, or at least the hope of one in the foreseeable future. Perhaps, I would I have some semblance of financial stability. Perhaps I'd cease to feel like I'm waiting for something that may never come. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...

The other day, I saw a teenager sauntering down the street near Forbes and Murray Ave. By the way he walked, you could tell he was in no hurry to get where he was going. He seemed calm and carefree. I found myself resenting him the more I watched him. Who the @#$%! did this kid think he was? Didn't he know that life was awful? Why wasn't he trying to get a @#$%-ing job? And so forth.

It hit me that my resentment of this adolescent said a lot more about me and my perception of my own situation than anything else. Adulthood is a trade off, and through the lens of youth, a pretty good one. On the one hand, it means greater autonomy to think and act as you please. Your decisions, as well as their consequences, are yours and yours alone. This is also what I believe to be the worst part of adulthood, especially when you believe those decisions are often ill-conceived.

Depending on how far I choose to look back, I can think of any number of things I would probably do differently. Attending better schools, getting better internships, and studying a more "useful" discipline all come to mind. I could easily list others, but you get the idea. These were all decisions that I made, but for whatever reason, opportunity for progress continues to elude me.

As an adult, I've come to learn there are no "right" decisions, just ones that best suit your goals. Sometimes these decisions pan out, and sometimes they don't. I'd like to think that even in the face of failure or stagnation, freedom to make my own decisions is far better than living eternally as a clueless 16-year-old.

Was it a good idea to move to Pittsburgh? Should I have gone to grad school? How the hell should I know? I can only judge decisions based on their outcomes, and I think nine months is a little early to say one way or the other. I could weigh the pros and cons I've observed so far, but that would be another post.

Regardless of whether my decisions are ultimately helpful, harmful, or somewhere in between, perhaps I can take comfort in the fact that failure can often be beneficial. Discontent can be an excellent motivator, perhaps even stronger that pure ambition. I sure hope that's true, because I certainly have a lot more of the former.

(Note: The above was written by Andy. Despite what you all may think, I've been responsible for about 20% of the content of this blog)

Ketchup.

2011-03-25T11:16:00.000-07:00

It's been a while, my dear readers. And while I can tell by the flood of comments (i.e., NOTHING since mid-February) that you're just dying to know the details of our lives, it's been busy. So, we'll play a little ketchup. Errr, catch up. [NOTE: the ketchup had to be Heinz. I'm a Pittsburgher now, and as I'm sure you alllllll know, Heinz ketchup hails from the 'Burgh.]

I spent most of last week in the pit for the Undercroft Opera, a volunteer ensemble in the city. I took the audition on a whim, after having been tipped off to the group by two of my friends (a singer and a violist), both of whom perform with the ensemble. As luck would have it, my bow was broken and in the shop until two days before the scheduled audition, and as I haven't been practicing very much at all these days, I basically played it totally cold (fortunately, they stopped me after the first page of the Prokofiev, before things would have probably gone south). In any case, they invited me to join the ensemble.

At the first rehearsal, I was shocked at how out of shape I was. It seemed everything was going by too fast for my brain--switching from pizz to arco, changing time signatures and key signatures and all sorts of other surprises. Thankfully, I remembered after a while. I had forgotten, though, what it feels like to play in the pit for the run of the show. Perhaps I never really knew. At BYU, we had rotating seating for opera, so you didn't have to be there every night. (Also, there were treats to be enjoyed during your rests.) For this, we had evening dress rehearsals and performances 6 nights in a week. Pretty exhausting.

I can't say, at least on the part of the orchestra, that the performances were stellar. Our intonation was pretty wretched (I was relieved when I realized that most of the time, it was not me who played out of tune), our ensemble was sketchy, our dynamics were nonexistent, and our musical expression was very two-dimensional. Even so, though, I started to remember.

I remembered how it feels to craft a phrase, to play a certain nuance because there is no other way that it has any meaning. I remembered experiencing emotions in my music so intense I'd never felt them in my own life. There was an exhilaration that came with music, an energy I felt after a performance. That's what made it all worthwhile.

Since I stopped playing so much, I've cried a lot less. I've probably been a lot kinder to myself, not constantly berating myself for not being good enough. There has been a definite leveling out, which I used to think was a good thing. Now I'm not so sure.

I'm like an addict. The lows are pretty damn low, but the highs make it all worth it.

Now, to find an outlet . . .

Friday Night @ The Phipps

2011-03-12T06:29:00.000-08:00

We checked out the Phipps Conservatory for the first time last night. I don't know why it's taken us so long go, but I'm sure glad we did.

"Sunburst" by Dale Chihuly (located at the building entrance)

We mainly went to check out the orchid exhibit.

Crabbetown?

"Longfellows" by Hans Frabel

Bonsai tree from "The Snake Room"

Minimalist Staycation

2011-03-05T19:01:00.000-08:00

Spring break started on a good note, dreary weather notwithstanding.

We kicked things off with a trip to Pamela's Diner (See pics below).

If that wasn't enough, a couple of our awesome Pittsburgh friends stopped by bearing pizza ingredients, games, and their adorable baby.

It was no trip to Cancun, but I (we) still had a lot of fun. When you have good food and good company, does it really matter where you are? I think not.

The facelift

2011-02-25T06:19:00.000-08:00

I decided it was finally time to update our little piece of bloggerdom, and give it a little facelift. I'm going to keep tweaking it, but for now, I think it's a welcome change.

I was reading my old blog last night. This might have been a mistake. Do you ever get jealous of your own past? I feel like I was a much better writer back then, and probably a much better person, all in all. Aren't people supposed to improve over time?

But that's not why I brought you here. I called this meeting for a picture update! Yippee!!

This past weekend, Andy and I volunteered at the South Side Soup Contest. The South Side is probably the hippest place in Pgh--lots of cool retail shops and eateries, as well as bars if you're into that scene. It was probably the best volunteering I've ever done: I made sure people threw their trash in the proper bins for an hour and a half, and then I walked around eating soup for the rest of the time. A lot of really good soup, too. On top of it all, we got free t-shirts!

Here's Andy, in his South Side Soup Contest official 2011 tee. The punch card around his neck is how they make sure you're not taking extra samples of soup, although there were 25 different soup stations, so I can't imagine anyone wanting more soup than that. All of the stations were in different retail shops: ours was at stuffurnishings, a pretty swanky little housewares store.

One of the soup stations was located in the Milkshake Factory, otherwise known as the happiest place on earth. They also sell handmade chocolates there, which looked amazing. Upon entering, you see a TV playing the classic Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (behind my head, you can just see the corner of the set), further adding to its charm. It's appointed in the old-school soda fountain / chocolate shoppe style (think an upscale Beth Marie's, all you Dentonites), and I noticed that they were doing a lot more business incidental to the event than any other location on the strip. It is pretty hard to resist . . . and we'll definitely be going back when the weather starts to warm up to appropriate ice cream climate.

Although the parsnip soup won the South Side Soup Contest, this was our own personal soup contest winner. Vegetarian tortilla soup, from this amazing book by Deborah Madison. Even as a mostly-vegetarian, I was skeptical of a vegetarian tortilla soup, but this was so flavorful, spicy, and vibrant that I didn't miss the chicken at all. Top it with some fresh cilantro, green onions, feta + taco cheese, and (of course) some crispy tortilla strips, and you have a little bowl of heaven in your hands. Yum. Of course, it totally ruined the chicken tortilla soup that we had at the contest--there weren't even tortillas in it, which was obviously a faux-pas. Damn yankees.

Lastly, we made these Texas-shaped pop-tarts. I got this idea from Jen, and then saw it again at our favorite Pittsburgh bake shop, so of course I needed to try it. Turns out it's super-easy: just make your favorite pie crust (you could use a refrigerated crust too, certainly, or maybe even a puff pastry), use a cookie cutter to cut out your desired shape, and spoon some jam in the center. Cover it with another cut-out, crimp the edges together, and bake! (I did an egg wash on mine, then sprinkled it with some granulated sugar, just to be fancy.) Word to the wise, though, make sure you let these suckers cool before you dive in. Jam gets pretty hot in the oven, and it just might squirt out of the pastry and leave you with a nice scar on your chin. Maybe.

Random Acts of Kindness

2011-02-22T14:22:00.000-08:00

. . . or, Rachel the Cynic.

This morning, I was once again headed to work feeling very misanthropic. We’d gotten 8 inches of snow overnight, and because this Texas girl isn’t used to having to navigate in such conditions (“Hey, Chuck, is that dust or a snowflake floating around there? You think it’s dust? Hrm, well, we better cancel everything anyway, just to be safe.”), I was soaking wet and running late after having dug my car out of the snow. One of those days.

Things got better in the afternoon, when a husband and wife duo came in to do a juggling act. Were it not for the fact that they declared they were 40 years married, I would have said they must have been no older than 50, but I suppose considering that fact, they must have been in their 60s. For some reason, it made me want to cry (and NO, this has nothing to do with hormones). I think it had to do with joie de vivre. This couple was jumping around, shouting, hula-hooping, juggling, swing dancing doing all sorts of ridiculous and dorky things, and having a ball (no pun intended) all the while. I think their routine would have worn me out, and I’m half their age. So there I am, leaking from my eyes as I watch this silly couple juggling to “Five Foot Two with Eyes of Blue,” admiring them for their spunk and energy, if not for their sequined attire and choice of pastime.

Eventually, it came time for me to leave work. As I went out to my car, I noticed I’d been parked in pretty closely. Now, in Texas we have parking lots. In Pittsburgh, people parallel park. I’ve done that once in my life: on my driver’s test (with my driver’s ed teacher barking commands at me), and the thought terrifies me. So, I’m again feeling a little grumpy.

Out of nowhere, a man appears, and before I know it, he’s brushing snow from my car. “You go ahead and warm her up, and I’ll get it taken care of out here.” He proceeds, with great care, to brush the rest of the snow off my windshield and hood, even taking time to chip the ice off my wiper blades, which I am always way too lazy to even think about. After he finished, I shook his hand, and he asked if I’d need him to help me get her out on the road. I said no, at least I’d be going down hill in the snow, and he said, “Well, that’s my truck in front of you, so I’ll pull up as far as I can,” which he did. I got out perfectly well, honked and waved a “thank you,” and left feeling bewildered. Did you know that there are people out there who just do nice things for other people for no reason?

Enter Rachel the Cynic. Now, this doesn’t paint a flattering picture of me, but I started to second-guess his intentions. Obviously, he had a guilty conscience. He must have bumped my car on the way in, and felt bad about it. Or he was just trying to steal my car, building up my trust while he dug me out. What a sick—

Then I snapped out of it.

When did I become such a cynic? I have always thought of myself as someone who believes the best about people, that everyone is inherently good, and trying to do the right thing. How, at 26 years old, am I so jaded that I can’t let someone do a small, simple act of service without questioning his integrity?

Yes, there are a lot of terrible, horrific things that happen in this world, but there are also wonderful, miraculous things. There are kind, loving people, who just try to do the right thing, even if no one expects them to do anything.

I need to try harder to be one of those people.

"Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

Cold and Flu Season Wins.

2011-02-15T08:05:00.000-08:00

Andy and I are both currently home sick. Our Valentine's Day was spent cuddled up under lots of covers, watching "Law & Order: Los Angeles" in bed. Nothing like a brutal murder to make your heart all fluttery.

Our escapades began on Wednesday night. After a long day for the both of us, neither of us felt like cooking, so we decided to try out our local Eat'n Park, which is basically like Pittsburgh's answer to Denny's. Everything was fine--we even got our little Smiley cookies, and were pretty happy about life.

About 3:30 in the morning, I woke up with a strange gurgling sensation in my stomach. There's no glamorous way to talk about a stomach virus . . . suffice it to say that the gurglings continued, and resulted in just about every consequence of a gurgling stomach one could imagine. That left me incapacitated through Thursday.

Friday was fine, except that while we were babysitting, one (of the five) was also sick, and she threw up too. As luck would have it, this happened just as we were putting everyone to bed, and things quickly descended into chaos thereafter.

Saturday, we somehow managed to escape any illness, and make it to Columbus, Ohio, for our temple shift. (Aside: for those of you who have a temple nearby, be grateful. We drive 3.5 hours to get to ours.)

Sunday, Andy woke up feeling pretty lousy. He stayed home from church. Monday, he called in to work and said he couldn't come in, and stayed home from classes. I went to work, despite that I was feeling a little crummy.

Upon arrival at work, I discovered that the very same stomach bug that had afflicted me had been going around there. We were short-staffed, and everything was out of whack. Made for a pretty sucky day at work, despite the fact that in light of the illness that had taken over, our director told us just to show movies all day. Even so, I started feeling crappier and crappier as the day went on. By the time it was time for me to come home, I was feeling so grumpy and misanthropic that I was swearing at everyone who crossed my path.

So, that brings us to today. Here we are, both home, both feeling worthless. Happy cold and flu season!

Poetic Justice

2011-02-01T12:23:00.000-08:00

Dear Texans,

This is what you get for bragging about your 75-degree weather. Your hubris has finally caught up with you.

It's actually warmer in Pittsburgh than it is in Denton right now. Take THAT!

Love,
Rachel

ps--GO STILLERS!

Happy 100th Post

2011-01-20T09:42:00.001-08:00

No fanfare. Nothing exciting. Just a normal post for our big #100.

For the new year, we started to go to the gym. To be fair, I should mention that the fact that we signed up for our membership on 1/1/11 happened merely to be a coincidence--we'd been toying with the idea for a long time, and the combination of a little bit of extra cash from Christmas along with a little bit of extra time due to the holiday just made it a go.

Today, just after my run on the treadmill, I was walking toward the water fountain, when a gentleman stopped me.

"Good morning," he said, in a very pleasant tone. I think I muttered back to him, something like "gmn."

"You are beautiful," he then said. Now, keep in mind, this was AFTER my run. So, picture me covered in sweat (I sweat a LOT), red-faced, hair a mess, and in gym clothes to boot.

"Huh?" I said, sure I had misheard him.

"You. Are. Beautiful," he repeated. I was totally taken aback.

"Thanks," I said. He ducked into the men's locker room, and that was that.

The thing that struck me was that it was a totally sincere compliment, delivered with no guile. It was delivered as you would tell someone you liked their haircut or their shirt.

I'm terrible at giving compliments. I get all awkward, and wonder what people will think of me. Will they think I'm coming on to them? Will they think I want something from them? So, usually, whatever nice thing I'm thinking about you probably goes unsaid. And I think a LOT of nice things about you.

Maybe I'll start to give more compliments.

Say, that's a really nice shirt you're wearing. :-)

Merry Christmas!

2010-12-25T16:51:00.001-08:00

Things are quiet here at the in-laws. The Cowboys are playing (you know . . . football, like the Steelers), which is occupying the rest of the household. I can't pretend to be bothered by that, so I thought I'd take a few moments and update here.

This trip home has us feeling incredibly blessed. Our first six months in Pittsburgh have been rough. We've cried plenty, cursed our lives, been lonely, wondered whether or not we were going to be able to make rent, and more. There have been moments when we wondered what on earth we were thinking, moving away from friends and family and starting a new life there. It has not always been glamourous.

"What an adventure!" they all said, when we were packing our lives up in the Camry.

We knew what they meant: "I'd never want to do that . . . but good luck to you."

Coming home has been a revelation. We realize how much we've learned, particularly about relationships. It's not as hard as we always thought.

We're grateful for family. We literally are who we are because of our families, and it has been wonderful to see everyone again. It's been interesting now that we've really established our own household, independent of our families, that we can now redefine those relationships. It now falls on our shoulders to maintain contact with our families--refreshing, in a way.

My heart is full. To end with a quote from our first grade musical production, "The Littlest Christmas Tree,":

Christmas is love
Christmas is caring
Christmas is joy
Christmas is sharing
Christmas is what our dreams are made of,
But more than anything,
Christmas is love.

May your day be filled with all the love you deserve.

Bad Rachel Day

2010-12-11T10:13:00.000-08:00

When I was in elementary school, I had a music teacher named Mrs. Gallian. When someone was misbehaving in class, she would send them to sit with the "Jaguar" (the Jaguar was our school mascot, although the "Jaguar" was actually a Garfield doll, wearing a school T-shirt) in the back corner of the room. After a certain time, the student could raise his or her hand, and ask, "Can the 'Good _______' come back?," the answer to which was almost certainly in the affirmative, and they were invited to return and sit with the rest of the class.

The Bad Rachel feels like the world owes her something. She feels like she's the exception to the rule. She feels like she's much better than she actually is, on all counts. She's a better employee, a better friend, and even better looking. She doesn't like other people very much--in fact, she often resents them, especially if they're happy and successful, or if they want something from her. She compensates for the fact that she feels they're all looking down at her by looking down at them. Sometimes she has to stretch a little, but she can almost always find some way to make herself superior to any other human being.

Can the "Good Rachel" come back?

Kids (and adults with dementia) Say the Darnedest Things

2010-12-08T16:26:00.000-08:00

A female dementia resident was lingering after lunch today, when one of the dietary aides came through to take the carts back to the kitchen. After making a few catcalls, she turned to me and said, "He's nice, isn't he?," then paused, and asked, "Who do you like?" I told her I was married, and she frowned, and said, "Oh, you're married? That's not too bad."

LATER . . .

I was teaching my seven year-old little student, and she messed up while we were playing "Jingle Bells." She turned to me and said, "Sorry. I was thinking about the color green." A few moments later, she messed up again, and said, "Ooops. This time I was thinking about a talking pumpkin." She then proceeded to shoo the talking pumpkin out of the room (but the darn pumpkin just wouldn't comply).

Lack of inhibition is one of the funniest things ever, isn't it?

Happy Pizza Friday!

2010-12-03T11:16:00.000-08:00

I'm glad it's Pizza Friday today. It's been snowing here in the 'burgh, and I've had my first week of working my PT job (that is, in addition to teaching three classes and my private students--for a total of six different work locations in the course of a week--yikes!), and I'm ready to kick it.

We are serious about our Pizza Friday. It's a challenge to come up with a delicious pizza every week, and we're not always successful (the week before Thanksgiving was a bust, for example, mostly because we were determined to use what we had on hand, which was a strange assortment of odds and ends). Here are some of our most delicious pies:

#1. Roasted peppers, onions, and ricotta, with homemade tomato sauce on sourdough crust. Slice some red and yellow bell peppers and red onions, drizzle with olive oil, a bit of balsamic vinegar, and liberal amounts of salt and pepper, roast in 400F oven until a bit blackened. Put tomato sauce and dollops of ricotta atop the crust, then spread the veggies over the top.

#2. Spinach white pizza. Starting again with our sourdough crust, we make a simple garlic béchamel sauce, mix in some frozen chopped spinach (thawed) and put that atop the pizza. Then, top with mozzarrella. When it comes out of the oven, sprinkle with freshly grated parmesan, especially REALLY GOOD parm.

#3. I think this is my all-time favorite: pear, chevre (goat cheese), and caramelized onions, topped with baby arugula. First, caramelize some thinly sliced red onions in butter (melt butter over medium-low heat, add the onions and stir frequently until they've colored nicely). Thinly slice some pears (we used Bosc) and arrange them atop your crust, and then distribute the onions and crumbled chevre. When it comes out of the oven, cover it in arugula and drizzle some extra-virgin olive oil, and some coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper. In every bite, you get the sweet, juicy pear, the mildly sweet onions, the tangy goat cheese, and the spicy arugula--absolutely divine.

What should it be for this week??

I'm a Mormon

2010-11-24T12:21:00.000-08:00

I've been sitting on this profile for a while, and it's been "pending approval" for months. This made me feel uncomfortable, for several reasons:

1. Does that mean I'm not a good enough Mormon to go on display? They don't want to claim me??

2. What about me is wrong? Am I living a life inconsistent with what I believe without even knowing it?

3. Do I want to be a part of a church that doesn't think I'm worthy of their ad campaign?

I logged back on today, made a few minor adjustments, and it turns out that it's all okay. Hooray! Now, maybe I can go and add some more "interesting" bits in there . . .

The Crossing Guard

2010-11-12T15:41:00.000-08:00

Look at this delightful lady, helping this sprightly young lass at a dangerous intersection! What a joyous life it must be, to be a protector of children!

When I was in elementary school, I recall that sixth graders were allowed to be crossing guards. Looking back, I wonder what my school administrators were thinking. Really? This 12-year-old is going to tell me when it's safe to cross the street? That doesn't seem a little . . . premature?

Here in Pittsburgh, our crossing guards are quite a bit more authoritative--or even authoritarian. I get the feeling that they flunked out of police academy, and are now trying to assert their authority over their precinct, even if that precinct is just an intersection. They spread their arms to stop traffic as though they were Moses parting the Red Sea. If their white gloves, police-style hats, and hi-liter colored trench coats (seriously) aren't enough to summon every bit of subservience in you, the fervor with which they wield their stop signs and blast their whistles will surely help you to find your way (when it is deemed safe). Actually, their role seems to have way less to do with keeping pedestrians safe than is has to do with showing those damn cars who's boss.

There are others, though. The crossing guards in my neighborhood are much gentler about it all. They don't leave their corner unless a bus is unloading, and they just give you a nod or a small hand gesture if it's your turn to go. I dig that.

Yesterday, I was sitting at a stoplight in a small suburb, and was approached by a crossing guard. He signaled for me to roll down my window.

He'd seen my license plates. "What part of Texas are you from?"
"Dallas area."
"Ohh, Dallas is alright. Lotta one-way streets."
"Yeah."
"What brings you to Pennsylvania?"
"My husband's going to grad school."
"Oh. So you're here a while. You been through a winter here yet?"
"No, we're kind of scared."
"Well, you missed a good one last year. Maybe it won't be so bad this year. But you'll see snow, that's for sure."
"Yeah, I bet so."
"I'm going to Houston for Christmas. I like Houston. Dallas is alright."

May I remind you, this is all taking place at a stoplight. We had a whole conversation! He bid me have a nice day, the light changed to green, and I went on my way, smiling more than I had been. I guess they get bored, too.

I'm pretty sure, now that I think of it, that there must be a strict hierarchy for crossing guards. The best (meanest) ones go to the busy intersections, donning their uniforms with pride each day. They probably recite the Crossing Guard's Code before they step onto the curb. They use Stop signs passed down through generations of crossing guard royalty. The more lax ones go to the places like my neighborhood, or the stoplight where I had the conversation yesterday.

I like the second group much better.

Coming Out of Early Retirement

2010-11-06T10:39:00.000-07:00

First of all, I want to thank everyone for their words of encouragement. I feel the love. Life's not bad at all, and I know it. We all have our moments of self-pity, and it's good to have caring friends who can shake you around a little bit and tell you it'll be okay.

Okay. Back to the point.

My lovely friend Tiffany alerted me about this movie that came out in July. A washed up conductor, trying to make his comeback with the help of an orchestra of misfits. Funny? Probably. True to life? A little bit too much so.

Granted, I'm not at "rock bottom," by any means. I'm not working as a custodian (that was a few summers ago!), and not trying to relive the glory days (mostly because I can't figure out which of my days those were). Nonetheless, there is something missing from my life right now, and I don't know how to work it back in. I used to be immersed in music, day in and day out, practicing until they kicked me out of the building and performing more than I really had time to do. These days, I hardly play at all. I teach a few private lessons every week, and I have my little preschool music classes, but that's about the extent of it.

A few weeks ago, I did something I never, never do: I listened to a recording of my playing. Listening to yourself play is like staring at yourself naked in the mirror: you focus so intently on the faults, and it all ends up disgusting you to the point that you essentially feel like a waste of space. Perhaps now you can see why I never listen to my recordings.

What I heard this time surprised me, though. It wasn't totally terrible. There were, in fact, some really lovely moments! More than anything, though, I remembered. I remembered what it felt like to play that piece at that moment, to feel those emotions so deeply that all I could do was to use my cello to express them. Then, I realized that it's been a really long time since I've had that compulsion to express. My music-making has suffered as a result, and now, I'm pretty well in a stage of dormancy (sorry, Gus).

When I hear a familiar piece on the radio, it's like seeing an old friend again. I'm instantly transported to where I was when I last played it. The feelings all come rushing back--including the frustration from never feeling like I was doing any piece of music justice (part, I believe, of why I haven't been playing much of late). As I reflect on all those memories, though, I realize how much of my life experience has been tied up in music, and that if I let that part of myself go, I also forgo many more experiences.

I need to get back into "fighting shape." I'm flirting with the idea of putting on a recital--the first recital of my life that will be just for me. I would revisit only my very favorite pieces, and play them like I want to play them . . . because I do. The only challenge after that, then, is to work up (and keep up) the motivation and the discipline to follow through. I've let it go because I never felt like I measured up, because I felt that the world would be alright if I didn't play. I've never been the best, but neither have I ever allowed myself to be even as good as I could be, whatever that is.

Maybe it's time to find out.

"The Glory Days?" This was in the BYU Phil, playing Shosty No. 5

Getting to the Real

2010-11-03T08:36:00.000-07:00

Being forthright with my emotions has never been one of my strong points. I suffer quietly, and I rejoice privately. It feels strange to do otherwise.

These habits make it very hard for me to ever feel comfortable around people, though. "Good behavior" Rachel doesn't ruffle any feathers, doesn't rock the boat, and essentially tries to be invisible most of the time. Unfortunately, I'm pretty good at being invisible.

Most of you, even my most dedicated of followers (add Reese's PB Cups to your Rachel Shrine to be moved higher on the list), will probably agree that you just don't know me very well. You may know facts about me: how many kids are in my family, where I grew up, what I studied in school, etc. Knowing about someone and knowing someone are very different feats. If you really know someone, it means you can fairly accurately predict how they'll react in a given situation. You say things like, "I think you'd like this movie," or "I saw this and thought you might like it." Andy and I have reached levels near telepathy in this regard. I have a really hard time with anyone else (which is why I suck at gift-giving--sorry).

Moving to a new place filled with new people means that I've built all kinds of impenetrable walls around myself. Social constructs are in my favor here: it takes a really long time to get past the pleasantries of chitchat that social norms require. Most of the people I know these days are through church, and because I don't go to the billions of activities that are held each week, my interaction with these individuals is limited to a few minutes a week at most. You can't move past "My week was fine," in that amount of time.

When we first came here, we had an onslaught of invitations. Every week, it seemed, we were off to a dinner appointment or a dessert, or more than one in a day. Social butterflies! I think we counted 30 or more people that we spent time with in the first month. We got a little further in our interactions, moving to, "What got you interested in that?," but that's it. There's only so far you can get in 2 hours.

Then it was our turn to invite back. We've been here now just about four months, and we have had ONE couple over for dinner. I have lots of excuses: our apartment is too small, we don't have anywhere to sit (just one uncomfortable couch and a chair whose seat is not attached to its frame), we don't have air-conditioning (that one worked better in the summer), we don't have a table, there's nothing to do, it's too cluttered, we're not child-proof . . .

Admittedly, most of these excuses have to do with my own personal pride. I'm very grateful for our apartment, especially now that it's getting colder, but it doesn't feel like a permanent home to me. We moved to Pittsburgh with nothing more than we could cram into our Camry or mail to ourselves, and since then, have acquired very little else--after all, with uncertain employment in a new place, living off our savings, spending rent and grocery money on furniture doesn't seem all that prudent. So, instead of a dresser, I have a suitcase. Instead of a table, we have two Rubbermaid bins stacked and covered with a bedsheet. Even our pencil cups are created from cardboard boxes. Improvisation: it makes us look like such a charity case.

I feel a twinge of jealousy each time I enter someone's home, with their family portraits hung on the wall, and am invited to sit on a chair. They turn off their TV, they apologize for the house being such a wreck (self-consciously picking up the two toys that are on the ground), they light their scented candles, adjust the centerpiece on the coffee table, and sink into their big, cozy sofa. My mind flashes back to our apartment: bare, unfurnished, and mismatched. This is, to me, a reflection on how everyone has it together but me.

So, I continue to keep my walls in good repair, fifty feet thick and one mile high.

Too bad for me that keeping others out of my bubble also means that I'm all alone in there . . .

Dallas Sucks

2010-10-28T09:41:00.000-07:00

Neither Rachel nor myself are what you'd call big sports enthusiasts. If we do watch a game, we're usually (but not always) likely to do so mainly for the social component. For example, I remember watching the Super Bowl this year at my in-laws house, but I don't remember who played or who won. What I do remember is having a good time with family and enjoying some delicious home-made pizza.

That said, you might wonder why, when I passed a guy on the street with a baseball cap that says "Dallas sucks" (referring the the football team the Cowboys) it hurt my feelings so much. I mean, despite not really caring about the football team, I haven't always had the kindest words about the city. I think the best analogy is a relationship with a sibling.

(Let me preface this by saying that I have a very positive, healthy relationship with my brother and only sibling.)

Despite the fact that deep down, you know you love your brother or sister, sooner or later you'll eventually get into arguments and call each other names. So, for example, you may call your brother or sister a jerk (or worse), and for a time, feel totally justified. The situation shifts when a third party enters the scene and utters the same insult at your sibling that you did a half an hour ago. They, unlike you, do not possess the same right to insult him or her that you do. And so, despite the fact that you may still harbor ill will toward your sibling, you will quickly come to his or her defense.

Thus is my relationship with both the Cowboys and the city of Dallas. I'm not particularly fond of either, but they both represent elements of my past. I can no more erase them from my history than I can change when or where I was born.

Dallas sucks?

No sir, you suck.

The Autumn Leaves

2010-10-26T13:02:00.000-07:00

C'est une chanson, qui nous ressemble
Toi tu m'aimais et je t'aimais
Nous vivions tous, les deux ensemble
Toi que m'aimais moi qui t'aimais
Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment
Tout doucement sans faire de bruit
Et la mer efface sur le sable les pas des amants désunis

(Okay, the above lyrics don't apply to my life exactly, but perhaps the sentiment does. And how could I resist "The Autumn Leaves?")

My life is in an autumn. The leaves are constantly changing color. Every time you drive on the same street, the trees look different. Fiery reds, vibrant yellows, robust oranges--the colors of autumn that fade into one another, become one another. Breezes that coax the leaves from their branches, sending them into the whirling winds. Every moment is a treasure, because the morning sunrise may never reflect off of the clouds in just that way again, casting the brightly colored leaves in soft pink light. There is no illusion of permanence in autumn.

In love

2010-10-22T13:25:00.000-07:00

After I taught my class today, I decided to stop by the grocery store near the studio.

I have found my new Central Market.

The place was huge (it had separate entrances labeled "Health & Wellness", "Produce," and other such things. It possessed the mark of a great grocery store: a wall of cheese (this made me happy, since I went in there to find some chevre). It also had a charcuterie, which I'd never even heard of, right in the middle of the store. Meat hanging all around. Being a (now) pseudo-vegetarian, that wasn't of particular interest, but I was impressed nonetheless. This grocery store has made my day. The Giant Eagle by our house is convenient, but we've found that it's not really suited to our needs (they only have three kinds of chocolate chips, and don't sell Red Curry Paste, for example).

Sooo, this will be our destination for special ingredients. Hooray!

We've made it to another Pizza Friday. This week has flown by! Today's menu features a pear, chevre, and caramelized onion pizza topped with dressed arugula--a variation on a pizza we made for my parents for their Super Bowl party (okay, I admit we're pizza snobs). Unfortunately, this time we don't have access to the $20-a-pound double cream artisanal goat cheese from the fancy cheese store . . .

We do make our own crust. This week, we're using this dough recipe, although divided by 1/4. (Last time we did the full recipe for 2 pizzas, and I thought it was a bit too much crust. By the way, the pizza itself is also worth a try.)

In conclusion, I have been talking way too much about food. Where's my Andyface, so we can go make that pizza?!?

Just Shy of Exhaustion

2010-10-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

Life is hilarious, unexpected, and weird sometimes.

I got a call out of the blue offering an interview for a position that I didn't apply to. I'd interviewed for another position at the same facility, and my name was passed on to this other department (I guess I didn't get the first job . . . hrmmm). A week ago, I got another random call with a heads' up about another potential job opportunity from my sweet RS President. We'll see.

My teaching is going well, though I'm not so crazy about having to drive around everywhere all the time--just wears me out. I'm not really sure, considering opportunity cost, that I'm making the best use of my time and talents, but I guess the point is that I had to go any place that would have me at all. There will probably be some reevaluation of this approach as life goes on.

We got our new camera--Canon Powershot. This camera came highly recommended to us, and so far, we've been very pleased. Hopefully the weather will be nice this weekend so we can take some shots of the pretty changing colors on the trees! There are a lot of trees here.

I am super-tired, due to lack of sleep and a fair amount of stress this week. Definitely looking forward to pizza and a movie, or something equally "kick-back-and-relaxy." Heck yes.

That was last week's pizza. Tomato & yellow pepper with provolone and fresh mozzarella, homemade tomato sauce, real Parmigiano Reggiano and chopped fresh parsley. Yum. I love Pizza Fridays!

Fall Has Fallen

2010-10-04T12:17:00.000-07:00

This week's forecast here in PGH is definite evidence of the onset of fall. Sweaters, scarves, and coats are climbing out of hibernation [I can't remember the last time I wore the jacket I'm currently donning, but apparently, I was hanging out with a big, furry dog at the time], empty warehouses across the country are turning into HALLOWEEN SUPER STORES, and the air is twinged with the scent of pumpkin spice lattes. Most of all, I am happy--because I LOVE FALL. And I love calling it "Autumn."

Autumn carries with it an air of nostalgia. You reflect on the upcoming end of the cycle of the seasons, on the end of the year, and perhaps (for those of the Romantic persuasion) the end of life. In autumn, we have the beginning of the "holiday season," where many of us enjoy our happiest memories and traditions. There is something about the sound of the leaves crunching beneath your feet, the feel of the crisp air, the way the light hits everything, that evokes these rich emotions within me.

There are, however, other reasons that autumn is my favorite season.

Reason #1: Fall Comfort Food

Despite summer's colorful bounty of crops, there are precious few dishes that actually sound appetizing on a hot summer day--especially when you take into consideration that you have to heat up your whole kitchen (and, in the case of our teeny apartment, the whole house) even to turn a piece of raw chicken breast into a chicken Caesar salad. The onset of fall comes as a great relief to a girl who loves to eat soups, stews, baked pastas, things covered in cheese, and other such rich and delicious foods that I don't bother to feel guilty about loving. Yesterday, to complement the cold and rainy Sunday, Andy and I had Spicy Sweet Potato Coconut Soup and cheese toasts, with chocolate-cinnamon bread pudding for dessert. A menu like that will take the chill right off of you.

Reason #2: Autumnal Attire

Again, there is something about breaking out those long-sleeved shirts and sweaters that is just comforting. Unfortunately, not too much of our wardrobe (cold-weather or otherwise) survived the Great Purge that took place before our move, not to mention the fact that the fall weather wardrobe required in PA is quite different from that of TX . . . so it looks as though we may do some shopping pretty soon (feel free to send us cash or gift cards, we're ever so cold! *weak, sickly cough*).

Reason #3: Pumpkin
(comic courtesy of NatalieDee.com)

Yes, pumpkin gets its own reason. What else can give so much? It can be muffins, jack-o-lanterns, scones, cookies, cakes, beverages, soups, stews, interior decoration, and, of course, the ubiquitous pie. I've already made pumpkin scones and pumpkin cupcakes (or "muffins," if you eat them before noon). I will continue to turn pumpkin into whatever I feel like, tinting my pancakes, my breads, and anything else I can think of a lovely orange color. And I will love it.

I could go on, but three is such a good bullet-point format! So, happy fall, everyone! Now . . . what should I be for Halloween??

Our New Faces

2010-09-13T12:03:00.001-07:00

Well, we had a wonderful weekend to celebrate something that's happening on Tuesday. First, we ate at Pamela's, a favorite of the Obama family. There's usually a big line outside of this place, especially on the weekends. We were skeptical, as we often are of anything that is very widely popular, but it actually lived up to (and exceeded) our expectations. The thin, crispy-edged pancakes were borderline addictive (secret ingredient: crack?), and we discovered that Pittsburgh doesn't really wake up before 10AM on a Saturday morning, even when sweet, tasty hotcakes (generously doused with butter and syrup) are on the line.

We tried to go to Shakespeare in the Park, but couldn't find a place to park at the Park, so we left the Park without parking and had our picnic lunch at another Park.

Then, perhaps feeling a little homesick, we cut and pasted an Arts and Jazz fest, by going to the Fair in the Park (arts and crafts fair) and then to Jazz Day at Schenley Plaza. Good times! I love Pittsburgh's free festivals and so forth. Woohoo!

Unfortunately, while at Schenley, we lost our camera. Soo, thanks to Google Image Search, I have located the new and improved Andy & Rachel :

Pretty close, right? I like yoga. And Andy likes hoodies.

Red, Yellow, and Green

2010-09-10T11:20:00.000-07:00

One of the biggest adjustments we have made since the move has to do with how we get around. Driving is a totally different experience here than in TX--much more interactive, and much less rule-bound.

Now, I'm pretty sure that many of the laws are the same--at least in the books. A simple example:

We all know that Green means Go, Yellow means Proceed with Caution, and Red means Stop.

If you ask someone in Texas what they do when they approach these lights, they'll probably tell you that, yes, Green means go, and Red means stop . . . but Yellow means "speed up so you make it through the light."

I think if you posed the same question here in Pittsburgh, your answer would be yet different. Here, Green means go, Yellow means go, and Red means look before you go. (As far as I can surmise, it's considered fair game to go on a red light, as long as you actually saw the light change to red. I think almost every single time I go through a yellow light that changed red while I was in the intersection, thinking, "I probably should have stopped," the car behind me also went right through it.)

Drivers also interact much more here. In Texas, if someone has started to make a turn they couldn't quite execute, leaving them sticking out in an awkward position, other drivers will curse this person, saying, "It's your own fault for trying to make that turn, skalliwag!" Here, someone will probably let you correct yourself, with a wave of their hand or a flash of their lights. The same goes for if you're trying to change lanes, parallel park, or do some other maneuver that requires you to hope for the good will of your fellow drivers.

Other things to watch out for include cars parked in the right lane, many right- and left- turn only lanes, cyclists, pedestrians, emergency vehicles (today, on my way to the library, I saw a caravan of 4 cop cars and an ambulance!), narrow streets, street-sweeping signs (restricting parking at certain hours of the week), etc.

We're adjusting, though, and learning how to make a left turn just when the light turns red or green in the absence of a left-turn arrow. (I have, on more than one occasion, been honked at for not making a left turn INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC when the light is green. I don't yet have that level of trust in my fellow drivers, but perhaps it comes with time.) We wonder how this will translate in our next visit to Texas. We're starting to drive like Yanks!

Never Park Your Car Without It . . .

2010-09-07T08:14:00.000-07:00

Remember The Club? This handy device could prevent your car from being stolen by some scruffy looking guy with his shirt untucked. Even if you lived in a big city, they would see The Club and cower, knowing they were no match for its airtight engineering. I'm assuming this would-be criminal would then decide a life of crime was too challenging, and straighten up, eventually securing a job as an investment banker. This might jog your memory.

Anyway, since having come here to Pittsburgh, I've noticed that The Club hasn't quite died out around here. Just this morning I saw one latched onto the steering wheel of an Explorer. I hadn't seen one in years back in Texas. Maybe Pittsburgh is stuck in a time warp.

Other evidence of the time warp:
*the prominence of cash-only business establishments (if you're lucky, there may be an ATM [ca. 1990] in the shop)
*K-Mart. I know that K-Mart didn't die everywhere, but since it's been a while since there's been one near me, I associate it with a period of time gone by
*Kennywood Park , apparently where the movie Adventureland was filmed

Conclusion:
Further research needed.

We love it here so far, though. We have an awesome new ward, full of a bunch of really smart (often nerdy and awkward) people. This ward has more advanced degrees (in pursuit or received) per capita than any ward I've ever attended. It's inspiring to hang out with people who use words like "nefarious" in regular conversation, and in a place where having a PhD is not exceptional. That aside, everyone's really nice, too. We counted last night, and in the two months that we've been here, we've had dinner, dessert, and / or game nights with no fewer than 14 couples--and all this with just invitations extended to us. This is good for a couple of introverts: people are making it really difficult for us to fade into the background. It's nice, for a change.

Andy got a job, and I had an interview. I'm on the fence as to whether or not I even want the position if they offer it to me. I guess we'll just wait and cross that bridge when / if we get there.

Another benefit of our new locale is that we have more blue-friends. In fact, we have hunches that a good proportion of our new ward may be democrats, including some of our clerical leaders. It's strange to go to church and not feel like The Enemy.

Not quite Willy Wonka . . .

2010-08-30T07:41:00.000-07:00

This weekend, Andy and I had the pleasure of going to Philadelphia, PA, to go to a wedding reception of my cousin. My dad grew up in the Philly area, and for all of my childhood, his parents lived there, so we would visit there in the summers. Shortly after my Mom-Mom passed away (almost 10 years ago), Pop-Pop moved to South Carolina, so we haven't had an excuse to go back there since. It was strange to be there, and not really have a place to report back . . .

Nevertheless, the reception was great--a very handsome couple, good food, dancing, and all the standard reception activities. The strange coincidence of it all is that the bride is the one for whom the reception was held in Philly (well, Valley Forge, really), because she is from there. So, it just happened to be a coincidence that the groom (my cousin) also had ties to that place.

Anyway, we lived it up while we were there. Andy had his first official cheesesteak from Pat's, the originator of the cheesesteak. This place is crazy--they can conduct an entire business transaction in probably one minute flat (order, pay, receive sandwich). Here's how this transaction might go forth in another shop:

"Hello, how are you today?"
"I'm fine, thanks. Yes, I'd like a cheesesteak, please."
"What kind of cheese?"
"Ahhhh, hmmmm, how about Provolone?"
"Would you like onions?"
"Yes."
"Okay, that will be $7.50."
*Customer hands clerk card*
"Okay, will that be debit or credit?"
"Debit, please."
"Enter your pin, please. Would you like a receipt?"
"No, thanks."
"Okay, have a nice day."
*Customer waits for sandwich.*

At Pat's, there is none of this. Cash only, first of all. The above transaction would read like this:

"Next!"
"One provolone with."
"(To cooks) Provolone with! $7.50."
*Customer hands clerk cash, and just about by the time they receive their change, they walk away with a hot sandwich*

Streamlined. Efficient. Low-tech! And they must make a killing, JUST SELLING SANDWICHES.

We also went to Hershey, PA, to visit the Chocolate World. We've just read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, so I had high hopes to see some Oompa Loompas while riding around in a glass elevator. Unfortunately, the free tour of the factory ended up being a 10-minute commercial for Hershey's chocolate (and, as it turns out, a rather effective one). It was 9pm when we entered--an hour to closing--and it was packed. And when we stepped off the tour (which was complete with "chocolate smell" and all), we went downstairs to the madness of the gift shop. People were buying armfuls of chocolates as if they'd never seen the stuff before and expected to never see it again (or maybe they were all trying to get a Golden Ticket?). Nothing special about them, either--just regular old Hershey bars. Weird. Thanks to Andy's tenacity, we resisted the urge, and walked out unscathed.

Anyway, Andy's started classes today, so life is changing. I'll be starting my training later this week for Kindermusik, teaching music classes to little kids. Yippee! That will be fun. Still looking for another PT job, but there you have it . . .

Today's Job Search

2010-08-04T12:41:00.000-07:00

Imagine that you've finally been starting to have some success on the job search front. Imagine then, that you see a job that, while not absolutely perfect, would definitely be something you would like to do, and are well-qualified to do (i.e., the only thing that keeps it from being the perfect job is the fact that it is part-time, not full-time).

Now. Imagine that you saw the job posting two days after the prospective employers have closed the applications. AND that they have a rather annoying online application process that automatically removes job postings as they close, and expressly say, "No paper applications will be accepted, you must apply using our database."

I'm still trying to get in the back door, but MAN. This annoys me. How do I still get my application in, without it just ending up in the recycling bin??? Should I just mail it anyway??

Life in Pgh

2010-07-30T07:43:00.000-07:00

It's a gorgeous day in the 'burgh. We're starting to love it here, and days like today make that pretty darn easy.

So, you ask, what have we been up to? (Or, if you're a grammar snob, "Up to what have we been?")Above is Frick Park. There are miles and miles of trails just like the one above--right at a city park. This is where we run. [Author's note: Admittedly, the move has caused a slackening of our regimen, but we still get out a couple times a week. These hills are pretty killer.] Complete with babbling brooks, dog play areas, and lots of trees, this has quickly become a haven for us.
The formidable building above is the majestic Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh (one of nineteen branches throughout the city), which happens to be my current location. Andrew Carnegie, as I'm sure you all know, pioneered the idea of the public library (Wikipedia tells me that there are more than 2500 libraries funded by Mr. Carnegie worldwide). This particular library was established in 1895, as the architecture and some of the interior hints. This is love.

Above, we see a representation of two things important to Pittsburgh: Dinosaurs and Mr. Rogers. Again, I'm sure you're aware that Mr. Fred "Mister" Rogers was a Pittsburgher, so that explains the dino's vestiture. But why dinosaurs? Apparently, when dinosaur fossils were first being discovered, our friend Mr. Carnegie, being a man of considerable means, said to his staff, "I want one of those, somebody go find me one!" Which, of course, is exactly what happened. So, according to my retelling of a story that I half-listened to and didn't fact-check, Mr. Carnegie procured one of the first dino skeletons. There are statues of dinosaurs all over the city. One day, we'll do a blog just about those guys.

This little gem of a pizza place has melted our hearts like so much mozzarella cheese. It's tiny, they only take cash, and you may well hear a few f-bombs floating from behind the counter, but the pizza is divine. Sitting atop a crust that is at once chewy and crunchy is a generous portion of sweet tomato sauce, upon which rests a doubly generous portion of cheese. Their ovens must be about 7000 degrees, which creates a nice crisp layer of browned cheese to complement the gooey, melty, delicious goodness underneath. We got a spinach and artichoke pie. It was so hot that by the time we made the 10 minute walk back to our car and the fifteen minute drive back to our apartment, we could only just eat it. To die for.

But, you wouldn't know who was typing if it didn't include . . .

Dozen Bake Shop. A Pittsburgh institution! They have delicious cupcakes, and their other baked goods are probably okay, too . . . whatever. It is, dare I say it, better than Sprinkles. (For the record, I think the appeal of Sprinkles lies mostly in its branding, and the actual product is only "okay.") There's a tiny little storefront in Squirrel Hill, right across from the library that we most often frequent. Dangerous. Another one opening soon around the corner from the Main Library . . . and from the church / institute building. Yikes.

In Other News, our oven actually DOES work. Look out, Pittsburgh! We are going to be baking like maniacs soon . . .

pittsburgh

2010-07-19T12:41:00.001-07:00

Made it.

No internet. Using library. Library is awesome. Love.

Highlights: Carnegie Public Library System, Dozen Bake Shop, Frick Park, etc.

Lowlights: Loneliness, house unsettled, job search, etc.

7% Battery Power left on lappy.

But, we made it.

So Long . . .

2010-07-04T15:20:00.001-07:00

So long to the red river valley,
My ropin'  and wranglin' is through
And so farewell to the home corral
And all the old friends that I knew.

Goodbye to the old empty bunkhouse
Where I dreamed the hours away
Send my mail to the end of the trail
So long to the red river valley.

I'll roll up my beddin' and pack up  my clothes
And lighten my heart  with  a song
For where I'll  be travelin', nobody knows
So I'll have to be movin' a long.

Goodbye to the old empty bunkhouse
Where I dreamed the hours away
Send my mail to the end of the trail
So long to the red river valley.

End Chapter

2010-06-22T22:28:00.000-07:00

We're closing a chapter in our lives.

I have one day left at my workplace; my residents are crying and protesting my departure. (Said one, "Tell your husband I'm mad at him!")

We have two weeks left at church--and this coming Sunday we'll be giving our "farewell talks." My Primary kids are protesting, too. One girl in particular has been asking for weeks, "Why are you leeeeeaving us???"

It feels good to be loved.

Makes me wish I'd kept up better with all my friends. Or, really, with ANY of you. I'm such a terrible long-distance friend. And by "long-distance," I really mean anything that doesn't have us in the same room for hours at a time several times a week. I feel like I can quietly walk away from my friends and acquaintances and have my absence unnoticed because my presence has been so sporadic (to the point of being almost nonexistent). My residents and my Primary kids see me regularly. They will miss me, at least temporarily. (The residents may be very temporary . . . many of them may forget by Monday.)

We can certainly chalk it up to being "busy," but you and I both know that "busy" is just a more efficient (and more tactful) way of saying that we don't have time for one another, and that we'd rather be doing other things than hanging out. I guess that's been my fatal flaw all along--not wanting to sacrifice to maintain friendships. I realize now, as I sort through the back corners of my closets, shelves, and cabinets, that friendships can just as easily be forgotten. And just like that "lost" favorite sweater, you love it when you remember that you have it. And when push comes to shove, you just don't really want to throw it away, even if you've only worn it once in the past year.

The benefit lost friendships have over sweaters is that they don't take up extra closet space.

So, I'll pack them all. Unlike all my other possessions, which are in the midst of being evaluated for their utility, you are all coming with me. No questions asked.

The Blogging Paradox

2010-06-07T19:17:00.000-07:00

If there's something to write about, you probably don't have the time to write about it. If you've got the time to write, you probably don't have anything to write about.

I was shocked to see that the last post was very nearly a month ago. What has happened in the past month??

-Andy finished his semester at UNT. (All A's! Go Mr. Smartypants!)
-My brother and S-I-L have moved back to Texas. (He got a job! Go Mr. Productive-Member-Of-Society!)
-Seminary has finished! Yippeeeee!!!
-We baked 150 mini-cupcakes for a friend's wedding.
-Andy went to P-burgh, where he found and secured our apartment!
-We're still running--just three weeks away (hopefully) from running a full 30 minutes at a time. Many of you may not be impressed by this, but I could barely run for one minute when we started. Now we're up to 14 minutes in a set (two sets per run). I feel awesome!
-In conjunction with my running, I have lost 2 inches from my waist. Unfortunately, the redistribution of fat and muscle to my lower half (i.e., less body fat, more muscle) has left my overall volume in said lower half generally the same as it was. The result is that I am now two sizes smaller on top than on bottom. So now you all know it: I'm a pear.
-We discovered that our ward in P-burgh is also housing an enclave of Spanish-speakers.

Blah, blah, blah.

Confession

2010-05-08T07:32:00.000-07:00

Remember this post?

Well, we just got back in from a lovely Saturday morning run, on a perfect running day (sunny, 67 degrees, breezy).

Now, I feel the need to set the record straight a bit here. We are baby runners. Our 10k was completed mostly walking--thanks to the one of us whose longer hair weighs us down (wind resistance, you know). In preparation for the 10k, we "trained," which consisted mostly of me complaining and Andy trying to get me to run.

Things have gotten better, though, ever since we started on one of those walk-to-run plans. I've never been a runner, nor have I been athletically inclined in the faintest, so this seemed just at my threshold of ability. We started on Week 1 running just one minute at a time, and now it's Week 7, and we're doing six! For me, that is huge. By the end of June, we should be running a full 30 minutes, which would be monumental. As I said, I've never been a good runner.

So, this is the blessing of setting goals. We were talking about it a few days ago, and our whole running stint started on somewhat of a whim, with an UNrealistic goal to run a half-marathon in a few short months. However, in setting that goal, we landed on an ACHIEVABLE goal. As the cliché goes, "Shoot for the moon, and even if you miss, you'll land among the stars." We're still gonna do those 13.1 miles, but it may take us a little longer--and that's okay. I'm just proud for having made the progress we have. :-)

Sometimes . . .

2010-05-05T19:42:00.000-07:00

. . . I update just because I want to write something.

Since I've been out of school, I have many fewer opportunities to write. Nerd that I am, I miss it. I've considered writing the next Great American Novel, but haven't known where to start. Apparently, America likes novels about vampires and semi-tragic (so I hear) books to be made into movies starring Miley Cyrus. I don't have any ideas about things like that. The elitist in me rebels against popular culture anyway, so my hope would never be to land on the NY Times Bestseller list. Ignorant proles!

Alas, I can't even think of what to write on a blog read by a small (yet very important) handful of people. I feel best blogging when I have some insightful thought, or some horrible injustice, or some funny story bouncing around in my mind. In the absence of these, plagued only by the monsters of day-to-day living (laundry! errands! work! oh, my!), I find myself struggling to put . . . key to . . . screen . . . (oh, it's so much easier to say "pen to paper!").

So, I sit here and try to come up with something deep.

Hmmm.

Nope, still nothing. I might as well go in the opposite direction, then. Here is something completely trivial:

A comprehensive list of the contents of my purse.

In case you're wondering, I don't have a Louis Vuitton handbag. Mine is a Fossil, but only because my mom gave it to me after my old one broke. Yes, it's a hand-me-down from my mother.

-one package of facial tissue (Kroger brand, pocket pack)
-one CelloPhant
-one tube of hand cream (Neutrogena Norwegian formula, fragrance free)
-$67.58 cash (wow, I'm rich!)
-one wallet (red, with hearts on it)
-one bottle of hand sanitizer (compliments of Senior Care Center)
-one receipt from OfficeMax (printer cartridges and CD labels)
-one tube of lip gloss (Clinique Longlast Glosswear, #21 [Bamboo Pink])
-one tube of Carmex
-four pens (three ballpoint, one gel)
-chewing gum (Ice Breakers Ice Cubes White, Wintergreen Splash)
-two receipts from Albertson's (sugar and lilies; water, club soda, and ice cream)
-one cake of rosin (Lizbenzeller Merall-Koluphonlum, Gold III)
-one bar of soap (wrapped)
-four Multi-Symptom Day Time Softgels
-one magnet from Hot Box Pizza
-one of these (sweet mint)
-one tube of Burt's Bees Beeswax Lip Balm
-five tampons (Kroger brand, two Super, two Light)
-several checks that need to be deposited
-$4 in coupons for the Good Samaritan store
-work keys (8) and name badge
-one facial tissue (used)
-one ticket stub (Yo-Yo Ma & Kathryn Stott at Bass Performance Hall, 3/16/2010)
-one cough drop wrapper (CVS brand, Cherry)
-one tin of Burt's Bees Lemon Butter Cuticle Creme

I wonder if this says anything about me.

Plans for this weekend

2010-04-20T08:50:00.000-07:00

If you're in the area this weekend, we highly suggest you go. Here's the website:

http://www.dentonjazzfest.com/index.html

Notes to Self:

2010-04-18T19:56:00.000-07:00

*3:00 on a Sunday morning is not an appropriate time to "plan" for Primary music time.

*Do not get Botox.

*In most cases, it is not actually necessary to burn yourself with hot oil to be cast as the Phantom of the Opera.

Texas Bucket List

2010-04-10T15:42:00.001-07:00

In no particular order...

1. Beth Marie's Ice Cream
2. The Greenhouse
3. Recycled Books
4. Denton Arts and Jazz Festival
5. I Heart Sushi
6. El Guapo's
7. Mr. Chopsticks
8. Thai Ocha
9. Disc Golf at Northlakes
10. Dallas Shakespeare Festival
11. Zaguan Cafe and Bakery
12. Good Records
13. The Angelika Theater (Dallas)
14. Blue Mesa
15. Cosmic Cafe
16. The Modern
17. Dallas Museum of Art
18. Fuzzy's Tacos
19. Bochy's Bistro
20. Hannah's Off the Square
21. Ravelin Bakery
22. Downtown Mini-malls 1&2
23. Chef Point Cafe
24. Cafe Brazil
25. Mia's Tex-Mex

Yes, I realize that most of this list consists of North Texas restaurants. Your point?

Running

2010-04-06T17:15:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure how much time (if any) we've dedicated to our semi-recent foray into the running world. It all started back in October. We got a mailer from Team In Training, a program that raises funds for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society. On a whim, Rachel and I went to an information session, and that same night, enrolled in a half marathon that would take place in Dallas this April.

We didn't end up doing the half marathon due to schedule conflicts, so we opted for a 10K in Fort Worth instead. To date we've participated in three races since December, with plans for another at the end of April.

The goal is to do one each month. So far, we haven't gone above a 10K, but my hope is that we'll be ready for a half in the next year or so.

It's been a really fun experience so far. The running culture is pretty laid back. I think what I like about it is the low barriers to entry (physical, financial, etc). Basically, if you can get a hold of a good pair of shoes, you're good to go.

Right now we're sporting Oasics, but so far we haven't gotten any advertising deals. Maybe after a couple more races...

But seriously, we're having a good time, and I hope that running serves as a gateway to other outdoor activities. It's great timing for a move to Pittsburgh. It looks like there's a lot to do in Pennsylvania and the surrounding states.

Oh yeah. On that note, we've decided to accept Pitt's offer. PA, here we come!

Grad School Admissions: The Results

2010-04-03T12:04:00.000-07:00

After months of waiting, we finally have all six admission decisions. I've been checking my e-mail inbox incessantly for the past week in anticipation for the final notice. It came in the mail yesterday.

So, what are our options? Well, it's come down to two:

1) The University of Pittsburgh School of Public and International Affairs
2) The University of North Texas Public Administration Program

In either case, I'd be going for a terminal Master's in Public Administration with a focus on nonprofit management.

Right now, it seems all but certain that Pittsburgh will win out. Though the programs are generally similar, U-Pitt (unfortunate nickname, I know) would put me a lot closer to the DC/NYC international aid and development scene.

If this becomes official, we'll most likely be relocating to the Keystone State around mid-July.

I have until April 15 to accept my scholarship package from Pittsburgh. We'll post our decision prior to that date.

Peace,

Andy (yeah, I know I said I gave up blogging. I lied.)

A Special Witness of Christ

2010-03-21T13:43:00.000-07:00

We had the wonderful blessing this weekend to see a prophet of God in person, and to shake his hand. Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to visit us right here in Denton (the last time we've had an Apostle come through to our Stake was in 1981, I am told).

Yes, in our Church we believe that there are living prophets and apostles on the earth today. In fact, "We believe in the same organization that existed in the Primitive Church, namely, apostles, prophets, pastors, teachers, evangelists and so forth" (Article of Faith 1:6). We hear from our Prophet and the Twelve Apostles every six months at General Conference, where there is a huge gathering at the Conference Center in Salt Lake City, Utah, that is broadcast to our meetinghouses worldwide. Because it is such a worldwide church, though, we rarely get visits here. This was a special treat!

I was impressed with his joyful spirit as he entered the room. He began quickly shaking the hands of the congregation--and when I say "the congregation," I mean that he walked through every pew and shook the hands of each of the (1000? or more?) people present. He had time enough for all of us, young and old alike, just like the Christ of whom he is a special witness. It brought tears to my eyes.

One of the parts of his address that struck me the most was about this principle, of standing as a witness. We covenant at baptism to "stand as witnesses of God at all times, and in all things, and in all places," (Mosiah 18:9), but do we really do this? I get "witnessed" to on almost a daily basis at my place of work, yet I am incredibly shy about my own faith. I read devotionals daily, but am afraid to pray--even though I've been saying prayers in public as long as I can remember. I am a terrible witness.

My goal is to reunite the temporal and spiritual sectors of my life, so that there is not any occasion of distinction between the two. Incidentally, one of my favorite talks by Elder Oaks, "The Challenge To Become" relates to this topic. If we are true disciples of Christ, it will show in how we live our lives each day, not just on Sunday.

I know that Christ lives and that He loves me. I know that because He loves me, He gave His life so that I might repent and return to live with our Father in Heaven. I know that He sends his prophets to the earth to guide us and lead us back to Him when we stray, and that there are such prophets on the earth today! I know that we are called to love and serve one another as Christ would, which means loving without question. I know our Father in Heaven sent the scriptures so that we could learn of Him, and that in their pages are the things that will lead us closer to Him.

I'm grateful for the gospel light in my life.

Silver, gold.

2010-03-13T19:27:00.001-08:00

Make new friends, but keep the old.
One is silver, the other is gold.

This weekend has been one of the busiest I can recall. Also, it has been one of the best I have had in recent memory.

It started out by having dinner with the ol' quartet on Friday evening. I haven't kept in touch with those guys since having finished at UNT. It's amazing how quickly you forget how much you enjoy being around a person if you haven't seen them in a while! Luckily for me, Colin is better at maintaining friendships than I am, and lets me know when he's in town. We invited him for dinner, and decided to invite the other guys while we were at it, for a little reunion of sorts. Having a good friend is like riding a bike--it just comes right back to you.

Today began at the nursing home, singing primary songs with the kiddos. It was a wonderful experience to see the residents beaming, and to see the kids just singing their little hearts out. I'm proud of those little guys!

After that experience, we had lunch with the Hartfields, eating some excellent pizza (Hot Box, yes!) and enjoying still more excellent company. It's crazy--I've known those guys since we were in Chem-nasty together in high school! Now they have a little baby girl who is so ridiculously adorable. She has two really good parents--warm, kind, and just . . . sparkly. I don't know. They're good people.

As if that's not enough fun, then I got to go to a wedding reception of two more high school friends. It was a mini high school reunion in its own rite. I haven't seen most of these people since I graduated in '03. Yikes.

The thing that has gotten me about this weekend, though, is that people do change, but they stay the same, too. I guess there are characteristics that are inherent in us, and we will always be who we are at the core. There is something comforting about that. We grow, and we progress, but we will always be the same collection of traits, of characteristics that make us unique.

Let the fun continue.

My "Mormon Mommy" Blog

2010-02-25T08:26:00.001-08:00

No, dears. This is not an announcement.

There is an interesting phenomenon known as the "Mormon Mommy" blog. I am not a participant in this phenomenon, but others are interesting to read. In the semi-anonymous way that blogging allows, women talk about their family, their church callings, their favorite recipes, etc. Basically, it all makes you feel like nothing you're doing in your life is enough. It's a myth, of course, that these women have it all figured out, but doesn't it always look like that to the outsider?

It's garnered such a following that it has even inspired some satire, which I follow much more religiously than any of the original blogs. Lurve you, TAMNers!

I am not at all one of these women, but it occurred to me that I don't really talk about my "home life" very much here. Nor my church life. So, I guess I'll remedy this.

First, home. No children, of course. I like having a clean house, but our apartment rarely fits that bill. We get busy. We may be doing too much, and I don't say this as a call for a badge of courage. I think doing too much is stupid, actually. I wish I had the guts to say "no" more often. I do enjoy cooking and baking, probably more than I should. This is the reason for our burgeoning home bakery business. We make stuff like this:

Yum! Mint chocolate chunk cookies!

We are attending church in a growing Spanish branch. Andy lived in Argentina for two years while on his mission, and I took Spanish in high school . . . that's why. We just like it. I love being able to hear Spanish on a regular basis, and the branch socials are always full of Mexican food and dancing. Yippee!!! Because this branch is small, though, we have our work cut out for us. We serve as Young Single Adult (YSA) advisers, which is a calling we both kind of forget about sometimes, and don't really know what we're supposed to do as such, to be honest. He's also the Elder's Quorum Secretary, and I'm the Primary Chorister (lead music for kids from ages 3-12) as well as the Home-Study Seminary teacher (teaching religious education classes weekly for high school age kids).

I love my callings. The primary kids are so adorable, and they always make me laugh. I'm not so good at keeping their attention or motivation all the time, but I try. I love seminary, too, even though I don't feel like I have the time to plan my lessons like I should. I'll be honest, this is something that usually happens the day-of. I wonder how I seemed to be able to do it so much easier when I was in school. Graduate school, that is. Hrmm. I guess I didn't have a semi-grown-up job then. More disposable time? More flexible schedule? Something to do with that, I suppose.

So, that's about it.

My feet are cold.

Happy Balentimes Day!

2010-02-13T23:49:00.000-08:00

Today was one for the books.

Woke up for work. Delayed departure due to adverse driving conditions. Departure further delayed by a car that wouldn't start. Dug the "other" car out from under the snow, took the bumpy, icy back roads to work.

At work, attempted to make two days' worth of visits in one day. Discovered that Bingo chips were missing--had to improvise another solution. Day was made more interesting by a woman who seemed to think we were still in the Cold War, a child who seemed to think that I was her babysitter, a fire drill, and (later in the day) an actual fire. This amounted to me leaving work at about 5:40 instead of 4:00, which is my usual time of departure on a Saturday.

Little did I know that in the midst of all of this, my sweet Andy was outside with a tuba-euphonium ensemble, waiting graciously for me to arrive. He actually managed to surprise me this time, and I started cracking up as soon as I saw the four of them in the driveway, and began crying as they started to play. This was the result of an off-hand comment made a couple years ago-- Andy's a really good listener. Cute, too. :-)

Went grocery shopping, which wouldn't make the blog except for the Blue Bell being on sale for $2.99. Then returned home to eat dinner, bake a cheesecake, and prepare some dough for homemade cinnamon swirl bread. It's now 2:00am and sleep is close around the corner. Thankfully.

ZZZZZZZZ.

Let it Snow x3

2010-02-11T21:49:00.000-08:00

We arise this morning to a beautiful, white blanket of snow covering all of the land around our apartment. It is one of those mornings that can only be made more beautiful by the addition of those two little words:

SNOW DAY.

Andy was supposed to have class today, as well as a work meeting on campus, but thanks to the snow, he was relieved of those responsibilities.

This has been the snowiest winter I have ever seen in Texas. We actually had enough snow to make a snowman, without using any snow from the car, or anything that had grass in it, AND we still had plenty leftover. Here's what we made:

Unfortunately, in order to see our awesome snowman, the camera operator had to step wayyyy back, so you can't really tell it's us. I assure you, it is.

The other news from ol' D-town is that Dr. Gretchen Bataille, President of the University of North Texas, is resigning. Suddenly. In the middle of the semester. And no one is saying why--at least anyone who knows anything. All's I know is: somethin' ain't right.

Pleasant Origin Day

2010-01-17T13:59:00.000-08:00

Andy and I have spent last week re-discovering the wonder of Gorgeous Tiny Chicken Machine Show. It is incomparably silly, unrelentingly formulaic, and side-splittingly hilarious--if you're in the mood. As yesterday was my father's birthday, we decided to share a bit of fun with him:

It should be noted that some episodes of GTCMS are decidedly less innocent. Read the plot synopses before clicking "play" if you're sensitive to that kind of thing.

We also took the opportunity to wax creative. Around the time of the presidential election, my father came up with the idea for Cheerios to market a chocolate Cheerios cereal, and call it the Obama-O (in jest--please don't be offended). So, when we saw a box of chocolate Cheerios at Kroger, we had to show him his dream come to fruition.

He loved it, which made our day. This just goes to show you that sometimes, it really is just the little things in life.

Blogging

2010-01-09T16:19:00.000-08:00

Here's the deal about blogging: if you don't update regularly, then people will lose interest in your blog. If you feel like your audience has lost interest, then what's the point of blogging? Andy and I were having this discussion, and he wants to quit. "I don't see what the point is," he says. Well, I have been faithfully blogging since blogging was on xanga and livejournal. And never, EVER, have I had a faithful audience of readers. Does that stop me?! NO!

I blog for my own self-satisfaction. I have always been a writer, since before I could actually write, when I remember narrating my life in my head ("Rachel walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. She waited for her friend Tami to answer"). Part of the reason blogging is so appealing to me is the mere possibility that my voice might be heard. I keep personal journals, too, and copious notes on random scraps of paper, but unlike those media, a blog has the possibility of publicity. The moment I click "Publish Post," I allow myself a vulnerability that isn't included in my personal journal. This vulnerability causes me to write very differently than I would in my own personal notes--in voice, structure, content, vocabulary, and many other ways. Whether or not my work is actually read is secondary to the fact that it might be.

The challenge comes when one tries to make an exceptional blog about a seemingly unexceptional life. I am CERTAIN none of you care that my Vietnamese noodle salad tonight was a bust (failed nuoc chom), or that my car stalled out five times on the way home from work today, or that my residents were happy to see me today--the first day after my vacation--or any of the other mundane details of my life. That challenge, of trying to make interesting what is inherently uninteresting, is what makes it exciting. If I can draw your attention as a reader while talking about something that in and of itself doesn't merit your attention, I feel accomplished.

Most blogs are just people who are writing about their "boring," daily lives. The events are not at all compelling, but the thoughts and feelings behind them are. So to resign, saying "I just don't have anything to say," is only to say that (a) you don't want to share what's going on inside of you, or (b) there isn't anything going on inside of you.

In conclusion, Andy is wrong. Blogging is AWESOME.

What you've missed

2009-12-09T15:41:00.000-08:00

1. We kicked off the Christmas season last Thursday with the tree lighting at the Square here in Denton. The highlight, however, was our town's musical gem, Brave Combo. The following is a clip (albeit not a great one) of the awesomeness that is the Combo.

2. Rachel spent all of this past weekend gigging it up all over DFW. We didn't see each other much, but y'know, rent money has to come from somewhere. By day two, we can see below how the long drives and late nights took their toll. Yes, Rachel ran into a light switch, and sustained a bruise on her arm in the process.

The culprit: Our bathroom light switch

The victim: Rachel's arm

3. Oh, and did we ever mention how we have the most amazing landlords in the world? Well, here's another example. About 10 minutes ago, Clint called just to tell me to look outside my window to see this:

I guess that about does it for highlights...oh, wait, I also got a job today. Not a bad week.

First Snow

2009-12-02T14:05:00.001-08:00

It may not seem like much to our friends in the northern regions, but it was thrilling to wake up to this. It only stuck around for a couple of hours, but that was plenty.

View from the balcony

The west balcony

Our cars

Our Week So Far

2009-11-07T05:32:00.000-08:00

This has been one for the books.

Monday: Andy's car was (over)due for inspection, but we couldn't get it checked because the "service engine" light was on. So, Monday morning, we took it into the shop. They called us that day telling us that it was the catalytic converter, and that there was either an $80 option or a $700 one that might fix the problem. Obviously, we opted to try our luck with the former.

Tuesday: Andy's car still in the shop, he took mine to work, dropping me off at my parents' house at 6:40 where I could shower, get ready, and then walk to work. At 5:15, on my walk home, I talked to him, discovering that the $80 fix had worked, at least temporarily, and his car had been passed for inspection. Hallelujah!

At 5:37, he called back, letting me know that my old reliable Camry had started smoking on its trip home from work (about an hour drive, give or take). We called AAA, and the nice lady let him through, although he wasn't technically a member (I'd put in my renewal THAT MORNING, adding him to the list). He was towed to our favorite mechanic, where we dropped the car and the key. This put us home at about 9:30 instead of 6:30--all in all, not too bad. Thank goodness for AAA!

Wednesday: My car still in the shop, we borrowed my mom's car for the night, so we could go home that night, and pick up Andy's car in the morning. Learned that poor Cam had shot its radiator, which was a $400 fix--not as bad as we'd been bracing ourselves for, darlings (I know, I'm not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition). However, the "check engine" light in my car was still on, and they needed more time to diagnose this problem.

Thursday: Andy decides to get sick. So, he stays home from work. I hadn't been anticipating this, so I'd again borrowed my mom's car for my errands. Poor kid.

Friday: Andy is still sick, and my car is still in the shop. This time, I take Andy's car to work, and his check engine light is on again. This isn't all too worrisome in and of itself (after all, I've been driving my car with its light on for nearly a year now [the radiator was unrelated to the reason for the light being on, which has to do with my exhaust system], and we hadn't really been expecting the $80 fix to be permanent), so I go about my business. I notice, however, that it is making strange sounds, and doing funny things when it is idling, and the light is actually blinking at me. Finally, a half mile away from our apartment, it makes a horrible noise (like when a rock gets shot under the car by one of the tires?), repeats it a few times, and then refuses to go faster than 30 mph (on a road with a speed limit of 60--my apologies to the string of cars cursing behind me). Poor baby putters up the driveway, giving what sound to me like its dying breaths. The car, valued at $600, may be on its last limb.

This is to say nothing of the busy weekend ahead of us. All I can say is, "When it rains, it pours."

Stay tuned for an update: Will the Richardsons become a one-car, commuter family? Will we finally have an excuse to purchase that brand-new H3 we've been wanting for so long? Will we sell both cars and move to Bangladesh? Only ONE of these is not an option for us--if you know us, you should be able to tell.

Don't Take Candy from Strangers . . .

2009-10-14T19:43:00.000-07:00

. . . but listen to their advice-- at least for entertainment purposes.

I really, honestly, and truly LOVE it when strangers offer me unsolicited advice as to how to live my life. This probably sounds sarcastic, but I swear to you, I am being absolutely genuine. I love it because I find it so amusing. Especially when they start advising me on major life decisions.

For a while, my hairdresser would offer such advice. I never get my hair cut very often, so once every few months, he would tell me how I should get an MBA and get a "real job," and play the cello for " 'walking around' money," or how I should finish my degree before I go on a mission (he's not LDS, and I wasn't considering a mission), or any number of things about my love life. He was my fount of everlasting knowledge.

There have been others in my life, and I'm sure, in yours as well. Those who tell you where to live, where to apply to school, what kind of job you should get, etc.

Today, I had another experience. I introduced myself to a lady at work today, who began interviewing me, and upon discovering I was a newlywed, began sharing with me her wisdom. This was quite extensive, covering such topics as fashion, menu planning, raising children, personal finances, health, beauty, recreation, religion, the in-laws, and more. Perhaps the most remarkable part of it was that she kept producing these pearls with little reaction or encouragement from me. I must say, I really loved it. I went into the office and jotted down what I could remember.

Anyway, if you see me rushing out right now to have children, growing my hair out, or seasoning my food sparingly, you can thank my friend at work.

Blog Race

2009-10-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

I'm having a blog race with my husband right now, in celebration of the fact that we now (thanks to the best landlords in the history of time) have high-speed wireless internet in our apartment. This means we can both blog simultaneously!

I'm going to win, because he just found out that I'm doing it. He's getting wise.

I'd better post.

La Feria Estatal de Texas 2009

2009-10-11T12:46:00.000-07:00

When Rachel recently told me she'd never been to the State Fair of Texas, deciding how to spend date night this month was easy. We went yesterday evening, which left us just enough time to experience the highlights of the fair experience: over-the-top Texas expositions, animal races, the rides and games of the midway, the car show, and fried food galore. We had a good time, not always because of something we planned.

I'll skip to my favorite part. About 15 minutes before we started to make our way to the train stop, I made one final attempt to win a prize for Rachel at a ring toss booth. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, the object of the game is to throw a small, plastic ring around the neck of one of about one hundred glass bottles. To give you an idea of how unlikely one is to be successful at winning, they usually give you about thirty throws. It looks about like this:

The guy working the booth is what made the evening. Frustrated by seeing so many lose at this game throughout the day, he did his best to help increase my chances of winning. Every time I would throw a ring, he would replace it with a handful more. By the end, I must have gone through close to a hundred.

The poor guy was visibly disappointed that his good will didn't result in my winning. In some ways, its just as well. I mean, what would we do with a giant, plush bear anyway? Yet what this guy doesn't know is that his kindness and goodwill made our evening more memorable that any prize could.