Steppin' It Up

Over a decade ago, I was taking a step aerobics class at a little gym called Lady Fitness. It had some weight machines and a big purple carpeted floor where all the classes were taught. The walls were pink, purple and silver - it most definitely catered to women.

The early morning step class was the only one I ever participated in. It was taught on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays by a tiny woman named Vilma. She was from Brazil or Venezuela, somewhere a little more exotic than Utah, and sometimes it was hard to understand her instructions. So three days a week, I went in and did turn-step combos, repeaters, flamingos, grapevines and corner-to-corner knees, hamstrings and kicks. I felt young and groovy, and believe me, I could do the moves..

I loved this class - the dance, the rhythm, Vilma's tricky combinations. It's funny how fitness trends change over the years. Vilma was always trying to switch things up - I remember when she wanted to start adding some free weights to the end of the class, and all of the women balked at the thought of lifting or toning. We didn't want to, but she made us, and now strength training is all the rage. She also started a kickboxing class for us, a couple of years before Tae Bo tapes gathered dust on top of televisions across America. Vilma was ahead of her time.

I went to Lady Fitness for over 5 years, but when Troy started driving truck and not being home every morning, I had to give it up. The club closed soon after, and while I don't know for sure, I sense a connection. I missed doing the step classes.

Now, in another attempt to mix things up in my current exercise madness, I bought a month pass for the classes at my gym. At first I was just trying out the spinning and the weight lifting classes, which are called Power Pump 'n Sculpt, but after a week or so, the step class was calling to me again. I tried it out last week and then again today.

I felt like I was home - minus the purple carpeting and Vilma, of course. It all came back to me perfectly. The music still pulses out a beat that makes me want to exercise, the moves still have the same names, the fans still blow, and I felt like I'd never left the step class.

Except...

I'm older now. Seven years older. And I'm having problems with my feet. Are you sick of hearing about my feet? Sorry. And there is also some tenderness (read: pain) here:

Yes, those are wrinkles above my knee. You have them too. Or you will.


And apparently, I also have this.

I do not recall being troubled by these things when I was stepping 7 years ago. I used to fly over the step, jumping and moving all over the place. Now there are moves I can't or won't do. I take care not to put too much weight on my left foot. I worry about turning on my right knee, and heaven forbid both feet hit the ground at the same time, or the other problem leaks out.

Get it? Leaks! HA!! I gotta laugh about it, or I just might cry over my failing body. Can't laugh too hard, though, or I'll need to go change.

I love the step class, I really do, but it definitely shows me that I've gotten older. I may not be able to keep taking it.

Are there things that you used to do, but now can't? Tell me I'm not alone!

Time to Get Up

I'm a morning person. Always have been. I have no problem getting up super early every morning. I'm productive, organized, full of energy, and happy. I'm irritating that way.

Cameron, my 10 year old, enjoys sleeping in on the weekends, but he is also able to get up bright and early for school. He's always in a good mood and he likes to take a shower every morning.

He eats breakfast, packs up his backpack, and hustles out the door. He likes to be early.

As he was leaving this morning, he kissed me goodbye, and said, "Good luck with that..."

And by that, he meant...

Aaron. Mornings are tough for him.

He has no tolerance for my early-morning cheerful nature.

Don't talk to me just yet. And don't come near me with a comb. Grrrrr.



Okay, the cloud is lifting.


And we have a smile. Whew. I was worried for a minute.


What does your day start out like? Are you a morning person...or do you feel Aaron's pain?

Happy Birthday, To Me

Aaaaahhhhhh! I'm 39 years old today!! When/how did this happen?
I came home from work today and found the nicest online wishes from my family, and then I happened to go over to this blog and found an entire post dedicated to ME! And some great hair! I was touched! Thanks, Valerie!

Valerie and I go waaaaaaay back to the fifth grade. My family had moved from California to Utah in the middle of the school year. That has got to be the worst time to move for school age kids - everyone has friends already. I puttered around Ms. Elringer's class, wishing for a friend, but pretty much keeping to myself. Valerie's family moved in a few months later, and she and I clung to each, the new kids in the school. Twenty-eight years later, and we're still friends! Well, at least until she put up that girl's camp picture. I'm guessing I was vamping it up after losing some weight (just before gaining it right back!). Story of my life...I'll always pose if I'm in weight loss mode, but not so much during the next vicious cycle.

We had some incredible hair, me, Valerie, Amy and Connie. The Aquanet...the AQUANET!!!!!!

I've been blessed in my life to have such good friends, both then and now. Thanks for the trip down memory lane, Valerie.

P.S. I'm already looking for pictures for your birthday in January.

Sentimental or Disturbing?

I was cleaning out my underwear drawer after church yesterday - what, isn't that what everyone does on a lazy Sunday afternoon? Oh. Just me.

The drawer had been bothering me for quite some time. Too much stuff was crammed inside, and by stuff, I mean things other than underwear. The drawer has become a catch-all for all the little things that I don't want to misplace - immunization records, birth certificates, patriarchal blessings, a love letter or two, a sewing kit, and cards.

Oh, the cards. I think there's birthday, anniversary and Mother's Day cards from the last 19 years in there. I ought to give them back to Troy and just tell him to re-give them to me - cards are so expensive. There's probably a hundred dollars worth of cards stacked up in the back of my drawer. The Mother's Day cards show the most change: the years when they were just from Troy, trying to ease my broken heart, then the ones signed by Troy for Cam and Aaron, before they could write their names, and for the most recent years, where the boys signed for themselves. How far I've come in motherhood.

There are two heart-shaped cardboard boxes stuffed to one side - gifts from either a first or second grade class. One holds a love note and the other holds my original wedding rings - the main diamond fell out last October. They take up a good amount of space, but I just can't throw them away. I throw the school papers away with no problem, but the boys remember the boxes, and besides, they have their pictures modge-podged on the lids. How can I toss those out?

Then there was a bulky wad of Ziploc bags - at least a dozen. Guess what was inside...

Teeth. Lots of teeth.

They weren't labeled. Some are Cam's and some are Aaron's, but I don't know which. There were no dates or anything to sweetly remind me of ages and milestones. And without those things...face it, now it's just a bag of teeth, right?

There were also two envelopes full of hair.

These are Cameron's curls that got cut at his first haircut when he was two years old.

And this is what came off of Aaron's head when he was just a couple months old.

I straightened things up, got a little more particular about which underwear to keep, and in the end, kept it all, every card, every little gift from school, every tooth, every strand of hair.

Am I sentimental...or just mental? Drawer full of priceless memories...or am I just the lady who keeps baggies of teeth and hair tucked away with her unmentionables?

What do you keep, what do you throw away?

And what's the funniest/oddest thing you ever wanted to keep for "sentimental" reasons?

Tennis Pix

In a tennis match, there are three balls on the court. When I practice, I keep the extra balls in my pockets or tucked...

In here. It's handy.

Today I was in a skirt with no pockets, so Cameron asked, with some degree of disgust, "You're not putting the balls inside your shirt again, are you?"

"No sweetie...

...I'm keeping the balls up under my shorts!"

New shoes to make my feet happy.

Ed wanted me to write this on some paper and keep it in my pocket.
"But I'm wearing my cute tennis skirt and it doesn't have pockets."
"Stop being so spastic."

Take m' picture, baby. Momma's off to play in her very first tennis match.

Ready to go, feeling good. Cute, huh?

Okay, now we're playing. I think I hit this one back over to Shana.

Getting ready to hit a ball from the left side of the court. Shana would then smack it over very very fast to the right side, and I would miss it EVERY time.

This is hard! And I'm hot! Not so cute now.


It is HOT. I'm SWEATING. My little compression shorts that I wear so I can hold the balls and look cute in my skirt KEEP RIDING UP ON ME.

Game's over. I feel sick. Even my picture wants to lie down.

My first partner, Shana. She's awesome

Note to self: Even when you feel awful and sweaty and heat-strokey and you think you truly might keel over, stand up straight!

I don't feel so good.

Did I really just play a tennis match in 90 degree heat?

YES I DID!!!!!

The Match

I DID IT!!! I played my very first tennis match in a league. I also lost both sets in my very first match, not that I was surprised about that, but the thrill of just doing it, and saying that I did it is good enough for me.

On the way there, Troy turned to me and said, "Why are you even doing this? You're the most non-competitive person in the world. Why?"

I couldn't answer. I have no idea why or even how I got into this place. I played tennis at a YW activity once, decided that I liked hitting fuzzy yellow balls, got some racquets for my birthday last year, took a lesson or two, and started playing against the wall at the rec center. That's where Ed found me, playing with a wall. The rest is history. Somehow, I've kept plugging along and it makes me happy - there, that's how I got here.

I played a singles match against the nicest girl in the world today. Her name was Shana and I couldn't have asked for a better person to show me the ropes. Of course I owned up right away to the fact that this was my first time, that I was really a 2.5 player on a 3.0 team, and that I was nervous. She was so sweet, told me to just have fun, and that she'd help me with whatever.
Thanks, Shana.

The first thing that struck me odd about the match was that no one was watching. Except my family. There wasn't even a scorekeeper. I had asked Ed how many people come to these things and he told me usually just a few hundred. He just likes to see me get all flustered. Seriously, no one was there. No one else had any family members to come out and support them. Perhaps playing in a tennis match is only a huge event in my little life. Hmmmm.

The next thing I noticed was that the majority of the women were dressed all cute. I'm glad I'd had the foresight to have a tennis skirt and matching top. Ed didn't think it was important, but I know I played better because I looked like a tennis player.

Now for how I played: I did okay. Really, I did. We played two sets, and Shana won them both. If I had won one of them, we would have played a third. I got some points, Shana just got a whole lot more. She was an excellent player (close to a 3.5) and she had a move that got a point off me every time: She'd wait until I hit the ball back from one side of the court, then she'd send it over, clear on the other side of the court. Killer move. I have no signature moves, unless you count hitting the ball out of the court (gives her a point).

My serving was pretty good (she said)- though occasionally she would get a point simply because I didn't serve well. Consistency is not my strong point.

It was hot - mid 90s. I don't know that I could have played better if it had been cooler, but dang, it was sweltering! We played at 1:30 in the afternoon. Serving on one side had us looking straight into the sun. I kept asking why these things weren't scheduled in the morning. I was sweating and gasping, drinking my warm (gross - gotta bring ice next time) water, and trying to catch my breath. I have to say that this was physically, the hardest thing I've ever done Ever. When it was over, I really didn't feel well for about 15 minutes. So maybe I would have played better in cooler weather. I know that by the second set, I had stopped trying for some of the shots that I knew I'd miss.

Things to remember and work on:

• try to anticipate my opponent's moves so that I am prepared for them. Or play doubles and let my partner get it,
• practice serving so I can be more consistent,
• stop hitting the ball out of the court - this is the spastic part that Ed wants me to control,
• ice water, lots of ice water,
• looking cute is important...and part of the fun.
• Try doubles next time!

I had a blast. I'm so glad I'm doing this., even if I'm not competitive. I don't need to win to enjoy it - just the doing is fine for me. If any of you are competitive, did that just make you cringe inside?

You know though, if I ever did win...I think I might enjoy that too.

Pictures are coming up next!

Courage

My friend Susan and I have been seeing a personal trainer for the past month. I'm still not comfortable saying that - it sounds pretentious, or braggy, something. I've tried saying it different ways - "I have a trainer", "I have an appointment at the gym", but no matter how I say it, it it still feels weird. Basically, I go meet Laura and she is showing me how to do stuff .

I've been doing the elliptical for about 9 months now. I was on it for over an hour a day, and I wasn't seeing any more weight loss. I'd also been going to Curves every morning, and while I think that it's a very good program, I was starting to feel like I could do more. I wanted to keep up with weight training, but I had no idea what to do or how to do it. I needed help. Enter Laura, my uh, trainer.

She's been showing us how to do a correct interval workout, a correct cardio workout and how to do weightlifting with the free weights. How many reps and sets, how much weight, the different muscles, etc. So much to learn!

The hardest thing, so far, is going into the weight room. It's co-ed, dark, feels like man's territory. I do see a few women go in there, but it's mainly men. We whined to Laura about it - we don't feel comfortable squatting and lunging and bending over. We just don't. We've seen the men watch other women at the gym - whether it's leering or jeering - and we don't want to be those women. It feels daunting, uneasy, icky.

Laura pretty much told us to get over it - that we have every right to be there too, and now, we actually know what we're doing. We even have a personalized charts. Get in there, she told us, and lift those weights. She's tough like that.

So today I went in the weight room by myself. There were two guys in there, doing their thing, so I just took a deep breath and held my head high, hiked up m' sports bra, and started my workout.

I use weights ranging from 8 lbs. all the way up to 20. I would prefer to gather all my weights and take them to my little corner, but I think that the gym etiquette is to only take what you need at that very minute. So I had to keep walking back and forth to the weight stand, saying excuse me to the dolt who was standing right in front of it. He irritated me to no end. He knew I was going to keep coming back to switch my weights, but he stayed right there, in my way, in everyone's way.

On about the fourth trip to change my weights, I decided to make eye contact with this guy. Perhaps he was like a dog and just needed to get used to me being in his territory. I looked up him, behemoth that he was, and tried to give a slight smile that said "move it Buster, I deserve to be in here too". Can a smile say that? Mine did.

But no smile was returned. He didn't even glance at me. He looked like Vincent D'Onofrio in Full Metal Jacket - shaved head, mouth dangling open, and crazy, crazy eyes. Best to leave him be, don't you think? He can stand there if he wants to.

And then my weightlifting was done. I had worked through my fear of the room. I had broken through a gender wall, real or imagined, and had conquered that "man's territory". I basked in my own courage.

I headed towards the aerobics room for a step class. All women, all shapes and sizes, well lit, perky music. Smelled better. We set up our steps, I looked around the room, and saw a man. Taking a step class. Conquering "women's territory". I smiled at him, telling him that I knew how he felt, that yes, he deserved to be here, and that I wouldn't get in his way. Can a smile say all that? Mine did.

And I thought I had courage.

Turns out, he was the best in the class.

Nauseous

I've been slacking on my tennis lately. Between California and camping, and then pack meeting last night, I've missed both my team practices and social practices on Saturday morning for a couple weeks. When I called Ed (my coach) to tell him that I was missing practice once again, he told me that the league was starting on this Saturday, and that he only needed 5 players - 4 to play 2 doubles teams and 1 to play single. He was going to ask the players who actually came to practice (was that a dig? I believe so) to play in this first competition, and he would only call me and ask me to play if they ended up needing me.

I felt a little disappointed, not much, but a little. Maybe a week of just watching how the tournament is run would be a good thing. The disappointment turned into acceptance, laced with relief.

And then Ed called me.

Yeah, only four women showed up to practice and they all wanted to play on Saturday. Since they were there, they put dibs on playing in the doubles games. Which left me to play the singles game.

Me. The worst player on the team. The newbie who didn't have a team to play with on my level, so the next team up took me in. A charity case. So's they don't have to forfeit.

I'm playing in a singles match. Crap.

As Ed was telling me about the match, he predicted how the game would go:

"You'll probably be playing against the best person on their team. The players closer to your level will be in the doubles match."

"It won't take long. Maybe just a few minutes. The game will be over before you know it."

"Stop being so spastic. Just try to hit the ball back into the court - not over the wall.."

"You won't win. She'll wipe up the court with you."

"Try to watch your opponent...see what you can become."

He really knows how to boost a girl's confidence, huh?

I felt like I was going to throw up. I started to sweat. My heart rate got all fluttery, and I started asking questions about what I needed to bring, writing it down with shaking hands. I am seriously freaking out and I think Ed could tell.

I mumbled something about how at least I would look cute in my tennis skirt, and Ed agreed that while yes, that was important, I might also want to come practice for the next two nights. He'd meet me there.

I can do this, right? It'll be fast and hopefully painless. Keep my expectations low and just enjoy it for what it is - experience. Try not to cry. Or throw up.

Troy asked me if I wanted him to come with the boys and cheer me on. My immediate response was "absolutely not!". But then he played the blog card.

"I could take a picture...you could blog about it."

And that made all the difference.

Come 'n Get It

Someone once said (maybe my Mom) that when you are camping, putting up with the elements, lack of hygiene, and missing your bed and the comforts of home, the food had better be good. I agree.

Troy and I have always enjoyed camping and I'm glad to say that our cuisine has definitely improved over the years. I remember when we were first married, cooking hot dogs and foil dinners in an actual campfire - I don't think those are even allowed in Utah anymore. The fires, that is. Foil dinners and hot dogs are alive and well in scout camps across the state.

I had some decent foil dinners on the menu. My main goal, of course, was to eliminate all washing of dishes. I used small, disposable foil pans and assembled stews and casseroles (lots of gravy) and then covered them with tin foil on the top. My 99 cent dutch oven. They cooked up great and cleaned up even better. Wasteful? You better believe it. We went through stacks of paper plates and bowls, boxes of utensils, and whole rolls of tin foil. But I never washed a single thing.

The next phase of camp cooking started when we got our trailer that has a stove, oven and running hot water. I remember one summer getting all Betty Crockerish and making cakes and corn breads to go with whatever I had simmering in the crock pot. I'd throw a roast in there to cook all day while we went out hiking or something, and when we'd come back, the trailer would smell so good. Our dog, Jeffrey, always stayed in the trailer, smelling the food cook and we wondered if we'd ever come back to an empty crock pot and a guilty-looking dog. He never got into it, but he did drool some. Okay, a lot.

What, you say, there's a dog? And she's never mentioned him? Well, I'm sure I will write about Jeffrey someday, but I can't just now. He died a few months ago and honestly, I can hardly type his name without crying my eyes out. So no Jeffrey stories for now.

Anyway (dabbing my eyes), we're changing the way we cook again. Last Christmas, my parents gave us a bunch of Camp Chef gear - a propane stove, grill box, griddle, and then for Troy's birthday, he received a couple Dutch Ovens and some cast iron cookware. Now we're talkin'!

We've been pouring over the cookbooks and imagining the fabulous meals we're going to crank out by the side of our trailer. It's been a fun thing to do together. Irene and her fire restriction put a damper on some of our meal plans, but we managed to get a little use out of one dutch oven before she caught us.

We made rolls! Imagine that - hot buttery rolls! We're first-time Dutch Oven users, so it was a little stressful when the dough rose so high that it lifted the lid off the bottom. Troy moved the whole oven at one point, and the lid that was balancing on top of the dough slid right off and fell to the ground, scattering coals everywhere. It was a panicky moment, but he put the coals back on the lid and the lid back on the dough. When it started smelling done, he lifted the lid and saw all the little pieces of grass that had baked into the top of the rolls. Nothing that couldn't be picked out though, and we called it a success when every last one was eaten.

The next morning we discovered that our leftover bread dough had tripled itself in the night. I'm talking biblical proportions - a bag of dough that should only feed us for one meal, now growing and able to feed many people for many meals. Freaky, I know, and there's really only one way to celebrate the miracle of the dough.

Scones.

Lots and lots of scones.

Kristine had brought along some homemade strawberry butter and maple pecan butter that truly added to the celebration. Yum!

So that's about all the fancy cookin' that we did. Kristine's husband, Mike cooked some yummy things for everyone too. We enjoyed...

Hash browns and all manner of sausages,

eggs,

and pancakes.

Thanks, Troy and Mike. The food was delicious!

When you go camping, what do you like to eat and how do you cook it?

Mrs. Kravitz

Our neighbor up at the lake became blog-worthy the minute that we met her.
Say hello to Irene.

She must have seen us pull in and immediately jumped from her trailer to watch Troy maneuver into our spot. She was waving her arms and hollerin' at him, giving advice and directing poor Troy as to how he ought to pull the trailer into our spot. This is like telling Martha Stewart how to fold towels. Troy's a good guy; he thanked her for all her help, and parked just fine.

Later that evening, I was organizing inside the trailer (my favorite thing!) and handed Troy a bunch of plastic bags to place between some of his new cast iron cookware that we were storing in totes underneath the trailer. I heard a screen door slam.

"Troy! Troy!" Irene was running towards us, arms waving again.

"Is that bread you just put into that container?"

Good golly, was she watching us with binoculars?

"No, it's just plastic bags."

"Well, okay. I just had to make sure. You can't be storing food outside - we've had a badger and skunks. Big problem with the skunks."

After Irene was satisfied that the skunks would have have no reason to congregate nearby, she headed back to her own place. It was a giant motor home that she drove all by herself, seeing as her husband had died more than a decade ago, and as she put it, "he died, I didn't".

She also told us the tale of rolling her previous trailer and how Firestone Tires had bought her current motor home for her. She's had several back surgeries. She didn't show us the scars, though I'm sure she would of if I had asked.

Irene was missing an inch off of her middle finger on her right hand. She was out mowing her lawn a few years back and felt something hit her from behind. She fell into her mower, and since she had tied it so it wouldn't turn off, (I don't know why, she blamed the back surgeries) it chopped her finger off. She drove herself to the emergency room.

The doctors found a shoe print on the back of her shirt. Apparently, some punk kid was wanting to join a gang and he had to hurt someone to prove himself. The first little old lady that he pushed was fine, but Irene was his ticket into the gang of his choice, after he served his jail time, of course.

Irene got all up in our business one more time before we left. Seems there was a fire restriction in the city that included lighting charcoal to cook on the dutch ovens. We weren't aware of the restriction, and had been lighting our charcoal willy-nilly the day before. It also rained pretty much the entire time we were there. But Irene takes her job as campground watcher pretty seriously, and when she saw the charcoal come out, she darn near started yelling at us.

Knowing that she was watching us and being fairly well certain that she wouldn't hesitate to call the fire department, we made alternate cooking plans.

Happy trails, Irene.

Breaking News

This is the back end of Aaron's bike. Notice anything missing?

He's pretty proud - this has been a long time coming.

We couldn't get him off his bike. He rode all over the campground.

So happy!

And then...

He looked like this.

I don't blame him. Ouch! But then he surprised us all...
And got back on.

Hooray, Aaron!

I'm proud of you!

While I'm Gone

I just have to pass on an amazing blog that I found a few weeks ago. Click on my link to pioneer woman (just over there on the right), and prepare to be amazed. Not only is her photography spectacular, her life on the family cattle ranch is jaw-droppingly fascinating. Be sure to check out the Cooking Lessons category. Her blog is great fun to read, so if you've got the time...enjoy!

Wrapping It Up

Well, we are heading out in the morning - one last camping trip before the boys start school on Monday. We'll be back on Sunday afternoon and then I'll have to give up my carefree, laid-back summer attitude and become the morning-rushing, homework-directing, get-down-to-business kind of Mom that I am during the school year. The tricky part will be to get Cam and Aaron to give up their own summery attitudes. I think we've had a good summer, but it's definitely time to have some structure.

Okay, not quite yet. It's only Wednesday, and for the next three and a half days...

this will be me!!!!

Hopefully I'll be posting again on Monday, but until then,

what are you doing to wrap up your summer?

Unprepared

I've told about my foot problems before and now I worry that I've taken them to a whole new level. When I packed for California, I was planning on dressing business casual for pretty much everything except the flight. I'd be wearing skirts and fitted tops and then I brought every possible dressy shoe that might go with any of them. I call them my three hour shoes, 'cause I can wear them to church and that's about it. I knew I'd be pushing it, wearing them all day long, but with the no jeans rule, I couldn't exactly wear my athletic shoes with the orthotics.

So these are all the nice shoes that I took with me:

And what with the change of plans and all, these are what I wore, traipsing all through Disneyland.

It was the lesser of all evils that I could have placed on my feet, but still...

By the end of the first day at Disneyland, I was sporting 4 band aids and a pretty good limp.

Ouch!

Promise to myself: First thing to go in my suitcase?

Reeboks!

Finding My Way

About a week before I went to convention, I got an email telling about the increased security that would be taking place at our hotel. High profile guests would be staying there. We were warned that there could be car inspections and escorts if we needed to walk through particular parts of the hotel. That didn't sound like a celebrity type of guest, but my interest was definitely piqued.

Now I don't want to say that Kristine and I were directionally challenged, but we kept getting lost within our own hotel. It was more a matter of us being so engrossed in our own conversations and then not paying attention to where we should turn and which hallway to take. At one point, we just kept walking and talking (usually laughing, we were so sleep deprived), and suddenly found ourselves somewhat alone at the end of a large hallway. Alone, if you don't count the security personnel rushing towards us, that is.

"You can't come back here," a very official-looking woman said, her arm whipping out and pointing in the direction that we had better start heading.

I'd rate her tone as a 10 on the I-Mean-Business scale.

We got turned around and Kristine said, "I think we just experienced increased security".

And this just made us laugh even harder.

As we checked out of the hotel on Sunday morning, I just had to ask who the big wigs had been. They must have already left because the concierge was willing to dish.

"DARPA. It's a group of scientists."

Holy smokes, I thought he said DHARMA, as in the group of scientists from Lost! I was ready to believe it all in 2 seconds flat.

But no, he corrected me, DARPA. And he didn't know what type of scientists they were.

Of course I looked them up as soon as I got home.

DARPA is Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. They oversee all the new technology that will be used by the military. The group was started in response to the Russians launching Sputnik, and basically, they now make sure that our stuff is better than anyone else's stuff as far as the military is concerned.

We're lucky they let us go with just some firm words.

On a side note, the walking and talking and general not paying attention to where I was going landed me in the dorkiest situation - worse than strolling into the scientist's lair.

I walked INTO A BLIND PERSON! She had her dark glasses and her cane tapping out in front of her, and I was the one who plowed into her. I'm a dork.

Compassionate Service

I have lots of random little stories about things that happened in California, but I'm taking a break from that to relay a story that I heard in California. Permission was given to share this with all of you.

My friend and accomplice, Kristine, was helping out with taking a meal to a family in her ward. She went all out, enchiladas with mexican rice and refried beans as side dishes. She said she always adds green salsa to the beans to give them a different taste than the red sauced dishes. She made an identical meal for her family that they started to eat after the meal had been taken over to the neighbor's house.
Her husband, Mike, takes a big ol' bite of the beans.

"Babe, the beans are funky."

"They have green salsa in them, remember?"

Another bite. "No. Really. They're twangy."

Kristine goes over to the jar of green salsa and takes a whiff. Fermented. Past its prime. Gone over. Turned. Definitely twangy.

The beans were completely inedible. And they'd served them to others.

To call or not to call? What would you do?

A Photographic Journey

So I got into town late last night from California. Everyone was awake, waiting for me and the gifts that I had promised. It's nice to be loved. Troy and the boys had only gotten home a few hours before and Troy had been busy getting the computers all hooked back up. We all had wonderful weekends and it was very nice to hug each other and sigh with relief that we all made it home safely. I don't enjoy flying and pretty much leave my thoughts in an open-ended prayer. Every bump and dip and I update the previous prayer to again ask Heavenly Father to let me get home safely to my family, and to forgive my folly of traveling by air. All was well.

California was wonderful - I had an amazing time and loads of fun with my roomie Kristine. We'd been to convention together before, so there was nothing awkward, and we simply had the best time. I'm sure by the end, she was sick of my snapping pictures of odd things, mumbling about wanting to put it on my blog. Love you, Kristine, thanks for putting up with me in so many ways!

We left Utah on an early morning flight and got to California around 7:30am. I'd had about three hours of sleep, but I'm still feeling pretty perky. Time to check in at the convention and get our free jewelry!

We got this set for staying in a certain hotel.

And this was just for going.

Then we went shopping in the showroom, checking out all the new jewelry. We were trying to match it to the clothes that we'd be wearing all weekend. I found...

this to go with my blue,

and this to go with my green.

Shopping and lugging around all that jewelry left me looking like this:


No time for a nap! We had to hustle over to the opening ceremonies, also known as 4000 screaming women, giddy with the thought of a weekend away.

I got to walk the stage for a bit of recognition, another constant prayer, something about "Oh please don't let me trip". My prayer was answered and I posed with my new title and my new jewelry.

Next came the unveiling of the catalog. Everyone was given a sealed pink bag containing the Fall 2007 catalog, and strict instructions to not peek until the big countdown. It's exciting and cheesy and so much fun. We heeded the signs:

One more gift - I'm a sucker for the free stuff.

Tiny little mint cases (mints included) and a mirror! How lucky am I?

After dinner and visiting, late night talking and laughing so hard that people thought we were drunk, we turned off the lights and fell asleep. Tomorrow would be filled with a motivational speaker, classes, fancy convention lunch, more classes, jewelry shopping and a big awards ceremony where we'd all put on our fanciest clothes. Big day ahead...better get our beauty sleep!

But in the morning, I had an idea...

And the idea turned into...

Yeah Baby!

We spent the next two days at Disneyland!

It. Was. Fabulous.