Murphy's Law, Arizona Style

We finally washed the car on Friday afternoon.

*cue applause*

Thank you, thank you.

It hadn't been washed since about May. It's a nice light color, which I like to say hides the dirt. But the hiding that occurs is sort of like when a small child "hides" behind a flagpole - doesn't quite cover it all. (Translation: my car really, really needed to be washed).

So we take it into Danny's, the place in town that does the works - last time they got done with my tires The Mister kept telling people they were Pirelli's they were so shiny. [The Mister's edit: That's because they ARE Pirelli's. The added handling is a must for a hybrid.] (My edit: What The Mister means to say is that the guy at Discount Tire was a pro at the up-sell.) Everything was spotless afterwards and it all smells so fresh and clean.

While we were there waiting to pay, I noticed a small sign near the cash register about a 24-hour rain check policy. That amused me. It rains so infrequently in Arizona that I can't imagine how annoyed I would be if it rained RIGHT after I got a car wash. Apparently, it's such an extraordinary stroke of bad luck that the car wash people will do another one on the house, as long as it's within the 24 hours.

Anyway, I drove away in my fresh, clean-smelling, shiny car.

And 25 hours later, it rained.

In Sarahtopia

My Benediction

This Thanksgiving, may you:

Unbutton your pants BEFORE they pop

Not undercook the turkey

Have a fancy apron to cook in

Not be the person stuck next to the really opinionated relative

Not BE the really opinionated relative

Not worry so much about the dishes

Enjoy the ability to show love and hospitality to friends and family by filling their bellies

Be thankful

(really, really thankful)

I even read War and Peace

If I could go anywhere in the world right now, I would want to go to St. Petersburg.

Russia has always fascinated me. The history is totally unique - neither Asian nor European.

And all the fur hats and vodka and Tolstoy and Rachmaninov make me think that Russians are way cooler than we give them credit for.

Think about it.

100% true story

The Mister and I have been working hard on our Spanish. Both of us have always wanted to speak another language, and we currently nurture dreams for the not-too-distant future that include spending lots of time in Spain. Anyway, so we're at the point in our learning where what we really need are live conversations, mainly to help us improve our confidence.

So we found a few Spanish meetup groups on meetup.com (by the way, meetup.com is a little like the public library; awesome resource that not enough people use. We are in two Spanish meetups and a photography group and they have thousands of groups on all different themes: cooking, scrapbooking, reading, football, stay-at-home bilingual moms, and so on. In the internet age, there's truly no excuse for being bored or not having any place to meet new friends. So go on, and go forth).

So last night was our first night at this particular Spanish learning group. We timidly gave our competency level at beginner/intermediate, which turned out to be a mistake, as we're probably more like intermediate/advanced for this particular group. I don't feel braggy saying that, because I know that everyone here knows the feeling of fitting into a smaller size jeans that they thought they were, and this was exactly like that, so you all understand.

So we ended up doing a lot of worksheets, which we were a little bored with, to be honest, until we recieved a new list of phrases to translate.

You're very nice.

You're great.

At this point I'm thinking: "Oh, how nice! We're learning to be friendly."

You're very attractive.

I'm interested in you.

I like you very much.

"Well, that's a bit forward."

Do you like me too?

Can I kiss you?

Will you take me home?

"Hang on..."

Do you want to come inside for awhile?

Is this a local or national custom?

At this point, if you think The Mister and I weren't nearly purple from holding in our belly laughs, then you don't know The Mister and I very well. I was trying so hard to avoid eye contact with him, because I knew I would lose it completely if I did. My whole body was shuddering from the effort.

I'm not used to this.

I don't mind watching but I'd rather not join in.

I'll try it.

The Mister leans over: "Are we on candid camera?"
And, finally:

I'm sorry. It's against my religion.

And with that, we lost it.

Confessions

Slightly Embarrassing Monday confessions:

1. I don't like pets much. Sorry.
2. I don't love chocolate. Brownies and chocolate cake and all that are good, but the idea of a Hershey's kiss or an M&M is just - ugh.
3. I saw the Twilight movie this weekend and, um....I sort of liked it. Great cinema it is not (nor great literature, by a long shot), but, um....I just like them.
   
4. Do you still like me?

Cold Tangerines

I love, love, love this book. A friend of mine gave it to me a few months ago and I drank it up. I loved it so much that I emailed the author and told her just how much I loved it (I never do that).

It's a book about celebration - about how life is meant to be not just lived but lived - told in a series of funny and sad and beautiful personal essays.

It would make a fantastic Christmas present, book club pick, devotional, bedside standard or anything else you care to make it. Throughout the holiday season, the author Shauna Niequest is offering pretty huge discounts for signed copies at her website. (So cool to be able to gift signed copies - so fancy!) You can find all the details there - truly, I couldn't recommend it more!

(Oh, and yes. She emailed me back. And she seems just as likeable as her book)

In Sarah-topia

My friend Jacob likes to think about what would happen in his perfect world. He calls it Jacobtopia (he's a little off-kilter though).


In Sarahtopia, the whole world would smell like clean laundry.

Coming home is the best part of my day

Yesterday.

I started out in rather disastrous fashion (remember?).

After my skin biopsy in the afternoon, I was hosting several new guests - stitches in my back. I've had them done on my back before, and it's a tough place. Hard to sit or position yourself comfortably for the first day or so.

So The Mister got a spot all fixed up on the couch, and made me some whole wheat buttermilk pancakes with homemade apple butter on top of them. He got me glass after glass of water when I wanted it, so as not to make me get up and jostle the wound, and he got a heating pad and laid it on my cold feet.

Later, when my wound started bleeding, he stayed calm even though my shirt had a growing golf-ball sized pool of blood on it, and made me lay down on the floor while he applied pressure to it and tried to keep me warm at the same time.

He got me more Advil, and helped me get dressed for bed. Because he was scared of re-opening my wound, he couldn't get close to me and snuggle, which is the way we like to sleep, all warm and cuddled together like puppies.

And so we fell asleep holding hands.

And that's how it became kind of a good day after all.

The No Good Very Bad...oh, you get the rest

Today. 10:38 a.m. My statement to the world is that I am a mess this morning. A MESS I tell you.

7:32: The Mister wakes me up. "I forgot to set the alarm" he mumbles.

7:38: Roll reluctantly out of bed.

7:41: Halfway dressed. I wasn't going to shower because a.) my hair looked good and that's most of the reason we shower anyway, let's be honest. b.) I sit at a desk all day. I'm not exactly out branding cattle. I showered yesterday, and I am still clean. c.) I wake up at 7:30 every day in order to get to work by 8:00. Sacrifices must be made.

7:42: Realize I MUST shower because I'm getting a small skin biopsy done today and I can't shower for 24 hours afterwards - that would push my shower gap past the 2 day point - awkward for everybody.

7:43: Undress. Invade The Mister's shower, which he shares with surprising grace.

7:49: The Mister kisses me goodbye and leaves. I'm supposed to be at work in 11 minutes and instead I'm halfway dressed and have sopping wet hair.

7:52: Change pants. First pair I spilled tea on last week.

7:54: Change pants AGAIN. Second pair covered in red lint from a particularly fuzzy couch blanket.

8:01: Hair and makeup.

8:09: LATE! Rush around. Can't find purse.

8:10: Stop dead in tracks. Realize that I locked my purse in the trunk of my car last night during a family photo session for safekeeping. And never took it out. Still locked in the trunk.

8:11: Realize this means I have no keys, no phone, no way to get to work, and no way to call The Mister to tell him of my predicament.

8:20: He finally gets to work, and sees flashing "EMAIL ME ASAP I NEEEEEED YOU" emails in work inbox.

8:22: Tells me where to find spare key. Yes! He doesn't have to come home...whew.

8:25: Run back in house three times: once to get coffee mug and cell phone charger (phone dead from being on in car all night), then to get sunglasses, then to lock the door.

8:37: Get to work. 37 minutes late - not too bad. Boss has been warned via email and is sympathetic.

9:17: Realize hastily-packed lunch of chicken soup has leaked all over desk (haven't put it in fridge yet)

10:08: Realize earrings coordinate with pair of pants #2 and most definitely not with pair of pants #3.

10:16: Find cell phone charger in office refrigerator (must have put it in next to the chicken soup?)

Sigh.
Laugh.
Cry.
Eat a cookie.
(No, seriously, go make those cookies. My day is better because I know they're waiting for me at home.)
Laugh again.
Sigh.

The Blank Page

I love to write. Some people express themselves through painting, or cooking, or music or photography. My preferred medium is words. It doesn't mean that my words always sound good, but just that I like arranging them. From the time I was young I was fascinated with language - the living, breathing nature of it, the barely restrained possibility in endless combinations of letters and spaces and sounds. String them together in just the right way and a sentence unfolds perfectly, like a morning glory on a dewy June dawn. Miss a few, and the beauty is somehow slightly off kilter, the secret ingredients missing, even if only the author every really senses it.

Sometimes this ingrained desire to write feels like a blessing - usually when the words come easily, and I get lost in the beauty of the rhythms of sound and thought and language. And sometimes, it feels like a cross to bear. These are usually the days when I have something I want to write, need to write, and all I end up doing is staring listlessly at a blank page, wondering where and how to start.

On these days, I just wish I were a really good cook.

Anyway, I need to come up with another article for Got2BGreen.com - an article about green living. And I can't think of anything at all.

So - I need you! Thoughts? Suggestions? Please? What green topic would YOU like to read about?

The Good Kind of Advice

I discovered this blog the other day called Rules for My Unborn Son. The author is witty and wise and full of good advice. Some of my personal favorites:

Best of all, he recently turned this list into a book, which has the coolest book cover I've seen in a long time. So old school.

Anyway, check it out. It could be a great Christmas present, graduation present, baby shower present - or just get it for yourself and enjoy it!

Oh I Just Can't Wait

In my vast and rather impressive repertoire of personal sins, materialism does not feature prominently. I love nice things, but I am not much of a shopper, and when I do shop I am an incorrigible tightwad. ( I'd like to take a moment to place the blame for my thrifty streak squarely on the shoulders of my lovely and similarly spending-challenged mother. My older sister Hannah and I inherited this gene...whether or not my younger sister Emily decides to make it a hat trick remains to be seen - she's only 17).

Meet my impossibly pretty frugalista mother:

Side note: The photo above was taken on the day of my favorite fall tradition: apple butter making! Check out our stylish adorable aprons. Mine was a gift from my friend Chelsey and it's my absolute favorite piece of kitchen wear ever! I'd like to make a skirt out of the fabric. A dress! Curtains! I love it. And my mother's is a gift from her sister, my lovely and graceful Aunt Wendy, which goes to show that the women in my family really have fabulous taste.

Anyway.

With all the disclaimers out of the way, I'd like to share that I am drooling over a material object with intensity not seen in the G-ski household since the Mac Laptop Debut of '07.

What is it, you ask? I am talking too much? And you just want to know what the heck it IS already?

*Cue angel choir*

*Cue rays of sunshine streaming from the parting heavens*


It is a Canon Rebel. A digital SLR camera.

The Mister and I have had our eye on it for awhile. And, at long last, we have decided that the upcoming holiday season is the time to do it.

So, sometime between Thanksgiving '09 and Valentine's Day '10 (we're not really deadline people), I will be the proud and happy owner. We are searching for a name.

P.S. This also means that the quality and frequency of photos on this site will go way, way up. Bonus!

Seriously, Watch It

Last night The Mister and I watched Food, Inc.

And we are supposed to eat burgers and hot dogs today at a tailgate party.

YOU tell ME how that's gonna work.

Welcome home

Have you met my friend Kelley? You really, really should. Kelley is living in Africa (Bujumbura, Burundi, to be specific) with her family. She's working to bring justice, dignity, and resources to our friends of the Batwa tribe.

Some of the best things about Kelley are:

• She has a personal philosophy that no one should ever cry alone in her presence. She is one of the most comforting people I have ever met.
• She is an amazing cook, and I'm sure that all her pent-up cooking desires are going to result in some delectable dishes once her kitchen hiatus is over
• She gave a talk last year in which she said that "love is blooming bright and wild". I have listened to that talk on my iPod countless times now, and that phrase always makes me a little teary with the deep, trusting, gut-level hope it tells of.
  
• She has a passionate love affair with almond M&Ms
  
• She is hands-down one of the bravest people I have ever met. Being brave in a way that is so much harder and deeper than being the first to jump from the heights into the water, or the one to be adventurous. Kelley's brand of bravery is so much more quiet and unyielding and stubborn than that.
• She is sort of in love with Sting.

Kelley just got back onto U.S. soil for a few weeks and I get to see her. And I can't wait. Welcome back, Kelley. We've really missed you.

Kelley strikes a pose with The Mister at the Obama-Rama election night party

A Doable To-Do List

My friend Tasia has pretty black hair and an awesome nose ring (that I'm totally jealous of) and formidable Catchphrase skills. She also has a blog, and is doing National Blog Posting Month (like I am) where she posts every day in November. Yesterday she posted about how she always makes crazy ambitious to-do lists and then never gets the satisfaction of crossing anything off. She said from now on her to-do lists are going to look like this:

"wipe butt"
(*side note* Tasia has three young children. What's that you say? That would that have been good to know before you read that? Oh, all in good fun)
"step on cheerio"
"trip on toy"

and so on.

I like the idea. Although I do not have children as an excuse, I am a habitual to-do list starter and also a habitual to-do list ignorer (seriously my fail rate hovers dangerously near 100%). But I like her attitude. Why not create a list that I know I'll be able to cross off at the end of the day? (I'll do it with a flourish, and I'll tell everyone in earshot that I had a productive day. And I'll say it a little smugly too). Today, November 12, 2009, I pledge to:

1. Get out of bed no more than 10 minutes after I said I would.
2. Let my tea get cold before I finish drinking it.
3. Put my cell phone on vibrate so it doesn't bother my coworkers.
   
4. Be unselfish (see above).
5. Update blog with random musings that aren't even original since I totally copied the idea from Tasia.
   
6. Pretend it's a rainy day.
7. Snuggle with The Mister.
8. Take Vitamin C. (bonus points for being healthy!)
   
9. Eat brownie right out of the pan
10. Apply chapstick.

What would your doable to-do list look like?

In Which We Vacation With Sketchy Folks

Last weekend The Mister and I went to Flagstaff with some questionable people.

They made us stay in a shack:

They made us sit around and stare at each other, and listen to Adam's guitar. I guess it was okay, if you like good music and all.

They dressed their devilishly cute children in old-man pajamas and gave them old-man beverages.

They made us sit outside, completely exposed to the elements, with nothing but a cup of butterscotch hot chocolate and conversation to keep us busy. I mean, who in their right mind enjoys a sunny, 65-degree day spent on a cabin deck among pine trees?

And then they scared us with big black bear sightings.

And they made us tell stories while they watched with laser-like focus.

Whew. It's a good thing we escaped safely.

*All pictures courtesy of Tara*

I just have to get this off my chest

Lately, with swine flu making itself a pain in the neck among my friends' kids, I have witnessed an astonishing phenomenon. On Facebook, on blogs, in person:

The Otherwise Polite Person Who Dispenses Parenting Advice As If They Were Directly Asked When They Most Certainly Were Not

You know what I'm talking about. Cripes, I'm not even a parent and it gets me all irritated. It seems like for every Facebook status declaring a sick child, there are 12 busybodies ready to jump in with their MUST DO remedy and other hints and tricks. Can't the parent get a moment of peace tending to their kiddo?

And oh, the poor pregnant friends - it seems like there should be a whole chapter (maybe there is?) in pregnancy books, since unsolicited advice seems to come with the territory, right along with swollen ankles and morning sickness.

Now, most (polite) people know that unsolicited advice is the junk mail of life. They know better, they really do. In general, people restrain themselves around other topics. But when it comes to parenting - it seems like no one can help themselves.

You're naming your baby THAT? But how will the teachers pronounce it?
("Wendy", a classic name, was once totally edgy and weird. Moral of the story: People [teachers especially] adjust. Name your child what makes you happy. It isn't our business.)

"You're getting your hair highlighted while you're pregnant? Doesn't that hurt the baby?"
(Most moms in the 50s and 60s smoked throughout their entire pregnancies - obviously not a good thing, but most people escaped without permanent scars. Chill out.)

"Your child gets an allowance for doing chores?"
(Why do you care?)

To me, parenting is like religion or politics - everyone wants everyone else to copy them so that they feel their choices have been validated.

Weird.

Hopefully when I cross those waters eventually, I will remember my manners and not become one of the insufferable advice-dispensers. And hopefully they will be kind and steer clear of me. There is a place for advice - it is vital really to hear from those who have gone on the path before you - but only when it's asked for!

Drool-Worthy Items

This past weekend we went to Flagstaff with friends, which was awesome. I don't have any pictures yet, since I was lazy and let my friend Tara take them all, because Tara has a nice camera. A camera that I am green with envy over. So when I get ahold of a few of her fabulous photos, I'll post about that. In the meantime, here are two things I am drooling over today. I just thought you should know.


1. If these aren't the cutest things you've ever seen, well, we've come to the end of the road. If you are in need of a baby shower gift (like I was), you're welcome. Also check out their customizable fortune cookie booties. Decisions, decisions!

2. Now I said this awhile ago on Facebook and it caused quite a bit of controversy, but I am not going to be shy about that now. I'll restate loud and proud: Trader Joe's Maple Yogurt is better than ice cream. There. I said it. And I'll stick by my guns.

Missy's Super Top Secret* Tip

* Questionable.

Problem: You need to handle hot peppers (like jalapenos), and you don't have any latex gloves in the house. Burning skin and red, irritated eyes threaten to ruin your day.

Solution: Rub olive oil (full disclosure: she actually said "olive oll" in charming southern fashion) all over your hands, up to your wrists. Don't forget around your fingernails and cuticles - really rub it in good. And- voila! - you're good to go.

Haven't handled jalapenos lately? Then go drop everything and make these babies right now. You'll thank me (and Missy) later.

Boiling It Down to the Essentials

I loathe:

Waking up before dawn on a February morning and knowing you will have to scrape the ice off your freezing car's windshield before you commute to work, all the while seeing your breath in your unheated car.

Waking up before dawn on a February morning and knowing you will have to scrape the ice off your freezing car's windshield before you commute to work.

Waking up before dawn on a February morning and knowing you will have to scrape the ice off your freezing car's windshield.

Waking up before dawn on a February morning.

Waking up before dawn.

Waking up.

Missy, How We Love Thee

When I first heard that Pioneer Woman was coming to town, I knew the stars were aligning. The Mister looked at me with apprehension in his eyes: "please please don't make me go and be the only man". (It ended up being a good thing he didn't come, because I'm pretty sure the words "dutch oven" were uttered during the course of the night - hey, she's a cooking blogger - and I don't know that he would have survived that).

But I was in luck! The lovely Tara is a huge fan - PW's posting on how to chop an onion basically changed both our lives - and Operation: Picture with Pioneer Woman was greenlit.

So we get there and it's a packed house. I mean PACKED. There was enough estrogen in the place to fell a horse (mixed metaphors? don't mind if I do!). P-Dub has some serious fangirls in Phoenix.

So we listen to the Q&A and she was basically exactly as funny and cool and Southern as you'd expect her to be. And then she starts signing books, and books, and books, and more books, and more books, and MORE books. Before we know it we've been waiting practically 3 hours and we're really nowhere near getting up there.

So, we put a plan in action. All we really wanted was a picture - we could take it or leave it on the signed book. Just a picture is all. We're low-maintenance like that.

So the famous sister-in-law Missy was with PW. We were chatting with her earlier and she gave us an exclusive on a top-secret cooking tip (will include in future post - must keep you hanging a little longer).

So Tara and I come up with this mischievous little plan that we will stand a little apart with Pioneer Woman between us in the background, and ask Missy to take this slightly harebrained picture. We figure she will think it's funny, because it sort of is, you know?

Anyway, so when we tell Missy the plan we've hatched, she says in her southern drawl "oh you girls just get ready, just run right up there and smile - I'll make Ree smile, and you can get your picture real fast". So on her "go!", we ran up like banshees, cut in front of the whole stunned line and snapped our treasured pic, laughing the whole time.

And that is how we became BFFs with Missy the sister-in-law.

Thanks, Twitter

Seeing the Everyday

This magazine looks amazing and I want a subscription badly. It's where I read about this beautiful philosophy of prosaics.

Literary critic Gary Saul Morson:

The philosophy of prosaics “. . . questions whether the most important events may not be the most ordinary and everyday ones—events that we do not appreciate simply because they are so commonplace. To adapt Abe Lincoln’s saying, God must have loved the ordinary events because he made so many of them. Cloaked in their very ordinariness, the prosaic events that truly shape our lives—that truly are our lives—escape our notice. The truths we seek are hidden in plain view, and for that reason are all the more difficult to discern.”

...

“the infinitely numerous and apparently inconsequential ordinary ones, which taken together, are far more effective and significant. After all, memorable events are memorable just because they are exceptional. To imagine that they are important just because they are memorable and noticeable would be like concluding that because only treetops are visible on a distant hill, nothing exists there but trees.”

Do you ever feel like you are living your life waiting for big wonderful moments?

Like you are just one step or one year or ten pounds or one child developmental phase away from finally breaking free of your current doldrums?

Why do we do this to ourselves?

A Public Apology

My Dearest Blogger,

Yesterday I said some unkind things about you.

I had been trying and trying to change my font, and you weren't really cooperating.

Frankly, I didn't like your attitude.

And then after I posted, I saw it. Saw that you had displayed to the world the proper font. Even though you didn't display it to me (which we'll gloss over for now).

And so, my humble apologies.

You had my back.

I didn't even know it.


Contritely,

S.R.G.

NaBloPoMo

My friend Tara tells me that November is National Blog Posting Month. (I just had a little bet with myself that I couldn't make a sentence with three separate hyperlinks. But I did and I win!) It goes by the ridiculous acronym NaBloPoMo, and I have to applaud any organization that is willing to compromise its dignity that way. I really do.

So, in that vein, I'm getting in the game. I'll do my darnedest to post something every day, Monday through Friday (PSA: did you know that darnedest has that "e" in the middle? I did not. But spellchecker did!). Weekends do not count in my own NaBloPoMo celebration for the following reasons:

1. My computer usually sits untouched and sadly neglected from Friday afternoon to Monday morning. I work all day in front of a computer and generally confine my online activities within that time frame. It's a habit I don't plan to change.
2. I won't feel like it.
   
3. It's my party and I can cry if I want to.

Join me in the November fun! Other blogging friends - play along!

*Side note*: I like to post with Courier New. I just do. It's a good font. And it makes me feel sort of vintage-y and romantic. Blogger isn't really feeling Courier New today. And if it thinks it isn't going to cooperate all month, it's got another thing coming. Consider this my public warning, Blogger: it's November, and I ain't messin' around.