midnight madness

K and M burst in the front door to find me with M, mid-meeting, all things Martha Stewart spilling out onto the table. Minutes later, (minus M) the Bryan Ave ladies were on a midnight quest, with no particular task at hand except to time our walk from Bryan to the "Junction." For all intents and purposes, it was our first midnight outing of the summer. K's camera at the ready, we took more pictures than planned, but how could we not when there's a giant statue atop a pile of granite boulders begging to be scaled by flip-flopped feet?
We've grown quite accustom to our triumvirate - finishing each other's sentences (or at least interrupting at proper intervals). We justify midnight sugary snacks and later-than-usual bedtimes for the sake of togetherness. We know each other's routines (or lack thereof, in some cases. Well, in one case) and laugh at our "quotes of the week" as I run from the basement to scribble them on the chalkboard.
We arrived home with a fews things accomplished: several talking pictures, stubbed toes, slightly bruised egos after being snubbed by P (he'll pay for it later) and the hours of the Snow Shak filed away in our heads. Who knew there was so much to explore just blocks from our abode? We've got the whole outing documented, including some new priceless quotes for the chalkboard. Kas, you're the most beautiful butterfly I've ever seen. Mare thanks for the company in the jungle. Also, maybe you should re-think the whole "handle"- contact habit. Just a thought.

lessons learned

A few things I learned this week:
1. Life ain't no beach.
I wish I had a dollar for every time I almost started to unpack. Then I could pay someone to do it for me. I keep looking at my suitcase full of my swimsuit and my flip flops and shorts hoping to hold onto the fact that a week ago I was in 85 degree weather, the sea breeze blowing through my hair. Instead, I kicked the heater on this morning while I got ready.

2. The phrase "The last resort," doesn't mean twice a day.
This morning I woke up at 5 a.m. with chest pains. No, it wasn't a heart attack. And no, I am not dying. It's just heartburn. To the Nth degree. So, scratch the "just." I popped a Prilosec (Thank you Grandma H. and Costco) and went back to bed. I woke up with only the slightest bit of relief and poured myself a bowl of grape nuts. Two hours later, I burst into the back door, gripping the counters as my heels scuffed the tile floor. I made my way over to the cupboard door and swung it open. Ahh. Arm and Hammer. Dr. Steve (neighbor and wise physician) showed me a trick; a last resort trick. I combined 1 cup water with 1 tsp. baking soda and placed it in the microwave for 40 seconds. Happy Hour drink downed, I grabbed a plastic baggie out of the drawer and put a handful of Rice Works Salsa Fresca brown rice crisps in a bag for the road. WHAT ON EARTH WAS I THINKING?! Salsa Fresca?! Those chips were Murder with a capital "M" on my esophagus! Two hours after the Salsa Fresca chip episode, I repeated Dr. Steve's strategy. With a bag of Salsa Fresca chips on the top of the fridge for all to share, I'm now fettered to eat bran flakes (or something equally as bland) for the rest of the week.
I guess that's all.
3. I need to get out more.

june bug

It's official: with fans full blast, windows wide open and sunshine that lasts well into the evening, June is officially here. I grabbed a great read (an extra long one, too) and headed out onto the lawn after dinner on Sunday. I read until the last shadow danced across my fingers and I could no longer see the words on the page. What better way to begin the season - the light cushion of green grass, a new story full of new characters, fast becoming dear friends, and the feeling that the warmth of summer is here to stay.

In summer, the song sings itself.
{William Carlos Williams}

To see the Summer Sky
Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie -
True Poems flee.
{Emily Dickinson}

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
{Wallace Stevens}

Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.
{Sam Keen}

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon;
To me those have always been the two
most beautiful words in the English language.
{Henry James}

To Al, With Love

Happy Birthday to a girl who can hunt with the pros, bowl a 180 (right?), make up on-the-spot fan mail, and writes great poetry. She has the best Mother-Russia/Mexican accent, will call the cops if you try to put lettuce on anyone's car ("Hello? Chess, nine-vun-vun?") and will keep your apartment safe by blocking out robbers with chairs, the TV stand and/or the sofa. She can drive through the Gorge in a thunderstorm, run through Disneyland while holding all diabetic supplies, ride ridiculously scary roller coasters, send amazing packages halfway across the world (just ask Raymond). She can handle a classroom full of kiddos, a house full of men (she's got three) and an apartment full of silly girls. She makes a wicked peach cobbler, killer fondue and will bring a cooler full of treats to any team outing. She's a great listener, gives helpful advice and is a great mother, wife, sister, daughter and friend. She is one of my favorite people and I wish her the best year yet!

everyone do high kicks, Al is now 26.
H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y, A L !

a moment's memory

I sat with her in the front room, the light of midday warming our backs. We were facing the chandelier from Italy and the painting from Switzerland. The daylight played tag as it pranced across the wall, bounded off the crystal and leaped onto the mirror above the fireplace where I could see our two reflections.

Before long, she asked if we could re-arrange the furniture and sit facing the window to look at the mountain. I moved the two green velvet chairs right up next to each other. Pulling back the sheer curtains, I revealed the mountain in all her majesty. It's quite bright. Would you like me to get your glasses? I turned toward the kitchen. She sat there as if she hadn't heard me say it; as if I wasn't even in the room. It was as though she had been transported to some other world where time and age don't exist. Where colors are vivid again and the air smells of Evergreens. A place where memories are made in an instant and kept for eternity. Where the first warm breeze of summer floats across porcelain skin and sunlight touches perfect pink lips. He is there with her.

I suppose it is a bit bright, dear. I pass through the hallway with the family photos, all matted and framed with Grandpa's artistic eye. Dark glasses in hand, I approach the entryway. I stop to make a memory of her. Of the way the light hits her bright white hair and softly falls on her pale pink lips. Of the way she sits so straight in her chair, legs to one side. Of the way she longingly looks up at the mountain, as though she sees him in it. Come. Sit here, dear. Isn't it beautiful? I take her hand in mine; we sit together.

wii won't be doing that again anytime soon

A few nights ago, my roommates and I decided it was time to get out of the house. We'd been eating pink-frosted cupcakes most of the evening and worshiping those brilliant geniuses who invented the DVR. Thinking we'd stretch our sea legs a bit (our futon is anything but comfortable. We might as well be sitting on the deck of a boat) we headed out on a late-night jaunt in the hood. K decided we'd head over to her friend H's house. H is out of town and has asked K to look in on the place. After giving ourselves much more of a self-guided tour than was probably necessary and/or appropriate (that girl has the closet of dreams!) we helped ourselves to some otter pops and headed back outside. K also decided we would stop in to see P and D. It would be short and sweet, she said. Sucking the last bit of blue juice out of my otter pop tube, I followed my roomies up the front steps, blowing air in and out of my otter pop wrapper while we waited for someone to answer the door. I looked positively seven years old. I had just come from the perfect house of a very successful single 30 year-old so-on-top-of-her-life girl and I was curling my otter pop wrapper in and out like a snake, blue tongue and all. The only thing that saved upon meeting P and D for the second time is the fact that I bare the name of a 92 year-old German woman.

D answered the door, pencil behind his ear. He was beyond excited to see us (the seven year old included) and invited us in. P slouched on the sofa, and was engrossed in a wicked round of Mario Kart. Sure, I've heard of The Wii. I've even seen one in person (and not just the other night). But I have absolutely NO patience for such things. Give me an otter pop and I'll entertain myself for eight hours. Hand me a Wii controller thingy and you've lost me. Perhaps I was robbed of a childhood, but I have spent 30 minutes of the last 26 years of my life with a Nintendo. This is not an exaggeration. That said, I believe I have more brain cells than 95 percent of the three people who read this blog. I'd rather use them twisting an otter pop wrapper around my finger until it turns blue and matches the shade of my tongue. A color theory lesson at its finest.

However, the other night, I felt like a rude guest. Here P was, offering up his Wii for the taking. I know how much he loves that thing. I see the way he looks at it. It's true love for sure. "Just one round," he begged. After a discourse on why I wished that upon no one (a round of Wii with the likes of me), I found myself with a white control (is that what it's called?) in hand. "Just press two to go, and pull the button underneath to use your Super Powers." That's what P said. This is what I heard, "Blah, blah, blah." Just kidding, P. Love ya! Before I knew it, I was standing up on one leg, the other behind me, knee up on the couch (something about my center of gravity?) maneuvering the white controller, and shouting "Go, Dude! Go! Go Dude! Go!" This was by no means an exclamation of excitement. This was a demand. I was in 12th place behind my other two roommates and P, who got me into this mess in the first place. Twenty seconds of my life I will never get back. I wish I would have plummeted into the brown water (in what backwards world is water brown?!) at 15 seconds. At the latest. We certainly won't be doing that again anytime soon. I'm sticking to uninvited closet exploration and otter pops.

I never ever thought I'd see the day a Super Mario character would grace a page of my blog. My life has taken a deep plunge. I may never resurface nor recover.

Confession...

...I think video games are a horrendous waste of time.

twenty-five

To my dear roomie, I say:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

It's true, Kasi is one year older and wiser (check out here blog) today. You're right Kas, it's about the little things. Here are 25 little reasons why I adore you.

• Your up-for-anything attitude
• Your work hours, which allow us to begin post-work wind-downs at 4 p.m.
• That one night we stayed up for seven hours talking about seven years and came to the conclusion that seven means the same to both of us.
• Sunning in the back yard on Saturdays at 9 am
  
• Your TV watching rules. You. Mean. Business.
  
• Apple pies at midnight and chocolate donut cookies
• Thoughtful comments in RS*
  
• When you say you're going to bed, but really you're watching Jim.
  
• Your love for John.
  
• All the videos you find of John: "...I see really important things out of my periphery. I. Don't. Know. What. That. Was! ... At 110, I was pretty sure I was dead."
  
• "Snap, what a happy sound!"
• Cali roadtripping
• Every Sunday without fail you try to get me to transfer to your ward
  
• Blue Crush - you let us take her anywhere, anytime!
• Your definition of "happiness," and I don't mean what you put on your blog. (You know what I mean?)
• Our CRAZY weekends. (We really need a few weekends in. It's getting out of hand).
• How you want to be Julia Roberts so bad
  
• The morning you thought I was going to die and I thought you were going to die. We're such a good upstairs team! "Call Maren!"
  
• I believe you are the only person on this planet I would allow to call me "Mar"
• That HD TV you're going to win us. "I believe you should start praying about that now."
• You share Robin with us.
• The conversations you and Mare and I have in the "hallway" by our rooms late at night. Topics ranging from Life/Death to carbon monoxide poisoning to heartaches to sleeping in a sauna.
  
• Trips up to the Bountiful temple - we're about due for one of those.
  
• You never complain that I go between every room and my bedroom 95 times before bed.
• Your pep talks. The hurdles you help me jump - Saturday was a big day for us. Are your legs as sore as mine? I think we deserve a hot fudge sundae. I'll drive.
• When you take people to the airport in your pajamas.
  

I'm so glad we're roomies! Have a happy day. See you tonight for all the birthday FUN.

*I'm not quite sure why this is so big. I tried to fix it. Apparently this isn't a little thing I adore bout you. Even Blogger knows how thoughtful your comments are in RS!