The Nook

The other night at the new house we sat aside the big long table. That's where we congregate now, the big long table in the room which functions as three: the living room, dining room, and kitchen. Oh, and the baking nook; every one's favorite. The nook alone is the size of our tiny kitchen at the Yellow Brick House. Natural light spills through two windows in the nook alone instead of the one in our whole kitchen at the YBH. We've deemed it Mare's Baking Nook. A spot for her Kitchen-Aid and all things sweet. That turquoise mixer makes the space happy (as if the thought of a baking nook alone wouldn't do the trick).

There's a clock on the wall that chimes on the hour. It's soft enough that unless you stop to take note, you won't hear the chime. There's comfort in the tick-tocking; like he's watching over us, taking note of our comings and goings as the minutes and hours go by.

We're getting used to slipping off our shoes as we step in the entry; used to turning the key extra hard on the old wood door; used to wide-plank wood floors to dance about on. I'm not sure we'll ever get used to being so warm, after a year in a house where we slept with beanies, double-down comforters and the thermostat up up up.

I'm trying desperately to get used to driving up the hill at the end of the night. It's just for now, but even so, it's a feeling I'm not too fond of. I'd much rather cozy up by the fire and fall asleep on my ticking-stripe couch beneath the tick-tock of the clock. While change sometimes isn't so sweet, it just takes time. For now, I've got a key to the front door. I plan to be around for a lot of clock chiming and I'll be happy to taste-test anything baked in the nook.

leaves

Tonight, I raked in the lamplight. Memories came floating in like leaves on a blustery day deep in The Hundred Acre Wood. I tried to remember everything Dad taught me: how to hoist myself up and into the orange-lined garbage can to stomp stomp stomp, leaves crunching with every step; to comb the grass in big full swoops; and to use the rake to aide in transporting golden yellow leaves into their hibernation hut, deep within the orange bags the City left on our doorstep.
I wore my Boden barrett, old soccer socks and black gloves to stay toasty and cooked corn chowder on the stove to warm my insides when I finished. Tomorrow brings a short day of work. Then making pies with Sister and Chardo and prepping the house for all things Turkey Day. And, now that the leaves are raked, I'm hoping for snow.

In a Jiffy

My ninety eight year-old grandmother is the dearest most darling thing. I wish everyone could be lucky enough to meet her. She is truly a Legend; a Legacy. The epitome of living life to its capacity; the glass always more than half-full. Her glass is brimming, no, overflowing with blessings, or so she'd tell you in her soft, sweet voice. She'd clasp her hands and say, "Isn't it thrilling?" Then she'd offer you some apricot nectar or some pear juice and her award-winning ginger cremes.

My cousin, Rebecca, who I wish to be like in every way, once gave a lesson in church about happiness. She described our grandmother as having a "happy heart." Those are the perfect words to describe Grandma. Her heart is happy. It's brightness is evident from the moment you greet her. It warms you from the inside out. Her expressions of love are far-reaching.

I love going downstairs to the fruit room with grandma. There are all sorts of treasures there. Dried pears and apples. Canned peaches. And lots of boxes of Jiffy mix. Cornbread, blueberry, cranberry. I was shopping the other day and saw those bright blue vintage-looking boxes tucked back on the bottom shelf. I bent down and grabbed five, just because. I thought of Grandma and knew the smell of those muffins, or even the sight of the boxes on my shelf would bring her happy heart into my house. It worked.

The other night Maren and I decided to make some Jiffy muffins. We looked at the clock, which blinked 11 p.m. back at us. Perfect muffin time, right? We got to work. An egg and milk. Jiffy stands by it's product: in a "Jiffy." I opened the fridge. No milk. Water, perhaps? We added two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen. It yielded muffin soup. Flour! We thought. So, flour it was. Suddenly I had the sense these weren't going to taste like Grandma's muffins.

Thirty minutes later, we had our muffins. Not as quickly as we thought, nor as tasty, but they did the job. Next time we'll know. We'll prepare better. That's how life is; learn as you go, acquiring the necessary ingredients: experience, faith, friendship, and kindred spirits, up for anything, along the way.

Confession

...I was wrong. Mern isn't crazy after all. There really was an alarm in the basement all along! Thanks to Steph for helping us get to the bottom of it.

votes for women

Kas is glued to the TV switching between CNN and ABC. Steph is buying boots online, she can't decide which. Mern just brushed her teeth and is now safely in her red chair. Steph and Mern laugh every time someone says "caucus." I've got my laptop and Grandma's blanket and am blogging as we watch the states change colors. No surprises here.

p.s. Did they really just make Will i am a hologram on CNN? Seriously.

announcing...

Please see here.

strawberry fields forever

I just emerged from the basement, post problem-solving futon chat with the ladies here at our YBH. Although we didn't come to any ground-breaking conclusions nor solutions to Life's Great Complexities, we do know this: Life is better together, even if we haven't slept for days and the house is still a post-party mess, two days post-party. The glass if half-full, and things look better from this side, where time gets swallowed up by late-night laughter and too many German gummy strawberries supplied by our favorite American in Dusseldorf. Thanks, N! Hurry home. We miss you already.

One down, twenty-nine to go. NaBloPoMo, here we go!

Sunday Synopsis

• Started the morning at the kitchen table with Steph, writing and studying. And scheming. (We're always scheming. A bit.)

• Listened to Kelly's wonderful words of wisdom at one. Took notes.
  
• Skipped out on the next meeting with S&L to have a meeting of our own (productive, of course).
• Spent the last half of the hour chatting with Bishop and Brother O. Helped ourselves to treats on Bishop's desk as we talked. Snacked on mint chocolate in the hall with L on our way to the next meeting.
  
• Spent the third hour being enriched by words and music. Enjoyed I's especially.
• Met with the girls in the RS room, following. Short and sweet. Love them.
• Pow-wow in the kitchen at the YBH after church, all roomies present. Glad we have each other to lean on. (Can't wait for the Liberty Park House and the big green kitchen to spread out in.)
  
• Dinner with the family at 1928. Joy's chicken, our fave. And my favorite time of the year on Yale: the ivy painted glorious shades of red, orange and golden yellow. Heard about Dad's adventures in Boston: the leaves in Harvard Yard (maples a-blazing). Fun with Paul and Karl in Belmont quoting The Greats while K knitted at the dining table. Interesting intellectuals at the conference from all over the world; thoughts and views as various as their countries of origin. Advice from Clayton about Life. A ride to the airport from R & L, the baby twins smiling in the back seat.
• A post-dinner chorale concert with The Ladies. M's solo was lovely. Ricky's my new favorite gospel singer/soloist. Amen!
  

Ended the evening with Steph and Mern. At the table. Heard about adventures with The Sub. And soccer games. And new FB friends. Now, with the porch light streaming through the window, it's just me at the table writing, studying.

*Carved pumpkins last night and ate soup and bread sticks with the masses. Lined our jack-o-lanterns up along the walkway. Watched as the candles flickered yellow-orange from within. Pirate. Scarecrow. Skeleton. Owl. Comrades du Pumpkin, four in a row. Had a garden tour in the dark. Danced about among arbors and pebbles and the sunflowers, now bowing their heads towards the ground, ready to slumber for a season. Can't get enough of Fall!

autumn time

Sing a song of seasons!

Something bright in all,
Flowers in the summer
Fires in the fall!
-Robert Louis Stevenson

We took a drive up Millcreek Canyon between General Conference sessions today. Uplifting words from Latter-day prophets and leaders and the beautiful Utah scenery; a perfect day.
{Pictures to follow}

addict

couldn't resist.

Saturday 411

After finishing things up at the store today, I met S & M at the market for lunch. We ate on the patio and discussed the finer things in life, as we always do. Before heading home, M decided to grab a few groceries. We wandered the aisles, talking each other into certain purchases, deeming them absolutely necessary for survival. We came home with the following:
- 3 pints of ice cream (jamocha, bailey's chip, and chocolate marshmallow to be exact)
- 1 loaf of bread
- 1 container of cookie dough
- 1 giant rice crispy treat
- 1 package of chocolate marshmallow bears.

Guess what we had for dinner tonight at our house...

inhale

Today's root beer float party on Yale commenced the beginning of another school year. Balloons adorned the pillars at 1936. Blankets scattered the lawn. Kids dropped backpacks and binders, shed flip flops, and gushed about favorite new teachers, cute boys, class schedules and seating assignments.

Tonight we gathered in the front room, each discussing the events of our day. We tugged open the windows and sprawled across the air mattress (which has become a crucial part of our living room decor as of late). A tepid breeze seemed to announce the Eve of Fall. It floated in and across each of our faces as we talked and laughed and sent N (far away in Deutschland) funny messages, one right after the other. Tonight was, as W. Stevens says, "a perfection of thought." The last breath of summer.

As excited as I am to swap my sandals for boots, my hoodies for pea coats, part of me is still holding out for an Indian Summer. I want to inhale and hold my breath. I love summer in all its spontaneity. The last-minute frozen yogurt runs. The street alive with kids playing kick-the-can and sardines well after the sun has gone down. The chirp of crickets as I fall asleep.

Although I'm certain I'll miss summer in all its ease, I will be o.k. with a slight change of weather - I always am. The crickets' chirp will slow, we'll crack the windows a little less, and usher in Fall, happy and hopeful here in our yellow brick house all the same.

two to the six

Today's the Big Day. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, dear Maren! Hats off to the best roommate around. Mare's my go-to girl when I need any of the following: a cupcake that rivals those found on Bleeker St. in NYC, the eye of a fashionista, new music for my iPod, an honest opinion, kind words of encouragement, a listening ear, a brilliant quip, a quick wit, clever commentary during any Reality TV show (We've been over this, but you really should start live feed commentary from 2186, or at least a daily blog. You'd have thousands of hits) a bargain hunter, a movie buddy, a partner in crime at Anthro or the T.J., a great red chair -- upstairs or down, cool art for our walls, a trip through a shoe museum, a comrade de Dodo, Trio, or The Rio, the one I call when I'm home alone, my Bud at the Butte, the one with the cute nieces and nephews, the one to blame for my obsession with all things Cohen, (bless you) my conspirator at Hip and Humble, my late night jaunt buddy, my concert cohort (2008: Year of the Concert!) a stealth spy on any and all suspicious neighborhood activity, a great nick-name for anyone, mint chocolate chip ice cream pie...not to mention she's an essential part of our Bry-Triumverate. It's been non-stop fun (spidees included?) since December and I can't wait for what's next. Thanks, Mernie for being the bist! Many wishes for the best(est) year ever. Your lucky number is bound to bring you nothing but all the good you deserve. Lots of love!

party animal.

It's officially The Week of Mern. All Maren, all the time. This girl's birthday is at the end of the week. There are too many good things about her for just one day of celebration, so we'll be celebrating for the next seven days. Our house will be hoppin' to ring in this new year for our favorite party animal and roommate. Party on, Wayne. We love you, Mare!

bonus.

My roommate got a bonus at work last night. She's too humble to brag about it. So, if she's not going to, I am. Congrats, Kasi. We're so proud!

soak up the sun

With the nights getting shorter and August thunderstorms abounding, we're trying to make the most of our summer days. We were able to cross of two more things on our Summer To Do's last week. Tuesday we walked up to Red Butte for dinner and yesterday afternoon we convened on the back patio to watch a storm roll in. Steph served up huge slices of watermelon for breakfast on Saturday, seeds abounding, and we spent the afternoon at the pool. We watched Phelps and the boys late into the night last night and I slept with my windows wide open, the fan on full blast. It's true what they say: the older you get the faster time flies.

Along with Fall cataloges and Brigham City peaches (thanks, Mom) I've the hankering to hold onto every last bit of the season. Here's to more star-filled nights, more dark rolling clouds, more chats - bed, porch, and poolside, more live music, more ice cream pie, more dinners on the patio, more Olympic golds, more sun-kissed shoulders, more Saturdays spent outside - chores undone, more nights at The Lot, more Sunday talks in the grass on Yale...Here's to soaking up every last lazy bit of summer.

see ya!

bon voyage!
We'll be back...Eventually.

it's electric

I took his rough hand and gave it a firm shake. "He's the best electrician in the City. Well..." (he paused) "This guy's not just an electrician, he's an electrical artist." His eyebrows raised with the enunciation of his title, as if I should be impressed. I was more inquisitive than impressed. I followed the contractor and his virtuoso down the hall, my mind trying to imagine what type of electrical "art" the contractor meant.
* * *
We gathered on the porch to watch the storm. Arm wrapped around the column, I crossed one leg over the other and rested my head against the post, pensive. My line of site was just above the roof. Lightning cracked across the summer sky, bright white against dark gray. Electrical art. E's face lit up and un-lit all in an instant, the Artist in the Sky commander of a giant switch board. The rumble of thunder followed as neighborhood girls ran barefoot from one porch to another. I felt a drop on my shoulder; one on my cheek. I tucked my head back under the porch, wiping the raindrop from my face.

Within seconds, the ground was covered in dark spots, speckling the dry cement until all the spots met at the edges, merging to make a solitary wet canvas. I listened to E and S talk about this and that, voices clouded by the clapping of thunder. I only caught bits of conversations here and there; so many thoughts floating in and out; rows and rows of big dark clouds.
* * *
After everyone left and all but one here at the YBH had tucked in, I switched off the lights on the porch. As I closed the blinds, lightening continued to flash in the night sky; an electrical composition, artistic indeed.

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.

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.