I had lunch with some coworkers today. We went to a little sandwich shop here in St. George. I ordered some soup and asked for a cup for water. I rarely purchase soda. Especially in restaurants. It's ridiculously expensive. Plus it's not good for you on any level. So I try to avoid it when I can. Don't get me wrong, I have my moments when all I want is a Diet Coke or a regular Pepsi- yep, has to be one or the other- but, in general, I try to stick to water as much as possible.
Which brings me to this. Why do restaurants assume that because I ordered water I am less thirsty than someone who orders soda? Have you seen the size of soda cups in comparison to water cups? Most restaurants don't carry anything smaller than 16 oz cups for soda, yet they hand me a cup barely larger than a shot glass as a water cup. I understand that the water I am drinking doesn't bring in revenue, but I'm also fairly certain that the costs incurred by giving me a water cup larger than a shot glass are covered somewhere in the cost of my meal. I can make an entire pot of chicken noodle soup for $5.
I guess I should be thankful for the tiny cups...they help me get in some extra exercise as I generally have to go from my table to the soda fountain to refill my shot glass 3-5 times per meal!
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Wong Tong Tarts
I'm pretty sure it was the day before Thanksgiving that I was first introduced to the idea of won ton tarts. And I really don''t remember why we are calling them Wong Tong Tarts...I know there was a story, but I just don't remember it! I'm sure Mona could tell it though...
Anyway, last week I had a dinner thing to go to. One where I was asked to bring a dessert. As it so happened, my sister, Belinda, was also in need of a dessert for something she was doing at work on Thursday. So we decided to get together and make won ton tarts for our respective gatherings. They turned out great, and we received rave reviews all around. Thanks, Mona, for bringing such a simple and crowd pleasing dessert to my life!
But here is my wong tong tart funny story. It happened on Wednesday. I needed to go to Wal-Mart to pick up a couple items, and figured as long as I was there, I would grab the ingredients I needed for making won ton tarts later that night. Just one problem- where in the heck do you find won ton papers in Wal-Mart??? I had no idea where to start looking. So my mom, who was on this little outing with me, asks the poor guy stocking one of the shelves in the dairy section.
Mom: "Excuse me, could you tell me where I might find won ton papers?"
Wal-Mart Employee: ... (seriously, I could hear the crickets chirping) Finally, he says, "Hmmmm, I'm not sure. Probably back with the Saran wrap and stuff."
Mom: "Okay, thank you."
Then she turns to me and says, "Maybe you should call Mona and ask her where to find them."
Okay, so maybe I had more of an idea of where to start looking than I thought. I, at least, knew to look in the food section of the store!
For the record, you can find them up near the front of the store, with the fruits and veggies and tofu.
I think they turned out pretty great. You should probably make some for your next holiday party. :)
Anyway, last week I had a dinner thing to go to. One where I was asked to bring a dessert. As it so happened, my sister, Belinda, was also in need of a dessert for something she was doing at work on Thursday. So we decided to get together and make won ton tarts for our respective gatherings. They turned out great, and we received rave reviews all around. Thanks, Mona, for bringing such a simple and crowd pleasing dessert to my life!
But here is my wong tong tart funny story. It happened on Wednesday. I needed to go to Wal-Mart to pick up a couple items, and figured as long as I was there, I would grab the ingredients I needed for making won ton tarts later that night. Just one problem- where in the heck do you find won ton papers in Wal-Mart??? I had no idea where to start looking. So my mom, who was on this little outing with me, asks the poor guy stocking one of the shelves in the dairy section.
Mom: "Excuse me, could you tell me where I might find won ton papers?"
Wal-Mart Employee: ... (seriously, I could hear the crickets chirping) Finally, he says, "Hmmmm, I'm not sure. Probably back with the Saran wrap and stuff."
Mom: "Okay, thank you."
Then she turns to me and says, "Maybe you should call Mona and ask her where to find them."
Okay, so maybe I had more of an idea of where to start looking than I thought. I, at least, knew to look in the food section of the store!
For the record, you can find them up near the front of the store, with the fruits and veggies and tofu.
I think they turned out pretty great. You should probably make some for your next holiday party. :)
Thursday, November 22, 2012
The Coolest
I know many of you are under the misapprehension that your family is the coolest, but unfortunately for you, it's just not true! Cause my family is the coolest. I hate (and by hate, I mean revel in the opportunity!) to be the one to deliver such news on this day of thanks, but it was time the world was informed!
Okay, so this is really just my way of saying I had a great Thanksgiving day with my awesome family. We are certainly our own brand of crazy, but that is just part of the charm. I am such a lucky girl, and sometimes I forget just how much I really have. I spent the day today with most of my family gathered around. The ones who couldn't be here in person were with us in spirit and we got the chance to talk, despite the distance between us.
On top of all that, I had the opportunity to stuff myself to delirium. Thankfully, I also had the good sense to stop before I got to that point. It only took me thirty years to learn that I don't actually have to consume my weight in turkey, mashed potatoes and noodles and pie when I sit down to Thanksgiving dinner. Who knew that the day is so much more enjoyable when you can move, post feast??? I blame you all- somebody should have found the kindness to clue me in years ago! ;)
Add to all this (I know, now I'm just sounding greedy!) the great friends with whom I spoke today and it's pretty clear that life is good. Thanks to all of you for your part in my life. You have each taught me something, helped me smile when I was down, and/or been in the hot seat next to me when I was in trouble (you know who you are!). Thank you for caring. I hope you all know how important you are to me as well!
Happy Thanksgiving, and God bless you all. Here's to another year full of gratitude, challenge, fun, family and friends!
Okay, so this is really just my way of saying I had a great Thanksgiving day with my awesome family. We are certainly our own brand of crazy, but that is just part of the charm. I am such a lucky girl, and sometimes I forget just how much I really have. I spent the day today with most of my family gathered around. The ones who couldn't be here in person were with us in spirit and we got the chance to talk, despite the distance between us.
On top of all that, I had the opportunity to stuff myself to delirium. Thankfully, I also had the good sense to stop before I got to that point. It only took me thirty years to learn that I don't actually have to consume my weight in turkey, mashed potatoes and noodles and pie when I sit down to Thanksgiving dinner. Who knew that the day is so much more enjoyable when you can move, post feast??? I blame you all- somebody should have found the kindness to clue me in years ago! ;)
Add to all this (I know, now I'm just sounding greedy!) the great friends with whom I spoke today and it's pretty clear that life is good. Thanks to all of you for your part in my life. You have each taught me something, helped me smile when I was down, and/or been in the hot seat next to me when I was in trouble (you know who you are!). Thank you for caring. I hope you all know how important you are to me as well!
Happy Thanksgiving, and God bless you all. Here's to another year full of gratitude, challenge, fun, family and friends!
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Guilty. Thankfully, Not Charged
The past couple weeks have been interesting. Lots of highs and lows to find my way through. From one day to the next I have been unsure what to expect, but by taking it one day at a time, I have survived to tonight. And tonight, I am incredibly grateful for a lot of things I am often guilty of taking for granted. The thankfulness I'm feeling didn't happen all in one eye-popping, jaw dropping moment. It wasn't an epiphany, or anything like that. As I have struggled through the last, well, year if I'm completly honest, I have tried to recognize the things I am thankful for. Tonight as I sat at a fireside that seamlessly combined Veterans Day with the Gospel of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I felt inspired to list some of the things that I often overlook in my life, because they are always just there for me.
My day of thanksgiving began with a Sacrament meeting testimony by a woman visiting my ward from China. She spoke of her conversion and of the things she had to sacrifice for her right to be a member of the Mormon church. She spoke with such reverence about the opportunity to attend Sunday meetings in a chapel, with hymn books and a ward with so many members. Then, tonight, I attended a fireside where we were privileged to hear from the Gooch family. The daughters provided the beautiful music that touched my heart, the parents the message. The story they shared was a parallel of their lives- one an American, free to live as he chose. The other, Cambodian. Captured and enslaved in a concentration camp known as "the killing fields". As they related their story I was overcome with gratitude for all that I have. Tonight, I would like to publicly acknowledge some of the many things I often take for granted.
First and foremost, I am thankful for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. It is true. The people of the church may be imperfect, but the doctrine is completely perfect. I am so blessed to have the knowledge that I do. The knowledge that I have of the Atonement and the way I have begun to see it work in my life is a blessing of the highest order.The knowlege of the covenants and blessings of the Temple and the opportunity to be with my family forever. A loving Father in Heaven, who looks after my needs, even when I don't necessarily recognize His hand in my life. The power of prayer and the feeling of the Spirit and I'll stop here so as not to bore you with my gushing :)
My freedom. Despite the division in the political arena, this nation is still privileged. We need to remember how blessed we are as a country and strive to be the nation that God would have us be. In addition, I am thankful for all who have, do and will serve. It is because of you that I enjoy many of my freedoms. Thank you for your sacrifice on my behalf.
My family. We certainly aren't a perfect lot, and there is a lot of truth to my dad's mantra that you don't have to be nuts to hang out with us, but it sure helps. The fact of the matter is that I was blessed with an incredible family. Through difficult times, they support me. When things are good, they celebrate with me. They are there when I need a shoulder to cry on, a helping hand, someone to go to lunch with, and any number of additional activities. I know very few families who are as woven together as mine. And it's not limited to my immediate family- though they are the base of my strength- the extended Bundy Family is amazing. A girl couldn't ask for more.
My job. It can be exhausting, both physically and mentally. But it's incredibly rewarding as well. I work with some amazing people who truly build me up and want to see me happy. I don't know how common it is to have coworkers who are sincerely concerned with one anothers happiness and well being, but I do know that I have been blessed to have some of the best coworkers over the years. You know who you are- my Bar Ten family, my ARR family, my St. George Recreation family. You all mean so much to me. I think it is a rare treasure to have so many close friends in a work setting, but I have certainly been blessed by each of you as you have come into my life.
My friends. I have some of the best. I have been lucky to have friends who consistently build me up. They do all that they can to help me succeed. They serve me when they are facing their own difficulties. They listen to me whine when I am upset about work, or dating, or life in general. I don't know if I am just incredibly lucky, or if most people have friends of the caliber I am blessed to have, but I really can't say enough about the amazing friends who support me through the good times and the bad. Who pick me up when I am down. Who are there even when I probably don't deserve them. I love you all.
The most amazing thing is that so many of these categories overlap in my life. And I could continue-
technology allows me to see my family who are not nearby. My home, my car, the beauty of the seasons, diet coke when I need a little pick me up, the opportunity to go to school, my health, volleyball, music, laughter, tears, people who volunteer at special events, my fleece lined wool coat, books, photographs, seasons of the Gilmore Girls on DVD, the girl who cuts my hair!
Yep, at one point or another I have taken all of these things for granted. Tonight, I hope to partially rectify that error. I'm guilty, but thankfully, not charged.
My day of thanksgiving began with a Sacrament meeting testimony by a woman visiting my ward from China. She spoke of her conversion and of the things she had to sacrifice for her right to be a member of the Mormon church. She spoke with such reverence about the opportunity to attend Sunday meetings in a chapel, with hymn books and a ward with so many members. Then, tonight, I attended a fireside where we were privileged to hear from the Gooch family. The daughters provided the beautiful music that touched my heart, the parents the message. The story they shared was a parallel of their lives- one an American, free to live as he chose. The other, Cambodian. Captured and enslaved in a concentration camp known as "the killing fields". As they related their story I was overcome with gratitude for all that I have. Tonight, I would like to publicly acknowledge some of the many things I often take for granted.
First and foremost, I am thankful for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. It is true. The people of the church may be imperfect, but the doctrine is completely perfect. I am so blessed to have the knowledge that I do. The knowledge that I have of the Atonement and the way I have begun to see it work in my life is a blessing of the highest order.The knowlege of the covenants and blessings of the Temple and the opportunity to be with my family forever. A loving Father in Heaven, who looks after my needs, even when I don't necessarily recognize His hand in my life. The power of prayer and the feeling of the Spirit and I'll stop here so as not to bore you with my gushing :)
My freedom. Despite the division in the political arena, this nation is still privileged. We need to remember how blessed we are as a country and strive to be the nation that God would have us be. In addition, I am thankful for all who have, do and will serve. It is because of you that I enjoy many of my freedoms. Thank you for your sacrifice on my behalf.
My family. We certainly aren't a perfect lot, and there is a lot of truth to my dad's mantra that you don't have to be nuts to hang out with us, but it sure helps. The fact of the matter is that I was blessed with an incredible family. Through difficult times, they support me. When things are good, they celebrate with me. They are there when I need a shoulder to cry on, a helping hand, someone to go to lunch with, and any number of additional activities. I know very few families who are as woven together as mine. And it's not limited to my immediate family- though they are the base of my strength- the extended Bundy Family is amazing. A girl couldn't ask for more.
My job. It can be exhausting, both physically and mentally. But it's incredibly rewarding as well. I work with some amazing people who truly build me up and want to see me happy. I don't know how common it is to have coworkers who are sincerely concerned with one anothers happiness and well being, but I do know that I have been blessed to have some of the best coworkers over the years. You know who you are- my Bar Ten family, my ARR family, my St. George Recreation family. You all mean so much to me. I think it is a rare treasure to have so many close friends in a work setting, but I have certainly been blessed by each of you as you have come into my life.
My friends. I have some of the best. I have been lucky to have friends who consistently build me up. They do all that they can to help me succeed. They serve me when they are facing their own difficulties. They listen to me whine when I am upset about work, or dating, or life in general. I don't know if I am just incredibly lucky, or if most people have friends of the caliber I am blessed to have, but I really can't say enough about the amazing friends who support me through the good times and the bad. Who pick me up when I am down. Who are there even when I probably don't deserve them. I love you all.
The most amazing thing is that so many of these categories overlap in my life. And I could continue-
technology allows me to see my family who are not nearby. My home, my car, the beauty of the seasons, diet coke when I need a little pick me up, the opportunity to go to school, my health, volleyball, music, laughter, tears, people who volunteer at special events, my fleece lined wool coat, books, photographs, seasons of the Gilmore Girls on DVD, the girl who cuts my hair!
Yep, at one point or another I have taken all of these things for granted. Tonight, I hope to partially rectify that error. I'm guilty, but thankfully, not charged.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Call Me Old Fashioned
I suppose I should start with a few acknowledgements: I acknowledge that I am single and have no children. I acknowledge that I cannot actually speak from experience on this matter, and that all I have are my opinions. If you don't want to know them, you should probably just stop reading now. That being said--
Call me old fashioned. I really don't mind, because I actually am quite old fashioned. I didn't necessarily think I was, but the older I get, the more I realize I am. So, I have noticed a disturbing trend in the world lately. Now, I should probably preface this upcoming rant a bit. Generally speaking, I am not a huge fan of most peoples' kids. I am largely put off by kids who have no respect for...well, anything. Their parents, other people, the world in general. I recognize that there are children out there who have been raised well and still have some respect and a limited sense of entitlement. But I digress....that is a different rant for a different time, and is not really where this particular rant is headed.
The rant begins here. Despite the fact that I am not the biggest fan of all kids, I am completely confounded by the increasing number of women who are abandoning their husbands, children and wifely responsibilities to reclaim the single life. It is beyond my comprehension how a mother could just decide that she is tired of being a mom and walk away. Maybe it's because I was raised by the best mom a girl could ask for, but I have to ask-are we really living in a society so selfish that we can just decide, on a whim, that the vows we made can be cast aside as if they never were? Not to mention the fact that, at some point, you made the decision to bring that life into the world. Where is the sense of responsibility? Why is it suddenly acceptable to simply decide that getting married and having kids is not what you really wanted so duty and obligation be damned?
Aren't women supposed to be caring and nurturing by nature? When did it become okay to just walk away from a family? What ever happened to working on it? My parents are coming up on 53 years of marriage in a few months and they never would have made it that far had they not been willing to work together through the difficult times. I am certain that on more than one occasion, one or both of them thought about how much easier it would be to give up, but I am thankful they had the determination to make it work. It hasn't been perfect. Real life rarely is. But it has been good. Very good. And the older I get, the more thankful I am for parents who committed to one another then continued to work on it, even if they didn't always want to.
I am a firm believer that a woman should be able to take care of herself, and she is certainly not defined by the man in her life, but when did it become expected for us to behave as though we don't need or want anyone else? Human contact and relationships are important for our health and well being. It's admirable to be determined and self sufficient, but it's equally admirable to recognize that we need help and support. It makes me incredibly sad that the only thing that seems important anymore is sex. Quite frankly, you can get sex anywhere. It's the actual caring that is hard to find.
Perhaps the time has come for us to get back to our old fashioned roots. We should put aside our expectations of perfection and our selfish tendencies and get back to the days when hard work and dedication were important. In work, in relationships, in life.
Okay, I'll step off my soapbox now. But I reserve the right to reclaim my position without notice :)
Call me old fashioned. I really don't mind, because I actually am quite old fashioned. I didn't necessarily think I was, but the older I get, the more I realize I am. So, I have noticed a disturbing trend in the world lately. Now, I should probably preface this upcoming rant a bit. Generally speaking, I am not a huge fan of most peoples' kids. I am largely put off by kids who have no respect for...well, anything. Their parents, other people, the world in general. I recognize that there are children out there who have been raised well and still have some respect and a limited sense of entitlement. But I digress....that is a different rant for a different time, and is not really where this particular rant is headed.
The rant begins here. Despite the fact that I am not the biggest fan of all kids, I am completely confounded by the increasing number of women who are abandoning their husbands, children and wifely responsibilities to reclaim the single life. It is beyond my comprehension how a mother could just decide that she is tired of being a mom and walk away. Maybe it's because I was raised by the best mom a girl could ask for, but I have to ask-are we really living in a society so selfish that we can just decide, on a whim, that the vows we made can be cast aside as if they never were? Not to mention the fact that, at some point, you made the decision to bring that life into the world. Where is the sense of responsibility? Why is it suddenly acceptable to simply decide that getting married and having kids is not what you really wanted so duty and obligation be damned?
Aren't women supposed to be caring and nurturing by nature? When did it become okay to just walk away from a family? What ever happened to working on it? My parents are coming up on 53 years of marriage in a few months and they never would have made it that far had they not been willing to work together through the difficult times. I am certain that on more than one occasion, one or both of them thought about how much easier it would be to give up, but I am thankful they had the determination to make it work. It hasn't been perfect. Real life rarely is. But it has been good. Very good. And the older I get, the more thankful I am for parents who committed to one another then continued to work on it, even if they didn't always want to.
I am a firm believer that a woman should be able to take care of herself, and she is certainly not defined by the man in her life, but when did it become expected for us to behave as though we don't need or want anyone else? Human contact and relationships are important for our health and well being. It's admirable to be determined and self sufficient, but it's equally admirable to recognize that we need help and support. It makes me incredibly sad that the only thing that seems important anymore is sex. Quite frankly, you can get sex anywhere. It's the actual caring that is hard to find.
Perhaps the time has come for us to get back to our old fashioned roots. We should put aside our expectations of perfection and our selfish tendencies and get back to the days when hard work and dedication were important. In work, in relationships, in life.
Okay, I'll step off my soapbox now. But I reserve the right to reclaim my position without notice :)
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
"The Old Lady Team"- revisited
If you missed the story, you can read about it here. But, after last week's games, it's official. You know you are the the epitome of "the old lady team" when you fail to get your hands up fast enough to pass the ball, and as a result, take a spike off the top of three of your fingers. Luckily, they aren't broken!
This past week has definitely been a lesson in patience and gratitude for me. Have you ever tried to button up a pair of jeans using just one hand? How about put on a bra?? I always joke that my left hand is only around for aesthetic purposes-- it just makes my body look balanced. Well, after hurting it, I am here to tell you, I use it A LOT more than I thought. Being injured in such a way has made me incredibly grateful for my health and fitness. I think it is something I take for granted far more often than I should.
I would have posted this earlier, but I really don't type well when I can't use three of my fingers. Luckily, I seem to be healing well. They are still SUPER sore and kinda get swollen sometimes, but at least I can type again. Yep, I'm grateful for what I have! Hopefully I move a little faster tomorrow night. Otherwise, I may have to start pricing walkers, and I just don't think my fragile psyche could handle that this week!
Saturday, October 20, 2012
When life hands you bananas...
Make bread...er....muffins! Cause let's get real here, banana juice just isn't practical! Today I got bananas. Which is not to be confused with going bananas, though I have been on the verge of doing just that for the last several days! For those who don't know, my job is to plan and carry out races and other special events for the City of St. George. It is a really fun job, but takes a lot of time and energy. Today we had our Save A Sister 5K, 10K and 1 Mile Walk to benefit breast cancer research. It was a lot of fun, and quite possibly the best organized race I have yet to help plan-and that's saying something, cause I am a little bit CDO (which is similar to OCD, except the letters are in alphabetical order, as they should be!)
Anyway, at the end of the race today, we had some bananas left over at the finish line. And being the girl I am and raised by parents who never throw ANYTHING away, I couldn't bring myself to trash the left over bananas. So, I brought them home. But, ya know what? When you have that many bananas that have already been cut in half, you can't just deal with them tomorrow. You pretty much have to take care of them right now. So, what did I do all afternoon and evening? You guessed it, I baked banana muffins!
But there were SO MANY bananas, there was no way I was going to be able to bake all of them. So we sliced some for dehydrating, and froze the rest. I figure I can use those ones for smoothies, or later on for making more muffins! And I gotta tell ya- it's a good thing my mom and my sister are so awesome and helped me out with this undertaking, because without them, this project may have gone on forever!
When all was said and done, we had made somewhere in the neighborhood of 150 muffins. We also put 4 or 5 trays into the dehydrator and 2-3 cookie sheets in the freezer! We are gonna have bananas with everything for the next few weeks! :)
And I'm happy to report that as of the time I typed this up, I had only eaten 2 of the muffins. Unfortunately, I am about to head to the kitchen where I can exponentially increase that number! Happy Eating!
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
That moment when...
I play city league volleyball on Thursday nights. I played ball in high school, and I have kept with it, on some level, since I graduated. It's fun! Granted, my volleyball obsession isn't nearly close to what it was when I was in high school. Back then, there was a group of us who played religiously. Every Tuesday and Thursday night at the local recreation center from 7:00 till 10:00 pm. When the rec center closed we would go across the street and play until 2:00...3:00...sometimes even 4:00 in the morning. It didn't matter that I generally had to be at the school by 5:30 the next morning for madrigals. We were playing volleyball. And that was the most important thing! We usually played on the weekends, too. Once the sun went down (cause it was too dang hot to play when the sun was out) we automatically drifted to the courts at Vernon Worthen park. I have a lot of great memories from that time in my life.
But that's not really the story I meant to tell.... What I was getting at was this. I play city league volleyball on Thursday nights. And this past week, something dreadful happened at our games. It wasn't that we lost our first match. That happens. The dreadful part was that, at the end of that first match, I commented that I was proud of our team for how well we played. I said (and I quote), "Good job team! I am proud of us for keeping up with that team of seven foot tall, 20 year old girls. We played really well!" My older sister (they're all older, cause I'm the youngest in the family) agreed.
And that's when it happened. From behind me, Tayleigh said the saddest thing I've heard in a long time. She said, "It's happened, hasn't it? We are the "old lady" team in the league, aren't we?" We stood in the gym and looked across the 2 courts of girls playing volleyball, and her statement was confirmed. We are, in fact, the old lady team in the league.
I gotta tell ya, I didn't see this one coming at all. In my head, most of the time, I am still a seven foot tall, 20 year old--even though I'm only 5'9" and I haven't been 20 years old for a decade, now. I recognize that there are things that hurt now that didn't hurt when I was 20-mostly my shoulder. But somehow, I didn't realize that there were other girls out there, coming up behind me, turning me into a member of the old lady team.
I guess it's a good thing I have the wisdom of age on my side. Otherwise I might really be upset about this realization!
But that's not really the story I meant to tell.... What I was getting at was this. I play city league volleyball on Thursday nights. And this past week, something dreadful happened at our games. It wasn't that we lost our first match. That happens. The dreadful part was that, at the end of that first match, I commented that I was proud of our team for how well we played. I said (and I quote), "Good job team! I am proud of us for keeping up with that team of seven foot tall, 20 year old girls. We played really well!" My older sister (they're all older, cause I'm the youngest in the family) agreed.
And that's when it happened. From behind me, Tayleigh said the saddest thing I've heard in a long time. She said, "It's happened, hasn't it? We are the "old lady" team in the league, aren't we?" We stood in the gym and looked across the 2 courts of girls playing volleyball, and her statement was confirmed. We are, in fact, the old lady team in the league.
I gotta tell ya, I didn't see this one coming at all. In my head, most of the time, I am still a seven foot tall, 20 year old--even though I'm only 5'9" and I haven't been 20 years old for a decade, now. I recognize that there are things that hurt now that didn't hurt when I was 20-mostly my shoulder. But somehow, I didn't realize that there were other girls out there, coming up behind me, turning me into a member of the old lady team.
I guess it's a good thing I have the wisdom of age on my side. Otherwise I might really be upset about this realization!
Sunday, September 2, 2012
A Little Swimming Fun!
Yesterday I went out to Peach Days with my mom, my sister and her kids. Peach Days is one of those fun little hometown festivals with vendor booths selling all kinds of deep fried goodies or homemade crafts. I love to go see what kinds of fun, new crafts are on the market, but mostly, I go for the Navajo taco. I love Navajo tacos, but they are a pain to make. You have to dirty every dish in the house, and the batch makes about a zillion scones (that I am then forced to consume smothered in delicious honeybutter!). So...when I can go to Peach Days and pick up a Navajo taco for lunch without having the threat of a million extra calories staring me in the face in the form of fried dough and honeybutter, I take advantage of the opportunity!
I'm sure by now you are wondering what this has to do with swimming?? Well, hold your horses, the connection is coming! As I sat and ate my Navajo taco, a couple sat down next to us at the table. It turned out to be Mayor McArthur and his wife, Bunny. We talked about a variety of things- he sang "Are You From Dixie" and recited a couple poems- and my niece and nephew played with the water weenies they bought at one of the booths. It was a very enjoyable afternoon.
As the kids were playing with their water weenies, my sister and I were talking about how they have evolved since we were kids. Back in our day, water weenies were homemade. A piece of tubing that we filled out of the hose with a pen casing as the nozzle. You usually got so completely soaked in the process of filling the water weenie that it didn't really matter if you got sprayed with one later. It was just fun to run through the yard spraying one another!
As we reminisced about the good old days of our youth, I got up to throw my plate in the garbage can and was reminded of another thing we used to do as kids that I'm pretty sure was a Bundy family special. As I have mentioned before, my upbringing was pretty humble. We didn't have much extra money, but we did have a lot of creativity! And this is where the swimming finally comes in... We didn't have a pool. Nobody in our neighborhood did. But on hot summer days we loved to be in the water. Sometimes we would walk to the local city pool down by the high school-usually without shoes, on pavement that was hot enough to fry an egg, so we would run from one patch of shade or grass to the next till we got there. Still, there were times that wasn't an option either, so....we devised a more creative solution for our problem. We would take the fifty gallon barrels that littered the landscape of our back yard, find some duct tape to cover any of the holes that might allow the water to escape the barrel, then fill them with water and bob up and down in them. You can't really call it swimming because there's no way to swim in a 50 gallon barrel. But the bobbing was great!
I suppose I should probably contact Jeff Foxworthy about this one. "You might be a redneck if..."
But it was fun. And I think we get big points for creativity! Thanks to all my older sibling who taught me the ways of the Samurai!
I'm sure by now you are wondering what this has to do with swimming?? Well, hold your horses, the connection is coming! As I sat and ate my Navajo taco, a couple sat down next to us at the table. It turned out to be Mayor McArthur and his wife, Bunny. We talked about a variety of things- he sang "Are You From Dixie" and recited a couple poems- and my niece and nephew played with the water weenies they bought at one of the booths. It was a very enjoyable afternoon.
As the kids were playing with their water weenies, my sister and I were talking about how they have evolved since we were kids. Back in our day, water weenies were homemade. A piece of tubing that we filled out of the hose with a pen casing as the nozzle. You usually got so completely soaked in the process of filling the water weenie that it didn't really matter if you got sprayed with one later. It was just fun to run through the yard spraying one another!
As we reminisced about the good old days of our youth, I got up to throw my plate in the garbage can and was reminded of another thing we used to do as kids that I'm pretty sure was a Bundy family special. As I have mentioned before, my upbringing was pretty humble. We didn't have much extra money, but we did have a lot of creativity! And this is where the swimming finally comes in... We didn't have a pool. Nobody in our neighborhood did. But on hot summer days we loved to be in the water. Sometimes we would walk to the local city pool down by the high school-usually without shoes, on pavement that was hot enough to fry an egg, so we would run from one patch of shade or grass to the next till we got there. Still, there were times that wasn't an option either, so....we devised a more creative solution for our problem. We would take the fifty gallon barrels that littered the landscape of our back yard, find some duct tape to cover any of the holes that might allow the water to escape the barrel, then fill them with water and bob up and down in them. You can't really call it swimming because there's no way to swim in a 50 gallon barrel. But the bobbing was great!
I suppose I should probably contact Jeff Foxworthy about this one. "You might be a redneck if..."
But it was fun. And I think we get big points for creativity! Thanks to all my older sibling who taught me the ways of the Samurai!
Sunday, August 26, 2012
I Love You-This Much!
Sometimes in life there are things that will always and forever remind you of a story from your past.
One such story for me comes from a time when I was working at the Bar Ten Ranch. I spent many summers as a kid out at the ranch with my dad and as soon as I was old enough, there was nothing I wanted more than to work out there myself. One of my favorite years of working out there was the second summer that I spent working with Addie, Laura, Maria and Crystal. Because it was our second summer together, we were a well oiled machine. A complete unit. We worked really well together and had a blast, even when the days were too long and too hot and all we really wanted was a nap!
Until you have worked a summer at Bar Ten, you have no idea how great a nap can be. I don't think I have ever worked harder in my life than I did out there. We started our days early. Usually up at 4:30 in the morning (5:30 if we got to sleep in!) and worked our tails off till the program ended around 9:30 at night. Somewhere in all the work, we managed to find time to play (usually a good water fight, or practical joke of some sort) and even snuck in the occasional, coveted nap!
Still, there were days when the naps were elusive, and the sleep deprivation took it's toll. One such day I will remember forever- Addie and I were in the kitchen. It had been a long day. A long work week, really, and I remember that I was washing a never-ending stack of dishes. Addie was at the counter getting ready to make some lunch. As I stood at the sink with my back to her, she let out a cry of frustration and dropped what I later learned was a butter knife, on the counter. Startled, I turned around and asked, "Pants, what is wrong?" She looked at me for just a second and asked, "How do you make half of a grilled cheese sandwich?" I don't specifically remember what ran through my head, but I do remember telling her just to cut the bread in half. She rolled her eyes at me as if to say, "Thank you, Captain Obvious", but she picked up her knife and cut the bread in half.
Every time anyone eats a grilled cheese sandwich I remember this day in detail. In our overly exhausted state, it was hilarious. It's still one of my favorite stories. So, this one is for you, Pants! I love you- this much!
One such story for me comes from a time when I was working at the Bar Ten Ranch. I spent many summers as a kid out at the ranch with my dad and as soon as I was old enough, there was nothing I wanted more than to work out there myself. One of my favorite years of working out there was the second summer that I spent working with Addie, Laura, Maria and Crystal. Because it was our second summer together, we were a well oiled machine. A complete unit. We worked really well together and had a blast, even when the days were too long and too hot and all we really wanted was a nap!
Until you have worked a summer at Bar Ten, you have no idea how great a nap can be. I don't think I have ever worked harder in my life than I did out there. We started our days early. Usually up at 4:30 in the morning (5:30 if we got to sleep in!) and worked our tails off till the program ended around 9:30 at night. Somewhere in all the work, we managed to find time to play (usually a good water fight, or practical joke of some sort) and even snuck in the occasional, coveted nap!
Still, there were days when the naps were elusive, and the sleep deprivation took it's toll. One such day I will remember forever- Addie and I were in the kitchen. It had been a long day. A long work week, really, and I remember that I was washing a never-ending stack of dishes. Addie was at the counter getting ready to make some lunch. As I stood at the sink with my back to her, she let out a cry of frustration and dropped what I later learned was a butter knife, on the counter. Startled, I turned around and asked, "Pants, what is wrong?" She looked at me for just a second and asked, "How do you make half of a grilled cheese sandwich?" I don't specifically remember what ran through my head, but I do remember telling her just to cut the bread in half. She rolled her eyes at me as if to say, "Thank you, Captain Obvious", but she picked up her knife and cut the bread in half.
Every time anyone eats a grilled cheese sandwich I remember this day in detail. In our overly exhausted state, it was hilarious. It's still one of my favorite stories. So, this one is for you, Pants! I love you- this much!
Monday, August 20, 2012
Over The River and Through The...Four Corners Area?
Yep, through the Four Corners area. That's how we got to Grandma's house. And boy was it an adventure. Why am I telling you this story? Well, I went to lunch with some of my coworkers today. As the six of us pulled out of the parking lot, Melanie asked us if we wanted to watch some TV on our way to the restaurant. (She has one of those fancy minivans with the TV screens built into the headrests so that when she travels with her kids she can put in a movie and lull them into complacency.) She was completely kidding- but I couldn't help but think back to when I was a kid and how things have changed since then.
Part of what I am about to tell you may be heresy. It is secondhand information that I don't have any specific memory of myself. But I have heard the stories often enough to believe that it really happened...and it is just too funny not to share.
When we were young, my mom's parents lived in Pueblo, CO. It was a thirteen hour drive from our house to theirs. We didn't make the trip often, but when we did we had to fit the whole fam-damily in our single cab pick up truck (did I mention there are nine of us???) and we liked to leave at 4 am and drive all day so we didn't have to pay for a hotel room. In fact, I don't remember staying in a hotel room till I was around 14 years old and went on tour with my choir. I do, however, have vivid memories of sleeping on the side of the road on more than one occasion... Anyway back to the story at hand.
If I'm totally honest here, I can't remember us ever taking the entire family to Colorado in a single trip. Mostly because my oldest brother is 21 years older than I am, and by the time I was old enough to actually remember going to Colorado the 4 oldest kids in the family had stopped going with us. Still, I got to hear the stories about when they would take everyone.
Are you wondering yet how they managed to take six kids on a thirteen hour trip in a single cab pick up truck? (If you're not, I haven't set the stage properly and my confidence as a writer will be shot- so lie!) The answer is fantastic. Are you ready for this? My parents would ride in the cab while the kids rode in the back of the truck! Put down the phone. There's no need to call child protective services. It's not as bad as it sounds. My parents would put the camper shell on the truck, load the kids inside and be on their way. It was actually quite perfect for the first few hours of the trip- while everyone still wanted to be asleep. But eventually the kids would wake up and the torture would start! I don't know the details of the torture, but I do know that when it started they would put a pillow over the camper window so that my parents couldn't look back and see what was going on. The thing I always wonder about is the bathroom issue. As far as I know, they were using a paper cup or a plastic bottle that they would empty when my parents would stop for gas. Maybe they would just bang on the camper window till my parents were forced to pull over and find out what all the fuss was about? I do know that we always stopped in Four Corners so that we could take awesome stinkbug style pictures of each of us. You know the one I'm talking about? With our tushes high in the air standing in four states all at once- one per foot and hand?
When I finally got old enough to remember the trips, it was usually just my mom and I going. I would spend the trip reading books out loud to her. Pollyanna, anything from the Nancy Drew files. I always loved to read to pass the time on a long trip. In fact, as it would get too dark to read I would wait with my book in hand till a car pulled up close enough behind us that I could use their headlights to illuminate my pages- it never occurred to me that there could be value in just packing a flashlight...
I never would've dreamed that there would come a time when DVD systems would be standard entertainment in the car. In a way, it almost makes me sad for those kids who are missing out on the fun of being trapped in a camper shell with their siblings while the windows are covered and mom and dad are blissfully ignorant of what is really going on. Sad that Pollyanna and Nancy Drew have been shelved in favor of something more visually stimulating. These were great times and great memories.
Part of what I am about to tell you may be heresy. It is secondhand information that I don't have any specific memory of myself. But I have heard the stories often enough to believe that it really happened...and it is just too funny not to share.
When we were young, my mom's parents lived in Pueblo, CO. It was a thirteen hour drive from our house to theirs. We didn't make the trip often, but when we did we had to fit the whole fam-damily in our single cab pick up truck (did I mention there are nine of us???) and we liked to leave at 4 am and drive all day so we didn't have to pay for a hotel room. In fact, I don't remember staying in a hotel room till I was around 14 years old and went on tour with my choir. I do, however, have vivid memories of sleeping on the side of the road on more than one occasion... Anyway back to the story at hand.
If I'm totally honest here, I can't remember us ever taking the entire family to Colorado in a single trip. Mostly because my oldest brother is 21 years older than I am, and by the time I was old enough to actually remember going to Colorado the 4 oldest kids in the family had stopped going with us. Still, I got to hear the stories about when they would take everyone.
Are you wondering yet how they managed to take six kids on a thirteen hour trip in a single cab pick up truck? (If you're not, I haven't set the stage properly and my confidence as a writer will be shot- so lie!) The answer is fantastic. Are you ready for this? My parents would ride in the cab while the kids rode in the back of the truck! Put down the phone. There's no need to call child protective services. It's not as bad as it sounds. My parents would put the camper shell on the truck, load the kids inside and be on their way. It was actually quite perfect for the first few hours of the trip- while everyone still wanted to be asleep. But eventually the kids would wake up and the torture would start! I don't know the details of the torture, but I do know that when it started they would put a pillow over the camper window so that my parents couldn't look back and see what was going on. The thing I always wonder about is the bathroom issue. As far as I know, they were using a paper cup or a plastic bottle that they would empty when my parents would stop for gas. Maybe they would just bang on the camper window till my parents were forced to pull over and find out what all the fuss was about? I do know that we always stopped in Four Corners so that we could take awesome stinkbug style pictures of each of us. You know the one I'm talking about? With our tushes high in the air standing in four states all at once- one per foot and hand?
When I finally got old enough to remember the trips, it was usually just my mom and I going. I would spend the trip reading books out loud to her. Pollyanna, anything from the Nancy Drew files. I always loved to read to pass the time on a long trip. In fact, as it would get too dark to read I would wait with my book in hand till a car pulled up close enough behind us that I could use their headlights to illuminate my pages- it never occurred to me that there could be value in just packing a flashlight...
I never would've dreamed that there would come a time when DVD systems would be standard entertainment in the car. In a way, it almost makes me sad for those kids who are missing out on the fun of being trapped in a camper shell with their siblings while the windows are covered and mom and dad are blissfully ignorant of what is really going on. Sad that Pollyanna and Nancy Drew have been shelved in favor of something more visually stimulating. These were great times and great memories.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Living Legends: A Few Thoughts About My Dad
It has been six years since I started working at Arizona River Runners and the novelty of being Garth's little girl has mostly worn off now. Though I used to hear it all the time, it has been years since anyone has made the statement, "I gotta take care of Garth's little girl". But a couple weeks ago I had the chance to experience that again, because a couple weeks ago, I was on a river trip with a new boatman that we hired this season. Well, he's not a new boatman. He has worked for Hatch for almost 20 years, but he is new to Arizona River Runners. Since I had never been on a trip with him before it was interesting to watch how he responded to having me on his trip. He was very adamant about taking care of me. It was really quite sweet and totally hilarious, all at the same time.
Still, the way he talked about my dad got me thinking about how lucky I am. There are people all over the world who know and admire this man. And I do mean all over the world. Every time I take a group on the river I have several passengers who comment on how amazing my dad is. It's not news to me. I have ALWAYS been a daddy's girl. But I do think that, sometimes, I forget to really appreciate how blessed I am in this regard. Let me tell you the "Readers Digest" version of how my dad ended up in the Grand Canyon and became the legend that he is today.
My dad was raised on the Arizona Strip. For those of you unfamiliar with the area, it is a strip of harsh and unforgiving land in the northwest corner of AZ. It is separated from the rest of the state by the Grand Canyon and there is very little live water to be found. Ranching was the industry that sustained life on the Strip. Cattle, mostly, but I remember hearing stories about sheep here and there as well. He learned at a young age to ride and work hard. He learned to appreciate what he had. He always says he learned to live like a coyote- to eat what he could catch, and run when he got scared. Now, he is a month shy of 78 years old, and he lives the same way. He still works harder than most people I know. He is a cowboy in every sense of the word.
Dad married Mom in 1960. I am the youngest of seven kids. 2 boys, 5 girls. My dad always says they had seven kids because they didn't have TV. I say it was because they had to keep going till they got it right! Either way, I was very blessed to be born into the family I was. Though I didn't realize it at the time, my upbringing was quite humble. My mom never worked outside the home. (I'm sure she had her hands full keeping track of all us kids!) My dad worked his tail off to provide for us. Until May of 1967 (when my parents finally built their first and only home), my parents lived in a trailer that was 8' x 21'-which may not sound so bad, till I add the fact that they had 3 kids by then. My dad had joined the Arizona Teamsters Union and was working on construction projects all over the Southwest. Most of the stories I remember being told are about hanging power lines, though I know there were other projects as well.
In 1983, Dad went to work for the Bar Ten Ranch as a mule skinner. He would help Tony Heaton bring river rats out of the canyon by mule. It was hard, hot work, and it was only seasonal, but he was good at it and he really liked being back on the AZ Strip. Then, in 1985, the ranch switched from mules to helicopters. Dad had been working at a good paying job through the winter and opted not to go back to the ranch that summer. He figured there was no need for him out there, now that the mules had been replaced with the helicopter. As the summer of '87 rolled around, dad had an accident on the job and had to find something else to do that summer. He ended up back at the Bar Ten, and has been working in the Grand Canyon ever since.
Now, it is true that the world of Grand Canyon river running is laced with colorful characters such as Norm Nevills, Martin Litton, and of course, Georgie White. Anyone in the river community will know these names-will picture a face and will immediately be able to tell a story (or two, or three...) about these individuals who made Grand Canyon river running what it is today. There are select few who can toss their name into the ring with these names and expect to compete, but the truth is, my dad is one of those remarkable characters who is known in Grand Canyon. Say the name Garth Bundy to anyone who has been in the Canyon for any amount of time and immediately they will be able to tell you a story about him.
Still, the way he talked about my dad got me thinking about how lucky I am. There are people all over the world who know and admire this man. And I do mean all over the world. Every time I take a group on the river I have several passengers who comment on how amazing my dad is. It's not news to me. I have ALWAYS been a daddy's girl. But I do think that, sometimes, I forget to really appreciate how blessed I am in this regard. Let me tell you the "Readers Digest" version of how my dad ended up in the Grand Canyon and became the legend that he is today.
My dad was raised on the Arizona Strip. For those of you unfamiliar with the area, it is a strip of harsh and unforgiving land in the northwest corner of AZ. It is separated from the rest of the state by the Grand Canyon and there is very little live water to be found. Ranching was the industry that sustained life on the Strip. Cattle, mostly, but I remember hearing stories about sheep here and there as well. He learned at a young age to ride and work hard. He learned to appreciate what he had. He always says he learned to live like a coyote- to eat what he could catch, and run when he got scared. Now, he is a month shy of 78 years old, and he lives the same way. He still works harder than most people I know. He is a cowboy in every sense of the word.
Dad married Mom in 1960. I am the youngest of seven kids. 2 boys, 5 girls. My dad always says they had seven kids because they didn't have TV. I say it was because they had to keep going till they got it right! Either way, I was very blessed to be born into the family I was. Though I didn't realize it at the time, my upbringing was quite humble. My mom never worked outside the home. (I'm sure she had her hands full keeping track of all us kids!) My dad worked his tail off to provide for us. Until May of 1967 (when my parents finally built their first and only home), my parents lived in a trailer that was 8' x 21'-which may not sound so bad, till I add the fact that they had 3 kids by then. My dad had joined the Arizona Teamsters Union and was working on construction projects all over the Southwest. Most of the stories I remember being told are about hanging power lines, though I know there were other projects as well.
In 1983, Dad went to work for the Bar Ten Ranch as a mule skinner. He would help Tony Heaton bring river rats out of the canyon by mule. It was hard, hot work, and it was only seasonal, but he was good at it and he really liked being back on the AZ Strip. Then, in 1985, the ranch switched from mules to helicopters. Dad had been working at a good paying job through the winter and opted not to go back to the ranch that summer. He figured there was no need for him out there, now that the mules had been replaced with the helicopter. As the summer of '87 rolled around, dad had an accident on the job and had to find something else to do that summer. He ended up back at the Bar Ten, and has been working in the Grand Canyon ever since.
Now, it is true that the world of Grand Canyon river running is laced with colorful characters such as Norm Nevills, Martin Litton, and of course, Georgie White. Anyone in the river community will know these names-will picture a face and will immediately be able to tell a story (or two, or three...) about these individuals who made Grand Canyon river running what it is today. There are select few who can toss their name into the ring with these names and expect to compete, but the truth is, my dad is one of those remarkable characters who is known in Grand Canyon. Say the name Garth Bundy to anyone who has been in the Canyon for any amount of time and immediately they will be able to tell you a story about him.
One of my good friends, Eric Dodge, is a singer/songwriter. He wrote a song called "Last Real Cowboy" for his grandpa, but every time I hear it, I think of my dad. If you want to hear it, (it's definitely worth a listen) just click here- I thought it would be appropriate to include the lyrics here-
I was only three, sittin' on his knee, hearing all those tales he'd tell.
'Bout the good old days, when he'd ride the range and blaze those rugged trails.
He'd let me steer the tractor when he'd plow.
Raising cattle and his family made him proud.
He was the last real cowboy.
He tamed the land with his own two hands, like his Granddaddy had done.
He loved his wife and the simple life of working with his sons.
He was up at dawn with his Stetson on.
He didn't stop to rest, till the sun went down.
He built a legacy.
The last of a dying breed.
He was the last real cowboy.
He was strong and brave and showed real faith, and earned respect from all.
He would plant his seeds, drop to his knees, then pray for rain to fall.
When the cause was just, he always took a stand.
He taught me work, and how to be a man.
He was the last real cowboy.
He tamed the land with his own two hands, like his Granddaddy had done.
He loved his wife and the simple life of working with his sons.
He was up at dawn with his Stetson on.
He didn't stop to rest, till the sun went down.
He built a legacy.
The last of a dying breed.
He was the last real cowboy.
I remember it well,when I got the call, that the cowboy's work was done.
It was nearly night, when I reached his side, and watched that setting sun.
He said his trail was waiting in the sky.
So I tipped my hat, and said my last goodbye-
To the last real cowboy.
He tamed the land with his own two hands, like his Granddaddy had done.
He loved his wife and the simple life of working with his sons.
He was up at dawn with his Stetson on.
He didn't stop to rest, till the sun went down.
He built a legacy.
The best of a dying breed.
He was the last real cowboy.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Chicken or Beef?
I had a disagreement with a good friend tonight. Well, maybe disagreement is
the wrong word for it. He said something that kinda stung me. He didn't mean
for it to affect me the way it did, and I knew he wasn't being the least bit
malicious. Yet, it hurt. It was silly that it did. I knew I was being
unreasonable. (Do I at least get points for recognizing that I was being crazy?
I feel as though I should.) Anyway, in my frustration, I decided to go for a
ride because it was a beautiful night and I thought it would calm me down.
I drove to one of my favorite thinking places. It's this cute little pond with these cute little ducks located right in the middle of town. It must be one of the best kept secrets here because I go there frequently and it is rare that there is anyone else around. It's pretty fantastic that way. So I sat there on a rock on the shore and I talked to the ducks. They seemed mildly interested at best. I always thought I was a reasonably good storyteller, but I guess the ducks had a different opinion. Next time I'll have to remember to take a couple slices of bread along to help hold their attention.
After getting nowhere with the ducks I began to wander back toward my car. I exchanged pleasantries with a father and son who were walking down the sidewalk and tried to hold the tears at bay. It was completely irrational, and I needed to find a way to feel better. So I drove past the house of another good friend whom I haven't talked to for quite some time. I told myself that if she was outside I would stop and talk, if not, I would head home and sleep my frustration away. As luck would have it, she was standing in her front yard. I think it is one of the tender mercies in this life that when I really needed her to be there, she was. We went into the house to catch up on all we had missed over the past several months and then, of course, I got around to telling her what was bothering me.
As I finished my tale of frustration and hurt feelings, she smiled knowingly and told me a story of her own. It was about people I didn't know who had had a blow-up of their own. A husband and wife had been going through a rough patch. One night while traveling, they had stopped to get something to eat. The wife was hungry and easily ordered a hamburger, then stood there and became increasingly impatient and upset as her husband kept changing his mind between the chicken sandwich or a hamburger of his own. By the time he decided what he wanted for dinner, the wife was so angry, she was ready to completely throw in the towel on their marriage. Essentially, she was ready to call it quits because her husband couldn't decide, chicken or beef?
Now, this is certainly an extreme example of the frustration I was feeling. I was nowhere near the thought of ending our friendship, but it provided me with a perspective that I will certainly think on for some time to come. How often do we let something as simple as chicken or beef become the determining factor of our relationships? Whether it is with our significant other or a close friend, we need to be aware that, sometimes, what we are getting upset about, is pretty trivial.
I drove to one of my favorite thinking places. It's this cute little pond with these cute little ducks located right in the middle of town. It must be one of the best kept secrets here because I go there frequently and it is rare that there is anyone else around. It's pretty fantastic that way. So I sat there on a rock on the shore and I talked to the ducks. They seemed mildly interested at best. I always thought I was a reasonably good storyteller, but I guess the ducks had a different opinion. Next time I'll have to remember to take a couple slices of bread along to help hold their attention.
After getting nowhere with the ducks I began to wander back toward my car. I exchanged pleasantries with a father and son who were walking down the sidewalk and tried to hold the tears at bay. It was completely irrational, and I needed to find a way to feel better. So I drove past the house of another good friend whom I haven't talked to for quite some time. I told myself that if she was outside I would stop and talk, if not, I would head home and sleep my frustration away. As luck would have it, she was standing in her front yard. I think it is one of the tender mercies in this life that when I really needed her to be there, she was. We went into the house to catch up on all we had missed over the past several months and then, of course, I got around to telling her what was bothering me.
As I finished my tale of frustration and hurt feelings, she smiled knowingly and told me a story of her own. It was about people I didn't know who had had a blow-up of their own. A husband and wife had been going through a rough patch. One night while traveling, they had stopped to get something to eat. The wife was hungry and easily ordered a hamburger, then stood there and became increasingly impatient and upset as her husband kept changing his mind between the chicken sandwich or a hamburger of his own. By the time he decided what he wanted for dinner, the wife was so angry, she was ready to completely throw in the towel on their marriage. Essentially, she was ready to call it quits because her husband couldn't decide, chicken or beef?
Now, this is certainly an extreme example of the frustration I was feeling. I was nowhere near the thought of ending our friendship, but it provided me with a perspective that I will certainly think on for some time to come. How often do we let something as simple as chicken or beef become the determining factor of our relationships? Whether it is with our significant other or a close friend, we need to be aware that, sometimes, what we are getting upset about, is pretty trivial.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Something's Fishy...
Sometimes you don't even know when the call comes that you are about to do something so fun! We had talked about it once before. In passing. It was one of those thing we thought would be fun to try--sometime. At least that's how the conversation played out in my head. I guess the guys took it a little more seriously when they said, "We should go catch crawdads and have a boil". And apparently, they discussed it. In detail. On more than one occasion. Sure, when they mentioned it to me, it sounded like fun. I said I was game to tag along when they went. If I'm being honest, I'm not sure I really thought we would go. But go we did. And it was SO MUCH FUN! You seriously have to try it. 
Eric called yesterday afternoon and said he and John were on their way to pick me up. I had about ten minutes. I mentioned to my mom that we were going and she told me about how she and her brothers used to catch crawdads when she was a kid, then she set me up with the ideal crawdad catching kit from her childhood. A piece of string, a safety pin and a few slices of bacon. John already had fancy traps he had bought for us to use, but I took my mom's kit anyway, just to see how it worked. It was magic! I pulled one crawdad after another out of the creek. It was great. My mom really is a genius!
The moment of truth had arrived. It was time to crack those puppies open and give them a try. You know what?? They were surprisingly good (of course this could have had something to do with the copious amout of garlic butter I dipped that little tail in, but who's counting??) I probably don't need to eat them on a regular basis and I certainly wont be looking to order them off a menu any time in the future, but at least I was able to eat them without gagging. I view this as a small victory for me! 
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Go To The Payphone, and Wait For The Call
You know how there are things that happen in your life that just kind of stick with you? I'm not talking about major life events here. Clearly, things like weddings, the birth of a child, or an amazing vacation to some tropical paradise are going to stick. The things I'm talking about are much smaller. Even seemingly insignificant at the time they happen. Ususally it is something that someone says that somehow makes an impact and it just sticks. Such is the case with the phrase "Go to the payphone and wait for the call". It happend when I was a probably thirteen-ish years old.
My family had spent the weekend working on building a cabin on humble piece of property in the middle of nowhere. The weekend was coming to a close and the weather had taken a turn for the worse. I'm not talking about tornados and driving rain, but the temperature had dropped significantly and a stiff wind had begun to blow. I was cold and ready to go home, but there were a few loose ends to tie up before we could leave. In an attempt to protect myself from the unbearable elements I was forced to endure, I put the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and cinched the strings as tightly as I possibly could so that I basically sealed the hood of the sweatshirt around my head- leaving me with a hole about the size of a quarter through which I could see. I'm certain that I looked ridiculous. In that moment, I had a phrase flash in my mind. I walked up to my sister, leaned my face close to hers and, in my most secrative tone, uttered the phrase "Go to the payphone, and wait for the call". Then I spun on my heels and walked away. It was inexplicably funny. And we laughed. A lot. Then, to compund the hilarity, my nephew, who would've been about 6 kept asking us what was so funny. We couldn't explain it. We didn't know why it was funny, just that it was. The more he insisted that we explain, the funnier it got.
Eventually, we finished up and headed home. But the phrase had left it's mark. Go to the payphone, and wait for the call. We still say it to one another from time to time. And it's still funny when we do. Especially now that the prospect of finding a payphone to wait at, is borderline impossible. (I think they may still have some in airports- but I may just be imagining that.) You know how there are things that happen in your life that just kind of stick with you? Those are probably the important things.
My family had spent the weekend working on building a cabin on humble piece of property in the middle of nowhere. The weekend was coming to a close and the weather had taken a turn for the worse. I'm not talking about tornados and driving rain, but the temperature had dropped significantly and a stiff wind had begun to blow. I was cold and ready to go home, but there were a few loose ends to tie up before we could leave. In an attempt to protect myself from the unbearable elements I was forced to endure, I put the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and cinched the strings as tightly as I possibly could so that I basically sealed the hood of the sweatshirt around my head- leaving me with a hole about the size of a quarter through which I could see. I'm certain that I looked ridiculous. In that moment, I had a phrase flash in my mind. I walked up to my sister, leaned my face close to hers and, in my most secrative tone, uttered the phrase "Go to the payphone, and wait for the call". Then I spun on my heels and walked away. It was inexplicably funny. And we laughed. A lot. Then, to compund the hilarity, my nephew, who would've been about 6 kept asking us what was so funny. We couldn't explain it. We didn't know why it was funny, just that it was. The more he insisted that we explain, the funnier it got.
Eventually, we finished up and headed home. But the phrase had left it's mark. Go to the payphone, and wait for the call. We still say it to one another from time to time. And it's still funny when we do. Especially now that the prospect of finding a payphone to wait at, is borderline impossible. (I think they may still have some in airports- but I may just be imagining that.) You know how there are things that happen in your life that just kind of stick with you? Those are probably the important things.
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