Lunch date

22 October 2009

I invited myself over for lunch because I had to return Grams' camping things, and because I had missed cousin dinner, and because I love lunch dates.

In college I eat out of tupperware, generally, and sometimes strait out of the can. Grams severs milk out of a glass pitcher, and she had set the little deal table with beautiful green place settings and silverware that matched.

I offered to bring a bell pepper- the only fresh food I could find. Grams chopped it up and served it with her homemade bean and ham soup, homemade bread, homecanned bread-and-butter pickles from the neighbors, grapes from her back yard and cookies one of the grandkids had brought by.

And she wouldn't even let me do my dishes afterward, but insisted rather than I come outside to enjoy the beautiful sunshine and her freshly planted daisies.

I can't wait to be grownup like Grams.

Rise all loyal cougars

28 September 2009

Melanie and I bonded over pizza and cougar football. Whitehouse were all at the stadium, but they had a TV that worked, and a big living room where Melanie could pace back and forth and jump up and down while yelling advice at the football players on screen. There was free picnic food across the street, but we wanted pizza-- enough to pull out the yellow pages and find the closest 5 buck pizza. Turns out they don't deliver for orders under $7, so we ordered two pizzas, for the two of us, and paid the extra 2 bucks to sit in front of the TV and have our food brought to us.

I wish I had a picture of the two of us: Indian-style on the couch, each with our own pizza boxes in our laps, stuffing our faces and trying not to spit as we yelled at the TV, "Defense! Defense! Defense!"

We won, by the way. 42-23

Campsite 22: part ii

21 August 2009

Daddy brought the the older kids up after dinner. Something about a photo shoot and work in the physics lab had kept Christian and Lolly at home in the morning, and Isaac and Dad were delayed, in Texas I think. The boys needed little encouragement to stoke the low fire, and as the little ones pulled on pajamas and sleeping bags, we huddled closer to the crackling sticks and branches and sang along with my guitar:

Well, I'm in love with a big blue frog
And a big blue frog loves me.
It's not as bad as it may seem
He's got glasses and he's six-foot-three.

Ghost stories are for girl's camp, so we related our real-life adventures; Isaac tried to whisper as he dramatized snorkeling with sharks, and the rest of us tried, only half-heartedly, not to interrupt with our own summer exploits.

Well I'm not worried about our kids
I think they'll turn out neat,
They'll be good lookers 'cause they've got my face
And good swimmers 'cause they've got his feet.

Chorus
Well, I'm in love with a big blue frog
And a big blue frog loves me.
It's not as bad as it may seem
He's got rhythm and a PhD.

Mom and Dad went to bed before the fire had crumbled to ashes, but we kept right on laughing, singing, joking and alternately coughing on the thin smoke that still streamed from our fire pit.

Well I know we can make things work
He's got a good family since
His mother was a frog from Philadelphia
His daddy an enchanted prince.

Chorus again!

Too many s'mores raised our collective blood sugar to a dangerously giggly level, and we could hear Tommy complaining from his tent compartment, "Stop laughing!! You keep waking me up!"

This unfortunately was made only the more hilarious my parent's stifled snickers; apparently we were keeping everyone awake.

The neighbors are against it and it's clear to me,
And I'm sure it's clear to you:
The value on their property will go right down
If the neighbors next door are blue.

Another Rousing Chorus!

When it got too dark to even see eachother's laughing faces we finally pulled off our tennis shoes on the welcome tarp and climbed into our 10-man tent. Lolly and I tried to crawl over half-sleeping Mariah while the boys made shadow plays on the walls.

Camping is not particularly comfortable, but what could be more comfortable than piling with your sibling in a heap of sleeping bags, in the middle of your family tent, in the middle of the lovely mountains?

Well I'm in love with a big blue frog
A big blue frog loves me
I've got it tattooed on my arm--
It says P-H-R-O-G,
that's frog to me
P H R O G!

Pursuit of Happiness II

26 July 2009

1.
On a whim, I bought fake nails from CVS. They were "Real Life! Petits"-- not too ostentatious, but simple and feminine and the kind you glue on with a little tube of superglue. Cheap but not too tacky. I think someday in the distant future I will be horrified that I superglued little plastic nails onto my own fingertips, but today I love them! I love looking down to see the tan of my hands highlighted by my glossy nails, and I love handing things to people, palm down, fingers obvious, my french tips glowing with femininity.

2.
We stopped at Five Guys for dinner on Friday. I was hungry and the group was obliging. Of course I ordered a Bacon Cheeseburger. And also a large fries to keep my friends from just sitting and watching me eat. 'Eat' is really too tame a word to describe the thrilling experience of smelling and tasting and chewing the best Bacon Cheeseburger I have ever had. The fries were sub par, but the burger-- c'était incroyable!

Picture print by currier & ives

28 November 2008

I love Karen Carpenter. She is the voice of Christmas. In fact, it's not Christmas until the day after Thanksgiving when Mom turns on the Carpenters. I hear, like herald angels announcing the season, those first notes: "It cayme upon a midnight cleeer!" And thus the season is ushered in, safely after we have Given Thanks.

This year though, I had a change of heart and Christmas began a little early.

Last weekend Bryan and I stopped by SmartCookie for some dessert. It was still days before Thanksgiving, but ice cream shops all over Provo were already breaking out the eggnog and peppermint flavors. Of course, I would never pick a Christmas flavor before the official inauguration of the season, but something suddenly over came me and I heard myself asking for "two gingersnaps with peppermint, please."

What? Blasphemy!

The girl handed me the ice cream sandwich, and for a moment I stood stunned by my sudden rebellion against all that is holly and ivy.

But gingersnaps are my favorite, and the peppermint smelled so much like childhood...

One taste was all it took and I became a forever-changed woman!

"This tastes just like Christmas!"

By the time we climbed into the car and cranked up the Christmas carols (I love Karen Carpenter!), I couldn't quite remember why I had whined for all these years about pre-Turkeyday Yuletide Joy!

Moral of the story: I love Karen Carpenter. Did I mention that?

I am thankful for the scientific discoveries of pavlov

24 November 2008

I didn't really consider the implications of a vegetarian Thanksgiving until Jacob mentioned cooking up his 20lb turkey. And then I started salivating.

What is thanksgiving without that crispy skin which clings to the sweet, flaky flesh of a basted and stuffed bird? Without gravy or liver? This is moral dilemma to a new extreme.

And, oh! the Friday Sandwiches, with all the leftovers spread and piled between two thick bread slices.

Thanksgiving is flag-football with the Copes and Grandma's orange rolls; it's fold-out tables borrowed from the church and that yam dish my mommy makes. But never has November's 4th Thursday been a real celebration without a dead, plucked and roasted bird.

hmm. Tofurkey?