Blast From the Past

Just came across this totally random picture from high school. This was Girls Camp when I was 15 or 16 years old. Good times. :)

Heidi, the frizzy hair contest is on! :)

The Hess Family

Ryan Hess, a fellow alum from Janson's podiatry school, was recently diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer. Like us, he is a podiatry resident and his wife is a young stay-at-home-mom of two kids. When Janson entered podiatry school four years ago, Ryan was assigned as Janson's "big brother" to help orient him. It is heartbreaking for us to learn of their current trials. It feels good to know we can help in a small way by sharing their story.

For the past couple weeks Janson has been doing orientation for residency. As a wife I have attended a couple of the social functions. Every time I am introduced to a doctor, resident or spouse at these events, I get a comment or look that equals this, "Are you ready for three years of hell?" All I can do is shrug it off, but inside my fear grows. Janson's schedule is supposed to be grueling, along with work to take home and many hours on call. I already hate his pager! :)

With word of the Hess family struggles, I am humbled. We have had our own share of learning opportunities from major health crises, but nothing life or death. Read of their commitment to press on gives me hope.

Book Review: A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

"Because," explained Mary Rommely simply, "the child must have a valuable thing which is called imagination. The child must have a secret world in which live things that never were. It is necessary that she believe. She must start out by believing in things not of this world. Then when the world becomes too ugly for living in, the child can reach back and live in her imagination. I, myself, even in this day and at my age, have great need of recalling the miraculous lives of the Saints and the great miracles that have come to pass on earth. Only by having these things in my mind can I live beyond what I have to live for."

I've stopped reviewing books on here because I'm completely hooked to GoodReads.com where I can review to my heart's content. If you have any interest in reading, I strongly encourage you to check it out! It's my new "facebook" where I can network, because honestly I'd rather know what my friends are reading than "what celebrity" they are most like.

BUT, I just finished A Tree Grows In Brooklyn by Betty Smith and I have to share my love for it. I can't believe I was never required to read this in any of my dozens of English classes. If I ever teach college English, I'm going to find some excuse to squeeze this into the required reading list.

Betty Smith makes this a fabulous book about America, mainly Brooklyn, in the early decades of the 1900's. I ended the book so sad to be finished. My joy in the end was partly due to her uncanny ability to make the plot and characters come full circle. It was beautiful to watch the younger generation say and do some of the same things that their parents had done, to show how they have or have not become like their elders.

My only complaint is that it does ring a little true to "happily ever after." I would not have a problem with this style of ending, except that early in the book Betty Smith so vividly voices her distaste for just such endings. After reading little Francie's annoyance of the plots which have a prince charming come save the day just in the nick of time, it was a little disheartening to see Smith use nearly the same technique as the mother just so happens to marry a wealthy man and all their problems are solved. I can only assume that Smith was merely writing what she was accustomed to reading.

Love Story Meets Viva La Vida

At random moments through the day I think about this song.

I have fallen in love with this song, and I can't wait to get my hands on the sheet music. If you like Jon Schmidt, Coldplay, Taylor Swift or just checking out new music, listen to this.

FYI, the sheet music is not out yet. Boohoo. It would make sense that they have a lot of red tape to jump through before publishing. I am hoping they write a stand-alone piano solo version, otherwise this song won't sound nearly as good with strictly the piano part. Anywho, listen to it, and thanks my sis Sara, for the introduction. It's beautiful, just like you.

Mr. Red Wall

I love him. I hate him. He's trying to take over my life. He's trying to control my every move. He sits there staring at me every day, all day long. He makes me happy. He brings me joy. He brings me stress.

He's my red wall.

From May 2009

When Janson found this place during house hunting and told me about the red wall, I knew he had me in mind. I felt (and do feel) so touched that he had my tastes in mind. He did an outstanding job. I hear that Portland is a fun place, but so far all I want to do is sit and enjoy my home. And I was stoked about my new red wall.

But.

I love red. I love red so much that I bought red accessories to color-up my past drab apartments. So, I have
red kitchen chairs
red blankets
red toy boxes
red kitchen baskets
red pillows
red pot holders
red wall decor
red picture frames
red tablecloths
red recliner chair
red bookcases
red kitchenaid
red crock pot
red whisk
red measuring cups
red measuring spoons
red spatula
red phone
red leather flats
red chuckies
red jewelry
and red hair.

That last one is obviously not by choice, and perhaps caused my interest in the color altogether.

So, can you see the problem? Now that I have a big, bold red wall, EVERYTHING is red. Red swims before my eyes. When I look at my red kitchen chairs, I feel a slight need to puke. Partly because all of the red slightly clashes, and blends together, and gets lost into each other. Ack.

So yesterday when we went to IKEA I was drooling over anything green, blue, yellow, orange or just about any other color but... well, you know.

Mr. Red Wall is making my decorating efforts quite difficult, and frustrating. All because I've been a bit obsessed. In the past. Oh yes, only in the past. I have been cured. Just as mothers may cure their children's desire for chocolate cake by making them eat, and eat, and eat an entire chocolate cake in one sitting. (Matilda, anyone?)

I am cured of red. I now fully understand: moderation in all things.

Learn from my mistake. Don't make your entire living room bright yellow. I know you're dying to buy that bright yellow polka dot sectional from IKEA to add to your yellow wall and coffee table, but refrain. You will regret it. I will set up an intervention if you do, and it will not be pretty. Well, maybe prettier than my clashing red wall and kitchen chairs.

My Miracle Worker

To follow up on my last post:

Janson came home from taking his last board exam, brought my car back to life with a new battery, and revived my brand-spankin'-new phone. Wow. Thank goodness I married a miracle worker.

Unfortunately, after performing above miracles, he started his car and a warning light came on. Someone up there wants to keep us on our toes.

What are the chances?

Last night's schedule of events:

My phone rings. I'm standing outside the kitchen at church, and I drop Mari to answer the call.

The call is short. But this is my brand new phone that I love so much, so I enjoy using it.

I put the phone down on the kitchen counter to pick up crying Mari.

Mari immediately grabs the phone and drops it in a near glass of water.

I drop Mari and start hyperventilating.

Mari runs away, and Grace needs my attention.

I start taking my new phone apart, dry it off.

I'm trying to hold a conversation with Grace while fix my phone.

Mari is screaming bloody murder outside the Bishop's office for 5 min, which makes me sweat profusely.

I say my quick goodbyes to the church crowd. This is my last event with this ward.

I open the car door, I notice that the power locks don't seem to kick in.

Automatically I know that is bad. Very bad.

The girls get in the car and start climbing around the seats.

I try to start the car. Nothing. Again. Again. Again.

Mari is jumping in a leftover tray of brownies from refreshments.

Grace is belting out Dora's "backpack" song.

I call Janson and say, "My car won't start," and the call drops.

I repeat that short call, this time I hear him say, "I'm coming" before the call ends.

While waiting for him, I listen to the car's "open door" ding/light attempt to do it's stuff. It's pitifully struggling.

I watch my spankin' new, expensive phone start calling people randomly.

I give in and turn off my phone.

Janson shows up. Tries to jump the car. Nothing.

Mari is running around the church parking lot at 9:10pm.

Grace is rolling around in the grass.

Janson gives me a hopeless look.

Mari's diaper is so full that her skirt and diaper both fall down to her ankles, in the church parking lot.

I go inside and change her diaper.

Come out, we all get in Janson's car. Try not to talk about my car.

The girls are screaming, and we are screaming in our heads.

This morning it is still sitting in the church parking lot. Unless it's been towed.

Janson is taking Board Exams Part III as I write this.

Then we'll tackle the car, and his parents will fly in from ID, and tomorrow we'll go to graduation receptions downtown, and clean and pack, and my family will get into town, and Friday morning I'll wake up really early to take the girls to a babysitter and we'll all try to catch a train to go downtown and see Janson graduate into a doctor, and then we'll finish packing and cleaning and then early Saturday morning we'll get the moving truck, the ward will help us move out/ clean up and we'll be off.

But first I have to worry about my dead Camry, wearing some various expired stickers, sitting in a parking lot a block away from the police station.

I am not thinking about my new phone, which my husband creatively wrapped in a highly absorbent diaper. (Hey, whatareya supposed to do when the blow dryer and rice are packed?)

What are the chances? Important life events seem to be a magnet for car trouble, and phone trouble, and whatever kind of trouble is available at the moment. I know I'm not the only sufferer of this odd, unfortunate tradition. We can all relate in some way or another, right? We all have these insufferably hard weeks that surround an incredibly good event. Whew.