Sherbet and Alice in Wonderland

I realized I hadn't blogged in awhile and was shocked to find it had been October. I guess I've been busy and I haven't felt like there was a lot to write about. I'm home sick with the flu today (I'll spare you the details) and thought I could write one while sitting/laying on the couch.

When I was a little girl, I would cry wolf all of the time about being sick. I can remember going to the school nurse for the first time (maybe) and saying I didn't feel good. I then promptly ate a candy cane and jumped on the sofas once I got home. Now, there were those times that I was actually sick and they all seem to be the same memory...laying at home on the couch watching Disney's "Alice in Wonderland" and eating rainbow sherbet. Today, with the flu all I have are popsicles and a VHS of "Alice". I may have to settle for DVD "Mary Poppins". There's something simple and comforting about being sick and watching movies that I watched as a kid all bundled up on the couch.

What has happened to me!

Hello. My name is Meghan. I've begun to watch reality tv. SAVE ME!

I really don't have many shows on television that I get excited about. Man V. Food is one that I love to watch but I've been slacking on that a bit. So it is really surprising to me that I've started wanting to watch tv more. Not any tv. No. I'm afraid it's reality. I've been able to skip the "Survivor" craze, "So You Think You Can Dance", "The Hills," and "Jersey Shore." There was that blip early in the day when I watched "American Idol" and a few random "Real World" but those were blips. I also really got into "Big Brother" when I lived in Wales but that was overseas so it doesn't count.

Now, I'm going to step out here and make an admission. Much to my husband's dismay, I've started watching "Dancing with the Stars." I was really curious about who "The Situation" was and how Bristol Palin could dance. Matt's been working in the evenings on freelance comic books so I'm going to blame this on the comics. (His work will appear here in the next few months at Mystery Solved. Check it out. It's really great. Matt also has a Deviant art page with his other work. We're shopping his "Caaats!" book around at the moment.)

"Dancing with the Stars" is one thing but I'm afraid I've turned a corner. While Matt (seeing a trend here?) had his comic creating buddies over one Friday night. I succumbed to Netflix and watched..."Keeping up with the Kardasians." There is no excuse but I watched an entire vapid first season! I even (gasp!) watched half of the second season. It was a long drawing session! What could I do!

So it's Monday night and Matt's upstairs working. "Dancing with the Stars" is on tv. I actually set a reminder. I think I may be too far gone. As long as I stay away from "Keeping up with the Kardasians" I think I'll be okay. At least I'm not voting...yet. How did I get to this point!?

It all goes back to fudge and coffee.

When I was about 14 or 15, my dad said to me, "Meg, you should get a job." I'm not sure why he thought that. Maybe it was that age that kids used to go off and make a livin' back in the day. Maybe he was tired of me asking for cash (entirely possible). Or maybe, just maybe, he thought I could go out and learn somethin'.

I started the job search that day. I remember it really well. It was a sunny day and I kinda think it was fall time which means it was most likely summer. I sat down in my room with my totally 90's-tastic clear phone with the neon pink florescent light in it (it rocked, I know it) and started making calls. Being so young had its disadvantages. I couldn't drive, laws prohibited me from worked to much or past a certain time, and of course it had to be cool. I couldn't just work anywhere! Eventually, my parents suggested I give a woman from our church, Vanetta, a call. She owned a place called, "Prints of Peace." It was a art gallery, framing place that also happened to have a coffee bar where they made fudge, cappuccinos, and lattes. I was hired! That was such a stroke of luck!

That was maybe the best job in high school EVER. I was a barista in the highest form...well, maybe not but I could make a mean Funky Monkey latte. The store was in Grabill, Indiana so it wasn't the metropolis of nearby Fort Wayne but it was pretty busy at times. After working there a few years, I decided I needed more experience so I, um, traded up to Blockbuster. That was not as fun and walking into a Blockbuster these days still makes me shudder. I'm not sure what the smell is at Blockbuster but there is one. I'd traded in the aromas of fresh fudge and coffee for plastic and weird smells I still can't distinguish.

College was a weird mix of jobs but once I left the coffee shop, I kinda think it took a turn for the worse. I worked at a dry cleaning place for all of 2 weeks at most (and holds the record as the only job I was fired from...don't ask). Then I worked at a senior living community with the best cuties ever. One, Wilma Fox, still holds a special place in my heart. I also had a student ministries position working with teen moms in Anderson by my university, Anderson University.

After college, I can sum it up really quick: worked for my dad, worked for two other companies, lived in Cardiff Wales (BLISS!), worked for my dad, and then to where I am now working for both parents. My post-college jobs all involved graphic design. I did nearly give it up once to go back to school and get my masters in English so I could go into the book business. I didn't though when my parents opened their own company.

I'm not sure why the job history via blog. I've always felt happy I never had to be a waitress. I never had to work fast food. And aside from the dry cleaners, I've been really lucky. I didn't always treat the jobs right (dry cleaners) and the first three design jobs I had, I took for granted. I was really young and probably had too much autonomy than I should have.

I've always found it interesting how much enjoyment I get out of work and it really is fulfilling. I've been sick for a week with the flu and then a cold. Tomorrow I am going to tackle it again and I'm kinda nervous. Like the first day of school. Kinda, like my first day at the coffee shop.

The car that caught fire and how I blame a Christian Rock band.

Everyone has that one car from their teenage years. Either you were in love with it, embarrassed of it, crashed it, or really owned it (we're talking fringe, hydraulics, paint job you name it). I had several cars in high school. And while my family likes to taunt me that I was a horrible driver, I wasn't. I did ask how to "point this thing" when driving with my dad for the first time but I was trying to be funny.

I mean, yes, there was the day I went into the ditch...twice (different ditch, same car). There was the white Taurus that I experimented with airbags on (they hurt when they come out. I wouldn't advise experimenting). And yes, I did go "off-roading" into a cornfield with the white Taurus (it wasn't a ditch and in my defense, I TOTALLY would have gotten away with it had it not been for the cornstalks sticking out of my tailpipe.). But the one car which gave me a bad rap that was totally not my fault was the cranberry colored GrandAm. I got this after the Taurus was put to pasture (they just don't stick airbags back in I guess). I loved it. It looked fast. It was reddish. The seats were all cool and buckety. And the stereo seriously rocked. The thing that made me not love the GrandAm was the fire. THAT I had nothing to do with.

I was reminded of the GrandAm and my love for it this weekend. My husband and I got tickets to a Jars of Clay Concert. As they opened, they said they were celebrating their 15th year of making music together since their first album. That album, is what made my GrandAm rock. They played through their whole first album. Each song reminded me of something in that flying cranberry. When they started to play "Flood" though, it all came back. It was 1995 and although I was on my second car, I hadn't had my license for too long. This album came out and was on solid replay. I turned the base all of the way up and "Flood" made the windows shake. I was rockin' out. I remember coming home and my parents coming out just laughing because they could hear me coming up the drive. They live in the woods and they have a really long driveway so I must of been jamming. As Jars was playing the song this weekend, I sent my parents a text,

"@ jars of clay concert. Reminds me of rockin out in the GrandAm. :)" I got this response, 

"ha!!! Dad wants to know what caught on fire?" 

It took me a second and then I got it. Not funny. All of a sudden, I was not loving the GrandAm.

What happened, was this car was maybe a lemon. It's hard to tell. My mom and I were minding our own business driving when smoke started pouring from the vents. We're not talking a little smoke. We're talking major can't-breathe-gray-smoke. We pulled over on Jefferson, hopped out and called my dad. The car was towed and turns out the defroster had caught on fire. What I don't get is why did the defroster catch fire IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SUMMER!? Yeah. I don't buy it but that's what we were told.

So, I get a bad rap for cars and then this happens. This was not my fault. Clearly though someone has to be blamed and it all clicked for me. Jars of Clay. This may sound like a stretch but stick with me. I was rocking out. Bass turned all the way up. Thumping to "Flood" rattling it all around in there. It's a cheap GrandAm (sorry if you own one. It was a 93 so it's old.). Things are going to move. They got the wires all jumbled and shaken up. That's the only thing I can think of. It all makes sense now...okay. It doesn't. That's weak I guess. But still. How could that be my fault? In my defense, I've not had a wreck or fender bender since 2002 in my new VW Beetle. I think I've matured...and gotten to be a better driver just maybe.

Just to back up my theory, here's the totally 90's tastic video clip of the song. Imagine the base. Oh that 90's hair and clothes.

Sunny Day, Sweepin' the Clouds Away

So the sunshine and cool temp today has me all excited because it's fall and my wedding anniversary is this week. I'm just a little giddy.

We woke up this morning to fighting cats (no surprise there) and brilliant sunshine. As I was drinking my coffee the Sesame Street song popped into my head. When I was a kid, I LOVED Sesame Street. In fact, there isn't a person I've met that hasn't seen this iconic show (if they live in the US that is). Its so hard to pick my favorite character. I think Snuffleupagus, then I change to Cookie Monster, then I change to Ernie, then Grover, then Slimy the worm (he didn't say much but I liked his colors), then Oscar the Grouch. I never really liked Elmo. He kind of annoyed me so I really don't get why he's such a big deal these days.

Anyway, I really like the little stories and the characters. The slightly scary thing is that I remember way to much about that show than I think I should. If they used whatever ninja tactics they used in Sesame Street, on me when I was in school, I would definitely have excelled at match, science, and maybe even gym. Yes. Gym. Here are some the bits I remember that are so inconsequential (big word!) I wish I could forget them and remember really important things like where I put my extra set of keys for the Saturn I just turned in.
Drumroll please....In no particular order...

• Mr. McFeely (wait. Nope. That's Mr. Rodgers)
• The story about the kid who's mom wants him to go to the store and buy a stick of butter, a container of milk, and a loaf of bread.
• Teeny Little Super Guy
• When the guy who ran the grocery store died (Mr. Hooper)
• When James Taylor sang on the show and I told everyone he and my dad were best friends
• When Gordon and what's her name when to an art museum
• When Gordon and Maria (that's her name!) got married
• Some bit where kids were playing in a park
• The Ladybugs picnic
• I dance myself to sleep
• "Waiter! There's a fly in my soup!"
• Something with a ballerina and eating cottage cheese? How random is that!
• Something with a little house and flowers. I have no idea.
• Near........Far.....
• Cookie!
• Ala Peanut Butter Sandwiches!
• 1. Ah Ah Ah 2. Ah ah ah
• Sesame Street Theater...something about a flower.

Okay, with all of this reminiscing, I'm off to watch the clips. I'm sure I'll remember more! What a genius show.








Ha ha ha! I was watching the Jelly Man Kelly and the kids woke up the cat! Awesome.

It's Hamm-ock Time!

Today may be the best hammock day yet. It's sunny, cool, and there are still leaves on the trees. In our yard, we have the best hammock trees. In fact, I'm slightly suspicious that those three trees were what made me like this house.

The trees make a triangle over a little patch of grass. They are big oak trees (I'm ashamed to say I think they are oak. My parents would be so disappointed.) that have a great canopy of leaves. When it's summer, they provide great shade and an amazing sound while the wind goes through the boughs. (Yes. I am in fact trying to redeem my lack of tree species with throwing in official kinds of words.) In the fall, they do the same but towards the end of the season they begin to drop and the sun warms your face and blinds your eyes. Not a win win scenario but I'm in the hammock so who cares!

I love the hammocks. They were a birthday present for my 30th from my husband. There are two of them and they are striped with a great color combination. If you've never laid in a hammock you should. Something happens. It's kinda like Narnia. Well, that may be a stretch. You definitly won't see Mr. Tumnus and if you do, you may need to get checked out. You just sink back, relax, and have no choice but to relax and feel comforted. This year hasn't had nearly enough hammock time.

When I was a teenager, my parents bought our first hammock. They live in the woods and have two great hammock trees just inside of the yard. Sometimes at night, I'd take a blanket out there with a pillow and just lay and relax. It always surprises me how hammocks have an instant relaxing effect. I'm not sure what it is about them that has that soothing effect. I can be stressed, upset, or exhausted and I'll get out feeling like I've woken up from the best nap in the world.

Mad Skillz

Okay I'm a slacker. Or rather, I've become one. I need to get back on this blogging soapbox. I've been to lazy to even say how I feel or what I remember. Oh well.

There's a quality I've discovered about myself that I'm sad to say I have grown to like. It's a skill that a "creative" person like me should not like. A skill that is really helpful but totally left brained. In fact, it verges really close to accounting and math (who am I kidding? It is math at least.). If you know me, those two things are nothing like me. In fact, the word math gives me hives. I've developed... mad Excell skillz. Now, you'll notice that skillz has a "z" because although I can do some fancy cell and spreadsheet footwork, my college statistics prof would still give me the abysmal grade he felt I deserved back in the day. And he'd be right. And yes, I did take statistics. And no, I did not do it of my own free will. Just like I didn't take Business Law of my own free will...but I digress.

This realization that I actually like getting stuck in a spreadsheet hit me a little while ago but I didn't want to own up to it until tonight. My husband MattyG and I were pouring over our finances. I had exported our bank statement as a csv file and was reorganizing and calculating like a wiz. I pulled out the random costs (does a vet really have to pay that much?), added up the meals we ate out (WAY too many), and tallied the regular expenses (XM is how much?!). I actually enjoyed it! Never mind the fact that the budget had a good result. I've also gotten like that in work. I used to get stuck in InDesign or Illustrator all day and months would go by without opening a Office program other than Entourage. No more my friend, no more. Now, a few days will go by before I open the beloved Adobe programs. It's a dark day. A dark day indeed. Now, where's that calendar? I need to get it color coded. (Sadly, I'm not kidding.)

Have you seen me? Missing: July to August

Maybe it's me and maybe it's just an "age" thing but I think I'm going crazy. I remember May. I remember June. I do not, however, remember July. I think I remember the beginning (something about an appendix followed by a trip to NYC and Dallas a week later). I just don't remember the middle to the end bit. That's the bit I'd like to remember. Maybe it's good I don't? Can someone tell me if it was okay? I'm guessing since I can't remember nothing monumental happened and the world is okay.

What I'd like to know is how does time go so fast? Last thing I knew, I was laying on the couch nursing a sore tummy from surgery and now, I'm in Dallas again (wasn't I JUST here?!) wondering how in the world it got to be August 19th. Not just any day. It's the flippin' end of the month almost. The end! What happened to the beginning? When I was in school, the summer seemed to fly by and the school year dragged on. They usually seemed adequate though in terms of time. Not like the lightening fast days of today (wow I sound old). Next thing you know I'll be saying how gas was only $1.12 when I was in high school and movies were only $5. Too late. It's been said.

****
On another note, today is my brother Andrew's 26th birthday. If you look back in my older posts (just before May 1, 2010), you'll see the story of my brother's passing and how he's no longer here. Age 7 to 26, he's been in heaven longer than he was here but he'll still be the same 7 year old twit I've always loved. Miss you Sharkboy! (At age 5 or 6, Andrew decided that he wanted to change his name. I think it's got a nice ring to it!)

If you fry it, they will come.

I realize it's been awhile since I've written. I've been thinking about it, but I've just not been inspired. I've also got a few books I want to write, but I've not had the time.

I sat down determined to write something tonight. I've started about 4 different entries and nothing seemed right. I started one about how I left my iPhone at work tonight and I feel lost without it. Bor-ring! I started one about this last weekend. Da-umb! Then it hit me! FRIED BUTTER! Yes. You read that right. Fried Butter.

My husband and I went to the Three River's Festival a few weeks ago. As we walked down the aptly named, "Junk Food Alley", we saw the traditional cotton candy, fried cheese, and other junk food glory all laden with gluten, sugar, and fat. As we rounded the corner, I saw one of the newest additions, Fried Candy Bars. These have been around for years now, but this booth had a little something extra. A few somethings actually. One was a Doughnut Burger. It consisted of 2 doughnuts with a burger in the middle. For only $0.50 you could add lettuce and tomato, and although I'm all for trying to make it healthy, that just sounded even worse than a burger on a doughnut. The final nail in someone's clogged artery coffin however was the fried butter.

Matt and I walked up closer assuming it was a typo or we were reading it wrong but no. Deep fried sweet cream butter. I overheard a rather rotund dude say to his buddies, "I tried that butter, man. It was amazing! You have to try it!" That was just before he was hauled off to the closest hospital. (Not really but I expected it.) How could that be good?! Admittedly, it's been ages since I've had real butter. The thing is, I never just ate it. It was always on bread or something. I rarely ever said, "Hmmm...I think I want butter." and then went to the refrigerator and took out a stick. 

I ventured up to take a closer look. Sitting in a grease laden paper boat were about 6 or 8 small dough-balls lightly fried and dusted with powdered sugar. They looked pretty innocent but I could not get over the fried butter. That's all it was. Butter. That's like eating a stick of butter let alone the butter that is in the batter. It was a moment that for once, I realized: people will eat anything if it is fried.  I'm a little afraid to see what's next. The mind reels with possibilities.

In NYC...the city that never sleeps

And here am I...never sleeping. Okay, okay. It is 10:30 and I went to bed about 10 but I've been up since 4:15 "not sleeping." At dinner I thought going to bed early was a great idea. Why is it though, that sometimes, your head hits the pillow and it's like you accidentally pushed the restart button? I was getting ready for bed and felt like I could sleep standing. Light's off, head hits pillow, and "HELLO! Did you order a "Second Wind" for one? We have it right here with a free side of 'Here's what you need to do instead of sleep'!" My travel partner is my mom. Her head hit the pillow and a few minutes later I hear her asleep just like I'd hoped. Even as I type, she's counting sheep. Me? I'm counting keystrokes.

Cooking became fun when I tried it.

Gluten Free Girl is at it again. A challenge. "When did cooking become fun?" Well, I'm not a huge cook lately, nor am I a professional trying to make my own recipes. But I think cooking became fun when I tried it. It was fun to create a recipe and have it turn out to the ooh's and ahh's of the table. So what if the Russian Borscht didn't turn out good. Is Borscht ever good?  When I tried to make a traditional English Roast Dinner though, that really knocked it out of the ball park. Bisto gravy included.

I went through a phase in my pre-teens where I wanted to go to Russia. I wanted to experience another culture. My parents took me to the library and I looked in the kids section for any cookbook that looked good. Yes. I was judging a book by it's cover. I chose Russian and my daring parents and 3 year-old brother allowed me to make it. They still tease me to this day. I can't remember what it ended up like and I remember most good meals. It was fun though. I was experiencing another culture from my little home in Grabill, Indiana.

When I returned from a year in Cardiff, Wales I missed the food. I bought a British cookbook and made the roast dinner. I've made many things from that cookbook. All great. Indian food. Great. It's the other cultures you can taste. That's what makes cooking fun. Experiencing other cultures or even celebrating our own with a homemade Thanksgiving meal. That meal, I'm happy to say, faired out far better than the Russian one.

I am woman hear me...wimper?

I don't like to think of myself as weak. In fact, I prefer to think of myself as invincible and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. In reality, I can't. I can barely jump up a few stairs in my house. Well, let me tell you, this last week was a struggle.

A week ago almost to the minute actually, I had my appendix removed. Stupid appendix. Who needs it? It succeeded in knocking me down all week and tomorrow, I'm to face the throngs of work for a day before going on a business trip. The thing it taught me was this: I'm human. Shocking, I know but I always thought I could do whatever I wanted or get whatever done that I needed to get done. Not so. Especially when you are wearing one of those darling hospital gowns that serve to flatter no one (my backside in particular). To be so vulnerable and tiny sucked. I couldn't get something to drink. I couldn't shower (no worries, as soon as I could, that was the first thing to happen!). I couldn't even sit up without that oh so comfortable hospital bed (and by comfortable I mean stiff as a board) that crinkled every time I moved. I even had jello for my first "meal". Lime jello no less. The anti-jello. I hate lime jello. Any flavor that is red is what I want.

Now here's the thing. I've never had surgery before besides having my tonsils removed so it was a learning experience. As a person with Celiac disease, I am used to having an endoscopy, waking up, falling asleep, and being fine. I expected this surgery to be the same. Wake up, fall asleep, be fine. No, these scars are actually scars, and there is a pain level on a scale of 1 to 10 associated with them. Right now, about a 2. At it's worse, at 10. Sometimes, the surgery pains were worse than the appendix pain when it was still attached. Stupid appendix. So this whole experience has led me to admit that I am not invincible. Especially if an organ the size of a worm can take me down for a week (gross right? organ. Not a fan of the word). Instead of roaring through the week, I whimpered feebly on the couch, bed, couch, bed, floor, and asked for water. Soaking up all of the sympathy until I felt sorry for the sympathizers.

This whole experience did lead me to one question though. Where is my appendix now? Was it thrown away in a trash heap? Poor appendix. It may have had to be removed from me but that seems a little uncalled for. We spent 31 years together. Least I could've had a moment to say good bye.

Ramblings of my former self

I went to save a document I started writing tonight and as I selected the save spot, I saw a number of folders and documents long forgotten. Books I had started to write ranging from short stories and poems, to kids books and novels. I found poems and prayers that showed God's faithfulness and encouraged me year's later. I also found old journal entries full of ramblings of a girl in her early twenties trying to figure out "life."

Wow. I'm glad I found these. It's really funny to see how strongly I felt or craved something. How anguished I was over a lost relationship that I laugh to think about now. Early entries wondering if my now husband was, "THE ONE" (he was/is, don't worry).

I used to keep a journal religiously in high school and college. I know exactly where they are right now too. They are in the guest room on the highest shelf above my wedding dress. (If anyone is curious, they have a secret alarm that will instantly trap you in a cage so consider yourself warned.) Part of me wants to read them like a novel and feel emotions of the 13 year-old Meghan up to just after living in Wales as a 25 year-old. What a life story! Oh the trials of a 16 year-old Meg frustrated by her first boyfriend. (the shame!) If I get the courage I may post one if only to make everyone laugh at me.

Sure I missed gaps here and there but it's pretty well documented. I remember journaling just before going to college my freshman year and trying to journal with my left arm since my right was broken. That's how dedicated I was to journaling. I've lost part of that. I need to go back. If only to laugh at my thoughts and assumptions about life, love and the pursuit of happiness (or boys, you pick).

Oh Jet Lag, We Meet Again (Or why you should go to Kauai)

I've become a pro at jet-lag. NOT getting it that is. Well, okay, I get it but not for long. Going to China 4 times in one year with a side of London, England will do that to a girl. However, I just returned from my vacation in Kauai and I have to say that this time, it is kicking my butt. I know I won't get pity, I just came from Kauai after all, but I'm trying to decipher where I went wrong. Here I am, at home, working (well, just finished) and it's 9:15pm. Why didn't I feel this awake when I was at work today?

Kauai was amazing. Matt and I went there for our honeymoon and when we got a lucky break at work we were able to go again. We read, relaxed, ate ice cream for dinner, went snorkeling, and ate way more food than we should have.  The temperature was great! I'm not normally into heat and stuff but the breeze made it perfect.

One of my favorite moments was, sadly, the second to last day. Towards the end of the day we went to Polihale State Park. It is at the end of the road all of the way to the west. There was an ominous sign saying that only 4-Wheel Drive vehicles were allowed (we had a rental car, does that count?). We'd received many warnings about how bumpy it was, not to get stuck, make it out there if its the last thing you do, blah, blah blah. So we did. Make it out there that is. We didn't get stuck. It was bumpy. Actually, that is an understatement. It was like driving on an oversized Cheeto. No joke. The dirt is reddish-orange, there were pot holes everywhere, and we were constantly dodging giant holes. Just imagine if a Cheeto was huge enough to drive on. That'd be a problem!

Poor Matt was driving and doing a far better job than I would do but I still felt the need to freak out (Sorry Matty). After 45 minutes on this giant Cheeto road we found the most amazing beach ever. It was the kind of beach that made you forget the ordeal it took to get there. It was quiet, with a gorgeous view. One end tapered off to where the island curved and the other end stopped abruptly at the beginning of the Napali coast where cliffs are ridiculously high and there isn't a way to get around it unless you go by boat.

We stepped up to the water and the temperature was perfect. It was bath water warm but NOT from the usual suspects. This is the ocean you know, not your neighbor's pool. The waves were gentle and the white sea foam created intricate patterns in the sand. The sun began to set and there wasn't a bird in the sky. It was a postcard picture of a beach in Hawaii.

It was the postcard picture that gave me this undeniable jet-lag. It was also worth it. How could it not be?

First thing I ever made...in an oven

There is this great blog called Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef. The "girl" is Gluten-Free like me! Well, on Twitter today, she challenged her followers to blog about the first thing they ever cooked as a kid. I said, "Biscuit Pizza's" but now that I truly think about it, it was something else entirely. I was five or six and alone with a baby-sitter. The Biscuit Pizza story was so interesting in my head as I wrote it. Now, I have to start over.

My brother, Andrew, was a baby. So, my parents, desperate for a night out, left us with our baby-sitter who shall remain nameless (fairly certain we are facebook friends). I decided that I was going to make a cake as a welcome home gift for my parents. Who knows where the sitter was. I got to work! I broke out my mom's "Better Homes & Gardens" red and white gingham cookbook (she still has it by the way) and chose what I thought would be the yummiest treat: Lemon Pudding Cake. I set my first grade self to work reading the ingredients, pretending how to measure, and making a masterpiece. I remember the baby-sitter coming in at some point. I think we baked it. The only thing I can remember is the taste. Oh my word was it bad. It tasted like pure salt! It was the grossest concoction known to man. I also remember the mess. It looked like a bomb exploded in the kitchen...just in time for mom and dad to waltz through the door.

Out of curiosity, I just went and pulled my own BH&G off of the counter. No Lemon Pudding Cake to be found. Maybe my version wasn't so bad after all. Maybe that cake was a bomb.

A little over here... a little over there...

As I created my first and only Twitter account (only because it kinda creeps me out and I'm not sure I'll keep it) I got sucked into immediately personalizing it. I spent my lunch break yesterday picking out a background pattern, couldn't find one, and then proceeded to do the same thing today.

As I looked at the patterns and colors I thought, "Is this what shows ME?" Who cares! It's Twitter. Here's the thing that struck me though: We are putting our "selves" out there on Facebook, on Twitter, on art pages, on blogs, on just about anything really. We then try to personalize it so we stick out from the masses. People put decals on their cars, skins on their laptops, photos on their blogs, all to show who we are or what we do. It's a little crazy. We have shared our "selves" with who knows how many people all in an attempt to say, "Hey! Hey! Look at me!" or whatever your purpose is (I admit I get a bit of the "Hey!" syndrome from time to time. I have a blog after all.) How much is too much though? Can it be too much? Where does the real you reside? Is it on Facebook or Twitter? I can't answer that for you but for me, I'm really starting to give it some thought. I'm also thinking about how much is too much and who sees what and where.

Banana Pancakes on the Brain

As life changes and evolves, so has my take on situations, things, people, and life in general. (I think that covers all of the bases.) When I named the blog, it's only purpose was to be cute. But, in life, sometimes you get great things (pistachio ice cream), some times you get bad things (mashed parnips, remember, I only like mine roasted). All in all though, it always seems to end up okay and for the best. That has been shown to me more and more lately.

I'm leaving for Hawaii on Saturday. Something I can't wait to do. MattyG and I are going to Kauai where we had our honeymoon. Life's gotten slightly simpler since we got married and so I'm excited to really get away and relax for probably the first time since we got married. Loving the idea. We're going to go mountain tubing, snorkeling, lay on the beach, read, eat Banana Pancakes (well, Matt will. I've yet to decide how to handle that impending gluten-fest), and Hawaiian shave ice. I can't wait.

Now, Fort Wayne is NOT a bustling city that you need to escape from but escaping wherever you are is good once and awhile. And before you get any crazy ideas, we are having housesitters so no keggers. :)

Now, off to work and listen to Jack Johnson while I envision eating fresh pineapple on a beach.

Room with a window seat

When I was a little girl, I always wanted a room that had one of those half-circle turret thingys. It would have a window seat that lifted up to show rows upon rows of hidden books. The seat would have a soft cusion (that is always pink in my mind for whatever reason) and perfect with a round window at just the right height so I could peek out and look at the people and trees as I read.

I never got that window seat. Or any window seat for that matter. But I still want one. There was a book I read as a kid called, "Betsy, Tacy, and Tibs." Tibs or Betsy (I can't remember now, it might have been Betsy) had a window seat and she would read for hours on that seat. She also wrote little stories that she kept in a tin under the seat and hoped to get published someday. I wanted to be like her. I wanted to write stories. There were a whole series of books on Betsy, Tacy, and Tibs. Their names always confused me though. Who would name their daughter Tacy? Tibs was short for something but surely there was a cuter nickname!

Monsters Under the Bed

When my brother, Andrew, was about 5 or 6, he was afraid to go to bed one night. He was afraid of being alone. When my dad asked him why, he said it was because of the monsters under his bed. To which my dad replied, "Andrew, there are no monsters under your bed." This greatly confused my brother. He said something that I thought about today. He said, "Well. Adults need to tell kids this then because if no one tells us, how are we supposed to know? Kids are scared of monsters under their beds and they wouldn't be if adults told them."
So true. How are we supposed to know if people don't tell us? I always expect to know the RIGHT answers...which I don't (don't tell anyone). How am I supposed to know if someone doesn't tell me? It's so funny. What level of it though is arrogance and what level is finding out for yourself? If Andrew had crawled under his bed and looked, he would've known there wasn't a monster under his bed. No Mike Wasowski to scare him and bring up his quota of screams. Just sayin'. If people don't tell you, and you don't try to find the answer, how are you supposed to know?

How?

I'm not sure how I've let so much time lapse since my last entry. Time is something that seems to either fly by or creep slower than a snail. It seems like I am still just out of college but no. Time has flown and I have officially been out 9 years. How the heck has that happened? It makes sense but I'm not sure how. I graduated from Anderson University in 2001. Now, I'm horrible at math but that makes 9 years I'm fairly certain.

When I was a kid, I felt like time took forever! Now, as an adult, it seems like it flys by. I don't have kids yet but I can imagine that once they appear, it will go even quicker.

None of this is news I realize but once and a great while it really surprises me how fast it all goes by.