Discovering Me

The Mask

2012-03-09T17:24:00.002-07:00

On Sunday morning I was driving the final stretch to church. I was running a few minutes later than I had hoped. As I impatiently followed behind three other vehicles ascending a hill my mind skipped ahead to the stoplight which would soon come into view. My eyes flicked to the clock on my dashboard as I estimated how long it would take to wait at the light and what time I would get to church. Someone on the sidewalk to my right caught my attention. At first I thought he was waving to the cars and then I realized something really odd was happening. This person was riding their bike down the hill wearing a mask, helmet and sunglasses and adamantly waving his middle finger at all of the drivers in sight.

I think my jaw might have dropped and I’m sure my eyes were incredulous. It only took a few seconds for the shock to turn to rage. Had I wanted to I would have time to swerve from the line of traffic and make a beeline for the sidewalk. I would have surely sacrificed my front tires but I could have scared the crap out of the bird-flipping cyclist. There were was only one problem: I had nothing to hide behind. Everyone would have seen what I did. Someone would have gotten a partial plate number and I could imagine the police tapping my shoulder during Sacrament Meeting, “Um, Miss, can we talk you? We noticed your wrecked RAV4 outside.” There was no guaranteed escape in the end but I think what made me furious was there was no provocation in the first place.

In all of three seconds I had gone from having a normal morning to contemplating attempted vehicular manslaughter. (My oh my how quickly things can change!) Luckily I stayed in line with the rest of the cars and stayed true to who I was. I wondered what on earth could have set off the cyclist as I seethed, “Cowards wear masks.” I looked up at the hill and thought it was ironic it was the same hill where Bridgett had been hit by a car in December. She had been coming down the hill on her bike on the other side of the road. Why did the masked bandit make it down safely when she could not? It didn’t seem fair.

The brief experience made for an interesting story at church. I told a few people about it but for the life of me I can’t remember who they were. I was ready to forget the whole thing when I sat down to watch the CES Fireside at 6 pm that night. Imagine my shock when Elder Quentin L. Cook said this six minutes into his talk, “There will be great pressure on each of you to act out of character - to even wear a mask and become someone who doesn’t really reflect who you are or who you want to be.”

You know that eerie feeling you get when you feel like someone has just read your mind? That was how I felt on Sunday! The timing was uncanny. “Mask” became the word of the day as I listened to Elder Cook say each of the following quotes:

“I do believe in our day when being anonymous is easier than ever that there are important principles involved in not wearing a mask and being true to the faith for which martyrs have perished.”

“One of your greatest protections against making bad choices is to not put on any mask of anonymity. If you ever find yourself wanting to do so please know that it is a serious sign of danger and one of the adversary’s tools to get to you to do something you should not do.”

“As you attempt to act your part and identify [Christlike] attributes you wish to develop you’ll want to list and study passages of scripture that teach about the attributes. Set goals and make plans to apply the attributes in your life and pray for the Lord to help you develop the attributes. In doing this you must not put on a mask and hide your true identity.”

“As you move towards marriage you must not wear any masks that hide inappropriate conduct that will be detrimental to you or your marriage.”

“Any use of the internet to bully, destroy reputation, or place a person in bad light is reprehensible. What we are seeing in society is that when people wear the mask of anonymity they are more likely to engage in this kind of conduct which is so destructive of civil discourse. It also violates the basic principles the Savior taught.”

“The righteous need not masks to hide their identity.”

“[I] pray that you will act well your part as you avoid wearing a mask, acting in accordance with your true identity, set appropriate goals and build the country and community where you live."

Pretty crazy, right? I was floored by the message and the immediate relevance it had to my experience that morning. I thought about all of the cheap shots anonymous commenters take at each other on one of my favorite news websites. I remembered Elder Bednar’s warning against becoming steeped in interactive computer games which offer the social crutch of an avatar. I wondered if there was ever a good reason to wear a mask.

I had just been listening to “The Phantom of the Opera” soundtrack the night before (another crazy coincidence) and I thought about his dependence on his mask. The Phantom wanted to be seen as a ghost. He had an immense gift for music but his naturally deformed face and the cruel treatment he received drove him underground. He set his sights on Christine Daaé and shepherded her to vocal stardom all the while scheming to keep her trapped with him forever. He had no qualms about murdering people who got in his way. While pleading for her fiancé’s life she was able to look the Phantom right in his unmasked eyes and kiss him. No one really knows her thought process (pure deception? a little bit of Stockholm Syndrome? true love?) but the Phantom found it in himself to let her go. Whether he destroyed himself moments later or lived the rest of his life in cloaked secrecy is unknown.

Contrasted with the timeless tale of Phantom of the Opera is the true story of Charla Nash. On February 16, 2009, Charla was attacked by her friend’s pet chimpanzee. She lost her hands, nose, lips and eyelids in the brutal mauling. Three years later she has undergone two hand transplants, a face transplant and countless other surgeries. Months ago I saw a picture of her on Oprah with a veiled hat. I was thrilled to read her latest update and see a recent video which gave me so much hope. Despite everything that’s happened she knows he has something to live for. I couldn’t be more grateful for the example she is setting for her 20-year-old daughter. She is absolutely one of my heroes.

In the end I’m very glad I didn’t act out of character (or illegally) when the mystery cyclist flipped me the bird on Sunday. He was probably just having a bad day. I’m very grateful for church leaders who constantly point me in the right direction and encourage me to reflect on the small things which would otherwise seem insignificant. Sunday’s fireside helped me see that my greatest heroes don’t need masks.

Back to Reality

2012-02-29T17:47:00.005-07:00

When I woke up on Saturday morning I should have jumped out of bed in excitement but I had a hard time shaking off my Friday night coma. I stayed in bed for a few minutes trying to figure out what I was going to wear. I needed to be warm, comfortable, “upscale and hip.” It was hard to put a finger on those last two requirements which had been emailed by On-Camera Audiences, Inc. Luckily they sent us a whole sheet of rules to help us figure it out: no jeans, sweats, sweatshirts, hoodies, t-shirts, all white shirts, logos of any kind, opened-toe shoes or heels taller than one inch. In short, “When you look great, the show looks great!”

Despite my best efforts I ended up wearing something I would wear to church. I didn’t have the patience to dry my hair so I just put it up in a bun. At 10:30 am my roommate and I began our trip to the Capitol Theater to watch the “So You Think You Can Dance?” Season 9 auditions. We had four tickets to the 1:30 pm taping. Our first stop was to pick up Liesl. Once we got to the city we found a prime parking spot and had breakfast at Bruges Waffles and Frites. The weather was definitely not as nice as it had been the week prior for Stella’s wedding. Although it wasn’t snowing it wasn’t nearly nice enough to go on an extended stroll downtown. We left Bruges and decided to park across the street from the Capitol Theater in order to minimize walking. Even though it was only 12:30 the events staff was kind enough to let us in. (I got nervous just seeing dancers parked on the curb outside!)

The lady in charge of the door allowed us to stay in the atrium just outside of the lobby. We were the first people to arrive for the 1:30 taping which sort of surprised us but most of all we were relieved we could stay inside. Two more couples arrived right after us and got the low-down from the events staff. We exchanged pleasantries as we watched all of the commotion in the lobby. We could see contestants exiting the auditorium (including one guy who had to exit the auditorium yelling “I’m going to Vegas!” four different times), contestants being interviewed with their parents and spouses (we were totally in the shot) and the occasional film crew capturing the arrival or departure of a contestant. The observations were fascinating. By far the highlight was spotting occasional glimpses of Cat Deeley interviewing contestants on the balcony of the lobby.

As the excitement built other audience members began pouring into the atrium. We were warned multiple times that we were making too much noise and the boom mics in the lobby were picking us up. Finally the place got too crowded and our friend in charge of the door called our group over. She marked our ticket voucher with a series of letters and told us to come back at 1:30. She did the same for the four people who had arrived right after us. Everyone was dismissed and the seven of us felt very lucky to have the next best thing to a golden ticket.

With 45 minutes to kill and a brutal wind to avoid we set out for a bookstore a few blocks north. After a lot of hooting and hollering (aka me whining loudly) we made it to the bookstore. Liesl’s sister met us there and we told her all about what we had seen thus far at the theater. When it was finally time to return to the theater it seemed a bit warmer outside but that could have just been my improved mood affecting my perception of the temperature. Upon our return to the theater we saw a massive line of people outside. I handed the signed ticket voucher to my roommate and the four of us walked right up to the front door, dirty looks be darned! We recognized the door lady from before and she put us in front of our four friends (whom we were glad to see) and behind a group of girls who were there to see their dance teacher audition. Everyone else looked quite bewildered.

When the door opened and it was time for us to go through the security screening I got some serious jitters! There were camera people on either side of the lobby filming contestant as they warmed up and there was a camera person right in the middle of the lobby filming the audience members. Scary! Still, it was fascinating. We entered the auditorium and we seated two rows behind the contestants’ reserved seats. After getting a few more instructions from a producer the judges came in. We didn’t know which three judges we got but in my opinion we had the best combination: Nigel Lythgoe, Mary Murphy and Adam Shankman. Liesl and I had the distinct feeling we had walked right through our television screen and it was weird! I loved the fact that I could look around at whatever was going on. The only problem I had was not being able to hear a lot of the conversation between the judges and the contestants on stage.

We tried to guess how long the auditions would be. Based on the number of contestants sitting in front of us I figured it would take about… “OH MY GOSH THAT’S ROBERT!!!” Robert Roldan was one of my favorite dancers from Season 7. We weren’t quite sure what he was doing there but it turned out he was there to teach the contestants during the choreography round. Every time he walked up or down the aisle near us I either missed him completely or just chickened out of addressing him. As the next four hours unfolded we saw contestants of many skill levels. Only four people received tickets to Vegas (the next official round of competition). Everyone else was told to go home or stay for choreography (a little something I like to call “Sudden Death”). I definitely gained a level of respect for the judges. They spent a lot of time with contestants and they were never out to humiliate anyone. Even if the audience was bored to tears at times I felt like the judges were doing their best to make sure the contestants left with useful critiques.

By 6 pm the solo auditions wrapped up and Robert and Courtney hopped on stage to teach a routine to the remaining dancers. It was very difficult. While I really wanted to stay and see how it all played out, I was genuinely drained and on the verge of starvation. We had spotted a German delicatessen on our way back to the theater and we all agreed it would be the perfect place since Liesl was born in Germany and she’d be returning for Study Abroad this summer. Liesl and her sister help us navigate the menu and I opted for “Goulash with Spaetzle.” It was truly the best thing ever. We marveled at everything we had seen. We wondered if we’d be able to spot ourselves during the audition episode which will air this summer. We speculated if anyone we had seen would make it into the top group this year. More than anything we felt heartily cultured and wildly famous – at least for one day.

Brink

2012-02-23T22:53:00.002-07:00

We're on the edge
We're on the brink
Don't stop to think
Don't stop to think

Been searching for a while
Been looking for so long
If it were right in front of me
Would I know if it was wrong?

Blinded by what I want
Deafened by what I need
My crossed eyes can't make sense
Of anything I read

The storm comes rumbling
And rips down my house
The sun hovers smiling
And fades out my blouse

What if this is it?
This is what I seek
Could something so plain
Really be unique?

We're on the edge
We're on the brink
Don't stop to think
Don't stop to think

Dim Gym

2012-02-14T17:29:00.002-07:00

Last Thursday I decided to exercise my gym-wandering privilege and visit a different gym than the one I normally go to. My friend had told me how much she enjoyed doing Cardio Cinema at this particular location and watching a movie while running sounded quite appealing that night. When I walked into the gym I was surprised how quiet it was. The place I normally go to is one of the largest in the state (if not country) and it is always packed with people causing quite a ruckus. This gym was laid out so differently that I had to ask for directions to the locker room. If I hadn’t been so embarrassed I would have also asked for directions to the drinking fountain.

After I changed clothes I noticed a black tinted glass door labeled “Cardio Cinema.” I was like, "Oh boy, here we go!" I walked in expecting something much different (and less stifling) than the small room with three rows of cardio machines packed in for the ultimate sauna effect. I was like “Huh?!” but I rolled with it. Luckily there was a treadmill available so I jumped on and put my empty water bottle in its rightful holder. The room was super dark but I stumbled upon the right button and got the thing going. When I looked up from the control panel I had the strange sensation I typically get when I’m standing on the shoreline facing the ocean and looking at my feet as the waves recede. Do you know the feeling? It’s trippy. In the Cardio Cinema room I felt like we were all on some kind of boat and we were paddling the heck out of it but not actually going anywhere.

They were playing a movie I had never seen before. It was a suspenseful action flick with lots of chase scenes culminating in a fight-to-the death showdown in the main character’s home. Thanks to the constant action I didn’t succumb to the heat in the room although I often cursed my empty water bottle and stared at the ceiling wondering why the designers didn’t include a ceiling fan or two. The only real problem I had was “countering” what was happening on screen. If a character ran from the left side of the screen to the right side of the screen I countered the movement by gradually wandering off the left side of the treadmill. After a few close calls I decided to switch to an elliptical machine. They are very hard to fall off of but let me tell you one thing: they are hard to start in the dark!

All in all my first Cardio Cinema experience was very positive. I got to combine something I never dare to do outside (run in the dark) and something I love to do (watch movies). Little did I know I’d be doing some more dim gym wandering in the very near future.

Last night my ward had a very interesting pre-Valentine’s Day activity. We were told there would be appetizers and desserts and that was all we knew. The second I walked into the brightly-lit gym I should have recognized the speed dating table configuration but the reality of the situation eluded me until I got a good look at the questions carefully taped at each place setting. My first reaction was to run away but my trusty friends helped me be a little courageous. Lo and behold people stayed and the Activities Committee pulled off a really fun speed dating activity. I was so keyed up when it was over I ran around protecting the helium-filled balloons from a certain knife-wielder (you know who you are) and was happy to join my friends dancing by the stereo. One friend mentioned a big dance in south P-town. After a little coaxing/convincing/teasing five of us girls set out for the dance with spontaneity on our side.

I once again found myself in a dim gym. I don’t know about you but for me the first 10-15 minutes of dancing is incredibly difficult. I worry about people watching me (though some may say that’s the whole point) and my feet tend to feel glued to the floor. Of course, unfamiliar music never helps the situation. This particular dance had a strong Latin vibe and after observing from a safe distance my friends and I joined the crowd. I tried to channel my Hispanic heritage but these hips don’t lie: I have no rhythm! (Okay maybe I have rhythm but it is something I have to push out of mind or else I get all tripped up.) I had to throw caution to the wind and just go with it. At least in this particular dim gym there was no risk of falling off a treadmill.

Dancing became easier and more cathartic as the night went on. The only problem was the heat. Again I found myself scanning the room for fans. The best moments were when a familiar song was so engaging I forgot the heat and the sweat and the fact that it was only Monday. I was with wonderful friends and plenty of fun strangers. Everyone was respectful of everyone else’s space (except for the occasional in-your-face dance-off) and there was no shortage of friendly guys asking us to dance. The night peaked (perfect song, perfect crowd, perfect person-to-gym ratio, perfect everything) and when the moment passed I scrambled to recreate it. The only problem is that when you’re desperate for all of the elements to combine again you’ll always be missing one key element: surprise.

I can never tell what a particular weeknight will have in store for me. Perhaps it will involve avoiding collisions with characters that appear to leap off the screen. Perhaps it will lead me on a constant search for water. Better yet it can drop me off in the middle of south P-town with a pack of trusted companions, a rocking beat and a flexible curfew. Last night found me floating above a floor I had previously felt glued to. As I stared at my bedroom ceiling well after midnight last night trying to process all of the crazy things that had happened in the past five hours I learned a few things: Mondays can be just like Fridays, strangers can be my new best friends, and familiar faces can still melt my heart.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

Home is...

2012-02-02T17:00:00.007-07:00

Eggshells in the sink
Dust on the mantle
Rain in the window
Backpacks on the floor

Mail on the table
Bills on the desk
Cookies on the counter
Milk in the door

Cracks in the paint
Splinters in the deck
Floorboards that creak
Faucets that leak

Skylights in the ceiling
Cats on the lawn
Clothes in the drawer
Fish in the pond

Pictures on the shelf
Cars in the driveway
Blankets on the couch
Sawdust in the garage

Tools on the bench
Thread in the needle
Laughter in the room
A feeling in the air

.….

Home doesn’t have to be a stunning multi-page spread from an interior design magazine. It can also be the little messes and tangible reminders that remind you that there are living, breathing people inside. Sure, the furniture and paint make everything look pretty but for a home to be beautiful there has to be love. This love can start with one person and spread to a second and a third as a family grows.

Our homes evolve with our lives. Sometimes they are full, sometimes they are empty. As I have grown up and lived on my own for several years I have sought to make my place in P-town “home.” It’s full of my own furniture, clothes, and souvenirs. While I love time by myself I must admit I am happiest when my place is full of friends. I am reminded that my friends are my family and, at least for now, this is home.

Pinterest Projects

2012-01-17T17:01:00.008-07:00

Have you ever been looking for something online (the perfect new jeans, a place to travel, paintings for your wall, a bridal shower gift, etc.) and come up with a whole list of possibilities? Maybe you added each website to your Favorite Places, or copied and pasted them into a Word document. Or, if you’re like me, you put the URL’s into an Excel spreadsheet along with store name, price and estimated sales tax. (Details!) Sure, you can applaud yourself for organization but constantly opening a documents and clicking links with no visual reference gets a little tedious. (I’ve also tried copying and pasting photos of potential items into a Word document but the formatting tends to get really messy.) Wouldn’t it be better to have an easily-referenced, environmentally-friendly, smart phone-compatible, completely visual option? There is!

Pinterest is an online “virtual pinboard” for any project you could ever dream of. When you see an image you like (whether on Pinterest or anywhere else on the web) you simply “pin it” to your board of choice. (If you want to swipe someone else’s pin, feel free! “Repinning” is highly encouraged.) When you go back to your board you can simply click on the pin, click on the image and be sent to the original URL. It’s as easy as that! You can have as many different boards as you like and they can be as silly or as serious as you want. If you see a pin on Pinterest that you’re fond of but you don’t really have a place for, you can “like” it and it will be added to your Likes page for easy reference. As for my boards they range from anything that makes me laugh to images that really get me thinking. I pin things I want to buy, skills I want to learn, styles I want to emulate, and ideas that might come in handy someday.

If you allow it, Pinterest will search through your Facebook friends and set you up to “follow” them. This means your homepage will be comprised all the pins (from newest to oldest) that your friends have recently pinned. If you get tired of one of their boards you can go to the board and click “Unfollow” at any time. Pinterest will also set you up to follow some of the most popular pinners (including Pinterest co-founders) who have the same interests as you.

I’m fairly new on Pinterest but I have had some really good times trying out of the tutorials I found on the site. Here is my first round of Pinterest projects.

DIY Scarf Tutorial

Source: shwinandshwin.blogspot.com via Laura on Pinterest

I saw this scarf and immediately thought, “I can do that!” I bought a cheap t-shirt at Forever 21 and went to town following the tutorial. It turned into a mini disaster. I worked on it for almost two hours but I still had a blast sitting on my living room floor watching Terra Nova. My suggestions for future success: use a thick t-shirt (mine was super thin) and don’t use a white t-shirt (mine looked like sad bedsheet strips tied together before I took it all apart and fashioned it into a laughable nautical-themed braided “scarf”).

Cost: Approx $7

Time: If done right it should be fairly quick

Video Tutorial: How to transfer a photo to a wood block

Source: youtube.com via Debra on Pinterest

I was so excited to try this tutorial. I found inexpensive 12”x12” pieces of craft plywood at Robert’s. I read in the comments section of the video that you only really needed Gel Medium (made by Liquitex) so I saved a little money because I didn’t buy Mod Podge. I spent $3 to have my picture of choice enlarged at Costco. I tried the tutorial twice (once with a photography and once with a photocopy), failed miserably both times, and gave up.

Cost: Approx $15

Time: Unknown

DIY Ear Warmers

Source: prudentbaby.com via Lora on Pinterest

After my photo transfer failure I was worried the rest of my Pinterest project attempts would be doomed. Leah and I agreed to work on this ear warmers project at her house. I was excited to buy fleece and buttons since they were on sale. Leah showed me how to use her rotary cutter and cutting mat (now on my “must have list”) and I got acquainted with her sewing machine (I need one of those too). Three hours later I had my first ear warmer headband completed. I was elated with the result. On subsequent visits to Leah’s house I made four more (for gifts) and got quicker each time.

Cost: Approx $5 each

Time: About one hour each (once you’re warmed up)

Galaxy Nails Tutorial

Source: letthemhavepolish.com via Allie on Pinterest

I had no idea there were entire blogs dedicated to nail polish. Considering I have loved nail polish since seventh grade this was a very fun find. I had seen several instructions for “Galaxy Nails” and since I had lots of a colors and a foam paintbrush at my disposal, I went for it.

Here are the colors I used and my final result:

Cost: $0 (I already had all of the nail polish. My favorite brand, Nicole by OPI, costs about $8 at Target)

Time: About 30 minutes

White Floral Wreath

Source: domestifluff.com via Crystal on Pinterest

When I saw this pin I knew I had to try it. I had to buy the felt (the tutorial called for way too much – you only need ½ or ¾ yard), the Styrofoam ring and the push pins. I decided to get fancy so I also bought light blue sparkly tulle to add a frosty effect and spray adhesive in order to add translucent glitter which I already had. The most time-consuming part of the project was cutting out the felt circles. The most frustrating part was trying to fashion long strips of uncooperative tulle into five flowers for an accent. Now I know better than to try to follow this homemade wreath tutorial.

Cost: Approx $23 (I also bought a wreath hook for my door)

Time: About 2.5 hours (while watching TV)

Scrabble Tile Coasters

Source: danimariedesigns.blogspot.com via Beth on Pinterest

I fell in love with this project when I saw it but it took me some time to figure out who I could make it for. When it hit me I got really excited and ordered a set of Scrabble letters on Amazon. (If you are going to try to make this project I suggest saving some money and searching for used Scrabble games for sale.) The next step was hitting three different craft stores (so I could use three different coupons) to buy the cork, exacto knife, paint brush, wood stain marker pen, wood finish and wood glue. After I stained the name letters and let them dry I had a blast arranging the 5x5 design on each coaster to spell out hidden words. The tutorial warned against accidentally spelling swear words but after double- and triple-checking I was confident I was ready to glue the letters onto the cork. The result? A fun, personalized coaster for everyone!

Cost: Let’s just say it was pricey

Time: About 2 hours

…..

All in all I hope this was a helpful introduction to Pinterest. I have had a lot of fun on the site and now that I have a quick and easy way to organize visual information and ideas I can’t wait until it’s time to plan my next big vacation or redecorate my home. Just let me know if you need one of those elusive email invites in order to join. Happy Pinning!

Winter of Will

2012-01-06T00:10:00.001-07:00

Thanks to a long and lavish Christmas break I have some extra work to do at the gym. After a few hours’ debate I pulled myself off the couch, changed into my workout clothes and headed out. Tonight’s gym visit required a little more brain power than normal (I had to figure out how to work the brand new treadmill) but it was well worth it. Perhaps I spent too much time decoding the fancy control panel on the treadmill. By the time I got back into the locker room and stood in front of my locker I had completely forgotten the combination to my lock.

I bought the lock in 2009 for my trip to Brazil and I keep a copy of the combination in a hiding spot in my closet. I could have sworn the three numbers in my combination were 2, 6 and 36. I tried every arrangement of those numbers before forcing myself to step back, sit down and think again. Maybe it was 2, 6, and 32. After several failed attempts I started thinking of ways to contact my roommate so she could go into my closet, find the combination and read it to me. Since we are in a most fantastic age of cell phones I only have two phone numbers memorized: my dad’s cell number and my home phone number in California. The only thing I could think of was asking the staff members at the front desk if I could use their phone to call my mom and then asking her to email my roommate and having my roommate call the gym. I stopped myself short when I realized they probably wouldn’t allow me to dial a long distance number.

Convinced I was going to have to ask a staff member to cut my lock off I knew I only had once choice. I had to clear my thoughts of all possible combinations and wait for the image of the written combination to pop into my head. I tore my eyes away from the word “Master” engraved on the lock. Consciously steering my mind away from the thing I needed most led me on a hopscotch-like tangent of number-free contemplations. Just as I was delving into a random idea free of any useful purpose a combination came to mind. I thought for sure I had already tried it but I reached for the lock one more time. After turning the dial for the third time I pulled down on the lock and POP! It opened. I was very happy to leave the locker room and everyone who had seen me staring at the lock hopelessly.

I walked out to the parking lot with my trusty Master lock in hand and a line from “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley came to mind: “I am the master of my fate/I am the captain of my soul.” I was happy that the little lock had forced me to stop and really think, “Who’s in charge here?” I had to either remember a short combination of numbers or find someone to bail me out of a frustrating situation. Luckily the numbers finally hit me and although I might have spent 5 or 10 extra minutes in the locker room I still exercised a bit of willpower by going to the gym in the first place.

Sometimes I feel like will is a muscle that needs to be strengthened into a rock hard form and other times I feel like it needs to be stretched and tenderized. There are many things I want this year (heck, I feel like I have the whole year planned out!) but I know it will be a balancing act between my will and God’s. I want to push myself to accomplish more but I want to do it for the right reasons. In all, I want the will to wait, try, learn, sacrifice, and be present for others. You could call these my New Year’s Resolutions.

Willing to Wait

All good things come to those who wait, right? Let’s hope so! There are certain things about my life that I wish I could change but when things don’t go according to my plan I want to have more patience and wait for “the right time.” However I will be mindful of the words of George Jackson, “Patience has its limits. Take it too far, and it’s cowardice.”

Willing to Try

“Make voyages. Attempt them. There is nothing else.” Tennessee Williams

When I was younger I was a big chicken. I always felt too scared to try out for soccer teams, too scared to audition for plays, etc. This year I would like to put myself out there (not in a dating sense, more in a “try new things” sense) and reach for greater things. (Yes, I’m purposefully being vague. If things go well I’ll blog about it, trust me.)

Willing to Learn

“The greatest intellectual capacities are only found in connection with a vehement and passionate will.” Arthur Schopenhauer

I want to look back in 12 months and think of all the things I learned. Life lessons can be painful but I hope to learn lots of enjoyable things along the way.

Willing to Sacrifice

I enjoy Christmas’s glad tidings of the birth of the Savior but in all honesty I prefer to consider Easter Sunday’s reminder of Christ’s sacrifice. Matthew 26:39 tells of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, “And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.” A few verses later Jesus asks the disciples to stay awake and keep watch while he is in the garden, “Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak,” (Matthew 26:41). Jesus Christ made the ultimate sacrifice and I would like to give something back. I think being more watchful and prayerful would be a good start for me.

Willing to Be Present

“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” Theodore Roosevelt

I have a lot of dreams but I can’t neglect the present. Someday, somehow a few of my dreams might come true. In the meantime I have to work with what I already have. I want to be available for my friends and family. Above all else I need to resist the urge to escape reality.

I really hope your new year is starting off strong. I hope mine will have more focus now that I’ve put all of this into words. While daydreaming might not always be the most productive activity, sometimes it can bring to mind a most important fact or idea (or in my case a combination). I hope the numbers line up for you this year and things fall into place. If you find yourself reeling from a failed attempt at a new endeavor just remember these words from Winston Churchill, “In war, as in life, it is often necessary, when some cherished scheme has failed, to take up the best alternative open, and if so, it is folly not to work for it with all your might.”

The Year in Review

2011-12-25T20:22:00.007-07:00

New Year's Eve came and went
and brought January in tow
It was a cold month as usual
but I had fun in the snow

February brought Valentine's Day
but Cupid didn't shoot me
Instead I had a Girls' Night
and enjoyed the company

March was really great
I went to Washington D.C.
I got to see my friend Jane
and take a bus to NYC

April soon bounced my way
and the year picked up its pace
I spent Easter with the Ernsts
and prepared to run The Human Race

In May things warmed up
and unearthed beautiful tulips
I ran my very first 10k
and dreamed of tropical trips

June brought a business trip
and some good summer fun
I played some stake volleyball
and went on several runs

I took a roadtrip in July
Stella and I split the driving
We saw Mt. Rushmore in SD
and Yellowstone in Wyoming

In August I met a miracle:
My niece ("Lil Miss Jay")
I visited her in California
and couldn't tear myself away

September, can I remember
what I did in September?
I scored two goals in soccer!
Yeah, that's all I remember

October was crazy, like super insane
I turned 28, ran 13.1,
became a zombie, and ate a brain
Boy was I glad when it was all done!

November means turkeys
and turkeys mean stuffing
I ate everything in sight
and joined Gold's to prevent puffing

On a more serious note
I was blessed to see
Two friends get married
and my dad post-surgery

December was so much fun
and brought the year to a close
Have a very Merry Christmas
and let me know how 2012 goes!

Burden

2011-12-15T00:18:00.002-07:00

Tonight I descended a hill and was surprised to see a veritable barricade of fire trucks and police cars come into view. They had taken over more than half of the road and I had to carefully navigate around two firemen who were conversing in the middle of the road. As I passed them I glanced toward the side of the road they were protecting and I saw a crumpled bicycle. It was white and the once perfectly formed rims looked they had been in the hands of a giant. The handlebar tape was still tightly wound and the paint on the bike frame betrayed no sign of distress. The surface of the bike was smooth and shiny enough to draw the eye. The form of the bike was destroyed. I thought to myself, “Tonight someone’s life has changed forever.” I could not tell if the driver was present or where the cyclist had been taken. The possibility that a moment of inattention or carelessness could cost someone their life or damage their body permanently jarred my steady mind and sent it searching for empathy for someone I had never seen and probably will never meet.

A few hours later I was at the theater to see my friend Scarlett perform in a musical version “A Christmas Carol.” The only version of the story I’ve ever seen is “The Muppet Christmas Carol” (1992) which I watched once as a nine-year-old in the movie theater, once or twice on video and then once two weeks ago. If it hadn’t been for the recent review I probably would have been a bit lost as the wrath of Ebenezer Scrooge coursed its way through well-wishers and do-gooders. Each person he scorned was momentarily surprised by his behavior but they continued about their business and settled in for another warm albeit chilly Christmas Eve. Scrooge closed up shop and made his way home after deriding his employee, Bob Cratchit, for requesting Christmas Day off.

As soon as Scrooge’s front door came into view his night of visions and wonders began. He thought he saw his deceased business partner’s face in the familiar brass knocker. He wrote it off. A short time later, after changing into his nightclothes, he spotted that same familiar face in a dark corner of this room. The vision was accompanied by what must surely be an auditory hallucination – the scratchy voice of Jacob Marley and a terrible rattling chain dragging along Scrooge’s cold floor. As Marley’s body came into view his death-white face and choking chain caused Scrooge to laugh in disbelief and attribute the strange vision to indigestion. Marley would not be ignored. Scrooge glanced at Marley’s strange metal accessories and asked, “What chain is this you wear?” Marley only let a half of a moment pass by – enough time to press one of the links between his fingers – and answered, “It is the chain I forged in life.”

I have to admit my jaw dropped a little. I tried to listen to the rest of the dialogue but I was carried away by this idea – a simple idea – of how our actions can shape (or in this case forge) our fate. I hadn’t understood why the Marley ghost (or in the Muppets’ case ghosts) wore chains. Now after looking up the Muppets version on YouTube I see the explanation was there all along, “Captive, bound/We’re double-ironed/Exhausted by the weight/As freedom comes with giving love/So, prison comes with hate.” I wondered if, say, this was literally how things worked, “How many links would I have formed at this point in my life?”

My thoughts traveled along as Scrooge’s journey began. He was visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past who reminded him of the joy he once felt at Christmas. Sadly Scrooge didn’t stay a joyful boy forever. He, like us, had to grow up. Memories often serve up helpings of feelings we wish we could forget. Scrooge saw himself fall in love as a young man and then abandon his beloved as he sought out worldly success (aka money). Long forgotten joy could only momentarily lift Scrooge before the memory of lost love cast a shadow dark enough to hide even the brilliantly white Ghost of Christmas Past. No worry, the Ghost of Christmas Present soon bounded toward him, ready to celebrate with revelers and show Scrooge how happy his nephew was (making fun of Scrooge, that is) and how content the Cratchit family was in their simple home. Tiny Tim lit up on the room as his father carried him into the house on his shoulder. Scrooge immediately felt something for the boy – first affection, then concern. In a time when life was as fragile as a fine glass ornament Scrooge knew the life of this small boy with twisted legs and weak lungs could be snuffed out like a candle if the wind blew a fever his way. He asked the Ghost of Christmas Present if Tiny Tim would live. The ghost read the shadows in the room – shadows cast by present actions which lead to future consequences – and told Scrooge that if things continued as they were currently set in motion, the boy would not live.

Pleading for the life of the boy, darkness fell over Scrooge. The merry ghost left him and I cowered in my seat in the theater because I know who was up next: The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. As light retuned to the stage I could make out the profile of a reaper. I think the scariest thing about these hooded figures is our habit to search for eyes in the place where a face should be. In the split second my eyes involuntarily search for another’s and realize they’ve found nothing they also manage to form eyes in the place where there are none. Usually the resulting illusion is small, red, glowing eyes faint as cooling briquettes. I’ve long since known my mind can construct nightmares from empty spaces. Scrooge cowered at the ghost’s feet and confessed he feared nothing more than that which is to come. The ghost showed him villagers who had robbed someone recently deceased (that someone being Scrooge) and transported him to the home of the Cratchit family. Bob’s wife was awaiting her husband’s arrival from the cemetery and the children were dressed in black. There was one child missing. Bob was late returning and one son remarked his father walked a bit slower nowadays. The mother’s eyes widened in pleasant memory as she recalled a time when her husband walked quickly and joyfully. It was when he carried Tiny Tim on his shoulder.

How can it be that carrying another person actually lifts us up? How does it give us the strength and motivation to quicken and even lengthen our stride? And, when they’re gone, how can we find peace knowing we’ve laid them in a safe place covered in green grass near a protective wall?

The ghost carried Scrooge to a lonely graveyard in which only headstones kept one another company. There, before Scrooge’s bowed body, stood a lowly grave marker bearing a very familiar name. “Ebenezer Scrooge.”

Sobbing for a chance to make things right Scrooge grasped the headstone, burdened by all he had done, all he had seen, and all it could mean for his future and the future of those he inexplicably loved. Darkness once again surrounded him and in the black night he closed his eyes and vowed he had changed. When he opened his eyes he was clutching the blanket of his own bed. When he realized his good fortune he declared, “I don’t know what to do. I’m light as a feather!” He played the rest of the day by ear – generously tipping an errand boy and a poulterer, sending a generous feast to the Cratchit family, donating to charity and joining his nephew for dinner all the while plotting to give Bob Cratchit a raise the very next day. As he partook in the joy surrounding him he shook his head. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to be this happy. But I can’t help it.”

Tonight someone’s life was changed forever. I may never find out the fate of the cyclist or what caused the motorist to mangle the white bike but I have a feeling someone will be carrying a burden because of it. It may be mental, physical or emotional. It will almost definitely be financial. I just hope the rescuers involved were quick enough to prevent a life being lost. If not I hope they don’t partake in the burden, shame and misery caused by what was most likely an innocent mistake.

This evening’s events reminded me of the fragility of life. Mortality is a fickle creature, accompanying each of us in a different manner for various amounts of time. Scrooge had everything to fear and everything to lose but he relearned how to love by observing a peaceful family and the loving relationship between a father and his smallest boy. He took charge of his life and rerouted his heart in search of good things to do. Like the character Jean Valjean in Les Misérables he dedicated the remainder of his life to fairness, charity and a higher power. In the end of the musical Les Misérables an angel appears and beckons, “Come with me, where chains will never bind you/All your grief at last, at last behind you/Lord in Heaven, look down on him in mercy.” Prepared to move on Valjean adds, “Forgive me all my trespasses and take me to your glory.” Another angel joins the first, “Take my hand, I’ll lead you to salvation/Take my love, for love is everlasting.” As Valjean departs they sing together, “And remember, the truth that once was spoken/To love another person is to see the face of God.”

What carries you? Perhaps it’s a homemade crutch hidden in the corner. Maybe it’s a crumpled bicycle. Or could it be the strong shoulder of your father? Sometimes the sheer need to carry on can be enough. I hope for you, especially during this season, it is love. I hope you find the strength to be everything you are you meant to be and that your burdens are lightened at every turn. More than anything I hope, when the time is right, love will carry you home.

.....

Update: The bicyclist who was hit on Wednesday 12/14 was Bridgett Noland. Please keep her in your prayers. For more information visit this blog: http://bridgettnoland.blogspot.com/

Eve

2011-12-01T23:56:00.006-07:00

Night of night and day of days
Hours pass and darkness stays
Moon shines strong and all along
Stars keep singing the same song

One small candle dispels the gloom
Doesn't disguise impending doom
Where once was freedom now is night
What once was life now seems trite

Winds whip sharp and waves roll deep
A fury with no secrets to keep
All is revealed and all is expired
All will tremble at what has transpired

Earth burns anew as the skies unfold
The dead bring forth all stories untold
Secrets of now and secrets of then
Tear me in pieces again and again

On this eve so brisk and so bleak
So full of voices I dare not speak
I write and hide in my lowly lair
All the while knowing you're out there

Your voice of reason, hope, belief
Sends me in spirals of deepest grief
You wander the land of long-lost dreams
As my world rips apart at the seams

Keep your pity, spare me your glance
At least I can say I took a chance
In this world dark and so dire
I was the one caught in the mire

Let the wind sweep me up
Let the waves wash me away
If this is what it takes
To see the light of day

Thanksgiving in Rio (2009)

2011-11-24T23:32:00.014-07:00

Friday, November 27^th, 2009

Rio de Janeiro, RJ, Brazil

Yesterday I woke up and it was Thanksgiving! Jane and I had a jam-packed schedule. We ate breakfast and then took our first metro trip to Rua Urugaiana. We were very careful when we were walking through the market and shops. Jane took a couple pictures and that was all we dared. We bought some cute magnets and I bought a R10 shirt that said “Ipanema” and had a cool design on the front.

After that we headed to the Cinelandia Station. I wanted to show Jane the Teatro Municipal but it seemed to be under heavy renovation and wasn’t too exciting. Luckily we found a stand selling the tamale-like thing that I remember from my mission. We got it and Jane liked it a lot.

We took a few pictures and jumped back on the metro and rode to Catete. It was a bit surreal coming out of the station and seeing the all-too-familiar Rua do Catete. We went right into the Palacio do Catete and were told that there were three musicians from West Virginia upstairs doing a free classical concert. We watched a little bit but it was so HOT in the room and we had to get out of there. I don’t even know how the musicians could stand it. Okay they were probably miserable but how did they manage to play??? (Bassoon, Flute & Piano.)

We walked around the Palace (where the President of Brazil used to live) and took a bunch of pictures. I wanted to go to the art museum next but was discouraged when I didn’t see any signs for the display. Instead we went into a gallery display and then down the hallway to the art store. Jane saw some stuff she really liked (a painting and a purse) and ended up buying a table runner for her mom. On the way back down the hallway I realized there was a pay phone right there in the quietest place imaginable. I called Mariangela in Itaborai and she answered. She told me she had been worried about me because I hadn’t called sooner. Of course I felt bad but I had technically called the day before but with no luck. Anyway I told her it would be very difficult for us to get to Itaborai but she said she could meet us at Praca XV (the ferry station) on Saturday morning. We decided to meet sometime between 10 and 10:30 (Jane and I will have to wait at a ticket station. I really hope this will work out!)

After I talked to Mariangela we walked out and on a whim I turned back and asked if there was an art museum upstairs. We were told that the entrance to the museum was the next door over. We walked through the door and I immediately recognized the display. It was exciting! We walked through and I told Jane what I could about Baianas and Gauchos which wasn’t much. We had a fun time in there (except for the part where I got major chills in the Macumba section). We talked to one of the workers and he said he preferred to sit and wait for visitors in the Carnaval section instead of the Macumba section. I can totally understand why! (I should also mention the adorable middle-aged worker who turned on the mechanical miniature displays “just for us.” He was so cute!)

After we went through the museum we walked outside and found a street vendor selling these cool sculpture pieces made out of aluminum and wire. (I had seen a similar set of pieces as a missionary on the same street but I knew they’d be impossible to take home with me.) I talked to the guy for quite a while. He was from the Nordeste and he had a dream to ride his bike to the United States. He got as far as Panama! That is just amazing. He is now a big time surfer and we talked about the mad waves at Itacoatiara. He told me he plans to go back home sometime soon because people from his region are not “very well accepted” here. Sad. I ended up buying his surfer piece and it was only R15. I couldn’t resist at that price! I’m pretty sure I’m going to give it to Naomi and Pehr. I just hope their son doesn’t poke his eye out!

We walked on to Rua Dois de Dezembro and took a picture in the lobby of the old mission office. (The headquarters of the mission is now in Vitoria, ES.) We walked to Largo do Machado and I was a little sad we weren’t hungry enough to eat at Parme. (I’m glad I had gotten to eat some banana pizza the night before!) I was also sad that I’d had no luck getting a hold of the lady Eliana and Victoria are living with or Dora who had Ana’s new home address. I wasn’t sure at that point how any of the visits were going to work out.

After we took some time walking around Largo do Machado we went into the metro entrance. Then it hit me that I wasn’t ready to leave. That place really felt like home to me and it was hard enough leaving it the first time. I pulled myself together (tears were falling and Jane said we could go sit on a bench for a while but I decided we should go). She remarked, “It’s hard, not knowing when you’ll come back.” So true. We went down the escalator and I got some concerned looks from people coming up the other escalator but it was all good.

We went down to board in the Zona Sul direction but sat for a bit to make a plan. We decided to go to Botafogo and find Botafogo Praia Shopping to search for a new blue Brasil jersey for my sister (which she had asked for over email). We found the mall without a problem but had no luck finding the jersey. The only women’s jerseys were yellow. We went up to all three above-ground floors and then decided to see what was in the basement. Turned out it was Lojas Americanas. I bought a box of Garoto chocolates for Jane and me to share. We went all the way back to the food court and planned our next move.

Jane had a brilliant idea. It was only about 4:30 and instead of sitting around in the mall and then taking a taxi to the sweet restaurant where we were going for Thanksgiving dinner, we could go home and shower and put on nice clothes and then go to the restaurant. It worked out great.

We changed into our Sunday outfits and just took Morgan’s camera in her pocket so I wouldn’t have to carry around my camera case or a plastic bag. We caught a taxi and did what I had been hoping to do for 3.33 years: return to Marius Desgustare. (I had gone with my sister, brother-in-law and father for dinner on our last night in Rio in 2006 but we didn’t take a camera!) I can’t exactly explain what a tragedy that was except to say we have been kicking ourselves for the last three years.

When we first got to the restaurant Jane had no idea what she was in for. It’s the most crazy yet wonderfully decorated restaurant EVER. Sooooo unique. We took tons of pictures and all of the guys working there were incredibly nice. The price had definitely gone up a bit (R92/churrasco de carne w/buffet and dessert buffet included) but it was AMAZING. A dinner like that could easily run for $100 in the US. The food was all so beautiful and Jane and I were two of the first people there for dinner. Gorgeous! We took tons of pics before we actually got food. I think we stayed in the restaurant for at least an hour and a half and Jane discovered her love for Brigadeiro which is good because it’s somewhat easy to make at home. We caught a taxi back to our street after taking more pictures outside.

We got out and went back to the street fair and as soon as we walked up to Thiago’s booth he pulled out the two paintings he had shown us on his cell phone. They were MUCH bigger than I had expected (though I must say - incredibly awesome) and I wasn’t sure if I could afford one since dinner had been so much more expensive than I had thought. LUCKILY Thiago said they were only R60 and if I wanted one of the other larger ones he could do one for R70, but no lower. I ended up picking the one of the Santa Tereza cable car because that was a place I had actually been to and was very fond of.

I couldn’t manage to leave the fair without buying another small painting (one of Pao de Acucar). We passed by the hostel to get Ivanilde’s umbrella which we had forgotten to give back to her the night before. We decided to walk to her house (it was already 9ish) and I figured it wouldn’t take too long. However, we got to talking about the visits I’d been unable to coordinate and she picked up the phone and called Dora. I talked to Dora too and she said, “Que saudades!” and I was sad I hadn’t kept in contact with anyone and I just figured they’d forget about me soon enough.

Dora didn’t end up having Ana’s address but she said she’d call Ilta. In the meantime we called Maria Elena (who had already hung up on me twice that day) and woke her up. Oops! She must have been ticked because when Ivanilde passed the phone to me and I asked about Eliana she just kept saying, “I don’t know.” I passed the phone back to Ivanilde and shrugged my shoulders. Dora called back and said she couldn’t get a hold of Ana. Ivanilde was gracious enough to call Ana’s cell (very expensive) and it worked! I got to talk to Ana after an unacceptable amount of time. I have no excuse for this. She didn’t seem to be mad at me which was a blessing. I told her that Dora suggested we all meet at Ilta’s house on Saturday and Ana said most likely that would work for her. Luckily she has a cell phone now so I can get a hold of her as long as I have a phone card.

The only bad thing is that by this time it was already 10:40 and I was worried about getting home okay. Ivanilde walked us to the elevator and said, “Say a prayer so you get home safe.” I said I would say one in the elevator but when the door opened the answer to our prayer was standing inside. Her name was Jade. I told her where we were going and asked her if she wanted to walk with us. She said she would. She’s a hairstylist and she showed us her salon by the beach. It was such a good thing she was with us – there was hardly anyone out and that’s very unsafe in Rio. We made it back safely and the whole way there she told us tips for how to be a street-smart tourist. She even walked three blocks out her way in order to leave us on our front step. What an angel!

Photo Walk 10-2-11

2011-11-15T17:53:00.013-07:00

The Marathon Week

2011-11-03T19:03:00.000-06:00

It all began with a routine Sunday. Well, one thing was outside of the routine. On Sunday, October 23 I went running. I knew it would be my only chance to fit in a 9-mile run outside during daylight hours. The run didn’t go very well and as I ambled through the last mile at a 13-minute pace I wondered how on earth I was going to complete a half marathon six days later. For the first time I experienced pace-killing pain in my feet – and this was only a nine mile run! After I got home and took a shower I tried to put my worries on the shelf and get back to my normal Sunday routine, hoping the pain in my body was just residual from playing soccer the day prior. Before I fell asleep on Sunday I tried to soak in every bit of tranquility this ‘calm before the storm’ had to offer.

On Monday I had a very specific list of tasks to complete at work and it all had to do with Halloween. Why might I be so worried about Halloween? The reason is because at work we throw a huge (and I mean huge) trick-or-treating event for our families and friends. Every department chooses its own theme (i.e., Star Wars, Superheroes, Pac Man, etc.) and receives a generous decorating budget. We use the money to completely transform our workspace – wall to wall, floor to ceiling. Each employee dresses up according to its department’s theme and is allowed to bring up to six guests to trick-or-treat through the building. Since 800+ employees work in my office (divided up between three buildings) that means we can easily anticipate having 5,000+ people come through for trick-or-treating. Not only do we have to decorate to the nines and dress to impress – we also have to bring in a few tons of candy so no one walks away empty-handed.

This was my fourth year heading up the marketing department’s Halloween decorations. (We did Wild West, Las Vegas, and Cereal in the past. That’s right, I said “Cereal.”) Normally we choose our theme 4-6 weeks in advance but this year I kept pushing off the inevitable. We finally had a team meeting three weeks before the event and squeezed out a few theme ideas (Angry Birds, Alice in Wonderland, Quarantine) but when I tried to submit the first two themes HR told me they were already taken. Although it was my team’s last choice I must admit Quarantine was my first choice because I thought of it. I believed we’d have a blast if we all dressed up as zombies and decorated our area as though it were a condemned site. I knew most of the responsibility would fall to me and I wanted to be able to work through a theme I was excited about. (I never play Angry Birds and I knew Alice in Wonderland would be extremely ambitious.) The only thing I wasn’t excited about was the date chosen for our over-the-top Halloween celebration: Friday, October 28^th. That’s right folks – ‘Halloween’ landed smack dab on my birthday this year. Not only that – I was registered to run the Provo Halloween Half Marathon the following morning.

I have to stop right now and tell you that I love Halloween. Or I did. Or I do. It’s one of those two. When I was a kid I looked forward to Halloween all year. I drew sketches of costumes with my best friend Naomi and searched through pattern books at the fabric store with my mom. Oftentimes I had a birthday party on the night of Halloween or a costume party just a few days prior. Halloween is forever fused with good birthday memories – everything from receiving my dream Ariel doll from Naomi and Bonnie when I was a kid to getting an Airhead- and Sour Gummi Worm-slamming sugar high when I was in middle school. Halloween never failed to flood me with creative enthusiasm and leave me in a chocolate-chomping stupor. This pattern continued through my first two Halloweens at my current place of employment. However, somewhere between ‘Cereal’ and ‘Quarantine’ Halloween kind of lost its mojo. Really what I’m trying to say is it became too much work.

When I signed up for the Provo Halloween Half Marathon I thought to myself, “This will work out fine as long as I don’t do anything to celebrate my birthday.” I really did try to sell myself on this idea but Solange, one of my good Brazilian friends who is exactly two days younger than me, talked me into having a joint birthday party on the same day as the half marathon (Saturday, October 29^th.) In short, at the beginning of last week not only did I have to worry about finishing my department’s Halloween planning – I also had to worry about the actual set-up (all day on Thursday, October 27^th), the execution of the event (Friday, October 28^th), waking up early and running my first-ever half marathon (Saturday, October 29^th) AND keeping myself together long enough to celebrate Solange’s and my birthday on Saturday night. Oh and somewhere in there I had to bid the age of 27 adieu and deal with a new age. No big deal!

Okay, okay. Back to Monday the 24^th. I had a monumental set of tasks ahead of me. Thankfully I was able to work in some fun. On Monday night I got to carve pumpkins with my ward (I carved an Angry Birds pumpkin in homage to ‘the theme that might have been’). I blinked and it was Tuesday. I tried my best to complete all of the normal tasks for my job but as the week went on it got more difficult. I sneezed and it was Wednesday. My co-lead for Halloween was planning to stay late and begin some decorating but I just didn’t have it in me to stay – plus I had to go to violin. Leah called me and said that her family had an extra ticket to see a play that evening so after my violin lesson I drove straight to the theater. At this point I was getting a little hyper thinking about all of the fun I’d have the next day decorating. I just had to make one more trip to Wal-Mart…

I opened my eyes and it was Thursday. I got to work and did ‘normal’ work until noon. At 12 the team gathered for lunch and a decoration plan briefing. The turnout was tiny but I still had hope we could complete the decorations by 7 pm. Boy was I wrong. My co-lead is in charge of Facilities and as a result everyone and their grandma was calling him for tools, ladders, help and spiritual advice. Okay I’m kidding about that last one but whenever he got a call he was gone for at least an hour. There must have been at least one spiritual emergency in that time. (He later told me he got upwards of 125 calls that day alone.) At one point in the day I went back to my desk to find it was completely barricaded by black plastic, strips of secured wood, and a neatly arranged line of corn stalks. If that weren’t enough there was only a 12” aisle between my now invisible cube wall and a 6’ tall pyramid of hay bales. (My work area fell into the hands of another team which was decorating the place as a haunted corn maze. To say the least it was a complete transformation. The only thing missing was a P-O’ed woman screaming at the top of her lungs, “Where’s my desk? I need to get into my desk!” Let’s just say I filled the niche.) After a colleague cut a 2’ vertical slit at the bottom of the plastic and I crawled inside I decided to stay put for a while.

Finally around 6 pm my coworker was freed from his endless calls and we were really able to get to work. There were only about six other people left by then and as our numbers continued to taper off the hours just rolled on by. I fit in that last trip to Wal-Mart somewhere between ‘second wind’ and ‘I’ve just gone insane’ and we called it a night at 11:30. I crawled back into my desk and finished as much work as I could before I started imagining ghosts sneaking up on me. I went home at midnight. Ah, midnight – my birthday arrived after all.

After all of the preparation it was time to have some real fun. On Friday morning I arrived at work in time to do my boss’s make-up and review the plan for the show we wanted to put on for the judges (a panel of our company’s executives). They were due to come anytime between 11 and 12 and I waited out front for them. I was wearing a white blood-stained biohazard suit, a white beanie and a gas mask. When they came up the stairs I warned them the area was quarantined and no one was to go inside. I pointed their attention to looping video of the emergency broadcast message my team had filmed on Monday. I gave them two options: ‘search for survivors’ or ‘save yourselves.’ Of course they opted out of taking the evacuation route and instead entered our area which was full of zombies waiting in the wings to scare the crap out of them. I think I got the biggest kick out of hearing the GM scream a couple of times. I even got to scope out a hiding spot and scare one of our tech execs. After they passed by a grisly laboratory scene they went into the zombie shooting gallery and fired ‘live’ (Nerf) ammo at five zombies wearing t-shirts with our competitors' company names on them. Before leaving our area they were encouraged to vote for the next zombie president. (The two candidates were Barack and Mitt.) It was great.

Once the judges were gone I got to run through the rest of the buildings and take pictures of the other themes. Then everyone gathered for lunch and the judges announced the winners. Alice in Wonderland and Angry Birds took two of the top four prizes. (Harry Potter and ‘Revenge of the Pumpkins’ took the other two.) Before I knew it guests were gathering in lines outside the building and I had to take my place to greet trick-or-treaters. I decided to go back to the entrance and stand there with a bowl of candy. My dear coworker took one look at little exhausted me and said, “You don’t want to do this anymore, do you?” I replied that I could keep going for another four hours (trick-or-treaters come from 2-6 pm) but instead she offered me a chair. I gratefully took it and sat down. As a joke I leaned over and put my face it the candy and it was so comfortable I just decided to stay there. I heard people approaching at the bottom of the stairs (they were talking excitedly about their Angry Birds experience) and I tried to gauge how quickly they were coming. The gas mask cut off my peripheral vision but my coworker whispered “Amber” at the perfect moment and I bolted upright. I scared everyone and told them to “take the vaccine” (a packet of Smarties) before entering. Over the next four hours I had a blast sitting in my chair, dying at various intervals and jolting awake as people approached or reached for candy. Talk about a sweet gig.

Six of my friends came through as trick-or-treaters and it was great to see them. We planned to go to dinner afterwards (something quick and easy so I could get to sleep early) but first I had to pick up my race packet at the mall. I drove straight there and as I walked into Nordstrom in full zombie attire I checked my pride at the door. As I walked through I heard tons of people say, “Look at the zombie!” After I got my packet a little boy asked me, “Are you a zombie?” and I happily said I was. Luckily I had time to go home and take a shower before going to dinner. When I arrived at the restaurant I asked my friends how they liked the event. One said she loved it and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. I knew I’d have the same problem that night. I was supposed to be back at the mall to catch a bus to the start line at 5:30 the next morning. I had no idea how I was going to pull that off.

After a few hours of distraction it was time to go home and get my stuff together for the race. I kept staring at the neat pile of running clothes and accessories with the price tags still attached. I placed everything as carefully as possible but I knew no amount of extra organization was going to help me wake up the next day. I finally collapsed in bed and when my alarm went off I couldn’t get up for 30 minutes. Finally at 6 am I rolled out of bed and called my friend who was also running the race. She scared me half to death when she told me she was already on the bus (the race was starting until 9 am) and I had better get to the mall as quickly as possible. I did exactly that and arrived at 6:28. I was panicked that I would be turned away and I’d have to call one of my friends to give me a ride to the start line which was way way up on a mountain above Provo Canyon. When I pulled into the mall I saw a ton of cars in the parking lot but I didn’t breathe easy until I got out of the car and saw there were at least a thousand people standing in a line that spanned hundreds of feet. Great, another line. Good thing I (unknowingly) prepared for this part of the marathon in Disneyland two weeks prior.

I stood in line, in the dark, in the cold, in a daze for 1 hour and 10 minutes. No more and definitely no less. There was apparently some problem with the first round of buses and they missed a turn and took a 30-minute detour. I’ll never know if that story was completely true or just a rumor the bungling race organizers spread through the herd of rabid runners. All I knew was I was grateful to finally board a heated bus and make the ascent to the start line. I arrived at 8 am but it took me almost 20 minutes to find my friends. I only knew one other person in our group of six but the other four quickly became my sisters as we prepared ourselves for this daunting task in less-than-ideal circumstances. We huddled in the event tent and stretched and laughed nervously. When it was finally time to go outside and stand in line for the port-a-potties I had gained enough mental control to harness the creeping stress and start churning positive energy instead.

The six of us followed the mob to the start line and chose our positions within segments of racers demarcated by people holding pacing signs. I picked a spot behind the person holding the bright green “2:30” sign. The race began and it was a hoot watching all of the characters zoom by me. Racers were heavily encouraged to wear costumes which made for great people watching. Using my Garmin Forerunner watch I kept myself to a strict 11-12 minute pace. The first 2.5 miles or so were downhill and I heard people on the bus warning each other to take that segment very slow or else they’d be toast for the rest of the race. At the 3-mile mark I lost sight of the pacing sign. I tried to not let it get me down. I made a mental note to stop for a short break somewhere between the 6 and 8 mile mark.

It was a beautiful day – definitely chilly enough for calf-length pants, a long-sleeved shirt, gloves and a beanie – and the canyon was as gorgeous as ever. The 6- and 8-mile markers came and went and I realized I could complete the race without stopping. That made grabbing water at two stations rather difficult (drinking out of a cup while running is nearly impossible) but it worked. Every time my GPS watch buzzed at a mile mark I grinned in delight – especially the 10-mile mark. (I never in my life thought I could run this many miles. I remembered back to March when my mom suggested I run the 10K in my home town and I told her there was no way I could run 6 miles.) At the 11-mile (1 hr 10 min) mark I gauged my remaining energy and decided to push myself to finish the race in 20 minutes. The end of the race was great, grueling fun and the only frustration I experienced was searching for some indication of the finish line. I wanted to see a giant balloon arch or a stampede of elephants or people being shot out of cannons or something. Instead we had to make three right turns, squeeze onto a sidewalk and find the finish line in a wooded area.

As I neared the finish I searched for Bonnie who had driven 45 minutes to cheer me on. Just before the 13-mile mark I caught sight of her familiar hair, glasses and smile. I yelled out her name and when she spotted me she yelled, “Yeah! Go Amber!” Finish line or not, that was all I needed. I could go another mile if I had to, even though I really didn’t want to. I finished the race just shy of my goal – 2:31:28. I was so happy to be done. Bonnie found me and we took pictures as we waited for the rest of my crew to come in. Bonnie drove home for her granddaughter’s 1^st birthday party which I was very sad to miss. (If I could have changed anything about last week I would have found a way to fit in that birthday party.) My crew reunited and we all took the bus back to the mall. The day was far from over but I’ll try to wrap up this blog as succinctly as possible. I did some grocery shopping for the party, I took a nap, I woke up feeling nauseous, I was late getting to my friend’s house to help set up, and the party started with a bang at 8 pm. I was feeling a little better but Solange had to snap me into shape before I really let myself have fun. This was her first-ever Halloween party and it didn’t take much coaxing for my mind to wander down memory lane – when Halloween was synonymous with birthday euphoria, when age was a cause for celebration, when the promise of candy sped my stride, and when a pinch of imagination could transform my world into a thousand endless fantasies. There my body wanders and there my mind rests.

Disneyland & California Adventure Photos

2011-11-03T10:59:00.027-06:00

Jungle Cruise

Sally & Jack Skellington

Mark Twain Riverboat

"This is Halloween!"

Sleeping Beauty's Castle

Mad Tea Party

Fantasmic! Night Show

Sleeping Beauty's Castle

Disneyland Main Street

Ariel's Undersea Adventure

Disney California Adventure Park

Silly Symphony Swings

Army Man

Buzz Lightyear

Mickey's Fun Wheel

View of Tower of Terror from Mickey's Fun Wheel

California Screamin' (yellow blur on coaster rails) taking off

California Screamin'

2011-10-21T19:42:00.003-06:00

Last Thursday I was in Disneyland having the time of my life. It was my fourth time there and I was so glad that my parents had agreed to go with my sister and me. I hadn’t been in Disneyland with my parents since I was 12 and it was a blast watching them rediscover a park they have seen grow over the last 30 years. We’d had high hopes that the park would be deserted but alas it was packed with people, some cheerful, some not so cheerful. At the end of our first day my sister and I were in line for the Matterhorn and a grown man behind us was making a total jerk of himself. He was complaining loudly to his family about how he had enough and he was “done.” Many thoughts crossed my mind as I listened to him go on and on (unfortunately he was never quite “done” talking) but one thought stood out in particular: Disneyland can break anyone. I wondered if I would reach a breaking point during our two-day trip.

I had a hard time imagining any of us having a full-on meltdown. We were prepared to get the most out of our time. My parents, sister and I had purchased two-day Park Hopper passes which allowed us to go between Disneyland and California Adventure as many times as we wanted. We rocked the Fast Pass system and got to see most of our favorite things several times. In fact, we spent so much time in Adventureland that after walking through it for the 10th or 20th time I began to think of it as Level 1 of a videogame I could never advance in. (Mist.) We did our best to pace ourselves in the blistering heat on our first day and by the time I found myself in the Matterhorn line I had witnessed many breakdowns so the yeti behind me didn’t come as much of a surprise. I was grateful when the lines divided in two and Mr. Pottymouth & Family didn’t follow us.

The next day I was feeling the pressure to become familiar with California Adventure and see any noteworthy attractions therein. First, however, we had oodles of fun in Adventureland. My parents and I got soaked on Splash Mountain and took the Jungle Cruise ride twice in a row before meeting my sister for our second Indiana Jones journey. Somewhere in all that craziness we managed to sneak in our second ride on Thunder Mountain. At last it was time to go to California Adventure and see what all was going on there. A huge part of the park is designed to look just like a boardwalk straight out of Mickey heaven complete with carnival-reminiscent rides, a larger-than-life Ferris wheel, a gigantic body of water and a snaking, spiraling, gleaming white roller coaster. In the weeks prior to our trip my mom had read that the roller coaster was shut down so we didn’t pay much attention to it until we were practically right under it. My mom said, “Is that roller coaster running?” and when I realized it was and there were people on it I was so excited. I absolutely love roller coasters and when I saw this one actually went upside down I had to resist the urge to run straight to it. I was able to control myself and my dad and I took our time and had fun knocking out some of the tamer rides. I knew the roller coaster wasn’t going anywhere.

I took my eyes off the prize and we continued making our way through the attractions. We noticed there was a huge line for the Toy Story Midway Mania ride and unfortunately there was no Fast Pass offered. My mom learned that it was a ride “not to be missed” but my dad said he just couldn’t wait in a 45 minute line. He decided to head back to Disneyland with my sister. (They planned to stay there until it closed at 7 and then go to dinner.) Finally it was time for me to hit the roller coaster and as soon as I approached it I was informed the ride was broken. I would say that I was heartbroken but that would mean that Disneyland had in some way broken me and I wasn’t willing to admit that yet. Broken my confidence in reliable mechanical engineering? Somewhat. Broken the bank? Definitely. Broken my spirit? Never! I shrugged, pretended it wasn’t important to me and vaguely listened as the attendant told me the ride “might” be back in order later that evening. “Whatever, I don’t care,” I thought. Luckily my mom was listening more carefully and informed me the ride would close at 8 pm for the first “World of Color” show and wouldn’t reopen until the next day. I bookmarked 8 pm as my last possible chance to get on the ride.

Following a tip from a well-informed Disneyland employee, my mom and I made sure to slip in for the last showing of “Aladdin: A Musical Spectacular.” We figured it would be a cute little musical revue of the Aladdin plot. When we entered the Hyperion Theatre we were astounded at the scale of the massive performance hall. The show began promptly at 6:20 and we were swept away by a preview of what must surely be Disney’s next Broadway sensation. As Aladdin discovered friends like Carpet and Genie my mind floated further away from the logistics of our situation. The fact that Disneyland’s 7 pm closure would flood California Adventure with park hoppers never crossed my mind. All I could think about was the fact that when “Aladdin” ended it was going to be cold outside and it would be best to go back to the hotel and get warmer clothes. That would mean we’d still have three hours to enjoy the park until it closed at 11.

Three hours. You can do a lot in three hours. You can also make a lot of mistakes. Mistake #1: My mom and I made a wrong turn on our way out of the park and took a time-intensive detour through A Bug’s Land. Mistake #2: When we finally rounded the corner for the exit and saw hundreds of people streaming into the park, we didn’t turn around and abandon thoughts of warmer clothes. Mistake #3: After thinking and rethinking our decision we actually left the park. The roundtrip speedwalk to and from the hotel, including clothes changing time, was about 25 minutes. When we got back into the park we decided to make a bee-line for the Toy Story ride and face whatever line we found there. We were in such a hurry I didn’t check the map which led to Mistake #4: We took the LONG way around the water. This one really killed me.

Have you ever been somewhere so crowded you couldn’t run if you wanted to? I really wanted to run. I wanted to leap and fly over the heads of all the stroller pushers, all of the park employees forcing us to stay within their designated boundaries. Even my mom, the speedwalking grand master of crowd weaving, had trouble finding pockets big enough to get around people. I had my eye on my watch. It was 7:55. We walked, bobbed and weaved through everyone in our path and we still couldn’t move fast enough. Minutes later my mom was convinced we had already passed the Toy Story ride but I remembered it was right next to the roller coaster entrance. At 7:58 I wanted to tear my eyes out because I realized I had taken the wrong way around the water. A minute later we were close enough to see the Toy Story line but I walked right past it. I yelled to Mom that I was going to try to get on the roller coaster. I wondered what I would have to do to get on. I had just experienced the most frustrating 10 minutes of my life. I had just cursed the name of Disney for closing his Land early and drawing so many wretched people to this half-completed park. I had counted all of the nickels and dimes I had spent thus far on the trip. I only wanted one thing in return: to ride California Screamin’ and be dangled upside down just long enough to forget it all.

8:00:30. Could I beg my way onto the ride? Should I make myself cry if they tried to turn me away? I caught my breath, walked up to the line attendant and played the only card I thought might work, “Are you taking any single riders?” He annoyingly replied with a complete sentence, “No we are not taking any single riders. We are closed.” I looked over his shoulder and saw the throng of people in line – the ones lucky enough to make fewer mistakes than I had. I wanted to rip their hair out, or at least snatch the first pair of Minnie ears I could see. As the attendant succinctly explained that we could all “check back” to see if the ride reopened at 10:45, the words “murderer of love” rang through my ears. I wondered if this “10:45” wisp of hope was something the workers dangled in front of wearied visitors who dreamed of a few moments of mind-numbing euphoria so they could watch our hopes and dreams be crushed again.

I rolled up my sleeves and pretended not to care. I couldn’t even convince myself. I stood by the nearby carousel and called my mom’s cell. No answer. I called again. No answer. I glanced at the overflowing Toy Story line and knew that it was my impending fate. There were people everywhere but I scanned the crowd for my mom’s distinctive shirt and by some miracle I spotted her purchasing a frozen banana. (How fitting that in one of the most chaotic moments in recent memory, my mom was buying a treat I’ll forever associate with “Arrested Development.”) I recounted my bad luck at the California Screamin’ line and we began our 65 minute wait in the Toy Story line. There were so many people in line we couldn’t even see where the line would lead until we had been standing in it for 10 minutes. When I got a good look at the path we would slowly follow it hit me that I would have to stand in the same spot as every single person in sight before I would be allowed on the ride. The thought of it alone was almost enough to cause me to have an out-of-body experience.

When we made it to the boarding platform we could barely stand up anymore. The ride involved shooting at 3D targets and I unleashed some major aggression. It was a good feeling. My poor mom might have been a little too numb to really enjoy the shoot ’em up madness which the game offered. When I got off the ride I still wanted to shoot stuff – or at least scream my lungs out. The hunger for the roller coaster thrill, the long wait in line and the tame motion of the Toy Story ride left me with one viable option: I had to take another ride on the Hollywood Tower of Terror. My mom and I had two valid Fast Passes for the ride in our possession and I must believe the insanity of the situation was affecting her too because she actually agreed to go on the ride with me. We walked to the opposite end of the park and by then she was having second thoughts. When we reached the entrance she dug in her heels in hesitation just long enough for us to spot my dad and sister. We were so surprised to see them! We thought they would have been relaxing far, far away but here they were. They weren’t at all surprised to see us because they had in fact called us and told us to meet them so Dad could use Mom’s Tower of Terror Fast Pass. We never checked our phones or heard the message but Mom was more than happy to turn over her Fast Pass.

At this point, 9:20 pm with 100 minutes of Disney madness to go, things turned around. Here was my dad, newly dubbed 66-years-old, itching to get back on the Tower of Terror – just like me! He was willing to walk all the way back into California Adventure, look for me and Mom, and wait in one more line just for the thrill of being dropped 13 stories in total darkness. Somewhere between the elevator lobby and the post-ride photo gallery my outlook changed. I didn’t have to worry about doing everything the park had to offer, I only had to worry about the things which were most important: spending quality time with my family, enjoying the company of complete strangers, soaking in the Disney magic and maybe, just maybe, squeezing in one more attempt to get on that blasted roller coaster.

Fast forward a few dozen magical moments and here I am, crossing over the shortcut bridge that leads straight to California Screamin’. To my right the 10:15 performance of “World of Color” is well underway. I can’t help but stop and watch for a few seconds before I continue my pilgrimage to the Russian mountain. When I reach the pinnacle of the bridge I see a beautiful site – a quickly forming, highly organized line full of people who know something I have only dared to hope for: the roller coaster will reopen at 10:45.

After several restless minutes hoping and praying the roller coaster won’t break down again it is finally my turn to board. I slide into the seat and eagerly pull down the shoulder guard as it click-click-clicks into place. I look to my left and my right and smile at all the people who made it in behind me. The roller coaster begins to move forward smoothly. I check my watch and see it’s 10:59. We slowly turn left and catch sight of a straightaway that rises up to form a giant hill. We come to a complete stop as a loud recorded voice tells us to get ready to scream. I look left and see my mom standing with the small crowd ready to watch us freak out. We give each other looks of pretend panic. The recorded voice breaks my trance as it counts, “3-2-1…”

Fall of Fortune

2011-10-06T22:30:00.000-06:00

Fortunes rise, fortunes fall. This fall I’m going to make sure my fortune rises. Specifically I have a goal to have $______ in my bank account by New Year’s Eve. “How much was that?” Let’s just say I hope to save up enough money to pay for a few months of rent as well as my car insurance and/or health care deductible. I have been very lucky in that I’ve never gotten into a car wreck or had to go to the hospital as an adult. My car (which I paid off in August!) has been reliable and I have never had a problem with it that couldn’t be attributed to user error.

My most recent mechanically-related reality check happened three weeks ago. I took my car in for its 80,000 mile check-up and found out that I needed new four new tires. Ouch. (This was largely due to the fact that I hadn’t rotated my tires once in the last two years.) I had anticipated the mechanic visit would cost about $150 (actual cost $170) but I did NOT anticipate buying four new tires (estimated cost $650). Some of you may be thinking, “I hope you didn’t buy the tires! The mechanic was just trying to rip you off!” but I was planning to take a day-long road trip four days later and I didn’t want to take any chances with blowing out a tire and messing up the undercarriage of my car. Plus, cars with minimal damage tend to explode in movies and I really didn’t want to have to deal with being blown up or having to look for a new car if I survived.

Thanks to a warrantee and an instant rebate at Costco, I was able to buy all four tires and have them installed for $550. I considered myself lucky. I would much rather learn a $700 lesson than a $7,000 lesson. What is the $700 lesson of the day? ROTATE YOUR TIRES EVERY 6,000 MILES. Got it!

Self Portrait

2011-09-23T17:22:00.017-06:00

One fine day in August I went to a local paint-it-yourself ceramics studio which I love visiting from time to time. You simply walk in, choose a plain white ceramic piece, come up with a design, select your paints, and begin painting. Once you're satisfied with your work of art (or completely frustrated) you leave the piece in the hands of a trusted studio worker and pick it up the following week. Voilà!

During my last visit I noticed there were several Halloween selections and I suppose the skull I ended up chose was meant as a Halloween decoration. I deliberated for quite a while before I selected the skull. ("Wouldn't a plate or a bowl or a cup be more useful?") I couldn't help myself. I just wanted to have fun. I was reminded of phrenology diagrams (see example below) but I didn't have my smartphone with me so I couldn't look up any images on the internet. Instead I just threw on a base coat and grabbed a roll of thin masking tape and marked off sections on the skull. I ended up with 13 sections and after brainstorming a list of words I drew and cut out the letter of every word on contact paper.

Once all of the tape and contact paper was in place I got to have some real fun and paint each section a unique color. (As you can see some of the paint leaked under the contact paper and tape but I didn't mind much since my mind is a little messy.) After staring at the plain white face for a white I decided to take a chance and add some white paint with colored speckles in it. I was a little horrified at the initial result (a chunky, chalky layer of paint) but once it was glazed and fired I realized that the face never would have been complete without freckles. Check out my inspiration and finished product below.

Mr. Phrenology:

Miss Amber:

My Reality TV Heroes

2011-09-08T22:23:00.031-06:00

Hey Everyone!

I hope you're having a fantastic Thursday night. With Fall TV premieres just around the corner (and Project Runway Season 9 well underway) I thought I'd reflect on my "Reality TV Heroes." I know many people hate reality television and I have no issue with that. However, my family is full of die-hard Survivor fans and our obsession with reality TV began 11 years ago during the summer before my senior year of high school. The first season of Survivor premiered in the summer of 2000 and my family was changed forever. We were interviewed by the local paper twice and a local news team actually filmed our Survivor Season 1 Finale viewing party. That's right - I was on the news! The cast of Season 1's "15 minutes of fame" actually translated to 15 seconds of fame for me. Those were the days!

For the last week I've been thinking about who I would put on my all-time Top 10 reality TV star list. I know I must be missing people who made an impression on me but this is all for fun and I wasn't about to review and entire 11 years' worth of reality TV contestants. The people on the list are simply the ones that stuck out to me the most. Here we go!

#10: Ethan Zohn (Survivor Season 3 - Winner)

Oh my gosh he's even cuter than I remembered. I first laid eyes on this ideal man when I was 18. I actually am not sure who had the bigger crush on him - me or my mom. The reason Ethan has made my Top 10 list is because he managed to win the game of survivor the "nice" way. I can hardly remember watching him compete in Africa but the thing I do remember is how sweet he always was. He has made several reality show appearances since his debut in 2001. While doing research for this blog I learned that he was diagnosed with Adult Hodgkin Lymphoma in 2009. As of today he is in remission and he is actively involved in raising money for cancer research. I am very glad to know he is healthy enough to compete on the upcoming season of The Amazing Race, even though he's taking his girlfriend and not me. (See the original photo here.)

#9 Landau Eugene Murphy, Jr. (America's Got Talent Season 6 - Finalist)

AGT is in its sixth season but I never watched a single episode until this year. I have to admit, it's not my favorite. The show seems to be dominated by its three judges who are constantly bickering with each other and usually trying to take the host down with them. However, every once in a while it's worth the constant eye-rolling when a particular contestant steals the show: Landau Eugene Murphy, Jr. I love this guy! His dream is to be a singer (the season winner will headline a limited-run show in Vegas beginning in October) but in order to support his wife and four children he works as a car washer. You can see the love in his eyes when he talks about his wife and kids and it is so endearing. He is best known for singing Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin songs on AGT and amazingly enough I LOVE it. (I normally can't stand that genre of music. I have no idea why.) I am just grateful he's using his talent to breathe new life into songs that are normally snoozefests for me. Tonight I found out he made it to the top four. Can he go all the way? (See the original photo here.)

#8 Kelly Bruno (Survivor Season 21)

Kelly did not win her season of Survivor. In fact, she didn't even come close. The contestants are always divided into tribes during the first episode of the show. Season 21 kicked off with a "young vs. old" division and unfortunately Kelly's tribe was full of beastly competitors more suited for a lion's den than a reality TV set. Kelly's bio on CBS.com revealed that she had lost her dad when he was volunteering in Haiti. He died when the earthquake struck and the building he was in collapsed. Kelly had obviously been through hard times prior to that. Her right leg was amputated from the knee down when she was six months old. As if surviving middle school and high school hadn't been daunting enough, she had to face social strangulation from her tribemates at every turn. Many of them were worried she'd win the million dollars simply for earning the "sympathy" vote, but this girl never asked for a word of sympathy. She contributed around camp and competed against the other tribe with all her heart. It was just too bad her tribemates gave her none of theirs. In fact one of the tribemates promised the camera she'd "push [Kelly] so hard that [her] d*** leg will fly off." Yep, it's true. I'm just glad Kelly wasn't seriously hurt. (See original photo here.)

#7 Seth Aaron Henderson (Project Runway Season 7 - Winner)

As I mentioned earlier, Season 9 of Project Runway has already kicked off. The season began with a first time "casting special" in which prospective contestants were judged by a panel of former contestants in a preliminary round of auditions. I was very happy to spot Seth Aaron on the panel because I trusted he'd send the right people to meet the real judges (Heidi Klum, Nina Garcia and Michael Kors) in New York City. He had "killed it" on his season of PR and the thing that impressed me the most is he knew exactly who he was as a designer and never backed away from it. He was also a very dedicated family man and would get very emotional when he talked about his wife and kids (pictured left). I was surprised by a particular tidbit of information revealed in the casting special: Seth Aaron had auditioned something like five or six times before making it onto Season 7. I am always impressed by people who know what they want and GO for it. He is a great example to me! (See original photo here.)

#6 Mondo Guerra (Project Runway Season 8 - Runner-up)

Mondo blossomed before my eyes on Project Runway. He started off as the most meek, painfully shy cast member and I was worried he was going to quit. He was willing to take risks and although he stumbled many times he came up with some of the most memorable designs of the season. One of the other designers, Michael C., got on a winning streak mid-season and many of the contestants despised him and accused him of cheating. When Mondo was randomly paired with Michael on a team challenge I thought Mondo was going to lose his mind. Mondo was not happy with the initial pairing but it didn't take long for him to take an unexpected 180 and he ended up openly praising Michael C. as they faced the judges on the runway. The transformation stole a tiny piece of my heart. Later in the season the remaining designers were tasked to create an original textile and design. Mondo quietly designed a pattern based on the plus sign (+) and made incredible pants out of the fabric that was created for him. He kept his inspiration a secret and when each contestant was surprised by a family member he opted to not tell his mom that he has been HIV positive for the past 10 years. I was very grateful he didn't choose to tell her on camera. He ended up winning the challenge and advancing all the way to the finals. The picture on the left is the flagship design of the collection he created for Fashion Week even though Nina Garcia urged him to scrap it. While I was searching for images of Mondo on Google I found out that Heidi Klum had the dress made specially for her. I love Mondo because he never backed down from who he was as a designer. Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder. (See original photo here.)

#5 Jerry Lawson and the Talk of the Town (The Sing Off Season 2 - 4th Place)

These guys are my heroes! Jerry Lawson was an original member of The Persuasions back in the day and originally collaborated with The Talk of the Town in 2001. (Jerry's return to live performance came after falling on very hard times.) They formed an unforgettable a Capella performance group that made it pretty darn far in the second season of The Sing Off. I absolutely loved the respect the audience showed for these guys (eventually chanting "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" at the end of their performances), especially when they were busting their butts to impress the younger folks with more contemporary songs. For me the best moment of the season was their rendition of The House of the Rising Sun. It chilled me to the bone. Months later Haley Reinhart choked out a similar rendition on American Idol and the judges kept remarking they had never heard anything like it. Obviously they don't watch the best singing competition on television. (See original pic here.)

#4 Jane Bright (Survivor Season 21)

This, ladies and gentleman, is Ms. Jane Bright laughing maniacally as she secretly eats an entire fish whilst hiding from her evil tribemates. You see, Jane was on the same season as the ill-fated Kelly Bruno (#8 above). Jane managed to survive with her "older" teammates but eventually was randomly traded to the "younger" tribe in a twist of the game. She ended up becoming their live-in maid, firewood stocker, and resident fisherwoman. Every effort she put into the tribe was thanklessly sucked down the gullets of her idiotic tribe members. When she was betrayed by Chase, her lone ally and fellow North Carolina resident, she knew she was on the chopping block for elimination. By then the immunity challenges had shifted to individual competitions as opposed to team matches. I will never forget watching this amazing 56-year-old woman outlast competitors half her age in battles of STRENGTH. That's right - strength! After clenching the immunity necklace set aside for the "female" winner of a particular challenge she could have easily dropped the impossible-to-hold-onto fire poker of death. The host prompted her to do so but instead she looked over at the remaining men and asked, "What if I want to beat them?" (Be sure to scroll down to the video.) And she did! Jane: I love you I love you I love you. (See original pic here.)

#3 "Boston Rob" Mariano (Survivor Seasons 4, 8, 20 and 22)

It's good to be king. Rob Mariano started his Survivor career in 2002, met his wife on his second season, got his butt handed to him by Russell Hantz 12 seasons later and FINALLY, in a landslide 8-1-0 vote, WON THE MILLION DOLLARS on his fourth attempt. What does this teach me? Never give up, never surrender! I remember hating this guy when he debuted on Season 4. Over the years he has become my hero (not just because he married a girl named Amber). He is mature, brilliant, hard-working, determined, cunning, fearless and gosh-darned hard to describe unless you've seen him compete on Survivor. Maybe the best word to describe him is "Murlonio." (See original pic here.)

#2 Margie & Luke Adams (The Amazing Race Seasons 14 and 18)

Margie and Luke came very close to winning their first season. I caught the season halfway through at the behest of my mom. She told me there was an amazing team comprised of a mother and her deaf son. I was completely impressed by Luke's performance in the challenges, especially the ones involving language because English is his second language. (ASL is his first.) As for Margie - she stands out to me as the exact type of mother I want to be. I was so happy when the team was brought back to compete on Season 18 ("Unfinished Business") but I was devastated when they were eliminated again (fast-forward to 3:07). They didn't perform as well in their second season but they proved to me once more that a disability never has to slow down your life or hinder you from becoming the person you were meant to be. (See original pic here.)

#1 Erik Weihenmayer, Jeff Evans & Aaron "Ike" Isaacson - Team No Limits (Expedition Impossible Season 1 - Runners-up)

Let's just say I could write an entire blog on these guys alone. In fact, they are the ones who inspired this blog in the first place. Expedition Impossible debuted this summer and I watched almost all of the episodes online. At first I was rooting for the "Country Boys" team (two of the members of the team are LDS) but it was soon apparent they weren't going to last very long in the competition. They were just too big and heavy (in a muscular way) for many of the challenges. The physical challenges in EI included harsh terrain (everything from sand dunes to snow-covered peaks), crazy animals (camels and horses), lots of water (kayaking, rowing and cliff jumping), plenty of scary heights (rappelling and sky-diving) and many a team meltdown. That doesn't even include the plethora of intellectual/verbal/spatial/cultural/navigational/mathematical challenges the teams faced in each leg. As I watched the season finale of Expedition Impossible I still couldn't believe that No Limits was still in the competition. I was skeptical of them at first because, well, Erik is blind. (He is pictured on the far left.) He completed every challenge, often aided by Jeff (in the center) who has been his climbing guide for 20+ years. Ike was always the quiet member of the group and the team flourished in the competition until Ike seriously injured his foot. When he given the choice of getting an X-ray and almost surely getting his team eliminated or walking on a possibly broken foot for the rest of the race, he chose the latter. No Limits miraculously completed the leg and a fellow competitor put it perfectly when he said, "You guys just inspired an entire nation." In one of the dramatic and inspiring moments of the season, No Limits beat another team in a footrace to qualify for the finals. It's just a shame that more people didn't know about this show. I want them to get their own TV show and teach us how to be as awesome as them. (See original pic here.)

Well boys and girls, it's almost 1:30 am. I suppose your Thursday evening is all wrapped up by now. If not, good on ya. Maybe you're up late watching the newest treasures on your DVR. Maybe you're writing your own blog. Or maybe, just maybe, you have a life that doesn't involve former reality TV cast members and fellow bloggers you've never met. Either way I hope you enjoyed this blog - even if you've never seen a single show listed above.

My reality TV heroes have taught me invaluable lessons. If I ever have to fight, compete, become vulnerable, dream, dream bigger, risk it all, lose it all, make a comeback, and demand respect only to start over and try again and again and again I have 10 amazing examples to look back on. Thanks to them I know that I can do it. There really are no limits.

An Observation

2011-08-31T23:25:00.008-06:00

Costco is a battlefield. I entered Costco on Monday morning armed to the teeth with a membership card, a shopping list, a shopping cart and a corporate credit card. Nothing could stop me from accomplishing my mission and returning to the office within an hour. I followed the route I had planned out in my head: produce, dried goods, refrigerated section. Bing bang boom. Three cases of Arrowhead, four selections of fruit, 150 plastic cups and five non-perishable bulk-sized snack items later I could hardly push my cart. I steered my tank to a short line guarded by two cashiers. Before I knew it they were grabbing items and pointing their laser-powered bar code reader at my cart. The lead guy asked if I had my membership card with me. Of course I did! I quickly handed it over and he looked at the picture on the back of my card. A split second later he asked me a question that would disarm me completely. “Is this your husband’s card?”

Bang! I’m dead. I had come to conquer Costco and instead I was reduced to smithereens. This guy had mistaken me for a guy. Better put – he had looked at a picture of me and thought I was a guy. (Can you believe that?) I replied, “That’s actually a picture of a girl.” I chose that phrase after it barely edged out an alternative dripping in sarcasm: “Yeah, my husband’s name is Amber.” (My full name was printed in all caps to the left of the photo.) I thought if anything he would apologize after realizing his mistake. Instead of dropping it he said, “Oh wow, that doesn’t look like you at all,” and then showed his buddy my freakishly hideous Costco membership photo. To my horror they laughed and remarked how “well-used” my card was as they tried to pinpoint how a picture could go so wrong. “It just really doesn’t look like you.” I didn’t know what to say (“Thanks…?”) and I didn’t want to be accountable to them for having a bad picture. I didn’t want to tell them that the picture had been taken in 2006 only weeks after I returned from my mission. I didn’t want to explain that sister missionaries were allowed to be hideous. Most of all I didn’t want to laugh it off and say, “Yeah, I know, my forehead’s huge, isn’t it?”

2006. Those were the days. I returned home from the Brazil Rio de Janeiro North Mission on July 30^th, 2006. I stayed in my hometown for four short weeks before moving back to P-town to finish my undergraduate degree. Back in those days I always developed photo prints at Costco. I have nearly 400 photos chronicling my first year back in the states. On Monday night I flipped through my photo albums and noticed something very curious. From August 2006 to August 2007 I was carefree. I was just a 23-year-old kid finishing college. I was relaxed and content to be with friends and family. I planned to head straight to graduate school and therefore was going to dodge the “real life” bullet for another two years. I didn’t have to fend for myself or hunt for jobs. At least, that was the original plan.

In July 2007 things started to change. I decided it might be worth putting my heart on the line and putting off school if it meant I could find that thing called love. I tried it twice and failed both times. I can pinpoint the change in my face as I flip through the pictures. Suddenly there is a guarded edge in my expression, a forced curve in my smile. Eyes that once sparkled with optimism were now steeped in solitude. I wanted something more and it showed in my face – especially in the pictures of two wedding receptions I attended. If the loneliness didn’t do me in then the sheer realization that I was going to leave all of my friends in a few short weeks certainly did. The following flurry of social events and summer’s end socials found me longing for more time and one more chance at happiness.

On August 12^th, 2007 I got one more shot, or so I thought. My friendship with a certain someone took a quick turn in the “relationship” direction. When I found out he wanted to attend my graduation ceremony I was elated. The pictures of that day show two unmistakable types of pride in my face – one stemming from academic achievement, the other from vanity. “Look at me. I have a guy. Look at me and my cute guy.” And so it was for the next several weeks. I was supposed to say goodbye to my Utah friends and move back to California but I didn’t. I was supposed be in graduate school, safely sheltered from the throes of Corporate America but I wasn’t. Instead I was in Utah indefinitely, looking for a job indefinitely, dating someone indefinitely.

From August 2007 to December 2007 I can spot each up and down in my relationship with “my guy.” I can see forced smiles trying to convince the casual observer that everything was fine in my life. I can see the white flags of surrender acknowledging that everything was all wrong. Somewhere in the middle I see the look of resignation that I would have to continue the search that I thought had ended when I fell in love with that boy.

My evolution from soft “RM” (returned missionary) to August 31, 2011 is unmistakable. The guys at Costco were right. I look nothing like my picture. That girl was all eyebrows, all blunt features, all forehead. Today I am a piece of hard-hitting artillery with a sharp jaw, protruding cheekbones and hollowed-out cheeks – not to mention spindly limbs, a curtain of bangs and a wall of hair all designed to distract from my face. With each new batch of pictures I see another piece of me has disappeared, another cushy layer of contentment has receded from the surface of my face. Apprehension wells up in the place once occupied by lightheartedness. The search goes on with no end in sight and I am only left with an observation: “Change is the only constant.”

Writer's Block

2011-08-26T14:01:00.006-06:00

My mind is finally blank
The racing wheels are still
Please tell me who I have to thank
For drying the ink in my quill

Words once fell on me like rain
Trapping me in their flood
Then they seeped into my brain
And flowed through me like blood

At first the current was thrilling
Pushing me to write along
But then I wasn't willing
To sing its woeful song

Closing my eyes was even worse
I saw words of every kind
I never imagined such a curse
Could drive me out of my mind

Fleeing words wore me out
They won each time they chased
Instead I prayed for a drought
And soon they were all erased

At first bareness was splendor
I could write each lost story
But there was no hope to explore
Ten thousand years of glory

White parchment mocked me so
I hated each clean page
Every leaf was my foe
I tore each one in rage

Since when do wishes come true?
Since when do I get what I want?
A wordless world can't renew
A mind so thirsty, twisted, gaunt

At first words imprisoned me
Now freedom ain't worth a franc
What good could my life ever be
When even my mind's gone blank?

Rideology

2011-08-20T23:50:00.001-06:00

Oh me, oh my, I bought a bicycle. This was all part of the 10-year plan but it came about a year earlier than expected. Let me explain.

I decided earlier this summer that I should wait until next summer to buy a road bike. That would give me time to save money, do research, and write my will. The only problem was I didn’t stop looking at used bikes on Craigslist and KSL Classifieds. (Note to self: “If you look, you will buy.”)

Bicycles and I have a long, somewhat complicated history. Here’s the run-down:

A Quick History of Bicycles

First (circa 1991) I inherited a light pink vintage girl’s bike with a banana seat from my sister’s best friend. I was eight-years-old when my dad taught me how to ride. We went to a construction area in my neighborhood where a brand new elementary school was being built. The area was deserted and after several trials and many errors I was riding like a pro. I was amazed that with the right momentum the bicycle would just “go” by itself. When I felt confident enough to go home and show my mom what I had learned I underestimated the difficulty of steering on a sidewalk. The bike made its way out of a driveway and, as my parents watched, I was nearly hit by a car. Talk about a great beginning!

A year or two after the new school was completed I found myself getting teased a lot for having such an old bike. One day I went to Burger King with my mom and the lady at the drive thru handed us a kid’s trivia booklet. I filled out the booklet and mailed it into Burger Kind headquarters as the instructions indicated. The number of questions answered correctly determined the number of times participants were entered into a drawing for prizes. A few weeks later I got a letter from Burger King congratulating me for winning a bike kit. I had no idea what it that could include but I hoped and prayed it meant I had won a halfway normal-looking bike.

As I counted down to the delivery of my mysterious “bike kit” I rehearsed for a school talent show with my best friend Naomi. We did a skit where I sat on her lap with a sheet covering me up to my neck and a table in front of me. I kept my arms out of sight while her arms were visible and acted as though they belonged to my body. The table was full of objects and Naomi had to blindly find them and use them as I recited a monologue my mom had written. I specifically remember putting on lipstick and getting a tin pie pan filled with whipped cream squished in my face. It was really fun and it was great to know my mom was in the audience.

Our performance happened to coincide with April Fool’s Day. When we got home my mom said we did a good job. She also told me there was a surprise in the garage. I thought, “This is it! I might have a new bike!” Naomi and I rushed into the garage and found a large cardboard box addressed to me. I was disappointed there was no bike but we took the box into the living room to open it up in front of my mom. She had a huge smile on her face. I carefully cut the packing tape, opened the box and reached inside. I grabbed a handful of cushioned nylon material and pulled it out with my eyes closed. When I opened them I was very puzzled to see a very familiar sight – one of my old taupe snow boots. Worst thing was, there only one. Or perhaps the worst thing was my mom bursting out in hysterical laughter.

This is probably a good time to tell you my mom is a big jokester. She once forged a letter from the First Presidency and sent it to her friend to inform her that all full-time missions were being extended by six months. Her friend’s identical twin sons, who were about to come home, were instead going to miss a third Christmas at home. The poor woman was devastated until my mom confessed her prank and assured her that the boys would be home in time for Christmas.

Back to the boot. My mom was laughing, Naomi’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and I was wondering if the entire Burger King letter was one of my mom’s scams. I was really sad. Before I could start crying in earnest my mom pulled out a box with a much more official postage label. I hardly trusted it to be the real deal. My mom swore it was. This time the box revealed a pair of biking gloves, a helmet, a water bottle and a Haro sports bag. I was thrilled and for a long time I considered it one of the best days of my life. The only problem was none of the modern, streamlined items coordinated very well with a floofy, frilly light pink bicycle.

Second (circa 1995)

I remember trying to bargain with my parents. “What if we sell the pink bike and use that money to pay for a new bike?” They replied that it was wrong to sell a gift. Instead, years passed and I finally outgrew my bike. Hallelujah! Seventh grade was right around the corner and my parents took 5’2” me to the store to buy a new bike. We found something well under $100 and thoroughly less embarrassing than the pink bike. My new bike was dark green with thick tires, four gears and magenta accents. I also got a new Bell helmet and with that I was ready to ride. I rode the bike to middle school with Rosario countless times but there was a problem – I kept getting flat tires. That left Rosario with a difficult decision to either ride on without me or walk beside me and my useless bike. She was a great friend and always stuck beside me unless I insisted she go ahead without me.

My dad fixed all of my flats and even though we bought special tubes they still got punctured. The combination of constant flat tires and increasing social pressure at school led to a decrease in my riding. During this time my dad was getting into mountain biking and although my sister was brave enough to go with him a couple of times I could never gather the courage to ride with them. I knew that it would be easier to pick up the hobby early in life as opposed to waiting until I was grown up and brave enough. However, as my dad came home with bruises upon bruises, cuts and even broken ribs, I became cemented in my refusal to ride. By my sophomore year of high school my bike had turned gray with a thick layer of dust.

Third (made in 1987, bought in 2011)

The last time I rode my green bike I was probably 15-years-old. There is a certain amount of guilt associated with wanting something so bad, finally receiving it, enjoying it for a while, and then abandoning it as soon as it becomes incompatible with your lifestyle. I had begged for that bike but in the end the pink bike had been a steadier companion. When I began browsing for my current bike I wanted something with a solid reputation – something I would be proud to sit on. I eliminated the cruiser category because I wanted to get something light enough to lift. I eliminated the mountain bike category because of my deeply burrowed fear of getting injuries like my dad’s. That left me with one traditional category: road bikes. And so the search began.

I am usually very meticulous when researching a big purchase. I am usually positive I have enough money before handing over the funds. I figured that buying a bike next summer would be the way to go, but when I spotted a used red and white Bianchi Premio on Craigslist, I lost all control. I was disheartened to see that the seller lived an hour and a half away so I decided to calmly send an email and see if the bike was still available. (It had been posted three weeks prior.) Over the next 24 hours I pushed it out of my head and prepared myself for disappointment. When I found out the bike was still available, I started carving out time in my schedule to drive to M-town the next day.

When I arrived at the seller’s home I caught a glimpse of the bike leaning against the frame of the garage door. As much as I wanted to hold onto all of the $20 bills I had just taken out of the ATM, my heart jumped at the mere sight of the bike’s brilliant red frame and worn white tires. It had to be mine. The seller was very patient with me and worked with me for almost an hour as I learned how to ride, turn, shift gears, and stop. One time I panicked and forgot where the brakes were and was well on my way to crashing into the neighbor’s fence before I bailed. Before I left the seller gave me a small rock with an angel painted on it to keep me safe. That day I drove home with a few bruises, a bike in the back of my car and a huge smile on my face.

Present Day

I completely underestimated how hard it would be to “learn” to ride a road bike. Either my 12-year hiatus from riding bicycles is to blame or I am the biggest chicken in the world. A month ago I was only willing to ride on deserted residential streets in a gated community. I’ve made progress thanks to patient friends and their contagious taste for adventure. Three practice rides with friends and two solo rides later I can honestly tell you I have a love/hate relationship with my bike. There are moments when I’m convinced I’ve done the right thing and I might be a roadie for life. I dream of my next bike – most certainly a Bianchi, preferable painted Celeste – and think about participating in some kind of triathlon. Then there are moments when I want to call it quits, snap a photo of my bike and post it on Craigslist before I get in a wreck.

Today I was walking my bike along the side of the road to a stoplight where I intended to begin my first ride in two weeks. Another cyclist passed me and asked if everything was alright. I told him I was just learning and didn’t want to begin my ride in the street. He wished me well and continued on his way. An hour and a half later he found me again. This time we were on our way down the canyon and I was hating life. My hands, wrists, arms, shoulders and neck were all exhausted from braking during the constant descent down the canyon. We rode and talked for a while and he clued me in that even though the experienced cyclists make it look easy, it never is easy. It is always hard. He encouraged me to keep at it and not give up.

Although my rideology might fluctuate between ends of the spectrum during the course of one ride, one thing is for certain: Good things in life are hard to come by and once you get them it is a fight to hold onto them. Sometimes our own guilt, regret and fear rip our dreams right out of our grasp. Other times it is the mocking glances, whispered rumors and pointing fingers of our peers that reduce us to sniveling messes. Whether the opposition is physical or social, inflicted or self-imposed, real or imagined there is no doubt our bodies, our courage and the people that surround us can fail us. The part that matters is whether or not you hit the brakes and bail. For me, there only seems to be one choice. “Ride On.”

TravelBlogue - July Road Trip (Part 3)

2011-07-27T15:24:00.005-06:00

Now leaving South Dakota!

Top two photos: Devils Tower National Monument

Shoshone National Forest & Yellowstone National Park

Yellowstone National Park

Old Faithful Geyser

Midway Geyser Basin & Grand Prismatic Spring

Midway Geyser Basin

Yellowstone National Park

Grant Village - West Thumb - Yellowstone

Grand Teton National Park & Jackson, WY

TravelBlogue - July Road Trip (Part 2)

2011-07-27T00:17:00.002-06:00

Martin's Cove

Crazy Horse

Approaching Mount Rushmore

Mount Rushmore

Views of Washington

Rapid City, SD

Rapid City Fireworks

Deadwood, SD

Mount Moriah Cemetery - Deadwood, SD

Keystone, SD

Mount Rushmore Evening Lighting Ceremony