TV Greats

I'm back from St. Thomas! I'm not sure that should end with an exclamation point, now that I think about it. Is there a symbol on the keyboard that I can end a sentence with that demonstrates the horror that was leaving the tropics to come home to winter? That would be a more appropriate punctuation mark.

I'm back from St.Thomas :(

There, that's more like it.

As for my trip, I may or my not blog about it. I mean, it was awesome, but how many pictures of amazing beaches can I show?

So for now, I'm going to blog about my new favorite show, American Pickers, which my husband discovered for me while I was gone. It's like Hoarders meets Antique Road Show. Pure awesomeness. Does that man know me or what??

Here's a little taste...



Mondays at 9/8c (which is 8pm here in Utah, I think) on the History Channel.

p.s. If you can find the episode "Mole Man" to watch, it's pure gold. The probably-autistic guy in that show dug underground like 25 feet and created a maze of passages and rooms, each full of amazing finds. It's crazy! Crazy good.

Nine Beaches In Five Days

So I am here in St. Thomas. And the waves are lapping at my feet. And I am lapping at a piña colada. And it is my last full day. And I want to cry. I know, poor me. Well, i will be back in the land of cold and frost and Internet access tomorrow night. Talk to you then. If tou are still out there.

Technology and Me

It all started when I was trying to get pregnant 6 years ago. I found a website to monitor my cycle on and ended up joining several of their "buddy groups" (smaller, semi-private message boards for women with something in common--location, fertility issue, etc.).

A few years later, when that fertility website wanted to start charging us to sit around and gab all day about our cervical fluid (AS IF), the LDS buddy group I had joined split off and started our own forum. But I kept up with a couple of the groups who stayed as well.

A year or so after that, one friend from the LDS forum became an avid blogger. And she kept asking me, "Did you read my blog today?" I hadn't. And I thought at the time, "What do you think I do? Sit around and read people's blogs all day??"

HA.HA.HA. If only I could have foreseen my own future....

Slowly, more and more people I knew were beginning to blog. By this time, I was reading emails, had kept up with 3 different buddy groups, plus my LDS forum, and had several internet "pen pals" that I wrote back and forth with regularly. I couldn't imagine finding more time in my day to be on the internet. Well, actually I could. But I was seriously afraid of what it would do to my life. Well, a year or two later I finally gave in to the whole blogging thing, not sure if I would like it or even have something to say (AS IF). And what do you know, I quickly found myself doing exactly what I had previously scoffed at....sitting around and doing nothing all day but reading people's blogs!

But that is IT, I told myself. I already spend way too much time on the internet. I have got to cut back somewhere.

Then along came Facebook. I consider myself a pretty technologically savvy person. I like to stay on the cutting edge of things. But I had a feeling Facebook would make me even more likely to neglect my children, get yelled at by my husband, and have my fingers permanently meld to the keyboard. So I did sign up, and I added friends little by little, but I never got into the whole constant-posting-of-every-tiny-aspect-of-my-life part of it. And even less into the constantly-reading-about-every-tiny-aspect-of-your-life part of it. I mostly used Facebook for the "So THAT's what he/she looks like after all these years!" feature of it. And I think I'm pretty comfortable leaving it that way. Especially since I'm seriously rubbed wrong by the fact that some people seem to think that posting things on Facebook is the same thing as talking to someone in person. (It's NOT, in case you're not clear on that, some of you.) I literally discovered, in a one week period, missed announcements of one friend's baby's birth, one friend moving to another part of the country, and one friend getting married. ALL OF THESE EVENTS WERE ONLY POSTED ON FACEBOOK. No mailings, no phone calls, no "hey let's get together before I move to Oregon"s. Just "I'm flinging this out there to the whole world and if you happen to check my status during the 3 hours it shows up in your feed, then you'll know this super important thing about my life, and if not, oh well." See.....that's just not how I want to live my life. I know everyone says the internet is here to bring us closer together, make connections, blah blah blah... It's all lies, if you ask me. The way I see it, internet technology has allowed us to become so isolated from the real people in our lives--our next door neighbors, our kids' friends' moms, the people in our office, etc.--that we can avoid actually talking to another human being that we care about for years if we utilize all the technology available to us. We can spend 8 years in a house without our next door neighbor ever knowing our name.

And then there's Twitter. I can't even go there.

As much as I feel like this may mean that I've reached the point in my life where I will start being "old," or stop being hip, or will no longer be as technologically advanced as humanly possible......I think I might be OK with that.

Because my next door neighbor on one said is named Dave. And my next door neighbors on the other side are Steve and Marilyn. And my neighbor behind me is Heather. And their dogs are named Cooper and Regis and Ein. And I bring them muffins sometimes. And they lend me Paprika when I need it. And I send out real, actual, paper invitations in the mail and pick up the phone to talk to the people I love. And that makes me feel like the people around me are real and I am real. It makes me feel connected to the world. More connected than 140 characters of text on my iPhone ever could.

p.s. This doesn't mean I don't love you if you're way more technologically advanced than me now. It just means I think I'm going to stay here for a while. I hope you'll still love me too.

Don't Hate Me

Starting Wednesday, my wardrobe for the next 6 days will consist of:









I still need a sundress to fill in the gaps between lying on the beach and traveling to and from the beach. I know it won't be very much time I'll need to fill, but, you know, I might want breakfast on the terrace once or twice. Anyone know where I can get a cute sun dress this time of year?


I know, I know, I'll be collecting your hate mail shortly. You can mail it to ST.THOMAS!!!!!

(But I'm serious about the sun dress ideas....anyone?)

Three Cups of Tea

I just read the best book I've read in several years: Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin.

I saw this book about two years ago in a book store and thought it looked intriguing. I wrote it down in my phone so I would remember to look for it at the library. But I never followed through. And I missed out on this fantastic book for two years!

It's the story of how one man sacrificed everything to bring education to girls in Pakistan and Afghanistan. An extreme mountain climber, Greg Mortensen got lost on his descent from a failed climb of K2 in Pakistan and ended up in a remote village. The village chief took him in and nursed him back to health. There Greg discovered that there were no schools anywhere in this mountainous area, and he decided to find a way to build a school there. The book goes on to tell his amazing adventures in raising money, building a bridge and then a school, and traveling to other remote and poverty-stricken areas of Pakistan and Afghanistan to bring basic education to the area, especially its girls.

It is such an inspiring tale. First of all, it points out what one person can do with some determination and hard work. He managed to build over 40 schools by the time of publication! But more importantly to me, it highlighted an area of the world I knew only a little about and demonstrated how these poor, simple Muslim people would sacrifice everything they had--the few rupies they had collected over the years, their own labor and health, land, materials, etc.--to give their children, their daughters, a chance at a better life. They're such a misunderstood people. We think of Muslims from that area as extremists and terrorists. But all of the people in the book, including some of the highest Muslim leaders in the country, hoped only for a better life for their children, peace, education, understanding, and condemned the hateful, violent behavior of a few of their countrymen.

I was so inspired by the end of this book that I was, first of all, in tears. And secondly, motivated to do something. The book said that one penny could buy a child a pencil, a dollar a month could pay for a child's education, and a dollar a day was enough to pay a teacher's salary. I spend enough to pay for all three of those things in one meal going out to eat on the weekend. It's amazing to think that that small amount of money could mean a child in Pakistan grows up loving life, believing in him or herself, and understanding the world beyond her village instead of being recruited by terrorist schools.

Anyway, read this book. It is wonderful, touching, and exciting. And it will change how you feel about the people in that part of the world who get such a bad name by a few extremists in their midst.

Spicey

This commercial totally cracks me up. Anyone seen it?




Heheheeee.

Plus he's hot. That is some gooood advertising.

Crazy Eight

Once upon a time, a girl got a job at a restaurant. Despite years of serving experience, she was forced to do the lowly job of bussing tables for a time. The one bright spot in her dreary job was the funny assistant manager. He didn't check her tables at the end of the day to make sure they were wiped clean enough. He didn't pull the chairs out to see if she had missed a crumb. He turned the music on really loud once all the customers were gone for the night, and he challenged the employees to 1980's sitcom and movie quote quizzes.

Soon the man was promoted to manager. He never let it go to his head. He continued to be fun, lenient, and easy to get along with. He made everyone laugh. He had a nice butt. He was great. But he was taken.

After a couple of years, the girl completed her university studies, all except her student teaching. She decided to go abroad and fill that requirement in Fiji. She packed up her things and scoured the phone book for a cheap place to store her stuff while she was gone. She hit on one place; it was several miles outside of town, but it was cheaper than all the rest. She stowed her things, and off she went to the South Pacific.

Four months later, the girl returned. She drove down to the storage unit to pick up her things. She loaded them in the car. Just as she was driving out of the storage place, another car was driving in. She thought she recognized the small, gold Montero as that of her former manager. She slowed down and peered out the window to see. The Montero slowed and a head popped out, looking back at her. It was the manager. So the two got out of their cars to talk. His former relationship was over. He was single. And he just happened to be going out disco skating that night with a couple of other former employees from the restaurant (who, incidentally, he had never hung out with before or since). He asked the girl to accompany him. She agreed.

That night, the girl got to witness her former boss shaking his groove thing in tight brown bell-bottoms with a silky v-neck shirt, buttoned low. It was hot. He was a good skater. She was impressed.

That night they talked at his house long into the night. The next day he called her and they hung out again. They kept on hanging out for several years until, finally, they decided to hang out forever. They took the requisite cheesy pictures, smiling at each other and kissing. And then, eight years ago today, they gathered their closest family into their 108-year old Victorian house's sunny front room, exchanged $20 rings from the silver kiosk at the mall, and vowed to love each other forever.

So far so good. Happy eight years, Sweetie.