Things currently driving my passion:
1. Costa Rica---only two more weeks, my passport FINALLY came, not looking forward to wearing synthetics and ugly sandals for a week
2. CrossFit---I finally have a bum that's not so flat-as-a-pancake, and my body is always sore, BUT I'm also in probably the best shape of my life.
3. The Zone/Paleo---wellness is 80% nutrition and that is definitely true!
4. chocolate cinnamon bears (not Zone/Paleo approved)---Cade is a saint for sending us a bag (actually two--USPS lost the first one and they wonder why they're going bankrupt), I may enlist you for monthly shipments
5. Wee Musicians---mid-century prints, so adorable, I saw an overpriced trio of them at The Guild Shop (Houston's BEST thrift/consignment shop) and haven't stopped dreaming of them after passing them up
6. bettering myself--weight loss (17 pounds so far! I am fitting in clothes I haven't fit in for a while, dropped a pant size and shirt size)
7. purging--not the eating disorder kind of purge, just the kind where I rid my life of unproductive things. Namely surfing the Internet. It's so fun, but I still have sewing projects to start/finish and the www is not helping much.
8. how I want to parent--Jeff and I are both getting baby hungry, which I think is a good thing. Something not exactly good are all the kids we've been around lately who have MAJOR behavioral issues, that seem to be perpetuated by their parents. We are pretty sure this one kid at church is going to turn into a serial killer. He made the strangest comments when we subbed his class in Primary a few weeks ago. We are talking a lot about how we want to raise our kids: handle good and bad behavior, discipline, teach, etc. Luckily we agree on most everything.
9. cooking a whole chicken -- this one is kind of weird. I cooked a whole chicken for the first time last night. Reaching into the cavity and pulling out the giblets was pretty disgusting. Worse though was rinsing the chicken and patting it dry. It felt like a baby. I was traumatized at first, but I'd do it again and again for the price. $4.75 for a 5-lb. chicken that fed us, the sister missionaries, is giving me lunch today, and Jeff and I enough meat for our salads tonight. $4.75 gets us about four chicken breasts, if I can find it on sale.
10. Gardening -- we started a garden share with a family in our congregation. The wife is an agronomist. She's been growing organic for five years or more. Can't wait for our harvest. We are learning a lot about Houston's growing seasons. There are two: Spring and Fall. Spring season you plant in February and harvest in April. The garden can't survive the hot, sticky summers and all the mold and fungus the season brings. Plant again in August, harvest in October, often through the winter. Jeff and I are scheming on how to turn our small patio into an urban garden paradise. Perhaps tiered grow boxes. I'm not sure...all I know is we need to plant soon! Like last weekend!
What spring projects do you have planned?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Killer squirrel
I have been wondering lately why I don't really like Houston.
Houston is very big. Not big in the there's-something-cool-around-every-corner big, like New York, or the Bay Area, or European cities. Just big. Strip mall big. Every day I drive by thousands of strip malls, seedy shops where immodest clothes are proudly displayed, fast food joints and greasy Chinese takeout places and lots of beat up cars that badly need body work done. Drivers are either really dumb or really aggressive. I am constantly worried about our apartment being broken into, or Jeff getting jumped at work (he works in the ghetto), or Jeff getting in a car crash, or blowing a tire on the crazy pot holes all over Houston's roads. Every day I dread the summer. If you have never been to Houston in the summer, you are lucky. It is disgusting. The weather here is already getting disgusting. Humid, warm, sticky, and the a/c in the Rat stopped working. In summer there is little respite from the weather. The pool helps, and cold showers, but otherwise you live in a steam room.
It is a noisy city. Noisy with traffic, filth, ugly music. But also birds songs I hadn't previously heard, and kids sometimes, and the NPR affiliate is really good, except for during pledge times when I can't stand it anymore. I mean we donate to KUHF but they never stop begging for money.
I was thinking about all the places I've lived that I've loved. Which is everywhere. And places I've visited that I've loved. Of course Europe--London and Paris, San Francisco and most of the Bay Area, I really love Utah and the idea of Utah. I love Colorado. I love most of California.
But like our friend Lars said last night, "It's all about the people, right?"
Sure, Lars.
What brought all this on was realizing that none of my favorite memories have anything to do with being in Houston. Some of my favorite memories occurred here, but they could have occurred anywhere. I feel nostalgic for other cities and towns because of the memories I made there, that could only be made there.
Also, my office window overlooks the roof of some administration building for the University of St. Thomas here in Houston. It's an old house that's been converted into office space. Squirrels are constantly playing the roof; you can frequently find me procrastinating by watching these crazy rodents. They are nuts. It's like WWF wrestling up here.
I mention it because I just looked over at the roof, and a squirrel slithered out from between the roof tiles and wooden frame. It was really creepy. Considering the vivid dreams I'm having lately, I will probably dream about a killer squirrel tonight. Oh great.
Houston is very big. Not big in the there's-something-cool-around-every-corner big, like New York, or the Bay Area, or European cities. Just big. Strip mall big. Every day I drive by thousands of strip malls, seedy shops where immodest clothes are proudly displayed, fast food joints and greasy Chinese takeout places and lots of beat up cars that badly need body work done. Drivers are either really dumb or really aggressive. I am constantly worried about our apartment being broken into, or Jeff getting jumped at work (he works in the ghetto), or Jeff getting in a car crash, or blowing a tire on the crazy pot holes all over Houston's roads. Every day I dread the summer. If you have never been to Houston in the summer, you are lucky. It is disgusting. The weather here is already getting disgusting. Humid, warm, sticky, and the a/c in the Rat stopped working. In summer there is little respite from the weather. The pool helps, and cold showers, but otherwise you live in a steam room.
It is a noisy city. Noisy with traffic, filth, ugly music. But also birds songs I hadn't previously heard, and kids sometimes, and the NPR affiliate is really good, except for during pledge times when I can't stand it anymore. I mean we donate to KUHF but they never stop begging for money.
I was thinking about all the places I've lived that I've loved. Which is everywhere. And places I've visited that I've loved. Of course Europe--London and Paris, San Francisco and most of the Bay Area, I really love Utah and the idea of Utah. I love Colorado. I love most of California.
But like our friend Lars said last night, "It's all about the people, right?"
Sure, Lars.
What brought all this on was realizing that none of my favorite memories have anything to do with being in Houston. Some of my favorite memories occurred here, but they could have occurred anywhere. I feel nostalgic for other cities and towns because of the memories I made there, that could only be made there.
Also, my office window overlooks the roof of some administration building for the University of St. Thomas here in Houston. It's an old house that's been converted into office space. Squirrels are constantly playing the roof; you can frequently find me procrastinating by watching these crazy rodents. They are nuts. It's like WWF wrestling up here.
I mention it because I just looked over at the roof, and a squirrel slithered out from between the roof tiles and wooden frame. It was really creepy. Considering the vivid dreams I'm having lately, I will probably dream about a killer squirrel tonight. Oh great.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
What is and isn't
I remember how I felt the day I discovered my dad had a jumprope.
Mine was pink, with glitter stuck in the plastic rope. I think it had pompoms coming out of the handles; they made a swishing sound like waves when I turned them in my hands. I liked to jumprope a lot. We jumproped a lot at school, but we had to use actual pieces of rope, which weren't nearly as fun as my rope at home. They didn't make the same tap tap on the ground like mine did, like tap shoes. Plus the ropes were all in varying lengths, and I seemed to always get stuck with one that was too short. I was good at crossovers.
I liked double-dutch. I wanted to be like the girls I saw on "Sesame Street." They were really good at double-dutch, so good they went to competitions. They wore cool beads in their hair. My mom said girls like me didn't wear those kinds of beads in their hair. I didn't know why.
Jumproping was a game to me. It was for fun. Only little girls jumproped, like how only girls play hopscotch. That's just how it was.
So the day I discovered my dad had a jumprope, I realized everything I knew was wrong.
Now I want to jumprope like this guy.
Mine was pink, with glitter stuck in the plastic rope. I think it had pompoms coming out of the handles; they made a swishing sound like waves when I turned them in my hands. I liked to jumprope a lot. We jumproped a lot at school, but we had to use actual pieces of rope, which weren't nearly as fun as my rope at home. They didn't make the same tap tap on the ground like mine did, like tap shoes. Plus the ropes were all in varying lengths, and I seemed to always get stuck with one that was too short. I was good at crossovers.
I liked double-dutch. I wanted to be like the girls I saw on "Sesame Street." They were really good at double-dutch, so good they went to competitions. They wore cool beads in their hair. My mom said girls like me didn't wear those kinds of beads in their hair. I didn't know why.
Jumproping was a game to me. It was for fun. Only little girls jumproped, like how only girls play hopscotch. That's just how it was.
So the day I discovered my dad had a jumprope, I realized everything I knew was wrong.
Now I want to jumprope like this guy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
