A Little Treat for Monday

Lucky Me

I have the sweetest husband in the world. (I know you all think you do, but sorry, you're wrong. I do.) So, this morning James had a final at 7:00 so he kissed me good bye and I was happily back in sleepland within seconds. Apparently he came home around 8:30 and saw I was still asleep so he left again. I woke up the second time he came back, but he didn't come in to check on me just started making a lot of noise (trying not to make much noise) in the kitchen. I finally woke up around 9:30 and came out to find flowers on the kitchen table (which was set), bacon frying on the stove, and biscuits ready to go in the oven. I was so charmed. He even had everything ready to make omelets, and we cut up strawberries and James showed me a fun new way to eat them (dip them in sour cream and brown sugar--try it, it's good!). It was just the perfect way to start a Saturday. I really really really really really really love my husband.
After our lovely breakfast he took me to the temple, then we went up the canyon with some friends to hike up inside snow caves at the top of bridal veil falls. (Super cool, by the way, even if my paranoid mind went overboard imagining avalanches etc. etc.) It was a lovely day finished off with (what else?) Guitar Hero on the projector that Brad and Shelly brought over--thanks guys! :)
And again, the cool breeze is wafting in the window of my--still clean!--back room and I'm just thrilled to be alive. And all because I had the wisdom, foresight, and talent to marry the greatest man alive. It's all me. :P

Movie Review

Tonight I went out shopping with my best friend Alayna--we took the opportunity to be ultimately girly and go see a very girly movie--Penelope. This was seriously one of the most adorable movies I have seen in a long time.
What I loved about it:
The characters- whimsical but real, funny but still relevant, and downright endearing.
The costumes- I so want her clothes--for a girl stuck inside her house her whole life, she had a simply spectacular wardrobe.
The story- very sweet with a good message but not so cheesily/shallowly done as such stories often are.
The guy- adorable, and everything he did ended up all making sense in the end
Just the whole feel of it was fun and clean and uplifting. And so beautifully designed. I want to live in that movie.
I recommend it most definitely--especially if you're a girl.

What a Day

Today I felt

Happiness: when the sun came out again after the all-day snowfall of yesterday (ugh!)
Embarrassment: because I locked myself out of the office and had to eat my lunch outside the door waiting for someone to let me in.
Frustration: most likely because I am hormonal and overtired, and then because I was made to wait a long time at the distribution center.
Shame: because the very kind lady with whom I was so frustrated thanked me profusely for my patience.
Gratitude: for the gentle reminder to be patient and kind and forgiving--as this lady was with me.
Triumph: because (and admittedly this is a very shallow triumph) I finally nailed the intro to My Name is Jonas at the medium level on guitar hero.
Love: because my husband is so loving and patient with me, even when I'm not being patient with him.
and
Delight: when I discovered that with my new magnetic cell phone case I can actually stick my phone to the refrigerator.

Guitar Hero Tells Me I Rock

So I wanted to write a blog entry yesterday, keeping with the whole goal of writing something every day. But, there were more pressing matters to attend to. Those pressing matters would be, as the title of this blog indicates, playing Guitar Hero. James is excited because I'm addicted to a video game. I'm just excited cuz I get to "play" Weezer and Killers songs—and then, whether I get a perfect score or a dismal pass, Guitar Hero tells me "You Rock!"

Oh, Possibility

Sunday is a day when, for me, everything seems possible. Can I make an affordable, healthy, tasty meal every day this week? Why, yes. Can I set aside time every day for scripture study? Certainly. Can I keep my house in the nearly crisp state I have spent the entire weekend to achieve? No prob-o-lem. Ah, Sunday. How I love you. I'm glad you come around every seven days so I can have this feeling of empowerment and starting-over-ness that I love so much. Even if it is all shot to hades by Tuesday afternoon.
Right now I'm sitting in my greatest triumph of the weekend--the back room, aka The Room of Death, aka The Pit of Despair, aka The Garage. Yeah, I know that last one is not nearly so dramatic, but I found it to be an accurate description of what this room has come to be in the nearly nine months that James and I have lived here. It is the catch-all, the hiding place of messes, the museum for pieces that may yet come in handy. At least--it was (cue dramatic music)--until now. Yes, friends--as of yesterday this room has been transformed into a clean and highly functional actual room. The bookshelf holds (mostly) books; the hutchy-thing stores craft materials; the desk is home to assorted paperwork, old pairs of glasses, and the sewing machine; the floor is (blessedly) clean of clutter--I even vacuumed it. (By the way, I think the "Hardest Word to Spell Ever" award goes to "vacuumed".) *Tracie if you're reading this, notice the British style punctuation. I couldn't help myself.* Ok ok, let me get to the best part. The best part is we've moved the birds nest-y chair to right below the window, which I now have open and the cool breeze (can you believe it was warm enough today -70 degrees!- that I can appreciate a cool breeze?) is softly wafting through the window and making me feel even stronger that sense of Sunday possibility.
Oh, possibility.

Monday, Not So Monday

I'm backdating my blog and writing this blog as if I had written it on Monday, which I didn't, but my goal was to write every day in my blog so I thought I'd go ahead and pretend like I did write in my blog so that I could more easily get into the habit. So here it is, Monday's blog:

A Few of My Favorite Things

Favorite color: red (I'm wearing a red undershirt, a red sweater, and a red-trimmed shirt today--Wednesday, that is, not Monday)
Favorite food: recently? seven-layer dip. I blame James. (would that not be the coolest name for a band? I Blame James in town this Saturday!)
Favorite thing to do when there's nothing to do at work: Chat with Mom, or text with Cyndi
Favorite song of the moment: See You Again, by Miley Cyrus. Weird, I know.
Favorite band right now: The Killers
Favorite thing about living in Utah: the mountains
Favorite thing to daydream about: Going to Greece soon
Favorite web site to fool around on: Daybreakbreakutah.com
Favorite thing to do on said web site: pretend I live there
Favorite thing to do once I get home from work: take a bath and relax
Favorite shows: Chuck, Monk, Psych, and Battlestar Gallactica
Favorite shoes: black ballet flats
Favorite thing to do after dinner: take a walk with James and/or make milkshakes
Favorite people: All of you!
Favorite thing about Monday: when it's actually Wednesday

Your turn! Tell me what your favorite things are!

Recipes

Ok, for those of you who have not been exposed to Askaninja.com, I am pleased to include one of their videos in my post today. For those of you who have been exposed. . . I'm still pleased to include one of their videos in my post today.

Cruel to be Kind

Reed was not a cruel person. His enemies might call him foolish, irritating, encourageable—even incorrigible. But even his worst enemy could not, in good conscience, label the man as cruel. Yet here he was, not only doing something that would be universally defined as unspeakably cruel, but also doing it to someone who was most likely certifiably insane. Someone he quite liked, even, despite everything.

"So, how've you been Duncan?" he asked, still trying to make the situation seem casual, his request reasonable. The two men sat across from each other in Reed's kitchen; Reed had wanted this conference to be comfortable, yet private. Duncan was unpredictable, and what Reed wanted from him was unusual and, as previously mentioned, unspeakably cruel. It wouldn't do to have witnesses.

"She left me, Joe," Duncan said. His left hand was raised to his forehead and he was tapping his eyebrow contemplatively with two fingers. He squinted at Reed as if imploring an answer. He let his head slide down into the palm of his large, bony hand and shook his head sadly. "A right princess, she was, that woman. Don't know what I'll do without her. Kept that old fiddle fiddling, if you know what I mean? That fiddle of mine, have you seen it lately? It needs a good polishing, I'll tell you one thing. Can't get anyone to put coins in my case if that fiddle don't shine the way it should. D'you know fiddle's just another name for the violin? Always thought t'was something different, but turns out they're exactly the same. Don't sound quite as good to say violin as it does to say fiddle, though, do it Reed?" Duncan sat straight up abruptly then, his long, skeletal arms dropping down to his sides, his shoulders stretched back and his eyebrows raised. "Reed!" he sounded a bit alarmed. "Don't let me go on like that. Thought you was Joe for a second, you gotta set me right."

He sat back then and smiled at Reed, somewhat expectantly, as if he had actually just answered Reed's question with a "Fine thanks, and yourself?" and was now waiting for the customary reply.

Reed ought to have been used to Duncan's erratic, yet harmless, behavior, but still every time he met with Duncan he had to remind himself that the challenges the man was facing were more than enough to make someone seem a little bit addled. And here he was about to add to that significant struggle—but how to bring it up? He needed to get Duncan to concentrate for a bit, needed him to remember where and when he was so that he could broach this rather difficult subject of an extremely significant favor. He tried to think of a conversation topic that was a little more relevant to Duncan's present situation than his former days as street performer, a topic that could be brought around quickly to the real subject at hand.

"So," he cleared his throat. "How long is it now that you've been a vampire?"

Duncan frowned a bit. "Have to think about that one, Reed. You know how things get all mixed up for me sometimes." He held up both hands and pushed each finger down one by one, counting. "Got to be about seven years since she turned me. A right princess, she was, that woman."

Reed inhaled sharply. He was afraid Duncan might start looping, and the thought made him feel a bit desperate. He needed Duncan to concentrate, needed him to be present. He couldn't handle hours of typical Duncan-style conversation. Not tonight. He opened his mouth to interrupt, but it seemed Duncan had caught on to Reed's agitated state.

"That woman—wait! Is this about that woman? Listen Reed, it means a lot that you haven't killed me as of yet. I know that woman wants you to. But you know I'm not like the rest. You've got to convince her and those other slayer friends of yours. I don't drink blood!" He looked as genuine as a three year old, his head tilted and his eyes wide with sparkling sincerity, as if to say Don't you know it?

Reed sighed, a mixture of relief and very heavy guilt. Duncan knew who and what he was, and he knew who Reed was as well. At least getting him to concentrate had been easy. Getting him to agree, though, that was another story.

"Would you ever consider making an exception to that policy?" he asked slowly, his voice very serious. Duncan looked as if he was about to protest, when Reed added soberly, "For a friend?"

"Now, what do you mean?" Duncan's eyes were suddenly very lucid, perhaps more lucid than Reed had ever seen him. He didn't know if that would make this easier or more difficult. He took a deep breath and launched into the meat of the issue, so to speak.

"Ok, Duncan. You remember Helen?" He looked at his friend a little uncertainly, sure he would have to prod a little to get Duncan's mind to clear enough that he could remember past conversations about Helen.

"Helen, yes, your wife," Duncan responded crisply, then rattled off several facts he knew about Helen. "Turned into a vampire; can't handle the moral implications of feasting upon the flesh of the living in order to survive; indescribably beautiful, if maddeningly frustrating; feels herself to be dead and therefore no longer bound to you by marriage; certainly still loves you, but feels herself unworthy of your devotion; usually a very funny person." He nodded severely to indicate he was quite finished with his list, thank you.

Reed had to laugh at the remarkably accurate description of the person Helen had become. But Duncan was not laughing: he was staring at Reed, wide-eyed and tight-faced. They both started talking at once—

"Now Duncan, be reasonable—"
"—I won't do it, I won't, I wo—"
"You're the only one I can ask—"
"—Will not do it! I have told you about my particul—"
"If there was any other way, you know I'd never—"
"—particular diet, and you know how I do stick to things once I've made up my—"
"It's not as bad as you think, just one little bite!"
"—mind. One little, excuse me?! Do you know how long I've gone without one little bite!"


Reed did know. Duncan had not bitten a human in all the years he had been a vampire. Not one, single time. A vampire could not starve to death, but that's not to say lack of food does not have its effects. His voluntary starvation had made him a pariah among his fellow vampires and had quite effectively alienated him from reality. But his desire to prove that one could be both a vampire and, simultaneously, a human being was more important to him than avoiding madness. He had been a vegetarian in his previous life, but at least in his previous life there had been vegetables to eat. For a vampire, there was no alternative to blood.

The outrage in Duncan's face was enough to cow Reed. He looked down, ashamed. But what he had said was true. He was desperate, and he didn't know who else he could ask.

"Duncan, please," he said quietly. "Helen won't have me as I am. She's got this idea that she's dead, so I have to be dead too. Don't you see? She thinks 'til death do us part.' I have to show her that death hasn't parted us. I need you to turn me."

"This," Duncan said very deliberately, "is unspeakably cruel."

To be continued…

The Story of My Life

It's been longer than I intended since I made a blog entry. I was planning on writing at least something every day, but the week got away from me. I can't even say I've done anything all that interesting. I am currently reading a book (surprise!) that was recommended to me by a friend and the entirety of the novel consists of journal entries penned by British gentlemen (or some semblance of gentlemen anyway). It has, obviously, made me think of the importance and inherent interest involved in journal writing. Who knows, all the tiny details of my life may seem insignificant, but what if someday they are all part of some subdued intrigue of magnificent proportions? It has also infected me with the starched, reserved tone of nineteenth century Britain. Hence, this strange voice in which I am writing.

In all seriousness, though- a few things to report:

1. The book is pretty good, it's called "The Prestige" and while it is in fact the book upon which the movie (film, should I say?) was based, it has marked differences. Because of these differences, it is still a mysterious book, though many of its secrets were exposed by the movie. I'd recommend it. I loved the movie, too, so of course I recommend that.

2. I redecorated the house—we've got new curtains in the bedroom and the living room, and I rearranged the furniture. Ah, what passes for news in the West home.

3. Real news- James's sister Elizabeth had her third baby, and we are happy to welcome Eleanor George Bunton into the world.

4. James has moved from picking the lock on the front door (which was excessively easy to defeat) to picking a smaller, and hence more difficult padlock. Again, ah what passes for news in the West home.

5. I should have another short piece up for your critique by tomorrow, and I'd like to know what you all think. Anyone have any requests or suggestions of something I might write?