Growing up I had a friend named Katie, but I would call her about twenty different names. One I remember was Catalina, that nasty orange dressing I’ve always been too afraid to try, though it wasn’t meant to be offensive. We were weirdos. Maybe that’s where I got my start.
Katie my old friend tagged me on her blog a bit ago, which was new. The only kind of tagged I’ve ever been was in a playground setting, and then I wasn’t always the person people wanted to choose. I was only mildly cool (like I said, weirdo), and I wanted to win too badly. Kids would cry after having to hold my hand in line in red rover. I didn’t understand why they would have preferred to let go and let the kid through. Didn’t they know anything about sacrifice?
So I’ve been tagged. My plan was to completely vamp it up and post with pictures instead of words, but then I became controller person at work and that idea flopped along with my brain at the end of each day. So, instead, here is my very normalized taggy thingy:
3 names I go by:
1. shirl - a vestige of sweet high school friends
2. shirley elizabeth - the name two of my siblings have consistently called me, which became my online presence in the past couple of years
3. babe - only one person can get away with it
3 jobs I have had:
1. Teacher’s Assistant/Daycare Leader at a Jewish charter school – first job ever
2. Nanny – miss that family tons
3. Accounting person for construction companies – oh the intriguing life I lead
3 places I have lived:
1. Carol Ann Way house – if only I had $300k to buy it off my parents. And then a hundred thousand more to fix it up. Hmm, maybe not.
2. With siblings – only the coolest would let you invade on their families at a point in life when you desperately need out of your parents’ house, but your parents won’t let you out for real yet
3. The “number 1” house – before getting hitched, I lived with roommates in a house with the street number 1.
3 favorite drinks:
1. Water? – I don’t drink much else.
2. Strawberry lemonade – unless I go to a restaurant
3. Am I supposed to be listing alcohol? How ‘bout pomegranate juice?
3 TV shows I watch:
1. Alias – of course, it’s over and long gone, in fact I hadn’t even seen an episode till years after the finale, but when I’ve had a long week or have a ton of laundry to fold I like to stick in a season and watch some on my laptop.
2. Pushing Daisies – yes, it’s over, too. It only lasted for a season and a half, sadly. It was the only show that I actually watched while it was playing.
3. Basketball – by now you can probably tell I’m not a big fan of TV, but thanks to my husband I have probably seen more sports in the past year than most guys.
3 places I have been:
1. Around Scandinavia – I nannied.
2. The top of Brighton – spent a lot of time there figuring out snowboarding with frozen toes. Arizona’s mountains are smaller, but so much more comfortable.
3. Jerome Idaho – small place with family that I love love loved to visit in summers growing up
3 people who text me regularly:
regularly as in I can count on it?
1. Mike
2. Verizon. Twice a month.
3 favorite foods:
1. mashed potatoes – preferably with gravy. or lots of butter.
2. chicken ‘n’ dumplings – except the dumplings are biscuits. mmmm maybe that’s what’s for dinner.
3. dice a tomato, dice an avocado, dice some cheese, mix it all in Italian dressing and eat on crackers (wet each cracker some in the dressing) or just shovel it in with a fork.
3 favorite books:
1. Ella Enchanted – don’t watch the movie. It has nothing to do with what’s actually in the book and is terrible.
2. Anything by Jane Austen or the Bronte’s – I really can’t count how many times I’ve read each of their books.
3. Most fantasy or historical fiction books.
3 favorite colors:
1. green – I’m in love with nearly every shade. and it looks good on me.
2. yellow – this was my favorite color growing up. I think because I felt bad for it because none of the other kids liked it. Actually I know that’s why.
3. uh…let’s go with shades of blue. Where would we be without our trusty blue jeans?
3 favorite hobbies:
1. Running/hiking/climbing – did you not know?
2. Reading – Mike watches sports (and does homework, suckah!), I pull out a book. I’ve recently had to spend some of our money on new books since I’ve read every one we own a couple times just since we’ve been married.
3. Baking/cooking and even washing the dishes I use, but I detest drying them so much that lately my sink has been full of unwashed dishes.
3 things you can always find in my refrigerator:
1. cheese – always.
2. moldy leftovers
3. jar of jam we got with some wedding stuff – I think we’ve used it once or twice
3 things I do every day:
1. cut myself somewhere in some way – it’s inevitable
2. eat/drink – I really can’t think of what I do every day
3. ponder on the cosmos
3 things I am good at:
1. reading aloud
2. accounts payable
3. dutch oven meals – I’m discovering I’ve a talent
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
I Cut Myself
FYI:
Applying for jobs on the internet is one of the worst processes imaginable (I had originally just said “sucks,” but then thought better of my public-use language). There is zero initial personal contact and no way to follow-up since it is rare that a company will post any kind of contact information. How is a potential employee to make any kind of impression on a company if there is no contact? I have to just hope that people are interested enough in my name to look at the rest of my resume. Speaking of my name, which I have always always adored and never would part with, I am terrified that people will just skip over my application, thinking me to be an old lady. And then, after not receiving any reply on any of the fifty positions you’ve sent your resume to, you start to question whether all those things about your experience and abilities you’ve nicely arranged together into a document are really as great as you originally thought. And what is up with employers not realizing what an accountant is worth? So many of the positions say they expect you to do everything a controller would do, along with having a degree and required years of experience, and also perform the duties of the receptionist and office manager on top of that. And……they only want to give you $11-$13 for it, based on your experience of course. Seriously?? I can understand that many of these companies are smaller, and might require their controller to be a Jack-of-all-trades (something I’m pretty good at), but at least be willing to give worthy compensation.
Alas, the internet is my only option at this point, since I still have to show up every day at the cruddy 8-5 job I’m trying to get out of.
That was a ton of switching of my tenses. Forgive, as I would not forgive you. Cop it up to the mush my brain is becoming from working in the general area of our new receptionist and her terrible music. Oh, the songs I now have memorized that I never would have cared to listen to in the first place! I want to shout out for five minutes of peace from the same songs we’ve been listening to for two weeks, every day, multiple times a day, every minute of the day. The hour between eight and nine, before she shows up, is now sacred to me. It brings me to repent of ever considering listening to local radio stations again.
On Sunday I made some white chili and it was delicious, of course. In the process, I cracked my crock pot down the middle trying to use it as a dutch oven. As a result, today I am borrowing a pot from a friend for a pot roast. I especially like these friends, and their squeezable little boy. They are great examples to me of using what you have and making do, even though you might have money at the time to spend on a nice TV or a bigger house or a Le Creuset dutch oven in every color and size.
Oh how my cooking would be so much more lovely, and I’ll even warrant tasty, with the use of one of these. Other things my kitchen yearns for? A kitchenaid. A gas stove-top. A(n organized) spice cabinet full of spices. KNIVES. Do you know what it’s like to work with nice knives? I have once upon a time. Oh glory. Imagine the chopping and dicing and slicing and splicing and everything else you can do with a good knife. Now also imagine the blood and the cuts and the bandages and scabs.
Yeah…Mike sometimes grounds me from knives, or says I have to ask him first if I can use one. I don’t even know how it happens, but all of the sudden my skin will be split and Mike will be shaking his head at me again. On average, I will come away from work with 1 – 2 paper/cardboard/manila folder/staple/anythingmyhandsmightpass cuts a day. I’m not so sure getting shiny, sharp, cuts-through-quarters knives is an option Mike would consider.
So, I’ll just make do with what we’ve got. And what we’ve got isn’t too bad. My hand mixer is able to handle most things I make. Our second-hand monster of a TV (though Mike may protest) works great for our needs. A bookshelf for a pantry is actually kinda cool (at least it throws off company). Our noisy, crappy cars will last us. My leaking Camelbak works great if I don’t fill it all the way. Our clothes from eight seasons ago still fit. A tiny, old house can suit us just fine. And we’re just as happy as if we had otherwise.
Applying for jobs on the internet is one of the worst processes imaginable (I had originally just said “sucks,” but then thought better of my public-use language). There is zero initial personal contact and no way to follow-up since it is rare that a company will post any kind of contact information. How is a potential employee to make any kind of impression on a company if there is no contact? I have to just hope that people are interested enough in my name to look at the rest of my resume. Speaking of my name, which I have always always adored and never would part with, I am terrified that people will just skip over my application, thinking me to be an old lady. And then, after not receiving any reply on any of the fifty positions you’ve sent your resume to, you start to question whether all those things about your experience and abilities you’ve nicely arranged together into a document are really as great as you originally thought. And what is up with employers not realizing what an accountant is worth? So many of the positions say they expect you to do everything a controller would do, along with having a degree and required years of experience, and also perform the duties of the receptionist and office manager on top of that. And……they only want to give you $11-$13 for it, based on your experience of course. Seriously?? I can understand that many of these companies are smaller, and might require their controller to be a Jack-of-all-trades (something I’m pretty good at), but at least be willing to give worthy compensation.
Alas, the internet is my only option at this point, since I still have to show up every day at the cruddy 8-5 job I’m trying to get out of.
That was a ton of switching of my tenses. Forgive, as I would not forgive you. Cop it up to the mush my brain is becoming from working in the general area of our new receptionist and her terrible music. Oh, the songs I now have memorized that I never would have cared to listen to in the first place! I want to shout out for five minutes of peace from the same songs we’ve been listening to for two weeks, every day, multiple times a day, every minute of the day. The hour between eight and nine, before she shows up, is now sacred to me. It brings me to repent of ever considering listening to local radio stations again.
On Sunday I made some white chili and it was delicious, of course. In the process, I cracked my crock pot down the middle trying to use it as a dutch oven. As a result, today I am borrowing a pot from a friend for a pot roast. I especially like these friends, and their squeezable little boy. They are great examples to me of using what you have and making do, even though you might have money at the time to spend on a nice TV or a bigger house or a Le Creuset dutch oven in every color and size.
Oh how my cooking would be so much more lovely, and I’ll even warrant tasty, with the use of one of these. Other things my kitchen yearns for? A kitchenaid. A gas stove-top. A(n organized) spice cabinet full of spices. KNIVES. Do you know what it’s like to work with nice knives? I have once upon a time. Oh glory. Imagine the chopping and dicing and slicing and splicing and everything else you can do with a good knife. Now also imagine the blood and the cuts and the bandages and scabs.
Yeah…Mike sometimes grounds me from knives, or says I have to ask him first if I can use one. I don’t even know how it happens, but all of the sudden my skin will be split and Mike will be shaking his head at me again. On average, I will come away from work with 1 – 2 paper/cardboard/manila folder/staple/anythingmyhandsmightpass cuts a day. I’m not so sure getting shiny, sharp, cuts-through-quarters knives is an option Mike would consider.
So, I’ll just make do with what we’ve got. And what we’ve got isn’t too bad. My hand mixer is able to handle most things I make. Our second-hand monster of a TV (though Mike may protest) works great for our needs. A bookshelf for a pantry is actually kinda cool (at least it throws off company). Our noisy, crappy cars will last us. My leaking Camelbak works great if I don’t fill it all the way. Our clothes from eight seasons ago still fit. A tiny, old house can suit us just fine. And we’re just as happy as if we had otherwise.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Our Son, Daniel
I love amazing stories that shake you inside, even the ones that make you cry (sometimes especially). They're...renewing. i think.
I have a friend named Daniel Kanyaruhuru. If you're stumbling over his last name, take it slowly. It's phonetic. I met Daniel my freshman year of high school, which was also his first year at my school, and even here in the states, and even in this hemisphere, though he was in my older sister's grade. Daniel had come to us through much adversity, through much heartbreak, and really through Hell. My cross country coach, who has a big heart and learned of these young African boys being brought here through a relief effort, sought them out and asked them to come be apart of our team family. Daniel ended up trashing us all, and leaving the state competition in his dust.
My best friend from high school, Miss Chelsea Fiske, put together a documentary for a school project and shares Daniel's story.
I have a friend named Daniel Kanyaruhuru. If you're stumbling over his last name, take it slowly. It's phonetic. I met Daniel my freshman year of high school, which was also his first year at my school, and even here in the states, and even in this hemisphere, though he was in my older sister's grade. Daniel had come to us through much adversity, through much heartbreak, and really through Hell. My cross country coach, who has a big heart and learned of these young African boys being brought here through a relief effort, sought them out and asked them to come be apart of our team family. Daniel ended up trashing us all, and leaving the state competition in his dust.My best friend from high school, Miss Chelsea Fiske, put together a documentary for a school project and shares Daniel's story.
Our Son, Daniel from Chelsea Fiske on Vimeo.
All of us who have been with him from the start are crossing our fingers and holding our breath. And, if you happen to catch the distance races and see him on your TV, cheer extra loud.
Monday, January 25, 2010
You Didn't Know Me When
There was a time in my life (like what, a year ago?) that I could and would willingly (almost) forgo sleep for two to four days. Call me crazy, but it was all in the name of my education. and my social life. which was really just a million guy friends I had that took turns being more. yeah, I may or may not have been one of those. We don’t talk about that.
There was also a time in my life that I nannied a cute little girl. Actually it was the same time. And actually she would take turns being cute and being a terror, like any kid, I’m sure. But I mostly just like to try to remember the cute part.
One very tired day I was working with the cute little girl through her homework. I slightly leaned against the counter while waiting for her to complete a worksheet. Then her mom was at my side, tapping my shoulder asking if I was okay. I was very confused. Here was the cutie and her mom next to me, and there was the completed worksheet. It was as if a little gap of my life had just been sliced out. But really it wasn’t that dramatic at all.
I had fallen asleep. right there. at work. standing up. The cute little girl had quietly finished her work (a new thing), called my name a couple of times, then gone and grabbed her mom saying that something was wrong with Shirley. A very worried mother/boss found me there asleep on my feet.
I was just thinking of this recently. I still don’t believe it’s possible. How absurd is it that someone can sleep standing up? I think a more reasonable explanation is that I was abducted by aliens for an unknown period of time, that on earth only calculated to be about ten minutes. This fact suddenly makes so many things clear.
There was also a time in my life that I nannied a cute little girl. Actually it was the same time. And actually she would take turns being cute and being a terror, like any kid, I’m sure. But I mostly just like to try to remember the cute part.
One very tired day I was working with the cute little girl through her homework. I slightly leaned against the counter while waiting for her to complete a worksheet. Then her mom was at my side, tapping my shoulder asking if I was okay. I was very confused. Here was the cutie and her mom next to me, and there was the completed worksheet. It was as if a little gap of my life had just been sliced out. But really it wasn’t that dramatic at all.
I had fallen asleep. right there. at work. standing up. The cute little girl had quietly finished her work (a new thing), called my name a couple of times, then gone and grabbed her mom saying that something was wrong with Shirley. A very worried mother/boss found me there asleep on my feet.
I was just thinking of this recently. I still don’t believe it’s possible. How absurd is it that someone can sleep standing up? I think a more reasonable explanation is that I was abducted by aliens for an unknown period of time, that on earth only calculated to be about ten minutes. This fact suddenly makes so many things clear.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Sit down, it's a long haul
I had forgotten how much children know.
It’s been a while since I’ve really been surrounded by little kids. Of course, I have a million nieces and nephews that I get to hang out with all the time, but I definitely haven’t had the interaction that I used to. I did other stuff, like live on my own, get married, and spend a lot more time with the older youth, the teenagers. Being an EFY Counselor was tons of fun, and, since then, my callings have been with the youth.
When thought upon, this fact is a little strange to me, because growing up in my house at the time I did, I didn’t really learn much about interacting with teenagers. Even as a teenager. I was the utmost of awkward. And still am. Very non-teenagery.
A couple of Sundays ago they called me into the Primary. the secretary. Where did that come from? It was a big surprise to me. I’m really going to miss my girls and the fun that was to be had this coming year. Actually I was pretty sad about it at first, and super intimidated by the greatness of the person I was taking over for, but after some time mapping out the database I’m creating, and after my first Sunday in the calling, I’m freakin’ excited. freakin’.
And, I realize again how much I love hanging out with kids, and how crazy much they know. They are smart little boogers. I will have to make sure that I don’t underestimate them.
_____________________________________________
(above line denotes a subject change)
Mike and I visited my Aunt and Uncle and family up in Idaho for Thanksgiving. This family is really the only connection with my mom’s (biological mother) side of the family that I’ve ever known. They are the awesome.
In her simple goodbye at the end of the trip my aunt gave me something huge to consume my mind. For all of growing-upness, I have always been told how much I look like my mom. This always makes me very happy and prideful.
This is not a picture of me and my sister from some years back. Nor even my sister and other sister from some couple more years back. It is a picture of my mom and her sister from some many more years back. Cool, huh? So, as I said, people that knew my mom are sure to tell me of how I look so much or just like her. It is a common statement that I have heard from my aunt growing up. But this year she said something a little different. She told me not only of how I look like my mother, but also of how I am so much like her in character. We both always get teary at these goodbye moments, but this came at me with special force, and it was what was on my mind for the greater part of the twenty-six hour drive home.
I am like my mother? A new thought. I was reeling. I wondered how I could be so much like someone that I’ve never actually known.
To me, my mom has always been something of a saint. I have been given this impression by reading through her journal, the talks at her funeral, and through people’s personal stories and impressions, told both in writing and verbally. Everything is amazing, everything is kind, everything is adorable, everything is beautiful. Something I’ve come to understand is that all these things aren’t just said nice and prettily because she’s dead, but because there is nothing else that honestly comes to mind to say of her. In her journal she is always striving, always humble.
And now you are told that you are like this person. Does that not bring tears of incredulity? I will not own up to such a charge, though I thrill thinking of it, but will now talk of a couple of things I have learned from pondering this.
FACTS: I am related to my mom. There are some things that she has passed down to me that naturally reside in me, and some of these things are more than physical manifestations. I have learned things about her from reading about her, reading her own words, and from talking to people that knew and were close to her. I have always striven to harness the same traits I know her to have. There have been times when I have felt my mother’s love or approval or protection, or when I have applied to her personally.
TRUTHS: We are related to our Heavenly Father. Just as we inherit qualities from our parents, there is an inherited divinity in each of us. We can come to learn of and develop this divinity from research. We have the scriptures, we have apostles and prophets, we have leaders and family members. All of these may tell of experience and testimony. But beyond that, we can also come to be like our Heavenly Father through developing our own relationship with Him. He is not physically present here, but the relationship we can find with our Father will be far more personal and deep than those we have known with those with whom we interact daily.
It’s been a while since I’ve really been surrounded by little kids. Of course, I have a million nieces and nephews that I get to hang out with all the time, but I definitely haven’t had the interaction that I used to. I did other stuff, like live on my own, get married, and spend a lot more time with the older youth, the teenagers. Being an EFY Counselor was tons of fun, and, since then, my callings have been with the youth.
When thought upon, this fact is a little strange to me, because growing up in my house at the time I did, I didn’t really learn much about interacting with teenagers. Even as a teenager. I was the utmost of awkward. And still am. Very non-teenagery.
A couple of Sundays ago they called me into the Primary. the secretary. Where did that come from? It was a big surprise to me. I’m really going to miss my girls and the fun that was to be had this coming year. Actually I was pretty sad about it at first, and super intimidated by the greatness of the person I was taking over for, but after some time mapping out the database I’m creating, and after my first Sunday in the calling, I’m freakin’ excited. freakin’.
And, I realize again how much I love hanging out with kids, and how crazy much they know. They are smart little boogers. I will have to make sure that I don’t underestimate them.
_____________________________________________
(above line denotes a subject change)
Mike and I visited my Aunt and Uncle and family up in Idaho for Thanksgiving. This family is really the only connection with my mom’s (biological mother) side of the family that I’ve ever known. They are the awesome.
In her simple goodbye at the end of the trip my aunt gave me something huge to consume my mind. For all of growing-upness, I have always been told how much I look like my mom. This always makes me very happy and prideful.
This is not a picture of me and my sister from some years back. Nor even my sister and other sister from some couple more years back. It is a picture of my mom and her sister from some many more years back. Cool, huh? So, as I said, people that knew my mom are sure to tell me of how I look so much or just like her. It is a common statement that I have heard from my aunt growing up. But this year she said something a little different. She told me not only of how I look like my mother, but also of how I am so much like her in character. We both always get teary at these goodbye moments, but this came at me with special force, and it was what was on my mind for the greater part of the twenty-six hour drive home.
I am like my mother? A new thought. I was reeling. I wondered how I could be so much like someone that I’ve never actually known.
To me, my mom has always been something of a saint. I have been given this impression by reading through her journal, the talks at her funeral, and through people’s personal stories and impressions, told both in writing and verbally. Everything is amazing, everything is kind, everything is adorable, everything is beautiful. Something I’ve come to understand is that all these things aren’t just said nice and prettily because she’s dead, but because there is nothing else that honestly comes to mind to say of her. In her journal she is always striving, always humble.
And now you are told that you are like this person. Does that not bring tears of incredulity? I will not own up to such a charge, though I thrill thinking of it, but will now talk of a couple of things I have learned from pondering this.
FACTS: I am related to my mom. There are some things that she has passed down to me that naturally reside in me, and some of these things are more than physical manifestations. I have learned things about her from reading about her, reading her own words, and from talking to people that knew and were close to her. I have always striven to harness the same traits I know her to have. There have been times when I have felt my mother’s love or approval or protection, or when I have applied to her personally.
TRUTHS: We are related to our Heavenly Father. Just as we inherit qualities from our parents, there is an inherited divinity in each of us. We can come to learn of and develop this divinity from research. We have the scriptures, we have apostles and prophets, we have leaders and family members. All of these may tell of experience and testimony. But beyond that, we can also come to be like our Heavenly Father through developing our own relationship with Him. He is not physically present here, but the relationship we can find with our Father will be far more personal and deep than those we have known with those with whom we interact daily.
Friday, December 18, 2009
My Typical Dilemma...(and solution)
Am I allowed to wear to tonight's party what I wore to last night's party, which is also what I wore to work Tuesday?
I think I can get away with it.
I think I can get away with it.
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