Crazy Summer

I know I haven't posted in a while, and a lot has happened. I just haven't been inspired. And I feel the need to start including more pictures = spending more time on each post = procrastination. But I really do love blogging, really. :)
So first of all, Annie, Neal, and Joseph came to visit us from across the country. We had a BLAST. Rather than try to describe the whole awesome two weeks, here are some pictures. They capture a lot. :)

At the Airport

Much Crossword was done

Cousins

Dad and Joseph had special time every morning. Dad (grandpa) soon gained the name "Papa"

Favorite picture. EVER. haha.

Joseph mimicked us doing DDR. It was cute. :)

Swimming!

Cute PJs

Alien Cookies at our family reunion - Toy Story themed

Sneak Peak at the Tea Party Annie helped me plan. She was a HUGE help! (so was the DI)

What a fun two weeks! It felt like they had never left. Now we can't wait for more adventures around Christmas time!

Delicious Day

Today is fabulous. Two main reasons:
1) I got a $600 grant for school! (which isn't really that much, but if they gave me $2, I would take it. $600 is a lot to me.)
2) I made beautiful, delicious apple tarts.

Jealous? You should be.
I think it is high time I put a recipe on my blog. So I am going to share this one. :) I originally got the recipe from my Young Women's leader Christin Shumway. Since then it has delighted many roommates and friends, and won a ward dessert contest (winning me the movie Wall-e!). But don't take my word for it, try it.

Flaky Turnovers (adjusted by me to make tarts/mini-pies)

2 cubes butter, sliced in marble-sized cubes, kept chilled in their wrappers
1/2 tsp salt
2 c. flour
1/2 c. ice water

Cut together 1 cube butter, salt, and flour, Add water and knead just to form a soft, sticky dough (add more flour if needed)
Roll dough into an 18x8" rectangle and cover 2/3 lengthwise of the dough with butter cubes, using 1/2 a cube. Fold dough in thirds like a business letter, flipping the third with no butter over the buttered part, and then flipping that part over the remaining butter covered dough (make sense at all?).
Repeat the above process again, using the remaining butter. Chill the folded dough in a bag for 15 minutes (or the freezer for 10 minutes).
Roll out again to 18x8" (no butter), and fold crosswise, then lengthwise. Chill in a bag for 1 hour, or more (or freeze for 1/2 an hour only).
Cut dough in half with a knife. Store one portion in the bag in the fridge, and roll out the other into a 12" square. Cut the square in four squares using a pizza cutter. Drop heaping tablespoons of pie filling on each square and fold and seal the square diagonally, into a triangle turnover. Repeat with dough in the fridge. Cut vents in the top with scissors, and brush tops with a beaten egg. Bake at 450 for 20 minutes or till golden. When cool, glaze with powdered sugar/milk mixture. Makes 8 turnovers.

Thanks out to Christin for my happy baking. :) I hope you get a chance to try to make these! Add any pie filling you like to make yummy turnovers. I have even tried making little pumpkin pies, and they turned out amazingly.
I hope your day is deliciously wonderful, too.

People are Fascinating

As a grocery store cashier (which you have heard about way too much, I know, but it's my life right now, so give me a break) I watch people all day. Hundreds of people. Naturally, I forget most of their faces immediately. Someone will ask me five seconds later what the last customer looked like (if they left something, or something else important), and I will only remember gender, and maybe age-ish. Hair color is asking too much, unless it was a shocking color. Sounds lame, but it's true.
However, some customers really stick in my memory. Either because the way they live makes me re-evaluate my own life, or because they have an awesome story, or both. I thought I could share a couple of the most memorable. Some of this is revised journal entry.
The first was a lady that was obviously a burn victim. Her skin was scarred - looking almost melted like putty or plastic - her fingers were curled or missing, and she was on breathing tubes. She still had most of her hair, and was sweating and puffing, trying to get out her money with her disfigured hands. She mentioned that she was hot all the time since her accident, so I had an opening to ask what had happened. She had worked at ATK - Thiokol, a place near here that makes and tests rocket boosters for space ships. She was a chemical tester. Hundreds of pounds of explosives went off, killing her coworker, and burning 85% of her body. It burned off all of her sweat glands except the ones on top of her head, so sweat pours out of her head constantly. Her body has really lost temperature control. Talk about life changing. But she was so optimistic. I mentioned that she looked like she was doing well for what had happened. She responded "Yes! I am doing so well! I'm walking around! I've been able to meet 3 new grandchildren since the accident. I couldn't have done that if I had died. I'm alive. I am so blessed." I nearly cried at my check stand.
Another day a lady came through who had Breast cancer. She had no hair. The cancer was pretty progressed before they caught it because it was so high that the doctors thought it couldn't be breast cancer, but it was. She was from Wyoming, but has to come to Logan for her chemo. She loves our store, and they have no good stores out there, so she's glad she gets to come out here for her grocery shopping. She said that chemo made her randomly itch on her hands and feet. But she smiled the whole time she talked to me. She was super friendly. She seemed optimistic and genuinely friendly. She even laughed about the itching.
My favorite customers was an adorable old couple. What struck me about them was that they seemed to be soul mates, for real. Their eyes were clear and fully aware of the world, and they stood straight and confident (in contrast with many older people I see). I could tell that they were perfect for each other. As they stood in line they quietly chatted to each other. Often when older couples come through (especially white haired, shrunken ones) they are together out of habit, and because they don't want to be lonely - not because they are still in love. They are friends maybe, but not lovers. This couple was different. They stood next to each other, and just the way they looked at me said they were of one heart and mind. When I told them to have a great day they both look at me with those clear eyes, and in unison said, "Likewise." Then they walked off and continued their quiet conversation. I was totally impressed. I want that in my marriage someday. I want to find a soul mate - someone who I can be of one heart and mind with, someone who I am so comfortable with that we can be introduced as one, and equals. Someone who fits me like a puzzle piece. Or at least someone that I can grow and learn to be like that with.
The last customer I don't want to spend as much time one. She was a teenage girl, with every meaning of that phrase. She was about 15, and she came with her mom and younger sister (about 10 years old). It was obvious the younger sister really looked up to the older sister, and it was also obvious that the older sister was a brat. Honestly. Every comment she made was intentionally sharp, rude, cutting, and sassy. The longer they were at my check stand, the more tired looking and quiet her mom became. I'm sure the proud 15 year old felt she had won some personal victory. "Take that. She couldn't even think of a good enough response. That is why she is quiet. I'm right," her makeup-ed (obviously a new thing, and obviously paid for by her mother) face proclaimed. The mom looked like a good woman who needed a vacation. My thought was, "Oh, dear. I hope I was never that horrible. I know I was a teenager just like anyone else, but not that bad, right??" That night I went home and thanked my mom for being such a good mother, and putting up with all of us when we were brats, because everyone has bratty moments growing up. I still remember the dark circles under that poor woman's eyes, and how they drooped more and more. I hope that girl somehow gets her head screwed on straight someday. Her mom was an angel.
If you ever need a good moment of introspection, just go to a grocery store, find a bench, and watch the people. It's amazing how seeing others' attitudes can make you re-evaluate your own.

A Real Life Nearly Horror Story

It all started off like a normal evening. Work. I was supposed to get off at 9:15, but they didn't let me off until 9:35, and I didn't leave until 10. My till was off 35 cents, and I decided to write down my schedule, request Claire's wedding off, and then I ran up to get my purse from my locker. No big deal. A normal night. I casually strolled out to my car, watching customers come and go from our parking lot. It's a long walk to the employee section of the parking lot, but no big deal.
I unlocked my car, and got in, noticing that the moon is almost to the waxing gibbous stage - approaching a full moon. One window was slightly open, so I rolled it up. It was relaxing to sit alone at night in my car; relaxing to drive home. As I pulled up to a light, it turned green just for me. I was almost the only car to make it through the short light, but a car behind me sped up to make the yellow light. They got pretty close behind me, blinding me. I slowed down to turn left, and saw there was a gap just big enough for one car to make it across. So I turned. The car behind me proved me wrong, tailing me close enough to barely make the gap. I turned right. The car turned right. *shrug* "A lot of cars take this route to get to the high way." I thought. "This road leads a lot of places."
I turned left. The car turned left. Instead of finally giving me space like I expected it too, the bright lights in my rear view continued to ride my tail. I sped up. They sped up. Apparently I wasn't going fast enough for them. I was starting to get annoyed. I switched lanes to let them pass. They switched lanes, almost as if I was towing them. A little bit of fear began to creep into the back of my mind. They couldn't be following me, could they?
I finally came to the turn-off into my rural neighborhood. "Now I'll turn to go home, and they will keep going. Just watch," I reasoned. I turned on my blinker.... and they turned on their blinker! They were still following me! I started to worry. I had a couple of miles left to go to my house and I definitely didn't want them to know where I lived. I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Options began to race through my mind. I could keep driving past my house until they stopped following me. That seemed logical. But what if they didn't stop following me??

They were still riding my bumper, blinding me. They started to flash their brights on and off, as if to catch my attention. My next thought was "Maybe they are following me just to warn me something is wrong with my car". Then I thought about it, and realized my lights were working fine, I would feel it if a tire was flat, and they wouldn't follow me this far for failing brake lights. "Maybe it's a cop, then". This failed under closer inspection also. The lights were rectangular like a truck, or jeep, not like a cop car. I really started to freak out.

Next option: Call home. At work my cell phone sits in my locker without reception, so it often runs out its battery searching for service. I begged for it to not be dead. I pulled it out and... whew. One bar left of battery. I had a couple of missed calls, but I ignored those, thought about calling Willie (he was a missed call), but just called the home phone instead. Mom answered.
"Mom. Someone is following me and I don't know what to do." My voice was shaking.
"What? Where are you??"
After a short conversation - look up, yep, headlights still bright and close in my rear view - my mom tells me to drive to the church parking lot across the street from our house, and dad would be waiting for me there. Hope starts to be an option, but my hands still tightly gripped the steering wheel, and my foot determinedly continued pressing the gas to exactly maintain the speed limit. The car continued to follow me through the miles, too close.
The lights of the church appeared, and grew in my vision. I turned on my blinker - they turned on their blinker - and turned. My brain flashed more options - what if dad wasn't there yet?? What if he wasn't there yet??? They turned on the street after the church, not into the church parking lot. And there was dad. Holding his huge, possibly-usable-as-a-weapon flashlight. Relief.

Only then did I glance over to see the vehicle that had been following me, now that its lights weren't blinding me.

It was a small white pickup, covered in rust spots, sporting an ugly, brown camper.

It was Willie. My brother.

I slowed to a stop near my dad, let go of the wheel, buried my face in my hands, and burst into tears. My dad quickly explained to Willie the situation (I can just imagine the grin of a good joke sliding off of his face as he realized that not everyone had thought it was funny). He sheepishly drove home and parked. I did, too, sobbing with relief. After hugs all around, I finally calmed down and stopped crying. My heartbeat slowly returned to normal. All the pieces fell together. The missed phone call - he had tried to tell me he was behind me. The silly swerves I had only noticed subconsciously, the flashing lights. The square headlights.
We hugged it out, talked it out, and put on pajamas. Time for bed. Wow. What a night. Potential disaster turned out just to be a badly placed joke.
But now I know what to do if it really happened...because it could happen to anyone...Including you. What would you do?

Art

Today, I had art on the brain. I wanted to paint, but not really, so I went through my art box, and had a grand old time. My blog is lacking pictures, so I decided to post some classics. Starting from the oldest.

It's only a little painful. These are from 9th grade.

pencil (haha, oh dear)

Oil on canvas (a doctor - a little creepy?)

Prismacolor on mat board. This won the art contest in my grade, earning a spot on the cover of our literary magazine. Woohoo. :)

These are from my Watercolor class my junior year of high school.

Playing around on my own time later that year (still watercolor)

From my oils class at BYU. Oils on wood.

And, I finally did a painting on my own time this summer. Oils on wood.

Wasn't that a fun little jaunt down memory lane? Somehow 8th grade art class, along with Sophomore year, senior year, and Freshman year of BYU got left out (I took art classes every year.) I'm a little too lazy right now to dig those out, though, so maybe another day.

Tragedy Strikes

Ever since I was a little, tiny kid, I have had the goal of donating blood. For some inexplicable reason, the idea draws me. I'm not scared of needles or blood, and I just want to.
As soon as I was 17 - finally old enough to donate - I signed up to do it in our high school blood drive. I talked about it all day, and was simply excited. Then they pricked my finger. Back then, they used old school technology to see if your blood had enough hemoglobin - best measured by iron content. Basically, they sucked my blood up into a little tube (micro-pipette) and dripped it into a special liquid. If it sunk, you were good - your blood was heavy enough = had enough iron. Mine floated. I was devastated. I went back to class, humiliated that I had talked it up. I cringed every time I saw someone with an arm band. Lucky.
Since then, I have tried 4 more times, sometimes waiting in line for hours, each time rejected. The latest was this Friday. I had them prick my finger first, aaaaand... fail. My iron levels were lower than they ever have been before. They even use nifty new technology that centrifuges your blood, or something like that that is pretty accurate. Lame. The computer didn't even register my iron level. The screen just said <10.5. :(
To make it worse, every time they try to make me eat the treats for the people that do donate and take a shirt saying "I donated", as if to mock me. Adding insult to injury (literally - those finger pricks bruise, and they double prick those that fail just make sure, mocking me again).
I am not defeated yet, American Red Cross! I will eat nails if I have to! Even if it takes 10 times!
(sulking in the corner, sniffing)

Personal Victory

Today I celebrated a personal victory.
I ran a mile in 9:47.
I know, I know. That really isn't that fast. But let me enlighten you on my history.
I hate running. I really do. Or maybe did. I think I am learning to like it. Anyway, the point is that I have never been a runner. In elementary school, I ran the Wellsville mile in somewhere around 9 minutes. Because I hated running so much, I didn't do it, and my attempts at running a mile in high school came in around 11-12 minutes. I haven't broken 10 minutes for so long I don't even remember the last time I did it.
This summer I have had a goal of getting in shape, so I have started running every morning. I started at a painfully slow pace, going only fractions of a mile at a time. Now I run around a mile and a half every morning. And today, gained a small victory. Woohoo!
Bring it on 5k. I will conquer you yet. :)