Making a Death Star Cake

I've had three people contact me about the Death Star cake pictured in my previous post. I honestly don't have any advice about how to go about it...I just wing it when I make cakes, but I'm happy to share the process I went through.  

This was four layers...enough to make two whole cakes. When cooled, I frosted them and stacked them up on top of each other and put it in the refrigerator to firm up.  Once chilled, I started cutting it into a sphere shape.  When that was done, I put it in the refrigerator to chill some more, while making homemade fondant. It was my 2nd time making fondant...which is ridiculously overpriced and disgusting if you purchase the stuff, but really easy and pretty tasty if you make your own out of marshmallows. I tinted mine dark.  

Once the fondant was made, I covered the sphere, used a ball (about the size of a billiards ball) to make the indentation, and then sprayed it with edible silver paint.  Then I used a paint brush and edible black paint for the decor.  I drew lines all around it, and painted them in.  Added a green candy for the laser-thingy, and it was done.  

Here are some snapshots of the process, including one with Gator and his cake, and the cake half-eaten.  Hope this helps some of you with your Birthday Jedi needs!  

(You may be interested in my all-time most popular blog post about hosting a
Star Wars Birthday Party. I get about 50 visits a day to this post.)

Fall Post

Hi all,
It is a sad reality that my blog has become a mostly obsolete thing. Most of the people who I know read my blog are also on Facebook, so they see the photos and the this-N-thats of my daily life. Seems a bit redundant to share the same stuff here. Not that Facebook is  anything like what a blog can be, but over time it's  become my primary source of online interaction.

Part of this is because something transpired almost five months ago that left my heart kind of shell-shocked. Since then, I haven't really had many other thoughts I could write about.  I'm not depressed, just kind of numb, like I'm sort of unable to feel things properly. I'm sure it'll pass someday, but for now, I haven't felt much like sharing what's on my mind. Perhaps someday I will.

Meanwhile, life goes on. Thankfully!  Despite my brokey little heart, I've enjoyed doing some fun things. In June, the kids and I spent a wonderful week in NYC and another great week in Vermont.  In July I took Bunch on a trip to Hawaii.  I'd been planning to take Gator, too, but one day a couple weeks before we were planning to leave, he informed me that he didn't want to go on any more trips that summer.  After checking his DNA to verify that he was, indeed, my child, I acquiesced and allowed him to stay home. My worries that he'd change his mind and wish he'd come after we were already gone never transpired, and he enjoyed being a homebody whilst Bunch and I enjoyed visiting the North Shore of Oahu and my sister's family.  Those are comparable, no?!

In August, Gator had his 13th birthday, and I made him a fantastic death Star cake. Every year I think "how am I going to top this next year?" and every year I seem to do okay, coming up with something he loves even more than the previous year… But this seriously might be the end of it, because this cake was seriously so awesome.

It wasn't too sad to say goodbye to my sister in Hawaii, because there was a good chance I was going to see her again this month...and I did!

Her husband is from French Polynesia. Every few years they make the trek back to visit his family in Tahiti and Moorea, and had invited me to join them any time they were there.  So it was just fortunate that it all worked out perfectly, and I was able to spend five days with them this month.

Tahiti and Moorea are surreal!

The first morning after arriving, my sister and I went out on a standup paddleboard and a canoe with her two kids. We were staying at his parent's home, and the ocean is in their back yard. I had my five year old nephew on my canoe, and she had her daughter on the SUP.  We were enjoying the water and the morning when we suddenly saw whale spouts nearby.  It was the most incredible thing! A momma humpback and at least one calf (seemed like there must have been two...but if not, that kid got around!) were hanging out in the ocean out behind the house, and we spent a couple hours with them.  It was so magical! I was super bummed that we didn't have a camera to capture them jumping into the air, looking at us with their big, beautiful eyes, displaying fins and tails, spouting off.  It was otherworldly.  There were people on boats nearby taking pictures. I was definitely jealous.

Photo of me and my nephew and one of our whale
friends from the Tahitian newspaper

Then this week something amazing happened: someone on the boat was connected to the local Tahitian newspaper and did an article about whale watching excursions, and they printed a photo with the story of...you guessed it...ME!

My brother-in-law's family saw it and recognized the paddle board and canoe, and sent us the picture.  I couldn't believe that my wish for a photo was granted in such an unexpected way!

All in all it was an incredible trip. Too many memories to share, but I'll leave you with just a few more photos of this amazing speck of paradise in the vast Pacific Ocean:

Over water bungalows. Quintessential Moorea

My sister and her two adorable kids

View from the house of the ocean out back. My nephew is
dancing on the sand. You can see a whale spouting ...

Scene from Moorea

The beach outside the house

The lunch truck my sisters' sister-in-law owns

Another perfect day comes to an end in Tahiti

View from the flight home of an atoll

First Flight

First Flight

“Can we puhleeeeeeeeese stop and watch the planes take off?!” 

For a few years as a young child, we passed the John Wayne Airport while driving to and from church.  Week after week I'd plead with my parents to stop so we could watch the planes.  I was mesmerized by all of it: the roar of the engines, shimmery mirage-effect the jet exhaust made in the air, and the miracle of these massive machines taking flight.   

I don’t understand why my parents ever indulged me.  Perhaps because it was something to do that didn’t cost anything, or just to get me to stop pestering them. Maybe because they concluded it was a suitable activity for the sabbath…because one day they obliged, but rather than satisfy me, it just whetted my appetite for more.  I was hooked.  

Despite all this, it never occurred to me that I would ever go on a plane myself, because I had this notion that only rich and famous people got to fly…something we decidedly were not. 

So I honestly have no idea how this all came about, but the summer I was eight years old, my parents asked if I would like to fly to Idaho and spend the summer with some former neighbors of ours.  The Morgans had moved there two years earlier and had agreed to have me come stay them.  For two months.  

“Of course I want to go!”   

Now lets pause for a moment here. I can’t fathom why anyone thought this was a good idea.  I had never been away from home before, wasn’t a particularly mature child, and I hadn’t seen or talked to these people in two years--a quarter of my life.  They were retired, their children were grown, and they lived on a small farm in a small town in the middle of nowhere.  

But they had me at fly on a plane.  I didn’t actually think the trip through beyond the flight itself.  

The big day arrived and was it was fantastic!  Everything my eight-year old mind had imagined it would be.  I got a new outfit for the occasion (a rare occurrence), and was treated to a special breakfast. It was a big deal for someone in our family to be going on a trip of any kind, but this was especially significant. After snapping a quick picture of me on the sidewalk in front of our house in my new duds with my favorite stuffed animals, all seven of us loaded into the car and drove to the airport.  

Going in to the tiny shoebox of a terminal (as it was in 1977), we handed over my suitcase and they gave me my ticket. Fairly jumping out of my skin with excitement, I said good-bye to my family. And then for the first time, I got to venture past the chain link fence onto the tarmac.  Walking to the aircraft stairs, I paused to look back up at my family who were on the second-floor observation deck waving goodbye. 

My ride was a sweet, solid yellow Hughes Airwest Boeing 727. I'd dubbed them “Flying Banana” jets and they were my favorite planes at the time. It was a thing of beauty.  I considered myself super lucky because the stewardess directed me to the place of honor on the front row!  Wearing my new sweater, and with beloved teddy bear in hand, off we went into the wild blue yonder, leaving all my troubles behind. That first lift off was a complete life-rush. What a feeling!

During the flight the stewardesses were kind and attentive to me. I was amazed that they just gave you stuff, like food, for free.  Food was always a tricky issue in my childhood; it was kind of hard-scrabble a lot, so someone making me a meal always made me feel cared for.  I adored the tiny lavatory--I'd always loved small spaces...like the forts I regularly built out of boxes, in cupboards, closets, or in the shed out back.  Everything about the plane just seemed so cool.  I stared out the window at the top-side of clouds, and was amazed at the patterns on the land below. It looked like a beautiful, cozy, patchwork quilt was wrapped around the earth. I fell in love with the view.

You know how time seems slow down to a crawl when you’re a kid?  Well I discovered that that phenomenon doesn’t hold true on planes, because all too soon the fun was over.  Toward the end of the flight I thought up one of the two complete lies I made up as a kid. I was otherwise a very honest child, but decided I could use a whopper of a story to tell my friend, who had visited Vegas many times before. ("We had to switch planes in Las Vegas on the way, and because there was so much time before we took off again, the flight attendants and pilots took me over to Circus Circus to see the show, and I got picked from the audience to feed the elephant peanuts.")  Had no idea Circus Circus was a hotel.  #busted

We landed and I told my nice stewardesses and pilots goodbye.  Mrs. Morgan was waiting for me in the terminal and helped me claim my baggage before heading out to her car. I was just getting seated when I suddenly realized that I’d left my new sweater on  the plane.  Security being slightly different back then, I raced at top eight-year-old speed straight back out to my favorite Hughes Airwest Boeing 727 Flying Bannana, where the stewardess handed me my sweater and sent me on my way again.  

We got to the farm and put my little suitcase in the attic room that I would be sleeping in with the 1970's bead curtain door.  Mr. Morgan was a character.  His name was simply the letter “K”…and was one of the few adults I wasn’t required to address in more formal terms.  They showed me around the house and then sat me down for a talk.  

“When we lived near you, we noticed that you were a pretty hyper kid.” K said.  “We think it’s because you eat too much sugar, so we’ve decided that during your  visit, we’re going to put you on a no-sugar diet.”  

Huh?!  No sugar?  No treats at all?   But Mrs. Morgan explained that she would make me special carob treats to eat when everyone else was having chocolate, for example.  I had no idea what carob was, but when she showed me it looked like chocolate, and sounded something like caramel, so I thought it might not be too bad.  I had no idea.

When they sent me outside to play, I ventured into the heat and started poking around their property.   There were a few chickens, and I made a game of hunting for their eggs…Easter in July!  It was scorching hot...a kind of heat I was totally unaccustomed to. So hot that I decided to see if I could actually cook the eggs on pieces of scrap metal lying on the ground.  How twisted would you think I am if I told you it worked, and that after they were cooked, I fed them to the chickens?

Chicken-fun aside, there just wasn’t much to do. There was a new kind of silence out there in the country.  Miles up the road I could just barely make out the farmhouse of their nearest neighbor.  It looked smaller than my fort at home from that distance.  I was an extreme extrovert from a large, noisy family, growing up in a suburban neighborhood chock full of kids, and suddenly I was very alone.  As I gazed off into the endless horizon that hot summer day, I experienced the first pangs of homesickness in my life.  

nothing is ever actually destroyed

they leave, they leave

and they take me with them

for i am pieces of my heart

given over to them 

forever more;

someday there may be nothing left of me

but i’ll be out there

wherever they are,

in pieces

counting the cost

it was the landscape that first sold me on the place. there wasn’t a dandelion or weed anywhere to be found. the turf was thick, lush green. a nice variety of flowering plants, shrubs and bushes added beauty and serenity to the place, and i am a sucker for beauty and serenity.

we moved in and it was like somehow inheriting a perfect body...all i had to do was maintain it. the hard part--getting it to that idyllic state in the first place--was already done. and maintenance would be easy, right?! we had sunlight aplenty, so really, if i just added water, the occasional fertilizer, and kept things trimmed, it’d always be beautiful.

we ran the sprinklers liberally. the lawn stayed lush, thick and green through those hot summer months. things were going along fine. 

then the first water bill arrived.

we had moved from the verdant climes of new england to the desert. water in our previous place ran about three dollars a month, and that was for a full half-acre of grass. it never occurred to me how much our new postage-stamp sized property in the desert would cost to keep green.

after two months of pouring purified drinking water on it, i realized we couldn’t afford to maintain it like it had been. we simply didn’t have the same resources to give it that another owner might. neighboring yards benefitted from the help of yard service companies to regularly mow, weed, trim and water plants. sadly, for our little yard, those days were over.

it didn’t fall apart all at once, but over the years, that perfectly maintained landscape has disappeared. in spring and fall, the turf looks somewhat reasonable if you don’t look too closely. but as the temperature rises, as the sun relentlessly beats down on it, the tender grass withers and dies. hearty weeds move in, and ironically they are the reason there is any green at all now. 

i thought i’d be able to keep it nice. not once when i bought the place did it occur to me that this weed-free, lush, welcoming landscape would ever turn scraggly, wither and die. that it would ever be a place i stopped enjoying. that it would ever weigh me down instead of filling me with delight.  i thought i had the strength to do the work, the resources to supply it with whatever it needed. 

it is not completely hopeless, of course. the foundation is still there, underneath the mess. if i made it a high priority, i could spend the hours upon hours that it would take to trim back, dig up, and root out all the undesirable elements. and once that was done, i could find a way to acquire the money and dedicate the time necessary to purchase and plant new, appealing additions. perhaps others would be willing to put in some effort as well, restoring what once was.  but even if it was just me working on it, i could devote myself to creating anew, a place of beauty and serenity that would be welcoming and appreciated, enjoyed by all. or at least by me...even if no one else takes pleasure in it. 

i haven’t given up hope yet. but it’s hard. without knowing what the future holds, deciding what to do - where to apply my energy and effort - is a difficult choice. no thing of beauty created is ever a wasted effort, but there are so many different options, so many unknowns, i haven't figured out which direction to go.

True

“People are unrealistic, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway.” 
~Mother Teresa

If I received a nickel for everytime I saw someone as beautiful as you, I'd have five cents.

Have you ever googled pick-up lines? Neither had I...until today. And man, there are some really BAD ones out there!


So why am I googling pick up lines?  Well, Doc and I decided to go on a fun date this weekend, pretending we've never met before.  We'll just happen to cross paths at a place downtown, where he'll see me, be smitten, and decide to pick up on me...a complete stranger. 


The rule is we can't break character, or let on that we know anything about the other person at all.  We can invent whatever histories we want for ourselves, mixing fact and fiction any way we like.   


It's going to be so much fun!  


So since this is new territory for me...I mean, really, 25 years ago when we started dating it was much simpler and I never experienced anything like this...I decided I'd better put some thought into my character for the night.  For example, what is my name? What is my life like? (have I ever been married? Do I have kids? Where do I work? Have I lived here long?)  What are my hobbies, interests? And also, how does the whole pickup-scene work, anyway? I've never thought much about it. Anyone have any tips for me?


The prospect of having a one-night-stand with my husband is so exciting I can hardly stand it!


Now to figure out how to look smokin' hot.

Letting Go

she could have just told me

"you're wearing me down

with your nonstop struggling

to find and feel joy".

she could have 

but she didn't.

and i am a slow learner

especially when it comes to my strong attachments

to the people who matter the most.

i don't know if i would have

ever moved on

without the grace she finally extended

to snuff out my miserable wondering.

"that's it?!" i thought.

relieved. oddly.

surprised by the peace finally knowing bestowed.

i would have predicted a feeling of loss

but i guess i'd already grieved what once was

a beautiful friendship

that blessed my life

and hers...

(let's be fair.)

but she gets to move on.

and blessedly

so do i.

at last.

7923

Fun little tidbit: 

I was single for the first 7923 days of my life, and today marks 7923 days of marriage to Doc. Exactly HALF MY LIFE!

Doc hit this same milestone on Tuesday, November 29, 2011.  (Yes, he's younger than me.) (#Cougar)

Here's to another 7923! (puts us at Thursday, January 12, 2034)

One of those stories...

Friday night, I went to the opening of an art exhibit that my friend Leslie had a piece in. I was making my way slowly through the masses of people attending, when I ran into a former acquaintance (I'll call her Ally), whom I hadn't seen in a number of years. While we were chatting, a friend of hers approached, and for some reason this person looked familiar to me (though, as it turns out, I'd never seen her before).

 I asked Ally "who is that?", and when she told me her friend's name, (I'll call her Christine X), I asked "is she Steve X's sister?" Christine heard my question, and said "no, I'm Steve's wife. Who are you?"


Realizing I knew Steve, Ally introduced us to each other, and this is when I got embarrassed. Because I didn't know how they might respond to the truth. So I told them "I don't think I should  answer that question", which of course made them even hungrier to know. 

They pressed, I quickly caved.  "Well, as it turns out, Steve was the first guy I ever kissed"... the admission of which fact seemed to fill them both with crazy juicy delight.
 
Encouraged, I further explained, "I was fourteen. We met at a church dance in Newport Beach. He was cute and I was enchanted. Outside after the dance, he took me behind that mosaic wall, and then he kissed me."

Ally and Christine are both laughing now, clamoring for more details.  And since there were details to be had, I did share them.

"I floated all the way home, convinced that this kiss of course meant that WE WERE GOING TO GET MARRIED someday. I mean, naturally, he was clearly THE ONE.  So that night I wrote Steve a letter...with all the earnestness, heartfelt sincerity and oozing conviction of any newly lovestruck fourteen-year-old-fresh-out-of-junior-high girl.  And I had every intention of giving it to him, too, but I put that letter behind a photograph of the temple hanging above my cot in  the garage  for safekeeping, and eventually forgot about it because I NEVER SAW HIM AGAIN."

Ally and Christine are both hooting with laughter at this point.  And then, who should walk up but my once-upon-a-time-intended. Christine and Ally couldn't pounce upon him fast enough.

"Steve, do you recognize this person?"

And then, in what was for me the weirdest moment of all, Steve looked at me for only a few seconds and then replied "Sure I do. You're Blue.  Blue Jeuls."  (substitute my maiden name).

Shut the front door!

I thought someone must have told him before he walked up...or that he'd overheard our conversation.  But he hadn't.  He just remembered me, even though we only met once, TWENTY NINE YEARS AGO!

We chatted for a few minutes about that day and our lives since then. He and Christine are darling people, and it was fun to meet her.  He told me that three days after that dance he left for college, which is why I never saw him again.  I honestly didn't expect him to remember me, out of all the girls I presumed him to have met/kissed.  


He of course stood out for me because he was my first, and, well, because of THE LETTER--which, I should note, I didn't rediscover until I was packing up all my stuff to move out of the garage when I got married, seven years later. I pulled that photo of the temple off the wall and this mysterious envelope fluttered to the floor. After reading it, can I just say you have NOOOOOO idea how glad I was that I hadn't had the opportunity to completely mortify myself by actually delivering it to him!

In the end, I guess the only thing I can conclude from this experience is, dang, I must be a REALLY good kisser!*

How about you? Tell me your first kiss stories!!!


*or an amazingly terrible one.

Puerto Rico Redux

Last week Doc and I went on a quick get-away to Puerto Rico. We had a free round-trip ticket that we had to use or lose, so we booked his flights (I can always sit on a jumpseat if a flight is sold out, so I don't purchase tickets for myself. Does mean I'm often tired when traveling, as sleeping on a jumpseat will get you fired).

We've vacationed in Puerto Rico a few times now, so we knew it would be a perfect place to go for our short window of time ( 2 full days sandwiched between travel days), and that we'd be able to find affordable accommodations.  Hotwire.com generally serves us well when scoring deals on hotels...and this time was no exception. The Wyndham Rio Mar resort was beautiful, in a great location, and we got it for only $90 a night! I should note that in typical resort fashion, prices for everything you could buy onsite were outrageous. We literally didn't purchase anything while there, instead we got some basics at the local Amigo grocery store to eat during the day, and had a nice dinner out each night for local cuisine.

Rio Mar is directly in front of the entrance to the only rain forest in the National Park system: El Yunque.  We've hiked there twice before, once with my inlaws and once with our kids, and it's absolutely gorgeous. This time we ended up hiking for about five hours, but actually, that wasn't intentional. After our first two hikes, we were heading back to our car and took a trail unintentionally, which led us on a long path to the top of the mountain. We realized fairly soon that we were heading up, but decided to keep going. We were both glad for the experience and the beauty we enjoyed during our wanderings.

We had barely set foot in the lobby to check in to our resort when a friendly man in line behind us told us about this Mini Boat Adventure that he highly recommended. We looked into it and were grateful for the suggestion. It was FANTASTIC!  We loved having our own little boat and some time on the open ocean and snorkeling around some reefs and exploring the little islands.  The guides took all the photos of us from that day, and we had such a great time free-diving and seeing the sea life.

We love Puerto Rico and have enjoyed many wonderful outings during all our visits. The Bio Bay is one of the most magical experiences we've ever had. We've visited the Camuy Caverns and drunk from what was once believed to be Ponce De Leon's Fountain of Youth (I will never die. Or at least avoid aging...not sure how these things work.). Visited Arecibo Observatory and the largest radio telescope on earth. Toured San Juan and all the old forts and historical sites. Spent some time in Ponce, and a few days on Culebra Island where we rented a boat and had some amazing snorkeling and diving experiences.  

Puerto Rico is what it's name says, a port rich in beauty and history and wonderful experiences. I highly recommend it!

The Prettiest State

I'm on a campaign to convince one of my besties of the Vital Importance of experiencing some of the amazing wonders of my dear Utah.  I don't believe there is any other state with more natural beauty than this one, so I thought I'd put up some photos of our visits to a few spots.

In this slideshow are scenes from Zion National Park, Arches National Park, and Goblin Valley, including our Little Wild Horse slot canyon hike.

Two other must-see destinations for anyone who hasn't explored the wonders of this region include Bryce National Park, and Yellowstone National Park--which isn't in Utah but IS really close.

So amazing are these places that I thought I should also spread the word for any other fair readers who may not have experienced these spectacular spots. I hope you find your way there and enjoy the awe and majesty they inspire. And to my darling bestie (who knows who she is), I can't wait to share these places with you! ♥

Ex-Boyfriend Encounters. Sort-of.

Hi lovelies! A friend did a blog post today about running into ex-boyfriends and asked us to share our ex-boyfriend stories. I've had a few awkward encounters, but this one, while not entirely about an ex-boyfriend of mine, was one I thought worth sharing.

I had recently turned eighteen years old when a woman I had been babysitting for off and on for six years asked if I could watch her kids overnight.  I really liked their family, so I agreed to it.

I got to her home and we were catching up a bit before they left on their getaway, and she asked if I was dating anyone.  I told her about a guy I’d just met, who I'll just call "Dave". We hadn’t gone out yet, but Dave had gotten my phone number and said he’d call me. 

Turns out she knew him, and upon hearing this asked, “Do you know how old he is?” 

 

Now, Dave did strike me as older than any other guy I'd gone out with, but that didn’t really bother me at the time because I (naively) fancied myself super-mature and able to hold my own with anyone. Besides, he was quite good-looking, in that George Clooneyish kind of way. The type that could have claimed any age within a twenty-year span and you could credibly believe it. Also, he seemed to be well-off, based on his car and wardrobe...which had it's own kind of appeal.  The fact that he was older and still single was probably just indicative that he was looking for the right woman. And lo, that might just be me, I reasoned.

In fact, Dave himself had asked me how old I thought he was when we met (which was at a church singles dance). I admit I was low-balling it to be polite when I said 29, to which he replied “Close. I’m 31″.

I hadn’t ever dated a man that much older than me (Would have been jail bait till just a couple months before.) (Though not, actually, because I was, after all, a virtuous Mormon girl.)

So I told the friend I was babysitting for “He’s thirty-one″, to which she laughed out loud and shared the following story, related to her by her sister Karen, who knew all the parties involved:

Karen had gone to school and worked with Dave for many many years and knew him well. When he was in college, Dave had a girlfriend named Jane for a couple years. Jane loved Dave and wanted to take their relationship to the next level, but it seems Dave was something of a ladies' man, and when it became clear that he wasn’t interested in settling down, they parted ways and life moved on. 

Jane met and married a wonderful guy, and they raised a family together. One evening Jane’s daughter, now 19 years old, was upstairs getting ready to go out on a date. The doorbell rang, Jane opened the door, and was surprised to see her ex-boyfriend Dave, whom she hadn't seen in twenty-four years, standing there.

Dave, upon seeing Jane, seemed flustered, and stammered out a greeting followed by some lame excuse about "just being in the neighborhood and thinking he’d stop by and say hi and see how she was doing", but that "something had come up and he had to go". He wished her well and abruptly left.  "That was bizarre", Jane thought to herself as she shut the door.

A few minutes later her daughter comes downstairs to wait for her date to arrive. A little time passes, the date hasn't shown up. Jane asks her daughter "Who are you going out with tonight?"  Her daughter tells her the date's name. 

Sure enough, it's Jane's old college boyfriend, Dave.  Dave, who who was still out there, playing the field, chasing one girl after another for all these years, while a whole lifetime had passed for Jane as she raised her family. 

Needless to say, after hearing this story from my friend, who informed me that Dave was actually forty-eight years old (!), I didn’t return his call when he rang to ask me out. But I couldn’t avoid him a couple months later when he cornered me at the punch bowl during another dance. 

“You didn’t return my calls!” he says with a flirty grin. 

“You lied to me about your age”, I stated, looking him straight in the eye. 

"Yeah, I heard you found out about that", he cheekily responds “But how could I tell you my actual age when you thought I was 29?” 

“How can you attempt to start out any kind of relationship with a flat-out lie? To say nothing about what on earth a 48 year old would want with an 18 year old. Let me guess. Was it my keen mind that fascinated you?” 

A few months later I met the guy who would eventually become my husband…he was 5 months younger than me, and it probably wasn’t my keen mind that fascinated him, either, but at eighteen, that was understandable. At least he wasn't two years older than my father!

So, tell me your ex-boyfriend encounters. Any good ones?

India: Part 2

Three months ago, I ran at a flat-out sprint from the NYC subway, to the JFK Air Train, from the Air Train to Terminal 5, through security, and finally reaching the departure gate for my flight home,  just as the agent was preparing to shut the door.  Whew!

Grateful to have made it (after grossly miscalculating how much of a delay there would be getting to the airport due to the NYC Marathon that day), I sank breathlessly into my window seat, while apologizing to the two people next to me that I'd just climbed over, who were no doubt hoping that they'd have the row to themselves. (I always feel guilty when I get a window seat and a paying customer is in the middle.) (I have often offered to switch seats, when I'm feeling compassionate.)  (I was completely exhausted that day, and had firm plans to sleep the entire way home.) (That didn't happen.)

We struck up a conversation, the three of us, and in a singular occurrence in all my flying (which is eleven years this month) (!!!!), we ended up talking the entire flight.  Our conversation continued through deplaning, down to baggage claim, then outside till they got in a cab for their hotel.

Turned out V and M (as I'll refer to them here) were newlyweds, and they'd been enroute for about 26 hours at that point, traveling from their home in India where where he is from and where they now live, to the states where she is from.  

When I found out they were coming from India, I of course lit up. In fact, I likely started gushing.  "I love India! I love the food, the people. I've loved the movies and plays set in India that I've seen. I've read books by Indian authors. I don't know why, but I just love India." (which love commenced as described in my last post). 

Meeting them was serendipitous because, as an American woman who had traveled around India, and who now lives there, M is uniquely positioned to give me tips on when and where to go, what to see, and advise on the Safety Factor (which became a concern for me after watching Slumdog Millionaire). She's also a Mormon, like me, so we had that additional connection.  I got out my laptop and began taking notes on everything they said, presuming this was my one big chance to get an inside scoop.

I don't know if I've ever been more captivated than I was during those hours that we flew across the continent, sharing their hummus, salsa and chips (grateful, as I was completely starving) and learning about how they met (at at TED Conference of all places! I'm crazy about TED talks...as my regular readers may know), and getting to know them.

And then somehow, early in the conversation, I discovered something amazing:
V grew up knowing Mother Theresa. 

I was actually SITTING NEXT TO someone who had not only met, but KNEW Mother Theresa!  (I shook his hand, so if you like, you can be 2 hand-shakes away from shaking hers.) 

V's grandfather had, as it turned out, managed all the finances for Mother Theresa's organization for many many decades, and is still involved even though she passed away in 1997.  I couldn't believe it. I briefly mentioned my dream, and he shared some anecdotal stories with me that he knew about her.

I painted a miniature picture of my peacock.
This is actual size.

The time flew quickly by.  When we landed, V pulled our bags down from the overhead bin, and then surprised me by presenting me with a blue velvet box. "We have a gift for you" he said, handing it to me. How they could have a gift for me when we'd just met on the plane was apparently beside the point. Inside was a beautiful silver peacock figurine. I have always loved the colors of the peacock (beta fish, too), and this little guy was so pretty.  What a thoughtful gesture!

We exchanged contact info, vowing to keep in touch. They invited us to visit them in India, which increases the likelihood of me going there exponentially, (I enjoy knowing people in the places I visit. Adds depth and richness to the experience.) and we parted ways. I assumed it would be quite some time before we saw each other again.

But happily, an opportunity presented itself just last month. V had to come to the states again, and we had the pleasure of starting off 2012 by hosting him during his visit. 

We had a wonderful time, going for a hike in our lovely canyon, visiting the lights at Temple Square, eating gelato, and just learning more about him, his lovely wife M, and India in general. Both of them are now on the list of people I know who are doing amazing things with their lives. Who make a difference in the world (it's quite an impressive list). 

It fascinates, inspires, and also frustrates me...since I can't seem to zero in on what direction to focus my energies, to still be stumped about what course I should pursue with my free time, and with the next phase of my life (which will be upon me in six short years when Gator graduates). But a conversation at dinner one evening gave me a tiny glimpse into one way to figure it out. I asked V, "how did you decide to get involved in and do the specific things that you are doing with your time and resources?" 

Bunch, V, and Doc on our hike in Millcreek Canyon

(note: I had researched him before he came to stay with us...a point I admitted to him openly since I knew I'd want to ask him about them, and also to let him know that I'm not in the habit of bringing random people into my home who might be creepers, even though there was honestly no possibility of that with him...you just know when you meet some people. You know? Should also note that M has an impressive record of actively making the world a better place, too. They're quite a pair. In my searching, I had discovered an array of things that he is involved in that he'd likely never have mentioned himself because of his modest nature.)

Anyway, his reply was the first thing that has given me a glimmer of insight: "I think it primarily comes down to the experiences I've had in my life, because of my family, and what I was exposed to." 

This comment brought to mind a statement made by a man named Henry Eyring, about a time when he was taught that our experiences aren't just for ourselves, and was instructed to "write them down" so he could share them with others.  

This led me think that perhaps my experiences, those things that I have learned and
gone through that have shaped and formed me into the person I am today, maybe those are somehow connected to what I should do with the next phase of my life. 

I had a lot of momentum a few years ago when I began writing a memoir (inspired by Jeanette Walls The Glass Castle, because her book really changed my life), which fizzled out for a number of reasons that I won't delineate right now, but a big one is that I still have work to do on that journey of healing. But perhaps something in that realm, using what I've gone through and overcome to help others in the same situation? I don't know for sure yet, but it was nice to have some tiny spark of inspiration.

I gave the miniature painting of Philippe the Peacock to V and M, as a thank you/reminder of our serendipitous encounter and the resultant friendship.  I'm hoping that in the next year or so we'll be able to make it over to see them and experience India first hand (maybe someone will be able to teach me how to make naan and cook makhani and tikka masala sauce to rival that found at my favorite restaurant, Bombay House) (and maybe I'll get to have my own, bona fide Mother Theresa experience).

And that's the story, people. You just never know what's around the bend, do you?

India

I have a kind of crush on India. The first time I had anything to do with India was about thirteen years ago.  We were living in Chicago while Doc was working on his Ph.D.  One night I had a dream...one of those exceptionally vivid dreams that (at least for me) are so rare. Most nights, whatever dreams I may have had fade away and are long gone by the time I awake. I'll go years without being aware of any dreams whatsoever.  

But this night was strange and unique. In my dream I was shadowing Mother Theresa as she went about her work in the slums of Calcutta, and I was REALLY excited (in my dream) because I knew that at the end of the day I was going to find out the answer to a burning question that had been (in my dream) plaguing me, which is, How does an essentially selfish person like me become like her?  I.e.,  how does someone get from a life that is good, to a life of greatness, as measured by the condition of one's heart?  And I was SO excited to know (in the dream) that at the end of the day I'd be given this secret information.  

So we worked, Mother Theresa and I, side by side all the day long, and then it was time. She told me that my answer was going to be given to me as soon as I went through a particular door, and ushered me toward it. I reached out to open the door,

and then I woke up. (you totally didn't see that coming, did you? Neither did I.)

Anyway, I was SO upset! As soon as I awoke, I tried desperately to claw my way back into sleep, back into this fascinating dream, to rewind and let myself pick it up again, anywhere, that would lead me back to the door and to the answer to this important question (that, until my dream, I had never wondered about before).  

But I never did get there.

Mother Theresa with some of her children.

Now at that time, I wouldn't have been able to pick Mother Theresa out of a three-person line up. I honestly knew nothing about her, except that she worked with the poor. This dream had so much information in it that I had never known before. It was in every way vivid and realistic...with smells and sights that were totally out of my experience in life.  It was kind of freaky, honestly.

I remember mentioning it to my neighbor and dear friend, Ann, and it was her reaction to my dream that impressed upon me that it was a kind of significant dream. I had never (and kind of still don't) attached any special significance to dreams...though I've had a handful of them in my life that seem like they are kind of in a class of their own in terms of information or meaning. But it was this dream that started my (continuing) crush with India. 

I read all the books I could find at the time about Mother Theresa, none of which were that compelling in my opinion. Though I gained some factual information about her life and work, they were missing the heart somehow. They didn't manage to inspire or motivate one to action of any sort...which is what I think I was expecting or hoping they'd do.

My disappointment about waking up before making it into The Room With The Answer was mollified another night not too long afterward, when I was up with my crying baby.  Pacing the moonlit room, I noticed a book on my piano, open to a song which I hadn't taken particular notice of before. As I gently bounced my baby in my arms, the words jumped off the page and into my heart.  It wasn't a huge mystery, this answer I sought.  It was something I'd been taught my whole life, summed up nicely in the words of a children's hymn:

I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.
I’m trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say.
At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice,
But I try to listen as the still small voice whispers, 

“Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought, For these are the things Jesus taught.”

I’m trying to love my neighbor; I’m learning to serve my friends.
I watch for the day of gladness when Jesus will come again.
I try to remember the lessons he taught. Then the Holy Spirit enters into my thoughts, saying

“Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought, For these are the things Jesus taught.”

Love. Kindness. Gentleness. Remembering. Serving. The simple, everyday things. The stuff of life. The things we can all do, for everyone we encounter in some small way, even if it's just letting your eyes smile into another's. It took my strange dream to start thinking about this in a new way.

That dream was just the beginning of my India Crush. It would be another seven years or so before I discovered Indian food (oh my word! chicken makhani, tikka masala, naan, basmati rice...I Love You Most Of All!), and slowly, other aspects of India would find their way into my life until I found myself fascinated and both enchanted and terrified of the whole of India (but mostly fascinated.)  (I saw Slumdog Millionaire on a plane...hence the the enchanted and terrified part).

The Abyssal Zone*

Hey guys, Doc said he missed me writing on my blog, so here is something I wrote:

sometimes I wish it were
the actual ocean
because that’s what it feels like
sometimes

it’s dark
and heavy
and the pressure increases
the deeper i sink

it’s cold
and lonely
dangerous and vast
and has the potential to kill

it’s even salty and wet
(when the tears won’t stop flowing)
sometimes i can’t seem to
get enough air

but it's not the ocean
and i don’t actually drown
no peace greets me
from a realm known for light

because i keep on fighting
to reach the surface
while the lifeguard watches me struggle
from afar

eventually i claw my way up to the beach
where the sun dries and warms me
(at least till the next high tide
drags me back under)

 Some days this is just how it is, peeps.

* The Abyssal Zone

11-11-11 Dance

Hey you guys!  Happy 2012!

I've finally put together a little slideshow of one of the highlights from 2011: The Dance

Bunch turned 15 on 11-11-11, so I decided since it was a ONCE IN A CENTURY date, and it was a Friday, that we should totally have a dance party to celebrate.
(You can click the arrows that appear when you hover over the slideshow to zoom fwd/back or stop on a photo.)

So many wonderful people made it happen, and we had a great turnout. I'm so impressed with the quality kids that live around here and make up my daughter's peer group. They were just delightful.  My talented, generous sister-in-law came and took over 250 photos of the evening...these are just a sample of them. 

Special thanks also goes to my brother-in-law-turned DJ Extraordinaire...he was a ton of fun as he MC'd the evening. Bunch's awesome piano teacher loaned us the sound system, and several of our favorite friends came to help chaperone. My dear bestie Shelah's contributions and help were indispensable in making it special.  

Admission was a non-perishable donation to the Utah Food Bank; we collected 212 pounds of food that night, and dropped it off the next day.  It really was a magical, once-in-a-lifetime experience for Bunch, and I enjoyed everything about it. 

(Also, seriously can't believe I haven't heard from MOTY yet.  Hello?!!! ;-) )