Category Archives: Friends

Sunny Days

We’ve rearranged the bedroom so the desk is facing a window.

Big mistake. I can’t get anything done.

We have company coming in today. J & T are spending the night as they drive on to New Orleans. They were the couple who made fun of our cheap craigslist bikes all the way to our first place finish in the Urban Adventure Race nearby. Here’s a recap of that eventful day.

Good times.

Have a lazy Sunday!

Sushi

Last week we went over to some friends’ house to learn how to make…..

SUSHI!

I was ecstatic. R was hungry.

I met L through her friend S. I tutored S in english grammar, U.S. history, etc. I use the word ‘tutor’ loosely because she was very advanced in learning the language.

S was also the one that suggested going to King Sauna in Dallas, but neglected to mention that I’d spend half the night naked amongst other women. You can click to read about that… here.

L’s husband laughed when I mentioned that little nugget of info and agreed that that might probably be the most important aspect to have told someone.

I think S was playing one on me.

So L laid out the ingredients, sliced for each roll’s individual flavor:

  • cream cheese
  • cucumbers
  • sprouts
  • avocados
  • spicy tuna
  • crab meat

And then she cut the seaweed wraps. My mouth was starting to water at this point.

I was close, so close!

After watching L make a a couple rolls, I gave it a shot. Her daughters were not impressed.

I got a little wild with the sprouts. It was like my hands could. not. stop. putting. on. sprouts. Everyone made a mental note which roll was mine.

And then I made R make one too. He gets kinda stressed out in the kitchen, so I figured it would be safer if he was in front of company while learning. If it were just him and me, he’d be huffing and puffing until I “put him down.” Or at least that’s what my sister called it when she put her kids to sleep.

We had a good conversation with L & K. L is also being tutored in esl and to hear her struggles with the language made me feel closer to her as I was going through a similar experience re-learning Spanish.

She is an extremely outgoing person, and to not be able to express herself easily, makes her sad. It’s almost like losing a limb, the inability to communicate well.

From the time I first met her until now, I have so much improvement in her conversational skills. I’m so excited to get to know her better and force her to be my friend. Her major in Korea was Pottery which means she’s a creative spirit and hopefully won’t find my oddities, well, odd.

But above all, we have a new item on the menu, now! (And it all comes back to food anyway, doesn’t it.)

Warrior Dash

First of all, did anyone watch Betty White on SNL? Oh my. Love her.

Back to me.

I met up with some girlfriends down in Dallas for the Warrior Dash. It’s a 3 mile run with obstacles.

And mud.

Lots of mud.

We walked into the courtyard, not knowing what to expect. Me, a pirate. Juice, wonderwoman.

Juice found some of her superhero friends while waiting for our heat to run.

The fire blasted and we were off!! I’ve taken some photos off of the website, so we’re not in all of them. But we did *do* all of these, including swimming across a pond and swallowing muddy water in which I’m sure some people peed.

Hey! Here’s me!! We had to jump over fire.

And apparently this is how I do it. Like a baby fawn just learning how to walk. Could you imagine me as a firefighter.

the last leg was in the mud pit, crawling under barbed wire. You got booed if you didn’t get dirty.

I was too busy making sure my pirate sash covered my mid-section. Forget  trying not to collapse in the mud, did anyone have a girdle??

Here are the other girls we met up with down there. They all carried foam viking weapons through the race.

Afterwards, we hung out in the courtyard area, peeling off mud, and soothing our achy bones with cold ones. A band was playing in the back and we enjoyed people watching.

Something I’d do again and I think R would really like it.

After this, I’ve decided I just might skip on the mud bath option at a spa.

Oh, Stanley!

A few weeks ago, my friend turned a year older. We were on our way to visit R’s parents and stopped through on the way.

Oh my goodness.

Also, Oh Stanley!

That’s what I said every other second for the night we were there.

This is Stanley.

He’s sad.

I love sad dogs.

One time my sister and I went to Petsmart and we found Freckles. He was sad. I still regret not buying him.

Look at those eyes. I know what he’s thinking.

“Why is life so hard. What is my purpose. Who is this person shoving their face into mine. I want to jump out that window over there.”

The next day we woke up and treated S to a round of golf.

But first I had to give her a bday gift.

Our library gives some books away free. And no I don’t mean I just walked out with it. It really was free.

And this was one! Perfect for S.

This book along with a pink plastic flamingo for their housewarming gift has led me to believe that I’m probably the world’s best gift giver.

It ended up being a nice sunny (littly chilly) morning. We only played nine holes before heading off to lunch.

And I actually enjoyed myself. I think it took not playing for a year and a half to come back a little more laid back. That being said, I can’t wait for more rounds.

I wish Stanley would come along.

Yes, it’s finally part three.

I arrived outside of Seattle to meet my childhood friend. We hadn’t seen each other for quite awhile, however our families still keep in contact via Christmas letters and, now, Facebook.

Problem is, you can’t squeal very well over the internet.

And poor A just wasn’t used to it.

Her first taste was on the way home, through this tree-lined street.

Can it get better than this??

And then I squealed over breakfast. French toast with fruit and yogurt.

Uh, hello A. I’m moving in.

Later I paused to take a nerdy photo in the farmers market.

But it didn’t take too long before I squealed over a collection of the world’s largest shoes. It cost 50 cents.

And was well worth it.

The next day we stayed around her neighborhood and ran by the water.

I stopped a few times to “tie my shoelace.”

And ended the visit with a tea room lunch. You know, I had never been to one before? Loved it.

A wouldn’t wear a hat. Hey, I can’t bully around everyone.

But I’ll try.

I had such a great time and cannot believe it took this long to catch up again with an old friend.

Spring Break – Part 1

What is my deal? Is this the blogging 7-year itch… Otherwise known as the ‘Blitch’?

A coworker came in the other day singing “She’s lost..that blog-gin’ feelin’…. Woah-oh-oh… the Blog-gin’ feelin'”.

So after a lot of waffling back and forth, my husband told me to stick the blog out. I first felt guilty for spilling all of the dirty details of the blog’s and my relationship to him, but then realized he was right. I’ve come this far, I need to keep going. After all, the blog has been a sturdy partner. So what if it’s a little flaky and definitely not the bread winner. It makes me laugh and listens to all my drama. Let’s do it.

On with the show: My trip to California with Juice.

We had a horrible experience trying to get out of the midwest: flights cancelled, our planes landing in different airports, etc. The weekend was almost called off.

But then I came to after passing out, guilt-tripped her a bit, and we were back on.

But I still think…

Continental sucks. Woops! That was one of my new years resolutions broken.

Oh well. They do.

We finally found our craigslist property that ended up NOT being a scam. Huzzah!

And the next day we went sample tasting (of all sorts)… First chocolate and cheese…

Then olive oil with bread.

I could’ve done this one all freaking day. Go figure.

No literally. There went my figure.

Lastly, wine tasting. We met up with one of my college roommates and her husband. They belong to a couple wineries in Napa and hooked us up with a tour. We were handed a glass to sip on throughout it.

Towards the end she gave us a sample right out of a barrel.

Followed by a private wine tasting in the cellar…complete with wafers and cheese. It was great!!

Afterwards, we had a picnic and continued our wine-sampling right into the evening. We had to. It was Napa.

The next day, Juice and I roamed around a bit more… checking out the winery that hosted a 5K race we were supposed to run in if Continental didn’t suck and then high-tailed it to San Francisco.

..where we popped into a make-up store to freshen up.

We had dinner in Chinatown, milled around a bit, and then I had to leave.

And this is when the trip took a Fargo meets Wild Wild West turn. Bye California! Onto Washington!

I’m back

I tell you what. I hit a wall, man. A big one. Almost to the point where I didn’t feel like continuing the blog. Can’t explain why, but I think it had to do with the sun peeping out from the clouds and warm breeze in my hair.

That, and the chocolate cake I made recently. Yeah, that took up most of my time.

But I’ve survived this funk and am back in it.

So I’ll pick back up where I left you… albeit a few weeks late: my Spring Break trip to the west coast. I haven’t had a spring break since college, so was eager to use it. J came with me to the Napa vineyards where we met up with an old college friend.

Then I took a 24 hour train ride up to Washington.

Where I hung out with a friend that lived on the same block with me in grade school.

My blast from the past Spring Break, up next.

Hopefully.

No, really, I’ll continue.

I’ll just dangle a piece of chocolate cake in front of the computer screen.

J and T’s 30th Birthday Party

I don’t know where the nickname Juice came from, nor did I invent it for her. But I was introduced to her in college with that name and it’s still stuck in my head. She and I ran around in the same group our last year at KSU and she was also living with a group of R’s friends. The first night I met her, I stayed up all night dancing watching people from the wallflower section of the dancefloor. The next morning I woke up next to people I only vaguely knew and she immediately made plans with me to eat breakfast where R was waiting tables.

Just like that. She’s just a tad friendly.

But little did I know how creative she was until we slowly became better friends.

She’s quirky and in my world, quirky = cool.

You know, people who aren’t concerned with what others think of them. I’m still trying to get there, but I have come long strides since my early 20s. This blog has helped.

So, she and her husband T (who both also did the Adventure Race with us back in November – click link here), both turned 30 recently and wanted to celebrate. They invited their friends and paid their way for a night of 80s Roller Rink Fun-o-rama.

And we made it just in time for the Limbo. whew!

Each of us took our turns getting reaccustomed to roller skating. I don’t think any of us had skated within the past 10 years, so the whole “balance” thing was a foreign idea.

Well, except for Juice.

She’s been practicing to join the local Roller Derby Team.

Anyway, some of us pushed off the wall and hoped to slow down at the Limbo line.

While others had to be helped by an outstretched hand. Eventually we all made it. It took an hour.

Now, this first experience on wheels really tested you. The length from the line to the actual limbo pole is, oh, about 20 miles. No, seriously.

I wanted to cry, it was so scary.

It was like your first jump off the high-dive. Once you started, there was no turning back.

So instead of actually skating, I did one little push and then bent over. I don’t think my head even cleared it.

The failure was promptly blamed on my high ponytail.

Then it was R’s turn.

Oh, R.

He started off with feet parallel to each other and then somehow one foot started to split off and he couldn’t pull them back together. So the only option was to go with it.

Hopefully he can still sire children after that. It was painful to watch.

After our first run on the rink we were already sore.

R and N stretched it out for a bit….

While I chomped on Pop Rocks, provided by the hostess, and watched the show on the rink.

Every two seconds you heard someone scream and then bones breaking.

Like these three. I hope the horizontal guy is okay.

R stayed near anyone with a helmet thinking he could just fall on them and avoid the cement. Good thing this guy had one too. Man, he wiped out hard several times, causing the ‘referee’ (what are those guys called – bouncer? chaperone?) to blow his whistle and check on him.

It was awesome.

Others just breezed on by without a care in the world. Juice called ahead to ask if she could wear those fast special skates. They said yes.

What a show off.

We were jealous of her skills.

But I bet you’re jealous of my mad braking skills. That’s right ya’all. I could eat your brake for brakefest.

…and with that pun I bid you good night.

Later on, we skated the birthday girl into the bathroom (appropriately decked out in daisies) for a birthday toast. There’s something so liberating about having skates on while going pee. I’m not going to delve into that thought process, but I felt liberated.

We hung out for awhile until we were busted by the rink patrol. They were cool, thank goodness, and tsk-tsked us back to the rest of the group.

It was no use explaining to them that the bathroom break was necessary to..

do this.

Yikes. This should’ve been a recipe for disaster, but we both held on strong and whirled around. That was the thing I was most looking forward doing…. Spinning in the middle of the floor.

This had to be on of the most fun parties I’ve been to. We even broke out our Thriller dance when the song came on.

On SKATES, people.

And now I also want to take up skating as exercise… Forget running, people, skating will kill your thighs.

But it won’t kill your fond childhood memories. It only enhances them.

We used to do the Hokey Pokey, the coin toss, races and a bunch of other things. But I bet you all have some memories of your own.

Share if you’d like, I’m all ears.

Catalina Island en route

Well, we ended up getting out of Arkansas last weekend. It made me kind of suspicious that the only flight not cancelled was ours. The tickets were extremely cheap… and so apparently were the people calling the “go ahead and give it a go” shots. I mean, almost every other flight was cancelled. Every. Other. Flight.

But did that stop us?

Hail no. (Literally)

Neither did our snow packed car stop us…

…or the almost zero visibility on the roads. If I had to stick my head out the window and get pneumonia, by golly we are getting to some sunshine! Keep driving R!

We finally dragged our soggy feet into the airport. I have a thing about packing light… trying to scale back what I take to the point that I’m on the verge of wearing the same thing everyday on a trip. Okay, it’s not that bad, but I did refuse to wear a jacket because I didn’t want to lug it around for five minutes walking to and from the airport.

I was a literal snowwoman (excuse the political correctness) when I finally stumbled through the doors. It was ugly. And wet.

When my eyelids eventually unfroze themselves, we saw our friends T and R, and immediately gut laughed.

It’s not unusual to run into people we know as we come from a small town, but this was getting ridiculous. They were waiting for their friends to return from China with their newly adopted baby.

Recently we ran into T&R at a local pizza place too. They were there for a birthday party, and were early, so we sat with them until our pizza was ready to go.

A birthday party… no big deal right? Right. Except for when the pizzeria has literally two tables inside and both were being used for the said party goers that hadn’t showed up yet. When they did, T&R were put in an awkward situation of introducing us to everyone as if we had come along. And of course, R ordered the most labor intensive pizza in all of Italy, so we waited forever to make our graceful exit. By this time everyone was wondering who this chick was with no makeup on and why she was standing in line for the pinata.

So we show up at the airport and who is having the welcome home party? Oh, just the same people from the pizzeria.

Lovely.

What luck to join them for again! I thought I might as well take photos of them since we’re basically a part of their lives now. T joked that R & I will be in the background of all their photos. And if we see the couple on the street, we’ll bring up memories to them and they’ll wonder why we know such intimate details.

Embarrassing. But it was nice to see them with their new baby. R & I have talked about adoption a lot and my idea of our future family is changing to include that option.

Until then, we’ll continue to buy cheap tickets on scary icy flights.

But we landed! Oh yes we did and had a quick night’s sleep before heading out to Catalina Island with my brother, his wife, and their friends.

We were backpacking for the night and it was part gorgeous, part LOST-like. If you don’t watch the show you won’t get the references, so you best start watching reruns, like, now. You won’t regret it.

If you do watch the show, I probably really like you.

Stay tuned!

Do you like good deals?

So do you?

Because my very good friend, Jessica, also known as J (the girl from our Adventure Race and Thrill the World), has started up a blog to help you find them!

She would scour the internet every day even without a blog, but now she is helping us all out. Unlike me, who is dumbing everyone down.

The Daily Scavenger <— click on it!

I’m already stalking her latest post on free Love Letter kits. I have a feeling I’ll be loading up our dorm room in no time.

Follow her to get the latest and greatest!

Icy with a dash of baking

Yes, it’s definitely white around here. And work has been cancelled.

This means that PBS’s Masterpiece Theatre has been watched, bread has risen (and is about to get punched down – my favorite part. Too much aggression?), apartment neighbors will be visited with freshly baked bread (Sara, my ESL friend, lives nearby!), those bananas will be turned into banana bread cupcakes, and flight tracker will be stalked.

R and I are set to leave tonight and visit my brother. I am refreshing the screen obsessively hoping everything stays the course.

Until then, I’ve got some baking to do.

Feetsies

What is my obsession with feet in photos? There’s no logical thought process since I don’t even take care of them, so why should I photograph them?

But I do.

And now you have to suffer.

Some of these I’ve blogged about (and have linked back to those posts) and others I haven’t, but wish I had.

Hot summer weekend trip in Iowa. Cool, sweet water.

Just prior to having a semi-heart attack on the Brew to Brew: 50 mile relay race from Boulevard Brewery in KC to FreeState brewery in Lawrence. The worst part was knowing that after your team drove past cheering you on, they immediately rolled up the window to say how sorry you looked. I know this, because we did it to every other person on our team. But I’m sure they didn’t do it to me. Right. RIGHT?

Hiking the Grand Canyon. What a glorious day, despite R almost dying.

Garage sale shopping with my mom. This was a terrifying flash forward of our lives when she literally parked in someone’s front lawn. Not on purpose.

What you don’t see above these feet is a girl dry heaving on Little Corn Island, Nicaragua. Apparently I don’t like heights?

After wearing heels for too long, asking R if I could borrow his shoes for a few minutes. No I wasn’t wearing socks either.

[collective groan / shrieks of horror]

Dancing the Thriller…in sneakers. If I saw a zombie coming towards me in white tennies, I’d either poke him in the eyes (and hope he doesn’t block me with the finger shark fin) or run my butt off. He might’ve died running, you know.

Do you see the steep stairs in this Irish castle ruin? And the rain water? You do the math.

Visiting our cousins in the Sunshine State. This is also a good reminder: Kids, always remember to put sunblock on your feet. Do not, I repeat, do not stop at your ankles.

Costume / Dance Parties. Oh, penny loafers.

Camping / Hiking – and facing my fear of the granddaddy spider of 2001.

And last but certainly not least… running through fields. I was apparently really excited to get to something…. probably food.

As I was looking around, I found even more feetsies photos. Oh yes, there will be a part two. Who sighed? I heard that.

A Day to Myself.

R is out of town for a few days, so guess what that means? Girly time … with myself!

Hello, my name is Carolyn and I’m an introvert.

There, I said it.

R and I had gone to some friends’ (T’s blog is here) house last weekend. We were sitting around talking about, well what else..ourselves, and T mentioned that his wife had said “Oh good! She’s an extrovert for me and you’re an introvert for R.” Immediately, my palms got sweaty and I started to tremble. Extrovert, extrovert… oh lord, does that mean I have to talk to people? After smelling salt was waved under my nose, I woke up to declare that R was more of an extrovert and to please not give me a debutante ball into extroversion society because I’ll be expected to reenact a scene from the Crucible where they pretend to see birds and my part is one of the girls that screams and cries and, really, I am just not prepared nor do I have the lines memorized even though it’s mostly screaming nor do I like to have people’s eyes on me and no one will clap and everyone will laugh even though it’s a drama and not a comedy, so please.. please!

[silence]

Anyway, by the end of the discussion, it was decided that T and I were functioning introverts. I like to write, I observe and absorb, I don’t mind giving up the spotlight, I can interact with people despite my sometimes clumsy conversation, and maybe when I get comfortable with you, just maybe, you’ll mistake me for one of those extroverts.

So I took myself to a museum in the next town over. They were having a “Cabin Fever Reliever”, complete with three speakers and they’re normal museumy stuff. The presentations were of the historical trails that went through NW Arkansas: Trail of Tears, Butterfield Stagecoach Route, and a Civil War Troup. It was nice. So were the free cookies and cider.

I skipped the Civil War talk to look around the museum with no one else around (Introvert Alert!!). I wanted to shoot everything. Everything. But was worried I’d do a repeat of my trip to San Juan Capistrano, in which I took about 300 photos of various chairs and pottery. So I made an effort to include myself in photos, if only to make it more interesting to look back on.

My parents are recovering non-self-includers. Now, every time they come back from a trip, they like to point out to me where they are in each photo.

Hang on though, I’m not saying I don’t enjoy interesting pictures from a trip without people I know in them. But that’s the key word: Interesting. I mean, look at this: I could never do this.

Could you? You probably could, huh. Well, I can’t. So I might as well throw me in the scenery mix. What has it got to hurt? (I heard that.)

After gazing at my future dining room table, I turned the corner to a dress-up area and squeezed into a 12-year old’s hat….

…looked at old 3-D photos.

And then I saw it. An entire area devoted to cleanliness in the olden days, which included a replica of an outhouse, of course.

So I tried it out. What you don’t see is the lady standing behind the camera pretending not to watch me set the self-timer and run into the outhouse. Apparently this is the face I make when someone walks in unannounced and stands there staring at me. I mean, hello lady, I’m having a private moment with me and my 1905 Sears catalogue and you are breaking my concentration.

In the end, I outran her to the real deal outside, after which I took a tour of a small cabin and barn.

After a quick stop at a thrift store, I drove home, changed into pajamas, fixed myself a nice cocktail as well as a plate of cheese and crackers (Do you see any green on that plate? I was getting wild and crazy last night, people), and plopped down to my netflix account.

A good, quiet, introverted day.

Candlelit Singing

R finally set up a double date with his co-worker. It took only 2 months, but that’s okay. I felt like I had already been on a date with them (or at least his wife) when we watched her perform in a local play.

A thespian! A real life person, that I can actually touch and feel, who appreciates productions & art as much as me.


I didn’t need to explain during the choir performance why certain notes made my throat hurt, or feel self-conscious for just barely holding back tears throughout others.


She got it. And that made me happy.


At the end of the concert, candles were passed around. R lit mine and I felt united with him for a moment.



And then the congregation sang Silent Night together.
All in all, a great date night. Not to mention the cheap white wine I brought over to their house. That’s right, just keeping it classy.

But one other thing made me smile that night: finding a new song in which to indulge. Laudamus Te by Mozart. When the harpsichord starting playing, my heart lept and I thought, Oh my gosh.. is this Mozart?? But if you read the comments below, I was way off. This was not Mozart, but Vivaldi. Thank you, Hazel.
Note to self: Learn that the name written in a choir concert program is probably for the lyrics.

Below is Laudamus Te sung at the concert. These aren’t the two girls who actually sang it. No, they were left in a pile of ashes after my eyes burned envy into them. Too beautiful, they were.

But this is still wonderful.

Maturing…at least physically.

Something is in the air.

R and I went to a wedding Saturday night and I actually threw on a skirt and heels, something I feel I haven’t done in a while. And normally, I feel insta-sexy with this particular shoes-skirt combo. I do up my eyes, throw on some clear lip gloss and be bop my way to the car. But last night, I felt almost… needy. And asked R repeatedly if he thought I looked good.

He assured me that yes I did, while also throwing in a few “for a 50 yr-old” cracks at which I laughed, but also quietly noted that there’s always truth in jokes.

When the usher asked me which side and I replied “Bride”, he escorted us to row after row of giggly just-graduated-from-college friends of E. Glossy hair, manicured fingernails, shaved legs – you know.. above and beyond. What show-offs.

This was the first time that I’ve felt… older. Not old. But just older. The fact that I’d resolved to let my hair grow out naturally, gray roots and all, did not help. When you see the pictures, you’ll say, “Oh Carrie, you aren’t graying!”. But I assure you, that is purely positioning of the head. Right now it is only about an inch out, leaving it mountain snow cap. I am going pre-maturely gray.

This has resulted in mixed reactions. A girl at work almost begged me to dye my hair back while R said he thought it was cool I was embracing my natural self.

And I believed I had come to terms with it as well.

…Until I was literally surrounded by those girls…flicking their beautiful silky mahogany hair about (almost no blondes at the wedding, which I figured was the cosmos laughing at me).

Can you believe I was grieving over this tiny aspect? But there you have it. The first baby step in watching my body mature. I always tell myself, in nervous situations, to really stop and feel that moment. Because it’s probably the most raw and pure emotion you can feel, never lessening.

Hopefully in 20 years, I’ll have become used to the changing of myself. Because I sure am uncomfortable now. Everyone was at some point.

For that reason, I was really looking forward to a glass of white at the reception to calm me down. When R went up to order it, the bartender whispered very slowly, “We…cannot..serve…alcohol..tonight.” A dry reception. Oh you cosmos!

Afterwards, we went down to our favorite place on Dickson St: a coffee bar/bar. There’s something comfortably appealing about a coffee shop that also serves wine.

We managed to catch the last half of the KSU game and while watching, decided to order an appetizer. I was waffling between Queso and Lox.

But there was still an air of self-doubt lingering from the reception, so I asked R to take an “unposed” photo. Which is really a posed photo of me trying to act like I didn’t know he was taking it. Nevermind, it gets complicated.

The wine-stained upper lip, the yellow teeth – fine. But what the heck is that???

I zoomed in.

Uh hell no.

We’re ordering salads, dear.


And tomorrow we’re going to the gym. I’m taking control of my self-image, starting…. right after Thanksgiving.

Look, a girl’s gotta have her pumpkin pie first.

When the Cat’s Away…

R has a business trip in KC next week, so he wanted to drive up earlier to stay with a friend.

One problem.

We’re a one car family and I’ve had an antique shopping day planned with a couple girls from work for about a month now.

Solution? He took the bus. It left at midnight and arrived around 5am. R didn’t get a lot of sleep, between a man grabbing his shoulder in the dark and asking loudly “Where are we?” and watching the guy stumble to the front of the bus and getting off right before an exit on the highway to thinking about the KC bus station and hoping his friend, B, makes word on his promise to pick him up.

The KCMO bus station is not exactly in the best area of town and B has a tendency to get worked up about things.


So Little Miss Carolyn took off early Saturday morning for a full day of antiques. On the original email, it said “this is not for wimps.” And man, was she right. I was exhausted by the end of day.

 


We stopped at two Amish stores for breakfast and lunch.

D I V I N E — Fresh made donuts and a roast beef sandwich, respectively.

My bread never ever turns out this good. I ate it up, literally (and I guess figuratively too.)

We attacked a lady and her 4 month old English Sheep Dog as they exited the beauty parlor. I think I may have found my new favorite breed. I could’ve scooped him up and took him home with me right then and there.

He would’ve liked the Dorm, right?
Antiquing was a success. Found three more of my Butterprint Pyrex dishes for twenty bucks total. Easily saved ten dollars. R mentioned not too long ago that he read the new Pyrex refrigerator dishes are having issues exploding in the oven. And since living sans microwave, it was crucial that I find the older versions to be able to reheat foods. Right. Right?

I debated about mixing different styles of Pyrex, which I normally would not be opposed to doing. In fact, I kinda like that look better…not so mitchy-matchy. But we’ve talked of the idea of exposing the dishes (plates/cups etc) in our future kitchen, and so in that case, I prefer having similar colors, but different textures. That way it doesn’t overwhelm the eye (or at least my eye) but it still creates some interest.
Was that straight up HGTV or what.
Believe it or not, I felt like I had been too practical in my finds and had to get something tasty just for myself.

What’s better than snuggling up to a 1932 journal filled with outings, bridge parties, and trips to California?
Well, I guess one thing.
Snuggling my feet under someone’s legs with a 1932 journal.

Tortoise and the Hare meets Hoosiers

It was almost one in the morning on Friday night when I heard the snickering outside our dorm window. J & T had arrived.

Finally.

R & I had decided to camp out in the living room and let our guests sleep in the loft bed. Aren’t we nice. They would’ve probably been more comfortable on the couch.

But maybe that was a tactic to sabotage them. No one will ever know…and I’ll never admit it.

More snickering. We opened the door and let them in. “T was laughing at your bikes!!” yells J as they roll in their seriously serious mountain bikes. Freshly bought a month earlier at an actual bike store. No joke. Those bikes were… serious.

And we instantly had bike envy.

I rubbed my eyes and with a knee-jerk reaction, barked at them “We got them on Craigslist for 30 bucks. Leave them alone! I mean it!”

Welcome to Arkansas. Where the moment guests walk through the door, a fight breaks out. Anyone else want to visit?
Don’t you listen to them, cheap Walmart Craiglist bikes. You are special.

At first, it had nothing to do with how well made the bikes were. T was really worried that our bikes would fall apart while on a trail and we’d have to get them surgically removed from you-know-where.

The danger awaiting us is really what kept me up most of Friday night. Maybe that was their sabatoge. Okay, I get it now.

For a girl who shares a mid-90s car with her husband, lives in a pseudo dorm room, and buys most of her clothes on Goodwill Dollar days (can I not even pay full price at the goodwill??), a name brand bike should have been the least of her worries.

And it was. That is, until morning hit.

I woke up before the alarm went off and hurridly ran to wake up everyone else. We had bikes to fix, breakfast to eat, and other mandatory race items to buy!

J had an extra bike seat and T insisted R use it. He was afraid we’d never be able to have kids with the seat Walmart provided. I was right on T’s heels also insisting a better seat, but now it was only partly for safety reasons and mostly to fit in with this illusive bike crowd.

Maybe if we have a better seat, they won’t notice the huge ROADMASTER decal on the side.

When we arrived at the starting point, I made R put the bikes in the transition station for us without me. Man, this was going to my head! I had better get focused, I thought.

Okay. Let’s review how R and I trained for this event. Well, we paid our entrance fees a few months in advance. Then we waited until something nagged at the back of our heads that something was coming up. It felt like that something was something we should be training for. But what was it exactly? Oh, right, right. A little race with J & T where mid-way I’m sure we’ll stop for a picnic of cheese and wine.

That was it: a steady regimine of complete denial. Along with a few vitamins thrown in for good measure.

We had absolutely no clue. But it was too late now, the show was about to begin.

The first thing we had to do was plot out the checkpoints. We were given coordinates and, by using a UTM reader & topography map, created a general outline of the route.

Just this caused me to drink half my water and lie on the ground. What had I gotten myself into.

Once we compared notes, the four of us took off. We were separate teams but hung out with each other until slow-poke Carrie pulled her team back.

The weather: it. was. gorgeous. And I’m glad it was this way, otherwise, I don’t know if we’d have very fond memories. Not that threatening to get a divorce on a canoe as well as almost throwing up a chimichanga at a mystery event were really fond memories…. but at least it was nice out. We can always say we had that.

This is how the race was described:
  • hike/trek 8 miles
  • water activity
  • bike 20 miles
  • perfect for a first time racer!

This is how it really went:

  • Run until your sides hurt
  • Lift 1000 lbs
  • Get lost
  • Get back on track
  • Run until your sides hurt
  • Canoe across a lake until your arms hurt
  • Get divorced
  • Turn circles back to land because you can’t make the canoe go straight for one measly second
  • Jump onto a bike
  • Ride until your legs hurt
  • Eat a chimichanga and start to heave
  • Apologize to person who made chimichanga saying that if you hadn’t been in this race, you could’ve positively pounded those down.
  • Ride until your legs hurt.
  • Play putt-putt and get a hole in two.
  • Cry.
  • Ride until your legs hurt.
  • Finish.
  • Get remarried.

Sprinkle in a few curse words & tumbles on the bike and there you have it. Sound like fun?

But there’s more than that. Here’s what happened.

Slow poke Carrie kept her team back. So J & T went ahead of us. …and ahead of us. …and ahead of us… leaving me the only person to watch R trip on every frigging tree root on the trail. I was tired, people. And everything was ticking me off, especially tripping on tree roots.

Poor R.

J & T were so far ahead of us, though, that when R and I reached the canoes we asked where team number 27 was, and he looked at us pityingly (side note: did he know what bikes we rode? was that why he looked at us that way?) and said, “Oh, yeah. They’ve been out on the water already for 20 minutes.”

I could’ve sworn he called me a slow poke as we picked up our canoe. Whatever.

So we climbed into the boat and I knew this was really going to test us. We had once gone on a date way back when, where we took a canoe out onto a lake … and almost broke up then. And that was during the first phase of dating, where nothing made you mad about the other person.

Now we were paddling with 6 years worth. It was… interesting, to say the least. (In my defense, when R told his coworkers about the race, one of them mentioned that canoeing is the single hardest thing to do with a spouse… this was before R said anything about our short-lived divorce. So there.)

We kept our position out on the lake, which at this point was 7th-ish. There were two other co-ed teams ahead of us, including our friends.

Next came the bikes. I purposely slowed us down until we could transition onto them without anyone in the area.

No, not really. But I wanted to. Let’s just say, I was happy to put on a helmet and cover up my beaming red face. Darn you, T. Get out of my head!

We rode up and down some major hills until finally finding the street of our next checkpoint, which happened to be in a neighborhood. This was the chimichanga event, and so we had to park our bikes. Guess who parked theirs behind a car on the street. Look, I’m not proud of it.

We walked across the lawn and asked the now irritating question, “How far ahead is team #27?”

“They haven’t come yet.”

Shut the front door, I thought. Or maybe I said it out loud. At this point, I was saying a lot of things out loud.

“You are kidding.”

“No, we’re not. You’re team #3.”

After I downed the chimichanga, we jumped back onto our bikes and took off. As we turned the corner, guess who came around in their gleaming, sparkly, seriously serious bikes? J & T. That’s right, folks: eat. our. dust.

I raised my arm and yelled, “Go craigslist walmart bikes!” and off we went.

After a few more checkpoints and spots on the trail where I know R was silently thanking T for the seat change, we saw the finish line.

Oh, the glorious glorious finish line. After 4.25 hours, I was ready to sit down and have a beer. Not a chimichanga though.

Unbelievably, we stayed in third for the rest of the way and ended up winning first in the co-ed division.

I’ve never won anything, let alone a race…so this was exciting for us (me). Our bikes did it. They did it. It was a classic underdog fable.

But I still wheeled them to a discreet location immediately after dismounting.

Afterwards, we drove a short ways to Eureka Springs and, on the way, called random places to stay. Everything was full because of a folk music festival going on, so we booked the first thing that had a jacuzzi and/or hot tub.

Should it have been awkward to share a place that housed a jacuzzi (for two) in the middle of the living room?

Because it wasn’t.

It was even less awkward that all four of us got into the two-person jacuzzi and sipped champagne.

And less awkward still when after J & I climbed out to lay on the couch and watch National Lampoon’s Vacation (and quickly falling asleep), to hear R & T clink champagne glasses while toasting our future families.

It was awesome. We had such a nice night.

trying to get the shot of a lifetime

The next day.

Ouch.

Every fiber of my being was sore and what way to really understand this pain?

Why, by visiting the Christ of the Ozarks.

Such a fun weekend… I can say this now, because the pain has gone away and I am encouraged to actually train for the next one.

We’ve already got plans for a sequel.

And R has plans for a new partner.

Pre-Adventure

We were laughing and giggling… obviously having no clue what we were getting ourselves into.

R felt like a ballerina in his new long-sleeved synthetic shirt; a mandated item to enter the race.

While I ran around taking more photos of things that make me smile in the dorm. Like a sexy photo of two legs dangling out of a claw foot tub. Some people have asked if those are my legs. So I pull up my pants to let them figure it out.


“Nope, it’s not you”, they always say. “Hers are shaved.”

And my little matchbox holder. The only suitable place I could think of was by the toilet.


More of our adventure race to come….

Same Smile

Continuing on from the last post… let’s visit a photo taken during my 14th year of life. Different year, same smile.

Oh, the love one feels at that tender age. Or it might’ve been just emotional residue from all of the Harlequin romance novels I was gobbling up that summer.

My mom and friend, V, headed to a conference at our local church where, ahem, HE was speaking. The infamous HE. HE ruled my universe and basketball highlights. sigh, oh.. HE.

Anyway, afterwards, HE sat down to write autographs for everyone. So I stood (im)patiently in line, ready to deliver the one-liner that would bring HIM down to HIS knees and propose.

But as I shuffled my way to the front of the line, and before I could get a word out edgewise, my mom decided to take matters in her own hands.

“Oh Jared! Why don’t you stand up with Carolyn and pretend you’re going to prom together!”

I. was. mortified.

(and happy)

She managed to break the awkward stare I leveled at HIM as HE waited for me to speak and create a joking atmosphere. Making fun of the fact that I really was pretending we were at prom, made it seem like I wasn’t in fact thinking that very thing. She was always cooler than me, that mom.

But then. Then! Years later in college…. I had been dragging around this darn photo for 7 years, pulling it out from under my bed when someone felt down in the dumps and needed to compare themselves to a lowlier being.

But one day, I noticed a path had been made through the 5 tons of dirty laundry on my bedroom floor. Who had been in here? What would they have possibly wanted?

Later that evening, in walks one of my roommates. A, who was dating someone on the college team that HE started to help manage. She hopped down the stairs and casually handed the photo over.

HE had signed it! And he even wrote my name on it!

Two thoughts ran through my mind:
1) I love you, A.
2) Did she mention that I look different than that 14 yr old in the photo? That I grew into my nose? That I got a cuter hair cut? That I… That I….

And right back into a 14 year old, I turned… With that same huge goofy grin.

Whodun the Doodee

In the spirit of Halloween and sophmoric behavior, I present: The Case of the Exorbitant Excrement.

After the Thriller competition, the four of us walked into TR’s house and I headed straight to the bathroom. I noticed that the toilet lid was politely closed. For a house majority of boys, I thought Wow that’s so nice. And then I lifted the lid.
Good god almighty! Who did that??

Are they hurt?

And why didn’t they flush?? Wait, it’s NOT flushing!!!

So I marched out to the living room intending to yell at people for giving me gag reflexes.

Halfway down the hallway, someone pulled me to the side and whispered loudly that it was left there for TR to find.

The hooplah caused the rest of the house to sit down and review the facts of the night in order to catch the culprit. TR ruled out the girls since, according to him, we wouldn’t know how to turn off the toilet valve. He then proceeded to pick apart each male with reasons why they would or wouldn’t be the guilty party. For 30 minutes this went on. Sharing different hypotheses, with one important question sprinkled several times throughout the investigation: “Why wasn’t there any toilet paper in the toilet?”

Until finally, a decision was made based purely on gut feelings. TH had dunit. TR just knew he had and wouldn’t hear of any other possibility.

We parted ways that weekend with TH still thrown into the figurative prison.

And then today. We received what might be the most important piece of evidence for the case. A drawing depicting the whereabouts of TH when the crime was committed. An alibi, if you will.

There’s a pooper-non-flusher on the loose, people. Watch your commodes.

From Dirndl to Zombie…

in less than 6 hours. Ah, I love days like these. Although, if I’m completely honest with myself, that’s pretty much how every day ends up: pale faced and half dead.
We piled onto the bus that would take us to the much touted “second largest oktoberfest in the nation”. Hmmm… Not sure about that one. But it did have the second largest number of people chewing tobacco and wearing beer slogan t-shirts.

Can I describe how nice the day was? R and I had just come off of almost two straight weeks of rain and to walk outside into that sunshine? Divine. It was like heaven opened up to my cute dirndl dress and said, “Go on, my little bavarian child and bask in the fruits (or hops?) of the german microbreweries.”
Okay. I will, I said.

But our first stop was food: brauts, potato cakes, and onion blossoms. Life was good… my cinched waist was not.

We wandered aorund the grounds, until our exhausted feet found some tables in the open air. I mean, yes we were tired. We had just spent the entire morning eating breakfast burritos, drinking blackberry fermented “juice” and watching a marathon of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Wouldn’t you be tired too?


This is me midway through a lager and conversation. If you’ve spent any amount of time with me on a beautiful day sipping some spirits, you know my thought process. Unfortunately, this thought process usually turns into a vocal adaptation. Here it is in a nutshell:
  1. I really like hanging out with you guys
  2. Isn’t it beautiful out?
  3. Yes, pour me a little.
  4. Okay, a bit more.
  5. Shouldn’t we go on a trip together?
  6. My parents are going to pass away someday. (This sounds like a horrible statement. But it’s not intended to be. I’m only consoled when someone reminds me that 63 is the new 53.)
  7. Wait, I’m going to pass away some day.
  8. Are you guys going to miss me?
  9. What would you say about me at the funeral?
  10. Is anyone listening?
  11. So back to that trip…
  12. What. You don’t want to go on one now? It’s okay, I’m over our mortality. I promise.
  13. So what have you been up– wait. Back to me. What have I been up to? Well … [insert 30 minutes of non-stop talking*]
  14. Cackling laughter
  15. Did I tell you how much I like hanging out with you?

*This is actually a false statement. Ever since starting this blog, I now have nothing to talk about in person (re: myself)

 


After a few hours, I started to notice a decline in our host T. To the point where he grabbed hold of a turkey leg and pounded his phone with one digit. Next he would be dragging a woman along the ground by her hair.

Luckily we had to leave for our Thriller debut before seeing that caveman spectacle.

But I did get to see (and experience) a Big Lebowski scene with R while getting ready for Thriller. Except this time it was baby powder and not ashes.


Friends, there is absolutely one vital thing to bring along to a 12-yr old’s Thriller competition. Good sports of husbands. Man, they didn’t complain once. They made fun of it all (and us), but never complained. Even when we asked them to do their best zombie stance.

Awesome.

This isn’t the last you’ll see of J & T. They’re coming down for the Adventure Race next weekend. I’ll probably look like a zombie in those photos as well. Need to start exercising. Stat.

No, please sit down. Standing ovations embarrass us.

My friend J signed me and our husbands up to take part in a world record breaking event. With satellite locations around the world, everyone had to start the The Thriller dance at exactly the same time. http://www.thrilltheworld.com

Okay.

Why did the four of us bring the mean age of the Claremore, OK group up by 20 years? Oh right. Because the rest of the group was in 6th grade.

R got checked out a few times by the middle schoolers, thinking that maybe he went to the school in the next town over. Back off girls. This Ralph Macchio is mine. So what if I look like I could be his mother, lay off.

The good news of the night: I didn’t have to add much powder to my hair to make it gray.

So, I’ll leave you with the final product. J & I are on the left in the first and second rows. R & T are on the right in the third and fourth rows. I must warn you however that, at this point in the night, I had forgotten most of the steps… thanks to spending the previous 4 hours at the Tulsa Oktoberfest in a dirndl.
R’s favorite part? The jumping high-five at the end with T.

1987 – A remake

R’s co-workers threw an 80s prom party this weekend. So I tried my darndest to bring out my inner Kelly LeBrock from Weird Science and ended up feeling more like Bill Paxton as the blob. R doned his real prescription Ray-Ban sunglasses that I did not help him pick out. That is a whole ‘nother story.

It was a fun night.

We chatted with people while I tried to divert their attention from R’s insistance on wearing both his regular glasses and sunglasses all night.

We slow-danced. And don’t worry, mom..

I made sure there was room for the Holy Spirit.

We stood in a circle and danced. After R did his thang, I threw off my shoes and broke out the Carlton dance from Fresh Prince. This was my debut in front of his co-workers. Here is a video if you haven’t ever seen it: watch this move!

Except I didn’t even make it two swings before twisting my ankle and stumbling out of the circle. I definitely broke under pressure.
Nice to meet everyone, my name is Carolyn.

But then! Then, we watched a video tutorial on how to perform the thriller dance.

And we all broke it out. I was a little ahead of the rest of the group, I think.

Great night!

P.S. We are still having some internet troubles, thus the infrequent posts this week. More coming soon!

Grand Canyon Part 2

Ah, day three at the grand canyon. We woke up extra early this morning to join a guided hike along the Cedar Ridge trail. One of the park rangers would walk us down and then give a schpeal on the wildlife as well as a brief history of Native Americans. My kind of thing!

Also my kind of thing? Forcing other people to come along with me. Sleep or no sleep, get up people.

When we hopped off the shuttle at the trailhead, we still had a few minutes to spare and wandered around. That’s when we found what is now considered R’s favorite photo, ever. He’s openly admitted to being enamored by it.

But you know I can’t let someone do something without me trying it too. Hello, that’s how I cracked my tailbone, remember?

So I mosied on out there and politely asked R to take my photo too.

This is where we get into the section of the post delicately named “I’m married to a non-photographer.” And by non-photographer, I don’t mean someone who doesn’t like taking photos. I mean someone who just doesn’t take photos.

Get this, he studied in Australia for 6 months and took exactly zero photos.

That still bugs me.

So I handed over the camera and waited the appropriate few minutes for him to find the power button.
I was scared out there on that ledge, my friends. And R managed to capture it.
He also managed to capture the fact that I was wearing granny panties.
Thank you, R.

Go back to not taking photos.

But man, was it a great view of the trees. I always think of the GC as all rock, no greenery. Nope. Not the case at all.
Little did I know, though, what was lurking in those trees. But I’d soon find out by the park ranger a bit later.

First, though, we had to walk down. And honestly, walking down was a lot harder on the knees than the way up.

Choose your poison: lungs or knees. I’ll choose lungs any day.
So I shoved the camera back into R’s hands and ran ahead so I could nonchalantly have an obviously unposed photo.

No really. I never knew he was taking my picture.
Not even here when I was waving at my brother-in-law while strategically facing into the sunshine for a better shot.

Finally!

We made it to the checkpoint. It was a little plateau of land with overlooks galore. It was also where our park ranger sat us down for a history and nature lesson.

What he first wanted to talk about was the wildlife and what you might find if you took other trails close by. For instance, up along the rim of those pine trees, you would probably encounter mountain goats. But beware! It’s mating season, so you’ll want to stay clear of them.

And not any sooner after he said the word mating, I turned to look at R.

Settle down, R.

After soaking in the 180 degree view, we headed back up. Nothing too eventful happened..
Oh wait. Yeah, something did happen.

R almost tumbled to his death.

No joke.
You see, this trail had been given a grant to fix it up. So along the way, you passed by workers moving stones here and there or even using a jack hammer to break up areas.

It was as we hiked past the jack hammer when it happened. R wanted to slip by as quickly as possible and so hopped onto a slightly slanted rock that hung over the edge of the trail.

It was slow motion. He lost his footing on that rock and slid over the edge, but managed to flip around and grab that same rock with his left pinky finger.

Okay, it wasn’t his pinky. But he wants people to think that. It was only his left hand though. 

And it was scary enough for him to say, “Ask me in five minutes” when I asked him whether or not he’s freaking out.

The night ended with a marathon game of dominoes..
…while I marveled at how differently everyone set theirs up. I see four different patterns here. Well, five if you count the table cloth.

It was a great weekend. Lots of outdoor time and no hair-brushing time. My favorite way to spend the weekend.
Okay, my  only way to spend the weekend. 

Grand Canyon Pt 1

You must forgive the rather off-kilter formatting of this particular post. When I began uploading photos, I also started to watch ‘Remains of the Day’. Having never seen it, I was quite distracted (and have since tried to talk and write with a hint of British in every line.)

But I’m back to my normal American self and ready to talk about our quick adventure to the Grand Canyon.

R, N, A, & I (or C, because my name doesn’t start with an I, yet it may appear so due to the grammatical construction of the sentence. You know, to the millions of people reading this blog who don’t know me.) Well, anyway, R, N, A, & I/C packed up our 30 bags full of camping gear Friday night and headed to the airport. Again, like the our flight to Little Corn Island (see post here), I had never been on one so entertaining. But this time it was because of the flight staff. The man describing the plane, the placement of luggage, the general procedures of the flight talked non-stop for 5 minutes, intentionally.

It was an act, you see. A performance.

He made fun of the passengers, teased the work staff, and provided interesting information about the upgrades to the planes.

When he finished (and finally took a breath), most everyone (including me) actually clapped. I’m a thespian-lover. They could be street performers or opera singers, it really doesn’t matter. Because if they’re good, they’re good. And they deserve recognition fortheir talent.

So, I’m running away to join the flight attendants. If only for the free peanuts.

But wait! It wasn’t over! After everyone had been boarded onto the plane, a lady came onto the loud speaker and announced “I’ve found a black wallet at the front of the plane, here. It looks to be a man’s wallet….Okay, good! Now that I have your attention, Let’s start the safety procedures.”

Everyone laughed and, dare I say, actually listened to the procedures? Well, we knew N would either which way. He’s been pretty jittery since a terror flight he had recently.

It didn’t help when the pilot came on mid-flight and announced “If you look to the left, you will see [insert some geographical formation]. But don’t everyone lean to look at once, you’ll tip the plane.” And later, when R teasingly asked N during some turbulence, “So when do you think this plane would have arrived?” No laughs that time.

We landed arounded 7ish, picked up our rental car, bought food & supplies, and headed to our destination. Having arrived around midnight, A & I/C watched the boys put tents up by moonlight. An hour later, it started pouring. We had made it just in time.

After only a few hours of sleep, R was put in charge of making breakfast in the morning of which he did a great job. Nothing beats a good camping breakfast. Especially with some wildlife to watch while eating… If you look closely to the photo on the left (you can click to enlarge it), you just might see another friend of ours eating her breakfast.

We slowly got around to head down to the canyon, a couple shuttle rides away. N made some sandwiches that consisted of about 95% peanut butter and 3% bread. The other 2% were air bubbles created by my shocked exclamations.



We made it to the canyon, admired it’s grandness (no pun intended) and then quickly shifted our attention to something infinitely more fun. Squirrels! Despite the ominous signs showing bloody chunks taken out of fingers, we snuck pieces of food to the skinny squirrels thinking we were their only lifeline to survival.

After reading more signs asking each of us to please not die, we started down the Bright Angel Trail. This was touted as being popular, steep, with water. Some of the trails do not have water, therefore detouring some individuals. At one point we saw a young man climb out onto a outer rock to take photos. Our eyes widened, me with fear and the boys with excitement.

Oh, lordie. This is going to be a long walk, I can feel it.

 

The views were nice on this one… if only a bit narrow. It’s like seeing a sliver of the sky, knowing what the rest probably looks like, but unable to feel the full magnitude of it. But that was okay. Why? Because we got to see mules. And boy was I excited to pass by them.

I had read “the rules”, that hikers are to stay put (!) next to the inner wall and not to move. I took this very seriously.
 

Until the last mule literally shot out poop in front of me. And when I say shot out, I mean it was a horizontal excavation. That’s when I lost it….and squeeeealed. Not sure if that was the wisest thing to do while it was carrying a man next to the cliff’s edge, but now I know my natural reaction to that sort of situation. Apparently I make a noise similar to the animal involved. Just imagine me next to a donkey.

It took about an hour to get to our turning point. The bathrooms. We refilled our water bottles, ate some trail mix, and started our way back up. We were so happy walking down, skipping along at times, laughing & joking. It would be the same on the return trip, right? Right?

 


No. In fact, I think I would have been left for dead….

…if not for this woman. She joined us kind of last minute on this trip, and am I glad she did. Because do you know how long it took for the guys to compete against each other to see who could hike fastest up the trail? Nano seconds. The only part of them that stayed with us was their dusty wake.

A tried to talk to me a few times. She gave up after I didn’t respond. Not that I wouldn’t respond. I couldn’t. First of all, all I could hear was blood pouding on my temples and if some sort of noise phrased in a question actually reached my ear drums, I only whispered my answer through gasps of breath.

My brain and eye sockets were so much on fire that I didn’t even notice the guys’ backpacks laying on the rocks next to where we saw the guy climb out onto the rock. I was forging on, determined to get to the point.

So even when R and N stepped out, thinking they’ve pulled a good practical joke, my brain cells were too fried to figure out if it was funny or not.

We made it home within the next hour and collapsed around the fire. I had wanted to go to a Moon Walk which was offered around a full moon (which coincidentally was Labor Day weekend), but agreed that sitting on my bum with a good glass of red would be much more enjoyable.

 

So that’s what we did. We chit-chatted, listened to N’s adaptation of ‘Tales from the Crypt’, and went to bed early.

 

We had to be up at the crack of dawn to join a hike led by a park ranger. It would be on another trail with some of the most spectacular views of the canyon I’ve ever seen. I was a happy camper.

Up next: Grand Canyon Pt 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tonight is Jammed Packed Full of Excitement! Coffee’s in the back!*

**Warning: Many words and photos ahead. Read & Look at your own risk.**

*The title was actually said via mic by my sister A. She was trying to get these baby boomers pumped up.

So after many a secret email, decorations bought, and lies told directly to my parents, the night had finally arrived! We had told B&P that R and I were driving into town to take them out to dinner with the rest of the family. My sister, A, was the head planner and quickly sent L & me an email listing the top ten things NOT to do when planning a surprise. The first rule that topped the list said to not avoid talking about the day and the “plans”. So we took turns calling them, asking if they were exciiiiiiiited, since that’s what we’d ask every two hours anyway.

Then we turned paranoid.

Everything my parents said sounded like they may already know of the party and are playing along. My dad laughed and said “yeah right” when I mentioned how we were (exciiiiiiited) to take them out for dinner.

Yeah right? He knew.

We had to sneak into their home to steal some photos and other paraphernalia while they were visiting my brother in California. (ps: M & D – we wish you had been here!! We missed you.) I had the excuse off dropping of my table, but still, when they said “oh we were wondering who was in the house. No one ‘fessed up.”

‘Fessed up? They knew.

Then it got bad. My mom answers the phone “Hello?” Hello? They knew. “How are you, Carrie?” How are you? They knew. They knew, they knew, they knew.

But they didn’t. Oh, not by a long shot.

When they first walked in. I love L’s shoes.
So a few things happened through the process that made my heart hurt. First, I had messed up royally by suggesting to B&P that R and I would be arriving at their home before taking them out on Saturday. If that were so, how was I going to help decorate and cook my roll-ups?

I had to think of something. And fast. A would beat me up if I didn’t.

On Saturday morning, I called B&P and told them R had to go into work last minute and we didn’t know when we’d leave. In fact, we had arrived the night before and slept in our nephew’s bedroom. He has a full bed and we thought we were in heaven…not even bumping into each other all night like in our glorified twin bed.

But I had to call my parents again as soon as I “got on the road” and it had to be timed so that “we’d have to meet you at the restaurant. Wish is were different, guys! Muah!” I even dropped a few “I’m so annoyed right now” to mom so that it sounded believable. Carolyn annoyed? Very believable.

So relaxing.
But as I walked around the grocery store saturday morning with my sister L, my stomach (and heart) began to hurt. I really did want to hang out with them and L’s conversation with mom the night before didn’t help any.

First, she had called mom, P, while she was out grocery shopping for lasagna. A lunch for me and R. Ouch.

Then, L told me mom had mentioned about 5 times that she’s looking forward to such a relaxing evening. Relaxing. hmmm….

Father B. 40 years later.
I made my dreaded call, lied to my parents for the second time within 3 hours, made my 2000 pinwheel roll ups, and got dressed. We met up a couple hours prior to the party to put up lights, lay out table decorations, and set up the buffet. When R was asked to lay out the napkins, he put them on each table as if we were having a sit-down dinner. You know, instead of piling them at the beginning of the buffet. He almost got beat up. We were all nerves.

L left early to meet my parents at her home. Thank goodness too because they showed up 15 minutes early and she had to stall by trying on several different dresses and asking for everyone’s opinion. Nice save.

She was also in charge of driving them to the location. Our schtick was to scout out possible locations for my brother and (new) sister-in-law’s reception hall. L was supposed to just “swing by real quick”. Well, she did manage to get them to the parking lot and my mom out of the car.

My dad? Different story. I mean, the Chiefs game was on the radio and why would he need to give input on the space? So he didn’t. Well, he tried to stay put, anyway.

My mom watched as L insisted strongly that he should get out of the car. That’s when she thought something seemed strange. Dad and L went back and forth and finally he (probably) sighed loudly and got out. Then he saw the lights. And a party.

Heck no, he wasn’t going to crash a party just to check out a space. But he was outnumbered and was shoveled through the door.

SURPRISE!!!!!

The first thing he said: “I’ve got to go apologize to L.”
A surprise party just isn’t the same without a struggle. Love it.

{You can click on the photos to make them larger}
So my parents mingled with old friends and family. Some they’ve seen recently, others… years.

We managed to find the actual priest that married them 40 years ago. Father B. My mom used to think he was cute. I think he looks the same.

As the night went on, each of us girls had our microphone duty. (If a mic isn’t in our hands, we feel naked.)
  • Amy: Introduce Father B. Prayer. Toast.
  • Lisa: Roast.
  • Carolyn: Bouquet and Garter Belt toss.
In that order.

I’ll give you one chance to guess if it was raining that night or not.
A introduced B as planned and he said a really nice prayer for us. I videotaped it all and felt really disrespectful, but at the time didn’t care. I had a job to do.
Then we dug into cake… cake framed by photos of my parents sharing cake on their wedding day. Oh, and nametags.
Thus begins the replicating of their reception:

Look at dad’s face. Oh, how 40 years changes things!


Soon afterwards, the mic duties went south. As soon as the little ones were taken home for bed, L went up to start “the roast”.

Okay.

You need to know my parent’s friends. They are loud, ballsy, funny, and sarcastic.

Well, I guess that’s how they always are in our memories of them hanging out with my parents. You forget how time can change energy level. Because tonight? They were quiet. Maybe the lighting was too bright. Yeah, that was probably it.

A few got up to speak, which we appreciated. Some were poignant and some were, well, confusingly funny.

One person brought up a basketball game in which the guys were playing. The speaker got side-lined with an injury and so the girls (mom) were asked to get ice. Well, they must have spent the majority of the time shopping or something because they didn’t get back until much later. And all the guys yelled at them. But he ended it with…. “and B chewed her out. [pause] They’re just a great couple.”

The segway made me laugh.

I think it made L nervous though because after he sat down, she asked for any more stories. Any one? Any one? (Ferris Bueller).

Nope, no one.

She then had the gall to cut into my mic time and immediately said “Okay!! All the girls get up for the Bridal Toss!” How dare she. But it was okay because we got some audience participation. Everyone stood up! And how appropriate that my mom’s good friend from high school caught it.

Next up? My dad. I couldn’t find a garter belt in time so we had to make do with a ribbon. He seemed to enjoy it.

My cousin’s fiance caught it. Then promptly put it around his head like rambo. Perfect.

Lastly, the first dance (for the second time.) Dad was okay with slow dancing (he always has a good strong arm). But then a fast song came on….

And that’s when his eyes turned red. Well, it could just be red-eye from my camera. But it might not be.

We were so happy to throw this party for B&P. They’ve been such a strong example for us growing up… and now, even more so, now that we know how difficult it is to maintain focus as a couple.

Through hard times, they leaned on each other. Through fun times, they laughed with each other.

Leaning and laughing. That must be the secret.