Halloa, Watson! What's this?

I am grateful for mashed potatoes.

And so, on behalf of hungry people everywhere:

Anyone want to join Kinzy and I at the Utah Human Race in the morning? Proceeds benefit the Utah Food Bank (where requests for food are up 30% this year) and the LDS Humanitarian Fund. Brave the early morning hour and the bitter cold to make a preemptive strike on behalf of your (my) hips against all that gravy.

Cost: $13
Time: 8:00 a.m.
Place: Draper Factory Outlet Mall.

Be there, or be... pudgy.

Happy Thanksgiving!

(The title is my shout-out to ye ol' Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I've been enjoying round 2 of the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in my leisure time this fall. I mourn the diappearance of my copy of the first collection. Has anyone seen it? It's ragged and used and probably has water spots from being read in the bathtub.)

Despite the barren landscape, my mind is rarely bulldozed

"The need for change bulldozed a road down the center of my mind."
- Maya Angelou

Poetic, ain't she?

I could go on and on about the changing seasons of life, blah blah blah. I don't want to. Reasons I don't like change any more than the next girl:

1- I'm scared of it.

Pretty much that.

And so, the following:

I grieve for you, Warrick Brown.

And,

Dear Slate,

I can admit it. At first I hated your new layout. However, I think I have made peace with your white borders where I used to enjoy plum. If you want, we can still be friends. Please circle yes or no.

And,

My list of things to read grows smaller as blogs I lurk go private so people like me (and/or axe murderers, which I think we've established I must not look like) don't lurk. And I don't know the authors well enough (read: at all) to ask to be invited, despite my obvious non-axe murderer status.

And,

There aren't any leaves left on my trees, and it's months until my newly planted tulip bulbs come up. Blasted winter.

And,

In the 10 seconds it took me to see where the stock market closed (it's a testament to how much I love my husband that I even know where to look), gmail changed its layout, too. So much for a firm foundation.

On the upside:

Taco Bell has Dr. Pepper now. How Kat and I would have thrilled in those college years.

And, turning sour again:

I'm old enough to say "those college years?"

Sigh.

And it wasn't even Fast Sunday

Husband, after church, gazing longingly into our empty cupboards:

"On a scale of one to hungry, I'm an eleven!"

With regard to the aforementioned new shiny red shoes:

Please boost my confidence. I'm trying to branch here.

Do these belong in the closet of an 80-year-old matron?

Or the closet of Lisa Hardman? (All y'all haven't met her. But trust me, the girl's got style. She's now the meter by which all out-of-comfort-zone clothes are judged by every female in my family.)

Or peeping out from under the black dress pants of a 20-something social worker?

(Please say Lisa Hardman.)

(But please also say the truth.)

Liv, for bonus points, they come from DSW and they are comfy flats. And also for bonus points, they are red, shiny, and new.

And Alice, what do you think Stacy London would say?

P.S. I haven't worn this much yellow gold since I thought my Young Women's medallion (yep- the one with the girl's hair on fire) was cool. And never on my footwear.

Robin Hood and his fair Lady

So I think I've been tagged about a million times by a lot of people, which, as I mentioned before, reminds me a lot of second grade (see here). I'm flattered, but probably not enough to search back through their blogs to find out which of the many lists of questions I am supposed to answer.

I seem to remember something from Kinzy about answering questions about the person I'm married to.

(I might as well admit it… I only remember it because she got her own husband's age wrong, which I think is funny. And he read it and commented on it, which is even funnier, especially when you know him. And he included some sexual humor in the comment, which is funny, too, but not at all unexpected, especially when you know him. And I think there were too many commas in that last sentence.)

I could pretty much bear my testimony about him for several paragraphs, including all the necessary "with every fiber of my being" and "righteous eternal companion" and "nourish and strengthen our bodies" references. But, it's hard to make the font visually represent my voice rising in pitch secondary to spiritually-induced tears, so I'll leave you be.

Instead, I'll tell you a parable.

And behold, the mighty Husband found himself in the neighborhood of my father's father. And he did endeavor to take my father's father out for lunch to enjoy some delicious french fries, because of the love he hath for my father's father and the love which my father's father doth have for french fries.

But behold, my father's father was without his residence due to the celebration of the day of the Veteran, and also could not enjoy the precious french fries because of the looming intestinal workup scheduled for the day after the day of the Veteran. And the mighty Husband did mourn.

And the mighty Husband did call me, yea even his Lady, and did entreat me to enjoy some Quiznos with him, for which he had stolen a coupon from the house of my mother on the Sabbath day. Nevertheless we did go. And we did enjoy a Chicken Carbonara with no mushrooms. And there was much rejoicing.

And the mighty Husband did tell his Lady that he liked her new shiny red shoes which her mother had granted unto her as celebration on the day of her birth. And when the Lady did unabashedly fish for compliments on the shoes (for she was sore afraid that they did resemble old person shoes) the Husband did profess unto her that she looked "hot".

See? It's like he's better than french fries or something.

And that's why I waited patiently outside the public boy bathroom for him to come out even though I work here and felt a little weird. I busied myself by staring at the fake plant and wondering why they make the leaves on the fake plant so shiny if they want people to think it's real. Or maybe they don’t. But anyway, he smooched me after he was done so it was all worth it.

Even the part about how my new shiny red shoes are hurting my achilles heel.


P.S.- Dad, "every fiber of my being"? Done and done.
P.P.S- Grandpa, Paddy wants some french fries with you. And sorry your first appearance on el blog involves your doctor's appointment.

Warning: Soapbox-standing occurs below.

I’m home sick from work today. I’m in my jammies, wrapped in a blanket, and wallowing in my sniffles, coughs, and all-encompassing germiness. For some reason, the congested version of me is also feeling all fired up (although not so much in a fever way. Kicked that a couple of days ago.)

I don’t know if it’s the exhausting political season wearing on me, or the Sudafed, or even the segment of “What’s Happening, Hot Stuff?” I heard on the radio today, but I am feeling particularly rankled this fine morning.

How lucky we are to live in this beautiful country where it is our privilege, our right, and even our responsibility to express our opinions and promote what we feel is best for our communities and our government. Two thumbs up, say I.

And:

On the radio today I heard someone question the faith and even spiritual status of a prominent member of my faith based on a political statement (which, to add insult to injury, he had misquoted to begin with.)

What business is it of his? Of what consequence is it to any of us?

I don’t know whether to scream or sigh or (likely the best choice) simply abandon this post altogether and hope the anger fuels a miraculous recovery from this cold. Enough with this nose-in-someone-else’s-business garbage. Just stop it. Making a judgment on someone’s spirituality is absolutely dripping with irony, but that’s another post entirely. Enough.

I propose the following:

Let us worry about ourselves. Let us guide and support our own families. By all means, let us vote and protest and hold signs and distribute fliers and promote those things we support and believe in. And at the end of the day, let us go home and simply love each other.

Perhaps I am mistaken. It has happened once or twice before. But it is my belief that there is one most important doctrine of my own faith which is also central to the faiths of many of my friends. It is, hopefully, a guiding force in the lives of all good people everywhere, regardless of spiritual preference. It is to love each other.

Being compassionate, kind, and tolerant is rarely the wrong decision, I think. Two thumbs up.