blogging funk

It's been a few days since I've posted, at least a few days longer than usual for me.  I've been in a bit of a blogging funk.  I can't decide what to post.  Or I can't think of anything to post.  Or I think of something that then seems totally lame or uninteresting or perhaps even mean spirited.

I suspect that the way out of the funk is to start writing.

So here goes.  Random things that I've been thinking about or that have been going on around here.

You may be wondering what I've been doing with all of my spare time now that school is done.  Well, today I got a pedicure.  Last weekend I finished reading a book on my nook--I really like writing that--book on my nook.  The book was recommended by Barnes & Noble and only cost like $2, so I figured, why not?  It's called, "The Gift of an Ordinary Day: A Mother's Memoir", written by Katrina Kenison.  A very satisfying expenditure. 

I've also started napping.  Not the get up and lay on the bed nap.  More of the watching playoff hockey dozing kind of nap.  It seems that when you don't have homework hanging over your head, you can relax and nap for 20 minutes and still fall asleep at your normal bedtime.

Yard sailing is in full swing.  Last weekend I found a lovely red crystal vase that was shaped like an open blossom, if that makes any sense.  $1.   Yet another excellent expenditure.

I planted the perennials Stu and Shi and the girls gave me for mothers' day, as well as several others I picked up while shopping for roundup to kill the morning glory and grass that have been trying to invade my beds.  Also picked up a handful of annuals for the three pots on the deck, which all give me pleasure each time I go out back.  Might be even more delightful because of the included yard art I received from Audrey and Ellie for graduation.

Found a couple of these while out planting last week. 

This is not a picture of the ones I found.  I thought they looked like something you'd find for sale in a market in China.  Turns out I was right.  They're some type of moth pupae.

Speaking of gardens, I don't know if it's just that I've been out there more this spring, or if the weather has been exceptionally good for the gardens, or what, but my gardens have been remarkable.  Every day--every day!--there is something new blooming. 

This is the thing I adore about perennials.  They hunker down through the winter, then come spring, they show up, blooming, each in its own time, not the over-the-top splash of annuals, but more subtle, often requiring that you come close to appreciate the variety, but worth the effort, each creating a special place in my heart.

Speaking of my heart.  My dad went home the day before his 87th birthday.  He's up and walking, should be using the walker to steady himself, but being pretty much a punk about it all.  My heart is full of gratitude for good doctors, patient nurses, capable physical therapists, and all of the other caring individuals--the janitor, the cooks, the receptionist--who helped him to heal and go home.

And there are stories about the cats and dogs and stories about the Provo house and stories about work.

But this is probably enough for now.  I'll probably be back soon.

some times i care

The older I get, the more I realize that I like some things better than others.  For example, I realized a while ago that I like my bacon crispy.  From here on out, I'll be making my bacon crispy and I'll be ordering it crispy on my burgers or with my pancakes.

my dad

Dad's been at the rehab place for over two months now.  He went to the ortho doc a couple of days ago and was certain he'd be told to pack his bags and go home.

He didn't get that message from the doc.  At least five more weeks at rehab.

I stopped by to see him last night.  Thought he'd be kinda crabby.

But he was actually pretty proud of himself when he stood upright, walked five feet to the table, five feet back to his wheelchair, and sat down.

I didn't think I'd ever see him walk again. 

It was pretty great seeing him upright and smiling.

and then it was done

Most of the whole graduation thing is a haze.  I remember at commencement that Erin Gruwell was quite inspiring and I felt kind of proud to be graduating as a wolverine after listening to Matthew Holland.  

The next morning, convocation was an exciting, giddy blur.  Entering the arena with my paralegal buddies and seeing my family all waving and cheering me on was a trip.

 Hearing Katy's name called as she headed up the ramp, trying to stand as instructed on the yellow tape while preparing to hear my name was sort of unsettling--it seemed to take forever when we were sitting waiting for our turn, but when you actually got up there it all went by in a flash.

And then walking out with all of my classmates--totally don't remember anything about being on the ramp, except for when I shook Matthew Holland's hand and told him it was nice to finally meet him.

 That proud feeling again, loud and clear for me and everyone to see in that poster Shi and her girls created.

And then spending the day with many of those people I love the most

 

 

 

   

 I'm not gonna lie...it felt pretty good.

because you know you want to help

Yes, I did find some pretty things to wear under my gown with my cap.  So the decisions are what to wear to the commencement (aka, go forth and do great things event) and what to wear to the convocation (good job, here's your empty diploma cover, diploma will be mailed in 6-8 weeks.)

This?

 or this?

or one of these combos?

And this one will be perfect with my new orange tee for the kegger barbeque Jr has planned for Friday night, right?

what to do what to do

Let's see, it's a weekend.  List of stuff to do includes laundry, house cleaning, grocery shopping, bill paying.

Oh, and NO HOMEWORK!!!  I'm finished!  School's out forever!

So, no, I won't be doing homework.

But I will be shopping for a great dress to wear under my gown with my cap. 

This feels so good.

top five

If a list of the top five things people say to me when I tell them I'm almost done with college was created, certainly somewhere on that list would be the question, "So what are you going to do with all of your spare time when you're done?"

I've given this a lot of thought in the past few hours and I think I'd like to build a playhouse.

A few weeks ago, I decided to change up my drive to school. Instead of driving clear across the valley to get to the freeway, I decided to drive south and east and south and east until I got to Redwood Road and then I stayed on it until I got to Lehi and found an eastbound road that took me right to the heart of the construction congestion.

I'm so smart.

While driving into Lehi a few days ago, I got this feeling that I was in a familiar place. Something about that road was so familiar. It reminded me of a trip many years ago with my parents when we were going to go motorcycle riding and dad pointed out the house and yard of the guy who bought my playhouse for his daughter. And sure enough, I caught a brief glimpse of it, sitting in someone else's yard as we drove by on the way to the sand dunes.

When I was about six, my parents decided to build a playhouse. Dad was a carpenter and between stuff he had laying around his garage and leftover stuff from projects at work, he was able to build a playhouse that was 5' x 9' and about 5' tall inside. The outside was painted brick red and tan to match our real house, and mom painted the inside a bright sunflower yellow. Dad found commercial floor tile that they laid in a checkerboard pattern, and he also found ceiling tile for the ceiling. He shingled the roof outside and mom made yellow sheer curtains for the windows. They told me just this week that they only spent $10 on the whole playhouse--they had to buy a sheet of plexi-glass that they cut into pieces for windows. I spent my childhood in that playhouse, because while it may have started as a playhouse for me and my two brothers, it quickly became "The Dollhouse"--the place where all of my dolls, their clothes and furniture, my play dishes, dress-ups, and games were stored. I played for hours in there, with friends and alone, all through the year. There was probably a short time in the deepest of winter when we couldn't open the door because it was blocked by snow, but I remember playing in there even when it was cold and especially when it was sunny or cloudy or rainy. It was a perfect place to grow up in.

When I was newly married, my dad called one day and said the guy who delivered wood to his workshop had asked if we wanted to sell the dollhouse to him. He had a little girl who he knew would love it.

I made what was possibly one of my most clueless newly adult decisions--I agreed to sell the dollhouse with most of my childhood toys inside. Why did I not realize I would have a little girl someday who would happily have spent hours in that space? How did I not suspect there would be other little girls in my life who would have enjoyed that place too?

Well I didn't. So we sold it for $80 and my dad gave me the cash.

That feeling I felt as I drove through Lehi last week? It was spot on. I was driving past the house and yard of the man I sold my dollhouse to.

I kind of became a stalker. I looked online for the guy's address to make sure I had the right place. Then I drove by slowly on the main road through town at least three times hoping to see the dollhouse sitting back behind his house.

Next I drove into the subdivision to see if I could see into his back yard. Turns out his driveway is in the subdivision, not on the main road. I know this because I drove into the subdivision twice.

Yesterday was one of those times. And as I slowly drove by the yard, peering in under the trees, I noticed a woman walking up the driveway from the mailbox.

I couldn't help myself. I rolled down my window and called out to her--told her I thought my dad had sold my playhouse to the man who lived in that house, told her the guy's name--she nodded and said yes, that was her dad and he had bought a playhouse for her and she had loved it. She'd spent her childhood in that space, with its yellow walls and curtains, playing with the barbies and baby dolls, the dishes and games, the dress-ups. She had loved it too.

I asked if it was still there--if there was any chance they would be willing to sell it back to me.

She said she was sorry, but her dad had given it to someone else a few years ago. She seemed truly sorry.

I thanked her. Told her I was glad that she too had enjoyed it.

And I drove off to school, wiping my eyes, sniffling a bit.

I'm pretty sure it will cost me more than $10, but I think I have time now to build another playhouse. And I think I know some little girls who would enjoy making memories in a place like that.