A Few of My Favourite Things

*Sorry for the earworm

I posted over there about some favourite things and it inspired me to post over here some of my favourite things.

I know that it’s kind of high school girl to post my likes, but in my head I range between the ages of fourteen and seventeen, so nyah!

Colour: Red. Hands down. I love red.

Flavour: Cherry. I can eat pounds and pounds of cherries and not ever get sick. Cherries are my favourite.

Letter: K

Band: INXS

Song: Too hard. Too many to choose from. Too many variables as it depends on the situation and my mood and the time of year and the weather etc. This would be a post all on its’ own.

Song from my favourite band: “Never Tear us Apart”. No question. I could listen to this song every day. Desert Island song. Second runner up is “The Loved One”. I sing this at the top of my lungs every time I hear it. I can do this because it’s not a popular song, so the only time I hear it is when I play it.

Season: Autumn

Place: This one’s hard. There are a lot, but I’m gonna go with Ke’e Beach on Kauai. Baby Beach (also Kauai) is a close second.

Tree: Arbutus (Madrone in the U.S). The bark sheds and the bark underneath is red. They can only survive within 10 kilometers from the ocean. Just like me. Second place is the cherry tree, but only when in bloom or when full of fruit.

Perfume: Calvin Klein “Euphoria”. Close second is “Eternity” also by Calvin Klein.

Flower: Sunflower, Plumeria, Daisy, Tulip, Gladiolia. There are more, but those are my top 5.

Book: I could be all highbrow and say “Sense and Sensibility” by Jane Austen, which is true in that it’s definitely my favourite Austen, but if I’m being honest, the book I’ve read the most and can read over and over and over again is “Twilight” by Stephenie Meyer. Don’t judge me, it’s an excellent escape.

Narnia: “The Last Battle” although it’s a bit of a sophie’s choice between that and “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe”

Harry Potter: “The Prisoner of Azkaban” –finally Harry gets some hope! Unfortunately it’s the last bastion of hope before it all goes to heck.

Star Wars: “A New Hope” –it will always be the first in my mind. The first time I saw it was when I was five years old, we saw it at the drive in, the Storm Troopers terrified me, and I thought Peter Cushing’s Grand Moff Tarkin was more scary than Darth Vader.

TV Show: “The Good Wife” and “Mad Men” total tie.

Movie: “Rebel Without a Cause” –James Dean had me at “you’re tearing me apaaaart!”

Adaptation: “Pride and Prejudice” – the one with Keira Knightley. It’s so beautifully filmed and don’t argue with me: Matthew MacFayden is the best Mr. Darcy EVER.

Fashion Designer: Ralph Lauren

Shoe Designer: John Fluevog

City: Vancouver B.C. (close second is Lahaina, Maui and San Francisco, CA)

Sneaker: Converse Chuck Taylors. It’s like they’re made for my feet. I have owned a pair of classic black high tops since Grade Ten.

Cut of Jean: Straight leg.

Type of Jean: Levi’s 501’s button fly. They are so comfortable!

Dog: Orso, my German Shepherd

Team: The Vancouver Canucks. I don’t follow any other team sport but hockey. I AM Canadian, after all.

Place I want to live when I retire: Crescent Beach, B.C.

Brand of nail polish: O.P.I.

Ice Cream: Baskin Robbins Rocky Road and Cherries Jubilee. (a tie, not to be eaten together… hmmm… I’ve never tried them together… might be good…)

Ice Cream Treat: Haagen Dazs Chocolate/Dark Chocolate bars – the reason I gained 20 lbs when Dewey was in the hospital.

Chocolate Bar: Milky Way

Soda: Dr. Pepper

Guess that’s enough narcissism for now. What are your favourites?

Inspiration

Things/places/activities that inspire me:

• Beauty – sunsets, nature, fabric, a well groomed brow, a pretty dog, a car, art, photography, shoes
• Nail polish
• Walking the dog
• Cleaning the house – I can turn my brain off and just let it flow. Cleaning the house also cleans out my brain. Afterwards I have the peace of mind of having a clean house. 
• Driving
• Good music
• A good song
• Staring out the window
• Weather – I don’t consider sun with no clouds to be “weather”. So this means wind, rain, snow, clouds, etc. When the sky is doing something. Speaking of which:
• The sky
• The change of seasons (except summer. I hate Utah summer)
• Clean sheets
• Flowers – cherry blossoms, daisies, roses, sunflowers, tulips, holly hocks, gladiolas, plumeria, wisteria, magnolia –but not star magnolia…
• Orso
• Writing
• Reading what I have written
• Sitting quietly
• Peace
• Weeding
• The ocean
• The beach
• The smell of the air depending on the time of day and season
• Certain people at certain times
• Memories
• My journal
• Sewing
• Drawing
• Feeling loved

Thought this would be a nice point/counter-point companion piece to the uninspiration post of yesterday.

After I wrote the post about what caused me to be uninspired, it opened up a flood of the things that do inspire me and I thought it would be good/fun/productive/inspiring to write it down and post it.

Maybe these things can inspire you too. Perhaps they already do. Post in the comments what inspires you!

Uninspiration

Haven’t been writing (obviously).

I hate it when bloggers post a post about how they haven’t been posting and explaining why. I don’t care why, just bloody post already! Don’t you know that our lives depend on you entertaining us? Also, I usually will come upon a blog 2 years after a person started their blog and will go back and read all their posts, so I didn’t notice their absence, so their apology for not posting post is moot as far as I am concerned. Also, I realize that they have their reasons, as do I.

So I vowed to never post a “Sorry I haven’t posted in awhile” post because I think they’re dumb.

Then I got this email from my Mother in Law (my only faithful reader – just kidding, Mum):

“Where RU?

I am missing your blog read! I love it. Come on. Take a break and do some of your creative writing...about life today, yesterday or possibly tomorrow.”

I have been meaning to get back in the saddle and write some more, and soccer season ends today, so it was just the boost I needed to sit down and write.

My excuses are many:

• Life
• Soccer
• Scouts
• Messy house
• Too tired
• Dancing with the Stars
• Too in my own head and can’t get out. It’s been feeling a little like the trash compactor in Star Wars. (sad, because writing helps me get out of my head the most, but I’ve been using other less effective and more self destructive escape tactics)
• Blogger changed their format and I have issues with change and was having problems navigating the new pages.
• I’ve been letting Huey have the computer so that he can finish his homework and be all caught up and finish sixth grade with a bang.
• Huey changed the settings on my laptop and now the mouse is an external mouse not the touch pad and it bugs me so I haven’t been using my laptop.
• When I write, I tend to write and write and write and write and write. The only time I have to write uninterrupted is after the boys are in bed and that causes me to stay up way past my bedtime which is very unhealthy for me.
• I’ve been ensconced in the words of others. –meaning, I’ve been going through a reading phase where I borrow a pile of books from the library and read and read and read so that I can return them quickly so that someone else has a chance to read them and I’m not hogging. This distracts me as I am living in their world and not my own, so my inspiration level goes down as I get inspired my me the most.
• The journal I was carrying around with me and writing my inspirations in got filled up and now I’m carrying a new journal. My old inspirations inspire me and I can’t remember them and so I can’t feed off my old inspirations. (Make sense? Probably not – my head is a weird place)
• Not taking the time for me or making myself a priority which depresses me, which causes me to get inside my own head, which causes me to feel uninspired, which causes me to not write and down down down the rabbit hole I go.
• Not very many people read my blog, so I don’t feel a responsibility to keep it up as I make myself the lowest priority. I should be doing this just for me because it is the best for me and I really love it, but since no one else cares, I just let it go, but I should do it for myself, but I definitely don’t care about myself the most.

After I got the email from my mother-in-law, I logged on to Blogger to read my reading list ignoring my own posts, which I have been doing for awhile. Her nagging little voice was in the back of my head so I decided to look at some of my own posts when I discovered that I had a draft saved. I decided to finish up the post and publish it. The process felt so good that I decided to write this too. Now I feel even better.

I am likening my MIL to C3PO hearing my cries for help from the trash compactor and telling R2-D2 to deactivate all the trash compactors.

Thanks for the inspiration, D! (look at that, I gave you a blog nickname)

The wind in my hair

Super Cool Totally Awesome 1964 Ford Falcon

So it's that time of year.

Open windows time.

The time of the year when the sun is out enough to make your car hot, but it's still cool enough that if you roll all your windows down it's sufficient to cool everything off.

There is a small window of this opportunity here in Utah, as it goes from average temps of 60 F to average temps of 80-90 F in a matter of weeks. There's no easing into summer here! Nuh-uh! No way! (I hate it, it's too hot, I'm Canadian)

I love driving with all my windows down because it reminds me of the days that I used to be able to drive with the top down.

A thousand years ago, when I was fifteen and preparing to have a driver's license and dreaming of what kind of car I would like to have, I thought I would like to have a 1960's white convertible. Being as rich as the Simpson's (yes, the cartoon), we didn't have the money for me to have my own car, so I could dream as big as I wanted to.

Red is my favourite colour, but I always liked the look of a white car. I thought it was really classy. I wanted a convertible because they are so awesome. I chose the sixties because that was the best decade in the world. (give me a break, it was 1986, and I was fifteen).

So when I was about 19 or so, I was in the London Drugs parking lot when I saw this BEAUTIFUL white '60's convertible drive up. I stood aghast, in awe. IT. WAS. MY. DREAM. CAR!! While I was gawking, I realized that my friend was driving the car. I ran up to the car, yelling to my friend.

"Where did you get this car? Is this yours?" A guy he worked with that was retiring was getting rid of it and he scooped it up, and yes, it was his. It was a 1964 Ford Falcon - white with red interior. I was deep dark forest hunter green with envy as he was driving the perfect car for me.

At the time I was driving a steel blue 1972 Volvo.

A year later, I was driving up the hill on my way home from work and I saw the car on the side of the road with a "For Sale" sign on it. I sped home and immediately called the owner and told him not to sell the car to anyone else as I was going to buy it. It needed new rings, so the engine was going to have to be taken apart and thus was a very expensive repair, but I didn't care. I. WANTED. THAT. CAR.

I talked to my dad and convinced him to co-sign on a loan, and told Heavenly Father that if He would provide a way for me to have this car, I would sell it to go on a mission.

Yee Haw!! Heavenly Father said yes and so did my dad and I bought the car. I put as much money into fixing it as I did to purchase it, but OH THE TIMES we had in that car!

The trips to the drive-in where we had to bring a boom box in order to hear the sound because the radio didn't work, and we would sit on the hood and lean up against the windscreen and watch the movie.

Cruising Marine Drive in White Rock with my sister. One time we were going so slow that some guys walking by that Mrs. Bowie was flirting with decided to jump in the car and ride with us for awhile.

The tan I had because any time it wasn't raining I had the top down.

The time my muffler fell off and my cousin Craig helped me tie it back on only to have it fall off on the other end, so we put it in the trunk, and then I deafened him when we drove through the Massey Tunnel.

The ease I had getting across the border because I had this long hair in a ponytail tied up with a scarf, the afore mentioned awesome tan, and I was twenty years old.
Border guard: "This your car?"
Me: "Yep!"
BG: "Going to get gas?"
Me: "You bet!"
BG: "Stay out of trouble!"
Me cruising past and waving: "Thanks, I will!"
It was so sweet.

I could go on and on and on...

The first time I went to Disneyland which was the first year I was married, I saw one in the parking lot on the day that we were leaving. (It had blue interior and was a '65) I ran over to it and hugged it.

This other time, my friend who was working for eBay sent me a link to one that was for sale here in Bountiful. It was red with red interior and in perfect condition. Price? $10,000.00. I emailed her back telling her what a jerk she was and where was I going to get ten thousand dollars because I needed that car.

After the Disneyland hugging incident, my DH assured me that I could have another one some day. I can only dream.

O. My. GOSH. I loved that car.

And yes, I sold it to go on a mission. It was the biggest sacrifice I had made in my life at the time.

Music Time Machine

Today at work we heard a co-worker turning on the air conditioning. Another co-worker said “There’s (co-worker’s name) turning on the AC”. I said AC/DC? Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap! He in turn made a Hell’s Bells reference which took me 5 seconds to get. After he returned to his office he mumbled about being on the Highway to Hell. This gave me a giggle. Obviously we have an AC/DC fan on our hands.

I was on my way out to lunch, so my mind wandered to the first AC/DC song I ever heard, which was Shook Me All Night Long which I heard at a school dance held at The Zone when I was in Grade Eight. This took me to the moment that we heard the first few chords of the song and my friend Stef started screaming, jumping up and down, and singing along indicating her love of the song. In listening to the lyrics, I became similarly enamoured with the song.

I made it to my car as I mused about this memory, when what was playing on the radio, but GO! By Tones on Tails. The first time I ever heard this song was also at The Zone.

It’s amazingly awesome how music can transport me to a time and place. It’s like Dr. Who’s police box. All I have to do is close my eyes and I’m there all over again. I love music for its’ tranportative powers. (Yes, I just made that word up).

I have previously blogged about The Zone here.

The Zone was THE cool "alternative" teen dance club in my area when I was growing up. It was the majorly rebellious and super cool thing to ditch a stake* dance and head over to The Zone and dance there instead. I would never be able to catch my ride home if I ever did that, so I never got to ditch a stake dance. The stake dances weren’t that lame anyway, it’s not like I NEEDED to ditch.

Our school dances were held at The Zone. Something about our school being in a neighbourhood and not wanting damage done to the school gym or property prevented us from having dances held at the school. That was super fine by me as I yearned to be able to go to THE cool dance place. I neither had the funds nor the resources, nor the friends to enable me to go to The Zone for non-school related functions, so the regular school dances had to suffice. By the time I was old enough to drive or have friends that drove, The Zone had fallen out of favour with they who choose what is cool and what is not, so I only rarely went to The Zone when I was old enough.

Last I heard, they had changed The Zone into a motorcycle dealership. This comes to mind:

Part of my childhood died.

*A stake dance is a dance put on for the youth of my church for you non-mormons out there. They were held monthly. Some of you non-mormons out there have attended these with me and can attest to their non-lameness.

What really actually happened.

Over Easter weekend my Darling Husband and I were having a Facebook war regarding an accident that happened on Good Friday.

Since my Husband has eleven billion friends on Facebook and everyone (with the exception of my mother, bless her) seems to be on his side, and this is my forum, I choose to present My Side of the Story.

The week previous to Easter was Spring Break week. We usually take a family vacation during Spring Break week, so I had scheduled my vacation for that week. For whatever reason, DH had to work for part of Spring Break, so we didn’t plan a holiday. I had decided it would be a great time to get caught up on some much needed house cleaning and maybe perhaps paint a bathroom or something.

Each morning I would get up, let the dog out and feed him, drink my water, and get caught up on some relaxing television watching – something I do not get to do during the week or on the weekend or ever. Every morning, my DH would arise three hours later* and make the comment “Is this what you’re doing today?” I was on VACATION. I was trying to take a break and get caught up with housework. I work hard, I desperately needed a break, and who is he to judge me, I don’t work for him! Let me tell you, internet, if DH was my boss, I wouldn’t work for him. He is a tyrant. I would quit so fast and file a harassment lawsuit. He is the worst boss.

So Friday rolled around and the depression set in because I didn’t get nearly enough accomplished, my to-do list seemed just as long as it was at the beginning of the week and my vacation was basically over. DH was on vacation too, and he kept nagging me to do something with the family. I had wanted to participate in family activities, but justified my not participating in I had hung out with the boys all week in addition to my cleaning during the week and DH needed to do things with the boys alone too and give me a break.

Badass Doc Martens

It had been snowing/raining all day so poor Orso had been cooped up inside. Being an outside dog, he was going nutty, and I had wanted to take him on a long walk every day of my vacation and had not done so yet, so I took him out for a 2 mile walk. I had left my Sorrels at work, so I wore my mostly new 14-hole oxblood Doc Marten boots to walk him in as it was still pretty cold. On the way home, I saw my friend Ashley and she commented on how huge Orso had become and I crossed the street to have a chat with her. Feeding off my excitement, Orso jumped up and barked in Ashley’s face and scratched her arm in the process. I felt TERRIBLE, as Orso’s bark is not a friendly one and he appeared to be attempting to eat her face (he was just really saying ‘hi’ but it did not appear friendly at ALL). I apologized profusely and made him say he was sorry, which he did and let her pet him and he licked her and our other neighbour and her little daughter to whom he was a perfect gentleman.

In the process of walking the dog forever and a day in relatively non-broken in boots, I had developed a rather nasty blister on my heel. DH had concocted this plan to go to Temple Square and the new City Creek Center in downtown Salt Lake City to spend some quality family time. I had wanted to go and see it as they have been working on this for years, I had heard it was beautiful, and I was dying to see some cherry blossoms and other spring flowers. Temple Square is the perfect place to see the things I desired.

I was exhausted from my walk, my heel hurt, and I was still reeling from the mortification Orso’s rudeness had caused, but I let DH guilt me in to joining in on the Quality Family Time. I should have just stayed home, as Karma was not quite done with me yet.

We were walking along (me limping) South Temple street, right in front of the Salt Lake Temple, when Huey kicked me in the butt. “What was that for?” I questioned. “Daddy told me to pass it on” was the reply. DH and Dewey had been playing this game of kick each other in the butt and somehow Huey got involved, who in turn, involved me. Since DH was the instigator of the butt kicking, and I was still wearing my badass Doc Marten boots, I decided to join in and kick DH from behind. As I raised my foot and kicked DH in the rear, DH had taken his right foot to kick Dewey in the behind. As I brought my foot down, it got tangled in DH’s leg and foot and he tripped and fell, hurting his wrist.

Correction: BROKE his wrist.

The rest of the evening consisted of me rolling my eyes, DH whining about the pain in his hand, the one spot of blood on the heel of his hand, and his skinned shins and my legs and heel hurting like a son of a gun.

City Creek Center is beautiful and amazing, but I don’t think any of us had an enjoyable evening. DH and I were in pain and at war, Huey was bored, and Dewey was tired.

DH wouldn’t even drive home. He was being so dramatic. I had fallen off my shoes weeks earlier and tweaked my ankle and my wrist, it hurt for a day, but I put ice on it and I was fine. I was thinking his situation was much like that.

If I had paused the eye-rolling and actually took the time to look at his wrist, I would have know it was broken, having broken several fingers, toes, an arm and the occasional collarbone; but I didn’t - shame on me.

The next day, after a night of pissing and moaning and not feeling comfortable, DH took himself to InstaCare. The doctor took one look at him and ordered x-rays only to come back four seconds later to confirm that it was indeed broken, put him in a brace, and gave him the number to an orthopedic specialist to call on Monday.

DH and his cast

He is now in a cast for three weeks. They will take a look after that and determine whether or not he will need surgery.

In my defense, DH told me he too felt like he was wussing out by going to the doctor, but he couldn’t take the pain anymore, Advil wasn’t touching it, and icing wasn’t working; so my assuming he was acting like a wuss was mutual.

Since that time, DH has been milking it for all it’s worth. He has never broken a bone and I have ruined his perfect body.

Folks from all over are accusing me of spousal abuse in jest. I am not loving it. I feel terrible, AND it was an ACCIDENT for crying out loud.

For the record, DH is 6’2” and around 200 lbs. I am 5’ 7” and 160.

So if you see me coming, look out; I can take you down: with or without my attack dog.

*he works late, I rise early, it's no big.

Happy Jason Voorhees Day!

Growing up as a teen in the late eighties was not good for a girl with an imagination like mine.

I absorb myself in works of fiction/art and they live in my head for years and years and years. Whilst reading Anne of Green Gables, I was a spirited red-head living on Prince Edward Island at the turn of the century; when reading Pride and Prejudice, I am a strong-willed yet shy and penniless woman in Edwardian England; during Harry Potter, I think in an English accent and have magical powers, and while in the Twilight world, I am ensconced in the awesome green, gray, and soggy world of Forks, WA.

Movies stick with me for days. I hear the dialog in my head and live in the world where they take place over and over. After seeing The Adjustment Bureau, every door was a new possibility to tempt fate, as long as I was wearing a hat. Seeing Titanic had me floating to new adventures only to end up flooded, freezing, and nearly drowning. The visuals presented in William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (the Baz Luhrmann one with Claire Daines and Leonardo DiCaprio) still spin around in my brain.

I can’t look at disturbing works of art and enjoy them because they stay with me forever. I see them when I close my eyes. The works of Emily Carr make me dizzy even when I’m not looking at them. I hate Pablo Picasso’s paintings because they are too jarring and disturbing to me. They echo in my brain and give me nightmares.

On the other hand, Vincent Van Gough’s bright colours energize me. The works of impressionists like Claude Monet calm and soothe me. I think that Andy Warhol is a genius.

Characters and visuals stay with me, live with me and are my friends. They come to me in my dreams. They dance and bounce around in my head when I close my eyes (and sometimes then they’re open).

When I was a teen, horror movies were enjoying a very popular run. Freddie with his dreams, Jason with his hockey mask, and Michael Myers were stars. The Lost Boys ran amuck. My mum would remark that the only reason they were popular when she was young was so that the guys could get the girls to jump in their laps at the drive-in.

The cool thing to do was to go and see these horrible movies in the theatre. We would go in a huge group as one of us was usually seventeen (old enough to get into an R rated movie) and would buy all of our tickets and then we would all go in and get our faces scared off. Invariably, I would end up in the lap of one of my friends with my face buried in his shoulder, only rarely peeking through my fingers when things were a little too quiet. I guess my mother was right.

For the weeks following I would sleep with the light on, my door open (so I could see them coming to get me), my closet door closed (so they couldn’t get me), and the blankets over my head (so they couldn’t see me or touch me). I would have to read benign stories and listen to the radio to drown out my imagination so that I could actually fall asleep. Closing my eyes to fall asleep was NOT an option because I would only see the monsters coming to get me. I had to pass out reading.

When my sister was trying to convince me to read the Harry Potter books, one of the reasons I gave her for not following the masses was that they were about witches and magic and my imagination runs away with me too much. I can’t read books like that because they live in my head and mess with my psyche. Her response was a) these books are definitely NOT like that (I know that now, as the Wizarding World of Harry Potter is permanently etched in my mind and Hermione Granger Weasley is one of my best friends), and b) “but you watched all those horror movies when you were a teenager! I always thought you were so cool when you would go and see them.”

That was just it. I did it because it was cool. I put up with the no sleeping and looking over my shoulder and horrible dreams for weeks because everyone else was doing it or because there were cute guys there. (for me to jump in their laps) The motivating forces in my life from ages Thirteen to Twenty-five were mostly either; 1) it was fun, 2) it was cool or made me cool or look cool, or 3) it involved impressing boys. I look back and CRINGE at the things I did in my youth because of these motivations.

Thank goodness I have become a grown up and have moved on from those motivations. Well, at least the third one.