Pancakes in the morning

I love home movies.

Like this one.

Becky Breakfast In The Morning. from travispitcher on Vimeo.

Non-linear

After a recent literary conversation, followed by a similar religious conversation I have been thinking a lot about linear lives.

Because we don't really live linearly.
Chronologically, yes.
But the only time our lives are linear is the present. When we look at the past (or the future) we pick out moments.
The time I fell rollerblading down the big hill behind my house.
Sitting in hot tub on our honeymoon, watching Home Alone 2, because it is especially romantic.
Finding out my mom was pregnant with Kathryn-to-be.
Wrestling a pillow away from Travis in the middle of the night.
Playing crack the whip on the pond behind our house.

They're not all events. They're just memories.
And with some effort I could probably put them into chronological order.
But not linear order.
They're like beads on a thread. A moment. A moment. A moment.
But they're not just a thread alone.

Yesterday morning I woke up, and Travis had his arm thrown over my waist and was sharing my pillow and I thought of a moment when I was in high school.
I wasn't depressed in high school, I was usually pretty happy. But I remember being about 15 and lying in my bed, sobbing myself to sleep.
I just kept wishing and praying that my life would pass quickly and I would wake up one morning and be
exactly where I am now.

And that did not happen.

I had to live life at the normal speed for the last 7 years.
And when I look back it's not a blur. Even now, it doesn't seem to me that it "sped by," although I am amazed at how quickly time flies.
I am, of course, grateful that I had all of the experiences I did, and that they didn't happen especially quick.
But at the same time... my 15 year old self knew what was up.
Because I have never been so happy as I am now.

Mormons believe that being married is ordained of God. We're supposed to be married.
And I,
I was made to be married.

It's everything I ever hoped it would be.
It's better.

And nearly every day I slide another little bead, a moment, a happiness on to my thread.
And think, "I will remember this forever."
(even if I won't)

And my chronological, but non-linear life is perfectly perfect and ideally ideal.

The tip-top tier

I was just looking at some wedding pictures and I love how teeny-tiny our cake looks!
Especially since I've been watching Cake Boss and these people have jumbonormous cakes, and ours is just like the tiny tip-top of a cake.
But I love it.
And there was just enough to cut and eat and it was delicious.

And also, I think my dad had a piece... but no one else did.

Aaand I think my cousin Nichole took this picture.

It was on my facebook...

p.s. Look how long my hair is!

Aaand what a big dork I am in that sweater. In my defense, I was freezing.

Movies about brothers

Last night Travis and I watched a movie with Travis's sister and brother-in-law.
He grabbed a stack of movies, stuck them in his bag and said "We'll figure out what we want to watch when we get there."
On the scooter, driving to Chris and Camille's house I asked "What movies did you bring?"
"All our movies about brothers," he said.
"The Brothers Bloom? A River Runs Through it? maybe... Oh Brother, where art thou?" I guessed.

"Yes," he said. "And some others."

He began with plausible titles that might actually be movies but I know we do not own such as Blood brothers, and Brothers in arms.

And moved on to,
Time for Brother, time for tea. "A british film, very boring. Based on something dumb Jane Austen wrote."

Hermanos "a Spanish film."

Oh my Brother, Jet Li. "A kung fu movie, in Chinese it is SamYiGumJETLI!"

Brother, we're a dead man. "About siamese twins. You know, because they're two people. But one man."

Brother, I am running with two knees braces! Look at that girl with two knee braces! (I'm not sure where the title ends and commentary begins on that one.)

Pierre, Je t'aime. "A french film about the weird sexual tension and romance between two brothers who might not actually be brothers."

I used to be your brother, but now I'm your sister. "I don't actually know what that's about, I haven't seen it. But there's a very ugly woman on the front."

This continued in a stream for 15 minutes straight.
I only wish I could remember the other films he supposedly brought for us to choose from.

We ended up watching The Terminal.
Which is in no way about brothers.
But which is also very good.

Beer breath

I have recently perfected this gorgeous and delicious bread.
If pressured by my very hungry husband (boy can he eat!) I can make it several times a week.



It is almost always perfect. I am very proud.
But the thing I like most about it is the smell before you cook it.

You pull the dough out of the fridge where it's been resting for a day or two, take off the Saran wrap and BAM!
The sour smell of dough and yeast, smelling exactly like beer breath hits your nostrils.

You think I am gross for saying that I love that smell.
And let me say, I do not usually like when people have beer breath.

BUT beer breath is not a smell that I get whiffs of on a regular basis here on BYU campus.
And to be frank, my high school friends were pretty much all good Lutherans who didn't really drink, or people who liked me enough not to invite me to parties they'd be drinking at.

So the only time I ever really smelled beer breath up close was when I was with my family.
The Froelich side.
And let me say, Froelichs are kissers. This is something I didn't know until Travis started meeting people and going "Ew gross, you kissed your grandpa on the mouth" or "I can't believe you've just kissed every aunt and uncle in this entire room. Do I have to?"


Yep, we're kissers. We pucker up our lips and give each other a kiss on the cheek, or in the case of grandparents, sometimes on the lips.
And I never noticed.

It was very normal to me.

But the smell of this bread, when I pull it out of the fridge to let it rise smells like tickly mustaches, and curling up in an armchair with my Grandpa Roger, and even (dare I say it?) a little like holidays.
I'm sure that my good Mormon parents are horrified to read this.
Embarrassed maybe that beer makes me think of my family.

But I have a very distinct memory of sitting in an armchair with my grandpa, asking for a sip of his pop.
He gave me a drink all right, but it was not soda. I choked while he chuckled in his red-cheeked grandfathery sort of way.
Oh, how funny they were.

There, sadly, were several other times when I fell for this trick.
Kids are just plain stupid.
But after I learned to smell the beer before drinking, I wised up.

And yet. I smell beer and I think of grandpas and uncles and Minnesota and it makes me feel nostalgic and silly.
And I like it.

This is what I think of when I smell that bread.
This is me in a night gown, snuggled up on an armchair with Grandpa Roger, who does not look as jovial as usual.
But I seem very happy, despite my terrible bowl cut.


And this is an unrelated but awesome photo that I came across while looking for the picture above.



Dad, nice mullet and mustache.
Mom, nice mullet and blue eye shadow.
Creepy.
But that cute baby is me.
(Their anniversary just came and went recently. Happy 22 years of marriage, you guys. You've only gotten better at doing your hair.)

Matt and Lana crouched under a tree

K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

I am very excited about Lana being married.
Especially because it is to Matt.

When we found out they were talking marriage Travis said, "Well, she'd be a freaking idiot not to marry him, since they're clearly awesome together."

Good thing Lana is not a freaking idiot.

Today I got to take their engagement photos, which was aaawesome! They are a really fun and super attractive couple, which made today work out, despite all the mishaps.
Mishap example: A perfect dusky cloudy day went from perfect to raining to REALLY harsh sunlight in about a half hour and remained really harsh until we were pretty much done.
It is possible that I made them huddle under a tree in the semi-shade.
I think that really annoyed poor Matthew.
Mishap example 2: We had planned on doing the photos in a canoe, but the canoe rentals were closed because it was so very windy.
Mishap example 3: I had an allergic reaction to all the plant life surrounding Utah Lake.

We seriously finished these photos less than an hour ago, but I already want to share a few of my favorites.
I can't wait any longer!
Aren't they a good-looking pair?

Hallelujah

This is where I've been sitting.
In my doorway, where I can see, smell, hear, taste, and touch the rain. And yes, that is a pot of freshly made chocolate frosting with graham crackers next to it.
Why not indulge in some comfort food while feeling so comfortable?


This is the view of the sky from my doorway. And just below the sky is the view of my wet and pretty street. This pictures aren't exactly professional-photographer-worthy, right? They are for Travis who is at work and does not have a window.
But he does have a mac.
Travis and I learned how to spell hallelujah on Sunday.
We both tried several times before looking it up in the Bible Dictionary and then we both practiced writing it in speech bubbles over the cartoon people drawn on the back of our church program.


If any type of weather deserves a hallelujah (correctly spelled), it is this gorgeous rain.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Praise ye the Lord!
Today is highly perfect.

edit: This blogpost now has a part two:
PART TWO:
My computer does amazingly well choosing rainy day music.
Yes, it even chose Hallelujah, which was in fact why I decided to title my post by that name.
Here is the mix that it created and which I am listening to currently:

Feminism in the Pitcher house: like a sci-fi stripper

Today after my hair was staticed to my forehead, I said "How do I look?"

And although I was fully dressed (and in church clothes, too!)

Travis looked me over and said,

"Hot. Like a striper.

From a sci-fi movie."

A few minutes later he said "Don't put that on your blog."

"Too late," I said.

"You've already written it?"

"No, I've already planned what to write about it."

"Ahh," he said.

Then he said "All I wanted was to make you feel sexy even though your hair was crazy and stupid. I'm just trying to empower my wife. But, it seems I have empowered her too much. Since she will not even respect my wishes."

Then when I read this aloud he said "That's a pretty good blog post."

Then he suggested my title.

Then he said not to write it, but I did.

Everything I've written here is true.

The Prairie

Yesterday I spent the day slumping around and being grouchy.
As the day continued, I became more and more defensive.

I was home alone.
But I was sure that when Travis got home he would be angry with me and I would have to defend myself, since I was also sure that I was right.
And I spent the whole day preparing my defenses.

You see, about a week ago Travis gave me 50 dollars and said "Don't use the debit card this week, just use the cash."

And I was probably supposed to spend it on groceries and things (which I did) but I was also not supposed to go shopping.
Or so one must assume.

But I went to the DI, (that doesn't count as shopping, right?) to look for a frame so I could finally hang up our blasted Proclamation to the World.
I am on a beautifying-my-home kick after going to my friend Suzanne's and finding it to be the most darling house I've ever been in (She is an interior designer -check out what she did in Nie Nie's house - SO cute, right?)
And as I was already at the DI i decided to wander through the other sections in case there was something I absolutely needed.

And there was something.
It was a 6 dollar box-set.
Of books that I already owned beautiful copies of.

But I bought it.
And then I felt guilty.

And then I was mad that Travis was mad (which he wasn't, because he wasn't home)and I might have hidden the box set so he wouldn't go "Where'd that come from?" and then I would have to say "The DI."
And then he'd say "But you already own those books."
and I'd say "But mine are antiques! Mine are too old for children to read, and they're kids books!"
And then we'd both be angry.


But when Travis got home he said "Did you go to DI?"
and I freaked out a little.
"How did you know that?"
"I just know things," he teased.
"How did you know I went to the DI?"

And then I remembered that I had looked up the address online and left the page up, and he had seen it.
"What did you buy?" he asked.(Conversationally, but to me it seemed hostile)
"A frame and ...mumble mumble..."
and I left the room quickly.

And he said, "Hey, what did you buy?"
"A box set of books," I said.
"How much was that?" he asked.
"Six dollars."
"That's not bad at all," he said. "What books?"
"Well, they're books I already own, but they're my favorite books so..."
"What books are they?" he repeated.
"The Little House books."

"That's awesome!" said Travis, "all the books for 6 dollars is not too shabby."


Oh, I love him.

Why am I so crazy and paranoid?


p.s. Look how cute, my grandpa signed his name in half these books as a little kid.

happy

This blurry, light, happy picture is exactly how I feel today.

Missing

I like this story Lana told me:

Her Mom keeps referring to Travis as my boyfriend, and Lana keeps correcting "Husband, Mom, Travis is her husband. They've been married for almost a year."

And then her mom says things like "Why does her husband need to come, if they've been married for a year? Don't they want a break from each other? Aren't they sick of each other?"

I like that story because we don't and we're not.

And I had to fall asleep last night with 6 pillows in my bed, so it felt more crowded.

And I had to talk to Travis on the phone until I was nodding off, so I wouldn't be hours falling asleep.

And he had to call me in the morning and say that he was sad and that he missed me and that he never wanted to leave me again.

And today I drew a picture of Piglet holding a balloon that says I Miss You, and he's looking at Pooh, who is on the other side of the page and Pooh says "I wish we weren't so far apart."

And I was going to scan it, but I can't remember how.

But I drew it because we love the stories and pictures from Winnie-the-Pooh.

And because its hard to be apart from your best friend.

Which little Piglet knows perfectly well.

Birthdays

Warning: This post is longer than was expected.

(If you're wondering what my Mom looked like when I was little)
(and if you're wondering what Minnesota looked like when I was little)

On her blog Emma talked about being nine and being barefoot and being in the Midwest.

Which is funny because whenever I think of how perfect a place the upper Midwest is to grow up, I always think about being nine. I don’t usually think about being barefoot, but that’s because it’s such an obvious expected thing. I only think about when I had to wear shoes.

Like when Kristine and her Grandma and I went walking down the middle of a calm part of the Mississippi behind her Grandma’s house. She made us wear shoes so we wouldn’t cut our feet on unseen things and I ruined a pair of tennis shoes by getting them wet.

I think I ruined a pair of tennis shoes every summer by walking in rivers or sloshing through ponds.

Or stomping in mud.

There’s water and mud everywhere so it’s not really hard to do. Mom would make us put our muddy shoes in the garage until they dried out and try to make us wear them the next time some grown-up dictated that we wear shoes, but we always thought they were too gross to put back on.

I guess this is a post about Mom somehow. Even if it’s about Minnesota, too. They have the same birthday, Minnesota and Mom, it’s today: May 11^th. Happy Birthday.

I think about them the same sometimes, which might be weird for my mom. But they’re so beautiful, and better than anyone or anywhere else, they completely shaped me as a person.

When you were little did you try to imagine what it was like for your mother to be little like you? I grew up so close to Mom’s home town that when we drove through I used to try to picture her walking down the street. I would associate stories with actual places. She would say that she grew up with a tire swing that swung out over Lake Silvey, and I would imagine her swinging out and dropping into that actual lake.

I would go swimming in Lake Silvey and think of her and of my grandma and me and how we all swam in the same lake and how it made us the same.

I think of summer days when Mom and Kim would stand in our kitchen with windows open (and screens shut, of course) and it was so hot inside because they were boiling tomatoes.

They made so much salsa every year. We would play outside and run in and they would be filling dozens of cans with delicious mild salsa.

I would try to grab a chip and dip in to the half-way made salsa and sometimes Mom would let me. Sometimes she wouldn’t.

Summertime. Summertime is almost upon us.

We used to go berry-picking until we burst. We would weave in between the rows, instead of staying in one like we were supposed to. The berries were always warm from sitting all day under the hot sun. The soft skins would burst and warm red juice would explode in your mouth and Mom would tell us to pick them, not eat them.

We’d come home then with buckets full and Mom would freeze a bunch for smoothies and desserts.

Then she would get out the cans again and Kim would come over and they’d spend the whole afternoon and maybe the next making strawberry jam. Mmm, just thinking about it makes me want toast with homemade jam.

Most nights after that, when Kim and her girls spent the whole day at our house anyway, Dad would get out the barbeque and make burgers and brats for all of our families.

We’d spend the evening running around the yard, barefoot, and covered in so much bug spray it’s a miracle we could taste the brats.

And I can picture Mom in a lawn chair or on the front steps laughing and talking and not caring that we were covered in mud.

And not caring if we ran through the neighbors sprinklers with our clothes on.

And knowing that when it came time for the Haggen’s to go we would cry that we needed to have them sleepover, or we wanted to sleep over there and we wanted to set up a tent in the yard.

And she would shrug and say fine, and the next day we would wear the same clothes, or no clothes at all except a swimsuit and it would all start over.

Until the very end of summertime.

* * *

I love you Mom. Happy Birthday and thank you for being so good, and raising me so well, and teaching me about all the important things, like friends, and swimming and bug spray.

And I’m sorry I never learned to dive as well as you.

Happy Birthday Minnesota, I love you and miss you and hope that you are not embarrassed that I talk about you on my blog all the time.

Giddy

I love Travis today.
Well, I love him every day.

But the amazing thing is I love him MORE everyday, which means today I love him the most I've ever loved him.

and I feel that way right now, especially.
Like I wish he and I could skip work and go home and snuggle.
And I wish he didn't have to drive his scooter in the cold rain outside.
And I wish I hadn't accidentally hurt his leg last night when he and I were romping.
(Romping isn't code for sex.)

We were just wrestling/tickling/laughing and maybe I got tickled and in surprise I may have kicked his leg very hard.
ON ACCIDENT,
and maybe today I feel very guilty for hurting him.

And I feel like I would like to go home and make up for it by snuggling.
And making him watch West Side Story, which might not TOTALLY make it up to him, since he's not a huge fan of musicals.

And maybe one of my friends wants to do something nice for Travis that will totally embarrass him, but I'm not going to stop them because it's so nice.
And I love when other people are nice to him.

And I have a picture I took of us last night that I was going to post so you can see how handsome he is and how chubby I've gotten since I got married... but it won't load.
So maybe tomorrow you'll see it.

And it's goofy because I look little and chubby and he looks tall and splattered with meat sauce.
Since I made him come outside and take it while he was in the midst of making his completely-from-scratch and highly delicious gnocci with meat sauce.
Which, of course, accompanied my completely-from-scratch and mostly delicious whole wheat bread sticks and blackberry spice cake.
And that night we discussed how lucky our future kids are to have us as parents.
And how lucky we each are to have spouses who are good at cooking.

And just how lucky we are in general.
And I miss him when he's at work.
Like right now.
I miss him.

5 years old

I called Kathryn. It went like this:
(Please imagine my voice as being overly excited and hers as being overly bored.)

me: Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Kathryn! Happy Birthday to you.
Kathryn: . . . .
me: Happy Birthday, Kathryn.
Kathryn: Thank you.
me: Does it feel different to be 5 years old?
Kathryn: Yes.
me: Well, how do you feel?
Kathryn: I feel good.
me: What are you doing for your birthday?
Kathryn: I'm shopping for candy for my birthday right now.
me: Do you have any --
Kathryn: OKAY! Bye, I love you!
me: Oh, okay bye.
Kathryn: Wait, what were you going to say?
me: I was just wondering if you had any birthday wishes.
Kathryn: Thanks, I love you! BYE!

Oh, so your birthday wish is to NOT talk to me on the phone.
Got it.

A few weeks ago my mom was on the phone with me, and after Kathryn interrupted her several times she asked, "Kathryn wants to know if the baby in your belly is a boy or a girl and if it's growing yet."
"Tell her I have some of each, but they're not growing yet."
"Oh, okay." Kathryn said.

Kathryn was lying in bed, listening to my dad and uncle laugh in the living room.
"It sounds like they're having fun," she said.
"Yeah," my mom said, "Your dad likes when Matt's here."
"Do you think we should go out there?"
"No, you're supposed to be going to sleep."
...
"Am I supposed to be having fun right now?"
"No. You're supposed to be going to sleep."
"Oh. That makes sense."

I tried to upload a video that I took of Kathryn singing a few months ago, but the video has been at 39% for like 6 hours. So that's a no go.


Here's a link to Kathryn's birthday post last year, which I reread and then laughed until I cried a little. And peed a little.
Also, here are several other posts which are mostly about how funny she is, which I don't want to rewrite, but want to encourage you to read.
And don't forget to read the comments, since that's where my parents post additional funny things she says.

Five years old... REALLY?
Kathryn's birthday last year.
Kathryn at Christmas time.
The Family in general being ridiculous, (but with lots of Kathryn)
A weekend at the cabin.
The last time I saw Kathryn.

Please, if you have time to waste... waste it with the Froelichs. We are so very entertaining.
Oh, and here's a link to a video or two on the family blog of the best singer ever: Kathryn.

Marriage, sex, things like that.

(tehe, this is a picture Travis took this morning. Heso tall, look at my little feet, all the way down there.)

I heard a conversation on campus like this:
"So how's being married?" (a favorite BYU question)
"Oh, you know. Weird, different."
"Really?"
"Good different, but yeah. Really, really different."

And I thought, "different how?"
A year ago on a normal weekend night I might fall asleep on the couch with my roommates watching the OC with our mouths half-full of poptarts. At some later, early-morning time I would wake to the disk menu playing on repeat and stumble to my bed.
Or, as is more likely, go back to sleep on the couch.
NOW, however, I fall asleep on the couch with my roommate (aka Travis, aka best roomie ever) watching The Lord of the Rings with my mouth half full of homemade cookies. When the movie finishes, Travis wakes me up and when I decide to stay on the couch all night instead of getting up he carries me to our bed and I sleep there. (Heso strong. Meso love it.)
So what I mean, I still hardly ever brush my teeth.

And it seems really similar to me as before.
Different better: Yes.
Different a lot: Not really.

It's especially not different to the six months BEFORE we got married. During that time I would wake up, call Travis and see him all day every day. Then fall asleep where ever we happen to be at 10 o'clock ('cause I go to bed every night at ten, even if I don't mean to) and he would take me home and make me sleep in a bed, instead of outside in a tree.
Now it's the same except we live together.

Two nights ago after Travis carried me to bed again (it would be four nights in a row that he carried me to bed, except that on Monday night we ate dinner in bed and then just stayed there until I passed out.) Anyway, last night, Travis said "You know, you're completely helpless after 9:30."
and then he laughed and said, "And you don't get up in the morning until after 9 everyday.
Why do you need twelve hours of sleep?" Then he laughed and laughed.
Laugh it up.
Whatevs.

On a different topic, and to justify my very suggestive blog title:
Every time I see O Magazine (Oprah's Magazine) I think of the big O.
Which is why I sometimes call it Orgasm Magazine.
I don't call it that because it excites me. Just because O as a letter makes me think of O as something that isn't a letter, but is an.... action?
Reaction?

Now I can't decide how to define the big O.
Also, the big O is a phrase I really like to use, ever since I read it on a website about chick-flicks.
It said something about how When Harry Met Sally was the first movie that talked about girls faking it, but instead of it, they said faking the big O.
And I laughed and laughed. On account of, I LOVE When Harry Met Sally.
Speaking of things I love:
I LOVE Glee.
Even though I was originally against it.

I was against it because girls who I think are annoying watch it.
AND because I knew too many kids like that in high school.
AND because I knew that they sang a song from Wicked in it, and nothing can get stuck in your head for the rest of your life like Wicked.

But I've turned a new leaf, because girls I like watch it. (and I'm all about doing what other people do.)
AND because it reminds me of how much I both liked and hated everyone I knew in high school.
AND because it's really, really, really funny. And knowing that it's a satire makes it okay to watch.
(also, every time Jesse St.James is on the screen I can't help but think of Jimmy Person)

Travis loves Glee too, but he won't admit it.
And he'll probably leave a comment like "I don't love it, you make me watch it!" Except he'll also have to justify that comment now since I already called him out.
WHAT!
Speaking of WHAT!? (which is a word I exclaim when something amazes me or is funny[even if I'm doing at myself, 'cause I often think I'M funny]) watch this video.
WHATT!? HOLY FREAKING CRAP! Those are the sounds I made when I watched it, so if you want to pretend that we're watching it together then say them aloud anytime someone does something crazy, amazing or funny:



Yesterday I bumped into a pretty group of girls from my Freshman year. We were talking about BABIES, which comes out this weeeekend. Are you freaking out? 'Cause I. AM. SO. PSYCHED.

"How are you getting your husband to go?" Candace asked and I thought What craziness! ALL humans with a soul should want to see it. Because they're little babies and babies are the best, cutest, snuggliest, funniest, softest, happiest, best best best thing ever. DUH!
Hmm, my computer doesn't think snuggliest is a real word, but it does think snuffliest is.
Babies are the snuffliest thing ever, too. DUH!
Turns out DUH is still fun to say, even when you're not seven.
Travis wants to see Babies even as much as me.

Watch the preview again, or go to the babies website to watch happy little clips that will have you giggling like a lunatic... or maybe they just do that to me.
So have we talked about things in order?
First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage.

Really? How can you not be dying to watch this?

I woke up to loon calls.

"Impossible!" you say. "That cheery and eerie Minnesotan bird could never live in Utah's desert climate!"

Yeah, well I think one of our neighbors has a loon call.
I said to Travis "That's a loon! Someone must have a loon call!" and he looked skeptical.
"Have you ever heard a bird like that?" he shook his head no.

However, after a half hour of loon calls I became confused.

Maybe there is another bird around here that kind of sounds like a loon.

Or maybe they had a loon sound on their alarm clock or computer.

Last night we had a conversation that began with Travis filling out a form. It asked the question "If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you most want to go?"

He wrote Minnesota.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just have been thinking about it so much lately."

"Because it's spring and Minnesota is beautiful in the spring?"

"No. I just have this longing. It's calling me back. The cool deep waters. That little neighborhood outside Minneapolis. The people. The people there are really nice."

And I thought, "Congratulations, Becky. Taking Travis there last summer was so wise because it's impossible for anyone to go to Minnesota, really go there, and not long for it later. Maybe someday we'll live there after all."

Because Minnesota is the best kept secret in the United States.

People think of Minnesota and they're like "Those backwards lumberjack hicks without electricity must have such crappy lives."

And we say YES.

Except for me, because I love it so much I can't keep it a secret.

Here's a secret: Whoever made up the rumor that California, especially SoCal (hehe) is awesome was LYING.

Apparently it's warm there, not HOT. The water is SUPER cold as well as being dirty and filled with a billion people. The cities are dirty and crowded and it's a dessert so... it automatically sucks for that reason.

Minnesota gets hot in the summer, and gets snow in the winter and is secret and pretty.

And filled with lakes.

Filled with Loons.

Filled with Loon calls.

Travis was reading over my shoulder as I wrote and said "Why did you write "hehe" after SoCal?"
I responded, "I thought the phrase SoCal was a joke."
He only laughed, so now I think, Is it NOT a joke? Do people call it SoCal for real?

How confusing.
And also stupid.

Kenya

I am so excited for Africa.
I get more excited every day.

I'm also terrified out of my mind, but I think that is normal, too.

These are videos Travis found online that are beautiful.
Hopefully we will be able to create documentaries that touch those who watch it, and connect them to people across the world.
Hopefully they will have some of the beauty that is in these documentaries.

The Dancer from Kensington on Vimeo.

(my favorite)

Kenya 2010 from Kensington on Vimeo.

mint-green basketball hoop

Usually I try to think of a title for a post before I write it. I can do this because I usually plan out in my brain all the things I'll say to you way before I write it.

I didn't do that today and I'm having a hard time naming this post, because I have the feeling but not the words yet. I think the words go like this:

I'm afraid to talk about my Great-grandmother on my blog. We called her Babalou.

The reason I'm afraid to talk about her is that I want to say things about her that I think I remember, but her daughter and grand-daughters and windowed husband could all read this blog and say, "No, Becky, she didn't do that. Your imagination invented it."

And I like the way that I remember her, even if it isn't quite how it really was.

Babalou died when I ten from breast cancer. So the things I remember are probably skewed.

But I think she talked a little like Julia Child. Sort of deep and throaty.

and she wore strong Chanel perfume and whenever I smell it somewhere else I feel like crying, but not because I miss her, even though I do. But I feel a little like crying because I miss her house.

The house that we only came in to through the back door, because the backdoor led to the family room where the tv was and Grandpa was. There was a ledge into the kitchen where Babalou'd put out little cookies that she'd decorated with candy.

The front door had a bell on it.

It led into a room with white carpet and furniture and little shelves of fragile things we couldn't touch. The whole house smelled like her and when she died and Grandpa moved that was what broke my heart.

It broke my heart that he was leaving that house with the upstairs room that felt like my room. That was the only grandparent's house where I wanted to go and play, instead of sit in front of the tv, because no offense Grandmas who read my blog, but Grandma houses are boring for little kids.

But they had a wooden mint green basketball hoop in the driveway, and neighbor kids across the street and next door, and hopscotch lines pressed into the cement , and a giant garden in the back yard.

And when I say a giant garden, I mean GIANT. In my child-mind I imagined it to be an acre stretching from the back wall of the house down a hill to a path which eventually led to ponds and good climbing trees. The acre between the house and path was filled with boxes and planters and flowers and berries and everything good. There was even a tree full of a raccoon family and every night after dinner the Momma raccoon would come down to the back door, the family door, and wash their paws in a little bowl of water that Babalou set out. Then, carefully, and with perfect table manners, the raccoon would eat the leftovers from our dinner.

If somehow Babalou forgot to put out their food or there wasn't enough to share, the big Momma raccoon would stand up and rap on glass door with her tiny fist until someone brought them dinner.

Anyway, I've been thinking about the house today because of something my Grandpa (her widower) said on his blog, which is something you should read, because it will make you cry.

A Weekend of Celebrations

Can we talk about da best weekend ever? It might be a long post, there were many things to make it wonderful.
It began like this...

Once upon a time there was a boy and girl and they got married. They were pleased as punch (this is an expression I am making an effort to use multiple times today). Six months exactly after they got married was a Saturday morning, the day before the girl's birthday. So with two special days together, the boy and girl decided to spend the whole weekend being absurdly happy.
On Saturday morning they woke up late and the girl made swedish pancakes (LOVE!) while the boy cleaned the kitchen (double LOVE!). Then they went to the store to buy the girl presents, including cake pans and bread pans, so the girl could be the best little housewife ever.
The girl already had many presents from her husband, including a thermos, the Hunger Games, and the Sound of Music. (Because every day since my haircut I look in the mirror and think of Julie Andrews as Maria Vontrap)

Then the boy and girl went to Sammy's, which besides being tasty was also very awesome. For no particular reason Sammy's gave the boy and girl each a free milk shake. Then a waitress looked at them curiously and said, "I wonder what your kids will look like," and the girl said "So do we."
Then the boy and girl went home and the girl baked herself a birthday cake with her new round cake pans, while the boy watched a documentary about high school.
When the boy and girl walked with their friends to Sam Hawks for Korean dinner the girl got a surprise! The friends, Cole and Suzie, stood up on the library garden wall and played Happy Birthday on a kazoo and recorder, then lifted up their baby's shirt to reveal words written across her chubby belly in marker: Happy Birthday Becky!

And everyone laughed.

Dinner was delightful and the girl and boy ate lots of korean food and learned a few new words, before going home to a party! The girl and boy had many friends there, and they had so much fun! All their friends wrote birthday wishes on the blackboard wall, and told Becky her cake was the best they'd had in a long time.
When the boy and girl went to bed that night they were sure tired, but they got up nice and early the next day because, Suzie, the birthday elf had brought them french toast and parfait for breakfast. Then they went to church, came home and took a nap and then
LET THE PARTY BEGIN AGAIN! Can you believe it?
The boy and girl went to the boy's parents house, where it was the boys' dad's birthday too! They ate cake and the girl and dad opened presents. There was an embarrassing moment when the girl couldn't stop saying foreplay over and over, even though she was just trying to foreshadowing. Foreshadowing, foreshadowing. She just couldn't get it out.
They went on a long walk, and then watched LIFE on the discovery channel.
When the boy and girl finally went home they collapsed into bed and slept until this very morning.

Sometime soon, though, when the girl has a little more time, she'll show you the pictures of the baby's belly that says "Happy Birthday" and of the girl and her friends, and the boy and his handsome smile. And everyone will be happy because anniversaries are so fun, but two in one is the very best.
Thhhhee End!

Thanks all, for an awesome birthday.

Travis dear

Yesterday as we stepped out to run to the store (for more sugar for a delicious banana cake!) Travis stopped me next to the door. "The lighting is perfect," he said. For several minutes he pointed the camera at me and we talked and/or I tried to ignore him.
I'm used to him pointing a camera at me to play with the light and then he usually deletes the video later, so I wasn't too concerned with doing anything for him.

Anyway, what I'm getting to is this: he didn't throw the footage away, like I thought he would. He made a video which I love, and not because it's all me, but because he made it and he's so sweet and nice.
and I love him so much it makes me crazy.

We've been married six months now(on Saturday). Can you believe it?
See the video on Travis' blog: here.

p.s. I just rewatched it, and I like that at the end, right before he fades to black, I'm starting to roll my eyes. What I like is: he took that out. and all the faces I made. and all the times I say "Come on, you ready to go?" He only showed the times I look pretty.
If you want Travis to make your wedding video he will only make you look pretty, I'm sure of it. Send him an email: Travispitcher@gmail.com