Pancakes in the morning

I love home movies.

Like this one.

Becky Breakfast In The Morning. from travispitcher on Vimeo.

Homemaking

I have decided that a homemaker is one of two people:

1. Someone who makes a home outta a house or
2. Someone who makes things homemade.

Travis and I are both homemakers.




Travis built this planter box outside our door.
Gorgeous, isn't it? In comparison to dead leaves, old pumpkins (yes, I admit, there were still two old crusty, rotten jack-o-lanterns) and actual garbage next to our door.

And within two days all the seeds that fell from the bird feeder had sprouted in the good clean soil and in the spring we'll plant real flowers and herbs and maybe a tomato plant.
We're making this house a home.



And I made homemade pasta!
It was a first, but after such a success it will not be the last.
I hand rolled the dough, baked the butternut squash that filled it and then served it with homemade sourdough bread, and fresh garden green beans.

Travis made the sauce and it was awesome! It took like 4 hours. He grated up about 10 different veggies and mashed up half a dozen tomatoes and just let them boil for hours until the tastes had all soaked and blended.

It was quite the homemade meal.
We were very proud of its deliciousness.

There's no place like home

We're home.

I nearly cried when I saw our bed.

Luckily for you, this means that I will start posting pictures like crazy.

But not quite yet.

First, I am going to unpack.

And do some laundry.

And some grocery planning and shopping.

And eat some more strawberries (hallelujah!)

And open all the windows.

And catch up on blogs.

And go on a bike ride.

Mmmm... it is so good to be here.

You know how everyone's house has a smell, but you can never smell your own?

When we came in our door last night there were a few minutes where Travis and I just stood and smelled.

After a long trip, you learn what you smell like to other people.

Like old musty houses. Like sugar and honey. Like pages and pages of books.

I wish I could still smell it now, but I think the fact that I can't is okay.

This is our home.

Oh, I love it like mad.

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.

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.

"Of course there must be lots of Magic in the world,"

he said wisely one day, "but people don't know what it's like or how to make it. Perhaps the beginning is just to say nice things are going to happen until you make them happen. I am going to try and experiment."


On that subject:
I like to sleep in late.
And by that I mean, stay in my white bed, curled up in my white room, while sun streams in through the white shades.
Everything is bright and pretty and quiet and I lie in bed -half asleep- and think-dream.

This morning, I think-dreamed this story:

17 years from now Travis and I are living in a big farm-type house. It's pretty and white inside and out. Because its run all by solar panel power, a student from the University Travis works at comes out to make a mini-documentary about how we live.
He says, "describe to me your daily routine"
I say, "I get up at 5:00 with my two oldest kids because they have to leave for early morning seminary in the next hour. They start getting ready while I go out and milk Rosie."
Rosie is the only cow we have but we use her milk instead of store bought. She is sweet and pretty. White and red. We only have about an acre of land, but that's enough for Rosie and us.
"Then I take her out to graze."

I continue, "Then I come in and shower quick, then Travis and the little kids get up and we read scriptures while the big kids and I eat breakfast. I boil water and have tea. Some of the kids have tea or hot cocoa too, Travis and the baby have juice."
In my morning dream we usually have five or six kids. For a while we had a baby who was one or two, but usually we had five kids and the littlest was four. Sometimes in my morning dream I was pregnant. Don't get confused if the number of children jumps around.
(It's hard to stay consistent in your think-dreams because you're only partially awake, but you get to think of things that you want to, because you're only half asleep.)

"Then the big kids leave for school and the little kids get dressed while Travis showers and I blow-dry my hair, etc." I say.
"Then the little kids eat breakfast, but it's only about 7:00 when they're done, and they have a half hour before school. The child who is in middle school, (usually there was just one and his name with Matt) goes out and feeds the dog and our chickens, while the littler two kids (ages 8 and 6) go pick up all the eggs from our few little chickens. We don't keep the chickens in a box, and sometimes the hens try to hide the eggs, so they kids have to search through the long grass to find all the eggs. It's just enough for our family." (We don't eat these chickens. They're just for eggs.)
"Then the kids run to the school bus and leave for school, and I go inside with my youngest child, who is usually four, and she plays while I clean up a little. We go bug her daddy, who works primarily from home, or sometimes campus."
"I'm surprised there's not a big tv in here," says the man making a doc about our life. Our living room is big and white with wide windows on two walls, and a tall bookcase on the third. There is no fourth wall, the living room just stretches until it becomes the kitchen.
"There is!" says little Carrie (usually that was the littlest one's name. Sometimes it was Grace, though.) She shows how to lower the screen from the ceiling, where we watch movies as a family from a projector.
The man looks at the bookshelf behind it. Half is full of books, and half is full of movies.
"What's your system here?" he asks.
"Well, the higher the shelves are more grown-up movies," I say. "The bottom shelf is all Christmas movies, then a shelf of documentaries, skateboarding and snowboarding movies, things like that. Here at Carrie's eye level are all the little kids movies, Disney movies, ect. Up higher is the shelf of slightly more grown-up kid movies, like Goonies, or Pirates of the Caribbean. Above that is a shelf of movies for our teenagers, chick flicks, comedies, you know. Then this shelf of International movies, and above that is movies are kids aren't allowed to watch without us, if at all."
"What great organizational skills!" exclaims the documentary film maker.
This morning dream (or think-dream as it can also be called) goes on for a long time, since Travis and I sort of awoke at like 6 and didn't get up until about 10.
But I'll spare you the rest of the details. Let me merely say that the rest includes descriptions of a very well organized mud-room, office, and the giving away of pretty kittens, since the cat we keep out with Rosie and the puppy in the barn/shed to catch mice had kittens, a description of the very big garden and everything we grow, and how each kids has their own little plot and an elaborate description of how often and when my book club meets.
It was a very nice morning.

Travis told me to be sure and write a blog post about it so we wouldn't forget, and someday we'll remember that our baby is named Carol (called Carrie) and our cow is named Rosie, and I have an ideal morning routine already planned out.

p.s. Do you know what that quote is from? If you know then you are surely my best friend of all!

househousehouse

We had a busy weekend. We finally bought short nails and could put up pictures around the house, as well as hang our wedding quilt from grandma Marcie. (Good thing we have a quilt from Grandma Mary to snuggle with, our wall quilt is apparently too fragile!)

We also bought ourselves a little can of chalkboard paint, and painted a wall in our living room. It had barely dried before we colored all over it. We LOVE it. Sadly, all my pictures of it turned out blurry. They room was dark and I was having a hard time holding the camera still.

Our kitchen was finished a few weeks ago, but I’m finally posting some pictures.

So, this isn’t exactly extreme home makeover, but it’s starting to look like a pretty house, right.

We loooooove it.

These are some pictures from the living room.

Our living room also includes two bookcases. Isn't it funny? We have yet to really combine our books, and you can tell, my shelves are much more cluttered and messy.

Then, of course, our beautiful kitchen.

Look how clean and white!

We love to have couples over for dinner, too. Travis and I should be professional hosts, since we both get super excited and clean the house and cook tasty food.

Last night Travis made homemade fish sticks from Trout that Chris brought over, and mashed potatoes from real potatoes.

I made an Angel Pie (family favorite) and over half of it had disappeared before I remembered that I promised Grandma I’d take pictures of it.

Oops, sorry Grandma. I turned out perfect though. Each of us had two pieces and the pie was gone within an hour.

It was TASTY!

Babies

Before I begin, everybody take a deep breath. This post absolutely does not mean that Travis and I are 1. Having a baby or 2. Trying to have a baby, neither is true.

Neither am I seriously considering dropping out of school, I’m just sick of midterms and getting up every day, and stupid, freaking generals.

(It has recently come to my attention that SOME people take all the things I write on my blog to be literal and completely accurate. Please know that as a teenager my father called me the Queen of Hyperbole. That might still stand true.)

Now, on to the post…

Most of you know that it is almost impossible for me to pass a baby (especially a cute one) without pulling faces at it, and that if I’m sitting in church with a baby across the aisle, I pull out all the stops and try to get that baby to come play with me instead of its parents.

I’ve recently starting going through home videos and really most of them so far are of Kathryn, just a few months old. I cannot stop watching the videos. After Travis and I watched a video just of Kathryn cooing and gurgling for forty-five minutes (Really, it’s VERY hard to stop. She’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.) Travis said “What is it about being married that makes people want to have a baby?”

To that I add, “Who knows? but no freaking kidding.”

We saw a preview for a baby movie before the Wild Things (which was brilliant, BTW) and it made me cry, because I love babies.

Oh my goodness. This is a hard week because I want a baby to play with, even if it’s not mine, and I absolutely do NOT want to get up and go to school.

All of a sudden I COMPLETELY understand women who drop out of school to start making babies after they get married.

I even have a mad desire to JOIN them.

Keep your pants on. That’s not what I’ll do. I WANT a degree.

But you know, it wouldn’t be so bad if I got a baby.

In fact, I say it’d be kinda nice.

I LOVE this picture. I'm completely crazy about it.

being engaged = the best thing ever

Trav and I are having so much fun being engaged. Here's a peak into what our day to day is like. It's full of firsts, like this: this is the very first thing that we've purchased together for our home.
It was on clearance. (Can we talk later about my complete obsession with Martha Stewart? She's the BEST.) It was like a forty dollar thing, and we got it for 15! Yay Macy's! Yay Martha!
It's an expandable cutlery holder thing for the drawer.

p.s. after looking at this picture my mother said "them's child-bearing hips."


This is us painting our FIRST house together. Although, let's be honest, it's an apartment in a house, not a whole house, and we're not ACTUALLY painting in this picture. Please look at how tall he is. Please appreciate the fact that my mom is here from Montana and is spending all her time painting our house.

This was our FIRST beard contest, the rules were simple. Using only a small length of tape that we had peeled from off the walls, make a beard without looking in the mirror.
Trav's was better, but only because he had more tape. Mine ended up looking patchy.

Aaaaaalso, since we all know how much I love to blog, this blog will not die when we get married, but instead, will be reborn! The address will stay the same, so as to not confuse my heap o' readers, but the name, I think will soon change.
Because Trav and I can maybe both write, and since this blog won't really be about MY life anymore, but OUR life, we're mixing things up. But don't worry, we won't call it the "Pitcher Family Blog." That would be too confusing.

In the Brother's Bloom, at the end, there's a line that goes (basically) like this:
Penelope: Your brother told me once, there's no such thing as an unwritten life, just a badly written one.

That was our inspiration. What do you think of this new title?



And as Tigger would say, ttfn, tah-tah for now.

a house

I live in a neighborhood.
With two of my best friends. In the fall it will be five of my best friends, and I can hardly wait.
The last few days I've woken up to children shouting outside.
There was a kickball in my gutter. There are babies in kiddie pools next door, and little boys zip by on razor scooters all day long.
Have I mentioned that I love it?
It already feels like home even though I'm living out of a suitcase and sharing a bed.
I don't have a summer contract yet.
I can't bear to pay 140 in the summer, even though I know it's not that much. I just know that every penny of my carefully accrued 800 dollars will be gone much quicker than I feel good about.
Hello rent, you are unbearable.
Speaking of unbearable, I got up really early today. Last night Travis said "I'll be up by nine, so I'll probably be back over at about ten. Is that okay?" He said that at about one in the morning, but I said okay.
I went inside and read for a little bit (ps later can we talk about how that Talmmage is kind of a saucy, matter-of-fact little know it all? [and don't get me wrong, I love it. I think he has to be.]) and this morning at eight I woke to bellowing children and cheeping birds at eight.
I fell back asleep to very frantic and hectic dreams, and woke up at nine feeling worse for the wear.
I am exhausted, but I got myself up and showered.
Nine is too early to wake up, especially when there's no food in the whole dang house.
I'm feeling a bit peckish.
And by peckish, of course, I mean starving, and if I see someone with a steak walking down the street he might be killed so I can eat his food.

One of the hectic dreams that I had went like this:
I was playing with my new Holga, (this part is based in reality. My always hip father was ahead of the trend and bought a Holga several months back. It has recently been given to yours truely after a little begging. I love it.)
however, in my dream I was embarrased to have it because I felt like everyone already had one and I didn't want to be part of this hipster movement.
So I was trying to secretly take pictures and NOT tell people that I did them with a Holga.
Travis was very confused.

Speaking of Travis, please take a gander at the time. hmmm... where is he? I'll tell you. He just woke up.
Bah!
In fact, let's speak of Travis quite a bit. These are things I want to say:
All my friends at home liked him. If they didn't like him, then they lied to me and I appreciate it, but they were very kind, and totally cool, and he got on really well with each of them.

My family was VERY kind to him. Yes, they were. I'm not sure why since my family is rarely that nice to boyfriends or outsiders and yet... something weird happened. Now Travis likes them, and as far as I can tell, they like Travis,

The clothes that I am wearing today were selected by my boyfriend. Here's how that conversation went:
Travis: I really like when you wear those glasses.
Becky: Thank you, but why?
Tavis: You look like a dork. A hot dork, but a dork, and usually only I look like a dork.
Becky: So they look okay?
Travis: Yeah, but they don't really match what you're wearing. You should wear them again tomorrow with those jeans, and your brown shoes, and a white t-shirt.
Becky: I don't have a white t-shirt.
Travis: Lana does, she's wearing one today. Tomorrow you could wear that shirt.

Today I am wearing that shirt, and my jeans, and my brown shoes.

Here's something else about Travis. Yesterday I met one of the friends that he made while I was away. She seemed nice and I'd heard a lot about her, but as soon as she saw me she got this angry little look and was super mean to me.
Travis said it's because I happen to have snagged a totally awesome, good looking, smart, funny, etc man, and she wants him.
Hmm, didn't some mention to her that Travis and I are perfect together?

Yesterday on the way to Gloria's Little Italy we made up a song. It went like this (to be sung in a deep, booming, operetic voice): We're going to GLORIA'S, GLORIA'S, GLOOOOORIA'S little ital-Leeeeeeeeee.

When we got there, we sang it to all of our friends, and Lauren said, "How have you lasted so long without each other?"
I'm glad that he's crazy and I'm crazy, and that we're crazy awesome together.
Ooooohh, Travis just called and he's going to come get me, and we're going to eat BREAKFAST.
And I happen to know for a fact that there is bacon at his house.
Huzzah!

p.s. this is us at a rest stop:crazy much?

a taste

Travis said that my friends from home and I are like friends in movies.
I like to think of it that way, too.
We are. We're the perfect big group of close knit friends. We're all very different, and very crazy (although some are crazier than others). and we have fun.
Even after I'd been away for well over a year, it was beautiful to come home, and meet up with Brad, Logan and Jordan at Perkins.
We laughed at the same jokes, teased Logan about the regular things, they made some mormon jokes, and it was like no time had passed.
This video is from when Magee cooked us dinner, and then afterwards (or was it previous to dinner?) we all climbed into the tent that was set up in his living room.
I'll give you guys more pictures and videos soon.

Minnesota in June

Looks like this:

I've been away

at the family's cabin up in Brainard. Where there is no internet.
I would like to tell you about the time spent there, so, to avoid confusion, let me clear this up:
At the cabin there was Amanda, Mary Amanda, Michael, Jack Michael, Jack, Matt, Kathryn (who goes by Katie), Katelyn (who also goes by Katie) Kathryn (who goes by Katie or Kathryn), Polly Kathryn, Danielle, Becky, Maggie, Marnie, and a bunch of Amanda's other children.
But there is a lot of name repetition in the family. That was the point of that.
So, to avoid confusion, our family has developed nicknames, for example Jack Lindsay is to only be called Little Jack. Jack Froelich must be called Big Jack Froelich.
Not just Big Jack, or Jack Froelich.

One day, as I was lying out on the deck Little Jack came out, and tried to hit me with a bungee cord. After a few minutes, he turned and asked "Becky, do you think that I'm cute?"
"Oh, yes," I said. "I think that you're very handsome." He nodded and looked down at the lake for a bit before I asked, "Do you think I'm cute?"
He nodded, and then said, "I guess that you're a pretty good cousin, too."
That was the day AFTER the entire day during which the children all called me Icky Vicky.

Kathryn my sister crawled into bed with me one morning and snuggled into my chest.
"You smell like a puppy," I said.
"That's because there are baby puppies in my tummy," she said. "And I am a puppy, but a witch put a spell on me. I was a puppy in heaven, but" she claps her hands "when I got to earth, I turned into a human. Someday, I will be kissed on the ear, and be turned back into a puppy."
"Can I try?" I asked. She pointed to her ear. I kissed it and nothing happened.
"Actually," she said, she touched her collar bone. "you have to kiss me here." I kissed her and she clapped her hands.
"In just a few days the spell will start to work!"
She was still a human when I saw her last.

Later we went swimming off the boat, jumping off and swimming under the pontoon. I went under water and when I came up, Kathryn said, "Did you see anything?"
"No," I said. "Just a big fish swimming around your feet."
"OH MY GOSH!" she latched herself around my neck. "Let's get out of here. Are you serious?"

Kathryn and Maggie swam out to the dock while all of us were on it, "we swam here by ourselves" Maggie told me. "Because you are our mommy, and we love you and we hate to swim by the prickly weeds."

I went into the house to find Maggie, Kathryn, and Katie (alternately known as Kaylie) holding hands and jumping. "Becky, Becky. Becky!" they were yelling, "we need to find Becky. Becky Becky!"
"Hi," I said. I reminded them of who I am. "I'm Becky. What's up?"
"Oh," Kaylie/Katie blushed. "We want to play house and you have to be our mom."
"I can't right now," I said.
"Well, then where's our other mom Danielle?"

After several days of my family accusing me of having French sympathies, and pretending to speak French, my sister Kathryn said to my mom, "Becky's going to be pretty mad when she hears that I'm going to France. I see London, I see France!"

I am knitting a scarf which Little Jack seems to think is a pair of pants. We don't know why he thinks that I'm making myself a pair of handmade, knitted orange pants.

My mother excells at diving, and backwards diving, and doing all sorts of flips, jumps, and etc off of the pontoon. She is horrified that none of her children can dive.
Mary tries to dive, but everytime she tries, she jumps, and about a foot above water she screams, throws out all of her limbs and belly flops. Once, for a kick, she decided to try and do a backwards dive.
My mom hung from the bottom of the boat so that if Mary hit her head on the ledge, she would actually hit my mom, and therefore not die. Mary did hit my mom's stomach with her outstretched fingers, and smacked her legs and feet against the boat railing.
We're glad that they're both alive.

did I mention I seem to be sharing a bed with a lab?

this post is long, but they are just some of my musings written on my journey from Virginia to Minnesota.
which is where I happen to be.
here goes:

Reading in a car makes me feel carsick, and being on a plane makes me feel planesick.
Just plane sick.
I’m sorry. No more of those truly embarrassing jokes. Just plane sick. Honestly.
But really, people talk about motion sickness, as if there is one type of nausea that you feel when you’re in motion, and it just intensifies with speed or bumpiness or something.


I pretty much hate doing anything without having music playing. My ipod is almost dead, and if it gives up then I will steal my neighbor’s.. The girl next to me has a Macbook Pro. The guy on my other side is watching a movie on his PC. Until he pulled that out I thought that he might be mildly cool.
He seemed nice.
Clearly, you can’t judge a book by its cover. But you can judge a person by their Macbook.

Hello Michigan.
Thank you for letting me stay in your airport for a while.
My iPod appears to love the Michigan airport as well, and has fine-tuned its musical ear to help me appreciate the beautiful body of water outside.
With no help from me, the song “Lake Michigan” by Rogue Wave began literally as I stepped into the airport. Immediately followed by Sufjan Steven’s “To be Alone With You,” which, if you didn’t know, begins with the line, “I'd swim across Lake Michigan,”
Also, in the two hours that I spent in the airport, I wrote a poem about dying in Lake Michigan.
It rhymes, can you believe it? Maybe my first poem that rhymes since tenth-grade English.


I’m really into my Lily Allen It’s not me, it’s you album right now, but it’s actually kind of sad. The music is brilliant, but her topics cover: how everyone is on drugs, either prescribed or illegal, Anti-gays and conservatives are worthless bigots, Just because she sleeps with you doesn’t mean she likes you, You will never find prince charming, God may still be around, but he certainly doesn’t know what’s going on, and um.. all she wants is sex and money, nothing else is important.
Yeah, okay. I know.
I’m sure she sold her soul, and that’s why her songs are both awesome, and totally horrifying.

So, my flight is over half over already, and I’m in aisle 12. The drink cart has only just gotten to the row in front of me,.
Ooooh. The smell of coffee is so strong, and wonderful. It’s perfectly soothing, and rich. It’s one of my favorite smells, and in Utah I only ever get a whiff of it in Target or Barnes and Noble.
Maybe that’s why I love the smell. Target and bookstores happen to be my favorite places ever.
Huh, everyone in my row denied drinks and cookies. Interesting.

I think that thirty or forty years ago the idea of being a flight attendant must have seemed like a saucy, sexy thing to be. All of the young women in their twenties looking for a bit of adventure, and a chance to travel must have rushed flight attendant school.
Then, when all the positions were filled, they just stopped hiring.
I don’t think I’ve ever been on a plane where the attendants were younger than fifty or sixty. I wonder how long that stayed fun for them.

I just found a spilt end and I pulled it apart for more than an inch.

a day at sea

So, as you may know, my dad spent a few years being a "Professional Fisherman," until he won the walleye fishing competition of the world.
Even though most times that I went fishing I was forced aboard the boat, (being on a boat with your dad on a quiet lake as a teenage girl is the opposite of fun, even in Minnesota) I can handle a fishing pole, and am not squeamish touching slimy fish.
I had a chance this week to show off my fishing skills (not terribly impressive), when a family in my grandparents church invited my grandma and I to go out on their boat.
We didn't know they were going to make us fish.

We were on the ocean, but we weren't fishing for cool, big fish. We were fishing for shiners to use as bait at a later time. It was the easiest afternoon of fishing ever.
We dropped unbaited hooks in the water, let them sink to the bottom, and then two minutes later pulled up a six-inch fish.
In ten minutes we had about a dozen.

Apparently, even though I only caught one fish, I was the "best fisherman to ever set foot on the boat," because they gave me the pole with the wrong type of hook, and I still caught one.
Also, I was apparently the only one on the boat (besides the dad) who wasn't afraid to touch the fish. That means that I gave up my pole, and had a different job.
As soon as someone reeled a fish up, I took their pole, squeezed down the spiky gills of the fish, and wiggled the hook out for them.

All was going well until the second fish, because as I babbled away, (pulling the hook out of his eye, yuck!) he started babbling back.
IT CROAKED AT ME.
It made an unmistakably frog-like sound, over and over again, and I nearly dropped in it surprise.
The rest of the fish croaked at me, too. They're called croakers (not a very creative name), and they are little, spiky finned, razor jawed fish that can talk.

I've never seen anything like it.
Unfortunately, you can't see anything like it either, because the camera died. You don't get any pictures of me holding slimy, talking fish. Sorry.

But I just thought I would share that story in anticipation of returning home to Minnesota.
Where I will probably go fishing.
Or.... see lakes at least.
Oh, Minnesota. Where the women are strong, the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.

this morning when i woke up

I was sad that my dream had ended.
Because we were together, playing a game, and talking.
And in reality, it'll be another month.

this is the face

of a lumberjack, planning her return to the homeland.


FAMILY, take note: I will be there for Mary's grad party. I am coming to Minnesota.

FRIENDS IN MINNESOTA, pay attention: I will be there from the 14th of June until the 21st (?).
I think, or the twentieth. Or another week, depending on when Trav can get work off.
We're coming, and our time had best be jam packed with fun.
Please figure out a time that you are free to come love me, and tell me.
Also, I probably lost your number, so if you haven't sent it to me, please do. Then I can call you, and make plans with you.

becky's list of things that make her terribly happy

we've all seen these all over the internet.
i made the decision NOT to make one.

okay... I'm not entirely sure why. it was one of those things on principal. you know, the rockstar diaries encouraged everyone to write one, so i would not.
everyone else would.

shut it. i know it doesn't make any sense. and these are certainly all things you already know. and they're pretty cliche. i think they make most people happy.

so here is my list of ten things that make me terribly happy:

1. rain: the on and off all day kind, the it's still sunny somehow kind, the intensely strong, loud, and powerful thunder-filled kind. all kinds.

2. wind: wind, wind, wind, the same as rain. all kinds.

3. when babies laugh, and their toes curl up, and they can't stop giggling and no one knows exactly why.

4. the beginning of the seasons: the first snow fall of winter, the first robins of spring, the first staggering, too-hot to handle day of summer, the first time you eat squash for dinner in the fall.

5. my sisters: mary, lisa, kathryn. they are all so smart, so funny, so beautiful. i miss them.

6. my brother: jack and me, we are the same. except maybe he's smarter.

7. music: you know when an old song comes on and it wells up in your chest, bringing memories with it? or when you sing loud and off-key with your friends? or the way a hymn can suddenly make so much sense, even though you've heard it a thousand times before?

8. pictures: art, old photographs, little drawings by toddlers, homemade movies, and the way taking a picture of something immortalizes it. i can't get enough.

9. pulling something warm, fresh, and perfectly done from the oven: cookies, cakes, homemade pizza, potatoes, pork roast any one?

10. words: writing them, reading them, getting lost in them. finding them, understanding them, becoming part of them. if I could be a writer for the rest of my life, I would be happy. if I could somehow make money by writing this blog, I would be forever content. if I could devour a new book every week, it could never be enough.

oops. I have to have eleven.

11. my friends: my friends from home, from school, from my family. I love finding the perfect gift for them, especially for no reason, genuinely surprising them, being a good listener to them, seeing them happy (especially giddy in love happy), knowing I can always turn to them, getting a call or text from them. HAVING them. I love them.



also, (I can't stop myself! everything makes me happy) I decided that because those were all things that were big and obvious (sisters, friends, music?) I am making another tiny list down here of all the little things that make me happy. it's even in little font, with a little picture.
1. quoting things
2. silly kissing
3. reading aloud (especially poetry or children's books)
4. riding my bike to the store, and coming back with fruit in my basket
5. listening to summer sounds out the open window
6. going home
7. introducing my friends to something I love
8. freshly laundered sheets (cool and fresh, not warm and staticky)
9. falling asleep with someone else next to me
10. lemon tea with milk and sugar from an actual teacup, not a mug
11. dresses with pockets

I added eleven, because I had eleven on the other one.

speaking of sister-Lisa, and things that make us happy, you can read HER list here.

for the last 12 years...

I have lived in the Buffalo Ward since I was eight or nine.
Some boys were there when I got there, like Clark and Taylor.
Some boys moved in after I did, like Jon, Justin, and Jacob.
I wish I had pictures from these times, but I don't have any old pictures in Virginia.
I hated them all at some point, dated a few at some point, liked most of them at some point, and now I'm writing a blog post about them.... at this point.
Here's why: They are going on missions for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
For those of you who know them, but might not have heard, these are their mission calls:

Clark (already on a mission, and over half-way through. He's currently in Iowa, [I think]) His mission was Illinois

Taylor: Thailand

Jon: Russia, if I'm not mistaken

Jacob: Lima, Peru

Justin: San Jose, California

They will be gone for two years, paying their own way to work in that area, not at jobs, but preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ, and the truth of the Book of Mormon.
I am so excited for them. Having pretty much seen them grow up over the last ten years, I know they'll all be great missionaries. I am so excited and proud of them.

A few more pictures around the house

Turns out I couldn't stop myself, and I had to keep taking pictures.
And I had to keep cropping them together.
Anyways, this is a beach house, a grandparents' house, and a quilter's house.