Chilly

Chilly is my favorite weather.

Chilly is fall. Chilly is sweaters. Chilly is new pencils. Chilly is Halloween Costumes. Chilly is ginger tea on the couch with Travis while watching a movie.

Chilly weather.

It is August, and they (the nameless masses) say the end of August is the hottest part of summer. They claim that summer is not yet over.
They hold on, planning days at the lake, eating numerous hot dogs, saying "we've got a few more months; plant some seeds in your brand new and very beautiful planter box."

I claim summer is ending.
I comfortably wore a cardigan to church on Sunday.
I saw Halloween things on sale on Monday and nearly wet myself with excitement, and have starting using a blanket at night again, and have been wanting to knit and wanting to bake warm bean soup and wear my pretty new scarf.

Maybe it's all the rain that's confusing me. It's making it cold outside.
And maybe its the love of all things summery that's confusing everyone else.

But chilly is my favorite weather, and cold is just after it in the list. Warm is next but HOT is dead last.
I hate the heat.
I abhor it.

And I don't mind if summer's ending early as long as it means we've got a nice long fall ahead of us.
Mmmmm, fall.
I do love fall.





p.s.
This is unrelated. But check out the funny video of my five-year old sister in Yellowstone.
So cute. Oh, AND she's wearing a sweatshirt. Must be chilly. :)

7 Peaks!

AHHH! 7 Peaks is a water park, which is full of fat white people and tan little babies and a billion teenagers trying to seduce each other AAAAND
YES! Becky and Travis who now have SEASON PASSES!

We got them for super cheap, because it's late in the season, and 7 Peaks is like a mile from our house, and now we can stop trying to break into Centennial to use their pool, and not feel guilty if we only go for an hour one day, and in fact, we can go for an hour every day and be tan and be refreshed (it is so freaking hot this summer) without having to pay 22$ EACH a day.

But you will not get 7 Peaks pictures, because I am not bringing my camera to a water park.

But if you have not seen it, imagine in your mind a Suesical Factory, with many crazy colored, striped and bizarrely twisted pipes running every which way.
Those pipes are slides.
And they are filled with the people I described above.

We went there last night.
I think the plan is to go for an hour or two every night.

Sunburn on Saturday

Sunburn is not as I’d always believed.
I used to think that I had been sunburned. You know, your shoulders get pinkish brown, and your cheeks look like you’re wearing make-up, but you’re not.
Sometimes it’s a bit sore for a few hours.
And it’s warm to the touch.
And it fades beautifully into a tan.

People with pink skin instead of olive skin would complain, my sister Mary used to cry, and I would laugh and say to them “Sunburn is not so bad. You are so whiney. Just wear your swimsuit top until it isn’t sore to touch.”
I have got mine.
The sun has tortured me for mocking its powers.
Or else I accidently slept on top of a hot stove instead of a bed. The feelings are, I suspect, the same.
Remember when, just a few days ago, I said I was sunburned?
I take it back!
I was not crispy bacon. I was pleased with my sunburn because within a day it was a tan. Now several days after the real sunburning I cannot wear clothes, or sleep on my back, and I feel constantly nauseous.
Mostly I try to hide in my room.
I even stayed home today while Travis went to spend the day filming. I am a sick and whiney unhelpful little wife.
In my defense, I cannot (of course) be blamed. Having never used sunblock and also having never been sunburned I may have thought my skin invincible (except to mosquitoes). But because of the pharmacist’s warning, I knew I could maybe possibly potentially somehow get burned.
So I handed Travis the sunblock and said “Not too much on my back. I want to get tan today.”
Clearly the blame is with the pharmacist who should have been clearer and my husband who did not seek to warn me, having quite pink skin himself.
Anyway, are you wondering what I was doing to get sunburned yet?
I was sea kayaking on the Indian Ocean.
Besides the (literally) vomit inducing sea sickness I experienced and the grotesque after effects of horrific sunburn, it was quite a fun experience.
The water was clear and turquoise and we (mostly Travis) paddled out deep by the reef where the waves broke and there was no seaweed (Seaweed could be aptly named Becky’s Bane… so could mosquitoes or sunburn, though.)
And we jumped in and swam about.
Good news, there were no sharks, sea snakes or electric eels. It was really relaxing and neat. The water was warm, super super warm, but not too warm that it wasn’t refreshing to jump in.
Afterwards we went out for chicken curry and sandwiches and gathered with other mzungus at a resort to watch the USA versus England. I might have fallen asleep two minutes into the game, but it probably just angered all the Brits there even more. America doesn’t even care about football and yet WE TIED!
Craziness.
Anyway, that was Saturday.
And I’m still reaping the consequences today.
I might go do some good ol’ sun sickness vomiting now.
Take care and wear sunblock.
Becky

Ganze, Kenya

Yesterday our car broke down.
Or rather, the car we were riding in broke down. In order to reach Ganze, a small town an hour away from where we live, where many Komaza farmers live, we had to hire a car to take us. It was a 1980s BMW.
It broke down twice on the way there, but was easily fixed. The front right tire went flat, but after a half hour was changed. And on the way home, in the dark, it broke down for real.
We were stranded for a short time in the absolute middle of nowhere with all of our several hundred pounds of equipment and absolutely nothing else but sunscreen and empty water bottles.
Our driver Peter called a mechanic and a half hour later he arrived on a motorcycle. After fifteen minutes and a bit of Travis’s Gaffing Tape, the problem had been solved and we headed home.
The problem: the bumpy dirt road had bounced the car to the extent that multiple wires had come out in the engine. Once taped back in, we were good to go.
The road was that bumpy. It was so bumpy that I usually felt like my teeth were chattering, but sometimes felt like my jaw and spine were broken and just swinging and bouncing freely.
Technically in Kenya you drive on the left side of the road, but I think they just drive wherever it looks least bumpy. Sometime we were literally driving with two tires in the ditch, two feet down from the road. There were children walking to and from school during most of the day (morning-to school, lunchtime- to and then from, evening from school) and when they saw cars come by they would scream and run off the road.
Yes, I think drivers really are that bad.
After they were safely up the mound on the other side of the ditch they would stare after us wide-eyed, until we waved. Then they would wave and shout “Jambo Mzungu!” or sometimes “Sweets? Sweets?” We passed one girl, probably 8 or 9, who turned just in time to see us. I waved and she sighed “Ah, Muzungu.” It sounded the way one might sigh over a favorite pet. “Oh, Mittens, did you chase that bird again today? You mischievous cat.” Sigh…
In town, I was browsing at an outdoor market and a little girl came to stand by me. She was probably three. She smiled up at me and whispered “Jambo.” then followed me around the shop. Sometimes she would pull on my skirt and I would look down and she would jump or twirl. I would applaud politely and she would blush and look away. She would play quietly with things I was looking at, then set them down and follow me around.
She was so sweet that I wanted to pick her up and hug her, but I figured that would be bad. Especially since her mother was sitting nearby and constantly calling her back.
Occasionally the little girl would turn and shake her head at her mother, or try to wave her away. But I think the woman enjoyed watching her show off for me as much as I did.
It was a real pity Travis had my camera at the time.
You all could have seen her sweet face.

Whole Wheat

I am a lover of cookbooks.
Which is something I didn't know until I got married.
Since then, however, I've realized that I spend several hours every Thursday going through cook books and cooking blogs planning our weekly meals. (Thursday's the day for that)
Yesterday I spent a good three hours looking through the Seed Saver's Exchange online seed catalog.
And calling multiple people to say things like "There are over four thousand tomato varieties! FOUR THOUSAND. Tomatoes for slicing, tomatoes for drying, for canning, for salads, black tomatoes, green tomatoes, striped tomatoes!"
I've also been reading an absurd amount of books about food that aren't cook books.

They're making me feel hungry and a little guilty and also make me want to have a little farm.
I've been eating super well, which is amazing since usually people are like "Becky, I think you have scurvy, do you know what fruit is?" and I say, "I'll be fine, gimme some of that Lemon-aid, it'll cure me."

But all these food books make me want MORE cookbooks.
And one that aren't Cookies. (Which, by the way, is AWESOME.)
Mostly I want a book called Good to the Grain, because I'm trying to cook with whole grains, but just adding whole wheat flour into recipes that call for white flour doesn't work if you don't understand flour as a substance and taste.
So far I've managed to steal three recipes from Good to the Grain without actually buying it.
Whole Wheat Chocolate Chip Cookies from Food in Jars
Oatmeal Pancakes from Smitten Kitchen
and Spelt Flour Pie Crust from when I snuck into the bookstore and copied it out of the book without paying for it.

Farmer's Market starts this weekend in Provo and I'm about peeing my pants in anticipation.
Also, I'm almost done with Animal Vegetable Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, so get ready to hear hyperbole's like "The best book I've ever read."
Which it might be.
And that's saying a LOT.

Hey. Eat some good food today. I doubt you'll regret it.


* * *
p.s. this is a totally unrelated Tipping Bucket Video that Travis stayed up all freaking night making while I slept in my bed alone... *tears*
It must be pretty good then, right? Donate a dollar at Tippingbucket.org
ALSO, that's my voice at the beginning.

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.

Beach Blanket Bingo

Have you seen this 60s movie? Besides being completly absurd and often hard to follow, it's also pretty catchy. Last year I spent part of the summer at my grandparent's house and taught them ho to watch movies and stuff online.

The first movie my grandpa wanted to watch was his old favorite, Beach Blanket Bingo. This is the opening clip, but you can watch the whole thing on Hulu, if you feel so inclined.

Oh, and check it out, the old man with the fishing pole is Buster Keaton!

This second scene is my other favorite, but mostly because of the dancing. For any of you who have ever seen me at a dance party, it probably looks familiar. See I'm not a bad dancer, I just should have been a teen in the 60s.

Then my flailing would seem commonplace.

surely you can't be leaving

is it really the end of August?
can school be beginning, fall starting, summer ending?

Hello, Fall 2009 school year. Hello again, BYU.
I will probably flunk out of you, since I will be working at least 20 hours a week, spending time with my man, and... something else, something big... what is it?
Oh, planning a wedding and getting married sometime around Midterms.
Whew.
This summer flew by.
And time is flying by before the big day, too.
I have exactly 60 days. 7.5 weeks.
Less than two months, and you can call me Mrs. Travis Pitcher.

But only if you want to. If you don't want to you can call me Becky, or any other approved nickname.


p.s. this is a favorite summer shot, of a pretty girl on the beach.
speaking of the beach, can you even believe how freaking COLD it was this morning at 7?

Our first home together

So, I told you we had a new house. Here's your virtual tour. Today Sophie, and Maude and I went over and vaccuumed, and dusted a little. Not a lot, and it needs some cleaning, but the house is here. Take a gander:

Here is the outside, most pictures are by Maude, but please notice the cute tree that acts like a tent, and our first friendly neighbor, Perry, the praying mantis, who is the same length as my longest finger.

Oh, we will be your tour guides. Becky and Sophie. (Please note Sophie's now blond hair. Looks good, doesn't it?)


When you come in the door, you are in the living room, see the tall ceilings, bookcase, and cupboards? And, don't you just adore the door?

Through the living room is the kitchen, with a funky yellow stove, a back door, and a little room beside the fridge for our baby table.

Then you've reached the bedroom, which is not very exciting, but has two big and lovely windows. (Have you noticed how bright our new home is? It's all the big windows)

And then, of course the bathroom. Check out the sweet lightswitch. I luf it.
There you have it.

Band Practice

So last night I met several new cousins (I've been meeting first cousins once removed all the time lately,) Liz's kids, over at Renn and Keira's place. It was fun, but unfortunately, we had to leave early due to band practice.
I know what you're thinking, "Why Becky," you're saying, "that is a fake excuse since we all know that you are not musically talented."
Well, guess what. They let me be in the band anyway.
So these are the band members:
Maude, who writes (or selects song for us to cover) and is the lead singer, and plays the guitar.
Travis, who plays the guitar, mostly, and tells everyone else what and how to play, because he has crazy musical skillz.
Sophie, (who is sisters with Maude) is also crazy talented, and plays the violin.
Lana, who may or may not actually be in the band, but I think she is, because we haven't given her the option of NOT being in the band. But Lana and I get to sing back up, and find other instruments to play.
and Me, who sings backup a little, and sometimes plays the harmonium, and sometimes plays the bells, and sometimes tries to keep rhythm on the drum.
I get to be in the band because I brought together my boyfriend, and my best friends, and am the link that makes it cool to practice together. (I think.)

So, after two hours of practice/goofing off, and bellowing at Gunther (that beast of a dog) we had the basic outline of what we want two songs to sound like.
So we recorded them. We spent about 40 minutes on each. The first song only Sophie and I had heard before last night (besides Maude, who wrote it) the second song, none of us had heard, and is a cover of an R&B song.
So, I think we did okay. We certainly felt proud of it, and decided to have Sophie's parents record us. Voila!

a sight for sore eyes

by that I mean, I have sore eyes.
I woke up this morning at eight, and after what felt like several minutes of real, hard, painful work, I opened my eyes to see the time.
I went back to sleep until almost noon.
Not because I was especially exhausted, but because physically I could not open my eyes.

For no apparent reason, my allergies had a field day and have swollen my eyes shut, cemented my eyes shut, and turned my eyes the color of roses.
When I could finally open my eyes, I washed them out with water. Then a bit later with saline. Then a bit later with eye drops.

So here's a picture. I took it just a moment ago.
They look quite a bit better.
Bah, I hate summer.

most people know me as Becky

but I am called different things in different circles.
The blogging world knows me as Rebeccah Louise.
My mother's parents know me as Becksterama the Cool One.
My siblings know me as hero.
Apparently some people in my English class know me as the smart, mean, feminist that talks too loudly.
My boyfriend knows me as sweetheart sugar baby cakes.
No, I'm just kidding. He would so never, ever call me that. Or even pieces of that.
He also knows me as Becky.

BUT, in the insect circles of the world, I am know as the gnat killer extraordinaire.
In just the last 22 minutes I have killed a grand total of 26 filthy little gnats.
They think they can buzz in into my eye, crawl into my ice water, or get tangled in my long, illustrious hair.
It just so happens, they are wrong.
Dang now, I've killed 27.
What have you?

I'm at Travis's work right now, and I think I'm going to go fish around the kitchen for some dishsoap and vinegar, and set a trap to lure more gnats to their very timely death.

And p.s. this picture is completely unrelated, but it was on Sophie's blog, and I keep forgetting to show Travis. Now he'll see it.
If we look silly and tired, it's because we are silly and tired.
We we also out getting sushi.
It was SO yummy.

In some circles I am known as the bottomless pit. I love to eat.

Brilliant Brothers Bloom

I adore this movie.
IT WAS SO GOOD, We found this cute little theater that has couches to sit on, and shows Independent films, and for Mary, Travis, and me to go on a friday night to the opening it only cost 15 dollars.
Anyways, please watch it.
You can see the trailer and a film clip at apple.com

p.s. I love adrien brody. He is very handsome.

Minnesota in June

Looks like this:

ask any of my siblings

and they'll tell you that the best part of a new house is exploring the woods inevitably surrounding it.
Mary, Jack, Kathryn and I explored the creepy barn out behind Matt's new house, followed by a brief investigation of the woods. Later, Mary, Nichole and I returned to the woods, and played around in these giant cement trenches, the use of which is being debated. Was it a dairy farm? A chicken coop? Some strange form of irrigation?
Who knows? Do you know?
I cannot, for some reason, coax my pictures off the camera, but when I do, you are in for a treat.
Until then, here are some pictures from my sister Mary's camera.
She took most of the pictures, but I took some, too.
I love Canon cameras.


This is my baby sister Mary, the high school graduate. She is pointing at a junk pile.
This is Mary, and my cousin Nichole.

Can you tell that that is a basketball court?
We found many things in junk piles around the yard and within the trees.
Including several bathtubs, a stove, a fridge, and a hot water heater or two. (These were actually pretty far into the woods.)
Have you ever seen such leafy greenness anywhere else? I think we might live in the garden of Eden.

This is the barn from behind. It doesn't look creepy at all here.

let's put another shrimp on the barbie!

I think I said that fifteen times last night.
Because last night for dinner, I made grilled shrimp.

and it was AWESOME. Such a good idea. I would encourage each of you to make the same.
I call this: Shrimp in three stages -raw, cooking, cooked.

Unfortunately my grandparents ate my food, but forbid me from posting pictures of them enjoying it.
I promise they did enjoy it, though.

Ah, the grill.
This is why I love summer.

Cherries

You might know that even though I am an adult, I can't keep from imagining.
Maybe that's why I love the deck so much.
It's brown, weathered looking wood, ceiling and floor. Three sides look out on to tree tops.
The wall behind me is glass and often mirrors the trees.

I pretend that I am in the lost boys tree house.
Or that I am on a deserted island, and built my home in the trees.
I pretend that I am on the floating city of Laputa, overrun by trees and flowers.

Sometimes, I sit out there and paint, or write, or host pretend photo shoots.
As you might also know (see my header?) one of my favorite things to take pictures of is food.

So today, a glass bowl of cherries and I had a photo shoot.