Oh.

A few weeks ago, I arrived home from a Saturday morning errand and I was given quite the scare.

The front door of our apartment was slightly ajar.

I slowly stepped inside and called out, "Hello?....Hello?"  No answer.

My heart started racing.  Stuff was strewn everywhere.  Furniture was out of place.

We'd been robbed.

Wait, the tv is still here.

Wait, so are the laptops.

Oh.

We haven't been robbed.  This is how we live. 

Me and Fabio

I went country dancing this weekend.  I'm a country girl at heart (I don't know if my work ethic is a country girl at heart, but I definitely am), so I loved it.  I also loved the memories it brought back.

This is me and my partner, Fabio (or The Fawbs, as I like to call him).  His real name is Brett or Brandt or something, but we called him Fabio because he would always flip his hair back with a swish of his head.  I am 83% positive (but am still trying to prove) that Justin Bieber (The Biebs) stole the head/hair swish from my Fabio.

(Where's my neck?)

Fabio and I competed in the major dance competition at BYU and we made it to the third round.  The third round.  I just want anyone reading this to make sure they read that right so I'll say it one more time: we made it to the third round.  How did Miss No-Rhythm and Mr. I-Love-Dancing-on-Ashley's-Feet-More-Than-The-Dance-Floor-Because-I-Can-Never-Remember-Which-Foot-To-Start-On make it to the third round?  Sheer personality.

I wish you all could have met Fabio and his hair.  He was great.  So was his hair.  So was our dancing.  Did I mention we made it to the third round in the dance-off?  Because we did.  We made it to the third round.

Confessions

Addiction: storycorps.org

Confession: I listen to these stories while I do mundane office work.  I love the sound clips, but the animated stories are my favorite.

Confession: I listen to this story at least once a month.  And I cry.  Every time.

      

Confession: I really do believe that every voice matters.

I've Waited All My Life

to see THE cherry blossoms and they are finally here!

I took approximately too many photos on Saturday morning when I went to see the blossoms for the first time.  I will be publishing them all for your viewing pleasure (and for me to feel like there was a sane reason why I took so many photos).  

They will be posted in series, so please brace yourself for the excitement of "Blossoms and the Water," "Blossoms in the Sky," "Scenic Blossoms," "Blossoms with Monuments," "Popcorn Blossoms," "A Close Look at Blossoms," "Blossom Trees," and "Blossoms in 3-D."

One thing you will not need to brace yourself for: a picture without blossoms.

Chasing Windmills

May 29, 1997.  I was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.  It was baby blue, with a pattern of soft pink leis twisting up and down and over the shoulder.  I was sitting on the living room floor praying for a miracle.

The Utah Jazz were down by 5 with minutes left in the game.  John Stockton made a lay-up.  Then another one.  Then another one.  Sir Charles made a free throw to tie it up for the Rockets.  Seconds left.  Jazz have the ball...it's inbounded...Stockton for 3...JOHN STOCKTON SENDS THE UTAH JAZZ TO THE NBA FINALS!!!!!!

If you are from Utah, you've heard that sound bite hundreds of times, played over the radio, on tv commercials, before sports updates, over the loud speaker at school, before athletic events...and it never gets old.  If I could download that sound bite from iTunes, I would put it on every cd mix I ever made.

John Stockton sends the Utah Jazz to the NBA finals.  It was a miracle.  Thirteen years Stockton had been in the NBA, thirteen years he had been with the Utah Jazz, this was his thirteenth time going to the playoffs and his first time winning.  This could be the Jazz's year to win it all.

But then there were the Bulls.  And Michael Jordan.  And the Flu Game.   But, you say, there's always next year.

But then next year there were the Bulls.  And Michael Jordan.  And the controversial calls (Jazz fans, you know exactly what I'm talking about.  Eisley was obviously standing behind the 3 point line).

I don't say this lightly when I say the Jazz broke my heart.  If you thought I was some girl who didn't know every Jazz player's name, stats, wives, children's names and ages, and what their favorite food was, you would be wrong.  If you thought I wouldn't be the kind of girl who ran home from school to listen to hours worth of Jazz coverage every day and well into the night, you would also be wrong.  If you thought I was a girl who found it hard to ever open up her heart to another team again, well, you might be right.

You know when you break up with someone and you're lying on the couch late at night in the dark crying and suddenly your heart just doesn't hurt because of the break up, but it hurts because of all the people you've loved and lost and all the wounds seem to come back with a fresh kind of pain.  That's what it was like tonight.  I watched BYU lose in the Sweet 16 and it was like watching the Jazz and my spirit be crushed by the Bulls and the all powerful MJ all over again.  I might as well have been 15, standing in my grandparents yard, throwing sticks in the Snake River, waiting for my sister to come out and tell me the final score because I couldn't stomach watching the final minutes.  Tonight, as a 28 year old, I went back into my room and curled up in bed and waited for that same sister to come in and tell me the final score because I couldn't watch the end.

Earlier today, I read the part in Don Quixote about chasing windmills and conquering giants.  I can't stop thinking about those windmills and Stockton and BYU.  I keep thinking about Don Quixote and his windmills and his impossible dreams.  I keep thinking about Stockton and his short shorts and his little miracle that took him within reach of his dream, but still left him reaching.  I keep thinking about little Jimmer and his team of short white Sancho Panza teammates that came so far and fought so hard only to be beaten by giants.

My heart hurts.  For Stockton, for Jimmer, for me.  Realistically, I know it's only a game.  But realistically, I also knew Don Quixote's giants were only windmills.  I wanted him to chase them anyway.  I wanted him to conquer them.

Bran Muffins

I've been reading a lot of the pioneer woman blog lately, and there's something about that blog that just makes you want to document every step of a cooking process with photos.  I made bran muffins for the first time last night and I experimented with the whole cooking/picture taking process.  CAUTION:  The majority of the pictures you are about to see look like I made bran muffins with ingredients you would find in a diaper.  

Reading pioneer woman first makes you want to pull out all your ingredients and set them together on the table for a photo shoot.  And then try to say something clever like: "Here is our cast of characters" or "And the starting line-up is..."

I started out with grand ambitions of taking pictures of every step.  As you can see, here is the boiling water.

I also tried to take a pioneer woman action shot, but my brain could not pour and click the camera button at the same time without making it blurry.  Or spitty (don't those bubbles look like major clumps of saliva?).

When all I kept getting were pictures of steam, I decided to forget about the camera for awhile.

The is the bran after it's been boiled.  I don't think this picture is blurry, I think this is just what it looks like.

I love mixing dry ingredients.

I love mixing wet ingredients.  I also love taking blurry photos, obviously.

I do not love mixing dry and wet ingredients together.  It takes the most muscle.

By the way, these muffins are very healthy, they have no taste, I mean no sugar.

I had a RS Enrichment activity 5 years ago that involved a bran muffin baking demonstration.   I have been craving them ever since.

These turned out all right.  Despite the fact that I doubled the recipe without doubling the egg whites I was supposed to put in.  And not putting any banana extract in.  And baking for 10 minutes longer than called for.  Yah, they turned out all right.

Ukele Dreams

Last night, Sarah played me a new song she had learned on the ukele, and it was delightful.  She is delightful.  She inspired me to listen to ukele music all morning and I have found quite the treasures.

The Ukele Orchestra of Great Britain, Orange Blossom:

Ukele Bartt, Stand By Me:



Now all we need to do is get Kelly a ukele.  Then Kelly and Sarah can be a delightful duet, and we can make a music video of the two of them on the beach, wearing cutoff shorts, swinging from vines and having the time of their lives.  It will be so delightful.

Quotes from Quixote

I've been trying to accomplish my goal of reading Don Quixote before I'm 30, and I'm learning a lot of things from the Don.  Number one being that I am well on my way to being him:

"So from little sleep and much reading, his brain dried up and he lost his wits."

Don Quixote, Part I, Ch. I, p. 32

Artist: Picasso

Confesssions

It's time for another weekly confession.  This week's addiction: dress patterns.

Confession: I have never actually used a dress pattern, so I guess the real addiction should be correctly labeled as dress pattern pictures.

Confession: I could spend hours at the fabric store looking at dress patterns.  I think it comes from going there as a child with my mom.

Confession: I may or may not have found a few websites to feed my addiction.  My all time favorite dress pattern pictures come from So Vintage Patterns.

Confession:  This is my favorite dress pattern from the 1930s.  (Side Confession: I'm a sucker for any kind of gathering at the neck and sheer draping.)

Confession: This is my favorite dress from the 1940s.  I love any kind of stripes and I LOVE white material with colored flowers.

Confession: This is my favorite dress from the 1950s.  Just look at that peek-a-boo boat neck with the bow!  Isn't it to die for?!  And the buttons down the back and the little fish tail?  Sigh.

Confession: This is my favorite dress from the 1960s.  Doesn't it just look like she's walking around in a cloud of warm, happy spring?

Confession: This is a dress from the 1970s.  They had a lot of wild stuff in the 70s.  If a Sunday picnic dress and an Anne of Green Gables dress were to have a child, this is what it would look like.

Confession: This is my favorite dress from the 1980s.  On the website, I think this is the only pattern for the 80s, apparently there wasn't much from that decade worth keeping.  But with an extra sleeve on the floral dress, I think I could get behind it.  And do the cha-cha.

Confession: This is my favorite dress from the 1990s.  I love cowl necklines in any form, and again with sleeves, I think this dress is very pretty.  It reminds me of the little mermaid.

Confession: This is my favorite wedding gown.  It's got How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria written all over it.

Confession: I was just going to show one of my favorites from each decade, but I think I'm just going to show all my favorites.  I thought maybe I should limit myself and then I thought, this is a post about an addiction, so why control myself?

I love the sleeves, the wrap around, the gathering...I love this dress.

Um, a dress that has a built in cape?  Yes, please.

More wild ideas from the 70s.

So elegant.

Elizabeth Taylor is in the house.

I don't know why, but to me this brown number is simply stunning.

Beautiful to me is anything with lace or the appearance of lace.

I have a thing for plaids.  If plaid were a boy, I would marry him.

If I can't have a plaid boy, I will settle for that plaid hat down in the corner.

I love this.

I double love this.  No, I quadruple to the fifth power love this.

 And finally, I could stare at this dress all day long.  It's got the lace, the sheer draping affect, a pop of color.  I think I'm in love.

Confession:  I'm really posting this in hopes that Alison will take a hint and sew me a dress for Christmas this year.

All That Jazz

I like my jazz like I like my men: smooth, irresistible, and above all, cool.

Everything is cooler with jazz.  For example, say you've been waiting months to go to a happening jazz place in downtown DC that plays classic jazz and serves wholesome southern cookin'.  Say you arrive to said happening jazz place and the house is packed, you can't get in.  That's cool.

It's cool because you happen to be with a cool jazz aficionado, who would not let a packed house deter you from a night full of jazz coolness.  So he takes your crew to the coolest place in town: Twins Jazz, the kind of place that reeks of coolness: cozy space, twinkling lights, good food, great music.  It's everything you could want in a cool hangout, almost as cool as The Max.

We listened to the cool jazz styles of the David Gibson Quartet, and all the players were cool because...well, they were all playing jazz.

The  nerdy trombone player: cool.

The Filipino sax player: double cool.

The piano player that had an odd twitch and a huge grin: a little odd but still cool because he was playing jazz, with a backwards newsie hat (cool).

Never being able to see the drum player to take a picture?  Yes, still cool.

Jazz just makes things cool.

It makes this sweater vest cool.

It makes eating fried plantains dipped in hot sauce cool.

It makes trying Ethiopian food for the first time cool.  By the way, a jazz club whose menu is described as American, Ethiopian, and Caribbean Cuisine = cool.

It makes friends cool.  It makes sisters cool.

It makes people who don't have rhythm but still dance cool.

It even makes pictures of my water glass cool.

People who play jazz even have cool names, like Dizzy and Cannonball and Muggsy and Coltrane.  But no one does it like the King of Cool himself:

And hey, if you don't like jazz, that's cool too.  Because with jazz, it's all cool, man.  It's all cool.