In general, I don't consider myself a complainer. Anyone who's around me long enough (cough cough Travis) will get an earful every now and then. But, in general, complaining is not really my style, mostly because...hmm... WHAT GOOD DOES IT DO ANYONE?
This is my blog, however, and as I disclaimed in the title, I am entitled to a little complaining. Ironically, my complaint concerns complainers.
*phone rings*
me: Orem Library, Media.
Lady: Yes, hi. We're trying to watch a DVD that we checked out and we can't get it out of the case. Is there some special trick?
me: Yeaaah... there's a red security hub that's keeping the disc in place. That's something you have to get taken off at the library.
Lady: Why don't the self check-outs have a sign or something that tells you need to get it taken off??
[me thinking: Oh no. Not another one.]
me: Well, there is actually a sign that pops up on the screen warning you about the hubs...
Lady: No. No there wasn't.
[me thinking: Oh there isn't, is there? You know that for sure? Would you stake your life on it? I've only worked here since they implemented the self checkouts, but I don't know a thing. I only know the ins and outs of this place. But don't take my word for it. Since you're so sure, you must be right!]
me: ... So, unfortunately, the only way to get that sucker off is to bring it back in and have us take it off for you. I'm really sorry. It's annoying.
Lady: Yeah, well, that's just great with gas prices at $4 a gallon.
me: Yeah, I'm really sorry.
Lady: Ok then. Bye.
*facepalm*
I understand this lady's complaint, and I sympathize. It's annoying. It really is. And I've been in her place before. But the fact is, complaining to me about the price of gas (or rice in China, or whatever it may be), and being just a little bit proud and unreasonable, is not going to change the fact that she has to come back in and get the hub off. (Fact!) It's only going to make the whole process that much more annoying.
So here are the morals of my little diatribe here:
1. Stuff is annoying. Complaining about it doesn't help anybody, least of all the person you are complaining to.
2. Sometimes, you may swear up and down that you're right about something. But sometimes the fact is, you're wrong. Be humble enough to acknowledge at least the possibility.
3. Don't be a jerk to the people who aren't responsible.
Check that... just don't be a jerk.
[--End]
Monday, April 18, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
A short post about guitar
I love being musical.
I took something called a Multiple Intelligences test for one of my classes today, and one of my highest ranking "intelligences" (or, how I make sense of the world) was Musical Intelligence.
Music just makes sense to me. Music totally moves me. So if I ever post music on my blog it's because it really meant something to me. I have long ago abandoned the notion that the same music that moves me will be just as wonderful to someone else, but sometimes I like to share a little something.
I've been a piano player for a long time, and this hard-earned skill comes naturally now. I look at a chord and the muscle memory in my hands knows exactly what to do without my thinking about it. My hand knows what shape it needs to make in order to play a fifth or a fourth, or a ninth. It's so effortless now that it's easy to forget the long road to mastery.
I mentioned in an earlier post that I started picking up guitar a little over a year ago. There is nothing like picking up a new, and totally different, instrument to remind one of one's humble musical origins. For what feels like the longest time, my hands have been at an utter loss what to do unless my conscious brain gives them direct orders. And there's the callouses, too. You cannot play guitar well unless you lose a little sensation in the tips of your fingers. Not too much, but enough to resist the urge to scream in pain every time you play.
Well, time has passed, and slowly but surely, I am acquiring mastery by degrees. I have mastered individual chords--meaning, I can play them without thinking about them or looking at my hands (for the most part). I can strum using just the right amount of pressure. I can finger pick simple tunes. And yeah, I can pick out other tunes by ear--laboriously, but I can do it.
Mastery takes so much practice. Sometimes, after a while, you just have to put the instrument away for a while and let things "marinade." Let new neurons form. And then, magically, when you come back to it, you've improved. Suddenly, you can play that riff from Stairway to Heaven with a little more ease and strength. Suddenly, your finger is strong enough to hammer on that note instead of picking it. Suddenly, before you know it, 24, 25 years old does not seem too old to pick up a new instrument.
Did you know that Martha Graham, one of the most famous dancers in all of history, did not take a single dance lesson until she was 22? That, my friends, is quite ancient by dancers' standards.
So anyway, to conclude this "short" post, I will post a video of the song I am currently working on. Things are going really well. I expect I will have mastered this song before too long. At least before I'm dead. Here's to hoping. And practicing.
"Autumn Leaves" by Eva Cassidy
I took something called a Multiple Intelligences test for one of my classes today, and one of my highest ranking "intelligences" (or, how I make sense of the world) was Musical Intelligence.
Music just makes sense to me. Music totally moves me. So if I ever post music on my blog it's because it really meant something to me. I have long ago abandoned the notion that the same music that moves me will be just as wonderful to someone else, but sometimes I like to share a little something.
I've been a piano player for a long time, and this hard-earned skill comes naturally now. I look at a chord and the muscle memory in my hands knows exactly what to do without my thinking about it. My hand knows what shape it needs to make in order to play a fifth or a fourth, or a ninth. It's so effortless now that it's easy to forget the long road to mastery.
I mentioned in an earlier post that I started picking up guitar a little over a year ago. There is nothing like picking up a new, and totally different, instrument to remind one of one's humble musical origins. For what feels like the longest time, my hands have been at an utter loss what to do unless my conscious brain gives them direct orders. And there's the callouses, too. You cannot play guitar well unless you lose a little sensation in the tips of your fingers. Not too much, but enough to resist the urge to scream in pain every time you play.
Well, time has passed, and slowly but surely, I am acquiring mastery by degrees. I have mastered individual chords--meaning, I can play them without thinking about them or looking at my hands (for the most part). I can strum using just the right amount of pressure. I can finger pick simple tunes. And yeah, I can pick out other tunes by ear--laboriously, but I can do it.
Mastery takes so much practice. Sometimes, after a while, you just have to put the instrument away for a while and let things "marinade." Let new neurons form. And then, magically, when you come back to it, you've improved. Suddenly, you can play that riff from Stairway to Heaven with a little more ease and strength. Suddenly, your finger is strong enough to hammer on that note instead of picking it. Suddenly, before you know it, 24, 25 years old does not seem too old to pick up a new instrument.
Did you know that Martha Graham, one of the most famous dancers in all of history, did not take a single dance lesson until she was 22? That, my friends, is quite ancient by dancers' standards.
So anyway, to conclude this "short" post, I will post a video of the song I am currently working on. Things are going really well. I expect I will have mastered this song before too long. At least before I'm dead. Here's to hoping. And practicing.
"Autumn Leaves" by Eva Cassidy
Friday, March 11, 2011
Castle
If you don't watch this show, begin now. Travis and I heard about it and started watching it from season one about two weeks ago, and we have since burned through two and a half seasons. Yes, it's that good. And it has this guy in it, come on:
That's right! That's Captain Mal from Firefly. And Captain Hammer from Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog. Nathan Fillion for the win!
But now you're asking yourself, "Why should I care about Nathan Fillion? Or Firefly or any of that mumbo jumbo? I'll tell you why. Here are the top five reasons why you should get yourself hooked on Castle.
1. The premise: The setting is New York City. A serial killer begins to kill people by imitating the murder scenes in the novels of NY Times Bestseller Richard Castle. In order to get into the mind of the killer, NYPD hires Castle as a consultant. After they solve that first case, the Mayor convinces the NYPD to allow Castle to remain with them as a kind of pseudo-detective in order to gather research for his next series. His inspiration? Det. Kate Beckett, who is not only lovely to look at, but very good at her job.
2. Nathan Fillion. Charming, handsome, deadly accurate sense of comedic timing. He makes the show. Think Shawn Spencer from Psych, or Lorelei Gilmore.
3. Writing. It's clever. There is witty banter. There are even genuinely tender moments. (I caught Trav with a tear in his eye once.) It's not the BEST writing in the world, but I'll tell you what. If you can find me the BEST written show in the world, I'll stop watching this show and watch that one instead. Also, unlike some of these other murder mystery shows, it doesn't take the whole forensics thing to unrealistic lengths. There is no magnifying reflective surfaces and enhancing images and all that stupid crap in order to get a clear shot of the murderer. No. The emphasis in this show is really more about Castle and Beckett.
4. Chemistry. The X-Files, Bones, Psych... These shows are all the same. They always have a man and a woman who just. can't. quite. seem. to get.................... together! The formula is the same in Castle. But Castle and Beckett have such amazing chemistry, it's a delight to watch. And hey, if the formula works...
5. It's only like halfway through it's third season, so if you start now you won't be too far behind when you finally realize that you should have been doing yourself the favor of watching it all along!
I'm done. I know I have sounded suspiciously like an infomercial. But I've said my piece and counted to three, and now I'm going to go see Rango with my husband.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Scared of Motherhood
The answer to your first question is, No. I'm not.
But I am a little wary of the eventuality. Yesterday I took Hugh to the Bean Museum on BYU campus for the afternoon. For those of you unfamiliar with the Monte L. Bean Museum, it is a place filled with stuffed (taxidermized) animals and fascination for small children. I should know. I was once a small child fascinated by the Bean Museum. It still holds a sense of nostalgia for me. The faint but definite smell of formaldehyde brings me way back. Shasta, the liger, the 12-foot Kodiak bear, the display of African animals with an enormous elephant as its centerpiece... Memory Lane.
How cool is that for a kid to be able to see these animals up close! Except that they're, hmm, dead. But no matter.
After we dropped Ellis off at school, I decided to take Hugh to the Bean Museum to kill part of the three hours I had alone with him.
Predictably (or not, because I certainly didn't predict it) at 3 in the afternoon the place was crawling with other pre-schoolers. Seriously. Way more kids than adults. I was suddenly immersed in a culture I had nothing to do with--and want nothing to do with for a while yet: the Mommy culture.
Now. I'm not denigrating the Mommy culture. In my mind, "the Mommy culture" is how we raise our children in a way that is best for them: we do things that will interest them, and not necessarily us (like take them to boring kid movies or the same museums over and over again) because they love it and it's good for them, etc. The "Mommy culture" is about living for your children. That's not a bad thing. I'm just not ready to do that yet.
But in half an instant, as I walked into that museum with my little three-year-old nephew clutching my hand, I became one of them. It was a weird glimpse into the life of women whose lives (currently) revolve around pregnancy and/or small, high-energy human beings. It was interesting watching these women summon up, from somewhere, the energy to be animated with their children. To be excited about frankly unexciting things. Like fur. To patiently ignore the little pettinesses of children.
I imagined myself being sized up by these women. What kind of "mother" did I appear to be to them? I didn't really care what their assessments were since I am not Hugh's mother, but I did find myself consciously trying to emulate more interest in little Hugh's childlike interests. I got excited with him when he pressed buttons that lit up displays; I played schoolbus with him in one of the little alcoves; and I watched 30 minutes of a nature documentary about a jaguar. (Actually, that was pretty interesting.)
Yeah, I'm scared of motherhood. I don't want to organize play dates with other moms' kids. I don't want to change diapers or sing the alphabet ad nauseum or allow my life to be consumed in the service of my children.
I speak of motherhood as if it were trial to be endured, a hardship. But I know it will be different when I have my own children, and I can slowly ease my way into the Mommy culture rather than be dropped headlong into it. Those of you who are mothers will perhaps look at me, or back at your past selves, and think, "I remember feeling like that, but so much has changed."
I expect my outlook to change. And I welcome it! But for now... I'm still scared of motherhood.
(Don't judge.)
But I am a little wary of the eventuality. Yesterday I took Hugh to the Bean Museum on BYU campus for the afternoon. For those of you unfamiliar with the Monte L. Bean Museum, it is a place filled with stuffed (taxidermized) animals and fascination for small children. I should know. I was once a small child fascinated by the Bean Museum. It still holds a sense of nostalgia for me. The faint but definite smell of formaldehyde brings me way back. Shasta, the liger, the 12-foot Kodiak bear, the display of African animals with an enormous elephant as its centerpiece... Memory Lane.
How cool is that for a kid to be able to see these animals up close! Except that they're, hmm, dead. But no matter.
After we dropped Ellis off at school, I decided to take Hugh to the Bean Museum to kill part of the three hours I had alone with him.
Predictably (or not, because I certainly didn't predict it) at 3 in the afternoon the place was crawling with other pre-schoolers. Seriously. Way more kids than adults. I was suddenly immersed in a culture I had nothing to do with--and want nothing to do with for a while yet: the Mommy culture.
Now. I'm not denigrating the Mommy culture. In my mind, "the Mommy culture" is how we raise our children in a way that is best for them: we do things that will interest them, and not necessarily us (like take them to boring kid movies or the same museums over and over again) because they love it and it's good for them, etc. The "Mommy culture" is about living for your children. That's not a bad thing. I'm just not ready to do that yet.
But in half an instant, as I walked into that museum with my little three-year-old nephew clutching my hand, I became one of them. It was a weird glimpse into the life of women whose lives (currently) revolve around pregnancy and/or small, high-energy human beings. It was interesting watching these women summon up, from somewhere, the energy to be animated with their children. To be excited about frankly unexciting things. Like fur. To patiently ignore the little pettinesses of children.
I imagined myself being sized up by these women. What kind of "mother" did I appear to be to them? I didn't really care what their assessments were since I am not Hugh's mother, but I did find myself consciously trying to emulate more interest in little Hugh's childlike interests. I got excited with him when he pressed buttons that lit up displays; I played schoolbus with him in one of the little alcoves; and I watched 30 minutes of a nature documentary about a jaguar. (Actually, that was pretty interesting.)
Yeah, I'm scared of motherhood. I don't want to organize play dates with other moms' kids. I don't want to change diapers or sing the alphabet ad nauseum or allow my life to be consumed in the service of my children.
I speak of motherhood as if it were trial to be endured, a hardship. But I know it will be different when I have my own children, and I can slowly ease my way into the Mommy culture rather than be dropped headlong into it. Those of you who are mothers will perhaps look at me, or back at your past selves, and think, "I remember feeling like that, but so much has changed."
I expect my outlook to change. And I welcome it! But for now... I'm still scared of motherhood.
(Don't judge.)
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
A random, disconnected update
Because I'm too lazy to compose anything nice,
1. School. It's going well. I've been doing a lot of soul-searching lately about whether or not I really want to be a librarian. There's a lot of crazy people in this world and most of them seem to want to congregate in libraries. Sometimes I'm too tired to deal with them. But then I have days like today, where I helped numerous Orem High School procrastinators get started on a book report project that is due tomorrow, and I had a really good time. I learned how to do my job better and i helped some cool kids in the mean time. I still don't know if I want to focus my studies on working in public or academic libraries. I'm leaning towards Academic, because i can go into Public anytime i want. The jury is still out.
2. Sandi. My mother-in-law. She came to visit for a few days and stayed at our place on our newly acquired (but certainly not new) hide-a-bed couch. I like hosting people, especially gracious guests who engage us in good conversation, buy us food and otherwise shower us with love. ("Shower thee people you love with love...") Travis and I often comment about what a blessing it is to get along with one's in-laws. I was genuinely sad to see her go.
3. Starcraft. Because it is late and I am writing this in a train-of-thought fashion (and Travis is playing SC the next desk over) I will just briefly mention that I am quite good at this game. I don't know if I should be proud or just sad. We'll go with proud.
4. Health. I contracted a disease over the weekend. you may have heard of it. It's called the Common Cold. It attacked my immune system with great vigor over the course of about four days, and then today, suddenly, it all but vanished. Good riddance. I am a bad sick person because I am so seldom ill. I get whiny and listless, and i don't eat very well. But this one knocked me out of commission for at least two of the four days, including Valentine's day. It wasn't a big deal. But it would have been nice NOT to have been sick on Valentine's day for the second year in a row.
5. Kids. I babysit Amanda and Curtis's kids every monday for about six hours. I've done it three times now and it is a learning experience each time. Babysitting has never been my thing, but I am learning a lot about myself and the kids, and discovering that--as with most things worth doing--Love is the secret to doing it well.
That's it for now. Maybe I'll write a book review next. Or a political treatise. Or a diatribe. Whatever strikes my fancy. Cheers.
1. School. It's going well. I've been doing a lot of soul-searching lately about whether or not I really want to be a librarian. There's a lot of crazy people in this world and most of them seem to want to congregate in libraries. Sometimes I'm too tired to deal with them. But then I have days like today, where I helped numerous Orem High School procrastinators get started on a book report project that is due tomorrow, and I had a really good time. I learned how to do my job better and i helped some cool kids in the mean time. I still don't know if I want to focus my studies on working in public or academic libraries. I'm leaning towards Academic, because i can go into Public anytime i want. The jury is still out.
2. Sandi. My mother-in-law. She came to visit for a few days and stayed at our place on our newly acquired (but certainly not new) hide-a-bed couch. I like hosting people, especially gracious guests who engage us in good conversation, buy us food and otherwise shower us with love. ("Shower thee people you love with love...") Travis and I often comment about what a blessing it is to get along with one's in-laws. I was genuinely sad to see her go.
3. Starcraft. Because it is late and I am writing this in a train-of-thought fashion (and Travis is playing SC the next desk over) I will just briefly mention that I am quite good at this game. I don't know if I should be proud or just sad. We'll go with proud.
4. Health. I contracted a disease over the weekend. you may have heard of it. It's called the Common Cold. It attacked my immune system with great vigor over the course of about four days, and then today, suddenly, it all but vanished. Good riddance. I am a bad sick person because I am so seldom ill. I get whiny and listless, and i don't eat very well. But this one knocked me out of commission for at least two of the four days, including Valentine's day. It wasn't a big deal. But it would have been nice NOT to have been sick on Valentine's day for the second year in a row.
5. Kids. I babysit Amanda and Curtis's kids every monday for about six hours. I've done it three times now and it is a learning experience each time. Babysitting has never been my thing, but I am learning a lot about myself and the kids, and discovering that--as with most things worth doing--Love is the secret to doing it well.
That's it for now. Maybe I'll write a book review next. Or a political treatise. Or a diatribe. Whatever strikes my fancy. Cheers.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Villette
I made it one of my goals this year to update my blog at least once a week even if the most interesting things I have to say regard movies I've watched or books I'm reading. It's been over a week now, so I'm due.
I'm reading a book called Villette by Charlotte Bronte (of Jane Eyre fame.) As some of you may know, JE is my all-time favorite book, which is interesting considering my short attention span for the classics. Sacrilegious to most bibliophiles is my distaste for Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy and a handful of other overly verbose Victorian authors. But I absolutely love JE for reasons listed in an earlier blog post. I grew up watching Timothy Dalton smolder on screen as the formidable Mr. Rochester; I grew up watching, horrified, while Bertha Mason threw herself, screaming, from the battlements of Thornfield Hall as it burned to ground. Heady stuff.
Admittedly, I was probably able to get through the book all the way the first time only because it was required reading in Mr. Baldwin's sophomore English class. But it has remained my favorite ever since.
I have shied away from reading any other Charlotte Bronte novels mostly for one reason: the fear of disappointment. I feel as if JE is the pinnacle, or the summum bonum, of the Bronte sisters' work (having read Wuthering Heights and numerous synopses for other Bronte books.) Many of them all seem to run along the same themes: Loneliness, Discovery, Friendship, Love, Passion, Loss, Redemption. (And governesses. Lots of governesses.) All good themes. (Even the governessing.) But in my mind, I cannot fathom another book executing these themes as well as...you know what.
Well, the point I'm winding around to is that I have finally gotten up the nerve, or the motivation, to read my second Charlotte Bronte novel. This is a big step for me, especially considering that my best friend--a Dickens lover, mind you, and a voracious reader of all books Classic--soundly condemned Villette as "boring." Eek. But then there is my sister, who applauded Villette as romantic, well-written, etc.
I have a confession to make, however, that neither my best friend nor my sister tipped the scales in my decision to read or not to read. George Eliot did. Quoth Ms. Eliot on the back of the copy I'm reading, "I am only just returned to a sense of the real world about me, for I have been reading Villette, a still more wonderful book than Jane Eyre."
!!!
That was it. An endorsement from another famous Victorian authoress singing the praises of a book "still more wonderful" than my favorite book? Why yes, I will read that book. That, and statement by the Oxford University Press on the back that Villette was similar to JE, but more honest, more autobiographical, and less...gothic--that all appealed to me.
I am currently 68 pages into my book. Not much has happened. (Then again neither did anything in the first 90 pages of Les Miserables, which I read all of, and loved.) I will keep you posted on whether or not I a) finish Villette and b) like it.
I'm reading a book called Villette by Charlotte Bronte (of Jane Eyre fame.) As some of you may know, JE is my all-time favorite book, which is interesting considering my short attention span for the classics. Sacrilegious to most bibliophiles is my distaste for Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy and a handful of other overly verbose Victorian authors. But I absolutely love JE for reasons listed in an earlier blog post. I grew up watching Timothy Dalton smolder on screen as the formidable Mr. Rochester; I grew up watching, horrified, while Bertha Mason threw herself, screaming, from the battlements of Thornfield Hall as it burned to ground. Heady stuff.
Admittedly, I was probably able to get through the book all the way the first time only because it was required reading in Mr. Baldwin's sophomore English class. But it has remained my favorite ever since.
I have shied away from reading any other Charlotte Bronte novels mostly for one reason: the fear of disappointment. I feel as if JE is the pinnacle, or the summum bonum, of the Bronte sisters' work (having read Wuthering Heights and numerous synopses for other Bronte books.) Many of them all seem to run along the same themes: Loneliness, Discovery, Friendship, Love, Passion, Loss, Redemption. (And governesses. Lots of governesses.) All good themes. (Even the governessing.) But in my mind, I cannot fathom another book executing these themes as well as...you know what.
Well, the point I'm winding around to is that I have finally gotten up the nerve, or the motivation, to read my second Charlotte Bronte novel. This is a big step for me, especially considering that my best friend--a Dickens lover, mind you, and a voracious reader of all books Classic--soundly condemned Villette as "boring." Eek. But then there is my sister, who applauded Villette as romantic, well-written, etc.
I have a confession to make, however, that neither my best friend nor my sister tipped the scales in my decision to read or not to read. George Eliot did. Quoth Ms. Eliot on the back of the copy I'm reading, "I am only just returned to a sense of the real world about me, for I have been reading Villette, a still more wonderful book than Jane Eyre."
!!!
That was it. An endorsement from another famous Victorian authoress singing the praises of a book "still more wonderful" than my favorite book? Why yes, I will read that book. That, and statement by the Oxford University Press on the back that Villette was similar to JE, but more honest, more autobiographical, and less...gothic--that all appealed to me.
I am currently 68 pages into my book. Not much has happened. (Then again neither did anything in the first 90 pages of Les Miserables, which I read all of, and loved.) I will keep you posted on whether or not I a) finish Villette and b) like it.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
@011
And by @011, I mean 2011. Typo.
2010. A year of mostly mediocre movies (with a few exceptions) and books. And music. With a few exceptions. At work, we were asked to submit our top five picks of items that came out in 2010 in the above categories. Honestly, the albums and books and movies that popped into my head were mostly from 2009. 2010 just didn't stimulate me that much in the pop culture realm.
But pop culture isn't really what stands out in my mind about this last year anyway. I could make a list of all the things I did for the first time--places I've traveled, experiences I've had, etc.--but it would be a fairly short list. And everything on that list can be comprised into one overarching new thing that I did/learned/became in 2010. "Meh-widge." I don't blog a lot about the particulars of our marriage, but suffice it to say that I feel continually blessed to have a best friend at my side, all the time. I feel very strongly that Trav and I are headed in the right direction.
Trav and I have made some goals for this year. Resolutions, if you will. One of them is to spend less money. Done and DONE. No one is going to the Middle East this year; we aren't planning a Hawaiian getaway; and the Wedding--that most expensive of creatures--is over and done with. By simply living frugally but comfortably, we will meet this goal with little effort at all. (The best kind of goal ;)
Another joint goal is to get in shape. As a surprise, I got Travis a set of adjustable-weight dumbbells that he can use to workout with at home.
It was a gamble. The weights were expensive, and they were not on his Want list. Furthermore, I couldn't bring them out to Maryland, as each would require it's own suitcase to stay under the weight limit, which means Christmas morning was going to be a little anti-climactic.
And that's hard, even for a twenty-five year old.
But I went ahead and purchased them, feeling that it would pay off in the end. We had individually made efforts, on and off, to exercise all last year, but had never followed through with any regularity. I hoped that the convenience of being able to work out at home would solve that problem. But like I said, it was a gamble. Maaaaaybe we would... Maaaaaaybe we wouldn't.
Having presented Travis with a proxy 1 lb. dumbbell on Christmas morning (and a url to a picture of his real present waiting for him back in Utah), we eventually came home to the real thing. The dumbbells lay untouched for the first few days as we unpacked and got back into our regular routines. But I waited... hoping for the best but preparing myself to offer to take them back. They were rather expensive after all.
A few days later, as I sat curled up on the couch with a book, Travis pulled up a kitchen chair and began playing around with the weights. And by playing, I mean curling, 30 lbs. in each hand. Trav is a naturally muscular man. I had bought the weights that were 50 lbs. each, but expandable to up to 90 lbs. Good thing. Two days later, the same thing. And two days after that, another workout session in our front room.
And as easy as that, we have a routine. I even join him now. I can curl--wait for it--ten pound in each hand. Pathetic, I know, but I've never done any weight training before. We've added some lunges and leg exercises into the mix as well. The best part about it all is that there is no gym membership required, which means we can go as long or as short, as frequently or as not, as we want, and just feel good about the fact that we're doing anything at all! It's fun to be able to do this together.
By the way. He surprised me with these awesome boots. I wear them practically every day. Life is so good.
2010. A year of mostly mediocre movies (with a few exceptions) and books. And music. With a few exceptions. At work, we were asked to submit our top five picks of items that came out in 2010 in the above categories. Honestly, the albums and books and movies that popped into my head were mostly from 2009. 2010 just didn't stimulate me that much in the pop culture realm.
But pop culture isn't really what stands out in my mind about this last year anyway. I could make a list of all the things I did for the first time--places I've traveled, experiences I've had, etc.--but it would be a fairly short list. And everything on that list can be comprised into one overarching new thing that I did/learned/became in 2010. "Meh-widge." I don't blog a lot about the particulars of our marriage, but suffice it to say that I feel continually blessed to have a best friend at my side, all the time. I feel very strongly that Trav and I are headed in the right direction.
Trav and I have made some goals for this year. Resolutions, if you will. One of them is to spend less money. Done and DONE. No one is going to the Middle East this year; we aren't planning a Hawaiian getaway; and the Wedding--that most expensive of creatures--is over and done with. By simply living frugally but comfortably, we will meet this goal with little effort at all. (The best kind of goal ;)
Another joint goal is to get in shape. As a surprise, I got Travis a set of adjustable-weight dumbbells that he can use to workout with at home.
It was a gamble. The weights were expensive, and they were not on his Want list. Furthermore, I couldn't bring them out to Maryland, as each would require it's own suitcase to stay under the weight limit, which means Christmas morning was going to be a little anti-climactic.
And that's hard, even for a twenty-five year old.
But I went ahead and purchased them, feeling that it would pay off in the end. We had individually made efforts, on and off, to exercise all last year, but had never followed through with any regularity. I hoped that the convenience of being able to work out at home would solve that problem. But like I said, it was a gamble. Maaaaaybe we would... Maaaaaaybe we wouldn't.
Having presented Travis with a proxy 1 lb. dumbbell on Christmas morning (and a url to a picture of his real present waiting for him back in Utah), we eventually came home to the real thing. The dumbbells lay untouched for the first few days as we unpacked and got back into our regular routines. But I waited... hoping for the best but preparing myself to offer to take them back. They were rather expensive after all.
A few days later, as I sat curled up on the couch with a book, Travis pulled up a kitchen chair and began playing around with the weights. And by playing, I mean curling, 30 lbs. in each hand. Trav is a naturally muscular man. I had bought the weights that were 50 lbs. each, but expandable to up to 90 lbs. Good thing. Two days later, the same thing. And two days after that, another workout session in our front room.
And as easy as that, we have a routine. I even join him now. I can curl--wait for it--ten pound in each hand. Pathetic, I know, but I've never done any weight training before. We've added some lunges and leg exercises into the mix as well. The best part about it all is that there is no gym membership required, which means we can go as long or as short, as frequently or as not, as we want, and just feel good about the fact that we're doing anything at all! It's fun to be able to do this together.
By the way. He surprised me with these awesome boots. I wear them practically every day. Life is so good.
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