(Guest post by my Mom, taken from her blog this morning.)
And in this corner, weighing in at 10 lb. 4 oz.
On the 27th of April, I went into early labor. I was due the 17th of May. The contractions were serious ones and moved right along to 5 min. apart, so we left for the hospital. I had been x-rayed (this was 1974 ... no ultra-sound yet) and we knew we had one big baby, and the Dr. said "Come on in. I will meet you there." But after getting to Oakwood hospital, and all checked in, and laboring for a few more hours, things slowed down and eventually stopped ! And they sent us home. What a feeling of failure ! That was a Friday morning. Stake Conference was that week-end. Dad was supposed to conduct and speak at the Saturday evening session, but felt a little worried about leaving me, as the Conference was being held at the Pioneer High School in AA. (Hey, I told you this was 1974, we were still the combined Stake and had no Stake Center), so he called Pres. Walker to be excused. Pres. Walker announced to those at the meeting that Pres. Day was excused as Sister Day was in labor, and then re-announced it on Sunday, so about 4 pm people were calling our house, and the Bellistons to see what was up. Nothing was up or down !
When the 11:00 news came on, right after John Kelly said :"Hello Detroit", BOOM ! Here came the contractions, and they were serious. Nana was already there. She had come when I fell down the basement stairs, so off we went ... about 11:45, no kidding ! They whooshed me in, checked me over, threw me on the gurney, and I was in delivery by 12:45 ! No time for a spinal, no time for nothing ! Dr. Hardy came flying in, still pulling on his mask, and said after checking me, "No time for anything but a whiff of gas, Linda", and they slapped on the mask, and I was out !
When I came to, the nurse said : "Well Sweetie, you've got a nice big girl !" And I threw up. Gas does that, you know ! Dr. Hardy called from the foot of the delivery table : "Good Job ! Linda ! This baby girl weighs 10lbs and 4oz , and she's 23 inches long." And I threw up. Gas does that, you know ! When they finally brought her to me, she was so beautiful ! Because she was so big she was all filled out even to her sturdy little legs. No scrawny parts. And because she was so quick she was perfectly round-headed. She was such a quiet thing ... then !
We named her Suzanne. We had a lovely teen-aged girl in the Ward named that, and then we chose Marie to sooth the Grandmothers Mary both Mary Esther and Mary Eleanor. We did not intend to call her "Suzy", but by three weeks, she was, and ever has been. Shauna called her "Little Sister Suzy". Isn't that an irony ?
Good baby. Good girl. Lovely adult daughter. A treasure always ! Happy Birthday Maria Lion !
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
I Prefer
This copy-cat took me awhile, but I promise not to leave it up as long as Mark did. (snicker, snicker)
Fall to Winter
Dark to Milk
Washcloth to Loofah
Soap to Body Scrub
Shaving to waxing
Going to sleep to waking up
Dinner to breakfast
Soy to Cow milk
Extra Crispy to Original Recipe
Fresh to Frozen
Al dente to mushy
Potato pearls to flakes
Kroger to Meijer
Anything to Wal-Mart
Gerald’s Salon to Tricho
Colored walls to white walls
Country to classical
96.3 for the morning commute to anything
Free Press to Detroit News
Ranch to Italian
Light Ranch to Fat Free Ranch
Salad to soup
Dessert to appetizers
Anything to $3.50 a gallon
Confident to cowardly
Funny to sarcastic
Singing to lip-synching
Being drenched and sore to barely breaking a sweat
Saying I’m sorry to not
CVS to Rite-Aid
Buying clothes for my kids to buying them for myself
Sunday to Saturday
Christmas to Easter
Health to sickness
Laughing to crying
Brunette to blonde (I’m trying something new!)
Fall to Winter
Dark to Milk
Washcloth to Loofah
Soap to Body Scrub
Shaving to waxing
Going to sleep to waking up
Dinner to breakfast
Soy to Cow milk
Extra Crispy to Original Recipe
Fresh to Frozen
Al dente to mushy
Potato pearls to flakes
Kroger to Meijer
Anything to Wal-Mart
Gerald’s Salon to Tricho
Colored walls to white walls
Country to classical
96.3 for the morning commute to anything
Free Press to Detroit News
Ranch to Italian
Light Ranch to Fat Free Ranch
Salad to soup
Dessert to appetizers
Anything to $3.50 a gallon
Confident to cowardly
Funny to sarcastic
Singing to lip-synching
Being drenched and sore to barely breaking a sweat
Saying I’m sorry to not
CVS to Rite-Aid
Buying clothes for my kids to buying them for myself
Sunday to Saturday
Christmas to Easter
Health to sickness
Laughing to crying
Brunette to blonde (I’m trying something new!)
Friday, April 25, 2008
Day at the Zoo
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Phone Freak
So Mark alluded to my weirdness with the phone in one of his recent posts. Something about the White House calling and I’d be like, “meh, I’ll call them back later”. I should probably be offended, but I’m not. I know it’s true. I have real phone issues. I thought it was just me until I was going through some old archives of a favorite blogspot of mine, “Navel Gazing At It’s Finest”. And lo and behold:
http://borrowedlight.blogspot.com/2007/11/my-nemesis-phone.html
Okay, this post cracked me up. I mean it seriously CRACKED ME UP!! The reason being that I have finally found my long-lost-twin-phone-hater!! I seriously can’t believe that there is somebody else out there who feels the same way about the phone ringing that I do! HA! I’m not the only freak on this planet…others exist! I admit it’s weird. Sorry. But I’m not the only one, and at least I’m being honest about it. Besides, I think “email” is the new “phone”. And I’m just trying to keep up with the times, baby.
http://borrowedlight.blogspot.com/2007/11/my-nemesis-phone.html
Okay, this post cracked me up. I mean it seriously CRACKED ME UP!! The reason being that I have finally found my long-lost-twin-phone-hater!! I seriously can’t believe that there is somebody else out there who feels the same way about the phone ringing that I do! HA! I’m not the only freak on this planet…others exist! I admit it’s weird. Sorry. But I’m not the only one, and at least I’m being honest about it. Besides, I think “email” is the new “phone”. And I’m just trying to keep up with the times, baby.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Puppy Dog Story, Part 2
(continuation of "The Story That Made Me Famous, AKA The Puppy Dog Story")
I was kinda relieved to see the neighbor arrive and pull out a cute little puppy from between the doors. At least it wasn’t a scary mole or some other varmint who somehow squeezed his way past the screen door and got stuck. The puppy was happy to be free and was now frantically trying to wriggle out of the neighbor’s arms. The neighbor man smiled through the living room window, puppy in arms, and I opened the door. He let the puppy down in the living room, and Brian and Jonathon excitedly chased it around while it barked and scampered around, trying to shake it’s legs out from being trapped between the doors. The neighbor and I laughed a little at the oddity of the situation. He supposed that somebody was just trying to get rid of some unwanted puppies, and chose our door…I agreed, it was probably harmless. But I knew that keeping the puppy here wasn’t an option. Neighbor man scooped the puppy back up and took it back to his house. He said to have the Kuhn’s call him in the morning to figure out what to do next. I thanked him for helping out and closed the door and locked it, watching him cross the street back to his house. My heart began to slow down again, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I scooted the boys back into their bedroom and started the bedtime routine. We picked out some stories and I sat down on the floor to read to them. About half an hour later, I heard another knock at the door. Brian looks at me and says, “lots of people comin’ to our house, Suzy”. I hesitatingly agreed, and got up to answer the door again. I figured it was the neighbor, who might have forgotten something. I crossed the living room, turned on the porch light (it was now dark), and looked through the peep hole. It was not the neighbor. It was somebody whose appearance will probably remain in my memory forever. It was a man in probably his forties or older. He had a scruffy appearance. He was medium height, very slender build. He had long greasy hair and a beard. He was wearing a baseball cap and a denim jacket and jeans. He looked unkempt and not somebody that the Kuhn’s would have been friends with. He looked like a stranger. He stood on the porch, shifting his weight back and forth, hands in his pockets, looking behind him, then looking at the door, then leaning to the right to look in the living room window. He was nervous and fidgety. I watched him intently, but didn’t open the door, or speak. I was, quite frankly, paralyzed with fear. I didn’t know what to do. Should I just open the door? Do I say something through the door, and reveal the fact that I’m just a 12-year-old babysitter at home alone with 2 young boys? Do I remain silent and probably make him mad or make him think nobody’s home? I did nothing. I stood there, my one eye fixed on the peephole, trying not to make any sound. I knew he knew I was there. He probably saw me pass in front of the window. Eventually, after knocking several more times while I stood behind the door, he spoke.
“I’m here for my puppy”, he said. “I dropped off a puppy earlier and I changed my mind, and I need it back.”
I stood, stock still. Stunned. Silent. I didn’t know what to say. Thoughts raced through my head. What in the world?!? Who is this man?!? ‘He’ put the puppy in the door? On purpose!?! Now he wants it back? Should I just tell him that I don’t have the puppy? Should I explain to him that the neighbor man across the street now has his puppy? Should I pawn off this scary looking stranger on them instead of poor, little me?
He repeated himself a few times with basically the same message. It was ‘his’ puppy, he had purposefully stuck it in the door, and he now wanted it back. And he was serious. He had a very direct, commanding tone to his voice. I could tell he wasn’t joking around, nor was he trying to be casual and kind of lax about it. I could tell he was getting more and more agitated at my silence. More than anything, I just didn’t know what to say. Even if I could have spoken (which with the bulge in my throat was close to impossible), I didn’t want to. I was so scared. I didn’t make a peep. Instead, I watched and waited.
Eventually he gave up. He was very obviously frustrated and impatient with my silence. I noticed a car had pulled up to the curb in front of the house and I didn’t actually see him get in the car, but I assume they had something to do with one another. He was finally gone, but I was still pretty shaken up. My face was hot, my blood was boiling, and my heart was racing. I tried to pull myself together and put the boys to bed. They had been waiting for me back in their bedroom that whole time. They went down easily, no arguments. I think they were so little they didn’t realize or catch any vibes I may have been giving off. I closed their door and went into the family room, (at the back of the house) and turned on the TV. I needed to divert my attention and relax. Just as I was sitting down, the thought occurred to me that I should probably go and check the doors again to make sure they were all locked. I also thought that maybe I should call my parents and tell them what had happened. I was in the kitchen, when I heard him knock on the door again. It was probably around 9:30 by this time. It was getting really late for somebody to be politely (or in this case, not) knocking on your front door. He had come back, this time more insistent and angry about the puppy situation. He stayed at the front porch for a long time (it seemed like forever), repeating himself over and over, getting louder and more menacing. I realized at this point that it wasn’t just about the puppy. He wanted in the house. This is also where it gets a little fuzzy for me. I’m not sure if he actually tried to get into the house, but it sure seemed like it the way he was pounding on the door, and peering through the windows. It may just be my imagination, but I think I remember him turning the door handle several times. I stayed in the kitchen, because I didn’t want to walk past the front window again. Plus, I wanted to stay as far away from him and that door as possible. Eventually the knocking and shouting stopped. Had he gone again? I turned on every light in the house, except for the bedrooms where the boys were sleeping. The doors were locked. I called my parents. They weren’t home, nor was anybody at my house. (AND, this was pre-cell phone and pre-answering machine days.) I called the neighbor. He didn’t answer either. It was almost 10. I realized why, but I began to really get nervous. Should I call the police? I probably should, but for some reason the thought of calling 911 terrified the heck out of me. I paced the kitchen floor, not knowing what to do. Things were quiet at the front door, so I carefully walked past the living room window to scope things out of the peephole. When I got there, it was dark. The front porch light was out. I flipped the switch a few times. Nothing happened. That’s weird, I thought. I saw the same dark car that had been at the curb slowly drive past the house. I wondered where he was. I went back to the kitchen and paced. I was too scared to sit in the family room now because the whole back of that room was more windows with no curtains. I had a strange feeling I was being watched. The kitchen was in the middle of the house and didn’t have outside windows. I felt the safest there. Plus the phone was right there. I held it in my hand, and considered calling the police again. Instead I dialed my home number. Still nobody answered. I’m not sure how long I stood there, but it seemed like it was all night. I practically jumped out of my skin when I heard the garage door opener click and start buzzing. The Kuhn’s were home! Thank the heavens. They walked into the kitchen from the garage, and found me standing there, probably frozen, phone in hand. I remember them asking me how things went and just freaking out a little. I knew they understood the seriousness of the situation. They got as many details as they could from me that night, and then one of them took me home. I got home and don’t remember if I reemed out my Mom that night or waited until the next morning about not being home that night. My Mom did let me know that she had spoken with the Kuhn’s and said that they had called the police after I left to come to their house. Apparently Brother Kuhn had found broken glass on the front porch…from the lightbulb that had been unscrewed and smashed on the concrete. He also found some other suspect items in the backyard outside of the family room windows. I’m not sure exactly what was there, only my imagination can fill in those blanks now. I also think I remember them or my Mom telling me that this tactic had been attempted at other homes in other neighborhoods. Puppy gets placed in the door, and when the homeowner goes to open the door, the perpetrator forces their way into the house. Like I said, only my imagination can fill in the blanks at this point.
So that’s the story that made me famous. Even remembering the details almost 22 years later gives me a little shiver. When I told this story at girl’s camp, I always had to make sure that I mentioned that this experience didn’t scare me off from babysitting. I think every girl who heard it was convinced they were next with the puppy and the scary man. No, I kept babysitting and loved watching for my regulars. Now, I love seeing the kids all grown up. My parents mostly get Christmas cards occasionally from these families with pictures. I remember Brian and Jonathon came to my wedding open house and Brother and Sister Kuhn introduced me as the babysitter who saved their lives. Isn’t that funny? The story may not end as many have told it or imagined it, but it is what it is. Scary and strange, but also something that taught me some valuable lessons. I think I learned a lot about the Holy Ghost that night. I realized after the fact that I had received several promptings during the ordeal. Some I listened to and obeyed (not opening the door and staying silent), and others I did not (I should have called 911). In the end, I know I was being protected and enlightened. I learned that we’re never alone. Feel free to share this if you’d like. It’s already gotten some good mileage at the Westland Stake Girl’s Camp. Can I get a “boom chicka boom”?!?
I was kinda relieved to see the neighbor arrive and pull out a cute little puppy from between the doors. At least it wasn’t a scary mole or some other varmint who somehow squeezed his way past the screen door and got stuck. The puppy was happy to be free and was now frantically trying to wriggle out of the neighbor’s arms. The neighbor man smiled through the living room window, puppy in arms, and I opened the door. He let the puppy down in the living room, and Brian and Jonathon excitedly chased it around while it barked and scampered around, trying to shake it’s legs out from being trapped between the doors. The neighbor and I laughed a little at the oddity of the situation. He supposed that somebody was just trying to get rid of some unwanted puppies, and chose our door…I agreed, it was probably harmless. But I knew that keeping the puppy here wasn’t an option. Neighbor man scooped the puppy back up and took it back to his house. He said to have the Kuhn’s call him in the morning to figure out what to do next. I thanked him for helping out and closed the door and locked it, watching him cross the street back to his house. My heart began to slow down again, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I scooted the boys back into their bedroom and started the bedtime routine. We picked out some stories and I sat down on the floor to read to them. About half an hour later, I heard another knock at the door. Brian looks at me and says, “lots of people comin’ to our house, Suzy”. I hesitatingly agreed, and got up to answer the door again. I figured it was the neighbor, who might have forgotten something. I crossed the living room, turned on the porch light (it was now dark), and looked through the peep hole. It was not the neighbor. It was somebody whose appearance will probably remain in my memory forever. It was a man in probably his forties or older. He had a scruffy appearance. He was medium height, very slender build. He had long greasy hair and a beard. He was wearing a baseball cap and a denim jacket and jeans. He looked unkempt and not somebody that the Kuhn’s would have been friends with. He looked like a stranger. He stood on the porch, shifting his weight back and forth, hands in his pockets, looking behind him, then looking at the door, then leaning to the right to look in the living room window. He was nervous and fidgety. I watched him intently, but didn’t open the door, or speak. I was, quite frankly, paralyzed with fear. I didn’t know what to do. Should I just open the door? Do I say something through the door, and reveal the fact that I’m just a 12-year-old babysitter at home alone with 2 young boys? Do I remain silent and probably make him mad or make him think nobody’s home? I did nothing. I stood there, my one eye fixed on the peephole, trying not to make any sound. I knew he knew I was there. He probably saw me pass in front of the window. Eventually, after knocking several more times while I stood behind the door, he spoke.
“I’m here for my puppy”, he said. “I dropped off a puppy earlier and I changed my mind, and I need it back.”
I stood, stock still. Stunned. Silent. I didn’t know what to say. Thoughts raced through my head. What in the world?!? Who is this man?!? ‘He’ put the puppy in the door? On purpose!?! Now he wants it back? Should I just tell him that I don’t have the puppy? Should I explain to him that the neighbor man across the street now has his puppy? Should I pawn off this scary looking stranger on them instead of poor, little me?
He repeated himself a few times with basically the same message. It was ‘his’ puppy, he had purposefully stuck it in the door, and he now wanted it back. And he was serious. He had a very direct, commanding tone to his voice. I could tell he wasn’t joking around, nor was he trying to be casual and kind of lax about it. I could tell he was getting more and more agitated at my silence. More than anything, I just didn’t know what to say. Even if I could have spoken (which with the bulge in my throat was close to impossible), I didn’t want to. I was so scared. I didn’t make a peep. Instead, I watched and waited.
Eventually he gave up. He was very obviously frustrated and impatient with my silence. I noticed a car had pulled up to the curb in front of the house and I didn’t actually see him get in the car, but I assume they had something to do with one another. He was finally gone, but I was still pretty shaken up. My face was hot, my blood was boiling, and my heart was racing. I tried to pull myself together and put the boys to bed. They had been waiting for me back in their bedroom that whole time. They went down easily, no arguments. I think they were so little they didn’t realize or catch any vibes I may have been giving off. I closed their door and went into the family room, (at the back of the house) and turned on the TV. I needed to divert my attention and relax. Just as I was sitting down, the thought occurred to me that I should probably go and check the doors again to make sure they were all locked. I also thought that maybe I should call my parents and tell them what had happened. I was in the kitchen, when I heard him knock on the door again. It was probably around 9:30 by this time. It was getting really late for somebody to be politely (or in this case, not) knocking on your front door. He had come back, this time more insistent and angry about the puppy situation. He stayed at the front porch for a long time (it seemed like forever), repeating himself over and over, getting louder and more menacing. I realized at this point that it wasn’t just about the puppy. He wanted in the house. This is also where it gets a little fuzzy for me. I’m not sure if he actually tried to get into the house, but it sure seemed like it the way he was pounding on the door, and peering through the windows. It may just be my imagination, but I think I remember him turning the door handle several times. I stayed in the kitchen, because I didn’t want to walk past the front window again. Plus, I wanted to stay as far away from him and that door as possible. Eventually the knocking and shouting stopped. Had he gone again? I turned on every light in the house, except for the bedrooms where the boys were sleeping. The doors were locked. I called my parents. They weren’t home, nor was anybody at my house. (AND, this was pre-cell phone and pre-answering machine days.) I called the neighbor. He didn’t answer either. It was almost 10. I realized why, but I began to really get nervous. Should I call the police? I probably should, but for some reason the thought of calling 911 terrified the heck out of me. I paced the kitchen floor, not knowing what to do. Things were quiet at the front door, so I carefully walked past the living room window to scope things out of the peephole. When I got there, it was dark. The front porch light was out. I flipped the switch a few times. Nothing happened. That’s weird, I thought. I saw the same dark car that had been at the curb slowly drive past the house. I wondered where he was. I went back to the kitchen and paced. I was too scared to sit in the family room now because the whole back of that room was more windows with no curtains. I had a strange feeling I was being watched. The kitchen was in the middle of the house and didn’t have outside windows. I felt the safest there. Plus the phone was right there. I held it in my hand, and considered calling the police again. Instead I dialed my home number. Still nobody answered. I’m not sure how long I stood there, but it seemed like it was all night. I practically jumped out of my skin when I heard the garage door opener click and start buzzing. The Kuhn’s were home! Thank the heavens. They walked into the kitchen from the garage, and found me standing there, probably frozen, phone in hand. I remember them asking me how things went and just freaking out a little. I knew they understood the seriousness of the situation. They got as many details as they could from me that night, and then one of them took me home. I got home and don’t remember if I reemed out my Mom that night or waited until the next morning about not being home that night. My Mom did let me know that she had spoken with the Kuhn’s and said that they had called the police after I left to come to their house. Apparently Brother Kuhn had found broken glass on the front porch…from the lightbulb that had been unscrewed and smashed on the concrete. He also found some other suspect items in the backyard outside of the family room windows. I’m not sure exactly what was there, only my imagination can fill in those blanks now. I also think I remember them or my Mom telling me that this tactic had been attempted at other homes in other neighborhoods. Puppy gets placed in the door, and when the homeowner goes to open the door, the perpetrator forces their way into the house. Like I said, only my imagination can fill in the blanks at this point.
So that’s the story that made me famous. Even remembering the details almost 22 years later gives me a little shiver. When I told this story at girl’s camp, I always had to make sure that I mentioned that this experience didn’t scare me off from babysitting. I think every girl who heard it was convinced they were next with the puppy and the scary man. No, I kept babysitting and loved watching for my regulars. Now, I love seeing the kids all grown up. My parents mostly get Christmas cards occasionally from these families with pictures. I remember Brian and Jonathon came to my wedding open house and Brother and Sister Kuhn introduced me as the babysitter who saved their lives. Isn’t that funny? The story may not end as many have told it or imagined it, but it is what it is. Scary and strange, but also something that taught me some valuable lessons. I think I learned a lot about the Holy Ghost that night. I realized after the fact that I had received several promptings during the ordeal. Some I listened to and obeyed (not opening the door and staying silent), and others I did not (I should have called 911). In the end, I know I was being protected and enlightened. I learned that we’re never alone. Feel free to share this if you’d like. It’s already gotten some good mileage at the Westland Stake Girl’s Camp. Can I get a “boom chicka boom”?!?
Monday, April 21, 2008
What I Do
Sorry for the meager postings last week. I’ve actually kinda been busy at work lately (can you believe it? I’m actually WORKING instead of blogging! HA!) And I had to take a sick day on Friday because Maryn was sick. So at least I have some excuses, right?
Anyway, last week I “celebrated” my 2nd year of employment with Compuware Corporation. The reason I say “celebrated” is cause I wouldn’t really call my job something to really get all that excited about. At least what I do. The fact that I’m employed in Detroit with a good job is definitely something to celebrate, but the technical writing thing, not so much. I’m not trying to sound negative, I’m just keepin’ it real. My job is pretty boring. At times I wonder why I ever thought this might have sounded interesting when I chose it for my major in college.
I was a graphic design major when I first started at Ricks College in the Fall of 1992. I thought it sounded good because I loved art, and my Bishop in the Livonia Ward was one and encouraged me to do the same. After taking some fine art classes at Ricks however, I realized that I wasn’t as talented as some and I got cold feet. After a semester, it finally occurred to me that I always get excited when I’m enrolling in English classes and I usually get pretty good grades in them too. I switched my major to English. At Ricks, you really don’t have to get much more specific than that, so that’s what I ended up getting my Associates in.
When I got to USU post-mission, I had to kind of narrow it down a little. I considered teaching English at the high-school level. Then my counselor showed me how long it would take to graduate (like another 4 years), and my heart sank. I knew I would love it, but I did NOT want to be in school for another 4 years. He suggested Technical Communications (technical writing). The program was fairly new at USU, and was in demand in the job market. It would also only take me about 2 years to complete the degree. Sign me up!! I actually enjoyed many of my classes. It was at this time that “the Information Super Highway” was becoming more popular, and along with it web design and HTML. I really liked all of it. However, there was this other realm that was also getting a lot of buzz and there were many jobs out there for the taking. There were all of these big tekkie companies who were churning out all of these new, fancy products and they were in need of semi-literate people to explain how to use their stuff. Apparently the flip-flop wearing, software development engineers who like to work in complete isolation were having a hard time expressing themselves to people who didn’t speak “geek”, so that’s where technical writers were born. We’re the bridge between the nerds and real people.
I met my future roommate Jill in one of my HTML classes. Her prototype web-page was for Star Trek, which made me laugh. I’d never met a girl-trekkie before. She didn’t really plan on doing tech-writing for a living either. I think she just wanted to get out of school with a degree as quickly as possible like me. I remember her saying, “the day I actually DO tech writing, you’ll have to shoot me”. I laughed because I felt completely the same way. I figured it was like everyone said it was in the job world. Your degree had little to do with what you actually ended up doing. I guess we were both wrong because Jill got a sweet job offer from IBM at one of their recruiting fairs on campus right after graduation, and although it took me over a year, I ended up working for a contractor in Boise whose clients included HP and Microsoft. So much for what we thought.
I’ve since learned that once you start building your resume with a specific skillset, it’s really hard to start over. So that’s where Suzy, the tech writer, was born. And that’s why I can thank my lucky stars I have a job in this city. So in light of my recent 2 year-anniversary, I thought it might be appropriate to explain a little about what I do on a daily basis…when I’m not blogging that is.
Compuware manufactures high-end mainframe software solutions for major corporations and high-business companies. Think AT&T, Aetna, and Bank of America. Big companies with lots of data to organize, keep private, and store for the next million years. Our company creates solutions for them to do all of those things, plus some. And my job is to write the manuals for the software. Imagine for a moment, some lonely IT guy sitting on the 5th floor of AT&T headquarters who is trying to install the CD that came in the box from Compuware. What does he look for first? The Quick Reference or the Installation Guide, right? Bingo! Does that make sense? I do the writing, someone else does the developing, someone else does the testing before the CD gets shipped to the IT guy, and somebody else answers the phone calls for when the writing and the developing and testing don’t work. And all the other worker bees here at Compuware do the managing, sales & marketing (yo, Jeff!), and probably human resource stuff for the whole darn place. That’s at least how I see it (from cube #5046 on the 6th floor) anyway. I could be way off. It’s very possible in a company this big.
Anyway, they’ve been good to me. They have a sweet benefits package, and lots of amenities in the building. When I first started and found out that they had a daycare on the 2nd floor, I knew it was an answer to prayer. I also got a membership to the fitness center on the 2nd floor, and often dine in the Compuware Café. They even have a post office on the 3rd floor. It’s a home away from home, and a little city built inside glass. (So we don’t have walk around downtown Detroit). Like I said, it’s been a good place to work and I can’t complain. Except for the whole commuting and rush-hour thing, a manager who imposes unreasonable time-off guidelines, threats of lay-offs and acquisitions, and when I have to try and translate geek into normal English and my socio-phobe developer who smells like Thai food continues to avoid my emails. Then it gets a little dicey.
Anyway, last week I “celebrated” my 2nd year of employment with Compuware Corporation. The reason I say “celebrated” is cause I wouldn’t really call my job something to really get all that excited about. At least what I do. The fact that I’m employed in Detroit with a good job is definitely something to celebrate, but the technical writing thing, not so much. I’m not trying to sound negative, I’m just keepin’ it real. My job is pretty boring. At times I wonder why I ever thought this might have sounded interesting when I chose it for my major in college.
I was a graphic design major when I first started at Ricks College in the Fall of 1992. I thought it sounded good because I loved art, and my Bishop in the Livonia Ward was one and encouraged me to do the same. After taking some fine art classes at Ricks however, I realized that I wasn’t as talented as some and I got cold feet. After a semester, it finally occurred to me that I always get excited when I’m enrolling in English classes and I usually get pretty good grades in them too. I switched my major to English. At Ricks, you really don’t have to get much more specific than that, so that’s what I ended up getting my Associates in.
When I got to USU post-mission, I had to kind of narrow it down a little. I considered teaching English at the high-school level. Then my counselor showed me how long it would take to graduate (like another 4 years), and my heart sank. I knew I would love it, but I did NOT want to be in school for another 4 years. He suggested Technical Communications (technical writing). The program was fairly new at USU, and was in demand in the job market. It would also only take me about 2 years to complete the degree. Sign me up!! I actually enjoyed many of my classes. It was at this time that “the Information Super Highway” was becoming more popular, and along with it web design and HTML. I really liked all of it. However, there was this other realm that was also getting a lot of buzz and there were many jobs out there for the taking. There were all of these big tekkie companies who were churning out all of these new, fancy products and they were in need of semi-literate people to explain how to use their stuff. Apparently the flip-flop wearing, software development engineers who like to work in complete isolation were having a hard time expressing themselves to people who didn’t speak “geek”, so that’s where technical writers were born. We’re the bridge between the nerds and real people.
I met my future roommate Jill in one of my HTML classes. Her prototype web-page was for Star Trek, which made me laugh. I’d never met a girl-trekkie before. She didn’t really plan on doing tech-writing for a living either. I think she just wanted to get out of school with a degree as quickly as possible like me. I remember her saying, “the day I actually DO tech writing, you’ll have to shoot me”. I laughed because I felt completely the same way. I figured it was like everyone said it was in the job world. Your degree had little to do with what you actually ended up doing. I guess we were both wrong because Jill got a sweet job offer from IBM at one of their recruiting fairs on campus right after graduation, and although it took me over a year, I ended up working for a contractor in Boise whose clients included HP and Microsoft. So much for what we thought.
I’ve since learned that once you start building your resume with a specific skillset, it’s really hard to start over. So that’s where Suzy, the tech writer, was born. And that’s why I can thank my lucky stars I have a job in this city. So in light of my recent 2 year-anniversary, I thought it might be appropriate to explain a little about what I do on a daily basis…when I’m not blogging that is.
Compuware manufactures high-end mainframe software solutions for major corporations and high-business companies. Think AT&T, Aetna, and Bank of America. Big companies with lots of data to organize, keep private, and store for the next million years. Our company creates solutions for them to do all of those things, plus some. And my job is to write the manuals for the software. Imagine for a moment, some lonely IT guy sitting on the 5th floor of AT&T headquarters who is trying to install the CD that came in the box from Compuware. What does he look for first? The Quick Reference or the Installation Guide, right? Bingo! Does that make sense? I do the writing, someone else does the developing, someone else does the testing before the CD gets shipped to the IT guy, and somebody else answers the phone calls for when the writing and the developing and testing don’t work. And all the other worker bees here at Compuware do the managing, sales & marketing (yo, Jeff!), and probably human resource stuff for the whole darn place. That’s at least how I see it (from cube #5046 on the 6th floor) anyway. I could be way off. It’s very possible in a company this big.
Anyway, they’ve been good to me. They have a sweet benefits package, and lots of amenities in the building. When I first started and found out that they had a daycare on the 2nd floor, I knew it was an answer to prayer. I also got a membership to the fitness center on the 2nd floor, and often dine in the Compuware Café. They even have a post office on the 3rd floor. It’s a home away from home, and a little city built inside glass. (So we don’t have walk around downtown Detroit). Like I said, it’s been a good place to work and I can’t complain. Except for the whole commuting and rush-hour thing, a manager who imposes unreasonable time-off guidelines, threats of lay-offs and acquisitions, and when I have to try and translate geek into normal English and my socio-phobe developer who smells like Thai food continues to avoid my emails. Then it gets a little dicey.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Story That Made Me Famous, AKA The Puppy Dog Story
I have to admit that when my friend, Jennifer made a comment to the effect that one of her friends remembered me from Girl’s Camp, I kind of winced. Anybody who knew me from back then, knows what a total and complete spaz I was at Girl’s Camp. My own sisters can testify of the fact. I don’t know why, but something happened to me when I stepped foot onto Waterloo soil. Something just took over, and I was a new person—a complete spastic, giggly, goofy, freak-a-zoid. I hope her friend remembers something different than what I think she remembers. But I’m prepared for the backlash…I guess I deserve it.
I’ve always meant to write this story down. Mostly for my posterity, but also so I can remember how it actually happened rather than what it turned into after the fact. The actual event occurred when I was 12 years old, but the story came about a year or so later, when I started telling it to friends and family at sleepovers and girls camp when a scary story was on the menu. Year after year, I’d be invited to tell “the babysitting story” around the campfire like it was a rite of passage for incoming yearlings, I kind of half-wondered if I should finally slap a copyright on it and sell it to the Westland Stake Girl’s Camp leaders because I would probably make a fortune on royalties. Maybe someday it might make a good plot line for a made-for-TV-movie or an episode of Dr. Phil or something. Anyway, it’s a very strange story that actually happened to me. I will give the facts as they happened. Other versions and interpretations may be out there (as this has been re-told about a million times by second and third parties, and so on, and so on). And I have to admit I have a little (okay a LOT) of the Linda Day in me and some facts have been appropriately exaggerated for dramatic effect.
I started babysitting when I was about 12 years old. I loved it. I loved playing with kids, playing house like grown-ups, and getting paid for it!! I loved having my regulars. I watched for many families in the Livonia Ward, as well as a couple families on my own street. One of my regulars in the Livonia Ward was a family named the Kuhn’s. They had 2 little boys, Brian and Jonathon. Brian was about 4 at the time, and Jonathon was 2. They were comfortable with our family because my Mom had watched Brian a lot after Sister Kuhn had Jonathon, and they discovered all of his health problems. Jonathon had some special needs, and they knew that our family was aware of them. They lived in a small house in a spotty neighborhood…for those familiar with the area, it was over off of Grand River and Orchard Lake Rd…kinda back by that Target off of I-696 (or is it the Lodge?) Anyway, the neighborhood is pretty secluded and covered by huge thick trees, with (as I remember it) very little light, like no street lights. I just remember it being very dark. The Kuhns were on their way to a road rally for adults at the Church. This was pre-cell phone days, so there was really no way to contact them while they were gone. They left the number of the neighbors across the street and figured my parents would be home if anything happened. They left me a list of instructions and off they went. The boys were just finishing their dinner when I arrived, so I finished that up and cleaned up a bit. Sister Kuhn asked me to give them a bath after dinner. (Looking back, and as a parent myself now, I would have NEVER done that. So dangerous!) Anyway, the boys were in the bath playing and I heard a knock at the door. (Also, please turn off your Mommy radar for this one) I left the boys in the tub and went to get the door. (Yikes! I was only 12!) There was nobody there. It was still light out, and I couldn’t see anybody outside walking away, so I went back to the bathroom. I got the boys out of the tub and started dressing them in their jammies in their bedroom. I heard a knock at the door again. The boys’ room was at the back of the house, and as I walked to the front door, I heard a strange commotion at the door. It was like a scratching, high-pitched squeaking sound. I could not make it out. To get to the front door, you had to cross the living room which spanned the front of the house, and had a huge picture window. The door was on the far side of the window. Because of this, whoever was at the door could see right into the house, and would be able to see somebody in the living room approaching the door. The curtains on their window were sheer, so I knew that we were kinda exposed, so to speak. The sound continued, except louder and more intense. My heart started thumping. What on earth was making that sound? I got to the door, and actually stopped myself for a minute to try and process it. The storm door was in front of me, and it was locked, but there was also a screen door after that. I looked out the peephole. I couldn’t see anything on the porch. The sound was coming from inside of the two doors. Like something had gotten wedged or stuck between the doors, and was trying to claw its way out. I went to open the door, and I stopped again. I still couldn’t figure out what it was and I didn’t really want to find out. I’d seen ugly moles and possums in my own backyard growing up in these parts, and those animals are downright freaky. I didn’t realize it then, but I do now…that was a prompting from the Holy Ghost. I realize now that I was inspired NOT to open the door, even though it was my first inclination. Instead, I called the neighbors across the street. It was about 8 by this time. The neighbor was as perplexed as I was. He came across the street, opened the screen door (I was watching him from the living room window), and pulled out a small puppy.
To be continued…
I’ve always meant to write this story down. Mostly for my posterity, but also so I can remember how it actually happened rather than what it turned into after the fact. The actual event occurred when I was 12 years old, but the story came about a year or so later, when I started telling it to friends and family at sleepovers and girls camp when a scary story was on the menu. Year after year, I’d be invited to tell “the babysitting story” around the campfire like it was a rite of passage for incoming yearlings, I kind of half-wondered if I should finally slap a copyright on it and sell it to the Westland Stake Girl’s Camp leaders because I would probably make a fortune on royalties. Maybe someday it might make a good plot line for a made-for-TV-movie or an episode of Dr. Phil or something. Anyway, it’s a very strange story that actually happened to me. I will give the facts as they happened. Other versions and interpretations may be out there (as this has been re-told about a million times by second and third parties, and so on, and so on). And I have to admit I have a little (okay a LOT) of the Linda Day in me and some facts have been appropriately exaggerated for dramatic effect.
I started babysitting when I was about 12 years old. I loved it. I loved playing with kids, playing house like grown-ups, and getting paid for it!! I loved having my regulars. I watched for many families in the Livonia Ward, as well as a couple families on my own street. One of my regulars in the Livonia Ward was a family named the Kuhn’s. They had 2 little boys, Brian and Jonathon. Brian was about 4 at the time, and Jonathon was 2. They were comfortable with our family because my Mom had watched Brian a lot after Sister Kuhn had Jonathon, and they discovered all of his health problems. Jonathon had some special needs, and they knew that our family was aware of them. They lived in a small house in a spotty neighborhood…for those familiar with the area, it was over off of Grand River and Orchard Lake Rd…kinda back by that Target off of I-696 (or is it the Lodge?) Anyway, the neighborhood is pretty secluded and covered by huge thick trees, with (as I remember it) very little light, like no street lights. I just remember it being very dark. The Kuhns were on their way to a road rally for adults at the Church. This was pre-cell phone days, so there was really no way to contact them while they were gone. They left the number of the neighbors across the street and figured my parents would be home if anything happened. They left me a list of instructions and off they went. The boys were just finishing their dinner when I arrived, so I finished that up and cleaned up a bit. Sister Kuhn asked me to give them a bath after dinner. (Looking back, and as a parent myself now, I would have NEVER done that. So dangerous!) Anyway, the boys were in the bath playing and I heard a knock at the door. (Also, please turn off your Mommy radar for this one) I left the boys in the tub and went to get the door. (Yikes! I was only 12!) There was nobody there. It was still light out, and I couldn’t see anybody outside walking away, so I went back to the bathroom. I got the boys out of the tub and started dressing them in their jammies in their bedroom. I heard a knock at the door again. The boys’ room was at the back of the house, and as I walked to the front door, I heard a strange commotion at the door. It was like a scratching, high-pitched squeaking sound. I could not make it out. To get to the front door, you had to cross the living room which spanned the front of the house, and had a huge picture window. The door was on the far side of the window. Because of this, whoever was at the door could see right into the house, and would be able to see somebody in the living room approaching the door. The curtains on their window were sheer, so I knew that we were kinda exposed, so to speak. The sound continued, except louder and more intense. My heart started thumping. What on earth was making that sound? I got to the door, and actually stopped myself for a minute to try and process it. The storm door was in front of me, and it was locked, but there was also a screen door after that. I looked out the peephole. I couldn’t see anything on the porch. The sound was coming from inside of the two doors. Like something had gotten wedged or stuck between the doors, and was trying to claw its way out. I went to open the door, and I stopped again. I still couldn’t figure out what it was and I didn’t really want to find out. I’d seen ugly moles and possums in my own backyard growing up in these parts, and those animals are downright freaky. I didn’t realize it then, but I do now…that was a prompting from the Holy Ghost. I realize now that I was inspired NOT to open the door, even though it was my first inclination. Instead, I called the neighbors across the street. It was about 8 by this time. The neighbor was as perplexed as I was. He came across the street, opened the screen door (I was watching him from the living room window), and pulled out a small puppy.
To be continued…
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Baby Colts on Rollerskates
When Avery gets an idea in her head, it’s hard to sway her. If we have a good time doing something the first time, then we have to keep doing that thing until it’s no longer fun. Last fall, the PTA began their schedule of Family Fun Nights. The first was a carnival at the school. It was fun, a bit crowded, but fun. Then came movie night. They were showing Ratatouille, one of our favorites. Concession was good, also fun. Then came rollerskating night. We were also game. Mind you, Mark and I haven’t been on roller skates in over 10 years. I don’t know about him, but the last time I laced up any skates was back in my single days. And the girls hadn’t tried it ever. But it was scheduled on a Monday night and seemed like a good FHE activity, so we gave it a shot. It was at a roller rink I used to go to when I was a kid. A bit dated (fluorescent pattern on the carpet and carpeted walls) and a little dark and cavernous, but filled with other friendly Randolph kids and parents, it was actually pretty enjoyable. The girls however could not skate. Not for lack of trying, they really just couldn’t do it. I think it really disappointed both of them, especially when they saw their friends whizzing by, and especially when the High School Musical anthem came on and they were still practicing on the carpet. They fell about a million times, and when they weren’t falling they were either clinging to the wall or Mark and my hands for dear life. Sadly, they are all legs and arms, and little coordination. As Mark put it, it was like watching a baby giraffe or horse being born and trying to take it’s first awkward steps. They just couldn’t get their feet and legs under them and it was agonizing to watch. And yet, despite all of that, they wanted more.
Avery got a free pass to the roller rink for Spring Break. We figured if we just didn’t bring it up again, she’d forget about it. She didn’t. And she knows how to work the parent guilt, because somehow we found ourselves at the Riverside Roller Rink this past Saturday for “Open Skate”. All signs were pointing to disaster, but we trudged on anyhow. After we passed the cloud of cigarette smoke to enter the joint, we saw that it was packed, and unfortunately not with the welcoming friends and parents of Randolph elementary. There were lots of loud, obnoxious teenagers who had been dropped off by parents for the afternoon. There were lots of icky single adults who were trying to accompany those parentless teenagers…eww! And we just didn’t get a good vibe from the get-go. After waiting in an endless line, we got our stinky and slightly moist skates. While we wrestled the girls into their skates, Maryn notices some of her friends from school. They see her too, and come over. One of them says, “I didn’t invite you to my birthday, why are YOU here?!?”, to which, Mark and I both sit in stunned silence, mouths agape with horror. Maryn pretty much takes it in stride and says, “I know, I’m here with my family.” The “birthday girl” then says, “well, I guess it’s okay if you stay.” So basically, that kind of added to the pall we were already feeling. Maryn, skates off on the carpet, immediately tripping and falling over herself surrounded by these other girls who HAD been invited, who are already giggling and having a great time at their party. I don’t know what switch is flicked as a parent when somebody treats your child like that, but basically that switch was FLARING for me. I skated by the “party”, but didn’t say anything. I knew many of the parents and didn’t want it to be awkward. I asked my friend Jane if her daughter had been invited, and she said yes. She said it was mostly just girls from the other first grade class who had been invited, and that it was a small party. She could tell I was bugged, and reassured me that it wasn’t a snub and kept encouraging her own daughter to go and skate with Maryn. Although a sweet gesture, it didn’t do a whole lot for Maryn. By this time she was sitting on the bench and already wanted to go home. In the meantime, Avery has fallen about a million times, and is nearing her breaking point. After falling backwards, and hitting her head pretty hard on the hard wood, she burst into tears, and was pretty much done after that. By the time we took their skates off, they had both melted into puddles of tears and drama. Not to mention the grumpy parents Mark and I had become from just wasting $30 bucks on such a monumental disaster. So that’s what we did this weekend. Instead of being grumpy from cleaning my house and shopping for groceries, I got grumpy from roller skating. Can I not win on Saturdays?!?
On the agenda for 4/19/08: Stake Women’s Conference all day and a Birthday GNO for me at Olive Garden in the evening. I guess I already answered my question…it’s about time! I am bound and determined to have an awesome weekend!!
Avery got a free pass to the roller rink for Spring Break. We figured if we just didn’t bring it up again, she’d forget about it. She didn’t. And she knows how to work the parent guilt, because somehow we found ourselves at the Riverside Roller Rink this past Saturday for “Open Skate”. All signs were pointing to disaster, but we trudged on anyhow. After we passed the cloud of cigarette smoke to enter the joint, we saw that it was packed, and unfortunately not with the welcoming friends and parents of Randolph elementary. There were lots of loud, obnoxious teenagers who had been dropped off by parents for the afternoon. There were lots of icky single adults who were trying to accompany those parentless teenagers…eww! And we just didn’t get a good vibe from the get-go. After waiting in an endless line, we got our stinky and slightly moist skates. While we wrestled the girls into their skates, Maryn notices some of her friends from school. They see her too, and come over. One of them says, “I didn’t invite you to my birthday, why are YOU here?!?”, to which, Mark and I both sit in stunned silence, mouths agape with horror. Maryn pretty much takes it in stride and says, “I know, I’m here with my family.” The “birthday girl” then says, “well, I guess it’s okay if you stay.” So basically, that kind of added to the pall we were already feeling. Maryn, skates off on the carpet, immediately tripping and falling over herself surrounded by these other girls who HAD been invited, who are already giggling and having a great time at their party. I don’t know what switch is flicked as a parent when somebody treats your child like that, but basically that switch was FLARING for me. I skated by the “party”, but didn’t say anything. I knew many of the parents and didn’t want it to be awkward. I asked my friend Jane if her daughter had been invited, and she said yes. She said it was mostly just girls from the other first grade class who had been invited, and that it was a small party. She could tell I was bugged, and reassured me that it wasn’t a snub and kept encouraging her own daughter to go and skate with Maryn. Although a sweet gesture, it didn’t do a whole lot for Maryn. By this time she was sitting on the bench and already wanted to go home. In the meantime, Avery has fallen about a million times, and is nearing her breaking point. After falling backwards, and hitting her head pretty hard on the hard wood, she burst into tears, and was pretty much done after that. By the time we took their skates off, they had both melted into puddles of tears and drama. Not to mention the grumpy parents Mark and I had become from just wasting $30 bucks on such a monumental disaster. So that’s what we did this weekend. Instead of being grumpy from cleaning my house and shopping for groceries, I got grumpy from roller skating. Can I not win on Saturdays?!?
On the agenda for 4/19/08: Stake Women’s Conference all day and a Birthday GNO for me at Olive Garden in the evening. I guess I already answered my question…it’s about time! I am bound and determined to have an awesome weekend!!
Friday, April 11, 2008
He’s Cooking Our Garbage
The brown rice and asparagus I got down-pat, no problems there. But the chicken part, not so much. It’s not that I can’t sauté a decent chicken breast on it’s own. I do just fine with the spices, and the moisture, and don’t usually end up with a dry old piece of cardboard. But you can now add something to the list of things that I’m NOT good at…frying. I’ve tried probably a million recipes that involve dredging the meat in either butter or egg or something else wet, and then dredging it again in a crumb-y mixture of either breadcrumbs, or cracker crumbs and parmesan, etc. You get the point.
I add the prescribed amount of oil to the pan at the prescribed heat, and then add the dredged meat, and wait the prescribed amount of cooking time and then BAM (thanks Emeril), when I turn it, I lose the breading. It usually sticks to the pan, or sometimes just turns to mush and melts off of the piece of meat, so then I end up with either a pan full of mush or a pan that is covered in stuck, burning breading and under-cooked chicken or meat. AAGH! What am I doing wrong?!?
Anyway, that’s what happened last night. The parmesan crust that I so carefully applied to the chicken breasts got stuck to the pan and when I turned them, it was all over. By the time the breasts were done, the breading was turning a brownish-orange and was completely stuck to the pan. For the cream sauce, the recipe said to add chicken broth and deglaze the pan, and then add the cream cheese and stir to a nice, thick consistency. Except when I deglazed the pan, all that stuck-on breading came up in big, brownish-orange chunks and I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. Instead of turning into a smooth and creamy, Alfredo-type sauce, it turned into a chunky, brownish-orange mess. I figured I wouldn’t use it anyway, but then Avery gets a look at it and says, “ewwww, it’s looks like pu-uuuke”. Which really drove the knife in my heart ½ an inch deeper (gotta love my 5-year old's honesty), except I knew it was true.
I didn’t make them eat the sauce, nor did I want to for that matter. Quite frankly, it did look like puke. Oh well. We ate the chicken (sans breading and cream sauce) anyway, and at least the asparagus was crisp and the brown rice was good with some butter and salt and pepper. Not a complete loss. But if you have any advice about my ineptitude in the frying department, I’m all ears.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Who Doesn't Love Jane Austen?
I found this quiz on a friend's blog. Jane Austen has always been a huge favorite of mine since I was a teen. I love her style of writing and her complex, and impossibly romantic characters and plot lines. I love the drama and the tension, and the passion of it all! Not to mention the bonnets, and cute empire waist dresses, and those adorable accents. I sometimes wonder if I should have been born in that time period in England somewhere. I wasn't expecting to be most like Emma, I was thinking more along the lines of Elizabeth Bennett. My favorites are Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice. And I've actually read both of those. These days, I don't have a lot of extra time for that pleasure, and so I've been watching the movie adaptations. Mark and I recently watched Persuasion with Amanda Root, and it was a snooze fest. Which disappointed me because I'm really on a kick lately. The next movie in my Netflix queue is Mansfield Park. I hope it's a keeper. What about you? What's your favorite Jane Austen work and who are you most like?
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
The Results
(Women's 30-39 Division)
Number: 98
Name: Suzanne Brown
Age: 33
City: Livonia
Place: 57
Group Overall: 378
Finishing Time: 1:00:33
Pace: 9:45
So all in all, the race went well and I’m glad I did it. I’m mostly happy with my finishing time but I think it could have been a wee bit better. It was my own slightly uneducated fault though, so I have nobody to blame but myself. As some of you know, I ran with a friend from my Ward, Angela. I'm glad we ran together, because we kept each other on pace and got to chat which made the time go by pretty quickly. We also bumped into a co-worker from CPWR, who started the race with us too, but said it was okay if we went ahead without her. The exhilaration of the event kind of sweeps you off your feet a little at the starting line and you have to actually temper yourself a little so that you can find your pace, regulate your breathing, and get warmed up properly. The weather was awesome. It was already like 40 or so when we started. I had bundled up…black pants, white t-shirt, black fleece jacket, hat, and gloves. I had also stuffed my cell phone into one pocket and my shuffle into the other. These items were my biggest mistakes. I didn’t need any of them. Now I know. I quickly shed the hat, then the gloves, then the iPod. After another mile or so, the jacket too. Problem with the jacket was my shuffle was kind of tangled in the zipper, so I had to untangle it, and it kind of slipped out of my hand. I had to stop running so I could stuff it into my jacket pocket, zip it up so it wouldn’t fall out, and then unzip the jacket, and find the arms to tie around my waist…you see where this is going, right? All that nonsense seemed like it took an eternity. And all the while people are zooming past me, and I’m saying sorry over and over to Angela who is now walking with me. I finally arranged my crap, and we started back up. I started stressing out a little at this point about how much time we’d lost and got a little distracted. But then we found a groove again, and after about the 4 mile mark (and water), we stepped up our pace. We stopped chatting at that point and started passing people up again. After the bridge, we were really doing well. I think our best mile was the last. And especially the last .2 miles. We sprinted because we could see the finish line and our families! It was so much fun!!
So overall I feel good. I’m glad I didn’t chicken out and I can add it to my list of running accomplishments. In the grand scheme of things, I’m definitely giving myself a little pat on the back. Afterwards the girls were very enthusiastic and now want to start running their own races. I guess that’s another perk from doing all of this…inspiring my kids to learn to love it too.
Thanks for all your kind words of encouragement. After you tell a bunch of people what you’re planning on doing, it makes it pretty tough to back out. I’m glad you helped me not to.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Go To Your Special Place
One of my co-workers has a great big bowl of candy that she passes out to people on Friday afternoons. She is allergic to chocolate, that's how she can safely store this bowl of candy at her desk. She knows my favorite is Dove Dark chocolate. So if I'm not here when she passes by, she leaves one on my keyboard. It's one of those weekly rituals that I particularly enjoy. The fun thing about Dove chocolates is that the wrapper always has a special little message typed on the inside. I used to save my wrappers because they made me smile. Then I realized how many I had and I remembered seeing those homes of hoarders on Oprah and I got a little paranoid and threw them away. ANYWAY, I still love my special messages, but now I discipline myself to enjoy it for awhile and then throw it away already! Geesh! So today, this is what my Dove chocolate wrapper told me to do.
“Go To Your Special Place”
When I read it, I kind of giggled as I imagined myself rocking back and forth in fetal position with my thumb in my mouth finding my “happy place”. My special PLACE? Do I have a special place? Where do I go when I am seeking refuge or respite from the cold, cruel, angry world? Is it all in my head, a memory of someplace from my youth? Is it at the mall with my credit card in hand? Or is it daydreaming about an exotic (probably never going to happen) vacation? Or could it simply be 14295 Bassett Street? Basically it could be or mean anything. Sky’s the limit. As a matter of fact, my special place could be the sky itself. So I’m on a tangent to find out what I want my special place to be. (And since I’m making the rules, I’m not going to have just one…)
My Special Places:
18646 Golfview: I’m sorry, I’m super sentimental, but I grew up in this house and every memory I have as a child is tied to it. Whether good or bad, it all happened here. I can remember so many little details about this place. The funky wallpaper patterns in the “big bathroom”, the oozy mortar pattern on the brick fireplace, the patched up hole in the hallway where Jeff put his fist through the wall. It all comes back with such clarity, doesn’t it? That is a special place for me. I remember my red and blue room, and having a Strawberry Shortcake comforter and sheet set. I remember when I moved into my re-decorated for my 15th birthday light blue and dusty rose “country” room. But I mostly remember just snuggling up on the blue and tan plaid couches in the family room, watching TV, Dad reading the paper on the loveseat, while Mom cooked dinner in the kitchen (I can still hear the hissing of the pressure cooker) and various siblings were either propped on the coveted spot on the carpet in front of the TV or doing homework assignments at the kitchen table. That will always be a very special place in my heart and mind.
A daydream of a (probably never going to happen) exotic vacation: I finally checked off Disneyworld this past year so now I’m onto daydreaming about other distant lands. I think I’ve mentioned about a million times that I want to go back to the Czech Republic and so I’m not going to classify that as a “probably never going to happen” because hopefully it will happen someday. Instead, I’m going to write about another place that really probably won’t ever happen but is fun to think about. For me, right now I have this dream of flying into either Dublin or Edinburgh, Scotland and either riding buses or trains south into the deep Scottish countryside. We would stop and stay at bed and breakfasts or small, quaint Inn’s and dine on authentic Scottish cuisine (haggis anyone?) and hike around and discover things all day long. I would want to make my way through the country to the Island of Ronansay… (It’s this fictitious place that was made up in this show on PBS that I love called “2,000 Acres of Sky”, produced by the BBC). In the show they call this place the Island of Ronansay, but in real life it’s Port Logan, and is a small village in the parish of Kirkmaiden in the Rhins of Galloway in Wigtownshire. (Doesn’t that SOUND amazing?)
Trefoil Ranch: I will always remember the summers I worked at Trefoil Ranch in Provo Canyon. It really was a beautiful place and I was constantly surrounded by gorgeous mountains, wildflowers for miles, and blue sky dotted with white, cottony clouds. I remember taking early-morning runs along the canyon road and hiking along dirt trails up and down the mountainside. I remember climbing a mountain for the first time in my life and sleeping under the stars with giggly little girl scouts and other counselors, who became my close friends. I remember learning to love nature and myself in a new way and feeling very connected to God’s creations. It was a special place and time in my life.
The Temple: I know this may sound a bit like a stock Sunday school answer, but for me the Temple is a real touch-stone and constant in my life. Ever since I left home at 18, I have moved around a lot. I haven’t really lived in any one place longer than 3 years. Because of that, I’ve discovered I really don’t consider any place “home” right now. Even now that I’m back in Michigan, I still don’t feel “home”. Mostly because we are just renting our house right now and may not stay after Mark finishes school. But I have found this feeling of being “at home” in the Temple. It reminds me where I came from, and where I’m going, and helps me to feel peace and serenity all at the same time.
So here’s another one of those posts that is supposed to get you thinking…what is your “special place” and why?
“Go To Your Special Place”
When I read it, I kind of giggled as I imagined myself rocking back and forth in fetal position with my thumb in my mouth finding my “happy place”. My special PLACE? Do I have a special place? Where do I go when I am seeking refuge or respite from the cold, cruel, angry world? Is it all in my head, a memory of someplace from my youth? Is it at the mall with my credit card in hand? Or is it daydreaming about an exotic (probably never going to happen) vacation? Or could it simply be 14295 Bassett Street? Basically it could be or mean anything. Sky’s the limit. As a matter of fact, my special place could be the sky itself. So I’m on a tangent to find out what I want my special place to be. (And since I’m making the rules, I’m not going to have just one…)
My Special Places:
18646 Golfview: I’m sorry, I’m super sentimental, but I grew up in this house and every memory I have as a child is tied to it. Whether good or bad, it all happened here. I can remember so many little details about this place. The funky wallpaper patterns in the “big bathroom”, the oozy mortar pattern on the brick fireplace, the patched up hole in the hallway where Jeff put his fist through the wall. It all comes back with such clarity, doesn’t it? That is a special place for me. I remember my red and blue room, and having a Strawberry Shortcake comforter and sheet set. I remember when I moved into my re-decorated for my 15th birthday light blue and dusty rose “country” room. But I mostly remember just snuggling up on the blue and tan plaid couches in the family room, watching TV, Dad reading the paper on the loveseat, while Mom cooked dinner in the kitchen (I can still hear the hissing of the pressure cooker) and various siblings were either propped on the coveted spot on the carpet in front of the TV or doing homework assignments at the kitchen table. That will always be a very special place in my heart and mind.
A daydream of a (probably never going to happen) exotic vacation: I finally checked off Disneyworld this past year so now I’m onto daydreaming about other distant lands. I think I’ve mentioned about a million times that I want to go back to the Czech Republic and so I’m not going to classify that as a “probably never going to happen” because hopefully it will happen someday. Instead, I’m going to write about another place that really probably won’t ever happen but is fun to think about. For me, right now I have this dream of flying into either Dublin or Edinburgh, Scotland and either riding buses or trains south into the deep Scottish countryside. We would stop and stay at bed and breakfasts or small, quaint Inn’s and dine on authentic Scottish cuisine (haggis anyone?) and hike around and discover things all day long. I would want to make my way through the country to the Island of Ronansay… (It’s this fictitious place that was made up in this show on PBS that I love called “2,000 Acres of Sky”, produced by the BBC). In the show they call this place the Island of Ronansay, but in real life it’s Port Logan, and is a small village in the parish of Kirkmaiden in the Rhins of Galloway in Wigtownshire. (Doesn’t that SOUND amazing?)
Trefoil Ranch: I will always remember the summers I worked at Trefoil Ranch in Provo Canyon. It really was a beautiful place and I was constantly surrounded by gorgeous mountains, wildflowers for miles, and blue sky dotted with white, cottony clouds. I remember taking early-morning runs along the canyon road and hiking along dirt trails up and down the mountainside. I remember climbing a mountain for the first time in my life and sleeping under the stars with giggly little girl scouts and other counselors, who became my close friends. I remember learning to love nature and myself in a new way and feeling very connected to God’s creations. It was a special place and time in my life.
The Temple: I know this may sound a bit like a stock Sunday school answer, but for me the Temple is a real touch-stone and constant in my life. Ever since I left home at 18, I have moved around a lot. I haven’t really lived in any one place longer than 3 years. Because of that, I’ve discovered I really don’t consider any place “home” right now. Even now that I’m back in Michigan, I still don’t feel “home”. Mostly because we are just renting our house right now and may not stay after Mark finishes school. But I have found this feeling of being “at home” in the Temple. It reminds me where I came from, and where I’m going, and helps me to feel peace and serenity all at the same time.
So here’s another one of those posts that is supposed to get you thinking…what is your “special place” and why?
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Run, Forrest, Run!
Oh soul, you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less, why do you worry?
You are in truth the soul,
of the soul, of the soul.
-- Jalaluddin Rumi
I found this poem on a Marathon Mommy’s blog and it made me kind of tear up a little bit. The beauty of it is it can apply to almost any situation, but in this case she was bloggin’ about her marathon training. I’m no Marathom Mommy (not even close, thank you very much), but I do understand what she’s talking about when she talks about how running has changed her life and how she sees, and thinks, and goes after things differently…how it affects everything, how she deals with things, and how she sees herself. I guess I’ve noticed the gradual change in myself due to running too. It definitely didn’t happen overnight, or even after a year of doing it consistently. It’s still hard to do, sometimes it still hurts, and I wonder why I push myself. Now the discomfort and self-doubt fades away quicker and the “runner’s high” kicks in sooner and I actually feel better, more at peace after doing it. I’ve proved that I’m stronger than I think I am, and that I’m more capable than I give myself credit for. I guess I’ve found my “golden wings” as the poem says. I’ve learned a lot and am grateful that it’s kind of allowed me a re-birth in my life at this stage of the game. I feel better than I did 5 years ago and I’m not getting any younger, if you know what I mean.
So a little news for all (?) my readers is that I’m gearing up for my first 10K on Saturday morning (Martian Marathon/Half/10K in Dearborn), and I kind of started to panic a bit as I set out on a 5-miler the other day. After the first 10 or 15 minutes my breathing started racing and I was getting a little spastic (losing my stride), and practically fell off the treadmill. I started thinking, “I can’t do this…I’m too tired…I haven’t trained enough…My head hurts…Who am I kidding?” And then I (metaphorically) slapped myself across the face and kicked up my speed to prove that yes, I can do this. I can absolutely do this. So I finished a little over 5 miles in a little under 50 minutes. It must be the NEW shoes that my friendly, Running Fit employee (John Bagley) hooked me up with a few weeks ago (with his friendly employee discount). It’s pretty sweet having hook-ups like that. I must say I felt pretty exhilarated after finishing my run, and realized that maybe this isn’t such a long-shot after all. This is something that I’ve been kind of shying away from for awhile and am ready to conquer it already…get it over with. I guess the thing I’ll be scared of after that is the eventual half-marathon I’ll hem and haw about until I just slap myself across the face again and do it. Maybe October? Maybe the Flagstar in downtown Detroit that I thought maybe, one day I could possibly do 2 years ago when I ran my first 5K? Maybe. We’ll see. Wish me luck on Saturday. EEEK!
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Some Pictures, Finally!
Sorry it has taken me so long to get our Easter pics uploaded. We had a great one this year. We enjoyed a nice visit with Mark's parents. They drove cross-country from Idaho, and had a pretty easy trip until they hit a random Spring snow storm in Indiana and had to slow way down. I'm just glad they made it in one piece. The girls woke up to not only Easter baskets and eggs on Saturday morning, but Grandma and Grandpa all the way from Rigby!
Easter baskets
Reunited with Grandma Brown
We took them downtown on Saturday. Mark drove them around the "sights" of Detroit (I think I heard Dennis lock the doors at some point), we had lunch in Mexican Village, and then went to the DIA (Detroit Institute of Arts). Avery volunteered to be our (bossy) tour guide and showed them all of her favorite paintings and places. We all took some good, long naps when we got home that afternoon.
Avery and Grandpa had some important discussions during their visit. Maybe they're talking about the different types of Impressionism depicted at the DIA. What do you think? Too cute!
We finally had a family picture taken by Laurie before Church on Sunday. It's been awhile. The girls didn't end up with the poofy, frilly, pastel dresses I imagined. Instead, they picked out what they wanted and I think they both suit their personalities really well. They both felt pretty cute getting all gussied up. Mark even consented to wearing the pink tie we bought him for Easter a few years back. Me? Mine's not new, although I did buy something. I just need to wait till it gets warmer to wear it. IF that ever happens.
The next picture is actually from this past Friday. Upon hearing news that we had Dentist appts. (just cleanings) on Saturday morning, there was more tooth drama. Maryn has another tooth that is hanging onto gum only at this point that she will NOT give up. Many of you probably question whether Maryn has this side to her personality as she is so mellow and friendly so much of the time. But here it is, in all it's raw, terrified, and stubborn glory...poor girl!
Easter baskets
Reunited with Grandma Brown
We took them downtown on Saturday. Mark drove them around the "sights" of Detroit (I think I heard Dennis lock the doors at some point), we had lunch in Mexican Village, and then went to the DIA (Detroit Institute of Arts). Avery volunteered to be our (bossy) tour guide and showed them all of her favorite paintings and places. We all took some good, long naps when we got home that afternoon.
Avery and Grandpa had some important discussions during their visit. Maybe they're talking about the different types of Impressionism depicted at the DIA. What do you think? Too cute!
We finally had a family picture taken by Laurie before Church on Sunday. It's been awhile. The girls didn't end up with the poofy, frilly, pastel dresses I imagined. Instead, they picked out what they wanted and I think they both suit their personalities really well. They both felt pretty cute getting all gussied up. Mark even consented to wearing the pink tie we bought him for Easter a few years back. Me? Mine's not new, although I did buy something. I just need to wait till it gets warmer to wear it. IF that ever happens.
The next picture is actually from this past Friday. Upon hearing news that we had Dentist appts. (just cleanings) on Saturday morning, there was more tooth drama. Maryn has another tooth that is hanging onto gum only at this point that she will NOT give up. Many of you probably question whether Maryn has this side to her personality as she is so mellow and friendly so much of the time. But here it is, in all it's raw, terrified, and stubborn glory...poor girl!
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