Before I head out of town, I have a parting thought regarding pant buttons. The last two days I have worn pants that button on the opposite side from what I am used to. Yesterday I noticed something slightly awry. Today it was down right annoying. My hands are not used to moving that way and it almost made me want to drink less water. It did get me thinking about the merits button uniformity but I'm too lazy to start a campaign. I had always assumed that pants buttoned in the same direction but perhaps lefties are demanding equal treatment. I did hear sometime in my life, whether or not it is true, that men and women's dress jackets are buttoned on opposite sides from the other. I am too lazy and tired to actually google this factoid. If it is true, I wonder how they decided which side each gender received.
As I listen to Johnny Cash sing the post title, I think of my roommates. We're literal strangers sharing the same space, a space I don't enjoy sharing. My flatmates are not that bad. They fair better than the one that rarely slept at home unless her boyfriend was also sleeping there. He had the audacity to leave the toilet seat up during his late night urinating. Jerk! I knew living with her would be a disaster when I saw our bathroom plastered in faux leopard print. I almost burst in to tears. There was also the roommate that didn't know how to clean and didn't seem to understand that dishes went in the dishwasher. She watched television non-stop on the first t.v. I ever purchased. One of my current roommates doesn't take out the trash, leaves crumbs on the counter, rarely unloads the dishwasher and has yet to clean the kitchen or vacuum but she's nice so I forgive her. My biggest problem is the air conditioner fights. I don't know who is doing it but there is a constant battle over the temperature. We don't talk about it but it's constantly changing. I finally managed to figure out how to set the program so I changed everything for good (unless one of them already knows how it works or decides to read the instructions). I even set it so it wouldn't start getting really cool until after midnight to avoid sneaky fingers making it warmer. Back me up people, who wants to sleep in a house that is 26 C (80 F)? They let it hover around that temperature all day. It's already 29-35 (85-95) degrees outside. I managed to get it much cooler in my house and was so excited for my first non-hot and non-sweaty sleep since summer began. About 5 a.m. I awoke, burning up, confused because it should have been at least 22 C (72 F) which is still fairly warm. I walked to the thermostat only to discover it had been turned off. Blast! Is their blood so thin that they don't feel the heat under their blankets? We're not 80 year old Floridians or Arizonians. Who likes that much heat? I'm losing the battle. I'm not sure how much talking will change the problem, as people have different hot and cold preferences This whole marriage and compromise idea becomes less and less appealing.
The difficulty I have is not wanting to spend the bulk of my paycheck on living, thus the need for roommates. However, my sharing threshold is reaching its maximum. The current solution is to move in with a friend that shares my same air conditioning ideals. Saldy this is several months down the road when summer is cooling off. I'm curious as to the biggest frustration others experience with inhabiting a house with someone else. Perhaps my problem is only minute in the scheme of things. I do envy those that live alone.
Sometimes I am reminded that I am becoming more like my parents. The other day my doorbell rang at 10:00 p.m.. I went to open the door and there was a kid trying to sell something. The phrase "it's very late to be ringing my bell" sprang to my head but my mouth said "No thanks." What I found amusing is that the way I said it in my head is exactly how my mother would have said it out loud... her intonation, accent, pauses. I am assuming that down the road these phrases will no longer be running through my mind but will be out of my mouth.
I still can't figure out why a parent allowed their nine or ten year old child to ring houses so late at night. I used to get turned away at 8 p.m. on Hallowe'en. My folks barely tolerated sales people at our door past the same time. It was baffling. Less baffling is that as I've aged I'm more accepting and even appreciative of my genetic and socialized self. As a teenager I struggled so much to be an individual (only to be a conglomerate of my friends) that I tried to be "unKelly-like." I wasn't really fooling anyone. I'm very much a Kelly and can finally embrace that. Another benefit of aging.
Last night I discovered that I am doing my grocery shopping all wrong. I usually go on my own, straight after work and make little eye contact. Last night I shook things up and went on a brief shopping excursion with my friend. It was getting late so we stopped in at the local grocers closest to the BYU campus. We were so engrossed in our conversation regarding hair conditioner that we didn't notice two lurking males. While we were discussing the merits of 85% more shine, 65% more fullness or 70% more body, a tall young fellow told us that the 99 cent Suave was the way to go. After glancing at his red raspberry shampoo, I suggested he go with the more manly smell of "kiwi lime." I assured him it would change his life, as his short roommate looked on. He heeded my advice and after some friendly banter, Jo made her decision on conditioner and we moved on. A few minutes later we were perusing the sunblock options when a man came over to us and complimented me on my glasses. He stood there, awkwardly looking at sunscreen that he had no intention to buy but trying in vain to think of something else to say. Jo and I had more important things to take care of, such as me dancing and both laughing to wait for another question. We went off to pay and rehashed our eventful trip.
The conclusion to my evening was that shopping with a buddy, late at night, with singles milling about makes for some interesting experiences. Also, it never hurts to buy cute glasses. So, when you need a little boost and something to laugh about, heed this experience...
For a good portion of my life I was fairly allergic to exercising. I would go on the occasional hike, do some yoga, and every once in a while go for a jog. Then a time would come when I would be determined to get in shape. It would last maybe a month or two and then become dormant until the next flash of inspiration. Well, for the last four months I've stopped my sneezing and sniffling toward working out. I think that this time it may actually stick. I've discovered that there is nothing more exhilarating than running further than I ever have before or pushing my limit in spin class. Training for a half marathon has given me a goal I never thought plausible. Growing up asthmatic often put a damper on heavy exercise. Now I've gone from hating running to craving it. The benefits of exercise are clear, yet we often neglect the negatives.
Rolling out of bed at 5:30 to make it to spin class is less than thrilling. Stiff calves from running are a literal pain but the absolute worse part of exercise is the increase in laundry. I realize that most of the people in my life are busy doing laundry on a daily basis because they have kids. However, doing more than a couple of loads a week is a major annoyance to me. Daily workouts mean stinky clothes that demand my attention. They're also picky and need to be hung to dry. Someone should really invent workout clothes that can sustain multiple wearing before washing. It sounds gross but would be really convenient.
Let's hear them... pros and cons of exercise. Is it love/hate, just love or just hate?
Today is our family photographer's birthday. War often broke out during family photo sessions, like the time my brother pushed me over while swearing about something. I believe this was the same weekend his now wife was meeting us for the first time. It's a wonder she ever came back. Often one sibling or another would storm out, only to have to come back minutes later to paste on the fake smile. Even with this knowledge, our regular photographer often chose to test out new equipment on us. Several hours would be spent waiting for it to be figured out, only to get prints back that were less than stellar. I remember the blue backdrop he bought, the light reflector thing, new flashes, but all in all, my dad is a pretty good photographer. Now family photos only happen at weddings, so we don't have to worry about that for a long while. Family fighting is kept more to the little ones and the main goal now is just to have everyone in a shot with fewer than two people closing their eyes and only one crying kid.
Back to my dad... he has several roles in our family. He's the captain (but only when he's sailing), the photographer, the paper editor (when I was in school), the softy grandpa and the tease (only because I'm such an easy target). This got me thinking about the roles each of us play in our family. Some have more clearly defined roles, such as the peacemaker or agitator but I've noticed roles have changed in my family as we've all gotten older. All of my siblings also have the role of mother or father, along with daughter/son, wife/husband, brother/sister, aunt/uncle. It's got to be rather confusing! What is interesting is to see how roles change with the person. My dad was always a sweet softie with my mom but never mushy with us (although it does creep in with his grandkids). I also relate differently with each of my siblings. Relationships are interesting things.
I think I really like Sailor Dad, as the sea air makes all of us cheery and it's inspiring to see how much he's invested in this hobby. Side note: Sailor Dad wasn't so cheery during one trip when he had gout. I preferred to say he got "grouch." Editor dad was pretty handy too when I needed help with university applications and when introductory English papers had been badly procrastinated. Happy birthday dad, thanks for always giving me a hand. By the way, I see my future favourite role as cool Auntie. I plan to hedge all the other Aunties out by spoiling my nieces and nephews rotten when I am a mega-rich therapist (but I think that's an oxymoron). What is your favourite role?
What happens to a city girl when she spends a weekend in the country? Well, a lot actually. I discovered that hours aren't wasted and that you get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday to hike a massive American flag up to its proper place. Apparently you can't let the flag touch the ground so we all held on to it while it was hoisted up. I was a respectful Canadian and actually appreciated their patriotism.
This peak is right beside Kristina's parents amazing property.
Later in the afternoon, I was initiated in to true jeeping. When I wasn't scared silent, I screamed/giggled. I like to call it the sciggle. The climb to the top nearly put me over the edge but replaying the Titanic calmed my nerves.
The jeeps got to the top but the bigger concern of mine was getting them down. The drivers were fairly calm, don't you think? I'm not quite sure how we made it down as my eyes were closed for most of it. I'd rather be surprised if we rolled.
Sunday was even more of an initiation to Vernal life. We hiked to some petroglyph's which ended in us wading through the river to get home in time for Sunday dinner. They were quite amazing. I don't look quite as amazing but rather than believe I'm not photogenic, I'll blame the photographer. Later that night I was up close and personal during a horse surgery. See, I'm the kid whose parents actually paid people to let me ride their horses. I went to several horse camps... a city kid pretending to be country. So, keeping in line with the country initiation, the vets chose me to be the one to drip saline (I think) on the horse's stomach. Apparently it keeps it from drying out but I didn't want to ask too many questions, as their hands were literally full of guts. I think the ranchers knew the nervous looking gal in flip flops had no clue what she was doing. My true colours continued to show when we went to feed a calf. Dave was pouring store bought milk in to the bottle and I said "We're giving it human milk?" I was greeted with a pause then a "What kind of milk do we drink Aislinn?" Yeah, that would be cow milk. In my defense, I thought they would give the calf some special cow milk, not just the kind I can pick up at the local grocers. As an aside, it's kinda gross when a cow nibbles on your finger.
The last day I tried to be more country by helping Kristina's dad change the wheel lines. The biggest help we were was looking pretty for the camera. Then it was off to do some target shooting. I have never shot a handgun before and I was rather nervous. However, after I shot the lid off a bottle with a 9mm I felt rather cool. Some say luck, I say raw talent!
Kristina and I could easily be the next Charlie's Angels. I'm not sure who the third angel would be, because we're really angelic enough.
I was exhausted by the end of the weekend but enjoyed every minute of it. Being outside, away from all the noise is good for the soul. It was also refreshing to do something out of the ordinary, especially something that was so enjoyable. I appreciated how much work that lifestyle requires. I was sleeping in when I got up at 7 on the weekends.
I should be sleeping but I'm not. I was needing some reminders of home, friends and family. While looking through all my pictures, I was drawn to this one. My dad took this picture of two of his granddaughters, cousins, sweeties. I love this picture. As the sun is going down two little girls talk, laugh and play. Their unknown future stretches before them. Their conversation will soon be forgotten but the moment is captured forever.
Reminds me to live more in the moment, take time to play and love...