Catch Up

We're in a strange life phase: working, serving in the church, and playing with friends and family are our highlights, and they can be fairly repetitive highlights. Treasures to us, to be sure, but less interesting to read about.

When people ask me what I'm up to, my eyes often glaze over and my mind spins, trying to find something to say that doesn't have to do with Netflix or a new recipe or the latest police activity in my neighborhood. The benefit of letting a blog lie fallow for a little while is that I feel better about our accomplishments as a family.  If I let a few months go by, it's easier to pick out the real adventures to report.

As it happens, work, church, and playing with friends and family were still the highlights of the last two months. We celebrated holidays and special events with loved ones. David turned another year older, sold his money pit of a car, and helped with Hurricane Sandy cleanup in NYC. I baked things. We enjoyed familial visitors, and we did a little visiting ourselves. We witnessed Little Baby Jordan's safe return from his missionary service. We spent an awful lot of time planning imaginary vacations and tossing about life plan ideas. We ate good things, and we didn't sleep enough. (There's never enough sleep, in my opinion.)

All in all, 2012 was good to us. But, this ol' bloggie isn't really about grand happenings. Here's to a lovely 2013, full of the beautiful every day events and spiced with a few adventures along the way.

Juxtaposition

Sometime over the course of the last year, I started forgetting how old I am. Genuinely, positively, absolutely forgetting. I've never been particularly bothered about growing older, but I never imagined that I'd start forgetting the actual number at such an early age.

Whatever the number is, I am (as Preston wisely once described me) on the outer fringes of youth. I have merely a vague knowledge of what the young kids these days listen to or watch. And I impatiently--nay, desperately!--await the day when skinny and/or brightly colored jeans are no longer fashionable, since they look terrible on me.  Let's face it. I'm out of touch.

Since I'm already an old woman at heart, I decided to fill some of my spare time by volunteering at the  Shakespeare Theater Company in DC. I'd envisioned being an usher for a local theater company much later in life, but since my memory is clearly slipping already, I figured should start acting my internal age now.

As my fellow new ushers and I sat contemplating theater layouts and the correct protocol for dealing with latecomers the other day, we heard an unlikely sound coming from across the street: screaming. Specifically, teenage girl screaming, the likes of which mine ears had not heard for many years. We looked at each other uncomfortably, unsure of how to reconcile what we were hearing with our surroundings. After all, a healthy majority of us were sporting awesome grey hairdos and orthopedic shoes.

Then, a small voice of knowledge chimed in: "there's a Justin Bieber concert happening across the street." We chuckled, sighed, and resumed studying our theater maps in silence.

Hey, I was a teenager once--I have enough 'N Sync songs on my iPod to prove it.

But I have embraced my old side. I am one of them.

Sundays in the Park with The Ladies

I have the distinct honor of knowing the world's most classy women. What's more, they allow me to vacation with them.

Our little traveling society.

In 2010, these sophisticated ladies elevated Newport, RI to even greater heights by their mere presence. They glided across society lawns and planned extravagant events, all while looking just as glamorous as the mansions they visited.

I was there, too. At one point I did a cartwheel on the lawn of The Elms.

This year, my classy friends decided that it was about time they graced Manhattan's high end design houses, art galleries, and imported Parisian bakeries with their patronage. Ruthie served as vacation mastermind and secured deluxe accommodations in Times Square, Kelli elegantly photographed the trip and instructed our drivers, and Maggie guided our culinary expeditions with aplomb.

I was there, too. At one point I bought David a Mickey Mouse chocolate bar and dragged the whole group to a toy store. 

 

Taking in the ballet.

Contemplating the view from our 33rd floor hotel room.

I returned from Manhattan uplifted and inspired. And then, less than 24 hours after my return, my newest niece Elizabeth was born.

Suffice it to say: October has been exceedingly awesome.

In Which We Finally Leave The Apartment

I'm a little worried about you, reader. I believe you're going to be spoiled, because I have yet another post with pictures coming your way.

Since David is feeling much better after he cast off his tonsil-shaped shackles, we've had several more adventures of late. We've enjoyed family time in Maryland and Virginia, played with friends, delighted in the messages of general conference, and generally taken lots of opportunities to get out of the sick bay. We even took a quick jaunt down to Charlottesville to visit Monticello. It was a cold, cloudy day, but the grounds were as beautiful as ever.

See? We were there.

TJ's gardens.

David particularly enjoyed all of TJ's inventions, with the awesome revolving reading desk topping the list. Quoth David: "It's like tabbed browsing . . . for BOOKS!" And for the low, low price of $619, we could own a piece of browsing history in our very own home. What luck! Alas, we settled for a bar of chocolate instead--which tastes a lot better than a desk anyway.

I Have That Within

While David is busy recovering, I've been spending my down time at home in the company of The West Wing. This isn't my first time 'round the block with the Bartlet administration; four years ago I tore through the entire series at an embarrassing pace. Either I haven't grown much as a person since then, or the show is still really, really excellent, because I've been burning through episodes with alarming frequency. (I'm in good company.)

I have a theory. This theory is corroborated by a few of my dear ones, as well as spurious vanity personality tests on the interwebs. My theory?

I am White House Communications Director Toby Ziegler.

Meet my doppleganger.

Sure, I'd like to be more like CJ Cregg or one of the Barlets or even Josh Lyman. But I have the soul of a middle aged, bald curmudgeon.

I'm mostly cool with that.

Live from the Sick Bay

Rubbish tonsils. They've been causing David problems since before we were married, and on Wednesday, they were finally excised from his body. He's been a trooper during his recovery thus far, writing me oxycodone-induced poems and doing his best to stay put.

We crammed as much excitement into the weeks preceding the surgery as we could, including an impromptu jaunt to Annapolis. Oh, what's that? Did I remember to make David take a blurry camera picture while we were there? Why, yes I did.

"[I'm] getting better all the ti-i-iiime!"

I also got to explore Gettysburg with Kari, who is officially the world's greatest mother-in-law. I did not take any pictures. (I'm a work in progress.)

Anyway, tonsils. David is enjoying unfettered access to ice cream, and I am enjoying the fact that he will never have tonsillitis again. Good news all around.

Boston Photographed

I made a solemn vow to my dear mother-in-law that David and I would be better at taking pictures. Since we were never great in the first place, I figure any improvement at all fits the definition of "better."

We took some pictures in Boston. Not many, mind you, and none of the most important event: Christopher's wedding. Sorry, Christopher.

Only one of many ice cream stops.

David started a new tradition on our Florida trip, which he happily repeated in Boston. I believe the tradition will remain with us until high fructose corn syrup is no longer manufactured.

Happiest kid in all the land.

We both had food glee moments on the trip, actually. This was my face when we rounded the corner at the mall and saw what mine eyes had not beheld for many moons: Wagamama.

Taste the happy.

The trip wasn't all ice cream and noodle bars. We saw some stuff, too. 

Plymouth

And yes, that is a whale on David's t-shirt. A whale, otherwise known as one of the most terrifying creatures on the planet. I consider it a credit to my skills as a wife that David not only owns that shirt, but that I permit him to wear it in public even though it strikes crippling bolts of fear into my very soul. 

Moral of the story: I am awesome. Whales, however, are not awesome. Never forget.

'Tis September

August passed in a hazy blur. We frolicked on the beach in Delaware, played tag on the Lexington green, visited a variety of excellent Boston ice cream shops, landed on (or at least near) Plymouth Rock, witnessed the marriage of Christopher and Allie, watched as much of the Olympics as we possibly could, tearfully bid our summer visitors goodbye, and wrestled and swam with the Virginia crew.

September looks just a little bleak by comparison.

Still, September does have its advantages. Jacket and hoodie weather isn't far away, and Preston is blogging regularly. What's more, Flight of the Conchords is back to doing what they do best: changing the world, one tooth at a time.


Happy fall, reader.

Civic Duty

My household is not blessed with a television. Accordingly, we fled to Virginia last week to watch the opening ceremonies with the VA Witts. In between moments of Danny Boyle mayhem--which, can I just say? MR.BEAN!--we had to sit through all kinds of political attack ads.

Yes, it's election season.

We feel very strongly about civic engagement in my home. What better way to express appreciation for our rights as citizens of a democratic republic than by voting? And vote we do. We vote with our dollars, and with our e-mail accounts. We vote for what truly matters: maintaining a robust selection of light ice cream products in our grocery store's freezer aisle. David is truly a patriot. Showing here:

Dear Edy's,

Please continue the Slow Churned Black Raspberry, which is marked "Limited Edition." I'm a normal Joe who has never contacted a company like this before, but I'm begging you: please continue this flavor! My only complaint when I eat it is how fast my bowl becomes empty.

Sometimes you just have to take a stand, reader.

And the living is easy.

Summer is without a doubt my least favorite season. However, some aspects of summer please me. For one thing, many folks take vacations when the weather gets warm. And boy, am I grateful when people I love vacation near me.

We're currently basking in the extended presence of the Wrights, which both simultaneously soothes and inflames my desire to be their next door neighbor someday. My much more hip brothers tell me that social media is a powerful thing. Since I barely dabble in the social media stuff, I don't have a testimony of this power yet. Shall we experiment a little? I think we should.

Hello there, internets. Buy lots of incredible things here so the Wrights can buy a European palace where the fam can all live in a wonderful commune full of Kenneth's cooking and Sarah's art.

There. That should do it. I should probably update my passport now.

Not My Job

Here are some alternative career ideas I've recently gathered. You know, just in case.

• Travel agent with a very exclusive client list: me.
• Forager for decent Netflix streaming titles.
• Professional aunt.
• Person who picks real books for Belle's library. Cheap cop out, Disney. Let me slap some titles on those spines.
• Lazy river rafter.

Make that happen for me, universe. 

Too Darn Hot

You may have heard that the DC area is experiencing a wee bit of a weather kerfuffle. Miraculously, we never lost power (though my cell phone is still on the fritz). I'm still in a grateful fugue state of disbelief, since the power at my last place of residence winked off when anyone so much as sneezed in the general vicinity.

We got to host 4.5 adorable refugees, and we had a grand time. Whilst I was making lunch yesterday, I observed that our weekend adventures were almost like a Lake Powell trip: marathon family time (yay!), communal meals (yay!), cramped quarters, poor sleep, 100+ degree heat, and zero energy. But without all the awesome stuff like wave runners and water slides.

Disasters notwithstanding, I loved the family time. Come again soon, my little refugees.

Public Service Announcement

If you're wondering whether I am still the face for BYU's student center, rest assured: a pale, 18-year-old me is still representing.

List, list, O, list!

As the temperatures continue to climb, I do what I always do in the summertime: hole up in an air conditioned place with a book or movie and wait for the suffocating madness to pass. So, I think a lot about movies.

Most pop culture savvy folk have their movie predispositions. I most certainly have mine. I'm grateful to live in a world where Netflix appreciates and caters to said predispositions--the Taste Preferences section of Netflix gets very, very specific. I love it. One can indicate a preference for films including Singing Cowboys, Evil Kids, Future Dystopias, Mistaken Identities, or my favorite uber specific category of all: Monkeys.

Netflix doesn't go quite far enough for me, though.


Types of movies that I am predisposed to like:

• Period dramas from almost any time period, up until about the 1970s
• Spy stuff
• Films set in the British isles and Ireland--extra points for genuine accents
• Excellent animation, including stop motion but only rarely including computer generated animation (Pixar being the rare jewel of an exception)
• Psychological/cerebral dramas

 
We saw Brave last weekend (predisposition score: 3/5). I really liked it a lot, but it didn't blow my mind or anything. Still, give me a Scottish princess, some gloriously animated Highlands scenery, and genuine Scottish accents and I am a happy camper. Without the actual camping. It's too hot outside.

Brave certainly could have been worse. I love me some Pixar, but that love doesn't spread equally across all of their film catalog. 



Wendy's Pixar Categories

That was a moving, whimsical, transcendent film that renewed my faith in Art.

• WALL-E
• Up

You know what? I really liked that film.

• Toy Story trilogy
• A Bug's Life
• Monsters, Inc.
• Finding Nemo
• The Incredibles
• Brave

Eh. I think I remember watching it.

• Ratatouille (to be fair, it's probably in the upper category . . . I just don't remember it very well)

There's got to be a more meaningful way to sell toys.

• Cars (and probably 2, but I won't see it)

That is all.

But, why?

Once upon a time, I wrote some stuff on a blog. I liked writing on that ol' blog. But then, I jumped ship and started a new blog. I didn't really like writing on that blog. So guess what? Here's another new blog. 

What's different about this new(est) blog, Wendy?
Thanks for asking, gentle reader. The new(est) blog has a different URL. And the backdrop is a different picture. Most importantly, it only has one author. The pressure of writing on David's behalf gave me massive writer's block, since my usual drivel didn't feel like it warranted capturing on a legitimate family blog. David is way too awesome to have someone else speak for him, anyway. I shall be taking responsibility for my own drivel.

What's with the name? Do you really like show tunes or something?
I love a good show tune, for sure. But the name comes from Hamlet, specifically the scene in which Ophelia is commenting on Hamlet's need to constantly interrupt the production of "The Mousetrap" with his explanations. I plan to do pretty much the same thing here--the inane commentary, not the staging of a play to expose a foul and unnatural murder.

Why should I bother reading it?
Let's be real: you probably shouldn't. But you can if you want to.