My favorite thing I've said this year.

"She threw me off with her generosity, just like everyone else in this stupid town."

(After several people gave me the right-of-way when it wasn't my turn -- causing me no end of confusion, the woman at the drive-thru window in an unnamed [at least to me, at that time] Utah town offered me complimentary tiny orange sherbets.)

PPE (Poetic Party Entertainment)

When I was in high school, my AP English teacher said many quotable things. But one, in particular, was that it was always good to have a poem or two under your belt for parties. Whip one of those out, and you'll be the belle of the ball -- with all around awed by your wit, grace, intelligence, and charm. So we were required to memorize this poem, which I still remember pretty well. (I didn't look it up, so you could go compare.)

Loveliest of Trees

by A.E. Housman

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Is hung with bloom along the bough,

And stands about the woodland ride

Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now of my threescore years and ten,

Twenty will not come again.

And take from seventy springs a score,

That only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom

Fifty springs are little room,

About the woodland I will go

To see the cherry hung with snow.

Were you in rapture? I know. I know. You should see me do it IN PERSON! (Actually, I'm certain I'll be too wimpy to recite it for you.)

Here is my other party entertainment option:

Could Have Been Worse

by Bill Dodds

My friends have not seen London;

They've never been to France.

But yesterday at recess,

They saw my underpants!

I kicked a ball, my skirt flew up,

And I know what they all saw.

The girls all stared and blushed and laughed,

The boys said, "Oo la la!"

I've thought a lot about it,

And this conclusion I have drawn:

I'm embarrassed that they saw them,

But I'm glad I had them on.

What's your vote on my party entertainment? Do YOU have a poem handy?

Freshening beads? I'm in.

Kind of wish I had one of these right now. Really, I get that it's wasteful and American consumer-ish, but I just really like brushing my teeth. So much better than gum.

A Halloween Fright

Do you know what's scary? Leaving your house with all your doors closed, and coming home to find your front door wide open!

Everything was still in my house -- computers, credit cards, unmentionables (which really aren't that unmentionable, let's be honest), everything. There was no one hiding in my closets or under the bed or in the bathtub. But it's enough to make sure you're awake.

I'm thinking somehow it was the wind. I'm hoping? Either way, I feel very lucky. But I also feel like I need to call my dad and fix the locks on my door. Dad?

Egg-head

So, lately I've been in the mood to make things with eggs. Bready things with eggs. Which means: German Pancakes, Yorkshire Pudding, and Dutch Babies.

I started with German Pancakes a few weeks ago. A BIT less fluffy than I would have liked, but still airy and light; definitely acceptable for a first run, baked in the completely wrong dish.

Second: Yorkshire Pudding, last Sunday. Yum, in theory. Hardly like a Yorkshire Pudding at all in reality. More like a dense muffin with a tiny divot rather than a pillowy container for gravy.

Last: Dutch Baby. The original love. The perfect Saturday breakfast food. I discovered it almost 10 years ago at a restaurant near Seattle, WA. My loyalty has been strong. I couldn't go out this morning, but that was ok, because I was thinking: This is going to be the winner. I'll never be happier than knowing how to make this.

The elements were thinking: HA! You get the flattest, thickest, egg-bread/pancake that you've ever seen. I'd show you a picture, but it's too humiliating. Thank goodness for homemade Strawberry Jam (ahem, syrup).

And good thing love means never having to say you're sorry (or so I hear), because otherwise I would owe my cooking an apology. In my case, practice doesn't seem to make perfect.

A recipe for making...

So, yesterday was one of those days. One of those days when you just feel like you're not sure why you're fighting battles in the corporate world. One of those days when all of the work you do just seems to be wasted. One of those days when the only thing you can do is go home, put on an apron and bake.

So, I got out all the fixins' for Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies, and realized: I have no chocolate chips. (And only one egg, which was technically enough. But they expired in JULY. I know that eggs last way longer than the date on the carton, but July just seemed a bit too long.) I was too tired to grab my purse, change out of pajama pants, or really be bothered with anything at all, so I grabbed my check card and keys, put on my black wool coat (which is what was readily accessible) and some shoes, and headed to the grocery store.

I quickly grabbed a dozen eggs and some chocolate chips and went to the cash register. The woman there asked what I was making and we chatted about Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies while she checked me out. She was so enthusiastic about her easy recipe, which I thought was nice, and I chuckled while I walked out.

But, do you know what will always make you feel stupid? A tall, slender, luxuriously coiffed woman in the most fabulous knee-length leather coat you've ever seen and stiletto heels. And that's exactly what I ran into on my way out. Her look of disdain over my ill-fitting flannel pajama pants made me acutely aware that my bag contained CHOCOLATE CHIPS, not some uber-healthy salad and a single red pepper.

As I slouched in shame to my car, I thought, "This is it. This is the beginning. In no time at all, I'll be a 40-year-old, suburban-Utah woman who doesn't know how to wear anything but track suits everywhere. And? I'll be ok with it!!!! WHERE IS MY LIFE GOING?"

But, two good things came of this experience:

1. I reconfirmed that wearing pajama pants to the grocery store (or out in public at all) is wrong. How did I get there? Do I really feel like I'm that much a part of my community and the grocery store is just like being with family? No. I am aware that this is something that can really only happen in suburban communities. Can you imagine some woman hopping on the tube in London in her pajamas to go get eggs? No. I was duly ashamed on my way out of the house, but even more appropriately ashamed on the way in. Don't worry, world, I won't insult you that way again. For a while.
2. As I recounted this story, I learned that everyone else knew what the animated checkout clerk knew. There is a really easy recipe that is supposedly delicious. (I didn't make them. I paid a high price to get those eggs, dag-nab-it, and I wasn't about to waste it.)

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 box spice cake mix

1 can pumpkin (small size)

1 bag chocolate chips

Mix and bake. (I'm assuming 350 for 15 minutes or so? Since everyone else knows this recipe, you tell me.)

Happy baking. But... if you run out of chocolate chips and need to go get some, for heaven's sake, put on some pants. Or, if you just can't muster the strength to change, come by my place to get them. The grocery store patrons will thank you.

"No judgement"

A few weeks ago, I was propositioned in the middle of the night for something that would be both degrading and morally wrong. I found the whole thing really rather hilarious. Anyone who knows me at all would know that I wouldn't really consider anything like that. So the fact that a young man would even ask, I found funny in itself.

I told several people the story, thinking they would find it as amusing as I did, but I was surprised at the answer that I got from almost every one of them: "Did you do it? No judgement."

I know they were sort of joking, sort of kidding. But what bothered me was the amount of truth in what they were saying. I was confused that they would think it even a possibility for me. And, truthfully, I was discouraged that they wouldn't judge me. At least in that situation.

So, I'm putting it out there: I want to be judged. I guess I can't choose just one kind of judgement, so I'll open myself up to it all. Clearly I don't want hateful and mean judgement, the kind that ruins friendships and lives. And of course some judgements are out of place, misinformed, or just plain wrong.

But if you know me, and you know I'm living below my standards, below decency, below myself: I want people to tell me. I want them to correct me. I want them to judge me. I've heard it said that there is nothing more discouraging than when people stop trying to correct you; it means they no longer care and they've given up on you. I agree with that. I can't imagine something more lonely. And so, I want those that are closest to me to expect more of me than I think I can give; I want them to encourage me to do more and be more; I want them to -- lovingly -- help me become better. (Ha. LOVE ME!)

I appreciate the sentiment of "no judgement" -- professing that unconditional love. But in situations where the two choices are clearly good or bad -- I don't want people accepting "bad" from me. That doesn't mean that they have to stop loving me or that recognizing "bad" means they have less love. I appreciate love, and I -- as I've said before -- really want to embody it as best I can.

But, clearly, if people thought I would engage in that behavior several weeks ago, I haven't been embodying what I want. I've been concerned lately about who I'm becoming. And by "lately," I mean for the last few years. (I'm sure I've written about this before.) I'm not sure if it's a reflection of me, or of others, but I get discouraged especially when I feel like no one expects or encourages more. It seems they almost encourage me to falter and fail, so they can prove they won't judge me. This just won't work for me. I think a little accountability could be good for all of us.

It's been bothering me long enough. I'm going on a kick of self-improvement, and so I offer it again, an open invitation: "I hope you judge me."

A little embarrassed.

I really like the TV show House, but I can't say I really watch it much. I don't know why. I probably have more time to watch television than I actually use. But I saw an episode last night and something Wilson said kind of struck me. In fact, I've been giving it more thought than a simple TV quote should garner in a healthy individual.

He was talking about people -- the people that really influence your life -- and he said, "You don't get to pick your family; I'm not even sure, anymore, that you get to pick who your friends are."

This intrigued me. I'm not a fatalist. I don't think, necessarily, that things are "meant" to happen. But I've often thought about the people in my life: why there are some people that just always seem to be around -- even when I don't make much effort; why some people leave unexpectedly; why some people always mean to make more effort, but never do; why some are easy to let go; why there are some that you can't quite seem to remove; why there are some you would be desperate without; and the small, happenstance, almost impulse decisions that change your entire social circle. I feel like -- of all the things that could happen, of all the people that could be in my life, of all the major influences in my life -- the people that surround me, and have surrounded me, are not just by coincidence. But I can't say I really "chose" any of it. Most the time, the things that I choose on my own don't really work out. It's the unexpected that sticks around and that makes the lasting difference. But the things those people bring out in me are so crucial to who I am, I don't believe it's entirely chance.

I don't know that I have a ton of life philosophies yet. But I have a few:

• The best decisions in life will always be the ones that seem like a long-shot and you go after it anyway because your gut tells you to -- even if it doesn't turn out like you thought.
• You'll never regret trying hard to be a better person.
• The people around you matter. A lot. And I think I'm just seeing the tip of the iceberg on this one.

So, to all my friends and readers (maybe some of you will see this), thank you. Thank you for being people that I can aspire to emulate. Thank you for making my life meaningful. Thank you for helping me see the world in new ways, for encouraging me to be better, and for being patient with my hundreds of weaknesses.

Ok. The cheese is over for a minute. It'll be back, I'm sure. You never know. This hit me watching House. Next time it might be from the slogan of some local restaurant. I'm not quite sure how, but I have a feeling "Switch to Geico and Save" might just describe how I'm feeling about something one of these days.

What about you? Any life philosophies you want to share? (And, please, don't feel obligated to share in my gush. I hear that too much cheese makes your breath stink. But there's probably room for a little more, if you want.)

Have you ever noticed how weird the word "shirt" is?

The other day I bought some fabric from this site. I didn't have a specific plan for it, but there were so many cute options! It became a need almost immediately.

Then I went over to my sister's house and saw a shirt she'd made. She is always a good source of inspiration.

Meld the two together, with a holiday, a couple of free hours, a $3 t-shirt, and a viewing of Shawshank Redemption and you'll end up with this:

(Please ignore the absence of any sort of discernable chin in that last photo. I thought I had one, but it appears I may just have a ch-neck... a check... a nin... a nechin... whatever it's called.)

(Some of?) These should probably be on a different site.

High: Trip to New York to visit Reno this week!!

Low: Not going anymore.

High: Peacock feather headbands! From real peacock feathers! Made by yours truly.

Low: I'm convinced feather headbands are going out of style.

New High: Perfect timing for Utah. I'll still be wearing the headband I got last year, and this new one, and people won't think I'm as crazy.

High: Saw two movies with the sisters McNurney this weekend.

Low: We now live at the theater.

High: I made these for a baby shower over the weekend:

Low: My attempt at making a cricket really just made "cricket" synonymous with "grasshopper."