Don't Bug Me About This

Sam and I are currently making our way to California for a week (technology! I can blog from the car in the middle of nowhere!). 

A little while ago, we passed a place infamous in the lore of our relationship, and I realized that very few people actually know this story, and that's a shame.  So here I am to tell it to you.

Lo, these many years ago, when Sam and I were still in field school together and "just friends," Sam decided to take me on a Sunday evening drive in his Volvo that smelled like crayons to his ancestral home, Scipio.

I've passed through Scipio a million times and considered it no more than a blip on the map, but that apparently is where all the Wasdens and Quarnbergs interbred (or inbred) and created the large-noggined species of Wasden.  So it's important to Sam.  And, admittedly, I didn't really care what we were doing at the time, I just wanted to spend a little time with him because I loved the smell of crayons, so to speak.

We took a detour through Goshen Canyon to finally look at that rock art that was always just down the road from the site we were excavating. After a while, we met back up with the 15 somewhere and drove along south.

It was at this point that Sam decided to show off his classy Cruise Control (I love a man with Cruise Control). But it broke the computer, and therefore the car.  We began to coast on the freeway (not really a safety concern anywhere in Central Utah).  We pulled off at the nearest exit, a place called Mills--aptly named, since the only thing besides cows and scrub as far as the eye can see was a towering mill with a few outbuildings.

So we called Sam's mom (my heart a-pounding a bit since it was essentially like "meeting the parents", right?), then spent some time on the phone with AAA, who promised to send a tow truck in about an hour from Scipio (the only reason I can think it might've taken an hour to get to a place less than 20 minutes away is that everyone in a 400-mile radius had crashed their cars simultaneously).

In the mean time, we decided to walk around and get to know the exit. I quickly became aware of a sudden and irresistible urge to urinate.

Fantastico. 

Sam felt the same and took care of business while standing on a small bridge in the middle of the field.  I searched around a little nervously-- the freeway was right there, and it was a relatively flat area.  I could imagine the eyes of every mill-worker on me as I considered where to hide myself.  Not to mention this boy who I was still getting to know would undoubtedly be judging me.

The only solution I could perceive was to go down into the creek that the bridge crossed and take care of it there.  So I wandered down and felt very fortunate to be wearing a skirt at the moment.

The fortune I felt very quickly disappeared as I realized that creek+summer+exposed delicate parts=what the heck was I thinking?!

Sam called down to ask if I was ok when I started giving periodic shrieks every time a horse-sized mosquito decided to take a little nibble at my soft underbelly.
I looked completely ridiculous waving my arms around, half-squatting in a creek.  But only the thousands of blood-suckers saw me, and fortunately they don't talk.

I ran like a bat out of Hell back to the Volvo and we laughed and cried about it until the tow truck driver pulled up a minute later with a sprig of hay hanging out of his mouth.

I listened amusedly on the ride back as Sam chatted family history with his fellow Scipian (it didn't take long to find out they were distant cousins) and tried very hard to ignore the building itching.

This turned out to be one of those experiences that only draws you together, but every time we pass Mills or talk about Scipio, I shudder to think of that time when I was raped by mosquitos while everyone at that mill laughed at me (which turned out only to be Sam, but still).

Ketchup and Other Condiments

Yeah, maybe let's pretend like the last time I posted on here wasn't 3 months and 1 day ago.  I got a job that I signed a million NDAs for and therefore can't really talk about, Sam got busy trying to graduate, and we kind of ceased to have a life in the interim.

But!  Things are happening again, and while I probably don't deserve it, I hope I still have a readership out there, somewhere, in the wild blue yonder...

So.  Like I said, I got a job.  January 17th even.  It's kind of crazy, but this job, even though the circumstances were and are not perfect in every way, has been a huge godsend.  If I'd gotten a different job ages ago, I never would've gotten this one, and I really feel like this is where I was supposed to end up.  Pay is not what I should be earning.  Hours are slim (based on demand).  But the job is great fun, I work completely independently, all of my "bosses" trust me to do things and figure things out on my own, they ask my opinions on stuff I think is kind of important, and I basically help their companies function at their best.  Well, I'm sure they could make it without me, but I think I make it a lot easier for them.  And the best part?  It's fun.  They tease me, we joke.  I love being around happy people all the time.  And like I said, it's right where I need to be.

And Sam is graduated!  I'm super duper proud of him.  He's been there for me through all of the crummy junk life threw my way in the past couple of years, and so I've been trying really hard to reciprocate these past couple of semesters so he didn't have to worry about anything but school.  It really paid off.  He's done really well in all his classes, and I've stopped worrying so much about his education, and now-- he's all finished!  Graduation feels like a huge accomplishment to us both, and we're both on cloud nine now.

Other things have started happening too.  My older sister had a very cute baby girl last week, whom they've named Juliet.  Also last weekend we had the opportunity to join my parents and my other sister and her husband on a camping trip to Chaco Canyon and Mesa Verde.  We even stopped at the Four Corners Monument, since most all of us had never been.  Let me tell you-- that place is a straight up barrel of monkeys.  But they have Navajo fry bread!  And I loved that everybody there felt as ridiculous as you doing weird poses whilst trying to be in four places at once.  Solidarity, guys.  (I'm putting pictures from the trip below, so in case you hate images you can just skip them-- and I think most of them are not ones I put on Instagram)

Oh!  And I also shot my first wedding a couple of weeks ago!  It was hard work and I was really nervous, plus post-processing took way longer than any other shoot I've done, but it turned out pretty well, considering the light was bad all day and night.

That's another thing-- somehow things have picked up a lot faster than I expected them to with the photography thing.  People are starting to ask me to do shoots for them instead of the other way around!  I still feel totally inadequate, especially when I see people with amazingly clear photos or subjects' eyes are all lit up like gems, but...you know what?  I'm trying.  And maybe my style is a little different.  And most of all, I'm still learning, and I'm just really happy that people are actually giving me a chance!  I really love getting out there and shooting people.  It makes me really, really happy.

Oh, and I promise not to be such a troglodyte in the future.  I'll keep posting.

Grinding that stone at Mesa Verde

Yo.  Wasdens at Pueblo Bonito, Chaco Canyon

Cairns and men

Ascending the Pueblo Alto Trail, Chaco Canyon

Mom hearts Chaco

The 'rents

Cold at Mesa Verde

Short at Chetro Ketl

Ok, this was really cool: Dad's signs at Four Corners!  Woohoo!

A case for the FBI: which state was I killed in?

"Mecca lecca hi mecca lecca hiney ho"

...And descending

OH NOES FALLING OFF TEH CLIFF

Oh, Senior Photos!

Layers of Ommmm

There's No Place Like Home

I was chatting with a guy I work with the other day about how I like to write, and he asked if I was capable of writing about things I didn't know anything about.  I told him I most definitely could if I had a minute to do a little research, but in my heart I knew it wouldn't be as "clever" or "interesting" as what I normally write because I knew diddly-squat about it.

But, I was determined to prove to myself that I could, so I had this amazing idea of doing a live blog on crown moulding.

Sometimes I don't know why I think things are a good idea.

And then, yesterday, Caity sent us this thing that delineated 50 reasons why Texas is Eden or Utopia or whatever other amazing place you can think of.  I read through it because I'm a good sport and I'm trying to convince myself moving to Texas would be a great idea (more on that later, maybe).  But I'll always be a California girl at heart, I just can't help it.  And I can't resist a little tease-fight-picking.  So I told Caity the list was totally subjective (because who really likes armadillos and Renaissance Fairs, seriously?) and then I told her I could do the same thing for any state, even Kansas.  Caity said please do, so I did, because I know nothing about it.

I've never been to Kansas, and I really have nothing personal against it.  But every one of my husband's family does.  Apparently it was the equivalent of Hell for all of the two years that they lived there.  If you like Kansas, I'm sure it's a swell place.  But for humor's sake, I can't resist the challenge.  And you know it'll be way better than instant updates on crown moulding trivia.

10 (Because 50 is way too many) Reasons Kansas is Utopia/Eden/Wherever

1. The Food:  Namely corn pone and fried chicken.  Apparently fried chicken is, in fact, the state food. You just can't complete your Little-House-on-the-Prairie-Party without corn pone (and a flowered flannel nighty).  And fried chicken is, well, fried chicken.  Greasy, bready, artery-clogging chicken.  Nom.

Pooooone!

2. Tornadoes Kansas is famous for them and you know it.  They're super awesome, too.  And according to Bill Paxton they are the most awesome force on the planet.  PS if you've never been to Universal Studios Orlando you are missing out on the Twister "experience." (Skip to about 3:00)



3. Smallville Not Superman in general, but the WB (or the CW for you new folks) show starring Tom Welling as a pubescent Clark Kent.  And in that universe, Superteen lives in Kansas.  And everyone is either an alien or radioactive.  And yet somehow everything is kept totally secret.  And because it's a very small town in Kansas, everyone is young and attractive.  Wait...what?

Guh-rowl.

4. Wide Open Spaces I can see how this could be both an awesome thing and really unnerving.  But when you think about how totally alone you are in all of everything, and that there's nothing around you in any direction...yeah... You can run around in your skivvies and no one will be any the wiser.  Like this guy puts it, "The towns dot the map every 20 miles or so.  Not that a map is entirely necessary.  One picks a road and rides it for nearly 400 miles...Your choice of restaurant, motel or campsite are easy because it's either one or none."  A great thing if you're indecisive!

I hate blurry stock photos

5. Really Cool People Kansas has produced some pretty awesome and upstanding citizens, namely Earl Browder of the Communist Party USA, Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church, and hey! a whole Wikipedia section on Kansas' most INfamous.  Must be something in the dust.

It's legit!

6. Weird Laws Everywhere has weird laws.  And when I read through some of these, I realized that, for Kansas, some of these aren't all that weird.  Of course they had to outlaw riding animals in the street.  And singing the alphabet after dark (and when you add in the federal law that forbids dancing to the national anthem, ain't no one having no musical fun in Kansas, fools).

7. Truck Henge I have nothing to say about this.  But it's Kansas-Awesome.

Idk.

8. The World's Largest Ball of Twine  Ball of twine.  The world's largest.  I think I first read about this in Disney Adventures back in the 90s (look here, n00bs).  I can't wait for the day when I can say I have nothing better to do than to tie twine to my already World-Record-holding ball of the stuff.  In Kansas, that is one big fat NP!!

Good times in Cawker, KS for these folks

9. The "Garden of Eden" How perfectly fitting this is, and what better proof of Kansas' Eden-tity (ha!) than the Garden itself?  It's a completely non-creepy limestone statue garden covered in ivy and featuring no less than the embalmed body of the builder.  You can't die without seeing this (and maybe it'll be the last thing you do, too)

You should be glad I didn't put a picture of the embalmed guy.

10. Waterbeds for Horses Apparently, the Kansas State University Veterinary Department provides waterbeds for their horses during surgery.  Now if that isn't proof that Kansas is the lap of luxury, I don't know what is.  Case closed.

It's a real shame there aren't any actual pictures of this.  Fortunately, you have me to help you out with the vision.

Of course, doing research on all this Kansas stuff I found out there're actually some neat stuff that's come out of there, like Amelia Earhart and the girl who told Abe Lincoln to grow a beard.  Totes noteworthy.  Totes-worthy?

THE END

Get Back

Soooo... I have a secret.  I love photography.  Oh wait, you already knew that.  The secret is that I'm trying to get it to go somewhere.  I'm currently building a portfolio, I have a website and a few people who have asked me to do liek totally legit shoots for them (and one of them is even paying me!!!).

And then there was this photographer whose style I totally jive with, and her name is Yan.  And she is doing a workshop-- a workshop that's not stuffy and weird.  And what's more, she's giving away a seat to this workshop (through Let the Kids), and I thought I might-maybe-may have a chance at getting considered!

Heretoforth, the required evidence that I'm serious about this.  My application video, in all it's boring, embarrassing, (hopefully) refreshingly-to-the-point glory.  Maybe you'll see me on my way to Dallas come June.  If not, let's count this as one of those Lamarckian-giraffe-stretching moments, mmk?

The Yellow Bucket

As I mentioned a few posts ago, I'm currently (current like a trickling stream, not like the roaring Mississippi or anything) reading "The Last Child in the Woods" by Richard Louv.  It's all pretty interesting, and the last chapter I read talked about kids playing with everyday objects outdoors, and how that makes some kind of important connection between nature and man-made things.  Or something silly.

Only I don't really think it's silliness, because as I read his statement, I looked up and thought, "Huh.  We did that.  It's the yellow bucket to a T!"

What's the yellow bucket?  Have I blogged about this before?  I don't think so.  It's a small plastic receptacle that helped in the formation of my childhood (that's mostly true).  I'm currently in the process of writing an overly-romanticized version of only the most interesting parts of my childhood (four whole pages so far!).  I even wrote about the yellow bucket (it's possible some of you have read this before):

---

One of our favorite and most coveted tools for playing outside was the yellow bucket.  The yellow bucket was often left outside, to obtain the thing that would eventually destroy it—brittleness from the sun’s rays.  But we knew where it was, where to find it when we needed it.  It originally held beads that we used to fashion into horrible necklaces.  But in later years it served as a vat for stirring up mud, or a stew pot for brewing magical concoctions that we would serve to crashed airplane pilots or lost explorers.  Occasionally we would wash it out, ban our brother from the room, and use the bucket to hold doll clothes.  My brother wasn’t allowed to play dolls.  But after one session of isolated jungle Indians, the bucket was left in some arboreal hollow and forgotten.  It didn’t truly bother us—times changed, we were blessed with a shiny red bowl that served for our concocting purposes (mud pies were passé).  But occasionally we would pause briefly in those hot summer afternoons when time dragged on and nothing was on TV.  One of us would turn to another, or just stare at the straining ceiling fan, and wonder aloud, “What ever happened to the yellow bucket?”

---

This Jubaea I'm posing by was the shelter under which I nursed that crashed pilot back to health. Relevance accomplished.

Anyway, it occurred to me that a lot of the things that Richard Louv talks about in his book apply to me and the way I perceive my childhood.  Maybe that's why I'm reading the book.  Maybe that's why I want those things for my future children.

Either way, those parts of my childhood that were so important have become symbols of the formation of myself, and those are symbols I will never forget: the star tree, the yellow bucket, table rock, Edgar's bike path.  I guess I just didn't realize that other people had things like the star tree and the yellow bucket, and that those things are just as important to them.

So what is your star tree?  What is your table rock and your yellow bucket?  What, when you look back, do you remember with a half-smile and a wonder?

PS, I write nostalgically about home a lot.  Like here and here.

Olive Us

There's a blog I've been following for a while now called "Design Mom."  The woman who started it (there are several contributors now, I believe) decided a few years ago to move her family (she, her husband, and all six of her kids) to Normandy.  As in the French countryside.  The whole family is adorable, and I'm super jealous of the opportunities this woman has had.  Plus she's able to balance running a sort of company while raising six kids in a foreign country.

Anyway, a little while ago they started this mini "tv" series called "Olive Us," featuring themselves, which is just a silly, cute little show that highlights how fun it can be to get along as a family and explore life in Normandy.  Obviously a lot of it is staged/scripted, but I've read behind-the-scenes stuff, and the children are quite authentic in their actions and always enjoy the filming.

Here are a couple of my favorite episodes:

Pique-nique


Pottery Lesson


How to Buy Eggs from a Petite Ferme

Maybe We Can Blame Dick and Jane

I've hesitated several weeks publishing this post because I was worried about offending someone.  But then I realized I'm perfectly entitled to my opinion, as are you, and maybe we can get a healthy debate going!  I love those.

Oh, and by the way, while my observations influence my opinions, and I've probably observed your children (if you have any and I know you personally), I am in no way being critical of you.  I'm merely discussing a phenomenon.  Let it be known.

As an anthropologist (if that doesn't ever sound pretentious...), I have learned about the aspects of cultures that go into creating gender roles in a society.  It's made me rather hyper-aware of what people expose children to (people as in not just the parents, because it takes a village) that causes them to develop into or fill certain expectations when it comes to gender in our society.

Side note: it irks me when pregnant people get asked what "gender" their baby is.  Maybe people are afraid to use the word "sex" in public, but "gender" is not a genetic trait, it's anthropologically defined as cultural roles that are created (presumably by a community) to define a person (male, female, transgender, fafafini, khusre, whatever).  So I make it a habit to specifically ask, when I need to know (perhaps annoyingly so, who knows), "What sex is the baby?"  End rant.

Back on topic.  So.  This topic is always on my mind.  And apparently, it was a trending topic over on Apartment Therapy last year, and they conveniently gathered loads of samples for me so I don't have to find them for you.  Check them out here.

If you're too lazy to read through them, here's the basic premise: our culture (pan-American) has determined that young boys must be into blue, trucks, dogs, dinosaurs, tools, sports, etc.  Young girls must be into pink, flowers, glitter, princesses, babies (animal and human), fashion, and HIGH SQUEAKY VOICES IN CARTOONS.  Ahem.  Obviously, these "definitions" bother me a bit.  And apparently they bother a lot of people.  But sometimes it goes so far on the opposite direction as to be rather hypocritical, at the very least attempting to redefine something that you're attempting to ignore (which isn't helpful).  For example, someone's son asks for a doll or a pink toy, YOU'VE GOT IT BUDDY!  If a girl asks for a fairy Barbie or whatever, NO WAY.

Really, some people.

I feel like people are afraid of something if they see their kids leaning over the line that they believe clearly delineates the difference between boys and girls.  Someone tickles a little boy and he squeals and shreaks.  The response?  "Ugh, you sound like a little girl!"  "Don't be such a girl!" Or whatever.  Also, until he hits puberty, your little boy is going to sound like a little girl, and vice versa.  "You don't want to wear those fairy wings, those are for GIRLS."  So what?  There are boy fairies.  Ever heard of Puck?  He's exhibits plenty of masculine traits.  Okay.

When I look back on my childhood, the only pink articles of clothing I remember specifically are my Nala shirt, a pink pair of shorts, and a pair of jelly sandals that a friend gave me for my birthday (and I never wore those things together, thank goodness).

Lion King is always relevant.

And we never had Barbies or princess stuff (although my mom said the other day that we sometimes asked for those things, she just couldn't afford them).  And I turned out just as feminine as my peers who did have Barbies and who did wear nail polish before the age of 12.  Heck, I attracted plenty of boys.  I had my first boyfriend at age 10 (yes, it counts, you know who you are).  And this a girl who enjoyed exploring and bugs and dinosaurs and animal bones (yes, even then) and didn't mind getting scratched up or playing in the mud.

I suppose my irritation is three-fold.  First of all, the rabid children's toy and clothing market needs to take a chill pill.  It's only fueling peoples' paranoia.  Second of all, as parents and other influential people in a child's life are perfectly entitled to give gender-specific items, they need to exercise self-control in  both the quantity and the importance they (not the child) stress on it.  And third, while I fully support parents raising their children to be miniature but improved versions of themselves (heck, that's what I'm going to do, narcissistic as it may be), I think it's important to let children make some decisions on their own about what they are interested in.    If all they ever know is what is narrowly assigned to their prescribed gender role, they can't grow three-dimensionally.  That's why I love neutral toys like Legos, stuffed animals, books, and science toys.  Also I am a dweeb.

So my kids will be dweebs.  But very well-dressed dweebs.  Because all of them (even if they're boys) are going to be interested in what they wear (if I can afford it).


Post-script: I am not taking into account any influence that friends, grandparents, and gift-givers of all sorts will have on my children.  I'm very aware it will exist, and influence is influence.  My child is an individual of their own and will make decisions based on what they decide they enjoy.  If my daughter wants her lawn mower painted pink, so be it.  And you won't find me dressing my son in dresses à la Ernest Hemingway's mother.

PPS: The woman across the divider from me here at the public library is a mouth-breather of the worst sort.  It reminds me why I don't spend that much time in public.  Bleh.

Goals Shmoals

Gah!  I am remiss!  But I'll use the holidays as an excuse.  Honestly, we were kind of busy.  I'm not going to recap it all because you probably think your holiday was better than mine anyway (because mine was better than yours, you know), but just know that we had a dandy time and got to spend good time with family and made out like bandits with presents.

I hate when people put instagram pictures on their blog because I'VE ALREADY SEEN THEM but oh well here you go anyway.

It's a new year now (and how fine it looks from this side of the line).  Let's take a gander at the goals I made to do in 2012 and see how I did.

1. Toilet train the cat: Heh.  Well, we did pretty well for a few months.  We successfully got him peeing in the toilet on his own without litter, but we couldn't get him to poop in there, and it got a little messy, and did I mention this all went down right near the end of the semester when I was writing my thesis and blah blah blah?  So we gave up.  I consider this a near-success, except not really, because he is still using a litter box.  Oh well.  Maybe we'll try again when we have more free time and more than one toilet.  I don't like sharing with cats.

2. Complete every room in the apartment to the vision of what I want it to be: If that wasn't overly ambitious... Ok, I did actually get the apartment looking pretty great, considering we have little means, but there are still tweaks I'd like to do, and there are projects I planned that turned out not to be feasible (like that time I was going to stencil cool designs on our coffee and end tables...good thing the end table was dirt cheap), but overall it looks pretty good.  And there's still upkeep to do, and little changes I'd like to make.  That's why I decided to participate in AT's January Cure project.  I already have a huge list of stuff I'm really excited to do.  I'd share it with you but you undoubtedly don't care.  But I think you should do the Cure too.  I know a couple of you already are, but the rest of you should TOTES GET ON IT NAO.

3. Read 25 books: Good grief, you'd think I was planning on being unemployed or something.  And yet I think I only succeeded in reading maybe...ten?  I don't know what I did for down-time recreation this past year, honestly.  Maybe watch Bones.  I did that probably too much.

4. Do something out of my comfort zone: Hm...I lived with my in-laws for a few months.  Does that count?  OH.  I also took a temporary job doing something super difficult, if you recall.  We'll count that.

5. Graduate from college: DONE!  See?  I can do things!

6. Go to the temple twice a month, every month: Well, we went almost once every month.  Maybe it's a good thing I "over-goal" myself...I'm bound to accomplish something.

7. Stick to a budget, and never be overdrawn: I think we only overdrew a few times and only one or two of those times it was because of a fault of our own.  I think we only went over our monthly budget a few times too, and the last couple of times that happened it was by like $0.96 so, hey!  Here's to a better financial year.  It'd help if I had a job, I'm sure...

8. Show Sam every day that I love him: I know I could be better at this.  And could have.  The first year of marriage really is really, really hard.  Or maybe that's just us.  Or me.  Anyway.  This resolution is on my goal list again this year, and probably will be for the rest of my life.  Because it's that important.

9. SCUBA dive somewhere outside of Utah: Let's not talk about this.  Just give me a plane ticket to Aruba.

10. Blog more often and be more open: I think I could call this one accomplished too!  I mean, really, you probably know way more about me than you ever thought you wanted to.  Sorry about that.  But not really, because I'm going to keep blogging about the crazy junk I think about and I can't help it.  So there.

***

Okay, so 2 out of 10 is kind of pathetic.  Hopefully I'll do better in 2013.  I don't think I'll give you a detailed explanayshe of my goals this year, especially since a few of them are kind of personal and I'm therefore not including them, but here are a few I need you to help keep me accountable for:

-Floss.  Every night before brushing my teeth (I'm 4/7 so far!)

-Excercise.  Mostly spinal/neck stretches, yoga, and aerobic exercise.  At least 5 days a week.

-Practice photography and build a better portfolio.  I need models right now.  Come pose for me.  Or let me photograph you at home doing mundane tasks (seriously).  I need a lot more people shoots, people.  And I have a snazzy new camera to use!

My new Canon next to my old Nikon

-Be continuously reading a book.  This doesn't include scripture reading.  Last year I procrastinated reading a book I started and it took me like 10 months to read it.  That's pathetic.

-If/when we move, stay in good contact with family.  We will likely be moving this year, fingers crossed.  It's going to be hard for me, because the best part of deciding to move to Utah four years ago was that I was able to build better relationships with my siblings by having them so close.  I'll really miss them, and I don't want to undo all the work.

-Become financially stable.  Don't we all want that?  Somebody give me a job.

***

How did you do on your goals for the last year?  What do you plan to do this year?  I always have goals that reappear on my lists each year (ie flossing...it never sticks).

You WILL stick to your goals this year.  Or else.

Currently listening to a very random and unplanned Led Zep/Muse/Professor Elemental mix.  And procrastinating getting dressed.  And showered.  Ahem.

Comfort

Somehow I've been wondering a lot lately about something that perhaps shouldn't really matter to me right now.  How can we protect our children without being overbearing?  I don't have any kids yet, but one day I certainly hope to, and lately I've been worried about how I can encourage them to explore and be brave and strong and learn about the world without getting hurt.

I understand that a certain amount of hurt is necessary for the growth of every person, but how do you protect them from those things that will truly harm them?

I hope to have my children walk to school if possible.  How can you send your children off to school and know they'll return safely in the afternoon?  I want them to spend most of their playtime outside, exploring, learning, wandering, and whatever else children might do, but how do you know they will be protected?  What if they get too lost?  What if someone picks them up?

I want them to slip and fall into a patch of cactus.  I want them to feel fear as they slide through a slimy underground tunnel.  I want them to fall and skin their knees and scratch their hands.  I want them to climb too high into that ant-infested tree and feel the wind swaying them back and forth.

I want these things for them because they will grow so much stronger.  And I want them to come to me for the help they can't give themselves.

I want all these things for them, good and bad, because I will love them so very much.

But how do I trust them?  Where do I draw the line?  Do I just have a well-trained dog to protect them while they explore?

I am going to be such a paranoid mother.  Maybe I just shouldn't listen to songs like these when I'm already feeling thoughtful.

Old picture of my nephew that I took.  I've always loved this one.

By the way, I'm currently reading "The Last Child In the Woods."  I'm formulating opinions on it that I plan on blogging and asking your opinion about when I'm done.

You've Come to the Right Place

Nov 30

Well, here we are at the end.  This morning we finished cleaning up a bit, took out the trash, and went on our way.  It was raining again, and incredibly cold.  Our train was delayed by 30 mins and we got there an hour early, so we had to wait in the cold (but fortunately covered from rain) for an hour and a half.  We passed the time by thinking of creepy things we could do or say to make the gypsies leave us alone.  We watched a couple of them have a brief turf war, it was kind of funny.

Anyway, finally we got on the train.  We were going about 150mph, so we made good time.  On the way, Sam worked on sorting some analysis for his groundstone project and I caught up some on my London journal (oh, don't judge, at least I'm still writing it, and I'm doing a whole lot better on this trip).  Eventually, we got in to Tiburtina.

We walked around until we got to our hotel.  We had to cross under a freeway and got a little turned around (streets here often change names in the middle of a road and things like that, so it can get pretty confusing).  Eventually, we got to the hotel.

After twiddling our thumbs a bit, we set out to bide our time until an appropriate dinner hour (it was only about a little before 3pm).  We walked up to a metro stop and hopped on until the Circo Massimo.

Sunset in Rome

The last dorky Italian self-portrait of the trip, don't worry

Then we walked past all the ruins until we came to a church where the Bocca della Verita is.  I mostly wanted to see it because of Roman Holiday and Only You, but I didn't feel an urge to really stick my hand in it (I know I'm a liar, and I want to keep my hand thank-you-very-much), which was a good thing, because there was an enormous line, PLUS you have to pay a euro to go up and put your hand in.  So we took pictures of other people doing it instead.

CHOMP

We then walked out to the Piazza Navona and ate at the Navona restaurant again.  I got lasagna again, because it just sounded so tasty and I was starving.  Also I'm boring.  Sam got canolini.  We then got gelato at the same place as the first gelato I had, and it paled in comparison to the other gelatos in Florence!  In fact, it was almost like soft serve when I thought about it.

The fabled lasagne

Neither of us could actually finish ours anyway, because it was about 38 degrees (or so).  The Piazza was filled with Christmas goods stands, brightly lit and welcoming.  We wanted to get an ornament for our tree, you know, this being our honeymoon and our first trip together and all that.  But the only ones that weren't bizarre or tacky were too fragile to take back with us.  I'm a little bit sad.  But I want to know: what on earth do witches and broomsticks have to do with Christmas???  They were everywhere!  I'll add that to the list of things I have to look up, along with who Vittorio Emmanuele II is, he's also everywhere.

Piazza Navona Christmas Market

teh Qt

Anyway, we've repacked and are off to bed.  There is a continental breakfast and then we head to the airport.  Our flight leaves around 11:30 but we will get there early.  We will arrive in Philadelphia around 4pm local time (EST), then we have a layover in Charlotte, NC, then it's back to Utah, where we get in around 11pm.  Because of the trouble with the car, we're scrambling to find a ride last minute.  I've asked Adrien, but she may be busy with her thesis.  Wish us luck with that.

This Pear Is Not For Eating

Nov 29

What a day.

It appears as though my body has decided that, regardless of itineraries, this trip is over.  From the second I woke up I felt incredibly sick to my stomach.  It took a while, but I finally started to feel better around 11, so we decided to catch the train to Lucca (the rain had ceased and the outlook was 50/50, so we took our chances).  Our original plan was to make eggs for breakfast, but seeing as how that would've been a terrible idea considering the circumstances, we opted for pastries at the train station instead.

We got on the train, ate, and sat down for the long haul.  It took almost an hour and a half to get to Lucca, mostly because it lies on a major route and stopped way too often.  It was prettier than a bus would've been.  Well, it was according to Sam.  I spent the entirety of the ride trying not to unswallow my breakfast, curled as best I could into a tolerable position.

Lucky for you, Sam took pictures from the train!

Oh Italy...

Finally we arrived in Lucca around 1:30. We debated whether or not to get right back on the train and go home, but the fresh, crisp air (read: bitterly cold wind) was a little empowering.  Eventually we decided we'd at least walk around the town a bit and explore the old fortified walls.

On our way from the station into the town, we saw a poster advertising an "Instruments of Torture" museum.  We simultaneously "oohed" and decided to hunt it down.

Lucca's walls and a couple of its hooligans

First, though, we climbed up onto the old walls and walked for a bit.  I'm glad we decided not to rent bikes.  Aside from my intense periodic discomfort, it was very cold and windy up there.  After probably not long enough, we descended into the town to search for the museum and, hopefully, a bathroom.  

He has endless amounts of these faces

After a moany groany uncomfortable journey through the streets of Lucca, we came to the torture museum.  We were both very excited, but I knew I wouldn't be able to enjoy it unless we found a restroom first, which museum had none.  We checked at a bar across the street, and luckily they had one for customers, so Sam got himself something.

We then popped back over, bought student-priced tickets from the cheerful woman at the desk (the first time we've counted as students this whole trip without being members of the EU).  The museum was odd in that it consisted of two floors, with two small rooms on each floor.  We went into the "dungeons" first.

Sam read to me about the Bishop's Kite while I sat on the floor fighting another vicious wave of nausea.  Then I stood up and read about this triangular bondage-type thing that kept you in the fetal position on your back, causing discomfort very similar to what I was experiencing.  VOODOO???

Anyway, the instruments were very interesting, and even though I recognized a few (the rack, the Iron Maiden, guillotine, and the Pear from that episode of Bones), many were new.  But when I the room started swimming and I realized I was about to pass out and/or barf, and I didn't fancy falling onto the spikes of the Rack, Sam and I decided it was probably time to go.

We looked briefly at the two upstairs rooms and then, trying to appear cheerful and not at all sickened by the contents of the exhibit (I wasn't, but I am pretty sure the woman at the desk thought I was.  I can just see her glancing at the security screen, watching me sitting with my head between my legs, my elbow grazing the Spanish Donkey, shaking her head and rolling her eyes).

We walked as quickly as comfortably possible back to the train station and waited the endless 30 minutes for the train.  Sam presented that he thought I had a stomach bug.  I presented that it didn't feel quite like that and that it was more likely my body reacting to exhaustion.  I slept most of the way back, and didn't feel too poorly (or at least not as before).  We just finished dinner, and so far I feel okay.  Sam is very kind and has offered to clean the apartment by himself so I can sleep.  I knew I married him for a reason.

Well, that's about all.  Tomorrow we hope to sleep in and then make our way to the train station to catch our train back to Rome.  I've had a great time here, but I'm definitely ready to go home.  My stomach agrees.

Bummer though that I don't have a cool story to tell the grandkids about passing out in an Italian torture chamber.

The Skullduggery Will Now Cease

Nov 28

It was still pouring rain with thunder when we woke up this morning.  We checked a satellite weather map online and saw a massive and very dark storm hovering over the entire west half of Italy.  By the hourly forecast, there was a 90% chance of rain all day.  We decided to skip Fiesole, since our plans included spending the day outside exploring ruins of Romans, Etruscans, and Longabards (I still wouldn't know a Longabard if it hit me in the face).  Instead, we opted for some unplanned Florence activities.

This river is swollen.  Danger dog.

After pulling on plastic shopping bags over my socks to protect my feet from the inevitable leaks of my boots, we headed out to the Mercato Centrale, which was actually just a few blocks from the Duomo in a direction we hadn't been before.  I felt silly knowing something so amazing was so close without us every knowing it was there.  The Mercato Centrale is the (thankfully) indoor food market.  And it is enormous.  We almost got lost wandering through the narrow paths lined with meat vendors selling sheets of tripe, fishmongers, produce stands, fresh pasta booths, bakers, and spice baskets.

Beaucoup de produce

We went through the maze a couple of times to properly orient ourselves, then went through again and looked for a couple of little somethings to take back to the states with us.  If my research from last night proves accurate, we will succeed.  If not, I will try not to be too sad about losing the goods.  Customs has been known to be greedy, after all.  I should expect it.

Outside of Mercato Centrale (almost up onto the steps of the market building) is the San Lorenzo leather market.  The carts here pretty much sell everything else you can find in touristy areas all over the city, but this one had a wider selection (if you can't find a particular fold wallet, look a few carts down), and some of it is a few euros cheaper (I bought something the other day that I am kicking myself over.  I could've saved three euros if I'd waited.  Oh well).

San Lorenzo leather market

After shopping, we walked back home (the rain had briefly let up at this point).  I had a snack and took a customs inventory of everything we've bought so far (mostly because I was bored) while Sam took a little nap.

We then decided to head out to find pastries on our way to the Palazzo Vecchio.  We ended up getting some at the adjacent gelateria/bar associated with the restaurant where we had dinner the other night, Caffe Perseo (as in Perseus, whose Medusa statue is just across the Piazza della Signoria from the Caffe…the Piazza della Signoria is the Piazza in front of the Palazzo Vecchio).  Sam thinks that might be one of his favorite all-around restaurants in Florence.

Anyway, we each got two pastries for our late afternoon "lunch."  Sam got an apricot mini pie thing and a cream-custard-filled sugary puff donut thing.  I got a chocolate croissant sprinkled with almond slivers and a little apple tart.  Both were very tasty.  We ate the pastries in front of the Palazzo.  An old, possibly Russian woman came up and asked us how to find the Piazza della Signoria (she showed us a piece of paper with that written on it and pointed in various directions, saying "Grazie, grazie."  Sam, not realizing, pointed her in a direction not at all true, because, well, we were standing right there in the middle of the Piazza.  She was so pleased for our assistance though, that by the time I was done staring quizzically at Sam and he'd realized what had happened, we felt bad chasing after her and trying to explain that we were fools.  So instead we scooted off and hid behind a large crowd of Japanese tourists and made fun of their overly large tripods.  Maybe they just really, really wanted good pictures.  I don't know.

Pastries and Palazzos

We also listened to a few passing tour guides speaking English.  I am of the opinion that most tour guides don't really know what they are talking about unless they have a degree in what they're talking about, and that everyone else gives you either word-of-mouth or Wikipedia information, or better yet, tells you things that are completely obvious.  One man passed by, saying to his customers, "This is Perseus with Medusa.  It is original.  It is a bronze statue."  Oh?  A bronze statue you say?  By gum, I would never have guessed!"

Guess what this is?!?

Of course, we realized that people here will often state the obvious just to fill silences they feel are awkward.  For example, in the market today we were looking for a new wallet for Sam.  We found a perfect one at a stand that, curiously, had no attendant (usually they hover over you the second you glance at their goods, but this time we were able to freely browse and peruse for several minutes with no appearance).  Figuring out that no one was going to pop out to sell us anything, we searched for it elsewhere.  We stopped at every stand with wallets, and at one of them, a fellow came out and stood the standard 4 inches away from us while we whispered about the wallets.

All of a sudden, the man piped up: "These are small.  These ones are medium-sized, and those other ones are large."

A little further down, we had paused to look at some pretty hand-embroidered aprons.  We were stopped in front of a very small apron we were considering for a young'un we know, when suddenly the attending old woman cooed in a matronly voice, "That one is for a child."  REALLY?  I wanted to wear it on my head as a bonnet.  Too bad.

Anyway, when we were done making fun of the universe, we walked into the Palazzo Vecchio to see about the fabled "Secret Passage Tour" we found while perusing the guidebook in depth during our rainy-day despair yesterday.

We went in and inquired, then purchased tickets for the 4 o'clock English tour.  A nice bonus was that it included access to the regular Palazzo/Museum and only cost two euros extra!  We had about an our to kill before we were to meet the tour guide, so we cruised through the Palazzo.

I am not a fan of fancy upper-class Renaissance (and thereabouts) decor.  I am ALL for supporting the French Revolution when you look at places like Versailles.  Needless to say, we moved fairly quickly through most of the rooms.

Some things were interesting, however, and it was nice that Sam had read so much of the dirty deets about the Medici family in the guidebook on previous evenings.  He provided an interesting commentary on such things as murders during mass, conspiracies, and conniving intellectual Medicis, as well as the supposed origins of the Medici family crest, and how not even the Medicis could decide what the crest actually looked like.

There were some interesting parts.  I liked picking out mythological figures in some of the ceiling paintings.  There was a very interesting bronze globe in the cartography room that we spent time investigating.  There was also a curiously-placed "Mask of the Senator Dante Alleghieri" that we could not, for the lives of us, figure out, 1)why it was placed where it was (on a side table in an otherwise empty hallway), or 2)whether or not it was his death mask.

Point to home!

An enigma

The "Secret Passageways" tour would be more appropriately named the "Places Only Recently Available to the Public" tour, but I guess that doesn't sound as cool.  We were first shown a side room that had a little stairway down to the street leading to the Uffizi (which at the time the passage was built, was still a little church that has since been knocked down and, obviously, replaced with the Uffizi).  After that we went up a very tall and tight little stone stairway behind a door that led to a room that was outside of Cosimo Medici's bedroom (his actual bedroom is currently a Mayoral office, and therefore off limits).  There was another "secret" stair that supposedly went up to Eleanora's apartments (his wife), but we didn't go up it.  Instead, we went into a little room used by Francesco Medici (their son) for doing his secret little alchemy experiments.  The room was shaped like the inside of a treasure chest and lined from floor to ceiling with large paintings.

Francesco's treasure room

Behind each painting on the floor level was a secret cupboard.  The paintings over and above each cupboard gave a clue as to what could be found inside (gold, diamonds, glass, crustaceans, whatever).  Side note here: the girl giving our tour (admittedly, she was on a study abroad and this was only her 3rd tour) began to irk me with silly statements about mythological inaccuracies, and calling a statue of a woman holding coral "Amphrodite," or alternately "Aphrodite" (you remember Poseidon/Neptune's wife Amphititre, right?), standing next to a statue of Venus/Aphrodite, of all goddesses.  Her pronunciations also started to rub me the wrong way… "RuhNAYsons" "Mikkulangelo" blah blah blah.  Maybe it's because she's from Virginia.  Maybe it's because she was probably younger than me and admitted to not reading the book they asked her to read before she started the internship.  Ah, well.

Anyway, behind a couple of the paintings are not cupboards, but a secret stair to Cosimo's study, which we went up and saw.  It was very small and, in contrast to Francesco's mythological/alchemy-oriented hangout, was also rather Christian-symbolism-heavy.

After those rooms we went into the Room of Five Hundred and talked about how heavy the ceiling was with all the paint and gold on it.  I'll be honest, at this point, I was a little too tired and headachy to take her any more seriously after the "A(m)phrodite" episode, especially since she was consistently covering up Sam's questions with unrelated and wordy spewings of information.  Ceilings, from my point of view, are incapable of being "heavy."

Room of 500

I suppose I was proved wrong a few moments later when we went up the million stairs to our final "Secret Passageway," which was inside the roof or attic or whatever of the Palazzo, above the Room of Five Hundred.  In there, you can see the original and added support trusses that not only support the roof above and the walls of the building, but also support, in essence, the weight of the ceiling of the RoFH.  If she was going to throw around "paintings and gold are so heavy" down below, it would've made more sense to explain that she meant that it required great support from above in order to maintain the stability of the building's structure.  But instead, it was just "I'm not telling you where we're going, but just look at how HEAVY it all is!"  I can't get over it.  I should.  The trusses were really cool.  But, Amphrodite, really??  Ok, ok, I won't ever speak of it again.  Did I mention my judgement is impaired by a headache?

Alright, so after the tour, we headed back home, then waited for 7pm when "Gusto Pizza," the pizza place recommended to us by several, was due to open.  It's actually only a couple of storefronts away from the Gusto Osteria, where we ate the other night.  I think "gusto" just means "tasty."  Very original.  Anyway, we had about an hour and a half, so we sat down on the bed and I took a little nap to ease my tired head while Sam fiddled around on the internet.  Eventually we walked over and ordered our food, then took a seat.

Fortunately the pizza was done very quickly, so we didn't have to endure long the events that followed.  Apparently Gusto Pizza is a very hippety-hoppety "totes authentic" pizza dive frequented by mid-twenties Americans who think that participating in a study abroad makes them oh so very wise.  Every person but one small old couple hiding in the corner was mid-twenties American.  I am a little embarrassed for my demographic.

Overheard at the adjacent table:

"…she is like so weird.  Like we were listening to this Italian song today and she was like, 'Can we listen to that other Italian song?' And I was like 'uhhhh' and she was like 'You know, duh duh duh…' and she sings it and I'm like 'uhhh that's Portuguese.' She is so dumb."

Anyway, the pizza was pretty good.  It wasn't anything unique though.  It tasted very similar to the pizza at Terra Mia in Orem, only the dough was yeastier and not as thoroughly cooked.  The cooked-ness might just've been a fluke in mine, though.  Sam got a tomato/parmesan/arugula one, and I got a spinach/ricotta/mozerella one.  Tasty, but perhaps forgettable.  A good price though.  Man, I am just all kinds of critical today.

Nom.

After dinner we walked down to our favorite gelato place at the foot of the Ponte Vecchio.  I was boring and got chocolate again, but Sam got cream and hazelnut.  I liked the hazelnut.  Tonight was our last eat-out night in Florence.  I think it was well spent.  We are trying not to think about how much money we have spent on gelato this trip.  I say Oh well, it's an ice cream trip.  Forget the cold and the wind and the pouring rain.

Speaking of rain, the last two days of rain have effectively swelled the depth of the Arno by what appears to be at least eight feet.  It's a really good thing we're leaving Florence Friday morning or I'd be a little more freaked out.  There's no night watchman here to warn us of the rumblings.

Tomorrow we are going to try to go to Lucca.  It's raining just as much there as it is here, but there should be reprieve enough for us to rent bikes, if any of the bike renters are open.  If not, we'll just walk the old walls.  I have a few hundred more yards of walking left in me yet.

We're coming to the Close!  Get those Resurrection Stones a-ready!