Meloncoly at McCarren

Here I sit, hours before my flight takes off and I am forced to again leave the city I know so well. The miles between Austin and Vegas never seemed so long. They yawn out before me and threaten to swallow me up. I am always melancholy at this time in the trip. The chasm between the two worlds never seems so real as it does at this very moment. Where am I going? When I say I am going home, where do I really mean? Do my yearly pilgrimages only serve to cause this feeling of disjointedness?

Another Christmas has come and gone, and like every year, I think next year I will be here with my husband. I think, next year I might be too pregnant to fly and will have to have Christmas as newlyweds in our new home. I think, next year my father might not be here to celebrate with us. His health becomes worst every time we see each other. It makes me wonder if I am wasting the years we have together by living two time zones away.

When I graduated, I made a conscious effort to not return to Vegas, so that I could go out and discover who I am. Now that I am found, now that the pieces are a whole, I can take the time to look outwards and realize I have no course. If the two choices were Austin and Vegas, the choice might be easy. Opening my heart to the heavens, I get the impression that neither is my final destination. Change is coming but I am at a lose to what that means. He has told me to embrace change, He has told me that He will make the way clear, He has told me to trust in him. I understand, but it has left me in turmoil. I find it hard to embrace change when I know not what that change is. I find it hard to walk the path when I cannot see around the bend. I think I am finding it hard to trust when I cannot see how all the parts fit together. This is my failure.

Despite my shortcomings, I can see His Hand in my life at this moment. Things are slowly shifting. I feel a slow dying of my established life like a relationship that is ending. Everyday the love we have is visibly withering on the bush. The process is preparing me; make it so that when the break comes it will not be so painful, not so soul-crushing. Still, like a dying relationship, I feel the pain. I miss what we had and long for days gone by. Maybe the hurt is the same, just spread out over a longer time period.

Regardless, of where I am or where I am going. I just have to take solace that who I am at this point in my life is at least right. I have to be thankful that I am where I can hear the voice of the Lord, even if I don't know what it means yet.

Lend Me Your ... Earring?

I seem to be having the worst luck with earrings this month. Two and a half weeks ago, I lost my one of my Texas star earrings in the temple's baptismal font. Somehow between dunks, my right earring came dislodged and the ultra strong pump The Church strung for sucked the tiny star off to oblivion. We searched for the tiny bit of silver, but at the end of the night, I left the temple one earring short of a pair. I wore those earrings everyday, and only took them out to wear costume jewelry earrings to church and things.

After I came home, I traded out my one earring for the amazing, gold swirls that my little leprechaun, Red, brought back from Ireland for me. I have been rocking those since...yesterday! Walking through Best Buy, I noticed yet another right earring was missing. I combed the entire carpet but my search was in vain. What am I twelve? Seriously, I cannot keep track of my possessions?

I am sad at the lose of two earrings that had so much meaning to me. Then again, it does sound like a built in reason to do some shopping. If you have any suggestions on a set that could be my new signature earrings, please let me know!

Ode to Candy Corn

As the air turns crisp and the month creeps ever closer to Halloween, every candy dish in the office flows like a horn of plenty. Brightly wrapped toffees are nestled on top of a bed of miniatures Baby Ruths, fun sized Snickers, and little bags of M&Ms. While the world uses October to celebrate the invention of chocolate, I use this opportunity to indulge in the season’s finest offering, the candy corn.

It saddens me that this sweet confection is only available once a year. There are so many ways I love to eat them. Sometimes I will bit each color off and have a nibble of white, a bite of orange, and then a little dessert with the yellow. Sometimes I will put two in my mouth and grind my molars on them until they make a sweet paste that I can roll across my tongue. And then there are the times that I put a whole handful in my mouth until all my spit turns into that thick, syrupy slurry that harkens me back to Halloweens of my childhood. Mostly I just pop them into my mouth, one by and one, until I look down and wonder if there is a hole at the bottom of the bag.

Some of you readers just had your salivary gland kick into action and gave your lips an unconscious lick. But just as many curled their lips in disgust, much the way I would at the thought of a vegan meal. Candy corn is a very galvanizing candy. You either love it or hate it. You will never met someone who is wishy-washy on the issue. The response is either, yes, I love them, do you happen to have any on you so that I may enjoy the sweet goodness within? Or, that is disgusting, I would rather suck on my grandmother’s dentures. Think I am lying? Turn to your co-worker next to you and ask them how they feel about it.

I don’t understand those people who feel the bile back up into their throat when they think about my beloved candy corn. Candy corn is simply sugar (good), corn syrup (good), and honey (best). It is candy in its purest form. Three layers of color to represent three forms of sugar that is whipped together into a sweet treat that makes my heart sing. Nothing heralds the coming holiday like a bowl of them at your desk, or a glimpse of the package sitting like a sparkling jewel amid the miles of the other candy that you can buy year round. Nothing is funnier than candy corn fangs, or more fun than making designs on your desk that you are then able to slowly eat away at.

Fun fact for you according to Brach's (who make the best candy corn, but closely followed by the Jelly Belly Company), each year Americans eat enough candy corn that if the kernels were laid end to end, they would circle the Earth four times. My yearly consumption of those perfect drops of pure sugar surly accounts for one circumnavigation. Tomorrow, October 30th, is National Candy Corn Day. I am going to celebrate in style, and to all of my fellow candy corn lovers, pay proper tribute to our tiny tri-colored friends. Happy Halloween!

Last Saturday

Last Saturday the morning sky was dismal and gray and as I woke up my mood was in the same vein. I could feel the oppressive force pushing down on me like a hand. I was worried that the melancholy mood would roil out and follow me to the temple; affecting all of those confined to the tiny cabin of the car for the hours the commute would take.

I allowed myself to wallow for a beat, and then reluctantly dropped out of bed to the floor and offered up a prayer. As the carpet bit into my knees, I could feel a calm pour over and coat me like thickened nectar. I often hear people refer to themselves as a chalice or vessel that fills up with the Spirit, permeating their entire being. I don’t know if these words can fully describe what was felt. It was a warm, loving feeling that encased my whole self. Filling me, completing me, igniting the spiritual half of myself.

Rising from the ground, I was on fire. I felt so vibrant, that moments before I could only be described as asleep, deadened to the subtle whisper of my Constant Companion. The rest of the day was a high that made the drive to the temple pass by in the blink of an eye, the Endowment session rich with undertone that I felt rippling below the surface, a permanent picture of the light that shown from our friend’s face when she saw we were there forever pressed into my memory, a wedding brighter with the joy in the air, and friendships especially treasured.

That night, as I returned to my room, I again knelt in prayer and with a greatful heart, I told my Father how much I cherish days like that. Not every day is like Saturday, but it is those days that makes all the other bearable.

I Am Pretty Sure Its Cold In Hell

This is the worst time of the year. The fever of summer is breaking, and a subtle depression is falling over me at thought I am at the beginning of another long winter. I want to sleep for six months and wake up when the world is new and green again. There is nothing good about winter. Nothing at all. I hate it so much that I thought I would enumerate the reasons that I hate winter so much.

Blasted sore throat that makes you have to talk yourself into swallowing
Runny Noses that have you rub your own nose raw
The need for tissues, as mentioned above
Toes so cold that make me wonder if they are all still present and accounted for
Have to carry a jacket everywhere, and most of the time, you are already wearing on
Even if it 15 degrees out business still think it needs to be 60 degrees inside
How sad my Thanksgiving plate looks. Turkey, gravy, rolls.
The fact you won’t see my arms for 6 months
Arctic chill blowing up my church dress
No sunbathing, no swimming, no swimsuits. That should be enough to depress the boys.
Fruits just won’t be the same for six months
Red tips of ears and nose, like I am some kind of hyper-color shirt
Rain and consequently wet dog, wet dog smell, and muddy paw prints
The smell of coffee, ugh, I hate coffee
Figure hiding sweaters, and thus the built in excuse to eat and eat
Snow.
Getting the end of your sleeve wet every time you wash your hands
Scrapping icy windows, so it makes your own personal snow storm in your face
Earmuff, mittens, and scarves. Where do you carry all this stuff once you get there?
Goosebumps that makes my shave this morning pointless
It is dark when you wake up, go to bed, all freaking day
Dry skin that just don’t go away no matter what you slather on it
Being inside all the time like you are literally winter’s prisoner
Moving from heater to heater in the house so much that you actually consider buying a Snuggie
Getting out of the car, getting out of the bathtub, getting out of bed
I blow through twice as much Chapstick in a week than I would in a summer month
Giving my asthma back its iron grip on my ability to exchange carbon dioxide for oxygen
Watching your beautiful tan fade back to pale like you are turning into a vampire very slowly
Everything in the world falls into a limited palette of dismal gray
Another freaking birthday

And the top five reasons I hate winter :

It's cold
It's bloody cold
It's effin’ cold
It's damn cold
and did I mention, it's cold?

Eye Of The Beholder

I love Halloween. I know there are many of you out there that also enjoy this grand holiday. It is full of candy corn, dances, and the opportunity to dress up like an idiot without anyone judging you. I tend to go a bit overboard on that last part. I love to dress up. I love to have people look at my outfit and immediately know what I am, and then take a couple of moments to see all the details I thought of. On Halloweens of yesteryear I have come up with several costumes that I am extremely proud of.

One year I was Carrie. I dressed in a vintage 70’s prom dress, made out of actual polyester, tiara, and made my own corsage out of silk flowers. Halloween night I had the pleasure of experiencing the shower of fake blood and then had to shiver in the yard for a full half hour while the blood dried. Just a note to everyone out there, polyester does not dry that fast.

Another year I was Marge Simpson. I had the full, blue, beehive hairdo that was so tall I could not even drive in it. I sewed my own green dress. Bought my first can of spray paint and made my own set of precious red pearls. Two pairs of yellow hose covered my arms and legs and painted my face yellow with grease paint. I was still finding yellow paint in my ears days later.

Last year’s costume got a bit away from me. I decided to be a flamingo. I ordered a pink leotard, pink tights, and dug out some of my old ballet slippers. Red helped sew a pink tulle skirt that we made wings and a tail out of boas. The feather wig, feather eyelashes, and feather accents around my wrists and neck might be what pushed it over the top. Then again the 8 inch beak I wore all night might have drawn a stare or two.

The list goes on and on. I hope you are beginning to get a picture of how much I enjoy Halloween. So much so that I will forgive the mortal sin of being held when it is not exactly warm.

I decided on the eve of last year’s Halloween dance that this year I am going to be Mystique from X-Men. I have been scouring the net to find a set of contact to turn my eyes yellow. I am not having much luck. The problem is that I wear real contacts and most novelty contacts do not provide vision correction. I cannot exactly put a pair of glasses on my blue face and am pretty sure you cannot wear two contacts in the same eye. The whole costume hinges on the eyes. If I cannot find the contacts I am going to have to switch. In the running for back-up are the Cheshire Cat or Anne Boleyn. Feel free to leave a comment if you have any other suggestions.

Out With The Old, In With The New

This weekend was monumental. I was forced to say good-bye to an old friend and hello to a new one.

For about a week, my car has been making a sound. You might be thinking this sound was in league of a rattle or a hum, but you would be mistaken. This sound was more like the sound an industrial machine makes right before exploding. The sound was so bad that if my car had shook apart and left me buckled into my seat and holding just a steering wheel, I would not have been surprised.

Wednesday night I drove it down to the mechanics, and dropped it off. I was hoping the verdict would come back as a simple $40 belt replacement, but was sure before I even got there that the news would be bad.

Not far into Thursday, my suspicion was confirmed. My car was dead and it would cost a mere $3,000 to resurrect it. I was now faced with a dilemma of fixing the old thing, or using that $3,000 to buy a new car. Now I have had my car for about 10 years, and it was showing it's age. One side of the car was side-swiped while my ex was driving it and so in addition to not looking great, it shimmied around 70 mph, there was a crack that extended the entire length of the windshield, one wheel could not keep a hubcap on it for anything, and the list goes on as any car 10 years old does.

Despite all of this, I had no intention of getting rid of the blasted thing. It was just fine for my three block commute to work and vanity played no part in the equation. I was crestfallen that I had to buy a new car, and return to the world of those with a car payment.

Thursday I struck out in my $35 a day rental car, less than pleased with the task before me. The first day of looking was a horrible experience. I knew what I wanted; a nice, reliable commuter car with low mileage and a lower price tag. Unfortunately, the Cash For Clunkers deal, has left every car dealer from here to Michigan with slim pickings. The Toyota dealership I stopped at won't even walk the lot with me, because there was nothing to look at. Lost and dejected, I looked at a PT Cruiser that was the only thing in my price range. It was not what I wanted at all, but was afraid that I would not find anything and have a $1,000 a month car payment because I was forced to keep driving the rental car.

I stopped by Red's house after a day of searching and got some really good advice from her and Frankie. Between them and a whole day of pep talking from the Peacemaker at work the next day, I was off for another night of searching.

After striking out at several dealerships, I drove down to the Kia dealership to look at a red Yaris I had seen on the internet. When I got there, it had already been sold, but, unlike many other dealerships, they actually had cars on the lot to look at. My overly, attentive salesman, Thad, and I drove several of them. I drove a Mazda 3 that I loved, but did not love the price. There was a very nice Honda Civic, but did not want a two door. After two test drives, I spotted a 2007 Toyota Corolla at the end of the lot. It was just in, and did not even have the window sticker on it yet. Test drive was perfect, and for the price, it was exactly what I wanted.

The next morning, armed with new advice from Frankie, I went down to make a deal. I was all ready to talk Thad down in the price, but before I could even broach the subject, he told me that he made a mistake in the price. The price that was posted in the car was supposed to be with qualified trade-in, but since we had already drawn up the paperwork with that price on it, that they were going to give it to me for that price. Looking it up later, I got the car for about $2,000 below Kelly Blue Book. Score.

Everything went fine at the dealership, except for a small, uncomfortable incident with the finance guy. While signing my paperwork in a closed office, the finance guy decided it was a good idea to tell me how my salesman had a huge crush on me. I don't know which was more awkward, having the finance guy tell me that the salesman told the whole place that I had an "amazing body" or actually having to look the salesman in the eye after all the signing was done. I could feel myself blushing the entire way out to my new car.

In the end, when I was driving home in my new car, I could finally relax. After the hassle, pain, and money associated with actually getting the new car was over, I could now enjoy it. I have a pride in my car that I have not felt in a very long time. I love the remote keyless entry, the clear view out the windshield, the fact the overhead light works, and that I am not drawing stares while waiting at a red light. To sum it up, I love my car. I don't think I have ever been able to say that. I am excited to drive it, and want everyone to see it. With all of this in mind, there is only bad thing, now how will I know if I am going 70 mph if there is no shimmies to tell me so? I guess there are certain sacrifices I will have to make to enjoy such a sweet ride.