Tyler is my brother and one of my greatest friends. He’s getting married in t minus just around the corner, so in honor of the impending celebration, I will here celebrate some of the adventures we’ve had together.

Tyler was born the day before I turned 18 months old. He was my first sibling. It was great to have a sibling, an automatic friend that I could play with and talk to (and talk for…according to my parents, Tyler was a late talker because I did all of his talking for him). When we moved from the Brown House to the Yellow House (I guess I have to give this house a color assignment now because, after 20 some odd years, this house is no longer the Current House), Tyler and I shared a room. I had the top bunk and he slept on the bottom.

Because I was the oldest, I always had to do things first, a task which I usually did not enjoy. But after a year or so, Tyler was always there right behind me. And it was always nice to have him there. I had to start school by myself, but by first grade, he walked to and from school with me on his way to kindergarten. When I was in eighth grade and he was in seventh, we pretty much ruled the middle school. I had to go to high school first, but as soon as I was a sophomore, he joined me as a freshman. I got married just over a year ago, and sure enough, he’s following suit.

It was nice to have someone there to keep me company on those long walks to and from school. It made climbing the 101 steps up Grandview Hill to the elementary school easier because I had a partner I could race to the top with. We sometimes played games on those walks. My favorite was the Penny Game, which consisted of hiding a penny we’d found on the ground in a new spot every day and seeing if it was still there the next time we passed by. One penny, I remember, lasted a really long time, until Tyler decided that a great new hiding place would be over the fence in a pile of fallen autumn leaves. I wonder if it’s still hiding there in the dirt…

Tyler was always more adventurous than I was. He’s the one who discovered the Provo River Trail. He came home one day and told me he’d found this trail that went on practically forever and which had cool tunnels we could ride through. This trail turned out to be our ticket to the drug store where we’d go spend our savings on cheap candy. When we learned that this trail extended all the way from Bridal Veil Falls to the lake, we planned an expedition. So on one hot day we set out from our house near the Exchange Park and rode our bikes all the way to the canyon. It was very difficult, but Tyler was kind and waited for me when I just couldn’t go any further and had to take a break.

Sometimes we got to take classes together. In high school we took an early morning ceramics class. He was always the artistic one. We also took a beginning ballroom class. In a class where females largely outnumbered the males, it was nice to always know you had a partner for the first round of cha-cha. At BYU we took the Intro to Film class together and both had a pleasant time discussing how our miserable TA was pretty much ruining our lives, not to mention our grade point averages. While still in high school, we also got to work together in the book department at Media Play. Oh, the good times we had!

I could probably share a lot of other things that we’ve done together, but this is enough because I’m sure you can see that we’ve had a lot of fun adventures over the years. Well, Amanda, I guess he’s yours now. May you both have many exciting adventures of your own.

I'm feeling antsy today. And I'm not sure why. Actually, I am sure why... an impending vacation and escape from regular life is just around the corner. And it's making my day pass by entirely too slowly.

So, I feel antsy. Kind of like I've got ants in my pants. Which is not a pleasant feeling. And I know this from experience.

My second grade year was an eventful one. That was the year Jason ran through the window because he wasn't looking as he was attempting to catch a football. That was also the year Martha stopped speaking to me because I told her she drew crooked lines. And it was the year I got ants in my lovely blue corduroy pants with the heart patches on the knees.

Sometime near the end of recess one day, I found a busy colony of red ants on the asphalt kickball field. They were fascinating to watch, hurriedly running about in aimless circles. Trying carefully not to step on any, I positioned my feet close their hill. Then I crouched in for a closer view. In was so entranced by their mesmerizing movements, I didn't notice that some of them had begun mistaking my clean white tennis shoes for their ant hill home. And the next thing I knew, they were crawling up blue my corduroy pants.

Naturally, I freaked out, because, really, who likes ants in their pants? It certainly wasn't my idea of a pleasant way to end recess. In a panic, I flicked as many as I could off my shoes. I lifted up my pants to mid-shin and flicked the ants on my legs off as well. I shuddered, several times, then gave my legs an obligatory scratch. And then I ran in to tell my teacher, Miss Nielson, that I might not live to the end of the day because of the horrible venom I'm sure the ants had injected into me by way of my vulnerable pasty white legs.

Miss Nielson was sympathetic, or possibly just grossed out. Either way, she sent me to the little girls room for as long as I needed so I could inspect the rest of my legs for more ants. Safely inside a stall, I picked a few more ants off of my pale white legs, then began the thorough inspection of the damage those horrible ants may have incurred on my delicate skin. Turned out all I ended up with was a few red ant bites, which tickled just enough to make me think there were still a few ants crawling around inside my pants. Also, they were itchy. Boy were they itchy!

Itchy kind of in the same way that I feel now.

Dear Mike the Postman,

Thank you for making the Muncie Post Office a pleasant place to go. Granted, all of the employees at the Muncie Post Office are naturally happy and cheerfully service oriented (instead of grumpy and blatantly wishing for a different job like the employees at most post offices I’ve been you). But you stand out. You are, in my opinion, the best post man ever! You recognize us every time we come in and you always say hello and ask us how we’re doing. You even go out of your way to say hey even when you’re busy helping someone else. You are always happy – jovial, you might call it. You appreciate that Blake and I are also happy people, and you thank us frequently for our smiles. But it’s you we should be thanking. It’s nice to know that my errand to mail a package will be a pleasant one. Blake and I never fail to leave that building happier than when we went in simply because of your pleasant nature. You are one of the few people in this town who has helped us feel like we're a part of this community. So, to you Mike, I say thank you.

Sincerely,
Lindsay

PS: I’ve been told that there are places closer to my home where I can mail my packages from, but I don’t want to go there because I’m afraid that the people there won’t be as nice as you and your people. You make a drive all the way to the south side of town for a 5-minute errand to mail a package worth the trip. Thanks again!

I wanted to go home to Provo for the October General Conference during my freshman year at Ricks College. Since I didn't have a car, and didn't have any friends with cars going the same direction, I opted for the Ride Board. A few days before Conference Weekend, a young newly married couple called and offered me a ride to Provo. Their names were Joel and Carrie, and they were very nice. Everything was arranged and on Friday evening we headed out.

We got to talking on the drive down -- you know, the basic introductions and such. It turned out that Joel was from Portland, Oregon and Carrie was from Vancouver, Washington (just across the Columbia river from Portland). I told them that my mom grew up in Portland, so we carried the conversation further.

Joel: What high school did your mom go to?
Me: David Douglas
Joel: Oh really? My mom went to the same high school. What's your mom's name?

I told him and thought, huh, small world. But since I didn't know enough about my mom's growing up years to talk any more about it, that conversation dwindled and then died all together.

The rest of the drive was pretty uneventful. I think I slept most of the way. Before they dropped me off at my house, we arranged a time for Joel and Carrie to pick me up Sunday evening to head back to Rexburg.

I had an enjoyable weekend with my family. I had a chance to catch them up on all the adventures I was having away at college (which to me weren't incredibly exciting, but, being the oldest and therefore first to go away to college, everyone else thought it was novel and consequently quite thrilling). I also told my mom about the fact that my ride's mother grew up in Portland and attended the same high she did. That interested her, but since the conversation in the car didn't last very long, neither did this one with my mom.

My mom's brother, Uncle Joel, was in town for Conference as well, as he had been for the past few Conferences. He'd come from Minneapolis where he was serving as a stake president. He was also interested in the fact that my ride's mother and he attended the same high school.

When Joel and Carrie came to pick me up Sunday evening, the whole family, including my mom and Uncle Joel, had been chatting in the living room. While I gathered up my things, Joel and Carrie sat down to join them. Uncle Joel, eager to get to the bottom of this we-attended-the-same-high-school -as-your-mother business, pressed Joel for more information. When Joel told everyone his mother's name, my mom and uncle got very excited. Joel's mother had been their regular babysitter as they grew up!

We all laughed for a while and remarked at the small-worldness of it all until suddenly Joel said to my uncle, "You said your name was Joel, right?" My uncle nodded. "Because I think I'm named after you." Turns out that Joel had been named for some stinker-of-a-kid his mom used to babysit.

Well, that just did everyone in. This was too much. We couldn't control our amazement. And we still can't control our amazement. This story has become a favorite in our family. No one has beaten the small-worldness of it yet. Who knew a random ride from the Ride Board could be so....connecting?

It wasn't a microburst, and apparently it also wasn't a tornado, but there were definitely some hurricane strength winds blowing through yesterday. Of course, these winds thought it would be fun to interrupt our office picnic, which caused some slight pandemonium as branches broke off trees and picnic supplies scattered everywhere. (We were able to move the picnic into the old boy scout lodge on the park grounds, so the crisis was averted.)

The storm in Muncie didn't get nearly as bad as it did in Marion (birthplace of James Dean), which is about 40 miles north, and in the surrounding towns in Grant County. Apparently significant damage was done to the courthouse, which is over 100 years old. Parts of the roof blew off, and several 60-pound blocks of stone broke free somehow and blew away down the street. Also, three semi trucks blew over on I-69 just outside Marion. I think this might be a portion of the same storm that has been troubling Ohio with floods and tornadoes. Good news is, though, that the storms are supposed to be just about finished and we'll have clear, decent weather for at least a week.

I saw fireflies last night in our yard for the first time. It really is a pity that there aren't more fireflies out west. They're fascinating bugs.

I think it's time for the janitors to sweep the hallway outside our office door because its building quite the collection of dead stepped-on spiders. Gross. I stepped on a particularly ugly one this morning. It was not fun. I hate stepping on spiders. But at least it's not crawling around on my desk.

Today is the office summer picnic. For the last few months I've been on the planning committee for this event. It should be fun, although the 40% chance of severe thunderstorms again this afternoon might spice things up. At least rain would give the employees a valid reason to whine and complain like 5-year-olds. Two days ago (after several weeks of advertising, mind you) people starting whining about the picnic plans: "It's too hot." "Why do we have to have it there?" "I don't want to go." Good grief, people! Grow up! No one is making you go, and no one is making you participate in the activities. And if you're so upset about a free afternoon out of the office, why didn't you mention it earlier before we had invested so much time, energy, and money into planning this thing? Sheesh. Some people. They'll have fun -- they'll see.

Anyway, I will be happy when today is over. When today is over, the picnic will have happened and laundry will be done. I'm exhausted -- this week has been far too busy.

We get lots of great views from our living room window, what with the birdfeeder attracting sparrows and cardinals like magnets, the chipmunks busily and suspiciously digging tunnels systems underneath the yard, the bunnies preciously and serenely nibbling leafy greens, and the crazy man who passes by several times daily and who once stopped to ask me if I would sell my bike to him. But last night's view currently tops the list.

It hailed last night, and quite hard, too. Most of the bits of hail were dime- and nickel-sized, but some were as big as a quarter. I had just started washing the dinner dishes when Blake called me over the window. It had been raining -- or downpouring, some might call it -- for a little while, but just then the rain thickened into ice cubes. It was coming down in a furious fashion and was exciting to watch. But our excitement was short lived being drowned out and replaced by slight concern over the small amounts of damage currently being inflicted on our car, not to mention our tomato and green pepper plants. We couldn't do anything about the car, seeing as our complex provides no means of covered parking, but we could try to save the garden.

Blake, ever the dashing hero that he is, quickly grabbed the umbrella, looked me squarely in the eye and said, "I'm going out." In a flash of lightning, he was outside on the porch standing next to the tomatoes. His first thought was, I believe, to drag our little container garden to a more sheltered spot under the awning; however, once outside he realized that pots heavy with mud are not an easy thing to move in a downpour. He stood next to them, puzzled, for a moment, holding the umbrella over both himself and the garden. He looked at me watching him from the window, smiled and offered me a sheepish shrug. Then he stood out there for a few moments more because, if he couldn't move the plants, he could at least provide them some protection in the form of a black umbrella. Soon, though, he realized that he was getting unnecessarily wet, all protection for the plants aside, so he came back in.

The plants pulled through quite well, in large part, I'm most certain, due to Blake's heroic sheltering efforts. Our four tiny green tomatoes are still thriving. Oh, and the car's fine, too. But I don't think I'll ever forget the sight of a wet Blake standing puzzled outside in a hailstorm next to the tomato plants, trying to keep them dry.

An attempted trip to see Chicago scheduled for this coming weekend fell through, so to compensate, we thought we'd make our trip to Columbus as interesting as possible. Here is what we did:

The Drive There
If there is anything you must see before you die, it is a Midwestern sunrise in the summer. It is breathtaking. The sun streams through the plentiful trees and across the green, growing farmland, and bounces off the morning mist as you drive on winding roads. The world becomes a thousand shades of green. There is nothing quite like it. You just might have to see it yourself to truly understand. But take my word for it -- it's beautiful.

As we were traveling south in Hwy 35 en route to I-70, we kept passing classic and antique cars. They were apparently on their way to some old car expo or something (which we also passed). You name it, we saw it (or just about, anyway) -- 1950s Cadillacs, 1920s roadsters, Model Ts. Kinda neat.

Ohio is very flat. Very flat. Indiana is flat, too, but Ohio is flatter, I'm sure of it. At least it is along I-70. Also, it became very apparent to us the closer we got to Columbus that Ohio is all under construction.

The Temple
The temple was beautiful and peaceful and I'm very glad that we finally got to go back. We both needed it.

The JC Penny Outlet Store
Yes, there is one. And it's huge. We came away with a badly needed new white shirt for Blake, along with a new polo shirt, as well as a skirt and blouse for me to wear to the wedding (seeing as I've encountered a few complications in my sewing project), all for lovely low prices.

The Topiary Garden in the Old Deaf School Park
This was really cool. I mean, how many topiary interpretations of impressionist paintings are there in the world? Interpreted here was Georges Seurat's Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. Here is a picture of the painting:

And here are some pictures of the park, courtesy of the park's website:

So, yeah, this was really neat to see. Unfortunately, not all of the figures were lushly foliaged for our visit, but it was still really neat. It's a beautiful park -- the perfect picnic park, really, with paths to walk on, old iron benches to sit on, trees to sit under. I think I could be really happy just spending a day at this park sitting and thinking.

German Village
I can't find any pictures online that do the German Village justice, so I'll have to stick to describing it to you. German Village was first settled in the 1830s by German immigrants and continued to grow and thrive until anti-German sentiment during WWI caused the neighborhood to decline. Groups since the 1960s have worked to restore and preserve the village and have done a pretty good job. Walking through the streets here is like walking in back in time. The streets and sidewalks are made of brick. The homes (where average, everyday people still live) are also for the most part made of red and brown brick, and they are tall and narrow and tightly packed together. They come right out to the street, so there are no front yards, and each house has its own narrow alley. Some homes have waist-high wrought-iron fences complete with squeaky gates leading up to the front door, and almost all the homes' windows have flower-filled window boxes. It's like walking through the neighborhoods of a little Europe.

Sprinkled throughout the village are little shops and restaurants. We of course had to make a visit to The Book Loft, which is a huge 32-room bookstore in the style of Powell's Books (in Portland, Oregon, for those of you unfamiliar with that fabulous bookstore), only it's a lot smaller and more tightly packed. After browsing around for a while, we ended up leaving empty-handed, which was probably good for the book diet we are on. Something funny happened on our way out, though. As we were walking down the little alley back towards the street, a young couple with a small girl were just entering the alley. My first thought when I saw them was "They're LDS -- they have to be." And sure enough they were. They stopped walking just short of us and the guy said to Blake, "Hey, I know you -- from BYU." Turns out that Blake was this guy's (named Ben) philosophy TA a few years ago. Then his wife turned to me and said, "Hey, I know you -- from Provo High. You're Tyler's sister." I didn't recognize her at first, but she was one of a set of twins that Tyler was friends with in high school. They'd been married for a few years, had a cute little girl, and had moved to Columbus so Ben could learn how to be an optometrist. Small world. And who knew we'd meet someone we knew in Ohio? Go figure, I guess.

We also paid a visit to Juergen's Bakery just in time for dinner. The two old white-haired ladies who ran the bakery were German (one more obviously so, seeing as she had a thick German accent). It was a fun place to eat, and they served delicious food. Blake got bratwurst and I got quiche, and we both got to sample some of their yummy breads. We tried Vienna bread, sourdough rye bread, and this whole wheat/rye bread that was called something that started with an M, but which I can't remember what it was, let alone spell it, if my life depended on it. We also splurged, seeing as we were in a bakery, and got a traditional German pastry. Unfortunately, I also can't remember what it was called. But it sure was delicious, though.

Blake and I did a lot of walking in German Village, mostly because we kept getting lost or read the map wrong. It was really hot (just over 90) and quite humid, but we still managed to enjoy ourselves. Just walking through the old neighborhoods was great fun. We stumbled across this tiny little flower-filled park called Frank Fetch Park. It was right across the street from the house I think I want to live in someday. It was a beautiful home, on Beck Street, and all the windows had red geranium-filled window boxes.

Part of me thinks it would be pretty great to live in German Village someday when I grow up. It was such a quaint place, practically right out of a European fairy tale. But then, another part of me -- the newly developed Midwestern part of me -- has decided that it'd be pretty great to live in the country in a beautiful white farmhouse and own lots of land and spend my days gardening. Well, I guess someday we'll find out where we end up settling. As for now, we're not settled and we probably won't be for a while.

The Drive Back
The trip home would have been pleasantly uneventful if only the check engine light hadn't decided to come on. We're still not sure why it came on seeing as the car is running just fine. We even got the oil changed and the fuel system cleaned out not two weeks ago. Anyway, we'll figure it out and cross our fingers that whatever the problem is doesn't brake the bank. We stopped at a gas station just outside of Columbus to check the fluids and examine the engine (just in case the problem was obvious. It wasn't), and to fill the car up with expensive gas, which ended up being more expensive than necessary because the automatic shut off on the pump decided to not shut off like it was supposed to and a bunch of gas that we had to pay for spilled out on the ground. But after all that, the trip home was pleasantly uneventful.

So, Columbus gave us a good day. Coming soon on the day-trip docket: Cincinnati, OH, and Louisville, KY.

Perhaps it wasn't meant to be. I mean, if it was, I would have purchased the correct pattern size in the first place instead of having to go back to the store for the right one, right? And I wouldn't have had to order a zipper foot for my sewing machine that won't arrive for 5-10 business days, right? And if it was meant to be, I wouldn't have discovered that there is a JC Penny catalog outlet store in Columbus, Ohio, where we will be after our visit to the temple tomorrow, right?

I think I might just take my time working on the skirt (because I am still bound and determined to make my sewing skills known to myself, if not also the world) and look for a skirt to buy at the JC Penny outlet store.

Despite my lack of a zipper foot, I did start the sewing project last night. And by start, I mean I cut out the fabric. (Unless you count pre-shrinking the fabric, in which case I started on Wednesday when I did laundry.) I don't think I'll have time to actually start sewing until Sunday after church because tonight we will be feeding the missionaries (if they decide to show up -- even though they claim they did, they totally did not come to our house on Wednesday night because we were in fact home all evening and no one ever came to our door. They probably found the wrong apartment. Apparently our complex is confusing and everyone who tries to find our place gets hopelessly lost). Also, this evening the sewing machine will be otherwise occupied because the new temple pants we ordered for Blake arrived yesterday and I need to hem them before we go to the temple tomorrow. And I can't sew a skirt tomorrow because we'll be in Columbus all day.

I've decided, then, to pay a visit to the JC Penny outlet store and stop stressing myself about sewing a skirt when I really don't have enough time to devote to sewing a skirt in the next week and a half. I feel much calmer about this decision.

So, my sewing endeavors might not be the most pleasant thing in the world right now, but the trip to Columbus should be. After the temple and the JC Penny trip, there are a few other places we plan to visit. One of those places is the Topiary Garden which features a topiary interpretation of Georges Seurat's painting Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. Also on the itinerary is a visit to either the restored German Village or the Franklin Park Conservatory and Botanical Gardens (or both, if we have time). Should be fun. I'm looking forward to it anyway.

During my first senior year at BYU, my roommates introduced me to a little gem called the 100 Hour Board. For those of you unacquainted with the Board, it is an anonymously submitted and anonymously answered online Q&A forum run by BYU students for BYU students. Any curious person can submit a question to the Board and in 100 hours they will receive an answer. Simple as that. Check it out -- it's fun to read.

I read the Board for a while before I started submitting questions of my own. Soon enough, though, I, too, got the itch and began asking questions. On January 12, 2004, I asked a question which on the surface seemed innocent enough, but which may now very well be considered legend in the archives of the 100 Hour Board. Here is what I asked:

Dear 100 Hour Board,
How many stairs are there on campus, both inside and outside the buildings?

On January 13, my roommate, Heather, gave her senior violin performance recital. We roommates all went, as did a few friends from our current ward and our previous ward. Among Heather's supporters was Ryan and his wife, Amy. Ryan (aka "Thor") was a writer for the 100 Hour Board. During a conversation before the recital started, I told him that I had just submitted a question to the Board. He was interested and asked what question it was I had asked. I was hesitant to say because I was afraid of feeling stupid. 100 Hour Board writers, though they generally respond to most questions sincerely, have a tendency to just laugh off others. The nice thing about asking a question anonymously is that if your question is laughed off, you can pretend you weren't in any way involved and move on with your life. But I was cornered, and Ryan's a nice guy, so I told him that I'd asked the question about how many stairs there were on campus.

"That was you?!" he said. "Man, they are totally taking that question seriously!"

Apparently they had decided to not just laugh it off. All the writers had divvied up buildings and sections of campus and everyone was counting. I wrote in my journal, "This is hilarious, I tell you. I feel so strangely important."

It took them just over two weeks to post my answer, which was understandable, given the relative enormity of the question. It was posted on January 28 in the form of a lengthy table that listed the location of the stairs, how many stairs, and a running total. All told, there are 40,500 stairs on the BYU campus, give or take a thousand or two. You can see the totals here (scroll down to the bottom to see the table).

It was great fun to be so anonymously popular! Over time, my question has gained quite the reputation. After searching through their archives, I've counted 13 separate references to the stair question, though there are likely several more, though subtle, mentionings. It's true that some readers and writers of the 100 Hour Board found this question to be weird, labor and time intensive, a pain to answer, stupid, and just plain difficult. Others, in keeping with the spirit of the question (or whathaveyou), have tried to make sure the counting continues as new buildings are erected.

Well, there you go. I've thrown my anonymity out the window and rightfully claimed the stair question as my own. Who knew stairs could be so interesting?

PS: In honor of the fact that my brother just finished creating a pretty neat website about chairs and their "chairness" for a class project, and since stair and chair rhyme, I thought I'd advertise his site here. It's an amusing little project, so pull up a chair of your own (if you're not already sitting in one), and enjoy!

AAA was very good to us yesterday. We like AAA.

This is what we came in with:

• One nearly expired membership (belonging to Blake for the benefit of us both);
• A need for a map of Columbus, Ohio.
  

This is what we came out with:

• A renewed membership for Blake, plus a FREE membership for me;
• A map of Columbus;
• A long list of day trip ideas (and you'd better believe we'll be visiting some of these places, beginning with a temple trip and sightseeing in Columbus this Saturday);
• A sense of relief knowing that we don't have to pay renters insurance in June or July, or car insurance in July;
• Knowledge of the fact that insurance premiums will be going down in August;
• Knowledge of the fact that because we have good credit and a "platinum" credit card from our credit union, we will receive an additional 5% discount on our insurance premiums beginning in September.

Yes, AAA is very good to us. We like AAA.

So, I'm feeling slightly desperate.

My brother is getting married in, oh, 19 days, and I need something to wear. Now, I'm not in the official wedding party, so clothing will not be provided for me. However, it would probably be wise for me to wear something even slightly close to the bride's chosen wedding colors for the sake of the photographs (and because everyone else will be doing it and the last thing anyone wants is to stick out in someone else's wedding pictures). Plus, new skirts are always fun. Unfortunately, there is not much in this town in the way of skirts in hot pink, bright orange, or scarlet. There's not even much remotely close to those colors. I have literally been to every store in Muncie (which, granted, isn't much) at least two times, but have still had no luck.

So it comes down to this:
This is the sewing machine Blake got me for Christmas. It's a Kenmore Mini Ultra, and so far as I can tell, it works great. I have only used it a few times -- once to hem some pants and once to sew some pillows. I have big plans for many projects (ask me later about the quilt I'm envisioning), but mostly I just get intimidated.

There are a few out there who know first-hand that my sewing skills are, shall we say, lacking. My mom knows this (who made me unstitch and redo just about everything I sewed). So does my high school sewing teacher (who also made me unstitch and redo just about everything I sewed). Some (like myself) might argue that they are non-existent.

But I am hopeful (and by "hopeful," I'm pretty sure I mean "desperate"). Yesterday after work I spent just over an hour in JoAnn Fabrics scoping out my options. I found a pattern for a skirt that looks simple and elegant. I found some fabric that should work as far as wedding colors go (it's kind of a peachy salmon color) along with some offsetting trim (cream). I purchased all the necessary notions (thread, zipper, twill tape, hook and eye), and some interfacing. All I need now is to remember my sewing vocabulary and to dig up that barrel of confidence I know is hiding somewhere deep inside me (it's probably hiding next to the basic sewing skills I learned once upon a time, so while I'm searching for the confidence, I'll grab those as well).

In the end, this is what I hope to produce:
Wish me luck. Or maybe you just start praying for me.

A conversation with my mother-in-law last night about stake dances brought back some haunting memories about my own stake dance days, and reminded me why I didn't like them. Let me tell you why.

I attended my first stake dance when I was 14. I'm pretty sure it was a tri-stake dance because the boy in my English class that I had a slight crush on was there, and as far as my research at the time told me, he was not in my stake. I was nervous to go, but I did my best to tell my shy self to take a hike for the evening because I wanted to have fun. It was summertime, and really hot, so instead of making us all sweat profusely inside of a sweltering gym, we got to sweat profusely in the parking lot of our stake center. Which was right next door to an elementary school. Which had a soccer field.

The dance probably started at 8:00, and I, having not yet learned about the fashionably late rule, probably arrived right on time. The music was just getting started, but nobody was dancing yet. I found a few friends and spent the first while clinging to them. It is important for this story to note that at 8:00 in the summer meant that there was roughly 2 hours of daylight left in the day. The sun was setting, but we had a while before the parking lot lights had to be turned on.

More kids arrived and the dance started picking up. Pretty much everyone danced to the loud, fast songs -- even me, who was (and is still) arguably the most uncoordinated dancer ever. But only a few brave souls ventured to the center to tree-dance to the slow songs. I was not one of those souls. Sure, I would have liked English class boy -- or any boy, for that matter -- to have ask me to dance, but by the third or fourth slow song spent alone on the sidelines, I accepted the fact that tonight probably wasn't going to be my night. Which was probably just as well because I wouldn't have known what to do with myself anyway if a boy had asked me.

But then it happened. I was asked to dance. His name was Andy and after he asked me, I followed him out to the floor. We proceeded to awkwardly tree dance (which, for those of you unfamiliar with the term, is basically this: girl holds boy's shoulders, boy holds girl's waist, both boy and girl sway clumsily back and forth, like trees blowing gently in a haphazardly hormonal breeze, making no eye contact, conversing little, and pretty much just hoping for the best).

About half-way through the song, Andy started thanking me for dancing with him. I thought this gratitude was a little pre-mature, seeing as the second verse wasn't even over yet. But then he continued. He was thanking me for the dance because it meant that, once it was over, he was free to go to the elementary school field next door and play soccer with the rest of boys who had come to the dance. Apparently the chaperones said it was all right for the boys to all go play soccer, so long as they danced with a girl before they left and came back when it got dark. To be honest, this reason for getting asked to dance stung more than just a little. I didn't know how to respond to him, so I probably just said nothing until the song was over, at which point I gave him a cheerful, though totally fake, smile, thanked him as well, and returned to my place on the sidelines.

For the next hour and a half or so, the parking lot was filled with only females. The slow dances (which for some reason the DJ still played) were even more pathetic than before. I spent the entire time feeling used and pretty stupid, counting the eternal minutes before I could go home (being only 14, I had to wait for my ride). The boys returned for the last half hour or so of the dance. But they took the fun of the dance with them when they went to the soccer field, and they forgot to bring it back with them when they returned.

I pretty much boycotted stake dances for the next five years or so. I didn't have fun at the first one, where I'd put so much of myself out there, and I never really felt up to risking it again. But, judging by the junior high dances I've chaperoned in recent years (which in Utah Valley are the equivalent of a stake dance), I didn't miss out on much.

Here's what we'll be up to on this action-packed weekend:

Friday:

• Go see the new Pixar film, Cars. (Can it be true? Are we actually going to see a movie on opening day?! Whoa Nelly!);
• Games and an evening of pleasant conversation with our friends, Amy and Vaughn.

Saturday:

• Early morning rummage sale in the Farmington neighborhood. Neighborhood rummage sales are generally more worth the time it takes to sift through stuff, and Farmington is a ritzier neighborhood. Maybe we'll stumble across a used washer/dryer set...;
• Water the tomatoes and green peppers, and perhaps trim the plants because they are bordering on the wildly-out-of-control overgrown;
  
• A visit to the Jar Museum on an errand for my mother;
• A visit to the newly discovered grocery store, Save-a-Lot, to investigate if it is really worth driving out there for groceries (i.e. Will it really save me a lot?);
• Dust the house because it needs it desperately;
  
• A quick perusal of the pre-MFA art show of a fellow in the ward;
• A BBQ with a few other young couples in the ward.

Sunday:

• Meetings;
• Meetings;
• Church;
• More meetings;
• Sit in the rocking chair, put our feet up, and watch the birds duke it out at the bird feeder.

Wow, I get tingles of excitement and waves of exhaustion just thinking about what's coming up in the next few days. Well, here's to surviving it all.

We dodged a few more potholes last night as we went out with the sister missionaries. This town is riddled with potholes and I'm telling you, something must be done. They are everywhere and they make driving teeter on the dangerous side of ridiculous. There are probably a thousand explanations for these potholes, ranging from the frigidly cold winters to the use of low quality asphalt. Excuses, excuses, people! Just patch them up, for goodness sake. (To their credit, I will say that they do patch most of them up, eventually. Though the patching jobs are often shoddy and lumpy at best.)

I noticed when we first moved here that Muncie's roads weren't exactly in top notch condition, but we didn't have our first real run-in with a deep pothole until January (the potholes get worse and more widespread in the winter, leading to the cold weather explanations). Of course, when we hit it, I was driving. And of course it was dark outside and I couldn't see it coming. And of course it made a horrible sound leading us to believe we had pretty much ruined our car. Of course, though, these thoughts turned out to be unnecessary -- but they did help us be more cautious. Sometimes, though, you just can't miss them. The roads here are much narrower than they are out west, and if there is a pothole rapidly growing to your right, and oncoming traffic passing on your left, and you're driving a decent speed, and it's dark outside, -- well, in a situation like that, there's just not a lot you can do to avoid hitting it.

Anyway...I didn't originally intend to spend this post talking about potholes, enlightening and interesting though they may be. I was going to tell you about going out with the sister missionaries. But, I suppose that when it comes right down to it, there's not a lot to report on that event. We tried to visit Crystal, the sweet and pretty interested investigator we met with on Monday, but she wasn't home. We also tried to visit with Becky, who I have yet to meet seeing as she's never home when we drop by. This makes us 1 for 3 (Friday attempts = nobody home, Monday's attempts = one person home, Thursday's attempts = nobody home). I think we're bad luck for the sisters. That can't be good. But they insist that we're not, so they keep asking us to come with them. Here's hoping for a better track record in the future. In the meantime, you'll probably just get more stories about potholes.

Last night was another successful Activity Days. In case you are keeping score at home, I judge these successes by how well the girls pay attention and keep themselves (and their hyperactive wiggles and giggles) under control. Once again they acted pretty much like angels on a cloud. The evening would have been perfect had I not had to repeatedly remind the girls that irons in fact do have a strong tendency to get reallyreallyreally hot when they're turned on. As far as I'm aware, no one went home with any burned fingers, but we came thisclose to just that more than a few times.

So yes, in an effort to produce a Father's Day Gift & Skill Set, we taught the girls how to iron both a shirt and a handkerchief. First, though, we had to teach them some ironing safety. Ironing safety includes, but is probably not limited to: NOT TOUCHING THE IRON, and, in the event that you do have to touch the iron (for whatever reason), don't do so until you've checked to see if it's on or releasing heat (which of course made them all want to place their hands two inches from iron). Ironing safety also includes not leaning on the ironing board, not doing dances you learned in school around the ironing board, and not touching the iron. (Have I already mentioned this? Because I feel like I've already mentioned this.) Also, we learned that it's important to not iron over your fingers even though you might think it will help get rid of that one pesky wrinkle. No, ironing fingers is generally not a good idea.

We also discussed the importance of not burning holes in clothes. We learned that it's a good idea to look at the label to find out what kind of fabric the wrinkled clothing is so that you can adjust the heat accordingly. The girls seemed to understand this concept a lot better than the "don't touch the iron" rule.

After watching a demonstration on "How to Iron a Shirt," we learned "How to Iron a Handkerchief/Napkin." Ironing a handkerchief or napkin is a piece of cake, they decided, because all you have to do is 1. press, 2. fold, 3. press, 4. fold, 5. press, 6. fold, 7. press. We got each girl a cheap white handkerchief which they all ironed themselves and then wrapped up in a cute (cute, in a manly, fatherly sort of way, of course) little box. They have also vowed to iron one of their father's white shirts so he can wear it, all pressed, to church on Father's Day. Here's hoping that no fingers get burned in the process of that endeavor.

The main attraction of the evening was my hi-tech iron that not only has a button that squirts water, but also has a button that presses steam. Yeah, they really liked that feature. Oh, and the refreshments were a big hit as well. Sister Batman made one of those frozen oreo/caramel/chocolatey/whipped cream desserts. It was delicious.

So there you have it, folks. Ironing can be fun -- so long as you don't touch the iron!

I love my library card.

I am, as one would expect, a frequent visitor to the Muncie Public Library. There are many reasons for this, but all of these reasons fall easily into two categories: 1) because they have accessible things that I would like access to (ie, books, movies, CDs, internet, etc, etc) and 2) because it's all free (which is becoming quite the important qualification for just about anything I do these days). I got my hands on a Muncie Library card just as soon as I could after we moved here. The only thing that held me up was the proof of address requirement, for which I had to wait until I had an Indiana drivers license.

There are 5 branches of the Muncie Public Library; the branch nearest my home (and therefore also the one I frequent the most) is the Kennedy Library (see left). This branch was opened in 1964 in honor of -- you guessed it -- President John F. Kennedy. The Kennedy has just recently received approval to either add on to the present building or move to another as-of-yet undisclosed location because this branch is the busiest in the city (probably because I'm always there). The other branches of the library system are: the Carnegie (Carnegie...go figure. This is the main branch and it's located downtown. See photo at right), the Conley, the Maring-Hunt, and the Local History and Genealogy Center.

The book collection of the Muncie library system is fairly decent. So far I've been able to get my hands on just about every book I've wanted to read (including Princess Academy by Utah author Shannon Hale...I was surprised I could actually get this one because they don't have (sadly) The Goose Girl or Enna Burning). If the branch you are at does not have a copy of the book you want, but another branch does have it, you can request that it be delivered to your branch and put on hold for you. This system has come in very handy because driving across Muncie for any reason is pretty much always a pain. The layout of this town makes it incredibly difficult to get anywhere quickly, even though Muncie is not a large city. The most recent books I checked out (and read, too, by the way) were The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver and The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. (And yes, I would recommend them both.)

Blake and I also love the Muncie library because they boast a pretty impressive collection of movies ... and you can check them out for free. Think Orem library, only bigger, and freer. Free movies from the library make for great ways to relax on weekends or when we are feeling generally burned out. Oh, and the movies available are not just PBS documentaries (a la the Provo Library); new releases and a variety of genres abound.

For the first time last night, we surveyed the libraries' music collection. And we found it to be suitable, at best. We checked out the latest U2 album, and Bach's Mass in B Minor.

Free access to the Internet is another important reason we frequent the library because we don't have the Internet at home. It served me very well as I searched for a job and continues to serve me when I need to check my email on the weekends. It was also the main reason Blake and I were even at the library last night in the first place -- Blake's place of work is once again showing off their ability to waste perfectly good talent by giving him zero hours again this week. We decided that before he does anything drastic (such as tell them off and storm out, never to return again), it might be wise to have another place to work. So we went to utilize the library's free Internet to search and apply for a few jobs.

The last reason I am going to list here of why I simply adore the Muncie Public Library is the fact that this year they are doing an Adult Summer Reading Program. Does anyone besides myself recognize the coolness of this? I signed up last night and simply for doing that I was given a rain check for a "goody bag" (they had run out and couldn't get me one then). I also learned that if I read one book a week and submit a form stating my name, the book's name and author, and a brief review, I will get entered in a weekly drawing for enticing prizes (and by "enticing prizes," I mean desirable gift certificates). As I told the librarian last night, "Hey, I'm all for free or reduced dates."

So, dust off your library cards and head to your local library...and then just try and tell me that yours is as cool as the Muncie Public Library.

I have realized a few things as I've worked on this blog:

1. The word "blog" is a pretty silly word, and sometimes I feel like my IQ lowers each time I say it. I'm really enjoying the concept of a blog -- writing every day like this has proven to be a pleasant and healthy thing for me. But I really can't get over the fact that "blog" is a ridiculous sounding word. Any ideas for something else I could call it? I'm open for suggestions. And maybe, if it's a good suggestion, we can start a revolution and make the word "blog" a thing of the past.
   
2. Like I mentioned above, I've really enjoyed this daily dose of writing. I've long called myself a writer, but now I feel more confirmed because, even though this is a journal of sorts, I am now writing for people other than myself. I haven't done that in a while. I can't tell you how thrilling it is to spill my guts each day and come up with a "finished product." It's quite refreshing and I suggest you try it.
3. And speaking of writing for other people...I, like many other people, enjoy an audience. Now you might be thinking, "Lindsay? Likes an audience? I thought she was afraid of...well...everything, which would include the rather large category of Audiences." But it's true. I'm discovering that not only do I like to write, but I like to write and be heard. It's a pleasant feeling to think that I can post something on my blog (we'll just keep calling it a "blog" until something better is thought of) and maybe someone will read it. And maybe, even, they'll find it enjoyable to read what I write. But along with this need for an audience comes the companion need to know about the existence of the audience. So, at the risk of sounding incredibly needy (and possibly Internet-nerdy), I am going instruct you all on how to comment on my blog.

Because I don't want to sound like I'm begging, even though I really may be doing just that, I want to make it clear that I am not desperate. I just like feedback. So if you have any, please feel free to share it. And if nothing else, please feel free to drop by and say hello and let me know that I'm not just writing this to the Internet Void.

Anyway, thank you for humoring me and I look forward to hearing from you all soon!

Today I am going to sing the praises of a little store called Aldi. I've decided that Aldi is the Midwest's best kept secret (which really isn't much of a secret since these stores are all over Europe as well -- I think they're based in Germany). Aldi is a grocery store, but it's nothing like the big supermarkets that many of us have grown used to shopping at. Hmm...how to describe an Aldi?

Well, I guess to begin, it's important to say that you have to pay a quarter to get a cart. (Don't worry...you'll get your quarter back so long as you put your cart back. I can't tell you how fabulous it is to drive through a grocery store parking lot not having to wonder if that perfect parking space is being hogged by someone's abandoned cart. A clean parking lot is definitely worth 25 cents. But if you ever do happen upon that rare stray cart, hey -- yay for you! Free quarter!) All of the carts are parked neatly in three rows, all chained together, just outside the entrance. You put your quarter in and cha-ching! your chosen cart is unlocked and you're free to shop. It's a beautiful system, really.

There are only four aisles inside our Aldi, along with a refrigerated section at the back. There is no real rhyme or reason as to how items are stocked. Like foods are generally put near each other, but after that it's anybody's guess. Your best defense is to just learn where everything is kept and hope you don't accidentally pass any necessary items up (because backtracking is a bit of a pain in an Aldi).

Also, it is very important to note that an Aldi is only stocked with Aldi brand food. It's kind of like a store filled with only Western Family (Macey's), Sam's Choice (Walmart), or Kroger (Smith's/Kroger) brands. I know that many people out there are a little bit leery of store brand foods, and many times with good reason. However, having grown up on Western Family myself, the transition to Aldi wasn't too difficult. Aldi food is actually quite good. It really does taste the same, and sometimes better than, name-brand foods. And Aldi food is always familiar. There is an Aldi-brand version for just about anything you'd need from a grocery store, plus quite of few of the things you don't necessarily need but really really want from a grocery store (like lime-flavored tortilla chips).

The best part about Aldi are the prices. This place is cheap cheap cheap. Cheaper than Macey's (my old favorite grocery store), cheaper than Walmart (never even considered to be a favorite grocery store -- I generally fall into the obligated Walmart shopper category simply because they are so darn cheap). Here are some of the things I bought at Aldi on Friday along with their prices so you can get an idea of the variety and overall good price-ness of it all: jar of applesauce - 79 cents; boxes of pasta (penne and rotelle) - 33 cents; large bag pepperonis - 1ドル.69; 8oz block of cheese - 1ドル.49; bag of apples - 1ドル.29; thin-sliced lunchmeat - 35 cents, box of cheese crackers - 99 cents; box of vanilla wafers - 89 cents, yogurt - 33 cents. I could go on, but I'll spare you. My receipt really isn't that exciting, good prices notwithstanding. The nice thing about these prices is the fact that they stay the same. Sometimes they'll go up, but usually not by much. There are no sales at Aldi -- the occasional super buy, yes, but no sales. Which is actually kind of nice. It makes for a great "first stop" when grocery shopping. After a few visits to Aldi, I'd begun memorizing the prices, which made it easier to judge what really was a good buy at other grocery stores around town.

As great as Aldi might be, there are a few downsides. One is that when it's crowded, it's really crowded. And sometimes there are forklifts in the isles that are difficult to maneuver around. Also, not only do you have to remember to bring a quarter for your cart, but you also have to remember to bring your own bags. Unless, of course, you want to fork over 10 cents for a plastic bag or 5 cents for a paper bag. I usually just keep the trunk of my car stocked with my own. The check out lines are sometimes quite long, but I have never seen checkers work faster than they do at Aldi. Boy, do they have a system, and do they have it down to an art! They scan your items faster than fast, then toss them into an empty cart beside them; you bag your purchases yourself. Lastly, there are limited ways of paying at Aldi. But as long as you have either cash or a debit card, you're good to go.

So are you convinced? Are you going to shop at Aldi now?

Here is Lindsay's Grocery Shopping Hierarchy, the Muncie edition, because I'm pretty sure you're dying to know:

1. Aldi -- as per what you have read above, I get everything I can here first,
2. Aunt Millie's Thrift Bakery -- it's on the south side of town, so it's a bit out the way, but when you can get good whole-wheat bread for 79 cents and English muffins and bagels for 39 cents, it's worth the trip,
3. Lobill -- A "thrift" grocery store that gets hand-me-downs (or, items that are nearing the end of their shelf-life) from its parent store, Marsh. We have a Lobill within walking distance of our apartment, which has come in handy on more than one occasion,
4. Walmart or Meijer -- I go here for good produce. Though Aldi does have a small produce section, the quality isn't always the best. Same goes for Lobill, since its produce are hand-me-downs. The Farmer's Market opened up last weekend, and I might try that out. And if all this fails, there's always the tomatoes and green peppers in my own little container garden.

So, grocery shopping isn't as easy as just a quick trip to Macey's was in Provo, but it can be a lot cheaper if you know where to look.

Probably because it came on after Jeopardy! and probably because I was feeling too worn out to walk over to the TV and turn it off (you would be worn out, too, after a full evening of laundry and from-scratch pizza making in weather so humid you could cut it with a knife), I watched my first episode of The Office last night. And I thought it was pretty funny. And it got me thinking...I should introduce you to the folks in my office. So here we go.

Elaine
is our director;
is from England
but has US citizenship;
has a flashy wardrobe;
enjoys expensive haircuts;
is always busy;
sometimes swears at her computer
as well as to stupid people on the phone
(after she hangs up, of course);
always apologizes after swearing;
gets panicky and forgetful before giving any sort of presentation;
talks a lot
and can make a 30 second question to Dick last 5 hours;
is very intelligent and known in Indiana's economic development world.

Dick
is next in seniority;
is also very intelligent and prominent throughout the state;
talks quietly, in almost a mumble
but that doesn't stop him from talking a lot;
he also talks with his hands
and uses verbal "example lists" to make a point;
smokes (or "sins," as Elaine puts it)
but hides it well;
likes to give us brain teasers
such as the one where you have 3 bags of marbles -- 1 all black, 1 all white, 1 mixed -- that are all labeled incorrectly, how do you label the bags correctly by only choosing one marble?;
has currently stumped us with one brain teaser
which maybe I'll recruit your help for later.

Lisa
is my boss;
is very petite;
is the mother of two boys
who play lots of sports
which keeps her very busy evenings and weekends
and which she gives us full reports of each day
because she, too, talks a lot
and she talks like she is from Indiana
which if you heard her, you'd understand;
is a very hard worker;
loves herself many cups of coffee;
walksveryfast and is always go-go-go;
has done well patiently training me.

Rose
has worked here for 20+ years;
is originally from Mississippi
and talks in a southern drawl;
also talks a lot
and when she does, she does not make eye contact
because she is shy
and generally nervous;
also, she talks very quietly;
is the mother of 2 girls;
is a very concerned and protective parent;
has occasional personality conflicts with Elaine;
is probably the co-worker I feel closest to --
we have enjoyable conversations;
and a lot in common.

Lindsay
well
you know enough about me;
except maybe you should know
that I don't talk a lot.

(in no particular order)

1. She is an amazing calligrapher.
2. She has incredibly good taste in, well, everything.
3. She makes us homemade cards for our birthdays.
4. She makes us homemade cards for Valentine's Day.
5. She wraps presents perfectly.
6. She plays the piano better than she thinks.
7. She is an especially good Primary pianist.
8. She helped me memorize my Primary talks.
9. Even though she probably thought it was silly to have to do this, she prepped me the night before for scheduled fire and earthquake drills at school so I wouldn't freak out when they happened.
10. She goes walking every day.
11. She even feeds the ducks when she goes walking.
12. She is driven and always has a project to work on.
13. She has neat collections -- like the Santa Claus collection, the Large Letter Postcard collection, and the Nesting Doll collection.
    
14. She fixed it so that her flight home from my cousin's wedding would allow her stop to see us in Indiana.
15. She wrote me letters while I was at Ricks.
16. She addressed those letters in beautiful calligraphy.
17. She is funny.
18. She is witty.
19. She has pretty blue eyes.
20. And pretty blonde hair.
21. She will not settle for anything less than the right shade of red geraniums.
22. She misses me.
23. And likes to talk on the phone to me on Sundays.
24. She always has sound advice.
25. She always made sure I never left the house without grooming myself first.
26. She is a wonderful mother-in-law for Blake.
27. She keeps a clean house.
28. She always did my laundry.
29. She was patient with me all those times I've tried to take up sewing.
30. She is intelligent.
31. She is an excellent term-paper editor.
32. She makes a mean quiche lorraine.
33. She is excited to see me this summer.
34. She let me keep taking piano lessons even though I was never good at practicing.
35. She has a healthy love for chocolate.
36. She has good taste in music.
37. She is organized.
38. It is becoming apparent that her children are turning out well, in large part because of her efforts.
39. She likes to read.
40. And has a healthy love for wonderful literature.
41. She read to me often when I was little.
42. She loves me.
    
43. She trusts and supports me.
44. And gives me much-loved and much-needed encouragement.
    
45. She makes home a pleasant place to be.
46. She is a hard worker.
47. She is precise.
    
48. She is happy.
49. She is happy that I'm happy.
50. She ages beautifully.
    

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM! I LOVE YOU!