I find myself between an old rock and a modern hard place. On the one hand I am letdown by our "throwaway society". Everything we have these days is disposable and wears out quicker than a Kardashian's marriage. Sentimentality is lost on our generation. How in the world are my grand kids supposed to eat from the same highchair as my kids or talk on the same phone as their grandmother did? These are great memories of mine that my kids, let alone my grand kids, will never have.
On the other hand . . . I really, really like new things. Specifically, electronic things.
I love the thrill of Internet research precluding the informed, yet slightly impulsive buy. I love the giddy drive home that is filled with the anticipation of opening the new thing. I love holding the box and cutting the seal with a razor. I love sorting through the packaging. I LOVE manuals!
I love being able to turn it on for the first time and listen to the start up jingle. I love figuring it out faster than the next guy. I love new things.
Maybe I'm all alone on this one. Maybe I'm no better than the throwaway society that I am reluctantly a member of, but I feel justified in my dichotomy.
That being said . . . I'm about to open up my new iPAD! OH YEAH!
15 February 2012
23 January 2012
Grandma
Today was the funeral of my last living great grandparent, grandma Zola Mariam Alger Larsen.
She was 98 and I loved her. My earliest memories of her include perfectly manicured hair, those grandma glasses, dresses with lacy collars and the best yellow apples I have EVER eaten. Her and grandpa lived in Manti only yards from that beautiful temple, and when we visited her house I was always excited to sneak a glimpse of the portal toilet they kept next to the guest bed. She was born amongst horse and buggies and probably died with her 4G smart phone next to her bed. THAT is amazing. SHE is amazing. What a life and what a legacy.
As we sat awaiting the family prayer, I was overcome with a feeling that I have never had at a funeral before. I have experienced the peace that attends the passing of a family member or friend, but today I was invigorated. After Uncle Leon finished the prayer, I was nearly moved to a audible cheer as I was overcome with the feeling of victory and confidence; victory for a life so gracefully lived and confidence in the promise of eternal life.
The service was touching, sweet, and full of the Spirit of the Lord. It was an honor to learn more about my sweet grandmother and visit with family that I have not seen in years, but even more wonderful was the reassurance that she lives on. I was moved to tears not because of sadness, but because of joy. Though not as many as I would have liked, I love that I have the memories that I do with my wonderful grandmother. I love the promise of eternal life in which I will sit with her again and make even more memories. I love the picture of her standing with my valiant great grandfather once again reuniting with her family and friends. I love the promises of the Restored Gospel.
She was 98 and I loved her. My earliest memories of her include perfectly manicured hair, those grandma glasses, dresses with lacy collars and the best yellow apples I have EVER eaten. Her and grandpa lived in Manti only yards from that beautiful temple, and when we visited her house I was always excited to sneak a glimpse of the portal toilet they kept next to the guest bed. She was born amongst horse and buggies and probably died with her 4G smart phone next to her bed. THAT is amazing. SHE is amazing. What a life and what a legacy.
As we sat awaiting the family prayer, I was overcome with a feeling that I have never had at a funeral before. I have experienced the peace that attends the passing of a family member or friend, but today I was invigorated. After Uncle Leon finished the prayer, I was nearly moved to a audible cheer as I was overcome with the feeling of victory and confidence; victory for a life so gracefully lived and confidence in the promise of eternal life.
The service was touching, sweet, and full of the Spirit of the Lord. It was an honor to learn more about my sweet grandmother and visit with family that I have not seen in years, but even more wonderful was the reassurance that she lives on. I was moved to tears not because of sadness, but because of joy. Though not as many as I would have liked, I love that I have the memories that I do with my wonderful grandmother. I love the promise of eternal life in which I will sit with her again and make even more memories. I love the picture of her standing with my valiant great grandfather once again reuniting with her family and friends. I love the promises of the Restored Gospel.
"And I soon go to the place of my rest, which is with my Redeemer; for I know that in him I shall rest. And I rejoice in the day when my mortal shall put on immortality, and shall stand before him; then shall I see his face with pleasure, and he will say unto me: Come unto me, ye blessed, there is a place prepared for you in the mansions of my Father." (Enos 1:27)I love what I know.
19 January 2012
Kill 'em with Karma
I work in a very dramatic industry. Almost daily I "talk people off the ledge" and keep them from "jumping out the window". I'm being serious. It's a delight, really.
Anyhow, there is a specific "lady" in the corporate office that takes the histrionic cake, blows it up, and smears its remains on her face as a sort of melodramatic war paint, and, completely unbeknown st to me, I fell from her good graces on a certain Tuesday (I know this because a coworker informed me that she is telling people that I "don't know a hole in the wall from my own head.") Now, I know I shouldn't give her distaste for me much weight because I'm probably just her Nemesis of the Hour, but I still find it unsettling that someone out there dislikes me for no reason at all. Come on, if you are going to detest me enough to talk crap on me, at least do it for a quality reason. Unfounded annoyance is a waste of every one's time.
So, I was sitting at work being annoyed about her orneriness and on comes a swift and wicked bout of stomach flu. I was miserable, but I needed to stay at work for at least a few more hours. To give my coworkers relief from my moaning (I believe that moaning actually alleviates the pangs of the flu), I decided to take my lunch break and nap in my car. After resting up, I headed back towards the parking garage stairs and heard a raspy scream and a deep thud. Unable to move much faster than a geriatric shuffle, I got to the steps as quickly as I could. When I arrived, the sight in front of me was nothing short of pathetic.
We shared a 3-minute linked arm embrace to her car and then she was on her way. It's now been a couple weeks, we've eaten lunch in the same room, but we have not even breathed a word of this experience. I'm resolute though because I may not know the difference between a hole and my head, but I was there in her pathetic and embarrassing moment of need. There's no price you can put on that . . . this visual is enough.
I'm considering her killed with karma.
Anyhow, there is a specific "lady" in the corporate office that takes the histrionic cake, blows it up, and smears its remains on her face as a sort of melodramatic war paint, and, completely unbeknown st to me, I fell from her good graces on a certain Tuesday (I know this because a coworker informed me that she is telling people that I "don't know a hole in the wall from my own head.") Now, I know I shouldn't give her distaste for me much weight because I'm probably just her Nemesis of the Hour, but I still find it unsettling that someone out there dislikes me for no reason at all. Come on, if you are going to detest me enough to talk crap on me, at least do it for a quality reason. Unfounded annoyance is a waste of every one's time.
So, I was sitting at work being annoyed about her orneriness and on comes a swift and wicked bout of stomach flu. I was miserable, but I needed to stay at work for at least a few more hours. To give my coworkers relief from my moaning (I believe that moaning actually alleviates the pangs of the flu), I decided to take my lunch break and nap in my car. After resting up, I headed back towards the parking garage stairs and heard a raspy scream and a deep thud. Unable to move much faster than a geriatric shuffle, I got to the steps as quickly as I could. When I arrived, the sight in front of me was nothing short of pathetic.
(artist's rendition...actual steps)
That same cantankerous coworker who libeled and defamed me was now laying in a pile of her own self on the hard concrete steps. I'm not proud of what happened next (I am throwing it out to my diminished mental state), but after giving her a good 3-second stare I simply and slowly stepped over her. Luckily my conscious kicked in and I turned to her and asked if she was okay. Apparently she had slipped on the icy steps (the stairs are covered and heated . . . ) on her way to a doctor's appointment. The devil on my left shoulder told me to apologize and walk on, but the angel on the right won out this time I an offered to walk her to her car. We shared a 3-minute linked arm embrace to her car and then she was on her way. It's now been a couple weeks, we've eaten lunch in the same room, but we have not even breathed a word of this experience. I'm resolute though because I may not know the difference between a hole and my head, but I was there in her pathetic and embarrassing moment of need. There's no price you can put on that . . . this visual is enough.
I'm considering her killed with karma.
17 January 2012
PB Loco
Resolution trashed, but I'm back.
So, you may know that I have this unhealthy addition to Peanut Butter (I capitalized it because I give PB the respect it deserves). I've come to terms with it, but not enough to fix it.
The other day I was home alone for about an hour so I began reviewing my to-be-viewed DVR'd shows and came across a new episode of UNWRAPPED (an AWESOME show from the Food Network. It's like a marriage between those fascinating how it's made clips from Mr. Rodgers and FOOD. Genius) entitled Peanut Butter Bites. First I gasped then I ran upstairs and made myself a Peanut Butter/Chocolate Dipper in preparation to settle down with no distractions. The next 22 minutes changed my life. As Marc Summers was running from factory to factory showing the inside scoop on all things Peanut Butter, I got more and more excited . . . then it happened: PB Loco!
Marc introduced a restaurant chain known as PB Loco: an ENTIRE cafe/restaurant dedicated to PEANUT BUTTER. I nearly drooled and even blushed a bit watching them unveil their PB Concoctions. I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU to check out the menu.
I'm specifically intrigued by the following menu items:
BACON . . . and PEANUT BUTTER. Who'd a thought? . . . PB LOCO did! I could kiss its creator on the mouth!
After already planning my next stop to its founding store in Phoenix, AZ, I did a little further research to discover that PB Loco just couldn't swim the swamp of recession and closed its doors last year. . . I had a moment of silence, but was quickly rejuvenated by the idea of PB LOCO FRIEND DINNER NIGHT! Read it and weep, the Gregans will be hosting a PB LOCO DINNER NIGHT (details to follow. You gluten frees are welcome to tag along, we're a GF Friendly household)
Get excited because this is gonna be AWESOME!
So, you may know that I have this unhealthy addition to Peanut Butter (I capitalized it because I give PB the respect it deserves). I've come to terms with it, but not enough to fix it.
The other day I was home alone for about an hour so I began reviewing my to-be-viewed DVR'd shows and came across a new episode of UNWRAPPED (an AWESOME show from the Food Network. It's like a marriage between those fascinating how it's made clips from Mr. Rodgers and FOOD. Genius) entitled Peanut Butter Bites. First I gasped then I ran upstairs and made myself a Peanut Butter/Chocolate Dipper in preparation to settle down with no distractions. The next 22 minutes changed my life. As Marc Summers was running from factory to factory showing the inside scoop on all things Peanut Butter, I got more and more excited . . . then it happened: PB Loco!
Marc introduced a restaurant chain known as PB Loco: an ENTIRE cafe/restaurant dedicated to PEANUT BUTTER. I nearly drooled and even blushed a bit watching them unveil their PB Concoctions. I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU to check out the menu.
I'm specifically intrigued by the following menu items:
BACON . . . and PEANUT BUTTER. Who'd a thought? . . . PB LOCO did! I could kiss its creator on the mouth!
After already planning my next stop to its founding store in Phoenix, AZ, I did a little further research to discover that PB Loco just couldn't swim the swamp of recession and closed its doors last year. . . I had a moment of silence, but was quickly rejuvenated by the idea of PB LOCO FRIEND DINNER NIGHT! Read it and weep, the Gregans will be hosting a PB LOCO DINNER NIGHT (details to follow. You gluten frees are welcome to tag along, we're a GF Friendly household)
Get excited because this is gonna be AWESOME!
10 January 2012
I'm gonna change the world
I just don't quite know how yet.
"God is eagerly waiting for the chance to answer your prayers and fulfill your dreams, just as he always has. But he can't if you don't pray, and he can't if you don't dream. In short, he can't if you don't believe." -Jeffrey R. Holland
09 January 2012
Welcome to Real Life
This is what I have had to tell myself over the past couple of days. I DID set a goal for daily posting, but I have already failed...
HOWEVER, I am moving on with REVISED REALITY! Allow me to define this reality: though I may not post daily, I AM recommitted to the blogging world. I even have a few great posts pre-written in my head!
So don't be let down, be EXCITED! This way you get more substance per post, ya know?
Allow me to post a picture to hold you over.
This has got to be one of the greatest pictures I have seen in a long time. I LOVE my Little Ladies!
For now, I'm going to bed. I tired and my stomach still hurts a bit.
Good night.
HOWEVER, I am moving on with REVISED REALITY! Allow me to define this reality: though I may not post daily, I AM recommitted to the blogging world. I even have a few great posts pre-written in my head!
So don't be let down, be EXCITED! This way you get more substance per post, ya know?
Allow me to post a picture to hold you over.
This has got to be one of the greatest pictures I have seen in a long time. I LOVE my Little Ladies!
For now, I'm going to bed. I tired and my stomach still hurts a bit.
Good night.
06 January 2012
05 January 2012
Monkey See, Monkey...Breast Feed?
I knew my Little Lady was a quick learner, but this takes it to a new level.
Fancy Nasty (that's right, she calls her "Fancy Nasty") sure is getting the 5-star treatment.
Fancy Nasty (that's right, she calls her "Fancy Nasty") sure is getting the 5-star treatment.
04 January 2012
You've GOT to be Kidding Me . . .
Aspiring doctor or pissed off papa harboring a stomach flu inflicted 2-year old?
It breaks my heart to hold my sweet daughter while she vomits AND it breaks her heart that her DADDY had to braid her hair back out of her face - I gots no skill in the lady hair department and momma and baby have been banished from the bedroom.
We've all been vitamined, watered, essential oiled, and watered again.
Here's hoping that our little ladies both come out unscathed from this little bump in the road.
03 January 2012
Outcast
Disclaimer - after midnight posts still count for "a post a day". Got it?!
World, my guitar. My guitar, the world.
Now that you have been properly introduced I can explain our relationship. It is a relationship of mockery, really. My guitar sits in the corner, the dark, dusty, lonely corner and mocks me of what could have been.
But let's start at the beginning...
I have always wanted to learn to play the guitar. From an early age I always thought it to be so awesome. Some of my earliest memories are of my father sitting in the front room on a Saturday morning playing his guitar along with whatever was on the radio. I never understood how he knew what to play, but he did and he did it amazingly well. I have always envisioned that I would offer my children this same Saturday morning memory. Also, as I grew up it appeared that all the cool kids learned to play. I remember a particular night in Jr. High. A new kid had just moved in and a group of kids invited him to a party we had that night. The party was going great and I was doing the best I could to send out the "vibes" to the woman of my dreams. Then just when I felt she was starting to feel the heat, it happened - that damned new kid pulled out his guitar and played his love ballads. The girls in the room were like moths to a flame; a new, exciting, NOT ME flame. I was pissed, threw a little fit and left the party early. One day I WOULD be one to pull out my guitar and draw the ladies away from HIM with my siren song. This was my vow.
So how did I pursue this dream, you ask? Well, I didn't. As puberty played its last few jokes, I took on more of the "funny, smart, kind, yet . . . special spirit" identity (when I say "special spirit" I mean zitty, slightly greased, and rotund kinda fella, ya know). And while the other Gaston-types plucked away on their love harps, us "special spirits" focused on our lasting and meaningful social skills rather than our peacock strut.
Then...
Cue: Mission and a two-year delay.
Cue: Dating, work, and school
Cue: Marriage, finances, and responsibility
Cue: Being too busy for my own good, but secretly loving it
Cue: A friend that THREW free lessons at me, but I never really was able to take them
Cue: A father who bought me an entire library of HowTo Guitar CDs that I never have time for
Cue: ChildREN
Cue: Life
That catches me up to today and the current state of my relationship with my guitar. . . which is pretty much non existent. No happy ending here, at least YET. It is still on my dreams list, but right now the thought of taking it on kind of overwhelms me. Maybe when the current dust settles and before the next storm arises I will surprise myself and learn a few songs.
So why blog on this, you ask? Well, for starters I believe that addressing our problems/concerns is step one. Two - I like to be reminded of my "life list" and that there really is a "too late". Three - I needed to post.
Here's to fulfilling dreams and never giving up.
World, my guitar. My guitar, the world.
Now that you have been properly introduced I can explain our relationship. It is a relationship of mockery, really. My guitar sits in the corner, the dark, dusty, lonely corner and mocks me of what could have been.
But let's start at the beginning...
I have always wanted to learn to play the guitar. From an early age I always thought it to be so awesome. Some of my earliest memories are of my father sitting in the front room on a Saturday morning playing his guitar along with whatever was on the radio. I never understood how he knew what to play, but he did and he did it amazingly well. I have always envisioned that I would offer my children this same Saturday morning memory. Also, as I grew up it appeared that all the cool kids learned to play. I remember a particular night in Jr. High. A new kid had just moved in and a group of kids invited him to a party we had that night. The party was going great and I was doing the best I could to send out the "vibes" to the woman of my dreams. Then just when I felt she was starting to feel the heat, it happened - that damned new kid pulled out his guitar and played his love ballads. The girls in the room were like moths to a flame; a new, exciting, NOT ME flame. I was pissed, threw a little fit and left the party early. One day I WOULD be one to pull out my guitar and draw the ladies away from HIM with my siren song. This was my vow.
So how did I pursue this dream, you ask? Well, I didn't. As puberty played its last few jokes, I took on more of the "funny, smart, kind, yet . . . special spirit" identity (when I say "special spirit" I mean zitty, slightly greased, and rotund kinda fella, ya know). And while the other Gaston-types plucked away on their love harps, us "special spirits" focused on our lasting and meaningful social skills rather than our peacock strut.
Then...
Cue: Mission and a two-year delay.
Cue: Dating, work, and school
Cue: Marriage, finances, and responsibility
Cue: Being too busy for my own good, but secretly loving it
Cue: A friend that THREW free lessons at me, but I never really was able to take them
Cue: A father who bought me an entire library of HowTo Guitar CDs that I never have time for
Cue: ChildREN
Cue: Life
That catches me up to today and the current state of my relationship with my guitar. . . which is pretty much non existent. No happy ending here, at least YET. It is still on my dreams list, but right now the thought of taking it on kind of overwhelms me. Maybe when the current dust settles and before the next storm arises I will surprise myself and learn a few songs.
So why blog on this, you ask? Well, for starters I believe that addressing our problems/concerns is step one. Two - I like to be reminded of my "life list" and that there really is a "too late". Three - I needed to post.
Here's to fulfilling dreams and never giving up.
01 January 2012
Banner Blow Up
Emmalee has been talking about Olivia since the day we told her that Megan was pregnant. In fact, for a two year old, Emmalee grasped Megan's pregnancy remarkably well. It's like Emmalee knew this was coming. She has talked about what she will look like, what she will like to sing, what she will like to eat, the color of her eyes, and how she was going to teach Olivia the finer points of potty training and princess etiquette. Emmalee would grab Megan's belly and talk, kiss, and sing to her baby sister. She has been nothing less than elated to meet her little sister.
Megan and I talked about if this fascination would last once Emmalee actually met her baby sister, but from the moment they first met it was apparent that Emmalee was HOOKED. Their first meeting was more of a reunion than a initial greeting. It was a sweet experience that I will never forget (thank you cousin Cherie for capturing this moment so beautifully).
Emmalee is the perfect big sister and consistently reaffirms that "I's will be hers protector because hers is fragile." Emmalee is in love.
HOWEVER, we got our first whiff of sibling confrontation tonight. This evening Emmalee walked into her room (which is now the GIRL'S ROOM) and noticed the new BABY OLIVIA banner that Megan received from her baby shower. Emmalee starred at the banner for bit, looked over at the frame with her name in it, back at the banner, placed her hands on her hips and exclaimed, "Baby Olivia's name is bigger than mine." Megan walked in on this moment and attempted to diffuse the situation by explaining that Olivia's banner is not necessarily bigger, but just to the side of Emmalee's frame. Emmalee did not buy this weak attempt and once again proclaimed, "Baby Olivia's name...is bigger...than MINE. SEE!?"
Megan had nothing to do but agree.
Megan and I talked about if this fascination would last once Emmalee actually met her baby sister, but from the moment they first met it was apparent that Emmalee was HOOKED. Their first meeting was more of a reunion than a initial greeting. It was a sweet experience that I will never forget (thank you cousin Cherie for capturing this moment so beautifully).
Emmalee is the perfect big sister and consistently reaffirms that "I's will be hers protector because hers is fragile." Emmalee is in love.
HOWEVER, we got our first whiff of sibling confrontation tonight. This evening Emmalee walked into her room (which is now the GIRL'S ROOM) and noticed the new BABY OLIVIA banner that Megan received from her baby shower. Emmalee starred at the banner for bit, looked over at the frame with her name in it, back at the banner, placed her hands on her hips and exclaimed, "Baby Olivia's name is bigger than mine." Megan walked in on this moment and attempted to diffuse the situation by explaining that Olivia's banner is not necessarily bigger, but just to the side of Emmalee's frame. Emmalee did not buy this weak attempt and once again proclaimed, "Baby Olivia's name...is bigger...than MINE. SEE!?"
Megan had nothing to do but agree.
We may need to reposition the banner. . .
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