huh

My sister is a missionary.

Super, super weird.

A List

• Basically two straight weeks at home (with a 36-hour break in the middle) is fun. Even if Jess says she gets sick of me.
• I genuinely miss poem-a-day February. I might create poem-a-day March.
• The boy turns 18 tomorrow. Oof.

• Murry has been laying on the bed all morning. I'm not positive that he realizes this morning was his last walk with Megan, but I kind of think he might. He's been a lot quieter than usual.
• I wish I could wear flannel all the time.
• Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.

My City by the Bay

Bright and early tomorrow morning Mom and I are flying into the John Wayne airport via San Jose to drive back up 101 (probably) and spend Tuesday in our favorite city with Michael and Nate. Weather forecast is sunny and 72. We can't wait.

Today is a good day for

My parents. Happy Silver Anniversary to you.

16 December 1986.

Dan. Happy birthday to you. Hope you don't feel too old; you are 27 after all.


Me. The semester is over, the magazine turned in. Only a few complaints about the printer. If you'd like to see it in its entirety, email me for a PDF. Here, we'll just admire the cover.

Christmas after Jerus

Dearest Desiree,

You're coming home as we speak. That semester flew by, didn't it? I remember being so shocked when we returned from the Galilee how very close to home we were. And Christmas! Jerusalem is a magical place at Christmas time. This past weekend must have been your Christmas concert. I listened to ours Sunday morning while I was getting ready for church; some of those songs definitely needed work, but I have to admit, we did okay. Sometimes I can't believe I got to perform in Jerusalem on that stage with such a beautiful view of the city.

Photo taken by Angela at JC Christmas Concert 2008.

It's a hard adjustment, the coming back, and this will be an unusual Christmas for you. It's a very strange feeling, the excitement and love for your home and your family combined with the aching homesickness for a place that, four months ago, you knew virtually nothing about. I spent hours three Christmases ago looking at my pictures of the city and facebook stalking my JC family. I was desperate to get back to Provo, despite my dislike for the weather and, well, Provo sometimes, but I so wanted to see all of those people again. The 80 people who, as Becca once said, combined probably know everything there is to know about Allison Mitton.

A few weeks after we got back, Elder Holland gave a devotional at BYU. It was a talk that has become very popular, and I'm sure that you're familiar with it already, but I think you should read it again. It was one of those talks that I felt was written specifically for me, and I know a lot of my Jerusalem friends said the same thing. Moving on is hard, especially from something as special and significant as the semester you just had. But things will keep getting better, and the lessons you learned in Jerusalem will help guide you through the rest of your life. So will your JC family. Make sure to spend time with them often; some of my dearest friends are people I met there. And some of my closest JC friends are people I started spending more time with after we got back. You never know how those relationships will change, but they will get better.

Photo taken at JC cake waffle reunion, November 2011.

Desiree, I'm so glad you got to have this experience, and particularly glad you got to share it with the Skinners. Andrew Skinner is one of the most brilliant, spiritual, humble men I've ever met, and I enjoyed getting to know him both in Jerusalem and in Provo. Keep that connection going, and take some religion classes with him if you can. You certainly won't regret it.

When I came home from Jerusalem, I was so jet lagged and exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and while I was happy to see my family, I felt a little lost because nobody really understood how I was feeling. Desiree, I know how you are feeling. Call me anytime. I would love to hear about everything, and to laugh and cry with you about how your life will never be the same.

Merry Christmas, Desiree.




Love, Allie

Texting with the Hunnybunny

Jessie: When are you coming home?
Allie: December 21. Also can we have a Harry Potter movie marathon?
Jessie: Yes!!!!!!
Allie: Sweet. Harry Potter every night!
Jessie: Hehhehehehe yeeeessssss and we have to tell everyone happy christmas in a british accent!
Allie: Okay. And say cheers and jumper and call each other mate.
Jessie: Hehehehehe yeess
Allie: Let's try to talk in british accents as much as we can the whole break!
Jessie: Yeessssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and the day when we watch the hannah montana movie we have to talk in country accents
Allie: Hahahaha. And mom has to cook in her french accent


We've never had such multi-lingual holidays before. Watch out.

Friends on Longfellow Park

This post is for Aunt Ewan, Uncle Todd, and Aunt Allison.


In 1956 an LDS church building was dedicated in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It was a very special building, and the prophet of the Church at the time, President David O. McKay, came out to Boston to dedicate it himself. He requested that one of the musical numbers be performed by great soprano soloist Ewan Harbrecht Mitton. I wasn't there, obviously, but I'm sure both the music and the dedication were lovely.

Roughly forty years after the dedication, Todd and Allison moved to Cambridge for graduate school at MIT. They met in the building President McKay dedicated and Aunt Ewan sang in.

Two years ago, the Longfellow Park chapel burned down because of a fire that started in the attic. Nearby congregations took care of the different LDS wards while they were without a building; they spent some time meeting in the Episcopal Divinity School around the corner. The Quaker church across the lawn also helped.

Source found here.

This June, the Longfellow Park chapel's reconstruction was completed and it was rededicated by President Henry B. Eyring. Aunt Ewan's granddaughter Val sang at the dedication, wearing a dress Ewan used to wear. Sadly, I was out of town that weekend and unable to attend the dedication. I felt like I'd missed out on a special connection that my family has to this place and this building.

Source found here.

Yesterday, the wards that meet in the Longfellow Park chapel had the wonderful opportunity to meet with the Quaker church across the lawn. Our wards combined for testimony meeting, then three members of the Quaker congregation came to teach Sunday School and answer questions about their faith. They did a lovely job. However, my favorite part was the exchange lesson: I was asked to go to the Quaker church along with a guy in the ward and talk to them about our church and beliefs. We taught what was referred to as "Mormonism 101" for twenty-five minutes and then answered questions for another twenty. After all the meetings were completed, the two churches met on the lawn in between for food and tours of each building.

I don't know why out of the many people they could have chosen to teach the Quakers I was asked to do so. But I'd like to think a part of it was so that I could be just as emotionally connected to the Longfellow Park chapel as Todd, Allison, and Aunt Ewan.

Gap

Time isn't finite, as my brother reminded me yesterday.

He meant it in conjunction with our conversation about the neutrinos that traveled faster than light, but really, it can be applied to all aspects of life. Like, how about the fact that we were gchatting about neutrinos?


I am seven years older than the boy. Growing up that was a decent amount; it means he was only eleven when I moved out of the house. I loved him, for sure, but we weren't friends then. Recently though, that has changed. Time and space between us have shifted. The gap is narrowing. He is catching up to me.

We are becoming friends.


I've always loved being friends with boys, and I'm pretty sure that this guy is the best one to have as my friend. I'm so glad time isn't finite.

Simple Things

Pray in the morning,

Pray at night,

Read your scriptures

And you'll be all right.

—Dad

 

 

 

Source here.

Compliment

Two days ago, I described my uncle Todd to Melis in a way that many people have described him before:

He doesn't talk very much (not like Allison), but when he says something it's always something worthwhile.



Last night on our way to see Moneyball, I made a comment about something that one of the people in the car had said. After I did so, my roommate Danielle said, "You know, you don't talk very often. But when you do say something it's always very sharp and cuts right to the point."


I'm like my uncle Todd. I couldn't be more thrilled.

BYU Jerusalem Center, on Mt. Scopus

Dearest Desiree,

By now you should be in Jerusalem, or at least very close to it. I've been thinking about you and the City a lot this week. Funny coincidence that you arrived the same day I did three years ago. I wish I was right there with you. The traveling was exhausting (yours was worse, I'm sure), but when you come over that hill and suddenly see the city—man. Nothing like it.

It takes a couple weeks to acclimate (after Egypt (or Turkey for you), like I said, you'll be totally comfortable with anything Jerusalem throws at you), but at least to me, I felt like I was coming home on the first ride to the Center. And every time we'd come back to the city after a trip somewhere else, I'd feel it again.

One of my favorite parts of the city was the holy sites. And not just the Christian ones, either—I think my favorite place in all of Jerusalem is the Western Wall. Go spend some time there on a Shabbat afternoon. Take your Old Testament and read for a while. One of the best things I ever did.

You will meet some incredible people there. Take the opportunity to ask them questions. We had an amazing conversation with some Orthodox Jewish girls by the Wall one evening. And someday I will tell you the story of the Palestinian man who tried to talk to us about how he read the Book of Mormon. It was the first time I was actually forbidden to talk about the gospel, and it was one of the hardest conversations I've ever had.

I know there's a lot to do and you'll feel like you want to do everything, but take time to go back to the places you loved best. You don't want to feel rushed or obligated to do everything new. Spend time where you want to spend time, and see the things that mean the most to you.

I love you, Desiree, and I'm so incredibly excited that you're on this adventure. The time will fly by, and tomorrow it will be Christmas and you'll wonder why everything around you is so clean. You'll notice the absence of the prayer call at 5:00a.m. You'll be amazed at how many clothing options you have. You'll respond with, "Shukran," when someone hands you something. You'll crave falafel, and pita even more since you ate it at every meal. You'll think of a story you want to share with one of those wonderful eighty people that will know everything about you, and suddenly they won't be right there after four months of constant companionship.

Because this place gets inside your heart, Desiree, and it will never leave you. And for the rest of your life you'll be a little homesick for it.

Love,
Allie

You're young enough to cliff dive, Mom

On Saturday, Mel and I met up with Calvin and Reed downtown to watch this year’s cliff diving competition. That’s right, cliff diving. We watched men jump off the 88 foot ICA into the Boston Harbor, doing dives I’ve only ever seen before in the Olympics. It was amazing. Our favorite diver was named Slava Polyeshchuk. His name was cool, but really I loved him because he was 45. 45 years old and diving off 88 foot buildings. Wild. He didn’t win (poor Slava), but he was still the most impressive because of his age. Which, today, is the same age as my mother. I hope she doesn’t care that I just broadcasted that on the internet. But when I mentioned the similarity to Calvin, his response was, “Your mom is a baby.” So 45 is young, Mom. You know Malone thinks so too.

The older I get—and we know that 23 is so, so much older than 45—the more I realize that I am becoming my mother. At times this concerns me, because if the pattern follows and she becomes her mother and my grandma becomes her mother then that means eventually I’ll be like my Great-Grandma Marge, and I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with that (though don’t get me wrong, I love Grandma Marge). But the fact that our birthdays are a mere two weeks apart has always made it easy to compare. To play Dad’s favorite game, “If your life were like your mother’s,” I’d be married three years with a one-year-old. Strange thought.

Really though, I’ve inherited many excellent qualities (and maybe a few not so excellent) from my mom:

My love of Gone with the Wind. It was her favorite book first. And her mom’s before that. I’m sensing a strong pattern here.

My love of shoes (though, thankfully, not her wide feet). I’ve been told when my parents were first married my mom had about a hundred pairs of shoes, and Dad’s brothers were astounded when they helped them move into their new apartment. But they didn’t grow up with girls, so they wouldn’t understand.

My love of American history. My mom majored in American Studies and seriously considered going to law school (then she got married and had me instead). Don’t tell my grandpa, but there is always a part of me that wishes I could go to law school.

My love and knowledge of the English language. I’m a bit more (okay, a lot more) fanatic about linguistics than my mom, but she certainly instilled in all of her children a desire to read, and an ability to use words well. While on newspaper staff in high school, if we could not come to an editing agreement Malone would have me call my mom, and she was the deciding vote. We went with her every time. I still ask her opinion on occasion when I can’t remember something and Chicago is unavailable.

My love of studying medical information. My mom loves to hear about illnesses, surgeries, the way the body works. I, too, like it as long as I don’t have to see anything. I loved living with premed/nursing/public health roommates while at BYU so I could ask questions and learn a little bit about their anatomy/physiology/virology classes. They’re fascinating. And maybe part of the reason I’m a bit of a hypochondriac.

My love of mystery/detective shows and books. Mom still watches Perry Mason and Magnum P.I. when she folds laundry. I introduced her to Psych and Bones, and I think she’d probably like Covert Affairs. She let me read all her Nancy Drew novels as a little girl, and I’ve read every Mary Higgins Clark book in our house and Grandma’s multiple times (except for A Cry in the Night because that one still creeps me out too much). We both love Laurie King’s Mary Russell series too, though sadly my mom does not share my love of Sherlock Holmes. But she might like John Buchan’s The Thirty-Nine Steps. That one was a lot of fun.

My love of garlic and chocolate (but not together). French bread is a frequent purchase, sometimes not making it out of the store completely whole. Mom keeps brownie mix in constant food storage rotation, and whenever it is 10 for $10 at the store I purchase at least four boxes. We also have at least three cartons of ice cream in the house at any given time, but I have a feeling that’s more a product of Grandpa Nels and Dad than it is of my mom.

My love of design. I realized that my attraction to the design aspect of publishing is probably due in part to my mom’s scrapbooking. I don’t scrapbook like she does (I still haven’t finished my Jerusalem book and it’s been almost three years), but scrapbooking is very design-oriented. I think that’s probably part of the reason I can see things so well, even if I’m not as good at producing them myself.

My love of knowing things. I want to know everything that is going on with everybody. Not to use the information, just to store it away in my head. I get this from my mother.

My love of classy decoration. My mom has a specific style when it comes to paints, fabrics, furniture, light fixtures, handles, appliances, and anything else with which you fill a home. It’s an excellent style, and other people appreciate her opinion (Mom helped Lisa with some decisions in the new house, and they were quite lovely). While my own style deviates slightly from hers, I definitely get my sense of home décor from her.

On her 40th birthday.

Happy birthday, Mom! You could dive off a cliff if you wanted, you're still young. I hope you at least make Megan and Jessie take you to Brick Oven for dinner since you're in Provo. Or Los Hermanos. Oh, and eat a mint brownie! And Graham Canyon ice cream. Man, I wish I could come too.

Cravings

'Round about eleven months ago I moved to Boston, and my mother came with me to help settle in. We made way too many trips to Target and got lost a few too many times, but (other than the gross, sticky heat) we enjoyed the bit of exploring we were able to do. On one of our exploratory days we ventured along a part of the Freedom Trail into the North End. As there was gross, sticky heat (plus a fake hurricane), we literally thought we were dying (maybe not literally) (okay, I thought I might die) and were desperate for a drink. There is a tiny cafe located right across the street from the Old North Church on the corner of Salem and Hull. We ate a muffin and a bagel respectively, and both tried large peach mango smoothies as well (the large is only 50 cents more than the smaller size, you have to buy a large).

Oh holy goodness.

That was absolutely hands down the best peach mango smoothie I have ever drunk in my entire life. You could taste equally and distinctly both the peach and the mango flavors. It was incredible.

And for the past four weeks, I can't stop thinking about it.

Darn full time work and school. I still haven't managed to make it back up there. But man, oh man, I will get there before this summer is out.




If I could drink one while sailing in my nautical attire on the Charles, now that would be perfect.

Lovin' on Portland

We did a lot of fun things while I was home: Burgerville seasonal shakes, The Dark Knight with Tanner, Murry's puppies, Boggle, delicious berry cobbler and a goat, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I with Jessie, the train game, Psych. But I think my favorite fun things happened in Portland.

On Saturday we went downtown and rode the streetcar from OHSU to NW 23rd Street. It was rainy, which was perfect Oregon weather (even if 3/4 of the family complained).

Dad and the Jessiebelle on the streetcar.

Jake's for lunch. A Portland landmark. Also a place that displays real desserts, not plastic ones. Tanner wasn't aware.

We tried on hats. Cowboygirl Jessiebelle.

Charlie Chaplain?

I told them to be in character. They did well.

Kentucky Derby, here we come.

Portland's version of the T. Except that that's really MAX. This was more fun.

View from the OHSU tram.

From the tram again.

I caught the other tram as it passed! I am a speedy-fast-like-a-jackal photographer.

Dad and Megan on the OHSU tram.

Lunch was delicious, and the OHSU tram was not nearly as terrifying as I thought it would be. In fact, it isn't terrifying at all. I'd ride it again.


Tuesday following I drove up to N Mississippi Street to have "coffee" with Malone (he drinks coffee, I drink hot chocolate). Never been there before, but I found it without incident and even parked on the curb. Of course, finding my way to a parking spot in NW Portland afterward was not so easy; I panicked and stopped six blocks too soon. But I was able to spend a lovely lunch with my kind of old but really more new friend, Charlotte. We both love blog stalking, Gilmore Girls, proper punctuation, and Bones. It was meant to be.

And what's a trip to Portland without a trip to Powell's?

Incomplete, that's what. Hello, three Salman Rushdie books for $27.

Grown Up Decisions

My uncle Michel likes to tell a story about how he was visiting us once (I was maybe 11?) and we went to get ice cream at Baskin Robbins. I asked him what flavor he was going to get and my dad turned around and said, "DON'T answer that. She has to decide what she wants by herself." 

My dad thinks I'm too indecisive. This may or may not be true.

But I am happy to report that yesterday I made a very large decision very quickly. At approximately 6:25 p.m. on Wednesday evening I learned that Mel is moving out of her room upstairs (sad, sad day) in September to be closer to her new job. She also told me that there was a girl who was coming to look at it on Friday. I thought about it and decided I want her room, and made it official with her on Thursday at 12:25 p.m. She emailed the girl, who is now coming to look at my room at 6:00 p.m. tonight. Assuming she wants it, I will have found a new apartment for myself and found a girl for my old room in only 48 hours.

48 HOURS. 


Be proud, Dad and Michael. Be proud.

In Memoriam

Photo of Provo City Cemetery found here

I’ve always loved Memorial Day weekend. Not because of the weather or the day off or the soldiers (sorry). No, I loved it because it meant a weekend with Dad.

Every Memorial Day weekend that I can remember existing meant Mom would pack a small bag of clothing, a large bag of photos and paper, and fly to Provo, Utah, to spend three solid days scrapbooking and eating M&Ms with Krista and Shelly. While she was there, we would play games and go on adventures with Dad, often involving a trip to Sweet Tomatoes and maybe a bike ride. The best part, though, was that on one night during the weekend, Dad would let us eat ice cream in his bed!

(DON'T TELL MOM!)

In later years, my favorite part shifted from the bedroom ice cream to the small Memorial Day service held at the Winona Cemetery. Some things are said by the cemetery committee, Taps is played, fighter planes fly overhead. We were always given small red poppies to wear. And sometimes cookies to eat.

The two summers I spent in Provo I was sad to know I wouldn’t be going to the Winona Cemetery or eating ice cream in bed. I was able to participate in the scrapbooking weekend (albeit somewhat begrudgingly included by my mother), but it wasn’t quite the same. The Monday following Memorial Day, though, I went to the Provo City Cemetery with my ward to clean up all the flowers left there the week prior. That was always a good experience, particularly when they let me drive the truck with the bed-load of flowers to the dumpster.

This Memorial Day I’ll be heading to the Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge. Gotta keep some traditions alive, right? Maybe when I get home I’ll eat ice cream in bed.

The Kind of Mom

So everyone and their dog posted about Mother’s Day yesterday. I wasn’t going to. Why? you ask. Because Melis is still here and I don’t like following trends (unless it’s a trend I’m totally in love with = boat shoes). I talked to my mother on the phone, and I have a present for her sitting on my desk. (Yes, I am a terrible mailer, but this just means Mother’s Day turns into Mother’s Week. Glass half full, people.)

However, I’ve changed my mind. Why? you ask again. Because I’ve been thinking a lot about one of the talks we heard in Sacrament Meeting yesterday, one about the influence of righteous mothers (as well as righteous women in general, which, in my opinion, is a very good point). It may or may not have made me cry a little bit.

There are a lot of really great things about my mother that have greatly influenced the way I want to be a mother (in fifteen years).

I want to be the kind of mom who is up in the mornings to say goodbye to her children as they leave for school.

I want to be the kind of mom who does all the laundry together instead of making each family member do their own (plus she gets to do things like watch Magnum P.I. while folding).

I want to be the kind of mom who sends Christmas clues, Easter baskets, M&M turkeys, Valentine gifts, and other care packages to her children and their roommates when they move away.

I want to be the kind of mom who lets her children see her testimony through her actions.

I want to be the kind of mom who tucks in her children every night with singing, back rubs, and hugs—even when the children might be in high school, or even out of the house.

I want to be the kind of mom who diligently has family night, scripture reading, and family prayer in her home, even when her husband might be away on a business trip.

I want to be the kind of mom who helps her children with their homework, even if it’s been twenty years since she’s taken a math course of any kind.

I want to be the kind of mom who sometimes acts ridiculous and cooks with a French accent.

I want to be the kind of mom who always has at least three kinds of ice cream and eight boxes of brownie mix on hand at all times.

I want to be the kind of mom who leaves notes and treats for her children when she goes on a trip without them.

I want to be the kind of mom who reads books to her family.

I want to be the kind of mom mine is.

Clark Gable Is the Only Attractive Mustached Man: Repost

So I went to New York and Connec ticut.

Apparently I have become one of those people who only takes pictures on their phone. Most of those people also know how to get the pictures off their phone, though. Not me. No siree Bob.

I really need to learn how to do that.


Anyway, I went to New York last weekend and got to play with Michael, Susie, Eli, and baby Nate (SO CUTE). It was fun. We saw some of Brooklyn and some of Manhattan; we listened to a lot of Beatles; we had delicious milkshakes twice (go to Brgr on 7th and I think 29th and get a black and white; you will not regret it); we sang a Simon & Garfunkel song; we watched Hellboy; we played at a park under the Manhattan Bridge; and we sent Megan texts all weekend about the things she was missing. So great.

Then on Saturday Dema, Austin, Calvin, and I road tripped to Southport, Connec ticut. It was a gorgeous little town. But before we discuss Connec ticut, we must discuss my amazing car skillz. That's right, I said skillz.

Observe the diagram:

We had to take Jenny's car to pick up the rental, and (with Dema's excellent directions on par with orange vest-wearing airport workers) I managed to get out of the driveway WITHOUT Molly moving her car.

Thank you, thank you. I know I'm great. It's because I graduated.

Anyway, we had great road trip snacks (grapes, wheat thins and hummus, peanut butter m&ms that Calvin ate all of), great road trip music (can you say Jimmy Eat World?), great road trip rain (really, pouring cats and dogs, you couldn't see two cars ahead), and a great road trip car (huge fan of the Hyundai Sonata).

Southport was adorable. I want to live there. The houses were gorgeous, the trees were blooming, there was a beautiful Episcopal (?) church, and the library. THE LIBRARY. Oh. I loved it.

They had the typed manuscript for the last four chapters of Gone with the Wind. We saw parts of all four, including Rhett Butler's famous line, "My dear, I don't give a damn," and Scarlett's mantra, "Tomorrow is another day." I loved seeing it typed with editorial marks on the pages. So cool. They also had several foreign covers, which were really awesome to see. A lot of them did color illustration based of the movie, and several had very good likenesses of Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable.

After loving GWTW, getting hopped up on bunny love (they had a rabbit at the library), and annoying other patrons, we drove in a circle three times before getting pizza for lunch. Then we drove in a few more circles (stupid GPS) until we found the ocean. Walked, skipped rocks (sort of), Austin went on a run (??) before we headed back to Boston.

Best part of the trip? Aside from GWTW and wearing my boat shoes to the ocean, very possibly a photo of Calvin asleep in the library. Alas, I do not know how to extract it from my phone.



UPDATE: Thanks to Miss Miranda-pan (a Connec ticutian herself), I can now get photos off my phone. So without further ado, I give you

Gone with the Wind in Hebrew and Arabic.

The bunny.

Sleeping Calvin.

Yeah baby.

Travel Bug

Okay, remember the teaser post? Well, this is (one of) the follow-up.

In a span of six weeks I will have been in six states: Massachusetts (duh), Rhode Island, Virginia, New Hampshire, New York, and Connecticut.

Why, Allison, you say, You are such an East Coast traveler.

Heck yes I am.

Not really. I’ve just had a lot of awesome opportunities lately. Really bad time considering work and school are trying to kill me, but these have just been too good to pass up.

First, Rhode Island:

As you may recall, my friend Calvin had his appendix removed several weeks ago. I was able to go with him, his lovely mother, and Mel to Newport, Rhode Island to see the mansions. Holy goodness, the MANSIONS. But first, Newport is darling! I love coastal towns. We went to this little diner called Annie’s for lunch before touring, and they had the best food and best service. So cute. If ever you go to Newport, eat at Annie’s.

During the winter they only have three mansions open, so we were able to see the Elms (not like my old Elms in any way, shape, or form, and I’d take the Newport Elms over the Provo Elms any day), Marble House, and the biggest and grandest, the Breakers. Description really can’t do them justice: the Breakers had two rooms constructed in France, dismantled, shipped to the United States, and then put together again in the house. Who does that? People with money, apparently. And these were the summer homes they used for six weeks. Man.

The Breakers

Also, we discovered that Anderson Cooper is a Vanderbilt. Amazing.

Second, Virginia:

‘Twas Tualatin’s Spring Break in March, so my family headed out to visit Ryan and Karen in Leesburg. I was able to spend (almost) 48 hours with them, and it was so fun. We went to both the Spy Museum and the Newseum, which are so cool. We spent I think three hours in the Spy Museum and learned about everything from secret codes to disguises to weapons. Super interesting, and a lot of fun. The Newseum is also amazing, and I have to go back: among other things, they have an exhibit on the First Amendment, a room full of all the Pulitzer Prize-winning photos since 1950, an original printing press and newspapers since the 1600s (including one that discusses Blackbeard the pirate), and a very powerful 9/11 memorial.  

Newspapers from 9/11

Jessie made the same faces as the animals at the Natural History Museum

JIMMER!

Also, I am hands down Ava Rose’s favorite extended family member, although she did like Mom quite a bit. Quite pleased with this accomplishment, if I do say so myself. And Carter G is still as adorable as ever.

Third, New Hampshire:

Last Friday (maybe Thursday?) Mel invited me to go with her and some other friends up to Mason, New Hampshire to go sugar mapling. So bright and early Saturday morning we went to pick up Calvin, Nathan, and Katie to head out. Okay, maple syrup is cool. And a freaking huge process. 40 gallons of sap from a maple tree makes only 1 gallon of syrup when it’s boiled down. ONE. And the later in the season it is, the higher the ratio goes. They’re also not allowed to add any flavors or sugar to it. Our guide was awesome; he was super snobby about syrup (kind of like me and cheese or ice cream or pitas) and said, “There’s a special place for people who add things to maple syrup…” Our assumption, of course, was that the special place is hell. Nope. “Prison.” So they really do jail you for tampering with maple syrup. For seals.

They had a restaurant, which we had to go to, and I had a delicious waffle with delicious maple syrup. Then we frequented the gift shop and sampled maple jelly beans (really mapley, wow), maple donuts (always delicious), and Mel bought some maple cream soda because it sounded so intriguing (it was intriguing; it really did taste like maple). The sun was shining, we didn’t lose Flat Stanley, and Mel’s car didn’t die like it will very soon. Great day.  

Me, Mel, Katie, Calvin, Nathan eating real maple syrup

Tomorrow I’m heading down to New York to play with Michael, Susie, Eli, and baby Nate. (Yay!) Then the next weekend we’re heading down to Southport, Connecticut for this. So totally jazzed about that one.

Stay tuned for those Eastern reports. They’ll rock. 

I suppose I should say that I have traveled a bit in Massachusetts too, to Lynnfield, Lynn, and . . . wherever the Red Robin was. Now I've forgotten. So it goes. Also, the Rhode Island picture was stolen from the great Calvin Olsen; the New Hampshire photo stolen from the lovely Katie Thornton. I did not take my camera to either state. I did take my phone, but I have no idea how to get the photos off of that. 

Feeling Meh

I had a great blogging idea earlier and have completely forgotten it. I guess that happens on the third day of low-grade fever.

I had this conversation with Jessie today:

2:42 PM me: were you so sad last night?

 Jessica: yeah

2:43 PM me: I wanted to cry when we went into overtime because I knew there was no way we'd make it

 Jessica: wow you unfaithful not-a-true-fan

2:44 PM me: they were so tired

  and Florida was playing Jimmer so hard

  you could tell five more minutes would hurt them

 Jessica: it doesnt matter you are still unfaithful

 me: hahaha

2:45 PM I've never had that much faith in BYU

 Jessica: understandable but still

 Both my sister and brother want to throw me out for not believing in BYU. But I believed! And look what happened. 74-83. That's okay; they did way better in the tournament than I've ever seen them do before. Or will for thirty years.

Favorite Weepies song from an album I don't own but do listen to on grooveshark:



Please ignore the pictures and just listen to the music. I didn't make the video.

K, off to buy these shoes. So sorry for the nonsense post. Can't promise tomorrow will be better.


Oh, and so totally jazzed that Arizona beat Duke! Way to go, Arizona. Now let's see Richmond, VCU, Marquette, and Kentucky do as well. Wouldn't it be sweet to go into the Elite 8 with no Number 1 or 2 seeds? Heck yes it would.