April 22, 2010

A Weekend Without Regret.....Even Though I Should Have Been Studying

Well kids, it's been an eventful couple of weekends, as I will show you in the previous images. You may be saying, "Chelle, it's finals, how are you finding the time to endulge in such frivolous activities?" I like to think it's a gift. I have a gift to always find the funnest distractions right during finals time. Admittedly, this is somewhat of a curse as well, seeing as my studies are constantly put on the back burner, which we all know always burns the pudding because of its step-child location thus resulting in neglect and faulty desserts. Please don't ask where the comparison comes from, I'd rather not talk about it. Well, enough babble and more pics, seeing as the money maker is not my words, nor is it my looks....but reality TV has given talent-lacking gals like me a glimmer of hope.

Firstly, Friday I went to Eric's track meet. She is my dearest boyfriend and look at all that athleticism. I, of course wore spandex and a sports bra so as to feel included with all of the insanely chisled people who claim to be of my same age. I had to do something to decrease our obvious physical gaps, I think the spanx helped. Anyway, she is really good and I'm almost positive I will paint my chest next time. I don't even mind that she goes to BYU, how's that for friendship?
Thanks to shirls new supreme living location, we venture over to temple square quite frequently. I figure being on the grounds helps my chances of running into ol Tommy S. I've got a few ideas I'd like to run by him. Anyway, they have performances at the tabernacle every week and they are quite delightful. Plus we get to dress up and feel cultured, not that our southern Utah heritage deprives us of that or anything...:/
Next we have the Bees game season opener!!!! It was my first Bees game and it didn't disappoint. I LOVE baseball, because A-I'm an American and have a dose of pride in my country, B-that means it's getting warm outside, C- more weiners (hot dogs, get your mind out of the gutter) than ever need to be gathered in one place, and D- it's just a quality game and super fun atmosphere. I love that you get to take a blanket and sit in the outfield too. Have you ever noticed how much more friendly people are when joined together by patronism to the same sporting team? It's commradery unrivaled I tell you.
Oh, and the fireworks rocked my world. Have you ever been afraid that the little spark wouldn't die before it hit you whilst watching fireworks? Well the maternal-worries in me always have and it happened, multiple times. People were scared, eyes were nearly lost, limbs nearly charred. But the fireworks were phenom. But still, fire hazards are no joking matter.
Oh, and these beauties were the result of shaking one's head as fast as you can while the other takes a picture. It has some sort of intellectual value, of which I will find later.
Saturday Shirls and I made a delish breakfast. I have a thing for making a HUGE, amazing breakfast and then being gluttonously sick the rest of the day as a result. Its a love-hate relationship.
Since we're in the mode of discussing things I have non-condoned love for, lets segway into this past weekend. The Jazz, my boys, my homedogs, the cause for many a tear and many unregretted high tens. I have a huge thing for D-Will, Deron as I respectfully call him. I know that our love will probably never blossom past the spring of a newborn bud, but lusting is harmless...right tommy?
Anyways, awesome game, we won, as you all know, hopefully forever hushing the "Utah fans for Mello," commercials.

Ok, since you have been patient and read all about my normal life, possibly thinking to yourself, "Hey, that Rachelle girl seems to get it. Her life seems to have found that flow with waters drawn from the well of comfort and ease." I don't blame you in thinking this, for I constructed it to be this way between us. But here it is, the honesty that keeps me ever short of the whimsical R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Yep, another moment produced by good ol me to bring me off that high horse who's saddle I thought to be so comfortable. This one involves my professor Dave. Remember Dave? He's made a comeback, and it goes something like this:

Dave: Rachelle

Me: Oh no

Dave: I'm going to need your help today

Me: Are you sure?

Dave: Yep, you seem to not be as chipper as usual, so lets bring you up here to wake you up a tad, shall we?

Me: I'll drink 7 redbulls if you don't make me do whatever it is you are about to ask me to do.

Dave: Don't be silly, redbulls are bad for you and I'm giving you a priceless gift, the gift of humility. C'mon, don't be shy, come on up

I walk to the front of the classroom, pretty excited as I'm sure you can tell.

Dave: I would like you to demonstrate how a baby scoots

Me: huh?

Dave: Go ahead, get on the floor and scoot like a baby Ballard

Thus I get on the floor and do my best to 'scoot.' Now this, while embarrassing is nothing I can't live with. My classmates already think of me as the girl who would have to scoot like a baby in front of everyone. But then comes the good part. Those who know me well are probably familiar with atleast one or two incidences where I removed a piece of clothing only to remember that there wasn't as much clothing underneath as previously anticipated. Yep, you can probably guess. While trying to 'scoot' I kept getting caught on my sweatshirt, so using my Unversity paid for deductive reasoning skills, I decided to remove the sweatshirt. It's a morning class, so you think I would have remembered I decided to just go sportsbra and sweater that day...but no. So, as you probably predicted I removed my sweatshirt, almost entirely when the realization struck, in all its brutality and nudeness. There I am, on the floor, basically naked with a sweatshirt over my face.

Dave: Rachelle, I think we get the idea, you don't need to dress down to your diaper as well.

Me: Got it. Sorry for my gusto in pursuing the character.

Dave: You can go sit down now Ballard. I feel like you're awake now

Me: Thanks Dave

April 8, 2010

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship"

Humphrey Bogart, that handsome devil. I watched Casablanca for the first time recently with my dear ol poppa Bruce. Yes, fellow Americans, I had not seen it before. Had you asked me previous to this I probably would have lied and said something like, "oh yeah, I've seen parts of it, but I can't really remember it." Lying. It's a problem. I'm working on it. Stop beating the horse, it's dead already. Anyway, I loved it. I'm thus hooked and would like to watch all of the acclaimed 'classics.' If any of you lovelies have any suggestions, please tell me, for in the near future I will not be hating my existence that's consumed with tests/exams/papers/articles/elitist professors, etc and will have time to watch movies and read books! I know, lets not count those chickens, they're still cookin in their hard shells. And yes, I do have a crush on Humphrey, no clue really what it is, but he's got that old fashioned, hardened mystique to him that makes me feel like I understand how my grandma could have been hormony (Matt's coined phrase for hormonal/horny) at some point.

Azul and Purple Pansie - A Rocky Romance

When I returned from spring break I was feeling a tad saddened because of my inevitable return to the dastardly cold. But, to my utter delight Shirls had a surprise for me to help in my re-adaptation to the chilly conditions. KITES!!! I haven't flown kites in forever and I was giddy as a school girl (I feel like a hypocrite saying that phrase....cause I am a school girl, and rarely do I find that to be the reason for any giddyness). This also made think, "DUH! it's always windy in H-town, why did we never fly kites?" This then made me mad at my ancestry, not because they did not suggest it, but because of their non-innovative genetics that would make me not think of it. Rotten genes.
Anyway, it was the most beautiful evening, seriously, as good as it gets, prime, one in a million and tons of other cliches that demonstrate a perfect evening. Azul, the blue kite, flew like an all-star. Purple Pansie, the more complicated of the two, proved to be troublesome and we never did get her flying. We even put a meal at Rodizzios on whoever could get her to see past her stubbornness and get airborne. To no avail.
On a more spiritual level, this perfect evening with a beautiful sunset and good times made me think of a story my dad tells about kites. For those of you who know the pants of my family, Bruce is an amazing public speaker. He tells stories better than cheech and chong smoke weed, beckham bends the ball, or finals stress me out. I found the story he tells, and to be honest, he tells it way better than it is written, but I'll share it with you cause ...well, there need not be an explanation for every blasted thing

The tree is Shirls bitter enemy, he got the kites stuck in there multiple times. And I was the one being reprimanded for flying poorly. Bah!

The Day We Flew The Kites
The day we flew kites "String!" shouted Brother, bursting into the kitchen. "We need lots more string." It was Saturday. As always, it was a busy one, for "Six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work" was taken seriously then. Outside, Father and Mr. Patrick next door were doing chores. Inside the two houses, Mother and Mrs. Patrick were engaged in spring cleaning. Such a windy March day was ideal for "turning out" clothes closets. Already woolens flapped on back yard clotheslines. Somehow the boys had slipped away to the back lot with their kites. Now, even at the risk of having Brother impounded to beat carpets, they had sent him for more string. Apparently, there was no limit to the heights to which kites would soar today. My mother looked at the sitting room, its furniture disordered for a Spartan sweeping. Again her eyes wavered toward the window. Come on girls! "Let's take string to the boys and watch them fly the kites a minute." On the way we met Mrs. Patrick, laughing guiltily, escorted by her girls. There never was such a day for flying kites! God doesn't make two such days in a century. We played all our fresh twine into the boys' kites and still they soared. We could hardly distinguish the tiny, orange-colored specks. Now and then we slowly reeled one in, finally bringing it dipping and tugging to earth, for the sheer joy of sending it up again. What a thrill to run with them, to the right, to the left, and see our poor, earth-bound movements reflected minutes later in the majestic sky-dance of the kites! We wrote wishes on slips of paper and slipped them over the string. Slowly, irresistibly, they climbed up until they reached the kites. Surely all wishes would be granted. Even our Fathers dropped hoe and hammer and joined us. Our mothers took their turn, laughing like schoolgirls. Their hair blew out their pompadour and curled loose about their cheeks; their gingham aprons whipped about their legs. Mingled with our fun was something akin to awe. The grownups were really playing whith us! Once I looked at Mother and thought she looked actually pretty. And her over forty! We never knew where the hours went on that hilltop that day. There were no hours, just a golden breeze now. I think we were all beside ourselves. Parents forgot their duty and their diginty; children forgot their combativeness and small spites. "Perhaps it's like this in the kingdom of Heaven," I thought confusedly. It was growing dark before, drunk with sun and air, we all stumbled sleepily back to the houses. I suppose we had some sort of supper. I suppose there must have been a surface tidying-up, for the house on Sunday looked decorous enough. The strange thing was, we didn't mention that day afterward. I felt a little embarrassed. Surely none of the others had thrilled to it as deeply as I. I locked the memory up in that deepest part of me where we keep "the things that cannot be and yet they are." The years went on, then one day I was scurrying about my own kitchen in a city apartment, trying to get some work out of the way while my three-year old insistently cried her desire to "go park and see ducks." "I can't go!" I said. "I have this and this to do, and when I'm through I'll be too tired to walk that far." My mother, who was visiting us, looked up from the peas she was shelling. "It's a wonderful day," she offered; "really warm, yet there's a fine, fresh breeze. It reminds me of that day we flew kites." I stopped in my dash between stove and sink. The locked door flew open and with it a gush of memories. I pulled off my apron. "Come on" I told my little girl. "You're right, it's too good a day to miss." Another decade passed. We were in the aftermath of a great war. All evening we had been asking our returned soldier, the youngest Patrick Boy, about his experiences as a prisoner of war. He had talked freely, but now for a long time he had been silent. What was he thinking of -- what dark and dreadful things? "Say!" A smile twitched his lips. "Do you remember -- no, of course you wouldn't. It probably didn't make the impression on you it did on me." I hardly dared speak. "Remember what?" "I used to think of that day a lot in PW camp, when things weren't too good. Do you remember the day we flew the kites?" Winter came, and the sad duty of call of condolence on Mrs. Patrick, recently widowed. I dreaded the call. I couldn't imagine how Mrs. Patrick could face life alone. We talked a little of my family and her grandchildren and the changes in the town. Then she was silent, looking down at her lap. I cleared my throat. Now I must say something about her loss, and she would begin to cry. When she looked up, Mrs. Patrick was smiling. "I was just sitting here thinking," she said. "Henry had such fun that day. Frances, do you remember the day we flew the kites?" -- Frances Fowler