Sidenote: Today's Most Accurate Insight

From the tech writer at the Chicago Tribune:

"Judging by the growing ratings, not to mention the diminishing competition in the realm of in-depth news, public radio is an increasingly important part of many people's media diets." (Story here).

I don't like commercials or the 15-minute news cycle that traditional stations run. I crave the in-depth stories a newspaper is more likely to deliver. NPR is my primary source of news for that reason - it fills the space when I drive, has engaging stories that often take a different look at even the biggest headlines, and there are no commercials. Faced with the brutal world of DC traffic, I adopted my obsession for NPR rather quickly. It appears others are doing the same, as it is one of the few radio formats that is seeing great growth.

Though, I agree with the author - the semi-annual pledge drives are just brutal.

Culinary Adventure #1

Today, I ate out at a sit-down restaurant for the first time in SLC. Best yet, I didn't have to pay for it, since a vendor took me to lunch. We went to a Japanese place just down the street from The Factory.

I sat down and my vendor colleague asked, "So, do you like Japanese food?" Clearly he wasn't prepared for the magnitude of that understatement. Sushi is my absolute favorite food on earth. He then said, "Well, you're in for a treat." I was immediately skeptical. I have had sushi in many of the great cities of the US - San Diego, LA, NY, San Francisco, Chicago, DC ... I've had bad sushi, good sushi and absolutely delectable sushi. I kept my mouth shut, but I wasn't certain I would find anything remarkable at a Japanese restaurant in a landlocked state in the western frontier owned by a local restaurant conglomerate.

Because I have been queasy a lot lately (darn hormones!) and because of Baby Girl, I not only forwent the raw sushi but also anything more exotic than a California Roll, much to my mouth's disappointment. I did, however, order a Bento box - teriyaki salmon, tempura, California Roll, miso and house salad. We also ordered appetizers - Tosh's prawns, a house specialty, and edamame - which is the world's hardest food to screw up and my second favorite salty snack next to popcorn.

The edamame, of course, was delicious. Tosh's prawns were INCREDIBLE. Melt-in-your-mouth shrimp with an Asian citrus aioli (a curious aside - not a big mayo fan, but I love aioli!). We ended up with two orders. They weren't cheap, which means if I introduce them to Himself, the wallet is going to suffer big time.

The teriyaki salmon was delicious, but it was disappointingly Americanized. The teriyaki sauce was the thick, caramely sauce, not the thinner, more balanced-tasting Asian variety that incorporates the salty, sweet and tangy. Still, it was tasty. The tempura was wonderful as well. The California Roll was disappointing. No cucumber, and instead of chunked fake crab it had ground fake crab. One of my favorite things about sushi is the contrasting and blending of flavors and textures, which, in my humble opinion, requires small chunks of ingredients, not ground ingredients.

The other disappointing realization was the lack of creativity in the sushi rolls offered on the menu. While all of them looked wonderful, there seemed to be an overwhelming assortment of common rolls - available anywhere - and a paltry offering of anything that showcased the chef's originality and flair. Still, I reserve total judgement until I can actually eat any of them.

One curious thing - sushi is more expensive here in the frontier than anywhere else I've ever had it - I'm attributing it to the cost of importing the fish and having it arrive as still sushi-grade, "fresh" and edible ...?

I give it two stars. It is good, and it will definitely satisfy my longing for Japanese food and sushi, but it won't inspire any displays of mouthwatering passion.

In celebration of a crummy day

It didn't start out so bad, but for whatever reason, this particular Wednesday is definitely a day better left only as a postscript in the Book of Life. Countless small details rendered me frustrated, flustered and feeling drained. On top of that, today marks the occassion in which Sara's feet and lower legs are larger than they have ever been, due to mysteriously increased swelling.

In celebration of today's general crumminess, I wanted to make a list of the things I missed, but I'm trying to have a better attitude, so instead, I will muse on favorite things.

Sushi. You think I'm joking. Going to a favorite sushi restaurant with Himself can cure almost any bad day, and is guaranteed to make a good day spectacular - especially if we get to sit at the bar (and especially when I'm not pregnant, so I can eat spicy tuna rolls to my heart's content). I actually get to try the Japanese place near The Factory tomorrow with a vendor - I hope it's decent.

Bookstores. I could spend a good portion of my life in, and my life's savings on, a bookstore. There is something compelling (and slightly overwhelming) standing in a bookstore and realizing how smart you could be about everything if you read everying in sight. For some reason, being smart is appealing to me. Think of the brilliant conversations, the flood of knowledge, the sheer entertainment! Good fiction, non-fiction, coffee table books - I'm a fan of almost anything printed, bound and understood by someone with less than a Genius-level IQ.

Cooking. Well, cooking in a clean, well-stocked kitchen. Cooking for entertaining. Trying a new recipe, and having all day to do it. I love cooking on the weekends. I love the routine, the creation and when it turns out to be even better than you thought. I have not cooked a meal in 7 weeks. I used to love baking, when I was in college. Then I realized I didn't really like eating baked goods - I switched to appetizers and main dishes. I really could have just put "food" here, because I love food in general, but I love it more if it came from a just-discovered fantastic restaurant or a new recipe that I finally got the hang of.

Road Trips Road trips to places I've never been, especially. Seeing new sights, new people, trying new food. If I hadn't been 6 1/2 months pregnant, I wouldn't have even minded the cross-country moving road trip. My all-time favorite road trip was the 10-day road trip Himself and I took to New England for our honeymoon. New England still remains my favorite vacation spot.

Fall. Crisp air, scented lightly with woodsmoke, damp leaves and apples. Chilly evenings and days bathed in golden light. The brilliant landscape of scarlets, golds and vibrant oranges. The anticipation of the holiday season and all of its magic.

Sundays. The greatest invention ever is the Sabbath is a day of rest. I rarely actually nap (I don't like wasting my time napping, even when I need it), but I love to know that on this day, the world can rest outside my mind. I don't think of work. I don't think of how messy my house is. I don't think of what I need to do on Monday. I enjoy the day. I savor it, because it is the only day on which I can pretend that everything settles into a peacable hum, and all is right with the world.

I might just have to do the only thing on the list today that is possible - find a bookstore on my way home.

That might improve things. A little.

Gleeful Gossip

The little old ladies in my congregation LOVE me. I could hear them start twittering the moment I walked in this week (not difficult, most of them wear hearing aids and their whispers are louder than most people's "indoor voices"). Some of them remembered my name, which made me happy.

They love me because I am great gossip fodder. I show up, sans Himself, obviously pregnant and announce that "my husband and I have just moved from the DC area." Of course, it takes awhile for the Ladies' hearing aids to kick in, which means they hear the "...I have just moved from the DC area" part.

You can almost feel the excitement as they try to discern if I am in my "delicate condition" with or without a husband. I figured this out very quickly when one asked, "So ... did you move here by yourself?," complete with nervous glances and gestures. Very much a la the kid in junior high who comes up to say "he said, she said, he said that he really likes you."

In speaking with them this week, I did a lot of waving around of my left hand. Problem is, I don't wear a wedding band, only my engagement ring. You wouldn't believe the number of questions I still get, 4.5 years after tying the knot, about when I'm going to get married. The traditionalists out there assume there is no way I wouldn't wear both, so it only feeds the fire, versus actually solving any of their curiosities. (For the record, I just never found a wedding band I liked that went with my engagement ring).

I could just picture such a conversation (*Disclaimer - the second part is just my "filling in the gaps" between the twitters with my own, vivid imagination, not anything real).

Old Lady 1: "Did she say she just moved here?"
Old Lady 2: "Yes, from DC"
Old Lady 1: "Just her?"
Old Lady 2: "It appears so. She's been by herself for two weeks now."

After speaking to me
Old Lady 1: "Well, she has an engagement ring. That's nice."
Old Lady 2: "Yes. I hate to see what the world is coming to. At least she looks like she's engaged."

At which point I can no longer conjure up any sort of conversation, because I've imagined myself into hysteria, laughing over the gleeful gossip for which I must be cause, since Himself is still firmly ensconced back in the DC area.

Of course, the "sans Husband" part is only one of the delights - the other is the fact that they are all at least 80+ and have apparently gotten over their generations' aversion to speaking of pregnancy in public. I am the only noticeably pregnant woman in the congregation. They are FULL of questions about Baby Girl, myself and how things are going - gleefully soaking in every detail I'm willing to share (which admittedly, isn't much).

A near fight broke out yesterday among the group of 4 or 5 octagenarians when I answered one question about my due date, the answer going unheard by one woman whose "hearing aids were acting up." Pained that she didn't hear the answer, she repeatedly asked it, causing the others to "shush" her (again, too quietly for her hearing aid), causing me to pause to figure out whether to answer her or the latest question, which led the women to continue asking more questions, leaving the woman with the hearing aid issue further behind in the dust and repeating herself (loudly) over and over. It was pure pandemonium - blue-haired hysteria. I had to keep from doubling over and laughing. To think I was interesting enough (okay, even counting the only half-correct information) to cause a near riot among the aged.

Himself reminded me, "Just wait 'til they find out you are working, aren't quitting even when Baby Girl comes, have been married for over four years and are approaching 30. THAT will really get them going."

I think he's right. This could mean months of delightful entertainment for the Little Old Ladies. Clearly I'm the most exciting thing that has happened in weeks. Hee hee.

The First Adventure

I'm over-my-head busy today, but I couldn't not write this down while it was at the top of mind.

This weekend was a series of new adventures for me, including my first-ever all-night stay at The Hobbit Hole. The Hobbit Hole sort of resembles an inhabited locale now, rather than a dumping ground for used cardboard. The bathroom is completely unpacked. The kitchen is completely unpacked (if still disorganized). The bedroom is making progress. If you close your eyes in the other locations, it's not so bad. Really. Just really, really boring (I still can't find my CD player and have no cable or Internet, so it is also really, really quiet, which about drove me insane).

But the BIG "First Adventure" came this morning. The Hoopty needs new tires, so I dropped it off at the tire place three blocks from The Hobbit Hole on my way to work, and caught the bus. Yes, this morning was Sara's first experience with Salt Lake public transit.

I'm no public transit flunkie - I commuted via Metro and bus when I worked in downtown DC, and often used the Metro and/or bus to get around even after starting a job in the suburbs. I've seen more of underground Manhattan and Boston than I have aboveground, due to the amount I've ridden the Subway and the T. And, with Salt Lake's "once you get it, you can find anything" addressing system, I figured it shouldn't be that difficult (or expensive) to get around via the UTA.

Problem #1: The handy-dandy trip planner (which pales compared to WMATA's trip planner for Metro) told me that the fastest, easiest way to get to work from the tire store (exactly 41 blocks) had me disembark at my final location at an intersection that I am convinced does not exist. No lie. The street I am on dead-ends into a golf course, an interstate and a mountain. UTA told me I needed to get off somewhere where those three things converge. So ... I took the long way - involving a seven-block walk in the wrong direction.

Problem #2: I live 7 miles from the office, putting the tire store at just under 7 miles - a 15-minute drive. The "long" version of the bus trek, including the 7-block walk (I walked this to avoid having to transfer busses twice - I need the exercise and the morning was lovely, anyhow), took ONE HOUR to arrive at my destination (no wonder, the route took me 25 blocks out of the way), since apparently UTA is like all bus systems and runs chronically 5-10 minutes behind.

Problem #3: I have a reverse commute. I am going outbound, while everyone else is inbound. This means that the only people riding the bus are Salt Lake's version of sketchy (no Utah "sketchy" can come close to the sketchy people with whom I've shared close quarters on Metro, Subway and the T, but still...am I the only one that has figured out commuting backward is better than the alternative?) and the busses only run every 20-30 minutes. You miss one, you're doomed. I was a nervous wreck the entire commute, wondering who I would call if I ended up stranded somewhere between home and work, in a location that wasn't really on the way to either.

But ... I made it. It's cheap, the bus was air-conditioned and both of my drivers spoke English as a first language, which means I could actually understand them when they announced the intersections. This is one area in which UTA has a leg up on any other transit system I've ever ridden. I tried not to feel conspicuous as me, the nearly-seven-months-pregnant-woman-in-a-skirt (clearly, I wasn't thinking when I got dressed this morning), was hanging out on a couple of major street corners in the Salt Lake Valley. It was a little surreal - I felt like, possibly, I was the only person in the valley using public transit today - something that has never happened to me during rush hour in any other city.

The best part of the adventure? The swinging metal suspension bridge I had to cross to get over a creek between the bus stop and my office. For 30 seconds, I really did feel like I wasn't too far off in describing my new home to a friend as "The Outpost of the American West."

Now ... if I can just figure out how to get home tonight...

Confessions of a Chronically Clueless Pop Culture Flunkie

I am the last person on earth to whom my friends come for updates in the world of superstars, television, movies, music, entertainment or anything else that might be labeled as "pop culture." In fact, one friend felt I was so chronically clueless that every new CD she purchased was immediately shared with me (in hopes, I'm sure of dragging me, even kicking and screaming, out of my black hole of cluelessness).

My entire knowledge of pop culture happenings comes from reading the tabloids in the supermarket checkout lines (yes, I confess, I actually avoid the "child friendly candy- and tabloid-free lines - how else am I going to get my dose of gossip?). Considering that I typically visit the grocery store twice a month - and I only ready the headlines on the outside of the magazines - it's a pretty sad commentary on the state of my interest in, and knowledge of, pop culture.

To be fair to myself, I can generally hold my own in conversations surrounding politics, business, economics (thanks solely to NPR), front page news and even sports (especially if it involves college football or basketball), but don't expect me to even know what movies are playing (or, heaven forbid, even opening) at the local theater tonight or who is dating whom in Hollywood.

So, when I caught myself typing a commentary to a PR associate today about the way YouTube is revolutionizing the media landscape (YouTube is Set to Surpass BBC in UK Visits or YouTube and CNN set to Revolutionize Presidential Debates for instance), I had to stop and chuckle. Confession: I've never even visited YouTube.

My entire world at the new job (I'll call it "The Factory" to protect the employed) revolves now around the pop culture of the Internet world. And guess what? I'm just as woefully clueless in that arena. I can talk trends, movements, demographics, business transactions and implications. I can sell you our technology, market it and sound intelligent, but I couldn't tell you whether MySpace or Friendster is the moment's coolest place to be. Which is probably an embarrassing admission, because The Factory specializes in reaching targeted audiences on social networking or "commutainment" sites like those. The sites are not even blocked on our server (then again, we don't have a dress code, so judge for yourself) because we have to be able to visit them to demonstrate our technology in action. Yesterday I found out, I am the ONLY PERSON in the ENTIRE company who:

*Doesn't have a MySpace page (or Friendster or FaceBook or whatever the latest hot spot is)
*Has never even visited MySpace (or YouTube, as I just confessed)
*Doesn't have an iPod or an iTunes account (the iTunes account is soon to be remedied - I work on a Mac, it's almost required in such an instance)
*Still thinks Internet Explorer is the only web browser worth having (Hello! Case in point - I'm using Safari, with which Blogger's tools aren't compatible, so I have to hand-code anything I want in here)
*There's more, but enough of the embarrassing confessions.

(Again, in my defense, The Factory doesn't even have enough people to have a full football team with a second-string backup).

I'm not completely abnormal. I am not Web-stupid, unless it falls under pop culture. My mother would tell you I've always been this way (the only notable 80s network program I ever watched was The Cosby Show, making me a source of intrique among my college roommates) because I was born old. I have bought a new-release CD in the last year (I'll ignore the fact that it was the soundtrack to Gray's Anatomy). I've never NEEDED to be on MySpace (though that will be rectified - since social networking sites are part of our inherent success at The Factory). I am older than 20. And I really have good intentions of going to the movies, but I tend to fall asleep, so it always ends up being a waste of money. And I just told you that I do read the tabloid headlines - so I have some inkling of what is going on.

I'm waiting for the day when a MySpace (or similar social networking page) is mandatory for employees at The Factory. Then again, it will probably come the day I fail to be the most over-dressed person in the office, which will only happen if a) we ever end up with a dress code (which will mean we probably have an Internet policy as well) or b) I shrug off my "East Coast Basic Black" persona, which is even less likely to happen.

Maybe The Factory will reform me. My CD-sharing friend would be so proud.

Random Updates on Hobbits, Formerly Possessed Appliances and Names

Last night, I paid a visit to the Hobbit Hole. It's looking a little like something that someone *might* want to live in. Maybe.

Heidi and I played Superhero (okay she played Superhero, and I, the pregnant wimpy lady, mostly watched) and re-arranged furniture in my bedroom. It took her a long time to assuage my fears of stubbing my toes on the end of my bed when I dashed to the bathroom in the middle of the night (no matter that I still I managed to stub my toe on the end of the bed on my way out of the bedroom last night before we left!). We managed to find a home for most of the clothes, and the bedroom now sort of looks like it might be inhabitable at some point in the near future.

The best piece of news all night was the formerly possessed washing machine (remember the exorcism that had to be performed on Sunday?). With great trepidation, I set out to re-wash my laundry, since the machine had failed to spin all the water out on Sunday, leaving a horrible, drippy, soggy, pile of wet stuff lying limp in the bottom of the machine. I held my breath the entire 1-hour cycle, running in every time the thing went to "spin", dragging Heidi with me. We watched the machine like madwomen (okay, I watched it like a madwoman, Heidi obliged me). Guess what? It worked! I don't have to call the GE repairman and, like an idiot, explain that my week-old washing machine that is worth more than my living quarters was behaving badly. Insert HUGE sigh of relief here.

The last update regards Baby Girl's name>. My big hesitation in naming Baby Girl the name we have most likely selected is that it is of an ethnic origion of which we have no claim to and my parents are not "weird names" people. So yesterday, I played brave little coward (ie I told them the name, but I did it via e-mail). This morning, I get an e-mail from my mom. It said, "Ummm .... so how do you pronounce it?!"

*sigh* That was not something I expected. I expected, "Where on earth did you get that name from?" or "Oh. That's nice" (Family speak for "I really hope you are kidding or certifiably insane). But pronunciation? I thought it was pretty standard.

While looking for a pronunciation guide (I am terrible at phonetics), I did find out it's a name given to children typically born to parents late in life. Guess that makes it suitable, since Himself is getting up there in years. That, at least, made me smile.

It's Time for Real ... Real What?!

The other day, I saw a commercial for Best Foods Mayo (after finally remembering to call it "Hellmans" on the East Coast, I know have to re-program myself so as not to sound completely ignorant). A mayo commercial? Really enlighting, eh? Okay, I didn't actually see said commercial, I overheard it, and I heard,

"It's time for Real."

I stopped to listen to find out whatever revolutionary health food was being advertised ... you can imagine my surprise when I realized it was for MAYONNAISE. *Gasp* The greasy stuff with a day's worth of saturated fat in a couple of tablespoons? It's like telling someone Egg Nog is good for them because it has eggs in it - and eggs have protein.

I jumped online to find out more - it appears that Mayo has gone health nuts with everyone else. No, Best Foods was not trying to sell some new fat-free version of mayo (though if they could actually make it taste like something not full of chemicals, I might be persuaded to try it again). They weren't even touting a low-fat or light version.

They were talking about how Mayo is part of a balanced diet (side note: I am the world's biggest fan of balanced diet - there are no "bad foods", but if there were, mayo would be pretty darn close). The tag line talks about "It's time for real eggs, oil and vinegar." They have links to Oprah's nutritionist and "healthy fats" recipes.

I appreciate the fact that Best Foods goes to the trouble to only have natural ingredients in their full-fat mayo (no way can anything be qualified as "natural" in the non-fat fake stuff), but, really, to imply it's healthy?

I'm still scratching my head over that.

Cupcakes, Anyone?

So, Oliver blogged about his road trip this weekend, including a rather disappointing visit to a trendy cupcake place in Philly. He commented on how cupcakes were the "in" food of late.

Imagine my surprise when I'd no sooner finished reading his blog, than I stumbled across this article in today's Salt Lake Tribune, "Little Cakes Grow Up", about the growth of the gourmet cupcake industry in the Salt Lake Valley.

"Once largely a treat for children's birthday parties and bake sales, cupcakes are increasingly a grown-up sensation. Today, specialty bakeries make them by the dozens, giving them decidedly adult flavors, such as green tea, margarita, passion fruit and mocha latte."

And somehow, the migration to "gourmet" has made cupcakes palatable to me, the avowed non-cake eater (okay, I eat cake once in awhile, but it's not my favorite thing - I'm extraordinarily picky about it and I dislike frosting in general). So the move to gourmet cupcakes is definitely a trend I like.

Of course, we owe the recent cupcake insanity to Magnolia Bakery, the trendy NYC cupcake bakery made famous by HBO's Sex & The City (side note: I've never seen Sex & The City but I have a fascination with off-the-wall-trendy-food locations - so I am still kicking myself that I let myself be talked out of a visit to Magnolia Bakery on my last trip to NYC. Lines notwithstanding, I am still mad I didn't go - we were only blocks away).

Being a food nut, I'm always enamored by food trends - and by the way that American staples (like cupcakes) have become increasingly sophisticated. I generally even try to at least sample the latest "trendy food" to allow myself to weigh in on whether or not it is worthy of all the hype (gourmet cupcakes definitely get my two thumbs up - much better than the boring ones piled high with that awful sugary concocation you pick up at the local grocery store bakery!).

Somewhere about the time the cupcake craze took off, I began a hunt for ones actually worthy of the buzz. I eventually found them. My favorite cupcakes come from DC's beloved Cake Love (creator of the cupcakes in the photo above), a place I had the good fortune to have a not only a food relationship but a business relationship with (a plug for Warren Brown, the proprietor - he is an excellent person to have help with event catering - Cake Love repeatedly made an excellent showing at our events). While one cupcake has enough sugar to launch one into orbit, the vanilla one with strawberry buttercream is absolutely a pleasure one simply cannot feel guilty for indulging in. It's not something I ate often (cake still isn't my favorite thing, and at $3 a pop, a habit could easily grow expensive), but another thing I was sad to leave behind.

The featured bakery in the article, Mini's sounds like it could be a potential winner, when I'm looking for something slightly indulgent (okay, very indulgent) and sweet. It is a definite item to add to my list of places/eateries I want to explore as a new resident of SLC. In the meantime, I guess I could stick to perfecting my Raspberry Sour Cream cupcakes.

Decisions, decisions.

God is Gracious

Baby girl has a name ... Okay, we're only 85% sure (mostly because I'm commitment phobic and probably won't heartily commit to anything 100% until the day the birth certificate is due), but we're closer. We have actually put two names together and are agreeing on them! I thought this would never happen. Himself fancies himself somewhat non-traditionalist in the name department - given HIS name, no one is surprised. I am much more a traditionalist. I love traditional, 18th-century names.

We thumbed through a baby book, came up with one long list and, one day, while I was on one of my weekend jaunts to somewhere fabulous, Himself took it upon himself to narrow the list, consult his co-workers (all women who have never met me - very scientific poll there, sweetheart) and proudly present a list of 8 names he considered acceptable.

Only one of "my" names was on there (and it wasn't even one of my favorites, nor is it the one we are actually using for Baby Girl).

Interestingly enough, as the weeks have flown by, Himself has become OBSESSED with naming Baby Girl. Obsessed. It drives him nuts that I call her Baby Girl (at least it's not "it" or "the baby"), because I refused to agree on a name. What if we changed our minds? What if she didn't look like that name when she was born? How could I possibly pick something this important without even knowing her? (See? Commitment phobic - and you thought I was kidding).

Two weeks ago, Himself finally said, "what is your favorite name on the list?" I told him. He liked it. I told him my middle name requirements. He picked one. I liked it. Then he said, "So, we have a name." I panicked.

Today, for some reason, it feels better. I like the name. It still feels a bit regal to me - something Baby Girl could have on letterhead (a naming requirement of a friend - it has to be a name that would look good on a legal firm's letterhead). It's just not-quite-common-enough for Himself to like it. It's a bit exotic (okay, if you excuse the fact that it's ethnic origin is from a country NEITHER Himself nor I can claim any relation to, it is very exotic - which still worries me a bit).

So, Himself and I decided that Baby Girl has a name. If you want to know what it is, ask him. I'm not disclosing it freely, because I'm still convinced that we're only 85% there - I'd hate to announce a name and then change it, confusing Baby Girl and everyone else (I know about this - my parents didn't change my brother's name, but started calling him by his middle name, then over a year later, switched to initials and his first name - no wonder he became a Marine!).

I will divulge the meaning though: God Is Gracious. Her middle name means God is my Oath.

It is fitting. God was gracious in blessing us with this miracle life. It is the meaning that made me fall in love with the name to begin with.

God is gracious and Baby Girl is deeply loved.

Appliance Exorcism

Yesterday was a bad day.

I should just end it there - what bizarre need do I have to blog about my mostly horrible, no-good, very bad day? Yet, here I am. It only started out bad because I woke up exhausted. I should have known and just crawled back into bed, pulled the pillow over my head and waited it out. Instead, I chose to venture into the world. The morning, in all fairness, wasn't so bad (if one excuses the fact that I had to force myself to stay awake in church).

The afternoon rectified any sort of good the morning had going for it. The plan was to walk to the Hobbit Hole from church (it is two houses away, a luxury I will be reveling in until the first snow), fix lunch (frozen or boxed food - blech), start a batch of laundry and work on unboxing things until the laundry finished.

I heated up the oven (after figuring out how to operate a non-digital oven), put lunch in and went to start the laundry in my brand-new washing machine. Ten seconds into the cycle I hear, "BANG BANG RATTLE RATTLE BANG BANG" - noises that one should not ever hear from ANY washing machine, let alone one that has been out of the packing crate less than a week.

I peered in the bathroom, hoping it was somehting else. The washer looked possessed. So possessed, it frightened me and I hid.

It stopped making the horrific racket ... for about 2 minutes. Then again, "BANG BANG RATTLE RATTLE BANG BANG SILENCE." It was the silence at the end that caused me to come out of hiding. I cautiously peered around the bathroom door. The washer WAS possesed - it, an inanimate object, had managed to move itself clear out of the alcove and across the bathroom floor, blocking all hope I had of using the bathroom (which was becoming an urgent necessity). It had moved so far, it had unplugged itself (hence the eery silence). Of course, since the thing weighs 250 lbs, there was no hope of me removing it from its present location either.

I fled in a state of near hysteria. I called Himself (not generally useful in times of mechanical crisis, but used to my increasingly frequent bouts of pregnancy-induced insanity). I told him the problem, then disolved into an alarming amount of tears. That scared me - I am an angry crier, not an emotional crier. Between disgustingly undignified sniffles, I let every other thing that was wrong escape, launching into an emotional soliloquy. "I have not felt so completely an utterly helpless in recent memory. I had no idea who to call to rectify the possessed washing machine. It wasn't something I could even to attempt while pregnant. And on the subject of pregnancy - I sobbed about not being able to accomplish much at a time, because the bending/moving/up and down exhausted and pained me. I couldn't lift anything. For some reason, I'm incapable of spending a night in the Hobbit Hole alone. I am completely dependent on everyone, which meant being completely incapable of anything, since I didn't know anyone..." and so the conversation went (stopping here to avoid embarrassing myself even further).

Himself wisely suggested I call my father, who knows a thing or two about everything. Knowing he was likely already on the road back home, I still called him, starting the conversation with, "I have a huge problem."

Fortunately, they weren't on the road, they were having a late lunch at my uncle's. Dad promised arrival within the next 90 minutes (after lunch and the almost hour drive to the Hobbit Hole). Exhausted, I rescued my now overdone (but thankfully not burnt) meal from the oven, sat down to eat it and woke up an hour and a half later, having not even finished my lunch.

The parentals arrived, the washing machine was excised of any mischievious spirits (ie the shipping bolts, which we had somehow missed in the set-up, were removed), we spent an hour re-leveling the washer and dryer (we had to pull the dryer out to fix the washer) and we put the laundry on rinse and spin to finish the cycle.

Holding our breath, Dad and I sat and watched the entire 18-minute cycle, not daring to hope the washer hadn't been completely ruined. It didn't make any horrible noises, but it didn't spin very fast either, even on high spin. At the end, the lightweight clothes were completely soaked. The only good thing is the bolts wouldn't have damaged the spin, so if today's after-work washing adventure doesn't produce clothes not drenched in water, I will have to call GE to have them patiently explain why I'm an idiot and clearly am doing something wrong.

The parentals needed to begin the 4.5-hour journey home. I needed some sort of sleep to calm my frazzled nerves. Failing to accomplish anything, I left. I left the wet laundry in the washer, the lunch dishes rinsed off in the sink and fled to the Hoopty (which, to add to the bad weekend, I discovered on Saturday needed 4 new tires and new rims).

Remember the post on Friday? The one about fearing I'd become completely dependent? It's happened. Already. Less than a week into my Hobbit Hole saga and already I'm incapable of just about everything. On top of it, I am an emotionally fragile wreck. (I'm praying that the emotional part is just pregancy hormones - though one would think they would have stabilized by now).

I ended up crawling into bed early last night - too tired to face any more issues. I return to do battle with the washing machine this evening. Wish me luck.

Family Dinner and Paranoia

My parents are in town (sort of - they are technically just south of the valley, staying with my uncle). Last night, my mom called to see if I wanted to join them at my uncle's for dinner. I gladly traded my grocery shopping/unpacking plans for grilled burgers and the ever-present hysteria generated by my dad and uncle.

It was a surreal evening. The last time I spent just the evening with my parents was the summer of 1998 - the last time I lived at home for any length of time. As an adult, I've never done that. I've never spent just the evening with my uncle, who lived on the East Coast when I was growing up. I almost forgot I had to go "home" (wherever that is at the moment) at the end of the evening.

This is, ostensibly, why Himself and I are uprooting our lives and moving 2,300 miles west to a new city, the Hobbit Hole and a new life - so that we can do family things. It will be an adjustment. I enjoyed the time spent with family - the comfortable atmosphere surrounded by people who have known me my entire life.Yet a part of me sat there, terrified, as I thought of my parents coming to help me unpack this weekend. The last time my parents helped me move was when they dropped me off for the week-long freshman orientation before I started college, over a decade ago. I'm not terrified of my mom's very particular ways of setting up a household or my father's lectures on making sure the smoke detectors work - I'm terrified of too much family.

It doesn't make sense, I know. Both Himself and I are very family-oriented, and we both are fortunate to have solid relationships with our families, but I'm terrified of becoming too dependent on them - of relying on them too much. It's been a long time since my parents were physically close enough to help out with anything. Himself and I have a relationship based on the two of us - learning to rely on each other rather than family, because all we had was each other.

I'm happy Baby Girl will have the chance to know her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, but I worry if I will become one of those people who becomes heavily dependent on family and is unable to function without them. Will I lose who I am completely by moving, becoming a mother and living close to family? Will my family become consumed with me being involved in everything? Reason says no, but I've never faced these experiences before. It's not something consuming my every waking moment, but the thought has reared its head several times over the course of the last two weeks.

Time will tell, I suppose.

Introducing ... the Hobbit Hole

It seems I forgot about the fact that Himself is 5" taller than I am. No big deal, except I rented us a basement apartment (read: low ceilings). Guess who has to duck to get in/out of the master bedroom? Guess who feels like a big dork for not realizing it before Himself arrived?

In the name of cheap and decent neighborhood, we are going for the retro-in-all-ways rental. Coming from our brand-new, overpriced palace in No. VA, this is a bit of a change.

The old apartment had:
-9' ceilings
-Crown molding in the living room
-Two-tone paint
-6' windows (though it faced a couryard, so one could never call it light-filled)
-Linen closet (2), small pantry, entry closet (microscopic)
-Swimming pool, which no one used
-Fitness center
-42" cabinets
-Built-in microwave
-Gas cooking
-2 bedrooms, 2 baths, an insane rent and a roommate

The Hobbit Hole (as Himself dubbed it when calling everyone programmed into his cell phone to lament my decision) has:
-Varying ceiling heights - never totalling more than 7'. The door to the master bedroom is about 5'11"
-White walls (with powder blue countertops, I might add)
-Windows considered large for a basement, but nowhere near the 6', though we have about the same amount of light in our apt. as we did in the old place.
-Huge pantry and a storage room, but no entry closet or linen closets
-No swimming pool, no fitness center (private rental)
-1970s era cabinets
-No microwave (guess what's on my list to purchase this weekend?)
-Electric cooking - perhaps my major disappointment in SLC - it seems no rentals have gas cooking. *sigh*
-3 bedrooms, 1 bath, CHEAP RENT and no roommate (I love you Jane, but...)

We'll survive. Himself may develop permanent goose-eggs on his head, but hopefully the "Nesting" everyone talks about occuring in the 3rd trimester will kick in and the cheap rent and Sara's newly discovered Martha Stewart skills will make it all better.

For the moment, even walking in depresses me - I'm supposed to host my parents at my apartment tomorrow night for the weekend. Granted, they are coming to help me unpack, but I have no idea where the airmattress got packed, let alone where in the room o' junk it got placed. I think I might just sleep on the couch and let them have the bed - it just might be easier.

Random Thoughts From the Road

(Okay, not exactly from the road, since I have arrived at my destination in SLC, but you get the point).

We left not-so-early Sunday morning to head from N. VA to our new home in SLC. We arrived yesterday afternoon. I still have incredibly mixed feelings about everything, brought to the immediate surface by the dreaded pregancy hormones. I've cried twice today already, and it's barely even mid-day.

Himself drove the Big Yellow Truck - I've decided Penske is the way to go because their trucks are so easy to keep track of on the road. It was a permanent fixture in my rear-view mirror, as I was the pace-setter in our little caravan. Himself stalwartly drove the entire 2,300 miles with only AM/FM radio, which essentially does no good when you're driving through the middle of nowhere. I make a strong recommendation to Penske to at least put satellite radio in the trucks - better yet, satellite radio AND a CD/mp3 player. Something to break up the boredom. Poor guy. I at least got to listen to books on CD.

Some highlights from the trip cross-country:
-The drive up 15 to 70 and then to 68 from N. VA to Cumberland, MD, is STILL one of my all-time favorite drives. I love the serenity of the pastoral landscape going up 15. This time I viewed the drive with some longing, as I never did managed to hit the antique shops that line 15 on the Virginia side. It was raining a bit when we left MD, making the scenery even that much more beautiful.

-The cleanest restrooms were in the roughest-looking towns. Cumberland, MD, and Danville, IL, tied for cleanest gas station restrooms (being pregnant, I saw A LOT of restrooms on this trip). Danville, IL, was one of those towns that sent shivers up my spine when we pulled off the interstate for some reason. I made Himself stand guard outside the restroom door (it was an outside entrance), because it was dark, and I was in no mood for any kind of adventure to occur.

-The ENTIRE states of IL, IA and NE pretty much look the same, just like this ----------- (below the line is green, above the line is blue - making it a perfect landscape to paint for budding artists). Once in awhile, it changes to --------^------ with the ^ representing a silo or two, clustered at the far edge of massive fields of soybeans or corn.

-Iowa is prettier than I expected, and is prettier than Nebraska. I think soybean plants must be more attractive or Iowa gets more rain or something, because while it was treeless, for the most part, it was lush and green and the very picture of Americana - blue skies, fluffy white clouds, red barns, green fields, white clapboard houses. Essentially, Iowa looks like this:


-The rain smells better in Nebraska than anywhere else I've ever smelled rain. It also produces the coolest lightning storms I've ever seen, though I would have appreciated them both more, if they weren't simultaneously occuring while I was driving on a one-lane section of Interstate under construction, in the dark, behind a semi.

-Gas is Ohio is cheap. (Gasp! Did I just call $2.82/gallon cheap?! Inflation has hit my brain).

-Stopping every 90-120 minutes adds A LOT more time to estimated drive time than I previously thought. An average bathroom/gas stop was 20 minutes. *sigh* It meant 17 hours on the road one day, 15 the next and 9 the following.

-Finding Hostess crumb donuts is almost IMPOSSIBLE. Himself was on a mission to find them every day - we looked in a grocery store outside Dayton, OH; at a gas station in Pickerington, OH; at a gas station in Danville, IL - no luck. The next day we found them in Iowa City, IA, so I bought the last package. They seemed to be more common the further west we got, but I never did find a place that had more than two of them on the shelf.

FAVORITES:
*SIGN: "Fun Valley Ski Resort, Next Exit." This, not too far outside Des Moines, IA, on I-80. I phoned Himself in the truck behind me. "Did you see that sign?!" (Remember - Iowa looks like this ----------). Being from Utah, I had to laugh and wonder what Iowa's definition of skiing is. The horizon is truly flat - not a rise in site, let alone a hill. Turns out, today I discovered that the Fun Valley Ski Resort is no longer hosting winter activities. Guess someone found a real mountain and realized what he/she was missing.


*FOOD: Whiskey Creek Steakhouse, Whiskey Creek Steakhouse North Platte, NE. Himself insisted that we have steak in Nebraska. We called our trusty concierge service (still provided complimentary through my old job) to find a suitable place. They recommended Whiskey Creek. Even I liked the steak there - it was remarkable. It's a mid-western chain. I highly recommend it.

*DISCOVERY: Himself actually likes a cheap taco joint, Taco John's. Their apple/cinnamon/cheddar cheese dessert item was not too bad - definitely something I'll have to expirament on in the kitchen.

*ADVENTURE: Wal-Mart, 6 a.m., Tuesday, Sidney, NE. Himself had a call about a job interview while somewhere in Iowa. We found his suit (not too wrinkled), a suitable dress shirt (not too wrinkled if Himself didn't remove his jacket at any point) and a suitable tie (the only tie we found, fortunately corresponded with the shirt). But no shoes - one pair was in VA, the other in a box somewhere in the bowels of the Big Yellow Truck. Hence the trip to a 24-hour Wal-Mart to buy the only pair of black, non-velcro dress shoes they had in his size. Smelly Cheap Shoes: $15. Black Socks You Don't Need $3. 24-Hour Wal-Marts for your last-minute job interview needs: Priceless.

I'm so glad it's all over, though sharing the road with Himself was preferable to saying good-bye to him for a month today at the SLC airport. Poor guy has to do the drive all over again (granted, next time will be in the comforts of the "nice" car - w/ comfy leather seats and a 6-CD changer) in early July. Lucky him.

When I Grow Up ...

I got to spend some time with my college-age brother this weekend. He's declared a major, but he is alarmed by the thought that he has no idea what he wants to do when he grows up. It made me think how my plans and career have evolved.

Age 10: When I grow up, I want to be a 3rd grade teacher (ha! can you imagine? Me teaching 9-year-olds?!). Of course, I never went to third grade and because I missed some multiplication skills, cursive and introduction to verbs and nouns, I romanticized it and thought it was the "most important" grade.

Age 12: When I grow up, I want to be a novelist. This has never really gone away. I still want to be one. I still have constant stories, essays and commentary running through my head. It's why I'm an NPR junkie - because I love that I can listen to the news in essay format.

Age 18: When I grow up, I want to be a political press secretary Four years of competitive speaking/debating and a love of politics and writing led me to think that life as a press secretary would be the life I'd always wanted. That is, until I met a White House press secretary and CBS's main White House correspondent, and I realized that while it would be enormously fascinating, there is no such thing as "a life" when covering political news. I later learned that while I loved the art and psychology of politics, I didn't love politicians, further preventing me from making a foray into that world.

Age 22: When I grow up, I want to work in creative communications - none of this business stuff that requires accounting, statistics and strategy. I flourished in my business classes (not accounting, but that would be an entirely different post), but disliked them. I did well in statistics, hated it. Strategy and analytics came naturally, but it bored me.

Fast-forward 7 years ... I have now, unwittingly created a niche for myself that all resulted from my first job out of college, which I took in sheer desparation - the economy was starting to crack and I was bound and determined to flee my home state. I was the marketing assistant in a relatively new web division of a large company. My boss quit my second day. There had never been any marketing people, no one knew what I was supposed to be doing. Somehow, I managed to be promoted twice during my tenure there, finally leaving the division, and then the company, several years later as a manager. I now have a resume and experience that qualifies me as someone who specializes in strategic integrated communications planning and development.

As I was editing my bio yesterday to appear on my new company's website as part of the core management team, I realized that there are some definite trends in my career - none of which were on purpose.

*Every job since college has involved the word "Marketing" in my title. I hated my marketing class in college - now I wish I would have paid more attention.

*That said, I don't really do just marketing - I've created a career history in integrated communications - developing and executing strategic plans for integrated marketing, advertising and public relations.

*My degree is in PR. I strongly dislike the day-to-day PR tasks, but I love the part I hated in college - the strategic planning/vision/evaluation components.

*I have created a niche for myself in coming into companies with no marketing department and starting something from scratch - then, just as it gets off the ground and becomes successful, moving on to something else (this will be my FOURTH time doing this). I get bored. I don't like to work when it becomes mundane and routine, though I hate the first few months in a new space trying to figure out what it is I'm supposed to do. Yet, I've never PURPOSELY sought out a company or job thinking, "I want to work for a company with no marketing department - only a desire to have one."

*I have never replaced anyone. I've never worked in a position previously held by someone else in the same capacity. Interesting trend, no?

*I have no desire to work on the creative end of communications - haven't in years - a great boss, who knew nothing of marketing, but was a whiz at business strategy, was a wonderful mentor several years back. She recommended a couple of books, gave me some new tasks and unlocked a whole component of myself that I never realized I had - or was good at.

In short, I am a far cry career-wise from where I thought I would be seven years ago, armed with my newly minted degree and several years' experience in the communications/professional development arena, but it's not a bad thing. Little choices, little chances, little forays into new arenas, a few key mentors and a few key books, led me to somewhere I hadn't planned on going, but have found to be relatively satisfying.

I just hope my new job doesn't eat me for lunch - I am solely responsible for an entire department. Me. By myself. No one else understands what I'm supposed to be doing - just what I am supposed to accomplish. It's a glorious, sick feeling - one akin to the feeling one gets when stepping into the great unknown.

I told my brother, "Just major in something you love - you'll end up going in some completely random direction eventually anyway." He didn't get it.

Then again, seven years ago, neither would I.

The Good Life

Today's mantra is the power of positive thinking. So, rather than bang my head against a wall and sigh repeatedly, I am ignoring the bad things and listing the good things.

1. Salt Lake's traffic has the potential to be horrendous, but after spending many an afternoon stuck going less than 5 mph on the inner loop of the Beltway the three months I commuted to Baltimore one afternoon a week 18 months ago, it is like having a commute akin to an August Friday morning commute in DC every day!

2. It is possible to find a multiple-bedroom apartment in a decent neighborhood in Salt Lake for less than four figures. This is not possible ever in DC, unless you meet the government's definition of "poor." If I met that designation, I would also be in jail, for failure to pay what I owe an alarming number of people/organizations.

3. I am going to my parents' house tonight to see my month-old niece for the weekend. This would never have happened in DC. I'm not looking forward to the 4-hour car trip (nor are my poor, swollen ankles), but holding Baby Girl's cousin will more than make up for it.

4. Himself applied to take his boards (this has nothing to do with moving, but it was still good news).

5. 90 degrees without humidity is lovely weather.

6. If you look above the condenser unit and crane your head around a tree, you can see real mountains out of my office.