friends and family

Don’t laugh, but all growing up (note: I haven’t finished that yet) it was my younger (by 7 years) brother who outdid me in the kitchen. Except for dishes. I’m the only one in the house who ever did them, so he could never do that better than me ;)

(Mom, this isn’t the time to comment about how you think I didn’t always do the dishes. This is my blog and, according to my stellar memory, I ALWAYS did the dishes.)

When he was probably 10ish, he started making the grilled cheese sandwiches. It was probably after I had burnt one too many of his that pushed him to try. Let me clarify so you don’t think me a rotten sister (which I was, but not because of my cooking). I usually only burnt one side of the sandwich, not both, and in the beginning I’d scrape off the burnt part with a butter knife. But that became tiresome so I stopped and left the burnt part, calling it “Cajun-style.”

(I still burn things when I cook. When we buy French bread, we’ll buy double because I’ll no doubt burn one of them and have to start over.)

Today I found a source for delicious gourmet grilled cheese and the beginning of never eating another burnt one in my house.

It’s a new little shop on Main Street in American Fork, Utah, called Cravings Bistro (in the left side of what was Finders Keepers; man I miss that store). I heard of it the other day from someone random, then again today by Suzanne at The Quilting Cottage just before lunch time.

The favorite is the ABC (apple, bacon, cheddar) so I got that. You should do that when trying a new place to eat, ask for the most popular dish. We’ve had plenty of soul warming Tomato-Basil Soups in Seattle (you know it rains there, a lot, and soup hits all the cold spots), and the Cravings Bistro organic version makes me wish for rain. Topping off my comfort food lunch was a fat/phat, dense, and sweet-tooth-satisfying frosted sugar cookie the owner proudly makes from scratch (Thursday is BOFOHO sweets, stock up).

Thank you Cravings Bistro ladies for your hospitality, foodie conversation, and yummy grub! I hope it rains people on your place so you can stick around to feed me whenever I want.

Pardon my crummy iPhone pics, but I wanted to include as much information in case you’re interested in checking them out (and you should be, seriously, I’m already looking forward to my next visit… take me with you if you need company).

Heading west on State Street, this is what you'll see when you need to get ready to park. Cravings Bistro is a couple doors down from Allen's (there is also parking and an entrance behind the building)

Cravings Bistro 801.756.3333
63 East Main Street, American Fork, UT 84003

Mon-Thur 11a-6p
Fri-Sat 11a-8:30p
Sunday closed

Twitter: @CravingsBistro
Facebook: Cravings Bistro

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Mulling over the thoughts I have about what I’m about to write, I worry that I won’t get them out in letters the way you’ll understand what I’m trying to say. Thank you for trying to get it. I do have a point. Now let’s see where I put it.

(This post may be more about me needing to get out my feelings, not make a statement, or make sense.)

Tommy and I have known each other since grade school in New Mexico, spending most of our time together in school band (I played clarinet, he played sax) 5th grade through our junior year. We never dated, were just friends. Always a gentleman, very sweet and kind hearted, he once made me a wooden stand in his woodshop class to replace the pile of books I’d use to rest my bass clarinet; out of the blue, I hadn’t asked for it. That’s the kind of guy Tommy was back then, and continued to be throughout the years, even after I moved away the summer before my senior year. (Yeah, that sucked.)

He opened his home to me in 2009 for our 20 year high school reunion. Even though I hadn’t been back for about 19 years, those four days felt like no time had passed. We laughed, caught up, and reminisced about the good ol’ days (am I really old enough to say that?) He trusted me riding his Harley so we could ride around the area (heavenly). He introduced me to my favorite Mexican dish, Pozole (he had Menudo, a common hangover remedy, which made me gag and tasted like stinky zoo animal feet) at a local restaurant. The master bedroom with attached master bath was all for me; he insisted and slept in the guest room. He would tattoo anything I dreamed up, anything at all (I didn’t get any). Picked up a shirt for me at the Harley Dealership (fake tattoo sleeves; people freak out and think they’re real when I wear it.) I got to be with and photograph KP as Tommy memorialized our friend Tony Dodds, with his football number (76) tattoo’d on her heel (she will tell you it was the most painful thing she’s ever felt; and she’s had two babies.)

My wish was his command as he drove me past my old house, my friend’s old houses, former schools, favorite eateries, the zoo I volunteered at, the public pool where I had too many crushes on boys, the skating rink that was every teens rite of passage in that town, and to/from the airport that is two hours away. Two hours away. What kind of person drives that far to pick up someone from the airport then two hours back and all over again for the return flight… without expecting anything in return? An awesome friend, that’s who :)

(That’s a little shout-out for others who have and have offered to do so for me; forever grateful to have people like that in my life. [curtsy])

Then four months ago I went back for a late-80′s reunion. This time extending my trip to nine days because the four before seemed too darned short. There’s a Ben Franklin saying, “Fish and visitors stink after three days.” Tommy didn’t believe that. Not when it came to me, anyway. I insisted that I should stay at a hotel, or break it up and stay with other friends this time. He said he’d be offended if I didn’t stay with him (he was a lonely bachelor at the time). “What if I rent a car? You wouldn’t have to give me a ride to/from the airport and I would have my own transportation while I’m there so long,” I’d suggest. Tommy replied, “Don’t be silly. I will get you from/to the airport and you’ll use the truck anytime you want. Don’t get a rental, save your money.” That was HUGE. The thing about his truck, he never let ANYBODY drive it; not even his dad! I’m the only one. Ever.

We spent a lot of our time talking about deeper things than last time and than what we could over the phone or text. God was a big topic. Parenting was another. We’d discuss what life is all about and what happens when it doesn’t go according to plan. I cherish those more intimate moments with my friend. This time it was more laid back (instead of the rush getting to everything and seeing everyone in the four days the first trip). Having more time before the scheduled reunion events was perfect for us to be honest with what we were feeling, things we worried about, thoughts of what the future would be like. We went to a couple stores together, picking up bones for the dogs, ingredients for homemade Pozole that we made together, going back to the store to get another set of ingredients because the first batch burned, a John Deer shirt for me (I was looking for something Kelly green and joked when I saw this pink camo shirt, which meant we HAD to get it)…

Fast forward about two months to the first Tuesday in December. I was in Seattle for two weeks. As I was shopping at a mall with a friend, I started getting The Calls. A thunk landed in my heart as I stared at the phone. The first went to voice mail, (another thunk) then the second. (thunk) I knew something was wrong and I knew who it was about. William’s voice mail said I needed to call him as soon as possible so I texted him back…

Then KP called, followed by Mike. I knew I couldn’t answer the phone. In the middle of a mall during Christmas shopping season isn’t the best place for that kind of conversation.

I finally called back from my friend’s car. She drove while I got the news. Tommy is dead. His body was found a couple hours ago. As people were getting the news, they’d say, “Does Shannon know? Has someone called Shannon?”

Long story short, made arrangements (thanks to friend’s) to fly from Seattle to Texas then a two+ hour drive to New Mexico in snow and icy conditions in time for the rosary Sunday night. There was a 5:20am flight Sunday morning, I’d have to leave at 3:30am to get to SeaTac early enough to get a stand-by spot on that flight. A friend graciously offered to wake up at the butt crack of dawn to take me.

My bags were packed, wore the clothes I’d travel in to bed, loaded toothpaste on my toothbrush in the bathroom, checked my alarm, texted with my morning ride to make sure, and sent my visitor home at 9p so I could get to sleep and wake up at 3:15am to get to the airport by 4am.

I woke up at 4:35am O_O Was supposed to BE at the airport by 4am.

#&*()Q)_#&@#$&^!

My ride came on time, called and texted multiple times over a 15 minute period before heading back home (she didn’t know where I was to knock on the door).

I’ve NEVER not woken to my alarm. I’ve NEVER missed a flight. There was NO WAY I would make the 5:20am flight. How in the WORLD did this happen?!?

All I can think is that there was a reason. But it’s not like there was something that happened that proves I shouldn’t have been on that flight. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t beat myself up over it. “It is what it is.” I got on a later flight (stand-by all the way, with fully booked planes, not knowing if I’d get on each time), had to fly into a different city (which is a big deal when your ride is coming two hours away), took four hours to get home through icy and snowy conditions instead of the two, not making it in time for the Sunday night rosary service. Which was a huge bummer, although expected. There was a slideshow of Tommy’s life, photos that I took of him, and photos I was in with him, that was only shown that night. Sigh.

Why I didn’t make that flight will remain a mystery. It’s made me dig deep, wondering what’s truly important.

What matters most is the moments we share, memories that make our heart smile, having people in our lives we trust and can count on, and taking these kind of situations as a lesson on life. What do I want? Who should or shouldn’t be in my life? Am I willing to make changes for that to happen? Yes. A resounding “YES.”

Photo I took of Tommy in 2009 that was used in his obituary and the funeral program.

P.S. I am grateful to all my friends and family who helped me get to New Mexico, gave their support, sent me texts of love, provided rides, a place to lay my head, and meals. You put a smile on my heart that will never go away. XoxO

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

A list of artists I’m suggesting my mother-in-law check out:

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Recently, I’ve had friends blog and Tweet about the support of breastfeeding anywhere, anytime, and without covering up (I lurv those friends, this post isn’t about them). Then this section of a KSL.com article got some pretty feisty comments on their Facebook page and I couldn’t keep from saying something about the ruckus.

Cover it up!
Nursing mothers should avoid breastfeeding uncovered around others. Ottley said she is a huge proponent of breastfeeding, having breastfed four children herself, but there’s a way it can be done in public without making others feel uncomfortable. In public places, or when others besides your significant other and children will be around (and maybe your sisters and mom), figure out the best way to cover yourselves and do it, please.

I’m a little appalled by the way most of the proponents chose to defend their opinion. However, I DO believe they have the right, and it’s necessary, to voice their opinion; but wish they would do so politely.

Oh, wait. But they don’t want to be polite. They want to do whatever they want, whenever they want, and however they want with no regard for those around them; everyone else should mind their own business and get over it. That IS pretty much the gist of what their argument is about when all that was said was “cover up, please.”

Here is the comment I posted, trying to explain why some prefer not to see uncovered public breastfeeding (not trying to change anyone’s mind about how they should feel about it… I understand their POV, why can’t they understand, not agree, the opposing view?):

My opinion: I agree with the writer for suggesting that it’s polite to cover up while breast feeding in public.

It’s polite to fart away from people. It’s polite to wipe food from outside your mouth with a napkin. It’s polite to pull up your pants so your butt crack isn’t showing. It’s polite to cover your mouth when you cough or sneeze. These are all natural things that pretty much everyone does that society has deemed appropriate behavior even though it’s legal to fart wherever you want, leave food on your face, wear your pants down low and cough or sneeze without catching it.

The issue isn’t that the baby is being FED, of COURSE the baby should be fed at anytime that it needs food.

Breast feeding is WONDERFULLY BEAUTIFUL… so is French kissing but it’s generally not done blatantly in public because it’s polite to go somewhere private to do so. Is that a better analogy?

I’m not saying that breastfeeding is like or comparable to those acts (maybe I should have said metaphor or simile; perhaps I’ll be studying a dictionary later). I’m saying that we have public behavior and private behavior. I believe we should conduct ourselves based on the circumstance. We are quiet in a library, we can yell in a park. You dress up for the red carpet, wear sweats at home while watching TV. The dog has to have a leash in town, but at home he’s free to roam.

For crying out loud I’m not saying that feeding a baby is like being in a library, going out to somewhere fancy, watching TV, or a DOG.

If I were to travel to Japan, I would find out what the customs are and do my best to respect their culture; remove my shoes upon entering their house, bow to the elders with respect, use chopsticks instead of a fork (I can do it, it just gets a little messy sometimes).

There were some rude things also said about/to the author of the article on that Facebook page. Without KNOWING the author or commentors, here are some comment snips:

• breastfeeding mothers… have to deal with this type of hate on them?
• If someone is so twisted that an innocent baby eating offends them, THEY should cover their head with a blanket. Smarten up and CHANGE YOUR ARTICLE!
• That’s just daft and an example of poor writing.
• It is articles like this that help continue the dismal breastfeeding rates… we make them feel like exhibitionists or morally inept… while in the presence of anybody other than their dog in the dark of their homes with the shades drawn! It’s absurd! Please stop letting your issues with the human body jeopardize the health of any mothers and babies by putting out such irresponsible and ignorant articles!
• we are more comfortable seeing breasts when they are airbrushed and sexualized in print or film, rather than fulfilling their original purpose
• …illogical sexual undertone to process of feeding an infant at the breast while at the same time encouraging our preteen girls to dress provocatively and allowing TV shows to sexualize nearly everything!
• Dear [Author]: PLEASE put a bag or a blanket over YOUR head while YOU are eating!
• to the author, if you wanted to broadcast your anti-breasts agenda, why try to hide it in a piece about pregnancy? It didn’t work anyway.
• positively infantile preoccupation with bosoms!
• hiring etiquette writers who have an education and are able to demonstrate a familiarity with their topic
• a healthy number of lulzy prudes squabbling with them. Pathetic. Sad. As pathetic as hiring some ditz who, going by her blog, struggles with some pretty basic rules of English, and pretending that this person has some useful insight into culture.
• holy fragglenuggets! get some HELP
• (To a commentor) I hope you someday realise how sick you are before someone has to shoot you like a rabid dog.
• I believe the etiquette expert should apologize to everyone she has offended.
• Maybe they could use a real expert this time.

This afternoon I visited with a couple who I’ve known for over ten years. It seems that we believe almost the opposite of each other of most taboo subjects (politics, religion, sex), yet we love each other very, very much. We talked about how our written words can get lost in our meaning or intent. Without seeing the face that’s saying it, or hearing the tone, the words are interpreted however the reader hears it in their head. Our desire to get to the point and avoid the fluff gets the three of us in trouble sometimes. What we say in a few sentences takes others paragraphs of filler because we’re to-the-point and they’re side-stepping to avoid hurting feelings (which does not mean I like to hurt feelings).

“I kicked the dog,” said in a soft tone, slight down tilt of the lips, and an emphasis on kicked to denote shock or sorrow (as in it-was-an-accident and I didn’t see the dog under my feet) is written the same but meant entirely different from “I kicked the dog,” said with a scowl, gritted teeth, and an emphasis on I to denote pride in the act (because the guy is a jerk).

Although this post is all about public breastfeeding, I really meant for it to be about the way we disagree and conduct discussions on differing opinion.

And to bouy my emotions back to a regular level (and probably give me a little justification that I’m not twisted), I’ll share this snip from someone who wrote to me about the other commentors vs. my comment:

Absolutely shocked. And saddened. I realize opinions always open the door to criticism, but I greatly admire a woman who can express that criticism in a respectful and courteous way.

Agreed.

P.S. Remember, keep comments classy, folks :)

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

(LOTS of iPhone photos in this long-winded post about my trip to San Antonio, TX)

This is me with my friend Emily at The Alamo in San Antonio, Texas. Wanna know how we met?… (say it with a redneck accent) on the innernet. Twitter, specifically.

What?!? YOU don’t meet people in person you know from the internet? O_o

As much as you may find it weird that I do, I may find it weird that you don’t :D

She and I follow some of the same people on Twitter. We both replied to those same people’s tweets and saw each others replies. We found each other to be hilarious, so we started following each other. I whined about my ugly blog and she’s The Blog Fairy. BUT (that’s a BIG BUT that’swhatshesaid) she was on hiatus and had a long waiting list. I whined some more and made her laugh even more until I forced her out of hiding and conned her into helping me (and by “helping” I mean doing it for me) by sending her a check AND hand making her this…

It’s an applique’d bird on wool felt that I sewed into a mini book cover. The ribbon out the bottom is an attached bookmark. My MIL (she’s SO clever) came up with the idea to make cute tweetie birds on the front after seeing something similar on Etsy (I love that place.) It took ALL DAY (about 8 hours, on and off) to make this one. The most time sucking step was picking the coordinating fabrics. Oy vey!

During the intense blog transformation, Emily and I texted, emailed, and Skyped (she’s my first experience at Skyping; we even had a three-way with my host company… and by host company I mean my friend who troubleshoots my hubby’s host company business). I met her hubby when he came into the room during a Skype session once and her kids several times as we trudged through the blog designing. It felt as if we were already good friends in a short amount of time.

Wait a minute… what’s the parameter to figure out who is or isn’t a Good Friend? And why is there a stigma about meeting on the internet? Why does it seem that it’s better that people meet in a bar, at college, at a party, at church, or at work than online?

I’m sure there has to be the same ratio of gems vs. non-gems (at first I said losers, but just because you don’t pick someone as a gem doesn’t mean they’re a loser) whether there are 100 people at church, 100 at a bar, 100 at college (small college, haha), 100 at a party, or 100 online.

Anywho… this post is supposed to be about my trip to San Antonio, not a debate on how we meet people (although I will give you a teaser… I invited someone who I met on the internet write up their perspective of our friendship. That will come sometime in May after finals.)

Emily mentioned that their family hasn’t had a professional group photo taken since her first/oldest was a baby (she’s 9) and now they have three kids and no family photo. So sometime in February I said, fly me down (I hadn’t ever been to San Antonio), feed, house, entertain me and I’ll take your family photos. Done! We booked the flight for April, before Texas got too hot (it was 95 degrees there my last day).

From the airport we went straight to the famous river walk for dinner (met another friend, a duck, who wanted my fries) then across the street to The Alamo.

Officer Martinez gave me the 30-minute “gist” of The Alamo and Texas history.

Found this welcome note in my room (a.k.a. the 9 year old’s room)…

THEN (that’s supposed to be a BIG then) we got to meet up with my visiting-from-Utah @Suedonym, 007, and The Princess for lunch Thursday at the Food Network famous Mi Tierra & Bakery. On Monday we had no idea we would both be in San Antonio at the same time until Sue tweeted something about how she’s at The Alamo, can’t find her bike, and there’s NO BASEMENT. Emily asked me if Sue lives in or is visiting SA, I texted Sue and found out they’re there on vacation and lunch plans were in motion! The food was delish and we got to people watch while eating on the patio.

Speaking of people watch… it happened to be Fiesta so there were crowds everywhere, parking nowhere (except in $15 lots), Mexican bands playing (their tubas), and bright colored flowers on everything. Like this entire outfit… (yikes!)

I almost bought two of these shirts for friends, but took a photo instead.

On our way back home from downtown San Antonio, we swung through Gruene, TX to scout out where we’d take the family photos, did some looking through the shops, and had lunch at the Grist Mill (I should’ve taken pictures of that place, it’s incredible and I’ve seen NOTHING like it; if you’re in Gruene, GO THERE).

I’d really REALLY love to own this red glass cake plate from the antique store in Guene, but it cost one hundred and too many dollars. It’s. Absolutely. Divine.

While walking through the shop, a ball-cap-wearing teenage boy stepped out of the way so I could pass. I said, “Thanks.” He replied, almost under his breath because he probably says it ALL the time, “Yes, ma’am.” And not in an you’re-so-old kind of tone, but in a polite and courteous way. I tracked his mom down and told her how he warmed my heart; she thanked me profusely because, she says, he doesn’t always show good manners at home. Awe.

Speaking of expensively divine objects of my affection: Under a bunch of other antique silver cigarette cases on the bottom shelf of the cashier jewelry case was this beauty (that could double as a business card holder; or just lay pretty in my hand)…

I found it at Uncommon Objects in Austin last Friday, but didn’t have $89 to spend on frivolous things. If it’s still there, you’re welcome to buy it for me (my birthday is coming up, wink wink). No really, I’m serious. I shouldn’t crave it, but I do.

Across the street from the store (which holds the object of my desire, *ahem*) is the renowned Cutie Pies (closed for the day). We quenched our after lunch sugar need with a whippersnapper shot (fresh whipped cream shoved into the middle of the cupcake with adequate spillage up top) in our giant baked treats at Hey Cupcake.

But that was AFTER meeting up for lunch at  with yet ANOTHER Twitter persona who neither of us have met before… @JennieBakesALot!

We had fun talking Twitter, blogging, mom stuff, and food. We met at Torchy’s Tacos and took some pictures in front of the little logo guy and the golden wall of oddities.

On our way back to the house, The Hotlight was on. Do you know what The Hotlight is? It’s the devil’s beacon and I hate that I now love it. I have, since that day, dreamed of it at night more than once. I didn’t really know it before this day. I mean, I knew OF it, but haven’t experienced it for myself. When The Hotlight is ON, you get a FREE, hot off the press, classic glazed donut

THAT MELTS IN YOUR MOUTH, PEOPLE!!!

Please. If you’ve never tried it, DON’T. Trust me. Unless you want to be a slave to The Hotlight (much like being under a trance, with the undeniable magnetic pull) heed my warning.

Saturday on our way back from taking family photos, we drove to this weird thing (it was a surprise, we were just told we would see something “weird”) and boy was it weird! Beautiful to see in person (despite not understanding why it’s a ginormous, at least 20 feet, scrap metal deer sculpture in the middle of a housing development).

I feel like I’ve gone on forever and ever (plus there’s a zillion photos on this post). Sunday Emily made us delicious waffles, we attended church, had a nap, and enjoyed a yummy roast dinner (I ate too much, again). Before my flight on Monday we attended a birthday brunch, ran some errands, dropped off the oldest at piano, played at the park while we waited for her, and swung by Aspen Leaf for frozen yogurt treats (lemon ginger sorbet topped with coconut and pomegranate berry sherbet with blue and rasp berries).

I was bummed to leave.

But got to drown my sorrows in some Bluebell Ice Cream when my last plane got delayed by a good 45 minutes (making the flight back wickedly annoying… I was SOOO tired getting into Seattle at 2am Texas time).

Oh! Other fun thing… while waiting in Houston for my next flight, I ran into my friend and her husband on their way back home from Mexico! Small world!

P.S. I forgot to tell the “That’s a yes” story. I guess it’s a common saying in England because the dad (from London) I sat next to on the plane kept saying “That’s a yes” when he agreed with what I was saying. Kind of like when we say Uh-huh, yeah or amen, and sometimes twice in a row, “That’s a yes, that’s a yes.” He was really nice. I think I’ll try to get the phrase to catch on in The States.

{ Comments on this entry are closed }