tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69676382422953344442024-02-19T06:53:51.518-05:00a short and merry lifekristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-38516245506207099172013-12-11T20:11:00.000-05:002013-12-11T20:11:33.875-05:00running motivationAs you know if you are a follower of this blog (if not, just scroll down, it's the last post), I had shoulder surgery earlier this year. In the interest of updates, my shoulder is doing quite well. I haven't had an problems with it since the surgery. (Knock on wood!) But the unanticipated consequence of shoulder surgery is that there are very few exercises that you can do for a good long while. No kind of weights that require your arms, no swimming, no biking. Even leg and ab weights sometimes pull on your shoulder in ways you don't expect. And most importantly - no running. You use your arms a surprising amount when running, in case you didn't know. On doctor's orders, I couldn't run for six months after the surgery.<br />
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So for the better part of a year, I have been completely off running. (I didn't do much running before the surgery because I always gave myself a week or so off when i dislocated my shoulder and that usually happened every other week or so before hand.) For someone who was already not a good runner to begin with, getting back into running has been rather difficult. Even once I was given the all clear, I couldn't go very far and it was very discouraging. I would go here and there, but was never very consistent. I even like running! And I had races to train for. (But, you know I'm not good at training for races.)<br />
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A few months ago, I received some motivation in a surprising place - I got a running buddy at work. Since I do run races sometimes, people often ask me about running. Often people ask if they can run with me, but it comes to nothing*. So, when this guy asked if he could run with me, I said yes, but didn't really think it would pan out. And actually - it hasn't really panned out. Since he first asked me to be his running buddy, we have run together a grand total of one time. We plan to run together a lot but something always comes up for him - he has to work late, or cover for someone, or he has a meeting come up, or a deadline, or his daughter is sick, or some other honestly legitimate excuse. So, I have a perpetual running buddy who never actually comes running with me. <br />
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I don't actually know anything about my running buddy who never actually comes with me. I have no idea if he is married, single, divorced, if he likes to read, where he lives, how old he is, or even his regular work hours. Here is a list of things I know about him:<br />
1. His name and his job title, but not what he actually does at work.<br />
2. He has at least one daughter who is sometimes sick.<br />
3. He says he likes running, but never comes with me.<br />
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But the thing about having a running buddy who never comes with me, is that it actually gets me to go running. We make plans to run, and then my running buddy backs out, but I've brought my gear to work, and I've already planned to go, so I go. It is a very strange motivator to go running because your running buddy consistently doesn't run with you. But it's been a pretty good system for the last few months. I've been loads better at consistently running.<br />
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This was all just running through my head on my run today after work, when my running buddy who doesn't run with me once again canceled our run (he had a late meeting scheduled). I was having a really crappy run. I didn't run last week because I had a cold and I didn't run the week before because of Thanksgiving. And I just got new shoes that still need some breaking in. And it was cold. (Virginia cold at least - not Ohio or Utah cold, but I'm starting to get acclimated to the weather here.) So I was silently cursing my running buddy who doesn't run with me because if not for him, I would have just gone home. (But I figured since I had my gear, I might as well go.) A car stopped for me to cross the street as I was plodding along and stayed still for longer than was really necessary. I looked at the driver and mouthed "thank you" and suddenly he gave me a huge thumbs up and said (or possibly also mouthed - the windows were up so I couldn't tell), "Good Job!" And I knew that I wasn't really doing a good job, but it still made me feel good. Like somehow I was winning.<br />
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And I was winning. And I'm not talking about beating all the other people that weren't out there. I was just winning myself. I was beating that other Kristin that had just wanted to go home and not run in the cold. I was out there getting better at running and being the running Kristin and not the Kristin that always finds excuses not to run. And you know what? It was still a really crappy run. It was still hard and cold and my feet still hurt, but I was still out there. And as I approached the end of the run to the last hill back up to my car, I passed another runner who just gave me a big high five - just kind of a "yeah, we're runners together!" And I made it up the last hill and finished my run and felt good. There's probably a metaphor or something in there for you; you'll have to find it yourself.<br />
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And there's no real point to this post. Just that that I'm running again thanks to my running buddy who never runs with me. I'm sure we'll plan to run together again and, who knows, maybe we'll actually run together again sometime. But for now it just feels good to be back on the running band wagon.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*. One girl asked how far I usually go, to which I replied, usually three miles. She asked, "How long does that take - about 2 hours?" She did not make the cut.</span>kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-8271996553007377712013-02-19T21:53:00.000-05:002013-02-19T22:04:35.509-05:00a week of house arrest - one for my med school friendsWell, as usual, I am not very good at updating my blog. I always think I'll be better, but you know what they say about good intentions....<br />
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So, I actually have something semi-interesting to say in this post. Or at least something to say to people when they ask, "So, what have you been up to lately?" The answer this time is, "I just has shoulder surgery."<br />
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Over Christmas I dislocated my shoulder twice in one day. I had to go to the ER. There was a pretty cool doctor there who was able to get it back in without having to sedate me. I thought it was an extremely interesting process. A very good skill to have as an ER doc. (I was especially grateful the second time I was there when he just called me back to the admitting room and put it back again without me having to wait again.) <br />
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So, when I got back to Virginia (the dislocating happened in Pennsylvania) I went to the doctor and got an MRI where they discovered that due to the many times my shoulder popped in and out of joint (sometimes with a complete dislocation, but many more times with something called a subluxation, which is basically a partial dislocation) I had sustained a lot of bone loss. In my mind, that meant that there were tiny fragments of bone floating around in my shoulder, but it turns out that is not the case. Really what happens is that due to the force of the dislocation, the bone kind of gets smashed down, if that makes any kind of sense. Aaaaanyway, due to the bone damage, my doctor recommended surgery to try to tighten things up in my shoulder to bring stability so that I wouldn't have to have a much more intense bone reconstruction surgery.<br />
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On February 11, I headed to the National Harbor Surgery Center for arthroscopic surgery. That is some very cool surgery. My surgeon just did three little cuts - two in the front and one in the back - each about a centimeter long. He originally intended on just doing one in the front, but once he got in there, he found that there was more bone damage than he had thought from the MRI, so he wanted to tighten things up more. Pretty much if I have even one more dislocation or subluxation, I'm done - I will have no choice but to have the bone reconstruction surgery. (So, obviously I'm being extra careful in the recovery stage.)<br />
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There were some kind of cool things about the surgery. First, the hospital gown. It had a connection that could be hooked up to a plug type thing in every room in the surgery center that heated it. It was super nice after the surgery to be nice and toasty in my gown. I would not object to having one of these in my home. Then, during the surgery I actually woke up twice. It wasn't a big deal because they had put something called a nerve block on my arm so I actually couldn't feel anything for about 12 hours. But it was weird opening my eyes (I was lying on my side) and seeing the anesthesiologist. He just asked me if I was awake and I think I said yes and he put me back under. And finally, what you've been waiting for - the pictures. They take pictures every step of the way, apparently.<br />
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Here are some pictures of the bone loss - the pen mark is where the bone should be.<br />
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And here's a stitch that the surgeon put tightening the ligaments. (There are apparently 4 stitches on the inside of my body right now.)<br />
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Well, hopefully this will stabilize my shoulder so that it will no longer dislocate. I had to take a week off work to recover. My kind mother come down from Pennsylvania to take my to the surgery and take care of me for the first couple days. After that I was just kind of stuck around the apartment because I wasn't allowed to drive. But I did watch the first four seasons of Castle in that week. And now I have to wear a sling for 6 weeks. I can take it off to drive and work as long as I am very very careful. Under no circumstances am I allowed to lift my left arm via the shoulder <i>at all</i>. This makes it more difficult to do things I have always taken for granted, like dressing myself and washing my hair. And I still haven't found a way to put my hair in a ponytail or put on eye-liner using just one hand. (If you have any ideas, let me know.) I start physical therapy next week and I will have to do it for about 6 months. Then hopefully I will be back to regular people shoulder use again. I will lose some of my range of motion, but as I'm not a world class baseball pitcher, the stability will be a nice trade off. All of this will make my upcoming trip to New Zealand interesting, but hopefully this will all be worth it in the end. <br />
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And for anyone interested in seeing all my surgery pictures....<br />
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<br />kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-85732901006030304042012-12-09T12:26:00.003-05:002012-12-09T12:26:52.145-05:00boxing dayI watched my first ever boxing match last night with a few of my coworkers. I mean first ever that wasn't, you know, part of a movie or the Olympic highlights. It was the match between Marquez and Pacquiao, which was apparently a big deal, if you follow boxing, which I don't. (I think none of you do either because, unlike other sporting events, I didn't see a huge upswing of Facebook posts with a play by play of the action.) And watching the match was the reason people were there! It wasn't like we were watching a moving and then afterward, we were like - hey a boxing match is on, let's watch it. <br />
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As <i>I'm sure</i> you are aware by now, Marquez knocked Pacquiao out, which I found a little horrifying. Apparently, at this level, people don't usually get knocked out - they win by the rules of hitting, or something, with judges. I guess the thing that surprised me the most was how much blood there was. Perhaps this shouldn't have seemed unusual to me, but since all of my boxing experience has been with movies, and movies tend to dramatize things, I wasn't expecting so much gore. But, in this case, the movies were right. Marquez threw his hands up in victory, literally covered in his own blood.<br />
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This leads me to a few questions, which I hope my boxing enthusiast friends (or friend? anyone?) can answer: <br />
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Question 1: Seriously, why is this a thing? Why is watching two guys (or girls, as the case may be these days) purposely try to hurt each other a sport? I would say that men would know the answer to this question more than women, but last night one of the biggest fans was a woman, so this question is open to everyone. What can make someone get into the ring, knowing they are going to get hurt? A lot. I can hardly stand getting blood drawn, knowing it will hurt, even though it is in a controlled and expected way. I can't imagine wanting to get beat up in a new way every time for money.<br />
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Question 2: What was Mitt Romney doing at the match? He had ring side seats with his wife. If you think about people you would expect to be at such an event, would Mitt top your list? For me, he probably wouldn't have even made the top, say, thousand people I'd have expected to be there, but maybe those of you who know more about him can tell me.<br />
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Question 3: Do you think we could get some of the United States congressmen to start boxing professionally? Pacquiao is apparently a congressman in the Philippines, and I say if they can do it, we can too, right? I still wouldn't want to watch it, but it might make politics a little more interesting.<br />
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I will wait patiently for the answers to this questions and in the mean time, I will be over here trying to remove the bloody images from my head. Until I hear from you, perhaps this will help....<br />
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<br />kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-6332452553012550282012-10-20T17:35:00.000-04:002012-10-20T17:35:27.570-04:00hair apparentOne thing I've learned about living in Our Nation's Capital is that where ever you go you are certain to meet interesting people who keep you on your toes.<br />
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Last night, I took the metro to meet a friend to see a movie. As I was exiting the station, a thin young woman wearing a hijab said something to me, but due to her accent, I couldn't understand what she was saying. I assumed it was something about the weather or the traffic and I didn't want to embarrass myself telling her I didn't understand, so I just smiled and nodded, as one does in these situations.<br />
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She smiled. "You have very nice hair," she repeated.<br />
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"Oh!" I said, taken aback. This had not been what I was expecting. "Thank you!" My hair right now is very long. It's what I call "mermaid length" or to about the middle of my back. One of the guys at work told me he thinks it's "striking" but I think it probably looks more like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Brave_Teaser_Poster.jpg" target="_blank">this</a>, though not so red these days.<br />
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"Yes," she continued. "Very pretty. May I touch it?"<br />
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I was unprepared for this question. Believe it or not, this is the first time a stranger has asked if they could touch my hair. And as I never thought this would happen to me in real life, I didn't decide before hand what I would do, as they tell you in young women you should do. ("Decide now to never ever let a stranger touch your hair!") So before I knew it I said yes. (I'm bad at saying no anyway, plus I'm a people pleaser.)<br />
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"It is very soft!" she exclaimed.<br />
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Again I thanked her and was secretly gratified because I actually had tried to do my hair in such a way that it would be soft. So I was glad that I could get an external source verifying that my hard work had paid off. <br />
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"Yes," she continued, "very nice hair! You should sell it. We would buy your hair."<br />
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And now the conversation had taken a completely unexpected turn. Who was the "we"? Was this woman some kind of hair scout for a wig shop? If I wanted to sell my hair could I just say yes then and there she would bring out a pair of clippers and give me $100 or whatever the going rate for hair is these days? Suffice it to say, I was rather taken aback and I just mumbled some kind of thanks and we parted ways.<br />
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But it is comforting to know that if I'm ever in a tight spot for money, I can sell my hair, à la Jo March, if only I can happen to run into that women again on the yellow line.<br />
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<br />kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-27185510593497152712012-08-29T21:38:00.000-04:002012-08-29T21:38:08.745-04:00books books booksWhen I was at BYU, I took a children's literature class. I didn't need to, of course. Children's literature hardly has anything to do with computer science. I even had to get special permission to take it because it was an elementary education class, I think. Anyway, I had to get someone from some department to sign a form so I could sign up. It was an absolute delight to be able to excuse reading because it was an assignment.<br />
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My teacher was a librarian, of course. I can't remember now where he libraried. Maybe at the BYU library. I do remember a story he told us of a lunch he took at Wendy's one day. He had been very much looking forward to getting into a book he was reading for a brief half hour before having to get back to a very busy day. While there, he happened to run into an acquaintance who was a reporter for the local paper who sat with him and talked through his whole lunch. Of course he was disappointed, but he could hardly have turned the man away. In a few days an editorial appeared in the paper about how the reporter had saved the lonely librarian from eating a sad lunch alone. My teacher exclaimed aloud after reading, "Alone! Richard - I was reading!"<br />
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Lately I have been listening to books more than reading them. It appeals to the side of my nature that doesn't like to know what's coming. When listening to a book, you don't know when the end of a chapter is coming or even the end of a book. And I can listen while doing a great number of other things, so I can still feel rather productive while getting lost in another world. It does carry the risk of being rather rudely interrupted when the phone rings, since all my audio books are on my phone. When reading a book, you can just ignore the phone, but when listening on the phone the ring stops the audio book in order to ring, leaving one to exclaim, "Why are you calling now?! Don't you know Edmond Dantes has just traded places with the corpse of the Abbe Faria and is waiting to be carried out of his prison to his grave?"<br />
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The point is, people often ask me what I've been reading lately, so here are the last ten books I've read (or listened to), for your judgement:<br />
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1. <i>The Count of Monte Cristo </i>by Alexandre Dumas (ongoing)<br />
2. <i>Hinds' Feet on High Places</i> by Hannah Hurnard (ongoing)<br />
3. <i>A Tale of Two Cities</i> by Charles Dickens (still a favorite)<br />
4. <i>The Naming</i> by Alison Croggon<br />
5. <i>The Ranger's Apprentice: The Ruins of Gorlan </i>by John Flanagan<br />
6. <i>The Land of Silver Apples</i> by Nancy Farmer<br />
7. <i>The Mirror Crack'd</i> by Agatha Christie<br />
8. <i>Five Little Pigs</i> by Agatha Christie<br />
9. <i>Dumb Witness</i> by Agatha Christie<br />
10 <i>The Hero's Guide to Saving Your Kingdom </i>by Christopher Healy<br />
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Honestly I can recommend all of these books without reservation. So, go ahead and pick one up today. And feel free to post your own recommendations in the comments.<br />
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kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-21428597890985866672012-08-15T20:12:00.002-04:002012-08-15T20:15:06.401-04:00the terminatorIt is a well known and documented fact that I hate spiders. They are creepy and gross and I suspected they all have a secret desire to eat my face. I have made a deal with them that if they don't come into my living area, I will not kill them when I am in their living area. (Really, this deal applies to all creatures, not just spiders.) <br />
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I'm very good at holding up my part of the bargain. When I'm out running and I see a spider on the trail, I very carefully avoid it and do not squish it, as it would be so easy to do. When I am out camping (a rare occasion, I know), I let sleeping spiders lie and I don't kill them, even when they're close to me. (Unless they get into my hair; all bets are off when things get into your hair.) I don't even knock down their filthy little webs when they are outside my door, as long as they are outside and seem like they won't try to come in, in good faith. I'm trusting like that.<br />
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But now I live in the south. I have had several instances of spiders in my bedroom. So far (knock on wood) they have been small "harmless" looking ones, so I've just let them be. I suspect my sister Alison would be proud because she always says to let them live anyway. And having nine foot ceilings and a vacuum without a hose probably has something to do with it. <br />
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If there is one thing I will not tolerate, however, it is spiders in the bathroom. Bathrooms are the area in the house where you are most vulnerable! You're either using the facilities or showering and half the time I don't have my contacts in when I'm in there, so OH MY GOSH IS THAT A SPIDER OR A BAND-AID?!<br />
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The point to all this is that I have become somewhat of an expert of killing spiders in the bathroom. Well, I've killed one so far, but it was such an easy experience that I feel like I could do it again. I was even in bare feet! I just saw it there, didn't panic, grabbed some toilet paper and flushed it. I was so proud of myself I decided to blog about it because most of you will know what a big deal this is to me. And also because Tawna has been bugging me again to update my blog and this seemed like as good a topic as any.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">P.S. Doing a google image search of "no spiders allowed" to find the above stock photo lead me to the most disgusting search result page I have ever stumbled upon and it made me want to vomit, so I hope you're happy. But I did find this guy, so maybe it was worth it.... aaaaaaaaw! Though there is still about a 50% chance I would try to flush that thing if I found it in the bathroom</span></div>
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<br />kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-1206962065418954512012-07-03T00:33:00.000-04:002012-07-03T11:01:09.352-04:00north to the futureAlaska is the most amazingly beautiful place I've ever been in my life. I hope Texas won't feel too bad, but everything really is bigger in Alaska. There are more mountains than in any other place and they are huge. The rivers are wide and wild. Even the small trees are as tall as buildings. It really is almost enough to turn me into an outdoors-woman. I can only imagine the hikes and camping and climbs that are enjoyed by the adventurous. <br />
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A recent trip took 26 members of the Neeley family to the last frontier. We started in Anchorage and then drove up to Denali National Park. (Denali is Mount McKinley.) We spent a few days up there exploring the area. We were very lucky in that we got a sunny day to see the mountain. Apparently, "the mountain" is only able to be seen about 30% of the time because of the weather. <br />
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After Denali, we headed back to Anchorage. The plan from the very beginning of planning this trip was for the Neeleys to participate in the Anchorage marathon. Most of us (including me) did the half marathon. It was a beautiful run. It was hilly, which you should know if you are planning on running it. But it was one of my favorite races.<br />
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And we ended the trip on a cruise from Wittier sailing to Vancouver. We sailed through Glacier Bay, which has some amazing views. We had stops in Skagway, Juneau and Ketchikan. In Skagway, my siblings and I took the goldrush train up the mountain. Juneau we went zip lining in the hugest trees I've ever seen. And Ketchikan was salmon fishing where even I caught a small pink. It was a delightful time. I had a cabin at the back of the ship with a balcony and it was just lovely to sit out there and watch the country roll by.<br />
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I'm sure the thing that Alaskans hate the most is people's surprise with the light. I landed in Anchorage at 1 in the morning and it was still just twilight outside. By chance, we were there at the summer solstice, so we got to enjoy the longest days of the year. If I could handle the darkness of the winter, I would absolutely love the light of the summer. <br />
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In conclusion, Alaska is beautiful, and you should definitely make every effort to visit. Now I only have 3 states left until I've been to all 50. <br />
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<br />kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-68812129286353824782012-05-22T22:47:00.002-04:002012-05-22T23:00:18.771-04:00general disjointed updateErin and Ben were complaining that I haven't updated my blog much lately and because I pretty much would do anything Erin and Ben ever wanted, I am updating my blog. If it's long enough, I bet most of it will just be skimmed by most of you anyway.<br />
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Living in Our Nation's Capital has still been going well. One of the nicest things about it is that it is a place that people come to visit. So even if people don't come visit <i>me</i>, per say, I still see my dear friends when they come to visit for any reason. So far I've seen Stephen (of course), Lauren, Joseph, Alison, Art, grandma, mom and Erin and Ben. (I feel like I'm forgetting someone, but rest assured, whoever you are, you are one of my dearest friends too.) (Visitors always welcome.)<br />
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When Erin and Ben were here, we did the typical Washington DC things of going to Cafe Rio and watching the latest episode of "Sherlock". The next day, I wore them out by sending them to a bunch of museums while I was at work so that when I joined them in the evening to tour the monuments they would be too tired to walk to the Jefferson. (It worked like a charm.) We saw the monuments they were most interested in and ended the night at Sweet Frog for frozen yogurt. We got there right when it was closing, so we ate it in the car and were treated to a view of a couple making out in the car in front of us. Because when I think of wanting to make out in a car, the number one place I want to do it is in a fairly well lighted and well frequented parking lot. (Note: I certainly have never made out in a car, which I can say with some confidence because I'm fairly sure that no one who reads this blog will be able to refute that, so perhaps I don't know the delicacies of choosing an appropriately private spot.) We moved the car when we realized what was going on in front of us.<br />
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I am still enjoying my roommates and my ward. I have fairly different schedules with my roommates, so I can go a while without seeing them sometimes. The other day I saw one of my roommates for the first time in about a week at Target. She jokingly looked into my cart to see what I was getting. It was mostly pretty boring, but had a few, um, personal items, that may have been a tad embarrassing being seen by someone else. I was contemplating that after we parted ways and chuckling to myself as I put my purchases on the conveyor belt to check out. Of course, who should be the person in line after me, when I had no chance of not being observed? It was my bishop. Interestingly, it was actually the first time I met him. I could have had the chance to escape, but i was so surprised that I exclaimed, "Bishop Larson!" before I could stop myself and then I had to introduce myself as being in his ward. (The ward is quite large, and I am not an attention seeker, so it's not a complete surprise that I hadn't met him sooner.)<br />
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Mom and Alison and Grandma were in town this weekend. We wanted to spend some time together on the two year anniversary of dad's death. We went to see the play "<a href="http://1776themusical.us/index.htm" target="_blank">1776</a>" at the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ford's_Theatre" target="_blank">Ford's Theatre</a>. It was one of dad's favorites and the rest of the family likes it as well. I love it because it stars my favorite president - John Adams, the true father of American independence. And I'm pretty sure I saw the ghost of dad sitting with the ghost of Lincoln in the balcony. (Lincoln is mom's personal hero, so dad would have sat with him, so he could tell her about it later.) Mom got a little teary eyed during the show. It might have been that she misses dad, but I think it was mostly because she loves America. <br />
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Aaaaaaaaaand, I guess that's my life lately. I'll try to be more frequent in my updates, but even just saying that reminds me of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GmIoBYzvYCI" target="_blank">this</a> clip.<br />
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<br />kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-86891119080873440112012-02-29T21:42:00.000-05:002012-02-29T21:53:29.132-05:00thank.... you....?My sister, Jane, is in town for a few days for work, so since she was here, we met up with a few of her friends for dinner. We met up in Old Town, Alexandria, and, as you know if you've ever been told Old Town, it can be hard to find a parking spot.<br />
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We drove around the block a few times and spotted one just a block from our destination. The trouble was that it was on a one way street and the spot was on the left. I'm already not the world's best parallel parker (though I did *almost* park in a spot that was exactly the size of my car in Chicago once). Add to that, that the spot is on the opposite side that I'm used to. And on a hill. And the road was paved with cobblestones, and not brick sized ones - fist sized ones sticking out at all angles. And it was raining and dark. So, I had a lot of strikes against me. Then add the last factor that I drive a stick shift. So it was precarious to say the least. I had to line up and gun it and then stop suddenly; those cobblestones did not make it easy. But at last - success! I was parked nearly parallel to the street at an angle that would probably not get my car hit by another car driving down the road.<br />
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As Jane and I got out of the car, a man said, "Ah ha! I <i>knew </i>it was a teenage driver!" It took me a second, but then I realized he was talking about me! I would like to say that he was an old man with terrible eyesight, but he was probably only a few years older than we were.<br />
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So, on the one hand, it's nice to know that in the dark, I can still be mistaken for a teenager. (I still get college student a lot, but it's been a while for teenager.) But on the other hand, apparently I drive like a sixteen year old. I guess you win some and you lose some.<br />
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<br />kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-89948815040404619472012-02-23T19:24:00.001-05:002012-02-23T19:24:34.479-05:00private eyes are watching youA few days ago, I got a mysterious package in the mail. It was from Amazon, so I didn't feel nervous opening it. (I guess that would be a good way to get me to open pretty much any package, provided it looked somewhat official.) It was the book "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" by Rebecca Skloot. Naturally, I was excited because I love books and I had wanted to read this book. But it didn't come with any kind of note or indication who it was from. I searched through it and even checked the package a couple of times to makes sure it was actually for me and I hadn't accidentally stolen something for one of my roommates.<br />
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First, I checked my Amazon account to make sure I didn't actually order it for myself. I do that sometimes (as Scarlet can attest) - order something and then forget I did. It makes for wonderful surprises later. But, I hadn't ordered anything of the kind in the last six months at least.<br />
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I then asked my sister, Lydia, if she had sent it to me. We had talked about the book in the past and how we'd both wanted to read it. I didn't think she had my address, but at least two other siblings did, so it wouldn't be too hard for her to get it. But she said it wasn't from her.<br />
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Next, I compiled a list of people who knew my new address. (Maybe you think I'm a bit crazy, but I wanted to give thanks where thanks was due.) (And I wanted to make sure it wasn't sent by some creeper who now had my address.) I searched in my gmail account and through my text messages (thanks, iPhone, for making that easy) and made a list of everyone who had my address. <br />
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I eliminated the ones who were obviously not responsible. Leona, the sweet old lady from the assisted living center. The HR lady from my last job, who needed to send me my last paycheck. The werewolf, who hasn't talked to me much since he got engaged (and probably wouldn't do something like that anyway). Uncle Keith, who just wouldn't. Dulcinea, who still owes me a piece of art from the last service auction (I haven't forgotten!). <br />
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Of those left, the most likely culprit was Scout. She and Mr. Scout had sent me a wonderful Valentine's day package (very thoughtful!) and it seemed like something she would do. (She's science-y and well read.) But she denied it.<br />
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I went through the rest of the list, starting with who I thought was the most likely working down. But the Librarian, Scarlet, Big Brother, Jane, Jo March and Legolas all said they hadn't done it. Well, now I was completely stumped. I didn't think anyone else had my address, so maybe it really was the creeper!<br />
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But then I realized the classic detective mistake. I'd overlooked someone. I'd forgotten that I'd left my address for Scarlet on the refrigerator and during my moving out party, Lady MacBeth had copied it down. I texed her and - score! - she and MacBeth had sent it. She said they actually had ordered it to be sent with a gift note, but Amazon must have messed that one up. Once she told me, I remembered that she'd said that she was going to send me something before I left, but I'd forgotten. (Like I said - I always do. It does make for some nice surprises later.) (So, thanks very much, MacBeths!)<br />
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So, pretty much I'm going to start my own detective show. I mean, with these skills of deduction, how could I not? But it will probably be a British one because they always solve the case. Just as soon as I finish my new book.<br />
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<br />kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-48681878294663263152012-02-15T17:16:00.001-05:002012-02-15T17:16:53.571-05:00it's a small (mormon) world after allSince I've started my job, a few people have asked me if there were any other Mormons who work there. I said I'm sure there were, but I hadn't met any specifically, because it's not like you can always tell. Well, I went to work today, just like every other week day. A new (middle aged) gentleman was being shown around and introduced to people. <br />
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When he got to my cube, he said, "You know, you're the second Kristin Neeley I've met in my life." <br />
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I said something non-committal like, "Huh, that's interesting." I mean, it doesn't seem like a stretch that someone else in this wide world could have my same name. It's not that unusual.<br />
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He went on. "Only she spells her name without an "i" in the beginning - Krsten."<br />
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Now he had my attention! I'm fairly sure in this wide world there really <i>is</i> only one Krsten (pronounced "Kristin") Neeley and she is my aunt. I said as much. <br />
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Now I had <i>his</i> attention. "Oh yes?" he went on. "Are you... Steve's daughter?" <br />
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I said I was Steve's niece, but that I was Bruce's daughter. <br />
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He said that he used to work with my uncle - Keith (Krsten's husband) - and that they had figured out that he was second cousins to Bruce, June, Steve and Keith, their grandparents being siblings. (Note to my mother, Eleanor and Justin, being the siblings.) This would make me his second cousin, once removed. And of course, we got to chatting a bit more after that. He gave me his phone number, in case I need anything, in true Mormon relative fashion (me being new to the area and all) and told me about his kids at BYU. <br />
<br />
So there you have it - the first Mormon I meet at work and it turns out we're related. Of course. Welcome to Mormonville.<br />
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<br />kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-76994561273499788982012-02-12T12:20:00.002-05:002012-02-12T12:58:09.501-05:00it's been one week (or so) since you looked at meEver since I've moved to the DC area, the question I get the most is "How's DC?" So, here's a pretty boring update. (I think that everyone knows I moved here, but if not - hey, I moved to Washington DC!)<br />
<br />
First - living arrangements. I live with three other girls in a pretty spacious townhouse. I have my own room and bathroom, which is lovely. (Not that I minded sharing with previous roommates Scarlet and Scout before her, but it's nice to pick up a pair of glasses and know that they are mine.) Two of the new roommates are delightful and kind girls and I've enjoyed talking to them. The other one is probably delightful and kind, but I've only seen her once and I'm not totally convinced she even sleeps (or comes) here. <br />
<br />
I started work two days after I moved here, and between work and school (still in school) It has been slow going trying to get my house in order. I spent most of the time I had in the first week and a half getting the front room organized, so my delightful and kind roommates wouldn't hate me. As those of you know who helped me move, I have a lot of stuff. At last I've got all the books on the shelves (luckily my roommates didn't have anything in the front room, so I could take over, as is my wont in the places I live). (Also luckily, there wasn't a tv in the front room, and I provided mine, so they have more reason to not hate me for taking over.) So for the last few days I've at last been able to focus on trying to get my room organized. One of my roommates commented on the progress I was able to make in just one day yesterday as she walked by my bedroom. What she doesn't know is that since I have a bathtub separate from the shower, I've just been putting stuff in the bathtub until I know what to do with it, so it looks like I'm much further along than I really am.<br />
<br />
Next - church. Three singles wards meet in the building that I meet in, and there is even less parking (and no double parking options available) than the building in Columbus, so this year my ward meets at 3. Yes, I will tell you, it's a little bit awful. But I do have loads of time for reading in the morning, not to mention blog updating and box unloading. So, while I don't love it, I can live with it. Next year we move to 8, which I will like much better. The ward is much bigger than I'm used to as well; about 250 people. So it's a bit overwhelming, but I've already ran into three people that I knew at BYU, plus a friend of Mrs. Weasely, so I feel like at least there are some friendly faces about.<br />
<br />
And finally - work. Work is going well. Really there's not much to report on there, except I work right on the Army base, which is a bit exciting. It takes about a half an hour to get there, so I've been enjoying some good old BYU devotionals on the drive in and some good books on the drive home. As my older sister pointed out, this is the first time in my life since college that I haven't work for a three letter acronym. (In college I worked for BYU at the MTC, then I worked for MWH, then ACS, the CGI and finally the Ohio Department of Legislative Information Systems, or LIS, as it was called. So I'm like a fish out of water here.)<br />
<br />
And that's about it. I'm enjoying the adventure so far. I miss my friends, of course. It just takes a while to meet new people, and I miss talking to people beyond the cursory getting to know your story questions. (I especially miss Lauren, Tawna, the Carpers and Joseph for those more meaningful conversations, though I know it's dangerous to name names, and I miss everyone else too, trust me.) But I know those things have to be waded through, and really I don't mind too much. It's been fun and exciting. But, you know, if you wanted to drop me a line or something to let me know that you still have fond thoughts of me, that's okay too. <br />
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<br />kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-65399083724013191452011-12-18T21:03:00.000-05:002011-12-18T21:03:11.862-05:00shiver shiverOhio, like many places, has weather that can be pretty up and down during this part of the year. One day it will be warm enough to run outside without a jacket and the next you can't go out without twelve layers. So, the other day, I was in my house and I was freezing. I'm often colder than most people. (My mom says I am another <a href="http://www.potw.org/archive/potw22.html">Sam McGee</a> and I will only be warm when I'm cremated.) So, I turned up the heat. But it was still quite cold. So I turned it up some more. I didn't hear the tell-tale sign of the heater turning on, so I feared the pilot light was out. We've had pilot light problems in the past.<br />
<br />
The problem was the furnace is located in the unfinished part of the basement and currently that part of the basement is full of furniture and other stuff that was in the way of checking the pilot light. Being the pansy that I am, I couldn't move the stuff by myself to check. So I waited for Scarlet to come home and together (i.e. her, by herself) the furniture was moved out of the way. I removed the cover, but the pilot light was going strong. Great - now what's the problem? <br />
<br />
I headed back upstairs and settled in on the couch with a hat and gloves and cuddled under a comforter to read. Scarlet walked by and laughed good-naturedly at me. "It really is a bit cold," she conceded. "Oh," she went on, after having checked the thermostat, "the temperature is set to 80, but it's actually not on heat - it's off. That's probably why." Probably why indeed.kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-75115109528133048382011-08-31T22:36:00.000-04:002011-08-31T22:36:16.648-04:00wait.... what?It's been a while since I updated by blog, and who knows when I'll update again, so I've got a few unrelated thoughts.<br />
<br />
1. I was at a concert at the Newport recently and while I was waiting for my party to return from the restroom, a girl came up to me with a large beer in her hands and, holding it out to me said, "You've got to help me drink this!" Luckily, I had my standard, "Sorry, I don't drink!" response, so I didn't have to try to explain that drinking from a strange girl's cup, with the possibility that she was trying to drug me so she could steal my organs (I <i>was</i> all alone after all), was not my usual modus operandi. <br />
<br />
It reminded me of a time I was at Columbus State walking to class when a guy walking toward me was lighting a cigarette and talking to himself. "What am I doing, this is bad for me, I need to quit this," he said. When we were about to cross paths, he held the cigarette out to me and asked, "Do you want this?" Luckily, I had my standard, "Sorry, I don't smoke!" response.<br />
<br />
Even so, it got me wondering, does this happen frequently to other people? I can't imagine there are many things that I would take straight from a stranger's mouth no questions asked, except perhaps dark chocolate or pineapple. Do people usually go around wishing to share overpriced carcinogens with people they don't know at all? And why aren't more people walking around with dark chocolate covered pineapple? <br />
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2. An addendum to my previous bicycle post. I went running at Antrum Lake a week or two ago and as I was about to start, a guy on a bike was coming toward me. He was talking on his cell phone and I had just enough time to hear him say, "I will call you back!" before he threw the cell phone down and crashed into the bushes. He was unhurt, which was good because it was pretty much the funniest thing I'd seen all day. Apparently he has the same bicycle skills as me. (Or else I'm just a magnet for bike crashes.) I can only imagine what kind of conversation was so important that he had to take that call right then. And I can only imagine what the person on the other line thought - if the call was ended or if they were just listening to the bystanders asking if he was okay. <br />
<br />
In other news, my physical therapist told me that she doesn't want me to ride my bike for a while until things settle down with my shoulder a bit more, which is good because I'm still a little bit afraid of my bike.<br />
<br />
In other news, I dislocated my shoulder last month white water rafting. I guess I don't have anything else to say about that, except that if you ever dislocate your shoulder while white water rafting, Lady MacBeth is a good person to have with you. She came to the hospital with me, so I didn't have to be alone.<br />
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3. A week from today I start my first class at Johns Hopkins University. I'll be working on a master's degree in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bioinformatics" target="new">bioinformatics</a>. The program is designed for people who are working full time, so it has both on site and online options and I'm going to start with the online option to see how I like it. My first class is biostatistics, so wish me luck.<br />
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And if you happen to be walking by me sometime, can you please have some pineapple in your mouth?<br />
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kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-60892576504922544302011-07-18T22:14:00.000-04:002011-07-18T22:14:54.087-04:00i can ride my bike with no handle bars, no handle bars, no handle bars....<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">My whole life I've had an interesting relationship with bicycles. My earliest memory of a bike is when my bike literally tried to kill me. I was probably about 6 or 7, riding my bike with training wheels (the one two previous sisters had learned to ride on) and somehow I managed to fall off. (Apparently I was so uncoordinated back then I was able to fall off a bike with training wheels.) Being the same melodramatic girl back then that I am now, I laid on the ground in despair, thinking I would never learn to ride a bike, when the bike itself, having had enough momentum to keep going, and having training wheels so it didn't tip over, headed up the slight incline that was our driveway, turned, came down the drive way and ran over me.<br />
<br />
Somehow, I still managed to learn to ride a bike and had a fairly normal childhood riding around the neighborhood, graduating up to the purple banana seat bike and then to a bright, new, shiny, my very own pink ten speed later. (Nothing is better as the third girl in the family to get something of your very own.)<br />
<br />
But my brushes with bicycles were not over. My freshman year in college, I was hit from behind by a biker. I was just walking to class when I felt something hit my calf causing me to stumble. I can't remember if the girl fell off her bike or not. She was probably going slow enough that she was fine. She apologized and said she hadn't seen me. "Really?" I thought. "I am the only person on the sidewalk. Were your eyes closed?" As neither of us were hurt, we went our separate ways.<br />
<br />
When Lydia was on her mission, I borrowed her bike. I would ride it to work, which was only a five mile ride. I only fell off once when I was trying to avoid a pedestrian and my handlebars hit a fence, causing me to go down. I still have a tiny scar on my wrist from that incident.<br />
<br />
This is just a funny bike related story:<br />
Jane was visiting me and she saw my newest bike and she said, "Hey, that's cool - I used to have a bike just like that." To which I replied, "Huh. Did you leave it in mom and dad's garage?"<br />
(In my defense, mom and dad were on their mission at the time and they said I could take any bike out of the garage that I wanted and by this time in my life I wasn't as interested in the pink one.)<br />
<br />
Recently, I decided I want to start doing triathlons. I did one with Sleakbean back in the day and we had a lot of fun. Plus, it's always nice to have something to train for. So, naturally, I bought a road bike. (My stolen from Jane bike is a mountain bike.) Being the want-to-be-savvy biker that I am, I got a fancier model, i.e. one that has pedals that you have to clip your shoes into. It is what those who are serious about biking do, so that's what I did, because I want to be serious about biking.<br />
<br />
I was a little nervous to take it out the first time because, to be honest, I never was really good at turning. But I figured I could only learn by doing, so I got geared up and headed out. I headed to Antrum Park and started north on the Olentangy River trail. To my surprise, turning wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Road bikes are much lighter than mountain bikes, so I felt like I had much more control than with my old bike.<br />
<br />
The first trial came not long into a ride. There is a point on the trail where you must go over a bridge, make a nearly 180 degree turn and then go under the bridge. I know myself and I knew I couldn't make this turn, so I came up with a plan. Where the turn occurs, the trail actually goes straight for a bit into a parking lot. I decided I would go straight, turn around on my feet and then go on. I thought I could unclip one foot, stop, unclip the other foot and then go from there. As I was approaching my stopping place, I unclipped my right foot and prepared to stop. It was here that I learned something very interesting about myself. It turns out that without even realizing it, I always get off my bike on the left. So, I stopped the bike, and my reflexes told my brain to move my left leg down, but unfortunately my left leg was still clipped into the pedal, so before I knew it, I was on the ground. It really takes talent to fall off a bike when you are prepared to stop, but that is me. I fell in front of a group of forty something soccer dads on roller blades, who asked if I was okay, which of course I was. One of them told me that I was going to wrong way to the bike trail and told me the way to go. Of course I knew the way to go, and I had to pretend like that was my intention all along and that I hadn't just been thinking that the smart thing to do would be to go right back the way I came and completely give up my designs on biking that day.<br />
<br />
I clipped back in and headed back down the trail, now with a bruised knee and a bleeding shin. And now with the added stress of realizing I was probably going to die. I tried to calm myself down by thinking, what's the worst that could happen? But then I thought that the worst that could happen was that I could break my leg in a horrible manner and that I would never be able to use it again. I just concentrated on pedaling. I was about half way to the Worthington library (the end of the trail going north) when I realized: I have no idea how I am going to be able to turn around and get back on the trail. I probably got a better aerobic workout than I maybe would have because my brain was telling my hear to panic. Luckily, I did not remember what the Worthington area was like and when I got there, there was a big loop for bikers to just ride around and get back on the trail. Whew! Crisis averted!<br />
<br />
But no! New crisis! I still didn't know how to stop. Sweet Lady Jane! - I am literally strapped into this death machine! I might just have to ride this until I die from exhaustion! And then I realized that I still had the hairpin turn to deal with. I practiced unclipping and clipping a few times to where I felt like I could at least get both feet unclipped at the same time. I approached the turn and slowed down, with both feet carefully unclipped. I managed to stop and get both legs on the ground. I didn't dare actually swinging one leg over the bike, so I just kind of walked my way forward up the bridge. There were a few people around me, so I "rested" a bit to let them by so I wouldn't embarrass myself getting back on my bike and going down the road. To my chagrin, two young men walked by and, perhaps noticing the distress that was emanating from my body, asked if I needed help. I told them that I was fine, but thanks. One eyed me uncertainly, taking in my bloody knee and asked if I was sure. Now I had no choice but to continue on. I assured them that all was well and slowly got my bike going again. </span><br />
<br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I approached the end of my ride with some trepidation, realizing that my usual method of stopping when I don't know how was to either fall over or run into something. Realizing that with a padded room not available at the end of the ride I would have to try another method, I practiced unclipping and clipping a few more times. I reached the park, and happily was able to unclip and stop, with only a few minor bruises to my thighs from stopping juuuuuust a bit too quickly. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Hopefully my relationship with my bike with improve. I'd like to think that I just need to work at it more, but that precludes the idea that I actually have a bit of balance in my body. But, as it's the only plan I've got so far, I guess it's the one I'm going to have to take. Plan B being a broken leg, but let's hope it doesn't come to that.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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</span></div>kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-4291510431149178152011-06-02T19:36:00.002-04:002011-06-02T19:39:08.174-04:00thanksIt's been a year and a bit since my dad died. It's hard to believe that sometimes. It hasn't been my favorite year, of course. There's been loads of ups and downs. One of the hardest things has been feeling like people have forgotten about it and that I'm just kind of on my own with my family, who are all also going through a rough time. And I know that's okay - everyone has their own life and this is my own trial. But still, it's nice to have people think of you from time to time.<br />
<br />
In the month of May (which is my least favorite month, except for days with both a 3 and a 1 in them, for Shannon and Stevie) which I expected to be a hard month, this is what happened:<br />
- I got a card in the mail. I love getting real letters in the mail. I always hope for something personal, but it doesn't happen very often, so it was lovely getting something to open and read and tell me that she hopes I'm doing well this month.<br />
- I came home from school after taking a test that I knew I did awful on to find a lovely bouquet of flowers. At first I was jealous of my roommate, but, oh how delightful to find they were for me! (In honor of my dad's death - as a reminder that people care for me.) (I'm one of "those girls" that just really loves getting flowers.)<br />
- I got a text from a fellow member of the Dead Father's Club saying he didn't want to be too "touchy feely" but if I every wanted to talk, I could.<br />
- I got an email with a humorous condolence poem - again, just to let me know that they were thinking of me at this hard time. (Did you know condolence poems can be humorous? They can.)<br />
- I got many calls from one of my dearest friends, just checking up on me.<br />
- I got a message on my facebook wall, again, with condolences. <br />
- My roommate is just pretty much kind and understanding all the time and always willing to listen to whatever seems to find it's way out of my mouth.<br />
<br />
So pretty much all mediums of communication were utilized to help me know people were thinking of me. I feel like I probably got a bunch of prayers too, even if the communication to me personally wasn't there. So, all of you - thanks. And thanks too, for everyone else for trying to understand, when I don't even understand it myself. I know I've stood you up and let you down and just been generally disagreeable and unreliable. In the words of Jackie Faber, "I am very hard on my friends." So, thanks for sticking with me and letting me cry and helping me get through it, when it really is my own cross to bear. Just knowing you're nearby helps more than you know.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVCPGd87x7kK9zy68fLg2wE-IGaShI1NxDaz5Ln_smsWSUmn4Y6oUBqlzZl5BSfZatFSISKMyHL-6-PcY2My4cWJfqyfhh5P_kVBdPt8MlHmExTcGdgV0k4etZM0QKCq3DXtDkAXZKt0/s1600/kristindad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="new"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVCPGd87x7kK9zy68fLg2wE-IGaShI1NxDaz5Ln_smsWSUmn4Y6oUBqlzZl5BSfZatFSISKMyHL-6-PcY2My4cWJfqyfhh5P_kVBdPt8MlHmExTcGdgV0k4etZM0QKCq3DXtDkAXZKt0/s320/kristindad.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Also, you should visit my <a href="http://eleanorshannon.blogspot.com/" target="new">sister's blog</a>, because she has some pretty cool projects she's worked on.kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-28382114777894836502011-05-10T22:07:00.003-04:002011-05-10T22:11:11.273-04:00run fatgirl runI know I haven't been blogging much. I'd say I'm sorry, but it would probably be a lie. But, for my two faithful followers (you know who you are), here's a post. (Warning: it's not very funny.)<br />
<br />
Last Saturday I ran in the Cap City half marathon. It was quite delightful. A while ago, Raskolnikov wrote a post on his blog about how he believes marathons are pointless. I'd go back and read it again, but I'm lazy. I think the basic idea was that marathons are inconvenient for a lot of people who aren't participating in them and that people can just run the miles themselves. I agree with both of these points. Except with an organized race you have the benefits of having water and first aid stations every few miles, getting prizes and food at the end and having people cheer you on. <br />
<br />
The people cheering you on is probably one of the best thing that keeps you going. It's a well established fact that I'm not the best at training for races. I always have good intentions, but you know where those lead you. My goal for this race was simply to run the whole way. With spectators every mile along the way, it was much easier to keep my goal. Sure, I didn't have it written on my face that I wasn't going to walk at all, so no one would have called me on it. But just being out there and knowing that people would see me if I walked was enough during the difficult miles. It's nice hearing, "You're doing great!" and "You're almost there!" even if I know that neither of those are true. Plus some random kid, probably right out of the dorms, had slices of oranges that turned out to not be drugged (I ate one) and it was just a very nice thing for him to do for us runners. It's highly doubtful that I would have gotten that if I'd just been on my own 13.1 mile run that day. (And more likely that I would have been drugged.) It's also unlikely that I would have gotten a medal at the end of a run sponsored by just myself. And who doesn't like getting medals? (Answer: no one.) (Even if they end up sitting in a drawer for a while, I still earned a medal.)<br />
<br />
This is how bad I am at blogging: that was my second half marathon, the first being in Dayton last fall. And I now have three marathons under my belt as well (Nashville; Dublin, Ireland, and Myrtle Beach). I've thought about blogging about them all, of course, but I just never got around to it. But, at least now you know. <br />
<br />
So, when you see a marathon, or any kind of race, really, go ahead and cheer, even if it's just for a few minutes. We really appreciate it.kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-89830225605016074622011-04-17T17:26:00.000-04:002011-04-17T17:26:05.097-04:00happy easter!Once upon a time, when I took New Testament back at BYU, my professor gave us a list of readings to be read the week of Easter, to help prepare for that important day. Of course, I lost that list a long time ago, but luckily dear Mrs. Weasely posted a similar (or perhaps exact, I don't know) list on her blog last year, that I am stealing and posting here. Happy Easter!<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-weight: bold;">Easter Readings</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sunday (Palm Sunday)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Matthew 21:1‐17</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Mark 11:1‐11</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Luke 19:28‐48</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• John 12:12‐19</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Monday</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Matthew 21:18‐46, 22:1‐14</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Luke 19:47‐48, 21:37</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Mark 11:12‐19; 12:28‐34</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tuesday</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Matthew 22:15‐46, 23</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Mark 12:20‐44, 13</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• John 12:20‐50</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wednesday</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Matthew 24, 25</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Luke 20, 21</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Thursday (The Last Supper and Gethsemane)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Matthew 26</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Mark 14</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Luke 22</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• John 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18:1‐27</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Friday (Good Friday)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Matthew 27</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Mark 15</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Luke 23</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• John 18:28‐40, 19</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• 3 Nephi 8</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Saturday</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• 3 Nephi 9, 10</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Doctrine & Covenants 138</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sunday (Easter)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Matthew 28</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Mark 16</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• Luke 24</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">• John 20:1‐18</span></span>kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-5751960557674771822011-03-28T21:14:00.000-04:002011-03-28T21:14:58.481-04:00gospel truthsMy sister Lydia and her husband Mr. Wickham are primary teachers to the five year olds in their ward. (Following the trend in the church to put newly weds in a place that will be the best birth control for them.) They were teaching a lesson on the word of wisdom when this exchange took place:<br />
<blockquote>Brother Wickham: What are some things that we shouldn't drink so we can be healthy?<br />
Little Girl 1: Coffee<br />
Little Girl 2: Beer<br />
Little Boy: Blood</blockquote>.....which is probably why the Mormons have such problems finding converts among the vampire population.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgjHlBR8d2bcy0n50EMu1gFDfkGmr462O8Nu7Qav8yAyyhcg9m2iBa7VPr1mj8dNs1Wqt6bgNaxkszGjPeADdmdVbjk43n1ookj_oDWlqHfXPoXnAaBbWOnQtYvUNpt4cNqpFZiJASos/s1600/drop+of+blood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgjHlBR8d2bcy0n50EMu1gFDfkGmr462O8Nu7Qav8yAyyhcg9m2iBa7VPr1mj8dNs1Wqt6bgNaxkszGjPeADdmdVbjk43n1ookj_oDWlqHfXPoXnAaBbWOnQtYvUNpt4cNqpFZiJASos/s200/drop+of+blood.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-17134104422836570902011-03-14T20:23:00.000-04:002011-03-14T20:23:58.102-04:00elevator etiquetteDid you know that when you are riding an elevator, it is polite to let women on and off first? I did not know this until I started working at my current place of employ, where my office is on the 22nd floor. <br />
<br />
And did you also know that if you are the lone woman among men riding down to the first floor after a day's work and the elevator stops and you poke your head out and think the elevator has stopped on the third floor and therefore you don't get out and everyone else is kind of staring at you in a funny way and the doors start to close and one of the men has to reach out quickly and stop it from shutting and then you realize that you actually <i>are</i> on the first floor and that everyone has just been politely waiting for you to get a move on Missy, so we can all get out of here.... that it is extremely awkward when you do finally get off the elevator?<br />
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Let me tell you... it is.kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-21040759111516849202011-02-03T19:58:00.000-05:002011-02-03T19:58:50.913-05:00fire and iceAs you know, if you're alive and have access to any kind of news (whether it be tv, internet, newspaper, office water cooler, whatever) there has been a rather larger winter storm in most of the Midwest the last few days. Other people can tell you about it on their blogs. As always, my blog focuses on me. <br />
<br />
Well, Tuesday my car was encased in an ice shell, so I didn't even try to go to work. But I dug it out and went to work on Wednesday. However, I decided to make an easy morning of it. I decided to actually have breakfast at home. (Mom: I eat breakfast everyday, but usually it's an English muffin or some yogurt when I get to work.) I didn't want to go all out with pancakes or french toast or anything like that. But plain old cereal seemed a bit boring, especially when I was going to be stealing my roommate's milk anyway. So I decided on oatmeal - it was still a hot breakfast, but it doesn't take much work. (And I could use the already-stolen-at-heart milk.)<br />
<br />
And what goes better with oatmeal than some nice brown sugar? After I'd put a few spoonfuls (well, really handfuls, as I was too lazy to get out <i>another </i>spoon) I thought, Oh dear, I just set this bag of brown sugar on the burner that was just being used to cook my oatmeal, I wonder what is going to happen next. Most people would think it through a bit first, but I just picked up the bag and, as you imagine, sent brown sugar flying through the kitchen from the hole burned through the bottom of the bag. <br />
<br />
Now Scarlet had two reasons to be mad at me - the milk, and the fact that she scoured the kitchen the day before. Of course, I'm not quite the World's Worst Roommate, maybe just in the bottom ten, so I did clean it up instead of leaving it for her. It turns out, according to the Internet, that pretty much the only way to get melted plastic off a burner is to allow it to cool and then scrape as much off as you can and burn off the rest. It also turns out that plastic bags don't scrape off very well; they peal off okay, but not all the way, leaving melted plastic and sugar still plentifully attached. The sugar doesn't dissolve well either. But both burn off pretty well. The sugar is an excellent fuel source and creates some nice little contained flames, and the smell of burning brown sugar nicely compliments the smell of burning plastic. In case you wanted to know.<br />
<br />
And that is the story of the fifth thing in my life that I've caught on fire on a burner, including a knife and a few oven mitts. Fourth or fifth - I can't really remember how many oven mitts I've set on fire now. Including the one that was supposed to be non-flammable. But that might have been on purpose just to see.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfqPMK8zLYMx1_RHpoCweApreBVHTvfrIIj0eaTt3-sUXFWLdZvqrBeiGI-sNdGWK8NTyW0sPNrtvUHiZGD3YRJdIno4h3N7o816IInIzUH-d8xnvmuR-1GmzoqlrZfo2tNbe3SAmFKw/s1600/fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfqPMK8zLYMx1_RHpoCweApreBVHTvfrIIj0eaTt3-sUXFWLdZvqrBeiGI-sNdGWK8NTyW0sPNrtvUHiZGD3YRJdIno4h3N7o816IInIzUH-d8xnvmuR-1GmzoqlrZfo2tNbe3SAmFKw/s320/fire.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-1973112774542127412011-01-11T19:30:00.004-05:002011-01-11T20:00:09.254-05:00resolute!I don't usually make New Year's resolutions because I figure if I need to improve, I can (and should) start improving any old time. But, to be with the season of things, here are some of the goals that I've been working on that might as well be resolutions that I hope to accomplish this year.<br />
<br />
1. Improve my mile pace to between 9 and 10 minutes. Yes, I realize that this is not very fast, but with my short little legs and short stride, it would be fast for me.<br />
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2. Be able to do 1 non-assisted pull up. (I mean be able to do one any time someone asks me to - not just do one during the year.) Again, yes, I realize this isn't much, but girls don't naturally have very much upper body strength. (Side note: for reasons that I don't really understand, most boys are just love pull ups. Every boy I've ever dated (and others besides) has wanted me to be able to do a pull up. To me, it seems that being able to do pull ups just shows off your upper body strength. And while this is desirable in a man, it seems like it would be less of a big deal in a woman. But, if other girls can do pull ups, then I can do it too.)<br />
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3. Read 50 books. You'd think this wouldn't be hard for me, but with everything that happened last year (well, mostly my dad) I kind of stopped reading and I want to get back into it. I think I only read about 6 books since May and that's just plain disgraceful.<br />
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4. Finish reading the Old Testament. Yeah, I started it like two years ago and I'm still only to Job, but slow and steady wins the race, right?<br />
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5. Read the Sunday School lesson before Sunday School each week. (Well, let's just say most weeks.) It's no secret that I struggle with Sunday School, so maybe if I'm better prepared, I'll get more out of it. Plus, in our ward at least, Sunday School was good the last two weeks in a row! (Well, the classes I was in - I can't say about the others.) It gives one hope.... (I mean, I'll read even the lessons that I'm not teaching. Of course I'll read the ones that I <i>am </i>teaching.) (Also, I did not teach the last two weeks.)<br />
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There you have it. They are quantifiable and written down - that's what makes it a good goal right? I don't remember now. It's probably in one of the Sunday School lessons.....kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-79403236315028349352010-12-21T19:09:00.001-05:002010-12-21T19:12:36.554-05:00welcome to neeleyville*A while ago when I was home, I came across this little gem in our china cabinet:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_l9dmbZJyK9ob_JxVNlpT4vWJjD9nTrP-euVSZ4vJHXv0PbXWowJrVUGZ1vSXWUAoLu3f-W1wr562e453wljEf-zCDV0zzBUs48z-ppcqRkK3tyILettYrfdf_N2rOutBhmSxlDqiHfE/s1600/headless1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="new"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_l9dmbZJyK9ob_JxVNlpT4vWJjD9nTrP-euVSZ4vJHXv0PbXWowJrVUGZ1vSXWUAoLu3f-W1wr562e453wljEf-zCDV0zzBUs48z-ppcqRkK3tyILettYrfdf_N2rOutBhmSxlDqiHfE/s200/headless1.jpg" width="149" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Sorry about the glare)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then a few months later I found this at my aunt's house:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpYRKovujuHS7vtUbpbfhnC5q04g4awCFK9gfSakuH85iaImMOwShnEDE1KAVOQOImAYvDUmA38YUIK6C7-nUaNWMjk47ouszNIxJ3ZobPc2KCsqmkVBXFM2BSqA59PG4GoV6DjrJ-XM/s1600/headless2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="new"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpYRKovujuHS7vtUbpbfhnC5q04g4awCFK9gfSakuH85iaImMOwShnEDE1KAVOQOImAYvDUmA38YUIK6C7-nUaNWMjk47ouszNIxJ3ZobPc2KCsqmkVBXFM2BSqA59PG4GoV6DjrJ-XM/s200/headless2.jpg" width="170" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>And just a few days ago when I went home, I spotted this beauty:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKoDv9CdEBJNh6FHCdkeyLCRNA_IJQzXAwHasmANYE_-50GI0P-Rtwl7Xh6EUZAseTsxl_fMyoSGxaqbRsLTTOPutCzFXfMpj1E6WUm6Y1g5bo0D-sh-R7lTky7LJ3yOSA4NcWX2iOHqM/s1600/headless3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="new"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKoDv9CdEBJNh6FHCdkeyLCRNA_IJQzXAwHasmANYE_-50GI0P-Rtwl7Xh6EUZAseTsxl_fMyoSGxaqbRsLTTOPutCzFXfMpj1E6WUm6Y1g5bo0D-sh-R7lTky7LJ3yOSA4NcWX2iOHqM/s320/headless3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Perhaps this will give you a little insight into the wonderful world of the Neeley family and perhaps explain some things.<br />
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Merry Headless Joseph Christmas and God Bless Us, Everyone, No Matter What Upper Body Parts We May Be Missing!<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*According to my family history, there really used to be a place in Idaho called Neeleyville, but according to Widipedia, I can't find anything else about it out. But you know you've made it Big when you have a town named after you <i>in Idaho</i>.</span>kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-52427457291598414042010-12-06T20:00:00.000-05:002010-12-06T20:00:44.248-05:00the breaking of the fellowship....<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">About a month and a half ago I was released from my calling as the co-chair of the activities committee. I will not lie, I was pretty happy to be released. It was not my favorite calling. There are some things I'll miss about it, and it was easy working with Legolas as the other co-chair since we were already such good friends, but for the most part, I'm happy to move on. For ever since I've moved into this ward, the activities committee chair was always the "marriage" calling. People would generally get released when they were getting married. There were a few exceptions, but not many. I was released without that honor. (Though, I was dating a nice young man for a while when I had that calling, which is probably the best the universe could do with what it had to work with in me.) Legolas was kind of mad he has been in longer than I had been, but he didn't get released. He's on his third co-chair now. I think the universe probably hasn't given up on him yet, which is why he's still in. He still has a chance to be released in the "other" way. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> I feel kind of like I broke something because two weeks after I was released, the church announced that they're doing away with the activities committees, with the auxiliary committees taking up the slack. (Our ward hasn't made the change yet, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time.) So, stay tuned in about a year or so with what happens with my new calling, which is teaching Sunday School...</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccuvmLbT-x1wYhmcB0xtmICrudxGVPa_ww651t02Nwhtmw_qU1fSknNq4E8TPpO8BvcyaCP3pjzynHj2YQILVtFW6Hm-aBkbmF2tUDz6HWxsMnyL97Wdysrur3n2JyPjwsv-Ixyme3EQ/s1600/gospelprinciples.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccuvmLbT-x1wYhmcB0xtmICrudxGVPa_ww651t02Nwhtmw_qU1fSknNq4E8TPpO8BvcyaCP3pjzynHj2YQILVtFW6Hm-aBkbmF2tUDz6HWxsMnyL97Wdysrur3n2JyPjwsv-Ixyme3EQ/s200/gospelprinciples.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span>kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967638242295334444.post-86610715447463469412010-09-23T22:38:00.000-04:002010-09-23T22:38:11.249-04:00encounters at the grocery storeSo, I was at my local Kroger tonight, looking for molasses. I looked all over the baking isle, which is where I thought it would be, but I couldn't find it. So then I thought it was probably in the syrup section, but I couldn't find that either. I thought it would be by the pancake section, but that was also the baking isle and, well, now we're back where we started. As it was after 10, there wasn't much in the way of people to ask, other than stockers and even those were few and far between. <br />
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Finally I found a young kid who looked promising. (Now, before I tell this story, I just want to say that he was very young - maybe 18 tops - and probably didn't have much baking experience especially with molasses.) I asked him where I might find some molasses and he looked at me a second, puzzled. Then he put his hand up to his mouth and said, miming, "Like for smoking?"<br />
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And really, who among us hasn't thought of smoking molasses at one point or another in our lives? I dare say we all have. I was spared answering the question (forever leaving myself to wonder if we were both indeed thinking of the same kind of molasses) when another woman walked by, who I could ask. (And, by the way, I was right - it was in the syrup section, which was in the cereal section, which I really should have thought of. I guess.) <br />
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So, I happily checked out and as I was leaving, another young man nearly ran over me. But he apologized by raising his case of beer and saying, "Cheers to you!" Then looking closer at my bags he said, "Oh wait - that's not beer you have. It's cling wrap. Well, cheers anyway!"<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPIxo9u3fq9N3tJlHSSBwztss7EKQDaJu4q8ib9UVTR9_XIip9Z3Orfmszcrgj5kI_jZpcicIiDpygPY5LNxXE8_P8E1SfK0rF92ro_UWFVhB5pS1U1LGH2o8qsGp4mzDomaXCR_myxY/s1600/molasses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPIxo9u3fq9N3tJlHSSBwztss7EKQDaJu4q8ib9UVTR9_XIip9Z3Orfmszcrgj5kI_jZpcicIiDpygPY5LNxXE8_P8E1SfK0rF92ro_UWFVhB5pS1U1LGH2o8qsGp4mzDomaXCR_myxY/s200/molasses.jpg" width="138" /></a></div>kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863135277908215196noreply@blogger.com1