And that's the thing...

When the family gets together the good times roll. I have had some quality family time in the last two weeks. Last weekend Jill and I drove out and met big-Steve and Marge in Grand Junction to go camping. The weather was perfect, the campsite was absolutely fantastic and we laughed a lot (but that's to be expected).

We went hiking in a beautiful red rock area with lots of arches.



















We also ate, sat around, and tried desperately to get a decent picture of all of us doing the arm's distance thing. So fun.

Hot breakfast

Whatever you call them - flapjacks, hot cakes, pancakes - they are delicious. And my roommate Valerie made them this morning. What a great way to start the day.

I am a proponent of breakfast - big time. However, I am hypocritical to my own rule. Almost always this most favorite meal of mine is neglected and belittled to a piece of fruit, granola bar, or handfuls of dry cereal on the way out of the door. I just love sleep.

So thank you, Val, for being a great roommate and carpool buddy.

Commercials

I feel a little ridiculous making every post about the Olympics (even though I LOVED watching trampolining, the men's steel bars, volleyball, 400m hurdles and pole vaulting tonight), so I am going to post about the in-betweens.

• No Cover Girl product will make anyone's face look as good as the women on the commercials.
• I can't imagine having a dorm room like those dancing girls on the Target commercials.
• What's with the naked guy on GMC commercial?
• Love the Visa commercials with Morgan Freeman. Go World indeed.
• This new show with Christian Slater looks so bizarre that I can't even begin to imagine watching myself watching it.
• The athletes in the McDonalds commercial have never - NEVER - eaten that chicken sandwich. The shoot for the commercial is probably the first time they held a McDonalds sandwich in their hands.

I think it's good for me to see that I am capable of blogging about something other than the Olympics.

To clarify, that there are plenty of other good things going on in my life. I just don't see that they are worth blogging about.

I could date a swimmer...

I think I really could.
Probably not a gymnast. Too short.
Runners a nice but so very thin.
Obviously baseball is choice, but enjoy it while you can because this is our last Olympics for the baseball players.
Rowers wouldn't a problem at all.
I have never seen a trampolinist so I can't be sure.
In another life I could maybe date a jockey.

Either way, if we are dating and he returns to the Olympics in 4 years, maybe he will take me to London with him.
So, yes. I'm still loving the Olympics.

Opening Ceremonies Blew My Mind

That's all I can say. Anyone who saw them would have to agree. They were beautiful, and awe inspiring and during one or two little parts I almost felt myself mustering a tear or two.

The drumers?
The moving-block people?
The light people?

Incredible.
Well done, China. Well done.

The Gym.

I feel socially responsible to post the following blog. And to my four faithful readers (thanks mom!) - who I have probably already told anyway - I will feel as if I have done my part to raise a warning voice.

Whatever you do, don't sign up for a personal trainer at Gold's Gym!

I openly admit that I am crusty and likely totally out of line to this point, but I am actually of the belief that all big gyms are bad (for additional references please see 'Story of My Life' the Told by the 24 Hour Fitness salesman as a poor college student that I should buy a gym membership on credit chapter.). However, my story here relates specifically to Gold's.

One year ago, entirely unable to fathom the idea of spending one more 100+ degree day running outside, I decided to get a gym membership at Gold's. As a gym, I have found them lovely, and with very nice facilities (thank you cardio cinema). I was thusly offered a 'free trial' for a trainer. "Sure," I thought. "Sounds nice." Following the work out - and more importantly the body analysis - I was told that all my running was basically consuming my muscle and I was turning in to a complete blob. I felt so horribly about myself that they couldn't find the pen fast enough for me to sign my life away in order to find a trainer who could help me to reverse this process.

We will call him Thor.
(To the right is Google's interpretation of what Thor looks like)

Thor, although not a bosom-buddy, provided consistent workouts which always gave me the satisfaction of being sore for several days post-workout. That is, until he left. I went home for Christmas, and when I returned found out that he moved to Arizona. That's a whole different state.

For the next 6 months I tried to get a hold of someone, anyone, who could shed some light on how I could stop the bleeding that was coming from the monthly automatic withdraw of my bank account; all the while, never receiving a second of training service. It wasn't until I got a call that my credit card was about to expire and they needed updated account information that I was able to talk to a real person. Well, that person got it from me. In spite of my rage, my payments will not be refunded. I am simply to find a new trainer and make up for the lost time.

And that brings us to today. Having just moved to the new location, I am resuming my efforts to connect with the hulk who will whip me in to shape. Easier than it sounds. Before we can do anything they have to find my tracking record from Thor who moved seven months ago. One single solitary piece of paper, in one single solitary white binder, from a person who no longer exists. You would think we're trying to solve world hunger, pay off the national deficit or suck the smog from China with the level of difficulty involved in this process.

Moral of the story: just let your muscle keep eating itself.

Why I Love the Olympics

I have been accused by some as being a 'fanatic', 'addicted' and 'obsessed' when it comes to the Olympics. This has caused me some reflection. Why is it that I feel so strongly about international sport? Is there something wrong with me for feeling the way I do? The answer to this question is a resounding "maybe." However, I'm not concerned enough about it to do anything differently.

I LOVE seeing the nations of the world come together, to compete in peaceful and healthy competition. I love the feeling that people have traveled from half way around the globe, speaking languages that I'm sure I've never even heard of, to stand next to each other as spectators and fans. I love the idea that a no one can become a hero - whether for a small country in Africa or the U.S.A. I love the thrill of the chase. I love festivity.

I will never compete in the Olympics (although in the game two truths and a lie my lie is often that I qualified for the 2000 Sydney games in the high jump, but had to withdraw due to a knee injury), but I support those who have dedicated their lives to becoming great at the obscure things they do.

Olympics, I do love you. I will never retreat from you. And I can't wait for you to get here.

In the SugarHouse...

Life is sweet (Get it? SugarHouse... sweet? It's a pun).

Granted, I moved 10 minutes up the road; and granted, I have called SugarHouse my home for a mere 4 days, but I am falling in love with my new surroundings.

As such, I would like to outline a few of the things I so adore about about this southerly region of Salt Lake

• Running to my gym through leafy tree-lined streets in only 7 minutes.
  
• The grocery store (which I like to call "the market" because it sounds more European and quaint) and gelato shop within very close walking distance.
• Realizing that in a house with a basement, everything really can have a place - even if that place means just hiding it out of site and out of mind.
• A 10 minute shorted commute.
• Feeling like I can do earthy things - like shopping at the farmer's market or Whole Foods, riding my bike to this and that, and tending to my lawn (Well, I haven't done that yet, but I could if I wanted to. We have a hose.).
• Stained glass.
• Great roommates.
  

Working for the Weekend...

I have heard it said that you should have a job that you love so much that you don't even care if it's a weekday or the weekend. But, really? Does anyone 100% feel that way? I mean, I am very very blessed. I love my job (usually), but there is rarely a Tuesday that comes without Friday seeming quite far away.

I'm not sure what this moccasin has to do with the weekend, but I like it and it came up on page three of my Google search for "weekend" images.

Let's hear it for Google!

To new beginnings...

So... peer pressure has been telling me for quite some time that I need to start a blog. It's apparently the thing to do. However, lingering questions such as the following have haunted me, such that I never mustered the courage to do it:

"But what will I say?"
"Can I post pictures of me, rather than of my non-existent cute squishy children?"
"Who on earth would want to read it?"

Having just moved in to a fantastic new house, and in spite of this psychological intimidation, I am feeling emboldened due to my fresh new perspective on life. I have realized that I enjoy other's blogs, and, if no one other than my own mother reads mine, I will enjoy blogging just as much as the next 21st Century kid.

So, I tribute this new blog to new beginnings.
To new perspective.
To the mundane things that make life wonderful.
And finding opportunities to just get it out there.