Happiness is . . .

a patch of sun on the ocean

Voice

Yesterday two men visited my house.  I'm going to replace one of my windows and they gave me some bids.  Why could I only thing the whole time of Elizabeth Smart and how her abduction was a result of a man working on her house?  I'm paranoid, that's why.

At any rate, the second man was my favorite.  He was a true salesman, finding any way to connect with me.  One of his methods was the compliment.  When I was younger, I still remember a woman in church complimenting my nose.  I remember where we were walking.  I don't remember who it was that complimented me.

I do appreciate when people give me rare compliments.  I always hear how nice it is for me to be skinny or tall and along the same line of thinking, what long legs I have.  But this man complimented my voice.  He scrolled through a few words until he landed on the one that described it . . . sultry (the cleaner of the two definitions offered by dictionary.com was "displaying or suggesting passion")  I immediately felt awkward until he explained that, no, he wasn't making a pass at me.  Okay, I still felt awkward and rambled on about how I realized that I had a deep voice when I could only sing songs while I played my guitar by people like Tracy Chapman.  I ended with . . . it's no wonder that the man from another window company called me Mr. Freeman, then. 

Summer has begun . . . I am no longer ignoring the possibility of writing a meaningless entry on my blog.

The DR

. . . apparently that's what everyone calls it. Here are a few pics.


One of my favorites . . . notice the pregnant looking man in the water. Be glad his speedo and outy belly button are too far away to see.


Danielle, Erin and I


Beach crush. Killer smile. French/Spanish dictionary in hand. He thought I was French:)


Good times on the beach. The song stuck in my head . . . "Que tipo do pescado? El Dorado, El Dorado, El Dorado."



This is definitely the best shot of the things we saw people carrying on their little motorbikes.


Baseball game. The fans were unbelievably energetic.


Early morning surfing with Erin. Surfing might be used flexibly for what I actually accomplished.


Thanksgiving Dinner. The guy on the left is Boyd, the one I had been out with. Random. I'm pretty sure his love was rekindled for me during the trip:)


Darling kids

Vacation

I feel there are stages to a vacation.

Stage 1: Sleepiness

Because of the stress involved in actually making it to your vacation, you drop to sleep quite quickly while attempting to do any vacationy things like reading books, going on car rides, watching movies, and even conversing with the people you're vacationing with. You sleep 10 hours a night in addition to the cat naps the day affords you.

Stage 2: True vacation mode

Once you are able to get adequate sleep, then you can truly do the vacationy things you wanted to do during the first stage, but were unable. This is pure happiness.

Stage 3: Slight boredom

You hate to admit it, but you start to get tired of the vacationy things. They bring you less fulfillment. You want to have something to work on, yet you don't because you're on vacation and shouldn't. You start to vary the vacationy things in your day so as to not overdo any one thing. You start to plan your days out with something productive in them. You contemplate sightseeing.

I hate to say it, but I'm already in stage 3. I'm sure I will make it through. No need to fret about me on my vacation. I'm a survivor.

I'm not quite sure what stage is next . . .

The Nose

My mom has been giving me miniature packages of tissues in my stocking at Christmas-time for a while now. Thus, when I moved, I made note of my 10-year supply.

I turned 35 in February.

Prior to this event, but post-move, I noticed a change in my body. I have a perma-runny nose. It's not bad, just a little leaky, like a dripping faucet, only a slow dripping faucet. I have to wipe my nose at least 5 times a day, and a casual sleeve or back of the hand wipe doesn't do it, I have to use, that's right, kleenex. If I don't, then, because we live in Utah, it dries into nice, visible crusties (cobwebs in the closet) at the bottom or top of the nose. I've found that it's hard to try to chip away the crusties in public without appearing to be picking your nose. So it's less socially awkward to grab a kleenex immediately when the faucet starts to leak.

Did my mom know it was coming? Was she preparing me for 35? Is there some anatomical change in the nose that everyone knows of but me?

So I've recently put a package of kleenex in my purse. I'm sure the temple bag, car, coat pocket, etc. are locations that are soon to follow. Next step . . . hanky?

Picture 4

I'm afraid vacation is over and reality is a little closer to the forefront of my mind. One picture a day is not going to happen starting tomorrow. Here's a plethora of pictures to make up for the lack thereof next week.

Carla pulling my boogie board back for me so I could take this picture:)


My Feet


Carla's Foot


The Valley of the Trees


Hideaway Beach


That flower we see the decal of on people's cars

Picture #3 Taro Fields

What is taro, you ask? Some type of root that they eat here. Carla had it in a veggie burger she had here in Kaua'i. Not so tasty I hear.