Sacred Places

I read this post today in the Salt Lake Trib and it about brought a tear to my eye.

You'll notice hollylynnsays was the first commenter. I am such a NERD sometimes!

The article, which you really should read even though I know you probably won't, is about how we all have these specific sacred places that are related to a life-changing memory.

Some of mine:

Rolling into Rexburg on a rare visit. Just the site of that little town off to the right of the highway makes me think of the girl I was when I first arrived, the girl I was when I finally left, and the girl I am now.

Wearing the cardigan I wore today. So true, this isn't a place, but I wore it on my first date with my husband and that is such a sweet memory.

The old building in my hometown where I taught piano lessons. It was the first time I really felt ownership of a project that had real world impact. I really loved those kids. I hope I taught them something.

Seeing the Draper Temple up on the hill when I'm in that neck of the woods (a sacred place for many, I realize), "my" temple, remembering sitting inside, talking to my mom, waiting for the biggest thing I'd ever done.

What are your personal sacred places?

So...

Since my last post, I changed my blog design. Before it was looking like so much Pepto. Make no mistake: I want my blog to be hot pink. So the title is punch enough...for now.

Anyway. I am one of those people who does things a certain way. My way is always the way that makes most sense and is best for society. There are a number of ways I exhibit this: I always shut the entire lid of the toilet before flushing to contain germs. I don't cut meat on wood cutting boards, even if it's cooked. Heck, I even do all the apartment deep cleaning on Tuesdays when my husband is playing basketball so I can do it my way. I wouldn't call myself particular to the point of insanity.

However, you might.

One thing I'm particular about is pulling up EXACTLY to the stop line when I'm first in line at a stop light. Even though most of the lights in my neighborhood are on timers, not sensors, I still feel this is of utmost importance. And the other day, I did this, as is normal and correct, and a car pulled up in the next lane over, and I kid you not, they were almost a full car length behind the stop line!

What were they hoping to accomplish with this? The world may never know. I sure have been thinking about it since, though.

I don't know

how my blog design got so ugly

how i cut my finger open today

why the neighbor upstairs is always on her phone shouting the most asinine things

why it's so hard to find a decent rental property in this town that isn't mcmansion expensive or crackhouse horrific

Basically I don't know much today. Do you?

Where my peep at? or, Cabela’s: Montana-sized salt lick for eager new bow hunters

Last night, I went to Cabela’s with my husband to buy bow hunting equipment. No word yet on how bow bow staff skills translate into bow hunting skills.

Cabela’s has all kinds of equipment for killing all kinds of animals.

We were there for upwards of 90 minutes and didn’t have time to look at the fake mountain with all the dead sheep and stuff on it, or the aquarium, which is my favorite part because it’s like Sea World, Freshwater Edition.

I’ve been to Cabela’s once before in my life, with Erin, to buy a lantern for…doesn’t matter. We went in there with our makeup and our curled hair and our premium denim and our high heels and we clacked our way across the tile floor past the camo-clad customers and employees right to the camping section to pick out the world’s greatest lantern.

The only place I’ve ever felt like more of an outsider was that one time in junior high that I tried out for a sports team.

The archery section of Cabela’s was a lot more upbeat than the camping section, because it was stacked with Rabies, er, helpful sales staff people with names like Cody and Raby. I think the store had Rabies to help customers in other departments, but we just had one individual Raby.

He is a bow hunter/Cabela’s outfitter and he installed a new peep on Mark’s bow, and cut his arrows to the appropriate length for his bow and stance. If you are going to take up bow hunting, might I suggest you talk to Raby? And Cody. But I kind of just like talking about Raby.

I have to say, I was happy to be there for this outing, especially when we got to the till, when I realized I had just racked up enough points to trade in the IKEA fabric I’d planned on to re-upholster my chairs, for something to the tune of Jonathan Adler.

Dear Talbots, I am blogging about Talbots. Talbots.

I wonder if the Google Alert will pick that up...

After my last post, I got this comment:

1) Extremely flattered to be contacted by any sort of PR department because it makes me feel famous

2) Extremely impressed with Google's thoroughness because my blog, especially of late, is nothing to write home about

At the behest of what I do believe was a PR rep for Talbots, I took a look at what they were peddling these days (as one PR gal to another) and I must say, Sophie at Talbots, you were right! I was pleasantly surprised. So many cute dresses, especially, on the site. Look what I found. Sophie, do you think you could get me one of these comped? Because we're in money-saving mode at my house this summer and I would love to get any and all of these for $40 each...

All photos swiped from talbots.com.

Do you ever wonder...

what your outfit says about you?

Because last night, mine said, "I'm 56 years old and enjoy shopping at Talbots."

It wasn't one of my hipper moments.

Candy talks to strangers.

You might be interested to know that one Mr. Brandon Flowers is releasing a solo album this fall called Flamingo.

The buzz I've read about it is pretty unwaveringly positive, but there are the naysayers.

I think that Brandon Flowers is the best thing about The Killers, so for me there is no downside to this foray.

That is as long as B-Flow reunites with his matador buddies for just three or four more tours that pass by this way (which I hear is a pretty tall order).

image courtesy of last.fm