Good Stuff

So I wrote my last post at school so my husband read it while he was at his office. He must have known I wasn't in the best of spirits, so on his way home he picked up the new Death Cab CD. It was waiting on the kitchen counter when I walked in. Yay!  This CD is good.  I mean, it is really really good. So good that after I put it on my iPod, I walked up the hills by my house instead of running so I could listen to it longer. (He he. I obviously didn't need much incentive). So if you guys are in need of some musical spicing-up, check it out. 

Oh, and thanks Chris--you're the best. 

I wish things were different a lot. I wish I had enough money to buy the gorgeous black scarf for $68 I found the other day. I wish summer came back--it just wasn't long enough this year, and now you need a coat outside even when the sun is out. When you go running your ears ache, even when you wear a dorky lime sweatband with neon squiggles all over it that you found in your dad's old ski jacket. That is terrible.

So I have the blues, and lately it seems like everyone else does too. I wish I could offer some encouraging words, but the truth is, no one likes those people who act cheery when they don't really mean it. Sometimes you just want to take your gratitude journal and throw it in boiling water. Not that I have one of those but...okay, I love this poem, it makes me laugh every time I read it and I want to share it with you. So cheer up!

I Chop Some Parsley While Listening To Art Blakey’s Version Of “Three Blind Mice"

And I start wondering how they came to be blind.

If it was congenital, they could be brothers and sister,

and I think of the poor mother

brooding over her sightless young triplets.

Or was it a common accident, all three caught

in a searing explosion, a firework perhaps?

If not,

if each came to his or her blindness separately,

how did they ever manage to find one another?

Would it not be difficult for a blind mouse

to locate even one fellow mouse with vision

let alone two other blind ones?

And how, in their tiny darkness,

could they possibly have run after a farmer’s wife

or anyone else’s wife for that matter?

Not to mention why.

Just so she could cut off their tails

with a carving knife, is the cynic’s answer,

but the thought of them without eyes

and now without tails to trail through the moist grass

or slip around the corner of a baseboard

has the cynic who always lounges within me

up off his couch and at the window

trying to hide the rising softness that he feels.

By now I am on to dicing an onion

which might account for the wet stinging

in my own eyes, though Freddie Hubbard’s

mournful trumpet on “Blue Moon,”

which happens to be the next cut,

cannot be said to be making matters any better.

Billy Collins

I'm about to admit something that could leave me forever branded with the nickname of Halloween Scrooge. But I need to get this burden off my shoulders. I can take a little heckling.  

I hate Halloween.  That's right, I do!  You want to know why? Let me tell you.

1- I can't stand dressing up. I'm terrible at thinking up good ideas, and even more terrible at mustering up the time to get a costume. If I could get away with it, I would just wear my pajamas and back-up glasses every year. "Sleepy Melissa."  That's what I'd call it.  

2- Also, costumes are uncomfortable. Ever try being a cowgirl for three years in a row?  I was one from 6-9.  And you know what? The velcro on my fringed skirt just got tighter and tighter. So did my faux-white leather cowgirl boots.  

3-I guess I always trick or treated in the wrong neighborhoods but I always got an abundance of salt-water taffy and scary looking off-brand tootise rolls.  It wasn't until I moved to Alpine that they give king-size candy bars away, and then you only have to hit one or two houses. So dressing up at that point is kind of lame. One year I put a blanket over my head and my sisters lead me to the front door. 

4-Scary things are not funny to me.  If one kid comes to my door dressed like the Joker, no candy for him. I'm serious.

5-Cutesy things are not cute to me.  If I see one more dorky Halloween craft, or friendly looking witch saying something like "Bone appetit!" I will die.

                                                      

 6-On that note, I put one single Halloween decoration up this year. It is a realistic, rather severe looking life-size witch. And it scares Chris and I every time we walk past it.  That is the perfect amount of scare. Just perfect.  

7- Has anyone else noticed that it's always FREEZING?  I used to secretly dread the actual trick or treating because I was so cold. I merely pretended to be excited in order to fill my pillow 

case with candy that probably cost a total of 4.50+tax.

8-Last year, Chris and I took my little brother and sister trick or treating.  We approached a highly-decorated house with tons of pop-out skeletons, fog machines, and haunted music.  My little sister barely got past the curb before retreating.  "I don't think they were thinking of kids when they did that!" she said with passion. I know how she feels. Halloween in all its entirety did not think of people like me.  

Forgive me, pagan gods.  I couldn't hold back any longer. 

Salt Lake Temple Pictures

Okay everyone (more like the three people I know who read this baby), I finally got my wedding pictures and thought I would share a little peek before I get around to making a facebook album or something. But everyone knows what a lame facebooker I am, so we'll see... Christopher and I love the way our pictures turned out and would like to thank Allison Cox of Allison C. Photography for her amazing talent. Check out her blog at http://blog.allisoncphotography.com/

Lars Lindstrom: [after giving some flowers to Bianca]  

"See they're even fake so they'll never die."

The Constitution State

My mom called me on the first day of school. If you are a daughter in the Madson family, this is not a big deal. After all, I talk to each of my sisters and my mom every single day and sometimes when there is actually something happening, we call each other over and over. My sister Lacey and I will talk while we're grocery shopping, and then hang up to check out, call back, hang up to talk to the bank teller, call back, and finally, hang up to take the groceries in the house, and once more call back. We're one of those people you hate to drive behind, or wait in line with. Sorry. It's just how we are.

But this time, on the first day of school, my mom had big news. My dad got an awesome promotion in Connecticut and

 decided to move my mom, little brother and sister all the way across the country. Shocking.  Also, Christopher and I are moving out of are chic, finally decorated apartment, and into a large, already-decorated house with vines climbing up the brick. There is a basketball hoop, neighbors with children above eight, 

and an actual lawn to mow.  Yikes!

Still, Christopher and I are so grateful

 for this chance--and even though we'll miss our parents, it will be great to have an excuse to head to the east coast!

Workers of the World, Unite!

I have to laugh at myself sometimes. I just get so so excited about things. Christopher enjoys this, and often has to remind me that I cannot expect him to get quite as worked up about things like getting mail, or gas prices falling two cents. Just the other day, I was hurt because when I reminded him that Labor Day was only five days off, he didn't do anything bigger than to say "I know, that's great!"  This left me confused--when a holiday approaches, whether it's my birthday, or Cinco de Mayo, I just can't do anything for days before. And when I win at Catch Phrase, or eat healthy for two meals straight, my day is golden. 

So with that background, everyone should appreciate exactly what Christopher did for me on August 26, 2008. This historic day was spent working my last 8 hours at the Missionary Training Center. This has been an awesome job for three years and I've absolutely loved the girls I've worked with...but that being said, it was time to go.  I walk into

 the apartment, after scouting our parking lot for Christopher's car--nowhere to be found. So I'm unsuspecting as I open the door and almost have a heart attack when Chris jumps out of the laundry room wearing a Transformers party hat, shouting "Surprise!"  

I look around and there are signs all over the apartment that say "No More MTC!" and "This is a Work-Free Zone!"  among others. They're everywhere. And on the IKEA coffee table there is a board game, modified to the name "MTC Escape!"  Here, Christopher changed all of the board spots to say things like "Take notes at a meeting. Go back five spaces." Or, "Spend an entire afternoon without helping someone. Go back three spaces."  "Leave early, roll again!"  And my favorite spaces were the most frequent. "MTC party, take a treat!"  where I could choose out of two bowls filled with my favorite candy. 

After the game, the pizza guy came with our dinner, and we watched a movie. I am free--the MTC has no more claim upon my soul. And Christopher was actually excited!  

Because I am married now, I suppose it's high time I figured out this whole cooking business. I used to blanch at the idea of cooking just because one is married. Surely as a newly-wed student, I would have more important things to do than have lasagna or meat loaf on the table at 5:00 sharp. But I've had a change of heart. There are various reasons for this fact, but it boils down to how much I love eating and how I now have limited access to my mom's amazing cuisine.

I ordered this great cookbook called The Food You Crave by Ellie Krieger. It has recipes that focus on healthy fats and a ton of fruits and vegetables. I've been playing with it a little and Christopher has been a forced participant of my newest craze. Don't get me wrong--the lemon chicken soup with orzo and thyme was great, and the peach french toast bake wasn't bad either. But last night I attempted fettuccine with roasted red pepper sauce and it was pretty terrible. And it was completely my fault. I decided that a hand mixer could take the place of a food processor, and I forgot to drain, rinse, and slice the roasted red peppers. The whole jar went right in and it seriously messed with the sauce's consistency and flavor. Sad.

Christopher gamely took seconds and told me not to get too discouraged. But the truth is, I should have relied on a trusty plate of nachos instead.

"She did not cook so much as assassinate food. "
--Storm Jameson

Last night, my husband and I went to the James Taylor concert at the USANA amphitheater. Being a newlywed, I assumed that it would be a luxury to go to the show now that we have to buy so many things we never knew we would need. (Not-fun things like an iron, comet, flour, etc...) But since I have an awesome husband who can always tell what I want before I'll even admit it
myself, Christopher surprised me with tickets to the concert the day before. It was a great night.


What I love about James Taylor is that he's the voice that has always been around. When I was a little girl, my sisters and I would dance to Steamroller and Shed a Little Light for attention until my dad would pull out his video camera. In junior high, following my oldest sister's lead, I would play his stuff every morning while I failingly attempted to apply makeup only a seventh grader could believe looked good. At the end of that particularly rough school year, Lacey and I got his autograph together at one of his shows in Salt Lake. I consider his voice an old friend by now. His lyrics are so great that just hearing Carolina makes me believe that the south is full of geese in flight, and moons and omens, instead of what is probably true--that it's full of varmints and probably doesn't have a Nordstrom.

Now that James Taylor is getting older, and I am getting older, we remain friends. He let me put Never Die Young on my wedding video, and I changed plans to go to his concert last night. And in another act of friendship, I will suggest that you check out his latest at http://www.jamestaylor.com/

Back from Hawaii! I've got to say that being married is the best. We've been busy setting up our apartment and have become frequent guests at our next door neighbor's place, IKEA. If you have any interest in talking to this happy couple, I'm sure if you wait outside IKEA's glass doors long enough, you will eventually see over-excited Melissa and good-sport Christopher wheeling a cart stacked with things for him to put together. Lucky I married a patient man.

Besides the apartment, we are back to work and feeling a little blue about it. So to cheer myself up, here are some Hawaiian highlights. Enjoy.

  

--having to say Aloha at least 3 times at each event at the Polynesian Cultural Center until we reached the entertainer's enthusiasm satisfaction.

--playing with the sea turtles and swimming with the dolphins.

--seeing a couple dressed to the limits of tourist style (complete with matching flower print shirt and shorts for the woman, fisherman hat and fanny pack for the man) in two different locations on two different days.

--getting a worthwhile sugar headache from a strawberry shaved ice/vanilla ice-cream treat at Matsumoto's in Haleiwa.

--playing on boogie boards in the ocean with Christopher.

--having a husband who loves me enough to help me build a sand castle replica of Thomas Cole's Course of the Empire series complete with snapshots of all five phases...Savage State, Arcadian State, Consummation, Destruction, Desolation...yeah, we already made fun of ourselves enough thanks.

--eating stuffed shrimp at Jameson's overlooking the ocean.

What a great trip.

here we go!

Time to get married! Well, we actually have an inauspicious thirteen days, but we're getting close. Needless to say, we are very very happy. It is so strange that life is normal, and then you decide to get married. Things stay normal, other than a sparkly ring on your left hand, and an ever-present guilt caused by years of swearing that you will never worry about the colors at your wedding celebration, and then actually wanting to cry when the paper store runs out of chartreuse and you're stuck with olive. But one day, you walk into a pretty building with your special friend of choice, someone says a few words, and presto! Everything is different. New ward, new apartment, new utensils, and new kitchen appliances you never knew you needed. Also, you have a new roommate. A boy... And the thing is, semesters, contracts, and study abroad have no effect on the longevity of this roommate experience. No, it doesn't matter if they always forget to rinse their macaroni bowl, or if they use your toothbrush. You can't move home, or politely decline to sign up with them again in the fall. Which is why I'm really lucky that my roommate is Christopher. Because we'll make up for each other's weird habits, I think. I'll let him beat me every time in scrabble, and in return, he'll let me steal his sweats. We'll learn how to use those exotic kitchen appliances together. Everything will work out, just like he's been telling me all along.

Some luck lies not in getting what you thought you wanted but getting what you have, which once you have got it you may be smart enough to see is what you would have wanted had you known. --Garrison Keillor, Lake Woebegone Days

I made this blog today. When it came to the section where I had to name this thing, I panicked. What clever, witty, charming, appropriate title could become the name of my blog, which I am not even convinced I want yet? So I opened my Latin textbook and found that mensa secunda means dessert. Perfect. Thank you, Professor Frederick Wheelock.