The one thing you should NEVER do with a pita . . .

Burn your place of employment down.  Especially when that place of employment happens to be an insurance agency . . .

Ahh yes, my friends, the pita exacts its revenge.  For those of you who are regular readers of my oh so interesting life tales on this blog, you will know that besides run-on sentences you can find a series of rants.  A few rants back I so happened to talk about the ridiculous uses that pita makers were saying you could do with their product – said pitas must have taken offence, for this story I am about to tell is an offensive strike in a war I never knew I was fighting– until now (or it could just be a tale of my stupidity and awkwardness - you decide).

            I arrived at work early but without morning nutrients.  I had been running late and consequently didn’t have the time for the most needed meal of the day (according to most nutritionist and the CNN health page).  The fridge only contained water, pop, and in the far back right corner . . . my last little pita.  I threw it into the toaster oven (a new contraption to Chard kids) and made my way up front to open things up.  I decided to make a quick call to a Windshield repair place.  Five minutes later, not a care in the world, I was on hold listening to an elevator music type no- words medley of “Hit me Baby One more time” and “Bye, Bye, Bye” when a distant ping brought me back to reality.  A reality that told me I had better get to the break room.  I dropped the phone just as a neighbor was coming in the door and ran to the back.  The pita was black as could be.  I flipped the door down and used my fingernails to scrape it onto the counter – to my surprise it burst into flames!  Not tiny little match flames but a foot or higher flames that were spreading as I stood there in a panic.  Even though on the same counter, as the now fire encompassed pita, was a sink, that wasn’t my first thought.  It went more like this - - - oh crap, ummm paper towel – no that would be stupid – I’m totally getting fired – ahhh – okay not a grease fire so water, right? Yeah water - - - I reached over flipped on the water and started cupping out water with my hands and hitting the pita – smoke went everywhere!  Dennis, the neighbor that had come in was looking for my boss who was (luckily for me) out of town, had followed me back to the break room and was proceeding to tell me that I must have burned something.  He was right about that as I opened the back door praying the smoke alarms would not go off – that would top things off.

            I walked him out to the front as he jokingly asked me if I wanted him to leave the door open - umm yeah thanks.  Still with my heart beating a mile a minute I sat at my desk, only to hear, “Mia . . Mia  . . .Mia” – oh yeah, I forgot I was on the phone . .

Pita – you may have won this battle but the WAR IS ON - - - - -

A grief observed . . .

     I had many interesting experiences this past weekend.  One of those happened early Sunday morning and it has left me contemplating.  I drove to my parent's so that we could all enjoy conference together.  I winded my way through the canyon enjoying the rain as it pounded down around me, not really thinking about much.  I felt peace and a sense of renewal.  My mind wandered to planning out what my day would be - we would enjoy breakfast, listen to conference, play with Samuel and Mason - - - and then I was slammed by the thought, "If the rain clears up maybe I can walk the boys over and we can say hi to Norma."  I had forgotten.  

     It has been almost a year since Norma passed away on a clear and crisp October morning.  I haven't been able to talk about her or write about her.  Even now, as I type these words, my eyes fill with tears and emotions seem too close to the surface.  Norma meant many things to those who knew her but I have always felt that we shared something special.  She lived next door for most of my childhood and most everything that we did included her - dinners, holidays, birthdays.  Birthdays were something special.  Every year for as long as I can remember she and I would pick a day that was to be mine.  We went shopping for clothes, saw a movie and went out to eat.  It seemed that she would spare no expense and I loved our time together.  She was loving and kind but could also get after us kids if need be.  Even in those moments of discipline, the perceived harshness came out of the great love that she had for us.

     Time changes things and as I grew older our relationship changed.  Norma got sick.  It was a scary time in her life and more than anything it was sad to watch her lose the independencethat had always been so fiercely hers.  For all the care that she had always shown our family it was now our turn.  I had just graduated high school and was only taking two classes that fall semester.  I hadn't found a job and frankly, felt lost.  I had the time and so I had the opportunity to take Norma to all the places she needed to go.  We went to multiple doctor's appointments every week, grocery shopping and sometimes to lunch if she just wanted to get out of the house.  She told me of her life and the wonderful places she had seen, she comforted me when I would share of my fears or heartaches, we talked about the gospel and she expressed a desire to be close to God again.  Those were cherished times.  I had become an adult in her eyes - more than her niece, we were friends.

     All of these thoughts and many more came rushing to my mind as I realized once again that she was gone.  It's interesting how these moments can overtake us and once again it is fresh and real.  I read A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis many years ago and I remember something that particularly struck me, he said, "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."  I agree with that.  Last year it felt so much like fear that I ran from it and in many ways have continued running.  I stopped on Sunday.  I have let myself think about her and the good and the bad that we shared.  I am so grateful for her and the huge role that she played in my life.  Youth brings foolishness and I am ashamed to say that there were times when I would say that I was afraid that because my parents named me after her that my life would parallel hers in the fact that I would go through life without marrying.  What a fool.  I am filled with guilt and sorrow about that thought and attitude for I know that Norma was so much more than just one life experience.  I only now wish to do as much as Norma did for others and hopefully I can live up to the name that I am blessed to share.  I have much work to do if I hope to be as she was.  I have hope that she will forgive me of my foolishness and that we will one day have the chance to be together again.  I love you Norma.  

   

Do you need a laugh?

I have never needed a laugh more than I did yesterday and these two sites never fail!

www.itemnotasdescribed.com

www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com

tell me what you think . . .

Frankly.

I have found myself in need of a catharsis. Lately, for some reason, I have been overflowing with frustration and annoyance that comes up at the most inopportune times. I see every car on the road as an enemy sent to confound my plans of getting to where I need to be quickly - every person at any gas station or grocery store jumps into my line before me just to make things interesting - all of my professors tend to drone on and on just as a way to "stick it" to me. In reality, I know that no one on the roads care about me or are sent as an attack plan, the lines at various stores are not a conspiracy to get me down and my teachers are actually doing what I pay tuition to get - instruction. All of that aside, I need to get my frustration out in some way and if I offend, well, sorry about that.
"Life is not measured by the moments we take,
but by the moments that take our breath away."
This is false! I have had a vendetta against this phrase from the moment I laid eyes upon it. Yes, I know, it's meant to be a cutesy play on words and to describe those amazing moments that life throws our way but honestly how many times has life sincerely taken your breath away? If that is what measured life or kept me alive . . . I would be dead. When I moved into Michelle's house this phrase had been left in vinyl lettering on the wall and I never took it down. It has sat there on it's high horse, next to the ceiling, taunting every move I make. Today I decide to take my freedom back! Let the catharsis begin! I say to this sign as I strip it from my wall, "you are FALSE sign! Life IS measured by the breaths I take! It is NOT measured by the moments that take my breath away!"

Ahhhhh - feel better all ready.

Feliz, Feliz, Feliz . . . . . . . CUMPLE!!

                                    I love your crazy and fun side!  Especially at Halloween!

I love that you came into Gabby's life and in that I gained a sister - I was surrounded by brothers all my life and you will never know how grateful I am to call you hermana!

Happy Birthday Marcela!!  You are an amazing person, friend and sister!  May this day be filled with happiness!  Te quiero mucho!

My encounters with food and the elderly . . .

Businesses need to watch out because sometimes their marketing teams get carried away. Take today for instance. I was fixing myself a pita sandwich for lunch and the back of the bag caught my eye. There, listed for all the pita loving world to see were the wonderful things you could fill a pita with – chicken, deli meat, tuna, veggies, etc. – all the usual things that make pita eating enjoyable. Then, sandwiched in-between bacon and hamburger were some choices that seemed haphazardly thrown in just to make up space or throw off fools like me that read the back of pita bags - - - strawberries and cream and ice cream. Who in the world would think to themselves, “hey, I want some ice cream – no wait - - - I want ice cream in a pita!” Oh goodness. Maybe that’s what I can do with my English degree – write up the stuff that goes on the back of pita bags or Mac and cheese boxes. Anyone up for adding some grape jelly to that Mac and cheese? Mmmm mmmm, good! Now that’s five star fine dining classy!
Speaking of classy . . . that reminds me of an incident that took place the other night. I was walking across campus to my car from my night class and walked in front of the Browning Arts Center. It was a buzz with the energy of dressed up old people and puberty stricken middle school -ers. I thought it was an odd combination but I should have known. As I walked, I conversed with myself about the possibility of asking someone what was going on – just ask nicely – no big deal – oh never mind, it doesn’t matter – a little curiosity never hurt anyone – come on (and so forth). So I got my courage up and as another group of geriatric socialites made there way passed me I decided I was going to ask, “Excuse me sir, what is going on tonight?” (super nice right? I even added the “sir”). To which he replied, glaring down at me as if I had asked if he had been alive when Lincoln was president, “What!?!? Why the symphony, of course!!!!” Huffing angrily passed me, as if I was a non cultured bum, he continued in to enjoy the sy-MPH-ony. Hmmh, I thought, on my way back to the car, if he only knew who he was talking to. I’m as cultured as the next person. I love the arts, I’ve been to the Smithsonian, I’ve been to the symphony. Hey, I even like to listen to the classical music radio station as I drive around – it makes me feel superior to the other drivers on the road (sadly, my superiority lasts for a short while because I look around and realize I am driving a Pontiac with a leaky roof and a turn signal that never turns off – but none the less).
Now, if I ever see that man again, I can add one more thing to my list of what makes me just as classy and sophisticated as he is . . . I eat ice cream in a pita pocket!

I never would have believed.

Just call me Bourne, Jason Bourne.  A new dawn is awakening and I . . . I am the new dark night of espionage.  Oh, do I have a story to tell . . .

 

            I came home tonight from a lovely dinner with Gabby and Marcela.  I pulled into my usual spot and sat.  I sat thinking about all that seems to be swirling around in my mind lately.  I finally got out to make a call and when I was done, to my horror, my keys were not in my pocket.  I stood frozen in the driveway and instantly new of the mistake that I made again - - - 4^th time in 3 months - - - keys locked away firmly in my car.  After calls to 24/7 locksmith’s and finding the going rate at $80.00 and an hour wait, I sat on my front porch and cried.  Not just tear-up cry but full on crying so loud I though the neighbors would come out to see what poor creature could make such a wounded cry.  How could I do this again – Michelle wont be home for hours – How could I be so foolish – why, why, why! (Seriously, just a tad of the emotionally overdramatic)

            Then, all of a sudden I thought – Why in the world are you crying?  What is that solving?  I stood up and thought - - - all of my detective TV show and action movie watching must be good for something!  I took two bobby pins out of my head and began to attack the front door lock.  It can’t be that hard – I have seen it million of times on TV – push in, turn, twist – something’s gotta give – wait, what was that? someone’s coming.  Just at that moment a jogger went by as I stood perfectly still in the darkened doorframe.  I realized that wasn’t working so I went to the side door and combined my bobby pins with my second elusive espionage tool . . . Jamba Juice gift card.  I slide and pushed and pulled to no avail.  There I was, on bended knee with bobby pins and a Jamba juice card – wow.  Next, it was the back sliding door.  Again, nothing.  Back to the side door – this has gotta work!  I never, in a million years would have believed it, had I not heard the “click” myself.  Suddenly there I was – inside the house . . . and laughing.  I had done it.

 

Hollywood – here I come.  

Memory seeking . . .

     If only it would have rained yesterday, it would have been my perfect kind of day.  It was beautifully overcast and at times the sky threatened to bestow the earth with it's tears but alas, it never came through.  I went to visit my parents in the afternoon.  Someone was mowing out back as I made my way across the front lawn and through the door.  The house was quiet and dark as I made my way through the rooms looking for my mom.  I glanced into my old room and then into my parents, followed by the room that Marcos and Mario can both now claim.  The sheets were off all the beds and I smiled.  It's amazing that little things, like sheets off a bed, have the power to bring back whole years of a person's life.  I was hit with such emotion that I was a child again.  

     There was music blaring in the background of this memory, a collage of memories I guess you could say.  Kenny Loggins was king for many years in the Chard home and so it was that his music rang out to all of Peterson welcoming them to partake of Kenny "in the Redwoods".  I could hear my mother calling from the laundry room for all of us kids to bring down our sheets and open the windows in our rooms so that we could air out the house.  A young Mario and Marcos walk pass my room with their arms filled to above their heads with Ninja Turtle sheets for Marcos and demure, proper solid maroon for Mario.  They are laughing at some secret joke they always seemed to be sharing.  The door with the red bell slams shut as Gabby enters and it shakes the whole house.  He's singing along to Kenny and I can hear him go downstairs.  The same bell signals three more times that someone was on the move.  Poor door.  Someone was always slamming it shut.  

     The memory then fades away slowly, like the dust that can be seen falling to the ground in just the right sunlight, and it's darker again as I stand at the top of the stairs.  I slowly descend and my heart is left aching and longing for childhood.  The house is quieter now.  The red bell on the door welcomes or says goodbye less often.  I happen to believe that in the exact moment that I was longing for childhood,  it was longing right along with me.  Memories can often become tricky chameleons who change to fit the scenery of my mood but yesterday they allowed me to glance back in my past and realize how good I did have it.  

     It was nice to visit with my parents and to realize that while life changes for all of us, there is something about a small log cabin in Peterson that will always be mine.  I stopped at Hinds on my way out and was forced to face another loss of childhood - their ice cream machine has made it's last cone.  I can't even conceive of a world with no Hinds ice cream. May, the usual month in which it made it's grand entrance, could never come soon enough as September's arrival, the dreaded month which dimmed the lights on the coveted ice cream, was always seen as too soon.  It  now seems like the five month window I once had into my childhood has been replaced with a zero month window.  Like the poet Karon Yan once said, 

"Childhood is rare

  Unlike a bear

  Childhood is fun

  Unlike eating a bun . . ."

Ahh, yes, I couldn't have said it better myself.  Brilliant, no?

From this . . .

To . . . . that . . .

Education

Last week was overwhelming.  I have never taken six college classes at the same time and getting them all straight is taking some getting used to.  I don't even feel like I had a break from summer semester and here we are already into fall.  Being the first week, the conversation turned to majors and careers.  Yes, I am a English major but no, I don't know what I want to do.  Sometimes I feel as if college is more about careers than an education.  I was talking to one of my professors today and I asked him about his schooling and where he received his degrees and he told me but followed it up with, "but, that's not where I got my education."  It was interesting to hear from someone teaching at a University but at the same time I knew that what he was saying was true.  It was something that I needed to hear.  I am a lover of books and I am grateful to say that I have been educated by what the written world has offered and by the life experiences that I have gone through.  I am glad that I was reminded of that today because why I may not know just what it is I am meant to do with my life, I do know that I chose my education.  That being said, a career isn't everything but I'm not naive enough to think it means nothing.  What do I do?    

Thinking about . . .

" . . . but what it takes to cross the great divide,

 seems more than all the courage I can muster up inside - 

but we get to have some answers when we reach the other side 

The prize is always worth the rocky ride.

but the wood is tired and the wood is old . . ."

Por Fin!!!!!!

Done.  For the Summer.  Now, a week and a half to recover.

Today I turn 27 . . .

Today is my birthday. We decided to take family photos since everyone is in town for this short moment. It was a great day with a lot of laughs and craziness. Gabby actually took a picture of me that I liked, so I had to show it off. In true Argentine fashion, it's 9:00pm and dinner is just getting on the table - I must be on my way . . .

To Wendy . . .

Wether it's your amazing bowling skills . . .

Or your lethal tackling abilities . . . . .

I am more than happy to have you as a sister!  Happy Birthday, friend!  I am so grateful to have you in my life and wish you all the best!

In harmony.

The other day I was driving home from work and witnessed a peculiar event.  I was stopped at an intersection and happened to be watching the man who was trying to make a left hand turn.  He was patiently waiting for his turn, so patiently in fact, that his lips soon fell upon the cool metal of his one of a kind harmonica.  I was taken aback.  Waiting to make a left hand turn had never struck me as the perfect time to get “blues-y” and jam with your harmonica, but hey – when the mood hits, it hits.

            It actually was something that made me smile.  I, and the countless others who might have been watching could have thought that it was odd but this gentleman was content.  He was in harmony with his life and who he was that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought, he was going to play his music.  I admired that and maybe more than I want to admit it – I envied that.  I don’t believe that there has ever been a time where I didn’t worry or wonder what others thought of me.  I have even, at times, taken it to the extreme and placed all my worth on what everyone, including random strangers I pass on the street, might think of me.  It led me to the conclusion that there is so much out of harmony in my life, in my mind.  I have struggled the last year to try and discover where my place is and how to be comfortable being me and honestly I have been failing.  I guess that is why when I see individuals who are who they are, regardless of anything else, I find hope that with time and work I too can achieve that sense of self.  And hey, maybe it starts with me learning how to play the harmonica – any world-class teachers out there?