I'm my own grandpa!

After nearly three years in Illinois, we decided to get serious about our citizenship and heritage and trekked down to Nauvoo this weekend. For those of you who aren't LDS/Mormon/consumers of Jell-O hybrids, Nauvoo is a place where early Mormons settled before persecution drove them West.

I have to say, I don't blame them. And by them, I mean both the persecutors and the pioneers. I mean, there's nothing going on in Nauvoo - one would get bored and prone to mischief. Sure, it's a beautiful place by a scenic river, but there are literally only seven eating establishments in the whole town and most of them close at 5 p.m. We actually paid $14 for a buffet that featured fake crab meat marinating in butter alongside reconstituted mashed potatoes. Mr. Dub loved the kitsch of the whole experience, while I just kept wondering why no one had opened a really good Mexican restaurant. And then I remembered they would have to live there ... in the winter.

The historical sites were pretty cool, although I got a bit weary of tour guides. Also, the Nauvoo Temple is so beautiful inside and out. I always thought it was a little trite for people to love one temple ("San Diego is the bomb!") and detest another ("Ew! Provo!"), but I now have a strange affinity for the rebuilt Nauvoo temple. It's decorated in chartreuse and buttercream tones, which is just lovely. Lovely, I tell you! Plus, my dad was in the hospital again while we were there so I especially enjoyed the unique spiritual peace you feel inside the temple. (Go here if you're still confused. Or here.)

Some thought we were crazy to head towards the Mississippi while everyone else was evacuating from there, but Nauvoo is set at a higher elevation so the super swollen river didn't quite make it to the town. Besides, the river knew it would get bored after 8 p.m. so it stuck to the Iowa side. (You know how crazy those cornfields can get!)

Anyway, I am glad we made the trip, mostly so I don't feel like an idiot when everyone asks us if we've been yet. Then again, I didn't go to the Grand Canyon until I was 14, and I lived in Arizona most of my life. (Little known fact: I was born in Washington D.C.)

Oh, but if you are now hankering to visit Nauvoo, I should warn you. The musical performances are big on overacting and references to inbreeding. In fact, when we first pulled up, I saw "I'm my own grandpa" scribbled into the dust on the back of a van. I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever read, mostly because it sounded like immature gibberish, but when we attended a musical performance later that night, there was a song by that same name. I won't go into details, but it gave me a decidedly creepy feeling inside.

But did I mention the temple is lovely?


* Kristen is the random winner of an Eliza subscription. Email me!

Attention: Arizona is a desert!

As you know, I fled Chicago for Arizona for a fortnight. But there's no way to fully recount my journey, both because it would bore you and because I already can't remember what I did. So let me summarize it with this statement: Cancer sucks. Sunshine rules.

No, I do not have cancer. I also do not have sunshine - at least not the kind of sunshine that embraces 85-degree winds, allowing me to prance outside with nary a hat or jacket. I'm talking flip-flops, baby! Instead, I have the kind of sunshine that is generally coated with clouds and frigid winds. In other words, it's highly likely that Arizona and Illinois are actually on different planets. I would encourage further study on this topic, but who wants higher taxes?

So it's kind of a bummer to be back to regular life. I miss my parents. I miss my "Fabulous" friends. I miss flip-flops.

And I really have to give Arizona credit. Growing up I liked to bag on it, mostly because it didn't have an ocean, which is still true . However, the weather (8 months out of the year), the infrastructure and the shopping/eating are divine. Granted, it is a desert, something I didn't believe as a kid. I'd think, "Sure, it was once a desert, but now it looks like anywhere else." Um, no. It's very brown and very cactus-dense. Most front lawns have rocks instead of grass. And while there are definitely less scarve-wearing wooden coyotes now than a few years back, there's still an epidemic of bolo ties, typically worn by Midwestern transplants. But overall, it's a nice place.

That's about it.

Any questions?

Why Southwest can bite me

Sometimes I think I'm a funny person. Sometimes people even tell me I'm funny, which is a lot better than when they tell me I'm already showing or that I'm a lazy turd. But after our recent holiday, I'm starting to think that I'm not actually funny; it's just that life is playing a big practical joke on me. So I'm only funny by default.

Case in point: Traveling to Utah for Christmas. One would think we'd decided to rent some hand carts for our journey considering all the delays and issues we suffered. Frankly, an ox in the mire sounds better than some of the junk we had to endure. I could tell you a really, really long tale of our travel woes, but instead I will summarize the worst parts, which most of you have already heard me whine about:

* Flight gets canceled due to weather
* Flight gets rescheduled for the next day- we arrive two hours early only to wait in line for 1 hour and 45 minutes to check our baggage.
* Waiting in line involves standing in an outdoor parking garage, where the temperature is about 15 degrees.
* Waiting in line involves lugging our five bags and car seat for 1 hour and 45 minutes when I am technically on bed rest.
* We run to the gate and manage to make our flight but only one of our bags makes it with us.
* We get our luggage two days later at 2 a.m.
* I spend New Year's Eve in the ER - no biggie, but I have to reschedule our return flight so I can rest for a few days.
* Flight gets rescheduled for Friday - we arrive two hours early only to wait in line for 15 minutes.
* Flight is delayed for two hours, leaving us with four hours to kill in the SLC airport.
* We arrive in Chicago at 10:30 p.m.
* Our flight's luggage doesn't make it to a baggage carousel until 11:10 p.m.
* At 11:45, half of our flight is still waiting for the rest of their luggage.
* Southwest tells us they forgot to finish unloading the luggage - shortly thereafter, three more bags show up.
* I stand in a line until 12:30 a.m. to make a claim for the four bags of luggage that never arrive.
* We arrive home at 2 a.m.
* Our luggage comes at 7 p.m. the next day.

So there you have it - why my life is funnier than yours, and why I'm consequently funnier than you are. Actually, most of you are still funnier than me, and from what I can tell your luggage actually arrives with you. So maybe cursed is a better word.

Anyway, since I'm feeling lighthearted I decided to write Southwest a short letter, rather than go on and on with my sad tale. After all, that's what blogs are for, right?



Dear Southwest,

I hate you.

Love, Mrs. Dub

p.s. I don't like your stupid flight attendant songs either, and they definitely don't make me feel better when I have to wear the same underwear two days in a row.
p.p.s. Your napkins feel like sandpaper.

Also known for its miscellanous equipment exports

It's Turkey week! Never mind that I don't care for turkey, or that I personally would prefer to have a Mexican fiesta in lieu of the traditional T-day fare - what's great about Thanksgiving this year is that, unlike the last two years, we'll actually be spending it with family -- in Rhode Island. More specifically, Mr. Dub's bro and his wife.

I mean, who goes to Rhode Island? Sure, it gets a disproportionate amount of elementary school students who want to do their state report on it because they assume its small size will require a smaller effort. (Alas, no, you'll just have to ramble on longer about their top export: scrap and waste.) But most people never make it to the tiny state with the longest name: Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. You know, besides the million people who live there.

Perhaps this would be a good time to let you know that I may or may not be blogging whilst binging (and contemplating purging, but only to make room for more mashed taters). In fact, the life stress demons have decided that it's possible I will return from RI (we're on an abbreviated basis - jealous?) and only have a few days to pack up our place and move up the road to a nicer residence. The nicer residence would be good, the packing no me likey. Throw in a church activity I'm in charge of the same week, and you could bet on the hangnails I'll be sporting come December.

So I may or may not blog after today. I may or may not blog next week. And I may or may not live to tell my tales of Rhode Island and its beautiful piles of scrap and waste.

Now, what's your favorite Turkey day dish?

I can't get enough rolls myself.

(And do not say dressing! I prefer the term, "stuffing.")

Travel-locks

Do you like analogies?

I do. In fact, I like to drag them out so far that they go beyond ridiculously cheesy to positively inspiring. Seriously. If you start with a little comparison between life and sports, for example, by the fourth reference to your “game face” or “keeping score”, people will start to gag. But if you keep at it for ten or more references and end with something like “because it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game” … you’ll bring tears to the eyes of grown women. (Which is way more impressive than grown men because they actually like sports.)

And that is why I am going to tell you about my recent trip to Utah and Arizona, using haircutting jargon to cover all my bases … er, roots. (See, what I mean?) By the end, you’ll either be penning a sweet letter to your stylist or making an appointment. Whatever the case may be, you’ll be blown away. (Get it? Blown? Like a blowout?)

HIGHLIGHTS
* Seeing family and friends in two states I’ve called home. Catching up and hanging out was extraordinarily fun. And it didn’t hurt that there were always extra hands and hugs for Miss Dub, giving me some much needed respite from mommying. The days flew by, which made the trip fun but way too fast.
* Meeting my nephew, lil’ Gee, for the first time since his March debut. For the record, he’s really, really, ridiculously cute - so full of smiles and personality already. Although it was hard to get used to his slender build after hefting my hearty Miss Dub around. (For the record, I like her a little chubby!)
* Watching my bro and his new wife dance down the aisle in their custom Converse to the tune of “Happy Together” by The Turtles. She looked so gorgeous, and he wasn’t too shabby himself. Though he’ll always be a toddler obsessed with dinosaurs in my mind. Deal with it, Bogey.
* Lunching with an old mission companion, who I sadly hadn’t seen in a couple years. Did I mention that she looks like Barbie? Minus the plastic features, horrible cowlick and effeminate boyfriend. Oh, and she’s way nicer. All my Barbies had attitudes.
* Swimming with Miss Dub, Mrs. Jay and the extended Gourmet Girls clan. Mrs. Jay even went so far as to overnight matching swimsuits for Miss Dub and lil’ Gee to match her fam. Thankfully, Miss Dub loved the pool, which is good since I’ve been daydreaming about her Olympic swimming career for decades. I really didn’t want to settle for gymnastics.
* Not blogging or reading blogs for more than a week. No offense, but it was nice. Blogs can be computer crack for me sometimes so it was nice to go cold turkey. (Though the shakes were rough.)
* Eating way too much.

LOWLIGHTS
* The fact that my dear friend, Mrs. R, had to cancel her baby shower, which was the point of the Utah leg of my journey. You might be familiar with her plight, which you can read about here and hear about here and here. But sufficeth to say that bureaucracy and D.C. are synonymous for a reason. She and her little boy are separated from her husband for the unforeseen future because a signature and a piece of paper can’t seem to make a connection. So sad! (But in a lil’ highlight, I was able to sneak into her pad and leave some gifts, some signs and some lemon-fresh cleanliness!)
* Not seeing Mr. Dub for an entire week. Ouch. That was the sound of my heart breaking remembering our separation. Some people like the occasional reprieve from their other half, but we’re best as a team. (Shoot! I should have used a sports analogy.)
* Leaving my cell phone in Utah. Having my mother-in-law send it to me in Arizona, only to have it never arrive. Not being able to call my friend and congratulate her on the birth of her newest son. (Congrats!) Not being able to call Mrs. R and check up on her adoption proceedings. (How goes it?) Checking my messages and realizing that only three people tried to call me since I left it behind. And two of them are related to me.
* Finding out in the SLC airport that my sole suitcase was six pounds overweight. Being informed that I would have to transfer said six pounds to my already overflowing diaper bag. Ditching a huge load of diapers in a restroom instead.

* Eating way too much.

All in all, the entire journey was shear joy and a cut above all other trips. It took my straight life and turned it into an adventurous updo. It was a brush with greatness. My life was the splits and it acted as a hot oil treatment.

-- OK, so maybe some analogies are just too trite to use.

But in the end, it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.

Or something like that.

Picture pages

Twelve days,

three states

and a lot of

good food.

No, it’s not the proposed epitaph for my gravestone.

It's the shortest description of my über-fun trip to Utah and Arizona.

But since I’ve never been one for brevity, I’ll share a little more of my travels … tomorrow.

(Ha, look at me building suspense! Take that Angela Lansbury!)

For now, it’s all pics, all the time.

(And 60 percent of the time, it works every time!)