For The Wife

Two can play at this game...

...by the way, I love you more.

Lucky, Lucky Tuesday

It's Lucky, lucky Tuesday. Do you know what that means? It means you need to sit down and get comfy because it is story time! I am about to share another morsel from my life regarding Barta Heiner. (for a little Barta background go here)

Again, when I was at BYU and rooming with the best roommate on the planet (besides the husband) we both worked at the Morris Center. Did you work at the Morris Center? The roommate, let's call her J, and I met there, in fact. We worked together, serving food to ravenous dorm-livers for a whole year (and eating the yummy cookies from the dessert line).

After we spent a year working together, we decided that we should be roommates. So we were. And it was great. Except for the psycho roommates. And we got a new living situation. And we bought a t.v. from Barta Heiner. And from then on, we were obsessed with all things Barta. Because it was a funny thing to laugh about. An inside joke, if you will.

One day we were at work and there appeared by the kronos (the time clock system used by BYU) a stack of half-sheet fliers advertising a production that Barta was to be appearing in: The Glass Menagerie. We did the only logical thing that one might do, if you ACTUALLY KNOW Barta Heiner. We took home that stack of Barta fliers and cut out her face from each one and taped them to the wall to form a huge heart-shape from the numerous mugs of her. That's so logical- we heart Barta, therefore we should make a heart-shape out of her pictures.

In the following days we came across small posters advertising the production which we took home to add to the shrine. There was an article in The Daily Universe announcing the opening of the show. We cut that out and encapsulated it in the Barta heart.

J and I met in the Cougareat at the Wilk one day for lunch. As we were simultaneously eating and checking out the hotties (actually, I was the only one checking out the hotties since J had a missionary + a boyfriend= dear john. and all I had was a really great guy friend who shared a confusing relationship with me) we noticed on the wall, hanging near some large artwork, a giant 3' x 4' poster advertising The Glass Menagerie with guest artist Barta Heiner. We had to have that poster. It was the missing piece.

A plan was hatched. The production was to run February 23- March 9th. The final performance being March 9 at 7:30 PM. We determined to be in the Cougareat on March 9th at 7:31 to claim that poster for our own.

On the appointed day at the appointed time we made the dangerous journey to carry out the risky mission. We made our way to the Wilkinson Center and carefully removed the poster from the spot in which it hung. We stole that poster. (Can you believe it? We are thieves.) We took it home and displayed it proudly in the front room of our house.

After it hung in the front room for a few weeks, it was relocated to our bedroom so that it could complete the Barta shrine. It was hung on the wall adjacent to the heart. And it was a thing of beauty. The likes of which have never been seen since. It was pure tribute to the wonder that is Barta Heiner.




Shortly after, J became engaged and I met the man of my dreams and became engaged myself. We both had summer weddings and new roommates. The shrine was dismantled. And in packing up at the end of the school year for a new life, somehow I won the poster and the cut out faces.

One newlywed evening the husband and I were talking and I divulged to him the whole Barta odyssey. I ran to our closet and pulled from its dark corner a rolled up poster. I slid off the rubber bands, unrolled the poster and revealed to the husband a tidbit from my past.

A plan was hatched. We took that poster and a few of the cutout faces and in the dark of night crept to the basement apartment of J and her groom. We pasted the poster and little Barta faces to their door, knocked and ran like a child who is trying to pull one over on the clerk at the Corner Store.


I haven't seen the poster since. But I trust that it is well taken care of.


*after I dug this picture out of my stack of un-scrapbooked photos, I noticed that there are show tickets and a play bill from the show. I do not recall going to the show. I don't have a clue what the tickets might be from. My memory fails me. So, J, if you read this can you remember what those are?

Life B.S. and A.S.

Everyone should have satin pillowcases. Probably everyone does. I just bought some. Finally. After threatening to do so for a LONG time. I got them on clearance at Target- $2.48 for two. I know! Couldn't pass it up. Now when I decide to leave my hair curly for a day, I can wear it curly the next day again without washing it (TMI? sorry, but there are times I go, GASP, a day without washing my hair- but only if it was straight the day before. Disgusting, I know. Necessary, yes) (But I do shower EVERY day. K?)

Life B.S. (before satin) was a wash-the-hair-every-day affair if I chose to stay curly. Now, I can go TWO WHOLE DAYS IN A ROW with curly hair. So liberating. The satin makes it possible for my curls to still look great- not crunched and smooshed and all bedhead looking. I am loving life A.S.

A whole new world is open to me.

And now I think I gotta get some satin sheets.

Head Service

I have made a resolution. Starting yesterday, I am determining to do more for others.

I often have this type of thought creep into my head: "I should call so and so" or "I need to drop by whatshernames" or "After I get done making these cookies, I should take a plate over to the neighbor's" etc, etc, ETC. I am ALWAYS thinking of things I should do. But a lot of the time that's where it ends- with just the thought.

This one time, like 3 or more years ago, when one of my friends was pregnant, we were in a group setting where we were talking about projects we needed to get done around the house and she mentioned that she still needed to clean the cement splatters from off her back windows from when her house was being built and stuccoed. Right that minute I determined to go and clean her windows the next morning. So, the next morning I woke up, gathered the necessary window cleaning supplies, and went and knocked on her door. And waited. Then I rang her doorbell. And waited. She didn't answer. I walked back to my car and loaded the supplies and the children and returned home.

Then againg the following morning I made the trek back to her doorstep, determined to complete the task this time. Again I knocked. I waited. I rang. I waited. Again, no answer. So, dejected, I loaded the necessaries back into my car.

I didn't go back the next day. I just let it go.

I just re-read all this and it seems like the next logical/ tragical sentence should be- "I never got the chance to do it or anything else for her, because tragically the next day she and her whole family were swept from the earth in a ginormous tornado and I will never see her again in this life. Why didn't I follow those promptings?" Yeah, it is nothing like that, it's just that now she has moved to cooler and greener pastures- just an hour and a half up the freeway. I don't think I even ever told her about this. Maybe I should have. Maybe just telling her about it would have meant something to her. I don't know. Maybe she is reading this today and now she knows what I almost did for her. Again, I don't know.

My point? I always have these thoughts and impressions. If everyone I know only knew how many times I perform an awesome service for them in my head, they would feel really loved and looked after. But, I guess head service has no real lasting merit. So that's why, starting yesterday, I am actually determined to see my head service to fruition. All those good intentions that I have? I will act on them. And this resolution feels good.

And don't be surprised if I show up one morning on your front doorstep, bucket/cookies/book/whatever in hand ready to do whatever it is that we talked about yesterday.

Come, Swap Howdies

I love reading people's words written from the depths of their souls typed onto the pages of the Internet. I love the wit, the warmth, the wisdom, the wonder that is another's life. I love to catch a glimpse of what their everyday may or may not be. I am inspired when I come across blogs of human beings caught between mortality and eternity. And yet, at times, I feel like I am intruding on moments too personal for me, a stranger, to even be reading.

I find myself wanting to sit with them. Learn more about them. Connect in a way that may be only possible through a blog. Most times I read their thoughts and move on. Sometimes I visit their comment page. And even less often, I leave a comment- I am especially hesitant if I don't know the person. (I tend to comment on the blogs of those I know, or the blogs of those who comment on my little blog.) This is ironic, because I would love to hear from those who visit my little neck of the Internet woods, yet I feel shy to "swap howdies" with all the bloggers I stalk, especially if they have a long list of comments because I feel like my meager offering is swallowed up in the ocean of words.

Here is my problem: I just don't know what to say when I comment. Sometimes it is obvious how I should respond, but other times I am at a loss. Mostly I am just a lame commenter. I just can't find my humor or wisdom when I need it, so instead of sounding ridiculous and un-witty, I pass on the comment page. Oh, the pressure. Pathetic, I know. Honest? Yes. And then sometimes, I wonder if they would really even want to hear from me. Hello? That makes no sense to me because of my own personal feelings on desiring to hear from others when they are in my wedgie neighborhood.

I will find a way to reconcile all of this. And when I do, you bet I will write about it. In the meantime, I am wondering this: what are your expectations or hopes regarding comments and commenters? Do comments matter to you? And what compels you to comment or not? Please don't keep your comments to yourselves, because I know there are a few of you who are reading right now who have never joined in the discussion. Come on, comment- you don't even have to raise your hand first. We're pretty laid-back around here.