little beans

My sister had her sonogram today. She showed me the black and white print-out. Immediately I said "Awwww..." Then I stopped and pointed to the little bean-shaped thing inside of a black bubble and asked, "That's the baby, right?"

She nodded.

"Oh, good! Awww...."

maple topping could never be good for you

I never pretended that a maple oat scone was good for you. I just never bothered to look at the nutrition facts for the treats I like. On Friday, I spent some time with a friend, who is also a Starbucks barista. He told me that the maple oat scone was the third worst pastry to get at Starbucks - giving us an outrageous figure of 49 grams of fat and 1200 calories. Imagine my horror as I recalled the balled-up pastry bag in my car - it still smelled like maple! I knew the darn thing was not good - but that was way worse than I ever imagined. So, with a sense of regret, I banned it's delicious maple-goodness from my life.

This morning, I decided to check the nutrition facts on all Starbucks foods. Well... OK, the scone is still not good for you, but my friend mis-quoted the figures - somehow more than doubling their numbers. However, as far as healthy food choices go, that scone IS THE WORST item in the case, rivaled only by the coffee cake and the apple fritter - which both have less fat than the scone. So, it's pretty bad, but if you ate salad with no dressing for the rest of the day and maybe a few non-fat yogurts, you wouldn't go over the daily allotment for fat or calories - that is, if you are a woman. You men get a lot more calories and fat per day... No fair! You already got standing while peeing!

your opinion here

Dear blogdom, I call upon thee to give me a straight answer. I was involved in a debate today. A mild and non-political debate, but a dialogue of disagreement none-the-less. I want/desire/crave/yearn for your opinion.

Background: I was a journalism major when I started collage. I have litterings of "See you at the New York Times" all over my senior yearbook. Footloose and fancy-free, I was not. I took my role seriously. Others more so than I. And therein lies the loose string that unraveled my initial plans. Journalists I encountered were of a vicious and highly competitive nature. At the tender age of twenty, I decided (after spending a semester abroad) that I was not that sort of person and decided history was the real path for me. My reasoning was backed by a Glamour Magazine editor (Kirsten Golden-Something-or-Other) who told me that many magazines were looking for someone with a flare for writing, but with a well-rounded background. So, my new plan was to become part of the staff of magazine that would find value in someone well-versed in Early-Modern European History. Why? Because I was twenty.

So forgive me for taking this topic to heart, but it wields a certain power over me. Here is my question for you: Can someone learn to write or is a talent you hone-in on?

I maintain that you can teach someone how to properly use grammar, but being able to convey your message to the world - indubitably crafted to tell your story, or evoke specific emotions or opinions - is not something you can learn. It is something you are born with.

Forgive me, dear readers, if I am being harsh. I want to be persuaded otherwise. I would like to believe that I could sing like Norah Jones, if given the right vocal teacher and practice. I know that God gave each of us certain gifts and some people are ridiculously talented (eh-hem, Jen and Darlene) at one thing, like writing, while the rest of us find our gifts in other arenas. We can't all be good at one thing, or this would be a really boring world.

you don't know Jack

I've waited many months for Jack to return. Fans were treated to a 24-ilicious 4-hour season premier. Lucky me, my husband got all of it last week, but somehow we didn't have time to watch it until Sunday. How delightful to start Jack's day six killing by having him bite into a terrorist's jugular. Very a-la Lost Boys.

I've had to bite my tongue for a whole day, since I knew that Jack killed Curtis earlier than many of my fellow fans. Poor, poor Curtis. I know him and Jack had their differences. I know Jack had to knock Curtis out and I know Curtis had to hold Jack and gun point more than once... But they were friends. What's with 24 kick-starting their seasons by killing awesome characters? Last year it was President Palmer, Tony, Michelle and Edgar, now it's Curtis. They better not mess with my favorite grouchy tech. Long live Chloe!

Although dead by the fourth hour, Ahmed is play by Taj from the Van Wilder movie. I just can't take him seriously, especially as a "bad guy." Plus, he's SO OBVIOUSLY INDIAN, not Middle-Eastern.

fantastic news

No. Not me.

T'would seem as though I am surrounded by impregnated people and babies. However, none have come so close to home as this recent exciting announcement. I'm going to be an auntie! Ok, so I'm already an aunt, but this is my first niece/nephew since 1988.

My sister told me by placing a present in front of me. I asked, "What's this for?"

"For being a great sister," she replied and smiled.

Inside the box was a bib with "My Aunt Loves Me" embroidered on it. It took me about 30 seconds to figure it out, because at first I was thinking: Is this a joke? Why would she get a bib for my cat? Although that's not as bad as when my oldest sister told me (mind you, I was at the tender age of 10) that she was going to have a baby. My reply to that was, "Does Johnny know?"

I guess I am as blond as I look sometimes, but I did figure it out. I gave her a huge hug and cried with joy for her and my brother-in-law. I couldn't be happier for them.

Dale Wilson, I will never forget him...

When someone passes tragically and without any kind of warning the shock you see in the stricken faces around you is almost too wretched to bear. The weight on your heart seems to press the air out of your lungs and in between shallow breaths, the reality seeps in as the blur from your tears takes over your sight.

On Tuesday around 10:30 PM I got a call that Dale Wilson, someone that I worked with in So. San Francisco, left work on Tuesday night, headed to the gym and collapsed on the treadmill. He didn't make it. The last time that I saw Dale was on December 20, my last day with the company. He planned, arranged and picked-up my going-away lunch from Max's. I went to his desk to thank him for planning the whole thing and to let him know how much I had enjoyed working with him in particular. He gave me a huge bear hug that really took me by surprise then he got a little misty and asked me if I was leaving right then. I told him that I was actually going to be around a bit to help here and there, but not on a regular basis. He grinned and said "Oh, so this isn't goodbye, then. Good." Other than a few work-related issues, those were basically our last words to each other. If I had known I wouldn’t speak with him again, I would have told him how much I really admired him and how much fun it was to work with him.

Difficult doesn't begin to decribe trying to imagine how things will be without him. I went into the office the day after I got the news, and you could still feel him in the office. He left for work that day, like any other. His navy fleece jacket was still on the back of his chair, his notes were everywhere and the feel of "Dale" was still all over his corner. I was thinking about how it must be unfathomable for the office to seem normal, ever again. If you really think about it, you spend more awake-time with the people you work with than your family. This office is like a family - absolutely like a family. And they are mourning like one. My already heavy heart ached all the more as I stepped into their grief. Dale was an integral part of the office - he was the glue.

As for myself, I am still shocked. The night after I found out, I had a dream that we were misinformed. I dreamt that we got to the office and were told that Dale was really OK, but he was in the hospital. We got to the hospital and there was Dale - telling us that he was just fine and not to worry. I woke-up with the sense that he was fine and that it was all a big mistake.

Many times I thought that Dale was so "cute." And by that I meant that his personality was so gentle, caring and yet powerful that he reminded me of my dad. There was something about Dale that made you feel like you could trust him with your life. I knew Dale for just under a year, but in that time, I took away my own window into his life. Here is what he will always be to me:
- Fun to play pranks on.
- Someone with an excellent sense of humor.
- Kind-hearted.
- A proud father.
- The beaming best man for his son's upcoming wedding.
- Someone who took pride in his work.
- The guy who called me Heidi for wearing my hair in messy buns.
- Someone who took all of the Moosejaw jibes we gave him.
- Someone who left grammatically-incorrect notes. :)
- The biggest Giant's fan I have ever met.
- Really into baseball. Period.
- Protective of those he loves.
- A strong leader in the office.
- The Little League Coach with a cute glint in his eyes.
- Someone who was at Candlestick when the '89 Earthquake hit.
- Definitely someone who spoke softly, but carried a big stick.
- Someone who didn't carry anger with him.
- A deeply sentimental man.
- A great man with a sense of duty.
- Someone with an admirable work-ethic.
- Fiercely loyal.

While this is really sad for me, it's even harder for his family. He leaves his newly-engaged son and daughter behind. I know he was very close to his children. Please pray that his family and friends find strength and peace through Christ. I know everyone touched by Dale feels as I do - fortunate to have ever known him. He will never be forgotten.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I end week one of 2007.

for justin

He loves Jesus.
He is faithful.
He is a loving and caring father.
He puts family at the top of his priorities.
He takes care of me.
He worries about me when my cough has been hanging on too long.
He makes me laugh.
He laughs at my jokes and sense of humor.
He thinks I'm beautiful.
He loves to just spend time with me, doing whatever.
He encourages me, daily.
He tries to figure out what I want, even when I don't even know.
He's always fixing my computer problems.
He will make dinner.
He loves my cooking.
He lets me listen to Kelly Clarkson when it's my iPod time.
He gives me honesty when I need/want it.
He doesn't attempt to do my laundry.
He does chores around the house, without complaint.
He does the heavy lifting, even though I don't ask for help.
He is always by my side at whatever I have RSVPed for.
He will take a turn on the dancefloor, even though he doesn't like to.
He pays attention.
He lets me buy Best Food mayonaise, even if it's more expensive.
He loves our kitty.
He will bring me cheese on a Wassa cracker, when I'm hungry.
He steps-up to volunteer, because he really wants to.
He wants the very best for the people around him.
He is the love of my life.

I can't even list all of the things he does and is. If I tried you would be scrolling forever.