An Update

Laura is

and the nausea is beginning to pass.

"Anyone in the world can write anything about any subject. So you know you are getting the best possible information."

A brief smattering of replies in response to Tyler's google search "Which way do you turn in order to tighten your bike spokes?"

"Righty tighty, lefty loosey."

"If you turn your spokes clockwise you will loosen them. You have to think of it in terms of what you are trying to accomplish. If you have a loose spoke, what is the problem? The problem is that the spoke is not long enough and so it's not seating the way it's supposed to. You turn the nut counterclockwise."

"Huh?"

"It depends on the position that you look at it. If you are on the side of wheel and spin it counter clockwise (left) it will tighten the spoke because the spoke is sinking deeper into the nut and reducing the thread count. The nipple doesn't move so that is why it seems like it's a reversed thread, but it isn't."

"The same way that you tighten anything."

"If you are standing behind your bike looking at the tire, imagine turning the spoke nipple clockwise. This will tighten your spoke, the one you say your having trouble with is seized and turning the spoke with the nipple, you can try a cleaner with creeping agent but you usually have to take the tire off and use a new spoke and nipple."

"How many riders does it take to tighten a spoke? 20. One to hold the spanner and the other 19 to confuse the crap outta the poor chap."

"I'm more confused now than when I asked the question a few weeks ago. Forget it."

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

We must live as Christ or suffer as Christ (my paraphrase of D&C 19: 16-18).

I thought this book was a beautiful fable illustrating that theme. Edward Tulane is an arrogant, conceited china bunny who goes on a dark and painful journey having and losing various owners and in the process learns to love. It is only when he begins to emulate Christ--raised on a cross and is resurrected--that he begins to understand that love is really all that is essential.

That's my interpretation, at least.

I think that Kate DiCamillo compiled the most appropriate and evocative names I have ever seen in this book: Edward Tulane, Abilene, Pelegrina, Bull, Lucy, Sarah Ruth, Bryce. Wonderful.

This Picture Needs No Explanation Other Than

Isn't my husband the sexiest man alive?

The Reivers

I think William Faulkner got the Pulitzer Prize for this book because it was his last one.

That said, I don't think Faulkner really writes a poor book. I was surprised by how straightforward and genuinely funny this book was. It was still written stream-of conciousness style like his other books. I didn't really know Faulkner had it in him to be satirically funny without being morbid. That alone made this a fun read.

Hmm. What else.

The story is a coming-of-age story, a genre I generally enjoy, but I thought Faulkner dealt with the coming-of-age moment particularly well. The narrator, Lucius Priest, is an eleven-year old boy who steals his grandfather's car with two of his grandfather's employees--"childlike" Boon Hogganbeck and black Ned McCaslin. He's forced through all sorts of adult adventures he's not prepared to deal with because of his choice--prostitution, horse smuggling, gambling, jail. When he finally arrives home his father prepares to whip him. Lucius thinks this is a terribly inadequate consequence for his behavior: "[If] all that I had done was balanced by no more than a shaving strop, then both [me and my father] were debased." His grandfather comes in for a an adult conversation:

"I lied," I said.
"Come here," [Grandfather] said.
"I cant," I said. "I lied, I tell you."
"I know it," he said.
"Then do something about it. Do anything, just so it's something."
"I cant," he said.
"There aint anything to do? Not anything?"
"I didn't say that," Grandfather said. "I said I couldn't. You can."
"What?" I said. "How can I forget it? Tell me how to."
"You cant," he said. "Nothing is ever forgotten. Nothing is ever lost. It's too valuable."
"Then what can I do?"
"Live with it," Grandfather said.
"Live with it? You mean, forever? For the rest of my life? Not ever to get rid of it? Never? I cant. Dont you see I cant?"
"Yes you can," he said. "You will. A gentleman always does. A gentleman can live through anything. He faces anything. A gentleman accepts the responsibility of his actions and bears the burden of their consequences, even when he did not himself instigate them but only acquiesced to them, didn't say No though he knew he should. Come here." Then I was crying hard, bawling [...]. "There," he said at last. "That should have emptied the cistern. Now go wash your face. A gentleman cries too, but he always washes his face."

I think that's a beautiful description of the inadequacy one feels when faced with the weight of sin. And I think his grandfather is beautiful, too.

Six Iron

I forgot just how good of a golfer I really am.

Why I Am Enjoying My Biweekly Drive Through Utah County

http://www.husbandandwife.net/index.html

My question is, if it's tasteful, comfortable, and clean, doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose?

Introducing the Comedy Stylings of Mr. Bryson Howe (My Four-Year-Old Nephew)

Bryson: "What did one chair say to the other chair?"
Me: "I don't know, what?"
Bryson: "He tooted."

Bryson: "Why was the elephant's skin wrinkled?"
Me: "Why?"
Bryson: "He tooted."

Bryson: "Why did the banana loose his skin?"
Me: "Let me guess. He tooted?"
Bryson: "No. He punched him in the face and ran over him."

Living Large "25 or 6 to 4" Style

Tyler and I are pretty good at trading busy periods of life. When he's busy, I'm usually available. When I'm busy, he's available. This has worked well in parenting. This trade is also apparent in blogging. As you can see from the last five video entries, I've been kind of busy lately. Tyler--not so much.

For the last several months, I've been participating in a study for women who have miscarried before and who want to get pregnant. Before I began this study, I had to answer 200 million questions about my lifestyle including do I dress my dog in people clothes, do I think Chicago should have stopped producing music in the mid-70s, and what do I think of Weezer's new album (no and yes and I kinda like that Pork and Beans song).

I went into the appointment a bit late (the U of U hospital is a big place and Information has no idea where the research nurses are located) so I was a little bit flustered. That being flustered turned into being floored when I saw that Angelina Jolie was my nurse. Her long hair curled softly around her face and she looked up at me from beneath luscious eyelashes. Her pout turned into a smile as she welcomed me to the appointment and asked me to have a seat. I glimpsed a butterfly tattoo on her lower back and never has a tat seemed more classy or more desirable.

I was contemplating whether tattoos fit in with BYU's honor code and how I could maintain professionalism with my students if I had one below my navel when she launched into several thousand questions about my personal life:

"How old are you?"
"28."
"Oh hey! Me too! Do you use recreational drugs?"
"No."
"How much alcohol do you drink?"
"None."
"Not any?"
"Nope."
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
"Would you call your caffeine intake minimal, moderate, or excessive?"
"Minimal."
"Like how much caffeine a week?"
"None."
"A month?"
"None."
"What time do you go to bed on weekdays?"
"10 pm."
"And get up?"
"6 am."
"What time do you go to bed on weekends?"
"10 pm. But sometimes it's as late as 10:15."
"How old are you again?"
"I'm the most boring 28-year-old alive. That's how old I am."

Castle Blocks

We really work this fast! . . . Really!

Twirly Slide

Talmage and his cousin, Stockton, at Canyon Rim Park.

Boys Shouldn't Have Curly Hair: A "Tyler" Entry

Alright . . . I've been pulled from my superiority complex concerning "Laura's" blog to a humble position where I stand in critical need from the blog itself. I'm hoping to get all the necessary information from this blog before Laura returns from her camping trip. If that's the case, I might be able to delete this entry and continue to turn my nose up at her hobby.

Laura and I are at an impasse. This may be the ultimate stumbling block of our marriage. And, for two extremely absent-minded people, that's rather impressive. I do not know if we are capable of coming to an agreement on our own, so I am petitioning all of Laura's readers for some mediation. The topic: my curly hair.

Now, I will not pretend to be able to hide the official position of either Laura or myself. Laura cringes every time I get a haircut and snip away the curlies. I, on the other hand, have spent much of my life fighting the said curly hair. The Kindergarten through 3rd grade approach was the most successful: lots of mousse!

Those of you who know us best know Laura has been slowly winning this battle. My hair is currently longer and curlier than ever before. However, I fear I've simply been bottling up my frustrations. I could snap at any moment. Who knows--Laura may come home to find a husband with a buzzed head. Thus, the mediation I require from you!

Above is a sampling of my hair at various lengths over the past year. What I require from you is simple. Please cast a vote in the comments section to tell me which length you prefer. Please know, your opinion in no way manifests your allegiance to either member of our marriage. I know you all love Laura more--but you don't have to let this vote reflect that.

Please, I am asking for your help. Feel free to click on the picture for a closer look.

Lake Blanche . . . And This One is Kinda Long

How To Make Your House Smell Like a 1970s Counterculture Compound

Boil some potatoes. Forget about them. Let the smoke fill up your house. Try to mask the smoke smell with a blend of cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon, and cloves. Burn that out, too.

Just because my family's coming into town, I have to revert to the crazy, absent-minded, free-spirited Laura, not the Laura who regularly keeps a household running.

Too Many Puzzles!

"The Time Between Meeting And Finally Leaving Is Sometimes Called Falling In Love" by Lisa Loeb

This is my new favorite break-up song. It's a shame I discovered it when I'm several years past break-up time. At least I don't plan on breaking up with Tyler in the near future.

Tyler has informed me that he will never leave me, unless I have an affair, in which case he will divorce me so quickly I won't even have time to intimate I'm sorry. And he will never, ever, ever forgive me. Never.

Tyler has also stipulated that if he dies, I am allowed to get remarried for Talmage's sake. And I can hold the new husband's hand BUT THAT'S IT. Maybe I can kiss him, but only on special occasions. And there had better not be anything French about it.

I recommend the acoustic version sung with Emmylou Harris at Lilith Fair.

And Yes . . . The Trains, Cars, and Ball Were Completely Necessary

Pajama Pants Roll Call

I think I'm a fairly attractive person. My dad tells me I'm semi-beautiful. I'm tall, moderately slender (at least I was before I had Talmage), I've got long blond hair. I've got a "distinguished" nose that was genetically UPS'ed to me straight from Norway.

On Sundays and days when I teach I put on my classy clothes purchased for me by my generous and sartorially gifted in-laws, I take full advantage of the love for funky jewelry bestowed on me by my mother; and man, on those days I am nothing short of HOT.

Other days, however, I'm lucky to make it to 3:30 pm before I shed whatever outfit I put on for the day and change into my dressing-down clothes. On these days (read everyday except Sunday and Tuesday) I like to remind Tyler that he daydreamed of a wife who wore her grubbies and put her hair in a ponytail, although I'm pretty sure that in his daydream that imagined wife looked a lot cuter than I do and had a lot cuter grubbies than I do. I don't even have any compulsions against going out in public.

I think these extremes in wardrobe come directly from my dad, a semi-handsome man who owns 17 white shirts to go with his 5 suits and 20 ties. The rest of his wardrobe consists of 4 T-shirts, one that proclaims "So many books, so little time," one that advertises Orofino, a throw-back to when my mom thought she could solve all of Brazil's health problems through bottled water, one T-shirt that he earned running the 1984 Deseret News Marathon, and the final T-shirt displaying a large toucan. These shirts he pairs with pressed khaki shorts, dressy black socks, and the tennis shoes he wore when he ran the 1984 Deseret News Marathon. On his head he gently places a cap with the logo of the now defunct Finn B. Paulsen construction company, proudly displaying it Ashton Kutcher style. We Paulsens know how to dress DOWN.

In the spirit of historical accuracy, I thought I'd chronicle my large collection of pajama pants, starting with the pants I received for Christmas last year and work backwards chronologically. The list will showcase the pants proudly displayed in Tyler's video "Sparklers and Snaps," the pants that my college roommate saw and asked, "Have you had those a really long time? I think I recognize them." To which I respond, "You think college is a long time?" Honey, that's like saying I have an old vintage wine, aged three years (does it sound like I know what I'm talking about? don't tell anyone I looked up wine vocabulary on wikipedia). My pants get better with AGE, and the ones I'm wearing now are full-bodied, woody, complex, and round.

1. 2007 I received these pajama pants for Christmas from the formerly mentioned sartorially gifted in-laws. When Marissa, my little sister, saw them she noted, "Those pants really are a cut above the rest of the collection." They are red and pink with a not-quite-paisley print. My sisters-in-law received the same pants and I notice that they both look cuter in them than I do, an direct comment on the fact they wear the pants with the matching long-sleeve red cotton tee that came with them, not the Fill the Ark Fun Run tee with a goat on the front, like I do.

2. 2007 Black, three racing stripes down the side. Tyler gave them to me with a matching running jacket, and in the completed outfit, I feel only mildly Greek with a desire to put on several gold chains.

3. 2005 I mark these pants 2005, but I only received them in 2005. These are pre-owned pants and I have no idea when they were purchased. They are navy with a thin white racing strip down the legs and when I wore them to my parents house, Marissa said, "I really thought you'd fix the hole in the butt before you wore them." Current state of the hole? Still there.

4. 2004 Again, pre-owned pants, original date unknown. Navy. Fuzzy. From Banana Republic. And I say, who cares if they're from 1997? Once Banana Republic, always Banana Republic.

5. 2004 Light blue with a small polka-dot print. I wore these pants when I was staining the fence, including when I sat on the bench with spilled stain on it, yielding pants that look like their stained by _____. Marissa commented yesterday, "Laura, you need to throw those _____-stained pants away." And I said, "It only looks like _____ stain. It's actually wood stain." And she said, "But it looks like _____ stain. Isn't that really the problem?" To which I NOW respond "Get off my back. You clearly are the most vocal critic of my pajama pants. And I keeping the _____-stained pants."

6. 2004 Green. Gray-racing stripes. More pre-owned pants. I guess this is a testament to how much of my wardrobe I inherit from cute sister Marissa. Now I'm feeling bad for telling her to step off before.

7. 2001 Pre-owned and oh, so comfortable. Cotton with a blue plaid print. I got these off of one of my mission companions which I am keeping despite the fact that you can now see through them as an academic folklore object documenting missionaries giving each other stuff. And did I mention how comfortable they are?

8. 2000 I bought these from the Gap so I could have a cute going-to-Moab outfit with the Howes before I was a part of their family. And it worked. Darris complimented my Moab digs. They are now paint-splattered.

9. 1997 The classic flannel plaid pajama pants. Tyler took me to MA junior year. It was a pajama party. He bought me these pants. Don't I need to keep them just for that reason? I've washed them so many times they now flood half-way up my calves, and I find they look particularly nice with my J-crew scoop neck white tee that I've owned since 1993 with a hole in the shoulder. My mother and husband have both tried to throw away this entire outfit. To which I say, "Jokes on you! Still wearing it."

Sparklers and Snaps

Do You Know Your Colors?

Why I Haven't Posted in a Relatively Long Time

Do you know how long it takes to sand, apply two coats of Winwax cherry stain, apply one coat of Quick-Drying Polyurethane, sand, and apply another coat of of Quick-Drying Polyurethane to the parts made to assemble this wardrobe?



A REALLY, REALLY, REALLY LONG TIME. Continents could divide. The ice caps could recede. And we haven't even started to put it together.

Why I won't be posting for another long time? I've got to do the same thing to this.



Next time I'm just going to prostitute my soul and buy the furniture from Pottery Barn.

Marco Polo