{Captivated by the Season}

My original plan for today's post was to write something very profound. I was going to write something deep, perhaps even wise, and make you all stop to reflect on your lives. I was essentially going to change the world.

Then I sat down with my laptop and I could not bear the thought of all the effort it would take to change the world. Since it's Monday and I never really got to enjoy the weekend, I'm making today an extension of yesterday. Today it's gonna be all about the fluff of my life. Lots of pictures, not many words. It's my Monday gift to you...

Currently my iPhoto library looks like this:

Gorgeous.

Why? Because I went to Oregon. Why? To be with Poor Kyle. Why? Because I love him. Why? Good question. (Smiley face.)

Anyway, I was glad to go on the three-day road trip even though I had just returned from Mesa the day before. After taking all these photos of fall leaves and anything that struck me as beautiful, I'm even gladder [more glad?].

I hope you are as captivated by the season as I have been. Enjoy.

Everyone should take a long drive through fall foliage at least once in their life. It's really very healing. I wasn't even sick, but I feel healed.

Don't you feel healed?

If I could tear out the trees in front of our house and replant them with these beauties (above), I would. Only I don't know what they're called. Any ideas?




I thrill at the sight of a long, straight bit of railroad track. There's so much hope in a railroad track.







Oh, and also...I don't brush my hair anymore. Not worth it. I threw away every brush I own, so any hairstyling I do from now on will be with fingertips, bobby pins and Trash Ties™. Just thought you should know.

Leaves in the gutter--how lovely.

Again with the railroad tracks--I'm sensing a theme.

There. All better. Like chicken soup for the friggen soul.

{Happy Monday.}

Hello? Kansas? Anybody?

A recent map of visitors to Archives of Our Lives looks something like this:

And when I say "recent" I mean mere minutes ago. And when I say "something like this," I mean exactly.

I'm thinking Archives of Our Lives needs to branch out.

Quick, tell all your friends in the mid-west (why do they call it the "mid-west" when it's really just the "mid?") to read my blog.

For that matter, tell anyone outside the North American continent, too.

I'm the next big thing. I'm taking over Dooce™.

Or didn't you hear?

{I Met Loralee and All I Got Was a Low Self-Esteem}

I drove 13 hours to meet Loralee.

Okay, so I was going through Utah anyway, and I had three hours to go from there, so I needed to stop for dinner. But that doesn't mean I was any less excited for the rendezvous.


See, there was this time in my life that I lost my faith in humanity; Loralee renewed that faith. During the first few months of my blogging obsession, I stalked many a talented bloggers, and didn't quite understand why none of them stalked me in return. Loralee was the first professional blogger to acknowledge me, and even then it was only after I begged on my hands and knees for it. But however pathetic my reasons, I felt like a superstar the first day I read a comment from her, and every comment thereafter. I'm sure she was just trying to be nice, because she'd been in my position, but eventually I gathered the courage to email her and now we're sort of friends.

And we've met, so we're sort of better friends.

She's really very nice. For anyone wondering whether he or she should try and meet his or her blogging hero, my advice is to go for it.

For one thing, she buys cute shoes at good prices. Very likable indeed. (The blogger, not the shoes. [Though the shoes are nice, too.])

Probably all blogging heroes are as cool as Loralee, who asked the waiter to split our cheques right from the start [I am so paranoid about whether or not that is tacky, I would have paid for me, Loralee, and her displaced southern belle friend, if it meant I could avoid an awkward situation. I bet you wish you'd never spoken up, eh Loralee?].

Also, I got the scoop on a lot of juicy drama that Loralee is too tasteful to ever actually post on her blog--it was the real inside edition, and totally worth every moment of pre-meeting anxiety.

But really, our friendship was doomed from the beginning. Loralee and I can never become truly bosom buddies. Because when our dinner at Chili's was over, our pictures were taken and our goodbyes hugged, I unlocked the door to Tamra Camry, sank--relieved at my presence of mind through the meal--into the driver seat, and checked the visor mirror. Only about an hour too late...

Like I said--doomed. And it'll be a cold day in Mesa before I order lettuce wraps in public again.

*Really, though. Loralee is lots of fun. Go meet her and tell her that crazy girl sent you.*

{The Dog Ate My Blog Post}

I've always wanted to use that excuse for something, but growing up, the only dog I ever had was Sampson, a black lab who was equally energetic and lazy. He would never eat anything besides the regular food and snacks, so even when I tried to feed him my past-due assignments, he'd turn up his opinionated nose at them.

He's dead now; we killed him.

It was so hard saying goodbye to a dog I didn't even really like that I swore I would never love again--love another dog, anyway. Which means, obviously, that no dog actually ate my blog posts. I've simply been taking my sweet time getting back into the groove of things since my trip to AZ. My family's (+Chelsie) visit last week was splendid, although when it came time for them to leave, I almost wished they'd never come--kind of like how I wish I'd never begged my parents for a puppy so I'd never have to kill Sampson.

But dead or alive, time goes on and I'm back in Canada. For Poor Kyle, the novelty of having his wife back has worn off. I think he remembers how testy I can be--I don't like children, I rarely make the bed, and hosting dinner parties gets me grouchy. I think he wishes I was back in Arizona where he could miss me from a distance, and all my faults would be blurred by fourteen hundred mile markers.

And me? Well, it's not that I don't like marriage--I just hate being wrong all the time. Before we got married, I heard from at least 50 people that "marriage requires a lot of compromising." That was fine with me--Poor Kyle was going to have a lot of compromising to do, naturally. Because I never imagined that he could be twice as stubborn as I am, and I would, in fact, be the one to back down in the name of peace [and not becoming another statistic of divorce].

Then again, he probably feels like nobody ever warned him just how often he would have to give up and give in to keep the peace. I read a lot of blogs about marital and parental bliss, and I'm not buying it. Yes, I'm happily married. Yes, I intend to remain so [and to Poor Kyle] all the days of my existence. And yes, I will probably be wrong--and hate being wrong--for the entire duration.

There's two sides to every story, even [especially] in marriage.

I suppose Poor Kyle should start his own blog if he wants equal representation.

p.s. Happy Birthday, big sis! Good thing you have two birthdays and I'll be seeing you on your second one, or else I would be the All-Time-World's-Worst-Sister. Lucky me. Lucky you.