A Lone Man

I am alone. Michelle and Jared left today to enjoy a few days in sunny Mesa, AZ to frolick with my father-in-law and his new wife. I'll join up with them on Saturday morning, though surely I'll miss out on most of the fun.

Which leaves me home alone. A few weeks ago I thought this was a good thing: I'd bill a few more hours (catching up from my illness earlier in the month), put in a few more miles on the exercise bike, and enjoy our king size bed to myself.

Ah, but it's not all a good thing. For one thing, when Michelle has left me in the past, my situation usually devolves into hours of surfing the internet, eating horribly, and staying up terribly late with the TV on to keep me company.

I'm not sure I can be strong this time.

And things haven't started well. It's true, I've somehow managed to resist making my daily trip to Ralph's (the grocery store across the street) to check over the day old bread rack and to find out if they've lowered the Easter candy to 75% off.

But I also happen to have Smallville season 2 on DVD, and I've been spending all of my free time the last two days. I'm not proud of this, but I feel powerless to stop it.

I fear things will only sink lower -- something tells me though, I'll likely burn through these DVDs by the time I leave for Mesa Saturday morning.

Hopefully, though, I'll find some half-price cinammon rolls or Cadbury Creme Eggs on the way down.

Post Holiday Ritual

Speaking of Candy, I did it again today. I'm not sure anyone but a Clark would understand, but on the day after Halloween, Valentine's Day, Easter, and Christmas, I can never help myself. I've always got to get to the nearest store to check out what half price holiday candy they have on the shelves. No matter how much candy we may have at home, no matter how much I've eaten in the days previous (and no matter how much I've resolved to lay off the stuff), my curiosity gets the best of me. [I'm most proud of once coming back home to Cambridge, MA after spending nearly a week in UT for Christmas, making my way (almost immediately) to a nearby CVS, and bringing home a 2 lb. Whitman's Sampler for 75% off. ]

And I did it again today. I went out to get the mail and knew as soon as I left the house, I knew I would need to cross the street and visit our local grocery store. I think I might have been looking for a good deal on jelly beans, but it's hard to say--since I'm open to just about anything sugary at the right price. I made sure not to tell Michelle where I was going--especially after what she did to the Halloween candy--so for all she knew I was just getting the mail. [The truth is, though, whenever it takes me more than 5 minutes to get the mail, she always tries to look behind my back when I get home to see what I've bought].

I ran into a few problems today. First, I went to Ralphs, our grocery store across the street. We've termed it "Rip-off Ralphs" for a reason. Whereas just two days ago their jelly beans had been "on sale" for a $1.50 a bag, today it was 50% of $2.50. I may have acclimated to the California weather, the $1800 rent for a 2-bedroom apartment, and $1500 a year for car insurance, but I still cannot stand to be ripped off at the grocery store! Please, someone point me to the fools who actually thought they were getting a deal!

I left mildly disappointed--partly because even their half price candy was a rip off, but also because I'd been hoping for some more Sweet Tart Jelly Beans.* I might have even paid $1.25 for those.

I then wandered over to the drug store next store and found the situation much the same.

Later in the evening, and this may convey the extent of my *problem*, I put Jared in the car kicking & screaming and we went to Target to see what they might have. (He eventually warmed up to the idea when I told him we were going to buy candy). The problem at Target, though, was price as much as it was selection. By the time I got there at 7 p.m. the day after Easter they only had three things left: 1. Bright Red Bunny Peeps (why people still buy those things I'll never understand); 2. Spice Jelly Beans; or 3. Black Licorice Jelly Beans.

I suppose any of those candies will due when one is desperate, or maybe even if they were 90% off, but neither was the case this evening. So again, I went home empty handed.

I just wish I could've gone home knowing that I still had a healthy supply of Halloween candy stored if my needs were great--but someone had already made sure I'd find no such comfort!

*By far the best jelly beans Michelle and I have ever tasted. I'm already looking forward to Easter season next year because of them.

A Hard Time Letting Go

This afternoon was excruciating. It was one of those tedious days at work today where one wonders whether someone has intentionally slowed time: it seemed hours between 3 and 3:12 p.m., which meant days before 5. (How people do this their entire lives is beyond me).

After a hard day's work, I'd hoped to find comfort at home, but there was none. Instead, Michelle nearly sent me over the edge when I found her rifling the Halloween candy look for stuff to get rid of.

Yeah, the Halloween candy. We kind of set a new record in our home by actually managing to save some candy from Halloween (to my knowledge, the previous record for candy survival is November 3rd). I'd been storing it with some left over Christmas and Valentine's candy in our food storage to nibble on when hunger struck. It's true, I hadn't raided the stash in awhile, but I'd grown fond of it.

So perhaps you can feel the anger along with me when Michelle summarily decided she needed to get rid of it. Smarties, Neccos, Tootsie Roll Pops, jaw breakers, Laffy Taffy, Starbursts, peppermint candies--in her mind it all needed to go.

"Why?" I asked in disbelief and righteous indignation. At first Michelle said she wanted to box back they were being stored in, but abandoned that excuse as quickly as I pointed out we had 10 more boxes waiting to be used.

Then a second reason--she thought the candy was getting too old.

But this was an excuse I just couldn't abide. Never mind that Michelle was disregarding the prophets counsel to have a year's supply of candy, I've never seen candy get "too old." (There's a reason it has no expiration date!)

I think this is the real reason: I think I'm married to a candy snob--someone who can't abide the thought of eating last year's candy this year. (Plus I know that she hates Neccos--a prejudice she's carried with her most of her life).

I managed to save the Tootsie Roll Pops using all of my powers of persuasion, but there were still casualties. She bagged the rest of the candy and put in the trash. There was no dignity in what she did.

When she left the room to lay down, I tried to sneak in and save the candy (to hide it somewhere safe), but the woman knew my thoughts! She caught me in the act of salvaging the poor defenseless candy from the garbage can. It was indeed too late.

I am in mourning.

*There are legends of candy surviving long enough once while I was on my mission that there were still chocolate candy bars left to us as packaging for my Christmas gifts. That chocolate bars were used for packing it was true, but I was never able to substantiate that they were the result of trick-or-treating efforts and not just post Halloween 1/2 price candy sales.

Coolest Birthday Ever

Michelle has made a habit of making my birthday special. Yesterday was no exception.

I awoke, went out to the kitchen, and found two loaves of coffee cake waiting for me by the stove with a note saying "Happy Birthday!" and the beginnings of a list of 28 things that Michelle and Jared love about me. I got Jared up a little later. When I told him it was my birthday, he told me he'd made me a card. And then he said "Daddy's birthday out dere!" "Where?" I said. "On da uda side!"

I got Jared out of his crib and he ran out to the living room. When I got there he put his hands up and said "Where's Daddy's birthday?"

At work, my secretary brought me a bin of goodies, including some chocolate covered almonds, pistachio cookies, chocolate wafers, and cranberry juice. I had not expected that, nor for her to waltz into my office singing "Happy Birthday To You" while the rest of the floor looked in, confused. I was both embarrassed and flattered.

For lunch, Michelle and Jared made a surprise visit to work bringing both In N Out burgers and root beer floats. Jared is always delighted to visit and look out my window at the 405 Freeway. The secretaries are usually just as delighted to see him.

For Dinner, Michelle cooked up steaks and oven fries, and then presented me with my birthday cake: A giant half moon cookie. For those of you unfamiliar with the half moon cookie, I fear you have not lived. It was accompanied, of course, by vanilla ice cream. Honestly, though, the only thing a good half-moon cookie needs is air to help the frosting crust over, and a nice glass of milk.

Jared helped me open my presents. For the record I got: A Superman T-shirt (I have been wanting one of these for ages but either (1) couldn't find them or (2) always felt to fat to wear one. I also got the 1st Season of Smallville (apparently a very guilty pleasure of mine), and Kingdom Hearts II.

It was an amazing birthday, where I was privy to kindness I did not deserve and entreated to enough sweets to set my weight loss goals back two weeks.

My Weekend

It's hard to believe, but I'm just now coming to the end of last weekend. Tomorrow (Friday) will be my first full day of work all week (it will also be my birthday). I hadn't planned it this way.

Here are some of the highlights from our recent trip to Utah:

• Playing an executive golf course with my Dad and essentially playing bogey golf (if we forget about two holes). This should be all the more inspiring since: (1) I used rented left-handed clubs that were terribly short; and (2) I'm pretty sure I tore my rotator cuff in my right shoulder during an ill advised arm-wrestling match with my younger brother Nathan over the Christmas break (please don't ask--I didn't win). I should probably see a doctor about it.
• Jared and I collectively saved $40 by letting my mother give us haircuts
• Getting into the Sunday morning session of General Conference despite the fact that our tickets were for Saturday morning. You see, I'd requested Sunday morning tickets from the Bishop, so I foolishly thought when he gave me tickets they'd actually be for Sunday morning. When we got to the Conference Center and had our tickets scanned on Sunday morning, though, they registered as invalid. So for a moment I thought we'd have to go home unfulfilled--but it turns out they just let us in anyway. Now I guess I know how to get into future sessions, though I suspect it might not work as well if the mistake isn't so innocent.
• Taking a vanilla ice cream taste testing challenge arranged by my father. One of my earliest posts to this blog was about how Breyer's ice cream is near divinity. This seemed to irk my father, especially when I called into question his analysis of what makes for good ice cream during the last annual Clark Milkshake making contest. So last weekend he bought 8 different kinds of vanilla ice cream to see if I knew what I was talking about. He put samples of each into cups, numbered, them, and then had me taste each and decide which I liked the best. Guess which one I chose as the best? Guess which one my siblings chose as the best? Guess who owes me a formal apology? (As far as other notable results, Haagen Daaz did come in second, and some carb-saver vanilla cozied up the the yellow Walmart vanilla for last place).
• Oh yes, Michelle and I also happened to get terribly sick. Sunday evening, Michelle felt pretty sick. My little brother Peter felt pretty sick. My mom felt pretty sick. Then I felt pretty sick (and apparently my sister Leanne felt pretty sick after returning to BYU). Just imagine the five of us taking turns in the bathroom vomiting through the night. We were supposed to fly home Tuesday morning, but Monday evening it wasn't clear we'd even be able to survive the trip home. This actually lead to an argument about whether we could survive the trip and whether it was worth forking out the money to change our tickets, and what on Earth I was supposed to do about work. Those kind of late night "discussions", especially when augmented by sickness on both sides, always make for good times. We ended up braving our way home, and then crashing for the next few days. Today, Thursday, I finally felt like I could go back to work--though I left at lunch time still feeling a bit weak. Kind of a disastrous end to things, and now I'm hopelessly behind at work.
• The good news is, though, that I was in first place in my fantasy baseball league after opening day. [The glory was short lived, and the Cubs are already near the bottom of their division. I did get the ice cream thing right though].

Mission Reunion Misgivings

This weekend has brought me to Utah—just in time for General Conference and a mission reunion.

I had some misgivings about going to the reunion. For one, I went to one years ago when I was about a year removed from my mission only to find to it was mostly an occasion to show off a wife or significant other, boast of any recent accomplishments, and be one among many clamoring for my mission president’s attention. I usually avoid those types of situations.

Also, though, I probably wasn’t the most outgoing missionary (and can’t say that I’m the most outgoing person now) and don't have a lot of friends to renew acquaintances with. You see, I was a Spanish-speaking missionary in the Roseville, California Mission. As such, I was one of between 10-12 Spanish Speaking missionaries. We had our own Spanish Zone that covered most of the mission. For nearly all of my mission, this meant that my pool of possible companions consisted of the missionaries in that zone.

I didn’t mind. Most were great missionaries. We had a close knit bond that came with our frequent associations, and I got to be good friends with most all of them. I can’t say I ever really made any great effort to extend my circle of friends beyond these Spanish missionaries, though, except for those English missionaries we shared dinner or played basketball with.

So the number of people at this mission reunion that I was likely to know or remember is limited. But I felt an obligation to my mission president, and wanted him to meet my son—even if only for a few moments.

For the most part I was right. I recognized some faces, but the only name I knew there was the mission president and his wife (and my friend Jamin who arrived late). I figured though that since I’d made the trip I should reintroduce myself, along with my wife and son.

Most people were rounder than I remembered, and I hadn’t anticipated the awkwardness that sometimes resulted from admitting where I went to law school. My mission president also seemed a little shorter, but he has always been such a giant of a man in my memory that perhaps that could not be helped.

Otherwise, though, my mission president and his wife were every bit as warm and comforting as I remembered them, which alone made my attendance worthwhile. It was nice to renew even only a portion of those feelings that accompanied most of my missionary service. As I stood there nearing my time to leave the gathering, I realized that there was no field I would have rather labored in than the California Roseville, Spanish Speaking mission—even if nearly all of my friends who labored with me were not there.