Oh What Fun It Is To Ride

We had a lesson a couple weeks back in church on enjoying life--a really good lesson. And even though I consider myself to be pretty content (usually) and mostly grateful (trying), it's important to remind yourself to stop and smell the apple cinnamon holiday candles every once in a while. Or in the immortal words of Bon Jovi, "It's my life / it's now or never / I ain't gonna live forever / I just wanna live while I'm alive."

Although, technically, I AM gonna live forever, but we understand the sentiment, right?

So, the apple cinnamon goodness of this last week is as follows:

Sunday night, Elise performed with the Riverton Children's Choir at the Assembly Hall at Temple Square. It's a darn good little choir and Elise was just beaming up there on the risers. My *$#)@ camera only took blurry pictures inside (the lighting was weird and the camera couldn't figure it out) but the overall red-and-goldishness of the photo at least hints at the flavor of the evening:



And here's a much better closeup photo of my loverly daughter:



The weather that night was downright balmy--a change from last year when it was so cold and slushy that I feared we might lose Jonas's toes to frostbite. Grandma and Grandpa Sweat and the cousins joined us and the kids had a ball looking at the lights. Wyatt was quite impressed by the big Jesus in the visitors' center (and even more impressed by the outer space mural on the wall as you wind your way up that classic ramp--he kept pointing and saying "Moon! Moon!"). It was a most pleasant Christmassy evening. Oh, and one more cool picture, just because it's cool:



Monday night, I met up with some high school friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in years. We went to Tepanyaki, one of those Japanese places where they cook the food in front of you, and I felt a little bad for our poor Japanese chef because we weren't paying him much attention, even when he was catching a raw egg in his chef hat and tossing his knives in the air. Too much talking. But SO GOOD to see them all again and chat away. I'm a girlfriend girl, you know? Some girls are meant for girlfriends (example: Jennifer Aniston); some are not (example: Angelina Jolie). I am most definitely a girlfriend girl. Here we are, posing in the Tepanyaki entryway in all of our 36-year-old girlfriendiness:

And for family members who might remember some of these faces from back in the day: Tamra, moi (even though the hair is darker, you do recognize me, right??), Tamie, Dana, Natalie, Sylvia, Tracy.

Everyone seemed happy and settled and themselves--and by that I mean we're all old enough to have sloughed off some of the insecurities of early adulthood, the worrying about being judged, falling short, all that exhausting jazz. There's a lot to like about getting older, and I really mean that. But I do love my old friends and I'm glad we had the chance to get together and gossip and laugh and ignore our cleaver-wielding Japanese chef.

Then Tuesday night I had our ward book club over to my house four our Christmas party (I know, I know, but I hadn't hosted in a while and it DID force me to get my decorations up and I cleaned and cleaned, even washed the cabinets down, which was satisfying). People started arriving at 7:30 on the nose and I needed until 7:36 to be entirely prepared, but nobody seemed to mind that I was still putting chocolates on a tray and queuing up the CD player after they'd arrived, although I'm sure Martha Stewart would not have approved. We had a great turnout and exchanged a bunch of beautiful Christmas books. Another fun girlfriendy evening.

I've also spent some time this week on Irreantum related stuff. As you all know, the journal's out, but we had a few printing issues that took some wind out of my sails. The pages are a little misaligned and one subscriber got a copy that was bound upside down (egads). I also get a little bit of post-partum blechishness (weirdly??) after doing an issue of Irreantum. Happened with the poetry issue too. There's all this work, all this time, then you put the dang thing out and receive a few complaints (founded complaints--nobody wants to read an upside down magazine), a few nice comments from well meaning friends, and then silence. And I know to expect that--we have a very small circulation, really, and what do I think is going to happen? Cymbals crashing? Confetti? No--you do your work and hope it's good and hope people like it and there you go. Maybe that's why I think it would be so cool to be a dancer, though. You do your thing and there are all these people trapped in a room who feel what you're feeling when you feel it, experience it while you experience it, and when you're done, they clap.

Ah, though, now I sound like a big baby. And like I'm fishing. I'm so not. Just trying to explain how altogether weird the whole publishing thing can sometimes be. Even after everything, though, being involved with Irreantum was (and remains) a pleasure.

Then yesterday. Cycling class with Forrest; serving lunch for a funeral in our ward (RS Presidency thing--and the gentleman who died was ready to go, so it wasn't really a tragedy); Dr. appointment (basically healthy, tailbone pain remains inexplicable); teaching class (fiction workshop--and I really love my students, an altogether earnest and charming lot); coming home at 8:00 p.m. and walking right out the door again to go make eighty gratitude journals with the Enrichment committee, gifts for the RS ladies at the Christmas dinner next Tues. We thought we could whip them out faster than we did--isn't that how it always goes?--and we were up past MIDNIGHT. Came home tired and with modge podge in my fingernails, but it was fun to hang out with those ladies, too.

Lots of girlfriendiness this week. Lots of good stuff. Lots to enjoy in this life, no?