Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Something New and Interesting

I guess it shouldn't be such a surprise to me that every time I decide to scramble out of the crevice of my mattress and participate in a non-sedentary activity, my life becomes less boring. Do the math Emilyn, it's a simple equation, easily first-year algebra. One semester out of math and she's already forgetting how to solve problems? Geez Louise.

Anyway, I think even the action-packed life is often graced with the world's surprises. Like the happenstance I came across today during my off-my-behind festivities. Ahem.

Just after locking my bike to the dumpster behind the bank, I saw two ladies in the small parking lot, one coming out of the building, and the other going in. The lady coming out had light blue jeans, white cotton hair, and a bright pink, collared jacket. The lady going in had light blue jeans, white cotton hair, and a bright pink, collared jacket. Wait. What? That's right my friends. They were CLONES. Talk about embarrassing. I can only imagine confidently flaunting my way through town with that kind of bold and hip attire only to find the same style choices playing back thread for thread on another woman. The nerve.

The question is, who wore it better?

No, the far more inquisitive and articulate question is, wha? My first thought is that they're together. They just finished at their synchronized swimming competition, or are meeting up before attending their Never Too Old to Wear Pink Club. Wrong! They didn't greet or even acknowledge each other. They calmly and slowly passed through the twilight zone and moved on with their lives. I guess they could have been swim-meet contenders, too proud to condescend to an arch-enemy hello. Or maybe it was disrespectful to comment on a fellow NTOWP member's pink-wearing business. Whatever the case, it kinda freaked me out. After finishing my bank errands and exiting the building myself, I almost expected another brown-haired college freshman with a scarf and khaki pants to come riding up main street on her bike.

But, alas, it was just me. Just Emilyn, drifting a little wobbly down the sidewalk due to the rough cement work and my recent favoring of the right pedal since my left peddler is still causing me a little trouble in the knee area. (Currently icing it. See last post).

Moral of the story is, if you don't have a clone, your life is one of two things. It is either a) too boring and blah to be considered, or b) too original and awesome to be fathomed. And let's just say life goes a little better if we choose to live assuming the latter.

Oh. And if you do happen to find a clone in the mysterious forest of life, acknowledge them. Shake their hand, search their face for the truth of life, and then nod your head in understanding and say, with a tear of joy if you can manage, "I know."  Because chances are, you do.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

The Unexpected Expectation Exception


Last night when I decided I would go running this morning, (think about it...it works) I expected a plethora of things to come up in the moments between planning-on and having-done that would try to keep me from following through:

1) I knew I wouldn't want to wake up at the whopping six a.m. for which I had set my alarm.

That was easy to expect since that's generally how I feel on mornings of days that I know will involve doing things. But by placing my phone on the opposite side of the dresser and far enough away that I couldn't possibly stay in bed while attending to it, I avoided this crisis.

2) I expected my homework to suddenly come of incredible importance enough for me to skip the exercise and work vigorously on it in the wee hours of the morning.

I did recall today's Spanish quiz I hadn't studied for yet, but I boldly ignored the temptation. Some like to call that procrastination, but given the circumstances I'll refer to it as my fitness resolve.

3) I expected some piece of my running outfit to be "out-of-order".

Clean shorts, clean t-shirt, clean running socks, and wait...where are they?...ah. My tennis shoes. Oh, and a nice jacket for the cold bike ride down. Speaking of cold bike rides,

4) I expected the ride to the gym to be cold and miserable causing me to turn back before even exiting the apartment parking lot.

The ride was cold. I put on my gloves, tilted my head into the wind and with my determined eyebrows, pedaled into the dark morning.

5) I expected the gym to be closed.

Yes they say it opens at 6, but who knows. Today could be one of those special cleaning days where maybe the gym is open, but they're repaving the track or replacing all the light bulbs. Or maybe the basketball team had a flu outbreak during yesterday's practice and the entire building has to be sanitized. Things happen in this dangerous world of ours. But I come around the parking lot hedge and see people moving around in the weight room, pulling and lifting and fulfilling their own fitness resolves.

Yes I expected and thwarted all of these things, and my bike is just cruising toward the having-done part of my plan when suddenly my bike stops moving, and I'm hugging a metal parking sign. With my face.

In case you didn't get that last part, this was your typical "la la la I'm walking along and everything's fine--POLE" moment you see in cartoons. It really was. The light was just dark enough, and the sign just skinny enough, that while I swear I was looking straight ahead, it somehow got missed in the whole "image registering to the brain" process. Some lucky joggers got to see the crash, and asked if I was okay just as the pain shivered through every part of my body.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you." I pulled my bike from the sign, and kind of unconsciously walked toward my water bottle which was faithfully rolling the rest of the way down the parking lot. Almost more than feeling pain I was feeling anger and stupidity for making such an embarrassing mistake. After twisting my black bike lock around my shining pefectly-conditioned vehicle and the gym rack, I stubbornly continued into the gym as the melting pain slowly coagulated to the right side of my neck and my left knee.

I washed up a bit in the locker room and assessed the damage:
Ick. Neck is definitely scraped and looks disgusting. Not bleeding much though.
Knee bleeding a little, but not anymore. Mostly bruised.
One thin, bloodless cut all down the side of my face, a delicate, signature slice of the kind parking sign.
And bruises. Pretty much everywhere.

I went out to talk to the man at the front desk.

"Hey, do you have any band aids, or a first aid kit or something?"
"Oh my. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's fine; I looked at it. Do you have any band aids?"
"No really, that looks really bad. Have you seen your neck? You should check that out."
Yes sir. I realize there's a wound on my neck. I can feel the pain radiating from that area quite efficiently.
"Yeah...I just looked at it, it's not that bad. I washed it up. Do you have band aids?"
He brought some out. "You really should look at that."
Thank you sir. I'll send my regards to your mother, tell her what a help you've been.

So Emilyn is a little injured. I thought I was doing a good thing, going early-morning exercising. I guess I should have seen the signs. Or even the one sign. Just the one sign would have been good.

Oh yeah, and at the end of it all, while bandaging my neck in the bathroom, I realized I had forgotten to put my hair up.

Moral of the story, Emilyn's knee will require some special ice and elevation care, and she'll need to stock up on band aids next grocery shopping trip because front desk gym gentlemen are only generous enough to spare two.

How I would have begun my day had life not been...life. Yeah, we're gonna blame this on life and take my negligence to use my sense of sight out of the equation. It's all part of the Experience. With a capital E. Which was kind of an accident, but it sorta fits. 

Here's just after the crash. 

This was a day or two after the crash
And here's Chelsey's rendition of the story. :)

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Smells like Pemberley

I don't think there is anything in this world that brings back memories more clearly and vividly than smells. (Which is a really weird word by the way. I can't stop looking at it. Smell. Smell. Smell. ...Where was I?)

There are a couple smells that really throw me back, and one of those is just the general smell of fall. Whenever I come across the crisp and ripe smell of leaves I'm always taken back to the same memory.

I'm twelve years old and living in our little Pemberlita in Provo. The house was called Pemberlita due to our family's Pride and Prejudice obsession, as well as our efforts to look past the...close-knit qualities of the home. To the far right of the front yard next to the neighbor's green hedge was our beloved tree, Half n' Half. I kid you not, the tree grew deep purple leaves on one side and light green ones on the other. And I believe it was the purple side that also contained these little berries that were some sort of mix between a plum and a grape. They were pretty tasty if you caught them on their good day. Every other day they were just globs of purple mush on your shoes and pants and anywhere else you happened to fall and smash one during a game of yard-tag.

Being home schooled during this time spent in Pemberlita, the fall had a little different feel than the general back-to-school spirit. Instead of getting up and ready for school each day with a backpack and new back-to-school sale Wal-mart shoes, I woke up with my sisters, and in our pajamas we would throw change out on the side-walk in front of our house, counting how many school-kids passed by without looking to pick it up. Or after lunch we would climb Half n' Half with blankets and books and shush each other as the kids passed my underneath, rarely finding our little hide-out. I don't know if these kids just ignored our every move, or if they really were that unobservant. Huh.

Anyway, only my second semester out in the big wide world, and I've noticed a couple smells that have already bound themselves to this Cedar City memory. The lovely puff of lavender from my dryer sheets under the sink when reaching for my brush, some tropical coconut fun from my body wash, and then of course the 'ol apartment which smells of new paint, dust, and stiff bathroom cleaner. Not exactly the "welcome back" I was looking for, but at least it's stopped smelling like toilet water from our little flooding accident.

Moral of the story is, make sure you always smell good because when the observant people remember you, at least you're off to a good start!

Pemberley. Sigh. Gorgeous.