Tutu.

Tonight my Grandma (the only Grandmother I've ever known) passed away. My boys lovingly referred to her as Tutu and tomorrow when they wake up, I'll share with them the somewhat unexpected news. But now that it's so early in the morning and I'm still awake, I can't help but feel a deep ache of loss, regret, and sadness over her passing. I usually keep this blog light hearted, but right now my heart feels full and somewhat broken. I know her passing is for the best and she's finally reunited with the love of her life. But still, I can't help but miss this wonderful woman that I named my one and only daughter after.

Dear Grandma,

Two years ago I took you to see one of your most beloved friends, Auntie Abby.

After a wonderful chocolate pie and turkey lunch, I drove the old saddle road to get back to Kona. I never counted on the cops being around, or them clocking me at 87 in a 45. I wondered what you would say when the cop approached the window and I rolled it down. You just looked at me and let out a slight chuckle. "See I told you to slow down," you said without a trace of anger. "But you go and catch the crook."
I laughed at your reference to my speed, tried to talk myself out of that ticket, and failed. The rest of the evening we told our ticket story over and over again to everyone at Uncle Aley's home. I thought the ticket was unjust, but your comment was so funny. Since you never learned to drive, Grandpa drove you every where. I have handfuls of memories of you telling Grandpa, "Eh Daddy, catch the crook." I'm just so happy I finally have my own crook story to share.

Since Grandpa died, you haven't been the same. And I'm sure now you are so happy to be with him once again. And I want you to know even though I broke down at the Walmart tonight when I heard that you passed away, I'm happy for you too.

My one regret is that I didn't listen to the small voice that spoke to me over the last few days, telling me to call. For that I'll be sorry until the day we meet again. You have been a force in my life. I love you always. Erin

hold out your hand so i can spit on it.

When I was younger my cousin Amy spit on me. For real. Alright, her act of spitting may have been perpetuated by my spitting on her first, but still it was gross. And frankly I don't entirely recall spitting on her, so in my mind she's the spitter and I'm just the innocent child bystander. Now that I'm older and wiser, I don't spit on my cousins or anyone else for that matter. And they don't spit on me. Why? Because I still think it's gross. 

So when my four year old boy spits on the window in the car, I think it's gross. And I tell him not to do it again. 

When he spits on his seat, I think it's disgusting. And I snap at him not to do it again...or else.

When he spits on my newly mopped kitchen floor, I think it's down right horrific. And I yell, "Don't do that again. Now go to time out!" (Then I throw my hands in the air. Serenity Now!)

But, when he spits on his baby sister, (just before losing any shred of parenting sanity) I think, somebody needs to teach this kid a lesson about spitting. And then I do the only thing that comes to mind. 

"Teddy," I say. "Hold out your hand."

He spreads those trembling four-year-old fingers. "Uh, why Momma."

I don't answer. Using the spitting ability once cultivated in my youth, I hawk the biggest loogie I can and spit it in the palm of his hand, making sure that it doesn't drip off the side and further the spit problem in my home. 

"Hold that," I say in Mommy Death-Con 5 Commander mode voice. "Keep that spit in your hand until you think it's gross enough that you will never ever again spit on your sister, your brother, the house, or the car. Do you understand?"

His chin trembles and his big brown eyes grow to the size of moons. "Yes Momma." 

I look at him, tempted to swipe the saliva off his palm and send him on his way. But I resist his innocent charm. It's an act, I tell myself half-crazed with spit abhorrence. Spitting is gross! Four minutes later I decide maybe the punishment was a little harsh, but I doubt my little guy will be spitting on you anytime soon.  

  

wishin' and hopin'.

That pretty much sums it all up.
Sure, it would be great if the world was at peace and people gave hugs instead of slugs. But why not throw a little self-love in my wishing too? One day I wish that a literary agent will find my manuscript in his/her email inbox, and after reading through the entire novel in one sitting (because it's so uber-amazing the agent wouldn't be able to rip his eyes away) the agent will then call me on the phone and ask beg to represent my work because of it's complete awesomeness.

And yes, I would like the agent to actually use that term.

Is that so much to wish for?

I don't think so...but I hope the second half of my wish comes sooner than the first half.

secret 2 of 100.

When I was fourteen I was arrested.

It involved my best friend, two older boys, one stolen van, and possibly a little Mary Jane (if you know what I mean...but since this is a family blog I'm not going to elaborate.)

Nuff' said.

Have a great Thursday. Obey the law.

moose tracks.

Yesterday I shot my second moose this summer. Talk about an awesome shooting season. As I drove down the Alpine Loop headed home after shooting a family, I was feeling quite ravenous. My stomach's hunger growls almost kept me from seeing the young moose standing a short ways off. In mid 'where-should-I-eat-out' conversation, I spied the young moose beauty. I swerved to a stop and whipped out my sharp shooter. It took seconds to snap on a 70-200 mm. With the right lens, I dared to step out of my van, sneak around the back, and shoot this moose beauty while he/she (who knows?) ate. 

I love me some moose!

On another note, if you were wondering where me and the hubs ate last night it wasn't the OG. Though, admittedly that was my first, second, and third choice. Mark put down his size 9 foot and we ended up at Costa Vida. Yeah, I'll admit that I might have announced their food tasted like butt as soon as we walked in the door, but I quickly changed my mind after I tasted the food. It was excellente (that's excellent in Spanish). If you're in Pleasant Grove and you want somewhere to eat...that is also now on my approved eating locations...go to Costa Vida. 

luv, erin

secret 1 of 100.

Today I'm starting down a new path in life. And by the title of this post, I'm sure you're wondering if that's the secret. The first of a hundred that I'll share on this blog. The answer to your silent inquiry is no. That's not the secret. However, it should be noted that I'm starting something new. I've always used this blog as my spewing ground, shooting into cyber-space whatever comes to mind with little to no focus. If we've met in person, you've probably already noticed that to be an everyday occurrence when we're conversing. What can I say? Go ADD.
But today I'm focusing. I'm hankering down and truly committing to something. I'm committing to one-hundred little somethings. One hundred truths about myself or those around me that you probably don't know. Why? Because at heart I love gossip as much as the next. No, that's not entirely why. I don't even know why except that I have secrets, boy do I have secrets, and I want to share! I may not even share a secret a week, but eventually I'll share all one hundred. And when that day comes...well, it'll come and you'll know one hundred secrets. So, um, yeah. I guess that's about it.

1:100 Gas Girl
When Mark walked me to the door after our first date, I totally farted. Not once, but twice. And yes, it was loud. He had said something funny, and as I laughed, I just couldn't hold in the gas that was pressing on my insides with unbelievable paining pressure. The laugh caused me to relax enough to, well, let it all out. Not knowing if he heard, but certain he must've, I turned the door knob and slipped inside without saying another word. I didn't give a rat's but cheek if he thought my departure was abrupt because I was more concerned that he'd never want to take out the gas girl again. Mortified, I shook my head and after a few seconds erupted into a fit of laughter. Because even though part of me wanted to sink into a hole in the earth, a bigger part of me considered the scene from another angle. Particularly the one of any one of my neighbor's. 


Obviously Mark asked me out again. And after that first date he never made any indication that he heard the world's worst faux pax to be made on a first date. So I kept that secret closest to my heart for years into our marriage. And when I finally broke down and told him, he had no clue what I was talking about. Or so he said. 


I haven't shared this story with many others for fear that they might look at me differently. If that's the case, than so be it. Because now you know secret 1 of 100. 

huntress.

Once I dated a guy who was a hunter. He sent me a picture of himself sitting on top a deer or a buck (I have no clue about these things really) and the poor deer-buck was dead. Blood and guts and all were exposed. Gag, right? That poor deer-buck animal was a goner. It's wee little offspring were left to wander through the woods alone.

Now that many moons have passed since I dated hunter-boy, I too have gone the way of the huntress.
Well, kind of.
I recently shot an animal. And I have the picture to prove it. No, it's no deer-buck animal. But a Moose!

Yes, ya'll. I done gone and shot me a Moose. 

Now who's the huntress? 

Boo-yah. Ya'll come back y'here.

(Something about shooting wildlife has inspired the hick-lovin', animal-huntin' side of me.)

"bare" tales from the great outdoors.

If you haven't met my hubby, Mark the Shark, you wouldn't know that he can grow a beard in about two hours. Or that he somewhat resembles Tom Cruise (and he's told this daily). Or that he's one of the most helpful people out there. If I need something done, Mark's my man. Ha ha. Snort. But really. He is my main man. He's built things for me, crawled out of bed in the middle of the night to get me a drink of water, and even helped me put my shoes on when my body was too bloated with baby to move. Mark's helpful nature is one of the reasons I fell in love with him. In short, Mark would give someone in need the shirt of his back.

So...

Last night while helping me at a bridal photo shoot, Mark did just that. I wanted her to sit on the steps, but they were dirty. So Mark, being the guy that he is, took off his shirt and placed it on the steps.

this is me for real.

I posted this earlier on Facebook, but it makes me laugh so hard I thought I would share it here. My friend Finny caught this true life shot of me at a recent wedding. I'm not sure whether I should be appalled that I'm looking so freakishly blissful, or that some young boy appears to be checking me out. Either way, all I can say is: That's right boys, I still got it.

truth...or something like it

Some days that's truer than others. Of course, I'm still cutting back on my DC habit.

some like it hot.

I love salsa. I like it hot...relatively speaking. I don't want my lips to melt off my face and my tongue to shrivel into a blackened stump from the fire in the peppers, but I don't mind a nice burn across the creases of my mouth. I love my salsa to burst with cilantro and to hold a hint of lemon or lime in each bite. I want there to be a kick and to be complimented with the perfect greasy tortilla chip. Oh, just writing this post makes my mouth water. 

In order to feed my summer salsa craving I planted a "salsa-lovers" garden. Big Boys, Early Girls, Celebrity and Roma tomato plants are surrounded by a couple tall cilantro clusters, sweet Walla Walla onions bursting from the ground, two bell pepper plants, and one serrano plant. In another month my house will become salsa central and Salsa Fest 2011 will begin. (Stay tuned for updates of this years Jam Fest 2011 that went off without a hitch. Strawberry Jam rocks!)

Anyway, the purpose of this post isn't for me to brag and brag some more about my pint sized garden that will only be good for supplying my love of salsa. Basically I want something from you. I want your recipes! I'll share mine first...and granted it's not the best or I wouldn't be asking for yours. But it's decently good. So I'm begging you, if you have a great salsa recipe please share it.

Erin's Supa' Awesome Salsa 

(Winner of Summerill Salsa Fest 2010)

8 roma tomatoes
1/2 large bell pepper
1-2 garlic cloves
1 small walla walla sweet onion
1/2 serrano pepper or jalapeno
1/2 lemon (squeezed for it's juice)
1/3 cup of chopped cilantro
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper

Directions: 
1. Buy yourself a food processor. It makes the salsa making process so much faster. And it's pretty cool when you get to press the "pulse" button over and over again.
2. Pulse (this is like intense chopping) the bell pepper, garlic, onion, and serrano pepper until evenly chopped.
3. Cut your roma tomatoes into quarter-sized chunks, then add to the food processor. Pulse until your salsa reaches the consistency you like.
4. Add chopped cilantro, lemon juice, salt and pepper. Pulse a couple more times until it's all mixed and looking like a good-lookin' salsa.
5. Get out some real nice tortilla chips and dig in!

If your salsa recipe is better than mine, please share.

so very cheesy.

I love to take wedding photos...and I love all my cute couples...and I think all their pictures are to die for. Gush, gush, gush. Yeah, I get that I sound like a total sap. Cheesiness to the max. But it's the truth. Well, most of the time. I'll not be speaking of any bride-zillas here so you can go elsewhere if you think this post has anything to do with the bride I encountered last week that nearly ripped my head off because I merely mentioned she might have to wait one minute longer to take a certain picture. Please, like I'm working on her time schedule. When will these brides learn that their wedding day is MY day? Mine, mine, mine. Where I'm the photog rockstar and they're just a momentary blip in my shot. 

 

Uh, did I just say all thought in out-loud cyber space? 

 

Pardon the serious tangent. The truth of the post is this, sometimes I really do love my brides and grooms to death. And sometimes I shed a tear. Like when I snapped this shot:

Sometimes I cry. (Note: should you mention this fact to anyone I'll deny it. I'm no sissy photog.)

So when my close friend's little sister gets married to an awesome guy, and then she shares a tear-jerking dance with her father...sometimes I get a little misty-eyed. Or a lot. 

And it's those times I realize that I love photography even if sometimes I get stressed; sometimes I feel as if I don't have time to pee; sometimes I wish I was writing instead of shooting; sometimes I want to just turn my ringer off and spend two hours taking a hot bath. 

Sometimes it's so worth it to be a photographer. And one of those times would be when the awesome father of the bride (pictured above) includes a little bonus on top of my wedding fee. A bonus that's not at all too cheesy for me and my queen of cheese. 

When the bonus is a can of COUGAR GOLD, then I say it's pretty darn great being a wedding photographer! 

feat. and sore feet.

Today I ran 10 miles.

That's the darn truth. Just ask my aching legs and sore feet.

10 miles is also the longest distance I've ever ran. Ever. I'm not one of those running moms. You know, the type that actually like to go on a run for fun after a long day with the kiddos. Blech. I hate running. I'd rather stay at home with the kids, wiping booger noses and cleaning up poop. Up until the last couple months it would be safe to say that I loathed running. I spat at anyone who would suggest I even take up the sport. Ok, well maybe that's an exaggeration. I only considered spitting on others. Of course, my refined nature wouldn't allow such a hideous act. So what did I do? I decided to face my fear/hate head on. Awhile back I posted that Mark and I had signed up for the Timp half. With the date approaching, I've been training like any other non-runner would need to train. Now after months of practice, I tolerate the activity. And I do this for one reason, and one reason only.

When I'm done running I feel AWESOME!

And today, with a 10 mile feat under my belt, I felt like AWESOME-squared.

wedding day nightmare.

Did your wedding day go off without a hitch? Was it everything you ever dreamed of? Or did something disastrous happen? Because if the latter is the case, believe me, I completely understand...I'm not saying my own wedding day was an absolute debacle, but I've been to enough weddings to tell you that sometimes...a lot of the time...things don't go as planned.

As in this case:
Monday I arrived at the designated location at 3:30 pm to shoot my lovely bride and handsome groom. Because they didn't have a bridal session, we shot their bridal type images before their ceremony which was to start at 4:00 pm.
First, let me say that it usually takes a few minutes to start shooting. The bride needs to be prepped and then placed in the perfect location that will enhance her loveliness. So basically when I say that we didn't start shooting until 3:45, I'm really saying that it's not because I'm slow. I am not slow! (Sorry, personal issues.)
The shoot continued for 10 or so minutes before I realized my lovely bride didn't have her ring on.
I said, "Hey do you want your ring in these shots?"
"Yes," she said.
And off her sister went to fetch the rings.

5 minutes later:

I glanced over my shoulder and saw my lovely bride's sweet sister with a look of pure petrification on her face.
"Um, Matilda (this is a fake name...but totally cool, right?) what's wrong?" I asked.
"If I tell you, you are going to freak," she said, voice shaking as much as her hands.
Um. Like that statement didn't just freak the bejeezus out of me. Sure.
"No worries. I won't freak," I said. Total lie. "What's up?"

INSERT: As I spoke the wind blew through the field tossing around weeds and wild flowers. Yes, we were standing in a field full of tangled weeds. Awesome...but not ideal for that day's shoot. You'll see.

"Well," she began after much coaxing. She pulled the ring pillow out from behind her back. "The rings are gone. They were on the pillow in the car, but after I walked across this field and jumped over that ditch there, they disappeared."
Holy freaking Moly! You've got to be kidding me, right? Right!?! No. It was the truth. My eyes grew to the size of saucers and I immediately rushed to her side, dropped down to my knees and started searching the field. My bride, bless her sweet soul, kept her composure as her fiance helped me dig through weeds. She even stayed calm after I called in the Calvary to help me search. Friends and family members of the bride came down and dug through the field.

45 minutes later:
I found the bride's ring. I wanted to cry, shout, jump for joy...at least be rewarded with some type of Hart's drink (this didn't happen). We kept searching for the grooms ring.

Alas, we never found it.

The wedding went on as planned, aside from the huge bump. But now I think, as I look fondly on that day, how bad can your wedding day really get? I suppose there's a lot more worse things that could happen than losing rings. But for your sake, I hope not.

luv, erin

true story: death threats, racism, and me

I have a disorder.

In short, it is this: sometimes I'm a complete and total loser. I try to say something and it comes out all wrong. Yes, I know. Common mistake, right? Well, for me it happens all the time. Like tonight's utterly foot-in-mouth worthy example.

Tonight I shot bridal portraits for a lovely client that will be getting married in a couple weeks. I've already shot her engagements, and so I feel familiar and comfortable with her, her fiance, and her family. In fact, I feel like we're friends. Buddies. Pretty close to besties. I'm not bragging or anything about having awesome clients that are also friends. I just want to explain my frame of mind when the Disorder occurred. You'll see.

Disorder Incident #1
While shooting Madi, clouds covered the sky and the lighting dimmed. I decided to lower my shutter speed to pull in more ambient light. So to help keep a steady camera hold, I braced my back against a nearby fence. Madi's uncle, Kurt (also a friend of mine...again, not bragging) came to the shoot. I thought he was standing behind me. I thought he was also propped against the fence. I thought he was the one banging the fence over and over and over again.
So when I yelled over my shoulder, "Stop that or I'm going to KILL you!" I didn't expect to turn around to find Madi's lovely mother staring wide-eyed at me in complete shock. Apparently she's never had a photographer threaten her life. I guess there's a first for everything.

Disorder Incident #2
Flustered and completely embarrassed, we left the first location (after I apologized repeatedly) and sought out a spot that was better lit. Upon arriving at the second location, a light rain began hitting us. I wanted to hurry the shoot along so beautiful Madi and her handsome fiance, Cesar (take note of his name now) wouldn't get drenched.

"Madi," I said from across the field, "turn to face the poppies. Oh lovely. That looks awesome. Perfect."
Snap. Snap. I shot a few more pose changes, and then decided it was time for Cesar to jump into the picture.
I looked up to where he stood near the side of the road, waiting to be called into the shoot.
"JORGE!" I yelled. "Jump in."
He looked at me. Madi looked at me. Madi's lovely mom who I threatened just minutes earlier looked at me.
Then Kurt (did I say friend earlier? I meant former friend) turned to me. "You mean, Cesar? Wow, Erin. Just because he's Mexican doesn't mean you can throw any Hispanic name out there. Are you a racist or what?"

In that moment, I wanted to die.

Disorder Incident #3
After apologizing profusely, in between laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face, I recomposed myself. I was determined to finish the shoot without one more moment of complete mortification.

Five minutes later. "Madi, now you and Jorge..."

Son of a flipping mother! I said Jorge again. Apparently I am a racist-death-threat-throwing photographer. Apparently I have a Disorder and it doesn't matter that my clients are like friends...because that probably wont last very long with my record.



Reading Update. Need a book suggestion?

Books are crack, and I'm a full-on addict. Thus, the reason I've been working on writing my own YA novel for the past three years. I'll be the first to admit I've written some serious crap, but hopefully I'll one day rise from my pile of great stink and produce something worthy of publishing. Something as awesome as the list of books I've come up with this evening.
Since the weather's been down right sinister lately, I've had a lot of time to read. And I've read a lot. Some good, some not so much. I'll skip the mundane, boring, and serious lame books. I'll only suggest the awesomest of all. These are the books I give a 5 out of 5 stars. That way you can be sure of your next Amazon purchase because any book on this list has my stamp of approval.

1. DIVERGENT by Veronica Roth
This is the first on my list. Probably because I just finished it ten minutes ago, but mostly because it was wickedly awesome fulfilling all of my dystopic novel dreams. It's the Hunger Games meets the Matrix. Men, women, boys and girls alike will think this book is crazy cool. And if they don't? They're pansies.

2. WITHER by Lauren DeStefano
Leery, I was when I first picked up this novel. So I checked out some of the Goodreads ratings. They were mixed reviews and left me wondering why some people would hate this book while others loved it so much. Could they all be besties to Lauren? I didn't think so. So I read. Polygamy meets The Forest of Hands and Teeth...but without all the zombies. Just death. Imminent death due to a post-apocalyptic world and medical science gone haywire. Then you mix in a little polygamy with the eeriness of a controlled society that comes with all dystopic novels and you have something that's at it's core is sickening yet fascinating. Basically I couldn't put it down.

3. A BRIDE IN THE BARGAIN by Deeanne Gist
First off, I never venture into Borders and head to the historical romance section. Never! It's just not my thing. When a friend suggested I pick up this novel I scoffed. Maybe said a few disparaging remarks...I can't seem to recall. Whatever, I read the book. It sucked me in. I loved the adventure that the Seattle territory brings to the plot. And I thought the idea that a man could purchase a civil-war widow as a bride was intriguing. I read the thing from start to finish without stopping. It made me laugh, sigh, and even cry. It was eloquent, and heart wrenching with a perfect ending.

4. CRYER'S CROSS by Lisa McMann
This book isn't for the feint of heart. It's creepy. But the spookiness of the story is presented in such a humorous, and poignant, yet simply stated package that it left me in awe of Lisa's writing style. She can write one small sentence and invoke a spread of emotions. I loved how she weaved the complexities a teenage girl with OCD might have to face into a deadly mystery. It's a quick read that will leave you chilled to the bone. You should read it, but I suggest you don't do so at 2am.

5. IT'S NOT SUMMER WITHOUT YOU by Jenny Han
Alright, this isn't the first novel in the series. In fact, it's the fourth. So this book suggestion is kind of a cheat. You have to read the first three books in the series before you reach this fourth one. Check out: The Summer I Turned Pretty, It's not Summer without You, We'll Always Have Summer, and then It's Not Summer Without You. They are are heartfelt story of a girl who moves into maturity and finds her first love. Sounds silly and girly, right? You are so wrong there. They were crafted in a way that you can see the individual emotional growth in each character. Of all the series out there, this one is one of my favorites.

There's my list for this month. If you are a reader like me, you can become my friend on Goodreads. We can share books we like, and ones we don't.

Or, have you read anything good lately? Let me know, and I'll pick it up.

food glorious food...and other conference pictures

In January I stopped eating sugar and drinking caffine. Well, mostly. Alright, so it was a little hard when we went on vacation to California, and then even harder when Harts (my city's beloved gas station) has free drink day, but the hardest when I went to a writing conference last week and EVERYBODY was drinking and eating what I wanted.

So yeah, I broke down. I drank the Diet Coke and ate the M&Ms. I swear I wasn't thinking about food and soda the whole time, but when I look back at the pictures I took, I wonder if maybe I was just fooling myself.

You decide.

 That's a snickers.

 Yeah, and a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup. Yum.

 An apple. So I was trying to stay healthy...at least in thought.

 Soda!!!

 Food, glorious Food!

 Yes a gummy worm. And sadly, if she offered it to me I would have eaten it from her nose.

These may be the unfortunates that didn't win a Whitney at the 2011 Whitney Awards,

but I just see them as Cheesecake lovers.

Yes, I'm guilty of being a food lover.

Sigh.

luv, erin

two loves.

First, Happy Mother's Day to all the wonderful mother's out there. I can't say enough good things about my own mother and the many women in my life that have raised and supported me throughout the years. I'm truly blessed by their influence, and grateful for all that these wonderful women do for me.

Second, because it's Mother's Day, which essentially means MY DAY, then I figured there could be no better way to celebrate today than by posting about ME ME ME ME ME ME ME!

Yeah, you get the pic. I'm slightly self-centered.

Regardless, I want to share with you what I did this last weekend. I went to the 2011 LDS Storymaker's Writing Conference. And I attended as the "Official Photographer." No joke. That was my title. You know, I dab in photography now and then.

Besides hearing amazing speakers like (prepare for unbelievable name drops): Janette Rallison, Agent Sara Crowe, Agent Sara Megibow, Agent Becca Stumph, Josi Kilpack, Tristi Pinkston, Elana Johnson, Larry Brooks, James Dashner, Sarah Eden, Clint, Tyler, Brothers: Rob and Dan...notice how I'm dropping to a first name basis like we're total besties. Yeah, we pretty much are.

Ok, don't go asking them or anything. They might be modest and act as though we've never really met. But trust me, we have met and we are BFF'S.

The point of my endless self-enduldged monologue is that while I was there I shot lots of people's pictures. Basically I was in a semi-heaven with the combination of my two hobby loves in life: writing and shooting. Learning to write (because apparently I haven't figured this one out yet) and shooting lots of name-droppable people made me feel happy and warm inside. I don't have time to share much, but here are some pics I nabbed of two of my favorite ladies.

Happy Mother's Day!
luv, erin

The famous Tristi Pinkston:

The amazing Shari Bird:

run erin run.

This morning I signed up for the Timpanogos Half Marathon. Crazy, right? I hate running. Every time I start I silently curse the forsaken exercise for at least the first two to three miles. But once I hit mile three, something happens inside me.
No, I'm not going to call it a runner's high, because there's nothing high about my feet repeatedly pounding the pavement, and the monotony of inhales and exhales to keep up with my forward motion. It's almost like I hit a numbness, and in that moment I no longer feel the ache in my legs or the burn in the tips of my lungs. It's like my body just gives up and says, "fine, what the heck, keep running then. You suck."

So I keep running. On Monday, in fact, I ran just under seven miles.

Today when Mark proposed we run a half...something we've been considering for awhile...I figured, what the heck. Let's do it. We signed up, we paid our money, and now we're in. There's no turning back, but I figured why not get a few of you out there to do it with me. It could be like a super-cool group thing. You know, all the cool people are doing it.

So if you want to join me, click on the link for details:

Timpanogos Half Marathon

best album ever. oh, and a contest.

I was recently reading a friend's post in which she asked, "what's your favorite road trip song ever?"
Well, my first thought was:
Of course, I'm Moving On by Rascal Flatts
That song is a given for all road trips. If you haven't sung your guts out with the Rascal Flatts boys to the smooth harmonies of I'm Moving On while driving down the I-15, then you haven't road tripped. Just hearing the song on the radio puts an itch in my step to jump in my mini (van, that is) and head North or South to my sister's homes.
But before I could type my answer, a buried memory clawed it's way out of my cobwebbed brain, and I thought of another road trip I took years ago. During a short-lived summer job in New York City, I accompanied my boss to her summer home in the Adirondacks. We drove for a few hours at most, but what I remember was bonding over a particular album that we both loved:

U2 - Joshua Tree

Favorite song:
Where the Steets Have No Name

Um, pretty much. Best. Song. Ever.

The songs in Joshua Tree were like my personal anthem for that summer, and many more after. In recent years, I lost the album and sadly forgot about how much I loved playing it over and over again. That is, until Ally's post. And if you want, you can go and enter her contest:

HERE

And now that I have that memory back, the Summerills are going to be enjoying the musical stylings of Bono and the U2 gang once again. 

What's your all time favorite album?