time machine...

When I was younger I journaled all the time.  Almost every night I'd tuck into bed, lay on my belly, and pour my heart out on the college-ruled lines.  I'd fill up large FiveStar 3-subject spirals with pages and pages, front and back, of brain flow.  The adventures of my 5th grade through high school years were diligently described in sparkly gel ink and doodles.  I wrote primarily about boys.  Naturally.  And quite a bit about my girl friends too.  Oh, the drama!  Oh, the horrible poems I wrote and painstakingly rhymed line after line.

Eventually some of the notebooks had to be destroyed due to being discovered.  I had been careless and kept them in a not-secret-enough hiding space.  Pillow cases - not a good place!  The vulnerability of having so much raw emotion exposed left me extremely wounded and I ripped the pages into itty-bitty shreds, not willing to take the risk of them being read again.

Nevertheless, I continued journaling.  In college, blogging took over much of the physical writing and has continued being my primary tool of brain flow, although about twice a month I still get out pen and paper and attempt processing my thoughts the old fashioned way.  Occasionally I think back to those journals.  All the pain, excitement, and naivety they held.  Sometimes I wish I could go back and read them.  To see how things have changed.  If I've grown up, if I've followed my 16-year old dreams, the lessons I've learned and how the past has shaped me.  I forget so much of my past!  Sometimes I want to laugh at how hard I thought life was, and read about all the adventures I had growing up.

So... imagine my surprise when, before Thanksgiving my parents had their basement ceilings redone.  Trust me, this is related.  I jokingly asked Mom if there had been any surprises in the ceiling in my room.  She laughed and said, "Actually, yes.  There were a few notebooks and journals up there.  He sat them on your shelf."

It was my ultimate hiding place - the rafters above my closet in the basement.  As a kid I had to drag over a chair and reach on my tip-toes to stick the books in the ceiling.  It was also possibly, maybe - ahem - where I hid a bottle of Crown Royal after an upperclassmen snuck it to me (why was I drinking Crown as a teenager?!  Seriously... I thought it was so cool).  The hiding space was a pain, but well worth the effort.  I was giddy to see the dusty journals again.  That night I stayed up extra late, just like when I was little.  Reading by the small light of my closet, all the stories and heartaches, and joys of me as a kid came alive.  It was hilarious.  And heartbreaking.  And surprising.  And seriously, so funny.  I really wrote terrible poems!  If I eventually get brave, I'll share some on here.

I did want to share one of the entries.  Just because it's fun.  And it wasn't all about boys for once.  It was written shortly after Christmas and the new year of the millennium and it was cute for a few reasons:

1) I had finally started dating Brady, my high school sweetheart.  The decision to date him had apparently been, from reading previous entries, a laborious thought process of 'should I or shouldn't I?'.  Which is hilarious because as unsure as I was in the beginning, I ended up falling head over heels for him and was completely devastated when it ended (although I pretended I wasn't).  And I can say that now because it's almost 10-years later, we've clearly moved on, and no one cares about high school relationships anymore anyway.  I also read the journal pictured below was a gift from him.  It had a lock - perfect for protecting my secrets, and displayed #55 on the cover.  Which he wanted me to change to #65 because that was his football number.  Geesh, we were so cheesy!

2) It made me smile about how excited I was to get a new camera.  It was a great reminder that this whole photography thing has been in my blood for a long, long time.  It was my first SLR.  A Nikon N60.  Film.  I adored that camera.  Many 4-H ribbons were won with that beauty.  It also reminded me I was such a goody-two shoes I couldn't even spell *ss in my own journal.  Some things never change.

3)  Being Junior-class president stressed the heck out of me.  I had totally forgotten.  And then it all hit me at once... reading how thrilled I was to have class fundraising over.  The joys of organizing Jr./Sr. Prom...

All in purple sparkly gel pen for your reading pleasure.

toast crunch...

Last night I decided not to workout because my legs were hairy and my long workout pants were still drying.  That's totally legit.  One cannot risk hairy legs in a workout class.  If the instructor had to make an adjustment, or the light hit just right... yikes!

Instead, I decided to make cinnamon rolls - a goal I'd been procrastinating for quite some time.  My Grandma was a master baker and sold cinnamon rolls across half the state of Kansas.  So, although baking fresh bread with yeast scared the jeebers out of me, it was time to give it a go.  The process was more fun and actually simpler than I'd built it up in my head.  I didn't kill the yeast, and also managed to roll out the dough in a rectangularish shape (my second greatest baking fear... rolling pins), so it was an overall success.  Unfortunately the pan I used cooked the bottoms of the rolls a little darker than I'd prefer, so they weren't as soft and awesome as Grandma used to make.  However, it was a great learning experience, and, my kitchen helpers made the process way better than cooking alone.

Pictured below - 1) Renee cutting the rolls 2) Rolls ready for the oven 3) Brian and Renee begging the rolls to cook faster; *please note I did not set up this shot.  I honestly didn't.  They were both kneeling in front of the oven salivating all over the floor.  And no, that is not a bottle of Wellers on the counter.  Also, no, we did not take shots  in-between kneading the dough.  While obnoxiously singing the 'Shots!' song by LMFAO. That would be silly.  4) Rolls out of the oven with frosting that set up before the rolls were finished.  Even though it was extra thick, the frosting definitely tasted like Grandma's!

Thank goodness for cancelled workouts.  And sugar.