The Luck of the Draw

I was thinking about luck today. Not the leprechaun, pot of gold luck. More like the luck you make for yourself.

My literature professor was telling us how by the time he was fifteen, the farthest he had travelled was to Salt Lake City and he'd only been there twice. (Once had been with the Cub Scouts to go to the zoo and he got peed on by a liger. That has no other baring on the story, I just thought it was REALLY funny.) He was 28 before he got on an airplane.

By the time I was fifteen, I'd been to Germany and seen the remains of the Berlin Wall. I was spending every summer in L.A. with my aunt and seeing piles of excellent theatre while I was at it. By the time I was 22, I'd been to England three times, Scotland twice, France, Italy, and New York City. None of this was by chance.

The other day my dad told me the story of how my travels began. My A.P. European History class took a trip to Europe each year. My sophomore year Mr. Lane gave us the brochure for their next trip, a London "City-Stay" where they'd stay at a hotel in London and take day trips out to Stratford, Oxford, Stonehenge, Bath, etc. I got in the car that afternoon and lightly mentioned that they were doing this and what a cool idea it was. My dad asked me if I was interested and I mumbled something about money. I hear that it was my Grandmother that said something to the effect of, "We'll hock the family jewels if we need to, to make sure Kate gets to go!"

That was my first taste of the lengths to which my family would go for me. Each summer after that I remember working my butt off to earn the money for the subsequent trips. Paris during my junior year, England/Scotland during my senior year, and Italy after I graduated. The culminating trip was the trip to England and Scotland with my mom, my grandmother, and my aunt.

I wouldn't have gone in the first place if they hadn't said, "Yes, honey, you can do this and we'll do whatever we can to help." I guess that's the real luck, the family I got.

Those trips shaped who I am and made my life so much richer. I've seen the Mona Lisa and I've seen Versailles, but I've also seen the difference between life in former East Germany compared to the life in former West Germany. I've seen the beaches at Normandy and St. Peter's square in Rome. I've seen the Vatican museums, the British Museum, and all the German museums that absconded with relics from Egypt. It's been so much more than cultural literacy. It's the world I live in and I've experienced a little of it.

Here's to my trip to Gettysburg next summer!

Grandfathers, Mothers, and Mayhem

My dear Grandfather turned 85 last week and is still going like a bat out of hell, as evidenced by the spray paint on my fingernails and the permeating odor of starter fluid.

The main thing I'm working on now is painting the biggest generator you've ever seen. It weighs 6500 lbs. I'm calling it "Big Bertha" and it's the color of that scuzz that forms on top of a cup of coffee that's been sitting on your desk for a week.

I should be going to work with him this morning, but I've had a little bit of a sore throat for the last few days and the last thing I need is to get sick right now. There's WAY too much fun stuff going on this weekend!

My aunty and Robyn are in town, GF's big birthday bash is Saturday night at our house, Mother's Day on Sunday, my aunty's birthday on Saturday, a geek trip to go and see the new Star Trek, and tomorrow is cleaning day in preparation for the big party. I'm sincerely hoping that if I take it easy today then my left eye will stop watering. I look like the bad guy in Casino Royale who weeps blood. (OK, it's not quite that bad, but still...)

On the bright side, the party favors are all finished (and pretty awesome, I think) and my mum's Mother's Day present is all finished.

It was inspired by a wreath we saw in a catalog and we got the stuff for about half what the catalog would have charged.

Wish me luck on my busy weekend and I'll give Big Bertha and Grandfather your regards.

Regina and Cousin Christopher

A week ago, my grandparents had two extra tickets for the opera. Their usual friends were indisposed, so they gave yours truly a call.

"Do you and your mom want to go to the opera?"
Me: "YES!"
Mum: "NO!"
Me: silence...
Me (to Grandmother): "Give Christopher a call and see if he'll be our fourth."

My cousin Christopher is a musician. He plays the piano, the bagpipes, the tin whistle, and he's starting on the guitar. He played his bagpipes for my auntie's wedding. I texted him last week and told him he should wear his seriously awesome kilt to the opera. (Kindof because I knew it would irk his mom and kindof because I thought it would be fantastic!)

We had dinner at The Olive Garden at bopped over to the Capitol Theatre for their pre-show synopsis/background thingy on the opera Regina.

Basically, the story was this: Manipulative sister out-manipulates her manipulative brothers to gain money, watching her un-loved husband die in the process.

The characters were captivating, the music appropriately discordant, and the lyrics completely asinine. For example, "Money can get me things and the things that go with things." Seriously, what the hell is that?

The best part of the evening though was watching Christopher. I was flipping through my program before the show and mentioned that it was going to be sung in English with English supertitles. Christopher looked at me quizzically and I said, "They project the lyrics over the stage, so you know what they're saying." He thought this was pretty cool, but not as cool as the fact that the music "wasn't canned," and that there was a symphony orchestra down in the pit. Not only that, but Keith Lockhart himself was conducting. (OK, I was probably more excited about that than Christopher was. Keith "Cutie-Pants" Lockhart has always been a favorite of mine.)

At the end of the night, Christopher was beside himself with delight at the whole thing. He was so gracious and thankful.

He also got many appreciative glances and compliments regarding his kilt. Only a couple were from me.

A Holiday Summary Thingy

Whew! Holidays and parties can really wear a girl out!

I got a cold, I went to parties, I stayed home from parties and blew my nose a lot, I watched Robyn guffaw at Mamma Mia, I watched many episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, I watched many episodes of The Big Bang Theory, I slept a lot.

I drank egg nog, pomegranate margaritas, and some very tasty wine. I ate fudge, divinity, pumpkin chocolate chip muffins, sugar cookies, and my own weight in poatato chips.

The remaining Angeleno relatives departed this morning to return to the San Fernando valley.

I've managed not to burn myself with my new flat iron yet.

My cat's going to get a collar with a bell on it. I'm sure she'll be thrilled. Really.

I start my next semester on Tuesday and return to my African dance classes on Monday.

All is well in snowy Utah.

Cruisin' Civilization

I'm all registered for my next semester of class and I even have textbooks coming in the mail already. I'm pretty excited about my classes, except for one small detail. My textbooki for my "American Civilizations" class has Tom Cruise on the cover.

Tom "Scientology-Has-Sent-Me-'Round-the-Bend" Cruise. I skimmed through it and it looks like something from a sixth grade social studies class. Chapter 4: The U.S. Government, the Judicial Branch. Seriously? No, SERIOUSLY?!

I'm hoping my Neoclassic/Romantic Literature class will make up for the inanity of American Civilization. Who knows. Maybe the first day of class will be like that scene in Dead Poet's Society when Robin Williams has his students rip the textbook to shreds! I love that scene! I should really own that movie.

Anyway, here's to a well-deserved break for the next few weeks. My L.A. family and my Vegas family will be here a week from today and I can't wait! Let the holiday merriment commence!

They're Watching You!

I went with my clan to get the Thanksgiving gobble yesterday. It's a bit of a tradition.

Here they are staring at us. I think they know that we're going to eat one of their own.

Usually when you gobble at them, they gobble back furiously. Yesterday they were just silent. Very creepy.

Happy Thanksgiving, my cherubs!

The Return of the Gobble

It's that time again! Gobble time!

When I figured out that I'd actually get to go with my grandfather to get the turkey this year, I was thrilled! Tuesday afternoon we'll cart ourselves out to White's Turkey Farm and pick up the 30 lb behemoth.

Wednesday night we'll gather to break the bread for the stuffing.

And Thursday, I'll make my Uncle Josh's fabulous Kentucky Pecan Pie, including dark chocolate! Mmmmm......

And we'll probably all gather for leftovers on Friday.

Life is good!

A quote for this sunny, and yet freezing, Friday...

"Our rural ancestors, with little blest,Patient of labour when the end was rest,Indulged the day that housed their annual grain,With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain."
~Alexander Pope

I Love the Smell of Creosote in the Morning

***UPDATED: Now with pictures!

In between writing papers and moping about missing Burbank, I've been working with my sweet grandfather. The man is a force of nature in more ways than one.


Recently, we've been working on replacing a set of stairs made of railroad ties. Quoi, you say? Well railroad ties are the giant wooden... logs that go under the railroad tracks. They're soaked in creosote to prevent rotting, so they last really well.


This set of stairs was originally built 50 years ago when GF first built their house. We've been slowly removing the old ones, leveling out the surface we need (by hacking through some serious roots), cutting the new railroad ties (which I'll get back to), and putting them in their new place.


This sounds like a fairly simple process. Well, it's not! It's a gigantic pain in my pale Irish butt! Railroad ties are HEAVY! Trying to cut them in two is a whole process that leaves you sweaty, somewhat cranky, and stinking of creosote. For instance, this morning it took us two and a half hours to cut ONE! Granted, it was on an angle, so the cut was about 30 inches long, but still. It involved a rotary saw, a skill saw, a hand saw, a broken can of WD-40, three chisels, a clamp, enough saw dust to really piss off Grandmother, enough stinky creosote smoke to make the house reek, and enough expletives to make the two of us sound like sailors (or actors, who have horrendous potty mouths).


Grandfather asked me if I have any classes that require story writing. I said, not really, but that it sounded perfect for a blog post.

Now that I've been home for a few hours, I don't stink anymore, but my knuckles are still bleeding. I'll be so proud when the damn thing's done!