One Short Day…

It’s not Business, it’s Personal…days, that is. And when I learned I had one remaining use it or lose it day at work, I quickly decided to use it by taking a day trip to New York City to finally see my friend in his show on Broadway. I left work a little early and took one of the many buses up there, arriving in time to ride the wooden escalators at Macy’s and stroll through Midtown to his apartment. We called it an early night so I could get an early start the next day to see another NYC landmark I’d never visited: the Statue of Liberty. I’ve been close, but never got off the boat to visit her in person. While I couldn’t get a ticket to go up in the crown, it was still quite a climb to the pedestal and a great view of the city. There wasn’t much time, but I still had a quick run around Ellis Island and thought about my grandparents who went through there. It took a good deal of time to travel down there, but well worth it.

Before I knew it, it was time for the main event: a matinee performance of “Wicked” starring my friend, Kenway, as a dancer in the cast. It was thoroughly enjoyable! I’ve been fortunate to attend Broadway shows before, but it’s somehow different when you actually know someone up there. And although I’m biased and no expert, I still assert that Kenway did a great job and was the best dancer in the ensemble. It was funny to compare the characters enjoying their “One Short Day in the Emerald City” with my quick trip to the Big Apple.The best was yet to come, though. I met Kenway at the stage door and was pleasantly shocked when he gave me a backstage tour! I saw the costumes up close, met the hair and makeup staff and a few of the actors, held some of the props, saw where the orchestra plays and even got to go out on the stage. Instead of taking away from the magic of the show, it deepened my respect for it and their ingenuity. Those costumes are even more exquisite up close and it’s clearly a lot of work.

After the show, we grabbed an early dinner at one of his favorite Italian restaurants before he headed back for the evening’s performance and I caught my bus to DC. Although it was a long way to travel for such a short time, I was so glad I did it and can’t wait to go back.

Devan's Graduation

Memorial Day weekend this year brought a special treat: Devan’s graduation from OCC. It’s only a step on his planned educational journey, but it was a long time coming and well worth celebrating. Congrats, Devan!

Palmyra, Unplanned

…only to discover that I couldn’t get it to start. It’s not that I expected instant miracles for making this pilgrimage of sorts, but this simply wasn’t in my plans for this trip. I had places to go and things to see and instead here I was, stuck in the dark a few miles outside of a small town in a rural area far from home and not even strangers in sight. I instinctively called my dad, knowing that he couldn’t fix it for me but he could at least try to diagnose it while calming me down and rationally suggested I call AAA. It was while waiting for them that my angels appeared, in the form of a senior missionary couple named the Watts. They’d come to collect their mail and after jumpstarting my car, insisted on waiting with me while the tow truck came. It came, but wasn’t able to repair my car, dropping it off at the mechanics in town that wouldn’t open until Monday. While weighing my options, the Watts graciously took me under their wing and let me stay with them. I’ve known for quite some time that I want to go on a mission as a senior couple someday, and this experience just confirmed that. Now to find a companion…

Those extra days gave me a chance to see all the Church history sites while they were open, and the Erie Canal. It was nice to take my time at the Grandin Printing office, the Hill Cumorah and Sacred Grove visitor’s centers, and the Martin Harris home. I had so much time on my hands that Sunday afternoon that I had a bit of a film fest at the Hill Cumorah Visitor’s Center, watching several videos and getting to know most or all of the senior missionaries serving there. Seeing the historic homes and cabins made my current house look palatial, and I realized that it was probably a lot easier for them to keep their houses clean when they didn’t have nearly as much “stuff” as I’ve accumulated.

The Erie Canal was something that interested me as a geographer, and because I’d learned a song about it somewhere along the way, but until this trip I never realized it went through Palmyra, “the gem of the Erie Canal”. I began to appreciate its importance for moving people and goods, like heavy printing presses, though the area in the 1820s and 1830s and the impact that had on the history of the LDS church. Who says God can’t work through something as “simple” as a canal to bring miracles to pass?
The sudden healing of my car Monday morning had me a little wary (one minute the battery was dead, a few minutes later it was fine in all the diagnostic tests) but there was no choice but to test it by driving back to Virginia.

Since I had all day to make the drive, I had time to visit the Peter Whitmer farm and see where the Church was formally organized. They showed a video called “The Fourth Witness” that was new to me, but interesting to learn about what Mary Whitmer went though during that period.

At the New York state line I was able to stop in Corning and visit the glass museum. I was so excited to go, but the Whitmer farm had taken a little longer than planned so I had to skip the museum and head straight for the workshop, where I got to try my hand at glassblowing. It was understandably less hands-on than I would’ve liked (not enough time to teach proper safety while handling molten glass, etc.) but it was still quite fun! And now my family has a bit of my hot air permanently encased in a lovely Christmas ornament. :) The rest of the drive was thankfully uneventful, aside from playing tech support over the phone with my coworkers.

Moral of the story: the Lord wanted me to slow down a bit, and apparently didn’t want me to work a 5-day week.

Palmyra: Planned

Just a few weeks after Utah, I was back on the road for my friend, Melissa’s, wedding. My destination: Palmyra, in upstate New York. I tried visiting our library rather than the bookstore to see what travel books they had to offer for the region, and found a paltry selection: one book on the whole region, and another book about the folklore of the Erie Canal which goes through Palmyra. I checked out both, just in case. I drove up with my friend, Courtney, stopping along the way to eat at a “farm to fork” restaurant in the Hotel Hershey—the chocolate teriyaki wings were delicious. We arrived in Palmyra just as the sun was starting to set, and just in time for the sealing. One of the benefits of being married in a small temple on a Thursday night in the off season: the wedding party gets a private tour of the temple afterward. It only took about 10 minutes, but gave me an added appreciation for the symbolism of the tree motif found in all the windows. We left as the last bits of daylight turned the sky from deep pinks to royal blues and walked around to see the windows from the outside.

The next morning, I dropped off Courtney at the airport and was bequeathed her GPS as I switched into pure tourist mode. A coworker’s husband is from Buffalo and after hearing him rave about it, I was more than a little curious to see what it had to offer. Aided by a sunny, mild day and some maps I printed off a website, I began an architecture walking tour in one of the historic neighborhoods of Buffalo. I walked block after block of beautiful homes, mansions, and apartment buildings from a variety of architectural periods. When I finished the loop, I drove to the Anchor Bar and ate Buffalo Wings in their birthplace—I’d forgotten how spicy they are. I’d enjoyed the walk so much that I decided to do the other route I’d printed off, and realized how accustomed I’d become to looking at mansions when I actually started to think that some of the smaller ones were “reasonably” sized and pictured myself living there. A few blocks later, I was on a street of lovely homes, not mansions, that were still bigger than where I currently live and yet they seemed tiny. The highlight of this route was visiting a church that had a few Tiffany windows.

Driving through the outskirts of Buffalo and rural New York to the reception, I wondered how people could be satisfied to live in homes that were decent, but didn’t look as pretty. Of course custom homes are more expensive, but why couldn’t some elements of the styles I’d seen earlier be mass-produced? Or if they were, would I appreciate them as much?

The route to the reception was near Lake Erie so on a moment’s impulse I took the detour and drove to its shores—I’m a geography nerd, after all. It was lovely at sunset, but after all I’d heard about its pollution over the years I was fearful to put more than a toe in its waters. By this time I was running a little later than planned to the reception, so it didn’t help when my printed directions stopped making sense. It was asking me to continue on a street than ended, turning onto a street that wasn’t there. I broke down and turned on the GPS, but that wasn’t helping, either. I circled around a few times and even tried stopping at a gas station to ask for directions (it was closed). Eventually I discovered the cause: the bridge was out. Thankfully an alternate route was nearby, but what are the odds? Of the two wedding receptions for friends I’ve driven to in New England, both have had bridges out within the last few miles of the route. Seriously, how often are bridges out in this region? I arrived much later than intended, but it was great to celebrate the events of the previous night, and to connect with other friends who’d join me for the following day’s adventure. We caravanned back to Niagara and collapsed.

Saturday morning we got the earliest start we could muster for Niagara Falls. I’d been here with my family back in 2001, but I wanted to get a closer look—and to cross the US border. We started with the famous “Maid of the Mist” cruise and marveled at the sheer power of the Falls. The Falls undercut themselves and erode upstream each year, so it’s probably a little different each time. You feel pretty insignificant at the base, not to mention a little damp. Thank goodness for those lovely ponchos! The rest of the group hadn’t experienced Buffalo or the Church History sites yet, so after the cruise we parted ways and I headed over to Canada. I’d actually renewed my passport with this specific trip in mind, so I was a little miffed when they wouldn’t bother to stamp it. Trust me, I was there. My guides were my roommate’s nephews, Andrew and Paul, and since my time was limited we didn’t stray far from Niagara (Ontario this time). It was very touristy, but we did manage to find the two Canadian experiences I wanted to try: Tim Horton’s and poutine. I’m looking forward to seeing more of this country in the future, but after stocking up on their exotic flavors of potato chips I had to head back to America. I took a different bridge back and quickly regretted it—or slowly, as the bridge closest to Niagara is naturally the most popular…and slowest. This had set me back further than I’d hoped, so despite my lead foot, I still got back to the Palmyra area after the Church History sites has closed. Luckily, the Hill Cumorah is an outdoor site and I was able to climb to the top and have to myself. I took a chance and drove to the Sacred Grove, and neither the parking area nor entrance to the Grove was blocked off. That was all I needed, and proceeded to take a brisk stroll at dusk down every path I could find. It was beautiful early in the spring and late in the day, and I felt so lucky to have the woods entirely to myself to ponder the significance of what took place there. And then I got back to my car…

Tour de Cupcake: 27 miles, 4 cupcake shops, 3.5 cupcakes

Combining good things is always a risky situation. It can be really good (mint and chocolate) or really bad (chocolate fudge and steak). But my friend’s suggestion to combine two of my loves, riding my bike and eating sweets, was a stroke of genius.

“Tour de Cupcake”, as she dubbed it, was a ride to five local “cupcakeries” (bakery that only sells cupcakes). The day was beautiful as we gathered at Gravelly Point, overlooking the Potomac, to pick up our maps, team up, and apply the temporary tattoo designed for the occasion.

It quickly became apparent where people’s priorities lay: those who were there for the bike ride showed up in their finest gear and soon whizzed off in a peloton that would make Lance Armstrong proud. Those were there for the socializing lingered—some going straight to the last stop with their friends. And then there was me, somewhere between socializing and the love of an experiment. Here were the questions I wanted to answer:

• Could I bike this far (hitherto not attempted on my “new” bike)?
• What would be my favorite cupcake?

Who doesn’t love this kind of research?

We set off at an easy pace, cruising down the Mall, and landed at Red Velvet in Chinatown, where I tried their namesake and wasn’t disappointed.

Next, we pedaled to Hello Cupcake up near Dupont Circle, biking past the White House.

The flavor here was a lemon raspberry, the frosting piled on top like a beehive hairdo. It was good, but perhaps my expectations were too high.

As we biked to shop 3 in Georgetown, I was grateful to be in a large group that increased our visibility as we attempted to share the narrow and crowded street with cars, buses, and stylish shoppers who weren’t always looking where they were going. We took one look at the line and decided to pass—there were still two shops and plenty of miles ahead. With that, we left DC and pedaled back to Virginia, following a trail I’d never been on before. I’d seen it over the years as I drove on the highway it runs parallel to, but never ventured over that way. The hills of the Virginia Custis trail may only be moderate, but my lack of training and the two cupcakes in my stomach were both making themselves noticed. This time, I was grateful for friends who encouraged and pushed me through this portion, refusing to let me get off my bike (until the chain came off). I was grateful when we returned to a flatter trail, and was delighted to see Boy Scouts working on their cycling merit badge—perhaps we should design a badge for this with a bike and cupcake?

Stop 4 was the Shirlington location of a DC institution and the first cupcakery I’d heard of: Cake Love.

Their Springtime cupcake looked cute and sounded seasonally-appropriate, but left something to be desired. I’m not a fan of their frosting, generally, but I sampled a chocolate one with orange frosting that could change my mind next time.

I found my second wind as we pedaled to our final stop along familiar trails, and finally realized how much this resembled “The Sound of Music’ when Maria takes the kids out to explore Salzburg by bike. Our ringleader even has short blond hair and plays the guitar! Before I knew it we’d arrived at Lavender Moon Cupcakery in Old Town Alexandria. It’s just a few blocks from the main part, yet I never knew it existed. This was the Platform 9 ¾ of cupcake shops, and was by far my favorite. All of their flavors sounded good (confirmed by my teammates), but my selection was S’Mores (rumored to have the best chocolate flavor of those on offer).

We lingered for a while, relishing in our accomplishment, before racing home as the sun set and the chill increased.

The answers: yes, I can ride that far and my favorites are either Red Velvet or anything at Lavender Moon.

author’s note: the next group ride is rumored to be “Bikes and Pies”, a tour of Brooklyn’s pizza places. I just went back to Lavender Moon last week and tried the Blood Orange Dreamsicle and Chocolate with Sea Salt and Almonds flavors. It appears you can’t go wrong!

Utah

Whenever I fly west it’s to be with my immediate family in California, but I decided 2010 was the year to travel stateside a little more and see extended family. A friend’s wedding provided the perfect reason to drop in on Utah, and I was shocked to realize it’d been 5 years since I’d been back. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how many people I wanted to see—family, friends from my study abroad, friends from DC, etc. It was such a short trip, but so great to see people.

I’d like to say it felt good to be back, but at first it just felt weird. I’ve noticed that when I don’t see someone, in my mind they’re “frozen” and don’t age, and that a place I’ve visited shouldn’t change while I’m away. It startled me at first to realize that my cousin’s kids were now teenagers. When they were younger I was cool simply because I was older and in college. Now, I had to earn “cool” status. And visiting a friend included hanging out in BYU student housing—complete with cinder block walls. That was startling for the opposite reason: the apartments really haven’t changed.

Walking around campus made me nostalgic and confirmed that I’m in a different chapter of my life, and I kept wondering where all the teenagers with backpacks came from—could freshmen really look that young?

Here were a few of the highlights (in chronological order):

• Attending my cousin’s daughter’s folk dance concert at BYU
• Attending the lighting of “The Flaming Mustache” statue outside the BYU Museum of Art (no, they don’t let you roast marshmallows on it and yes, they get asked that question a lot)
• Learning to play the ukulele in the HFAC as part of a student’s final project
• Janet’s wedding reception—she looked so lovely, so radiant, and so happy! Also great to catch up with a few friends from my study abroad and meet their children.
• Seeing Elder L. Tom Perry walking down the street on my way to attend Music and the Spoken Word with a DC friend.
• Family Home Evening with extended family—some I’d never met

All in all, an excellent trip and hopefully it won’t be another 5 years before I return.


author’s note: for photos, see my facebook album

Snowmageddon

“Mother Nature has achieved something that no terrorist has yet managed to do—a complete lockdown of the federal government…” -BBC's DC correspondent

Washington, DC is not only near the Mason-Dixon Line, it’s also near the freeze-thaw line in winter. That means we normally get a few inches of snow or less, which promptly melt and become slushy in some spots and icy in others before the next storm hits a few weeks later. It’s the ice that’s really dangerous, affecting the roads and public transportation, so for the safety of the kids the schools will close or have a delayed start at the first hint of a storm. These closures are broadcast on the local news, one district at a time, but what we’re really watching out for is the federal government. Even if you don’t work for them, most companies in the area run on their schedule.

The storms of February 2010 were different in both their intensity and spacing. “Snowmageddon”, as it was dubbed, became the heaviest snowfall in DC’s history.

The first night, a Friday, started off like any other snowfall: beautiful to watch, fun to walk in, etc. I felt like a kid as I ran across the neighborhood to a friend’s house to watch a movie, only to return home and find the power was out. Candlelight seems so romantic in the movies, until you have cold slush in your hair and no access to a blow dryer. I curled into a ball that night and was grateful for the residual heat of our house until the power came back on the next morning. Others weren’t so lucky, and you quickly discovered the power grid of the neighborhood by whose power was out and for how long.

The next morning, I decided to get my shoveling duty out of the way before breakfast. I picked a heck of a winter to move into a house—on a corner, no less. We’d had so much snow overnight that it took quite some time to dig the full length of my sidewalk, and I was so proud of my work that I ran to grab my camera and take a picture.

It was only after the photo shoot that I discovered I’d locked myself out, and finally met my downstairs neighbor in my pajamas—quite the first impression, I’m sure.

That night, the skies cleared up a bit and I explored the neighborhood at sunset. It felt completely transformed, as there were no cars on the roads and people walking everywhere. It was so quiet! I tried cutting through the park, and the snow was so deep that it took longer to get across the field—the shortcut was only shorter in distance.

Sunday morning brought a unique opportunity. We’d had church cancelled the previous week on account of snow—the road to the chapel isn’t plowed in time and there are usually fallen branches. That week the stake president authorized us to hold mini church meetings at designated homes in the neighborhood. Walking to “church” and participating in the Sacrament out of its normal context made me more grateful for things I usually take for granted. Ironically, the Sunday School lesson scheduled for that week was Noah and the Ark—only to be cancelled because of a “flood” of snow. I decided to have my own Sunday School by building a scale model of the story later that week in our front yard. “Snoah and the ark” was built to a scale of 1:30 (1 shovel width = 30 cubits), and I realized just how long the ark was relative to width and height. I also realized how much we talk about emergency preparedness at church, but how few of us really apply those principles until it’s too late.

I’m grateful to say we didn’t run out of food. On the contrary, my roommate and I had more than enough to eat. The problem was that we had too much time on our hands and both love to cook. So while others used the mid-week break in the storm to empty store shelves of bread and milk, we needed whipping cream and other ingredients. I also used the storm as an excuse to stock up on Tim Tams, figuring they’d be useful bargaining chips if it came to it.

The funny thing was how quickly this new experience became normal. We knew we’d get the first day off, but each day after was a pleasant surprise for me. All too soon, my days were booked solid with activities and I made plans with the full expectation of getting Friday off. Some people did, but the rest of us had to report to work for a single day before the holiday weekend.

Here were a few of my highlights from the week:

• visiting the snow cave my friends made
• jumping off our porch into the snow
• going to “Sleeping Beauty” at the Kennedy Center—and nearly getting stranded in the District
• trying to build a snowman ala Calvin and Hobbes (turns out this California girl can’t roll a snowball)

• hiking to Gravelly Point and having the park to myself
• yodeling atop the remnants of the “glacier field” created in a local parking lot

When I tell my grandchildren about the DC chapter of my life, I won’t tell them about Obama’s inauguration—I’ll tell them about the week we had 4 days off of work because of snow.