The Price of Beauty

This week, as I was attempting to beautify the house and subsequently improve my still-life photography skills (joking...mostly), something very bad happened to me.  I was out chopping lavender down amid a swarm of bumblebees and suddenly I felt a very sharp pain in the bottom of my foot.  "What on earth could that be?"  I thought to myself in legitimate confusion.  Surprise.  I looked down to freak out and discover I was getting stung by a bee.  I don't know why this was such a shock to me since I was clearly in the bee's house, hacking down their livelihood.  Anyway, as I was lying in my grass wondering how I was supposed to get the stinger out without dying first, I looked at my vase of lavender and had the distinct thought, "Well, I guess it was still worth it, right?"  I think it was just the bee venom speaking because, what the heck?  It was most definitely not worth it.  

Some other thoughts that came to mind during this ordeal:

1. Please tell me Patty and Steve (neighbors who are always outside) are not outside to witness this.  They are?  Of course they are.  Dang it.

2. Am I going to have to stand on an ice cube for the rest of my days?

3. Why isn't Scott home to stop me from doing these stupid things?

4. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DnhDFu-vmkU

5. I guess I no longer wish to visit a lavender field.

This lovely lavender photo is brought to you by a bee sting.  

Four Years

I just blinked and we hit our 4-year anniversary.  This year we spent the day in San Diego amidst family (again)!  I have to post my yearly sap because I always have an anniversary post and I am a creature of habit.  So, here were are, and look at those sweet baby faces:

(Yes, I realize we still have those baby faces.  Yesterday at the temple, one of the workers did a double-take and asked me if I was old enough to be in there.  The funny part is, this is not even the first time this exact scenario has gone down...)

Love (of the 4-year variety) is...

...eating a lot more salad than any man would ever choose to eat.

...leaving work early even though there are still lots of things to do.

...suggesting we go browse dishes at Home Goods on a Friday night.

...realizing your 7-year-old self would be thrilled to know you did actually find someone who will play board games with you every day.

...pulling into Baskin Robbins on the way home from the library without any discussion.

...giving the longest back scratches in the history of back scratches.

...saying, "Sounds great," right after you play some truly horrendous notes on your rusty violin.

...going downstairs late at night (every night) to check if the garage door is closed, because what if it isn't?  (You leave it open one time, and you're stuck with a lifetime full of fear.)

Obviously this gem needed to get dug up...umm, what on earth...?

A Return to Music and Awkward Neck Markings

I'm playing my violin in church in a few weeks which means I had to locate my violin, practice, and be reminded once again that I am no longer...shall we say, skilled?  *laugh* *cry*  Next time I feel myself getting too prideful about anything, I'll just dig up my senior piece and attempt to play it because I am now put. in. my. place.

Exhibit A:  The Wieniawski Polonaise...

Exhibit B: My version of this piece today...

Aliens must have taken over my body in 2008 because the person I am now can NOT play the Wieniawski.  Of course, it never sounded like Antal Zalai because that man IS an alien from another planet, but I did learn it once.  Normally you don't start sweating in this piece until about the 4:00 minute mark (watch Antal above), but I get to that point within about 40 seconds now and it's all downhill from there. Oh well, it's been fun to visit Youtube and listen to the real deals play all my performance pieces instead.

After the initial shock of wow-I'm-so-rusty wore off, practicing again was great fun.  Unfortunately, after a few minutes of practicing, my violin hickey returned, and I feel that this is ten times more awkward now than it was back in the day since of course no one questioned where it came from back then.  Anyway, luckily the piece I picked for church is pretty harmless (famous last words).  There are a few lines of double-stops and I probably will just play the top notes because  aintnobodygottimeforthat. Jenny Oaks Baker, if you are reading this, I apologize.