{“Poor Kyle” Uncovered}

by Camille Posted on February 6, 2008

Why “Poor Kyle?” It all started during our engagement, when he was often the unfortunate outlet for all my pent-up pre-wedding stresses. Now that the wedding is over, the name has continued to seem…fitting. Because, of course, he’s married to yours truly, which means he has to put up with me for the rest of his life, and the rest of eternity after that (God willing). When I say, “Poor Kyle,” I don’t mean that Kyle is financially poor since marrying me–in fact, I spend less money than he does at Costco, and on more practical products. When I go to Costco, for example, I usually come away with boneless skinless chicken breasts, fresh produce, some bulk canned goods (building up that years’ supply), dryer sheets, and perhaps a treat like pot stickers. For a total of [usually] right around $100.00. When Kyle goes to Costco, he fancies buying thousand-dollar tool boxes and thousand-dollar tools to go in them. Financially, I may very well be the best thing that ever happened to Poor Kyle.

Emotionally, however, I suspect I am quite draining on my significant other. I have feelings, after all…and on both deeper and broader levels than Poor Kyle’s. When he thinks something is sad, I find that same something to be heart wrenching. If he thinks something is cool, I likely think that same something is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. If we disagree, he gets over it, because that’s how he was raised. If I am unhappy for any reason, I dwell on it (thus making me exponentially more unhappy, and–I know it’s pointless, okay?). I’m a dweller. I stew, brood, and dwell until it physically hurts, and then I blow up and start the whole process over again.

It’s a lot to keep up with, for a guy who likes “things that go vroom” as much as he does (like them, that is. Poor Kyle doesn’t “go vroom.” Very often.). I mean, here’s a guy who once bought his mom chocolates for St. Valentine’s Day–and charged them on her account at the pharmacy [I know. They still use the Honor System here in Mayberry]. Here is a guy who, despite receiving links, emails, and phone calls with specific items I’d love as a wedding gift, nevertheless found nothing to get me [maybe he forgot we were getting married?]. It’s okay, of course, because he was gift enough.

Poor, poor “Poor Kyle.”

As an aside, the song playing–“New Soul” by Yael Naim–is the best tune I’ve heard since Regina Spektor made her way into my life. Listen closely. I’m blogging about it tomorrow.

Posted in Married Life, Poor Kyle | 10 Comments

He Loves; He Loves Not

by Camille Posted on February 5, 2008

Poor Kyle does not care for mushrooms. To say that he “does not care for mushrooms” is putting it mildly. In fact he hates them.

I like mushrooms. I like cream of mushroom soup, both in casseroles and just plain. (Kyle also cringes at the word “casserole.”) I like mushrooms, both uncooked and cooked, fried, baked, stuffed, and fresh. In Chinese food, on a pizza, or sauteed as a side dish with fancy steak dinners. I like mushrooms.

I do. I like them. I buy them. I cook with them.

Today, however, I made the tragic error of not chopping them up finely enough to disguise the fact they were in my salad. That was the first time I’d done that–maybe subconsciously I assumed Poor Kyle was learning to like them, since he still ate my spring rolls with mushrooms ground up so small they could have been anything.

The first time I made this mistake incidentally happened to be the first time Poor Kyle refused to eat even a bite of the dish I prepared. At first he attempted to pick the offending fungi out of the green salad. Moments later, however, he declared, “They are everywhere. I can’t even find one scoop without them!” Throwing the tongs down on the table, he moved on to eat the rice, chicken, and overcooked green beans.

Just like that, I suddenly felt I’d become the wife of a child.

He regretted it immediately; I could tell. He tried to lighten up the conversation, and complimented me heavily on my Caribbean Jerk Chicken. I was almost ready to forgive his tantrum, but then I remembered how he threw those stainless steel tongs with such fervor, and I re-committed myself to the cause of not smiling.

I still love him, to be sure. After dinner he cleared the table, rinsed his dishes *and* put them in a dishwasher, and gave me a giant hug from behind as I stood at the sink [that’s very “I Love Lucy,” isn’t it?]. But I knew that was all the apology I was going to get, so I turned around and hugged him back.

(As I type this post, he is reading over my shoulder and denying he ever felt any remorse.)

But the point is, we are married. Like, totally.

I love Poor Kyle. There is something about him, when he’s really excited about…oh, I don’t know…Christmas, or a new X-Box controller…that reminds me of Ren and Stimpy–or is it SpongeBob? I can tell when he’s in a good mood because he’ll drum his hands as fast as he can on the nearest surface–sometimes the kitchen counter; sometimes his stomach. Often, when we get to watch a new DVD together after work and dinner, he’s so excited just to be lounging that he does this goofy little dance–he stands pigeon-toed, tosses his head back, and swings his arms back and forth. It looks strangely like an Aristocat’s dance, and it’s completely contagious. He teaches me to let go of dramas on which I would normally dwell. He forgives my trespasses much sooner than I forgive his–or my own.

Poor Kyle and I–we can [and sometimes do] communicate wholly in one-syllable words and grunts:

Me: How was your day?
P.K.: Meh.
Me: That bad, eh?
P.K.: Yup.
Me: Guh.
P.K.: I know.
Me: I love you, too.

See? We just do.

My conclusion of this in-depth study? I like mushrooms–but I love him.

Posted in change, cooking, kitchen failures, Married Life, Poor Kyle | 8 Comments

Worlds Apart

by Camille Posted on February 3, 2008

I imagine Canadian children get a very different education than those of the Arizonan school systems.

I remember when my 5th grade class was learning about precipitation during Science Time. Precipitation, condensation, all that good stuff. My frizzy-haired teacher, Mrs. Jerrald, got distracted somehow (probably by that punk kid Ivan who always sat in the back. He was the class heckler) and tried to explain how moisture freezes when it reaches a certain temperature. Ice cubes were an easy enough concept to grasp, but we could not fathom how air coming out of our mouths could freeze into fog. (She should have used this link to explain it.)

We were so baffled:

“You mean we could really see our breath if it got cold enough?”

“Cool!”

“Could we blow smoke rings like on Alice in Wonderland?”

“Could we make smoke signals?”

“If we all did it at the same time, would it make one big cloud and start raining?”

So intrigued were we by the idea that somewhere in the world, kids were playing with their very own breath-clouds at recess, instead of trying to catch the geckos that darted in and out of our sand forts–sand forts that would never hold together because…let’s face it: you can’t build anything out of sand without at least a little bit of water. (I actually remember running to the drinking fountain during recess, filling my mouth with as much water as it could possible carry, and hauling it back to the playground, spitting it in the arid dirt and hoping in vain it would help to concrete my masterpiece. It never did.)

I was always really excited by the notion that licking a metal pole might possibly get my tongue stuck to it. I tried. Lots of times. All I ever got was a gritty tongue that tasted like dirt and metal. The poles could have been made of lead, for all I knew–I was just bummed that my tongue wouldn’t stick.

The first time I really saw snow was when my family went to Flagstaff to support my mom as she walked through the line to accept her Masters Degree in Education (go, Mom!). I was twelve, I think. I tried making snowballs, but I didn’t realise that there are different kinds of snow, and some snow doesn’t hold itself in ball form. Instead, I felt gypped that the first time I consciously got to play in snow…it was broken.

It’s strange for me to think of raising my children (if, in fact, I do prove to be fertile [and if, thereafter, Poor Kyle and I do choose to reproduce]) in such a different environment than I was.

I didn’t grow up here. I don’t know why air comes out of our mouths and freezes. I don’t know why some people plug in their cars at night. I can’t explain which snow is the kind that sticks together decently–I don’t even know the basics of building a snowman.

How am I supposed to explain that where I come from, dirt can get so dry it will actually crack? That some plants soak up all the water they will need for a year at one time, and thrive? How will they possibly learn to pronounce terms like “Palo Verde,” “Casa Grande,” and “Carne Asada?”

Will they grow to crave the smell of rain like I sometimes do, or simply view it as pure, comprehendable, scientific precipitation?

Posted in Canada, change, snow, the great state of AZ | 11 Comments

[Comfort Music]

by Camille Posted on January 31, 2008

Blogging five days a week is a real drag.

Aren’t you all sick of my blog? I’m sick of my blog.

We got back to Canada today. I could go on and on about how bloomin’ cold it is here, or how I miss the green winter lawns of my home state, or I could talk about That Baby some more…but it would be redundant, really. We all know I thrive in Mesa; we all know I enjoy green grass; and we all really know I love That Baby more than I ever thought I would be able to love any human child.

But I won’t bore you with it all over again.

I realised something on my long drive up to Canada. During the winter, I’ve noticed a lot of cooking blogs post recipes for “comfort food.” Dishes like beef stroganoff, vegetable stew, and piping hot lasagna are supposed to take us back to “the good ol’ days” and make us forget all our cares (like snow tires and frozen windshield wiper fluid).

I have always totally believed in–and supported–the notion of comfort food. And I got to thinking on the drive up to the north country, as I flipped through songs on my iPod while scanning a cooking magazine, “Aha! Comfort music!”

Comfort music. Songs, albums, or playlists that we’ve known forever, or that got us through a particularly hard time (read: and icy-cold Canadian winter). For example, my dear friend Chelsie sent me a mix of songs two years ago when I was living here in Canada (before I knew I’d really be living here in Canada someday). It was the perfect blend of Relient K, Rent, Wicked, and random Canadian songs; I listened to it over and over and over, and I have no doubt that I might’ve not survived being so far from home without it.

That’s comfort music.

And Billy Joel–pretty much every song he ever wrote is comfort music to me. I was introduced to his musical genius back in seventh grade, and since then, there has never been a time when I haven’t embraced his music [unlike various “it” bands, like the Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears, who came and went faster than any kid could get through high school].

If you don’t have any comfort music, get some. I am convinced that comfort music is an absolute necessity for these winter months–every bit as important as scarves and touques and chicken noodle soup. If you haven’t heard Piano Man by Billy Joel–hear it. Borrow it as your own comfort music until you find your own.

And if you already know what comfort music means to you…do tell.

Posted in Canada, change, good tunes, self-actualisation, what I'm about | 7 Comments

North for the Winter

by Camille Posted on January 30, 2008

I’m apologising now for the fact that will soon be made known to you:

This is going to be a short post.

It is so draining to say goodbye to people I love. In the words of my mom…I can’t hardly stand it.

I never knew I could love a human child like I love that boy. Truth be told, his was the hardest goodbye. My parents’ was sad, too, as was my sister and brother-in-law and grandma.

After that, I gave up. We just skipped town without saying goodbye to anyone else. So if you are in Mesa and saw me there just a few days ago, now you know: I’m gone.

We’ve just spent 15 hours on the road and have stopped over in a quaint new hotel that has eight fluffy pillows on its king sized bed. In other words, I’ve died. And gone to Heaven (despite what my heckler might have wished upon me).

And to anyone who lives, has lived, or ever will live in Utah: I just want you to know that I am impressed at how well you all are keeping the billboard business alive and thriving–this stretch of I-15 has been fascinating. I put away my Real Simple magazine and read the side of the road. Truly.

Posted in nephew, Recreation, the great state of AZ | 5 Comments

{For the Sake of Progress}

by Camille Posted on January 29, 2008

Well, it is finished. I have taken off two of my blogger friends’ blogs. I feel kind of sick inside; I’m generally a nice kind of person, and I don’t fancy kiboshing people I know and love. Alas…Emily and Tessa must have been too busy to post, so off they came.

Still, I am a forgiving person, and any blogs that get deleted from mine can easily get put back on–just let me know when you’ve posted again!

Anyway…everything is changing around here. I almost can’t take it anymore. First there was Matta’s. That alone was almost enough to send me over the edge, but I am slowly getting over it.

Then, last night, the president of my church died. Gordon Bitner Hinckley. He was aged–97, to be exact–so it wasn’t really a shock. But it was certainly a sad day. Have you ever known someone so innately good…someone who seems never to disappoint you–never let you down? He was that kind of guy [a person would have to be, with all those responsibilities]. And it’s not like he was some unknown, mysterious celebrity who would never talk reporters or stay hidden behind dark sunglasses. The man spoke to me–to all the members of the church within satellite range–multiple times a year. I have no less than 10 eloquent (and meaningful) quotes of his memorized, right at the tip of my head. How many people in the world are equally worth memorizing? The world is a less-optimistic place without him.

So Matta’s is gone; the prophet is dead.

But here’s what really seals the deal, making this week a sad one:

They painted Golf Land/SunSplash. If you don’t live in Mesa, or have never been to Arizona, then this shouldn’t matter to you. Not one bit. But to anyone who has ever made childhood memories at the legendary water park and game world, this will probably come as a tragic blow.

{photo courtesy of about.com}

And even though it actually looks pretty good, and I can’t really remember what colour it used to be (blue? white? grey?), it nevertheless makes me sad to see the changes. Gone are the old-school days of “my” Golfland. The Golfland where I went on my first wretched, wretched date. The Golfland where Chelsie and I flat-out spied on one of Lindsey’s most thrilling dates. Gone.

Everything is changing around here, and I’m not so sure I like it.

Progress for the sake of progress? Come, now–is this really necessary?

Posted in I hate change, sad things | 6 Comments

Local News

by Camille Posted on January 25, 2008

Poor Kyle had to fly down from Canada to drive me back there. I guess he thought I wouldn’t actually come back.

What dear? Tomorrow’s high is supposed to be freezing? Oh, that’s nice. Mesa got rain today, and hail, too. It was very exciting. What’s that? You had to shovel yourself out of the driveway to get to work? You were 20 minutes late? Your truck never did heat up on the thirty-minute drive? That’s too bad…

I guess his suspicions were warranted. But he’s here now, and we’re headed to Texas to visit the far-away grandparents tomorrow. The whole lot of us–me, Poor Kyle, Adell, Clint, The Baby, and my parents. Should be a real adventure.

Since I’ll be signing off for the weekend, I thought it best to leave you all with something to mull over. I do not subscribe to Google Reader (which is an application that allows people to see when someone’s blog has been updated). I find it rather thrilling to click on all the links of all the people I know (and some people I don’t know).

I do not find it thrilling, however, to clickity-click on the links of boring bloggers who rarely update. It hurts my heart. In fact, there are some links I don’t even bother clicking anymore, since I know I’ll only be met with the painful sting of rejection. So when I come back on Monday, I am going to load up my Firefox, open my blog, and go through all of the links in both of my link-lists on the right hand side of the page. Any blogs that have not been updated in over a month are getting the kibosh. That’s right. The Big Kibosh.

[Back when I was at ASU, I got so frustrated with all the “local news” guys–who would exchange phone numbers with me but never call–that I did this same thing. I went through my cell phone contact list, phoned all the contacts I’d not heard from in a while {if ever} and informed them I’d be taking them off my contact list to leave room for more with-it guys. I got quite a few lovely dates out of this tactic, but in the end, I became so disillusioned with ASU and its pitiful excuse for a meaningful student body, that I just moved to Canada. **Sorry if you went to ASU. No, truly. I am sorry. From the bottom of my heart. And if you’re going there now, my advice to you is get the heck out of that hellhole, before it’s too late.**]

But I digress.

To Whom it May Concern:

The following bloggers are in peril of no longer being my friend (my gosh, I feel like I’m in 4th grade all over again! I suppose I should un-invite all of you to my birthday party, too), and run the risk of being exterminated from the link list on the right-hand side of this blog. This is getting out of hand. You’re becoming local news:

-Lindsey Burnham (I know you’re working on one)
–Afton Willis (my gosh, Afton, give me a break!)
–Allison Pierce
–Tessa Burt

I know all of you are probably spectacularly busy, but come on…just one measly post. Everybody’s doing it! And if you don’t care whether or not I keep your link on my blog…just keep right on not posting.

Also, I have noticed a few new people saying hello to me, and I am tickled pink to know of you! I’ve been reading most of your blogs, and if you comment on this post, I’ll make sure to add you to my links–I need to have something to put on my list of people who I actually know, since I have a feeling many of the aforementioned bloggers will shun my call to action.

Out with the old, and in with the new! I think that’s how it goes.

Posted in change, like-it-link-it, Married Life, mediocrity | 17 Comments