Life Update

Things Happening:

1. My mother-in-law is helping me organize our house! I am not very talented when it comes to organizing, so her help is MUCH appreciated. She is also helping with other things.



Back from when our roof was leaking almost a year ago, we tore down a bunch of drywall to find the leak. And then we left it because other projects were more pressing. My mother-in-law helped me install drywall* in our alcove. I did the joining tape and spackling, and I painted it, and replaced the carpet with more fake wood floor. Now it houses our two big [empty!] water barrels and some shelves. Oh, I guess this isn't really about actual organizing--we've done that, too.

2. I installed fake wood floor in our old office! The idea was to swap the dining room and office, because the "dining room" has new carpet and the office had very old carpet. Having our table, refrigerator, and trash cans on carpet was just not the best. Now, we're not sure if the "dining room" will actually be moving to the fake wood floor bedroom or not. We'll see.



3. I'm teaching 8 year-old kids at Church this year. Last year J and me taught the 5 year-old kids. It was pretty fun. This year, we were assigned the kids who are turning 9 this year. So far I really like them. It seems like they all want to be best friends with me, which is fun. They fight** to sit by me. I've decided to stop trying to get the kids to sit still during class. Here's the thing: they have to sit still for Sacrament meeting (before my class), and they have to sit still for Primary (after my class), and it's just not worth it to me to try and make them sit still in my class too. So we DO THINGS.


A few weeks ago we acted out our whole lesson. The last time I taught, we made salt dough maps of the places Jesus lived (because that's what the lesson was about). The kids are loving it, and I feel less stressed about them not sitting still. We still look up scriptures together--I think that's super important, that the kids become really familiar with the Bible and learn to use the maps and footnotes, etc. I want them to love the scriptures as much as I do, so I'm trying to make the scriptures more exciting and easy to relate to. We'll see how the rest of the year goes. Maybe I'll change my mind about letting them be so squirmy. So far everyone really likes it. I think it's important that we stay structured enough that the kids can feel the Spirit and actually learn about the gospel.***

4. I am taking a GNOWFGLINS class about Cultured Dairy. I was going to do the Fundamentals class when Wardeh started it, but at the time I was just about to get married and trying to graduate and about 3000 other things, so I ended up canceling my membership. I knew I wanted to do it eventually, though. This month the Cultured Dairy class was beginning so I decided it was time to come back. In the class we will be learning to make a whole bunch of yogurts and cheeses**** so J and I are both really excited about this class because we love cheese! So far we've only had the introduction class, but tomorrow we'll actually start making things, so I'm excited. I've already been having fun meeting people on the forums*****.

5. I've been blogging for eFoods Direct! (I'll post separately about this when the new site is released.) My topic is "Emergency Preparedness" and I blog on Mondays. I absolutely love it. I've cared a lot about emergency preparedness for a really long time so it's fun to blog about it, and learn and think more about preparedness. J and I actually revamped our preparation efforts last fall because we're worried about the direction our country seems to be headed...but that's another blog post for another day, maybe.

6. J broke his finger. At the gym. He thought it was just sprained or strained, but he kept re-injuring it, and it kept not healing. Last Thursday (12 days after the original injury) he went into urgent care to have it x-rayed. It was definitely broken. Poor guy. The urgent care doctor said for sure we'll be meeting our deductible. Too bad.



So then on Friday, J got an emergency appointment to see a o. surgeon to have it looked at, and the doctor said "this needs surgery..." but then we talked to him about setting it. The trouble is, it broke at an angle so that the muscle in J's finger will naturally kind of slide the bone right back out. The doctor said there was a chance setting it would work, but maybe only a 10-50% chance. We decided it was worth trying. So the doctor set J's finger and it hurt very very badly. As he was massaging J's finger, I tried to distract my poor husband:


"So, J...what is your favorite flavor of ice cream?"
"Aouhmmm...cookies and cream..."
"Really? You like it better than all of your other flavors?"
"Uh...uh...aihhuhm...yeah."
"But what about chocolate peanut butter and strawberry? You like it better than those, too?"
"Uh...Yeah."

Poor guy. I don't know if it actually helped distract him from hurting at all, but it did make him happy because he thought it was really silly for me to be asking him about ice cream.

Anyway, after the doctor set his finger, they x-rayed it again to see if it stayed in place. IT DID! So J was splinted up and sent home with a return appointment for today--if his bone stayed in place, he would get a cast. If not, he would get surgery and a little metal plate and pins to hold his finger together. (Ouch.)

We hoped and prayed his finger would stay in place. J was very, very careful not to bump it over the weekend. (But it didn't actually need to be bumped to slide out of place.)

We went in for his appointment today and he had his hand x-rayed again to see how he'd held up over the weekend. Here is the new x-ray. What do you think, readers? Cast or surgery? (It's a strange angle because the splint is on and it holds fingers in a strange position for x-rays.)



The doctor said it looked good! He said it had moved a little bit, but not very much, so J was probably out of the woods now. He said he had tried to call his colleague who is a hand specialist to get his opinion on whether it was good enough or not, and he wasn't able to talk to him yet, but most likely J would be just fine in a cast! The doctor said he would talk to the specialist and call J back this afternoon to confirm it was all right.

The doctor said it was kind of like if you ask your mom, "Mom, can I spend the night at my friend's house?" and your mom says, "Probably, but I'll have to check with your Dad." And you're kind of like, "Well, hmm, can I or can't I?" And maybe your dad will say, "Oh, no, remember, we grounded him last week," or something that Mom just forgot or didn't know about, but probably you can. The doctor said it was like that. He said we shouldn't get our hopes up, but J could go ahead and get a cast because it looked good.

So, of course, we immediately got our hopes up.

We went to the casting room where J was going to get his cast. J broke his wrist when he was 12, so he's had a cast before. I asked him over the weekend what color of cast he'd get if he could get a cast and he said white. White? "Do they come in other colors?" he asked, not sure whether I was being serious or not. "Of course they do!" It's been a long time since he was 12. I suggested he go with pink or red, since it's about time for Valentine's day. We also discussed more work-appropriate options, like khaki or grey. (I don't think they come in those colors, though.) J wasn't sure which color he would want.

When we got to the special cast room, the girl putting his cast on showed him a ring of different cast color swatches. His cast would be on for two weeks, and then he would come in for an x-ray to be sure things were healing up right. The girl explained that they would remove the cast at the two week appointment. I suggested pink or red again, because Valentine's day is especially relevant for the next couple weeks. J was not convinced. The girl suggested red with pink hearts ("She's just a Ute, that's why she wants me to get a red one," J countered). So she suggested pink with red hearts. J picked dark green.

The girl wove cotton around J's fingers. He would have his index finger, but the other three fingers would be in the cast, and the cotton would keep them from rubbing and getting blisters. Oh. Then she put a special sock on J's arm, cutting holes for his finger and stuff. She wrapped cotton all around his arm and hand, carefully doing the spots where there would be edges of the cast, so they wouldn't rub. She got his green cast stuff out and got it wet. She brought it over to J and started to put it on...



And then the doctor came back in the room. He finally spoke with the hand surgeon, and unfortunately J's bone wasn't quite perfect enough. He will be needing surgery after all. Too bad! So the girl removed the little bit of green that she'd put on J, and she splinted his hand back up (on top of the cast stuff), and bandaged it all back up, and cut off the cast part that didn't need to be there since it is only a splint and not a cast. J will most likely be having hand surgery on Friday, but it will depend. It's too bad because it is going to be much more painful and expensive. We'll know more later.



* Although we both enjoy building things, we also both agree that we do not like installing drywall. It is heavy, and not fun to work with, and the insulation is a pain to work with. She was very pleasant about helping, though.
** Reverently, of course.
*** "Sister K! Can I sit on this tower of 4 chairs?!" "Yes! As long as you remove all of the chairs beneath you except one."
**** We're learning to make sour cream, cultured butter and buttermilk, clabbered milk and cheese, heritage yogurt, greek yogurt, kefir and kefir cheese, kefir cream and ice cream, ricotta and soft cheese, cottage cheese, feta cheese, Middle Eastern fresh cheese, Queso Fresco cheese, fresh Cheddar cheese, traditional Mozzarella cheese, and we'll learn about keeping mother cultures so that we can just keep going.
***** Can you imagine? There are other people like me that like doing things like making cheese. NEAT.

Neil Patrick Harris called me for my birthday!

Remember how I mentioned that I love Neil Patrick Harris? He plays Barney Stinson on How I Met Your Mother. More people know him because he played Doogie on Doogie Howser.

He called me for my birthday! It was pretty much awesome.

I'd been up in Salt Lake, apartment hunting. I was headed back down to Provo and my phone rang, with a number that I didn't recognize. I assumed it was someone returning one of the messages I'd left about an apartment. But a guy answered. Kinda weird.

"Is this Emily?"

"Yeah."

"Hi Emily, this is Neil Patrick Harris."

"Wait. Who?"

"It's Neil Patrick Harris." (He wasn't calling me back about an apartment.)

"Seriously?!"

"Yeah. I'm calling to wish you a Happy Birthday."

"Oh. Thanks!"

He said my dad shot him an email to let him know that it was my birthday and see if he would call. (They are members at the same private club in Hollywood.)

"Oh, did he tell you you're my favorite actor?"

He said he hadn't, and I told him that it had all started with How I Met Your Mother, and that I'd also watched Dr. Horrible. He was excited that I'd seen Dr. Horrible.

He talked to me a bit about them filming season four of How I Met Your Mother. I couldn't really hear what he said for that part, because the train made a bunch of noise. And then he asked me what I was doing to celebrate my birthday. I told him about how my roommates and I have a tradition of going out to dinner for our birthdays, and then doing something, but it's always a surprise. So I didn't really know what I was going to be doing.

And he wished me a happy birthday again and told me he hoped I would have fun (or something like that), and I thanked him and thanked him for calling, and I told him he made my day.

How nice. And awesome.

And then I thought of the things I wished I had thought to ask while I was on the phone with him. Like about the doormat in season one of HIMYM. And about whether or not he has a blog, since in Doogie Howser he did (well, an old-school blog, which was basically a journal on his computer), and in HIMYM his character is always talking about his blog. And Felicia Day is on twitter, so who knows, maybe Neil Patrick Harris is too.

And I thought about calling him back to ask, but stalking someone seems like a rude way to thank a celebrity for calling you.

Why Crosswalks Don't Work (a short story)

Chapter 1: The Trouble Begins
Thursday evening I was feeling a bit bored. The Office was a rerun. I spoke with a few friends and suggested that we play Ticket to Ride and eat pizza. They agreed. We planned to play from 8-9 pm, before rogeber would be watching a movie in their living room.

I ordered two pizzas from Brick Oven; one was my favorite (pepperoni, pineapple, and green peppers), and the other was the suggestion of one of the girls playing--a pizza with bacon(!) and peppers.

I began walking to pick up the pizzas and decided to stop by and say hello to branflakes since I was passing his house anyway, and I hadn't talked to him for a while. He was leaving his house and offered me a ride. I accepted. We picked up pizzas and he drove me to the house we were playing at. I told him he could drop me off across the street and I'd cross, to save him time.

He did.

Chapter 2: The Plot Thickens
Branflakes rounded the corner and I waited for traffic to clear. I began crossing the street, in the crosswalk. About one third of the way across, I looked to my left and saw a motorcycle a few feet away from me. Unable to react quickly enough, I was hit by the motorcycle and fell in the middle of the busy street. The game and two pizzas dropped and napkins floated to the ground.

Traffic paused. The man who was riding the motorcycle had fallen off before it hit me. Two girls who had witnessed the incident came to see if I was okay. Was I okay? I wanted to say that I was fine, but I couldn't because I was in shock. Also, since I couldn't speak, I started to realize that I wasn't fine. My lower chest hurt badly. I couldn't move my left leg at all. (What if I had internal bleeding? What if my leg was broken. What if I couldn't play Ticket to Ride?) The girls picked me up and one on each side, they carried me back to the grass across the street from where I was going. I was probably mostly dead weight at first, but started to be able to use my right leg a bit. The guy from the motorcycle wondered if I was okay-ish. I was, I told him. Branflakes parked his car a bit ahead and, privy to what had happened, he came back to see how I was.

Apparently, a car turned in front of the motorcycle. Since the car was turning, Motorcycle Man couldn't see me until it was much too late. He was Very Concerned and apologized profusely.

I said I would probably be fine, and could I just go across the street to my friends' apartment? [NO. The police would want me to do paperwork.] Wellll, could they come get me when they were ready for me? [NO. The police didn't like it when people leave the scene of an accident before they get there. ] Oh. Okay.

The witnesses started talking. Should they call 911? I would be okay, I told them. That wouldn't be necessary. My chest stopped hurting. I stood up to prove that my leg was okay, and it felt like it would be. They agreed. It would be okay to call the police directly, instead of calling 911. "I already called 911," a witness admitted.

Great. Moments later, there were sirens. Four or five police cars came. The paramedics came, and a fire truck came and left. Did I want a ride in the ambulance? No, I assured them that I didn't. They told me that I could have the ride if I wanted it, but that it would cost $400 and I would be fine to take in a car if I wanted to go to the hospital. Branflakes accepted their assurance that I would be okay-ish, and I promised him and everyone that I'd go to the doctor if I felt like I needed to. I told him I would be fine, and he left.

About the same time as the sirens all came, the entire neighborhood became curious about what had happened. People came to their windows to watch from across the street. One guy went out to the stairway to stand at the edge and watch. Two of Optimistic[.]'s roommates who were going to be playing Ticket to Ride came to their window to watch. I grinned and waved so they'd know that I wasn't dead. They waved back and continued watching.

I called the friend who had suggested the bacon pizza and told her that I'd been run over. I suggested that she walk along the main street when she came so that she would walk past the excitement. She did, and came to hear the story and wait with me while I had to supply my ID and let the police do their paperwork.

A couple friends walked by the apartment and I let them know that I'd been run over and would be inside to play the game shortly.

You may be wondering if the pizzas made a mess on the road, or if the game was ruined. The pizzas and the game survived the accident better than I did.

I had fun laughing and joking with the police and witnesses. The police were kind of taking a while, though, and I started to feel a bit faint. I was thirsty, I told them. Could I cross the street and get water and come back? They granted me permission to do so.

I went into the apartment and announced my news: "I just got run over by a Vespa!"

Everyone wanted to hear the story. I told them. I also suggested that they begin eating pizza before it got cold. I went back to the police.

Must be nice being able to park by red curbs, I told them. They could park anywhere, they said, for emergencies. I joked with them "Oh, gosh, this is such an emergency! There's no parking anywhere!" They laughed. They said that often, they'll go to respond to emergencies, and they'll park along red curbs. They'll take care of the problem. Everything clears up, and they'll walk to their cars. People who didn't see the emergency when it was there will see them walking to their cars, parked along a red curb, and they'll start shouting dumb things about how since they're police they think they don't have to obey the laws. And the police will just put up with it, because people are dumb sometimes and don't know what they're talking about. (Police are such troopers.)

They asked me for my account of what happened, which was basically that I looked up and the motorcycle was right there. Were there other cars? Oh, sure. It was busy. Did I notice any in particular? Nope, sorry.

The motorcycle man apologized more. I have the same name as his wife, he said. He was so sorry that we'd met this way. He gave me a hug. We started making accident jokes-- So, how did you meet? Oh, he ran into me the other day. Just (shrug) on the street. The police groaned and smiled.

Eventually, I was dismissed to go play Ticket to Ride.

Chapter 3: The Long Evening
I hobbled across the street and into the apartment. I was covered in street. What happened? Everyone wanted to know. I retold the story several times as different people arrived and hadn't heard it.

I was feeling okay, but gradually, I started to feel less okay. My chest started hurting again. My leg started hurting a lot. I took some ibuprofen. I felt sore.

One of the guys offered me a ride home (as he often does). (Was the Vespa the one that was parked near me?) Yes, it was. (Um, [dimmi], that wasn't a Vespa. That was a motorcycle.) Oh. Yeah, because Vespas are like scooters. And I wasn't hit by a scooter. Well, it was red, I remembered. And maybe the name on it started with V.

I got home and found Lavish and Yellow watching a movie. "Guess what I did tonight," I told them. They guessed a few things. "I got run over!" I said, and went into the kitchen for water. "You what?!" Lavish asked. I came back and told them the story. "AND YOU DIDN'T CALL ME?!" Lavish was shocked. "Well. I was fine. And you were at your French dinner. Anyway, I would have called if I went into the emergency room." "New rule," she said. "Any time you get run over, you have to call me..."

Chapter 4: A Lovely Visit
Since I wasn't feeling well, I got permission to miss work that night. And I slept through part of Job #2 the next day. I called and told them what had happened, and took the rest of my scheduled shift off.

My mom had left a message on my phone wondering why I hadn't called her, since Lavish had told her that morning.

Optimistic[.] offered me a ride to the doctor, since I was still feeling unwell. I wasn't thrilled to go, but Mom thought it was a good idea too. ("What if you're feeling worse in a week? Then you'd go in and they'd ask why you didn't come a week ago..." "Anyway, it's good to check things out just in case.") He drove me far, far away (like 15 minutes) to the Urgent Care place that my insurance recommended when I called them.

They had a 1.75 hour approximate wait time posted. Optimistic[.] had work, so he arranged for rogeber to pick me up afterwards. I began waiting.

I looked for a decent magazine to read. There were a couple news magazines that looked promising, but they were across the room. Another lady saw me peeking through the stack of magazines that was on the table by me. "They don't have any of the good ones," she said to save me time. "There are no gossip magazines at all. I checked. That's the only reason why I didn't bring a book. I thought I'd just read one of those, but there are none." I feigned disappointment. "I just read this one, though. It was okay." She offered me a kitchen decorating magazine. "I actually don't have a kitchen to decorate," I confessed. "I live in student housing..."

"Oh, that's the best time to read them." She explained to me why it's worth it to decide what you like before you actually build a kitchen. You wind up with ideas. Otherwise you spend a lot of money on a kitchen that is just average and not what you really want. She was planning on having a new house later this year, and a new kitchen within a couple years. We discussed the merits of kitchen islands. She said she doesn't like them to have stoves, etc.

It was during that conversation that I decided something: waiting room conversations are the worst because the only thing that you have in common (the visit) is something that you usually can't discuss politely. It would have been entirely inappropriate to ask why she was seeing the doctor, but that was the only thing that we had in common, so we were left with nothing. This same phenomenon is the same reason why many people don't start conversations in waiting rooms to begin with. (That's also unfortunate, since long waits pass more quickly when you're distracted by conversation.)

Think about it, though: When you're at a wedding, you talk to strangers about the bride and groom. When you're at yoga, you talk about yoga. When you're waiting for kindergarten to let out, you talk about kids. When you're at the doctor's office...nothing.

Chapter 5: A Happy Resolution
I eventually made it in to see the doctor. He was happy to see me. "You served a mission, didn't you. " He could tell, he said. (Utah is such a funny place. ) I did. Where? Italy. He came close and showed me his name tag. It was a very Italian name. His grandparents were all Italian except one that was from Poland. He started speaking Italian with me. Nice. He told me about his experiences on his mission, and about how much he likes sister missionaries. Neat. I was so sweet, he said.

He checked my leg. And my ribs. And sent me off with Chuck, for x-rays, since I wanted them and nobody had any reason to believe they wouldn't be a good idea. Chuck took x-rays of my knee and leg and sent me back to Dr. Friendly (name has been changed).

The doctor came back into the room and told me I was lucky. I have "one heckuva bruise," he said. Or, if I wanted to impress my friends, I could tell them that I have a "severe pre-tibial contusion." He told me I should ice my leg for 20 minutes, three times a day. I told him that was a lot, and I'd think about it. He came up with a schedule for me, to show me that I could handle it. Ohhhh, he liked sister missionaries so much, he told me some more. He gave me a side hug, and sent me on my way.

Epilogue: How am I now?
I am still really bruised. My leg hurts, and it's starting to turn purple. My chest sometimes hurts, but not as much as before. I think I'll be okay.

Overall, I give being run over by a motorcycle only 1 of 5 stars. It was an interesting experience (I'd never been run over before), and it's been nice to have everyone inquiring about my wellbeing. I got to see really cool x-rays of my leg, and it's made for an cool story. These benefits have all been overshadowed with feelings that the whole event has been a major waste of time. I missed 8 minutes of playing Ticket to Ride and missed two goings to work. Also, I spent a lot of time waiting for the doctor. Additionally, the experience has been quite painful and makes me a bit nervous about crossing streets. So, I don't recommend it to anyone.

Also, I used to occasionally mutter under my breath that people should just run me over, and I'll sue them. I have no intentions to sue anyone, and the experience has not had many redeeming qualities. I don't think I'll mutter about it in the future.

The End.