Hope Ya Know, We Had a Hard Time

Some days weeks months life is like this. I’ve been gone because I’ve been having a hard time, but I’ll be back soon. I have lots to tell you, dear readers.

P.S.: This is one of my favorite sermons of all time. For the original talk, by Elder Quentin E. Cook, click here.



Statistics and Depression are Both Liars!

I’ve been gone for awhile, because I’ve been hiding under the sheets of my very uncomfortable bed, trying to forget my own existence. Depression sucks. And it also lies. I’m still working on emerging full-time from my sheet cocoon. I am, like the song, in repair.

While I’m repairing, I want to share some statistics that I find interesting.

First, this: 10 Worst Cities for Singles

Kiplinger listed Yuma, Arizona, as the worst city to be single in the U.S. This is an old article; I read it while I still lived in Ohio. And yet I, fresh from a divorce, still chose to move here. Huh.

Next: Unemployment Rates for Metropolitan Areas Monthly Rankings (Not Seasonally Adjusted) July 2013

With an unemployment rate of 34.5% in July of this year, Yuma is the worst city for job seekers in the U.S. And I chose to stay here even after leaving my job. Double huh.

I should be fleeing for my life, except for one thought: Charming. Had I not moved to the worst city for singles in the entire country, I would never have met him. I came to Yuma prayerfully. I made this journey on purpose. I don’t know if I’ll stay here forever– probably not– but I do know that I came here, to the worst city in the country for both dates and jobs, for a reason, and so far, I’m beating the odds on one side of the battleground, anyway.


It may not make sense to most people, and I certainly have my fretful moments (the most recent one just happens to have lasted about a month), but having once proved that I can opt out of my proper statistical place, I guess I’ll stay and keep pounding the pavement. Wish me luck!

Numbering the Stars: Keep Calm and Read On

Anyone who knows me even a little bit knows that I’m a bit of a bookworm, and that when life gets hard, I pull out a book. I’m so grateful for the written word, for the collective knowledge and imagination of those who have walked this earth before me, for the opportunity to shed my skin and try on another, if just for five hundred pages or so.

Bombed library at Holland House, in Kensington, London, 1940.

For that reason, I love this picture, of a bombed library at Holland House, in Kensington, London, 1940. Amid the devastation of the Second World War, these men knew exactly where to turn for peace.


I don’t know whom to credit for the photograph, but it was recently made popular by James R. Benn

What do you read when you need to keep calm? Share your favorites in the comments, please, dear readers!

Workin’ Overtime

Just a heads-up, because I know you were all dying to know: from now on, the [somewhat] Daily Record will be replaced with a weekly update, because… let’s face it: my life is just not that interesting. 😉

And in other news, on our walk this morning, Ozzie and I noticed this sign:

Clearly, Dick is a very hard worker, though I don’t know when he finds time to make these signs!

Daily Record: I Will Always Love This

I saw this on a friend’s Facebook feed yesterday, and I’ve been playing it on repeat ever since. I’m officially obsessed, and I think once you listen to it you will be too.


Click the link, scroll down to watch the video, and leave a comment telling me what you think. My prediction? You’re gonna love it!!!

Daily Record: They Fell Flat

Note: I started this post completely convinced that the internet screwed up my breakfast. Halfway through, I realized that it wasn’t the internet’s fault… but because this is one of those times that I’m unintentionally funny, I left the original post. My better-late-than-never realizations are in red.

I learned a very important lesson today: Sometimes it’s helpful to scour the internet for knowledge, and sometimes the internet ruins your pancakes. Other times, you begin writing about how the internet ruined your pancakes only to discover that YOU were the culprit all along! 

I wanted pancakes this morning. Actually, I wanted waffles, but since my decrepit grease-trap of a waffle iron has been laid to rest (in the dumpster), I had to settle for pancakes. I gathered all of the ingredients to make pancakes from scratch, only to discover that I had no milk. But dang it, I really wanted pancakes!! 

Desperate times call for desperately Googling, so I picked the internet’s brain for milk-less pancake recipes, and found this: Image4 tsp. baking powder??? FOUR?! My drowsy brain thought maybe that was a mistake, but it’s been awhile since Googler the Great let me down, so I went with it. I laboriously stirred out all the lumps, and made my soon-to-be delicious pancakes one by one, since I was too lazy to climb the step stool and fetch the griddle. (This is where having Charming over for breakfast came in handy…) 

Finally, I sat down, syrup in hand, and took a bite, only to spit out a disgusting, half-chewed wad of pancake into a napkin. Holy Arm and Hammer, Batman!! My pancakes tasted like litter box! (Before the cat has used it, when it’s just been coated with baking soda to keep the odor down. What do you think I do? Dig into the litter box for a fibrous snack? You’re gross!) Wait a minute… baking soda? SODA??? I just had to run to the kitchen to double-check, but yes. In my semi-conscious fog this morning, I used 4 tsp. baking soda instead of baking powder! Sheesh! This must be why people use pancake mix! (And read… people also read.) 

I still think that 4 tsp. of baking powder is a lot, but who knows? Maybe it makes the fluffiest, most delectable milk-free pancakes in the world, unless you’re a speed-reading, pancake-ruining dork like myself. You’ll have to try it and see; I would, but I think I’m off pancakes for awhile. (Oz, on the other hand, LOVES baking soda pancakes, and would welcome more samples the next time I screw up!) 

P.S.: If you want a good burp (or fifty), feel free to try some baking soda pancakes of your own– they work wonders! 

P.P.S.: This entertaining (for y’all, anyway) lesson is brought to you by Mormon Mavens in the Kitchen, at http://www.mormonmavens.blogspot.com. None of these ladies are to blame for my litter box pancakes, I promise!! 

Numbering the Stars: My Overprotective Protector

Each night, while my dog Ozzie and I walk, we like to count the stars. Each star represents a blessing, and I like to share them here. 

I live alone. I have great neighbors and a safe neighborhood, but still, I live alone.

Back in Ohio, when my ex and I moved so far out into the country that no one would have heard my screams, he worked the night shift, so I was all alone at night. That was the catalyst behind my search for a very big dog with a very scary bark, and when I found Ozzie, I hit the jackpot.

Puppy mug shot
Puppy Protector

He’s a Great Pyrenees mix, so he’s bred to guard and protect, and that’s exactly what he does. All. the. time. He protects me, his cat, the truck, the patio, the tree in front of the patio, the apartment complex in general… you get the idea.

Guarding the camera
Guarding the camera

Mostly, he protects the apartment from anyone who might be thinking of looking at it for too long, and lately, from my water glass. I can’t take a drink and set down my glass without the resulting clink setting off a chain of barks… and I’m getting dehydrated!

Guarding the boyfriend
Guarding the boyfriend


Still, I’m grateful to have such a good protector. I’m grateful to have such a good protector. I’m grateful to have such a good protector. (I may have to repeat that a few more times, because I just had the audacity to fill a glass with ice water. Either that, or don some earplugs.)