Celebrating Independence Day

Put simply, I needed to go to the grocery store when the car was unavailable. I was not out of food, but I needed to get supplies for the Fourth of July. I LOVE that day. I love making a flag pie and grilling and every other yummy thing that goes with it. On this years menu: pulled pork sandwiches, coleslaw, bread and butter pickles, crudite, and vanilla cream flag pie. Oh, yeah! Aaaaaaaanyway, I thought to myself, "I walk to Provo Library all the time . . . and Smith's is only a few blocks more." Then I thought through what I would be buying, "It should be manageable to carry by hand. It's not like I'm carrying a sack of potatoes." No, Elisabeth. It's not like you're carrying a sack of potatoes, but it's a lot like you are carrying a 2 liter bottle of soda, four cans of olives, a jar of pickles, a jar of mayonnaise, assorted vegetables, a carton of eggs, a pint of heavy cream, and a can of cooking spray. But what was, was. And so I marched the 11 blocks home with a fifteen pound grocery sack in my hand and a fifty pound pack on my back. And as I did it I found myself thinking, "If this means getting into MDT, it's worth it." Now, I'm not exactly sure what being woman enough to trek 11 blocks with that kind of baggage has to do with either music, dance, or theatre and most definitely don't know what it has to do with the three of them all together. But I think allowances can be made for my utter lack of mental continuity . . . brains and brawn historically don't get along.

Is there one?

Every time I leave my apartment and every time I walk into it again, I unavoidably walk under a row of massive icicles. Contrary to popular belief they are not nature's way of adding beautiful decorations to the side of your house--they are death traps. I live in subtle fear of being impaled by one of those two-foot daggers. For a while, I would look up as I passed underneath to make sure one wasn't falling, but it has since occurred to me that that is a really stupid idea. If an icicle is going to assault me, I'd rather that it didn't put a hole in my face. So now I am left to wonder . . . what is the best way for me to hold my head when I pass under the veil of death? I don't really want an icicle in the crown of my head, but if I bend my head forward, the icicle might sever my spinal chord, which I'm pretty sure is worse. The best option is still unclear. Has it really come to choosing the lesser of several evils? I certainly hope not, but I fear my hopes are vain.

To review:
Icicles are bad