More cherries and odds and ends.

I had a lot of less usual things going on this week.

On Monday, my ward had FHE at our bishop's house, so I decided to take the opportunity to ride my bike there. I think it was the first time I'd been on my bike in two years. And surprisingly, I was able to go up a steep portion that I couldn't go up last time. Maybe all my running conditioning let me bike uphill? But I would think they're different muscles. Anyway, it was really fun. I love having the wind blow in my face while I'm going downhill effortlessly. I'm just not very good at biking, so it's hard to get out often when I live on a hill.

My grandparents have season tickets to Center Point Legacy Theater, and every month they take a different person to a play with them. Tuesday was my turn; I had chosen 1776 because there just isn't that much Fourth of July drama. It was enjoyable, but a little salty for my taste. (You know what I mean by salty, but I think it's funny that in Colossians 4:6, it admonishes to "let your speech be . . . seasoned with salt," with basically the opposite meaning!) I would say more about the play, but I often feel corny reviewing things on this blog, and I'm a little short on time.

On Wednesday and Thursday, I had at least three things I wanted to do: pick goatheads, bake with cherries, and go running. But I only had time each night for two. So on Wednesday it was picking goatheads and making a chocolate cherry tart.

Goodbye, evil plant!

I've passed this cat many times before, and I couldn't resist petting it. It's less cute but more muscular than my own.

This tart with a chocolate crust has been my very favorite cherry thing I've made. This is a terrible picture of it.

 Then Thursday was running and making cherry strudel.

Sego lilies!

I made two logs of this cherry strudel, and my dad ate the equivalent of one log. Oh well. He often isn't very enthusiastic about all the things I cook.

Friday I had to go out to Sandy for the wedding reception of my old roommate Jordan. It was good to see him, but I always feel weird talking much to the bride or groom at receptions because I know they have a million things going through their minds, so why should they talk to me? It was also good to see a few other people from that era of my life. Jordan was a good roommate, because our other roommates were bros--nice but insincere--and a wannabe hipster who started out great but decided he was too good for us.

And this will show you how pathetic I am, but I was pleased that the reception was close to a Shopko, since all the Shopkos close to me closed, and they have some of the best Fourth of July candy. They're the only store that has patriotic Tootsie Roll Pops, which are one of my favorites. See? Pathetic.

On Saturday I ran about 10.75 miles. As I was running up a trail, a mountain biker came down and called me a name that wasn't mine. He then realized I wasn't him, so he stopped and asked my name. A little later, after I had turned around and was going down, he came back up and saw me and said hi and remembered my name! I'm glad other people are friendly and extroverts so I don't have to be.

Then today, Sunday, I went with my family out to Delta for the homecoming of my cousin. He did a great job. I was surprised that their ward program had tacky quotes on the bottom of each page. I would be fine with scriptures or General Authority quotes--but not cheesy sayings with dubious gospel support.

Who says we should sit in silence, especially for such an arbitrary amount of time? "Buy a lock"? Really? And I don't think our blessings necessarily correlate to our stress.

Umm...

That's terrible theology! You just wanted to make an acronym. You should pray for strength to act, not to be acted upon.

 Then I came home and brought out the cherries again. They're starting to get moldy, so we're freezing what's left.

This baked cherry omelet was yummy.

Cherry chipotle salsa is tasty and gorgeous with a little kick. I made it last year without pureeing it, and I really like it better this way. And when it's pureed, it means the worms are pureed too!

Picking cherries and picking goatheads

When plants reproduce, it's usually benign.

Sometimes, however, they can reproduce in either benevolent or malevolent ways.

My sister has a cherry tree in her backyard, and cherries are an example of benevolent plant reproduction. Cherry trees surround their seeds with a beautiful, edible substance. So I spent a day this week picking cherries from her tree. I picked a lot to use in various desserts and dishes.

See, I don't feel completely comfortable eating them plain, because many of the cherries have fruit fly larvae squirming around. I know they're harmless, but my brain has been conditioned to think "Eww! Gross!" But as long as I'm cooking them up in something, I can pretend they're not there.

A widdle ladybug!

That's my sister's dog, in case you forgot I'm not a dog person.

Cherry crisp! This one used a citrus topping.

But goatheads, on the other hand, reproduce nefariously. There is no tasty fruit. Instead, there are nasty seeds that look evil, and they are evil. The seeds, which look like the head of a goat, get incredibly hard, and the "horns" are sharp enough to puncture flesh, pop bike tires, and stick to shoes. They are utterly diabolical. So every June, I search out the plants so I can pull them up. I wish these plants had feelings so they could feel me torture them. I haven't been able to do as much as I would have liked to this month so far.

Goathead plants surrounding an anthill.

In other news this week, it was on my bucket list that during the Fourth of July season (which is right now), I would go to some American historic site. So I went with my dad to Fort Douglas on the U's campus. It was built during the Civil War for US troops to keep an eye on the telegraph (and the Mormons). The museum has some interesting artifacts, including a flag that went up San Juan Hill in the Spanish-American War, and a smoking pipe shaped like Millard Fillmore. There were various military vehicles, mostly from World War II and the Vietnam War. My dad enjoyed that part. But me, I'm not into cars, and I'm not into military history. Before I got a job in history, it was my worst and least favorite subject. It was interesting enough to go to; it seemed like a fitting thing to do at this time of the year. It was actually Fort Douglas Day, and they had special exhibits and people walking around in period clothing from different eras of US (and Celtic!) history.

I liked the tiny windshield wipers on these periscope things on this tank.

This is a relic from the World Trade Center.

I don't have a whole lot of time to visit historic sites when I have to be out eradicating goatheads and making cherry desserts!

Unduly concerned

I feel like I have a pretty happy life. That's not to say I like everything about it (e.g., I don't have a BFF), but overall, I'm happy with my life.

I have a fantastic job, even if it's not permanent yet.

I get so much joy out of trail running. I get to be healthy and have fun at the same time.

Sticky geranium

Sego lily season!

I geek out over holidays and holiday treats.

I wish the Kneaders flag cake was a little smaller so I don't feel guilty eating the whole thing.

I love having a teenage cat.

Yessir, I'm pretty content.

But I look at other people's lives, and it makes me sad.

I know a little child who can be a cute kid when he is well behaved, but often he is not, because he has a terrible father figure, who likewise had a terrible father figure himself, who (apparently) also had a terrible father figure. It's so sad to see the cycle continue.

I know someone who has some physical deformities, and I was thinking about what it must have been like for him to grow up with those, and how the inevitable school teasing probably contributed to insecurities and poor social skills.

A family friend is currently in the hospital with cancer, and even though his survival odds would be so much better if he quit smoking, he just can't stop.

And all this kind of makes me feel guilty. Who am I to be happy when there's so much sadness going on? Just because I'm fortunate enough not to have poor role models, physical disabilities, or addictions.

I find myself plagued with guilt and regret. I regret poor decisions, awkward situations, and unfortunate circumstances.

For example, my ten-year high school reunion is coming up, and they devised a rather cumbersome, antiquated method of payment. I had to walk into a bank and make a deposit to an account. (The other option was to mail a check. Seriously, what year do they think this is? They also made a Facebook group, where I think an event would have been more intuitive, and they asked everyone to comment on a post so they could see how widespread their posts were. Wouldn't a "like" be just as effective?) So I go in the bank and tell the teller that I need to make a deposit. I don't specify what I'm depositing it into, so she takes my name and searches and searches and can't find my name, because I don't have an account there. I guess I should have known that she thought I was trying to deposit it into my own account. So when that was straightened out, I told her the account name was "WX Class of 07," because that's what the instructions said to make the check to. How was I supposed to know they spelled out "Woods Cross," contrary to what they had written? Afterwards, I was eating lunch and reflecting on how awkward the exchange had been. It was dragging me down. But I had to realize that it really wasn't that big of a deal. It was over, and I did what needed to be done. Why did I have to think about it anymore?

Yesterday I was reading Philippians 4, which might be my favorite chapter in the New Testament. Verse 6 says "Be careful for nothing," which the study helps say would be better translated as "Don’t be unduly concerned about anything." (Semantic shift is a very real thing, people.) The Catholic New American Bible says "Have no anxiety at all." That verse had never stuck out to me before, but this week it did. I worry too much. I need to stop.

Figuring out how will be the next step. 

Running into summer

Ah, the first summer holiday.

I had a few options for what I wanted to do on Memorial Day, but I decided it would be a good day to try out a new trail. I had heard of the Kenney Creek Trail and how it was lightly trafficked. That honestly scared me a little bit--what if something bad happened to me and no one was around?--so I thought a high-traffic day would be a good time to try it out.

Unfortunately, the trailhead is past where you have to pay to enter Mueller Park. But since I'm a good citizen without a sense of entitlement, I dutifully paid the fee, even if I found it a little silly to do so.

 I'm glad I went on the trail, but I don't have a great need to go back anytime soon. It was quite difficult. The trail leads to an old miner's cabin, which is where I stopped and turned around. To get there, you climb 2,200 feet in about 2.3 miles. By comparison, to get to Elephant Rock you climb 1,000 feet in 3.25 miles. I technically ran up the entire thing, but I did lots and lots of stopping, so I don't know if it counted as a run. I did still pass several groups of hikers, though, so that counts for something. Not only was it steep, but it was pretty overgrown, so I got some scratches on my legs, and coming down especially, it made it difficult to see roots and rocks. This was one of those trails where it was slow going up because it was strenuous, but it was slow coming down because it was dangerous. There were also lots of open spaces in the sunlight. I feel like other trails around here are easier, prettier, and cheaper, so this won't be one of my regular trails.

A small stream

I was way above Elephant Rock.

Here's what's left of the miner's cabin. 

The window is really low to the ground, so I'm surprised how much it's already been buried.

It's hard to see, but there's a random fenced area about a mile up the trail near the little stream.

On my way up to the trail, I had to walk past some houses before the canyon, and there was a cat with a collar roaming around the cars. I had to put my hand out so I could pet it, since I'm pathetic like that. Most cats, including mine, just walk away, but that one meowed adorably and let me pet it. Aww! But I didn't take a picture, because I feel weird photographing strangers' pets. Earlier that day, my dad and I were changing a car battery, and Jenny, our cat, came up and started meowing and standing up against the car, like she wanted to see what was going on.

I ended the week with another new running experience. For my bucket list for the patriotic season (between Memorial Day and Independence Day), I wanted to run a race. I've been looking at various options, and I happened to find that Centerville was doing a free trail 5k and 10k. I've never done a 10k race before, though I run that distance frequently. So I decided to go! I didn't take any pictures, because I was racing. It went up by Viewmont's V. Really, I wasn't too impressed with the trail; it was mostly open grassland with little shade, though I did enjoy seeing all the sego lilies. This race confirmed my suspicions: while I am a good trail runner among average people, I'm pretty bad among other trail runners. I came in dead last--but part of that's because I got a little confused by all the intersecting trails, and I got a little lost. I went 6.75 miles instead of 6.2. I would have beaten a few people if I hadn't been lost. But what puzzles me is that the places where I got passed the most were downhill. When I run uphill, I feel like I could go faster if I had the stamina (I am generally a very slow runner). But when I run downhill, I don't feel like I can go faster without risking twisting my ankle or tripping on rocks and roots. So how can others go faster than me going down? And some of those who passed me going down had to walk up a steep hill, where I could run up it. Oh well. It was a very low-key "race," with no prizes, finisher's medals, or even those number bibs. But I did get a donut with red, white, and blue sprinkles!