Life as Betsy » Photos

My Babies . . .

April 13, 2008 – 10:23 pm

Still not feeling like venturing further from the sofa than the kitchen or the porch, but I figured I would snap a couple of shots of my ‘babies’ while it was still dry outside. For those who aren’t familiar with my babies yet, these are Sempervivum - small succulents belonging to the flowering plant family Crassulaceae, native to Europe and northern Africa. They grow close to the ground with leaves formed around each other in a rosette, and propagating by offsets. The ‘hen’ is the main plant, and the ‘chicks’ are the offspring, which start as tiny buds on the main plant and soon sprout their own roots, taking up residence close to the mother plant. They are commonly known as "Hens and Chicks". I have been growing them for about three years, my originals being from my mother’s garden. Throughout the years, I have collected others from various places (my father-in-law’s, friends, stores) and have attempted to keep them alive. They are fairly easy to care for and actually seem to do better when you almost completely ignore them.

I especially love this last picture. I am so amazed by some of the plants that literally sacrifice themselves for their babies.(The smaller plant in the middle. Keep in mind, these plants are currently the size of nickels) They don’t ever grow to a normal size, and are nearly overtaken by their offspring. Maternal love, even in plants.

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Stepping Out

April 11, 2008 – 10:19 pm

I am sure it was a tadbit suspicious when, on the nicest day we have had all year, I left school early, claiming to be sick. Unfortunately, much like Mike, my cold has turned into a sinus infection. I’ve managed to suffer at school all week because the pressure wasn’t too bad and we had a lot going on, or at least, enough things to keep my mind off how lousy I feel. But take a Friday, add some sunshine and warmer weather (the promise of spring), and suddenly no one is wanting to get their hair cut or colored . . . I managed to make it until two, when I accepted defeat and went home to curl up on my sofa to sleep.

Tomorrow its supposed to be even nicer out and though I will be in school, we have plenty of windows and opportunities to slip outside for a couple of minutes of Vitamin D. I am hoping I rested enough this afternoon and evening to get over this shit.

I found these today in my closet:

Mom bought them for me to wear at the wedding reception last summer, when my feet grew too tired and gave up on the heels, but I never reached that point. With the warmer weather coming, some of my classmates feel energized to wear more cute and Spring time clothing. I figured this was my personal expression of the upcoming Spring season.

Oh how I loved Jelly shoes when I was little. They were my favorites and I wore them until I’d outgrown them and stretched them out to the point of them breaking at the toes. I loved how the heels would catch rocks in them and then, you’d get to clean them out. They are not as comfortable as I remember them being. Or maybe, my feet just aren’t as tolerating as they were when I was little.

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When I was a size 8

April 10, 2008 – 10:19 pm

Before you ask, I have no idea where this photo was taken. I don’t know why I am wearing the hat or the odd glasses. I actually didn’t even know the photo existed until my instructor/ex-boyfriend from high school’s mother mentioned it and I asked her to bring it in. I don’t recall anything about this picture. Knowing the age range I was when I dated Sean, I had to be 16 and seeing as how that is probably the thinnest I have ever been, those are smallest jeans I have ever worn. Well, as in after I reached my adult height and lost weight the first time ever.

It’s really strange to see a photo of yourself from the past that you’ve never seen before. I know all the photos in my photo albums and I have seen all the photos that my parents have . . . so seeing this is quite hilarious.

And a bit depressing. Mike says I should look at it as encouragement and a "peek into the future", to what I can get back down to, if I really want to. Knowing that it was so hard to stay that small, since it’s not healthy for me to be that size, I am aiming for about 10 pounds above that. It’s nice to have some photographic proof that I was there once before and I’ll get there again this year. So now . . . I’m going to post this on my fridge.

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This clock never seemed so alive

April 8, 2008 – 8:29 pm

Without a doubt, the one person that I have been the meanest to in my life would be my younger brother Andy. Just two years younger than me, I was the tyrannical big sister who took pleasure in holding him back and making him cry when we were little. Why, you ask? I honestly cannot tell you why. I was little and so wanted to be big and grown up and he was often the only person smaller than me. With his cherub demeanor, white blonde hair and unwavering devotion to me, he was an easy target that I often took aim at. It is easy for me to admit that until about the time we both we in middle school, I wasn’t a good big sister.

To make matters much worse, his birthday was only 16 days before mine. It only made sense to me that since I was older, my birthday should come first and for a good number of his younger birthdays (oh 4 through 9) I was pouty and obnoxious. Definitely not in the mood to celebrate him.

My mother always told me to be nice to brother because one day, he’d be bigger and stronger than me and I wouldn’t want him as an enemy. And she was right. He did grow bigger than me and stronger than me, as well as smarter and more responsible. But he also is the kindest, nicest, most thoughtful guy I’ve ever known. He’s never been an enemy, aside from the days he could tattle on me. Despite everything I did to him, every button I knew to push, every liberty I knew I could take with him, he’s still always right by my side.

It’s funny, because in some ways, I feel so close to him and yet he and I maybe talk once or twice a month. I can tell you though, when I was in Seattle visiting him back in February, there was something about being with him that felt more like "home" than even my own apartment can sometimes feel. I love my husband and my home here and my life, but there is only one person who knows me like Andy does and when it was time for me to come home that Sunday afternoon, it was extremely hard to leave him up there. Nevermind that he’s lived in Seattle for almost two years and Salem for five years before that. It didn’t feel right for him to not be living in Vancouver.

He turned 25 years old today. I always feel older on other people’s birthdays; moreso than on my own birthday. Because I remember when he was two and broke his leg falling down a flight of stairs. I remember when we were seven and five and told each other what we’d gotten each other for Christmas (I got him a dinosaur and he got me a huge book of fairytales). I remember all those first days of school with our signs and all those family road trips with our bright yellow walkmans and the invisible line down the middle of the back seat that we could not cross. I remember him sobbing because he was too little go on certain rides at Disneyland and the morning he went in for his deviated septum correction. I remember the summer he was gone to Ecuador or correcting his essays for his admission to college. I remember how he held me at my grandmother’s burial, when we all dropped a rose in on top of her urn and I suddenly found myself sobbing.

I sometimes think about what I will say about my brother on his wedding day, as I toast him and his bride, whomever she may be, because he gave the most amazing toast at mine. There are few people that I am as abundantly proud to say I know as him and looking back, I cannot believe that he still loves me.

For that, I am an extremely lucky girl.

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Exactly what I needed today

April 6, 2008 – 12:47 am

The cold is not any better and the congestion is making me feel pretty damn crappy today. To make matters worse, I had to face Winco. On a Sunday. Ugh. So I turned to some comforts in attempt to make myself feel better. ANTM reruns are not cutting it. Corn bread did, for a minute, but that moment has passed. But these . . . these always cheer me up.

I only get this one above because of Mike and his "Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy" devotion

All of these and tons more can be found at I can has cheezburger

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French Piggyhomes

March 29, 2008 – 11:28 pm

Yeah . . . piggyhomes. Its what my mom affectionately called toes when we were little. Maybe I was the one to start calling them that after learning "This Little Pig" or maybe it was my brother. My mom still calls them that to this day (I have the text message to prove it) and its one of those things you don’t forget, even if you want to.

It got around the school that I am pretty damn good at french tipping nails, so I am the queen of them these days. And though some people are entirely disgusted and against feet, I’m not and see it as an excellent opportunity to make a little extra money when I get out of school by also doing manicures and pedicures.

I decided to do a twist on the classic French tip on my own toes tonight and tipped them in pink.

The cuticles need a little cleaning up still and I think I would use a darker color or just the classic white next time, but I like them. Now it just needs to stop snowing.
Anyone interested in a pedicure??

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From the top and working downward

March 19, 2008 – 8:06 pm

With Prom season almost upon us, my instructors have decided that we should be working a bit on our up do skills. Seeing as how the last time I ever sat around playing with hair and pulling it up into "up do’s" was freshman year of high school with Margaret Gorman, I knew it was something I should touch up on.

After watching about fifteen minutes of a dvd that I need to go back and actually watch in it’s entirety, I decided to go play with my mannequin "Miss Barbara" ( or rather, Barbara 2, since my other mannequin is also a Miss Barbara ) and come up with my own creation.

Ta da! I am working on the title, but for now, it’s the ’Twist and Shout’.

Side view

Back view

Top view

We will be taking up do appointments for prom hair - if any of my high school friends are interested . . . This is just the first, but I hope to have a catalog of a number of various, unique styles by prom season . . .

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Envious

February 23, 2008 – 3:56 pm

My brother’s loft in Belltown. The urbanite in me is sooo jealous.

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Sparkle and Shine

February 17, 2008 – 9:32 pm

I’ve been on a cleaning frenzy today, as if the spirit of Monica Gellar has gotten into me. With my trip to Seattle next weekend to visit my brother and then, starting school the first week of March (and therefore, starting my insane schedule), there is little time to get this place in order before I start. I have this theory that if I get everything extremely clean and organized, it will be easier to keep it that way, with minimal need for deep cleanings.

For years, I have had a montly subscription to Real Simple but when we moved last Fall, I threw out most of the issues. I always feel guilty doing that, but there is only so much a person can (and should save). However, I did save a few old issues and one of them as a break down of the daily/weekly/seasonal cleaning needs. Here’s a bit of what they say:

Kitchen To Do

Every day

• Wipe down the sink after doing the dishes or loading the dishwasher (30 seconds)
• Wipe down the stove top (One minute)
• Wipe down the counters (One minute)
• Sweep, Swiffer or vacuum the floor (Two minutes)

Every Week

• Mop the floor (Five minutes)
• Wipe the cabinets, backsplashes, and appliances (10 minutes)
• Wash the dish rack (four minutes)
• Wipe the switch plates and phone (one minute)
• Wipe the inside of the garbage can (one minute)

Every Season

• Empty and scrub down the inside of the refrigerator (30 minutes)
• Empty and clean the insides of the utensil drawers (15 minutes)
• Scrub down the cupboard exteriors (30 minutes)
• Clean the stove-hood filter (10 minutes)
• Perform "Shiny Sink 101" (instructions are included in the article)

The article breaks down each room in the house, boasting to do the every day things for each room only takes 19 minutes total. I am hoping that I can adhere to this and keep things a little more under control than I have in the past, though I will tell you, it is nearly impossible to keep a bathroom clean when you live with a man. He has the keenest sense to need to shave right after I have cleaned the bathroom, leaving his discarded hairs all over my freshly cleaned sink. I may have to get on him about that, because I surely make sure to wash out the tub when I have shaved my legs.

As I was picking up and putting away (or going through and throwing out), I came across a number of jewelry items that needed to be put away (no Mom, I didn’t find the earrings) and while I organized my jewelry box a bit more, I came across this:

Admittedly, I stole this ring from my neighbor Michelle when we were little. For years, she was my best neighbor friend and we played together as much as we could. The pinnacle of many of our games was the fact that we would get to dress up and put on shows to songs on her parent’s stereo in their living room (I distinctly remember a performance of Madonna’s version of "Santa Baby" one December), and one of us would get to wear this ring. Usually her. But she was several years older than me, and our days of playing make believe together were limited, because she was soon going to be heading to middle school and we’d never attend school together again.

I thought Michelle was beautiful. Taller than me, with long strawberry blonde hair and she was so cool and confident. She was an only child and her parents adored her, though they were pretty fond of their Cocker Spaniel Buffy too (who was mean and smelled funny). I was so excited when I was old enough to attend school with her and ride the bus with her . . . and was delighted when she said hello to me at school. But she was in fourth grade when I was in first, so that was seldom.

Chances are, we were playing one last time with that ring and she finally let me wear it and forgot to ask for it back when it was time for me to walk back across the street. Chances are just as good that I was well aware that I had the ring on and she hadn’t asked for it back, so I just slipped back home, secretly elated with my new fortune. She never asked me about the ring and I generally kept it hidden in the back of my ballerina jewelry box, rarely taking it out to put it on. I never wore it out of my room; I was scared my mom would notice it and ask me where I got it.

All these years later, I still have it. And thanks to its expandable band, I am still able to wear it. Though I would like to find her again and give it back to her. I’ve treasured it long enough. It’s time she got it back, in case she has a daughter now who would spend as much time playing with it as we did.

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