This past weekend was the first Casual Blogger Conference.
Waaaaaaaait a minute. Stop right there.
If you're a Casual Blogger, WHY are you going to a conference, right?
I'm gonna go with: 'Casual' refers to the dress code. Yes, I wore the same pants all three days.
Moving on, I was thrilled to be asked, a few months ago, to speak at this conference, being assigned to The Depression Panel. (More on this later.) Also thrilling for me is the fact that this conference was held in a southern suburb of Salt Lake City, so within driving distance for me, making my attendance absolutely do-able.
Wednesday night I got m'hair did, and following Thursday afternoon's pedicure I drove to Sandy to attend the dinner for the presenters and speakers. What a great time, really a fantastic kick-off to what turned out to be a very cool weekend. Dinner was provided by Shirley J, with desserts from The Chocolate, delightful on both accounts. Company was second to none. I was thrilled to get to know some girls from my panel as well as others I had only admired from afar. Even so, upon meeting face-to-face, we simply validated our already-existent (if only online) friendship.
Feeling this way, experiencing these meetings solidified what I've been thinking for quite some time, and not because I feel that I need to justify it to myself (I don't), but because it's so misunderstood for many:
Blogging is community. It is the beginning, continuation, and growth of friendships, of relationships, and it establishes a forum that combines our need to connect with the speed at which the digital is taking place in our lives. It is not The New Scrapbooking. Well, for some it might be, but not for me, and not for the crowd with whom I was hanging out this weekend.
After the dinner I checked into my room at the Hilton and took a peek into my SwagBag (Swag: a word I detest, yet its definition/content is something I mainly adore.) to find some awesome treats and surprises, not the least of which is a necklace from lisa leonard designs with an E on the charm. I need to say that this meant a lot to me -- not only that this fine sponsor would go to the trouble to personalize what was in the gift bags, but it also served as a reminder of all the work that Elisa, Caroline, and Julie (and many others) went to in preparation for our enjoyable weekend, ensuring that each guest received the correct bag with their own personalized necklace inside. Awesome.
The Girls Night Out party was held in the hotel, and I'm going to lay it out for you: I don't like the idea of anything called GNO. I enjoy getting together with friends of the female variety, but I just reject it being called GNO. Can we do away with GNO? That being said, I walked in the doors and was handed a gift of a travel pillow (a nice one, I might add), and saw that women were lined up to get manicures, hand massages, facial waxings (I know!), and massages. Others were in line to create a fabric rosette or a scrapbook page, or sitting at a table to blend their own custom lip gloss. I mainly mingled, met women from all over the country, and just tried to relax. I left after an hour or so to head back up to my room, unpack and get my room set up (I must do this when staying in a hotel, I just must) and order room service. I know I already ate dinner, but I was still hungry (no lunch? I don't know, who ever knows), and I blame my Not Sleeping Very Well on the AWESOME and TOTALLY WORTH IT bonus dinner I had. And the creme brulee with fresh berries.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
roll call
Will you be there?
Let me know in the comments if I can plan on seeing YOU this weekend at CBC!
Which classes/happenings are you most excited about?
And for everyone who reads this
(attending CBC or not),
please say the following word to yourself:
"Literally"
and then vote on the poll on my sidebar.
besos!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
tri #3, aka Women of Steel, aka Actually a Duathlon
Does anyone sleep the night before their race?
Friday's rain was a welcome cadence on my roof, but I had to make a solid effort to make my body rest enough to go to sleep. My alarm set for 5, I woke up promptly at 4:30, but not before enduring a thorough dream about being late and missing the entire race.
I arrived at the venue at 6:am, just as planned, and got the In on a great place to park. Packet picket up, I was number 227 (like the old TV show, the one featuring Olivia from Sesame Street, which, now that I think of it is funny because the stairs on the set of 227 looks so similar to the stairs on the set of Sesame Street.). (Anyone?) (*crickets*) I got my body marked and my time chip and strained to listen to the whispers about the swim being cancelled, which was disappointing to me: Swimming's my strongest part of the race! I went to my van to listen to the radio and nibble on a peanut butter samwich, and at 7:am the official announcement was made: no swim. Instead, we would do a duathlon - run, bike, run. Groan.
As soon as the announcement was made, the rain slowed to a stop (of course it did), but due to ridiculous temperatures, hypothermia was a legitimate concern, so on we went. I set up my transition station and found where my friends were set up. Some stretches and other last-minute prep, and then I found myself lining up with other women in my 200-300 number range, ready to begin. I kept my long-sleeved shirt and pants on over my tri suit for that first mile, of which I ran about half, and then removed the pants (bike shorts on still) for the biking portion. Helmet buckled, I set out on the course. Almost immediately I regretted not having dried my bike rims with a towel (sharp turns and all). The first portion of the bike loop is uphill, and I didn't get off to walk at all, just changed gears (see? I know how to use a bike, just not fix one). When we approached an intersection which was blocked off for the race, I heard a woman who was . . . well, she was whining. She had gotten out of her car and was yelling at the volunteers, "You can't just stop traffic like this! You can't!" This made me laugh pretty hard as I called out a huge, "THANK YOU!" to the volunteers. During the ride I was hoping for Kalli to hop out from behind a tree or something, but reasoned that anyone who could should be staying indoors that day, at least until the sun peeked out from behind the clouds.
The second half of the bike course is fast -- downhill, flying down the Alpine Highway. What a rush. I passed many people during this portion, I don't mind saying (especially since they likely passed me before AND after I passed them). Since the bike course was two loops, I took a small break on the uphill battle on my second loop (at which time I began to see people running -- people are so hardcore) to have a Clif Gel. Blurg, I had forgotten that consuming that crap is like trying to swallow a sponge. I cringed and looked at the package: Strawberry. The last thing that stuff tasted like is Strawberry. I hopped back on my bike and finished the second loop, feeling pretty great about myself. Dismounting, I had a feeling I had never, not in all my days, felt: that My Legs Are Jello feeling. I honestly didn't know if I was going to fall over or not. Just the same, it was pretty cool. You know, in the way that feeling sore is cool -- you feel your body and know it's working.
I found my transistion station (it is like a maze in there!), racked my bike, removed my helmet, regrettably got a Katy Perry song stuck in my head, and evaluated the temperature: still chilly, occassional sunshine: decision made, keep the long-sleeved shirt on. I walked most of the run (I have yet to run a 5K without stopping -- when will I ever learn to stop sprinting and pace myself?), and met a girl named Tiberon (shark) (I'm not kidding, that's not an insult, it's seriously the Spanish word for shark). On the last stretch I decided to run, despite some significant discomfort in my calves. I got into a joggy-groove and crossed the finish line in stride.
Swag bag included a cool necklace, I got my shirt (which I may actually wear), grabbed a water bottle, an apple, and a banana; wanted to grab a cookie and didn't. I knew my friend Coral had crossed the finish line because I saw her cheer for me as I came in. I couldn't find Dalene, and guessed that she was still racing. Back at the transition area, I gathered my things and got a couple of pictures with Coral and her kids:
Beautiful Melody was there, too:
Look at this cool family:
Friday's rain was a welcome cadence on my roof, but I had to make a solid effort to make my body rest enough to go to sleep. My alarm set for 5, I woke up promptly at 4:30, but not before enduring a thorough dream about being late and missing the entire race.
I arrived at the venue at 6:am, just as planned, and got the In on a great place to park. Packet picket up, I was number 227 (like the old TV show, the one featuring Olivia from Sesame Street, which, now that I think of it is funny because the stairs on the set of 227 looks so similar to the stairs on the set of Sesame Street.). (Anyone?) (*crickets*) I got my body marked and my time chip and strained to listen to the whispers about the swim being cancelled, which was disappointing to me: Swimming's my strongest part of the race! I went to my van to listen to the radio and nibble on a peanut butter samwich, and at 7:am the official announcement was made: no swim. Instead, we would do a duathlon - run, bike, run. Groan.
As soon as the announcement was made, the rain slowed to a stop (of course it did), but due to ridiculous temperatures, hypothermia was a legitimate concern, so on we went. I set up my transition station and found where my friends were set up. Some stretches and other last-minute prep, and then I found myself lining up with other women in my 200-300 number range, ready to begin. I kept my long-sleeved shirt and pants on over my tri suit for that first mile, of which I ran about half, and then removed the pants (bike shorts on still) for the biking portion. Helmet buckled, I set out on the course. Almost immediately I regretted not having dried my bike rims with a towel (sharp turns and all). The first portion of the bike loop is uphill, and I didn't get off to walk at all, just changed gears (see? I know how to use a bike, just not fix one). When we approached an intersection which was blocked off for the race, I heard a woman who was . . . well, she was whining. She had gotten out of her car and was yelling at the volunteers, "You can't just stop traffic like this! You can't!" This made me laugh pretty hard as I called out a huge, "THANK YOU!" to the volunteers. During the ride I was hoping for Kalli to hop out from behind a tree or something, but reasoned that anyone who could should be staying indoors that day, at least until the sun peeked out from behind the clouds.
The second half of the bike course is fast -- downhill, flying down the Alpine Highway. What a rush. I passed many people during this portion, I don't mind saying (especially since they likely passed me before AND after I passed them). Since the bike course was two loops, I took a small break on the uphill battle on my second loop (at which time I began to see people running -- people are so hardcore) to have a Clif Gel. Blurg, I had forgotten that consuming that crap is like trying to swallow a sponge. I cringed and looked at the package: Strawberry. The last thing that stuff tasted like is Strawberry. I hopped back on my bike and finished the second loop, feeling pretty great about myself. Dismounting, I had a feeling I had never, not in all my days, felt: that My Legs Are Jello feeling. I honestly didn't know if I was going to fall over or not. Just the same, it was pretty cool. You know, in the way that feeling sore is cool -- you feel your body and know it's working.
I found my transistion station (it is like a maze in there!), racked my bike, removed my helmet, regrettably got a Katy Perry song stuck in my head, and evaluated the temperature: still chilly, occassional sunshine: decision made, keep the long-sleeved shirt on. I walked most of the run (I have yet to run a 5K without stopping -- when will I ever learn to stop sprinting and pace myself?), and met a girl named Tiberon (shark) (I'm not kidding, that's not an insult, it's seriously the Spanish word for shark). On the last stretch I decided to run, despite some significant discomfort in my calves. I got into a joggy-groove and crossed the finish line in stride.
Swag bag included a cool necklace, I got my shirt (which I may actually wear), grabbed a water bottle, an apple, and a banana; wanted to grab a cookie and didn't. I knew my friend Coral had crossed the finish line because I saw her cheer for me as I came in. I couldn't find Dalene, and guessed that she was still racing. Back at the transition area, I gathered my things and got a couple of pictures with Coral and her kids:
Coral and I were roommates a million years ago at The Glenwood. She's married to Lawrance, whom I've known since I was about nine years old. I love that family.
After putting my bike back in my van, I went to look for Dalene, who had already crossed the finish line. I had wanted to be there to cheer her on as she crossed (friend FAIL on my part), but it was so awesome to see Dalene: she was beaming. She did it. She started training with me last year and was timid about signing up for this race, and she has been diligent in training and preparing. She did it.
Beautiful Melody was there, too:
Look at this cool family:
There are some pictures out there of me actually racing, but I'm not going to pay for them. I think it's of note that I shaved off about 25 minutes from my previous triathlon. I'm confident that had the swim been first instead of a mile-long run, my time would have been even more of an improvement.
And then I went home and felt sore. Which is great.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
iSongs
One song.
Tell me one song I need to add to my music library for this summer.
Just one.
(or more, that's fine.)
And send me your pictures for Blogs From The Big Chair!
Tell me one song I need to add to my music library for this summer.
Just one.
(or more, that's fine.)
And send me your pictures for Blogs From The Big Chair!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
I really don't know how you do it all
When I make this
it's at the expense of this.
***
Blogs From The Big Chair is next week! Have you sent your photos to me?
Monday, May 17, 2010
just one of the ways
As I write this it's Thursday afternoon. The weather outside is beautiful - feels like in the 50s, you can hear lawn mowers running and kids playfully screaming and laughing. Me?
I'm in my room, writhing.
Here's what happened:
I saw that a certain artist whose work I enjoy was having a giveaway on a blog, so I clicked over to join the fun. Without even searching the site I knew what to comment -- that is, what exactly I'd choose with my gift certificate, should I be the winner -- so much do I enjoy this artist's work. Upon seeing certain pieces for the first time in real life, my breath was taken, so struck was I at how perfectly the art would fit my home & family. A few months ago I finally made a purchase, and then of course kicked myself for not getting those pieces sooner.
Back to the giveaway. Of course, an extra entry if you follow said-artist on twitter, which, of course, I already was. Just to make sure, though, I clicked the link to see that 'follow' was an option. I thought that was weird, because I KNOW I had already chosen to follow her. Simply to complete the instructions for the blog giveaway, though, I clicked on 'follow', and that is when I saw the message:
This user has blocked you from following them.
I've blocked people from following me on twitter -- specifically, people whose tweets are filled with profanity (and I'm a girl who doesn't mind the swears) or vulgarity. My own logic follows: What have I done?
I emailed the artist, identifying myself as a fan and owner of their work, and told them that I noticed I had been blocked from following their tweets, and apologized on the off-chance I had been offensive.
For a mentally-healthy person, this is where they shrug, say, "Huh," and move on with their day.
Not me.
No, I stew and I wring my hands and I send text messages to a friend who knows the artist personally. I check my email obsessively, hoping for a response. Recognizing that getting outside helps at times, I step onto the back steps, closing the door behind me. I sit down while my son is telling me that, "It's not a teeter-totter, it's a totter-teeter!" and my head is in my hands. I can feel the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze, a combination I like, but cannot enjoy because my emotions are out of control. I step back inside and take a look around -- my older kids have come home from school. They are lovely children. I have a wonderful home, a beautiful life, I recognize it, but my self-doubt has taken over. What do people think of me? What is the image I portray? I can't help but wonder what percentage of my rising rage is now from how pathetic I am, the fact that the whole situation is even an issue: I'm obessing about what someone may or may not think of me -- someone who has never met me. Someone for whom I am merely a customer and a name on their computer screen.
So I let my oldest know that she is in charge while I take a time out in my room to detail just a portion of how I am affected by depression -- that even with medication and everything just as I've always wanted it to be -- I stumble and I sink. It happens. It's who I am.
****************
post-write, pre-post update:
Not three hours after I wrote this, I received a very sweet & sincere email from the artist, who apologized for the mixup and asked for my twitter address so that I could be unblocked. I was very grateful and relieved, but physically exhausted and emotionally drained from the haunting of my own thoughts.
I'm in my room, writhing.
Here's what happened:
I saw that a certain artist whose work I enjoy was having a giveaway on a blog, so I clicked over to join the fun. Without even searching the site I knew what to comment -- that is, what exactly I'd choose with my gift certificate, should I be the winner -- so much do I enjoy this artist's work. Upon seeing certain pieces for the first time in real life, my breath was taken, so struck was I at how perfectly the art would fit my home & family. A few months ago I finally made a purchase, and then of course kicked myself for not getting those pieces sooner.
Back to the giveaway. Of course, an extra entry if you follow said-artist on twitter, which, of course, I already was. Just to make sure, though, I clicked the link to see that 'follow' was an option. I thought that was weird, because I KNOW I had already chosen to follow her. Simply to complete the instructions for the blog giveaway, though, I clicked on 'follow', and that is when I saw the message:
This user has blocked you from following them.
I've blocked people from following me on twitter -- specifically, people whose tweets are filled with profanity (and I'm a girl who doesn't mind the swears) or vulgarity. My own logic follows: What have I done?
I emailed the artist, identifying myself as a fan and owner of their work, and told them that I noticed I had been blocked from following their tweets, and apologized on the off-chance I had been offensive.
For a mentally-healthy person, this is where they shrug, say, "Huh," and move on with their day.
Not me.
No, I stew and I wring my hands and I send text messages to a friend who knows the artist personally. I check my email obsessively, hoping for a response. Recognizing that getting outside helps at times, I step onto the back steps, closing the door behind me. I sit down while my son is telling me that, "It's not a teeter-totter, it's a totter-teeter!" and my head is in my hands. I can feel the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze, a combination I like, but cannot enjoy because my emotions are out of control. I step back inside and take a look around -- my older kids have come home from school. They are lovely children. I have a wonderful home, a beautiful life, I recognize it, but my self-doubt has taken over. What do people think of me? What is the image I portray? I can't help but wonder what percentage of my rising rage is now from how pathetic I am, the fact that the whole situation is even an issue: I'm obessing about what someone may or may not think of me -- someone who has never met me. Someone for whom I am merely a customer and a name on their computer screen.
So I let my oldest know that she is in charge while I take a time out in my room to detail just a portion of how I am affected by depression -- that even with medication and everything just as I've always wanted it to be -- I stumble and I sink. It happens. It's who I am.
****************
post-write, pre-post update:
Not three hours after I wrote this, I received a very sweet & sincere email from the artist, who apologized for the mixup and asked for my twitter address so that I could be unblocked. I was very grateful and relieved, but physically exhausted and emotionally drained from the haunting of my own thoughts.
Friday, May 14, 2010
the price i pay for writing a blog post
Eight minutes. I was upstairs for eight minutes.
I hope you have a great weekend. Be sure to come back on Monday when I will share with you a really embarrassing but true story which illustrates just one way in which depression haunts my life.
And don't forget about Blogs From The Big Chair!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
all the day you'll have good luck
6:45 pm
"After-hours child care, how may I help you?"
"Hi. My six-year-old just swallowed a penny. But she's six, and she says she's fine. Should I be worried?"
"No, as long as she's not wheezing or choking. You do need to check to make sure the penny passes, and if it hasn't passed in seven days she'll need an x-ray."
"Mmmhm. Right. So . . . since she's six, and I need to make sure the penny passes . . . how exactly do you recommend I go about accomplishing this?"
"Well . . . uh, you should . . . um . . ."
"Get creative?"
"Yeah. When she has a bowel movement, tell her not to flush, and you'll need to fish it out and look for the penny."
"Great. That sounds super fun. I'll be sure and really do that. Thanks."
"After-hours child care, how may I help you?"
"Hi. My six-year-old just swallowed a penny. But she's six, and she says she's fine. Should I be worried?"
"No, as long as she's not wheezing or choking. You do need to check to make sure the penny passes, and if it hasn't passed in seven days she'll need an x-ray."
"Mmmhm. Right. So . . . since she's six, and I need to make sure the penny passes . . . how exactly do you recommend I go about accomplishing this?"
"Well . . . uh, you should . . . um . . ."
"Get creative?"
"Yeah. When she has a bowel movement, tell her not to flush, and you'll need to fish it out and look for the penny."
"Great. That sounds super fun. I'll be sure and really do that. Thanks."
Friday, May 07, 2010
bazaar
Thanks for your comments of support, y'all. I think I've pinpointed the problem, and now I can take a breath and move on. Thank you.
Wednesday night I went to the Beehive Bazaar, held this time at its new location at Thanksgiving Point, providing a larger space from which to vend, as well as a closer location for those from Norther counties and such. Also, good freeway access for those coming from any direction. Since I went opening night, I paid for admission, but it was worth it for me (the remaining days of the bazaar are without entry fee). I went with my awesome friend Kristen and my new friend Metta, and we saw Gina and met The Salty Pineapple. I wrote a haiku about our get-together:
The bazaar, as always, has top-notch vendors. I happen to be drawn to paper-goods and jams, and I certainly got my fill of both (strawberry basil jam, how i love thee). I saw Susan (go look! She posted a picture!), who is so kind, I adore her products, and I always like getting to chat with her, AND I got to meet the so-cool Melissa. Raquel has fantastic hand-crafted goods for sale -- really, I hope you're able to make it to the bazaar today or tomorrow. If you do, or if you've already gone, let me know what you liked!
Have a great weekend!
Wednesday night I went to the Beehive Bazaar, held this time at its new location at Thanksgiving Point, providing a larger space from which to vend, as well as a closer location for those from Norther counties and such. Also, good freeway access for those coming from any direction. Since I went opening night, I paid for admission, but it was worth it for me (the remaining days of the bazaar are without entry fee). I went with my awesome friend Kristen and my new friend Metta, and we saw Gina and met The Salty Pineapple. I wrote a haiku about our get-together:
Rockabilly band,
Reconstructive surgery,
Reconstructive surgery,
Just pray about it.
The bazaar, as always, has top-notch vendors. I happen to be drawn to paper-goods and jams, and I certainly got my fill of both (strawberry basil jam, how i love thee). I saw Susan (go look! She posted a picture!), who is so kind, I adore her products, and I always like getting to chat with her, AND I got to meet the so-cool Melissa. Raquel has fantastic hand-crafted goods for sale -- really, I hope you're able to make it to the bazaar today or tomorrow. If you do, or if you've already gone, let me know what you liked!
Have a great weekend!
Thursday, May 06, 2010
2-minute post, mas o menos
I'm at a place, currently, where I feel I can say this objectively:
I am overwhelmed.
Not even in a feel-sorry-for-myself way. (That was a couple-a days ago.)
More of an I-have-so-much-stuff-on-my-agenda-the-only-thing-I-can-do-is-sleep-and-avoid-everything.
You ever get that way?
Is this part of my depression?
I think it might be. It's alright, though. Really. I'm okay with it today. Baby steps to the laundry room. Baby steps to the dishes. Baby steps to getting dressed. Baby steps to finishing the projects I've started.
Maybe a baby step would be getting off the computer. That's a start.
********
ps, I went to the beehive bazaar last night, and it was awesome, and i'll maybe post about that one tomorrow, mmmkay?
I am overwhelmed.
Not even in a feel-sorry-for-myself way. (That was a couple-a days ago.)
More of an I-have-so-much-stuff-on-my-agenda-the-only-thing-I-can-do-is-sleep-and-avoid-everything.
You ever get that way?
Is this part of my depression?
I think it might be. It's alright, though. Really. I'm okay with it today. Baby steps to the laundry room. Baby steps to the dishes. Baby steps to getting dressed. Baby steps to finishing the projects I've started.
Maybe a baby step would be getting off the computer. That's a start.
********
ps, I went to the beehive bazaar last night, and it was awesome, and i'll maybe post about that one tomorrow, mmmkay?
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Monday, May 03, 2010
yes you MAY
It's MAY, y'alls, and that brings with it more than flowers. It brings a triathlon, the end of school for the kidlets, and it brings the CBC (for which I cannot wait). In preparation for the CBC, May may bring some posts here about my speaking topic, which is depression. And for your FYI, May also brings a dance recital which may or may not feature a number performed by adults, of which I may or may not be one.
In the meantime, I've decided to do a li'l project this month, and it's called:
This project was inspired by talks with my esthetician, Trista, as well as the following photo, taken a couple of weeks ago:
Yes, the chair reads Beaver Valley Chevron. There is a town in central Utah called Beaver. So what? Who cares? It has a big rocking chair.
What I'd like you to do this month is send me your pictures of you and whomever else (or not) sitting in the big rocking chair at the Beaver Valley Chevron. On Monday, May 24th, I will post your pictures, as well as a link to your blog (or just the picture, or just the link, whichever you'd prefer). I know there must be some great pictures out there. If they aren't already in existence in your home, perhaps you might fancy a road trip. That's right, a road trip for a blog project. You know you'd do it.
Pictures may be sent to jennyeckton @ gmail {dot} com, no spaces, you're no dummy, you know what an email address looks like.
It's a really big chair.
In the meantime, I've decided to do a li'l project this month, and it's called:
BLOGS FROM THE BIG CHAIR
This project was inspired by talks with my esthetician, Trista, as well as the following photo, taken a couple of weeks ago:
Yes, the chair reads Beaver Valley Chevron. There is a town in central Utah called Beaver. So what? Who cares? It has a big rocking chair.
What I'd like you to do this month is send me your pictures of you and whomever else (or not) sitting in the big rocking chair at the Beaver Valley Chevron. On Monday, May 24th, I will post your pictures, as well as a link to your blog (or just the picture, or just the link, whichever you'd prefer). I know there must be some great pictures out there. If they aren't already in existence in your home, perhaps you might fancy a road trip. That's right, a road trip for a blog project. You know you'd do it.
Pictures may be sent to jennyeckton @ gmail {dot} com, no spaces, you're no dummy, you know what an email address looks like.
It's a really big chair.
And maybe, if you're lucky, on the drive home, your kids will sit like my kids do when they're in the van:.
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