A post about horticulture.

Sometime around January, when I'm over the snow and coldness of winter, I start craving the feel of warm dirt on my hands. I know. Weird. I hate dirt. But I love gardening. I love growing stuff.

Last year, I started growing my garden plants in early spring using those little greenhouse planters. I started sprouting the flowers for the front yard, the squash and corn and tomatoes that I planned to plant in the garden later in the Spring. And then I let them die. I just kind of forgot about them. This year, though, after last year's collosal failure and consequent discovery of Engh's Garden Center, I decided to skip it and just buy the plants when I'm ready to put them in the ground.

The exception to this, though, is my little herb garden. I'm growing basil and oregano on my kitchen window sill, and I'm proud as a mother hen about those little plants. They seem to be doing quite well.


The only problem has been a small infestation of aphids. I'm a vegetarian. I don't usually eat things that have been alive at any time, this includes bugs. Even Gordon, who is not a vegetarian, objects to eating the clearish-green little creatures. So I had to find a way to get rid of them. And wouldn't you know it...I discovered a new use for my favorite household cleaner...Dr. Bronners. I put a drop or two of the Miracle Soap into a spraybottle of water and sprayed the leaves and stems. Apparently, this will rid us of the aphid problem. I'll keep you posted...

I discovered that the basil grows a lot better if you continually harvest the full sized leaves. This gives the new leaves nutrients and room to grow. This posed a bit of a problem. I love to grow things, but I don't have the foggiest clue about what to do with said herbs when they are ready to be harvested. I mean, we have discussed my cooking prowess, which does not actually exist. So I have all of these lovely herbs and nothing to do with them.

Back to the Internet I went, looking for the best way to preserve fresh herbs. And I discovered Herb-sicles. A brilliant lady who deserves credit for her idea (but whose name and web address I have forgotten), suggested cutting the fresh herbs and putting them in the bottom of an ice cube tray. Cover the herbs with water and freeze them. This is a good way to keep the fresh flavor. When you need fresh herbs, just pop out an ice cube or two, let it melt in a strainer and you are left with fresh-ish herbs. See?


So there you have it. Herb-sicles.

And yes, this is likely to be the most boring blog I've ever written.

P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C. That's me.

I remember one summer, sometime around the time I was ten, my sister and I got to go to Camp for five days. It all seemed so exciting...sleeping outdoors, eating disgusting food, singing songs, doing crafts, flirting with boys( I know. I was only ten. What can I say. I always did love boys). The day came and we headed off with bags packed full of candy and sleeping bags in tow. Hobble Creek Camp was only two miles from our house. I thought I was excited to be there, but when it was time for my parents to actually leave, I quickly realized that this was not the case. I was not excited at all. What if something terrible happened while I was away? What would everyone do without me? They would inevitably be miserable and count the moments until it was time for us to come home. I promptly burst into tears and was completely overcome with home-sickness. I barely made it through the week. I called my family every day and made them come visit me. EVERY NIGHT. Every night for the entire five days of Camp. Don't think I don't realize how absurd this is.

This was my first indication that I am a home body. I don't like being away from home. I don't like adventures. I don't like strange beds. I don't like weird food. I do not like being away from my people.

These days, I'm not much better than I was back in the days of Hobble Creek Camp. For instance, I am currently on a business trip in Blanding, Utah. I will be gone for four days and three nights. Presently, I have made it through three days and two nights. But don't think I haven't called home four times a day. Don't think I haven't counted every minute until it's time to go home. Don't think I haven't cried multiple times, wondering how Gordon could possibly be carrying on without me.

Yeah. Don't think that. Because it's all true. I absolutely cannot wait to get home.

Farewell, WGU!

Well. The day is here. My very last day as a Project Coordinator at Western Governor's University. And I'm feeling a little bit bi-polar about it. Naturally, I'm excited for a new job and a new opportunity. Duh.

But at the moment, I am feeling sad about leaving all of the friends I've made here. I already miss Bestie Sarah. And she's sitting right next to me. Never again will we laugh in a loud and obnoxious fashion at something ridiculous that one of us said. Never again will we look at each other with a knowing cringe when an office mate clips their fingernails (this issue has already been addressed. We won't dwell...). And never again will we comfort each other through hard times (A-hole B-O-B), pep talk each other during the challenges and squeal over the great times (Super.Special.T.F.A). However. We can comfort ourselves in the existence of Gmail Chat, the best invention since Velcro.

I've made so many friends here, had so many good times. I'm sad to be leaving a place where I've become comfortable and at-ease. I've loved finding multiple individuals who find improper grammar and incorrect punctuation one of life's most irritating experiences. I thought I was weird until I started working with other English majors! Now, we join together in solidarity.

So I feel a little like I'm jumping out into the cold, cold world from a warm and comfortable bed. So I'm nervous and sad and excited and hopeful. So I'll just say that I will miss everyone and I hope for the very best for you. And you'd better stay in touch or I'll write a snide blog about you.

Barclay, the "Special" Cat

And now...for a new and special feature on Running Amok. I feel that it's important for you to know each of us as individuals, so we will spend a few weeks highlighting the various O'Neils.



Naturally, our first subject will be Barclay O'Neil. (He is, after all, my favorite and most precious kitty.)




AKA: Bark, Bizzle, Bizz, Bizz the Dumbass, Mama's Most Precious

Special Characteristics: various (as yet undiagnosed) disorders, but the case is strong for feline autism, possible deafness, a complete lack of coordination, and generally a total lack of the sense the good Lord gave a gnat. He also seems to have a keen sense of cleanliness because he spends at least 45 minutes a day scratching around in the cat box. He is also a pyromaniac. He never has a full set of whiskers because he singes them off by trying to smell candles. Recently, however, he actually started his tail on fire by wagging it over a candle when he was standing on the dresser. Naturally, he had no idea of the danger and looked at Gordon like he was a lunatic when he pounced on him to extinguish his tail. Finally, he has some sort of hyperactivity disorder whereby he randomly becomes possessed by Satan and runs around the house as though the Gates of Hades were at his heels.

When Bizz first came to live with us, he was so totally mentally challenged that he wouldn't let anyone pet him. He would never purr. All he wanted to do was dash around the house and antagonize the other feline residents. He didn't get off to such a great start with them. Even now...four years later, they only grudgingly put up with him. They still think he's weird, but his cleanliness does pay off occasionally. He's always good for a spit bath.

These days, he's made leaps and bounds in his mental development. Now he's the most affectionate (some would say OVERLY affectionate) cat in the Universe. Actually, most people would say overly affectionate. He's a total pain in the ass most of the time. He has no problem at all in headbutting you until you let him snuggle with you under the covers.

So there you have it. An introduction to the first of eight O'Neils. Now we can all start being bosom buddies.

Counting My Chickens Before They Hatch

Against my better judgment, I counted my chickens before they hatched this week. Actually, I did more than count them. I counted them, hatched them and named them. I got completely attached to those chickens well before they hatched. Risky business.


As you may have guessed, these chickens are actually an analogy. (Literal chickens are totally out of the question in my life. At least for now. ) The chickens are an analogy for dollars. A lot of dollars. Way more dollars than I currently earn. The chickens are an analogy for a new job that equals a lot more dollars, to be more specific.


So a little over a week ago, Gordon O'Neil was browsing through the Sunday paper, perusing the Help Wanted section. He said "Now here is a job that you are qualified for, and the salary is a lot better!" On a whim, I emailed my resume and promptly forgot all about it.


A few days later, a very nice lady called to schedule an interview. Surprised, I went to the interview and gave a mostly mediocre performance, slightly ambivalent about the whole idea. Granted, the increase in salary sounded nice, but frankly, the idea of switching jobs is/was abhorrent to me. But then the lady said "With your degree, you actually qualify nicely for the HR Director position. It does involve a considerably higher salary than the position you applied for. Are you interested?"


"Uh, no. Not really. I don't really like money and I try to keep my pursuits elevated to things greater than man."


Of course not. My eyes lit up like Golem in "The Lord of The Rings" when he sees His Precious. I love money. Money runs my world. So I made the quick decision to step it up a notch and impress her.


Apparently, it worked out okay because they asked me back for a second interview. And this time, I was very nervous. I spent hours writing little essays in response to the toughest and most common interview questions. And when I arrived, all of my meticulous preparations flew out of my head and I was left with randomness.

Somehow, though, randomness was the winning combination because the lady called a few days later (at 8 o'clock at night...several hours after the stated deadline AND after I had officially passed into the Period Of Darkest Despair at the REJECTION) and offered me the job.

I held myself back from weeping for joy and promising to shower her with gifts and baked goods (which my husband will make) every day for the first six months of my employment. I think I did pretty well, coming across all professional and like I had totally forgotten THAT SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO CALL WITH HER DECISION SEVERAL HOURS AGO. Gosh. What a pleasant surprise. Sure. I guess I'll take it.

So some good parts about the new job include a considerable raise, a position in a field that I can actually make a CAREER out of, a big challenge, an office, and some other stuff.

Some bad parts include the fact that I have to go to Blanding, Utah for two weeks. And my husband won't be there. And I doubt they have a cat-friendly hotel there, so that rules out the possibility of taking Barclay My Most Precious with me. Boo. Also, there is the interminable four days left at my old job. I loved my job, I really did. But now, I just want to be done. You can just call me Lame Duck.

So anyway. There is the good news. 2010 is already looking bright!

Gonna Find My Baby, Gonna Hold Her Tight...

On my way home for lunch today, I observed the following sign:

This must be some kind of joke.

I commend whomever is in charge of this advertising campaign because this is hilarious.