a new hobby?

Made some hair bows/clips over the last week.  They're very elementary, but I had fun making them and look forward to making some more.

this is why I write

It's so easy for me to forget moments, conversations, and interactions.  Sometimes I like to search for and read old emails.  Some of my very favorite emails are those exchanged between my sister and me.  Boy do we make me laugh, even five years after the fact.

I was indulging in this pastime tonight, missing her, and thinking about her, when I came across a paragraph I wrote about someone.  Sadly, I can't even remember what Oleg looked like, but I do remember speaking with him, in Russian, and smiling all the while.

I share it here because all the unrest in Ukraine, and so many other parts of the world, is breaking my heart right now.

We have to keep reasons around to smile, no?

Backstory: I was helping out my dad with some Ukrainians who were visiting UVU in the summer of 2009.  This is what I wrote Natty because she was out of country (meeting the love of her life) in Mexico.

Wednesday I took the Ukrainians swimming.  One guy, Oleg, was super funny.  We were waiting for the others to get changed into their swim attire.  He lifted up his shirt to reveal his hairy chest and says (in Russian, of course) "No one in America has hair like this, do they?"  


He was pretty hairy and yet I had to say, "No, people do have hair like that.  My dad has hair like that."  

So then he pulls down the back neck of his tee shirt to expose even the hairiness of his back.  "What about this?" he asked.  

"Um, yeah, my dad has hair just like that."  

He replies, "People with hair like this are good people.  Your dad is a good guy.  I'm a good guy too.  I met your dad last night and he really is a good guy."  

I was just smiling and said, "Yeah, yeah."  It was pretty funny.  He's quite the gregarious kid.  


Oleg, wherever you are, I hope you're still smiling.  Thanks for brightening up my life at least twice now.

the Skabelund love language of food

We've been home for almost a week now, but certain items in my fridge, freezer, and pantry remind me of the home-where-I-grew-up, or at least where I did much of my growing up.  I still have a fair bit of growing up to do.  

The food I am enjoying of late:

• peach preserves from Becky
• elk, thanks to Joli's tag, Dad's harvesting, and everyone's hands to break it all down
• blue cheese dressing made by Dad
• squash grown by Dad
• jars of peaches, pears, apricots, jam, applesauce, and sauerkraut canned by my parents

I often feel like Anton Ego or Marcel Proust when I eat any of this.  A bite of canned pear takes me back to Sundays after church when our standard lunch or snack would be cheese toast with canned fruit.  The elk evokes many fond memories of time spent on both a snowy mountain and in my parents' kitchen with my cousins, aunts, and uncles.

Above all, as I partake I feel loved.  I am blessed.