Confession: I might be Darth Vader

I have two rings that I love – one, I ordered from a boutique catalog after months and months of looking at it and wanting it. The other, I bought last time I was in Australia because I wanted something black.
I believe they represent the two sides of my nature –

I can be the nicest person you’ve ever met when I am with my nieces and nephews, who I adore and who are the joy of life (the white ring); or, I can be the biggest pill this side of the Mississippi when…. well, pretty much all the rest of the time (the black ring).

On Friday night, I love to get all dressed up with curly hair and heels and go to the symphony (the white ring), and on Saturday night, I like to throw on jeans and a leather jacket and go hear my favorite rock band (the black ring).

I believe in obeying, honoring and sustaining the law (the white ring), but I feel compelled to speed every time I drive, even when I am not in a hurry (the black ring).

This could go on all day…there are a plethora of examples of these two sides, but the point today is a confession: I have turned to the “Dark Side.”

I’ve been an anti-cola person for years – promoting the merits of drinking water and avoiding carbonation (the white ring). Until a couple weeks ago when I met with a few bumps in the road and was reminded how much I love diet Dr. Pepper and diet Coke (the black ring). I’ve been enjoying the dark stuff ever since.

I wonder if Han Solo or Luke will come to my rescue....

Charlie & Grandpa Joe

Does anyone remember how last time I was in New York for a work conference I went to the Gershwin Theater and stood in line for a long time to try for a Standby ticket to see Wicked? And does anyone remember how I didn’t get one? Well, I do. I know - slightly bitter.

I am going to New York again in November and rather than leave things to chance, I just purchased a ticket to see Wicked at the very same Gershwin Theater.

It is the one bright spot in an otherwise not so brilliant week, so while I may not wend my way home singing “I’ve got a golden ticket…,” or anything, I am very excited to see my first show ON Broadway.

I think I'll go pinch a Fizzy Lifting Drink from my dad's refrigerator to celebrate (translation: steal a diet Coke).

Note to Self:

A friend recently told me about an interesting discussion during a Relief Society lesson on marriage. Instead of comments about trying to be unified or serve each other better or efforts to make God more a part of the relationship (things one might expect to hear in a church meeting), the comments were things like frustration that a husband frequently leaves his socks on the floor, and an annoyance with the way another husband eats his fried chicken.

My first reaction was, “What stupid women.” And a wish that I be stricken with both of those terrible trials and more because they would mean a husband to come home to at the end of a hard day, someone to cuddle up and watch movies with on a Saturday night, a partner to tackle life with when things are tough, etc., etc….

But then I realized, I might complain about the same stupid things had having a husband been simply handed to me on a "silver platter." So, this post is a little reminder for me (in case I ever forget) to try and see the gift in socks on the floor – in whatever form that trial comes.