Hiking... or, Why I Love Alberta

This summer, a friend and I have been trying to go out hiking a few times. On my suggestion, we went to Galatea in July and had a great hike. When I got an email from him on Monday with the title "Hiking", I was excited for another nice trip out to the mountains– then I read the message: "It will be a fairly intense hike: ~25K round trip, includes some scrambling/quasi-rock climbing and fording a river, and we will likely be leaving Calgary around 4:30AM." 

Hmm... maybe I'll rethink my excitement to go to Lake of the Horns.

As I pondered the state my legs would be in after such a hike, as well as the amount of sleep I would get the preceding night (I already had plans for the night before that would prevent an nice 8 pm bedtime), I thought, "Well, if my friend thinks I can do it, I sure as shootin' am going to try!" so I replied to the email with a response that I would see him bright and early Wednesday morning. 

We were on the trail by 6:30 and despite my slight grogginess from a nap in the car, got a good start. In the parking lot, we were able to see our final destination, a waterfall coming downa cliff in a dip between two mountains, off in the distance. The sun was slowly coming up behind the mountains to our backs and I've never seen Kananaskis look so beautiful. The river crossing hit at kilometer 1 and the chilly water was a very refreshing wake-me-up. 

After about 8 or 9 km of gently rolling hills and gentle sunlight through the trees, I was thinking, "This is not nearly as bad as it sounded, and look how close that waterfall looks!" Than we hit the incline. My friend and his dad kept up a brisk pace as the incline went from slight to gradual to somewhat steep to grueling. I started taking breaks here and there to keep my heart rate in healthy limits, gratefully joined by my friend's mum, who (luckily for me) doesn't share her son and husband's competitive intensity.

My legs aching and the trail becoming less and less followable in the shale, we suddenly hit the "quasi-rock climbing" that had been promised. My friend, already at the top of the ridge, was kind enough to wait for us within view before going to the lake. As I scrambled up the cliff, sweating like a pig in the sun and my legs feeling like spaghetti, I thought, "This had better be the most beautiful lake I've ever seen, with the best view of the valley, or else it wasn't worth it." when suddenly, I came over the crest of the ridge and saw a pristene blue-green lake tucked into a bowl just behind the cliff. Little scrubby pine trees grew in the soft, heathery turf and when I turned around, I could see the mountains reaching out for miles.

At moments like this, all of my desires to get away from the place I've lived my entire life melt away. I get tired of Calgary sometimes and wish I could live in faraway, exotic places, but when I go out to the Rockies, I know that I could never, ever, leave for good. I'll always have to come back to be near these mountains.

So, aching legs, sunburnt scalp and all, once I had a belly full of trail mix and my friend suggested scrambling up the sides of the valley for a view from the upper ridge, I knew it would be worth it.

A Baking Binge

For the last few weeks, Mum, Elena, and I have been taking a cake decorating course at Michaels. I've wanted to learn how to decorate pretty, fancy cakes since I got my Martha Stewart Baking Bible and salivated over the various recipes. After buying a gigantic kit that includes everything from a cake leveler to 15 different icing tips, I started out. There were some hitches on the way- a circus cake that looked like various birds had flown over it with indigestion, for one- but it was all worth it for my final cake (above). 

You see, this course required us to make cake every week to bring and decorate. This meant that there were up to three cakes in our home at any given time. Plus, Elena and I threw a baby shower for a friend and I had to make cupcakes for that. Our house was chock full of baked goods. With the leftover batter and icing from the shower cupcakes, I made the strawberry cake of goodness featured above. Here's the recipe, as requested:

(For a cake, fill the space between the layers with the leftover jam instead of icing. It's way better)

Makes 2 dozen (or, as I found: 80 mini cupcakes + three petit-fours + one 7-inch layer cake)

• 3 cups cake flour (not self-rising)
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
• 2 1/4 cups sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1 cup milk
• 8 large egg whites
• Strawberry Meringue Buttercream
• 24 small fresh strawberries, washed (hulls intact), for garnish

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line two standard 12-cup muffin pans with paper liners; set aside.
2. In a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, and salt; set aside.
3. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat butter and 2 cups sugar until light and fluffy, 3 to 4 minutes, scraping down sides of the bowl as needed. Beat in vanilla. With mixer on low speed, add flour mixture in three parts, alternating with the milk and beginning and ending with the flour; beat until just combined. Transfer mixture to a large bowl; set aside.
4. In the clean bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat egg whites on low speed until foamy. With mixer running, gradually add remaining 1/4 cup sugar; beat on high speed until stiff, glossy peaks form, about 4 minutes. Do not overbeat. Gently fold 1/3 of the egg-white mixture into the butter-flour mixture until combined. Gently fold in remaining egg-white mixture.
5. Divide batter evenly among the muffin cups, filling each with a heaping 1/4 cup batter. Bake, rotating pans halfway through, until the cupcakes are golden brown and a cake tester inserted in the center of a cupcake comes out clean, 20 to 25 minutes. Transfer pans to a wire rack. Invert cupcakes onto rack; then reinvert and let cool completely, top sides up. Frost cupcakes with strawberry meringue buttercream, swirling to cover (I like to put the frosting in an icing bag and give them swirls, like at Crave). Cupcakes may be stored in a covered container in the refrigerator for up to three days. Garnish with strawberries just before serving.

Strawberry Meringue Buttercream:

Ingredients

Makes 5 cups

• 4 large egg whites
• 1 1/4 cups sugar
• 1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature, cut into tablespoons
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1 1/2 cups (12 ounces) strawberry jam, pureed in a food processor

Directions

1. In the heatproof bowl of an electric mixer set over a saucepan of simmering water, combine egg whites and sugar. Cook, whisking constantly, until sugar has dissolved and mixture is warm to the touch (about 160 degrees).
2. Attach the bowl to the mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Beat the egg-white mixture on high speed until it holds stiff (but not dry) peaks. Continue beating until the mixture is fluffy and cooled, about 6 minutes.
3. Switch to the paddle attachment. With mixer on medium-low speed, add butter several tablespoons at a time, beating well after each addition. (If frosting appears to separate after all the butter has been added, beat on medium-high speed until smooth again, 3 to 5 minutes more.) Beat in vanilla. Beat on lowest speed to eliminate any air bubbles, about 2 minutes. Stir in strawberry jam with a rubber spatula until frosting is smooth.

The Easy Button

Yesterday in church we had a lesson about prioritizing and putting important things first in our lives, and the teacher asked us to share some of the more trivial things in which we get caught up. I figured that in a room full of YSA Relief Society sisters, someone had to say the one that no one really thinks of... and even if they do, they're too embarrassed to say it, especially with the 28-year-old single member of the bishopric sitting in the back.

"Sometimes it's easy to get distracted with worries and concerns about whether we'll get married. Or our lack of dates."

Some girls looked awkward. Some nodded and smiled, agreeing completely and happy to know that they were not alone. Some looked around confidently, as if to say, "I NEVER worry about that" but you know that they secretly do. Because they're girls.

This experience reminded me of an event that happened soon after I returned home from Finland- one that sums up this eternal search for a potential spouse that all of us YSA embark on.

My Dad's calling is as a Family History Consultant. This means that he's an expert in setting up accounts on FamilySearch.org. When I got home, he lost no time in helping me get started on the new FamilySearch.org. After entering in all the pertinent details about myself, I was presented with a fascinating view of my family tree, showing my parents, grandparents, and ancestors all the way back to the 1600s on some lines (kudos to my Daddy for his stellar Family History skills). I kept myself fairly amused for about 20 minutes going back on various family lines to see where everybody came from.

Upon returning to my home page, where it showed me on the left-hand side and the two generations directly preceding me, I noticed a fascinating button right under my name. There, under the link of "Janine Louise Redd" was a handy button called "Add/Find Husband". 

Apparently it's that easy!

Hats off to Anne

On my little sister's blog, there has been a poll for the past several weeks: "Who is your favourite 18th century novel heroine? Yes, you must pick just one." Ever since it's been posted, I have scanned the list of various Jane Austen, Brontë Sisters, and Elizabeth Gaskell characters, thinking, "How can anyone expect you to pick just one?" and yet, at the same time, thinking, "They're all pretty good, but none of them is really that good that I would single them out as my favourite." Until this week, that is.

Since I started school again, I've had a renewed interest in audiobooks. When I ride my bike to school and back at least once a week, I like to have something to listen to (it's a long ride). I tried music, and it was kind of boring after a while. There's too much room for your mind to wander, which is not really what I need right now. Audiobooks, on the other hand, keep you completely engrossed, but just alert enough to be aware of the cars passing you as you ride down Silver Springs Boulevard. I got a bunch of cds from the library: short stories by Agatha Christie, some works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle about Sherlock Holmes, and a Jane Austen classic, Persuasion. 

Now, I had always known that this story was my favourite Jane Austen novel- we own two movie versions, I've read it, and I love it more every time. But I didn't know that Anne Elliot was my favourite 18th century novel heroine. Well, she is. As I've listened to the audiobook on my bicycle this week, I've fallen in love with her- the real character, not the modernized girl-power one they show in the most recent movie. The book is kind of tragic at the beginning, everything is hopeless, Anne is twenty-seven and quite sure of her remaining single for the rest of her life. We follow her through a story of doing everything that He's Just Not That Into You warns us against: reading something into every single little action of Captain Wentworth and throwing over Mister Elliot (who is really into her) because of the tiny hope that the Captain might one day change his mind (but it's okay, Mr. Elliot turns out to be a jerk anyways). 

But in doing all this, Anne finds that like Gigi in the movie version of He's Just Not That Into You, she too is the exception to the rule. Love can find you after an eight-year hiatus, men can forgive you for breaking their hearts, and they'll even sometimes prefer a twenty-seven year-old with good sense and a kind heart to an eighteen year-old with spunk and good looks.

Anne Elliot is an inspiration to us all.

Dorky Me... Part II

I had a great day today. Kind of busy and stressful, but I really enjoyed it. Why, you may ask? What happened that was so much fun? Did you get free balloons or candy? Was there a circus on campus today?

No.

However, something did happen that gives me the same kind of elation and delight as the aforementioned pleasures... that is, if I've studied enough. I had two exams today.

The first, a final exam for Art History, was multiple choice- not my favourite kind of exam, but I'll take what I can get. Tackling each question, with it's four possible answers, gives me a kind of thrill as I eliminate wrong ones and try to decipher all the little tricks that the professor has slipped in. True, the figure of Christ does refer to the painting on the opposite wall in Da Vinci's "The Last Supper", but the statement for option D is quite obviously true as well. Ahah! They've cleverly tried to tell us that the painting on the opposite wall is a Last Judgement, when it is, in fact, a crucifixion! Foiled!

The second, a midterm for Religious Studies, was much preferred. The entire exam was short, essay-style questions in various sections: choose 10 from Part A, 3 from Part 2, 1 short essay from Part 5, and so on. It's much easier to display one's own perceived intelligence on such a test. One can pick and choose- perhaps, for example, I've spent my study time on the Hellenistic period of Judaism and not on memorizing the various Yiddish words for synagogue. I can choose to answer the question I please! It was quite fun. I found myself running out of time because I was enjoying giving my answers too much. 

You see, for someone as much of a competitive show-off as I am, tests are great. I can prepare and study and, if I've done so well, I can show off to the whole world (or at least my professor) how much I know. Then, when I get my mark back, there it is in black and white: how smart I am. For a mind that attaches numbers to everything, grades are essential. How else can I measure my intelligence (or lack thereof)?

I'm getting better at this, though. I no longer sneakily peek at everyone else's grade to see how I did in comparison. I just like looking at my own number in satisfaction. Or horror at my apparent stupidity for forgetting that in the compass rose, up is always north. Yes, it's happened.

10 Reasons I LOVE Being Back In School

1. Call me a dork, but I love learning new things.

2. I like to pretend I'm cultured and knowledgeable about high-class things like art and politics. My current classes (Art History and Religious Studies) assist me in this. Now, thanks to my Art History prof, I can answer that quintessential party question, "Who was the patron saint of gravediggers?" and everyone will think I'm soooo cultured.

3. Campus just feels good.

4. I recently discovered that I can ride my all the way from my home in Tuscany to campus and it's a delightful ride through old treed communities the whole way. Plus, I feel hardcore when I pull up to campus in my bike shorts.

5. I need the structure in my day. The relaxed break from regimented missionary schedule was nice for a while, but it was starting to drive me bonkers.

6. I've missed the quest for cheap used textbooks. Anyone who's scoured the bookstores and finally found the one awesome copy that's highlighted and falling apart (but only $20!!!) can identify.

7. It's fun to meet new people.

8. Now, when people ask me what I'm up to in post-mission life, I finally have a decent answer.

9. I get to write a RESEARCH PAPER!!!

10. It finally feels like I'm out of the weird post-mission bubble and real life has started again. Although I'm not sure that's necessarily a happy thing.

Michael Jackson is DEAD?!?

This evening I was checking my facebook (I've spent the whole day in bed with the 'flu and I'm going out of my mind) and saw an invitation to a Michael Jackson memorial party. I was a little confused. Was there some kind of anniversary- 20 years ago this week that the video for "Thriller" was released? Maybe the exuberant YSA of Calgary just felt the need to throw a party and this was the best theme they could come up with? After a few more subtle hints (including an ad for the Michael Jackson Estate Sale), I figured that a google search was in order. First I tastefully typed in plain old "Michael Jackson" and came up with a few more tantalizing hints. Then I threw tact to the wind and did a search for "Michael Jackson Death" and came up with much more promising results. The beauty of the story? He's been dead for 5 days and I didn't even know. Ahh, the beauty of disconnectedness.