When there's nothing better to talk about than the weather...

I really don't think I've told enough people how ridiculously fantastic the weather has been out west this year.

Like, pretty unbelievable.

To add some perspective, my parents visited during their spring break last year. And I'm pretty sure it was over 100 degrees every day. The second week of March. But hey, it's a dry heat, right?

Until you step out of the shade and feel like you just walked into an oven, anyway.

Needless to say, summer began March 1st last year, and it was a scorcher.

But this year? Here we are, May 21st, without a single climb into the triple digits. Granted, they're predicting today's high to be 103. But just for one day. By Monday, it's supposed to be back down to 85 (when some "unseasonably cool low pressure moves in").

I almost can't believe it. I think I even told my sister a couple weeks ago, "You know, it's time to be in the hundreds, it really is." She's in Kansas, and our temperatures have been rivaling hers, which is just plain amazing.

Brandon came in from work last night with a damp shirt. It had been so long since this happened, I assumed he had simply gotten wet from a water hose or something, and continued to greet him with the usual hugging. Thought nothing of it.

Then, five minutes later, while he was taking off his boots, he was all, "This is the first time I've sweated in probably six months."

"Oh...that's what that was on your shirt. I almost forgot that happened."

"I know. It's been so cool out, I almost forgot what it felt like."

So I washed my hands...

But really. A farmer...in the desert...who hasn't experienced sweat in six months? Crazy.

Two days ago, I was pitching in some physical labor, and told Brandon, "You know, this spring in Arizona could have made some arguments for global cooling."

Then he made fun of me. Apparently that same sentiment has been all over the media for months. But since we don't have TV and I haven't been driving a tractor to listen to the radio all day, I had no idea.

Anyway, all that to say, this was the spring to visit Arizona. So we're really glad Allison made it out just in time.

*I do realize that as soon as I click "publish" the forecast will immediately shift to 115 for the next four months.

Anticipating a visitor

My dear friend Allison arrives on Friday for a fun-filled weekend in the desert. Brandon seems to be quite concerned with her visit the last few days.

Strangely, every comment he has made has revolved around what she'll be eating.

First, last week, I received strict instructions on her diet: "You better feed her good while she's here."

Like I had any intentions of feeding her poorly.

Then later, he expanded: "Let's not feed her any elk. I mean, she'd eat it, and she'd like it okay, but she wouldn't be like, 'Man, this is good.' We should feed her some halibut or something like that."

While looking through our fridge one afternoon: "You should go grocery shopping before Allison gets here. We don't have many good things in here."

And finally, after buying two half-gallons of Blue Bell ice cream, bringing the total in our freezer to five flavors: "What? It's for Allison."

He has also grilled me on what I plan to cook for supper Saturday and Sunday night. Both answers were followed up with: "And you're sure she'll like that?"..."Okay, good. That'll work."

Which is kind of funny because this girl is anything but a picky eater. In fact, both of us are a little annoyed by picky eaters. I really can't think of anything I could set in front her that she wouldn't touch. This is why we get along so well.

Although, I'm still trying to convince her that Red Lobster is not good seafood. These poor people who don't grow up on the coast...

So Allison, rest assured, Brandon will see to it your tummy is happy while you're here. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's all he's concerned about.

There might be a scorpion in your bed, but you'll eat well.

With four flavors of Blue Bell to choose from for dessert.

A hairy tale

Right now, my hair is probably the longest it has ever been. Ever. The last time it was even close, I was in first grade.

Needless to say, this is by far the longest it has been since I've known Brandon.

It all started by accident. We were just really busy for a while and I missed my regular three month interval trim or cut (you know, whichever one suits my fancy that day). Then it got super close to my sister's wedding, and I had never had an "up-do" in my entire life, so I thought I'd just let it get a little longer for that.

Anyway, for the first time I can remember, I can currently put my hair in a ponytail without any of those fuzzy hairs hanging down on my neck.

And I'll be honest, the prospect of being able to do this during an Arizona summer is quite appealing.

So I can't quite decide what to do. A few days ago, I sought Brandon's advice.

Brandon: "You need to cut a minimum of three inches."

Me: "What?! Seriously? Three inches?! That'll be half my hair."

"Katie, have you looked in the mirror lately? Three inches would put it right at your shoulders."

"No way! Really?"

So we measured...

Sure enough.

Me: "So my shoulders are the cut off, huh?"

Brandon: "I just think you look better with short hair. Well, let me say it like this: it's less time you're running that dumb hair dryer, it's less hair I have to move out of my face when we go to bed, and it's less hair I have to clean out of my shower drain."

Point taken.

"It'll only take 30 minutes."

These are the infamous words of Brandon Leister. But I'll tell you a little secret: it never only takes 30 minutes.

Never.

I've had a lot of experience with this in the past two years, so it doesn't really bother me all that much anymore. I expect it. And anytime I hear those words, I inflate them in my head to something more like two hours and 30 minutes. So it's really not a problem.

Most of the time, anyway. I'll be honest.

So we had a water line out in our barn break. Not yesterday or anything. More like two weeks ago.

It was right outside the dog pen, so naturally, I found it. I immediately called him and asked him if he could take a look at it the next time he was at the house.

Three days later, he finally sees it. "Wow. That's bad."

"Yeah, that's kinda why I asked you to take a look at it."

So he decides to turn off the water to the barn temporarily until he can fix it. Only you can't turn off the water to just the barn. You have to turn off all our water.

So, both of us knowing full well it will be a while before he can get to it, we leave the water line spewing everywhere.

Now I will give him this: he left town for about a week the day after he inspected this problem. Saying he would fix it first thing when he got back.

And what did he say about fixing it?

"It's easy. It'll only take 30 minutes."

"Oh, so maybe a couple hours, maybe a couple days?"

"No, I'm telling you. I know exactly what to do. 30 minutes. Tops. The only problem is the water will have to be off a couple hours to fix it."

"Brandon, I have full confidence you can fix it easily. It's just that something always goes wrong, we won't have quite everything you need, you know how it goes..."

So when I got home from exercise class Thursday evening, I noticed he was out at the barn. I don't know how long he had been out there, but it was long enough to dig a huge hole and rip out some pipe. I'm guessing at least 30 minutes.

When I approached him, he said, "So, it's not really what I thought it was."

And I laughed.

So I made a trip to Lowe's that evening while he was out changing some water, and the two of us worked on it Friday morning.

For more than 30 minutes.

Because sometimes, you know, things just take a little longer than you expect.

Or at least longer than Brandon expects.

Why this marriage works

One morning way back before we said, "I do," (I know, an eternity ago, right?), I was over at Brandon's place for breakfast. With his roommates. Whom we promptly kicked out June 1, 2008. (Well, one of them took some prodding. But that's an entirely different story.)

I ended up toasting a couple of bagels. But while I was lathering them with cream cheese, I had what has become one of the biggest revelations in our relationship.

I was so not looking forward to eating the top half of my bagel. I'm just more of a bottom half kind of girl. They're not as thick and get more crispy when you toast them.

Brandon, on the other hand, likes the bigger, softer, thicker top half. Partially due to the fact he would rather "warm" the bagel than fully "toast" it.

So, I had the best idea ever.

"Hey, since I like the bottom half, and you like the top half, I'm going to give you both tops, and I'll eat the bottoms," I proposed.

"Oooookayyy," Brandon responded with an arched eyebrow, clearly not seeing this as the grand revelation it was.

Then I said, "You know, this is why this marriage is going to work."

"Because you like different parts of a bagel?" a roommate asked (the one who required the prodding).

"Exactly."

And you know, it's true. Just on a more figurative level than literal. But we don't like to get all mushy and philosophical on here.

A multitude of Katie moments

So I mentioned how Brandon has dubbed a few events around here as "Katie Moments".

These can range from simple "duh" and "aha" statements throughout the day, to doing something physically stupid (i.e., walking into walls or other permanent fixtures in our home), to just doing some really dumb things a strong majority of the population avoids by simply thinking through things (such as my consistent ability to lock my keys in vehicles and never having a clue where my phone is).

Well, this past week, we had a plethora of Katie Moments.

We were visiting with a couple friends Wednesday morning, and the whole losing-my-phone issue came up.

We had stayed with them for two nights, and were getting ready to leave. I was talking all about how I just set it down in one room, and five minutes later can't remember which room it was, and just generally leave it behind all.the.time.

Really. It's a running joke around here. Brandon asks me multiple times a day, "Do you have your phone?" Or "Do you know where your phone is?" Because if we wait too long to start looking for it, I really have trouble figuring out where it might be.

Anyway, so I'm recounting all this to these friends, we say goodbye, and get on the road for a two hour drive to our next destination.

20 miles down the road? I start frantically searching through my purse, hunting pack and overnight bag, looking underneath me and the truck seat, then look at Brandon: "I think I left my phone at their house."

Sure enough. Luckily, they were actually headed out in the same direction we were, so we only had to drive halfway back.

Doesn't change the fact that I felt completely dumb. I mean, I was standing there five minutes before we walked out the door talking about leaving my phone everywhere. You would think I would have checked to make sure I had it. Not this girl.

So we get back on the road and continue to our next stop — an overnight stay with another couple.

I make a grocery store run with them and on the five minute drive, I tell them the phone story from earlier that day.

And the next morning? I find out I left my wallet in their car the night before.

Lovely.

So yeah...this is Brandon's life. Good thing he has it together.

The driving skills of a flatlander

It's no secret I'm a flatlander. Straight out of the swamps of Southeast Texas. Where anything above sea level is considered to have "elevation" to it.

In fact, one of Brandon's primary complaints about the area (aside from "it makes him sweat like a hog") is the lack of topography.

But I live in Arizona now, where there are mountains (hence, Brandon's "topography"). Lots and lots of mountains. So to get pretty much anywhere, you have to drive through mountains. Which, until last week wasn't such a big deal. Brandon usually drives when we go anywhere far, and being a native, he has plenty of experience driving through mountains, canyons, valleys, etc.

This girl? Not so much.

Brandon likes to give me a hard time because anytime we get over 1000 feet my ears start popping and I can't hear a thing he says for the next half hour (which, now that I think about it, might not be so bad...).

Anyway, early last week we headed north for a couple days and had to drive separate halfway so I could return to the farm when Brandon went to judge a fair.

Which meant I had my first taste of driving myself through mountains.

As the road first started climbing and dipping, I began to think this little adventure wasn't going to be so bad after all. Brandon called a couple miles in to see how I was doing, since it was my first time and all. I reported all was well.

Then I got to what must have been the daddy mountain. This one was steep, y'all.

I started to climb. Not far in, I had to give my little standard F-150 more gas. And then a little more...and then some more.

You see, I have this "service engine soon" light that's been flashing for about a year now. Whatever is making it do that affects the power my truck has while driving. Or so I've been told, anyway. So I'm thinking my little truck is having trouble because of that.

I accelerate more. And the speedometer falls in the wrong direction.

Pretty soon, my foot is slammed against the floor board. And my speed? At 40 and declining.

I started to panic slightly, imagining my truck slowly powering down before I reached the summit, and rolling backwards uncontrollably down the windy mountain. Not something I really wanted to experience.

I frantically grabbed my phone to call Brandon.

"Something is wrong. I don't know what to do. The accelerator is on the floor, but I'm at 35 and going down. What do I do? I feel like I'm going to start rolling backwards any second."

And after a solid 15 seconds of laughter, he finally answers me: "You have it in fifth gear, don't you? You gotta shift down coming up something like that. You didn't know that?! How could you not know that?"

Me, frustrated: "No, I didn't know that. You have to tell me these things. We just covered the fact that this is the first time I've driven in mountains. I've hardly so much as driven up a big hill, much less a mountain."

"Well, just shift down and get with it. I bet I'm five miles ahead of you now."

I mean really, he could have warned me, right?

P.S. I made it up the mountain (obviously, I guess). In fourth gear.