The Best Treasure Hunt EVER

I’ve always loved treasure hunts. For several years, on Valentine’s day, my mom would make each child an individual age-appropriate treasure hunt to find our little box of Sweethearts. Since I liked those so much, I started making treasure hunts too. When my cousins came to visit, if we didn’t put on a play, we made treasure hunts. Some of them required us to go traipsing around in the foothills behind my house, and I think someone threw up and another person got a gash in their leg, but hey . . . there’s still treasure at the end! Some treasures were more disappointing, like the little baggie of Marshmallow Mateys buried in the sandbox one time, but to me the thrill of the hunt was just as awesome as the treasure at the end.

The more elaborate the treasure hunt, the better. For example, I loved setting up treasure hunts where the treasure ended up being in the same room everyone started in. I remember one family home evening lesson where I sent everyone off to look for clues I’d already planted, while I set up the tootsie pops I had bought for the treasure. I think it was supposed to explain how we lived in heaven before we were born, but we had to go to earth (aka, the treasure hunt) to get the treasure at the end. It made sense when I was 9, okay?

I remember another treasure hunt I set up when my parents weren’t home, and I decided I wanted to make homemade pretzels. I sent my sisters and their friends on a treasure hunt while the pretzels were cooking, and then just before they got to the location of the treasure, I put the pretzels there. I think the pretzels were formed to spell out “You found it!” or some other encouraging message. Food is always a good treasure, right?

And the fun didn’t stop in high school. One of my favorite parts of date dances was the treasure hunt aspect — finding the bulky envelope under the globe in the library, decoding the obscure message about taffeta gowns, solving the sudokus to find out who was asking me.

But then I came to college. Suddenly there was no reason for treasure hunts. If a boy was going to ask you out, they weren’t going to waste time and energy asking you out. There wasn’t really anyone to make treasure hunts for like siblings or cousins, anyway.

So I kind of forgot about them. I got busy with other things. Occasionally I would walk around on campus and suddenly think about things in treasure-hunt mode. For instance, I was standing between the Harold B. Lee Library and the Herald Clark building and thought, “I’m standing between 2 Harolds! This would make a great clue . . . for what?”

But then Kevin and I started dating, and he in his infinite kindness and patience decided to humor me. One Wednesday afternoon last November while we were eating lunch, Kevin said, “I’ve got a special date planned.” After a bit of pestering from me, he finally admitted, “I’m planning a treasure hunt.”

“What’s the prize?” I asked. “A toaster oven?”

He paused for a second. Then, “Sure. Yes, the prize might be a toaster oven.”

And that was all he would say about it. The thought of this treasure hunt started driving me crazy! I knew he was going to propose any day, but I thought for sure it was going to be after Thanksgiving. After all, he had to ask my dad for my hand. So . . . what was the point of this treasure hunt?

Well, Friday rolled around, and after my terrible EE 313 quiz, I got a piece of engineering paper with instructions and mysterious matrices on it. Since “love note matrices,” as we liked to call them, weren’t unfamiliar to us, I was able to decipher it pretty quickly. (I have since learned they’re actually called Hill ciphers. Yay for cryptography class.) Where were we going to dinner? The decoded message said, “Australia.” In other words, Outback.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t pay much attention to anything that day. As I took what I mistakenly thought was a very easy Complex Analysis test, I kept thinking, “the sooner I finish this test the sooner I’ll go home and go on the treasure hunt!!!” I finished it and came home and got ready for my date with Kevin. He came around 5 with a beautiful bouquet of 5 roses. I found a vase and put them in. “Did you notice something about the roses?” he asked. “No . . .” I responded. “Aren’t there usually . . . 12 roses?” he hinted. I then looked at the plastic which the roses came in. Yep, there were supposed to be a dozen. Thus, the mission was made clear: recover the missing seven roses.

As we drove north on State Street under a beautiful, fiery sunset, I continued to pester Kevin. “What’s the prize going to be?” “I already told you, it’s a toaster oven!” Though Outback was packed, Kevin had already made a reservation. As we ate our steak, we talked about life and love and our relationship. When the waiter came with the check, he also brought a rose and an envelope. “Congratulations! This is a great idea, by the way,” he told Kevin. “I think I’ll use it for my girlfriend.” Did I catch on? No! I was so convinced that he was going to propose after Thanksgiving that even this huge slip didn’t faze me. I think when the stakes are high enough, even those who pride themselves on being ungullible can be surprised.

I read the note which said, “Go to the place where we had our first date and look for something that makes noise.” I smiled and said, “The Malt Shoppe.” (I could write another blog post about this long about how this first date even happened, but I’ll leave that for another time.) So off we went, looking for something that made noise. Kevin helped a lot, pointing to a pillar, then pointing to a particular spot on the pillar until I finally saw the whistle. I looked at Kevin quizzically, and he said, “blow it!” So I blew it and there from the darkness came one of Kevin’s roommates. He gave me another rose and envelope, then gave a slight bow and backed away into the darkness.

This note told us to “dig for treasure! X marks the spot”, or in other words, go to the Museum of People’s and Cultures to look for treasure. So off we went to the sandbox by the totem pole at the museum we had gone to a few weeks previously. We both dug and dug until we found another whistle. I blew it again, and Kevin’s roommate Ian came with his girlfriend Emma, both wearing warrior paint. Another rose, another envelope, and they too disappeared into the darkness.

This one told us, “Let’s hike the Y!” I said that jokingly almost every day as we walked home from school. Was he really going to make us do it? Luckily, the whistle was just waiting at the base of the Y, attached to a flashlight which was dangling from a branch of a tree to make it visible. Again, I blew the whistle, and one of our engineering friends emerged from the darkness with another rose and note.

The note informed us that the next clue would be waiting where Kevin had first seen me. It was in August 2008. He was fresh off his mission, and I was working as a Math Lab TA during a Math Refresher Course. Though we had never talked to each other, he had still remembered me and recognized me when we became friends 5 months later. Once we were in the math lab, I looked around a bit for the next whistle. Once I found it, I blew it, and there came Kevin’s roommate (the same who had delivered the whistle at the Malt Shoppe) with another rose and envelope.

All that was on the next clue was a door code. In we went to the CAEDM lab, where our friendship had first developed, where we first started to throw staples at each other. (We were shameless flirts.) We walked in, and there was a whistle in plain sight on a table. But there was a problem. Even though it was a Friday night, there were still people in there doing homework. I hesitated, and Kevin said, “You have to blow it.” So I did. A nice loud screech. The tapping sound of people typing stopped, and I could feel everyone looking at me. It felt like eternity before Ian and Emma finally showed up with a rose, a note, and a . . . toaster?

“See, I told you the prize was a toaster oven! Or at least, a toaster!”

“A toaster?” I asked. I examined it more closely. There were bread crumbs in it.

“It’s ours. You actually have to give it back.”

Ian and Emma took some pictures with us and the toaster and then left. I read the note. “Congrats! You’ve finished the treasure hunt!”

Kevin then said, “There are only eleven roses. But I know where the last rose is.” I would hope so.

We drove up University Parkway past the Marriott Center, then turned on 900 East and drove past the MTC, past the temple (wait, past the temple? My suspicion was wrong), and then Kevin took a right and we ended up at the temple after all. Oh boy. By this point I knew for sure what was coming. The butterflies in my stomach began to flutter excitedly. Kevin led me to a bench with another rose and another whistle. I blew the whistle and Kevin pulled a letter out of his pocket. I read it and teared up a bit. When I had finished reading, there was Kevin on bended knee, holding a beautiful ring out. “Kyra Michelle Moon, will you marry me for time and eternity?”

“Yes!”

And that was that! The best treasure hunt of my life ended with the best treasure I could ever dream of! I was engaged to the man I loved! (It turns out he had called my dad earlier that week but failed to mention it so I could still harbor the delusion that he needed to ask.)

This past year has been so happy and so fun, and I’m so grateful to Kevin for everything he has done to make me so incredibly happy. I love him lots!

Scrabble Babies

I've developed a silly habit over the years --- making up ridiculous baby names. For years I insisted that I would name my first daughter Egbertina, for example. When Kevin and I got engaged, the names Kyrvin and Kevira were added to the list of names. Whenever I heard a pretty crazy sounding name, I would ask Kevin, "Ooh! Can we name our baby that?" "No," he would respond firmly, though he would laugh too.

So the game we made up Friday night wasn't completely out of nowhere. Is it a game you would play on a first date? Of course not! Is it a game that would actually help you choose a child's name? I hope not! But it made us laugh, at least.

The game requires scrabble tiles. We used the tiles from our Scrabble Apple set. Turn them all face down. On each turn, pick up up to 6 tiles. Try to arrange them into a name. If you use fewer than 6 tiles (say you don't use the tiles with 'U' and 'X' on them because somehow you ended up with a name like Bill), on the next turn you must use the tiles from the last turn. Everyone's a winner (except for your future baby).

Here's what we ended up with:

Yeah, we really didn't end up with many normal names. Bob is normal. Lanae is kind of normal. Koree is normal enough. But Xobert? Cwuti? Tetano? This game is harder than it looks!

Note that Udeath rhymes with "you teeth", not "you breath." Still an unfortunate name, but not quite as morbid.

Okay, so you wouldn't really use this to determine your future child's name. Then again, you never know . . . your child may like the name Doipai after all.

(and no, we're not expecting.)

Since it's Halloween . . .

I'll be honest -- I haven't been a huge fan of Halloween this year. The Halloween decorations came up about 1 hour before company arrived, I only bought enough candy to feed 2 or 3 trick-or-treaters (since I'm not eating candy this year, there's little point in buying a lot of it), and it was only in the hour before the ward party that I actually decided to wear a costume, which consisted of normal clothes anyway. Call me a scrooge, a grinch . . . I don't really care. Those are Christmas terms, anyway.

Despite my lack of holiday cheer, I still get excited for Halloween every year for one reason: Pop Rocks. Time to quote it to whoever happens to be in earshot (read: Kevin).

Since I have a blog, and since today is is the 7th anniversary of the poem's inception, I decided to share it with you, too. Enjoy!

The Pop Rocks

(Based on Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I wandered weak and weary,

Over a many snow-capped lanes, wondering what’d be my last remains,

While I trudged the treacherous trail, hoping my searchings wouldn’t fail,

Walking through the sleet and hail, hail that through the head would bore,

Suddenly, I reached a door, and opened it, and did implore,

“D’you have candy? I need more!”

Ah, so vaguely, I remember, it was not in bleak December

But Hallow’s Eve, I trick-or-treated asking for the junk I needed

Eagerly in sly disguise, I begged from basement to high rise

The craving was so very strong that I would burst out into song,

And I would sing with vim and vigor, as I went from door to door,

“I need Pop Rocks, nothing more.”

Kisses, Starbursts, Bertie Botts, Rollos, Twizzlers, suckers, Dots

Laffy Taffys, jelly beans, in colors yellow, pink, and green,

Skittles, Milky Ways, and Twix, M&Ms and Pixi Stix

Mints and Tootsie Rolls and Snickers, Crunches, Reeses, scarecrow stickers,

But not the candy I loved best, not anywhere from door to door

Were there Pop Rocks anymore.

The night was long, and I was tired, but dreams of Pop Rocks kept me wired

Though ice had formed on every hair and my jacket was threadbare

And all my fingers were near frostbite and they’d turned off every streetlight

And my hands would not stop shaking and truly, I thought of forsaking!

But I knew I had to find them, though my body was so sore.

Weren't Pop Rocks still in a store?

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

I had to find them, or I’d die! -- so I looked with searching eye,

I knocked at every single dwelling, I’d ask all people, nearly yelling.

I’d rant and rave and make them wish they all had Pop Rocks in a dish.

But no one had them anymore, so I would long for days of yore

When I could get Pop Rocks galore.

My body weak, my spirit low, yet wishfully on I did go.

Determined I went on . . . but lo! Look at all those feet of snow!

I then ran home, so fast I ran: Life would be hard as a snowman

So into home I went to stay, then got online onto eBay

And typed in ‘Pop Rocks,’ sat, sat more, till came a phrase I hoped not for:

“This candy is sold nevermore.”

“Thing of evil!” I proclaimed. “Pop Rocks. Inc should be ashamed.

Depriving me of what I crave will surely lead to something grave.

The candy made was so exquisite that all the world must surely miss it.”

With that, I typed again the name, but the message was the same:

“This candy is sold nevermore.” Yes, that it said; it made me roar!

“This candy is sold nevermore.”

I typed in ‘Pop Rocks’ once again; there was a buzz and beep, and then

It said, “Your reference isn’t found. We’ll find it, though, so stick around.”

And, I am waiting, never flitting, still am sitting, still am sitting

Until the blessed, joyful day when Pop Rocks will be here–hooray!.

I’ll order thousands, tons galore! but seeing as they’re not in store,

I’ll stay here, moving nevermore.

Books!

So, I'm being a bit of a copycat in listing the books I read each month. I completely left off August (what with all the vacationing, I'm not sure I finished a single book or just read a few chapters here and there of some) and only have one book for September.

11. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

So . . . yeah. I just don't read as much during the school year. Imagine that!

This isn't quite accurate, of course. I read good portions of Harry Potter 1, 2, 3, and 6. But the only one I made it the whole way through was 7.

And I didn't even read it cover to cover! Just . . . hmmm, let's start at the battle. Wait, what happens at the beginning? Where's the part where they're in the forest? I would read 3 or 4 chapters at a time. And before I knew it, I had finished the book in a week.

Not the best idea during the school year. But it was still good. Harry Potter is just as good as I remembered.

Wisdom Teeth

As you may know, last Friday I got my wisdom teeth removed. And it really wasn't too bad. On one hand, I'm always one for a good story; after all, pain is temporary but the story lasts forever! On the other hand, why wish for pain? Why not just sit back and enjoy everyone else's horror stories rather than trying to "top" them?

That being said, I've had enough pain and discomfort and I'm quite glad that I'm basically recovered for a number of reasons:

1) I can smile again! Those swollen cheeks and painful sockets no longer afflict me. I don't laugh and then hold my cheeks together and beg, "stop making me smile/laugh!!!" Since I can smile again, I'm in a better mood.

2) I don't have to take any more HUGE pills. I am not a pill-taker. I remember those days in 7th grade where I decided I needed to learn how to swallow pills. My mom suggested practicing with mini M&Ms, but we didn't have those so I just tore tiny pieces off of Hot Tamales. Hours later, I think I might have gotten a crumb or two down without chewing.

And it hasn't gotten any easier. Oh, there were times where I forgot that I didn't know how to take pills, but by senior year of high school my esophagus had basically closed up, with a lot of nudging to get where I am now (still a lousy pill taker).

Anyway, we got home from the oral surgeon's office and lo and behold there were pills upon pills I was supposed to take to alleviate pain and prevent infections. The first few were the easiest, ironically--I think it's because I forgot that swallowing pills was impossible in my slightly dazed state (though I was actually quite coherent after the surgery, to my relief and Kevin's disappointment [he was hoping for some funny quotes]) .

But then it didn't get any easier! Yes, my mind became more and more confident. There was precedent. I had done it before and could do it again. But my body became more and more adamant. "You don't want to try and swallow this," it said. "You could choke. It could scratch your throat. You want it to stay on your tongue forever." And then there was my mom's voice, coaching me with, "Swallow! Swallow! Swallow!" I can't remember if she ever actually coached me like that, but I wouldn't be too surprised. Of course, the trick was to forget that I was trying to swallow it, which only worked when I wasn't thinking about not thinking about it as well as not thinking about thinking about it.

Suffice it to say, I'm glad I got through all that. Those were big and nasty, but somehow I got them down. And I got incredibly hydrated in the process.

3. Food! Don't get me wrong. I like smoothies. I like jello. I like yogurt. I like soup. I love ice cream. But I also really like tortilla chips and pretzels and carrots and pizza. And it's good to have them back without fearing that I'll wreck my mouth each time I bite down.

4. I don't look like a chipmunk anymore. The "Hamster Dance" song is no longer in my head nonstop. Thank goodness.

Anyway, that's my wisdom tooth story. Come to think of it, it's not really about the surgery itself. It wasn't that interesting, anyway. IV in, Kyra out, Kyra awake, gauze in cheeks, going home. The end.

There Are Two Sides to Every Taco

Winter Semester of 2010 was an extremely busy one for Kevin and me. We had 13.5 credits together, with 13 of those being junior/senior Electrical Engineering courses (and we both had 3 additional time consuming credits), planning our wedding (or at least responding to all the emails from my mom who was planning our wedding), working, church, trips to Logan and Duchesne . . . and we still had to eat sometimes. A good chunk of the time, our meals were tacos at Kevin's apartment. They've got lettuce, right? . . . totally healthy.

Anyway, by the time Brant and Margaret (Kevin's brother and sister-in-law) invited us to Color Me Mine one night in February or March, tacos had become quite entrenched into each of our subconsciouses. As we perused the shelves for something to paint (absolutely NO MUGS . . . I had spent way too long in apartments with mismatched cups and dishes), we suddenly both glanced at the napkin holder.

It was useful (a must for a home occupied by two engineers). It wouldn't become some annoying mug or ridiculous bowl that wouldn't stack in the shelf, since it wasn't a mug or ridiculous bowl in the first place. And most importantly, it looked like

"A taco!" we said simultaneously. It was decided. The taco napkin holder would be our first real decoration.

As we painted it, we basically let each other paint however we wanted. Kevin took a more methodical approach and I took a somewhat random approach, which is typical of our personalities. At times we'd compare our work and laugh about how differently we'd chosen to paint things such as the lettuce or cheese. (This was when the incredibly profound phrase "There are two sides to every taco" was first coined, which is likely to become a family saying in the same category as "there are always more dishes than you think.") However, by the end, our styles somewhat converged and we had a masterpiece on (and in) our hands.

Oh, how we loved that taco napkin holder. I would point it out to just about every guest who came to our apartment. It was always a welcome guest at the table.

Kevin's side

My side

But the good times were not to last. One afternoon I came home from campus, opened the freezer to see what meat we had, and realized too late that the napkin holder was kind of perched on the top of the freezer door. In horror, I watched as the taco napkin holder fell from the top of the refrigerator, bounced off the counter in slow motion, and then smashed onto the floor with a shattering "CRASH."

Then, silence. I sighed, picked up a broom, swept up the mess, and didn't cry until Kevin came home to the tragedy.

But life goes on. You don't have to have your napkins in a napkin holder. Still, we wanted to recreate it someday.

And that day came last Friday. Kind of. When we went to Color Me Mine, there was no taco-shaped napkin holder. Nor was there a moment of "aha" where we both somehow "knew" what we wanted to paint.

Nevertheless, I think we found something that represents our lives the same way the taco did while we were engaged: a darling little yellow house.

Kevin's side (the windows have shutters over them)

My side (the back of the house)

(and yes, that is an offshoot of Rice Chex in the background)

Just as the taco represented our life while we were engaged, this house represents where we are now (both metaphorically and geographically . . . the house across the street looks a lot like this one). We are starting to build a home together. Each day we discover new similarities and new differences. But each side of the house is needed to make it whole. There are two sides to every taco.

Books!

I actually have books to report on this month since we actually own quite a few books thanks to the bridal shower at the end of June. It might be a good thing that I didn't have all these books to read during most of college, otherwise I would have never gotten any schoolwork done.

(In somewhat chronological order:)

1. Caddie Woodlawn

2. The Pushcart War (actually the only one I hadn't read before)

3. The Peacegiver

4. Standing for Something

5. The Giver

6. A Wrinkle in Time

7. The Witch of Blackbird Pond

8. Catching Fire

9. Princess Academy

Besides these, I've read various cookbooks, picture books (which are too short to be counted in this list), and my textbooks. So, it's not as many books as I might get through during Christmas Break, but it still feels like a lot with everything else I'm doing.