Song of the night

And I love her so
I wouldn't trade her for gold
Walking on moonbeams
I was born with a silver spoon

Hell I'm gonna be me
Gonna be free
Walking on moonbeams
And staring out to sea

And if a door be closed
Then a row of homes start building
And tear your curtains down
For sunlight is like gold

Hell you better be you
Do what you can do
Walking on moonbeams
And staring out to sea

'Cause if your skin was soil
How long do you think before they'd start digging
And if your life was gold
How long do you think you'd stay living

And I love her so
I wouldn't trade her for gold

-- from the movie "Once"




I started at Wells Fargo Friday. It's going well. Nice people. Okay computer. OK Computer. It's a job, and I'm grateful for it. I miss being with kids already.

Life is good. Way good.

The best thing about being a woman.

I can't get her out of my head!!!!

SHANIA!!!!

SHE WON'T LEAVE!!!!

(Update: The beautiful Megan and I just spent six hours deep cleaning my house. Now it smells of ammonia, only I can't smell anymore because of the ammonia. But I'm told it smells clean in here, and that's what I wanted).

I find out about Teach For America soon. I want to hear tomorrow. Or I don't want to hear at all. Real life. Why does life keep moving? Maybe I don't want it to. Really I do.

First I need to get Shania out of my head...

This summer I might have drowned.

Well, here I am, penning my first blog entry since moving into Alison (formerly) Faulkner's basement. In Provo. Where I didn't want to be. But you know what? It's going to be all right.

Already I've been issued a calling by my bishop. I've been reacquainted with many kindreds and friends. I've found lots of old letters written to me long ago (a few from Grandma Betty, who I miss more fondly after re-reading her notes). I am giving away some movies, like "Volver," "American Beauty," "The Squid and the Whale," and a few others. Well, what do you think? I don't want them anymore because for me they aren't conducive to my spirituality. So, should I impose that on other people or just throw them away?

The past few days have been relatively difficult. I don't know why. But I appreciate the reality check. The sweetness of life is so much more sweet when the taste of a dismal, dreary day is fresh upon my tongue.

Unfortunately, upon my inspection earlier today, I've found this basement apartments' common areas to be much too dirty for my preferences. Horror stories already. I remember vividly why I wanted to live alone. I have my work cut out for me.

Ode to L'Ete: 1

Have I really not posted anything since February 9?

Is my mind so empty that I had nothing better to post on February 9 than that video?

These past few weeks have been amazingly insane. I start my job on Friday, finally, which means I'm moving back to Provo, like, in eight hours. Yay.

My parents came to visit last weekend. So did Jeff. I miss one quite a bit more than the others. Someday I will write all about it. It being a non-gender specific reference to him. I quite like him. I think I'm allowed to say that.

My current Internet browsing obsession is finding me a swimsuit. I really want a new swimsuit because I plan on doing a lot of swimming this summer. Me and Loudon Wainwright.



Now, I must say that I cannot wait for summer. Do you remember several posts ago, my photos I posted and I wanted you to guess the common element? None of you guessed it because if you had guessed it right you would have said summer.

I LOVE SUMMER. I was born in summer. I've always wanted to be married in summer. It is by far my most favorite season, and every pivotal event in my life should happen in the summer--birth, marriage, death. It is the most magical of the seasons. I am a child of the summer. All of my childhood memories occurred in the summer. Or maybe they didn't, but for some reason the setting is summer. Christmas in summer. Thanksgiving in summer. Sword Lake in summer. Salmon fishing in summer. As soon as I finish moving, or maybe tomorrow, I'm going to make my summer mix CD and I will post the track listing on here when it's completed. I was so worried and sad to give up two whole summers as a missionary. No swimming, no picnics, few barbeques and cook-outs. No chili cook-offs. No camping. No moonlit walks, stargazing sessions. No river floating. No sitting outside on the stoop. No "Late in the Evening" by Paul Simon. No New York. In retrospect I really didn't miss those aspects of summer very much because I knew I'd get them back. I almost have them back. Four more months and I have them back. Utah summers are so very magical. I don't want to be in Utah this summer. I want to be running around on the water wall.

Is he saying 'burrito'?

Another 45 years of life.

"It isn't as bad as you sometimes think it is. It all works out. Don't worry. I say that to myself every morning. It will all work out. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future. The Lord will not forsake us. He will not forsake us. If we will put our trust in Him, if we will pray to Him, if we will live worthy of His blessings, He will hear our prayers."

President Gordon B. Hinckley, from the funeral program of his wife, the late Marjorie Pay Hinckley

Do parents ever stop trying to control their children's lives? They do actually want what's best for us, right? Like what will make us most happy? Maybe they just look at situations with the hindsight and regret of middle/old age. Will some parent who reads this please help me understand your perspective?

On a more serious note, whoever first put together chocolate and pretzels is a genius.

I am a child.

This is what journalism is all about.

This is what the gospel is all about.

This is my stake.

Please read this article. Let me know your thoughts.

I know the people in this article. I have gay friends and relatives. I think we all do. I think this article (as well as the movement in my stake, all of which happened while I was a missionary) is the best I've ever read on the subject. But, tell me what you think.

I will not say which school I subbed at today. I will say it was a harrowing experience, one that's left me spiritually, emotionally, mentally exhausted. A transvestite was in my first period class. Probably 17-years-old. Throughout the day I was exposed to lewd, base, immoral conduct and vulgarities, from high school-age BABIES. As a good friend of mine once commented to me (a non-LDS friend): "Lisa, how can I bring kids into the world with all the evil and wickedness? I just can't do it. It's not right."

No, it's not right, but we must do it anyway. We must be unafraid. We must grow our faith until it trumps our fear.

I've asked myself many pivotal questions today, those questions whose answers reinvent our spiritual core. What will I do if the man I marry turns out to be gay? What if I have a gay child? What if my children choose to disobey the gospel for a time? For the duration of their lives? What will I do when my children are mocked and belittled for their beliefs?

I know what I will do. I will stand tall. I will arm myself with faith. As one of my favorite hymns says: "Gird up your loins. Fresh courage take. Our God will never us forsake. ...All is well."

And it is.

Mosiah 18:9

Fourth grade yesterday. The kids were good. SO GOOD. Their teacher must be amazing.

Just before music an eager-to-please young lady remarked to me: "Wow, Miss R, your teeth look like fangs!" Other students looked at her, wondering if she had any clue what she'd just said. I told this student, "You're lucky my feelings don't get hurt. That was not a nice thing to say to someone. I would advise you never tell anyone their teeth look like fangs ever again." Meaning, you could get beat up for talking to someone like that, and you're in fourth grade, so you should know better by now.

I had morning recess duty. A young boy who was not in my class and who I had never seen ran over to me, immediately locked arms with me, and hung on like a baby cub being stalked by a predator. He told me his name, that he was from Japan. He wouldn't look at me. Then, in an unprecedented move, he hugged me! Was it a dare? Did he fall sway to that unspeakable attraction many children have toward me? I don't know, because just as quickly as he came, he left.

No sooner had this young man left, when five girls from my class started stampeding toward me, shouting something. At a ten foot distance, they were still charging, so I ran. What are they shouting at me? I thought. "Catch the cutie!" they yelled. "Catch her!" "You're too cute to not be chased!" "Miss R, do you have a boyfriend?" (This is the number one question I'm asked by female students). "Catch the cutie catch the cutie catch the cutie!"

After talking with the herd for a few minutes, "fang" girl ran up to me holding a picture she drew. Of me.



"Wow, thanks," I said.

"Miss R, can I sing you a song?" "Fang" girl says. "Sure."

The herd left as "fang" girl, who was the nerd of the class, serenaded me with her best rendition of "You Raise Me Up." It was actually mildly impressive. She was perfectly in tune, and that song requires some technical skill. "Well done," I told her. I meant it.

When I arrived at the school in the morning, the TA who took me to my class told me about one "problem student." Behavioral issues, she said. This little boy was the sweetest little boy all day. I saw anger in him, for sure. But my heart went out to this kid. Later in the day, the kids worked on their "What it means to be a friend" essays. This boy was working on his concept map, but not very successfully. "What is wrong?" I asked him. "I can't write this essay because I have no friends. I don't know what it means to be a friend because I have no friends."

It reminded me of a kid in my fifth grade class, Bowie. One day, as we worked on a similar friend project, Bowie told my teacher he couldn't complete the assignment because his rolodex of friends was empty. My heart cried out to Bowie that day, just as it did to this little boy yesterday. It went out to him because, from my observations at recess and in the class, he was telling the truth. No one talked to him, and if they did, it was to berate him. I caught multiple children doing that to him throughout the day, and to "fang" girl. Behavioral problems aside, the one thing I DO NOT tolerate in children is talking down to one another. This young boy was intelligent. He had trouble focusing on his own, but he could multiply and write and spell and read as well as the brain of the class. He just needed someone to sit with him and help him keep on task. As I sat with him to work on his idea map, me trying to hide my tears, this little boy opened up enough to tell me he felt like his teacher was his only friend. His teacher. So we listed qualities his teacher had as his only friend: He would do anything for me, Friends defend each other, Friends are always there for each other, Friends never leave each other. It was so pure. I'm tearing up even now. Because friendship denotes the purest love. That's what I saw in this boy. The pure love he wanted to share with others if given a chance.

It's times like these that confirm for me how much I want to be a teacher. I have always detested loneliness. It's difficult and undeserved at any age. But for a child to feel so lonely and unloved and outcast. It's not right. It breaks my heart.

I got the job at Wells Fargo.

What a difference a day makes.

I wonder these days if I am too independent. Too confident. I've been told many times that I am very intimidating, but I've also been told many times that I'm not intimidating at all.

In high school I was voted "Least Intimidating" because of my happy-happy-joy-joy pep and demeanor. I think old age and life experience has softened this a bit, though I do frequently resort to being insatiably happy. Why not, when life is what it is.

A wise friend once told me that marriage is for two people who don't necessarily need each other, but they want/choose to be together, because they love each other. They make each other better. In time, because of this betterment, they realize that they are nothing without the other person. I've observed this in many relationships. Namely my parents'. Sometimes they're hard to get along with, and who isn't, but I treasure those times that I've watched them work it out. It doesn't take much. It takes love. But I was always in awe of this as a child, that two people who got frustrated with each other could refrain from getting upset, from getting irritated, from yelling and fighting as my siblings and I were so wont to do.

There are few times in my life that I've needed someone, and I used to pride myself in this. But as I've grown older, I've learned that just like I needed my parents when I was a baby, I need someone now to help me grow into who I need to be. It's a weird feeling. I think I realized it best as a missionary, sharing both good and not-so-good times with companions.

I guess what I'm saying is that to those of you who've seen me at my weakest, thank you for sticking with me. I don't like showing weakness. I rarely do. I feel vulnerable when I do. But I know I need to. I frequently feel at my weakest these days, as the frustrations of job hunting and the haze of the future rest squarely upon my shoulders. I have been unduly blessed with the best of friends. And I feel so humbled every time I feel your love and support. Undeserving really.

I slept for 9.5 hours last night, and I am feeling much better.

Today I subbed in a 2nd grade class in Sugarhouse. Music was playing on the PA as I walked in--old time music that takes you back to a time you wish you lived in because supposedly everyone was happier then and life was simpler and cars were longer and bigger and Mac products hadn't even been thought of yet. The kids didn't believe me when we played two truths and a lie and I told them I play in a rock band (true, although it may or may not be classified as a rock band). One of the kids wrote a book called "Captain Fart Man" in honor of the Captain Underpants series (one of my favorites. My brother's Captain Underpants name was Poopsy Chucklebutt). Another kid called me over as he wrote his story. He said to me: "Miss R, I used to live in London for five years before that I lived in Boston when I lived in London I went to a building that was never bombed because Hitler wanted it for his office my story is about Nazis my great-grandpa fought in World War 2 he was American he won lots of medals he died when I was four i met him and two days later he died. Mrs. R I need to know how to spell Hitler."

Whoa there.

Which grade level should I request for Teach For America?!?!?! I love them all!!! I have no clue.

Anyway, I am off to bite the bursitis bullet. Meaning, I am going running!!!! I am so excited. Pray that I don't get bone spurs for this one.

I saw Spring today.

Junior high. Thank you for the laughs. Today I was asked on a date by a student. I overheard some not-so-discreet young men discussing my level of hotness. I was mistaken for Taylor Swift. I was deemed "coolest sub ever" by sixth period.

Glad to know I can roll with 8th graders.