John's window while you work

I am a useless packer. One of those types that can't/won't pack unless someone else is there. I just find too many distractions. Like the nice weather outside. Like the chickens my landlords have. Like blogging and the Internet. Maybe that's why the dwarfs whistled while they worked. Maybe it helped them maintain focus. When I was little I thought they sang: "John's window while you work...oowee oo oo oo oo ooooooo." I was wrong.

Anyway, Mo came down this weekend to help me with my yard sale and pack up my stuff. We almost finished everything! Now I just have what's left in my room, which by comparison, isn't much. The yard sale was a nominal success. I fell short of my sales goal by $85; my big things like my bed, TV and kitchen table set just wouldn't go. Prices are negotiable!

Thursday is my last day of work. I can't wait. I can't wait to be with Jeff.

I guess I should go pack now.

NO TURNING BACK

Official announcement! Two weeks until Houston! I'm leaving Utah June 17 and driving like a madwoman to reach the man I love by the night of the 18th. Then, FLOAT TRIP ON THE 19TH!!!!

YYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I will miss Utah. I will miss many things. Unfortunately many of these things center around food, which means I am going to be doing lots of eating in the next two weeks.
I will miss:
JCW
Cafe Rio (pork tostada)
Stan's (grilled cheese and fries)
El Mexiquense (tacos al pastor--thanks Tim, for telling me about the BEST TACO EVER!)
Grandma Sycamore's white bread
WinCo
Jack Sprat sprouted wheat bread
Blue Bunny
Taylor Maid Beauty Supply
Hobble Creek Canyon
The Mountains
everyone I love
The Olsons
Trevor
temples everywhere
Hires Big H
The Pie (especially the cheese pull-a-part)

I gave notice to WF today.
I am packing up my vinyl after I pen this and shipping it off tomorrow.

If you're in Utah, I would probably really like to see you before I move. Please call me if you'd like to see me too. Keep in mind that I'll be in California from the 11th to the 16th, so let's try to see each other before then. If not, we'll still be friends.

Also, my crazy pregnant roommate cooked pig's feet tonight and she kept offering me some. It smelled so disgusting and it looked even worse. Pigs feet with hominy and beans. Some things just weren't meant to be consumed.

Hungry likes the wolves

It's a full moon tonight. Normally on a night like tonight, I'd be worried about wolves. Werewolves! I've been thinking about wolves a lot lately because of an article I read in National Geographic a few days ago.

Perhaps minutely worse than being surrounded by a pack of werewolves is being surrounded by THREE PREGNANT WOMEN!! Yes, I am surrounded.

My sister announced yesterday she is pregnant! Just shy of three months. Mr. TrevTrev will have a playmate (hopefully female) come Christmas 2010. Becky carries her babies high in her belly, which means her pregnant body's shape resembles a fat little kid. Think Chancho in Nacho Libro.



My landlord/friend Alison is upstairs, and pregnant. I sometimes wake up to her pregnant lady yoga DVD. Other than that and hearing her talk about how fat she is (lie), she's a pretty average pregnant gal.

My crazy circumstantial roommate is eight months pregnant, and easily is going through the weirdest pregnancy I've ever been exposed to. Sometime, when I'm more removed and not wounded by it, I will tell you all about it. Poor little soul.

I'm going to Houston tomorrow to see my Jeffy!

The woes of online life

I have what some may feel is an archaic sense of custom and etiquette with certain things. Prominent in my mind lately is the looming task of collecting invitees and addresses for the wedding.

The modern protocol for young 20-somethings undergoing this process is to send out a Facebook group invite, where you post your address on the group wall and you'd darn well better if you want an invitation because that's the only way you're going to be contacted about it. No personal telephone call, no e-mail, no text, no personal message. Probably because the extent of your contact has been on Facebook (which to me means we're not really good friends anyway, unless you live in a foreign state or country).

Tell me if you think I'm being a drudge, but I just can't get on board with this. I've denied myself six wedding invites in the past three months simply because I refuse to add my name to a generic list. I feel like my present is being invited more than I am. One time I received a group invite to the wedding of a girl I'd only interviewed for the Daily Universe. Granted she and I were in the same social circle, but I doubt she knows who I am anymore. I was stunned to get that group invite, which is probably the instance that turned me off to the whole group thing in the first place. I think that's really the kicker, is that often these group invites come from people I'm not close to, and in reality, I wouldn't invite them to my wedding, so why are they inviting me?

On Thursday I lazed around fighting a 102 degree fever all day. Now I feel almost completely better! Thank you Regan for tending to the sick and needy, and thank you Amoxicillin! You are a miracle worker, even if you taste disgusting.

I am excited to marry my Jeffy :) This time next week I'll be visiting Jeff in Texas!

Why does Monday always come back so fast?

I wonder why we as humans are so fascinated by how other humans live their lives. Why do we post intricacies of our lives on the internet for all to see? (Why do I write this blog?) Why do kids from my high school, whom I was never really friends with, add me as a friend on Facebook? Why, in my ward's Relief Society, do we have a "Good News Minute"? Why do you read my blog (if you don't know me personally)? If you haven't made an effort to talk to me in six months or more, and we have no potential need to stay in touch career/networking-wise, why should I keep your phone number? Your friendship on Facebook?

As previously mentioned, I'm currently purging from my life many of my earthly possessions in preparation for My Big Move to be with my One True Love, my Jeffy. My measurement of an item's worth is this: Have I used or worn this item since I've been home from my mission? If yes, I keep it. If no, I will attempt to sell or donate it. It is working well so far. And I guess what I'm wondering is if I can use the same philosophy with my many Facebook "friends." Or my profile in general. I haven't used my Myspace profile since I've been back. I didn't use my Facebook for 18 months. Obviously I don't need it.

I saw "Babies" yesterday. It is not for the faint of heart. Mainly because the film exhibits breasts in their primary function so graphically I'm rethinking my desire to bear children. Though PG, there is A LOT of nudity. It's in context, but altogether it's excessive. (Or perhaps I'm just a prude). The film follows four babies in various parts of the world. You will see all but one mother in the nude. Of course you will see every child in the nude, and you will see one child discover his nether regions. The little Mongolian baby boy won my heart the most.

I should have retired to bed 47 minutes ago.

Friday, I'm in love

I have no shame. I go to movies by myself on Friday nights and I don't feel bad about it. I saw Robin Hood tonight and I liked it. I have always been a sucker for knights in shining armor though. And Russell Crowe.

I try not to feel sorry for myself, but I'll be honest that tonight I do, pathetically enough. Just a little bit. Because the movie got out 45 minutes ago and I've come home, eaten a PB&J and I'm debating between watching a movie here at home, going to get birthday cake ice cream, or going to the gym. Really I mean and/or because by 11 pm tonight I will probably have accomplished all three in random order. But if I go to the gym it means I'll see my hairstylist who always wonders why he sees a girl like me at the gym Friday nights (as if he's the only person with no friends, or few). And if I get ice cream first then I'll have to bring it home before I go to the gym. But if I go to the gym, then to get ice cream, I'll have to go to Smith's in my workout clothes, and that is just too much for me.

But I have no shame :)

Texas, oh Texas. Wherefore art thou Texas?

What is it about a full time job that makes my brain too numb to do anything articulate? Until 11 pm, apparently, when I've recovered.

Many changes are afoot. Yes, I'm talking about getting married to my beloved Jeffypoo. There are many, many things that must happen between now and then. Like moving to Houston, which is going to be much sooner than we'd originally anticipated. One would think that I, after having been so transient the past six years of my collegiate life, would feel nothing but confidence in moving to Houston.

I am happy, scared, overjoyed, sad, excited, insane all at one time. I am currently ridding myself of many material things, ranging from clothes to bicycles, an antique steamer trunk to a very comfortable bed. If I possess something you would like, please consult me and I may give it to you. No you may not have my ceramic bald-eagle-in-mid-flight statue.

I have always been able to sing songs about going home to California. Joni Mitchell's ode to my great state hits a chord. Phantom Planet's is cliche, but it'll do. Tony Bennett croons my lost heart's anthem. What ballads are there about fair Texas?

Des Moines. What's Des Moines?

I would first like to say that being engaged, even long distance, is really great and I highly recommend it when you get the chance.

I am on day three of my Wells Fargo-funded training trip to Des Moines, Iowa. I have the difficult choice tonight of either accompanying the more raucous of the group to see one of our classmates fight in a scheduled bar fight (think Robert Downey, Jr. style in Sherlock Holmes but with girls in bikinis nearby), or to accompany the conservative girls (another Mormon, a Muslim and a recent divorcee) and the one femme male to the mall. Hmmm. Tough choice but I think I know what I should do.

Aside from all the enlightening sales skills I'm being indoctrinated with, I'm experiencing a bit of culture shock. Not for the area itself but for the popular pastimes among my WFF peers. Like drinking. Swearing every other word. Gossiping. Talking trash about other people, particularly one of our more loud-mouthed classmates. And this is all normal outside of Utah. Is it? Or are these people excited to be away from home and still in the "Don't tell mom" phase? I, at an old 24, am particularly glad my perpetual adolescence ended long ago, or really never began.

The word is out around here that my coworker and I are Mormon. We've had many questions, mainly about the Word of Wisdom. Answering inquiries on alcohol and tea is easy. But really now, what do you tell people when they ask why we don't drink coffee? With people on my mission, "Because the Lord said so, seek your own answer," was often good enough for coffee and tea. It doesn't work when you're talking to coffee-guzzling twenty-somethings who want concrete facts. I need to figure this out. Today my new Philadelphian friend Bobby asked me, "So since you're Mormon, you don't use machines, right?" Our table of six had a great laugh about that. How frequently we are still confused with our Amish brethren. And Mennonites. But we are among good company in that regard.

I miss the mountains.

Just thought you should know...

Jeff and I got engaged yesterday at my most favorite place in San Francisco, the Sutro Bath ruins. It was a gorgeously windy day. No fog. Just sun and lots and lots of wind.



We don't know much about marriage, but we're excited to find out. Our date is set for September 4 at the LDS Oakland Temple. We will be married not just for time, until we die, but for all eternity. If you are not familiar with LDS temples and the concept of eternal families, please watch this short video.



I would like to write a short ode to my Jeffy, who went so far as to have a friend of his in SF leave cheesecake and blankets on a rock down on Ocean Beach, below the Sutro Bath ruins, for us to enjoy immediately post-engagement. It was so sweet and unexpected. Sorry ladies that this tender, sensitive, selfless manly man is off the market!

History: We've shared a unique and loving friendship over the 6.5 years we've been friends. Jeff and I met freshman year in our freshman ward. We were in the same FHE group. We immediately became close friends. Our friendship continued to deepen as he served as a missionary for the LDS church in Uruguay. He later commented that I wrote him more than anyone outside his family. Of course, we had no romantic inclinations toward each other at this point. When he returned we continued our friendship. I don't remember at which point we decided this, but we made a pact long ago that if we weren't married by the time we were 30, we'd marry one another. Then I went on a mission and he wrote me, again with no intentions of romance ever. When I returned in November, we began talking again. He invited me to visit him in Houston. I did. And that's all she wrote.

:) :( :-/

I just wanted to confess that I didn't go to the gym today :(

Because I failed to get out of bed when my alarm went off at 6 am to propel me to the gym :(

Because tonight I saw Megan and then other Megan who I haven't seen in three years :)

Second Megan and I ate Five Guys and it was cold :(

Then I came home and I was sad because Jeff went to bed and I didn't get to talk to him :(

And I decided I didn't want to go to the gym after all. But I feel really guilty and now that it's almost 10:30 pm I wish I had gone I should have gone :(

My allergies are really bad and I have a killer sore throat and I am achy all over :(

I know it's allergies and not the flu :)

I am going to go to bed now :)

We're on a road to nowhere

I'm still wondering why not more people were at the Retribution Gospel Choir show at Kilby Court last night. Maybe Low isn't a cool band among the newest hipsters, so they didn't know that one of indies most influential musicians was in town. Maybe Subpop isn't deemed "with it" in 2010. I hope it was just finals.

It was an odd crowd. A few neo-hippies/hipsters. The avid, activist SLC cyclists. The girl who looked like she just stepped out of Forks, Washington (or wished she had). The too-eager couple, whose male counterpart met band leader Alan Sparhawk while serving his mission in Duluth and hadn't heard of Low until then and has overbearingly idolized Sparhawk and family since then. There was the other boy there who was alone, also wearing a chambray shirt, cuffed dark denim jeans. Basically he was wearing what I was wearing, only definitively masculine. And of course the older couple, the wife who didn't look like she'd been out of the house recently enough to realize that wearing cropped cargo pants with heels just isn't done anymore. But you know, she rocked the mom look nonetheless.

And as I sat alone on my red-bench-for-one, I thought, "What are these people thinking about me based on how I'm dressed? On how I'm sitting? On the fact I came alone?"

I cleaned my whole house today, territories I use at least, and I'm loving it. After about week three of living here, I realized (and Jeff help me realize) that my efforts in cleaning were unappreciated and abused. So I stopped. I've been wearing slippers around my house and setting NOTHING on any countertop since. But now everything is disinfected and glistening.

I started washing my face with olive oil last night. Extra virgin. Ladies and gentlemen, you must try it! My skin feels so supple, my skin tone more even, redness diminished. Oh, the wonders of nature!

I am making a goal this very beautiful spring moment to blog more and also spruce up my blog! I used to write a lot about interesting things and now I'm so boring. The lending industry has made me boring.

I got to watch Trevor for a few hours today. We had the best time! We bought "Where the Wild Things Are," and he's understandably obsessed with it. We ate lunch at the Cougareat. As we walked out, Trevor stomped and waddled and hollered: "I'M A ROBOT I'M A ROBOT!!!" at the top of his lungs until we were out of earshot of anyone else and he'd had his fill of being cute. Of course everyone who saw him was cracking up. He looked so cute today, dressed in a kelly green polo, plaid shorts and orange crocs. The kid is a dream. As we crossed the street outside the Wilk, a lady actually yelled from her car window as she passed: "He is SOOOO cute!!" Boy, he just soaked it up all day, until the cashier at the BYU Bookstore scared him so badly with her oo's and ah's that Trevor made me carry him for ten minutes until he wasn't scared anymore.

I want a baby. Someday.

Lastly, my current favorite song is "Road to Nowhere" by the Talking Heads. 1. Because it's a good summer song. 2. Because I feel like I'm on the beach with Fred and Ben Savage, having just climbed out from under a bum's lawnchair, i.e. portal to the monster underworld.

Betterment

I've been taking great strides to better my health and my life lately. For example, I acquired a membership to a local gym. I've cut most fats out of my diet. I'm down to 1-2 cans of Diet Coke per day, and I juxtapose that with 3-4 L of water.

My current dilemma comes from the idea of a colon cleanse. I've had friends do various high-fiber cleanses over the years, and they swear by them. With almost too-good-to-be-true results, and a $100+ price tag, I think anyone would be skeptical of such miraculous results. Do I try said cleanse? Are colon cleanses needed anyway? Surely Heavenly Father designed our bodies so immaculately that they'd cleanse themselves.

Guess I won't know 'til I try it.

I went to Dallas last weekend. It was really nice. I met Jeff's family. They are really nice.

Life is nice.

It's not the most politically correct, but...

It's when I hear songs like this that I lust after being born 80 years ago.

Daniel Day Lewis and the Thieves

I had three different dreams last night. One involved me and Daniel Day Lewis hanging out and eating British food: fish and chips, shepherd's pie, lots of other meats and sausages and artery-clogging eats. The next involved me and Daniel Day Lewis going to Chuck A Rama (I must have been really hungry when I went to bed), where we kept eating and eating and eating. And close to this one buffet bar sat a table of jocks, who guffawed at this oddly dressed slightly older man and his radiant companion. Then at one point, I couldn't find Daniel anywhere. I searched the entire restaurant and finally found him sitting with a table of 19-year-old, Zoobie-ish girls. They were having a great time and I felt left out. The third consisted of an impeccably dressed Daniel Day Lewis and this other man who I can mostly readily compare to a quiet version of "Booger" from "Better Off Dead", giving a washboard and saxophone concert. Daniel Day Lewis sang some songs. It was an amazing show from what I remember. Maybe he should take to the life of a troubadour. I will go with him.

Bagging of the bird

I just wanna say thanks from the bottom of my heart to Tess and Adam, for finding this gem of a song. Find the "Bird Dogs Forever" theme song at the bottom of the screen.

My sister and I went to the DanceSport championships tonight. I haven't much to say other than I definitely know what I DON'T want my wedding dress to look like. Or any dress I ever wear, for that matter. What? Beadazzle my entire wardrobe? No, no, thank you. I'll pass.

I like wearing dresses.

Do you ever have those weeks when it's just better for you to not see anyone and stay inside or be alone? I am trying my hardest to stop this week that I speak of at tonight so I can continue my life the way I prefer it. Happy. Patient. Giving. Loving toward others. But you know I guess I can't be that way all the time.

I heard back from Teach For America. I am waitlisted, and I won't hear any further until April 19. The lengthy e-mail basically said, "We had a lot of applicants. We really like you. There aren't as many spots to fill this year. Just hang on because we're finding you a spot. We just don't have one for you...yet." Of course, Jeff is extremely optimistic as to what this means, and he would know because he's in TFA, and he said all the waitlisted kids got in last year. How dearly I appreciate him for this perspective. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't battling a smidge of hopelessness right now. (How pathetic. I really am anything but).

The ambiguity of the future that I've felt since I've been home has been alleviated significantly by starting a job. By applying for opportunities like TFA. By dating Jeff. By playing in a semi-defunct band with my best friends. By attending the temple weekly. I find that many things, no matter how important or insignificant, give me little reasons to be. Or not to be. That isn't my question.

Maybe I am just emotional because I'm tired and probably PMSing and that's the only reason why I'm feeling this way, because basically I have a major identity crisis once a month around this time. Ugh.

Yeah really, I just read over this blog post, and it's completely ridiculous. I can't believe I wrote it. It's all a lie except the part about PMSing. What is it about hormones that distorts reality so much?

I have an incredible life. I live in a great place, with a good job. I'm blessed in myriad ways.

Paul said it best: "We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair. Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed." I especially love these verses up until despair. I think that describes each day of mortality, as long as we love one another and do all that good stuff we know is right. There will be much uncertainty and much exploration, but we can be guided in what we do. Just keep going and everything falls in its place. Everything has its place and everything in its place, as Brother Wonka used to say.

I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Sweetheart.

P.S. Megan Stay, I've been thinking lately that I miss you a lot and I am going to come to Las Vegas to see you real soon.

Takes me back back.

My homegirls from Waterloo Branch made up their own version to Tik Tok. I love it! I love them!

wake up in the morning feeling like p diddy.
grab my scriptures im out the door im gonna hit seminary.
before i leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of crest.
cause when i leave for the day i aint comin back.

scripture mastery on our mind, mind.
movies all the time, time.
no texting on our phones, phones.
im talking lessons at the dossetts.
pullin in the driveway.
were not gonna be late today.

CHORUS:
dont stop make it last.
seminarys such a blast.
tonight hit the hay.
no more stayin up late.
tick tock 6 o'clock.
but the party dont stop, no.
WO WO WAH OWHH. WO WO WAH OWHH.
(repeat)


those who are lazy they get no biscuit n' gravy.
but if we get there on time, we would be totally fine.
&& now alarms are goin off at nearly 4 in the morning.
our friends think were crazy, but their life is just boring.

im talkin bagels on friday- day.
p diddy dont get paid paid.
it's okay cause he like it that way, way.

now now we goin until six thirty.
or maybe we be late, late.
cause school starts at eight, eight.
school it starts at eight.

CHORUS.

spirit, you build me up.
dont break me down.
my heart it pounds.
yeah, you help me.

im on my knees.
you got me now.
i got that feel.
yeah you got me.

spirit you build me up.
dont break me down.
my heart it pounds.
yeah you help me.

im kneelin down.
put your head down.
put your head down.

now the party dont start til the mormons walk in.

CHORUS.

Today I find out about TFA!! Today I will listen to "Today" by the Smashing Pumpkins on repeat! Today is going to be a good day.

Well, today meaning tomorrow. Because it's still Sunday for 20 more minutes.

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.

Thank you, Jeffreys.

The poet Robert Browning wrote:

"Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in his hand
Who saith, “A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!”

Some of you may wonder: Is there any future for me? What does a new year or a new semester, a new major or a new romance, a new job or a new home hold for me? Will I be safe? Will life be sound? Can I trust in the Lord and in the future? Or would it be better to look back, to go back, to stay in the past?

- Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

---

As President Monson poignantly put it in the April 2009 General Conference: "The future is as bright as our faith." How true that is.

The man himself

This is my daddy!!!!

I am so proud of him :)

Things I should have done.

Thank you Weiser Idaho for a memorable weekend.

I rode a horse, drove a tractor, fed cattle, peed in a lean-to, watched a dog cuddle with a dead calf, went to a high school basketball game, and remembered how much I love being a missionary. All of these were firsts except the first and last. I am all about firsts.

I found out today that my old music teacher died of stomach cancer on the 15th. One day as I put the neck on my saxophone, Tony, a die-hard astrologist, cried, "Whoa Lisa, when were you born?" I told him. He pointed to a poster of Charlie Parker, hanging on the wall above me. The birth date said August 29, 1920, only a few days after mine. Then he pointed to the neck of Parker's sax, and to the neck of mine. "You're both Virgos," Tony said. "And look, you play with the neck at the same angle Charlie Parker did." Tony thought I channeled Charlie Parker when I played. Maybe I did. I was playing "Fly Me to the Moon" pretty decently after two lessons, so I could have.

Tony got me started on the bass guitar, and he sold me my Fender Mexican Strat and little Danelectro amp. And I think he was my biggest fan. He encouraged me to pursue music as a career. "You have what it takes," he'd say.

Over Christmas I felt prompted over and over that me and my siblings needed to go visit Tony. We knew he was sick. Every time I'd drive by his studio I'd think, "Go see Tony." Of course I ignored it and we didn't go.

The summer before Grandma died, I thought and thought, "I need to interview Grandma on video." Then I thought, "No, I'll do it at Thanksgiving." She died November 5.

The morning Kaye died, I was cooking spaghetti sauce. Sister Morrill had just had surgery and was dozing in a Vicodin-induced super slumber. I needed some herbs; I wanted fresh basil from Kaye's garden, just across the street. I should just go get some, I thought. Really I need to. The thought came and came and came, but I stayed put and stayed put and stayed put because I wasn't supposed to leave Mo.

I will never know.

Consider the lilies

Ceci n'est pas une pipe. A concept Magritte perpetuated to explain reality. What is and what isn't. If only he knew how well this relates to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Our Brother would have us focus on what is. Who we are. What we are. I am a daughter of God. I am a strong, confident, talented woman. I possess potential limited only by my own choices.

Our other brother, that Lucifer, terrorizes us with the tempestuous swindling of what we are not. (I'll spare you what I am not. You can probably already tell me that and I don't like to focus on it anyway).

We, as beloved children of God, cannot and should not define ourselves by what we are not. That is not reality. That is not the way of the gospel. Though I've pondered on this idea for the past month, this week it has infiltrated my reality. Heavenly Father often prepares us for these things.

Onto the more superficial.

Substitute teaching. A near-perfect profession for one who's transient, like myself. Near-perfect because let's face it: Does anyone aspire to be a substitute teacher?

No, no. Probably not.

Yesterday I subbed at a middle school in Provo. I love subbing middle school, adapting to the different dynamic in each class, discovering immediately that the class clown is wholly unpredictable on sight alone. The period two class clown was in a friendly verbal dispute with a classmate. I only heard the class clown's final response, which was: "Tu madre." I laughed. I shouldn't have, but I did. And the class caught me. Another girl, who was a 5th period student of mine, had been told all day that she and I looked exactly alike. Sure enough, we did, and we were even wearing almost identical coats. Lastly was period 6. It had come up during class that I served a mission. I don't remember how. Later, I commented to one student (I don't remember exactly what) in formal, proper English. The kind of English no one really uses unless they write for The New Yorker. After the comment, the class clown said: "Dang, did you serve your mission in the medieval times or something?"

Comic genius.

The sky is falling!

I feel it necessary to announce I am ending my long time love affair with my most favorite appendage, my third limb as some say:



It's true. After a long courtship and engagement, my fizzy friend and I are parting ways. Explanation.

1. Soda is bad for you whether it's diet or not. Lying to myself doesn't change this fact.
2. One should never voluntarily put acid in his or her body.
3. My bursitis-inflicted hip flares when I drink caffeine. So does my heart rate.
4. Sometimes it takes the right person to tell you to quit, because from them it finally makes sense.
5. I'm going to save several hundred dollars this year from quitting soda, so maybe I can finally get myself that tube amp I've wanted forever.

Now, I expect all of you friends to support me. Please do not tempt me, call me wanting to get a sip, text me wanting to get a sip, or bring me a Diet Coke in the car ever again. (Megan, this especially means you since you frequently do this. I appreciate it. But since you can't drink soda now that Brutus is gone, I won't either. And if you can still drink Diet Coke even though Brutus is gone, you should just tell me you can't).

Goodbye, Lover.

The weight of the world

I've returned from a successful trip to Houston. It was a great time and I will never forget it. Highlights include: Brazos Bend State Park (where we saw real alligators!), Half Price Books, Houston Temple, Good Company Texas barbeque, warm weather, Gulf of Mexico/the beach, "Slumdog Millionaire," seeing St. John's School AKA Rushmore Academy, realizing Houston is a really cool city, and kickin' it with Jeff, one of my dearest friends.

I'm afraid, however, that my post-mission honeymoon is over. As I've faced an afternoon of job searching today, I have felt a consuming feeling of urgency. A do-or-die ultimatum Darwin himself couldn't handle.

People: I NEED A JOB. And I will not rest until that paycheck is made out to me.

Holy General Authority, Batman!

Utah celeb sighting! Elder Craig Zwick and his sweet wife are currently sitting inches from me in the SLC Airport. Just had a nice chat with them. I actually met Elder and Sister Zwick in the MTC, had a nice chat with them there. My mom and Sister Zwick were sorority sisters. Elder Zwick and my mom apparently went on a few dates.

I am flying to Houston on a plane with propellers! How cool is that? Frontier Airlines only has Pepsi products. What kind of second rate airline is this?

Anyway, I gotta go. I'll write something worth reading soon. I love you lots.

Holy minimalism.

Tomorrow I leave for Houston!!!




I get to see Jeff!




Gene Kelly is a hunk.




'Nuff said.

The one thing I am always lusting after.

Take a guess.









Despite the photos, it has little to do with children and animals.

I'm in the ER with my friend Megan. They just gave her delota. She's a little high.

Briefs.

Thanks to the original Erin Leigh for this gem.




And yes, it's real.

In other news, my life is figuring itself out very well, thank you. Also, I am sick.

Today I did sealings in the Provo Temple. The wife's name was Nicholas. Pretty sure there was an error there, but she and Martin are sealed nonetheless. Good thing heaven is error proof.

Loved ones gather at day's end.

I am packing up my life. My former life anyway.

As my final act as a California resident, I am going through my mission boxes, again, and purging my collection. I haven't done it since I've been home.

By now the initial pain and shock of not being a missionary is wearing off. It has worn off, mostly. But looking at all this memorabilia brings it right back. My many journals. Pictures the kids drew me, notes from investigators and members, recipes from my sisters I reacquainted with along the way. My cookbook from Mrs. Yoder, the Mennonite mother I met at Shriner's hospital, who was there with her daughter Rhoda. I loved Rhoda. She was eight at the time. Tiny thing, in Shriner's because one of her legs was longer than the other. She said to me, "Someday you must come to my farm and meet all my cows, chicken, sheep, goats, turkeys and horses. And my brothers." I told her I wanted to, very much. But she was out of the mission, so I couldn't.

I really miss being a missionary, and few things I have done since I've been home have paralleled even one iota in importance. Please forgive me for writing about this again and again. I do not vocalize how much I miss it. If I do, I cry. A lot. I look at my tags and I cry. I think of the people I taught, who were baptized, who struggle to stay active, and I cry. I know it's their choice, but I am sad for them still, especially when I think of what they went through to be baptized.

I think about serving again in the future, with my eternal companion. And I am very, very happy to think about this.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is where we find Christ's pure gospel. I love Him so very much.

The #1 reason why 2009 has to go.

Did you know the United Nations General Assembly declared 2009 the International Year of Natural Fibers?

Neither did I.

As stated by Wikipedia:

Tentatively, the objectives of the International Year of Natural Fibres would be:

• To raise awareness and stimulate demand for natural fibres;
• To encourage appropriate policy responses from governments to the problems faced by natural fibre industries
• To foster an effective and enduring international partnership among the various natural fibres industries;
• To promote the efficiency and sustainability of the natural fibres industries.

Polyester is waging war! Rayon is charging at full throttle! Nylon is holding cotton hostage!

Thanks for helping the world be a bit more peaceful in 2009, United Nations. We need you!

Bless 2010!

Secret confession: I used to read Ann Landers and Dear Abby every day.

Today as I cleaned out my desk here at my parents', I found an Ann Landers column I cut out years ago. This is what Ann wrote:

"Infatuation is instant desire - one set of glands calling to another. Love is friendship that has caught fire. It takes root and grows, one day at a time.

Infatuation is marked by a feeling of insecurity. You are excited and eager but not genuinely happy. There are nagging doubts, unanswered questions, little bits and pieces about your beloved that you would just as soon not examine too closely. It might spoil the dream.

Love is the quiet understanding and mature acceptance of imperfection. It is real. It gives you strength and grows beyond you - to bolster your beloved. You are warmed by his presence, even when he is away. Miles do not separate you. You have so many wonderful little films in your head that you keep replaying. But near or far, you know he is yours and you can wait.

Infatuation says, "We must get married right away. I can't risk losing him." Love says, "Be patient. Don't panic. Plan your future with confidence."

Infatuation has an element of sexual excitement. Whenever you are together you hope it will end in intimacy. Love is not based on sex. It is the maturation of friendship that makes sex so much sweeter. You must be friends before you can be lovers.

Infatuation lacks confidence. When he's away, you wonder if he is cheating. Sometimes you check.

Love means trust. You are calm, secure and unthreatened. He feels your trust, and it makes him even more trustworthy.

Infatuation might lead you to do things you will regret, but love never steers you in the wrong direction.

Love is elevating. It lifts you up. It makes you look up. It makes you think up. It makes you a better person than you were before."

I have only experienced this kind of love once. Or maybe not ever. But I think Ann hit the nail on the head with this one.

Also, my sister left a 1-pound box of See's Candies on the floor of our bedroom. Phoebe, the rabblerouser mini dachshund my mom applies all her affection to, tore open the box with her ferocious jaws and consumed 1/3 of the contents. She just got back from her ipecac feast at the vet. Phoebe's only ten pounds, but she recently chased down a rat in our backyard, gave it a teeth sandwich and snapped its neck. Yet she masquerades as a helpless, innocent, un-potty-trainable, perpetual puppy. What's more, I get to pay half her vet bill. I'm still not sure why, seeing as how I rescued her from certain death as I found her feasting on the chocolates this morning.

May your 2010 be everything you deserve.

I wish The Boss were my boss.

Getting up early is better than getting up late. Or so I am learning. It's like two hours magically appear out of nowhere! I am turning over a new leaf: I am not allowed to arise past 7:30 am. I'm working my way back to 6:30 am. (Thank you to the friends who've gently reminded me of this principle).

In addition to the 'what am I to do with my life at present' dilemma I'm currently in, there's another question that pervades my mental meanderings:

What happened to modesty?

I think it's time we revamped modesty. Not with the frumpy "Modest is Hottest" campaign (and myriad ugly prom dresses to boot), but with tips to be hip yet respectfully dressed. No Shade tees, no Down East, especially no t-shirts under tank tops or sleeveless and strapless dresses (I hope you are cringing as badly as I am right now). Any ideas?

If there's such a thing as love

There is no excitement quite as exciting as when your heart (or your mind?) finally figures out that you love someone. I don't think this happens very often in life. At least not with that deep, pure love that is reserved for special occasions. But it's one of the best feelings I've ever felt, and it's been a while since I felt it.

I have always loved love. Loved the idea of love. Loved being in love. Yes. I love love.

My constant prayer since April 2008 is that I might be a conduit of Heavenly Father's love for His children. His love is the purest love.

President Uchtdorf gave my favorite talk of 2009. It's about love.

I love you!

All is safe within the fold.

I watched (500) Days of Summer. I thought it was really excellent. Mostly because I loved Zooey Deschanel's clothes and because this movie portrays the collective unconscious most of us share about relationships. Summer and Tom's relationship personifies parts of every relationship I've ever been in.

You know, my French teacher Mr. Boorda (who taught me how to say a bad word in French just in case I ever went there and got called this word) told me that humans are 95 percent alike. I remember thinking what that meant about me as a high school freshman. It meant that even though the popular kids thought they were so much better than everyone else, they were still much more like the rest of us than they wanted to be.

Which means there's a 95 percent chance you will identify with my memories of Christmas.

Christmas is so anti-climatic to me. We have our big Christmas Eve dinner. We're having 20 people this year. We eat standing rib roast that my dad thinks is too expensive, but he won't switch to ham or turkey because rib roast is just so good. My mom gets out the china. We drink Martinelli's (I am excited to try the apple-pomegranate). We open a pair of pajamas Christmas Eve night and wear them as we open presents Christmas morning.

We have one nativity in our house. We have gilded gold deer and Santas and angels and garlands and a real Christmas tree that had the smell manufactured out of it.

And that's really it. Our traditions have degraded into the inessential, managing to be monotonous and nostalgic and stimulating all at the same time. It's just this dinner-that dinner, with no real defining moment or enduring impression. Each year I fight relative boredom, and the tendency to perpetuate a hollow, aimless celebration where the Savior is mentioned only in the prayer over dinner, if He's lucky.

This year more than any year, I feel this is a commentary on my own former surrender to distraction and failure to incorporate my spiritual convictions into my temporal world. This year will not be like the rest.

"Silent Night" has long been my favorite Christmas song. Few other hymns so accurately recount the sacredness of that hallowed night. Few other hymns so delicately convey the calming peace and quiet reassurance our Savior can bring us throughout our tumultuous mortal existence. I need Him. I love Him.

So here it is. My token Christmas blog entry.

Happy Birthday, Jesus.

The snow it melts, the sun it stays.

I'm sorry that all I ever talk about is my mission, how I feel after coming home, etc. Most of the time I do fine. Just like any adjustment, I hit crests of waves and depths of troughs. I only feel the need to speak while in the troughs. I don't know why this is.

Being off a mission is hard, only at times. Being off a mission and at my parents' house is hard all the time. I realized today, after finishing a conversation with one of my companions, that it's hard because largely, my family ignores the fact I was a missionary. Not deliberately. But it doesn't compute as part of their life. Their lives continued in the same pattern while I was gone; having me back is merely part of their pattern.

Today I got a card from my last companion. I found the card at Nice Twice, the train depot-turned-thrift store we volunteered at. It was printed in 1983. It pictures a cartoon girl riding a bicycle, though only the front half of the bicycle is visible. It says: "If there's one thing I need in Waterloo...", open it, pictured is the girl, alone on a tandem bicycle, "It's you."

I loved this card when I saw it. I mean LOVED. I was more obsessed with it than I was the "Smile: This card was sent to you by someone who thinks you're special!" card that some of you may have received. But I never had anyone to send it to, and I loved it so much I wanted to keep it, so I made Mo send it to me. And it just made me cry to read it. Because Waterloo represents a lot. Feelings are so complicated.

She sent me pictures of Jeremy and David, wearing white for their baptisms. I taught these guys. I love these guys.

I have known no greater joy. Lasting, spiritually sanctifying joy doesn't come as often as I'd like it to.

Just so you know, Sting's new Christmas/winter album is pretty great. Let's be honest though, it's Sting. Everything he touches turns to gold. Fields of gold.

Anyway, I am going to the gun store now. And then maybe here.

Hallelujah

What would the world be like without Jeff Buckley? I hope he is still making music in the spirit world.

I served in Waterloo for an abnormally long time, for many reasons, but none parallel in importance to Kaye.

I met Kaye January 28. Sister Rider and I lived across the street from Kaye and her husband. We moved in January 26, that night. We cleaned the apartment as a blizzard raged on the 27th. On the 28th we weren't allowed to drive because of the poor road conditions. Having only a five-year-old roster to guide us, we saw the first name on the list--Adele--and went for a visit. Just after we left, Sister Rider lost circulation in her wrist. We had to get to an ER, fast, so we called Kaye. Kaye was sick herself. Rapidly advancing degenerative disc disease, recovering from consecutive neck and back surgeries, she was so limited from her pain. She forgot herself and took us to "Dead Bud." Kaye and I talked for three hours as we waited. I learned more about her and her life that day than anyone had in years, she later told me. I loved her.

My last visit with Kaye was August 19. Late Wednesday afternoon. Larry had just finished installing the new oven. He'd also just moved her sister Vicki's old recliner into the family room, where the couch had been, in preparation for Kaye's recovery from her upcoming neck surgery. She didn't think she was going to live through the surgery. It was the first in a succession of surgeries on her spine, which had degraded at an astronomical rate between February and August. Kaye was so scared. She told us that a few days before, shed been driving down 270 and suddenly felt a great warmth within her. She said, for the first time in her life, she felt forgiven. "Why would that be? Why would I feel that?" she asked us. She joked about her favorite drink, a dirty martini, with three olives. We ran into Kaye and Larry at Applebees that night. They sat at the table behind us. Kaye ordered a dirty martini with three olives. She offered me an olive.

Kaye died August 21. We don't know why. Her husband Larry came home from work and saw Kaye sleeping peacefully on the couch. Something told him to go check on her, right away. Her spirit had long since separated from her body. She was smiling. She was at rest. Her funeral was on my birthday, the 25th. I got to sing and speak. I also got to witness her husband, my dear Brother Larry, return to church after 13 years. It was the best birthday present I've ever been given.

I have felt Kaye's presence often since she passed. She is near, always near. In August I will be proxy for Kaye to be sealed to Larry. I am pretty sure this will be the happiest day of my life, thus far.

Kaye was my aunt, my best friend, my mother, my sister, my daughter--the depth of my relationship with her is one I hope to cultivate with every woman I am so privileged to serve. Rarely are we able to serve people in ways that require transcendent selflessness. I was blessed with opportunity to do this, for Kaye. Words cannot convey the significance of these experiences. Maybe sometime I will tell you about them.

Alma 26:16.

Woes of figgy pudding.

"In the school of mortality, the tutor is often pain and tribulation, but the lessons are meant to refine and bless us and strengthen us, not to destroy us." --Elder Robert D. Hales

I remind myself daily (multiple times, sometimes) that mortality and its accompanying cacophony isn't meant to be punitive. And it's not, I know. 2 Nephi 2 and all of that.

My dad was named the best dentist in the Bay Area by NBC News. They filmed a commercial today, PSA-type stuff. Dad is off the chain about it. I am so proud of my dad.

I'm not one to get gushy, but I am really blessed to have the parents I have. I mean REALLY blessed.

I broke my rule with figgy pudding (my rule: eating what I was served as a sissie mishie, be it elk, goat, rabbit, brain, lard-based, etc.). A dear sister in my area last Christmas wanted to know what figgy pudding was.

Just so you know, you don't want to know what it is.

Failure to prepare = preparing to fail (Yes, that's sarcastic).

The latest plans are this: I am moving to Salt Lake City. My sister got me a job at Wells Fargo. It's definitely not my top choice, but it's an income. I have been so frustrated applying to jobs. Chances are, if you don't know anyone in the company prior to applying, you won't be hired.

Katie and I went to see Zero 7 last night. I really didn't want to go. It ended up being okay. Far from the best show I've ever been to. At the very least, it was a cultural experience, being around "alternative lifestyle" people, weed, beer in my face at every turn, an overwhelming amount of Old Spice on the guy next to me, all the things I missed about life. Thanks.

Today my mom walked into a clear glass window, not noticing it was there.

The next two weeks are themed "Quick to Observe" in the Ruefenacht household. We are not getting along as well as we should be.

I am going to pursue a career as a backup singer. And as singer and bassist of a band. Who wants to be in the band with me? (I am serious). We have a drummer. His name is D.H. His dad is a minor celebrity. He voiced Lemuel in the Living Scriptures animated series. I would know. The credits to "Nephi and the Brass Plates" are rolling right now.

I love you.

Give me a reason to stay.

I wish humans were more consistent.

Beware of [insert vice here].

The snow tonight is for me. Because I got home and took a walk in it, to enjoy its calm.

If I had to pick five words to describe myself this past month, they would be:
1. Confused.
2. Tired.
3. Complacent (tied with content. They may not readily seem contemporaries, but in this case they are).
4. Happy.
5. Lost.

I realized something driving home just now, thanks to one best friend I needed to see but hadn't seen, thanks to the beauty of the earth, thanks to the shooting star I saw three nights ago, thanks to the diamonds falling from the sky, thanks to spirit-to-Spirit communion (especially this).

I had a reality-inducing conversation with my dad earlier tonight. His agenda: Why have you not yet found a job in Utah? He informed me that I was not welcome at home if I didn't have a job. In not so many words, but this was his underlying point. Beggars can't be choosers, take what you can get, in this economy, etc.

I learned years ago to never take offense to what Dad says. Because he's usually right.

My last ounce of pride is the only thing keeping me from staying in Utah. Because it really is my last ounce. Because I have it in my mind that Utah will never yield up her fruits to me.

Explore is all I ever hear.

And frankly, right now, I couldn't be happier to hear that.

A Super 8 kind of day.

Today I saw my Super 8 teacher, Tim Irwin, at my favorite Mexican restaurant EVER (after Mama Chu's). It is called El Mexiquense and it's in American Fork. You may think so far I am trying to plug this restaurant. I should because it's really good. Really, I am plugging Super 8. I loved that class. As we chatted I remembered all the films I shot and spliced and how much I loved them and how much he loved them and how I would play a Sonic Youth song with basically every film I made. And how this girl, who turned out to be my little sister's roommate later on, was obsessed with me (in a "Whoa, Lisa is so cool, I wish she'd talk to me") way. Now she's on a mission.

So I watched all my Super 8 films in my mind this afternoon. Especially the one I made while in Hawaii. I don't think I've ever made anything so beautiful in my entire life. Thing is, Maui did all the work.

Remember how like, a year ago on my mission, I would say I was going to live on Maui for three months after I got back? What happened to that? I am going to look into a job with the Maui Times. Who wants to be my roommate? I'm not picky.

Well then, I got an e-mail from Alex this afternoon which led me to this. Thank heaven for good friends who catch a sister up on all the great things she's missed, especially when they involve Super 8 in digital!

Everyone! Watch this video!

silla-viento-peces from nick dangerfield on Vimeo.

But you know what? Typically I get some kind of funky camera for Christmas every year, and then I don't use them. Well really I do, but I've been gone for a long time and they're in storage. Except my Holga, because I shot on that over Thanksgiving.

Have I mentioned my nephew is the greatest ever? Seriously, this kid is pretty amazing.





His new favorite song is Toto's "Africa," which is great considering I've had that and The Temper Trap's "Sweet Disposition" on repeat for two days straight. The kid can dance!

My dad was in town today. I picked him up last night and brought him to Lars. Lars is a 1993 GMC Suburban. He has seen better days, evidently, because he had lots of indigestion driving home to California, and a bad case of IBS last night. Anyway, both last night and today, my dad tried to convince me to settle in Utah. Why? He himself said he gets depressed every time he comes here. He used Trevor as the reason. And really, he's right. How can I live so far away from Trevor? I CAN'T! I would die from heartache. My hunch, however, is that my dad really wants all his ducks in a row here in Utah. Mmhmm. I love my pappy.

And I love you! (No, I love you!) No, I love you! (I spend WAY too much time with Trevor).

a moment, a love, a dream aloud

I have found the most perfect job in the entire world and it's in the most perfect city in the entire world and soon I will live there. I hope. And get the job.

I just drove home to Saratoga Springs from West Jordan, and I have to say it was the second scariest drive of my life. The first was when Alex and I drove to Saltair to see Iron and Wine. The snow was thick that night. I got some weird form of vertigo. We drove 25 mph for what seemed to be hours. I feared for my sanity more than my life. Tonight none of Redwood Road past Bangerter was plowed, so me and Alec braved the treacherous terrain, with our good friend Prayer buckled tight next to me. We made it just fine. Barely.

I found something today I forgot I had written. I remember exactly why I wrote it. Where I was when it happened. I know who I was with. I know who I wanted to be with. That's why I wrote it. And now, two years later, things are coming full circle. Somewhat.

Also, I am so in love with my nephew. And the Saturn should be resurrected by later this week.

NINJA

This morning, my bed is not a bed. It's a boat.

My nephew Trevor and I are sailing the high seas on the USS Aero Bed, blankie as our flag, adventure as our compass. His Little People are riding in their "alligator," aka elevator. And Trevor is in hog heaven, tucked and hazy from warmth and his beloved baba.

I don't think you could find a sweeter kid. I can't wait to have kids.

We're currently in a fighting match of who loves the other more. "I love you!" "No, I love you!" I think he's winning.

The longer I stay in Utah, the longer I feel the malaise of mediocrity and its effects on me and on others. I never excelled here. Personal choice, I'm sure. I love Utah, I really do. It's a gorgeous state. But each day I want to leave sooner than the last. So I will, as soon as I'm done playing with Trevor.

I've learned a lot about myself the past few weeks here. I am impatient with flakiness. I despise insincerity. I crave love as much as I desire to give it. I handle tribulation much better than I used to. I am frustrated when people say one thing, but act contrary to what they said.

Also, it's as hard as everyone says it is to keep up mission habits.

My dad has an acronym he likes to use to describe segments of the current LDS young single adult demographic: NINJA. No Income, No Job or Ambition. I fit that profile rather well right now.

Potential is something I thought extensively about as a missionary. What is my potential? How can I reach my potential? Most importantly, how can I help others recognize their own potential and help them reach it? I can't help but be sad when people I love, when I, don't do my best. I'm happiest when I do my best. I am not doing my best.

Happy Fast Sunday, everyone.

Mortality stinks. And rocks.

Today was the worst day I've had since coming home almost a month ago.

I began driving to dear Dave's home. My car overheated. I found an AutoZone. Bought some coolant and five quarts of oil. The Rat drank four of them. I made it to chez Bisson.

Awhile later, I boarded the freeway to meet Capree for lunch. On the way there, the Rat started making a knocking noise. Risking life I pulled over between the road and an on-ramp. I was at point of the mountain, the most treacherous stretch of I-15, if you ask me. Two nice gentlemen stopped to help, but they didn't really help.

I had a delicious philly cheesesteak sandwich for lunch at Cabela's with Mrs. Capree. It had swiss cheese on it. Swiss cheese is the best cheese to put on a philly cheesesteak sandwich.

After that I somehow made it to the garage in American Fork. Sara, who I was scheduled to see, happened to be there already. We drove to Provo together. Got a Big Gulp (a girl needs her sip after such a horrendous day). Right as Sara dropped me off at Alec, the garage called to tell me I would soon be out $2,000. No oil = wrecked motor.

And if you think today was crazy, I should tell you about yesterday! In brief, Margaret and I spent most of our day in Salt Lake City getting approved to substitute teach, and it was parade of the weirdos day. We saw so many bizarre things, one after another, including hand-blown glass clowns all over a swanky antique shop, the Back to the Future car, and Rick James!

And then last night, I went to ice cream with Megan at the Creamery, and my favorite picture has been taken down. I may have taken you for ice cream there to see the infamous picture. If you want to know why it was such a great photo, you need to ask me privately. I am too much of a lady to type such indecencies on the internet.

AND THEN I did sealings at the temple tonight, and since I was the only single person in the room, the boss guy kept making comments to help me "feel better" for being single. I wasn't upset about it (he was a very kind man), but it was completely unnecessary.

To top off my complaints, I put on my favorite owl pajamas just now and found my mom shrunk them so badly that they're at least three inches too short at the ankle, waist and arm.

On the bright side, I am considered a "real winner" by mothers and fathers alike. So prospective husbands, make note!

Also, I really love you.

By Paul Simon

Who will love a little Sparrow
Who's traveled far and cries for rest?
"Not I," said the Oak Tree.
"I won't share my branches with
no sparrow's nest,
And my blanket of leaves won't warm
her cold breast."

Who will love a little Sparrow
And who will speak a kindly word?
"Not I," said the Swan.
"The entire idea is utterly absurd.
I'd be laughed at and scorned if the
other Swans heard."

Who will take pity in his heart,
And who will feed a starving sparrow?
"Not I," said the Golden Wheat.
"I would if I could but I cannot I know,
I need all my grain to prosper and grow."

Who will love a little Sparrow?
Will no one write her eulogy?
"I will," said the Earth.
"For all I've created returns unto me,
From dust were ye made and dust ye shall be."

Not as lost as some

I aimlessly flipped through my sister's December '09 issue of Allure. Might as well reaquaint myself with the desperate and dicey sides of life, I figured.

I was stunned to find this.

Remember when "Hit Me Baby One More Time" came out and I liked it? Remember when she reigned the pop kingdom? This ad is evidence of a has-been. Why do entertainers keep trying to rebrand themselves? Everything about this photo is wrong. The name of the perfume, "Circus Fantasy." So, am I going to smell like a herd of elephants if I use this perfume? Is a calliope included in the packaging? Is there a free bonus offer for tickets to Ringling Brothers: Barnum and Bailey?

The world is much more pathetic after you've been out of it for 18 months. People's desperate attempts are petty, laughable and pathetic. Misdirected and ineffective. I gotta hand it to 'em for trying though. Especially the writer of that ad. They almost had me smelling the funnel cake.

Today I am updating my resume, putting together portfolios and looking for jobs. Wow! I pray that your prayers will be with me.

My homecoming talk went well, I guess. I honestly felt it was the worst talk I've ever given, but everyone in the congregation said it pretty much changed their lives. Yep, that's what He does for us.

I climb trees too.

I would also like to say that tomorrow I am giving my homecoming talk. How does one possibly sum up the most amazing time of his or her life in 20 minutes? It has been only 3.5 weeks, but it already feels like 3.5 years. Or like it never happened. Or like tomorrow I'm going back to St. Louis.

I don't know.

Remember that time we went to the McCords to help them pick cherries off their cherry tree? It was May. Sister Anderson shimmied down those branches like a ninja. I didn't know she could move like that.

I got sick off eating all those cherries.

Typical.

Rarely have I felt so normal.

When I started my mission, I struggled to find what was normal for me. I discovered that my worldly definitions of myself--my clothes, my music, my interests--were useless as a missionary. Suddenly I was stripped of everything familiar. Everything me. I based my identity in the base things of the world, things that have no value if they are gone.

I grew a lot. I learned who I am spiritually. I became me, who I truly am.

Ironically, I am experiencing something similar to what I did as a greenie. I am stripped of 24/7 spiritual saturation. Before I struggled to know myself without those comfortable worldly influences; now I'm struggling to define myself by those former companions. Do I really like vinyl? Yes. Does this outfit look okay? Why not. Do I care? No.

I can't even write worth a darn anymore. I don't care about that either.

Every RM goes through this identity crisis. Tips are appreciated.

What I have to look forward to

As far as I can tell, being an empty nester consists of the following:

1. Go out to eat. A lot.
2. When you do cook, eat leftovers most nights of the week.
3. Watch TV in separate rooms, on separate TVs, in separate easychairs, with a dog on your lap. Then fall asleep before you watch anything.
4. Aimlessly walk around Costco at least once a week.
5. Spend money on toys: Vespa scooters, Apple products, miscellaneous electronics.

I can judiciously say that after chillin' with my parents for the past week, they have a cushy life. I can't wait until I'm old.

I'll be in Utah starting Monday, so I'd better see ya!

Heavy metal machines

I went to a seminar with my dad last night. One of the foremost researchers on metal poisoning spoke. Basically, don't put any metal into your body, EVER! There is some evidence that metal (amalgams, or fillings, especially) can cause breast cancer. Metals also cause autoimmune diseases. I met a lady last night who had full-blown multiple sclerosis and was near death. This researcher lady, Vera, met with her, "demetaled" her, and her MS went away.

One of the most shocking things to me was the presence of titanium in so much of what we eat. Titanium is known to cause depression, and guess what's in anti-depressants? Titanium dixoide! It's also in many of our toothpastes, shampoos, makeup, even high fructose corn syrup! Don't even get me started on mercury and its presence in so much of what we eat.

I am thinking of a Masters in Social Work. Maybe.

I should have a cell phone today, but no promises. I do promise, however, that I love you!

Where am I?

I loved puzzles as a child. I loved big puzzles, 1000 pieces. Those big puzzles become unoriginal in shape after a time. Finding the right match can be difficult; two pieces may look like they fit, but they really don't.

That's kind of how I feel right now. I may look like I fit, but I really don't. But I'll get over it.

I'm coming to Utah on November 16. Maybe I'll see you then.

For the record, being a missionary is the best ever. Who knew a little piece of plastic could mean so much.

Can't stop me now!

Everything is settled, including my nerves. Tonight I get set apart. Wednesday I begin my sojourn as a representative for my Savior, Jesus Christ, and His church. I cannot wait!

Please write me. You are my loyal friends and I love you. Letters and packages are accepted at either of these locations.

MTC (April 16 through about May 7):

Sister Lisa Marie Ruefenacht
Missouri St. Louis Mission
2005 North 900 East
Provo, UT 84604

Mission home (May 7 2008 until October 2009):

Sister Lisa Marie Ruefenacht

Missouri St. Louis Mission

745 Craig Road Ste. 306
Creve Coeur, MO 63141

Periodically, hopefully, someone in my family will update my blog with stories. Check back every once in awhile!

I love you and I love the gospel! I feel the healing powers of the Atonement every day and I feel continually converted to Christ through the Gift of the Holy Ghost. Study your scriptures, pray often and direct your thoughts toward good, and toward Christ. I challenge you all to do this! You will be blessed more than you can comprehend! It will change your life!

Love,

Sister Ruefenacht

What the heck?

Today I saw a bull humping a cow in some farmland off the side of the freeway. They were struggling to be discreet, situated behind a tree, but I guess there's really no such thing as being discreet when thousands of people are driving by you each minute.

If you read back a few entries, you can read a great story about my grandma growing up on a farm in Delta, UT. At least, I'm pretty sure I wrote about it.

Like the desert misses the rain.

There is something odd about missing someone. I think Alex said it best once: That when you really miss someone, you feel like you're dying. That's about how I feel right now.

The biggest mistake I've ever made (other than referencing that song in this post's title) was leaving Alex a week earlier than I'd originally planned to. His birthday is today, April 4, and there's a big Johan the Angel show with Musee Mechanique at Kilby Court. And I'm missing them both.

There's that song, "What A Difference A Day Makes," or maybe it's just an idiom, but I think it's an old song. Anyway, the only difference these days are making is that my suffering is being drawn out. The worst part is that I did this to myself.

I know in a few weeks I won't hurt like this anymore, but right now it's pretty much unbearable.

On the bright side, I'm at level 37 on Bubble Bobble, and I'm not as sick anymore (I was pretty sick all week). Other than that, life at home is its typical, boring self, and as much as I love my family, I can't wait to get back on schedule.