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.