Christmas!

I am in THE most Christmasy mood ever. I have been feeling so full of the spirit of Christmas and so grateful for the Savior, I could just burst. I've done a few Christmas things that have contributed to this such as attending the First Presidency Christmas devotional last Sunday where the Prophet and his first two counselors gave us some amazing direction, which included counsel to give the Lord our best selves this Christmas, and I had a renewed commitment to do so. I appreciated President Uchtdorf reminding us that we can't give Him perfection, since we're imperfect people, but we can give Him our best foot forward. That's asking for a lot if you think about the greatness that we're really capable of, but it's the least we can do for He who has given us everything, including His life. 

President Eyring talked about remembering the gifts that the Lord has given us--holy smokes, so many--and giving to others. I made a goal to serve someone in some way every single day this month and i really changed everything I had been feeling. I was in a bit of a low and feeling less than charitable and acting as such. Now I feel so much closer to the Lord and so much happier. I'm so grateful for prophetic counsel. I especially loved the Mormon Tabernacle Choir who opened the devotional by singing The First Noel, which was SO beautiful and really made me reflect about the Savior and all He has done for my family and I, particularly lately. There have been some significant struggles in my family this past year and I've seen those I love make huge breakthroughs in their personal progression despite those trials and it makes my heart burn with gratitude that the Lord watches out for them just as He does for me and makes things that seem impossible, possible. 

Then I attended the Forgotten Carols with my dad, mom, sister and niece. We've gone to this performance for like the last trillion years, so it's fun to see how it's progressed. I was mostly surprised that I was so touched by the message this year. I've always felt like Michael McClain was a bit of a cheeseball and I'm not his #1 fan, but I was tearing up with the rest of them. I thought about all of the homeless people out there as they sang my favorite song in that performance about how Christ was homeless too, in essence, and I just wished I could wrap all of the homeless people in the world up in a Snuggie and give them some warm food and a place to sleep. I have a friend who works as a security guard at Gateway Mall and he told me about several people who go to the restrooms at night and lock the stall and fall asleep on the toilet. That kind of reality truly breaks my heart. How cold, miserable and utterly lonely. I also cried a little for the protagonist, Constance, who was holding in a lot of pain from the past and hurt in the present because she was lonely, isolated and not recognizing or accepting what joy could be hers if she let it in. I think we can all relate to that to a certain extent. 

Another fun Christmas thing I did was get together with my middle school friends for our 12th annual (or so) Girls Night Out. We exchanged Christmas CDs then did very stereotypical girl things like looking up cute famous guys online, sharing craft tips and fashion advice and eating Christmas treats. It was so great.

My church ward and I also bought gifts last Monday for some families who are down on their luck and wrapped them and will deliver them tomorrow. I cannot wait! It was SO fun picking out items for little 3-year-old Tasha who may not have gotten warm clothes this year otherwise. 

Tuesday,  my roomies and I had some people over to watch Elf and drink hot chocolate. What a good time! Elf had me LOLing the entire time. Nothing like the awkward and talented Will Ferrell in a large green suit and great friends to make Christmas that much better. And I went to the Gateway and tried on this ridiculous $30 hat.

Next, I went to see Arthur Christmas and loved it WAY more than I should have! I imagine I loved it more than all the 5 year olds who were there. I was so touched by Arthur's love and concern for each child. That's exactly how God is. He loves each and every one of us and goes to extreme measures daily to ensure that we are taken care of, even when we may feel forgotten or lost. He truly cares about every single one of us and has engraven us on His palms and wants to wipe all of the tears from our eyes. At the end of the movie, it showed what each character was doing a year later and how they were happy doing it, but when it was Arthur's turn it said that he was the one who made every one else happy. So sweet. That's who I would hope to be and strive to be. I may or may not have cried a little in that one.

The most recent thing I did that stamped the Christmas spirit in my heart was sing in my church choir. The hymns were so beautiful and overwhelmed me with the most incredible spirit. It felt so amazing. One cannot feel that way and doubt the existence or love of God. I loved watching my friends in the audience and seeing how the music was affecting them. I loved being an instrument to help bring peace and spirit into their hearts. There's something so incredibly powerful about music and I was so grateful to be apart of the little ward choir praising the Lord through beautiful Christmas music. Even if I am a self-designated sopran-alto and had to sit strategically in the middle of the sopranos and altos so as to not ruin everything for everyone. 

Oh how I love Christmas and all that it stands for. Despite all the bad in the world, there is so much more good that takes place everyday, in small and large ways. But mostly small I think. People being and doing good in simple ways that are extremely significant in the end. Christ instills His love into our hearts and it motivates people to be more, to be better, to be kinder. And that love is more powerful that we can comprehend, if we let it be.

Eve

There is a small town in Utah called Coalville with a population of about 1382 (or at least that was Google's best guess). It's actually a really great place. A great part of my job is getting to discover a lot of new places in Utah that I never knew, or cared, existed--and realizing I should definitely care. Because they're pretty cool. People are really nice in small towns. And each town seems to have a unique feel.

Apparently someone in Coalville put in this statue of the leaf woman to draw more people into the town.  Some people in some cities put in movie theaters, museums and fantastic shopping opportunities to draw people in. Others put in Eve.

Reflections (not the literary contest, just the stuff that you do in your head)

It’s been forever since I posted on here, though I have been writing faithfully in my personal journal. I’ll let your imaginations run with that fact. It has been such a crazy few months. Plus I looked on my analytics and saw that 300 people had read my blog and it made me kinda shy. Of course, if I’m going to make a public journal then the public will read it, but I didn’t realize hundreds of people from all over the world were reading about my life and my thoughts.  I’m usually so private with it all and it kinda freaks me out to put it all on display. But I’ll just get over that and keep in mind that most bloggers probably have a lot more readers and that probably only one person ever came back to read this again after their initial visit, so I really am still writing to myself.

With that said, this week I had an awesome experience at work helping check people’s car seats to make sure they put them in their vehicles correctly. After a week-long training, it turns out that I’m certified to do that kinda thing. Me, who has never had kids and who only once ever put in a car seat before the class and realize now that it was a horrible job that one time, checks people’s car seats to make sure they’re safe. It’s really fun because the kids are incredibly cute and they get really happy about their safe seats (most of them at least haha) and there are lots of different cultures that come into these checks.

The last family to come in this week was a refugee family from Sudan. The only Sudanese person I’ve ever met before that day was this guy raising money in Immigration canyon who had a little table with oranges, cookies and water for us cyclists.  I looked that little station from heaven, which is what I felt like it was after a hot day and all my water was gone after the climb. The mid-day sun was beating so asked him, very concernedly, if he was getting sunburned. I felt really stupid after and wanted to roll the words right back into my mouth and into my head and reconsider asking that question, but it was too late (not that this is the first time that’s happened to me).

This time it wasn’t just one man, but three huge families and  a whole lot of women who came in with their beautiful headdresses. Even the one-year-old wore one. The kids were so beautiful with their dark skin and starkingly white eyes in contrast, curious and searching, and their big smiles. As I was demonstrating the car seat installation to the mother of a 3 year old girl, the little one started stroking my long hair. With her extremely short, curly hair hidden under a headwrap, the girl was fascinated to see someone with incredibly long, straight, exposed hair tumbling all over as it does. I realized at that moment that people from other countries are just as interested in our differences and culture here in America as we are in theirs. I get so bored with my surroundings sometimes and really want to go travel and live in other countries and see the world, but I have to remember that this is a good place where I am too. Just because I know here and am used to it, doesn’t mean it’s not amazing. And America really is amazing and I am so grateful to live here. But being around other cultures and connecting with them is one of my greatest joys.

Another impactful work moment was at a BBQ at Westminster College promoting no texting and driving. I invited Reggie Shaw, a young man who killed two men from texting and driving, to attend and say a few words and he was able to come! Though Reggie has spoken for my program for years, after working here for about a year, I hadn’t yet had the privilege of hearing him speak in person. And what an experience it was. As he started speaking, a lot of people were talking and eating and behaving as typical college kids in an outdoor commons area would, naturally. I was really worried because Reggie’s story is so personal and he’s so vulnerable up there and I wanted people to show respect, but I shouldn’t have worried. Once he got into his story, how he was texting and driving and killed two men and how he has to look at himself everyday in the mirror and own that, the entire outdoor commons area was completely silent. It was incredible. You could have heard a spider crawling in that huge open space. (I only say spiders because my roommate and I both found HUGE ones in the basement, recently and then she got this spider tablecloth for Halloween--umm...). Anyway, it was silent and people were in tears. He is the most remorseful guy in the world and would do anything to take it back. But he can’t. And that’s the important message here. Sometimes our actions are irreversible and we must remember that before we act.

Reggie volunteers to speak, doing it just because he wants to make a difference and influence people to think twice when they are behind the wheel. It made me so compassionate for others’ lives and remember that though I’m definitely struggling with my own trials, it really could be worse. Reggie is such a good guy and he has to live with this everyday. He told me that he initially thought it would get easier with time, but it doesn’t. There are some consequences that will have lasting effects. I believe in the Atonement of Christ and know that His sacrifice can repair damage and heal hurt, but it doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. And it doesn’t mean we won’t sometimes do stupid things. But the less stupid choices we make, the better off we’ll be. Not the most profound statement, I know, but I need to remember that myself. We really do make our lives harder or easier depending on our choices. Not saying only our choices affect us, but they are a huge factor. 

PRK, Perks and Pasta

It's been a little bit since I posted and that is the result of two things. 1) Lack of anything interesting to say. If you're thinking that what I say is never interesting, well then why are you reading this? 2) I had PRK corrective eye surgery and couldn't see, therefore do much for about a week. I thought about Helen Keller during that week of eyes closed and laying on the bed quite a bit and wondered how on earth she made out. As in got by, not got her kissing game on, because you only need your lips for that! At least I had my book on tape, Their Eyes Were Watching God which was really interesting and made me think of love and being in love and how that changes everything and then I moved onto The Memory Keeper's Daughter which is not as great a piece of literature as the latter, but is still really interesting and I'm still listening to it. In fact, I apparently left a voicemail on my co-worker's cell with part of the book talking and it inevitably sounded really weird and random and she thought it was a joke but it was no joke, not funny, not at all. At least she thinks I'm a funny person who would play jokes. Guess I should play one now. Anyway, my phone randomly calls people. It's an IPhone so it's not like I can but dial someone. It's really annoying. But I have to say that phone is one of the only purchases I've ever made without regret. I have huge buyer's remorse, and even had with PRK a bit, especially since I'm not even sure I'l be 20/20 at this rate, but with the IPhone it just rocked my world and I am the happiest little camper around. And nobody's paying me to say that :)

There are always perks about those you date that are specific to that person, like I dated someone once whose family owned a hotel, so I could stay for free and I dated someone who was a gypsy who grew up in Italy so I could practice my Italian which was fab, then there was the guy I dated who was a musician, so I got to have one of my poem's recorded to his album as part of the song and sometimes he serenaded me from the stage just like is any girl's dream. Well he was the bassist so it was more of a serenade with his eyes, like "Babe, this one's for you" but there's been the singer serenader too, which girls, you know you like it.  Perks like that. Other perks could include getting discount furniture, VIP passes to parties, free Jambas whatever perk it is, there's usually something specific to that person. Like for the guys I date they get to hear an ear full about wearing seat belts and not texting and driving. Ya know, perks. So I met a guy this weekend who works for a bail bond company and he told me, "Not that you seem the type, but if you ever needed it..." Like I said, there are perks of all kinds.

Some people have these amazing talents of dancing, singing, playing music, creating the most beautiful paintings one could every envision and all I can do is practice the piano day after day and make about a snail's worth of progress. Not a painter, I can't sing, you already know about my dancing, but I do have a hidden talent. I can make a mean place of pasta. I don't cook a lot due to time, laziness and resources, but I can truly just know what needs to go into the sauce, know in my gut and put it together--a little bit of this, a lot of that--and voila. It's funny because when I was living in Italy, I did not have this gift and for a year or so after getting back to America it was even less evident and every pasta anyone made, especially my own, tasted gross, but after a bit of time, I suddenly started making these delectable dishes. I can even make the pasta without planning or buying anything, just letting my pasta intuition lead me to choose things around the house and after some concocting, people are scraping their plates. My error is that I don't write the recipes down and totally forget what it was that momentarily took away all sorrow, trouble or concerns for those partaking. The reason is because it takes like an hour to clean up the incredible catastrophe I cause in the kitchen and I'm too exhausted afterward to want to record anything. This gift is rather a miracle considering that no one believed anything I created by me would taste good since I baked my first batch of cookies in college. My sister even laughed out loud the first time she found out I was going to cook dinner. Whose laughing now, sucka! I understand more why the Italians are SO proud of their pasta, so possessive of it. It's against all rules to add salt to the pasta they make, you know. It's their masterpiece, their gift to their friends and should be perfect just like they made it. And served hot. I get so looney when people are slow arriving to the table. The pasta has to be served IMMEDIATELY. Hot. Tasty. Rich. Delicious. Mmmm. And I have to admit that I added this pasta section just because my title was really lacking with just "PRK and Perks" or "Perks and PRK" because they both seemed misleading. But how much better does my alliteration sound now? First time I've ever written to create a title, but now you get to know the joys of pasta and my hidden talent, so it was all for the best.

Recent Discoveries

Last week was a week of discoveries. First one, saltine crackers are MUCH better when they’re the mini-size. I even checked to see if it was butter or special of the week flavor and it was not. They were simply more delicious small size.

Next, adventures are always awaiting. I went up to Logan last weekend for work—Road Respect had a trailer at the MS-150 century ride and I asked people questions about safe cycling and driving and gave prizes. It was really cool, in fact, Road Respect is one of the favorite components of my job, but it got extremely cool once the crowd went back to their tents and it was just me and Smitty the Rat. I can imagine what you’re thinking will follow, but unless you’ve seen the 30-foot inflatable mascot that X96 so hilariously claims, you really have no idea what I’m about to say. This 30-foot inflatable rat has gangly teeth and a big fat belly and a long inflatable tail. It’s all quite ridiculous.

Well I ended up hanging out with some of the guys from X96 for a few hours playing the Wii on the belly of this inflatable rat Smitty. It was the most random and ridiculous thing I could have concocted for a Friday night. They ordered pizza after awhile and the delivery boy looked so petrified, truly nauseous when he came up, asking hesitantly, “Is..this the right place.” After seeing the instructions on his computer: “Look for the giant inflatable rat” I really wondered how he could have even been in question. I looked around. Nope, no other large inflatable rat in sight. So we ate pizza and started talking about politics, then religion, during which we looked up and remembered that the angry jaw of Smitty was literally looming over our heads and it kind of halted the conversation.

Another one, if your plans get thwarted by outside interferences, sometimes those interferences are worth using in a plan B. I went to the gym to swim laps and after about 10 minutes all of these old people started filling up the pool and they took out the lap divider. I realized there was an aqua class at the top of the hour. I was already wet anyway, so I joined ‘em. Me and all of Salt Lake City’s finest senior citizens doing our water aerobics together on a Thursday morning. And I’ll have to say, it was one of the most fun workouts I’ve ever done, and challenging too. I did have to chuckle to myself when I got out and noticed there was a walker near the pool stairs. Love those old people.  

Last discovery, I was sitting in church, feeling kind of blah and ugly, when it hit me that being good and cool is also attractive. Doesn’t sound so profound, I know. We all learned that lesson in elementary school in the warm and fuzzy lesson and hear it all the time, but obviously living in society can make us question those simple life lessons and what’s really important and worth working toward. Well it hit me hard that character and substance equate for a lot more than I was giving them credit for and after several weeks of having this deeper understanding and internalizing it, it’s really made a difference for how I’m able to view myself and others. I saw this young teen girl crying on the side of the road while walking to fireworks last night. Her cry sounded like a little animal, just desperate, scared, defeated. She said her boyfriend and her had gotten in a fight and had left her there and she was scared and didn’t want to get lost. I looked at this little girl, whose huge plastic blue glasses covered more circumference than her shorts and knew that her childhood understanding of worth was already lost, if not temporarily. It was clear that society had currently gotten the best of her, thinking that being sexy and accepted is the most important thing, as it’s gotten the best of all of us at one point or another. Now I’m hoping that I can hold on tight to this re-discovery of what I’ve always known but used to actually understand as a kid, and hoping that others can remember too.

Attack of the moth-bat

You know those weeks where you’re just exhausted ALL WEEK?  It was only Wednesday, but I’d felt that way since….thinking…..well, January, so it was one of those days where I was so excited to go to bed early. I was literally just about to fall asleep in my bed, the happiest moment of the day, when I remembered I hadn’t started the dryer because I had had to wait to clean the lint filter since I was brushing my teeth when I had put the tablecloth in it. I grudgingly got out of bed to start the dryer so the tablecloth wouldn’t have to sit wet all night and get that weird smell and have to be washed all over again…when I got attacked by a moth-bat.

Now if you’re unfamiliar with the monster, moth-bats are very evil things. They are very large moths that look like bats without your contacts in. Very scary, especially when you’re roommates are gone for the night.

The whole horror started when I heard this repeated thumping on the ceiling. I got scared, thinking it was footsteps upstairs, when I saw a shadow following the horrific thumping. I looked up (and not very far because I practically touch the top of my ceiling) and freaked out because something big was fluttering around right near my head, thumping its nasty self on my ceiling. I ran to my room and grabbed my glasses to discover, in full 20/20 vision glory, the most ginormous moth perched on my wall, wings spread and ready to attack. I’ve always had an aversion to anything that can fly, except, of course, fairies and butterflies. The evil twin of butterflies, the furry and up-to-no-good moth, is up there on my list of things to avoid, along with rapists, robbers, murderers, spiders, snakes and Savage Garden.

After a few moments of deliberation about how to proceed, I decide to kill it. I would man up and face this demon. I didn’t know what to kill it with since there’s no fly swatter in the world that would be strong enough to crush those thick, furry, disgusting wings—plus we don’t have one—so I grabbed the broom with the dustpan attached and planned my attack. I crept back down the stairs to the moth- bat still perched on the wall and took a deep breath, mustering all of the courage I had. I knew I had just one chance. One chance alone. I held that breath I’d just taken and lunged. If you saw me play softball last week, you may know that this story isn’t taking a good turn. I was the one where people kept saying to me, “Nice effort. That wasn’t so bad” when in reality, I struck out, so yeah it actually was so bad.  

As for the attempt to destroy my sickening predator, it all happened in slow motion. I guess I missed because suddenly, a hairy monster came flying angrily toward me. I couldn’t see where it went. I screamed bloody murder, shaking my hair up and down, sure it had nestled itself in those long locks that were very unruly from being previously in bed. Instead, it was actually flying crazily all around me, all around everything, unpredictable, dangerous. At least it didn’t get it my hair, holy heavens. I ran into my room and stuffed some pants in the small space under the door, my poor little heart pounding at full speed when it should have been peacefully beating, already in dream land. Then I waited…until tomorrow morning.

In the morning I had to watch every step, not a clue where the moth-bat had gone. It was the worst and most terrifying morning in the world. A fly buzzed in my face and I almost had a heart attack, thinking it was him, Barf-wings the Moth-bat. Although I could feel sickening fluttering and wings around me all day, I didn’t have a run in with him again until I came home from work and there he was, lying on my sofa, acting like he owed the place.

Fortunately, my friend was there and said he was dead. I couldn’t bring myself to go near the thing, so she took a napkin to crunch the thing and it was alive! It got angry and wanted to fly away so she threw it in the toilet where it started trying to fly around and around. As you can imagine, I was so scared I could have peed right there, but I couldn’t because Barf-wings was in my toiled!! Jessie had enough bravery to flush it down while I quivered in the corner of the bathroom, ready to die if moth-bat didn’t kill me first. And so it happened. He was washed down the toilet and my life began anew. Welcome, Lora, to a moth-bat-free life full of sunshine and peace.

I just hope he didn’t lay any moth-bat baby eggs anywhere. 

Not Just Another Book

I watched a little bit of the Tony awards a few weeks back and watched the jokes flying around about the Mormons and the Book of Mormon and our faith, due to the hit broadway play that was winning everything, "The Book of Mormon". It made me sad to hear the MC's jokes and the audiences laughter because I cherish my faith so much, but more than anything, it made me sad because I knew the people were laughing because they don't understand. I used to not understand as I spent several years passively half way in and half way out of the church. That was a hard time. The hardest time of my life. There was nothing in my life to make it so sad and hard, I can't claim anything, except that I wasn't utilizing what was right at my fingertips, and that's the happiness that the gospel brings. I know some people could read this and think negative things towards what I'm writing. I know that because people sometimes think negative things about what I say regarding this same topic. But all it is is a message of joy and truth and love. It's the kind of thing that makes life more than just a timeframe that we pass because we have to, but a journey of progression to a destination. It's knowing that someone greater than ourselves made us and loves us and knows us and has plans for us. This is what I learned once I started reading the Book of Mormon again after years of letting it sit on the shelf. After years of trying to direct my own life and watching that blow up in flames, feeling the burn every day. The sad part is that as much as I suffered and felt that pain blatantly, I didn't ever think, "Well maybe I could fix this. Just maybe this is because of my actions." This was during middle and high school when I was a person with no plans, no aspirations, no hope in anything. Now I'm a person who wants to experience and do everything, become the best I can be. A complete shift from that lost, hurting, confused person I once was. With the Book of Mormon, sometimes I just open the book and can feel the power. I feel it. Those words, written by prophets inspired by God himself, have helped me beyond the ability to describe. Have helped billions. On my mission, I remember seeing people transformed after reading those sacred words. I got so excited because I understood. One time we were getting on a train and shared some verses with a woman we chatted with every morning as we waited for the train. I watched her change as we shared those words, the tears fall, the light come into her face. It's a true book. The words are true. That means that there is a God, a Savior, a true church, hope. It means everything.

All in a name

My whole life I’ve gotten flack for my name. People can’t seem to figure out how someone’s name could possibly be spelled phonetically. My name is Lora pronounced Lore-uh.  It’s not Laura, Lori, Dora, Cora, Loren, or any other combination or derivative of the name Lora. I’ve always thought it was pretty simple, but apparently, I stand alone on a segregated island surrounded by a confused, angry and unaccepting world. When I was younger especially, people would call me Laura. Or maybe they still do just as frequently but I just don’t notice anymore. Come on though, I don’t call someone named Jack, “Jock” or someone named Jeff, “Jiff”. I mean really people, it’s an entirely different vowel sound. Recently, it’s seemed to have become more of a problem as far as the spelling, not just the pronunciation, with people saying how my name is weird or it’s spelled weird or I’m weird. My name is Lora. Is that really so difficult? So I was answering someone’s email who doesn’t know me and I signed the email with my name, which was written above my work email signature that has my full name written again underneath the first name that I typed in. Got it? It was written twice. Not to mention that this is the third time I’d corresponded with this person, so he’d seem it a total of SIX TIMES. Anyway, he responds back, “Laura, blah blah blah, blah.” I was indeed appalled. No sir, I assure you that I did not misspell my name in the past three emails. I’ve never misspelled my name except one time when I wrote Lora Smith on a paper at school, which is my best friend’s name (see, other people spell their name Lora whose names are Lora). A short-lived identity crisis which I immediately corrected. At any rate, I know I have a true friend when they can get my name right.

On a lighter note, yesterday I was stopped at a red light and this young woman wobbles across the cross walk with her towering high heels, cut-off butt shorts, long blond extensions and bubbling cleavage. I watched her, afraid she may fall over, and then I looked around and noticed that I wasn’t the only one concerned for her well-being. Three men parked at the same light were following her pathway, harmoniously inching their heads further and further to the right as she crossed, then turning them completely as she turned to walk down the street, following her with their eyes and heads until she was too far away that their necks would have broken to keep looking, which I’m kind of surprised they didn’t keep it up. At that point, all three men settled back into position, looking straight-ahead, apparently rest-assured that she would be okay and could indeed walk in those heals and cross the road safely. I’m so glad there are so many considerate and concerned men in the world.

The interesting happenings of my driving path are endless. The other week I saw Mario walking down the street. He was straight from the Mushroom Kingdom, with a round belly pugding out of his red jacket, a black mustache and a red hat.  Neh neh neh neh neh neh (you know what I mean) started playing in the background as I drove past him. I wish I could have snapped a photo.

I did, however, snap a photo of this dumpster that says, “Sometimes we don’t know where we’re going...” I wasn’t sure how to take that exactly but decided it can’t be a great thing in the context. You decide.

Dancing Lessons

I saw the beautiful Elizabeth Smart country dancing this week and couldn't help but watching her a bit as she danced with lots of guys who were constantly asking her to dance. She looked really happy and like she was having a lot of fun. Looking at her, you'd never know she had had so much trauma and horrible experiences in her life, except that everyone knows. It made me think how you really have NO idea what's going on in people's lives, even when they seem a certain way or act a certain way. The most important thing is to always be kind. Most people in the US would never be rude to Elizabeth Smart, knowing what she's been through. I'm sure she is treated so kindly everywhere she goes. But she did recently get back from her mission in Paris where I know people were rude to her, because she was a missionary and there are always people who are rude to missionaries. The nicest people can be rude to missionaries, I've been one, I know. If those people had any idea what she's gone through in her life, I know they wouldn't have ever slammed a door or yelled at her or ignored her or maybe she got rocks thrown at her like I did in Italy. They may have said "no thanks" and closed the door, but they wouldn't have been rude because most people are good in their hearts; they have compassion and sympathy and substance, especially for the wounded. I think we all have something in our lives that would motivate people to be kind, charitable and decent towards us if they knew we were going through or had gone through.

As for me, I was told I'd need two months instead of the typical one to learn how to country dance. I'll admit, I was one of the only girls in seventh grade who didn't make dance company. And I saw a picture of my dance recital in preschool and I was in my yellow polka-dot bikini bobbing up and down to the left side when everyone else was turned to the right. But it's not my fault, in the womb, I was upside down and backwards--I guess I've just always been a little bit directionally challenged (which makes it hard to dance, if you couldn't figure that out). Needless to say, everyone has their own talents.

Random Rambling

I was at the mall awhile back and kept meaning to record this moment I witnessed/shared. There was a kiosk of hairstyling products and the employee was curling a woman’s hair to demo the product to her. The woman had dirty blond hair and heavy eyeliner and her eyes were rolled back in their sockets as this other lady curled her hair. She was in pure exstasy. As I watched this moment I felt like I was somehow a part of it. It was such a personal, intimate moment to be witnessing, and there she was, in the middle of a crowded mall, just letting herself revel in the bliss of having her hair done. I smiled then.


People joke with me that the older you get, the less picky you can be. Some of my single friends joke that they'll take what they can get at this point. All of this, is of course, a total front, because the reality is that older people get, the pickier they get. They figure they've waited this long to find that special someone, that the person better be out of this world incredible. So now that I got that into the open, I might as well be quite frank that I also have some very specific and high expectations for my future spouse:


1) He must be a certified massage therapist. Yep, that's right. 


The end.


I just got back from getting a massage and I'm telling you, I feel amazing. There is nothing better than walking out of that room all relaxed and pain-free. Well, I'm sure there are better things, but getting a full-body massage from someone who knows what they're doing and isn't afraid to rub out all of that muscle pain is truly one of life's great joys. But it's too expensive, so either I need to get a part-time job dedicated exclusively to regular massage therapy or I just need to marry a massage therapist. The latter is looking more favorable at the moment.


So speaking of work. I love my job. I'm one of those really blessed people who didn't know exactly what they wanted to be when they grew up, but were lead to a great fit that made so much sense they wonder how they didn't think of that on their own. Well, I guess people don't necessarily think, "I'm going to be a safety nerd when I grow up." So that's probably why I didn't think about it then.


At any rate, the other day we were giving out Creamies to high school and middle school kids to entice them to listen to our message about construction safety. As you can guess, they really only wanted the Creamies, especially the 7th graders, so there was one point during our first lunchtime presence that I had a horrifying flashback to the movie Selena. You know the scene where she's singing in Mexico and everyone's so excited because Selena's the bomb diggity, so they start crowding toward the stage to be near her and people are getting trampled. Apparently, free ice cream can have the same effect. You get real popular when you're giving that stuff away. I am a big fan of JLO, but as much as I love her, I don't want to be her, and I certainly didn't want 7th graders trampling each other for a free Creamie. So we resolved that situation immediately and the rest of the schools we visited were much more controlled. Hey, there's always a learning curve.


On a final note, I was thinking about how fun dating used to be when you were 16. I remember repeatedly going with my girlfriend and sneaking into the backyard of my crush's house and throwing rocks at his window. He'd come out and we'd stay up all night talking on his tramp. Now-a-days I don't have the energy nor the desire to stay up all night, ever. Never ever ever. Plus, everything's so serious. If I tried that approach now, the guy would think I was some obsessed crazy person or it would make it all awkward, when really a crush or a bold move isn't a marriage proposal. That's what 16 year olds understand that older people sometimes don't. I daresay the one thing that 16 year olds understand that older people don't. Dating when you're younger was so carefree, so exciting and had such low pressure. Now you go on a first date and wonder if you're getting sized up for a lot more than your bowling skills. Don't get me wrong, I still have fun on dates. But it's definitely a very different experience than it was even freshman and sophomore year of high school. I remember going on motorcycle rides with the guy I liked when I was 19, who looked like Jim Morrison with bad teeth, through the red hills of St. George, holding on tight and feeling the wind on my face and hair--no care in the world and no helmet. Now, I would never ride without a helmet (which I'm proud to say) and I wonder if I'd even hold close.

Today I had some extra time and started to unfriend people on Facebook who I hadn't talked to in awhile. The first person I went to u add turns out to have died last September. How very sad. He's someone I had gone out with like one time, we went running, per my request, because I was training for a race. I remember how happy he was afterward and said how good he felt to run and how he'd never run that far in his life. Anyway, it just makes me think how I would have never have known what happened to him, had it not been for social media. I probably wouldn't even have thought about him. It's weird to think about what happens to people. You meet someone and lose touch, they go on their way, and things happen to them and they feel things and they hurt and they're happy, and they even die, and you never know.

Lessons from a lost shirt

Don’t you hate it when something goes wrong after a perfect day? That’s just what happened on Saturdat after I was all high on life from going on a long run and a bike ride on the most beautiful sunny morning then helping kids be safe by checking their car seat installation at a car seat check point and then visiting one of my favorite people in the world for a few hours. Up to this point, perfect. But that’s when disaster struck. So after visiting my friend, I was on my way to meet my mom to go to Jane Eyre and I got sidetracked at Kohl’s because I wanted to return one thing and ended up trying on all these other things, (BTW I’m always getting sidetracked by SOMETHING, I swear, it’s so annoying, and hoping time will stop for me and seriously thinking in my mind that it will, then having anxiety when it inevitably doesn’t). So anyway, I was all late and told my mom just to meet me at a grocery store by the freeway so we wouldn’t be late. 

I took my clothes into Harmon’s to change since I was still wearing a shirt that said, “The following seat check has been reviewed for all audiences and has been rated safe for all passengers” which is a great shirt, very clever, designed like a movie rating, but I didn’t want to wear that shirt to the movie, naturally. Well as I went to change I got distracted by the candy  aisle and as I was hurriedly picking some out I noticed that my FAVORITE shirt was gone from my pile of stuff in my hand. When I say favorite, I mean favored among other shirts, prized, cherished, loved. In fact, I thought I’d lost it in the move and just TWO DAYS AGO found it at the back of my closet and got so freaking excited that I may or may not have kissed it. I view clothes as more than just a way to look cute or cool or whatever other purposes it can serve, but as a way to express yourself. I like clothes that are a little different, unique, funky. And this shirt was so amazing—pink with this purple neckline of pattern, in the shape of a necklace. Some people thought they were feathers, some thought it was a doily, others thought it was a necklace. I just thought it was my favorite shirt. And the sleeves very really unique and the cut of the bottom torso area was really cool. Amazing. It’s a shirt that’s irreplaceable. I got it at Uptown Cheapskates so there’s no knowing its history to go buy a new one. Here I had this high peak of happiness in finding it after it being considered lost and then it just went to a low sad state of sorrow to know it’s gone forever.

I hunted the one isle I had entered in Harmon’s back and forth, back and forth, like some kind of lunatic or hunter, either way, maybe they’re one in the same. I even asked them to make a page, “If anyone finds a pink blouse, please bring it to the lost and found” and left my phone number. What a sad sad day. I can’t figure out where it could have gone. The result--the loss of a favorite, irreplaceable piece of self-expression and the fact I had to wear my t-shirt with a movie rating theme to a movie theater. I was the girl that looked like she had dressed up for the movie by wearing her matching movie shirt. Next time I go bowling, why don’t I wear a shirt with a bowling lane on it, of if I go to a restaurant, I can wear a shirt with a kitchen on it, or if I go miniature golfing I’ll make sure to have a putting hole surrounded by a pirate obstacle course that you have to hit the ball in the pirate’s mouth, because why wouldn’t I want to match my outing. And I had an extremely hard time enjoying the movie because I kept worrying about my lost shirt, hoping and wondering if someone had turned it in, wondering where it could be and sad that it had all happened like it did.

This whole experience really got me thinking about how sometimes we can lose things that are important to us, the losing of which could have been totally prevented. In my case, poor planning and trying to fit too much into a short timespan was the cause of my shirt loss, since I was planning at changing at my parent’s house, not at a grocery store. So lame. But what we can lose can be a lot worse than a favorite shirt, as tragic as it was. We can lose people we love because of our selfishness or because of our bad habits or because of a million other reasons. We can lose jobs because of laziness or we can even lose our lives from negligence like driving with cell phones. There are so many things that we lose that don’t have to be lost if we just acted differently. And sometimes we lose what’s most important for what we want at the moment. Yeah I wanted to try on clothes, but I kinda even dislike Kohl’s and it wasn’t nearly as important or relevant to me as that favorite shirt. It’s never worth losing what we want the most for what we want at the moment, or even just from our own carelessness.

Il Bosco Sacro

After the initial difficulty of adjusting to a new space and situation and mourning my bank account, it definitely feels great to have a place of my own. I love my room and I love my little space, sparse though it may be. Yesterday, I was listening to Andrew Bird and putting my paintings and pictures up in my room and came to my Bosco Sacro (Sacred Grove) foldout poster from a Liahona magazine I got what seems like a million years ago. I got it shortly after I received my mission call to Italy and remember cherishing the flimsy foldout poster like it was the world's most prized possession. Just looking at the words, all in Italian, "Cio che e' successo qui ha cambiato il mondo: fa che cambi anche la tua vita" filled me with excitement, wonder and impatience for the adventure that lay ahead. I had no idea what the words meant, but at the same time they meant everything to me.

Looking at it now, it still holds the same treasure-like quality, but it's changed. Rather than the wonder and impatient anticipation that overwhelmed me every time I looked at it, it's filled with the most incredible and priceless memories of an experience that is truly too amazing to even describe. There is nothing better that I have ever experienced, or what I could imagine exceeding the experience of, than looking into the eyes of someone who understood, for the first time in their life, who they were--who they really were in an all-emcompassing perspective. Knowing that life is not just an arbitrary sequence on events, but that there's more to life than meets the eye. That as The Lord says in The Doctrine and Covenants 84:88, "For I will go before your face, I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts and mine angels rounds about you, to bear you up,"He is with us always and watches over us and helps us and loves us. And that's amazing. Knowing there is a plan for us, that we're not just roamers, getting by day-to-day just because we happen to be alive. It is truly incredible helping people understand that and see their lives become so much more meaningful and beautiful.

Not to mention what those kind of life changing experiences for others on my mission did for me. Never have I felt so close to everything good, to God, to love, to beauty, to truth. Never have I felt so sure of what was the right thing, of what I needed to do. That is truly an amazing feeling. And the Gospel is meant to teach you those things all the time, and it does, but there was something about treading on the foreign grounds of a country that will be forever engraved in my heart as a sacred and magical and heart-changing place, that augmented those feelings.

So I look at this poster, taped in places, with its plastic border that I put on, definitely not what would be deemed as a fancy piece of art, it fills my heart with all that it stood for before my mission and all that it stands for now, a symbol to me of what really matters in life. I imagine that the way my love for that picture has changed is somewhat compareable to what love is like in a good marriage. Having never been married, I really don't know, but I imagine that before the union, you can't wait to see what the much-anticipated and desired experience will be like. You don't want to continue going through life as before, but just want to be onto that next step, united with that which you love so much. During the marriage, that fairy-tale mind set wears off, but it's so much better in reality than what you could have even imagined, so much more fulfilling and incredible, with love entering your heart on a stronger scale than ever thought imaginable. Of course, the tough times are weightier than you ever imagined too, but once you look at that person, you see the treasure that has grown even more valuable with time--the challenges just an inevitable factor in the equation, but not the defining piece. And you look at that person, after all the time has passed since that initial anticipation to be with them, and you would never want to part with them, no matter how frayed or simple they may be, or even how different than you expected. Because that person that you now understand so perfectly but perhaps could only have attempted to decipher before, is absolutely incredible and has helped mold you into who you are today.

"What happened here [in the sacred grove] changed the world: let it change your life." That is what the poster translates to and that is exactly what happened to so many people who I love so much. And what happened to me. It's truly incredible that God gives us these gifts in life that mean everything. Life really is so amazing and we have so much to be grateful for.

Easter

       I can't stop thinking about the incredible forgiveness that this man has for the teenager who killed his pregnant wife and two children because he was drinking and driving. The way the man turned to the Savior instead of to bitterness is truly inspiring. We saw this video in Sunday School at church yesterday and one of the other guys in the class knows the 17-year-old who caused the crash. That makes it very real that though he was the cause, he's still a person. We discussed that by forgiving the teen, the man opened the door to the teen being able to repent and turn his life around and move forward. In the video, the man told the teen to pick a day and forget it all happened, to move on from it. He really doesn't want him to suffer any more. That is so noble. However, I was thinking that the boy's grief is just beginning. Once he falls in love, gets married and has children, he'll understand just what that loss meant to the other man. It would be a hard cross to bear. But with the help of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, he really can find relief and solace and forgiveness, even from such a severe mistake as this, just as we can all receive forgiveness for our mistakes. As an outreach coordinator for a traffic safety program, this message is especially close to home, since I promote safe driving all day, but this is a profound message of forgiveness and love that extends far beyond the story of just these two families and can be applied to us all.

Firestarter, Eggs and Visitors

So here I am waiting for the natural gas company to come check my water heater, per recommendation of the fire department who left my house a few minutes ago. So I was boiling some water to hard boil some eggs, not in conjunction with Easter or anything, but I just wanted some protein. While I was blow drying my hair with egg whites to make it curly, which was what triggered the idea to hard boil the eggs, I suddenly heard the dreaded fire alarm and it was shrieking "FIRE FIRE" in this monotone yet urgent and creepy voice. So I ran upstairs, truthfully unprepared to do anything about a fire (I didn't have a phone with me or water) but just natural instinct to run towards the cause of the scene. Fortunately, there was no fire, but there was smoke and it did stink. This was the first time I've boiled anything in this little old house I now call my humble abode and I guess the stove is lazy and doesn't really like being used, so it put up a fight. Or it was probably dirty and the crumbs were causing the smoke. Anyway, I couldn't "hush" the fire alarm as it claimed to be capable of doing and then it started yelling "Carbon Monoxide" instead of fire, in that same passive-aggressive voice which got me a little nervous, especially because I lost a friend and his father in high school to that very poisoning.

Well I took off that little frazzler of an alarm so it would stop yelling at me and opened the doors and continued getting ready for the day. I kept getting paranoid that I heard footsteps upstairs and that now a carbon monoxide warning would turn into the invitation of an unwelcome visitor, so I came upstairs and started getting ready up there. All the while, I was considering the instructions on the alarm 1) Disable 2) Go outside 3) Call fire department or 911. I really didn't want to call anybody, I just wanted to go to the temple, but I kept thinking about the new roommate who moved in, who wasn't here, but who would inevitably come home some time today, and boy would I not want to make the papers as the girl who killed her new roommate, so I decided to make a call. I made sure not to call 911, just the normal fire department line, hoping they would come casually, calmly and inconspicuously.

After a few minutes, I heard the sirens. I prayed they weren't coming to my house, that they were for something else. "Please, not the sirens. Please." Well up pulls the big red one, complete with flashing lights and the sirens and two big guys in full UNIFORM with TANKS on their backs running up to my door. "You called?" They asked. "Yeeeah." I responded. So they came and checked it out and said it was fine. Turns out carbon monoxide can only be triggered by water heaters or regular heaters, not stoves, which I did Google carbon monoxide but didn't learn about how its specific causes, just what it is, until after the big red one had to come. They did look at the water heater though and detected some natural gas, which could turn into a fire, so they requested I call the natural gas company straightaway. I did that and they told me to exit my house immediately but stand by so I could let them in, which I didn't do and am not doing, but I will sit by, inside. So as I was doing that, a knock at the door that I thought was the gas company, faired my landlord saying he saw a fire truck here. The landlord that came over on a Sunday evening to blow up my air mattress because I didn't have batteries for the pump. Yeah, turns out I'm THAT tenant.

Well all of this Saturday afternoon stealing fire business took me back to several instances with the fire department that I've had before. 1) On my LDS mission in Italy when I locked the keys inside the apartment. That happened on several occasions, but this time the elders weren't available to let us in with the spare key, so in Italy, the fire department handles those kinds of situations. And they use lights and sirens. Later on in my mission, while serving on an island, we were cooking an American dinner for our favorite Italian convert family who was inviting their friends over to learn more about these crazy Americans who leave their house for two years to come talk about God and happiness and truth, all the while dressed in mid-calf length skirts. (Do you know how hard those are to find??) Well during that cooking experience, I left a little towel on the stove which happened to still be hot and it actually did start the towel on fire. They took all these pictures with me looking through the hole and I never let that one down, even when I went back to visit three years later. Fortunately, the friends of the family really loved the message from the Book of Mormon we shared about Jesus Christ and they felt the spirit and were baptized. Well, it's a good thing we do believe in baptism by water and by fire :)

After that, I was in college at BYU and had a flat tire and a fire truck happened to pull into my apartment complex for a false alarm, but decided they were friendly firefighters and that they would change my tire for me. I really appreciated that, but at the same time, was a bit horrified to be seen with the big red. And the last fire story I have for you today is when I was cast as "Seizure Girl" in the sequel to Stephen King's Firestarter movie with Drew Barrymore, where I got to act out this seizure for the horrible sequel which only ever made it to HBO. I did get paid $200 for a few hours of seizing and alka seltzer and for a 16 year old that was legitimate bragging rights, not to mention they let my dad be an extra and run around during the pandaemonium scene where these possessed kids with crazy powers were causing all kinds of trouble for people like me. But today, it was only me causing trouble for me.

I guess these blogs are good for something because last time I posted when I had the cold, my angel of a friend brought over sick person food for me and bottled water, which was THE nicest thing IN THE WORLD and really made me realize the importance of doing the little nice things for people and would not have happened if I had just wrote that in my private journal. So, should I expect a fire extinguisher this time? Anybody?

On a new note, during yoga today, which turned out to be pilates because the instructor never showed so this pilates instructor who came for a yoga class, stepped in and led a class, I stood up and got light headed. That is the strangest place to be in, where everything is black and you're dizzy and you know you're out of it, but you can't do anything about it and then you go to that place, that dizzy place that is so bizarre. Maybe people that do drugs go to places like that when they're high, but as one who has never experimented with the likes of any mind-altering substance, starting to black out is the only place I know where you're physically removed from the present. Bizarre.

Looks like the gas guy is here! Perhaps I will get to leave my house eventually today after all :)

April 20th 2011

For the first time in my life I'm early for something and am rewarded with the luxury of sitting in a fire warmed lounge with plush couches. Oh and I must not forget the relaxing music. My new goal is to always be a few mimutes early. That way I'll at least be on time.

4/19/2011

So I've never been one to think I'd start a blog, but here I am with a cold and nothing else to do, so I'm lying on this horribly uncomfortable air mattress I call my bed, starting my online journal. I've been journaling since I was 8 and have been paranoid about anyone reading anything I wrote in my journals since then. But I figured that since no one will really read this anyway, it won't make much of a difference. I'll be talking to myself with an open, unknown audience potentially in the background. It will be an interesting experiment at the very least. I'll still leave the most personal thoughts in my hand-written journal, but I guess I'll open up a little bit here.

Just so it's clear, I'm going to try not to worry too much about grammar or spelling or anything, and just let the thoughts flow freely like I do in my journal. Any other time, except for in texts, I am kind of a grammar snob. I had an English emphasis in my Humanities major at BYU and tutored English in college and just really want people to speak and write correctly, but in a journal, the rules vanish. Just like dating rules go out the window if something larger steps in front. For example, I recently broke up with a guy, well he broke up with me, which usually makes it easy to just cut those ties. But then his mom died. So I did everything I wouldn't do in the case of being dumped, or what I imagine I wouldn't do, because that's actually the first time anyone's ever really dumped me, and I pounced. Well, that sounds a bit cat and mouse, and makes me think of Mean Girls when they have these random scenes showing people as animals, but I did kind of do that. I called and text and emailed and even stopped by his parent's house, giving gifts and cards. It was a bit comical in my opinion but I felt so incredibly bad about not being able to do more, that I did what I could. That was an incredibly stressful time for me, though I was nothing in that equation of his loss. But I did exist, not in his world, but in mine, and it was so hard wanting to be there for someone that I cared so much about, but not really being able to. An email is an email. When I'm there for someone, it's a whole lot more than that. I'll bet that's how Heavenly Father feels all the time. When we're struggling and He'd want to shower us with his unconditional love and peace, but we push Him away for whatever reason it may be. Or we let him step inside the door, but not come inside the home. So we get a little comfort and direction, but miss what could be the very thing we need the most, so much more than the taste we limit it to.

So I mentioned my air mattress. I could buy a bed. But I get anxiety if I don't save a nest egg and that is getting thinner since the move, naturally. Nest egg is a phrase I would not use under normal circumstances but my life is NOT normal right now. I got involved in this play and it's sucked out all of my time and sent my stress through the roof. I thought it would be a good way to get a change of pace, sometimes sucking stale air can make you go crazy. So I volunteered to be in this play, filling in for the lady initially cast as Costanza, the Italian Housekeeper in Enchanted April, who just wasn't working out. And they use the word nest egg in that play. It's been fun and I've loved the people I've met doing it, but it's too much for me right now. I work a ton and then go to rehearsal and in the middle of it all, I moved.

I'd been living with my parents since I graduated from college, which was two years ago, and I'd been wanting to move out for a long time, but then there was the elderly grandma to take care of and later the older sister who moved in and I just never felt like it was the right time. Was it the right time now? Who knows. As I'm sick with a cold today, lying on my blow up mattress that hurts by already bad back, I wonder. I have no food for sick people and no filtered water, so my motivation to hydrate as I should is rather low. I thought about the delicious tomato soup and squaw bread that would be waiting for me at my parent's house and all the purified water I could drink and great company, including that of my parents who I rarely appreciated enough, and how everything now is in boxes and I don't have time to unpack because of work and the play, and I wonder even more. Plus I miss my sister. We hadn't lived together since she moved out when I was 8, so for the first time, I got to know her as a sister, not a guest on holidays. I really love her. For the first time, I understand what the definition of sister means. I'd used that word all my life, but had I had a sister before? A different kind maybe, but this is the real stuff. I guess that's how any kind of love is. It grows and changes. But I kinda wish we could have spent more time together as sisters sharing a roof, but I got over-anxious to get a new scene, be closer to work, and be independent. It's a good thing.

Perhaps 26 year olds shouldn't live at home. But maybe it doesn't really matter where you live as long as you live right. I still consider myself living right, in the sense that I am trying to be a good person, but when I can't stand up straight in the teeny shower because I'm too tall, my room is 10x10, my clothes are everywhere because there's no room in the closet to hang them and I have a blow up mattress, it doesn't seem that glamorous. This is what I'd hoped for and thought about for two years and now I have it and it's not that great. I think that happens a lot. We want this or that and we'll be happy when, but once that time comes, we realize we forgot to really appreciate all of the happy moments along the way.