PGCC

I did it. I took the step. I did the research, filled out the paperwork, drove to the campus, stood in all the appropriate lines and finally came away happier but poorer.

Since I don't feel that between working two jobs (and commuting 45 minutes to an hour each way for one of them!), being a housewife, and teaching Primary I'm nearly busy enough, I've decided to throw some schoolwork on top of it all. I registered to take 3 classes - 7 credits - from Prince George's County Community College next semester, in an effort to be academically progressive between now and next January when I'll (hopefully) start attending the University of Maryland. For various reasons, my last semester at BYU wasn't great (okay okay so that's an understatement - I was put on academic warning for not taking the exams in half of my classes). I need to prove that I can do well in school before UMD will ever even consider accepting me.

It has been easy for me to talk of returning to school and finishing my degree, but it's very difficult to actually take the step forward and do it. I have a terrible fear of failure. As I was driving to the campus to register, I very nearly flipped a U-turn in the middle of the road and pretended like I'd never had the idea at all. It's too bad I had already discussed my plan with Scott - I couldn't back out. *sigh* I admit, though, that I do miss school, and am the tiniest bit excited to return.

And yet I'm completely terrified.

Adorable children

I honestly think that my niece Penelope is the most adorable child ever born. Cuter, even, than those babies in the Anne Geddes calendars. She's gotten to the stage where she'll coo and gurgle until someone pays attention to her, and if you catch her eye she starts giggling. It's wonderful. Of course I'm certainly not biased, even though I'm her aunt - my declaration is strictly factual. She's just the cutest.


While I'm on the subject of cute children, Cassy related a story last week about my nephew Porter, who is very smart and very practical. I'll tell the story in her words:

"I was asking Porter what he wanted for Christmas and told him we’d have to write a letter to Santa to let him know. He of course had a better idea, pointing out that Santa’s never even been to Washington DC and might not know how to get here. He said, 'I think I should just tell my Grandma instead.' "

The child knows where the money's at!!!

Initiation

You won't be granted a driver's license without proving that you can actually drive. It's not enough to just fill out the forms with your name, birthdate, and social security number. You have to get in a car, and with an instructor watching you like a hawk for any mistakes you might make or even think of making, attempt to navigate the roads. And you must pass. Marrying into the Albrecht family is similar to applying for a license. My wedding ceremony was like doing the paperwork - it was necessary, but not the most important part. After the wedding was over and the honeymoon behind me, I had to actually be a part of the family. Prove that I had what it took to not just survive but thrive as a member; get along with individuals and fit into the family as a whole. I needed to step up to my role as the wife of the second-to-youngest, newest daughter in-law, and aunt to five adorable children. Talk about pressure.

There are two requirements for being accepted into the Albrecht family. One, you must own and be willing to wear Texas A&M paraphernalia. Speaking harsh words against the Aggies is equatable to committing high treason - you just don't do it. Two, you must have been on a family trip. The Albrechts are big into family activities - not like going to the park or playing a friendly game of Scrabble, but like going to Italy or Spain or New York and playing tourist.

I have now completed both requirements. Carol (Scott's mother) gave me a white and maroon A&M t-shirt Thursday morning, which I loyally wore to watch the A&M vs. UT game the following day. On Saturday morning the family - all 14 of us - piled into 3 vehicles and headed for Boston. We spent the day walking the Freedom Trail, which took us to some of the most historic spots in the city. We found parking for 3 vehicles, piled out of the cars and bundled up the kids, saw two ships (the USS Constitution and a WWII destroyer), lost a child's hat, found a child's hat, carried the strollers up some stairs to a bridge which we ventured across (the metal under our feet rattling every time a car drove past us, which of course was often), walked past the town cemetery, saw the Old North Church, laughed when Porter and Taylor roared at each other (either like dinosaurs or like tigers - I'm not sure which they were being at that moment), walked through Paul Revere's house, fielded the kids' complaints about being bored and hungry while waiting for the rest of the group, found a place for lunch that was able to seat all 14 of us, continued on toward the Old State House - passing the Holocaust Memorial and stopping so that the kids could watch some street jugglers on the way - helped the children complete their scavenger hunt inside the State House museum, found the restaurant Leslie had picked out beforehand for dinner, waited while Leslie argued with the manager about being allowed to bring one of the strollers (which Sarah Ann was sound asleep in) to the table, ate, walked back to the car, and drove home. With 9 adults and 5 children, Albrecht family trips are never simple.

I have now completed my initiation into the Albrecht family, and it was nice to get it all over with in one weekend. I passed. With flying colours.

Addition to the Family

She's beautiful. Tiny, and fragile, but already showing signs of personality that just make her that much more adorable. Her big brown eyes take in the world around her as she explores her new home; she's very curious and just won't hold still. Saturday night I carefully held her while Scott fixed up her little bed 3 or 4 times over, fretting over it until it was just perfect. She seems to like it. Even though she hasn't woken me up in the middle of the night yet, every time I get out of bed I feel the need to go check on her, just to make sure she's okay. She always is.

What I really wanted was a dog, but Scott and I have neither the money, nor the space, nor the time to care for one. So, for now, I'm settling for a dwarf hamster. Eleanor is her name; Scott and I agreed to never name our pets things like Scampers or Spot or Fluffball. Though, I have to say, Fluffball would be an accurate description. Eleanor is only around 3 inches long (dwarf hamsters grow to be about 4), but she looks fat because of all her fur - particularly when she's standing on her hind legs and eating. I sometimes call her Fatso. I don't think she minds.

Eleanor is sleeping right now, but this evening sometime I'll be sure to take pictures of her and post them. I'm ecstatic - I now have both a husband AND a hamster to care for!

Some people are idiots

The first thing I heard was the screech of tires followed by a series of not-quite-indentifiable and rather worrying noises. They sounded as though they might have been made by a car rolling; thud, crunch, crunch, thud. Then a car door slammed and there was silence. I wasn't sure what had happened. I toyed with the idea of going to investigate; but the night air was so cold and windy and my computer game was so enthralling. The silence was broken by a scream, high-pitched and pain-filled. It made my stomach turn and I quickly determined that I would leave my warm apartment and venture outside to have a look. I brought my cell phone with me in case it was needed, and grabbed my blanket off the back of the couch for good measure.

When I first walked outside I didn't see anything, and started to think that the scream I had heard was the result of an early Halloween party. But then I walked around the corner and saw the gathering of people, and heard one of them yelling information up to someone in their apartment who was obviously on the phone with a 911 operator. As I got closer I could see whom everyone was gathered around: a girl lying on the ground, 13 by the looks of it, and named Micah as someone later said. Everyone was talking and yelling out different things, trying to pretend like they weren't just gawkers but were somehow involved. The girl-named-Micah's younger brothers tried to keep people from touching her. I suspected they were also trying to keep from crying. I looked around and realized that the series of thuds and crunches that I'd heard earlier were made by a car that not only hit Micah but also caused considerable damage to 3 cars that were lined up on the side of the street. I wondered where the driver of the car was. I gathered from people around me that the responsible car had been stolen, driven too quickly, and then abandoned by its driver when the accident occurred. No one got a good look at the man; it was too dark.

While we were standing around waiting for the authorities to arrive, Micah's brothers used my cell phone to call their mother, but without success. I took the blanket off my shoulders and put it on top of Micah so she would have less chance of going into shock. I was glad I'd thought to grab it. After a few minutes it was suggested that even this wasn't enough to keep her warm, so I quickly handed over my jacket as well - the hood would at least cover her head - and shortly thereafter another, heavier, blanket was brought out from somebody's apartment. Micah stopped shivering.

The coppers arrived first, and everyone started volunteering information about what they had/hadn't seen and what had/hadn't happened since then. A little bit of yelling on the part of the officers was necessary to quiet everyone down. The whole story was quickly pieced together after that, and one of the policemen called for a perimeter search to try and catch the jerk who had stolen the car, hit the girl, and bailed. Shortly following the arrival of the police came the firetruck and ambulance; the EMS workers attended to the girl and yelled at everyone to go home. I was allowed to approach Micah - but only quickly - to grab my jacket and the two blankets; after returning the heavier blanket to the rightful owner, I chose to head back to my apartment.

I can still see the flashing lights outside my window, though the number of them is going down as the emergency vehicles and police cars leave one by one. At this point, there is nothing left for me to do but leave it up to the authorities and medical professionals to take care of the situation. I just hope the girl is okay.

And I hope they find the stupid git who did this.

Take 2

"Attention guests of REI, both members and non-members alike. We would like to inform you that the time is now 9:00 pm - and that means the store is closed. Please make your final selections and bring them to the front, where Tarythe would love to help you at one of the registers. Don't forget about our Attic Sale coming up this Sunday; doors open at 11.
The current temperature outside is 67, with a wind of about 3mph. You can expect some showers over the next couple of days, but it should clear up over the weekend. Temperatures will continue to drop until they reach a high of 57 on Friday, and then start climbing. Have a safe journey home this evening and a great night."

The weather report was an idea I had stolen from a previous manager at the Creamery, who not only gave us the weather but reminded us that even though the Creamery closed at midnight, Wal-Mart was open 24 hours a day and available as a local hang out. I had mentioned this to some REI coworkers of mine, who thought that I should report the weather during the closing announcement as my trademark. Most of the store appreciated the difference in routine. Geromy, the closing manager Tuesday evening, did not.

"Hey Tarythe, I loved the part about the Attic Sale, good job promoting that, but what part of the announcement do you think was not as appropriate?"

I looked down, embarrassed. "The weather," I replied.

"Exactly." Geromy's face was kind, but insistent. "The weather isn't really REI-specific. Let's keep the announcement to things that pertain to our store, alright?"

"Okay," I said. I tried to hide the tears that I could feel welling up behind my eyes, very much against my will. I hate it when people chastise me, particularly people whose respect I'm trying to earn (like my managers). Geromy started to walk away, but I called after him.

"So what if I talked about the cold weather we have coming up and used that to encourage people to buy our winter gear? Would that work?"

Geromy turned around and grinned, obviously pleased. "Now you're thinking," he responded with a wink. "Run with that."

Wednesday night came and I was once again closing, determined to improve my performance. As the hour approached, I wrote down what I was going to say to reduce the number of mistakes caused by my nerves. With paper in hand and heart pounding, I clicked in to the tannoy system.

"Good evening guests of REI, both members and non-members alike, we hope you've enjoyed shopping with us this evening. We would like to inform you that the time is now 8:45 pm, and the store will be closing in about15 minutes. Please take this time to make your final selections and bring them to the front of the store, where Tarythe would love to ring you up at one of the registers. The current outside temperature is about 64 degrees, but it will be cooling down by the weekend so make sure to stock up on our great winter gear, located at the front of the store. Don't forget that the North Face Cryostat 3-in-1 jacket is currently on sale for $194.99, available at the front of the store straight across from the registers. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to find someone wearing a green vest; any one of our very knowledgeable staff members would be more than happy to assist you. Thank you and have a great evening."

I had thought that Geromy had gone home for the evening, so I was suprised to see him out of the corner of my eye holding a water bottle and walking towards me. I asked him teasingly, "So was that better suited for REI's purposes?" He laughed and said that I had done a great job, and oh-by-the-way he thought I might like a brand-new Novara water bottle - no particular reason.
He had obviously heard that I lost my last one. I'm glad that he appreciated 'Professional Closing Announcement: Take 2'.

I'm also glad that my managers love to reward people.

1 point for me

I grew up recycling. All of my parents supported it, as far as I can remember; if they didn't actively encourage it, they certainly didn't have anything against it. My father and stepmother not only recycled things like paper, plastic, and glass, they went as far as to have a compost pile in the back yard. Inedible parts of vegetables and other food products were thrown into the compost container (my least favourite part of helping with dinner), and all eventually ended up as fertilizer. My mother would take me out to find cans in the desert to recycle; I could turn them in to the local recycling drop-off for money, depending on how much my stash weighed. So every once in a while my mother would drive me around in our little blue Volkswagen Rabbit at about 5 mph. I would open the door, sit as close to the edge as possible without my mother scolding me for being unsafe, and stare intenly at the ground as it passed, hoping for a glint of sun off of a soda can, or the ugly sight of a brown beer bottle littering the ground. I'm sure my mother spent much more on gas driving around than I earned with my recyclables, but she didn't worry with that. She did it for me; to teach me valuable lessons about doing our part to take care of the earth, and about the value of a dollar. It's not easy to teach those two lessons in one activity.

While I lived in Utah, I didn't recycle. I couldn't find a good spot in my apartment for an extra bin, nor did I want to argue with my roommates over the lost space or the extra effort they would have to spend remembering to throw their plastic bottles into the right bin instead of the left one. In addition, I had no car with which I could haul the paper, plastic, and glass to the nearest recycling center. So I did what everyone else in the area did and threw everything away, piling up trash bags on the outside of the huge dumpster provided by my apartment complex if necessary. Waste, waste, waste.

But since moving to Maryland - more specifically, since being hired by REI, a very environmentally-conscious company - I have remembered that I myself am environmentally conscious. Most of the time. I decided this morning to start recycling once again, and went to the store immediately (well, within 30 minutes) to buy a second plast trash can for recyclable items. I even inserted a cardboard divider into it to sort out the paper from the plastic containers and metal cans. Taped on the outside is a list of exactly what the local recycling center takes, in case I forget. Already my bin is half full of recyclables I found around the house or dug out of the trash can (I'm very thorough when it comes to things like this) and I can't wait to take my first trip to empty it.

It's things like this that make me feel good about myself, and life in general - the world is made a little bit better because of the pains I'm taking. Trees will be saved, air pollution will increase slightly less than it would have, and I'm sure that, indirectly due to my efforts to preserve the environment, starving children in Africa will be fed.

1 point for me.

Today I am Commodore Iron Mary Bonney

It's not unpredictable that I, like others in my circle of friends, will post today to honour the long-awaited International Talk Like a Pirate Day - pretty much my favourite holiday of the year. And so here I go.

I went to work today with a hand-made sign on my oversized nametag that said, "Happy ITLAPD". I had visions of every customer I spoke to asking me what ITLAPD meant, thereby giving me a chance to explain and spread the joys of this occasion. Unfortunately, time passed and no one seemed to notice my sign or wonder what ITLAPD stood for. (As Scott said, they probably assumed that it was an acronym for a really lengthy-named police department. Perhaps an offshoot of Los Angeles.) As I started into my 3rd hour of work, I realized that it was time to take matters into my own hands.

"Hello, welcome to FYE. What can I help you find? Oh, really? Well, you're in luck - we have that cd right over here. AND, did you know that today is International Talk Like a Pirate Day? In fact, we have some of the best pirate movies ever made right in this section over here."

"Hello, welcome to FYE. What are you doing to celebrate International Talk Like a Pirate Day today? Nothing? You don't even know what ITLAPD is? Oh, dear, that certainly is a travesty. Well, don't you worry - I can equip you with a movie that will be sure make this year's celebration terrrrific."

Since no one was approaching me with questions about ITLAPD, I chose instead to reach out to the uninformed and educate them. Some people didn't want to play along, but most were good-natured and humored me. It made work more interesting and I even got a sale or two off of it...though my manager now thinks I'm nuts.

Here's the way I described the adventures of today in pirate-speak to a couple of my friends:

Argh!!! I been waitin’ fer this day ever since September came upon us! Tis a day of true celebration and camaraderie! It seems th' land-lubbers of th' eastern seaboard aren’t to be knowin’ about this day. But never you worry – I took it upon meself to…shall we say…*inform* those scurrrvy dogs. And every one of those bloody lubbers who didn’t agree with me ways, well, I lashed ‘em to th' taff-rail and drove ‘em windward…or I keelhauled ‘em. Then I made ‘em all walk th' plank! Th' crew got a mighty good laugh out o’ that and I got all th’ booty I collected from those bilge rats before I cast ‘em into th' sea. Argh!!! Tis a fine thing to be a pirate!

Commodore Iron Mary Bonney

I'm most excited, of course, about watching The Muppet Treasure Island tonight to celebrate. Scott has yet to see it, for which I shake my head pityingly and say, "Oh, you poor, deprived soul..."

Julie, you know what I'm talking about.

A Stewardship

I went to church today and sat in with the Primary class that I'm supposed to take over teaching in a couple of weeks. The class is small; it consists of 2 regulars, and 1 child that comes every other week. We represent a fifth of the whole Primary - which is about 15 kids. (Supposedly we have more, but many are inactive.) 15 kids is a pretty small Primary, but in my last church ward the Primary in its entirety was 3 children large. So this is a step up. :) The current teacher hasn't been with the class for long, but her husband is being stationed in Japan in a few weeks and so Nina is moving, leaving the class leaderless. In comes Sister Albrecht to save the day.

The only girl in my class (I'm calling her Amanda) was very clingy today. Nina assigned us to groups for our skit activity, in which we acted out the story of Elijah and the false priests of Baal from 1 Kings. I played the 450 priests of Baal (now that's talent). The boys insisted on being in their own group, so Amanda and I were together. Amanda's face lit up. She did nothing without talking to me first, and begged to sit by me for the rest of church. It was as though I was the best friend she needed so badly. I've discovered that Amanda's situation is very similar to what mine was at her age. I feel that she is fragile but covers it up. I've been given a stewardship over these children and I'm teaching this class for a reason. I know there's something I'm supposed to do for this girl, but I'm not sure what. I'm terrified that I will mess up and miss the chance to make a difference in her life. I can only hope that I'm worthy of this assignment.

But I needn't be so worried; the Lord will guide me. He promised.

Expert

My 3-year-old nephew Porter asked me a couple nights ago, "Tarythe, what are you an expert on?"

It was a simple question, but it got me thinking. What am I good at? And what am I good for?

For a while I've been a little down, trying to not feel badly about myself. First there's the fact that I rarely think highly of myself: I know better than to believe that I'm a good person. Then there's Scott's family, whom I absolutely adore but who completely leave me behind when it comes to knowledge and education. I'm the only one in the family who doesn't yet have a degree, including Scott's 22-year-old baby sister, and only 3 out of the 8 family members have Bachelors. The rest have Masters or PhDs. They don't treat me like I'm worth less than they are, but it's hard not to feel inferior when I wish that I could participate in their conversations, but realize that I don't know what they're talking about and therefore have nothing intelligent to add. I often feel pretty silly even being around, pretending as though I merit being there. Pile onto that the fact that despite the many applications I had filled out and turned in, I didn't have a job and didn't even have any interviews. If I had any kind of skills or experience or qualifications, why hadn't I received any phone calls? Especially when there had been a couple managers who seemed very enthusiastic when I'd handed in the application: "Oh, great! Well, we'll be hiring in the next week or two." And then...nothing. Waiting after a while gets wearing.

So I've decided to make a short list of a few things I think I'm good at, to try and force myself into thinking positively. This is not to brag, and those of you who know me know that this kind of a list comes only out of need.

1. I'm good with children. I get told this all the time, and while I sometimes doubt my expertise, I know that I love being with them, so perhaps I do have a gift. In any case, a simple love for something can often create or build up a talent. Living so close to Porter and Penelope makes me much happier than I would be without having family around.

2. I'm good at packing. A simple talent I know, and perhaps not very impressive one, but it certainly came in handy when I was moving and we had to fit all of our stuff in the car. It has also been helpful when I travel, because it means I can pack a lot of stuff into a small amount of space. Everyone thinks I'm traveling lightly, but really I'm just traveling efficiently. When I flew to Utah for a few days recently, I had only a backpack...but in it I had regular clothes, clothes for the funeral, pajamas, snacks, a water bottle (which of course I was forced to leave at security - I had forgotten about the 'no liquids' rule), reading books, a SuDoKu book, scriptures, papers, and I'm sure other things. A bit odd perhaps, but I've always taken pride in my ability in the way of spacial orientation.

3. I'm a good diplomat. I'm not manipulative (which is why I'm not in politics and not a diplomat professionally), but I know how to work with people. I'm naturally social. I relate to people and can very quickly make them comfortable around me. I usually like people right off the bat. At the same time I'm pretty shy, so this is often an interesting balance.

4. I'm a good homemaker. I never thought I would be, but I am. And the only reason I know this is because my husband tells me. Every day. He comes home from school and tells me with a big smile, a hug, and a kiss. That's how I know I'm doing a good job. I even cook for him; I used to hate cooking with a passion, but now I have someone to cook for (if it were just me, I would probably still be happy eating only cereal, corn torillas, cheese, and ice cream). And I enjoy doing it. I'm a good homemaker because I keep my home in such a state that others are comfortable being here; and more importantly, *I'm* comfortable being here. Other than the 8 months I lived with the girls in 99, it's been a while since home has equaled comfort for me.

I think 4 things are enough - this is the point where I'm starting to get uncomfortable talking about myself, and I know that if I don't post this soon I'll chicken out and erase the whole thing.

It's taken me 2 days to write it already. This kind of thing really shouldn't be so hard.

Wedding pictures

For those of you who read my blog but whose email addresses I don't have:

I have finally posted my wedding pictures online:
www.tarythealbrecht.shutterfly.com

I will (hopefully) be posting more pictures fairly regularly of all my DC adventures. That's my plan at least, so there should be reason for you to check the page every once in a while, on a regular basis.

The Fallen Loaf

Alright, so the bread didn't turn out as fantastically as I had hoped. It wasn't a complete disaster, the bread just fell after it rose so it looks kind of weird. And it's heavier than I was planning on it being. I think I added a little too much water. It smells great though, and tastes pretty good (especially with lots of butter). It's always hard to make a gluten-free bread recipe in a conventional bread machine anyway. At least, that's what I've been telling myself to make myself feel better. Perhaps my next attempt will turn out better. I'll definitely tell you guys how it goes; I know you're all dying to know.

Ps. The other new thing I got today (after that last entry was written): a DVD/VCR player from Wal-Mart. When each of you get married, tell everyone to get you gift cards only. They're wonderful.

Just Like Christmas

Today is just like Christmas. I got a mattress, a cover for my LoveSac, and a job, all in one day.

Mattress: I am no longer sleeping on an air mattress on the floor; I have a real, MemoryLux mattress from Monaco. Although the air mattress was surprisingly comfortable, I am glad to have a real bed. Thank goodness for Labor Day Weekend sales!

Cover: For those of you who are sadly unaware of what a LoveSac is, it's a large bean-bag type cushion. Only it's filled with bits of foam and is the most comfortable thing you've ever sat in. When I got the LoveSace to begin with, they were out of stock in the kind of cover I wanted. But Scott called around and got one for me, and it came in today! It's a light olive green microsuede. It's nice.

Job: After driving myself crazy being stuck at home with nothing productive to do for the past few weeks (running errands, making phone calls, and going grocery shopping wears on you after a while), I finally have a job. I'm a sales associate at FYE; it's a retail store that sells entertainment stuff like DVDs, music, video games, etc. Not really the most mind-stimulating job ever, but it will keep me busy. I'll have to get my brain stimulation through schoolwork and such.

All that, plus the bread that I can smell baking in my brand new bread machine (a test loaf; the first one made in said appliance), is turning this into a pretty good day. It's kind of like Christmas.

Penelope

Usually when you receive a phone call at 4:44 in the morning, it's a bad thing. But when the phone started ringing Monday morning I wasn't worried. I could have answered it as I was already awake, but it was Scott's cell phone that was ringing and it was on his side of the bed so I let him get it.

"Hello?"

"Okay. You want us to come over then?"

"Alright, we'll be over."

"What did Matt say?" I asked my husband sleepily as we both got up and started to get dressed. "Cassy's in labour," was his reply in a tired 'that-should-have-been-obvious' tone of voice. I had guessed as much, but wanted to make sure I was right and that a complication in my sister-in-law's pregnancy hadn't been the reason for the middle-of-the-night phone call. We had told Matt and Cassy previously that we would watch their 3-year-old son Porter if Cassy went into labour in the middle of the night, so we drove to their house in downtown DC as quickly as we could. Matt greeted us at the door dressed in khaki slacks and a dressy blue shirt. He thanked us for coming over and gave us instructions for getting Porter up in an hour and a half and taking him to school. After about 15 minutes Matt and Cassy were both ready, grabbed their bags, and left for the hospital. I laid down and set my alarm for 6:20 in case I fell asleep. I did. I awoke just before Porter did, walking out to the kitchen and discovering that my husband had gotten up before me and was already eating breakfast. Porter came out of his room coughing like crazy, realized that Scott and I weren't his parents, and ran back to his room. I gave him about a minute to wake up, and then went to check on him.

"Hi, Porter. Are you almost ready to get up and go to school?" This elicited a very enthusiastic, "Uh-huh!" from him as he sat up quickly. He assured me that even though he had been coughing, he wasn't sick and could definitely go to school. Porter loves school. As I patted the bed next to me and realized it was slightly damp, Porter said, "Well, I just woke up and had a good-morning pee in my bed." I asked him if he wanted to change his underwear before he got dressed, to which he replied, "No, not today! I meant I did that a different day." Uh-huh.

Scott and I fed Porter breakfast, during which he told us that the leather armchair in the living room was made out of wood and cow-skin and that Fidel Castro was from Cuba (This child is 3!!! How does he know this stuff?). While Porter got dressed (putting his shorts on backwards, which I didn't realize until about 8:00 pm that evening) and had Scott help him put his socks and shoes on, I washed the dishes and and listened to Porter try and convince me that the Red Sox definitely weren't from Boston. After Porter was dressed and ready for school, he jumped on Scott and started wrestling him to the couch ("roughing up" is what Porter calls it). When I was finished with the dishes, the 3 of us left Matt and Cassy's house and drove to Porter's school (getting lost on the way). After dropping Porter off at school, Scott and I went to the hospital to see how Cassy was coming along. She was close, so we waited outside for awhile until Matt came out grinning and announced to us the birth of his daughter (whom everyone has been calling "Penelope" for the duration of Cassy's pregnancy). When Cassy had gone into labour that morning, Matt predicted Penelope would be born by 9:00. She was born at 9:01. Too bad, Matt. You were so close. :)

Penelope couldn't be seen or held yet, as she hadn't been weighed or measured or any of that other "official" stuff, so Scott and I left the hospital and promised to return that afternoon. We spent the day 'accomplishing stuff' - Scott studied on campus, while I did the grocery shopping and cleaned the house. After dinner we went back to the hospital to visit Penelope. She's adorable! She's tiny - 7 lbs 1 oz., with a decent amount of hair on her head and very emotive facial expressions. Since her family lives in the same city as I do, I can visit and spoil her often. I am absolutely thrilled to have another niece (I didn't have any nieces or nephews before I got married 5 weeks ago, so this is still very new and exciting to me). Penelope is the first whom, from the day of her birth, I can point to and say, "That's my niece! Isn't she adorable?"

I'm gonna be a great aunt.

A Time For Family

15 July 2006. A birthday celebration is held for Alta Fern Taylor Albrecht in Fremont, Utah. Alta is 93 and the grandmother of my fiancé, Scott. She is lovely. Scott and I attend the birthday party, which doubles as a family reunion, as it is on our way to Texas where we will be married a week later. I meet over 80 of Scott’s relatives and am slightly intimidated – everyone welcomes me warmly, but within 30 minutes of us arriving Scott’s parents quiz me on names. Luckily, I pass. I am to be the 100^th member of Alta’s family of descendents, and most of those descendents are here in Fremont. Grandma Alta greets me with a smile and a hug and a kiss, as if we’d known each other forever, though in truth this is our first meeting. She pats Scott on the arm, looks at me seriously, and says, “Now, you had better take care of my grandson.” I start to assure her that I will, and that I love him very much, but she cuts me off by laughing. “Of course you will, dear,” she responds merrily. She is obviously pleased. Grandma Alta then turns her attention to another relative who has just arrived; after all, there are so many people and she must make time for everyone. I turn to Scott and grin. “I like your grandmother.” Scott starts to lead me toward the table of food, but I pause for a moment and look back at Alta, now exchanging hugs and kisses with some of her great-grandchildren. She is glowing; it is apparent that being surrounded by her family means more to her than anything.

6 August 2006. It has been nearly a month since Alta’s 93^rd birthday. My wedding has come and gone, as has my honeymoon, and it will be only a week or so until my new husband and I move into our apartment in Maryland. We know that Alta is very ill; after the fall a few days following her birthday party that broke her arm and hospitalized her, she is not recovering quickly. No one at 93 years of age would.

It is Sunday, and Scott and I are at my mother’s house spending time with my family. Scott’s father, Don, calls us during a game of cards with my siblings, my mother, and my Aunt Melody to tell us that Alta has reached critical condition; she is not expected to live more that a few days, if that much. She is weak, and pale. She doesn’t eat and seems to have lost the will to live. This news is hard to hear - no one is shocked, but everyone is crushed. Scott and I leave my mother’s house within the hour and return to his parents’ home in Bryan, TX, to discuss what this will mean for our plans for moving to Maryland. The four of us – Don, Scott’s mother Carol, Scott, and I – talk about possibilities and throw around ideas, but in truth nobody knows what will happen. Everything revolves around how much longer Alta lives. Eventually we decide that nothing more will be gained from discussion tonight; there are too many unknowns. We will simply take things one day at a time. Don is flying out to Utah the next day to ensure that he gets to say goodbye to Alta – after all, she is his mother. We retire to bed tired and pensive, unsure as to what the coming week will bring.

10 August 2006. It is now Thursday. The last four days have been full of uncertainty and changes of plans; we receive phone calls a few times a day with updates on Alta’s condition. Sometimes it is thought that she will survive a few days or so, while at other times she is not believed to live for longer than a few more hours. We hope that she will soon be relieved of her pain. I feel I am walking on eggshells, and every time the phone rings my heart sinks and my stomach tightens - this could be it.

But now it is Thursday, and we are headed for the east coast and our new home. Don and Carol are driving the moving truck, while Scott and I follow behind in our Nissan Sentra. My mind has calmed a bit, and my focus has turned away from Alta and toward my future in Maryland. The drive is long, but beautiful. Scott and I receive phone calls from his mother in the truck ahead of us often; Carol loves to call and check on us. She asks how we’re doing, if we are hungry, or if we need to use the bathroom. We expect a call every couple hours at least, and I smile to myself each time the phone rings. But this particular call, late on Thursday evening, is different. Even as Scott answers the phone I know the reason for the call, and the look on his face and his words to me only confirm it. “She’s dead.” My heart stops. My mind is suddenly no longer mulling over details of the move, but rather thinking of Alta and the rest of the family who have lost her. My thoughts turn first to Scott, who is sitting quietly in the passenger seat next to me, and then to Don and Carol in the truck ahead of us. I imagine the floods of tears that must be being shed as similar phone calls are made to the rest of the family, and my heart aches for them. I wish I could think of something to say to my husband, but now is not the time for words and so I just quietly hold his hand and continue to drive. We stop at a nearby gas station to fuel up and discuss our next move. While Don is filling up the truck with gas outside, inside the store I ask Carol how he’s doing. She confirms my suspicions that Don has been crying, and insists that we find a hotel in the next town for the night; he needs some time to relax, sit quietly, and think. As we drive the 30 or 40 miles to Minden, Louisiana, I ponder what I imagine Don must be feeling. I remember his red eyes, and think to myself how, even at 93, and even living hundreds of miles away, Alta Albrecht was still just as much his mother. How hard it would be to lose her.

15 August 2006. Tuesday, the day of Alta’s funeral. It has now been exactly a month since her group of 100 descendents gathered around to celebrate her birth; how ironic that we would now all be back to celebrate her life in a very different way. All of Scott’s siblings, his parents, and I are in attendance. Don had flown to Utah on Sunday, and the rest of us arrived on Monday. Carol and Leslie flew from Massachusetts to Atlanta, where Scott, Matt, and I met them, and flew with them to Las Vegas. There we met up with Laura, and the 6 of us rented a minivan and drove to Utah. By the time we arrived in St. George Monday night we were all exhausted; it was about 2:40 in the morning, and we still had 3.5 - 4 hours to drive the next day. I didn’t originally want to come, as I have been living out of a suitcase and traveling around for the last 2 months, and the idea of flying from DC to Atlanta to Vegas and then driving 5 hours in the car (1-way) wasn’t very appealing. But, I wanted to support the family, so I've come.

And now as I sit in the chapel and look around at the many people are here to express their love for Alta and her life, I am suddenly glad I did. Before the funeral service a smaller family gathering is held, just outside the chapel. Family members are allowed to individually approach the coffin and say their final farewells, while the rest of the family draws around for emotional support. Some don’t cry at all, others shed only a few tears for their loss, and a few bury their faces in nearby shoulders or their own hands as sobs rack their bodies. I feel I can hardly breathe, the emotion in the room is so thick. When everyone has taken their turn, we all follow the coffin into the chapel and find our seats as it is placed on the stand at the front of the room. The service begins. It is beautiful; each of Alta’s children speak, sharing stories about their beloved mother and what life meant to her. Some of the tales are humourous, others are inspirational. But all of them are told with the utmost respect, admiration, and love – it is very obvious that Alta’s children care for their mother deeply. She was truly a special woman, someone to model one’s life after. Interspersed with the speakers’ remarks, musical numbers are performed - all at the previous request of Alta herself. I know she loves it. Following the service, the funeral procession drives to the cemetery where Alta’s grave is dedicated and she is buried. Slowly everyone makes their way back to the chapel, where there is food provided by a local charity. After eating and socializing, Scott’s parents, siblings, and I get in the van and drive back towards Las Vegas. We spend much of the drive talking about Alta, about the funeral, and about family in general. It’s wonderful. I am surprised by how much a part of the family I feel, and how close they all are. On the flights home I think back and realize how glad I am that I came. Though exhausting, it has definitely been worth it; I wouldn’t trade the experiences of the last couple of days for anything. How funny this world is: I came to give emotional support to others, and yet I benefited more than anyone else from my attendance. How grateful I am for my family.

23.5 Years

I have noticed my that my English is slipping a bit these days. It's the influence of these blasted Brits; not only are they affecting my spelling (favourite, honour, and theatre, but never analyse), they're also changing my phraseology. If there were such a thing as grammar police (Audrey, pretend you're not reading any of this), I would surely be thrown in the stocks for my crimes. Following is a list of grammatically incorrect phrases that I have actually used in the past 3 weeks.

1. Me. Used as a possessive, this word is often heard in a sentence such as, "Alright, who was the stupid git who knicked me bit of cake?" Penalty: 3 years.

2. Round. As in, "Would you like to come round for supper tonight?" English says that the proper word would be around, but the Brits seem to leave off the small-but-oh-so-essential 'a'. Penalty: 6 months per offense, equaling 3.5 years. (I think.)

3. Were stood. This is offensive for two reasons. Reason 1: 'were'. Reason 2: 'stood'. This phrase is used in a sentence such as, "I were stood outside all day while it was chucking down." While I most often say "I was stood," I have been caught using 'were'. Penalty: 10 years.

4. Do, done, etc. Added to the ends of sentences, to emphasize, well, I'm not quite sure what's being emphasized. When asked a question, many Brits will respond with "We could do." or "I should have done." I can't actually say whether or not it's grammatically incorrect to say those things, but I just thought that, while we were on the subject, they should be mentioned. Penalty: A disparaging look from Audrey.

5. To, of, etc. This is not a crime of inclusion, but of exclusion. ‘To’ and ‘of’ are small but quite essential words that too often get left out of sentences, as in, “I’m going to go up (‘to’ is appropriate here) the top; I’ll meet you there.” Penalty: 6 months per offense, equaling approx. 7 years.

Using my excellent math skills, I have determined that the total time I shall spend in the stocks is equal to 23.5 years. This poses a problem, as I was planning on getting married in 2 months. I hope that Scott is patient enough to wait it out. 23.5 years? Surely it will fly by.

The most pressing question on my mind, however, is: Will I get bathroom breaks?

Suds

In celebration of her 21st birthday, this entry is dedicated to one of my favourite people in the whole world: Audrey Hunter.

I love everyone, as anyone who knows me can attest to, and though I tell many people off-handedly that they are my 'new favourite', that manifestation of affection is casual (though not in the slightest bit feigned) and short-lived. I have few true out-and-out favourites. However, Audrey couldn't help but make the list - even if she had tried hard to make an enemy of me, I still would have liked her. Or, if not liked, at least admired and respected. She's just one of those people.

When Audrey and I first met, we weren't friends. We knew each other very casually, partly from the fact that we were in the same American Heritage class and partly because we both visited the same apartment of boys on a regualr basis. We even had an interest in the same boy, though on different levels - my interest was more of a curiosity and a passing crush, while Audrey's was longer-lived, more acted-upon, and definitely more unretractable. Due to our mutual affection for this boy, there was always some amount of competition between us, though it was never really acknowledged or even strong enough to be of much notice. Four months after I met her, Audrey went away for the summer. Because I didn't know her well, I was surprised when I noticed her absence. There was a presence that was lacking at the Riviera when she left. I surprised myself when I admitted that I really missed her, and made sure to be around the night she returned to Utah - before she had even moved back into her apartment. I don't remember much of our relationship between then and being friends, but I know that my wonder at her quickly turned from intimidation to veneration.

How do I love Audrey? Let me count the ways.

Audrey is fantastic to be around. She is clever and funny, and a fountain of imformation about things that I never knew but always wanted to. She will happily sing at the top of her lungs around anyone with whom she feels comfortable, and make up her own words if she doesn't know the original lyrics. She likes to read aloud. She memorizes poems, movies, books, songs, and other quotes she thinks she might possibly be able to use again someday or that she simply likes the sound of. She loves puppies, bunnies, flowers, and all things soft and gentle. She is beautiful and elegant. She cries at movies, particularly ones about friendship; she loves the classics and films suited for the family. She misses theatre. She is easily bribed by cheese, milk, flatteries, and other such simplicities - but is it not so much the offering itself, as the fact that it is being offered by a friend. The bribes are merely tokens of reciprocated affection and loyalty. I not only like Audrey, I adore her.

Audrey is a wonderful person. She is quick to be sardonic and witty, but is serious when the situation calls for it. I never worry about being laughed at or looked down upon when I speak to Audrey. She knows when I need to laugh about something, when I need to talk about it, and when I need simply to cry. She is understanding. In many respects she knows me better than I know myself, and I often go to her to ask her what I think about something. She is loyal to a fault, and fiercely protective of those she loves. She loves genuinely and easily, and gives of herself often; she is observant but non-judgmental. She is simply a good person.

Audrey will be a bridesmaid at my wedding, and I can hardly think of anyone I would rather have. She will stress about all the things that I won't, and be level-headed when I am anything but. She will dress up in an elegant navy blue gown, and flounce about giggling like a schoolgirl at the excitement of it all. I will hug her and probably laugh out of pure adoration at her delight and merriment. She will wink at me from across the reception hall, stay tied to our close-knit group of roommates, and then finally stand up alone to make a speech that I will either cry or blush at. Perhaps I will do both.

There are so many more things I could say about Audrey, but then this blog entry would end up being a novel. In short, she is someone whose friendship I will always cherish, whom I will be eternally grateful to know, and who will never be far from my thoughts. After all, she is my favourite.

Peanut Butter and Cheese

Yesterday afternoon I stood with Scott in the kitchen, dying Easter eggs, when Audrey came out from her room looking bleary-eyed. "Hey, Tarythe, when Heather and Nora get here, just send them back to my room, okay? I'm going to lie back down on my bed." I replied that I would, and informed Audrey that there was a surprise waiting in the fridge for her. She at first looked confused, and then realized that I was speaking of the peanut butter and cheese sandwich (meaning two pieces of cheese with peanut butter in between them) that I had made for her earlier that afternoon. When I had taken the delectable to her bedroom for her to eat, I'd found her attempting a mid-afternoon nap so I promised to leave it in refrigerator for her to have later. Now, as she read the "DON'T TOUCH" sign I had labeled the sandwich with, she laughed and unwrapped the 5 or so layers of saran wrap that protected her treat from knaves.

It wasn't until a full 5 minutes after Audrey wandered back into her room to wait for her sisters to arrive that I realized the implications of her origingal request. I turned to Scott and asked, "Wait, did she say HEATHER and Nora? Heather lives in New York!" Scott affirmed that I had indeed heard Audrey correctly, and I stood there with a confused look on my face. Just then Nora and another woman (who I correctly assumed was Heather) wandered around the corner, looking for their sister. They found her in the hallway, and after a round of hugs the three traipsed into Audrey's bedroom to chat. I followed them shortly afterward, so I could meet Heather and to say hello to Nora, whom I hadn't seen for a week or so. The three looked so happy to see each other again. It was a wonderful surprise to finally meet Audrey's sister Heather, whom I had heard so much about and whose writing I kept up-to-date on. As I stood next to Audrey's bed where Heather and Nora perched, I noticed the similarities and differences between the three girls, both in appearance and personality. I have now officially met all of Audrey's immediate family save her mother...perhaps the summer will remedy that.

My Mission Call

Whether or not I would serve a mission for my church was never a question; I always just assumed that I would. I never even considered otherwise, and would never say "IF I go on a mission...", but rather 'WHEN'. It was simply the next step in life, and as I grew older so grew my anticipatory excitement of this great calling and opportunity. I wanted so much to offer myself to the Lord, taking a year and a half to do nothing but serve His children and share with them the gospel of Jesus Christ which has brought so much joy and hapiness into my life. As a girl, I looked forward to this time of personal sacrifice with excitement, and complained because I could not go until I was 21 years of age.

But as my 21st birthday drew nearer, the idea that my mission wasn't to be assumed became evident to me. I realized that there were other capacities in which I could serve the Lord, ones which would be just as pleasing to Him and would bring me equal hapiness. As this idea became more apparent, I recognized that it was a choice for me to make, in close council with the Lord.

When January came, I looked ahead to my birthday in the summer and thought about the fact that in a few short months I would be able to turn my papers in soon and ask to recieve a mission call. Throughout the semester it has been always at the back of my mind, to be considered as an option should another not pan out. At first it did not present a serious problem, but as the summer drew closer I realized that it was one of many upcoming decisions that would greatly impact the rest of my life, and would have to be made soon. So I called upon the Lord, begging for assistance and waiting to recieve my answers...in the meantime, taking life one day and sometimes one hour or one minute at a time. After my dental surgery, I had plenty of time to myself to think and to consult with the Lord. During those hours in which I was unable to do much of anything but think, the Lord graciously filled me with His Spirit and enlightened my mind. I felt peace like I have rarely felt before. In those quiet hours came many of the answers I sought; concerning those answers which I did not recieve, in their place came the soft whispers of comfort that told me I did not need to know those things now. ("...In response to my cries, He simply replies, 'Peace be unto thy soul.' ") I have said before that patience is a virtue but not one of mine, and I add to that statement that the Lord is patiently (ironic, isn't it?) teaching me to be so.

I have chosen to marry rather than go on a mission; perhaps one day Scott and I will serve a mission together, but for now I know that this is where I need to be. I have been told by the Lord that I will be given the opportunity to serve, but that my greatest calling will be that of a noble mother and wife. I jokingly threaten Scott with the possibility that as we are yet unmarried I could still leave him and choose to go on a mission, but in reality there is no chance of that. I know my place and my purpose. I thank the Lord for that; for the knowledge I have that I am His daughter, that He loves me, and that in me is the inherent capability of greatness. Truly, I am blessed.

A Story

This is an old story, a classic tale that you’ve heard many times before.

Boy meets girl. Boy and girl are just friends, until one day they discover that they could be more. Boy and girl flirt, date, hold hands, and kiss. Boy sweeps girl off her feet, and finally proposes with the most gorgeous ring the girl has ever seen. The two will get married in San Antonio in July, and begin their life together in Maryland. Everyone rejoices.

Pictures of the ring pending; just let me know if you want them…

My Evening Constitutional

I took a walk last night. Out of the Riviera, up towards the stadium, past the gas station and Dairy Queen, around and around the parking lot. I was restless. I called to Julie, as I walked out of our room at 12:30 or so, that I was going to go walking and that if I wasn't back in an hour I had probably died. I didn't die, and was back within the hour.

I haven't walked alone at night in awhile; only once or twice this semester I believe. It used to be a regular occurence, and I've had Audrey not speak to me for hours on a couple of occasions because despite her specifically forbidding me to, I walked anyway. Ted has joined me on a couple of my rounds, and when he did so we would walk in complete silence for most of the way as he was there not to talk, but just to ensure that I got back home safely. My walks were partly because I had nothing else to do in the middle of the night, and partly because I needed to get out; the fresh air was calming and the silence of the night was peaceful. The empty streets offered me freedom to roam as I pleased, and though I felt as though the rest of my life was out of my control, there was one thing I knew I had the power to do. I walked at night simply because I could. Unfortunately, my middle-of-the-night ambles affected not only myself. A friend of mine, innocent, one with little to no real life experience, followed my example last summer and took her own stroll after midnight - ending up halfway across town. I told myself that I wouldn't walk so often again - not for my own sake, but because my decisions affect others as well.

But last night, again, I felt powerless. Overwhelmed, and helpless, and unsure of what to do to ease my frustrations. So I fell back to what I knew, and I walked. I walked with tears streaming down my face until I could hardly see in which direction I was heading. I walked in a state of dizziness and surprisingly enough, only collapsed a couple of times. Stupid narcotics. I didn't know where I was going or how long I would be gone, I just needed to walk. So I did.

Stubborn

I'm writing the following while on narcotics; if it doesn't make any sense I'm not responsible. :)

"Alright, Tarythe, just lie down now."
Oh, yeah right, like that's going to work on me. Uh-uh, I'm going home and they can't stop me.
Audrey and Scott tried a few times to lie me down on the couch, pushing my head and shoulders over one time and pulling my feet up the next, then attempting to do both at the same time so as to throw me off balance. I wouldn't have it. I sat up, shook my head, and simply said, "No."

It took them a few tries, but eventually they won and I was lying on my back on the couch.
Why am I still here? I want to go home! I hate the dentist. Now, where's the car?
Little to my knowledge, I was no longer at the dentist's office but already in my apartment.

I titlted my head and looked inquiringly at Scott. "I love you. Where's LaQueshawnda?"

LaQueshawnda is Scott's car and the vehicle I knew I was riding home in. I don't remember what Scott replied, but I wasn't listening anyway. I couldn't believe that I was still at the dentist's office and that noone was cooperating with me. I turned away from everyone and went promptly to sleep.

I fought the drugs all afternoon. I wanted to be awake and interacting with people, and kept trying to join in others' conversations. "Be quiet and just go to sleep, Tarythe."
"No," I replied. "I already had a 3-hour nap today. I'm fine."

I, for some reason, equated "being sedated for a 3-hour surgery" with "a 3-hour nap".

I didn't want to be lying down. I would periodically get up for no apparent reason; I myself don't even remember exactly why, except for the fact that I wanted to be up and not still stuck on the couch. Only once or twice I had a specific reason for jumping up suddenly and attempting to sprint out of the room. The first was I wanted to be in my pajamas. As much as I love wearing them, jeans aren't quite as comfortable as the cotton duck-print pjs that my mother lovingly made for me over Christmas, and I was determined to switch out the first for the second. Audrey tried to dissuade me, saying that Scott couldn't help me change but that she would in a few minutes; she was lying, but I didn't recognize it in her voice and I was momentarily appeased. But only momentarily.
Wait a minute, pajamas! I want my pajamas now, not later. Silly Audrey.
Suddenly I stood up and stumbled out of the room at a dangerously quick pace. Cassidy followed behind, asking me where I was going to and what I thought I was doing. I simply said, "pajamas". I somehow pulled on the duck-print pants, and tried to walk back out to the living room until Cassidy threw a shirt at me and I realized that I was only half-dressed. Thank goodness for roommates. I went back out to where everyone was and collapsed back onto the couch, much more comfortable. I slipped back out of consciousness.

I've spent the last few days doing pretty much nothing; everything makes me feel naseous and the drugs keep me in a constant state of drowsiness. My roommates keep getting frustrated with me, because I try to walk around and will collapse unexpectedly. I just hope that this doesn't last for long.

Drugs + Tarythe = Bad.

Maryland

A new school, a new city, a new job, new friends, a new apartment, new roommates, a new church district...terrifying? Yes. But I feel surprisingly calm about it.

Perhaps it's the drugs.

Drugs + Tarythe = Bad

"Alright, put down 2 B, 3 MO, 4 OD, 6 F, 7 DF, 13 MOD...19 DO, 19 B, 29 MOD, 30 OD..."

I tried not to wince as the dentist poked and prodded and scraped my teeth, giving his nurse notes on their condition. A man walked into the room and looked around.

"I've also got a 3 labial facial caries: on 6, 7, and 13. And the 4 extractions are: 1 and 16 regular, 17 and 32 partially impacted in the soft tissue," the dentist continued. The random man looked at the x-rays of my teeth, mumbled a few things to himself, and walked out.

Wait a minute, impacted? That can't be good. Aren't impacted teeth supposed to be painful to remove? Don't cry don't cry don't cry...

The dentist stopped poking inside my mouth and looked at me. I eyed him sideways from the dentist's chair, wary of what he might say next.

"Well, it looks like we've got some cavities to take care of, young lady. We'll try to get you scheduled to get your wisdom teeth pulled as soon as possible; these bottom ones look like they are really hurting you already, especially the right one. How's about we do the fillings then too, take care of everything at once?" I asked if I could be sedated. "Oh, yes, of course. We'll put you out for the whole procedure and you won't even know what's happening."

"Alright," I said. Just then the same random man from earlier walked into the room again. "You know, when I had my wisdom teeth out I was semi-conscious. I could see everything...it was the oddest sensation."

I looked back at the dentist in a panic, and he reassured me that I had nothing to worry about; I would be completly out for the whole procedure. The random man was ushered out of the room. The nurse took two more x-rays, and Penney scheduled an appointment for next Friday. She told me to have soft foods ready to eat after the operation; to take the valium pill 1 hour before the appointment; and not to drive, drink alcohol, or operate heavy machinery for a few days afterwards. I left the office, not sure what to think; I was scared, as I hate going to the dentist more than anywhere else, but at the same time grateful that I would be asleep for the entire procedure. It'll be a 3-hour surgery that I definitely do not want to be awake for.

A week seems a long time to wait when my mouth is already killing me, so the nurse gave me some drugs to tide me over. The drug that she gave me came in liquid form and is to be taken 4 or 5 times a day. It contains codeine, a narcotic analgesic; it's supposed to dull the pain of my already-throbbing wisdom tooth until next Friday. I took some on Thursday morning, and suddenly the world looked soft and pink. Nothing seemed to really matter that much; I was nauseous, and I was dizzy, but I was mellow. Ah, so this is how narcotics feel. My gums hurt a lot less than they would have, but the down side was that I felt sick all day. And though I was mellow most of the day, when I did get upset it was intense.

One of my teams lost their NCAA game on Thursday night. Syracuse lost to Texas A&M (of all people), and I just couldn't handle it. Scott and I were competitive over that particular game anyway; his family are die-hard A&M fans. We spent most of the game wondering who wasn't going to speak to whom when their team lost, insisting, of course, that it would be the other person who was maddened into silence. After an agonizing last few minutes of the game, Syracuse couldn't pull ahead and the game ended with a score of 66-58, A&M.

I was furious; I suddenly had the urge to lash out, and I decided it would be a better idea to walk away than risk injuring someone. I walked out of my apartment and over to the stairs, leaving Scott and my roommates wondering what my problem was. The thing was, I didn't know. I sat down on the top step and put my head in my hands, breathing heavily. I was shaking with rage and didn't stop for the next 20 minutes. I rarely get so upset about anything, and never over anything as trivial as a basketball game. I hated the way I felt; I couldn't control my emotions and I felt sick. The drugs were definitely working me over. Scott came out to find me and, after holding me for awhile, took me to get ice cream. It helped. I stopped shaking, started breathing normally, and then just felt weak. I had exerted all the energy I'd had in containing my anger. After we finished our ice cream, Scott went home, and so did I. I worked on my computer for an hour or so, checking my email and the scores of basketball games that had ended after I'd stormed out. I then went to bed and lie awake thinking for awhile. When I did fall asleep, I slept better than I have for months. At least the codeine was good for something.

Seems quite a costly way to get some sleep, though.

Have You Filled Out YOUR Bracket Yet?

So begins the NCAA tournament, anxiously awaited by some and callously ignored by others. I must admit, I wasn't a March Madness fanatic until I came out to BYU. But then I met my roommate Christine, who not only fell instantly in love with any man who could dribble the ball, but also had her bracket filled out and turned in to the ward pool before anyone else. She converted me. Or just educated me a little bit; perhaps even now I can't honestly claim the title 'fanatic', seeing as how I'm still fairly ignorant as far as details of the tournament and teams go, but at least now, unlike my prior-to-BYU days, I know that "March Madness" is not a springtime epidemic or related in any way to Cabin Fever.

I have my teams picked. Some are good picks, others are gutsy, and the rest are probably just plain stupid (Georgetown and Northwestern State, for example). What can I say, I'm hoping for a miracle - and gloating privileges. If they lose, well, no one will be surprised. My strategy is: pick a couple top teams, pick teams that will likely play against each other so that I will be sure to win either way, and then pick some underdog teams just for the sake of it. Hey, someone has to cheer for them right? And besides, there are always upsets. I'm just hoping they're by my teams.

I'm in a competition for the first time ever; Scott's family has invited me to join their family bracket competiton, and perhaps against my better judgment (this is an opportunity for me to reveal how stupid I really am) I've accepted. My family was never big on brackets (like I said, I didn't even know what March Madness was until I came to BYU), and for the last few years I've watched, amused, from a short distance. But no more. Now that I have a competition, a challenge, I've got teams to fight for. And you'd best believe that I will. Even if I'm losing spectacularly, I'll hold my head high. Even if my teams can't make their free-throw shots, I'll cheer them on anyway. Even if my teams trip and take me down with them, I'll continue to smile smugly - and trash-talk all the way down.

I don't think Scott's family realizes what they've gotten themselves into.

Insecurity

Emilie walked into the apartment shortly after midnight, grinning from ear to ear.

"How was your night?" I asked, curious to see if anything had come of Emilie's recent interaction with her new love interest.

"Oh, it was good," she responded as she walked out of the living room. "Is anyone else home?"

"Julie and Audrey, but Audrey's asleep. She just got home about 20 minutes ago. She was so tired that I was afraid keeping her awake any longer would have resulted in a nervous breakdown."

Emilie only heard part of what I said as she stood in the doorway to the back rooms. "20 minutes ago? Then she probably is actually asleep already. Dangit!"

I tried to ask about her night again, but she was no longer within earshot. "Emilie!" I yelled with an exaggerated whine in my voice. "Come talk to me!"

At this point Emilie was discussing something completley different with Julie, and I gave up. I went back to my game of online Canasta, which I was losing at spectacularly. My opponent must have been cheating. About 10 minutes later, after the return of Caitie and her date, a knock on the door signalled Ted's arrival at our apartment. He was in search of a pancake recipe, a very specific one apparently, and asked whether or not we had a Better Homes and Gardens recipe book. I fetched it for him. Emilie came out from behind the curtain separating the living room from the vanity area, and the two of them starting talking about the evening. Their word choice and tones of voice were telling, but the details were vague.

I looked back and forth between them, feeling left out and frustrated. "Emilie! You mean something happened and you didn't tell me? I tried to ask you about it!"

Apparently Caitie was privy to the evening's events, as she instantly attempted to defend the lack of revelation about the evening. "Well, you know, she was still in shock!"

I didn't believe that was true, and was hurt. Why had she sought out Audrey so instantly after arriving home if the shock of the evening's happenings prevented her from talking about them? Why wouldn't she tell me instead? I sat on the couch and pouted (I know, the very mature thing to do), struggling between wanting to become invisible and desiring others' attention in my imagined personal injury. I worked hard on convincing myself that this was just another example of how Emilie loved Audrey better than she did me. "I just knew it!" I silently mewled to myself. "I'm not good enough and Emilie doesn't consider me a close enough friend to talk to about things. I know I'm not perfect like she is, but why does she look down on me so? Why doesn't she love me?" Few things hurt me more than witholding information from me, especially if that information is given freely to someone else. I pride myself on being trustworthy and a good confidant.

Later that night, as (in spite of myself) I cried on Emilie's shoulder about life in general, I realized just how insecure I am. How silly is it to think that I'm in a competition with others for any one person's attention? I don't need to feel hurt because I'm not the first one someone runs to with news, be it exciting or distressing. Why is it that the first thing I assume when faced with a situation like this is that I've somehow failed? That I'm not good enough and that it's a personal attack (whether intentional or not ) on me? I feel at times like Buttercup: "I will never doubt again," I say with every hope that it is true. Yet how quickly I fall and how quickly I doubt! I shouldn't need constant reassurance that I am enough, that I'm not a waste of space and my existence is valid. The amount of love and support I receive from others every day astounds me; how lucky I am to have such friends. As Emilie held me tonight and whispered that she loved me, my fears of inadequacy were temporarily allayed. The recent hurt feelings were forgotten. She loves me? She loves me! Despite my predisposition toward disbelief of any profession of love for me, I knew somehow that what she said was true. And I was grateful for it. "I will never doubt again," I thought to myself. Emilie smiled kindly and silently replied, "There will never be a need."

Valentine's

A steak dinner (Outback, no less!); ice cream (The Malt Shoppe even!); a movie (The Chronicles of Narnia, who'd have guessed?!).

Dang Gina, could Valentine's Day get any better?

That's right. I didn't think so.

Default to Submission

"Hello, my name is Tarythe."

"Tyler."

He shook my hand, and as we released our grip his fingers lingered in mine. I pulled away.

"Nice to meet you," I said with a nervous laugh.

He responded with the same, and I nodded my head once and looked at the ground. Who was this guy? Caitie, Emilie, and Cassidy had brought two of them back from the hot tub: Bryan, whom they had known since last September, and Tyler, his tag-along friend.

"Me and Bryan go way back," Tyler was laughing. "Back to when we were young and would watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles together." I didn't comment on his improper use of the word 'me'.

"Do you still watch it?" I asked. "Oh yeah," he replied. "In fact, we have it on DVD."

"Lucky," I responded. "We only have it on VHS." I walked over to the shelf where we keep the movies, picked the video up, and (per his request) revealed that Raphael was my favourite turtle. I looked at the cover for a short moment, and was about to extend my arm to hand the video to him when Tyler walked over and stood close enough to me to make that movement impossible. He looked at the video I was holding. He then reached around and placed his hand on the small of my back, and in one smooth move dropped it down even lower. Oh, he was quick. I handed him the video and stepped out of his reach, walking around him into the kitchen. I could feel his gaze following me.

"Just breathe," I told myself. "It was an accident - he didn't realize where his hand was." I took a swig of my rootbeer (and yes, I just used the word 'swig' to describe the drinking of soda), and chatted with Cassidy for a couple of minutes. I then walked back out to the living room, picked up my laptop, and sat down to work on an essay I was writing. I was immediately joined in my corner of the couch by Tyler, who appeared very interested in what I was doing.

"Homework?" he asked, peering over my shoulder.

"Indeed."

My tone of voice wasn't rude, but my answer was short; I felt no need to elaborate, and volunteered no further information other than that about which I was specifically questioned. He proceeded to ask me where I was from and which countries I'd thus far visited. He compared my travels to his own. All this while he was sitting way too close for comfort, watching to see what I was working on and coming nearer and nearer to leaning all the way over my lap. I scooted as close to the arm of the couch as I could.

The time finally reached midnight, and the boys got up to leave. Tyler shook everyone's hands, and as he got around to me, said, "You'll have to join us the next time we go hot tubbing." The look he gave me was meaningful, and (I can only assume) meant to be seductive. Or something. I meant to reply with some very cruel and sarcastic remarks, but instead just stared down at my computer. Oh, the things I could have said. I went to bed later with a sick feeling in my stomach, almost as if I myself had done something wrong. I slept for a grand total of an hour and a half that night.

Now comes the point of the story: Why didn’t I do anything? Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t I simply get up and walk out of the room? Honestly, why can I not stand up for myself? I’m extraordinarily good at defending others, but when I myself am put in a compromising situation I freeze.

There were a number of times over the summer, when colleagues and I were out on the town, that I had to come to the rescue of friends of mine who were plagued with over-enthusiastic (and drunk) men. Most of them got the point when I glared at them, yelled at them, or simply pushed them out of the way. For one particularly persistent jerk, it took me backing him up against the wall, my hands at his throat, for him to understand that I was serious. I probably would have sworn at him, but I didn't figure that it would get my point across any clearer. After that, I didn't have to spare any more energy on him; he stayed on the other side of the dance floor for the rest of the night.

As quickly as I rush to the side of my friends to kick the trash out of people who violate their personal space, I do nothing for myself. Instead, I become weak and passive. As soon as I feel threatened, my brain stops functioning and I default to submission mode. The question I must ask myself, then, is: Why? And how do I change that?

Finally

Refer to number 5 of my last post. Done, and done.

Anticipation

They say that patience is a virtue...but I'm not feeling very virtuous right now. Or patient, for that matter.

There are so many things in life that I want. Most of them I have, but there are a few that I don't. And concerning those things which I lack...like Veruca Salt, I want them now. Not in a few weeks or a year or 10 years.

1. I want a car. I would use a car not only to drive me between point A and point B, but also as a way to relax, listen to music, and have some "me" time. Instead of taking long walks by myself in the middle of the night, I would opt for a quick post-midnight jaunt down the freeway to clear my head.

2. I want to know if I've been accepted into my major. Of course, this requires me turning in the application...hmm, I suppose I should get on that.

3. I want a new laptop. My current one is only 2 years old, but the blasted thing keeps breaking. It will randomly decide to not turn on, and is convinced (despite all evidence to the contrary) that my D:\ doesn't exist. Stupid computer. Don't tell my laptop I said that.

4. I want my parcel to come. I've been anxiously waiting and waiting for a box to arrive in the mail, lovingly packed with some books, movies, and games that I got for Christmas. Every day that the parcel doesn't come just makes me want to watch Muppet Treasure Island and The Emperor's New Groove that much more...

5. I want ice cream, and the anticipation is killing me. What idiot said that awaiting something was sweeter than receiving it? They should be flogged. The end.

*Deep Sigh* Just Breathe...

Libera esse

A feeling of liberation can come from doing the most random things. Today I dropped my Geography 120 class, which I think may be one of the best decisions of my life. I can now officially say that I love every single one of my classes...while before, my response to queries about school was, "I love my classes! Well...except for this one, which I hate. The lectures are boring, the professor is unorganized, and the homework is useless. That's all there is to it." Or something similar to that. I realized this morning, however, that I had enough credit hours to drop the class and still have plenty of work to do...so I did. Why keep a class that I dread going to? Besides, I'll be in school long enough to be able to take it another term from a different professor. :) Ah, the sweet sound of freedom...dulce et decorum est libera esse.

Ps. Okay okay so the real reason I dropped the class was so I wouldn't have to meet with "Dr. Richardson" in his office... ;)

Politically Correct

I must say, the extent that people will go to be politically correct these days astounds me. Why must we be so careful so as to not offend anyone? It is more likely we will be offensive (or just plain obnoxious) by tiptoeing around a statement too carefully. Consider the following politically correct statement (from my Geography 120 syllabus) that could easily be misinterpreted at least 3 different ways:

"Freshmen/women: I would like to meet with you during January for a moment or two to get to know you. Please come by my office at your convenience." -Dr. Ken Richardson*

Do you see the problem here? I admit, I was initially worried, but soon realized what was actually meant and laughed aloud at the misunderstanding. At least it provided some good entertainment at the end of a long day...

*Names have been changed to protect the idiotic

(Best) Friends

"(Best) friends are those who walk in when the whole world has walked out. (Best) friends double your joys and divide your sorrows."

Admittedly, my criterion for someone upon whom I will bestow the title 'friend' isn't as strict as Audrey's. But there is a distinction between those I call 'friend' (pretty much anyone that I come across, and the equivalent of Audrey's 'positive acquaintance') and those that I consider my best friends. A 'friend' I will talk with, laugh with, and smile at when we pass on campus. A best friend I will stop to talk to even when I'm late to class, and walk out of my way to visit while they're at work. A friend I will call to invite out somewhere, or to ask a question of. A best friend I will call for no reason at all, simply because I miss the sound of their voice. A friend I would trust with my life. A best friend I trust, implicitly, with things much more important to me than my life. I truly do love my best friends.

Last night at work, my best friends unwittingly kept me sane. Things were crazy; there were so many customers and not enough food or people to serve it. Most of the people who were working last night were new, and just barely trained - they were doing very well, but they still couldn't work fast enough. It was expected; it's simply a matter of time before they have to stop thinking so long and hard about how to make everything and just do it. I just have to be patient. I was trying not to rip my hair out, and fixing to sternly chide a new girl who thought her way was better, when a sudden thought struck me and I burst out laughing instead. Out of nowhere, the mental image of Bryan unwittingly picking up a prostitute entered my mind. Yes, unwittingly and yes, Bryan. The girl I was about to lash out at was saved. After that, all I had to do was think of my best friends and I would immediately cheer up. I thought of Cassidy and singing along to Wicked. I thought of Julie and her Hobbes-like pouncing. I smiled at the thought of Ted's trademark "there there" pat, and of Jocilyn's contrasting pat of reassurance. I thought of Hannah and spontaneously jumping in the river. I recalled Caitlin's contagious laughter and Emilie's gorgeous singing. I remembered being so content that I fell asleep to Audrey's reading her (quite brilliant) novel aloud. I thought of past-midnight movies on the balcony, trips to the Malt Shoppe, pranks at Stonehenge, lunch at the Creamery, Epic Duels, pie nights that invariably included steak, Nuke'em, Sunday afternoon picnics, driving the long way to Old Wardour Castle, ice cream at The Pizza Factory, and apartment dance parties.

I probably don't tell my best friends often enough that I love them or let them know how much I appreciate them. I love them all dearly, and each one has had a significant impact on my life; a debt which can never be repaid. No matter what happens in the remainder of my life, they will each be very dear to me. I only hope they realize this. :)

A Breath of Air

In the Midst of Affliction

Too often I sadly wonder why
Adversity lies in my path.
What did I do to anger God, who
Seems to pour upon me his wrath?

I thought that He would surely see
My pain, suffer it to be mild.
But though I cry and ask Him, “Why?”
He just whispers, “Oh, my child.”

“Be not afraid; the path that is laid
Before thee is never too hard.
Through this you’ll grow and then you’ll know
That you are constantly under my guard.”

Of course I knew that Christ has suffered through
All the hardships I ever could face.
And I am saved from an eternal grave
Only by His mercy and grace.

You see, a price was paid; a sacrifice made,
For us by Christ our brother.
For only He, the Savior, could be
The lamb at the altar – none other.

He journeyed well to the depths of Hell
And then he rose above us
Ascended then to our Father in Heav’n
Why? Because he loves us.

So all the trials and the long miles
Of hardship are for our good.
And although now, we cannot see how,
We trust Him as we know that we should.

He says, “Little One, this is my Son”
And He brings me into His fold.
In response to my cries, He simply replies,
“Peace be unto thy soul.”



Truly, God is Good.

My profound thought for the day. I don't have many of those, but every now and again... :)

God really is amazing, you know? He knows and loves each of us personally - better than even we do - and is always there when we need Him the most. He never said life would be easy. He demands faith and sacrifice from us - often letting us walk until we are so exhasuted we cannot walk anymore and collapse gasping and wheezing onto the ground, turning to Him in humble supplication. Only then does He pick us up and carry us for a while, giving us a breath of air before returning us to our rightful place walking next to Him. I'm amazed again and again by the Lord's love for and patience with me - even when I'm at my lowest and most faithless, in the midst of doubt and despair, He is there to comfort me and be my strength.

Today was Monday, the first day of the new semester, and I've ended it feeling better than when I started off. I wasn't exactly looking forward to seeing what the first day of school held; I would rather have crawled into a corner and hid, but as I knew that doing so wouldn't be a good way to start off the semester, I walked to school with a smile on my face and a laugh in my voice. Quite honestly, despite what I might say when asked, my Christmas vacation was anything but good. It wasn't restful or relaxing; rather, it was emotionally charged and strenuous almost beyond sufferance. But I survived. I always do. I was, however, wondering how I was going to make it through the next semester. I wrote previously of a state of zen, of numb calmness that helps me keep going through it all. I, unfortunately, wasn't quite there again - I was still just barely on this side of it, the side where I still felt emotion - and anything might throw me into a panic. I spent the whole of my church meetings on Sunday feeling like I was going to vomit, and it was all I could do the rest of the day to calmly say hello to friends as they came home from the holidays. I just wanted to run away - to my room or down the street or wherever I needed to go to be far away from people. But I didn't. I greeted my friends, smiled and hugged them, queried about their vacations, and answered general questions about my own. By the end of the day I was physically sick from the sheer effort - and although I finally lay down on the couch and turned off the light at around 4:30, I didn't once fall asleep.

The Lord knows what He's doing. He knows me better than I know myself, and realizes when I've reached my limit. He pays attention to my needs. He wants me to be happy. I could feel His presence and His strength with me all day - today was a day I was carried. Although I realize that the semester is going to be insanely busy, I'm excited about every single one of my courses. I was able to add the classes to my schedule that I wanted to, the subjects are all fascinating, and my professors are wonderful. I spent the day thrilled to be back in school and back at work, and feeling generally great about the months to come. I needed a day like this. The rest of the week might be stressful, might be crazy, and might be overwhelming, but I can face it now. I've had my breath of air.