tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180702202024-03-12T19:33:12.331-07:00aka TThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-49354977906167474402011-08-29T09:47:00.000-07:002011-08-29T09:47:55.672-07:00The Bright SideI went white water rafting in West Virginia this past weekend and left my husband at home to face the hurricane alone. I invited him to join me on the river, but he said that he would be less stressed being at home in case anything went wrong than being away and wondering if our apartment was still standing and not flooded. So I went, and he stayed. Hurricane Irene only lightly grazed the DC area before slamming New York City, having bounced off of the North Carolinian shore and mostly going around us. Heavy rains and some wind downed several trees, knocking out the electricity for just under 24 hours (Pepco responded shockingly well, very out-of-character for them). Our only damage was to our fence, caused by our neighbor's tree being uprooted. Luckily it fell away from our apartment building and not toward it. I am glad that we are renting, so fixing the fence is not our responsibility...<br />
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Here's a picture of the damage, including two green plastic lawn chairs and a table that managed to stay upright during the whole storm:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgpcnfIEbaNBEozWq6pOOUlWYLZSorY49uBYi7NfVyQy7jhyphenhyphenGspnMvcc0RAcODKLikiNBOablckkvWx46Eld1EhPCk-g54fdHMj9nameUBj6W6b64EgCJWkHhed2fmoShRKhb3og/s1600/Hurricane+Irene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgpcnfIEbaNBEozWq6pOOUlWYLZSorY49uBYi7NfVyQy7jhyphenhyphenGspnMvcc0RAcODKLikiNBOablckkvWx46Eld1EhPCk-g54fdHMj9nameUBj6W6b64EgCJWkHhed2fmoShRKhb3og/s320/Hurricane+Irene.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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On the bright side (literally), we have more sunshine pouring in through our living room window now that that tree is gone!<br />
Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-74498370146617256722011-08-11T07:22:00.001-07:002011-08-11T07:22:45.197-07:00WickedI don't really have anything to say but wow.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-28621765610189399872011-07-21T13:26:00.000-07:002011-07-21T13:27:31.659-07:00I Have "Alternative" ViewsI am a synesthete.<br />
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At least, I think I am. Only recently have I become aware of this possibility, and it has intrigued me since. According to Richard Cytowic, author of "Synesthesia: A Union of the Senses", Synesthesia is an "involuntary joining in which the real information of one sense is accompanied by a perception in another sense."<br />
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In other words, the experience of one sense is inherently connected to the experience of another.<br />
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For instance, a synesthete might see numbers or letters as inherently coloured - not that he <i>associates </i>numbers or letters with specific colours, but he <i>sees</i> them as coloured. A black '2' on a piece of paper might look red to a synesthete. Or he may hear a note, or an instrument, or another sound, and see a colour. Actually <i>see</i> it in front of him. People with synesthesia are said to have a higher incidence of perfect pitch. In my research, colour seems to be the sense (the term is used loosely here - colour is not one of the 5 senses, but the word 'sense' in synesthesia research seems to be more closely related to one of the subsets of the 5 senses, more easily understood as the word 'sensation') that appears most frequently in relation to the other senses. Location in space is another very commonly experienced sense. Days of the week, months of year, times of the day, etc. may have colours to some synesthetes, but they can also be located in specific places in space. For instance, April may be 2 feet in front of and 6 inches to the left of a synesthete. Always. Part of the definition of synesthesia is that it is both consistent and involuntary.<br />
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Other possible examples of synesthesia<br />
- The taste of a lemon may be blue, or shaped like a square. <br />
- The sensation of pain may sound like a trombone<br />
- Seeing a circle may elicit the taste of hot chocolate in one's mouth<br />
- The number '4' may have a friendly personality<br />
- Friday may be 2 inches to the left of one's ear, while Wednesday is 3 feet straight ahead<br />
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For me, the days of the week are either even or odd, and male or female (usually the even days are female and the odd days are male, but not in every case. Monday, for instance, is both even and male.). They also look like this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghS_i64NSkANlDH9l_dLSV49ulEf9YQPTxguY_1VIfkVyQKSVyqmad5jVtGi1vqIfOIPdlVl83U1OdJJV8sKOgpwauAqbFZnStEDLuj-q045pKEBgosHBVOorLXPUT4qOMLoDTjw/s1600/Days.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghS_i64NSkANlDH9l_dLSV49ulEf9YQPTxguY_1VIfkVyQKSVyqmad5jVtGi1vqIfOIPdlVl83U1OdJJV8sKOgpwauAqbFZnStEDLuj-q045pKEBgosHBVOorLXPUT4qOMLoDTjw/s200/Days.png" width="200" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Some synesthetes report being surprised at discovering that not everyone else experiences the world the way they do, while others say they have felt their whole lives as if they harbored a secret which, if revealed, would invite ridicule and cause others to shun them. While I was made fun of once at a summer camp for referring to a month as "him", I assumed the girl was just being really mean (a lot of kids were to me in those days). Though I never mentioned such things again, I had no sense of being ashamed - I fell into the former group. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was only recently that I realized that Monday wasn't ACTUALLY even, and Saturday wasn't ACTUALLY odd. That it was just me - not everyone else experienced them as I do. I look at a traditional calendar, with the weekdays in a straight line from left to right, and as I'm looking at it I still see the week in front of me as a circle (not a perfect circle, though - the weekend, across the bottom, is flat). Like a ferris wheel - Wednesday is not the middle of the week, but the top. But I see both views of the week - the line and the circle - in front of me at the same time, as if they are layered, just as a synesthete might look at a '2' printed in black ink and see both the black ink and a red '2' simultaneously. The information is being processed in my brain in 2 ways at once - that's the only way I can think to explain what I experience. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The months of the year are also odd or even, male or female (and some of them even have ages), and have specific locations in space. In addition, they are coloured, and are the only things I see that way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Some synesthetes can use their unique perceptions as gifts, working creatively with them to produce beautiful and interesting art, or to memorize things more quickly and effectively, or to hone their musical talents (oh how I wish I had perfect pitch!). I don't think that just because August is a 25-year-old male I will get any further in the world than if he were just a month on the calendar, but it's interesting to know.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Even if it's just me.</div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-31224833834326768342011-05-28T06:19:00.000-07:002011-05-28T06:20:58.932-07:00when ailments quarrelI've been pretty sick of late. Headaches and nausea have been the order of the day, which leaves me with little desire to speak loudly - when I speak at all. My husband's allergies are clogging up his ears, though, and the combination of my recent quietness and his new deafness is rather unfortunate. It leads to conversations like this:<br />
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<b>ME</b>: [An off-hand comment that's not really important]<br />
<b>SCOTT</b>: WHAT?<br />
<b>ME </b>(not wanting to repeat myself, because it's wasn't all that important the first time I said it): Never mind.<br />
<b>SCOTT</b>: No, what did you say?<br />
<b>ME</b>: I said NEVER MIND.<br />
<b>SCOTT</b>: Alright, fine.<br />
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Or this:<br />
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<b>ME</b>: Can you hand me that pen over there?<br />
<b>SCOTT</b>: [Doesn't hear or respond]<br />
<b>ME</b>: Scott! Can I have the pen!<br />
<b>SCOTT</b>: WHAT?<br />
<b>ME </b>(feeling like an obnoxious and demanding wife): The pen! I want it!<br />
<b>SCOTT</b>: The what?<br />
<b>ME </b>(picking my nauseated self up off the couch): Never mind. I'll get myself.<br />
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As you can see this is very frustrating. For both of us. I have to say everything loudly or repeat it, and my low energy level makes that rather unappealing. Poor Scott not only has to FEEL his clogged ears (which I imagine are uncomfortable), he can't hear anything. At least I only have trouble being heard when I talk to him - Scott has trouble hearing EVERYTHING at all times.<br />
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I wonder which is gonna give first - his allergies or my nausea? Perhaps neither, and they will be two immortals locked in an epic battle until Judgment Day and trumpets sound.<br />
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I sure hope not.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-78146284338589753222011-05-12T04:58:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:37:17.418-07:00Going green (and orange, and yellow, and red...)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPBSoGD694P5WVnZWEQ5Pql-CT-KGoeypdi1jR3ovBilYUvhd6sNxuL8r30ohtgz2tt3E-qVwif-tK7GySZHhiGbmtJpP3wzHgAdOUTb4C5JwtVI2MMjddrp1zHSLXKXnsDnyMA/s1600/fruits-vegetables.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPBSoGD694P5WVnZWEQ5Pql-CT-KGoeypdi1jR3ovBilYUvhd6sNxuL8r30ohtgz2tt3E-qVwif-tK7GySZHhiGbmtJpP3wzHgAdOUTb4C5JwtVI2MMjddrp1zHSLXKXnsDnyMA/s200/fruits-vegetables.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605810369357388610" border="0" /></a><br />Can it be called a "diet" if foods are not cut out of my daily victuals, but added in? If so, then I am on one. It was Scott's idea. It's more effective this way - every time I come up with a plan to change our eating habits for the better, he's not motivated and it doesn't last. But this time, not only did he approach me, we've set it up as a cooperative goal so we BOTH have to accomplish it to win. So far it seems to be working.<br /><br />We are to eat a minimum amount of fruits and vegetables and drink a minimum amount of water each day. My water requirement is less than his, as is my body size. The benefits to this new plan are multiple and as follows:<br /><br />1) Clearly, fruits and veggies are good for us. They provide essential vitamins and minerals and reduce the risk of many diseases, including some types of cancer, heart disease, diabetes, kidney failure, etc.<br /><br />2) Fruits and veggies are pretty filling for the low number of calories they contain. This means that if we eat more from those categories, we will not be hungry enough to snack on potato chips all day long or eat only other, high-calorie foods instead. Scott also says that often he will think that he's hungry, but actually he's thirsty - so if he drank more water he would eat less excess food by misreading his body's signals. And of course if he always has a bottle of water with him, he won't feel the need to carry a soda instead.<br /><br />3) Eating fruits and veggies begets eating fruits and veggies. I often try to buy fresh fruits and vegetables, but we don't eat them fast enough. So then half of them get thrown out, and next time I'm at the store I don't buy them. A few weeks later I'll try again, but the same thing happens (the main exception here is bananas - we eat a lot of those). I've had more luck with strawberry yogurt than fresh strawberries. And then, since there are no fresh fruits and veggies in the house, clearly we don't eat them. And the vicious cycle continues. But since we HAVE TO eat them now, we DO - and then I buy more and then we have them in the house (and they're not wilted or moldy) and we eat them. And the gentle cycle continues.<br /><br />I've never had a problem eating fruits and vegetables because I dislike them - (except PEAS and TOMATOES - gross gross gross) - I just don't usually think about eating them. It doesn't really occur to me. The same holds true with water - I don't drink soda or Kool-Aid in place of it, but I don't drink many liquids period. I do like to buy orange or cranberry juice and I'll drink those, but besides that (and hot chocolate on winter mornings) I don't consume liquids. I never think about it. I rarely feel thirsty, and when I do a small swallow of a refreshing liquid will usually slake my thirst.<br /><br />So the purpose of the new "diet" is twofold: 1) To eat healthier by actively adding fruits and vegetables to our meals AND thereby decreasing the desire (and room in our bellies) for less healthy foods, and 2) To MAKE HABITS out of eating fruits and veggies and drinking water.<br /><br />Wish us luck!Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-12189971138739127582011-02-14T05:23:00.000-08:002011-02-14T15:20:37.551-08:00Give the laurels a restI understand that they have good intentions. And I don't think they realize what it sounds like to the person on the other end of the comment. But when I hear "Congratulations!" after I've received a new calling in church, I cringe.<br /><br />Yesterday I was sustained as the new 1st counselor in the Stake YW Presidency. I heard several offers of congratulations from various members of the ward (and then the stake, when I went to the youth fireside that night). Coming from a select few, it didn't seem to bother me. But out of the mouths of most, it made my insides entangle themselves.<br /><br />Obviously, there are many worse responses people could have had. "I'm starting to doubt the inspiration of the stake president!" is one example, and of course I'm glad that no one ever said that (to me, anyway). But applauding me is certainly not the best response either.<br /><br />It's AWKWARD.<br /><br />Why am I being congratulated? What did I do to earn it?? How do they know I even want the calling??? And how am I supposed to respond????<br /><br />"Thanks so much! I've been trying to get the stake president to notice me for months, and I guess all my sacrifices really paid off!" <br /><br />"Hey, thanks! I've worked hard to get here, and now I can run things the way I want to."<br /><br />"I'd like to thank my mom, my dad, and all my fans...*sniff*...I couldn't have done it without you."<br /><br />It's not like when I graduated from college, when I had worked hard towards my goal and it was finally realized. Or when I got a promotion at work, or got lucky enough to find the right man to be my husband, or a slew of other positive life experiences that merit applause. I mean sure, I'm worthy to receive a calling, so maybe what they're really saying is "Great job on not being a sinner!"...but being congratulated on my righteousness makes me a little uncomfortable.<br /><br />But maybe it's just me.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-88399769611739597062011-02-10T06:26:00.000-08:002011-02-10T07:32:52.357-08:00Oh hey, Girl Baby Sweetheart...Sometimes, when I drive Scott to school (or myself to work) in the morning, and I switch on the radio, "War of the Roses" is on. It's a bit on The Kane Show that investigates whether or not a man is cheating, on behalf of the suspicious girlfriend or wife. One of them (Kane, Sarah, or Samy) calls up the man, pretending to be from a local flower delivery company, and offers a free bouquet (under the guise of a "sample", to convince the person to use the local startup over the big companies in the future). The flowers can be delivered to anyone "special" in the person's life, with a personalized message. The suspicious wife or girlfriend is on the other line listening, and the man usually gives himself away by having the flowers sent to the mistress with a message along the lines of "Thanks for all the good times, Pookie." Sometimes, the radio station will call the mistress and she will inevitably ask for the flowers to be sent to the man. Both are bad news, as the suspicious female now has pretty good proof that there has been something unsavory going on and can act upon it.<br /><br />I never turn the radio on at home to listen to it, but I admit that I am pleased when it happens to be on when I'm driving in the morning. There is something very satisfactory about a cheater getting caught and the innocent partner realizing she deserves better than him.<br /><br />This morning's War of the Roses was one of the best that I've heard. <br /><br />Abigail had many reasons to think that her boyfriend, Dylan, was cheating. For instance, he had 5 cell phones, one of which had a "sex bucket list" on it, and he never called her by her first name, using pet names instead. So Kane called him and offered him the flowers. Dylan had apparently listened to the show before, and caught on immediately. He called Kane on his trick, and said "I'm not telling you anything. I didn't do anything." After a big back-and-forth about WHAT he may or may not have done, Kane finally asked WHO Dylan thought had put them up to this. <br /><br />"It's my girl probably, man." <br /><br />"Yeah, it probably is. What's your girl's name?"<br /><br />"Look man, it's my baby, man. It's my sweetheart. You know, we've fought a little bit recently..."<br /><br />"Okay, but what's your sweetheart's NAME?"<br /><br />He refused to say. He obviously has multiple women and didn't know which one was on the other line. Dylan adamantly claimed innocence and said he wasn't going to tell Kane anything, but the truth was clear. He finally said, "I'm hanging up the phone now. Sweetheart, baby just call me back and we can talk about this privately."<br /><br />Kane told Abigail that she could be pretty positive now that Dylan had been cheating on her, and asked if she wanted to call him back. Instead, Sarah (the girl on the Kane Show) called, to see how he would respond.<br /><br />"Uh, hello?"<br /><br />"Hey, Dylan."<br /><br />"Maggie?"<br /><br />Wrong answer.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-82312238582045717272011-01-18T07:11:00.000-08:002011-01-18T08:28:18.022-08:00It's a goal, not a resolutionI'm not really a New Year's Resolution person. I find it too stressful; the formality and ceremony of it causes me to put pressure on myself. Of all my flaws, how do I pick just one to work on for this year? Of all the good habits I want to form, which will be the most beneficial? What if I pick the wrong one? Okay, I don't HAVE to pick just one. But the thought of trying to change too many things at once overwhelms me, so I go back to picking the top goal or two and not being able to decide. Every year I run myself in circles with this logic, like a dog chasing its tail, and the stress and frantic energy builds up until I threaten to self-destruct - so then I stop. And I once again settle on setting no goals.<br /><br />I find it much easier to wait until some other trigger prompts me to set goals. I never have to wait long, because it happens all the time. I read an article about quinoa, for instance, so I go on a health kick and eat quinoa for breakfast every day for a week. Or I deposit some checks into the bank, and their pamphlet by the door about budgeting makes me think that it's something I should do better - so I go home, create a fancy spreadsheet with pivot tables and coloured headings and say I'm going to enter every receipt and elaborately break down every dollar that we spend (which has never lasted more than 3 months). OR I see a sign in Spanish and decide to recommit myself to learning the language (which happened a couple days ago, by the way - this one I REALLY want to do, partly because Scott speaks it, but this is the seventh try since we got married 4.5 years ago and I can't stick with it! I haven't figured out why yet. Maybe I need more structure than trying to study it on my own???) My personality is such that I jump from obsession to obsession, getting REALLY excited about something and wanting to do nothing else for a couple of weeks until I get tired of it and find something else to occupy my time. I've learned to be careful about not spending lots of money on a new "hobby" until I'm sure that it's going to last (which it never does!). This style isn't necessarily bad; I may not have ever become an expert at anything, but I know a little about A LOT of things. And I suppose that has merits of its own.<br /><br />I've gotten off track here; the point of this post was to talk about a goal I'm setting now, not as a New Year's Resolution but just a goal. No NYR pressure, so no getting overwhelmed - it just so happens that I'm starting it in January, and it will take until the end of the year! I have a textbook from BYU about the New Testament, called The Life and Teachings of Jesus and His Apostles. For my scripture study this year, I'm going to work my way through the whole book. There are 56 chapters, which equals about a chapter a week. I probably won't post much about it here, unless something really inspires me, but I wanted to put it out there for others to know about so I would feel accountable. Feel free to ask me from time to time how it's going, to keep me on track!Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-11039778208605777572011-01-03T04:59:00.000-08:002011-01-03T05:35:49.465-08:00THAT HymnBesides the craziness of a new schedule, losing half of my nursery children to Primary, and several people still being on vacation (meaning we're 'short-staffed'), there is another reason I dislike the first Sunday of January. <br /><br />Hymn #215.<br /><br />It's called "Ring Out, Wild Bells", and is the go-to New Year's hymn every year. And I hate it. One of the best (and when I say "best" I actually mean "worst") lines is: "The old year is dying, let him die. The old year is dying, let him die." How depressing is that? Although I love singing hymns, there are a few pretty bad songs in the book. But #215 takes the cake as my least favourite. Easy.<br /><br />At least I won't have to sing it again for 364 days. Not that I'm counting or anything.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-20738233265375215702010-12-31T05:43:00.000-08:002010-12-31T05:58:49.121-08:00St. Clairs - THOSE friendsUnlike Audrey, who designates people she knows as "positive acquaintances" until they earn another title (for better or for worse), I have many people I consider friends. I tend to befriend people right off the bat. (Whether or not the same people would consider me a friend is a different question altogether.) There are varying levels of friendship, of course, but the generic term "friend" is a title fairly easily acquired from me.<br /><br />But few and far between are THOSE friends, the ones at the very top of the friendship ladder. They have climbed there slowly but surely, and worked to earn the spot. I would do anything for those friends, because I know they would do the same for me. But it's not a matter of simple give-and-take economics; I don't do a favor for them <span style="font-style: italic;">because </span>I expect one in return, I do it because I care. And they do it because they care. The symbolism of the symbiotic relationship is what keeps it going - it's what "I would do anything for you" MEANS, not what it actually is that's important. No one keeps score, or runs up a tab, or sends a bill. I give, and they give. And it all works out.<br /><br />There are many reasons that the St. Clairs are those kind of friends, and I find it difficult to put them into words. Just as it seems impossible to explain why I love my mother, or my father, or my husband - the relationships are too complex, and intricate, and defy any kind of description that would make sense to anyone else - my mind screams "trite" when I say I'm going to describe why the St. Clairs are so important to me (and my husband). But they are moving in less than a week, so I'm going to try.<br /><br />I wish I could say that when I first met the St. Clairs I just knew we would become fast friends. But that wasn't the case. Our first contact was on a Saturday, while Scott and I (and others) helped them unload the truck they had just driven from Utah. Needless to say, there wasn't much conversation that day besides where to put the boxes and furniture. A lot of people move into and out of our church congregation (especially from Utah), and I didn't take particular notice of another young couple from out west.<br /><br />But Jeff soon became my husband's assistant in the youth group, and as we started to get to know the St. Clairs we began to like them. Our interests align nicely; Scott and Jeff can talk about math and science and statistics and football, and Jenete and I love the arts. Jenete does opera and plays the cello and I do theatre and play the guitar, but there is a lot of overlap. Other, little, reasons we should become friends began to become apparent; for instance, Scott's parents now teach at, and his uncle is the president of, the university Jeff had just graduated from. Jeff is a Star Wars fanatic and Scott's and my favourite game just happens to be Epic Duels. We own a lot of the same movies. Being members of the same church means that we obviously share belief systems. AND we find each other funny.<br /><br />There is rarely a conversation that Scott and I have with the St. Clairs that doesn't involve a whole lot of laughing. We love to joke around, and we joke around about the same things and in the same way. (And okay, so perhaps there is some amount of light teasing and laughing AT one another going on. But it's all in good fun.) We've certainly had serious conversations with the St. Clairs as well; not all of our shared experiences have been light-hearted or happy. But barring any crisis or time of tragedy, we can always make each other laugh and hanging out with the St. Clairs turns an okay day into a great day (unless Jenete and I lose at Pinochle and get upset (we always play girls vs. boys), which happens on occasion and is a whole different story altogether!).<br /><br />About a year ago, the St. Clairs moved into our apartment building, a couple floors above us. I did have some fears that being so close would cause us to get tired of each other, but I needn't have worried. This was put to the test immediately after they moved in; as Scott and Jeff were returning the moving truck, it began to snow...and Snowmageddon hit. With nothing to do but stay inside and hope we didn't lose power, we spent an awful lot of time with the St. Clairs over the following few days. We shared food, heat, and played the Wii. The same thing happened a couple months later when Snowpocalypse arrived, and school was canceled for a week. By that time, we had added Pinochle to our repertoire of activities, and played every evening while we waited to hear whether we would be returning to school the next day or not. It felt perfectly natural to spend every day with them, and there are few people in this world I would rather have been snowed in with.<br /><br />Over the summer we BBQed with them every few days, and though it's too cold (and gets dark too early) to grill outside, we still see the St. Clairs multiple times a week - church, youth activities, grocery shopping and other errands (just me and Jenete, not all 4 of us), Pinochle, etc. They know that they are welcome to drop by any time of the day or night (if necessary) or any time of the day for no reason at all. Once they move the frequency of visits will dramatically decrease, but the enjoyment of our time spent together will not.<br /><br />I know this post has began to turn into a novel, and I could write pages and pages more, but then this might never be posted so I'll wrap it up here. But I want the St. Clairs to know that Scott and I cherish their friendship and will miss them a lot! Thanks for everything.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-75863899441520207972010-12-07T12:28:00.000-08:002010-12-07T13:01:48.435-08:00Mark Twain: the sequelSee "A Lesson From Mark Twain".<br /><br />Here I go again, stuck in an awkward position of saying no to work because of the questionable content. But this time I've already said yes - it's a collection of 8 10-minute plays, and when I agreed to stage manage the scripts hadn't been chosen. When they were, I was glad to see that none of them were too rough for me to handle. But this week a 9th play was added to the list, one whose sexual content is beyond my level of okay-ness. So I had to make the hard phone call.<br /><br />I'm not just saying "No, thank you" to an offer. I'm quitting a job I already agreed to do. I'm backing out. I'm saying, "I know we load-in in a few weeks, but you have to choose - it's either me or the new play. Which do you want more?"<br /><br />Talk about awkward.<br /><br />Now I'm waiting for the verdict, to find out which one they pick. Am I nervous? Yeah, a little. I feel good knowing that they're at least considering cutting the play instead of me - that I didn't hear "Well, fine, we didn't like you anyway, you narrow-minded jerk" as a response to my concerns. But even if I end up leaving the project, there won't be any hard feelings on my part and I'm confident that I could still work with the group in the future.<br /><br />I will say that every time I have to do this it gets a little bit easier.<br /><br />But "easier" is very, very, relative.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-70556652788098111562010-06-30T16:54:00.001-07:002010-06-30T16:57:53.307-07:00How to Build a FireIn the White Mountains of New Hampshire, my husband's family and I have spent hours hiking to waterfalls and exploring the woods. Back at the house, we eat grilled chicken and discuss making s'mores before the kids go to bed. I LOVE making fires. I quickly volunteer, and my 10-year-old niece Rachel begs to help. Rachel gathers the wood, and I find the lighter. Always looking for a teaching opportunity, I ask if she knows what we need to build a fire, and she correctly answers: air, fuel, and something to ignite it. We pile up little sticks with pine needles in the middle, and surround them with larger pieces of firewood. The pine needles don't burn quite as well as I had hoped - they just create lots of smoke - and after I have sent Rachel inside to find some paper, hoping it would make a better fire starter, I am slightly discouraged.<br /><br />"I sure hope that we'll have this fire going before everyone comes outside to roast their marshmallows," I sigh, as Rachel returns with 3 large sheets of paper. She carefully places some crumpled pieces of paper in the pile of sticks and replies confidently: "Don't worry, we will." Rachel then furrows her brow and begins to wax philosophical. "Fires are like humans you know," she starts. "They start off slow, and then they begin to roar." As she adds more sticks to the now growing flame (the paper worked wonders!), she adds thoughtfully, "And if you don't feed them, they'll die."Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-29540132513685414432010-06-13T13:50:00.000-07:002010-06-13T17:19:21.537-07:00A Lesson from Mark TwainWhen I realized that I was going to say no, I began to cry.<br /><br />Why would I turn down such an opportunity? Why would I walk away from such an offer? My friend Patti says I have a "Nokay Problem" - that is, that I can't say no. I start to, but I can't hold my ground, and it quickly becomes a yes, and sounds something like this:<br /><br />Nooooookay.<br /><br />But this is different. In this case, I wouldn't be saying yes because I feel obligated to, or because I feel bad for someone, or because I lack a pair. I really WANT to say yes. It would be an amazing opportunity that would benefit me directly, and for reasons that are different than the normal ones, I can't believe I'm saying no. But I have to.<br /><br />A few months ago, I got an email from the DC Theatre Technicians list that I'm on, from a theatre company looking for an Assistant Stage Manager (ASM), some backstage crew, and two followspot ops. I applied for the ASM position. The production manager (we'll call him Bob) gave me a call a few days later and said that he had already filled the ASM position, but he was still in need of backstage crew if I was interested. I happily accepted (when working with people you've never worked with before, sometimes you've got to start at the bottom). A few days in to tech rehearsals, Bob pulled me aside and told me that he realized he should have hired me as the ASM instead. When the show closed, he asked me what I was doing the following month - he was looking for a full stage manager for the group's next production. Unfortunately, I was already committed to working on the opera Shadowboxer, so I couldn't. Bob promised to keep me in mind for future projects.<br /><br />Then, 3 or 4 weeks ago, I got an email from someone else. He (whom I'm naming Jason) told me that I had been recommended to him as a stage manager by Bob, that same production manager from a couple months before. I was flattered. I had scheduling conflicts with the first couple of small projects he offered me, but there was a 4-month-long major production that he wanted to meet with me about, slotted for the beginning of 2011. I was both nervous and excited about the possibility of stage managing such a show. Jason and I met over coffee (I had hazelnut hot chocolate), and we hit it off right away - he said he had been impressed with me before we even met, because I was the first person he'd ever interviewed who had thought to tell him what colour shirt he should look for her in. The more he and I talked about the show, the more excited I became! Jason and his team had come from New York to start a theatre company in DC, after they got tired of the NYC attitude, and began to grow faster than they had ever anticipated. In the last year and a half, they have had to add 4 board members because their budget has doubled. The show will first be performed in North Carolina, and then come back to DC - to a theatre space that I'm intimately familiar with, having stage managed there before. The fact that the show will be performed in 2 different states would look amazing on my resume. I asked if I would be able to have an ASM, and Jason was completely open to the idea. He said that he doesn't deal with the contracts, so he couldn't offer me anything official, but he was very excited for me to meet the other two founders of the company at preliminary auditions for the show next Saturday. Everything seemed perfect, and I felt so fortunate to have the job practically fall into my lap.<br /><br />But then I read the script.<br /><br />Jason had told me that it was a risky play to produce, because it was a heavy drama and audiences don't always like that. They tend to prefer comedies, classics, or plays that make a controversial social point. Jason said that he had talked with other potential stage managers, and it had been evident from the start which ones wouldn't like the play. "But I feel like you're an open-minded person, and we seem to be on the same page," he told me. He still wanted me to read the script before I committed to anything, and promised to email it to me.<br /><br />Knowing only the basic plot of the play I opened the pdf with trepidation, fearing that after reading it I would have to join the other SMs who had said, "Thanks, but no thanks." I wanted so badly for this show to work out! The first time I came across the f-word, I wasn't surprised. The play, after all, is about a man whose wife is raped and murdered on their anniversary, and the story is his journey of healing. The stakes are pretty high. Who wouldn't swear after something like that? But then the swearing became too common. Three times the f-word was scripted. Ten. Twelve. Seventeen? Twenty-three? After about thirty, I lost count. After that, the number didn't matter anymore.<br /><br />"So there's some bad language," I told myself. "Well, it's only natural when you're dealing with such intense content. The play is so powerful! I can forgive some cursing here and there." I rationalized for the playwright, I rationalized for the theatre company, and I rationalized for myself. I reminded myself of the money, the experience, the connections, the resume-building. I told myself that it would be rude to turn the opportunity down, especially after I had been recommended to Jason personally. What if Jason went to Bob and said, "Boy, she sure didn't work out." Bob might never suggest me to anyone again. DC Theatre is an incredibly small world - people talk. I told myself how silly and juvenile it would sound to say, "Sorry I can't do your play. I don't like bad words." I thought of how fun it would be to work with Jason and the others - they seemed like a great group.<br /><br />I rationalized and rationalized, all the way up to the point of writing Jason back and saying how much I loved the script (though there was a little bit too much swearing for my taste, but it was okay). I wrote the email, and offered some times for a follow-up meeting. But I didn't send it. I couldn't pinpoint why, exactly, or what it was that stopped me. But I decided to save the draft and send it later. Later came and went, as did the next morning, and still I didn't send the email. What was my problem? I became frustrated with myself because I couldn't figure out what was holding me back. I decided I must be feeling guilty for compromising my standards. "But you've thought through this," I told myself. "It'll be fine. It's a great play otherwise, the swearing isn't really THAT bad - just look at August: Osage County! That play is way worse. Besides, the opportunity is so perfect. It would be stupid to turn it down, and you'll regret it if you do."<br /><br />But still I left the email in my drafts folder, unsent. I'm not sure what the turning point was for me today, but I found myself actually considering turning the job down. I couldn't believe I was doing that. "You wouldn't," the voice in my head said. "This is DC. Theatre people TALK - if you say no because of something as trivial as a few curse words, no one will want to hire you." But I began to change my mind, a little bit at a time. I came across a quote from Mark Twain this morning, while doing some preparation for the youth camp I'm co-running in a week. The theme for this year is "Courage in Action", and Mark Twain says:<br /><br />"It is curious...curious that physical courage should be so common in the world, and moral courage so rare."<br /><br />It was like a slap in the face. How could I teach these teenage girls to exhibit moral courage if I couldn't do just that? I tell you, few people can sniff out hypocrisy faster than teenagers. If I was going to talk the talk, I needed to hike the hike (sometimes a mere walk doesn't cut it). I also realized that if I stage managed this show, I wouldn't allow my husband, my parents, or my friends to come and see it. It's a bad sign if I'm too ashamed to include those closest to me in my work. I had thought about praying to help me make my decision, but kept deciding against it. I was afraid that I already knew what the answer would be, and I didn't want to hear it. Red flag number two.<br /><br />I went to church today not thinking about the show, and with no intention of asking God what I should do. But He told me anyway. I didn't have a seizure in the middle of the chapel, angels didn't come down from heaven and call my name, and the bishop didn't point to me from the pulpit, saying, "Sister Albrecht, you know what you need to do." None of that happened, but I got my answer all the same. Yes, the one I wasn't looking for. Completely unprompted by any other cognition, I suddenly thought, "I'm going to say no." I was rather taken aback, because the thought came out of nowhere. I didn't just realize what I <span style="font-weight: bold;">needed</span> to do, I knew what I was <span style="font-weight: bold;">going<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span>to do. That's the part where I began to cry.<br /><br />If only knowing that a decision was the right one made that decision easy - easy to make, and easy to follow through with. If only making the right decision guaranteed one puppies, butterflies, and a life of pure joy. But it doesn't. If having moral courage wasn't so difficult, Mark Twain would have seen a lot more of it. So although I knew that I was doing the right thing, I still cried. I mourned the loss of a lucrative opportunity, and feared the repercussions by those who don't respect my moral boundaries, or respect me for having any.<br /><br />I don't know how Jason will react to the email I sent him today - perhaps he will applaud my decision to hold my ground and not give up my morals, no matter what worldly advancement I may lose by doing so. But perhaps not. Perhaps he will ridicule me, or even worse, be offended that I would turn him down over such a trivial matter (since he's directing the play, the language obviously doesn't bother him). He may never want to work with me again. I console myself by saying that if that's the case, I suppose he's not the type of person I would want to work with either.<br /><br />But saying no is still. Hard.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-85786055380098640152010-01-16T11:16:00.000-08:002010-01-16T12:59:35.283-08:00Really? Like, really?Alright, so I'm a few days late. But here's the story anyway.<br /><br />I went to the copy center at the student union to get Carla's blog printed and bound a couple of weeks ago. There was too much to bind into just one book, so I got it split into 3 - divided by years. I had 2 of them bound, but thought I was missing some pages on the 3rd and took it home printed but unbound.<br /><br />So I went back last week to finish the job, after realizing that I wasn't missing pages at all; the year 2008 just doesn't have any blog entries until July. All I needed was the last group of pages bound, so it should have been a quick, simple visit. But it wasn't.<br /><br />When I walked in, the only woman in the copy center was sitting at the very far end of the room, her feet up on the back counter, talking on the phone. She asked whomever she was talking to to hold on a moment. Grabbing a crutch, she hobbled over to me, and I told her that I just needed these pages bound and that was all. "Sure, no problem!" she replied happily. 2 minutes later, I was on my way out the door with the book in hand and $1.25 less in my pocket.<br /><br />If only.<br /><br />Her real response: "Do you think you could wait, oh, like an hour for my student to get here, and then he'll do that for you? I hurt my foot real bad and I can't stand on it."<br /><br />Keep in mind 2 things: 1) It takes less than 2 minutes to tape bind a book (I watched her student do it for me the week before, and all he had to do was put the pages in the machine and it did all the work), during which standing is absolutely not required. 2) She was standing in front of me to tell me this.<br /><br />I don't know how long I stood there with a blank stare on my face before I managed the words "Really? You ca...really? You really can't?" I had a hard time forming complete sentences, because I was dumbfounded. I just couldn't believe the words I had just heard come out of her mouth. She was really going to stand there in front of me and ask me to wait for an hour because she couldn't stand on her foot.<br /><br />I mentioned that she had somehow managed to walk over to me, to which she replied something to the effect of, "Yeah, but that's about all I can manage. I really need to sit down right now." The aggrandizement reminded me of the time that my sister walked to just outside of the door to the room my mother was in, laid down on the floor, slowly dragged herself to where she was visible by my mother, collapsed, and pathetically whispered, "Mom...I threw up. *Cough, cough.* " Oh, please.<br /><br />So I responded with an attitude similar to the one with which I responded to my sister, and said, "Hmmm. Well, dramatic, yes, but unconvincing. Don't ever become an actress." And then I walked out.<br /><br />It was the meanest thing I could think of.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-38344764417987429692010-01-12T17:49:00.000-08:002010-01-12T18:54:53.064-08:00Carla's blogI have a professor whose good friend is dying of ALS. I suppose that's a little redundant to say, since it's a fatal disease - everyone who has ALS dies from it, unless another tragedy occurs on top of it all. But I digress. This woman, Carla, has a blog (www.carlamuses.blogspot.com) that she's kept since 2006, about a year before her diagnosis - and it's attracted quite a following. I don't agree with all of her postings or her opinions, but overall the blog is inspirational - and many parts of it are very moving. She now has only a few months to live.<br /><br />My sweet teacher knows very little about computers, and was concerned that at Carla's passing the blog would disappear into the void of cyberspace, or that after not being used for a while it would be taken down and never be seen again. She seemed so upset about it that I had to do something, even though I knew that blogs don't vanish the moment their owners die. Besides, what if the unlikely event happened that blogspot.com went down? Then Carla's words would be lost forever. Mine too, come to think about it. But mine aren't nearly as poignant or thought-provoking. Unlike Carla, I don't have what could be called a cult following. <br /><br />So I decided to put Carla's blog into print form, and give it to my professor as a gift. I knew that having her friend's words forever accessible would mean a lot to her, and for days after coming up with the idea I had dreams about the look on my teacher's face when I handed her the book entitled "Carla Muses", and about the tears of joy that I hoped would well up in her eyes. I've only seen her cry once. I set to work copying and pasting each of Carla's blog entries into Microsoft Word, and adding the comments (most posts had more than 10, and many had 20 or more comments. I told you she had a following.). I hadn't anticipated quite the volume of work it was going to be! In the end, I had over 350 pages of text. But I really enjoyed doing it.<br /><br />I haven't given the gift to my professor yet; our schedules haven't meshed lately and so we haven't been able to meet since the holidays. But I'll post her reaction when I do. This post was actually meant to be a different story; Carla's blog is background information that leads into the intended tale. Now that I've taken the "introduction" and turned it into a full-length post, the rest of the story will have to wait until tomorrow. It involves a phone, a crutch, and an overdramatic woman who should never try her hand at professional acting.<br /><br />Oh the suspense.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-20071236097526382112009-12-28T15:18:00.000-08:002009-12-28T16:49:03.702-08:0035lbs of FuryMy husband and I finally gave in and for Christmas, we got each other a Wii. We have really been enjoying it. It came with Wii Sports, which includes the exciting games golf, bowling, tennis, baseball, and boxing.<br /><br />We brought the Wii to Utah for Christmas, to share with the whole family. Scott and I decided to try boxing; everyone wanted to watch us duke it out. The suggestion was made that if we could use Wii boxing to diffuse any arguments between us; we know, however, that would make it much worse. Only friendly boxing rounds are allowed.<br /><br />My sister-in-law, Laura, brought her dog Charlie to Utah and we've all enjoyed having him. His greatest strength, and greatest weakness, is his protectiveness. He generally likes women better than men, but would probably give his life for Laura. Strangers aren't allowed near the house, and it only takes a small sudden movement in Laura's direction to set Charlie off.<br /><br />But the other day, during the boxing match, Charlie's protectiveness shifted to me and his anger turned on my husband. As soon as the punching began, so did the barking. Now it must be known that we were standing next to each other but facing forward, looking at our characters on the tv screen. But it didn't matter to Charlie, who went nuts and threw his entire 35lb self at Scott, barking furiously. I suppose he thought that Scott was attacking me; this idea was supremely upsetting. For the rest of the night, Charlie wouldn't go near him.<br /><br />I don't think Charlie has fully recovered from the trauma yet.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-48192218535906725522009-12-19T05:20:00.000-08:002009-12-19T05:58:08.479-08:00Still an OverachieverThe class wasn't difficult. Too much reading for a fundamentals class, but not hard. Theatre History/Script Analysis (a new class that combined 2 old ones) was more of a nuisance than anything else, filled with Freshman that made stupid comments in class and complained. About. Everything.<br /><br />Not that I'm complaining, mind you.<br /><br />Everything was worth 10% of the grade except for the final project (worth 20%). Both the final exam and the midterm were each 10% of the grade. At the end of class, I had received perfect grades on everything except for quizzes (overall grade of 94) and a presentation I gave (97). I had more than an 88 in the class, without the final exam. Knowing that I only needed less than a 20 on the final exam to get an A, I was confident that all it would take is showing up and blindly guessing to get it.<br /><br />So I did something new for me. I failed it. On purpose.<br /><br />I did study, but only for 3 hours. Max. I decided that it wasn't worth my time during finals week to really put forth the effort or stress over it. I studied other things, worked my butt off at my job, and even relaxed a little. I know, what a concept.<br /><br />The nice thing about this is that I went into the final yesterday afternoon with not a drop of stress in me over it. The only anxiety I felt was to start the exam so I could finish it as quickly as possible and get out of there. When I got the test, I scanned it briefly. I answered 1 of 5 short answer questions, answered 2 of 3 extra credit questions, and then began at the beginning. If I knew the answer right away, without having to think about it, I answered it. Otherwise I skipped it. The matching sections I put a little bit of effort into. But even some of those I skipped. Then I counted them all up, assuming I had gotten them right if I had answered them, and came up with a number of about 50. So I stopped there. That was plenty high of a score to keep my A, even if in my haste I had accidentally circled the wrong answer on a few that I knew. I turned it in and walked out (and then kind of freaked out later that I had just failed an exam on purpose). I needed about a 15 percent, and I got about a 50.<br /><br />I'm still an overachiever.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-66942870691430069112009-09-13T07:01:00.000-07:002009-09-13T07:28:34.058-07:00When one cannot breathe, one cannot eat.I'm in the first mainstage show of the season at the University of Maryland - <span style="font-style: italic;">The Dead</span>, based on the short story by James Joyce by the same name. It's called a musical, but is really a play that happens to have music. This is a subtle, but very important difference. It takes place in January of 1904 in Dublin, and the majority of the show is a Christmas party. The best part is we all get to speak in Irish accents!<br /><br />Rehearsals began last Tuesday. We worked almost entirely on music for the first 2 days, with some jig practice thrown in. On the 3rd day, we added my bodhran (Irish drum), and it sounds awesome. That same day the costume shop gave us our corsets. Trying to sing when I could hardly breathe was quite the feat! (Eating is tough as well - no wonder those Victorian women ate like birds!) I never knew that my waist could ever get that small - it's rather disgusting. When I touch my thumbs in the back, there is only about a 3-inch gap between my middle fingers around the front. And I haven't even been cinched up as tight as it can go yet. Though my ribs now feel very bruised (I wore the blasted thing for 4 hours on Friday night and 6 hours on Saturday), I'm glad for the chance to practice with the corset now instead of having to wait until dress rehearsal.<br /><br />Watch for pictures! Coming soon. :)<br /><br />PS. Name the quoted movie? Anyone?Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-41499081572384844032009-02-02T16:23:00.000-08:002009-02-02T16:39:29.379-08:00UpdateMy computer arrived, but shut down 5 minutes after I turned it on. It's been sent back to the repair shop again. I'm going crazy...Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-17717272397786584322009-01-16T13:19:00.000-08:002009-01-16T13:40:44.285-08:00Frustrated<strong>December 2008:</strong> It's finals time, and my laptop begins to have problems. It shuts itself down randomly, sometimes when I'm working on it and sometimes when it is sitting untouched. I take to saving my work every 10 seconds.<br /><br /><strong>Early January 2009:</strong> I jump through all the hoops to get my laptop sent into the repair center (luckily it's still under warranty). I miss my computer greatly.<br /><br /><strong>Wednesday, 14 Jan 2009</strong><br /><em>4:30 pm:</em><br />I arrive home from a 3-day to visit family in Massachusetts. On my front door, I find a notice informing me that a package arrived for me, and the final delivery attempt was made at 12:56 that afternoon. I call UPS, input my tracking number, and am told that the box will be held at the customer center for 5 days after the final delivery attempt. I decide to pick up the box first thing in the morning.<br /><em>7pm:</em><br />I recieve a phone call from UPS, and a computer voice tells me that my box will be delivered to my house the following day. I think this is strange, because the paper on my front door said that the "final delivery attempt" was already made. I phone UPS and input my tracking number again, and get the same information as that afternoon: 12:56 pm was the final attempt, and the box will be held for 5 days.<br /><br /><strong>Thursday, 15 Jan 2009</strong><br /><em>8:20am</em><br />I call UPS again just to see what they say, input my tracking number, and to my surprise, am told that they tried to deliver my package at 8:53pm the previous evening (during which time I was at home, enjoying a quiet movie). I phone back and talk to a real person this time, explaining to her the mixed messages I'm getting. All I want to know is where my box is. She assures me that it's at the customer center, waiting to be picked up.<br /><em>9am</em><br />I drive 20 minutes out to Laurel, and hand over my delivery notice. The box is nowhere to be found. The woman at the desk figures the driver must not have turned the package in the night before, which means that it's still on the truck. Perhaps it will be delivered today, she tells me. Since I recieved a phone call the night before to that effect, I figure that it's likely. I go home, and Scott and I take turns running errands so that one of us is home all day. No box.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Friday, 16 Jan 2009</strong><br /><em>8:30am</em><br />I call the UPS customer center and ask if they would look for my box so that I won't have to drive all the way out to Laurel only to be disappointed again. The woman can't find it. She asks for my phone number and promises to look in all the wrong places (since the box obviously isn't in the right place) and call me back. She finally calls back with the good news that the package had been found.<br /><br />The bad news? The box contains only my power cord.<br />Oh laptop, where are you?Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-31469539104928113182008-11-28T15:07:00.000-08:002008-11-28T15:11:39.290-08:00At Least I Didn't Catch it on FireI cooked my first Thanksgiving turkey today! I realized during dinner that I should have taken a picture of the (perfectly browned) bird as proof, but I didn't.<br /><br />Just know that it was beautiful.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-45097618582203980802008-11-24T08:39:00.000-08:002008-11-24T08:46:05.648-08:00A Little AdviceA little bit of advice to anyone who is asked to give a talk at church:<br /><br />DON'T tell us the entire story of how you came to be standing at the pulpit. We don't want to know on which day of the week which bishopric member called to assign you a topic, how you pretended to not be home, or how you procrastinated and had to write the talk early Sunday morning. We especially do not want to hear any jokes about how much you don't want to be giving your talk right now.<br /><br />1.) They're not funny.<br />2.) We don't care.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-3034727562051246632008-09-21T17:40:00.000-07:002008-09-21T18:10:19.228-07:00Learning a New SkillI don't draw. Like, really, <span style="font-style: italic;">I don't draw</span>. I took an art class in the 6th? 8th? grade, but other than that I draw only stick figures. I need a compass to get a decent circle, and a ruler unless I want my straight line to look like a sine wave. My sister is an absolutely AMAZING artist (I think she's as good as Audrey, and that's saying something!), but I certainly didn't inherit any artistic genes from her. And for all the time we spent together as kids (even sharing a bedroom most of my childhood), none of her talent rubbed off on me. I didn't get her singing voice either...*sigh*<br /><br />But now I have to learn to draw, though I've been scared of it for years. I'm too much of a perfectionist to learn something as difficult as drawing - I don't like having to erase things and start over. I want it to be right the first time! But I'm in a lighting design class, and we're exploring the way light hits certain objects and where the shadows fall. In other words, value range. We've been drawing with charcoal - both black on white and white on black (I think the second is harder). I'm embarrassed to show my first class assignment, but here's the second one. I'm mostly pleased with it, and I should be - I spent 12 hours trying to get it right. I finally just had to say enough is enough! This wasn't even an officially graded assignment - I don't want to think about how long it will take me to do my final project!!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY2WTq7mf6h9Y7prRgBW6N2uUyv0OBALoDSduQf2D-kKUbE6u_3BLTk5uf61vrw0L9Ikvp-85SziIImNXtPX7f23myMh2HM7Oan0T3ZwkXG8wS6FcVGmA2H2_M-f1RA9rAZ-3skQ/s1600-h/024.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY2WTq7mf6h9Y7prRgBW6N2uUyv0OBALoDSduQf2D-kKUbE6u_3BLTk5uf61vrw0L9Ikvp-85SziIImNXtPX7f23myMh2HM7Oan0T3ZwkXG8wS6FcVGmA2H2_M-f1RA9rAZ-3skQ/s200/024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248645782203475106" border="0" /></a>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-36633791701022599592008-09-13T18:30:00.001-07:002008-09-13T18:39:21.297-07:00A Better WinOn a brighter note, BYU beat UCLA <span style="font-weight: bold;">59-0</span> tonight! How fabulous. The Cougars played brilliantly; Max Hall was on point (en pointe? Audrey, help?)! Austin Collie caught an amazing 10 passes - and he was not open for a single one of those. Matched by Dennis Pitta and Harvey Unga, Collie scored 2 touchdowns. Backup RB Wayne Latu ran a 7th in, and Mitch Payne (brother of the fantastic Matt Payne) kicked a field goal. I couldn't have asked for a better game, especially after what happened <a href="http://dohugsnotdrugs.blogspot.com/2008/09/win.html">last week</a>. Go Cougars!!!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Ps. I did not say anything insulting about UCLA. Please take note of that.<br /><br /><br /></span>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18070220.post-20875863709425145422008-09-13T15:49:00.000-07:002008-09-14T03:46:03.887-07:00ClassPerhaps it's because I went to BYU. Perhaps it's because my husband's family are devout Aggies. Or perhaps it's because I'm a decent human being. Whatever the reason, I think that exhibiting sportsmanship at sporting events - whether your team is winning or losing - is paramount.<br /><br />I hate people that hate other people.<br /><br />I went to watch the Maryland football team play California today, and if you're a Maryland fan it was a great game. I'm kind of a Maryland fan, and I enjoyed watching the Terps win. But I would have enjoyed it a lot more if it weren't for all the <span style="font-style: italic;">other</span> Maryland fans who attended the game.<br /><br />I was deeply disturbed by the classless attitude of the Terp fans, an attitude for which they are well-known and which they (unfortunately) are very proud of. They yelled insult after insult at the Cal players, coaches, fans, and anyone they thought might be slightly connected with the Blue-and-Gold. And this was more than the throwing around of profanity by Terp fans individually due to their flared-up emotions - this tasteless abuse was institutionalized. The chant recited after each score by every Maryland fan I could see was this: "Hey! You suck! (repeated 4 times) We're going to beat the **** (I heard multiple words inserted here, all of them terrible) out of you and you and you and you!" (Apparently Maryland thinks they can take on four teams at once. Boy would I love to see that game.) This absurd chant was accompanied by pointing fingers and rude gestures. "Hey you suck" t-shirts were quite popular among the student body, as were various shirts sporting vulgar sentences that included the "f" word (always naming another team).<br /><br />Honestly, who does that? Have they no self-respect? How can they possibly think that those things are clever or funny? I'm highly concerned for the welfare of mankind.<br /><br />I have so many cruel things I want to say about the crude and graceless Terrapins, but I'll refrain. I have class.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10203476904939924842noreply@blogger.com2