aka T

The Bright Side

2011-08-29T09:47:00.000-07:00

I 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...

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:

On the bright side (literally), we have more sunshine pouring in through our living room window now that that tree is gone!

Wicked

2011-08-11T07:22:00.001-07:00

I don't really have anything to say but wow.

I Have "Alternative" Views

2011-07-21T13:26:00.000-07:00

I am a synesthete.

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."

In other words, the experience of one sense is inherently connected to the experience of another.

For instance, a synesthete might see numbers or letters as inherently coloured - not that he associates numbers or letters with specific colours, but he sees 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 see 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.

Other possible examples of synesthesia
- The taste of a lemon may be blue, or shaped like a square.
- The sensation of pain may sound like a trombone
- Seeing a circle may elicit the taste of hot chocolate in one's mouth
- The number '4' may have a friendly personality
- Friday may be 2 inches to the left of one's ear, while Wednesday is 3 feet straight ahead

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

Even if it's just me.

when ailments quarrel

2011-05-28T06:19:00.000-07:00

I'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:

ME: [An off-hand comment that's not really important]
SCOTT: WHAT?
ME (not wanting to repeat myself, because it's wasn't all that important the first time I said it): Never mind.
SCOTT: No, what did you say?
ME: I said NEVER MIND.
SCOTT: Alright, fine.

Or this:

ME: Can you hand me that pen over there?
SCOTT: [Doesn't hear or respond]
ME: Scott! Can I have the pen!
SCOTT: WHAT?
ME (feeling like an obnoxious and demanding wife): The pen! I want it!
SCOTT: The what?
ME (picking my nauseated self up off the couch): Never mind. I'll get myself.

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.

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.

I sure hope not.

Going green (and orange, and yellow, and red...)

2011-05-12T04:58:00.000-07:00

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.

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Wish us luck!

Give the laurels a rest

2011-02-14T05:23:00.000-08:00

I 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.

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.

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.

It's AWKWARD.

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????

"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!"

"Hey, thanks! I've worked hard to get here, and now I can run things the way I want to."

"I'd like to thank my mom, my dad, and all my fans...*sniff*...I couldn't have done it without you."

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.

But maybe it's just me.

Oh hey, Girl Baby Sweetheart...

2011-02-10T06:26:00.000-08:00

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.

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.

This morning's War of the Roses was one of the best that I've heard.

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.

"It's my girl probably, man."

"Yeah, it probably is. What's your girl's name?"

"Look man, it's my baby, man. It's my sweetheart. You know, we've fought a little bit recently..."

"Okay, but what's your sweetheart's NAME?"

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."

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.

"Uh, hello?"

"Hey, Dylan."

"Maggie?"

Wrong answer.

It's a goal, not a resolution

2011-01-18T07:11:00.000-08:00

I'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.

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.

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!

THAT Hymn

2011-01-03T04:59:00.000-08:00

Besides 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.

Hymn #215.

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.

At least I won't have to sing it again for 364 days. Not that I'm counting or anything.

St. Clairs - THOSE friends

2010-12-31T05:43:00.000-08:00

Unlike 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.

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 because 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.

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.

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.

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.

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!).

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.

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.

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.

Mark Twain: the sequel

2010-12-07T12:28:00.000-08:00

See "A Lesson From Mark Twain".

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.

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?"

Talk about awkward.

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.

I will say that every time I have to do this it gets a little bit easier.

But "easier" is very, very, relative.

How to Build a Fire

2010-06-30T16:54:00.001-07:00

In 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.

"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."

A Lesson from Mark Twain

2010-06-13T13:50:00.000-07:00

When I realized that I was going to say no, I began to cry.

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:

Nooooookay.

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.

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.

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.

But then I read the script.

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.

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.

"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.

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."

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:

"It is curious...curious that physical courage should be so common in the world, and moral courage so rare."

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.

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 needed to do, I knew what I was going to do. That's the part where I began to cry.

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.

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.

But saying no is still. Hard.

Really? Like, really?

2010-01-16T11:16:00.000-08:00

Alright, so I'm a few days late. But here's the story anyway.

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.

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.

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.

If only.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

It was the meanest thing I could think of.

Carla's blog

2010-01-12T17:49:00.000-08:00

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

Oh the suspense.

35lbs of Fury

2009-12-28T15:18:00.000-08:00

My 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.

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.

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.

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.

I don't think Charlie has fully recovered from the trauma yet.

Still an Overachiever

2009-12-19T05:20:00.000-08:00

The 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.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

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.

So I did something new for me. I failed it. On purpose.

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.

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.

I'm still an overachiever.

When one cannot breathe, one cannot eat.

2009-09-13T07:01:00.000-07:00

I'm in the first mainstage show of the season at the University of Maryland - The Dead, 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!

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.

Watch for pictures! Coming soon. :)

PS. Name the quoted movie? Anyone?

Update

2009-02-02T16:23:00.000-08:00

My 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...

Frustrated

2009-01-16T13:19:00.000-08:00

December 2008: 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.

Early January 2009: 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.

Wednesday, 14 Jan 2009
4:30 pm:
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.
7pm:
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.

Thursday, 15 Jan 2009
8:20am
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.
9am
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.

Friday, 16 Jan 2009
8:30am
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.

The bad news? The box contains only my power cord.
Oh laptop, where are you?

At Least I Didn't Catch it on Fire

2008-11-28T15:07:00.000-08:00

I 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.

Just know that it was beautiful.

A Little Advice

2008-11-24T08:39:00.000-08:00

A little bit of advice to anyone who is asked to give a talk at church:

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.

1.) They're not funny.
2.) We don't care.

Learning a New Skill

2008-09-21T17:40:00.000-07:00

I don't draw. Like, really, I don't draw. 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*

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!!!

A Better Win

2008-09-13T18:30:00.001-07:00

On a brighter note, BYU beat UCLA 59-0 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 last week. Go Cougars!!!

Ps. I did not say anything insulting about UCLA. Please take note of that.

Class

2008-09-13T15:49:00.000-07:00

Perhaps 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.

I hate people that hate other people.

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 other Maryland fans who attended the game.

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).

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.

I have so many cruel things I want to say about the crude and graceless Terrapins, but I'll refrain. I have class.

The Win

2008-09-06T18:56:00.000-07:00

On BYU's win over the Washington Huskies, including the
controversial "Excessive Celebration" penalty: 9/6/2008.
Click here for the story.

Point #1:
Rule 9-2, Article 1(a)(2) says that "After a score or any other play, the player in possession immediately must return the ball to an official or leave it near the dead-ball spot." Obviously, this did not happen. Good call or bad call, that's the rule in the book - whether or not the ball was thrown "high into the air" or "behind his neck". Where the ball was thrown has nothing to do with it - notice that the official statement did not say "high into the air" but "into the air", meaning that Locker threw the ball at all instead of giving it to an official or setting it on the ground. That portion of the rule is not subjective.

Point #2:
The penalty really didn't matter, because the extra point was blocked, not missed. From 20- or from 35-yards, it was still blocked. In addition, BYU deserved that block as they deserved to win the whole game. The Cougars clearly were the better team, with more passing yards than the Huskies had total. Can anyone say, "Dennis Pitta is amazing"?

Point #3:
I don't really need to make it, because it's been said already and anyone who was even remotely paying attention should know. But for the sake of thoroughness I will: The 20-yard pass to Goodwin was only made possible by blatant Husky cheating - holding so obvious even I caught it. And that uncalled penalty was only one of many (and on a crucial play! If the fate of the game was changed by the refs, it was right there - the next down should have been 3rd and 29, not 1st and 10). Washington fans complaining about poor calling by the officials are absolutely correct.

It was HORRIBLE.

You've Got To Be Kidding Me

2008-08-11T07:47:00.000-07:00

I've always been terrified of going to the dentist, and I'm not really sure why. I suppose everyone has their own irrational, paralyzing fear - and dentists are mine.

A few weeks ago, my teeth really started hurting. I didn't know why, but the pain got so bad it was giving me headaches and sore muscles in my neck. I decided to call a dentist and schedule an appointment (which also meant looking through my insurance policy to figure out what's covered and who I can go see, and I HATE dealing with insurance). I called a few people on the list, and the first dentist whose office answered the phone I made an appointment with. I don't want to give out his full name, so I'll refer to him as Dr. V. Davis. No no, scratch that, I'll call him Dr. Vincent D.

DON'T GO SEE HIM.

Friday at 2:45 I show up for my appointment, my teeth having mostly calmed down but still a little sensitive. I've spent all week mentally preparing myself, and all day not eating due to nerves. I arrive a little early, expecting to fill out new patient paperwork. The office is closed. Someone tells me they saw him leave not 10 minutes before that, so I think that perhaps he ran out but will be back for my 3:00 appointment. No luck. Scott and I wait for over an hour, with no sign of Dr. Vincent D. The answering machine message in his office gives his cell phone as an emergency number, but he's not answering that either. So we go home. Shortly afterward he calls me, has no idea who I am, and says that he didn't have anyone on his schedule so he went home early. I told him I scheduled an appointment with his receptionist, and he says that he just fired her because she wasn't doing her job and he's so sorry and can he call me back when he has his calendar in front of him and schedule me personally? Fine, I say.

And I wait. A full week goes by without hearing from him, so I call him back myself. At first he doesn't remember me, but then he does and we schedule an appointment for today, August 11th, after I return from my trip to Utah. Luckily by this point my teeth have stopped hurting, so I am no longer in desperate need of care. I'm willing to wait a little bit. Today arrives and I once again arrive early with Scott (who has come for much-needed emotional support). The office is open, which I take to be a good sign. But the dentist isn't in. The receptionist seems confused at my presence, because I'm not on the schedule, but I tell her that Dr. Vincent D. scheduled me personally. I fill out paperwork, and wait. Over half an hour goes by. The receptionist (who did NOT seem like she wanted to be there for have anything to do with patients) calls the dentist, who says that he had called everyone yesterday to cancel appointments for today because he had to take the day off. But I wasn't on his list of appointments. This time he has no one to blame but himself, and all he can say is, "Sorry about that."

The name of his practice is "Gentle Dental Care". Apparently he's so gentle he never even touches your teeth. I didn't feel a thing.

I had to make sure

2008-08-03T12:54:00.000-07:00

I'm in Utah visiting family - and that always means an adventure! Two of my sisters-in-law, their 5 children, my father-in-law, and I went hiking yesterday morning. The views were beautiful and the trail was easy (except for the side trail we took which ended up being a very steep dirt-and-rock-slide). On the way back to the car, I was holding Taylor's hand and Porter was walking behind us, picking up little rocks and acting like he was going to throw them at Taylor. This made Taylor very nervous (he's a somewhat anxious child anyway), and when Porter began walking beside us Taylor reached over and slugged him on the shoulder. Porter responded with a punch of his own, followed immediately by a second one. Taylor began to cry. "But that's not fair!" he whined. "I only hit you once! You punched me twice! You can't do that!"

Porter responded, very matter-of-factly, "Well, I punched you the first time but I didn't think it really hurt. So I punched you again to make sure it hurt."

To which Taylor responded by punching Porter on the arm, just to make things even.

Oh, those boys. They love each other, really.

Are we there yet?

2008-07-27T19:32:00.000-07:00

As a child, summer was never long enough. The start of the school year was exciting only because I got to go shopping for new pencils and folders - I didn't actually want to go back to the classroom. I looked forward to meeting my teachers, but the kids were always mean, the days too long, and the homework tedious. I loved the summer.

These days, though, things are different. For one thing, being out of school doesn't mean 3 months of lazy days at the pool or whiling away the time inventing some new game of make-believe that involves me bossing around my siblings (one of my favourites was a game in which I was the Queen, my younger brother was the leader of my army, and his principal Knightly Duty was making me quesadillas for lunch. It was brilliant). Alas, none of that anymore. Summer now simply means that time spent in class and doing homework is replaced extended hours at work. No longer does the "vacation" zip by; I feel like it's been summer for ages. I can't wait to go back to school. My class schedule is planned, I've looked up my book lists, and my pencils are sharpened. Are we there yet?

I should enjoy the break while it's here though - I'm sure that a few weeks into the semester I'll be dreaming of the homework-free days of summer, extra hours at work and all.

The Best Birthday Present EVER

2008-07-26T10:23:00.000-07:00

July 15th, 2008. Birthday #23.

I swear, all I did was bend over.

Really, that was it. I should have been fine. I should have been able to bend down (only about 20 degrees!) and screw the lightbulb in with no problem. My back should NOT have seized up so tightly that I couldn't stand up; I should not have had little white dots floating in front of my eyes or searing pain racing up my spine - but, of course, that's exactly what did happen. I fell back onto the floor as carefully as I could, seeing as how I couldn't move my neck or my back and felt like I could hardly breathe because of the shock. I sat there for a minute, hoping it would go away before everyone else got back from their lunch break. I had just confessed to my boss that my toothache of a few days had been giving me migraines and led me to spend some of my lunch break crying in the bathroom (he caught me with my eyes still red), and the last thing I wanted to do was complain that something else was wrong.

"Just breathe," I told myself. "Just breathe and your back will relax and no one will know and you can continue working." My boss walked on stage and found me on the floor, unable to hide the pain. I tried to stand up and look as normal as possible. I didn't make it 3 inches off the floor. "Tarythe..." he began, with the intention of assigning me a new project. But he instantly became serious when he saw me struggling on the ground, trying to pretend that I wasn't. "What's wrong?" he asked, reading the agony clearly written across my face. "Ummm..." I began. Then I started to cry. I gave up trying to contort my face into an expression that said, "Everything's fine, I'm just hanging out on the floor in this very awkward position for fun" and turned my efforts to explaining what had happened. He assigned a girl I work with to help me stand up and walk to the office so I could lie down on the couch for a little bit. 10 minutes later he had that same girl walk me to the on-campus nurse's office, where we met with an antagonistic and annoyed nurse who clearly did not feel like tending to me right then (after all, as she told me, it was 2:30 and she hadn't even had lunch yet). She made me cry with her "You're causing me such trouble" attitude (though, to be fair, I was already a little shaken up and sensitive right then).

All I wanted to do was go back to work, but I was sent home and given strict orders to ice and rest my back. Great. It was my birthday and I had plans for that evening, but the nurse said I could still go out as long as I rested first and took it easy that night. "I can do that," I thought. What I wasn't prepared for was the days of work I would have to take off after that, and being cooped up in the house for the rest of the week. No yardwork, no housework, nothing actually productive. Had I been in school I could have used the time to get homework done, but alas, I had none. So I played a lot of Age of Mythology instead.

I'm feeling much better, and now the only time my back really hurts is after long periods of standing or walking.

It's not that difficult

2008-06-02T11:06:00.000-07:00

I have come, in the last few months, to be absolutely amazed at the number of people who are incompetent when it comes to using a microphone. In fact, I’m often amazed at the number of people who are incompetent generally. It’s really rather annoying. Now I don’t mean to be rude; I suppose that in a large city like Washington, DC, you’re bound to run into some idiots.

But back to microphone handling. The following story is only one of many similar experiences I’ve had, each one as bewildering as the last. The Prince George’s County Department of Social Services held their annual meeting this morning, and had rented the community college’s theatre space (where I work) for that purpose. I was assigned to running the light board, which I was happy with – it’s nice and quiet in the light booth, and I can read a book during the down times. Frank was on the sound board, which consisted of fading in and out the house music and controlling the volume of the microphones. The S.S. Dept. had 4 panelists they had brought in, so we sat them at the tables on stage and gave them 2 wireless microphones on little stands. We had tested the volume of each beforehand, and Frank was on standby to adjust as needed. What could go wrong?

The first lady took one of the microphones and put it as far across the table from herself as she could, and began speaking. The audience yelled “We can’t hear you”. Instead of pulling the microphone closer slowly until she found the right distance, the woman grabbed the microphone and set it on the very edge of the table in front of her and practically ate the microphone as she said loudly, “Can you hear me?” Not surprisingly, the sudden increase of volume was a very unpleasant experience (for all of us) and the woman jumped back as if she’d been bitten. Her expression said, “Wha…? What happened? What was that?” Incredible. The thing is, she’s not the only one to have done something like that. I think that anyone who wants to rent our auditorium and bring people to speak should be required to put their speakers through microphone training.

Really though, it’s not that difficult.

Love It

2008-04-26T06:59:00.000-07:00

Steel grinding!

Focusing lights.

From this,

to this...

To an awesome finished product!

Man I love my job.

A Bit Anticlimactic

2008-04-19T04:06:00.000-07:00

"Welcome to the Hallam Theatre at Prince George's Community College. We ask that you do not eat or drink in the theatre. In the event of an emergency..."

Thump.
There was a gasp from the audience. Everyone on headset stopped making jokes and looked around to figure out where the sound had come from, and the actors backstage looked at each other wonderingly.

"There will be a 15-minute intermission. We advise you that..."

The audience was talking over the pre-show announcement. Obviously something was wrong.

"Thank you and..." Gary cut off the sound before the announcement's end. He sent someone to call an ambulance and the school's on-duty nurse. Tammy got on the tannoy and asked the audience to please walk in an orderly fashion out to the lobby to wait. Backstage, the actors wondered what the heck was going on.

At first, all we were told was that a man had passed out, and he was a cancer patient. The actors were instructed to wait in the girls' dressing room to find out more. After 10 minutes of waiting and worrying, watching some of the boys make jokes to ease the tension in the room, we were visted by Andre. He announced that the show for the evening was canceled, due to the ambulance still being there and the stressed mood of the audience.

It turns out that it was the husband of an elderly woman in one of my classes, whom I work with in the shop when she comes in to do her lab hours. She just had surgery on Wednesday, and her husband was going in for a CAT scan next week. She's been so excited to see the show! I really hope that everything's alright and that she and her husband can make it to another performance.

What a horrible thing to happen! Alright, who said the "M" word onstage???

How Low Can You Go?

2008-04-07T05:04:00.000-07:00

This guy's low-rider started riding a little too low, and he got stuck. Not as cool as you thought you were, huh buddy?
It was rather a funny sight to see at 7am at the Metro station!

Shoes and Bunnies

2008-03-21T17:18:00.000-07:00

I have so needed this Spring Break! My nieces and nephews add so much joy to my life.

My 2-year-old niece attempting to tie her shoe. She knows it has something to do with twisting the laces around each other, around, and around, and around...

50 point units for anyone who can guess which bunny was made by my sister-in-law, and which was painstakingly decorated by the loving hands of my 7-year-old niece and her friend.

Get Crackin', Banana Man!

2008-03-20T08:07:00.000-07:00

Since our Spring Break so conveniently falls on the week before Easter Sunday, Scott and I have decided to drive to Massachusetts for the weekend - Scott's sister and her family live near Amherst. While we were in MA we thought it would be nice to see some old friends of ours, Ben and Susannah - they live in Cambridge - so we took a little detour through Boston and spent Wednesday evening with them. After some stress trying to navigate the narrow, twisted, and confusing roads of Boston, we arrived just in time for dinner. As excited as we were to spend some time with Ben and Susannah, we were even more pleased when we discovered what was on the menu - Cran Chops! They were delicious.

If you don't know why having Cran Chops was so exciting to me, I'm thoroughly disappointed. I'm just not sure if we can be friends anymore.

Update and thoughts on being sick

2008-02-09T13:38:00.000-08:00

Well, Christmas is past, the New Year has come, and school is back in session. So I'm going to get back into blogging. No, really.

I had a nice long break over the Christmas holiday that even stretched a few weeks into January. Scott and I went to Texas for Christmas and Virginia to ski for New Year's. We had a lot of fun. When we got back we spent our time getting ready for the next semester and doing all the boring stuff (insurance, car repairs, etc.) that we'd put off for the holidays but wanted to get done before the hustle and bustle of the school semester started. I started working in my new role of assistant stake director for Girls' Camp this coming summer, which gave me a decent amount to do. The day before school started I found out that 2 of my 4 classes had been canceled because not enough people had signed up for them, so I did some juggling and worked out a new schedule. I actually think it will work out much better than my old one.

And now for the sob story. In the midst of my recent activities, my health has been failing me somewhat. A month ago tomorrow, I came down with some sort of flu (on top of some really painful menstrual cramps). My throat burned and my body ached. 5 days later I was feeling mostly better, and then my nose stuffed up. On came the symptoms of a head cold. It also lasted for 4 or 5 days, and hard on its heels was a sinus infection - the kind that hurts right behind your cheekbone, and makes your ears, eyes, and upper teeth sore as well. 24 hours after I thought I was better my throat started killing me - it may have been strep - and it felt like I had a golf ball stuck halfway down my esophagus. Oh the agony. I finally consented to go to the doctor last Friday, because my next chance to go after that would have been on Tuesday (I have 7 hours of classes on Mondays that I can't miss). I took the prescribed antibiotics and started feeling better over the weekend. By Wednesday I was feeling 100% again, and rejoicing in my final recovery. But alas, Scott got the stomach flu Wednesday evening and out of the blue (I'd been feeling fine up until that point) I started throwing up Friday night. Today I've been successfully keeping food down but feeling pretty crummy.

I'm so sick of being sick.

Mrs. Claus

2007-12-15T08:55:00.000-08:00

We went to our ward's Christmas Party last night, and it was a lot of fun. The food was great, and the desserts were even better. :) The best part of the evening, though, was Scott came in walking in with a loud, "Ho ho ho! Mehhhh-rry Christmas!" Yep, he was Santa Claus. It was awesome. He was really nervous - he didn't know what he was supposed to say - but I helped him practice by sitting on his lap and telling him what I wanted for Christmas. :)

I guess it worked - he did great. He's probably going to kill me for posting these pictures, but I have to.

This kid looked rather frightened.
(it's funnier if you click on the picture and view it full-size)

But most everyone loved him...

Even the teenagers. :)

And Here It Is!

2007-12-14T05:38:00.000-08:00

I'm done! After 6 scheduled hours of final exams yesterday, I finally finished. The semester is over and I'm so excited. It still hasn't sunk in that I have no more school until January 24th. I love school, don't get me wrong, but I'm ready for a break. And here it is!

The first thing I did with my break from school was go to see the Festival of Lights at the DC temple with Scott. It was gorgeous! And the musical performance was a group from Annandale High School, and they were AMAZING. I was very impressed. We took a friend of mine, Jasmine, because I knew she would enjoy the lights and the international nativities. She seemed to have a good time, except when too many sister missionaries tried to convert her. I was a little frustrated with that. I know that's what the missionaries are there for, and as a member of the church I appreciate the importance of the gospel message, but I felt that they were too pushy. And my intentions for inviting her along were simply for her to see the lights, because they're so beautiful. I didn't bring her to be converted.

But for anyone who's thinking about going to see the lights this year, I recommend it. They're beautiful. But I still don't understand why the live nativity only includes a live Mary and Joseph and not live wise men or shepherds. It looks a little strange.

The First Snow

2007-12-10T10:22:00.000-08:00

There aren't a whole lot of things that I miss about Utah, but snow is one of those that I do wish we had (along with mountains). Mostly Maryland gets ice and slush. When it snows, it often melts before it even hits the ground, or immediately upon contact. But the other day we got the first snow of the season, and it actually stuck! It was only a couple of inches, but hey, I'll take what I can get.

It makes me more excited than ever to go skiing for the New Year.

Brian Regan

2007-12-09T15:28:00.000-08:00

My new Brian Regan DVD came in on Thursday! It was all I could do to wait for my husband to come home from school that night; he has class until 9:20 on Thursday nights. I put the DVD in the other room so that I didn't have to look at it! It's not as good as the old DVD, but the new movie is still awesome. I recommend it to everyone. Brian Regan is simply hysterical.

A cute call

2007-12-08T05:11:00.000-08:00

This post is on my new blog, here, but I thought I'd post it on this one too.

My sister-in-law, Leslie, called Scott on his phone yesterday afternoon - but he didn't answer because he had left it at home (we were on our way home from the library). My 2-year-old niece, Sarah Ann, said to her, "Now I talk Aunt Tith." (That's how she pronounces my name.) Leslie responded, "Well, why don't we call Daddy?" But Sarah Ann was adamant. "No. Aunt Tith."

So Leslie called me and told me that Sarah Ann really wanted to talk to me, and I laughed and agreed. I could hear Leslie prompting Sarah Ann's responses in the background. I also got her to sing the ABC song and "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star", all by herself with no prompting from Leslie.

My niece is so cute.

"And we're going to Disneyland."

2007-11-19T17:15:00.000-08:00

So "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare: Abridged" is over. Finished. Kaput. I have mixed feelings, of course - I'm sad for it to be done, but glad to have my life back. Mostly, though, I'm glad. I'm exhausted and very sore - every muscle in my body aches from the final weekend of the run and Strike after the last show. I'm sure that in a few days I'll start going through withdrawals, but for now I'm very excited to have the Thanksgiving holiday to rest (as much as will be possible with my adorable nieces and nephews jumping all over the place, yelling, "Aunt Tarythe! Aunt Tarythe! Come play with me! Okay, you be It..."). And pumpkin pie...mmm...

The last show went very well. The size of our audiences increased as the show went on and word spread. During the last show we not only had the seating area onstage full (it was meant to be a small and audience-interactive show), but the balcony was holding quite a few more people. It was wonderful.

After the show we had Strike, where the whole set gets taken apart nail by nail, board by board. Costumes and props get put away too. It's quite the process, and usually requires a good amount of people. I stayed to help the stage crew and the Coordinator of Theatre Operations (the big big boss of the department) was so impressed by my hard work that he offered me a job at the theatre! Even though it usually takes a few months for the application and paperwork to go through, he said not to worry - that he would personally make sure the process was "expedited" for me.

In related good news, an adjudicator from the American College Theatre Festival came to judge our show last week and she nominated me for the Irene Ryan Acting Scholarship.

Facebook

2007-11-16T06:40:00.000-08:00

It's official. Under peer pressure, I caved in and...created a Facebook account. For so long I was proud to not have a blog, to not be on Facebook. And look at me now - 2 years with a blog, 36 hours of Facebookness.

But it's great to be in touch. I went through and found a bunch of people I used to hang out with - at school, work, church, whatever. I did this by going through my friends' friends lists. "Oh I know that person! Add friend? Why yes, please." Click. It's so good to know that now my friendships with these people are official, secure - well, we're friends on Facebook, so our relationship must be stable. Oh, good. Now I can sleep better at night.

It's amazing to me how much time can be spent on Facebook; I think it's going to be my undoing. I should have waited until the end of the semester! I'm also somewhat concerned with how excited I've been to watch my friends list grow, as people accept my request to be their friend on Facebook. It's a great way to realize the superiority you have over other people who don't have as many as you do. :)
"Scott, I have 7 friends!"
"Honey, I now have 21 friends! That's more than you."
"Hey, guess what - I have 56 friends - no, make that 58. It's great being so popular."

It's rather pathetic.

Opening Night

2007-11-11T06:09:00.000-08:00

Opening night was on Friday. And it was awesome. We had a great crowd; most of the seats were filled, Scott came to support me, and the audience was very enthusiastic (the play relies very heavily on audience participation, so this is crucial). Towards the end of rehearsals, when you're running the same lines over and over again without an audience there to react to you, it gets frustrating. It's easy to lose motivation when you're reaping no immediate reward. But on Friday, I was loving it. "This is what I've worked so hard for these past couple of months!" I told Ruben during intermission. I love the adrenaline rush that comes from connecting with the audience and seeing your hard work pay off. It makes those long hours and late nights all worth it.

Tech

2007-11-05T04:58:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a long day. Saturday's play rehearsal was canceled due to some scheduling conflicts, so the entire tech weekend was set on Sunday instead. All 12 hours of it. Tech is that wonderful time where all the technical designers, actors, stage crew, director, etc. come together and we try to do the show exactly the way it will be on opening night - with lights, sound, set, costumes, and props. Coordinating all of that is harder than it might seem...even though the first time we ran through the show we went cue-to-cue (which means that we skipped all dialogue that didn't require a costume change, light cue, or sound cue, so we could get timing right) it took us 6 and a half hours to get through the 90-minute show once. And then we did it again. Faster this time, though. :)

It was certainly an entertaining day. We ran into many a problem - actors' pants falling down multiple times, both onstage and off (not mine though, thank goodness), props falling apart in the middle of a scene, a piece of scenery knocking someone (me) in the head, actors not being able to change costumes fast enough and missing their entrances (or coming out with only half of their costume). And we open in 3 days.

How I love the theatre.

death of an Object

2007-10-26T12:12:00.000-07:00

I never thought I could get so attached to an object. I've never been the obsessive type. But from the moment I received my laptop the Christmas prior to attending BYU, I was hooked. Addicted. Absolutely entranced. My fascination was bigger than the novelty of it, greater than the coolness I felt owning my own computer. It was an escape; a freedom.

As long as I had my laptop with me, I was never bored. I could always read, write, or design whatever I wanted. There were always settings to be played with: backgrounds, fonts, and colors to be changed, new tricks and shortcuts to discover. "Hmm, I wonder what this so-called 'button' does?" My laptop offered me a chance to have something truly my own, changeable at my will. Nobody could tell me what picture to have on my desktop, or how to organize my folders - the computer wasn't theirs, it was mine. And yet, that something of mine could be shared. I had a commodity, a convenience for others that I was sure could be traded for friendship. I felt so...needed. "Hey T, could I borrow your computer for a minute?" my BYU roommates would ask. I loved saying yes. I relished in the fact that I had something they wanted; not because I felt superior in any way, but because I could provide a service to them. If not for my computer, my roommates might have had to walk all the way to the library! How useful I felt. It validated my existence in some odd way, and made me feel like even though I was a burden to live with, I was at least partly making up for it.

Of course, owning my own computer whilst at college was simply practical as well. No need to spend hours at the library on their computers, and - not that this was a good thing - no need to write papers before midnight the day before they were due. How convenient. I brought my laptop with me to school nearly every day, relying on it for note-taking in my classes. The downside? Sometimes I would connect to the internet and even chat online during class. I know, I know - no need to tell me how much better my grades would have been had I paid better attention and shown up to class more often. I've learned my lesson.

This all has a point, really.

A week ago Wednesday my computer died a terrible death, one of hard drive malfunctioning. Oh how I mourn! The greatest misfortune isn't the now-gone black casing or bright screen or pretty buttons, but the megabytes of data I've involuntarily relinquished. Without a working cd-drive, I never backed anything up. Stories, poems, papers, pictures. All of them gone. Documents of funny things my roommates used to say, songs friends and I wrote, crazy videos we made when we were sleep-deprived and somewhat delirious. A folder on my desktop entitled "Random Folder of Documents to Clean Up the Screen Because Christine Couldn't Handle It Anymore". I kept every email of importance that I ever received, every IM conversation. I loved going back and rereading them, remembering funny things people said. So many memories - 4 years worth - lost. My husband says that we'll just have to make the upcoming years even better and more worth remembering. He's sweet.

The most pressing issue right now is that I'm in the middle of midterms. Not only have papers from semesters at BYU disappeared into oblivion, but midterm and final projects from the current semester are gone as well. I have a lot of work to redo, and my rehearsal and class schedules don't lend themselves to much redoing of work.

The small consolation for this is that on Monday I will get a new computer, with a working D-drive and Windows Vista.

Pumpkin Carving

2007-10-17T04:45:00.001-07:00

I just wanted to post a couple of pictures. The other day a couple in our ward invited our newly formed group of young couples to come carve pumpkins at their new (bigger) apartment. I haven’t carved a pumpkin or roasted pumpkin seeds in quite a number of years, but Scott and I have been having a great time hanging out with the other young couples in our ward and decided to go. Here are the results:

Our pumpkin: cleaned out by Scott, carved by me (with the help of a stencil).

The group of pumpkins. I think we should go pro, don't you??? :)

Unexpected Call

2007-10-16T18:00:00.000-07:00

It was certainly one of the most random pick-ups ever (though definitely beaten out by the Russian who, out of nowhere, flat-out proposed to me on an airplane once). It started in my American History class last Thursday.

"Hey, can I borrow your cell phone for a quick sec?" A guy leaned over to me in the middle of class and asked this in a whisper. "Uh, sure." I said. "Just take it outside to use it."

He did, and came back into class very shortly afterward, handing my cell phone to me with a "thank you". I thought to myself that it must have either been a quick conversation, or he didn't reach whomever it was that he was trying to get ahold of. "No worries," I replied and went back to taking notes.

This morning I received a voice message from a number I didn't recognize. I've been waiting for a call from someone named Dan, who is supposed to fix the huge hole in our roof, and thought it might be him. But it wasn't; it was the guy from history class (whose name I can't pronounce). Apparently his "quick conversation" consisted of him using my cell phone to get my number. I nearly choked on the carrot I was eating when I heard the message, and then burst out laughing.

I debated whether I should call him back right then, or wait until 2:00 when we had class together and talk to him face-to-face. Neither option sounded particularly tantalizing. Hoping for a voice mailbox, I opted for the cowardly technique of calling him. Unfortunately, he answered. The conversation was short and as awkward-less as I could make it; I told him that I was flattered but I was also quite married.

I didn't see him in class today; I hope it wasn't my fault.

The Play's The Thing

2007-09-17T07:52:00.000-07:00

I was really nervous about the auditions, but I left feeling like I did pretty well. The question was: is "pretty well" good enough? I went in competing against people of quite varied talent level, and some of them I wasn't worried about. But there was a group of guys who knew the director quite well and had been in the Theatre Department at PGCC for at least 2 years. The other trouble was that the show consists of only 3 parts - 3 male parts. The director had said she was willing to accept females for a mixed-gender cast if she found the right ones.

And I got in! The play is The Complete Works of William Shakespeare: Abridged, and it's hysterical. 3 of us do all of Shakespeare's plays in 90 minutes, switching out roles and condensing the plays until there's nothing left but the funny parts.

The best part is that I get to play Hamlet...you can just picture it, can't you? :)

Pride of the Police Force

2007-09-06T03:51:00.000-07:00

It had already been a long day. I had taken a Sister in my ward to the hospital at 2:45, and now it was a little past 9pm. We sat in the drive-thru at CVS, waiting for her prescription to be filled. A cop was parked near us, in the small and dark parking lot around the side of CVS that the drive-thru was on. He seemed to be having fun playing with his car - fiddling with buttons and knobs, flipping the lights on and off, and inspecting the decals that said "Police". His buddy drove up. The second cop's car was identical to the first's, but the two officers went through the whole fun process - again - of examining the features of their cars. Their conversation went from their cars, to inappropriate comments about some girl they know named Emily, back to their cars.

"Hey, man, I tried the lights yesterday. I turned 'em on, just to see what people would do, and zhoop, zhoop (imagine this sound accompanied by hand gestures indicating cars pulling over), all those cars pulled over!"
"Yeah, it's great, isn't it?"

The two looked extremely impressed with themselves. The pride of the police force then proceeded to turn their flashing lights on, backed up few steps to admire their handiwork, and began practicing whipping their guns out of the holsters reminiscent of the Old West. I rolled my eyes.

I admit I was tempted to get out of my car and confront the second cop about my feelings on his bragging about his misuse of authority entrusted to him by the city (or county, or state - I can't remember which level of government his car revealed that he worked for). But I didn't - even though I did confront some random guy in traffic the other day and told him I thought he was a jerk (I walked up to his car while he was stopped at a stoplight). But he couldn't arrest me and didn't have a gun.

I doubt that criminals who were in mid-crime last night realized how lucky they were that these two officers in particular happened to be on duty.

Remember to Breathe

2007-08-27T10:16:00.000-07:00

We've officially lived in our new apartment for a whole week now. Sure, we've had furniture and stuff in this place for a good month now, but moving in has been a slow process. I've been holding my breath from the beginning, wondering if everything was going to go as planned.

I started packing in the middle of July, and did that for 2 weeks. The third week I was in Utah. The fourth found me frantically cleaning the old apartment for inspection, moving carloads of stuff to our new place - box by box, bag by bag - and unpacking what I could. The next week and a half Scott and I were in Texas. But last Tuesday we returned home, and, aside from a new (used) futon from Salvation Army and a $5 bookshelf (we were so lucky to find it - nothing around here is that cheap!) from Value Village, not much in our apartment has changed. But only now do I finally feel settled.

It's nice to let out the breath I've been holding for a month and a half! I think my face was turning purple...

An All-Too-Familiar Face

2007-08-22T18:07:00.000-07:00

We went to church twice that day. First to 9am sacrament meeting at the local LDS chapel, then to St. Christopher's Episcopalian church for 10:30 mass with my father. Scott had not remembered ever going to an Episcopalian service before, and afterward he peppered my dad with sociological questions about the structure and policies of the church. Thank goodness there was no mention, and therefore no debate, about the actual religion.

I was looking forward to attending the LDS meeting, and for once Scott and I made it to church on time. (Why is it so difficult to do when we're at home?) We walked in right as the bishop was welcoming everyone to church on that lovely Sabbath morning, and settled in to the last row before the music started.

And then I saw him. Sitting at the sacrament table, dressed in white shirt and tie, was a man who was the spitting image of my stepfather - plus 15 pounds and 10 or so years. I froze. I finally tore my eyes away, and to keep myself from looking back at him I forced myself to stare straight ahead. The whole thing was extremely unnerving. A few minutes went by and I couldn't hold my gaze ahead any longer. I glanced back at the mystery man. I swear, it's him. Could it really be? No, of course not - but, sacre bleu, it looks just like him, only there are more wrinkles (stress, or age? very hard to say) lining his face. But he's got Richard's same brown hair, the same mustache, the same sad, tortured eyes. Even the way he holds his hands in front of him is the same. Oh, please, Lord, don't let him look at me. But the man did look. I turned away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by the hymnbook in my lap. I stole another glance. He caught me, and again I looked away. It became almost a game - I would stare at him and study his every feature, comparing them to Richard's, until the man would catch me watching him - and I would look away and pretend that I wasn't. Every time I looked at him panic would rise in my throat; it was like a horror movie that I couldn't help but watch, though it made my stomach churn to look.

This went on for a good 10 minutes. Only once was I not fast enough in glancing away, and our eyes locked momentarily. I very nearly vomited. The man stared at me curiously and I thought I saw (though very well could have imagined) in his eyes the very same fear and inner turmoil that was Richard's. I physically could not tear my eyes away, and I thank the Lord that the man broke the gaze first. Oh the panic I felt! It was all I could do to not run, shaking and in tears, from the room. But I stayed, and let the anxiety flow out of my fingers as I gripped my scriptures until my knuckles turned white.

I survived one Sunday but I don't know if I could handle much more than that. If I lived in Killeen I would go inactive pretty quickly - or attend church in a different area. I know that sometimes people stop coming to church because they don't like certain people in the congregation - but has anyone gone inactive because somebody looked like a person that they didn't like?

Not What I'd Planned

2007-08-03T18:35:00.001-07:00

The look on the dentist's face as he examined my x-rays was not one that any dental patient would want to see. It was the look of one bearing ill news. He sucked air quickly through his gritted teeth and said frankly, "Well, it looks like you're in an awful lot of pain." "Yeah, it feels that way too," I laughed weakly. I was trying to be brave but was terrified, for good reason, of what he might say next.

A root canal was the order of the day - that very day, in fact. The dentist insisted that I have it started within the hour, hoping only one operation would solve the problem. I began to cry. All the pain that I had been trying so hard to hold back was released, mixing with tears that signified my terror at facing the root canal.

The bad news: they wouldn't, though I begged, put me to sleep for it.
The good news: they promised that it would all be over by lunch time.

Lunch time? I think I can handle that, I told myself. But I cried all the same. For the next hour while I waited I sat in silence, only speaking when spoken to and certainly not drawing out my answers. "This isn't how it's supposed to be!" I thought indignantly. "I'm on vacation! Why am I stuck in a dentist's office?"

For all my crying and worrying, it went pretty well. My mother-in-law sat with me the whole time for support. She's wonderful. The dentist and his son (who actually did the root canal) were both very kind, and did everything they could to make me feel comfortable. Of course, no matter what, root canals aren't exactly comfortable - but they did the best that they could. Only a few times during the procedure did my knuckles turn white from clenching the chair arms and did the pain squeeze silent tears from my eyes. I'm sure there have been worse root canals in the history of the world. :)

Honestly, it was the feeling ill and vomiting from the pain medication for 3 days afterward that really got to me.

A New Toy

2007-07-17T05:09:00.000-07:00

I get the best birthday presents ever. Last year my husband gave me a LoveSac, and this year I got the Primary Songbook and....

A Dwight Shrute bobble head!!! It's a lot of fun and has provided minutes upon minutes of entertainment so far.

Everyone has my permission to be jealous.

It's not really a fire

2007-07-17T04:52:00.000-07:00

One of the things I'm looking forward to the most about moving to a new apartment is the likelihood of getting my peaceful Sunday afternoons back. I haven't had them for a while. Most weeks it's the guy downstairs blasting his deluge of random music (I've heard both Reggae and ABBA) at wall-shaking volumes, but yesterday something else woke me from my attempt to catch up on sleep lost at Girls' Camp.

It was the (very loud and obnoxious) fire alarm.

"Oh, no" I moaned, as I slowly rolled out of bed. Scott checked the hallways but there was no sign of smoke, so we decided it was a punk kid pulling the alarm for fun. I called 911, explained the situation, and the volunteer fire department came out to turn it off. Unfortunately, the guy had broken the alarm when he'd pulled it, so it took the firemen 40 minutes to disable it. Stupid kid.

Prank alarm-pulling happens a lot in this complex (not a single person evacuated the building quickly, they only left after about 20 minutes when they couldn't take the noise anymore) - but then again so does arson. There has been a rash of fires recently, and the sign in my stairwell put up by management asking for information about the arsonist has been burned at the edges by a lighter. Someone thinks they're funny, apparently.

I don't.

Off to Camp

2007-07-09T05:57:00.000-07:00

There are reasons I'm looking forward to Girls' Camp this next week, and reasons I'm not. I'm super-excited to using my new tent and sleeping bag for the first time, but not looking forward to the muggy weather. Although I can't wait to get outside and just enjoy nature, I'll miss hot showers. Bed bugs surely won't follow me all the way to camp - but ticks, mosquitoes, and spiders will gladly take their place in eating me alive. Also, I'm not sure how I'll survive without my computer for a week. Or my husband.

I leave in 30 minutes - here's to hoping I make it back alive. :)

Long-Lost

2007-06-08T05:23:00.000-07:00

"Hey. This is Jessica, your - with all sarcasm set aside - long-lost best friend. I'm really really tired of hearing about your life through a mass email. So call me, so we can talk...or something. 'K bye."

With the accident having happened earlier that evening (see post below), I had gotten more phone calls than usual - which is never very many. "Wow, I'm suddenly popular," I said to my husband as I realized there was yet another missed call and voice message. I dialed my voice mail and started walking to the kitchen to get some food. When I heard Jessica's voice, though, I stopped dead in my tracks. I couldn't believe it.

Jessica and I had become best friends right away, as far as I can remember. I can't think of a time when I knew her that we weren't. We were like all best friends should be. Rarely apart, Jessica and I never ran out of things to talk about. We knew how to push one another's buttons, which facial expression meant what, how to cheer each other up, and when we shouldn't try. I trusted her with nearly everything. We were there for each other through some of the most difficult times in our lives. We cried on each other's shoulders - perhaps as often as not. Those days when I couldn't stand being home anymore, Jessica was the person whose house I would go to. I would show up on her doorstep, tears streaming down my face, and she would let me stay. Sometimes my stepfather would try to keep me from going, but I would push past him, citing my mother's permission. I always paid for it the next morning though, and sometimes for days afterwards. My stepfather did not like being crossed.

When I left for BYU Jessica and I kept in touch at first, but as I have never been good at that sort of thing, I quickly fell behind in my communication. I know I made her angry, and hurt - and after a while I assumed she never wanted to speak to me again. I figured that if I was wrong, she would contact me. Apparently we were both figuring the same thing for 2 years. But it was she who took the first step and called me, and I'm so glad she did. I'd missed her.

On the Way to the Gym

2007-06-07T08:59:00.000-07:00

The evening started out great, and actually ended pretty well too - but there was a slight disturbance somewhere in the middle. Around 5:30, to be specific.

I-270 is never a fun road to be on, from what I hear, especially in the evenings. But I was on it, during rush hour, heading up to Rockville to the climbing gym to try out rock climbing for the first time. (side note: it's FANTASTIC.) I passed an accident on the side of the road, and as I glanced over at it a second accident (a pretty bad one too) occured 2 cars in front of me. The man right in front of me slammed on his brakes, as did I - only I couldn't stop in time, and I hit him. Not very hard, but hard enough to roll him a few inches forward. I swore. Two minutes later we heard another accident happen nearby, and one of the police officers on the scene swore. A lot. It looked to be a long night for him. The gentleman I had hit and I were lucky enough to be the only 2 involved in our little portion of the chain reaction, so we could exchange information and be on our way. Simple enough. Neither of us were hurt, but were both a little shaken - it was both my first accident and his.

Now I can never again say proudly that I've never been the driver in an accident. Sad. It was kind of like losing my virginity - only not as much fun.

PDL

2007-05-17T06:47:00.000-07:00

I don't mind PDA. I think it's lovely when people display their affection publicly - with a kiss, a kind word, or a service such as holding the door. I smile when I see a man leading a woman by the small of her back, helping her out of the car, or giving her the larger piece of cake even though she pretends to not want it (citing excuses about her almost non-existant waist). I laugh merrily when I see a woman being oh-so-patient when her husband has gotten them lost, or graciously acknowledging and accepting a man's act of chivalry. I think to myself that I hope they are as happy with their loved one as I am with mine.

When Public Displays of Affection turn into Public Displays of Lust, however, my stomach turns and I wonder what the world is coming to.

Woman #1 got onto the plane first and sat down next to me. We made eye contact and exhanged hello's. Woman #2 boarded the plane about 10 minutes later, and, upon seeing Woman #1, said, "Well hello pretty lady. What's your name?" This sent Woman #1 into fits of giggles - but I failed to see what was quite so funny. (She used this joke 6 more times during the flight, and Woman #1 dissolved into giggling hysterics each time. Unbeknownst to me, this joke doesn't get old.) It quickly became obvious that the two 40-year-old women were more than just friends, and it seemed as though they were both on heavy doses of Viagra for women - because they couldn't keep their hands off of each other. The biggest tip-off of their relationship, though, was when they started feeding fruit pieces to each other and sucking on one another's fingers in the process (complete with sound effects). Only a part of my intense nausea was due to the bumpy flight - it was 5 hours of illness and awkwardnes.

Where was I when the word "decency" got cut from the English language?

Going hungry

2007-04-27T05:41:00.000-07:00

Normally, I don't have a weak stomach. I have heard many a repulsive topic discussed at the dinner table and not flinched. I grew up with my father's friends, after all. I suppose I pride myself on this somewhat - I enjoy my qualities that make me less than 100% girl. But right now my stomach is churning and I don't think I can eat anything, though my belly is also growling for want of food.

I have few problems with bugs, snakes and spiders - as long as they stay out of my house. The exception is cockroaches. Unfortunately for me, they thrive in DC - especially in apartment buildings like mine - and at first I would gasp and freeze every time I saw one in my kitchen. Scott would come to my rescue as I squealed and closed my eyes (not some of my prouder moments). I grew used to seeing them, though, often more than one at a time and of greatly varying sizes. I became ferocious in my attempt to eliminate every bug that I saw, setting out homemade traps (none of which have worked so far, but I'm not done trying) and squishing every visible insect with great zeal. I'm pretty sure I growled sometimes too.

This morning didn't start out being the best morning ever, but it was decent. I got my Nutrition homework finished, emptied the shower water with a bucket (our bathtub won't drain), and went to get breakfast. I was really excited to eat my bowl of Frosted Flakes and banana. I picked up the bag of cereal and emptied some of the contents into my bowl, which I then picked up. Before I could even get the milk out of the refrigerator, 2 cockroaches came crawling out of my cereal bowl!!! I screamed and dropped the bowl on the floor, spilling cereal and more cockroaches all over the floor. I think there were about 8 of them. After a couple of minutes of panting in the corner, afraid to move, I cleaned up the cereal off the floor and threw the rest of the bag away - but I refuse to go back into the kitchen.

I also don't think I'll be eating anything soon.

Maddening

2007-04-19T15:53:00.000-07:00

In my profession, politeness is a must. Smiling is a constant, care and understanding the expectation. In my profession, the "extra mile" isn't extra. In my profession, the customer is always right. But...what if they're not???

I wasn't supposed to be working the registers today - but Chris Wallace needed a lunch break, so I agreed to cover for him. The man whom I will call Ali (his real name is much longer and I can't even pronounce it, much less remember it - but 'Ali' is in there somewhere) walked into the store and inwardly I groaned. "Not again," I thought. I tried to keep a grimace off my face.

"What are we returning today?" I asked, with as much politeness as I could muster. This man returns *everything*. He has bought thousands of dollars worth of stuff and returned almost all of it. After he's done using it, of course. Ali is meticulous about keeping all of his receipts, but everything he brings back is very used or broken in some way. He complains about the quality of the products and, since he has his receipts, gets back the full amount he paid for it. That's the thing - REI has an exceptional return policy that unfortunately leaves us vulnerable to people such as Ali. And there's nothing I can do about it.

"Is there anything our sales staff can do better for you? It would seem that nothing we recommend works out for you." He mumbled something in reply about how he's just looking for quality products, and that his stepmother buys everything from Germany and it lasts for 12+ years. I really wanted to tell him that from now on he, too, should buy everything from Germany and never come back to REI - obviously he's not finding the "quality" that he's looking for here. I also wanted to mention that none of our other customers seem to have a problem with everything they buy breaking on them - we do sell quality products.

"Do you guys have an employee of the month award?" he inquired, out of the blue. I replied that we did. He had the nerve to suggest, "Maybe you should have a returner-of-the-year-award." "You'd certainly be winning," I quipped, frustrated that I couldn't say more. He knows we know what he's doing, and knows we can't do anything about it!!! We've been tracking his returns in a logbook (perhaps, when we gather enough documentation, there *will* be something we can do), and when I was finally finished with him I logged another $150 worth of stuff. That jerk. He gave me another 20 minutes of work, recording his returns and tagging all 8 items with "Damaged" and a description of the problem.

The next time I see him, I'm going to tell him that he can take his sorry butt somewhere else and never step foot in my store again.

Well, I would - but we don't say things like that in my profession.

Last Day

2007-04-12T18:16:00.000-07:00

I was happily working two part-time jobs until an opportunity came up at REI that I couldn't pass up. A higher-paying, specialized, full-time position with great health benefits and paid training in Seattle and Boston. A nice side perk is the 7-minute (as opposed to the 45 that it takes me to get to Baltimore) drive to work every day. Although I love the Maryland Science Center, I just couldn't refuse REI's offer and gave my two weeks notice exactly two weeks ago. Today was my last day.

Things I will miss: my colleagues, Science on a Sphere shows, lunch in the office with Wendy, Dave, and Janine, conversations with Christian.

Things I won't miss: bratty children who think they don't need a chaperone, the tempermental SpaceLink closet door, exhibits that break.

Piano

2007-03-30T04:42:00.000-07:00

Here she is...my new love. It took Scott and I months to save and find a piano that we really liked, and finally we did. I play Phantom of the Opera or Les Miserables, and Scott fills our home with beautfiul classical music. I'm so happy.

Mispronounced

2007-03-22T12:06:00.000-07:00

It started out as an okay day. It wasn't great, but I had little choice but to live it. A couple of nights before I had fallen ill - my body's way of reminding me (in case I'd forgotten) that I am a woman and not pregnant. I was still feeling the effects two days later.

I clocked in at the Maryland Science Center at 9:15 - the usual time - and was met with a frazzled boss, who began, by way of greeting, telling me that some school groups had scheduled science programs for next week at the last minute, and that Lauren wouldn't be back by then, and that Chris would be busy with something else, so could I please please please substitute for her? I agreed, but only because for once she had said please. Shortly thereafter I ran into Joel, who informed me that his dying mother had eaten applesauce and had a Pepsi yesterday but refused to take her medication, while the day before she had taken her medication but eaten nothing, and how he was going to sue the rest home for their lack of caretaking ability.

The day continued with both its ups and downs. And while some of the day was tolerable, for the most part the minutes crawled by like years, in much the same way that Tortoise did toward the finish line. I couldn't wait to get home - I had an evening of REI shopping and basketball watching planned, which I knew would take my mind off of my pounding head and aching body. Oh, how I wish that my body reacted kindly to drugs! I was glad to reach 2:30 and the beginning of my Science on a Sphere show - I enjoy doing the shows and knew that when it was over I would only have 2 more hours of work. I began my show with a small audience of four: a 4-year-old boy and a 6-year-old girl, and two adults that I correctly assumed were their parents. The children were very interested in the information I had for them about Earth, our moon, and Mars. I cut my show a little bit short, though, making sure that they would have time to get to the Planetarium show at 3. We ended with questions about whether or not humans would ever live on Mars - an interesting prospect, but not a feasible one anytime soon. Either we need to give Mars an atmosphere, or we ourselves have to evolve into a non-oxygen-breathing species.

I turned off my microphone and turned around, ready to reset the Sphere and lock up, when I felt a little hand tugging on my shirt. "Excuse me," the 4-year-old boy said. I turned back around, saw the little boy looking up at me, and bent forward, expecting a question about space and hoping it was something that I could answer.

"Grassy-ass."

He said this very determinedly and distinctly; he was obviously pleased with himself. He watied for a response. I blanched, and tried to formulate a sentence with which to respond. My efforts proved in vain. My mind was instead occupied wondering if I had heard him correctly, what precisely he was implying about my derriere, and how exactly I was meant to handle that comment. I tried to look for help in his mother's direction but my neck muscles failed me and I stayed staring at the boy. Despite all of those thoughts racing through my mind at once, each vying for attention equally voraciously, my face must have looked blank, because the boy said, "It means 'thank you'."

Suddenly a light with the brightness of Alpha Centauri went on in my brain, and understanding dawned. The little boy was speaking Spanish! I laughed, very much aloud, and was grateful to now know what the appropriate response was for his comment. "De nada!" I replied, and the little boy beamed.

My afternoon was definitely made better by that exchange of words, and judging by the brightness of the boy's smile as he walked away, so was his.

Comb-over Over Done

2007-03-16T07:29:00.000-07:00

It's hard to tell in this picture, but April and I saw the most wonderful (and when I say that I mean the worst) comb-over in the history of comb-overs. We were walking along in the National Air and Space museum, laughing at Ted as he ran from space shuttle to Russian missile to the Hubble like a kid in a candy store - wide-eyed and giggling - when into our vision sauntered an Asian man who hadn't taken his Rogaine that morning. The odd thing was that his hair was missing only from one side of his head - the other side seemed to have no problem growing hair, since he had tucked back behind his left ear the hair growing out of the right side of his head. It came loose a couple of times, and he flipped his hair back (reminiscent of a blond cheerleader with a sultry look on her face), carefully tucking it back safely and securely behind his left ear.

I turned to April, grinning, and saw immediately that she had noticed him too and was just fascinated as I was. "I want a picture of that!" I whispered. She laughed, "Me too!" and off we went in search of a good photo opportunity. Unfortunately, the man never seemed to turn around at the right moment and walked away from us very quickly. We eventually lost him in the throng of people and gave up, but not before April had snapped this one picture, to be cherished forever.

A Decade Later

2007-02-27T04:58:00.000-08:00

"Hello, Fritz."

"Hello darling," he said, hardly even looking up from the paper in his hand as he walked quickly past, mumbling to himself. He looked very busy and important - a favourite pastime of his. "How are you?" I asked, a little more loudly so as to make him stop traveling the direction in which he was - away from me and out of the room. This time he looked up. "I'm fine, thank y--?!!!" The end of his sentence dropped off. He had finally realized who he was speaking to. The next 3 seconds of his stuttering speech are not appropriate to repeat here, as they would have made a sailor blush. He then picked me up and hugged me tightly, still unable to form complete sentences. I had done something very few people could - I had actually shocked Fritz into stutters and stammers. Close by us Jack Warren, who had also realized my identity, just stood staring. And when they found out I was married, I thought they were both going to faint.

The last time I had seen Fritz or Jack was about 10 or 11 years ago - when I myself was about 10 or 11 years old. Fritz was living in North Carolina at the time, where he and my dad shared a house, and Jack was a good friend of my father who I saw on occasional weekends. Fritz used to make me eat my vegetables, tell me not to run in the house, and forbid me to go outside in the winter without socks or shoes. I also tried to use him as a scapegoat when I got in trouble.

"I think Fritz did it," I would confidently tell my father. "Are you sure?" he would ask me with raised eyebrows. "It was Fritz who took your fresh green beans and dumped them into the trash can?" "Oh, yes," I would reply. "He thought they looked yucky - not very fresh at all - and he threw them away so I didn't get sick on wilted vegetables." I smiled and patted my father's shoulder, hoping that would help. "But don't get mad at him, daddy. He was just trying to protect me." I was banking on the fact that fathers always forgive those trying to protect their favourite daughters from dangerous, wilted vegetables. Needless to say, it was me, and not Fritz, who received the spankings that night - not for throwing away my green beans, but for lying.

It was great to see Fritz and Jack this weekend, catching up and laughing because Fritz hadn't changed a bit in the last 11 years. We reminisced with stories like the one about the green beans, and about the summer when I begged my father for a dog and told him that for the times I wasn't around to take care of it (which was all but 8-10 weeks of the year), Fritz had happily volunteered. He of course had done no such thing. While we chopped vegetables and stirred the apples and stewed plums, Jack inquired after my mother's well-being and updated me with the recent developments in mutual friends' lives - none of whom I had seen for years.

In the end both Fritz and Jack kissed my cheek, wished me well, and swore to let my father know of his grave mistake. He had failed to inform them of their little girl's marriage.

Simple Words

2007-02-11T14:28:00.000-08:00

"I want to go, but I'm not worthy," I told my bishop tearfully, looking down at my hands which were folded in my lap.

His face was kind, but he spoke seriously and I knew the words were not really coming from him. "Yes you are. Please don't punish yourself for the past anymore. Know with a surety that your Father in Heaven loves you." He made me look him in the eye as he emphasized his last point. "You are worthy."

I've been needing to hear that for 6 months. How can I possibly doubt?

God and Science

2007-02-01T10:53:00.000-08:00

She might have been crazy. One of those loud-mouth-make-a-scene-holier-than-thou-look-at-me-I'm-a-Christian types of crazy. I'm not sure how to deal with those kinds of people.

The girl walked into the first day of 'Astronomy 101' 25 minutes late, which is never a good way to start a class. She had already missed most of the syllabus and the introductions. Professor Suarez asked her to do what the rest of us had done - say our names and why we were taking Astronomy. She only had one rule. We couldn't say, "Because it's a requirement" or"Because it's the science that takes the least amount of math". Even if those are the reasons, it shouldn't be very difficult to make up something like, "I want to learn how to find my way around if I'm lost in the woods."

"Well, because I have to." The girl flicked her hair back and her large, dangly earrings jingled. "I hate science but I have to take one." Prof. Suarez started to argue with her that her answer was expressly not allowed, but decided to not fight that battle and start talking about the history of astronomy instead. She began with the Big Bang, 15 billion years ago, and continued until she reached the launch of the Hubble Space Telescope in 1990. At the end, crazy girl stood up and announced that she was dropping the class because she couldn't believe in God and the Big Bang at the same time, and she believed in God. She walked, or rather sauntered, out of the room - flipping her hair on the way out.

I just don't understand it. Who says that God and the Big Bang can't exist at the same time? Who says the two terms are mutually exclusive?

I don't believe or disbelieve the Big Bang Theory. But this is what I know: The Universe is held together by natural laws that just are, that just exist. Gravity is an example of one of them. The Bible tells us that God works by natural laws; so why couldn't He have been the author of the Big Bang, using the 'ways of the universe' to create His magnificent works? God and science don't have to be on opposite sides.

Sick

2007-01-07T16:53:00.000-08:00

"You don't make a very good sick person," my husband said to me last Sunday morning as he countered my efforts to get up and make breakfast. "Just lie down; I'm making you breakfast." Although I was slightly frustrated that I couldn't do what I wanted to, I was grateful to have a husband who takes care of me so well.

Inventory had been that weekend, and I'd volunteered to take the Saturday night shift. 30-40 of us went through the whole of 'REI at College Park' to count every single item on the floor and in the warehouse. It was quite the ordeal. A lesson on using the scanner guns began at 7pm, all the customers were out of the store by 8, and by 8:05 we were set to work.

"Beep! Beep! Beepbeepbeep!" went the scanner guns from all across the store. If you were standing too close to someone (about 7 feet away or closer), it was difficult to tell whose gun was beeping. That became a problem if you weren't sure whether you had actually scanned the item in your hand, or if it was your neighbor's gun that had beeped. I had to recount 117 pairs of socks twice because I got to the end and was off by 1 or 2 pairs. Talk about frustrating. There were bags and bags of candy at the front of the store for general consumption (to keep us awake), and the food from Chipotle came around 10:00.

By 2 am or so everyone went home except for 3 of my managers, Julie, and me. We stayed and recounted some of the items that someone had obviously miscounted (eg: the computer showed only 2 kayaks having been scanned that evening, yet we could clearly see 4 hanging on the wall). We wanted the count to be as accurate as possible. Julie and I finally left and I got home around 4 in the morning. Scott had gone to sleep around 2:45 and had just gotten back up to wait for me some more, so we both crawled into bed exhausted.

Sunday morning dawned bright and way too early, and I couldn't believe the way I felt. I'd made myself sick off of too much candy and caffeine on Saturday night in an effort to stay awake and working. The idea seemed like a great one for awhile, until Sunday morning when my body simply crashed. The good thing was that it didn't take very long to recover - I just slept it off and was fine.

But now I'm ill once again, only this time it wasn't self-inflicted so I deserve all available sympathy. I'm plagued with a stuffy nose, a congested chest, fits of coughing, a headache (a little worse than the usual one), a sore throat, achy muscles, fevers that come and go, and an 8-hour-a-day work schedule. I drink a water bottle full of orange juice a day and then some, sleep as much as I can, and eat healthier than normal. Tonight's ice cream cone was the first bit of sugar I've had in 4 or 5 days. Scott helps out as much as he can and takes great care of me. He does most of the housework, plus makes me food (and makes me eat).

I suppose that's his job; besides being my husband, this time it was he that got me sick.

PGCC

2006-12-10T18:24:00.000-08:00

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

2006-12-08T18:48:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-29T04:14:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-20T06:21:00.000-08:00

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

2006-10-28T19:28:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-13T05:48:00.000-07:00

"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

2006-10-12T08:57:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-19T14:30:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-17T15:56:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-10T17:10:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-10T05:43:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-06T15:05:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-06T12:29:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-29T09:09:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-29T09:05:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-21T23:48:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-08T16:10:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-17T13:53:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-16T09:47:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-01T01:25:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-31T10:32:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-28T12:28:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-20T07:35:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-17T08:33:00.000-08:00

"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?

2006-03-15T19:47:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-26T01:56:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-15T08:34:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-09T12:32:00.000-08:00

"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

2006-01-29T23:09:00.000-08:00

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

Anticipation

2006-01-27T11:33:00.000-08:00

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...