In the Unlikely Event

Were today to be my last of nearly twenty seven rich years of days on Earth, you should know that if you know me, I love you. I love everyone, which doesn't devalue the love I give, because love isn't that way. There is always and always more to give, it's a miraculous force. Like the heart. It is simply one size particular to each body, but it can always and ever fit more people inside it.

So I love you. True, I might love some more deeply than others, but that's human I guess. I always want what's best for you, even if that includes a hard day, but I'll root for you just as I would if I had stayed.

Today I'm wearing comfortable jeans, pearls adorn my neck and ears. Today is here, or more appropriately, I am here today and it's an occasion worthy of wearing the grinding hassle of oysters.

For all the struggles you and I have won, I wear these pearls for us. A beautiful day for a struggle, for a neighbor, for love.

Blossom Blizzard

Here in Utah, it's Tradition: just when the blossoms start popping, dump a million tons of snow!

I went back up on the roof again (first time was to clean snow out of the satellite dish) this time to capture the perfect beauty of this view

Dr Seuss couldn't have done better

And I built a snowman on the roof. I just couldn't help myself.

Now, before you go judging me for building it on the Sabbath, let me point out that it's specifically a snowman angel

I think my sculpture teacher should give me extra credit. wait, nevermind. then it would be like doing homework on sunday.... :)

And it can be seen from inside our home. Our guardian snow angel.

Boo winter

Lessons Learning

Down to my final $200 last week, I made the necessary goal to not buy any fast food or quick bites to nourish myself during the week. I succeeded easily and it was Friday where I learned a simple, great lesson that I can see as being applicable to all goals or efforts to resist temptation. :)

I need to eat. In truth, I could eat breakfast, go the whole day and not eat until dinner again (kinda like on my mission. Don't recall anymore how I pulled that off..cuz I'm such a hunger wimp these days!) but, well, as I just said parenthetically, I'm a hunger wimp these days. So, my goal presented a possible problem: starvation.

I bought a few sandwich items at the beginning of the week and took a little time before work or school to pack myself a little lunch: sandwich, granola bar, chips (Food Should Taste Good Sweet Potato chips y.u.m.) and some whatever else inhabits my mothers fridge. My preparation met my goal and solved my problem. Wait, let me line break for emphasis.

My preparation met my goal and solved my problem. It solved two or three problems really. 1) I saved moolah (and fortunately have since had a pay day and a tax return, huzzah). 2) I ate healthier. 3) I didn't starve!

I realized that this small effort of preparation allowed for dodging the later temptation of buying insta-food to satisfy my mortal hunger. I'll always get hungry. I'll need food to cure it.

You and I may always have certain trials or temptations in mortality. They may never be removed because there will always be an element of teaching in them for our own good. If such is suspected to be our personal case, we can prepare to have a 'home lunch' already packed for when the yearnings or pains come, begging for satisfaction. If we are disciplined beforehand we can become healthier and wealthier and maybe stealthier, just because that's a fun word...

But, today, an experience very telling of my character, I promptly disregarded this "learned" lesson. The lesson has another application, in the story of The Cut Finger.

I am working on becoming inspired for my final sculpture project, and yesterday I stopped by a Thrift Store going out of business (think D.I. + yard sale + Wizard of Oz II), browsing for things until something spoke to me. There was a bucket of tiny, dark-glass, wide neck jars sitting with all its might, contents sparkling in the cherished Spring sunlight. I saw them and, like Dorothy, knew there was more therein than met my eye. We chose each other in that moment; we were both sold. The bucket for $2 and I for the creative potential energy...

The bucket, true to function, had stored up about a gallon of rain water as it waited patiently for me to come. Judging by the slight algae smell and coloration of the bucket, that could have been some time. Many of the small jars were broken and all were dirty so I set out to separating the useful from the deadly and broken. Did I know there was broken glass in the bucket? To say anything but yes would be depressing, so yes, of course. Did I prepare for the inevitable bite of busted blade? Nope.

The jars on top, mostly whole and dry, I could clearly see. With bare and conscious hands I slowly and carefully plucked the fragments from the whole, clearing toward the murky water below. Like the zebra at the disgusting croc-filled watering hole, desperate for life sustaining fluid yet wary of death inflicting jaws of..death, my hand dipped gently into the filth. And like the croc, the glass attacked without warning (excepting the five minutes previous to this moment...)

Unlike the Zebra usually gets to, I instantly whipped my finger free, plunged it under fresh water, applied soap and a Bandaid to the seeping red sliver, and prayed I wasn't now host to some horrific disease.

Why do I let myself get hurt before I remember to supply the protection? I put my hand into one of those rubber gloves (in which I always imagine a spider or earwig has found a cheery home) and continued the task without fear.

I was sticking my hand into a bucket of broken glass! One wears at least one glove. Before. Hand.

But that is, unfortunately, so "me." La di da di da, I'm going to see how close I can get to this cliff before I consider my safety. Stupid. I've fallen off many an obvious cliff because I regarded it as a test of my character instead of a temptation from which to run. Quickly.

The best test or proof of your character often is how fast you can run from temptation. Prepare to run. Prepare to eat. Put a glove on before you reach into a bucket of glass shards. Pretty basic advice.

And now, Gabriella.

This darling angel has been my buddy every now and again recently. She is a third child, like myself. Her mother says she is a very good baby, sleeps well, doesn't fuss much, just loves to live. My mom said the same about me. So she and I are natural friends.

She wears cute clothes. Including these. I may or may not have squealed.

I love babies. Even when they turn into kids. And then attend junior high. And make it through high school. I'm getting old enough now where I can call high school kids kids...And probably old enough to have some of my own. Please.

And this was the thoughtful 1st of April prank (if you could even call it that, though you'd more likely call it an April Fool's joke..) from some girlfriend to hopefully-still-her-somewhat-amused-but-patiently-suffering boyfriend.

And the end. I so hope I don't have a disease...

I moved. What Else is New.

So, I sat down and thought. Often, sitting is the best position for thinking. Think about it. Haven't you done some of your best thinking on the toilet? Don't you do most of or much of your homework or work or busyness or creating while sitting? And do you not drive in a sitting position and enjoy wonderful dexterity of mind? Indeed, and in thought. So, thus sitting, I realized that in the past three years I have resided in...Provo (mom's house and Alta apartments) Pleasant Grove, Provo, Canada, Provo, Alaska, West Jordan and just the other day (March 19 to be exact) I defaulted back to Provo yet again. Before I go to Alaska yet again.

The moving party consisted of three manly volunteers, two from my West Jordan ward and another who used to be my home teacher in the Alta ward (he shall be named O'Neil). They packed approximately twenty apple boxes, four pillows and one alligator into two cars, mine and O'Neil's, and I returned and packed my own car once more with all the things I would be needing until and in Alaska. Much appreciation, men.

O'Neil is a fantastic specimen of men. Here, let us dissect him. When he enters a place, immediately the positive energy of said place increases a hundred fold. One can't help but be delighted by his presence and drawn into pleasant and easy conversation with him. Even the shy children instantly take to him, which is a great quality. He is hilarious. Basically he could kill me every day with laughter wounds inflicted by his sharp wit... He could be scary, what with his six-five/six height and great big hands, but he's just too darn cheery to even hint toward intimidation. He was a stellar home teacher and I can only imagine is still quite consistent in his church service because it just shows; he happily served a mission, happily goes to school, happily fills his shifts at a hospital as a chaplain (i know, random, right?), volunteers for many things, happily, and just lives in a contagiously happy way. He's a fabulous sort.

My mom cleared a tunnel in her sewing room for me to burrow into until I mine my way North to the Last Frontier. It's cramped, dusty, haunted by costumes of halloween past and the makings of every possible costume of halloween future...but the stiff mattress is softer than the concrete under the carpet AND it's actually long enough for my slumbering bod. Countin' my blessings. My fabric cave is in the basement, so it's nice and dark...which means the sun never wakes me and I occasionally dismiss my alarm and thus miss my 8am class, like today.

My 8am class is beginning sculpture. I like it. Right now we're sculpting eyes, ears, mouths and noses (replicas of Michaelangelo's David) using oil-based clay. Here's a picture of the nose I did:

Recently I've been sick and all the while that I was molding this nose I was sniffling with my own. And I found it strange picking the nostrils to clear them out. And by the end it was looking so much like the actual nose of a person, I nearly felt nosy all up in his or her stolen facial component. okay okay, enough with the nose jokes. they stink.

And here's a snake (abstraction) I carved out of plaster!

Tried to make him look coiled in his own special way...

I went for a sort of 'jester' pattern for the scaly effect

And for an 'under belly' lined texture here

My dad helped me (in other words completely did it for me) put the step pattern in the base. No one else really did their base different. Bonus genious-points for me.

Isn't it so cool? Well, I think it. Still haven't decided what to name him. My lil sis said "Jerry", with a French accent. I thought "Señor" since he looks all Aztecy. Your submissions will be considered.

Well, now there's really nothing more to say except that it is extremely windy outside and I jumped on the trampoline. I've mentioned this before here and here so I obviously have a true and abiding love for this activity...even if it mostly just proves how out of shape my aging body is. two and a half months until I'm 27. hm.

tick tock

I'm like, really clever right now. One of those moods, you know? Where everything clicks and fantastic puns are born, witty jokes drip down like a refreshing rain, etc. But I'm sick and tired. Physically. So I'm going to bed. It's a real shame to waste this magical moment of humorous charm when so generously bestowed.

In an hour it will be two hours from now. Shifty.

Serendipitous Day

I'm most excited that my rose pink shirt and this pink rose that some random guy in the hall gave me are the exact same color.

(And thank goodness the Orem LDS institute committee knows proper grammar. I appreciate.)

Day by Day

From time to time

You and I

Cannot see

Eye to Eye

We swing and go

Head to head

And stubborn

Back to back

But step by step

Turn about

Lay open

Heart to heart

Then hip to hip

Arm in arm

Hand in hand

Cheek to cheek

We go forward

Side by side

Still when gone

Nine to five

You always come

Home sweet home

And greet me

Face to face

And mouth to mouth

Lip to lip

Round and round

We go

Sun up sun down

Day by day

Dressing love

Head to toe

Happy Vday. Here is a version of the story of Cupid and Psyche (the figures in the pic I took at the louvre museum) for a little fun reading.

"Love took her by the hand, and they were never parted any more"

five minus one is four

The other day (yep, that's how it's gonna start) a lady came to speak in my english class. After she had already been speaking a few minutes, my eyes were bothered by a nudge from my brain to pay closer attention to her hands: brainy was detecting something unusual and wanted confirmation. Nothing else to do, I indulged [transitively].

Next time her hands came into view my eyes immediately recognized what brainy had sensed: she had a missing finger, the right ring finger. My brain pumped its victory fists and started thinking of four-fingered characters, namely the ninja turtles. As to an irreverent child in a long church meeting I sent it a silencing look, but it was near impossible to reroute its focus of curiosity from the speaker's hands.

Issuing mental demerits, I required the brain to list other qualities about the woman that were just as, if not more, obvious: beautiful hair, eyes and smile; great and personable speaking skills; lovely skin; contagious enthusiasm and a delightful sense of humor.

But obviously the missing finger did stand out. Well, it's unusual.

But (again), the only reason I'm writing about this is because the next day, sitting in the mighty driver's seat (is it the driver or the seat that's mighty...?) in a mighty yellow bus at a red light, I looked to my right at the "don't walk" hand. It was missing the same finger!

I thought quickly: is the "don't walk" hand a left hand or a right hand? Always on the side of poetic coincidence my brain immediately voted for right. But I took a moment, visualized my own hand up in the "stop/don't walk" position and realized any person to see this gesture would be viewing my palm. therefore, the "don't walk" hand truly is a right hand.

My brain contentedly snuggled into the happy coincidence, musing about future blog post ideas. And here you see I indulged once again...(but at least I censured the idea of omitting every letter typed with the right ring finger).

(*not actual "don't walk" hand from street crossing spoken of; wrong finger. and wrong trees.)

Walking, Bleeding

I began this day with a determined prayer and thoughtful scripture reading. I gave it first priority..okay second. Toilet was first. But anyway, today produced randomly wondrous, albeit simple events that I feel I should document, and I don’t seem capable of doing anything productive until I release these anxious ideas into the world of written word.

Seriously, for two hours now I’ve been trying to convince myself to do homework, not feeling justified to just sit and write, but instead, I avoid both with Netflix (I’m addicted to Bones; I think I need help…) So I’ll get all this off my mind and maybe concentrate on homework. Or at least go to sleep without feeling completely useless.

After my sculpture class I have a break, from 10-11am. Usually I just use this time to slowly finish up whatever artsy thing I’m working on and mosey on down to my American Lit class sometime before it starts. Well, true to form, over the long weekend I didn’t do all the homework I should have and so I decided I would leave Sculpture and go find a place to quickly catch up on the reading for Lit.

Walking toward the construction detour I noticed three red helium-filled balloons taped to the floor. I had a very sudden urge to go over and whack them. I did not, and a little farther along I saw another red and white cluster, this time closer to my path, so I poked a couple with a finger as I walked by. Again, another pair of red balloons reached innocently to the sky and I gave one a good flick. This seemed to be the happiest walk down Campus Lane (or whatever) that I could recall.

Before reaching the exit, the true purpose of the red and white helium balloons was revealed to me: blood drive. I was drawn to donate, transfixed on transfusion, oozing with enthooziasm to get rid of some blood. I drive lots of things, why not blood, too?!

They had just started so there weren’t many people so they took me as appointmentless as I came. I told them I had an 11am class and asked if I would make it. They said I should. They were incorrect. But that’s okay. It worked out that since I had less blood, somehow I had less desire to participate in the thirty minutes left of class discussion (that is never really that stimulating anyway) about readings that I only caught a couple pages of while my life juice leaked from my veins.

The donation was successful and I walked speedily toward Lit. After that dull half hour of my life (I didn’t regret having been late for the cause of saving lives) I walked to Biology. I ate an apple as I walked, eyes ever scanning the cluttered halls for a devilishly handsome man, approximately 6’5”, green eyes…perfect in every way. Because I don’t want to see him, I look for him twice as hard. That way, if I do spot him I can make sure I’m not mid-apple-bite or looking helpless or hapless if he spots me back.

It’s ridiculous, I know. I told myself to relax, from day one, but I can’t help it. I don’t look for potential mates like most females would do, especially one with my height advantage above the crowd. No, I’m looking out for the prior mate. After two weeks I was beginning to feel comfortable that he might not have class on M, W, F. Phew.

At the beginning of each Biology class the professor asks if there are any questions. I had two: why do bubbles form on the inside of a glass half full of water left out all night? And, what happens to the DNA of a donor when transfused into the recipient? I asked neither because someone wanted to complain about how the online quiz system was set up. I ignored this and stared at a DNA strand model on the desk, wondering, with my left arm limp at my side.

Biology expired and I pushed through the clotted classroom door with the rest of the fleeing life forms. Mother Nature guided me toward the restroom; those post-donation liquids were doin their job. The glance in the mirror as I dried my clean hands showed me that I looked kinda cute. Then there was the inevitable “did you play basketball?” conversation at the bathroom sink with the well-meaning though complete stranger lady washing her hands.

That held me a few seconds longer in the restroom than I had anticipated. Normally from Biology I will just beat the crowds and walk outside on level two toward my next class. And even though it was a perfectly lovely day outside, the crowds had cleared a bit so I figured I’d just walk inside.

Walking past the food court I noticed how unsatisfying the Band-Aid on my pricked finger had become (the pricked finger is always the most painful, isn’t it), no longer sticking after the restroom hand washing. So I veered toward a trash can. A mere half-second delay.

As I merged into the flow of traffic again, my annoying hall-scanning eyes refocused on the oncoming pedestrians. It’s funny how much can happen in about two seconds. Really, any combination of infinite possibilities can be sparked in two seconds or less: the game-winning three-pointer; the bullet released from the barrel; the recognition of green eyes, sculpted body, height, hair, face...

Two seconds earlier and I would have gone down the hall to the right none the wiser.

Now, I’ll never be able to say for certain why, whether for 450mL of blood loss or not, but my heart burned. As soon as he recognized me too, I waved my unpricked hand and smiled. He smiled, in a way that seemed entirely pleasant to me. We kept walking away.

The first thought that was recognizable enough to be processed was: I’m glad the mirror said I looked cute. I walked two halls and four flights of stairs, mindlessly sliding one hand over the other before I acknowledged any other organ function. Heart kept burning, throat gears started cranking in tight, eyes fought back a siege of tears. No, no more tears for this one.

The two-second frame replayed over and over in my mind and I realized something. I actually wasn’t trying to analyze what his look could have meant or if I might have done anything different. I wouldn’t have. I just didn’t want the image to fade. At first I thought that was a healthy sign. But it’s so pathetic because that directly reflects the stubborn heart inside me that tries not to let him fade with each beat…

I’ve tried two strategies to beat him out. I’ve tried to love again, to love more even. Henry David Thoreau gave me this idea when he said, “There is no remedy for love but to love more.” Well that hasn’t happened, and so it’s like the deepest part of me that has known love still only knows him.

Then I’ve tried to reason to myself that I’ll find someone better for me; someone that is like him but that I can actually marry. But that always makes me think of the characteristics of eternity and I realize that there is no person in this world like him. I didn’t just love things about him, I loved him: his soul, his skeleton, his existence, his DNA, his stubbornness right along with his unbelievable patience and incredible heart. I held his hand as though there was nowhere else in the world to go.

Which is understandable, even expected, if you know him. He’s an amazing guy. But it wasn’t smart on my part…it was just setting myself up for hurt. But I don’t care anymore that I ever felt pain, I so regret how much I ever hurt him. If he’s like me (and we sure had a lot in common) then he doesn’t remember many unpleasant things from the past. I mostly remember good times and a cool relationship. But the more I think about it, the more and more and more I begin to discover how selfish I was.

We do this thing, women, humans in general probably. We want to be so accommodating to a partner whom we’re crazy about that we nearly lose our individual identity to the building of the relationship. As I did that with this man, and he never seemed to resist my attentions, it’s almost like I turned the relationship into a tool capable of bringing me whatever I wanted. To me, he appeared to be accepting and enjoying my willingness to be available whenever, to make time for him/us whenever, never a conflict when it came to being together.

But then, because I thought my actions were desired, I figured he wanted the relationship to go the same way I wanted it to, and so I pushed it along my way. I knew what was best, because I knew what I ('we') wanted… Is this even making sense? I bet it would to him. I think I drove him crazy. Either he is inhumanly patient or he just didn’t realize at the time exactly why I was driving him crazy so he couldn’t put it into words: but I just didn’t know I was being so selfish. I thought we wanted the same things. Now I realize with dread as I look back that I’m not sure if I ever truly listened to what he wanted between us. I just figured we had that in common, too.

Now, I’m not presuming I would deserve it, but if I had the chance to love him again, I wouldn’t ‘again’ anything. I'm not sure I would even know what to do, really. I would need to get to know him better. Fully. I would want to just sit and listen to him, maybe never say a word; just be still and listen, even if he didn’t say much. Obviously I wouldn’t want to try again if we still couldn’t proceed to marriage, and so why do I even conjecture about hopeful impossibilities.

Maybe it’s been easy for him to remove me from his heart and he hasn’t thought about me since I last spoke with him some time last year. But me, I have thought about him every day since I’ve known him. I think more recently I can’t escape the regret of how selfish I was. This regret keeps the blood from clotting and the heart from stopping. I really need to kill this old heart because she’s not going to get another chance. And she’s not on speaking terms with him so the ongoing sculpture of apology and regret, being painfully detailed over time, will never be seen by its sponsor…He unwittingly reminds me every day how useless it is to be selfish. I'm trying to change.

See, this is why I was on the lookout. So as to make sure we didn’t make eye contact, to make sure I passed by no livelier than a shadow. But the man saw me. And smiled.

I did some more walking and this walking led me to my last class and after that to a classmate’s car, wherein we drove to IHOP and conversed pleasantly over consumable provender. Basically I went on a lunch date. It was fun.

It’s always when I get my priorities kinda lined up and get out of my own way that curiously cool things happen, without me really even trying.

So, I walked into some great things today. I’m optimistic. I consider every experience a positive one, because I always make its end positive. It’s in my blood. (O+)

Thought Snack-MLK Jr

Everything that we see is a shadow cast by that which we do not see.