I'm not Joan Rivers and this isn't the red carpet

Easter is just a couple days away and I'm beginning to worry that I haven't taken full advantage of cadburry mini-egg season. Isn't it sad when we let something like candy take precedence over commemorating the resurrection of the Savior - something to work on for sure.

Also, if I were to have kept lent this year, when do I get to stop?
And when was I supposed to eat fish?

I've never really understood lent. Honestly the only time I ever gave anything up was as a missionary I gave up Christmas music and TV - I know, I'm quite the model of sacrifice. I did mention that I was serving a mission - for the Lord - for 19 months.

Last  year I decided to give up Diet Coke. I lasted a day and a half. I wasn't prepared (read: hadn't stocked up on Excedrin) and when my first headache hit, I fought it for an hour then made haste for the 7-11 for that magic elixir that pours from their enchanted fountain and cures all minor ailments.

This year I did something a little different, I gave up commenting on the way people look. I won't pretend that it was something that I had really planned, but it seemed like an appropriate mental exercise at the time. It was around the time when that BYU student received a note from a fellow student calling her out for dressing provocatively and it was all over Facebook. Someone made a comment, in response to the hullabaloo, that it is never appropriate to comment on the way someone looks. And I thought, really? never? and after thinking it over, I concluded really. hardly ever. Even comments that are intended as compliments can objectify the subject if they are based solely upon physical appearance. And I started to think about all the editorializing I do both in my head and to those around me about other people's appearances. And what about that running monologue about my own appearance.

I decided it was time to stop it. That's right, I was stopping it way before Pres. Uchtdorf made it cool. I'd be commenting on someones hair or shoes or clothes and I'd catch myself and I'd stop it. Whether the comments were good or bad, if they focused on the superficial, I stopped myself in my tracks and found something else to think about or steered the conversation in another direction.

from House and Home.

To be clear, I have allowed myself to recognize beauty, I allow myself to observe the world and express my preferences. But I have tried to cut out the commentary and eliminate the judgment that I so often indulged in. By doing so, I started to see the world and the people around me a little differently. And in time, I found my inner monologue was quieted a bit and filled with other concerns.

So maybe this lent thing isn't such a bad idea - maybe I'll figure out when I'm supposed to eat the fish next year.

cruisin together

A friend, very kindly, offered me a ride home last night. And as we were making our way through twisty turvy roads, dead ends and one way streets, my friend pointed out the bad driving habits of nearly every car that got in our way. I tired to commiserate but honestly I wouldn't have noticed let alone been bothered by any of it. And I couldn't help think that I'm exactly the kind of driver that drives my dear friend mad.

I'm generally not in a terrible hurry when I get behind the wheel. Even when I'm running late, I figure that I'll get there when I get there. I go with the flow. Sometimes I'm inclined to coast when I really ought to keep up with traffic (hypermiling ftw!). I get lost easily and I think we all know when we are following someone who is lost. And because I've a tendency towards absent mindedness, I allow other cars on the road the same courtesy. I'm unfazed when someone honks at me as I'm sure that I deserved it. When somebody gives me that look and throws their hands in the air, I smile sheepishly, wave and mouth "sorry". And while I can certainly recognize when a driver is rude I don't really let it get to me unless they're reckless.

Does all of  this make me a bad driver? Maybe. But I haven't been in an accident or received any sort of ticket in almost a decade, so I must be doing something right. Though I think I ought to be a bit more aggressive, if only to stop being that annoying driver that causes people to throw their hands in the air.  

* title inspired by this little ditty, Cruisin by Smokey Robinson. Performed here by Gweneth Palthrow and Huey Lewis. My driving anthem.

on being one of THOSE people

On Saturday night I met up with lil' sister and some of her roommates for dinner. While we were talking I mentioned that our Mom had said that our cat Zoe has been sick and they had to take her to the vet. We were talking about poor Zoe's plight with our niece (she only hates two things in life, kids and being ignored - two things she's endured quite a lot of lately) when Abbey's roommate started laughing hysterically. Apparently we were being ridiculous pet people who fuss and fawn all over their animals. But I just can't help it, how can you not fall instantly and madly in love with these little guys.

Not my pic - found it on the evil Pinterest where people post stuff without naming their sources.

They're so fluffy, I'm going to die! Gosh, I want a kitten.

taking care

On Sunday, I sat down in Sacrament meeting and sighed. It had been a busy weekend following a busy week and my mind was full of all the things that I still needed to do. Silly things really, I worried about the cupcakes in the back of my car, "would they get too hot?" "what if the frosting starts to melt?" "what if no one signs up for the potluck next week?" "what if I'm forgetting something?" And then I just cleared it all out of my head - I surrendered to the moment, and checked in with my body. I was beat. My insomnia and to-do lists had caught up with me and I was exhausted.

I said a little prayer right there. I asked God to help be better about taking care of myself. I asked Him to help me balance my obligations with my needs; to help me to relish the things that bring me joy and avoid the things that bring me down. Sometimes I forget that it's up to me to take care of myself. No one else is going to do it.

So when I finally got home from all my meetings, I fed myself and tucked myself into bed.

I bucked my night-owly ways and was asleep before mid-night.

say cheese!

It's so nice outside, it's a shame to be cooped up indoors. As I haven't a window, I like to imagine that it's miserable and grey outside. But I know that it's actually a sunny 75 degrees, the birds are singing and the flowers are a blooming. Such is life.

I'm getting excited about my summer travels and my goal for this week is to renew my passport. That means it's time to get a new passport photo - hallelujah! - my last one was horrendous. It's so bad that I can't believe that I didn't just pony up another $15 for another. But then again, $15 was sort of a lot of money to a college student in 2001 and we didn't have luxury of digital cameras - it was a 1 shot kinda deal. (Is it weird that I remember the exact cost of my passport photo 11 years ago? Guess it just shows how conflicted I was over it at the time.)

But if I could go back in time, I'd tell that frugal young thing that it'll be worth the splurge. Maybe a waste of time travel, but we're talking about quality of life.

thirty-something

My birthday is coming up and for first time in YEARS I'm not anxious. I'm not mourning my spinsterhood, clinging to the dregs of my youth. I'm not even that bothered by that same biological clock that rang so loudly in my years as I approached the dreaded 30.

While in my twenties I had a couple of friends, a decade older than I, that assured me that life got better after 30. They knew something that I didn't, because I couldn't. You see when you are miserable in your twenties, you think that it's all about you and your failings and flaws, but really it's just an awful decade that we're all forced to live through. A decade filled with unrealistic expectations, anxiety and naivety. They saw my pain and knew that I would overcome it, that I would evolve and learn to embrace my life. I felt my pain and saw only uncertainty and potential for unending misery.

The build up to 30 was the WORST! I dreaded that day for years. Why? Because, I'm a masochist, but really I was scared about what it meant and ashamed by the things that I hadn't accomplished. And though I bribed myself with a lovely trip to Hawaii, I couldn't shake the gloom of that day that came and went.

31 was better. Though it fraught with it's own challenges, I felt better prepared to face them. I had stopped doing what I though I should, and started following my heart. While still finding my footing in a new town and a new phase, I was finding unexpected satisfaction in the process.

And now, as I approach 32, I couldn't be happier. It's funny really. Because I have none of the things that I envisioned for myself. I have plenty of reasons to be miserable, except I'm not. As it turns out, all of those things that I thought that I needed to make me happy, may in fact lead to happiness and I may never know for sure, but I've learned that there are many ways to be happy.

I dreamed a dream

I think that I can officially call it a head cold. Mostly just an annoyance at this point and I'm doing my best to contain my germs and prevent it from getting worse. And I don't know if it was my cold, the Advil PM or all the knitting I've been doing lately but I had the weirdest dream last night. I dreamt that I was finger croqueting this long chain which I somehow turning into a scarf and as it got longer and longer it wrapped all around me. When I woke up I almost expected to find yarn in my bed. But no, just my duvet. I haven't started sleep knitting. That would be pretty weird, right?

Maybe something like this - for which I can't find a source.

So I've been playing with finger knitting lately. It's something I saw a while ago and the other day as I was decorating my 8inch Christmas tree with yarn from my stash, I thought hey, I should try that. After playing with it for a few minutes I had a chord a yard long with which I tied a cute bow around the pot. It's got potential for decorating, gift wrapping and head bands. Here's a tutorial that spells it out nicely. The picture above looks to be a finger knitted cord that is being finger crocheted into a chain.

unpublishable

Today I am grateful for unpublished posts. Honestly, some of my favorite posts just aren't publishable. Some I are ideas that I never flesh out, some are personal, and some are just better kept to myself.

Since high school I have always kept a journal, not the sort of journal in which I chronical the details of my day but rather bouts of confusion, frustration, gratitude and love.

I've be terrible about writing in my journal since I started this blog. But I still love taking pen to paper. I love the process of filling a page - my entries usually fill page, generally quite precisely. There is something magical about filling a single unlined page with all that I'm thinking, all that I'm feeling, to dedicate a page to one moment in time. I love to look back and see the emotion in my script, the drama, the angst and the passion. I am transported back into those moments when I couldn't keep it in and I let it spill out onto the page, uncensored and unedited.

Sometimes I worry that in blogging I sensor myself too much, that I loose too much in the process. So, I am happy when I look at my long list of posts and see a few that are unpublished.

baggage

My first year of law school nearly did me in. I came so near to calling it quits that if it hadn't been for my hefty financial investment, I couldn't have forced myself to stick it out through my second semester. But I learned an important lesson. I learned that I couldn't do it all on my own and that I was going to have to learn how to ask for help. And while there was little anyone could do to help me get through the mountains of reading assignments or perform better on my finals, the moral support of family and friends was incredibly fortifying.

I talked to one such friend (and mentor) before I went back to Vermont to start my second year. I told her how hard it was and how I wasn't any good at it. And she said something that's stuck with me ever since. She told me that people have done studies on the lasting psychological effects of law school.* That's right, there are lasting psychological effects. And after that, I started recognizing that there are a lot of aspects of the legal education that are unproductive and amount to little more than hazing. And though I believe that my particular law school was probably better than some, they still carried on their fair share of the tradition.

Despite my efforts to overcome, I carry around a lot of baggage from law school. Included in that baggage is an obsession with citing sources. This is something that was drilled into my head time and time again and has become deeply ingrained in my brain. In the legal world, citations are king. The more citations the stronger your argument, it doesn't matter how brilliant you are, or how revolutionary your argument is, it'll be stronger if you can show that someone else said it first. It's not uncommon to have multiple citations for a single sentence, and a dozen citations in paragraph. It can be rather awkward to read, but it is those sections that are riddled with citations that I'll skip ahead too.

I have found this obsession migrating into everything I see and hear. In everything from craft ideas to talks in church to arguments about politics, I want sources. If you're going to use facts or anecdotes to support your argument, I'm going to want sources. Opinions and new ideas are fine, but if you've come to a novel conclusion, I'll probably dismiss it if you don't back it up with your own analysis (tell me how you got there) or cite your source. And I think that's what irks me about Pinterest**, which I'm the first to admit is engrossing and inspirational. But it leaves me empty, because even though I can search down a source for many of the images I like there, detached from their source the images loose some of their meaning. I love beautiful things, inspiring quotes and new ideas but I need to have a framework to put them into and I need to know where they came from. 


*Which I ironically I have no source for. And it's really bugging me that I have nothing to link to here.
** See yesterday's rant. 

Funny Story...

So I told you how I'm sort of obsessed with this little show called "So You Think You Can Dance" yeah, embarassing enough, I know.  Well tonight I was voting for my favorite dancer, Mr. Robert Roldan and well somehow I managed to call a complete stranger upwards of a hundred times.  How'd I make such a rookie mistake, well I'm not quite sure but I may have exposed the limits of my multitasking abilities.  

I was out to dinner with my friend Amanda and as I was playing with my blistering spicy bulgogi when I realized it was after 7.  Time to vote.  But I was prepared, I'd checked Roberts fan page before I left and KNEW that he was number 3 tonight.  So I looked in my call history and found the number for SYTYCD that I'd called last week.  So I started dialing and as usual I don't really listen to hear the message, just watch for the call to go through then hang up and redial.  However, I distinctly remember checking that I had the right number and hearing the SYTYCD message say thank you for calling for dancer 3.  So I kept calling and calling and calling and calling.  I rode to the ATM with Amanda, I came home, I helped her move some stuff into her car, I watched some SYTYCD, I made some instant pudding.  All the time dialing and redialing and redialing.  

But around 8:55, I looked down at my phone and I relized that I'd just dialed a 907 number.  907 is the area cod for Alaska.  Who had I just dialed?  Well it turns out that somewhere along the way, probablly while wisking instant pudding with one hand, dialing with the other and watching tv, I'd started redialing this guy who'd inquired about buying my car off Craigslist.  

My guess is he probably won't want to buy my car after receiving upwards of a hundred calls from me in the space of an hour.  Psycho much? At least I don't know him right?  Take this as a warning, look before you dial and beware the spicy pork bulgogi.   
   

wishin' 'n' hopin' 'n' prayin'

You know those flat rate boxes that the USPS has been advertising lately? Well I did something pretty stupid  - I picked up a few of the largest flat-rate boxes and packed all of my books and pictures and other of my precious personal possessions that I couldn't leave at home. The boxes were shipped 11 days ago and they have not yet arrived. I'm beginning to wonder if I will ever see them again. I kick myself at the thought that I entrusted the USPS with my priceless belongings. I say priceless because they have little monetary value but are irreplaceable. Included in these boxes is my journal that I have been keeping for 5 years, jewelry and my camera. I'm hope hope hoping that my boxes are waiting on my doorstep for me when I get home because I am getting really really anxious that I'll never see my stuff again.

Alas, I've come to learn that stuff gets lost when you move. Tragically and inevitably, somethings never make it all the way to your new home.