I swear, slow walkers will be the death of me. I personally don’t like to dawdle when I am walking somewhere. Especially when I need to be to that somewhere on time.
Everyday, I walk to and from school, about a mile each way. I like to walk semi-briskly––or basically jog on the days I am late to class––but I guess not many other students do. I try to pass people when the timing allows, but most of the time it seems that they never hear me behind them so they take up the whole sidewalk, drifting from side to side randomly. Sheesh, it just bugs me thinking about it.
Every time someone mentions something about the T.V. show The Walking Dead, I think of the students who are slow walkers. Granted, they do not chase––at a snail’s pace––after me wanting to eat me, but the fact that both the zombies and the students like to walk slowly can be annoying.
All I know is that I would not want to be stuck walking behind a zombie. Mostly because it would want to eat me, but also because it would walk slower than most students––if that is even possible.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Cold
Today was so so so cold. After I was done helping Sister Keller clean her house and take care of her kids, I walked home. Alexis, who said she would pick me up, was busy walking around the mall with Mom for exercise. So, walking home it was.
It was around 5:20 when I left. The sun was setting and painted the sky this gorgeous orange color. I was enjoying myself quite a lot––just taking a nice stroll home, enjoying the sunset and time to myself.
However, after about 15 minutes into my walk home, I began regretting the whole thing. It was so flipping cold! I became so numb, I didn’t know what to do with myself. My body just hurt all over. I wanted to give in and call Mom and Lexi to just come and get me, but I kept reminding myself that this was good time to myself and that it was good to get some more steps in for the day––that, and no one was actually available to come get me. So, I continued my walk home.
By the time I got home, Chris and Sam were actually home! What!? I should have just called them! I couldn’t feel anything on body where my coat did not cover. I decided to keep my coat on for a little while longer and go sit by the vent.
And thus concludes my anticlimactic story of my walk home.
It was around 5:20 when I left. The sun was setting and painted the sky this gorgeous orange color. I was enjoying myself quite a lot––just taking a nice stroll home, enjoying the sunset and time to myself.
However, after about 15 minutes into my walk home, I began regretting the whole thing. It was so flipping cold! I became so numb, I didn’t know what to do with myself. My body just hurt all over. I wanted to give in and call Mom and Lexi to just come and get me, but I kept reminding myself that this was good time to myself and that it was good to get some more steps in for the day––that, and no one was actually available to come get me. So, I continued my walk home.
By the time I got home, Chris and Sam were actually home! What!? I should have just called them! I couldn’t feel anything on body where my coat did not cover. I decided to keep my coat on for a little while longer and go sit by the vent.
And thus concludes my anticlimactic story of my walk home.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
Lipstick
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| Top left to right: Lexi, Mati. Bottom left to right: Olivia, Mom, Me. |
It all started when Lexi, Mati, and I happened to come upon the subject of eyebrows. Lexi was sitting at the dressing table tweezing her eyebrows and then decided to talk about my and Mati’s eyebrows. The next thing I knew, Lexi pinned Mati down on the bed and began tweezing her eyebrows. Then she whipped out her handy dandy eyebrow pencil and filled in her eyebrows. After Lexi was finished with Matisse, she moved on to me. I too was cornered and coerced into having my eyebrows “touched up.” When she tried filling in my eyebrows with her pencil, she darkened them too much and I looked like a crazed hooligan. We had to wipe it off. Well, I demanded that we wipe it off.
After the eyebrow charade, Lexi moved on to slapping red lipstick on me. She told me that this new lipstick was amazing because it never wipes off during the day. She began to apply it liberally, but forgot to inform me that this lipstick had an exfoliating feature where my lips would sting for a little bit, but feel better later. I never thought makeup would be physically painful, but it stung like heck.
Fast forward three hours and all of the girls in the house are wearing red lipstick. Honestly, it was kind of fun. Mom had never worn red lipstick before, so it was a fun first. Lexi can push us all out of our comfort zones at times, but in the end, it is worth it. We sometimes need a push, so I’m glad she is the one to initiate that push.
Saturday, January 28, 2017
The Beast
The beast lay waiting in the shadowy corners of the cave. Its red eyes piercing through the dense darkness. What is it looking at? Nothing. What is it waiting for? Nothing. The coldness has smothered all sound––everything is silent, stiff and lifeless. Nothing is coming.
What is the beast doing? Its solitary den carries no life, no purpose. Only coldness, bleakness, and hopelessness abound in this environment.
What is this?
The beast is shifting. As if to open its iron jaws? Why?
In a muted peace, the beast is bemoaning its existence. It seems clear as to why––it has no purpose, no design, no destination to reach.
No. No wait…
Warmth is emanating from its abyssal jaws. The frigidness in the cave is beginning to disperse. Its muted moaning has now intensified to a rumbling that is vanquishing all the numbing cold.
What is that?
The piercing red eyes have exuded a simple tear. Falling in a swift motion, the tear has burst on the hardened cave floor. It’s joined by another. And another. And another. The beast is beginning to weep.
Something is coming through the floor. Something green. What is it?
The green point is growing from the tears produced by the beast. It’s a flower. And another. And another. Flowers are protruding from the stone floor. Each flower is glowing with a sense of purpose. The more flowers, the more purpose. The more flowers, the more light. The more flowers, the more warmth. Warmth, light, and purpose are overcoming the stiff, cold atmosphere.
From this sadness has sprouted beauty. Only these deepest levels of sorrow have been able to bring about these deepest senses of joy, hope, and purpose.
Maybe there is something more for this beast.
Maybe…
What is the beast doing? Its solitary den carries no life, no purpose. Only coldness, bleakness, and hopelessness abound in this environment.
What is this?
The beast is shifting. As if to open its iron jaws? Why?
In a muted peace, the beast is bemoaning its existence. It seems clear as to why––it has no purpose, no design, no destination to reach.
No. No wait…
Warmth is emanating from its abyssal jaws. The frigidness in the cave is beginning to disperse. Its muted moaning has now intensified to a rumbling that is vanquishing all the numbing cold.
What is that?
The piercing red eyes have exuded a simple tear. Falling in a swift motion, the tear has burst on the hardened cave floor. It’s joined by another. And another. And another. The beast is beginning to weep.
Something is coming through the floor. Something green. What is it?
The green point is growing from the tears produced by the beast. It’s a flower. And another. And another. Flowers are protruding from the stone floor. Each flower is glowing with a sense of purpose. The more flowers, the more purpose. The more flowers, the more light. The more flowers, the more warmth. Warmth, light, and purpose are overcoming the stiff, cold atmosphere.
From this sadness has sprouted beauty. Only these deepest levels of sorrow have been able to bring about these deepest senses of joy, hope, and purpose.
Maybe there is something more for this beast.
Maybe…
Friday, January 27, 2017
Walking
Work today felt longer than usual. Probably because I only brought a lunch that consisted of Mini Wheats, but nonetheless, it was a long day. When it came time to go home, I was more than ready to storm out of the office and dash away home.
The walk home was pleasant. My face was completely numb, I felt like my ears fell off back when I first walked outside, but I was charging home. All I could think about was a delicious snack to sink my teeth into while watching the newest episode of Project Runway Junior.
Finally after about 15 minutes of walking in the freezing cold, I made it home! Huzzah! But then, for some stupid reason, I remembered that I forgot to turn in my Physical Science homework. In the T.A. box. Back on campus. I hated everything at that point: no one was home, I didn’t have a car, and I only just began recovering from the cold. However, that homework needed to be tuned in within the hour, so back out I went, grumbling along the way.
Since I didn’t have my backpack on when I headed back to campus, I felt as light as a feather. I zoomed down those streets like it was nobody’s business. Eventually I made it back to campus…huffing and puffing but nevertheless made it. I reached the T.A. Lab, and as the climax to my journey, threw my homework into the box, took the moment in, and then walked back down the stairs to head home.
On the walk home I felt I was one step away from getting frostbite. I touched my cheeks and didn’t feel a single thing. Not even a little sting of warmth from my hands. Then I started to get a feeling of warmth on my legs and thought things were looking up…until I remembered that people who get frostbite feel warm before losing that limb. Yikes!
Finally, after spending too long outside, I made it home, warmed my frozen limbs, made some quesadillas and watched Project Runway Junior.
The walk home was pleasant. My face was completely numb, I felt like my ears fell off back when I first walked outside, but I was charging home. All I could think about was a delicious snack to sink my teeth into while watching the newest episode of Project Runway Junior.
Finally after about 15 minutes of walking in the freezing cold, I made it home! Huzzah! But then, for some stupid reason, I remembered that I forgot to turn in my Physical Science homework. In the T.A. box. Back on campus. I hated everything at that point: no one was home, I didn’t have a car, and I only just began recovering from the cold. However, that homework needed to be tuned in within the hour, so back out I went, grumbling along the way.
Since I didn’t have my backpack on when I headed back to campus, I felt as light as a feather. I zoomed down those streets like it was nobody’s business. Eventually I made it back to campus…huffing and puffing but nevertheless made it. I reached the T.A. Lab, and as the climax to my journey, threw my homework into the box, took the moment in, and then walked back down the stairs to head home.
On the walk home I felt I was one step away from getting frostbite. I touched my cheeks and didn’t feel a single thing. Not even a little sting of warmth from my hands. Then I started to get a feeling of warmth on my legs and thought things were looking up…until I remembered that people who get frostbite feel warm before losing that limb. Yikes!
Finally, after spending too long outside, I made it home, warmed my frozen limbs, made some quesadillas and watched Project Runway Junior.
Russian
Russian is hard to learn. I really do enjoy learning it, though. Matisse is a wonderful teacher. She is the best because of how much she absolutely loves the language, the people, the culture––everything about the the language and the country, Russia.
It’s interesting to think about when she became interested with the Russian culture and language: in high school, during her senior year, she read Crime and Punishment, by the Russian author Dostoevsky and absolutely loved it. It was because of her love for the author Dostoevsky that she decided to take Russian.
Then, during her freshman year in college, she met Mark Purves, a Russian professor at BYU. She was taking the Dostoevsky class from him and, I think she also took Russian from him, too, that year. Because of their common love for all things Russia, they became good friends. Still today, she and the Purvess (Mark and his family) have a strong friendship.
Oh man, just thinking about the different opportunities she was able to have in Russia is amazing. She has gone on a study abroad twice and also did an internship there for a semester. She interned at a little graphic design studio called Just Be Nice. She was interested in working there because they never designed for any tobacco or alcohol companies just because none of them liked those industries––so cool! Especially since the consumption of alcohol is so big in Russia.
The more I am learning Russian, the more I am loving it. I hope I will be able to do something fun like go on a study abroad to Russia…yeah, that would be cool.
It’s interesting to think about when she became interested with the Russian culture and language: in high school, during her senior year, she read Crime and Punishment, by the Russian author Dostoevsky and absolutely loved it. It was because of her love for the author Dostoevsky that she decided to take Russian.
Then, during her freshman year in college, she met Mark Purves, a Russian professor at BYU. She was taking the Dostoevsky class from him and, I think she also took Russian from him, too, that year. Because of their common love for all things Russia, they became good friends. Still today, she and the Purvess (Mark and his family) have a strong friendship.
Oh man, just thinking about the different opportunities she was able to have in Russia is amazing. She has gone on a study abroad twice and also did an internship there for a semester. She interned at a little graphic design studio called Just Be Nice. She was interested in working there because they never designed for any tobacco or alcohol companies just because none of them liked those industries––so cool! Especially since the consumption of alcohol is so big in Russia.
The more I am learning Russian, the more I am loving it. I hope I will be able to do something fun like go on a study abroad to Russia…yeah, that would be cool.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Sleep
Right now my ears are ringing and I don’t know why. I am tired but can’t get to sleep. Why does this happen to me?
Whenever I become tired, I feel cold. Not cold like I am about to embrace death, but cold as in I need to cozy into something to sleep with sweet dreams. I am cold right now. My body is giving me signs to sleep, but my ears won’t have it. No silence. I can’t sleep with noise. What is wrong?
This happened to me last night, too. I fell asleep in an awkward position doing some homework. I woke up to the noise. It wouldn’t stop. I went downstairs, but my ears still didn’t cease to ring. Then I fell back asleep.
What is this a sign of? Is it a sign? Or am I just sleep deprived? Why are you ringing, ears? Why?
Perhaps the snow is the cause of it. We know that snow can make some crazy static electricity happen in our homes. Whenever I brush my hair, my hair stands up like it is mesmerized by the brush and can’t get enough. Well, I’ve had enough with this ringing. I need to sleep.
I need to learn to sleep amidst the noise if I want to get anywhere.
Whenever I become tired, I feel cold. Not cold like I am about to embrace death, but cold as in I need to cozy into something to sleep with sweet dreams. I am cold right now. My body is giving me signs to sleep, but my ears won’t have it. No silence. I can’t sleep with noise. What is wrong?
This happened to me last night, too. I fell asleep in an awkward position doing some homework. I woke up to the noise. It wouldn’t stop. I went downstairs, but my ears still didn’t cease to ring. Then I fell back asleep.
What is this a sign of? Is it a sign? Or am I just sleep deprived? Why are you ringing, ears? Why?
Perhaps the snow is the cause of it. We know that snow can make some crazy static electricity happen in our homes. Whenever I brush my hair, my hair stands up like it is mesmerized by the brush and can’t get enough. Well, I’ve had enough with this ringing. I need to sleep.
I need to learn to sleep amidst the noise if I want to get anywhere.
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
Duck
As recommended to me by Matisse, here are things having to do with the word “duck” from this week:
Mom was cleaning out an old cookie cutter drawer with Lexi when she came across a duck pen. Lexi just said to throw it away, but Mom said, “No. This is my cute duck pen––I want to keep it!” Really, it was just one of those freebie duck pens from Aflac. Kudos to Aflac making a “cute” pen.
When I was helping at Sister Keller’s house this week, I helped her to prepare dinner for their family. She gave me the recipe for a Thai coconut soup and I began throwing things together in the big pot. All of the ingredients looked delicious: coconut milk, ginger, lemon grass, chicken, onions, etc. After letting the soup simmer for a few minutes, I thought to myself, “Something smells like a duck…what in the world is it!?” Then I realized it was the soup. You would think it would smell delicious from all of the tasty ingredients, but really it ended up smelling like the color brown. It’s like when you mix the colors of the rainbow together expecting something beautiful only to get that nasty color.
Driving to to pick up Chelsea (Lexi’s friend) at her house in Daybreak, I looked over at the frozen pond in the neighborhood and saw all of the ducks huddled in one corner where the water was not frozen. Quite uneventful, but nonetheless had to do with the word “duck.”
Mom was cleaning out an old cookie cutter drawer with Lexi when she came across a duck pen. Lexi just said to throw it away, but Mom said, “No. This is my cute duck pen––I want to keep it!” Really, it was just one of those freebie duck pens from Aflac. Kudos to Aflac making a “cute” pen.
When I was helping at Sister Keller’s house this week, I helped her to prepare dinner for their family. She gave me the recipe for a Thai coconut soup and I began throwing things together in the big pot. All of the ingredients looked delicious: coconut milk, ginger, lemon grass, chicken, onions, etc. After letting the soup simmer for a few minutes, I thought to myself, “Something smells like a duck…what in the world is it!?” Then I realized it was the soup. You would think it would smell delicious from all of the tasty ingredients, but really it ended up smelling like the color brown. It’s like when you mix the colors of the rainbow together expecting something beautiful only to get that nasty color.
Driving to to pick up Chelsea (Lexi’s friend) at her house in Daybreak, I looked over at the frozen pond in the neighborhood and saw all of the ducks huddled in one corner where the water was not frozen. Quite uneventful, but nonetheless had to do with the word “duck.”
Monday, January 23, 2017
Thoughts II
I am sitting here not knowing what to write. The time is currently 11:39 PM. Alexis and Mom are cleaning Mom’s bedroom and I need to go move some trash with Lexi quickly––I’ll be right back.
...
I am back now. The time is 11:49. I have to hurry and pump out at least 200 words.
Today I helped a lady from my home ward clean her house (I go two times a week––she is 29 and has six kids.) This morning when I got ready for the day, I decided to wear a silky fancy shirt with a loose tie on the front and some cargo pants with my boots. I also put my hair up into two buns on the top of my head. When I went over to Sister Keller’s house, her six year old complimented me on my choice of clothing and my hair. I thought to myself: “you know you are doing something right when your fashion sense appeals to a six year old who likes to play dress-ups all day.”
On Saturday my brother found my green watch that I have been looking for since about August. He spontaneously decided to vacuum the couch and low and behold: he found my watch! I am really quite relieved.
I suppose that is all I have to say for today.
...
I am back now. The time is 11:49. I have to hurry and pump out at least 200 words.
Today I helped a lady from my home ward clean her house (I go two times a week––she is 29 and has six kids.) This morning when I got ready for the day, I decided to wear a silky fancy shirt with a loose tie on the front and some cargo pants with my boots. I also put my hair up into two buns on the top of my head. When I went over to Sister Keller’s house, her six year old complimented me on my choice of clothing and my hair. I thought to myself: “you know you are doing something right when your fashion sense appeals to a six year old who likes to play dress-ups all day.”
On Saturday my brother found my green watch that I have been looking for since about August. He spontaneously decided to vacuum the couch and low and behold: he found my watch! I am really quite relieved.
I suppose that is all I have to say for today.
Sunday, January 22, 2017
Instruments
Today I found Matisse’s oboe under the study couch. Matisse is an expert oboe player, but hasn't played regularly since about 2013. In high school, she was the section leader in the symphonic band for two years. Since Matisse was here for Sunday dinner, I invited her to play with me. I have played the flute since 6th grade. I played from 6th grade to 10th grade, but I never did make it into the symphonic band. I enjoy playing, but decided it wasn’t what I wanted to put all of my effort into. So, I haven't played regularly since about 10th grade. However, both out of practice, we decided to give some duets a whirl.
It honestly felt good playing the flute again. I am sure that Matisse enjoyed playing her oboe, too. Since quitting band, some part of me has always missed playing with the large assortment of instruments, all working together to produce a beautiful masterpiece. Playing some duets with Matisse tonight helped quench my thirst to produce something musically bigger than myself.
Our house hasn’t really been filled with the sound of instruments playing since Dad and Spencer passed away. They both played the piano. Dad would play by ear––any tune he knew, he would play right away without any practice. (He was the music director in Bolivia on his LDS mission, but previous to the calling had never played an instrument, so he learned on the spot.) Spencer would work on one piece for a few months, master it, and play so elegantly, bringing peace to all who listened. From Spencer and Dad’s piano playing, a chain reaction would occur: Mom would be prompted to practice her harp, Sam would pull out his trumpet and play a few tunes, Matisse would play some old pieces of music on her oboe, and I would want to join in with my flute. It was the best when we all spontaneously played together. But now, as our family’s numbers have decreased, hearing any instrument being played brings back that sense of comfort and joy felt when we all played together.
It honestly felt good playing the flute again. I am sure that Matisse enjoyed playing her oboe, too. Since quitting band, some part of me has always missed playing with the large assortment of instruments, all working together to produce a beautiful masterpiece. Playing some duets with Matisse tonight helped quench my thirst to produce something musically bigger than myself.
Our house hasn’t really been filled with the sound of instruments playing since Dad and Spencer passed away. They both played the piano. Dad would play by ear––any tune he knew, he would play right away without any practice. (He was the music director in Bolivia on his LDS mission, but previous to the calling had never played an instrument, so he learned on the spot.) Spencer would work on one piece for a few months, master it, and play so elegantly, bringing peace to all who listened. From Spencer and Dad’s piano playing, a chain reaction would occur: Mom would be prompted to practice her harp, Sam would pull out his trumpet and play a few tunes, Matisse would play some old pieces of music on her oboe, and I would want to join in with my flute. It was the best when we all spontaneously played together. But now, as our family’s numbers have decreased, hearing any instrument being played brings back that sense of comfort and joy felt when we all played together.
Saturday, January 21, 2017
1.21.15
Two years ago today, dad passed away. I remember getting ready for school in the morning but before I walked out the door, I said goodbye to him and told him that I loved him. He was asleep on the study couch because during the night, it became hard for him to breathe so he went downstairs to sleep so as to not bother mom. I never thought this would be the last time I would ever see him alive, or be the last thing I would say to him. I am glad that I was able to tell him that I loved him, though. I just regret not giving him another hug.
I was in my French class when I received a note from the front office. It just said that I was being checked out. A chill rushed over me looking at the note. I thought: “I don’t have any doctor’s appointments…I didn’t forget anything important….” Once I got to the front office, I saw my older sister solemnly standing there. My heart began to pound and my hands became all clammy. I asked her what was wrong. She shed a tear while looking at the ground. We walked out of the office and away from the other students in the hall and then she told me: “Hannah, dad has died. He passed away this morning.” I can’t describe the shock I was in. All I remember was curling in on myself like a dead bug and slipping into a storm of tears. I didn’t want to hear those words for at least another 50 years. How could dad be gone? Why did he have to die? Everyone was praying for him to get better. We all had faith he could beat the cancer…I had faith he could beat the cancer….
When we arrived home, I slowly stepped into the study and there it was: a body. This was the body that housed my dad’s spirit for his mortal journey––but he wasn’t there. I hesitated to touch the cold, blue hands. The large-jointed, hairy, artistic hands I always held as a child. I peered around the room, looking at my family shedding the most soulful tears they have ever shed. All I could think was: “Is this real?”
I was in my French class when I received a note from the front office. It just said that I was being checked out. A chill rushed over me looking at the note. I thought: “I don’t have any doctor’s appointments…I didn’t forget anything important….” Once I got to the front office, I saw my older sister solemnly standing there. My heart began to pound and my hands became all clammy. I asked her what was wrong. She shed a tear while looking at the ground. We walked out of the office and away from the other students in the hall and then she told me: “Hannah, dad has died. He passed away this morning.” I can’t describe the shock I was in. All I remember was curling in on myself like a dead bug and slipping into a storm of tears. I didn’t want to hear those words for at least another 50 years. How could dad be gone? Why did he have to die? Everyone was praying for him to get better. We all had faith he could beat the cancer…I had faith he could beat the cancer….
When we arrived home, I slowly stepped into the study and there it was: a body. This was the body that housed my dad’s spirit for his mortal journey––but he wasn’t there. I hesitated to touch the cold, blue hands. The large-jointed, hairy, artistic hands I always held as a child. I peered around the room, looking at my family shedding the most soulful tears they have ever shed. All I could think was: “Is this real?”
Friday, January 20, 2017
Taste
When I was a little girl I had the craziest diet. Thankfully, I’ve changed my ways…on some things.
In first grade, the only sandwich I would ever allow to grace my palette was an American cheese sandwich with miracle whip on white bread. Ew. But my first grader mind thought it was pure bliss. I also loved to eat the shredded Colby-Jack cheese straight out of a cup. That was my go-to movie snack. But oh my goodness, how I loved pickles. I blame the Andy Griffith Show, since I watched an episode where they made and ate so many pickles. Still, to this day, anytime I watch that episode, I crave pickles. Onions, mustard, and the purple and green ketchup were also quite popular with my childish taste-buds. I never understood why I was the only one that ate the purple and green ketchup. I thought it was so magical…as magical as throw-up….
Today, I still love pickles, mustard and onions. However, my relationship with the purple and green ketchup, white bread, and American cheese was severed long ago. That ship has most definitely sailed. Sailed to the edge of the world only to fall off and never return.
But really, in all seriousness: who came up with purple and green mustard. I mean, really?
In first grade, the only sandwich I would ever allow to grace my palette was an American cheese sandwich with miracle whip on white bread. Ew. But my first grader mind thought it was pure bliss. I also loved to eat the shredded Colby-Jack cheese straight out of a cup. That was my go-to movie snack. But oh my goodness, how I loved pickles. I blame the Andy Griffith Show, since I watched an episode where they made and ate so many pickles. Still, to this day, anytime I watch that episode, I crave pickles. Onions, mustard, and the purple and green ketchup were also quite popular with my childish taste-buds. I never understood why I was the only one that ate the purple and green ketchup. I thought it was so magical…as magical as throw-up….
Today, I still love pickles, mustard and onions. However, my relationship with the purple and green ketchup, white bread, and American cheese was severed long ago. That ship has most definitely sailed. Sailed to the edge of the world only to fall off and never return.
But really, in all seriousness: who came up with purple and green mustard. I mean, really?
Thursday, January 19, 2017
Generals
Sitting in my physical science class yesterday, I kept wondering why in the world BYU would require all of its students to take required classes that cover a large variety of subjects. If someone has already found their major, why do they need to take these other classes that won't have anything having to do with their future? Then I remembered something that my dad said, going along the lines of, "If you're a mathematician, take poetry. If you're an artist, take physics." I was confused as to why my dad would say such a thing, but now I finally understand what he meant.
When we find what we want to do in college, we seem to develop tunnel-vision and only focus on finding the quickest routes to graduation. The generals here at BYU make it a lengthier process. However, when we broaden our scope and take classes we wouldn't usually take, we are bettering ourselves. Only focusing on one subject of knowledge for the rest of our lives is a disadvantage to us. The knowledge we gain here is one of the few things we take with us when we leave this life. So why restrict ourselves? Why suppress our learning just for the sake to get things done quickly? We need to culture ourselves, develop new perspectives and appreciate the beauty in life. Taking classes that we would't usually choose to take broaden our views on various subjects and help us to be more understanding. We need to step out of our comfort zones to get an accurate read of life. We can't stay cooped up and blind.
When we find what we want to do in college, we seem to develop tunnel-vision and only focus on finding the quickest routes to graduation. The generals here at BYU make it a lengthier process. However, when we broaden our scope and take classes we wouldn't usually take, we are bettering ourselves. Only focusing on one subject of knowledge for the rest of our lives is a disadvantage to us. The knowledge we gain here is one of the few things we take with us when we leave this life. So why restrict ourselves? Why suppress our learning just for the sake to get things done quickly? We need to culture ourselves, develop new perspectives and appreciate the beauty in life. Taking classes that we would't usually choose to take broaden our views on various subjects and help us to be more understanding. We need to step out of our comfort zones to get an accurate read of life. We can't stay cooped up and blind.
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
Hope
There is always hope. Living in the world we are in today often makes it hard to remember that. Whenever the going gets tough, we just want to “go.” Giving up is always an easy option, but what is there to gain from it? What do you learn from it, besides learning that you are acting like a coward? It is impossible to set your course in life and continue down it with no interruptions. But that is what life is all about. I mean, how boring would life be if everything was planned out perfectly and you knew absolutely everything that would go down in your life. Sure it would be “comfortable,” but that is not what we are here to experience. We will have plenty of rest once our mission here on the earth is finished. A life without challenges is not worth living. There would be no growing. Only shallow relationships would develop. There would be no curiosity, no adventure and no trials to prove who you truly are. Life can be brutal at times, and during those times you want to give up and say “it’s too much.” I am here to tell you that there is no such thing as “too much,” only the mindset of hopelessness. And, quite frankly, that is flimsy to think like that because there is always hope. Hope can manifest itself daily to encourage you to keep moving forward. Hope can be found in the quiet moments spent alone. It is manifest during your conversations with your grandparents. It is manifest when forgiveness is shown. It is manifest when a child is born. It is manifest when you attend a funeral. In short, hope is all around us, encouraging us to press forward finish this race that is life. We just have to choose to see it.
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
Engaged
My brother Sam has never been on a date in his life and he is now 23. However, as of late last night, my family and I were notified that he got engaged! What!?
Sam has been dating one of my sister’s friends––Myrtle––since July. However, when they first met, no one expected anything to develop. Actually, when they first started dating, no none even knew that they were. That is, except for my other sister, Olivia (who is Myrtle’s current roommate), who doesn’t give us any updates about their relationship, like whether they are holding hands, snuggling, or have even kissed yet. So, since I didn’t know they had been doing any of this, in my mind, they jumped from the hand-holding stage (which I have never witnessed by the way), to the engaged stage. I guess it is so weird for me to think that Sam and Myrtle are engaged because before Alexis got engaged, everyone knew about her and Aaron’s relationship and what level they were on, since we sisters naturally divulge everything to each other. Sam on the other hand is famous for his one word replies such as, “yeah,” “no,” and occasionally odd responses to when we ask where he is going such as, “I am going to talk to the aliens and convince them to take you away” or “Neverland,” which has become a popular response of his.
While I am slightly surprised (and honestly befuddled at what a practical wedding they want with no engagement ring, both gold bands with no diamonds or sapphires, no bouquet and no reception), I am still really happy for Sam and Myrtle and for their choice to marry each other. They do seem like a good match and I am looking forward to their wedding day…and when Sam moves all of his biking stuff out of the house. But, for sentimental purposes: just excited for their wedding.
Sam has been dating one of my sister’s friends––Myrtle––since July. However, when they first met, no one expected anything to develop. Actually, when they first started dating, no none even knew that they were. That is, except for my other sister, Olivia (who is Myrtle’s current roommate), who doesn’t give us any updates about their relationship, like whether they are holding hands, snuggling, or have even kissed yet. So, since I didn’t know they had been doing any of this, in my mind, they jumped from the hand-holding stage (which I have never witnessed by the way), to the engaged stage. I guess it is so weird for me to think that Sam and Myrtle are engaged because before Alexis got engaged, everyone knew about her and Aaron’s relationship and what level they were on, since we sisters naturally divulge everything to each other. Sam on the other hand is famous for his one word replies such as, “yeah,” “no,” and occasionally odd responses to when we ask where he is going such as, “I am going to talk to the aliens and convince them to take you away” or “Neverland,” which has become a popular response of his.
While I am slightly surprised (and honestly befuddled at what a practical wedding they want with no engagement ring, both gold bands with no diamonds or sapphires, no bouquet and no reception), I am still really happy for Sam and Myrtle and for their choice to marry each other. They do seem like a good match and I am looking forward to their wedding day…and when Sam moves all of his biking stuff out of the house. But, for sentimental purposes: just excited for their wedding.
Monday, January 16, 2017
Antiques
Today Alexis, Mom, Chelsea (Lexi’s friend) and I all went to an antiques warehouse in Salt Lake City. The warehouse was monstrous. I found out that the owner has been collecting antiques for over 40 years now; the warehouse was evidence of that. There was so. Much. Stuff. He has been collecting things from all over the world, too. Most of his things seemed to consist of coming from all over Europe. I just couldn’t believe how many antiques he had. I also couldn’t believe how big some of the china cabinets and bookcases were. There was one cabinet that was, no joke, probably 15 feet tall and 10 feet wide. It was a beast. Quite literally too since it had a lion’s head on top…
In the very back of the warehouse he had a “50% off” section, but all that was was seriously just a hug pile of garbage. Broken chairs, tables, headboards, cabinets, metal racks, etc. all in a huge heap piled up to the ceiling (which is about 30 feet tall). Some oddities I found that were quite interesting were: a baby Eames chair (that was for a child, and the size was just too cute), a rather beautiful french provincial vanity, a rusty suit of armor, and an old grand piano from the early 1900s or possibly even late 1800’s. Overall, though, I did enjoy myself. But I decided that I never want to be an antique’s dealer since all it seems to be is working in a crowded store full of odd, old items that pile up and hoard the space.
In the very back of the warehouse he had a “50% off” section, but all that was was seriously just a hug pile of garbage. Broken chairs, tables, headboards, cabinets, metal racks, etc. all in a huge heap piled up to the ceiling (which is about 30 feet tall). Some oddities I found that were quite interesting were: a baby Eames chair (that was for a child, and the size was just too cute), a rather beautiful french provincial vanity, a rusty suit of armor, and an old grand piano from the early 1900s or possibly even late 1800’s. Overall, though, I did enjoy myself. But I decided that I never want to be an antique’s dealer since all it seems to be is working in a crowded store full of odd, old items that pile up and hoard the space.
Sunday, January 15, 2017
Feet
Some of the most uncomfortable things you can experience in life involve your feet. Here are two examples:
If it is raining outside and puddles begin to form, but you are feeling confident in your ankle rain boots and march straight thorough a puddle, you just made a big mistake. The puddle ends up being a whole lot deeper than you were planning and then BOOM! Water is gushing into your boot. Dang. It. All. Now you have a soggy foot for the rest of the day. You don’t take your shoe off and replace the sock because you have somewhere to go, so all day your foot feels like it is slowly rotting away. Either that or you are beginning your transformation into a mermaid…starting with your feet. That’s odd.
Or the other uncomfortable scenario: you are sitting in a classroom in your fancy high-top white “sneaks” and are feeling too cool for school. But then, you feel that little twinge on the arch of your foot. You panic and slam your foot to the ground to try and stop the inevitable, but it happens anyway: the arch itch. There are only two ways things can go now: untie your shoe and grace your peers with the delight-some smell of your sweaty foot and the sight of the elegant fuzz between your toes, or be a soldier and tough it out. Those who know what’s best for society tough it out. You end up being one of those soldiers. Brave you…but seriously, thank you.
In conclusion, be weary of any rain puddles you come across when walking outside in a rainstorm, and don’t wear high-tops to school. Or really, just amputate your feet, then all of your problems will be solved.
Yeah, just do that.
If it is raining outside and puddles begin to form, but you are feeling confident in your ankle rain boots and march straight thorough a puddle, you just made a big mistake. The puddle ends up being a whole lot deeper than you were planning and then BOOM! Water is gushing into your boot. Dang. It. All. Now you have a soggy foot for the rest of the day. You don’t take your shoe off and replace the sock because you have somewhere to go, so all day your foot feels like it is slowly rotting away. Either that or you are beginning your transformation into a mermaid…starting with your feet. That’s odd.
Or the other uncomfortable scenario: you are sitting in a classroom in your fancy high-top white “sneaks” and are feeling too cool for school. But then, you feel that little twinge on the arch of your foot. You panic and slam your foot to the ground to try and stop the inevitable, but it happens anyway: the arch itch. There are only two ways things can go now: untie your shoe and grace your peers with the delight-some smell of your sweaty foot and the sight of the elegant fuzz between your toes, or be a soldier and tough it out. Those who know what’s best for society tough it out. You end up being one of those soldiers. Brave you…but seriously, thank you.
In conclusion, be weary of any rain puddles you come across when walking outside in a rainstorm, and don’t wear high-tops to school. Or really, just amputate your feet, then all of your problems will be solved.
Yeah, just do that.
Saturday, January 14, 2017
Ew
When I was born, I had heart surgery and, as a result, have scars. I have one scar on my chest, one on my back and a few little scars along my rib cage from the drainage tubes. My cardiologist, at my last checkup, mentioned that I still had a stitch in my back and said it would be a simple task to take it out with a pair of tweezers and no longer have that dark spot on my back. Tonight, I ventured to take it out.
My first attempt was after I showered, since he recommended that I do it then because my skin would be moist and make the task easier. I grabbed the tweezers, looked in the mirror and tried my best to reach all the way around and take it out. Alas, to my travail, I couldn’t get it out. My older sister, Alexis, is visiting from Boston for the next few months, and I remembered that she loves doing things like this––picking at anything abnormal on the skin. So, naturally, I asked her assistance. She jumped at the offer. I swabbed the tweezers and a needle and then it began: I laid down on the floor, Alexis sat on my back performing the surgery and mom held the phone light. After about a half an hour though, Alexis came to the conclusion that the stitch must have fallen out previously because she couldn’t find it in the scar tissue. However, she said that the scar tissue grew to be like a little loop on my back. Or rather, a piercing. In fact, she took the liberty to stick the needle through the hole, and indeed, it looked like a legit piercing. So now, I can say I have a “back-piercing.” Talk about being hard core: getting a “back-piercing” from a cardiologist. Aw yeh!
No...
no, never mind.
My first attempt was after I showered, since he recommended that I do it then because my skin would be moist and make the task easier. I grabbed the tweezers, looked in the mirror and tried my best to reach all the way around and take it out. Alas, to my travail, I couldn’t get it out. My older sister, Alexis, is visiting from Boston for the next few months, and I remembered that she loves doing things like this––picking at anything abnormal on the skin. So, naturally, I asked her assistance. She jumped at the offer. I swabbed the tweezers and a needle and then it began: I laid down on the floor, Alexis sat on my back performing the surgery and mom held the phone light. After about a half an hour though, Alexis came to the conclusion that the stitch must have fallen out previously because she couldn’t find it in the scar tissue. However, she said that the scar tissue grew to be like a little loop on my back. Or rather, a piercing. In fact, she took the liberty to stick the needle through the hole, and indeed, it looked like a legit piercing. So now, I can say I have a “back-piercing.” Talk about being hard core: getting a “back-piercing” from a cardiologist. Aw yeh!
No...
no, never mind.
Friday, January 13, 2017
Accio, Strawberry!
Written in Mad Libs style
Once upon a millennia, there was a poodle named William. William had a good friend: a strawberry. Not just any strawberry, he was friends with a special fuzzy one. This fuzzy strawberry’s name was Eunice. William and Eunice met one day in Connecticut when William was looking at a shiny pencil in a strawberry patch. He was about to eat the fuzzy strawberry until Eunice jumped on him and proclaimed: “Howdy!” and scared William to sleep. Eunice woke William up by skiing down his nose. It did just just the thing and woke him up! They became fast friends and William let Eunice hitch a ride on his toe.
Soon enough, they ran into Justin Bieber! Justin Bieber was visiting Connecticut for the release of his new album named “Turnip For What!?” Eunice was so thrilled to meet Justin Bieber she begged him to bellow one of his new songs for her. Justin agreed and sang his new, most popular song titled “Fritter.” William couldn’t handle Justin’s singing and squeezed away with Eunice. Justin declared: “Oh bananas!”
Once Eunice and William were 5 yards away they decided to get avocado dessert. After they finished their scrumdidillyumptious dessert, William sprang Eunice home to her strawberry patch. And they have thrived happily ever after since.
Once upon a millennia, there was a poodle named William. William had a good friend: a strawberry. Not just any strawberry, he was friends with a special fuzzy one. This fuzzy strawberry’s name was Eunice. William and Eunice met one day in Connecticut when William was looking at a shiny pencil in a strawberry patch. He was about to eat the fuzzy strawberry until Eunice jumped on him and proclaimed: “Howdy!” and scared William to sleep. Eunice woke William up by skiing down his nose. It did just just the thing and woke him up! They became fast friends and William let Eunice hitch a ride on his toe.
Soon enough, they ran into Justin Bieber! Justin Bieber was visiting Connecticut for the release of his new album named “Turnip For What!?” Eunice was so thrilled to meet Justin Bieber she begged him to bellow one of his new songs for her. Justin agreed and sang his new, most popular song titled “Fritter.” William couldn’t handle Justin’s singing and squeezed away with Eunice. Justin declared: “Oh bananas!”
Once Eunice and William were 5 yards away they decided to get avocado dessert. After they finished their scrumdidillyumptious dessert, William sprang Eunice home to her strawberry patch. And they have thrived happily ever after since.
Thursday, January 12, 2017
Thoughts
Shopping can be exciting. As long as you have money and have previously scouted out some good pieces of clothing before heading to the mall. However, dreams can be shattered if the one thing you like in the store doesn’t fit you. Gosh. That always stinks. However, it’s odd because a lot of the time whenever I have money to spend, or if someone gives me money as a gift, I never find anything that I want. Why is that? Talk about first world problems. When you are so graciously gifted money, you can’t find the things you have always been complaining about wanting.
Well…right now I am sitting next to my niece cat: Dasha. She is pint-sized cat. Quite literally; you could probably stuff her in a pint jar and she would fit just fine. The odd thing is that she is fully grown. My sister Olivia just scared her with a cat drawing. She ran and hid under the couch. I can’t blame her though, the drawing is a creepy Russian rendition of a fluffy house cat. Goodness, only in America are you an aunt to a cat. Olivia, Matisse, and Alexis all have cats. Actually, Lexi has two. Felix, the big boy cat, is a lil’ stinker. Everyone thinks he is so love-y-dove-y, but I think he is secretly planning the demise of us all. Every time he sticks his paw on your face (which everyone thinks is the cutest thing in the world––a litter-covered paw mushed against your face), I can just imagine him saying: “I own you.” We think we own the cat, but the cat really owns us.
Well, that’s all I have for today. We’ll have to see what other ramblings I have for tomorrow.
Well…right now I am sitting next to my niece cat: Dasha. She is pint-sized cat. Quite literally; you could probably stuff her in a pint jar and she would fit just fine. The odd thing is that she is fully grown. My sister Olivia just scared her with a cat drawing. She ran and hid under the couch. I can’t blame her though, the drawing is a creepy Russian rendition of a fluffy house cat. Goodness, only in America are you an aunt to a cat. Olivia, Matisse, and Alexis all have cats. Actually, Lexi has two. Felix, the big boy cat, is a lil’ stinker. Everyone thinks he is so love-y-dove-y, but I think he is secretly planning the demise of us all. Every time he sticks his paw on your face (which everyone thinks is the cutest thing in the world––a litter-covered paw mushed against your face), I can just imagine him saying: “I own you.” We think we own the cat, but the cat really owns us.
Well, that’s all I have for today. We’ll have to see what other ramblings I have for tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
Dad
The John Wayne movies are gathering dust on the shelf without you here. It doesn’t make sense to watch them without you. You were the only one who could get me to sit down and watch a cowboy flick with you for two hours. (You were also the only one who got me to sit down with you to watch the whole four hours of the movie The Ten Commandments. While you did fall asleep after the first hour, I still enjoyed sitting next to you. But that’s beside the point.)
I miss cooking with you in the kitchen on Sunday, preparing our family dinner. I still remember you telling me that your favorite thing to cook was the mushrooms for the chicken marsala. You told me that you would love to watch the liquid escape from the mushrooms when you put them in the hot pan. Now, I have the sole duty of preparing Sunday dinner. I wear your worn-out jean apron while I cook. It makes me feel like you are still there with me helping me make dinner for everyone.
Knowing the passion you had for graphic design and art still inspires me today. I’ve actually decided to follow in your footsteps and do graphic design. I’m not actually sure if I am going to major in it, but I currently am a graphic designer at the Clyde. It’s been challenging trying to design beautiful things without your input and guidance. I just hope I am making you somewhat proud.
Oh Dad, I miss and think about you everyday. I’m sorry for the hardships you had to endure from the brain cancer, but I feel reassured when thinking of the state of rest and peace you are now in. I love you Dad, and can’t wait until I get to see you again.
Love,
Hannah
I miss cooking with you in the kitchen on Sunday, preparing our family dinner. I still remember you telling me that your favorite thing to cook was the mushrooms for the chicken marsala. You told me that you would love to watch the liquid escape from the mushrooms when you put them in the hot pan. Now, I have the sole duty of preparing Sunday dinner. I wear your worn-out jean apron while I cook. It makes me feel like you are still there with me helping me make dinner for everyone.
Knowing the passion you had for graphic design and art still inspires me today. I’ve actually decided to follow in your footsteps and do graphic design. I’m not actually sure if I am going to major in it, but I currently am a graphic designer at the Clyde. It’s been challenging trying to design beautiful things without your input and guidance. I just hope I am making you somewhat proud.
Oh Dad, I miss and think about you everyday. I’m sorry for the hardships you had to endure from the brain cancer, but I feel reassured when thinking of the state of rest and peace you are now in. I love you Dad, and can’t wait until I get to see you again.
Love,
Hannah
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Stairs
“I can’t do this but I’m doing it anyway” is what I think every morning when I climb up the stairs next to the duck pond on campus to get to class. Well, let’s be real: it’s what I think as I hike up the never ending stairs, not to heaven mind you, while concentrating on the cracked ground pretending I am in shape and not panting with a racing heartbeat like a sinner in church. All the while passing, or rather being passed by, fellow students (or rather mountain goats in disguise) prancing up the stairs in the morning. This all goes down next to the funky smelling duck pond on campus that I believe to be overrated, yet is still believed to be one of the most “romantic” places to take your sweetheart and propose to among the emotionless and dopey ducks.
Finally, after the impossible has been accomplished: reaching the top of the stairs, my legs have become limp, overcooked noodles and I walk as if my legs were just that. Then the inevitable begins: the runny nose. The continuous panting forced in and out through my nose along with the cold air brings about the infamous runny nose.
So there I am: a limp-noodle-legged, ground-appreciating, sniffling freshman wobbling to class. They said college would be “fun” and would be the “best experience of your life.” Ha. They all must have been exercise science majors now that I’ve experienced the college-sponsored stair workout.
Finally, after the impossible has been accomplished: reaching the top of the stairs, my legs have become limp, overcooked noodles and I walk as if my legs were just that. Then the inevitable begins: the runny nose. The continuous panting forced in and out through my nose along with the cold air brings about the infamous runny nose.
So there I am: a limp-noodle-legged, ground-appreciating, sniffling freshman wobbling to class. They said college would be “fun” and would be the “best experience of your life.” Ha. They all must have been exercise science majors now that I’ve experienced the college-sponsored stair workout.
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