Too Vague?

Hello faithful fans, faithful strangers...unsuspecting browsers. And "next blog" clickers.

I've been meaning to post for a while....

Which is usually the story. (My brother would yell right now if he were reading this: NO EXCUSES! NOW GET DOWN AND GIVE ME TWENTY......)......*pause*........

[Twenty Push Ups Later]

But you know how life is. Busy writing papers and finishing finals. Busy quitting jobs and getting new ones. Busy watching movies and taking naps. . . (woe-est me) ((Yes I am aware the phrase is actually "woe is me"))(((not really.....I actually typed "woe-est me" and then googled it.....so I guess NOW I'm aware the phrase is actually "woe is me". No judgers here, friend. There's the door.)))

But it's still a really good thing to count your blessings. I continue to stand by that belief today. Grateful people are happy people. I testify of it. Amen. Hallelujah. All of that good stuff.

I digress.

There has been plenty of things I've pondered writing about. . . roommates and how wonderful they are. . . cherished memories and how lifting they can be. . . family, friends, good food and random dance parties in the living room. . .  (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GI3RGfC7fv8). . . .

But I suppose I just want to say that I'm grateful for life in general. I know that that may sound sort of like a cop out. You're thinking right now "oh wow that's profound....just be grateful for everything! Wow, Missa, Wow! Way to be vague, you indecisive silly nilly".

To that I say: okay, first of all... who says silly nilly?? I can't believe that popped into your head. Out of all the things you might have called me (either better fitting or more offensive) you pick silly nilly? Wow. Impressive.

And then I'd go on to say: Yes. Life in general. I'm grateful for the tears I've cried these past few months. I'm glad I feel so much for others. I'm glad I've been blessed with a heart that is sensitive. I used to think it a curse.  I'd get so depressed every time someone would tell me something bad had happened to them. Super depressed. I'd soak in all the bad and pray to God to relieve my loved ones--and strangers, even--to help me make their burdens light.....unable to do so would ruin me....I've suffered depression from this...many times......I'm still like that to an extent. Though now I pray to God to help me know when I've reached my limits and to have peace in my heart that I cannot solve every person's problem no matter how hard I try.....I still try.....I'm grateful. I've cried tears for my own woes. I've cried because of something a loved one said to me. Hurtful. I'm grateful for these moments because they teach me more about myself and how to understand others....to consider why they would say such a thing. To see a new perspective and grow a little bit stronger..... I'm grateful.

I'm grateful for all the silly moments. For all the times I've looked like a fool and  made someone laugh. I do that. I do that a lot. I feel the need to fill silence with jokes and puns. I get into this zone and there's no guessing what will happen. I make a fool of myself. I am aware. I know some people laugh with me in good fun and others stare at me like I'm an idiot. I'm grateful though. I love to laugh. I love to laugh at myself and make others have a good time. Sometimes it is at the expense of my own dignity. But that is okay. I'm grateful for those who also make me laugh. My brothers are the funniest people I have ever known. We laugh for days when we're together. I swore I wouldn't tell anyone about this just because it was so silly but just the other day Andrew, Erk, and I came up with a little game on the whim. Erik had just gotten home with a bunch of cash tips. Andrew, being Andrew, took the cash and slapped me across the face with it. My face stinging a bit he yelled "guess how much!" I'd guess and then I'd take the pile of dollar bills and slap him across the face. He'd guess and it'd continue. The winner got to slap the loser across the face with the money five times in a row. hahaha....goodness we were laughing so hard just because it was so stupid. Erik would tell us if we were right or not whenever we guessed.....Stupid, funny, childish---I'll take it all. Life is no life at all without being silly.

I'm grateful for hard things. For having to do things that stretch me and push me to my limits. I'm glad I feel stressed sometimes and experience tough challenges in my life. I've learned so much.

I'm grateful for awkward conversations and painful small talk. I always joke with my brothers when we go to Wal Mart here in my home town. I tell them that the name of the game is to not run into anyone I know--especially people I went to school with. Small talk is so forced so awkward. But I'm grateful because it means people still have manners. Plus, its usually something to laugh about later (as soon as we get out of ear shot). I have a hard time going to church too. But it's the opposite effect. I'm always really happy to see people and so I just go into crazy hug mode and hug them all. Because I hug them all one time now I feel like I have to hug them every time I see them--just to be consistent ya know? And sometimes I feel like people get a little weirded out by that. But eh. I'm grateful for them putting up with me and my crazy huggy self. Hug one, gotta hug 'em all. C'mon....I know you do the same thing! Don't even lie!

I'm grateful for a warm home, a wonderful family, and true friends. I was able to see one of my BFFs on Thursday. She's 8 years older than me with 5 kids but goodness I just adore that lady. Leslie is really, sincerely the coolest. I enjoy our visits and rock climbing with her and just hanging out. All of my high school friends I feel don't really give a hoot what I do or if they see me when I come back to Colorado but golly....Leslie just is amazing at making you feel so loved. She's like that with many people she meets too. Her and her family is just a blessing and I'm so glad she likes to hang out with me even if I'm a bit young and naive. I'm so grateful for her.
My aunt Vicki and Uncle Steve also came to Colorado for Christmas this year. All three of their children are out on their missions and I can tell they miss them so much. It was so great seeing them and bonding with them. I'm glad they could come out. I could tell they needed it. Family being there for each other is just one of the greatest things to be a part of and witness in life.
And of course, I love seeing my brudders and parents and grandparents.

Goodness I'm spoiled.

I could go on. I could cover every aspect of life and the next thing you know, you'd have read thirty pages of this strange blogger you've never even met (or have met and never dreamed of learning so much about).

Just be grateful, friends.

Be grateful for this life you have been given. It is so fragile and precious. You are so precious. You are so loved. I'm grateful for you as well, good people. I get views on my blog every day. I don't know who you are. Maybe you're the people who keep adding me on facebook (which, by the way--if you are--I'm really sorry but I just don't feel comfortable with adding foreign strangers on the Facebook page.....nothing personal....please stop adding me...). So thank you. Thank you for showing interest in my seemingly small life over in my small corner of the world.

Give thanks always and have a wonderful, Happy New Year!
:)

Make it a good one, party people.

no really....

I already have my (non-alcoholic) party hat on. Do you?

Those striving for change

I went to a change maker fair yesterday. Peery Film Festival. There were a number of inspiring films dealing with global issues, describing amazing projects, and showing success and failure with such projects. Booths lined the JFSB lobby.
So many booths.

So many students.

So many ideas and dedicated people to making the world a better place.

I took fliers on micro-enterprise, social ventures, projects dealing with educating the world, projects that help people in developing countries build businesses--get out of poverty, stop human trafficking. I joined an international development club and an international amnesty club.

I watched a movie about a program called Vasanti (maybe, that might not be the right name) that gave loans to students all around the globe--loans through donations! Working with banks and schools, students were finding the means to become educated in high risk areas. It was wonderful!

I saw Girl Rising.

The film was beautiful, heart breaking. I plan on buying the film and organizing a community viewing. Soon.  

These are real problems. Big problems. 

I cried. I laughed. I smiled. I was filled with joy and sadness. 

At the end of the night, my heart was full. 

So many students speaking to internship recruiters. So many people who care about what goes on in the world.  It was incredible. 

I'm grateful such people exist. I'm grateful for all those I saw in the films who live and persevere in harsh conditions, against all odds. I'm grateful for the organizations and projects and students and ideas that are being put forth. I'm grateful for all the books I'm reading and all the wisdom I'm receiving from authors who have gone before me. Invaluable knowledge sitting on my shelf. 

This field is new and exciting. Never before has an international development career been at the level of demand as it is now. And it continues to rise. People continue to join the forces. 

It's beautiful. Maybe that's why I was born during this time period. 

To join those forces. 

I'd like to think so. 

Cheers to change. 

Now go watch Girl Rising and educate yourself.  

The day I realized I was a feminist

I was first kissed by a boy at the young age of fourteen. He was sixteen, beautiful, and ridiculously smooth. I had never (nor have I since) felt such a rush. Heart pounding, face blushing, my knees went weak and I physically felt dizzy. I don't think I stopped smiling for the next twenty-four hours. After that my whole world became consumed with concern of what he thought, what he liked, what he said, how he acted, and if he liked me as much as I liked him.

He broke my heart after I refused him sex one summer, Saturday afternoon.

When I was seventeen, two of my good friends were raped. I sobbed with both on two different, separate occasions. I remember sitting in the grass, my shoulder soaked from tears, holding each other.

I was weird because I enjoyed math and chemistry in high school, laughed at because I didn't feel comfortable when told dirty jokes and didn't appreciate the boys saying sexual things to me. After high school, I had a manager once tell me that I was only hired to look at. He made his intentions very clear on more than one occasion. When his sexual harassment ceased to desist, I quit.

Once, a boy pinned me against a wall and shoved his tongue down my throat. I was at a friend's house and went into the bathroom to relieve myself. He was hiding in the shower.  He was my boyfriend's brother.

I was taught to never go out alone at night and to dress modestly in order to keep young men pure. I have pepper spray and sometimes feel anxiety when I'm left home alone for a long period of time. In college, my opinion in a group of men usually goes unnoticed. I always have to prove myself before anyone will take me seriously.

On first dates when telling a gentleman of my career plans I often get the inquiry: "oh...so you don't want children?"
Once a job recruiter explicitly stated that the job he was recruiting for wasn't suitable for me because I was a woman. It was a door-to-door sales job. A job I had once before in the past. He didn't even ask me about my skills or experience.

I dated a guy once who left a bruise on my right arm. He was angry with me and instead of hitting me, he pinned me against the wall and bit me.

I've been told multiple times that I need to get married and find a man. Married women feel the need to reassure me that "there's a guy out there for me" and I've been set up on more blind dates than I care to remember.

I'm not baring my soul and airing my dirty laundry to victimize myself. No, that's not my point. I've had to rely heavily on my savior, Jesus Christ, and the Atonement to let go of a lot of anger, bitterness, and hurt. Through Him I testify that I am whole. I don't hate men. I don't believe that women who stay home and take care of their children are "doing it all wrong" nor do I wish to hold the priesthood (if you're not Mormon and don't understand this, go ahead and contact your local missionaries and visit the lds.org website). I do want to get married someday and have a family and yes, I believe that men and women are inherently different. Equity can still exist even when men and women differ.
Here's my point: sexism still exists. Men and women are not playing on a level field. The quality of living for women is very much lessened especially in developing countries. This is a problem. It's a problem for everyone. Do I believe that women should take the place of men and dominate? No. Do I believe that men and women should work together on an equal base? Yes. I've experienced the degradation and attitudes that come along with being a woman. Women live in a different world than men. It's upsetting to me that my bodily integrity and that of women I love around me is constantly at risk. The domestic violence rates are ridiculous. The small, every day, attitudes and sexist comments are degrading. Women are even attacking women and furthering the damaging process.
So this is what I mean when I say that I'm a feminist:
Society needs to change--the world needs to change. Women need to be taken into consideration more often especially in making policies and laws. Women need to be encouraged to pursue their education and goals, not held back or demeaned. Safety for women needs to be more of a priority. Job security for women also needs to be more of a priority (the number one predictor of poverty in America today is being a mother--not a father, or a single adult--a mother (*Hudson et al.)). The reproductive activities in the form of child raising and household duties need to be considered in economics and appreciated ("the unpaid labor of women, if valued monetarily, would translate into about 40% of the world's gross product" -UNIFEM). Every man and woman should have the right to choose who they marry and when they marry. Every man, woman, and child should have the right to realize their full potential and have peace and safety as they live their lives.
As a feminist, I hope for a better world and am willing to fight for it. Therefore, I simply do not understand all the stigma surrounding the word, "feminist".
I am a feminist.

So, no. I don't appreciate the women jokes, the stereotypical comments, or being evaluated like a piece of meat.  I hate songs and other media where women are seen as sexual objects and despise movies and TV shows that couple sex and violence towards women.

But this is a gratitude blog and not just one for soapbox moments.
I'm grateful for my Savior and the Atonement, for the gospel, and wonderful social support I feel being a Latter Day Saint. For those who helped my dear friends who were raped as they went through such a traumatizing point in their life. I'm grateful for the wonderful men in my life, namely my five wonderful brothers, my wonderful father, my two grandpas and great grandfathers, and all my uncles and cousins as well as those gentlemen I continue to meet who give me hope. I cannot give thanks enough to my Father in Heaven for the education I am receiving and the many opportunities I am being presented with. I'm grateful for the comfort I find through prayer and for being born into such a wonderful family. I continue to be blessed by so many wonderful women in my life who encourage, support, and treasure--not only me--but all others they come into contact with. They are surely such a gift to the world. My mother is so very dear to my heart. I'm grateful for her showing me the value of being sensitive, loving, and tender. I treasure my relationship with my mother immensely. Both of my grandmothers are such a tremendous blessing  in my life. They bring so much light and love into the world and I truly, deeply admire and respect and love them and all that they do. My aunts and cousins are also extraordinary women whom I very much appreciate and adore. I can't even begin to iterate how much I respect, love and am thankful for my sister-in-law.
I'm grateful for the programs and people who are fighting for women in all countries and my heart leaps for joy whenever I hear of parents who refuse to bind their little girls' feet, who do not leave their baby girls in trash cans and who fight and even runaway with their daughters when their lives are threatened due to cultural "laws". I'm grateful for these good people. I'm grateful for the men who stand up to other men for women. If men did this more often, I really do believe that the world would change over night.

I'm not bitter. I'm a happy person. I have the light of Christ in my life and am very blessed.
Valerie Hudson, a woman I highly admire, once said that the most feminist thing a person can do is share the gospel of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

I'm a feminist...I'm not a bad, crazy person. I'm not a man hater. I shouldn't be feared. I just want to change the world for the better.




*Hudson, V.; Ballif-Spanvill, B.; Caprioli, M.; & Emmett, C. Sex and World Peace 

Thankful for callings in the church

Little Place

Where shall I work today, dear Lord
and my love flowed warm and free.
He answered and said,
"See that little place?
Tend that place for me".
 
I answered and I said,
"Oh no, not there,
No one would ever see
No matter how well my work was done,
Not that little place for me!"
 
His voice when He spoke,
Was soft and kind,
He answered me tenderly,
"Little one, search that heart of thine,
Are you working for them or Me?"
 
"Nazareth was a little place,
And so was Galilee."

Source: /Devotions for Women on the Go/, Stephen Arterburn & Pam Farrel

I don't know about you, but I'm feeling Twenty-two

It’s the eve of my twenty-second birthday. 

I suppose I should put up a blog post.

Something cheesy that encompasses fully my twenty-two years of life. Something in which you random people who seem to stumble across my blog every few days (I’m looking at you, Europeans) will read and reflect your life with a new sense of “inspiration” and set out half-heartedly ready to make a difference in the world and change your life only to wake up the next day to the same mindset, place, and same damn cat. (Okay….here’s another dollar in the cuss jar….damn it….).

I suppose since it’s my twenty-second birthday, I should write down the twenty-two most important things I’ve ever learned. Cheesy and hokey, vague bits of advice like “love the people you already love in your life” or “don’t be afraid to just go for what you want!” I should follow the model of other bloggers I’ve read and make this a post about the twenty two things that make me, me. Giving you details about my small life that may or may not be interesting or overall, news worthy (or blog worthy in this sense).

I suppose I should….

In fact, that was my original plan.

*Giggles!* I’m Twenty-two! Let’s make a list of twenty-two things, assuming that by imparting my knowledge will only edify and benefit your life. Assuming I have learned anything worthwhile at all in my twenty-two years of life. Assuming you, in your life and unique circumstances will take anything I have to say and apply it with the sincere hope that it will make whatever your living circumstances are, better.

I started this list.

I had three bits of vague, hokey, cheesy advice written down before I deleted them and reflected on how ironic and silly I sounded.

In all honesty and reality, the more knowledge I gain, the more I am increasingly becoming aware of how ignorant I truly am. Paradox, right? By learning, the ignorance chasm only continues to grow. Because here’s the truth about life: I will never know everything for as long as I live on this Earth. Even the facts, theories, philosophies, truths I am learning today could be argued as being relativistic, subjective.  Every coin has two sides. Every culture, religion, person offers something different. Something, perhaps, pure and good in the sight of God. Is it possible for one person to hold all knowledge? Gain such knowledge in the period of one lifespan? I think not. Should I be discouraged at my ignorance and lack of knowledge? Should I feel insignificant or stupid? No.

So instead….. Here are the things I’m still struggling with, to learn. Wrestling. Yearning. These are the questions. Here is my ignorance for you to read. For the number one thing I’ve learned in my life is humility in my ignorance and to consider the different ways of thought.

-I’m striving to learn what the relationship between knowledge and responsibility is. To what moral compass do I hold myself to? Or do I not?  What kind of person am I if I know about the child soldiers in Africa and yet continue to live my life with relative ease and luxury in the United States? If I know of government corruption, does that make me responsible to put a stop to it? Where is the balance? Is knowledge as empowering as we think? Perhaps a bit overwhelming? Is spreading an idea through Facebook and twitter and snap chat and pinterest really effective at all in the large scheme of things? Can the power of an idea really change the world? And if so, where and how and when? I’ve always believed that education is directly related to responsibility. Now, I realize, how complex and difficult this relationship is and exactly what it means for the average human being having been informed of the awful things happening in the world, who—like me—do nothing. Is that right? Is that okay? Why is it so accepted and normal? Are we solely responsible for only the small injustices surrounding our personal lives and families?

-Universalism vs. relativism. What is relative and what is truly universal? Gosh I struggle with this one. Big time. I believe in a God. I believe in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as being the only true church on this earth, it’s principles and the gospel are true and just and good. Yet…is the world strictly universal? Is it truly black and white? One universal truth that all man is judged upon. Or maybe not judged against, but simply exists. Or is it possible to have a relative, unique understanding of the world and for it to be true too though however conflicting to this universal idea……? Can a universal and relative truth exist simultaneously?

-I don’t know how to solve the world’s complex problems at an international and national level. I struggle with models that suppose one solution fits all but have no idea how many solutions can work together to help simultaneously. Or even if they should…. Or when….I struggle with defining some “problems” as problems. Are they? Truly?

-I don’t understand people, no matter how much I study psychology and do research. People are so complex or so simple or so both.

-I struggle with who I am and who I want to be and often wonder if I’m in sync with this idea of an ideal self or if I’m actually veering off onto a path that might create a different self—which will be preferred at the time. Preferred—but right? I don’t know.

-God continues to be mysterious to me. The universe continues to show endless wonders.

-My mind will never be able to wrap around the paradox of religion, the paradox of development, or the justification of colonialism and subjugation of indigenous peoples.

-I have yet to fully understand politics and economics and don’t know if I’ll ever learn calculus or Latin.

-I fight against stereotypes and generalizing statements. I often question the culture I live in. I wonder how much of my life is composed of culture vs religion.

-How do we learn through trials? Is it through the emotions we experience? Surely they must have a significant part, especially since they are so powerful. Yet…people often say to solve a problem, we must remove ourselves emotionally and look at it from a logical stand point. Is there not wisdom in looking through the lens of empathy too?

Oh the things, I’ll learn in the next twenty-two years….or should I say….the new questions I’ll ask then…

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time there was a girl.
Well....that's still relevant today because "girls" still exist...

Once, long long ago...in a galaxy far, far away...
That's very subjective too and all depends on where you are in the universe....and I was actually referring to this galaxy. So I suppose if you're reading this on the planet of earth, it's not very far away at all. To any alien friends who've somehow intercepted this small blog in this small corner of the world--hello! Don't judge humankind on my thoughts and words! I refuse to take such responsibility.....

Once, I used to blog.

I used to blog about lipstick and clouds, mountains and chocolate. (Did I ever blog about chocolate? I'm always grateful for chocolate).

But then life took me by the collar, flung me around for a bit, tearing me away from this seemingly nostalgic and perhaps a bit egotistical activity of blogging.

Life and I had a stare down.

A long long stare down.

Sweat begin dripping from my forehead as I refused to blink. Life was cool, unyielding, collected.
Have you ever had a stare down with a concept? (Is life considered a "concept"?) It's hard.
It's unnerving.
Half the time you're thinking "what am I even looking at??"

Did I win such stare down? It's under review. The referees are currently debating vigorously. I'll let you know.

I actually kind of just pushed life down....a sucker punch some would call....and made a wild run for it. I'm sure I'm in for a beating when it finds me.....*gulp*

So what is this all leading too?
Well.

Not sure.

I was going to write about all my latest adventures. Going to Yellowstone with family. Being homeless for two weeks. Star gazing with my cousin Sam, lying on the roof of my car on top of a mountain (watching the stars fall and gazing at the twinkling lights of the city down below (yah the roof of my car was all dented in but popped right back up like a tin can with a little bit of pressure from the inside! Ha! Love Geos)). I was then going to tell you all about my Labor Day hike with Selene. Lasted about 6 hours. Ran out of water in about 3.5 hours. Had to hike UP a mountain to get back to the car. Dehydrated. Tired. Sweaty and smelly. Unprepared. We took a few unmarked, beautiful amazing trails up Payson Canyon. At one point on a long trek up searching for my car, we sat on the side of a road in a grassy area and laughed for about ten minutes. Sometimes that's all you can do. Gosh, I am so grateful for Selene, for being able to laugh in such an exhausting time. It's one of those stories that you look back and laugh at....except we also laughed while experiencing it. Best.
I was going to tell you all about how thankful I am for Family and friends and good people. For food and a place to stay while I was homeless. With a full heart, I had plans of explaining how thankful I am for my dear cousin Sam. She's the kindest most understanding, non-judging, sweetest, most naive and innocent person I've ever known. She gave my roommate a huge kiss on the cheek after meeting her THAT morning. Her hugs are the best and she has so much room in her heart for everybody she meets. I've never met anyone so loving of people and of God. Gosh I adore her. She's going to do so well on the mission and I'm so grateful she got to come to Provo to hang out for a day and a night before going into the MTC.
And of course, laughter--I'm always grateful for laughter and adventure.

So I suppose life and I had a stare down....we wrestled....I sucker punched and ran....but really, life and I get along just fine. Life is good. Really good.
And I'm grateful for God and country, family, friends, good health, and this amazing earth.

Yah. That's what I was going to tell you.

:)

With a book...or two...or many

The whispering around me interrupted my thoughts, rudely intruding upon the story I was being told by the person I'll never meet. Small conversations about small, seemingly insignificant things budged their way into my conscious, elbowing the insightful crux of the sentence I was reading out of the way. One man was telling his wife that they couldn't spend a whole day in this bookstore. He was urging her to hurry, to leave. He stood irritably and noisily texting on his cellphone. Impatient. Something burned inside me. Let her be, I thought. She can stay here if she wants. Another pair of foreign voices spoke above me, as I sat, sprawled on the floor. Italian. Smooth and deep. Musical. Men. These voices made my mind wander, I imagined these men as attractive international students. Dark features, straight noses, strong chins, discussing the philosophical books we were currently surrounded by. They laughed, and I imagined them laughing at me. A lone girl. Not at a library but a bookstore. On the floor, reading, oblivious to all those who had to step over her or politely excuse themselves as they trodded around her. Because they were so decadently handsome in my mind, my face burned. (Because of course, we only care what the ridiculously beautiful think.) The disappointment on my face was probably ill-disguised when I finally gazed up at them towering above me. Perusing the books on the shelves. Average, frumpy looking men. One quite tall and gangly, slumping and frowning. The other, fat with big lips and dark skin. I should have let them remain as they were in my imagination. As if these details mattered though. What mattered to me were the words I was reading upon the pages of the book I currently cradled in my hands. Annoyed, I turned the page back one and began again.

I haven't read a book for pleasure in a long time. A very long time. I had deemed it too much time to take away from my busy schedule when time was precious and working hard so important. I don't know why today, I decided to re-introduce myself to the wonder of literature. Perhaps I was feeling romantic. Maybe it was because I actually curled my hair today and put on real clothes (not the fake clothes I had grown to be so comfortable in before....ya know....the sweats and the over-sized t-shirt look. Or my personal favorite: just hanging out in my sports bra and underwear all day in my room. Whatever, don't judge.) 

And oh the books I read. I lost myself in the flow of thoughts and stories, of other people. I picked up books at random, read short stories and philosophical essays. I flipped through a few pages of a book about assholes (Titled: Assholes: a theory), an entire novel dedicated to defining who an asshole is, why they are the way that they are and how best to deal with such a person. I read poetry of authors I'll never remember (I think James something-or-other was one of the authors) and immersed myself in the middle of adventures. 

One book, grasped my attention as I, amused, set down the "faker's guide to analyzing literature".

The Lost Art of Reading: why books matter in a distracted time by David L Ulin.

I was hooked.
I pictured myself sitting there, cross legged on the floor, David L. Ulin preaching the words I read, myself nodding, doe-eyed hanging onto every word he said. He spoke of his love of books and of reading. Of how his son said that reading is dead. Nobody reads anymore. And as if to validate such a statement, a young girl of 14 walked by me with all her little friends saying, "As if I read, guys. Come on. You know I don't. Why are we in a crummy bookstore anyway?"
Here it was. This man understanding, echoing my own thoughts and frustrations about the human race. I wanted to clap and cheer as he discussed how society is so enraptured with technology and how we, like drug-addicts of a new kind of drug--crave the constant feed. The quick news. The gallant of information at our fingertips. We want our technology and gadgets to know us and to know us intimately. We've become restless and distracted, no longer able to sit down and read--to go through the process of an unfolding story, the development of characters--to learn something about ourselves as we watch the struggle of the author also trying to find his own self-discovery upon the pages he writes. He spoke to me about the beauty of literature, of how he found solace in books and came to understand what it meant to be a writer as well as to read. I found myself sending text messages to my own inbox of some of my favorite passages in which I fully agree and so admire how beautifully Ulin puts into words what a book means and does.

Such as:

"...I'm not talking here about posterity, which is its own kind of fantasy, in which we regard books as tombstones instead of souls. No, I'm thinking more of literature as a voice of pure expression, a cry in the dark. Its futility is what makes it noble: nothing will come of this, no one will be saved, but it is worth your attention anyway."

And isn't it? He goes on to speak of a book he read, an author whom I'm kicking myself now in regret as to not recording or remembering. This author spoke of a place in a book. Never before, said Ulin, had a place described so beautiful and fully on a page actually resemble so closely the place in real life. In other words, he stood upon the ground in which this author had stood once before and captured in a story, and knew the place well from what he had read.

"This is what language, at its most acute, can do. It can collapse the distances, brings us into not just the thought but also the perceptions of a writer, allow us, however fleetingly, to inhabit, literally his or her eyes. Sure, its an illusion, a trick of ink and paper; sure all literature, all art is construction, a creation, flawed and flimsy, an attempt to rerender, in symbols, the substance of who we are. Still there is a nobility to the gesture, not at least because it is preordained to fail. This is what the postmodernists don't get, that if literature is a game, it is a game of serious consequence in which we communicate across an irreconcilable divide."

The book continues, discussing the tendencies of men who have tried to reduce poetry and literature--analyzing it to bits, digging out deeper meanings that perhaps the author never even intended in the first place. He muses over this idea of a process, of the writing process and how authors are always asked what kind of step-by-step process did they go through to create such an inspiring, insightful tale. But alas, there is no step-by-step formula. No intrinsic path to follow in order to become a great writer. When a writer creates, he struggles, he wrestles with himself, he seeks to discover something about himself about his own views and perceptions. He writes because he wants to know. He wants to know himself.

I have written plenty of short stories in my time and have started a few books I thought for sure I would finish easily. Once I presented some of my writings to a creative writing class. I found myself extremely amused as they picked out what I had written, declaring either ingenious parallels and hidden symbolism or stating that I had taken some philosophical view and was trying to make a point or teach a lesson. What I did, however, was simply capture pieces of myself and my character, perhaps even my beliefs and trials at the time on a page. I was letting them know me.

Ulin had already won me over. He was beginning to take examples from politics and propaganda, reading material that can easily fool the mind if one does not question what he is being told. I was half way through the book. Anxious to hear the crux of his argument, why reading was so important in such a distracted era, all romantic notions and fancy play on words aside. A ring. A tone. An interruption. A voice echoing throughout the store. The Bookstore was closing. I had no money to buy the book and no longer had time to finish it. I know you are probably as dissatisfied to hear so as I am. I can give you no fulfilling conclusion as to why it is important to read and to read many things. No satisfying sentence to the build up I've now rehearsed to you as it had been rehearsed to me by Ulin. At least...not yet....

I had been in that bookstore for 4 hours or so, sometimes standing, most times leaning against the shelves, often sitting on the floor. All those books. All those people with something to say. Some story to tell, an idea to get across, a piece of themselves to show to the world. It boggled my mind. It made me thirst for more. I feel so silly to not have divulged in this craving before. So much knowledge and experience in the world....all in one bookstore, even. In one library. And I hadn't the time before to fully immerse myself. To be within and without. To be a part of and apart.
That is the beauty of books. Of reading. Surely, there is time to spare to read.

*grateful for a day well spent and for the insightful books, philosophers, poets, essayists, and authors that have graced this world*

Red Boxers and Rice

My work schedule has been shifted around so now I'm working nights at the restaurant from 4 to 11 pm. Not a big deal.

The only thing...I'm kind of a bum during the day. And I'm loving it.

I basically spent my whole morning sitting around in my bright red boxer shorts (yes, they are mine--bought them at a train station actually. They have a train on the rump and say "cute caboose". It's written on the rump so it must be true) painting, jamming out to some tasty jams on the grooveshark.com account. For fun, I threw on some bright red lipstick and wrapped my hair up in a bandana. Artsy fartsy, I know.

Then I did dishes.

Snuck around the apartment with pepper spray and a pan....convinced there was someone else hiding in one of my roommates' rooms having heard a noise. Red boxer shorts, red lips, a pan, and pepper spray. A fierce combination for sure. I thought my heart was going to bounce out of my chest every time I opened a door to check for intruders/hairy green monsters. I haven't gotten up the courage to check under the beds yet. I'll leave that to the roomie when she comes home. If something grabs her ankles...well....I'll let her borrow my pepper spray. And lipstick. She'll be fiiiiiiiiiine.

I played my guitar for a while. Mastered the C Major scale. If you play, you're probably thinking 'big whoop...that's so easy!' To that thought I reply with 'Yes! And now I know how easy it is!'. So there.

And now I'm making rice for lunch. Trying to save money for school....textbooks are going to cost about 300 this year... Still haven't bought all my groceries yet. I did buy some Lucky Charms and milk though. Can't go without those marshmallow sugary bits of energy to start out the day. Found some beans too! I hear they're a magical fruit.

Today I'm grateful for investing in these red boxer shorts. And for rice and beans. And for not finding any hairy green monsters. Or blue or red or pink or purple ones either. Purple people eaters are the worst.
Cheers to days not spent at work and making the most of them. Eh?

HOLY SHOOT THE POWER JUST FLICKERED ON AND OFF. Totally not paranoid or freaked out at all. No...no no no..not me.....*locks bedroom door* climbs under covers*........

Dating Stories

I have got to stop letting people set me up on blind dates. Since arriving at college, I've almost been on more blind dates than regular ones. Almost. But still. I'm flattered my friends are so concerned about my relationship status buuuuuuuut.........I think I got it. Ya know?

This date was bland and the fella a bit boring. Nice.  But really really boring. I found myself day dreaming while he talked. Seriously. My mind was so far gone, I'm surprised he didn't notice the glazed over look in my eye. My older brother insists that its quite noticeable and very rude. (Say something more interesting, than, big bro! hehehe).
But it got me thinking about  all those other crazy dates I've been on and all those crazy fellas I've dated (or  haven't but who didn't go down without a fight).  Mainly from high school. Some from college. And though most memories are very ridiculous, it makes me laugh in retrospect. So I'm grateful for all the dating stories and all those fellas who managed to get Melissa Tingey out on a date. I think a few of them still have their "I took Melissa Tingey out on a date and all I got was this stupid t-shirt" shirts.....

Here are some of my best stories or at least my most memorable ones (all names have been changed...just in case....don't want any awkward, angry text messages, or heaven forbid--strongly worded emails!)

I'm not sure how best to record all these so I'm just going to start.

I once thought I liked a boy (usually how it all starts, right?) until he came over and started clipping his fingernails on my kitchen table......all the while talking about this and that--completely oblivious to my dead-giveaway facial expression that I was very uncomfortable with his growing pile of clippings. He wanted to see me but this also needed to be done. What a multi-tasker! He'll make someone very happy some day I'm sure.

Another time I had the move put on me by two guys at the same time on the same night on the same couch. We were all watching a movie. Me being oblivious and naiive as to why these boys sat on either side of me. Thinking their intentions were entirely honorable and innocent. It was the comfiest couch! How was I supposed to know or predict what was going to happen?  Boy #1 went low, sneaking his arm around my waist, right behind my back while Boy #2 went high, moments after Boy #1 made his move, doing the cool and classic "yawn stretch" to get his arm around my shoulders. Probably one of the funniest and most awkward situations I've ever been in. What's more is that these two boys were friends. We were all friends. I thought we were all JUST FRIENDS. So I sat there, rigid, hands in my lap, being careful not to lean left or right. Trying not to laugh. Face incredibly red. Grateful for the lights being off. Just watching a movie, right? How did I get out of that one? I don't remember. I might have blacked out. Or maybe I think I just sat forward. Both boys withdrew after that. It was never spoken of. Yah, I probably blacked out...

Then once upon a time, there was a boy named Ned (not really--I just made up that name)...or shall we call him Bruno? I've always wanted to date a guy named Bruno (also not true--just made that up as well. Didn't even think about ever dating a guy named Bruno until just now but now that I think about it, I'm sure it wouldn't be all that bad. Melissa and Bruno.....ick....totally a dog's name. Nevermind. I don't like Bruno.) Or I mean let's just call him Fredererick (say it right! There are two 'er's in there). Fred for short. This guy was trouble. Total cowboy. Tan from the sun, lean muscles. Loved to sing country songs in my ear and dance me across the floor (cheesy, I know). We just graduated high school, one of those hot summer nights. We had gone down to the creek to go swimming and were just heading back into town. Driving in my geo metro, singing to the radio, windows rolled down. I had a tank top on.....and well..... a bug flew in. A big nasty bug. Went right down the front of that yellow tank top. Right between the girls. And what did I do? Screaming, both hands still on the wheel, I crushed that little bug......crushed him good.......Fred's face was priceless. Eyes got big, not understanding what was going on or why I suddenly had such great cleavage (I apologize, I'm usually very modest but come on...we were swimming). Snickering the whole time and quite mortified that I had just squished a nasty nasty thing in between my cha-chas, I asked him to look away while I dug out what little remained of that poor little bugger who was probably just flying along enjoying himself. Not paying attention and certainly unaware of the violation he was about to carry out. HA! I know, I know....not one of my most lady-like moments in all of history. We also serenaded a biker while at a stoplight that night. Loud and obnoxious, singing out the window. Teenagers. Sheesh.
I really liked Fred. He would always say really cheesy, sweet things to me and even though I usually laughed in his face whenever he gave one of his lines, he still wanted to hang out. Also a great kisser.
We hung out a lot. We also went swimming a lot. Another Summer's night, I snuck out of my house around midnight. We went down to a lake to go for a swim under the full moon. Pretty cool. The only thing about impromptu adventures, however, is that they're, well--impromptu--and don't really give you anytime to, .....prepare properly. And by that I mean, I definitely went wearing shorts without having shaved my legs in an embarrassingly long time. So while sitting on the bank of the water, Fred scootched up nice and close, and laid is hand on my bare, prickly thigh. And froze. I felt him tense. So. BAD. And I started laughing. So. hard.
It's okay, I said, you can move your hand, I won't be offended. I know it's bad.
No, no! Was his reply. It's totally fine.
And there we sat for a few more minutes, me laughing really hard and Fred too nice to remove his hand off my prickly thigh. HA! If I were normal, I probably would have hid my face in shame and embarrassment and never speak to Fred again. But no. I laughed. And laughed and laughed. Oh stubborn Fred. If you ever read this, I hope you are doing well.

Then there was this guy I dated in high school. Bad boy. Total idiot. And so was I for dating him. Parents didn't approve and they were definitely in the right to forbid me to continue dating this kid. We'll name him Laman (did I just do a Book of Mormon reference and compare this past boyfriend of mine to Laman who was also not so nice in the Book of Mormon? Why yes, yes I did. You're quick to catch on...). I suppose the funniest time with Laman was when I pushed him out of my car.....while I was still driving. Sure, I was only going about 25 mph.....only.....My mother, bless her, was rightfully suspicious that I had been with Laman. So she was following me in her car around town. I sped away, turning corners, giving myself enough space to lose the baggage. He rolled nice. Right into the dirt. After all the drama he caused, I look back on that with amusement and satisfaction. hehehe

Oh and lots not forget about the time a guy took me to a Rockies game. We'll call him "Guy". While I was standing up cheering, stretching my legs, Guy thought it'd be cute to slap me in the butt. Take care, I had only gone on a few dates with this kid and still barely knew him. So, being me, I turned around, slapped him pretty hard in the face, and then continued enjoying myself at the game. Cheering as if nothing had happened. His face? Another priceless memory.

I could go on.
Like the time a fella took me out on a ride on his motorcycle. I had capris on and while hopping off his bike at the gas station to fill up, my calve briefly touched the exhaust pipe on the bike. The steaming, incredibly, searing hot pipe that seared off a great deal of skin and left a round scar for months. I didn't even cry out. Didn't want him to feel bad for my idiot mistake. He found out later anyway. That wound was huge and hard to miss unfortunately.
Or the time this other gentlemen proposed to me over text message about six or seven times. Trying to convince me that it'd be great for everyone if we got married. He promised to pay my way through school and buy me a nicer car. Tooootally should have taken his offer. Dang it.....

Then there was an incident when my date and I were questioned by a cop and had our car searched by the nice officers on duty. I had pulled over at the gas station because I was convinced I had heard an animal in my back seat. I asked the guy I was on the date with if he would check it out. So he did. Yelling in surprise, his whole body suddenly lurched forward just as he reached under the seat. I screamed. Really loud and basically jumped out of my skin. Had a nice little out-of-body experience before coming back to reality to hit the fella over the head who was laughing so hard thinking he was so incredibly clever. Two cop cars just so happened to be in the parking lot of the gas station. Heard the scream. Saw me beating up a fella. Anyways, you get the picture. It ended up with a lot of laughter and thankfully, no wild animal was to be found. Or drugs. Or a body. Or any illegal weapons. Or anything like that....*whew* close one, right?

I could go on. I have a lot of stories. But this post is too long as it is. If I haven't lost you yet, I'm impressed at your will to endure.
I shall dub thee ultimate endurer. Kneel.

Dating, right?

Cheers to the memories.

Work work work work

I worked my butt off today.

No really.

I got home and I felt a few pounds lighter. I looked behind me and WHOA--what happened? That can't be right....
Oh yah.

I worked my butt off. Clean off. No mas. Which is spanish for 'no more'. In case you were wondering.

It's gone.

Gone like a freight train.

Gone like yesterday.

Gone like a soldier in the Civil War.

Bang Bang!

Gone.

And I have to say. I'm not so sure that it's a good thing....
That junk in the trunk had a lot of junk....but it was my junk....in my trunk.....

What a weird, weird analogy. Doesn't even make sense....junk in the trunk....it's not like I can anatomically open my "trunk" up and take all the "junk" out. Who ever started that phrase anyway? By golly... it's silly. Let's veto it.
No mas using the phrase, "junk in the trunk" to refer to someone's or your own behind.
Done.

Anyway.

Yah. I exercised today.

Yah...Insanity, right?
No really, I did Insanity. I screamed at the fella yelling at me to "push it!" There was a lot of jumping and push ups and punching the air involved among other things...mainly just a lot of movement. Yah...movement....a ton of movement.The people in the video were collapsing beside the trainer dude--what's his name? *googles "Insanity guy"* --Shaun T. while he just kept going. Like a really buff, black, freakishly intense Energizer Bunny........no really. Would I make this stuff up? And I did it! The whole entire dvd. Sure, I had to rest a few times more than big bad Shaun T but hey...I finished the dvd. I've never finished a whole work out before on that damn workout program. Sure, I felt like throwing up afterwards. I might have cried a little. Worth it.

AND then!
I went to work. And decided, being large and in charge, to let one of the servers go home early. Hey, it's a Thursday right? What's the worst that can happen?
Chaos and craziness ensued. It was like all of Provo had gotten the memo that I had made an idiot, rookie mistake and they all wanted in on it. And maybe while they were there, they might as well order some food--it being a restaurant and all. Soooo many people wanting food....so many tables all at one time.....I walked away with $100 in tips though. Which is cool. Way cool. Ice cool. With a cherry on top....(too much?...naaah).

And yah, my muscles are sore, my brain is fried, my patience was tested, and my endurance proven......and I'm hella grateful for that.
Glad to be working so hard and to be capable of working out.

I take pride in my health. A lot of pride. When I had a blood test done a few weeks ago and the doctor came back and told me I had a perfect white blood cell count, I sat up a little straighter. And yes, my urine is clear and I'm happy to report, I haven't had a cavity in years. And maybe I've overdone it by including all these wonderful details on my resume, but hey--good health is a beautiful thing.
I also take a lot of pride in my work. I'm just going to confess: I love being the "go-to-girl". The employee that you can always count on and who goes the extra mile.

I should probably work on this whole vanity thing.....I'm a superhero though...it happens. Don't tell my enemies that I'm a superhero though. Goodness forbid, they test my awesome POW-A (Arnold Shwarzenagger-sisdf;alksdjf;laskdjf voice).

Word.

Cheers to Almost

Here’s to the almost

To the almost kisses and late night visits

To the almost broken bones and broken wallets

To the almost boyfriend with the guitar and ego complex

Here’s to the almost, because you almost made a bad mistake

Almost decided to swim too far with the bigger kids in dangerous water

Almost ran away with too many almost successful men

Here’s to you, alternative routes never taken

Words never spoken.

Things never done and adventures never had.

Here’s to the almost suitable nickname you almost lived up to

And the outfit you almost wore because you almost thought you’d like to be something else

Almost never counts.

Unless it does.

And it does.

Because almost making a mistake counts for a hell of a lot more than making one.  

So cheers to the almost, to the “I’m-glad-I-didn’t” moments and the “that-was-close” times.

To the almost stories you had to almost tell your almost future children about a time when you were

Almost really dumb and stupid with your life.

Because let’s face it. The almost moments never get recognized. And those are some good moments of wisdom and good decision. Those are some of the best moments and the reason that you’re not in a place worse off than you are now.

So hats off to you….well…almost.

And nothing happened.

Amazing.

That was my day.

Simply amazing.

I rolled out of bed. Into a very unflattering outfit, messed up my hair, made some french toast for myself and my roommate and then we proceeded to sit on the couch watching Pirates of the Caribbean (oh yes, all four movies) for the rest of the day. Capn' Jack Sparrow made us laugh. So hard. And I just know I'd look great in a pirate outfit. And that was great revelation to receive. Tacos were made and devoured, I might have used the restroom once or twice. I called my family and made some weird noises at both of my youngest brothers. I wore no makeup, might have eaten too many oreos, and for sure, ate way too much cereal. My deepest thought was about how I would fire a lady on a commercial for being way WAY too excited over low prices at Wal Mart. Come on, lady! Wal Mart has low prices. Everyone knows that. It's kind of old news....stop smiling so much.....and the high pitched voice? Yah, never going to Wal Mart again....thanks.....

Someone knocked on the door earlier and I slid the dead bolt into place. Bam. Totally not anti-social or weird at all.

It was fantastic and relaxing and good to just do nothing.

Nothing. At. All.

Granted, I feel extremely guilty for sitting on the couch for, er....twelvecoughhourscough.......but then again....extremely not guilty.

My day of nothing was great.

I didn't go to church. I didn't go anywhere. Didn't see anybody. Didn't feel the need to tell some really bad jokes (habit from being a zip-line guide...I collect bad jokes...zip-lining was more of a stand-up comedian job--except with a lot of hiking through desert-like terrain in 101 degree weather with a portion of that time hanging on a line by a few straps, hooked to a trolley, and going "wee" (how do you spell "weeee"? Wheee? wiiii?  whey?) all the way to the bottom of that line...another portion of that portion was hooking myself up to really big fat men and women who would get stuck out in the middle of the line and pulling them in with my aching arms, in the hot sun all the while making small talk about their cat or their kid or their pet weasel and hating every dripping detail as I worried about the sweat dripping down my forehead and into my eyes blinding me for life...... Bad jokes helped to lighten the mood a lot.....Habits, right?).

And it was great.

And I'm grateful for my roommate for having a nothing day with me. And for the comfy clothes I am still wearing. And all that Oreo still in my teeth. Mmmmm....

Fetch.
Yes.
Did I just say fetch?

Yes. Yes I did.

God bless the man I marry one day.

With patience. And a sense of humor. Definitely a sense of humor but mainly patience....and a beard...I hope God blesses him with a beard. I like beards....on men. Attractive men...in particular....

Glad to be an American

America, America, God shed His grace on thee. . . .

I spent my Fourth of July working. Working because my boss saw this historic day of liberty as an opportunity to make money. I was the last one in the restaurant, hours after everyone else left. Which is fine. . .

I then proceeded to go home, get dressed up to go to a friend of a friend's house to eat salty meat, chocolate pie, and cheap watermelon. Spent my night among strangers feeling disconnected from everything they were saying. All the shared stories they were laughing about together. We watched the Patriot. I missed the fireworks. I came home. Feeling ridiculously homesick....

And here I am. Wondering. What does it really mean to be American? We celebrate the fourth of July but do we ever consider it? Ever stop and ask, am I really so proud to be an American?

I'd like to think so.

I'd like to believe that this country is a land worth living in. A land of justice and freedom. And all the cheesy words often associated with the US of A.

But why do I believe that?......

I watch the news.....I read the newspapers and am subscribed to Times magazine.....

I have friends who believe that the United States government is completely corrupt, that we are on the edge of becoming a socialistic nation or falling under the lead of a dictator posing as a patriotic man.....

I read about the scandals in the White House and have read some of the current conspiracy theories........

It's hard to really know....truth......

I've watched Americans hurt other Americans......cried when a good friend was shot in the face at a movie theater......

I see homeless people begging in the streets every day and have been spit on by a man upset with my service as a waitress while working on the Royal Gorge train....all because he didn't quite like the food.....

Greed and selfishness seem to abound.....gluttony and vanity thrive....are encouraged....and laziness? It's everywhere....
We pride ourselves with being the greatest nation yet we are falling apart from the inside out.....our economy is a wreck, our people divided, and our government seemingly abusing power........

The family and home and values and God are all under attack......and everyone is all about being so politically correct that anything and everything is offensive.......


But.....

.....I've also walked upon this beautiful land.....Appreciated the sights of National Parks....grand mountains, amazing canyons. I've stood in the presence of great people, some famous--most not....admired their tenacity and their great strength of will despite all odds..... I've had amazing role models.... I've seen strangers helping strangers, and teachers helping youth.....I've talked to extremely poor, humble people, sat in their homes while they told me about life with a smile on their faces....

I'm impressed daily by the technological and medical advances the American people still continue to achieve...

I can say I've known a fair share of geniuses.

I was raised in a home with five wonderful brothers, my parents being able to have as many kids as they wanted. I was taught strong values and how to work, and learned to honor my father and my mother and respect my elders. I was shown to love God and how to love people. I was taught to love my country, to serve others, to not take my American, God-given unalienable rights for granted.

I have the freedom of speech and the freedom to worship whomever and however I may please.

I can go wherever and however I may please.

I am going to a school of my choosing and am getting a wonderful education at the young age of 21.
I'm working to make my own way in this world as a young woman. A single, reckless, independent, young woman.

I've laughed as comedians have made fun of the follies of politicians, have cried alongside fellow Americans--strangers when tragedy has taken place.

My best friend is a Mexican, my favorite teacher is a democrat, the first guy I ever kissed was black, and I have Irish, Scottish, and German in my blood.

I drink clean water, sleep in a nice bed, pay taxes, enjoy reading and writing. I can send letters to anywhere in the world and really really...love fireworks....

I feel safe at night. I feel safe in the daytime.

So what does it mean to be an American?.......

To me, it means I am blessed. It means I must strive to bring light in this world, to continue to serve my fellow man. It's honoring my parents, loving my family, enjoying my liberty. It's fighting for what's right and protecting those who are in need of protection. It's defending everything our forefathers of this great nation intended this nation to be, everything God intended this nation to be....
It's living in a fast, changing, extremely intelligent world and being able to keep balance as well as simply, keep up....

So yah.....I am proud to be an American. Though imperfect, confusing, and hard these times may be....at least I know I'm free. And I won't forget the men who died who gave that right to me...and I'd gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today. Cause there aint no doubt, I love this land.

God bless the USA...

Not exactly sure. . .

I feel like I should write. Though, I’m not exactly sure what to write about. I suppose I should write you a long, romantic story about a young girl who discovered herself amidst turmoil and heart ache. A coming of age story filled with details and tears and an incredibly satisfying and happy ending. I find books and such stories to be an incredibly interesting phenomenon. People have been telling stories and writing books and weaving words since the beginning of time. Whether it was around a fire pit or a fire place; or a small lit up screen they are calling a kindle these days. All these stories seem to have a nice little conclusion—some wrapped up finishing finale. The end. El fin. They all lived happily ever after. But what is that? Life doesn’t have an ending. Even if these bodies we live in do. Why do we love the big finish on a story? Why is it so satisfying to the human psychi to know that everything ended up okay or that it all just ended when surely, it doesn't. It doesn't end. The story will never end. Should never end. And that’s the beauty of it all, right? I believe in a higher power. In eternal life. In a heaven and life beyond living upon this earth and in this body. So as I read my written, personal stories and other stories, I can’t help but feel a bit curious. Will there ever be a last page on humanity? On anything? On everything? Or won’t there always be something? Some kind of energy. I always thought of life made up of millions of little experiences. Even now, I will think of this time of me writing at my laptop separate from whatever happens in the next hour or so. But isn’t life just one continuing experience? As long as I live, I breathe, I laugh, and feel, dream and see—isn’t it all just part of one human experience? What other experiences await when this one is finished. What will they be like, I wonder. Life is so strange. So many things that matter to me now, I will have forgotten in a year or so and will be filled with new worries and new knowledge.  And time? What is that? We keep track of it by the rotation of the earth and the aging of the body.  Did we invent time? What is time to God, I muse.  What is a day in God’s life. With so many people to look after, I wonder if He is kept very busy or if He has time to sit down and think and wonder. Does God wonder? He knows everything. But does he wonder about all that He knows? I wonder about the knowledge I have. About the truth I’ve been given and the lies I’ve believed. Sometimes it is with wondering awe. Sometimes it is with the curiosity of a child I hope to never lose. And we as humans, we write down all this truth and we spew out what we believe to other humans. Always trying to make a point. I don’t understand sometimes. Why are we always trying to make a point to others? This makes me think of the men on the corner here in Provo on Sunday. They held giant crosses, yelling at all of us Mormon college students walking home from church. They yelled out things about Jesus the Christ being the savior and Redeemer of the world. They were being vulgar, screaming in our faces about concepts and truth our church is built upon. In ignorance, they spewed out truth we already knew. In ignorance, they screamed about how horrible we were for not believing in Christ—when in fact we are the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I suppose I just don’t understand to what end they were hoping to accomplish. As to why they would waste a beautiful day standing on a street corner in the hot sun hassling college kids.  Were they hoping for a fight? Were they truly concerned for our seemingly damned, Mormon souls? Did they truly believe that what they were doing was right or were they just doing it, just because.  People are so complicated, so hard to understand. I find even myself, ridiculously hard to understand. It’s because I am constantly changing though. A slave to this thing called time, which wears and tears at my body, expands my ideas and knowledge and brings forth new obstacles to face and conquer.  And right now, I’m perplexed about the tears I find running down my face. Why am I crying? I know sorrow and I know physical pain. These tears are not caused by either of these feelings. What are they? A sense of hopelessness perhaps. A sense of how humans are so unreasonable. And that so much has changed. Maybe I’m crying because I miss the simplicity of ignorance. I almost miss being so clouded in vanity and self-righteous beliefs, for though a foolish child, I was a carefree child. I miss feeling like I was invincible and believing that everyone I loved was invincible. Perhaps I’m crying for humanity and the uncertainty of the future. Or maybe I’m just crying, just to cry. I’m so human.  So vulnerable. And yet I am strong. Why? Why am I so strong? And why do I feel so weak at the same time? So insecure and yet, so sure. I pride myself in being independent and happy yet so much of my happiness is dependent upon those I love. Would I be happy if I were truly alone on this Earth? I’m grateful I don’t have to know the answer to that question by way of experiencing it firsthand. And again, strangely I feel so frustrated towards people. So connected and dependent on technology my peers are. Always plugged into their iPods or texting on their cell phones. I watched some television today as I ate lunch and felt anger when a commercial came on about some little touch-screen, take anywhere television or maybe it was a phone—something. It showed people standing in amazing places outdoors, watching a tv show. Have we really come so far that the need to constantly be entertained is so great? Have we really adapted into these creatures who cannot be alone with their own thoughts for a while? Is this stifling creativity or encouraging it as these products seem to claim? And then, I think. Am I a hypocrite? Using Facebook and my blog as an outlet to feel connected with all those around me.  Aiiieee……I don’t know yet if I’ll post this on my blog or not. .. .

Cheers to being human, right? 

The mile hike that never was

Wednesday.

It's about 90 degrees outside. Sun is hot. 4 pm. Hiking? Why not?

The plan was to go on a short afternoon hike up to Battle Creek Falls right? This wonderful trail goes through a canyon and is only about a mile long. Most of the journey made in shade.

Instead. I followed my driving directions exactly as they said. Unfortunately. . . I didn't realize that I wasn't even close to Pleasant Grove. In fact, I was still in Orem. And the streets I was turning on, following my written directions pertained to Pleasant Grove. Not Orem.

So we ended up in Dry Canyon. The trail looked fine. I knew it wasn't the right trail. But upon looking at a map at the trail head, we noticed that it would end up at Battle Creek Falls eventually. Why not? Right?

We hiked from Orem all the way to Pleasant Grove. All along the mountain ridge. There were so many little side trails it's hard to know if we were ever fully on the main trail. What's more is I pulled a noob move. I only brought one bottle of water and no snacks. The sun was unforgiving, no shade--if very little. Thinking that the trail would go down into the canyon at some point, I suggested we keep heading on trails that led downward. That we did.

And eventually, we made it down into the parking lot, at the beginning of the trail that led to Battle Creek Falls. There we found cub scouts, youth activities, and a gaggle of people. I was grateful for the water fountain. Drank long and deep. I'm sure we looked pretty gross. Sweaty. Sun burned. Maybe a few twigs in my hair and dirt covering my feet and ankles (Chaco loving!). And yes, we did continue on the way up to see that darn waterfall. And yes, I did stand underneath. It was brilliantly cold and refreshing.

There was really no way in hell I was going to hike UP that mountain another 7 miles to return to the car.
We hitchhiked.

With a youth group actually.
Young Women's youth group.
As we climbed into the van the Young Women's leader told all the teenage girls surrounding us to never ever ever pick up strangers!

Gosh, I'm so glad for Utahns and the Utah probability of running into a friendly Mormon being so dang high.
I'm also grateful for that drinking fountain we came upon and for the coolness of the waterfall.
I didn't get home until about 8 o' clock. What was meant to be a short 30 minute excursion up a short mile trail ended up being a 4 hour (or so) exhausting, hot, trek through weeds and dirt providing no shade whatsoever and averaging about 7 miles--8 including the trail up to the waterfall.

Woot.

A few left turns, and why you should always have a camera on hand

This experiences is just too good not to share..

June 16th

I was antsy. On edge. Cooped up. Tired of watching movies and the not-so-good, mediocre (yes I realize it's redundant and yes it is on purpose--and necessary) television reality shows.

Ready to get out. Go back to the wilderness. The untamed environment and land of wildflowers. 

So I said to Andrew, my younger, taller, studly, brotha--I says to him, "Andrew! To the bat mobile! We're going." 

He jumped into his green tights and cape and was ready in lightning speed. 

Through the sleepy town of Florence and the barren land of Penrose, we drove. 

And then....I turned left. 

There's a lot that can happen when you take a left turn. A lot of possibilities and life changing events waiting to take place. This is true despite me being unable to walk under ladders, touch a penny on the ground that is facing tails side up, or always throwing salt over my shoulder whenever I knock over a salt shaker at the restaurant I work at. 

No. This is real life. Not just superstitious.

And as we drove our eyes beheld such wonders. 

Two camels. No-three camels, one of them was hiding behind the other two. Chewing on cud? Just chilling. 

Peacocks in the back. Ostriches. Llamas. All in one beautiful, happy place on the outskirts of the po-dunk town of Penrose, Colorado. 

Of course, that led to the conversation of what to call an animal mix of an ostrich, llama, peacock, and camel. I think the best we got was llamockichamel. Or maybe it was peallamostamel. . . . 

Gawking and giggling, cursing ourselves for not bringing a camera, we drove on. 

Huge, breathing, grunting, buffaloes were around the next corner. Looking at us, bored and sleepy. Encircled by a fence with a post that read: "No roller skating in or around the buffalo herd." 

For those of you who do not get the joke of this clever "farmer" refer to here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7a1-bCrmRQ

So true, Roger Miller, so true. 

Our journey was far from over. 

Another left turn. The goal was to find a place I had been taken to by a high school boyfriend as a senior in high school, a few years ago. It was a sneaky little, creepy, old building hiding in the woods in the mountains across a creek full of leeches (as I had learned one summer day, sticking my flip flop cladded foot into the water. . ). Then, I had sworn to never show anyone else this very secret place. But then, I thought I was in love. Joke's on him, right? ;) 

By this time we had about an hour of sunlight left. Driving along a dirt rode which my poor little car could barely handle, I pointed that fact out. 

"Andrew," I said, "We have about an hour or so before this turns into a really bad idea. . . . especially if my car breaks down. . . and I just realized we didn't tell anyone where we were going. In fact, I'm not entirely sure of where we are. Do you have service? No? I thought not. . . oh and we're going to explore a creepy house in the woods--cool right?" 

I wish I could capture in the written word the noises of incredulity that came from my brother's mouth. I suppose the best I can do is this: puhwah-fshh-tah????? 

While trying to pronounce that, shake your head really fast and scrunch up your nose and widen your eyes. Careful don't hurt yourself. Alright, there ya go. I think you got it! Good job. I almost thought you were my brother for a moment. Almost. . . . 

Yes, it was true. Andrew was right. We were at the beginnings of a perfect horror story. We even passed a random cabin next to the road, secluded with curtains that seemed to move behind the glass. Surely, a killer, waiting for two dumb kids to wander into this part of the mountains. Surely. 

And don't forget the old school house further down the road that had a fire in the 1920s and was obviously haunted by little kids and a teacher. Obviously. 

I had worked Andrew up so much, he was tense. Incredibly tense. He kept looking around at the dimly lit terrain saying things like "are you sure we should do this?" "If something comes after us, I'm out of here--I will run and LEAVE YOU BEHIND" 

So....naturally. . . . while driving, and as he was turned around in his seat, searching for some kind of weapon to wield in the back seat, I turned, looked out his window and screamed with sheer terror. 

For that moment alone, I should have an emmy award sitting on my shelf right now. 

Even now, I'm laughing just remembering his face, his whole body even. Frozen, with fear. His eyes wide, his mouth parted, his face white. Oh my word! It was so beautiful. Tears streaming down my face, I had to pull over and just get all the laughter out. I couldn't breath. In fact, it hurt to gasp for air. It was so perfect. So easy. 

It didn't take long for Andrew to come around and laugh with me. I got him good. I wish I could somehow take that picture in my  mind that is causing me to chuckle even now and put it here for you to see. hahahahahahahaha. 

*sigh* 

"I don't even know why I was so scared?? Why was that so dang scary?!?!" 

I don't know Andrew. I don't know. You big scaredy pants. 

Thirty minutes later, we made it to the parking lot. 

To the right of the parking lot, there's a nice little trail. 

To the left? 

A beautiful meadow leading out into the woods and deeper into the mountains. Untamed wilderness. 

We took a left. Andrew arming himself first with my ice scraper from my car and my extra coat that I always keep in the back, just in case. Yah, we were pretty much as safe as possible. Dangerous looking too. What with Andrew lost in my big puffy coat, holding a plastic, blue scraper. And me, with my "huge" stature and mean looking glare. Very dangerous. 

Standing in the meadow, the green vegetation, the quiet, the dark mountains and the tall grasses (they came up to my waist in some areas), Andrew said the obvious, "wow this is awesome." 

So we stood back to back, and did a slow 360 degree turn to take it all in. Of course it was necessary to stand back to back. The moment clearly called for it. 

And then we were off. Trekking. I felt a few creatures scurry past on my Chaco-cladded feet and somehow fought the urge to cry out. The terrain, however, was different. There were now two streams and the trees and undergrowth were even more wild than when I had been there last, years ago. I thought it wise to keep to some kind of marker. So, following animal trails and walking on fallen trees we zig zagged our way into the growth, me trying to remember which way to go. One especially large tree assisted in our first crossing over the first stream. We walked along its fallen, thick, trunk and realized that it was part of a tree that had been split right down the middle. Amazing. I looked down into the hole of the roots, studied the clean cut of both sides of this magnificent tree lying on the ground mirroring each other. Lightning. Awesome. 

We followed that tree for a while, jumping off, to find the second stream. The original stream--the one I remembered stepping in only to discover leeches enjoying a good meal on my flip-flop cladded foot. It was so different. Much larger. Faster. Deeper. Farther away from the creepy building. I felt silly for expecting everything to look exactly as I had last seen it. Landscapes change. The sunlight was fading fast. And alas, Andrew and I were unable to cross the stream to explore before night circled in. The house was barely visible and we were only able to see it because we knew what to look for. Dark and eery, shrouded even more from view it peek above the tall, tall weeds. We promised we would return and fully explore that creepy building properly and started our journey back to the car. 

And there we saw them. In the meadow. Two black figures. Large, in the distance. Eyes. Upon us. My brain didn't even register what they were. Andrew though, used his super power called "deductive reasoning" and claimed, "horses!" 

Two beautiful, black, possibly wild, horses.......trotting......racing....right towards us. 

"Oh shoot! Run!" 

And run we did. Laughing, of course. Or maybe just smiling. I'm almost certain there was laughter.  

As I turned to look back to see if we were still being chased, I saw those two darn horses, stopped, heads cocked to one side looking as if they were thinking we were a bunch of crazies. I made sure a fence separated Andrew and myself from them before we stopped, however. They came trotting over to say hello. We petted their noses, fed them weeds, dodged their biting mouths and wandering tongues (seriously, not even kidding, those tongues were crazy and would have made some hilarious pictures! When they weren't nipping at us, they were definitely trying to lick us). Named them Midnight and Shadow. Tried to figure out if they were wild or not. Cursed ourselves for not bringing a camera and smiled a whole lot. After crooning in Midnight's ear softly, I managed to give his neck a nice little massage for a bit without even getting bitten. Horse whisperer, they call me. ;) 

And again, Andrew said the obvious, "this is so awesome," as Shadow nudged him, trying to get a taste of the stylish blue coat he was wearing. 

Driving home, slowly in the dark having been missing for a couple of hours from civilization, we said with satisfaction of how perfect this little adventure had been. And indeed it was. It was pretty great. 

And then, we saw a bear. 

The end. 

*grateful for being able to hang out with Andy-drew* 

She called me an artist

My immediate thought was hey, why the hell not? 

I'm not an art student. 

I only lasted a day in the Art History class here at BYU. 

I don't go to museums and I don't really care for learning about famous painters. 

But I enjoy creation. I take pleasure in the joys of beginning with nothing and ending with something. I like the idea, the time to contemplate or to just paint without thinking very much at all. I love the excuse it gives me to step away from the crazy life outside. I really like me when I'm painting. 

So when the lady at the cash register said she wish she could paint and assumed I was some kind of professional artist as I bought a couple of new paint brushes today, I didn't bother to disagree with her. Frankly, I believe, that creation and art should be enjoyed by all people, in every skill level. 

I used to paint when I was younger all the time. I did it because I loved it, and I didn't know that there was any correct way of painting. In a sense, I didn't know that I didn't know how to paint. So I just did. And I wasn't half bad. At BYU, you see a lot of talented people. Amazing talent. 

It's not hard to be intimidated. 

But the other day, I decided that I was going to paint and be a painter for the mere sake of wanting to be. 

No lessons needed. No need to compare my work with others. 

So when asked today if I was an artist, I smiled and said, yes and listened to the lady with the name tag speak the same thoughts I had had plenty of times while looking at art done by the talented students of the BYU Art Department. The thought of, 'man I wish I could do that.' 

Well. . . why can't I? 

So there you have it, good people. 

I'm grateful for the "why the hell not" thought and for the joy I find in painting. 

Southern Utah

I really am falling in love with Utah. Particularly Southern Utah though I'm eager to explore the rest of Utah as well.
This past Memorial Day weekend, I was invited to come along on a canyoneering trip. I'm so glad I accepted and so grateful towards the fella who did invite me. I've never done anything this extreme before. The canyon was amazing, beautiful and huge. We drove up on Sunday and camped and some of the people in my group actually brought tarps to sleep on! I was happy to hear that people like myself and my brothers do exist (best investment ever, right Andy-drew?!). The stars were amazing and the moon, when it decided to come out, even more so. I woke up fairly early (even though I barely slept the whole night thanks to some rocks jabbing into my side), and laid there watching the sun slowly peak up over the mountains and spill some light into the valley. Incredible. Everything and everyone was so quiet, so peaceful. So untouched and undisturbed. Absolutely incredible.
I swam in dank water in dark places, hiked in awe and crawled through some tight spots. I jumped off a ledge, though it looked scarier than it actually was, and scraped both of my knees scrambling up some rocks. I learned what it means to "stem" and was given a compliment by one of the fellas for my "stemming technique" as I shimmied my way down a crevice into the BLACK HOLE. While trying to lower myself down a hole using my upper body strength and a rope tied to a log, I slipped and fell, completely immersing myself in that "delicious" water. A friend who watched from above, commented on how close I came to hitting my head on the side of a rock and how clean my fall was. Whew. No worries, right?
What an experience.

Even though I just got home a few days ago, I'm very eager to return to the great outdoors.
I'm so glad I was with people who knew what they were doing and where they were going and I'm very grateful for all of the gentlemen on the trip who helped me and all of the other ladies down and up some of the more tricky areas in the canyon. I'm grateful for being able to push the limits of my comfort zone (though it's already huge, seeing as I'm just a comfy person in most situations). I said a prayer of thanks to my Father in Heaven as I traversed this wild journey through White Canyon for creating such a beautiful earth to live on.
All in all, you know it's a worthwhile trip when at the very end, someone with a surprised tone says, "wow. . . nobody got hurt."

True that.

(Note, I didn't take most of these photos due to not owning a waterproof camera--so despite the first photo, these are all accredited to Mackinsie and Staci. Black Hole. White Canyon. 2013.)

Sunrise 

Wet Suits! 

Area in which we camped for the night: 

Climbing up out of the Canyon, letting all the Karens be our guide. 

Lowering down into the BLACK HOLE 

Yah, I was there. :)