Love More

I'm learning a lot lately about what it means to let go.

Sometimes I have to let go of people. That's really hard for me, perhaps the hardest thing of all. Maybe they die. Maybe they decide not to be in my life anymore. Maybe they move or I move. No matter how they leave, it's not easy to let someone go completely.

Sometimes I have a dream that I've held onto for too long. Maybe I thought that it was the way that life was supposed to go and so I hold on for dear life, clinging to what I thought I wanted, the way I thought things should have turned out. But things didn't turn out that way.

Sometimes it is hard to let go of our pride, anger or hurt. I stubbornly cling to it. I think of the feeling of satisfaction that comes when I think that I am in the right or that my way is most just or fair. I think that it will always fill me and make me whole. Really, it just leaves me empty in the end.

By doing this, though, I forget that life can be more. There are more people out there to love. There are more dreams to find and achieve. There is more happiness, joy and fulfillment to be had. Today I heard someone say this gentle reminder..."Love More."

So that is my new goal in life - to love more. To love the people in my life more. To find dreams and goals that fulfill me. To find more times to forgive and serve. Yes...that is my goal. TO LOVE MORE!

A Walk in the Park

Don't you think this tree has a story? I'm sure it must, right? There it sits, all by its lonesome, while all the other trees are surrounded by nice friends to keep them company. And this tree, what does it do? It sits on the other side of the trail. And it even leans away from the other trees. I wonder if it got teased as a little sapling and decided enough was enough. At least that is how I imagine things going down. It just up and moved away.

The other day I was out for a little jaunt to the park. It was a lovely day. Spring in Texas sure can be nice. When the storms aren't raging. Which they have been wont to do these past few weeks. Broken windows in cars and houses, roofs needing reshingled, cars all dented and dinged. Hail the size of golf-balls. And boy-howdy was there some thunder and lightening and wind and rain. I love a good storm. But I also love a day like this. Seventy-eight degrees out. Sunny. Slight breeze. DEEEEEElish!



Now this tree here has a very different story. It is surrounded. By smaller trees, trees that worship the ground it roots in. It's this huge tree whose limbs spread out akimbo, this way and that. And then these smaller trees, well they are aaaaaaall around it, in one great circle, looking up and admiring that pretty tree with all it's limbs and leaves and whatnot.


And aren't these little flowers just pretty. Simple. Perfect. I think so. Aaahhhh spring! You sure know what's what when it comes to decorating.

And now for something super cheesy, and I'm going to sound like I'm 80 while saying it. Don't we live in a grand old age? I mean really. The iphone has revolutionized my life. One little device that I can hold in my hand. It's a phone. It's capable of accessing and browsing the Internet. It's a book. It's an mp3 player. It can keep a calendar for me. It is an alarm, a timer, a calculator. It's a camera! So I can go for a walk, listen to music, make phone calls, text, send an email...and take a few pictures along the way.

Crush...

Do you stop having crushes as you get older? I haven't had one in a loooooooooong while. And so I wonder.

So hey, I just googled crush, and the first site that came up was about how when your body starts to change, you start to get crushes...sort of creepy, really.

And besides, my first crush was Elvis. And I was about six or something, so I'm pretty sure my body wasn't changing in those particular ways. Yes, he was so dreamy. I remember him there on the t.v. screen. Must of been some movie re-run when he was skinny, young and pretty. And I told my mom he was soooooo handsome and who was he, anyway, that handsome man. And my momma told me, why that's Elvis Presley.

Then there was Scott Christensen, and maybe I shouldn't put this in writing because it's completely embarrassing that I was like seven years old and had a crush on the little boy in my ward who was in love with my best friend Christy Walker. All the boys were in love with Christy. It's understandable. She was adorable.

The rest of my grade school years were kind of a blur and I can't remember for the life of me who I crushed on after Scott. But I'm sure there were others.

In junior high I think I had the same crush every girl did. This guy moved to Spanish Fork from the South...Georgia or something, I guess. His accent was swoon-worthy, and I'm sure he played it up for all the ladies. And I thought he was perfect. Elliot Ingle...blonde and beautiful. And I wonder who else out there had a crush on the boy.

High school...well, I'm not sure I have the guts to admit to those crushes. There were many. And some of them, well, some of them I may still run into. So I'll just keep my trap shut and say there were many and varied and sundry boys that I thought were too adorable for words.

The first really big one, though, broke my heart in half. That was David Gallman. I was a senior. He was a freshman...IN COLLEGE! Hello, I would never have dated a ninth grader! Anyway, David was from Mississippi. I guess I have a thing for the southern accent. He kissed me and then pretty much that was it. I guess he just wasn't that in to me. I never could figure that guy out. Never. He'd crop up every few years. Until he finally got married. I think that's what it was. He was my "he's just not that into you" guy. You live, you learn!

There were plenty more after that...Tim Hoopes, the first guy I dated that was younger than me. He was actually really a great guy and super fun. James Baird. I was actually in love with that guy...CRAZY! Not my best judgment. McKay Bateman...adorable and sweet, seriously. Stewart Schultkie (can't spell his last name), a very important crush because he was SMAAAAAART!!! Cute and smart are the best combination! And he was sweet and funny. Maybe he's my one that got away :(! And oh yeah, David Clark. That crush just wouldn't die, even after he stood me up. I mean, my crush for him wouldn't die. I hope he is doing just fine and not dying or anything. Because that would be horrible.

There's been some stuff in between, but that stuff gets pretty messy, and I mostly just want this to be about the good memories and fun crushes I had.

Oh and there is always Matt Damon. ALWAYS...even if the movie sucked or he gained 50 pounds for the role. And sometimes James Franco, but sometimes so NOT James Franco. Like James Franco Spiderman...the boy cleans up well vs. James Franco Pineapple Express...which I have not seen but stoner James Franco just isn't really my thing.

Anyway, why would I admit to all this and subject myself to humiliation? I guess because crushes are nice and fun. And I liked them. They're one of those things that are both painful and exhilarating all at the same time. You know...will he call me, won't he? Oh I love running into him at some random place. Or seeing him in class! Good times, folks! And I'm not being facetious, by the way. I am serious. Crushes are rad.

Really, though, peeps. Perhaps I'm hoping that karma and all the good vibes of the universe will see me having positive memories of dating and men and crushes. Once karma sees these good vibes floating out there, karma will see that I truly do want a crush...that will then lead to love...??? I don't know. I'm just using a public forum to admit to the world that I want to fall in love. That I'm open. So Bring It On, Karma! I can take it!

Or maybe crushes are my favorite, like Blue Bell Cherry Cheesecake Ice Cream, or fat babies, or meadows full of flowers (oh maybe I'll share some pictures tomorrow of my nice walk amongst the flora and fauna). That and maybe I just wanted to remember something good and happy.

All the World's a Stage

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts...

Ah Shakespeare, ye olde Bard ye! I've been thinking about you. I'm pretty sure I think you are the most fabulous of writers in all the wide world. And I hope to write lines as memorable as that.

And what parts have I played in my little life on my small stage in the world? Daughter, granddaughter, sister, niece, aunt, cousin, teacher, sales associate, fast food burger flipper, waitress, student, legal associate, lawyer, actress, singer, writer, adviser, counselor, basketball player, runner, poet, traveler, and most important of all, friend.

After all, friendship is the strongest bond, the bond that should rest beneath all love. Knowing that you like someone; knowing that you want to be in their company; knowing that they make you stronger and better; knowing that you want to do the same for them. As the good Bard says: "Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel."

So to all my friends, for all the roles I play in life, I am most grateful to say that I am a friend and that I have many friends. I am grateful for their help and their love...that we are bound together with hoops of steel.

And one more thought from Mr. Shakespeare...

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with a sleep...."

Thanks, Will. You really are quite brilliant.

Feelings...Nothing More Than Feelings

Feelings are tricky, aren't they? They are so sensitive, really, and it doesn't take much to hurt them. Or else, they change so quickly, without you expecting it at all. Or a new one comes along, and it is so foreign to you that you aren't quite sure what to make of it.

That's the way I've been feeling lately...which isn't a good way to describe feelings...with the use of the word feelings. Hmmmmm...how else to say this?

Not sure.

So.

I've been feeling these new feelings. And I am entirely unsure of what to make of any of them. I remember when I was quite young, maybe five or six or maybe eight. Who knows? I can still see myself walking around my grandparent's drive way, right near the top of the orchard in front of their house. I was about to cross the street to go into our back yard. My cousin, Jennifer (or J.J. as we called her then), and I were walking together. And I had a new feeling inside and I couldn't describe it, but it made me feel strange and uncertain. Like something was going to change. Like things would be different.

I don't really remember if anything was about to change or if anything did change. I just remember recognizing the feeling. And wondering what it meant.

Today I've been looking at jobs. I've even been looking at the schools in this area because I can't take another year without working. I do not have it in me. I have to find a job. And this feeling came over me. It was strange and new. Like something is going to change. Like things are going to be different.

It isn't a bad feeling. It isn't a scary feeling. But it is an uncomfortable feeling.

I'm not sure what it means, but I try to listen. Because I honestly think that feelings do mean something. Just what?

And by the by...does this just happen to me? Has this happened to you?

Baby Stepping

The world is divided into two halves. Those who laugh with delight at What About Bob and those who "hate" What About Bob. I think it is delightfully funny and witty and nonsensical. Especially nonsensical. Because sometimes it's nice in life when things do not make any sense at all. And people who say they hate it, well. So.

Well, today was the first day of the rest of my life, and tomorrow will be the same. And what does that have to do with a movie about a neurotic psychologist and his neurotic and needy patient? Why, baby stepping of course! That is what I'm doing, you see. "I'm baby stepping. I'm doing the work!"

I think that means today I get up and do my best. And then tomorrow I do the same. In several months from now, I will look back and say, WOW! What a difference those small steps every day made. I know, I know. Really the movie is making fun of the whole baby steps. (I'm actually laughing right now, in my head, at how funny that movie is.) But I'm choosing to see it differently.

I see too much of the big picture instead of looking at small steps today and small steps tomorrow. Small steps, I'm telling you, small steps. And then in three months, I've secured a job. And then in six months, I've finished a first draft of my novel. And then in a year, I feel independent once again. And maybe I even get published. Ahhhh, sweet fantasy. Hey...other people can do it, so can I.

So whatever. Make fun. But I'm going to keep baby stepping...I'm doing the work!

The Hope of the Atonement

I am a natural born doubter. It's true. There isn't much I want to change about who I am, fundamentally, anyway. I appreciate my good qualities. I'm grateful for my talents. However, I am a doubter and a skeptic. And while some may pride themselves on such traits, I find them nagging and difficult. At times I just want to shut that voice off in my mind that says, "Well, how do you know for sure? You can't know for sure. Nothing is certain."

However, I am stubborn, too. Often enough I have felt the hope of the atonement to be a true believer in Jesus Christ. My stubborn side tells me that whatever doubts might come, I know that I have felt the Spirit tell me Christ is real. And what does that feel like? It feels like hope. And what does hope feel like? Hope feels like joy. Joy testifies to me that Christ came, that He lived, that His suffering was real. Most importantly, it tells me that after all His suffering, He arose on the third day. Doctrine and Covenants 76:22, "And now, after the many testimonies which have been given of him, this is the testimony, last of all, which we give of him: That he lives!" He lives. After all the sermons, the miracles, and the suffering, I am most grateful to know that Christ still lives.

Isn't that a marvel? 2 Nephi 2: 25 teaches this about joy, "Adam fell that men might be; and men are that they might have joy." If Adam fell, why are we to have joy? Because Christ came. Because Christ atoned for our sins. Because we have hope in this. Yes, hope for me is joy. Joy when I know that whatever may come, Christ atoned for my life so that I can live again.

Reminders...

The Book of Mormon often teaches us to remember. Remember the "captivity of our fathers" and the like. I even recall a seminary lesson dedicated to remembering.

Today I wanted to cry. I was having certain feelings of, shall we say, being neglected. And I had to reign my emotions back in and think of other things. Talk to people. Forget about my selfish feelings, and pull myself together.

And then tonight my niece was quite upset over losing a dollar. I told her that we would look for it in the morning. Her reply? "No one cares." She carried on in this fashion for quite a while. Much moaning and crying about how she was "the only girl in the world that no one cared about." I did try to remind her that there were children going to bed that didn't have moms and dads and sisters and so forth. She mumbled some more about it.

Point is, that's sort of what I was thinking today. I'm the only girl in the world that God has forgotten and that I felt tired of being ignored. Oh how young and inexperienced I am. You see, I remember telling my mom how "No one cares about me!" and "You'll see. I'll run away and then you'll be sorry!" and my personal favorite "You never loved me! You don't love me!" I can look back now and think about how sort of funny and silly it was. Me throwing a fit because my mom was "making" me put away my laundry. Laundry she had washed. For nine people. Just a "for example"...if you will.

But I guess I haven't grown up that much. So let me count my millions of blessings rather than crying foul and claiming God does not love me. Like the fact that I live in a time where I can have almost anything I need or want in moments. All the big things...like I can go to college for twenty-plus years. Twenty-plus years!!! Think of it. That's sort of insane, really. I've spent more of my life in school than out of it. Or the small things...like Cadbury Mini Eggs. And downloading songs. And listening to them on a device that lets me talk to people thousands of miles away. Or write to them in seconds. Or listen to music or read a book or play a game.

And that is that. One more pep talk. I'll give myself a thousand if it means that I can break the habit of pitying myself for what I don't have. I'll remind myself of this every second of every day before I give in to self-pity. Just to remember oh, just to remember, that life is very good, so very good.

Things I Am Loving Right Now

Some latest faves, in no particular order:

1. My new running playlist, most especially, Celine Dion's cover of River Deep, Mountain High (a Tina Turner original, fyi). It totally gets my energy UP!

2. Lenny's Sub Shop. Okay, so I really can't eat at Subway. Too much of it living in Newark (because Newark had too few options). And besides, there are sub shops and then there are Sub Shops. And while Lenny's is no Capriatis (bar none best sandwich ever...the Capistrami...you must trust me on this), it is a great deal better than some other places I know of. And so, I am loving Lenny's right now. (And I'm kind of also jonesing for a Holland Tunnel at Gandolfo's in the UT...maybe if I'm lucky enough, this summer...I hope!)

3. Running. No lie. I seriously want to go. Because today, I got up, and looked at the weather. It was only 7 a.m. and 72 degrees outside, which of course does not bode well for the rest of the day. I mean, it can get hot up in these parts! So I didn't attempt to go back to bed. This is me, people. I, yours truly, did not attempt to go back to bed at 7 a.m. Instead I got on my running shoes and headed out the door. Because as much as I am loving this running thing (okay, jogging...let's call it jogging), I do not enjoy jogging in 80+ degree temps. And those temps will be coming soon enough.

4. I get to jog outside. Seriously, I can't get over it sometimes after living in Newark. And today I want to this really beautiful park and it smelled heavenly. Like lilacs. Which always reminds me of my lovely Grandma Andrus who always had a lilac bush in her yard. My grandma, of course, is always a good memory.

5. Nat the Fat Rat's blog. I can't get enough of this girl. She's so funny...and insightful. Mostly her blot is just a delight to read. Check her out at natthefatrat.com. It's awesome!

6. My hairdo...and, by extension (no pun intended), Bethany at Bel Fiore. The color, the cut. I'm over three weeks in, and I'm barely noticing roots. Love it! Can't wait to go back to her :)!

7. How green it is out. It's super lush right now. In fact, it's giving me the Europe vibe. Have you ever been in Europe on a train in the summer? Maybe it's nice and early in the morning, and the sun is just coming up and there may be mist left over from the rain last night. (Is it just me or does it rain a lot over in those parts?) And it's just green and ripe and perfect. You just stare out the window and wonder at creation in all its gloriousness. Oh to be in Europe. But it's pretty green here.

8. Speaking of nature, the flowers are in bloom. Pink and yellow and purple everywhere. TXas is famous for it's blue bonnets, and I know why. They sure are lovely!

9. Cadbury Mini Eggs. You know the little chocolate pieces of heavenly delightsomeness that only come out for Easter. And it is a good thing, too, because I could barrel through two or three bags of those a week with my hands tied behind my back. And even though I sometimes get this yen for them in December, I'm sure glad that the temptation is only around for a short-lived Easter season.

10. Word ladders on sporcle.com. Have you gone there? Go there and take some quizzes and play word ladder. I love them! And speaking of word games, webcrosswords.com and usatoday.com are my two fave spots for crosswords. I seriously love word games. I'm a big NERD!

Too Much of a Good Thing

Picture this...a sweet, chubby sort of little girl growing up out in the countryside, her nearest neighbors her Grandma and Grandpa. In the summer, she plays quite a bit with her siblings and the young girl who lives about a half a mile a way. She's the closest non-family playmate in the area.

This little girl has plenty of free time, and she loves books. A lot. Her mother takes her to the library so that she can choose two or three books every single week. She enjoys going outside and playing with the other children. She can't wait to turn on the sprinklers and jump on the trampoline and pretend she's wading through a big swimming pool.

But she also likes to find a quiet spot with just her book. She'll settle in for hours and read to her heart's content.

And my question is this. Is there such thing as too much reading? Today, my answer just might be yes. I sort of feel like I've glutted myself on books for the past few years. Not to mention the fact that I was in law school, so it isn't as if I had some sort of shortfall when it came to reading time. And last night I was telling a friend that I'd read something like twenty books so far this year. I was wrong. It was seventeen. Still. That's a lot. Last December alone, I read six. And one of those was Ken Follet's tomb of a novel (at, ahem, almost 1,000 pages) The Pillars of the Earth.

So naturally, today it felt like too much. Like I'm letting myself live through books instead of getting out into the real world.

Thus, I dropped off my books at the library. And instead of picking out five books, I chose only one. And I'm going to savor that book. I'm not going to devour it whole tonight and tomorrow. I'm going to let it sink in for a few weeks.

And then, instead of reading so very very very very much, I'm going to commit my time to other endeavors. Like writing a novel of my own. Like really dedicating myself to a job search. Like working out as much as possible while I have the free time. Like calling friends and family and talking to them more. Like reaching out to friends here.

You know, right after I graduated from BYU, I went through a reading drought. I sort of was tired of it after all that reading for my major and my minor. For around a year, I didn't really read much. But I had a lot to do. I was taking on a new life. I moved to Virginia. I got my first real job as a grown-up...all graduated and official. I was making new friends and going on road trips to North Carolina and Upstate New York.

My life was balanced.

My life is not balanced. And that means I have to let some things go. And it means I have to be honest. Reading is good for you. But it can't be the only thing. It isn't the only thing. So reading, it is with a very heavy heart that I have to tell you this. We are going to slow it down for a while. I have to get on with the rest of my life.

A Wish for a Day

You know what I wish for a day? Not that I could escape my life. I think that I've been doing enough of that lately all on my own thankyouverymuch!

I don't wish for a vacation to Greece...well, at least not right now. That is a wish for a future day.

I don't wish to lose that last ten...er maybe twenty...pounds. Not today, anyway.

I don't even wish for a million dollars at this very moment.

I told you, I don't want to escape my life. I don't want to hide, and I don't want someone to magically fix my problems, issues, and ailments. No, not today. Today I want to fix them myself.

So what is my wish for the day? I want to wake up feeling like Wonder Woman. That is my wish. Sounds like a futile wish? Because it is probably more likely that I would wake up on a beach in Greece, twenty pounds lighter and a million dollars richer than it is that I would wake up with super bionic powers and an invisible airplane all my own. Not to mention the cool costume, tiara and all. But I think I still want to be blonde. Because let's face facts. I look better as a blonde.

But you'll notice, I didn't say I want to be Wonder Woman. I didn't. I said I wanted to wake up feeling like Wonder Woman. And there is a difference. As nice as it would be to have some sort of super power, I don't really want that. I'm not delusional, after all. What I really want is to be able to face my problems head on without any sort of fear. I want to face those things that I must face and take them on. I may not be able to solve them perfectly. I may not be able to solve them all in one day, either. I just want the courage to face them. Because most days, lately, I feel like running in the other direction.

As you can imagine, that's not working out so well for me. SURPRISE!!!

Where did this idea come from, anyway, you might ask? I mean, as long as we are wishing here, why not dream big? Here is why I wish to feel like Super Woman. Our dear Relief Society president was teaching a lesson once. In the meeting, she talked about how hard a particular time in her life was. She was a young mother, I believe, sick, and her husband was out of town. She said that for a six month period of her life, she felt like she was Super Woman. She felt like she could get up and get moving and go go go go go. And she said it was awesome. I can only imagine. She had the strength to face the challenges of raising young children, being sick and having a husband gone for work all the time.

I guess I've just been thinking a lot about that. The fantasies are nice. And isn't it so wonderful when you get a surprise gift that you weren't expecting? But I don't think that anyone is going to pay my student loan debt, or purchase a car for me, or give me enough money to move out and live on my own. I don't think I'm going to Greece any time in the foreseeable future. And that is just fine. In fact, it is more than fine. Because I want to be able to solve these issues and move on with my life. I want to work for it.

Everyone dreams of the easy life or the perfect life. But there is no such thing. Money doesn't make problems disappear. A trip to Greece might be nice for a week...or probably two. (Hey, I mean it is Greece, and if you are going to go, I mean, GO! Am I right?) But the trip isn't going to suddenly make my life a perfect one. Nope, that just isn't the way it works. I have to solve the problems. I have to make my life what I want it to be.

So, I'm sending this out there into the great universe...let me wake up feeling like Wonder Woman...tomorrow, the next day, and for the next five million days. Let me wake up feeling like Wonder Woman!!!

Sick...

I came down with something...probably the flu virus my niece had. And now I know why she was so lethargic and uncommunicative.

My body ached so much yesterday that I actually started crying. Yes, tears and all. I haven't cried over physical pain in I don't know how long. But my joints were burning and my muscles were sooooo achy. And all I could do was lie down. Ibuprofen helped a little, and at least it got me through the night so I could sleep. And the fever and chills...man was it awful.

Mostly the symptoms are gone. Not eating anything but crackers and drinking Sprite. Because my stomach can't take any more than that.

Why is it that our bodies must do this? I mean, isn't life tough enough without sickness? I just wonder why we have viruses that cause us to spew fluids from our bodies (to much detail?) and hurt all over. I know people have much harder physical ailments than my little flu bug that will probably be completely gone by tomorrow (cross my fingers!). And that makes me feel for them, too. I hope I never have to go through that. I wish no one did.

A Northern Light

My latest book review...it was a great book and a blessed relief because I've read some fails of late. It was so great to read something with good character development, an interesting conflict, and that was just well written!

A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


Jennifer Donnelly adeptly weaves the fictional story of Mathilda Gokey (or Mattie/Matt to her friends and family) into the true story of one Miss Grace Brown, a 19-year-old young woman who is mysteriously drowned during the summer of 1906. Grace comes to Big Moose Lake with her boyfriend, of sorts in any case, and is then found dead after what appears to be a drowning accident. Donnelly explores what might have happened if Mattie happened to be in possession of a packet of letters written by Grace and her boyfriend in the months before Grace's untimely death.

There are several things I loved about this story.

1. The chapters all contained a word of the day. Mattie, a writer in the making, would find a new word in her dictionary every day. I loved the way Donnelly centered part of the focus of each chapter on those words so that it related to the action in the novel.

2. I loved that the story of Grace Brown was true. I love that the letters were real (although, of course, Mattie never read them because Mattie was not real). I did not love that she died, of course, but discovering that the fictional Mattie Gokey was learning about a real life mystery was an astute way to tie into the themes of female roles in the early 1900s. It made the decisions that the women faced in the story all the more real. In fact, it was one of the best parts of the novel.

3. I loved that Mattie could see the good in people who were far from perfect, especially the revelation of her father's own pain and his love for his family. Although he was less than affectionate, she could see the way he cared for their family in the endless sacrifices he made for them. It made me reflect on what love is, and how we choose to see it. Because all to often, I think, we miss it. We don't see the every day actions of others, so we forget that those, too, are an expression of love...sometimes the most important expressions of all.

4. I loved the honest look at what life would have been like for a female in such a harsh environment, especially if you have a gift that doesn't fit the profile of wife or homemaker. I think we have it so much easier today because of the conveniences of modern life. Dishwashers, washers, dryers, cars, the internet, refrigerators, Walmart, Target, indoor plumbing, electricity, ATMs...you get the idea. We have free time to explore so many options because of the conveniences of modern life. But women then maybe couldn't spend time reading a novel, for example, because it would take hours just to finish the laundry or get food ready for storage. Donnelly presents tough, real choices for her characters, and I can honestly say, I don't know what I would have done had I lived then. I think it would have been hard all around, regardless of gender. But to have children and raise them in an environment like that...my hat goes off to those women. They were strong!

5. Mattie's decision, in the end, was hard for me to accept. Should she stay or go? I won't give anything away here. I wanted her to do both. I wanted her to stay and be a mother and have a family and build a life. I wanted her to go and live her own dream because she wasn't like the other women. She wanted to have something different. I won't say she wanted "more" because it isn't more. It's just not the same as a life with a family, building a farm and raising children. I guess that is the part that totally hit home for me. I know, on the one hand, how lonely life can be when you don't have that companionship of a husband and children. But I also know the beauty of living out dreams, getting an education, exploring new places and having new adventures. So either choice for me was hard.

6. I think the way she weaved the story through time was brilliant. It's not obvious at first that she's not telling a story in a linear fashion. She tells portions of the story before Mattie begins working at Big Moose Lake and portions of the story after she starts working, after Grace Brown has died, and after Mattie comes into possession of Grace's letters. So the audience discovers both how Mattie comes to work at Big Moose and how Grace Brown died around the same time in the novel. In essence, Donnelly is entwining the two stories and two climaxes into one. Loved it.

I feel like my review doesn't do justice to the book. It was really good, very well written, thoughtful, smart. I could go on. But the best I can say is that you should read it.



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Cause I'm the Tax Man...The Tax Man

I just want to point out that I'm now writing my 56th post. All in 56 days. And so I'm on track. (But we won't mention the two times I cheated and wrote two posts in one day and then changed the date on the first post to reflect the previous, missed day. So. Well, whatever, I still wrote them. And 56 still adds up to 56.)

Um, tomorrow, taxes are due. And I've put it off this year, thinking I shouldn't have to go through that nonsense because I didn't really have income. Besides a measly amount of earnings from some savings accounts. But it's measly. I mean measly. But you are supposed to file, and so I will because tomorrow is tax day and everything is due. And it will take me all of thirty minutes, at the tippy top very most, to get online and finish the task.

Did I mention how I didn't earn a dime from working last year? Or that I didn't have a job? Or that I still don't?

Maybe I delayed this for so long because it was just to hard to remind myself of it. Maybe I just thought, well, since I won't be paying over anything, what's the use? And then I remembered that I am a citizen and we are supposed to file and then I am an attorney, so I should know better. Blasted taxes and the blasted law! Ha...just kidding IRS. I heart you :)!

And what am I griping about because it is all of 30 minutes (but probably only ten) of my...hmmm...obligation free time? It's just that I don't want to be reminded that I don't have a job. BLAH! And then I suppose if I did have a job, I'd be looking at my tax forms and wondering how in the world the government took all my money. That and I would have done my taxes in January because, well, that whole tax refund thing.

Welp...there is nothing for it, Samwise Gamgee. I just have to bite the bullet. But it does have me thinking about what the world would be like if we just all had to live off the fat of the land. Grow our own food, build our own houses, live like we were in Little House on the Prairie. And never pay taxes because that's what everyone else was doing. Running their own lives, that is. Did I mention my love for the IRS and the tax man? And the government? And our splendiforous economy? I have so much love to go around!

But still, Little House sounds sort of heavenly right now...although I'm pretty sure I'd be cursing the heat in the summer or the cold in the winter, wishing for indoor plumbing, wanting a car to get to the Walmart. And maybe Laura Ingles and her Pa had to pay taxes, too. Well, of course they did. I mean, taxes have been around since the beginning of time. I just don't know how the good old IRS worked back in those days. What were they taxed on, anyway, is what I'd like to know. And maybe I'll take my tax liability if it means I get central air conditioning here in the TXas summer. Because, well, have you been in TXas in the summer? It's hotter than the blazes of hell fire is what. And that's pretty hot, folks, pretty hot indeed!

So here is to this year...to finding a job and paying my taxes! May all my job and tax wishes come true!

Slow Down

On Monday this week, I ran 8.6 miles with my sister-in-law Carol. That's my longest outdoor run to date. And it isn't much shorter than my longest treadmill run which is 9 miles. Today I ran about 7.5. For me, that's a pretty big accomplishment as I have been struggling with running outside. Until this week, it felt so hard. I'd find myself at mile three thinking about how badly I wanted to stop. Every step of the way thinking, saying, screaming "Stop, Stop, STOP!!!" At least in my mind. My lungs felt like they would burst. My legs would feel tired. I'd feel like the sun was so so terribly hot. And there were some times...a few too many of them, actually...where I gave into the voice and stopped and "walked it off." At least that was what I said to myself. Can anyone say excuses?

But on Monday? Totally different story. I didn't feel overly winded. My legs were loose. The temperature was perfect. The breeze was cool. When we came to the end, the worst I could say was that I felt a blister forming on the arch of my left foot and that my knees felt a bit tight. That was that. And actually, I had a pretty nice runner's high for the rest of the day.

Honestly, though? I thought it was a fluke. But then next two shorter runs on Wednesday and Thursday proved to be more of the same.

Surely, I thought, most certainly, Saturday would be different. Because on Saturday I'd run for ninety minutes. So certainly I'd be back to wishing I were dead and saying I couldn't finish and stopping thirty minutes in. Ah but for the grace of the running gods...turns out I was wrong again. Saturday came, I ran for ninety minutes this morning, and I felt fantastic. Stupendous. Energetic, even. I can't wait to get out on Monday!

And it's all because I slowed down a little. My pride says I have to go faster. My pride says I want a championship time...or at least what I define as champion, which isn't that fast, really, but for me. Well, it is for me. I'm running around a twelve minute mile. Nothing to write home about, BUT. But I'm enjoying it. Shouldn't that be the point?

And I'm even looking forward to it because it feels good. Imagine that! It's been a long time since I could say that running felt this good. Not since college, probably. Anyway, there is really something to be said for these endorphins. I think I like them! I've heard people say do what you like when it comes to exercise because then you'll stick with it, but honestly I didn't believe that. Isn't all exercise some form of torture? Seriously, I'm ready for the next run already. And it's still Saturday. Really. The run felt that good.

Maybe that is the lesson for my life. Stop thinking that I have to dictate the pace. Instead? Slow it down.

HP Nerd

I bought the latest HP movie today. On its release date. Yup, I'm a nerd. Actually, it just so happened that I was at the store yesterday when it came out.

Speaking of being at the store yesterday, what is up with me and Walmart? Since when did that become a way of "getting out of the house"? Wallyworld? Really? A cure for my cabin fever? I guess that is what happens when you don't have a car and you need to wander a bit. And you rely on others for transportation, so when they go run errands, you get super excited about it. Some days I feel like I'm thirteen years old again, all awkward and unsure of myself. Just waiting to get a life!

And maybe that says something about my love for all things Harry Potter. (Well, maybe not all things. I'm not about to start buying robes and witches hats and dressing up.) It's the stories, really. Or the story. I love the thematic elements of a good fantasy story, the light and the dark, the good and the evil. The suffering and the triumph that comes after. Harry's a real underdog, you know. He's not the biggest or fastest or best looking guy. He's not the richest, and he doesn't come from the happiest family. He's just an orphan boy who is trying. So it's really hard not to root for him, especially because he faces a fight that is impossible to win. Knowing he'll die. Knowing he wants to live.

Of course, then there are all his friends. Ron and Hermione. Luna and Neville. Oh, I could go on for days about them all, especially Neville. He's one of my favorites. They all stand up for right, even when it causes them nothing but heartache.

Let's not forget Severus Snape. I'm being dead serious when I say he's the most brilliant character ever written. How does this guy evince both empathy and loathing all at the same time? You want to mistrust him, and you want him to turn out to be rotten, and you sort of hate him a lot. However, you know Dumbledore trusted him, so you have to believe he's not a complete traitor. And then you think he's quite the hero himself in the end when you discover what he was willing to sacrifice, really, for the cause. Even if he was just about the most heartbroken, pathetically lost soul. Everyone knows what it is to love something you cannot have and to hurt for it.

I read somewhere that Draco was an ineffective character because he doesn't wreak enough havoc in Harry's life. But I think that is wrong. I think he's extremely effective as the boy who got caught. Caught in a situation where he's out of his league. You feel bad for him because he, as much as any character in the story, is thrust into a crisis, and he has to answer for the actions of adults. He doesn't seem to really want anything at all to do with it, but if he doesn't have something to do with it, he'll die. Or his family will. He's filled with obvious terror in Voldemort's presence.

That is what makes the books so endearing, too. The characters are flawed. But even the worst, perhaps save Voldemort himself, inspire some sympathy.

Anyway, so I'm a HUGE HP nerd, but I'm not ashamed.

You're Up, You're Down

My mantra for today and the foreseeable future.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8:

1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Have truer words ever been spoken? Or more beautiful? I've always loved these scriptures. I love them because they promise that whatever circumstances you find yourself in, that life has a purpose. Whatever the situation, something new will come. A new gift, a new promise, a new hope. Tempus Fugit, after all. Time flies. And with it, all things change.

Some days I am down, like today a little, because I don't know what is ahead, and I feel trapped. I've never been in a situation where I couldn't see an end or a solution. And what happens when you feel you really don't have the courage or the strength to pick yourself back up? And what if you even wonder if you want to? Pick yourself up, that is. I feel that way today. I have dreams and goals. But I don't feel like I can make them happen. Not today anyway. Not right now.

And so I read these scriptures. And I wait for the season to change. Experience has taught me this much: that the season will change. And I will be healed. I will laugh, and I will dance, and I will embrace. Most especially, I will be at peace.

To Be A Queeeeeen!

I just watched The Young Victoria. And yes, in fact, I do highly recommend this delightful movie. First of all, I must say that Emily Blunt is quickly becoming my fave. Actress, that is. She is delightful and just so subtly beautiful and enchanting. And when she laughs. Even though I know it is only a movie, I imagine that she is like that in real life. It's spontaneous and it feels honest. I bet she had lots of boyfriends. Because boys like it when you laugh at their humor.

I digress. As per usual. So to be a queen. We girls grow up with this idea of the glamorous life we would lead. The opulent balls we would go to in the finest of gowns to dance with dashing young men. We would have all our heart's desire. If only we could be a queen.

But no one tells you about real queens. You hear about the princesses in the fairy tales. And for those fine females, things turn out splendiforous.

Not so in the real world.

Real life queens get the shaft, yo! Forget about glamor. Forget about fine silk and balls. You may have those things but they come with a high price indeed.

1. The price of being political pawn in the hands of conspiring fathers (or other male relatives)
2. Being sought out and used by those with political and social ambition
3. Being torn between loyalty to family and loyalty to self or to country
4. A deep distrust of anyone around you because who knows what they may be after
5. Citizenry that expect that you, as "God's anointed", will be perfect and who turn on you the moment you disappoint

I wouldn't have wanted to be Victoria. She was thrust into a life of service to her people. But she never got to make that choice for herself. And people around her were not always trustworthy. I think she was one of the lucky ones, still. At least she married someone she loved and who loved her in return. That is something. I can't imagine being Queen Elizabeth, alone in shouldering the weight of the kingdom, on her own, mistrustful of men who would use her to their own advantage, all because she was both female and the Queen.

Anyway...the movie was beautiful and so was the story. I should have watched it sooner! In fact, I can't wait to watch it again. That, and for all my life's difficulties, for my own suffering and hurt, I would not trade places with any queen of any country. Ever. I much prefer my quiet life, sans extravagant balls and sumptuous silk dresses. Because this life of mine, it's filled with possibilities and choices, without all that pressure!

When in Doubt...

There is this. I'm grateful for girls. You know, I'm not one of those girls who doesn't get along with others of my gender. And while I would gladly opt for more friends of the male variety, I also think that female friends are necessary. So I went out with some of my sister-in-law's friends tonight. And they were super nice. And now I have some new friends.

Bonus...they really made me feel good! They were shocked that I wasn't married. You see, sometimes I get so used to being single. And it stops being a novelty to me. Well, that actually stopped a long time ago. But anyways, I also wonder what people think when they see me all thirty-five and single and what not. Do they think I am a social pariah for some oddity that I possess...like an extra toe, or halitosis, or a hidden goiter. (Can goiters be hidden? I don't even really know what a goiter is, if I'm being perfectly honest. Which I am, by the by.)

Turns out not all people think that I am hiding something from the world. They are just surprised, that's all. And that made me feel good. Because, well, I think I'm surprisingly normal. But what do I know about that anymore? It's super hard to see myself the way others see me. What with me being me and all. And for so long and what have you. I mean really, I have been inhabiting this skin for thirty-five years, so I've got first-hand experience with me.

Anyway, I am normal enough. And not being married isn't necessarily any sort of reflection on me. Although I have thought that many times. So it's just nice to get validation and regrets. It's nice to have others that will commiserate with you when you are struggling with a particle hardship, be that hardship what-some-ever it may. (Aside - some days I do wish I was born in 1868 and could say what-some-ever and other such phrases to my little heart's content. All days I am super grateful for indoor plumbing and air conditioning. Carry on.)

Here is the rub with this life thing and all that. You really can't go about breathing and such without some of life getting on you. And sometimes you don't want some things getting on you. But you don't always get to pick and choose because life, it isn't always so much of a buffet experience. It's sort of a take what you get and work with it experience. You get some raw ingredients that you've got to make something with. And even at that, you don't really get to choose the raw ingredients. You get what you get and you don't throw a fit! Or you do throw a fit...only to find out that you can do that until the cows come home, but not one thing is going to change your circumstances so there isn't really a point in carrying on like that.

But the really wonderful blessing about life is this: all things ebb and all things flow. So for a season, you are suffering, and for a season, you are at peace. For a season you seek answers, and for a season, answers are given freely. Life gives you all sorts of raw materials in different seasons so that you have plenty of opportunity to make something new and different. Nothing ever stays the same forever. And that is beautiful.

Better

A pep talk always helps. Even if it is just me giving me that cheering on. Because who else is going to do that? Or rather, I'm the one who should be doing that. I should have been doing that long ago.

And so today was better. I made the list and I was productive. Now I don't feel like such a waste. And tomorrow will be even better.

What am I most proud of? I ran 8.6 miles today! That is my longest run ever outside and just shy of my longest run on the treadmill (9 miles). And it felt good. I can't say I was super fast. I was averaging between 11 and 12 minutes a mile. But who cares, really? I mean, I ran over eight miles and my body felt so good.

I still have things to work on, but I seriously think that every day will get better.

P. to the S. And I might not check in here every night this week. Because this might get kind of boring. And I want to write about other things, anyway.

This One Is Personal

In church today I felt like I should write down impressions I received as I listened to the talks and the lessons. I wrote quite a bit about desires and goals and things to work on. But one thing stood out to me, especially in light of my blog entry yesterday. Just follow my random ramblings here for a moment...please :).

Women...we tend to be difficult creatures. And I am as confusing to myself as I am sure I must be to the opposite sex. Let me explain why.

There are areas in my life where I feel confident. But that doesn't seem to matter, at least to my sense of self worth. For example, I'm a good student. I'm intelligent, and I understand things with relative ease. I was a good teacher, actually. And I felt at ease doing that. It came very naturally to me. So it would seem that I have things to build my sense of self worth.

But somehow, and I don't understand it but I think it has something to do with my feminine nature, my self-esteem is not what it should be. Why? Because when it comes to my body, I'm not very kind to myself. I criticize my pores, or my moles, or I dwell on my weight and how tone various parts of my body are. Or are not, as it were. At times, it consumes me. And I find that I forget the good things. I forget that I'm a good writer or that I have pretty eyes and good cheek-bones.

A lot of people may think I'm confident because I put up a pretty good facade. Inside I'm sort of a bumbling mess.

Once, when I was very young, maybe eight or ten, I was with my family in California. My Aunt Cindee was driving a van full of children when her daughter, my cousin Tara, said, "Mommy, I love myself." I remember being a bit appalled by such a brazen statement. But my Aunt Cindee replied with this, "That's good. Because if you don't love yourself, no one else will." I was further shocked by my aunt's reply. Really, I don't think at that age I had any sense of my worth at all. I thought it was perhaps prideful to love yourself like that and then just to say it out loud...well! How shocking and vain. And then her mother validated it. Oh boy was I confused.

So let me be honest. I've always sort of thought that idea of loving yourself being a prerequisite to others loving you was a load of garbage.

Newsflash... It isn't. (I sort of hate it when trite sentiment is true. It goes against my interior emo/goth rebel!) It turns out, in fact, to be true. I think if you don't love yourself, it is difficult to truly love others. And it is even more difficult to believe that you deserve a good and happy life.

But what is even more disturbing about that story? That even when I was young, I struggled to see my worth. Most children have an innate sense of their worth, don't they? Like, you see kids smiling when they see their reflection in a mirror. I've watched little toddlers dance around in a mirror, happy and pleased with what they see. I don't know if I was ever like that, but eight or ten is pretty young to be questioning whether you should love yourself or if loving yourself meant you had an overblown ego. Right?

Anyway, all this brought me around to thinking about how my self-esteem as it might relate to my lack of time management. I have to get to work. No ifs, ands or buts. I HAVE TO!!! I think that getting to work would assuage some of my self-esteem issues, too. Don't you always feel better after giving something a good effort, the best you've got? I do.

But I think I also need to start loving me. I need to love me no matter if I need to work at being healthier. Or if my pores are big. Or if I have moles on my skin. I need to love me even if I don't have a job. And I need to see myself as worth the effort it takes to find work, to improve my health, to write and to organize my time.

In other words, I need to believe that I am worth it. That I am worth planning out my day. That I am worth success. That I am worth taking care of. Because I don't think I've believed that. Not for a long time. I don't remember the last time I felt really good in my skin.

There is a difference between having an unhealthy ego and self-confidence. Besides, who am I? Who are any of us? We are children of God, that's who, and there is so much more to us then we comprehend. He loves us. He sent His Son to atone for our sins, so we must be worth something to Him. Because who would sacrifice a beloved son otherwise?

It always comes back to that: to the atonement and to the love that Christ has and to the love that God has. Each of us was worth it. I am worth it. God would not want me to have anything less than a happy, productive, good life. The atonement is the ultimate gift and the ultimate proof of that truth. So I do need to manage my time...but I need also to see that I am worth the effort it takes so that I can achieve success.

Not sure if that made any sense to anyone but me. Oh well. I needed a sounding board, anyway!

Time Management

I finally have a goal that I just know is the goal for me. Time management.

You see, when you are jobless and have oodles and oodles of time with which to do everything you can imagine, you tend not to do anything at all. At least, that is the way I've been living. It goes something like this.

1. Hmmmm. I should really get X, Y and Z done (doctor's appointment, taxes, etc.)
2. Well, I don't think I have anything on my calendar for the foreseeable future, anyways, so I'll just see how things go.
3. Next day. Hmmmm. I should really get X, Y and Z done.
4. Well, I don't think I have anything on my calendar for the foreseeable futures, anyways, so I'll just see how things go.
5. And repeat to infinity.
6. Oh no! I have like five days to file my taxes and my prescription is about to run out! I better do X, Y and Z...STAT!

I know, I know. I think it might just be a character flaw, this procrastination thing. You know, I came up with a whole entire list of goals at the beginning of this year. But really, for me, it comes down to time management. I really think a lot of things would be different if I would choose to use my time better. Isn't that always the way?

All joking aside, I do think it's a sad waste. I like having a goal and something to show for my time. And for the past several months, I haven't really given those goals and the time I have to complete them the respect they deserve. I'm really quite serious about this changing. Not later but now.

So for ALL of next week, I'm going to create a to do list each morning. I'm going to dedicate myself to an experiment in managing the way I spend my day. Every morning I'll spend time planning out the things I need to complete that day. Tomorrow, I will create a list of goals that I want to work on accomplishing. That way, when Monday morning rolls around, I'll be ready to get my list out and get to work.

I'll report here every night.

And then at the end of the week, when my life is planned and I've spent my time wisely, I will realize what a beautiful thing it is to manage one's time. And instead of repeating steps one through six, above, I will be repeating my to do lists and getting lots and lots accomplished!

A Mulberry Tree

I suppose I must be feeling rather nostalgic of late. Because I keep thinking of memories from my childhood.

Like most children, I lived for the summer, even before I went to school. Summer meant a lot of things. Most especially it meant that my older siblings would be home, and we could play. You see, I didn't grow up a suburb or city. We didn't have neighbors, not in the traditional sense, anyway, because our house sat on several acres of land. We were surrounded by fields and orchards. My grandparents lived next to us, on several acres of their own. And sometimes cousins would come to live with them, and we would get to play.

But much of the time, it was just us. I used to think that was a horrible fate. Especially when I got into school and realized that when you live in a traditional neighborhood, their are dozens of kids to play with. I felt cheated out of something then.

I don't think so now.

Because we had lots of things other people didn't have.

Like a wild Mulberry Tree.

I remember being five. I'd wake up in the morning and throw on my shorts and a t-shirt. We'd grab some breakfast and then run down the drive, onto the private lane and then across the small country road right across from our mailbox. And there it was, sitting right on the fence line of our neighbor's field. It would be still slightly cool if it was early enough in the summer. Maybe there would be a nice breeze. Mostly I remember how the sun would shine down through the leaves, illuminating everything, washing over us in a soft, green light.

I always stayed on the ground, but that was okay. The branches dipped low and there was plenty of fruit to be had. Everyone else would start climbing, and I'd watch from below, sometimes sitting in the weeds at the side of the road, looking up at the patches of sunlight, spotted green and red and purple.

My brother Chad was the best climber. I think he might have been part monkey. He'd climb so high up and my heart would pound a little, dizzy at the thought of his fearless assent to the skies. I've always had a problem with heights. But on mornings like that, I would look up and wish I had the courage to climb up so high, scaling the tree limb by limb, all the way to the top, to look around and see the world from above. What it must look like! What a wonder it must be.

And then the morning would start to warm, and we would all begin to tire of too many mulberries. So barefooted, fingers stained with fruit juice, everyone would climb to the ground and gather on the pavement, painted deep purple, mulberries smooshed and squished under the weight of little feet and tractors and the occasional sundry vehicle. We'd trek back home to more pedestrian activities, like running through some sprinklers and jumping on the trampoline.

The tree is long since gone now. Perhaps worries of law suits and liability. Perhaps the tree was taking up valuable property. The once narrow country road is a newer, much wider street. A new neighborhood has cropped up, not far from our own private little lane, most certainly with the playmates I would have wanted, when I was five or six.

I'm sad that the tree is gone. And now I'm even sad that the neighborhood is there. Our magically country road doesn't seem so enchanted anymore. But at least I have the memory of my siblings and me, spread around in the light under that tree, green and bright in the summer sunshine.

Don't You Just Love...

Don't you just love the fall, and the smell of hot apple cider with spices, and a cool afternoon breeze while you watch your favorite college football team from the stands? I do. I love lots of things.

I like going to a new restaurant and discovering new, yummy food. Or going out to an old, trusted place and eating a fave tried-and-true. Speaking of food, I love the fries and burgers and Five Guys, and I could really do with some of that action right now.

I love spending time with friends and family. I love hanging out by my parents' pool and watching the sun go down while we barbeque and eat potato salad and talk.

I also love it when you find something that is unique and special and fresh. And that is The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman.

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


What an original story! I loved reading this because I've never read anything like it before. It was very refreshing, and I adored the characters, the story, the graveyard. It was quite an endearing little tale. A few months ago I picked up American Gods by Gaiman. I couldn't get through fifty pages. It was just too vulgar. However, I'm glad to discover that he writes for young adults. His narrative style is charming, and he tells a really engaging story.



Nobody Owens is a boy being raised in a graveyard...by GHOSTS! In his less than traditional upbringing, Nobody, or Bod for short, learns about ghoul gates, dreamwalking, fading, and more. He also learns about poetry, grammar and Latin from various ghosts in the graveyard.



However, the ghosts can't teach him everything, and so Bod must go out into the world to discover what there is to learn about the modern world, one that is quite far removed from his isolated life in the graveyard. In the process, he finds out about family, friends, and saying good-bye.



My only real questions arose at the end. I wanted to understand the Jacks better. Their purposes didn't seem clear or developed, so it left me wanting to know more. I also would have liked to know a little more about Bod's guardian, Silas. He was a bit of an enigma.



Still, I really really liked this little tale!



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My Indecision

Well, today I was reading a new book my niece Claire picked up at school. It was rather cute and all, and it had a sweet little picture of Main Street, U.S. of A. I looked at that picture for quite a while, I tell you. And I thought, "Oh, wouldn't that be nice. Little hometown stores and shops all lined up." Much like you see above. And you know they'd have quite the celebration on the fourth of July. I love celebrations on the fourth of July. Everyone all decked out in red, white and blue and sparklers with the kids while twilight falls. And parades. Well, I don't love parades, but I'd go if I was in that small town. Everyone would be there and we would all chat and socialize over a Coke (but I don't drink that anymore, so maybe a Sprite or a nice home made lemonade would do). And it would be so friendly and fun.

And when I have thoughts such as these, I wonder to myself, I do. What happened to New York just a few weeks ago, when I couldn't stand the thought anymore of being away from the city? Missing Max Brennar and the Shake Shack with Kamilah. Missing a walk around the city, a quick trip to get away from Newark for a moment. Just talking about it makes me crave a good walk in Central Park, a stroll down to Union Square for some shopping or a trip to Brooklyn, Brooklyn...take me in!

And yet there is always this part of me that loves a good Main Street and a small town and friendly, familiar faces. I'm envisioning the small towns I've seen in Virginia or upstate New York. They have old video stores that actually still rent out video cassettes and antique shops with pretty old end tables and lamps and chaise lounges. It isn't crowded and you can always find a good little bite to eat. No chain restaurants. No Target or Walmart (which I have to admit, I'd have to take a few road trips every once in a while for those, anyway).

And there is always a hardware store, small, with dusty shelves and no air conditioning. And a nice balding man runs the store. Oh, and of course there is a malt shop somewhere. There just must be because that is the rule of small towns in America. They have malt shops that still make vanilla and cherry sodas the old fashioned way.

Perhaps it is my small town roots. I can see it the way it was then, when I was a girl. And we'd go to Grandpa and Grandma Andrus's house. We'd get some folding chairs and a few blankets and maybe Mom or Aunt Mary Anne would pack a nice little lunch or something to snack on. And we'd walk a few blocks to the old Thurber Elementary School and sit on the front lawn and watch the parade go by, waiting for Grandpa A on his horse with Dad or one of my cousins or brothers. We'd cheer and clap and wait for the cheerleaders to come by with candy for the crowd. And then we'd cross the street and play in the park and wander through the car show. Then back to Grandma's house for some KFC and some homemade root beer with all the cousins and aunts and uncles. Grandma and Grandpa would put out the trampoline and Dad would do flips and Uncle Richard would push us on the swings.

It was quite the production.

And so, I must admit, who wouldn't want to live in a small town with a Main Street in the good ole U.S. of A.? And I also admit that maybe I have this thing for nostalgia and maybe I don't want to move to New York City or some small town in the middle of nowhere. Maybe I'm just still trying to find out how I fit in here. Because I knew how I fit in to those places. I had time to figure it all out.

So for now, I think I've found a place to stay for a while, to try to settle down. Besides, Rockwall has a quaint little malt shop and a nice little town square! And maybe, for now at least, that will do.

One Bite at a Time

I have this little habit. I try to look ahead, down the road, and I worry because when I look at everything there is to do, I just know cannot do it all and what will I do because it's too much and HELP!!!

Does everyone do that?

I find it can be dangerous. For example, you have a difficult task ahead that requires a great deal of planning and work before hand. So on day one, you're just out of the gate, but you're scared such that you panic. You don't just see today's task in front of you. You see tomorrow's task and then the next day's and then the next and so on. Until you are seeing months of work. And somehow you imagine that it all must be done right now. For me, well, it sometimes causes this catatonic freeze where then I can't do anything because I've scared myself into believing that I can't possibly do it. (There is that blasted fear problem again!)

And suddenly you are Melinda Mae and you have a huge whale in front of you that you must eat and your mind is screaming right now and I'm scared and too much too much too much and all sorts of nonsense. So how do you eat it? It's funny in a bit of an ironical way that a girl like me would choose to memorize that particular poem. I did. For grade school. It was probably the first poem I ever memorized. I had no idea...so.

A girl like me...who can't stop herself from wondering how in the world she'll overcome such a giant task because she can't stop looking at the humongous whale on her plate.

And that is something I have to learn.

1. That life only happens one day at a time, one moment at a time and you cannot control tomorrow's task today.

2. That life will always be this way and no amount of fretting will allow you to swallow the whale whole, anyway.

3. That if you take care of what you need to today, then you can take of tomorrow, tomorrow.

4. That big things happen when you approach them one step, one bite, one task at a time. Rome wasn't built in a day and all that.

5. That you wouldn't want to swallow a whale whole anyway...might cause some serious intestinal issues.

6. But one bite at a time? Well, one bite at a time, I mean, that is doable.

British Accents

Does anyone else read books about castles and royalty with a British accent? Well, I don't read them out loud. But I do it in my mind. My out loud British accent isn't so convincing. But the one in my head is quite excellent, actually.

Okay, so if I'm being honest, I read a lot of books in my head with a British accent. Most especially Harry Potter. Because it is infinitely better with a British accent. Everyone knows I love HP and wish I could be J.K. Rowling. And so reading her characters in the original British dialect that they were meant to be enjoyed in...well, of course that's just the icing on the cake.

Speaking of British accents, and castles and such, I give you my review of The Goose Girl. Most of you have probably already read this. I think I might be the last of any of my friends to pick this book up. Which of course, has me thinking of all the books I sort of shunned in the past, only to find that they were quite delightful, once given a fair chance. HP, Lord of the Rings, Jane Eyre...I don't really know why. I suppose with Shannon Hale, I was worried that it would be too light and fluffy or underdeveloped, especially as the characters go. Because if I can say one thing about YA literature that often bothers me it is this. The characters are too flat. I don't feel compelled by them. Not so with The Goose Girl. It was delightful.

The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


All new stories are just old stories, waiting to be retold. And I do enjoy it when an author takes an old tale, one say from the Brother's Grimm, and fleshes it out for a new audience. And that is The Goose Girl, by Shannon Hale.



Young Princess Ani, a shy and reluctant royal of the Kildenree Court, finds herself thrust into the world when her mother the Queen decides that while Ani is the crown princess, it would be better to make nice with a somewhat trigger happy neighboring kingdom, Bayern, to keep the dogs of war at bay. Ani, so the Queen decides, must marry the Bayern Prince; thus, Ani is sent out on a journey that will take her to more than just the palace of her new kingdom. When her traitorous young lady-in-waiting, Selia, schemes to steal her name and her place as rightful bride to the prince, Ani is forced to forsake her identity and hide from those who would kill her before word gets to the King of Bayern that the princess from Kildenree is not who she says she is.



Books like this are why I enjoy young adult literature so much. Good story telling. Likable, flawed characters. A satisfying conflict with a happy resolution. Hale is quickly becoming a fave. Her books are reminiscent of another favorite author, Robin McKinley. Since I love a good retelling of an old tale, this book was right up my ally. In fact, I'm not sure why I've been so reluctant to read Shannon Hale sooner. My apologies to all of you who've been giving me the green light. I should have listened a little sooner!



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Heart and Soul

Okay, so stay with me here, but something occurred to me today, and it's sort of revolutionary.

When you put your heart and soul into something, it's hard to leave it behind. You might role your eyes or say "duh" but hear me out, if you will.

My friend Maria and I have been exchanging emails for the past few days. (Aside...surprise!!! She and I met on our first day of orientation in law school. We really hit it off. I personally think she's amazing. She's a mother of three, and decided in her thirties to finish a degree. So she completed her undergrad work and then continued on with her plan to go to law school. She's awesome!) Back to the story... she's graduating in May. So she asks me if it is weird to feel sad about law school ending.

To which I say: No, Maria, it isn't weird at all.

But I couldn't have said why until I responded to her question. It got me thinking about what law school was, really. It was, for me, three years of hard work. Three years of pouring myself into books and outlines and memorization. There were days when I didn't see daylight, literally. I'd leave for school early, when the sun might have been poking it's head up over the horizon. And then I'd leave long after it went down. Twelve hour days of working. And then there was the endless reading, the minutia of detail detail detail. Thousands of pages a semester. Not to mention the papers for writing courses or the hundreds of pages of outlines. Of course, first year comes with the pressure of being called on...not that it doesn't happen second or third year. But by then you are just over it. Still, being grilled for forty minutes in civil procedures is humiliating and probably psychologically damaging. Maybe. But then maybe it's good for your character.

One might think that it would be easy to say good-bye to, and there were things that were easy to let go.

Like finals. That was just two to three weeks of pure torture. Long hours of studying and memorizing. Four hour exams spent typing like a mad person. It was draining. I so do NOT miss that.

But I do miss the learning and the growth and giving something everything you have. Leaving it all out there and knowing you did the best you could, even if you get a C sometimes.

How can you not miss something like that? I gave it my best, at least most of the time. So I do miss it.

It's also given me some food for thought. I want something in my life like that again. I want something that I feel strongly about doing...something that I can say I gave my best, poured myself out into it, gave my heart to it. So that when I have to leave it behind I can truly say that I'm sad to let it go, the good parts and the bad both, because I left it all on the table.

Sometimes All You Want Is...

What would life be without books and mothers?

Well, besides the obvious.

Today, I would like to be seven again, not because seven was so fabulous, mind you. I do recall the second grade and my teacher, Miss Porter, a lovely woman who used to play the piano during sing along time. I really liked Miss Porter.

But I don't want to go back to second grade, really, as fun as it might have been.

What I really want is the comfort of my mom reading me a good story. I remember we would all pile up on the beds in my brothers' room. My mom would pull out a book. It was probably around eight in the evening, and the sky would still be light out, and we'd look my brother's front window. Out across long stretches of green fields and haystacks, the shimmer of a small pond in a pasture, far past the freeway and the roads leading to it, and on to West Mountain, where the sun would slowly be sinking, just the moments before twilight falls.

I can hear the gentle cadence of my mother's sweet voice, slightly soprano but not so high and delicate that she couldn't give us a stern talking to if needed. I can feel myself crawling up to her arm and cuddling close or curling up in her lap, the pages of the book spread out in front of us. All of use were quiet in those moments, listening and waiting.

Or perhaps it would be winter, and the sun was far past just going down. We'd be settled into our beds after family prayer and a kiss good-night from our dad. Mom would sit on the landing of the stairs, just between our two rooms with a book, illuminated only by the one light above her, the rest of the house so still and calm. I can remember crying in my bed, my sister next to me, weeping, too, at The Miracle of Miss Willy. Even my brothers were choked up in the next room, lying silently in their beds and taking it all in.

And really, of all my childhood memories, these are probably more comforting than any other I can think of. It isn't really any wonder, then, that I take so much joy in books?

And sometimes that is all I want, really. Just a good story and my mother's voice, reading.

It's Story Time

Get ready, peeps. This one is a doozie!

Once upon a time, when I was still teaching at Annandale High School, I would go to Barnes & Noble to grade my papers. That was because when I stayed at the school, there were toooooo many distractions. Other teachers would stop by for a chat. And, well, an hour later, that little chat would not be over. And then students would come in wanting this or that. Eventually I learned that I'm a chatter, too, and if left to my own devices, well. I would talk and talk and never get anything done.

So there I was in Barnes & Noble, grading papers and what not. It was around seven p.m., and I was thinking about getting up to go home. I started packing up the bag and putting things away. Of course, I had a water bottle. I tend to carry those around a lot. And that is when it happened.

The old man sitting at a table next to mine turned to me and said, "I see you're drinking water." Well, something along those lines. Remember this happened almost seven years ago, so there's that. But I do not make this stuff up, folks. You cannot make this stuff up for realz!

"I am drinking water." I thought to myself, what an odd thing to say. Who doesn't drink a little water now and then, anyway?

"That's what the doctors don't tell you," was his reply. What? I think. Oh boy, here it goes. I'm a sucker for these old men and their crazy stories.

"Oh?" I prompt.

"Yes, the doctors. They don't tell you that you need three things. Salt, eggs, and water. Really that's it."

"Interesting," I say, settling back into my chair. And then, over the course of two hours (two hours!!!) he proceeded to inform me what was wrong with the world these days, in particular how water, eggs and salt are the panacea for all that ails you. That's pretty fantastic, if you ask me, because then we can just solve all the world's illnesses. I think we spent over an hour on this topic. At that point, I kept looking at my watch and wondering when he'd be through with it. But then somehow, the conversation turned. Confusion ensued, and I really don't know how we ended up where we did.

He must have been a conversational wizard.

Because out of the blue, we were talking about Russian Commies, and the spies, and the book. And a building with thousands of copies of the book. And the building is blowing up, sound effects and all. Really, he's making sound effects of a building being blasted sky high. I felt like I was looking at my grandpa but listening to my four-year-old nephew, simultaneously. Those Commie #$%@$^&%! (His vulgarity, not mine. I mean, he's really upset is what he is!) They blew up his book! Now the world would never know. I seriously have no idea at this point what he's talking about but I'm nodding my head and saying "Oooohhh." and "Really?" and "That's incredible!" I really don't know what the book was about or why those Commies wanted to blow up the warehouse, but this man, he's worked himself up into quite a dither, and I'm wondering if it can possible be good for his heart.

Maybe this book contained the secret panacea of the world - the eggs, salt, water theory, if you will - and now it was lost. Lost, I say!

Now we are almost two hours in. I've got important stuff to do. Like eat. Because I'm seriously hungry. And then there was the trip I was going to take over the Best Buy, just a few stores down, because I need a CD player for my classroom, just something cheap, you know. Because I can't listen to my students reciting Shakespeare for one day more. I mean, it's bad.

And then he asks me how old I am. "I'm twenty-eight." I smile. Oh to be twenty-eight once more.

He then proceeds to inform me that he's sixty-seven. Strange, I thought to myself, I would have thought you were older...what with the craziness and all. Because really, peeps, sixty-seven is not that old!

Next comes the kicker...wait for it!

He asks me for my phone number.

Yes, he did. Really.

And I say no way. I'm standing up at this point in time because, hello, hint hint, I'm tired, hungry and I need my CD player! Enough with these shenanigans! And oh my goodness...he's still talking, if you can believe it!

"But how will I ever see you again or talk to you?" I'm thinking, well, you won't. And I'm wondering if I should ask the fine folks at Barnes & Noble for an escort out to my car. People around us are watching, some with little smirks on their faces.

"Oh," I say, "Maybe I'll run into you here again. But I don't give my number out to strangers." I find myself moving toward the exit. And he's standing there, sort of lost. And guess what, Best Buy is closed and I'll have to wait through another day of torture, ninth graders reciting Romeo and Juliet and me wishing I had that darned CD player.

I'm watching my back all the way out to my car. He doesn't follow me, and I sort of feel a little pang for him and wonder where his family is and if they know he goes to B&N and hangs out, looking for people to talk to because he's lonely and a little cracked.

A few weeks later, I'm back in B&N. I look over from my table and see him. He's talking to this young guy, really engaged in conversation. I wonder if he's telling him all about the eggs, the salt, the water and how they just don't tell you, those doctors. Or if he's made the sound of the building being blown to all smithereens. Anyway, that young man is talking and laughing. He's really engaged in the conversation.

It makes me really happy. And so I smile.