Monday, April 28, 2008

As if you weren't bored already.

Apparently that last post wasn't very popular. It's ok, I didn't know how to respond either.

So, there's a lot of tagging going around. It's an epidemic and I am not immune. Since I've already posted 6 secret facts about me I shall combine Corinne's and Stef's posts and list 7 things I enjoy very much. I could use a pick-me-up this morning.

1. Mattress talks. This phrase coined by a friend's family merely means long, and sometimes deep, late-night conversations. These are the times you really get to know someone, even if you know them well already. Generally one-on-one but occurs in small groups as well.

2. Mint. In almost every form--ice cream, chocolate, cookies, gum, etc. It is, quite possibly, my favorite flavor.

3. Thunderstorms. Granted, I usually watch them from the comfort of my home but I find them exciting.

4. Puppy chow. My younger brother and I have somehow created a tradition of making puppy chow (a.k.a. muddy buddies) every time we get together. He's in Michigan going to school and we obviously don't see each other often. Well, I recently made puppy chow and sent him a picture from my phone with the caption "I dedicate this puppy chow to you." He didn't respond...until the next day when I received this with the same caption:

I thought it was awesome...and then he sent me another text that said, "But mostly it's just mine."

5. Thoughtfulness. Are there many other things that make you happier, really?

6. Reading. I've been doing it since before kindergarten--or so the legends go.

7. Rock climbing. This is a passion I have not been able to fully immerse myself in yet, but it cannot be denied, I like it. I like it a lot.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Exorcising my mind.

**NOTE** Don't read too much into this. I woke up with a song in my head a little while ago and it spawned this. It means both something and nothing so...enjoy:

Counting the minutes and the seconds
I wonder where to go from here.
I could end up dead on this lonely road.
The consolation of a prize not worth winning.

I imagine hazy visions of my hazy future.
I can't bear to look around.
So I watch my feet tread slowly
over paths of calculated repose.

Weighed down by the sparks of my own fire
my words return to me untouched.
Shadowy sentinels stand by to mute
the dry crackling of my heartbeat.

Swarming doubts sting and steal.
I long for a finale to this empty sound.
Pounding my hope against dead ends
I am led to a place I cannot tell.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

One month left to live.

If you had exactly one month left at your job, what would you do?

If I were in that position...which, as it turns out, I am...this is what I would do:

-Etch my name in everything I can afford to. Namely, my desk, the bathroom stall, and in the hearts of the senior missionaries who live in places I may want to travel to.

-Spend the bulk of my paycheck on the cafeteria's chocolate chocolate chip muffins.

-Apply for a new job.

-Amend my relationship with Elder Hales--I mean Elder Nelson!

-Catch up on all the doctor's appointments I failed to make in the previous year. Including, but not limited to, dentists, eye doctors, and plastic surgeons.

-Find a compatible mate by studying people's patriarchal blessings.

-Rig the stacks using paper clips, duct tape, one of those screeching motion detectors, and a tube sock.

-Convince the head conservator to let me see the Abraham facsimile.

-Steal it.

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

My everything hurts.

Ever since I knew what breakdancing was I've wanted to be able to do it. I also wanted one of those wallets with a chain but I bet we're all glad THAT never happened.

The only effort I ever made to learn anything breakdance-esque was to attempt "the worm." The result was that 9 times out of 10 I looked epileptic. The other time I hurt myself. Which, if I remember correctly, means I was actually doing it right.

Well, times have changed. I'm taking a community ed breakdancing class. It's on the same night as a class called "Women Fly Solo." I'm thinking about coming back and taking that in a few years.

I'm not quite sure what I expected to learn in this class. Mostly I was looking forward to taking it with friends and laughing about how uncoordinated I am. That still happens...but we just had our second class and we've already learned how to do a couple stalls. "Stall" is an ebonics derivative that means "a sweet move where you balance precariously on weak appendages." Yeah. It hurts. My whole body is sore, my shoulders and knees are bruised, and I get out of a chair like an old woman...but, boy, was it worth it.

I was so excited that when I got home after class I promptly showed my brother...then I showed my 10-second self-timer. Not very professional but it's a small glimpse of what you'll be seeing on the streets...when it comes time to throw down...yo.

Now I just need a sweet name.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Of course they took it hard.

They showed up in droves, working late into the night, walking for hours in the cold. They called her name. They handed out flyers. They imagined difficult things but they clung to a hope and a prayer. They envisioned finding her, holding her in their arms, and with eyes stained with tears but wrinkled by a smile carrying her back to her parents. Not for glory or fame but for an assurance of success.

She may have been a complete stranger to them but they knew other little girls and they knew other parents. It didn’t matter where she came from, where she lived, or what language she spoke. She was a young child and she was lost. So they stepped up and declared, “Sir, I will help you find your daughter.”

For one moment in time they achieved an ideal. They became “willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and…willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.” (Mosiah 18:8,9) They made themselves a part of the story. It wasn’t about his or hers, yours or mine but one heart and one mind. So when the tale ended in tragedy it became a story of their own personal failure, their own personal loss--not only of a beautiful child with a bright future but of a glimmer of hope for humanity.

She may have been beyond the collective reach of their arms and the combined periphery of their vision but she will not escape the aggregate flood of their tears or the concentrated supplication of their prayers.

That is how humanity survives.