Retro 40s

Is it weird that I want a hat like this?

 

  

It takes baseball cap to a newer, classier level.  Oh Mary Hatch Bailey, you're so stylish.

Flat Tires.

So.  Now I know how to fix a flat tire.  I also am now very well aware of the dangers that can arise from not putting the e-break on when a car is precariously positioned on a few strips of metal (known as a jack); it falls.  And expensive/exhaustive reparations are in order. 

Last night's adventures had me worried and guilt-ridden for a while.  I'm beginning to feel that I am a very expensive child.  Not because I am demanding or spoiled, but largely because I am prone to breaking things, prone to acting without thinking first, prone to getting myself in to all sorts of costly scrapes.  All this weighed on me enough last night that, after refusing my offer to pay for it, my parents were attempting to console me, the one with no car and no damage.
This morning, however, my dad came home and told me about a man in our ward who is undergoing triple bypass surgery.
And I thought of him.  And of the lady that appeared Oprah once who had her face ripped off by her friend's pet monkey.  And of Haitians.  Of the children I worked with in Iasi, who had never known the love of a mother and father or any sort of family at all. 

These things make me realize how blessed I am and how ungrateful it would seem for me to pity myself for so many precious minutes.

So I started creating this list:

the dear people who surround me and are so good to me.

use of my limbs and my senses.

heaters, scarves, blankets--warmth in general.

books.

books on tape.

my little sister's incessant humming.

the smell of bengal spice tea.

truth.

memories captured in pictures.

palmer's cocoa butter formula.

pippen.

all dogs.

all animals.

optimism.

--blessings, things that I love.  things that make me happy.  and just now I feel I could handle anything. 

What makes you happy?

Words to the unwise and indulgent

My typical cure for writer's block is to find shapes in the texture on the ceiling.  When that fails me, I turn to the genius of others, via Quotidiana or McSweeney's.  I couldn't help but laugh at these in wholehearted agreement.

Why shouldn’t we dress a little gayly? I am sure if we did we should be happier. True, it is a little thing, but we are a little race, and what is the use of our pretending otherwise and spoiling fun? Let philosophers get themselves up like old crows if they like. But let me be a butterfly.
--Jerome "On Dress and Deportment"

An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered.
--Chesterton "On Running After One's Hat"

O. Henry said once that one should be careful to distinguish laziness from dignified repose. Alas, that was a mere quibble. Laziness is always dignified, it is always reposeful. Philosophical laziness, we mean. The kind of laziness that is based upon a carefully reasoned analysis of experience. Acquired laziness. We have no respect for those who were born lazy; it is like being born a millionaire: they cannot appreciate their bliss. It is the man who has hammered his laziness out of the stubborn material of life for whom we chant praise and allelulia.
--Morley "On Laziness"

Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience if only one had a coloured pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling...
A man’s minor actions and arrangements ought to be free, flexible, creative; the things that should be unchangeable are his principles, his ideals. But with us the reverse is true; our views change constantly; but our lunch does not change. Now, I should like men to have strong and rooted conceptions, but as for their lunch, let them have it sometimes in the garden, sometimes in bed, sometimes on the roof, sometimes in the top of a tree. Let them argue from the same first principles, but let them do it in a bed, or a boat, or a balloon. This alarming growth of good habits really means a too great emphasis on those virtues which mere custom can ensure, it means too little emphasis on those virtues which custom can never quite ensure, sudden and splendid virtues of inspired pity or of inspired candour.
--Chesterton "On Lying in Bed"

her&her.

Bek and I started a new blog, now that we won't be a skip across the hallway/down two main roads from one another for approx. 2 years. 

it's our futures, in pictures.

should be fun.  feel free to peruse and/or stalk avidly

 here.

2009 and Me

An affair for the ages, I'd say. Here's how it went down:

January

the marriage of Chris & Corey. had a minor breakdown early on in the semester when I discovered that I had to drop all my beautiful writing classes and take 18 credits of stinkier ones, but ultimately decided that Special Education was still worth it. our wild rumpus of a year began with the first ever Dare Night.

February

was finally accepted in to the Special Education major--and felt great about it! Also, Brie made it in to the art program, which called for a double celebration.

March

studying, learning Romanian, reading Levinas, etc.

April

finals. goodbye to great roommates and the blue house. goodbyes to my family, who are growing used to this sort of thing now. embarked overseas to the mysterious land of Romania. settled in to my new, quirky apartment.

May

familiarized myself with Romania. made surprising friends in the Iasi branch through peculiar means. attended two Romanian baptisms. found myself in the dancu apartment: one part frustration, two parts laughter, three parts adorable. ran. a lot. saw my first European circus. took a weekend trip to the prettiest corner of Romania: Maramures. I've never seen so much beautiful greenery in all my life. here the men tip their hats at you as you walk by and stray chicken run across the road.

June

continued work with the kids. visited several monasteries near Iasi. made a mid-semester pilgrimage to Brasov with Trish and Rands. filled a week and a half with unbelievable raucousness and met some of the most interesting people.

July

turned 21 and celebrated by playing BS with shots of warm carbonated water. saw Harry Potter 6 in theaters. gave a talk in Romanian in church that went somewhat awry. [so humiliating!] organized and held a mini girl's camp as a part of my calling in the branch as YW activities coordinator.

August

said the hardest goodbye i may ever say. cried my guts out. traveled around a bit in Vienna, Prague, Munich, and Salzburg. landed on American soil. renewed my driver's license. took Michelle's senior pictures. flew to the Alaska State Fair to flip burgers and dip dogs at Dean's Corndog Corner for a few weeks.

September

moved in to the world's most adorable house. began school again; fell in love with my classes, fell in love with my professors, fell in love with my future in Special Education. started my new job at the Writing Center--man, i love that place. [check out the podcast.] adventured for a few days with my dear Courty who traveled all the way from Auburn to see me! roadtripped to Rupert for Brie's farewell.

October

fall happened. Tuffy moved in for a while. went home for Nigel's homecoming. decided to start work on my mission papers. had a weekly Sunday D.P. (dance party) in our living room in front of the open window. ran in to a bout of carbon monoxide poisoning and hung out in a hyperbalic chamber for a few days, yet still had time to save the galaxy (or at least a big, happening party) with my main man han solo as princess leia for Halloween. all in a day's work.

November

hosted a mini Christmas party early enough that I think we made Thanksgiving feel bad. we just couldn't wait! spent Thanksgiving reading the Hunger Games and chowing down with the fam in Salt Lake City.

December

ate my first protein burger at the new In-N-Out in Provo for the first time. perused a very eclectic, very awesome Beehive Bazaar, where we picked up some gifts for all our little sister missionaries out in the field. saw my visiting teacher perform in the musical Savior of the World, which took me back to the Holy Land for a couple of hours. finals. goodbyes again. packing again. had wisdom teeth removed and have probably never been more talkative or more of a crybaby. drove home. took this mission photo. Christmas festivities of all sorts--Chris and Corey even came. slept in past 8 on Christmas morning, which is unheard of, with positive feedback from the old Saint himself. rang in the new year at Merrits. Classic.

whew.

who even knows where I'll be in 2011?!

Writer's Bloq.

I’ve tried so many times to write this essay. I feel that it’s there in me, somewhere, but discovering this elusive nook of eloquent secrets is much more difficult that I anticipated. I haven’t quite pinpointed what it looks like, which makes it difficult to search for. But really, I mean, come on—it’s about me, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I be the ultimate authority on myself, the best one to put my own thoughts into words?

Sometimes I think that the most difficult thing about personal writing is that I’ve read too much of others’ ideas. My mind has created a composite of everything I’ve ever known as a typeface for how my own story should look; because it has to have closure and it has to have an ‘aha!’ moment of startling realization and the characters must be developed and whoever writes it must have a complete and thorough understanding of her story and all the morals behind it, which she then applies in her own life and—presto!—she is the perfect person.

But my story is not perfect and God knows I’m not either. It feels impossible to pare down characters that I really know into short story figures and my ‘aha!’ didn’t knock the wind out of me with the kind of abruptness that seems appropriate for normal climaxes. I’m not sure how the story ends or even exactly where it begins. The only thing I’m sure of is that what I think it should be and what it is don’t seem to align so well.

I wonder.

I wonder how I would go about writing it if I had never read another’s story.

I guess I would just start typing.