End of Year Letter

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All About Me

I'm not a big fan of Beaches, nor do I remember this line myself, but a friend of mine used to quote it, and I think it's cute and appropriate for today. When the girls are young and just getting to know each other, one of them, after speaking at length about herself, says, "Enough about me. What do you think about me?"

A couple months ago I bought this book I'm an English Major--Now What? And in the first chapter, one of the things the author suggests is that you have a meeting with your friends where they write down your qualities on a piece of paper to give to you. I think the idea is for anonymity or something.

Oh no! I just remembered--it's so that people don't influence each other. Well, I screen all comments before they post anyway, so if you don't see any comments that doesn't necessarily mean no one has--it just means I haven't accepted them yet. So we can maintain that.

So, anyway, of course, if I had friends all in the same room, we could actually talk at great length about me after the straw poll, or uh, paper thing. Fun, fun. But since many of my friends are hither and yon, and since gathering a meeting about myself even for local friends feels a little excessive, I'll shoot out the question on here--

what are my most marketable skills? And for good measure, go ahead and tell me something I could do to improve my marketability. I'm not looking for suggestions about careers, just skills.

This might look like an ulteriorly motivated post to see who's actually reading, but I really do want to know. If you want to post anonymously, that's okay, too. Thank you!

Happy Birthday to Me!

Can you believe it? Probably. It happens to everyone. Okay, maybe not everyone. But I'm glad not to be among those it doesn't happen to--turning 35, entering the new age category.

I'm not sure how this age category is qualified, but it does tend to happen that you see forms where 35 marks as you as older than those 20-to-young 30-somethings. Not long ago 35 would have been middle age, when life expectancy was only 70. It really isn't that much older now, but for some reason, and fortunately so, that middle age nomen tends to refer to older folks than I. In any case, I am inching closer to the top of that hill.

So how do I feel? Well, my back really hurts today. I think it's from lifting this incredibly heavy museum case for the student publications on Friday. But otherwise, not too bad. Tired too. That's a perpetual case, all summer at Hollins. But you mean the feelings, like, don't you? Like am I feeling old and decrepit? Sad? Forgotten? No, I'm okay there. I feel actually pretty happy today.

Later I'll go do dinner and have cake with a few friends, which is nice. But it's been interesting to ponder because I haven't lived on campus the past three years and so haven't been as close to the students, in both ways. But when I was putting together a list of friends to ask to join me, which was also a notch up in the bravery on my part--I've never thrown my own birthday party--I found it hard to parse down to a non-overwhelming number. So many good people and friends here.

I've had friends do things with me and for me the past three years, and I'm so glad for them! But a couple times it's been very last minute, so I've tended toward celebrating by myself earlier in the day. And, oddly, I suppose I kind of miss those self-indulgent days--allowing myself to buy whichever piece of cake I want at the grocery store. I suppose I could still do that. But really, I think I much prefer this having friends around thing.

Summer Goals Revision

So alas, reality sets in. I thought I'd be working on my Sleeping Beauty novel this summer and surely could get 100 pages out of it. If this tutorial had been like last summer's, I might have. But since Han only requires 8-10 new pages a week, as compared to Hillary's 20, and well, since I'm discovering I really need to know a lot more about Medieval life to take off with that one, it's not going to happen.

But it's seriously all for the better because I'm feeling a little liberated to work on my thesis, which I need to be doing anyway. It's almost the end of June and I'm still just editing into page 25. Only 225 more to go in the next two months. Not so bad, eh? :) Actually, hopefully it won't be that bad. I'll be cutting a lot toward the end, I think. But if the end goes anything like the beginning, I might be adding a lot too. I wish I knew how to show all these facial expressions more than just smiles. You'd see my teeth in a straight line here.

And well, the exercise thing too. Oh, I'm looking again and see I didn't end up including it. Well I should have. I had planned to write 3x a week. But that is revised. Seriously I need to get off my butt, but the weather is not so friendly as I'd hoped.

1. Finish creative draft of thesis (I'm giving myself til Sept 7)
2. Have a draft of my critical part
3. Exercise 2x a week (Reminder to self--go the mall. it's not that far!)
4. Attend the temple each month
5. Get a job

Can I do it? I have a few others I should put up, but I won't embarrass myself. Just in my head.

Psycho Dreams

I've fallen into the habit of going to sleep a little too early, like 8:00 or 9:00--like while I'm reading or something and then waking up at strange hours, like 3:00 or 4:00. Last night, or this morning, I guess, I woke up at 4:00, thinking I'd heard my roommate get into the shower so that I must have slept through the night. No, it was 4:00. I'm not sure what the noise was.

I stayed awake for about an hour, put my pajamas on and messed around online, ate some carrots because I was hungry--and that's another story--I seem to be allergic to raw vegetables in the spring. I got all the regular nose itchy sneezy feelings from the carrots, and this cold I've had seems to have started when I ate a green pepper!--Every year my allergies turn to a cold, it's just how it is. The nose can't take all the stimuli.

Anyway, so then around 5:00, I went back to bed, though until I was actually out of bed, my mind wasn't registering that I had gone back to sleep. Do you ever have dreams like that? I was in my bed, and I kept hearing noises, like someone slamming the front door, running up the stairs and either putting or taking something from the crates at the foot of my bed (actually behind my head, I sleep backwards to keep my head away from the draft of the window). I kept trying to turn around to see them and what they were doing, but then they'd disappear. My voice was like one of those warbled, vaccuumed noises like slow-mo in movies or something. It just wouldn't come out to tell them to stop or ask who they were.

But it gets worse. So then I decide to get out of bed and see if I can chase them or something, or maybe I decide to get up and take a shower. So I get to the bathroom, but something has happened to the towel hooks. They seem to be missing, ripped off or something, so I call to my roommate and she's oblivious, but doesn't seem to care, so I go on my way and soon realize this isn't even my bathroom, so I decide I must be asleep still so I decide to go back to bed, but as I leave the bathroom, I only enter into a series of other bathrooms of varying degrees of luxury. Some saunas, some whirlpools, some with ogres in them. Yea, pretty weird.

Somehow I eventually make it back to my bed, but there are these children who keep coming through the walls or the window or something from the outside, and I'm trying to figure out how they're doing it and if I'm awake or not, so I start playing with them and well, I'm ashamed to say, bouncing them against the floor to see if they're real--but don't worry, they're like 10 year olds, so it wasn't painful or anything. And I'm calling to my roommate, telling her I'm going crazy-but my voice is still fuzzed and she's doing her own thing, maybe getting into the shower.

So, in my bed now or still, thinking I've finally determined that I'm really awake but that I need to go to sleep, I decide to look at my alarm clock to see what time it is, to see if I can sleep a little longer or if I should get up and take a shower. The alarm clock is supposed to be behind my head on the crate, where that strange person who'd been running in and out of the house had been messing around, and I discover it's missing. That must have been what the person took! What am I going to do? So I go back to sleep anyway, figuring even if I don't have an alarm clock, I'll hear my roommate get in the shower and know I should get up.

Then, eventually my alarm does go off, and I hit it off. Ah, it's there! I should get up now while reality has me, but something is keeping me in my bed, or is it taking me to the concert where the music is playing? Oh, that's it. A lot of my friends are at this concert, as well as the kids who have been coming through the walls, and they're still crawling all over me, but I know I don't have much time left since my alarm has gone off, so I need to go take my shower, and I leave the concert and go to the bathroom, but pass through the saunas and everything again, only this time, I only have a towel around me, and there are men around--so I make sure to cover my behind as I fly through this place with the towel.

And then my alarm goes off again, and I this time manage to pull myself out of bed and realize my roommate has gone. The shower is empty, but uh-oh, it's time for me to leave so I can go to work. Dang!

Me the Colon

Time today to follow all kinds of links, and found this, kind of fun.

You Are a Colon

You are very orderly and fact driven. You aren't concerned much with theories or dreams... only what's true or untrue. You are brilliant and incredibly learned. Anything you know is well researched. You like to make lists and sort through things step by step. You aren't subject to whim or emotions. Your friends see you as a constant source of knowledge and advice. (But they are a little sick of you being right all of the time!) You excel in: Leadership positions You get along best with: The Semi-Colon

What Punctuation Mark Are You?

In Memory of Nephi Emanuel Quist, my Grandpa

28 May 1923-18 April 2008
For the previous three or so weeks before his passing, Grandpa had been ill and in the hospital, but we didn't know how much longer he'd be able to hold out. So with this, we are both happy for his leaving his pain, but also sad, as we are when anyone leaves us. My Grandma, though, especially needs the prayers right now because her health and mental abilities are not doing well and we know Grandpa stayed alive in part to help take care of her.

Some of my memories of Grandpa:
Most recently, I'm glad that I was able to visit my grandparents a year ago Christmas. That was the last I was able to see him in mortality. Prior to that was in 2003 at a family reunion, but I didn't have a lot of one-on-one with him then. At Christmas in 06, I had quite a bit of time with him and heard some wonderful stories about different jobs he had, about how he met my Grandma, and some about my dad growing up as well. He was in the Canadian Air Force at the end of WWII, at the time my father was born. Grandma had to ride the train alone and pregnant across Canada, Prince Edward Island to Alberta, after they got married so she could be with family while he did his last tour. But she loved that ride in spite of any sickness she had. I can only imagine how pretty that would be.

During most of my father's growing up years, he wa a police officer for the city of Calgary, Alberta , but the city wasn't nearly as big at that time. As the city grew though, he said one of the factors toward his leaving the force was when he had to start calling the punks he arrested "sir." But when I saw him that Christmas, he mentioned some problems he had in being promoted to detective based on the prejudiced incompetence of one of his overseers. I think I have the story written down, but I don't remember it off hand. It seems he actually retired after 26 years in the force and was a detective, so I'm not sure how all the stories come into play. I tried to write as many of the stories as I could when I was up there, but didn't really want to be taking dictated notes either, since I wanted to enjoy the time just for what it was, with them.

While I was there, they took me to Waterton, a nearby wilderness park on the border of the US, where the deer roam free. It was beautiful! We did get to see some deer and some even got close enough we could have touched their noses, but my dad's cousin's wife who was with us, advised us not to touch them. So we didn't.

As I was growing up, he and Grandma lived on a large plot of land in Rocky Mtn House, Alberta--on the farm as we called it, though I'm not sure they did much farming. The land was dense with trees , a little marshy, and basically rugged--perfect for 4 wheeling, which I did once at least with an uncle. It was beautiful up there. Did I say that already? There were two houses on that property, with just enough room for a goat cage between them. Grandpa built both of them. He also built a few more houses, including one for his mother. When I was little, it was just the one, log-cabin-type but he built the bigger one when they needed a little more room--Grandma and he needed separate bedrooms and they could finally afford for her to have a nice big kitchen. After they moved into the bigger house, my aunt Denise and her young family moved into the smaller one so they were close when we had reunions. That was nice.

I don't know that I ever had long one-on-one conversations with him when I was little, but I liked being in the room where the grown-ups talked and heard plenty of stories about his hunting exploits with my uncles. Grandpa could tell those stories up with some nice exaggeration, but otherwise he was basically a humble, quiet man. When I could be with him, I enjoyed rubbing his head--he kept the military cut or better-- forever; his head was like a day-old beard--nice and prickly. But he would always ask how I was and he remembered things about me. I knew he loved me a lot.

A few times they came down to Colorado to visit us and I remember how excited we'd be to get up in the morning to find him and Grandma on the hide-a-bed. I'm not sure all of us kids in the bed with them was really good for those springs, but it was a lot of fun anyway.

Some of my favorite memories, though, would again have to be at my recent trip to see them. I could feel how much he loved my Grandma, how he talked about her, how he helped her out, how patient he was in reminding her she'd heard things already--she's lost her short-term memory so you have to tell her things several times and hope she still remembers.

And then this one story he told stuck out too, which has been helpful as I've dealt with some hurtful times. He had hired a man he knew well, an old friend, to do some labor in his house and the man had done a really shoddy job and Grandpa'd had to hire someone else to fix it. It sounded like an aggravating situation, but Grandpa said he held absolutely no animosity for him. He wouldn't hire him to do another job, but he felt no bad feelings for him.

I'm grateful for the example and the love of this great man in my life and thankful to my Heavenly Father that I was able to spend the nice week with him last Christmas. What a great blessing.

Last Saturday, my roommate and I were babysitting a couple little boys--one little who can't speak and the other about 4 or 5. To help the older one find something he could do, I was looking in a bin I have for some coloring books or something and I happened to have one of Grandpa's pull-toys in the bin. He's been carving nice simple wood toys for the past several years, giving many to his great grandchildren and to a place that gives them to children in Africa, I think. I had a nice little tour of his woodshop when I was up there, too, and he talked to me about it for awhile. I even helped to draw in the eyes and noses on some of his recent creations.

Anyway, the little boy asked what it was and so I let him play with it and told him my Grandpa made it. He asked when he would make another one. I said he was dying so he probably wouldn't make any more. His cute simple response was that Jesus died and he came alive again so everyone could be happy--something like that. It was a sweet reminder. When Grandpa is alive again, he can make some more pull-toys! :) And I'll get to spend some more quality time with him when he's in a better physical state. It was nice for that little emotional release at that time since I hadn't talked about it much with friends or anything. Such blessings from the young and innocent as well as from the old. Yes, we need people in all the ages of life to help our testimony and to help us in the sojourn on Earth. Such a wise Heavenly Father to make that possible for us.

Chewing Gum in the House

As I was exiting the metro station, I paused at the trash can and considered throwing out my gum before proceeding to my car. Then I shook my head and kept going. Why would that make a difference? I've chewed gum in my car before. I'm not sure why I thought it, or had that reaction, but it did remind me of a funny thing when I was at home for Christmas this year. My mother offered me a piece of gum... in our house! You're thinking, so what? Well, in our house when we were kids, we were not allowed to chew gum. I always thought my mother hated and despised it, though I knew it had to do with some accidents. But I thought she loathed it all together. Anyway, it took me by surprise when she offered it to me, especially in the house.

Maybe because I was the only child at home, I was having subliminal feelings that she was doing something special for me, something I couldn't tell the others. So I laughed out loud, and teased her about it. "You're offering me gum? In the house? I'm telling!" She excused herself that that was only a rule for children. I wasn't a child any more, was I? Of course not, and I still took the gum, and even though whichever one of my siblings I told didn't appreciate it as much as I did either, I still thought it was funny.

So anyway, back to today. After I passed the trash can and continued on my way toward my car, I reflected on this story and some broader picture ideas came to my head. Are there commandments that are only for children and some that are only for adults? For more mature spirit children and less mature spirit children? Okay, so that train of thought didn't get too far, because the only connection I could come up with is that scripture that says we get more commandments when we keep the first ones, or something like that. Boy, what a scripture scholar I am! Anyway, so that might kind of imply that I still shouldn't be chewing gum in the house.

But the truth is that as I've matured, I have had more rules about the house--maybe not my parents' house, actually less there. But more about my own--like paying the rent on time, having a job so I can pay the rent, keeping up a bank account so I can pay the rent, having a car--paying car payments, insurance, taxes, etc so I can get to the metro :) so I can get to work, so I can pay the rent--you get the idea. Cleaning up after myself, cleaning up for other people sometimes--well I had to clean as a kid, but not usually the whole shabang. Yea, being an adult has some rules that kids don't.

So maybe it's okay and maybe we do lose some of the commandments or rules as we get older--they're just helping us get there--keeping the gum out of the hair so I can look presentable when I get to work, so I can keep the job and pay the rent and feed the fly that sits on the wart on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole of the bottom of the house that Jack built. I think I can handle chewing gum in the house now.

Sandals!

Today, I put on a new short-sleeved shirt that I got for Christmas (I asked for summer shirts because I was low on them, even though it was winter at that time, what can I say?), and since it was black and white, I wore my black pants. And then since I was wearing basically black all over, I couldn't wear my normal brown shoes or navy shoes. I had to wear black shoes. And since they're in the closet where I keep shoes I don't wear as much, I happily surprised myself when I saw that I had some other black shoes that I could wear today--sandals! Yippee, yeah, yeah! It's sandal weather! I guess that comes with short-sleeved shirts, but since my sandals are black, I hadn't thought of it til now! And you know what the best thing about sandals is, don't you? You don't have to wear socks! That means I can sleep in an extra minute because I don't have to rummage through the sock drawer to find some that match. But I probably shouldn't tell myself that, because, as I just mentioned, sleeping in and having to drive to the metro is already a problem. So, now I um, can get up at the same time and maybe make it to the bus on time because I don't have to rummage...yah dah yah day....

Another Tag!

A!nne Marie tagged me again!

Here we go!

1. What were you doing 10 years ago?
Can I remember that far back? April of 1998, hmm. I was graduating from BYU! 17th? Don't remember exactly, but it could very well be the anniversary. Graduation's usually the middle of the month. I had actually finished classes in December but couldn't figure out how to do the whole register to graduate thing. In high school, it was taken care of for you! Well, I also had thought about finishing the minor in French, but without any money, I didn't think I was justified getting a loan for that. Oh well.

2. 5 things on your to do list today:
-Do a blog posting or two, including this one
-Pass some levels on this Drawing computer game--don't remember what it's called. I know, lofty ambitions.
-Try to work on Part II of my novel again--maybe I'll blog more about that.
-Read the scriptures
-Read some book(s) in preparation for classes this summer
Maybe I should have done this yesterday. I had more things to do then. But today was slow at work because everyone was telecommuting to avoid Pope traffic.

3. Snacks I enjoy:
chocolate chip cookies--cookies
Twix
salad with fruit in it
tortilla chips
Wheat Thins

4. What would I do if I were suddenly a billionaire?
Pay off my debts, finish school, maybe get another degree that I've been considering and not feel too guilty about it. Since I was little and this question was asked, I've always said pay off my parents house. I don't think they have too much further, but I guess I'd still do that. And then maybe buy my own house, put some in some secure savings and stuff, and give a lot to good charitable causes.

5. 3 bad habits:
eating too many snacks
Sleeping in and having to drive to the metro
buying too many books

6. 5 places I've lived
Loveland, CO
Calgary, AB
Le Havre, France
Rouen, France
Provo, UT

7. 5 jobs I've had:
-administrative assistant
-editor, special ed seminary teacher training manual
-research assistant, history of rhetoric
-day care/preschool teacher
-copyright go-to, (I would say specialist, but I've been told only lawyers can say that), School of Language Studies, Foreign Service Institute

8. 5 things people don't know about me:
I guess it depends on which people :)
-sometimes I throw books away
-I had a blue frisbee in high school; our senior year, I used to play on the lawn in front with one of my friends during lunch and some sophomores teased us.
-I love collecting T-shirts
-The only time I ever watched conference on temple square (back in Tabernacle days), I fell asleep and didn't get much out of it. But hey--these were non-ticket days, too--we were in line very, very early in the morning to get in.
-Every once in awhile I dye my hair just a little bit blonder.

I don't know who my regular readers are or if they have their own blogs, so if you have one-consider yourself tagged !

Published!

I got an email this weekend saying my poetry submission was accepted for a journal at San Diego State University. They were looking for poems and short stories for children 10-14 with a theme of "Night Rhythms" and what do you know, I actually had one of those! I've actually been working on this for a long time. Should I tell you how long? Anyway, most recently I had a version critiqued last summer at Hollins and when I saw the call for writing, I took upon myself to make some of the suggested changes, and some others as well. What do you think?

Pacific Waves
To see, to see…
anything but pomegranate paws
laced with cold steel fingernails
scraping on the baseboard in the dark.
She sits up in her basement level bunk bed,
stringing in the curtains for her sails.

The frame rattles in time with the whirring
of the water heater in the storage room next door,
whirring, wearing, worrying.
The ghosts have already dirtied
the powdered milk with sketches of their names
(They can only come if she asks)
hovering, hoping, and whispering

pleas...Before the water escapes…
Before she floats through the window
and out to sea...
She’ll ride Pacific waves
through Hawaii and the Seychelles
and maybe into Singapore,
Where snores will transform into lullabies
and sing a poor girl to sleep.

Other Conference Thoughts, Elder Scott

For as long as I remember, Elder Scott has been known for his piercing gaze--the way he looks through the teleprompters right into your eyes--no, not the audience's, yours. He knows you and loves you and has a message for you. He has a nice steady and compassionate voice, too, that makes those sometimes pills easier to swallow. For that, his choice to talk about abuse and address it both to the abused and the abuser seemed interesting, and I think he did it very well.

The sad difference this time though seemed that he's aging and his eyes are dimming. He still did his best, and even turned completely away from the teleprompters at one point, looking off to his right to talk to the audience, someone in the audience over there. It was a powerful moment, but interesting because it didn't seem to have the same impact of feeling that he was talking directly to me, which was fine since I don't think I was implicated in what he was saying. But in essence, it still had the same effect. He knew the person he was talking to, loved them, and had a message for them.

Changes in Presidents of the Church

Changes in the position of the president of the Church haven't generally been easy for me. When I was growing up and in primary, the prophet was Pres. Kimball. I loved the song where we sang all the latter-day prophets and though I don't know that I knew much about what he taught, I knew I loved Pres. Kimball. As I've gotten older, I have become more aware of his teachings and I still love him.

President Kimball died when I was 12 or 13, however, so I had to learn to accept a new prophet. Though I'd been made aware of the procedures of the change when a prophet died, and I even knew President Benson would be the next prophet because I learned a few years earlier that he was the senior apostle and all that (and quite proud to know that, too, I'll add) well, it was still kind of hard to adjust to the change. Before long, I learned to love President Benson too. I remember when I was a young woman the balloon thing and his challenge for us to read the Book of Mormon. That influenced and continues to influence me and my testimony in very positive ways--I still read the Book of Mormon every day. And throughout my adolescence I continued to learn more from his teachings and have been blessed for following them. I love President Benson.

When President Benson passed away I was in my 20s, attending BYU, and I was much more aware of the whole process of things at that point. I even knew ALL of the twelve apostles by name, not just the senior apostle, Pres. Hunter. Perhaps because of that, I learned to love Pres. Hunter before he became the prophet, if only from watching him maintain his calm and handle the situation with Cody Judy at the CES fireside at BYU some short time before Pres. Benson died. I felt the Spirit in that meeting testifying he was a prophet and would be a great president. And indeed, that transition wasn't as hard for me. But Pres. Hunter didn't live long after that, less than a year. Still, during that time he taught some great things and I have kept my temple recommend with me and up-to-date partly because of his teachings about the temple. I love President Hunter.

Of course I was familiar with President Hinckley since he had been around in leadership for so long. I also remember talks that he gave at BYU, and he had touched me with his talks about optimism during a time when I really needed that. But for some reason, it still took me a little while to warm up to him as the prophet. But of course it happened, as it always has. There are so many things I love about President Hinckley now.

But now, some 14 years later, now in my 30s, I'm experiencing the change again. Interestingly, I had been anticipating President Monson for quite awhile, probably not as early as when Pres. Kimball was prophet, but at least by my 20s when I learned how young he was. There was no question in my mind that he would be the prophet some day. And so I've spent several conferences listening to him trying to imagine him as the president of the church, perhaps trying to warm myself early this time. Yet for some reason, although they were fine and good and great and all that for the first counselor, none of his talks before really struck me as what I expected from THE prophet.

So, when President Hinckley did pass away, even as much as I loved President Monson before, I'll confess it's felt a little weird to adjust to him in this new role. But I've had a lot of mixed emotions during all of the funeral proceedings and news and whatnot about President Hinckley, feeling also that there was too much attention paid to him as a man and perhaps to the diminishment of other great men and not acknowledging the mantle as much as they should have. I think that's just the nature of the media and natural proceedings when a great man passes away.

Yesterday, during the solemn assembly, I was grateful for the Spirit I felt sustaining me and confirming to me the Lord's will in the changes. But as I watched conference all day yesterday I still noticed how much I missed having President Hinckley around, conducting one or two of the sessions and ending sessions with a few of his remarks, his unique and wonderful sense of humor and his great attitude. His simple presence. I really missed him.

However, I also had a wonderful experience when the first session ended this morning. When President Monson spoke, I could feel the positive feelings and acceptance of him as the President, and see or feel the mantle of prophet on him. It was a good feeling, something I hadn't imagined and can't describe, but there was a definite difference between his talk and those he's been giving for the many, many years before now. It was nice, too, then, in the afternoon session when Elder Holland began his remarks to make note of that feeling in himself and his indication that many others had felt it too. What a blessing the Lord has given us all to adjust to change, to be able to see and feel that difference! He knows change is hard, not just on me but on a lot of people! Even another apostle. And we need those manifestations. And of course, it's also a testimony that there really is something different, very special and true about having a prophet, a spokesman for the Lord on the Earth today. I love President Monson. But most importantly, I love the Lord Jesus Christ, the head of the Church.

Done or not done

Friday night I felt exhilirated as I finished editing the last section of my thesis for the second time. I knew it wasn't done even at that moment, but it was a nice feeling. The next day I looked through my notebook from school last summer wherein I had jotted down some notes from my peers' comments and remembered some things that needed attention. Later that day I went to a party and was complaining about something I didn't like in a book and remembered something else I needed to do. It was a little discouraging, I have to admit.

I mean, of course I knew there would be more work than just fixing up weak language. But I was actually just looking in the notebook for a list of words to be avoided or minimized--like smile and happy and nod--two nods per novel! That's the rule!--and sigh. Sigh! Isn't it a shame that such good words need to be avoided? But of course, it's only so they can be replaced with better words--like, well, I can't think of any right now. But I know they're out there anyway--okay like exhuberant. like mouth spreading as wide as the whole orange. like bent his head down then looked up sexily through crooked bangs. like exhilirated!

So I guess that's the attitude I need to adopt. Imagine how energized and elated I'll be when all of those other plot and character situations are touched up! It's good to change good things for better, right?

Happy St. Patty's

Okay so this is actually from last year, but it was taken in March. I just felt the need for a pretty picture and this is a nice green one. Happy St. Patrick's Day and Happy Spring! I pulled out my spring/summer wardrobe over the weekend, though I still found I needed a sweater yesterday and wore my winter coat to work today, but it's coming. Spring is in the air! Can't you feel it? I guess it depends on where you are. It's a nice feeling anyway.

Cohesion, or incohesion, or Cohesiveness or Incohesiveness. ???

A few follow-ups that may or may not cohere, except inasmuch as I will in some way talk about cohesion. Maybe. Maybe not. You know one of the qualities of a hero? Consistency. I learned this in high school. The teacher also pointed out that a hero can be consistently inconsistent. So I still have some hope of being a hero, right? No, a heroine. Even if I don't have a romance? No, that was the other way around, romances can only be for heroines, but not all heroines have to have romances. Though I still think I might like one.

Anyway, so the first, follow-up. I'll call this one Defying Murphy's Law.
Yesterday, the day after my splurge at Dress Barn (okay, so I didn't admit it then, but I'll admit it now--I bought more than just the one pair of pants. I also bought a couple shirts and another pair of pants), I received a coupon in the mail for Dress Barn. Can you believe it? It was for sales from the 12th to the something--anyway, I made my purchase on the 11th. Stink! Well, I figured I could just return them. It was interesting because when I got up yesterday morning, I had kind of wanted to wear one of those outfits, but I felt I shouldn't. Good thing, eh? So, today, I wrapped them back up and took my lunch hour to return my purchases and buy them back. I did think I might give them an opportunity to just give me the $s off amount. But they couldn't do that (I kind of figured they wouldn't). They almost didn't even want to let me return the items and buy them back. She kept reading the coupon for the stipulations saying it couldn't apply to previous purchases and even if I returned them it would still be a previous purchse. Oh brother. Technicalities!

So I just said I'd return them straight out. Why should I be the one with the loss? I couldn't help which day my pants ripped. So that's what I did. Then after I'd returned them, she said she'd ask her manager if she could override the coupon. Of course. See, the solution to Murphy's Law: Attitude. Stick to your guns. I could probably use some help on the right kind of attitude. I mean when I hear work on your attitude in Church, I think of bowing humility and submissiveness, but maybe that's not always the right way to see it. Sometimes stick-to-your-guns attitude is good, right?

The manager said of course they could seel them back and use the coupons. They didn't really need to lose out, here. So they got there sale and I got myself a nice $20 back--and a tote, to boot. Not that I needed the tote. If my totes had some cohesion to them, I could probably sell them all and make more than $20.

Second follow-up. I'll call this one Bookaphobe. No, that's not really it. Abook. Anti-book. Well, maybe a little Bookaphobe. I am getting a little afraid to try new books because I've started so many bombs lately. As for that history book for the fictophile (this is the follow-up part), I couldn't finish it. I did read at least 100 pages. I think that's doing pretty well. But it got to be so much about war tactics that I lost interest. I kept hoping they'd get out of the war. It's not like the Revelotionary War constituted the whole of General Washington's life. I mean, we don't usually even refer to him as General so much as, okay usually we just call him George, but really we remember him as President. I didn't get that far.

So you don't think it's just history book that's putting the snooze on, I'll go on. I've started reading Uncle Tom's Cabin here at work, because it's free online and that's pretty cool. I can look like I'm busy working or something even though I have nothing to do, and it's free. And it's got a lot of history to it, too, so I can feel like I'm doing some duty in that regard. However, it's downright depressing and I think I might be done. I have no idea how many pages I read because that's now how things work online, but I did get into Chapter 16, I believe, out of 40 something. Heh.

And, now so you don't think it's just history I don't like, whether fictionalized or opinionized (is there a difference?), I'll say the next book that I'm struggling with right now is this incohesive fiction book that isn't historical. I mean at least not yet. It's still contemporary. :)

I'm trying to read these LDS fictions so I have at least a little background when I write my critical part about it, and I thought this one series looked pretty a propos, a girl through her high school and college years, and it looked like some romance involved. I didn't buy the first one though, because it didn't look too interesting, and was earlier in high school than concerned me. I did buy the second one, however. In some ways it's actually pretty in-line with what I need--it includes her last year of high school and first year of college. But I'm kind of missing what ties those two years together. I'm much further in this one--like maybe 150-200ish pages? I don't know, and I'm just not seeing the cohesion--what's the threading plot? Conflict? I mean there is conflict, but I thought it was one thing, but now the book is half way over and it's resolved so it's not that. Hmm.

Generally speaking, the cohesiveness in the plot isn't the only thing amiss, though. From the three authors of LDS lit I've read over the past few weeks, I will say that if the LDS fiction market needs anything it's an author who actually knows how to write. I'm not saying that's me, but one is needed. There are LDS people who know how to write, but it doesn't seem to me that they are writing LDS fiction. What a pity.

And then the other thing isn't really a follow-up, but it's about the LDS market and incohesiveness. Just saw the Singles' 2nd Ward movie, and it lacked cohesiveness. Just thought I'd throw that out there, as my incohesive conclusion to this talk about cohesivness.

Or was there something else? I seem to feel the need to keep writing. Is it because I'm cohesed to the computer? No silly, that's adhesive. You're not stuck to the computer. You can leave now.

Oh yea, the other follow-up. See. I'm cohesed! or adhesed or adhered? I don't know. Anyway, so I'll call this one: ReFicto
I'm actually back to writing the creative part, letting the critical part rest for just a little bit, because I thought of a few plot things I needed to add and embellish and stuff, and now I've got to make them cohesive throughout the story. Hee hee hee.

My Typing Speed

Thanks to Anne Marie for this suggested site!
93 words

Speedtest

Benefits of Bouncing

I didn't hear a rip. I have no idea when it happened, which is actually kind of scary. But when I went to cross my legs as I worked on something at my desk--which I do occasionally--I noticed a nice hole along the inner seam of my pants, yes right along the top of my thigh. So lovely.

I've had the pants for a few years now; they were the first pair I bought when I got my first respectable job that might require I have some professional attire. It actually makes me laugh a little to think about how I first perceived the job. A year or more into it, I didn't feel quite the need to have such formality. Nonetheless, I did participate in some meetings where I felt grateful to have some professional clothes.

But as all good things must come to an end, here almost a year after losing that job, I've lost the pants as well.

Fortunately, I don't have a lot of personal interactions in my job now or it could have been worse. I was able to wait until lunch to get out, but my priority was, of course, to get some pants I could finish the day in.

If it had happened when I was at AIA the last time--back in November and December--I wouldn't have known what to do with myself. I might even have felt obligated to spend the rest of the day in the open. But since I'd had another temp assignment not too far from here that happened to be just above a Dress Barn, I knew exactly where to go. I spent my lunch hour shopping for some pants. An hour or so afterward, I was particularly glad because, yes, I actually did get some work to do, which involved some personal interaction, and it could have been kind of embarrassing!

So though I don't have any other "benefits" with this job, at least there are benefits to bouncing.

English in America

For awhile, the past few years, I've been troubled by having to work with people whose abilities with the English language really suffered. I'm not talking just about the work-place, though I did have it there for awhile too since my former place of employment was the Foreign Service Institute in the School of Language Studies, working with teachers who had to be native speakers of the language they were teaching. Understandably, that was sometimes challenging, but I haven't been doing that for about a year now and haven't really had so much of an English problem in the work-place since. No, the greater problem has been working with poor English speakers in the "community"--on my personal business.

A few of those experiences include--
*the standard, trying to get tech support for my computer. I don't think my helper was living in the U.S. because his language was not standard U.S. English. That was extremely frustrating.

*trying to understand a pharmacy worker and have her understand me before signing any forms that involved my privacy rights.

*having a bus driver wiggle his head at me rather than speak to me because a person in a wheelchair was boarding the bus and he needed me to move. I hadn't seen the wheelchair and didn't understand what he was doing, so I looked at him quizzically, asked what the problem was, and he just continued to manually indicate to me that I needed to move. Finally another passenger let me know about the wheelchair.

The pharmacist was handled relatively easily--I never returned to that pharmacy. Though I'd already had the computer for a year and wasn't going to return it, I could at least take it to a local repair person. Thank goodness for competition. That's one thing of those great things about America.

But the bus incident was actually the scariest--to think the man driving the bus I was on didn't speak very good English. Could he understand his radio? Reports being given to him?

In some cases, it seems the English question is just a matter of a business's poor decisions about whom to hire for which positions. But the employment question actually takes another turn as well. I've applied for and studied job positions that I considered applying for and felt discriminated against because I didn't speak Spanish. This, for public service positions (in libraries) in the United States. Of course, the job descriptions couldn't say Spanish was required, just preferred. But as the number of people who don't speak English very well continues to increase, you can imagine how much that preference will influence the final hiring decision.

Recently, I learned of something that actually even minimized my hope of things even improving. That is, even if the borders are secured through hopeful legislation, there seems to be no promise that English-language capabilities will improve because, as I learned, the English-language tests for citizen applicants must be very weak.

A friend of mine reported after a day when she was in the jury pool that people had not only been allowed to be excluded but the judge forthrightly asked if their English language was good enough to understand the court proceedings. Why should the judge have any leeway to ask this question? If a person is born into US citizenship and grew up here, they would have gone through the education system and acquired sufficient English. If they became citizens by application, their English should have been tested to assure they could contribute to society including their natural duties as citizens--including jury duty. So apparently there's something wrong in one of these two areas.

Okay, so there is the other possibility that they be citizens born abroad and for whatever reason their citizen parent(s) didn't speak English with them, they didn't acquire it in school or whatever society, and then for whatever reason they just decided to move back to America without speaking a lick of English. Yes, I can see that there are some strong possibilities there.

Of course we know our education system has its problems, but it would seem that since a juror must be at least 18 years old, that at least by the very fact of living and growing up among English speakers the person would acquire sufficient English even if their teachers really stank. Children do tend to want to learn the language of the people around them. Are there really not enough English-speakers around to encourage these youth?

Without belaboring the point, it simply seems more likely the problem lies in the English testing of citizen applicants. So the question is why are the tests so lenient that a person doesn't need to communicate well enough to participate in his/her citizen's duties, such as performing jury duty? Is it because there are so many English speakers out there that we don't really need everyone to speak the only national language? Is it because this duty and honor is really only for natural born citizens? Or maybe jury duty isn't really that important. Our judicial system doesn't need any more lay citizens involved than it has to have already? It just seems to me that there is no good excuse at all for this.

We have enough trouble understanding each other even when we speak the same language that U.S. citizens shouldn't have to deal with additional language barriers when they're conducting personal business in their own country, trying to ensure their safety and rights. But most importantly, since the United States of America's only official language is English, her citizens need to speak this language with sufficient capability to perform all of their duties, which are in fact HONORS, as citizens.