O Little Town of Bethlehem

One of the best parts about coming on study abroad here, and not just on one of those two-week tours that retired people do, is that we get to go to places all over the country, instead of bobbing around the crowded streets of Jerusalem the whole time with matching yellow hats and a tour guide. Not that there isn't enough to see in Jerusalem to occupy a whole two weeks, or a whole four months really. Because there is. But it's nice to not miss other equally cool places that take a bit of getting to simply because there's no time to get there.

Monday's field trip was one of those equally cool places: Bethlehem, a suburb of Jerusalem that's so close the two are practically one. Our professors keep equating it to the difference between Orem and Provo; you don't even notice when you go from one city to the other because they're that connected. There is one itty-bitty, little-tiny, or-actually-really-glaring difference between Utah towns and the Holy Land, however: Bethlehem and Jerusalem are separated by a wall. I'd say it's pretty hard to miss the difference with an 8-meter-high barrier and detachment of Israeli guards in the way.

Bethlehem is located in the West Bank, the part of Israel that was occupied in the 1967 war, and has never been unoccupied since. I think Israel considers it part of their State, but according to international laws, the Israelis don't rightfully own it since it was occupied in war. So the Palestinians are stuck there under military occupation until further notice. The whole situation is very sticky, and there are lots of restrictions because of it. Much of the conflict in this country, if it isn't happening in the Gaza Strip, is somehow connected to the West Bank. It's rather unfortunate, because the West Bank is a really cool place.

We generally aren't allowed to go to the West Bank because of all the conflict, but we do have a couple special field trips there, and this was one of them. Our Palestinian professor lives in Bethlehem and teaches at Bethlehem University, so we had the opportunity to visit and learn about life as a college student in Bethlehem. And of course visit some of the holiest Christian sites in the world. Pretty typical day in the life of a JC student. And here are some pictures of our trip:


Here we have the crest of Bethlehem University. The University is Catholic, but the student body is 70% Muslim. It's also 70% female, and one of the few universities in the West Bank. Despite the religious differences, the atmosphere on campus is extremely friendly. I loved the feeling that we're really just like them (nevermind that they live in one of the most conflicted areas of the world, and we live in perhaps one of the most boring); we're all students trying to get an education. And of course, trying to find that special someone. As one student said, it's a tragedy there's no inter-religion dating!


At one point in the visit, we were able to mix-and-mingle with the students. I had a mini heart attack when I heard this; as you probably know, I'm not a mingler. But, I decided that since it would likely be my once-in-a-lifetime chance to be in Bethlehem, let alone at Bethlehem U, I could come out of my shell (see Mom, it does happen) and meet a few people. And if it went badly, I'd never have to see them again! These are the people I ended up meeting: Zuhoor and Sister Lena.

Zuhoor is a Muslim in her second year studying to teach primary school. She's from Jerusalem, and commutes to and from Bethlehem every day, which is quite the process. In the days before the wall, it took fifteen minutes to get from one to the other. Now, an hour is a good commute. Sister Lena is a Catholic nun from Jordan, and is in Bethlehem studying English (we became fast friends). She works at a convent in her free time. Both women were very nice, and willing to talk to curious Americans. And the funniest thing about them? When we walked up, they were talking to each other. As friends. Proof that we really all can get along.


While I was busy mingling in my own way, the boys in our group were mingling in theirs. To each their own I guess!


It's a little hard to see in this picture, but this a building somewhere in Bethlehem that's decorated with metal stars. The entire city was like this (well all of it that we saw anyway). There were stars hanging across the streets, stars on the buildings, outlines of Christmas bells in windows. It was like everyone decorated for Christmas year-round. How great would that be? You'd never have to take down your Christmas lights! Though I guess if you never put them up in the first place, that alleviates the problem too.


The Church of the Nativity. Lucky for us, they started construction on the ceiling two weeks before our field trip. So this was the church we saw. Not too pretty, I know. Though I'm not convinced the church would be pretty even without all the scaffolding. Everything is so blackened with incense that it's difficult to make anything out. In all fairness, the Church of the Nativity is the oldest Christian church that's been in continuous use since it was built. So it does have some excuse. Originally built in 333 AD by Emperor Constantine, it was destroyed in 529 AD and rebuilt by Emperor Justinian in 565 AD. And it's been standing ever since. Predictably, it's had a few close destruction calls, and been restored a few times over the years (like the current time), but never has it been destroyed. Crazy, huh? Oh and all those people? They're waiting in line to see the Grotto of the Nativity, the traditional site of Christ's birth. Where are we in that line? Yep, all the way at the back. Two-hours wait from the front, to be exact.


Here I am with the star that marks the place of Christ's birth. How they know he was born on exactly that piece of floor is a mystery to me, but that's what they say! Apparently the star was actually really disgusting; another student touched it and used half a bottle of hand sanitizer afterward. And I'm not sure what was going on with the lighting here, but it was so crowded in the little cave that I didn't have the chance to get another picture taken. Such is life when other people run your camera.


This is the rest of the Grotto. I wish they'd left it how it really looked in Christ's time, but it's an example, once again, of how different churches commemorate holy sites. This particular site is commemorated with frescoes and incense burners.

There you have a pictorial tour through my Bethlehem experience. It's a shame we're not allowed to visit Bethlehem on our own, because it's definitely a place I'd love to return to. And it doesn't help that all our professors brag about the time when the wall wasn't there, and they popped over to Bethlehem for lunch every other week. Aren't they special? At least I got to go once in my life though, right? I suppose I should be grateful for that.

Jersualem At Its Finest

I realize I haven't blogged in a very long time, but I wanted to wait until I was able to upload pictures, and I'm finally able to do so! Pictures make blogging so much better because I don't have to write as much and readers actually go through the whole post instead of getting bored by the first paragraph. At least that's what happens when I stalk others' blogs; I get super excited when I see a post full of pictures. So here goes:


Jerusalem is the land of hills and valleys. The Center is built on the top of Mt. Scopus, which is part of the Mt. of Olives. In order to go pretty much anywhere, we have to go down a very large hill into the Kidron valley, then up a very large hill into the city. Which means that on the way back home, we go down the hill we came up and up the hill we came down. Going into the city is not for the faint-hearted. And as proof, here is the hill right outside the lower gate of the Center.



I love the contrast of this picture. The wall in the lower right corner is the Western Wall, an original retaining wall of the temple during Jesus' time, and one of the holiest places for the Jewish people. Rising just above that is the Dome of the Rock, one of the holiest sites in Islam. Just a reminder of how people learn to coexist.



The Dome of the Rock, up close and personal.



Jerusalem is full of holy sites (surprising, I know), and here is one of the holiest for Christians, especially for Protestants: the Garden Tomb. There's something special about this place.



Wouldn't it be great if we could buy one of these for life?



I can't get enough of the colors here. Or the flowers. I probably have at least fifty pictures of flowers from Jerusalem. It just amazes me that such beautiful flowers can bloom in a place where it doesn't rain for seven months of the year. And they contrast so beautifully with the light limestone that most of the city is built of. I wish I could always be in such a beautiful place.



I'm obsessed with finding the Center whenever I can in the city. Here we have the Dome of the Rock with the Center to the left of it (that building with all the arches), and the picture was taken from the top of the Hurva synagogue in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City. How awesome is it that Mormon University is visible from all over Jerusalem?



I also just can't get enough of the doors here. It's hard to refrain from photographing every one I walk by, but I try to keep it to only the most awesome. Like this door we stumbled upon when we were lost somewhere in the city (it's hard to keep track of where we get lost these days).



I was not a fan of going through Hezekiah's Tunnel, a water-filled, very narrow channel built in BC times. And then I went through it, and it was actually pretty cool. Here's the aftermath of the water on my pants.



This is a taste of Jerusalem's night life! Ben Yehuda, the place to be when the sun goes down. Well, really, it's the only place we can be when the sun goes down, so it's the best place.



The other day, we stumbled upon St. George's Cathedral in the middle of East Jerusalem. It's a church for Palestinian Christians, and it's message seemed to be about peace between all. Along the back wall, I found this little thing hanging. I think it's a lesson that more than just Palestinians and Israelis need to learn.

There you have it: Jerusalem at its finest. Well, maybe not its finest, but what I like most.

Sabbath in Jerusalem

There are several things here that take a fair amount of getting used to. Like the smells of a city without laws against littering. Or the protein-filled, curry-infused, unfortunately-mushroom-laced food at the Center that still causes problems with many students' bowels. (Luckily not mine, or else I wouldn't have mentioned it.)

One of the hardest things for me to get used to is the idea of having Sabbath services on Saturday. In Israel, Saturday is considered the holy day because that's when Jews have their Sabbath, and Israel is rather filled with Jewish people. So, out of respect for the Jewish tradition, and to accommodate the schedule of Center activities and the schedules of the permanent Branch members, we have Sabbath meetings on Saturday. It makes how we phrase things a little tricky; we don't have "Sunday School" here, and it's never "during our meetings next Sunday." People are still getting used to the idea of replacing "Sunday" with "Sabbath," and it's just as funny now as it was a month ago when the second counselor in the Presidency accidentally slips up while making announcements in Sacrament Meeting. You'd think we were all seven again, the way we giggle at the occasional mention of Sunday.

But even though our meetings aren't held on the normal day, they're just as phenomenal as any other ward or branch. In fact, sometimes I think they're even more amazing. When we sit in Sacrament meeting, listening to talks about the Atonement, we can actually see the city of Jerusalem stretched out below us, and actually visualize the words of the speaker happening just down the road. How cool is that?! Plus the amazing view makes it easier to stay awake (in my opinion), so I tend to get more out of Sacrament meeting all around. Definitely a win-win.

Besides the amazing view, the amazing people of the branch are what make it so wonderful. We have families from America, who are here for a few years because of the father's job. We have single people just passing through, or attending Hebrew University down the road. And we have locals, who have converted to our faith. The Relief Society president is a Palestinian living in Bethlehem, just down the street from the Church of the Nativity, the traditional site of Christ's birth. Unfortunately, there are a fair number of locals who cannot actually attend because of the travel restrictions in their various areas, so receive their meetings through weekly emails. It's been an eye-opener, and I'll try very hard from now on to never complain about going to Church again, because at least I can actually go.

When I first arrived here, I was astonished by how evident it is that both Jews and Muslims live their religion, or at least their standards of clothing. But now that I've gotten to see what's below the surface, I realize that the faith of the Jerusalem saints is just as, if not more, astonishing.

Unexpected Egypt

I've never had the desire to go to Egypt.

Really I've never had the desire to go to the Middle East in general; anywhere European has always made the top of my list. But I've really really never had the desire to go to Egypt. Yet here I sit in Jerusalem after returning from a week in Egypt. And it was awesome.

Yes, there were a few experiences I could have done without. Like the overnight train ride in a smelly compartment that still felt dirty after we neurotically sanitized every surface. Or the "shower" I took under a trickle of Nile water in a shower spotted with what was very probably brown mold. Or the fly-infested, wet-floored, toilet-paper-less bathroom with unflushable toilets. I could have lived a very happy life without having any one of those stories to recount, and the fact that they're all true makes me cringe a little inside. (It also makes me slightly impressed that I made it through them without vomiting, though I can't pretend that I never gagged, or that I only gagged a little.)

Disgusting experiences aside, Egypt was a phenomenal place. We toured sites that I never expected to see in my life - like the Great Pyramids of Giza. We rode camels through a village along the banks of the Nile. We haggled in the marketplace for souvenirs, and in some cases got swindled by very pushy merchants. I never expected to have so much fun in Egypt.

What made the biggest impact on me even more than the amazing ancient sites - and they were amazing - was the extreme difference in culture. Our professors weren't joking when they told us that Egypt is a desert, and the people only survive because of the Nile. The Nile serves as their source of water for everything - drinking, cleaning, farming, watering animals. It also serves as their sewage system. I thought some of the streets of Jerusalem were dirty. And then I took my first shower in Egypt with water that smelled very faintly like a rusty public toilet. It was as unsanitary as I thought possible.

Yet to the people of Egypt, it's absolutely not a problem. They drink the Nile's water (which we were expressly forbidden to do with the threat of severe gastrointestinal distress as the consequence). They wash their clothes in it, make their living off it, and I even saw a few brave souls swimming in it. It's no more a big deal to them than drinking from the tap in America would be to me. I don't think it's possible to be a germophobe in Egypt.

I also couldn't believe the extreme heat. Most days it felt like I walked into an oven when I stepped out the hotel doors, and I can't say that I've ever sweated more in my life than I did in one morning's worth of touring. Getting back to my air conditioned hotel room was a necessity every day, and everyone complained heartily if the air on the bus wasn't up to par.

But once again, to the people of Egypt, the heat is not a problem. They live in it and work in it, and I'm not convinced that the vast majority has access to working air conditioning. I have no idea how they do it, especially given the amount of clothing they wear. We saw very few Egyptian women, but almost all those we did wore traditional Muslim attire, complete with long sleeves and headdress. And many of the men wore a long sleeve robe with clothes underneath. It's very impressive to observe how they live their religion regardless of their surroundings (like the 100+ degree temperatures typical of the region), but I've decided it's a very good thing I was not born Egyptian. I think I would sweat my body away.

Overall, Egypt made for a great trip. One that I'm not willing to repeat in a hurry, but that was worthwhile while it lasted.

My First Jerusalem Experience

Since I am apparently abysmal at sticking to a once-a-day blog, I decided to transform this little experiment of mine into something different: a blog of my experiences in Jerusalem (and elsewhere). Don't expect anything close to daily. I'd rather be out seeing and doing than sitting at a computer writing about it.

I am privileged enough to be studying abroad in the Holy Land for the next three and half months, and the experience has already been beyond incredible. I have been here only since Wednesday, but it feels like weeks have gone by. Maybe once the program actually gets going, I'll stop feeling like time is standing still.

Today my roommates and I took a walk through the Old City. Jerusalem is divided into three main parts: East Jerusalem, West Jerusalem, and the Old City. East is where the Palestinians live, and where the BYU Jerusalem Center is located. West is where the Jewish people live. And the Old City . . . well I'm still not entirely sure what that is. The Dome of the Rock can be found in the Old City, and the Western Wall. And it's divided into four quarters: Muslim, Jewish, Christian, and Armenian (where the Armenians came into the picture, I have no idea). The Old City can be dangerous at times, and we have several restrictions on when we can visit it. But today we had free time and no restrictions, so we decided to have our first experience.

What an experience it was! We went through Damascus Gate, which leads to a street full of open-air shops that sell everything from underwear to hunks of raw meat. We've been told more than once that many people have things stolen from them at Damascus Gate because the pickpockets are so good at what they do, so we all clutched our purses while trying not to act like typical tourists.

Once we made it through the gate, we were met by a cart that almost ran us over, and hundreds of people pushing us everywhere. The market was absolutely insane, and something that you would never find in America. Let me give you an example. There was a man, sitting on a piece of cardboard that was covering what looked like the skinned carcass of a cow. There is no way that can be sanitary. And yet, it was perfectly acceptable here. No one thought twice about the raw meat festering in the hot and crowded market, a stark contrast to the neat and hygienic grocery stores of the United States.

Everything here seems to be that way - something I would never see in my sheltered life in America. And I thought I knew what it meant to be cultural. This trip has already taught me that I have so much more to learn.

Pushiness

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Whenever I take those theoretically scientific personality tests, they always tell me that I'm an introverted person. Which I completely agree with. I much prefer my comfort zone, and breaking out of my shell makes me irrationally nervous.

This introversion also causes me, more often than not, to keep my feelings quiet. If I'm ever in a big group of people, I prefer to listen to the conversation rather than actively participate in it. And if someone upsets me, the last thing I'd do would be to tell them. My hobbies include reading and movie watching, and I often choose to go shopping alone. It's not that I hate being social, it's just that only enjoy being social for so long before I need alone time.

Sometimes, my odd hermit tendencies can be detrimental to my relationships, and it's times like these when I need a little push to get me to speak up or go out or whatever the situation requires. I don't always enjoy these pushes, but I almost always find that I'm glad for them in the end. Like when my mom pushed me to go play tennis with friends even though I'm an abysmal tennis player. Or when Skyler pushed me to actually share my feelings instead of 'thinking about them' first. I almost think I could be an extrovert if people would just push me to be. Though I'm perfectly happy with my introverted self. And I'm grateful for those little pushes that keep me from becoming a true hermit.

Hot (Skype) Dates

Friday, August 6, 2010

Long distance relationships get really old really fast. Though, to be fair, a long distance relationship is better than no relationship, at least with the current guy. And Skyler and I do almost everything possible to stay in touch: text, talk on the phone, facebook, the occasional email, and skype. About the only communication mode we haven't broken into is letter writing, but that might happen while I'm in Jerusalem. Well, at least maybe postcard writing.

Tonight, we had a skype date. I say 'date,' but really we'd just decided to skype tonight, so I'm not entirely sure it classifies as a date, especially when it was interrupted by my dad and his brother and brother's girlfriend. Regardless, it was quite fun.

I think skype is little short of amazing. I find it so incredible that live video feed is able to be sent over the internet. Though almost anything regarding the internet baffles me; that we can send data at all is something I consider to be a modern miracle. While the picture quality of the webcam might not always be top-notch, I really have nothing to complain about when it comes to video chatting. Personally, I'm so grateful for it that I'd like to shake the hand of whoever invented it, because somehow, hot skype dates seems to make five weeks a little more bearable.

Hershey*

Thursday, August 5, 2010

I swear if my dog wakes me up at 6:30 in the morning one more time by barking at non-existent squirrels, I will put her up for sale faster than you can say 'woof!' If you ever wondered why my dog and I do not get along, here you have perfect proof. I've surprised myself by not locking her out of the house yet.

However, as much as Hershey drives me up the wall, there are a few (a very few) qualities that I at least find amusing about her. The first being that I'm pretty sure she dreams. I actually really wish I could know what she dreams about (if, in fact, dogs can dream), because she gets awfully funny when she's deeply asleep. Her eyes come half open and start rolling (which is actually really creepy, not funny), her tongue sticks out, her nose twitches, and sometimes her paws even start to move. Like she's having a dream about chasing down a rabbit or attacking the neighbor dog or something equally dog-worthy. If there's anything about Hershey that I enjoy, it's watching her dream.

The other point in her favor is that she can be very cute when she decides to cuddle. However, letting her cuddle with you is always a gamble, because she can also be very annoying. If she's just taking a little cat nap next to me, I don't mind it so much. She doesn't move, she isn't barking, and she doesn't take up much space. But, if she snuggles up for a good long sleep, I know I'm in trouble, because those are the times when she sprawls out and takes up all the available space. You wouldn't believe it, but my little eleven-pound dog has actually squeezed me off the couch before because she spreads out so much when she sleeps. I don't know how my parents stand to sleep with her every night.

I'm not entirely sure why I decided to write a post about my dog tonight, because I'm still a little bitter about her untimely wake-up call. But I suppose she deserves some recognition for being, well, the family dog. And I am semi-trying to make our relationship more based on love than on hate, mostly by bribing her with treats and occasionally letting her sleep on my recliner. I suppose writing a post about how grateful I am for her (*in very specific circumstances) was inevitable.


The face that isn't always as cute as it seems (though sometimes it is).

The Humor in Hindsight

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Today my mom and I had an almost completely unproductive adventure: we went shopping. The purpose of our trip was to come up with some sort of wardrobe that I could take with me to Jerusalem, since the culture is much more modest and conservative over there than it is here. Unfortunately, we came up with very little.

The other purpose to our adventure was to get my mom's cell phone fixed, as well as clear up a few issues with our plan. This purpose was just as unsuccessful as the other one, though looking back it was at least a little humorous.

See, we started out by going to the Verizon kiosk in the mall. The employee that we talked to informed us that they only dealt with Verizon FIOS, and that we'd need to go to the upstairs Verizon kiosk to deal with phone issues.

So we trekked upstairs and quickly located the second kiosk. Where the employee there promptly informed us that he could do nothing about the phone, and he could not help us with our other issues. He then spent about ten minutes telling us where to go, what to ask for, and how Verizon could help, adding in a personal story of how they helped him when his phone pocket-downloaded three hundred dollars worth of crap (this story took up about nine of our ten conversation minutes).

And on we continued, driving about ten minutes to a shopping center where we located an actual Verizon store. However, it turned out to be a Verizon wireless store, meaning that it could do nothing about the phone and nothing about the issues. The poor employee in that store was so bored that I think he was actually excited to help us when we walked in. Though really he couldn't help us at all.

But he did point us onward, and we wound up at our fourth Verizon place of the day. The employee at this store could order my mom a new phone, but he wasn't able to diagnose what was wrong with her current one, and he could sortof tell her what caused her other issues, but he couldn't do anything to fix them. He could tell us where to go to get everything taken care of though, so we made progress! However, our ridiculous run-around took so long that, by the time we finished at the fourth store, the time was 6:06, and the fifth store that should have been able to fix all our problems was closed. At least we knew where to start tomorrow.

I'm not sure where exactly the gratitude comes in here, because it was extremely frustrating at the time. Luckily, it turned out to be one of those stories that I'm able to look back on and laugh at. So I guess that's something - the humor in hindsight. It really helps put perspective on what would otherwise be a frustrating life.

Teachers Who Care

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

I am almost positive that every child out there has had a teacher at some point that didn't care about his or her well-being. Unfortunately, I don't know that the opposite is true, that every child has had a teacher that was deeply invested in his or her well-being. I would hope that it is, but the reality might not be so optimistic.

Luckily for me, I have had the good fortunate to have more than one teacher who actually cared about me as an individual. And one of those teachers happens to be the Institute teacher in my stake, Brother Premont. Brother Premont is a rather funny guy, and he really loves to talk. His lessons run long more often than not, but he always has a snack ready for us after, and he likes to catch up with our lives while we bond over cookies or root beer floats.

Tonight I had a very nice conversation with Brother Premont as we discussed everything from my upcoming travel plans to the BYU football team. He really takes an interest in my life, and making sure that I'm living a very happy one. It's comforting to know that there are teachers like him out there, teachers who really care about the students they teach and who actually wish to better their students' lives rather than just get them through the class. And I'll always be grateful for teachers like Brother Premont.

Custard and Italian Ice

Monday, August 2, 2010

Maryland has many wonders that my family and I have discovered over the years, but I have to say that one of the most wonderful wonders we've crossed paths with is a delightful italian ice and custard place known as Rita's. Currently, Rita's is an East Coast and Southern phenomenon, which is a real tragedy for those living in the West who never have the opportunity to sample the heavenly creations that come from these summertime stands. Thankfully, I have the pleasure of living five minutes away from a Rita's, and it has been a staple of my summertime menu for the past few years.

Tonight, my parents and I discovered Rita's competition - a little shop known as Meadow-something Custard. Something. (It's name wasn't quite as easy to remember.) It was a rather interesting place, run by eager high school students and owned by a very eager middle-aged man. The menu was a bit more extensive than the fares that Rita's offered, but I'm not yet convinced that the quality was as good. However, it seemed to be an opponent worthy of challenging the powerhouse that is Rita's. I'll be interested to see how this battle ends. And while I wait, I'm grateful for an unending supply of custard and italian ice. Somehow it makes the summer that much better.

Peanuts

Sunday, August 1, 2010

No, this post does not refer to the salty nut variety. Or even to the double-dipped chocolate kind. It refers to the card game called Peanuts, my favorite card game, actually. It's known by a variety of names and played in a variety of ways, but one constant holds true: it's the best card game out there. Each person has their own deck in what can be most easily described as multi-player solitaire, and it requires a fast pace and quick reaction time. If you play with my family, there may even be a little violence involved.

The reason I love this game so much is not for the adrenaline rush, or my about-five-year winning streak, or even for my totally awesome Cracker Jack playing cards; it's because we always play it as a family. It's our family game (at least when I have my way; otherwise the game generally tends to be Racko). For a little while in high school, we played it almost every Sunday night, until my family got tired of losing to me every time (you think I exaggerate, but I really win every time). It was great family bonding time, even with Carlton accusing me of cheating and Derek actually cheating. And I think that's something to be grateful for.

Happiness

Saturday, July 31, 2010

The speed at which time seems to whiz by is a constant source of amazement to me. How one minute, it's June, and I'm dragging myself through the last days of Spanish class, and how seemingly hours later, it's the last day of July, and summer is half gone. I'm convinced there really are not enough hours in the day, because some of them must get skipped for life to go so fast. I can't seem to think of another explanation.

I suppose I'm not complaining at the lack of time, since just yesterday I was moaning about the abundance of time on my hands, but it does occasionally worry me that my days are speedily sliding away. What if, in all those hours that get left out of the day, I'm missing some extremely important lesson I need to learn that will help me through the rest of my life? I think time needs to stop and smell the roses, at least long enough for me to catch up.

Yet, I know very well that it will not. Time will continue the crazy race that it's running, sprinting toward it's unseen finish. Personally, I think a nice, slow mosey pace would do wonders for my peace of mind, but nobody asked me. At least I can be grateful for the happiness of my breakneck life, because there's no doubt that overall, life is very good. Though there's always room to find more joy in this high-speed journey.

Being Entertained

Friday, July 30, 2010

I'm afraid I'm out of practice with this daily blog thing, because I can't think of anything to write about. This is pathetic. At least I remembered that I needed to blog, so that's something.

The truth is, my mood has been less than positive for the past few days, and it puts a damper on my grateful thoughts. While I was in school, stressed out of my mind by taking too many credits and working too many hours, I dreamed of the blissful days of summer, when I would be home with nothing to do and hours to do it in, not a care in the world disrupting my well-earned break from the responsibilities of life. It sounds so idyllic, written out like that, but in reality it's anything but. The reality is that I am bored.

I have absolutely nothing to do with my days. Sure, it's nice to have a day like that every so often, when you can unwind and take a quick little break from life. But day after day after day of entertaining myself with cross stitch and TV movies takes it toll, and I have four more weeks of it. I'll be lucky if I come out the other end with my sanity still intact.

Thankfully (there we have some gratitude!), my mother is willing to entertain me. Or maybe she's simply trying to entertain herself and decides to take pity on me by taking me to movies with her and letting me talk her ear off about the wonderfulness of Skyler. Either way, she holds off the boredom for a portion of each day and helps me retain what I call my sanity. I'm grateful to be entertained.

A Recap

As you may have noticed, I am behind. By quite a few days actually. And the problem with being so far behind is the daunting task it presents of catching up. And the problem with this daunting task is, well, it's daunting, and one that I'm not particularly keen on dealing with. So, in an effort to actually continue this daily blog, I'm afraid I will be skipping the days I've missed and starting anew with today. Skip is a bit harsh though, because I will complete 365 posts; they just won't be consecutive. So, here we go again.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

The unfortunate thing about skipping so many days is that several of those days were full of excitement. Because I like to share my excitement, and because I love pictures, today's post will be a pictorial recap of my summer so far.

Because I've uploaded a large amount of pictures from our Rome trip into an album on facebook, I'll simply post the link here. I'd rather not post 178 pictures onto my blog as well. This would be the url:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2045860&id=1224510276&l=7892cbee4b

Onto the company pictures! My aunt, uncle, and cousins came to visit for a week, and luckily Skyler was able to come sortof that same week as well, so it was quite hectic around here for a good ten days while we toured our visitors around the area. A few pictures of our adventures for your viewing pleasure.


The white stone of the buildings in DC are really quite stunning.


It's semi blurry, and my cousin Audrey was taking a picture at the same time, which accounts for the orange light on Skyler's shirt, but I like it all the same.


I might have gotten a little carried away with my artistic picture taking.


Skyler and my dad were a little tired by the time we made it the World War II memorial. While the rest of us put our feet in the fountain, they slept.


At Ford's Theater. He didn't want to smile because 'something sad happened there.'


Waiting for everyone at Arlington National Cemetery. I believe this was our fifth try for a picture.


The best temple in the world.


I love this picture, even though it is a bit blurry. It's just so candid.


At the beach on Assateague Island. Skyler got a little bit sunburned.


The wild horses on the island.


From our trip to the Baltimore Aquarium. I couldn't believe how colorful the coral is!


If you ever see this little guy in the water, run.


And of course, Raven's Stadium, so Skyler could rub it in his brother's face.

There you have the adventures of my summer. Very fun and very warm. Thank goodness for recaps.

Weddings

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Today has been anticipated for quite some time, because today was Sam and Jason's wedding day. It was rather brutally hot, though that was to be expected since it is the middle of June in St. George, and the sun was practically blistering (again, to be expected), but overall the day turned out beautifully. First was waiting outside the temple for them to come out, which they finally did, looking off-the-charts happy. Then the reception later that night, where I'm confident they smiled more than I thought humanly possible. It was a really very happy day, and it reminded me to be grateful for the joy of others around us, which can so easily lift us up too. Congrats, Sam and Jason!

And, because I love taking pictures, and a picture is worth a thousand words anyway, here's a few pictures!


Outside the temple, with all their cute bridesmaids.


With all the girls.


First dance.


Decorating the car. Andrew was quite good at this.


She's so cute.


The boys didn't get too into it.


And throwing the bouquet.

Toy Story 3

Friday, June 18, 2010

Cinematic masterpiece. Artistic genius. Most epic movie to grace theaters this year. Toy Story 3.

I am a Disney fan. Though fan might not be a strong enough word. Fanatic. Obsessed nutcase. These are perhaps more apt descriptions. I love the old Disney movies, most of which we own on VHS, and several of which I now own on DVD. I can quote large portions of my most well-loved films, and sing along to at least the chorus of almost all the classic songs. I have a Disney princess calendar, and my nineteenth birthday celebration was Disney princess themed. To me, Disney is the best thing invented since sliced bread.

This obsessive love has, in recent years, extended to include most Pixar films as well, since they are a marvelous movie-making pair and all; it's only right that I am fond of them both. And Pixar has made several notable additions to my Disney collection of favorites: Finding Nemo, Monsters, Inc., The Incredibles, Up. And, of course, the Toy Storys.

Who could fail to love the Toy Story series? On top of being voiced by notable funnymen Tom Hanks and Tim Allen, Woody and Buzz have a friendship that everyone wishes to someday have with their friends. Starting out as enemies, they eventually learn to work together, and by the end are rescuing each other from perilous situations. It's phenomenal. So who in their right minds would be unexcited to see the latest installment?

Definitely not me. I'd been looking forward to this movie for quite some time, and my hopes were not disappointed in the slightest. The movie was absolutely wonderful, a definite success, especially considering it was a sequel, which are usually poor when dealing with Disney (no offense). I loved every second of it. Thank you Pixar, for making my afternoon so very well-spent.

I'm Not Allowed To Write About It

Thursday, June 17, 2010

The subject of today's post . . . well, I'm not actually allowed to tell you, because Skyler once informed me that he doesn't want an entire post dedicated to him. I guess technically I'm going against his wishes a tiny bit; hopefully he'll understand. But I will now be content to be grateful in silence for the best thing to ever come into my life. I'm sorry, dear reader, that I can't tell you more. I'm not allowed to write about it.

Totes

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

If you asked me right this minute what holds the number one spot on my list of things I hate, it would unquestionably and without a doubt be packing. I literally HATE it. Packing requires thought and effort and care (if you don't want your stuff to be mangled upon unpacking), yet in the back of your mind you know that all that thought and effort and care really amounts to nothing in the long run, because it will all be quickly undone by the imminent unpacking (regardless of how unmangled it may be). There is very little about packing that I find remotely appealing.

The one, single, very small, semi-redeeming quality that I've discovered about packing my apartment up every time I move (I still haven't discovered anything redeeming about packing for a trip, other than it means I'm going on a trip) is the totes I use to pack everything into. How pathetically . . . pathetic does that sound? The only thing I enjoy about the process is the cheap plastic bins that protect my priceless life-items from harm. Put that way, it makes me sound rather shallow.

But there's something about totes that put me in an organizational mood, and if there's one thing I (occasionally) love, it's organization. Though you would probably never guess that from the current state of my room. I think I get excited over the organizational implements, like totes, not the organization itself. At least I get over something related to it, which is a step in the right direction after all.

Because I love totes, and because they're remarkably handy when I have lots and lots of stuff that needs storing, I've been amassing quite a collection in the past few years. Currently I have nine totes, and almost all my stuff fits in them! Which makes storing them at my uncle's house much more convenient. I quite love my totes, even though the unpleasantness of packing is not really diminished by them. Such is life. I'll be content with being grateful for my totes.

Freedom

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Don't let the title fool you; this post is not a philosophical, early fourth of July discussion on the benefits of living in a free country. Or anything similar. Instead, it's about what you would probably expect if you knew that I took my final final for my Spanish class today. Yes that's right: today's post is about the freedom of not having Spanish class any longer.

It's such a good feeling, knowing that classes are over with, and for the next two months I have nothing to do but enjoy my summer. Theoretically these next two months should include a job, but I'm not entirely sure it will be able to, since it is only two months and employers tend not to hire for such a short time frame. But we'll see. Right now I'd like to simply bask in the wonderful feeling of freedom, freedom from Spanish forever. Oh it's a feeling to be grateful for.

Verb Conjugations.

Monday, June 14, 2010

In all of my planning of blog posts (which really isn't that extensive, trust me), I always thought this post would be about the last day of Spanish class, or at the very least the last day of Spring classes. However, I think you've probably heard me complain enough, or more than enough, about the misery that has been my Spring class experience, and decided to not subject you to any more whining. Please contain your excitement.

Instead, today's post will actually sortof praise Spanish. I know this is also a huge departure from the norm, but bare with me. I hope it will be worth your time.

Today I took my final Spanish oral exam. I've never been a huge fan of oral exams because speaking has always been my biggest weakness when it comes to the Spanish language. I can mostly understand what I read, and I can write a relatively understandable (though probably not grammatically correct) sentence, and I can semi comprehend what's being said as long as it's said slowly enough. But I am an awful speaker. This probably stems from my fear of saying the wrong thing and looking stupid; I think I've heard one too many stories of word mix-ups, when you say pregnant instead of embarrassed or something equally dumb, and these stories make my too nervous to practice speaking, therefore making me an awful speaker. Add to this nervousness the fact that oral exams are done in front of the professor for a grade, and the pitiful speaking ability I do have disappears completely.

In fact, I did so badly on my midterm oral exam that my professor told me, "you seemed to struggle with . . . Spanish." This was actually an accident; he meant to say I struggle with past and future verb conjugations, but those two things are such a major part of the language that his first accidental assessment was pretty accurate. However, I'm happy to report that I did better this time around. Marginally better, but better nonetheless. I think it had something to do with my improvement on my verb conjugations.

Really I shouldn't be grateful for those pesky things, because there are so many ways to conjugate a verb that it really makes the Spanish language, or any language for that matter, infinitely more complicated than it could be if it only had a few verb forms. However, strangely I am grateful for them. Even though I'm absolutely terrible at conjugating verbs correctly, and I have to cycle through all the forms I can remember before I finally hit on the right one, I still enjoy trying to conjugate them. It acts like a puzzle in my brain, and I like puzzles, so I'm grateful for anything that makes me enjoy Spanish just a little bit more.

Inspiring Literature

Sunday, June 13, 2010

This has just been a weekend for inspiration. First the marathon yesterday, now the movie tonight. I made my usual Sunday trip to my aunt and uncle's house tonight, where we enjoyed the cinematic genius that is the movie Invictus.

I wanted to see the movie when it came out, but being the poor college student that I am (and getting poorer by the minute, it feels like) I didn't. By the time I remembered that I could see it with good conscience at the dollar theater, it had already left the dollar theater. Luckily for me, however, my aunt and uncle own the movie, and decided that tonight would be a good night to watch it, which I wholeheartedly agreed to, and not just because Matt Damon is one of the main characters.

I absolutely loved the movie. It was in turn funny and sad, not to mention extremely inspiring. But I think the story behind it is even more fascinating than the movie. Nelson Mandela must be the most extraordinary person I've heard of in a long time. He spent twenty-seven years in prison before becoming the president of South Africa, and he did not use his power to attack those who had put him behind bars. If I were him, that would have been the first thing I did! Talk about amazing forgiveness.

The other thing I really enjoyed about it was the actual poem itself, written by William Ernest Henley. It must be the English major in me, but I really like when movies have a strong literary tie-in. Here is the full text of the poem, titled "Invictus":

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

I just love inspiring literature, and I'm grateful for it. If literature didn't stir something inside someone somewhere, then it wouldn't have much purpose, really.

Marathons

Saturday, June 12, 2010

As previously stated, I am not a runner. I never have been; I think I hit my running peak during my freshman year of high school when my friend talked me into running on the track team. That was a brutal experience that I never repeated. I think I would like to be one; imagine how much more in shape I could be if I actually liked just aimlessly running around outside for a half hour or so each day. But alas, I still have no developed a taste for it. Hopefully some day. For now, I'll stick to sitting indoors and lamenting what I lack, because I find that much more satisfactory.

Just because I don't like running doesn't mean that I don't like to watch others run. Something about other runners inspires me to get up and go, though it mostly inspires my mind, and very rarely does my body follow. However, I still find it pretty cool to watch others do something so extraordinary, regardless of its tendency to leave me quite jealous. I was reminded of this strange mix of awe and envy this morning, and about seven in the morning, when I stood on the side of the road helping distribute Powerade to a bunch of runners.

See, Maren has developed this impressive ability to talk me into doing things. This morning, those things included waking up at five o'clock to be at an aid station by five-thirty to volunteer for the Provo Marathon until eleven-thirty. Oh, and did I mention it was raining for the first hour? And in the fifties for the rest of the morning? How Maren managed to talk me into it, I will never know. Maybe it was the free t-shirt that lured me; free clothing tends to have a very strong pull on me. Regardless, at six o'clock this morning, I was not a happy camper. I even texted a sleeping Skyler to vent my displeasure, knowing full well that he wouldn't reply until he woke up at a decent hour for a Saturday morning.

But, as generally happens when Maren talks me into things, the experience turned out to be extremely rewarding in the end. Once the rain stopped, the runners came through, and I'd become decent at filling the cups to a good level with Powerade, so that neither the runners nor the volunteers would end up with blue stains down their fronts, it became a much more pleasant experience. And a very inspiring one at that.

Some of those marathon runners are absolutely phenomenal; they cruised through the station (we were at mile twenty-four, meaning they had two miles till the finish, and they already run most of the race) like they'd just started the race, and I can guarantee they were running faster at mile twenty-four than I would be running at mile two. It was incredible. And there were some runners who I never would have pegged to run a marathon, but they were right up there with the front of the pack. And then there were the two barefoot runners, a guy and a girl, who came through wearing absolutely nothing on their feet and still going strong. Now that takes practice.

It didn't matter whether the runners were in first place or last - they were still an inspiration to a non-runner like me. Thank you all those runners for their inspiration. Some day I'm going to run a marathon too!

Extra Credit

Friday, June 11, 2010

I love extra credit. Chalk it up the over-achiever inside of me (which thankfully has been dwindling in recent years), but I've always loved the idea of doing a little extra work and getting a little extra padding for my grade. This is probably a result of my good-grade obsession, spurred both by my dominating perfectionism and my parents' astronomically high expectations, but thankfully this drive has also been decreasing lately. This is beside the point, because the cause doesn't really matter; the result is always the same: I love extra credit.

Today I had an opportunity for extra credit, which I'm sure you probably already deduced. Unfortunately, it wasn't the best opportunity. It was an extra credit test. Doubly unfortunately, I actually need the extra credit. My Spanish grade isn't as high as my parents would like it to be, though I consider it to be pretty satisfactory for a class of this caliber, and therefore I was forced to not really jump at the chance but rather grudgingly amble to the testing center for my second test of the week. Not a happy prospect, though I'm hoping my professor will be kind enough to at least give us points for taking it even if we bomb the test (which I have a sneaking suspicion I will).

However, just because this extra credit opportunity was a bit of a let-down, doesn't mean extra credit in general is to be frowned upon. In fact, I absolutely love it (in case you haven't already gathered that from the two other times I've used those words in this post). And, though I don't hold out much hope for the helpfulness of this particular test, I am still grateful for extra credit, and the wonders it works on my GPA.

Band-aid Tests

Thursday, June 10, 2010

As I stated in yesterday's post, I have thoroughly awful study habits. Whether that's entirely my fault or not . . . well that's still to-be-determined. Whether I'm doing anything to improve them or not . . . well that would be a definite no. Today's test experience just serves as further proof that I am absolutely getting no better.

I got out of class around 9:40 this morning; I studied until 11; I took my test. My comprehensive test that covered the grammar and vocabulary from the entire book. And I only studied for one hour and twenty minutes before taking it. Do you believe that I have bad study habits yet? This is pretty routine; it's how I deal with most tests, though occasionally I'll do a little studying the night before too if I think the test will be REALLY difficult.

Today was more of a 'hey, what the heck, I'm not going to study more so I might as well take it now!' test. This happens frequently in relation to Spanish class, and somehow I've still managed to pull out semi-decent grades in that subject. Anyways, I've come up with (what I think is) a clever name for my brand of test-taking: band-aid tests. I tend to believe that the sooner it's over, the better life will be, just like pulling off a band-aid. So that's the philosophy I subscribe to, and so far I'm thankful for it. It's made my test-taking college career much less stressful, though whether or not it actually is a good strategy is still TBD.

Tests That Are Open For More Than One Day

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

I've found that one of the hardest things about college for me is studying for tests. I know that's a rather unfortunate thing to be hard, but at least I have a relatively good explanation to back myself up. I very rarely had to study hard for tests in high school. It's not that high school was easy, more that I retained the information better because we spent more time learning it, and teachers had study periods the preceding class rather than teaching new material up until the day before the test (like most of college professors do). Consequently, I have very poor study habits.

On top of these awful habits, most of my college tests are given during a certain period at the testing center, and are take-at-your-leisure, as long as you take it during the days it's available. Not having a set day and time to take my tests adds another wrench into my already problem-filled studying, because I've discovered that I'm relatively un-self-motivated. Without a set schedule, I procrastinate with the best of them until the last possible minute.

Having said all that, I'd like to go back on it all and say that, in this case, I'm grateful my Spanish test is open for two days. Because I am definitely not in the mood to take a comprehensive grammar test that will require hours of studying. In this case, I'd much rather procrastinate it until the last possible minute, and worry about improving my study habits at some date to-be-determined.

(Pardon the title; I couldn't think of a better - and more concise - way of phrasing that.)

The Cosby Show

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

I had very strange notions as a child of what my mother would and would not allow me to do. Though the notions themselves have changed in recent years, I'm still unable to accurately guess what my mother's reaction will be to certain situations. Why I'm so bad at reading her (why I'm so bad at reading people in general, really) I don't think I'll ever know. Bottom line is, I'm very bad at it.

When I was somewhere around eight years old, when cartoons were a staple on summer mornings and ice cream was only eaten with parental permission, I discovered The Cosby Show. From the first five minutes, I fell in love. Bill Cosby was the funny man from the Jello Jiggler commercials that surfaced at Christmas time, and the host of that TV show about kids and darndest things, both roles making him unquestionably lovable. This love, on top of my discovery of such an excellent sitcom as The Cosby Show, meant that Bill Cosby was cemented in my mind as a comedic genius to be revered. I had only one problem with my new-found love: my eight-year-old mind convinced itself that my mother would not allow me to watch it. I have no idea what my reasons for this were, but I must have had some, because I was absolutely convinced.

So what did I do, upstanding child that I was? I watched it in secret, of course. When my mother wasn't home, or was in the shower, or taking a nap, The Cosby Show came on. And the minute I heard her footsteps heading anywhere near the television, it turned off. I had my deception practically down to a science.

However, one day, I became so engrossed in the episode, and my mother managed to avoid all the creaky floorboards, that I didn't hear her enter the room. Her voice practically gave me a heart attack. And what did she say? "Oh, The Cosby Show. I love this show!" And what did she do? Sat down and watched it with me. I was astounded, and furious with myself that I hadn't known she would love the show. (My eight-year-old self was apparently not the smartest.)

Ever since then, I've watched The Cosby Show almost as often as it's on television, and for Christmas two years ago, I received the full box set of series DVDs, meaning I no longer have to wait for episodes to surface on those obscure TV channels that play old shows. It's been a fantastic present that I recently rediscovered during Spring term, when I've had very little else to do with my time but watch TV while doing Spanish homework. I can only stand crime shows for so long, but doing Spanish homework in silence leads to insanity, so I'm grateful for The Cosby Show, and it's role in preserving my mind. I don't believe I would have made it through this class otherwise.

The Last Week of Classes

Monday, June 7, 2010

There's nothing more satisfying than knowing that you're almost done with something you wish had ended a long time ago, except when it actually ends. Since I still have six Spanish classes left, I only have the knowledge of the end at the moment. But that's a happy enough prospect for me!

It probably seems like I really hate Spanish, but I promise I'm not as negative as I seem. I really do like the fact that I am semi-fluent-ish (though I use that term loosely). I just don't particularly appreciate going to class to learn how to be semi-fluent-ish. After seven and a half years of going to Spanish class, I think it's understandable that I might be a little tired of it. Which is why I'm so grateful that's it's almost over! Once this term ends, I'll be forever done with Spanish class. So I'm sure you can imagine why I'm grateful for this, the last full week of classes. After this week, I have one more class, a few finals, and freedom! The prospect is extremely exciting.

Flat Shoes

Sunday, June 6, 2010

It's quite an interesing experience to go to church alone, and something I hadn't experienced until this weekend (that I can remember). Sam and Jason were somewhere besides Provo, meaning I ended up making the trek to our old ward all by myself.

Luckily, I was smart enough to not wear heels. Since Sam and I are living in a married apartment, we decided not to move to the ward for the complex. How awkward would that be, two single girls going to a ward for newly-married couples or couples with kids. Instead we've continued to attend our old ward and try our hardest to avoid showing up on the radar.

The only consequence to these sneaky manuevers is a considerably longer walk to our meetings. The new apartment complex is right on the edge of campus, but it's on the same level as lower campus, and the ward meets practically smack in the middle of upper campus. This means that we have quite the hike to get to our ward now, the worst part being the more-than-just-a-few flights of stairs. Heels are practically impossible to wear in this situation, unless you like ending up with a mass of blisters istead of a foot by the end. Which is why I will be forever grateful for cute, flat shoes. They make situations like these much more bearable, and leave me with much happier feet, something I will never complain about.

Plan B Adventures

Saturday, June 5, 2010

When I look back at older posts, I cannot help but notice that many of them involve spontaneous adventures with various friends. And today's post is no different, because Maren and I had quite the adventure (another popular topic - anything involving Maren).

The weather today was absolutely gorgeous, one of those beautifully sunny days that has a few clouds and a bit of wind to take the edge off the heat. And what do college girls with mile-long to-do lists do on days such as these? Find a body of water and go swimming of couse! Which is exactly what we did.

This seems like a pretty-straight forward story, so why do I classify it as 'quite the adventure'? Well, let me tell you. It all began when plan A - the clear blue pool in the middle of my apartment complex - fell through, because the filter broke. On the first beautiful Saturday in weeks, of course something like that would happen. We had been so set on taking a dip in the pool that we hadn't dreamed up a plan B, and were now faced with the problem of creating one on the spot. Maren did a wonderful job of researching possible swimming spots online, and we relocated our plans to the Deer Creek Reservoir, which claimed to have boat docks, swimming spots, and a few beaches. Problem solved.

Well, not quite. We arrived at the Reservoir, paid the required entrance fee, and parked. We then proceeded to wander around the lake's edge looking for a good spot to wade in. But we didn't find one. Maren did have a rather muddy encounter with the shore when she ventured in at one point, and we decided that maybe we hadn't picked the best spot. As we trudged towards our car, we happened to find a map of the Reservoir, which informed us that we'd taken the wrong turn off to get the beach portion, and were instead in the area of the boat docks. So we relocated, did more exploring to find the perfect spot, and headed in.

The water was absolutely freezing. The rocks on the bottom were slimy. And there were nests of ants on the shore. But, did any of the matter to us? Nope! The adventure was fantastic regardless of the less-than-desirable aspects, and I'm very grateful the Deer Creek Reservoir exists so that Maren and I could have a plan B adventure

Concerned Friends

Friday, June 4, 2010

I don't think I've ever been more homesick in my life than I have been this past week. Why, I have no idea. Nothing specific has happened to make me homesick, except maybe seeing my brother last weekend. And nothing specific is happening next week that would cause this feeling. And yet here I am, extremely grouchy and wanting nothing more than to curl up with my elephant on my bed all night.

Luckily, I have a concerned friend named Maren, who very nicely puts up with my bleak mood. I mean, she actually wanted to hang out with me tonight, though that could have been because I made Dad's Favorite Dessert. Between the two of us, I think we managed to polish off at least a fourth of it. Which I feel completely justified about because it contains chocolate, and today is one of those days that just needs a good dose of chocolate.

I think it must have been more than the dessert though, because Maren even willing watched a movie with me. She's such a good friend. I'm grateful that I have concerned friends like her, who at least pretend to enjoy my company even though they run the risk of having their heads bitten off. It's such a comfort to know that people will risk death for the sake of my sanity.

Health

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Going to the Jerusalem Center requires quite a lot of paperwork and phone calls and money, as I'm sure could be expected for such a trip. One required form was (rather unfortunately) a health release so that I will be allowed to use the gymnasium at the Center. Why I need a doctor to sign off that I can use a treadmill or run around a track, I have no idea. But it was required, and therefore had to be taken care of.

Since I'm not currently in Maryland, where my normal doctor resides, I had to make other arrangements. This meant an appointment with the BYU Student Health Center, and consequently required a physical. Gag me. I've had a variety of experiences with physicals, and I can't remember a single one that has been positive. The doctor most often had the very stereotypical freezing cold hands, and call me crazy but sitting around in a paper bathrobe that you accidentally tore the wrong way is not my idea of a good time. Then there was the year that the doctor did nothing but grill me about my non-active sex life and non-existent alcohol addiction. It was practically a zoo-ful of awkwardness.

Needless to say, there was nothing about this doctor visit that I was looking forward to, because I'm much too old to get a sticker or lollipop, and those are the only good things about a pediatrician's physical. However, I was (semi) pleasantly surprised. The physical involved no paper bathrobes or gowns of any sort, and the worst part was the urine test, which arguably is pretty bad, but still. Much better than it could have been. Beyond that, I did nothing more uncomfortable than bend over so the doctor could inform me that I had curvature in my spine.

It was possibly the least awkward physical ever. Well, and possibly the least accurate. The nurse told me I was five foot two and half, which is a blatant untruth, and that I'm fourteen pounds heavier than I was six months ago, which makes no sense since all my clothes still fit. These measurements were taken with shoes and clothes on, and yet were expected to be accurate. How that works, I'm not sure. But I don't believe them. And I'm slightly offended that she measured me so short. Oh well. At least I know the truth.

And I came away from my physical very grateful that I'm healthy, and that I don't have to spend any more time in the hospital than it takes to get a simple physical. Hopefully I can keep this up until I'm ninety-seven at least. But I'll try not to shoot that high. Maybe eighty-three is a more realistic goal.

Overcoming Milestones

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Today I was productive. I know at age twenty that shouldn't be such an exciting thing to say, but it is, and it will be just as exciting to say at age forty-three and age seventy-six. Simply put, I find productive days exciting; I always have, and I always will.

Why was today productive? Well, because I made phone calls. I know that sounds rather boring, and maybe even a little pathetic, but it really is a bigger deal than you know. When I was younger, I had this aversion to all phone calls. It was so bad that I wouldn't even call my friends back, let alone the mom looking for a babysitter or the desperate singer who needed a pianist. As I got older, my phone skills improved, and I began to at least return my friends' calls at least some of the time (though I'm sure my friends can attest that I still haven't quite perfected this skill). Despite the improvement, I was still a wimp about really important phone calls, the ones that it was necessary for me to make. However, today I am proud to say that I have overcome.

I made a phone call to the Jerusalem Center to change my mailing address; I called the Student Health Center to set up a physical time; I even phoned the Administrative Building to ask about transferring scholarship money. I was on a roll! Too bad those were all the phone calls I needed to make, because I would have been all over any other ones too. Actually, I guess I did call my mom after this to report on everything I found out; her shock at my phone abilities was slightly insulting (she seems to think I can't leave my comfort zone and make a few phone calls, for some odd reason). Despite her skepticism, I was proud of myself because I overcame! Granted, it wasn't really a big deal; in fact, it's really almost lame in the long run, but it's a milestone for me. And overcoming milestones is something to be grateful for.

The One Hundredth Post

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Today is my one hundredth post. One hundred. Can you believe it? Because I sure can't! I'm an awful journal keeper, and I was actually a little bit worried about this project when I began it; I wasn't sure I'd actually make it past day two, let alone to day one hundred. But I did. I think it's a miracle.

In case you couldn't tell, I'm feeling rather proud of myself at the moment. I'm actually sticking to one of my goals! It doesn't matter that this goal has absolutely no bearing on the important aspects of my life; I am sticking to it, and that's all that matters. Baby steps - if I can keep going with this, it will give me practice to keep going with my more important decisions. At least that's the theory. Hopefully it's a good one.

I'm not entirely sure how to phrase what I'm grateful for tonight; I guess it's my one hundredth post. Reaching this semi-momentous milestone has restored my faith in my goal-keeping ability, which I am determined to keep up for the next 265 days as well.