It's my Birthday Shout "Hooray" - Installment I

Happy Birthday to ME!

I'm 33! I made it. Yay me! I didn't get eaten by my psycho neighbors and their horrible dogs. I haven't contracted any unknown and aggressive diseases. I maintain all my limbs and have yet to employ any mace or hefty flashlights for protection. That's a WIN and I've decided to celebrate all month.

My birthday is a very reflective time for me and one of my goals this year is to be kinder to myself. This means forgiving myself quicker, laughing harder for the right reasons, and taking myself out for something special once in a while. I decided some pampering/shopping for things other than gas, food, and CostCo samples might be in order. I also had the questioning of the loving and indefatigable Emsy at my back asking what I was going to do, that it better be along the pamper lines, and to do it on my birthday. Challenge accepted!

The actual day was WONDERFUL. I let myself sleep in and read my VERY enjoyable shameless adolescent lit book. Then the little brother came over for a bit because he had a rough morning. An amazing friend dropped by with an incredibly thoughtful gift of poetry. Then I skipped off to a job interview to be a substitute teacher for one of the local school districts (which I got by the way thanks for asking) and THEN my friend Kim called me up asking if I had plans because she only has one car and the husband needed it but she had to run to Ikea for some stuff and she had a sitter but her ride fell through and was wondering if I could help her out. I thought Well, I love Kim and I like Ikea so the two together would be lovely on my birthday.

So I picked up Kim and off we went to Ikea and piddled about with fancy ice cube trays and lamp shades and throw pillows and third world children and lava lamps and all that lovely stuff that makes Ikea so magical. She needed storage containers and it took me moving to realize that I didn't have any dishes so I needed to get some plates and stop eating out of tupperware for bowls.

We finished up our hunting and gathering and were subsequently starving so we headed up to the cafe for necessary meatballs and lindenberry juice to cap our Swedish experience when what to my wondering eye should appear but a table full of the rest of our amazing group of friends who had gathered to surprise me. I had NO idea. Kim had concocted the whole plan. Apparently Ikea was a good idea because they have these mini marzipan princess cakes (as show in full scale above) and they are my traditional birthday cake (I've had one every year since I was 8) and the love, friendship, scheming and giggling commenced from there. I was uber touched. One, because I love surprises and two, because this was a surprise for me. We ate and giggled and opened cards and presents and I teared up looking around the table at these women who are my family and was so grateful I had to stop talking for a few moments here and there. Also, there were delicious meatballs that needed consumption and I had to comply.

The last stop of the night was Mom and Dad's. Mom decided to cook Boston Market for dinner and the cousin and his new fiance swung by with some gorgeous purple calla lilies. Mom's gift this year was also very thoughtful. See - we're cooks at our house. Mom's main creative outlets were costume design, makeup, and cooking. All of us learned at her elbow because getting a recipe out of mom is almost impossible ("fill your cupped hand to the second wrinkle with cinnamon...") and we all worked out of Mom's second edition of Mastering the Art of French Cooking by the glorious and amazing Julia Child. A moment for The Julia if you will.

OK. So when mom got sick and pretty much had to stop cooking (like 8 years ago) I asked her if I could have her copy of Julia's book. I had held off on getting a copy of my own 1) because I was hoping to get mom's with all the notes in the margins and memorable grease stains and 2) because I just felt like that was something special that needed to be given and not just bought. Like jewelry or nicknames. It only really counts if it's given - you know? Anyway - So I started asking for the book. Mom always said no, said that she's not ready to hang up her apron yet etc. SO - for Christmas last year we all got Amazon gift certificates and I finally broke down, let go of my over-sentimentality, and just bought myself a copy of the book. I missed it and I couldn't remember all of the recipes I wanted to make. Well - fast forward 9 months and what do I have before my eyes but the COMPLETE set of Mastering the Art of French Cooking which honestly touched me to the core. Yes I already had the book but this is the copy of the book that my MOM gave me. That's way better. So I gave Little Brother my copy (See! It's something that needs to be given) and now we're all amply instructed on how to consume butter and have adequate excuses to do Julia Child impressions as we do. Can life get better? I submit that it cannot.

But wait - this is the part of my birthday that has REALLY got my heart singing....

I went to a lecture by Ray Bradbury once and he said "I'm the world's greatest lover. I love EVERYTHING! I love libraries and history and food and my shoes and my wheelchair. I love it all" and I feel the same way. I love a LOT of things very loudly but of all those things there are a few that I love most. One of those things for me is perfume. I love everything about it. I love the beautiful bottles and the different smells for different occasions at different times of day. I love the little ceremony of putting it on. I love how I feel after I do. I love having all those pretty bottles on a pretty tray on my vanity. I love how feminine it makes me feel. I love how it looks and the possibilities they all hold. I just love it all.

My problem is perfume is expensive and because I love it so much it's something I don't have a problem spending money on if I have it. So naturally I buy it maybe once every 3 years and try to make it last. WELL - guess what I did for my birthday for myself?! YUP! I bought myself some perfume (thank you Grandma and Grandpa) and NOT just any kind. See - Sephora has a genius product development dept. They have perfume samplers. It's a box with 9-12 different samples of perfume that you buy for the price of one large bottle of perfume. You take it home, you try all of them out (because it takes a while to figure out which perfume you like and which one you don't) and it comes with a voucher that you take back to the store and you can get a full size of which ever perfume you decided you liked. Amazing! Usually the samples inside are the husky tubes with a little spray nozzle but they recently came out with THIS one

Glorious isn't it??! Look at all those adorable bottles of perfume (all of which I've sampled before and like a lot) AND I used the voucher at the same time to buy a full-sized bottle of the new DKNY Delicious scent "Golden Delicious" which is amazing and - well - delicious - if I do say so myself. Techinically I should have only been able to use it for the Be Delicious that was a part of the sample pack but they let me slide. Have I mentioned lately how much I love Sephora?



I'm just giddy happy right now looking at my pretty row of bottles and smelling good.

Oh - and these are what Target gave me for my birthday

They were on clearance for $7. AMAZING.

Great shoes. Great friends. Amazing family. Marzipan. Smelling good - I'm set. All I need is a good man and some Ella Fitzgerald and nirvana is mine.

Up next - my Medieval Times Birthday Adventure with Emsy. Life will never be the same.

Sentimental Alert: Music Edition

So I've had a few posts brewing in my head for the last few but I just came across a story on my Google Reader that made me weep like a little kid.

See, almost everything I know about being a descent human being has come from either my family, the scriptures, or folk music. A few movies, books, adopted family, and pets have helped too but you take my meaning.

Some of the first songs I can remember singing were "Blowing In The Wind" and "The Sound of Silence". Paul Simon has preeminence in my heart and always will. So imagine me, this devotee, who learned what poetry meant from Paul Simon, who learned how to sing whist singing along to everything he's ever wrote, imagine my delight when I saw this article.

This is why I love music. It's about connection and love and growth and sharing. It's wholly unselfish. It exists solely to give back.

I love Paul Simon and I love music and I love this. Happy Monday Loves.

Be back soon with more.

~e

Hi Again!

Twice in two months! I know! Things are changing around here :)

I finished an AMAZING book last week and I have to write about it. It's one of the best books I picked up since Harry Potter. No joke.

It's called The Name of The Wind by Patrick Rothfuss


It's been a long time since I've read book this good. Sometime I've found one that engaged me as well as this one but it's over just as I'm starting. This one was a week's worth of delight.

I loved a lot of things about this book:

One - the writing. It's been a while since I've come across such patient writing. It's not writing that's trying to convince you or charm you or condescend to you or shock you. It's just telling you a glorious story patiently, effectively, and brilliantly.

Two - I love how this is a grown up book. As in, this was written by a self-respecting adult for other self-respecting adults. It nobly steered away from any inappropriate sexuality. It was still there of course, this a story about how a boy became a man. But it's never abused, it's treated with the dignity it deserves. I appreciated that down to my bones. By so you can sense what a real hero the protagonist, Kvothe, is. This is a book I'd read to my kids but discuss with my professors as well. That's a RARE thing to me and I appreciated it more than anything.

Three - this book is laced together with love. It's a love letter to Stories. It's a love letter to Music and the Theater. It's a love letter to Family. It's a thank you note to Struggle. It's letter of recommendation for Nobility and Humility. It comes from such positive places it's impossible not to feel like a better person after reading it.

Four - I love how brave this book is. It directly addresses Religion and History and Faith and Spirituality. It's honest about the veracity of each. It's unapologetic about the good and bad each one has and what a vital roll each one has with our day-to-days. It was refreshing to be able to engage that part of my person and heart with this story because it's not usually not addressed like this in modern Fantasy works. Usually it's much more glib.

Fifth - I love how I didn't feel lied to by this book. Sometimes when you're picking up a "Fantasy" book it's good but it feels a bit plasticy. Almost like a show at Chuck E Cheese. You're entertained by the painfully stiff audio-animotronic 6' mice and beavers but well, much like the pizza there, they leave you feeling unsatisfied. This book feels like a walk through a museum. You feel nourished as well as entertained, you feel spoken to, not spoken at and I deeply value that.

So all that quality combined with a story about the Fae and magic and battling the demon forces of a world and commanding the elements makes for a VERY good read. The next one can't get here soon enough.

Invincible

Part I

I think that there are a few moments in every life where you're shown of what you are and are not made. This is my accounting of one that I had last week.

Growing up a Long/Dees it's very easy to feel, well, a bit super human. School and anything cerebral comes fairly easy. On the Long side, we're rarely sick, and if we ever are we usually just power through it. Sports come fairly easy, anything physical actually. When I was playing water polo and regularly lifting weights I put muscle on so fast I couldn't keep up with how strong I was becoming and Lennyed more than one hole in a wall and broken door frame. For the most part, people believe what you say, laugh at your jokes, seek your advice and value your company. As much, you grow up not really being affraid of anything. You can either think around, charm, or power through whatever situation you find yourself. I'm not going to lie, it's pretty damn awesome, most of the time.

As such, I begin to think that nothing can really hurt me until I realize that because I see things differently, I feel things differently and typically more extensively and I realize EVERYTHING can hurt me and regularly does, but typically I'm strong enough to bear the blows. I remind myself that it's imperative to feel feelings, but to let them pass through. They do not control me and that I'm strong enough to take it.

That all being said, last week while shopping for drain-o at an all but empty Lowe's after a church activity as I'm wandering the overwhelming isles of wrenches, drill bits, lawn chairs, carpet rolls, and weed killer I start wishing there was a 3D Google contraption that could let me just find the bloody drain-o. This particular task does not high-cogniative levels of problem solving so my mind starts wandering into girly places, inventorying the recent pairings and/or interests of my friends and the local boy club and realize that, for about the umpteenth time, I'm sans partner/interest/pursuer.

Everyone (in my Looney Toons mind) is about to gallivant paired into the sunset and I, again, am left at home, broom in hand, by myself.

This idea starts to upset me and instead of the familiar sting of tears at my eyes the focus is lower, in my chest. It starts to tighten like an asthma attack and I can only manage short shallow breaths. My heart starts pumping like a captured field mouse but I don't get light headed, I don't feel compelled to sit down, I don't want to cry, I just can't breathe and I don't know why and my heart feels like it's being dribbled against my sternum.

Being the Long I am, having assigned myself to a task, I take the physical discomfort, shove it aside, and continue on my drain-o search. I try to keep a steady breath, yoga breathing fixes everything right? Oxygen, the fastest way to detox the body. I finally find the drain-o, properly compare potentices with price and container size, get through the self check out (yoga breath, yoga breath, yoga breath), and make it to my car.

Tasks being completed, I turn my cartoony brain to the most pressing matter at hand, my insane body. I don't really have time to play Dr to myself but my body was demanding attention and if I know one thing its don't poo-poo anything that has to do with the chest/heart/ lung region.

So I sit there in my car, I inventory my racing heart, mentally cross referenceing it with other accounts from remembered NPR articles and friends' stories and my slew of Medical School friends running medical dialog. I rewind and review conversations, picking out pieces of information that seem to apply, come to a conclusion that I don't like at all but one whose evidence I can't refute. I sit there for a few minutes longer, rerunning my experience, the evidence, my existing knowledge of possible explanations and I realize I need more data to be sure. I reluctantly text my friend who has mentioned similar experiences before:


What does a panic attack feel like?

























Replies come confirming all this weirdness. I realize the trigger, feel helpless and silly but that I cannot dismiss these feelings. They're demanding time and attention. But I have no idea how to explore them. Talking about them with anyone of my afore-mentioned friends and/or family would just trigger the route "Don't be sillys" and "You know you're wonderful" and "He'll come around some day" that never seem to make me feel better. Ever. If anything, they spray gas on the fire. I think they never comfort because that's never been the issue. My raw and unaddressed fear isn't a life without love, it's a life alone. I know I'm loved. That has never been an issue, but being left behind, being left out - that's what closes the shutters on my rationale.

Flashes of being on the tree-line Provo street of my child hood and having my big brother purposefully get his friends together in front of me and then ride off on their bikes while yelling behind him that I can't come along, that I'm weird and a pest, that I'm not invited and I'll get beat up if I try to follow. Family reunions where my cousins flitted off to the mall without even considering me. Those come crashing in and for a tic I feel a shudder go through out my consciousness, destabilizing things for a moment and I'm not sure if its a layer of delusion being stripped away or a layer of foundation being ripped out.

I look over at the drain-o on my passenger seat, remember the pressing task of a clogged bath tub at home, wipe the tears away to see straight, take a few more yoga breaths, decide I need to air this out later, start my car, shove aside my weaknesses and just keep going. That is the only thing I know how to do.

I'm not sure what to make of this new info but it'll keep for another day when I'm feeling stronger and a little bit less alone or maybe when I've got my red boots and bullet proof bracelets back on. Nothing can harm me then.

Kreativ

Mary at Pyroclastic Techniques tagged me with the following award:


The purpose of this award is to let you know that you must post a short list of things you "love" to help your readers get to know you better. Rejecting the award is not an option, besides who'd want to reject attention and glamor anyway?

I have to admit - Facebook kind of tapped me on this and I felt like that list was a bit repetitive of other ones I've done on here. But this has potential and Mary rarely passes things like this on so its all good.

Things I love...
hmmmm.....

(1) I love school supplies. They just make me happy. I can have only used up half of the supplies I bought for a semester but use the start of a new one to buy a slew more. This fascination has leaked over into stationary fixations, excessive thank you note collections, random half used pads of designer post it notes, fancy scissors, and for a brief stint a gelly roller obsession. I can't wait to have my own house with room enough for an office for me with a fancy desk set and desk pads to my heart's content.

(2) I really love Fozzie Bear. I always identified the most with him. Disney wise, I'd have to go with Archimedes or the bunny kids from Wobin Hoode.

(3) I love folding things, especially into thirds. For this reason I look forward to folding sheets and towels and wash cloths. I don't know if it comes from stuffing so many envelopes or what but if there is anything foldable in front of me it will end up in thirds. Guaranteed.

(4) I love Trader Joe's for many reasons but especially because they have the ambrosial trail mix. It's peanuts, almonds. dark chocolate chips and raspberries. I forget what its called, but Lauren brought it to Palm Springs and its been a staple ever since. The Omega 3 trail mix is my second favorite. I use that in salads a lot.

(5) I love Vincent van Gogh. I didn't used to. I always saw the prints of his work and heard about him being bonkers and cutting off body parts in fits of love and thought he was just someone that I couldn't identify with. Then I went to the landmark van Gogh exhibit that had stopped at LACMA before my mission in '99. I went thinking "well, everyone else is here so there must be something to it" and we waited in line for FOR-EVER but when we finally got in the gallery and I saw the first painting I started to well up and didn't stop the entire time. I think a few tears spilled over when I saw this one
and this oneThese copies of images of prints of the real thing don't come close to the majesty that these paintings have. I already had my mission call and my cousin P had just returned from his mission. He went to Mexico and literally gave away everything he had to the poverty stricken people he served there. He came off the plane with his passport, his scriptures, a very worn suit and a pair of shoes that were barley able to stay on his feet. He was sick but happy. They went to the hospital the next day and he stayed there for his first few days home but I will never forget the sight of those shoes and what they meant and how I saw the exact same kind of noble journey in van Gogh's painting of some dilapidated shoes. I bought a post card of it when we got out of the exhibit and kept it in my scriptures my whole mission. It's there still.

Every van Gogh is an amazing journey. There is almost always a stark foreground and background and you can find a path from one to the other. The Harvester was a perfect example of that and being a called missionary at the time that allusion was pretty obvious and moving. I bought a post card of that too. It's still in my scriptures as well.

The thing is, you HAVE to see it for yourself. Seeing these paintings is an experience. You can feel van Gogh's emotion in every chunk of paint that comes off the canvas. These paintings are all the beautiful things that he desperately thought and felt but that he just didn't have the skill to talk about. The colors and color combinations are something you can only see for yourself. The prints I had seen my whole life were shadows of a sham of how amazing they are. How alive these paintings are, how much of a story they have to tell, and how easy it is to enter into one of them is something only a personal experience can deliver. Sadly most of the exhibit is back in Paris so you'll just have to make the trip...

So yeah - I love van Gogh. He's pretty awesome.

Bleeding Purple and Gold

You may not know by looking at me, or by looking around my house, but I am a die-hard fan.

I love basketball and I love the Lakers

I think it started with Chick Hurn and Kareem when I was about 4.
I have sweet memories of watching the Lakers/Boston championships all throughout the 80s with my dad and learning the difference between a hook shot and a free throw and why Magic was magic and why being “on your wallet” was bad and why “in the refrigerator” was good thing. I loved the pace of the game, I loved how the players were elegantly larger than life. I loved how it was a cerebral game as well as just forcing the flesh. I loved how excited I got at every free throw and I loved the fact that they were constantly reaching up instead of across a field like in football. Kareem remains one of my favorite players of all time. The Gentle Giant. Don’t mess with the man either, but he was the nice one.

I LOVE YOU KAREEM!

I just loved it all and nothing much has changed.

Basketball has been a part of my life since, well, forever. Every time I went to Tucson to visit family we’d hit up one of my cousin’s games. I’d go support our church ball leagues; I was a faithful fan of our unsung but very capable and accomplished high school team. It’s pretty impossible to grow up LDS and not be basketball and volleyball proficient.

Basketball was an intimate part more than one District Leader’s lessons on my mission as well. There are a lot of lessons in basketball. John Wooden remains one of my heroes and one of the best men who has ever walked the planet.
I love how it brings people I love together and leaves them better.

But mostly I love the Lakers

Some of my best memories with my crazy brothers and cousins have been watching the Lakers play, being on our feet, and cheering for purple and gold boys, IBCs in hand and feeling nothing but love and adrenaline.

Since the Kobe years and the death of Chick my dad has pretty much put away his purple and gold allegiances but my brother and I are still carrying the torch. And for the first time since Shaq left we’ve found themselves back in the finals, AND against Boston of all people. Little else has been in or out of my thoughts in the last two and a half weeks except maybe Twilight and my graduating from college – more on that later.

Now, if you love the Lakers you hate Boston. It’s the rules. Larry Bird and Magic came up together in the 70’s through college and the draft and were always personal rivals and then they both became centerpieces of their teams that they played for the majority of their careers; Bird with Boston and Magic here in LA. They played each other in NBA Finals 6 different times and the rivalry went from being personal to a franchise wide loathing. Things haven’t changed much since then. I still hate Boston. When my friend went to go visit earlier this year it was all I could do to not go “Why??!” every time she mentioned it. Boston is where happiness goes to die. Everyone knows that.

NBA speaking, I think Brett Hall got it right when he said “I hate Boston (he's a true fan) but I like Boston’s players”. I will totally agree with that. Boston’s line up right now is amazing and as much as I hate to admit it, we are getting handed our cabooses in pieces. 4 different pieces. Game 6 of the finals is tomorrow night in Boston. We’ve already lost two games out there and one here to Boston. We need to win two more if we’re going to take it but with how we’re playing and the fact that Boston is practically breathing fire at us (Kevin Garnett, I’m looking at you) we’ll have to see what happens.

I’m nervous. As nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Tomorrow is a big day.

Proper Chagrins

I think this is going to be a recurring series of blogs (I think that makes 3 for me) because that seems to be what my life turning out to be about. Eating crow. And in all reality, I'm not minding at all.

This time around is in regards to a series of books that I have purposefully avoided for awhile. A long while. Like 4 years-awhile.My old roommate, shortly after we both fled from the Pit of Despair and found our own little niches was all squeals and giggles about it. I was excited at first because she is a total book soul mate. Harry Potter - same page. LOTR - same page. The Georgia Nicholson Confessions - same page. I don't know why I doubted her. I knew she had a particular love for vampires that I didn't really share but no biggie right?

What turned me off the most was *gulp* that it was and LDS author.

I know - I know!
I'm such a snob.

But every single run in I've had with LDS fiction up to this point in time has been campy and a total let down. The only LDS fiction that I own and love has principally been written by people that I know directly and because one of the books was dedicated to me. I mostly find it to be the equivalent of that Halloween candy that sticks around forever and ever. You know, those strawberry candies and multi colored versions of those pinwheel mints. Its candy, but not really candy. Blah - no good.

She found it in the Deseret Book Catalog and typically anything in there that isn't written by a General Authority just doesn't blip on my radar. She had the good sense to pick up on it, but I wasn't feeling it. Her whole experience is here.

Her passionate recommendation was the first in a long line of people from almost every different aspect of my life. It seemed everywhere I went I was getting "What??! You haven't read these yet?!" People from work, people from school, people I happened to be chatting up at Jiffy Lube... It was getting ridiculous. This disinclined me even more because if too many people like something I'm automatically more skeptical. Like all those people that told me to go see Titanic. You know who you are!...... 4 hours I'll NEVER get back. Ever.

So, I started to consider picking it up when my mother turned into a big pair of eyes and half finished incredulous sentences at the thought of me not having read them-

What do you mea....?
How can you....?!
They're som......
You simply hav.......

My mom brought it up at book club as a possible book and one of the ladies who had read it and loved it was like "I wouldn't give it to anyone younger than 16 to read... I wouldn't want my girls thinking its OK to lie in bed with their boyfriends" and I thought -

Whattha....? That's weird... That's not a part of the Mormon Fiction formula. Maybe this is just a normal book that happens to just be written by an LDS author and the Mormon Culture PR machine simply picked it up.

The final needle in they straw stack was one of my Beehives (I'm the 1st counselor in my ward's YW). She came up to on Sunday after church all far off looks and fluttery eyelashes just sighing about how much she loved Twilight and how they're her FAVORITE books ever and how she doesn't really like reading but she's read them three times and how August 2nd can't come fast enough etc and I thought -

OK - so this book is getting my girls to read AND it might not be appropriate for a 12 year old... I'm the book geek/adult type here. If my girls are reading these I should know what's in them in case something needs to be discussed that's not appropriate and so I know whats going into their little heads. These are my girls. It's my job to know.

That was the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend I had just finished The Other Boleyn Girl and I needed a new book.

Total aside of an unsolicited review: The Other Boleyn Girl was lovely. It was.... Elizabethan. Not PG rated by any means but fabulously engaging for us costume freak types and I'm obsessed with the Tutors anyway. It doesn't take much. Elizabeth I is a hero of mine and anything surrounding her = awesome. Pure awesome as a matter of fact. She makes me proud to have the name I do. Love love love her. Lovelovelovelove.

I ploughed through The Other Boleyn Girl the beginning of that weekend. I was slightly reeling from the strange weekend I had had the week before and needed to escape for a bit.

So with all this preamble, and ice cracking, and prejudice overcoming, and not being too ready come up for air in reality -

I picked up Twilight.

Now, you need to understand - I love books. As a function of my genetics and upbringing they are the next best thing to marzipan, and foot rubs, shoe shopping. I'm a dyslexic kid but my love for them overcame that, saw me through adolescence, AP English and they have been my sanity and refuge since. I'm an English major, the daughter of and English major, the grand daughter of and English major, and a great granddaughter of an English major. Some families have jewelry, mine has books.

So - that being said, it's a given that I loved this book by the simple fact that it was bound, had words on paper and told a story of some kind. Also, it had added stock because it was an Adolescent Lit book. They're the best kind. There really isn't much getting around that.

But from go I didn't just love this book. It was a book that I fell in love with. I started when I woke up the next morning and stayed up till 2. I didn't eat or do much of anything. Just shifted from one posture to another in my reading chair. I got strangely annoyed every time my mom knocked on my door or when my text message alert chimed (*gasp* - I know! It was an annoyance to text! Me!! It's Armageddon.) I was mad that my eyes were too tired to work anymore after 16 hours, not to mention that I had to work in 6.

I woke up and seriously considered calling in sick to work to finish. I didn't. I didn't! But I did think about it and that made me sit up and take notice. I haven't been that into a book since Harry Potter. These characters were real to me, they were people I was invested in and their story was fantastically real. I loved falling in love with Edward alongside Bella and being just as confused and fascinated with what on earth was going on in that lovely lovely head of his. I saw many if not all of my own awkward and beloved moments of falling in love with hers and Edwards relationship.

Yup, yup. I've been in that sitting at the same lab table and being so distracted by how attracted I was to the person sitting next to me that whatever we're doing was all but noise in the background situation before etc etc...

I loved her goofy old truck that tapped out at 45 mph. My first car was a '69 Ford Falcon that wasn't in much better shape but I loved just a much, if not more.

I could smell the humid air and feel the angst and sympathize with the gravity of feeling yourself for the first time and seeing yourself for the first time through someone else's eyes.

I loved how it was this marvelous look at what it meant to be human and the humanizing effects falling in love has. How it brings out the best and worst in us and that suddenly both are OK. I loved how Bella has a hard time accepting the excellence that is just laying in wait to be hers in the form of the Cullen family and Edward. With every page turn I found something else to love in this simple, totally heartfelt story.

I took the book to work but kept it in my car because I knew I'd just ignore my work if I took it in. I snuck downstairs and to my car for both my breaks (which I never take), took a long lunch and read and finally finished that night and had the second book New Moon within arms reach as soon as I was done.

New Moon was another 600 some odd pages of awesome with better writing and a whole new side of the story.

Same with Eclipse. I was done with all 3 by Thursday cursing work, eating and sleep the whole way. St Francis of Azizi always called his body and the appetites binding it "Brother Pig" and for once I understood that concept. Sister Sow (that's the girl version according to my mom)! I'd say, Behave yourself and just let me get through this one part.

I didn't find it inappropriate for my Beehives to read at all. In fact, I had an emphatic discussion with all my girls about it last night at mutual and it opened up a nice and constructive dialog about boyfriend dynamics and what's appropriate and what wasn't. It was fantastic. I told them since there is a good chance whomever they decided to date probably won't be a vampire a different set of norms applies but Edward should teach them the difference between a boy and a man and never to settle for the former. It was great. I felt all grown up and sagy, but in-the-know at the same time.

I started talking to whomever I could remember that had read it so that I could gush. I had to. This was too much good to not be spoken of. This isn't a casual read. These aren't wall paper characters that adorn a house or a mind. These are limelight people that harrow as much devotion out of you as Frodo and Harry. I know that's big talk, but for me it's true and from what I've seen of others, it's true for them too.

I even told a fellow Harry Potterer guy type that he needed to read it. He gave me crap about it being a chick book and a smutty romance, neither of which is true. But he went out to Borders and got it anyway and is reading even though he's in medical school and on rotations. Ha! Good man.

It's an amazing set of books and I'm really excited for Aug 2nd now too. I have no idea where it's going to end and who is going to end up with who or how any of the brewing impossible situation is going to work. I'm not sure a happily ever after is possible, but I'm hoping and Stephanie has shown a marvelous talent for figuring out how to do that.

It's a book that is lovely, of good report and all that. Also, it's moral and entertaining and really positive. It's SO RARE to find that anymore and I can't help but want to send a hefty, card stocky, embossed thank you to Stephanie for it. We owe her a lot.

Opalescent Pocket Lint

A girl in a coffee shop at a table by herself is an interesting sight, plucking away on a laptop, especially on a day like today.

It's Valentines. It seems hard to acknowledge little else even if you try. Everywhere there are people in love and today is the day you're the most acutely aware of it whether you're one of them or not.

It's also my mission birthday. I got a plane in Dulles to come home 7 years ago today. So naturally it's a more than a little difficult to ignore today and all its implications in my life so I've decided to admit to all of them and embrace them, prickly or not.

I don't have a valentine. I have a beautiful circle of people who love me, but no valentine. This saddens me. Not down the levels of black lipstick and Mazzie Star, but no matter how loud my inner Oprah charged feminist screams "I don't need to love anyone or anyone to love me but me (which I do)" it doesn't change the fact that there aren't any flowers for me somewhere and it doesn't change the fact that it hurts. It hurts every year, every time I think about it. No matter how much I have willed that fact to go away it remains. My capacity to shoulder the pain has increased but the hurt still there. Every time. Every year. I've concluded that its because no amount of self help reading or paradigm surgery can change The Programming. I'm of the XX chromosomal persuasion. I'm a woman and it is not meet for me to be alone. Those are just the facts and I need to deal with them.

I heard this song the other day on the Hotel Cafe site that had a seemingly trite lyric but now comes to mind -

"girls need attention and boys need us"

So no matter how many cards from mom, or "True Love" conversation hearts from friends, a girl at a table by herself who isn't meeting anyone will still look up every time the door opens with just a little bit of hope, not matter what day it is.

I've cursed the fairy tales whose fault I've thought it is that I should have a happily ever after. Tori says they've poisoned me. If I didn't know of a Happily Ever After I wouldn't want one right? The logic seemed sound. So I shut off the Barbara Streisand movies, hugged my Jane Austen tight and busied myself with errands, chores, hobbies, work and school. But dissonant living is a terrible thing. To be about one thing but talk yourself into another is right out. I was an idealistic hypocrite because even then, I still looked up when the door opened. I was praying to be proved wrong. I desperately wanted to be wrong which meant that I was on the right track before. Because, in all actuality, the fairy tales don't lie. They're true. Life isn't nearly as well dressed and there aren't any FX personnel on the set, but people do fall in love and stay there. It’s possible. It’s real. It happens everywhere all the time and it’s the most beautiful thing this life has to offer. It’s the best part of us and a head-in-the sand stance on the issue isn't nearly as therapeutic as I once thought. I was painfully wrong because I've found that whether you love or hate the fairy tale, Valentines day still comes and I still look up when someone comes in the door.

I love today.

I love it because I love the fact that I get to tell people I love that I love them. I love the fact that we take a day to think about each other and what we mean to each other. I love the novel chocolate and acceptable frills. I love the fact that the more tulle and fake dew drops on the silk roses the more packed it is with accolades and devotion. I love how people sometimes screech the brakes of their lives and schedules and run to hug the person they might take for granted the rest of the year. I love all of that.

I just wish, a wee bit of it was mine to have instead to observe.
I'd love a single flower and a kitchen slow dance after work. I'd love an obnoxious cross-eyed stuffed bear from an off ramp vendor with a greasy hand print on it from my breathless fella.
I'd love to see that searching, love filled look he might have after giving over said cross eyed bear and being able to give him one in return.

And it’s OK to want that.
It doesn't make me weak or pathetic or needy.
It just makes me a woman.
A woman who needs to be needed.

A woman who still looks up every time the door opens, just for a second, hoping, just for a second, at a corner table by herself and deciding to stop resenting herself for it.

Daytime Twinkle Lights

So its Christmas Eve and I'm taking a bit of a breather so I decided to check in. I've been lame-o of lame-os in terms of being a blog maven this month. I have sufficient excuses but I still feel lame. But I've finally had sufficient time to actually think about stuff outside of a deadline and gotten sufficient sleep to string more than 3 coherent thoughts together as well.

As a total aside - Sleep is really underrated. Americans need to embrace the concept. Like make it socially acceptable to take a nap during the day and make you a social bozo if you're out past 11. It just makes EVERYTHING better.

But on to Christmas -

I'm really excited. I'm always excited but I love Christmas because it the perfect occasion to give the gifts I've been wanting to give all year long. I somehow have acquired a number of amazing friends and family members that have this complex about gifts and so I don't get to give them "just because" (which is my favorite time to give a gift) because they don't know how to receive them too well. I don't really care for the gift obligation that occasions warrant - but that's besides the point. I think gifts should be given just because. Like hugs and breath mints and nights out for sushi and any other manifestations of love and regard you can think of.

"because I love you and you're there you should have this."

I think that's how it should be, but since its Christmas I get to incorporate the Savior so its a two-fer! Testimony builder and chance to tell someone that I love them. Super Yay!

I've gotten a few gifts already and I adore all of them but I think the best one I've received thus far is peace of mind.

Earlier this week I had a dream -
And this isn't a MLKJr kind of dream or a Lehi dream or a Midsummer Night's kind. Just a woke up, went back to sleep, had a really potent dream kind of dream. Now, I'm usually not all metaphysical like this but I cannot just put away the veracity of this experience. So yeah I had a dream, but I was taught a really good lesson too.

A bit of background first though:
So I'm pretty thick when it comes to the whole "love thing". I'm clueless when its in front of my face and have managed to only get myself into the twit of love when its not received and/or returned. I totally own it. Its ridiculous and I'm working on it but you kind of can only practice being in a relationship when you're IN a relationship and because of my near/farsighted approach to the whole matter that makes practice a bit difficult.

As a result I regularly ask myself some hard questions:
Since the whole true-love thing is all but a mystery to me what if its in front of my face and I don't even recognize it?
What if (past people) was the real thing and I let it go because it wasn't what I was expecting? What if I've read too many fairy tales and Jane Austen to be realistic about this love thing? Why can't I just get out of my own way?

So I had this dream - and you know those kinds of dreams that aren't just shapes and people and events. The kind that feel real. The way things smell and feel are real. The feelings you feel are real, the conversations you have are real. It all is just in a super clear, super real universe. But especially the feelings. ALL of the feelings are real and they change you a little bit. You feel fear and happiness and excitement and The Spirit and everything else. The real kind of dreams. Well this was one of those dreams. I've only had dreams like this a few times and they've typically been about things that are really important to me.

In this dream I was up in Utah (at grad school apparently) and I was at this big choir practice and there was this guy there. We met, went on a date, and it was this whole montaged courtship but it was the best kind of courtship. I was totally in love but it wasn't the sparks a-flying wand waving kind. It was the puzzle piece kind. Like it just fit and it was wonderful and comfortable and I was wholly accepted and loved. Like he was looking specifically for me and had found me, I wasn't just someone he had settled for (which is a darkened and locked back room fear I have). It was wonderful and I think that it was a gift. It was an answer to a prayer I hadn't even said. I think it was God familiarizing me with how love should be and whats in store so that I can recognize that kind of love and him when he comes along.

I have never felt more at peace on the matter than I am right now or have had so many "what ifs" erased from past twits.

Merry Christmas Lizzie,
Know that you're loved and know that you know how to love. No worries.
Love,
Heavenly Father

Real Love

So just when I think that my family can't get any more amazing my brother goes and proves me bitterly wrong. He decided that I needed his 73GB MacBook far more than he did and proceeded to simply hand it over because my computer got stolen in the break in.

So now I'm officially coming at you from the alabaster world of Mac but I promise not to become "a Mac Person". If it has a keyboard, speakers and a word processing program I am a happy girl. A blessed, amazed, grateful and admittedly slightly spoiled girl.