Why do we sweat? I asked Caitie, the future MD. To flush out toxins. That is the same reason we sneeze and cough when we are sick, and the same reason that we cry when we are sad. It's all to rid the body of its imperfections. So, I reasoned with them, if expelling fluids is cleansing, wouldn't that make kissing like baptism? After a momentary pause, the girls ran with it.
But you're getting back fluids too.
So? They're different fluids.
After I kiss someone I develop different quirks than I previously had?
Yes.
Then, if I kiss someone I may develop the habit of swearing.
You shouldn't kiss a boy who swears.
Kissing is rather cleansing.
I guess I've never been baptised.
Was kissing Jon was like baptism...to the wrong church?
Perfect! I am so blogging this, I cried running to my room. Only the screams of their laughter, results of a tickle war in which Caitie has no mercy, drew me back to their circle. I shrieked my own torture at merely watching their antics. I can't stand tickling, though I absolutely adore it. Our romp became more violent until we felt need to repent. I guess we need some religion in our lives.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Friday, April 28, 2006
washington dc
I have found my place in life. I am not talking about a path or some transcendental thought like that. No, I mean a literal place where I belong: Washington D.C. I've always wanted to visit, but
now I'm going there to stay. April lives there, Tarythe is moving there, Alyessa is heading that way, Ted and Dave may decide to follow Amy there, and a Bushman is looking into it. Not to mention that Heather is only a short drive away. To this point, I had always thought that I'd have to build my own compound in Spain in order to have so many of those I love gathered in one city. Now I see my error. I lacked patriotism--may I be forgiven--and missed on the vision of this better way. We shall live in the Nation's Capitol and eat Freedom Toast every morning. God bless America.
now I'm going there to stay. April lives there, Tarythe is moving there, Alyessa is heading that way, Ted and Dave may decide to follow Amy there, and a Bushman is looking into it. Not to mention that Heather is only a short drive away. To this point, I had always thought that I'd have to build my own compound in Spain in order to have so many of those I love gathered in one city. Now I see my error. I lacked patriotism--may I be forgiven--and missed on the vision of this better way. We shall live in the Nation's Capitol and eat Freedom Toast every morning. God bless America. Thursday, April 27, 2006
smell-o-vision
I daydream at work. I run away from the tedium into my mind with all its various stages and plays. Sometimes I fantasize, or write my books, or sometimes I remember real events. Each plays before me like a movie, dominantly visual with some auditory support. And much like movies, my favorite parts are where the sound and visuals have little to do with one another...you know, like in montages. April will agree with me here. So it goes that I don't experience three of my senses mentally. I do not smell, taste or touch my thoughts--I've decided to let MGM or Willy Wonka take over research into those areas. But today I hit on a breakthrough.
I was remembering a past event, slowly processing it into a daydream. I saw the entire situation, somehow third person watching myself. It's odd to visualize oneself in situations; at least, I find it odd despite the fact that that is how I always see life. I saw the image and I heard nothing. I decided to zoom in, and suddenly I saw through true memory's eyes, first person and almost too close. But I gasped when I suddenly felt the sensations. I touched cotton. I looked at my hands in front of me, seeing them resting idly on the metal counter at work, while in my vision I clung to cotton, soft and dry against my fingers. I felt pressure against one half of my body that came from nowhere but this recollection. My head, held erect in reality, felt relaxed as it rested on another surface. I let go of the image when I smelled him, part deodorant, part cologne and part that smell that comes from under the skin that sticks to one's clothes and is somehow completely unique. I felt like I was dropping a hot pan, releasing in protective instinct, as I let the cafeteria at the Cannon Center pound my senses once more. My chest felt tight with the surprise and fear of such an experience. And then I wanted it back.
I feel now that my writing has been as my thoughts--only two-fifths the depth it could have been. It is a strange new world to imagine, with all that detail always demanding attention like a separate character. This person--these people of scent, touch and taste--will assault me from every side now, pulling at me when I have nothing left to give. Yet, if I am going to be as good a writer as I have always hoped, then I will give something anyway. In return I believe I will find a store of greatness, of life--scary and delicious--waiting to be translated by me onto paper.
I was remembering a past event, slowly processing it into a daydream. I saw the entire situation, somehow third person watching myself. It's odd to visualize oneself in situations; at least, I find it odd despite the fact that that is how I always see life. I saw the image and I heard nothing. I decided to zoom in, and suddenly I saw through true memory's eyes, first person and almost too close. But I gasped when I suddenly felt the sensations. I touched cotton. I looked at my hands in front of me, seeing them resting idly on the metal counter at work, while in my vision I clung to cotton, soft and dry against my fingers. I felt pressure against one half of my body that came from nowhere but this recollection. My head, held erect in reality, felt relaxed as it rested on another surface. I let go of the image when I smelled him, part deodorant, part cologne and part that smell that comes from under the skin that sticks to one's clothes and is somehow completely unique. I felt like I was dropping a hot pan, releasing in protective instinct, as I let the cafeteria at the Cannon Center pound my senses once more. My chest felt tight with the surprise and fear of such an experience. And then I wanted it back.
I feel now that my writing has been as my thoughts--only two-fifths the depth it could have been. It is a strange new world to imagine, with all that detail always demanding attention like a separate character. This person--these people of scent, touch and taste--will assault me from every side now, pulling at me when I have nothing left to give. Yet, if I am going to be as good a writer as I have always hoped, then I will give something anyway. In return I believe I will find a store of greatness, of life--scary and delicious--waiting to be translated by me onto paper.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
birthdays
Tonight Nora, Jason, Jamie and I celebrated with my dad his birthday. This leads me to one thought. My birthday. And yes, it's in twelve days. Remember that.
Monday, April 24, 2006
rainy days and mondays
Over a year ago I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. It was the day I recognized my failure in so many fields. I went to my dad for comfort and on the drive home, the Carpenters' Rainy Days and Mondays played in the background. Even as I sobbed, I sang along. This year, the anniversary of the day went rather well, and I let it pass. I thought that was the milestone I had to reach, and I admit to being slightly disappointed that it was so nondescript. Today, however, I realized that today is the day I was meant to reach, and I feel that it truly means something that I listened to Emilie sing that same song as we drove home from my Dad's house. I wondered briefly to myself whether Heavenly Father would inspire someone with Carpenters' lyrics, before I nodded with certainty. Of course He would. That one chorus told me so many things that I needed to know.
I didn't get an A this semester. No, not a single one. I haven't received my grades yet--I even have one final remaining tomorrow night--but I know my performance. I did not meet the criteria for an A. I cried when I sacrificed my last possible chance to see that letter on my transcript this semester. Sharing the Gospel is graded almost entirely on the Honor System. We graded our own finals and merely reported the result to Brother Bott. Then he handed out an evaluation where we ranked ourselves on all the various requirements for the course. Reading assignments completed takes twenty percent of the total. All I needed was to give myself a fifteen (I have perfect scores on everything) but I couldn't do it. I probably only read half of the material. Ten. I took away my own perfect grade. Had I lied, I would have hated to see that glowing jewel on my transcript--the Tell Tale Heart comes to BYU. I know I did right, but I am disappointed. I am not hurt because I want to show off my report card, or because I know others lied to get grades they didn't deserve. I simply wanted the A.
Nobody who has known me will believe that I cried when I found out the A was gone. I do not care about grades. I never have. What I care about is that my efforts get acknowledged. I have never put effort into classes and so I never obsessed about what that final letter said. What it testified to was not who I am but merely how I did in one class. That's even true this semester; I am pulling straight B's. But Sharing the Gospel was different. I learned that material. I know it. More importantly, I internalized what I learned and let the class make me a better person. If my grade were based on how much I gave to and took from that class, I would have a grade higher than A. But I did not finish the text book. So I guess I am merely sad that I will not get official credit for what I've done. It is a petty thought. I chided myself for it on the entire walk home from this perfect final.
Your success is between you and the Lord, someone told me in my heart. I know, I said, and that is when I started to cry. But I wanted the A. I pleaded to Him to inspire the heart of my professor to know that I'd done my all to give me the grade anyway. I wanted it for me, I whispered; and then I cried harder when I realized I'd given it up precisely because of what I had learned through the Spirit of that class. It stung, giving up the reward I wanted, even though it was for the only One who knows how truly far I have come this year. Is it okay to cry, even though I would not take it back, even though I feel it is my thanks to Him for helping me become who I am? Is it still okay to cry?
Emilie held me for a moment or two before my dad came to give me his car. She and I drove him home and are now primping to go out to celebrate. What are we celebrating? If you are answering to yourself that it is the car, then you know me none at all and should not be reading my blog. It is not even the money that had chased away so many future moments of worry. It is a celebration of perspective.
This semester has been the greatest time of my life for becoming who I am and liking that person. I successfully balanced a full load of school with an intense work schedule. I slept well each night and woke early in the morning. I made my bed. I read scriptures and I am learning to pray--really pray. I think, I hope, that I have acquitted myself well with family relationships and with friends. I have a sense of honor and a hope that someday I will be humble. I have learned more about the Atonement. I dress well. I handled money decently well. I have learned a lot about who I am. This above all.
Last year I didn't have definitive answers to anything about me. I liked most things in moderation and nothing in particular. Now I know. I know that I love oldies music. My favorite genre of movies is family films, but I also like westerns. I like studying human interaction, but I hate the word "culture" (thanks to anthropology). I take too long in the shower. I don't like wearing makeup, not even when I am dressing up. There are exceptions, I guess. I want to be a mother when I grow up, and write whenever I have time. I want to write my fiction, but mostly I want to write personal histories. I love family history. I grumble when woken up from naps. I don't like swimming. I wear pink. I love hiking. I work off the reward system, especially if the reward is cheese. I think I would like volleyball and want to learn. I hate hiphop music, and country is only good when sung by male voices. I can be scary when protective. I am Texan through and through. I cook well. I am nice.
I never knew I was nice and good. I think I believed the cynical cruel things I said about myself before; I was just waiting for that day last year to prove that I was a failure inside just waiting to break free. Now I know that I am a success who needed to learn it for herself. I love my job; I am good at it and my bosses know it. I have become spiritual, more than merely religious. I love the Book of Mormon, and I love seeing Heavenly Father's Hand in my life. I have hope. My first instinct with people is to forgive. I like serving. I love my family--so help me but I do. I am smart and able to do well in school. I know my priorities, and I know my friends.
I looked back over this semester in personal interview with my Lord. I walked away from campus crying over a second-rate grade, but the whole way home I felt this burning that I have learned to recognize as the Holy Ghost (this is perhaps my greatest achievement, though I am far from being where I ought) whispering words of comfort and approval. At first I thought it was confirmation that I had done the honorable thing when signing away my A, but I know it was more than that. It was a testimony of what I have just related, that who I am is pleasing to the Lord. He is not unaware of the great growth I have undergone. Most importantly, I believe that Heavenly Father loves the person I am for who she shows the potential to be. This is what I have wanted for over a year.
This is my A.
I didn't get an A this semester. No, not a single one. I haven't received my grades yet--I even have one final remaining tomorrow night--but I know my performance. I did not meet the criteria for an A. I cried when I sacrificed my last possible chance to see that letter on my transcript this semester. Sharing the Gospel is graded almost entirely on the Honor System. We graded our own finals and merely reported the result to Brother Bott. Then he handed out an evaluation where we ranked ourselves on all the various requirements for the course. Reading assignments completed takes twenty percent of the total. All I needed was to give myself a fifteen (I have perfect scores on everything) but I couldn't do it. I probably only read half of the material. Ten. I took away my own perfect grade. Had I lied, I would have hated to see that glowing jewel on my transcript--the Tell Tale Heart comes to BYU. I know I did right, but I am disappointed. I am not hurt because I want to show off my report card, or because I know others lied to get grades they didn't deserve. I simply wanted the A.
Nobody who has known me will believe that I cried when I found out the A was gone. I do not care about grades. I never have. What I care about is that my efforts get acknowledged. I have never put effort into classes and so I never obsessed about what that final letter said. What it testified to was not who I am but merely how I did in one class. That's even true this semester; I am pulling straight B's. But Sharing the Gospel was different. I learned that material. I know it. More importantly, I internalized what I learned and let the class make me a better person. If my grade were based on how much I gave to and took from that class, I would have a grade higher than A. But I did not finish the text book. So I guess I am merely sad that I will not get official credit for what I've done. It is a petty thought. I chided myself for it on the entire walk home from this perfect final.
Your success is between you and the Lord, someone told me in my heart. I know, I said, and that is when I started to cry. But I wanted the A. I pleaded to Him to inspire the heart of my professor to know that I'd done my all to give me the grade anyway. I wanted it for me, I whispered; and then I cried harder when I realized I'd given it up precisely because of what I had learned through the Spirit of that class. It stung, giving up the reward I wanted, even though it was for the only One who knows how truly far I have come this year. Is it okay to cry, even though I would not take it back, even though I feel it is my thanks to Him for helping me become who I am? Is it still okay to cry?
Emilie held me for a moment or two before my dad came to give me his car. She and I drove him home and are now primping to go out to celebrate. What are we celebrating? If you are answering to yourself that it is the car, then you know me none at all and should not be reading my blog. It is not even the money that had chased away so many future moments of worry. It is a celebration of perspective.
This semester has been the greatest time of my life for becoming who I am and liking that person. I successfully balanced a full load of school with an intense work schedule. I slept well each night and woke early in the morning. I made my bed. I read scriptures and I am learning to pray--really pray. I think, I hope, that I have acquitted myself well with family relationships and with friends. I have a sense of honor and a hope that someday I will be humble. I have learned more about the Atonement. I dress well. I handled money decently well. I have learned a lot about who I am. This above all.
Last year I didn't have definitive answers to anything about me. I liked most things in moderation and nothing in particular. Now I know. I know that I love oldies music. My favorite genre of movies is family films, but I also like westerns. I like studying human interaction, but I hate the word "culture" (thanks to anthropology). I take too long in the shower. I don't like wearing makeup, not even when I am dressing up. There are exceptions, I guess. I want to be a mother when I grow up, and write whenever I have time. I want to write my fiction, but mostly I want to write personal histories. I love family history. I grumble when woken up from naps. I don't like swimming. I wear pink. I love hiking. I work off the reward system, especially if the reward is cheese. I think I would like volleyball and want to learn. I hate hiphop music, and country is only good when sung by male voices. I can be scary when protective. I am Texan through and through. I cook well. I am nice.
I never knew I was nice and good. I think I believed the cynical cruel things I said about myself before; I was just waiting for that day last year to prove that I was a failure inside just waiting to break free. Now I know that I am a success who needed to learn it for herself. I love my job; I am good at it and my bosses know it. I have become spiritual, more than merely religious. I love the Book of Mormon, and I love seeing Heavenly Father's Hand in my life. I have hope. My first instinct with people is to forgive. I like serving. I love my family--so help me but I do. I am smart and able to do well in school. I know my priorities, and I know my friends.
I looked back over this semester in personal interview with my Lord. I walked away from campus crying over a second-rate grade, but the whole way home I felt this burning that I have learned to recognize as the Holy Ghost (this is perhaps my greatest achievement, though I am far from being where I ought) whispering words of comfort and approval. At first I thought it was confirmation that I had done the honorable thing when signing away my A, but I know it was more than that. It was a testimony of what I have just related, that who I am is pleasing to the Lord. He is not unaware of the great growth I have undergone. Most importantly, I believe that Heavenly Father loves the person I am for who she shows the potential to be. This is what I have wanted for over a year.
This is my A.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
mirth and matter
sigh not so ladies,
sigh not so.
men were decievers ever.
one foot in sea
and one on shore
to one thing constant never.
then sigh not so
but let them go
and be you blithe and bonny,
converting all your sounds of woe
into hey, nonny, nonny!
D&C 104:10 And I now give unto you power from this very hour, that if any man among you, of the order, is found a transgressor and repenteth not of the evil, that ye shall deliver him over unto the buffetings of Satan; and he shall not have power to bring evil upon you.
sigh not so.
men were decievers ever.
one foot in sea
and one on shore
to one thing constant never.
then sigh not so
but let them go
and be you blithe and bonny,
converting all your sounds of woe
into hey, nonny, nonny!
D&C 104:10 And I now give unto you power from this very hour, that if any man among you, of the order, is found a transgressor and repenteth not of the evil, that ye shall deliver him over unto the buffetings of Satan; and he shall not have power to bring evil upon you.
Monday, April 10, 2006
my tree of life
If someone were to tell me that the little white tree, standing firmly and delicately in the middle of those tall wild things near which it is growing, had been planted only this morning by the hand of God just for me, I would not doubt him.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
friendship
Hope, trapped in the box
Pandora opened for us,
Came when you called her
I came too. We lay
Our heads together touching
Hearts, hands, tear-stained cheeks
You gave me your strength
And I gave you my sorrow
Then you let me sleep
Pandora opened for us,
Came when you called her
I came too. We lay
Our heads together touching
Hearts, hands, tear-stained cheeks
You gave me your strength
And I gave you my sorrow
Then you let me sleep
Monday, April 03, 2006
little
An acquaintance came over to my apartment yesterday as I sat with my laptop, writing. I gave a distracted answer to his questions after my well-being. At least I think that is what he meant by, "wuz-up," in this case. Oh, are you writing in your little blog?
Oh how I wish Tarythe or Ted had been there for my facial expression, because I am sure only they would have seen my reaction. Debby might have picked up on it; she and Spencer sat on the other couch.
I turned my head and smiled at this visitor. How charmingly condescending of you. But, no, I am not writing in my little blog. I am in the process of writing a little story that I hope someday to turn into a little novel. And how are you? I wanted to add. Did you receive your little rejection letter from that little university you wanted into?
Debby and Spencer squirmed in the background. I smiled again and went back to dreaming my little dreams of being a little writer.
Oh how I wish Tarythe or Ted had been there for my facial expression, because I am sure only they would have seen my reaction. Debby might have picked up on it; she and Spencer sat on the other couch.
I turned my head and smiled at this visitor. How charmingly condescending of you. But, no, I am not writing in my little blog. I am in the process of writing a little story that I hope someday to turn into a little novel. And how are you? I wanted to add. Did you receive your little rejection letter from that little university you wanted into?
Debby and Spencer squirmed in the background. I smiled again and went back to dreaming my little dreams of being a little writer.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
perry como, quoted by russel m nelson
Because you come to me,
with naught save love,
and hold my hand and lift my eyes above,
a wider world of hope and joy I see,
because you come to me!
Because you speak to me in accent sweet,
I find the roses walking 'round my feet,
and I am led through tears and joy to thee,
because you speak to me!
Because God made thee mine,
I'll cherish thee,
through light and darkness, through all time to be,
and pray His love may make our love divine,
because God made thee mine!
with naught save love,
and hold my hand and lift my eyes above,
a wider world of hope and joy I see,
because you come to me!
Because you speak to me in accent sweet,
I find the roses walking 'round my feet,
and I am led through tears and joy to thee,
because you speak to me!
Because God made thee mine,
I'll cherish thee,
through light and darkness, through all time to be,
and pray His love may make our love divine,
because God made thee mine!
foolish
This is not an entry dedicated to the stupidity of this holiday. The only thing I can say is that the French got something right; they took the day a step further and involved fish. Poisson D'Avril. Nice. But, back to my point...this is just about one of those stupid things I have learned to do as part of my daily routine.
On Monday I gave my blog address to Kevin. I know this blog, so while I knew there were rather exposing statements I felt vulnerable letting him read, I also saw how much more there was here. I felt safe. I got his email Thursday morning. He had read the entire thing--all 100 plus entries! And his focus was on finding himself in the paragraphs. His email told me just how much he had found, and I blushed with discomfort wondering what in the world he must think of me. I tried to remember everything I had said about him. I ran distracted. I tried eating soup with a fork.
Ted laughed at me when I told him; if you didn't see this coming then you don't know Kevin. I know! I cried. I just didn't think I would be this awkward about it. I don't wish it back. I do wish I had been more prepared for having him comment on my words--you know, he didn't even say anything mean or embarrassing or revealing. I'm just being overly-sensitive about my blog, as always.
The problem is, any mention of my writing and I feel completely mocked and a little foolish--like when I got caught playing "make-believe" when I was little. Utter humiliation. I didn't even let Ted read my blog for the longest time. I didn't share my writing until only a few months ago, so I am still not very good at handling response. Oh well, I guess I can chalk up my over-reaction to one more foolish thing I've done regarding him.
On Monday I gave my blog address to Kevin. I know this blog, so while I knew there were rather exposing statements I felt vulnerable letting him read, I also saw how much more there was here. I felt safe. I got his email Thursday morning. He had read the entire thing--all 100 plus entries! And his focus was on finding himself in the paragraphs. His email told me just how much he had found, and I blushed with discomfort wondering what in the world he must think of me. I tried to remember everything I had said about him. I ran distracted. I tried eating soup with a fork.
Ted laughed at me when I told him; if you didn't see this coming then you don't know Kevin. I know! I cried. I just didn't think I would be this awkward about it. I don't wish it back. I do wish I had been more prepared for having him comment on my words--you know, he didn't even say anything mean or embarrassing or revealing. I'm just being overly-sensitive about my blog, as always.
The problem is, any mention of my writing and I feel completely mocked and a little foolish--like when I got caught playing "make-believe" when I was little. Utter humiliation. I didn't even let Ted read my blog for the longest time. I didn't share my writing until only a few months ago, so I am still not very good at handling response. Oh well, I guess I can chalk up my over-reaction to one more foolish thing I've done regarding him.
Friday, March 31, 2006
marriage hungry
Momma Gardner is in town visiting her two--nay, three--daughters. I've been looking forward to her visit as if my own mother were coming, and when I was told that she had arrived, I bounded into Caitie's room and smothered mom with my hugs. Then Cassidy, Caitie and I perched on the bed and talked with her. Perched is perhaps the wrong word; we were all knotted together inextricably. Mom asked after our well being, if we ate right, slept enough, etc. Then she turned to me. How is everything going? she asked. I smiled. How are things going?! I had a list prepared of all the marvelous things I had accomplished in the last week alone. Look, I cried, at how amazing I am. She smiled supportively and then said, no, really...how are things? I'm not sure if I could describe my reaction to those words. I knew what she meant. I know her daughters.
For those of you who don't understand Gardner talk, this meant, how is your love-life?
The Gardner family are the most marriage-hungry people I have ever known, and most are happily married. That, I suppose, is the problem. If any had one ounce of regret about having entered into the state of matrimony, they might be less enthusiastic about persuading others to follow in the same path. Poor Emilie gets set up on more blind dates than anyone I know. What's more weird to me is that she enjoys it!
After her concert Tuesday night (shameless plug for Emilie: you should have gone because it was fabulous!) the sisters, mom, Cassidy and I all went to Grandpa's house to visit with the family. I was assured that the stay would not exceed half an hour. I should have known better. Anyway, the time was well spent. Cassidy and I had our ears full of secret behind-the-scenes Gardner affairs. And you know what? they're exactly the same as when they're in public. The puns fluttered in the air like moths near a porch light. Cass swatted them away as much as she was able, but I found I liked their mellow presence. What I spent my focus on was this: the matchmaking. Poor Cousin Gardner came over and brought his girl friend. As soon as they were out of ear shot (hopefully) getting food, Christie (that's mom) started in. They're so cute. She's the one. I laughed and added my hopes to their future felicity. The conversation rarely swayed from talk of coupling. Even when Cousin was talking about landscape architecture we were all listening to love connection. That's how it's been all week.
The Sisters are just like Mom. Five of us took a nap on Caitie and Emilie's bed on Sunday. We told our own bedtime stories. Starting with Debby on the far end, each girl told about the boys she likes, those who like her, and what is happening with each. Deb has unwelcome admirers. As does Caitie. After Cassidy and Emilie also admitted to liking no one, Cass remarked, I'm glad we saved the best for last. I rolled my eyes. When it came to me, I grinned. Let's make this painful, I thought. I have nothing to talk about. In my head I heard Marianne, "Neither of us has anything to say--I because I conceal nothing and you because you communicate nothing." Let's just say, I didn't get away with that.
Nor did I two days later when lying on the same bed, this time with Mom. Following her question, my face both fell with disappointment and lit up with amusement. I told her I had nothing to share. Cassidy laughed, and she and Caitie began telling my stories for me. To mom and others it must look as though I am being naturally modest. That, however, contradicts my nature, and contradictions do not exist. Check your premise. Those who know me know that yes, I am awkward about telling such things, but with the environment of close friends, a mom and a bed, even I would have shared had there been aught to share. Instead I just listened to their interpretations, which have been different than mine since the beginning.
Later, Cassidy ran the gauntlet. It was painless. Afterward, Mom plotted how best to get her to marry Steve. Everyone smiled. I object, I cried. I thought I got to marry him. Cassidy can have Nathaniel; he's closer to her age, and taller! But Audrey, smirked Cassidy, you've already got someone. Yes, nodded Mom, he-who-must-not-be-named (I swear, that's really what she said). I lamented, because I was supposed to end up her daughter. Oh, she comforted, you will be anyway... And his parents are so nice!
Mom has asked me if she might attend my wedding. I was overjoyed with the possibility. I will have someone to play mother of the bride. It was Cassidy that made me cynical. I've decided, she announced, that she's getting married in November! It seems that mindless giddiness is a much stronger force than cool reasoning. Evil is often like that. I'm not even dating anyone, I cried into the din. Marriage is not on my to-do list this year. Apparently in this instance--in my love-life--my opinion does not count. When I told them that Danny asked me out again, this time for next Friday's Men's Chorus choir concert, they all gave that knowing motherly look, which I need to add to my repetoire of belittling facial expression, and I knew that I had lost. Ooh, squealed Mom, Audrey Nelson. It's such a sweet name.
For those of you who don't understand Gardner talk, this meant, how is your love-life?
The Gardner family are the most marriage-hungry people I have ever known, and most are happily married. That, I suppose, is the problem. If any had one ounce of regret about having entered into the state of matrimony, they might be less enthusiastic about persuading others to follow in the same path. Poor Emilie gets set up on more blind dates than anyone I know. What's more weird to me is that she enjoys it!
After her concert Tuesday night (shameless plug for Emilie: you should have gone because it was fabulous!) the sisters, mom, Cassidy and I all went to Grandpa's house to visit with the family. I was assured that the stay would not exceed half an hour. I should have known better. Anyway, the time was well spent. Cassidy and I had our ears full of secret behind-the-scenes Gardner affairs. And you know what? they're exactly the same as when they're in public. The puns fluttered in the air like moths near a porch light. Cass swatted them away as much as she was able, but I found I liked their mellow presence. What I spent my focus on was this: the matchmaking. Poor Cousin Gardner came over and brought his girl friend. As soon as they were out of ear shot (hopefully) getting food, Christie (that's mom) started in. They're so cute. She's the one. I laughed and added my hopes to their future felicity. The conversation rarely swayed from talk of coupling. Even when Cousin was talking about landscape architecture we were all listening to love connection. That's how it's been all week.
The Sisters are just like Mom. Five of us took a nap on Caitie and Emilie's bed on Sunday. We told our own bedtime stories. Starting with Debby on the far end, each girl told about the boys she likes, those who like her, and what is happening with each. Deb has unwelcome admirers. As does Caitie. After Cassidy and Emilie also admitted to liking no one, Cass remarked, I'm glad we saved the best for last. I rolled my eyes. When it came to me, I grinned. Let's make this painful, I thought. I have nothing to talk about. In my head I heard Marianne, "Neither of us has anything to say--I because I conceal nothing and you because you communicate nothing." Let's just say, I didn't get away with that.
Nor did I two days later when lying on the same bed, this time with Mom. Following her question, my face both fell with disappointment and lit up with amusement. I told her I had nothing to share. Cassidy laughed, and she and Caitie began telling my stories for me. To mom and others it must look as though I am being naturally modest. That, however, contradicts my nature, and contradictions do not exist. Check your premise. Those who know me know that yes, I am awkward about telling such things, but with the environment of close friends, a mom and a bed, even I would have shared had there been aught to share. Instead I just listened to their interpretations, which have been different than mine since the beginning.
Later, Cassidy ran the gauntlet. It was painless. Afterward, Mom plotted how best to get her to marry Steve. Everyone smiled. I object, I cried. I thought I got to marry him. Cassidy can have Nathaniel; he's closer to her age, and taller! But Audrey, smirked Cassidy, you've already got someone. Yes, nodded Mom, he-who-must-not-be-named (I swear, that's really what she said). I lamented, because I was supposed to end up her daughter. Oh, she comforted, you will be anyway... And his parents are so nice!
Mom has asked me if she might attend my wedding. I was overjoyed with the possibility. I will have someone to play mother of the bride. It was Cassidy that made me cynical. I've decided, she announced, that she's getting married in November! It seems that mindless giddiness is a much stronger force than cool reasoning. Evil is often like that. I'm not even dating anyone, I cried into the din. Marriage is not on my to-do list this year. Apparently in this instance--in my love-life--my opinion does not count. When I told them that Danny asked me out again, this time for next Friday's Men's Chorus choir concert, they all gave that knowing motherly look, which I need to add to my repetoire of belittling facial expression, and I knew that I had lost. Ooh, squealed Mom, Audrey Nelson. It's such a sweet name.
procrastinated works of genuis
I finished the paper for anthropology. Ha, to those who thought I couldn't do it on time. It took less than an hour to do five pages. I shouldn't be surprised, since it was a topic I am most loquacious on--my roommates. It's done now, and I am free to blog. Maybe I am procrastinating another paper, and I know that by posting I am helping Ted procrastinate his papers, but I don't care. I'm in the zone.
* * *
My professor loved my concept for my anthropology paper. Apparently my focus was narrow enough and full of implications regarding this social interaction I observed. By the way, I wrote it on the Kitchen Practices of Apartment 99. I was very amused with my own interpretations. I used myself as a character and an observer, so while I felt a little bit DID (disociative identity disorder, means multiple personalities) I had a fun story to work with. I'll share it later, once it's polished a bit more creatively.
* * *
My professor loved my concept for my anthropology paper. Apparently my focus was narrow enough and full of implications regarding this social interaction I observed. By the way, I wrote it on the Kitchen Practices of Apartment 99. I was very amused with my own interpretations. I used myself as a character and an observer, so while I felt a little bit DID (disociative identity disorder, means multiple personalities) I had a fun story to work with. I'll share it later, once it's polished a bit more creatively.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
foiled
"Whenever I marry," [Blanche] continued after a pause which none interrupted, "I am resolved that my husband shall not be a rival but a foil to me. I will suffer not competitor near the throne; I shall exact an undivided homage: his devotion shall not be shared between me and the shape he sees in his mirror."
Sometimes guys have this remarkable way of making me feel beautiful. Sometimes it is what they say, while at others it is that extra special look they have on their faces. I have known guys, some only ever friends, who paraded me and treated me like a queen. And then there have been those who have obviously liked me with the whole of their minds, but not their eyes; and while I felt smart and funny and possessed of every imaginable virtue, I did not feel pretty. Perhaps it is such a shallow thing to desire. In high school, after all, I went out of my way to deprive myself of a pleasant exterior, wishing to be desired for my other traits. I have changed my mind, however. I want to feel -to be told- that I am beautiful. Because, you know what? I am.
Sometimes guys have this remarkable way of making me feel beautiful. Sometimes it is what they say, while at others it is that extra special look they have on their faces. I have known guys, some only ever friends, who paraded me and treated me like a queen. And then there have been those who have obviously liked me with the whole of their minds, but not their eyes; and while I felt smart and funny and possessed of every imaginable virtue, I did not feel pretty. Perhaps it is such a shallow thing to desire. In high school, after all, I went out of my way to deprive myself of a pleasant exterior, wishing to be desired for my other traits. I have changed my mind, however. I want to feel -to be told- that I am beautiful. Because, you know what? I am.
one of these things
I went back today and published an old blog entry I had never finished writing. It's like a treasure hunt; try to find which one wasn't there before, which one just doesn't belong.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
sociology
It only took six semesters, but I finally did it. You can see for yourself. Wherever I go, I am heralded by this great accomplishment. Wherever my name appears so does this title, like a badge of courage or a degree (heaven forbid I ever get one of those). Yes, boys and girls of all ages, I have declared a major. Let it be shouted from the roof tops, Audrey is not undecided anymore.
i'm hungry!
For once there is something I would rather be doing than spending my time in the LRC writing. I had less than six hours of sleep and I ate only two bites of yogurt for breakfast. This has been an amazing day, but the tootiredandhungry headache is starting to bother me just a little. Alas that the Wilk had to be abandoned when the fire alarm went off. Is a little food too much to ask?! Poor me; poor, poor me.
Monday, March 20, 2006
exactly four units of distance
Have I been distant lately? I asked Emilie. She responded to the negative. She hadn't noticed anything, at least. I asked her because I knew by the way that Ted wanted to take me walking in the sleet that I was being obvious about holding something back. Subtlety, thy name is most certainly not Audrey.
Oh no! replied Emilie. Maybe I'm being distant, and that's why I didn't notice. I'm so sorry.
I asked the others. Without hesitation, not even a beat missed, they confirmed my reclusiveness. It's been two weeks, noted Caitie. Always after work, added Cassidy. You're in your room a lot more, confirmed Tarythe. But, they agreed, you're not distant with Emilie.
Perhaps they are offended if Emilie seems closer to me. Ted and Caitie certainly thought she knew what's been going on. The truth is, she's as much in the dark as anyone. It's not mine to tell, I have repeated to their kind offers of help and listening ears. But at least it's been said; that helps in a way. I apologized for my distance, really just taking note of the fact that I need to develop a better facade.
It wasn't until I sat on my bed waiting for sleep that I mentally slapped myself and decided that what needed to be done was not more cover-up, but closer relations with the girls. Sure I can't tell them everything, but I can trust them. I hopped off my bed and ran to the front room. Apartment prayer? I begged. Cassidy covered for me when I couldn't speak the words to Heavenly Father. She asked Him, if any of us is struggling please help her to be at peace.
So now, the next step is to let go of the brooding and be happy with the life I am living with them.
Oh no! replied Emilie. Maybe I'm being distant, and that's why I didn't notice. I'm so sorry.
I asked the others. Without hesitation, not even a beat missed, they confirmed my reclusiveness. It's been two weeks, noted Caitie. Always after work, added Cassidy. You're in your room a lot more, confirmed Tarythe. But, they agreed, you're not distant with Emilie.
Perhaps they are offended if Emilie seems closer to me. Ted and Caitie certainly thought she knew what's been going on. The truth is, she's as much in the dark as anyone. It's not mine to tell, I have repeated to their kind offers of help and listening ears. But at least it's been said; that helps in a way. I apologized for my distance, really just taking note of the fact that I need to develop a better facade.
It wasn't until I sat on my bed waiting for sleep that I mentally slapped myself and decided that what needed to be done was not more cover-up, but closer relations with the girls. Sure I can't tell them everything, but I can trust them. I hopped off my bed and ran to the front room. Apartment prayer? I begged. Cassidy covered for me when I couldn't speak the words to Heavenly Father. She asked Him, if any of us is struggling please help her to be at peace.
So now, the next step is to let go of the brooding and be happy with the life I am living with them.
my new favorite recording artist
I woke up at seven thirty this morning listening to the soft sounds of the radio being played in the hall. This is not unusual, nor that I find myself mentally singing along as I reach consciousness. This morning, however, I got a pleasant surprise. Hey, wait! I said to myself as we sat up in bed. I know this song! I stumbled from my room, eyes blurred, face swollen, and hair--well for those who have seen my hair, you know there is no describing it. Emilie stood before the mirror curling her rather more tame tresses. So, you and Ted recorded his song last night. It was not a question. We started the CD over and listened again. The song has been stuck in my head all morning.
I want my own copy, sir, as well as one of your other song.
I want my own copy, sir, as well as one of your other song.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
standing on the edge
A girl reached a crossroad where an infinite number of paths spread before her waiting her whim. A wise man pointed to the path furthest to her left and told her that down this path lay a chasm too wide to jump and too dark for any mortal to know where the bottom was, if indeed it had a bottom. The image scared the girl. She was afraid of the place in her mind that showed her the dark, deep, steep pit; and she couldn't decide what she feared most, the idea of hitting its bottom or of never reaching it. The choice was hers, said the man, she didn't have to jump. So she looked at the other trails before her. Some made her sad, disgusted or hurt, and she vowed not to take those paths. Some led to complacent but guaranteed happiness, while others intrigued her with their challenging climbs and veiled destinations. But even as she looked at all these other options the girl's fear grew. She feared because she knew which path she was going to take, had known it before she even reached the crossroads, and what's more, that the man had known it too. She knew that she would jump.
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