An Ode

I am keenly aware that many of you will judge me to be just plain weird for this one, but you should know that when I am sleepy while driving, I must entertain my brain with some puzzle. Last night I was thrilled to find one last can that had rolled under my seat, left from the road trip out to Utah. I can't say whether it was the caffeine or the poetry that kept my brain functioning from Orem to Salt Lake. The most pleasant thing of all was that when I woke up this morning, I still remembered it. So here it is, for your reading pleasure. Nancy's Driving Poetry.

To the Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper that was under the Passenger Seat of my car Last Night:

Diet
I Laugh
At your sugar free
Classification
Filled instead
With Aspartame
When it is the carbonation
Ever present
That causes bulk

Cherry
Cherished
Artificial flavor
Generic and sweet
And coloring red
The liquid I love
Dying my teeth
So I brush obsessively

Vanilla
Ignored, blasphemed
Your value is scorned
By those who do not
Take the time to taste
Yet you continue
To blend
They don't even know
You are there.

Dr.
I know
No Phd
Graces your intellect
But instead
You were intended
As medicinal
Soothing, simple
Carbonated prune juice

Pepper
Pep
Not the spice,
But the alert,
Caffeine
Which wakes me
As I drive
Drowsy from the Scrabble
Essential Energy.


You should know that while I frequently compose random verse in my head (some call it backyard poetry, but mine always happens while driving) I do not make the effort to write it down. I leave poetry to the literary genius type, and to the angst-ridden 14 year old. Plus, writing while driving is generally considered dangerous. And as for the beverage choice, as my Karaoke bar friends would say "She's moved on to the hard stuff!"

*coming soon: a post about my new hair color. But for now, it is too difficult for me to take a picture of the back of my own head. So here's the teaser; No more teaching seminary with this shade!

Worst Date Ever

Tamara posted a "worst date ever" blog last weekend, and I enjoyed reading about her misery so much that I though I would take her up on the invitation to post my own experiences. Everyone has had terrible dating experiences, let's face it, it's just about the worst situation possible. I mean, two people, who barely know each other, are forced into a situation where they must judge and be judged. Evaluating and performing for someone who you may or may not come to care about, knowing that every word either of you say will be analyzed and mocked or swooned over by the closest companions of the others. It can only turn out badly. It has never (in my experience) turned out well. In fact, all of the friendships and relationships that I treasure have never gone to that dating place. And I am pretty sure that if they had, they would no longer be considered a treasured relationship. I have no doubt that I am the source of "worst date ever" stories. The most frequent response I get at the end of the evening is what I call the "Scared Rabbit". You know when a small, helpless animal is cornered and looking for any escape. That's what my dates look like. And friends who attempt to set me up with someone, beware. Generally the friendship doesn't survive a set-up either. I can openly admit that I am a terrible date. But I have a few winners in my journal as well. And by "winners" I mean losers. That may sound harsh. Just wait.



*names have been changed to protect the innocent. The not-so-innocent have not been offered the same courtesy.

My worst date ever was a blind date. My friends Jill and Paul were the well-meaning offenders. I worked with them, an older couple, up in Roy. Jill though it would be fantastic to set me up with her son's best friend. Paul said that the best friend was a blithering idiot, and I could do better. But Jill was set on it, and insisted. It should be noted that this was the second friend she tried to set me up with. The first time, I jokingly told her that I would go out with anyone as long as they didn't have a prison record. She got very quiet, and said she would think of someone else. So the second one was in order to make me feel better about the first one. His name was Jake. He was 29, just perfect for my 27-yr-old self. And since our ages matched, and we were both single, we must be destined for each other. They gave him my number. He called that night. He asked what I majored in, I told him "Music" His response was that he just loved music. And then he began a 15 minute ramble about the last album he purchased, which vinyl he needed to update, and he even held his cell phone up to the car speakers in his car so I could hear his current selection. You are thinking "that doesn't sound so bad..."

No? Did I mention it was all 80's rock and the occasional early 90's alternative band? So how many of you, when you hear "music major" think "80's rock"?

What? Nobody?

How many of you think "classical training"?

Oh good, most of my friends are not, in fact, blithering idiots. If you were under the impression that I worked 4am custodial for 4 years in order to study Guns N Roses, you have my permission to crawl under your desk and weep for your own ignorance. Then come out and pretend that you knew what I was talking about all along.

Back to the phone conversation.

Jake arranged to pick me up at 6pm on Friday night. He thought mini-golf would be a nice activity. Then he had to go, because his mom wanted him to take out the trash.

He was prompt. 600, on the dot.

We drove to the mini-golf place. It was early spring, but silly me, I assumed he checked on things like this. No. It was still closed for the season. He drove to the next mini-golf place, some story, he drove to two more, you'll never guess, all closed. Now it is 7:30. He has, in the time it has taken to drive to four mini-golf locations, been telling me all about himself. His self-proclaimed greatest skill in life is that he knows how to do the absolute minimum work required at any job. He prides himself on never doing more than absolutely necessary. He brags about the evidence of this skill. What evidence? Well, he has only been fired 3 times. All of his other jobs kept him on because they couldn't think of anything to fire him for. The most recent firing was from a telemarketing place, and he was OK with that because he didn't like them anyways, even if they did pay more than any of his other jobs. Blithering idiot.

By 7:30, I got a word in edgewise and suggested that perhaps mini-golf was not going to work out. My hope was that he would give up and take me home. I should be so lucky.

He decided a movie would be a great substitute. So we began stopping at movie theatres to see what was playing and when. The first movie theatre had nothing beginning for another 45 minutes, so we went to the next theatre. And so forth. For another hour, we drove to every theatre between North Ogden and Layton. By the time we finally got to the Layton Theatre, we could have been half an hour into the movie in Ogden. We got to Layton, he chose a movie that was starting in 35 minutes, because he wanted to have time to run to the store for candy. We went to the store, and he bought himself 3 bags of his favorite candy and some soda. He informed me that since he didn't plan on having to pay for a movie, he didn't have enough money to get anything for me. That's OK, I didn't want to feel indebted to him. When we got out to the parking lot, he asked me to hide his candy and soda in my bag and my coat, so he wouldn't get caught sneaking it in. I told him I felt too dishonest about that. Well, that was a lie, as any of you who have been to a movie with me can attest, I bring entire meals in. But I wanted to see him struggle, so I made him feel guilty. Lovely Passive-Aggressive me. We went back to the theatre and took our seats. The movie began, and suddenly he said "This is a Stephen King Movie". I was aware of that. I was aware because I hate hate hate hate hate horror movies, but was so irritated with him that I hadn't wanted to insist on a later movie. I wanted to be done. So all of the sudden, he says "This is a Stephen King movie. I don't like scary movies."

And in my brain I am thinking "way to go, jerk. It's only been advertised and in theatres for a month now. You would have to live under a rock to not have known that." Blithering Idiot.

Whatever. I was beyond words at this point, so I shrugged and sat there. About halfway through the movie, he leaned over to me and told me the rest of the plot. I asked him how he was so sure and he said "I love this stuff. It's always so cliche and predictable."

Blithering Idiot.

About 10 minutes after his plot reveal, his cell phone rang. He hadn't turned it off. Idiot.

He answered it. In the movie theatre, while the movie was going. Blithering idiot.

It was his mom. He finished the phone conversation, and then he said to me "That was my mom. She says I have to go home and go to bed because I work at 8 tomorrow morning."
And then he got up and left .
That's right. He left the movie. He left the theatre. He left me sitting there. He left because his mom told him to. And I was relieved. I was grateful to have to call my roommate and ask her to pick me up. I was ecstatic that I didn't have to keep thinking about where to put my hands. I was thrilled to no longer have to come up with a polite "uh-huh" ever 7 minutes. I was overjoyed that I didn't have to get back into his car. And most of all, I was giddy that I didn't have to go through the doorstep scene. No awkward attempt at a hug or a handshake.

And there you have it. I have, in fact, been on blind dates since this one, but they were extremely screened and in large groups and the friends who did the setting up had to be present and accountable for their choices. And I invite each of you to consider that next time the thought crosses your mind. Whether it is me or any of you other Single friends, it is only fair that we exact the same emotional punishment from you that you have inflicted upon us.

PS. I would seriously love to hear some of your worsts as well. It helps if we commiserate together.

SNOW!!!!!!

I am sorry if you hate snow. No, I am not sorry. If you hate snow, then you are simply missing out on one of the finest things in life. I can understand hating the cold. Snow is not cold. Snow is Snow. It is whiteness and fluffieness and Hot Cocoa and Christmas and childhood and shoveling the driveway at midnight all rolled into one wonderful and euphoric feeling of snow.

Let me explain. You know the hymn obsession? Here you go:

Pale through the gloom, the newly fallen snow,

Wraps in a shroud the silent earth below.

As though t'were mercy's hand had spread the pall,

A symbol of forgiveness unto all.

It's all there. Snow makes the earth quiet. And pure. Especially when it falls at 5:00 on a Sunday morning, and the world is asleep and only a few lights are left on.

I remember my first snow. I know you all think I am Minnesota, but I was actually born in California, during a drought. I remember my first rain. But here we are talking about snow. We moved to Michigan when I was 3, and I remember one night, my dad got us up out of bed, and it was dark, and he made us sit on the piano bench in the dark living room, facing the picture window, and then he opened the curtains on the window and showed us snow. It was just my brother and I on the piano bench (my sisters were all either too little or not born, which I suppose also makes them too little.) And we were thrilled. At least I was. Too thrilled to remember my brother's reaction. Family lore holds that when it was time for me to go back to bed, I threw a royal fit, because I wanted to sleep in the snow. I still want to sleep in the snow. It's so soft and comforting. I just don't throw fits about it anymore, instead I wait until midnight and go out and shovel the driveway. (Ok, inside, I still throw fits about it, but I have learned to keep those inside. Outside, I just jump around like a kindergartener and text people to go look out their windows.)

But the snow this past Sunday wasn't the shovel-the-driveway kind of snow. It was the kind that sticks to trees and grass and falls in big chunks from the sky for hours. And then after an afternoon of sunshine, it goes away, and I am left with a few pictures to tide me over until next time. Here are the rules of the first snow.

1. Drop everything and walk in it. Cancel your meetings, take a long lunch, wake up at an obscene hour, do what you have to do, but walk in the snow

2. Accessorize. Snow means it is time for the hats and the gloves and the scarves. I don't care if you wear a coat, but you absolutely must have coordinated snow accessories.

3. You are now permitted one Christmas album. The rest have to wait until after Thanksgiving, so choose wisely. I recommend the MoTab one on which Track 6 is Wilberg's "The First Noel". It's pretty much the best Christmas music ever.

4. Catch snow on your tongue. I don't care how many people are watching or how much of a crazy person you look like, you must catch AT LEAST one snowflake on your tongue.

5. Sing (or Hum) the parts you know of "My Favorite Things" including the line "snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes", you have permission to do a Julie Andrews accent and everything.

6. Drink (at least) one mug of cocoa (with mini Marshmallows) in order to properly honor the moment.

You all know that I am a very sensible person. Some have gone so far as to call my realism cynicism. So you can see that if I of all people can turn mushy and cheesy, you must have the responsibility to join me in the ritual. Honestly people, it's the only time of year I regret being alone.

My Successful Diet

Now I do not want to jinx this. But today I was dancing with the kids and my pants started to fall down. Because they are too big. WAAAAY too big. and I like them that way. Well, not in the falling-down , saggy-bottom sort of way, but in the not-too-tight, maybe-I-should-buy-new-clothes sort of way. And I can fix the falling down bit with a belt, so no big deal. I thought, in the spirit of giving and sharing info online, I should post for you my diet secrets. This is important info, so pay attention!

First, Do not spend your evenings curled up in the fetal position after eating a pint of Ice Cream. It turns out that curling up in the fetal position does not burn as many calories as you think it does, no matter how hard you have to try to wrap your arms around your legs that will not fold into your generous belly. Nope, those don't count as calories burned, not even as yoga points.

Second, you could just skip the Ice Cream altogether. It's just a suggestion, not to be taken every night, but maybe 6 nights out of 7, you should cut back on the pint. How about a full pint once a week and half a pint once a week? That way you can enjoy a little on, say, Weds, and that will tide you over until Saturday when you go to Cold Stone for that "Love It" sized oatmeal cookie batter Ice cream with brownies and coconut mixed in.... (and the waffle bowl. NEVER forget the waffle bowl. That's the good part.) Oh, uh, diet secrets? Yeah, back to that.


Third, as nice as it is to spend a few hours surreptisiously reading a book you didn't pay for in a Barnes and Noble Cafe with a melon italian soda and a spinach feta pretzel, you could go hiking some nights instead. Find a mountain somewhere and climb it. (We have quite a few here, I am willing to lend you one, or to walk with you.) Wander through a canyon, follow a brook, enjoy the changing leaves and walk until your legs and lungs start to burn a little, then turn around and walk back. If you do not have access to any mountains, I am not quite sure how to help you.

Fourth, drink milk, not milkshakes. All that caclium that you used to get from Ice Cream has to be replaced, and it turns out that a glass of milk is as filling as that bowl of Rocky road or that DQ Georgia Mud Fudge Blizzard. It's also more filling and nutritious than Orange Juice. Although I wouldn't cut out the orange juice completely. I'll get to that next.

Fifth, and finally, eat breakfast like a kindergartener. Have a bowl of cereal, a piece of fruit, some yogurt or an orange juice and toast. Hiding in your bed until the last possible moment before you have to run to work is not only anti-social, but it also leaves your blood sugar so low that instead of having a sensible morning, you find yourself ravenously snacking on anything placed in front of you. With a kindergartener's breakfast in you, you will find yourself able to say "No" to the chocolate cake leftover in the break room (it's stale anyways) and the Cheezits you have stashed away in your file drawer. If you must buy a ridiculous sugar cereal with a cartoon character on the front in order to encourage yourself out of bed, then do it. The extra sugar calories in that will be nothing compared to the things you can find in people's candy dishes around the office.

There you have it! Nancy's successful diet. I can't make many promises as to how many pounds you could lose, but I am already down 20. I am sure that eventually I will have to cut out the weekly Cafe Rio in order to drop another 20, but I will cross that bridge when I come to it. (Or else I will simply jump on the bridge, and it will collapse.)

The Conference Music Review

I have an obsession. It's true that I try to avoid all things cheesy/green jello culture, but I do obsess over the Mormon Tabernacle Coir, the hymns, and most particularly the music at general conference.

Since before I can remember, I have tried to memorize the hymns. My goal was to have them memorized by the time I was baptized, age 8, but they changed the hymnbook right around then, and I had to re-memorize a few texts that were altered. I am still a little sad that they changed "How Firm a Foundation," just because the Primary kids were singing "yoohoo"instead of "You who". I am quite sure I had them memorized by the age of ten, including the new hymns that were added to the green hymnbook. Then I started in on the primary songs, until I discovered the protestant hymns sometime in Highschool, which I decided had more substance than most of the primary songs. My first calling was to direct the sacrament hymns, at the age of 12. It has been either my calling or simply an expectation of me since that day. Then my mission came and I tried to memorize the hymns in French. Unfortunately, my brain has limited storage space, so I get the two languages mixed up alot. Some days, I just give up and sing them in French. Some days I bust out the hymnbook for help. The page numbers are different too, but I am working on that. There really are some amazing sermons preached in the hymnbook. The Elders in my MTC district used to quiz me on hymns the way the rest of the missionaries would compete in Scripture mastery verses. And I was kind of proud one day when one of my seminary kids asked "do you expect us to know this like Sister Pratt knows the hymns, or just like a normal person?" Yes, I am a freak. And I am ok with that designation.

It's the primary reason I try to watch conference alone. Somewhere, people got it into their heads that the music wasn't as important as the talks, and somewhere they also decided that everyone else feels the same way, and as a result, people start chatting during the hymns. Not about the hymns, or the choir, or the arrangement, but about what's for dinner, or what they are doing after conference, or when the baby needs a nap. It frustrates me beyond all belief, and when I watch conference with people who do this, I end up tense and anxious. I start giving dirty looks to those people, I actually shoosh them, and then they look at me like I am crazy, because after all, it's just the music, it's not that important. I have even sat through conference with friends and family, who I have explained my obsession to, and they not only ignore my request for quiet during the music, they apologize for chatting during the song, and then continue to chat, until I say something sarcastic to them, cause an akward silence, and they never speak to me again. And I do feel bad for being rude to them, but it would all be cured if they would have listened in the first place. But I can't seem to convey to people, friends, family, or stangers, how absolutely essential the music is to this experience. So listen up, people. This is my chance to soapbox a little, and this is your chance to hear it without having to look me in the eye and say "really Nancy, I think you have gone little overboard." I have not gone overboard, the music is that important.

In the spirit of that obsession, I offer to you my conference music review. Here is your chance to see what I get out of the music, why I listen, and why I think everyone else should listen. First of all, you should know that in the conference planning process, the first thing that is prepared and set in motion is the music. If you add up the hours of music preparation and compare it to the hours spent writing talks, you will find that more time, more effort, more resources, and more people are used in the music than in any other aspect of conference. Have you considered that? It takes more time to arrange a hymn than it does for Elder Nelson to write his talk? And it takes a choir of 3-4 hundred a month of rehearsal to present the music. I am not saying to ignore the talk, I am saying that considering the sacrifices made to put the music there, we should have a little more respect.

Too muh soapbox, I will tone it down a little. My apologies. Please don't take offense. I know that everyone learns differently, and that everyone appreciates different things. You can do what you want during the hymns, as long as it doesn't disturb me.

Saturday I watched conference from my house. We don't have any cable and thus far we have never been able to get a single channel on, nor have we tried very hard. But I rigged the Tv and VCR to a wire coat hanger and got chanel 5 to show up. Not in color, and a little snowy, but well enough for me to know what was going on. And the sound was perfect. Here are the hymns that we heard:

High on a Mountain Top- This is frequently a conference opener, if not for saturday then for sunday. And consider the significane of unfurling a banner to the world at the opening of General conference. It is a call and an invitation to listen, and it is an invitation extended to the entire world. Read the text sometime, it's all there in Hymn number 5

Redeemer of Israel- The Wilberg Arrangement. This is great music people, and this arrangememnt is as significant to this hymn as Wilhousky is to the Battle Hymn of the Republic.
My only complaint is that the last two verses are excluded. I understand musically why they had to be, but the 5th verse is my all time favorite verse in the entire hymnbook. Read it, it's hymn number 6.

Oh May My Soul Commune with Thee- This piece set up Elder Perry's talk perfectly. If you listened to both texts, you could hear that Elder Perry probably paid attention to the hymn preceeding his talk when He wrote his talk. From the hymn about prayer and the phrase "Find Thy Holy Peace" Elder Perry went straight into Thoreau's wilderness and asked us to find a quiet place to reflect and heal.

Come Ye Children of the Lord- congregational hymn. Did you notice that we sang all the verses? Yup, we were running a little ahead of schedule. But it's great when you think that 13 million people around the world are singing together "Let us sing with one Accord!"

Do What is Right- Frankly, this has never been one of my favorite hymns. It's a bit of a yawn with its plodding and repetetive rhythm. BOM da da BOM da da BOM da da... But the treatment of it here was perfect. This arrangement really focused on the text, and the Tab Choir was, of course, brilliant at expressing it. Did you notice the brightness in the phrase "the shackles are falling"? Did you hear the joy in the phrase "Blessings await you", and the strength in "with stout hearts look ye forth".

Oh Thou Kind and Gracious Father- This hymn was added because of the whole being ahead of schedule thing. That's why you saw the Tab Choir bust out their hymnbooks. Or at least, that's what you saw if you weren't busy getting a snack. The entire text of this hymn is a prayer. And it is a great one, one that we should probably use more often. It actually fit nicely, and introduced Elder Uchtdorff's talk on Hope.

I Need Thee Every Hour- We all know this one, it's used alot in the church, but consider the one line of the title with Elder Uchtdorff's request that we "make the courageous choice to hope". They fit so nicely, don't they?


Sunday Afternoon- A children's choir from Kaysville and Fruit Heights. I do not judge children's choirs very harshly, but I know when their director could ask more of them. Children will always surprise you, they can pretty consistantly do more than most of us ask of them. This group sounded like a very large primary. Which is appropriate for a primary choir, but I think that the director could have encouraged a more soothing sound from them if she had simply taught them to smooth the "fruit heights" sound out of their vowels. That aside, here is what I thought of their music.


I am a Child of God- Every children's choir does it, as every children's choir should. And to this group, way to go on the descant.

The Light of God- When I was in the MTC, we sang it EVERY SUNDAY in RS. and I was in the MTC for 10 weeks. and it was the same lady who directed it every sunday. I have no doubt that she is the culprit who chose it every sunday. And every sunday, she wore the same dangly earrings that bounced around as she conducted it. And on this occasion, all I could see was the dangly earrings. So I lost focus a little. It's not a hymn that I like all that much, and I can't stand the scoops that naturally occur in some parts of the melody line. It's better that I focus on memories of dangly earrings. (bounce bounce bounce bounce)

Teach Me to Walk in the Light- My dad and my Grandpa sang this together at my baptism. Again with the memories. But it fit perfectly with Elder Causee's talk that came next (have you read the Little Prince? you should) Yes, the nice lady was trying to slow us down, again we were ahead of schedule.


I Love to see the Temple- I cheer whenever the primary sings this one. Wasn't it every little girl's favorite primary song at some point? It's one of the first that I learned to play on the piano too.


We Thank Thee O God for a Prophet- I will admit I had already started to drift into afternoon nap mode for this one. no notes on it at all.


Sunday Morning- At a friend's house for this session, bless his heart, with a real TV and crepes for breakfast, I felt a bit more settled for this session. Yes, I watched Music and the Spoken Word First, and the thing that stuck out to me was actually not the choir music this time, but the organ piece. There is always one, and sometimes they are a little over my head, but today it was the organist's own arrangement of "Lord I would Follow Thee" and I loved it.

Now Let us Rejoice- And let this be a lesson to you, every meeting, especially the big ones like sacrament and stake conference, should begin with an upbeat hymn. If not the opening hymn, then at least the last hymn of the prelude.

I Know that My Redeemer Lives- Love this hymn. I just love it, that's all.

O What Songs of the Heart- I sang this very arrangement (Wilberg, of course) in a Stake choir at BYU, and the Stake President gave a talk on the "Doctrine of Belonging". Everyone has a place, everyone has a role and is a part of something wonderful. There may be times of loneliness in our lives, but we are not ever alone. It's all there in the text of this hymn, and it is all there in Elder Eyring's talk that followed this hymn. Again, the music and the talks came together to preach the lesson.

Rejoice the Lord is King- One verse. see, now we are running short on time. (and notice how the congregational hymns are always upbeat as well. There is a purpose to that!)

I Feel my Savior's Love- I also cheer when the Tab choir does a primary song. Because they do it so well, and because it is a wonderful feeling to return to that childhood testimony. Although I have to admit, during this song, I was just trying to calm myself down in the midst of stuff going on around me. Not irritated. Ok, irritated, but not about people ignoring the music so much as with my own personal issues. I am sure I will get over it.

The Morning Breaks- Again the hymn fits perfectly with the messages given. I love the phrase in this hymn "to bring her ransomed children Home." Home is such a great concept.

Sunday Afternoon- I was with my Grandfather for this session. He sings along with everything, no matter what. And I don't just mean at conference. I mean orchestras, pianos, choirs, everything. And I am pretty sure he knows every word to every hymn or song ever written. He certainly knows all of the hymns that I know, and all of the Gilbert and Sullivan ever written.

Guide us O Thou Great Jehovah- Grandpa couldn't remember which tune we currently use for this one, but he was pleased to hear that it was the tune he prefers. I need to learn the other tune from him sometime.

Faith in Every Footstep- I really like this one. I know a few years back everyone got really sick of it, but I have some positive memories associated with it. And the way it matched Elder Packer's opening lines to his talk was perfect. God prepares a way.

How Firm a Foundation- My favorite verse in this hymn is actually the last verse. That soul that on Jesus hat leaned for repose, I will not, I can not desert to his foes. That soul though all Hell should endeavor to shake, I'll never, no Never forsake.

We Ever Pray for Thee-I do remember an arrangement of this that I liked better, but this was still nice. It seemed a little slow, but that could be beacuse 13 million people, including the choir and it's conductor, were ready for a nap. Or else they just woke up from one. (who doesn't struggle with the afternoon sessions?) Like I said for the Saturday afternoon, I was already drifting, so my notes are sparse.

And there you have my review. Conference was good, the music was great. And if you endured to the end of this very long, soapbox-y post, I send you virtual brownies. Thanks for listening.

Stuff and Nonsense

My parents were in town this weekend. They came for all sorts of family stuff, but they also used it as an excuse to bring me my stuff. I left Minnesota with as much as would possibly fit in my Taurus (which is a lot), and I also left a pile of items in my old room, for the next time someone was making a trip out here. But what they brought was so much more. I took a picture, but the mess was too embarrassing for me to post here. Really, it was a lot of stuff. And as I have been unpacking it, I have had a fabulous walk down memory lane. Here are a few things they brought me:

• A paper I wrote on Genomic Analysis, U of MN, 1993, including phrases like "electrophoresis of the charged palindromic sequences of DNA" and "proving species variance directly correlating with distance between lakes of origin"


• An album of photos I took of little sister Emma, 14 months old. I was 12, and obsessed with making sure her outfits matched perfectly


• A Macmillan English first grade reader and workbook, half completed


• A homemade cabbage patch doll, from the Christmas that my dad was unemployed. My mom spent much of that holiday season in her sewing room.


• A wooden doll from Japan, my dad went when I was 7


• A bin of blankets, none of which belong to me, all of which smell of mothballs


• A box of knick-knacks I have never seen before including: a yarn doll, a hideous pink ceramic heart, and a wooden toll painted necklace strung on a blue ribbon, and much much more


• A box of mugs, only one that I recognize, the rest have either cheesy winter scenes or looney tunes characters on them (including the Tasmanian devil, so I know they weren't mine.... Amy.)


• A file box of notes from former students


• No fewer than 12 boxes of books


• a bookshelf that holds 3 boxes of books


• A box of props and costumes from shows I have done including: dress from Music Man, lei and coke bottle from South Pacific, Magic Wand from Wizard of OZ (I was Glinda!), scroll from Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe, peasant costume from The Mouse that Roared, flowers from Brigadoon, knitting from The Tears of my Sister, script from The Happy Journey to Camden and Trenton, my "lucky" owl necklace from the year I went to state in speech, earrings and cigar from the Best Christmas Pageant Ever


• 2 boxes of music books


• Portfolio of drawings from Angsty teenage years through cheesy BYU years


• A Precious Moments journal from my freshman year (high school) including confessions of undying love for boys whose names I no longer recognize


• 1 box of baby clothes (mine) including the "Mommy's Angel" dress and a "#1 daughter" onesie. Proof positive that I was the favorite daughter for at least the first 6 months of my life.


• A lampshade


• Box of crystal stemware packed in an odd assortment of dishtowels. I needed some dishtowels.


• Cookie jar (empty, I checked)


• A file of Papers I wrote at BYU and one fairly impressive Sacrament Meeting talk entitled "Faith in Love"


• Pancake Griddle
• Yearbooks, all of them.


• My "rejection" file, of rejection letters and grad program attemps, along with jury pages and audition sheets from failed attempts. I really was trying to leave that bit of my life behind.
  
• Silver American Ballroom Standard Pin and certificate
• A Troll Doll, dressed in pink lace and a tin foil crown, in an attempt to replicate my Glinda Costume. This was surely a great treasure from the time when troll dolls were "cute"
• A bin of Scrapbooking supplies and Mission memories, clearly assembled when I had an intention of scrapbooking my mission.
• Every toy or Stuffed animal I ever owned, including a set of kittens made out of rabbit fur that used to be my mom's, a doll I called "Tommy" that cried when you pulled the string on it's back, "Baby Beans" (we were as inseparable as Red Blankie and myself) and various Strawberry Shortcake Paraphernalia
• An unfinished Toll Painting project involving teddy bears and peppermint swirls
• one box of various useless paraphernalia from my Young Women's experience, including all of the paperwork (completed) for the YW recognition award that I never received


• 8 more boxes and 2 suitcases that I haven't yet opened. (should I keep you updated?)

The list goes on, but I think you get the picture. I have officially been moved out. Past the point of no return, as it were. I now have less stuff at my parent's house than my married with 4-7 children siblings do. In fact, I am pretty sure, I have some of their stuff at my place now. So here goes a call to them: If you desperately want your WST t-shirts, your blankets, or to explore memory lane for a while, my door is open. But I will force you to take a box of it with you.

The interesting thing about a walk down memory lane, inspired by unwanted junk, is that you don't get to choose the memories. Generally when we stroll through our minds, we do quite a good job at editing. Sure there are still unpleasantries, but they are kept at bay, and the worst of them are suppressed. But when you open any box from your parent's storage space, beware the ensuing hours of discovery! The pathos is overwhelming. You could discover that you have been, at various points in your life, both more pathetic and more remarkable than your memory allows you. You could come to the terrible realization that you were, in fact, just as silly at 14 as the fourteen yr old you see at the mall. You could be faced with a wash of memories that you finally have the experience to comprehend, and in that moment, you will realize that you surmounted formidable mountains, with more than mere survival, with grace. You may even find that you have outgrown a few of those skeletons in your closet, and where a few years ago they seemed to fill the room, now it is a simple thing to sweep them away. Your heart might ache a little for the person you were, once upon a time, but the void will quickly be filled with rejoicing for the path that you have been privileged to walk.

Naked Mole Rats and Hot Wheels

Before I even get into this, I thought I should share with you a photo of our bathroom. The one for my classroom, not my house. This bothers me for a number of reasons. First, the obvious, community feeling of the whole thing. Second, the fact that for some reason everyone here is OK with the mixed gender of it all. That's right, boys and girls making waste in the same undivided facility. Maybe I should be more liberal, but when it comes to potty time, we should maintain the gender apatheid. They all sit there and discuss their various waste processes, and I think it should stop. How can I teach them that bathroom humor during meals is inappropriate when their bathroom experience is a public one? Third, the smell. need I clarify that one? Fourth, picture this: Three little boys, standing in a row, bared butts to the world, chatting and swinging their bodies around to talk to their friends. I really struggle with this set up.

On to the meat of this. I am in my classroom now, we are settling into our school routine, and I need to share a little of that life with you all. Of anyone on the planet, a four-year-old will come up with the most brilliant one-liners you have ever heard. and I have collected some of my favorites from the past year or so. Here are the things I hear on a day to day basis:

-Dr Seuss? He's MY doctor!

-Oh my gosh, my boyfriend totally loves hot wheels

-I live in Africa, there's naked mole rates all over the place!

-That was DEEEEL-yummy!

-You don't have a baby sister? That's ok, ask your mom and dad, they can make one for you.

-Mr. Dan, you stink.

-Hey, Mister Nancy?....

-Ariel's bra broke, so we had to throw it away

-Can I bring some germs to school? At my dad's work they grow on a plate.

- I always get cold after I pee.

- I love Star Wars! I am going to be Tard Spader for Halloween

-You don't have to go to work anymore, because you are expired.

-Teacher: "how did Michelangelo paint the ceiling?" Student:"He had rocket boots!"

-Child 1:"I am going to marry my daddy"

Child 2: "You can't marry your daddy, he's already married to your mommy"

Child 1: "People get divorced"

Child 2: "God says you will go to Hell if you get divorced"

Ahhh, wisdom from a 4yr old. although to be fair, I have included one of my own gems of wisdom from my childhood. Can you guess which one came from me?