Category Archives: memories

things I am glad my mother, father and grandmother taught me…

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Some of these are humorous (but they are things my parents have said), some are serious, but I am thankful for all of them because they are words that have helped, either by giving me great advice, a path to follow, hope, or just making me laugh…and some my dad will swear he never said, but he did.

1. “It always works out.” Words my mother often repeated…anytime we, her children, were upset, feeling sorry for ourselves, angry or hurt. As for myself, this is where my faith in God comes from.
2. “It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.” Something my mother tried to teach us over and over again…something I still haven’t managed to master.
3. You should always do your hair and put on your makeup when going out in public. This is not something I was told specifically, but something I learned watching my mother and grandmother over the years.
4. You should use your best China more often than not.
5. The appropriate silverware for the appropriate course. We had etiquette dinners for our eighth birthdays.
6. That serving Sunday dinner to guests on disposable anything is inappropriate. (And actually, my grandma would say that disposable anything is inappropriate, but I’m not quite that extreme).
7. That, when there are less than six people at the table, it’s inappropriate to start eating if everyone doesn’t have their food (unless those without food tell you to go ahead).
8. How to bake…and that we were worth the time, energy and mess.
9. That water can destroy anything. Random, I know, but extremely useful.
10. Anything worth doing is worth doing well.
11. How to make Swedish pancakes.
12. That you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
13. There is such a thing as hair that is too long.
14. The worst thing you can do is not try, because if you don’t try, the result is no better than if you try and fail. So, you might as well try. This philosophy helped me make cheer leading, sing in audition choirs in both high school and college, be an exchange student, and land a job or two.
15. “The fastest way to get over someone is to get under someone.” Words my dad told my sister after a bad break-up. Obviously, he was kidding…but it was worth a good laugh.
16. “You can marry more money in five minutes than you can make in a lifetime.” (Yes, it’s a joke…well, it’s true, but my dad wasn’t making any kind of suggestions)
17. “It’s just as easy to fall in love with some rich as it is to fall in love with someone poor.” (Same as above, only my mom said this.)
18. When you are cold, the best way to warm up quickly is to clean a bathroom.
19. How to clean a bathroom so the water sheets down the shower walls and there’s no Comet residue on the bathtub.
20. That I can always move home if I need to.
21. How much I am loved.
22. That you should do the right thing for the right reason.
23. That you really do feel better if you make your bed in the morning.
24. How to make a bed with hospital corners.
25. That there really are certain styles, cuts and colors that are more flattering than others.
26. That I meant more to my mom than a perfect house. (She let me splatter and sponge paint my bedroom when I was fifteen. It was peach, turquoise, hot pink and light pink…all to match this really bright bedding she’d purchased for me. I hope I will be such a good mother to my children some day).
27. That no matter what I do, or what someone else does, my family is my family.
28. That no matter how little I have, I can always give.
29. That we were worth the time and energy necessary to coach (or assistant coach) our soccer, swimming, volleyball, softball, and basketball teams. (Yes, my mom was amazing). Oh, and be our Brownie and Girl Scout leader.
30. How to drive while putting on mascara. (Mom)
31. That, after a certain age, you should always have lipstick on. (And I’m not quite there yet, plus my lips are tattooed and I always have gloss on, so I think that counts.)
32. How to make the best bar-b-que-d chicken ever.
33. To love all people, no matter what color or nationality, no matter how rich or poor.
34. That traveling is always worth it.
35. That you are never too old to learn something new.
36. And the last (and most important for now), blasting Neil Diamond while driving the Party Van with the windows down really can make you feel better.

Okay…I know there’s more. But I think this is a good place to stop.

pretty purple (and blue and green) butterfly…

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If I had one wish (besides the obvious “World Peace”, I would wish that I could be a professional hobbyist (not to be confused with lobbyist…a profession that would require way to much commitment on my part). I would be so super successful. Between the voice lessons, cooking, cake decorating, running, writing, blogging, music listening, reading, photographing (I’ve decided, after drooling over KP’s camera yesterday, that a digital SLR will be my next big–correction–huge investment), hiking, scuba diving, traveling, makeup applying (although, I did do that professionally for a while), etc, etc, etc, I would never run out of things to do. Is there such a thing as a professional amateur? Hmm, how could I market that? Better question, how could I finance it?

In any case, here’s the first attempt at cake decorating…at least in a class setting. I must admit that I was quite pleased with the results.

Before…
And after…

I have to thank Jen for letting me borrow the cake pan and other supplies. And I must thank my mother for the countless occasions on which she baked dozens of sugar cookies, whipped pounds of powdered sugar and shortening into frosting and let us (and often several of our friends) make a mess decorating our hearts out.

Oh, another hobby/amateur profession (yep, I know that’s an oxymoron) for the list…award acceptance speech writing. Ha ha ha! Do you ever write something, then read it and think, “Wow, I’m an even bigger dork than I thought I was”?

and there was music…

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Music is really so powerful. I love it. I love words put to music. I love the feelings that different songs evoke. Sometimes it is the song itself, sometimes the memory associated with listening to the song. But no matter where the feelings come from, I think one would be hard-pressed to argue away the power of a song. I’m sure I’ve written about this before, because it is one of my most favorite subjects.

Music has changed who I am. A simple melody can take me into memories and the feelings are so powerful, I feel like I’m transported back to those experiences. During some of the most difficult times in my life, music has been my respite, my solace. When I have needed to just “let the feelings flow” in order to get through something hard, music has catalyzed the emotional outpouring. I wonder if everyone feels as I do.

I love that one song can bring me to tears, while another can kindle elation once felt while listening to it. The list of emotions I have felt while listening to different songs is incredible; happiness, gratitude, regret, angst, loneliness, joy, grief, anger, heartache, anguish, delight, bliss, elation, love, peace, sorrow, rapture, wonder…and the list goes on.

Tonight, I created a new musical memory. Sarah, Richard and I (heretofore known as “the roommates” or “roomies” for short) went to see Young Love in concert. I use the phrase “in concert” loosely. We did pay $10 and they were playing live at Kirby Court (this great small, I repeat, small venue in SLC). I don’t know that I had listened to their music ever (their first album was released two weeks ago Tuesday), but I am always up for good live music, especially when it’s a smaller crowd. Sarah burned me a cd (she’s the one who decided we should go to this concert), so we listened to it the whole way up. We got there just as the opening band was finishing.

It was fantastic. The music is a sort of blend between rock, punk, and electronica. The last song they played was “Find a New Way”, which is featured on J. Lo’s new show about dancing (I think it’s like American Idol, dance style). Anyway, Dan Keyes (front man) told us all that we were going to dance…and so we did (not that we hadn’t been before that, but we rocked it hard…yes, I am 29 and I just said that). It was so fun! It’s been a long time (too long) since I danced like that and just let loose. And then we blasted it in the car with the sunroof open (and the heater blasting) as we drove to Starbucks.

I had so much fun and now, that song (and the whole album really), will forever remind me of my fantastic night with the roomies.

And on the whole emotional side of lyrics, here are the lyrics to Schuyler Fisk’s “Lying to You”. What a great song. And which one of us hasn’t felt like this at some point in our lives, after having our heart broken?

I don’t know you.
I don’t love you.
I don’t think about you.
I’m not breaking.
I’m not torn up.
I don’t think about you.

You don’t look good in my bed.
I’ll take back every word I said.
You don’t know me like you think you do.

Truth be told, I’m just lying to you.
I’m just lying to you.

I’m not nervous.
I’m not worried.
I don’t think about you.
I’m not lonely.
I don’t miss you.
I don’t think about you.

You’re not ever on my mind.
I don’t need you in my life.
No, I don’t need you like you think I do.

Truth be told, well, I’m just lying to you.
Well, I’m just lying to you.

I’m just afraid
Of what you might say,
Of what you’re thinking now.

I’m in pieces
And you’re still speechless.
So, where does that leave us now?

I don’t know you.
I don’t love you.
I don’t think about you.
I’m not breaking.
I’m not torn up.
I don’t think about you.

Truth be told, I’m just lying to you.
I’m just lying to you.
I’ve been crying for you.
And I can’t keep lying to you.
I love music! I love how there is a song to express any feeling and a feeling to go with any song.

Winter Saturdays…

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Today, being Saturday and being that I am still in training for this half-marathon, I headed down to the track to meet Dianne and Ruth, my running partners on the days that I feel I can keep up. Well, the track and I had a bit of a disagreement. I think that running should be enjoyable…the track does not. So, after running a mile with Ruth and Dianne, I had to go. I would rather run on a treadmill for two hours than around a track 77 times (11 miles on the short track…the long track was closed). It’s a beautiful day here in Provo, so rather than heading to the gym, I decided to head to the Provo River Trail and see how it went.

There’s something that feels so hard-core about running outside when it’s 25 degrees and your feet are crunching over snow on the trail. The run was great (well, the first 8 miles). The river was beautiful. The air was clear. The sun was shining. The trail wasn’t crowded. I loved it. It reminded me of a perfect day I spent in Spokane, Washington about two years ago. If you ever have a reason to go to Spokane, do it. It’s a beautiful city with a great river.

Anyway, as I was saying, my run was great, except for the part where I forgot that there wouldn’t be a drinking fountain and didn’t bring water with me. And the part where, at the end of the run, as I was cooling down, I ate it on black ice. Good times! And yes, there were witnesses. Thankfully, most people out on a trail in the winter time have fallen at least once, or at least that’s what they told me to make me feel better.

I haven’t run outside for about two months. And, having lived in Provo 5+ years during college, I was glad to have finally made it down the south end of the Provo River. It’s amazing. There are big trees and there was a section where the stripped brush was coated in ice. And in someone’s backyard, there was a little hose spraying a small stream of water, and this little bit of water, over time, has turned into this amazing sort of ice sculpture. I wish that I had a camera with me, but I’m sure the picture (given my skills) would not have done justice to it. There was a small sign posted asking people not to break of icicles becaue the sculpture was not stable, but I broke one off anyway (a small one) and ate it–hey, I was thirsty. Whether running or walking or biking, being outside is amazing. There are so many things we don’t see when we are driving around and there are so many places that cars won’t go.

And to top off my great morning, when I finally finished my run and headed home (hand throbbing, knees hurting, completely dehydrate – yes it’s worth it), I was driving up the hill to my house and I passed my cute grandma coming down the hill with her neighbor. He’s almost blind and very old and she takes him shopping every Saturday. My 82-year-old grandma (her birthday’s next week) taking her neighbor shopping because he can’t do it on his own. If that isn’t enough to make you smile, I’m sad for you. You must be a very depressed person.

And now, my morning is over and it’s time to take a shower, clean and do some homework. And life rolls on…

the world of the written word

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One of the most valuable possessions I’ve acquired over the years is a love of reading. I didn’t always love it, nor was I a very fast reader…then something happened. My sixth-grade “core” teacher informed us that we would have to read something like 1,000 pages a quarter. (I’m sure it wasn’t that much, but it might as well have been for how slowly I read). And then she proceeded to tell us that we could not read more than one book in a series. How could that be? The only books I could even tolerate were those of “The Baby-sitters Club” series, but she was trying to tell me that I could only read one of those. I thought I would die. I couldn’t do it. There was no way. But what were my options?

Even at that young age (and I was a young sixth-grader–only 10), I knew the power of communication. It’s fascinating to remember back to this conversation and how old I felt. I didn’t feel like what I see now as a 10-year-old. I was a negotiator and it was time to negotiate. I went up to my teacher, Mrs. Hoffaker, and explained to her my situation. I was a slow reader and the only way I could ever manage the reading, which I really wanted to do (kudos to myself for appropriately brown-nosing even at that young age), was to read more than one book from the series. Don’t ask me why I didn’t have my mom talk to my teacher. Probably because she would’ve told me to do it myself (another story for another time–one that has equally affected my life in positive ways). In any case, I didn’t and so I found myself having this discussion with my teacher.

I don’t know why my life has worked this way, but I’m certainly grateful that it has. I got what I wanted. Perhaps it was the big crocodile tears streaming down my face as I negotiated (the key to a good negotiation when you are 10, or 25, if you are negotiating with my dad–which is convenient since I rarely have control of whether or not I cry), or maybe it was just the wisdom of a sixth-grade teacher who knew that this moment would make or break my love of reading, but either way, the decision she made proved to be a pivotal moment in my life. I was determined, being that she had made an exception for me, to do all of my reading, and I did.

What I discovered during the process is that I love the world of words. I love being able to create the scenery and characters in my mind. The stories come to life. I love how much more knowledgeable I can become by reading a book. I love ideas. I love words. I love my ever-broadening vocabulary. I love being informed. There is nothing about reading I don’t like. Sometimes the stories are a little slow, or the writing is not my style, but even then, I still enjoy reading because you can always learn something.

While moving has become increasingly difficult with the boxes of books I now possess, I can’t bear to part with them. Each one has been an experience. Just looking at my books makes me happy. I know people like libraries and how nice it is to not have to buy a book, and the truth is that there are only a handful of books that I reread, but I like knowing the option is there. And I like being able to underline passages that move me. Not only do I want to own my books, I like them to be hard-cover. It’s true. I’m kind of a book snob. Oh well, there are worse things I could be.

And one of the best things about a love of reading is that you are never bored or lonely. I know that may sound like what some lonely, old, spinster, cat lady might say, but it’s true, nevertheless. And thank goodness, since my dad’s wife’s daughter (I refuse to refer to her as my “step-sister”) is in town which means that I am stuck in my little apartment over the garage this weekend (not that I can’t go into the house, but the one drawback of having an extensive vocabulary is that you often want to use it, especially when provoked, and that would not be a good idea considering that I am living in my dad’s house for next-to-nothing rent).