tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14973185129560052012024-02-21T06:03:08.976-07:00elferingewortfinding the magic in the every day *Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.comBlogger328125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-23097773581449460572015-03-03T23:56:00.000-07:002015-03-04T00:05:52.852-07:00March 3rd: Reflections Over a FrostyIt was a little over a year ago that I packed up as much as would fit in my truck, said a whirlwind of goodbyes, and turned north, the seasons changing around me, a year in three days as I left balmy desert for frigid mountain.<br />
<br />
It was exactly a year ago that I found myself in a Wendy's, dipping fries in my Frosty, clinging to ritual in the face of a newness I wouldn't start to process for another month at least.
<br />
<br />
I've spent that whole year trying to find the right words to tell you, all of you, how much I love you.<br />
<br />
But where do you find the words to tell everyone you've ever taken into your heart, from your high school Spanish partners to your brother- and sister-friends, from those guys in your algebra class that you never really knew to your parents, that you still think about them often and quietly hope that they're happy?
<br />
<br />
As I was packing up my possessions all those many months ago, even as my mind and heart were shutting down into survival mode, there was a mantra running through my veins, a message I was desperately trying to broadcast with every fierce farewell.<br />
<br />
It was a line from a poem by E. E. Cummings:<br />
<br />
<div id="yui_3_16_0_1_1425397463846_8618" style="color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em;">
<i><a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/179622" target="_blank">i carry your heart with me(i carry it in</a></i></div>
<div id="yui_3_16_0_1_1425397463846_8620" style="color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em;">
<i><a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/179622" target="_blank">my heart)</a></i></div>
<div id="yui_3_16_0_1_1425397463846_8620" style="color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em;">
<i><br /></i></div>
I wasn't just wishing it to the people in Arizona as I said my goodbyes. I was sending it out to every friend I've ever had.
<br />
<br />
I know I haven't been the faithful correspondent I promised I would be. Some people have slipped away with the years and miles. But, you have not slipped away from my heart.
<br />
<br />
<i>You have not slipped away from my heart</i>.
<br />
<br />
Rexburg hasn't exactly been what I thought it would be. Expectations I didn't know I had have been disappointed. Dreams I was afraid to form have been more than realized. I've learned a lot about myself--and very little. I've discovered unlooked for strengths--and unanticipated weaknesses.
<br />
<br />
March 3rd is Grandma Ellington's birthday. She loved Wendy's. She would dip her French fries in her chocolate Frosty. I'm not big on a lot of calendar holidays. But today, I had Wendy's for dinner.
<br />
<br />
One of the hard things about finding the right words to say to my friends, to those who were my friends when they didn't realize it, to my family, is that that list is ever growing. There are even more of you now.
<br />
<br />
I want you to know, you who has considered me a friend, you who has wished that I was, the poetry pulsing through me, carrying me along, only grows more true: I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart).
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-86353600132971906962014-06-05T19:42:00.000-07:002014-06-05T19:42:28.662-07:00The Books Are AliveAn interesting phenomenon happens every time I pack up and move.<br />
<br />
When I left for college, I took with me my favorite books and a few I hadn't had a chance to read yet. They fit unobtrusively into the nooks and crannies of a laundry basket otherwise filled to the brim with odd bits like hangers, pillows, and over very old, very loved teddy bear.<br />
<br />
As my freshman year wore on, the books claimed more and more territory along the back of my desk, and by the time I moved away a few months ago, I was leaving behind three full bookcases of novels and hoarded textbooks.<br />
<br />
In packing for Idaho, I was even more selective in choosing which books would come. Since I had no idea how much room I would have, and because everything I was taking had to fit in the bed of my truck, I brought only the books I thought I couldn't get by without. Along came the compiled novels of Jane Austen, paperbacks of The Lord of the Rings, one book that was a gift from my brother, a few church books, and Harry Potter <i>en español</i> (though I limited myself to the four I hadn't finished yet).<br />
<br />
Just since I arrived a little over three months ago, my collection has multiplied until I'm not sure where I would fit even one more book on the little shelf I have for them. I even gave in and shelved them all two deep!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0eGV7HhHvjUOcPZ5IPMWteRJVh_vyVRkktuJ14G32owLAaVK8YPyL_4t_Zc-DipV9Se-nKeLxYA3ynZNiK1rAoApub7iOPOuGf_rcqqzOmnrVwqtGnEaI-teEkZGsjjxB_dpR7zSDzX0/s1600/2014-06-05_20-32-48_504.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></div>
<br />
I'm coming to believe my library is a living organism constantly undergoing mitosis. It's like a fungus or tribbles or troll meat. (For your convenience, those references were arranged in ascending order of nerdiness.)<br />
<br />
I almost wish I could be exasperated with myself, but I'm too fond of books to really mind. Besides, who would I skip?<br />
<br />
My latest additions were all absolutely necessary. Working at the library has its perks. The other day, I came home with an armful of books, not a one of which was printed more recently than 1954. Who am I to say no to such a beautiful copy of one of my favorite works?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdstHjvffUSB-huI1yEDutJWKEGbQAjO1cM48GzPZY7DtQi_-GHFmArmjVNMhzhJ1SakUqrz4LZ81eecXnOc2BIgGDd45xijdkioLgT_DQDkKdRzI-8n0LVjm3dUJN6TSonDq3tB4gO1I/s1600/2014-06-05_18-35-13_957.jpg" height="400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="225" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">It even smells divine.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Going through all the old books the other day, I started remembering the books my mom had while I was growing up. I always loved the oldest best (most especially a chunky, faded blue volume of children's poetry). I didn't always read them or even know what they were about, but they were so gorgeous and smelled so nice. I've loved that smell longer than I can remember. As I was picking out the books I wanted a few days ago, I kept imagining my children falling in love with these same old copies, exploring the shelves as if they were a misty jungle ripe for discovery, as I once did with my mother's books. I can imagine them treasuring the yellowed pages and old typeface, breathing in that exotic smell like oxygen.<br />
<br />
I'm excited to someday see all my books reunited, gathered in from Missouri and Arizona and Idaho, and wherever else the Lord decides to send me. I don't even know how many I have! I'd like to see my library someday, that part of my dream life where I live in that little house with the pale walls and the big windows, surrounded by the books that, in their way, chronicle my whole life.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I'm amused at having a transcontinental library. Now, where am I going to put that next book?Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-77277373584285653112014-05-31T14:43:00.000-07:002014-05-31T14:43:49.190-07:00On Reading and WritingA few days ago, I read a whole book, start to finish, all 344 pages. (It was a YA book called <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13574417-alienated" target="_blank">Alienated</a></i>, if you're wondering.) It's been a long time since I've devoured a book like that. That summer in Hamilton before I started my junior year, when the only people I knew in town were the librarian and Eli Green (who spent most of the summer working on his dreadlocks under the gaze of a wax statue of James Cash Penney), is the last time I have a clear memory of spending each day with a new book, the sun streaming in my window until that final stretch when only lamplight will do and there's no turning back, only pressing on until you hit cover.<br />
<br />
Reading so voraciously has always had two effects on me.<br />
<br />
First, the best books leave their voices in my mind. Whenever I read, say, Shakespeare or Austen or Dickens, really read them, lose myself in them, it's like I've been speaking a foreign language for a while, and it takes my brain a few hours or days to lose the accent. Like that semester in college when I took a solid three hours of Spanish on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I always thought in Spanish for the rest of the afternoon. I love this side effect of reading. The world seems a little grander when it all turns into Shakespeare in your head, the edges of everything gilt in a special glow.<br />
<br />
The second effect of reading so much is that I think about writing more. Like how browsing through DeviantArt always makes me itch to draw.<br />
<br />
I used to define myself by reading and by the desire to write. Looking back, I never actually did write much, though. Some poems in high school, the opening paragraphs of a dozen different stories that never seemed to survive conception. I did write a lot of essays throughout my academic career. I prided myself on writing them all last minute, exulting in the self-perceived elegance of my thrown together turns of phrase. "Look at the beauty of this thing I made! It took me no time at all! Envy my apparent natural talent!"<br />
<br />
How foolish! How conceited! Recently, I've begun to fear that what modest talent I may have had has wilted beyond revival due to neglect. There's also the lurking apprehension that maybe in curing my hurts, I cured the poetry in me, too. I don't know how my recipients feel about them, but I'm even dissatisfied with the letters I write. My journal entries all quickly devolve into triteness and redundancy, which, though private, still leave me somehow disappointed in myself. I crave a kind of classic, graceful beauty in my phraseology. Am I unrealistically yearning for some literary star?<br />
<br />
I used to write for the attention, or to express some painful emotion. I don't need that anymore. Now, I'm wondering if I can still write without insecurity as my motivation. Can my writing still be beautiful, even poetic?<br />
<br />
I don't know.<br />
<br />
Let's find out.Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-40495450908262861782013-08-19T05:00:00.000-07:002013-08-19T05:00:01.069-07:00My Dream Life<i>A few weeks ago, a friend challenged me to imagine my dream life. Herein lies the unedited stream-of-consciousness answer to her thought-provoking question.</i><br />
<br />
I want to cook. Whether it be exotic or homey, it will all be from scratch, and my friends (or my children's friends) will be welcome to pop over whenever they like. They can chat or read or do and say nothing at all while I finish up in the kitchen. There will always be hot chocolate on or tea, or a pitcher of fresh lemonade in the fridge.<br />
<br />
I want my home to be a place where people feel like they can be completely themselves. They can talk or be silent if they want to, and it's all the same because we're together and we love each other. Like with Sarahbeth. Just that complete comfortableness.<br />
<br />
And light! I want my walls to all be pale, soft colors with plenty of white everywhere. I want a home full of windows that catch the natural light and make the place glow. And I want people to feel light and peace when they're there.<br />
<br />
I want a quiet home but a happy one. No shouting. No yelling. No screaming. Like David O. McKay said, the only reason to raise your voice will be if there's a fire. None of this bellowing conversations through doors and down hallways. There will be a spirit of patience and courtesy.<br />
<br />
Laughter and singing and the outward expressions of love. A powerful Gentleness pervading everything.<br />
<br />
Books everywhere!<br />
<br />
Black & white movies.<br />
<br />
Plants lining every windowsill.<br />
<br />
A little house in a big yard where we never cut the grass unless we want to. Green, green grass. And trees. And flowers. Mmmm...trumpet vines and lilacs and columbine.<br />
<br />
Small town.<br />
<br />
Dogs.<br />
<br />
A little house, but an open one. No cramped quarters.<br />
<br />
Like an old-fashioned cottage with old-fashioned people and old-fashioned domesticity, and rocking chairs on the porch.<br />
<br />
Somewhere with rainstorms. Oh! give me somewhere with rainstorms.<br />
Somewhere where the earth brightens in the spring and gets lazy in the summer and crisp and delicious in the autumn and cozy, snuggle-by-the-fire in the winter.<br />
<br />
Travel. So much travel. Europe, Europe, Europe. But always with home waiting at the other end.<br />
<br />
Home. Capital-H Home.<br />
<br />
No one in a hurry.<br />
<br />
Peace and quiet and serenity and gentle affection.<br />
<br />
<i>This dream life of mine is idyllic and may seem unreasonably idealistic, but I do not naively expect it to materialize. There will be storms; I will sail my ship through them. There will be monsters; I will tame them. This is not something I hope to find by chance. It is something I will build.</i>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-20003847961405980042013-08-16T02:30:00.000-07:002013-08-16T10:51:50.329-07:00I Just Wasn't Made for These TimesIt turns out there's this thing called the iPhone Photography Awards, and looking at this year's winners today, I got to thinking about laundry.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47xZAwgOWFz6U5zzYl52qIoH4mn9kQXPVO03Qba5hJB9dUnsmd00rCT7R1DnVrkJdfrqf74ENA1vg-u_7RF087g-uj2AXrl5nuj5MqTXckSNu68P7BK765BTCqjifqy3UWZq_rsxCSqw/s320/laundry.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="309" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's so dreamy...<br />
(<a href="http://www.ippawards.com/?project=2013-winners" target="_blank">gallery of the victors</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But more on that in a bit.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Beach Boys have this song, "I Just Wasn't Made for These Times." Actually, I had no idea it was by The Beach Boys until I started writing this. (Actually, I didn't know it was a song, either.) The line was just a snatch of quote caught in my mind, something remembered, I'm fairly sure, from the title of a TV show episode, though I couldn't say which show. It surfaced on the ocean of my mind as something entirely relevant, and as I like to know what I'm quoting when I quote things, I popped it into Google and found this:</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/NR7_TbMIVnA" width="420"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A very Beach Boys-sounding song to be sure, and while my heart is very much in line with the chorus and the title, our whys are very different. They're singing about "look[ing] for places / Where new things might be found," but I feel like a stranger in this new place they were looking for all those years ago.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>I just wasn't made for these times.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've always felt I was an old soul, but lately I've been fitting the pieces together and realizing just how deep the trueness of that goes.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
For the most part, my tastes and talents are better suited for a bygone age (although, admittedly, I do rather love TV and Pinterest). </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Take, for instance, <b>laundry</b>. (Half a dozen people just smiled. They know what's coming.) I'm funny about my laundry. I don't like putting shirts or pants in the dryer (which leaves little enough the energy cost isn't worth running the rest through, unless I've a mess of towels to be dried, or a blanket). I'll spare you the myriad reasons as to why I'm anti-dryer (maybe another time, hm?), but the fact of the matter is, I don't just like hang drying my clothes, <i>I like hanging my clothes up to dry</i>. As in, I want a clothesline outside and an old coffee can full of clothespins for a dryer. I thoroughly enjoy hanging my clothes out on the line, and as the iPhone Photography Awards demonstrate, the effect can be quite pretty.* <b>I would rather tediously pin my wash to a line than dry my clothes in any other way.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21.328125px;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;">Likewise, I would rather hand whip my cream than use an electric mixer (though I have had to admit defeat on occasion).</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;">I aspire to cook everything from scratch.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;"><a href="http://youtu.be/FNBhhPmFDYw" target="_blank">Sweeping! <b>I love sweeping.</b></a> It has been brought to my attention that there are people who vacuum their hard floors, but that just boggles my mind. Hand me a broom and stand back, and forgive me if I hum <a href="http://youtu.be/-F5qgEBHAVM?t=25s" target="_blank">that dreamy tune from <i>Cinderella</i></a> while I work. Someday, I shall have a house with all hard floors (wood, tile, what-have-you) scattered with area rugs (I rather detest this whole "wall-to-wall carpeting" fad). I may even experiment with beating my rugs instead of vacuuming (that one's a little less certain). </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;">It's not just that I enjoy these things or that I find them therapeutic and satisfying. I have a natural gift for <b>Skills All Young Ladies Should Have, 1875 Edition</b>. For instance, in sewing class in high school, I absolutely mangled the paper outlines we were supposed to practice feeding through a sewing machine, but as soon as I got some real cloth to work with, you wouldn't have known I'd just started. My cross-stitching, while not expert, is neat and comely and looks nothing like the disaster a first attempt in fifteen years should resemble. On my first go, I took to knitting like a duck to water. It only took me two crepes to figure out the trick to those fiddly little French flapjacks. My penmanship only grows more and more lovely. I was actually taught cursive a year early in elementary school because my print was so good. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;">Maybe all this goes to show is that I'm good at following directions, but I think it's more than that. <b>These things, they just <i>felt</i> right from the start.</b> They fit.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;">The modern world seems to want me to be ambitious and career-oriented (even in LDS circles where marriage and families and traditional roles are lauded and encouraged, with "encouraged" being a mild term). </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 21.328125px;">"What kind of job do you want?" "What are you going to do with your degree?" <a href="http://youtu.be/xLnTWxpTQt4" target="_blank"><b>Frankly, my dear...</b></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My temperament ill suits me for playing the part of a modern woman. I'm a homebody with an urge to nurture and the skill set to make a place a home. That's not to say that I'm going to wait around for some bloke to make me a housewife. No. While I dream of love and companionship, <a href="http://youtu.be/HMcQKz3H0yY" target="_blank">I will build my quiet life now</a>, with what I have.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The world grossly undervalues things like quiet and softness.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I just wasn't made for these times.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*You know, the more I look at that photo, the less sure I am that that's what's going on, but danged if I can figure out why all those shirts (are they shirts?) appear to be buttoned together. Laundry is what came to mind, so laundry it is.</span></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-5833610433470429402013-07-25T19:50:00.001-07:002013-07-25T19:50:58.142-07:00They Say It's Good to Have GoalsWhen I graduated college a few months ago, I was turned out into the world with no goals to speak of and a rather fuzzy idea of who I was that was the result of too little sleep, too many essays, and not enough "me" time.<br />
<br />
Then came a period of panic as I tried to remember what I <i>liked</i> to do and to figure out what I <i>wanted</i> to do. It's all well and good to stand up at a reception for outstanding graduates and tell a bunch of strangers' parents that you just want to be happy when you grow up, but it's quite another thing to know what it is that will make you happy.<br />
<br />
What with <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Invinciblemusical" target="_blank">musicals</a> and summer institute and <a href="http://youtu.be/QUQsqBqxoR4" target="_blank">being brave</a>, this summer has been quite an interesting ride so far. Best of all, I think, once all that settled down, I found myself remembering how to be me again quite easily. It turns out all I needed was to feel again that old summer feeling of long, lazy days at home reading novels.<br />
<br />
Of course, this summer is different in several points. Most notable, in my opinion, is that I've been making an effort to get up every morning and have a real day. None of this sleeping in until noon and spending the afternoon/evening in my pajamas watching day-long marathons of <i>Wife Swap</i> or <i>America's Next Top Model </i>or whatever show I've taken a fancy to this year on cable. I try to do "productive" things with my day, things like crocheting, sketching, and brushing up on my Spanish grammar. I'm slowly working toward <b>being a morning person</b>. How's that for a goal for you?<br />
<br />
You wouldn't know it to look at my life thus far, but just before dawn is my favorite time of day. I love the greyness of the light, how clean and new everything feels, the way the birds sing their brightest, the slow burgeoning into full day. Sunrise is so much more gradual than sunset in all the best ways.<br />
<br />
I guess that brings me to my real point: my goals. It turns out I've discovered some, and I'm very much in love with them.<br />
<br />
Aside from the whole "morning person" thing, I'd like to <b>become a substitute teacher</b>. <a href="http://ficusandwillow.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Kylie</a> put the idea in my head, and after my aunt suggested it, too, it started to solidify into a real desire. It would give me a taste of teaching (sort of) and maybe help me decide, after all the hemming and hawing and naysaying, whether I really want to go down that road. Besides, it's something to work toward, and that makes me feel all warm and happy inside.<br />
<br />
I've already completed my first step toward becoming a substitute: find a part time job so I can save up the money for the application process on my own. Last week, I scored a position at <a href="http://downeastbasics.com/" target="_blank">DownEast Basics</a>, and I couldn't be happier. It was a great object with me in looking for a job to find one at an establishment I like so my work experience would be a happy one. Did I ever see myself working at a clothing store? Not so much. Do I see myself totally loving working at this particular clothing store? Very much yes.<br />
<br />
My bigger goal, one I discovered earlier in the summer after a conversation with my bishop and have been treasuring up ever since, is to <b>take a trip to England</b>. Most especially, I decided this morning, to visit Charing Cross Road. Back before all the self-rediscovery and short term goals, I came up with this hazy, definite-ish plan to find a job and save up the money to get myself back to London as soon as ever I could. Visions of taking the train to Bath and Stratford-upon-Avon and maybe even Manchester and Edinburgh have been floating in my head for months.<br />
<br />
This morning, I started reading <i>The Last Little Blue Envelope</i>, and apparently, <i>Charing Cross Road is one long avenue of bookstores</i>. I don't know how I didn't discover this before. Last time I was in London (all three glorious days), my greatest desire was secretly to visit a bookstore. That never happened during my ten-day whirlwind high school tour of Europe, but now that I'm grown up, by golly, I will <i>make</i> it happen! I may just spend a week working my way down the one street if it suits my fancy. And hey, Charing Cross Road also has that location-of-the-Leaky-Cauldron angle working for it. Also, <a href="http://www.foyles.co.uk/bookshop-charing-cross" target="_blank">Foyles</a>. Why did nobody tell me about Foyles?<br />
<br />
Little did I imagine, lo, those two months ago, that I would feel so empowered and directionful so soon. I love the sunshiny feeling that is pervading my life right now. I love who I am, where I am, and where I'm going to go.<br />
<br />
What are some of your goals?Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-85597689198444398472013-06-14T12:05:00.000-07:002013-06-14T12:06:16.584-07:00LaddersNovember was a long time ago. Another life ago. Many lifetimes ago. Another person writes to you now than wrote to you then. But really, that's the way this writing has always been if you but had eyes to see it.<br />
<br />
Why did I stop writing? It felt forced. There was too much to say. I didn't know how to explain. I couldn't keep going on as I had when I was no longer as I was.<br />
<br />
Why have I waited so long to come back? The longer I waited, the more there was to say. But, a huge part of it is that I've mostly outgrown the need for digital validation. I've been content to share what I had to share with individuals instead of casting it out into the universe for all to see and laud. But, that doesn't quite explain it, either.<br />
<br />
For reasons unknown, there's been a lot of talk of ladders in my life lately. Drew wrote a ladder flirting scene into <i><a href="https://www.facebook.com/Invinciblemusical" target="_blank">Invincible</a></i> ("Don't say anything. It will only escalate!"). Someone shared with me <a href="http://www.katilda.com/2011/12/dating-ladder-theory.html" target="_blank">a metaphor about ladders and dating</a>. And then, just when I needed it most, someone quoted a Longfellow poem. I've never been able to resist a good poem, so I found the rest of it.<br />
<br />
Every once in a while, we stumble across something that, in that moment, is relevant to us in every conceivable way (and some inconceivable). Yesterday, last night, as though guided by the hand of God (and I think maybe he was), an old friend reached out to me. And then he quoted this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"The Ladder of St. Augustine" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> That of our vices we can frame</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A ladder, if we will but tread</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Beneath our feet each deed of shame!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All common things, each day's events,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> That with the hour begin and end,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our pleasures and our discontents,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Are rounds by which we may ascend.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The low desire, the base design,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> That makes another's virtues less;</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The revel of the ruddy wine,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> And all occasions of excess;</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The longing for ignoble things;</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The strife for triumph more than truth;</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The hardening of the heart, that brings</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Irreverence for the dreams of youth;</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> That have their root in thoughts of ill;</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Whatever hinders or impedes</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The action of the nobler will; —</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All these must first be trampled down</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Beneath our feet, if we would gain</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the bright fields of fair renown</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The right of eminent domain.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We have not wings, we cannot soar;</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> But we have feet to scale and climb</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">By slow degrees, by more and more,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The cloudy summits of our time.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The mighty pyramids of stone</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When nearer seen, and better known,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Are but gigantic flights of stairs.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The distant mountains, that uprear</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Their solid bastions to the skies,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Are crossed by pathways, that appear</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> As we to higher levels rise.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The heights by great men reached and kept</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Were not attained by sudden flight,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But they, while their companions slept,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Were toiling upward in the night.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Standing on what too long we bore</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We may discern — unseen before —</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> A path to higher destinies,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nor doom the irrevocable Past</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> As wholly wasted, wholly vain,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If, rising on its wrecks, at last</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> To something nobler we attain.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That's why I haven't written. I've started to. I've started writing posts about waltzing, love, depression, Helm's Deep, my college graduation, linguistics, and texting. I've begun a dozen deep, thoughtful metaphors with no expiration date and no pressure to finish them before they became irrelevant. With each, I got busy, or I just didn't feel like writing, and by the time I came back to them, they just didn't seem to matter so much anymore. By the time I came back to them, I was seeing them with different eyes.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
Over the past year, I have been in the midst of the most extreme metamorphosis I have undergone in my 22 years of life. Maybe it's been longer than that. That's the funny thing about change: there's no telling just where the end or the beginning is. I feel like a new person every month, every week, sometimes every day.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
Sometimes, the change has been exultant; I felt like a meteor hurtling through space. Other times, the change has been torturous; I was dragging myself up a mountain with my bare hands.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
And I'm not done.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
With graduation have come a lot of questions about what I'm going to do with my life. Everyone wants to know what job I'm going to get. That's not what matters to me. I know exactly what I'm going to do with my life: I'm going to serve God. I'm going to continue growing into what he wants me to be. I'm going to keep climbing higher. He is more important to me than anything. What I want most is to have a family and to do His will. Neither is very lucrative, but lucre is such a trivial thing. </div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
My God has always been the most important thing to me. I love Him. I trust Him. And He's going to take care of me.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
As C.S. Lewis wrote, "Further up and further in!"*</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*It really should be "farther," but it's no good editing quotes.</span></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-20011881717178306102012-11-10T21:28:00.000-07:002012-11-10T21:28:29.877-07:00PulchritudinalityI am beautiful.<br />
<br />
For a long time, I didn't believe this. I didn't think I was ugly, but I didn't think I was particularly pretty, either. I liked my face (or thought I did), but I didn't think anyone else had any reason to. Sometimes, there would be moments when I could see my own beauty, but they were rare and fleeting.<br />
<br />
But lately...I can see it. I look in the mirror, and for a second, I don't recognize myself. But then I do, and I smile, and I feel it. I feel my beauty.<br />
<br />
What's more, I've started to believe people when they say they can see it, too.<br />
<br />
It's like I'm halfway through my movie now, and I've finally undergone the transformation from gawky misfit (played by a stunning A-lister whom the production's makeup team struggled to make look average) into head-turning homecoming queen, only it's a transformation that has taken place deep inside my heart.<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b><a href="http://youtu.be/tPnK39ax_AM" target="_blank">"Hanging by a Moment" by Lifehouse</a><br />
<b>Reading:</b> ...I'm sorry, what? I can't form coherent thoughts while Lifehouse is playing.Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-12812895819887139422012-09-16T03:57:00.002-07:002012-09-16T03:58:53.606-07:00In Which I Enjoy Food, Dancing, and the Company of FriendsWhat a full two days!<br />
<br />
Friday morning was luxuriously slow and was entirely wasted in getting ready for the day: showering, eating breakfast, shaving my legs. That sort of thing.<br />
<br />
My day really began at noon with a devotional commemorating the fifth anniversary of the dedication of the Tempe Institute. I sat with Shantel, Kira, and the inimitable <a href="http://mannadarlin.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Amanda</a>, who seems to have a special talent for making me laugh.<br />
<br />
After the free tostadas provided for those who attended the devotional, I went to Walmart, still all dressed up in church clothes, where I overheard two little girls admiring my silver heels.<br />
<br />
I spent most of the afternoon baking homemade macaroni and cheese for a house of boys who frequently let me hang out with them until 2 in the morning and are constantly feeding me PopTarts and reverse-engineered Otis Spunkmeyer cookies. I though it was time to give a little something back, especially to <a href="http://www.drewnicholsmusic.com/music/Home.html" target="_blank">Drew</a>, who has become like a brother to me. Seriously, it's Facebook official. I suspect the boys are going to spend the next week hiding the leftovers from each other. *ahem* <i><a href="http://hallo-ichbins.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Matt</a>.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Around 9, Drew, Matt, and I met up with a group of friends at Paragon, which is this amazing dance place. It's hours upon hours of nothing but Latin, ballroom, and swing. I got to practice some of the dances I've been learning in my dance class this semester (that's a thing that I'm doing) and learn the basics of some new ones. I'm pretty sure I rocked the cha-cha. My teacher's certainly spent enough time on it in class. I mean, would the world end if he taught us a little more waltz? It's not fair that, in all the weeks school's been in session, he's only spent half an hour on the dance that has more than lived up to all my wildest expectations. Not that the cha-cha's not awesome. I love you, cha-cha. We stayed until midnight.<br />
<br />
This morning, I was woken up around 10:30 by someone small and furry scratching on my door and whining. When I finally let the princess in, she lay on my floor and panted for three hours. That dog is such a prima donna. Someone mowing the lawn is no reason to spaz out.<br />
<br />
Productivity today comprised of renewing my library card and getting in touch with my bank.<br />
<br />
Around five, I headed over to the Institute once again for <a href="http://alittlerambling.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Laura</a>'s baptism. I was incredibly honored that she asked me to come early and to be with her and help her every step of the way. I love you, meimei. I'm so, so happy for you, and this paragraph inadequately conveys that.<br />
<br />
After the baptism, a group of us went over to Laura's apartment. We played a game of Swedish twister (it's difficulty to explain without demonstrating) and watched <i>Megamind</i> and <i>Secondhand Lions</i>. Goodness, I love that last one! I'm kind of unreasonably proud that I was able to quote the last scene for those who hadn't seen it before after the disc messed up. I think I rushed my delivery, though. Oh, well.<br />
<br />
It's been a good weekend.<br /><br /><b>Listening to: </b><i>Secondhand Lions</i><br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>Sisterhood Everlasting</u> by Ann Brashares<!--3-->Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-67170724411534017542012-09-07T10:39:00.000-07:002012-09-07T10:39:16.883-07:00Sometimes It's Lovely to Talk About the WeatherThings I love:<br />
<br />
1. That feeling in the air before a storm comes in. Like the way it felt last night. I just wanted to sit on the edge of the pool with my feet in the water for hours, eyes closed, letting the sweet air permeate my skin.<br />
<br />
2. Thunder crackling through a slate grey sky and vibrating the most primal little pieces of your soul.<br />
<br />
3. The first raindrops unexpectedly popping on the roof and sending shivers all along your spine.<br />
<br />
4. Playing in puddles.<br />
<br />
5. Petrichor, i.e. the way the earth smells after the rain. It comes from Latin <i>petra</i>, meaning rock, and ichor, the golden blood of the gods of Olympus. "Blood of the rock." I imagine Amortentia would smell a lot like petrichor to me.<br />
<br />
Mmmm...<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b>"Storm Warning" by Hunter Hayes<br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>Batman: Year One</u> by Frank MillerRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-81539701276643389842012-08-02T21:56:00.000-07:002012-08-02T21:56:20.031-07:00Family Businesses Are the Best BusinessesToday, my mom and I went to the <a href="http://www.shattomilk.com/" target="_blank">Shatto Milk Company</a>, a sort of ritual with us, like eating at Winstead's. There, we discovered to my delight that they'd moved their shop to a larger part of the building. It's good to know my favorite dairy is doing well enough to expand. After browsing the new premises, we supplied ourselves with milk (I got rootbeer. Yum!) and honey butter.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While we were browsing, a resident collie, who had full-run of the store, came up and greeted us. Collies are such pretty dogs. A while later, she went and got one of her toys and came up and dropped it at my feet. We played tug-o-war for a good five or ten minutes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There's something immensely validating about a strange dog deciding, without encouragement or coaxing, that it wants you to be best friends.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Listening to: </b><i>McLintock!</i></div>
<div>
<b>Reading: </b><u>A Blunt Instrument</u> by Georgette Heyer</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-14404231330283172372012-06-07T13:36:00.000-07:002012-06-07T13:37:13.048-07:00Why My Blog Isn't What It Used to BeMany of you are going to like the fact that this is a post. Many of you probably aren't going to like what it says.<br />
<br />
Blogging hasn't been the same for the past few months. The joy is gone. I have to squeeze the words out. Where once I couldn't wait to get home and blog about whatever, now blogging fills me with a frustrating and painful dread. Where once every post sounded to me like music, now each is stilted, halting, and choppy.<br />
<br />
I've barely even been keeping up on reading the blogs I follow because going to my dashboard, knowing I haven't posted in a while, makes me feel guilty and uneasy.<br />
<br />
I want you, my reader and my friend, to have something worth reading. I don't want to keep giving you the meager fare I have offered as of late. You deserve a little more <a href="http://elferingewort.blogspot.com/2011/04/wishing-well.html" target="_blank">this</a> and a little less <a href="http://elferingewort.blogspot.com/2012/02/cop-out.html" target="_blank">this</a>.<br />
<br />
That's why I'm letting myself off the hook. I don't want to feel obligated to blog anymore. I'm taking a break before I begin to resent it. This is not a hiatus. This is a mental and emotional step back from something that shouldn't be contributing to the current stress and worry in my life but, unfortunately, is. If I feel like blogging, I will, but I'm not going to force it.<br />
<br />
In doing this, I'm hoping not only to eventually restore my love of the art but also to save my blovel (blog-novel, portmanteau coined by Drew). I was inspired to start working on a book by something my friend Ashley said in praise of my blog. It's still in the pre-writing stages (characterization, plot outlines, that sort of thing), but when I do finally start writing, I want it to resemble the blog of last fall, the blog Ashley loved, not the blog of this spring.<br />
<br />
I want to rediscover something I've lost.<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6690D980D8A65D08&feature=plcp" target="_blank">The Lizzie Bennet Diaries</a><br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>Mockingjay</u> by Suzanne CollinsRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-85789762359081564692012-05-21T14:57:00.001-07:002012-05-21T14:57:31.560-07:00Suppertime With Some Select Attendees<i>"My idea of good company, Mr. Elliot, is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company."</i><br />
<br />
<div>
<i>"You are mistaken," said he gently, "that is not good company, that is the best."</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
The invitations have been sent. The place cards have been set. It's time for my dream dinner party!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For this hypothetical banquet, I was limited to ten guests, hence the delay in posting. After much agonizing and a little help from <a href="http://mannadarlin.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Amanda</a>, <a href="http://drewnicholsmusic.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Drew</a>, and <a href="http://hallo-ichbins.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Matt</a>, the company has finally been decided. All invited were chosen with the goal of quality conversation in mind.<br />
<br />
1. Jane Austen<br />
<br />
2. Winston Churchill<br />
<br />
3. The Doctor<br />
<br />
4. John Green<br />
<br />
5. Ashton Kutcher<br />
<br />
6. <a href="http://kyliesayeth.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Kylie</a><br />
<br />
7. Marilyn Monroe<br />
<br />
8. Thomas S. Monson<br />
<br />
9. Sarahbeth<br />
<br />
10. Patrick Stewart<br />
<br />
Dinner will be a traditional twelve-course meal. I may never have another opportunity to actually utilize the knowledge that you start with the outermost fork, so this seems like as good a time as any to go all out.<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to:</b> <i>Invincible</i><br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>Catching Fire</u> by Suzanne Collins</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-58700368429380594452012-05-02T10:26:00.003-07:002012-05-02T10:26:58.816-07:00Religion33. Fear not to do good, my sons, for whatsoever ye sow, that shall ye also reap; therefore, if ye sow good, ye shall also reap good for your reward.<br />
<br />
34. Therefore, fear not, little flock; do good; let earth and hell combine against you, for if ye are built upon my rock, they cannot prevail.<br />
<br />
35. Behold, I do not condemn you; go your ways and sin no more; perform with soberness the work which I have commanded you.<br />
<br />
36. Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not.<br />
<br />
37. Behold the wounds which pierced my side, and also the prints of the nails in my hands and feet; be faithful, keep my commandments, and ye shall inherit the kingdom of heaven. Amen<br />
<br />
Doctrine and Covenants 6:33-37<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b><a href="http://youtu.be/yAUMU3QQE6w" target="_blank">"Teenage Dream" by Boyce Avenue</a><br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>Let's Pretend This Never Happened</u> by Jenny LawsonRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-29337868812566546832012-04-27T16:52:00.000-07:002012-04-27T16:52:04.797-07:00Quote"I'm allergic to fabric softener. I majored in comparative literature at Brown. I hate anchovies. And, I think I'd miss you even if we never met."<br />
<br />
Guess which movie I'm in the mood for?<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b>"She's So High" by Tal Bachman<br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>Let's Pretend This Never Happened</u> by Jenny LawsonRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-44725360986363784582012-04-21T16:32:00.001-07:002012-04-21T16:32:21.570-07:00Perfect Picture = Picture PerfectBack to the challenge at last!<br />
<br />
The prompt is "a picture of something that makes you happy," but instead, I'm going to talk about a picture that makes me happy. But first, some ambiance.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was an interesting day. Celery and I ran into Shantel and Sarah H. at the temple, which was fun, and then I caught a fly with my bare hands while we were waiting in the chapel. I'm told that my face in that moment was something to behold. For the record, little fly feet crawling on one's fingers tickles, but at least it's better than the sensation of one trying to fly up your nose. (<a href="http://alittlerambling.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Laura</a> just shuddered reading this. Called it.)<br />
<br />
At school, there was a palpable feeling that the semester is winding down. We finished translating Pliny's letter about the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in my Latin class, and in German we had a potluck.<br />
<br />
And now to the point, with some amusing anecdotes thrown in (okay, maybe just one).<br />
<br />
The rest of my day was devoted entirely to my final project for my British literature class, which was naturally due at midnight. From 1 p.m. on, I just bit the bullet and tried not to think too much about the fact that I should've started it earlier, "it" being a drawing of Susan Pevensie post-<i>Last Battle</i>.<br />
<br />
As I worked, there was a little piece of my brain constantly analyzing whether I was on schedule or not.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, I got off to a bit of a rocky start. I spent five minutes cross-multiplying and dividing fractions only to come to the hilariously obvious conclusion that four divided by eight is one-half. And then <a href="http://hallo-ichbins.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Matt</a> and Tim cracked up laughing at me. Or with me. One of those. I was laughing too hard myself to tell.<br />
<br />
For the next nine hours, everything came together like a happy dream. There were times when I felt like I was just along for the ride. I had forgotten that drawing could be like that. I had forgotten what it was like to sketch and ink and color and not feel like I was senselessly bashing my head against a very solid wall.<br />
<br />
I'm still riding waves of amazement at how everything went the way it was supposed to when it was supposed to. The entire experience was exactly the opposite of the Great Heroes Final Stick Figure Fiasco of 2012.<br />
<br />
After I finished, my dad and I stood there for a good ten minutes just looking at it.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, I blow my own mind. And, that makes me happy.<br />
<br />
I feel weird about uploading the whole thing for general viewing before it's been graded, but I will leave you with <a href="http://fav.me/d4x5iuc" target="_blank">a little piece to tantalize your mental taste buds</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b>"Kiss Me Slowly" by Parachute<br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>Persuasion</u> by Jane AustenRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-55701777148995763372012-04-15T01:41:00.000-07:002012-04-15T01:44:20.794-07:00Seriously Funny Phone CallsI rarely get phone calls, but I've gotten a couple of gems over the past two days.<br />
<br />
Yesterday afternoon, while I was talking with a couple of my friends, I casually looked at my phone because it's a compulsive habit (I'm getting better), and much to my surprise, I saw that I had missed a call from Sarahbeth. This was so unusual that I listened to her voicemail immediately instead of waiting until it wasn't rude to do so (i.e. my friends were still talking when I listened to it). All the message said was something like, "Hey, Rebekah, this is Sarahbeth. Please call me back as soon as you can." *click*<br />
<br />
<i>Somebody's dead</i>, I thought. <i>There's been a car accident. One of her brothers is in a coma. Something happened to her parents. Stay calm.</i><br />
<br />
I felt my face become grave. I excused myself and walked off to make the call, hoping that it wouldn't be as bad as I feared. She picked up after only a few rings.<br />
<br />
"Hello?"<br />
<br />
"Hi. Sarahbeth?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah, hi."<br />
<br />
"You told me to call you?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, yeah. I wanted to know if you'll be in Missouri in early August."<br />
<br />
...Um, what? My burgeoning alarm immediately dissipated, but I'm a little embarrassed that my first thought was, <i>Maybe she's trying to set me up with someone who'll only be in Missouri for a short amount of time.</i> Dear Brain, Why?<br />
<br />
"I should be. What's up?"<br />
<br />
"Will you be one of my bridesmaids?"<br />
<br />
"Ohmygoodness, <i>yes</i>!"<br />
<br />
The moral of the story is that sometimes a serious-sounding voicemail is misleading. I went from being a little worried to so excited I couldn't stand still. Ask Shantel or Matt. I was bouncing.<br />
<br />
I got another incongruous phone call this morning from my dad around seven.<br />
<br />
"I know it's Saturday," he said, sounding apologetic and worried, "and you can sleep in, but I wanted to ask you something..."<br />
<br />
<i>Uh-oh</i>, I thought, not yet fully awake.<i> He sounds really serious. There must be something going on.</i><br />
<br />
"...Would you like a breakfast burrito?"<br />
<br />
Bahaha! Yes, Dad. I would love one.<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b><a href="http://youtu.be/05VaUDa6k9A" target="_blank">"When We First Met" by hellogoodbye</a><br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>The Hobbit</u> by J.R.R. TolkienRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-34661887662493787512012-04-11T17:16:00.002-07:002012-04-11T17:20:59.144-07:00What Happens When One Tries to Ship Things to SwedenI'll get back to the challenge soon, but I just wanted to quickly share what happened today when I went to the post office.<br />
<br />
After my friend gets home from his mission, I'm really going to miss walking up to postal workers, plunking a seemingly random assortment of dried goods and small children's toys down on the counter, and announcing, "I need to ship this to Sweden." I always get the best reactions.<br />
<br />
Today, when I told the man behind the counter that I needed to ship a package to Sweden, he said, "On purpose?" And then he spent five minutes examining the Swedish stamps on the envelope I'd brought with the address. When I laid out everything that needed to go in the package, he went through all the Hot Wheels and tried to remember which ones he had (or at least pretended to).<br />
<br />
He was the coolest postal worker I've ever met. He even drew a birthday cake on the front of the package for me in Sharpie and highlighter. He said he was "sprucing it up."<br />
<br />
The entire situation was delightfully amusing. Who <i>accidentally </i>ships Tabasco sauce to Sweden?<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b>Bones<br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>The Hobbit</u> by J.R.R. TolkienRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-52887359038508243952012-04-09T00:33:00.000-07:002012-04-09T00:33:41.784-07:00OCD: Who Punctuated This?Once, someone asked my friend Josh if he knew what an Oxford comma was. He said, "Of course! I'm friends with Duckie." (That's me. Just roll with it.)<br />
<br />
As my friends know, I get a little zealous when it comes to punctuation.<br />
<br />
Especially apostrophes.<br />
<br />
I was only half joking when I said I wanted to found People for the Ethical Treatment of Apostrophes. The sole purpose of the apostrophe is to clarify and facilitate written communication, and this is how people use it? <i>Abuse</i> is more like it.<br />
<br />
All any punctuation wants to do is help, but people toss marks around willy-nilly like they're confetti or tribbles or something.<br />
<br />
I weep for America.<br />
<br />
Happy Easter.<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b>Smash<br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>The Hobbit</u> by J.R.R. TolkienRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-92204164142904365212012-04-02T00:28:00.002-07:002012-04-02T00:28:55.935-07:00My ApologiesI have apparently forgotten how the alphabet goes. L-N-M-O-P doesn't sound too off, though, does it? At least I only swapped the nasals. They sound similar enough. Not that I actually mixed them up. I just sort of forgot about the existence of M for a day or two (long enough to write the last post).<br />
<br />
I must apologize for not only the mix-up but also the delay. As previously mentioned, life has been a bit...eh...yeah.<br />
<br />
One of the challenge prompts is to talk about my goals for this month. I'm not much of a goal-setter (e.g. my only "career" goal is to be happy), but I'll give it a go.<br />
<br />
First, in regards to blogging, I'm going to try to post at least once a week. Weekdays have been pretty frantic lately, but I should be able to find time each weekend to write at least one post. In regards to the challenge and its time limit, we're playing by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calvinball#Calvinball" target="_blank">Calvinball</a> rules now.<br />
<br />
Second, I want one of those posts to be humorous because I promised Drewbadour I'd write something funny soon.<br />
<br />
Finally, I just want to get through the end of this semester. I'm taking it one day at a time.<br />
<br />
...So they're mostly blogging goals. Whatevs.<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b><a href="http://youtu.be/7jvwMlAJBdA" target="_blank">THIS</a><br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>Through the Looking-Glass</u> by Lewis CarrollRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-47365672421417250212012-03-28T23:19:00.000-07:002012-03-28T23:20:25.336-07:00Never FailsInstant happy.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NdYWuo9OFAw" width="420"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b>"Iris" by Goo Goo Dolls<br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>Paradise Lost</u> by John MiltonRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-69291444232305147772012-03-27T00:05:00.000-07:002012-03-27T00:09:56.624-07:00Last PurchaseSorry about the unexpected hiatus. Life and I have been somewhat at odds as of late.<br />
<br />
I left you hanging on the letter L.<br />
<br />
The last thing I bought was a wooden hair comb.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF07SRbcKXxhQU8IjRiwdhofVpuGuhGukCnwySSX58Qbc-A1BYlboBYuet1cbQkjnuGtG7bFBIjLc3Yzf-zoW6uPpzROOehpct0jEw9cYfsa6pOad0m2tXM5FRquOC-NT_li9IYNzCK7k/s1600/1332825971349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF07SRbcKXxhQU8IjRiwdhofVpuGuhGukCnwySSX58Qbc-A1BYlboBYuet1cbQkjnuGtG7bFBIjLc3Yzf-zoW6uPpzROOehpct0jEw9cYfsa6pOad0m2tXM5FRquOC-NT_li9IYNzCK7k/s320/1332825971349.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After two and a half years of drought, I finally got to go to a renaissance festival again. Sure, it wasn't my beloved Kansas City affair with its plot lines and its leafy trees, but I could tell as soon as I stepped out of the car in the parking lot that it would do nicely.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I was so relieved that it smelled right, sounded right, <i>felt</i> right. I spent the first 15 minutes just basking in the atmosphere.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I was delighted to find that Morgan's Mane had set up shop here, too. A comb was the one thing I had hoped to buy at the Festival, so to find the very shop I had grown accustomed to in my youth was a real treat. (<a href="http://www.tartanic.net/" target="_blank">Tartanic</a> was another unexpected bit of home.) </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The clear stone and red feather were gifts. Annie, Shantel, and I were each given a stone by a benign sculptor because none of us had dowries. (True story.) We got the feathers from a wandmaker for being pretty. (Matt got a feather, too, for being handsome.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I was extremely proud of myself for not making any insane impulse buys.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b>Listening to: </b>Once Upon a Time</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b>Reading: </b><u>Paradise Lost</u> by John Milton</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-17935477526089398892012-03-13T23:51:00.000-07:002012-03-13T23:52:06.574-07:00Kill the Beast: A Habit I Wish I Didn't HaveHave you ever noticed the scarring on my face and chest?<br />
<br />
That started when I was about five or six, only it wasn't my face then. I didn't know this until years later, but I was exempt from the rule against wearing hats in elementary school. I was exempt because I would scratch at my head until it scabbed, and then I would pick at the scabs. There's actually a tiny bald spot on the crown of my head. I was allowed to wear a hat in an effort to prevent me from scratching.<br />
<br />
In fourth grade, I picked at my chicken pox. (Those are the scars that dip in.)<br />
<br />
In fifth grade, I picked at my forehead.<br />
<br />
In seventh grade, I started getting acne, and it all just kind of went downhill from there.<br />
<br />
Back when it first started, my parents took me to a dermatologist, which is also information I found out later. I remember wearing hats, and I remember taking long car rides to Salt Lake or somewhere and listening to Radio Disney on the way, but 5-year-old me did not store the information of why, if she ever knew it. The dermatologist said that it was probably neurosis. I don't know how far you can trust a psychological diagnosis made by a skin doctor, but it's true that the picking is worse when I'm stressed.<br />
<br />
And now you know that I don't have a skin condition.<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to: </b><a href="http://youtu.be/NLRutnikSBg" target="_blank">"Mr. Sandman" by The Chordettes</a><br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>Paradise Lost</u> by John MiltonRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-49936501725101572872012-03-11T22:49:00.001-07:002012-03-11T22:49:39.256-07:00Job (Not Job)When I think about my future, I see myself pulling lasagna out of the oven as my husband gets home from work. He puts down his briefcase and his fedora as the kids shout and run up to hug him...<br />
<br />
Apparently, I fantasize about being June Cleaver.<br />
<br />
But, I'm also realistic enough to realize that I may not get to play the traditional female role, which, by the way, is a respectable, full-time job in its own right, despite social stigmata. In the event that this is not to be, I want to be an old-fashioned librarian.<br />
<br />
It would be pure bliss to spend my days stamping books, alphabetizing things, and memorizing the Dewey decimal system (because, let's face it, no one else is going to).<br />
<br />
Have I ever mentioned how much I enjoy alphabetizing? It is one of the most delightful pastimes in the world! Part of me doesn't mind that I haven't organized my new bookshelf yet because I get to keep savoring the anticipation.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately for me, that's not what it means to be a librarian, anymore. Now, librarians are required to have degrees in computer science. They have to know how to build databases and troubleshoot internet problems for patrons. Thank you, but no. I'll pass.<br />
<br />
I guess my soul was meant for a different age, even if my purpose lies in this one.<br />
<br />
<b>Listening to:</b> <a href="http://youtu.be/QnQe0xW_JY4" target="_blank">That's Why Carbon Is a Tramp</a> by Crash Course<br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>The Song of Roland</u>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1497318512956005201.post-60525911098768216052012-03-11T20:29:00.002-07:002012-03-11T20:31:11.387-07:00Inspirational iPod ItemThere is a lot of inspiring music in the world, but one of my very favorite songs is "Somebody" by Bonnie McKee. Yahoo! featured it in 2004, and it's been quietly humming away at the back of my heart ever since. When I really need it, it whistles a little louder and reminds me it's still there, right where it will always be.<br />
<br />
Listen here: <a class="my_play my_27" href="http://www.myspace.com/bonniemckee/music/songs/somebody-album-version-30237388" style="background: url(http://x.myspacecdn.com/modules/common/static/img/playbuttonsprite.png) no-repeat 0 -85px; border: 0; display: inline-block; height: 27px; margin: 0; overflow: hidden; padding: 0; text-indent: -9999px; width: 27px;" title="Somebody (Album Version)">Somebody (Album Version</a><br />
<br />
<b>Listening to:</b> "Somebody" by Bonnie McKee<br />
<b>Reading: </b><u>The Song of Roland</u>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18073414809347683315noreply@blogger.com0