Have Courage and Be Kind

The latest version of Cinderella put out by Disney Studios is, by far, the best movie to have come out in the last year. Not because of the picturesque landscapes, the amazing attention to detail, or even the luxuriously elaborate costuming (though all of these are good things to note). But rather because of the main theme in the movie that is introduced by Ella's dying mother who imparts the following wisdom to her young child:

"Have courage and be kind."

This quote has been on my mind ever since I first saw the movie just a few months back and how appropriately timed it has been but how very unfortunate that hardly anyone paid it attention! There is so much going around these days that causes discontent, disagreement, and sometimes outright violence. The whisperings of the Father of Contention is pulling the strings like an expert puppet master and easily pits us one against the other, neighbor against neighbor, parents against children, race against race. 

He has fooled us all into believing that one another is the enemy. How wrong that is! We have gone from praying for equality, understanding, and rights to demanding them! Yelling, screaming, cursing for them. 

Honestly, I also struggle with being kind to everyone but I would like to think that I at least have courage--and that, that is a start. It takes courage to be kind in this world that has made it so easy to sling mud at one another, to bare teeth and brandish claws because we were raised differently and have different values and views of the world. 

I will not apologize for the things that I have shared because they reflect my views. I do not see the "fairness" of being told to be apologetic that I don't stand for gay marriage and other points of barbed conversational topics when those with the opposing view are allowed to boldly declare theirs and be applauded. 

I will treat all with the kindness that I have always done--but that does not mean giving in to demands just because the voices are louder than mine. Is it kindness giving a temperamental child whatever they want in hopes that they will stop making a scene? No. It merely gives them more drive and reason to scream whenever they want the newest toy or the piece of candy some other child has been given. 

So, have courage to speak your mind. But find the gentlest way or kindest way. And if you cannot do that, at least don't shove it into someone else's face and throat until they agree that your ways of thinking and opinions are the only valid ones.  

Travel

Life has been quite the interesting experience lately.

Full of ups and downs, blessings and lessons--I hardly know where to begin.

This past week, I had the opportunity to go home to Oregon and see my family. My younger sister just returned from her 18-month LDS mission in Canada and it had been some time since I had gotten to see my brothers (I had the opportunity to see my parents and youngest sister halfway through the summer as well as my sister-in-law and nephew multiple times over the past few months). It was a welcome change of pace, honestly, though there was a mild trial in the way of my heart...though I suppose that story will have to wait for another time.

If you know me at all, you know I absolutely abhor traveling by plane. Especially when I am traveling solo. My anxiety flourishes during these times and thus, anything that anyone can do to lower that stress level is a welcome relief.

My travel to Oregon went as smoothly and pleasantly as one could hope for having been offered a ride to the airport from a coworker (at 5 AM, mind you) and though I had hardly slept the night before (a grand total of one hour on the couch downstairs), I was happily picked up by my mother and after some delicious food and a grocery run, we made it home to the rest of the family (which includes three cats and an old but no less enthusiastic dog).

As trips of that nature always tend to be, it was much too short and passage of time before I was on my way back to Medford to the dratted plane. But perhaps I should dial back to the night before when I remembered that I had not yet found a ride home from the SLC airport.

Another note about me is how much I dislike putting people out of their way to do any service for me--especially if I don't know them. But seeing as how I had just moved in to a new ward and had had experiences of such service from people in the past, I thought what have I got to lose?

So, I posted an inquiry for someone to come get me after what I was already sure would be a frazzling day of travel from the SLC airport so that I wouldn't have to stress about getting me and my belongings onto a train (because, yes, I am very much aware of the service of TRAX but know that a ride on it AFTER a day of flight would be trying fate). Not 15 minutes after I had posted, I got a bite! I thought how wonderful that there is someone so quick to see and fill a need in the ward!

Not so. I am sure he saw himself as helpful as he suggested I ride TRAX. Not home but to the airport. I may have left my sarcasm get the better of me and my frustration must have bled through my response to him as I pointed out that I had asked for someone who wasn't just willing but ABLE (keyword, in my opinion) to give me a lift. How was I to expect that sarcasm would be thrown right back at me not from only this first male, but a second one as well? And, thank you Facebook, for giving us the power to "like" one another's comments to further infuriate (or perhaps a better description for this instance would be humiliate?) the original poster.

This probably wouldn't have struck me as so harsh had someone also taken my side in this.... Facebook banter. But no. There I was, 111 views from other members of the page later without a friend to look to.

Yes, this post has been a bit of a rant, I'll own, but I don't think I have ever been in a more unhelpful, mean-spirited, anti-service-oriented ward in all my single adult life.

So thank you for showing me that I, too, am a "meaningful" and "important" addition to the ward. I am glad I wasn't left guessing.

So this was just a gentle prelude to the following day wherein I was too late to check-in for my flight (even though I heard them calling for late-boarders over the intercom). So a trip I should have started at 1 PM was pushed back to about 5 PM. Then instead of chilling in the PDX, I had to rush myself over to the next gate (clear across the airport) while also picking up something to snack on because I wouldn't have time for an actual meal (nor, I suppose, would be stomach have held it because of the turbulence endured on the plane).

Finally landing in SLC, 3.5 hours later than the original plan, my cousin (wonderful people, those cousins) picked me up and took me home where I pretty much crawled immediately into bed and passed out not too much after.

Anxiety, stress... yes. I wouldn't expect anything different from travel.

Plans and Pain

As many of you have probably picked up on through the perusing of my Facebook feed, I am looking to start a new adventure in the little city of Orem. Why? Well, that would be the mystery a few of you have been facing but it is simply this: I am working on transferring to Utah Valley University. I have talked to quite a few people about the move and the vast majority have spoken very positively on the subject.
I have been attending Brigham Young University here in Provo off and on since I graduated high school 6 years ago in California and I am overdue for a change of scene and pace. However, because of this (and not having spent my time wisely over the past few years and thus being without a car) I have to find not only a place to live but a new job as well.
Thankfully, because of the end of the summer being close at hand, jobs are going to be pretty easy to come by (I've already started a couple applications to places I should be able to fit into) but housing is a completely different beast.
I have put in a few inquiries into different housing situations and it is truly disheartening when the place that would fit best is the one place that isn't communicating back. However, I do still have a handful of weeks to find a new home so I am glad that I made this decision when I did.

I just wanted to thank you all for your support over the past couple days. Honestly, Sunday was one of the worst days I have had in weeks and I am not entirely certain what caused it. I have been more diligent than ever in the taking of my prescription and thus my sudden downswing took me by surprise.
It started with a horrible nightmare that disturbed my early-to-bed attempt awaking me in a rather distraught state 3 hours before I had planned. Instead of the usual ability to shrug it off, roll over and fall asleep, I was awake for 2 hours not quite feeling myself.
When I finally fell asleep, I awoke with only 20 minutes to get myself presentable and to church to be there on time... I was late.
Nothing drags me down more than being in a place where I am usually all smiles and not being able to dredge up even the semblance of a believable smile. I apologize to those who might have been trying to cheer me up without realizing what was going on with me. There are very few times where I absolutely refuse to smile but it is in those instances where if I smile, I will cry.
So thank you for being patient and loving toward me.

I cannot express how much the relationship between me and my family means to me. I am especially thankful this past weekend for the bond I have with my mother. A few years ago, I admit, we went through a rough patch trying to figure out this new dynamic of living but I am glad that we learned enough of each other to find a way past it so that I can talk to her like I do.
She walked through my day with me to see if there was anything more I could do and talking through the nightmare with her brought the tears that I had been holding in since waking which led to being able to take the refreshing nap that I need to get back to myself.

I haven't expressed it very much lately, but I am thankful for my Savior, Jesus Christ.
Alma 7:12
"And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities."
He knows my pain. He knows your pain. And He suffered so that He might know exactly how to heal us and help us to know that we are not alone.

Again. Thank you for all your love and support as I go through this transitional time in my life. I am trying to become the woman my Lord would have me be and also be a woman that I and my loved ones can be proud of.

Love,
Me

Sunday Thoughts

I may have only been half awake during church today, but I have to say the first hour was quite good.

Firstly, one of the speakers quoted the Lion King (got to love Disney quotes). It was from the scene when Simba his having his little heart to heart chat with Mufasa thanks to the guidance of the crazy baboon, Rafiki. Mufasa gives a gem of advice (in the dark tones of James Earl Jones):

"You have forgotten who you are and so have forgotten me... Look inside yourself... you are more than what you have become."

There are definitely moments in my life where I lose sight of the goal--my eternal destiny. And it's in these moments that, though I might not forget the Lord, He is more of a thought in the back of my mind. A back up plan, almost, if you will. Yes, I realize this is a terrible mindset but I'm only human and am working on it. 

With that in mind, I present to you my second thought.

We cannot just wait for change to come--we need to actively pursue change. Embrace it. In essence, carpe diem! 

Yes, you probably guessed it. I find this applies to quite a few things in my life but the one most prevalent in my mind is the depression. I have discovered over these past two years of awareness that it isn't something that will just go away. That will just change if I ignore it long enough or wish for it to leave. 

Taking my prescription as well as facing life every day is something I have to stay on top of. Perhaps it's to teach me discipline for some other trial that is yet to come. Maybe it is so I can help my future child beat back their own depression by feeling a deeper understanding of the pain and difficulty that comes with the burden. I'm sure, just I have done in multiple cases, they'll probably say I don't understand--but I am glad I will at least know how to speak with them. How to encourage them without smothering then or getting in the way of their own self-discovery and growth. 

Another portion of my life that this active pursuit of change relates to is my personal health. I have always been pretty lazy, frankly, and it is starting to drag me down. Not only in the case of my personal view of my body but something tells me that constant fatigue isn't something I should be battling at the age of 24. So I have been working on re-learning how to take care of my body. There are still things I want to accomplish and they will only be in reach if I work towards better health of both body and spirit. 

I have a long way to go and some days are definitely harder than others. But I will actively pursue the changes that need to happen with me and remember the Lord as I stride forward into this next phase of my life. 

I am more than what I have become thus far. 

Don't be daunted by the possibility of greatness, of happiness. Keep moving forward and when you need help, ask. When you see someone in need, help.  If you see something that needs to be done, do. 

Love to Hate, Hate to Love

He was imperfectly perfect.
The freckles that kissed his cheeks and ran over his nose gave him a look of innocence despite his being fully grown. Green eyes caught and reflected light as he cast a bashful smile at me. There was character there in the tousle of curls that gently waved in the breeze--it was clearly a losing battle as far as wanting to tame them but in it was his carefree nature.
His laughter was sure, his words thoughtful--he never said a harsh word. And his patience was remarkable even to the undeserving.




He was perfectly wrong.
His cheeks always looked dirty because of the overabundance of freckles that sat there across his crooked nose. Unremarkable was the color of his grey-green eyes and they seemed to criticize silently. He smiled at me, feigning innocence when he clearly had meant to push my buttons. His hair was a mess of mousy brown curls that he obviously left to their unruly ways, perhaps thinking that it was attractive to be so carefree--but really it just came off as lazy.
His laughter startled people who had never heard it and he took a ridiculous amount of time to say anything and it was never anything good. He gave the impression of trying not to offend but instead meticulously constructed his words to stab the deepest in a way few would catch. He was patient as far as it served his purposes, a truly detestable use of a virtue.

Pandora's Box

Nothing is worse than being unsure. Especially in regards to happiness. We are told not to "look a gift horse in the mouth". It is said "some guys have all the luck". But what about those of us who do look? Those of us who ran out of "luck" early on and have had to fight for what they currently have?
I have been told oftener lately than when I was young that I will "find" love when I cease to look for it. But what happens when you stumble across someone and things just click? What are you supposed to do when that occurs? Just look at it briefly, shrug it off, and continue on?
When this happens to me, I feel like I can understand Pandora and her box. I have never been able to take one peek and move on. Even if it is slow at first, I come back to take another look followed by another. Until it is a part of my spare time loop of things to "squander" curiosity on.
Then sooner or later I jump the gun, spill my thoughts where I shouldn't, and am left with the regret--why couldn't I just leave the lid on the box? Why did I have to open the lock because the key was left out?
How many more boxes will I spring open before I learn my lesson and leave the box alone?

Hope, though it spirals upward
Oftener meets its doom in a straight drop
Like the moth drawn to the flame
The last night of summer moving on,
On to the first bite of autumn
The arc of a leap of faith
To the sure plummet of dashed hope

Just a Prologue

This is the Prologue for a story I have been working for a while now entitled Arvalaunt's Prophecy. If you read it and like it, then you can find the rest of it on fictionpress.com under cloud9cas and the same title. Enjoy!

Tears were useless in this barren wasteland of refuse and ruin. What once was a great city had been razed to the ground, the inhabitants thereof mutilated or taken away captive to be sold into slavery. Magic had been lost to the Darkness and those who could claim it were left to toil in ignorance of their once proud heritage. The great mages who could have stopped this madness had sealed themselves away with their terrible knowledge in houses of stone, only to awaken when the world was cleansed once more and worthy of the magic they had at their disposal.

Unfortunately, the tyrant Caugran discovered the mages’ self-imprisonment and in ways unknown to the peoples of the world had located one of the great mages and freed him from his confines. With cunning deceit, Caugran led the mage to believe that the world had been set to rights and that he had been elected to receive the knowledge and right to the Great Magic. The Mage, blinded by his desire for this to be true and furthermore being blurred from his magical prison, taught Caugran all he knew, gave him all the books in his possession that pertained to magic, and then informed Caugran of his imminent departure.

Unknown to the Mage, Caugran had in his greed learned of the ability and mastered the art of sapping the power from mages and lusted for the power of the old mages. Caugran’s selfishness led to his desire to be the Ultimate Mage. He stole the Mage’s powers, killing him, and locked the books of magic faraway beneath his fortress, never to be seen by any but himself.

However, for Caugran, the power of one mage was not enough and thus he hunted down the other mages’ self-constructed prisons one at a time, awoke the mages, and sapped their powers from them stopping only when their hearts ceased beating. However, Caugran soon grew tired of his mage hunts and let those that were left sleep on…

His hunger for power left only three of the once Great Mages. This destruction of the balance of the forces of the world awoke the last mages and stirred up their hearts to anger. The Three Mages united against Caugran and challenged his power with their own combined powers. Although they were mighty, Caugran had the power of 10 such mages and therefore proved too great a foe for the combined powers of the Three Mages.

The fight, however, proved to be long and arduous, destroying Caugran’s castle in the process and many of the servants that resided within his gates. He took down one mage and then another but as the imminent end hung over the last mage’s head, the mage known as Arvalaunt, the mage released his power into the world of man to keep it from the hands of the self-proclaimed Mage King. With his dying breath, he mocked Caugran with the promise of a shining star that would rise out of the Darkness created by the final mage left in this world.

“A youth of dreams and hopes

Radiating the dew of the morning light

One acquainted with sorrow

That still has the hope for a better ‘morrow

That is what awaits you, O King of the Shadowed.”

In Caugran’s anger, he struck the mage dead and howled his rage at having been thwarted from his long awaited goal.

Caugran never forgot the prophecy made by Arvalaunt, and neither did the scribe who had lain in wait in the cover of the rubble… and that’s how this history has been related and the prophecy of Arvalaunt’s Shining Star has been whispered throughout the entire world.

Augustine and Marks

Augustine walked warily down the alleyway, the wind causing the leaves and trash to whisper about her feet. Her eyes were wide, capturing and using any bit of light that the moon and lamppost at the alley's entrance behind her would afford. The knife weighed heavy in her hand as she kept close to the wall, starting just a little when a rat ran across the way. She let out a breath slowly through her parted lips before continuing her path.
It was slow going in the shadows but after a good 30 feet, she knelt down to inspect some footprints. Her fingers sought out the familiar imprint of her partner's boot and not finding it brought an even grimmer mood than had held her to that point.
"Idiot," she murmured before standing up once more and traversing the remainder of the distance to the door that lead to what they had surmised together was the way into the boss' main hold. Augustine had warned him that they should make a supply run--their last run in taking most of their ammo. To top it off, she gripped the handle of her knife again, he had taken what was left with him on his macho, lone wolf, scouting though she had insisted they wait until morning.
Stopping outside the door, she leaned against the wall trying to settle her jitters. A rookie like herself, though she never liked to admit to it, shouldn't have to be saving her senior from his own pride. Trying the handle she found it to be unlocked. The pit in her stomach dropped further, doubting that it was carelessness on the side of the enemy that the door had been left wide open.
Another gust of wind, stronger than the last, unsettled a pile of garbage, something of glass crashing to the ground like a gunshot. She said a quick prayer before turning the handle and pushing the door quietly open. It revealed two sets of stairs--what looked like blood trailed down the descending set. Of course, she thought looking longingly at the set that went up--at least if they were above ground they could jump out a window or something.
From the light over the landing, she checked her watch. Backup was late... but she couldn't wait any longer. By her estimation, Joseph had been in enemy hands for almost 2 hours now. Giving the alleyway one more glance, Augustine slipped through the door, carefully shutting it behind her, not banking on the wind not slamming it shut before she wanted her presence to be made known. One more glance up the stairs, and she started to make her way down, carefully checking the stairs, hoping that there were no squeaky steps in this rundown place.
She nearly cursed when she found one halfway down, pausing in her descent to ascertain whether she would be discovered. After deciding no immediate alarm had been triggered, she continued her way to the landing thanking her lucky stars that it lead to another doorway, the door having been removed from its hinges at some past time.
At first she heard nothing as she pushed herself onward to the doorway, but when her ears did pick up sound, it was breathing--labored and muffled. She glanced back to the stairs, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down her temple as she crossed slowly into the room to find Joseph lashed to a chair under a light that flickered from time to time. "Marks," escaped her lips before she could stop it as she walked quickly to his side, dropping her guard.
He looked up in time to give a muffled cry of warning because of which she spun, knife at the ready and managed to slice into a meaty palm that had been aimed at her neck and she heard the attacker yell out in pained anger before he lunged at her again. Augustine managed to jump backward out of his reach only to be caught from behind by another who managed to wrestle her wrists into his hands and forcing her to drop her weapon, followed by a blow to her face.
Augustine looked up in time to see the hand raised for a second hit when a cool voice called it back. "Let's not go damaging the prettier of the two faces," he said and lights for the rest of the room flickered on but none so bright as the one held over Joseph's head. She probably would have laughed if it had been anyone else speaking--her face wasn't known for its perfection after all. However, not even Peters would have laughed when face to face with Vincent Roux.
Augustine did her best to stare him bravely in the face as he walked slowly to stand in front of her. "A little short for one in this line of business, don't you think Marks?" he directed at her partner but she didn't dare look away even to see Joseph's reaction. "Ah, but she does bear the trade well," he murmured, having taken her chin in hand to tilt her face up to the light. She was sure that he was giving her far more credit toward experience with the aged scars on her face. The real story was no less tied to the "trade" has he had referred to it, however.
Her older brother had been in the middle of a job when their parents had died and left their 12 year old daughter to his care, his being 13 years her senior. He had taken her with him to the next post only to have to shield her from the shrapnel of the bomb laid at his door. He had, indeed, saved her life--but had lost his own in the process and she bore the scars that had raked from her chin to her hairline on the right side of her face. Those who didn't know treated her with some degree of respect thinking she'd earned it in the line of duty while those who did know treated her with pity, the orphan, although 13 years had already passed.
Roux tsked lightly as he looked at the other side of her face where she could feel the already tender swelling of a bruise just below her eye but she kept her gaze on his face with unflinching determination.


Maybe I'll continue this some other day.

General Conference, April 2015

It is supposedly 45 degrees Fahrenheit outside today... and "feels like" 38. April in Utah. (And yes, my ears and fingers have been freezing all day, thank you for asking.)

Anyway, that is not what I am here to talk about today. No sir.

Today, I would like to talk about how it felt to be a participant in, first, the between-session choir (the one that stands out on the same sidewalk as the protesters between Temple Square and the Conference Center) and also to be in the Conference Center during the sustaining of the General Authorities that afternoon.

Firstly, although we were only half the numbers we'd been asked to produce from our Stake to take part in the choir assignment, I feel that we did make at least a difference for those who had to wait for the OK signal to cross the street between Temple Square and the Conference Center. During their wait, they were given the option (at least on my half of the sidewalk) to either listen to the man exclaiming his views on the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and our beliefs or join us in the well-known hymns of the Restoration (including but not limited to the Spirit of God, We Thank Thee, Oh God, For a Prophet, and A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief).

How light and bracing it was to have the opportunity to pave the walkway and see Saints singing along with us. The beauty of their gratitude for inviting the Spirit to be with them in between sessions so as to not become contentious and argumentative with the protesters! I will admit to the backs of my knees being strained after standing resolutely for and hour and a half, but it was well worth it and I truly feel I could not have been better spiritually prepared for what would occur in just an hour from the end of our service to our fellow Saints and the Church.

I, along with other women from my ward, sat together excited to be given the opportunity to sit in that large Conference Center, packed to the brim with those who shared our same beliefs! Those who had gathered to partake of the Spirit and the pleasing words of God's servants. I thought that I would perhaps have a similar experience to the one other time I was able to attend a session in the Conference Center--it was actually the October 2009 Conference, the Sunday Afternoon session that I was given the opportunity to attend with a friend of mine. The first talk being that of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland entitled Safety for the Soul in which he bore his unwavering, bold, and heartfelt testimony of the truth of the Book of Mormon and the knowledge the Joseph Smith Jr. was the first prophet of this last dispensation. How inspiring that talk was! I was moved to tears and will never forget it.

That was the experience I hoped to have once more--it didn't have to be with the same apostle, but I looked forward to it with eager anticipation.

Last Saturday's afternoon session of Conference started out as all the rest I remember ever attending in my 24 years of life. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang, a prayer was said, they sang again. President Henry B. Eyring laid out the first bit of the meeting for us which included among other announcements, the sustaining of the First Presidency and the General Authorities of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf took the stand and began, asking the general assembly to acknowledge by raise of the right hand if we sustained as prophets, seers, and revelators--Presidents Thomas Spencer Monson, Henry Bennion Erying, and Dieter Friedrich Uchtdorf. I raised my hand with joy for being in the presence of these mighty men called of God to lead the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sustaining them with all the love that I have for them and the direction and love they have expressed for me and all the people of the world.

It wasn't anger that filled my heart next, but sorrow and hurt for these men, when three of the assembly, having managed to procure seats in the section that I wish to one day have the blessing of sitting it, being at almost the feet of the prophets, stood when President Uchtdorf asked that if any be opposed, to offer the same sign. Upon standing, with their hands raised, they shouted the word I have never been witness to in this semi-annual Conference: "Opposed!"

Opposed? I didn't spend much time looking for the three people (I was to be informed later of where they stood and what they looked like) for my gaze was drawn back to President Uchtdorf as he said that their vote had been noted. My heart stilled, painfully waiting for him to continue the sustainings, knowing that the names of the Twelve Apostles would be next. At the end of the reading, I raised my hand once more to sustain and I felt a determination in that moment of raising my hand, a motion that I was taught at a young age would allow my voice to be heard in the Church, that I have never hitherto felt. With all the energy of my soul, I wished that those men could feel MY support and love for them--I knew they could see everyone else raise their hands, but could they see me? Could they feel me?

Opposed! The men and woman shouted again, less together this time but no less fierce and hurtful.

I don't know if I will understand the reasoning and drive behind the opposition of these three people...

But this I do know. I know of my love for the General Authorities of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I sustain as the prophet of my Lord's church, President Thomas S. Monson. I know the Book of Mormon to be another testament of Jesus Christ and that Joseph Smith Jr. was hand chosen by Him to be the translator of the book--regardless of the fact that he was but a child at the time of the call (a young boy of 14 who had the determination and desire to ask which church of all the churches were true) and less educated than all the pastors and preachers at the time demanded a leader of any church be.

I am so blessed to have been born to parents who, though weren't always members, sure and strong, of the Church, they committed and grew testimonies so that they could raise and teach their children in righteousness and give them the best chance they could in this world of sin, corruption, and sorrow. I am not perfect but am striving. I am not sure of everything but I am sure of my Savior's love for me. And that He has called the General Authorities as currently constituted to guide and direct the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and will allow no man to lead His sheep astray.

I love Him and am thankful of His awareness of my life and the sorrows I have seen, the trials I have overcome, and the advances I have made toward being the woman He meant for me to become.

And these things I write, in His name.

Sickness and Death

My action-packed (or rather just life event packed) weekend started early last week... meaning on Wednesday, I started to really feel ill. I had been exhausted no matter what sleep I got the previous week and apparently it was a sign that my health was going to take a plunge. And plunge it did.

By Thursday morning, my tonsils started to swell and I was able to take the day off, hoping to sleep at least a little bit (I hadn't been able to get comfortable the night before) and even set up a doctor's appointment (which past Cassidy would have put off for another week, convinced that she would just need a couple days to recuperate on her own) but this older, wiser, and been through tonsil swelling before Cassidy knew it was better to get in sooner rather than later.

I went in on Friday morning, even more miserable than the day before (though I was keep perfectly hydrated so as not to do a complete repeat of two years ago) and explained to the doc what was going on. He looked at my tonsils for maybe 5 seconds, announced that they were indeed inflamed and that he would set me up with an antibiotic stat. It came in the form of pills. Which at this point, I could still swallow. However, as Saturday dawned, I realized that my throat had gotten even worse...

Urgent Care was up next. They were quite concerned to learn of my previous doc's quick handling of my case and couldn't believe that he had ruled out strep or even thought to look closer into it to see if it was as bad as it had been two years ago (or had the potential to get there) but after giving me a good look over (even starting to look for signs of mono), the lady looked in my throat and ears... and with great concern said there was a good chance that I had an abscess behind my right tonsil and that I couldn't put off going to an ENT for Monday and so encouraged me to get myself to the ER that evening. 

After some rather.... poor handling of my arms, I finally got an IV into which they could inject dye to give me CAT Scan to see what exactly was going on in my throat and checking to see if it was blocking anything that could potentially throw me in the ICU if not handled properly. It was nice to discover that I, in fact, did not have an abscess, but I wasn't in the clear yet. Tonsillitis, the doctor pronounced. And yes, all the signs are there. From the fatigue (I may have dosed off all throughout church yesterday), an earache in my right ear, and even headaches and fevers (though I am doing very well at staying hydrated [perhaps a little too well]) and thus here I am. On three different medications as well as my antidepressant and I even threw in an Airborne vitamin into the regimen to help propel me forward out of this wretched state. 

Those were my doctor adventures.

Then, as some of you have seen/noticed, my great grandmother passed away yesterday afternoon. Prayers are welcome and I would express my gratitude for the comfort that can be given to those who live closer to her than I have these past years. 

Honestly, I had taken it upon myself to treat each goodbye as the last one--the last time I would see her. After seeing her in a nursing home, wherein she still mildly remembered who I was, I can only say something told me I would not be seeing her again in this life. Gladness more than sadness has struck me at her passing. She is with her husband finally, after being apart for 34 years this past winter. She is no longer in pain. And she no longer will look on any member of my family with hazy eyes that don't recall names or faces. 

I am thankful for the opportunities I got to see her these last couple of years so that I could be at peace when the time came. 

Lastly, as some others of you may have seen, my little cousin went missing after he found out she had passed away (he had gone for a walk but didn't make it back at a decent hour). The search parties were out en masse and it was my father who found him. Unconscious on a rock a little far from the shore (being near the ocean and the tide had come in). He had apparently slipped and hit his head but, though he is indeed being kept an eye on in the hospital, they say he should make a good recovery though he doesn't remember the past two days which breaks the heart when one realizes he will have to learn all over again about his beloved grandmother's passing. 

But I know the Lord is aware and that all of the prayers that will be circulating around my family in the coming weeks will help all come to terms and to be able to look with gladness toward the day when we can all be united once more if we choose to live according to our Lord's will. 

Love,

Me

The Languages of Love and Apology

A short couple of years ago, I took the famous 5 Languages of Love test. Well... today while going through my email, I happened upon a piece that said it had been a while and wondered if I might like to take the test again. Seeing how I have felt myself and personality shifting and changing especially over the last few months, I thought, why not?
The first time I took it, Physical Touch and Words of Affirmation tied for the highest score and seemed truly to reflect what I looked for in a person. Frankly, I didn't think it would change much. I was sure that aside from all the changes I have gone through, at least the way I interpret or feel love would stay the same.
Well, folks, apparently not. Though they still rank up there, both of my "love languages" have been ousted for something else... Quality Time. Sure--hugs are still wonderful, kisses just as much so, but TIME. Time wherein the person I am with is completely there. No distractions from the outside world. Taking the moment to actually plan out time to be spent (sometimes doing nothing but sitting and watching a movie together) takes the cake.
It's beautiful to hear that someone wants to spend time with you but so much more so when they actually do! I'm not a particularly busy person but at the very least I am aware that others have much more taking up their time (something I really should work on, I realize) and so when they give me time out of the busyness, when they allot time to me, I treat it as quite precious and priceless.
So there you have it. Love for me is spelled TIME.

The second test I took had to do with the way a person apologizes to me and it shocked me a little to discover that the Acceptance of Responsibility was far and beyond all the other options.
It's one thing to say, "I'm sorry" but when that apology is accompanied by admitting that you were either wrong or made a mistake--it resonates deeper in my mind and heart than asking for me to simply forgive you. Perhaps it is because I think so deeply about things and even deeper about those things that hurt me (maybe for the sake of self-discovery and really understanding myself so that I can help others to understand me) but I tend to go over a scenario in my mind and wonder if the person really gets that it was because I honestly believe they did something (or the lack of  doing something such as... spending TIME with me? Ah ha....)...
In short, I guess it gives me a sense of peace when they realize that they have done something that I saw as wrong and took the time to try and figure it out rather than just saying, "I don't know what I did... but sorry." When I feel something is awry, I always try to dig deeper so I can recognize what I have done wrong (and will ask if I can't come to some conclusion on my own thinking time) so that I can apologize in a full and complete way.

I'm sure bits of this aren't completely clear but I blame that entirely on the fact that I am super drained.

I Am Lying

Why do we tell people that we are fine?
It would seem as time goes by, the synonyms of fine (in good health, well, healthy, all right, fit, blooming, thriving, in good shape, etc) are being replaced with not-good-enough-but-I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it-unless-you're-the-right-person-I-would-want-to-discuss-my-life-with.
Seriously.
I do it all the time, speaking from personal experience. In fact, I even get downright agitated if the person I do NOT want to ask, "Just fine?" is the only one who asks. So often, I wish I had a sign to carry around to say, "It's you! Please talk to me! Please ask me why I'm not fantastic/wonderful/fit as a fiddle!"
I also have those moments where I am completely blunt--I say I am not well at all. Downright depressed/upset/lonely. But THEN (of course) I back it with, "but don't worry, it will pass!" What? Good golly, Miss Molly! What the heck are you doing? I ask myself.
And perhaps the answer is a bit selfish, even self-centered. But the only thing I can come up with is a desperate desire to find someone who will push and who will wonder/worry/care! enough to ask--or wait patiently until I finally pour my heart out to them.

Why do we feel the need to test people like that? Even those who, from the get go, we have already agreed either aloud or in our mutual silence that we will never expect them TO delve that deeply? To drop everything or give of their precious time to listen to us complain, moan, and cry about why life is so hard on us?
I have heard the saying quite often as of late that, "The heart wants what it wants." Stupid heart! Why will you not listen to your sensible brain? Or rather, do our hearts really "want" pain? Or are they just "asking for it" by searching for something that is just simply not to be found? "Looking for love in all the wrong places," is another popular one and one that definitely rings truer to my ear than the first.

I hurt myself often. By allowing hopes and false possibilities to spring up and fester (I say fester because oftener than not, it is more a wound than anything) I let my daydreaming heart run faster than by sensibilities can fly. And then, this heart of mine, tumbles off the cliff, plummeting to its doom before I even realize what the heck I am doing.
So. To all those who haven't, can't, or won't ever live up to the expectations that my childish, self-centered, dreamy heart decides to plant and water---I apologize and hope that you won't hold it against me forever.

I think I am done ranting now.

Love,
Me

24

It happened. 

I turned all of four and twenty this past Friday. 

I still love Disney. Junior Mints. Naps. Rereading all of my fantasy novels. 

I am continuing in my employment by Provo City... and thus, still live in Provo. 

I have put a few dreams to rest while reviving others. I have decided that in some instances it is better to take it one day at a time. Some days are harder than others. Some weeks fly more smoothly. 

At the end of the day, I am still thankful for the small things--the moments in my life when I am reminded that I am looked out for and loved. Rain still excites me. I still wish on dandelions, stars, and candles. 

I have become bolder yet kinder. More compassionate yet firm. I am finding that I care less and less about what others think about me and worry more about what makes me happy. It still hurts to see the pain in the faces of my friends and family. I still procrastinate things I shouldn't and quickly accomplish things that could be put off for a time. 

I still love to sing. Dance. Play the piano. I write when the mood strikes me rather than when my readers implore me to write. I feel bad about it. Promise I'll do better. And procrastinate again. 

I continue to prefer the forest to the city--a babbling brook happier than a busy highway. 

My heart yearns for the ocean and is called by mountains. 

I continue to love. Cry. Forgive. Complain. Shrug my shoulders. 

The struggle to keep up with laundry is real. So is going to the dentist regularly. I hate needles, blood, and hospitals. Though I have found a doctor that I really don't mind going to see when needed. 

I have discovered pita pizzas, cut down on my Pop-Tart consumption, and still eat chocolate frequently. 

For once, I am looking toward the end of winter for the sake of spring. 

But I still would rather cuddle up to watch a movie than go play football (soccer and volleyball are toss ups). I still cry when Matthew dies. I still swoon for Colonel Brandon (and Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Knightley...). 

I still need hugs like air. 

I have made new friends--lost others--kept in touch with the best. 

Life goes on. I have tacked another year onto my age. And I look forward to what is yet to come. 

Feeling Good About This....

Prompt
The top line of page 49 of the book closest to you.

"Do you love her?"




Begin.

The question took her aback. She did not think "loving" the dragon was part of the bargain that she had struck with the dying man. But the look in Mars' eyes spoke plainly that she was not to be granted custody of the beast unless her answer was satisfactory. She opened and closed her mouth a couple times probably looking very much like a fish out of water to the man who held the egg away from her outstretched hands.
The dying man had said that this dragon egg was the last on Earth and that if she were to possess it then all of her troubles would vanish. No longer would she be subject to her stepfather's whims. Neither would she be alone in this world... and with that thought came her answer.
"That dragon egg means the world to me, Mars."
The man's eyes softened, his lips still in a firm line as he lowered the egg gently into her desperate hands. It slipped easily into the circle of her arms and she could feel the leftover heat from its place in the coals of Mars' hearth. She also felt the vibration--there was a distinct pulse and her eyes lit in a way no one had ever had the privilege to see and it broke Mars' heart to know how lost this young woman could have been had she answered wrong.
She cocked her head to the side, black curls tumbling. "Are you sure it's a female?"
The gentleness disappeared from Mars' face to show his indignation. "Of course it is!"
She raised an eyebrow for a brief moment before shrugging her shoulder. "When will she hatch?" she inquired, the stress of the gender showing her doubt of the man's intuition.
Visibly irked, Mars gestured to the black and gold banded shell, "One week--but you MUST keep her warm at all times. If you don't, she will come out weak and sickly."
"How warm?" she asked, balking slightly as she looked nervously out the window to give a look of concern at the snow. At the moment, she was rather homeless and though she had been able to stave off cold with her thin cloak and hiding in obliging farmhouses, she wasn't so sure she would be able to keep an egg or for that matter a baby dragon as warm as the fire she'd just received her...he... it from.

Pretty is as pretty does...

I am no stranger to being complimented on my looks. I am thankful, too, when people bring it up in casual conversation. Not because it gives me a boost to vain pride but because it keeps my head from getting lost in the compliments of strangers. In all honesty, when I see an attractive face I will usually remark on it oftener than not straight to the person's face but in so doing I don't expect them to trip over themselves and give me all of their attention--just as when a stranger comes up to me and compliments me they had better not assume they have me in the palm of their hand from that moment forward.
So you may ask why I have brought up the subject of prettiness... well, I will tell you.

Most women (if not all, depending on circumstances) grow up being told how beautiful they are and how men won't be able to resist them. I myself on occasion have told young girls the same. Recently I have come to regard this as a rather dangerous thing to do unless it is also balanced with complimenting her on how smart she is, etc.
We have been taught to take, "She has a great personality!" as being an insult! Why does having a great personality have to negate any possibility of her being pretty?
Personally, I loop being intelligent together with having a great personality (at least in reference to myself because, let's face it, a lot of my personality comes from my intelligence--the other parts coming from my perception of life and my love and appreciation of the smaller things in life).

The sad thing is, however, that when people recommend you to others, we usually start with something along the lines of, "Oh, they're really attractive," and thus our interest is piqued and we ask for more information. (Don't get me wrong, if I don't find the person at least a little physically attractive I have a hard time pursuing them past a first date.) But why is it, that even after we're given the rest of the information (sometimes hearing something that doesn't even begin to sit well with us) we're willing to go with it because they're attractive?
Maybe it's too ambitious, but I am looking for the whole package. I'm looking for the intelligent personality with the attractive face--if they have musical/dancing talent that is a PLUS but it's not a MUST.

This leads us to my question: what makes a person not the right "fit" for you?
I have lost count of how many times men have said goodbye with the words, "You're beautiful! You're a wonderful girl and I'm mad to be saying this but.... you just don't fit."
Fit. Fit?  What does that even mean? What part of me is "too much"? What part of me is "too little"? What standard are you holding up to me and saying, "Nah, this one's no good. Toss her back with the other fish."
Why do we feel the need to qualify that the person is "beautiful", "pretty", "wonderful", "gorgeous", then follow it up with "but not for me"?
I will always be grateful for the honesty when I ask point blank, "Do you see us going anywhere?"

But, good gracious, won't it be a balm on my soul when someone says, "Well, you're beautiful...wonderful... and you're smart--and everything I've ever wanted and will want for the rest of our lives."

To the Dissenter and Sower of Contention on the Street Corner

Today is the day in which we observe the work of Martin Luther King Jr and the liberty of blacks nationwide. It is a big deal and one I fully support.
But of course, as on every other day of such import and sacred observance, there are those who will see it as their "time to shine". The day where they will sit on the street corner with their signs on which are usually written controversial topics regarding the topic of the day.
I went in to work this morning, which was rather rough after the day I had yesterday that followed a terrible nights sleep before. On my walk, I get to see the temple in construction and on this particular day wherein I walked to and from work, I got to see it twice.
However, the aforementioned type of person decided to perch on the corner directly across from the temple--the one I had to stand at to wait my turn to cross the street (there being construction on the corner of temple grounds). I was content to ignore him and wait most peacefully for my right of way but, seeing as he probably hasn't been contented by being able to stir up contention elsewhere promptly asks, "Are you LDS?" At which point, I actually glanced at his sign, back up to his leering face, and stated, "Yes."
I turned my face back to the other side of the street wishing for him to leave me be--my wish would not be granted. He proceeded to throw out the question, "Do you know why blacks didn't receive the Priesthood until after 1837?"
To which I answered, "It doesn't matter."
"It doesn't matter in general? It doesn't matter to you?" I could hear the combative tone in his voice and already having had a rough mood and not desiring to explain to him what I'd meant (because I know he would have taken whatever I had said and twist it anyway) I told him I really didn't feel keen on fighting him on the matter and proceeded to ignore him.
Two others joined me at the stop light, one answering that they were not LDS, the other, being LDS like I was answering him with the same words. "It doesn't matter."

Now, before anyone leaps into argument, I care enough about those who will read this to explain myself and my words to this man.

I said that it didn't matter that blacks were allowed the Priesthood after 1837 because I believe in God and His prophets.
They have the Priesthood now. Why didn't they have it from the beginning? That is not for me to say or even really have a huge opinion about because I believe in the Lord's timing. I might not always understand it, but His timing is perfect--His rule is perfect. I can rejoice with all that now every worthy man can obtain the Priesthood.
If you have a problem with the Lord's timing, take it up with Him. It doesn't matter how many you corrupt or sow doubt into because it doesn't change history--it doesn't change God.
My apologies, sir on the street corner, but it would take a great deal more than a question that you have about how the Lord works and restores His church and the dealings therein to shake my faith in His church, this Gospel, the Lord's timing and my love and hope in His name.

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

A Writer's Hurt

As of late, I have gotten into the whole online dating "scene" so to speak--haven't been too terribly active in it the past two weeks or so but in my profile, I made note that I loved music and was a writer. Apparently, this led to the assumption that I was a lyricist or perhaps a composer of some sort--at least among those who also shared a passion for music (those who, like myself, perceive themselves of some-day-novelists, simply asked what genre I wrote). 

However this question just gave me a small moment to marvel at the fact that you can have a handful of people who identify as "writers" but what does that mean? Apparently it varies from person to person. Honestly, I wish I had the talent to write lyrics but as it is, I don't feel that I can even write a proper poem, rhyming or no. 

On the other hand, I do feel that I express myself best and most thoroughly when I write--I feel quite at home with a pen in hand, a fresh pad of notepaper beneath my wrist and poised to draw up yet another scenario, another personality, another life! And within it, I find a certain amount of freedom-- a space in which I can say what I am dying to say even if it never reaches the person I truly would love to say it to at the end of the day. 

It keeps me from bursting at the seams some days. I know I have written and posted quite a bit for just about anyone who wanders along and stumbles upon this blog to read--but then again, there are bits and pieces that I write that spend months even years in my documents folder, only to be read over and pondered upon by me, myself, and I. 

However, I would like to invite you (whoever you are) to read this piece that I wrote. 

I warn you, however, not to read on if you don't want to know a dark snippet of my heart--I am not looking for you to read it and do the exact opposite of what I wrote in its conclusion. But maybe, just maybe, one of my lyricist friends would show me how to put it in a song--granted, as previously stated, this is only a snippet of what I have written to vent my anger and frustration and loneliness. 

I also encourage you to watch a short, happy video after the reading thereof. Or listen to a happy song. Because, honestly? That is what sometimes gets me through to the following day.

'I had never been so soundly rejected in all my life.

It hurt and there was absolutely no way I could do anything more without making an absolute fool of myself. After his admissions, the initial rejection hurt worse. But when I plead for just one, last night...the fact that he could not care less was so evident it felt like an actual dagger was thrust through my chest to the point of being exposed on the other side.

I was nothing more than a vice to him although he said that he cared about me and that's why he did it. Why is it? That whenever someone does something that hurts you, destroys you so thoroughly it's always because they “care” or because it's “for your own good”?

To top it all off, I simply felt embarrassed that he had offered me a place to rest...—completely taking my into his arms that... night and suddenly... he woke up and had shut me out again. As easily as one turns a page in a book, he had turned the page I was on and left me completely behind.

I'm dizzy with the anger and hurt that comes with each rejection. He's not the first and he definitely won't be the last. Why is the desire to hurt so entangled with the desire to comfort? Perhaps it's just me who feels this way. I would give anything to have the power to slap him across the face but on the other hand I would give anything for him to silently take me into his arms and never let me go again.

Funny... how I am so embarrassed by the moments when he completely accepts me and am infinitely more embarrassed when he completely rejects me...Why is he so much more capable of ignoring me, pushing me away, doing what's “best” for me while I am over here trying everything I can just for him to see me?

He told me he could see me the other night...but that I am, essentially, blind when it comes to him even when he lets his walls down. I hate being so open to people because I cannot count the number of times and ways in which someone has been able to hurt me. I feel raw from screaming so loudly to draw someone's, anyone's gaze long enough for them to see that I just might be worth loving.

The sensible side of me tells me to pull away. To stop laying myself so open to people. You only get hurt, it says. Why bother trying any longer?

But the child within cries out for me not to give up because maybe, just maybe, there is someone right around the corner who will be willing to adopt me, take me home, give me somewhere to stay, return to, and feel accepted no matter what ridiculousness I might come up with to make a fool out of myself once more.

I want to share these words with someone—I want someone else to say that they know exactly how I feel. That I'm not alone in this facing of rejection after rejection after rejection after rejection. And I don't want anyone to say it'll get better or that you'll work it out one day. Because those words? They usually come from someone who it has already worked out for and thus they have separated and distanced themselves from the hurt and despair that comes from yet another person saying that you “matter” to them but then saying, in essence, that you don't matter enough.' 

I'm Not Saying I'm Wonder Woman...

I'm just saying you've never seen us together at the same time. 

So today's topic tickled me a little and so I thought, why not?

What is Your Super Power?

Interesting question to pose to a mere mortal, don't you think?

Anyway. I have never given the idea of already having super powers much thought in the past. Usually the question is which super power do you wish you had to which I most readily say flight. But that aside I will try to answer this question with some self-observation. 

I would have to say my super power would be my sympathy/empathy. 

I'd rather not start spinning a tale of "woe is me" right now but I have had certain experiences in my life that have blessed me with a certain capacity for compassion for the human plight. It's an almost physical pain that comes on my heart when I see those I interact with in pain. My natural instinct (call it motherly if you will) is to pull them in for a hug, a kiss on the cheek, a pressing of forehead to forehead because I know that loneliness. I know the feeling of being alone in the crowd with a broken heart and an angry spirit and no one deserves to feel that way. No one deserves to think that they are alone when someone has (either on purpose or accidentally) hurt them. 

 This super power extends to listening, to hashing things out, and just cuddling if that's what is needed. 

I love you, my friends. Please, if there is ever anything I can do even if you just need someone to rant to--call me. I was given this talent to give to you. 

Love,

Me

I Am Not the Same Person I Was Yesterday

The prompt for today:

Can People Change?

This, in brief, is answered with a resounding, "Yes!"
However, as we all know, it is not always as simple as that. Therefore, for your delectation and delight, here is my long-winded answer.

If I didn't believe that people could change then I would be living in quite a miserable state of being. If I were the same person I was just a few years ago, naive to the point of putting myself in danger, I wouldn't be able to live the life I have managed to happen upon now. As a single young woman with lack of monetary fortune, I believe that one must progress and change from how she has lived in the comfort of her parents' abode or be eaten up by the poor society and association of wicked men.
However, with the changes I have made in my life and approach to the world, I have tried to retain those good graces which I was brought up with to have a general politeness for those I come into contact with as well as just being kind. Be empathetic, compassionate, and open to new or unpopular thoughts and opinions without judging harshly upon the first meeting.

But really what question should really be asked is whether people want to change. Some people I have come into contact with quite frankly seem to be just fine the way they are (whether they are naturally like that or if they had many moments of change BEFORE our acquaintance--I couldn't rightly say) but then there are others that I know and it sickens me to know they have not changed even over 5 years time to become better than they were.
Some have given up on ever changing. Others are too proud of their current state.

I had the rare opportunity to get in contact with a person that I hadn't spoken to in over 4 years just the other day. He was still as handsome in face as the last day I saw him and it gladdened me to know that he seemed to be in good health and that he might actually care to know what had been going on in my life since our abrupt goodbye.
Fortunately, it took very little time for him to reveal that he was still the same as before.
A wolf seeking to steal the virtue of women through manipulation and a profound sense of wickedness. The goals he had spoken of to me in the day of my deepest naivety to turn his life around, to become worthy of the Priesthood, to have a family and wife who could be proud of him had been lies--the lies he knew would persuade my mind most readily to spending time filled with poison with him in the hopes of being his heroine, the rescuer of his heart.
His pride roiled off of the words he wrote in waves--for since he hadn't changed, he was more than ready to assume that I was the same girl he left heartbroken for almost giving him everything--when in reality he could never dream to deserve it in the eternal timeline.
Perhaps I had given too much in the way of hope that he might "come to see the error of his ways" and apologize to the child he had met and poisoned with his words and notions of the way the world was in his eyes. And perhaps he gave too little credit to the child who grew up to become a woman.

But there it is, my friends. People can change. I have changed. I have seen my friends and acquaintances and family change. But I have also seen those who refuse to change. What more can be said?

Love,
Me

Rule #2!

I can't bring people back from the dead.... it's not a pretty picture. I don't like doing it!
(Can't remember if it's actually #2 but if you get the quote, you get brownie points.)

Today's topic is as follows:

Something I Feel Strongly About

Those of you who have been following my blog over the past couple years (or even the last few months) can probably guess what this blog will be about. Yes. That's correct.

Dating.
Where do I start?
The Game. Oh, the Game. Can we just stop with the Game? This thing that we have come to associate with dating is simply an embittering trial to see who can care the LEAST about whether or not the other person wants to be in a steady relationship. We have all done it, I am sure (even myself on occasion because, hey, who wants to be left out on this brilliant idea) where we wait and wait for the other person to text us or contact us first, to show how desperate they must be for our attention. Good grief. If you're interested, don't keep it a secret from the other person especially if you've already gone as far as to ask them on a date! From a personal standpoint, I have come down to the conclusion that if I don't hear from a guy within a week to a week and an half of the first date--he must not be all that interested in me and, as such, my interest in him goes down.
Perhaps this is a harsh time table, but honestly I am looking to the future, friends. If I say yes to a date, chances are I'm interested in seeing if we can go somewhere. I have enough male friends--so if you're looking for just friendship, please don't block the door.

Another point on dating is this: I am old-fashioned. I like when the guy calls me up with a plan for a date. It is a lovely thing to be open to flexibility in the plan, but be decisive. If you don't have a particular restaurant picked out, that's fine. We can decide together. But do have the plan that we will go out to eat. Or that we will go bowling (or ice skating, or mini-golfing... options aren't a terrible thing). But please choose a direction for the date that will help you get out of the date what you are looking to get out of the date.
If you cannot call for some reason and are limited to text or email or messaging on Facebook--if you don't specify that you are taking me on a date, I will assume that you are looking to hang out. Which does not pique my interest toward something more and I will think that you don't have any serious intentions toward me.

So in summation my thoughts on dating boil down to this-- if you are interested in me, plan a date (day, time, activity--doesn't even have to cost anything, could be card games or something at your apartment even), call me, if it works express interest in a follow up and try not to leave me hanging if at all possible.
And if I say yes to a second date--that's a good sign. It means I'm into you too. Silly.

Love,
Me

PS I am an honest and straightforward person and will tell you if I feel something amiss or feel that something could go somewhere. All I ask is that you do me the same courtesy.

Who's Up for Round Two?!

Hey all.

So, I used a few prompts from this list of 30 Writing Prompts a year or so ago but as life goes on, I thought I might use them again seeing as I have changed, life has changed, and there are new people to introduce myself to at the beginning of this new year.
Therefore, without further ado, the topic today, friends, is this:

5 Ways to Win My Heart

Alright, so this isn't exactly rocket science that we are dealing with but for those who are better at learning when someone spells things out rather than learning by observation, I see this as a perfectly reasonable topic to cover.
Onward!

1. Use your vocabulary.
I am a reader and a writer (surprise) and thus I have a great love for words and the use of them in daily conversation. Granted, one should not always be using "unto" or such words that one reads in old or even spiritual texts on a daily basis, but when appropriate, it is fun to hear someone speak of something going "awry" rather than badly, to know that someone has had a "splendid" day rather than a good one.
Bonus points if you use azure instead of blue or lavender instead of purple. Haha! Okay, maybe not, but you get the gist.

2. Thoughtfulness.
It has come to my attention through the years that compared to my schedule, most people I interact with have highly packed and busy schedules. I am also not exactly high up on the monetary chain. What does this mean in regards to thoughtfulness, you ask? Simple. If I have crossed your mind and you wonder, "Is she well?" then if you shoot a text, just a quick little "Hope all is well in your world", that pretty much puts me on top of the world. Not a lot of money? No problem! If you see something I would think is cute, a snapshot wouldn't go amiss or even if you see a wildflower on the roadside or perhaps an acorn in your walking path--if it were given to me? That would put me over the moon. I kid you not.

3. Time.
I cannot rightly remember which General Authority it was, perhaps President Uchtdorf--but they said that love is spelled T-I-M-E. Sure, I am well aware that it might not be hours on hours (maybe not even a full hour) but even a fraction of time spent with me or even just talking with me means more than packing all of our interaction into one day of the week.
If there is a large amount of time to fill together (this is more for romantic interests) then Cuddle Time is wonderful--for I am a rather cuddly creature. And I am not ashamed.

4. Honesty.
Is there really anything to elaborate on this? If something bothers you, be upfront and tell me. Is there something that you love that you want to share with me? Let me know! I want to help or share in your joy! If you are a nerd? I can almost guarantee there is at least one topic we can nerd-out together on.

5. Junior Mints and Daisies.
This is obviously either for my really close friends or, dare I say it, romantic interests. Junior Mints are my favorite candy. Of. All. Time. And, you know, if you were ever in the market to brighten my day with flowers---daisies are the way to go. Tulips and roses are a good second. But daisies definitely take the proverbial cake.

I am sure there are infinitely more ways to my heart but these are a few of the most direct. Questions, comments, or concerns can be directed to me or even my best friends, I'm sure.


Love,
Me

New Year, Fresh Start

Do you ever get caught up in that most euphoric feeling that everything is new? That opportunity has finally come knocking and it is finally YOUR time to do all those things that you have been wanting to do but just haven't been able to muster the energy to pursue?
With the kick start of the New Year and everyone asking the big question, "What are your resolutions?" I have just been mildly overwhelmed with the feeling that this year, 2015, is mine. The winds of change are a-brewing and there is a lightness in my step and heart that has not been there for quite a while now.

I was having a conversation with myself (for who better to talk with about making improvements than with myself?) the other night and I asked myself, "Self, why is it that you can smile? Even through all of the trials and heartbreaks of the past years?" And you know what I told myself? What the answer was to that question? Hope. Faith.
I look to the future with a prayerful heart and a hopeful outlook that the future will be better than the past as long as I hold true to the faith that has gotten me this far. So do I have resolutions? You bet your sweet scooper. Will I hold fast to them? Time will tell but hey, it is a New Year and a fresh start.

One of my favorite gifts from Christmas happened to be a crock pot--one of the items that I feel will help me in at least one of my resolutions to eat more regularly and healthily at that. So, feel free to send good crock pot suggestions because I am going to need not a few. :)

I wish you all luck in the keeping of your resolutions and the realizations of your goals for 2015. And remember--the year is what you make of it, so run like the wind and take a leap now and again.

Love,
Me