Sunday, December 27, 2009

Home Making Advice From My Dad

--as he pulled a loaf of bread out of the oven and showed us how he had shoved a knife through the center.

"You know how this bread always comes out frozen in the middle? Well if you put a butter knife through the middle, the knife heats up and conducts the heat to the middle. And that's just a neat little homemaking tip."

I'm going to Seattle tomorrow, more to come.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

A Christmas Adam

Today my little sister informed me that since tomorrow is Christmas Eve, today is Christmas Adam.
Being home has been nice so far--I'm trying to keep busy with several sewing projects which will show up here with my swimsuits eventually. I also suspect I am quickly using up the household supply of emergency candles. Perhaps it's all the time I've been spending with Jack that has reminded me how much I love having candles everywhere. Although it might be dangerous since I have already fallen asleep with candles burning several times, and just now I cracked a miniature mason jar with a tea light in it.
If you are in need of some last minute Christmas music, check out Stereogum's Christmas mp3s. They've added some more, but my favorite off of this list is "Kiss me on Christmas". This leads me into my list of unnecessary items I bought today. The list includes: one bra, a music box that plays "let it be" (gift), communist toy soldier (prank), and Elna Baker's memoir New York Regional Mormon Singles Dance (splurge--a hardback copy of a book I've never heard of ?). I'll give a full review when I finish reading, but just reading the first essay I can already tell that this book is going to be simultaneously entertaining and depressing.

First of all, it's girls like Elna that make me hate my life sometimes. Of course her memoir talks about how she used to be the big girl who lost 80 pounds and subsequently has to deal with both Mormon and non-Mormon men wanting to date her. But, for one they never show pictures of her when she was fat--and from here I just see success.

On the other hand I relate to her sentiments on the pressures of trying to find "the one" or just A one in Mormon culture. I'm only twenty-one and with most of my friends already married or at least engaged; I feel like a spinster-nun hybrid.

I've always been pretty quiet and shy in public, but that certainly doesn't mean that I can't carry myself well or that I have a feeble personality. I remember conducting a meeting at church and having an adult come up to me afterwards to tell me that with my brains, beauty, and poise I would certainly attract a lot of attention from boys in college. NOT THE CASE.

It probably doesn't help that I just watched two inspirational movies back-to-back and now feel like I need to do something big.

I can only hope that my ventures into single Mormon culture post-graduation and even pre will be half as entertaining as Elna's.

I don't doubt that my fair share of adventure it waiting for me.

Starting 9am tomorrow at my brow waxing.


Friday, December 18, 2009

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Rhubarb Crisp

Sunny afternoon, end of June.

I walk out onto the porch and sit

on the top step with a bowl in my lap.

I’m trying to mix red and green rhubarb

With sweet oats and brown sugar.

I can smell the cinnamon and butter.

My arms are getting tired.

I bite a raw slice of rhubarb,

its skin a ripe red but tart as a lemon.

My eyes tear up, I swallow quickly and

keep stirring. I remember

picking long stalks for pies from

my grandma’s yard as a kid, the same

summer cousin Ben fed his brother’s shirt

to a neighbor dog. We found the shirt hours later

in a pile of leaves on the side of the road.

After finding the shirt we all traipsed down to the tire

swing in the woods as if nothing had happened.

Underwood Five

I lift the typewriter,

from the top shelf

my arms shaking

from the weight.

I blow off a blanket

of dust and it whispers,

“Make me new again.”

I feed the typewriter a single

white sheet of paper.

the carriage returns

like a doorbell ringing

The letter “o”


The keys chattering


“D n’t f rget me,

L ve me as I am.”


I’m sitting on the train home from work,

across from a man, his yellowing

beard flecked with tobacco stains

that match the ones on his hands

and face. He’s coated in a layer of

urban grime.

His hands rest on the handle of

a kelly green oxygen tank as if

it where a knotted wooden

walking stick. Vibrant tattoos,

spayed across his old skin

like graffiti on the side of an

abandoned building.

Four right angles hooked together

like a barrel of monkeys, smaller

ones wrap in a chain

from his wrist to his elbow

like Christmas lights wrap a tree.

The points look like legs jutting out

or barbed wire.

What would he think

if he knew that a black man

just gave up that seat?

On the Factory Floor

It’s like the “I Love Lucy” episode,

the one where she works in the chocolate factory,

but instead of chocolates I’m watching golden

flour-dusted potato rolls go by.

Instead of a frilly apron and big white hat

like the one Lucy wears, I have my waist length

hair tucked up into a fluorescent orange hard hat

and I’m wearing a white sweat drenched t-shirt,

jeans that haven’t been washed all week, and scuffed

brown leather boots.

I watch the rolls in groups of twelve—two rows of

six side by side. Like a part of the machine,

I take away extras and throw them

into a white plastic basket and when there aren’t

enough I take rolls out of the basket

and throw them back on the conveyor belt.

I squint, and see some rolls with black and white

machine grease splattered on them.

The manager says it is completely

edible, but no one wants to eat a roll that looks spattered

with pigeon poop.

Sometimes I grab an extra roll and hold it under my

hand, when no one is looking I rip off the top

and let the soft bread dissolve on my tongue.

I wish it were like “I Love Lucy”,

I would fail miserably, shoving rolls

down my shirt and into my mouth.

Everyone would laugh, and the show

would be over.


Bread in a toaster,

you dumped me in a

grove of blueberry bushes,

that summer we jumped in

all the fountains just for fun.

We titled the album

“Business Casual Snow Angels”.

I will never drink the love potion,

no matter how good it tastes.

Why would anyone

want Extra


An ankle is not unlike a

consequence. (Sit! Stay.)

Double your pleasure,

double your fun.


It’s an old cliché that

hope is like a star,

steadily burning

but easily crowded out

by harsh electric lights.

Sometimes the twinkling

icicle lights hanging from

my window seem more

real—closer than the

thousands of weak stars

getting old and tired,


on their way out.

Natural Medicine

The frizzy-haired physician

sitting cross-legged on the

examination table while I

sit in a chair, tells me that

women are lunar creatures.

And I imagine women circling

the earth, unable to break away

from its pull. Having no light

of their own, they reflect. . .

And throughout the month their size

fluctuates from full to a slim crescent.

The woman glares and

asks me incredulously,

Just what, exactly, don’t you understand?

Outdoor Survival

When you’re lost in the
woods--stop, stay in one place.

Build a lean-to out of branches,
use your spoon and start
digging your latrine,
light a fire and send out
smoke signals, just don’t

Studies show that people
walk in circles when their lost,
and your rescuers might miss
you if your circle is too big.

What no one tells you
is how long to wait.
Until your hair is long and grey
like Rip Van Winkle’s?
Or just until the moon is full?
What if no one is searching
for you?

Or maybe they are yards
away hidden in the trees, waiting
for you. Maybe they are lost too.

Chicken of the Sea

We are at the aquarium when she tells me

that the last time she threw up, shoulders hunched over

the porcelain toilet bowl, strands of blonde hair

grazing the seat, her index finger probing her throat,

she threw up tuna fish.

I wanted to stop, and I knew I’d never

Again make myself vomit

Once I’d thrown up tuna fish.

I imagine the miniature tuna swimming

up my throat, trying to force there way out.

Then the salmon I saw on a hike in sixth grade

that died trying to go home.

That salmon stopped eating,

put everything it had

into swimming upstream,

its mouth turning into

a beak. It slowly

began decomposing

but thought about

nothing but the task at hand.

The pressure of the vomit coming up

her throat like that salmon, swimming

against the current. And the smell:

like a dead fish lying on the sand under a hot sun,

frozen in a last gasp, ribs beginning to show through scales.

Blended with the slimy green algae that floats on

the surface of the pool you haven’t used in years

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Because I told my Mom I would post this conversation

I love my mom, this is fairly typical phone conversation between the two of us:

Me/K: I am going die of boredom driving home. Christmas better be worth it!

Mom: I hope your idea of a good Christmas isn't being showered with expensive gifts because I'm just not feeling it.

K: What?? That was exactly what I was expecting!

M: Well, we are remodeling the bathroom--isn't that a nice present that you can enjoy on a daily basis?

K: No. I think the bathroom is fine the way it is!

M: Gus says it repulses him (Gus is the family cat).

K: Gus??

M: Yes, I just walked by and he said the bathroom repulses him and he hates it when Kirsten says things like that.


I saw this picture on a professor's door in the JFSB and I LOVE it. And the grinch.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Prelude to a Merry Crystal Meth-mas

an update on my Thanksgiving weekend/ everything that has happened since


Left Provo. Nothing exciting happened.WEDNESDAY
I had an adventure trying to park the red yacht on the street in Portland while I got my hair cut then rushed to the temple to wait for my roommate to come out with her new husband!! I wish I had the pictures because she looked absolutely beautiful.

Then I sat at the single ladies table at the luncheon-- it was great.


Actually the least exciting day of the break. I got in another fight with my Dad and ate. A lot.


Lots of reading and spending time with my sisters. Then I went to help put together the floral centerpiece's for my roommate's reception. The reception was out at Pumpkin Ridge--I am sad it was so dark by the time the reception started that you couldn't see how beautiful the drive up was. I picked up one of the the roommate's friends from High School so she could be there and it was interesting talking to her. The reception was amazing. Better food than Thanksgiving.


Shopping solo.
I started out on the east side with Bolt, then moseyed over to Xtabay which is a little hard to find but well worth the hunt. They had some of the best vintagedresses I've seen in a long time--too bad I couldn't justify buying another dress. Then I headed back to the west end Narcisse, Frances May, and the Radish Underground. All three of these stores were participating in the shop local black Friday weekend, so I scored a great deal on blue wool NOA NOA ruffled shrug. Then I went down to Pioneer Place to check out the holiday pop-up Flurry, which I quite honestly wasn't very impressed with. On the way home I stopped by the local cemetery for some pictures in my newest purchase:

Juust Kidding. This is baby S who I went to play with later Saturday night after I stopped by at A's birthday party. I think baby S remembers me, and even if we didn't we still had a great time playing together and it made me so happy to see him and his family.

Here's the cemetery picture:
I headed back to Provo on Sunday where it's been mostly back to business. Squincher has been dying to do every one's makeup so we had a little photo shoot with G's brother where you can see more of my new favorite shrug.

On Thursday night I went to the Beehive Bazaar with Candy. It was a lot of fun, but we are so crafty we mostly ended up with a lot of ideas for crafts. But I also got a floral cameo bracelet and a pretty card:

It says, "I want to be where you are". Ironically, this Sunday morning I woke up to snow at Lumberjacqueline's house, but I am also working on finishing up this swimsuit for class today.
I would call it the Olive Green Grecian Goddess Swimsuit, but that's a mouthful.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Today I'm Thankful for:

My Family,

An old box of photos (Can you guess where I'm from?),
Mistakes and serendipity,
Finding the beauty in plainness,
And my Beautiful mother.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

On the top of my Christmas List

I might go camping if I had one of these:
Just Kidding. I actually enjoy camping. If I had one of these I would wear it around the house all the time--the snuggie doesn't stand a chance.

[Via TCH]

Monday, October 12, 2009


I'm not sure what sparked it, but I can only imagine there were a multiplicity of reasons. But today at work I felt the familiar sensation of a sandbag on my chest. My breath became rapid and I was as jittery as if I had stayed up all night. It took me back to a summer afternoon over a year ago where I sat outside a park in my car. The feeling had overpowered me and I was crying and listening to "At Last" by Neko Case, over and over again, but only really hearing the last line.

I know every bell that tolls me.

Then I was afraid of this bell and it took me a long time to figure out what the tolling meant, but now faced with a different bell.

And I wonder if I'm supposed to stay where I am, or leap into the unknown.

Monday, October 5, 2009

You want to know why I'm self-conscious??


Results of recent performance tests have alerted us to a problem-- some of our models aren't opening properly, and some failed to open at all. As even malfunctions due to lack of routine maintenance are covered under the warranty, the following remedies have been implemented:

1. A Restatement of Safety Precautions

Avoid placing hearts and minds in close proximity to dogma. It can short-circuit empathy and Love's pandemonium, and cause interference with thought.

2. An Addendum to Previous Cleaning Instructions

Regularly blow out the intake valves to reduce these preventable hazards: dust, rust, miserliness, poor circulation, habitual constriction, never having heard Beau Jocque play accordion or Coltrane's recording of A Love Supreme; or the other day in Santa Monica, for instance, two tourists stood face to face with the Pacific. One of them said to the other, "Well... I thought it would be bigger." That sort of thing.

3. In the event that there's still no improvement, sign and return the form provided. Such hearts, and minds will be replaced free of charge in three to six days upon receipt.

-- Rob Carney, Weather Report

I am having such a hard time not being self-conscious about my writing when I read amazing writing like this and wonder what more could I contribute?? If you are in Provo you should go see Rob Carney speak in the English Dept. reading series on Friday at noon.

Today I wore this outfit. Except most of the day, except at work, I was wearing my black military pea coat on top. I got lots of compliments and that made me feel so pretty. In fact the girl who checked my books out at the library even waived my fine. Who knows if that had any correlation with her love of my outfit. Watch out busy week; here I come!

Also, today at the L&F I got a high five from a cool Korean and another Asian came in and said he was looking for what sounded like his "pancakes" I don't think I blogged about this, but last week I had a phone encounter where I thought I guy was looking for his lost "cheese" when really he was saying keys. It was really funny/embarrassing. Apparently I DO learn from my mistakes because I knew he probably really wasn't looking for pancakes so I asked him to repeat what he was looking for. Again he said "pancakes." I probably looked really confused so he elaborated, "You know? a case for pens?" He was saying "pen case" but you should have heard it, really sounded like pancakes. Over&Out.

Ps. As I child I could never get the picture puzzles that you have to go cross-eyed for because I can't cross them all the way. I even went to
the doctors because they thought it was the source of the migraines I used to get, and they wanted me to practice crossing my eyes everyday. Today I tried again and also attempted to capture the moment. I am feeling very tempted by the fact that its about as much to buy an imac as
a macbook pro.

Attempt #1

Attempt # 2
Attempt # 3
Now my head hurts.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Weekend Crafting

This weekend I was inspired to make a wreath for our front door to replace the hand-drawn "God Bless America" sign. Not that I'm not patriotic, but those kind of signs always seem to make me feel uneasy, perhaps it's from my left-leaning socio-cutural paradigm that makes alarms screaming "zealot!" go off. Or maybe just my bad experiences with the kind of people who overuse those signs (read: conservative Christians who love America but hate Mormons). Either way, I was mostly looking for some creative outlet during conference when I stayed up late constructing this:

I think I may have to make more pinwheels to fill it out, but it looks pretty good so far, considering that I had to make a makeshift wreath form with a wire hanger and sew all the pinwheels on by hand! I used newspaper from The Oregonian which my mom sent as packing material in a box. Little did I notice one of the images showing on the wreath.

Monday, September 21, 2009


"We wake and find ourselves on a stair; there are stairs below us, which we seem to have ascended, and there are stairs above us, many a one, which go upward and out of sight.... Sleep lingers all our lifetime about our eyes, as night hovers all day in the boughs of the fir-tree. All things swim and glitter. Our life is not so much threatened as our perception." Emerson.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

White Personality

Speaking of other things I like: I present "History sticks to our feet" by Modest Mouse of their newest ep "No one's first and you're next." Think of it in terms of what I said about nostalgia.
At the movies
eyes iced over
Walking sideways, through the gutters
And you realize that the floor sticks to your feet like history
Don't you look at me like life don't hold you any mystery
Bag of splinters boiling over, on your back expose your belly
Optimism doesn't change the facts, just what you're gonna see

Like it was stated that we're walking salt and coal
Plants solidify sunshine; how this started, I don't know
Causing feet and entire chain shoe stores
The sun's diary pulled up from deep canary holes
And when we read it, our skin, it becomes warm

At the movies, eyes iced over
Walking sideways, through the gutters
And you realize that the floor sticks to your feet, your history
I'm gonna slap that look off your face like life don't hold you no mystery
All those red marks on our shoulders
Self back patting, homemade trophies
Well the past only exists as tiny bricks we burn to release all its memories
I've had enough with rolling boulders, I want more moss on me

Clocks to splinters but time goes forward
And when them tree drop leaves your feet collect their memories
I guess all us snakes find our tails pretty damn tasty!!

I heard you mention we're walking salt and coal
Plants solidify sunshine; how this started, I don't know
Causing feet and entire chain shoe stores
The sun's diary pulled up from deep canary holes
And when we read it, our skin, it becomes warm

At the movies, eyes iced over
Walking sideways, through the gutters
And you realize that the floor sticks to your feet, your history
I'm gonna knock that look off your face like life don't hold you no mystery

Kate Towers.

Has some gorgeous new pictures up on her website. If I ever get married want her to make my wedding dress. I love the pleats and I think I may incorporate them into a dress I am trying to finish this semester. And these photos make me miss Oregon so much!

The Future of Nostalgia

This afternoon I knocked a glass bowl off the counter and the glass exploded into every corner of the kitchen. It was the last straw. Or maybe that came a couple moments later when i burned my arm on the oven rack. Either way I was fed up with myself.

I feel as if I am doing nothing and yet so many of the things I want to be doing

And at the same time I'm not really sure I now what it is I really want.

Now that I'm in a poetry class I seem unable to produce any.

Friday night I went out with Yoko and when we finally came back to my apartment we sat and talked a while and the conversation turned to her mission. Her advice and description of her experience was so honest and stripped of the nostalgic feeling I'm sure she has about her mission; I really appreciated it.

I've been thinking a lot about an article we read for class by Svetlana Boym about the future of nostalgia. We read it because we are reading Philip Roth's book "Plot Against America" next, plus we are reading a lot of books that look back on events. Boym says that there are two kinds of nostalgia: reflective and restorative. I think we all probably consist of a mixture of both, but restorative nostalgia is the kind that in excess creates nationalism and conspiracy theories. It is when people feel that what they had in the past is better and want to go back to it. "Restorative puts emphasis on nostos and proposes to rebuild he lost home and patch up the memory gaps. Reflective nostalgia dwells in agia, in longing and loss, the imperfect process of remembrance." Restorative creates a paradox in the fact that it often irrationally places the past in a higher place than the presence without discrimination. Also there is the fact that as much as we try to create the past in the present we can never go "home." Reflective nostalgia looks back on history and loves it, but doesn't want to go back. Tolstoy would like that, in his writing he professes to believe that we should live by our intuition (or I might say the HG) and live in the moment; a moment informed by he past and aware of the future but living in that moment just the same.

I've never had someone really close to me die, but I have had a couple moments (two to be really specific) where I felt so devastated by someones death that it was like I knew them. One of them happened today. I was babysitting for Baby S when his Mom and I got talking about medicine and she said that her mother was finally going in after denying that she was in pain for so long. The week I came back two weeks later I saw her right after she found out her mom was dying. The rest of the summer went by pretty normal, but there were moments when I could see and feel some of the wild worry she was dealing with. Being with her the whole summer and seeing how she thought about it everyday I could tell how much she loved her mother. And even though I never met her I know that she must have been great. Today I found out that she died yesterday and I feel so devastated for her family. I know I was sent into her family's life for a reason just as they were to mine. Sometimes I forget how lucky I am.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

To Draw Closer to God

I am reading this book by Henry B. Eyring and I love it so far. I especially love this passage I read last night.

"There is a danger in deciding who your favorite prophet is, just as there is in having a favorite living General Authority or a favorite bishop of your ward or a favorite visiting teacher. The danger is that you may not listen to the most important messenger to you, who is always the one God sends you now." (Emphasis added).

Sometimes it is really easy to dismiss those around us because we don't connect or approve of them on a personal/personality level. But when we ignore people because we don't find them particularly interesting or well spoken we are missing out on the messages the lord is trying to send us. Even the simplest person can convey the message we need to hear now. I think one of the things I have the strongest testimony of is that we are sent the people we need in our lives constantly to help us in some way. I am feeling inspired to do some big things this weekend and I have lots more to blog about, but few hours until I need to be awake again. Today was a very good day.

I can't figure out to embed videos so I am going to rely on the power of the hyper-link.

I know this video has gone around a lot, but I can't watch it enough.

And I watched this movie with my friend today and absolutely loved it. Great Band. Great Film. And Favorite song of the moment. It's my mantra.

Lastly, this video made me want to get out and serve a mission or at least serve someone.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Someday I want to stop and check out the Pendleton Wool mill. I love the beautiful colors and patters of Pendleton wool, but was never able to appreciate it because of the dowdy styles. The Pendleton store definitely caters to an older crowd, which is why I think it's so great that they are collaborating with opening ceremony to create a younger look. I want all of these pieces!

including the Doc Marten heeled boots!

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

This is a song for those who can't get out of bed.

On Tuesday instead of holding class we were supposed to attend a poetry ready by the famous Australian/Brit poet: Kevin Hart. I thought the reading started at 9am instead of 930 so I was there over a half hour early. I was the first on there and chose a prime spot in the last row in the back left corner. When the poet finally arrived he remarked on how wonderful it must be to walk to class in the morning in the wake of the mountains. He's right. We may not have ivy covered halls, or much green at all, but the mountains are always the picture of hope for me while I am in Utah. I think that is going to be the topic of my essay for the Brimhall contest. More on that to come.

Then tonight I was sitting on the couch, doing some reading for my poetry class when a paper airplane sailed through the room and onto my lap. I picked it up and saw it was a folded up ad from a magazine. I tossed it to the side and continued reading.

Five minutes later another plane lands on my lap. This one is made out of lined paper and says "The USS Poetry" and "To KRISTY Harris" on the outside. On the inside it says

You are so beautiful, Kristy
You are so pretty... like a bee!
Can't you see?

I throw this opened plane on the floor next to the couch and plough ahead in the reading. Another five minutes pass, and another plane lands on my lap. This one says "To: Kersten. From: Everyone but Cami" on the outside. On the inside it says

Roses are red,
violets eat glue
I like red robbins,
but not as much as chu!

I shake my head and turn back to the poem at hand, but am again interupted. This time by a wadded up ball of paper that says "Open me Fool!!" On the inside it says "Wanna watch a movie??"

We are sitting on the couch twenty minutes later, waiting for one of our roommates to come out, "I know," I say "How about I read aloud one of the poems I need to read for class. All aboard the USSR Poetry!"

In other news, this is the picture I had put in the ward directory (and I has to fight for it.):

Saturday, September 5, 2009

The Trapeze Act Was Never Meant to Last.

Please borrow this collection of poems from me.

A Chance For The Soul

by Carl Dennis

Am I leading the life that my soul,
Mortal or not, wants me to lead is a question
That seems at least as meaningful as the question
Am I leading the life I want to live,
Given the vagueness of the pronoun "I,"
The number of things it wants at any moment.

Fictive or not, the soul asks for a few things only,
If not just one. So life would be clearer
If it weren't so silent, inaudible
Even here in the yard an hour past sundown
When the pair of cardinals and crowd of starlings
Have settled down for the nigh in the poplars.

Have I planted the seed of my talent in fertile soil?
Have I watered and trimmed the sapling?
Do birds nest in my canopy? Do I throw a shade
Others might find inviting? These are some handy metaphors
The soul is free to use if it finds itself
Unwilling to speak directly for reasons beyond me,
Assuming it's eager to be of service.

Now the moon, rising above the branches,
Offers itself to my soul as double,
Its scarred face an image of the disappointment
I'm ready to say I've caused if the soul
Names the particulars and suggests amendments.

So fine are the threads that the moon
Uses to tug at the ocean that Galileo himself
Couldn't imagine them. He tried to explain the tides
By the earth's momentum as yesterday
I tried to explain my early waking
Three hours before dawn by street noise.

Now I'm ready to posit a tug
Or nudge from the soul. Some insight
Too important to be put off till morning
Might have been mine if I'd opened myself
To the occasion as now I do.

Here's a chance for the soul to fit its truth
To a world of yards, moons, poplars, and starlings,
To resist the fear that to talk my language
Means to be shoehorned into my perspective
Till it thinks as I do, narrowly.

"Be brave, soul," I want to say to encourage it.
"Your student, however slow, is willing,
The only student you'll ever have."

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Girl With a Head of Camera

The Rabbit Room

One night as I lay completely unaware of the world around me
in bed, I dreamt of waking in a room of a different kind. This other room was similar to the one I grew up in; the isolated room that was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, and looked out on the wooded back yard. But I didn't notice the view or the temperature as I sat up with my blanket pulled up to my chin. As I first surveyed the room, the vanity in the corner seemed to grow legs and begin walking towards me. I looked around and saw that the walls were following suite until my room was the size of a closet. I sat motionless and staring straight forward until I was sure the walls had stopped shrinking. When I finally looked around again I saw that the room had been stripped of all my photos, the glass door leading out to the deck and both my closets. The only thing that remained on the wall was the light wood door that lead out into the hallway. The only source of light was a single fluorescent light bulb hanging directly above my head.
When I looked back at the vanity I saw that most of the drawers were open with clothes spilling out in a typical fashion. Suddenly, out popped the heads of two nutria and I recoiled
at the thought of the combination of their long beaver teeth that were undoubtedly the color of a rusty tin can, matted brown greasy fur, as well as their rat tails. This fear was strange since I had always wanted to feed the nutria that lived in the watery ditch outside the grocery store near my house. In eighth grade a girl in my homeroom had one as a pet and I was jealous because I thought they were cute. Nevertheless I tried to run for the door, but just as I moved the nutrias climbed out of the drawer and across the burnt orange carpet. I took one long look,
jumped back on the bed, and sat there with my eyes firmly shut. When I woke the next day I reflected on t he strange dream, particularly the moment I looked a the creatures before jumping to the bed. Then I realized the animals I saw in the dream were not nutria at all, but brown bunny rabbits with fluffy brown fur, cotton ball tails, small teeth, and twitching noses.

I have mixed feelings about being back in Provo. Almost all of the negatives are stemming from the fact that I am graduating after this year and I'm not sure what to do. I am just about done unpacking and it feels like I've never left. My Mac also was upgraded and not I have a web cam and have spent too much of my time playing around w
with photo booth. See for yourself:

Oh, and check out my book for my swimsuit class:

I think I should combine the two and make a patriotic bikini with the high bottoms.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

A Shoutout to Lady Di

But probably not the lady you're thinking of; Lady Di is my grandmother's family nickname. She doesn't read my blog, but I want to write about her anyway because I found some old pictures of her that I want to show off.

(This is my favorite and I think the crease in the middle only adds to its charm.)
Yes, my grandmother is more attractive than yours.

I've noticed that most young people find their looks to be completely ordinary, but every time I look at pictures of older people as youth they look so radiant.

I haven't seen my grandma in almost two years because they are serving as the temple presidents in the Dominican Republic. I miss seeing them regularly but I know that they are doing the right thing and that they have grown to love the people they serve. Both Big D and Lady Di have set powerful examples for me of what it means to be disciples of Christ. They also always expect only the best from me, which I really appreciate. Grandpa would always ask me about school by asking if I had straight A's. I would usually smile a little sheepishly (because I hardly ever had all A's. Although I still had pretty good grades.) but I never felt like he was or would be disappointed that I didn't do well in school he just saw all the potential I had.

Some of my first memories of my grandparent and the house on Skyline are from when my younger sisters were born. For each of my four younger sisters birth my dad would drop us off with my grandparent while he took Mom to the hospital. I remember all the adventures I had as well as waking up to pancakes in the morning. Grandma always made a full breakfast with pancakes shaped like chickens and rabbits. I also remember sneaking out to the candy jar in the living room before breakfast and my grandma coming out in her garments to scold me about ruining my appetite. But even when reprimanding me they made me feel completely loved.