This Is What I Think About

I woke up from my Sunday afternoon nap weeping happy tears because I was re-living the beauty of my wedding day.

When I finally felt well enough to go out and get some fresh air, it was completely ruined because someone's dog (or everyone's dog, more likely) decided to take a poo on the trail, and I could smell it half a mile away.

I hate said dog and all dog owners. I want to projectile vomit on all of them, and their progeny, to the 7th generation.

I, who used to pride myself on my superior bladder control, now have to wake up to pee at least 3 times every night.

My reaction to that one video about mommies I saw on Facebook.

I call my mom every day.

I'm having a baby!!!

I am convinced that I doubled my child's chances of getting ADHD, autism, Alzheimers, ALS, and every autoimmune disorder out there because I took a tylenol to stifle the pain of a debilitating migraine. After puking so violently I burst a blood vessel... oh, wait. I think I took the tylenol before I puked. Maybe that means the baby didn't absorb any of it.

My sister sends me pictures of a pregnant fitness trainer who has muscles on top of her baby bump, and I just want to cry--because even though running and weight-lifting used to be my favorite things to do besides reading books, just getting up and walking across the room makes me want to hurl.

We did a tour of the local birthing center, and Man thinks they're so hippie he's surprised the whole place doesn't smell like vegan farts. It's ok, Hunny. I read a story on the internet about how hard childbirth is for daddies. There was one who passed out as the baby was born—poor dude broke his leg. It's a good thing they were in a hospital. 

Everyone thinks it's a girl.

What is there to get so excited about? We signed away our firstborn child a few months ago when we changed the terms of our lease.

One Thousand

This post is about my book 1,000. I'm really glad I picked what I did. Husband was reading it with me, but now he is reading by himself, because I am finished!

After much internal debate, a few half-hearted suggestions from friends and family, and a brief but interesting first encounter with YA Steampunk (which was fun but not worth blog time), I decided to go with Atlas Shrugged. Not because I believe in Objectivism, but because from everything I have heard, the book is unique for its depiction of what freedom and justice really look like.

The book is well worth reading, whether you agree with it or not. Because so many people hate it, it is generally put in a class of its own, or dismissed as political philosophy, but really, this book has close ties to Urban Fantasy and even Steampunk--but I would actually say that it's Anti-steampunk, because Steampunk a lot of the time acknowledges magic, whereas Atlas Shrugged is a direct attempt to prove that nothing happens by magic, but by hard work and ingenuity.

It would be easy here to go off on a political rant instead of doing a review of the book. In fact, I did just that, but fortunately for you, I deleted it before I went too far.

Rand's writing is brilliant in many ways. She provides excellent imagery, particularly in allowing for the visualization of the characters. Every page reads like a scene from a Classic movie. Black and white, high contrast lighting; busy, energetic backdrop. I haven't seen the movies that are being made from this story--I don't see how they could be made in color with 21st-Century actors and still achieve the right tone and visual effect the story needs.

She shares the ability with Tolstoy, another Russian, to give a panoramic view of life in all its complexities. In some ways, it's a lot like Anna Karenina.

However, like George Eliot, she can be heavy. She overstates her points with prose. While the illustrations are apt, the monologues could use some heavy editing. And unlike Eliot, whose heaviness conveys erudition, Rand's can have a tone of condescension.

Before I started reading it this last time (I actually attempted to read it twice before and didn't get very far), I skimmed through the reviews on Amazon. Incidentally, you can learn a lot about something from Amazon by reading the 1-star reviews. That's what I always do, anyway. If the bad reviews are written by petty, uneducated people who are miffed about something, whether it be that the ideas in the book challenge their worldview or the book just didn't get there fast enough, it's probably going to be at least marginally good. The negative reviews about AS on Amazon were mostly written by people who were offended by the author's narrow, judgmental viewpoint. Well, there you go. As soon as you pull the "You're so judgmental" card, especially with reference to fiction, I'm sick of you and more likely to disagree with everything you say. There were many objections that I find to be very legitimate, but most of those were brought up in the positive reviews--such as the fact that she is overly verbose in stating her points, and that she has a limited scope and view of the world.

In acknowledging that limited scope, I'm reminded of a crazy experience I had one time watching a Bollywood film. It was set in Las Vegas and Mexico, and featured two star-crossed lovers--one from India, one from Mexico. I've seen violent movies before. I've seen movies before that depicted corruption of lawmakers and law enforcers. At first I couldn't figure out why I found the movie so much more disturbing than others of that kind--and my sister helped me see that it was probably because the makers of the movie were accustomed to a different type of corruption, and to a political system that is much more murky than what we're used to experiencing as Americans--and that they injected that worldview into their depiction of American lives.

I feel like maybe that is what happened with Ayn Rand as she wrote Atlas Shrugged. She was scarred by her experiences with Russian Communism, and she would have seen anything remotely resembling those kinds of tendencies and thoughts very differently than someone who was born in a non-Communist country.

However, I do not feel that her points are rendered invalid by her experiences. Those experiences and fears are natural and just, and the situations she fabricated are not that far off from reality, so regardless of how much we might agree or disagree with her politically, it is important to weigh the kinds of concerns she brings up and put some serious thought into what is happening around us, as well as how we are perceiving political and economic events.

At any rate, it has given me a new understanding of the importance of taking charge of my own success and allowed me a stronger sense of pride in a job well done--both at work and at home. And for that, I appreciate her genius.

Next book review (potentially): Man's Search For Meaning, by Victor Frankl.

Bridezilla

The closest I came to being bridezilla was telling my mom in an email that I don't like turquoise, but that she could wear a turquoise dress to my wedding if she really wants to. I don't know that I have it in me to be bridezilla anyway (gosh, I hope not), but from the very beginning of this engagement, I've been determined not to be it.

I fear there might be something worse than bridezilla. I think it might be more difficult for people to deal with bride-I-just-want-everyone-to-be-happy-and-have-a-good-time-so-I'm-always-changing-my-mind-about-what-I-really-want-for-the-wedding.

Some coworkers sweetly let me know I was crazy for telling four of my siblings that they could all stay with me in my 600-square-foot apartment for two days before the wedding. I think it will be lots of fun, and I'm never ever going to tell a family member that they can't stay with me—particularly considering the effort it takes to come to a wedding over 1,000 miles away. It will be like a bachelorette party. Only without all the yucky stuff. And with some of my favorite people, except without Man ... sad. So, okay, not really like a bachelorette party. But fun nevertheless, because my siblings are brilliant.

There was a moment at my third visit to the (second) tailor shop that I almost didn't tell them to adjust the dress again, because I hate being hard to please. But then I reminded myself that I did not pay all that money for alterations—they cost more than the dress itself—only to end up with a dress that puffs out in an unflattering way right at the belly.

Even when you try to keep things as simple as possible, planning a wedding is expensive and stressful. How expensive and stressful you would never know unless you've tried looking for bridal gowns (what the ...! is going on with those price tags??). I never realized before venturing into this world myself that some people will actually get a second job for a year or two just to pay for a wedding. My goal was just to manage it without cleaning out my entire savings account. My coworkers might marvel at how put-together I seem, and they might kindly observe that it must be because my focus is on the marriage rather than the wedding. Maybe that's true, but weddings are messy, and I don't think I'm as put together as I seemed during that conversation.

The last straw for this people-pleasing bride was being told that several members of the groom's extended family don't want to come unless there is a ring ceremony. There are only two weeks left before the wedding. I'm now planning one, but it makes me want to cry big tears. I may or may not have already cried big tears.

One day it will all be worth it. It is important to Man that these people come and have a good experience—and because it is important to him, it's important to me. We will look back on the day and just remember how nice it was to have all our family here to support us.

All the same, it's a good thing it's too late to elope.

Stop Eating Worms

Please weigh in, and correct me if I'm wrong.

When I was a little girl and I was determined to be upset about something, my mom used to say I should go eat worms. This makes sense to anyone who knows me, because I'm kind of a princess about food and, well, a lot of other things. It was her ultimate way of bringing home the point that I was the one choosing to feel ill-used.

And with that introduction, I want to talk about passive aggressivism. This is on my mind because not long ago I listened to a motivational talk that was mostly about marital relationships but can apply to just about anyone's dealings with other people.

People, no matter how much they love you, can not read your mind. Period. It doesn't somehow mean that they love you more if they happen to guess what you want or need at just the right moment. It doesn't mean they love you less if they actually ask you what you want or what you need.

This is one of the big problems I have with Relief Society and Visiting Teaching culture. And maybe friendships as well. Maybe I'm trying to rationalize how bad of a visiting teacher I am (although in my defense, I try to see my ladies, but they are very upfront about the fact that they would rather just be friends than have me stop by their house with a message from the Ensign). Maybe I'm just bad at reading people. Maybe I'm too self-absorbed to anticipate needs and wants. I dunno, but I'm tired of stressing about it.

It seems to me to equate to the story about the wife who sits around sniffing audibly and then gets massively offended because her husband doesn't automatically know that he was supposed to take out the trash before it got smelly. Um ... how about just asking him to take out the trash?

Yes, we've all heard those sweet stories about women who just called up on a prompting from the Spirit and it happened to be the moment when her visiting teachee was going into premature labor and needed to be rushed to the hospital immediately and provided with childcare and meals for her family. Those are great stories. They are powerful stories. I do not discount them.

However, there is another side to this. The Spirit does not tell us every little thing we are supposed to do that is good and right and saving. Sometimes we honestly don't know what someone needs, and the Spirit is not going to tell us. Because that would make us lazy.

At the same time, we seem to have built up this culture that says our visiting teachers and our friends— and whoever else—is supposed to just know what we need and do it without being asked.

That's stupid. If you are offended by someone asking you what you want or need, that's your problem. If you choose to believe that it is a lazy question that is intended to avoid the responsibility of anticipating what you need, well, you have big issues and you need to work through them. Almost every time someone asks you what you need, it is from a sincere desire to help. And if you don't believe that, go have a little therapy. I'm serious.

And what's more, it's really ok to have to ask someone for help. Don't wait for them to offer and feel ill-used when they either forget or aren't specific enough. Just ask.

I'm done feeling bad that I actually have to ask how I can help. There is only so much you can observe about someone, especially when they are too busy to have you come into your home and hang out with you for half an hour (no hard feelings ladies, I totally understand). And the Spirit works better when your mind is informed. It's not magic, it's inspiration. Two completely different things.

Takeaway: I will continue to come up with random acts of service that I offer to my visiting teachees and friends, but if they choose to believe that I'm supposed to just know, and that I should automatically know what they want or even that I should randomly know what they need before they even know they need it, I'm not going to worry or assume that I don't have the Spirit. I love serving people, and I love helping them in ways that are actually helpful—this is not a case of "I'm going to do this nice thing for you so that I can feel good about myself while it's not really doing much to help you and may even be adding stress to your already stressful life."

I want to help. I am not going to read your mind. And I am going to continue to ask how I can help.

Addendum:
The Church is true. The more I think about it and the more I live it, the more I know it. There is not another organization that is so perfectly designed to take people who with all their hearts want to be good and systematically teach them how.

Critters

I should probably blog about something important, like my wedding plans or the insanity at my job. But instead, I want to talk about critters.

First, I love butterflies. Who doesn't? I have fake butterflies pinned up on the walls of my apartment, and they make me so very happy. When the nice photographer who is doing our wedding announcements was asking me what my "style" was, I wasn't sure—Man said butterflies. And he is right.

So I was actually a little bit thrilled when I discovered that the other night when we were saying goodnight on the doorstep and occupied with things other than what was coming in and out the door, a butterfly (well, it's probably a moth) came in and took up residence. The great thing about it is that it attached itself to the wall in very close proximity to the fake butterflies so it blended right in. So cute.

It did leave me wondering what it was going to do for survival, and I made a mental note to check on it in the morning. Of course it was gone by then. Somewhere else inside, I figured. As long as it didn't end up landing on my face while I was sleeping, I wasn't concerned.

Then I found it today. In a spider web. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Anyway, the other thing I have to say about critters is that some people just need to understand that not everyone thinks that their yappy dog who gets excited/angry on a regular basis in the middle of the night (and at various and sundry times of the day) is as cute as they think it is. I want to be a nice neighbor and not go straight to apartment management about it, but how would it look if I showed up in my jammies at 1am and just told them straight up--your dog is keeping me from getting some desperately needed sleep? Let's work on some conflict resolution here.

But I can't think of any good way to ask them to work with me. For now, I'm just praying they move soon, like it seems everyone else in that particular apartment does. People must hate living below me. Maybe it has something to do with how often I drop my liter-sized shampoo bottles while showering. I dunno. And maybe that is just as rude as having a yappy dog. I guess everyone is unintentionally rude sometimes. Even spiders who let butterflies get caught in their webs.

One Thousandth

This might just be the biggest first world problem in the universe, but I'm going to write about it anyway, because really, what else is a blog for? No, I shouldn't say that. I know a lot of blogs that are very nontrivial. Maybe it is me who is trivial and not blogs.

I was going over the list of books I've read, or, more accurately, the list of books I can remember having read. I am about 14 titles shy of 1,000. I won't pretend that I'm not impressed with myself. At one point I wanted to set a goal to read 1,000 books by the time I turned 30, but I abandoned it because I knew it was unrealistic. It could have been done, only at a really stupid cost. But this is the year, regardless of my age.

However, book number 1,000 needs to be special. It can't be just any book, right?

So, what's it gonna be? I need some ideas. I've already read pretty much every work of classic/highly acclaimed literature, and if I haven't read it yet, it's probably because I have concerns about the content and/or its possible effect on my mental and emotional wellbeing. Although I can't say that for certain, because as of last year I had not read The Grapes of Wrath or For Whom the Bell Tolls.

I have the top shelf of one of my bookcases reserved for literary masterpieces, and I studied it for a moment, wondering if the authors represented have works as yet unexplored by me. They do, but I've already read their greatest works. Book 1,000 can't be The Toilers of the Sea if I've already read Les Miserables. A Tale of Two Cities is there, but I don't think I'll ever be bored enough to want to read Little Dorrit.

If I don't come up with anything better it will probably end up being The Way of Kings, by Brandon Sanderson. I have heard good things about this book by people who are maybe just a little obsessive over it. The only drawback is that it is the first in what will turn out to be a massive epic fantasy series, and I'm just not sure I want to get involved right now. And yet, I will get involved at some point, and if I wait too long I might get overwhelmed by the number of words to read rather than the time I will have to wait until the next part is written and published. Maybe Sanderson will be 999 or 1,001. 

It wouldn't be that difficult of a decision if I counted re-reads. But I don't. So reading Jane Eyre for the 10th (or 11th or 12th ... or something) time isn't an option.

I could totally go ancient and read something like Pilgrim's Progress, or Paradise Lost. Pilgrim's Progress is the most famous allegory ever. And as for Paradise Lost, in order to graduate with an English Literature degree from BYU, you have to take a course solely on Shakespeare, Chaucer, or Milton. Milton is the only one I'm not too familiar with (though I'd be lying if I said I've read all of The Canterbury Tales or even the majority of Shakespeare's plays and sonnets). That could work.

I wonder if it should be a book about a bibliophile. Or about bibliophilia in general. Like Ex Libris or Experiment in Criticism. But I've already read them. Bibliokleptomania:  The Book Thief? Already read it.

The sad truth is—and I seem to remember having written something similar to this on my blog already, so forgive me for repeating myself—that the more you read, the harder you have to work to be truly impressed by a book.

Thus, here it is. A blog post serving a dual role—1) asking for reading recommendations and 2) serving as an illustration of the oftentimes trivial nature of life in a developed country.

And to further that thought, I am really miffed about this snowstorm that hit today. Not because I don't have a safe, warm place to curl up while I wait it out, because I do, and I will mention that I'm really, really grateful for that, but because it means that I can't go to the gym today or tomorrow. And, more important, me and the Man are both off work at the same time for once, and because he lives in the next county, we can't see each other on his day off. It was officially recommended around 2 pm today that if you weren't already home, you should just stay at work overnight. And that led me to think about how fun it would be to have a game of hide and seek in my office building. Then I just wanted to see him. Because he is one in a thousand. Or a billion. Or something.

What the—? Education Rant, Part 2

This is one of the most offensive things I have ever read on the internet.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/claire-wapole/thirty-minutes-tops_b_3861853.html

Can you believe the nerve of this woman, who is poking fun at the person who is attempting to give her freaking kid an industry-standard education that she doesn't even have to pay for?

If you think you don't have enough hours in the day to teach your kids life skills, if the school day and its subsequent responsibilities are too much for you, I suggest you find an alternative, rather than turning the work that teacher does in the classroom into a joke.

I hate public education, and I hate homework, too, but give me a break.

A Rant on Education

Warning: this post is not politically correct. It might be snarky. It is probably judgmental. It might contain run-on sentences even (ouch—I have an English degree, and I know grammar and mechanics, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do). And I reserve the right to change my mind about any of it at any time. I apologize in advance if any of what I write here offends you. I'm open to criticism. I also openly admit to having occasional logic problems and trouble forming coherent arguments. Limited editing has been done, but because it's a blog, I'm not going to put in the effort to organize it better. Constructive feedback is welcome.

Few people annoy me more than the parents of special needs children. That is my problem, not theirs. I am working on repenting for this. They are carrying a burden I can't imagine, and I do feel an insane amount of compassion for them, particularly when I'm able to meet them as individuals. But I can't stand them as a group. Most of them lobby and "advocate" and fight emotional battles; they make a big deal about non-issues. And in the end, they end up forcing acts like IDEA that contribute to the destruction of everyone's educational experience.

After seeing two different friends from two different states post memes regarding education that are supposed to be common sense and clever, I can't not express my opinion somewhere, so rather than hijacking someone's Facebook status, I'm going to rant on my blog.

Apparently, Michael J. Fox says that if a kid can't learn the way you teach, maybe you should teach the way they can learn. Aw, that's so sweet.

It's also ridiculous.

Public education was never meant to be a customizable, boutique experience in which every child gets his or her individual needs catered to. It's impractical, not to mention impossible. If you want your special baby to have the kind of attention that requires, do it yourself. You know your kid. You love your kid. And you know what kind of direction your kid's learning can and should take. If you are incapable of doing it yourself, how realistic is it to expect the State to do it? How realistic is it to expect a teacher with a classroom full of little darlings, all of whose needs are special, to customize the learning experiences in a way that doesn't waste anyone's time and doesn't require the teacher to work him or herself into an early grave? AT THE SAME TIME implementing a standardized State curriculum that is designed to be a one-size-fits-all assembly line model to churn out people capable of choosing the best answer when presented with 4 alternatives. All of this on a salary that is kept necessarily low—because, after all, it is tax money, which means it is forcibly taken from other citizens and can't be compared to the salary of professional athletes because things like sports generate their own revenues (I strongly disagree with the proposal that, as things stand, teachers should get more money. That's dumb. And while I didn't argue with the school district that employed me as a teacher when they hiked my salary up my third year, I didn't ask for it and don't think it was necessary to motivate me. I would have worked just as hard for 5 grand a year less.)

And I'm tired of the complaint that "my kid's teacher doesn't care." Duh. The teacher probably doesn't. At least not as much as the parent does. After all, it's your kid. Even very gifted and compassionate teachers are only capable of a certain amount of "caring"—or emotion—in any given time. Expecting them to care to the level that a parent does for every single kid they teach is unsound. But we are a society of unrealistic expectations. We have been taught from the time we were little that "if you can dream it you can do it." So let's all just dream about a perfect government-run educational system that does everything right. It's still not going to help the kids.

Because—and let's set aside the question of whether or not the child actually has any real difficulties learning, or if it's nothing but a motivational problem (which, contrary to teacher training literature in these trendy times, does actually exist—and rather than dismissing that, it needs to be addressed by the family and possibly by a professional counselor, but not by a teacher). The child goes to a highly structured, highly regulated "learning" environment five days a week. This child, special needs or not, is not stupid. He is going to realize very quickly that the stakes might be high for him, but they are even higher for his teacher—because if he fails to make progress the way the State either arbitrarily or very competently measures it, the teacher is the one to blame. The teacher is the one who is not teaching the way he can learn.

Year after year of this is enough to kill anyone's motivation, isn't it?

These children who struggle early on are conditioned to think that if they can't do something or don't want to, it's everyone else's job to make sure that they do it. The teacher's attitude has to be, "I'm going to make you succeed whether you want to or not." Even a very sweet and intelligent child is going to develop an attitude problem in conditions like that. But that is what No Child Left Behind and all public education initiatives have done.

Related to this is the entire idea of taxpayer funded, compulsory education. It is not a right. It is not laid out this way in the Constitution.

An educated citizenry is essential to the well-being of a nation. Few people would argue with that.

But are we really creating an educated citizenry when there is no element of choice, and no motivation for students to take advantage of the educational opportunities we are cramming down their throats?

I'm going to share an anecdote. I have a very good friend. She is intelligent, motivated, and sweet. She had four children, and her husband was in law school, and their income was very limited. She made do very happily, but she wanted her oldest child to have a crack at piano lessons. I offered to teach him for free.

She was overjoyed, and so was he. I put a lot of effort into those lessons, because I liked the mom, I liked the kid, and I like music; and I was happy to be doing a friend a favor. But after a few weeks, he stopped practicing. His effort to implement what I was teaching him was minimal at best, until we decided it was time to discontinue.

Mom wasn't putting any effort into reminding him to practice, because she didn't have any stake in it (by the way, she is not a helicopter parent, and this is one of the things I respect the most about her. Incidentally, she decided more recently, and with 6 kids now, that her kids weren't getting the kind of education she wanted for them in the public schools, so she pulled them all out and teaches them herself now). Kid wasn't putting any effort into practicing because he got lessons whether he practiced or not.

I've experienced similar situations with myself. People are like this. Good, intelligent, motivated, sweet people are like this. If we don't invest in something, we have no intrinsic motivation to get anything out of it.

It is not my intention here to propose a comprehensive solution for basic education, although I'm sure I could come up with any number of options that are better than what we have. And I have a few ideas right now.

The first step would be to dismantle the Federal Department of Education. It is useless.

I think it would be a good idea to take away state funding and allow communities to come up with their own solutions. It's dumb to place the entire financial burden on the taxpayers without giving any responsibility to the families of those receiving the education, but if individual communities want to do that, I won't stop them.

In addition, if I were running a school, I would require enrollees and their families to sign a contractual agreement with the school. I can come up with specifics later, but it would involve some sort of obligation for parents and students to conference with teachers and administrators and proactively respond to teacher feedback. In other words, the student should have to prove that he or she wants to be in school and actually intends to take advantage of the opportunity that is being provided. If a child and the child's family fail or refuse to keep their contractual obligations, there should be penalties—such as suspension and expulsion. I am not opposed to requiring financial reimbursement for funds wasted on someone who does not intend to take advantage of the privilege of education.

This doesn't mean that parents shouldn't require the teachers (and administrators and paraprofessionals) to be subject to rigorous evaluation and professional development. That's a no-brainer. People in just about any industry are required to adhere to performance standards and evaluations.

There are understandable concerns with these ideas. I'm not going to anticipate all of them, but I will briefly address children with special needs.

They deserve the opportunity to receive an education just as much as kids without diagnosable special needs. Whatever negative things I say about the programs and procedures used for them has nothing to do with the value I place on these kids themselves.

But I still think that the burden of proving progress should be on the student and his/her family, rather than on the teacher. Nothing wrong with data collection and analysis. Nothing wrong with requiring proof of efficacy and progress. But a parent can do that. A child can do that. After all, they are the ones who live with the consequences of knowledge acquisition or nonaquisition.

So, I guess in a roundabout way, I do think that teachers should teach the way kids can learn—but they need to be allowed to require the student to make the necessary investment to be able to appreciate what learning actually is.

Judgment

I had a very interesting conversation this morning. It was almost a culmination of a lot of things that have been running through my mind lately.

We live in a society that places particular virtue on being "nonjudgmental". I think in many ways this is great. It is a good thing that people collectively recognize that a person who makes big mistakes needs love first and foremost.

But I also think it is damaging in a way. We have become so hypersensitive to what other people think of us that some of us have problems going anywhere or doing anything where someone might judge us.

The new rallying cry is "Don't you dare judge me!"

It is true. We are admonished by Jesus Christ to judge not, that ye be not judged. But what makes being judgmental so much worse than being a liar or a glutton, or a fornicator or lazy or going into debt?

Nobody wakes up in the morning thinking, "I wonder how many people I can judge today."

It's unintentional. And the stupidest thing we can do is to allow someone who is being possibly judgmental (or maybe just has strong opinions about the way things should be and wasn't taking your personal behavior or feelings into account when they said what they did, because after all, you are not the center of the universe and there's no reason to take everything as a personal attack) to hurt our feelings.

If my feelings are hurt because someone judged me, that's just as much my problem as theirs. It's not my job to scream "How dare you judge me!" It's my job to say, this person made a mistake in judging me, and I can forgive and move on with my life.

And, further, when I find myself worried about being judged, most of the time it's because I'm worried myself about whether what I'm doing or saying is right. Or, even worse, when I want to be able to justify judging someone else for having different pet struggles or sins than the ones I have.

I am never more vulnerable than when I am reproachable.

Which means that pretty much if I am worried that people are judging me, I am probably being more judgmental of myself.

That is not at all to say that people shouldn't treat one another with love and consideration and kindness. Everyone is fighting a battle and we all need all the kindness we can possibly get. I am not defending unkind or judgmental behavior.

But I do think that our definition and practice of kindness, tolerance, love, and respect can be expanded and understood at a deeper level.

Identity Crisis ... Averted

I was told several weeks ago by a coworker that my hair isn't really red, that it's actually brown. In all seriousness and confidence.

Whaaaaaat?

Rarely have I been so puzzled. That's like telling Denzel Washington he's not black.

I'm pretty sure he would appreciate that as little as I did being told I'm not a redhead.

I don't support treating people different ways because of how they look, but ... uh, let's not water things down to the point that we pretend there is no difference in hair color and skin pigmentation. Was she trying to save my feelings by pretending my hair is a "normal" color?

As inconvenient as I have found it to be at times, my hair is red.

No getting away from that one. And why would I want to?

On the other hand, one of my Facebook friends shared a short article yesterday that claimed it was "Kiss a Ginger" Day. How nice.

At least one person I know got to celebrate it.

Score!

I finished another book, with just a few hours to spare before the year's end. It was recommended by my brilliant cousin—who is brilliant for many reasons, only one of which is her excellent taste in books.

The Night Circus, by Erin Morganstern. I highly recommend it for pretty much anyone, but particularly for those who like Shakespeare, and old legends and fairy tales. The atmosphere and imagery is beautifully dark and tempestuous—in a magical rather than depressing way, and it doesn't insult your intelligence like so many recent books do. The best comparisons I can make to it are Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell and The Prestige, only not quite so dark as either of those. 8.5

It is also worth noting that the audiobook is read by Jim Dale, who is quite good (he does the American versions of the Harry Potter books). I listened to part of it and read the rest on paper (I've actually owned a copy of this book since it was first published, and several people recommended it to me, but none of them were the sort whose taste I completely trusted ... until my cousin). Both the audio and print were good experiences.

Here's to 2014! May we all have a blessed year.

Another Year In Reading: 2013

This post is the annual reading event—what books I read this year. Because I know everyone in the world is dying to know.

I think this year, even more so than other years, I've spent a lot of time almost finishing books and then deciding they're not worth it. Like the biography of Winston Churchill. Interesting man. Biography boring as heck. I actually would have finished the one on Thomas Jefferson if the library had allowed me to renew online. First world problems.

I have to also include the caveat here that a large chunk of the following list falls in the audiobook category. Reading books is still one of my chiefest pleasures, but alas, it seems what everyone has been telling me all my life is finally becoming true—at some point you don't really have much time to read anymore.

And when it comes to the nitty-gritty and I have to make a choice, kissing a handsome man is going to take precedence over reading a book.

But, for what it's worth, here it is:

The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck. This book is amazing. If you haven't read it yet, you are missing out. 'Nuff said. 9.5

When You Reach Me, Rebecca Stead. Surprisingly good for a Newbery winner. It sort of fit the formula, but not really. When I started it I thought I was going to have to tell the people who recommended it that they were lame. Not so. 7

Empire, Orson Scott Card. I'm not really familiar with a lot of political fiction books, and this is one of them, so it was pretty interesting. His scenario for the near future is not even very far-fetched, except for a few things. 7

Hidden Empire, Orson Scott Card. Another 7

Mysteries of the Middle Ages, Thomas Cahill. People question Cahill's reliability as a historian, but however speculative or romanticized they might be, his books are definitely some of the most entertaining reads on the topic. I didn't enjoy Middle Ages quite as much as How the Irish Saved Civilization, but it was still quite fun to read about such interesting characters as Eleanor of Aquitaine and Francis Assisi. 5

Picking Cotton: Our Memoir of Justice and Redemption, Jennifer Thompson Cannino and Ronald Cotton. I'm giving this a higher rating because it's a true story and one that I feel is very powerful, but it wasn't particularly well written. Around 1990, Jennifer Thompson was a college student in a small town in North Carolina. A man broke into her house while she was sleeping and raped her. She barely escaped with her life, and when the police brought her in to identify who did it, she identified the wrong man. He went to prison. 11 years later a DNA test proved his innocence. Eventually the two of them met and became good friends. 6

Ready Player One, Ernest Cline. So many people raved about this I wasn't sure what to expect, but it was so interesting! It's classified as young adult, but I'm not sure today's young adults would necessarily enjoy it as much as people in their 30s—all the references to 1980s culture could be off-putting. It is a must-read for Geeks. 7

The Blithedale Romance, Nathaniel Hawthorne. I'm still not sure what I think of Hawthorne. This haunting tale is based around a group of transcendentalist socialists, and the point was obscure. 6

Catherine the Great: Portrait of a Woman, Robert K. Massie. One of the more intriguing biographies out there. It really helped me understand a lot about Russia and Eastern Europe, particularly the dysfunctional political games. 7

Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro. Go to Goodreads for this. I don't know why, but this book is really hard for me to talk about. 7

Unbroken, Laura Hillenbrand. Wow. I feel like this story was at least three stories packed into one. The story of an Olympic runner. The story of a WWII fighter pilot. The story of a man wrestling to move past PTSD after years of imprisonment and abuse. 8

Be Different, John Elder Robinson. I first-hand look at life with Asberger's. Not a whole lot I didn't already know (except what I can never know, as a person who will never experience it), but a decent read. 5

Thinking in Pictures, Temple Grandin. I really enjoyed this book, but there didn't seem to be any focus to it at all. Grandin began by describing her life as a person with autism, but then she went all over the place, from the humane slaughtering of animals to all kinds of other issues. Maybe that was the point. Either way, I recommend it. 7

Garden of Beasts, Jeffrey Deaver. Again, not the sort of thing I usually read, this book is about a man who goes from hired thug in the States to appointed political assassin in Nazi Germany. A really strong piece of historical fiction. 6

Seriously, I'm Kidding, Ellen Degeneres. Who doesn't love Ellen? Read it for a nice laugh. 5

Call the Midwife, Jennifer Worth. Another book that wasn't as cohesive as I would have thought. Most of it was on-topic (stories about midwifery), with several asides into the author's personal concerns. It is a memoir, so that's understandable, but it didn't always come together. The stories, though, were so very interesting, and she does a good job of providing atmosphere and putting the reader there. 6

Gaudy Night, Dorothy Sayers. Meaning to read this for years. Every bit as good as I expected. Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane are delightful. 7

The Prisoner of Zenda, Anthony Hope. A very fun romp. 4

The Six Wives of Henry VIII, Allison Weir. I have mixed feelings about this book. It was good, but it could have been trimmed way down. Far too much description of clothing. But it included a lot of great information, most of which I didn't already know. 6

The Blind Side, Michael Lewis. Again, this book could have been better. It is good but disorganized. I guess it is probably because he was trying to tell a story about football at the same time he was trying to tell a story about a man, and the transitions are awkward. 6

Superfreakonomics, Steven Leavitt. I like what this guy does, because he's pretty much debunking myths about stuff people assume are causal relationships. 5

Why We Get Fat, Gary Taubes. Some useful information, but I disagree with his recommendation that people switch to diets that consist of nothing but protein and fat. 4

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking, Susan Cain. This is a good book, but it's pretty much pop psychology. I like that she doesn't suggest that extroverts have to realign their world around introverts. There are enough facebook memes about that already. 6

The Red Tent, Anita Diamant. So, everyone with a religious background knows that Jacob had twelve sons. People who have actually read the Old Testament also know that he had a daughter named Dinah. This book is a fictional account of her life, and it sucks. I could talk for hours about how disappointed I was that the author took the direction she did. Way too much sex, way too much misogyny masked as feminism, and she didn't even get her facts straight. She creates a fictional world that has little resemblance to what people know of the world of the Old Testament (even laying aside religion and the Biblical record); the women have their own counterculture that is completely separate from the men. They are ritualistic idol worshipers and the men are dirty, abusive pigs. 1

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie Wars, Max Brooks. This book is fascinating. I love the fact that the author chose to tell the story in interview format, and that all the stories are so different. 8

The End of Your Life Book Club, Will Schwalbe. Sentimental, dull, and very pretentious. This sort of thing would have been appropriate to have been kept as a blog for family and friends. Nobody else cares. 3

Submergence, J.M. Ledgard. I may have missed something with this one. I really like the way it is written, and I can see what he was going for, but it falls somewhat short. Maybe I didn't devote the right amount of concentration to it. Good but not great. 5

Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, Seth Graeme Smith. If I had known before I read it that he also wrote Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, I probably wouldn't have bothered. As it was, a coworker recommended it, and he seems to have good taste in general. I was interested in how someone would work a vampire backstory into Lincoln's life, and the audacity of the idea is the only good thing about the book. I lost interest after chapter one, and I'm surprised I even finished it.2

For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemingway. There's a reason this is a classic. So many musings on so many different things. War, freedom, life, death, love. Hemingway was a messed up dude, but he sure knew how to write. 8

Friendship

It can be hard to be a single person in a family church. I am thinking specifically of a conversation I had with my mom a few years ago about how hard it was for me to make friends. I was trying to explain the difficulty, and I didn't think she was getting it, so I asked her, "Who did you generally make friends with when you were my age?" Her answer was simple and immediate: the people who had kids the same age as her kids. Thank you, Mom, for making my point.

This isn't a radical concept. People tend to make friends with those they have things in common with. When you are in a particular phase of life, most of your friends tend to be in that same phase.

So, that means the only people I can be friends with are other single people, right?

For a long time, it seemed that was mostly true. Relief Society presidents would only assign me visiting teaching companions who were also single ladies, and we mostly visit taught only single ladies. The young moms with children were only interested in being friends with people they could organize play dates with and trade babysitting. The older moms were busy with their teenagers, or they were empty nesters who didn't see anything interesting in a young woman who didn't have any experience trying to take care of an elderly parent or struggling with a wayward adult child. I am by no means criticizing people for wanting to find things in common with their friends—particularly the young mothers whose sanity often involves a support group of other women in similar situations. It takes more effort, and sometimes people just don't have room for that in their lives.

So it was true. Almost all my friends were other single people, who, believe it or not, live extremely busy lives in spite of not having husbands and children to care for—and who had just as hard a time as I did avoiding the "woe is me, I'm so lonely and single" conversation that is as fascinating and repugnant as binging on holiday treats.

Then something weird happened when I moved into my current ward. Not only did people stop treating me as if my identity depended solely on my marital status—I stopped thinking of myself that way as well. I'm sure in certain lists and meetings had by church leadership, I am lumped into that group of "single sisters" and mentioned as one who should be informed of events for Single Adults. I even go to those events quite often (side note: they are populated mostly by people who are decades older than me and who wonder what the heck I'm doing there). But they are not my source of community.

I had a couple tell me it was easier to be my friend than try to find married friends, because they had to like both of them, whereas it was easy to like just one of me. The Relief Society president assigned me to visit teach three sisters who were all married with three small children.

Therefore, today I am sincerely thankful for the wonderful people in my life who are willing to think outside the box enough to accept and be friendly towards someone whose life is foreign to their own. I am thankful for people who see that I am a person who can be interested in their chatter about their kids or their crafts or their ordeals trying to fit into their clothes. I am thankful for people who might notice that I never have a husband with me when I go places but who choose to see that I have a brain and a heart and can still contribute to a happy social situation. I hope I can always be that kind of friend as well.

Hot

(Hawt? That's how the bf spellz it--he says it means "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful." I'm still a little confused, either because he's a lot more brilliant than me, or because he wants me to be confused. Either way, it always makes me laugh hysterically.)

When it's cold outside, I'll do a lot of things to keep warm. I won't talk about all of them, but I will talk about dancing.

I realized a while back that I do not have a natural talent for dance. The graceful genes passed me by, and most of the time I'm ok with that. Until I see myself dancing in a mirror (or, even worse, a video--ouch!). Then I want to hide in shame. Or take dance instruction.

I did social dance at BYU and wasn't bad. Then I did Irish dance my last semester. It's hard to tell how good I was, because I always had to dance the guy's part. Way to remind me of the time in high school when a friend called me Gargantua.

Tonight I went to a class called BodyJam. It's at my gym. It is not Zumba. And it was really fun. I told the instructors afterwards, and they were very flattering.

"Oh, this was your first time? Really? But you must have done dance before."

"Nope. I'm a runner. Not a dancer."

"But you looked so good!"

Aww, shucks.

I think one of the weaknesses of our culture is that it encourages us to lie to people while thinking we're telling the truth. I'm sure it never crossed their minds that they were stretching the truth in order to make me feel good, and I'm sure they are inherently honest ladies. Because, really, the most that can be said for me is that I didn't fall down.

But. I'm going back next week.

Failure

My boss, who is great, likes to remind me when I mess something up that mistakes are learning experiences. And he really believes it. It is very inspiring to me. I know a few other people who are like that as well, and I've been working hard to take a leaf out of their book.

It's been a challenge for someone as self-critical as myself, but it's really doing a lot to change me in good ways. When I can accept mistakes for what they are--experiences that help me grow--I am much less critical of myself and much more able to set aside my worries about my imperfections. It's hard to live a happy and productive life when you're preoccupied with everything that you could have or should have done better. You stress people out.

So, this weekend was an exercise in that area. I wrote previously that I was going to run a half marathon, and yesterday I did it.

I wasn't able to run the whole thing. I hurt my ankle somewhere around mile 8, and by mile 10 the pain was too much. I started walking, with a heavy limp. But I kept going. Until the end.

Initially I was really disappointed in myself. I had a goal to finish in under 2 hours, and I had trained to be able to do it. I felt like all my hard work was wasted.

On the positive side, though, I can look at my finish time and recognize that even though it wasn't what I wanted, I still finished in less time than it took me to run the first (and only other) half marathon I did. And in that one I never stopped to walk.

Accomplishment? I think yes.

Setbacks. Mistakes. They're learning experiences.

Now I just need to let my ankle rest up and heal for a few weeks, and I'll be at it again. No reason to be disappointed. Just a good reason to keep going strong.

Happy

I went to a baby shower several weeks ago (I know—gag! Yay me for being a good friend, right?). The interesting thing about this baby shower was that the theme, as listed on the invitation, was "Happy is what happens when all your dreams come true."

How sweet to say something like that in relation to bringing a baby into the world. But not. This is a quote from Wicked—and I'm pretty sure it was meant to be ironic.

Or am I completely off base?

Because I don't believe that statement at all. I think happy is not what happens when all your dreams come true. I think happy is a lot deeper and more meaningful than that.

It is deeply hurtful to tell someone who is not happy that it's as simple as just waiting for your dreams to come true, or the opposite of that—just choosing to be happy. As if making the choice to be happy is like making the choice to put croutons on your salad.

Happy comes from suffering deeply.

Happy comes when you understand what it is to be not happy—so not happy that you might even want to scream and cry and throw yourself off a bridge.

Happy doesn't just happen, and it doesn't have anything to do with dreams.

I think the truest definition of happy is what happens when you can completely forget that happy is something you want for yourself.

Falling in love makes you boring.

Because all I want to talk about is how brilliant he is. But nobody else really cares ... so I stop myself mid-sentence and say things like--

"I like grapes. Grapes are good."

or, even better,

"It's really windy outside today" (as if any person who is with me doesn't already know darn well it's windy).

Such is life, I guess. It's a first for me, though, and I'd rather be dating him and be boring than be the most charismatic person on earth.

Another "problem" I'm currently facing is what to do when my former "skinny clothes" are now too big. I don't even think I look very different.

In conclusion, sometimes life stinks, but other times it's just really, really good.

Accountability

When your boss' boss' boss tells you in the walkway how great you look and asks how you've lost all that weight (um, it wasn't that much) and you tell her you're planning on running another half marathon, that means there's no getting out of it. I better sign up for real.

And if the Mayberry Half goes as well as I think it will, next stop is the Charleston Shrimp and Grits Marathon in January. Doesn't that sound fun?

The Look

"I look handsome, I look smart. I am a walking work of art. In my dazzling ..." new fire-engine red skirt. With a ruffle over the left knee.

I ran a 10K this morning before work, completing it in what, for me, is record time. Then I got dressed and strutted into the office, feeling all that and a bag of ridge-cut chips. With sea salt.

Then I realized that the sticker was still on my skirt.

Oh, What Do You Do In the Summertime?

Summertime in North Carolina is enchanting. It stays green, it isn't cold, you can go to the pool after work, and you can eat peaches. I think I should have put that last one first. A really good peach makes me want to sing opera. I have to be careful about that, as well as not dripping on my keyboard, when I'm in the office.

I found a centipede in my apartment. Or it found me. I was very dutifully beginning to wash my dishes when it sprung on me. Only I didn't know it was a centipede. At the time it was just a fast and sinister-looking bug.

See this photo.

It was the middle of the night, too, or I would have called Entomologist Brother and asked him what the heck it was, why it was in my sink, and should I be worried.

It turns out that there is really only one sinister-looking bug that answers to the description, "big bug lots of legs" when you search with Google.

According to Wikipedia, centipedes can sting, but it doesn't hurt as much as a bee (but who wants to be stung by a sinister-looking bug with that many legs?). And they prey on spiders.

I clearly need to rethink my room mate discrimination policy. My spider population has grown undeterred. But if a large spider population equals a large centipede population, I'm going to have to draw some lines. I can't have a complete ecosystem living with me.

The centipede spent the night trapped under a cup in my sink, and this morning when it was clearly still living and thriving, I managed to set it free by initially sliding a sheet of paper under, but the crease in the paper allowed it to escape, so I dropped the paper and retreated. Then, gathering my courage, I trapped it under the cup again, this time on the floor, and steered it to the front door. Home invader successfully evicted.

I also have a tentative plan to go with some friends to a beach famous for being a habitat for sea turtles. This is fantastic.