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.

Sistersss

The earth-shattering news is that plane tickets are purchased, so now there's no way they're getting out of coming to visit me! This August is going to be epic.

Twenty Years

One of the most awkward questions for a reader is "What is your favorite book?"

I don't mind it, but I always feel a bit deceptive answering it, because who can pick a favorite among a thousand? There are some books you hate, some you are indifferent to, some you love, some you admire, and some that change your life.

As an aside, I really hate it when people are all like, "My favorite book is the Book of Mormon." Okay. Um, while technically it is a book, it's really not. Books and scriptures are not the same thing. All you're really saying when you tell people that is your favorite book is that you're not much of a reader and you want to impress them with your spiritual superiority. It's obnoxious.

I usually just tell people my favorite is Jane Eyre, because it is one I've read a lot and both love and admire. But if I answered with the book I've read the most times, it would be The Blue Castle, by L.M. Montgomery. It's a bit embarrassing to tell people that, to tell the truth, because in spite of its thematic depth and archetypal genius, it's so sentimental (and the editing is frightful ... it's enough to give an editor a ghastly headache). However, I just looked at the jacket and saw where I had written my name and how old I was when I got it, and I realized that I have had it for twenty years. And I've read it at least once a year since I bought it with my babysitting money at the Bookstop (well, with the exception of the 18 months I was serving a mission).

There is something bitter about this, because I have realized there comes a time when you know a book so well it loses its magic. I don't have it memorized, quite, but I recognize all the lines by sight. I can recite almost all the dialogue to myself in reasonably good order. Reading it gives me less pleasure than making it into a movie in my mind (which I do with most books I like), so what's the point of reading it ever again?

It is the end of an era, I suppose. There's no other book like it in the world, so I don't have anything to go to now for the special kind of comfort it gave me for so many years. I'm a grown woman now, have been for quite some time, and I don't necessarily need syruppy fairy tales for comfort and reassurance, but it's a sad thing to outgrow something that has been so instrumental in forming my character.

I've lost something I will never get back.

My dad, who knows me well, once suggested I read a short story in his favorite science fiction journal. The protagonist is a writer, and he lives in a future in which people, in essence, back themselves up in case of accidental death. All their memories are stored in some sort of database, and if they die, their organs are replaced and they are brought back to life and their memories are re-booted. But this writer decides that he has written such a brilliant book that he wants to be able to experience it as a reader for the very first time. He deliberately neglects his routine back-ups, and when he finishes the book, he kills himself. When he is restored, he has lost three years of his life, and his girlfriend is furious with him. He doesn't understand what is going on and what he was thinking in putting all his affairs and relationships in jeopardy for, until he finds a copy of his book.

There are so many things I've wanted to be able to go back and experience again for the very first time. Not enough to do something as drastic as the writer in the sci-fi story, but still... particularly when faced with the loss of a much-loved book, wouldn't it be nice?

Goin' to the country, gonna eat me a lotta ... strawberries

Around here, people are really into locally grown produce. Farmer's markets, local produce food trucks, and berry patches are all over. I think they're trying to be trendy everywhere, but if so, it's really caught on in my state. I love it.

So, I went to a strawberry patch this morning with some girlfriends. It was delightful. The idea was proposed to go make jam out of all the surplus strawberries we ended up with (because among the four of us we probably had about 17 pounds of strawberries).

We made jam. Lots of it. Then we made strawberry ice cream. Lots of that. Now, there are still enough strawberries left to make a strawberry pie. And I must say I think I'm rather good at making pies. Except when I'm not.

This is going to be exciting.

Hello.

There hasn't been a lot to blog about lately except books, and to be honest, I haven't had the mental energy to review them. It's a pity, because I've read a few interesting ones.

However, I think it's about time to post something, so I will. And it will be completely trivial.

I went to the craft store today, and not only did I manage not to gag, I actually enjoyed myself. I think the Church is going to force me to like crafts. That is perhaps okay. But I still draw the line at scrapbooking.

I wonder if it's weird to like fake flowers and butterflies as much as I do? Because I really, really like them.

Finally, my awesome friend told me about a game she played last night, for which one of the questions was, "If your life were a movie, what would it be titled?"

I already pretty much revealed what mine would be called when I blogged about my autobiography. But she posed the question to some of the coworkers, and one of them came up with a title and all the specs. Who would play him at various stages of his life, who would write the soundtrack, who would direct it, etc.

For the record, if there were a movie about my life I would want it to be directed by Terrence Malick, Gus Van Sant, or Peter Weir. Music would be by Craig Armstrong, Alexandre Desplat, or Philip Glass, with songs in the background by people like Jeff Buckley, Laura Marling, Regina Spektor, and maybe even some Scala and Kolacny Brothers (even though that's all a little trendy). And the necessary Simon and Garfunkel number. The child me would be acted by any cute little girl with red hair, and the adult me would be Romola Garai, even though we don't look much alike. We're taking artistic liberties.

How about you? What would your life movie be like?

Easter

I consider myself a very healthy person, and I thank Heavenly Father for my health often. Especially because there are many people I care deeply for whose health is a serious concern.

But lately I have not been well. I won't go into particulars on the blog, but it's been rough. I can't really say how rough, either. There's nothing really to compare it to. But there are two things this experience is explicitly teaching me, and I'm sincerely thankful.

One is that there are a lot of people who care about me. I have a tendency to be too self-deprecating, and I constantly question how valuable my friendship is to people. If I had it my way, I would be always the giver in a friendship, but that is wrong on multiple levels, because that means that sometimes I attract more needy people than I can handle, and it keeps me from being real with people who aren't needy. And even when I am real with them, I'm so apologetic about it it's weird. So, during the time that things were escalating, there were several people who made me feel cared for. Not by doing anything huge. A friend in another state randomly sent me a facebook message. A few people at church pulled me aside and asked if I was really okay. Even if I sorta lied to them, I appreciated being asked. The list could go on. I mean, really, I am surrounded by people who are good and kind, and I am learning to accept that it's okay to be the one who needs that on occasion, even as I recognize that sometimes these people who are going out of their way to express love and concern for me are struggling with their own issues. It's a beautiful thing to see the Atonement in action as we all try to be kind to one another during our own pain and heartache.

The second is that I think when all is said and done, the privilege of having a resurrected body is going to be so glorious I try to comprehend it and get overwhelmed. Having health problems isn't just something that is trendy. It's a mortal condition. Even specific ones that I wanted to dismiss as trendy, really, are an integral part of our experience here. I'm not explaining it adequately, I know, and I recognize again that most people out there suffer physically much more than I do. I hope this doesn't sound trite. I hope it doesn't sound, like Elder Holland said one time, like "cheerful rhetoric". Having a body that constantly hurts, or that doesn't do what you want it to, is genuinely hard, and there's no getting away from it. Sometimes I think, again, of people I care about who are seriously suffering with physical health issues, and I want to curl up in fetal position and cry for them. But I know that my Redeemer liveth. Easter means something a little different to me this year than it has in previous years. Something a lot deeper and a lot sweeter. And we will be resurrected just as Jesus was. For real.

So, I hope we all have a happy Easter and are able to feel truly close to the Savior at this time. Much love.

My Sister

My sister is officially in the 100th percentile of awesome. She always was, of course.

She became one of my favorite people back when we were toddlers. The first time I can remember bonding with her was when we shared frustration over the fact that our brother got to stay up 30 minutes later than I did. I was probably about four years old, so she must have been two. It wasn't enough that I got to see Wild America first. They put me to bed, and I writhed in anger, knowing that Brother (who was only 16 months older than me!) was in the living room watching National Geographic—my favorite show. And, to add insult to injury, the sun hadn't even thought of going down yet, and we had yellow curtains. With ruffles. Sister stood up in her crib and babbled something. If I ever understood her, I don't remember what she said. But we were both in it together, and that's what counted.

It is impossible to imagine what I would be without her. We both bossed and manipulated each other, but I think she bossed more, even though I'm older.

She was the one who taught me to tell time. I failed the clock quiz in 2nd grade because I was absent the day the teacher did the clock lesson, and I was scared to tell anyone that I didn't understand. Then one day, when I was in fifth grade, I told Sister that I didn't know how to tell time. A few minutes later, I knew how.

What I started this post to say, though, is that today I felt the way Gwen Stacy described herself in The Amazing Spiderman when her dad asked her if she wanted some cocoa (I tried to find the clip, but it's not on YouTube). However, my Awesome Sister made the day completely great by finding this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-tEgzGnzojc

Which is to say that she located a musical piece I have been crazy for since about 1999, but I never knew what it was called or how to get ahold of it. I'm a sucker for marimbas and xylophones, and even more so when they are used in films about literary experiences. Here is a fun clip:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1hMMUJ2Gn7Y