Twenty twenty twenty-four hours to go

You know that feeling you get when there are less than 24 hours before you leave on vacation and there is so much to do to prepare but you can't seem to focus because your brain really wants to be on vacation already?

That's me right now. Couple that with the fact that I just got back in the swing of things from my last vacation that I just returned from last week. I really do get a rare vacation following my vacation, but it's no wonder I can't seem to finish anything.

Even this post. I actually am writing this paragraph four hours after I wrote the last one, but that's because I had to run to the Dollar Store, go to choir practice, pick up some groceries, and then send a few of church calling related emails. Oh, and I started a load of laundry. I still haven't packed (and I really want to finish this one book before I leave, even if it is HP7 and I've read it before).

At least I've been really productive at work. Immediately after I had to let my temps go (lack of funds), I had to focus on preparing all of the festival music, and this last week I've finally worked on consolidating all the work stations we had set up when there were three of us. I finished that today, and even if my office is packed with music, the library itself looks really nice right now. Still in transition, but not overwhelmingly so.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a suitcase to 1) empty of the last bits of my last trip and 2)fill it again.

So many books, so little time

I am almost completely out of bookcase space. Actually, if I put away the books that are currently floating around my apartment, I probably AM out of bookcase space. On both bookcases.

What can I say? I like books.

The reason I'm suddenly out of space is my recent trip home. Between the yearbooks, a trip to the distribution center, and raiding my old closet and its stacks of books, I brought 23 books back to DC with me. My carry-on was HEAVY.

It's actually kind of nice to have more books on my shelves, since it fills out my book rainbow a little more, even if I have to stash my pen caddy in my under-bed cave now. I just don't know what I'm going to do when the inevitable happens - I acquire more books. I could just get a new bookcase, but I don't know where to put that either, not in this apartment anyway.

One day, I'll have a room just for my books. Shelves of books everywhere and a big chair to read them in. Something like Neil Gaiman's basement library would be perfect. Or Belle's library!

One day . . .

It's been such a long time

When I first moved to DC when I was 22, the only person I knew here was Cheeky. I'd only known her barely two years, and mostly online. Ever since then, I've constantly been meeting new people and making new friends, but, of course, we didn't have much of a history. Now that I've been here since 2006, there are a handful of people with whom I have years of history, but most of the people I currently spend time with I've only known for a period of months.

It's difficult, sometimes, to spend time with people who haven't known you very long. You feel like you're making a lot of small talk at first, and then telling the same stories you swear you just told recently. Then you realize that you did, but it was to someone else you also just met recently. You crave spending time with people who have known you for awhile, with significant history.

I had that chance last night. In the time since I've been here, at least six other people from my high school (five from my graduating class) have also moved to DC, so I organized a mini-reunion. We shared dinner and half a game of Cranium (before children's needs superceded our own), but mostly conversation - catching up on our current lives as well as sharing memories of the past, some from eleven years ago. I brought my yearbooks back from Utah and we enjoyed going through those, looking at our pictures and sharing what we knew about the current lives of other members of our class.

It was refreshing. These friends are a piece of home to me, part of both my past and my present. In Harry Potter, the protection of his mother's love worked for a whole year if he just visited the place he called home even if it was a place as depressing as the Dursley's. The opportunities I have to go home, or to touch base with people who remind me of home and where I come from, give me the same kind of recharge.

Even if I don't see these friends all that often, since we're spread all over the metro area, it's good to know they are here. We share connections and a past, and now a present and future. Even those of us who fly solo most of the time enjoy having a flock to touch base with once in awhile.

They're on the trail to fame and glory

38-21 - Today's final score between BYU and Air Force. Go Cougars!

I used to not care about football. My brother and dad tried to explain it to me, but I never really got it. I'd go to games in high school to hang out with my friends. I knew touchdowns were good and sacks were bad and that BYU was the team to cheer for, but that's about it.

This changed when I had a football-loving boyfriend who could explain it to me. He was cuter than my dad or brother, and I really liked him, so I wanted to impress him and share his interest. He loved BYU football so much that he watched past games he'd taped over and over again.

Our freshman year at BYU, we bought All-Sport passes together and went to every home game, as well as the BYU-Utah game in Salt Lake. He'd explain plays and positions and I really started to understand and love football. I especially loved our tradition of kissing in celebration of every touchdown.

One Saturday was an away game. I'd had a pretty stressful Friday and wanted to kick back over the weekend, but knew I had to spend Saturday on homework, which is what I told the boyfriend I'd be up to - studying and listening to the game in my dorm room the whole afternoon. He had to work and would then go watch the game with his family at his grandparents' house.

As the game started, I couldn't pay attention to both the game and my homework and I really wanted to see my guy. During the first quarter, I had the great idea to take the bus to his grandparents' and surprise him. I figured I'd get there about the same time he did, if not a little before. I packed up my computer and headed out.

I arrived just before the end of the first half, said hi to his family and started working again. The boyfriend wasn't there yet, and even though his place of employment was way closer to his grandparents' house than his parents', we thought he might have gone home for a shower or change of clothes and didn't really worry about it. Halftime started and there was still no sign of him, but I kept writing and his family scattered into the house, leaving me alone in the front room.

Toward the end of the halftime, he still hadn't shown, but I looked out the front picture window to see him pull up, with a dozen roses in hand. He came through to the door and was completely surprised to see me just chilling by myself in his grandparents' living room. I explained that I was there to surprise him. It was then that he pulled out the roses and explained what had taken him so long.

He'd tried to surprise ME by going to my dorm with the roses, because of my bad Friday, at the same time I'd gone to surprise him with his family. It was quite the serendipitous event, and one of our favorite memories the rest of time we were together. It's still one of mine. Doing little things like that for each other was one of the best things about that relationship. At the end of that day, we still surprised each other and got to spend time together, which was the point anyway!

I still love BYU football. I listened to the first half of today's game, then (sort of) watched the second half with friends. It's hard to watch the games here, being on the East Coast and all, but I enjoy what I can.

One day, I'll get to reinstate my touchdown celebration again.

It's cool it's cool to love your family

I am the oldest of all my maternal cousins. There are sixteen of us, all but fourteen of whom are boys. (If I had paternal cousins, I'd be the oldest of them too.) There is a 20 year gap between me and the youngest cousin, who is darling, and it's weird to me that's she's already in kindergarten.

The problem is that it's always felt like I've been significantly older. My brother is the next oldest, but not counting him, the next oldest cousin is three years younger than I, the cousin after her is four years younger. So, when we all lived in Utah, I was 6 and they were babies (Continuing down the line, my mom and her siblings seemed to have kids around the same time, so each age group now has three or four kids of approximately the same age.) In Texas, it didn't matter much because we saw them so rarely. When we moved back to Utah, I was 14, and in jr. high/high school, and they were still in elementary school. Family gatherings were this weird thing, because I was too young to want to be with the adults for long and too old to be with the kids the whole time.

Though that age gap seemingly narrows as you get older, I still graduated college before anyone else even graduated high school. Just as my younger cousins were getting the hang of being college and being adults, I moved to DC. Even now, one has just recently graduated college, two have gotten married, but I've now been in the professional world for coming up on five years and have a Masters. We're all getting closer and closer to that age thing not really mattering, but it still does, because our level of life experience just isn't the same. We do live in different places and have the internet, namely Facebook, to get to know each other now, but it's hard to create a personal relationship (rather than just "keeping up with each other") when none has really existed before.

It's a strange place to be. I love my family and my cousins, and I hope they know that. I'd like to be real friends with them at some point, if that's in the cards, but it's okay if it doesn't happen for awhile. At the very least, I hope they know have a pretty cool older cousin on their side, no matter what.

Do what you gotta do

I had no idea that the job I scored the summer I was 19 was going to turn into a career. I knew I wanted that job. I apparently wanted it quite a lot. I visited the BYU Music and Dance Library last week and Myrna, my former boss and now colleague and friend, reminded me that I called her every single Monday for close to six months to see if there was an opening yet. I was always polite, never pushy, just persistent. It seems she actually uses me as an example of how to do express interest in a job.

Obviously, I did get the job, and I loved it. I worked on some great projects during my two years there - like cleaning up a Musical Theatre Reference Binder to make it more useful. I happen to know that the binder is still in use. I'm still proud of it. It was the first real professional project I designed and completed on my own, one that was my idea and I was trusted to see it through.

Working in the MAD Library was quite fun. I worked with great people, learned a LOT, and made a difference. I also had one of the coveted on-campus job - A/C, no food, related to my field (though it was closer to pure Theatre Arts at the time), great hours, a locker, and more.

I was sad to leave when I graduated. But the rest, as they say, is history. Being a Fine Arts Librarian is my calling, and I'm so blessed to have discovered it and be thriving this early in my life and career.

These excuses how they served me so well

1. It's hard.
2. My ___________ hurt(s). (This morning it was my knees. Both of them. Lame.)
3. My bed is comfortable.
4. I'm sleepy.
5. I'm an average size for an American woman. That's not so bad, is it?
6. It's not just work out clothes, it's ankle braces and sometimes wrist braces.
7. It's boring.
8. There's traffic on the way to the gym.
9. If I'm going to wear those workout pants, I have to shave my legs.
10. Workout clothes = not cute. Or flattering.
    
11. It's not dancing, not like I used to.
12. I can't find my headphones and gym music is lame.
    
13. Guh. I don't even like MY workout mix today.
    
14. I don't have time.
15. This used to be easier.
16. I don't have a workout buddy to meet up with.
17. I don't know how to use that machine.
18. I don't know the optimal workout for me.

Excellent. Now that's out of my system. No more excuses for me!

Autumn leaves under frozen souls

Night falls so fast now
Sunset appears so early
I don't like the cold

Look I was 17

I went closet diving this morning, looking for my high school yearbooks. There are a few people from my graduating class that live in DC now, and we're having a mini-reunion this weekend. During my search, I found several tchotchkes and papers and books I haven't seen in quite some time.

The pictures were the most intriguing. I found my old date dance pictures. I'd forgotten that Canadian Dave was in my group for Sweetheart's my junior year and that smiling with braces was often really awkward. I also found some really cute pictures from when the boy who gave me my first kiss came to visit me again my senior year. Not that I want to go back to high school, but I do have some fond memories of that time. I'll have to scan these pictures sometime and share them with you.

I do kind of wish I could go back and tell my 16-year-old self how cute I was, despite the braces and acne. I know I didn't always think so. I also wish I could take her bra shopping. I didn't quite figure out my proper fit until after graduation. And, speaking of fit, I wish I could still fit in those pants.

I've grown up a lot since then, as one should, but it's nice to know I'm still me.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone, because once again I'm just chilling in the airport

I'm a rebel, let them talk

The rule, once we were old enough to need one, was that we were allowed to do anything we wished with our hair, so long as we paid for it ourselves. Between three kids, we've had hobbit hair, a mullet, a mohawk, bangs, no bangs, and several colors (usually naturally occuring, just not on our heads).

I dyed my hair for the first time when I was 15, for a Halloween costume in which I was portraying Shmi Skywalker. It was a dark brown, so dark it almost looked purple in some light, and I enjoyed the change for the months it lasted. I enjoyed it so much, I dyed it again for another costume. I've had red streaks a couple of different times and, as you may recall, currently sport pink extensions and blonder highlights (to lighten my dirty blonde hair). As long as I take care of my hair, despite all the changes, it still looks good and I'm awfully fond of it. It's only hair and the changes are temporary.

What I haven't tried is a tattoo. Nor do I intend to. Those aren't so temporary.

Unless you use henna.



My lovely friend and former roommate, Elle, is starting a henna and photography business. She freehanded this designed based on a little input from me and I quite like it. Just not enough to have it for always.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone whilst watching "The Princess Bride" with my dad, who loves me no matter what color my hair is and actually thinks the henna is quite neat