New year, new things

"How do people do this professionally?!?"

That's the question I asked my brother as I stepped onto the ice at Seven Peaks Arena, clutching his arm as my legs attempted to find firm footing on a surface that's meant to reacquaint you with the consequences of gravity. We were there for my niece's 5th birthday party, and I hadn't ice skated since I was a teenager.

It wasn't just like riding a bike, in case you were wondering. But it was a blast.

Ice skating is a strange sport for the casual skater. All you do is skate around in circles, but it's essentially a free-for-all obstacle course. Everyone starts at level one, where you shuffle your feet along until you gain the confidence to take longer strides. If you can progress that far, you get a variety of new challenges, depending on your preferred speed. Dodging the people who fall down in front of you. Swerving around groups who are going slower than you, now a pro, want to go. Flailing in panic as you try to figure out how to avoid a collision—a common occurrence when the rink is crowded.

Perhaps the biggest challenge of all is taking a not-blurry picture while skating.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

I survived almost an hour of this without falling. I was on my last lap, headed to the exit, when it happened. My traitorous shoelace on my right skate got caught on my left skate—one minute I was skating, the next I was airborne. I figured since I was going down anyway I might as well go out flying—literally—so I stretched my arms into a dive formation and sailed through the air. I must have gotten 15 feet of air before I bellyflopped on the ice, landing smoothly in a shower of white stuff.

(My dive probably didn't look as graceful as I imagined it, because a guy who witnessed my epic fall was laughing at me as he skated by.)

It's a fitting metaphor for the new year. Jumping into something new with confidence only to fall flat on your face an hour later. But that fall was the most thrilling part of the afternoon. It was the only moment I wasn't playing it safe and it was the part of the day I talked about the most afterward as we ate our unicorn and rainbow-themed birthday cupcakes.

Try something new this year. Fail at something new this year. It might end up on your 2020 highlight reel in December.

Moments after the fall, miraculously uninjured, aside from a few bruises that showed up the next day. 

Christmas ambiance

Back in September or October, I had this dream a couple of times: it was December 15 and I hadn't listened to any Christmas music yet. This is the dark stuff of Christmas nightmares, stemming from my irrational fear that I won't have enough time to enjoy the build-up to Christmas.

I've always loved Christmas, but as I've gotten older I've come to love the weeks leading up to Christmas more than the actual Christmas Day. My family didn't have a lot of Christmas traditions growing up—aside from the eight or so family parties we hit every year—but we went all out with the Christmas ambiance: the lights and decorations, the foods and smells, the movies and music, the family togetherness and shared excitement. Living in the higher elevations, we even got more snow than most places did.

Ten years of apartment living has taken a lot of that Christmas ambiance away. Turns out you can still do a lot to create a happy, cozy place to live, but my little basement apartment lacked many of the necessities for a good Christmas season. An exterior to decorate with lights. The absence of city lights so the holiday lights can really shine. A front porch, deck, or even just a window with an unobstructed view of the winter wonderland you're living in. Space for stuff that serves no practical purpose, like 7.5-foot Christmas trees and giant pots for making spiced cider.

I got all that in bursts of Christmas cheer whenever I went home for the holidays. But this year, I finally get to duplicate some of that magic at my new house and enjoy the Christmas mood for longer. There's still nothing quite like going home for Christmas, but finally having the ambiance—at my own home—I've lacked for the last 10 years has felt like living out a Christmas fantasy.

The downside? My hibernation mode kicks into high gear every fall and only increases through January; with all the extra homeyness I've enjoyed this year, I resent anything that drags me away from the coziness of my Christmas lights and fuzzy socks and hot chocolate. During this season of get-togethers and concerts and service, alongside the ever-moving train of work, I've become a Grinch who only wants to stay home, where time slows down and relaxation is only a change of clothes away.

It's the best of times, the worst of times. But mostly the best.

Birthdays, fires, and miracles

Unlucky birthdays

I've always liked the number 13. Being born on the 13th of the month has endeared me to this unluckiest of numbers—it makes me feel like I'm living a little bit on the dark side.

But recent events have forced me to think over my lack of belief in unlucky 13s. Because bad things do tend to happen around my birthday.

For example:

• Sept. 11, 2001—No explanation needed
• Sept. 12, 2009—My Grandma Jackson died
• Sept. 13, 2013—A bunch of my coworkers were laid off (this was a Friday the 13th birthday, which was an otherwise awesome day)
• Sept. 13, 2018—9 of my 14 family members were evacuated due to a fire that threatened to send my childhood up in flames

Notice any similarities here? All of these happened to people around me, rather than directly to me. Each has felt profoundly personal, sure, but I feel morally bound to warn everyone that my next birthday falls on a Friday.

This is what the fire looked like from Eagle Mountain (about 40 miles from the fire) around the time Elk Ridge and Woodland Hills were ordered to evacuate. Hint: those are not clouds.

Terrible fires

If you live near a mountain in Utah, you know the fire risks. We've had fires within seeing distance of my childhood home before, but this fire (two fires actually, which have now combined—the Bald Mountain Fire and the Pole Creek Fire)—this fire is different. Aided by the worst drought in recent memory, higher-than-average temperatures, and wind, this fire was set to destroy just about everything I hold dear. My hometown. The home I grew up in, my sister's home, the homes of the many people who helped raise me. The lives of the 5,000 people who live in this beautiful sanctuary, a tucked-away gem that we prefer remain hidden.

The fire spread at an astounding rate, and to date has burned around 90,000 acres—and it's still growing. It quickly became the No. 1 fire priority in the nation, giving us access to whatever resources we need to fight this blaze.

Welcome to Mordor.

I spent a couple of sleepless nights imagining every worst-case scenario. Fear does crazy things to your imagination, and for a couple of days, that fear was warranted. With several other fires sprouting up throughout Utah on Saturday—not to mention BYU winning an impossible-to-win game on the road—it truly felt like the apocalypse was here.

Undeniable miracles

Many times throughout that horrible weekend, when all we could do was watch helplessly from the sidelines and pray, I wondered if God's plan was to let this disaster run its own course. I kept thinking about that scripture in 1 Kings 19:11–12. Elijah is hiding in a cave, afraid for his life, hopeless for the children of Israel because they have forsaken their covenants.

And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake;

And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire. 

From my limited perspective, where all I could see was that fire growing and growing, I could not see the Lord's hand in any of it. Only destruction, aided by unfavorable weather conditions.

But once the worst of the danger had passed, the stories started pouring in, and the miracles became more clear. A line of fire that was headed straight for homes in Elk Ridge simply fizzed out on its own. Firefighters said there was no way they would get through Friday and Saturday without losing some homes because of the crazy winds, but somehow the fire threatening so many homes just didn't respond to the wind the way nature required it to. The fire acted unnaturally, illogically, many times, which kept this narrative—no structures have been lost—going. No firefighters have been seriously injured either, despite the weather factors working against them.

The Lord is in that fire.

Steve Jobs said, "You can't connect the dots going forward. You can only connect them looking backward. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future."

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf expounded on this in a devotional to young single adults last January:

What did he mean by that? Perhaps an illustration will help. In the late 19th century, artists such as Georges Seurat and Paul Signac began painting in a new style that would become known as neo-impressionism. Their technique consisted of dotting canvases with small specks of color. Close up, these dots appear unconnected and random. But when you take in the entire painting, you can see how the dots blend into colors and how the colors eventually form shapes that reveal a beautiful pattern. What once seemed arbitrary and even confusing begins to make sense. Sometimes our lives are like neo-impressionistic art. The dots of color that make up the moments and events of our days can appear unconnected and chaotic at times. We can’t see any order to them. We can’t imagine that they have a purpose at all.

However, when we step back and take an eternal perspective, when we look at our lives in the frame of the gospel of Jesus Christ, we can begin to see how the various dots in our lives interconnect. We may not be able to see the entire picture just yet, but we’ll see enough to trust that there is a beautiful, grand design. And as we strive to trust God and follow His Son, Jesus Christ, one day we will see the finished product, and we will know that the very hand of God was directing and guiding our steps.

In the heart of this fire, it felt like a senseless, unlucky string of events. But looking back over the last few days, it's stunningly obvious that we haven't been left alone in this. Connecting the dots even further back, I am extremely grateful I bought a house months ago that was bigger than I needed. It's allowed me to open up my home to four of my family members and give them some sense of home and comfort as this mandatory evacuation stretches on.

And the community response has been incredible. The Red Cross has had to ask people to stop donating and beg evacuees to come pick up donated supplies. The firefighters are well taken care of. No one has had to spend the night in a shelter because there's a long waiting list of people who are ready to open their homes to evacuees. People stepped in to provide wedding decorations and supplies when one couple's wedding in Woodland Hills had to be replanned at the last minute because of the fire and evacuations. And let's not underestimate how well prepared many Elk Ridge and Woodland Hills residents were for something like this to happen. This is a special, tight-knit community; these stories don't surprise me one bit.

That being said, this crisis is far from over. The Bald Mountain fire is still 0% contained, and simply getting through each day during a long-term evacuation is a huge burden for evacuees. The smoke, at least in Eagle Mountain, was worse this morning than it's been all summer. I'm dreading seeing how many childhood haunts are gone when this is all over, and how this will affect the beautiful views and wildlife for years to come. As Gov. Herbert has said, "This is a marathon, not a sprint."

Let's go back to that verse from 1 Kings 19:12. It finishes off with:

and after the fire a still small voice. 

Torrential rains would be a more obvious miracle—and it's the one much of Utah continues to pray for—but it's often the quiet miracles we're granted. And sometimes we literally have to live through fire before we can see the miracle and find peace. But the help is there. It's always there.

6 things I love today

It's well documented that I think Valentine's Day is dumb. That it causes unnecessary stress and depression, that it does nothing that birthdays and anniversaries don't already do, that it's ridiculously cheesy and commercialized, and—most egregious—that it has the worst candy.

But in my old age, I don't have the energy to channel my annoyance for dumb holidays like I used to. It's easier to just roll your eyes and roll with it. (Just getting started on the puns, here; you've been warned.) I've made huge progress on Halloween—thanks to having adorable little people in my life again—so maybe it's time for me to embrace Valentine's Day and all its nauseating pink-and-red gushiness.

OK, maybe I'm not ready to go all in just yet. But I do love some things, so I'll give this celebrating-Valentine's-Day-with-some-sincerity experiment a try by acknowledging what I love today.

1. Punny Valentines

I've been collecting my favorite Valentine cards throughout the day. Some are new, some you've probably already seen before.

The look on Ron's face really takes this one to the next level.

This one's for you to use, Mom.

Some editing humor for you.

The next one's not a Valentine, but I do love Calvin and Hobbes, so...

2. Cookies and coworkers

Last year when HR came around to hand out cookies, I got skipped. When one of my coworkers found out, he said "Not on my watch!" and made made a beeline to Harmons. He came back 20-30 minutes later with a box of highly superior cookies. I shared with the rest of my department (saving plenty for myself, obviously), who were all outraged on my behalf, and the whole thing turned into an impromptu department party.

This year, I was not skipped. And to make sure I wasn't skipped, one of my coworkers had her eye on the HR lady the whole time she was in our aisle.

The lesson in all this: get yourself some coworkers who are deeply invested in making sure you receive baked goods.

3. Love songs

I'll just own it—I love love songs. I may or may not have a playlist ready for days like this.

4. The Olympics

I prefer the Summer Olympics, partly because there are no other sports competing for my attention at that time. But I've still been trying to catch a lot of the action of this year's Games. I love becoming a temporary expert on random sports, cheering on my country, and watching people live their dreams. There's nothing like it.

5. Pizza

At some point, pizza became my traditional Valentine's Day dinner. I believe it dates back as far as 2010, when Kin and I were both in college. We made pizza and watched Gilmore Girls. The perfect way to celebrate Galantine's Day, in my opinion.

Clearly I was in charge of the toppings. Those are all of my favorites right there, with none of the boring, overused toppings like pepperoni and sausage.

Tonight's pizza was barbecue chicken with bacon, onions, and something spicy. It was delicious for a frozen pizza, and I ate the entire thing by myself, thank you very much.

6. My family

But Valentine's Day isn't supposed to be about the love you have for things. (Although I do enjoy having things.) It's about the love you have for the significant people in your life. And there's no one more significant in my life than my family. These are the people who get me, my closest friends, the weirdos I enjoy hanging out with most. 

I think I've shared most of the family pictures I have already, so I'll just leave you with our family's most recent addition, nephew #4.

Conrad does not approve of this pink burp rag.

It gets even better when you zoom in.

My new year starts today

Can we just agree that the week after New Year's is the absolute worst? For a while there I was seriously concerned about the lack of recharge I carried over from my 11-day vacation, thinking that I needed to make some life changes to get some of that energy and motivation back.

Some of those life changes involved finding a way to get my wonderful 1:00 church schedule back and planning a mid-January vacation.

But it turns out it was simply a bad case of post–New Year's blues. Nothing that a "2 for $20" deal from Chili's, a leisurely weekend, and a few extra hours of sleep can't fix.

Eleven days into the new year, and the buzz of new beginnings is finally starting to hit me. Happy 2016, everyone!

When $100 is magical

Once upon a time, I accompanied my mom to the grocery store. She grumbled something about only having 10 dollars, and then quickly went into the store while I waited in the car. Though confused by my mom's tone of voice—she made it sound like 10 dollars was a useless lump of change—I imagined all the wonderful things I would buy with that kind of fortune. Why, I could get 20 candy bars for that much money! I could get 10 things off the dollar menu at Wendy's! I could buy a beautiful bag of marbles, a book, maybe even a Barbie.

Ten dollars was all it took to open up a whole new world of opportunities.

It wasn't long before people started tossing bills at me in exchange for watching their kids for a few hours. Payment for my services soon turned into checks that went straight to the bank.

In no time at all, money went from being a treasure to a commodity. I needed much more than 10 dollars now to imagine a life of riches. One hundred dollars would do it.

As a poor college student who now understood the feeling of helplessness caused by having only 10 dollars for groceries, an extra 100 dollars had enough power behind it to change my entire month. I could buy enough food to last for weeks, fill my car with gas several times, or even splurge on fast food just once without feeling guilty. It would be 100 less dollars I would have to save for tuition, or would pay for a nice chunk of books for one semester.

This time, though, the money wasn't a medium to get frivolous things. I stood in awe of it because every little bit made a noticeable difference in my quality of life.

Well, I graduated from college, and soon even the magic of 100 dollars disappeared. Now that I had established some stability with plenty of wiggle room, my dreams suddenly got a lot more expensive.

So the last four years when I've gotten my Christmas bonus (always $100 or less), I've stopped for a minute to think about the responsible things I could do with this extra money. Buy Christmas presents for other people. Put it in savings. Make an extra student loan payment.

But none of those options ever sound appealing. One hundred dollars isn't going to make much of a difference, no matter which good cause I try to dedicate it to. (Not to mention the bonus always comes in cash, which means a 20-minute trip to the nearest UCCU branch if I want to be boring and responsible.)

But there is one thing that has high potential for personal satisfaction: guilt-free indulgence. It's how I started my Harry Potter wand collection. It's paid for a couple extra movie tickets and delicious restaurant meals.

And this year, it allowed me to live one of my fantasies: a bookstore shopping spree.

This $100 was magical.

It started out like this:

Usually I'm more impressed by $100 bills, but this was the most
enthusiasm I could muster on a Tuesday right after work.

And turned into this:

This was before the BYU-Utah game happened.
Obviously.

I love Christmas.

Halloween at work

I am amazed every year at the lengths people will go to for Halloween. The creativity and the planning that goes into every costume. The humiliation that is willingly suffered when costumes are donned.

I may not understand it. But the excitement people have for this holiday can be a little contagious.

At work today, many people spent all day preparing for our party later in the afternoon. I missed most of the fun because email reviews are taking over my life, but I'm not bitter.

I did, however, manage to get one picture of my work area while everyone else was crammed into the gym. The PR girls all dressed up as characters from the game, and while I wouldn't be caught dead in one of those costumes, I was really quite impressed with their ingenuity. Sadly, they aren't pictured here, but here's some of their handiwork.

My new place of work: Candyland. It even smelled like candy.

At least this year, people didn't have to Google "Muggle" when I told them who I was supposed to be. See more on bold living here.

Chocolate and the Atonement

Easter is kind of a strange holiday for me. Probably because I rely on the calendar to tell me when it's supposed to happen. When the date hops around every year, it's a little harder to find that holiday mode.

But Easter is starting to rise in the ranks of my "favorite holidays" list. I like that it sneaks up on me every year, because that means I don't put as much pressure on Easter to fulfill all of my holiday wishes. It comes, and it's a day slightly more special than normal.

There are other reasons to be a fan of Easter, of course.

1. Easter candy. Easter candy is the best of all holiday candies. Especially since it comes right after Valentine's Day, which mass-produces medicine-flavored hearts and tries to pass them off as candy, not to mention it also puts things in chocolate that have no business being there.

2. Spring. I've never had a gloomy Easter, at least not that I can remember. I think it's one of the laws of nature that the sun must be shining on Easter. And this year, spring seemed to blossom overnight, just in time for brand-new, pastel-colored Sunday clothes.

3. Time to reflect on the greatest gift we've ever been given without the commercialization that surrounds Christmas. Don't get me wrong—I love Christmas—but the religious significance of Easter is easier to appreciate.

Easter celebrates the resurrection of Christ, but this year my focus shifted slightly to the Atonement.

1995, the year I turned eight years old, was my baptism year. Most of my Primary lessons that year factored in baptism at some point, and I remember a couple baptism-themed family home evenings as well. But this was what stuck with me above all else: at seven years old, I wasn't accountable for my sins, but at eight years old I would be. In other words, I could commit murder if I wanted and still go to heaven, as long as I did it before my eighth birthday.

With my eighth birthday just a few weeks away, I hatched a plan. I was going to get all the sinning out of my system while I still could. Then, once I turned eight, I would be a perfect little angel. My teachers had explained the concept of the Atonement to me, but repentance sure sounded like a bother. It seemed much more reasonable to just skip that step altogether. Sure, the world hadn't seen a truly perfect person since Jesus, but I was convinced I would be the second.

That is, after I was baptized. No reason to be perfect until I absolutely had to be.

So I set to work. I didn't do the dishes when Mom told me to do them. I hit my little sister. I refused to go to bed on time. I didn't share my toys.

To my mom's relief, I'm sure, the morning of my baptism finally came. I said good-bye to my sinful past and put on my halo.

My moment of truth came a few days later. Mom was taking a nap, and I wanted a snack. I opened the fridge, thinking I'd maybe have a bowl of applesauce or something. But out of the corner of my eye, calling to me seductively, was the chocolate syrup. Mom had said over and over again that chocolate syrup was only for ice cream, but sometimes I secretly poured some into a baby bowl, heated it in the microwave, and ate it plain.

The timing was perfect. No one was around, and Mom's door was shut so she wouldn't even hear the microwave or smell its delightful contents. As long as I disposed of the evidence, no one would ever know that I had disobeyed.

I should have known that chocolate would be my downfall.

Halfway through my bowl of chocolate, I realized with a jolt that Jesus probably wouldn't sneak chocolate from the fridge while his mom was sleeping. And he probably only ate a respectable amount of chocolate syrup on his ice cream, not the entire river of chocolate I liked to dump on mine.

That sealed the deal—I was no longer perfect.

Rather than feel ashamed of myself, though, I actually felt a little relieved. The pressure was off. I could make mistakes just like a regular person now.

I quickly learned how silly it was to demand perfection of myself in everything, but it took me a lot longer to grasp the concept that I actually needed the Atonement in my life. I thought it was only for the major stuff, like breaking the law of chastity or overcoming addiction.

On top of that, I have this independent streak that makes it difficult to accept help. And suffering in silence for an eternity is usually a more inviting prospect than asking for help.

But even though I'm from the "you can do anything!" generation, the fact is, there are some things I simply cannot do. And I'm not talking about things I physically can't do like roll my r's or sit on the orange slide my nephews like to play on (and, as of yesterday, jump over). I'm talking about the trials I can't overcome on my own. The times when my best still isn't good enough. When the burdens of life are so heavy I have no choice but to pass them on to someone else.

Of all of God's creations, human beings are the most glorious. But we're still, well, human. We can do a lot, but we can't do it all.

That's why the Atonement is more than just a wonderful, selfless gift. It's an essential tool we all need, whether we want to acknowledge it or not. And it's already been paid for by love.

My unlucky birthday

I've been looking forward to this day for quite some time. I haven't had a Friday-the-13th birthday since 2002, when I turned the wee age of 15. That was the year that started my I-don't-want-people-to-know-it's-my-birthday complex. (Let's just say that I got a little too much attention, which is kind of traumatizing for a teenager who hates being in the spotlight.)

This year I relented a little on my birthday secretiveness because this particular birthday is more awesome than all the others. Not only is it Friday the 13th, but it's also the year 2013 and I'm turning 13 x 2.

So here are 13 highlights of my unlucky birthday.

1. Unsurprisingly, it all begins with Harry Potter. Technically, the announcement that J.K. Rowling will be writing the screenplay for a movie series based on Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was released yesterday, but I consider it an early birthday present because today, the world revolves around me. The series will begin in 1920s New York and will star Newt Scamander, author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Just think about all that that might entail: American wizarding culture, cameos from an auburn-haired, 40-year-old Dumbledore, concrete representations of magical creatures we haven't seen yet. While I would still rather get an 800-page book set in the Harry Potter world, a movie series written by JKR herself is the next best thing. I always knew in my heart that she wasn't done with Potter. Judging by how much Harry Potter Withdrawals suck for avid fans like me, I can't even imagine what they must be like for her, the person who knows that world and its people better than anyone else. Mark my words, this won't be the last Harry Potter project she's involved in, either.

2. It was rainy and gloomy most of the day. My favorite kind of day.

3. The sales/marketing team at my office has a tradition that we go to lunch for everyone's birthdays, no questions asked. It's great.

4. I was serenaded to four times today. It was embarrassing all four times.

5. One of the miracles of life is that no matter how full you are, there is always room for a few bites of cake / pie / ice cream / brownie. With extra chocolate on top.

6. Two of my co-workers argued over who got to pay for my meal.

7. I left work early and took a nap. I dreamed that I was taking a drama class and we were split into four groups to rehearse. Kimberly's group was awesome because James Moyer was in it. But I was stuck with Crosby (from Parenthood)—who wouldn't cooperate because he was playing with Jabbar the whole time—and a murderer who kept riding his scooter up and down the stairs.

8. This text from Tyrel: "Happy birthday ducky's sisster."

9. Listening to my Top 10 Favorites playlist in my car.

10. Austenland was both hilarious and satisfyingly swoon worthy. I kind of want to go see it again.

11. Going to a restaurant just because it looks interesting from the outside is risky, but we scored big time. Now I know of a sit-down restaurant 10 minutes from my apartment that has good Mexican food. And I've decided that I might have a salsa bar at my wedding. Along with the already planned root beer floats and fudge.

12. Mom's after-9:00 personality. "Captain Underpants!"

13. Nerdy gifts. I am now a proud owner of the Elder Wand. When I pulled it out of its velvet encasement I became drunk with power and Avada Kedavra'd Shannan on the spot. I also got an awesome Harry Potter pillow, a new piano book, piano earrings, another Piano Guys CD, an earring holder, and chapstick (green apple Jolly Rancher and chocolate syrup—it actually comes in a container shaped like a chocolate syrup bottle and it tastes like chocolate).

Yup, my fifth Friday-the-13th birthday was pretty freakin' awesome.

When you work on a holiday

Holidays refuse to be ignored, even if you're too busy to notice them. Even if you don't celebrate them. And even if you have to go into the office.

Something about the eerie lack of noise and the drop in temperature due to fewer bodies to combat the overly excited air conditioner is sending my thoughts into a bajillion different directions.

So here we have another lovely bullet-point blog post.

• What is the proper spelling for bajillion? The only spelling suggestions I'm getting are "bazillion" and "billion." I get that "bajillion" is the Old Spice version of the word "bazillion," but it really should get its own place in the dictionary. "Ginormous" is an acceptable word now, so why can't "bajillion" be?
• I have acquired a new softball-related battle wound. This one is on the palm of my right hand. The ball hit me so hard that it left a blue smudge on my hand, which I'm guessing came from the stitching, or maybe the words "Murray YSA stake" written in blue marker. (Grounders are mean, you guys.) The budding bruise is roughly half the size of my cell phone. I may post a picture in a few days when it's more impressive looking.
• I can't believe it's only Wednesday. For the amount of work I've done this week, it really should be Friday by now.
• I did decently well on my MuggleNet O.W.L.s this year (which, by the way, are really difficult, especially if you don't study or cheat). I only failed four classes (Ancient Runes, Astronomy, History of Magic, and Magical Creatures) and I got an Exceeds Expectations in Muggle Studies. My grades in seven of the classes improved from last year, so I'm feeling pretty good about myself.
• My home teachers came over on Sunday and were impressed by my Harry Potter paraphernalia. For fun, they decided to ask me a really hard trivia question: Who let the troll into Hogwarts? (Incidentally, this is one of the level-one questions in my homemade trivia game. The multiple choice options are something like (a) Quirrell, (b) it flew in, (c) Tyrel, and (d) something else weird). It was really hard not to laugh when one guy blurted, "Neville!"
• I just subscribed to The New Yorker. That's the third literary magazine I've subscribed to this year. Some people get cable; others just read too much.
• I hate Gmail's new categories thing. I already had a perfectly good system set up with all my folders. Now I have to sort through three different tabs to get all my emails into the right folders, which adds a lot more clicking to my life. I bet doctors hate this "improvement" too.
• After two sleepless nights and three days of the worst allergies I've had all year, I now know what happens when you take Benadryl that has passed its expiration date (even if it's only by a couple months): instead of knocking you out and curing your symptoms so you can breathe and stop scratching your nose, it puts you in an unpleasant, drugged-but-alert state for six hours and does nothing to relieve your suffering.
• I am not planning on reading The Cuckoo's Calling. For those of you who live under a rather large boulder, that's the book that J.K. Rowling published under pseudonym Robert Galbraith that no one knew about before we found out who Robert Galbraith really was, but now it's the #1 bestseller on USA TODAY's Best-Selling Book List. I can't decide if this annoys me or not.
• I think my maximum capacity for summer enjoyment is two months. Even with the rough winter we had, I started longing for fall in mid-July, right on schedule.
• I've had a very "balanced" summer, though. Meaning I got the right amount of work, school, play, and socializing in. Usually my summers are very lopsided with work and play, but school and social activities have balanced things wonderfully.
• I can't decide if I want to buy season 2 of Once Upon a Time.
• I killed the biggest fly in the world on my bathroom mirror yesterday. Its splattered remains were about a mile wide. Or the size of a quarter, same diff.
• Karl Malone turns 50 today. He's almost as ancient as my dad. :)
• Why is the world so obsessed with William and Kate? Also, I don't think it's fair that Kate Middleton is flawlessly beautiful in every possible way.

Monday holidays

I'm usually a big fan of Monday holidays, primarily because they make Sundays so much more enjoyable. They also demonstrate that the world can be merciful at times because, 2-4 times a year (depending on whether you get MLK Day and Presidents' Day off), we get to skip Tuesday. Yes, technically we play on Monday and resume our normal lives on Tuesday, but if it's the first day of the work week my brain is forced into Monday Mode.

What is Monday Mode, you ask? It means that I slept very little the night before, that I'm not fully awake until 11:30 a.m., that I have extra work to do, and that the only thing I want to do after work is put my pajamas on and read/watch TV.

Then I realize that tomorrow is Wednesday, the middle of the week, and the future suddenly looks so much brighter.

Happy "The Worst Is Over" Day!

I think March 1 should be a holiday. Every year I mark it on my calendar with stars, smiley faces, and squiggly lings--the best I can muster with my two-year-old artistic abilities. The only other days that get this much decoration are paid holidays, Harry Potter releases, and days that I've been looking forward to for so long that I had to make a chain to help pass the time.

Today I felt like Mother Nature gave us all a gift. It was like she said, "I'm sorry January and February sucked more than usual this year; let me give you a warm, sunny day as a preview of things to come." Well, Mother Nature, January and February were unusually bad this year, but I suppose I can forgive you--but only because the suckiness wasn't entirely your fault.

My first acknowledged "The Worst Is Over" Day, so far, has gone down like this:

• Today was a happy Friday, not a mad Friday.
• I slept in until 7:08.
• I wore a short-sleeved T-shirt for the first time in who knows how long. And not just any T-shirt--my Jimmer shirt. This pretty much guarantees a good day.
• It was almost 40 degrees when I drove to work this morning. That's 20 degrees warmer than it's been since . . . November?
• When I stepped outside at noon I didn't want to cower back inside. I felt the warmth from the sun and my sturdy leather jacket felt a bit out of season.
• I went to Cafe Rio for lunch with the girls.
• As we were pulling out of the parking lot stuffed to our ears with Mexican food, I spotted a bee on the driver's side window. The driver jumped into my lap and frantically tried to roll down the window with her boot. I know that bee stings are lethal for a lot of people, but I get some insane pleasure out of watching people's inner girls come out every time a half-inch-long insect comes buzzing innocently by.
• I've been reminded once again that I have awesome co-workers.
• I got two really good pieces of news. That shoulder massage I've been wanting for weeks? Yeah, totally don't need it anymore. Not that I would turn down any offers, though.
• I have an awesome hermit night to look forward to--nothing but laundry, a good book, and my new favorite TV show, Parenthood, waiting for me at home.
• I also have my first post high school spring break waiting for me just around the corner.

The only downside to this day is that I finished the last of my Cadbury mini eggs yesterday. I must go buy more.

The best thing about Easter

Holidays are great because they usually come with traditions that you're only allowed to enjoy on that particular day (or span of days). On New Years it's driving 60 miles just to eat your favorite ice cream. On Christmas it's being surprised on Christmas morning. On the 4th of July it's fireworks. On Labor Day it's watching Lord of the Rings.

The best thing about Easter? Cadbury Eggs. So worth the wait.

Being alone on Valentine's Day

I know, I know. I said I wasn't going to rant about the insane stupidness of Valentine's Day this year. But there are a few things that really bother me, and those annoyances are just simmering inside me, setting my blood a'boiling, and pretty soon steam is going to start coming out of my ears. So, I think you'll agree with me when I say that spouting out my thoughts on my blog is a much less messy way to cleanse my system.

Understandably, the topic of choice at work yesterday was what everyone's plans were for Valentine's Day. Most of the guys were totally on top of things and had plans for flowers and romantic dinners. A few of the girls agreed to buy chocolates for each other because they had no one to buy chocolates for them. When people asked me what my plans were, I would just shrug and say, "Homework, probably." About halfway through the day, though, I got tired of the pitying and/or understanding looks people gave me, so I started telling them I would order pizza, too (which I did), in an attempt to convince people that my homework excuse wasn't just cover-up for "I'm going to go home and mope." For some reason, it worked.

Later that night I went to institute. We were operating on Mormon Standard Time, so it started almost 15 minutes late. As is one of my favorite hobbies, I sat there and listened to the conversations going on around me. One guy told his friends in an ashamed voice, "I only came today so I wouldn't have to be alone on Valentine's Day for the third year in a row." A girl later sat by me and said, in a false cheery voice, "So, how was your Valentine's Day?" the tones of bitterness literally oozing from her fake smile. I figured it wouldn't be nice to say "Who cares if you're single on Valentine's Day?" so I lied and pretended to commiserate with her instead.

I guess I should consider myself lucky, because I've never really been bothered by the fact that I've been single all 25 Valentine's Days of my life. When I reached dating age, I was determined to prove to the world that I didn't need a boy, so my lack of boyfriend on Valentine's Day was a triumph in my eyes. In college, my view was much the same, though as I slowly warmed up to the idea that boyfriends aren't all pariahs, I contented myself with thinking that next year I might have a pretty cool guy and made some pretty great memories with my roommates and sisters in the mean time. Even after spending the last two Valentine's Day without either a boy of my own or lots of spontaneous girl support, the tears, hurt, and bitterness never came, at least not on a day when America is particularly obsessed with relationship statuses.

I think most of the depression of this day stems from the fact that no one likes to be reminded that they're alone. It's perfectly normal to not want to be alone--even those of us who need copious amounts of alone time are still biologically engineered to crave human companionship at times.

But the thing is, being alone and being lonely are not the same thing. The night before I moved into my own apartment, I celebrated my new independence (and my last day of having cable) by watching One Day, a movie I thought would be a sweet love story but ended up being really depressing. However, there is one line that Anne Hathaway says that really struck me: "I'm alone, but I'm not lonely." It reassured me that I would be okay living alone, and over time it became one of my mini life mottos.

Most people never learn the difference between "alone" and "lonely." Even Merriam-Webster's Dictionary has a hard time distinguishing between the two: one means "separated from others" while the other means "cut off from others." In fact, I only learned the difference because I spent a lot of my life dealing with one or the other.

Once I figured out that it's loneliness I want to avoid, not aloneness, I began to see real power in being alone. And I'm not just talking about having sole power over the remote, noise level, temperature, and how much milk is in the fridge at my apartment, as nice as that is. No, I'm talking about the power that comes from discovering who you are, the clarity that comes when you take some time for yourself to stop and think. It is not appropriate for every aspect of life to be a group activity. Even if you love being around people, alone time is crucial to a healthy and well balanced life.

I wish more people knew this. I think Valentine's Day would be a much nicer holiday if they did.

20 years ago, on a day much like today . . .

The date was October 31, 1992. A young, mysterious family of six pulled up to the new house on Cortez Drive in their white station wagon. No one knew where these strangers had come from, but judging by the constant stream of moving vans it was clear they intended to stay.

Just before twilight, a couple of the children, cleverly disguised as pigs and bunnies, emerged from the house and set out on their reconnaissance mission. At house after house they stopped, gathering intel and dangerous amounts of sugar along the way. (The parents would expect payment, after all.)

Meanwhile, back at the newly occupied house, swarms of children pressed their sticky fingers against the pristine doorbell, ignoring the "There's no candy here" sign. The woman inside occasionally appeared at the window, the dull glow of the incandescent light inside casting shadows across her unfamiliar face. But mostly the woman ignored the children, focusing on unpacking box after box of curious artifacts.

As the years passed, the neighbors suspected that something was slightly amiss at this new place. Alarming sounds were constantly being emitted from the yellow-hued structure: loud laughter, pitiful wailing, echoing booms, elephantine nose-blowing, thunderous stomping, and random bursts of operatic noise-making.

The sights were rather curious as well. A young girl (sometimes two) regularly climbed out her window after dark with a towel on her head. The boy seemed to have an unruly fascination with throwing rocks and knives. Sometimes the children chased each other around the house in crazed fury, sometimes in wild delight. And as if to throw invisible spies off their trail, these strange human beings left the house in a variety of costumes, from softball uniforms to princess dresses, at odd times.

Those who watched this house over the years, looking for suspicious activity, never found proof that the residents were particularly harmful. But as the house paint faded and the trees grew taller, one thing became increasingly clear: this 20-year-old structure has indeed housed a host of strange people over the years, but there's no doubt that the people there lived.

Memo: Dressing up for Halloween

To whom it may concern:

Many of you have your Halloween costumes picked out by now. You've gathered the costume "ingredients" and now they're sitting in your closet, waiting to be concocted into that masterpiece you've been envisioning since early September. You're obviously excited about being someone else for a day, which could explain why you've replaced the typical ice-breaker questions like "Where are you from?" and "What do you do?" with "What are you being for Halloween?"

There is one major reason why this question is unacceptable when posed to adults: some of us stopped agonizing over that decision when we were 12, and therefore the assumption that we know what we want to be for Halloween is unfounded. It is unclear when Halloween became an adult, rather than kid, holiday, but some of us obviously missed the boat when the tides changed.

What's that you say? Dressing up is fun? If you mean watching others walk around as celebrities, inanimate objects, and mystical creatures is fun, then you're right--that is high entertainment.

But wait, I'm a stick in the mud if I don't participate in this childishness? Way to state the obvious: of course I'm a stick in the mud, and proud of it.

So to all of you who make it your life's ambition to convince your stubborn friend to dress up for Halloween, or who is offended when someone you invited to a raucous Halloween party turns down your invitation without a moment's hesitation--give up. Don't waste your energy on hopeless causes. Focus your energy instead on ignoring the offending person while you go about celebrating as you wish. It's the only way we'll all make it through this holiday without any casualties.

Sincerely,

An annoyed, disgruntled, stick-in-the-mud adult

Highlights of my Labor Day weekend

• The colorful mountain scenery that greeted me when I turned onto Elk Ridge Drive.
• The epic thunderstorm at 5:30 a.m.
• Seeing more than three stars at night.
• Listening to the crickets.
• Eating food off a stick.
• Home-grown raspberries, tomatoes, and corn.
• The music that plays when you pop in the first Fellowship of the Ring disc.
• A few rousing rounds of Mad Gab.
• The free onion we got with our shakes.
• Watching the neighbor across the street play football with his son and grandkids on his front lawn.
• Chocolate cake donuts.

An unconventional 8-5 week

I like having an 8-5 job. I like the stability and predictability (try saying that five times fast) that comes with it. I like waking up at the same time every day, having a pretty good idea of what to expect for the day ahead.

But even for those who don't mind sitting at a desk all day, doing the same thing day in and day out can get kind of boring, even if tasks and meetings keep you busy. A field trip to Office Max or an hour-and-a-half lunch break can go a long way in breaking up the tedium just enough to keep you content with the tedium.

My week so far has deviated from the norm quite a bit, adding a few more firsts to the story of my life.

Sunday

• While Sunday is not part of the typical work week, this Sunday's normal flow was disrupted slightly due to the fact that the entire bishopric was out of town. Our elder's quorum president conducted sacrament meeting, and he looked like a freshly ordained elder who is still getting used to wearing a suit, which he hasn't quite grown into yet.

Monday

• I've written a lot of video scripts for marketing videos, and I've seen the finished products that were created from the scripts, but I've never witnessed the important middle part: shooting the video. I got to watch a real director and real actors try to impromptu their way through awkward segments. I was one of many who stood in the background, away from the lights and camera, watching the actors as they struggled to remember lines they looked at for the first time that morning. I was a bit mystified by the number of times the crew adjusted an actor's tie or told them to wipe the invisible sweat from their forehead. I am still amazed at the amount of skills and people required to create a 30-second video.
• I also had my first (and hopefully last) cameo appearance, which featured Shari and me sitting awkwardly in the background.
• I ate in a coffee shop for the first time. My curried-chicken sandwich weirded me out. People watching was fun though.

Tuesday

• July 24th--the holiday that isn't a holiday. It was a normal day for me, but not normal enough to stop the booms and pops that echoed through the darkness that night (thankfully people were done making noise by about 11:30).

Wednesday

• In honor of a departing co-worker and to welcome a new one to the crew, we went to Cafe Rio for lunch. Seriously, I don't know why I don't take real lunch breaks more often.

As for today, well, I can't believe it's Thursday already.

Groundhog Day experiences

After I hit the snooze button six times this morning, my exasperated alarm clock greeted me with this statement: "Punxsutawney Phil has indeed predicted that there will be six more weeks of winter." My first thought was, "What winter?" I have yet to experience my first magical snowfall of the season, and seeing as we're already in February and it hasn't happened yet, this winter is dead to me. I don't care what the all-knowing groundhog says.

A few weeks ago I was browsing through channels (probably waiting for a basketball game to start) and came across one of the classics of film, Groundhog Day. Tyrel used to make sure we watched this every year on February 2, just like he made sure we watched Independence Day on July 4. Though none of us have literally had to relive the same dreary day over and over and over again, I'm sure we can all relate to that helpless feeling that tries to tell you that winter, the work day, school, or a particular struggle is never going to end.

However, there are some experiences that I don't mind reliving day after day, year after year. For example . . .

I usually succumb to that itch I get about every 15 months to read Harry Potter again.

Once a book makes it to my favorites list, the thought of never reading it again is too depressing.

I've seen every episode of Gilmore Girls, er, more than once, and the dialogue still kills me.

The transition to fall is always magical.

Holidays, particularly the 4th of July, Labor Day, General Conference, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, wouldn't be nearly as special if we didn't get to revisit them every year.

Weekends. Need I say more?

Kimberly and I use the same strategies every time we play Risk or Star Wars Monopoly. And we never get bored.

So, uh, happy Groundhog Day, everyone! Since I'm boycotting winter, I've decided to celebrate this inane holiday by pondering the happy side of repetitiveness rather than injure my brain trying to wrap my mind around the idea that if the sun is out, clearly that means more winter.

The top 10 most annoying Christmas songs of all time

All awesome things have a dark side, most especially Christmas music. While I love Christmas music as much as the next person, there are some songs that trigger my gag reflex and make me a bit of a Scrooge. Such as these songs, for example.

10. The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire). This is one of the Christmas classics (that I like) that I tend to get sick of the fastest. It seems that every artists feels morally obligated to put this song on their Christmas album, and, well, it gets old fast. This is by no means the most-played Christmas song, but it's just not good enough to warrant all the attention it gets.

9. Do You Hear What I Hear? Some artists have too much fun with the echoing effects, making this song incredibly annoying. However, it can be a wonderful song when done right (I rather love Vince Gill's version, for example).

8. Patapan. I wouldn't be surprised if only choir nerds recognized this song. It is a rather popular choral song, though I think the musical advancedness, rather than the nonsense lyrics, is the reason why acapella groups always sing it. It's one of those songs that latches itself in your brain and forces you to hum it for months at a time. However, its slight redeeming quality is its pure mockability. My family regularly adds to our made-up lyrics, most of which center on farm animals. (Think "cock-a-doodle-do" instead of "tu-la-ru-la-ru," and "pat a pat a pig" instead of "pat a pat a pan" and it'll be effortless to find more ways to slaughter this song.)

7. We Need a Little Christmas Now. I've sung this song in a couple of choirs, and it always ends up being the one the choir hates the most.

6. Christmas Time is Here. Yes, "Where Are You Christmas?" is one of my favorite Christmas songs, but the movie from which it stems has produced some equally bad songs. All it takes is the first screeching phrase of this song and my hand will shoot to the radio dial to change the station.

5. Angels We Have Heard on High. I would be prepared to bet that Relief Society sisters throughout the world sing this song every stinkin' year for their ward Christmas programs. My home ward may have started this tradition, and I hate it more every time we sing it, mostly for picky musical reasons: (1) no one can ever do the eternal "Gloria" in one breath, and (2) no matter how many times we relearn it, a majority of the sisters pronounce "in excelsis deo" wrong, which grates me the same way fingernails on a chalkboard does. For the record, it's "een egg shell sees day oh" everyone, and yes, that means you too, Josh Groban.

4. The 12 Days of Christmas. Who came up with this song, anyway? Every remake of this song (with the exception of the Vocal Point version) is long, annoying, and tedious.

3. I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas. The first time I heard this song, it intrigued me. However, by the second verse I was so sick of the baby voice that I forever denied it the honor of my listening to it.

2. Merry Christmas, Darling, by the Carpenters. I love the old-time Christmas classics like Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby, but I hate, hate the Carpenters. I may have broken a few nails in my efforts to change the radio station every time Karen Carpenter's warbly voice airs. I'm not even sure if this song is the one that annoys me the most, but there's not way I'm going to listen to it to find out.

1. Santa Baby. Sultryness and Santa should not go together. 'Nuff said.