Summer 2017 book wrap-up, Twitter style

*Maybe if I keep writing summer wrap-up posts, the infernal heat will go away.

23 books, summarized in 140 characters or less.

Unquiet Land by Sharon Shinn, 3 stars
My least favorite of the Elementals series. Boring love interests are a major downer.

Divinity of Women by Heather B. Moore, 4 stars
A nice read on the women of the Bible and Book of Mormon.

Word by Word: The Secret Life of Dictionaries by Kory Stamper, 5 stars
One of my word nerd heroes talks about life as a dictionary editor. It's fun and fascinating.

The Distant Hours by Kate Morton, 3 stars
A good mystery that is just spooky enough for a rainy weekend. But the ending ruined the good thing the book had going, IMO.

The Identicals by Elin Hilderbrand, 3 stars
A nice beach read. You read it, enjoy it, then forget it. Except I still think about it from time to time.

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard, 4 stars
A good read on the beauty and ruthlessness of nature. But don't read it if you need a plot.

The Accidental Tourist by Anne Tyler, 3 stars
A character-driven book (why am I reading plotless books in the summer?) with an ending you'll want to discuss.

Be Frank with Me by Julia Clairborne Johnson, 5 stars
A young woman helps out an eccentric kid and his reclusive mother for several months. You'll be sad when it's time for her to leave.

Arcanum Unbounded: A Cosmere Collection by Brandon Sanderson, 5 stars
For those who just can't get enough of Brandon Sanderson, even though he does nothing but give us new worlds to play in.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis, 5 stars
When you're stressed out, just go to Narnia. Problem solved.

Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis, 5 stars
The book I always enjoy but must rely on the movie to remember the plot.

*Note: I did not reread The Horse and His Boy because I hate that one. But I did review it.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis, 4 stars
My favorite symbolism of the entire series.

The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis, 3 stars
The adventures are starting to feel a little stale, but I reeeeally want to fly into Narnia like that.

The Magician's Nephew by C.S. Lewis, 5 stars
Adored this one as a kid. Magic soil that grows anything you plant, flying horses, the birth of Narnia—I love it all.

The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis, 3 stars
It's also cool to see the death of Narnia. Still mulling over Susan's fate, though.

Switch by Chip and Dan Heath, 4 stars
I really wish the authors' names were Chip and Dale. But there's some cool ideas on how to enact change.

Exit West by Mohsin Hamid, 3 stars
A timely refugee story with a hint of magic to it. A tad overwritten, though.

Landline by Rainbow Rowell, 3 stars
A magic phone allows a woman to talk to her husband in the past. WILL IT SAVE THEIR MARRIAGE?

The Spectator Bird by Wallace Stegner, 4 stars
A short (for Stegner) book about aging, basically. An excellent read, as his books always are.

Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging by Sebastian Junger, 4 stars
The root of all our problems: we don't do things together. Introvert me balks, but Junger makes some points that are hard to argue against.

Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow by Jessica Day George, 5 stars
A pretty great fairy tale YA book that doesn't get a lot of attention.

Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain by Oliver Sacks, 3 stars
Fascinating at first, but the case-study-after-case-study format gets wearying after a while.

Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine, 5,000 stars
If there ever was a perfect book, this would be it.

For more great book talk, head over to Modern Mrs. Darcy.

Summer 2017 wrap-up (covering mostly just the good stuff)

GUYS. Summer is almost over. I cannot express how big of a relief that is. I feel like I'm coming back to life, kind of like how normal people feel when spring starts to unthaw a long winter. I simply was not built for long, hot summers. Convention insanity doesn't help, either (more on that later).

It's become a tradition on this blog to have a summer wrap-up post every year. So consider this my "What I Did This Summer" back-to-school essay. Honestly, it doesn't look that different from the ones I wrote as a kid. (Only this one has pictures—erm, way more than I planned on sharing, sorry—because without pictures, you got nuttin'. Name that TV show!)

We went to swimming lessons.

We kicked off our sister party with swimming lessons, and I'll just say it was a much better way to spend a Friday morning than at the office.

SO CUTE.

The crazy thing is, 20 years ago we were the ones going to swimming lessons with our cousins.

Poor Tyrel, always surrounded by girls.

We went on vacation.

All of us but the Searles spent a week in South Dakota/Wyoming. Home to lots of blue, green, and brown—and not much else.

We went on a Tuesday, and there was still an alarming number of people there (which is why Shannan is not pictured).

I used to think it was super random that someone decided to carve people's heads into a mountain, but after seeing all those flat, smooth rocks, I kind of wanted to carve something into a mountain.

We spent the week in a cabin.

Our most successful vacations tend to be the ones where home base is a place we can claim all for ourselves.

We took walks and hikes whenever we wanted, because everything we needed was basically in our front yard.

The child had to be walked several times a day. During one walk she proceeded to pick up every rock she saw and stuff them in her pockets until her pants were literally falling off.

We found a rock that inspired us to stand tall and triumphant.

I was not as successful. Dang wind.

Turns out climbing a tree Yogi Bear style is much harder than it looks. Pretty much all I could do was jump and hold on.

Tyrel and I went to the top of the mountain. Well, Tyrel did. I almost made it to the top, but my fear of heights prevented me from moving past the low end of the top. So Tyrel skipped to the highest point while I sat in a safe spot and took selfies.

Many Dutch oven dinners were consumed, monitored by Kimberly and Jeremy. But mostly Kimberly.

And we can't forget Dad, the barbecue master.

I helped by taking pictures of fire.

And we did some other vacation-y, sight-seeing things, including visiting family who moved up here like 12 years ago (not pictured, sadly).

Rushmore Cave. This picture cracks me up.

This amusement park was awesome. It looked like some farmer/engineer guy built a couple roller coasters in his backyard. (In front of us is a bunch of farmland.) Not very many people were there, and the food was delicious. I'd give you the name of the park, but I kind of want it to remain anonymous so it's still deserted if we ever go back.

Oh, and since we had such picturesque surroundings, Shannan and I helped take pictures of the Balls family. I hereby proclaim them the cutest family ever.

We had a water party.

Whenever I picture the perfect summer day, it includes my entire family, an outdoor activity, and a barbecue. We usually have a water party on either Memorial Day or Pioneer Day every summer, and it's pretty much the best. See, sometimes I like summer.

Don't get in Bronx's way—because he will get you.

Noah had a little trouble aiming his squirt gun at first.

Tyrel's favorite part of the party. Every year.

I played softball.

As always, softball was one of the best things about my summer. I wasted my two good hits on the first game, but was much more successful at socializing than I've been in past summers. This year's team was special.

This was right after winning our stake tournament's semifinal, I think. It was an awesome game, complete with a miracle comeback. I just wish the photographer had waited until everyone was ready to take the picture. 

This next picture will give you a better idea of just how dedicated my ward was to softball this year, whether they were playing or not. (And this was after some of us—myself included—had already left.) Attendance at softball games was basically mandatory.

I survived Convention.

I didn't have time to be sad when softball ended (after a run in the regional tournament, which meant we got to play at the nice ballpark in Cottonwood Heights. It's rained three out of the four times I've played there), because Convention—the week I dread all year—was next up on my agenda.

I won't torture you with the details. These two pictures pretty much sum up the experience.

How I felt during that 72-hour work week:

How I felt when it was over (after I'd had a few days to recover):

The universe gave us an eclipse as a Monday-after-Convention gift.

I wasn't super excited about this "once in a lifetime" event, but pretty much our entire building emptied out around 10:30 Monday morning to watch the eclipse's progress, and I didn't want to be left out. My department ended up on the roof with 20-30 other people. Looking at the sun was fun, but my favorite part was when it cooled down 15 degrees and the sunshine dimmed enough so I didn't even need sunglasses. In case you forgot, I am not a fan of the sun.

I also enjoyed watching people from the buildings nearby come out in clumps to watch the eclipse. Even the golfers across the street took a break.

And, that's a wrap! Turns out it was a pretty good summer.

8 things I learned in June (and half of July)

1. South Dakota is beautiful. Before vacationing there for a week, I was under the impression that South Dakota was one of the boring states. Which may be true, depending on how you define boring, but its beauty is also significantly underrated. I might blog more about this later. If I have the mental energy/brain space for it.

2. I also couldn't be content living somewhere that remote. My goal in life is to, essentially, avoid people, so this realization came as a surprise to me. I always pictured myself being happy in one of America's wide open spaces, with nothing but trees, sky, and clouds for company. But, after a while you start to get tired of all that green. Deep thoughts while enjoying nature don't entirely compensate for the opportunities of the "real" world. You start to miss having access to all the conveniences of civilization. Never thought I'd say that, let alone believe it, but I guess it's good I realized all this before I made an impulsive move to a sparsely populated spot. Utah is just the best, guys—you get the best of both worlds. (Although not quite that much green.)

3. Wyoming is the most boring state in the nation. That million-hour drive through Wyoming's nothingness is enough to drive you to insanity. The most interesting part was the windmills. And the clouds that seem to go on for an eternity.

4. Brandon Sanderson's cosmere is even more complex than I thought it was. With Oathbringer's release date just a few months away, I'm trying to get some good cosmere studying in. And it's intense. But one of these days, I will understand it. I'll probably still be saying that in 20 years.

5. Lemonade doesn't quench your thirst—it just makes you more thirsty. I love lemonade, but I think I'll refrain from buying it from the store from now on, even if Trader Joe's is having a sale. I spent many evenings this week overfull because of the thirst that cannot be quenched.

6. What kind of editor I am. We're in the middle of hiring a managing editor at work, and this whole process has helped me see where my strengths lie as an editor and what I actually want out of a career. I feel like I have more realistic long-term goals now, and a much clearer picture of what my career will entail here on out.

7. Why I'm rereading everything this year. Since I became a podcast maniac 3–4 years ago, my reading habits have changed. I read more, I read more widely, and reading has never been as big of a priority as it is now. But this year, I keep going back to my old favorites. I've gotten so caught up in discovering new authors and forming opinions on some of the hot books everyone is talking about that I haven't spent as much time on my first love, the genre that made me a compulsive reader—fantasy. So I'm going back to my reading roots. Book Riot recently posted a stupid article about rereading not counting as reading, but it's been the most satisfying part of my reading this year. One pass simply is not enough for any book worth rereading, and I've gotten so much out of all of my book reunions.

8. Taking time off to play is worth every hassle. I totally already knew this, but I wanted to share two more pictures.

Planning our yearly sister party is a huge ordeal, but it usually ends up being one of the best weekends of the year.

My favorite South Dakota picture.

Pearls of 20-something wisdom: Boredom and progression

My aversion to bedtimes started as soon as I was old enough to climb out of bed on my own. Maybe even before then. I was convinced that the party started after the kids were in bed, and I was on a mission to catch the action. Night after night, I would sneak into the living room where my parents were watching TV and wait for the excitement to start. Night after night, my parents found me curled up on the floor behind the couch or next to the garage door, having failed once again to gather any proof that I was missing out on something.

But if you really want to annoy your dad, fall asleep in his chair. All the time.

Eventually I got bored with my little game and started staying in my room, but I still had to check in occasionally. (This would have been a much more productive activity if I could actually hear what was going on.) I spied on card games, caught my dad jumping on the trampoline after dark, and became pretty familiar with the TV shows and movies my parents liked to watch without us. (I remember lots of Star Trek. Maybe it was a ploy to get me to quickly lose interest and go back to bed.)

Slowly I acquired later bedtimes, and it wasn't too much longer before I was staying up later than my parents (or at least my mom). I had still found no evidence of parties, yet I couldn't shake the thought that life had to be so much more exciting when you were free to do whatever you wanted at night besides get more boring sleep.

It wasn't so much the night life I wanted to be a part of; it was the apparent freedom adults had in every facet of their lives. Staying up past the kids' bedtime was just the beginning.

And then suddenly, I was in college. No one cared what time I went to bed as long as I didn't keep them up. I could take naps between classes. Some of my lunch breaks were long enough to allow me to actually leave campus in search of something edible (but alas, my budget still forced me to get by on homemade sandwiches and carrot sticks). I could coordinate work and school however I wanted.

The structure that had held me back all my childhood was gone. Now I got to set the rules.

Finally I was part of the free-adult club. Nothing could be more exciting.

But as I moved on from college life to the career life, I finally started to see reality: there was a reason I fell asleep spying on the adults, and it wasn't because I was tired. There is no secret fun club to join when you enter adulthood. In fact, a lot of the time, adulthood is actually pretty boring.

The side of me that craves a routine and just wants stability had no trouble accepting that. But we humans are hardwired to need progression in our lives, and for the first time ever, I couldn't rely on a new grade or new classes to automatically provide that for me. I didn't have a marriage or my own growing children to keep me on my toes. Life wasn't as much of a journey anymore; I was stuck at a destination.

This shift in worldview helped trigger what I like to call my quarter-life crisis. I had achieved what I had spent my whole life preparing for—independence—but it wasn't the bright, happy, glamorous place I had envisioned all those nights I was plowing through massive amounts of reading after getting home from my shift at Domino's. Oftentimes, it was dull enough that I wanted to sleep through it.

After weeks of becoming more and more unhappy with my lot in life, I found myself stuck on the side of the freeway in American Fork—halfway between my two homes—in a car that was overheated. Somewhere between being stranded on the freeway to when I was able to coax my car to safety at Thanksgiving Point, I resolved that I was going to start going to the temple every week. I didn't know how it would help, exactly; all I had was my hope that putting God's priorities first would help me sort out my troubles.

It turns out God was several steps ahead of me, as usual. I had gone through the temple about six months before, much sooner than I had planned to go. But it felt right at the time, and once I started going to the temple every week I understood why it was the right time for me to take that step. Over the next six months, the temple filled all the holes in my life. It made up for my lack of dating prospects and my inability to establish close friendships. It gave me something useful to do with my abundance of free time. It filled my need for a purpose in life and helped me grow in a vacuum.

After trying out all the temples in the valley, the Draper Temple became my temple.

This wasn't the one-and-done solution to the rest of my adult problems. But it did help me gain a better understanding that it was my job to make sure I was always progressing in some way, always working toward something, and now I was better equipped to handle it.

So I got a master's degree. I delved into hobbies. I landed in a more satisfying career. I got better at having a social life. I delighted in all the perks of being a childless aunt. I studied the scriptures more diligently.

I spent a lot of time on meaningless things too, but eventually I found a comfortable balance between contentment and progression. We're not meant to coast through life, but we can't really be awesome all the time, either. The key, at least during my 20s, was to embrace change when it was needed and to be grateful always.

And to let the childlike excitement take over from time to time. If you can't let the little child in you out every now and then, then adulthood has no choice but to be boring.

442

Since I started this blog in June 2010, I've never gotten through a month without posting at least once. If I don't post today, that streak will end, and I just can't allow that to happen.

I was looking over my paltry blog stats today and realized that this thing has been going for seven years. 442 posts. (Does that number make anyone else think of Lost? It's not exactly one of the numbers, but it's close.) I know I shouldn't be surprised that I've found 442 things to post about—I've filled 21 journals on much more mundane things—but, well, I'm surprised.

So I'm going to celebrate my seven-year blogerversary by highlighting some fun (for me, at least) stats.

First post: So, I'm done with classes. Now what? Boy, I was a rambler. Probably still am, but I hope I've curbed that tendency somewhat.

Post with the most page views: Bold literary characters. I wonder how many people stumbled upon this post because they were looking for inspiration for their English papers.

Most popular topic label: Life lessons. I know, I know. You're all shocked Harry Potter isn't at the top. I am, too.

Post with the most comments: My pre-30s bucket list. It's a little depressing how few of these things I've actually accomplished. Somehow I've got to find a way to go skiing, leave the country, get married, have a kid, buy a house and a piano, finish learning "Rhapsody in Blue," and perfect my ranch dressing recipe in the next 3 1/2 months. Totally doable.

Post that used the least amount of words: 10 reasons why the NBA lockout sucks. I had forgotten about this one! Things are a bit different now.

Post that was the hardest to publish: I have a hard time being publicly personal (public = anyone who is not me). The personal stuff doesn't always make it to the publish phase, and when it does, my instinct is to quickly bury it so no one sees it. All of the Pearls of 20something Wisdom posts have been hard for that reason, especially the aloneness one.

My favorite post: Burning books (although this one is a close second). I stopped so many people from reading The Casual Vacancy with this post. You're welcome. But I still look back on the book-burning experience fondly.

The Muggle remedy to allergies

A year ago, I wrote this post. I was inspired when I wrote it. Inspired, that is, by the allergies that bust out of hibernation every spring and race through my body until November.

It's a dark path I tread this this time of year. Even without allergies, Utah springs (aka still mostly winter) aren't that great, and I spend a lot of time wishing my nose into oblivion, or at least equal suffering for all.

UNTIL.

The fact that I was contemplating evil to eradicate an obnoxious problem got me thinking that perhaps I should explore my other options a little bit more. Including one that, at the time, seemed just as annoying as the problem it was designed to solve: allergy shots.

I didn't love the idea of getting shots regularly—swallowing pills, and sometimes even gutting the symptoms out, is a lot easier. I don't really have a problem with needles; it's more the continual trips to the doctor's office that are unappealing. And I had heard that weekly shots were required for five years in order for the treatment to be effective. What if you want to go on vacation? What if you move? What if your work schedule won't allow it? What if something happens in year 3 that prevents you from continuing? It just didn't seem worth it.

Well, you shouldn't base important life decisions on hearsay. You have to do your own research before ruling something out.

Which is what my sister Kimberly did. It's always better when a trusted source does the work for you.

As soon as I learned that allergy shots aren't required weekly for the full five years (just the first 3–6 months, during the build-up phase), I sought out my own allergist. He educated me on the terrible injustice of allergy reactions being based on genetics, rather than being required for everyone, and the horrifying reality that allergies tend to get worse until you're in your mid-30s, after which they stay there until, finally, starting to dissipate around your eighth decade.

The thought of enduring a spring even worse than the one that sent me to Voldemort for help was too much. I scheduled an allergy test the next day. (Which verified that I really am allergic to many things in the weeds/trees/grass/critters categories. I felt strangely vindicated.)

The week after Thanksgiving, I got my first allergy shot. I was committed now.

It wasn't always smooth sailing. It's hard to coordinate two office visits per week during business hours. About a month in, I had to double my medication on shot days, which made me tired and killed my productivity for the rest of the day. I had a random reaction the day I hit maintenance, the wonderful day you get to graduate to only needing one shot a month. My head turned a shade of purple that would put my fellow Cooper-blooded relatives on a sweltering July day to shame, and they had to close down the shot room so they could put out the flames. (Aside from my head feeling like it was on fire, I didn't have any other exciting symptoms.) This led to an evening derailed, an $867 ER bill, and steroid medication for three days that—surprise, surprise—wouldn't let me sleep.

But there were positive signs, as well. Two people came in for their last shot ever while I was waiting in the lobby, and both told the nurses the shots had changed their lives. As we inched into February, I could already feel a significant decrease in my allergy symptoms, which typically happens later for most patients. March passed and April started, and I was still waiting for the allergy symptoms that love me so much to attack. For the first time in a long time, I started drinking in the smell of blossoms and spending time on the grass without wondering how long it would be before I would have to pay for such pleasures.

It seemed too good to be true, to be experiencing so much relief so quickly, but the following tests confirmed that what I hoped for was actually happening:

1. Spring was in full force, and I was still very much sane.
2. I survived a five-hour flight next to a lady with a cat.

I still haven't gotten through a visit to my parents' house without wanting to rub my nose off, but there's still time to reach that level of immunity. I have every reason to believe that some day soon I will no longer be allergic to my hometown (or rather, everything south of I-15 Exit 253. Where there is still more nature than buildings).

The moral of the story? There is a cure to annoying, non-life-threatening problems, and yes, it is worth it to take the longer, non-evil path to relief.

Pearls of 20-something wisdom: Career stuff

This post has been sitting in my queue for weeks, and I've lost track of how many times I've rewritten it. The primary pursuit of my 20s has been establishing a career, so I can't just not talk about it. But the problem is, I have no idea how to concisely say everything I want to.

I could start with a timeline of significant career happenings. Too boring? Fine.

Or I could write a "20 Things I Learned While Starting My Career" post. But that's been written about 8 million times already—no one wants to read that again.

Perhaps I could do a Q&A. Answer all those questions people ask when they find out what I do. Ugh, even I have no interest in reading that.

Maybe I should just get the words down and see where they take me (career lesson #15).

The lucky ones start showing signs of what they'll be when they grow up at a young age. Looking back, I can totally see that I was one of them. I beat my classmates at all the reading challenges in first grade. I subconsciously started editing signs by fifth grade. I wrote a bunch of terrible stories in elementary school and junior high (many of which starred my celebrity crushes, from Lance Bass to Chad Michael Murray).

I had other passions—music and sports, mainly—and even dabbled in other fields (like accounting—weird), but I was destined to work with words. That's what I was drawn to. That's what brought me the most satisfaction (career lesson #4). It wasn't about the money, the status, or the glamour. All I needed was words. (And punctuation.)

Career path: all set.*

*Although it did take me a while to stop hoping for the "marry rich" solution to adulthood (career lesson #436).

But the weird thing is, there's more to a career than deciding what you want to do. I grew up in a world where a job is something you have so you can get money so you can eat and take hot showers and wear clothes and all that fun stuff. Perhaps that, combined with my greater desire to be a wife and mother, is why it took me so long to grasp that a job can be more than a means to an end or a necessary evil (career lesson #53). It can be a good and meaningful part of your life.

For starters, adults aren't great at making friends, so chances are, your workplace is where most of your friends are (career lesson #28).

My first business trip. I was still green enough to think that was what adults actually called them.

A field trip to Top Golf. My family thinks working for USANA means you just play all the time. If only that were true. Let me just say, there's a reason my blogging frequency has dropped drastically over the last six months. 

And secondly, if your job is the most important part of your life, then you'd better make sure it's a good one (career lesson #41). That you're doing something you enjoy, that excites you, with people you can easily tolerate. Because if you don't like your job and you don't have something pretty significant to make up for it, then you'll find yourself constantly wishing for something to fill the void (career lesson #40).

Editors are a bit of a dying breed, so I had to fight for the right to be one (career lesson #42). Not all of my editing peers get that chance, even if their skills are seriously impressive. But somehow I found a way to make a living using the skills I want to use. (And I don't have to teach! I'll forever be grateful for that.) I've been very fortunate.

There's no way to say this without sounding cheesy, so maybe read this part really fast, before you have a chance to roll your eyes: I found my "calling." Editing is what I was meant to do, and I have zero regrets about choosing this career.

And, I think that's all I really need to say. Hooray. I'm kicking this thing off my queue.