Echoes of My Mind

Design star: Grand finale

2012-01-02T20:46:00.000-07:00

From "plant on a chair" and the Christmas couch to the rockin' armchair to my post asking for (and receiving!) great furniture layout advice, my goal to transform my living room from looking like the inside of a swimming pool to a place where a normal person would live is complete. Lamps and a painting were the final touches.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

The painting above my couch is a giclee of a painting by John Hafen, a famous Utah artist. My grandma had the original painting hanging in her living room for as long as I could remember. The painting is special to me not only because it reminds me of my sweet grandma, but also because it depicts the exact view of Mount Timpanogos I saw every day growing up. It means a lot to me to have this reminder of home with me while I'm in a city where I don't yet feel I quite belong.

It's such a great feeling to walk in my front door at the end of a long day and be welcomed by a cozy living room! Thanks for your great comments and advice along the way!

Book lovers never go to bed alone

2012-01-01T20:00:00.000-07:00

When I hear people talk about books they love, I like to write them down so I can find them later and enjoy them myself. But sometimes it's nice to return old favorites—ones I know will be a great read even though it's my 276th time through.

Here is a list of some of the books I return to most. I'm no literary genius, so don't expect any Shakespeare or Milton or Dante, but I do love talking about my favorite books, because I think conversation about books can get you to common ground with a stranger more quickly than almost any other topic.

So here they are, in no particular order:

Dale Carnegie's How to Win Friends and Influence People
Thanks to this book, I try not to be one of those people who makes sure the teacher and everyone else in the classroom knows a word on the chalkboard is misspelled.

Victor Hugo's Les Misérables
I don't know if there is a passage in all of literature as beautiful and poignant as when the merciful bishop offers the escaped criminal Jean Valjean—unjustly treated all his life—forgiveness and a fresh beginning.

Pearl S. Buck's The Good Earth
I first read this book after discovering it in my grandma's library and given permission to take it home. I was surprised a book set in a time, country, and culture so different than my own would offer me perspectives that mirrored parts of my own life. It has some jaw-drop-inducing moments, especially for a 15-year-old Utah Mormon girl, but following Wang Lung's rise from poverty to wealth and back again taught me some important lessons.

Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol
Who doesn't squirm when ghostly Marley, howling and dragging chains, exclaims "Business! Mankind was my business!" Or cringe when Scrooge watches his impertinent young self make a choice that set him on a dark path of selfishness or misery. Or tear up when Scrooge, a changed man, parades through the city streets on Christmas Day with Tiny Tim on his shoulder. I love watching stage productions of this book, too.

Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time
Yes, it's a children's book. Yes, its protagonists are kids who time travel through outer space to meet aliens. The themes in this book, though, are all about destiny, identity, discerning between good vs. evil, and recognizing what's not right and finding the strength to fight against it. As a young teenager I heavily identified with the self-doubting, mousy, socially awkward, willful protagonist, Meg. My grandma gave me the book-on-tape version as read by the author, so phrases from this book—in Madeline L'Engles own voice, no less—are always popping into my head at opportune moments.

George Orwell's Animal Farm
I discovered this book at my local library when I was 12 or 13, and read it probably 25 times by the time finished junior high. I was fascinated by the way good so subtly became evil, the way desire for power and control eventually overshadowed noble intentions, and the way good, innocent people are so often the casualties in power struggles. And who doesn't love talking animals?

Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451
Probably a week doesn't go by that I don't think about something from this book at least once—the three-walled television, being part of a television "family," society's rejection of books, and the government's control of even life's smallest details. As time goes by I can't help noticing an increasing number of similarities between this book and the world today.

Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

I'm not sure I would ever want to meet Jane Austen—a razor-sharp judge of character, she would surely see right through me and then install me in one of her books as yet another hilariously inept character. P&P in particular is one I love more each time I read it as I continue to see in its pages my life's experiences and the people I meet. (And in case you're wondering, the character I most resemble is Mary, the sister just one notch off who spends a lot of time "philosophizing" but still has a long way to go in figuring out real life.)

Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility
"Oh, Willoughby, Willoughby!" Been there a couple times.

Anne Frank's Diary of Anne Frank
In my sheltered life, it's hard for me to understand the full ramifications of war. Reading Anne's diary, though, gives me an unfiltered look at how a war driven by hate is so senseless, so abhorrent, so shatteringly irreparable. What shines through most to me in this book, though, is Anne's honesty, insight, and, most of all, her optimism in the face of the direst of circumstances.

Anything by Anne Tyler
I think I've checked each one of Anne Tyler's books out of my local library at three or four times apiece. I relish every word that comes from the pen of Anne Tyler—the lifelike characters she weaves into her poignant stories ring truer to me than anything else I've read.

What are some of your read-again-and-again books? What books have influenced you the most?

I'm a little bit of everything, all rolled into one

2011-12-30T18:00:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago for work I attended an awards luncheon for the Utah chapter of the YWCA (think YMCA for women), whose mission is to empower women and minorities. The keynote speaker was Jennifer Siebel Newsom, who made the film Miss Representation, a documentary about negative portrayals of women in the media that was shown at Sundance.

I haven't seen the film, but from what I've read, the focus is on the media's portrayal of women, particularly that women are only considered valuable when young, attractive, and sexy, and how that idea ingrains itself in our psyches and is damaging everything from the way women calculate their worth to their perceived potential as leaders to the way the country is run.

"The world is unbalanced," Jennifer Siebel Newsom said over and over at the luncheon in regard to women missing from the upper echelons of leadership. "You can't be what you can't see."

Since the luncheon, I've been thinking about how that imbalance has affected me—how I perceive my role and potential as a woman, and who and what I've allowed to define that role.

I thought about the practice at various workplaces I've been that when it comes to parties and luncheons and get-togethers, men set the date and select who attends, and women carry out the details (and clean up) while the men work in their offices. (It's nice to work now in an place where that's not the case.)

I thought about an instance I heard of that a man was promoted over a woman with higher qualifications because he had a family to support, and she didn't.

I thought about a place of business someone told me about where management consists of only men, even though the business employs several qualified women.

I thought about a woman I worked with who for decades was always to first to arrive, the last to leave, and the hardest working in between, but who was never promoted. She hadn't completed her college degree, thanks to marrying and starting her family young, and the men in charge refused to overlook their set-in-stone policy of a degree—not experience—being the qualification for advancement.

I thought about my constant, overwhelming feelings of guilt and inadequacy for not measuring up to the sometimes artificial depictions on television and in magazines, ads, books, and movies of what women are expected to be.

I thought about the times I've been asked, "What are you going to do when you have a family? Are you going to keep working or stay home with your kids?" As if all women have the luxury of being in a position to make that choice. And as if in today's world of dishwashers and washing machines and crockpots, a woman has to make a black-and white, either-or decision.

But mostly it made me speculate over one hard question:

Can I say with confidence that with my same skills and résumé, if I were a man, I'd be in a different place today than I am now?

I'm afraid of the answer.

In my mind, when it comes to gender equality, I believe Jennifer Siebel Newsom is right: the world is imbalanced. I don't want to succumb to the false cultural definitions of women's worth that prevents girls and young women like me from believing they can fill positions of importance.

As I elbow my way into the professional space I want to occupy, I also don't want to resort to some of the tactics I've seen women use against men to fight the imbalance, like becoming

Stubborn and unwilling to compromise
Argumentative
Unnecessarily aggressive
Adamant about proving someone wrong
Passive aggressive
Gossipy
Witchy

Some of them manage to rise up the food chain, but not without stepping on a few bodies to get there.

I sometimes wonder what it's going to be like for them after they retire—will the attendance-mandatory send-off party be the last they ever hear from an entire career of colleagues?

Fortunately for me, I'm lucky to have plenty of role models who've successfully punched through this imbalance to look to. Like the powerful women in the business world with whom I get to interact and observe—women who steered clear of the tactics above, instead using wisdom and a commitment to excellence to get where they are. And my dear friends with young children, so intelligent and capable that they could excel at anything, but who choose to use their experience and higher education to teach their kids to love life and learning. And the inspired words of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saint General Relief Society president and her counselors, who remind me that each woman individually, by following her heart, can find the path meant for her.

What is your take on Jennifer Siebel Newsom's message? Do you believe this "imbalance" exists? If so, what's your interpretation?

Who am I to be blind?

2011-12-24T09:35:00.001-07:00

A couple Saturdays ago as part of a group I spent the morning at the local food bank. I was put in an assembly line, my assignment to put one jar of peanut butter and one can of applesauce in boxes as they passed by. Others on the line put in bottles of juice, cans of tomatoes, crackers, and other pantry items. After all the food items had been added, the box was sealed up and designated for distribution to people in want.

About halfway through our shift, a couple slipped in the room and started to help move boxes down the line. The man was tall and broad shouldered with medium-length greasy hair pushed behind his ears. He was unshaven and heavily tattooed, and wore clothes that looked like they'd seen better days.

The woman's stringy hair was covered with a beanie cap, which she'd pulled so far down that it nearly covered her eyes. She wore no makeup, her face showing the damage that comes from years of overexposure to sun, wind, and cold. Like the man's, her clothes were ill-fitting and stained. And she had the overly loud, cackling voice and musty scent of someone dealing with substance abuse.

I can think of a few reasons they might have been there that day. But whatever reason it was, their appearances, their demeanors, the way they conducted themselves all provided stark contrast to that of the others in the room (boy scouts and their troop leaders, wholesome looking families wanting a holiday service opportunity, members of a professional organization), all of whom probably made their way after the shift ended to their warm homes.

But the couple? Where did they go after they walked out the food bank's doors into the below-freezing weather? I wonder if they left that day with one of the boxes they'd helped fill.

A few hours later I walked through Gardner Village, a high-end collection of specialty shops designed to attract the Wasatch Front's upper-crust crowd.

Each store was bursting at its seams with products and people:

Couples squeezed past each other in the furniture shops, pausing and hovering over vases and coffee tables and wall hangings that caught their eye.

Teenage girls crowded the dressing rooms of the boutiques, their mothers sitting rigidly by, on call to provide fashion critiques upon request.

Children (who I realize are all little drops of angelic joy and sparkling wonder who slid down to earth on a rainbow) were running and screaming all around that Village, shoving toys and candy and hats and bags in their fashionable parents' faces while emoting a siren-like "Puh-leeeeease?

And the line for delicious and decadent $4 cupcakes was almost out the door.

Even as I stood there, in my trendy jeans embellished with fake jewels on the back pockets and my Kenneth Cole wool coat, fingering a hat for sale I didn't need but really liked, I couldn't help but notice how the scene I was in at that moment was a world away from the one I'd caught a glimpse of that morning.

Why the division between between the haves and have-nots particularly struck me that day I'm not sure—working downtown, every day I see people who are clearly worse off than me. And every day at least one of them asks me for money. On advice that handouts are better withheld and instead donated to local aid organizations, I refuse and continue on by, head down, clutching my purse tightly with one hand and the collar of my Kenneth Cole coat with the other.

And Ebenezer Scrooge's famous "Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?" resonating in my head.

I'm still not quite sure what to make of it all, in all its complicated, sticky, tangled-up messiness. I think sometimes the question is just as hard to come up with as the answer, and that's where I'm stuck.

What I do know is that it was good for me to get a little perspective on things, a little dose of reality, by placing jars of peanut butter and cans of applesauce in box after box after endless box, overwhelmed by the idea that each one represented an individual or family in my community without enough food. I think it changed the taste of those delectable $4 cupcakes, if only just a little.

When it comes to need, how do you keep perspective in this sometimes unfair, unequal, unbalanced world? What are some of your favorite ways to share?

You are beautiful, no matter what they say

2011-11-18T21:41:00.001-07:00

Last week I went to a workshop with a friend about sport we both like.

One of the presenters turned out to be a former sixth-grade classmate of mine. Back then, he was a super skinny redhead, smaller than all the other kids, with prominent buck teeth.

I only have one memory of him. Out class was in the cafeteria eating lunch when another classmate—one who scared me because you never knew what off-putting thing he was going to say and to whom he was going to say it—burst into the room, surrounded by his entourage, and shouted the redhead kid's name to get his attention.

Everyone stopped eating, looked up, and saw the scary kid smiling broadly, displaying a giant pair of fake buck teeth he'd put in his mouth. "Hey [redhead kid]! Hey!" he kept calling.

I don't remember if I joined in the laughter or not, but I do remember the redhead kid's face when he noticed the bullies: it showed a mix of embarrassment, anger, annoyance, and begrudging acceptance. (I'm sure that wasn't the first or last time he'd had to endure something like that.) It also showed a flicker of resilience as he ignored the taunting and laughter and continued with his lunch.

I thought about that resilience during the workshop when I watched him command a room of interested listeners as he talked passionately about a sport he's excelled at over the years and now works in professionally. (Incidentally, his small size and thin body type contributed to his phenomenal athletic success.) He was confident and funny, had an air about him of purpose, and exuded a strong self identity. And he turned out to be pretty good looking, I might add!

Watching him inspired me. He could have let that moment in the cafeteria define him, living the rest of his life under the falsity that he was ugly, a joke, and unworthy of respect or esteem. He smashed all of those negative labels and became a confident, successful, well-liked man.

I'm really good at internalizing things others tell me (or tell someone else, who in turn tells me) about myself, and making those things part of my identity, whether they're good or bad, true or not. My former classmate reminded me that it's in my power—not others'—to define who I am.

Have you ever had to overcome a negative label? What do you do to keep a true perspective on who you really are?

Golden Treasures of Customer Service Wisdom

2011-10-13T19:13:00.000-06:00

Today I'm pleased to share a guest post by a guest blogger—my dad!

He's been very supportive of this blog since he found out I wrote it, offering such positive commentary as:

January 2010: "You have a blog?"
May 2010: "You have a blog?"
December 2010: "You have a blog?"
January 2011: "What? You're still doing that blogging thing?"

But over time, he's come around. Every couple of months my blog stats shows someone from a particular city has hopped on my blog by using Yahoo to search for "marla sowards blog," and I know that's Dad. (Heard of a "Favorites" menu, Dad?)

So imagine my delight (and shock) when he called me this week and said, "I wrote something for you to post on your blog."

It arrived today, attached to an e-mail with the subject line "Golden Treasures of Wisdom."

First, a little context: my dad is in banking, and of course you know that customer service is a huge part of that industry. This list is a collection of best practices he's observed over his career. Customer servant or customer served, you'll find yourself nodding in agreement with at least a few items on this list:

Customer Service Tips

By Mark Sowards

Be personal, but not too personal. Calling a customer "Bud," "Dude," "Bro," “Dog,” or similar term is usually not the best. A lot of the time these terms can be taken as a sign of disrespect, especially by older people.
Greet customers by name if you can.
It is very impolite and extremely bad customer service to carry on a conversation with another employee or customer while you are serving a customer. Unless it's urgent, if an employee is engaged with a customer, do not start a conversation with the employee so that they feel they have to respond.
Generally in-person customers should take priority over phone customers.
If a customer begins to vocally complain, usher them to an office if possible.
Eating food or drinking beverages in front of a customer is not a good practice.
Always put yourself in the place of the customer. See what's going on from their eyes and perspective, not from yours. If there are customers lined up and there are four people behind the counter looking busy but not helping customers, what do you conclude that the customer is thinking?
Always acknowledge a waiting customer, even if you have to interrupt your phone conversation for a few seconds. Just saying, "I'll be with you in just a second" puts the customer at ease.
To a customer in line (or waiting in the drive-up), what is 60 seconds to you seems like five minutes to them. Keep that in mind.
Show some urgency if there are people waiting. Most people display an understanding attitude if they think you are trying your best to get to them.
Older customers will not have your taste in music. Be careful what you pipe into the lobby. What sounds right for you might be driving away your target market. If you don’t realize how annoying hard-rock music can be to an elderly person—ask your grandparent.
Be careful to not make any customer feel like a criminal. Constant looks back at them as you are trying to verify something can be quite annoying.
Keep your work area neat and organized. Customers expect business people to be super-organized and efficient. They worry about their money being in a disheveled environment.

---------

I love when I visit a place of business and am treated with attention, kindness, and respect above the norm. Simple acts of customer service savvy (like the ones my dad listed above) can win my business for a lifetime.

What are your "golden" customer service tips? Please share!

Design star update: The final frontiers

2011-10-09T11:41:00.000-06:00

At the beginning of the summer, I wrote about my quest to improve upon the state of my living room, which looked like this:

The Christmas couch

Entertainment center; plant on a chair

Here's where things stand five months later:

The redesign process has been a slow one, not only because (1) I don't know anything about decorating and (2) I'm picky and have a hard time making decisions, but also because I want to avoid disposable decorating. I chose to invest in higher-quality, classic yet unique foundational pieces that will serve as neutral constants as trends (and my tastes) change. I wanted pieces I can love and use for years.

I was also happy to be able to support Utah businesses with a couple of my purchases.

Because I'm on a budget, I kept things simple: my big investments were the couch, chair, and console. The accessories I either already owned, found on discount, made myself, or stole from my sister. By switching those out as I wish, I'm hoping I'll be able to give the room new looks and feels.

You'll notice two things are still missing: wall art and lamps. Those are my next two (and hopefully final) frontiers. Above my couch I plan to hang a photo reproduction of a John Hafen painting of Mount Timpanogos my grandma displayed in her house. And I'm toying with the idea of a Tiffany style lamp for the console.

Surprise! I love interior design. It's fun to mix and match styles to come up with a look and feel that is uniquely me. When I'm finished, I want the room to be a blend of down-to-earth, cozy country with a little bit of refined elegance.

Alright, design experts: Thoughts? Ideas? What final touches would you put on this room?

A little R&R

2011-09-04T00:34:00.001-06:00

Because I know large numbers of the Internet's population are refreshing their blog feeders every hour on the hour, anxiously awaiting my latest blog post, I thought I'd better let everyone know that I'm going to take a little blogging hiatus for the next few weeks.

Life lately is a little crazier than usual, and I'm taking some time to simplify and (hopefully) slow down a bit.

Thanks for reading, and see you soon!

Lone ranger

2011-08-15T21:02:00.001-06:00

I've been home a week and I still can't get over San Diego (mostly my beautiful hotel room—hopefully you can see bits and pieces of it in my vain self-shots below). I don't know what it is about traveling alone, but I love it. Until recently I've lived my whole life in the same comfortable, homogeneous community, and I love how empowering it feels to navigate and experience a totally foreign place all on my own.

Most of all, though, I love leaving a job, a mortgage, a vehicle, a condo, laundry, bills, and church responsibilities behind. (While, of course, still having a job, house, car, washing machine, and congregation to come back to!)

So what about you—do you like traveling alone?

Sandy Eggo

2011-08-06T18:49:00.001-06:00

Hello, San Diego!

I'm having a blast in sunny SoCal at a conference for work.

My favorite part of Runner's World magazine is the Rave Run photograph featured in each edition showing someone running in a beautiful, exotic locale. Last night I couldn't miss my chance to run through my own Rave Run along San Diego's famous Embarcadero Boardwalk.

First up: the USS Midway—the biggest ship I've ever seen—and the enormous statue of the famous World War II photo:

The Star of India, the world's oldest ship that still sails:

Petco Park, home of the Padres baseball team:

Downtown was teeming with tourists and locals out for a fun evening. I saw so many amazing sights I've only ever seen on TV and movies: restaurants that jutted out over the sea, stunning Pacific views, packed open-air cafes, guys pulling people in bike carts, seriously awesome street musicians with electric guitars and amps, and hundreds of yachts tethered in private marinas. When I looked closely I could see lights on inside them—is there anything cooler than hanging out in your yacht?

I'm always shocked to be reminded that outside of my sheltered, little world, TV and reality really do overlap every once in a while.

Which is probably why I felt inclined to take the next three photos:

A Humvee limo?!

A real-life club bouncer:

Entire buffet tables at the conference with food specifically for vegans (I sampled, of course!):

The best part of San Diego, though—and the thing I'm going to miss most when I leave—are the divine ocean breezes! Any ideas on how to stash one or two in my suitcase?

On again

2011-07-31T21:50:00.002-06:00

Salt Lake City and I have one of those tumultuous on-again, off-again relationships. One minute we're smiling shyly at each other over cherry limeades at Sonic, and the next, one of us is loudly accusing the other in the middle of the grocery store of only being in it for the money.

But tonight I took a long, beautiful evening walk through downtown just as a rainstorm was clearing up and the sun was going down. And I've decided something: we're on again. (For now.)

Death by vacuum bag

2011-07-30T21:49:00.000-06:00

Under penalty of my Hoover vacuum, all spider squatters remaining on the premises will be hunted and killed. And sprayed with a shot of Ortho insecticide for good measure.

Eensy weensy spider

2011-07-29T00:27:00.001-06:00

This morning while I was getting ready for work I saw a tiny spider dangling from a bathroom light fixture.

Most of the time growing up I had a basement bedroom, and no matter how many spiders I came across—in the shower, on the wall, on the ceiling, scurrying across the floor—I never got used to them. The only way I could muster up the courage to deal with one was to get the vacuum, twist as many elongating apparatuses on the attachment I could, and suck the spider up while standing 10 feet away, cringing.

So I decided to deal with this morning's unwelcome houseguest the same way I deal with most of my insurmountable problems: by ignoring it and hoping it will go away on its own.

Tonight I spotted that same spider weaving its web. I considered leaving it alone again (denial isn't just a river in Egypt, right?) until I spotted movement in front of me. Crosseyed, I focused on a second tiny spider as it descended from the ceiling right in front of my nose.

It wasn't until I noticed a third tiny spider next to my shower rod, though, that the panic set in, the adrenaline started flowing, and the awful thoughts materialized:

Did a big spider lay eggs in my bathroom, and these are the baby spiders emerging?

Are these little spiders going to become big spiders?

Are they all over the house?

I wildly looked around my bathroom and saw at least TEN more on my ceiling, on my walls, and hovering RIGHT ABOVE MY TOWELS. (And one that disappeared into my cup of Q-Tips, but I'm trying to erase that image from my mind and move on with my life.)

After contemplating my options—cowering under my covers with a can of insecticide, calling the police, demolition, moving—I finally grabbed a wad of tissue and started killing them. I think the trauma caused a part of me to die with each one.

Of course I did some Googling on the matter, and as should be the result of any good Googling session, I ended it more freaked out than when I started. But I was comforted by commenter and apparent arachnid authority "daniel g," who stated that these small spiders are "cannibalistic" and will all eat each other within a couple days.

It will be a miracle if I can fall asleep tonight.

Do you have an inexplicable phobia?

Cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two

2011-07-26T20:15:00.000-06:00

Almost as soon as I saw this at the grocery store . . .

Dark chocolate almond milk

. . . it was in my cart, and I was planning dark chocolate banana smoothies!

Dark Chocolate Banana Smoothie

Step 1: Find some mostly-green bananas—not too green, but not too ripe, either. (They make the best banana smoothies.)

Step 2: Cut them up.

Step 3: Freeze them. (I always freeze a few at a time—there's usually at least one frozen banana in my freezer to satisfy my banana smoothie cravings!)

Step 4: Toss one or two of them in a blender with about a cup of dark chocolate almond milk (I love almond milk, but cow's milk with a spoonful of cocoa powder—or even chocolate milk—would work just as well), a couple spoonfuls of Amazing Grass Chocolate Green SuperFood (totally optional), and two or three handfuls of spinach. I promise that you won't be able to taste the spinach! It just turns the smoothie green.

Step 4: Blend, pour, and enjoy! (My sister got one too.) Sometimes when I want an extra-chocolatey kick, I'll sprinkle a few dark chocolate chips on top.

It's three or four servings of fruits and vegetables disguised as dessert. What could be better?

Do you have a favorite summer smoothie?

Ja, vi elsker dette landet

2011-07-22T22:21:00.002-06:00

[Karl Johans Gate in Oslo, Norway; source: All Things Europe]

I was devastated today to learn about the bombing and mass shooting in Oslo, Norway.

I served my LDS mission in Norway and spent over half of it in downtown Oslo just a short distance from the location of the bombing. My heart breaks as I think of the many people I interacted with there.

I love the Norwegian people and their beautiful country. My prayers are with the Norwegians tonight, especially the families of the many victims and those working to find answers around today's horrific events.

All at once

2011-07-22T21:02:00.000-06:00

[Source: rainbowsqueeze]

This made me laugh out loud.

And reminded me just a tiny bit of myself. A tiny bit.

Good reads: A killer's remorse

2011-07-19T21:40:00.002-06:00

This week the Deseret News published yet another excellent Doug Robinson piece, this one on executed Utah murderer Ronnie Lee Gardner. It's a two-part series:

(Part 1) The weight of guilt: Executed killer Ronnie Lee Gardner's remorse
(Part 2) LDS bishop recounts Ronnie Lee Gardner's final days before execution

If you followed Utah news—even national news—last summer, you might remember all the press about Gardner's execution, the first by firing squad in the country in 14 years.

There are a lot of sides to Gardner's complicated life story, and I don't know enough about any of them to qualify me to put forth any conclusions. But I found this account of his final days extremely moving as told from the perspective of a local LDS bishop, Dan Bradshaw, who ministered to him in the last years of his life. A bishop who had been close to one of Gardner's victims. A bishop who sincerely grew to love Gardner, and told him so the last time they met.

That change and forgiveness and redemption are all made possible through the infinite power of love is the belief I cling to most fervently in my heart. The good bishop's gifts of love, relief, and respect to the troubled death-row inmate remind me of dear people in my life who have shown me kindness at times I probably wasn't the easiest to love. I hope that over the course of my life I can develop some of that.

This article is masterfully written. If you get a chance, I think it's well worth the read.

Personality wise

2011-07-16T16:06:00.000-06:00

Last summer my fantastic roommate Nicole, who was just finishing up a master's degree in school counseling, offered to give me a complimentary career counseling session as part of an assignment for one of her courses.

The first thing she did was give me the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) test. I've always been skeptical of personality tests—I feel like I naturally act differently around each of the many groups I interact with daily, from family to work colleagues to strangers to old friends to new acquaintances, that trying to classify me as one general personality type makes no sense. (Here's a great article by Malcolm Gladwell on why personality tests aren't all they're cracked up to be.)

But when I learned my MBTI type, I was suprised how spot-on it seemed to be.

When Nicole talked me through my results, she explained that since my type is determined in a large part by what I value most, knowing my personality type can help me figure out which characteristics I should look for in a profession. After some more analysis, she expertly applied my results to my professional skills and interests and helped me nail down some long-term career possibilities.

Since that assessment, I've tried to observe more closely what makes me "tick" at work (and beyond). It's been fascinating to realize that what I have to offer is more than just the practical things I know how to do—it also includes my innate strengths.

The other thing my assessment has helped me understand is that life doesn't have to be a constant battle against one's personality. (Am I the only one who's spent their whole life fighting to be someone else?) I admire so many people I know for so many different reasons, and I wish I were more like them in all those ways. Discovering that everyone has their own natural strengths and weaknesses has somehow given me permission to focus on maximizing (and celebrating) my own natural strengths.

I'm an ISFJ. What are you? Take the the test here.

Things fall apart

2011-07-10T18:57:00.000-06:00

My thoughts always catch up to me on Sundays.

I reflect on the week gone by and the week to come. I worry about my projects at work, my job, my career, my antipathy for Salt Lake City (which is mutual, I'm sure), my dysfunctional relationship with my new singles ward, my past, my future, my health . . . and that's just between 1 and 2 p.m.

But today my journey down the worry warpath was thrown off track by this:

I really believe the first three words of that statement. I think that's why books like Pearl S. Buck's The Good Earth and, of course, Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart resonate so strongly with my world view. Friendships last just a season before one or both people grow apart and move on. Windows that are sparkling clean on Saturday become dusty and rain-stained by Wednesday. Weight that comes off comes back on. Wrinkles gradually overwhelm a smooth face. Shoes in style last season are thrift store donations by the next. Kittens and puppies become cats and dogs. Faith and love ebb and flow, wax and wane.

But as for the rest of the statement, I've never thought it through quite like that. A lot of my worries boil down to a fear of things falling apart, even though I know change is part of life—that a stagnant life breeds no growth or progress. I just wish sometimes that I had more say in when and how fast a pillar of my life crumbles. Somehow, though, the idea that an unwanted change can open a space for something positive—kind of like a demolition clears the way for a new structure—makes me feel a little better. I think I'm going to put this little saying on my mirror to remind me that even though in a lot of areas of my life I have less control than I'd like, that doesn't have to be all bad.

Here's to another messy week of things falling apart—and hopefully a thing or two falling together.

Design star update: Rockin' armchair

2011-07-09T21:36:00.000-06:00

What's better than a cushy armchair?

A cushy armchair with rockers!

I posted a few weeks ago about my empty swimming pool of a living room and my plans to overcome my fear of interior design and fill it with some furniture.

Today: a success!

Over the Fourth of July weekend my mom and I hit up Down to Earth at Gardner Village, where my mom spotted the perfect armchair. Its muddy brown and cream hues accent a floral and leaf pattern that's the exact same blue as my walls.

And when we each took test sits, and realized it doubles as a rocking chair, we were sold.

Thanks to my wonderful dad and his truck, as of today it's now looking pretty sharp in my living room.

I'll be spending plenty of nights in my new favorite chair, rocking and reading. (Once I buy a lamp.)

Thanks Dad and Mom!

View from above

2011-07-07T18:33:00.001-06:00

Driving home from work today I heard the best thing on NPR. (Don't give me points for having NPR on in my car—it was a long day and I'd had enough commercials on KSL.)

Given that the last NASA space shuttle launch ever is scheduled to take place in the next couple of days, a reporter asked a couple of people from the "small sliver of humanity" who have gone into space as NASA astronauts how being in space had changed them.

Here's astronaut Leroy Chiao's answer:

Chiao was an astronaut for 15 years and retired in 2005. During his tenure with NASA, he flew four space missions. He says his most magical moment happened on his third flight, when he was doing maintenance during a space walk. A robotic arm moved him between work sites and at one point, he couldn't see the space shuttle or station in his peripheral vision.

"All I had was a faceful of the Earth. And you know, the colors of the Earth from space are much brighter, more vivid than you might imagine, and it almost looks fake," he says. "But for just a few moments, I felt like a satellite, orbiting the Earth on my own."

He says experiences like that have changed him for the better.

"It really made me have a bigger picture of life," he says. "I used to be bothered by little things—if I got overcharged for something or someone was rude. And gosh, after spaceflight, those things aren't important."
[Source]

Wow.

I haven't been having a very good week, and at least some of my dissatisfaction is probably due to the "little things" Chiao talked about. I can definitely use a "faceful of the Earth" to remind me of what really matters. I'm probably not going to get a view like that anytime soon, but for me, this radio story was the next best thing.

Chill pill

2011-06-28T13:15:00.002-06:00

On hectic days like yesterday, when I forget to grab breakfast, and the cute dress pants I just bought six weeks ago suddenly seem more snug than I remember, and project after project fly at me all day at work, and I work long into the evening with some of my co-workers as we push to the finish line on our biggest project of the year, and I consequently miss my run, and the library book drop off is roped off because of a city arts festival over the weekend, and I find out my dishwasher's broken, and my post-workout soreness from my long bike ride Saturday finally begins to set in, and to top it all off I have to parallel park—I have a special treatment: my "Just Relax" playlist.

Just Relax Playlist
Anchor - Mindy Gledhill
When I Get Where I'm Going - Brad Paisley and Dolly Parton
Godspeed (Sweet Dreams) - Dixie Chicks
Top of the World - Dixie Chicks
Lullaby - Dixie Chicks
Time After Time - Eva Cassidy
True Colors - Eva Cassidy
Sunrise - Norah Jones
Hey Ya - Obadiah Parker
Somewhere Over the Rainbow - Israel Kamakawiwoʻole
Pink Moon - Nick Drake
Blackbird - Sarah McLachlan
The Lighthouse's Tale - Nickel Creek
Goodbye Is All We Have - Alison Krauss and Union Station
Danny's Song - Kenny Loggins

And last but not least, my most recent addition to the list (and current favorite):

Look On and Cry by Crooked Still

A dose of a few of those plus a quiet walk around the neighborhood and I'm feeling pretty calm again—and ready to do it all again the next day.

How do you unwind when life gets crazy?

Wheels spinning

2011-06-23T13:07:00.002-06:00

As a single 29-year-old in a culture where spinsterhood ascribed itself to me about five years ago, I sometimes get down on myself and wonder what's going to become of me.

But when a toothless vagrant on a beat-up mountain bike lights up when he spots me, beams, and shyly waves with his curled-up fingers, it's enough to remind me that all is not hopeless!

Commuting sentence

2011-06-20T13:37:00.001-06:00

I've been a little nervous to ride my bike in downtown Salt Lake ever since I witnessed a bike commuter slam into the side of a not-too-aware SUV and crumple to the ground.

But today the clear early morning sun and fresh air after yesterday's rainstorm were enough to overpower my fears.

And what I always suspected is true: it's faster to ride a bike to work through downtown rush hour than it is to drive or take the Trax. For a few extra minutes every morning, I'm not above taking my life into my own hands.

I just hope no one minds a bike parked next to the copy machine.

Jekyll and Hyde

2011-06-18T13:29:00.001-06:00

Left: Rainbow Chip frosting; right: Amazing Grass wheat grass powder

This is what I saw when I opened my refrigerator last night. If ever a single image could better sum up my all-or-nothing personality, I can't imagine what it could be.

Project pantry

2011-06-12T11:18:00.133-06:00

My boss literally forbade me from taking work home this weekend.

At a loss of how to spend my Saturday afternoon, I was suddenly struck with inspiration when I came across this photo on Pinterest (have you discovered the beautiful world of Pinterest yet?):

I contrasted that photo with my unfortunate pantry storage method of piling twisty-tied bags of food in giant bucket tubs and decided to take on the challenge to organize my pantry.

Here are the contents of my pantry before, unloaded and spread out on my kitchen table—imagine digging through a heap of that every day to find what you need:

To end the chaos, I traded the bags and twisty ties for some beautiful French canning jars (the kind with a flip-top glass lid and wire closure mechanism) I found at TJ Maxx. And here's the after, which I think fit pretty nicely into the built-in shelves next to my refrigerator:

In the middle of it all, I remembered the time I showed up to a class in high school with the previous day's homework—an assignment I'd spent extra time on to make it awesome, and when my friend saw it, she said in an low, even voice: "Marla, you do too much."

It hit me pretty hard, considering she was a concert pianist who spent four hours a day playing scales.

So even though I've tried to reign in my tendency to spend three hours of painstaking effort on something that can be done in twenty minutes, I'm still not quite there—were the labels taking it a little bit too far? Probably—but I had fun.

And the best part? When my dad found out I had a blog, he said, "A blog? You mean those Internet sites where people write, 'today I organized my cookbook shelf,' as if anyone cared?"

Dad, this one's for you.

Peace like a river

2011-06-02T12:28:00.201-06:00

The thing that's surprised me the most since becoming an adult is how little influence I seem to have on my own life. Growing up, when work or school or relationships weren't going as well as I'd hoped, I'd write off my frustration at not being able to do anything about it to youth and inexperience and look forward to days when time would owe me a little more control over outcomes, a little more authority to make my own decisions.

How disappointing it's been to discover that even after graduations and jobs and a mortgage, my life is still full things I have no say in. And that I still spend way too much time stewing over those things I could change, but can't.

Slowly—really slowly—I'm accepting that life is probably always going to be more this way than I'd like. In the end, my years of experience are going to be less in forging my own paths and more in adapting to and functioning within the structures others put in place around me.

So I'm having to re-think what it means to find peace. I tend to wait for peace to find me—I think of it as something that will appear when Problems A and B disappear from my life, or when Good Things C and D show up, or as something I'll suddenly qualify for once I eliminate enough deficiencies and finally become smart/pretty/thin/good/righteous/skilled/well read/whatever enough to deserve it.

I'm learning that peace doesn't really work that way. My state of peace isn't something that—like too much of the rest of my life—is in others' hands. A state of peace is something I create for myself.

I am so tired this week from agonizing over a situation I've convinced myself is worse than it probably is. It's something I wish I could just wake up tomorrow to discover had mysteriously vanished out of my life forever. It's also something I don't have much power to change. But that doesn't stop me from obsessing over it day and night, allowing it to rob my sleep and make my waking hours miserable.

Each time my mind drifts back into that unpleasantness, my train of thought eventually seems to end up on the same old saying: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

I'm not very good at serenity, courage, or wisdom, so I know it will be a while before I come to terms with my powerlessness in this situation. But I decided this week that for once I'm going to try to not let something I'm not happy about rob me of my peace—instead, I'm going to create that peace for myself.

So when I went to the grocery store, I picked out a spring bouquet on my way to the checkout stand. It's been sitting in a vase on my kitchen counter ever since, and I love the way it brightens up the room and cheers my mood when I walk by. It reminds me that no matter how helpless and unsatisfied I feel about some of the things going on around me, I still have the power to create a simple, impenetrable space of peace in my life, small as it may be.

It's going to take some practice, but I'm determined to stop waiting for a state of peace to descend upon me. Instead, I'm going to trade in some of that energy I waste on fretting over things I can't control and use it to do a few small things that bring me a little of the peace I crave. It's a start, anyway!

What do you do to create spaces of peace in your life?

Flu fighter

2011-05-30T15:03:00.000-06:00

I just secured my spot for the 2011 Top of Utah Half Marathon! I ran it last year and loved every minute.

The race is 12 weeks away, and I'll be following this training plan:

(I like a little bit of flexibility in training schedules, so instead of scheduling the exact days of a week I'll do a run, I just label the four runs I have to do in a week A, B, C, and D.)

My goal for my first half marathon was to finish without walking. My goal for my second was to finish faster. My goal for this half is to not come down with something the weeks after I finish like I did after the first two. To do that, I'm going to work on boosting my immune system during my training: popping Culturelle (a probiotic supplement a doctor recommended to me), minimizing stress (or trying to, anyway), getting enough rest, and eating lots of immunity boosting foods like spinach, orange juice, and especially blueberries.

By the end of August I'm going to be a bug-fighting machine! This is a race I'm going to love before, during, and after.

Do you do anything special to keep your immune system up and running?

Worth seeing: Catfish

2011-05-22T22:07:00.000-06:00

Over the weekend I saw the riveting documentary Catfish. (It's in Redbox right now.) To sum up its topic in a few words, I'd probably choose "identity and social networking," which is interesting enough on its own, but what makes this documentary really fascinating is its unique look at love, loneliness, and the desperation of the human condition.

Spoiler alert: Stop reading here if you might see it—there's a surprise in it you don't want me to ruin. And if you want to take it from PG-13 to PG, watch out for a two-minute segment in the middle when the main subject reads a few salacious texts.

Here's a summary: After 24-year-old New York City photographer Yaniv Schulman publishes a photo of two dancers in a major newspaper, he receives a painting of the photo from an eight-year-old artist and child prodigy in rural Michigan named Abby. As he sends Abby other photos to paint and praises her talent, he strikes up an online and telephone friendship with Abby and her family, interacting with her mother, Angela, her father, Vince, and her attractive 19-year-old sister, Megan.

It isn't long before Yaniv and Megan strike up a long-distance romance. But when Megan sends Yaniv some songs she claims to have written and recorded for him, Yaniv discovers that the songs have been ripped straight off musical performances on YouTube. As he digs deeper into other details provided by Megan, Abby, and their mother, more inconsistencies surface—the warehouse Abby's mother claims to have rented as a gallery space for Abby's artwork is still listed for rent, and there is no mention of Abby or her paintings anywhere on the internet.

Yaniv and his brother and friend decide to make the trip to Michigan to get to the bottom of things. When they arrive, the ranch Megan claimed to work at as a veterinarian—and to be at that very night tending to a horse—is vacant. When they check the mailbox, they find unretrieved mail Yaniv sent to Megan weeks before.

Finally Yaniv and Co. head over to Angela, Vince, and Abby's house. Over the the next couple of days, Yaniv's worst fears are confirmed: While the three really exist, Angela has been playing the part of everyone involved. Angela initiated and maintained all correspondence with Yaniv (including changing her voice to play the part of Megan), painted the paintings, and, most disturbingly, created multiple Facebook accounts using a combination of both real and pirated photos to create a fake "network" of family and friends.

But here's where the movie goes from just a creepy story to something a little deeper: Yaniv learns that Angela is the primary caregiver of her husband's two severely disabled sons, who need around-the-clock care and can be physically abusive. She's also estranged from her adult daughter. After receiving negative feedback on some of her artwork, she discovered that if she claimed it was done by her daugher, praise was effulgent.

Watching Angela on the screen, particularly as she's so gently handled by Yaniv—who she's clearly in love with—as he questions her about the authenticity of her stories, it's hard not to feel some empathy for her and her seemingly sad and hopeless situation as well as some understanding of why she did what she did.

The most poignant part of the film is when Vince, presumably asked his opinion on why his wife engages in her deceptive behavior, says:

They used to tank cod from Alaska all the way to China. They’d keep them in vats in the ship. By the time the codfish reached China, the flesh was mush and tasteless. So this guy came up with the idea that if you put these cods in these big vats, put some catfish in with them and the catfish will keep the cod agile. And there are those people who are catfish in life. And they keep you on your toes. They keep you guessing, they keep you thinking, they keep you fresh. And I thank God for the catfish because we would be droll, boring, and dull if we didn’t have somebody nipping at our fin.

As the movie ended, I thought about Vince's words and the "catfish" in my own life, the things that keep me growing. Like a church calling I had last year that was super hard for me and made me stretch more that any other calling I'd had. Or the humanities class I found myself in at college—unsure of what "humanities" even was—that I loved every minute of. Or a friend or family member offering advice that's hard for me to hear but alters my course in a better direction.

Angela's actions also made me reflect on what I do to endure seasons when I feel a lot like her—when I feel like my life is stagnant, that I don't matter, and that things are never going to change. I was surprised at some of the things I realized.

Highly recommend this excellent movie! If you see it, let me know what you think.

Design star

2011-05-18T20:53:00.000-06:00

One of my projects this summer is to take my living room from looking like the inside of a swimming pool to the comfortable and stylish yuppie crib I know it can be.

The only problem: I don't have a clue where to start!

One of the previous owners of my condo was a professional interior designer, and she expertly styled the room to look like this:

Gorgeous!

Now prepare to be shocked at the sad state of that same room today:

The "entertainment center," plant on a chair

TV or Not TV
The wall between the fireplace and front door is perfect for an entertainment center (and wired for surround sound to boot), but my 15-inch TV—the cheapest and smallest at Best Buy—which I originally bought for my bedroom so I could get ready in the mornings to Matt Lauer and Co., is going to look even more like a postage stamp in a standard setup than it already does. I'm not ready to blow a few hundred on a bigger flat screen, so I'm not sure what to do here if a TV-less entertainment center won't fly. Bookshelves? A comfortable chair? Nothing?

The Christmas couch

The Rainbow Connection
My mom and dad generously stored this couch in a spare room in their basement for years so either my sister or I could inherit it when one of us bought our own place. It's a great piece of furniture—clean, comfortable, and the perfect size for my living room. I think you can see the problem, though: red, green, and cream plaid doesn't exactly "go" with the living room's sky blue walls. And the ribboned Christmas horns embossed into the couch's green squares aren't exactly helping promote the illusion that this couch belongs anywhere other than a mid-'90s Wasatch Front home teacher room, positioned underneath a giant wreath of fake sunflowers.

Finally, while the blue walls worked perfectly in the previous homeowners' interior design, I'm not sure I'm digging them. I think I'd like something warmer, more neutral.

So what's the best way to go about color-scheming? I've saved up to buy a couch this summer. Do I buy the couch and then choose the paint color? Or vice versa? Or is there something else I should be thinking about before any of that?

The exercise center

Movin'
My 900-square-foot condo just isn't big enough to hide my exercise equipment, so I've temporarily parked it all in the living room. Which is great for preventing the whole "out of sight, out of mind" thing, but not exactly esthetically pleasing. In this instance, how do I help form meet function?

I'm not a disposable decorator—I'd rather spend more on something classic and great quality now and be able to use and love it for years than repeatedly buying and tossing. I also want to stay away from anything trendy or too far out there. So this is where I beg for your great insights, oh wise and design-savvy blog readers: where do I go from here?

P.S. I'm trying to learn some interior design basics, and I've loved watching a few episodes of Dear Genevieve on HGTV (I caught them on Hulu): designer Genevieve Gorder responds in person to letters from viewers who need help redesigning a room in their home. Each episode is chock full of simple tips and tricks for transforming a room on a budget.

Full speed ahead

2011-05-17T20:33:00.001-06:00

I think I'm finally emerging from the depths of the flu, and after spending most of the past week feeling like this...

...I'm more than ready to jump into summer running season.

First up, if I can get in gear in time, is the American Fork Canyon Half Marathon on June 25.

Then there's the Deseret News 10K on July 25.

Finally, I'm thinking about running the Top of Utah Half Marathon on August 27, since I had such a great experience running it last year. Anyone who reads this blog knows how much I love Logan—I have a feeling this isn't going to be a tough decision.

Hopefully I'll be back on the road by the end of the week—and moving a little more quickly than whatever that was in that video.

The grass is always bluer

2011-05-15T09:36:00.003-06:00

How excited am I . . .

My favorite music group, Alison Krauss and Union Station, just released a new album: Paper Airplane. The melodies and harmonies are as intricate and Alison's voice is as otherworldly as ever.

Indulge me while I reveal one of my most-made-fun-of eccentricities: I love bluegrass—it's my favorite kind of music. I know what you're thinking, but if you haven't listened to modern bluegrass, you don't know what you're missing. To me, bluegrass is the musical summation of getting ready for a date I'm excited for, of a vibrant sunset, of that contented feeling I get after a long run, of sitting with good friends around a campfire on a summer night, of a walk under the stars, of playing my guitar, of riding my bike—in essence, those rare moments I manage to forget about everything "wrong" with me and how far away I am from the person I "should" be, and just am.

Here are a couple of my favorite bluegrass treats:

"Raining at Sunset," written and performed by mandolinist Chris Thile

"The Lighthouse's Tale," also co-written by Chris Thile and performed by the much-loved and now sadly "on indefinite hiatus" bluegrass trio Nickel Creek

Alison Krauss and Union Station are coming to Salt Lake City in September, but my little heart withered and broke when I learned the performance is already sold out. Maybe it's time to use some of the vacation days I haven't touched yet and catch them on tour somewhere else . . . anyone up for a road trip?

The flu diaries

2011-05-13T15:32:00.001-06:00

Blech. I'm home with the stomach flu, watching out my window the world go by under a perfectly blue, cloudless sky.

It's funny—when I'm feeling fine, going as fast as I can through my day, I fantasize about how nice it would be to sit and do nothing. But now that I'm stuck at home, thinking about the million things I should be doing but can't, I'm dying to get back to normal.

I could only take about a half hour of daytime television, and I've finished the work I grabbed on my way out of the office yesterday when I realized no amount of repeating "I'm not sick . . . I'm not sick" was going to get me to quitting time unscathed, so I'm turning to Blogger to take my mind off things.

Here are a few thoughts that have been on my mind:

Ira Glass of This American Life is coming to Salt Lake City on Saturday, June 25. I LOVE This American Life and really, really, really want to go. Anyone else a TAL fan and want to come with?

I'm halfway through 2009's The Help by Kathryn Stockett and loving every minute. If you're looking for a great summer read, this is it! (I heard the movie version is coming this fall.)

I got the ingredients this week to make my favorite summer meal, avocado salsa and tortilla chips. I adapt it from this recipe from Just Cook Already. I usually skip the hot sauce, garlic salt and pepper, and the onions. It's four-ingredient perfection! When I finally get a chance to make it, I'm super excited to wear the beautiful apron my lovely friend Maria made me for my birthday. She had me pick out the fabric from her stash beforehand, so it fits my style perfectly. Thanks, Maria!

Who is Adele, and why haven't I heard of her before now? I'm in love with her heartbreaking, unique, wonderful voice.

Like the rest of Salt Lake County's LDS young single adults, I had to start over in a new singles ward Sunday. I understand the reasons for and support the changes, but I'm sad I won't see some of the friends I've made since moving to Salt Lake City on a weekly basis anymore. Thankfully I got to see a couple friendly faces from my old ward who were redistricted to the same new ward as me.

Now back to being an invalid!

Grandma Ruth

2011-05-09T21:55:00.002-06:00

I'm not sure why, but I've been thinking all day about my grandma who passed away two years ago last month. Maybe it's because I'm wearing a necklace she gave to me years ago, an pendant of deep purple and lavender stones set in the pattern of a flower.

My grandma had pure white hair shaped like a cotton ball and wore hot pink lipstick. Her favorite color was blue, just like me, and most of her clothes were some shade of that hue. Everyone loved her and her quick wit, from the children who lived next door to the woman who cut her hair. The best example of her sociality is her weekly trip to the grocery store, never a quick, in-and-out errand: as she walked up and down the aisles—all of them—she'd greet and chat with everyone she passed, whether she knew them or not. The store employees all knew her by name and would go out of their way to stop and talk with her.

My grandma loved people, and she made everyone she crossed paths with feel loved and important. (My cousins and I laugh about the fact that she told all of us individually that we were her favorite grandchild.) In high school and early college, when my self image was at its all-time worst, I would seek refuge at her kitchen table, where she would tell me how glad she was I'd stopped by, recount funny stories from her life, and out of nowhere tell me I was beautiful and smart. I didn't believe her, but the boost I got from her words sent me out her front door feeling better than I had when I'd walked in.

I still struggle with self image, wishing most of the time that I didn't look so much like me, and wasn't so awkward and quiet natured, and was smarter and faster and more talented and less inept...the list goes on. It's the days when I'm hardest on myself that I miss my grandma and her love the most.

I love that my grandma's first name is my middle name. I feel like maybe a trait or two belonging to her must be embedded in me just by virtue of that fact. Maybe someday I'll be able to see myself the way she saw me. Until then, I hope I can learn to love and uplift the people I meet at least half as well as she did.

Happy Women's Day

2011-05-08T12:36:00.000-06:00

It's Mother's Day, and I'm looking forward to the chance to tell my sweet mother what she means to me. I'm lucky have a mother who's not only a wise guide and mentor but also my best friend.

For a long time I've thought, though, that Mother's Day celebrates too narrow a segment of society and holds negative connotations for way too many people. For mothers who have lost children, or whose child has gone down a destructive path; for children who have lost mothers, or whose mothers don't fit the traditional definition of motherhood; or for women who have never had the chance to be mothers (ahem), just to name a few, the day can be difficult.

That's why I'm behind my mom's idea that Mother's Day should be re-termed "Women's Day" to celebrate the positive influence women have in the lives of those they love, whether in the capacity of an official "mother" or not.

Happy Women's Day to all the wonderful women who have made my life better through their kind words and actions, selfless examples, and the way they live their lives!

Sweet nothings

2011-05-06T22:43:00.000-06:00

When my sister slash roommate was in finals last week, one night after she rocked a big test we decided to celebrate by making one of my new favorite recipes: black bean brownies.

This recipe is the best "healthy" version of a not-so-good-for-you dessert I've come across—it substitutes pureed black beans for flour without losing consistency or taste. In fact, I think the dark, rich beans make the end result seem even more chocolate-y.

Black beans are a power food, touted as one of the most nutritionally packed foods in the world. Thanks to this recipe, I can indulge without feeling too guilty (I halved it and skipped the coffee substitute):

Amazing Black Bean Brownies from 101 Cookbooks

What healthy substitute recipes do you love?

Smoothie song

2011-05-04T08:54:00.001-06:00

How does one know spring is here?
When green smoothies for breakfast appear.

Here's to many more this year.

Stop the presses

2011-05-03T21:21:00.003-06:00

Ouch! This week Business Insider named journalism the most useless college degree. It tops horticulture, fashion design, music, child and family studies, and six others.

My undergrad is in journalism/communications, and now that I'm a few years into my career, I've wondered what I would study if I could go back to freshman year knowing what I know now and start over. Business? Marketing? English?

The more I think about it, though, the more I'm satisfied that I landed in the right major. The skills I learned as a journalism student are in high demand in all kinds of industries: writing quickly and concisely, adhering my writing to a set of standards, asking insightful questions, digesting and summarizing large amounts of information in a short amount of time, knowing where to go to find answers, researching, and communicating with very different audiences.

The best side effects of my major, though, are probably unique to me. Armed with a tape recorder and reporter's notebook, I learned how to be brave enough to interrupt strangers' lives in an effort to extract a story from a fact and turn it into a headline. I learned that there are lots more than two sides to most stories. And I learned that with a little creativity, even boring topics can be relevant and interesting.

Studies and reports like this one don't make a lot of sense to me, because even though I majored in journalism and am using the skills I learned in that major every day as a member of the workforce, I'm not working as a journalist, so neither I nor others like me would be quantified in the research. In short, I don't agree with the study's conclusions, at least when it comes to journalism. And of course as a journalist I'm never biased!

Summer days

2011-05-01T17:34:00.000-06:00

My most excellent running partner Maria sent me this link for finding Saturday-only marathons. Thanks, Maria!

I am saving up my vacation days, and Maria is saving up her babysitting favors, for an awesome destination first marathon experience next spring. Anyone have tips on choosing a good first marathon? Or a suggestion for a great spring 26.2 event?

Meanwhile, I am really looking forward to my first summer in a long time without classes or homework or final projects or tests. I want to head out on the weekends to run, road bike, or hike some of the beautiful Utah destinations I haven't ever visited, especially those in the Salt Lake Valley. (Already on the docket: a trip up Bald Mountain in the Uintas with my dad and sister.) Luckily when I was getting my bike tuned up for spring, I saw two books at the local bike shop to help me in my planning: Bicycling Salt Lake City and Road Biking Utah, both which detail the best routes. Let me know if you have any suggestions for great places to visit, or if there's a day you want to join the fun!

Race report: Salt Lake City Half Marathon 2011

2011-04-30T18:06:00.001-06:00

I've procrastinated writing up a race report for the 2011 Salt Lake City Half Marathon, which I ran two weeks ago, because (1) it was such a rich experience that I can't decide what to focus on and (2) the race itself has kind of been overshadowed by my post-race "prize"—a horribly infected toe. (The upside is that I now know the answer to something I've never wondered: what two of my toes look like without toenails.)

I decided the best way to encapsulate my race day experience is to list the parts that stick out to me the most:

The SLC Half was the largest race I've ever run in terms of participatants—between the half and the full marathon, there were 8,000 runners. It was fun to be part of such a big crowd, and I don't have anything to complain about, but I think I kind of prefer smaller races.
I got to see my family three (!) times along the race course. Thanks for supporting me, guys! Each time, their waves and words of encouragement gave me a huge boost of energy. It was my favorite part of the race.
The race organization was superb. There were well-staffed aid stations every couple of miles, signs posted at every turn to help the runners know where to go, and wonderful volunteers.
The worst part of the race was the giant, mile-long hill I was not expecting at mile 12. It wouldn't have been so bad if I couldn't have seen all the way from the bottom of the hill to the top. I had to dig deep to keep churning through that portion.
The final two blocks of the race was my favorite stretch. Hundreds of cheering spectators gave me the energy I needed to power through the finish line. I got the benefit of hearing extra-loud cheers as I passed through, thanks to an althetic, good-looking guy just steps ahead of me who was wearing only a Speedo.
My time was 2:19:45.

I learned three lessons from this half marathon:

"Speedwork" works! (I have to put speedwork in quotes because the term "speed" is relative when it comes to me.) I tried to run my 3- and 4-mile training runs at a faster-than-normal pace, and I think it helped me cut almost 10 minutes off my previous half marathon time.
Something about the half marathon distance depletes my immune system. A few days after I ran the Top of Utah Half Marathon last August, I came down with a cough that turned pretty quickly into bronchitis. And after the SLC Half, of course, I got the infection under my toenail. Before I run another, I'm going to read up on how to keep my post-race immune system up and running.
Before the race started, when I stood at the back of the starting corral and looked down on 8,000 pairs of running shoes, running shorts and tights, and running socks, and thousands more mp3 players, headphones, moisture-wicking technical T-shirts and hats, GPS watches, and dozens of other kinds of specialized accessories, I decided I need to get invest my money in the running business!

The Salt Lake City Half Marathon was a great experience, and it was good for me to see Salt Lake City from a new perspective. Now it's on to choosing future half marathons . . . any suggestions?

And then I don't feel so bad

2011-04-21T13:25:00.000-06:00

I've had a bummer of a week. I got a nasty blister under my toenail from running my half marathon (race report to come soon) that, three days after the fact, somehow got infected between the time I went to bed and midnight, when I was woken up by my foot throbbing in excruciating pain that wouldn't let me sleep for the rest of the night. After morning meetings at work I hightailed it over to my local InstaCare, where the doctor told me I had the worst infection in a toe she'd ever seen (by then it had apparently progressed to blood poisoning, indicated by two bright red tracks running up my foot), inflicted it with five shots and a scalpel, scrubbed it out, and sent me on my limping way in a velcro boot and 10 days worth of horse-sized penicillin pills.

It's been a few days now, and I'm still shuffling along, but thankfully my toe no longer looks like a canned Vienna sausage with two dimples for knuckles. The whole thing has given me new appreciation for (1) walking and running freely, (2) the absence of pain, and (3) the ability to wear shoes. My heart goes out to people who suffer from physical challenges—I learned this week that I take too much for granted and spend too little time being grateful for all I have.

In that spirit, I decided to scribble down some of my favorite things to see if it made me feel a little better. And I have to say—I think Maria Von Trapp was onto something.

My Favorite Things

People magazines in waiting rooms
New running shoes and socks
Crossing back into Utah's border on a road trip
Open farmland
Avocados
The light at sunset
Spotting family facial features in photos of my ancestors
Alison Krauss + Union Station
Riding my bike
Eavesdropping
Baggio's restaurant in downtown Salt Lake City
Artisan jewelry
Feeling useful
Getting my hair trimmed
When babies smile at me in the grocery store line
Talking to my mom
Banana milkshakes
Shoes with wedges and heels
Road races
Lawns mowed diagonally
Visiting teachers
That my dad always answers when I call his cell phone
Google
Provo Canyon
Autumn
Laughing with my sister over something silly we did as kids
Timpanogos in spring and fall
Wonderful friends
When the Jazz beat the Lakers

What do you do to lift your spirits after a bad week?

Great running songs: Spring 2011 half marathon edition

2011-04-13T14:07:00.000-06:00

This weekend I'll run my second half marathon! My goal is to finish in around 2:15. But I'll be happy if I finish without walking...

I chose this half to help me transition to life in Salt Lake City. It's not exactly what I expected, and I'm still finding my bearings. This run will take me through 13.1 miles of the Crossroads of the West, where I hope to come to better appreciate my new surroundings and hopefully make some peace with my new home.

As for a playlist, I'm using essentially the same one I used for the Top of Utah Half Marathon last summer with some new additions:

Great running songs: Spring 2011 Half Marathon Edition

Dog Days Are Over - Florence + The Machine
Forget You - Glee
Teenage Dream - Glee
This - Darius Rucker
Raise Your Glass - P!nk
Wretches and Kings - Linkin Park
Katy Perry - Firework
Ain't No Rest for the Wicked - Cage the Elephant
Feel Good Inc - Gorillaz
Ants Marching - Dave Matthews Band
Mr. Jones - Counting Crows
Ride Wit Me - Nelly
Heart of a Champion - Nelly
Good as Gone - Little Big Town

And because running season is almost here—here are links to my other running playlists if you're looking for more great tunes to run to:

Great running songs: Soundtrack edition
Great running songs: Guilty pleasures edition
Great running songs: Michael Jackson edition
Great running songs: Country edition
Great running songs: Fall 2010 half marathon edition

If you listen to music while you exercise, what great workout songs have you come across lately?

You got your high brow shoes on your feet

2011-03-06T20:50:00.002-07:00

A few months ago I wrote about one of my anti- talents.

Another anti-talent I have that has always really bothered me is an affinity for not quite "getting" style and fashion.

I went to a private school growing up where uniforms were required, and by not having to be pegged in social hierarchies based on my clothing during my formative years, I think I missed out on some key fashion sense development moments. I've always struggled with knowing what matches with what, what's in style, and how to put outfits together that don't make me the "these" in "one of these is not like the others."

So this past summer when I was offered my current big-city job, where I knew presenting a professional, updated image was going to be key to my success, I knew I needed professional help.

Yes—luckily for me, there exists professional help for fashion-sense deficiency!

My style-savvy friend and former work colleague, Natalie, who launched and runs an image consultancy business in New York City called Buttoned Up Style with fellow style guru Casey, was going to be in Utah a couple weeks before I started my new job and offered to take me on as a client and make me into the chic professional I wanted to become.

First up: a closet consultation. After interviewing me about my personal style, specifics on the dress code at my new workplace, and ultimately what I wanted my appearance to convey, she went piece by piece through my closet and threw out anything frumpy, worn out, or outdated.

It was like an episode of What Not to Wear, minus the drama and snarky comments. (And no four-way mirror room to haunt my nightmares.) Goodbye, unflattering calf-length skirt from Ross Dress for Less. Good riddance, flesh colored cardigan with the unrepairable hole in the collar and missing waist tie. Rest in peace, mud-brown Jody dress from 1999.

As she sorted, Natalie gave personalized mini lessons on what goes with what, basic principles of color and fit, and how to create outfits that flatter. I pulled out my camera and snapped away as she put together a couple weeks' worth of work outfits for me, complete with shoes and jewelry, that I could reference when getting ready in the mornings.

Then Natalie noted the "holes" in my wardrobe, recommending what pieces I should add. To my enormous relief, she told me that most of what I needed was already hanging in my closet—I just needed some direction on how to mix and match it in new, stylish ways.

Finally, Natalie took me shopping and helped me pick out pieces to tie together items I already owned and maximize my style options. On my personalized shopping list: cardigans with color; a handful of select key, high-quality basics; a few versatile, on-trend accessories; and SHOES.

Natalie did all of this according to my budget. Even though she frequents New York City's finest stores with her Big Apple clients, she was happy to meet me at stores in my budget range like Nordstrom Rack and DSW. She also got up to her elbows in Banana Republic's sales rack and unearthed a couple great classics that I was able to get at over 50% off.

I couldn't have been happier with the results. Natalie transformed me from frump to fashionista. I came out looking classic yet on trend, professional yet fresh, workplace conservative but not boring. Best of all—the process was painless and fun, thanks to Natalie's tact and congenial personality.

In this case, I think a picture is worth a thousand words. Here's how I look on a typical workday thanks to Natalie:

With this outfit I'm incorporating four of Natalie's fashion tips: (1) your shoes don't have to match something you're wearing—use them to add a pop of color, (2) pair a cardigan with a shirt that has either a pattern or an interesting texture (my blue shirt is silk), (3) tuck in your shirt and add a skinny belt around the waist to make an outfit look more polished, and (4) don't forget to accessorize!

There's a saying my mom likes to use during spring cleaning, when we're pulling things out of cupboards to wipe down and reorganize, emptying drawers to sort and simplify: sometimes you have to make a mess to clean a mess. I think something similar applies to a good style consult: sometimes you have to spend money to save money.

Relying on Natalie's expert eye to look objectively at what I owned and what I didn't saved me a bundle of time, money, and energy. Had it not been for my personalized Buttoned Up style consult, I'd probably have blown my entire new-job clothing budget on clothes I didn't know what to do with and still be neglecting the clothes I already owned that had the most potential. And I'd definitely still be clueless about how to put it all together. In the end, without Natalie's personalized set of style rules to guide me, the image I'd have presented at my new job would not have been one of a put-together, up-to-date young professional.

I'm so glad I had a professional style consultation—it's made a difference not only in how I look but also in how I feel about myself and the way others respond to me. If you've spent your life failing Fashion 101 like me (or if you're already a fashion guru who wants to take your style and wardrobe to the next level), and you're interested in having your own fashion consultation, Natalie is going to be in Utah April 7 through 15 and can take appointments in the evenings and on the weekend. Her Utah rates are $50/hr for personal shopping (normally $125 in New York City) and $250 for a closet consultation ($475 in NYC). Contact her via the Buttoned Up Style website or let me know and I can put you in touch with her.

(Also on the website: info about Buttoned Up's "Ask a Stylist" feature, where for $25/month you can query Natalie and Casey about your day-to-day style questions, and Natalie and Casey's style blog, where you can get fashion tips and learn how to incorporate the latest trends into your wardrobe.)

On my way

2011-02-13T18:26:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I posted about my plans to "de-expand" after graduating from graduate school, and I've never really given an update.

I wrote a bit about some of my healthy food discoveries as well as my caloric conundrums.

And I wrote about my journey from 5:30 a.m. jogs to 10K to half marathon. And don't forget the time I enjoyed a morning among the running community and the time I showed up to ride with a women's cycling group but was too intimidated to get out of my car.

All were steps toward a destination I've yet to reach, but I'm really proud of my progress on this particular goal so far. (Thanks goes to Maria—the best running partner of all time; Angela Liddon of the Oh She Glows blog for her uber-heathly vegan recipes—especially the Green Monster—and her insights on health and wellness; Think Thin protein bars; and, during the winter months, my fabulous indoor bicycle trainer.)

Well, I'm not going to post a "before" pic because I'm too vain. But here's an "at present day" pic:

What goals that you've set and achieved make you most proud? To whom or what do you "owe" your success to?

In the midnight hour

2011-02-05T09:16:00.001-07:00

I opened the door to my car early Monday morning to find my glove box hanging open, its contents strewn all over my passenger seat, and every interior light in my car ripped out and broken.

My 13-year-old vehicle's two back doors only sporadically obey the automatic lock and unlock function, and I'm obsessive compulsive about making sure they're locked when I get out of my car. I have checked those two stupid doors every time I've left my car---every time, apparently, except Sunday night.

So that night, of all nights, some creeper in the wee morning hours walked through the parking lot where I park my car, trying door handles in a search for unlocked car doors. And found mine. Then (according to the police dispatcher I talked to) broke the interior lights so they could search for valuables under the cover of darkness. And what a lucky strike my car was for the creeper! For they ended up with:

A very used pair of cheap running sunglasses, lovingly sweated on for the past six or seven years
A $10 pair of sunglasses from TJ Maxx
A single CD: Micheal McLean's The Collection: Volume 1 that skips
A $10 emergency cell phone charger
The visor caddy holding my car registration and insurance information

Of course, it's that last one that worries me the most, and I've filed a police report, contacted my insurance agency and the DMV, and put a 90-day fraud alert under my name with the credit bureaus. Everyone I talked to had a pretty "business as usual" attitude—apparently midnight car burglaries in Salt Lake City are more than the norm.

I have to admit, the whole experience has added yet another level to my understanding of why people prefer to spend enormous percentages of their lives commuting to and from downtown Salt Lake City rather than live anywhere near there.

But believe it or not, there are two positives to this situation:

My sister, who mercilessly and relentlessly made fun of me for checking my back car doors every time I exited my vehicle, has without explanation suddenly dropped the subject.
I hated those $10 aviator sunglasses, with their fake mini diamonds on the bridge that looked so cool perched on the sunglasses rack at TJ Maxx but so silly on my face in my rearview mirror. But I told myself that I couldn't buy new ones until those wore out, broke, or got lost. Thanks to you, Creeper, I can finally replace those overblinged knockoffs.

Compliments of Captain Hindsight, here are two things I learned about keeping the information you store in your car safer that I'll be doing in the future:

Keep your car registration and insurance information in a Ziplock bag underneath a floor mat instead of in your glove box or in a visor caddy. (But if you get pulled over, tell the police officer why you're reaching in a dark recess of your vehicle before you start digging around for it.)
Make photocopies of the documents you store in your car and keep them in a safe place elsewhere. I've requested replacement copies of my car registration and insurance card, but in my moment of panic it would have been nice to have photocopies around so I could see exactly what information the burglar(s) got away with.

The other positive is that the whole thing could have been a lot worse—there were no broken windows or missing engines or slashed tires, and I didn't have my purse or laptop or anything else of real value sitting in there. But I sure did love that skipping Michael McLean CD, and if another copy of that 1994 gem is still out there somewhere, I'm going to find it.

Have you ever had your car burglarized? If so, did you feel violated? And after the incident did you change anything about what you kept in your car and where you kept it?

Changes

2011-01-08T07:20:00.000-07:00

2010 was a year of big changes for me, including

Graduating with my masters
Getting a great new job with an awesome company in Salt Lake City
Leaving BYU
Commuting three hours a day
Going from a running slump to running a half marathon
Losing all my grad school weight (it's like baby weight, except all you have to show for it in the end is a piece of paper with your name on it)
Serving in (and surviving) church callings I never, ever thought I could do: FHE group leader and ward co-chair (it was like putting Eeyore in charge of the glee club)
Buying my first home
Moving to SLC

Of all those changes, moving to SLC has been the most difficult. I've lived all my life in the place I grew up—a very quiet, ordered, homogeneous sort of place—and it's been a little overwhelming to go from a city where I regularly saw one single homeless person—a friendly, harmless individual drivers liked to pull over and say hi to—to a place where half the people I cross paths with in my neighborhood look like they're on the edge of death and the other half like they've already crossed over. (I don't live in the ritziest part of town.)

I'm not a Pollyanna, as much as I wish I was—someone looking for the good in everything and everyone around me, so good natured I don't just overlook the bad, I don't notice it in the first place. Maybe I did have Pollyanna eyes right before and after officially signing the papers on my new place, looking forward to new experiences and owning my own house for the first time. But that quickly dissolved when I accidentally tracked giant glops of fresh dog poo from the lawn outside across my carpet when moving in boxes and when a power outage caused my brand new washer in the middle of its first cycle to fill my bathroom and hall carpet with four inches of water.

Luckily my sister decided to move in with me for her last year and a half of law school. Thanks, sis! But this week while she's been on vacation, I've come home from work each night to an empty, cold box with double locks, wondering what in the world I've done, thinking about what (and who) I left behind.

Everyone I've talked to says TIME. You have to give it TIME. You have to find ways to get involved and settle in and get familiar with everything new.

I know that in my head. It's just taking my heart a little longer to get there.

How do you cope with big changes? How long does it take you to settle in a sense of normalcy, and do you have any tips or techniques for making a new place feel like home?

In which Captain Hook measures my gums

2010-12-21T13:28:00.001-07:00

A couple weeks ago on my lunch hour I visited a new dentist not too far away from where I work.

Even though I've had the same dentist since I was a kid, my long commuter schedule made it impossible to see him without taking a personal day. So I logged onto my insurance company's Web site and found the nearest dentist to work who was approved under my plan.

One flashy dental Web site and haughty receptionist later, I had an appointment.

I should have been tipped off by the waiting room straight out of that section in Vogue where they feature fashion designers' personal living spaces. In which I waited . . . and waited . . . and waited.

Finally they brought me back and began the most painful dental cleaning ever known to man. While I cringed in pain, they explained to me that I had a special condition due to not properly taking care of my teeth as a child. And that I needed a special $100 toothbrush and a few $15 1-oz. tubes of toothpaste. And had five cavities that needed to be filled immediately.

When I got back to work (an hour late—which meant I needed to take a later bus home that night) my boss asked me how my appointment went.

"I just spent two hours with Captain Hook measuring my gums," I replied.

Later, teeth still throbbing, I complained to my mom about my horrible dental experience, lamenting that because of my work schedule I couldn't still be a patient of my lifelong dentist. If a cleaning was that painful, I worried, what are five fillings going to feel like?

"The dentist we like is open on Saturday mornings, you know," my mom said. I did not know!

By the next evening I'd called Dentist Hook's office and requested my X-rays be sent to my former dentist. And scheduled a Saturday morning appointment to have my cavities filled.

When Saturday arrived, I steeled myself for a day of drilling and a numb mouth.

I settled in the reclined dental chair (after spending zero time waiting in the waiting room), and my dentist poked and prodded my teeth for a couple minutes. I was surprised when he abruptly stopped and raised the chair back to upright position.

"I checked your X-rays—you don't have any cavities," he said. "And you don't need any special toothpaste."

"That was a freebie," I thought.

And I learned that day a valuable lesson: that a good, honest dentist is as valuable and hard to find as a good, honest mechanic, real estate agent, or doctor. And that when you find something good, you stick with it.

Ode to the Provo Tabernacle

2010-12-21T07:58:00.000-07:00

From Provo Mayor John Curtis's blog

Like the rest of Orem and Provo I was shocked to hear on the news earlier this week that the Provo Tabernacle was burning down.

I have a lot of memories of the Provo Tabernacle from the time I was a little kid—church meetings, concerts, community events, dates—and two of the top-10 most embarrassing moments of my life.

Free Fallin'
I was was 13 or 14 and part of a children's choir. We were scheduled to sing at a big Christmas concert in the tabernacle, and for months we perfected the four or five songs we planned to sing.

The night of the concert, our director lined us up backstage by height, and then divided us into rows—row of shortest people at the front of the line, row of tallest at the back—so we'd look like a pyramid on the metal stands erected in the center of the tabernacle stage. As the tallest, I was positioned in line so I'd end up at the center of the back row.

It was in that awkward pause you always get in performances as one performing group exits and the next takes its place that it happened. After almost all the other choir members had taken their places on the skinny metal slabs, I carefully climbed the steps to the highest row, which was about six feet off the ground, took two or three perilous steps toward the center, and walked right off the back, plummeting straight to the ground with a giant thump.

It was at that point, my cousin in the audience later told me, the entire packed tabernacle let out a united gasp. "It was just so LOUD when you hit the ground!" he said. "It sounded like you were really hurt!"

The director rushed up in horror, and she and the other choir members peered through the slats of the stands to see what state I was in. I knew the faster I got back on the stand, the sooner the show would go on, and the sooner I'd be able to leave the stage. I popped up and scurried back to the top row, red faced and wanting absolutely nothing more at that moment than to not have to sing—especially on the center of the back row, the tallest head in the choir, in front of the thousands of people I'd just thoroughly embarrassed myself in front of. Every eye in the tabernacle was on me as I re-took my place, plastered on the biggest fake smile I could, stood up tall and straight, and nodded to the director that I was ready to sing.

Free Fallin' II
I was on a double date, and the four of us we were waiting in a long line that curved around the tabernacle in hopes that we could get in to hear a popular performing group. For some reason I'd decided to wear a skirt—a light-green, knee-length floral print number with a thin elastic band at the waist. I'd worn that skirt many times before (evidently too many times, as this story will reveal) and had of late had some problems with the worn-out elastic not quite doing its job keeping my skirt at my waist. (Yes, this story is going exactly where you think.) Carefree and wanting to look as cute as I knew how, I'd taken the skirt out of my closet and worn it without a second thought.

After we'd been waiting in line a while, I glanced down at the ground and saw some light-green fabric billowing where I didn't expect: just above my ankles. Yes, my skirt had slid off my waist and worked its way rather far down my nyloned legs. How far? Far enough that I could see without much angling of my head that lackluster elastic clinging rather precariously to the fabric of my nylons.

I discreetly tugged my skirt back in place. Did my date or the couple we were doubling with notice? What about the people in front of or behind us in line? No one said anything to me—I have no idea. But even then I knew deep down that public disrobement isn't likely to go unnoticed.

My night was ruined—not only because I spent it obsessing over whether or not my date had noticed my faux pas, but also because I fretted all night that my skirt would give into gravity a second time.

Whatever my date's opinion of a girl so clueless she doesn't realize she's standing in a line of hundreds of people only 75 percent dressed, I did get to go out with him a few more times. Unfortunately that incident turned out to be only the first embarrassing wardrobe malfunction I experienced while on a date with him. The moral of the story? I never leave the house now without two or three safety pins tucked in my purse.

I heard some community members are already raising funds to rebuild the Provo Tabernacle. I hope it comes to pass—if not so that the "Heart of Provo" can stand again, at least so that clueless little girls like me for generations to come can associate the Provo Tabernacle with great (and not so great) memories of their own.

Little house in the big city

2010-11-28T19:47:00.000-07:00

Here are photos of my new place!

They feature the previous owners' beautiful decor. (And no—it was not professionally staged.) These pics will come in handy when I head to IKEA and try to exactly recreate everything you see below:

The good news is that the apprehension I'm feeling about uprooting the life I've known for the past quarter century or so is slowly being overtaken by excitement at the prospect of fresh surroundings, unfamiliar faces, and new opportunities. And that the curtains and light fixtures are staying. The bad news: I'm really going to miss my current roommates, my favorite local running and biking routes, and my hometown!

Have you ever started over in a new city? What do you feel more when big changes are imminent—fear or excitement?

Castles in the air

2010-11-23T07:27:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite scenes in a Gilmore Girls episode is when TJ, Luke's brother in law, walks into Luke's diner and announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am in escrow!" (emphatically pronounced es-ker-oh) and goes from table to table, high-fiving customers and repeating, "I am in escrow!"

I may not be in escrow quite yet, but guess what, ladies and gentlemen: I am a homebuyer!

Well, a condo-buyer, actually. I bought what's legally defined as a "box in the air."

After seeing so many condos they all started to blur together, in the end I deliberated between three—a tiny one in a sophisticated downtown high rise, a bigger one with great valley views in a trendy neighborhood, and a comfortable, cozy one right in the heart of the city. (Am I sounding yet like the opening narration of an episode of House Hunters?)

Speaking of House Hunters—a show on HGTV that where home buyers with a set of criteria and a budget go through three properties, debating the pros and cons of each, before selecting one to put an offer on—whenever I watched it, I thought it was weird that some of the house hunters seemed to worry almost solely about the property's cosmetics. Cameras captured them walking through $600,000 houses going, "I hate the color of the bathroom counter tile—and that grout would be hard to clean" or "If only there were an island in the kitchen" or "These appliances are not stainless steel. Next, please." It was almost as if they didn't realize they could fix minor things they didn't like (especially on budgets way higher than mine).

But after walking through a million properties on my own house hunt, and finding myself making my own comments about grout and paint color and appliances, I think I understand a little better what those television house hunters and I were really getting at: "Does this place feel like me?"

Because that's how I finally decided in the end: I picked the one I could most easily see myself living in—the cozy, comfortable one right in the heart of the city.

Of course, more than just that went into the final decision—good resell potential, a great location, nice views, minimal upkeep, low HOA fees, close proximity to TRAX, etc. That one of the sellers is a professional interior designer didn't hurt things, either.

I might post interior pics of my soon-to-be home later (hopefully before the interior designer and all her fantastic furniture and decorations move out and I, with my giant collection of nothing, move in), but for now, I leave you with some of my favorite sights on the house hunt:

The mirrored wall

The highly sought after rotting building view

The creepy 4 x 4 foot room separated from the kitchen with sliding glass doors

A kitchen window looking out into the building's main foyer

The infamous poop-stained bathroom carpet

Drive by

2010-11-08T07:29:00.001-07:00

On Friday right around noon a co-worker and I were driving through downtown Salt Lake. Just as we drove by the U.S. Courthouse we hit a red light. My co-worker looked out her window and said, "Why are all those photographers lined up against the back fence of that building?"

As we joked about which celebrity had attracted all the paparazzi, the back door of the courthouse opened and out stepped Brian David Mitchell, Elizabeth Smart's kidnapper, in prison clothes and cuffs, flanked on all sides by guards.

He was unmistakable with his scraggly, unkempt, graying beard. The guards quickly ushered him into a waiting vehicle, a policeman stepped into the street and halted oncoming traffic, and the car sped away.

I was a reporter for the university newspaper when news broke that Elizabeth Smart was found alive. I was working in the newsroom, and I looked up at the newsroom television screens and saw that all the channels were showing the same odd photos of people in white hoods and loose masks over their faces.

I asked another reporter what was going on, and I'll never forget the shocked, haunted tone of her answer: "That's Elizabeth Smart."

Later Friday night I saw on a news Web site one of the photos taken of Brian David Mitchell at that very moment I sat in a car just feet away. It accompanied a photo of Elizabeth and her sister. Since then I've been thinking about Elizabeth—not so much about her horrendous ordeal but the inspiring way she's appeared to deal with the aftermath of those nine months of hell. She's attended BYU, is serving a mission (although she's home at the moment to testify at Brian David Mitchell's trial), and has stepped onto the national stage several times to promote measures that could prevent what happened to her from happening to others. Wikipedia lists her not as "Elizabeth Smart (kidnapping victim)" but as "Elizabeth Smart (activist)."

Nothing I've experienced comes within a hundred miles of what she's gone through, but if I handle my own misfortunes and trials with half the courage, tenacity, and grace she seems to possess—and her faith that even the worst can be turned into something good—I'll be doing okay.

Playing house

2010-10-31T21:03:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I had my first house-hunting experience. Along the way I realized a few things:

You can't trust the listing photos. Photos taken from just the right angle have an uncanny way of hiding popcorn ceilings, uneven flooring, and the actual sizes of rooms. I learned really quickly that no matter how audiovisually advanced the property's photo slideshow is, scrutinizing the unit in person is the only way to get a true feel for what it's really like.

Presentation is everything. One of the places we looked at was so crammed full of the homeowner's stuff that we had to tiptoe from room to room, which made the property seem small and unappealing. A few other places were empty but dirty—once their stuff was out of the unit, the homeowners hadn't even bothered to vacuum or wipe the crumbs off the kitchen counter. (Or, in one case, clean up the poo stain on the carpet in front of the toilet). I found it really hard to put that kind stuff out of my mind and picture what the place would look like if I lived there, or even did some minor improvements like repainting or recarpeting.

On the other hand, one property was not only immaculately clean but also decorated so well it could have been on the cover of an Ikea catalog. At the end of the day, it was that property that was at the top of my list—but I'm still not sure sure it's because of the unit itself and not the fantastic presentation.

Periodic updates are essential. So many of the places we looked at had ancient appliances, 70s-era fixtures and wall and floor treatments, and scuffed- and scraped-up doors and countertops. If the homeowners had updated just one element of the property per year during the time they owned it, they'd have much more appealing unit that would probably even sell for more. It's a good thing for me to keep in mind once I start taking care of my own place.

Home listers speak in code. "Cozy," "cottage," or "bungalow" = small; "historic" = old; "perfect for a first-time buyer" = expect the worst.

Everyone is unique! An entire wall of one unit I saw had been turned into a gigantic mirror. In another, the dining room portion of its kitchen had been turned into a living room and its living room into a dining room. Another had a room dedicated entirely to a box of cat litter.

Maybe renting really isn't such a bad way to go. Right now I split the rent with roommates, so we easily afford a nice place with big rooms in a great location. And we never have to worry about property taxes, HOA fees, interior or exterior updates, or footing the bill for broken appliances. As I calculate all these future expenses I'd have owning my own place and see their potential to dominate my budget, I'm realizing that renting, even though it's not doing anything to help build my long-term investment portfolio, still has its perks.

Over the past few years I should have thought a little more about collecting furniture, decorations, and household items in general. About halfway through my own personal parade of homes, I realized I owned nothing to fill the rooms I walked through. One friend gave me good advice, though—think of the accumulation process as one to enjoy over time. Even if that does mean lawn chairs for living room furniture the first few months.

I didn't appreciate enough those long-ago, blissful years growing up when mom and dad paid for (and worried about) everything. And when the terms property tax, HOA fees, fixed-rate mortgages, comparative market analysis, multiple listing service (MLS), origination fee, and down payment weren't even a blip on my radar.

I'm finding the hardest part of house hunting to be the anxiety and stress—I worry about looking for the right elements in a property, fully budgeting for the financial responsibilities of owning a home, and ultimately making a good choice. Any advice from you homeowners on how to keep a clear (and calm) head during the house hunt?

A little black raincloud and an orange balloon

2010-10-25T18:02:00.002-06:00

A few days after my half marathon I came down with a nasty cough that turned into full-blown bronchitis. Four weeks and a round of antibiotics later, I finally hit the road again last week for my first post-race run.

I headed out as the sun was setting. It was drizzling, and the streets were shiny and covered in fall leaves. I was running on one of my favorite roads, a cozy, tree-lined, two-lane street.

About halfway through my run, my eye caught on something high in the sky—a single orange balloon, ribbon attached, sinking rapidly toward the ground. It settled in the exact middle of the road, perfectly upright, its tied bottom the only part of it touching the pavement. It was such a strange, surreal sight that I felt like I was in a movie scene—and that all that was missing was a soundtrack and some better hair and makeup. And a leading man.

I wondered how high in the sky it had been—and for how long—before the so much moisture had collected on its rubber exterior that the helium inside wasn't enough to counteract the weight, plummeting the balloon back to earth.

I picked up the balloon and shook the water off. Raindrop-free, it tugged for release back into the sky. By then it had stopped raining, and I released my grip on the balloon and watched it float freely back up into the sunset.

The rest of my run I thought about that little balloon and its raindrop-laden fall to earth. How even though it had all the helium inside it needed to soar, just a few raindrops were all it took to ground it. And how if I hadn't happened to come by right at that moment, the balloon might have been swept into a gutter by a passing car or maybe encountered a sharp pebble and popped.

I have a tendency to figuratively hold onto, remember, and relive things for a long time. A while ago, someone made a less-than-stellar assessment of me that has taken my mind hostage ever since, making me question a lot of things about my life, my goals, and myself. (I wish I could go into more detail—I realize some of my posts can be a little vague, but I once read a story about myself on a blog that I wasn't very happy to see, and I vowed that if I ever started blogging, I wouldn't post something about someone that I'd be reluctant to show them.) Anyway, I took that person's valuation to heart—and concluded I was a failure. I was covered in heavy raindrops, and I sunk to earth.

Then, at just the right time, a handful of people happened along who, with a vigorous shake, freed me from those negative comments weighing me down.

One was my dear friend Maria, who reminded me that I was strong and had it in me to succeed at anything I wanted to.

Another was my dear friend Niki, champion listener of the world, who talked me through my doubts.

Yet another was my dear friend Annie, whose shoulder I literally cried on.

Another friend became my unfailing advocate, sticking up for me whenever she could.

Two others were my roommates, who patted me on the back on rough days and let me know they were on my side.

And a few others simply helped me put things back in perspective—reminding me that while I was far from perfect, I was also far from a hopeless case. It wasn't long before I realized I was floating back into the sky.

(Isn't it interesting, though, that it took a multitude of supportive people to neutralize the comments of just one naysayer? Well, it's either that, or I'm just plain drama. I hope it's the first!)

I've thought a lot recently about inner resiliency— the ability to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get on with life when things aren't going well. I believe that drawing from that inner well of gettoitiveness is pretty key in moving well through life. But maybe just as essential are those people who deep-six the negative stuff that sticks to me a little too well, and who remind me that I already have in me what it takes to soar.

Has someone ever come along and shaken off the raindrops that weigh you down?

Honest Abe

2010-10-23T21:07:00.000-06:00

I've seen this Geico commercial two or three times, and every time I've died laughing:

Ha, ha! I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did.

Up in the air

2010-10-23T17:48:00.000-06:00

Almost every day on the bus ride home as we round the Point of the Mountain, I see this:

Paragliders

There is something so beautiful and peaceful about those multicolored, billowing tapestries cutting through the bright blue sky. I love watching them float and twist across my bus window, literally hanging in the horizon.

No matter how many times I've seen them drifting high above the ground, it still blows my mind that by knowing how to harness the wind, paragliders and hanggliders can suspend themselves in the sky and maneuver through the atmosphere at will. And I think about what it would be like to see the world from a new, all-seeing vantage point.

I've heard that astronauts who've been in space often say afterward that seeing the whole earth at once changes their perspective forever, that the political, racial, religious, and economic distinctions we separate ourselves with on earth, invisible from such a high vantage point, melt away into one great expanse of humankind.

Sometimes too from that distance scientists discover via satellite images features of earth that can only be seen from space, like perfectly preserved miles-wide meteoric craters and undiscovered ancient Egyptian cities.

Any childhood dreams I had of becoming an astronaut were quickly scrapped when I discovered that astronauts have to know how to do math. And store their floating poop in a bag. But I still wonder what it would be like to figuratively rise above everything I think I know and look down on my world, on my life, on myself from a new, all-seeing vantage point.

What would I see? Would I see things I could never see before, like new potential or new possibilities? Or ways I need to stretch and grow? Would the limits I labor under and let define me dissolve into the surroundings as I rose higher and higher?

And most of all, I wonder if I'd plain stop worrying about all the things I agonize over minute to minute all day, every day, and realize what a beautiful, whole, blessed place I'm in.

What do you do when life gets crazy, frustrating, or overwhelming to bring things back into proper perspective?

Bus commuter's lament

2010-10-13T19:42:00.001-06:00

A large, pore-print-preserving, eye-level smear of grease on my window, indicating my window's earlier life that day as a pillow

plus

An ever-ringing cell phone with the chorus of "Mamma Mia" programmed as its ringtone

plus

A hair-tossing seatmate who wants to keep her suitcase where her feet should go and keep her feet where my feet should go, and her leaky water bottle pressed against my leg

plus

A guy on a cell phone loudly describing to his dad how much he disagrees with the bus driver's driving—"Don't you see now, Dad, why you need to let me drive the car to work?!"

plus

A passenger behind me deep in snore

plus

A one-lane closure on the freeway causing a one-hour delay

equals

Me wondering why nothing ever came of this brilliance:

The Jetsons in their flying car

In the meantime, anyone out there willing to chip in on a bullet train?

The thief he take the money safe

2010-10-13T07:25:00.002-06:00

This week at work I got to listen to a bank fraud expert from a large bank talk about how to protect yourself from becoming a victim of fraud. It's easier said than done, though, because at the end of the day, it's probably not if you'll be a victim—it's when.

When the expert asked anyone who'd ever had their identities or credit or bank account information stolen to raise their hand, I was shocked when about half the people in the room indicated they'd been victimized. Even though it was discouraging to realize that if it can happen to them, it can happen to anyone, I felt more empowered after learning (1) a little bit about how fraud artists work and (2) a few tips to protect myself, or at least lessen my risk:

1. Your bank or financial institution will never ask you for your bank account numbers or your account balances.
No matter how legitimate a letter, e-mail, phone call, or text message requesting your bank information sounds or looks, it's not. Your bank has all that information, and they will never ask you for it. I've gotten texts claiming to be from my bank and asking me to "verify your account info," but thanks to my dad warning me about that kind of thing, I've just ignored them.

2. Making photocopies of everything in your wallet and storing them in a safe place like a safe deposit box can save you hours of worry and effort in the case of a swiped or permanently misplaced wallet.
If your wallet suddenly disappeared, would you have easy access to your credit and debit card numbers, drivers license number, and other information you keep stored there? Could you even name everything you keep in your wallet? (My answer would be no!) It may also be a good idea to include a list of the numbers you need to call to report stolen cards and the steps you'd need to take to replace them.

3. Home mailboxes are a primary source of stolen information.
That little flag you put up on your mailbox letting the mailman know letters are ready for pickup is also notifying thieves who know your outgoing bills are a goldmine of personal information. Get a mailbox that locks, and swing by the post office or other secure mail-deposit site to send letters containing money or sensitive information.

The expert even suggested (although he knew it wasn't for everyone) getting a P.O. Box so that your mail doesn't even come to your house. One bonus to that: when you go out of town, you don't have to worry about getting a neighbor to grab your mail or wondering if it's safe and secure. Another less drastic option: when you go out of town, temporarily halt your mail service via the U.S. Post Office's Web site.

4. Counterfeit cash is a huge problem among people who buy and sell on sites like KSL Classifieds and Craigslist.
If you're an aficionado, beware: once you accept counterfeit cash, it's your problem, and there are no legal provisions in place to recoup your loss.

While there are special pens and lights that can detect counterfeit bills, the best way to tell is simply to feel the bill. Counterfeiters are extremely skilled at making a counterfeit bill LOOK real, but there's no counterfeiter in the world who can replicate the process the U.S. Treasury uses to make them. In fact, real bills are not made out of paper but cotton fibers. Counterfeiters typically print their fake bills on extremely high quality paper, and then try to make them look a little "used," but when you hold a fake paper bill in one hand and a real fiber bill in the other, you should feel a difference.

Another way to tell: real bills have a security strip embedded in the fibers. Fake bills just have it printed on the front.

One more interesting fact: twenties and hundreds are the bills most often counterfeited.

5. For regular purchases around town, it may be better to use a credit card than a debit card.
For the most part, credit cards will, almost as quickly as you notify them, remove fraudulent charges from your bill. While debit cards often offer the same level of protection, the fraudulent transaction has probably already removed money from your bank account. And if your debit card draws from the bank account you use to pay your morgtage and insurance and buy your groceries and gas, and you're out a significant sum, things could get a little tight for you for a little while until the bank is able to restore the funds, depending on the unauthorized transaction policies of your banking institution.

Another thing to consider: if you have various bank accounts "linked" so as to not overdraft, and an unauthorized individual gets ahold of your debit card, they may be able to drain more than one of your accounts.

6. For online purchases, it is always better to use a credit card than a debit card.
Most credit cards have great consumer protection policies, so if you get stuck with fraudulent charges, they will remove them. Most also have 24-hour card protection services that allow you to shut down the card as soon as you discover suspicious activity.

7. Lots of bank and identity scams are based on you being the naïve and unsuspecting "mule" tasked with ferrying the money from one place to another.
Scenarios like:

someone overpaying you with a check for a good or service and asking you to send the excess as soon as possible via wire to a large U.S. city or foreign country
someone paying you with a check drawn on an entity the buyer is not associated with, and
someone telling you you've won a lottery you didn't enter, and requesting that you send them an advance of the taxes on your winnings so you can legally accept your prize

should all trigger one word in your mind: fraud.

The reason the fraudsters need you: because once you pay them and then get stuck with a check that's no good, you're the one responsible for the loss.

Thankfully, banks are continually putting in place new measures of security and educating their customers on how to protect their funds from falling in the hands of criminals.

Have you ever been a victim of fraud? What habits do you practice to keep your money safe?

Good reads: Split personality

2010-10-04T18:08:00.001-06:00

Someone sent me an interesting article from AOL Jobs last week about the ancient belief that there are really only nine personality types, that everyone tends to be at least mostly one or another, and how that applies in the workplace. Here's the link: "Enneagram Uncovers Nine Personality Types at Work. Which Are You?"

I want to think I'm number 5, the Sage, but in reality, I'm probably number 2, the Helper. But I'm curious too—which are you?

Good reads: Teammates

2010-09-27T18:00:00.001-06:00

I loved an article I read on the Deseret News site while riding the bus home tonight.

Cameron Judd is a 17-year-old Utah high school student with cerebral palsy. His lifelong friend Mack Bawden, who is a member of the high school track team, pushes Cameron in a specially designed wheelchair at track meet races so Cameron can be part of the team. (For 4-by-400 relay races Mack and his teammates don't pass the baton—they pass Cameron.) But the friendship goes a lot deeper than that—and reading about that friendship really made my day.

Check out "W. Jordan youth goes the extra mile for lifelong pal who has cerebral palsy" by Amy Donaldson for an inspiring read that made me want to be a little more aware of opportunities around me to lend a helping hand and a little more grateful for the people who've done me a good turn.

Paper doll

2010-09-22T17:21:00.000-06:00

There is one paragraph from George Orwell's Animal Farm that has run through my mind at least once a week since joining the working world:

There was . . . endless work in the supervision and organisation of the farm. Much of this work was of a kind that the other animals were too ignorant to understand. For example, . . . the pigs had to expend enormous labours every day upon mysterious things called "files," "reports," "minutes," and "memoranda." These were large sheets of paper which had to be closely covered with writing, and as soon as they were so covered, they were burnt in the furnace. This was of the highest importance for the welfare of the farm.

Growing up I always thought that image was absurd, and it made me laugh. Until I realized that it perfectly described my day to day as one of the cogs in the wheels of America's workforce.

Lucky for me, I kind of like writing. And large sheets of paper aren't so bad, either.

Great Salt Lake

2010-09-11T23:41:00.001-06:00

I've been a month at my new job, and I spend most of each day in or either on my way to or from Salt Lake City.

And a few things I've been seeing are reminding me I'm not in Provo anymore:

(M)adam and (St)eve's Erotic Bakery

A homeless man peeing in the middle of the park

Boys with dreadlocks

Girls with dreadlocks

A gayborhood

Alcohol menus

This, on everything from car bumpers to hats to T-shirts to ties to cubicles:

My personal favorite:

And, of course, overheard conversations on the Trax:

Passenger A: "I've read 10 books in my life—all of them in jail. All of them John Grisham."

Passenger B: "I hate Santa Clause. I wish I could kill the b------."
Passenger C: "So you want to kill something that's not real? You'll waste a lot of ammo that way."
Passenger D: (looking around) "Are there any kids on here? If you kill Santa, you'll be killing all the parents in the whole world, 'cuz they is Santa."
Passenger B: "I just hate Christmas."

Passenger C: "I just can't find a religion that is for me."
Passenger D: "Why don't you make up your own?"
Passenger C: "Who do I look like, Joseph Smith?"
Passenger D: "No, you look like someone on hard drugs."
Passenger C: (paranoid whisper) "Hush!"

Race report: Top of Utah Half Marathon 2010

2010-09-04T11:20:00.000-06:00

I think the most important piece of info here is that I met my goals: I finished, and I didn't walk (except through the aid stations while swigging Gatorade)!

I finished in 2:27, which is sooner than I expected! I read before the race that the officials planned to close the course after three and a half hours, and I fretted that I'd still be chugging along at that point and have to cross a long-deserted finish line.

Luckily for me, soon after I crossed the starting line I spotted Green Shirt Lady. As we fell into our respective paces, I noticed she was running just a little faster than I was comfortable with, and I made it my goal to keep up with her so I could take as much advantage as I could of the long downhill portion that made up the first half of the race.

By the time I reached the mile-6 aid station, I'd beaten my 10K time from the Freedom Run 10K I ran in July. I managed to keep Green Shirt Lady in my sights for a couple more miles, until the uphills started, and then I lost her. My pace slowed considerably after that, and I fell in with a new group of friends going about the same speed as me: Flower Headband Girl, Red Shirt Girl, and Camelback Guy. But despite my slowdown, my speed in the first half of the race was enough to get me my under-2:30 finish, which I was ecstatic about!

I learned a lot from the experience, and for my next half (one at the end of October is tempting me) I know what I need to work on:

1. Eating a pre-race breakfast
I hate the feeling of food in my stomach when I run. Before the Freedom Run 10K I ate a small breakfast, hoping it would give me some extra energy during the race, but it only gave me misery, and sat in my stomach like a softball. Before the Top of Utah Half, I had one apple slice and called it good. But for trying to go as fast as I could for 13.1 miles, that wasn't enough! I think I would have felt a lot more energetic during the race if I'd consumed some calories first thing in the morning. As much as my stomach rebels at first, I need to experiment until I find a combination of pre-run foods that work for me.

2. Consuming food and fluids during the race
I also hate the feeling during a run of liquid sloshing around in my stomach. But this summer I started using a handheld water bottle designed for runners recommended to me by a friend. Taking sips of water during a run on hot days made a huge difference! So during the race I made sure to drink a little Gatorade at every station. My body was pretty unused to that, though—I endured about an hour of severe post-race nausea, and I think it was due to the Gatorade. I'll need to get my stomach used to this, too.

3. Sleeping more
The week before the race I was averaging five or six hours a night, and that's not enough. I think a couple full nights of sleep would have made a big difference in the way I felt and performed.

4. Doing speedwork
My goal training for my next half, since I'm comfortable with the distance, is to work on my speed. If I could clock miles just over a minute faster than I did at Top of Utah, I could cut 15 minutes off my time!

5. Having more faith in myself
That I finished more than an hour before I thought I would shows I'm capable of a little more than I think. Next race, I'm going in with an attitude of "I am going to accomplish something amazing!" rather than one of "I hope I don't embarrass myself!"

6. Relaxing and enjoying it all a little more
I was so focused on finishing strong that I didn't take much time to revel in the beautiful scenery and being part of such a supportive crowd of people, particularly the volunteers and sideline spectators who cheered all us racers on our way.

I am ecstatic to add "half marathon finisher" to my running résumé! It's something I've wanted to do for a long time, and I can't wait to try again, knowing what I know now.

Great running songs: 2010 Half Marathon Edition

2010-08-26T17:53:00.003-06:00

During one of my long bus commutes home this week I put together a special half-marathon playlist to get me through the 13.1 miles I'll be taking on this weekend.

Since I'll be running alone (although I will get to pass by a few family members and a great friend who have so awesomely volunteered to staff an aid station on the race course), I'll definitely need the musical companionship.

So here it is, for anyone looking for some great running tunes. The number of songs on this list is evidence of the many, many minutes I estimate it will take me to cross that finish line! (And a few extras to pump me up before the starting gun goes off.)

In no particular order:

Great running songs: 2010 Half Marathon Edition

Dream Big - Ryan Shupe and the Rubber Band
Don't Stop Believin' - Glee Cast
You Can't Always Get What You Want - Glee Cast
Gold Digger - Glee Cast
King of Anything - Sarah Bareilles
Stuck Like Glue - Sugarland
Can't Let Go - Lucinda Williams
Hey Ya - Obadiah Parker
Let It Rock - Kevin Rudolf and Lil Wayne
A Cut Above - Avery Watts
Lose Yourself - Eminem
Not Afraid - Eminem
American Honey - Lady Antebellum
Faith - George Michael
Bad - Michael Jackson
Scream - Michael Jackson
Orinoco Flow - Enya
Suddenly I See - KT Tunstall
Party in the U.S.A. - Miley Cyrus
Ladies' Choice - Zach Efron
Second Chance - Shinedown
Stuck - Stacie Orrico
Signed Sealed Delivered - Rosetta Hightower
Disturbia - Rhianna
Rockstar - Nickelback
Burn It to the Ground - Nickelback
Unwritten - Natasha Bedingfield
Shake Your Pom Pom - Missy Elliot
Boondocks - Little Big Town
Hoodie - Lady Sovereign
That Song In My Head - Julianne Hough
I Want You Back - Jackson Five
MMMBop - Hanson (yeah baby!)
Wild At Heart - Gloriana
Remember the Name - Fort Minor
Rock and Roll - Eric Hutchinson
Survivor - Destiny's Child
Call On Me - Eric Prydz
Mercy - Duffy
Take On Me - a-ha
Roll to Me - Del Amitri
Right Through You - Alanis Morissette
Respect - Aretha Franklin
Run-Around - Blues Traveler
Fighter - Christina Aguilera
Inside Out - Eve 6

What tracks are you loving running to lately?

Once a runner

2010-08-26T17:40:00.002-06:00

Someone once told me that most runners, even if they haven't put in a mile in 10 years, no longer own a pair of running shoes, and have a knee condition that will likely prevent them from ever running again, will still forever consider themselves runners.

After graduating from college and up until this summer, my running was sporadic at best, yet I still checked out the shelf with the running titles when I visited the bookstore and perked up when I heard mention of a road race or a sale on New Balances. And put Healthy Choice Cafe Steamers in my grocery cart because there's a little image of a runner on the package. So yeah, I guess that's true.

I can pinpoint the exact day I stopped running regularly. I'd just completed a 15-mile run as part of a marathon training program and was sitting on Cloud Nine—I'd dreamed of becoming a marathoner ever since I bought my first copy of Runner's World at 15 and seen the images of the strong, capable women, legs churning and ponytails flying, conquering distances some people consider too far to drive. I couldn't believe I was so close to finally becoming one of them.

And then (cue dramatic pause) I hit a bump on Relationship Road. And for some reason, when that happened at that particular moment, something in me went offline. And when whatever that something was went down, it took running with it.

The marathon training stopped. So did all running, in fact. I turned all my focus to the graduate program and new job I'd just started, where the inertia of being tied to a chair in front of computers and books from early morning till late at night made it easy to push running to the bottom of my to-do list (i.e., the part I never quite get to, but intend to someday).

I didn't realize how far I let running get away from me until a few months ago when someone heard me talk about my favorite magazine, Runner's World, and asked in confusion, "Wait, are you a runner?" It really perturbed me that when I hinted I was a runner—something I consider to be an integral, although hiatused, part of who I am—it surprised someone enough to double check if I really was saying what I seemed to be saying.

Am I a RUNNER? I thought. I've run at four in the morning, at eleven at night, in below freezing temps, in burning sun, in wind, in rain, in snow, in sleet, in hail, on roads, on trails, on treadmills, at home, in other states, in other countries, alone, with a friend, with a group, with a crowd. I've gone through enough pairs of running shoes to fill a bathtub. Over the years I swear I've checked out my local library's entire collection of running titles. Hanging over the back of my door is an shoe holder filled with a wide selection well-worn running accessories, everything from a moisture-wicking cold-weather beanie to a nearly empty canister of Body Glide. I even once ran a 10-mile race in under 90 minutes (which isn't fast, and probably not even respectable, but I still count it as one of my life's top-10 moments!). And I have masterfully assembled the greatest collection of running music, um, probably ever!

So I answered that I used to be, blamed my non-runner status on work and studies, and remarked that I was looking forward to graduating so I could pick it back up again. (As if the millions of people who do manage to run are not busy.)

But I knew the question was a fair one, and the skepticism my initial comment was met with became an awakening for me. Because can someone who doesn't run rightly call themselves a runner? Even if they do have an entire shelf devoted to Runner's World back issues? Could I really base my identity on something that wasn't, as much as I wished it was?

Soon after that, fortune intervened and my freshman roommate, Maria, then with around 1.2 kidlets, asked me if I wanted to train with her for a 10K. Three times a week at 5:30 in the morning before her husband went to work. In pre-dawn blackness. And below-freezing temps. I agreed! (I must really like Maria.)

We soon added resistance training on the off days to strengthen our cores. (I can't believe what an enormous difference that made in my running form and endurance.) Before I knew it, we had successfully completed our 10K, and an idea had begun to form in the back of my mind: to run a half marathon at the end of the summer.

Maria (then with around 1.7 kidlets) and I kept up our daily workouts, and I threw in long runs on the weekends of nine, 10, 11, and finally 12 miles.

When I finished my 10-miler, I had one thought: I just ran 10 miles, and really enjoyed it.

I knew then that 13.1 miles was in my grasp, and more importantly, that once again, I was a runner.

Now I'm two days away from running my half marathon.

I feel like all my hard work this summer will culminate with that event, and even though I know I'm not going to be setting any PRs that day (my goal is to finish without walking, nothing more), and that there will be a few difficult moments, I can't wait to experience everything that day will bring.

Because for me, running is living. I think everyone has something that makes them feel alive—mine is running. I love how it feels to go a little farther, a little faster, than I did the day before, to realize I'm driving a long stretch of road I covered on foot, to feel that spent feeling that follows me the rest of the day after a great run, to feel the twinge of achy muscles the next morning reminding me of my hard work. And when running is a part of my life, everything else seems to naturally fall into place. I'm braver, happier, more hopeful. There's just something I love about (rightfully) calling myself a runner.

What makes you feel alive, or that your life is more complete? Have you ever had to reclaim it after letting things less important to you elbow it out? Any race tips for a first-time half marathoner?

Goin' home

2010-08-25T07:29:00.000-06:00

I'm getting ready to take that giant leap into the world of homeowner!

I've been saving up for a down payment the past few years and am looking forward to essentially paying myself (and by that of course I mean my bank's loan division) instead of the great landlord in the sky.

Of course, there's a lot that's going to come along with that: when something breaks, I can't call the property management company to come fix it; I'll be responsible for the property tax and HOA fees and the furnishings and utilities; and there won't be any more moving from place to place if I get bored with or don't really like the location I'm in.

I have a lot to learn about the whole process, and am not quite sure what it is exactly that I want, let alone where in the Salt Lake Valley will be the best fit for me. I'm asking lots of people for their takes and advice, and frequently going back and forth between overly excited and overwhelmed.

For now I'm just taking my time, mulling over my many options, and checking out all the advantages that come with it being a homebuyer's market. And catching episodes every now and then of My First Place and House Hunters on HGTV.

Anyone out there love a particular area of Salt Lake County? Which would you prefer: a smallish house or a townhouse/condo unit? (Or maybe better put: which is the worst evil—not having control over who you share walls with or being responsible to shovel the snow and mow the lawn?) What home features could you not live without?

Wide open spaces

2010-08-25T07:20:00.001-06:00

I am excited about a lot of things about my new job, but there's one thing in particular I'm probably most excited about:

That I get to stay in Utah.

I love Utah. I love the seasons, the incredibly varying and beautiful terrain across the state (especially the mountains) that tourists from all over the world come by the millions to see, the easy access to some of the best recreation out there, the great people.


Photo credit: Dan Ransom, my favorite photographer

Another Dan Ransom masterpiece


This Dan Ransom photo first made me fall in love with his work

I love that I have roots here, that no matter what I accomplish or don't accomplish, how I look, how many people love or hate me, if I bring fame or shame to my heritage and fellow Utah natives, if I build a bloated mansion in the foothills or hoard a waist-high carpet of garbage in my house and pile tires on my front lawn, I will always be one of its people.

In short, I feel like I belong.

And in my experience, belonging is a hard thing to come by!

Because I know from experience that you can sit around a dinner table, or a school cafeteria table, or a conference room table for months or even years and still never feel like you belong.

I think it would be fun to try life outside of Utah, too, and while on the job hunt I looked at opportunities in lots of exciting places.

But I landed here, and I'm just happy that I get to live in the place I love for a few more years.

What places do you love? Is there a place that makes you feel like you belong?

Must be the money

2010-08-23T17:50:00.003-06:00

Last week for work I got to attend the annual Smart Women Smart Money conference in the Salt Palace in downtown Salt Lake City.

The purpose of the conference was to educate women on how to make good choices with their finances and make their money work for them, not just vice versa.

I learned so many great things!

1. You should consume some piece of financial news or information every day. At first a lot of it won't make sense, but over time it will come together, and you'll be surprised at how that simple daily action will affect your life.

2. Budgets are not restrictive, they're empowering. When you follow a budget, you are directing your money exactly where to go and what to do. When you don't, at the end of the month you're fretting trying to figure out where it all went. Because "budget" can have an unpleasant connotation, some presenters suggested calling it a cash-flow or spending plan. All suggested making it realistic, and making sure to include at least some leeway for the things you love.

3. You don't have to live paycheck to paycheck. By setting (and adhering to) a budget, you can ensure you have enough to cover all your expenses and also a little to put away. First, though, you have to be really honest with yourself about where your money is going, and if you don't know, be brave enough to discover and face the truth.

4. Having an emergency fund with enough money with enough to cover three to six months of expenses brings peace of mind. Unexpected bills like a water heater breaking or an expensive car repair don't have to bring panic if you maintain a fund just for those purposes.

5. Your financial decisions should be made by determining your life priorities. Do you want to retire in 10 years? Do you want to buy a home? Do you want to start your own business? Every decision you make regarding your money should bring you closer to your goals.

6. Investments are not something to be scared of. The terminology and concepts can be a little scary, but if you do a little homework to learn the basics, you can be as much of a player in the investment world as anybody else.

7. Women are better investors than men. When it comes to investments, men tend to buy and sell more often in an attempt to control their money. Women, on the other hand, tend to leave things as they are and let their investments grow over time. This results in more earnings in the long run.

I loved that all the information delivered at the conference was geared for women. My dad is a banker, and every time I've had a financial decision to make, I've just asked him what I should do. He always talks me through things and helps me make my own decisions, but I realized at the conference that I use the fact that he knows all about investments and finances as an excuse for me not to worry about understanding (or remembering) how things work. I don't want to cheat myself anymore.

I was really inspired by the thousands of women so earnestly seeking a better financial life. Three of those women are going to be featured on a new Web site, Imagine a Happier You, as part of an initiative by Deseret Media Companies to educate women in ways to improve their financial situations. The three are struggling with debt, budgeting, and investing, respectively, and followers can learn along with them as they receive professional advice and direction for their financial situations.

I'm definitely going to be following along with the woman learning about investing—I want to be more proactive in understanding the world of finance and how it applies to me, especially since my new job has me writing about all kinds of investment terms and concepts I've never heard of before. And as I'm jumping in headfirst, I'm finding that it really isn't as unattainable as I've always thought it was, and that learning how Wall Street works is actually kind of fun.

Do you think it says something about our society that women need their own conference and Web site to learn the basics of money management? When it comes to investing and finances, do you run your own show or do you leave what you can in the hands of someone else? If you do run your own show, how did you pick up the necessary knowledge? Any book or Web site recommendations for someone new to it all like me?

The winds of change are blowin' wild and free

2010-08-15T21:41:00.000-06:00

I'm sitting on my couch, enjoying a kefir smoothie, watching the sun go down, and feeling apprehensive about starting my new job tomorrow!

On Friday I cleaned out the office I've sat in five days a week for the past three years. It still hasn't quite sunk in that I won't be going back on Monday. Or ever.

I keep wondering what tomorrow will hold. If I'll come out okay, or if by the end of the day they'll slap "return to sender" on my forehead and kick me to the curb.

I went into my interviews for this job telling my soon-to-be coworkers that I am a great catch, that I do amazing work and would be the perfect fit for their position. I talked up my education, my experience, my goals. I promised them I could handle anything they wanted to throw at me.

Now I have to live up to all that, and I'm scared I won't!

I have always hated the first day of anything—the first day of school, the first day of camp, the first day of a new housing arrangement—because I hate feeling unsure about my role, about where and how I fit in. The first day of a new job is even worse because you are the only new person among a bunch of people who all know not only each other but also where everything is and how everything works. I don't even know where the bathrooms are.

I keep telling myself that by the end of the day tomorrow, I'll probably feel silly for worrying so much, because I'm about the trillionth person in history who's started a new job. And that a month from now, I'll be beginning to feel like I'm becoming a part of things. I'm anxious to start logging time so I can get to that point.

And I don't have long to wait to get started—my commuter bus leaves at 6:30 a.m.!

Anyone have any tips to making the first few weeks at a new job any easier?

I'm on my way, I'm taking my time

2010-08-09T07:27:00.000-06:00

This weekend I did an 11-mile run as part of the training program I'm doing for a half marathon at the end of the month.

I did it as an out-and-back on a popular trail, and just as I was about to turn around at mile 5.5, I ran smack dab into a few hundred runners who were two or three miles into a half-marathon race. This is what ensued:

When I came face to face with the tsunami of iPod buds, water belts, and spandex, I had no other choice than to turn around and head back down the trail as part of the race. Of course leading the pack were the elite runners, who passed me like I was dead tree rooted in the middle of a river. I quickly worked my way as far over to the side of the trail as I could, but these local racers, who I came to realize were competing for a spot on the 2012 U.S. Olympic track team, were pretty expressive in their exasperation at having to go around me and add a full 1.65 seconds to their final race time. I would like to apologize to these world-class athletes and offer to cover the major corporate sponsorships I cost them by taking up so many square inches of trail space.

Of the approximately 500 runners who passed me during the remainder of run, about 300 had to pass me twice when the race course split from the trail into a two-mile detour, which I didn't take, before rejoining the trail in the spot back where they split. Many of these diligent racers, as they went by me a second time, made sure to look me over for a race number so they could report me for cheating. It was a relief to see that integrity is not dead!

All in all, it was great to spend the morning among the running community!

I have one more long run, a 12 miler, before my training plan says I'm ready for the big race. As frustrating as being caught in that half marathon a couple days ago was, it was good to "break in" my half-marathon racing shoes and get a glimpse of what I'll be up against. Which, according to what I saw, will be a lot of neon-colored muscle shirts and girl-power-themed running skirts. I think I have some shopping to do.

Enter to learn, go forth to serve

2010-08-02T09:44:00.004-06:00

I got a new job! And even though I'm really excited about new opportunities, I'm also pretty sad that for the first time since I graduated from high school (minus a mission and a couple short internships) I won't be working for Brigham Young University.

I've been in my current staff position for the past three years, but I actually started working for BYU just a few weeks after I graduated from high school. And while I spent plenty of time wiping down counters and sanitizing juice machines and pasting endless lists of figures into Excel, I was also really fortunate to be given more weighty tasks at young ages by supervisors who were more interested in helping me develop professionally than in ensuring something was done "right" on the first pass.

My first part-time job at BYU, one I had until I went on my mission, was as a public relations assistant for a large campus department working for someone who told me when she hired me that she was "taking a chance" on me because I was so young and inexperienced.

When I approached her with a question on the first assignment she gave me, she taught me a lesson I've never forgotten. She said, "When I give you an assignment, it's up to you, not me, to figure out how to get it done. I need my employees to solve problems on their own, not come to me for a list of steps."

I couldn't believe she'd put so much trust in me—I'd had jobs in high school, and none of my supervisors had ever wanted me to do anything but follow their prescribed (and very exacting) processes. But following her admonition, I found to my surprise that I WAS able to use my brain and figure things out on my own. I've used that principle SO many times in my many work assignments since, and it's served me well.

That was just one example of the many times she, and the other wonderful supervisors I had as a student at BYU, chose to treat me not as the minimum wage employee that I was but the future professional I hoped to be.

(And interestingly enough, the responsibilities I had working for her—technical writing, marketing writing, layout design, and editing—are the EXACT ones I will have in my new job. And when I worked at the MTC after my mission, I wrote and layout designed a newsletter, and I'll be doing that in my new job, too. Funny how the things you fall into early on sometimes predict what you end up doing later.)

But my favorite job at BYU—hands down—was working in the Senior MTC cafeteria. I loved the senior missionaries, and I still remember some of the nice interactions I had with them. I loved being a part (a tiny part) of their mission preparation, and I got a lot of joy from trying to make their mealtime experiences—the only breaks they got in the day—pleasant ones.

What I loved most about that job, though, were the people I got to work with every day. One was a grandmother from Salem, Utah, who had worked there her entire career. Every day she would drive her old car the 30-mile distance to be there by 5:15 a.m. I would join her at 5:30, and together we would set up, serve, and clean up breakfast and get started on lunch preparations. Day in and day out she showed up with a smile and a no-nonsense attitude. She went about her unglamorous, no-recognition duties with a sense of pride and purpose.

I learned so much the two summers I got to work with and observe her about the difference between what the world says deserves accolades and what really does.

Everywhere I've worked at BYU I've been fortunate to spend time with people just like my Senior MTC mentor—humble people who love using their talents to build up a university whose mission and students they really believe in. People who show up day after day willing to do whatever's asked of them. People who see the difference a top-tier education founded on Christ's teachings can make in the life of an individual, and who want to do their small part in making it happen for as many people as possible. People who, even though they may not teach students in classrooms, still make it their mission to encourage the development of those younger and less experienced by trusting in their ability to learn.

I've heard it said that to work for BYU or the Church you have to have a rock-solid testimony, else you'll go apostate from encountering real human beings running a Church-sponsored institution and interacting with each other in really human ways.

I'm not saying that I didn't experience a few choice moments, as anyone would anywhere, but what I've found way more often is evidence that the Lord uses as instruments humble people involved in the small, day-to-day details of His university as much as He does those making the big-picture decisions. I've even felt inspiration come to me in my own mundane duties in my own low stations, and that's strengthened my testimony immeasurably.

I can't sum up in just a few words what BYU means to me and all I've experienced being part of its inner workings, not to mention the million ways I've been changed by attending classes and presentations and church meetings in its buildings. What I can say is that it has been a privilege to serve, learn, and grow as a BYU student and employee, and I feel lucky to have been associated with such a wonderful place.

I can't wait to see what amazing moments the next phase of my life will hold.

(And to see how it goes over with my BYU-loving friends and family when they find out that although I won't technically be a staffer, my next paycheck is coming from a certain crimson university up north.)

Goodbye BYU, and thanks.

I see your true colors

2010-07-27T07:10:00.000-06:00

For the past year I've been playing the piano in my ward's sacrament meeting every other week. I love the clear-toned grand I get to play. But also at the front of the chapel is a top-of-the-line pipe organ that sits forever dusty and unused because nobody knows how to play it. The stake president thinks that's a tragedy, and has been encouraging the stake's pianists to learn to accompany sacrament meeting hymns on the organ.

I never acted on his suggestion, though, because I wasn't quite sure how one goes from this:

To this:

Without feeling too much like this:

And besides, I thought, the piano is a beautiful instrument. It should be enough, right?

But on Sunday the sweet stake music consultant offered to give me a one-time organ lesson.

One time? For an instrument that requires each hand and each foot to play a different keyboard?

"Forget the foot pedals," she told me, "and 95 percent of the knobs and buttons. All you need to know is these four knobs labeled 6, 7, 8, and 9. And how to turn the volume up and down. You already know how to play the piano, so if you can get those two concepts down, and remember to glide your fingers instead of striking them like you do on a piano, you can play the organ."

I watched and listened to her play a soft prelude (knob 6) and a rousing march (knob 9). Glorious music filled the empty chapel, and I felt like I was listening to a solo on the Salt Lake Tabernacle's magnificent organ. I was surprised at how much dimension and grandeur the pipes added to the hymns she was playing. The strains felt even more worshipful, even more sacred.

"That's all it takes," she said. "Your turn!"

I gave it a try, and she was right—with her few simple instructions, I could play the organ. I couldn't believe it. I was elated!

Later that day I thought about the experience, and that I had never even supposed I'd had it in me all along to play the majestic instrument resting dormant just a few feet away from the trusty piano I plunked out my notes on week after week.

Sometimes I get caught up in negative messages I hear, like

you are not clever enough to
you are not capable of
you lack the talent to
you are silly to think that you could ever
you are not as good as
you will never be able to

And I have a hard time seeing beyond them.

But my one-time organ lesson got me thinking that even though some of those messages are probably true, maybe hidden inside me are abilities that have been in me all along, ones I maybe just haven't quite unearthed yet, whatever they are. And that maybe it sometimes takes some kind of divining rod, like my stake's music consultant, to have faith that they're there, even when I don't, and lead me to to where they're hidden.

I'm so glad for the "divining rods" in my life who come along when I least expect them to and show faith in my abilities, even those yet undiscovered, when I believe in them least. Who remind me when I hear too many can'ts and will nevers that I can, that I will. And who make me want to be a divining rod for someone else.

Anti-talented

2010-07-19T04:27:00.000-06:00

I believe everyone in the world is born with at least one or two innate talents—things they can do well without much practice or effort. Like my dad, who can play, by ear, a beautiful rendition of any song you name, no music required. Or a crafty friend who can take a paper punch, a wet newspaper, and half a shoebox and make a festive holiday wreath that goes for $45 on Etsy.

I also believe that some of us more favored individuals are blessed with one or two innate anti-talents—the ability to stink at something despite any amount of practice or effort. For some, it's understanding the phrase "10 items or less." For others, it's getting the gist of the whole slow lane/fast lane thing.

For me, it's cooking. In all fairness to my mother, an excellent cook, you should know that she taught me how to plan a meal, measure and combine ingredients, and apply heat. Even at this late stage she hasn't given up—she still invites me to come over on Sunday afternoons and "learn a recipe." Sometimes I take her up on that. Unfortunately, when she follows the steps of the recipe, we all get to eat a delicious dish. When I follow the steps, we chew warily and blame the oven.

Tonight I was reminded yet again of my anti-talent when I was faced with the feat of making a batch of Rice Krispies, arguably one of the simplest recipes in the history of mankind along with Top Ramen and Easy Mac.

I would like to share with you my recipe, not so you can replicate what I did but instead avoid at all costs the experience I have just experienced.

Marla's M&M Rice Krispies

Ingredients

1 box Rice Krispies
1 bag marshmallows
1 bag M&Ms
1/2 cup butter

Directions

Step 1: Fiddle apprehensively with knobs on gas-burning stove. Fill apartment with smell of propane. Singe arm hair.

Step 2: Melt butter in saucepan. Burn butter. Butter burns? Apparently so.

Step 3: Dump bag of marshmallows in butter-filled saucepan. Burn part of the marshmallow bag on range burner. Try to scrape off melted plastic with metal spatula; coat spatula in said plastic.

Step 4: Search through kitchen cupboards for appropriately sized bowl; shatter roommate's beautiful serving dish, the one she said she was saving until she was married but recently decided, nah, I'm not going to keep things stored away while life passes me by, I'm going to use it! Sweep up shards and estimate how much money you owe her. Realize in a flash of exasperation that you don't need a bowl to make Rice Krispies.

Step 5: While searching for bowl, forget about the marshmallows. Burn marshmallows.

Step 6: Pour Rice Krispies in saucepan. Stir. Watch in horror as Rice Krispie nebulae stealthily envelops your hand in a parasitical host takeover.

Step 7: Hyperventilate as fingers stick together in a hardening mitten of Rice Krispie.

Step 8: Try to open bag of M&Ms with your Rice Krispie Mickey Mouse fists. Manage to tear off a small corner of the bag; watch it promptly disappear forever into the Rice Krispie blob. Curse General Mills' recipe division.

Step 9: Retrieve 9x11 baking pan from cupboard. Leave a sticky glob of marshmallowed Rice Krispies everywhere you touch.

Step 10: Press the Rice Krispie cancer into baking pan. Process will be like trying to fit a sleeping bag back into the cover it came in—the more you press down, the more it comes back out. At this point you will no longer be able to distinguish your arm from Rice Krispie mixture. This is normal.

Step 11: Put arm under running water tap to wash off Rice Krispie cast. Realize that a spritz of water on your palm is all you needed to keep Rice Krispie from sticking to it.

Step 12: Admire your handiwork; reflect on the joy of cooking.

In Outliers Malcolm Gladwell says that doing anything for 10,000 hours will make you an expert.

So in following that rule, if that whole Rice Krispie ordeal took me about one hour from start to finish (not counting the scraping of cooled melted plastic from various surfaces in my kitchen)—9,999 more attempts should net me a final product Julia Child herself would approve, right?

Or does that estimate neglect to take into account someone as anti-talented as me? Would adding a couple more digits to that figure be a little more realistic?

Do you believe in anti-talents? Is there anything you consider yourself anti-talented at? Is it something you think you could master with enough effort and time?

Debbie downer

2010-07-18T20:09:00.000-06:00

So I realize my last couple of posts have been a little . . . downish.

But I have good reason—this month hasn't been the greatest. For example, I:

Hopped on the overcrowded (as in India train overcrowded) job-search rollercoaster-'o-fun
Received a wedding announcement from an old flame (not a Facebook announcement, or a mandatory for-everyone-in-the-neighborhood copy—a hand-addressed, postage-stamped, take-that! proclamation of their love for someone else)
Went to the local bike shop to join their "women's only" ride for the first time, which staffers assured me was at the "whatever level you're at" level of difficulty, only to realize a miscommunication had occurred when I saw the U.S. Women's Cycling Team roll up—and that it's going to take about $2,500 worth of bike and biking attire before I'll have the courage to stop cowering in fear from behind my steering wheel and get out of my car to join them
Spent much of the month sore from Thera-Ball workouts
Was unexpectedly released from a church calling I had just. figured. out.
Spent 1.5 hours on the phone with Comcast
Cried (incident non-Comcast-related)

I think to get out of this funk, I need to focus on a few of the good things that happened, instead. Like, for example, I:

Was ecstatic that my little sister came home for a couple weeks between her first and second years of law school
Replaced my gutless wonder of a blender with one that works beautifully
Also bought a food processor (and am proud that my kitchenware now takes up more than one square foot of cupboard space)
Ran the Freedom Run 10K
Had the best view of Stadium of Fire fireworks in the valley—my back porch
Had my first post-masters job interview
Discovered the magic of the foam roller
Made a beaded watch band
Learned from Pantry Secrets how to make homemade bread in less than an hour and for 25 cents a loaf
Was reminded daily that I have the best two roommates ever
Saw the beyond-hilarious movie Idiocracy
Caught a couple episodes of my favorite guilty-pleasure reality TV show, Billy the Exterminator
Went on a weekend girls-only trip with family

I'm so glad to see that second list was longer than the first! Hope you are having a month with more good than bad things to report, too.

A way to calm the angry voice

2010-07-13T22:17:00.000-06:00

Can anyone say it quite like Alanis Morissette?

Jagged Little Pill was one of the only "cool" CDs I owned growing up—thinking back on that today, now that I, um, understand some of the lyrics a little better, I'm kind of surprised my mom agreed to buy it for me. I kept it on my bookshelf sandwiched between my other two CDs, the Free Willy and Cool Runnings soundtracks (they are both awesome, okay?).

Not too long after I got it, I remember following along with the lyrics in the CD jacket while listening to the tracks play and feeling really grown up. Those lyrics had meaning for me even as an uber-naïve Mormon Belt middle schooler, and 15 years later I still think Alanis is one of the most talented and insightful performers out there.

The thing I love about her most is the unique way she conveys emotion with her voice.

I learned once in an art class that modern artists—the ones who paint a dot on a sheet of blank paper, as a result change the world of art as we know it, and then sell the masterpiece for hundreds of thousands of dollars—CAN paint with great technical skill like the masters of old, but they choose to create art in different, often to the untrained eye simpler, ways in order to convey new messages.

I think it kind of works the same way with Alanis—she's an exceptionally talented singer, but she isn't singing the seamless, highly processed Faith Hill ballads or the highly-marketable Julie Andrews masterpieces of perfection—she's belting out her feelings, deliberately using a shaky voice, shouting, near-whispers, and tons of other conventions many singers don't touch. There is no other singer like her.

I also think she's a great writer. For example check out the lyrics to "Perfect":

If that doesn't speak to the merciless high achiever inside you, I don't know what will.

And if any modern woman can't find at least a couple nuggets of truth in "Right Through You" ("Wait a minute man / you mispronounced my name / you didn't wait for all the information before you turned me away"), I want your life.

And who hasn't experienced a "Mr. Play it Safe was afraid to fly / He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye / He waited his whole darn life to take that flight / And as the plane crashed down he thought, 'Well, isn't this nice?' / And isn't it ironic, don't you think?" moment?

Spin Alanis the next time you are feeling angry, or hurt, or powerless, and you'll feel like those feelings have been given a voice. I don't know why, but sometimes hearing her voice express what's going on inside me makes me feel better. At least a few others may feel the same—Jagged Little Pill is one of the best-selling albums of all time.

I love artists like Alanis who have become successful not by being a next-generation someone or a carbon-copy someone else but by being 100 percent their own unique selves. I think there's a lesson for me in that somewhere.

Toxic waste

2010-07-13T07:36:00.004-06:00

There are all kinds of people, but I think at opposite ends of the scale are nourishing people and toxic people.

I love nourishing people. They are the ones that smile at you, and ask you how everything is going, and leave muffins on your porch with a note that says, "You are wonderful!" (This happens all the time in Provo, I swear.)

One interaction with a nourishing person can lift me for two or three days. I keep notes with nice compliments people write to me for months, maybe even years, and re-read them when I have a bad day. Seeing a nourishing person coming my way makes me glad I happen to be standing where I am.

I admire nourishing people, and I want to be around them. And I want to be one, too.

What makes a nourishing person?

Nourishing people appreciate everyone for their own unique strengths.
Nourishing people remember that everyone (including them) has weaknesses.
Nourishing people look for—and find—the good in others.
Nourishing people attribute mistakes, foibles, and idiosyncrasies to being human.
Nourishing people don't sort people into fast categories.
Nourishing people allow—and expect—people to grow and change for the better.
Nourishing people forgive and forget.
Nourishing people listen to your words, but try to hear what you're really saying.
Nourishing people welcome, and don't exclude.
Nourishing people speak up in behalf of others, even when it doesn't directly benefit them, or might even be an inconvenience.
Nourishing people want everyone to get ahead, not just them.

Wouldn't it be great if everyone was nourishing all the time? If you could go through life knowing that the people you interacted with were looking for the good in you, and overlooking your flaws?

Yeah, that would be nice.

But that idea is pretty far from reality. Because it's inevitable that you'll have at least a few run-ins with somebody toxic.

How do you spot a toxic person?

Toxic people do not want you to change, grow, or succeed—if they think it might diminish them. And in their eyes, it almost always does.
Toxic people prefer passive aggression over honest conversation.
Toxic people put everyone in three categories: "I love," "I hate," "I haven't met."
Toxic people will defend those they've consider their allies for enormous errors and vilify those who've crossed them for the smallest mistakes.
Toxic people treat strangers with more kindness than most of the people they actually know.
Toxic people remember—and recount often—every detail of every wrong ever done them.
Toxic people are quick to point out the negative side of any situation.
Toxic people get their feeling of importance by being better, smarter, more knowledgeable, more attractive, better liked, wiser, and faster than anyone else. And assume that your purpose in life is to reinforce that by being less than them in every category.
Toxic people speak out of both sides of their mouth.
Toxic people assign you a personality and never let you change.
Toxic people will bend the truth to suit their purposes.
Toxic people cannot empathize.
Toxic people put down any way of thinking that isn't their own.
Toxic people plot ways to use your weaknesses against you.
Toxic people consider your inadequacies permanent.
Toxic people go out of their way to remind you, and anyone else who will listen, how bad they know you suck!

I think there's good in everyone, that even the best people are probably a little bit toxic every now and then, and that even the worst have a nourishing side, if the conditions are right. And I know I myself have been the guilty party behind more than a few toxic moments.

But how do people who go with toxicity as their modus operandi get to be that way? Is it through being mistreated themselves? Or is it a choice? What do they think being that way might get them, or what do they think they've lost that gives them the right to be that way?

So far, I've found a couple ways to deal with toxic people:

1. Saying to myself, "Lucky me—I have a first-row ticket to observe someone I never want to be like."

2. Remembering their humanity by picturing the toxic person as a baby, and trying to picture their mother at that very moment fondly gazing at a photo of their infant likeness:

3. Running from them as fast as I can, as far away as I can. And then staying there!

Do you believe people can be "toxic"? If so, what do you do, or not do, when you encounter them? Is it possible to recognize if you yourself are a toxic person, and if so, how do you tell?

Race report: Freedom Festival 10K

2010-07-10T10:24:00.000-06:00

Until today I was planning to make this race report all about my 18-week training plan (perfect), how I felt before and after the race (anxious and relieved, respectively), the course (too big of a hill at the end), the weather (not too hot), the race organization (excellent), my time (1:12), the T-shirt (awesome), and all the other stuff I like to read in others' race reports.

But because of something that happened today, I think I'm going to take a different approach.

The race I ran on Monday was Provo's Freedom Run 10K, which, if you don't speak K, is 6.2 miles.

It was the second time I'd run that particular race, and the third or fourth time I've run a 10K.

A couple days before the race, a well-meaning individual, when they heard I had been training for it, asked me with more than a hint of doubt in their voice, "Do you really think you can run that far?"

I didn't think much of it at the time, because I knew it wasn't meant unkindly.

But when I mentioned the question to my running partner, Maria, just minutes before the start of the race as a way of encapsulating my own pre-race anxieties, she was indignant, if not full-out mad, that someone had so plainly expressed doubt in my abilities to reach a goal I had set for myself and worked so hard to reach. She told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to tune out that kind of talk.

I was surprised by her strong words, but I didn't think about them again until today, when I mentioned to someone else that my next goal is to run the Top of Utah Half Marathon at the end of August, and that person expressed concern that my goal was a little too lofty and said that I'd likely bitten off more than I could chew. I told them I'd run other races before, including a 10-miler, but they were still skeptical, insinuating, "Well, we'll see."

I immediately started second guessing my plan, convinced I'd made a big mistake, and felt stupid for thinking I really could run that race. I was just writing off the money I'd laid down to register when Maria's words came back to me, and in my mind popped the one comment I hear almost everyone say after they participate in or observe a road race for the first time:

There is not just one type of runner.

Anyone who watched the thousands of racers go by in the Freedom Run could back me up on that. Runners came in all shapes and sizes and ages and speeds and abilities and athletic backgrounds and genders and ethnicities. Some of the runners who looked like they'd be the most athletic were dragging their feet at the back of the pack, and some of the ones who looked like they'd be among the first to drop out were the most tenacious, never walking a single step.

I've been thinking a lot lately about that second group of people (of which I happen to be a lifelong member), and the concept of resiliency. Which is the desire to keep playing the game of life after it hits you with that "Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200" card. It's the inner well I draw from when defeat and discouragement and failure and rejection have pushed me down to get the strength to stand back up.

I had to dig down pretty deep in that well today, but I came up with a strong resolve to prove to the individual who meted out that gloomy assessment of my half-marathon-finishing abilities that their analysis is way off, that you can't judge a book by its cover, and that even if I end up having to limp the entire last half, I am going to finish that race!

One of my favorite things about the Freedom Run is what it represents. I see the thousands of runners coming together to do something they love, whether they do it well or not, or look like they "should" be doing it or not. I see the thousands more friends, family, and strangers lining the streets cheer them on as they pass. And as I run in the midst of all that, I feel like I belong, that I can keep running, that I can finish.

Of course, wearing rockin' socks that induced cheers from the sidelines as we passed didn't hurt in the effort to get to the end:

Thanks, Maria, for all the pre-6 a.m. runs, motivating me to reignite my running habit, and the invitation to run this year's Freedom Run!

I feel so far from where I've been

2010-07-08T10:01:00.002-06:00

Have you ever seen a binary fractal tree?

I have, from a distance. I can't get too close to anything with a name like that, because I'm allergic to math. Really. I keep an Epi-pen in my purse in the event that I come in contact with a computation and my throat closes up.

A binary fractal tree is what happens when math magic is applied to a line, making it split into two, and then two again, etc., etc., etc., on and on forever:

I started thinking about binary fractal trees today when I reflected on a decision I'd made a few years ago that, even though it seemed pretty insignificant at the time, majorly altered the course of my life. I wondered where I'd be today if, back then, I'd decided differently.

It got me thinking about some other seemingly insignificant decisions I've made—like where to live, what to study, where to work, who to date—that turned out to have big ripple effects, and I realized that each of my decisions represents a split of a line on a fractal tree. One side of the split represents where I've chosen to go, the other side where I might have gone. Each branch leads to a different set of circumstances and possibilities.

From my vantage point on the tip of one of those fractal branches, I see the other branches multiplying into an ever-growing canopy, and I wonder what it would be like to be perched on one of those, instead. Where would I be right now? What would I be doing? Who would my friends be? What would I look like? It's kind of fun to think about. But also a little disconcerting. Especially at this particular moment, when my post-graduation life isn't shaping up to be quite what I envisioned it.

I once watched a friend use a special computer program that draws binary fractal trees. After programming in the points of a shape and how he wanted it to fracture, we watched it divide infinitely upon itself, only appearing to stop because the splitting lines became too small for the eye to see. The shape only moved forward, never back. The fact that life appears to work the same way is what sometimes makes decision making so frustrating. So many times I've wished I could go back and relive a certain moment over again, to face a certain decision again and make a different choice. But I am where I am, and need to make the best of it. For now. Because sooner or later I'm going to have to make another decision. And another, and another, which will carry me farther and farther along, all the time.

But I wonder also about that belief some people call fate or destiny. Isn't it true that there might be one general end in store for you, and that no matter what decisions you make, as long you're trying to do your best, and do mostly good, you'll end up where you're supposed to end up? That there may be an infinite number of roads that go to the same place?

I believe that, too, in a way—I believe in a Grander Plan, and influence from a benevolent Behind-the-Scenes Force, that everyone has a special mission in life and that unique gifts and talents qualify each one of us to contribute good in some meaningful way. And I've seen it in action as I've watched friends and family grow into themselves, years of seemingly unconnected and random experiences suddenly crystallizing into some grand purpose, an opportunity to do the thing they seemed destined to do, to make a difference in a way only they can.

I'm just struggling to convince myself, while I feel like I'm wedged in the row next to the coach bathroom on an endless, turbulent 747 flight, not even sure what my final destination is, let alone why I'm headed there, that the same thing might one day happen to me. Because right now I'm feeling a little bit lost and adrift, like maybe at some point I took the wrong fork of a fractal branch, and have landed in a place where I don't matter much or have anything of value to offer. And that maybe I really belong somewhere on the other side of that fractal tree, over where people have great jobs and security and little families and great hair, and that if a few years ago I'd just gone this way instead of that, I'd be there now.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll look back on this time in my life and wish I'd been more carefree, more appreciative of the freedom of choice I have, the room I have to make mistakes, and try again, and even start over, if necessary. There are million possibilities open to me, right? Can't I go anywhere, do anything, be anybody?

I think I might be more like that if I could just have some assurance that despite all the choices I wish in hindsight I could get a do-over on, I still am headed in a good direction, that there is meaning in the madness, that some of the work and sacrifices I've made haven't been for nothing. But I guess that's part of life, trusting that Someone overhead is letting you choose which forks in the road to take, all the while gently guiding you this way or that to make sure you don't end up in a bad part of town.

Storytime

2010-06-30T09:27:00.001-06:00

As a kid I loved reading the stories in the Friend and the New Era, the LDS Church's monthly magazines for children and teenagers, respectively.

Of those many stories and pictures I loved, most have faded from my memory, but there are a handful that have stuck with me all these years. And there's one in particular that I can say is truly my favorite of all of them. It's also one that's influenced me quite a bit, and still continues to!

I thought about it today when some random train of thought triggered the memory of a negative experience I'd had that I was still a little mad about. Or a lot mad about.

And that reminded me of some other injustice I was still stewing over, which brought to mind another time I was really upset...

And before I knew it, my happy mood had descended into bitterness and hurt and regret.

And that's when I thought of this little story, which always swoops in to rescue me just before I head down to the military surplus and stock up on supplies for building the private wilderness bunker I've decided to live out the remainder of my sorry existence in.

It's a piece of fiction by Larry A. Hiller called "Pockets Full of Rocks," and it's about a guy who starts collecting a rock each time someone offends or mistreats him. You probably see where this is going, but I won't say any more, because it's worth discovering on your own!

I hope the beautiful illustrations accompanying the original printing of the story will be added someday to the digitized version on LDS.org! They were half the magic.

Reading my mind

2010-06-25T09:50:00.005-06:00

I'm a perfect candidate for an iPad, because so many of my favorite things to read are published on the Web. But because I'm neither (a) rich, (b) likely to inherit or get access to one, or (c) willing to charge one on a credit card, I fear the only times in the near future I'll get to do any finger scrolling is at the BYU Bookstore iPad display. Yes, I've spent a little time there, and I can so picture myself consuming Web content in all kinds of odd places, and looking really tech-savvy while doing it.

For now I'll just have to be content to use my laptop! So what on the Internet am I most loving to read these days? Here's a list of some of my favorite sites to check in on:

Orson Scott Card's In the Village columns
OSC authored the modern classic Ender's Game and the Ender's Game series. He also wrote the Women of Genesis books. But he writes much more than fiction—and if you're not reading his columns over at Mormon Times, you are missing out!

In my opinion he is one of the few widely-read voices on the Internet right now (that I know of) that voices the common-sense, mainstream LDS point of view. Not that I don't like reading what people who think differently than me have to say, but sometimes it's nice to read commentary by someone smarter and more insightful than me whose point of view is colored by the same influences as mine. To me, OSC is that.

Great columns of his I've saved include:

Women deserve honesty: don't act like the TV singles
Sometimes gossip can be good
Criticize spouse tactfully
The right way to run a meeting
Is dating really the only way?

(By the way, I think it is incredibly cool that, according to rumor, not only do I work in the same BYU department Orson Scott Card did when he wrote the short story version of Ender's Game that became the basis for his future works, I do the same job he did. No short stories of my own in the works, though!)

He also writes essays, movie reviews, thoughts about writing, and opinions on current news events on his Web site Hatrack River, which I like to visit every now and then.

New York Times article skimmer

I love slipping on a tweed jacket, sipping some herbal tea, acting like I'm sitting on the balcony of a New York high rise, and reading New York Times articles on this great little browser app.

For some reason, it makes reading New York Times articles much less daunting than when I check out their Web page or, in rare cases, their actual newspaper. Plus, it's nice to know that at any moment, you could interject into a conversion, "I read something interesting about that in the Times this morning..." Ha ha!

Mormon Life
I might be a little biased, as these guys picked up one of my pieces a few months ago, but I love this site! They scour the LDS-related content posted all over the Web each day and link to what they consider worth reading. There is a lot of great writing and insight out there, and this site pulls it all in one place and makes it easy to find. (Segullah posts often appear here, another site I love to check out.)

Google Reader

I can't imagine my reading life without Google Reader! I am shocked when I find out someone who reads blogs doesn't use a feed aggregator like Google Reader. With Google Reader, new posts on blogs I follow pop up kind of like new e-mails, and that way I don't have to keep checking a site over and over to see if new content's been posted. And by analyzing on the kinds of feeds you're already subscribed to, Google Reader also pumps out recommendations of other blogs you might be interested in following. I've discovered a few cool blogs that way.

Google Reader helps me stay on top of some excellent sources of information that benefit me both professionally and personally—I keep up with national and local news stories, trade and technology pubs, some of the feeds available on official LDS Church sites, new job postings, and a few running, biking, and cooking blogs. (Check out my blogroll for some of my current faves.) And of course the blogs of my friends and family! Whatever you're interested in or want to keep up on, I guarantee there are some great blogs out there providing content about it, and you can follow them all in just a few minutes a week using Google Reader.

Another cool feature of Google Reader is that you can share items you like with others and follow the shared items of your friends and colleagues.

Arts & Letters Daily

Don't go on this site unless you want to be sucked in for the next hour! It features an endless list of interesting, high quality essays, commentary, articles, columns, book reviews, and much more available on the Net. The list of links on the left sidebar of the best newspapers, magazines, columns, blogs, and Web sites is enough to keep me happily clicking and reading for the rest of my life.

Runner's World
This list would not be complete without what is arguably my favorite site on the Web. I LOVE reading the articles in the archive, blogs (it hosts blogs by Dean Karnazes, Kristin Armstrong, and an awesome one called RW Daily written by Runner's World editors), recipes, and yes, I admit it, sometimes even the message boards.

I love to visit the site's What Should I Wear? page: plug in the temp, weather and wind conditions, and how warm or cool you like to be when running, and it tells you exactly how many layers you should wear. It also has a bunch of calculators, including one that shoots out a customized training plan; a Races & Places feature that helps you find running routes, road and trail races around the world, and even plan running vacations; a tool that diagnoses running injuries; and even an app that narrows your search for the perfect pair of running shoes.

The only problem I have with this site is that sometimes I feel stupid reading a Web site about running instead of actually going running.

Happy reading!

What sites are staples of your Internet diet? Do you use a feed aggregator? And one more topic to bring up: Because I find so much interesting content on the Web, these days I'm reading fewer physical books, newspapers, and magazines than I used to. Have you noticed the same? Do you think the quality and worth of Internet writing and information is less, equal to, or more than that found in published materials you can hold in your hands?

Under pressure

2010-06-24T10:55:00.003-06:00

A couple months ago I started feeling really sick every time I ate and couldn't figure out why. At first I thought it was the flu, and then I thought it might be a reaction to a certain food, and then I gave up and went to the doctor in case it was an ulcer or something. The diagnosis (at least for now) is that I've developed one of those mysterious ailments that flares up when stress is at it's highest.

I haven't thought much about stress much until now, because what day and season in my life's history hasn't had plenty of stress, but for whatever reason it's now suddenly started affecting me, I've been forced to teach myself how to recognize and deal with it. And now that I'm looking for it, I realize that stress shows up a lot more than I realized!

So I've been reading up on stress management and trying to put into practice some preventative techniques. Here are some that have really helped (only wish I'd been doing them all along!):

1. Breathe
As soon as I realize I'm starting to get worked up about something, I drop my shoulders and inhale deeply. I'm not sure what this does physiologically, but it's done wonders in preventing my stress from taking over my body (and stomach).

2. Use a planner
For some reason, having all my to-dos written down, even though it can be discouraging to see such a long list, helps me relax. I think it might be because I know no must-do tasks or deadlines are going to slip by forgotten.

3. Let things go
When my mind starts agonizing over—and over and over—how I could have done something better, or said something differently, I just try to internalize whatever lesson there is to learn and quickly move on.

4. Move
Luckily, my stomach problems usually show up at the end of the day, so most mornings I feel fine to go for a run or bike ride. When I anticipate a busy day with lots of potential stressful situations, I make sure not to miss it, and it really makes a difference.

5. Just say no
I sometimes think I need to agree with others' opinions and plans in order to be likable, and this gets me in sitcom-esque situations I could have avoided had I just set boundaries from the beginning. Now that I've been practicing, I'm convinced saying no is a legitimate skill that I can get better at. And as I've said no to a few things I never would have before, I've been pleasantly surprised to find that most people I've said no to haven't seemed to like me any less. And it's an empowering feeling to realize I really can—and should—set my own limits.

6. Speak up
I too often think those in authority over me should be clairvoyantly aware of when I'm upset or overwhelmed. And then I start resenting them when they don't say anything or offer to fix things. I've learned this past year that unless I speak up, they have no idea what's going on. (And how could they?) This has been the hardest one for me so far, because I've typically equated speaking up with complaining or whining or not being able to handle things myself, but now I'm getting pretty good at saying what's on my mind before it stews there too long. And in most cases, although not all (and that's okay), I've found that they are glad I said my peace and are happy to offer their assistance in helping me figure things out.

7. Pause between tasks
When I have a lot of things going on, I rush from Task A to Task B all the way down to Task Z without taking a break, and then crash at bedtime. If I instead take a few minutes to sit down and breathe between each thing I need to do, I feel a lot better at the end of the day, and it makes long days filled with hard tasks easier to tackle and get through.

8. Spread the love
Sometimes I feel guilty about asking other people to help me with things, particularly in regard to church callings. I know I'm busy, and so I assume they are too, and don't feel great about asking them to add more to their plate. But it's really not fair to them, or to me, to take it all on myself. I'm still working on this one, though. It's not easy!

9. Be realistic
More than a few times I've caught myself getting anxious over things I can't control, like traffic, or late start or end times, or a poorly organized function. Or how others are feeling. This one's hard, too, but I'm getting better at reminding myself that I can only do what I can do, and the rest is up to others. And that I should just go with the flow, because whether I go through the day anxious or go through the day relaxed, I'm still going to end up at the same place when it's over.

10. Put on some music!
There's something about certain strains of music I love that make me feel instantly more relaxed. Favorites: Alison Krauss, Nikel Creek, Chris Thile, Dixie Chicks, Eva Cassidy. And while I'm not a huge classical music buff, a few classical tunes make me feel more relaxed and in control (and more high-brow than I really am): Vivaldi's The Four Seasons (the recording of the Israeli Philharmonic Orchestra with Itzhak Perlman is the BEST ONE), Beethoven's 7th Symphony in A Major, 2nd movement (this is the one Mr. Holland plays for his class in Mr. Holland's Opus while he talks about Beethoven's deafness), and anything by Chopin. And NOTHING busts stress more than cranking up my iPod filled with top-40 and bubble-gum-pop hits and going for a walk, run, or bike ride!

Kitchen conundrum

2010-06-24T08:03:00.000-06:00

When I last moved, I realized that even though it's been almost 10 years since I left home, all my kitchen stuff fits in one plastic grocery sack. And that includes a full-size blender.

When I left for college my parents made sure I was fully stocked with hand-me-down plates, baking pans, utensils, spatulas, mixing bowls, measuring cups, etc., but as I've moved from apartment to apartment to apartment, one by one they've all been lost, eternally borrowed, or accidentally left behind, apparently without much notice or heartbreak from me.

What does my paltry collection of kitchen tools say about my state of adulthood? At 28 shouldn't I be packing around a little more than a paring knife and a pan?

And is my meager collection of kitchen supplies really what's bothering me?

What signifies adulthood? Certain possessions or responsibilities? A diploma? A full-time job? A mortgage? A spouse? Kids? A state of mind? A respected opinion? Some combination of it all? I guess what I'm asking is, how do you know if where you are on the "path of life" is okay, or if you are lagging behind?

That was 14 questions in a row. And the perfect way to sum up what my life feels like right now—an endless series of question marks!

I think I'm gonna like it here

2010-06-23T23:45:00.000-06:00

I've had a Visa card since I first went to college, and I use it mostly for Internet orders, travel, and textbooks. I hadn't made a late payment until last week, when I forgot the deadline logged onto the site I use to make payments one day too late. There it was—automatic $39 late fee! Or maybe better put, a $39 stupidity tax.

I was sick that my oversight had caused so much of my money to instantly vanish into thin air, so I decided to call Visa and just ask if there was anything that could be done. (What was I out, right?)

I told the customer service rep that I had been happy with Visa for a long time and hadn't—up until the week before—made any late payments. I said I understood why the late fee was assessed, that it was my own fault for forgetting, and that I planned to set up autopay so it wouldn't happen again, but wondered if there was any way the fee could be removed or reduced, considering my track record.

The rep looked at my account for a couple minutes and then said, "I'll reverse it!"

It took me a full five minutes to recover from the shock!

Thanks Visa! Visa doesn't even make any money off me—I don't pay them interest or annual fees, I don't charge big transactions, and I don't represent a big, important company or family—and yet they were still nice to me.

I love companies that deal this way with the little guys. I think it pays off in the long run, because when I DO start making big, grown-up purchases, like furniture and flooring and family vacations, I'll be using Visa. And when applications from other credit card companies flood my mailbox, they won't tempt me, because I'm happy where I am.

I've heard people say that a customer who has a good experience will tell the story to 10 people—and a customer who has a bad experience will tell 30.

I once had a really negative experience at Dillards over a sweater that started unraveling after I wore it only a couple hours. It's a long story, but when I took it and my receipt back to the store, understanding that stuff like that happens but thinking the store, not me, should foot the bill for a defective product, Dillards treated me like I was running a scam and by the way they handled it made me feel really stupid. I was so bugged that I escalated the situation to the corporate level, and was treated equally poorly there. I haven't bought clothes there since, and don't plan to. And when a friend brings up Dillards, I tell them the whole story.

I think Dillards was really dumb to insist that the defective, unwearable sweater I found in their store was my bad luck and mine alone—by not refunding my money (they also refused to repair or exchange it), they may have added a little to their revenue, but they consequently forewent the hundreds and probably more likely thousands of dollars I might have spent there over a lifetime. (And for the record, it's not just that they said "no" to my request for a refund, because I realize that sometimes "no" is sometimes the only answer they can give, it's the way they treated me through the whole ordeal.)

The gold standard of customer service, in my opinion, is Nordstrom. I once took a pair of shoes I bought there several months before that had started discoloring, and they took them back, no questions asked, and offered me a replacement pair. I bought some of my mission clothes there, and was sublimely happy with them (in fact, five years post-mission they are still in great shape), and now whenever a prospective sister missionary asks me for mission prep tips, I tell her to buy her clothes at Nordstrom—if not everything, at least the key pieces, because even though it sounds cliché, Nordstrom's quality and service really can't be beat.

I love that as a consumer I have the power to spend my money at one place over another depending on how happy I am with their service and products. Just wish it could be the same with government entities, like public schools and the DMV!

Pour myself a cup of ambition

2010-06-23T23:03:00.003-06:00

Now that I'm a "master" I'm having some fun looking at all the great jobs I'm suddenly qualified to do. And learning that you can tell a lot about a company (or at least their HR department) by how they communicate with potential applicants.

For example, one job posting I saw included this information:

This position will only last 18 months. BS required, but MS/MBA/PhD preferred.

Bachelor's required, PhD preferred? For a temporary position? Allow me to translate: "We'll take you if you're the best we can get, but please be aware that no matter who you are, we'd prefer to hire someone better." These are the car salesmen who want to film a spot to air during the local news and will settle for nothing less than Jennifer Aniston as their spokesperson.

It's just one example of what I'm seeing all over the place: seeking an overly qualified person to perform (and want) a job someone with much less experience and education could perform just fine. It reminds me some of the jobs my friends had in college—jobs where you had to have a perfect GPA, stellar references, and lots of student employment experience to sit in a cubicle alphabetizing nametags and shredding paper.

Another full-time job posting I saw:

Candidates are required to have a bachelors degree and 3 to 4 years of professional experience with a proven track record of success. Pay: $10-13 an hour.

Translation: "We'll pay you and treat you like an entry-level receptionist while expecting you to make the same contributions as those who are paid much more."

I'm surprised how many job postings I'm seeing like this—to me it shows the imbalance of the employer-employee relationship in this economy. In my wet-behind-the-ears opinion, a job should be like a relationship: neither party should feel (1) indebted or (2) the epitome of benevolence or (3) bullied to be with the other. The employer and employee should each have something of value to offer.

The more I'm thinking about it, the more I'm convinced that looking at jobs totally resembles dating. With thousands and thousands of job seekers out there sifting through thousands and thousands of job listings, and (judging by what I've heard from several job-seeking friends) with some jobs getting hundreds of applications, something has to stand out to cause a second glance from job seeker to employer or vice versa. I see a job posting that catches my eye, I check it out, flirt with it a bit, talk up my good points—being careful not to reveal too much, or too little. And in return, I'm either rejected, or invited to meet and chat, and I show up looking my best, prepared questions and answers in mind. And the dance continues until we're both ready for a commitment.

And also just like dating, getting a job has as much to do with your potential coworkers thinking you'd be okay to work with than your actual qualifications. Because if I really like someone I'm dating, I'm willing to overlook this not-so-great attribute or that flaw, and he does the same for me, but if we really don't click, even the smallest things are dealbreakers.

This is not the best time in history to be a newly "mastered" job-seeker, and I've watched more than a few great, talented people I know resign to settling for less-than-ideal job situations until the economy starts turning around. I'm trying to remind myself that up until now, things have always ended up working out for the best, even if I didn't necessarily realize it at the time, so why not now, too?

Good luck to everyone on the hunt. May we all find that perfect match!

Every thorn has its rose

2010-06-14T12:12:00.000-06:00

Coming back to 42 new e-mails in my work inbox after a week away: Disheartening

Detecting in my windowless office a faint aroma of an inner outhouse on a hot day: Disconcerting

Learning sewage-tinged toilet pipe water had been marinating my office all weekend: Distressing

Moving my dripping bookshelf and finding a laminated this tucked between it and the wall:

Priceless.

A haven safe from harm

2010-06-13T21:27:00.001-06:00

Photo Source

In the news this week is the shocking and brutal physical and sexual assault of a 19- year-old Provo woman who was running through student neighborhoods at 3 in the afternoon. She jogging on a path only a few feet away from the Provo River Trail when she was dragged into the bushes. Her attacker left her unconscious (police speculate he thought she was dead) and after several hours she awoke and mustered the strength to crawl out of the woods, where passers-by found her.

Thankfully she survived. She's in the hospital now in intensive care. Her head was beat in, her jaw dislocated, bones in her face were shattered, and some of her teeth were knocked out. She can't speak yet, but she was able to describe her rapist to police through sign language. As of yet, though, there's no official word that the guy's not still out there.

This horrendous event is heavy on my mind for two reasons:

First, I have run and biked right near where that happened, as have thousands of other young women in this area. It makes me sick to my stomach that she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and that she's suffering so much for doing something as routine as going for a midday exercise session.

Second, I've spent (spend!) a lot of time on similar paths and trails, too often by myself, and have wondered many times over the years how vulnerable I really am, and marvel at how much trust I put in my surroundings. I know all the safety rules—don't wear headphones, carry mace, tell someone where you're going and when you plan to be back, pack along a cell phone, go with a buddy, stay away from heavily wooded or unlit areas, especially after dark—but I don't follow all of them, especially when I'm in a hurry or when doing so would be inconvenient.

I've had a couple conversations with friends about this since the event was reported on the news, and we always come to the same conclusions: (1) this story really freaks us out, and it makes us scared to do things today that we wouldn't have thought twice about yesterday, (2) we have a right to feel safe, and it's wrong that evil people have the power to control and ruin that, (3) even following every single rule of safety doesn't guarantee you'll always be free from harm—for example, using mace can incapacitate me as quickly as an attacker if the breeze is blowing toward me, and (4) stepping out the front door always involves some risk, but the solution is not to stay locked inside our houses.

I'm not sure what the solution is, and I think it's probably multifaceted, but I know that from now on I'm going to be more careful and aware than I've been in the past. First on the list: my running parter Maria suggested we check into getting Road IDs!

On the other hand, I'm determined not to let fear keep me from enjoying the things I love—even though at this particular moment, before the horror of this event has started to wear off, that's easier said than done.

I pray for this young woman, as well as the police as they search for the man who harmed her! I hope she will be okay and that they find him soon.

Another thing has been on my mind recently, in light of not only this event but also others that have recently been heavily reported in the Utah news:

I heard a story on NPR once about a women whose family member was the victim of a terrible crime, the kind that are usually featured in the storylines of television shows like Law and Order or CSI. She said that after the crime affected her family, she could never watch those shows, and the feeling behind her words was that there's something not quite right about turning the tragedies that happen to real people into entertainment.

Sure enough, after hearing about this week's news story, I turned on the TV while I was unpacking my suitcase and the show that came on featured a storyline eerily similar to what I'd just read about this poor young woman in the newspaper. I couldn't watch! I wonder what else I consume, not realizing the full implications...

You don't like to see me standing around

2010-06-12T16:51:00.000-06:00

One thought has been on my mind the past MANY weeks, and now that I've crossed my last t and dotted my last i at USU, it's hitting me even harder:

What next?

For the first time in my life, there's nothing "to do" ahead of me.

I mean, between a job and church callings and friends and family and car problems and laundry and everything else, there are always things to do, and there are always those ambiguous "someday" dreams and plans and wishes...

But at the moment, there are no credits to fulfill, or tests to study for, or papers to turn in, or paperwork to process, or internships to find, or applications to fill out. Which hasn't been the case once since I graduated from high school 10 years ago.

Whatever I do now is totally up to me. Which it was all along, I guess, but you know what I mean, right?

I've thought about this day for so long, and it doesn't feel anything like I thought it would. I don't feel a sense of relief, I feel anxious. I don't feel freedom, I feel at a loss. I feel like I'm waiting for the list of tasks I'm supposed to complete in the next 10 years to show up in the mail.

I feel like I'm Tom Hanks standing in the crossroad in the dusty wind at the end of Castaway:

I know things will fall into place, just as they always have. But right now, being not quite sure what's coming next is just about as unsatisfying as that movie's ending.

Goodbye is all we have

2010-06-11T19:08:00.001-06:00

Today I said goodbye to my master's program, to Utah State University, and to Logan.

I'm SO sad I won't get to go up for any more classes, or spend any more weeks in Cache Valley!

But on the other hand...

I'M DONE! With school! Forever! (Well...never say never, right?)

I can't believe it.

The only thing I regret is that I never became a True Aggie!

To earn the title of True Aggie, you have to become acquainted with the "A" in the USU quad:

It was built in 1916 by a group of guys, and the initiation to get into the group was to kiss a girl while standing on the "A" at midnight under a full moon.

The plaque reads, "One can still become a True Aggie with a kiss on the "A" under a full moon at midnight by one who is a True Aggie or on Homecoming night by one who is not."

I've heard that on nights with a full moon, the entire quad is packed with people hoping to become True Aggies. Apparently, as long as you're touching someone who is touching a True Aggie, it still counts, so long chains of people form in all directions. At the stroke of midnight it's a kissing frenzy, and if you don't want to be kissed, I've heard, you'd better be hiding in the bushes.

Sad I missed out on that tradition!

I may not be a True Aggie, but I'm a genuinely grateful Aggie.

USU has been good to me, and I'm really going to miss it.

I've met some great people, had some wonderful experiences, learned a ton, and really grown in confidence in my abilities (or at least learned that I really do have what it takes to learn any skill I want to) and in what I have to offer. I'd do it again in a heartbeat! Without a doubt this program was the right choice for me, and it's opened to me a world of possibilities and new ways of thinking.

Goodbye USU!

Whatcha say

2010-06-10T20:17:00.003-06:00

Even though I spend my days at work with a red pencil at ready so I can protect the world from improperly punctuated independent clauses and dangling modifiers, I don't consider myself a word nerd by any means. I catch myself saying "like" all the time, I have no problem when someone in southern Utah County commits to a good "we was going," and I love to text phrases like "k c u l8r."

But this sign, which I see every time I come to Logan, really bugs me!

If you can't read it, it says:

CAUTION
JOGGERS

What does that mean?

Does it mean, "Caution [drivers, there are] joggers!"

Or does it mean, "Caution joggers, [there are drivers]!"

Or is it really genius and means both?

We've been talking about this kind of thing in my class this week as we learn how to write and design short documents. We're asking ourselves (because we're the experts, you know): Does it really matter? If people understand it, even if it's "technically" incorrect, is it REALLY incorrect? And is it really possible to pin down a moving, changing language, anyway, with hard and fast grammar, spelling, usage, and syntax rules? And why do we want to, when 99.9 percent of the population won't notice, and definitely won't care?

It's the second part of that, the part about people not caring, that interests me most.

Take, for example, the fact that I just spelled out "percent" after 99.9. That's a hard and fast editing rule in some areas of the publications world (mine included) that MUST be observed at all times by any editor worth his or her salt!

But, as I've asked myself many times, WHY? If every reader of English in the world knows and loves a good %, why do we take the time and effort to spell it out every dang time? Why is "99.9 percent" "correct" and "99.9%" "incorrect"?

Another example: If I say, "Do you remember the guy I bought my car from?" Then I'm speaking incorrectly.

I'm supposed to phrase it, "Do you remember the guy from whom I bought my car?" I've seen these kinds of "improperly placed" prepositions marked by editors a million times, and technically, I'm supposed to mark them, too.

And I do, when I have to. On publications where "pretentious" is the main objective.

Because who talks like that? And, as my professor mentioned, what about "whom," a word no one save the grammatical fanatic knows when or how to use, and even more importantly, doesn't care? I think it's time for "whom" to fall out of the dictionary.

And what about rules like ensure/insure or affect/effect—I am unfortunately keenly aware of the differences, because they've been hammered into me in college and beyond, but do most people who read the documents I fix them in care? Will someone really be tripped up if they read "I just wanted to insure you were alright" vs. "I just wanted to ensure you were alright"?

I know there's value in preserving a set of standards that ensure high-quality, clear writing, and that consistent usage of spelling and phraseology in a set of documents connote capability and professionalism. But I don't think the responsibility should be taken to the degree that we're actually rejecting regular speech used by EVERYONE, EVERY DAY—speech no one is confused by—in favor archaic speech that in some cases actually IS more confusing and more difficult to understand, or at best when used doesn't make comprehension any easier. Which is actually the conclusion my class came to: that we need to know the rules, but we don't need to use them.

Sigh—so I guess by my own definition, the sign is just fine. But that won't stop me from wondering what the person who made that sign really meant...and from being careful when I jog down that street!

BYU vs. USU

2010-06-10T19:39:00.000-06:00

All my life I've been tied in one way or another to BYU...

In the early 1900s my great-grandpa moved his family to Provo so his kids could attend BYU. My grandparents went there, and so did my parents. For a long time my dad was a bishop of an on-campus ward, and growing up my sister and I went to church on campus and trick-or-treated in the dorms.

When I turned 12 I got my own bedroom, and it came pre-decorated with the famous Ty Detmer/Indiana Jones poster. Summers I went to BYU basketball camps. In high school my friends and I would sneak into the infamous Sunday night "tunnel singing" sessions.

And then, of course, I went to and worked for BYU. I lived in the dorms and ran all over campus writing for the Daily Universe.

And now I'm on the BYU staff.

But despite all that—despite all about BYU that's in my blood, despite how much I love BYU and am BYU and will always be BYU, despite the fact that in sports events, even though I'm an alum of both great institutions, I'll always secretly cheer for BYU over USU, I can't say I love BYU slightly more in ALL instances.

Because when it comes to the great BYU vs. USU creamery ice cream debate:

There's no question that Aggie ice cream is the BEST ice cream in the world!

Sorry, BYU!

Otherwise the bar is ours

2010-06-09T14:56:00.000-06:00

There was an article in Runner's World a couple years ago written by a guy who went one week eating nothing but energy bars and drinks, just for the sake of experimentation. The end result was not pretty—he felt tired and hungry, and didn't smell so great.

I've thought about it a few times this week as I've been chowing down on a variety of energy bars to keep me fed during the day and awake in class. (They're ideal because along with bananas and apples and trail mix, they're portable and don't have to be refrigerated!) I normally don't snack too much on these, given that most are over a dollar apiece, but as a meal replacement while I'm here on campus, I'm willing to pay that. And out of the many I've tried, some favorites have emerged:

Luna Bars
Luna Bars come from the makers of Clif Bars and are marketed to women as whole-foods based sports nutrition. They're made with organic whole grains, nuts, and seeds. The negative: they're sweetened with organic cane sugar. Each has fewer than 200 calories. About half of those come from fat. They're pretty big, too—it takes me at least 12 bites to down one.

Luna Protein Bars
These have 12 grams of protein each and are 180 calories. They aren't super sweet, which I kind of like. These, as well as regular Luna bars, are with fortified with nutrients like iron, calcium, and folic acid.

Think Thin Bars
With 20 grams of protein each, no cholesterol or trans fat, and no sugar, I see now why I've been hearing a lot of people talk about these. The protein is a kind that helps you feel full. They have slightly more calories than most bars, and are also more expensive (mine was around $1.50). And while they're not sweet, they taste a lot richer than the Luna Bars. But satiety-wise, this seemed to keep me fuller longer than the Luna products.

Lärabars
I've written about these before, and I like them so much I usually keep one in my bag in case I get stuck somewhere and want something to eat. They're small, though, so they go fast, which psychologically doesn't make for as satisfying a meal. I like that they're not very sweet but still taste good.

The other reason I haven't eaten a lot of energy bars is that I've always considered them to be glorified candy and granola bars. But the more I learn about what the different brands of good-quality, whole-foods-based energy bars have to offer, I'm seeing how they can be smart additions to a diet.

In his whole foods sports nutrition treatise Thrive (I have a feeling this is just the first of many times I'm going to reference this book on this blog—after hearing about it, I found it at the library and was so interested in what it advocated that I decided to get my own copy on Amazon...but much more on that later), author Brendan Brazier recommends incorporating a whole-foods energy bar into the daily diet. He also shares a bunch of recipes he came up with for making your own at home, which I'm looking forward to trying out.

But whether I end up eating those regularly or not, I'm probably not going to keep buying a lot of commercial bars because of how much they cost. But after the number I've eaten this week in lieu of regular meals, I can't see myself craving them anytime soon, anyway!

Safe in shadows

2010-06-09T10:19:00.001-06:00

Last year when I was riding my bike around Logan I found a super-long hill a few blocks behind USU, and on my biking scale of difficulty, it ranked a "just kill me now," meaning that if the incline had lasted two feet more, I would have gotten off my bike, walked it up those last two feet, and collapsed.

This year I almost skipped it, remembering how hard getting to the top was the first time. I decided to give it half a shot, thinking that if it got too hard, I could just turn around and coast back down. But I was surprised and elated when I flew up the hill and could reclassify it as a "this ain't no thing." (Just for perspective's sake, "real" road bikers—I talk about and revere them enough on this blog that I should probably start referring to them as RRBs—would probably consider the hill a warmup.)

The best part of all was realizing that I could stop worrying so much about whether a not a route had significant hills, because I know now that they're not necessarily beyond my ability. And that realization felt like handcuffs falling off my wrists, and a world of new biking possibilities opened up.

I love moments when I let fear-inspired self-imposed limits fall away and new worlds open up, whether through a gasp and a paradigm shift or a teeth-gritting, push-through-it effort. It makes me wonder about all the other things out there I might be missing out on because I'm too scared to try!

Gone tomorrow, here today

2010-06-08T17:31:00.000-06:00

I'm up in Logan for my final class of my master's program. If you've read this blog for a while, you know that I'm in love with Logan. I can't wait to see it, I never feel I've been with it long enough, and I measure the worth of all other cities against it. I imagine this is what finding your soulmate must feel like—or at least some pretty serious one-sided infatuation.

It's my third summer coming up for a class, and I celebrated my return by carrying on my first-night-in-Logan tradition of taking an evening bike ride around campus to (1) reorient myself and (2) take stock of campus construction projects so I can figure out alternative walking routes if needs be (since, because I'm so unfamiliar with Utah State University, I only have two or three I stick to like glue so I don't get lost).

Every time I take part in this little ritual, I take lots of pictures that do a terrible job of capturing the beauty of USU and northern Utah:

But I post them here anyway because I'm so taken by this place, that just like any half of a couple in love, I'm convinced everyone in the world wants to know all the blissful details of our romance.

There were plenty of construction projects to navigate, particularly the building my class is in, which was completely surrounded by orange mesh construction fencing. Dang it! Luckily they had opened a hole in it by the time class started the next day.

After my first day of classes ended, I took my bike for a ride through the neighborhoods around campus, and my love for Cache Valley became eternal. I almost didn't go because it had been raining and windy all evening. But just as the sun was starting to set, the rain let up to a light sprinkle, so I headed out. Right in the middle of my ride, the clouds broke and the sun illuminated a fully-arched, brightly colored double rainbow, the most beautiful one I've ever seen! As soon as it appeared, cars pulled madly over to the side of the road and families started pouring out into their front yards. It was incredible, and I love being part of awesome moments like that that temporarily unite strangers.

And of course I don't have a picture of THAT, because I didn't want to get my camera wet so I left it in my room!

But I did manage to capture an image of this gem adorning my dorm room wall:

For each of my three stays in Logan, this has greeted me when I came home, and it has kept my mind occupied during many a quieter Logan moment. Because I have several questions about this work of art I'd love to know the answers to, such as:

Did the caption inspire the photo, or did the photo inspire the caption?
Is there a whole line of animal courtship posters?
Where would one go to purchase a poster of this nature?
Was the framed print sold as part of a mass production of pre-framed posters? Or did someone take it down to the frame shop to increase its permanence and aesthetic value?

And since the poster fits nicely with the motif of the room, which includes wood furniture, a painting of a river in a forest, and a wallpaper border of silhouetted moose, elk, grizzlies, and pine trees, most burning in my mind is this question:

Did the poster inspire the decor of the room? Or was someone looking for the perfect item to tie the masterpiece together when they discovered the poster and said, "Eureka!"?

I only wish there was a way to know!

To the top of the world

2010-05-31T22:52:00.000-06:00

One of my favorite things to do when the weather warms up is ride my bicycle on the Provo Canyon trail. (Thanks, of course, to Brittany, who let me come with her like 500 times in high school and whose awesome biker-chic persona got me interested in biking in the first place. If you're reading, Brittany, I miss our canyon bike rides!) The trail runs 12 miles from the mouth of the canyon to Vivian Park and back, and it's pure heaven. It's shaded by trees and mountain peaks almost all the way and parallels the Provo River, which really cools things down on summer's hottest days.

Photo credit

If I'm feeling particularly masochistic, I keep riding past Vivian up South Fork Road, which rises 800 feet in three or four miles. It's the best workout I know of—there are sections of that ride that make me feel like my legs are going to fall off, but I make myself keep pedaling because spandexed, polarized-lensed Lance Armstrongs are shooting past me like I'm standing still, and even though the lack of pockets and advertising on the back my shirt gives me away as a total amateur, I still do my best to maintain some dignity.

Why do I put myself through that? Because (1) South Fork Road cuts through one of the most beautiful slices of heaven on earth (it's straight out of the "The Hills Are Alive" scene in The Sound of Music) and (2) the exhilarating rapid descent is the best experience I know. I've heard (in whispered tones) that there is a dessert called Better that Sex Cake, and that it's the best thing on earth—but I can't imagine that, or anything else, topping the downhill portion of this ride.

I think the reason I love it so much is that what I'm enjoying is mostly due to my own labor. As exciting as that 30-mile-per-hour descent of death through a rack of postcards is, I don't think it would be half as enjoyable if someone dropped me and my bike off at the summit and gave me a push.

I was thinking about that a couple weekends ago as I enjoyed one of those South Fork rides, my legs still burning as I rolled down the mountain perched on my bike in aerodynamic position and a light sprinkle of raindrops feeling, at high speed, like pebbles pelting my face: isn't that just like so many things in life?

Sometimes I get envious of people who seem, with little or no effort, to get to a figurative place I want to be when it seems like no amount of my incessant pedaling gets me any closer to my goal. I wonder what's wrong with me and feel guilty for not being able to get where I'm headed as easily or as quickly as the people blowing by me. But in the end, when I finally get to my destination, totally spent, there's no better feeling or reward than knowing that I got where I did because of my own hard work and perseverance in spite of my lack of natural talent. And it's only then that I can finally appreciate the lessons I learned along the way—lessons I never would have been privy to had I as easily sped to my destination as the people I envy.

So I wax philosophic at high speeds.What can I say?

And one more thing, since I'm on the topic of the Provo Canyon trail—there's a special place in hell for longboarders. And it's right next door to the guys who, as they speed by in their jacked-up, tinted-windowed vehicles, scream things at female bikers and runners. Let's hope those guys never reproduce, but if they do, I pray they have daughters and one day realize how truly jerky that is. Thank you.

Master and commander

2010-05-16T07:50:00.004-06:00

Well, I did it—I graduated! I donned the square hat, marched across the stage in a pair of pumps I bought specifically for the occasion, and was "hooded." Which isn't anything at all like what you'd do to someone before throwing them into the trunk of a vehicle, as I imagined, but is more of a dignified bibbing. I imagine in the end I looked like some combination of Friar Tuck and King Richard returning from the Crusades, in heels, but I was proud.

The rest of this post is going to be a synopsis of my master's program for anyone who Googles it looking for a student perspective.

The degree I earned was a master's in technical and professional writing from Utah State University. It's technically a master's in English, but it also throws in theories and ideas from the fields of communication, media, design, and technology as well as a little marketing, business, and education.

I loved the program for two reasons: (1) while there was a fair amount of theory, there were also a lot of opportunities for practical learning, which is my favorite kind, and (2) I could take as few or many classes per semester as I wanted, allowing me to work while completing it. The second was particularly important to me because when it comes to getting a foot in the door of my field (editing/writing/publishing) the powers that be seem to value experience as much if not more than education, and I didn't want two or three years to go by and still barely be qualified for entry-level jobs.

One thing that makes this program unique is its accessibility: it's offered online via virtual classrooms and labs and lectures and discussions, making it a great fit for working professionals. I loved being able to log on whenever worked best for me (I spent more than a few nights "attending" class in my PJs at 10 p.m.).

Online learning was a lot less different than face-to-face instruction than I thought it would be. All my classes were on the regular semester schedule and were complete with syllabi, assignments, and deadlines. In each class I typically had somewhere between ten and twenty classmates, who lived all over the country (or the world, in the cases of two or three of my classes) and who brought experiences and insights from all different backgrounds and industries. I learned a ton from reading what they had to say about the questions and issues my professors bought up.It was also nice to have time to think and ponder and mull over and change my mind and then change it back again before throwing in my two cents.

Classes I took included writing and rhetoric, publications management, digital media studies, designing oral presentations, designing informative documents, creating newsletters and brochures, reading theory and document design, usability studies, professional communication theory, online teaching and learning, and advanced editing. Those were just a few of the many courses I saw offered throughout my time in the program.

One of my favorite parts of the program was being able to do final projects for some of my classes on actual issues I was thinking about in my own workplace. For example, for a class on digital media, I wrote a white paper for my management detailing a social media strategy for one of our products (a part of which went live about a month ago). For a class on Web analytics, I examined the Web analytics for one of our Web sites and wrote a paper about what that revealed about our customers. For a class on online training and learning, I made a detailed online training manual (with video captures of on-screen processes) for the interns in our internship program. While I tended toward projects that had more of a practical application, some of my classmates opted to write papers with the hope of being published in journals, and several were successful, even multiple times. A paper I co-wrote with my classmate Erin on editor-designer working relations was even published. These were all great additions to my professional portfolio and (hopefully) made me a more valuable employee.

My other favorite part of the program was the optional weeklong seminars offered every summer—each earned me three credits in one intense week. Attending those gave me a chance to meet my professors and classmates in person, and I enjoyed being able to put names with faces. Plus, I LOVED getting to spend time in Logan, Utah, one of the most idyllic places on the planet.

The program took me just about three years to finish; I took an average of one class a semester year round. A couple people who started the program the same time as me were done in a year, and a few more in two years. (I wasn't able to work on it during work hours, though, except, off the record, during some long off-topic moments in a few meetings—I'm sure that's not the case for all who graduate so quickly, but I know it was true for some people in my program, which I think helps speed up the process. I also know that a few of my fellow students were fortunate enough to work for employers who paid anywhere from a portion to the entire cost of the program. Because the things we learn are directly applicable to so many kinds of work, in my opinion this program offers any employer a great return on investment.) I intended my masters to be a terminal degree, and this program served that purpose well, but I know that others who have completed it have gone on for their PhDs.

In the end I feel qualified (based on the courses I chose to enroll in—others may have focused on other things) to identify an audience and a purpose and craft a publication to best serve each, whether that publication is a short document (like a billboard or a brochure) or a long document (like a white paper or Web page). I definitely recommend this master's degree program for anyone who loves talking about, learning, and applying cutting-edge ideas about all things writing and design and is looking for flexibility a traditional on-campus program wouldn't afford. I'm happy to answer any questions about my experience—if you have any, feel free to click through to my Blogger profile and e-mail me.

A terrible life choice

2010-05-04T21:44:00.002-06:00

I'm three days away from walking the graduation stage, and it's hard to believe I'm so close to finally getting there. And thanks to the fact that graduation gowns and hats are apparently no longer rented but now have to be PURCHASED in a custom size, I can relive that moment in my living room as many times as I want.

I usually feel silly taking part in most kinds of ceremony or fanfare or hype, but I have been SO EXCITED to participate in my graduate school commencement exercises (I've been debating which pair of shoes to wear for weeks) because I have sacrificed what feels like A LOT to earn my masters (just like everyone who earns a degree). I can't wait to celebrate the culmination of it all with my friends and family. Bring it on, sea of tasseled, square-shaped hats and formation marching!

In the meantime I'm identifying with this video clip:

Reveling in my new knowledge and skills:

And dreaming about the places I'll go:

I actually still have one more class left—a weeklong seminar a few weeks from now that will earn me my final three credits. And even though I'm looking forward to it, it's going to be a great feeling when I turn in my very last project at the end of that week. Today after work I tried to picture what it will feel like to come home at the end of the day and not have any assigned projects or reading to do, or to not have "studying" be my standard response to "What are you doing tonight?" I feel like a kid who's about to be let out on summer break—a kid with a giant list of books (the non-textbook kind) to read, a lot of travel plans to fulfill, and oh yeah, a full-time job to land.

Eating less and thinking more

2010-04-13T21:11:00.003-06:00

My dad sums up one of his business principles like this: A dollar is a dollar is a dollar. Meaning that sometimes the people who decide where the money in a business goes make decisions as if dollars are different sizes—a dollar going toward a pet project is viewed as the size of a postage stamp, but a dollar going toward more mundane, banal things is considered the size of a billboard. Like, for example: Sorry, guys—money's tight so we can't give anyone a cost-of-living wage increase this year, and you all better be printing on two sides of the paper, but just FYI, management will be gone at their annual beach-side retreat all next week. It doesn't make sense to pretend like a dollar doesn't matter in application to some things and that it does in applications to others. A dollar is a dollar is a dollar.

I've been thinking about that principle and whether or not it applies to caloric intake. Is it true that a calorie is a calorie is a calorie?

I've been taught all my life that 100 calories of tomato are more nutritious, filling, and voluminous than 100 calories of Oreos, that calories eaten should be less or equal to calories out, so low-cal, low-fat foods are best because you can eat bigger meals for the same amount of calories, or an equally sized meal for fewer. But I'm learning that not everyone thinks like that, and that's where I get confused...

Take, for example, the Lärabar, which I know lots of health food nuts adore. It's kind of like a granola bar, except there's no granola, only raw fruit and nuts (and nothing else) squished together into a tiny little bar and labeled with flavors like cherry pie, coconut cream pie, cashew cookie, chocolate coconut. So when I saw them on a shelf at the grocery store, I decided to buy one (and there's a reason I only bought one—they were $1.59 a piece). When I got it home and checked the nutritional information, though, I was surprised to see it had almost 250 calories (more than half of which were fat calories), 12 or 13 grams of fat, and a few grams of saturated fat. What? This is the health nut snack of choice?

I would have thought health foodists would be chowing down on fat-free ice cream with tofu sprinkles and dehydrated banana stems. (I know fat-free ice cream has its purpose, and it's to make you realize you're not that hungry after all.) But no, they love the Lärabar, and peanut butter, and almond and cashew and walnut butter, and pure maple syrup, and olive oil, and pumpkin seeds, and avocados, and almond milk (which is pretty low-cal, but most of those calories are fat calories)—all foods high in calories or fat, or both. I thought low-cal, low-fat was the key to healthy living. Am I missing something? A calorie is a calorie is a calorie, right?

I'm starting to wonder...because take a look at these two breakfasts:

Breakfast A: 1/2 cup oatmeal (150 calories, 2.6 fat grams), 1/2 cup almond milk (30, 2), 1 tablespoon almond butter (100, 10), 1 banana (105, .5) = 400 calories, 15 grams of fat

Breakfast B: 1/2 cup Cheerios (100, 2.5), 1/2 cup skim milk (50, 0), 1 banana (105, .5) = 250 calories, 1 gram of fat

With the first breakfast, I'd probably stay full until lunch, and because I wouldn't be famished and dying to eat, I'd be satisfied with a small, healthy midday meal. With the second, especially if I'd exercised that morning, there's a good chance it would fizzle out by about 10 a.m., and that I'd swallow a few crackers or an apple and some hummus (200 calories, 6 grams of fat) to hold me over until my next meal. That would actually give me a slightly higher caloric total in the end than Breakfast A, but nowhere near the same level of satiety, and I would argue that each is just about as nutritious as the other. So maybe the healthy-fat-loving heath foodies are onto something.

I can't think of a healthier bunch of eaters than raw foodists (they eat only uncooked, unprocessed plant foods, under the theory that fruits and veggies heated above 105 degrees lose nutrients). But look at what they're chowing down on (besides the sprouts, carrot sticks, and salads):

Raw Cashew "Ice Cream"
(1 serving)

Blend and freeze:
1/2 cup of water
1/2 cup of cashews
1/4 cup of sweetening agent (raw honey, agave, etc.)
Flavoring (lemon, vanilla, almond, raw cocoa powder)

Total calories: 800
Total fat: 50 grams

Wow—I'm imagining how much real ice cream one could eat to equal those amounts. One meaning me.

So judging from those examples, and some others I've read, knowing that the best diet is probably one consisting of lots of whole foods but still limited calorically—

Should I not be as scared of fats and calories as I've been taught, if they're whole foods fats and calories and not processed foods fats and calories? Should I quit cutting the olive oil and almond butter out of all my healthy recipes in an attempt to make them more low-fat and low-cal? Or in other words, is it possible that all calories may not be equal?

They paved paradise

2010-04-06T00:47:00.004-06:00

Growing up I was in love with a dirt fire road near my house that paralleled a lazy canal and wound past orchards, pastures, and groves of trees. I loved running there at sunset because from it I could see the setting sun over Utah Lake and the surrounding valley and mountain ranges. The best part of the trail, though, was that I didn't have to worry about blind corners or cars.

After a couple years of living elsewhere, I returned to find that some of the trail's most beautiful vistas had been blocked by housing developments. Aesthetics FAIL! And now there are plans to pave the trail and cover the canal because some super geniuses bought houses next to an open canal and then complained that there was an open canal next to their houses.

Knowing that this treasured slice of my hometown is eventually going to disappear literally churns my stomach. I imagine I feel a bit like this student who falsely bid on tracts of public land in a desperate move to preserve them for future generations by preventing them from falling into the hands of oil drillers.

In case you think I'm a messenger-bag-wearing, cloth-grocery-bag-buying new urbanist who thinks everyone should ditch their cars and crowd into cities in order to preserve the surrounding wilderness, you should know that as much as I hate seeing asphalt replace fields and and 2x4 beams replace trees, I believe even more strongly that people should be able (within reason) to build and live where they want. Me especially—for much of the past 10 years I've been living in apartments and condos, and even though living in a tight minicommunity can be a lot of fun, what's not so great is lacking control over whether the person I share walls with is blasting Guitar Hero or T-Pain at 2 a.m., cooking every night with ultra-potent curry, leaving cans of tuna fish on the back steps for the neighborhood's stray cats, putting the lid back on the cage where they keep their egg-laying tarantulas, dealing drugs, being careful while burning candles or using a gas stove, or aware their car alarm is going off or that the beagle dogs they keep on their balcony are barking for hours at a time. (That's right—harrumph!)

For those reasons, when I buy property, I want my own four walls, my own little garage, and my own little yard. But the problem is that lots of other people want their own little pieces of heaven, too. Where are we all supposed to go if not to, as I've heard them described, housing developments named after the features of nature they displace? Which are sometimes the best places to walk, run, bike, and hike?

That I'm unable to reconcile my two beliefs is probably best evidenced by the fact that I don't balk (too much) at driving six miles to go for a six-mile run. But as a recreational runner and a biker, I think there has to be some kind of middle ground there. Maybe we all don't need to live in high rises, but I think we could give aesthetic and quality of life a little more weight than property values and selling power. Maybe houses don't need to fill every single inch of the property they sit on and stretch three stories into the sky. Maybe more incentives could be placed on renovating and restoring older existing homes. Maybe a few trails could remain unpaved and a few vistas left unblocked.

Last month I spent a day in St. George, and as we were driving through a suburb, I noticed that not only did wide trails line almost every road, but also that the houses were hidden—maybe blended is a better word. Their exteriors matched the beautiful redrock backdrops; their flat roofs and earthy architecture made them seem as if they were part of the rockfaces. In fact, when we drove in the night before, I hadn't even noticed they were there. I think this is the kind of middle ground where environmental and outdoor enthusiasts and developers serving the needs of the community can meet to preserve an area's best features—a place where form and functionality can be one.

Orem City definitely has the right idea, too—they've been gathering feedback from city residents on what kinds of city trails they'd like to see in order to create a trails master plan, which they're integrating with neighboring cities' trails master plans. Awesome! There's still a lot to do, though, in a state that Wikipedia's Urban Sprawl page labels "a byword for suburban sprawl."

I got rice cooking in the microwave

2010-04-01T20:58:00.002-06:00

A couple weeks ago I wrote about my goal to learn how to cook more recipes with whole, natural foods.

As someone who traditionally hasn't loved spending time in the kitchen (I'd way rather wash the dishes than plan and cook the meal, and I'm totally fine with a bowl of cereal and a banana for dinner) I've been surprised at how much I've enjoyed the time I've spent finding recipes, learning about new ingredients, and cooking new dishes. And it does take time—wow. I have new respect for those who cook for more than just themselves (and therefore can't stretch the leftovers over the next three days!).

Some of the recipes I've really liked so far include:

Pumpkin Curry Quinoa (Oh She Glows)
Carrot Chia Spelt Muffins (Oh She Glows)
Green Goddess Pizza (Oh She Glows)
Frozen Banana "Fudgesicle Soft Serve" (Oh She Glows)
Hummus (Simply Recipes)
Tofu Spinach Wrap (Runner's World)
Chunky Avocado Salsa (Just Cook Already)
Low + Slow Sweet Potatoes (Kath Eats Real Food)

Definitely trying each one a second time!

The other thing I am really happy about is the effect of my daily Green Monster, aka spinach smoothie—I've been having one for breakfast every morning for about a month now, and I could not be happier about my increased energy level and the improvement in my skin. (And I'm not the only one who's noticed that second benefit.) I was skeptical when I read all the testimonials on what a couple handfuls of spinach a day can do for you, but wow—it does make you feel great! I only wish I had learned about them sooner.

I have a new favorite, by the way:

Pumpkin Green Monster
1 frozen banana
1/2 cup canned pumpkin
1 cup almond milk (only 60 calories!)
2 handfuls of raw spinach
1 tablespoon chia seeds
A little sweetener
Ice

Does that sound like a weird combination? I promise, it's delicious!

Luckily for me and my goal, all through March and April the Sunflower Farmer's Market by my house has been offering 20 percent off on Thursdays to anyone associated with a university. I've been taking advantage of the discount by stocking up on basic ingredients like spices, baking supplies, canned beans, and grains and trying out a few new things, like mango and blackberry applesauce, veggie burgers, and chia seeds.

I've never shopped in a grocery store like Sunflower before last month — they have all kinds of whole and natural foods, and most of their food products are sold in both regular and organic.

I recently read an incredible article about one of history's best ultrarunners, Scott Jurek, in this month's Runner's World, and it talked a bit about the fact that he's a vegan and encourages people to buy organic. I remember seeing a photo of Scott in Runner's World several years ago that showed him pulling a giant bowl of what looked like sprouts and raw veggies out of his refrigerator. I remember thinking, "With a diet like that, no wonder he's such a great runner! But I don't know if I could ever have the dedication and discipline to eat like that..." I was interested to read that he's still adhering to veganism, which the author suggests may be a key component of his phenomenal success as a runner, and to read Scott's arguments for buying organic, which he acknowledges can sometimes get expensive.

So when I went to Sunflower this week, I decided to check out the organic versions of a few of the things on my list. But almost every item was at least a dollar more if it was labeled "organic." Regular bananas were $.55 a pound—organic bananas were $.88 a pound. Regular garbanzo beans: $.99—organic: $2.09. Regular tofu: $1.09—organic: $2.29.

I ended up going with the regular items, and I think my $20 grocery bill would have been at least $30 or $35 if I'd gone with the organic equivalents of the items I purchased.

I'm not very educated on organic foods and why so many people tout their benefits, but I plan to read up a little on it sometime soon. For now, though, I think my student budget is going to keep me buying non-organic products.

Do you eat organic foods? If so, when did you start and why? If prices were the same for organic and non-organic items, would you go for the organic choice, or not?