To My Fellow Math Tutors

The Real Reason We Have A Garden

This was taken back in 2003 when Tinkerbell was three years old. There are many days when I get sick of weeding and watering and wish we lived in a condo, but when I see this picture it makes me happy and ready to go play in the dirt again.

A Gigi & Bop Moment

This is Marlow and Frances Cowan during a trip to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. He's 90, and she's 84! They are playing the Lehigh University fight song.

Happy happy!

I Have Other Gifts

For the most part, I've grown up in the LDS church. I was Presbyterian until I was eight, but we attended sporadically back then, primarily because we moved nearly every year. When we first joined the Church (I never could quite figure out why the "C" is always capitalized, but it is), we were living in Gladstone, Missouri, a suburb of Kansas City. For those familiar with LDS church history, this is a pretty significant location in terms of historical landmarks. We went to church in Liberty, had ward activities at Adam ondi Ahman, and planned a family vacation that included Nauvoo and Haun's Mill (not recommended for families with small children, but hindsight is 20/20).

Many places had Visitor's Centers. Maybe every church is like this, but ours seems to excel at producing films that make you cry, whether or not you want to. The music gets dramatic, the poor widow receives help from above, whatever, and I'm crying probably harder than anyone else--and resenting every tear. I always feel manipulated, rather than inspired, and that has made me very skeptical and cautious towards those spirit-moving feelings. I don't think it's coincidence that I studied advertising in college and made it my career for awhile. Manipulating an audience made perfect sense to me. Even though I despised it, that's the way it works in the world, whether you're selling soap or religion, right? You could call it being cynical, but I prefer to think of it as being an aware consumer with my eyes wide open.

This approach towards life has its downside though, and I'm the first to admit it. I can now sit through any Sacrament meeting or Girls' Camp testimony meeting completely dry-eyed and silent. I will not be the one who feels "moved" to share some spiritual lesson that I've learned. I don't trust that emotion in myself and suppress it whenever possible. I know that if I succumb to the temptation to lay bare those incredibly personal feelings, I'll hate myself in the morning--or immediately afterwards. Things never come out the way I intend them, and I mentally flagellate myself for years and years to come over something stupid that I said.

Contrary to how it may come across, I actually do think about these things quite a lot. I envy people who can have those feelings without questioning their validity (or their sanity). I listen to courtship stories that involve firesides, ward prayer, and wholesome, spiritual activities--I don't have many of those stories, quite honestly. My courtship involved art museums, painting, foreign films, cooking, reading, and lots of great kissing. I think my husband has a very good sense of what I am comfortable with in terms of talking about spiritual matters. We did talk about some things, but he has always respected my desire to not talk about them, too. He knows it's not because I don't have those feelings--they're just very personal to me.

But though overt spirituality might not be one of my gifts, I do have others. I'm funny, nice (most of the time), creative, relatively patient, musical, a good cook, a voracious reader, and a damn fine kisser (all that practice paid off). I hope that all this is taken into account in the end. I really think God knows exactly who I am and knows what's in my heart, even if I don't say it out loud.

Curbside Pickup

I had a cool dream last night.

I dreamed that I was hauling around all this stuff that wasn't even mine. Across streets, up stairs, down hallways, all for no reason at all. I just felt compelled to lug it around. And none of it was mine!

Finally it dawned on me that I could just leave it on the curb with a "free" sign, and other people would take it. If they didn't want it, the garbage truck would pick it up off the curb and take it away.

This is my life. I have hauled around all kinds of baggage for so many years, and most of it has nothing whatsoever to do with me. Maybe it's my dad's, or an old boyfriend's. Perhaps it's that idiot boy who lived in my apartment building in Heidelberg. Or that stupid professor or bishop who said that incredibly rude thing to me that he has long since forgotten but which I refuse to.

What if I just left it all on the curb and walked away? I could fly across that street, up those stairs, and down the hallway. What wonders would be waiting inside if I weren't weighed down by everyone else's garbage?

One Small Door Closes, An Even Larger One Opens

This has been a very pivotal week for our family. Lots of drama and emotion. Rage, sorrow, frustration, hysteria, despair--and that was all from me.

Yes, it was college decision week.

Drummer Boy is graduating this year, and he applied to three universities: Stanford, Washington University in St. Louis (Wash U), and BYU. He got accepted to Wash U and BYU, though I'm sure Stanford instantly regretted their decision. Wash U is in my home town, and Drummer Boy's aunts, uncle, and grandparents live within minutes of campus. He could have lived near my side of the family for the first time in his life (with the exception of Emily, who lived here until just recently). We picked out his dorm options and looked at the calendar to choose his summer weekend to go through early orientation. I was already planning on coming out for Parents' Weekend in October. They were very generous with their scholarship offer, but as one of the most expensive schools in the United States it still left a hefty chunk to be financed through loans and us. Enough that we weren't sure we could do it, and we worried about Drummer Boy starting out in life with a burdensome amount to repay. But if we could work things out, they had to be notified no later than May 1.

BYU, on the other hand, was dead silent on the financial aid front. Drummer Boy more than qualified for a good scholarship, but they weren't going to release any awards until "late April", whatever that meant. Mid-April came and went. Late April started, and still nothing. April 29 at the latest, we were told. Nope, sorry, April 30 by noon. I checked at noon. Nothing. My sister checked. Sweetie checked. Drummer Boy checked at school. I was furious, and a few choice words escaped my mouth a little louder than I had hoped while I stewed at work (sorry, Sally). Should he just accept Wash U's offer? We'd have to rush like mad to get everything over-nighted in time. Finally at 2:58 pm the message hit his inbox. It was very good news. It was good enough to tip the scales in BYU's favor. Just like that the decision was made.

I am so proud of him and gratified to see his years of hard work rewarded, but honestly he and I were both more than a little disappointed that Wash U was not in his immediate future. It's a great school, has a beautiful campus, and would afford him many opportunities that he wouldn't have otherwise.

But choosing BYU brings amazingly good things into all of our lives. He'll get a great education, have the opportunity to go on Study Abroad trips, participate in the Honors Program, pursue his love of foreign film, continue with his music, and have his pick of an incredibly diverse selection of courses and professors. As for me, I already know the dorm Drummer Boy is going to live in--I've driven past it dozens of times. When he plays with the BYU drumline during football games, we'll be cheering him on in the stands. He's going to take a class from Sweetie this fall, and I can kidnap him to go grocery shopping every so often. If he wants some home-cooked meals, we'll invite him and his roommates over for Sunday dinner. Not every week, but if he needs us, we'll be here. I'll be able to see him mature, become independent and resourceful, and grow into the adult I'm already starting to see.

Now that I've found the silver linings that are ours specifically because he's not going to Wash U, I can't imagine having him 1500 miles away and seeing him just a few times a year. I'm so excited that he will still be close enough for me to continue being his biggest fan.

Good job, babe! I'm so proud of you!