Again

I'm still surprised at how many close calls I've had with cars lately. Just last night I almost got clipped again! Maybe the fact that I'm walking more, or maybe it's the fact that I was too busy talking to a friend to notice the red hand. Who knew. The red hand means "Don't Walk"? I guess I'll take the blame for this one.

Accident

I almost got hit by a car today. It was the closest I think I have ever been to losing a limb.

I was going to see Hairspray with my mom and sisters at the dollar movies and since it was a Friday night, the parking lot was packed. I ended up having to park near Coldstone and because I spent too much time weaving methodically between the rows and rows of cars, I was a little tardy getting in to meet the rest of the clan. As soon as I parked I began running to the theater - cutting through grassy medians, and shooting out between cars. Maybe it was partially my fault because No one really expects a sprinter in a parking lot, but Mr. Buick literally screeched around the corner and slammed on his brakes after seeing me. Apparently he was late to his movie as well. He was driving much too fast for a parking lot. I looked at him, stunned at the fact that his bumper was now resting 8 inches from my leg, gave him a "Holy crap!" face and continued to jog to the movie.

I was out of breath as I arrived and people were staring (possibly at my dashing good looks rather than my wow-I'm-out-of-shape gasping?) but soon enough I was comfortable in the dark theater watching brightly colored boys and girls dance all over the screen.

Beauty

Have you seen the leaves lately? I am constantly stunned by the beauty and how in their frailty, they are made magnificent. It reminded me of my grandpa and how I cam constantly stunned at the beauty that he shares with me and how he enriches my life.

Today I got 4 phone calls informing me of a single fact. "Grandpa had a massive heart attack last night. He's in the hospital. We think he'll be okay" was the gist of it. By the third voicemail in a row, I was near tears. It's just not something I was equipped to handle right then. I always assume that I wake up each morning and put on my armor as well as my makeup. But I learned today that that's not always the case, and I felt exposed, vulnerable, and ill-prepared.

My thoughts were inevitably turned to him today as I went about. I thought of our family home evening lesson on gratitude from Sunday night. My grandfather teared up as he expressed to us how grateful he is that we were a family relatively free of serious problems, how grateful he is that we love each other. He said in closing, "When times get tough, just remember: thank first." He is wise. Weathered from life and rolled smooth through the years, he has become such a source of wisdom. I compared him in my head to Lehi. He seemed that way to me. The giver of truth and knowledge. The giver of light.

Grandpa is a gardener, and as such, his practice is one of cultivating, nurturing and helping to grow. In a way, I think that all of us are products of his nurturing. I know that at least for me, he was integral in my process of becoming an artist. He still is. He cultivated creativity in me from the times when I was young and painted him dozens of pictures of flowers from the garden. Grandpa makes bonsai trees. He takes them when they're young and formative, tender and pliable and twists copper wires round their branches. When then grow, they become art, and the forms of their branches and roots make nature look like the ultimate sculptor. Granted, Grandpa has a hand in the process. When I was little I would wander around in the "Secret Garden" where Grandpa stores his bonsai tress under mounds of sawdust to save them from the frost of winter. I would dig little holes to get a glimpse of how they were doing. Most of the time, the were doing just fine. In his old age, he I wonder how he can possibly maintain the hundreds that he has created. But he refuses to sell them, worried that without his watchful care, they will wilt, die, or lose their splendor. They take constant tweaking and adjusting. Never has he produced a "finished product." I don't think it's possible to do so.

Grandpa is like the leaves I was passing today. In his prime, he was green, stuck strong to the branch of life. Now, as the seasons passed, he has become beautiful. Red stains of heartache and trials, golden moments of triumph, deep purples of passion...all these make up who he has become. Fragile, but in fragility and in moments before his season ends, he is closer to his God, more stalwart in his callings, more grateful, more compassionate, more creative, more curious, more learned, more teachable, more humble, more charitable, more repentive, more loving, more concerned, more understanding, more weathered, more eroded, more feeble, more knowledgeable, more...

beautiful.

Evidence

Today it hit me. I'm in college. You'd think that I would have realized this a few months ago, and I guess I did cognitively, but it's still sinking it. The first tip off (tonight) that I wasn't at home anymore was the fact that I was using "Mardi Gras" Napkins to wipe with because we go through A ROLL A DAY. How it's possible? I don't know. All I know is that none of us are used to buying toilet paper at all let alone biweekly. So after going through two boxes of tissues and a roll of paper towels, we're down to the napkins and TP has become the number one priority on the grocery list. This is just one evidence that I have officially moved out (even though not really away) from home. I documented a few other evidences.

Exhibit A: the garbage. I think it's ALWAYS full. It's stunning really how much trash we produce and even though we recycle our paper and cans, it really stacks up.


Exhibit B: The cupboards. They are filled with highly processed, easy-to-make, ready-to-eat, delights. Roommate and I have pistachios, frosting, Nutella, granola, spaghetti, trail mix, bagels, and a rouge can of Pringles. Now doesn't all that sound like great fixins for a meal?


Exhibit C: My personal favorite- the fridge. It is ridiculous. It is either stocked with leftovers that never get eaten, or completely empty. All that I photographed is pretty much all that is in there. The one thing that we never run out of is yogurt. I think our fridge produces it over night. Perhaps you'd like some? My favorite is Keylime. Too bad everyone else on campus likes it too so it's always sold out at the creamery. Bummer.


Lastly, just us. We get stuck in our clothes, and have silly moments. Our hair is always askew to match our frazzled brains and tired eyes. College definitely takes a toll on you physically, but it's fun. Wiping with napkins is always a joy.

Onesie

Target is full of magical discoveries. The latest? Onesies that come in XL and XXL. What a find! The Roomies and I each bought a pair and put them to good use last night watching this. I think most of the fun (besides the faces of those who saw 5 brightly colored bodies flash by and wonder what was going on) was trying them on and laughing ourselves silly in the dressing stalls. We discovered, however, that they are quite the toasty bit of apparel. It's no wonder babies don't have blankets at night. They would probably melt. One thing is for sure, onesies will put an extra burst of energy into your step and put a bit of silliness into your mood.

Laughter

The past twenty four hours have been some of the most laughter filled hours of college thus far. I was up late last night trying to finish an assignment for art so I could go on a weekend getaway with my family, and finished for the night at about 1:30. I walked into my room, opened the bottom drawer to get my pajamas out and started undressing. Suddenly my roommate, who had been asleep for almost 3 hours by now, shot bolt upright and let out a sleepy, slightly maniacal and creepy giggle followed by a high pitched slur, "I think I fell asleep in your bed." I stared at her and felt a smile force the corners of my mouth to rise, "What?" Again she innocently confessed, "I think I fell asleep in your bed!" I couldn't help but laugh. "You're not in my bed. You're in your bed." She looked helplessly confused and her pathetic state caused me to burst out in great waves of laughter, so hard in fact, that I was struggling to put my pants on. Her confusion took over and my incoherent roommate started searching for clarification. "Wait. Who is that?" "Who me? I am Paige. You are Roommate. This is our room. You're in your bed and it's okay if you sleep there." Suddenly she got up and curtly said, "I'm going to the bathroom." Okay.

I had to go in and tell the other girls in my apartment who were still up about this strange and hilarious encounter. As soon as I walked in the room they all burst out laughing and sputtered, "Your p-p-pants! Your pa-ants!" I looked down. The pooch in the front was truly incredible. I had obviously struggled to get them on and though my legs were covered, the were clearly on backwards. I then proceed to relay the previous few minutes of exchange that happened in my room just moments before and barely got it out between the cackling, chortles, giggling, tittering, and hysterics. We then heard the bathroom door open. Other Roommate stuck her head out and smiled at Roommate. Roommate shot back with the "worst scowl I have ever gotten." Our giggles were silenced momentarily, but suddenly we burst out again. Obviously it was much to late.

I tried going to bed, but stopped a few feet short of my door. I collapsed on the floor and shook with sniggers. Other Roommate joined me and we sat together in silent laughter, trying to calm ourselves down before entering the rooms of our sleeping roommates. It took a lot of deep breaths, but eventually I got a hold of myself. As I lay in my bed with my eyes open, I giggled quietly whilst recalling the night's events.

Thursday was especially excellent because we were able to finally put our master prank on FHE Boys into action. We met after classes (I was lucky enough to get out early because of a fire alarm scare at the HFAC) and drove to Petsmart. The plan was to by "30 goldfish" a restriction put on by the moral police man of the apartment, Roommate. Sheesh 30. (We collaboratively decided the night the restrictions were imposed that we would stretch her parameters and get 60. No one was to breathe a word to Roommate for fear of a thrashing.) So we drove, blasting Aqua all the way. I, being the driver and therefore leader of the group was looked to to tell the man how many fish we wanted. In a surge of rebellion and mischievousness (and knowing that if we were going to do a good prank we needed good ammunition) I confidently said "One Hundred." The roommates all just stared at me. "A HUNDRED?!" "Yes. Please. We'll leave you alone while you get them for us. Thank you." and with that we walked off in a huddle, them exclaiming at my boldness, me smirking at them (and in the absent face of Roommate). 20 minutes later the man was finished catching our fishies and we paid our $12 and left. The plan was this:

The choir rehearsal was at 7 and the girls were all going come. The ammo would be stored in the car. The Office starts at 8, so while the boys were coming over and getting settled to watch it, Other Roommate and I were going to be "moving the piano back and finishing up stuff at the rehearsal." We had thought we lured them sufficiently with brownies, beanbags, and of course, The Office. Well plans went awry when rehearsal ended at 7:20 and we got back to the room with voicemails from FHE Boy No. 1 saying they would rather host us, they would move a couch in from the lobby and we could bring the beanbags over. What?! Now was that really logical? We schemed and plotted and came up with "Paige has an art project she wants to work on during the show and it's spread out all over the table, plus the brownies won't be out until a few minutes into the show. Also, Other Roommate has things to finish up, and the beanbags were cumbersome..." We won. They would be over at 5 'til. Now we had to figure out an alibi for the girls doing the dirty deed. Now that Other Roommate and I had obligations to tend to at home, two others had to go. Late Night Roommate and Missionary Hussie Roommate decided that they would leave now buy ice cream and then sneak in while the boys were over. We would tell the boys that they were "buying ice cream" when they got there, and this way, we could buy them more time. Perfect. All was well again.

The boys arrived, and The Office was blaring. But all the while, I was fidgeting and wondering "Where are they?" "Did they get caught?" Tall FHE Boy didn't come, nor did Girl Crazy FHE Boy (but we all knew where he was). Could Tall FHE Boy have gotten them? Right then, Other Roommate got a text from Late Night Roommate saying "Someone is in there!" Great. Other Roommate called him after some silent negotiation and convinced him (bless her) to bring his buddies along and come watch with us. Again, "We have brownies!!!" Who ever knew the chocolaty treat could be such a successful trap! It worked perfectly. Tall FHE Boy miraculously left the door wide open. My roommates ran in and started their business. They filled the tub, the sinks, the toilet, the rice cooker, crockpot, blender, pots, pans, cups, bowls, everything and anything that could hold water with both some water and a little aquatic friend. They texted us 20 minutes later. Mission accomplished. Now all we had to do was sit and wait for The Office to end, dessert to be eaten, and a reaction to be enjoyed.


Tall FHE Boy left first after the night's festivities. Only minutes later Pseudo-Gold FHE Boy got a phone call. "Our apartment is covered in fish!" He didn't do much explaining because after the call was ended, FHE Boy No. 1 exclaimed in exasperation, "Ugh, they'll never leave my goldfish alone!" We all looked at each other. Luckily Missionary Hussie Roommate caught on, "Your crackers? Who?" "The stupid Gates Girls! They're such psychos!" They proceeded to talk about how psycho the Gates Girls are and how they were convinced it was them all the while thinking the fish were actually a salty snack strewn about the floor. Amateurs.


Other Roommate, being the brilliant girl she is convinced the boys to go over there (with us tagging along of course) and check it out. As we were walking across the parking lot towards the fire escape Tall FHE Boy yelled out the window "They're real fish!" "WHAT?!" "Yeah! Real!" PSHOO! It was like a gunshot went off and we were off to the races. We ran up the stairs and replying to their exclamations with, "Yeah, I can't believe those girls. Who would do that? Holy cow. That's retarded. Sheesh. Wowza!"


It was truly glorious stepping into that apartment, hearing reactions and seeing the havoc that we had so secretly wreaked on them. We followed them around smirking at their horror and giving each other mental high-fives. Breakfast FHE Boy was feeling smug because he had so wisely locked his door. Missionary Hussie Roommate, however, foresaw his pleasure at being spared, so she slide a cupcake tray full of surprises under the door, so when he unlocked it and stepped inside, guess what splashed up at him? It was all too perfect. We couldn't have planned some of the amazing things that happened in that apartment. Not even how they found out it was us.


We were all sitting in the kitchen after inspecting the place and assessing the damage. Unexpectedly, FHE Boy No. 1 picked up an empty distilled water jug and started turning it around in his hands. I noticed the initials on it a split second before he did and started moving towards the door. "K...A... K.A. KA. KA!! IT WAS YOU GUYS!" We all screamed with a mix of terror and delight (seeing the progression of their awareness all night was excellent and then the cherry on top was seeing the cogs and wheels turn in their heads as it all fell into place). "We're going to KILL you! Oh, you're dead! You're dead for sure!" Idle threats. So satisfactory.


We gloated in the parking lot, doing a victory dance for all to see and cheering our hearts at while yelling back at them "We got you guys so bad! Fear us! WOO!" and other such nonsense, then we retired to our apartment to exchange stories, high-fives and bragging rights. A few minutes later we received a phone call. "Just so you guys know, we sort of hate you. But we have to admit that was a dang good prank." As if our egos needed inflating...but we cheered into the phone. I don't think we've stopped rubbing it in ever since. Needless to say, that night, was sufficiently filled to the brim with gut-wrenching laughter. I had to take photos of hair for a project, and Roommate volunteered to be "static hair." This movie was the result.My abs are going to be sore for a week!

Clash

I never cease to be amazed at how different my views are from my good friend's. She is from another country and the span of the ocean definitly puts space between her views and mine. Though she has opened my mind on numerous subjects and made me think twice about many things I've never thought to reconsider, it makes me sad to think about some of the views she holds dear, for they seem so lonely or radical.

We spoke about marriage while I was in her country in June and then again last week. Each time I am stunned by the fact that she never wants to get married. She said that marriage puts bounds and rules on love. All I heard was that she doesn't like having to be committed. She values love, but doesn't believe that love and marriage are connected. I guess for her, marriage means nothing more because she sleeps with him and has all the perks of marriage without having to be fully committed to someone. But to me, being committed is a perk. Having someone to be fully devoted to, to give you heart to sounds magical. She thinks it's a pity that one would have to give their heart away and share their life with someone. I think we clash on every facet of the subject. She thinks it's special that she can live her life and her lover can live his and just knowing the other person exsists and loves them is enough. Does he love her? Could this rockstar in a faraway city really be faithful to a young 17 year old from a smaller city? Does she see the danger? Could she ever come to believe in the principle of eternal families and realize the security in such doctrine?
We then talked about war and democracy a few days later. I told her my views on the war and she told me what she thought about America's involvement in it. She said that she respects America for being the only country willing to truly stand for what they believe in. Other countries, she said, say that they live democracy and freedom and liberty, but she doesn't see them out fighting for what they believe. My question is, why do we have to fight for OUR beliefs in a country that doesn't have even a similar culture to ours? Are we sure that our way is right? I'm not convinced that democracy works everywhere. She also told me that democracy and true freedom has always come about by a bloody battle. The French, the Americans, both fought long and hard for their freedoms and in some ways I think we're still fighting. Little battles are being won everyday in a country that preaches freedom. But why do we have to fight abroad? What obligation do we have to stop things from happening? What right do we have to let others suffer unjustly? Are we a country of justice? or are we a country of dominance?

Closure

It has finally come. I think I can finally get over him and he over me. It is good. It is fresh. It is a newness that I haven't felt in a long time. It's a brightness, a forward stride. Weight and anxiety are gone, and I can look forward with a hope and a presence.

I took all the broken pieces of a fragmented relationship, swept them into a little pile, and packaged them away. But I forgot where I put the package. It's a good thing however, that the memory of where is forgotten. It will make it easier to forget the rest. I found, however, peices of myself along the way, and with these pieces can build a better me. Tomorrow.

Genocide

I saw a play a tonight entitled "The Diary of Anne Frank." It was so moving and really made me think about how we treat humanity. Could a holocaust happen again? I think it could really easily. The genocide in Rwanda has started again, and while we cozily sit at home and watch movies, there are people who have to fight to sleep within four walls.

It speaks of our blessings. We live in a land that values liberty and freedom, equality and rights. Others live where they don't know what they value; where self serving interests prevail and survival of the fittest determines the rule.

As I sat there watching the actors portraying the horrifying experience of being caught and taken away by people of their own blood, tears streamed down my face and I likened it unto Christ and how His own betrayed Him. People truly are all connected. The world is a village. As I have participated in travel, cultural exchanges and expanding the circles of my friends over oceans and across the world, I realize how alike we really all are.

I think that is the importance of exchanges and experience the world around us, realizing that we are undoubtedly connected; that we have bonds with those around us that we might not even know about, bonds of human experience. If we come to understand how we belong to one family, service for others will increase, as will peace, and goodwill.

But sometimes I feel so helpless, like there is so much to do, but I am only one voice, one heart. How can I help? What can I do? I feel like many times I turn my back on my brothers and sisters who suffer all over the world. It makes me want to cry when I think that the human spirit is conquered by people, but other spirits which have become hardened and cold. Anne Frank, a spirit full of life and color ended up as a shell, hollowed out by an inhumane society filled with cold hearts and hateful actions. How can the spirit drop so far at the hands of its own kind? An exerpt from the program from the performance reads:

". . . After a year, Otto Frank returned alone to Amsterdam from Auschwitz, a walking ghost of the man he was before the war. Time and new information finally confirmed his worst fears, and Otto Frank's horrific nightmare became his devastating reality. The day Otto Frank learned off Anne's death, Miep Gies returned Anne's diary to Otto. Though it lay untouched for weeks afterwards, Otto finally decided to edit and publish it.
Anne's diary is a beacon of hope ina world filled with violence. Anne writes that, "In spite of everything, I still believe people are good at heart."
Since 1945, the "Never Again" promise of a moratorium on genocide has been broken repeatedly. In 62 years, the fact of the holocaust has not saved 100 million people from genocide. Even now, in the Darfur genocide crisis, Janjawee fighters poison wells, rape, murder, and throw chained infants atop burning huts.
We are now reaposible. We cannot claim ignorance. The silent consent. Do you consent to genocide?" - Jack Rizzotti

I'm not sure what our role is as citizens or even as a nation. Is it our reponsibily to impose on others? to try and save them when our efforts could quite possibly go awry? But I know that we must do something.

I too believe that in spite of everything, people are good at heart.

Parallels

I had lunch with a friend today. We went with the intent of telling stories and getting to know eachother better, but I walked away with more than that. I learned more about myself, I learned about how connected human kind is and I also learned how surprising people can be.

As he spoke about the last few years of his life, I couldn't help but see parallels in, not only my own life, but also the lives of those who are close to me. Similar experiences and words even, graced his story which triggered cognative memories in my own mind, reminding me how people are bound through similar experience, even if they don't know it. I was surprised how much depth he had and how his struggles have shaped him. It was refreshing to gain a perspective and see him with new eyes.

When I left and was walking to my class, I was stuck pondering how people are essentially alike. We all have the same mortal probation and each of us have trials that, although are specific to us, are so alike the hard things that others around us are going through. It made me wonder how many people I know have been through the same things I have gone through. What if everyone had little thought bubbles above their head that told about their monumental struggles? Would we show more charity? Would we have more understanding? Would our capacity to not judge be heightened? Would we be more inclined to be their friend? Or, would we realize how alike we are, and yearn for someone who knows exactly what we've been going through?

Luckily, we know that Christ has suffered all things. Every temptation, pain and imaginable hurt has been taken upon his magnificent shoulders. He wears no thought bubble, nor was every struggle detailed, but I have confidence that He knows my heart and the hearts of those around me and can provide comfort beyond any mortal soul.

Restart

I got a bad start this morning. I woke up late (again) but not late enough to miss any class. I was there a few minutes after 8 and settled in for a critique on our "Strip Studies Phase 2 with Texture." Blah. I soon was in a daze, probably drooling and incoherantly staring at some smattering of texture and line in a 6"x6" square. The class continued in a rather slow and dreary manner. It just felt gray. I woke up feeling gray. I don't like gray.

So after class I decided I needed to start over. I went home, got back in bed, closed my eyes for a few minutes, opened them, got up, and took a shower. After the shower I got ready for the day and acted as if I was going to my first class of the day. It worked. I was upbeat, ready to fight off any foe or demon that crossed my path.

I think pretending to be asleep is key. I completely restarted and it was probably the best decision of my day.