Marian and Gwen

Meet Marian (facing the camera) and Gwen (the other one with white fur), my two pet fancy rats! They were going to be the last part of my last post (My Green Grass) (I love parentheses), but I decided that they deserve a post of their own.

If you had told me 10 years ago that I would grow to love rodents the way I do, I'm sure I would have doubted you. My brother used to have a hamster, but it was smelly and would bite so I didn't like it much. Being friends with one who adores all things cute and furry is probably what changed me. That was what led me to my first rodents, the two mice Timmy Willy and Finnigan. They were great, but they never really bonded with me. I'm sure that had I let them loose I would never have seen them again. Someone told me that rats will bond and interact with you more, so I wanted to give them a shot.

While Marian and Gwen don't come when I call and are ignorant to the idea of sitting still, they are great pets. Sure, I'd rather have a dog. But for the apartment situation right now, they are the best of what's allowed and are WAY more fun than fish.

My Green Grass

I've always been a "Gah! The grass is greener over there!," kind of person.

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to be where I wasn't. I remember many Christmas vacation holidays of being with family down in Ephraim and wishing I was with friends in Salt Lake. And yet, there have been very stressful times throughout school that I've wanted to escape to the quiet of Sanpete county and open arms of loving grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. I've also spent loads of time replaying the footage of my past in my mind or trying to paint pictures of my future rather than reveling in the surroundings of my present.

One of my classic battles with the "grass-is-greener syndrome" has been Salt Lake verses Logan. While living in Salt Lake my freshman year at the U, all I wanted was to get out and get to Logan. Even my Salt Lake heart spots like Sam Wellers, The Main Library, Temple Square, the Gateway, the cathedral, Edinburgh Castle, Trax, my view of the valley, and the U's campus in general didn't hold a candle to the seemingly perfect, sparkly and shiny, and oh-so-friendly Logan. So, I up and moved!

Almost a month ago, I caught myself doing it again, but this time in reverse. I found out at the last minute that February 4th, 2011 would present Natalie's last home swim meet (against BYU of all opponents), so I hastily made the necessary arrangements for a ride down. (By the way, she was amazing. Always has been, still is, and always will be I'm sure.) As my room mate Kirsten and I drove through Salt Lake City on our way up to the U that night, my spirits lifted in a way I haven't felt in a long time--I was as giddy as a little kid in Disneyland. As I walked towards the swim meet and gazed at the Huntsman Center, the medical towers, gymnastics building, and the distant giant of a psychology building all resting in the shadow of the Fort Douglas pedestrian bridge, that creepy "grass-is-greener" illness awoke inside me again. "Why the heck did I transfer? This school kicks Logan's trash! What have I done?? Moving was the biggest mistake of my life!" And then after the meet and dinner at Red Robin's with Nat and her awesome padres, more feelings and thoughts kept coming as we drove through Sugar House: "This place is so quaint! I wonder how much trouble it would be to re-transfer... Natalie is so lucky! WHY DID I MOVE? How soon can I move back here?"

Ridiculous, right? Well, I've had enough.

In an effort to combat "grass is greener where I am not" I have decided to blog about the green grass around me in my life right now--the things I love about living in Logan. Sure, there is green grass elsewhere. But, I am where I am, and for now since there's nothing I can do to change it I will embrace it. Besides, right now isn't so bad :)

I've decided to start out with the valley itself and work my way in. Have you seen Cache Valley when there's no smog? It's gorgeous. I love it! The picture of winter version was taken from my living room last year.

Logan Canyon is stellar (and Sardine, Green, and Dry Canyons as well) , especially in the fall. My two favorite hikes in Logan Canyon are Crimson and Juniper. I love going for canyon drives to get out of the smog and away from school for a bit. My room mate Katie and I sometimes drive up there and park next to the river and just walk along it for a ways. Love it.

Yes, the University of Utah is in many ways superior to Utah State University. But hey, it's not all bad. I should try and brag about its claims to fame (more experiments in space than other schools, etc), but to me it's not worth the stretch. I'm just grateful that I have the opportunity to be "educated" at a decent public university. Utah State's been good to me as far as employment goes as well, which has been a blessing.

I love Old Main. Always have. Very few pictures do it justice. I get to climb its hill every other morning to get to school, and its historic glory makes the hike much more epic and enjoyable. I'm a sucker for old buildings with interesting architecture I appreciate, so Old Main and the others on the quad never cease to delight me.

This is how I get around Logan while without the luxury of an automobile. The best part about it? It's fare-free. In a valley prone to astronomical smog levels and increasing unemployment rates, the Cache Valley Transit District is an economic and environmental beacon of hope.

Meet Professors Mike (top), and Corey (bottom) Christiansen. Together as father and son, they comprise Utah State's Guitar Studies Faculty. I've had the privilege to take guitar classes from each of them (Beginning Group Guitar, and Blues Guitar). Mike and Corey are hilarious, and super cool. Mike used to tour with the Eagles, and Corey has played with John Mayer. Their concerts are fantastic. Cache Valley is very lucky to have them here as locals.

It's time for food! I've never actually eaten at the Tandoori Oven, but I plan to someday. I put it up here because I enjoy eating at it's sister restaurant the Indian Oven, but I couldn't find a picture of the Indian online. I'm sure it's not the best Indian food in the world, but it's one of the best places that Logan has to offer in my opinion.

Now, the Bluebird's food is not my very favorite. However, it's historic and very quaint. I enjoy eating here with my family if nothing else than for the sake of tradition. I love its soda bar and chocolate counter at the front. I love how old it is.

This is a cool little cafe called Citrus and Sage. Inside you will find a FANTASTIC crepery--their crepes may seem a bit pricey, but they are worth every penny.Citrus and Sage is also home to numerous jam sessions for Utah State Jazz faculty and students and other musicians as well, which I am a fan of attending.

Charlie's made the blog because of their $2 Large 'Flavor of the Month' shake. It has yet to disappoint me. I love soft serve and icecream, so I love going to Charlie's.

Logan's castle-like temple never ceases to attract my gaze.

Reasons why I love Logan's Tabernacle: It houses a beautiful yet ridiculously out of tune organ; It hosts Logan's Summer Fest on its grounds each year; and, it's blessed me with sweet memories of sweaty and cramped but nonetheless inspiring stake conferences and playing festive Christmas concerts with the Cache Symphony Orchestra. Please forgive my (most likely) incorrect punctuation usage. It's a blog--anything goes.

I've been lucky to have good room mates each year that I've lived in Logan. I wish I had pictures of all of them to post, but I only have good ones from last year. Currently, it's down to we three at the bottom: Katie, me, and Kirsten. But, we still manage to find fun and merriment every now and again. I also posted the picture on the bottom because of another thing I love about Logan: its annual, community-built "Pumpkin Walk."

A quick essay

If you are reading this, then chances are that you know me and you know how I have struggled with my writing in the past. Not struggled so much with the actual writing as much as believing that I can. I typed up a quick essay today along the lines of my "Writing Autobiography" for an insignificant class assignment and thought I'd share it here since I have produced a serious lack of posts in recent years. Enjoy.

Writing has always been a subject of insecurity for me. For years I walked around believing that I could not write well at all. This probably stemmed from me being somewhat of a perfectionist, which has never blended well with the subjective nature of writing. It is impossible for me to cover all of the events and happenstances that brought me to being the writer I am today in the confines of a 2 page, double-spaced paper. As such, I will try to focus on the highlights of my history with writing.

Elementary and middle school found me hardly thinking about my writing at all, that I can remember. I did not write much outside of school, and the writing assignments I was given were much like math equations: I simply filled in the blanks the teacher provided with a few adjectives of my choosing. I was good at regurgitating what my teachers gave me and wanted to hear. I was praised for being a fine writer, and I felt that my abilities were more than sufficient for the tasks given me.

Unfortunately, my anxiety manifested itself strongly in high school. Mr. Stan Banks, my sophomore English teacher, told me more than once that my writing was “superficial.” My essays never delighted him as my work had for previous teachers. That was crushing! However, the pinnacle of my self-doubt came during my senior year in Mr. Dave Davis's AP Literature class. For a poet essay assignment, my essay began:

“Towards the beginning of Jim Henson's The Muppet’s Christmas Carol, Rizzo the Rat exclaims to Gonzo, 'Charles Dickens was a nineteenth century novelist! A genius!' William Butler Yeats, though not a novelist, was another late-nineteenth century genius. Better known for his poetry, Yeats often wrote about the nature he associated with in Ireland.”

I thought this portion of the introduction to be original and humorous. I had discussed with him beforehand the importance of not just writing what is expected but being creative with it and making it your own. I thought he would be delighted to read something a little different in his stack of papers that would virtually all say the same thing. How wrong I was! After some snooping around, I discovered that I had received the lowest grade on that assignment of all the students from his three AP Lit classes (including one who had lost a significant amount of points for no other reason than turning the essay in late). Apparently, Mr. Davis did not think I could write. His opinion meant a lot to me for some reason, so I took that belief to heart.

Mr. Davis's grading and comments had hurt me deeply, causing even greater anxiety and stress in the face of writing than I had had before. Thankfully, however, I had friends and mentors that worked with my self-cynicism to try and help me see that there were admirable qualities to my writing. Blogging was a popular activity amongst us at the time, and they encouraged me to keep a blog going. Though I believed that I was not a good writer, I liked to blog. With every post, I was boosted with compliments. From their enjoyment, I began to see that my writing strengths resided in my voice, clear organization, and simple clarity.

In college, virtually all of my professors who have read my writing have made it clear to me that they see those strengths as well. They have also helped me to work on my weaknesses, such as beefing up “superficial” passages. I have tried to take their opinions and criticisms to heart rather than those of Mr. Davis and Mr. Banks. No writer is perfect, but I believe that everyone can improve. The perfectionist in me will never be content with not having a perfect paper, and will continue to feel a bit insecure with any writing I produce. However, I am grateful for the mistakes and turns I made in the past and for the supporters that helped me to improve and be the writer I am today.

An unexpected ray during my dark day

Sam's stomach was bothering him. It was probably from the sandwich that fortune allowed him to stumble upon after it had fallen out of a garbage sack while being poured into a dumpster behind the South Towne Mall. It wasn't spoilage that was hurting his gut--the food by some miracle was completely intact, and still warm when he picked it up. What had upset him was actually having substance inside him--eating wasn't something his body was completely used to.

A gurgle creeped out from beneath his coat to accompany the pain he was feeling. "I know. I know. I'm sorry!" he said aloud. "At least I'm still alive. We're lucky we've made it to see 2008. You try saying no to free food sometime! See how you like it."

People around Sam didn't pay him much notice as he continued to talk to his stomach at the end of the platform. He was obviously homeless, which meant he was probably half-crazy anyway. Sam didn't really notice them either. The business men in suits scowling at their phones, the punks scooting along with skateboards and sagging pants, the mother watching over her three young bundled children, the university students with their iPods and backpacks, and the fast food employee with the shifty eyes made up a group not unlike any other he'd waited with at the end of the line to go to Salt Lake. This was just part of his daily scene. Some people go to work, get a paycheck, and pay the gas bill to keep warm in the winter. Sam rode Trax.

After his stomach had heard enough, Sam leaned against a pole and gazed out at the southern end of the Salt Lake Valley. It was a pretty scene to behold--the sun was setting, and the air was clear after the previous night's snowstorm. He could see the copper mine on the other side of the valley, and the funny looking building the mother had pointed out to her children as being the "temple" about halfway in between.

Thankfully, the faint sound of an electronic bell came through the air and the metal tracks at the station began to hum, signaling the awaiting passengers that a train was approaching. Sam knew that within seconds he'd have a warm place to sit down. He set his focus on a certain point on the tracks he predicted the train would stop upon--he was 4 for 5 that day with this little game he liked to play. The front of the train crawled past it, but the first set of doors landed directly before him, so he decided that would count.

Normally Sam was aware of those around him only enough to ensure that he didn't walk into or sit on someone. This meant lots of staring at the ground. The doors to the train opened, and Sam watched as lots of snow boots and various other shoes he didn't know the names of came on to the platform. Then came a break in the shoe parade, so Sam thought he was clear to ascend the stairs and get on the train. But before he could, a pair of red-plaid Converse's entered his view.

These shoes belonged to a 19 year old freshman student in her second semester at the University of Utah. She was on the tallish-end height-wise for her age and gender, even with her flat-bottomed shoes. Her hair was what some call curly, but she liked to describe as "tight-waved." On her back, she carried a bulging red backpack full of school books she knew she wouldn't read but decided to tote along anyway. Only a loose black pea coat and plaid felt scarf protected her from the cold.

This girl was running away from school like she did almost every week. Though she didn't much like being home, it was better than being alone in her dorm room. Alone--true or not, that was a word that she felt in more ways than just physical. She was having a hard time. Her best friend was miles and miles away. Though they did an excellent job of keeping in touch, things were changing, and just weren't the same anymore. The school she attended made her feel small and insignificant, especially since she was major-less. Her security blanket of friends from high school had been ripped off, and she felt unprepared for such exposure to real life.

This girl was also feeling a non-existant pressure from her society to be dating and pursuing marriage, as many girls her age in Utah do. It seemed that everyone around her was doing a fine job at this, except for her. This ill-conceived perception was only fortified each time one of her high school friends or associates changed their facebook status to "in a relationship." Some of them had even changed to engaged! And here she was never even having been on a real date. So, daily thoughts of wondering whether she was in someway defective began to creep into her mind. She was legitimately and unknowingly becoming depressed.

Sam looked up into the eyes of this girl with the plaid shoes as she exited the train. They seemed sad, and he expected them look away as if they had been offended by his homeless appearance. However, to his surprise, the ends of her lips curved up into a smile. It was contagious, and he grinned back as she passed. Suddenly, the pain of his stomach changed to that same feeling he got every time someone stopped and gave him money on the street, or put food on his plate at the homeless shelter. Before stepping aboard, he turned and called out,

"Hey!"

The girl took a few steps, pretending that she hadn't heard him. It hadn't hurt to smile at the man, but she didn't want to risk a conversation in case he was going to ask for money. Not wanting to hurt his feelings though, and wondering whether she had dropped something forced her to turn around. Again, Sam was surprised. He wasn't sure why he had called out like that, and didn't know what to say. Then suddenly...

"You know? You're really pretty. If I were a younger man, I'd ask you out on a date."

The train was beeping at him to get out of the doorway so the doors could close, so he turned back to the stairs and climbed onto the train. At the far end, he noticed that his favorite handicapped seats with more leg-room were vacant, so he moved as quickly as possible to claim them as his.

The girl he'd just complimented stood stunned on the platform for a few seconds. She couldn't believe it! There was no way that man could have known that only a few minutes previous she'd been gazing out the train window, feeling quite worthless after a train-ride of comparing herself to her pretty friends and relatives. And yet, he, a homeless man, had the words she needed to hear in the moment that she needed it most. Before going on her way, she looked up with tears in her eyes at the sky and said to an unseen being,

"Coincidence or not, thank you."

60 Seconds of Magic

I think this day was predestined to be special. As such, it proved worthy of a post.

For some reason, I was able to get up early this morning. 6:50 am. I was up before any of my room mates, actually. This led to me being able to take a shower before anything in my day went down. If only you knew how crazy all of this is. I never shower in the morning--ever. I never get up on time! Even if I've had plenty of sleep the night before (like I did last night), sleeping in just takes its natural course everyday. If sleeping in were an olympic event, I'd be a gold medalist.

8:50 found me showered, makeup'd (miraculous, I know), and dressed. My bed was made (what the?), my schedule for the day planned out on paper, my notes for classes that day reviewed, and my bookbag packed and ready to go. Breakfast would have been consumed at this point, but I'm currently out of food, so all I ate was a measely (which, according to dictionary.com is not a word. You know what I mean.) piece of toast. Classes for the day started at 9:30, so I decided to head over to the bookstore and pick up a manual for Communicable Disease Control , and a notebook for Institute.

This is where things took a nifty turn. While browsing around the bookstore for the most suitable notebook (I'm picky when it comes to these things. It's got to be sturdy, but nothing fancy. Thickish. Preferably smaller than standard size notebooks. Color? Irrelevant.) a voice came over the speakers in the store. "Attention Book Store customers. It is now 9:09 on September 9th in the year 2009. In honor of this special occasion, the first nine customers to purchase at the front will receive a token for a free scoop of icecream! Enjoy!" That announcement alone lifted my already perky spirits. I looked around the store to see if I had a shot at this opportunity for free icecream. I most certainly did. At the checkout counter, I was given the promised token for being the third person to buy something at 9:09. So cool.

The rest of the day proved to be out of the ordinary, and most enjoyable. I stayed awake in each of my lectures, and found them to be interesting and study-provoking. At work, I had tasks to do and was given more to do. I know that sounds strange, but at the lab sometimes you're up to your neck in dirt to work on, and other times there's nothing to do. I need money--bring on the work. At orchestra tonight, aside from playing gorgeous Ralph Vaughn Williams, I was given the opportunity to put my name on a list of private teachers interested in taking on students for music lessons. Maybe something will come of that! Who knows. The greatness continued even then. When I came home from orchestra, my room mates had saved me some fixings from their homemade pizza feast. The pizza was delicious.

9/9/09 will never come again. I'm glad that I was here to see it. The magic sixty seconds of 9:09 only came twice today. I'm looking forward to see if October 10th of next year will be special too. Oh, and by the way, I didn't use up my icecream token today. Since ice cream makes everything better, I think I'll save it for a day with less character, like September 18th, that might end up being a not-so-good day.

Anxieties of One Naturally Inclined to be Antisocial

Nearly every Friday night, the LDS Institute in Logan puts on an activity of some sort. While all are invited to attend, they don't tend to attract the large crowds that they could. To be fair, you could say that some are more successful than others, but for the most part, they get a small turn out. Then again, what is your definition of small?

Last Friday, I was telling my room mate Eden about the crowd that these activities tend to attract. From my own harsh personal observation, I informed her that you'll always get a few geeky boys that show up right on time who are obviously girlfriend (and quite possibly friend)-less and are hoping that the night will introduce them to their eternal companion. It seems like they force themselves to go for this reason, not because they're just looking for a good time. They've no other options, and nothing better to do. Then, as the night goes on, the crowd that joins them isn't much better according to social standards. Man, I'm brutal. I apologize. As you'll see if you keep reading, I've no room to talk.

In any event, she was intrigued, and wanted to go over and have a look at these creatures. I didn't have any objections, and so we went over right as it started at 8 o'clock. Like a knife would fly to a magnet, I was immediately pulled into the gym upon entering the building when I heard a live jazz combo playing for the activity. I'm not sure why they were there, because the activity was advertised as a "MexicanFiesta", not "Big Band Dancing."

Just as I had promised her, there were two couples dancing on the floor, and about three guys standing off to the side. There was one boy in particular that I pointed out to her as being a prime example of these socially-challenged specimen. Gah! I'm terrible! Somebody please stop me.

Done. Before I could go on in my judgmental ways, this boy made a B-line for us, and asked me to dance. It wasn't a question though, for before I could answer he had taken my hand and dragged me out to the middle of the gym. What followed was one of the most humbling, embarassing, and yet hilarious moments of my life. And sadly, only three guys and Eden were there to see it.

I had no idea how to dance with this kid. He didn't say a word to me the whole time.
"What's your name?"
Silence.
"Uh..what am I supposed to do?"
Silence.
(I collide with him as he tries to spin around me or something)
"Oh! My bad! I'm sorry, I'm really bad at this."
Not even a smile.
(I continue to fail at trying to be smooth about this)
No reaction.

It was awful, but everytime I looked over and saw the look on Eden's face, I had to laugh at myself. Even still, this kid had not showered in who knows when, and so I looked over at the band with a look of "Please. Just stop playing." By some miracle, it worked. The last note came, and I left.

This would be a good place to end, wouldn't it? Well, too bad. The point of this post has not been presented yet. We're getting there though, I promise.

Being Friday as it was, and finding myself alone back at the apartment, I actually wandered back to the institute building. The Jazz music was pretty good, and I wanted to hear more of it. That was all I wanted though. It's funny- I often complain about being alone even when I am surrounded by others. Here was my chance to meet people even though I was alone for the chance to make friends and avoid loneliness in the future. And yet, I didn't want to talk to anybody. I wanted to get lost in the music, and not be bothered with random, 'Would you like to dance?'s and subsequent small talk. I was terrified at the thought of such things. (For those of you who know me, my dance anxiety had very much kicked in at this point.)

So, my question now was how do I listen and watch the music without having to talk to anybody? We saw how well being a wall-flower had worked out for me with Eden. To my relief, I snooped around and found a little curtained room up above the gym and stage. You can see everything going on down below and not be noticed if you peer through those curtains. So, I ran to the snack table, hoarded as many chips with salsa (Ah. We now see why it was advertised as Mexican Fiesta. Clever, eh?) and trailmix as I could carry, and ran up to my secret spot to enjoy the show by myself. I did embark on a few dangerous missions back to the snack table for lemonade and refills, but I slipped back and forth almost unnoticed.

I spent the next two hours overlooking local musicians, watching people having fun and dancing, and eating chips and salsa like there was no tomorrow. During the intermission, I did go down to compliment the band and request that they play Blue Bossa (which took them by surprise. Blue Bossa? Who would request that? A jazz major. They were afraid of that. But that's a post for another day.)

As the activity drew closer to ending, I couldn't take it anymore. You may think, based on my behavior that I've told you about, that I don't like being around people. That I enjoy being alone, and antisocial. That couldn't be farther from the truth. I hate it. I long to be outgoing and friendly. I yearned for someone or ones to be with and dance with. For some reason, there is a barrier there that I can not seem to master. I chicken out everytime. You'd think that chickening out would be the more comfortable route, but it's not at all. It's kind of like an endothermic reaction requiring a high activation energy: Before the reaction occurs, you're at a state that's lower than where you want to end up, but there's a huge hump to get over that requires a lot of energy to spark. Very rarely can I get over that hump, so I stay down low in the dumps instead. That, world, is why Brittany has a hard time with dances.

As I said, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to dance. But I couldn't go down to the gym! I couldn't dance there alone, but dancing with someone was impossible for me too. So, looking about me and finding a dark room occupied by no one but me and old chairs and risers just taking up space, I began to dance. It was great because no one could see me- not even me because it was dark. I danced, and I danced. I even pretended that I was dancing with someone else. Ridiculous? Pathetic? Perhaps so.

I learned something about myself that night. I'm no better off then those boys who show up to activities right on time. I don't even go, and it's not because I'm doing other things with other people. I have no one to go with, and I'm too afraid to go by myself. If I did have someone to go with, that would mean I would have a friend and I'm sure that if that happened, going to the institute activity wouldn't be on the agenda. At least those other guys/people try. They have more than I have, and I of all people have no room to judge them.

Timmy Willy Part 2: Pictures

Here are the pictures that I have of the late Timmy Willy. I will stop gushing over him after this post, I promise. It was his little rear end that had all the cuts and scratches and neosporin on it.

He was a cutie- no getting around the matter.

Here I tried to get his cute little face. He tried to sleep, but I don't think he could get much shut-eye because he was in so much pain.

The Tale of the Late Timmy Willy

This is not a picture of my hand or Timmy Willy. I only have pictures of him on my phone, and the phone will not let me send picture messages to my email address right now for some reason. Timmy was a brown fancy mouse, so really the only thing this picture portrays that's relevant to my story is the fact that Timmy was tiny just like this white one. Actually, he may have been smaller.

A couple of days ago, I went to Petsmart to see if they had any bunnies or chicks for Easter (which, by the way, they did not.) While looking at the rodents there, I noticed an adorable tiny brown fancy mouse. He was smaller then the other mice in his cage, and had a perfect fluffy coat and tiny mouse features. While being endeared, a bigger mouse came over and attacked the tiny brown one. It was horrible! The brute chased him around and kept biting his little tail and hind legs. The brown cotton ball tried to fight back with bites and such, but it didn't appear to do him much good. Some sort of "save the helpless creature" instinct of mine kicked in as soon as I saw he was bleeding, and I knew that even though I can not keep pets in my apartment, I needed to take him home to save him from dying.

The mean black and white mice continued to pick on my mouse as I waited for an attendant to come and rescue him. While it wasn't my first pick, he received the name Timmy Willy during the wait. When the Petsmart employee finally arrived, she looked at Timmy and recommened I take another brown mouse home since he was pretty beat up. She said something about how she meant to separate him from the others for a few days so he could heal, which I recognized as being code to the customers that he was going to die. But I didn't care. I'd become too attached after naming him and all to let him die in Petsmart. Since he was so mangled, she adopted him out free of purchase. It was a fun feeling to walk out of the store holding a little box with holes in it in one hand and a little bag of mouse food in my backpack.

The whole bus ride home was spent pondering where I would house Timmy. I decided to keep him in a plastic drawer from my room that seemed deep enough to keep him from getting loose. However, after holding and watching him for a few minutes, it became apparent that the plastic drawer would not be needed, because Timmy was very still. He didn't move around much. Even though it had me worried, it was kind of nice to be able to hold him without him squirming all about. I spent the next several hours in the apartment of a friend who didn't have roommates so we could keep Timmy a secret. We watched over Timmy the whole time. We heated some soy milk for him, and tried to help him drink some water too. He drank a little bit, but not much. He also didn't eat anything. While it was nice not having him poop at all, him not eating was sad to see because it accentuated his poor health.

I ended up sleeping over because I didn't want to leave him. The Petsmart lady told us to rub some Neosporin on his wounds to help them heal. We did so, using a Q-tip to be gentle. I think that Timmy was infected, because he didn't smell very good even for a male mouse. It was wonderful to hold him. If I put him on my stomach while laying down, he would crawl up and tuck himself under my chin, or between my neck and shoulder. His whiskers and tiny paws tickled. We didn't want to sleep with him since we might squish him and...sleeping with a mouse would be kind of gross, so we put him in a small box padded with tissue paper and placed it on the night stand next to her bed. I got up to check on him a few times during the night, given a bit of hope everytime I saw his heart still beating.

Timmy died sometime between 3:30 and 7:30 in the morning. When we woke up, he was on his back, stiff, legs in the air, and tiny teeth poking out of his mouth. It was a sad day. I miss the little bugger. He was darling, and seemed so sweet and docile because he was sick. It was a lot of fun to just watch him crawl around or close his eyes upon being petted. I have a new respect for rodents. They're not the ideal pets, but definitely have some perks. I'm glad that Timmy was able to die away from the other mice that caused his death in the first place.

False Advertising

Welcome to my 34th (now) Semiannual Post-on-de-blog!

I am fully aware that it's been awhile since the last installment, and much has happened to me in life that would be more relevant to blog about than what I am about to post now. In fact, this post is quite overdue. Here's the story behind it: Approximately eight months ago, mis amigos Alex and Matti from the University of Utah and I were hanging about in the halls of Chapel Glen 803 during the wee hours of the morning. We saw a flier about housing at the U (which I shall type up for your reading convenience) and had a good laugh about it. I pulled it off of the wall, said I would blog about how misleading it was, but put it away and forgot about it. Yesterday while I was going through some old papers, I found the sales-pitch flier and had a good chuckle again. Even though I don't live at the U anymore, it's still worth the blog.

The poster looks something like this:

• At the very top, it reads "Live the life. Live on campus."


• Directly under this is a very large picture of a female student (taking up roughly 50% of the poster face). Above her is a house with a caption beneath reading " Why live there?...", and below her is the same house surrounded by the signature University of Utah "U" with the caption "When U could live here?". There is a dashed line connecting the two that swirls and loops around in the same way that someone might illustrate the path of a flying bee.


• Beneath the picture is the following text:

And by the way...

• Free Internet, cable, and utilities
• Eat from dusk until dawn in the Peterson Dining Room
• Suite style rooms
• No commuting and parking hassles
• Late-night trips to the library with ease
• 2,000 built-in friends (you can all rendezvous in the MUSS)
• Crimson Nights, free movies, concerts, and more.
  

Imagine not having to wash a single dish, take a weekly trip to the grocery store, pay a single bill (other than rent), or hunt for a parking space ever again. As a student involved on campus, you can walk to and from meetings, you're closer to labs and your faculty, you can drop in to the free drop-in tutoring in the Peterson Heritage Center and never miss an activity because you're only a few steps or a shuttle ride away! That's what students living on campus are already experiencing.

I suppose that it wasn't really necessary to give you that much detail about it, especially since I am going to retype the points I would like to focus on. Oh well- what's done is done. I'll start with the bulleted section in red:

Free Internet, cable, and utilities- Explain to me how paying to be in a room where the costs of those things are included is free. You can't tell me they just threw those things in generously. I think a more appropriate statement might have been "Don't pay for internet, cable, and utilties separately!" If it's not coming from rent, then it's coming from tuition or taxes...both of which you pay. Ta Da! Next.

Eat from dusk until dawn in the Peterson Dining Room- This is humorously misleading. Why? Well, to me 'dusk to dawn' means from about 8 o'clock at night to 7 o'clock in the morning. Guess what. The HC isn't open during that time period-- ever. In fact, it's hours are a little inconvient, especially on weekends. I could be forgetting, but I believe they aren't open from 2 to 4 in the afternoon, and they close around 8 o'clock at night ("dusk"). Natalie, please help me out with the weekend hours. Also, they make it sound like you can just come in and eat whenever you want during all those hours, but that is a lie. Depending on your meal plan, you have to be careful to make sure you spread them out. This leads me to another complaint: the meal plans are really crappy-- no happy, reasonable medium to be found. They only offer plans with more meals than you could use but would still have to pay for, or not enough. Obviously, the minimum that should have been said was Dawn to Dusk.

Suite Style Rooms- Again, extremely misleading. While they do have some "suite style rooms" (which are really just bedrooms and bathrooms and a room in a hallway that connects to the main hallways of the dorms) most of the on campus housing at the University of Utah is strictly dorms. It's like living in a hotel pretty much. You have your room which connects to the bathroom, and that's it. Suite Style Rooms? While they did have lofted beds and a reasonable amount of floor space, there was nothing sweet about them. Some Suite Style Rooms would be a better description for incoming students to know.

No commuting and parking hassles- I suppose they said this because there are many people that drive up to the U from the southern end of the valley, or Tooele even, so comparatively it's not that big of a commute. But as far as commuting goes, being on campus wasn't necessarily super stellar. I had a fifteen minute break between classes that were on polar opposite ends of campus: The music building on President's Circle, and the Honors House on Fort Douglas. If I walked it, it took at about thirty minutes. Shuttle? About twenty. It's still a commute-not a walk down the street. As for parking, HA! Everyone knows that parking at the U is the worst! It's no exception for those that live on campus. Whenever I went anywhere with someone in their car from the dorms, we usually had to park far away (which, wasn't that bad, but kind of annoying when you were carrying something or if it was freezing) upon return.

Late-night trips to the libaray with ease-This kind of goes along with the commuting thing earlier. It's not really the safest idea to walk the 20 minutes down to the library late at night, especially if you're by yourself like I usually was. That means you would have to shuttle it. The shuttle doesn't run as often at night--especially late at night. Also, the normal blue and red routes absorb the green route at night, so it takes longer to reach the normal stops. Ease? Well, that depends on what you call 'ease'.

2,000 built-in friends (you can all rendezvous in the MUSS)-First of all, I love that they used rendezvous as a verb here. It reminds me of moutain men (like, Jim Bridger mountain men) for some reason. Anyways, this is also a little bit of a joke/stretch. 2,000 friends? My year at the U was one familiar with loneliness, and that wasn't because I didn't try to make friends. It's hard- mostly because of the U being a commuter school, and a lack of people on campus that you would want to hang around. It wasn't unusual for me to come home to my bathroom smelling like marijuana. My entire floor smelled like it actually. It also wasn't unusual to see people outside smoking hookah and whatnot. Not the friendliest of environments.

Imagine not having to... hunt for a parking space ever again-Shame on them for throwing this in twice. As I said before, the hunt for parking was constant and never-ending.

...you can walk to and from meetings...because you're only a few steps or a shuttle ride away! - I guess their definition of 'a few' and my definition differ. I usually think of it as not many. I wonder how many steps one takes on the 30-40 minute walk across campus. If you could get there by taking a step a minute, even then you're up to 30. We'll be kind and say this was kind of an exaggeration.

You know, I really enjoyed this. Perhaps I should blog more often. I sort of regret that this post is mostly pessimistic and critical. I promise I'm not like that most of the time. It was just interesting to note the numerous flaws in this advertising. Now the world knows the truth. Goodnight.

Osmond's 50th

I had a couple requests to blog about the Osmond Family and Tabernacle Choir Concert that I went to on Friday, July 25th. While I suppose it was a blog worthy event (because really, anything is) this will probably end up just being a bunch of random comments and thoughts. I can't really think of a way to piece it all together in a flowing, sensible manner.

The Osmonds make up a tiny bit of who I am because they are a big part of my mom's family. My mom and her siblings were huge fans, and still are. I have listened to a great deal of their greatest hits and not so great songs over my years. The Osmonds are ok. I like to think of them as a clean Backstreet Boys type of band from the seventies. Most of their songs, and their TV shows were extremely cheesy. I mean, let's face it. The Plan? Yeah. Enough said. However, they are good singers-- no one can deny that there is a lot of talent in their family. The one thing that endears me personally to the Osmonds, and in my opinion gave them their little niche of fame, is their harmonizing ability. My great-grandparents had a record (that our family inherited, much to my delight) of the Osmond Brothers singing as a barbershop quartet back in the 1950's. The oldest of the four brothers at the time was twelve years old, and the youngest was six. It's adorable.

In any event, the purpose of this concert was to celebrate two things: 1. Pioneer Day, and 2. The Osmond's 50 years in show business. As a result, the songs on the program were a mix of pioneer and hertiage songs by the choir, and old favorites from the Osmonds. I went with my dad and his mom, and my brother. Oddly enough, the biggest Osmond fan in our family, my mother, didn't go. That's only because she was in Idaho at the time. No worries though, she's going to see Donny and Marie in Las Vegas in December. Good ole Mom. Commence comments about the concert...now.

We'll start off with my only complaint. The eight brothers allowed their little sister Marie to take a solo for the evening. I have never been a fan of Marie Osmond. She sang How Great Thou Art. They turned it into a pop arrangement, and she wore a very gaudy dress for the number. Putting all my negative comments and criticisms aside, I didn't care for it.

It was interesting to note that the volume of this concert was much kept down in comparison to rock concerts I've been to. I felt like I couldn't hear! It was kind of funny. I know that the conference center has the capability to knock your socks off, or blow out your ear drums. But, they kept it down to a reasonable level.

My brother and I were familiar with every single "Old Osmond Favorite" from the 70's that they played, including Down By The Lazy River, Yo Yo, and One Bad Apple. We knew that Donny has long since gone through puberty. When it came to the parts where Donny used to have really high solos, we looked at each other and smiled. Those songs won't ever be the same.

While there are nine siblings total in the Osmond family, only seven of them were well known in the world and attained any sort of fame. The two oldest brothers are deaf, or hard of hearing people. Have you ever received a ...oh wait, just kidding. Anyways, for the last number they had those two come up and join the other seven on stage and sign during the song. It was kind of cool.

This always seems to happen

The other day, I was introduced to an extremely catchy tune. The bass line, though repetitive, is irresistable. In fact, I wasn't even aware of what was going on lyric-wise the first six times I listened to it because I couldn't get over the bass and the way it gives the song a nice tone touch, moves around in a cool manner, and blends in perfectly yet directs the underlying harmony lines. It's one of those songs that was made to be played when you're driving in your car so that you feel like the king/queen of the world and at the peak of being cool.

I was so happy that I had stumbled upon such a find. Because I had never heard it before, I thought that it was a rare find and that I had been the one to discover this. For some reason, I had it in my head that I'm pretty up to date with what's going on in the music world. I don't know why I thought this, because I never even listen to the radio. But somehow, I got all puffed up about discovering this new cool song. And then, my sister came in and said, "Whatcha listening to?"

I was quickly humbled. Apparently, this is a hit tune everywhere. It was kind of funny, I was actually disappointed to find out I wasn't the only person on the planet that knew this song besides the band members themselves. That didn't last long though. As disappointed as I was at not being able to introduce my sister this really cool song, I couldn't help but smile and laugh as she said, "Oh my gosh! I love this song. They play it on X96 all the time! Everytime I hear it, I get out my bass guitar!" and proceeded to whip out an air bass guitar. We aired and danced through the rest of the song, and had a jolley good time.

And yes. I did listen to that song while I typed this post.

And...we're finished!

Attention, World! I have an announcement to make:

I, Brittany Doyle, am the proud owner of a sixty thousand dollar mouth. (Yay for insurance! And parents!)

Yep, that's right. You read that correctly. After eleven years of oral surgeon, orthodontist, and dental appointments, I am through! My mouth is finished. I can't describe to you how elated I am. Here's the tale:

It all started when I was in third grade. The dentist said I was missing many teeth, and that I would never be able to chew again unless I had major oral surgery work in the future. My parents took me to several oral surgeons, who all said, 'Alrighty! Looks like you need our help. Come back when you've gone through puberty!' And so, things didn't really start kickin until high school. From sophomore to senior year, I suffered through braces just like everyone else. Right before they were ready to be removed, I was given the ok to have my severe underbite corrected by oral surgery. Best two weeks of my life....not. But hey! I lost ten pounds in a week thanks to the liquid diet. Great as that was, it wasn't the end of things, oh no. Next came the five implants (four on top, one on the bottom [front and center]), which required three surgeries in and of themselves: one to put them in and cover them, one to uncover them, and then the pesky one in the back had to be "reuncovered" because some funky growth regrew after the first time. ("Fascinating!" Dr. Austin said. Ha.)Once the rods were in place and properly uncovered, and once I had visited a special shades doctor to get my teeth bleached to the max, my dentist finished the job by placing fake porcelain teeth on top of each one. I had my last crown put on this week.

And that's it! There's a good chance that I will undergo a little procedure about a year from now to fix a receding gum line (don't I sound like an eighty year old?) that happened in the hub bub of all this surgery business. But it doesn't really count because it wasn't supposed to happen, and isn't completely necessary.

Here's the best picture timeline of all this jazz that I could come up with:

Before. This is a terrible picture that was taken my sophomore year before anything serious went down. I look...greasy and gross. But here you have the braces and underbite thing going on, so...yes....

I love this picture. This was taken at the hospital after my jaw surgery. I am hooked up to an oxygen machine, an IV that is also connected to pain killer distributer of some sort, and another mechanical contraption that kept track of my vital signs. Yay for complimentary teddy bears of the pediatric ward!

Ice-packs are a boat load of fun. Really.

I had to wear a funky retainer with a fake tooth on it for many months while we waited for the implants to heal. I kind of miss it.

After. Yay for being able to chew!

Music, music, music...

There were a couple of times over the Thanksgiving break that I was reminded of the power that music has over our emotions. They made me reflect upon different occasions in my life that I have been "moved," so to speak. I've been to jazz concerts where I couldn't stop smiling and I wanted to go home and listen to more. I've been to symphony halls where I couldn't feel myself because I was so lost in what was going on. After seeing uplifting movies on the big screen, I always walk out with my head held higher and feeling ten times taller as the mighty movie score is playing. Singing hymns has usually had the power to cheer me up whenever I'm sad. And then, there's the music that can move you to tears...

That's what happened this week. I took a friend to a favorite pretty spot of mine where I had been sad once upon a time. For some reason, there was some really pretty piano music playing in the car as I began to tell the story. I couldn't finish it before we both began to shed tears.

I've discovered that I have to be careful with music like that. There are songs that if played when I'm in a blue mood will invoke crying no matter what. That song normally wouldn't have made me cry, but given proper circumstance (like a painful memory) it did. I've been on the verge of tears all day today. As a result, I didn't listen to any music by choice. On days like today, I can't listen to Regina Spektor, or Sissel, or Phil Collins (ha!), or Tchaikovsky (however you spell that), or Josh Rouse, or Mason Jennings, or the Chipmunks (just kidding...wait, maybe not..) or...wow, the list is quite long.

So...what are your thoughts? What music do you like to listen to when you're happy? When you're sad? What's your song of the day? What did you have for breakfast this morning?

Reaching for the floor

I would like to announce to those of you that see this that I finally touched my toes! This journey has been long and painful at times, but it feels really good to have accomplished a goal.

I originally planned on being able to touch my toes by graduation, but I wasn't very diligent in my nightly stretches. However, thanks to a quick ten minute stretch almost every night for the past two weeks, I was finally able to do it.

I can't go right down and touch my toes yet; I usually have to warm up for several minutes first. But still. I've never done this before, and now I can check it off my list of goals in life. Next step: palms to the floor! Or maybe the splits! There's no stopping me now!

A Midsummer Discovery

All parking spaces at the Sandy Civic Center ("The end of the line, as far as we go.") Trax stop are created equal.

There's not a shady spot in the lot.

A Post-Mother's Day Post

This past Sunday, I learned that dads don't understand Mother's Day. They seem to think that it's about flowers, and chocolate, and pretty cards, and all that material jazz. Little do they know that if they bring contention into their homes in an attempt to create a perfect day for their wives, they've missed the boat.

A few days before Mother's Day, my dad gave me some money and asked me to pick up a little gift for my mom and a nice card for all of us to sign. I tried to pick up the stuff on Friday, but I couldn't find the cards in the store and ended up staring at candy and snacks for almost an hour. Hungry and low....not exactly a good combination. Anyways, Saturday night came by, and my dad caught me in the garage to ask if I'd fulfilled his assignment. I hadn't. I told him that rather than go to the store with the truckload of others who had forgotten cards, I could just make something for everyone to write on. That idea was shot down as preposterous. Why would Mom like some dinky thing that her kids had made for her? I'd ruined everything, apparently. Of course, who should come by to see us arguing than Mom. Do you think it pleased her that Mother's Day was causing contention in our family? Even if the intentions to make her day were good? I think not.

My Sunday school teacher, Connie Ballou, told our class the next day that that morning there had been a fiasco at her house in an attempt to create her perfect day. Someone had let their big yellow lab into the house, and it ended up tracking mud through their kitchen, into their living room, up their stairs, through her room, and up onto her bed. Her husband went downstairs, and yelled at the kids for letting the dog in the house and ruining Mother's Day. Even though a pancake the size of Connie's head was made to help make up for the mud, two of her young girls felt so bad that they went to church in tears. Am I the only one seeing a problem here?

So, there you have it. Dad's don't really get it. It's really not about the stuff or the frills of it all. It's about saying I love you. I'll have to keep that in mind for the future.

February 25th

George already has a picture somewhere on this blog, but it's his birthday today, so we'll give him another. Actually, there's some uncertainty as to whether Feb 25 is his birthday or not. He said once that he thought it might have been the 24th. I guess it doesn't really matter when or if you celebrate your birthday, so we'll say it's the 25th.

Back to George...he would have been 64 today. He was the ugly Beatle, but in my opinion, the second most talented. I rather like listening to his guitar solos, and some of his songs weren't half bad. The funny thing about the songs he wrote is they were either really good (like Something, or While My Guitar Gently Weeps, or Here Comes the Sun) or really not so good (like Blue Jay Way, and Only a Northern Song, and I Want To Tell You). George died at age 58 on November 29, 2001. His death was ascribed to lung cancer that had metastasised to the brain (thanks Wikipedia!) I remember hearing about his death on the radio either that day or the next while getting dressed to go to school. It was a sad day.

I was reminded that George's birthday was coming up because I found my Rubber Soul CD that Melissa burned for me on February 25th, 2005. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I went to Michelle's basketball game with her family, and afterwords we went out to eat at Golden Corral. I sat across from David and Melissa and watched them talk to their aunt and uncle about politics, and some dentist somewhere that has his office decked out in Star Trek stuff. I remember thinking to myself that Natalie had told me about the very same guy. Michelle had hurt her ankle in the game that night, so she was a bit limpy and unable to play foot tag with me in the parking lot. Again, it was a sad day, but perhaps she was happy for the excuse. I also discovered that night that David is really good at that game, even with sandals.

Melissa didn't give that CD to me until Feb 26. That was a sad day too, because the Lady Miners lost to Layton in the state championship final. It was the first game I had ever seen Bingham lose. After it was over, the team's families waited for over an hour to meet them outside the locker room. I occupied myself by watching David and his cousin run around chasing each other with invisible guns. It was also during this wait that Melissa bestowed upon me probably the best of all the Beatles albums.

After muchos tears and hugs went around when the girls came out, Michelle's parents took her grandparents out to the car, and her siblings walked her to the bus. It was really cool to observe, actually. I looked over to see just Daniel, Jonathan, Melissa, David, and Michelle walking and talking together. I bet that doesn't happen much these days. Anyways, I took Michelle's place for a bit and rode home with her siblings. They drove to KFC to grab some stuff to take home, and formed a "No Chicken Left Behind Pact" in the car to make sure no food would be wasted. Melissa had run 23 miles that day, and her knees being sore became evident when David and I tried to include her in our backseat game of Tag, You're It. When we got back to the ranch, we ate dinner and watched 101 Dalmations with the chilluns. A friend came by the house to take Melissa and David to see Hitch, and she gave me a ride home on their way out.

Wow. I didn't mean for this to be a boring journal-like type entry about days gone by, but that's the turn it took. Some things just stick in the brain. The moral of the post was going to be: No matter how good you are at the guitar, don't smoke. It'll getcha.

The World's Best Babysitter...EVER

SCENARIO! Your leaders decide to babysit the ward babes on Valentines Day to give parents a night off for romancing and such. You show up to the combined activity, and there's a primary room full of children that seem content to run around chasing each other for the rest of the night. By some miracle, you organize them into groups and send the groups rotating to different activity stations throughout the stake center. The next hour or so is spent playing RedLight GreenLight, Don't Eat the Heart, Bingo, Tic Tac Toe and Mother Goose, frosting Valentine cookies, coloring animal pictures, and making bracelets with a bunch of eight year olds. Towards the end, all the kids meet back in the primary room. Parents will be arriving soon, you need to entertain the monsters for about thirty more minutes, and they're starting to make paper airplanes with their coloring book pages. You don't want the parents to see this chaos. What do you do?

SCENARIO! You go over to a friends house to assist with babysitting her niece and nephews. The kids are adorable, but a handful. As you walk in, the father greets you and says, "Welcome to Madness!" You see that he says this because his grandkids are running around, and he's not even gone yet. Their grandparents leave, and you realize that this energy they're taking out on the furniture might not burn out for awhile, and you're not going to be able to keep up. What do you do?

Believe it or not, these scenarios aren't from a Sunday School lesson where you give the answer to your strip of paper in front of the class. They actually happened to me. It was during these scenarios that I discovered who the best babysitter in the world is--the television. In both cases, the kids stopped running around almost immediately and gathered around to watch the movie as soon as the trailers started to play. That's amazing! No matter what I do, no matter how many piggy back rides I give, and no matter how crazy I act, there's no way I could have kids attention that quickly and for that long. While it was nice to have them quiet and settled, I didn't like seeing their blank eyes glued to the TV. That just can't be good for their brains! Or anybodys for that matter. It made me seriously consider how much television I'll let my kids watch, if I ever have kids someday. But, it's so easy to just turn it on and have them taken care of so you can do something else. I don't know. Commence the end of this random post....now.

They're back...

I remember when people would email these things all the time back in 9th and 10th grade. There was one girl in particular (the "Big Lantern") that would send me at least one a week. It became kind of fun after about a month to read them and see how many I'd get right. I thought they'd died out until I checked everyones blogs for the first time in over a week, and WHAM! Melissamerica allowed us an easy post! Copy, paste, delete, fill in, and there you go- you're set for a few weeks. Thanks Melissa. Guess I'll join your craze...

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?
I ate a sucker stick once. It disintegrated in my mouth. Nasty.

What’s something you do that you wish you didn’t do?
There's a million things I wish I didn't do. I wish I didn't grimace when making mistakes in a performance.

What was the last song you sang when no one else was around?
Through the Fire and Flames--Dragonforce

In the movie about your life, which actor would you choose to play you?
Kim Possible

Where’s the last place you went on vacation?
Disneyland

If you were arrested, who would be your “one phone call?”
My parents I guess. Who else?

What book are you currently reading?
Using Both Sides Of Your Brain

What historical event would you like to have been present for?
The arrival of the pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley. I would have told them to keep going till they found the green of Washington or Oregon.

Name something you can’t do very well.
I can't do physics very well at all. I'm not used to thinking at school. It's been a weird change.

What's the worst injury you've suffered?
I haven't really suffered any tremendous injuries. No broken bones, nasty cuts, or cavities even. I'm pretty healthy all around.

Name one thing that makes you a “freak of nature.”
I have an abnormally chubby face that turns red a lot due to some skin disease. I also bruise real easy.

What day in your life would you like to go back and watch as a spectator?
I'd like to watch my auditions from last Saturday as a spectator.

What song currently tops your “most played” list in iTunes?
Jerk It Out--The Caesars

Name something you intend to do but haven’t done yet.
Do my homework, write my scholarship essay, and read the five books I checked out from the library. They all count as one.

If you could do anything you wanted today, then rewind the day and start over fresh—no consequences—what would you do?
I would have sluffed school and spent the entire day hanging out with my friends somewhere cool.

What was your most recent purchase?
A ticket to the winter play "The Curious Savage." Highly entertaining.

Name one thing you’re looking forward to doing this week.
I'm looking forward to Concerto Night being over tonight!

For the sake of the day

On this Martin Luther King Day, I’d like to post one of my favorite stories about my great grandparents. Bit of background: They’re my father’s mother’s parents. I knew them quite well. Grandpa Chipman spoke slow and preachy- like. He always told me, “Roses are red, violets are blue. Angels in heaven say I love you!” Grandma was real fiery, esp. in her old age. She just spoke her mind. They were married for over 76 years, and were given an award from the governor of Utah for being the longest living married couple in the state in 1999. Grandpa’s advice for a long, happy, and successful marriage: "KNOW THE TEN COMMANDMENTS AND LIVE THEM. THAT'S THE BEST ADVICE I CAN GIVE." Both Grandma and Grandpa lived to be about 95 years old.

About ten years ago, my aunt Annette went down to American Fork to visit my great-grandparents on Martin Luther King Day. I imagine that they sat down around the kitchen table and pulled out the Rook cards. At one point, their conversation turned to the holiday. I cried when my aunt told me this part, because I was laughing so hard. It went something like this (Annette in green, Grandpa in red, and Grandma in blue):

Grandpa, it’s Martin Luther King Day!

Ah yes! I have a dream!

Beans!? Why do you always talk about beans!?!

No Grandma! I Have A Dream!

We just had beans! I’m not making you anymore beans!

No Grandma! I HAVE A DREAM!!

Well, I’m not making more beans. If you want some, you’ll have to get them yourself. Beans…

Needless to say, they were hard of hearing by the time 90 rolled around. It was hilarious, and sad at the same time.

*Bit of advice- don’t tell stories like this in your English class. It won't translate well in such a setting, even if you just read the poem The Bean Eaters as a class. Not that I speak from experience.