Summers Child

Goodbye

2004-07-13T18:46:00.000-07:00

It’s been fab, but the days are counting down, and really—-I only have time to write in my private journal, which will be going with me on this journey. I wish you all the best, and I’ll see you 2006.

The Last of My Nanny Days

2004-07-09T21:35:00.000-07:00

Their house is exquisite, something inside a fancy décor magazine or the fabulous mind of only the truly chic. Vaulted ceilings, solid oak doors, flooring with a shine faintly like koa, marbled tile, granite countertops, textured walls, tailor-made furnishings, plush carpet, customized staircase, plantation shutters, delicate lighting, and elaborate landscaping all blending to make this home recherché.

But it is not the home I will miss. They feel like family—are family, really, after these nine, almost ten years. I have acquired the title “Big Sissy” from the children, and watched them grow, change, and mature in many ways. Phil and Shani, at times, have been like my own parents—endearing, watchful, giving. Oh and the memories I’ve gathered…Late night stories, all in animation, of Rupunzel, Rumplestilkskin, Snow White, The Six Dancing Princesses, creating laughter and bedtime eyes; my first flight and wacky dose of Dramamine; beautiful, peaceful weeks in Hawaii; cooking spaghetti with curly noodles; being spooked by the ringing alarm; being tackled to the ground by four, silly children; surprising them with news of my decision to go on a mission.

“Did you miss us?” Phil asked Easton today when they returned from Las Vegas. Easton looked at his father, licking the yellow sucker, and simply grinned.

“Of course not,” he laughed. “Mckenzie is like your big sister.”

I wanted to cry, but happiness unexpectedly tugged at my heart. They are a part of me forever, a sure blessing in this strange life, with no words to express my gratitude.

Discovering the Girl

2004-07-04T22:51:00.000-07:00

Fireworks cracked and popped, flashing like confetti in brilliant blue, red, and white, invading the air in magnificent pandemonium like it does every year. Except this year the earsplitting whistles, claps, and bangs were celebrated a day early to keep reverence for the Sabbath. Little Cole snuggled against me and peered over the edge of the green blanket we were cuddled in, observing the display of bursting colored-sparks with wonder and some objection, for he hates loud noises. I kissed the top of his head and said in his ear, “Do you want to go inside with Aunt Kenzie?”

We left the plethora of little children, teens, and adults lined up against the neighborhood sidewalk, and inside of Aunt Roberta’s, I flipped on the television while Cole climbed onto the couch beside me. He occupied himself a moment later with the plastic play sword of Conner’s, explaining to me that he is, indeed, Frodo Baggins. Who am I to argue with a four-year-old? Cole bounced and waved the sword along the rounded leather sofa, and I watched the old black and white version of The Man Who Came to Dinner, thinking briefly about but not hungering for the stage. Those days are gone, the passion has subsided, and I am only a spectator with no want or need to perform. Perhaps in the future this may change, but I do not think so.

Days of bitterness, of anger and frustration have passed away, and I see, now, the purpose of my time away at college. Reflection has taught me a number of things, not just about influences, but choices and myself and what I want in life. After that long period of vacancy, the inhabitance of the chalk mask weighing me down into an empty mausoleum of vanity and obscurity, I found meaning in the depression. I think of Viktor Frankl’s book and how he quotes a poet saying, “Was Du erlebst, kann keine Macht der Welt Dir rauben.” (What you have experienced, no power on earth can take from you.) Never can I wish that drab and demoralizing melancholy upon another—never never, but the personal knowledge gained in this battle of the languid merry-go-round has been, now, strength to me. It is personal, intimate, and private.

In exactly one month I leave home. I say goodbye, correspond through writing and rare phone calls, and stride willingly into a time that will inevitably change my entire life. “Aren’t you scared?” people continually ask me, but the sweet reassurance, the fact that everything is falling faithfully into place leaves peace resting in my heart. Tears are bound to come, surely, but with a deep breath, with faith and hope, I quote to myself Melville, “I know not what comes my way, be what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.”

To Wordsworth

2004-07-01T14:56:00.000-07:00

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know
That things depart which never may return:
Childhood and youth, friendship, and love's first glow,
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn.
These common woes I feel. One loss is mine
Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore.
Thou wert as a lone star whose light did shine
On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar:
Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood
Above the blind and battling multitude:
In honoured poverty thy voice did weave
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,
Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.

Resolved

2004-06-28T13:22:00.000-07:00

Brother Sariako announced my call yesterday. People congratulated me right and left, but the congratulations that meant the most is Tiff-Marie’s. Three months have passed since that dreadful night. By selfish anger and pride, through the aloofness and fleeting glares, I was certain our friendship was destroyed…let go, move on, forget…but the pitiless twinge in my heart kept saying I was wrong. When I tried to suffocate my heart’s protest, it only beat louder: You are wrong! You are wrong! Sister Mansfield’s lesson, the burning of my heart, compelled me to finally listen to that relentless pang. You are wrong, I thought, the muscles in my stomach tightening. You foolish, temperamental girl!

After church, before I knew realized it, Tiffany and I were hugging.

“I am sorry,” I cried. “I should have never called you that horrible name, and it was wrong to lose my temper the way I did.”

“I deserved it all,” she cried back. “I am sorry, too.”

And that was that. The lot of trouble that had nearly destroyed us was gone, dissolved into the past. We pulled away, laughing at one another’s tears.

Tiffany said, “I just knew it could not end. After everything we’ve always talked about—being each other’s maid of honor, wanting our husbands (whoever they are) be good friends, raising our children and all of that…”

“We’ve overcome this disaster,” I smiled. “Not many people would be able to—not really, so we’re okay.”

That is what is fabulous--we are okay, and that nasty stab in my heart is gone. People will never understand our friendship, which is reasonable because sometimes I think it the most impossible thing in the world. Perhaps it is everything we have been through, the secrets we share? Whatever the case, I am grateful. Heavenly Father knew we could not be sisters, so He made us next door neighbors and then best friends.

"Forgiveness is the healing of wounds caused by another. You choose to let go of a past wrong and no longer be hurt by it. Forgiveness is a strong move to make, like turning your shoulders sideways to walk quickly on a crowded sidewalk. It's your move." ~Unknown~

Arizona Sabbatical

2004-06-23T14:44:00.000-07:00

I could thrive in Arizona on shopping alone. Rampage, New York & Company, and Kenneth Cole kept me gladly busy sifting their glamorous racks and shelves, and I kept them happy with my splurge of spending. What is life without a little luxury now and then? This sort of shopping is the next best thing to a day at the spa.

I also splurged on a great deal of restaurant food. Bad bad bad. NYPD Pizza puts any of Utah’s pizza places to absolute shame. It is almost embarrassing. I did, however, venture to the health food store, which also puts the one I shop at Utah to shame. Holly has me addicted to dried apricot now, but nothing beats my soy bars. They really are better than they sound.

Palm trees, the intense sun, and a fabulous place called Bahama Bucks reminded me faintly of Hawaii, causing an unexpected urge to walk barefoot on the beach. My brother’s swimming pool sufficed, though, and mostly I was just glad to be in his company. We, the complete family, soaked late into the night over goofy conversations and fun. Having the family all together after so long was refreshing but bittersweet. I could not help crying as we left Monday night, this might be my last time with them as a whole for two years.

Audrey, who is delectably adorable, served her mission in California, too. I met her in Arizona. Her husband and she came into Tyson’s apartment with eagerness to meet us. To my surprise, Audrey grabbed me up and gave me a big squeeze, exclaiming, “You must be Mckenzie! I am so excited for you!”

I laughed, thinking that there are not enough people like Audrey in the world. She spent most of the night telling me stories about the MTC and the field. “It is, by far, the hardest thing that I have ever, ever done,” she told me, smiling. “But I would do it again in a second.”

I am not even on the field yet—and with people like Audrey pepping me up, I would go again, too.

The Good-Morrow

2004-06-23T12:41:00.000-07:00

I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then ?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly ?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ?
'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear ;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown ;
Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west ?
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally ;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.

~ John Donne ~

This is one of my favorite poems I have ever studied in literature.

Garden Goblins

2004-06-22T12:13:00.000-07:00

Childhood means many different things to different people. To me it means blue-smurf ice craem, fresh mud between the toes, finding a blue-spotted bird's egg on a spring afternoon. Peter Pan, tire swings, and melted cheese sandwiches. My first memory of childhood has no significance, other than that is what it is: my first memory. Odd it is though, that I first recall the fresh mound of earth beneath the drooping crabapples and climbing roses in Grandpa's yard where we buried old Hunter. I remember the dog to be nothing but a big mutt covered in gray and white shabby hair. He wore a red, spike collar with nametags that jingled as his four, heavy paws trudged against the ground and dark eyes, glum-like, stared lazily forward. I was barely taller than Hunter, I remember because as a little child I had an urge to ride him as if he were a horse, which Unter wriggled and plodded away from me when I tried.

My tiny hand brushed across the knoll of dirt with wonder, and certainly I did no understand that Hunter was dead. The idea of his bulky flesh underneath the soil and small pebbles was inconceivable, but sill I had bundled together a posy of tulips, plum blossoms, and new lilacs from the yard and laid them atop the grave. In my world of make-believe, Hunter my brave staillion through many adventures, plainly went ahead on one of his own, leaving me to do the exploring.

Plenty of exploring there was, too, in the vastness of my Grandparent's yard. My favorite spot was in the far back, down the crooked sidwalk, pass the blooming irises and cherry tree into the ticky hotness of the greenhouse. Salmon-colored vases lined wooden shelves packed with dirt and an assortment of different flowers, yellow, oranges, and gold. Even now I can feel the small beads of sweat on my forehead, the heaviness of the old water can as I carefully lifted it and watered the pots on the lower shelves. Out of all the flowers in Grandpa's yard, these were the only ones that could not be picked, and somehow that made them appear more special. During my hours of play, imagining me as a princess in search of her lost kingdom, the little greenhouse and all of its special flwoers was refuge from the evil sorcerer and goblins outside.

Goblins, for all their ugliness, are nimble creatures, and they frolicked freely in Grandpa's yard, darting from one place to the next. Their simpering, wart-covered faces hid behind tomato bushes and berry trees; their bulging eyes cleverly watching for me, the wandering princess. If I was not careful, they might jump out, seizing me up with their long, bony arms and crooked fingers and pitiless chortling. All in a cheer they would drag me away and throw me down the stone well, which would not be pleasant at all. Not only did all sorts of nasty, slimy bugs invest the well, but there housed the darkest sorcerer ever to live.

The dark sorcerer was the king of the goblins of my make-believe land. He was a spidery looking fellow with a golden smile, and appeared to be somewhat of a gentleman, though a gentleman he was not. His spindling fingers would draw off the shiny, long hat, after which he would give a chivalrous bow until his pointy nose near touched the ground. With long striped pants, a pirates white shirt, and a velvet tailcoat, he greedily sought what his small heart wanted most: gold, gold, gold, and more gold, and a princess to marry. Always, I scarcely escaped the goblins' clutch, hoping never to meet the dark sorcerer face to face, for I certainly would not marry him.

But they would die away when Hunter, my faithful steed, could not longer lug along the exciting journey. A new world of make-believe would emerge, making days of the dark sorcerer and his subjects vanish into the garden soil and rundown well.

Do You Know the Way to San Jose?

2004-06-17T16:11:00.000-07:00

The idea of California first fazed me. Regardless of various experiences, I am still something naïve, a pretty sheltered girl in the amenity of suburban life. This will be new, exciting.

Mom and I sat on the back veranda last night.

“Your life will never be the same. What you are going to experience—good, bad—no one will ever take from you, or quite understand,” she said, smiling earnestly.

Her green eyes shined, wanting to shield the unexpected tears from falling. My little girl is leaving me, was the expression on her face. I wanted to say not to worry, but mothers worry anyway.

To be certain there will be immensely trying days ahead—-slamming doors, derogatory comments, discouragement, but hope rallies inside that there will be good days, fabulous days, even.

Often I reflect the lyrics of the church hymn, Come, Come Ye Saints. Playing this on the piano, singing it alone or in a meeting has always brought me near tears. The year I was on the pioneer trek, and we stood before the ground where near fifty people died in one, terribly chill night—-I knew, right then my heart knew, truly, what faith was.

Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear;
But with joy wend your way.
Though hard to you this journey may appear,
Grace shall be as your day.
’Tis better far for us to strive
Our useless cares from us to drive;
Do this, and joy your hearts will swell—
All is well! All is well!

Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard?
’Tis not so; all is right.
Why should we think to earn a great reward
If we now shun the fight?
Gird up your loins; fresh courage take.
Our God will never us forsake;
And soon we’ll have this tale to tell—
All is well! All is well!

We’ll find the place which God for us prepared,
Far away in the West,
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.
We’ll make the air with music ring,
Shout praises to our God and King;
Above the rest these words we’ll tell—
All is well! All is well!

And should we die before our journey’s through,
Happy day! All is well!
We then are free from toil and sorrow, too;
With the just we shall dwell!
But if our lives are spared again
To see the Saints their rest obtain,
Oh, how we’ll make this chorus swell—
All is well! All is well!

Mission Call

2004-06-16T14:03:00.000-07:00

I have a thousand different emotions running through me right now, mostly excitement. I have been called to serve in the California, San Jose mission! I leave soon, too. August 4th.

There is Nothing to Fear but Fear Itself

2004-06-15T18:03:00.000-07:00

All right, not all of these are my fears—something that I really, really, really dislike—but you get the point. I have highlighted the ones that would, most certainly, count as as genuine phobia.

Arachniophobia: fear of spiders
Acrophobia: fear of heights
Philophobia: fear of falling in love or being in love
Pediophobia: fear of dolls
Cleithrophobia: fear of being locked in an enclosed place
Coulrophobia: fear of clowns
Graphophobia: fear of writing or handwriting
Nosocomephobia: fear of hospitals
Pteromerhanophobia: fear of flying
Spheksophobia: fear of wasps

What do you “fear”?

http://www.phobiaguide.com

Some Suggestive Reading

2004-06-12T14:16:00.000-07:00

Girl with a Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier
The Virgin Blue, Tracy Chevalier
Jacob Have I Loved, Katherine Peterson
The Hours, Michael Cunningham
To Kill a Mocking Bird, Harper Lee
The Giver, Lois Lowry
Gathering Blue, Lois Lowry
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
The Colossus, Sylvia Plath
The Journals of Sylvia Plath, Sylvia Plath (Ted Hughes, Editor)
Tess of the d’Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
The Mayor of Casterbridge, Thomas Hardy
Dubliners, James Joyce
The Horse Dealer’s Daughter, D.H. Lawrence
Lady Chatterley’s Lover, D. H. Lawrence
Poems: Shelley, Percy Bysshe Shelley
J.R.R. Tolkien: A Biography, Humphrey Carpenter
J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century, Tom A. Shippey
Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
Persuasion, Jane Austen
Emma, Jane Austen
Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
The Complete Shorter Fiction of Virginia Woolf, Virginia Woolf
A Writers Diary, Virginia Woolf (Leonard Woolf, Editor)
Granite and Rainbow: The Hidden Life of Virginia Woolf, Mitchell A. Leaska
Something Wicked This Way Comes, Ray Bradbury

Jane Austen

2004-06-10T21:48:00.000-07:00

Being a literary major, I find I take hold of certain authors and cling to their works like glue. I just cannot get enough. Some such authors include Virginia Woolf, D. H. Lawrence, James Joyce, Sylvia Plath, Keats, and Wordsworth. Among them, now put inside the collection, is the lovely Jane Austen, whom I fell even more in love with after reading Woolf's essay. At any rate, these are some quotes of Miss Austen's that make me smile because (sometimes)I agree with them too wholly:

"I do not want people to be agreeable as it saves me the trouble of liking them."

"I cannot think well of a man who sports with any woman's feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of."

"Oh! do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch."

"To sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment."

Bathroom Humor...For Shame!

2004-06-10T11:48:00.000-07:00

“She had her fifth colonoscopy.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, but this time she didn’t have to drink that nasty stuff. Instead she had to consume forty pills in, get this, two hours.”
“Poor girl! I don’t know what would be worse?”
“I say the liquid. That stuff is rancid. Trust me. I know.”
“What does it do, exactly?”
“Err—it’s a laxative…”
“Oh. So cleans you out?”
“Yeah, but not just cleans. This stuff is mega powerful. It polishes, too.”

Different Moments

2004-06-09T21:47:00.000-07:00

What can Charlie say that will make a difference?

"Nothing," Sarah thinks, and nothing is the answer.

She watches pudgy, curly-haired Charlie slowly climb to the pulpit as he draws the note cards from his suit pocket. He stands hesitant before the assembly of mourners, the tip of his tongue sliding across his thin, bottom lip. Momentarily is stare locks with her own. Her heart stops.

Or does it beat faster?

Charlie clears his throat, his puny eyes drifting over the note cards. Someone whispers in the pew behind. Someone up front coughs. Someone near the casket, the mother--yes, she is sobbing.

Sarah quietly excuses herself, slipping from the chapel into the bright afternoon. Charlie's nasally voice quickly lessens to a distant mumble as the large, mahogany doors shut behind. Tightly, the white handkerchief is squeezed as she descends the old, cement steps and comes to an abrupt stop at the bottom.

Sunlight streams down in hot, golden threads, flushing the rose bushes and dark grass in the light breeze. Her arms fold. She wonders what Charlie is saying about their friend, though it hardly matters. They are just words. Words. Words. Words.

Closing her eyes, she sinks to the bottom step. Words-- everything words, and all fading into life's continuation. Even now the sun moevs unhurried across the blue sky to welcome a new, pinkish evening.

She jerks, eyes opening to the gruesome ringing of bells.

"So it is over? Charlie's finished?"

Standing, her hand brushes down the front of her black skirt. Shortly the assembly will saunter out of the church like a line of dragging shadows. They will fit into colored cars and cause a parade of dim headlights, yet tomorrow their dark appearance will be shoved, with little thought, into the back of a closet.

~ ~ ~ ~

"Aren't church bells just the loveliest of sounds, Mum?"

"Hold still, Caroline," breathes Mrs. Everit. "If you don't, I'll poke you."

Caroline draws in a breath and does her best to hold still, though her ears continue to perk at the ringing of church bells. "In a week they will ring for me," she thinks with a blush toward the mirror in front of her.

Mrs. Everit kneels before her daughter, pinning the bottom of the simple, white material to better fit the girl's petite stature. Despite Mrs. Everit's love for Caroline, this task of dress making, four daughters later, is becoming tedious. Overdone.

Briefly looking up, she sees Caroline eye the mirror in pride, and a thin smile traces Mrs. Everit's lips; four daughters later, yes-- but each individually pretty. The white material is a fine mix against the girl's olive complexion. With Caroline's dark hair bundled into a mixture of curls, she will radiate the fine lace and beads assembled to the gown.

But how long does such radiance last? "My own dress was similiar," Mrs. Everit reflects, now thinking of the white taffeta covered with a sheer layer of lace. "But that was so long ago. Nothing but discolored and folded up in a trunk, now."

"What is it, Mum?" Caroline inquires, seeing the frown.

"Nothing love," replies her mother, continuing to pin the makings of Caroline's dress, which is worn once and then, like her own, stashed away in a trunk.

Office Talk II

2004-06-08T17:41:00.000-07:00

More office talk:

“Where’s Jaba?”

“If you’re happy and you know it clap…”
“Sing it one more time. I dare you.”

“Hold still. This is going to hurt.”

“The post office got backed up because of Memorial’s Day, so I should receive my letter tomorrow, and if not tomorrow—then I blame Reagan.”
“Yes. How dare the poor, old man die!”

“I’m reading him a warranty, and he’s all ordering pizza!”

“Dude, that has teeth marks in it, man! Teeth marks! What is wrong with you, yo?”

"What are you? The human Ken doll?"

"Excuse me! You look like a twelve year old boy. How about you hit puberty first and then try and boss me around! Little boy."

"See this raised eyebrow? It's directed toward you."

Sobbing of the Bells

2004-06-07T18:10:00.000-07:00

This is the beginning excerpt to a new story I have been working called Sobbing of the Bells.

Five years have come and gone without so much a slip of Jane’s name, but here she is, standing quietly in our living room. Daniel is the first to speak, taking the small bouquet of blue hydrangeas from her slender hands, “Mama will like these, Jane. Thank you.”

“How is she?” asks Jane, which really burns me.

“Not much for getting out of bed these days,” says Daniel and offers a chair.

She nods, taking a seat near Eden, who smiles and remarks on the hydrangeas being quite beautiful. I play interested in my book book, ignoring Daniel’s monishing eye.

“Francesca told me,” says Jane, tucking a handful of brown hair behind her right ear. “What sore news to hear my first day home!”

Daniel’s dark eyes flinch, just slightly, but leave it to him to be cordial by asking, “How long do you plan on staying?”

“Oh. Just visiting for the summer is all.”

Oh. Just visiting for the summers is all. Sweetness all but drips from Jane’s voice, glows in her vigilant green eyes as though she is ignorant of the past.

Eden stands and takes the flowers from Daniel. “I think I’ll put these in a vase. Jane, do you want some lemonade? Freshly made!”

“Oh, no thanks. I can’t stay long. Mother is a stanch on having me to herself today,” she laughs as Eden leaves the room, and then, “Why Lucy, look at you all grown up! How are you?”

I look up from my book. “Doing just fine.”

“What are you reading? Isn’t school out?”

Daniel waves a hand my way, “Lucy is a bookworm, school or no school. She’s not like the rest of us Brews.”

“Oh! Maybe you’ll go to college like me?” Jane beams as though she might pop into confetti at the thought. “You would love it, Lucy. The city is so lovely.”

“Green Oak is lovely, too,” I say, not hiding the coolness in my voice.

She smiles, weaker now, and smoothes her skirt as she stands. “Yes, well. I best go. You know how my mother is about punctuality.”

“Thanks again for the flowers,” Daniel states, following her to the door. “Come on by later, and Mama might be up to a visit.”

I grunt once they have gone into the foyer.

“You look handsome, Daniel,” I hear her say. “Grown up, really.”

He says goodbye, shutting the door with a sound of surprise and hurt.

Eden returns, and setting the hydrangeas, now in a porcelain vase, on the credenza, she leans forward and pulls back some of the lace curtain. “My word what a shock! She doesn’t look any different, though.”

“I think there was some definite stomach to her, now.”

“Lucy!” she drops the curtain with a smirk.

“She has some nerve coming here like that!”

Carefully arranging the hydrangeas, Eden shrugs. “I think she means well.”

“You think everyone means well, Eden,” I say, throwing my book aside and look at Daniel as he saunters back into the room.

He puts his hands in his pockets. “Nice hospitality, Lucy.”

Mike and Debbie

2004-06-07T16:23:00.000-07:00

Mike and Debbie, I swear if I loose your addresses one more time....

“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

2004-06-06T22:36:00.000-07:00

The tears in my eyes were unexpected but genuine when I stood at the podium. My hand dipped into the tissue box next to the vase of vibrant flowers, and dabbing the tears, my heart burned with gratitude as I declared truths I have, though study and pondering and prayer, come to know and believe. Many familiar faces looked up to me, listening and watching. These are faces I have grown up with; faces that have been meaningful examples in my life; faces I truly love and appreciate.

I am not as good a person as I would like to be, but every moment is new, a chance to improve, an opening to be a little more kind and loving, an opportunity to make things right, a time to grow. Too often I have allowed my faults and weaknesses to hold me back, ground me firmly to a space of non-progression, too afraid to open my heart and step forward. This is not faith. This is a chief tool in Satan’s malicious campaign to thwart good efforts; this is fear.

Recognizing the problem for what it is, then, allows my want to change into need, and that need—humility—blooms into better faith. My faults and weaknesses, whatever they may be, if by faith, diligence, and effort, will be taken care of in the end. This beautiful awareness brings a peace I cannot describe to you, though, my dear friend, I can tell you how much more my desire swells to simply serve and offer a hand of friendship to anyone in need or not.

Perhaps you do not understand why I choose this path, and that is okay. It has taken me a while to understand, too…moreover, I still have plenty plenty plenty to learn.

Jordan Mania

2004-06-06T21:42:00.000-07:00

I am happy. I just finished the Crossing Jordan episode that I have been waiting to see for, like, ever and ever and ever. Yes, this is sad because I have an addiction to the show. But come on! The one-liners are always funny. The relationships...hello!...Jordan/Woody...Garret/Lily...And the cases they come up with for the forensics are usually really cool...and...and...and I'll stop now.

Harry Potter

2004-06-05T06:57:00.000-07:00

I went and saw Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Mm-- still deciding what I thought about it. I love Ron.

Office Talk

2004-06-04T12:48:00.000-07:00

Come work in my office and you will hear things like:

“Men are naturally inept with babies anyway.”

“My mother, I love her, but she is such a feminnazi!”

“On the floor Calvin Klein.”

“Hey! Come and see! You’re getting a ticket!”
“What?”
“Yeah. You over parked your broom.”

“You were a runway model? Oh! Come on, show me a little Zoolander.”

“Oi! Oi!”

“The hand was invented for man, the front for his kids and the back for his wife.”
“Mine was invented to flip you off.”
“Good one!”

“You should probably rethink those European sevens.”

“Let me write you a check.”
“For why?”
“You know why.”
“Oh yeah…yeah…hush, hush business.”

"You look great today! Did you finally come across a brush and make up?"

"What is that?"
"The Peter Pan stance."
"Peter Pan Syndrome...to be correct."

"You don't think I'm good looking."
"I didn't say that."
"I put aside money for a good looking fund each month."
"A good looking fund?"
"G.L.F."
"I've heard it all."

"Who wants me? I mean-- who wants my sale?"

And all of this said in the happiest of ways.

Normal? On what planet?

2004-06-01T20:06:00.000-07:00

I cannot tell you the overwhelming amount of times that I have been called weird. Many times in my life, mostly in high school and right after, this made me not just dislike but disdain the reflection in the mirror. I wanted to be what everyone else was, and then one day I realized—hey, screw that.

Ordinary
Avril Lavigne

Sometimes I get so weird
I even freak myself out
I laugh myself to sleep
It's my lullaby
Sometimes I drive so fast
Just to feel the danger
I wanna scream
It makes me feel alive

Is it enough to love?
Is it enough to breath?
Somebody rip my heart out
And leave me here to bleed
Is it enough to die?
Somebody save my life
I'd rather be anything but ordinary please

To walk within the lines
Would make my life so boring
I want to know that I
Have been to the extreme
So knock me off my feet
Come on now give it to me
Anything to make me feel alive

Is it enough to love?
Is it enough to breath?
Somebody rip my heart out
And leave me here to bleed
Is it enough to die?
Somebody save my life
I'd rather be anything but ordinary please.
I'd rahter be anything but ordinary please.

Let down your defences
Use no common sense
If you look you will see
that this world is this beautiful
accident turbulent suculent
I'm feeling permanent
No way I won't taste it
Dont wanna waste it away

Sometimes I get so weird
I even freak myself out
I laugh my self to sleep
It's my lullaby

Is it enough?
Is it enough?
Is it enough to love?
Is it enough to breath?
Somebody rip my heart out
And leave me here to bleed
Is it enough to die?
Somebody save my life
I'd rather be anything but ordinary please

Is it enough?
Is it enough to die?
Somebody save my life
I'd rather be anything but ordinary please
I'd rather be anything but ordinary please.

Wisdom

2004-06-01T13:04:00.000-07:00

My wisdom teeth are out, and my face was swollen most of the weekend. I looked like a chipmunk high on drugs. Just so you know.

Making Memories

2004-05-27T10:52:00.000-07:00

Grandpa can only see shadows because of his surgery, though in a week or two his vision is suppose to clear. I am not used to seeing him dependent, and it is a bothersome feeling. Last night he followed the sound of my heels as I came to him, kissing the top of his thin-haired head, and wrapped my arms around his neck. He sat at the kitchen table as usual, but unable to read a book and made to listen to everyone else talk about politics (not his favorite subject). His hand lifted, patted my arm, and a smile grew on his face.

“How are you, Grandpa?” I asked.

“Oh not so good,” he said. “I sure don’t like not seeing. Now I know how my dad felt.”

Reaching up with his other hand, Grandpa felt for my long, red hair and tugged at a piece, grimacing, “And I sure don’t know what I’d do if I can’t see this one’s face anymore!”

I laughed, but felt the tears surfacing. Only by luck I held them back.

Next week I am taking the mornings to read to Grandpa and help water the garden (poor garden). Also, Grandma wants to get working on the photos again. I always enjoy working with the photo book. My grandparents thrive on reminiscing old stories, and I thrive on hearing them. Something inspiring comes from such memories.

Daddy and I got home from our brief visit. He settled on the sofa, reading the newspaper, while Mom, my sisters, and I began talking about nothing important. Soon the newspaper was forgotten. All of us were laughing over silly pastimes, juvenile jokes, and impressions. Near perfection, a time of wholesome happiness, except for Tyson and Holly were missing.

They are what matters, I thought. My family--they are my most precious assets.

Another Flashlight White Moment

2004-05-26T14:11:00.000-07:00

When one goes on an outing with Gordo, it is wise to remember the man knows no shame. Driving the company’s Hummer H2, Gordo and I ran a quick errand to the gas station. Within a fifteen minute jaunt I endured the following:

~ Gordo switching the alarm on the Hummer H2 and scaring the wits out of a passerby.
~ Gordo acting as though he was going to drive into a lady’s car.
~ Gordo acting as though he were mentally disabled as we sauntered the walkway. (I ended up a good ten feet in front of him.)
~ Gordo making wind chimes play a nursery rhyme.
~ Gordo throwing sunflower seeds on the counter and, to my horror, explained to the customer ahead and cashier that, “I am on a special diet. Just sunflower seeds to cure that colon cancer!”
~ Gordo making fun of a group of teeny-bopper teens.
~ Gordo wanting to turn the Hummer H2 around and see why the gas station further up the street had cops and an ambulance. “I’ll pretend I am an officer,” he laughed. “Move over Bob! Official business.”
~Gordo driving up over the curb to run down a six foot weed in the field behind our office building.

While I do love Gordo to pieces, I do feel sorry for his wife.

It Takes All Sorts

2004-05-25T13:55:00.000-07:00

(On the phone with a Southern Gentleman.)

M- How may I help you?
Sir- Now this is just not going to work, young lady.
M- What is that, sir?
Sir- I was just talking to one of them workers you got there and they said whole bunch of stuff and then hung up on me. Now, I was not finished, you understand that?
M-They hung up on…
Sir- I have a lot to say, now, and that young man—why, you are all younger then me, understand? Understand that? Now, it aint no way to treat someone like me ‘cause I got lots to say. Now I don’t understand what that young man was saying, but I tell you it aint right.
M- No, sir. I understand your frustration. If you…
Sir- If people aren’t going to listen to all I have to say then I am just going to return this package. Yes I am. You understand that? I got lots to say. I want a supervisor. You got one of them supervisors? I want to talk, understand?
M- Yes, sir. Sir, it is lunch hour but…
Sir- You gonna have someone call me back? I don’t want that young man to call me back, understand? I want a supervisor. I want to get this all cleared up. Understand? Do you?
M- Yes, sir. I understand. If I can just get your name…
Sir- I don’t know his name.
M- No. Your name, sir.
Sir- You gonna give it to a supervisor? Cause I have lots to say. I have lots to say about this business, understand? I am older then you all.
M- Yes. Of course, sir. I understand.

(On the phone with a British Gentleman.)

Sir- Pleasure to meet you. Now what is your name again?
M- Mckenzie.
Sir- No, love. Your first name.
M- It is my first name, sir.
Sir- Really? How do you spell it?
M- M-c-little k-e-n-z-i-e.
Sir- Intriguing. Your first name, really?
M- (Laugh.) Really. (Conversation continues. We finish.)
Sir- Pleasure speaking with you, love. And it really is a lovely name.
M- Thank you.

The Confession

2004-05-24T16:42:00.000-07:00

I saw you sitting face-forward, hair knotted back into a pink ribbon to match your sweater, and somehow I know you were aware of me three rows back and to the left. My fingers turned the thin pages of my scriptures, eyes dropping to scan the highlighted verses, and surprisingly I recognized how little I care anymore.

We battled cruelly that night. Each word was louder than the last and the next morning our neighbors wondered, literally, if someone had been done in.

“Just go on your freaking mission,” you said, letting the door slam with an echo in our small apartment.

I stood, staring vacantly at our bedroom doorway, and the tears had started before I quite realized what had happened. J and H huddled around me. They understood what I did not. I only knew two things: First that our ten year friendship ended with a magnificent bang, and two, that bang, still ringing in my ears, was final.

J and H tried to convince me to stay, but the idea was absurd. Two days later my belongings were packed up. I even tore down the shower curtain out of spite. If you wanted it, after all, you could pay me. Inside, though, I knew this was not about money, about shower curtains, loud and uncompromising friends; it was about what was always tearing us apart.

He fills me with bitterness. Still I rue the day I introduced the two of you, and the time he said, “Just last month I was going to ask C out again.” I wanted to puke. I wanted to take the phone, dial her number and say, Oh, I know you hate me. You wish me dead and decaying in the worst of ways because I am like hangnail, but for the love of everything, please don’t date him, again, but you are not stupid—you see through his smiles and shallow sentiments. Why can’t she?

He only said such a thing to sting, though you merely blinked it away and clung to his arm like bees to honey. My stomach churned. I felt the bile in my throat, but held back the urge to slap him—even if he was smugly grinning, blue eyes burning into me with triumph.

I knew no matter how I tried the derision in my blood was eminent and permanent. He was pushy, touchy, and debasing to C. I was glad when they were over.

He knew I was glad. I saw through him too easily, and the day in the cemetery we were face to face. Dry leaves crunched underfoot, and we spoke to each other directly. No short cuts, just business. “You hurt C, and you will hurt her, too. I know what you are.” Even then, getting back into his car, I somehow understood that it didn’t matter what I knew, only what was believed. Two days later you were a couple.

Four years later we are no longer friends, but the hate, the literal hate, I have for him is as still as a summer day, diminished. I prayed my heart to soften, for forgiveness, for the grace not to like him but merely accept him. I guess this time I prayed for the right thing.

You and I have always been opposite, and it really is no surprise that we now trod opposite paths. We have not spoken since the big bang. Perhaps it is better. Our parents talk. They laugh and joke over the fence. Your dad still waves to me; your mom stops me to briefly chat. But I have said goodbye, peacefully and compliantly.

Not too long ago we sat on Tiffa's round sofa (Tiffa, Daivs, and I), cuddled in blankets, and eating jerky and chocolate. Earlier that evening we made a toast (with Jones soda) to our friendships.

I asked what was wrong with me. Davis says it is one or two things: 1. I really am a soul sucker and just ruin friendships. 2. I just have terrible luck.

“I take my chances with both. You’re my friend,” she said with a grin.

“Thanks,” I laughed. “Thanks for taking your chances, especially if your soul is involved!”

Somehow I felt all right.

A Seed Will Grow

2004-05-24T12:27:00.000-07:00

I met with President Blake yesterday. We reviewed my papers and went over the normal questions asked for temple worthiness. My heart felt as though it would leap out of my throat; I was on fire. Each day I am closer to serving my mission; each day I am closer to going where I know I must go; each day my desire amplifies to serve.

I stood outside feeling the gentle chill against my cheeks. Recently sodden grass, cement, mulch, and dripping hydrangeas touch my nose. Above the sky swelled with rain clouds, grand puffs of grey and off-white. I smiled to myself, recalling the pleasant words of a primary hymn.

I like to look for rainbows
Whenever I see rain
And ponder on the beauty
Of the earth my clean again
I want my life to be as clean
As earth right after rain
I want to be the best I can
And live with God again

Later I drove up to the temple and sat in my car, staring up at the glowing building with wonder and thanks. All of life’s thorns, the little rocks in my shoe, will one day be taken care of; I believe that; I know.

In a few months time, perhaps less than that, there are so many people I must bid goodbye—some, maybe, longer than I expect. Sister Higgins, oh surely she will never truly know her influence! Her smile, humility, grace, that lesson she taught not to many summers ago that, even now, keeps close to my heart. I will miss seeing her every Sunday, crying, “Sister Higgins, Sister Higgins, you will never believe…!” and how she always does believe, how her smile blesses so many.

Brother Yeo I will fondly miss. He is a good man, genuinely seeking to help others, and ever devoted to his good wife. Every Sunday he playfully tugs my hair, saying in that thick British accent, “Always loved red hair! You’re meant to be our daughter, really.”

Those are only two of the people very dear to my heart. In their subtle ways they planted a seed inside of my heart, and through the years this seed has bubbled, pierced the earth, and began to grow lovely, green leaves—leaves of love, of truth and beauty, of charity, and many things I have the ability to use but oft times lack. They are the people that make the world good, that make me want to be good.

Influenza

2004-05-22T07:52:00.000-07:00

I have the flu. Not the kind where curling up in a blanket and eating chicken noodle will do you good, but the kind involving chills, fever, room spinning, and upchucking everything from chicken noodle to water. My computer screen keeps blurring and the slightest noise rings in my ears, yet here I am working. Thankfully Natalie is coming in to watch over things, and oh how I owe that dear girl. She is my life savor.

Until Monday, dahlings, when things should stop whirling.

Quotes! Attention All Quotes!

2004-05-20T17:50:00.000-07:00

All right. I am on a quote high. These are some of my favorite quotes from movies. What about you?

Marianne Dashwood: Always resignation and acceptance. Always prudence and honour and duty. Elinor, where is your heart?
Elinor Dashwood: What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering. For weeks, Marianne, I've had this pressing on me without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature. It was forced on me by the very person whose prior claims ruined all my hope. I have endured her exultations again and again whilst knowing myself to be divided from Edward forever. Believe me, Marianne, had I not been bound to silence I could have provided proof enough of a broken heart, even for you. ~Sense and Sensibility, 1995

“Communism is just a red herring.” ~Miss Scarlet, Clue (1985)

“Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Whose gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinburg? I have more responsibility here than you could possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago, and you curse the marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And that my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. I know deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you don't want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then question the manner in which I provide it. I prefer you said thank you, and went on your way, Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon, and stand to post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to.” ~Colonel Jessup, A Few Good Men (1992)

“Oh, but you can't expect to wield supreme executive power just because some watery tart threw a sword at you.” ~Dennis, Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)

“...a little frog.” ~The Duke, Moulin Rogue (2001)

Fernand Mondego: Monte Cristo!
Edmond: King, to you Fernand.
Fernand Mondego: Edmond? How did you...
Edmond: Escape? With difficulty. How did I plan this very moment? With pleasure!
Fernand Mondego: So, it was you that stole Mercedes.
Edmond: And everything else. Except your life.
Fernand Mondego: Why are you doing this?
Edmond: [pauses] It's complicated. Let's just say it's vengeance from the life that you stole from me. ~The Count of Monte Cristo, 2002

Mark Darcy: I don't think you're an idiot at all. I mean, there are elements of the ridiculous about you. Your mother's pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever's in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences... But the thing is, um, what I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you, very much.
Bridget: Ah, apart from the smoking and the drinking, the vulgar mother and... ah, the verbal diarhea.
Mark Darcy: No, I like you very much. Just as you are. ~Bridget Jones’s Diary, 2001

Funny Girl

2004-05-20T13:46:00.000-07:00

"You think beautiful girls are going to be in style forever! I should say not! Any day now they're going to be over! Finished! Then it'll be my turn!" ~Fanny Brice, Funny Girl

Priceless. So fabulously priceless.

A Sweltry Afternoon

2004-05-20T11:52:00.001-07:00

I am sweltering. The air conditioning in the building is broken. My office feels like a sauna, quite literally. Poor plastic cam lilies! They are wilting, drooping over the tall, glass vases. Everybody is lagging, talking slow, the end of each word lingering as though we are from the Deep South. Skin moist, mixture of expensive cologne and florid lotion bouquets the air and Norah Jones light voice rolling, rolling us onward.

Sunrise, sunrise
Looks like mornin' in your eyes
But the clocks held 9:15 for hours
Sunrise, sunrise
Couldn't tempt us if it tried
'Cause the afternoon's already come and gone

And I said hoo...
To you

Surprise, surprise
Couldn't find it in your eyes
But I'm sure it's written all over my face
Surprise, surprise
Never something I could hide
When I see we made it through another day

And I said hoo...
To you

Now good night
Throw its cover down
On me again
Ooh and if I'm right
It's the only way
To bring me back

Hoo...
To you
Hoo...

Marriage? Why?

2004-05-19T17:38:00.000-07:00

The following is the message in which my dear Amber left for her cousin:

"This is your cousin Amber. I heard, apparently, you're getting married. Give me a call and tell me why."

Glory

2004-05-19T17:32:00.000-07:00

Trip: I ain't fightin' this war for you, sir.
Colonel Robert G. Shaw: I see.
Trip: I mean, what's the point? Ain't nobody gonna win. It's just gonna go on and on.
Colonel Robert G. Shaw: Can't go on forever.
Trip: Yeah, but ain't nobody gonna win, sir.
Colonel Robert G. Shaw: Somebody's gonna win.
Trip: Who? I mean, you get to go on back to Boston, big house and all that. What about us? What do we get?
Colonel Robert G. Shaw: Well, you won't get anything if we lose.

~ Glory, 1998 ~

The Riverdance Ploy

2004-05-18T13:27:00.000-07:00

I had an odd dream last night. I received my mission call to Ireland, but instead of actually going on a mission, it was a ploy to make people learn Irish tap-dancing so that Riverdance could make more money. I cannot dance. I literally have no rhythm, so this dream quickly turned into a nightmare. Not only did I look silly in the green velvet dress, but I could not keep up with the other dancers. Sheer panic overcame my body when Lord of the Dance entered to grade our tapping. He knew I had no rhythm by one glance. I was sent to the cold kitchen to peel potatoes.

P.S.

2004-05-17T19:01:00.000-07:00

If I am missing your link it is because I lost it! If you still want it up, just comment.

The Sweetest Bouquet

2004-05-17T18:43:00.000-07:00

“Here, for you, Aunt Kenzie!” chimes my nephew with a hopeless grin as he hands me the small bundle of white dandelions.

“Oh! You are darling. Thank you,” I say, taking the bouquet of weeds into my hand. He is truly pleased and hurries back to his red bicycle.

Who knew that weeds could be so pleasant?