to the left, to the left

I shouldn't love it as much as I do, but I do. And when I hear that someone else is, I feel an instant kinship to them. I love when people I've known forever finally notice, as if it was some special trick I've kept hidden from them. It's silly I know, but I love love love being left-handed.

Sure there are disadvantages like the perpetual stain of pencil or ink on your hand or the need to seek out certain "left-handed" desks in a classroom. Oh and then there are things like learning how to crochet–a little tricky when the person teaching you is doing everything with the opposite hand. I bet you didn't know that there are quite a few objects like bunch bowl ladles or scissors that are right-handed. I also blame my lack of coordination on being a lefty. I kick and throw with my right, but with little skill. What was I supposed to do when all the other kids were doing it with that hand? I'd like to think that if I'd learned with my left, I'd be a master (maybe).

But guess what? Being a lefty is the best.  You get special treatment. "Oh sorry, you can't sit there. I'm left-handed; I need to sit on the end." You get special items like left-handed sewing scissors. You have the advantage in sports (not that I would know about that).  Left-handed people are definitely smarter (remember this is my blog). Out of the last 14 presidents, half of them have been left-handed. Significant? I think yes.

And apparently, I would be really great at primitive fighting.


signed,
your little lefty
M

Jealous

Dear Charlotte Brontë,

Want to lend some of your amazing vocabulary to me? Even just for a day? I wish I could throw words around like caprice, piquant, quiescence, assiduous, celerity, or salubrious as if it was no big deal.


your devoted reader,
M


PS if you love the Brontë sisters, you'll love this.

what I really believe

Last week I read this article, part of a regular column Michael Otterson writes for the LDS Church. In the article Otterson relates how church members in Davis County, Utah were asked to help each other clean up debris from a storm and prepare for another one. On that Sunday church was canceled and neighbors gathered to help one another. Otterson describes this as "pure religion" and I couldn't agree more. I am so grateful that I belong to a church that is prudent and practical. Worship is vital to religion, but so is serving and helping the people around you. Acting on principles of faith, love, charity–that is what God put us on this earth together to do. I have never felt closer to people than when I am serving them.

I came home last Friday to find my roommates in the apartment next door. I turned the corner to see why they were there and my eyes met a large puddle (or puddles rather) of water down the hallway, in their kitchen, etc. And there were my roommates with buckets, towels, brooms–ready to get to work. I joined them, sweeping up water (not the most effective tactic, but it did the job). We don't know the girls across the hall as well as we should, but I'd like to think we share something now that is stronger than if we had spent 3 hours talking. I couldn't help but smile as I swept dirty water into a bucket. This is me, living what I believe.

Sunday I found myself among the Christmas books. Every year, no matter what other books I read, I have to include my two favorites at least a few times: The Year of the Perfect Christmas Tree  and Why Christmas Trees Aren't Perfect. It's ironic that their titles are antitheses of each other, because they are essentially about the same thing: giving of yourself when you feel there is nothing to give. I cried as I read how Ruthie's mother, her husband away at war, cut up her wedding dress so Ruthie would have the perfect Angel's dress to wear in the Christmas pageant. I cried as I read of the Queen who saw Small Pine's true heart, that he was more beautiful than all of the other trees because of who he was, not what he looked like. I've read these books hundreds of times, but this time their messages hit me more poignantly than before. More than anything, God wants us to give of ourselves. He wants us to fall, to be vulnerable, to love. When we love others, we love Him with a love deeper and more transcendent than before.


Happy Christmas,
M

the agony and the ecstasy

Eat dark chocolate covered peppermint Joe Joe's and you'll never taste something so wonderful.
Eat dark chocolate covered peppermint Joe Joe's and you'll probably die.



We may or may not have gone through a box in less than 24 hours. Oh dear.

So I decided that

• I should wear red lipstick and ruffles more often. Not necessarily together (although that could be a winning combination). Sometimes it's good to feel extra girly.
• this is the reason why men at BYU are not allowed to have beards:

"Disadvantages of the N-95 masks include the difficulty in ensuring a reliable face-mask seal with each use and impossibility of effective use by bearded individuals"*

Administration just wants to make sure everyone has equal protection from ebola and other VHFs.

• changing the topic of your research paper the day a draft is due is not a smart thing. Changing the topic of your research paper to something that you really don't know how to put into words, is not a smart thing either. However, changing the topic of your research paper to something that is way cooler than your first topic could be a good idea.
• sometimes being too much is not being enough. 
• home-grown potatoes (or pretty much home-grown anything) are way better than store bought.

OK. back to my paper.

M


*Borio, L, et al. "Hemorrhagic Fever Viruses as Biological Weapons." JAMA. Vol. 287: 18. May 2002: 2391-2405.

The solution to every problem

But seriously.
I haven't found a problem that dancing to Tainted Love by Soft Cell couldn't solve. Best. Song. Ever.
It's a life philosophy I've been living for quite some years now and it's served me well. 

Happy finals. Mine will be so much better now that I've danced it out.

M

a letter for you

Dear french class,

Just writing to remind you to give me a pat on the back for coming today. When I woke up with 15 minutes to get ready I was determined not to, but I was even early.

love,
M


Dear pride,

I regret to inform you that I swallowed you yesterday when I checked out Probability for Dummies from the library. I may have a great science-y GPA, but probability and I have never been able to understand one another. Mr. GRE, however, is forcing an intimate acquaintance.

I'm sure I'll see lots more of you,
M


Dear toilet,

Sorry you had to come up against an engineer's daughter. I have to say that you were no match for my paper clips and ingenuity. But thanks for working again.

regards,
M


Dear dove peppermint bark chocolate,

Thanks for not being sold out the second you went on the shelves this year. I really appreciate your company while I think about all the homework I should be doing but am not.

loves,
M


Dear thanksgiving break,

Thank you for coming. Food, sleep, and a break from real life is exactly what I needed.

you're the best,
M


Dear Till We Have Faces,

Thanks for being an awesome "I have to read for school but want to keep reading anyway" book. Unfortunately I've read what was assigned for the break already and I have 5 million other things to do, but maybe we'll hang out soon.

yours,
M


Dear family,

Wishing (already) that more of you were here for Franksgiving. My informative powerpoints won't be the same without such an attentive audience.

love you to the moon and back,
M

You know you're a microbiology major when... part VI

Your class field trip is to the sewage plant in Salt Lake.


Guess what? I can't wait.


It's true; I am a nerd.


M

The rest of the series can be found here

Wise man, Mr. Lewis

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell."

-C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Face

Ever feel like you can't face the things you need to do?

That was tonight. So instead I ate Dove chocolate and watched TV. Not one of my finest moments, but to be honest, I feel better. I've been caught up in the dark and windy webs of my mind for the past three weeks and I needed a break. I just couldn't think about anything anymore. So instead I curled up under the covers and pushed away the guilt.

Tomorrow I'll press reset and deal with the homework and decisions. Tonight I'm just going to be.

The girls those boys will marry

Girl 1: look at this
Girl 2: your abs?
Girl 1: yeah this line
Girl 2: ugh. Is that from your spray tan?
Girl 1: no it's from when she waxed me

Why there are no boys to marry at BYU

Boy 1: I mean when you read you have to imagine things yourself. I would rather have someone tell me what it looks like.

Boy 2: I know, seriously. I would much rather play on my ipad.

this thing

I walked in, finding only a smattering of people in the theater, all sitting in pairs. Great. My solitary presence won't be as easy to hide. There is something about going to a movie alone that always invites pity. I was fine with it (I mean who really wants to go to a French documentary about philosophy anyway?) but I felt like daggers of pity were being shot my way. Oh look at that poor girl, she came to international cinema all by herself. She doesn't have a cool, artsy boy with her like I do. Trust me, I don't need your daggers of pity or your artsy boys thankyouverymuch.

I sat with my head tilted to one side resting on my hand, willing myself to make it through all 84 minutes. I looked at the clock: It's only been 32 minutes? No way. I checked the clock again. 37 minutes. Kill. Me. Now. The movie was about Jacques Derrida, a French philosopher. It was weird, intriguing, boring, nauseating (can you say shaky and awkward camera movements?), interesting, thought-provoking, and really lame all rolled into one, 84 "feels like 1,000" minute documentary.

At one point someone asks him what he thinks about love. He gets all bent out of shape because he cannot (ce n'est pas possible!) answer a general, open-ended question like that. She struggles to narrow the question and eventually drags a response out of him. He tells her that when one talks about love, one has to ask who or what. Do you love the "absolute singularity" of the person or do you love that they are this or that, that they do this or that? Are we in love with the person or what they are?

I think when we are learning to love someone (not just romantically, but that too) we love what the person does, what they like, what we see of ourselves in them. But when we truly love someone, we love what Derrida calls the "absolute singularity" of that person. We just love them. period.

It made me think about the thousands of bridal showers I've been to. "So tell us all why you love Tom." "Well, I love Tom because he's so kind, he's funny and smart, and he always does such nice things for me." When we talk of love, we usually talk of what we love about the person, not the person. But as we grow in love, we learn to say in our heart: "I love Tom because he's Tom." He's enough.

I heart reading

"Literary experience heals the wound, without undermining the privilege, of individuality. There are mass emotions which heal the wound; but they destroy the privilege. In them our separate selves are pooled and we sink back into sub-individuality. But in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do."
-C.S. Lewis

"The value of myth is that it takes all the things we know and restores to them the rich significance which has been hidden by 'the veil of familiarity.' The child enjoys his cold meat (otherwise dull to him) by pretending it is buffalo, just killed with his own bow and arrow. And the child is wise. The real meat comes back to him more savoury for having been dipped in a story; you might say that only then is it the real meat. If you are tired of the real landscape, look at it in a mirror. By putting bread, gold, horse, apple, or the very roads into a myth, we do not retreat from reality: we rediscover it. As long as the story lingers in our mind, the real things are more themselves."
-J.R.R. Tolkien

did it

I literally did it. I finished it all. Last week, in an attempt to wrap my brain around the massive load that was before me, I made a large to do list of everything I needed to do before leaving on a jet plane tomorrow. The list was looming and large, but IT'S DONE.  The impossible became possible. I didn't think I'd be able to finish it all, but every last piece of homework has been crossed off the list. I wish I could enjoy the awesome sense of accomplishment and relief, but alas I'm running three hours of sleep and still have 6 1/2 more hours until I can have a break and call the day done. Who knows if I'll make it. Each minute that goes by I count as a victory. My head is starting to get foggy and my mind going. If there were things for me to do, I wouldn't be able to focus enough to do them. Done? yes. Delusional? yes. BUT done.

that's me

"I thought only the first assistant went to the benefit."

"Only when the first assistant hasn't decided to become an incubus of viral plague*."

-The Devil Wears Prada

*please note that the real plague is caused by the bacterium Yersinia pestis, not a virus. Not that I'm trying to argue with Miranda or anything...

wisdom

"what is the point in me being almost [23] if there is still so much for me to learn?"

-Emma

{un}published part iii

life.
setting the timer to say "ah! burning cookies!"
taking home two heavy old (free) chem books so I can use the paper to wrap gifts
using "shut-up" as an exclamation

***

He was prisoner and bound to Rome by ship to answer to the law of Caesar. His journey had already been long, taking him to far lands, crying with a loud voice, praying someone would listen. It was a mission, a purpose in life he was thrust into unexpectedly.

The ship bounced from island to island.

 

***

It was sunny today. I knew that it had to be, that the light radiating from the hearts of millions on this Easter morn would easily diffuse the clouds.

I've been reading this after a link from my sista, and some of the posts have been particularly poignant to me. It is so important to stay connected to saints. We all need that sustaining power. One such post particularly touched me, not so much what the post said as what it referenced to. This happened last week and Elder Holland's talk on the Atonement of Christ touched me deep down to the very core.

Today we sang He is Risen! I was immediately transported back to two gardens, as I was during Elder Holland's talk, two gardens I love. Two Gardens that transformed my heart during a time that seems so long ago. I suddenly missed Jerusalem more than I had in a long time. I wished I could have been there on this easter morn, in the garden tomb, to celebrate the ultimate gift. I know that I do not need to be there to feel and celebrate, but I miss it.

On the top of the program is a classic picture of Mary kneeling before the risen Lord. her neck is extended up to him, so her eyes meet his face. What is interesting about the painting is that both Christ and Mary have their right hands extending out towards each other, but their left hands facing themselves, coming toward their

***

My first, and so far only, Utah adventure was to the Cathedral of the Madeleine in Salt Lake. We went up for a concert. BYU faculty played pieces of Chopin,

***

It seems so far away, so long ago. And yet... there are moments when it seems as if it was yesterday when the loss seemed to much to carry. That the bond was severed and then fused back together, stronger than ever.

I forget sometimes. I forget what it feels like to lose that much. I forget how it feels to be so profoundly hurt inside. As time goes on the wound heals and life as it is now, seems much more of a reality, of a normality than the past ever did.

Sometimes I forget the bond I felt to those around me that also lost. A bond so tangible I could





M.



part i
part ii

rebel

got my first parking ticket today. In fact, it was my first driving violation reprimand of any kind.

I know, I know. I'm such a goodie two-shoes. But now I'm going down the dark and slippery slope of breaking the law. Next thing you know I'll be pulling off a jewelry heist.

very jokey*

I feel like many of my posts lately have been the serious end of things. While I am naturally inclined to contemplation, I think I would explode if my life was consisted solely of such thought. Since I want mjots to be a place where I am real and true to myself and to you, I feel like I ought to tell you what isn't so serious in my life at the moment:

• I've rediscovered the jackal face. Most likely only one or two out of the five people reading this will know what I'm talking about, but trust me you're missing out. I was walking home the other day and something made me think of it. I contorted my face into the jackal and preceded to burst out laughing. I did it over and over several times, laughing to myself all the way home. Oh how I've missed you jackal.
• In honor of Harry Potter seven part two, I adorned my key chain with my awesome and very large snitch. I love seeing people's eyes get wide as they see it on my key chain. "Is that a snitch!?" Problem is, it isn't always the most appropriate item to have on a key chain. Like when I'm walking into the Temple for example. That's when I leave the snitch in the car. Unfortunately there are places (though few)  where Harry Potter is not appropriate. 
• I have an unhealthy and slightly ridiculous obsession to fake cheese and Taco Bell. I know, I KNOW. It's absolutely disgusting, but alas, it is the truth. The former addiction I contribute to growing up with dearest sister A, who shares the same love of unnaturally smooth cheese. You know those little snackpacks that have the fake cheese, crackers and the little red spreader in them? Totally ate one of those on campus a few days ago. Felt like I was five. The latter I attribute to too much eating in the Cougareat freshman year and getting sick of eating everywhere else. I rarely buy food on campus, but when I do it is always Taco Bell. Always. The other day I neglected to bring dinner and was beyond starving. I defaulted to Taco Bell, enjoying my fake cheese. Two hours later I attempted to go running. As soon as I hit the pavement the nausea set in. Taco Bell and running are not friends. Don't think I'll be going there for a while.
• A couple of nights ago I was trying to open a packet of raisinettes that were sealed in plastic. I grabbed the nearest semi-sharp object, a butter knife, which I then proceeded to slice not only through the plastic, but also through my finger. Smart, M, smart.
• Speaking of Harry Potter, my french classroom is the Shrieking Shack. We'll be in the middle of class and all of the sudden there will be this "whoooooo" ghosty sound coming out from what I assume is the vent. When you open the door to walk in, it creeks so SO loudly. Good thing I haven't shown up late yet ...
• I've reverted back to childhood in terms of entertainment tastes. I've been reading 500 books at once lately (which I do not recommend, nor do I usually do, but I must be have been feeling extra indecisive this summer I guess) all of which I have stopped reading upon starting school except for one: Calico Captive. My world was forever enriched by dearest sister E, who introduced me to the book many years ago because she loved it when she was young. Will Miriam ever find her way back to the settlement? Will she be reunited with her sister Susanna who is being enslaved at an Indian camp? Will she choose the gruff Frenchman or the polite and churchy Phineas? I must know! If you love French-Canadians, love triangles, hunky French fur traders, Indians, and sewing, this is the book for you. I find myself coming home after a long day and wanting to curl up in my bed and read my fluff. Also, I've been watching a lot of the Cosby Show lately (thanks to my old roommate Jenni), which brings back all sorts of great memories.
• And finally, I recently watched an amazing Bollywood film, Dil Bole Hadippa with a dear friend which I now have been quoting from for days. I don't know if I have ever laughed so hard at or enjoyed a movie so much as I did this one. *This is the source of the amazing title of this post. The leading man says to his counterpart, "I am falling in love with you buffalo-girl because you make my life very jokey." One day I hope to make a man's life very jokey too.

loves,

M