Thursday, November 26, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
In which I make up a silly word for a deep, psychological characteristic
People are different.
I know. Shocker.
But let's rewind a little bit. Whrrrrrrrrrrr! *Play*
So I'm in Brazil. Visiting friends. Having the time of my life, if you remember. But for every high there is a low, for every up there is a down - I'm pretty sure The Sword in the Stone has a song about that.
See, for some of those friends, a few days wasn't enough. For some of those friends, a few hours of (what should have been) laughter and conversation was 95% complaining that I don't keep in touch well enough.
This, in a word, BIT.
This plunged me into at least fifteen minutes of complaining to My Man - until we came to that SHOCKING conclusion: people are different.
I have a very good friend, whom we'll call Jane, because that's not really her name. We've been friends a long, long time. Good friends. Best friends. In high school, Jane befriended another girl, Betsy, to whom she became quite close. I liked Betsy. I had no jealousy issues. I was glad to include another body in my circle.
But in college, Jane "dropped the acquaintance," as Jane Austen would say.
Betsy called. Left messages. Wrote emails. Sent letters. Yet Jane disdained not to reply.
I got mad at Jane. "Write her back!" I urged. "Call her back! She's your friend!" But Jane, in so many words, made it clear that it was not a friendship 'worth keeping up.' Jane only had so much room in her emotional friend box, and it could not include Betsy at the moment.
I've thought a lot about that Friend Box.
Everyone is different.
For some, picking up the phone and calling once a year is plenty enough to keep up the status of "best friends." For others, once a month is better. Some women are more every-day-ers, who need constant physical companionship to deserve the word Friend.
And I don't think any one of them is Right, where the others are Wrong. Just different.
I've come to the conclusion that a Brazilian Friend Box is quite large. They have huge emotional capacities, ready and willing to embrace everyone as a long-lost soul friend - and work hard to keep them that way. They write weekly - sometimes daily - messages. Emails. Phone calls. And it's still not enough. My friend Jane, on the other hand, has a relatively small Friend Box. Select are the few who gain admission. And she's content with a once-a-year phone call to stay a part of that exclusive club.
I think I fall somewhere in the middle.
I'm totally okay with months of silence from some of my best friends -
among them, my college roommates. They rarely remember my birthday. I never remember theirs (although I could TELL you what they are ....)
And that's totally cool.
I used to know everything about them. I was intimately acquainted with every item of clothing they owned - where they got it, and how much they paid. I knew when they ran out of cheese. I knew the daily ups and downs of their emotions, and what kind of tampons they used.
Now, I don't know those things. I have no clue what's in their closets - or their refrigerators - or their bathroom cabinets. But I know THEM. I know the foundational soul-building part of them that makes them my friends. And luckily, our Friend Boxes are relatively the same size. It makes things so much easier.
We don't see each other often. When we meet, there's that initial coolness and the "what've you been up tos?" and then everything is fine. We're back at Apartment 80, discussing the deepest darkest parts of US with music blaring in the background, and trying on each other's makeup. (Heidi always had the best. )
They are in My Box. But so are the Brazilians. It's just that Brazilians need more frequent proofs of their membership.
And that's okay.
Because people are different - and so are their Friend Boxes.
I know. Shocker.
But let's rewind a little bit. Whrrrrrrrrrrr! *Play*
So I'm in Brazil. Visiting friends. Having the time of my life, if you remember. But for every high there is a low, for every up there is a down - I'm pretty sure The Sword in the Stone has a song about that.See, for some of those friends, a few days wasn't enough. For some of those friends, a few hours of (what should have been) laughter and conversation was 95% complaining that I don't keep in touch well enough.
This, in a word, BIT.
This plunged me into at least fifteen minutes of complaining to My Man - until we came to that SHOCKING conclusion: people are different.
I have a very good friend, whom we'll call Jane, because that's not really her name. We've been friends a long, long time. Good friends. Best friends. In high school, Jane befriended another girl, Betsy, to whom she became quite close. I liked Betsy. I had no jealousy issues. I was glad to include another body in my circle.
But in college, Jane "dropped the acquaintance," as Jane Austen would say.
Betsy called. Left messages. Wrote emails. Sent letters. Yet Jane disdained not to reply.
I got mad at Jane. "Write her back!" I urged. "Call her back! She's your friend!" But Jane, in so many words, made it clear that it was not a friendship 'worth keeping up.' Jane only had so much room in her emotional friend box, and it could not include Betsy at the moment.
I've thought a lot about that Friend Box.
Everyone is different.
For some, picking up the phone and calling once a year is plenty enough to keep up the status of "best friends." For others, once a month is better. Some women are more every-day-ers, who need constant physical companionship to deserve the word Friend.
And I don't think any one of them is Right, where the others are Wrong. Just different.
I've come to the conclusion that a Brazilian Friend Box is quite large. They have huge emotional capacities, ready and willing to embrace everyone as a long-lost soul friend - and work hard to keep them that way. They write weekly - sometimes daily - messages. Emails. Phone calls. And it's still not enough. My friend Jane, on the other hand, has a relatively small Friend Box. Select are the few who gain admission. And she's content with a once-a-year phone call to stay a part of that exclusive club.
I think I fall somewhere in the middle.
I'm totally okay with months of silence from some of my best friends -
among them, my college roommates. They rarely remember my birthday. I never remember theirs (although I could TELL you what they are ....)And that's totally cool.
I used to know everything about them. I was intimately acquainted with every item of clothing they owned - where they got it, and how much they paid. I knew when they ran out of cheese. I knew the daily ups and downs of their emotions, and what kind of tampons they used.
Now, I don't know those things. I have no clue what's in their closets - or their refrigerators - or their bathroom cabinets. But I know THEM. I know the foundational soul-building part of them that makes them my friends. And luckily, our Friend Boxes are relatively the same size. It makes things so much easier.
We don't see each other often. When we meet, there's that initial coolness and the "what've you been up tos?" and then everything is fine. We're back at Apartment 80, discussing the deepest darkest parts of US with music blaring in the background, and trying on each other's makeup. (Heidi always had the best. )
They are in My Box. But so are the Brazilians. It's just that Brazilians need more frequent proofs of their membership.
And that's okay.
Because people are different - and so are their Friend Boxes.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
In which I brag a lot, but make up for it by posting an incredibly bad picture of me
So as previously mentioned, we went to Brazil last week. Just My Man and me. MomLady flew in to watch the kids. (Did I mention I love this aspect of living in the States?!) My Man had some meetings in that beloved country o' ours for his side business; as his personal assistant, I went along. I'm such a devoted employee.
We had limeades.
We had cake.
We actually didn't have churrasco, which is funny.
Mostly, we hung out with people like these:
Every day My Man would drop me off at some unsuspecting person's house, and I would give them a heart attack. Then we would laugh and cry and laugh some more. Then we became Alvin and the Chipmunks (talking as fast as we could) for hours - usually followed by more laughing and crying. Then I'd walk to someone else's house, and repeat the process.
Heart attack. Laugh. Cry. Talkreallyfast. Laugh. Cry. Repeat.
Basically, I had the time of my life.
Can a person actually DIE of joy?
To make things extra-uber-special, My Man and I even got to escape to the beach for a day, where we got really burned and read The Lightening Thief, which we loved. We also had deep philosophical discussions - the kind that you don't want to sleep for fear of missing something. The kind that reminds you that life is perfect because you married the perfect person. The kind that just makes everything that is less-than-happy, disappear.
It was a really good week.
And now, to make you feel slightly better about my Defying the Boundaries of Ecstasy, here's a picture that brings me back to earth:
Let's have a close-up, shaaaaaaaaaaaall we?
Wow. I really hope that's just bad lighting, even badder luck, or the fact that I just got off an international flight. Because I'M ONLY HALFWAY THROUGH THIS GIG.
I might need another trip to Brazil ....
We had limeades.
We had cake.
We actually didn't have churrasco, which is funny.Mostly, we hung out with people like these:
Every day My Man would drop me off at some unsuspecting person's house, and I would give them a heart attack. Then we would laugh and cry and laugh some more. Then we became Alvin and the Chipmunks (talking as fast as we could) for hours - usually followed by more laughing and crying. Then I'd walk to someone else's house, and repeat the process.Heart attack. Laugh. Cry. Talkreallyfast. Laugh. Cry. Repeat.
Basically, I had the time of my life.
Can a person actually DIE of joy?
To make things extra-uber-special, My Man and I even got to escape to the beach for a day, where we got really burned and read The Lightening Thief, which we loved. We also had deep philosophical discussions - the kind that you don't want to sleep for fear of missing something. The kind that reminds you that life is perfect because you married the perfect person. The kind that just makes everything that is less-than-happy, disappear.
It was a really good week.
And now, to make you feel slightly better about my Defying the Boundaries of Ecstasy, here's a picture that brings me back to earth:
Let's have a close-up, shaaaaaaaaaaaall we?
Wow. I really hope that's just bad lighting, even badder luck, or the fact that I just got off an international flight. Because I'M ONLY HALFWAY THROUGH THIS GIG.I might need another trip to Brazil ....
Monday, November 9, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Scandalous dinner conversation to follow
Little Prince: Guess what, Mom!That Girl: What, LP?
LP: Jasmyn was back at school from her vacation.
TG: Oh, good! I know you guys are friends.
LP: I sat next to her at lunch today.
TG: Cool.
LP: And guess what.
TG: What?
LP: She kissed me.
***My Man and I look at each other, not sure whether to laugh or cry. But before we could do either, LP continues ....
LP: Yup! Right here! (points to cheek)
TG: What did you do?!
LP: Um ... I had the hiccups.
***************************************
I'm sure she'll remember it forever.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
in which i bleed stars and stripes
i voted today
it feels good
it feels like i matter
it feels like i belong
it feels community-ish
it feels AMERICAN
because AMERICA is all about being good - feeling like you matter - belonging- community-ism - and most of all,
being opinionated
(really, it's like one big blog)
**Visit my pal Annie for endless wit and cleverness - even on the subject of voting**
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Moving mountains
This weekend was stake conference. Thousands of Latter-day Saints congregated in three different buildings to hear our local leaders - some via some pretty sweet WebCam technology. (Or something.)
Friday was the adult session. Baby-sitters were scarce (and we were lazy.) My Man won the toss-up and off he went, prepared to take scrupulous notes.
One of the stories he brought home touched me deeply.
The speaker: Mervyn B. Arnold of the Seventy. The time: his "younger years." The place: Mt. Timpanogos.
He and his wife had decided to hike this 11000 foot monstrosity.
They began.
As they huffed and puffed up the mountain, it got colder. They saw couples ahead of them turn around. "We'll come back when it's warmer," they said.
In many places, it was muddy and hard to find footing. More couples turned around. "We'll come back when the ground is more firm," they said.
The ascent became steeper. The climb harder. They stopped to rest, observing still more hikers on the trail headed home. "We'll come back when we're in better shape," they said.
Towards the top - so close, so agonizingly close - there was snow. In many places the freezing cold fluff was halfway up their shins, oozing down their boots to ice their tired feet. More people stopped. "We'll come back when there isn't any snow," they said.
The Arnolds were now alone. They looked at each other. They were tired. They were cold. But they had made a promise that they would climb to the top of Mt. Timp. Together. And they were going to keep their promise.
When they reached the summit - embracing and alone - they marveled at the view that God's hand alone could paint. They wept. And they vowed to each other, once more, that they would never stop climbing.
Each of us begins marriage with a promise. A promise to love each other forever.
But too many fall back when it gets hard. When jobs are lost. When beauty fades. When character traits annoy or honeymoon passion is lost. When others look more interesting or disagreements become too often. "It got too hard," they say. "I only agreed to the easy stuff."
I am so, so glad for a hiking companion who sticks by my side. Through mud and steep inclines, through snow and rough terrain.
We made a promise.
And we're sticking to it.
images here and here
Friday was the adult session. Baby-sitters were scarce (and we were lazy.) My Man won the toss-up and off he went, prepared to take scrupulous notes.
One of the stories he brought home touched me deeply.
The speaker: Mervyn B. Arnold of the Seventy. The time: his "younger years." The place: Mt. Timpanogos.
He and his wife had decided to hike this 11000 foot monstrosity.
They began.
As they huffed and puffed up the mountain, it got colder. They saw couples ahead of them turn around. "We'll come back when it's warmer," they said.In many places, it was muddy and hard to find footing. More couples turned around. "We'll come back when the ground is more firm," they said.
The ascent became steeper. The climb harder. They stopped to rest, observing still more hikers on the trail headed home. "We'll come back when we're in better shape," they said.
Towards the top - so close, so agonizingly close - there was snow. In many places the freezing cold fluff was halfway up their shins, oozing down their boots to ice their tired feet. More people stopped. "We'll come back when there isn't any snow," they said.
The Arnolds were now alone. They looked at each other. They were tired. They were cold. But they had made a promise that they would climb to the top of Mt. Timp. Together. And they were going to keep their promise.
When they reached the summit - embracing and alone - they marveled at the view that God's hand alone could paint. They wept. And they vowed to each other, once more, that they would never stop climbing.
Each of us begins marriage with a promise. A promise to love each other forever.
But too many fall back when it gets hard. When jobs are lost. When beauty fades. When character traits annoy or honeymoon passion is lost. When others look more interesting or disagreements become too often. "It got too hard," they say. "I only agreed to the easy stuff."I am so, so glad for a hiking companion who sticks by my side. Through mud and steep inclines, through snow and rough terrain.
We made a promise.
And we're sticking to it.
images here and here
For all the relatives (and anyone else who actually cares)
THE PUMPKINS:
Ouro Branco stuck his spoon in one time, declared pumpkins "yucky," and let me finish it. So sweet of him.
Mr. Squishy, however, laughed himself silly the whole time. And put pumpkin guts in his hair.
Little Prince was in his element, doing everything BY HIMSELF and telling everyone else how to be as proficient as he.
This may be the first picture EVER that they are all looking in the same direction AND smiling. (Thank you, Photo Shop. And don't look too closely. Blending is really hard.)
THE COSTUMES:
Oh my gosh I want to eat you up, Thomas. EAT YOU ALL UP AND ASK FOR SECONDS!
You're pretty tasty looking too, albeit fierce and disarming.
And oh! oh! the dragon! Even though you screamed your head off most of the time, I wanted to slurp you up with a straw. Possibly with a side of green olives, because I'm diggin' green olives lately.
What a great-lookin' crew. I'm especially proud of my made-in-two-minutes pirate getup. (There aren't too many maternity costumes out there ....)
Thank you and good night.
Ouro Branco stuck his spoon in one time, declared pumpkins "yucky," and let me finish it. So sweet of him.
Mr. Squishy, however, laughed himself silly the whole time. And put pumpkin guts in his hair.
Little Prince was in his element, doing everything BY HIMSELF and telling everyone else how to be as proficient as he.
This may be the first picture EVER that they are all looking in the same direction AND smiling. (Thank you, Photo Shop. And don't look too closely. Blending is really hard.)
THE COSTUMES:
Oh my gosh I want to eat you up, Thomas. EAT YOU ALL UP AND ASK FOR SECONDS!
You're pretty tasty looking too, albeit fierce and disarming.
And oh! oh! the dragon! Even though you screamed your head off most of the time, I wanted to slurp you up with a straw. Possibly with a side of green olives, because I'm diggin' green olives lately.
What a great-lookin' crew. I'm especially proud of my made-in-two-minutes pirate getup. (There aren't too many maternity costumes out there ....)
Thank you and good night.
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