Optimism Beats Pessimism Every Time

So here's a bummer for the day:

I went to the grocery store today and bought myself a bag of air, but when I opened it there were chips inside! I hate when they put chips in my bag of air.  It's irritating.

Ok ok here's the real bummer for the day:

I didn't get the scholarship to go to Italy in the spring. Sad, sad day.  BUT I am starting a new application for a different scholarship and am looking into doing an internship program in Italy in the spring, instead of the intensive language program the first scholarship was for.  SO, things are already looking up, and in the meantime I need to focus focus focus on finals.

Because after finals. . .  it's CHRISTMAS!

I bet you didn't already get this from my other recent blog posts, but I LOVE CHRISTMASTIME! and I am incredibly excited to be going home and spending this festive time with my family. 

Three weeks of holiday greatness, baby! Yeah!

That is all for today. I have a lot of work to do.

The sunshine is coming!

<3 Mel  

Dreaming of a Not-So-White Christmas

I wanted to write something clever today, perhaps something inspiring or important.  But all I can think to say is that I'm excited.

I am so excited.  This time of year is my favorite.  But you have finals and projects and hard things! you might say.  Yes, I do! I'll tell you why I'm excited about it.

I love the last week of classes and finals week. I'm finishing all the hard work I put in throughout the semester, I have established new friendships in my classes, I am nearing a new beginning, and it's Christmastime! I love that we work hard for a solid week and then feel an enormous release of tension as soon as our last test is concluded.  A three-week break with absolutely nothing to do! We can't have homework because we don't have classes! I can be completely free for three weeks.  I do not mind at all working hard and studying intensely for one week when that is my promised reward.

Not only am I free for three weeks, but I also get to go home! I get to return to San Diego and see my family, and spend all of my time with them. I get to participate in our Christmas traditions and go on a trip (this year we're going to San Francisco!), and fully enjoy the spirit of Christmas, without worry or stress.

Can you think of a better present?  I sure can't.

One tough week is so worth it.  And that's why I'm excited.

The sunshine is coming soon!

<3 Mel

More Lights, Camera, Christmastime!

More Christmas traditions I can't go without:

- We have a family Christmas party the Saturday before Christmas.  It is an enormous party, with my mom's entire extended family, mostly from her dad's side. We rent out the Boys and Girls Club building in Imperial Beach, CA, which isn't difficult considering my grandpa's name is on the building.  It is the J. D. Webb Boys and Girls Club.  He built it, through his construction company — he's really quite famous down in IB. Anyway, we rent out that building and everyone comes from all over Southern California. My mom's uncle and his family come from Arizona. We always have Mexican food — burritos, tacos, tamales, enchiladas — and lots of desserts.  Everyone brings something, or two or three things.  It is an incredible feast that I would never miss for the world. We all dress up really nicely, too.  (When we were young, our Christmas presents from Grandma and Grandpa were brand-new outfits for the Christmas party, so we got to open them early! That was awesome. Then we grew up and decided we could pick out our own clothes. . . you know how it is.) We pray before the meal and then everyone lines up in a buffet line and gets heaping plates of food.  We chat, laugh, enjoy each others' company and catching up with people we haven't seen since the Fourth of July (when we have our other enormous family party). My grandparents hire a DJ —because we're a family that knows how to party. Everyone gets out on the dance floor and we dance, eat, dance, and eat some more for hours. The only part my siblings, cousins, and I don't like is the cleanup.  This is one of my favorite nights.

- We spend Christmas day as a family.  We get up when Madelyn can't wait any longer. Somehow she always gets up early and then goes from room to room waking everyone else.  We aren't allowed to even think of getting up until after 7am, which has been moved to 7:30 in recent years.  But Madelyn is always the one to wake all of us. We go brush our teeth and make ourselves as presentable as possible (since we are all still in our pj's without makeup. . . a near tragedy for a house full of girls) and pose at the top of the stairs for a picture.  Madelyn always makes sure to capture the cat and hold his squirming, meowing body during the picture. Then we rush downstairs and converge on our Christmas tree, pulling out presents and handing them to their recipients. After all the presents are open and everyone has given hugs and 'thank yous' and 'you're welcomes' we have a big breakfast together. Sometimes Jerry makes waffles or pancakes and other times Mom makes her special homemade crème brulée French toast. We usually have sausage and eggs with our breakfast. Jerry makes our eggs special order — I get scrambled with cheese, Madelyn gets over-easy, Brooke gets over-medium, etc. We have a wonderful breakfast and wonderful day, listening to Christmas music and watching Christmas movies. This is one of my favorite days.

Christmastime, it's here!

<3 Mel

Lights, Camera, Christmastime!

Happy, joyous December 1st to everyone!

Christmastime is here.  I cannot believe it.  FOUR MORE classes this semester.

Christmas is my favorite time of year.  My family has so many traditions that I truly treasure.  Here are a few:

- We get our tree from the lot in front of Home Depot.  We spend a lot of time picking the very best one.  Then we tie it to the roof of the car and take it home. Jerry sets it up in its stand on the tiled corner of the family room, puts water in it, and covers the stand with a nice red tree skirt.  A Christmas CD plays on the computer.  First, Mom and Jerry string colored lights through the branches, distributing them evenly, carefully.  Then, each of us plunges into the four boxes of ornaments and begins placing them strategically on the tree's limbs.  Brooke, Madelyn, and I put what we consider the "ugly" ones on the back of the tree, where they can't be seen.  This is one of my favorite nights.

- We go see the Holiday of Lights display at the Del Mar Fairgrounds.  Enormous structures of lights surround the racetrack, and the cars drive around the track, experiencing them all.  Back when Jerry had his old Chevy truck, he would bring it home the day we were going to Holiday of Lights.  First, we would go to the Starbucks in Del Mar, always the same one, and get hot chocolates.  Then we would drive to the fairgrounds and wait in the long line of cars to get in.  Once we made it to the front and paid, we would enter the Holiday of Lights.  Quickly, Jerry would put the truck in park and all of us kids would jump out of the cab and climb into the pickup bed, where we had laid out blankets to sit on.  Jerry would start driving again, as we sat in the bed—sipping hot chocolate, feeling the cool breeze, watching the incredible light displays, laughing together.  (Nowadays we do everything the same, except for the truck which we no longer have.  We have to enjoy our hot cocoa and the lights from inside our SUV). This is one of my favorite nights.

More traditions to come. . .

<3 Mel

Heritage

I've realized why I am having so much trouble blogging.  My personal history project is a blog, so I can't ever remember if I blogged on this blog or not, because I am blogging every day.  It's a problem.

Anyway.

Today I finished revising my oral history interview project for class, and I was reflecting on the day just over a week ago that I interviewed my grandpa.

Never have I been more excited to fulfill an assignment.  It was a beautiful day, it was rewarding, and it was just plain fun.  On a sunny California day, two days before Thanksgiving, my mom and I drove down to Coronado to talk to my grandparents (her parents).  I wanted to interview Grandpa for my writing assignment and Mom wanted to work on family history with Grandma.

Grandpa and I

As we drove the 35 minutes or so to Coronado, I asked Mom what period of Grandpa's life I should ask him about.  We talked about her childhood and all the amazing things he accomplished, and decided that the 1970s would be a great time period to interview him about.  It was just the two of us, my mom and I, and it was wonderful.  It was great to be open with her and hear details of her life that I had never heard before.  When we got to my grandparents' house, the greatness and the inspiration kept flowing easily.  I learned so much about Grandpa that I never even thought to ask all my life.  Through the interview, I saw him as a father, husband, and provider for his family, whereas to me he had always always been a retired grandfather who walks with difficulty because of an accident he had in the late 80s.  I never really considered thinking of him as a spry, healthy young man with three little daughters and a major construction company.  I was fascinated, enthralled.

During our hour-long interview, my mom and Grandma were in a separate room going through records and old newspapers and websites, trying to piece together more family history.  Genealogy is a project they have both been working diligently on for a long while now.  So much precious history was going on in that house that day.  I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for my writing assignment, for the health of my grandparents, for the ability to record history and to go back through those records in the future.  There was an amazing spirit there.

Grandma and Grandpa
"First Dance"
50th Wedding Anniversary

On our drive home, my mom and I talked about Grandpa's answers to my questions and ended up in a fabulous conversation about 1970s politics.  It was lengthy and surprisingly intense.  Then I asked about her experience with Grandma that afternoon.  "It's amazing to think," she said, "that we can touch history.  The censuses that Grandma and I were going through were from 1910 and 1920.  Someone held those papers in 1910, they wrote with their pens on those papers.  It's incredible."

History means everything to me.  I want to work as an archivist because I want to touch history every day.  I want to feel a closeness to people who have long past.  I want to recognize that the documents stored in archives are not pieces of paper, but have stories behind them.  Someone, somewhere, took the time to write whatever is on those papers.  Someone, somewhere, with a story of their own.

History is remarkable.  There is nothing I have ever been more passionate about.  There is nothing quite like it.

This is my sunshine.  This is what gets me through cloudy days.

<3 Mel
  

1960s Spiel

Side note before my spiel begins: Today I got a package in the mail.  It was from my mom.  In it was a brand-new set of bath towels.  Brand-new bath towels, of the Vera Wang variety.  Yes, I do now own Vera Wang towels.  And they are glorious.  If I ever chance to meet Vera, the first thing I will do is thank her for producing such luxurious bath towels.  Honestly, they are the most delightful things.

The reason I got brand-new Vera Wang bath towels is because I asked for new towels for Christmas.  My $2 ones from Walmart have become threadbare.  I was so excited to open them Christmas morning.  But SURPRISE! Early Christmas for me!!

. . . What has college life done to me?  The other day I was raving about my apartment's new microwave, and now these towels. . . College changes a person.  It really does.  Honest.

And now for my spiel:

I love The Beatles.  Love. Them.  Their music, their hair, their culture, their insanity, all of it.  LOVE.  I have three Beatles t-shirts, a Beatles blanket, various Beatles paraphernalia, etc. etc.

So I got a new Beatles t-shirt.  I was quite fond of it.  I wore it to my U.S. History 1945-2000 class.  We happened to be studying the 1960s that day.  Awesome.  So I settled into my extremely small and incredibly uncomfortable desk and awaited the PowerPoint lecture for the day.

So along rolled the '60s — civil rights, 'freedom' rights, Vietnam, drugs, etc. etc. — and suddenly we arrived at the British invasion, and there were my boys.  Paul, John, Ringo, and George.  With their floppy hair and exquisite accents.  Love, I tell you.

The teacher lectured on and on, and we watched various video clips of the Beatles and how the British invasion affected American culture — everyone wanted the Beatles haircut, everyone wanted to go to their concerts, everyone wanted Paul to fall in love with them, etc. etc.  We also watched as they joined (led?) the drug culture.

At this point, amidst video clips of a completely stoned/high crowd watched the completely stoned/high Beatles play their music, the kid sitting next to me in my history class turned around, glanced at my shirt, then glared.  His piercing eyes scolded me very loudly.
"Do you realize what you are supporting? Do you realize that those people on your shirt did DRUGS? Do ya? Do ya?" 

YES, kid in my history class whom I have never spoken to.  I DO UNDERSTAND that the Beatles did drugs, and that they probably did a lot of other bad things, and they were BRITISH for goodness sake.  But you know what? They made darn good music while they were doing it! You're just JEALOUS!

Sorry.  I'm done now.

(I also love all other 1960s music, especially Motown. The Temptations. I've got sunshiiiiinneee, on a cloudy day.  When it's cold outsiiidddee, I've got the month of May.  You can't beat that.  You just can't.  That is all.)

<3 Mel

Catch CCR and Put 'Em in Your Pocket

Wo is me! I am a terrible person.  Particularly a blogger-person. It's been a whole week! Honestly, I don't know why it's so hard for me to keep up with this.

Moving on.

Yesterday I was walking on campus toward my first class for the day.  I was strolling along, laden down with heavy books (as always), earbuds in my ears playing awesome oldies songs.  As I walked I began recognizing that I was attracting the attention of many people around me.  They were not happily acknowledging my existence but rather were staring incredulously, as if I were incredibly stupid for some reason or another.  I couldn't understand it.  Was it because the buckles on my boots jingled when I walked?  I admit they made a slightly irritating *clink clink* noise with every step.  No, that probably wasn't it.  OH NO, was I not wearing pants? Nope, my jeans snuggly covered my lower body.  I definitely had a shirt on, since I was bundled up against the winter chill that after nearly three years I am still unaccustomed to.  What was it then?  I turned my music up louder and lowered my head.  That was when I noticed.  My earbuds were in my ears, all right.  But they weren't attached to the device that was playing the music.  Creedence Clearwater was blasting out of my coat pocket.  And everyone was staring.

I was thrown into wakefulness by the horrendous musical chimes of my alarm clock.  Seriously, no matter which tune I choose for my alarm, it is always annoying.  Always.  I think it's impossible to wake up gently from an alarm.  The only way is to wake up when you just can't sleep any longer.  That's the way it should be.  Moving on. . . I was very very happy to realize I had been dreaming.  Honestly, a girl can only take so much embarrassment in her life.  I certainly couldn't handle this story if it were true.  I have plenty of true stories to make up for it, though, believe me.

<3 Mel

11-20-12

Today I am grateful for memory and the ability to record and study history.

I am grateful for a grandfather with whom I can have intelligent conversations about Lincoln, World War II, and 1970s politics.  I am grateful that I can learn so much from him, just by listening and asking him questions for a couple of hours.

I am grateful for my mom and grandmother who are working diligently on our family history.

I am grateful for the sunshine of San Diego, and for my car.  I am grateful for the opportunity I have to drive my car around town with the windows rolled down, listening to music.

I am grateful for long talks about the past, present, and future while stuck in traffic on the I-5.

I am grateful to be living in this time period, however difficult it may be.

I am grateful for brand-new bath towels that are fuzzy and don't leave you wet after you've tried to dry off.

I am grateful for a new toothbrush.  The other one was very prickly.

<3 Mel

11-19-12

Today I am grateful for airplanes and the ability to fly from Utah to California in a matter of hours.

I am grateful for a home in San Diego with a great big family who loves me, and with whom I get to spend a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday break.

I am grateful for the opportunity that I have to go to BYU with my cousin, and fly with her rather than by myself.

I am grateful for my love of reading and writing, and for opportunities to apply for scholarships for wonderful college programs.

I am so grateful for my family and am so excited to be seeing them tonight for the first time in three months.

I am grateful for my little sister, who just got her first car.  I still can't believe she is almost 16 and has been practicing driving.

Mostly, I am so grateful for the chance to take a break from the stress of college life and enjoy sunny California!

<3 Mel

A Whole New World

"Formally Submit Application?"

Nah, that phrase isn't daunting at all.  But I did it.  I submitted my application and now all I can do is wait.  Wait for a response to my application for a scholarship to study abroad in Italy in the spring, my first experience out there in the great big world.

You know when you have an incredible desire in your heart, so exciting and powerful that you just can't believe it won't come true, but you also know you must repress it so that it won't hurt as badly if it doesn't come true? That is the worst kind of desire, because it's also the best.

I'm generally someone who follows the flow of things, never having a strong opinion about anything in particular, or in the very least never expressing any opinion I may have.  So to be strongly attached to this idea of the possibility that I could go to Italy is relatively new to me, which makes it all the more exciting.

So I must wait and hope.  But I also have the assurance that even if I don't receive the scholarship, I will have the opportunity to go there someday.  Even if it's not for a while.  If it's not for a while, it will still be worth the wait.

Hoping and searching for the sunshine. . .

<3 Mel

You May Say I'm a Dreamer

"Done is better than perfect."

This is my new mantra.  This should be the title of my blog.  Nay, this should be the title of my life.

I need to learn to think this way.  Perfectionism is a serious illness, at least as it affects me, in that it hinders one's ability to complete projects in a timely manner.

Done is better than perfect.  Especially when perfect can never be attained.

That's my spiel for the day.  And so it goes.

On an entirely different topic. . .
I wanted to lay out my life goals, in one enormous, probably unrealistic timeline of my aspirations. . . just to get it out there.  So humor me for a few minutes. Thanks.

I will graduate Brigham Young University with a degree in History in the Fall of 2013.  In the Winter of 2013, I will participate in an internship (preferably paid) to gain experience in archival work.  Then I will obtain a career as an archivist in some museum or library, and I will get to work with historical manuscripts and artifacts of all kinds.  Then I will marry a tall, dark, and handsome —obviously— man in either the San Diego or Washington, D.C. temple (because those are my favorites) and I will have three children, two girls and a boy.  I will quit my job as an archivist when I have children, and will begin working as a writer.  I will be paid to blog and/or write creative nonfiction or historical fiction, from my computer in my home, while still being a stay-at-home mom.  And so it will go.  And my life will be grand.

I know.  My life will be awesome.  Don't be jealous.

I am of course being facetious.  But it's fun to dream.

Doing my best to find the sunshine. . .

<3 Mel  

The Interview

The Interview (exercise in lyric essay)

Q: “You said you were about fourteen when you discovered what you wanted to study?”

A: “Yes, that’s correct.”

Q: “And you were a sophomore?”

A: “Yes, at La Costa Canyon High School.”

Q: “What was your World History teacher’s name?”

A: “Mr. Heflin.  He was very strange.  He had weird blond hair parted down the middle and shifty eyes. He looked like the mammoth from the movie Ice Age. Seriously! We all thought that.  His hair looked like the mammoth’s hair.  But he was a wonderful teacher.”

Q: “So this project that you did, it was an assignment for the class?”

A: “Yes.  We needed to interview someone who participated in World War II, or who knew someone that did.  Then we had to write a paper about them.”

Q: “I see.  And who did you interview?”

A: “My Grandma Cantrell, my stepdad’s mother.  Grandpa Cantrell fought in the war but he had died six years earlier so I couldn’t talk to him.”

Q: “You interviewed your grandmother about her husband?”

A: “Well, yes.  I asked her about his experience in the war, but I also asked about her experience.  She worked in a factory during the war, building airplanes and such.  But she also told me a lot about what Grandpa did in the Navy.”

Q: “Did you do any other research for that paper other than the interview?”

A: “Oh yes.  I did a lot of research.  I went through all his memorabilia from the war.  There were pamphlets and letters, and lots of packets from the reunions of his Navy unit, many years after the war.  These packets had biographies of the men and other bits of history recorded.  I got to wear his dog tags.  That was my favorite.”

Q: “Did you learn anything new about the war from these items and the interview with your grandmother?”

A: “Absolutely.  I had never heard of the Battle of the Coral Sea before.  It took place soon after the attack on Pearl Harbor.  Grandpa was on the USS Lexington CV2 during that battle, and his ship got attacked.  It flipped over, and he and all the other sailors had to jump off.  There is this great picture of the Lexington turning over, with all these guys jumping into the ocean.  Jerry, my stepdad, said that Grandpa figured out where he was in the picture one time, and showed Jerry.  Jerry couldn’t remember where he was, so I don’t know either.  It’s a great picture though.  Oh, and all the sailors survived.  They were picked up by an American ship that was passing by.  Grandpa told Jerry once that it wasn’t a big deal.  But I think he was lucky.  He might have been at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 but instead he was out at sea on the Lexington.  If he had died at Pearl Harbor Jerry would have never known his dad.  Jerry was only a few months old when Hawaii was attacked.  At that time I also didn’t know that women went to work in the places of men during the war.  That was really interesting to me.”

Q: “What was it about this project that led you to want to study history?”

A: “All of it.  I loved doing the interview; I loved hearing what happened directly from someone who experienced it.  I loved going through the memorabilia.  I loved being able to touch history, to read things that had been written sixty-something years before, to hold something that was present during war, in the midst of a battle.  I also loved that these stories were real and true, and I knew the people that had experienced them.  I loved that I knew a lot more about my grandparents after this project was over.”

Q: “Will you pursue this passion in your later life? Perhaps in a career?”

A: “I truly hope so.  I would love more than anything to work with archives, museums, libraries, et cetera doing research and compiling histories, putting together people’s stories.  I’d also really like to work on putting them in written form.  I don’t know about that yet. I have a long way to go, ha ha.”
<3 Mel

Fear is Mine

“Fear is Mine” (experiment with lyric essay)

Fear of heights.

No, fear of falling from heights.

Fear of suffocation.

Claustrophobia.

Extreme claustrophobia.

Fear of not being able to breathe.

Drowning.

Aquaphobia.

Fear of open ocean water.

Fear of unknown creatures in the water.

Fear of what cannot be seen, especially in the water. Or in dark places.

Fear of not knowing.

Fear of being alone.

Fear of having no one to talk to.

Fear of having no one to answer questions.

Fear of having no one to ask questions.

Fear of future responsibilities.

Fear of adulthood.

Fear of not having fun.

Fear of losing childhood.

Fear of not knowing.

Fear of not forgetting.

Fear of forgetting.

Fear of car crashes.

Fear of driving in the rain/snow/sleet.

Fear of losing control of the car.

Fear of losing control of life.

Fear of losing control of mind.

Fear of not knowing.

Fear of not knowing.

<3 Mel

How To:

“How to Watch a Movie” (experiment with lyric essay)

            1. Select a movie.

a. Consider the audience.  Are you alone? With one friend? Two friends? A group? The chosen film must reflect the number and personalities of the people present. 

b. Examples:

            * A particularly sad and powerful drama in which you might sob uncontrollably is most appropriate when you are alone in the home, accompanied by a fuzzy blanket

* A ‘chick flick’ that has been seen too many times is most appropriate for a group of three or more

* The Avengers is most appropriate to watch with only Katie, because if Yunnie joins she will squeal nonstop about the attractiveness of Captain America.

            2. Get the movie.

                        a. In the house.

                        b. Search Netflix Watch Instantly.

                        c. Redbox*

                              * This will take some preparation and an available vehicle. 

3. Snacks. 

a. Make the popcorn in a pot on the stove, then smother it in salt.  This is the best possible calculated outcome.

b. If too lazy to make popcorn, grab the pretzels on the shelf.

            4. Gather the audience.

                        a. This might prove to be the most difficult task. 

- Watching alone requires only the obtaining of a blanket and/or sweatpants. 

- Watching with friends requires getting them in the same room and threatening to start the movie without them. 

b. Do NOT start the movie without them.

            5. Put in the movie.

a. Purchase a Blu-ray player.  This removes the concern whether the movie is a DVD or Blu-ray disc.  The Blu-ray player plays both.  This creates less confusion.

            6. Press ‘play’.

                        a. Use the remote to select ‘play’ and then adjust the volume.

                        b. Do NOT try to shush everyone (if you are with friends/a group). It will not work.

            7. Enjoy the feature presentation.

a. This is the most important step.  It will last anywhere between one and three hours. 

b. Do NOT attempt to do homework during the movie.  You will not succeed.

                        c. Snuggle up and forget everything else.

<3 Mel

Road Trip

Life is a road trip.

Yes, I realize this is incredibly cliche. But as I sit in the passenger seat of Katie's Honda Accord listening to her shuffling iPod music, the comparisons to life cannot be ignored.

Ok, they absolutely could. But I choose not to ignore them, particularly for the purpose of having something to blog about today.

So life is a road trip. There are generally three choices for the passenger on a road trip.
1) You can take a nap. Just lean your head against the window, and lights out. You'll wake up when the car stops at your destination.
2) You can sit in companionable silence with the driver. Listen to the radio, look out the window at your surroundings, enjoy time alone in your head. . . or not.
3) You can sing along, very loudly and (likely) off-key, to the songs on the iPod. "Rumor has it he's the one I'm leaving you for!" "Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck, some nights I call it a draw." "Shaboom, oh life could be a dream, sweetheart." "Love love me do, you know I love you!"

I clearly chose the third.

Life is all about choices we make on our journey.

<3 Mel

Intelligent Humor

Shakespearean quips: from Much Ado About Nothing

"I would my horse had the speed of your tongue."

"If her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there would be no living near her."

"Methinks she is too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I do not like her."

Claudio: "In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on."
Benedick: "I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter."

"An he had been a dog that should have howled thus they would have hanged him."

"Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humor? No! The world must be peopled!"

"Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to bid you come into dinner.' . . . There's a double meaning in that."

"Hah. There is the Prince, and Monsieur Love."

"Gallants! I am not as I have been!"

"When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I would live till I were married!"

I absolutely love clever writing, so Much Ado About Nothing is like going to a candy shop for me. I wish I knew how to write with such intelligent humor!

Maybe someday.

<3 Mel

Day 2 - 10/27/12

Yunnie, April, Katie, Melanie

the view

scooters

a short break

roommates

A crisp Fall day.  

We, as four roommates, drove up Provo Canyon. 

Then we scootered or long-boarded down the bike path.

It was a beautiful day and we had so much fun.

Many bikers passed us on our journey.  As did a few rollerbladers. Eventually a gang of long-boarders caught up to us.

"Yeah! Go scooters! Keep up the good work!" They sped past Katie and I as they shouted these sentiments.  I just smiled to myself.  We must seem silly on these scooters while they roar past us with the much faster longboards beneath their feet.  

But my journey was enjoyable.  And I had a brake.  

I watched them course down the steepening hill and wondered how they would slow down or stop; I wondered if they would want to.  Would they keep going, flying over cracks and holes in the pavement, accelerating to great speeds as they wove in and out of the traffic lanes?  Do they fear what will come at the end of the path?  No.  I don't think they do.  They look happy, not reckless.  They look excited, not arrogant.  They are enjoying the day, just as I am.  They feel the sharp wind whipping their faces and laugh with exhilaration.  They do not fear.  They just are.  They are simply living.

My creaky scooter beneath me, I shoved off the asphalt with my left foot, faster and faster until I was gliding swiftly down the path.  I crouched slightly, which accelerated my speed.  The cold made my nose numb and my cheeks burn.  I smiled.  

This is what it is to live, to find the sunshine on a cloudy day.

<3 Mel

Day 1 - 10/26/12

A quick peek into my life as a Junior at BYU. . .

Yunnie and Katie and I were getting ready for a Halloween party.  

Yunnie was doing Katie's hair to look like it was from the 1940s.  

The Avengers played in the background while we were putting outfits and hairdos together.  

This is us.

From the outside, this is how we might be seen:  Three girls (sometimes accompanied by the fourth roommate, April) who don sweatpants and curl up on the couch to watch action movies or chick flicks or dramatic tragedies, and swoon over the many attractive men of Hollywood—the ones we all say we wish we could have, but do not actually desire.  Would someone watching us understand the sarcastic comments tossed about through the air?  Would they laugh with us as we quote any film or video clip that happens to come to our minds?  Would someone feel comfortable in our presence, or left out of a particularly entertaining joke?

Within our group, the three of us, there is an understanding that we can say whatever comes to the forefront of our overcrowded minds and the others will play along.  If I said "Dost thy mother know thou wearest her drapes?" then Katie would respond with "Phil? His first name is Agent." And we would laugh.  Hysterically. And we would continue to quote The Avengers until we moved on in conversation or couldn't think of more one-liners.  Or until a line reminded us of a quote from another movie or TV show.

And so it goes.

This is college, year 3, with my best friends.        

<3 Mel

Humor in Hindsight

I was told once that the most traumatic and terrible events in our lives are often, in hindsight, the most hilarious. . .

I was young.  I was in eighth grade, a shy little 12 year old, and I took Dance P.E.  You may be thinking to yourself, I bet she just took Dance P.E. to get out of regular P.E.  And you would be absolutely 100% correct.  Yay for you!  Regular P.E. involved running and dodgeball and boys.  Ick, to all of the above.  So I took Dance P.E. and so did all my best girl friends.  It was awesome.

We were split into groups of eight or so girls and had to make up a dance, which we would perform at the end of the semester in front of the whole school (actually just the other P.E. classes during that period. . . but it felt like the whole school) during a very special Dance Performance Assembly.

So naturally I gathered with my friends and we devised the coolest, most wonderful hiphop/jazz/freestyle dance known to man.  And we practiced like crazy.  We held practices at our homes, outside of school.  We were dedicated.  We would look sooo good in front of those other P.E. classes.

When the day of performance came, we brought our matching outfits to school and changed in the locker rooms.  We emerged with stunning swag and confidence.  Oh yeah.  We were awesome.

We waited backstage behind the enormous curtain until it was our turn.  With the curtain closed in front of us, we took our places and struck poses, trying not to giggle.

The curtain opened and the music started simultaneously.  And we danced our hearts out! Our formations were spectacular, our choreography phenomenal.  We were stars.

Then came the cannon section.  We were supposed to do a particular move, starting with those on the left and finishing with those on the right. The first girl on the left, who was meant to start the cannon sequence, suddenly froze.  Her eyes grew wider and wider and her mouth hung open.

And she took off.  Took off! She ran off stage!  Apparently she couldn't remember the choreography.

Interestingly, the unintended "running of the stage" move did in fact set off a cannon sequence.  She ran off, and was shortly joined by two other girls.  Then another three simply stood straight and walked off (they didn't need to run, after all).

So there I am, with Karly — the only two girls left.  We're still dancing, somewhat lamely as we use our peripherals to follow the girls as they saunter away.  We're nearing the end of our dance and I don't really know what to do, so I look over to make eye contact with Karly.  She is still dancing, doing the step-kick step-kick with her legs, but with her right arm she is waving frantically toward the curtain-puller person who is hidden in shadow just offstage.  She's mouthing "close it! close it!" but nothing happens.

At this point I was burning red and I couldn't seem to remember where my feet were, so I simply crouched down and hugged my knees. (Not sure why this was my instinctual reaction.) I looked up and saw Karly had given up and was walking off stage.

I panicked.  I was alone on a stage in front of thousands (maybe, like, 60?) of judgmental, snotty middle schoolers, and I panicked.

I was still crouched down, so I jumped into the air and screamed "TA DAA!" and then RAN.  I booked it so fast off that stage that I crashed into all the girls from my group who were watching from the shadowed sidelines.

I didn't chance a look, but I bet the audience looked a lot like this:

. . .minus the fancy getup.

Hindsight, in hindsight, didn't take very long with this experience.  We found it pretty hilarious as soon as we got out the immediate "Why did you run off stage?? Oh my gosh that was so horrible, I'm going to die!" feeling.  Then we all went out to the field and collapsed in the grass, laughing so hard we couldn't talk anymore.  Lying there, in the grass, tears of laughter squeezing out the corners of my eyes, I found a four-leaf clover.

Then we got in trouble for leaving without telling our teacher.

<3 Mel

Inspiration Schminspiration

Cleverness and talent astound me.  Astound me! It isn't fair that people in this world have these abilities and I am utterly incapable.

Heather Dixon is my new envy of the week.  This happens every time we're asked to "be familiar with" a guest speaker's work the night before they come for a visit to our Engl 220 class. It's not right, I tell you.

Inspiration? Is that what these people are supposed to be?  Because they surely are.  In a big way.  But the inspiration and spinning wheels of ideas last only as long as it takes me to write one sentence, or snap one photo, or attempt one illustration.  Then the spark is gone.  These people are too good.  Ugh.

At the same time, though, I feel this need to discover my own passion, my own talent that I can be good at.  Not better than other people (there will always be someone better, I've learned).  But good in my own way, because it comes from me.

And then I lose it again.  What can I think up that hasn't already been put out there?  What can I invent?

This ramble, believe it or not, connects with my personal history project (due in December. . . yikes!) and how I have been struggling to think of something that will not only fulfill the assignment requirements but will  allow me to enjoy myself!  It's tough, I'm telling you.

So as I was nearly screeching with laughter or ooohing and aaahing through every single one of Heather Nixon's blog posts, I started devising ideas.  How 'bout I draw (using stick figures, of course. . . duh) something that happened to me each day! Yup, that idea went away fast.  Even drawing stick figures is daunting to me.  (How in the world do you make them use their hands? They don't have any hands!)

So then I thought: All righty, Melanie.  What are your passions? What do you love?
I came up with 'movies'.  Yup, movies.  And it's true — I love to watch movies so very much.  I love clever, well-written scripts and how they toy with one's emotions.  I love watching stories unfold and distinguishing the particular choices of the writer/director/producer/cinematographer. I also love the history behind the emergence of filmmaking and how movies pertain to their time periods. (Oh lookey here, I'm getting all passionate and worked up!)

Lightbulb (*blink blink*) went off in my head.  What if I write my personal history as a series of movies that I have seen?  I start with the first movie I can remember and put (as best I can) the movies I've seen, in order, as I've grown up.  And of course I will talk about them, how I perceived them at the time, how I perceive them now, what was going on in my life at the time that I watched that movie, etc. etc.

Would that work??

Ahh I'm so excited! I want to get started and see if it will pan out.  What do you think?  Would you read that? (And I'd put in pictures and video clips and such. . . this is so exciting!)

I could call it "Mel's Drive In", after this deliciously awesome place in Hollywood.
Do you get it? Drive-in movies? Mel? That's me. :)

Well.  So it goes.

Have I found the sunshine?

<3 Mel      

Dean

The dark leather absorbs the sun's warmth and turns it into a searing heat that sticks to my skin and burns.  After the first few painful moments, however, my body adjusts to the new temperature and even welcomes the warmth that seeps inside it.

The paint is not a garish or particularly striking color.  It does not exude confidence and power as would vibrant red or sleek black.  It is a fairly neutral light blue, not quite baby blue but more of a cresting wave blue, with that slight sheen of green.  It exactly matches me —not wanting to stand out but desiring a quiet uniqueness.

The new, smooth black leather replaced a synthetic aquamarine interior that was stained by tobacco smoke and years of dirt tracked in by many pairs of feet and grubby hands.  I spent an afternoon with The Beatles, scrubbing the sides and ceiling free of stains and grime, spraying Febreeze generously as I sang Hey Jude with Paul.  It was satisfying work, with a visible reward.  And then all the freshly scrubbed aquamarine was torn out.  But it smelled nice.

My favorite feature, next to the power of a V8 beneath my accelerator, is the slide of the thin, leather-wrapped wheel across my palms.  The wheel is enormous, nearly touching my knees as I sit comfortably in my seat—the driver's seat.  I steer with my left hand, while my right rests in my lap.  This is my place, my personal mobile haven.  My car takes me where I want to go, away from stress for a moment, away from a troubled mind.

This is my 1966 Ford Mustang.  His name is Dean.

<3 Mel

Pieces

My summer was spent with children of all ages and hundreds of photographs.

During the day, I would babysit for whatever family needed me (I was the ward babysitter) and/or I would nanny for baby Penny.  Penny is the sweetest, most beautiful baby.  I loved every minute I spent with her.

Penny <3

I would come home from "work" and go straight to the Play Room upstairs, where my project was under way.

I collected all the photographs my family had from 1999 (the year we moved into our home) to the present.  I took them out of bags, boxes, and an enormous cedar chest in the corner of my mom's bedroom.  I spread them out on the carpeted floor and began making piles chronologically.

It was often difficult to discern the month and year of the picture, so I had to become a detective.  I would scrutinize the length of hair, the height, the number of missing teeth in order to place them in the proper order.  When I finished a year I would go buy a photo album, create a label, and put the album together.  Some years required two albums to fit the great number of pictures.

It was a very lengthy, very time-consuming task. And I loved it.  Truly.

I love projects like these.  I loved putting things together and creating a valuable, treasured product.  I love organizing what was chaos for so long.  I love reliving my history and that of my family.  I love watching progression in the still moments captured by film.

What I loved the most was that I could look at those pictures and remember not just striking that pose, but also what was happening at the time, out of reach of the camera's lens.  I remember why we took that photo, why we were wearing those outfits, where we were and why it was worthy of remembering.

This is what I love.  Pieces of history, captured forever, organizing them so they can be more easily enjoyed.

I only wish I had waited to complete this project this semester, so it would count for my Personal History project. :)

<3 Mel

"Non"fiction

Io stavo scrivendo in italiano per tutto il giorno ed ora non riesco a smettere.  Ma è un po divertente, no?

Anyway.  I thought it was fascinating to read in Tell it Slant about how memoir is so similar to photography.  A photographer frames a particular shot to purposefully tell a story.  Leaving out other aspects of the scene or widening the frame to allow more detail to be captured are all part of telling stories and giving the audience a particular piece of life's art.

I love photography.  I took two photography classes in high school and as soon as I graduated I used my saved up money (and a birthday gift) to purchase my own Nikon D3000.

It is beautiful.  It is my baby.  I am in love with it.  Sadly, this past year I have not used it as often as I would like.  You know, school and work and stuff.  They get in the way of hobbies.

To say I was inspired by the visit from Jed Wells today would be an understatement of the greatest fashion.  I want to take pictures all day every day for ever and ever now.  I want pictures to tell my life story, to tell my future story, the future story of my future family.  I want photographs to be a large part of my life.  I want them to display my personal history, as it continues day to day.

Back to memoir.  Another aspect of chapter 12 of TIS that was profound to me was the explanation of how to handle "partial truths" or the like.  For me this has been difficult to understand as I've been writing essays for this class.  In creative nonfiction, how much creativity can play a part?

I love using creativity, and I love doing my best to fill in what cannot be remembered word for word.  But I've always felt this is wrong in some way.  But in the end I believe that memory itself is creative nonfiction.  Memory is altered immediately by outside influences, and even inward feelings or thoughts.  Memory is so malleable that every story must have some fiction.  Imagination's potency has a power over reality.

This is why I love to write! There is no right answer.

Find the sunshine.  It's out there.

<3 Mel

A Witch Smashed into Our Door

Kinda like this:

The small square-footage of grass in front of the house, which we affectionately call our lawn, gets special treatment during Halloween.  Jerry mows the grass down except for in three coffin-shaped rectangles, where the grass remains tall.

Above each of these "coffins" is a cardboard ("but so adorable!" as my mom would say) headstone bearing skulls and crossbones and RIPs.

This is the decoration we are all most proud of.  However, what is most noticeable is the large inflatable orange pumpkin which has one transparent side, through which Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy, and the rest of the Peanut Gallery can be seen.

Come to think of it, this pumpkin might have been excluded from Halloween last year.  Perhaps the Peanut Gallery left us for good.

Lights and trinkets are strewn throughout the garden of roses and hibiscuses; pumpkins hide among the gladiolas and birds of paradise.

The outside appearance of the house, however, cannot prepare visitors for the immense holiday spirit expressed within its walls.  It truly is a sight to behold.

This is my house at Halloween, and I love every inch of it.

What's yours like?

<3 Mel

Politics *gag*

Writing when you have nothing to tie yourself to the topic is nothing more than a chore.

It is depressing.  It is hard.  It is upsetting that writing could be turned into something so undesirable.  Particularly when you love writing.  Like I do.

But honestly, politics escape me.  I have no desire to understand the workings of perpetual liars' minds or the complications of weaving those semi-truths (to put it more lightly).

Ouch, I just realized that was pretty harsh.

I apologize for my bad mood.  Somedays you just need to let it out, allow the pressures of ridiculous political essays to escape in unyielding diatribe through your tired fingers.

Someday is today.

That reminds me of an entertaining movie, Knight and Day.  Don't laugh — you know you love Tom Cruise too.

Anyway, in the movie Tom says to Cameron Diaz, "Someday is a dangerous word.  It's really just code for 'never'."

That was very off-track, but how profound! Love it.  Something to think about.

Do what you gotta do, when you gotta do it.  Procrastination is not the answer!

Oh that reminds me, I saw this on Facebook:

Haha! This is so true.

Off-track again.  Maybe that should be my theme for this post.  Ok.

This is good, too:

Hehehe.

This is what two political essays—one on conservatism in the 1960s and the other on the Supreme Court—do to me.  They make me delirious.

Just another day, another quest for sunshine.

P.S.  I just realized this is all pretty ironic, considering I'm a history major.

<3 Mel

Not Today

My mind is closed today.  My brain has been picked over and left, pulsing and empty.  I cannot retain information today.  I cannot take the information that I cannot retain and put it into streams of words on a page.  I cannot, not today.

I have been attempting to study for my history test and write the two essays that are required, but my mind will not allow it.  It burns and aches and causes my eyes to lose focus.  The words blur, the file boxes in my mind lose their grasp on these newly filed notecards, and they are blown away by the harsh breath of stress and anxiety.  They are carried on this vicious wind through the constricting tunnels of my brain, until they are whisked through the portals through which they came.  They cannot stay, the wind is too strong, the pressure too great. They cannot stay, not today.

The boxes in my mind are both overflowing and empty.  What do they hold, what has stayed?  So many things and nothing.  Nothing at all.  But something.  Something must be there.  It must.

But not today.

Today I do not understand, I cannot comprehend.  Today the notecards cannot stay.  Today is a cloudy day.

Maybe tomorrow.  Perhaps tomorrow they will stay.  Perhaps tomorrow will be a sunny day.

<3 Mel

Fear is Funny

I know I shouldn't laugh at other people's terror, but it is so darn funny!

I stumbled upon the Niagara Falls Nightmares Fear Factory website today, and looking at the photographs on their page gave me a wonderful abs workout.

Also, I know that if I went through this Haunted House, I would look just like these people. . . and I would laugh hysterically at myself afterward. So no hard feelings.

Take a look:

I just. . .  I just. . .  I just can't handle it! So so funny!

These are all r-e-a-l, by the way.

There's your good laugh for the day.  I hope you enjoyed it.

<3 Mel