Three days.

Till I say yes to this fellow:

I adore him. He makes me so happy.

He makes me want to be a better person. 

We laugh lots together.

And we love the same things. 

Plus he is just so handsome.

I am a blessed woman.

Love.

I love how music can take you to another place faster than anything else. To another time. Sitting in the car, with someone you care about so much. Wanting to share everything with them. Wanting to sit in silence and just be engulfed in the scene around you. Street lights flickering through the window.

This song is doing it for me right now. Oh Sufjan.

Engagement photos

Here's a sneak peak of some of our engagement photos. 

My count down:

21 days til my last class in graduate school

22 days til my last day at my job I've had for 5.5 years

29 days til my last final ever!

35 days til I get married

Bring it on.

Roles

As avid readers of my blog may have noted, I rarely talk about school on my blog. Why, you may ask? I School already consumes so much of my time and energy that when I have free time it is the last thing I want to think or write about. Except for today I suppose.

My program requires all of us students to write a research article. an article that is supposed to be published in a scholarly journal. an article to validate the practices of occupational therapy so that as a profession we can grow and thrive. Yada, yada, yada. For my article I am analyzing occupational therapy sessions done in an acute (right, right after) stroke rehabilitation unit. The therapist is working with a woman who loves to cook. She is Latina so she it is a big part of her culture to cook with her kids and grandkids in their home. She is also a lunch lady so she cooked for the kids at the school she worked at. It was interesting to observe how the therapist used her role as a cook in therapy to help her with other physical needs. I loved that the therapist was able to use this important thing to her to help her get better! It was a beautiful process to observe how the therapist got to know this women really well and do things in therapy that were meaningful to her. I can't wait to help people for my career by getting to know them and using those activities that are so important to them to help them heal in their recovery process.

All of this research has got me thinking about an individual's roles and how they shape their life. Mother, daughter, sister, aunt, student, employee. Etc.

Some of my favorite roles include:

Third wheel on a date to a sushi shop with my roommate and her French boyfriend,
Chaser of a floating paper lantern that threatened to light neighboring trees on fire,
Congregation visitor of a baptist church where the only language spoken was Ethiopian,
Consumer of German bread and pastries,
Catcher for my kickball team on the elementary blacktop,
Owner of a collection of old newspaper clippings and stamps,
Rider in a convertible with the top down in February,
Wearer of a best friend charm bracelet with cool charms,
Stealer of candy out of my dad's personal stash in his office (I later confessed this, but had difficulty forsaking the sin),
and
Learner of how to skip a rock on Jackson Lake.

A really big new role is coming my way. The role of a wife. I am so excited to embrace this role and spend my time caring for and loving someone else. I can't wait to learn more about communication, and love, and forgiveness, and understanding. And lots more.

I may not be ready. In fact, I know I am not. But I am willing, come what may, to embrace the role of a wife.

Too much to do

Results in me purchasing music that I have longed to buy for years.

Thanks Roxy for the reminder. Hopefully the loveliness of this score will help me focus on the tasks at hand.

As hot tubbing season approaches

Once there was a Halloween party at the lovely old mansion I once called home. At this party I met a boy in shorts that I thought were much too short. After asking if he could take me out, and searching my house for a pen, he wrote my phone number on his hand and left.

We went out. Conversation came easily with him. We went up to the mountains. I found a beautiful fall leaf. He ran into seven-eleven to get a piece of tape. He proudly stuck the leaf to his dashboard. I hoped to see him again soon and uncharacteristically told him so.

I did see him soon. Two days later. It snowed a lot. I recalled that he had a hot tub so I shaved my legs in hopes that we would go hot tubbing that night. It snowed a lot. Hot tubbing was inevitable. We played truth or dare while sitting in the warm water. I told him my dreams. I told him what I wanted most from this world. It snowed a lot. I went home reflecting on the my truths I had disclosed with him. Hoping he would be a worthy steward of those things I shared.

He gave me a green sweater to wear when we ate soup outside one night on a golf course. I kept the sweater hoping that I would never have to return it with the obligatory box of items one gives back at the end of a relationship. My old mansion lacked insulation and I slept in the comfort of the green sweater, surrounded by the anticipation of a new connection with someone so intriguing.

Never had I met someone quite like him.

Time passed, but the boy with a mop of dark hair remained. We kissed on a rooftop. We grew in familiarity. I wanted him to meet all of my friends. I wanted to hot tub every night.

Spring came and he left, only to return with the long, warm days of summer. The boy shared with me the things he loves most: the beauty of southern utah, his family, being in the mountains. I shared too. Music, long car drives, parks and places.

Hot tubbing season is nearly upon us yet again. The time will soon come when the chill in the air demands sweaters, extra comforters on our beds, and the consumption of warm beverages.

The boy with the green sweater and green eyes is here. And I am happy.

Nearly three years ago

I had my first taste of international travel. . .

And I have been craving it ever since.

One nice thing about graduate school

You have a good enough relationship with your professors to merit an email that is solely composed of a smiley face.

Love these visits

I miss being silly with my favorite Aubs. 

Thank heavens for technology that lets us still goof around!

Truths I am coming to know.

 “God bless all who endeavor to be their brother’s keeper, who give to ameliorate suffering, who strive with all that is good within them to make a better world. Have you noticed that such individuals have a brighter smile? Their footsteps are more certain. They have an aura about them of contentment and satisfaction … for one cannot participate in helping others without experiencing a rich blessing himself.”

-Thomas S. Monson

Thoughts

I love this time of year. The slow moments where summer slips into fall. The indian summer. Where the air smells different. I love how the colors ever-so-subtly shift from green to golden. School starts. From my bedroom I can hear the noises of kids playing soccer in the fields by my house. And football. My hometown is lit every Friday night by the illumination of those stadium lights. I want to bake again. I want to fill my home with the smells of delicious treats that I didn't dare to bake in the summer for fear of heating up the house. I love the clothes. Cardigans. Scarfs. I love going out a night time and feeling the air cool from the heat of the day, grateful to don a jacket, grateful to feel the heat snap.

I love going to school. I always have felt anticipation at the start of a new year. What will I learn. What books will I get to read? Who will be in my classes? Who will I meet? Will I meet life long friends? Will I meet cute boys? I love to learn. I love to feel my mind expand. I love to think new thoughts about things I never even considered. I love to understand more about the world around me and those who inhabit it. I love understanding. I love the intellectual stimulation.

This year I felt no such anticipation. Instead I felt dread. I felt cheated out of a summer. I felt exhausted. I spent my summer at an internship with amazing people. People who were inspirational. People who will be life long friends. I loved it. But it was emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausting. Probably more so than I let on. And I was trying to work part time too. And when the time came for school to start I was bitter instead of excited. I was weary instead of anticipatory. I had my guns up, ready to fight doing every assignment that came my way. Ready to procrastinate my studies up until the last acceptable moment. I was burned out, and ready to forsake my studies.

Then last night I had an epiphany. I was sitting on a rooftop watching the day turn into night. It was beautiful. There were rain clouds at the mouth of the canyon. And there was lots of light. Light reflecting on the clouds. That heavenly light where each ray shines perfectly through the clouds creating distinct, individual rays. I was so content. More content than I have been in a really long time. Then I thought about school. Recently thoughts about school have disrupted those moments where I feel most happy. When I think about school, I feel overwhelmed. But yesterday sitting on that rooftop, the thought of school could not ruin my contentment. And I realized. I can choose to be happy while I am school. School does not have to ruin those moments of sheer happiness. It can happen parallel to them. I can be happy while simultaneously going to school. I can embrace the beauty around me and be so happy, and be in school at the same time.

I needed this insight. I felt free. Free to be happy. What a good feeling. I am going to be happy and in school, even though I will be most happy when the semester is done.

I can't wait to sit on a roof again soon. Who knows what great thoughts I will think next!

A mild obsession

I have a mild obsession with National Public Radio. I know what you are thinking. "Oh you're one of those people." No I, most certainly, am not! I just like learning about the world around me. And the world not-so-much around me. I find this happens a lot when I listen to NPR. Okay? If I send you a link about a program or a story from NPR that reminded me of you, it is basically my way of saying "I love you. Want to learn with me?" So click on that link and come learn with me!

These were happy times.

I may or may not have a crush on this man.

Below is a list of some of my favorite radio shows, and NPR blogs for your enjoyment. These sorts of things are particularly nice if you sit at boring desk job all day and crave a little more humanity in your life.

http://www.thisamericanlife.org/

http://www.npr.org/blogs/money/

http://radiowest.kuer.org/

http://www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/

Homie Mo

Me: Let's go to Ikea while we are down here.
Monika: I've never been to Ikea.What is so special about it?
Me: Really? I guess people just like that things are so cheap there. The last time I went I took my friend from Africa, she loved Ikea!
Monika: How can anyone love a store? It doesn't love you back.

This conversation is one of the many reasons why I love my friend Monika. That and the fact that every time we have a conversation, we always quote Mulan. Being silly just comes naturally when I am around her. It is so easy to make her laugh. And then I laugh. And then we laugh together in the loudest most obnoxious way possible. And more laughter ensues. What a friend.

I feel it again.

About every other month or so I ache. I ache to live in another place. To change my environment. To be surrounded by strangers. I ache for the self-reflection and discovery that comes from defining oneself in a new element. I ache for the learning that can not be bought or understood from the study of a textbook. I yearn for an understanding about where I fit in the universe. I feel it again. 

Coast.

I have to move to the coast. East or west, north or south is negotiable, but the coast is in my sights. I want to live on the edge of humanity in a place where the most rugged of people settled. I want to eat fresh seafood ALL the time. I want to feel sand under my finger nails and between my toes. I want to kiss on the beach and taste the salt on both of our lips. I want to feel the salt coat my skin. I want to smell. I want to hear the waves. I want to be friends with the sea. 

Water

Ever since I can remember I have been enamored by water. I want to live by a river. Some place where everything has been dusted in green. When I was 10 I asked for a little water fountain for Christmas. I kept it in my room and turned it on while I was reading. I put rocks in there and arranged them in patterns. I loved having that artificial connection to something living. I love the way light dances on the surface of water at night. I love beautiful bridges. Big bridges where cars can drive over big rivers. I want to bike to the middle of the bridge at night and stare at the city lights on the water for hours pondering where I belong in this world. I want to sit in a makeshift boat. When I start to feel lonely I will suddenly jump off it's side, with all my clothes on, and be embraced by the water around me.

Reading

I can't wait to read again. Read whatever I want. Read in a coffee shop on a rainy day, on the beach, in a park under a large tree. Befriend characters who have felt the same way as me. Who are so different and strange to me. I want to learn new words, imagine new places. And feel so human. I want new thoughts to be provoked. I want to think about something more than my immediate needs and desires. I want to ponder.

I graduate in May.

A few thousand words about summer

How I wish you were here.

Sometimes I miss my grandmother Phyllis a lot. I want to tell her about what I am doing in my life so she can sincerely marvel, as she always did, at my meager accomplishments. I want her to meet my boyfriend. "Delightful" she would say after meeting him. And she would remember his name. Shea. Not like my last boyfriend whom she always mistakenly called "Brandon." I miss her always recounting some way God had answered her prayers that week, or how she saw His hand in a friend's life. I miss her telling me she didn't care what I did so long as I was happy and embracing the truths she held sacred.

Sometimes, when I miss her, I look at her blog which is simply composed of pictures from a family party years ago. I look at the pictures of myself. Hair too long, too skinny, donned in clothes that have long since left my wardrobe. A girl trying to figure out what she wanted out of life. A girl yet to discover what she loved in life. I look at my sister and her daughters. all blond. All of us on the "ninja turtle" scooters- the staples of fun at grandma's house. I look at my grandmother's yard. Her pride and joy. And her other pride and joy- her family. She was so happy when we all were there. Cousins pregnant with kids who are now graduating pre-school. Cherub-faced children snacking on potato chips. The unnatural, superficial conversation between relatives that spend too little time together. "Are you still writing that missionary?" "Let's see now, what year are you in school?"

My grandmother had a book that she kept. It had everyone in it. All of the children and their children, and their children. Conversation was never unnatural for her. She thrived off of it. Funny how generations pass. And those left behind are left wondering so much about those who were gone before. I wonder so much about my parents now. Will I take the time to ask them about what they thought about at my age? Who did they want to date? If they ever did their homework on time? Did they procrastinate like me? How did they know what they wanted from this life? What did they think when I was born? Were they ready to be parents? Will I ask them? Will they ever tell me without me asking? No.

As I see my parents become the next generation, I can't help but think that death escapes no one, the rich and the poor, all die. I can't help but think about man's mortality. I want to ask those questions. I want to learn from all around me. I never want conversation to be forced. I want to send random notes in the mail with old things, just like my grandma. I want to be stuck in simpler times with different cares. Yet each generation has their burden to bear. Perhaps my generation must suffer from the lack of connection. Maybe I must work to be a conversationalist when deep emotions are expressed through icons from a keyboard. Grandma, I miss you and your bad cooking, life-risking driving, and poor budgeting skills. I miss all of your flaws, for I see the beauty in them now. Here's to hoping I can make the most out of my generation. I have so much yet to learn.

http://phyllisthomson.blogspot.com/

Dear Utah,

Why do you insist on constructing EVERY road I drive on everyday?

Summer lovin'!

Awkward family photo.

This weekend I had the pleasure of traveling to Idaho to visit my brother Clint and his son Cooper. The result-- some very awkward family photos. See for yourself.

I am not sure why we decided the best place for a family photo would be by a large, random statue of Abraham Lincoln. We were in Boise, Idaho not Washington D.C. Maybe it was fitting because my Dad is obsessed with civil war history and it was almost Father's day. Or maybe, because we wanted to truly represent that "a house divided cannot stand." Either way the resulting pictures are so very amusing.

Jiminy cricket

Sometimes I feel like my legs are this long.

Can't help

On occasion, my heart gets heavy. I get weary. I feel overwhelmed. I want to help but don't know how. I fall short. I don't know where to start. I cry. I am too sensitive. I am engulfed by my emotions and the emotions of those around me. But. Then I get a present like this album:

And my heart slowly, but surely, becomes light again.

Jess

Aubrey Lyn

My sweet little sister Aubrey graduated high school on Thursday. I cannot believe she is all grown up.

One of the best parts about having a sister is that you always have a companion, a playmate to go through life with. Aubrey made my childhood experience. She is so much more DRAMATIC than me. In a beautiful way. She lives so vivaciously. I hated the dramatics when she would make herself cry and get herself out of trouble. But then when we were playing pretend, she could weep when I was her mother who became deathly ill on my boat-ride over to America. This made the direness of our game so much more realistic.

Aubrey is sassy. She always says what she thinks. That is something I admire so much because I am always too shy to share what I really think. She is so strong. I love that about her. Her strength has made her a successful leader around school, at church, and in our community.



 Aubrey loves people. She is especially fond of children and quick to befriend them.

Aubrey is artistic. She has recently dabbled in drawing, and her work is lovely. A lovely reflection of herself. She is musical. We harmonize to Ingrid Michaelson at the top our lungs. We are always sharing songs with each other. We have an ongoing dialogue about artists we love. Aubrey is witty. This is reflected in her prose and paper-writing. We always banter and make jokes. We think we are so clever, and we are.

Aubrey is my best friend. I will miss her so much when so moves to Logan next year. Congratulations on graduation my dear, sweet sissy! I love you!

Jess

Sometimes

Sometimes when I need to write a self-reflection, or make my bed, or eat dinner, I watch other people's beautiful wedding videos:

http://paperbackweddings.com/films/?film=238

Over and over again.



Or I look at other people's clothes:

http://www.thesartorialist.com/

And imagine what kind of world they live in.



Thank you Rachel Draper for the sweet distraction.

Jess

A love affair with olive oil

When does a love of olive oil go too far? Surely it is perfectly acceptable to use as salad dressing. And it is not too abnormal to dip your Mom's homemade bread in it with a little balsamic vinger. What about putting a little bit of it in your hair to use as a moisturizer?

I have done all three things this week.

Now I just need to use it as a beauty product. This lovely lady swears by it:

Here's to hoping me and Sophia Loren have something in common.

Jess

In Mourning

What does it say about me when I cry over books that I have lost? I am seriously distressed about this and the only way I am going to find comfort is by writing about my distress. I have a large bookshelf in my room and treasure the majority of the books in my collection. Not very of my books go unnoticed as they are like little friends that have helped me through different times of my life. Can you put a value on a friendship? So you can imagine my distress when I occasionally discover them missing! Today is such a day and my dismay is compounding! So I am going to post about all of the books that are missing in hopes that they will soon find their way home to me.

This is the first book I noticed that was missing. I have loved this book since I was nine years old. A subsequent movie was adapted from this book and it was DREADFUL. This book has it all, suspense, philosophical perplexities, moral dilemmas, an endearing love story, a witty heroine and of course, a happy ending. This was my go to book whenever I felt lonely. I always cry when I read a certain part of the story - I make myself cry, because it is simply tragic. I never owned a copy of this and in 10th grade I mentioned that it was my favorite book but I was yet to secure a copy and my sweet friend Della Childs gave me a copy for my birthday. The copy that is currently missing.

 In my second year of college I took a sociology of immigration class that has forever impacted my political stance on immigration and personal view on globalization. This book opened my eyes about the terrible plight immigrants face when they arrive in this country. There are slaves in America. It is true. I was devastated and astonished to read this book. I was becoming passive and I wanted to read this book again when I found that it was gone.

This book was also a book that I read for my sociology of immigration class. It is compiled of little stories and essays about women who are working outside of their homes and towns to support their families. I was particularly moved by the stories of Filipino women working as nannies in Europe to support their own babies at home. The author examines how these women grew to love the children they worked with and love their children they gave birth to in a very different way. I also remember a story about a family in Thailand selling their daughter into the sex trade for a big screen t.v. (they were not aware of what their daughter was getting into). I don't want to forget these stories. I don't want to forget the heartbreak of these women.

This is the book that was missing today. The book that prompted me to write this post dedicated to my beloved missing books. I want to learn another language. I have since I was 11. I specifically remember riding in my car from Provo to Ogden talking to a girl who we were giving a ride to who was from Australia. She was 21 and I was 11 but we were both in deep conversation talking about our lives' goals. I told her that I wanted to speak several languages and play lots of musical instruments. While I can play the piano, the guitar, the ukulele, and my voice (not all at once and not very well mind you) I have yet to reach the goal of learning another language. Today I was watching a French foreign film La Vie in Rose - I promise I am not snooty, I just love hearing people speak other languages (especially children, there is nothing more adorable than a little girl speaking French) and I happen to be a fan of the music of Edith Piaf. Anyway, I was watching this film and I had to pause it right away because it 1) It was very depressing and I needed a break 2) It made me want to learn French, but I can't do that until I learn Spanish so I had to put in some study time! I have studied Spanish several times in my life. This textbook is from when I studied it for a year in college. But. I cannot speak it. I want to. I have planned to since I was 11. So I was compelled to study. But alas! My old textbook I use as a study guide is missing! I am devastated. I teared up. I really did. I miss my books. How am I supposed to complete my life's goals?

The last books that are missing are all my Jr. High yearbooks. I am so surprised at how attached I am to those things. This is sad to admit, but Jr. High was my glory days. I was outstanding student of the year in both 8th and 9th grade. I won awards for art, track and field, choir, academics, any other thing you can imagine. I had my first crush. I had my first moments of heartache and terrible loneliness. I broke the school track record. I played soccer and volleyball. I took guitar class. I won the award of "Most Likely to win an Oscar." I was Student Body Secretary. I rulled the coop my 9th grade year, skipping class to go "help out" in the front office where me and my friends chatted it up with the secretaries. I want to remember that. I am not stuck in Jr. High. That would be awful. I have other accomplishments and aspirations that shape who I am.  But I want to have the goofy picture that Mac Mclellan drew in my yearbook when he had a crush on me in the 8th grade. I want to read the note from Brother Ashcroft my favorite seminary teacher who helped make me who I am. And the note from Mr. Parrish our vice-principle who gave  you a quarter if you could answer the "question of the day." I want to remember that my school broke the record for the world's longest paperclip chain. I want my kids to know those things about me. A visual aid is always helpful. I am most optimistic that I will find these, because who would want someone else's Jr. High yearbook? Honestly. And I know I didn't get rid of them.

This post served its purpose. It made me feel better. I have already looked up all of the books on Amazon Prime and am saving my pennies to purchase them and add them to my library once again. Accept for my yearbooks. Hopefully those turn up sometime soon. In the meantime I will have to study Spanish some other way. 

Your less-distressed Jess.