Writing

With my midterm writing assignment looming up quickly, I am starting to panic just a bit.  I've begun and scratched at least three or four different stories.  My biggest fear is that submitting an assignment to be read and criticized by my classroom, full of people who are kind enough, but certainly don't have the same belief in things that I do (happy endings, eternal marriages, loving Heavenly Father, and the like), I feel like the only thing I'll hear is that, "It wasn't believable.  Things never work out that way, happy endings don't exist." 
While I don't plan on writing a clear happy ending in (it's hard to have one without seeming corny in a short story), I do plan on not making it a sad one.  For example, I don't plan on writing a story from the point of view of a serial killer or a man holding a gun in his hand.  I don't really like describing blood lust and *ahem* OTHER kinds of lust in my stories, because I really don't like reading them.  I don't include cuss words, and I don't include other things I wouldn't want my kids to see and hear. 
So far we've read two stories from students in my class, and while two is far from the majority, I have a pretty good indication that I'm going to be quite unique in my non-cussing, killing, lusting kind of writing.  This should be interesting.
Another fear...being as emotional as I can be (and those who know me best are rolling their eyes right now as they remember a time when a simple word or phrase has reduced me to tears), I am scared to death that I'll cry the entire time they are critiquing me.  And that would basically be mortifying.  So I think I'll just sit by the door so I can make a more dignified entrance if I have to...

Happy Endings

Just another vent about writing class again.  We had a big long discussion today about why happy endings are bad, the teacher's main point being that they aren't "real".  I sat there and wondered what kind of life he had lived.  How can you not believe happy endings are real?  His point was, "That's just not how the world is.  Things just don't go they way you think they should."  He prefered the sad endings that most short stories have, as did the rest of the class.  I spoke up and blatantly told them that I prefered sunshine and rainbows at the end of the books I read.  It's not that I don't like the thought provoking endings that we have been reading, on the contrary I do enjoy them immensely, but would it be so terrible to have a story with a happy ending?  What is so unreal about it?  Even a sad ending, but one full of hope, would be nice once in a while. 
I left and thought about it all the way home.  My life has not all been sunshine and rainbows, I will concede to that, of course, but I believe I will have plenty of "happy endings" in my life, or perhaps they could be called beginnings.  I've already had at least three: I got the guy, graduated from college, and have two beautiful children. 
I've had some sad things happen as well: the sudden death of loved ones, ilnesses, car accidents, a miscarriage, lost job, etc, etc, etc... but those are not my endings.  I don't have sad endings, I have opportunities to grow and become better, reasons to change.
I think, just to spite him, my next story assignment will be filled with only happy things, just to prove a point.  Sand dunes and good night kisses come to mind.  ;)

Food

Food always seems to taste better the more time and effort you put into it.  You know the old phrase "Blood, sweat, and tears?"  I once had a roommate tell me she thought there was some credit in that.  Sometimes you can have a recipe that is the exact same as your mother's/grandmother's/friend's, and it never seems to turn out the same.  She used to say it was because you put a bit of yourself into the recipe and it added a specific flavor and texture to the food.  At the time I thought it was pretty gross, but now I'm thinking she has a point.  Oh, and I also think that cooking with love (you know, from grandma or mom), makes things taste better as well.  ;)
The same goes for boxed dinners/desserts.  It may look delicious on the box, but turns out disappointing in the long run.  I've made better dinners by just throwing stuff together and calling it a casserole than by using the boxed dinners that you get from the grocery store.  More filling and less fattening too.  We had a caramel apple boxed dessert last night, and I must say I'm rather sad at the outcome.  *sigh*  I suppose I'll have to use my google skills and find a REAL recipe for that kind of thing. 

Are you a student, or a professor?

Just a vent.  I enjoy my class, I really do.  But I've enjoyed the assignments more than I've actually enjoyed the class so far.  I get to practice my "craft" (or see if there is a craft there at all!), and learn about new techniques and strengthening exercises. 
But good grief!  My professor is a really nice guy and all, but his appearance is distracting.  From someone who got their Bachelor's from a religious university where even the students tried to dress professionally, it is hard for me to see my teacher, who looks like he may be younger than me, walk in with ratty clothes and converse shoes, and a messy beard. 
The classroom is set up in rows, which does not encourage conversation, which is what the professor mentioned that he wanted.  Only three or four people spoke up the whole time.  I would have liked to, but was hesitant to speak up in front of the whole class.  Perhaps it is the teacher in me criticizing, but I would have liked to have smaller groups for discussion.  My excitement for the homework assignments is still there, but the excitement for class is tapering.   Hopefully he will change it up a little bit in the future. 

Off to a Good Start, at least I think so!

I've done it!  My first writing assignment!  And since I am so proud of it I think I will post it for all to read.  Of course, I will be doing 2 one-to-two page assignments every week until October or so, and it is pretty much guaranteed that I won't like all of them, so I will only post the ones I like.  Here goes...

I sat and stared angrily ahead as my fingers drummed the table.  The lights above flickered and blinked as though trying to shake a finger at me.  I glared at them in a vain attempt to keep them still.
The door opened suddenly, causing me to jump.  An officer strolled in, looking a little too pleased with himself.  He sat in front of me and placed an item on the table.  The Bat.  I rolled my eyes and glared at him, waiting. 
He sat back and looked at me with an irritating smile.  Oh how good it would feel to put a fist in his face, maybe he'd even lose some teeth.
Silence.  Just the buzz from the flickering lights could be heard.  I licked my lips and glared at the officer again.  I knew what he was doing, and it wasn't going to work.  I'd seen enough TV shows to know they played tricks in here.
I leaned back in the chair, allowing my knee to bounce.  My one nervous gesture.  He wouldn't see it. 
The officer followed suit, leaning back and crossing his arms, that annoying smirk still on his face.  Once again I thought about wiping it off for him, but I resisted.  I wasn't going to let him get to me.  No way, no how.  I stilled my leg. 
The silence between us droned on and on.  It was deafening, and he just sat there, smirking as though he'd figured out the world. 
I shouldn't even be in here, this is ridiculous, I thought.  I looked at the bat.  It had a dent in it.  I narrowed my eyes and turned to glare at the cop again.  He just smiled bigger.  I averted my eyes.  No way was he getting to me.  I was a rock.  What was that line from that awful movie my mom liked to watch?  "Wild horses couldn't drag it from me!"  I rolled my eyes.  Great.  Now I was quoting from Anne of Green Gables.  I glared at the cop again.  He smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, shoulders haunched in a relaxed sort of way, as though he had all the time in the world to sit and stare at me. 
He cleared his throat.
I raised my eyebrows.  Ha!  I thought.  Easy game.  Is that all you got?  I win, I so win!
Then he spoke.
"So!  Get thirsty, did ya?"
"It's not my fault!"  I burst out.  "If they would keep the dumb machines working right, I would never have needed the bat!"

Textbooks

Finally, after waiting what seemed like an eternity, which was actually just a week and a half, my new textbooks have arrived!  Although I did stroke them lovingly as I took them out of their packages, I have  yet to open and really look at them.  Hm.  Seems as though in the last four years (and two children) I haven't changed much at all.  I still love to learn, and I still love to procrastinate.  Sometimes I even wonder how I managed to get my first degree. 
Despite the fact that I haven't opened my books yet to read them (on short fiction...taking a writing class, yay!)  I am soooooo super excited and I just can't wait to buy the school supplies so I can go and show up and put them neatly on my desk and show I am ready to go!  Of course, in a week I'll be rushing in at the last minute and randomly pulling papers out of this notebook and that, and probably hoping ever so hard that I am not called on because while I did do the homework I didn't do it well...
With all of that it would make you wonder why I love the classroom so much, why I wouldn't just take it online and get it over with, but there's something about being in the classroom setting that feels so great.  Perhaps it is my mind sighing in relief as I show it that yes, I really do use it for things other than potty training and meal planning and stain removing.  Ahhhh, yes, if only they had a class on that! 

The End of an Era

Choir is over.  Due to vacations and people moving in and out there is no program during the summer.  I am so sad.  So many blessings have come from singing with wonderful people.  Our pianist is moving away, as are half of the other members.
As we sang our last song today, I couldn't help but feel as though the world itself, or perhaps my own little world, is going to change so much.  As I get older, I start to look back at my life more than forward, and I find myself doing that again.  I don't know if the choir in the fall will be nearly as good as this one was, I don't know if I will ever again feel the way I've felt singing in this choir. 
It seems that things are never as good as they once were.  I may look back on this and agree, but perhaps I can pull myself out of this little divot I'm in and realize that perhaps this one loss will open doors for other gains.  Things change, people grow, and memories become priceless.

Would you?

If I could go back and change a moment, I think I would change that one.  But I wonder, what other moments would change as a result?  If I changed that moment, could I keep this one?  No, better to be safe than to lose this one so dear.  Send regret to the wind, and live. 

Buggers!

Totally random musings here.  I was just at a museum that had a room decorated almost entirely with bugs.  Most from foreign countries.  I found it quite entrancing, and while I was looking at the pictures that I took while I was there, I realized that Heavenly Father is quite the genious.  I mean, when an animal dies somewhere, you can smell it, in fact, you can't miss it.  The nasty smell of a dead animal is unmistakable, even if it is a tiny animal.  However, when an insect dies, you don't even notice.  Pretty nice considering the fact that flies and ants and even dragon flies have been known to randomly die in impossible to reach places in our different homes.  I don't even want to think about what else may have died there...even though I am.  Please excuse me while I shudder violently. 

People I Love...

Ah, yes, the joys of church choir and the contribution it is to my musings...
This past Sunday, as I sat in practice I felt an overwhelming love for someone very near and dear to me.  Now, I often get these feelings, and they are for many different wonderful people in my life, but this particular day it just so happened to be my own dear father.  A man was singing in the choir behind me, and his voice and the way he was singing just reminded me of my father when he used to sing in choir.  He still does, I think, but I'm not home to witness it so I miss out.
What struck me the most is the remembrance of his smile and the easy-going attitude he has always seemed to have.  Of course, there are things that can rile him up, and he does get upset once in awhile, but those times are few and far between.  He has plenty of reason now to decide to complain and make excuses to lay about and do what he wants, but somehow his best reason for doing that has become his reason for getting up and working hard every day.  I wonder how I can express how much this means to me and how amazing I think this wonderful man is...
My dad has a neurological disease.  It makes tedious jobs impossible and easy jobs tedious.  It makes simple things like walking in a straight line and remembering to give phone messages very difficult for him.  And yet, I cannot recall ever hearing one word of complaint leave his lips.  If he does make a comment on it, it is a matter of fact this-is-how-it-is comment with no feeling or complaint attached.  He works hard every day and manages to exercise and work outside and help my mother with the chores inside as well. 
I, however, LOVE to complain, or so it would seem.  I just can't seem to help it.  I get a few ant bites and up go the pictures and wo is me for my poor swollen feet.  I feel a little bit tired and I am laid out whenever I get the chance.  My long-suffering husband knows about every ache and pain and, ahem, weird bathroom moment that I have.  I justify it by saying should I ever pass out and have to be rushed to the hospital then he could tell the doctors every symptom or weird thing that has happened to me that week. 
Perhaps now it is easy to see why I feel such love and devotion to my father.  I can't seem to stop complaining, and yet here he is with the best reason ever to complain and he doesn't even think about doing it.  It's just another wonderful characteristic about this man that makes me love him all the more. 
And so, as I sat in choir waiting for the men to finish going over their parts, I allowed this overwhelming feeling of love and amazement wash through me as an undeniable ache to see this man entered into my heart.  Thank goodness he is coming to visit next week.  :)

More Music

It seems all I talk about is music so far on this thing, but the thing is, most of my musings happen as I drive to and from church choir.  I mean, they happen at other times, like in the middle of the night, and while they sound genious to me at the time, I don't remember any of it at all, just that I thought it was genious...hmmm...
Anyways, back to my original muse.  Music.  How I love it.  It is amazing the power music has to change a mood, give comfort, and get you moving.  Church choir is just one example of how much music influences me.  I could show up stressed and worried about life, and by the time I leave, I am relaxed, humming and loving every minute of this life that is mine. 
We recently used our tax return money to purchase a piano, and having a piano in our home has changed the atmosphere completely.  Instead of going right to the tv, my husband instead goes to the piano and plays.  He has an amazing talent to play by ear, and it is beautiful and calming.  So instead of some guy show, which usually involves guns and explosions, I get to hear beautiful music. 
I enjoy playing the piano as well, although my talent is nowhere near my husband's.  I do know how to read music and I can usually plunk my way through some of the hymns that we have in our hymnal.  I'm no great talent at playing or singing, but being a part of the music increases the happiness I feel ten-fold.  Oh, how I love it! 

I find it hard sometimes to think of others and their weaknesses.  I always assume that others are so sure of themselves and their decisions.  Meanwhile I have always feared that others think the worst of me as we interact.  Case in point:  I look in the rearview mirror and see a vehicle.  I don't know who is in the vehicle, but I automatically assume that they don't like me or my driving. 
Strange, huh?  But that's how it's been my whole life.  I realize that I am a good mom, a decent athlete, and an awesome wife.  (Not such a great home maker though...), but for some reason I assume that everybody else thinks otherwise. 
Perhaps all of us have some part of this syndrome inside of them.  But then again they probably all think that I am a little weird...

True Love?

Ahhh, the thought of true love does seriously warm my heart.  But does it really truly exist?  I suppose if you put two people together that are naturally unselfish and are hardworking and have the same thoughts and desires, then yes, I believe true love does happen. 
On the other hand, I also believe that it takes work to reach that point.  Sure, you may really, really, like someone when you marry them, hey, you may even love them just a little, but is it true love?  Just think of the high rates of divorce and you may wonder...
We forget so easily that not too long ago couples were formed from mutual respect and similar goals.  I remember being disappointed when my grandfather told me why he had chosen my grandmother.  She was a pretty girl and a hard worker...and there were other things as well, but no glowing romantic reviews, just that, plain and simple.  Courtship was short, as was the engagement, and once you were married, that was it.  Not long before that couples were formed by the parents.  It is still practiced in some cultures today.  Amazing how two strangers can live together and bring forth children and still seem happy.  Many people gasp at the thought of not choosing their own mate, but do we really know ourselves well enough at all to do such a thing? 
I believe they were happy because they chose to be happy.  You can't always change the circumstances that you find yourself in, but you can change how you react to them. 
I wonder how many couples enter into marriage with the thought of divorce at the back of their minds.  I wonder how many "irreconcilable differences" could be reconciled if that weren't an option for divorce.  It seems our culture of getting what we want, when we want it has pervaded even into our homes.  If you are not being the spouse we want, then we will divorce and find another spouse.  Hmmmm...
My marriage is not perfect, but I was very lucky and blessed to marry a wonderful man who has the same goals and aspirations as I did.  We both entered into this with no thought of divorce, striking it from our vocabulary.  We both knew that we would go through tough times, but we were stuck with each other.  That is the agreement we made, and we are sticking to it now.  Wow have there been tough times.  There have been times when I've wondered how we were going to make it through, but make it through we did, and things right now are wonderful.  My feelings for him have grown exponentially as I have watched him struggle with some of his weaknesses and conquer them, and I like to think that he can see how I am trying to improve myself for him as well.  Sure we still have our bad days, who doesn't?  But I am incredibly grateful that we have stuck with it.
So is there true love?  Sure, but I believe it is a process, not an immediate thing.  Every day my love for my sweetheart grows stronger, and every struggle and disagreement that we make it through is a testament to our growing closer together.  Having the ability to disagree and still feel that wonderful feeling for each other is the core of our own journey to true love.  I am glad that we haven't given up. 

Musings, musings, musings...I do a lot of that, and then by the time I remember to come here and type it in all of my best phrases are forgotten, and I do use a lot of nice, big words while I am musing. 
Yesterday my musing was all about soccer.  I sure love the game, especially when I am winning, but not at the expense of my integrity. 
Have you ever noticed, though, that when you are playing a sport that can get competitive, sometimes that integrity you thought you had can get a lot harder to hold on to?   I am quite blessed to have wonderful teammates who play with a positive attitude and hold each other up with encouragement as they go.  Sometimes, though, the teams we play...are quite the opposite.  We've had a team fall apart and just spend the time yelling at each other.  We've also had the team that plays dirty, knowing it's going out so kicking it farther, to tire us out as well as run the time out on the clock.  Yesterday I played keeper, and I had a girl deliberately continue to kick even as my hands were on the ball.  I got dirt in my face and a pretty scratched up knee.  I had thought it was an accident until after the game when I overheard her talking about another incident that had occurred.  She wasn't too kind. 
It makes me wonder...is the sport even fun for these people?  How can you truly enjoy something when you have feelings of discontent in your heart?  I certainly know that when I play with any kind of negative feelings, suddenly I'm not playing for fun, but for revenge or for the intent of besting someone else...and that just isn't fun for me...
So I play soccer.  I play for fun, for exercise, for socializing, and to just exist, in that moment, as an athlete and nothing else.  And I try to keep my integrity intact as I do so.   

Feeling Pretty

I'm feeling prettier than I have in a long time today...but nothing has changed.  Sure my body is steadily working it's way back into prepregnancy shape, that helps...other than that, I'm still wearing the same clothes and have the same hairstyle as always.  All that has changed is the how I feel. 
How to explain.  Sometimes it isn't what you wear or what you put on that makes you feel pretty, although a new outfit can sometimes help, it's what you are feeling inside that does the majority of the work. 
My day started out frustrating to begin with...late to church choir this morning, fussy baby during the sacrament meeting where choir was performing.  Luckily he waited until after I sang to get fussy.  But all of those feelings were normal every day feelings.  I always enjoy church and the people there.  That hasn't changed.  We came home to simple sandwiches (oatmeal for me, we ran out of defrosted bread), had a quick nap, fed the baby, and were off again to church choir practice.
How can I explain.  I get more of a spiritual uplifting from that hour of singing than in all the rest of the three hours I am at church.  Today may have been different because usually I have the baby during tht time, and I am usually bouncing and walking as I sing, but today my sweet husband took him off of my hands so I could enjoy.
I compare it to endorphins released during exercise...which also helps me to feel good about myself, but not pretty.  Must be the sweat that impedes that feeling... but the lift I get after singing is kind of like a spiritual endorphin.  I feel lifted up, I feel loved and wanted, and as a consequence, I feel beautiful. 
I walked in the church this afternoon feeling normal, and I walked out feeling absolutely beautiful...how blessed I am to have such a gift as this!

Mothers and Music...

I sat upstairs rocking my two-month old as my sweet husband played play-dough with my two-year old downstairs, his choice of music on the computer.  I couldn't help but be grateful for his wonderful taste in music.  Unlike other guys, who enjoy the hard rock and yelling and screaming craziness, my sweetheart likes piano and instrumental stuff.  Beautiful and calming. 
As I was thinking of that, I remembered choir practice, and hearing the comment, "How do you teach someone to sing who has never sung before?"  And I thought to myself, how could you not know how to sing?  It just comes out!  But then I thought, I have grown up with music.  I was taught piano at a young age, violin a little older.  I have learned music and singing from a very young age.  I have found comfort in listening to it, and joy in producing it through song and instruments.  Of course, I am no great talent, I just enjoy it.  A hobby, some might call it.  I call it an escape.  The most wonderful and healing music that I have ever heard or sung, I have heard at church, and of course the religious subtleties (and not so subtleties) put forth a spirit and a joy into my soul that cannot be copied by any other way.  I can't imagine not having that in my life, and so I think to myself, wouldn't the world be a wonderful place if only everyone could benefit from beautiful music?
And then my thoughts turn again as I look at my beautiful child.  How grateful I am for a wonderful mother and a mother-in-law who were both looking out for me when I was too exhausted and overwhelmed to do it for myself, for the rocking chair that I so enjoy using now was suggested by my mother and found by my mother-in-law.  My first reaction was worry, considering it was found by the dumpster, but a lot of disenfecting and some new cushions later and it is a joy and a blessing to sit in it and hold my precious one, who will not be held in this manner for long.  So quickly they grow, as the laughter coming from my other precious one downstairs confirms.  For now I will take this time to just enjoy the quiet moments and breathe in the wonderful spirit that associates with them.  I am a mommy, and I love it.

Why am I doing this?

During my time as a stay at home mommy, I often have time to sit and think.  Usually this time is between one and three a.m. as I am feeding my youngest, and while it isn't always coherent, there are times when I wish I had somewhere to write it down. 
I'm not the smartest individual, but someday I think I'd like to look back and see what kind of things I was thinking, if that makes sense.  Then it would be nice to see the growth I've made and how my ideas may or may not have changed.