Panhandlers and vagabonds

Last night, TC and I braved the rain and snow and wind and walked ourselves to the Trax station, hopped on a train, and rode the few stops to the Gateway, where Tucanos lives. We overate and it was wonderful. We had an extra buy one get one free birthday card (since we both have birthdays in March, we both get a card, and we only needed one) so we gave it to a family of four that was sitting at the table next to us. That gave me a warm fuzzy.

What didn't give me a warm fuzzy was this: Once we got off the train a panhandler stopped us to ask for money. We told him we didn't have anything to give him (who carries cash these days?) and I, thinking I was being helpful, told him that there are a variety of shelters nearby that he could go to. It WAS cold and snowing after all and I certainly don't want him to be out in the cold. The man was offended, visibly, audibly. He told me, and I quote, "I will give you a million dollars right now, a million dollars, if you let one of your children go to one of these shelters." He went on explain that those shelters are rife with drugs, and anyone who sets foot in of those shelters will immediately become a drug addict.

He became pretty belligerent, so I just started to walk away. That made him pretty angry, but neither of us were about to stand in the cold and argue with him about whether or not we could or wanted to or would give him money.

That interaction got me thinking about the billboards I've seen recently around downtown declaring: Support shelters, not panhandlers. We do that. We donate money to charitable organizations that help the homeless, impoverished and needy. Is there more we can do? Sure! But giving money to a man on the street that yells at you isn't the way.

After we walked away, TC commented to me how ironic his statement was, "I will give you a million dollars..." How, buddy? You were just asking me for change.

We have lived and walked downtown now for nearly six years. You can bet that I have seen the same people over and over again asking for money. One man asked me everyday for money for a chicken dinner for his wife and child. Finally, tired of him asking me, I told him I would give him money if he would just leave me alone (bad precedent to set, I know) and never ask me for money again. He agreed and I gave him some of my lunch money. However the next day he asked me again for money. *sigh*

Then there are the people who tell these elaborate stories, like the guy who told us how he had driven here from Wyoming, and ran out of gas, and had no money to pay for a fill up, and just needed enough money to put a little bit of gas in his car to drive to his friend's house in Bountiful. The logic there was lacking. Plus, we had just seen him hang up his cell phone before he came over to us. Call someone, like maybe your friend?

There was one lady that made me laugh: she came up to us explaining that she was very drunk (and one could see that she was not lying), and that she had gambled all her money away in Wendover, and that she took a bus back to SLC and now she was stuck. She wanted money to buy more booze. I appreciated her honesty.

The other night there was a man who stopped us in a parking lot and told us a whole story about how he was a hard-working man, and he had a wife and he took care of his woman, but that they had fallen into some bad luck, and if we could just help him he could stay in a hotel across the street that offered rooms for $20 a night. He already had ten dollars, and he just needed ten more. He appealed to TC saying, "Imagine you were out in the cold with your woman. Imagine your woman ain't got no place to sleep. What you gonna do? You gonna be a man and do what it takes so she has a comfortable bed to sleep in? I'm doing what it takes right now. I don't like being out here. Do you think I like asking strangers for money? No. I don't wanna be begging on the streets for money, but that's what I got to do. If it was just me, I'd go hungry and sleep in the cold. But I got my woman to take care of." We spent a good five minutes with him as he explained that he wasn't able to go to nearby shelters (I can't remember the reason now, but it vaguely made sense at the time) and that he was a veteran and had served this country. He explained why so many other options for the homeless didn't work for him or his wife. His story was good. If nothing else, we enjoyed talking to him. He was kind, and appealed to our sense of empathy, and he won us over.

The whole issue puts me at odds with my senses. I feel sympathy for those who are suffering. My mind gets to thinking, "What if this person is really going to go hungry and cold tonight? What if they truly need help? What if I could have been the person to help them?" And then I feel the irony of the situation: TC and I are going to a restaurant specifically to overindulge and we are denying help to someone who may not have eaten in days. It's taxing to think this all through, and to feel all through it.

So what's the point of this? I'm not really sure what I want to say in the end with all of this. I think I'll stick with the advice to give to charitable organizations, rather than individuals. Hopefully they will take advantage of the resources around them.

Wealth... of baloney?

So the other day when I wrote about Suze Orman and feeling poor after watching her show, I realized, especially after a humbling comment by my dear friend Shannon, that I sound like an ungrateful, whiny, SSB-like, jerk.

I wasn't complaining about our own financial state. At least I didn't mean to be. We have been blessed. We did indeed go through a dirt poor, watering down our Flavor-Aid, eating only rice-a-roni and quesadillas, being vegetarian because we couldn't afford meat, watching our 13" TV with rabbit ears that was propped on a metal folding chair from an old stake center renovation, deciding between paying our tithing or buying food period. It was tough. And because we went through that, we realize just how blessed we are to not have to worry about deciding between two good things (i.e. paying tithing or eating). The contrast is stark. And I often think of those times with fondness, and look how much we've been blessed and thank the Lord for the comforts we enjoy.

What stood out to me about watching Suze's show is that pre-show I felt pretty darn good about our financial state: we've saved, we've been careful, and we've only spent money that we had. Post-show I felt like all my efforts to save and make smart purchases, and be a wise steward over what we've been given were not enough, that somehow I needed to be pulling in $20,000 a month, and that I needed to have a quarter of a million in the bank for retirement.

That contrast was pretty stark too.

So that's why I wrote about that. I was surprised at how inadequate I felt our actually adequate finances are. And I really meant it to be light and fluffy and more like, "Wow I didn't know I needed that much money." I'm guessing it didn't come across that way.

And how I must have sounded got me to thinking about how I present myself in general. I know I come across as whiny and ungrateful. So I whine, and yet I get to sew and shop and travel and do all these wonderful things. And I must seem like a huge jerk. That's probably because I am to a large degree. Don't you love how I have these bi-monthly epiphanies that encourage me to be a better person, all thanks to the blog. (Thanks, as always, for the therapy.)

There are wonderful things* happening in our lives that I am so eternally grateful to God for, but we're not ready to share them with the www yet. It's been a long time coming, and the wait has been hard. I've been impatient and childish and unhappy and haven't had a great attitude. I'm imperfect (ever so). Thanks for bearing with my impatience and whining. I'm sure that I will still find things to whine about, because, let's face it, that's my nature.

On a lighter note, I've started on a new project that I'm excited about: a pencil skirt made from upholstery fabric. I sure hope it turns out.

Also, it's about time that TC and I did some furniture rearranging and redecorating, so that should be coming up soon. It's always a challenge to find just the right furniture for just the right price though.

* not a baby

Good morning starshine!

Thank you for the support and sympathy. I'm happy to report that yesterday was a better day. And today will be even better.

What I find interesting is how much a difference people can make. The support from you, my dear readers, was sweet and wonderful. Yesterday I received an e-mail from someone who had been frustrated with my failures at work on Monday thanking me for what I do. A coworker bought me a delicious slice of cheesecake as a thank you for something I helped her with. I had lunch with BFF Kacy who was willing to listen to my every complaint. And she even got her coworkers in on the sympathy for me. Brianne was back to work for her last day and I got a lovely note from her, and a chance to talk to her. Support came from every direction. Look how many angels are in my life. I am truly blessed. Thank you! It's a great reminder that God knows even the smallest sparrow, and loves them.

Another point of interest for me is how despite all the frustration I felt on Monday I still felt hopeful for the future. Good things are on their way. I can feel it. It's a calm assurance from the Lord that although things are rough now, a change soon will come.

Deflation

Once upon a time, about a year ago, a girl named Gordita was called to teach Sunday school. She was reluctant, but had read the Ensign enough to know that people who are called to serve in certain capacities and feel inadequate are sustained and helped by their Heavenly Father so that their weaknesses can become strengths. Plus it was only once a month. So she accepted the calling.

Yesterday, a beautiful spring day, was Gordita's Sunday to teach. She was nervous as usual but there were two mitigating factors that made this Sunday especially anxiety inducing.
1. She'd had a nightmare that week that Sunday school was a complete disaster and she had forgotten that she was supposed to teach and showed up unprepared, with ugly hair, and dirty clothes. That dream had felt so real.
2. TC, a superior teacher with awards to prove his superiority in teaching, was teaching in the competing gospel doctrine class.

In order to reassure herself, Gordita began to talk herself up. Before she knew it, she had taken this positive self-talk too far and developed a false arrogance. She told herself that there were plenty of people who loved her teaching and wanted to be present in her room over the other one. She was, after all, a wonderful teacher. Maybe even the best in the ward, stake or area. Hello! How could someone named Gordita not be a good teacher? She may not know the most about the scriptures, or the deeper meaning and symbolism in the gospel, or just the plain old gospel for that matter, but she was dang good at reading that manual and following along. And she was very good at asking people to read scriptures and at writing stuff on the board while listening to the answers class members were giving. Psh. What more could you ask for in a Sunday school teacher?

But before class began she sat at the front of the room reading over her lesson and building herself up to near-haughtiness. She heard someone behind her ask, "Who's teaching in this room today?" The lady next to her answered, "That sister there. I can't remember her name." And then the first lady got up and walked out of the room.

Can you hear the air squeaking out of Gordita's over-inflated balloon? That was a quick snap back into reality, and humility. No more false arrogance and inflated egos for her. Goodbye pride. Hello humility! For a few days anyway.

What I learned from General Conference

This weekend was a wonderful feast of doctrine and encouragement from the Lord's anointed. I've made a little list of what stood out to me the most that I feel to improve upon.

1. Attend the temple. (Elder Scott)
2. Serve unselfishly. (Elder Oaks)
3. Contemplate and understand better the atonement of Jesus Christ. (Elder Holland)

What is always interesting is to know what other people learned from listening to the same talks that I did because we all take something different. What did you get out of conference?

Devotional Lesson

When I was in my second year at BYU, President Gordon B. Hinckley spoke at a Tuesday morning devotional. In anticipation of hearing the prophet speak, I made plans with my roommates and friends to go early and save a few seats for my roommate, who was having a birthday, and a few other people that had class right up until 10:50, making it difficult to get to the Marriott Center in time for any 11am devotional, more especially one of this magnitude.

My cute chubby face back then.

Once we got into the Marriott Center and found the best available seats, which were about half way up to the top and towards the left of the podium (hardly coveted seats), I set my backpack down on the one seat I was charged with saving for my dear birthday-having roommate. And as I saved this seat, I blatantly ignored the guilt trip that came over the PA in the form of “Saving seats is unfair and not allowed. Do not save seats. You are dishonest if you save seats because we decided that this was a rule and you are not following it. DO NOT SAVE SEATS.”

After the announcement had come over the PA several times, one young man, I’ll call him Judge Judy, came up to me, asked me if I was saving the seat next to me. I said that I was, returned to my reading, realized he had not left, and he asked me to move my backpack. I said that I wouldn't. He insisted, I insisted, then he threatened to get a dreaded security guard.

Back then, I was a coward, and wanted to do everything I could to avoid getting in “trouble” at all costs. These days I would have told him to go ahead, and if he actually DID get a security guard, and the guard actually DID ask me to move my backpack, I would have complied. But back then I was a big old pansy who was desperately afraid of incurring the wrath of the "man."

So I got scared. And I moved my backpack. And Judge Judy moved right into the seat next to me. But it didn't end there. No it did not folks. Mr. Judge became my own personal judge, my Jiminy Cricket, my conscience.

As he sat in the seat he had taken from my birthday-roommate, he criticized me for saving a seat, saying that he didn't understand how anyone could purport to want to hear the words of the prophet and actually refuse to comply with simple rules. He said he found it ironic that I was so concerned with saving a seat for my friend, but not concerned about following the rules that the almighty, super righteous security team had come up with. How could I claim to be a disciple of Christ and a true BYU student while so purposely breaking such an important rule?

This continued for several minutes. People sitting around me had tried to intervene on my behalf, but Judy maintained that he was talking only to me. Once I could contain my frustration no more and had been reduced to tears, the only thing I could muster the courage to say was, “Where do you get off being so self-righteous?”

And this was his response—the response that I will never forget, and I laugh at today, but only half-heartedly because this poor, delusional soul actually meant what he said—which was

“Is it self-righteous? Or just righteous?”

And out of fear, stupidity, and sheer desire to hear the words of the prophet, I sat next to him for the duration of the devotional. And I have no idea what it was that President Hinckley said that day because I was too busy crying and contemplating the meaning of life and arbitrary rules. So instead of being instructed by the Lord's anointed, I was instructed by a guy I "fondly" refer to as Judge Judy.

What a piece of peace.

I'm at peace. I've been around long enough to know that with me peace is fleeting. I'm far too fickle to actually stay feeling peaceful for very long. But right now, at this moment in time, I feel at peace--with work, home life, my progression (I feel at peace being a work in progress, which is not always the case), everything. I feel like I have a clear purpose, a defined path, which is comforting and refreshing. I don't know how long this peace will last, but I am savoring it while I can.

On another note, the 3 lbs lost in last week's vomiting debacle are back in full force. Sigh... I was miserable for nothing. I suppose I'm NOT at peace about that. Oh the irony...

On yet another note, I made a goal this week to wear a different pair of shoes each day because I typically wear the same black heels every day because I keep them at work, and they are sensible and fairly comfortable and if I wear the same ones every day I don't have to put forth much effort. But, I took those shoes home to polish, and I have been too lazy to polish them, so I have decided that I enjoy this week without my comfortable fall-back pair of black heels. And so far, so good. It turns out, I have great shoes, that I love. Wow! Yesterday: Lulu. Today: Steve Madden Lydia. Tomorrow: the possibilities are endless!

Ahh... Peace.

What's a girl to do?

Why is it, that when you're the most unsuspecting, thinking all is tranquil in your life, that anxiety creeps in? Why was it that this weekend I found myself having to take a lot of deep breaths? Has anything changed? Not significantly. Do I still have a handle on what's going on around me? I thought I did, until I started feeling anxious. What would I do without medication?

I've been working at my job for 6 years. It's rewarding and challenging and exhausting and stressful and I'm done. Or at least I want to be done. I never thought I'd work here this long, and yet 6, almost 7, years later here I am, plugging along each day. Gone are the days where I was excited to come in to work and looking forward to the challenges that my job might bring me. I'm tired. It's mundane. The challenges are annoying. The stressfulness gets on my nerves. The exhausting nature of the work makes me want to stay in bed each morning. But it's been a long while that I've felt this way about my job. Nothing changed over the weekend. But, could this be the source of my anxiety?

So, what's a girl to do? I know that I need to buckle down and ask my Heavenly Father what He would have me do. But what if He wants me to do something I don't want to do? Then what? I know He's just waiting to guide me, and yet I resist. Could this be the source of my anxiety?

Someday I'll figure this life thing out and my "stressful" job will seem like cake, and I'll be doing things more challenging and I'll wish I could have it easy like I did back in the day. Couldn't I just learn to enjoy things the way they are? Is that so unrealistic? Could THIS be the source of my anxiety?

Well, thanks for listening. It's been therapeutic. Work is calling and I've got to go.

Summer of George is gone...

This summer of 2008 was supposed to be the Summer of George.


I had wanted to attend every festival, enjoy the State Fair, ride roller coasters (no matter how dinky) at the Lagoon, spend a day in the sun on the grass, ride my bike until it gets dark like I did when I was a kid, stay up late watching movies, take a spontaneous trip out of town, go to the zoo, go for a drive in the canyons...





But instead, the State Fair didn't fit into our schedules, some festivals seemed like a waste of money, Lagoon really isn't all that it's cracked up to be when you've been to bigger amusement parks, in order to spend a day in the sun I have to apply and reapply sunscreen by the liters, I tried riding my bike and fell off and injured myself, I get sleepy at 10pm and will fall asleep watching any movie past that hour, spontaneity is overrated, the zoo is... well I don't have an excuse for that one, and a drive in the canyons doesn't have to be a summer activity, so I don't know why I'm whining.


If you've read this far, I'm impressed with your loyalty. When it comes down to it, my summer wasn't the Summer of George because I didn't make it the Summer of George. But I still had a lovely summer. I went bowling, had a campfire, saw two parades, watched fireworks up close, threw a big party, went to the Farmers' Market, rode my bike on Antelope Island, lounged by a pool, took photos just for the sake of taking photos, went to Park City one day on a whim, baked a cake for no reason, sewed for people other than myself, and, best of all, I spent an unprecedented amount of time with TC, my favorite person of all time.




And, as if this post wasn't going on for long enough, I made new friends. I no longer feel like I have no where to turn (besides TC) when things get rough. Even though this summer didn't turn out to be the Summer of George I expected it to, it turned out even better.

Prayer

I realize that this post will be a departure from my normal immaturity. I am having a bout of adulthood right now, and I feel like I need to share my thoughts with my dear and faithful readership (all one or two of you).

On Sunday, our ward bishop gave a lesson on recognizing answers to prayer. I was deeply touched by his lesson, feeling like it was an answer to my own prayers. I've been seeking to understand better what decisions I should ask for help making, and when I don't feel any specific guidance if I should wait for confirmation or just move forward. I came to the conclusion that when I do pray about a decision, if I don't feel a specific answer, I should just move forward with whatever option seems best based on my best judgment. But I've doubted the conclusion that I came to, until Sunday.

The bishop used a talk given by Elder Richard G. Scott in 1989 to frame his own thoughts. I am overwhelmed after reading it with how directly my questions are answered. With the thought that others might have the same questions I do, I write about it on my blog. Enjoy!

This confirms it: I'm a twelve-year-old trapped in an adult body.

Last night I watched a TV show I'd never seen before: Wipe Out. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the show, it is an obstacle course game where contestants have to climb, jump, swing and swim to get to the end. The contestant with the fastest time, or longest endurance (depending on the challenge) wins.

The commentary is sarcastic, reminiscent of Blind Date or Maximum Exposure. The entire time I was watching I thought, "Well this is just immature." They showed face plants repeatedly, in slow motion and in reverse. But every time I saw the same face plant I laughed hysterically. I am still shocked at how immature I am. I laughed so hard I started to cry. There's just something about seeing people fall in awkward positions and bounce off of giant rubber balls in ways that human physiology should not bounce that is hilarious.






So, it is officially confirmed: I am a twelve-year-old although I don't look it. I think I'll go get a Slurpee.

Listen to the still small voice, listen listen...

That song has been playing in my head this morning. Why? Because on Saturday morning, going against my better judgment and ignoring any premonitions I had about the ride, I went on a bike ride. It's not the bike riding itself that was the problem--I'm by no means an experienced biker, but I enjoy a ride now and again. It was the trail, the Bobsled. I knew I should not have gone, and yet I decided to ignore that still, small voice and go anyway. And now I'm hurting.



Part way down the trail, after a little rest, I had a bad feeling. I prayed. My prayer was something like, "Father in Heaven, I'm stuck. I can't go back the way I came. The only way out of here is down. I don't know what I'm doing. Please bless me that I won't die. Also, please bless me that I won't get seriously injured." And so I closed my prayer and began my descent.



A few minutes later I found myself sliding on the ground like I was sliding into home base. I don't know how I end up on the ground, but apparently I flew over my handlebars. My head was craned up, and I watched TC, who was ahead of me to mark the path, to see if he saw me sliding toward him.



TC threw his bike several feet off the narrow trail and ran to me. He knew exactly what to do. He took the shirt off his back to tie around my bleeding arm, and kept telling me that it wasn't that bad at all (an effort to keep me from completely losing control of my emotions). And it wasn't that bad. My elbows are scraped and the palms of my hands are in pretty bad shape (especially my right hand). My legs and stomach are bruised and have a few lesions. But I did not break any bones (no serious injuries), and I am sill alive (I did not die).



Lucky for us, our friend Jake was several minutes behind us. He caught up, saw that I was hurt and continued on to tell Jared and Sarah what had happened. TC and I walked the rest of the trail, and only had to jump out of the way once for fast riders coming down.




This trail is great for people who know what they are doing. Look how fun that turn looks. You can pick up some great speed.




These happy, serene flowers belie the adventure that lies in this trail. I thought this photo was pretty ironic.



From all this I'm grateful for so many things: for Jake and Jared who biked uphill for who knows how many miles to get the cars so they could take me home quickly, for Sarah who was waiting at the end of the trail for us and just cheered us on and was so quick to help me with my bike, for Jake who let us borrow these great jumbo-sized Band-aids and Neosporin (we owe you), and for Jared and Sarah who took care of our bikes so we wouldn't have to worry about them. I'm amazed at how great of a doctor TC is, and I'm grateful to have him to take care of me. He just knows what to do. Once we got home he cleaned up the wounds and wrapped them so they wouldn't bleed or get infected. Most of all he assured me that everything was going to be all right. And even though right now he is under a lot of pressure to finish writing his dissertation this week, he still takes the time to care for me, and change my bandages every morning. He's a wonderful man. I'm grateful to be reminded of how blessed I truly am.



P.S. I won't include any photos of the injuries because they are gross.
P.P.S. My advise to all my readers: listen to the still small voice.

Self Esteem

Okay, so a lot of articles on self-esteem seem like bunk to me, but this one I encountered in O The Oprah Magazine had a lot of information that hit home for me, especially this part:

Why it that some people, the Donald Trumps of the world, seem to believe only the best about themselves, while others—perhaps especially women, perhaps especially young women—seize on the most self-critical thoughts they can come up with? "It turns out there's an area of your brain that's assigned the task of negative thinking," says Louann Brizendine, MD, a neuropsychiatrist at the University of California, San Francisco, and the author of The Female Brain. "It's judgmental. It says 'I'm too fat' or 'I'm too old.' It's a barometer of every social interaction you have. It goes on red alert when the feedback you're getting from other people isn't going well." This worrywart part of the brain is the anterior cingulate cortex. In women, it's actually larger and more influential, as is the brain circuitry for observing emotions in others. "The reason we think females have more emotional sensitivity," says Brizendine, "is that we've been built to be immediately responsive to the needs of a nonverbal infant. That can be both a good thing and a bad thing."

You can read the rest of the article here, or you can pick up the August issue of O.