Well Guess What . . .

“Instead of having “answers” on a math test, they should just call them “impressions,” and if you got a different “impression,” so what, can’t we all be brothers?” Jack Handey

I came across an article about math and girls.  This one was called “Mind the Gap: Who Falls Prey to the Math Gender Gap?” It’s about the stereotype of girls not being good at math and what’s being done to combat this.  Here’s the deal — I’m a girl.  I don’t think I’m dumb.  But I still DON’T LIKE MATH.  Please don’t try and make me like math just to make me equal to the boys!!   I don’t want to!!!! (apologies to all those who hate people who use multiple exclamation points  to prove their point!!!!!!)   I just really don’t like math!

I’m okay with basic math — the kind that helps me figure out whether I have money in the bank or if my department at work will hit their plan.   Anything other than that – I’m totally okay for them to leave that to the rocket scientist for those who so choose to pursue  said career.  I really don’t care if more boys like math or are good at math than girls.  I’m not saying that girls shouldn’t have a chance to be good at math — I’m just saying — don’t make me them.

Words are much more friendly.  Words can be convincing – unlike math.  In math 1+1=2.  But in words 1+1 can equal 2 or perhaps I can convince you that it equals 4 or 6 or 1.  In fact — it can equal 2 to you and for me it can very well equal 3 and I’m still really okay that it equals 2 for you.

Happy In my Own Skin

“Start where you’re at!  Love what you got.”

- The still small voice

I wasn’t always “full figured” (a.ka. plump, fluffy, real-woman-sized, reubenesque, fat, overweight, too-short-for-my-weight, portly, er -  big.)  In fact being overweight was one of my biggest fears when I was a teenager.  Oh I fluctuated a few pounds here and there but even returned from my mission with the original shape and size intact.  Someone who knew me in my “lean years” may say that I “let my self go”.  And believe me if it was just “letting myself go” it would have been a lot more fun.  It used to be easy to judge others before.  But I’ve learned — don’t judge another woman unless you’ve walked a mile in her stretch-pants.

I look at myself now, not always comfortable with what I see in the mirror.  I worry about my health and  I know very well that I don’t fit in to societies standard of what is an acceptable weight and size.  The funny thing is — society is getting fatter.  I’m sure there are lots of reasons for that – not to mention the invention of Almond Joy Pieces, but does anyone else notice that we are morphing into what we have already deemed unattractive and unacceptable?  Are we rebelling?  Or are we continually feeding the pain of realizing all that we are not?  Maybe a little of both.

A couple of weeks ago i was staring  into my mirror, plucking the tiny stray hairs on my chin (hah – just you wait until you hit 40) and feeling bad about my body, and why on earth I had let myself gain weight over the last few months,  and the thought came to me  “start where you are and love what you got.”  I wrote it down.  I wanted to believe this could be the key.  I’ve repeated this to myself several times since then and at times feeling completely unworthy to be the receiver of that love – even from myself.  But still – it rings true to me.

I am not happy in my own skin right now.  That’s not to say I’m completely unsatisfied with my life — I have so many blessings for which I’m incredibly grateful.  But it’s so easy to slip in to self loathing when I see my body in a mirror or on an airplane praying that the buckle clicks so that I don’t have to ask for an extension.  It seems impossible to “love what I got.”
For me – each pound represents a pound of pain, fear, and working things out.  That’s way too much energy expended to “let myself go”.  Instead what I did was “wrap myself up”.

My spirit has become a little girl wrapped up in a big blanket protecting herself from the pains of life – but even blankets can be suffocating.  I am beginning to believe that a little compassion for that little girl will help more in getting her to crawl out from under that blanket than stern ridicule will.  I’ve too long been like the parent who spanks a crying child for crying.   Its is completely ridiculous, yet perfectly rational to the frustrated parent.   How often have I done that to myself?
So here I am — sitting in my own skin (which happens to be the only skin I’ve got) and a choice to make.   I choose to start where I am at – this very moment – and to “love what I got”.

A Winters Jaunt!

“A little sea-bathing would set me up for ever”

(Mrs. Bennett – Pride & Prejudice)

There is nothing like escaping for a couple of days in the bleak winter to a land of sunshine.   This was my plan and I boarded the plane to Southern California on Thursday morning.

My soul was in need of much rejuvenation and grateful to find that in the hug of my dear friend and her family in sunny (er rainy, snowy, cold) California.  DeeAnn (not to be confused with myself) was a missionary companion of mine.  She was a gift to me then.  I am convinced Heavenly Father hand-picked her for me 20 years ago and when I saw her at the airport I felt He had hand-picked her for me again as place of respite for 3 days.

Here are the things I loved about my little jaunt:

I fell in love with this chair — I wanted to take it home but it wouldn’t fit in my suitcase

Thursday was a very rainy day — not a good day for site seeing or shopping – but a perfect day for watching an entire mini-series . . .

I adored this show.  If you have not seen the Masterpiece Theater’s Little Dorrit, it is a MUST SEE.

I also got to spend time with my new friend Lucy, who is so cute I wanted to put her in my pocket.  I wish I would have written down all the adorable things she said, and how could I not melt when she whispered to me on the way to the airport to come home “DeAnn, I am going to miss you sooo much.”

Jim is DeeAnn’s husband.  He’s a good man and I’m so glad DeeAnn has him.  He is funny, a tease, a great breakfast cook, and a good dad.

I can’t forget my trip to Trader Joes . . .

or seeing Orange trees for the first time . . .

But the highlight for me of course was a sunny day at the beach (thankfully it stopped raining on Saturday)

I was overwhelmed with peace and awe at the power of the waves and the sweet knowledge that one word from the Savior and they could be still.

After I was pryed away from the ocean (okay so i was soaking wet, the sun had gone down, and it was freezing) we went for the most amazing halibut at Andria’s

We went to church on Sunday.  I even went to a real Sunday School class (as opposed to the “foyer class” that I usually go to.)

It wasn’t long after that that I was on the airplane heading for home.

“These friendships are not friendships of initiation, but of resumption.”

Neal A. Maxwell

Forward It Is

I posted an old picture of myself on facebook (everyone else was doing it)– a picture when I was 16 and spent my summer cooking for 13 years at a girls camp.  The eyes are the same and maybe the smile — but that’s all.

• Hair – permed (it was the 80’s)
• Jeans – size 7 or 9.
• Life – dramatic (or so I thought at the time.)
• Boys I liked – 3

For a brief moment I wished for the “way back machine”.  It was the machine that Peabody and Sherman used to go back in time.

Oh to hop in, turn the dial to 1983, and pop out with a small waist and curly hair.  But then, before I could even get my leg warmers on over my jeans I was reminded of what I heard one of the contestants say tonight on the Biggest Loser. “You never move forward looking in the rear-view mirror.”

Forward it is.

A Writer Writes

I love to write.  I love to see how the words will pour out of my fingers onto a blank screen or blank page in a new notebook.  I want to be a writer – and to quote some famous guy whose name I don’t remember “Our doubts are traitors”.   I do doubt!   When I hear myself say “I want to be a writer” within an instant I hear a reply “Ha! You don’t even have a degree . . . writers have degrees” followed quickly by “you have friends that are incredible writers and believe me – you are not one of them.”

So – I’m not a writer!  But I still write in my journal every day like I have since I was 14.  I blog.  On occasion I have penned a sarcastic mocking romantic short story.  I also  have a separate notebook that is like a journal but mostly just lets me work out my crazy head on paper.  So I do write — but still — I cannot say I am a writer.

I have decided that this year, whether I am a writer or not, I love the process and want to write more.  It’s a good time to go back to some of the basics and work again on the kind of writing I like to do (found in the book Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg.)  She suggests “writing practice” and timed writings and giving yourself permission to write crap.  Feeling confident in this part (the writing crap part,) besides my daily journal I am also spending some time each day doing free writing.  It feels good.  It’s like the feeling I get in those dreams when I can fly.  I love it.  And guess what? — It’s crap!

Last week I came across a book at Barnes and Noble called Room to Write by Bonni Goldberg.  Each page has a topic to write on — a jumping off point for writing practice.  I know there are plenty of websites that do the same thing – but something caught my attention in the forward of the book.

It starts off with this “What makes someone a writer?  Writers write!”  With this one question and answer – my doubts packed up their little bags and left – at least for now.  Because it doesn’t matter what I’m not and it doesn’t matter how good someone else is — as she says further down on that first page “the most important action you can take is to show up on the page.”

So there you go – I’m a writer after all — because writers write!