Archive for January, 2011

Of snowflakes and swans

Yesterday my roommates and I had an appetizer-and-dessert night with another group of girls who live nearby. (Why waste time making meat and potatoes when all we really want are chips and chocolate.)

We actually had quite a few healthy items on the table (including snap peas and sweet potatoes), but these cute Paula Dean cupcakes filled our sugar quota for the night. Delicious!
And it seems the weather heeded the call of the cupcake decor because I woke up to this:
I’m a big fan of snow, but only when it sticks to the trees and rooftops — and other places where I do not have to walk or drive.
My appreciation for snow, or at least the individual flakes, increased this afternoon when I stumbled on a video from President Dieter F. Uchtdorf about “Our True Identity.”
We’ve all heard ourselves compared to snowflakes — or at least I assume those of us who live in the colder climes have. Just like no two snowflakes are exactly the same (and National Geographic will back me up on this), no two people are exactly the same. We have unique talents and perspectives, which make everyday experiences and relationships frustrating and fascinating.
The one thing I think we human snowflakes share, though, is a tendency to be too hard on ourselves. We’re not perfect, but we’re far from the ugly ducklings we may imagine.
If you’re having one of those days, months or years (or lives) when it’s hard to recognize what a stunning swan you really are, check out this video.

Pretty in pink

This was the highlight of my day — and my week:

Isn’t Baby B beautiful? (Note: “Baby B” is not intended to be a Spice Girls-esque nickname or anything. It’s just my unoriginal attempt at generating a blog-safe name. Luckily, her parents listed something much more feminine and fitting on the birth certificate.)
This gorgeous girl is the daughter of one of my very best friends. I made a trip an hour-long trip out to visit them this afternoon, and it was more than worth it.
When life gets confusing, there’s nothing like holding a baby to calm the chaos.

Starburst security blanket

My closet is filled with coats. I can walk into a store in the middle of the sweltering summer and be automatically drawn to anything coat-like: trench, pea, dress — nothing with long sleeves and buttons is safe.
Part of the reason for my coat fetish is fashion-based, but my motives aren’t all superficial. Here’s what it really comes down to: I am always cold. Always. I have a heater below my desk at work, and I keep it blasting all day long. And the idea of walking out the door in the morning without at least one coat in tow is absurd.
Today, to match my black dress pants, I had my black Black B.P. coat on hand (business casual attire can be limiting). As I was sitting in a meeting , I stuck my hands in my coat pockets and pulled out this:
If you’re especially fond of Starbursts, I apologize. I did not intentionally mistreat this sugary square. Its battered and worn state is simply a result of the fact that it has been in my pocket for two years. Yes, that’s right. Two years.
Want to know why? This silly Starburst is one of my “security blankets.” It was given to me by a friend during a particularly long and dull event. I remember exactly which red seat I was slumped over in at the BYU-Idaho Hart Building when he casually offered it to me.
My sleepy eyes could have used the sugar hit, so I don’t know why I didn’t eat it at the time. Somehow it ended up in my pocket instead of my mouth, and I completely forgot about it until a few weeks later.
The first time I stumbled across it, it made me smile. It reminded me of this particular friend, and I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. So in my pocket it remains.
Maybe it’s stupid or silly —and it’s certainly unsuitable for eating — but there’s something comforting about reaching into my pocket and pulling out a piece of my past — and, along with it, memories of my best friend.
Disclaimer: I’m not a hoarder. If you’re picturing piles of empty boxes, plastic spoons and wicker baskets filling my house, never fear. I don’t think TLC will be knocking on my door anytime soon.
I’m really not innately attached to odds-and-ends items. But I keep a few things that make me smile. Am I the only one?


You’ll have to reach into your fondest childhood memories and pull out “The Sandlot” to fully appreciate the title of this post. (Can you picture Squints saying this? I’ll give you a little help if you can’t.)

As I was making breakfast this morning (read: pouring cereal into a plastic bowl. Don’t you miss those days of humble singlehood?), I noticed this plate on the kitchen counter. I live in the most adorably decorated home, and all the credit for the holiday spirit goes to my roommate, the beautiful Bryn. I plan to do a post soon to show you just how Better Homes-worthy our abode is.
Anyway, back to the plate. The saying at the bottom got me thinking: Is love really forever?
I’ve yet to find “the one single person who fills (my) heart with joy” (see “You’ve Got Mail”), but I’m pretty sure I’ve experienced love in many forms. When I think about this statement, though, I’m mainly thinking of the mushy, romantic kind of love.
So here’s the real question: If love is forever, does that mean you can never truly stop caring about someone once you’ve loved them?
I’m not talking about a kindergarten crush or a month-long obsession — or even the undeniably strong emotions you may feel while watching a movie starring Matthew McConaughey.
By love, I mean that tie you build with someone based on hour’s-long conversations, obstacles conquered and secrets shared.
Maybe the type of love you feel for a person changes when they become your ex — and when you find your one-and-only. But can you ever un-love someone all together?
I don’t have an answer, and, obviously, it may be just a silly a statement stamped on a plate. But it made me think: Is love forever?