#16. Visit A Zoo.

Yesterday I visited the Hogle Zoo with some of my favorite people in the world.

By the way, NightNight: Another reason I'm glad Scott and I are friends.

A Grain of Salt

Disclaimer: I wrote this for my English class and edited it a bit for blogging purposes. Also, the transitions are choppy and/or nonexistent.

The Provo Tabernacle burned down last month- but only on the inside. Since the outer facade was made of brick, both it and the turrets of the building were preserved. On the morning it burned down, friends of mine posted pictures, taken at some ungodly hour, on facebook and blogs. The tabernacle was in flames in the tell-tale pinkish grey of early morning. It looked and seemed surreal at first. There were people at the time who said that the destruction of the Tabernacle was a blow to their testimonies. Others noted the preservation of a painting of Christ and thought that was a sign from Heavenly Father. It’s easy to make metaphors out of life events, and to take the connections one makes in a few seconds seriously.

“I’d have taken it as a sign from the man upstairs,” said Scott, “if it didn’t have swears in it.” He saw a train scarred with graffiti last week and the first legible line he noticed was, “F--- fake hos,” followed by the name of his most recent ex-girlfriend. Would God cuss at us to get a message across? What if it worked? Would he burn down a beloved, albeit old, building?

Or would he send us revelation via fortune cookie? “Change is in your future.” “You will soon happen upon a great deal of money.” Book on Tape Worm went out for Chinese last weekend and we got four fortune cookies each, opening all of them together. Our eyes widened and squinted as we read and pretended to believe each pseudo-sage message. We saved them in our wallets. Maybe we'll refer back to them someday, connecting their prophecies to then-past events.

I smashed my finger in the door in late September, and then Skyler asked me out. For the brief time we dated, my middle right finger was purple and swollen. When we broke up, my fingernail fell off. I pretended it was a sign. I also pretended that the jack-o-lantern I threw away in November was his head. I pretended that when the glass jar and candle I hung outside fell down and shattered, it was a metaphor for letting him go.

I’ve lost the bracelet he gave me. That might actually mean something.

My dad came to visit me back in December and he and I drove down University Avenue, just past Center Street, and parked next to the City Hall. He snapped some pictures of the Tabernacle, flanked with firetrucks. We walked to the top of the parking garage next door to get a better view, talking about philosophy because that’s how my dad is. I realized later that even the Tabernacle could be a metaphor- but for clearing out old things and building new ones. I used that metaphor to build me. I thought, “Sometimes we have to be burned down inside in order to be remodeled into something better. Everything will be okay in the end.” The Tabernacle is being remodeled, from the looks of my last drive-by.

Most people’s astrological signs changed a week or two ago, right? Consulting the newest star charts, I discovered that I was no longer a Gemini, but a Taurus. I felt vague disappointment, even a loss of identity. Then the astrologers told us this change only applied to those born after 1999 or some arbitrary date. We breathed a sigh of relief- as if our futures would be any different if we kept the same star signs.

How much clout can a sign hold? What makes something a sign to which people? Even though I hope God sometimes sends signs to people, I think it’s important to use discernment in naming a heavenly message. If I create a sign that saves or ruins me, grant God the credit for letting me make the connection, or give me the blame for taking it too far.

I like pretending that I live in a book and that some author (like Emma Thompson in Stranger than Fiction, although hopefully less morbid) is making allusions and writing beautiful imagery into my life, but I think I know better than to take her too seriously. I am the only narrator I know of, and my awareness of the metaphors around me may even be irrelevant. I believe that regardless of the author, I am the text. I’ll take my metaphors with a grain of salt.

It's a party in here!

Dear friends,

Welcome to my 301st post.

I spose the last post should have been the party, but I didn't realize it was the 300th.

Regardless, it's a party on the blog now. Let's dance.

Images found via jilt.us, Rhythm Junkie, and 710kmpc.com.

Your pal,

Emily

Wisdom from the Cupboard:

1. In order to break a bad habit, wear a rubber band on your wrist. Snap it when the habit reoccurs. I'm two days and counting not thinking about a particular person. (snap)
-Aubrey Johnson
2. You can always exchange what wanted before for what you want more, now. It might be difficult at first, the change becomes easier and more appealing every time.
-Hannah Johnson
3. Take your first impressions of people into account (intuition is key) and when you make friends, learn their impressions of themselves.
-Courtney Perry
4. There must be moderation in all things. Also, people are just happier when the dishes are clean.
-Chantelle Fowler

These are not direct quotes from any of the Cupboard girls, but a FEW (or just one) of the things I have learned from them.

By the way, our apartment is nicknamed the Cupboard Under the Stairs. It's 'cause we're in love with Harry Potter.

A Trip to the Zoo.

Friends, Neighbors, Countrymen,

Remember my bucket list that I didn't finish during the summer? Number 16 on my bucket list is "Visit a Zoo." I think we should visit Hogle Zoo together.

Here's the thing. If 20 or more people want to do this, we get a discount, and we all get to look at animals and take pictures together. I like you people. I want to look at the New Guinea Snake-Neck Turtle with you.

January 29th's the day, folks. If you live in Provo, we'll meet at the parking lot across the street-ish from my house (192 E. 700 N.) at 10:30. Then we will drive to Salt Lake in our cars and visit the zoo and have a picnic together (so bring lunch, if you feel inclined) and later we will go home with newer, better memories than before.

Who's up for it? Here is the facebook event. Invite your friends. Invite yourself. This is going to be an adventure.

Yours sincerely,

Emily Brown

I am blogging about Ciera Black

in honor of National Blog About Ciera month.

On Saturday, Ciera and I drove to Annex Studio, where we were about to record some Book on Tape Worm songs. When we got there we realized that Scott wasn't there yet, and so we decided to explore the neighborhood. After some house-hunting, we came to an open house. Deciding that we needed an excuse to explore the house, Ciera told the realtor that her uncle "Ron Smithson" was looking for a house in the area and we wanted to check out the floor plan. The design and decor in the house (Okay, I know that phrase makes me sound super phony, but seriously-) was so well done. We even found these alligator pillows in the hypothetical little boys' room and got so excited we took pictures.

Live Through This and You Won't Look Back.

(Image: David Daniels Photography)

(Image: Star Tales)

I learned something new today, about friends (which, yes, I am still blogging about) and about myself. I was writing a letter to my friend Mike, who is currently serving a mission in London. I've been in a weird kind of funk lately; I woke up this morning super stressed with absolutely no reason to be, and I feel dissatisfied with most things most of the time. I was writing about this and I asked him for advice when I guess I answered my own question. Looking for more interesting news to write, I told him about how the Provo Tabernacle burned down inside last month.

Next, realized the following:

a. I wouldn't be writing about ideas if I weren't writing to Mike. Sometimes the best friends are the ones who provoke thought. I have always been able to have deep conversations with Mike, gospel-related and otherwise, and I'm grateful that for a friend who I feel comfortable having those conversations with.

b. I don't know how else to say the second part without just using my letter. I'm just going to quote.

In some other news, the inside of the Provo Tabernacle burned down a few weeks ago, which was really sad. The good thing, though, is that the outside (which is brick, if you recall) is preserved, and it provides an opportunity for a great remodel and update of the Tabernacle now. I’m not sure how soon that will happen, but from the looks of what I saw driving by yesterday, they probably will remodel.
You can even see that as a metaphor! It’s like getting rid of old habits or things you don’t like about yourself, I guess. Sometimes you have to get all burnt up inside in order to make a clean start, and in order to progress from there. The inside doesn't even necessarily have to be negative. The Provo Tabernacle was a great building, and it served perfectly well for hundreds of years. But maybe it wasn't as great as it could be. It’s like exchanging something okay for something awesome. That’s hard, of course, because you don’t know whether the “okay” will even be replaced with awesome. I guess that’s where faith comes in. We have to trust that the Lord lets us go through trials and get a little damaged in order to make us and our lives greater than we ever could have been before. Maybe on our own, we can be decent, and even good. But when we submit our will to the Fathers’, and rely on him in the face of trial, he can make us great. I’m grateful for that.

Anyway, it's good to be learning things. I'm the worst at conclusions, so this is all I'll write.

In first grade I had a friend named Erica. We were in Mrs. Valley's class together and  once we found a spider's egg sac in the corner of the playground. We were learning about spiders in class at the time and we brought it back from recess with us to show our teacher.

That's really all I have to say.

Today

Fast forward to the present for a moment, if you please. All I can say is that my roommate and close friend Hannah and I reorganized our schedules so that we have a whopping THREE classes together on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It has been supa fun. I love that girl.

In conclusion, friends are good because they don't steal your bicycle, and they let you take classes with them.

Moving to the Desert.

I moved to Rancho Mirage and went to kindergarten (and the rest of elementary school) at Washington Charter School, complete with an obnoxious theme song that was written while I was there. I don't remember many specifics about who were my best friends, but the girl hugging my shoulder in this picture is Cassie, who I became better friends with during high school.

On another note, because this post is short, it's interesting how quickly little kids can make friends with each other. When I was a kid I felt like age was the only thing I had to have in common with a person for us to  have fun together. Add some arbitrary toys or a make believe game like "Lost Kids," (which my cousin Connor and I made up) and you've got hours of enjoyment.

Pasadena

Now that we've gotten past the fact that my family are my friends (and my closest, at that) I have a story for you.

When I was 16 months old (fact supplied by my mom as I sit on a kitchen stool while everyone else makes lemonade) we moved to Pasadena, California. Home of the Rose Parade and a two-story house on South Los Robles where my mom would eventually grow a spectacular garden and win an award for city beautification. My favorite part of our yard, after the flowers, was the three plum trees in the front.

It was like this:

I had three good friends in Pasadena before we moved to Palm Springs in December of '97, when I was five and a half. Their names were Amber, Allison, and Marilyn. The parents in our ward organized a day at the park every Thursday, when we would all play together. We always got super excited to watch the dump truck pick the trash up outside the park:

I'm the pink and purple one on the far left.

Here is a picture of me and those friends at my fifth birthday party, about six months before I moved away. (Note: my name was scrawled in pink marker on the back of this picture.)

Order, left to right: baby Spencer, Amber, Me, Allison, Marilyn (who was a year younger than us)

Life in Pasadena was fun. I was sad to move.

Biffles.

Again, I'm attempting to blog for the entire month in honor of NaBloPoMo. This month, I'm going to share with you thirty stories from the past and present about my experiences with friends. Best friends, old friends, new friends... frenemies?

We'll go chronologically. This is Collin. He was my first friend ever, if you count brothers as friends. I think they are.

A Growth Chart

So far:

I came home to Provo and reunited with friends.

I moved into a fantastic ward.

I played piano at my friend's wedding.
I wrote letters and songs and poems.

I went to lunch in Maddison's studio.

I made clouds and rain and hung them around Velour.

I met a boy who liked my music.
He told me his name and then kissed me.

He said he loved me and met my family.

He doesn't see us getting married.

I listened to Pasty Cline for three weeks after.

I talked with Pearl and met her kittens.
I saw the Head and the Heart when they came to Provo.
I watched a beautiful sunset over Utah Valley from the hill at the edge of campus.
I don't see us getting married either.
Sam sent me a letter, and it was good.
I went to BKDG at Laura's house.

I went to Arizona for Thanksgiving and played with my sister.
I came back and kept taking pictures of a tree by the Maeser.
I went on a train ride in Colorado with some dear friends.
I took some tests and wrote some papers.
I learned some Christmas songs and played "Pie Jesu" at the Christmas special.
I came to the desert for Christmas.

White Christmas?

I need it to snow. It's almost mid-December and not a flake on the ground. It's Christmas, guys! Seventeen years of my life's Decembers come straight out of Mele Kalikimaka:

...from the land where palm trees sway.
Here we know that Christmas will be green and bright
The sun to shine by day and all the stars at night.

Yep. Lovely though that may be, I think Provo owes me a little more Christmas card weather. Please?

P.S. I drew that last thing for work the other day. I'm making a New Year's card for the department.

A Very Silly Christmas Song

Hannah and I wrote this in about an hour on Sunday night, and we are quite pleased with it! In other Christmassy news, our apartment is decorated and today I cleaned a bunch while singing to a Christmas karaoke CD that my mom sent me home with after Thanksgiving. Also, we are all reading/listening to A Christmas Carol together, courtesy of the lovely Courtney Perry and her awesome reading voice. And last but not least, I am putting together a Christmas box for my dear friend, Elder Sam Sonntag. Even if you don't know him, you're welcome to add a letter. :) And on that note, until finals are over and I can actually write something neat on this blag...

Yes, Virginia.

You guys. It's December first. I've been excited for Christmas since Halloween, but since I can officially start celebrating, I want to start this month's bloggage by posting one of my favorite Christmassy pieces of literature. In 1897, eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon wrote a letter to the New York Sun inquiring whether there really was a Santa Claus. An anonymous reply was published shortly thereafter.

Dear Editor:

I am 8 years old.
Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O'Hanlon
115 West Ninety-fifth Street.

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

(found via Newseum.)

Paper Folding

I had a dream the other day

That you and I climbed the stairs to the top of the tallest building we know

And looking out, we folded a thousand paper airplanes

And sent them, gliding, white and crisp

Fluttering, careening

Down the cool breeze

To the four corners of this town

That being said-

Or that being done-

You turned to me

And with a false embrace

And with a kiss on the forehead

Knifed my chest with half a scissor

Pulled out my still-beating heart (so careful, so sincere)

And said

You can live without this, right?

And Newton-like you dropped my heart with precision from the top floor

Watching it fall (resolutely) and saying you were sorry

And then kneeling by me as I lay dumbstruck in a growing puddle of blood

(Blooming around me like the border of an empire, conquering strongholds and villages and little homes)

Saying you were sorry

Saying you were sorry and hoping we could still be friends

When you had gone to sleep, a dead woman arose from the redness around her

And staggering down the stairs, sang you a lullaby you never heard

Outside she found her gray heart on the cement

A circle of blood around it

A circle of truth inside it

In vain she tried to put it back inside her chest

And thinking better of it, she took her heart and all its inside countries

And rolled them out on the ground

Spread it crisp and bright and smooth

Ironing the chambers and cleaning out the arteries

When it was flat and dry she folded it into a bird

She folded it into a bird

And she sent it flying up to meet you

And to say good night

And then goodbye

And then on

Some things I am thankful for:

1. Good people and bicycle thieves, and learning from both.
2. A new sketchbook (which I have only drawn typography in so far).
3. Lemon tea and craisins.
4. Roommates who love Harry Potter as much as I do.

5. The gorgeous sunset over Provo tonight.
6. Speaking, hearing, reading, and writing poems. (Also, BKDG.)
7. Phone conversations with my mom about recipes, boys, and life.
8. Picking out a Christmas tree for the TMA office today with Elizabeth (my boss and good friend).
9. Letters and emails from my missionary friends:

Sam and his doodles of us.
Molalla, Washington

Mike (nice tie.)
London, UK

10. The healing power of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

If it's easy to say...

Sorry for only posting videos all the time. Ms. Cline has a million songs that all apply to my life right now, but this one seemed best. Also, "I Fall to Pieces."

La Vie en Rose