"SO...WHAT NOW?"

Let's just say that I don't consider myself one of those people who after graduating spends all day sitting on the couch watching re-runs of American Idol because I can't think of anything else to do with myself. First of all, I am still working full-time. Just because I graduated doesn't mean that suddenly I live on Top of the World Avenue and there are no bills to pay or that my husband doesn't still have another year+ of grad school to complete. By the way, I know I've been getting all the attention for graduating this past week or so, but Clint is done with his bachelor's this week as well so how about a shout out for him? WAY TO GO SWEETIE!!! We all know how fulfilling I think working 40+ hours a week is and that I can always think of 10 million other things I would rather be doing, so...now is the time for me to start doing all those things. I have a booklist as long as the Nile, I have fitness goals, I have aspirations of being a decent cook, I have story ideas and poetic phrases clunking around in my skull just waiting for the chance to be compiled onto paper in the most pretty way possible. Whether or not I can accomplish this task will hopefully be determined sometime during this next year as I look into publishing options. My dear cousin is in town and we can finally be official girlfriends. I want to visit art museums, go to concerts, see the Clarke Planetarium, discover quirky new restaurants, go to the theatre. I want to learn to paint. I want to start playing the piano again. And singing. And drawing. I want to hike every week with Clint and train myself for Olympus, Timpanogos, and others. I want to take road trips out of state and start saving money for bigger travelling. I'm serious. All these things are on my list OFFICIALLY. Look out world!

My awesome Mommy.

My stalwart supporters! (Mom, Dad, me, Clint, Kathy, Jeff.) Thanks everyone!

CLINT: You mean I have to come back here tomorrow for another convocation?

SAM: Yes Clint. Otherwise I will call you a bad husband.

KATHY: I'm not in charge of him anymore! Yippee!

My dad couldn't resist taking a blackmail photo of a Utah man in front of the Marriott. I do have to agree, there was an element of pricelessness sparkling in the atmosphere as I toured Clint around BYU.

SOME HIGHLY NOSTALGIC THOUGHTS ON FREN 202 THIS SEMESTER AND ON GRADUATING GENERALLY

Just when the doubt of Freshman and even Sophomore days begins to sink in again and I wonder, “Did I choose the right major?” something comes along that makes me remember. Oh yeah, that’s why I chose English.

It’s been years. 5, to be exact, since I came to BYU. A fresh 18-year-old, I entered the Department of Humanities in the application process, committing to at least a year of Creative Writing study as part of an English Department-issued Creative Writing scholarship. But after that…about a year and a half of whirlwind major-exploring. I finally settled again on English at the end of my Sophomore year because it was obvious to me that the best of all my worlds of interest was in literature. Ah, Literature. The connecting line between everyday society and Art, history and struggle, the individual need for expression and the chronicling of all mankind’s deepest desires throughout the ages. That’s what Literature and my English major meant to me. I was hopeful, confident, and oh so energized. The years took their toll.

To draw a bridge here, my study of French was innately connected to all my idealized fantasies of literature. And not just because a foreign language credit was required by BYU’s English curriculum. I could have taken American Sign Language. French is beautiful, mysterious, exciting, and part of a perpetually interesting culture. At least, so I thought, until I took French 101. And 102. And 201. Hated them all. French was also difficult, dizzying, complex, mundane, tedious, time-consuming. I had finished all my English course requirements by the end of my 4th year. I began this last school year with only French 201 and 202 to complete before graduation. And I was not optimistic. 201 was the bane of my life. But at the end of that dreadful fall semester, a tiny spark of hope crackled to a glow when I discovered that 202 was only a 3-credit course and I would only have to commute to Provo twice a week instead of five times. 202 held more pleasant surprises for me than I could have imagined. It was like one of my English Literature courses, except in French! And with all the lyrical richness and nuance of French culture. That, and I had one of the most sympathetic professors that I have ever had in my university career.

So here I am, about to accept my degree. A year ago if you would have asked me how excited I am to be finished, I would have told you that I can’t wait. Go ahead and ask me now. I am torn, nostalgic, and even emotional. Never regretful, just…reminiscent. I should have enjoyed French a little more, learned and remembered a little more along the way. Instead of reserving all my fond nostalgia for a too-quickly-over winter semester when it’s too late for me to go back and change my attitude about things. But I am of course, grateful. Without this last semester and its much-welcomed return to French culture and literary works, I would have been just as eager as before to drive away from campus with my windows down and all my course paperwork fluttering in the breeze. And I wouldn’t have met up with my innate yearning for BYU’s (or any college campus') atmosphere of learning and literature appreciation until at least another year down this long highway of 40 grueling hours a week of mind-numbing.

What did I learn from French 202? I learned about les rondeaux, les maximes, la rime féminine, symbolisme, and existentialisme; but I also re-learned everything that was packed into the back of my brain somewhere during those semesters when I went to class half asleep. “On n’est jamais si heureux ni si malheureux ce qu’on imagine » (La Rochefoucauld again. For some reason that quote sticks). Bring on Les Misérables unabridged, baby!

UPDATE

IT'S ELDER BEDNAR! He will be the commencement speaker on April 24th. All of you are also invited to attend the Departmental Convocation on Friday, April 25th. My department is Humanities, and it will be in the Marriott Center again, at 5 pm on Friday. You don't need tickets and you don't need to pay anything to get in. Happy Spring!

THE LIST OF SILLIES

Well, here it is; you asked for it! My phobias and fears. Hmm…I really haven't given a ton of thought to these before, but...let’s see.

• gross, hideous feet
• haunted houses or forests (it’s a love-hate thing)
• empty parking garages after work
• big spiders that aren’t easily vacuumable or squishable with 5 layers of paper towels
• spiders in the shower
• I am terrified of having kids (everything included, especially giving birth)
• vomit (omigosh, that smell)
• dark, quiet basements after a scary movie
• losing my wallet or other irreplaceable valuable (like my passport. Oh wait, I already DID lose that.)
• turning into an adult
• credit cards
• warts (used to get them a LOT.)
• zits (still do get those a LOT.)
• Sigmund Freud’s mind
• speaking in front of people
• getting old (I haven’t even learned how to be grown up yet!)
• the smell of fish

CLASS OF '08

Sorry to be cheap and not spend money on official announcements! But I'm graduating this April from BYU. At last at last! I will be walking Thursday, April 24th. Relatives, friends, etc. are invited to be in the Marriott Center by 3:45 pm on that day. Doors open at 2. Additional info at BYU's website. If you are a friend or family member, come. If not, don't. Just kidding; anybody who wants to come is invited and chances are if you're reading my blog you are a friend or family member! Commencement speaker is still TBA. But I've heard rumblings about Lou Holtz (aka Sid the Sloth). In which case Clint is suddenly interested.

If Dr Seuss created a Who Desert

It would have looked just like Arches.

So finally…here’s the scoop on our Moab trip. Clint and his friends played really well. I’m not just being nice when I say I was very impressed and they could have beaten every team there but maybe one. They won their first game and were about to win their second, but they hit misfortune when their star hitter, Bill, came down on someone’s foot (from the opposing team) and sprained it badly. His ankle was as purple and blue and yellow as a garden of pansies and in shape and texture similar to a family-sized can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle. Clint’s team didn’t have a single substitute, but luckily a Moab local volunteered to fill in. They still played great, but unfortunately Momentum didn’t show up on our side of the net and they lost every game of the tournament from there on out. Phooey. Saturday evening after the tournament and Sunday Clint and I visited Arches. I had never seen the Red Rock Wonderland before and I was in awe of all the asymmetrical, bulbous shapes that I swear might have been straight out of an animated Dr Seuss desert. Precariously balanced rocks, petrified hills, swirling pillars, rolling cliff faces, and sculpted arches captured my imagination and unfortunately the only thing to keep me from gleefully scrambling over the landscape as if it were a playground was the biting cold wind. Anybody up for a road trip to Moab this weekend? I hear it might hit 70!

In front of the Balancing Rock.


The wind was really cold. And I'm a wuss in the cold.


Overlook to Delicate Arch (too cold to do the actual hike to the arch.) Curtis and Heather kneeling in front. Tyson and his wife and new baby next to me and Clint.


The fiery furnace!


Trailhead to Devil's Garden. Is that what it's called?


The legs of Curtis and Clint on the left performing an amazing block which the camera was too slow to capture.




(In case you can't read it, the sign says: "FREE DIRT.")

YOU CAN'T TOP THIS STORY

You just CAN'T.

So Clint & I just got a new bishop in our ward. He's even newer in the ward than we are: he and his wife got back from a mission in November and apparently they only joined the ward in January. So anyway...as many of you know, Clint & I have yet to be called to speak or receive callings in the ward. This new bishop (who receives the go-getter award) took one of his counselors and last night went around to visit everybody in the ward. Some guy, huh? So at around 8:00 pm he comes up to apartment A12, knocks on the door, Clint answers, and I...I am standing in the kitchen in my bathrobe, no make-up, scraggle-mop hair, fixing an extra late dinner. I hear a low voice from the door say, "Hi, it's Bishop Layton," as Clint tries to tactfully delay them to give me time to sneak to the bedroom and put some dang clothes on already. No chance of actually looking pretty, oh no. But I was too late; they were already in the door and glimpsed ragamuffin me--fresh from a workout session--sprinting desperately to the bedroom and just as red-faced as can be. But seeing me in such a humiliating state didn't discourage them from asking us both to speak. Pah!

(Sorry...Arches and volleyball pictures up NEXT...)

HOW I SACRIFICED A SOUR PATCH KID FOR A WORTHY CAUSE

I know it’s been a while, my bad. The weekend of March 14, Clint and I took a short but much appreciated escapade to Moab. Clint was invited by some buds to play in a volleyball tournament with them. Gee, let’s see if I can remember all of their names: John, Dixon, Bill, Tyson, and Chris. Chris brought his wife, Heather; Clint and I roomed with them. Oh wow, kay…that’s a whole story by itself! That first night, Friday, was going to be a short night anyway because the boys had to get up at 6 the next morning to make it to their tournament game by 7. Yikes. So we go to bed at midnight; we’re thinking “Yeah, okay, we’re only gonna get 6 hours of sleep, it’s ok, we’re on vacation, we can deal.” Whatever, no biggie. But somewhere between like 1 and 2 am, I woke up to the loudest snoring I had ever heard. This was not normal snoring. This was the sound of a sick, angry bear rampaging around in the room looking for food and growling and snarling at everything in his path. It was so loud that apparently the other guys in the room next door heard it too! It was Chris. And we both still like him, don’t worry, but I’m telling you: it was amazing. Clint and I tossed and turned. I pulled a pillow over my head and packed it around my ears. No good. A couple of times I heard Heather nudge him and try to get him to turn over. But always, within less than a minute, those raucous snores began again. Finally, I remembered the sour patch kids lying on the table right next to our bed. I rolled over (the motel room was small enough that I didn’t have to get out of bed), fumbled around on the table, and finally found the open bag with my fingers. I listened to Curtis snoring for a minute to determine his position and distance in the dark. Then, I sneakily sent the sour patch kid hurling across the room! I heard a soft thud in the side of their bed and the snoring hesitated for an instant. Then started again. Oh goody. I fumbled for the bag again. Another sour patch kid. I listened again…then…hurl!!!! I heard a THWACK on the headboard--it must have been right above his head!!! Chris' snoring hitched in surprise, and to my relief he stopped without waking up! I rolled over and tried to fall asleep as quickly as possible before it started again. But sleep wasn’t quite fast enough. *SIGH*

No fear, there is a happy ending to this story. Thankfully, I have a sweet husband who wrapped his arm under my neck, then up and around my head so that his hand reached my ear and covered it completely. And so, happily nestled here with my head clamped between his shoulder and his hand, I somehow…finally…slept. Amazing how that works. (Oh, and, the next night, we bought ear plugs. ha ha)

(Pictures of the volleyball playing and Arches up next.)