Spunky

Today I was looking through an old 1941 yearbook with one of the residents, and she was asking me to read a few of the notes that people wrote to her, as she had trouble reading the small, curly handwriting. I happily obliged, and began to read aloud from a very long note in this fancy cursive (sad that cursive is such a dying art). Anyway, I begin reading. (For the sake of the story, we'll just call this resident Meg.)

"Dear Meg... I think you're the tops. You are a really swell girl and I've really loved getting to know you.... "

(Do you not love their slang? tops, swell.. in fifty years our kids are going to be rolling their eyes at the weird slang we have adopted in our generation)

"...I was pretty sad when you said you were going steady, not because I didn't think you were capable, but because I always wanted to go steady with you, and it was sad that you were unavailable. I liked you even more than Nancy, even when I was dating her. After a while I realized she was just like everybody else. But you aren't, Meg. You aren't like all the other girls. You are really swell. And I'm not just saying the same old B.S. that people write in yearbooks..."

(yes, they said B.S. back then, too) 

"....I really mean that. And I know a lot of other guys who feel the same. I am really glad that we are friends, even though I'd like to be more than friends. Just remember you can always come to me for anything.... " 

Oh yes, it got pretty spicy. Turns out Meg was quite the man-killer!

I never doubted. I hope that if I get Alzheimer's, I'm the Meg of the place. She always laughs at her own jokes, sneaks food to the dog under the table, and is just spunky.
Then we of course had to look up his picture. And as soon as I pointed at it Meg said,
"Oh HIM? He's ugly!"
That made us all laugh.  He wasn't even that bad looking. She apparently just had a lot of room to be choosey.

Later as we flipped to the pages, next to some random girl's picture, Meg had written a line across the page pointed to her face and one word. "CROOK!"

I love her. I love them all. I love my job. :)

L O V E L Y

Please tell me you don't think this is FANTASTIC.

White Knight

So, seeing as I am not living in Kyiv anymore, it is time to jump back to this much-neglected blog. (If you have nothing else to do and wish to read of my adventures, you can find them here.)

Pictures always make everything better. I am already missing this place

Right now I am in London, sitting by myself in the London Airport and eating a lovely breakfast of eggs and salmon and toast with marmalade, in my little corner, in my hat. I must say I feel quite sophisticated. This is not to say that I am, but do I have a feeling London has a way of making even the most uncoordinated creature feel sophisticated. I am really gonna miss this whole independence travel the world adventuring thing.  But that's an entirely different rant. I made a mistake last night, and it happened somewhere in-between Kings Cross and Royal Victoria.

     Here is what you find on the platform when you board the tube. For some reason I am fascinated by the way they phrase things

You see, I went to Kyiv with one carry-on, one large suitcase, and one medium one. I ended up having to throw away the medium one, send the large one home, and have been living out of a teeny tiny carry-on for the past 18 days (Britney, your backpack has SAVED ME, ha) How I have accomplished this downsize, I still do not know. As you can imagine, my little carry-on has gotten significantly heavier since we started out, as I have been picking up souvenirs here and there and everywhere, and after visiting 15 cities and 7 countries, my suitcase is REALLY HEAVY. I'd say almost a good fifty pounds. That may not sound like a lot, but when you throw in a backpack and take into account my marshmallow arms, it is quite a challenge running around to different train stations and airports all night long.
Last night as we were trying to find our hotel, we got a tad bit lost. It got a little tricky pulling around all that luggage. At one point, I was trying to haul my suitcase up a big flight of stairs when a young man going the other way decided to stop and ask if I needed any help. I imagine I looked pretty flustered, which is great because it probably hid the bright red hue that surely hit my cheeks the second he turned around and spoke to me in his lovely british accent (then again, probably not, thank you genetics). I was already half-way up the stairs, and if course my instincts tell me that you can totally do this on your own. So of course I told him thank you very much but I was alright. He asked again throwing in this huge smile. I really think I looked pathetic at this point. "Are you sure?" ---yes, thank you so much! and kept right on swinging and hauling my little 5-ton suitcase up those stony stairs.
A few seconds later I was totally kicking myself. What a nice guy, and why in the world did I turn him down? Not in an, oh, he was really cute, swoon, sort of way, but in a, wow, he was really being kind and I should have let him help me sort of way. Because really, this world is so caught up in the business-woman working women doing everything on her own woman sort of thing. A man opens the door for us, and we tell him, "thanks but I am perfectly able to do that on my own." Then another man doesn't open the door for us, and we start ranting off about how Chivalry is Dead and how men have no respect for women anymore.
Well, what do we expect them to do?
I decided that next time a man offers to help me with something, I will let him and be all the more grateful for it. Yes, I am perfectly capable of doing it on my own, but that is the tried and true system, and it is fabulous! To all you many men out there who aren't afraid to be a gentleman, thank you! I praise you! You are appreciated! Keep it up.
That's my rant for the day.

Now off to board a plane! AMERICA here I come :)

woah.

Four and a half days until I fly out.
All my friends are going back up to USU today....
And I am getting hit with a prodigious wave of mixed feelings.

Excitement. Anxiety. Nostalgia. Happiness. Terror. Determination. Fear. Optimism. Pessimism. Elation.  

All topped with excitement, of course! But wow.... hello roller coaster? What?

Woah . . four and a half days.

Curious

Something interesting has happened.
Five different people have tried to set me up with five different men, all in the past 7 days. A lady in my ward. My boss. 2 co-workers. A friend I haven't talked to since high school. Yes, that makes 5.

And I ask.

Why now?

I am, in fact, leaving the country in 8 days, and it is for quite a significant amount of time.

And now you choose to try and set me up? 

"Oh hey there, you're cute andheythatdatewasgreatandhey see ya!"

Well, good timing.

Ha.

I laugh.

Reasons you know you are a music major... at heart

 **Disclaimer: I am no longer a music major. But I am keeping this list, because it definitely still applies to my attitude about... everything

1. You note the part-writing errors in the hymns at church

2. You start stressing out when the leading tone doesn't resolve

3. You get Solfege stuck in your head ALL the time, and sometimes you sing it in the shower. Really.

4. When you are listening to music on the radio, you find enjoyment in being able to find "do" at any given moment

5. When your brother Bryan is juicing oranges, you figure out what "note" the juicer's motor is humming and you freak out with joy when you run to the piano and realize you were actually right (Yes, it was indeed an A. Be proud)

6. You start a blog just because you're excited about the playlist

7. Um.... you're pretty much completely DEAF. (okay, maybe that one is just from stupidity of loving to listen to loud music when I am cleaning the bathroom or snowmobiling or driving alone....or maybe it's just selective hearing...we'll never know.)

8. You feel like a total snob when watching people conducting hymns....because it drives you nuts. (Because of course you had to take an entire course on conducting and you learned the right way to conduct. And they are not, in fact, doing it accordingly. Yes, that bar is, indeed, the downbeat. Bless their hearts. See what a snob this has made me? dang it....)

9. You can't listen to classical music without starting to analyze it

10. You get really excited about modulations.

Yes, I was a Music Therapy major. Yes, I loved it. It is still a huge part of my life, and I am so grateful for my time at Utah State.  If you ever wish to know why I changed to nursing, when science is hands-down my WORST subject, I will tell you. If you ever wish to know if I survived nursing school...well... stay tuned. So do I.