Chocolate: A Self-Help Guide

Starting week three of being unemployed.

I didn't know what to do with myself today.  I've applied for dozens of jobs, and I'm sure a fitting position will open for me soon.  But it was weird.  I couldn't relax, or do things that I wanted to do, because I felt like I needed to get a job.  But a job isn't something you can just reach out and grab.  You have to wait for it.  I have a hard time waiting.

I felt like a waste of space.

Then I read this Thomas Jefferson quote (I keep a Jefferson quote blog):

"I have sometimes asked myself whether my country is the better for my having lived at all?  I do not know that it is.  I have been the instrument of doing the following things; but they would have been done by others; some of them, perhaps a little better."

He then goes on to list his accomplishments.

"The Declaration of Independence."
"I proposed the demolition of the church establishment, and the freedom of religion."
"The act prohibiting the importation of slaves."

If it's ok for Jefferson to feel like a waste of space, then it's ok for me to have blah days as well

A wise man told me that depression is a healthy, normal, and necessary time for reflection.

And I'd add to that: chocolate.  Depression is a time for chocolate.  The cause, and cure, of my current predicament.

Shoes and Mommy

I found my shoe.  In the garbage.  Thanks Claire.

Claire loves shoes now.  She'll walk around in our shoes.  She has learned how to say it and sign it.

She's also been saying and signing "daddy" for a few months now.  Kathy thought she heard Claire say "mommy" today.

"You hear that," Kathy said, "I think she she said mommy!"

Claire said it again, gesturing toward a magnet on the fridge.  A magnet of Ron Paul.

It kind of sounded like mommy.

some things are hard to photograph

This is the only picture from our tiny roadtrip last weekend, and it wasn't technically taken until we got home:

We needed a break—even from taking pictures, I guess.

As some of you already know, Christopher lost his job last week. The chocolate factory was his dream job of sorts, which made the lay-off that much more disappointing.  

So we drove to southern Utah and walked around in the hills.

We came back without a single picture from our change of scenery. No photo of our baby girl toddling up the trail, holding her daddy's hand high above her head. No footage of her screaming in delight at the riverbank, with sand between her fingers. No photo of the seriously kick-A food and generous hosts at my sister-in-law's house.

I lamented my lack of documentation, but I think it was enough just to be there together for a minute.

We up and moved here for this job. We settled into some ideas and dreams for this job. We even had a monthly chocolate budget because of this job. It was like, wait a minute, this isn't the plan—we haven't taken any pictures yet.

I don't think a picture would do anything justice anyway. There's something inspiring (and impossible to photograph) about watching your best friend be gracious and tactful and brave—especially when you feel like you wouldn't be if it were you. I don't know how to take a picture of that.

I'm appreciating being in this space together for a minute, this unplanned moment when the world's wide open and we're not sure yet how the scenery will change.

Vote for Peace

I usually save politics for my other blog.  But this one was too good not to share:

It hit home with me, because I voted for Obama in 2008. I thought he would bring the troops home, shut down Guantanamo, and stop wire-tapping us.

Toilet Water

When Claire drank from the toilet, it made me wonder: when was the last time I cleaned the toilet?  Also, whose kid is that?

free art and writing workshops. you're invited...

I know this girl who just does things.

What things? Like, anything you can think of. And when I hear about her newest project, I look around and think, Can you do that?

You can, apparently. Although I usually don't. Here's what she cooked up recently: The Billboard Poetry Project.

She was sick of billboards for laser surgery and boob jobs cluttering up the freeway. So she held a contest and the winning poem is going up on a series of billboards here in Provo.  

The whole idea is very cool, so you should check it out—especially the free workshops. I'm not sure how I fell in with such brilliant people, but they're gold, every one of 'em.

And, lest you suspect this is a personal plug, I want you to know that you shouldn't necessarily sign up for my workshop (although you'd be most welcome—we'll explore the outdoors, read some things, probably eat some food and you'll leave with a finished little piece of prose).

If you're not sure which class to sign up for, holler and I'll give you my two cents for free.

Everyone's welcome—to the workshops, to the reception and the art show. Just come create and celebrate.

A Corny Love Song

Yesterday was our 4th anniversary.  We ate at Pizzeria 712 (HIGHLY RECOMMENDED). The food tasted like exactly what I wanted to eat, and left me feeling like I'd eaten the equivalent of a salad made of rainbows, because I felt so healthy afterwards.  And they treated us like guests, honored guests.  When we got home, Kathy sang me a corny love song she wrote on the guitar.

Today Kathy woke at 5:30am, got ready, and left.  I told her it felt like the middle of the night.  She's spending the weekend at a work conference.

We don't spend nights apart often.  The last time I recall was a few years ago, when she went to Chicago to write.

Today I stayed home and took care of the baby.  When Kathy called in the afternoon, I hadn't yet showered, and I told her that I felt like I hadn't gotten anything done.  When she called this evening, I had showered, but still had not gotten anything done.  I hadn't wasted my day, but I had spent the majority of it watching baby girl.

Kathy has a wonderful way of telling me I'm not worthless.  And the way she says it, I believe it.

Kathy had a boyfriend in high school.  I think we've now been married longer than they dated.  And Kathy wasn't my first girlfriend.

But she feels like my first love.  And I'm sure she'd feel the same.  We had feelings when we dated our firsts, and heartache.  But it wasn't as real as what we have now.  It feels like a corny line from The Princess Bride.  But what could this be called if not true love?

Before any of you start swooning and envying the wonderful thing Kathy and I have going, I'll give you a little bit of perspective.

I didn't date anyone until after my mission (mostly because I was awkward, but I told myself I was following the prophet).  That's the equivalent of binding someone's feet to their butt for the first two decades of their life, and then untying them just in time to run the Boston marathon.

My college girlfriends could tell you stories that you would think they had made up.

I'll tell you one now.

My first girlfriend left for a study abroad.  We had dated for a semester, and she would be gone for a semester.  We emailed each other.  I tended to notice how often she mentioned other boys.  I was insecure enough back then that I let it get to me.  So I broke up with her.  You know.  Over email.

Email is wonderful, but it is inadequate at clearly expressing the whole range of human emotions.  And I guess it's a really jerky way to dump someone.

So a few phone calls, and many tears later (mostly mine), I found myself on the phone with my mom.  Now, I don't know how she talked me into letting her do what she did.

My mom thinks I'm wonderful.  I think I'm pretty wonderful too.  She couldn't believe that someone would be so rude to me.  Getting email dumped aside, you'd have to be an idiot to let me go.  There are many fish in the sea.  But I'm a like a magic narwhal, not a stinky fish.  So when my mom asked if she could call my ex.  I gave her the number.

I can only imagine how that conversation went down.  My ex called me about twenty minutes later.  By the tone of her voice, I got the impression that she thought I was mentally disturbed.

"You had your mom call me?  Your mom?"
"More let than had."
Click.

So that was awkward.

Did you know BYU offers free therapy to students?  Yeah.  I'm really glad I discovered that before I met Kathy.  Turns out I had a few crinkles to smooth out before I was perfect.  Regardless of what my mother thinks.

you can't make this stuff up

You need to know something before I tell this story:

Our little girl loves dogs. LOVES dogs. Doggy was her first word. And almost her first ASL sign. When we're outside, she'll spot a dog from a mile away and wave her arms and shout.

Story time:

We go on a walk pretty much every day. Baby girl rides in the stroller on the way out. And she's not much of a baby anymore because she walks and pushes the stroller on the way back.

On one particular return trip this week, she was exploring every interesting little thing on the sidewalk—when she saw an ant.

She dropped to her knees and tried to touch it, but he was pretty speedy. She kept following the ant with her finger, trying to touch it. She looked up at me. She looked back at the ant. And she whispered, "Doggy."

It sounds like such a simple mix-up. And it is. She has neither the experience nor the language to name the ant correctly. But it was more than that. When she said doggy, she sounded so reverent, or in love. I just don't look at ants the same anymore.

I also don't look at strawberries the same. They make the perfect party hats...

The Future Is Now

Kathy said I needed to blog more, in response to something I said after seeing Claire do this:

She's been walking a lot, and pushing her little cart around.  I said, "She's preparing for her future career of pushing a shopping cart along the side of the road."

Speaking of future careers, I've been working at a chocolate factory.  Whenever I tell people I work at a chocolate factory, I can't help but say it "CHOCOLATE FACTORY!!!" with several exclamation points.

Then they ask me how I like it, and what I do.  I explain it's a small company, so I do a little bit of everything.  Shipping, QA, janitorial, customer service, marketing, and production all in one.

But how do I like it?

It's work.  I'd rather EAT chocolate, while sitting on my couch, reading a book, and snuggling with my girls.

It's a great job. I like it, but I like being home with my family most.

A plug for my company:

Amano is awesome.  We pay our farmers two, three, even four times Fair Trade.  That way, we get the best beans, and our farmers are able to stay in business and keep producing the best beans.

We have won awards nationally and internationally.  We make the best chocolate the U.S. has ever made.

Our bars taste like lemons, blackberries, nuts, marshmallows, grapefruit, and bergamot; but we add no flavors.  The cocoa beans flavor our bars.  We preserve those flavors by using single-origin beans. 

why i heart provo: an update

People generally have strong feelings about Provo.

I've never seen anyone shrug and say, "Provo. Meh. Whatevs." Unless, of course, it's too small a town for them to have heard of before.

There are people who grew up here with some pretty amazing Provo pride. Others moved here for college and have opinions connected to their grades or how many dates they got. Others have never lived here, but know the stereotypes and roll their eyes. And more—some love, some hate.

I can see where they're all coming from. I hated Provo the first time I lived here. And I was a little nervous to move back.

But put me down as one who loves Provo. Loves it.

• Our house? Old, kind of quirky—and absolutely made for us. We store our bikes in a cute entryway. The baby's room is the coziest, prettiest little space. And she sleeps better here than any of the 3 places we've lived since she was born.

• Neighborhood? Just seems so neighborly and adorable. And we live close to everything, but on a quiet street. So I can go anywhere with my bike and the baby trailer without getting nervous. Also, the first time I went riding, I actually thought, "Wow! The trees are greener here!" Then I realized I was wearing sunglasses that make trees look greener.

• Food? Awesome. We cruised over to Bombay House with just a stroller and our feet a few weeks back. When we finally go to Communal, we'll just walk down the street. And have you ever eaten honey bran muffins from the Provo Bakery? Well, don't. Because they're always sold out by the time I get over there.

• Job? Awesome. I mean, Christopher works in a chocolate factory. Also, I got a writing gig that I do from home that I absolutely love. Our commutes rock.

• Not being students? Provo's a different place now that we don't have homework hanging over our heads. It's easy to find fun stuff to do—on the cheap. One particular outing included welcoming the first non-stop commercial flight from Denver landing at the Provo Airport, with all its accompanying small-town fanfare. 

• People? I saved the best for last. I've heard all about Provo being a hot spot for self-righteousness and poor driving. But some of the loveliest people live here. I would tell you all their names, but you don't have time to read a blog post quite that long.

Say what you will. And then come visit us.
I love this town.