Spring Projects

Today, I've been working on school, getting the last two projects done for this quarter of baking school. Next block of classes starts on Saturday, and I still have an exam to take and all the paperwork to do, so I was cutting this one a little close. This is my 20 minutes between lamination turns of the last puff pastry.  

I realized I have 94 days until my birthday. Crazy.

The weather looks great, it has me excited about my herb garden this year. I don't have a lot of time, so I'm thinking I'll just do herbs and some peppers. I love peppers, and bell peppers can get spendy. I adore farmer's markets, as well, and I think this year I'm going to have to procure most of my fresh produce from there. I should find a handsome man to go walking to market with. :-) One of my favorite summer pastimes.

I also decided to pursue training as a professional chocolatier. Don't panic, dear concerned readers, this training will be postponed until AFTER graduation from current culinary training. However, it will be a bit expensive. Thus, I will be pursuing means of "extra" income (is there such a thing?) to better enable me to afford such a school. I mean, lets be honest, there is never going to be "enough" money, so I may as well put my current fixed expenses on my current income, then add extra jobs for this extra schooling. Completely putting off professional training until I am "financially secure" seems a little silly--especially since chocolate training could greatly increase my earning potential.

Made sense to me, anyway. It will require much care in time management, however.

One of the first "extra" jobs I accepted was a large crochet commission. I say "large" in terms of "many hours," not large in terms of size. The finished product will be approximately the size of a standard teddy bear. The client wants a plushy version of Ganesh, the elephant/Siddah god of the Hindu pantheon.

What a project.

I've been working on the design for 3 days, hashing out logistics of proportion, weight, stabilization, etc. and doing a ton of simple-but-time-consuming math.  I hope to begin the design this weekend. I have a 5 week deadline, so I really can't postpone begin time much farther out than that. I'm a little intimidated, but I'm excited for the challenge.

Lessons From a Spelling Test

This post will be dealing with some generalities. Discussion is welcome, but for my friends and readers I would ask that you take the general spirit of the idea, rather than the nit-picky details, because I'm not really at a point to hammer those out right now.

Which leads me into the idea presented in this blog post: I am frequently considered an intelligent, well-rounded, articulate individual who pays attention to the exact phrasing of words to communicate precisely what I intend, in as many layers as I intend, with quite a bit of control so as not to mis-speak. This has occurred since I was a child. I remember particular friends of mine from elementary school who would intentionally look through the stack of corrected spelling tests to try to find MY grade, and then make fun of me if I missed a word, because I was supposed to be "smart." I was frequently compared to a very smart boy named Alex--this comparison occurred at various times all the way up to our ACT scores and college scholarship money. I don't think Alex or I ever had a direct competition--it never even occurred to me to care WHAT his grades were--but the comparison was there. I adapted the policy of never telling anyone my grades, from elementary to high school. Not because I cared about FERPA or anything, but because I did not want to be made fun of any more than I already was.

Not only did this artificial and wasteful comparison destroy any elementary school chance of actual friendship with Alex and his group of friends (all intelligent, funny, witty people, whose company I greatly enjoyed), which opportunity is highly regrettable, but it also undermined my social and personal confidence. It led me develop an acute sense of shame, like I was never allowed to make a mistake. Because somehow, MY mistakes meant more than the mistakes of everyone else around me. They justified their misspelled words because mine were printed poorly; then tore me down for not being "as smart as I thought I was." (Read: as smart as THEY thought I was). This fed a long cycle of incredibly low self esteem, fueled by shame and pervasive feelings of incompetence, not only in the orthographic area of my budding linguistic academic career, but in all aspects of my life--music, athletics, math, fashion, in-class test review games, social skills and the ability to trust friendships. (The only thing it didn't effect directly, ironically, is my religious understanding. I've never associated shame with my personal religious beliefs. Apparently that is a rare thing, even among other people of my faith. That's a different topic, though).

But that's all kid stuff, right? As a well-adjusted adult, I can recognize those outlying factors of the immature peers and misguided adults of my childhood and move forward. I can prove to myself that I am better than that, by accomplishing thing A, B, C, and D that *I* want to do, regardless of social expectation. If I DON'T accomplish ALL THE THINGS and FULFILL ALL THE POTENTIAL and RISE ABOVE ALL THE HATERS and IGNORE ALL THE HURT FEELINGS, I have *chosen* to remain a victim. If I choose to remain a victim, then I have really done this to myself....and I am just a shamefully pathetic adult, a Victim, who had so much potential but just wasn't as good as we thought she was. 

Woah. It's like the Spelling-Test Police of my elementary years learned that sort of behavioral mindset....from their adult parents. Which adult world now has even more tools of judgement through our friend The Interwebs.

Well, joke's on you, Life Grammar Police. Because I'm done carrying the load. I is kind. I is smart. I is important. And I will find habibi who lets me just be a great person, faults and all, without turning my mistakes and weaknesses into character flaws. But that has to start with ME accepting that.  The only good answer to this nasty cycle of shame (direct or indirect) is a true understanding of the Gospel. Perhaps this is the "curse" that Nephi refers to in his lament in 2 Nephi 4? 

" 34 O Lord, I have ^atrusted in thee, and I will ^btrust in thee forever. I will not put my ^ctrust in the arm of flesh; for I know that cursed is he that putteth his ^dtrust in the arm of flesh. Yea, cursed is he that putteth his trust in man or maketh flesh his arm.

 35 Yea, I know that God will give ^aliberally to him that asketh. Yea, my God will give me, if I ^bask ^cnot amiss; therefore I will lift up my voice unto thee; yea, I will cry unto thee, my God, the ^drock of my ^erighteousness. Behold, my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God. Amen."
The only way to break the cycle is to stop depending on people around us for validation or fulfillment, and instead allow the Lord to fill that need in our lives.  And that requires true repentance, not shame and self-depreciation.

And a pretty hefty dose of "mind your own beeswax."

Checkpoint

Crazy couple weeks, but I'm settling back into/into a new standard routine.


I decided that rather than simply focusing on things I was good at, I would take some "thorns in my side" ('I don't play piano because...', 'I'm not a songwriter because...', 'I can't learn how to dance like that, because...', etc) and work on whittling them down to size, with the intent of tossing them out all together. I haven't even TRIED many of those things. Which is dumb! No more saying "I'm not" or "I can't" do things I want to until I've actually tried them. So, update!

So, I signed up for a Songwriting class via the Berklee's College of Music. Songwriting is a super fun class, and helpful in all my creative endeavors--poetry, songs, recipes, organization and interior design, sculpture, cake decorating, food plating, and eventually drawing (haven't gotten there yet). I absolutely love it! 

I'm taking a nutrition class. Also fabulous. 

I'm ALMOST finished with Baking II, I just have puff pastry, choux paste swans, and a some paperwork between me and Advanced Bakery III: Classical and Modern Gateaux and Tortes. 

ALMOST finished with Culinary II--3 dishes and GOBS of paperwork (including finding some of the pictures) between me and Culinary III: Beef, Pork, Lamb, and Special Diets. 

Yay, paperwork.

(Seriously, though, I need to keep up with that better. Not my favorite part....but necessary. And more obnoxious when there are piles of it to be done.)

So that's official classes. Update on Other Stuff!

--I called my friend and arranged to rent her full sized keyboard. It will fit in my room pretty well, I think, and I'm very excited. I pick it up tomorrow evening. 

--I decided to re-do the Personal Progress booklet from the Young Women's program. The new book has some different goals in it, and a whole new value (Virtue), and I think it will provide some really good focus to my personal scripture study and development. 

--I bought my first set of temple clothes, and my dress is really pretty. Also, I bought a basic bag to put it all in, and the bag is a very pretty purple-y maroon color ironically but accurately named "Merlot." I greatly appreciate the irony in naming a temple bag after a variety of wine. That might have been part of why I bought that particular bag. ;-) 

--I realized that, even after my dessert attempts and other tasks, I still have almost 15 pounds of pears sitting on my table, ready to be cooked. Combine that with the half peck of apples, the bowl of meyer lemons, the three sections of gingerroot, and the grapefruit ALSO sitting on my table....I have much fruit preservation in my very near future. Which is totally fine. I'm going to buy some jam jars this evening after I get my homework done. 

Speaking of homework, gotta get back to it. Here's to blasting preconceived self-notions to metaphorical smithereens!  

Stay-At-Home Mom

I did not go to work today. But, today was full of work. 
Today I have made a pizza, some muffins, and a hat.
Also I made changes, friendships, rest, and thoughts, and also
I ran errands. So many
errands. 

I also worried about money, and time, and health, and family, and boys.
Well, boy
or rather
the thought that I am loved by someone, and how foreign
that idea still seems to me.
But He says it is so. So it must be.

I ponder such a curious idea, as I change her clothes, and help her with
the most basic of needs
and cheer her on when she takes a few steps in a row--
and then I adjust her oxygen tank so she can
breathe

I sleep early, and wake up when I hear her
crying. I wake her up completely; she can sleep again
but only after
pills water blanket nightlight
oxygen tank
and a video clip of her grandchildren
sending their love.

I tuck her in, return to my chair. I lean back,
blanket around my shoulders. I start to dream of
tasks, and chores, and errands and work and     school
as the whirring of the compressor
lulls me back to sleep.

Piano

I'm a musician. Vocals, instrumentals, jazz, classical, Broadway, standard, songwriting, lyrics, theory, whatever.  I love it. I would say that while I am by no means the best in any given circle at any one aspect of music, I am generally very well-rounded. It works for me. 

There is one gap in my music education, though, and a big one: I don't play the piano. 

Notice, it's not that I "can't" play the piano. I DON'T play the piano. 

I've given various excuses over the years, the primary one being that I can't get my fingers to coordinate that well, and that my brain only processes instrumentation up through the number 5 (allowing for 4 mallets, two-hand drums, valved brass instruments, bugles, bass guitar/rhythm guitar; excusing myself from most reed instruments, various flutes, lead guitar, and two-hand keyboard instruments). 

I was sitting the other day, sorting through my music I've accumulated through the years, and ran across my beginner piano books. You know, the ones I was "forced" to practice with as a child, full of stickers with my  sisters' names and my next to them, and a bunch of red-pencil notes, fingerings, and increasingly frustrated marks from my piano teacher as my sisters moved forward into more advanced books and I stayed behind. 

Suddenly, I saw those books in a totally different light. An image of my animated alter-ego popped into my head, calling me out on years of skirting my way around my musician piano-talent-development responsibilities. 

"Um, hey Self--why do you still have those books?? Seriously." 

insert mental blustery insulted sounds, that Animated Alter Ego would even ASK such a question.  Of COURSE I was keeping those books! For memories because my sisters would want them  because---wait, why do I have these, again??

As my mental protestations quieted, I began to listen to AAE: 

            "You don't need these books. You hated them growing up! To you, they became a symbol of competition between what was otherwise a very congenial truce between you and your sisters. You let those stupid little stickers, and the comments of one (actually very nice, close friend) piano teacher convince yourself that YOU CAN'T. You don't even like this style!  You are a totally different kind of musician, and you love it. These books are emotional clutter symbols. As if, if you somehow conquer these books (which, PS, you won't, cuz you hate them) you will undo all the regret of not learning piano younger, and not banding together with your sisters in mutual musical awesomeness. The unfortunate choice of not continuing in a different style, with a different teacher, the way you wanted to, and therefore cementing the idea that YOU CAN'T. Not setting a different example for your brother, who then ALSO thought these stupid books were the only path to piano mastery, and therefore also quit--even though he really did want to play. Just like you.  

               Scrap the books. Toss the emotional clutter. You do what you want!  You want to learn the piano, SO BAD. So do it.  Frankly, Sabs, you are a fabulous musician. Your brain can process all sorts of information very rapidly, regardless of whether the total pieces to track are over the number 5. That's a load of bull. And no more crap about not getting your fingers to coordinate, either, Miss "I-Freaking-Rock-At-Hand-Drums, Master-of-Craft-Crochet, Cooking, Dessert Designer".  Almost EVERYTHING you enjoy as hobbies involve your hands and fingers being trained. They are super smart. They can do it--they are just waiting for you."

If I had a list of "10-second periods of time which majorly impacted my life," this would definitely be on it. 

It was SUCH an awesome feeling to just toss those silly books right in the "go-away" pile. I knew my sister had good memories of the songs in that book, and the respect for those memories was the only thing that kept me from burning the whole stinking stack. I then turned around and messaged my friend the Professional Piano Player and asked to buy a copy of his beginner piano book. 

I'm SO EXCITED to finally learn how to play!!

Next to Godliness

As I look around the room

I take note of the piles

and piles 

and piles 

of stuff. 

There are books and pain and anguish

over there against the wall

and towers of paper sadness 

spilling out into the hall

My eyes look past the mountains of 

clothes and loathing and guilt

and look toward camera droppings

stacked in boxes that I built.

The springed and stuffed table, 

with its pillows and memories and shame

is stacked up to the ceiling

with things I cannot name. 

My treasures lie amongst the mess

and sometimes I can glance

the kind of person I could be

if I but take the chance. 

I seize a sack, in hand and mind,

and--Seeing that I can 

release the obligation--

change "I Was," to who I Am.

As the hours tick by slowly

I clear the dross and broken dreams

and also trinkets, and I realize

that my space is--finally--clean.

Poetry and Resolution Origins

I've been trying to finish a poetry project. Unfortunately, the more I keep working on it, the more I keep returning to old topics and new faces. I realize that the best poetry I write comes from things that resonate deeply within myself. I have struggled writing about joyful times in my life, and the simple pleasures that bring so much happiness to my life every day. I also struggle writing poetry about the middle details--the people around me, the beautiful lands and cities of Utah, the politics and issues I feel passionate about, etc. I find it difficult to write when my mind is not focused. Instead of crafting words about the prompt, my brain just keeps going back to the underlying topic, whatever that happens to be. 

Today, my mind was not focused. As is often experienced by women of my age and situation, I will admit: my brain was twitterpaiting itself over a boy. 

Stupid brain. 

To distract said brain from aforementioned (and thoroughly unproductive) activity, I decided to take a more productive path. "Brain," says I, to my Brain, "Brain, I want you to actually use words, and come up with the spiritual gifts you observe in this Boyperson that you find captivating unto distraction--no, not yet, Brain, come back!...--sigh--.Okay, you back?  Focus, please. a-Hem. Now, compile those into a list, figure out which ones you want to emulate, and pick a few to work on this year. Come up with some systems of improvement, write them down--then pretend like you came up with them 10 days ago and call them New Years Resolutions.  Ready--go." 

And that's how 2014's self-improvement plan came into being. 

...Silly boys.

~~~~~

New Years Resolutions:  "And now you know....the REST of the story!"