This morning I went to campus a half hour earlier than normal so that I could print some stuff and assemble a portfolio. Right now it's relatively cold and snowy here in Provo, so I put my hood over my head and waited for the bus.
The bus came to pick me up and I noticed as it approached me that the door was open. I was wondering if the bus driver expected me to board the moving bus, and I think that I may have even began my running start when the bus did actually come to a full stop. I boarded.
Then, on our way up 7th East, the bus driver would open the doors and invite anyone he saw walking up the street to catch a ride to the Wilkinson Center. It's funny to me that he would do it. It's even funnier that no one accepted his offer. Perhaps they thought they needed bus passes. I still don't know whether or not they did---I don't know if the bus driver was in the mood to let anyone on the bus, or if he was just reminding bus pass holders that they had the option of riding the warm bus all the way to campus. I'm just glad that I was on it.
While we're on the subject of spoilers...
My family has had a little difficulty this year keeping secrets. As you can see by the last post, we hate to find things out before it's actually time to. Here are some family spoiler stories. Of course, not wanting to spoil anything for you, I've hidden the spoiler text so that you actually have to highlight it to read what's written. That way, if you don't want to know yet, you don't have to.
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Coming home from a mission and reentering the world is delightful. You have a year and a half worth of movies to catch up on. And you get to read the next Harry Potter without feeling that you've had to wait for it. As soon as I was home, I grabbed Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, the fifth book, and started reading. To my disappointment, I realized that I couldn't quite remember all the details from the other books. Instead of going to sparksnotes.com, I foolishly asked my mother, who reads the last chapter of a book before she reads anything else anyway.
I said, "I don't quite remember the whole story with Sirius Black. I know that everyone thought he was bad and he was actually good and that he's Harry's godfather, but I don't really remember any of the other details." My mom replied, "Well, I remember that he died trying to save Harry." I started shrieking at my mother, "HE'S STILL ALIVE AT THE BEGINNING OF BOOK FIVE! HE'S STILL ALIVE AT THE BEGINNING OF BOOK FIVE!"
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Did you know that according to Chicago, Blood should be lowercased? Here's one instance where I don't agree with Chicago. Anyway. So this summer, Brother 1 and Sister-in-Law went to pick up Brother 3 from the Las Vegas airport. Brother 3 said, "You'll never guess what I just saw on the plane---"
"---I saw this shirt that says Dumbledore dies on page 596."
My sister-in-law started shrieking, "I'm still reading the book! I'm still reading the book!"
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
We planned to see this movie as a family on Thanksgiving. Of course, I assumed that everyone had read the book. Mom and Brother 3 went to see it earlier in the day on the East Coast. She called after the movie, and I put her on speakerphone so that they could talk to everyone.
Mom said, "Well, I'm not going to ruin it for you this time, Cicada. I'm not going to tell you who dies at the end."
I replied, "I've read the book, Mom. I know that it's Cedric."
Brother 1 started yelling, "I never read the book! I never read the book!"
24, season 4
It's ironic that I was able to spoil this one for Brother 2 because I haven't seen it yet. I got hooked on 24 earlier this semester when I borrowed season 1 from Sister-in-Law. I've dutifully watched all three seasons that are released on DVD, and I know I'll have about three weeks to watch season 4 before season 5 starts. But, you see, they've started airing commercials for season 5...
On Wednesday I was with Brother 2 and I commented, "You know it's kindof annoying that all the commercials for season five of 24 give away the ending of season 4---that everyone believes that Jack Bauer is dead and all..."
Brother 2 yelled, "I haven't seen season four!"
"I thought you had!"
"No! When would I have watched it? It hasn't been released yet!"
"I thought that you would have watched it on TV last year."
"No! I don't watch much TV, Cicada. I watch Lost and Law & Order with you, and then I watch House. That's it."
"Well... you would have seen the commercials at one point or another."
"No I wouldn't have! I don't watch enough TV to! Thanks a lot for ruining everything!"
I have to admit. I hate it when things are ruined for me, but there is some thrill in being the ruiner. Even if I am doing it unintentionally. It's just funny.
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Coming home from a mission and reentering the world is delightful. You have a year and a half worth of movies to catch up on. And you get to read the next Harry Potter without feeling that you've had to wait for it. As soon as I was home, I grabbed Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, the fifth book, and started reading. To my disappointment, I realized that I couldn't quite remember all the details from the other books. Instead of going to sparksnotes.com, I foolishly asked my mother, who reads the last chapter of a book before she reads anything else anyway.
I said, "I don't quite remember the whole story with Sirius Black. I know that everyone thought he was bad and he was actually good and that he's Harry's godfather, but I don't really remember any of the other details." My mom replied, "Well, I remember that he died trying to save Harry." I started shrieking at my mother, "HE'S STILL ALIVE AT THE BEGINNING OF BOOK FIVE! HE'S STILL ALIVE AT THE BEGINNING OF BOOK FIVE!"
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Did you know that according to Chicago, Blood should be lowercased? Here's one instance where I don't agree with Chicago. Anyway. So this summer, Brother 1 and Sister-in-Law went to pick up Brother 3 from the Las Vegas airport. Brother 3 said, "You'll never guess what I just saw on the plane---"
"---I saw this shirt that says Dumbledore dies on page 596."
My sister-in-law started shrieking, "I'm still reading the book! I'm still reading the book!"
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
We planned to see this movie as a family on Thanksgiving. Of course, I assumed that everyone had read the book. Mom and Brother 3 went to see it earlier in the day on the East Coast. She called after the movie, and I put her on speakerphone so that they could talk to everyone.
Mom said, "Well, I'm not going to ruin it for you this time, Cicada. I'm not going to tell you who dies at the end."
I replied, "I've read the book, Mom. I know that it's Cedric."
Brother 1 started yelling, "I never read the book! I never read the book!"
24, season 4
It's ironic that I was able to spoil this one for Brother 2 because I haven't seen it yet. I got hooked on 24 earlier this semester when I borrowed season 1 from Sister-in-Law. I've dutifully watched all three seasons that are released on DVD, and I know I'll have about three weeks to watch season 4 before season 5 starts. But, you see, they've started airing commercials for season 5...
On Wednesday I was with Brother 2 and I commented, "You know it's kindof annoying that all the commercials for season five of 24 give away the ending of season 4---that everyone believes that Jack Bauer is dead and all..."
Brother 2 yelled, "I haven't seen season four!"
"I thought you had!"
"No! When would I have watched it? It hasn't been released yet!"
"I thought that you would have watched it on TV last year."
"No! I don't watch much TV, Cicada. I watch Lost and Law & Order with you, and then I watch House. That's it."
"Well... you would have seen the commercials at one point or another."
"No I wouldn't have! I don't watch enough TV to! Thanks a lot for ruining everything!"
I have to admit. I hate it when things are ruined for me, but there is some thrill in being the ruiner. Even if I am doing it unintentionally. It's just funny.
The Present Month
My mother's best friend used to come over to our house around Christmastime and hide all the gifts that she had bought for her two daughters in our closets. She couldn't hide them in her own house because they'd hunt them down and find them. Of course, hiding them in our house only meant that the girls would hunt them down in our house and find them. There was no easy solution.
In our family, we had a different problem. Mother wouldn't hide our gifts, but she'd forget them in various places and then send us looking for something in that place. "Cicada, please go downstairs. There's a pile of bags by the computer. Look for a sticky note pad and bring it back to me." In looking for the sticky note pad, I'd come across a baseball cap with an American flag on it that was pretty much precisely what I had dreamed of receiving for Christmas (my tastes have changed dramatically since then; although it was the perfect gift at the time, I realize now that the hat was hideous and I curse the 80s).
I'd come up the stairs dejectedy, holding the sticky notes. I'd give them to my mother and explain what else I had found in the bags downstairs. Christmas had effectively been ruined.
The other kids had similar experiences and it was time we worked out a new system with Mom. We all decided that from then on, all our Christmas gifts would be found under her bed and we would simply never, ever look under her bed around Christmastime. We all knew the reward of suspense when the gifts were finally opened on Christmas day. And the system worked.
December 15th is my birthday. Since college, I've known what I was getting for my birthday because there has been a need and it has been filled. My freshman year, I needed a shower robe so that I could walk safely to the community showers every day. I received a shower robe that I still use daily and still looks brand new. My junior year, I received bedding since my down comforter at the time had lost too many feathers and was little more than a couple of sheets sewn together. I still have the blanket that she sent; it's on my bed, still comforting me.
The next two birthdays were spent on the mission. The first birthday, the gift was a surprise. She sent me a gold necklace. She explained that next birthday, she'd be sending me a fish charm for the necklace, since I was spending a year and a half as a fisher of men.
As you can see from the picture, I wore this necklace at all times during my mission. I didn't take it off to shower, sleep, or play mud soccer. It was a perfect gift for a missionary since it was small and meaningful.
Last year, my first birthday home after the mission, I received a digital camera, which has taken most of the photos you've seen on my blog.
But this year... There are many things that I want, of course. This ends up happening every year. I want something, and my wish is fulfilled. A couple days ago I was talking to my mom on the phone and I facetiously asked her what she was getting me for my birthday. My intention wasn't to find out what I was getting for my birthday, but to gently sway her in the direction of a sewing machine. She replied, "Something you've never asked for." I suppose what she didn't realize at the time was that that severely limits the possibilities, for I am a greedy, greedy girl. But it's made me start guessing. Here is a list of some things I've never asked for. Feel free to contribute to the list.
In our family, we had a different problem. Mother wouldn't hide our gifts, but she'd forget them in various places and then send us looking for something in that place. "Cicada, please go downstairs. There's a pile of bags by the computer. Look for a sticky note pad and bring it back to me." In looking for the sticky note pad, I'd come across a baseball cap with an American flag on it that was pretty much precisely what I had dreamed of receiving for Christmas (my tastes have changed dramatically since then; although it was the perfect gift at the time, I realize now that the hat was hideous and I curse the 80s).
I'd come up the stairs dejectedy, holding the sticky notes. I'd give them to my mother and explain what else I had found in the bags downstairs. Christmas had effectively been ruined.
The other kids had similar experiences and it was time we worked out a new system with Mom. We all decided that from then on, all our Christmas gifts would be found under her bed and we would simply never, ever look under her bed around Christmastime. We all knew the reward of suspense when the gifts were finally opened on Christmas day. And the system worked.
December 15th is my birthday. Since college, I've known what I was getting for my birthday because there has been a need and it has been filled. My freshman year, I needed a shower robe so that I could walk safely to the community showers every day. I received a shower robe that I still use daily and still looks brand new. My junior year, I received bedding since my down comforter at the time had lost too many feathers and was little more than a couple of sheets sewn together. I still have the blanket that she sent; it's on my bed, still comforting me.
The next two birthdays were spent on the mission. The first birthday, the gift was a surprise. She sent me a gold necklace. She explained that next birthday, she'd be sending me a fish charm for the necklace, since I was spending a year and a half as a fisher of men.
As you can see from the picture, I wore this necklace at all times during my mission. I didn't take it off to shower, sleep, or play mud soccer. It was a perfect gift for a missionary since it was small and meaningful.Last year, my first birthday home after the mission, I received a digital camera, which has taken most of the photos you've seen on my blog.
But this year... There are many things that I want, of course. This ends up happening every year. I want something, and my wish is fulfilled. A couple days ago I was talking to my mom on the phone and I facetiously asked her what she was getting me for my birthday. My intention wasn't to find out what I was getting for my birthday, but to gently sway her in the direction of a sewing machine. She replied, "Something you've never asked for." I suppose what she didn't realize at the time was that that severely limits the possibilities, for I am a greedy, greedy girl. But it's made me start guessing. Here is a list of some things I've never asked for. Feel free to contribute to the list.
- a car
- a bicycle (I'm currently using my sister-in-law's)
- a ticket to Rome
- a new television with HD capability
- a couch (with our current futon, you can feel the bars underneath you and have to decide whether to allow the bar to go right between your butt checks, or whether to sit slightly to the side of the bar)
- a dryer (we've been without one for a month)
- a boyfriend
- a $500 gift certificate to Red Robin
- an elliptical machine so I can work out in my own home
I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the boyfriend...
(Lest you think I'm really spoiled, all of the things listed above do not fit in the b-day budget. I feel comfortable in posting them because I know that I'm not actually going to get any of these things. Please feel free to contribute guesses about my potential b-day present, but keep the guesses out of the realm of possibility.)
One in Sixteen
Today you will be titillated with another mission story. This is one of my personal favorites.
My trainer was Italian. We had pretty much the best companionship ever. It seemed that there were never enough hours in a day for us to say everything we needed to say. Every night, we'd lie in our beds, chatting endlessly. We had a hard time sharing an apartment with the two other sisters who lived with us, and a lot of our conversation centered on them: complaining, making fun, complaining, making fun. When we were trying to focus on the positive aspects of these sisters, we could only conclude that the one good thing they contributed was something to talk about. Without them, our conversations would be almost crippled. We'd be reduced to saying such things as, "I love you." "Well, I love you more." "No, no. I love you more. Because you are the best. I love you." And too much of that just isn't interesting.
One particular night, however, we were unusually quiet after our zone conference. It was late, but neither of us could sleep. We both lay awake in our beds, thinking and trying to fall asleep. Around midnight, Sorella timidly said to me, "Sorella Cicada? Can I ask you a question?"
Now for a bit of background. We had had a great zone conference that day. Our mission president was fantastic and his zone conferences were incredible. This zone conference took place in about February of 2003, and we were expecting war to break out with Iraq at any moment. Part of our zone conference was dedicated to reviewing what we needed to do if and when war broke out. But then our wise, kind mission president added some inspired and comforting words about how we as missionaries were protected. He said that, in fact, the mortality rate of missionaries was one sixteenth the mortality rate of young adults between nineteen and twenty-three. He added, "And think of it! You are constantly putting yourselves in danger. You are out in the streets every day. You are riding buses, you are riding bikes. You are knocking on strangers' doors. You are entering strangers' homes."
The complication came because the Elder translating our zone conference from English to Italian was French. Back to the bedroom scene:
Sorella timidly said to me, "Sorella Cicada? Can I ask you a question? Did President really say today that one in sixteen missionaries dies during the mission?"
There was silence for a moment. Then the room was filled with peals of my insensitive laughter.
S: Stop! I'm serious! Did President say that? Answer me!!
SC: No. He said... oh, I don't even know how to say this in Italian... he said that... it's a fraction. The... rate? Of dying? For us is one... how do you say this? A fraction. One over sixteen. How do you say that?
S: Sixteenth.
SC: Right. One... one that of normal people our age. Meaning that much, much fewer of us die.
S: Oh. Because the Elder said one in sixteen. I thought... I thought he meant one in sixteen... so I started looking around the room and I thought, "Four of us in this room are going to die."
SC: [Laughing hysterically again.]
S: It's not funny! What was the president saying then? He said that we die in the streets and we die on our bikes and on the buses and that we enter strangers' homes!
SC: [Still. Can't. Stop. Laughing.] He was talking about the fact that we're protected!! We're protected! So even though we are in all those situations, we still don't die!
S: Oh. Well that's not how the Elder translated it. Now all the Italians think that one in sixteen of us is going to die.
A month later, Sorella talked to the French elder. She said to him, "You said that one in sixteen of us is going to die!!" He responded solemnly, and a little scared, "I know, Sister. I know." I wrote the president and at the next zone conference, he made it clear to anglophones and italophones alike that we're protected, and our mortality rate is one sixteenth of the mortality rate of normal people our age.
(She'll kill me for posting this, but that means that she'd have to buy a ticket to come out here, and frankly, I'd like to see her again. She keeps sending me text messages complaining that I haven't been in touch... This picture was taken our last night together. We thought it was funny that the White Handbook states that companions must sleep in the same room but never in the same bed. We knew that rules like that were created because someone had done it when it wasn't a rule. We always said that it would be worth it to shower together one day so that they had to add to the White Handbook, "Missionaries must shower every day, but never at the same time, in the same shower." But then, of course, we realized that that would cause all sorts of problems for the trees of life in the MTC.)
My trainer was Italian. We had pretty much the best companionship ever. It seemed that there were never enough hours in a day for us to say everything we needed to say. Every night, we'd lie in our beds, chatting endlessly. We had a hard time sharing an apartment with the two other sisters who lived with us, and a lot of our conversation centered on them: complaining, making fun, complaining, making fun. When we were trying to focus on the positive aspects of these sisters, we could only conclude that the one good thing they contributed was something to talk about. Without them, our conversations would be almost crippled. We'd be reduced to saying such things as, "I love you." "Well, I love you more." "No, no. I love you more. Because you are the best. I love you." And too much of that just isn't interesting.
One particular night, however, we were unusually quiet after our zone conference. It was late, but neither of us could sleep. We both lay awake in our beds, thinking and trying to fall asleep. Around midnight, Sorella timidly said to me, "Sorella Cicada? Can I ask you a question?"
Now for a bit of background. We had had a great zone conference that day. Our mission president was fantastic and his zone conferences were incredible. This zone conference took place in about February of 2003, and we were expecting war to break out with Iraq at any moment. Part of our zone conference was dedicated to reviewing what we needed to do if and when war broke out. But then our wise, kind mission president added some inspired and comforting words about how we as missionaries were protected. He said that, in fact, the mortality rate of missionaries was one sixteenth the mortality rate of young adults between nineteen and twenty-three. He added, "And think of it! You are constantly putting yourselves in danger. You are out in the streets every day. You are riding buses, you are riding bikes. You are knocking on strangers' doors. You are entering strangers' homes."
The complication came because the Elder translating our zone conference from English to Italian was French. Back to the bedroom scene:
Sorella timidly said to me, "Sorella Cicada? Can I ask you a question? Did President really say today that one in sixteen missionaries dies during the mission?"
There was silence for a moment. Then the room was filled with peals of my insensitive laughter.
S: Stop! I'm serious! Did President say that? Answer me!!
SC: No. He said... oh, I don't even know how to say this in Italian... he said that... it's a fraction. The... rate? Of dying? For us is one... how do you say this? A fraction. One over sixteen. How do you say that?
S: Sixteenth.
SC: Right. One... one that of normal people our age. Meaning that much, much fewer of us die.
S: Oh. Because the Elder said one in sixteen. I thought... I thought he meant one in sixteen... so I started looking around the room and I thought, "Four of us in this room are going to die."
SC: [Laughing hysterically again.]
S: It's not funny! What was the president saying then? He said that we die in the streets and we die on our bikes and on the buses and that we enter strangers' homes!
SC: [Still. Can't. Stop. Laughing.] He was talking about the fact that we're protected!! We're protected! So even though we are in all those situations, we still don't die!
S: Oh. Well that's not how the Elder translated it. Now all the Italians think that one in sixteen of us is going to die.
A month later, Sorella talked to the French elder. She said to him, "You said that one in sixteen of us is going to die!!" He responded solemnly, and a little scared, "I know, Sister. I know." I wrote the president and at the next zone conference, he made it clear to anglophones and italophones alike that we're protected, and our mortality rate is one sixteenth of the mortality rate of normal people our age.
(She'll kill me for posting this, but that means that she'd have to buy a ticket to come out here, and frankly, I'd like to see her again. She keeps sending me text messages complaining that I haven't been in touch... This picture was taken our last night together. We thought it was funny that the White Handbook states that companions must sleep in the same room but never in the same bed. We knew that rules like that were created because someone had done it when it wasn't a rule. We always said that it would be worth it to shower together one day so that they had to add to the White Handbook, "Missionaries must shower every day, but never at the same time, in the same shower." But then, of course, we realized that that would cause all sorts of problems for the trees of life in the MTC.)
Five Pounds of Flesh: Eat Your Heart Out, Shylock
I stepped on the scale this morning to find out that I have lost five pounds. Five pounds! Hooray! That's a little more than one pound each week, which is a healthy weightloss! Hooray! I'm healthy and skinny! Only thirty more to go...
(This is a disgusting picture, but I rejoice in it. He's holding what represents five pounds of human fat.)
(This is a disgusting picture, but I rejoice in it. He's holding what represents five pounds of human fat.)
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