Outside Looking In

Sometimes I think people are a little . . .insensitive. Not intentially, mind you, but sometimes I think that's even worse. I mean, to be so past feeling that you experience the insensitivity so naturally that it just flows into your behavior that you don't even notice it. Sounds I a little begrudged? Well, I'll give you a for instance. Let's say, you have a bigger than average work area than most people, and let's say that those most people are going to be having a Christmas party (which you are not invited to attend), and let's say that those partying most people are having a White Elephant exchange. And let's say that those partying most people need a place to drop off their gifts and they come to you and say,"Hey, Whitney, can we put our stacks of White Elephante gifts in your work area so that our surprise over the ownership of gifts can be genuine and our party can be filled with an even greater amount of giggles and laughs, joy and happiness? Oh, and you're not invited." Well, maybe those most people didn't say that last little sentence, but I felt it. I really did. That's what makes it so tragic.

I mean, here are the presents, all bright and cheerful.

And here is sad, sad me feeling like the kid on the side looking in (queue violins).

Chestnuts Roasting, Carolers Singing, and Appropriate Use of Decorations

I find I have an opinion for just about everything if I really try. So, often I don't. But, I find something this season that gives me pause, and when I started thinking about it, an opinon just burbled up. I couldn't help it. I have an opinion about the people who try and put decorations up in early November and tweak them just a bit so they continue to count for the fast-approaching yuletide silent night. I'm ashamed to admit. AtoZ's foyer is chock full of these holiday hybrids.

Culprit #1: Notice the swaths of harvest-colored trim. Where are the ornaments? No, just some badly trimmed ribbon without a true red in sight!

This one is even worse--they have an entire yellow/orange theme! I could even imagine them working some grain in next year. It is just that bad.

I am painfully traditional when it comes to Christmas, it seems. I want to see red and green, white lights and red holly berries. Shoot, I would even welcome some mistletoe . . .bring out the reindeers, the sugar cookies, the little stars and angels. I welcome red-nosed carolers and pot-bellied Santas.. . anything but a harvest-themed holiday that stretches from Halloween all the way through new year's. Blah! What a relief to get that off my chest. --W

I'm Not your Bro, Brother

SINGLE WARD OBSERVATION #1: I'll periodically slip in my musing about singleness in the Latter-day Saint community; I've got a lot to say. I've been single for 30 years, and I've lived in several different parts of the country, and no matter where I go, I keep noticing the same trends. To compound the fact, I was called as the RS President (the organization for women 18+) in our young single adult ward. So, I'll admit, I've got women's needs and women's welfare on my mind.

As a disclaimer, I love men; I just do. I think they are wonderful and an awful lot of them try really hard to be good. But at the same time, many of them fall into the same trap: The Hang out trap. You know, the one that we keep hearing about--the one we should avoid. Well, there are several bad habits that lead people to this cycle. I'll discuss one way this cycle starts.

Home Teaching is not being done. But, W, how does that cause the hang out cycle?

I'll answer that question with a scenario: first, let's say a guy moves into the area--he doesn't know anybody. He walks in and sits down in sacrament. You will notice that no man goes up and greets this fellow. However, you will notice that this man is then greeted by an outgoing sister, who notices that he is sitting by himself. Sister starts feeling responsible (and possibly attracted to man) so she starts talking to man at every social function where he stands alone (because another man has still not gone up and talked to him). Meanwhile, the weekend rolls around. Man probably sits home alone for several weekends in a row, because, of course, another man has still not called him or invited him to anything social. So, the man's sole social lifeline remains the sister. Okay, now some analysis. While this scenario will be a little different for every one, what does remain constant is one thing: a man needs other men in his life--people need people who can be their friends it is part of having a healthy social interaction. People need social wingmen--who wants to go to social functions by themselves? In the church, we've devised a wonderful solution to this problem: you are assigned someone to look out for, to fellowship, and provide that basic social foundation for people. Women should be there for other women, and men need to be there for other men. However, if that basic social building-block does not happen, then what does happens is that men form those (much needed) bro-relationships with women, forever locking that girl into bro-mode. Now, guys enjoy being around other guys, enjoying a healthy bro-relationship, but they never date or try to be romantic with other guys because that's not the nature of the relationship. Do you see where I am going with this? If men home-taught each other, living the spirit of the stewardship, and offered friendship to each other wherein offering that much-needed bro-relationship, then that would allow men to mentally begin to think of women romantically and engage with them as beings whom should be dated and not hungout with like a man.

If the hang out cycle begins, it is very difficult to break, both for the man and the woman. For men, they have no incentive to break off this cycle because largely their social network has become a hangout network of women (because once one woman starts interacting with a man in this way, another will follow. It is just a matter of time). For women, it is difficult because they have confused their romantic interest in the fellow with their friendship impulses. Because, deep down, they are hopeful that this will blossom into a relationship and so keep giving this behavior all sorts of positive feedback: we plan; we call; we invite; we listen; we cook; we drive. Of course, all the while, the girl is thinking, "man, how could he not love me?  I've done so many nice things for him and he keeps seeking me out." All the while, the dude is thinking, "I like hanging out with girls; they give me the friendship I need, and they make it so fun and easy to be around."

If we could just not get into this pattern. Men be friends with other men and make sure each other have a good friendship foundation. Women, stop stepping into that buddy role. It doesn't lead to romance. With all your friendship efforts, you are only cementing your place firmly in his mind as just that,"his friend." Rarely does a stalled friendship translate into romance, because a  hang out relationship, in a man's eyes, is a dude's relationship . . . .and you don't want end up being treated like another dude. . . am I right or am I right?

Next time, I will discuss the concept of harem-building. . .W

I thought I would grow out of it. . .

Twice a year, my marmie would venture downstairs to clean the girls' room. We're not talking about vaccuming or dusting, changing of sheets or washing windows. No, we're talking about a DEEP cleaning. A cleaning that required going through EVERYTHING and throwing out, reorganizing and rearranging. I'll admit it; I was the messy one. My practically perfect sister's stuff would always have stayed organized from intensive session to the next. So, when I say clean the girls' room, I really mean to say clean Whitney's portion of the room. At times, these sessions would last one, even two days, depending on my marm's patience and indulgence. Every time, when everything had been put away, she would say the same thing, "Doesn't that feel so nice to put everything in its place?" And while it did feel good, what really felt good was that our room had been rearranged. I loved the thrill of sleeping in my room at a different angle, looking at my room in a different way. I mean, the possibilities were endless. Literally. My parents can attest; I am sure they even consulted some professionals, because as I got a little older, rearranging my room became an obsession, almost a compulsion. Almost monthly, I would get up early on a Saturday morning and start shuffling. Believe me, it was always a disaster and both my parents would make intermittent stops to check on the progress. When I finally moved away from home, I realized that roommates didn't like the shuffle quite as much, so for almost eight years, my shuffling impulse was quietly replaced with the harsh reality of waking every day to the same room. Even when I had my own place for eight months, I wasn't seized with that almost overwhelming impulse to move things around. Well, my friends, never say never because it happened. Saturday morning at 7.30, I awoke abruptly. I had a layout in my head and I couldn't get it out of my mind. So, at 7.30 I started moving things, trying to be quiet, but you can't just move things without cleaning them (my marms would be quite proud), so--yes--I'll admit it; I even ran the vacuum in intensive bursts from 8 am to 9.30 am. My neighbors adding that to their growing list of complaints of late night piano playing, stereo blasting while the shower roars. I'll get a call soon I'm sure from the managers. I'm quite pleased with the results.

The larger picture is the after, the smaller the before:

While I might have mixed up the room, one thing stayed constant: my books Lots and lots of books. . .

Some things will never change.

--W

The White Way of Delight!

It was rather a magical night last night. A friend, Miss J, and I decided to make our way down to the Lake of Green for the annual Greenlake Pathway of Lights. Hundreds of volunteers put luminaries around the 2.5 mile lake for people to enjoy the intermittent carolers and holiday bands. It really was one of those rare moments when talk or singing of God was openly expressed here in the Northwest. The lake was still and reflected the hundreds and hundreds of little candles that had been lit and placed for our enjoyment. True, my nose was a little red and boy do I need to wear a longer coat because my thighs were freezing, but, man, it was just wonderful to experience the wonderful blend of holiday spirit and enjoyment of nature's beauty. It was just wonderful. Thanks Seattle Parks and Recreation.

Baby, It's Cold Outside!

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Wow, Miss I, you have become quite the wimpo since you have moved from the rugged Rocky Mountains up to the pansy Pacific Northwest." I say, "It's cold!" You say, "Where's the snow?! Not even a flake of snow has fallen in Seattle and you are crying 'Cold!' "My hands are cold.' It's a sad, sad display." I hang my head and say, "You just don't understand. It's really cold. I feel it in my bones." But I can still tell you don't believe me. I didn't believe it either. Babies. The lot of them. I mean, the city shuts down when it snows, for goodness sake! I was a cynical, cynical sturdy Idaho girl, who grew up in drifts that towered over her head; blizzards that lasted for years; and hypothermia was considered a basic human right. So, I scoffed when I heard that winters were cold up here. It took me a couple of winters here to understand one very important thing: the difference between wet cold and dry cold is profound. It is 24 degrees here with 41% humidity. I mean, that goes straight to your bones! (where else is it going to go!) Don't let that blue sky fool you, or my sad attempt to capture my frosty breath exhalations on camera. It's cold. (just look at the embarrassing red nose to prove it.) Good. I know see you are starting to understand me. I walk around looking like Grover from Sesame Street just trying to keep warm. It's the truth! These terrycloth gloves are my saving grace. My wonderful bastion from the cold. Marms bought them last year for Christmas and I love them. Love them! Imagine how cold it has to be if I risk my fashionable reputation to be easily mistaken for a talking puppet. If you imagined it would have to be pretty cold, you're right.

Now that we are on the subject, I do want to address something else closely related: Christmas in Seattle. Believe me, things freeze (see the frozen fountain at the mall that I snapped yesterday as more evidence of the vast cold front that has gripped Seattle), but it doesn't snow, and frankly it's difficult to really believe it is Christmas without the snow--our local Candy Cane lane just seems kinda tacky and awkward without that mandatory blanket of white that hides cords and ropes. With one sprinkle of white, a series of homes trimmed with christmas decorations are transformed from an gaudy strip mall display into a magical, festive parade. Last year this same strech of road, Candy Cane Lane, was magical. Last night, it just felt out of place. Maybe I just miss home and my complaint has nothing to do with the snow.

My Usual Way Into Work

I thought I would take a few pictures of my walk into work, since it has some deliciously weird things, as well as some things that are quite lovely. Of course, these pictures are after I stood outside in the death-defying cold, a nigh FRIGID 20 degrees, for almost 5 minutes! Don't worry--all my fingers and toes are still in tact, but I was preparing myself for the worst. Anyways, I take the 79 Express downtown to 5th and James and I step off, and, well, you'll see the rest.

First, I say hello to my windmill friend right before I walk under the viaduct. "Hello, weird windmill friend!"

Next, I give a friendly hello to my Bamboo stick garden, which is outside my local firestation. "Hello, bamboo stick garden with no other oriental garden shout-out anywhere"

Immediately I turn that corner and a gaggle of hydrants await me saying, "it looks like another cold one, Miss I. bundle up." and I say, "you are an odd little assortment of urban treasures, my friends, but boy do I love that color!"

I always like to look back and see what the city looks like today. Yep, it has stayed the same since yesterday.

Ever since Bugga Boo stayed with my me this morning, I have an obsession with finding any VW Beatle and shouting, "Beaver!" I have even tried to get him to play the game with me using our cell phones. But he won't play with me. (violins start playing in the background). Yet despite his ignoring, I still continue to play the game by myself. Poor, poor me. So easily forgotten. :( . . ."Beaver!" Do you see it?

Here is the steep hill parking that I am scared to park in because you literally exit your vehicle at a 75 degree angle. I imagine one little nudge from one car at the top and we'd have a car lot playing a wicked game of Twister by the bottom. Why do I think about such things?

I cross the street and I am in Chinatown. Please note the twisty Mr. Dragon on the pole. Yep, our C-town is just cool like that.

I now walk through my zen water garden where I come to Uuuuummmmm my way through my lunch hour. Not really. I don't even leave my desk for lunch. It is actually quite sad. Steer clear of this little lady when the wind is blowing, though. I learned that the hard way.

And this little installation is where the local folk come to offer their first born. I don't know if you can see it, but it is a circle of tall slabs of rock shaped in druidic proportions. Weird. Just weird.

And here I am. Finally, I am coming down the final stretch.

Here is my little corner office. I hate this location. I just hate it.

But the view is nice . . .sometimes. Thanks for coming into work with me! Tootles!

Love, W

I Fell In Love with Mr. Knightley Last Night

I will admit it. I've never really liked Emma as story. It's the truth. I always felt she was bratty and a little vain. While I, of course, appreciate the humor and comedic moments, I just never fell in love with the characters. . . until I watched this little gem with von Chrisersons last night. This little number was just released by BBC UK and will be coming out on DVD in America in February. (I have no idea why it is taking so long; I mean, it is the digital age. Wouldn't it just take a tappity tap tap of the ole computer and convert this into a region-free disc? I always feel like this delay is a little jail sentence the British like to pass, just to punish all who are not British. Those dratted English!) Any way, in this film Johnny Lee Miller is an absolute dream as the practical, patient, opinionated Mr. Knightley--wonderfully full of angst, a bit of jealousy, and good, noble intentions. Emma was likeable, even loveable. You see why she does what she does, and how she develops and learns. You see how her worldview has been colored by her doting, but very overprotective father, who never let her out of his sight. You see why Mr. Knightley lectures her and what behaviors she exhibits around Mr. Frank Churchill that he abhors. And they argue. a lot. Delicious, frustration-tinged argue. It's wonderful. I also love that you are given more access to Jane Fairfax and Harriet Smith and especially Miss Bates. You see her perpetually optimistic chatter as a means of warding off the insufferable loneliness and hopeliness of her situation, making Emma's mockery all the more potent and hurtful. Her preoccupation with Jane's accomplishments are a way to comfort and to assure her that she and her mother did the right thing in sending her away, giving her wonderful opportunities (and that those opportunities might one day be a way out of penury for herself and her mother). As Miss Bates chatters, Mrs. Bates falls more and more silent--the one trying to balance out the other. All characters evolves; you see it. Harriet is sweet and innocent. Mrs. Elton is snobbish and bossy. It is a wonderful, wonderful adaptation, both comedic and dramatic and especially romantic.

Now, von Chrisersons ordered this from trusty amazon.co.uk since it has not been released in the good ole US of A, so we were forced (Forced!) to huddle over her laptop for four hours which plays region 2 DVDs. If you don't have a DVD player that plays region 2 or you don't want to huddle, preorder your copy on Amazon.com for its release in February. It is totally worth it!

Thanksgiving In Astoria, OR

I went down to Astoria, OR, to spend the holiday with my friend Miss M and her parents. They are lovely people, who live next door to the Goonies house (a cult-classic movie from the 80's). They have a drafty, rambling Victorian house, which my mother would absolutely adore. Upon our arrival, I heard a chorus of dogs barking in the distance--very, very loudly, I might add. I asked Miss M about it. She smiled and said it was the final holdout sea lions lounging on the docks. Marine life. Yes please! A city girl like me would be overjoyed just to see a crab, oyster, or fish! A sea lion is the real deal, my friend, the real deal. We walked down to the docks where I snapped this little dosey. No, this is not a self-portrait, though the truth be told, I have been feeling a little round near the middle . . .Rather, this little blobber and about 15 of his closest friends have resisted getting into the sea lion trap, which will ferry them down to California to lounge on the beach with the rest of his social group. Fat rascal barely opened an eye when I took his portrait. I tried to get a little closer, but then I thought, "Um, this is a fat, wild animal, who is carnivorously inclined. And though fat, he is smart enough to avoid the trap that a countless number of his friends were snared in. He does have a wicked glint in his eyes" . . .I stepped back.

We did some fun things and enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner. Thanks Mrs. M! Astoria is a great little nugget of a town. Kindergarten Cop, Goonies, Free Willy were all filled in this movie-filming paradise. Astoria is teeming with so, so many antique stores (a vintage afficiando's dream--though

I would never presume to call myself one, though I know my friends say I have quite the eye! :) Great little bookstore, comic bookstore, etc). We also visited the beach, which was blustery and beautiful.

We visited the shipwreck, where most of the ship, over the years, has been buried by the beach. I loved the mystery of it. Though no one was hurt (which should be a good thing) I was a little disappointed. Shoot, there wasn't even pirates involved! What's a shipwreck without pirates. "I think it carried cargo," Miss M said. Wind out of sails.

For a trip, it was wonderful; as a holiday, I felt a little cheated. I mean, Miss M and her parents were wonderful, but after several years of spending this blessed day away from family, I just feel like it is fake holiday without your family nearby. It's like celebrating Valentine's Day without a husband or boyfriend. F.A.K.E. Oh you can trump it up as a "day to celebrate the people you love," or "a day to give thanks" but in the end, it will always be a sloppy second for the real thing. You'll still be that kid with his nosed pressed up against the glass hoping against hope that this will be the Christmas you finally get the Rid Rider 200 shot range model air rifle. Or in my case, saying "no place like home" "no place like home." Well, there's always Christmas. MORAL: Celebrate holidays with family and spend vacations with friends, and don't underestimate sea lions--they're fat, true, but some are sneaky and fat and those are the ones you have to keep your eye out for. :)

New Resolve

I've noticed something. My sisters are avid bloggers. (Cookie, I mean, you don't officially write a blog--but your weekly newsletter is FANTASTIC! If you started a blog, you would have a pretty dedicated following by now). Both of them are able to cull fantastically funny, meaningful events out of the daily routine. I, on the other hand, have done nothing to make a meaningful record of my life (other than the spurts of private journal writing). Months and months of silence record everything that has happened in my life up here in the rugged northwest. Though when pressed, I say my life is filled with a quick successions of busy nothings, in reality, that is simply not true. I am constantly meeting people, laughing, enjoying life, complaining--I mean, something has to have happened to me, right? And yet, I still don't put it all down in a blog. I love to chronicle; I love the drama of real life. Why don't I blog? And yet, I still don't put it down in a blog. It's not right. I know it is not right, but still, do I do anything? No.

Well, friends, this cycle has to stop! (and please note this is even happening before an obligatory new year's resolution forces my hand). I have plenty of things of which to be grateful and record. Weird conversations, fun adventures. I am a devoted follower of the nieniedialogues, pioneerwoman, and natthefatrat--all wonderfully interesting women, who make the ordinary funny, meaningful, and worthwhile. I'm going to join the ranks.