Gilded Toes

I had already gotten my shoes and dress to be bridesmaid when my friend, the bride, told me that she was changing our shoes to sandals.  Guiltily I looked at my feet, worn from walking all over the place, "That means I have to get a pedicure."

A week later, I found myself in a salon with all the other bridesmaids and the bride getting our feet pampered and our toes painted an identical silvery gold.

All night long, I looked down at my toes.  I felt a little like Kate from Sorcery and Cecilia or The Enchanted Chocolate Pot who painted her toenails gold and went to a ball in 1817 London,  She was a little giddy at the prospect of it and a little in awe of her boldness.  I felt the same way - and half expected that something magical  - or at least noteworthy - should happen because of it.  

Something magical did happen - my friend got married.  She was a beautiful bride and her wedding and ring ceremony and reception were all wonderful events.  

Here are some funny situations I got myself in though: 

In the temple, my friend and her fiancee and I got on the elevator.  A nice lady already on the elevator oohed and aahed over the prospect of my friends' upcoming nuptials.  The bride and groom got off on a different floor to get ready for the ceremony and I stayed on to go up to the waiting room.  As soon as they got off, the lady looked at me.  "So, you must be ..." She paused and looked me over.  "The mother of the groom?"  I looked at her in shock.  Did I really look old enough to have a 27 year old son? I must have really overdone my makeup or something.  "Ummm...no."  I managed.  "I'm a friend of the bride."  

(The groom came over to me later and tried to make me feel better.  "Don't worry about that.  When I went into the changing room, one man asked me when I was going on my mission.")  

During the picture taking of the bride and groom, the rest of the guests sat around and chatted politely.  For most of us, this was the first time we had met.  My friend's mission president's wife was just telling everyone her life's story when I noticed to my horror that a bug! was crawling up her skirt, just under the top sheer layer.  Not wanting to interrupt her or scare her, I leaned down and put my hand out, wondering if I should try to dab at her skirt and scare the bug out or what.  People started to notice my weird behavior so I spoke up.  "Um...Sorry to interrupt but there is a bug crawling up your skirt."  Everyone stopped and stared at me, awkwardly perched with my arms out, kneeling down beside this woman and most people gasped in horror. The woman herself acted like a true lady and reacted calmly, simply pulling up the top layer and letting the bug fly away.  

The real mother of the groom introduced me to some people from her family.  

Mother: This is Erin.  She is the maid of honor.  

Me: Um...No.  I'm not the maid of honor.  

Mother: <looks at me> 

Me: I'm just a maid.  

Mother's friend, laughing: Ah, a maid!  

(I couldn't think of the word for bridesmaid)

Turns out my feet are tiny compared to Yao Ming's feet

The Frustrations of Frustration

Yesterday, I tried to learn how to swim.

Ok, confession.  I actually know how to swim.  I took lessons when I was a child.  But ever since my extremely brief stint on the swim team when I was six (seven?  eight?), I have never really spent a considerable amount of time working on my strokes.  Somehow in the years between swim lessons and now, I forgot how to get the timing down to properly breathe while doing freestyle.  Thus, I have spent most of my life swimming other strokes in which breathing is a given.

I have a friend visiting who swam competitively in college and she offered to help teach me.

I hushed my fears of being in a swimming suit, being in a pool and being bad at something in front of my friend and agreed.

Just as expected, being in a swimming suit felt awkward.
Just as expected, the pool was cold.
Just as expected, I was horrifically bad at swimming.

The result?  I was furious with myself.

My friend got frustrated with my poor attitude.  I got frustrated with my poor attitude.  Overall, it was a pretty pathetic trip to the pool.

My friend insisted that I am too hard on myself and I need to realize that I'm not going to be perfect at something at the beginning.

"You need to just learn to accept failure."  She insisted.

Which was oddly hard to hear because I went into this trip knowing that I was going to be horrible.  I knew that I wasn't going to get it the first time.  I knew that I wasn't going to be perfect.  (In fact, I feel like I have had so many things fail in my life in the past few years that you'd think failure was my M.O.)

So, where was my temper coming from?

I spent a long time thinking it through.  I think I figured it out:

You know how you go into a situation imagining how it's going to turn out?  I didn't imagine leaving the pool with perfect swimming skills.  However, I did imagine myself having a great go-to attitude about the whole thing.  I did think that my friend and I would have a lot of fun and I would feel like someone who was going to start making progress on something she'd left on the shelf for far too long.

I don't get discouraged with my results as much as I get discouraged with my immediate gut reaction to my results.  And somehow, that's more disappointing.

Anyone can fail.  Lots of people do it.

But the people who just give up or get angry and walk away?  We have no pity for them.

"I can't do this.  I give up."  Those words were out of my mouth before I could stop them just as soon as we had begun and I'd been left in my friend's wake, desperately trying not to swallow her waves.  I regretted it as soon as I'd said it.  I knew that I wasn't giving up.  But the words were out and I couldn't take them back.  I was mad at myself for saying it.  Mad at myself for thinking it.  Just plain mad.

I'm a person who gives up.  At least, in those silly moments, I think that must be what I really am.  And so I get mad at myself for being THAT PERSON.  I get mad for being human and getting discouraged.

As it turns out, I'm not a perfectionist in that I want to perform perfectly.  I am a perfectionist in that I want a perfect attitude while performing imperfectly.

It's interesting to discover that after after 30 years of life.  But at least now I can do something about it.

Kindness - it's still the best policy.  Especially when dealing with ourselves.

The Maladies that Inflict Us

"It is mid-May already.  Are any of you suffering from May sickness?"  (Source)

I stopped reading.  May sickness?  I know I didn't misread it because the words 'May sickness' were written out in clear kanji.  Could I be suffering from this illness?  How do you know if you have May sickness?

I tried to think of what about May would make a person sick but I came up empty - that is, except for a little imp in my head that kept singing, "April showers bring May flowers.  What do May flowers bring?"  

Allergies?  (from the flower pollen?)

Depression?  (from realizing that those flowers aren't for you?)

Melanoma? (from the sun exposure due to going outside to enjoy the warmer weather)

I did wake up this morning wondering why I have a lingering cold from the flu last weekend and I still feel slightly feverish.  Could that be May sickness?  

The hypochondriac in me started panicking; I could be dying from something and not even know it! 

(Then again, if it's called May sickness could it really be chronic?  or just repetitive?)

I googled it.  

Turns out May sickness is an illness that people suffer when they return from their Golden Week holidays (up to 10 days off work) and return to their jobs, schooling, etc. in the form of mental and physical ailments.  Most those who suffer May sickness are those who have recently started a new job, a new school or new semester in school.  (Fiscal year and school years start in April in Japan so it's about a month or so in)  

In other words: the sickness strikes when the newness starts to wear off.  

May sickness is especially brought on for those who have been working tirelessly to get the new job or into the new school and, after running at top speed for as long as they have, especially in their respective new positions, trying to learn the ropes, that they become simply exhausted.  The pace they have been running is not sustainable long term.    

Articles online give recommendations for how to recover from May sickness: 

Give yourself a break.  Let yourself stop and enjoy the fresh air.  

I think it's good advice.  For all of us who suffer May sickness, in whatever month we suffer it.  

For those of us who work ourselves tireless to the bone, remember that your body and mind need a break once in a while. 

I do wonder though, is there a given month that Americans suffer from this same disease?  

Post holiday burnout in January?  

Illinois River
Sit back and enjoy the view every so often 

My Blue Castle

My favorite book and I haven't been able to open it's covers for a few years now.  It has only been a few years because an old roommate saw me with it and teased me about reading it at least three times in the nine months we lived together.  I used to be able to recite whole passages by heart - I can now only remember a phrase here and there.

It is odd for such a book to be my favorite.  For a girl who struggles to bring herself to pin herself down to a favorite anything, choosing only one out of all the literature she has encountered and standing by that decision for 15 years is nothing short of remarkable.  Especially a book bearing a cover that makes people think I'm reading a harlequin romance and a title that will never appear on any bestseller or best written list.

Imagine though a fifteen year old girl, curled up in a chair, idly reading a copy of it, borrowed secretly from her older sister.  The book is about a woman who finds herself in circumstances she would never have chosen for herself - unmarried, unloved and oft forgotten.  She lives a life that is strictly structured, but is mostly hampered in by her fears - fear of saying what she really means, fear of doing what she really wants, fear of being who she really is, fear of the repercussions of truly being herself.  Suddenly this woman who has yet to live is given a diagnosis: angina pectoris in its final stages.  One year, at most.  Even a fifteen year old imagination has trouble conceiving how any of that would feel - except the fear.  I'd spent most of my childhood and life creating rules about how to conduct myself in society - do not look popular people in the eye but keep your head down to show due respect, never let anyone see you cry, and never share anything that really matters with you.  I spent a lot of my childhood being myself around my family and following everyone blindly around outside it.  I had created rules to keep myself safe but they only trapped me and strengthened my fears.  So a book about a person who casts aside her fears and lives, really LIVES for herself was freeing.  (Especially since this woman decided 'living for herself' meant serving in the community, reading good literature and spending significant time in nature)

The book changed me profoundly.  For the next ten years, whenever I felt my courage waver, I would pull out that book and remind myself that I do not want to live a life characterized by fear.  Despite the laughs I got from friends judging it by its cover or confused looks from others who expected that my favorite book would be some book worth considering a classic, I remained with that decision.  Any re-read reminded me once again how lasting and true a friend that book was to me.

But for the past few years, I put it aside.  Suddenly, I was starting to understand the other parts of the book. I knew what it felt like to be unmarried at 29.  (At fifteen, I simply laughed at such an absurdity.)  Fears, questions all bubbled up.  I couldn't bear to face the book.  What if, after all, I was still simply a coward, coiled about with fear?

With research frustrations and family concerns ever before my eyes, I went to bed the other night, seeking for a book to put me to sleep.  Nothing else would do.  I pulled down The Blue Castle, flipped it open to a well worn section and settled in.  As I doze off, a figure comes out of the woods and draws closer and closer until I can make out who it is and draws nearer yet so I can make out his face.  He reaches me, laying down, dreaming quietly, and smiles before extending a hand.  I find myself smiling back while carefully memorizing once again every line and mark of his face.  "My dear friend, it's been too long."

"Everyone has a Blue Castle, I think," said Cissy softly.  "Only every one [has] a different name for it."  (p. 89)

Here's hoping you all have your castles in the sky and that they uphold you through your trials and lift you above your fears.

P.S. If I had my druthers, the cover of this book would actually be Woodland Solitude, painted by Charles Curran at BYU's Museum of Art.  You can view the painting here.

Schalke Goes Stateside

In three hours, FC Schalke is playing against Philadelphia Union.  

Of course, as is typical for me, I found this out on the Bundesliga website.  Five minutes ago.  Rather than a few months ago.

If I'd known months ago, I could have somehow begged and scraped together the money together.  And in three hours I would have been in the stadium, wearing my Royal Blues Schalke jersey, cheering them on.  

Instead, I'll be living a normal life, as though FC Schalke wasn't on this side of the ocean, pretending Raul, Huntelaar (and top scorer in the Bundesliga), and Uchida are not only five hours away by car.  

I hope Philly shows them a great time but, deep down, I still hope Schalke shows them how soccer games are played, and won.  

Have Baby, Will Travel

This is how my niece has handled the week.

Eating an Oreo: Pure Enjoyment 

Tuckered Out

Me: What song do you want to sing?

Baby: Spider?

<We sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider x5>

Baby: Twinkle?

<We sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star x5>

Me: What next?

Baby: Spider?  

Me: We just sang Spider.  Try another one.

Baby, thinks for a few minutes: Twinkle?
(I promise she knows more than just two songs)

Pretty baby admiring the pretty baby while brushing her teeth

The cutest picture ever. 

Baby, admiring herself in the mirror

Me: Who is that?

Baby: Lexy (but when she says it sounds like 'sexy') 

Baby, admiring a picture of herself

Me: Who is that?

Baby, pointing at herself and then at the picture: It's you!

Self taken picture - she is slowly improving.  

I love her smile.  

Me: Can you say 'Mississippi'?

Baby: Sippi!

Me: No, Mississippi.

Baby: Missippi!

Playing on Great-Grandpa's porch

Me and the Niece

Me: Do you want to take a shower with Sarah?

Baby: Yes!

Sister: Baby, if Sarah were to jump off a cliff, would you jump too?

Baby: Yes!

Milk - taking the straw in and out of the
cup was her favorite thing to do
during the meal.  

Playing at Nichols Park in Jacksonville, IL

Me: No really?  If your friend were really going to jump off a cliff, you would just follow?

Baby: Sarah? (looking around for her)  

Looking at me like I'm crazy for taking so many pictures of her

Teddy: Her best friend, except when
anything caught her eye

Baby: Teddy fell!

Me: Well, yeah, he fell.  Because you pushed him.  

Baby: I pushed Teddy!

Me: Haha, well, at least you're honest about it.

The end of the trip

Before the Storm

Yesterday was a good day that started with a hike and ended with me spending a glorious hour with my niece.  

Here are some highlights from my niece who is now talking quite well - not in sentences but she uses a lot of words.  

I ask Baby is she is thirsty and pull out a children's monkey cup.

Sister: Oh, that's the same one she has at home.  Look Baby!

(Baby proceeds to get very excited about the cup and I proceed to only fill the already small cup 1/3 full)  

(Baby walks around the kitchen shaking the cup around so excitedly that all the water spills out)

Baby: Oh!  Water!  (as though "How did that get there?"  "Why is the floor all wet?")

Me: Can you say Sarah?

Baby: A Sawa (short for Aunt Sarah).

Me: Can you say Marc?

Baby: Marc.

Sister: Can you say Erin?

Baby: Yeah.  (as though even asking such a question was an insult to her intelligence) 

We play with some bubbles.  I blow one towards Baby's face but it goes straight into her eyes and pops.  

I cringe, waiting for her to start crying;  bubble solution probably stings.  

Baby: Oops!  My eye.  Bubble! 

I've decided I need to teach the Baby Chinese.  

Me: Baby, 你想要睡覺嗎？

Baby turns around and points at her mother.  

I slap my hand down on the bed with a laugh: Oh Baby, that was a question, not a statement about your mom.  (She heard me use the question particle, 'ma' and thought I had said 'Ma')  

Baby slaps her hand down on the bed in perfect imitation of me and laughs.