Things That Mark the Passage of Time

This blog is definitely not one of those things, unless you are diligent enough to look at the dates that correspond with the most recent posts and realize that the last time I updated this thing is nearing two years ago.  That post was written at one of the highest highs of my life, and was shortly followed by one of the lowest lows.  It's funny how some things can remain seemingly frozen in time whilst the rest of life marches on.  People come and go.  Friendships are forged.  Dreams are crushed and new dreams born.  And through it all, some things remain seemingly (or very obviously unchanged).  I've recently been encouraged to again attempt to resurrect this blog, so we'll see how it goes.  I've never really been consistently successful with it.  It looks like I've had some good ideas for blogs over the course of my most recent hiatus, including a "Dating and Dumdums: Part Two".  I'm sure that one was bound to be good, unfortunately it doesn't appear that I got anywhere past the title with that one.  

Surprisingly enough, the title of this post does not stem from my lack of blogging over the past couple of years, but rather from something I noticed while driving home from Provo tonight.  I've lived in Utah since 2008.  Usually when people ask, I'll say I've lived here on and off since 2008, but really, well, I might as well just accept I've pretty much been here for almost six years.  After my first year here I tried to move home for the summer, but I was there for a grand total of three weeks before Utah was snatching me back again.  And again, after my mission, I swore off Utah for life, and well, I guess this is where I'm supposed to be for now.  It has become home to me, and I'm even finding myself increasingly OK with saying that.

During the time I've lived here, I have, for one reason or another, always seemed to have a reason to frequently travel the stretch of I-15 that connects Utah Valley to Salt Lake Valley.  When I lived in Provo, there was always a reason to travel north, and now that I live north, it's easy to find reasons to travel south.  Not nearly as often now as it used to be, but it is still frequently enough.  Some parts of the drive have changed significantly over the years.  It's gone from three lanes of congested freeway, to road-rage inducing construction zone,  to wide open freeway where people insist on driving 50 mph across all five lanes of traffic.  Other aspects of the drive haven't really changed at all.  The exits come like clock work.  For a while I made the drive often enough that I knew the average time it would take me to get from on exit to the next, and I knew that in order to make the "estimated time to" that they display on the over head signs in the middle of the night when there is no traffic, I had to drive exactly 7 miles over the speed limit.  It's all routine.  I could probably make that drive in my sleep, and to be honest, I can't say for certain that I never  have ( I've driven it at some pretty unreasonable times of the night/morning).  

But what really got my attention tonight on the way home was a particular sign. A sign for the Utah Valley Auto Mall.  It's not really a very noteworthy sign, except that when I first started driving between the two valleys, I viewed it as an almost home beacon.  (I later came to realize that it was in fact, not as close to home as I originally made myself believe.)  Nevertheless, it was at the time a fully functioning, and lit beacon of hope for my often way too tired body.  Over the years, I've watched as one by one the letters have burnt out.  Tonight I drove by, in the dark, for the first time in a few months, and noticed that now, only a single letter on each side of the sign is lit.  1/18 letters...

And that's when it hit me... I'm getting old. Go to bed early so I can get my sleep and knit while I watch TV kind of old.  I guess at least I'm not yet as old and burnt out as that poor Utah Valley Auto Mall sign. I guess I'll have to see if my old lady life can provide enough of interest to maintain an interesting blog for any substantial period of time.  

Blessed Beyond Words

“Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to spend a lot of time running around shouting that he’s been robbed.  Most putts don’t drop.  Most beef is tough.  Most kids grow up to be just people.  Most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration.  Most jobs are more often dull than otherwise.  Life is like an old-time rail journey; delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas, and thrilling bursts of speed.  The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.”

-Jenkins Lloyd Jones

I love the stunning accuracy of this quote.  I feel as though I always run across it during periods of my life where I feel like my old-time rail journey may be permanently stalled on the track of life.  Just a couple of months ago I was pondering on this quote and was, for probably the 20th time or so, contemplating including it in a blog.   In the end the post became an eternally unpublished incomplete thought.  In the last month or so however, my "old-time rail journey" has been taking me through one of those rare moments of "beautiful vistas" and a bout of "thrilling speed" and again this quote came to mind.  In fact, my life has been changing so rapidly recently, that I can scarce keep up with everything that is going on, and my head is still spinning at all the many blessings I have been granted.  I am so full of gratitude and joy, and I hope that when my train slows down a little (as it inevitably will), I can look back gratefully and remember these beautiful times.  

I know I have mentioned it before, but I am so incredibly blessed and grateful to have the chance to serve in the House of the Lord.  Serving as a temple worker the last several months has been one of the greatest things I have ever done, and it has brought more blessings than I could ever count to my life.  It has helped me to strengthen my relationship with my Father in Heaven, it has allowed me to open my heart to so many people, and it has brought greater wisdom, insight and direction into the direction of my life and the Lord's will for me.  I cannot imagine that there are many things that are as glorious as this opportunity (definitely serving a mission made me feel this way, and I hear that raising children has a similar feeling).  I can also say with a certain amount of certainty that most, if not all of the blessings I have experienced in the last couple of months have been pretty directly related to my decision and worthiness to serve in the Temple.  God is definitely watching out for me, and definitely has a plan for my life that is greater than my own.  

All this being said, I just want to rejoice for a couple of minutes in some of the blessings I have seen in my life over the last couple of months.  

Back in December, I was having some health problems.  That I'm sure is not a surprise at all to anyone, but because of the health problems I was I having, I more or less lost my job.  (they never actually fired me, but they did stop scheduling me for any hours).  Cue rent, Student loan repayment, etc, and by the middle of January, I'd yet to find a new job, or have any luck getting my old job to put me back on the schedule.  Every time I went to the temple however, I felt peace that everything would work out.  Three weeks ago, I started a job that not only pays a ton better, but it is twice as close (thus completely eliminating any need for me to drive to Pvo regularly), works me more than twice as many hours, and is actually in a field that I'm interested in.  It may not be the perfect ideal job, but I definitely can't complain about such a great blessing in my life.  I'm actually really enjoying it so far, especially now that I am almost done with my training, and finally feel like I'm gaining an understanding of what is going on.  

At the same time (almost exactly) that I started my new job, I had the wonderful opportunity to become acquainted with a man who is one of the most genuinely good, Christ-like men that I have ever met in my life.  For the purposes of this blog, he will be known as Temple Stalker.  For those that know the story, the nickname is very appropriate, for those that don't. . .  ask some time.  I can definitely say that my eyes have been opened to many ways that I can improve myself through my interaction with Temple Stalker, and I am so grateful for the example he is in my life.  I am definitely working hard to become a better person.  I am often left mouth gaping at his example of genuine love and compassion and service for those around him.  I'd definitely consider myself pretty lucky to know him.  Perhaps I will talk more about him later though.  I hope that he will be around long enough to star in future blog posts.  

Finally, and this is kind of odd, but I was blessed to have been pretty sick the last few weeks.  It sound odd to list that as a blessing, but I actually do feel blessed because of it.  It made learning a new job extremely difficult, and it made life completely miserable for a time, but with the assistance of some miracle drugs from the doctor, good rest and care, I am on the mend, and am actually probably healthier than I have been in months.  It's amazing how after months of never feeling completely healthy, the amazing feeling of finally feeling better.  I am so grateful for modern medicine.  I am grateful to finally remember what it feels like to be healthy and able to do the things that I love.  I'm grateful for people that care about me, and are there to take care of me when I'm sick.  Overall, being as sick as I was, allowed me to see blessings in my life that I often take for granted.

I guess I have one more "finally" to dish out.  My temple has been closed for two weeks, which has been good because I've been sick, and I've needed time to adjust to all of the changes that have been taking place in my life.  Tomorrow; however, we go back, and I am SO excited to be able to spend my Tuesdays in the temple again.  I've missed it the last couple of weeks. 

This post is a lot of rambling, but I just want to express my gratitude for all of you out there who fill my "old-time rail journey" with beautiful vistas.  Many of you know who you are, others may not know, but all the same I thank you!  I have so many wonderful people in my life!

Awkward. . .

I went on a date on Tuesday night.  Yes, that's right; I voluntarily went on a date that wasn't a set-up.  Go ahead- Take a moment to let it sink in.  I know it's been. . . well, a long time, so some of you might take a while to recover from the shock.  At least, that seems to have been the case with the relatively small number of people I have told prior to now.  But news travels fast in my family, so I thought I might as well address the rumors that have been circulating.

It was a nice, simple, casual date.  Hot chocolate and good conversation at the Village Inn.  Just what a first date should be.  Especially a first date with a perfect stranger.  Keep that small detail in mind as I continue here. 

The end of the date comes.  Numbers are exchanged, hot chocolate is paid for, and the two parties walk out into the freezing cold night.  Then comes what I would consider to be the most awkward dating moment. . . the first hug.

People frequently talk about how incredibly awkward the first kiss can be.  Can I be honest?  I find the first hug to be a million times more awkward than the first kiss moment, and here I explain why.  The first kiss (at least in the Mormon dating world which is the only dating world I have ever known), usually takes places after at least a period of courtship.  Thus, two people have gotten to know each other, have learned at least a little bit how to read each other, and usually have some semblance of an idea of how the other feels about them.  But, contrast that with the situation above- two hours previously, the two parties were perfect strangers.  They have not learned to read the other person's body language, they are likely both at least slightly uncertain as to how the other person felt the date went, and neither knows exactly what is supposed to take place next.  Additionally, it seems like there are roughly three and a half billion different ways people can hug.  No hug? Side hug? One arm?  Two arm?  Blah blah blah. . . And there is absolutely no way to communicate which method one is about to initiate, so one must simply guess and hope for the best.

Perhaps my awkwardness with first hugs is simply indicative of my deep seeded introversion.  I think the last time prior to this date that I had faced a first hug situation, was this last summer when, in a crowd of people, Sir Teres very unexpectedly hugged me and I squealed like a pig in distress.   Fortunately, it is usually only the unexpected hug that can elicit that kind of a response from me.

So it was, I went in for the one arm, he went for the two arm.  the awkward half-second ended, and we parted ways.  I drove home pondering the awkwardness of first dates, first hugs and dating in general and cursing the cold weather for freezing me clear through in the minute and a half I was outside. 

Isn't It The Life?

I came across this through a friend, and unfortunately I don't know the original source.

Through the course of my college career, I lived with just under 50 different people in a variety of circumstances.  I, without a doubt lie on the I side of the introvert/extrovert spectrum, and found the above to be gloriously hilarious in it's accuracy.  Over the course of the years I cannot tell you how many time I have had the following conversation with my poor mother.

. . .
Me: "I'm Starving"  (Not a terribly uncommon occurrence for me under any circumstances)

Mom: "Go make yourself some dinner."

Me: "I can't."

Mom: "Why not?"

Me: "There are people in my house."

Fortunately I'm adaptable. . . or creative, depending on one's definition.  I learned that I could at least keep myself from starving to death by keeping a supply of food in my bedroom. . . and by supply I mean that I often kept a large tub or two of food under my bed.  Truth. 

There are definitely some advantages of living in a house now with only my sister as a roommate. 

A Long, Long Time Ago. . .

Provo Ladder 2012

My love of fire engines/ladders/trucks ( I will use trucks in this blog post to universally refer to the differing types), is not exactly the worlds best kept secret.  There was even a time where I frequently used my love of fire trucks as the interesting fact about me.

"Introduce yourself, and tell us something interesting about yourself."

"I'm Kaitlin, and I have a strange obsession with red fire trucks."

Then I realized people really didn't get it. Additionally, no one really pays attention to, or cares about the random interesting fact you tell about yourself in introductions.  So, I changed my interesting fact to something far less interesting and personal, and allowed my fire truck obsession to remain slightly more guarded out of the lime light.  This is not to be confused with a diminished love, but rather a protecting of something greatly cared for.  In fact, some of my more recent acquaintances may be surprised to realize exactly the extent of my fetish.  

San Fransisco 2007

For any reading this blog who don't know (which is unlikely, but possible), there are actually some limitations to this obsession. . . some guidelines if you will.

1.  Fire trucks should always be RED.  None of this yellow, blue, green or white nonsense.  RED.  Red and white is acceptable, but not preferred. 

2.  Usually, there is something more enchanting about old fire trucks.  Don't, get me wrong, I still absolutely love brand new ones (so long as they are the correct color), but there is just something about the character of the old ones.

The Beast- Evanston, Wy July 2012- These guys literally had no idea how internally giddy I was- though slightly embarrassed that I'd been such a creeper.  This guy caught me ogling his beauty three times before inviting us over.

Over the years, I've had a variety of responses to my strange obsession with fire trucks.  I've gotten every thing from odd and unusual, to endearing.  I have friends who now think of me when they see or hear fire trucks.  Commonly though, I get the questions "Why?"  or "How did you get started on that?"   I don't really have answers to those questions.  Why?  Really?  Because they are awesome!  People like weird things. People collect weird things.  My thing just happens to be fire trucks, get over it.   The how is a lot harder to answer.  See, I've loved fire trucks as long as I can remember.  I guess you'd have to ask my parents about that one, but I'm not sure they'd have an answer for you either.  I did come across something interesting the other day though.  I have a set of drawers of old stuff.  Some of it I just can't get rid of because I get all sentimental every time I go through it, most of it is stuff that needs to meet the shredder, and some of it really just needs to be junked, but I'm usually tired of going through it by the time I get to it.

  Anyway, hidden in this memory treasure trove was this set of pictures taken back in the day. . . you know, when cameras actually had film, you got 24 pictures at a time, you had to wait to develop the film, and it cost a small fortune to do so.  These pictures were taken on a beautiful summer afternoon outside of my elementary school.  I have absolutely no idea what they were doing there. . . besides acting as models for my very poor camera skills.  I'd estimate that I was 8 or 9 when these pictures were taken.  There are three pictures missing from the original 24 (I think in 16 years that isn't too bad), and there were two pictures that did not contain fire trucks, the final unrepresented picture did contain a fire truck, but at too far a distance to make it worth adding here.

Horrible Photography skills, yes.

For those who have always claimed my fire truck obsession is due to fire men, and not the trucks themselves, I'd like you to note that firemen only appear in two of the pictures in this post. I can only imagine what my poor mother thought when she picked up this package from the photo developers.  An entire roll of film wasted on fire trucks!  Little could she have known, that this roll of film would still be cherished nearly sixteen years in the future.  I think this is evidence enough that the obsession dates back pretty far.

What can I say?  I really love fire trucks.   

Life: 23489285798679420 Kaitlin: 0

They say that the typical new years resolution lasts somewhere between two to three weeks.  This is probably one of the reasons I have never been highly motivated to even make new years resolutions.  I also don't really see the point in waiting for a certain date to set goals to improve oneself- it seems like a recipe set up to fail if you ask me.   "Yeah, I think I'll make that a new years resolution- Come the new year I'll be ready to start on that goal."  Really?  The year changing on the calendar must have some magical properties that are lost to me. 

This being said, I occasionally find myself in a position where, despite my doubting nature, I feel inspired to join in the old tradition and make some "resolutions."  Last year was one of those years.  I'd gone through some pretty drastic changes in my life, and I set some goals intended to improve some aspects of my life.  One of those goals, was to be more active in our wards extracurricular social functions. . You know, things like FHE, activities, break the fasts, and I even eventually found myself attending ward prayer. . . a slightly heathen activity I'd sworn off years ago.  Indeed, my efforts to be involved were far more successful than I had ever anticipated, and my "resolution" outlived the life expectancy of a resolution by nearly twelve-fold! 

The life happened. . . I moved, work schedules conflicted with activities, and old habits set back in again. 

Reflecting on last years success, and recently realizing I know absolutely no one in my current ward, I decided I might as well try out some sort of similar goal for this new year.  I mean, last year's resolution was blessed with such a long happy life, so why not attempt it again.

. . .

This morning I was hit with an enthusiastic desire to tackle some tasks of productivity which I had been avoiding.  Particularly, our kitchen has been suffering from post holiday overcrowding, and an odor problem which apparently I (who usually have an almost none existent sense of smell) could smell.  Eager to rectify the situation, I set about a thorough purge, which along with some other cleaning tasks, resulted in a couple of trash bags to be taken down stairs to the dumpsters which also seem to be suffering from post holiday over-crowding. 

After a day full of studying, purging, and more studying, I was nonetheless determined to stick to my goal of social re-acclimatization, so at a quarter after seven, I bundled up, locked the house, and set off to Family Home Evening, grabbing the bags of trash to take down on my way out.  Upon hefting the second bag of trash into the giant trash bin, my ears were alerted to an ominous clank, clank, clank, thud emanating from the trash, and all at once I had two epiphanies simultaneously.

1.  Never wear gloves when taking out the trash.  It may prevent your fingers from freezing off, but it also prevents tactile reminders of anything else that may be in your hands.

2.  After locking the door, properly secure keys in pocket, belt strap, teeth- pretty much anything other than your hands before grabbing trash bags.

Two simple steps can prevent this:  half an hour of dumpster diving in the dark at below freezing temperature. 

Fortunately a wonderful couple I work in the temple with, who live just the next building over came to my rescue, my keys were recovered, and I am home, warm, and freshly showered. 

Keys- with 15 year old key chain I would have been sad to loose

Productivity: FAIL  New Years Resolution: FAIL

Life: 23489285798679420  Me: 0

Tomorrow I think I shall plan to be just ordinary.

Spinster in Training

Some History. . .

Nothing about black Friday shopping has ever appealed to me.  Nothing.  You brave mobs of people, and wait in super long lines just to get mediocre deals on things you'll probably end up with buyers remorse for anyway, and which you probably wouldn't have decided you needed if it hadn't been for the brainwashing ads in the weeks leading up to Black Friday.  People literally lose their sanity on Black Friday.  I can say this as one who worked three years of retail. . . Three years of being the one on the other side of the doors when they open and the crowds rush in.  People ARE crazy!  This year however, I broke with tradition.  My immediate family was all in town for Thanksgiving along with my grandmother and an Aunt and her family.  A few of us. . my mom, a sister, my Aunt and I decided we were going to do a small amount of shopping. 

So, to the point. . .

Fortunately, we were all in agreement as to what kind of Black Friday shopping we wanted to do, and were able to do it all in a little shop in a back yard in a remote area of Riverton.  My purchase, for which I will never have buyers remorse, was two balls of the most beautiful, brilliant, royal purple, luscious llama, lace weight yarn I have ever seen.  It was essentially love at first sight.  ( In addition, I have recently settled on a scarf pattern for it which will be absolutely exquisite. )  Due to end of the semester projects, papers, and finals, this prized purchase had for several weeks, sat atop the mantle begging fondling hands of attention (of which it was not lacking).  However, a few days ago, with classes ended, and atrociously cold weather outside, I decided that it was time to do some cleaning, and finally find my purchase a home with the rest of my stash. 

The stash- As any yarn junkie could tell you, finding a home for a fresh purchase of yarn is no easy feat.  It of course requires, a complete inventory, and reorganization of the entire stash (I'll admit that this may no longer be possible for those with a larger stash than my own, but as my stash is still comparably small, for me this is always a requirement.).  The memory of projects longs finished, the excitement of hibernating projects waiting to be revived.  Yarns just waiting for the perfect pattern. my stash is like a year book. . . chronicling my life of knitting, and my much more infantile life of spinning.  As I was going through my stash, a number of things occurred to me.

1.  I'm pretty sure that my stash of yarn is enough that it would scare away any eligible young man who might be interested in me.  not that there are any. . . but if there were, it would.  Although I am highly allergic and lack a fondness for cats, my knitting habits likely place me well on the path to spinsterhood. 

2.  My yarn stash is the most valuable thing I own.  This is definitely true in terms of assets, and very nearly true in terms of personal value ( the only possible rival being, of course, my fire truck collection). 

3.  If my house were to ever be robbed, my most valuable items are likely safe since I have a hard time imagining a thief who would think of yarn as a valuable worth stealing. 

4.  After the organization of my yarn stash, I have discovered that the tub in which the majority of my stash is located is significantly less full than it could be.  This of course means that I am in need of some more additions to the stash.  As I have no yet achieved SELE (Stash Exceeds Life Expectancy), some new additions are definitely on my list of necessary things once I have found myself a real job. 


On that note- I have some knitting to do. 

PS.  Since I am currently working on one of my dream projects- The Aran Sampler afghan by Melissa Leapman (see below photo), I have decided I need a new dream project, and I have decided on a designer from whose patterns to choose.  

 

I, and many knitters I know view Herbert Niebling's patterns as some of the most intricate, and beautiful patterns ever created.  I believe that along with Shetland lace, they represent the pinnacle of lace knitting.  See THIS link for a sample pattern.  Someday. . .  I plan to be able to say that I have knit a Niebling!

PPS.  I have my camera back, but my new yarn and stash are in Utah, and I am currently in Ca, so again. . . sorry about the lack of pictures.  I know everyone would have loved pictures of all my yarn. . . Or something like that.