Monday, July 16, 2007


I have been fretting over getting a job in Kansas (you know, because someone has to support this family while Someone is getting highly educated) and have submitted dozens of resumes. Okay, maybe I've only submitted, like, seven. But even two seems like a lot. And I keep being annoyed at not ever seeing a job posting that was for a conference/event planner, because I love what I do and think I am very good at it. So, of course, in the drought of event planning positions, I've been applying for things that aren't necessarily in my field, but that seem kind of interesting and pay enough. So far I have had one "no" response and one "let's interview" response.

The interview was this afternoon. The HR guy called me last Friday and asked if I could come in for an interview. I said that if a phone interview would suffice that I would be happy to visit more with him Monday. As in today.

He and the CEO called this afternoon, and after about 10 minutes of talking about what she needed, she said, "I think you are just going to be an answer to my prayers."

Really? But what if I'm waiting for an answer to MY prayers? And can this really be an answer for both of us at the same time? And can I really commit to two years when what I really want is to only work for, oh, about nine months? How can I turn down such a good offer, which was actually higher than their listed highest amount? And do people really extend job offers over the phone after a half-hour phone interview? I mean, I know I'm good, but I'm not really that good.

And if it is an answer to prayer (and, truly, this has been a matter of prayer for months for me) then how blessed am I that a job in a great location, with great pay and fantastic benefits, working with seemingly delightful people, presented itself after one interview? The answer? Blessed. I am truly blessed.

Thursday, July 12, 2007


Reasons why I am excited to move:

  • I'll be closer to some of my family
  • Promises of evenings and Saturdays on the boat
  • Change
  • The chance of owning our own home
  • The humidity should help my cuticles be more healthy

Reasons why I am dreading the move:

  • Packing the house
  • Driving in a moving truck
  • The humidity will cause me to break-out like an eighth grader
  • I have to learn to love ponytails
  • Applying for jobs--hello, Kansas! I'm highly educated! With years of professional experience! You ought to give me a try. Or at least a fighting chance.
  • Leaving behind friends and family

Saturday, July 07, 2007

the purge

We have been slowly going through our belongings--making piles of "things to keep", "things to donate", and "things to throw away." I have to say that we are making great progress and I think at this point we might have tossed more than we kept. Today we went through the binders of papers and notes we had collected while at college. The result? A recycle pile three feet tall.

Two of the binders I went through were emails, notes, and journal entries from several years ago, while I was struggling through a painful relationship with a roommate and a boy. It was interesting reading back through that time and seeing how far I had come in terms of maturity and perspective. Who was that girl? I wish I could go back and show her the way out. Let her know that it would all work out, but that was a better way than the one she chose. It was painful to read through and remember how sad I was. Sad, and scared, and afraid of being alone.

I debated for a while over whether or not I should keep the journal. On one hand, yes, I really lived that, and I felt those things, and made those choices. On the other hand, why keep record of something that I would never want anyone to read? Even the entries and letters that were happy—declarations of love, memorable dates and activities—were still part of this overall unpleasant anecdote. Is it right to destroy forever that part of me? But what if I want to finally just let it go? I want to be free of that old me. I want to be able to edit that part of my life—to only pass along the end lesson instead of the painful process. I remember loving that boy. I read those old words and I remember writing them. I remember thinking that it was a love that would last forever.

Ann Brashares expressed my feelings, my exact feelings, in Girls In Pants:

“She needed to be free of him. She needed to get on with her life. Maybe even to fall in love again. She had a candidate in mind.

“It was easy to wish to let go of the torture and the heartbreak and the missing. It seemed easy, at least. But there was a catch. To let go of the pain, she had to give up the other parts, too: the feeling of being loved. The feeling of being wanted and even needed. The way he looked at her and touched her. The way her name sounded when he said it. And yes, she did still read those letters. Time for a full confession: She did.

“It wasn’t the suffering she willfully clung to. It was the precious stuff. But the precious stuff attached her, irrevocably, to the pain.”

So, I threw them all away. Every page. Every entry. Every word.

I know what love is. I feel it every day, and hope that I show it in return every day. I’m living a story that doesn’t have torture and heartbreak. My life is full of the precious stuff, and it was past time to purge the memories that could hold me back.

Would you have done it? Purged a journal?

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

the goings on

Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been away and you’ve missed me. What’s that? You haven’t missed me? Awkward. I guess I’m back anyway.

1. All the kittens, the lovely, snuggly, terror kittens, are gone. Three left us at the elementary school auction. Note: It’s hard to hand over a box of kittens to someone you don’t know. Who appears to be manning the cotton candy booth. Who doesn’t seem concerned about providing shade or water for the kittens. I might cry.
The last one, Pierre, came home to us for a week, learned to sleep on my head, made his mark on the cat lamp, and then left with the hippies. I wouldn’t have let him go if I didn’t think he would be loved, and the hippies seemed like they wanted to cover him in kisses, so I hope he is safe and happy. Also, I kind of hope he pulls the nose ring out of the guy.

2. We saw the musical Ragtime at the outdoor theater. Oh, Ragtime, how I love you. Oh, community theater, you try so hard, but you just can’t do it justice. This musical moves my soul. I can’t even listen to the songs in the car without almost crying. Something about the struggle to break from what is expected and be and do the things you dream about just touches me. Especially the story of Mother, who doesn’t even have a name beyond her title, who knows her place is The Home, but so desperately wants to travel and see the world. “What of the people who stay where they’re put, planted like flowers with roots underfoot? What of the people whose boundaries chafe? Who marry so bravely and end up so safe?” Maybe it’s because my culture taught girls so little of how to be anything besides a mother, and when I first saw and heard this musical I was struggling with wanting to be recognized as something valuable even though I wasn’t a mother, but my heart just aches for this person. And then, later, when she has a taste of standing up for herself, and she sings about she can never go back to before, oh, man. “There was a time my feet were so solidly planted. You’d sail away while I turned my back to the sea. I was content, a princess asleep and enchanted. If I have dreams, then I let you dream them for me. We can never go back to before.” I just can’t say enough how much I enjoy the music and the lyrics and the story of this musical. Do yourself a favor and go see it. Just, hopefully, at a theater a little better than community theater.

3. I love how the cities in Utah have “days” in the summer where they celebrate their city-hood with a carnival, rodeo, and fireworks. I could visit them every weekend. Um, except I’m not going back to the Summerfest again because I found a piece of metal in my snow cone. Also because I’m moving to another state.

4. We move in less than a month.