Recent Acquisition

It started the first year I worked for the Utah Arts Council. It was August, 2001 and we did our annual statewide exhibition up at the Bountiful Davis Art Center. The theme was mixed media and works on paper.

I was immediately drawn to this monotype by Jason Jones and thought, “I should buy this.” It’s called Portal. The artist told me he painted it in Helper when he was there taking a series of workshops. If you look closely you can see a blue USPS mail box and a glass door behind it. I remember talking to Jason on the phone and I told him this was my first original art purchase. He said, “Congratulations! It’s addicting.”

He was right. That winter the Utah Arts Council exhibited the Utah Watercolor Society’s “miniature” show and I bought this piece by Steve Sheffield. It’s really small, which makes it affordable, but I love winter scenes and Steve told me he painted this particular piece up Millcreek Canyon and I love Millcreek. He was really nice at the reception and told me he didn’t like how it was framed and I should let him reframe it for me. So I bought it. My coworker Lila and I fought over this one a little bit and so Steve painted another one just for her.

The following summer (2002) my friend Ilene was visiting and wanted to get her hair done so I took her to Phil at Jagged Edge (if you don’t know this about me, my ability to recall detail is ridiculous. I can also tell you I was wearing a blue and white striped shirt I bought at “Next” in London earlier that spring which I have since handed down to my roommate Carri). Phil was bleaching Ilene’s hair so it took awhile. While I waited, I walked over to Utah Artist Hands on 100 South and saw this pastel piece hanging on the wall. It’s by David Maestes. I couldn’t stop looking at it. I think I really liked the blues and greens (it looks better without my reflection). It now hangs above the coat rack in my house. I used it for a Relief Society lesson once on the creation of the world. Thanks to my art history training I can squeeze meaning out of just about anything. It was actually a really good metaphor about how man can seem insignificant compared to the vastness of the universe, but how we really are God’s most important creation. I won’t get into it here, but you can ask me about it later if you want.

This is another piece I just couldn’t keep my eyes off of so after visiting it several times, I just decided to buy it. It hung at a show we did at the Alice Gallery in the winter of 2003. For a photograph, it was more expensive than I wanted it to be, but I like it (and the artist was really nice and gave me a deal). It hangs in our living room to the right of the west windows. It’s by Don Thorpe and yes, I know it’s blurry. He took it at Liberty Park. I love Liberty Park; and trees, apparently. You may start seeing a theme here.

One Christmas I was feeling generous and had some extra money so I thought it would be nice to buy my parents a painting and call it an anniversary/Christmas present. My parents once told me they have this goal to visit every Spanish mission in California. I found a painting by Wilson Ong of the San Carlos mission and I knew that’s what I wanted to get them. But then I saw this companion piece depicting a chandelier at the same mission. The owner of the gallery told me if I wanted to buy both she’d give me $100 off. So I bought this one for me.

I’m losing track of my years. I think this one was late summer 2005. Each year the Deseret News sponsors a landscape competition (well, they haven’t the past two years since MUAH closed because of Main Street construction) but I saw a couple pieces by my good friend Shawn Rossiter there. I bought a piece of his for my mom once, but never owned one myself. I kept coming back to this as I looked at all the paintings, so I emailed Shawn and told him I wanted it. He commended my excellent taste. I’m not crazy about the frame though. I keep meaning to have him reframe it for me. But he’s expressed frustration about how I write more for my blog than I do for his magazine. So maybe once I have an article for him I’ll be on his good side.

Ted Wassmer was the oldest artist in Utah until he died a couple years ago. I was lucky enough to visit him when he was well. I went up to his apartment with some coworkers because we wanted to buy paintings to give to our outgoing board members. Ted gave us each a small painting of his before we left. He has a whole series of ladies with hats. When I picked mine out Ted looked at me, smiled, and said, “She’s in Vegas.” It hangs in my bedroom. Last week Annie told me she thinks it looks like a lady whose head exploded.

I started this fundraiser for Utah artists. I invite a printmaker to create a print, commissioned by the Utah Arts Council to coincide with our annual arts conference. The artist makes an edition of 25 and then we sell them for $100 each – which is a steal. The money goes towards innovation grants for artists. Last year Sandy Brunvand made this one for us: Healing Branches II. She stitches layers of wax paper over a lot of her prints. I believe she had surgery on her hands and so instead of stitching, she started stapling.

And my most recent acquisition: de sein by Stefanie Dykes. She has amazing technical ability and was this year’s invited artist for our conference. What makes this print even more unique is how each print of the series has this red pattern painted across the front and each is different.

I simply don’t have enough walls in my house to continue this habit. But I doubt that will stop me.

In with the New

I love my television programs. I used to have a lot more time for tv than I do now. Some shows became social events which made them even more fun: Rock Star INXS and Rock Star Supernova at Jon and Rhett’s; Lost at John and Josh’s – a few times anyway; Heroes at Crystal’s – which I rarely made it to because of FHE; 24 at Steph and Kristi’s – which I stopped going to because I just ended up falling asleep. Well, it was a good effort to make TV a social activity. But most of my shows I’m usually watching by myself – especially now that I hardly ever watch programs when they actually air.

Summer is full of REALLY bad television. More reality programming than I can stomach. Remember when they used to air reruns in the summer? Reruns would be way better than America’s Got Talent, Nanny 911 and Wife Swap. So when fall comes around I get excited for my shows to come back and sometimes I look forward to giving new shows a try.

TV shows I will continue watching:

Samantha Who? (ABC)
It’s sweet, funny and smart. Christina Applegate is great in this show, but the best character is her friend Andrea (played by Jennifer Esposito). She steals every scene.

Lost (ABC)
The premiere won’t air until late winter. I hate that about this show. But everything else I love makes up for it.

30 Rock (NBC)
Always funny. Can’t wait.

The Office (NBC)
After last season’s finale, I’m a little worried about this season, but we’ll see how it goes.

Heroes (NBC)
Again, I’m a little worried about it but I’m still looking forward to it.


TV shows I just don’t have time to watch, but would if I could:

Medium (NBC)
I really love this show. The mystery is fun and keeps you guessing. The relationship between the husband and wife seems real to me and their children are genuine characters too which you don’t see often these days. But I’m never home when it’s on. So I’ll have to watch it online when I have time.

House (FOX)

I think this show has great stories, but I don’t understand how three of the original cast members still have top credits but you hardly ever see them. Anyway, it’s on the same night I should be going to Institute. So if I’m not at Institute, I’ll probably be watching House.

TV shows I tried last season, but just couldn’t get into:

Pushing Daisies (ABC)

You’d think this is a show I would like – the characters, the style; I wanted to like this show, I just couldn’t get into it. I should give it another try.

Chuck (NBC)
I watched most of last season’s episodes. I really wanted to like this show so I watched several episodes online after the season was over. It was all right.

TV shows you’d think I’d like, but I just don’t watch:

Desperate Housewives (ABC)
I’ve actually watched several episodes and I enjoy it enough to watch it when it’s on, but if there’s something else on that I like, I’ll usually watch something else.

Grey’s Anatomy (ABC)
It’s too soap-opera for me. Again, if there’s nothing else on – but I can’t stand Meredith.

Ugly Betty (ABC)
I think Lost went up against Ugly Betty so of course I never watched it. I did watch it in reruns. It was good. I’ll have to borrow Season 1 from Kristi and Steph and watch it sometime.


TV Shows I would LOVE to continue watching but can’t because network execs are sell outs:

Friday Night Lights (NBC)
This is one of the best “family” shows on television. I was surprised at how much I liked it, seeing how it centers around football. The acting is good, the writing is good, and the story lines are believable. And critics love this show. I was never able to watch it when it aired, so I watched the first two seasons online, but I looked forward to it every week. I just went to the NBC page and it looks like they’re taking it to DIRECT TV. Exclusively. And then there’s a link to get DIRECT TV right below all the critically acclaimed reviews. That’s so disappointing. If I’m going to pay money to watch this show, it will be paid in rental fees when it comes out on DVD.

TV shows I can’t believe are still on the air:

ER (NBC)

Up until last week, I actually thought ER was canceled years ago.

24 (FOX)
I loved this show until after Season 4. Then it just got out of control. All my favorite characters were killed off. Once I stopped caring whether Jack Bauer got nuked or not, it was over for me.

Scrubs (NBC)
I never watched this until it was syndicated on KJZZ. I think it’s funny, but I watched the last season and I think it’s over.

One Tree Hill (CW)
I think I was in and out of the first season. The characters are lame. I can’t believe the CW got rid of Everwood and kept this one.


Let me know if you have any suggestions for me this year. And if I got my networks wrong on any of these, let me know so I can fix them. I kind of guessed.

Ward Recipes

I just put chicken enchiladas in the oven. Chicken enchiladas seem to be a common meal in my culture, yet I've never made them before. They're not like Mexican enchiladas that you'd order at a restaurant. They're casseroled and mixed with tons of cream of chicken and sour cream. I've eaten them plenty of times, but only when other people make them. I had 44 tortillas in the freezer, so I called my sister (who doesn't really cook) to give me her recipe since she said she makes really good ones.

Yesterday my mom gave me a copy of her ward's latest cookbook (she bought nine copies to give away as gifts). I think the last time her ward did a cookbook was over fifteen years ago. I know those recipes well and would refer to them often growing up.

I was flipping through this yesterday and found six variations on the chicken enchilada recipe. And then I began to wonder who edits this thing. The duplication is astounding, but I understand everyone needs to be represented; it's not like this was going through a publishing house or anything.

I don't use cookbooks very often – not since the internet really. And I found myself looking through these recipes and not trusting some of them (like what is “That Bean Stuff”?) and wanting to scroll down and read the ratings and reviews like I usually do when I look up a recipe online. But there aren't any. I think the idea is that they were submitted because they were good, and so I should trust them.


But here's my question: If I want to make an apple pie, do I make “Apple Pie”, “Mom's Apple Pie”, “Fabulous Apple Pie” or “The BEST Apple Pie?” I don't know. And can we talk about how many of these recipes have “Yummy” in the title? Yummy Rice, Yummy Tacos, and my favorite: Oklahoma Yummy. I love a cookbook where something as sophisticated as Baklava can share a page with Oklahoma Yummy.

My generation of cooks has joined the submission list and so some of these recipes will have the word “Awesome” in them. And then there's one that actually has an exclamation: “Yummy Dip!”

A lot of these belong to people, like “Mom's Apple Pie” or “Sherry's Salsa” or “Kathy's Best Bean Soup”. I wonder how many other bean soup recipes Kathy has. Well, at least she submitted the best one.

I remember my mom calling me several months ago to tell me her ward was doing this and she had some recipes she wanted to submit, but she wasn't sure whether it was appropriate to submit a recipe in a ward cookbook that has wine as an ingredient. I told her to do it. I'm not a rebel or anything, I just think people need to realize alcohol is a perfectly acceptable ingredient for a lot of dishes. I'm looking at my mom's recipes and she either didn't submit that recipe or she took it out of the list of ingredients. But you know what, Mom? Lori Burnett has a recipe in here with wine. That must have gotten past the editor.

I'm kind of excited to try some of these. Except the Tuna Ring with Cheese Sauce. I don't think I could eat something that involves canned tuna, an egg, cheese (variety not specified), water and Bisquick. It sounds like the most awful thing anyone could mix in a bowl, throw in the oven and then put in their mouth.

I think my chicken enchiladas are ready.

House Plans

Remember the Sears Wish Book? Back in the 80's that was my #1 reference for my Christmas list to Santa. I would look through that catalog dozens of times and circle all the things I wanted. Pretty normal for a little kid. But what may not be as normal was how I also looked at the section with all the appliances, lighting and furniture, and dreamt about my grown up house.

I remember telling my mom how it would be a good idea for me to start saving money for furniture for when I was grown up and married and had my own house. She didn't think it was as necessary as I did. Of course I didn't really put anything aside. I spent all my allowance on cassette tapes and candy.

What I did do was find some graph paper and I began to sketch a rough blueprint of my dream house (from a ten year-old's perspective). I had only seen one blueprint before, and it was the blueprint for the house I currently lived in. My parents had it built and my dad referred to the blueprints a lot and showed me how certain things veered from the original plan.

Anyway, when my cousin Liz came to visit, she and my sister started designing their houses too. Of course we planned to live on the same street because our kids would be best friends and play together every day. We sat in the living room and sketched our house plans. They were never very sophisticated, but still, I had my necessities (this blueprint isn't actually what I made. I wish I kept mine though):

1) There was a baby grand in a large living room. I think it sat on a level one step above the rest of the living room. I thought that would be a nice touch and give it a bit of a “concert hall” quality.

2) A grandfather clock was in the entry way. My parents never had a grandfather clock but my grandparents did. I loved that clock. That chime was an iconic part of my overnight visits to Grandma and Grandpa's house.

3) I was into bay windows. I think I liked the idea of sitting in a window with a lot of pillows and looking out at the rain. Come to think of it, I still like that idea.

4) For some reason, I drew a minivan in the garage. I guess I figured I would be a soccer mom with 4 or 5 kids. I also felt it important that the door in the garage lead directly into the kitchen because apparently I would come inside with a lot of groceries and wouldn't want to travel far.

5) The master bath was HUGE.

6) The dining room table sat 8 people. I loved the idea of family meals and having everyone at the table for dinner. Oh, and there was a bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room. I could see myself passing dishes from the kitchen to my obedient children who set the table for me. (It's amazing how these mental images from when I was 10 come back so easily.)

7) Last but not least, there were secret passageways (I think I got this idea from that show Webster). Not only did the passageways lead to other rooms in my house, I think my sister, my cousin and I had a collective idea to have the passageways lead to each other's houses. We thought that would be fun for the kids.

Now that I'm older, I have different ideas of what my dream house would be. The minivan, for example, has disappeared completely from my plans and desires. And I don't need bay windows. But I do have other needs. Some of these sound simple, but it's only because I don't currently have them.

1) I want a bath tub. I miss having a tub – especially when the weather gets colder. All I want to do is fill up a “bath with bubbles” (as my nephew Jack says) and get away from the cold. And you know what, even when I'm married I think it would be AWESOME to have my very own bathroom. Is that selfish? Extravagant? I don't know. Anyone seen that Everybody Loves Raymond when he lets Deborah have the bathroom? That's a good one.

2) I want a big pantry. I LOVE to cook. I love to plan what I'm going to cook. I love to open up a door and see a lot of food on a shelf waiting to be prepared and feel like I'm set for awhile. Today I looked in my pantry and saw nothing that could be turned into a meal.

3) I still want a piano. A baby grand would be great, but even an upright would be fine.

4) I still like the idea of having a large dining room table. Even though I probably won't end up having a lot of kids, I love to entertain. So my family of four could invite another family of four over.

Yes, these remain dreams. Some are definitely doable at this point in my life. I just need to make room for them. Or move.

I was at Sutherlands a couple weeks ago to buy some potting soil. Every time I walk into a home improvement center I gravitate towards the appliances and the lighting and pick things out for my future home. It's still fun.

I'm it.

I was tagged by my roommate Annie. She was sitting right behind me when it happened. You’d think I would have seen it coming. She even asked me what her quirky qualities were so she could put them on her own list (btw she didn’t use what I told her).

Here are six quirky things about ME. Forgive me if you’ve been reading my blog for over a year, because if you have, you’ve probably come across a few of these in a more comprehensive list found here.

1. I have to know what the weather forecast is every day. Well, I can function without knowing, but one of the first things I do in the morning is check my weather widget on my computer. I guess I just like to know what I can expect. And what I can wear.

2. I never order fries or soda when I go out to eat. But if someone is sitting next to me and has soda or fries, it's so tempting I usually end up picking off their plate and sipping their soda (depending on the person and with permission, of course).

3. The left side of the bed is my side. Even though I have a whole queen size bed to myself, I stick to my side. It’s not like I grew up sharing a bed and so I’ve become accustomed to it. Maybe it’s because all my pillows are stacked on the right side, I don’t know. Sometimes my legs will venture over to the right side, or I’ll cuddle with the stack of pillows over there, but I really don’t take advantage of my big bed like I could.

4. I tend to run down steps rather than walk down them (when I’m by myself). It’s more fun that way. I hope it doesn’t become the death of me.

5. I actually love playing the hostess, serving people and making sure everyone has what they need; it is second nature to me. But once it's expected of me I get a little annoyed.

6. I talk to animals. I'm also convinced they talk back to me.

Uh…this is the part where I’m supposed to tag six people. If I could add one more thing about me it would be that, like most people, I have a fear of rejection so I hate tagging people because if they refuse to accept my tag, I might take it personally.

DA DA

I always thought Atticus Finch would have been a good dad for me. He was wise, patient, warm, understanding and honest with his children. He respected them and knew he couldn’t keep them in a bubble.

I should say, I don't sit around dreaming up hypothetical families for myself from literature, I actually had an English assignment to pick alternate parents once.

However, I’m happy with the dad I was dealt -- despite the time he made us all cry on Mothers Day because he wouldn't let us keep both kitties. And despite his insensitivity when I was 7 and told him I was running away and he gave me a nickel for my expenses.

Dad turns 58 today and I realize I make fun of him every now and then (i.e. here and here) but I have plenty of sincere things to say.

I think everyone has moments in their life when they are reminded of how much they love someone. But what’s interesting is how those moments aren’t necessarily manipulated or orchestrated to be memorable.

I have a few memories of my dad that remind me how much I love him, because they remind me how much he loves me.

I never doubt that my dad is proud of me. He always introduces me to people he knows and goes on to share facts about me that might be of interest to them or applicable to the occasion. He’s introduced me to colleagues, friends, composers, apostles, and other acquaintances. He was never the kind of parent that had me sit in the shadows while he talked to important people. I was never insignificant to him. He was proud to have me with him and proud to be my dad.

I remember walking down the halls of the HFAC at BYU and having him introduce me to every professor or dean we ran into. He would put his hand on my back and say, “Have you met my daughter Laura?” and then he would go on about something and say, “Isn’t she cute?” I always feel important when I’m with Dad.

When I was a freshman at BYU, I had no money. I lived at home and since my dad taught at BYU, I hitched a ride with him every day. We had more one-on-one time than we ever had before. Dad was really cool and let me use his office for whatever I wanted. He even cleared a bookshelf for me to keep my books. The hard part was matching my schedule to his so I didn’t keep him at school much longer than he needed to be there. I scheduled myself from 8 AM to 2 PM every day. That's a tight schedule, and it didn’t allow me any time between classes to eat. I was starving by the time we met for the ride home. One day, when all my classes were over, I came into his office and noticed “my” shelf was filled with muffins, juice, granola bars, fruit and chips. I said, “What’s all this?” and he turned around and answered, “The Easter Bunny came!”

The summer Jurassic Park came out in theatres, my friends made plans to go see it, and they called my big brother (their new best friend because he could drive) to go with them. Somehow everyone neglected to let me know about it. Kids have a way of figuring these things out and the excuse was “there wasn’t enough room in the car” or something lame like that. I was insulted, of course. My dad found me feeling left out and hurt. He said he was going to the movie later that afternoon and I should go with him. Of course that wasn’t my ideal situation. He told me I was “too dignified” for a lot of my friends. I never like hearing people put my friends down, even when they’ve let me down, but I was flattered that he considered me “dignified.” Ever since then, I’ve tried to live up to his compliment and make dignity part of my character.

One more: When I graduated from college I moved to Portland, Oregon. I had good times there, but overall I think I was frustrated with not knowing where my next paycheck was coming from and feeling like I had no direction. I had no money (again), no car, and no furniture. I had two of my best friends with me, but I wasn’t going anywhere career-wise and I wasn't making any connections in Portland. I came home that summer for my brother’s wedding and it was hard for me to leave Salt Lake at the end of the week. My dad dropped me off at the airport and gave me an envelope. When I walked up to the gate I opened the envelope and there was a check for $100 and this note:



I put the envelope in my violin case (I don’t know why I felt I needed my violin in Portland with me). At some point, I left my violin case in the restroom by accident. I ran around, frantically trying to track it down as they boarded my plane. I ran back in the bathroom and it was gone. So I ran up to Southwest Airlines and asked how to reclaim lost property. They directed me towards a room and told me to knock on the door. My eyes were red from stress and repressed tears as I asked the nice Southwest employees if they happened to pick up a violin. One of them looked at me (a little amused) and said, “Are you La-La?”

I was relieved to have my violin back, my $100 check (ironically, if you run away as an adult, your stipend goes up significantly), and the multiple choice question so typical of my dad.

Happy Birthday Dad! Thanks for always making the answer to that question an easy one.


*Just in case you were wondering...Scooter is the cat, Buddha was the dog, and Morlarin was my dad's invisible childhood friend.

Bitten

After thinking about it for a few seconds I've concluded mosquitoes offer no good or benefit to society.

Nothing can call up my paranoia and disdain quite like the blood-sucking mosquito. My problem is mosquitoes absolutely LOVE me. I am a magnet. I must emanate a pheromone that seduces the insects, invites them to suck the lifeblood from my body and encourages them to invite all their friends. I will be slapping my arms and brushing my legs and people will look at me like I'm insane.

I was at a pool party a few weeks ago and I confessed my unequivocal fear for mosquitoes. Someone asked, “Why, because of West Nile?”

“No, I just hate getting bitten.”

I suppose it's ironic that the deadly diseases mosquitoes can carry don't burden me in the least. I think what it is, is the loss of control. I can't see them assault me. They're sly when they land on my skin. And I do, I feel assaulted. I take it a little too personally, and feel defeated when that first itch sensation reaches my brain and I know the inevitable has happened: they found me again.

The other night I wanted to sit on my porch because the weather was so nice. I looked up at the porch light and saw the miscreants swarming around. So I turned off the light and sat in the dark. At some point I learned mosquitoes are attracted to light, so I figured if I sat in the dark they would find a light to travel to. I sat for about 8 minutes and then walked inside to discover I was bitten three times.

The worst is when I wake up in the middle of the night. A polite whisper prompts my brain and my eyes peacefully open. And then I hear it -- the slight buzzing of a satiated mosquito.

There's a mysterious adrenaline that manifests itself in the middle of the night. As soon as I suspect a mosquito presence I am jolted from my slumber. I don't just wake up -- I wake up in full combat mode. I flick the light on and I am ready to hunt down the mosquito until it is good and dead. Sometimes it takes a couple nights to conquer it. But once I do, the victory is sweet and I can sleep in peace.

I was sleeping in the same bed as my friend Kristi in Aruba last month and every night I got bit. They didn't touch her. They must smell my fear. And the delicious ambrosia that is my blood.

If I could rid the world of them I would.

Tests, Frets, and Try-outs

I failed my drivers test when I was 16. I probably would have passed if it weren't for that second when the instructor beat me to the brake. If you remember, they have their own brakes and the rule is if the instructor hits the brake, you automatically fail. So as soon as that happened, I knew it was over. I'm sure I cried for a good portion of the walk home.

Unfortunately, I let that day destroy a bit of my confidence. I'm sure a lot of kids would have gone back out there as soon as they could to pass the test and get their license, but I wasn't one of those kids. I was afraid to try again. I was afraid I'd fail again. It's not like I needed to drive right away. I had older friends that drove, and besides, I didn't even have a car. So I put it out of my mind and didn't make it a priority.

Months passed and school was over. I remember staying in bed one lazy morning when my dad opened my door. He said he was going down to his office in Provo and if I wanted, he could take me to the DMV in Orem to take the drivers test. I timidly declined his offer. I was still scared I would fail. My dad tried to persuade me by saying the road tests at the DMV are easier than the ones high schools give you. I said I wasn't ready. But as soon as he walked downstairs I realized I couldn't keep putting it off. Somehow I mustered the courage to do it. I hurriedly put some clothes on, ran downstairs and told him I changed my mind.

I passed with a 94%.

It's not like I was always afraid to take risks and try new things. When I was 17, I made the very uncharacteristic decision of trying out for the school play. I had never been in a play before; I never took drama. But I memorized a monologue and auditioned. The drama teacher had me say my lines over and over again. I had to say my lines as if I were ecstatic, as if I were in love with the person I was talking to, as if I were drunk. I even had to say my lines while dancing around the stage. I still can't believe I did that – given how shy I was in high school. I remember having to pretend like I wasn't myself, because I would never do anything scary like that. But I left elated – not because I thought I gave a good audition (I was pretty sure I didn't), but because I was so proud of myself for attempting something scary and unfamiliar.

A couple days later I walked over to the drama door to check out the “call back” list. To my surprise my name was on a short list of students asked to audition for the final cut. I stared at it for a good two minutes in disbelief. I remember other students crowding around asking “Who's Laura Durham?” I smiled and walked away.

The call backs were on the school stage. Something happened as I sat there surrounded by drama students. I thought, “What am I doing here? I don't want to be here. I just wanted to see if I could actually pull it off, I don't really want to be in the school play.” So I didn't try as hard as I should have, and I didn't get the part. But I didn't care. Now I knew. I could act. I just didn't want to.

Four years after my acting audition, I found myself at a singing audition. Only this time I was a junior at BYU. And this time I really wanted to make it. Singing was always something I knew I was good at and something I really enjoyed. It had been awhile since I sang in a choir. I missed performing and I wanted music to play a bigger role in my life.

I auditioned with several other students. We sang a hymn together and then we each sang a line by ourselves. The conductor wasn't even there, his assistants were doing the preliminary auditions.

A couple days later I walked over to the E Wing in the HFAC to check the list of those who were called back to sing for the conductor. They had three lists: Concert Choir, Men's Chorus and Women's Chorus. Concert Choir was more prestigious than Women's Chorus – I didn't want to sing in Women's Chorus. I looked the list up and down, but my name wasn't there. I checked again. I looked to see if they had my name out of alphabetical order. Nope. Still not there. “Maybe...they put me in Women's Chorus...?” I thought. So I checked that sheet. No Laura Durham. I didn't bother checking that one a second time. I stood back in disbelief. “But I'm a singer," I thought. Here is something I've been good at my entire life...something that is inherently a part of me...and I didn't even make the call back for Women's Chorus?

Later that day I walked into my Dad's office and told him I didn't get in. He looked slightly angry. “Did you tell them I'm your dad?” (My dad is a professor at BYU's School of Music). No, I didn't. “Go tell them who your daddy is.” I wasn't going to do that. “Do you want me to talk to Mac?” (Mac was the conductor). I told him I really, really didn't. My pride stepped in and I told him if I couldn't get in on my own I didn't want to get in.

Although I didn't cry like I did when I failed my drivers test, I did let it hurt my confidence -- and the scars remain. It's hard when music is something that has played such an important role in your life (and for generations before my life). And singing was something people always told me I was good at. I still played the piano and sang every now and then in church or whatever. My dad sang in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and my mom is the Executive Director of the Utah Chamber Artists so I attended concerts all the time. But after that failed audition I convinced myself I just wasn't a singer like I thought I was and I didn't need to be. In fact, at some point after college when people asked me if I sang, my answer changed from “yes” to “not really.”

After I graduated from college I had to say goodbye to a lot of my good college friends. My mom asked me a couple times if I wanted to sing with the Chamber Artists. It always came wrapped in “it will be something fun to do and you can meet new friends.” My mom had sung with the choir ever since I was 13 and I went to every concert and helped out with whatever they needed. Mom even paid me to be their librarian for a little while. When I was younger, I always saw myself singing with them someday. I was around the choir a lot and knew most of them by name -- it seemed like the natural thing to do. But flunking a preliminary singing audition stained my memory and now it didn't seem so natural. And this wasn't a little college choir, this was one of the best choirs around and I had a lot of respect for their talent. So when Mom asked me if I wanted to sing with them, I would politely turn her down. I wasn't necessarily afraid I wouldn't get in – I never underestimated the power of nepotism. I was more afraid of not being good enough but being allowed in because of who my mother was.

Last Tuesday I auditioned for the Utah Chamber Artists and a couple days later I got an email from Barlow (the artistic director) letting me know I was in. It took me a long time to be OK with the fact I might never know if it was because of my singing ability or because my mom would have killed Barlow. It was hard for me to suck it up after all these years. I think what finally pushed me was getting to know the choir members on a more friendly level when I went with them to Europe in June. I realized what an enriching experience it could be and how it's stupid to let this opportunity pass me by. I finally accepted that it doesn't necessarily matter how you get in the door, it's what you do once you're in that really matters.

But that didn't make it any less scary to sing for Barlow. It kind of felt like that night I auditioned for the school play. I had to act like I wasn't nervous; I almost had to pretend to be someone else. Only now I realize just because I do something scary and unfamiliar (and potentially confidence crushing) doesn't mean I'm acting out of character – I'm building character.

I'm thrilled to be part of the choir and perform with an ensemble again. Sometimes it takes a long time to come back to doing something you really love and realize how much you always wanted it. It's going to be a challenge and a lot of fun: two things I always need.

I appreciate everyone I talked to afterwards for saying the right words to help me feel like my talent played as big a role as the Durham name. Obviously, feeling legitimate is important to me.

First concert: October 13th. If you are reading this, consider yourself invited.

That Person

I want to be that person who doesn’t let a gift, kind gesture, or invitation go without a phone call or hand-written thank you note.

I want to be that person who always remembers to bring a host/hostess gift.

I want to be that person who always has fresh flowers in her home.

I want to be that person who follows through on her ideas.

I want to be that person who doesn’t miss the opportunity to express to someone how their kindness made her day or how their words influenced her for the better.

I want to be that person who does something about a situation rather than complain about it.

I want to be that person who can offer a sincere and effective apology.

I want to be that person who doesn’t worry about what she can’t change.

I want to be that person who doesn’t let others’ perceptions prematurely sway her own.

I want to be that person who speaks only when her words are ready to be spoken.

I want to be that person who doesn’t give confidence to stereotypes.

I want to be that person who undoubtedly keeps her word.

I want to be that person other people aren’t afraid to be honest with.

I want to be that person who other people feel comfortable asking a favor.

I want to be that person who has season tickets to the theatre, symphony and ballet.

I want to be that person who doesn’t let junk pile up in her back car seat.

I want to be that person who puts 100% into each task she is assigned.

I want to be that person who wakes up at 5 AM and works out for a half hour, makes her bed, reads her scriptures, takes a shower and then is on time for work at 7 AM.

Breaking at Dawn

I love a good clothing sale. Even if I don’t end up buying anything, I still like to see what’s out there. A lot of online clothing stores have popped up around Utah – especially those boasting modest clothing options for those of us who like to be fashionable but don’t like to dress like Hollister models.

Last year my cousin Monica introduced me to Layers Clothing. She wore a really cute shirt to a fundraiser we were at and I ended up buying the exact same shirt. And I’ve bought several items since. Every summer, Layers has a clearance warehouse sale. I purposely avoided it last year because a) I hate crowds, b) I hate people pushing me, and c) I hate waiting in line.

Somehow, this year, I had the stupid idea of attending the sale. It started at 8 AM on Saturday. So I woke up a little earlier than I normally would. There’s something about being up, dressed, make-upped, and in your car with a “to do” list that makes you feel like you are going to have one productive day.

So I drove clear out to 4500 South for this sale. As I was pulling off the freeway I thought to myself, “Ugh. There are going to be a TON of people here.” And then I thought, “Laura, what makes you think everyone has the same idea you have? What makes you think everyone likes the same clothes you do and everyone, like you, is willing to wake up early on a Saturday just to get a deal?”

As I pulled into the Crestwood Business District at 7:50 AM, this is what I saw as I approached the Layers Warehouse:

I took my foot off the gas and coasted as I tried to decide whether I should just turn around and get the heck out of Dodge. But then I thought, “No, I woke up for this, I drove out here for this.”

So I parked. And I walked towards the line of women. I was about 200 people back. You’d think they were waiting in line for a rock concert. Or, to be more specific to the demograph, you’d think they were waiting in line for the opening of “Twilight”.

I would say 90% were in their early to mid 20’s. And I would say 50% of them were young mothers because 50% of them either had a pregnant belly or they brought their kids. “Who brings their kids to witness this madness?” I thought. Leave them with the husband. Just as I thought that a pregnant lady behind me said, “I thought about bringing my baby but decided it would be the worst idea in the world.”

It wasn’t until ten past eight that they opened the doors and everyone rushed in. Plastic bins with sizes written on them lined the folding tables, they had cookies and water coolers set out and a bunch of draped-off sections that said “don’t come back here, employees only.”

Obviously, it was hard to move around. I was expecting heartless, relentless pushing and shoving but was pleasantly surprised to find that some of the shoppers were very considerate. If I was looking in the same bin as someone, she would ask “What size are you looking for? If I come across it I’ll let you know.” Although everyone was pretty much looking for the same size (medium) so those went fast.

I grabbed about three items and decided I was done. I looked up to see where the line to pay started. It was already wrapping the perimeter of the warehouse – and I wasn’t even close to the front. Girls were taking turns waiting in line for each other as the other ones fetched cups of water and cookies. A teenager was sitting on a pile of clothes in a bin as she waited in line. Her mother pushed her forward a couple inches every 5 minutes or so. I chatted with the girls behind me. They were nibbling on cookies and complaining about anything they could think of. We commiserated.

Girls were trying on tops over their clothes. I decided to do the same with the swim top I grabbed. “Eh,” I thought as I threw it back in the bin to my left. I didn’t want it that bad.

It started to get hot. Girls were wiping their brow and putting their head between their legs. One of the girls who used to be behind me returned to her group and whispered something and then they, quite nonchalantly, left. Hmmm…I thought. Suspicious. Shortly after there was an announcement that the cashiers decided to form a second line. “What!” I screamed in my head. That's where those girls went. I felt a little betrayed.

I had been waiting in line for a half hour at this point and moved maybe 4 yards. I noticed the girl in front of me was reading a book with a black hardcover. She was about halfway through. I looked up and around and noticed a lot of girls had that book in line. I asked what she was reading and she said it was "Breaking Dawn" the new Twilight book that came out the night before. She waited in line all night for that too.

And that was my tipping point. Something happened inside me. Any desire I had for these remaining three items in my arms was quickly waning. I thought, “This is SO not my scene.”

I looked ahead of me and calculated how much longer I would be standing there based on how far I had moved in the past 30 minutes. I figured another 2 1/2 hours. I looked down at the orange dress I picked out and thought “Yeah, it’s only $10 but I don’t need it.” I took a big breath (I would say cleansing, but there was no clean air in there). A Layers employee walked past the line with a couple electric fans. I thought about all the things I needed to get done that day. I looked at my other two shirts and realized I would be perfectly happy without them. I looked around me one more time, set the clothes down on a table, and then walked out.

You might say I gave up; I couldn’t handle it. But I’m telling ya, I walked out of that sweat house feeling empowered and liberated. And perfectly capable of paying full price for a piece of clothing in a more desirable and accessible environment. Never again.

I can’t wait for their Fall line.

Living at the Rio

Last night I set my alarm for the first time since Quarter Day. The ten hour work day begins.

The official PR term from the Governor’s Office is “Working 4 Utah.” It puts emphasis on the fact that we’re only working 4 days to help us feel good about our jobs.

I actually didn’t sleep too soundly so when I did wake up to my 6:30 AM alarm, I had been kind of awake for awhile. I stayed in bed for about 5 minutes, letting my eyes adjust to being open. I took a shower last night so I wouldn’t have to worry about that this morning.

As soon as I stood up and walked out my bedroom, I heard the shower in the bathroom downstairs. “Crap.” I needed to leave the house in 10 minutes. I can’t wash my face, put in my contacts, brush my teeth or anything. “I’ll just use the bathroom at work” I thought to myself as I slapped some clothes on, slipped on the first pair of flip flops I saw on my floor and then walked downstairs. I grabbed a banana, my cell phone, my purse and I was out the door.

I noticed the sprinklers were on out front. I sometimes hear the sprinklers in the morning, but I rarely see them in action.

When I pulled into my building today I had my pick of the parking spots. I might be the only person who actually made it in by 7 AM. I wanted my first stop to be the bathroom, but the janitor had it closed for cleaning.

So I went to my office, turned on the news and sat down. I checked my phone messages but didn’t feel good about calling people at 7 AM so I decided to return those messages later.

Fletcher showed up around 7:22. He poked his head in my office and said, “Don’t tell anyone I was late OK?”

Around 7:55 AM, I went into Fletcher and Jim’s office to just sit. Lila hadn't come in yet. Jim asked me what I did this weekend. I couldn’t remember. We sat in silence for a little while. I asked Fletcher if he wanted to order our supplies from Kinkos. He told me he doesn’t think we should ask each other questions before 8 AM. I agree. At least when it comes to hard questions like “what did you do this weekend?” or “how are you?”

I’m trying to think of ideas that will make this ALL DAY AT WORK thing work. I'm also going to try and plan an errand or outing once a day mid afternoon. Like around 3 PM to help break up the day. I think I’m going to buy milk and cereal and keep it here so I can eat breakfast in the morning. Today was a no makeup day and I think a lot of days may end up being that way, so I’ll probably have to bring some lip stick or whatever too. And contact lenses. And a tooth brush. It’s so early. This will take some getting used to. But who knows, maybe I’ll end up liking it.

I must say, the gallery did look particularly beautiful at 7 AM in the morning. The lighting was a little bit magical.

While I was waiting for other people to do their work before I could finish my work I decided to be productive and rearrange the office. And reorganize the storage closet. That took about four hours.

Last night I put myself to sleep by making a mental list of what I’m going to do all day on Friday since I don’t have to work:

Get a massage (I’ve been meaning to do this for over a month now).
Go see a matinee of Dark Knight (still haven’t seen it). Maybe at the IMAX.
Go to Costco.

That’s as far as I got. Kristi, maybe you have ideas of what I can do on my day off since you are the expert of days off in the summer.

Journal Gem #7

Tuesday, November 5, 2002
9:29 AM, Rio Gallery, SLC

First, let's finish up Sunday. I just think this is funny: About 4 PM this girl calls me. I think her name was Sarah.

"Hi Laura, I'm just doing my visiting teaching routes."
"OK..."
"Is it ok if we just do last month's visiting teaching over the phone?"
"Sure..." (still wondering who she is)
"Good. So how are you?"
"I'm doing fine." I say, trying not to laugh.
"So do you work? Or are you in school?"

I tell her what I do and she sounds impressed.

"Wow! That sounds like fun."
"Yeah, it is."
"Good. Can I give you the visiting teaching message real quick?"
"All right."
"OK. Well the message is about priesthood blessings and how important they are. And how you shouldn't hesitate to ask for a blessing because it brings blessings to the priesthood holder too."
"Good message."
"Yeah. So is there anything I can do for you?"
"No, but I appreciate you asking."
"All right, well it was nice getting to know you Laura."
"Yeah, you too. Buh bye."

CHECK.

Some things about Aruba...

Originally inhabited by Dutch settlers, Aruba is an island about 15 miles off the coast of Venezuela. It is 12 miles long and 6 miles wide.

Papiamento is the official language of Aruba. But most everyone here speaks four languages: Dutch, Spanish, English and Papiamento. By the time kids are in the 4th grade, they've pretty much learned all four languages. We went to church today (can't believe we found it) and they had Spanish and English hymn books. The branch president spoke Spanish, the guy who gave the first talk spoke Papiamento (but he also said the opening prayer in English -- for us I think). We had a missionary from Sacramento translate the talks for us. He did great with the Papiamento talk, but struggled a little with the Spanish (Papiamento is a mixture of Dutch, English, Spanish and French).

The local currency is Florins. But they take US Dollars everywhere. But they won't give you change in US currency. They give you change in Florins. And I swear they just give you whatever they want back because I can do the conversion in my head, but it varies depending on who's giving me change. I'm thinking I might have enough Florin coins now to buy a candy bar.

Apparently tops are optional for women at the beach. And apparently bottoms are optional for baby boys at our pool.

It's HOT here. And the sun is intense. We were told the other day the worst months to be here are August and September, because the wind stops blowing and you're just dripping all the time and you never feel clean or dry.

The crime rate is about 1%. I think we've seen maybe one cop car. And that was today. And he was leading a parade of children on bicycles.

We're having a great time. I think our favorite thing so far was the all day jeep tour we took on Friday. We saw a ton of stuff and it was just fun off-roading in the jeep. I almost flew out a couple times. I loved it.

We're renting a house about 5 minutes away from the beach. It's a great little house -- exceeded my expectations. Our address is something Noord Bona Vista. There are several dogs in our neighborhood that just hang outside on the porch. They're polite enough not to come in. But we like them. Two have really taken to us. We call them Juan and Hans. Or, sometimes, Han and Juans. Pedro will come over every now and then. And then I met another one I like to call Geertgen.

If anyone is coming to Aruba and needs a place to stay, contact Kristi and she can hook you up with the proprietor of this house. You'll save yourself a lot of money by staying here and not at the Marriott or Hyatt or something.

I don't know what we're doing tomorrow. Maybe the butterfly gardens. And then Tuesday is sailing and snorkling. And as always, trying to keep an eye on Mark who tends to wander off on his own.

Sales Calls

I get a lot of calls at work that really shouldn’t be directed to me. One third of my calls are from people trying to sell me toner, printing supplies, etc. I usually hang up on half of them before I hear a voice because there’s always that little bit of silence that gives them away. And then if they ask to speak to “Leela” Abersold instead of Lila – they’re toast.

When I was younger and I answered the phone, I could usually tell it was a sales call too. They would ask to speak to my dad and I reluctantly told Dad the phone was for him. When my look gave me away Dad would look at me, knowing how hard this was for me, but demand that I tell them he wasn’t home (fully aware his voice was loud enough for them to hear) or sometimes he would say, “Tell them your Daddy's in prison.”

I got better at just yelling, “Dad! It’s for you!” when it was a sales call and I clenched my teeth as I quietly hung up the phone, knowing very well what he does in these situations. I would stand there for a minute, frozen; listening carefully for any hint of a conversation. When I didn’t hear anything, I would tiptoe over to his study, peek in and see him grading papers, with the phone receiver placed on his desk. He would turn to look at me, expressionless, and then he would pick up the receiver, check up on the telemarketer and then set it back down on the desk and return to his work.

“Dad!” I would say.
“What?” He replied angrily.
“Why don’t you just talk to them?”
“I don’t want to.”
“They’re just doing their job.”
“They should get a better job.”

I hated it. I felt so bad for them that I would just start taking the calls myself and kindly let them know that we weren’t interested in what they were selling.

The older I get, the more impatient I get with telemarketers. I don’t know how I still get these calls at work. I’m on that “do not call” registry which I’m beginning to wonder about. I recently stopped transferring salesmen to Lila when they ask for her. I stopped after handing over a fundraiser for MS and then hearing her yell “No way!” at the person on the other line and then hang up. I thought that was a little harsh for a good cause.

Just now I got a call from someone asking for Lila. I asked who was calling (knowing she had no interest in speaking to them). He answered really quickly – perhaps hoping I wouldn’t understand him – and then not care enough to have him repeat it. But I did have him repeat it. Twice. He asked to speak to my manager. I asked him if he wanted to speak to my manager or if he wanted to speak to someone who can actually answer his questions. He got impatient with me and said,

“Who orders the company’s printing supplies?”
“Oh, we’re not a company. We’re a state agency.” (Our usual response to sales calls)
“You’re not a company?”
“No, we’re not allowed to order the supplies we want. Someone who works in a big building decides that for us.”
“Can you give me the number of the person who orders the supplies?”
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
“You don’t know who that is?”
“Not off the top of my head.”
“You don’t have their number?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Well,” in a condescending voice, “I’ll call back and maybe you’ll have the number then.”

I felt like I was being sent to my room and not allowed to come out until I figured out what I did wrong. I doubt he'll be calling back.

One night, my old roommate Ilene thought she had a really good strategy.

Telemarketer: “Could I speak to Ilene __________?”
Ilene: “She doesn’t live here, may I take a message?”

I laughed through the night.

Journal Gem #6

Wednesday, January 22 2002
10:42 PM
Bedroom

Note to me: Before asking Dad to edit my writing, be prepared for what I'm getting myself into. I had this light, informal and conversational style going on and Dad shrunk it down, stripped it of my voice and all its personality until it read like a textbook.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate and will even incorporate some of his suggestions, but I choose to retain some of the wordiness he was so quick to dismiss. He gave me a little lesson on the verb "to be" and then we sat down and rewrote a paragraph replacing the word "is" with other verbs or simply omitting it altogether.

It was when he started talking about how Anglo-Saxons spoke and the invasion of William the Conqueror that I decided to just play along for the time being and then do what I wanted to later.

I cannot deny it was an educational experience.

I’ll be Scooter’s mommy…

Several years ago I learned that it's not just dogs that need to be groomed.

Scooter, our family cat, has let himself go in his old age. He doesn’t clean and groom himself often enough to get all the mats out of his fur. So they inevitably clump together and gather more and more fur until they pull on his skin, causing him pain and stress.

I used to brace myself, pick up the cat, the comb, the scissors, and (if I was lucky) another person to hold him down while I groomed away. But it gets to a point when there’s not much you can do with an angry feline without fearing for your life.

Ever since I moved out, I would visit the house on occasion and notice Scooter’s uncomely appearance and tell my dad he needs to be combed. I don’t think he listened to me because every other time I visited my dad would tell me “Laur, Scooter needs you to comb him real bad.”

Well, it did get real bad. So bad I convinced my parents to take Scooter in to the vet to get shaved. He came back naked and ashamed. He found a cold, dark corner in the basement and didn’t come out for 3 days. But he was clean -- and not as hot.

We had him shaved for the second time a couple years ago. This time my mom told me it was my turn to take him in – even though I didn’t live at the house. So I dutifully dropped the cat off at Hillside Veterinary Hospital one morning before work and picked him up after work.

Before:

Here he looks independent, content to sit in the back seat, yet a little insecure about where I’m taking him.



After:

Here he is clingy, needy and afraid to touch anything that isn’t me.

The past month or so I’ve noticed, when visiting the house that Scooter is all nobby again. I told my mom he needs to be taken in for a shave. Time and time again, I would come home and he was still nobby. About a week ago I was there and said to my dad, “Dad, you really need to take Scooter in to get shaved.” To which he replied, “No, MOM needs to take him in to get shaved.”

His tone had an implication that led me to believe he was still harboring an argument from a marital discussion about the matter. I chose not to pursue the issue. My parents went out of town and I have been house sitting for them in Sandy. I decided yesterday to just take him in myself.

Turns out he was also due for a wellness exam and three vaccinations.

The “technician” I spoke with wasn’t very warm and friendly. In fact, she was cold and judgmental. I asked if Scooter really needed to be shaved because his fur wasn’t THAT matted. She said, “Do you want him to just be combed?”

“Well, that’s what I’m asking…”

“Look, it’s a matter of sedating him or not sedating him.”

“Right. I thought you could assess the situation and see if he really needed to be shaved. Because I would rather not put him through that if you could just comb out his clumps.”

“Well, he seems kind of uptight. But if he’ll let me I’ll comb him.”

I stared at her, stroking Scooter’s mane as I reconsidered leaving him with this chilly woman. But ended up telling her to just comb him.

Five hours later I went to pick him up. They insisted I go back and get him rather than them bringing him out to me. Apparently he was “pissy” with her.

I walked to the room with all the kennels. The technician stood back as she opened the door to Scooter’s cage. For some reason I almost asked her if he had had anything to eat but stopped myself realizing that was ridiculous. I removed him with little trouble. Scooter hissed at her as we walked out. I sent a mental message to Scooter letting him know I didn’t like her either.

Here he is BEFORE:

Independent and resigned to the fact that he’s going somewhere unfun.






Here he is AFTER:

Clingy, needy and pissed.

Hopefully the every other year pattern will continue so I don't have to do this more often.

Slow adults at play

Last week I was driving in West Valley City on my way to jury a sculpture show. Not long after I turned onto Redwood Road from 3300 South I saw this crazy man darting through traffic like a maniac. No cross walk -- no intersection; he was on his phone, weaving in and out of cars on a major road right in front of me.

I, along with everyone else, was going about 40 mph so I started slowing down so I wouldn't hit him. He motioned to me like I should continue forward. I said, "Moron! What do you think you're doing in the middle of traffic?" in the sound proofness of my car.

After I was done staring him down, I directed my attention to the road again only to see this sign off to the right.


Of course. Look out for crazy people. My bad.

Paranoia

Everyone has things they're paranoid about, right?

(Please say yes...)

I, for example, tend to be paranoid about my teeth. I have been to the dentist 4 times this year already. I have a love/hate relationship with my teeth. I value oral hygiene, yet I hate the problems teeth can cause, and the accompanying expense. I hate cavities. And when I get a cavity I take the news as a personal failure. Granted, for awhile I wasn’t flossing as I should. And now the fear that my neglect is causing (not to mention will cause) problems for my teeth haunts me.

As a result, my current teeth cleaning regimen consists of brushing twice a day, flossing at least once a day and rinsing with mouthwash twice a day. And no more of the wimpy Crest Pro Health rinse. I rinse with the hard stuff now. Only ADA approved for me.

The paranoia began with my last routine checkup in March. The dental hygienist kind of freaked me out when she told me I had potential problems. And then the dentist told me I had two cavities and one of my silver fillings was leaking, thus causing decay underneath. So I had to return for three fillings.

I complained about my dental woes to several people. When I complained to my sister that my mouth was a mess she said, “Dude, so is mine.” Somehow that made me feel better – knowing I wasn’t alone.

Although her response was the most helpful, my mom’s was my favorite. After telling her about my dental visit she said, “Honey, do you want to get a new dentist?” I loved that her solution for me was to find someone who would tell me my teeth were just fine. She wasn’t being sarcastic at all, trying to indirectly say I just need to deal with it -- she was dead serious. I know because she began to tell me how she wants a new dentist who won't scold her. Our dentist has been our family dentist for almost as long as I have lived and breathed.

I went back to my dentist for my fillings.

About a week later I noticed my teeth hurt on the right side of my mouth when I chewed. Naturally, I was afraid something was horribly wrong. The words "root canal" swam around in my brain for weeks. But it didn’t make sense because I just recently had a checkup. Wouldn’t my dentist be able to detect that right away?

I polled almost everyone I knew about root canals to see how their experience was. I even asked some people twice. I asked what their pain was like before they were officially diagnosed. How much it hurt after the procedure. How much it cost. I also looked it up on Wikipedia which, I soon learned, is not a good idea for me.

It’s been about two months since my dentist filled my teeth. Yesterday I went in to have him look at them to see if he could figure out why my upper tooth was being sensitive to hot and cold and chewing. I was not looking forward to this visit. The hygienist took some x-rays and then some other lady came in and did some tapping tests and cold air tests. She explained what she was doing. (Little did she know I was already too familiar with these tests because several weeks ago I visited my roommate’s dentist to see if he had anything new to tell me. He did the same tests with no painful results. Instead he just reshaped my teeth so my bite was more comfortable. Seemed to work for awhile, but now the sensitivity has returned, although it has now transferred from my bottom tooth to my upper tooth).

Anyway, there was some mild discomfort, but no “zing”. According to the dentist we were looking for a “zing”. (I’m never good at describing or qualifying pain). So after she did the tests, the dentist came in and did the tapping and the cold air tests. He also did a cold water test and an ice application. The worst was biting down on some strange plastic object in my mouth – over and over again. That will make anyone’s mouth tired – which is uncomfortable, but again, not sure if it is pain. It wasn’t pleasant, that’s for sure. At this point the dentist deduced that it was my bottom teeth that were giving me trouble -- not my top (according to my answers to the test). He then asked for a certain light instrument, shined it all over my tooth and called out different kinds of cracks in my tooth for his assistant to jot down as "things to watch." He assured me that a lot of people's teeth have cracks and not to worry. What I was worried about was how I came in complaining about my upper teeth but he thinks it's my bottom tooth. At this point I decided I was done with this exam and wasn't going to mention my concerns for the teeth on the other side of my mouth.

He told me to come back next week but I’m beginning to think maybe my teeth are just sensitive. A reliable source told me that sometimes teeth go through sensitivity every now and then. Maybe it does come and go. Honestly, I’ve gotten real good at chewing with certain teeth to avoid discomfort. Maybe I should try to make my teeth hurt by chewing all over. But to tell you the truth, just sitting here, completely still, I can make any tooth of mine hurt if I think about it hard enough.

Maybe Mom was right. Maybe what I really need is for someone to tell me there’s nothing wrong with my teeth. Except for I really think there's something wrong with my upper right teeth.

Journal Gem #5

Wednesday, October 4, 2000
Wedbush Morgan Securities
Portland, Oregon

I'm temping at Wedbush Morgan today. And I don't know if I can do this ever again. Here is a conversation that took place with me and my supervisor. (My unspoken thoughts are in parenthesis).

Kate: Hi Laura, you can go ahead and take over the front desk, Tracy will come out with some tedious project for you to do.

Me: OK, thanks Kate! (great another tedious project).

Tracy: Hi Laura, how are you? If I could just get you to three hole punch these statements for the brokers (as she loads a two-foot pile of papers before me).

Me: Haha! Oh my! (You're not serious are you?)

Tracy: Now some of them go in binders and some of them don't, and some of them don't need to be hole punched, so let me tell you which ones: OK, CFGE need holes, but no binder, CFWF need holes but no binder, CFPD don't need holes AND don't need a binder.

Me: OK, I think I got it, CFGE and CFWF don't need a binder and CFPD don't need holes.

Tracy: No, CFPD don't need holes AND don't need a binder.

Me: Oh, let me write that down (yeah, because I would really try to stick unpunched papers in a three ring binder).

Tracy: Here's the three hole punch, only stick about five in at a time or else you'll break it.

Me: OK, I'll be careful (cause that would be a terrible thing if we broke it and I couldn't continue this hellacious task).

...two hours later...still punching...

Tracy: Hi Laura, would you mind punching these papers for me too?

Me: No problem (if I finish all these maybe I'll get to it)

...30 minutes later...still punching...

Faint voice in back: Tracy, I need these hole punched

Me: (no...no, no...)

Tracy: Laura, I have more papers! Ha ha, you're going to be punching papers all day!

Me: Ha ha (bite me).

...1:00 PM (right after my lunch break)...

Tracy: Now, you know you have to stay until 4:30 right? Because the guy yesterday just left at 4:00.

Me: Yeah, but I was wondering if I could leave at 4:25 so I can catch my express bus home. Is that OK?

Tracy: Well, actually, the phones keep ringing until 4:30 so we really need you to stay. OK, this is how you put these papers into the binders, just slip these metal brads through the holes and close them like this.

Me: OK (hoho! Now THAT's tricky)

Tracy: Oh, and if you could slip these papers of mine into this big binder, just unclip it like this and slide them on like this.

...and then she actually takes them out after she showed me how to put them in...

Me: OK (Hmmm...you couldn't have just kept those in there? Am I really learning something new here?)

Tracy: That's a pretty necklace you're wearing.

Me: Oh, thank you (bite me).

7 AM to 6 PM

So I come back from vacation and it’s summer. When I left it was 65 degrees and now we’re nearing triple digits. That’s not the only thing that has changed since I left.

I decided to go to Big Lots yesterday on 200 South and the whole lot is torn up. And then Smith’s Marketplace is undergoing an extreme store makeover.

But the most significant change I’ve come back to is learning of the Governor’s mandated schedule change for all state employees. I love how I had to read about this in the paper. I thought maybe this was under discussion while I was gone, but no. Everyone either saw it on the news, read it in the paper; their spouse told them they read it in the paper, or they heard it through the grapevine. Thanks Governor Huntsman.

Apparently a survey went out to a random sampling of state employees AFTER the press release asking them how they felt about it. I’m sorry, but isn’t it less far-sighted to ask employees what they think about something BEFORE you tell them they have to do it?

Anyway, I didn’t get this survey. No one asked me how I felt about this new schedule. And I have some thoughts on it. So I found an interviewer who is interested in what I think:

Interviewer: So how do you feel about this new four day work week for employees?

Me: Oh, you mean the ten-hour work day? I think it kinda sucks. I mean, having Fridays off sounds great, but TEN HOURS of work in a row? Four days in a row? I have a hard enough time getting through eight hours half the time.

Interviewer: What’s the purpose of this change?

Me: To save energy I guess. By shutting state buildings down on Fridays, the state can measure how much energy is saved.

Interviewer: But the buildings will be open earlier and later. The energy hours still add up to 40...and aren’t a lot of offices open on Saturdays? Including where you work?

Me: Don’t get me started…

Interviewer: Sorry. So what are the hours you’ll be working?

Me: 7 AM to 6 PM

Interviewer: Is that too early for you?

Me: I don’t know, I’m up for it I guess. I recently started coming in at 8 AM rather than 9 and it hasn’t been too bad. It’s the ten hours in a row that make me tired just thinking about it.

Interviewer: How will this change your morning routine?

Me: Well, I doubt I’ll be able to work out in the mornings now.

Interviewer: So you exercise in the mornings?

Me: No, but I’ve been meaning to for awhile. So now it it’s NEVER going to happen.

Interviewer: So do you think you’ll have people coming in at 7 AM needing your services?

Me: Yeah right. I guess I’ll just check email and voice mail. I’m considering moving all my makeup and hair products to my office and taking care of that here. No one is going to need me at 7 in the morning -- or anyone else in this building for that matter. Maybe 7 AM can be our nap time. After waking up at 5 AM to get ready for work, I'll probably be ready for a nap by the time I get here.

Interviewer: This should help with your commute though, right? You won’t have to fight traffic.

Me: It only takes me about 6 minutes to drive to work in the morning. I’m not fighting any traffic. However, this will put a cramp on my walking to work when it starts to get dark. If I’m heading home at 6 PM instead of 5 PM it will be much darker. I’m not supposed to walk home in the dark – I hear there are bad people out there.

Interviewer: So what about Casual Fridays? Are you going to get to have Casual Thursdays now?

Me: Everyday is Casual Friday for me.

Interviewer: State Government observes all state and federal holidays. A lot of those fall on Fridays…will you just miss out on those hours off?

Me: Apparently we will still get eight hours of holiday and we just take those off during the week.

Interviewer: Some holidays are on Mondays, so you’ll get a four day weekend! That’s awesome.

Me: Yeah, except not really. Just because we get a Monday off doesn’t mean we get the whole day off. We only get 8 hours for each holiday. So I either come in to work for two hours on a holiday, or, work 11 or 12 hours a day during the rest of the week to make up for it. I am not working 11 hours. Not at my desk.

Interviewer: What about Gallery Stroll? That’s on Fridays. Isn’t your gallery open for that?

Me: Yes, we are. Thank you for asking. The upper echelons sure didn’t think to ask about that. Yeah, I don’t know how that will work. I guess we can come in on Friday nights and open the gallery. But if we’re shutting off the heating Thursday nights, man, in the winter it will be cold in this building.

Interviewer: How else does this affect your programs?

Me: Well, we have to completely redo our Traveling Exhibits schedule so we’re not installing or picking up exhibits on Fridays. That’s a huge pain – especially since I have to re-enter all 65 shows in our database with their new schedules.

Interviewer: It sounds to me that you’re kind of against this change.

Me: Yeah, I guess I don’t think it’s the best idea. But mostly, I’m put off by the way it was handled. I don’t like it when people don’t do their research or ask their employees how it might affect them.

Interviewer: Do you have a better idea for saving energy?

Me: Well, at staff meeting today I proposed “Dark Fridays” where none of us turn on our lights. I do that anyway just about every day. As we speak, I’m sitting in the “dark.” I mean, it’s daytime. We have windows. I can see everything just fine. It’s also freezing in here. Turn down the air, geez. Someone else proposed the idea of giving all state employees discounted UTA passes for the bus, frontrunner or TRAX. I mean, U of U students get them, why shouldn’t we?

Interviewer: Is there anyway the four-day work week could be a good idea for you?

Me: Yes. I’m glad you asked. Like I mentioned earlier, a four day work week sounds great. A ten hour day does not. How about we only work 36 hours a week instead of 40? I could handle coming in at 8 and staying until 6. How much more am I really going to get done at 7 AM? I’m a firm believer in being productive and efficient. Someone mentioned a study that proved employees gets the same amount of work done in a 35 hour work week than they do in a 40 hour work week. It’s just a matter of knowing how to handle your work load. I mean, we all have our busy weeks. There are days when I need to work 10 or 11 hours, but those are special events and occasions.

Interviewer: So would you only get paid for 36 hours a week?

Me: No, our hourly rates would have to go up. We’re doing the same amount of work. Pay us the same amount of money. It’s that ridiculous 7 AM hour that seems so unnecessary to me. Who is out and about needing state services that early in the morning? We’re staying till 6 PM isn’t that enough? Think how much energy we’ll save with hundreds of employees only working 36 hours a week instead of 40? No one thought about that did they?