The Song in My Head

Spank hop shuffle step, step shuffle spank stomp spank hop shuffle heel shuffle heel step stomp, spank hop shuffle heel, flap shuffle heel, step brush heel back heel ball change stomp.

Over and over in my head. Can't make it stop. I think everyone who reads this knows I take tap. And that's only one part of the tap routine. It's the most fun to say over and over in my head though.

I remember a long time ago someone told me the only way to get rid of a song in your head is to sing it all the way through. What kind of half brained idea is that? It only makes me practice it more. Never worked for me.

Speaking of songs...does anyone have a song on the radio right now that once it comes on you have to change it right away? Lately there has been this song that actually makes me angry. Most people who know me will tell you I'm not an angry person. In fact, I'm fairly tolerant, but I have a physical reaction to this song. Not only do I want to turn the radio off, I want to HIT it off. I get all tense whenever I hear those voices at the beginning.

I was driving to my sister's the other night and that song came on. I made myself listen to the whole thing because I never listen long enough to hear the DJ credit the song when it's over and I wanted to know who this band was that makes me so angry. So I did. I don't know if Blue October is the band name or the song name, but I can't stand that song.

And then there are songs that I don't know why I like, but whenever they come on, I have to listen. Confession: I never understood what the big deal was with the Dixie Chicks, never a big fan of them or country music in general, but when some of their songs come on, I usually have to listen to the whole thing. If someone can explain that one to me, please do.

Art City

The other day was a really nice day for me. Odd, I was in Utah County for most of it. It was a “Laura” day. Meaning…you know what, I don’t know exactly what I mean by that, but it felt like a “me” day.

Instead of going into work I was at the Springville Museum of Art jurying their 35th Annual All-State Utah High School Exhibit. The museum is in a really cool building just off Main Street in southern Springville. It’s a small town that has been dubbed "Art City", but you can easily miss it. I know I do just about every time I go down there. I always miss my turn and start heading straight for Spanish Fork.

Anyway, the museum was built in 1937 as an art museum and it was dedicated by Apostle David O. McKay to be a "sanctuary of beauty and a temple of meditation." And it is. I love it there. I went to a harp and flute concert there once with my family. I think they played one of my dad’s pieces or something. But I never went there for the art until I started my job here at the Utah Arts Council.

So their High School show is the biggest in the state and it amazes me how talented some kids are. I mean, a lot of it is pretty awful, but some of it is remarkable. There were almost 800 pieces submitted this year (pre-juried by the schools) and we had to pare it down to about 200 and then give awards.

The artwork is separated into different rooms in categories (drawing, watercolor, photography, painting, pottery, jewelry, mixed media, etc.). It took all day. It’s funny because you can tell which schools have the best art teachers. Skyview seems to rise to the top year after year. You can also start to see the same things among high school art. I could have divided up the artwork into categories based on their subject matter: the flower room, the fruit for sale room, the ballerina room, the raven room, the eyeball room, and the girls with green faces room.

I have to say I was most impressed with the drawing. I never know what to think about photography. Because I know so little about the photographic process I could dismiss something that is really great and award something that’s really stupid and derivative.

I really liked the people I juried with this year. I buddied up with Dennis Meacham who is a well-known photographer here in Salt Lake. I’ve never really talked to him before but he was really nice. And he majored in music, which was cool. We talked about our favorite movie soundtracks because he wrote music for film for awhile. We also talked about genius. And arrogant geniuses.

We finally got out of there at 5 PM. I had an hour to hit the BYU museum to see “Beholding Salvation” which was an exhibit with images of Christ. I've been trying to go down and see that for months. It was a great exhibit, but nothing stood out to me as exceptionally memorable. I’ve seen a lot of it before. A lot of Albrecht Durer and Rembrandt etchings, which are cool to see. My favorite pieces were probably the Polish folk art sculptures from the collection of Walter Whipple. He teaches at BYU and he was my brother’s mission president, I think. I really like the MOA. I felt nostalgic for my college days when I would have night classes at the museum. I felt very light without my backpack.

On the way home I wanted to listen to a movie soundtrack after my conversations with Dennis so I listened to “The Village” which always puts me in a mellow mood. Especially when I drive home at dusk. I love dusk. My favorite time of day. Yes, definitely a “Laura” day.

Anyway, enough about me. If you happen to be down that way, take a trip to the Springville Museum. The High School show is open February 24 through April 4. It’s a really nice place to visit with kids too if you can get them to go look at art. It’s more accessible kind of work. And it’s good. I think it’s open Sunday afternoons so it’s a nice little Sunday family outing as well. Check it out. http://sma.nebo.edu/about.html

Farmers Market Feedback

Remember this guy? He’s what we call a “grower”. Salt Lake City’s downtown Farmers Market is made up of growers, food vendors and artists. I think it’s funny how we call it a Farmers’ Market but they insist on calling the farmers growers. I wonder if that’s a new “PC” thing. Although I don’t see what’s offensive about calling someone a farmer.

I’ve been asked to return as a member of the Farmers Market Planning Committee. So we had our first planning meeting yesterday afternoon. There are some cool things happening this year. We’re finally going to get an ATM machine so you don’t have to come with cash. I think we have wireless at Pioneer Park now thanks to Xmission. So some of the vendors can take credit cards. They also got a grant from the Salt Lake City Arts Council to pay musicians to perform. So hopefully, the caliber of performers will be up a notch or two.

They’re looking for feedback and ideas on how to make the market better, how to celebrate its 15th anniversary this year, and how to handle problems. I already filled in my feedback sheet, but thought I would ask my fellow Farmer’s Market friends to tell me what you think. So if you have feedback on any of the following questions, let me know.

1. How do you feel about dogs at the market? (We’ve had complaints about owners not cleaning up their messes).
2. If you were to participate in a VIP program with the Market, what perks would you like to see available to you?
3. Do you have any complaints or suggestions about operation hours (8 am to 1 pm)? If we were to have a couple occasions during the season where the market was open at night, would you come?
4. How would you market the Market to appeal to a growing Hispanic audience?
5. Are there any vendors or products you feel are missing at the Market?

Opening day is June 9th, so if you have any concerns, ideas or suggestions about this year’s Farmers Market, let me know and I’ll take them back to the committee.

"Think on Me"

The last several months I've taken to collecting poems. I'm not necessarily a student of poetry, but lately some poems have really touched me. So here's a poem attributed to Mary, Queen of Scots. It is said that she wrote this while imprisoned in England, awaiting execution. I think it's very sweet and heart-wrenching at the same time. It's a lyric poem that was set to music by James Mulholland. I heard this sung by a men's choir at a concert last March. I saved the concert program and happened to come across it earlier this week and it's been on my mind.

"When I no more behold thee, think on me.
By all thine eyes have told me, think on me.
When hearts are lightest, when eyes are brightest, when griefs are slightest,
Think on me.

In all thine hours of gladness, think on me.
If e’er I soothed thy sadness, think on me.
When foes are by thee, when woes are nigh thee, when friends all fly thee,
Think on me.

When thou hast none to cheer thee, think on me.
When no fond heart is near thee, think on me.
When lonely sighing o’er pleasure flying,
When hope is dying,
Think on me."

I've been reading about Mary, Queen of Scots all morning. She became Queen shortly after she was born. I don't know if she wrote this for anyone in particular. She married three times. The first husband apparently was her only true love, but he died 17 months after their marriage from an ear infection. This poem might have been written for her son. I can't find any history on it. I actually can't find it anywhere except in reference to the arrangement for choir.

Anyway, I love it. If anyone happens to have any more information on its origins, please share.

Fah who foraze, dah who doraze

Let’s be glass half full for a moment. Here is what the robbers didn’t take:

My week old iMac
Maria’s iPod (maybe they’re PC robbers)
Jon’s PlayStation 2
My portable DVD player

They did take my digital camera. I think they would have taken my DVD player had they not been sidetracked by my jewelry box sitting next to it.

I can’t believe all my jewelry is gone. Well, not all of it. All the jewelry that I was too lazy to put away remains. So I still have the necklace I bought from Fabiola’s jewelry party in October. I have the ring I bought in Puerto Vallarta on the cruise a couple years ago, the ring Lisa gave all her bridesmaids to wear, the antique bracelet I bought made from 1930’s typewriter keys, the sparkly bracelet I got on sale at Nordstrom (probably the most expensive piece of jewelry I own), the necklace Chloe and Piper gave me from Hawaii and the bracelet Lisa made me for Christmas this year.

I can’t believe I only have one ring now. I’m glad it wasn’t my turn for Grandma Christensen’s ring. I would have been sick if that was stolen. Just for my sake, I’m going to say goodbye to the stories that go along with jewelry of years passed:

I’m going to miss the ring I bought at Mexx in London. It was a cool, contemporary design with a little quartz in it.

Lisa gave me a cute pink bracelet one year. I think she bought it at Artichokes where she used to work.

Lisa also gave me a gift certificate to buy a ring at the Salt Lake Silver Company back in 2002. She went with me to buy it. It was really pretty. It had a blue zircon in it. My birthstone. That was probably my favorite ring. I remember thinking the guy who helped me pick it out was really cute.

I had a bracelet that I took from Grandma’s house after she died. It was gold, so I didn’t wear it very often, but I liked having it.

I also took a little ring from Grandma’s house too. It was really cheap, but I remember thinking that the flower on it looked like the Scarlet Pimpernel, so it kind of became my good luck/protection ring.

My bracelet that Mom gave me for Christmas a few years ago. I liked that one too. It was my Christmas bracelet.

Wow, the bracelet I bought at the gift shop at St. Martin’s in the Fields in London 12 years ago. It used to be gold until all the cheap gold color rubbed off and then it became a pretty silver color. I liked it better that way.

The green stone pendant I bought at a jewelry party at Marni’s house.

The necklace Mom gave me with a sea otter pendant. She was a member of the Save the Sea Otter Society. I remember when I was a sophomore in college my neighbor Heidi asked me what it was. When I told her it was a sea otter she asked why. I thought that was funny.

There was this one necklace I bought at the Aquarium in San Diego. It had a pendant that was black on one side and then it had a turtle on the other side.

My boss Lila gave me a necklace one year that she bought at Chico’s. It had one of those magnetic clasps in the back. It was really fun to play with.

There are probably more, but I’ll stop there.

The most unsettling thing about this was just the feeling I got when I looked at the door that was hacked away. The door wreath broken in pieces on the floor, my dresser drawers open with all the clothes lying in a pile on the carpet. And then the clock downstairs was just knocked off the wall with the batteries popped out.

It was kind of funny, last night the cop was trying to figure out what time we were robbed based on what time we last left the house and how cold it was in there (the door was busted, so it wouldn’t close). It wasn’t until after he left that Kaila picked up the clock (frozen in time because the batteries popped out when the crooks knocked it off the wall) and said, “How much you wanna bet it was around 2:30?” She's better at this than the cop with his 18 years experience.

But after I folded all my clothes and put them away, swept up the floors a little and wiped down the place because crime lab left a mess, I felt OK. I have to say, we all handled this pretty well. Kaila was remarkably calm considering she was the first one home and noticed the door wide open and the light in Maria’s room.

I do feel a little violated. But all in all, I don’t feel scared. We were going to sleep elsewhere last night, but once the landlord fixed the door so we could close it and lock it, we decided to stay. I don’t know about Kaila and Maria, but I still feel protected somehow, so that’s a blessing. I slept all right considering.

They did take my checkbooks so I need to go change my account number. That’s all right, I wasn’t too attached to my account number. I never got around to memorizing it since I changed it a couple years ago when my purse was stolen. But you know what, stuff is just stuff. No one was hurt. Life goes on. Off to the bank.

In the meantime...if you see this guy, let me know.

M F E O

So I’ve had my new iMac for several days. I L-O-V-E this computer. It was a lot of money but there is no buyer’s remorse here. I went into work on Friday, took one look at my Dell and shook my head thinking, “What an ugly computer you are. And look at all your obnoxious wires and cords. I want to go home and play with my iMac.”

Now that I’m past the gazing at it and telling it how pretty it is phase, I’m finally getting to know my iMac a little better.

I’ve run into many set backs and I’ve had to make a few phone calls to figure out how to cut, copy and paste, how to save a picture from the internet, and other things, but I’m slowly getting the hang of a mac. I keep trying to right click on this mouse, but it won’t have any of that nonsense. All my PC shortcuts mean nothing to this computer.
There are still so many programs I need to figure out, but I will tell you one thing: my new favorite word is widget. I don’t know what it means, but I finally know what a widget is.

I have the basic widgets on my “dashboard” such as the five-day forecast, the time, a calendar and a calculator. But I added a dictionary, post it notes and then I just barely downloaded the “Lost” computer timer. Apparently I’m supposed to push the button every 108 minutes. It’s getting a little late but I’m kind of afraid to go to sleep. I don’t want to be responsible for an earthquake. Or what if my brand new computer self-destructs? That would be awful. It’s so pretty.

I’ve had a lot of fun with Photo Booth. So here is shrunken head Laura.



Geez. I think I’m going to watch Heroes or something to pass the time. I have 93 minutes until I need to push the button and reset the "Lost" clock at 108 minutes. What have I gotten myself into...does anyone want to take the next shift?

Gallery Stroll and Thank Yous

I don’t know who reads my blog anymore, but I want to extend a special thanks to my friends for coming out on Friday night to Gallery Stroll.

It means a lot to me when I see friendly faces walk into the Rio. And the Grantees Showcase is my biggest event of the year. I put more time, effort and creativity into preparing for the Grantees Showcase than any other exhibit we do, because it is a year-round process. I didn’t even have to recruit anyone this time. Well, except for my parents. But my sister and her husband showed up (their first time), and you showed up and you brought friends. So thanks for coming, and more importantly, thanks for STAYING. Not only did it mean a lot to me, it meant a lot to the artists who performed such as Michael Greenfield (he did the reading), Steve Ricks (he talked about his musical composition) and Jayne Luke (she did the 10 minute play). You guys made up a good portion of their audience, and whether you enjoyed their project or not, an audience is all they really wanted.

If you couldn’t make it out on Friday, the next Gallery Stroll at the Rio Gallery is March 16^th. That’s the Fellowship exhibit. That should be a good one too. It features four visual artists who each won $10,000 to create new work.

There’s nothing like hearing the right words at the right time. That doesn’t happen very often, so when it does, it’s really memorable for me. A couple weeks ago, I was coming out of a meeting for the project grants we give. I inherited the role as committee leader when it comes to this grant. I didn’t ask for it, but our former committee leader was in a terrible car accident over the summer and out of the office for several months, so I took over. I didn’t know what I was doing, I had little experience when it came to managing a grant program, but with the help of everyone else, we were trying to pull it off without our familiar leader. He came to our meeting that day and he told me on my way out that I was doing a “bang up job.” I really needed to hear that after a frustrating meeting. He told me again on Friday that the Showcase was a success and that it’s turning into something the artists really enjoy. It’s a nice feeling, knowing you did something right.

The mother of a girl in our ward gave the R.S. presidency a thank you card on Sunday. She thanked us for visiting her daughter earlier last week. The funny part was, we didn’t get to visit with her. She was on the phone and didn’t answer the door for a few minutes, and when she finally did open the door, she didn’t even get off the phone. We just dropped off some cookies. We left thinking the poor girl thought we were crazy and obnoxious. It was so sweet of her mother to encourage us like that.

I got another thank you card from a girl in my ward on Sunday as well. It was the most random thing ever, and I think she wrote several of them, but she thanked me for a few things I’ve said and simply for being me. That’s probably one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received. It’s nice to know that people not only notice you for the noticeable things you do, such as lessons you prepare or talks you give, but knowing that someone appreciates me for who I already am reminds me that I don’t always have to go out of my way, and that I’m doing something right already.

So I had a feel good weekend. I’m not sharing these things because I want you all to know there are people out there who appreciate me. I guess I just want to say that these nice things have encouraged me to be more appreciative of those around me and to let you know how much a “thank you” can mean. So if you get the chance, tell someone that they’re doing a good job or you appreciate their example. You never know how much they need to hear it.

I really CAN see the future

Awhile ago I made mention in a post that according to a certain Tickle Test I am a "visionary philosopher" and can see the future (see "Being a Pedestrian").

So in reference to Dream #3 in my last post, I have to say I laughed pretty hard as I was going through some grant applications today and came across an artist who is doing a project he calls "Pals Pet Portraits." I would post one of his images, but that would be inappropriate. But if he doesn't get a grant, maybe I'll suggest he give Oprah a call.

Busy Dreaming

Last night was a weird night. I think I went to sleep around 11:30. I woke up ten minutes later thinking it was like 4 AM, but nope, I was only sleeping for ten minutes. After that, I tossed and turned, dreaming like crazy. Sometimes a dream can be like a time warp. I think I'm out for a long time, but really it was only a few minutes. I probably had 6 or 7 dreams, but these are the three I remember the most:

Dream #1

Sister Hughes (the bishop’s wife) calls to tell me that church is going back to the regular time at 1 PM rather than 10:50 AM. I remember thinking, “Is she calling everyone individually to tell them this?” I asked her, “Sister Hughes, do you want me to call some people for you?” but she was fine calling everyone on her own. This dream was odd for a couple reasons. One: the bishop’s wife has been MIA for several months. Two: she pronounced her name really strange. I don’t remember how she pronounced it, but it sure wasn’t how one would normally say “Hughes.”

Dream #2

I was walking around the gallery where I work; only it was in a huge warehouse like Costco or something. There was a TON of artwork. So much they set it up salon style, (more than one row of paintings on the same wall) so it looked more like a store than an art gallery. It was all very run-of-the-mill, traditional, pedestrian kind of artwork. Some of it was OK. But it was some sort of Valentines theme because there was a bunch of couples in the paintings. The artists in the show were part of some larger artist co-op and had just finished setting it up for the Gallery Stroll that night. I remember walking around thinking, “this isn’t the best art, but I sure am glad they set it up themselves.” They brought their own shelves to put all the little trinkety 3D work. They also hired some guy to come play the guitar. They made it real easy on me. Sometimes the most together and professional artists are the ones with the tackiest art.

Dream #3

I think the last dream morphed into this dream somehow. And this was really weird, because I wasn’t even in it. I’ve never had a dream that I wasn’t in before. So maybe someone in the dream represented me somehow. Oprah Winfrey was going door to door with a camera crew asking little kids to donate their pets because she had some program where artists were going to paint portraits of pets and they needed models. (I’m laughing so hard right now by the way because it is even more ridiculous now than it was at 1 AM). So she’s walking the streets with a microphone and these cameras telling kids this was for a good cause. She got to this one house where there were three girls. The older two didn’t have any pets but they said their little sister did. So the poor little girl comes to the entry way and is just on the floor crying because she doesn’t want to give her puppy away, but what are you supposed to do? It’s Oprah. I remember feeling so sad for that little girl because it was so unfair.

Man, last night was exhausting. I don’t know what to make of these dreams. We are installing a show right now and it’s been kind of a pain with unreliable (although talented) artists, so that would explain the second dream.

Close Enough (But Not Really)

Fortune Magazine just named its top businesses to work for in 2007. Anyone picked up the latest copy of Fortune? (Yeah, like I read Fortune. Of course I saw it on TV).

Apparently Google is who you want to work for. They have comedy acts come to their lunch rooms, they have 3 free gourmet meals a day, they play volleyball outside and who knows what else. For more information on the perks of being a Googler, click here. It makes me wonder if they even have time to work -- or even want to go home to their families.

My job may not be that great, but it's a great job. When our current director started the job two years ago, she asked the staff to write a two page essay about why we work for the Utah Arts Council and why we love it. I might have been the only one who loved this assignment. It forced me to evaluate why I am where I am and what keeps me here. I thought it was a great way for a new boss to get to know each of us individually and learn about our motivations. I don't know if it was her intention, but this essay is great to read every time the bureaucracy gets me down.

I love the people I work with, the varied programs I get to work on and basically, making a difference in people's lives. So, if you care to, you can read the essay I wrote almost two years ago.

January 26, 2005

I remember sitting in my Contemporary Art class in the auditorium of the BYU Museum of Art. It seemed like all the art history students sat in the middle and all the studio art students sat on the sides. I don’t know when or how that happened. It’s not that we art history students didn’t like the art students, or vice versa, it’s just the way it was. To be honest, I think the two parties were a little intimidated by each other. The artists dressed differently. They wore vintage clothes, had disheveled hair and listened to indie rock. They seemed to live in a world all their own. Somehow I believed they knew more about art than I did. After all, they were the artists. I didn’t create art; I simply studied those who did. I studied their technique, their thoughts and their passions. I perceived them as aloof and uninterested in what I thought.

One year later, I began work at the Utah Arts Council. Artists were everywhere. I no longer studied them from afar. I had no choice but to talk to them, work with them, and understand them. My job was to facilitate their success. Suddenly, artists weren’t so different than I was. They were friendly, real, and they had insecurities just like I did. They didn’t have everything figured out and they didn’t always know more about art than I did. In fact, what I thought meant a great deal to them. They weren’t necessarily aloof; in fact, most were extremely social. They cared deeply about other people and enjoyed gathering together and sharing ideas. But finding a receptive audience with which to share their ideas was something they felt as a challenge. Sure, the Utah Arts Council would listen; it’s our job and we share their vision, but what about everyone else? Especially in a world where patience and abstract thinking has been devalued as short attention spans are spoon-fed simple and easy answers.

I adopted this challenge of developing audiences for the arts as my own. I wanted to do whatever I could to increase awareness and encourage dialog between the artist and the “non” artist. Everyone has different perceptions about what surrounds them. Everyone has a different channel through which they communicate ideas. Some platforms from which these ideas are expressed are more accessible than others, but each is valid and deserves fair attention and recognition. I know there are people out there who shy away from the arts. They fear their lack of understanding makes them inadequate and unwelcome in the artist’s intellectual sphere. I want to dispel this notion and persuade everyone to receive art as an essential component of his or her lifestyle. Art isn’t for a select circle of intellectuals, philanthropists or vintage clothed individuals with disheveled hair. Art is for everyone.

The arts have always been a part of my life. I was blessed with parents who value art and its ability to stretch my imagination and my understanding of the world around me. As long as I can remember, I accompanied the “adults” to the symphony, the ballet, the Utah Shakespearean Festival, and the great museums of the world. Growing up, I had very few friends who valued these activities as much as I did. To many of them classical music was a bore, museums were impenetrable and poetry was perplexing. As I got older, I found more friends who shared my interests, or, at least, were willing to try new things. To me, that is what the arts are about: trying new things, and discovering how our environment isn’t always as we perceive it. If the arts are part of your life, you are constantly learning. And as long as you continue to learn, you will continue to grow. I consider it a privilege to work in an environment that encourages growth of the human mind and spirit. And being surrounded by those who feel the same is a tremendous source of comfort and motivation for me.

Since my contemporary art class, my intimidation when it comes to artists has matured into a genuine admiration. I respect their talent and their position in our community. As I sat in the Utah Arts Council’s “Creativity and the Artist” workshop at Sundance last spring, I listened to artists discuss their work as they presented slides to the group. I admired their ability to feel and explore ideas and emotions so deeply. I thought, “what a luxury it must be to have an outlet for these feelings when they become so big that your mind and heart cannot hold them anymore.” I began to examine my role in the lives of these artists. I have come to learn how my place is just as important to artists as theirs is to me. If nothing else, it means a great deal to have advocates speaking on their behalf; providing ways for them to do what they love, and creating opportunities to share their work with an audience. I learned that artists don’t want to be segregated from the rest of us. They don’t want to sit on the sides while we sit in the middle, assuming that we don’t understand each other.

Artists have the capacity to be the philosophers, teachers, poets and comedians of our time. And I, as part of the Utah Arts Council, have the capacity to help make decisions as to how we, as a community, can encourage these talents, cultivate these ideas and recognize these accomplishments. Artists prompt progression, encourage questions and broaden boundaries. The world would stop if it were run by the people who say “it can’t be done.” As I collaborate with other staff members, carry out ideas and witness our successes, I am proud of the achievements that come. As a result, I notice people welcome art into their lives. They begin to greet new ideas with an open mind. They take pleasure in their expanded understanding as they introduce others to their newfound knowledge. I see this progression and smile, recognizing that in my own little way, I can make a difference just like artists can.

Reflections

Just when I think I’m sick of my job, and there is little that can impress me I go to an art exhibit like Robert Taplin’s “The Five Outer Planets” at the Salt Lake Art Center. I rarely go to the SLAC. I don’t know why, it’s on my way home and they have great shows. I guess I figure I see enough art at my gallery and all the other galleries I go to regularly. But I stopped in on my walk home last week. It reminded me why I work in the arts and how fortunate I am to work in a field where I can stop in galleries and see exhibits such as these as part of my eight-hour day.

Having read little to nothing about what I was going to see, I didn't know what to expect. I was all alone in the gallery. As I first wove my way through the suspended figures, it didn’t seem like anything special. But on my way out, I climbed up the stairs and looked down at the gallery from above and ended up staying there for almost ten more minutes.

Visually, there wasn’t much to this show. There were five pairs of male figures, suspended from the ceiling in darkness. Each double was made up of one figure in reinforced gypsum and the other in a translucent fiberglass resin, lit from within. The lit figures provided the only source of light in the gallery. These bodies were placed in the gallery relative to the positions and proportions of the five outer planets: Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto. Granted, Pluto was stripped of its planet status during the run of this exhibit, but still.


I think I preferred to view the exhibit from a distance because it put the entire thing into perspective for me. It helped me to stand back, somewhat at level with the floating figures rather than beneath or among them. It’s hard to explain, but it was an incredibly pure and poetic experience. Like I said, I didn’t read anything beforehand, I probably should have (I got the materials and planet proportion info from a press release as I was looking for web images to include). I’m sure there are many meanings that I’m not even considering, but I thought it was such a peaceful representation of these heavenly bodies. I liked how each pair was made up of one dark figure and one lit figure. The actual planets are lit by reflective light, so I thought it was poignant that while one figure was dark, it’s double was lit from within, such as angels and gods emanate their own light. Whether the lit being represented someone watching over us or our own potential being, it brought a new level of spiritual meaning for me. I guess I kind of like to think of it as our more spiritual, wiser self guiding us. So I’m glad I didn’t miss that. I have a renewed appreciation for the kind of work I’m in.


New subject:


I found myself watching live coverage of Gerald Ford’s funeral this morning for about an hour. The nobility and dignity of these funerals always impresses me and I love the National Cathedral. I’m glad I got to go inside when I visited D.C. a couple years ago, and I was even lucky enough to go when they were having a service. I love hearing choirs sing in cathedrals. It’s just so majestic and regal.


So here is my complaint about news coverage when it comes to events like this: Why do newscasters feel they need to fill every second of silence with meaningless words? This is a funeral, it’s supposed to be quiet and reflective. But most of all, music is meant to be heard just as much as a speaker is meant to be heard. What makes a reporter think his voice is more important than Aaron Copland’s “The Promise of Living”? I saw images of the choir and the orchestra, but I heard the music only faintly because Charlie Gibson was rambling on as if I needed him to tell me that Nancy Reagan was there, and Jimmy Carter was there... And it kept happening. But when someone would get up to speak, the news reporter would stop talking for the speaker. Then of course the music started up again and they turned down the volume so they could tell about what the speaker just said. Radio coverage undoubtedly holds off speaking during a musical number -- I know, I kept on listening once I came in to work. Why is television different? I don’t need you to tell me Chelsea Clinton is sitting between her mother and Condoleeza Rice. I can see it on the screen; I don’t mind them talking while we’re watching the procession of vehicles or as people are finding their seats, but let me listen to the music. You can tell me a little about the choir and the name of the song, but let me listen to most of it. I found myself switching channels from ABC to NBC to CBS until I found one that didn’t talk over the music. And the prize goes to… FOX news, which I never watch. So thank you FOX for allowing me to experience the funeral properly.


Since it's the new year, I could talk about resolutions. I'm not big on new years resolutions, not because I never keep them, but mostly because I'm setting resolutions for myself year-round. My mom made brunch yesterday for our family and some other family friends. My mom prepared little scrolls of paper with a pen for everyone with this announcement: "Instead of setting resolutions this year, I thought we could each just have one word that guides us in 2007." My brother opened up his paper and said, "Where's my word?" Um...Carter you're supposed to choose it yourself and write it down. He threw his arms up in the air with sudden disinterest. I guess he wanted a fortune cookie.


Because I set resolutions and goals for myself all the time I decided my word will be "diligence". After reflecting over my goals this past year, I saw how many of them faded, so I'm going to be very generic and choose diligence as the new me. I'm going to be harder working, and stick to my goals and decisions. We'll see how it goes.

Wigilia!

That means Christmas Eve Dinner in Polish. My family had a Polish Christmas this year. Not because we’re Polish, but because for the past five Christmases our family chooses a country to pretend we’re from. There’s usually a reason behind the country of choice.

It all started in the year 2000 when we unconsciously kicked off the tradition by having a “Christmas around the world.” The following year my mom decided we should have a British Christmas because my parents go to England just about every year and English traditions were always a part of our upbringing anyway. The next year we did Germany because my mom was finishing up her MA in music and took German as her foreign language. The next year we had a Greek Christmas because my cousin Marissa studied Greece in grade school, and then last year we had a Feliz Navidad because my aunt and uncle went on an extended vacation to Mexico.

So this year we celebrated Polish traditions because my brother went on a mission to Poland (eight years ago). Christmas Eve is their big event, similar to our family. The dinner was interesting. We modified the traditional Wigilia seeing how carp didn’t sound appetizing. So we ate sausage, pork, pierogi, potatoes, dried fruit compote and bigos. My plate was really wanting a salad, but that wasn’t an option. I think my mom forgot the peas, but there was plenty to eat, even with 30 people at my parents’ house.

For dessert we ate this castle cake. My aunt Jill actually bought a mold especially for this occasion. Each year is quite the production. We could charge admission to our Christmas Eve parties. Everyone really gets into it. Whoever is hosting prepares a packet with Christmas traditions, histories, stories and carols from the country. My mom ordered these wafers online that all the men took and then passed around to everyone as we broke off a piece and exchanged well wishes. I kind of hated to eat them a) because they were so pretty with the design imprinted on them, and b) I knew they would be gross. They are similar to the communion wafer which tastes like Styrofoam. My mom also made stars on a stick for everyone that we held while singing Polish carols (there’s an old Polish tale about a lonely Polish star that ends up being the star of Bethlehem). I love my mom.

Carter talked about his two Christmases in Poland; about how his first one was miserable because he was sick, he had his worst companion ever and nobody at our house answered the phone when he called (we were all out in the garage checking out the new car my dad gave my mom). All the cousins (my generation cousins) each read a Polish superstition. Did you know that animals can speak at night but it’s bad luck to overhear them?

After the little Polish lesson and the singing, we moved downstairs for the second portion of the evening: My cousin Zach played a couple songs on his saxophone. He plays in the Davis High Marching Band, which is supposedly the best in the state. The best part though was when we jokingly asked my four year old niece Chloe if she wanted to dance and she went up there and danced for about eight minutes while he played. Half of us were on the floor laughing hysterically because it was the weirdest dancing we had ever seen and our laughing didn’t seem to embarrass or discourage her one bit.

Next was Uncle Lindsay’s movie clip game. He married into the family about ten years ago and felt a little out of place with our family’s focus on music. We used to do a program where just about everyone performed something. So Linsday decided his talent was movie trivia. The past two years my brother-in-law Josh won because he and Lindsay pretty much have the same taste in movies. But this year my sister-in-law Kelly and I dethroned Josh, tying for first place. I couldn’t have done it without the five-point bonus question where we had to guess which season of American Idol the clip was from. I don’t think I even saw it on TV, but if you follow Clay Aiken’s hairstyles it was clear the clip was his guest appearance on Season Five (last year).

I missed twelve movies, none of which I’ve seen:

Coming to America
The Jacket
Mr. Destiny
Broken Arrow
Must Love Dogs
Golden Child
Paycheck
The Right Stuff
The Dead Zone
Final Destination
Coach Carter
Men of Honor

I won a $30 gift card to Radio Shack, and Kelly won Cars on DVD. Lindsay always has a prize for the loser as well. One year it was a box of about 30 movies on VHS that he had recently upgraded to DVD. Lindsay has a ridiculous amount of DVDs. His entertainment room looks like a Hollywood Video.

The last activity was the White Elephant gift exchange. This year my aunt Susan put a twist on it by having us count off and then Carter told us our number in Polish which we had to memorize because when Carter said our number (in Polish) we had to jump up and grab a gift. There were a lot of us staring out into space whispering our number over and over again.

That’s all I really have time for and more than you need to know about I’m sure. I hope you enjoyed Christmas as much as I did!

Dinner with Sister Bailey

So tell me, did Chuck-a-Rama class up their buffet in the past ten years or is the 4th South location a cut above the rest? The last time I hit the buffet was a LONG time ago. I think my Grandma Durham resorted to taking us there when we refused eat her boiled kale, dandelions, and ghee.

The thought of going to Chuck a Rama the past several never even crossed my mind, and the only reason I went last night was because I was asked to attend “Dinner with Sister Bailey”. She bought dinner for all the international students in the stake. I’m not international, but I’m in the Relief Society Presidency and Sister Bailey asked Shanna and me to come and bring the international girls in our ward. So we brought Domonia from Madagascar.

I thought I would just go and eat some salad or something, but I ate much more. Oh, and apparently I hit the wrong side of the salad bar. Domonia started at the opposite side and met me at the end with a beautiful plate of spring greens, spinach, sunflower seeds, dried cranberries and poppy seed dressing. My arms dropped in disappointment when I looked down at my iceberg lettuce mixed with the typical red cabbage and shredded carrots, topped with Ranch dressing. Oh well. I tossed some spinach on there, blue cheese and called it good.

The dinner was a lot of fun. I would say about twenty people showed up. I met a bunch of girls from Peru, Puerto Rico, a guy from Hawaii (international enough, I suppose) and a guy from Bolivia named Diego. He sat across from me. The conversations were funny because accents were flying around everywhere. My favorite misunderstanding was when Shanna asked Diego what he does and he said, “I’m a teller.” Shanna shouted with surprising enthusiasm, “You’re a tailor!” In that split second she had plans for him to alter several of her dresses.

Another funny part of the night was when Diego asked me what I did. I explained I work for the Utah Arts Council and I schedule art exhibits, plan professional development seminars and do a lot of writing, editing and some design work. He was impressed with my job and asked me how long I’ve been working there. I said six years and he seemed quite surprised.

“Did you go to college?” he asked,
“Yes, I went to BYU.”
“Went…you are all done?”
“Uh huh.”
“When did you start your job?”
“Six years ago.”
“No, how old were you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“No, how old were you when you started your job”
“Twenty-two” I repeated.
“No,” he laughed, shaking his head as though I didn’t understand the question “when you first got your job how old were you?”

“Twenty-two, I’m twenty-eight now.” Shanna chimed in “Twenty-two…plus six years…”

Domonia started giggling and leaned in to me saying, “Guys are funny that way. They should just ask us how old we are.” Shanna seriously thought we were experiencing a language barrier, but really he was trying to figure out my age by formulating some algebraic equation. He thought I didn’t understand him, but really he couldn’t comprehend me being older than twenty-two. I know, I look young for my age. That’s always a nice compliment. Once you’re over twenty-one of course.

Domonia told me this guy she met recently went to all extremes asking her whether she went on a mission, if she graduated from college, how long has she been in the United States, does she have brothers and sisters, how old are they? Until she finally just said, “You know what, I’m thirty years old.”

I think it’s nice that Sister Bailey does this every year for the international students. She travels all over the world and loves getting to know people and their cultures.

I’m so excited it’s Friday. It has been a long week at work with very little to do. Things will pick up significantly after the New Year when I have a grant deadline and exhibit to gear up for.

Merry Christmas everyone! I don’t know if I’ll post something before Christmas so have a great time with your family and friends and enjoy the warmth and spirit of the season.

Nussnackers

Few people can make me laugh so hard it’s uncontrollable. My mom is one of those.

My mom took me, my sister and my sister-in-law to see “The Queen” on Friday night at the Broadway. I really liked it. I thought the plot would be more general, kind of like a brief biography of the Queen of England, but it was focused on that one week in 1997 when Diana died. It was sort of like watching CNN or BBC but getting to see behind the scenes as well.

Anyway, we went to dinner at an Italian place right outside the theatre afterwards. While we were waiting to order, my sister grabbed my hand noting a little blood blister on my finger and asked me how I got it. I said, “cracking nuts with a nutcracker.” My mom nodded with seeming sympathy and then said, “Yeah, cracking nuts is such a waste of time.”

I laughed so hard I almost fell out of my chair. There’s really no telling what will get me going. It usually depends on the context and who it’s coming from. I watched this segment on TV giving tips on how to cut calories. One of their tips was to eat food that takes work and slows you down, such as nuts in their shells. So the thought of my mom completely disregarding that concept in favor of the immediate satisfaction that comes from shoveling pre-shelled nuts in your mouth was funny to me.

The last time I remember laughing that hard was about a year ago. I was sitting in my living room early one Sunday morning and this commercial came on. It was an LDS “Family…it’s about time” commercial. I tried to find it on the internet somewhere so you could see it for yourselves, but I couldn’t. I’ll attempt to describe:

You see a small choir in a cathedral, dressed in choir robes, rehearsing for a concert. They’re conducted by a man who can tell one of the voices is off key. The camera zooms in on a little boy (about ten years old), identifying him as the culprit, although he is singing with all his heart and loving every minute of it. Annoyed, the conductor cuts everyone off and says, “Son…son, you’re singing the wrong notes!” (or something to that effect). He shakes his head in disapproval and asks him to step aside while the choir rehearses without him.

The camera follows the boy, head hanging low as he slouches on a pew, feeling rejected and ostracized from the rest of his family who can sing better than he can. After rehearsal, the conductor (who I’m guessing is his father) goes to the shunned boy, gently puts his hand on his back and gives him a fatherly look.

Cut to performance night – the choir is singing their number and they sound great. The camera pans to the boy who apparently was invited to join the choir again. Only he’s not singing. He’s just standing there silently while everyone else sings. At the end of the song you see his arm rise up with glee as he rings a hand bell. His smile is big and his father nods in approval.

Come ON! That kid wanted to sing; he didn’t want to ring a bell! The father should have let him sing anyway. At least one song with other little kids where the cuteness factor outweighs sound quality. That one had me going well into the program I was watching. I don’t even remember what it was. I just remember watching that commercial, laughing tears, and wishing someone else was there to see it.

I guess I'll insert a picture in here. I took this last night at the annual Rick Durham Christmas Party. It’s the only time all the Durhams get together. I think the party has grown to four or five generations now. We wear nametags. Mine has to say my name, my dad’s name and my dad’s dad’s name. That is the only way people will know where I fit in. So my name last night was Laura Tom Lowell.

You can see my niece Piper’s nametag on her back. We figured that was the only way to stop her from peeling it off and handing it to us. I think these nametags are genius for the little, non-speaking kids especially because they tend to get lost in that huge house. So if she wanders downstairs in the theatre or the game room or some stranger Durham carries her off, sets her down and forgets about her, someone can read her nametag and figure out which Durham family to return her to.

Her nametag skips from Piper to Tom, even though my brother Carter is her dad. Probably because no one knows who Carter is.

"Waiting for Woodruff"

People came out to the Wilford Woodruff Fireside in surprisingly large numbers on Monday night. Kristi, with her modest expectations was counting on ten people, but there were well over 100 there, so that’s good. It was actually quite entertaining.

I didn’t really know what to expect. I knew we were going to have a speaker talk about Wilford Woodruff (fourth president of the LDS church) and there were going to be some musical numbers. Oh, and we were told Wilford himself would be there. I didn’t know what that meant, really. I thought maybe someone in costume? I waited for that promise to be fulfilled, but I guess the speaker was a great grandson and his name was Wilford as well. I get it. It was a trick.

So anyway, Shanna and Steve from our ward were the musical numbers. I learned about a week ago that these numbers come from a larger work – a comprehensive musical written about the life of Wilford Woodruff. Oh, I love it.

I didn’t understand how this was going to work. Were they just going to sing the numbers back to back? Because if they were that would be totally weird seeing how Shanna’s song was very melodramatic and Steve’s was…well…silly. But I like the way the speaker introduced each song so we knew what was coming. The lyrics to Shanna’s song were taken from a letter Wilford’s wife wrote to him after the death of their baby daughter. It was a beautiful song. I liked the melody, and of course Shanna sang it well.

After Shanna's song the speaker told a story about Wilford and how he loved to fish and how he was the first fly fisherman west of the Continental Divide. That was the introduction to Steve’s song and I accompanied him on the piano. Steve showed up in costume and really hammed it up, because really, what else are you supposed to do with a song with lyrics like “everyone ought to have a fish fly, this one here is a beauty and knows well his duty…he’ll lay there waiting in the water, acting like a real live fly!” Still makes me laugh. Steve was a hit and rumor has it Wilford himself got his number. Maybe Steve will join them on tour.

Oh, and I should probably explain the pictures illustrating today's post. I didn’t have any photographs from Monday night, so I Googled Wilford Woodruff hoping I could find him fishing or something, but instead, these little gems caught my attention. They’re from a book a grown man illustrated for a primary class about Wilford Woodruff receiving revelation in the middle of the night warning him to move the carriage he was sleeping in. Good thing he did, because soon after, a whirlwind came tearing a large tree out of the ground and dropping it where his carriage once stood. If you want to read the whole story, click here.

The Moral of "Pierre" is Care!

Remember the boy named Pierre? Who only would say “I don’t care”?

Well, after years of caring too much, I finally said, “I don’t care” yesterday. Only it was to a reporter, which probably wasn’t the best person to vent my frustrations on. OK, I’m being a little dramatic, I recovered quite nicely, of course, but he could tell I was harboring resentment from somewhere.

Oh my job. It’s not even my job really. It’s my job(s). I have too many. I wear too many hats and sometimes get confused as to which hat I’m wearing or which hat people assume I’m wearing when they call me.

So a few weeks ago, I decided to resign as Vice President of the Salt Lake Gallery Association. That position was doing nothing but causing me stress and drama. What surprised me was how disinterested the members of the SLGA were when I announced my resignation at the meeting. Seriously. I have been VP of that organization for over three years. I had an agenda item and said, “I am officially resigning as VP of the Salt Lake Gallery Association” and someone immediately changed the subject back to a previous topic of discussion, as though what I said had no consequence whatsoever.

The next day I got several phone calls from members saying, “Hey Laura, what do you mean you’re not VP anymore? Does that mean you don’t deal with _____ and ______? Cause I need you to do ________.”

Yeah, they didn’t get it. They didn’t believe me. Yes, it means I don’t deal with you and you don’t call me with your drama anymore.

It may be harder to quit than I think. So this reporter from the Trib called yesterday saying he was writing an article on galleries and charity auctions and how charity auctions are hurting the art industry. He called me as VP of the Gallery Association. I’ve worked with him before, he’s a super nice guy, but I got a little impatient with his questions and may have said something to the effect that I don’t care what galleries think, artists don’t read their contracts and galleries don’t enforce them and blah blah blah. Not a tactful thing to say when I represent the Utah Arts Council – my actual paying job. But the reporter was cool about it. I think he understood. He was being hounded by the same gallery that was hounding me. This gallery expects an organization or the community to solve their retail wretchedness for them. I called him back today because I was being neurotic about it last night after our conversation. I hate it when I misrepresent myself.

My paying job has been boring me lately as well. I went to a department meeting yesterday. Halfway through the “Balanced Scorecard Initiative” presentation, I discovered my cell phone had a stopwatch on it. So I checked my pulse. Twice. I averaged 85 beats per minute.

And then about three weeks ago at staff meeting, my mind started to wander after an hour. I didn’t realize it was wandering until my boss looked at me and said something like, “What do you think, Laura?” I said, “That sounds good to me,” but what I was actually thinking was “What is nougat, really?” Granted it was Halloween and I had a few 3 Musketeers in my purse. When did I stop caring? Maybe when I realized I cared too much and for no reason.

I need to get with it. Back in the game. Or I need a vacation. And not one of those wimpy five day vacations. A real vacation. Like three weeks. I’m almost there. I have 12 days saved up.

Miss Sorenson's Class

This morning I visited Kristi's first grade class. They were super cute. I guess Kristi had them think of questions to ask me during their recess. So when I got there I took several questions. The first one being "What is your favorite food?" All of a sudden, my mind went blank. I thought "pizza" would get a good response, which it did. But all my answers got good responses. They agreed with all my favorite things. The best question was "What is your favorite dress?" I had no idea how to answer that one. I think the girl who asked it had a mother who was getting married. Dangit! Wedding dress, of course. Why didn't I think of that one? Probably because I don't have one.

I'm glad she had them call me Laura and not Miss Durham. That would have freaked me out a little bit.

Kristi is lucky enough to have a piano in her classroom so they sang a bunch of songs for me. First they sang a turkey song. They sang a few Halloween songs and then they sang "Walk the Line." It was awesome. Kristi wanted me to come so I could play the piano. I played "Go My Son". I remember learning that when I was in grade school with the sign language and everything. Anyway, turns out Kristi could play it better than I could, but it was my first try.

Here is a picture of Kristi commanding her students. This was her asking them to be quiet before the dance party.

Here are some pictures of random kids. I guess their parents all signed a media release form so I was allowed to take as many pictures as I wanted. And all the kids wanted their picture taken. "Take a picture of me! No me! Take another picture of me!"

So I have a lot of pictures.


This is Fredleca. Not sure how you spell that. But I chose her when Kristi asked me who I thought her wildest student was.

And then this next picture is of a few girls. I only remember the name of the one tilting her head. Her name is Amy. She told me that I looked like I was getting married. I asked her, "Why? because my hair is curly? And she said, "No, because of your size."

I made treats for all the kids, because I like to make treats. Check out these turkeys. How cute are these? I was pretty proud of the way they turned out. I was just going to bring cookies, but then I thought "Eh, kids prefer food with faces." They like to eat something that looks like it could come alive any second.

So it was a fun morning. I will definitely have to go back sometime soon. Thanks Kristi!

Hauntings

2006 was the second year in a row that I dressed up for Halloween after a long hiatus of not caring about the holiday. I think a big reason I dressed up last year was because I actually had costume parties to go to and I seriously thought it would hurt my friend Jon’s feelings if I didn't, because if it weren’t for Halloween (or the ‘80s) I'm not sure he'd be the same Jon I know.

So last year I attempted to dress up as Sydney Bristow. It was all right. But this year was more fun. Maria, Kaila and I decided to find some creepy dolls and dress ourselves up like the dolls. Thanks to moms who know how to sew and some serendipitous luck, we actually pulled it off. Here is a picture of us at our ward Halloween party on Monday. If you’re jealous of our dolls, you can find some of your own at www.livingdeaddolls.com. People collect these. So wrong.

Usually, I photoshop pictures to take the red eye out, but Kaila’s red eye looked so awesome with her dress, I didn’t want to touch it.

Halloween was last night, but I didn’t dress up last night. As I was telling my friends, this year felt like the Twelve Days of Halloween, so when the actual day arrived, I was over it. It was kind of anti-climactic and I was sick of putting goop on my face and wearing an itchy wig. But I was proud of our costumes.

Speaking of creepy things, there’s this scary guy that has recently made the Rio Grande Depot his home (it’s my second home as I spend most of my day here earning a living). He wanders around, asking me if I’m working hard or hardly working. He bugs this girl in the research center. I guess the other day he came up to her as she was talking to her coworker. She finally looked at him and said, “Can I help you with something?” and he said, “Oh, I’m just listening in on the building news.”

He sneaks in and out of dark rooms, checking out windows, doors, assessing our weaknesses. Meanwhile, the security guard sits careless at his desk, nose in a novel.

The other day, this lurker came into my office with a copy of "IN" Utah and told me I need to read the “Famous Utah Haunts” section. I thought I better. Here are some selected entries, republished completely without permission from "IN" Utah. But in all fairness, their writers stole these from City Weekly last year. I’m not impressed with the publication, I give it a year.

Shilo Inn
The room where a mother threw her children out of an 11th floor window (and later jumped herself) is allegedly haunted. The pinball machine in the game room is known to play on its own.

Fort Douglas
The fort and its accompanying cemetery has a reported ghost that goes by the name Clem.

West High
A basketball player who wears his old uniform haunts the gym after his alleged suicide. The weight room is known to have weights and equipment move by themselves.

Capitol Theater
Haunted by an old man who died in a building fire in the ‘40s.

Memory Grove
Some folks talk about seeing the ghost of a woman in a wedding gown.

Rio Grande Building
The ghost of a woman in a purple dress who accidentally walked in front of a train supposedly haunts this place.

Deveraux Mansion
Story goes that the ghost of an 8 year-old girl can be seen in the upstairs windows and heard softly singing to herself. She has been seen in pictures taken by visitors and she appears to be the same girl in the pictures hanging on the walls.

I don’t know about this last one (like I know about any of these), the Utah Arts Council has hung artwork on the walls of the Deveraux for years, and I don’t know of any pictures with a girl in them. Must have been a long time ago.

Anyway, hope everyone had a good Halloween. It is officially the “Holiday Season” now. Get ready for Christmas music wherever you go.

Being a Pedestrian

Isn't that a cool picture? I didn't take it. But I like the fog, and it makes me happy that I get to live downtown. I love downtown. I love walking downtown. It’s amazing the things I take note of as a pedestrian. As a driver, I’m more focused on the road and traffic lights. I’ve learned a lot walking to and from work this past year. I feel very comfortable with my surroundings and more aware of the people, buildings and events downtown. The following is a list of things I've learned walking to work:


The Christmas lights on Temple Square start going up in September.

The "holiday" lights at the Delta Center start going up in October.

Seeing how fast you can run down the steps at the Delta Center is fun.

It takes me exactly 17 seconds to cross a city street.

Judging from the plastic bags they carry their lunch in, all of the Temple Square missionaries do their grocery shopping at Wal-Mart.

If I wear a long, black skirt and walk towardsTemple Square, people mistake me for a missionary and wonder where my companion is.

Hardly anyone uses those orange flags to cross the street. And those who do look really scared.

A huge flock of fat seagulls like to congregate in the parking lot just west of West Temple around 8:50 AM and strategize for the day.

I think the space below the Dakota Lofts is haunted because no one has wanted to lease it for the past two years. The last business there was Ruby Tuesdays and they lasted about two months.

Ever since LDS Business College moved down to the Triad Center, the number of people making their way down North Temple has increased significantly – especially the skateboarders.

One out of five people smile back. And they’re usually convention-goers.

They can tear a building down overnight, but it takes years to grow another one in its place. UNLESS it's that Fidelity building on South Temple across from the Delta Center. They threw that together in a weekend, I swear. I try to step lightly when I pass it.

There are five sculptural reliefs of Olympians carved on a concrete wall along 400 West across from the Gateway. Only one figure has blue lips and I don't know why. I hope she's OK.

The employees at the Ford Building take a smoke break every morning at 8:55 AM.

The Rio Grande Hotel has got to be the trashiest hotel in town, but the proprietor is out there at least three times a day sweeping the walks.

"Papyrus" is the favorite font to use for signs on store windows.

The beggar just outside Temple Square did not need money for her surgery. She needed it to buy supplies for a new poster that reads, "Need money for hungry children. God bless."

It gets real windy along Main Street once you hit 200 South.

If there is a sign on Nordstrom's store window that says "Sale" I will go in.


You know what I’m beginning to accept? My remarkable attention to detail. I decided this on Wednesday when an email from Tickle encouraged me to take the “How your brain works and learns” test. I took their IQ Test several weeks ago and learned that I am a “visionary philosopher”. The fact that I can see the future is a power I was somewhat mindful of, but I have committed myself to take on this responsibility to further the advancement of mankind and not abuse it for personal gain.

Anyway, the test results explained my in-depth linear and analytical brain ability. I am undeniably left-brained, which is a little disappointing because I always considered myself a creative person, and creative people are right-brained. Oh well. I probably developed more left brained skills as an art history student. Left-brained people see tiny details within a large picture and see how they work together to form the larger picture. And that’s exactly what art history students are trained to do. We're trained to notice colors, texture, expressions on people's faces, reactions to their expressions, their stance, their gestures, how they relate to their surroundings and what that means in a larger context. I wonder if I would make a good spy. Probably not. The last time someone made me hold a gun I was so devastated I wanted to cry. I’ll stick to analyzing paintings.

I miss spinach.

I went to Wild Oats today to get my big salad at the salad bar and the only lettuce available was boring green leaf. Granted, it’s better than iceberg, but I loved having that spinach there to mix in with my “spring mix” greens which are also not available right now because of the E. coli O157:H7 scare. And earlier this week I went to Macaroni Grill and their “spinach salad” was made with romaine lettuce. Don’t pretend to be spinach. Sad.

I like spinach. I like spinach salad. I like quiche with spinach and spinach on my sandwiches. It was an easy vegetable to incorporate into my diet that lacks the recommended daily allowance of vegetables already. I need my beta-carotene. I don’t really like carrots. I bought a bunch of potatoes, but that’s not a real vegetable.

P.S. what is up with Google? I typed in the search box, “When do we get spinach back?” and in big red letters it asked me, “Did you mean, when do we get punch back?” What the? No, that’s not what I meant. Not even close. Get a clue.

I can feel my vitamin A levels dropping. Does a vitamin A deficiency make you quick-tempered?

You know, on KUTV news the other day they were talking about how E. coli has creeped its way into other stuff like carrot juice. But all we need to worry about is the organic stuff that isn’t processed. If it says, “pasteurized” we’re okay.

Maybe that’s why all the carrot juice was on sale at Wild Oats today.