An Excellent Accompaniment to Summer 2008

What is it? The new music mix I just created, of course! I am fairly proud of it- check it out on the side of the page and enjoy the eclecticism! Of course, the music might not be to everyone's tastes-I tend to satisfy my own palate. But I like the songs on there, and that counts for something, right? It's been a good, if a semi-productive (school-wise) weekend.

Man, I love the sounds of summer. And summer itself. And the fact that it's not really summer, but it still is at the same time. This pseudo-summer will be particularly great by the time my birthday rolls around, because by then I'll be done with spring classes! (You know, the ones I just barely started...)

sweet, sentimental, and lovely

Okay, I have a dirty secret. Actually, it's neither dirty nor much of a secret. I love the You've Got Mail soundtrack. I do. Now that is something that is rife with happiness and the carefree nature of summer. Except for Harry Nilsson's version of Over the Rainbow- which is just sweet and sentimental and lovely. And bound to provoke imagery of the closing scene of the film- which is also sweet, sentimental, and lovely. The majority of songs on the soundtrack are classics that almost make you feel nostalgia for a time you never lived in. (Much to the chagrin of de Zengotita, the author of Mediated- a book with a couple of great one-liners, but not quiiite worth keeping).

So I'm not going to lie. I wrote that bit a couple of days ago and have since slided away from the You've Got Mail tangent. Far away.

I don't know what to do with myself these days. And I graduate in a year and a half. I don't know what to do with myself those days either. That's my job this summer: find my future and pratiquer mon francais. Among other things. Many other things.

Open Road

I read/wrote this waaaay back in the day (okay, a year ago) when I had another outlet for posting blogs...but I gave up on that site. I valued this article too much to give it up and just found the blog on my parents' computer (since I've spending tons of time here)! I thought it appropriate for now since I've been thinking a lot about how the future is affected by choices we make today. And also because I've actually been driving this past week. (It's a rare occurrence, my friends).

From the New York Times:

"[I]t seems to me that my generation was defined by the open road, and the accompanying hope that a promise lay at the end of it. The almost trance-like experience of driving down the soft tunnel of a dark highway at night was something I relished. At most, there would be the distant red lights of a car far ahead, and always the murmur of the glowing radio, the hiss of the tires and, at a certain speed on narrower roads, the fizzing past of telephone poles with their rhythmic whiplash.

Late at night, in most places I knew, there was almost no traffic and driving, a meditative activity, could cast a spell. Behind the wheel, gliding along, I was keenly aware of being an American in America, on a road that was also metaphorical, making my way through life, unhindered, developing ideas, making decisions, liberated by the flight through this darkness and silence. With less light pollution, the night sky was different, too — starrier, more daunting, more beautiful..." - Paul Theroux, New York Times, 12/31/06.

Finding this was completely an accident, and it would've knocked me off my feet, had I been standing. I've never heard a night drive described in a more articulate, beautiful way: "Behind the wheel, gliding along, I was keenly aware of being an American in America, on a road that was also metaphorical, making my way through life, unhindered, developing ideas, making decisions, liberated by the flight through this darkness and silence."

I am keenly aware of being an American in America. I am aware of it when I open the newspaper, homepage, whatever it be, and read of 30 fatalities resulting from a suicide bombing in Iraq, Israel, Afghanistan, what have you. I am aware when I open the paper to read a remarkably similar story the next day. And I am aware as they continue counting deaths of those Americans not lucky enough to be in America.

There are two halves to a life. There is the half of the individual, his story, his triumphs, his sorrows. From the memorable to the forgettable, and all that we wish could be forgettable, all things personally related to him are covered. It is the way he spends his time, who he spends it with, and where the time is spent. It is his dreams, his goals, his deepest thoughts and fears. His convictions. But most of all, it is him. How he defines himself, casting a shadow on other unnecessaries.

And then there is the half of the world. Sometimes, many times, this half is left behind. Some people would like to think that Iraq and its problems don't exist, or that all is well in __________. But then when it is acknowledged, where to begin? Africa, the Middle East, Asia, South America, all places have their own unique stories. And America too.

I find refuge in Theroux's words, finding hope in the idea that I, too, can be "liberated by the flight through this darkness and silence." To find escape from the collision of these worlds, and to relish in the simple beauty of the night.

Summer...

The other day I was walking to my [family/sister's] car which was parked directly south of campus. There's a story for that (and there usually is). But anyway, I happened to walk down the oh-so memorable path I took once, usually twice, every day to the complex where I stayed over the summer. It need not be named, but just know that it used to share the same awning as the plasma donation center downtown (I say "used to" because the plasma center decided it was too classy for that.) As I was trying to take graceful steps down that steep hill, I had a flashback of when I walked down with Rebecca to sign our contracts for the summer almost exactly one year before.

I had no idea what to expect from that summer. Everything was open and anything could have happened. It was the first summer I stayed "on purpose" in Provo. The year before, I moved to Provo for spring term on a whim with a friend just because the rent was dirt cheap. The second-half of that summer paled in comparison to the first. This last summer with Rebecca turned out well. Nothing spectacular happened, but it was comfortable. And now another summer approaches.

I love summer. And I am especially excited for this one. It could very well be the last summer I spend in Provo (at least I kind of hope so) and I plan to make the most out of every moment of it! To me, summer is like the beginning of a new year. It's a fresh start when you can make anything happen. Everything is a little more relaxed, the sun is shining, and people are happy. It's amazing what a breezy, sun-filled day can do to boost your morale. Those days where you could spend forever outside without a care in the world create the best memories. Unfortunately, the number of days that are truly like that steadily decrease as you get older. But even an hour of enjoying the outdoors can turn a mediocre day on its head.

What's not to love about summer? Well, it does tend to produce hot, sweaty days just when the a.c. fails. But let's not dwell on that :)

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future/present

Do you ever reflect on your life and wonder if this is where you meant to end up? Have you ever considered the way you were as a child and an adult (ha) simultaneously? I remember, as a child, thinking about all the great things that would happen when I was an adult. However, there is a tendency for children to perceive their future selves as different people from who they actually are. I am the same girl I was in kindergarten. I think that is why it is so easy to reconnect with friends from high school. You have no secret personality traits from them, for who could keep that locked up for so long?

Where am I going with this? Maybe it's time to lessen the focus (just a bit) on the future. Yes, the future is important and plans must be made. But what about the present? You have forever to fulfill the future, but only now to fulfill the present. There will always be a next week, next summer, next year- focusing on that discounts what can be done today. Not that goals are terrible; they are absolutely necessary. But a life can't be built upon possible goals. It can be built on concrete actions that will lead to the accomplishment of goals.

Intelligent Conversations

I just rediscovered this unpublished post from WAAAAY back in October after a night of hanging out with friends in a random city (Tours) in France. This particular night was one of the BEST nights of my life. And I know that Russ and Janna agree with me!

Quotes from a night of fun in Tours, France

Russ: Has anyone else ever called underwear gaunch?
..............................................................................................................

Kat: When you say came out, do you mean out of the womb?
..............................................................................................................

Alyssa: I kind of really want to work for Google when I
wake up.
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Easter potatoes

I love those times when something happens and I say, "that was awesome, I have to write it down." And I don't. Maybe sometimes I do. But not very often. Life is too short to go throughout without all the built-up hilarious moments. So I have one story and more will follow!

It's Easter. My family (and my friend Alyse) are gathered around the table. The food looks delicious, and will turn out to be, in fact, delectable. My mom wants to set the tone and adjusts the sound system. A low, droning organ tone emanates from the CD player. We all look at each other in slight confusion.
"I feel like I'm at a funeral," Dad says. Mom finds the non-deathlike Easter appropriate music and takes a seat. We all excitedly ask about the potato dish, which is a must-have at every Easter meal. It quickly transforms into a discussion about the correct terminology for said potato dish.
-"Can you pass the funeral potatoes, please?" Casey asks, knowing all too well how Mom feels about this new "Utah" phrase.
-"They're NOT funeral potatoes! This is a celebration! You can't call my potatoes that!" Mom says with exasperation.
-"What do we call them then?" Casey asks, smiling.
-"RESURRECTION potatoes!" A brilliant sibling suggests. We all laugh. And Resurrection potatoes they became.

A moment in the life of the Linford family. I love it!