My Siblings, or I Can't Believe I Know These People!

I was born into a family full of talent. I'm baffled that somehow, I am genetically linked to such a smart and wonderful group of people. It truly is a wonder.

Growing up, my brothers and sisters were the only people I wanted to be around. I am the youngest of six, so there was never a dull moment. If I was faced with the decision to spend time with my siblings or my friends, I think I must've always chosen my siblings because they were older and cooler. Cami taught me to love Led Zeppelin. Summer taught me that "21 Jump Street" was the hip TV show to watch. Brooks was my protector from Blake, who teased me around the clock. Sometimes, Blake would let me play with his toys, though, and I appreciated that because it's the only time in my life that I've ever been interested in "boy" sorts of things. I think it was good for me.

And Lexia. Lexia was my best friend. She always had the best ideas. She always knew what to do next. Sure, we fought -- hard -- but we always ended up being friends in the end. She taught me about art and design.


When it was just me in the house with mom and dad, I was very lonely. My best friends had all left, and I had to go outside the family to make more. I missed the way we would all plop down in front of the TV after school and watch "Murphy Brown" and "Cheers" together. I missed combining our money at the city pool and sharing an order of nachos and pop.

But now that we are all grown up, it's fun to see what each of my siblings do and are interested in. Let me show you:

• Cami is an excellent talker and salesperson and cook. She can carry on a conversation with anyone, and she can get them so excited and interested in absolutely anything she wants. I think it was my dad who said that she could talk an Eskimo into buying a freezer. It's true! And she can cook! Amazing, wonderful, yummy food!
• Summer is the most organized and punctual of all of us. She is a good teacher and a patient person, and she can draw or design anything. I used to watch her draw paper dolls for me. I remember being amazed that she hardly ever had to use an eraser. She's a teacher now, and she's really good at that, but I think she should drop everything and start illustrating children's books.
• Brooks is a computer science genius. He knows a lot about a lot of things. He owns a business and along with my brother-in-law, is about to open his first data center. I think Brooks's best talent, though, is that he is an extremely good dad. (Check out Fogo Data Center Solutions.)
  
• Blake is excellent at working hard and playing hard. He reminds me that when I have a family, I need to remember that vacations and changes of scenery are important. He also owns a business and is a very successful freelance writer. He embodies the Nike slogan more than anyone I've ever seen; he's a doer. He gets things done. (See BlakeSnow.com.)
  
• Lexia is an artist, through and through. She stays up late, gets up late, marches to the beat of her own drum, and simultaneously does and doesn't care what she looks like during the day. She is wonderful at drawing caricatures of everyone in our family. She notices things no one else does. (See the Web site of Lexia Snow.)

So you see? I know the best of people. Be jealous! :)


Thing I'm thankful for: movie popcorn!

Mangoes, or Fruit of the Gods

Okay, I know last year I said oranges were my favorite fruit. I was wrong. Mangoes definitely are. Up to last summer, I had only ever had dried and sweetened mangoes from a bag. I always thought those were yummy, but I didn't realize the full joy that is mango-eating.

Thanks to Jenna, one of my siblings-in-law, my tune has changed. I had a small dinner party last summer, and Jenna came early to help. She brought a mango, and while she was cutting it, told me about how much she loves mangoes and how often she ate them when she first lived in Hawaii. So I tried my first fresh mango ever. The flavor burst in my mouth was unforgettable. I had to have more! I think Jenna was excited that I was excited, and so although she was planning to share the mango with everyone in our small party, we ended up eating the whole thing ourselves!

And now I'm hooked. I like to just stand at my kitchen counter, eating very ripe mangoes. I like them to be so ripe that the juice gets all over my hands. I think it's the only food I like to get messy with, and interestingly enough, it's the only fruit I like at room temperature (Besides bananas, of course. I don't eat those much, anyway.).

My roommate even notices that I eat an unusual amount of mangoes. When I bought my first mango of the season, she said, "Mangoes again, huh?" Yes! Mangoes again! What can I say? I'm overjoyed that they're in season now, and I'm not going to let another 26 years go by without getting my fill.

Thanks, Jenna, for introducing me to a little bit of heaven!


Thing I'm thankful for: the fun, new siblings I get when my biological siblings get hitched!

My Favorite Movie Scenes, or Happy Mother's Day!!!

I'm doing something a little different this Mother's Day and sharing some of my favorite movie scenes. Why? Because my mother introduced me to movies. She shared her love of film with me at an early age, and as a result, I'm familiar with silent movies, classic black-and-whites from the 30s and 40s, technicolor favorites, and 90s thrillers. When I was in high school, she watched "The Wizard of Oz" set to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon with my siblings and me, and in college, she and I stayed up late once watching "The Deer Hunter." We quote movies, re-watch our favorites, and analyze them all to death.

When I was really young, she'd let me watch movies that were far too mature for my age, but when a scene was about to get steamy or spicy, she'd quickly say, "Close your eyes and cover your ears!" And I did! I saw "Poltergeist" when I was 5, "It" when I was 9, and "The Piano" when I was 12. Alien abductions, horror, romantic dramas -- you name it, I watched it. My dad hated it. He was very particular about ratings, and when my mom brought home an R-rated movie, he'd rub his face and say, "Gad, Cathy."

Looking back, I think my dad was partly right, and I think my mom was partly right. I see the benefit of the rating system, but I also appreciate that my mom let us learn about life through film. I think my siblings and I all have a good sense of humor because of it, and we don't get scared easily. And we did watch Disney's Sunday night movie on ABC most weekends, so it wasn't all bad. :)

Here, then, are some of my favorite live action movie scenes. (You can see some of my favorite animated movie scenes at The Best of Disney.)

• A Few Good Men: "You can't handle the truth!" (explicit)
• Training Day: Alonzo's Stolen Money (explicit)
• Steel Magnolias: "I wanna know why!"
• Sleepless In Seattle: An Affair to Remember
• Little Women: Beth's Monologue
• Gone With the Wind: Scarlett Meets Rhett
• It's a Wonderful Life: Violet Stops Traffic
• Baby Boom: Country Baby
• Big Business: The Reunion
• Pretty In Pink: Steff and Duckie Fight

Thing I'm thankful for: cinema, of course!

I Am a Psychologist's Daughter

I remember taking a test when I was 4 years old.  My dad gave me a piece of 8 1/2 x 11" yellow paper with questions on both sides.  I can only recall one of them:  "Draw a circle, like this."  Next to the words was an example image of a circle.  I drew it as roundly as I could, and after I closed the curve, I thought, "I'm going to add some dots and turn this circle into a cookie."  And so I did.  I don't know what my dad thought of my drawing, since I didn't tell him about my cookie idea, but looking back, I think two things:  1) I really should open a bakery, and 2) It behooves psychologists to have lots of kids; they can use them as test subjects for years.

Perhaps Tolstoy's most famous line is the opening of Anna Karenina:  "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."  I'm going to respectfully disagree with Tolstoy on this point.  To me, families have particular activities they do that give them happy identities.  There are sports families, musical families, performance families, science and engineering families, funny families, etc.  My family is a talkative family.  We talk and talk and talk.  A lot.  (That should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me well, but actually, I'm one of the least talkative ones of the bunch, if you can believe it.)

The thing we talk about the most?  Psychology.  This is where my dad's profession comes into play.  His job didn't stop at the office.  It didn't stop at giving my siblings and me development tests.  It made it's way into nearly every family discussion.  Even now, I find myself in the middle of conversations in which at least a few of us are analyzing my parents' relationship or another siblings' self-awareness.  Sure, this family reunion is proving to be full of fun activities, such as swimming and talent shows, but it's also full of the thing that makes me feel most at home: conversation.  I don't think everyone in my family appreciates that (as conversation can quickly morph into argument, if you're not careful), but I love it.  It feels familiar and smart and interesting.  I feel sorry for families who don't have hours-long conversations with each other.


Thing I'm thankful for: Aqua Sphere swimming goggles!

Average and Amazing

Well, 17 hours later, and . . .  I am in Georgia.  My parents and I drove here for the week.  This is what I learned on the trip:

• My dad gets worried when I drive.  He must've asked me twenty times if I was okay.  "Are you tired?"  "How are you doing?"  "Do you want to stop?"  The thing my dad doesn't know is that my mind hits its peak around 10:00 at night.  I easily drove for 200 miles straight in the middle of the night.
• My dad likes the song "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen.  "Is she saying 'Call me maybe?'"
• Neither one of my parents knew about Shazam or Spotify.  Spotify was a big hit.  My dad looked up all kinds of songs from the early 60s and seemed surprised every time he found what he was looking for.
• My mom makes more noise than anyone I know.  Even when she isn't talking.
• I come from a family that has a deep and abiding love for movies.  I guess that was something I re-learned, actually.  (We have impeccable taste!)

The most interesting thing I learned, though, was during a round of get-to-know-you questions.  The question was, "What would the title of your autobiography be?"

Dad's answer: "Mr. Average."
Mom's answer: "The Most Amazing Woman!"

Interesting, no?  Interesting that two people with such different levels of self-esteem could be married for so long.  Or maybe that's what has helped them?  I dunno.  Their answers weren't surprising, really, but they were unexpected.  That is, I never heard my dad so explicitly say he thought he was average.  My mom, on the other hand, talks about how great she is all the time!  :)  I think it's good thing, though.  'Cause here's what:  I think my siblings and I all have a pretty realistic sense of who we are and what we're good at.  I mean, I'm nothing, if not extremely self-aware.  (I like that about myself.)  My five siblings and me are six adults who know we're average in most aspects of life, but exceptional in a few.  As a result, we are good at recognizing -- and not feeling threatened by -- others' exceptional qualities.  Everyone is average, but everyone has at least one special gift.

Me?  I think I'm smart, but not brilliant.  Not gorgeous, but not completely unfortunate-looking.  Funny, but not a riot.  Good, but not holy.  I work hard, but probably not harder than others.  And I can be creative, but I'll never really be an Artist.  There are things I'm downright horrible at: team sports, public speaking, consignment-store shopping, punctuality.  But there are also things I excel at: baking, conversation, and making people feel good about themselves.

What do you excel at?  Leave a comment about it!  Do!


Thing I'm thankful for: my new Longhorn hoodie

Happy Valentine's Day!

This week I've heard so many people say, "I don't get into Valentine's Day. It's just a Hallmark-made holiday, anyway." Well, I say yay for Hallmark! That was just an ingenious business strategy that might never be topped! Besides, I love love, and I love celebrating it! (Read more information about the real history of V-Day.)

Still, I wondered why I love celebrating the holiday. Why have I always looked forward to February 14th? I've only had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day once, so it's not like I ever have anything special to do . . . I dug around in my memories a little bit and came up with the reason. My mom loves Valentine's Day, too.

When my siblings and I were little, my mom would give us valentines. We'd come home from school and there, on the stairs, were little boxes of goodies or cards or trinkets. There are six of us; accordingly, each of six ascending stair steps would have a little present. Mine was on the bottom step.

She still sometimes gets valentines for us now, though it's a little sporadic. But I like that she made the day special for us. I always grew up thinking of Valentine's Day as a holiday for celebrating love in general -- love between a mother and her children, love between siblings, and love between people. It was never a holiday just about romantic love. So when I grew up and didn't have a date on Valentine's Day, it was just no big deal. I could send valentines to anyone; it didn't have to be a significant other.

This year, I sent red and pink and sparkly cards to my nieces and nephew. I was a little late, though, so they might not even get the cards today. Still, I hope they begin to love Valentine's Day as much as I do!


Thing I'm thankful for: my mommy!

We Got Soaked Together, Or The Unifying Power of Adversity

I know, I know -- the title of this post is a mess, but I just couldn't come up with anything else . . . First -- let me give thanks for the grateful and sympathetic words that my last "Thing I'm thankful for" elicited. I realize now that the allusion to my near car accident could have been a little terrifying. I assure everyone that Carrie, Nikki, Andrea, and I are all safe and sound. The mishap had something to do with a combination of speed, water on the road, and the angle of the exit ramp . . . At any rate, the car is okay, and we're all okay. Those metal guard posts are strong little suckers.

And now for my serious post on an experience in Nashville:

On Independence Day, we walked through downtown Nashville, headed for the river bank, where the city displayed its fireworks. We were late, though; the fireworks had already started. So we watched from the street. I think I said it before, but I'll say it again: Those fireworks were spectacular. So spectacular, in fact, that when it started sprinkling, no one moved. I don't think anyone anticipated that the rain was soon going to pour, so when it did, there was really nothing to be done except continue to watch the show. The oddest thing happened, though: When the rain splattered on our upturned faces, the crowd started clapping and cheering. Later, when the rain really started coming down, we tried to take shelter near some sidewalk shops. I had a short, but friendly conversation with a woman standing next to me. When the grand finale boomed to a close, I quickly walked alongside Carrie and hundreds of other people through ankle-high puddles. I laughed with a few people on the way. In the hotel, I made the trek up 13 flights of stairs because the elevators were slow, and most of the lodgers were, like me, coming in from the rain, eager to go to their rooms and change into warm, dry clothes. On the 13th floor, when I could go no farther, I ditched Nikki and joined a fellow out-of-shape person to look for the nearest (hopefully less-crowded) elevator.

So what's the point of my story? That although I knew that trials make you stronger and hardships bring people together, I didn't really know it. Sure, it was a fireworks show, and all we got was wet, but for whatever reason, I understood the unifying power of adversity in those moments of pouring rainfall. I could endure the cool rain and mascara in my eyes, if other people could. I could laugh with my neighbor who was laughing at me, and we could both laugh at our pitiful situation.

Later that night, when my girlfriends lay asleep and I wandered the hotel lobby alone, I thought about other times when I felt closest to others. I felt close to my siblings when we moved to Georgia. For a while, I hated Georgia and the people in it, and I had no friends. Apparently, my siblings didn't have any or many friends, either, because we all hung out together. On school nights, I can remember watching "Cheers" and "Murphy Brown" with them.

When my heart was first broken, a friend helped me through it, and we bonded over our high school angst. It seems silly now, but our friendship has never been as strong since, and I know we needed each other during that time.

Now I'm single and sometimes lonely. The economy stinks, and people are losing their jobs and homes. There are people who don't eat and people who don't ever have cover from the rain. But I am grateful for the unity that comes from our wretched circumstances. I'm amazed that somehow it works -- that trials and loneliness and hunger and sadness bring people together.

In a Christian sense, such times of difficulty are times when people are supposed to call on God. I believe that's true, and I believe it helps. Yet I think an even greater power that sustains us through difficulties is the close friendship of others or help from a stranger. I don't quite know how it helps exactly, but I know it does. And I'm thankful for that.

Other thing I'm thankful for: wonderfully cool-ish weather in July. Sometimes Georgia is a good place to be. :)

The Snows are Alive with the Sound of Music!

Something I like about my family is that we all appreciate music.

Just yesterday, my brother posted something on his blog about music he's been listening to lately, and I thought about how music means so much to everyone in my family.  What I figure, is that my parents taught my siblings and me a lot through music.  Let me show you; here is the music I learned to love because of my parents:

• Golden Oldies -- I'm talkin' 50s and 60s, here, folks.  Stuff like Elvis, Buddy Holly, Santo and Johnny, and Sonny and Cher.  I guess I'll include Motown, The Beatles, and The Beach Boys here, too.
• Classical Music -- I'm including Baroque in this.  And opera, too.
• Country and Folk -- From the likes of Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, and The Kingston Trio.
• Classic Crooners -- Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra . . .  You get the idea.
• Random stuff throughout the years

In turn, my parents listened to (and liked) the music my siblings and I played:

• 70s Rock and/or Psychedelic -- Mostly I'm thinking of Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd.
• 80s Bands and One-Hit Wonders -- My dad particularly liked Hall and Oates.
• 90s Alternative Rock -- Yes, my parents listened to some Nirvana songs and Weezer, too.  Gosh, I love it when my mom bobs her head to "Pink Triangle."

They only liked the good stuff.  The good, clean stuff.  Their approach to music is similar to their approach to life, I guess.  They taught us what they knew, were open and respectful of our ideas and opinions, and let us know when we were pushing the limits.  As a result, my older brothers and sisters and me are fairly open to new perspectives, and at the same time, we are able to stand our ground on principles that mean the most to us.  I'm grateful for that.  It makes living in this world a whole lot easier.

Thanks, mom and dad.  I love you both a lot.

Secret Santa

When I got home tonight, I had a small package waiting on my doorstep. I wasn't expecting a package, so I thought it was probably something from my mom or maybe an early Christmas present from one of my siblings. And maybe it was.

But maybe it wasn't.

There was no order slip inside -- no indication who this package was from. The return address didn't help, either; all it says is "Amazon Fulfillment Services." I have no idea who this thing is from. So many people have asked for my address lately, so it could be one of a number of people . . . I'm at a complete loss!

What did this secret Santa give me? A book called Cooking Up a Business: Lessons from Food Lovers Who Turned Their Passion into a Career -- and How You Can, Too. If my eyes weren't so dried up from a lack of sleep lately, I would've cried a little bit. This book is a little nudge -- one of many lately -- that make me think long and hard about what I'm doing with my life. It seems to say, "Sara, you are more talented than you think!"

And so.


Dear Secret Santa,

Thank you, thank you, thank you. The fact that you sent this gift to me indicates a few things: 1) You are an intent listener; 2) You are thoughtful; and 3) You have confidence in me.

That third point means so much more than you know. Or probably you do know, which is why you had the book sent to me at all.

I've been struggling with a book decision lately. I haven't been able to decide what to read during the holidays, especially when I'm stuck on a plane. I guess my struggle is over, huh!?! Obviously, I will be reading the book you got me! Yay!

Thank you, thank you, thank you. From the bottom of my heart and with all the love I can muster -- thank you.


Love,
Sara


Thing I'm thankful for: people. I'm almost always thankful for specific people. (And food) (But mostly people.

Notes

I was finally putting up Christmas decorations and organizing some things around my apartment this weekend, and I stumbled upon this little gem:




I had driven from Atlanta to Austin––just under 1,000 miles––in two days, and I was exhausted. It was past midnight, and my first day of grad school was the next morning. I was sad to leave old friends behind and nervous about the adventure I had gotten myself into.

I walked into my new apartment, where my roommate was asleep, and looked around. My parents had moved and unpacked the heavy stuff I owned a few days before, since they lived fairly close by in San Antonio. There was my kitchen table, and here was my couch. There was Summer's old coffee table, and over there was my bookshelf. It was all familiar, and yet . . . I didn't recognize this place. I was lonely. I wished my mom had stayed a little longer because I needed to see a friendly and loving face and have her tell me that I had made a good decision and that everything was going to be alright. I teared up and walked down the long hall to my room, ready to be in bed.

To my surprise, my mom had already made my bed for me. Most of my clothes and shoes and things I needed immediately were unpacked, and to top it all off, there was a note. A note that welcomed me to this strange place and a note that said I was loved. I think I cried even more after I read it, but they were tears of gratitude and happiness that time.

What a wonderful mother I have. And father, too. All my life, they have left notes to my siblings and me. On my pillow, on the stairs, in my lunch bags, and inside book covers. I cherish those notes.

I'm sure that's why I'm a note-giver myself. Apart from explicitly voicing it, nothing says "I love you" more than a note left in a place where you're sure to see it but least expect it.

Thanks, MommyDaddy, for loving me with notes.


Thing I'm thankful for: Besides notes . . . Sunday naps!

Christmas was Different This Year

A friend wrote this as her Gmail status today: "Being with family is the most comfortable place in the world."

As I read that, I realized that's what was different this year. I had just written in my journal -- all about Christmas this year and how it felt sort of off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but when I read my friend's status, I disagreed with it. I realized that this is the first year of my life that I don't feel that being with family -- at least, the family I was born into -- is the most comfortable place in the world.

I assume that's the kind of family she meant, since I know she is with them for Christmas. Sure, I understand what she means -- your biological family is filled with people who share the same genetic traits with you. They have seen your very worst of lows, probably, and they still love and accept you.

One thing they can't know, though, is the person you are apart from them or the person you are trying to become. If you don't live at home, they only know your past and probably only a small part of your present. At some point, they likely will not play a huge role in your future, either. My married siblings who live out-of-state rarely visit. I see them maybe once every couple of years. In large part, they live their own, separate lives with their new families -- the families they've created with a spouse. And one day, their children will marry, and they'll create lives with their own spouses. And on and on and on.

What I mean is, at some point, the eventual point I think every human being is looking for -- religious or not -- is to find someone to share their lives with. And in order to do that, I think it's essential that being with our biological families is no longer the most comfortable place in the world. My hope is, at least, that my most comfortable place in the world is with my future husband.

So . . . Christmas 2009. It's the first year I've really felt like I'd be more comfortable with someone not at all related to me. I'd rather be with my spouse's family at Christmas -- if it meant I was with my spouse -- than my own childhood family.

It's a crazy thing to think, I guess, but it crossed my mind, so I decided to share it. Please, by all means, let me know what you think.


Thing I'm thankful for: getting a break from work.

This Is Just Getting Ridiculous.

Year of the Thief, indeed.

My car got broken into today.  Don't worry, though -- no windows were smashed.  Either I left my car unlocked or the thief jimmied the lock.  Whatever the case, my friend's wallet and cell phone got stolen, and I chalked it up to just another day in Texas.

I'm not telling this snippet of a story to garner sympathy; I'm telling it to show you how crazy the last year and a half has been.  I've never experienced so many changes or faced so many challenges in such a short amount of time!  I often wonder why I chose to move here and stay here.  Looking back, I have to admit that I did feel pulled to this place, but day-to-day, I wonder.  I think I have about a zillion posts about Texas and why I love it or why I hated it at first or what I'm learning to love.  And now I'm writing about how I wonder why I'm here.  I've never been so wishy-washy in my whole life!

Nevertheless, here I am, and here I'll stay.  For a while, at least.

And now, I think it's time for me to count (some of) my blessings and name then one by one:

1. I get chance after chance after chance to correct poor decisions.
2. I was born of goodly parents.
3. I have five great older siblings.
4. I have a bed to sleep in at night and an apartment to store all my stuff.
5. I have shelves and shelves of books.
6. The weather was great today.
7. I own a car that works.
8. I am attending school.
9. I don't ever get bored.
10. Shoe stores are starting to carry my size.
11. I have fairly good vision.
12. I have enough food to eat.
13. I have plenty of clothes to wear.
14. Work is going really great.
15. I can attend any LDS Temple I want.

Personal Best

Sometimes I like bragging about my siblings because I think they're so great.

A couple of weeks ago, I was reminded of my sister Lexia's video she created for the Manhattan Stake 2006 Lingos Festival.  It stars her friend Brigham and a couple of awesome songs.  Check it out: Personal Best.


Thing I'm thankful for: sunny 60-degree weather

Geometry!

I just did one of my most favorite things today: solved geometry problems. Specifically, I helped Akos with his geometry homework. It wasn't anything as fun as proofs, but it was still a little thrilling. I showed him how to find the volume of a triangular prism, and then we worked on solving a word problem with a rectangular prism. It was the highlight of my day.

I remember being in middle school and struggling with math. My older siblings would say, "Just wait until you get to proofs!" I suppose my expectations of difficulty were so high that they couldn't be reached, and it turns out that proofs were easy for me. (Either that or I am a genius at Euclidean geometry.) I'm pretty sure I even scored a 100% on the proofs test. I can brag about it now because it was the last time I scored perfectly in a math class. (Algebra II is my scholastic nemesis.)

At any rate, what I'm trying to say is . . . If your kid needs geometry help, send him or her my way! :)

Thing I'm thankful for: good friends from long ago, especially those Emory-area folks. You know who you are. I love you.

Older and Wiser?

I didn't post about it then, but in October, I turned 40. I started writing this blog in my twenties––23, in fact. I look back at the posts from that time, and they were so funny and clever. I remember being smart at that age. Really smart. I think I can say that now because I'm saying it about a past version of myself––a version I no longer think I am.

I feel less intelligent now, less clever. Less able to articulate what I'm thinking and feeling. I can't figure out why, though. Aren't we supposed to get wiser as we get older? Sure, one could argue that knowledge and intelligence and wisdom are all slightly different things, and just because I'm less intelligent doesn't mean I'm not wise . . . Or one could argue that with more knowledge and understanding, one eventually comes to the realization that there's so much left to learn . . . Whatever the case, I feel . . . Less smart. I feel less certain about so many things.  I guess it could be a good and bad thing. I see the world as less black-and-white now, which can be good but also bad. I also find myself saying, "I don't know" more and more, which can be bad but also good . . .

Blech. I dunno what I'm saying . . . (See? Less articulate!) Although I am glad I'm still trying to figure things out. I'm also glad that I'm still writing on this here blog. Probably not a lot of you have stuck with me throughout the years, but if you have, thanks. :)

Here are some posts I'm particularly proud of:

• The MacDuff/Snow Liquid Diet
• Oklahoma, OK!
• Super News Revealed
• If You Can't Think of Anything to Say, Give Compliments!
• Irish Twins in Elementary School
• My Free Associations
• Ah, the Sounds of Morning . . .
• Peeling Oranges
• My Siblings, or I can't Believe I Know These People!
• Goodbye, MommyDaddy and Goodbye, House
• Holding Hands
• Tanya the Russian
• Some Thoughts
• Changing
• When God Makes You Wait––Huh???
• Winter Wonderland
• Uncertainty
• Post-Thanksgiving Confession
• One Thing Everybody Wants
• A Father's Day Post
• Christmas Wrapping
• Ask Yourself, "What Can I Learn From This?"
• Thing I'm Thankful For
• Trust God? Not This One!
• Public Service Announcement No. 2
• It Takes a While to Run Into Someone Incredible
• It's Easy to Be Duped
• Rachel Hollis: A Case Study in Un-intentionality
• Are We Not All Mothers?

Thing I'm thankful for: our sweet cat Coco, who likes to watch me type.

Fostering Autonomy

I think a lot about decisions -- how people make them, what factors influence them, and how they learn the ability to reason in the first place.  That last one is particularly interesting to me, especially in regard to parenting.  How, I wonder, do parents teach their children to be autonomous?

So I look at my own parents because let's face it: my siblings and I are nothing if not autonomous.  Sure, I get indecisive sometimes, but I usually know my own mind.  My brother Brooks definitely does, too, and it's wonderful.  He is such a powerful speaker, and I think it's because he knows himself well and he knows how to make decisions.

But back to my parents . . .  I think at the heart of making decisions is having a strong sense of identity, and my parents knew how to foster a strong sense of identity and consequently, autonomy.  They let us make decisions about all kinds of things when we were young.  They let us cut and dye our hair any way we wanted; they let us paint our rooms bright purple or green or any other color we had in mind; and they let us choose our own Halloween costumes.  They didn't help us with homework or school projects (nor did I really want them to; their "help" once got me a 54 on a math assignment), and if we were about to fail at something, they usually let us fail (again with the 54 in math).

Sometimes I wish they had been more involved in my decisions, especially when I was getting ready to go to college, but all in all, I think that in letting us decide how we spent our free time or how we personalized our bedrooms, for example, they let us create the people we wanted to become.  I know plenty of people who don't know themselves or who aren't confident in the identities they've formed, and they are constantly paralyzed by indecision.

I'm so glad to have the parents I do.  They are not perfect and I don't idealize them as such, but they did some things really well.  Fostering autonomy was one of them.

Thanks, mom and dad.  You're both pretty great.


Thing I'm thankful for: altocumulus clouds.  They really are the best.

Shortcut to Bonding: My Top Cities

If you could live anywhere in the United States, what would be your top spots?

Okay, okay -- That wasn't actually one of the questions that helps people feel closer to one another (according to Arthur Aron of SUNY -- Stony Brook), but I recently took an online quiz about it and thought I'd share.

So without further ado, here are my top cities, as determined by Find Your Spot:

1. Seattle, Washington
2. Portland, Oregon
3. Denver, Colorado
4. Carlisle, Pennsylvania
5. Knoxville, Tennessee
6. Cincinnati, Ohio

The subsequent results pages were filled with cities in Washington, Alaska, and Utah.

As you can see, I'm mostly a West/Pacific Northwest kind of girl. I'm happy with those results, and I know someday I'll make it out there to live and not just to visit.

The funny thing about my top city is that a long time ago, a friend told me I seemed like I was from Seattle. I asked him what that meant, and he said, "Well, you're smart. And you put effort into your appearance, but not too much. And you're pretty chill." I think that was about it, actually. So I guess smart, decent-looking, relaxed girls are typically from Seattle? I'll take it! :)

Now YOU take the quiz! And leave a comment about what cities are yours!


Thing I'm thankful for: parents and siblings who taught me normal social skills. Is there anything more important, really?

Thin-slicing, or Why I Like Favorites

Thin-slicing is the art of reading people.  It's about recognizing patterns and qualities with very small pieces, or "thin slices," of information.  Perhaps it's the natural consequence of growing up in a psychologist's home or perhaps it's because we are innately fascinated by people, but I think my siblings and I are excellent at thin-slicing.  I also think English lit. majors are generally better than average at thin-slicing; after all, literary criticism is all about expounding on a thin slice of poetry or prose.

I think this is why I like favorites.  With a simple list, you can get to know someone very quickly and fairly thoroughly.  So if I ask, "What are your top three favorite bands?" and you answer, "The Grateful Dead, The Allman Bros., and  Bob Marley," I'll be able to tell a few things about you: 1) You were probably born in the 70s, 2) You like jam bands, and 3) You have probably smoked pot at some point in your youth.  And 4) If you're a guy, you probably spent some time growing a beard.  And 5) You are super chill and easygoing.

Let's try it again.  I ask you to describe your perfect day, and you say, "It starts at 7:00 in the morning.  I'd go for a run, and . . ."  Immediately, I know some important things about you:  1) You are a morning person.  2) You are an Achiever, as psychologist Donald O. Clifton would say.  That is, being productive is important to you.  The day is not a success unless you've accomplished at least one measurable goal.  If you had said, "I'd get up around 10:00 or 11:00," I'd know that you are most definitely not a morning person.  And I'd know that we'd be really good friends.

Now, some of you are probably rolling your eyes about all of this.  You're thinking to yourself, "You can't categorize me!  I don't fit neatly into one personality type!"  But lookit: Thin-slicing is crucial to survival.  People have to make judgements and assumptions in order to avoid danger in a dark alleyway, for example.  But people use the same skills to determine whether they will be compatible with others.  On the first day of a semester-long class, you may drop the course, if you can sense that you won't like the professor's teaching style.  Or you may decide you're interested in asking a girl on a date because she referenced an NPR story she recently heard.  Or you may decide you don't want to put much effort into getting to know an acquaintance because he mentioned he's really into World of Warcraft.

People thin-slice all the time.  Some of us just happen to be more aware of it than others.  Or to like it more than others.  For my part, I like it.  I think it makes the world seem smaller and more manageable somehow, and yet, it simultaneously makes it vast and interesting.


Thing I'm thankful for: chocolate mousse cake

Burgers

Sometimes you just gotta eat a burger -- a burger that looks like this:

It's a Phil's Ice House burger.  Lots of people in Austin like Hopdoddy Burger Bar (a.k.a., Hopdoddy's), but I think it's overpriced and maybe a little too upscale.  What I like about Phil's is that it's unpretentious.  They don't go on and on about an "organic" philosophy; they just make food.  Here's how I see it:  If the two restaurants were siblings, Hopdoddy's would be the snobby older brother who went to Yale and was on the rowing team,* and Phil's would be the devil-may-care youngest brother who went to State and played guitar in a couple of bands.

The thing is . . . I like the youngest brother better.  I like his style of being.  Let's take it back to Phil's, the restaurant.  At Phil's, the paint doesn't necessarily match the decor, and there's a photo booth in the corner, next to the bathrooms, which are basically just two closets.  Food is served in baskets, and the ketchup comes in red squeeze-bottles.  The music is a pretty rockin,' and the fries are greasy.  Next door to Phil's is an ice cream place, which tells me two things about this illusory Phil: 1) He knows that sometimes people need fat in their lives, and 2) He's not afraid to share the consumer wealth (even though he sells his own milkshakes).

I'll put it one more way:  While Hopdoddy's is a burger "bar," Phil's is what I would call a burger "joint."  I guess I like joints better than bars???  Hm.

At any rate, that burger today was good.  When I eat burgers (which seems to be a lot lately!), I feel good about life, and that's good.


*Although I love rowing more than many, many things in this world, I'm aware that it has a preppy, pretentious tone.  I'm okay with that.  But I'll still make fun of it, if I want to.



Thing I'm thankful for: rowing

Can't Take the Home Out of Oklahoma

Almost two months ago, my brother and his kids saw Twisters. I was visiting them one evening, and my brother had the soundtrack playing over Amazon's Alexa. The country twang surprised me, as Blake is generally a pretty hard rocker, but when Out of Oklahoma came on, I was transported. I've probably listened to it at least 50 times since.*

Sometimes people forget that I was born in Oklahoma. Almost 11 years of my life were spent there, and they were perhaps the most important years. I learned to walk in Oklahoma. I learned to talk in Oklahoma. I learned to read, ride a bike, and swim in Oklahoma. I lived across the road from a farm and got used to the constant smell of manure. I caught crawdads with my siblings in the ditch behind our house, and I caught my first fish at Theta Pond. I belly-flopped from the high dive at Yost Lake. I had the best ice cream of my life at Braum's. I enjoyed cool October nights during Oklahoma State's homecoming festivities and marveled at all the floats made by college students. I learned how to recognize the weirdly green sky that warned of a tornado, and I sheltered in our cellar and wondered whether the wooden doors would hold.

Images of the soft and gentle, pale green plains and hills are burned into my brain. The miles of wheat dotted with perfect red barns. Native American shops selling dream catchers. Muscogee, Okmulgee, Pawnee, and Seminole are city names that are easy to pronounce. Stories of the Trail of Tears and Oklahoma Land Run are as familiar to me as stories of the Bible.

I can tell you the names of my friends in elementary school: Grace, Erin, Sarah, Michelle, Abbey, Laura, Katie, Ginny, Angela, Delisa, Kendra, Chris, Matt, Mathew, Joseph, Ahmed, Nick, Niles, and Mark.

What would I have been like if we hadn't moved? Probably more outgoing and confident. I don't remember having many cares in the world until we moved to Georgia, where I became shy and reserved. I struggled to make friends. I ached for the people I missed and the land I knew. People spoke differently in Georgia. They said "ol'" for "oil" and "Hey" instead of "Hi." They all seemed to be related -- first cousins and second cousins and third cousins, once removed. They attended the same churches and addressed adults as "ma'am" and "sir." I didn't understand this new place, and I missed my home.

Now, I often call Georgia home because most of my immediate family still lives there and because as most people do, I adapted and learned to love the Deep South. Now, I miss the tall pines and overgrowing kudzu and red dirt. I miss the winding highways and the homesteads with junk on the porch and broken-down cars in the yard. I miss the chatty cashiers and the finger waves from steering wheels as other drivers pass by on the road.

But every now and then, I miss those green plains and wheat fields. I miss the feeling of being a child with no worries. I miss home.

Thing I'm thankful for: waking up from bad dreams

*Lainey Wilson has lots of other great songs, but "Out of Oklahoma" is my favorite. If you're into country that has a rockin' feel, try these out: 4X4XU, Wildflowers and Wild Horses, Dirty Looks, and Things a Man Oughta Know.

Also, I finally saw Twisters about a month ago. I didn't like it as much as Twister, but it was still fun to watch, especially since it was filmed on location in Oklahoma. Fun fact: My hometown makes a surprise appearance!