her hair falling around me

In my dreams, I almost always have long hair. Even when I'm awake I think I have long hair, and often have to stop myself from asking my sisters if they'll straighten it, braid it, and curl it. I fantasize about brushing it.

Even more than I want my long hair, though, I want my eyelashes! And not just for cosmetic reasons (though everyone knows I look better with them). I've had just about enough of my eyelids getting stuck together.

Okay, I admit that a big part is wanting to look better. I'm starting to really get desperate about my social life, but I just can't get too excited when I don't have eyelashes. For some reason, I have this idea that once I have the necessary facial hair again (we can't forget eyebrows) I'll suddenly remember how to act in social situations. Not looking as funny will give me that magical ability to carry on conversations. We can only hope.

On a related note, I've noticed that my personality tends to mirror the Victorian lady, e.g. Jane Eyre. When someone says something I don't know how to respond to, I just look away. Awkward, huh? But in the movies that's what they all did! Instead of calling it rude, let's call it demure.

Those are most of my thoughts this week. I'm glad to be done going to the hospital, and to be wearing contacts again.

"Homecoming (Walter's Song)" ~ Vienna Teng

do everything you should, you know the facts

This morning I was lying in bed after family scripture reading, and there was a particular scent in the air. It was the smell of the First Day of School.

'Twasn't my first day, of course (even BYU doesn't start for another week or so) but three of my siblings started in new schools and I could taste the shiver in the atmosphere that meant the typical apprehension and excitement that the first day of school brings.

I always forget how cool it is. Then every year I smell it, taste it, and the wonders of education return to me. Will I make friends in my classes? Will my teachers be good? How fun will this year be?

The first day of school never answers any questions satisfactorily, but it sets the stage.

Good luck to all that have a first day of school this year! (Ooh, even typing that gives me shivers! What an exciting time!)

"White Light" ~ Vienna Teng

and she breathed in freedom before daylight tread

Number aversion: hating to have things that end in 3, 7, or 9. Since there are currently 23 posts on my blog, I have to post again to make it a nice round 24 (that's one of my favorite numbers, anyway). I currently have 228 Facebook friends. If I add another friend, I'd better add another one so I'm not stuck at an ugly 229.

So that's the reason for this post. I don't really have anything to say.

I was in a really good mood all last week, but now that it's this week I'm starting to feel a bit apprehensive. If the scans they're having me do next week don't look good, does that mean I have to go back to chemo? I don't want to! I hope that they're just routine. I hope that they find that my heart is still good, my lungs are clear, and I don't have any undue sugar-stealing entities.

Pretty sure I'll be fine.


This weekend I went to three receptions in three days. (Sorry for anyone that's heard that already.) It has put me in kind of a wedding-minded mode. I've never really thought much about my wedding before, having decided a few years ago that a big fuss is silly. My cousin's reception, about which a big fuss was made, was amazing. But it's not ever something I'd want to do. But I'm not sure I'd want a traditional one either -- cultural hall, refreshments by the Relief Society, receiving line under the basketball hoop.

So it's been interesting for me to start thinking about my wedding, since it is sometime in the future. I've thought about colors, decorations, time of year, location, all that jazz. I feel weird.

I suppose it hasn't helped that, since I'm all done with chemo forever, I can stop being an invalid -- and I haven't yet. I'm all crazy-like.


And another bird just hit our window. That's the second one today. Said Spencer: "They die just like people. They hit their head and ... and ... then ... then blood comes out their mouth."


Well, I think I have a life to start living! See ya on the flipside!

"St Stephen's Cross" ~ Vienna Teng

dreams of ice and wings. so delicate, these things.

Thursday evening, I was in the family room hanging out or something, and Kiana came in crying. Since this is in no way an unusual occurrence, it was much more interesting what she said: "Dad's gonna kill a bird."

Since this isn't a usual occurrence, we were all a little nonplussed. Turns out a little bird hit the living room window where Kiana was reading, and was on the ground all skewampus. Mom and Dad were worried it'd broken its back, or its neck, and of course the kindest thing to do would be to put it out of its misery.

Mom brought it in for us to look at. Its wings were fluttering in panic as she held it gently in her cupped hands. We all looked at it. It was crooked. But as we watched, it did better and better until it looked like a normal little bird. So instead of taking it to the executioner, Mom put it outside. Where it sat. And flew around to the patio.

The bird was still there when it got dark, and to save it from any hungry cats that might be around, we put together a little shoebox for it, with water and bread, next to the open window.

It was still there in the morning, but looked all right. It liked to fly down to the carpet and hang out there, and Friday morning while we were supposed to be getting ready to go to the Rytting Family Reunion, we all gathered around and watched it. Copious pictures were taken. The little bird was stroked, picked up, and fussed over. Kiana even picked two raspberries for it, after looking it up (an orange-crest warbler) and seeing that it only ate bugs and berries.

Then we had to go. We left it on the carpet (spreading a dishtowel first) with water and the berries. Occasionally while hanging out with cousins and the like, we would wonder if it was okay.

But we all knew what we'd find when we got home.

It had folded its wings neatly, closed its eyes, and gone to sleep. When its deep muscles stopped working to keep it upright, it had tipped slightly forward onto the carpet. Dad, Mom, and I were the only ones to look. I didn't think it was sad -- its leg was broken, and I think that would be enough pain to put any small creature out before too long. It looked peaceful, and it had drunk some water and nibbled at some berry, so I might go so far as to say it had been well cared for.

I think Kiana still cried.

"Now Three" ~ Vienna Teng

(You may or may not have noticed that I have used this title before. I thought it fit this one better than the other, so I have adjusted that one's title.)