Repercussions of dropping a class

Since I started college, undergrad and everything, I have never dropped a class. It's true. I always thought if I messed with the system, that something would mess up and all my hopes and dreams post-graduation would come to a halt if I dropped a class, or something else really bad would happen. Imagine my consternation when I attended a class and felt like it didn't fit my needs. I, for the first time ever, had to drop the class. I told the professor that while I adored him, I thought the syllabus didn't meet what I was looking for. I hoped that I didn't offend him in my decision. I thought of all the things that could go wrong because I dropped this class, after having invested some substantial hours in the readings, etc. Little did I know that one repercussion would be running into him and his daughter a little awkwardly during a rainstorm, right after my swim class, preceding my bite of protein bar.

First, my hair was wet from swimming. I figured since it was raining, drying it would be moot. Second, I had to make small chit chat as he joked with me (before noticing it was me) if I had room for him and his daughter under my umbrella (which I did)...the chit chat was a reminder to me that I dropped his awesome class, of which I really could have been interested and wonder if I made the right decision. Third, whilst I shared my umbrella with him and his daughter, I didn't notice the huge piece of faux-chocolate that had rested itself ever so carefully on my bottom lip. Upon noticing the chocolate from my protein bar about 5 minutes after we parted ways, I shrugged my shoulders and laughed.

I can rest assured that at least the repercussion of dropping a class was this little awkward interaction, and not something else drastic.

Songs of Worship?

I have the opportunity to volunteer at the Salt Lake temple in the cafeteria. Every once in a while our kitchen staff sings great melodies and hymns, always inspiring....and for some reason, I end up getting songs like Sunshine of Your Love by Cream, Girl by Beck and Angel of Music from Phantom of the Opera stuck in my head. Sacrilegious?

Gum on the Bottom of Shoes

I parked at the Institute building the other day on campus while I ran around distributing fliers for an upcoming 5k I am helping out with. I remember getting back in my car after a 2-hour stint of pinning, taping and running around trying to find out where approved bulletin boards were. Thankfully, I had help and it went a lot faster than I thought.

Upon driving away in my Toyota out of the parking lot, I felt like one of my tires was acting a little wanky. I also observed the klunk klunk klunk sound coming from the front of my car. I surely thought that it was a flat tire, which I have been privy to in many a recent past. I pulled into the median because there was not a shoulder. While it may not have been the safest place, I knew I could at least get out and examine the damage. Upon checking all of my tires, I was bewildered to see that they were all fully inflated. I wasn't really sure what was going on, so I looked a little closer. To my astonishment, my front right tire had a huge "platform" of tar stuck to it. I started laughing. I had never seen anything like it before...ever. I recalled that the parking lot just had its cracks filled ..but the tar was not fresh or anything and couldn't possibly have a disastrous affect on little ole tires, right?

What does one do with tar stuck to their tires? I sure didn't know. Could I have picked it off myself? If not, should I have taken it in to a tire shop? That almost seemed too easy. I decided to drive to a safer location. Upon my drive....it was just too much for me to handle. My steering wheel shook, which made my Relief Society arms shake (made me realize how much I should lift weights), and it felt like my tire was coming off. I didn't get very far until I pulled over to the side of the road and started picking tar off with my ice scraper. But then I had this thought that "one day it will snow, there will be ice on my windows, and I will have forgotten that I used the scraper to get tar off a tire and I would scratch my windows." So, I started using my hands. I didn't get very far before the heat of the day got to me, and I hopped in my car and drove home.

Who would have thought that having tar on a tire is very much like having gum stuck on the bottom of your shoe?

Fuzzy Socks

I have a good friend who is about to leave to go to Penn State to become a famous writer. I often told him that he needed to start a blog, not just to post information about himself online, but to practice writing. How great to have a portfolio at your fingertips, and to turn some assignments into some great blog posts. He always said that he wanted a blog, but never really followed through with it. I challenged him to start writing for at least 10 minutes a day. If you recall, my very first blog post talked about Nancy Williams, my public opinion professor at Utah State who encouraged us to write for 10 minutes a day, without an internal editor telling you that your writing had to be amazing. My friend was stuck thinking that if he didn’t have anything ‘good’ to write, then what was the point. The point is to get into the practice of writing without an editor, to create that free-flow of thought with no interruptions. We then compiled a list of things that he should write about. From things as silly as “My first haircut was…” to “If my girlfriend were a vampire,” the list is used as a prompt to get him writing. I decided to take the challenge with him. Periodically, I will post writings based upon this list. And while it may not be the best writing you will ever read, I am still very excited to free-flow….ah, like dancing…but better J *I have edited the contents of my unedited free flow as not to confuse the reader

I have always been one of those people who goes to clothing stores and shops by touch. I am drawn to all things fuzzy, small, frilly, colorful and blingy. While I never really purchase these items, it is like a ‘moth to a flame’ and I can’t help but touch in order to appreciate. I find myself having to hold my hands in back of me, clasping them sometimes white knuckled, when I see a piece of art at a museum that I really want to touch. The thought always goes through my head, “I wonder what would happen if I just reached my hand out, ever so swiftly.” But don’t worry, I don’t ever follow through, but the fact is….it is a recurring thought…and surely fear of disobedience is what prevents me from doing it. Regardless, I love the sense of touch.

I once heard a story of a girl who was born without nerve endings, or something crazy like that. The story goes that the doctor said that she had no ability to touch and feel. WARNING GRAPHIC SCENE APPROACHING: One day she woke up and had gorged out her eyes, leaving her blind. GRAPHIC SCENE OVER. The doctor commented that he would never wish this kind of handicap on anyone. Not having the ability to touch or feel….what a tragedy.

During those games of would you rather’ a familiar question asks to choose between which sense I could do without. After thinking about it for some time, I still don’t have an answer. As much as I am fond of touch, I am also fond of hearing. Music is a huge part of my life. It is quite often that I will be driving to some destination, a song will come on, and for that one moment, life is peaceful, serene, happy. Even if happiness is what I am feeling, the music adds and reverberates beauty, simplicity, memory, hope….I could go on. There is not one day that has passed where I am not touched by music. The same goes with birds in the morning, thunder that follows the lightning, the sound of rain hitting the trees behind my apartment, knowing and distinguishing the sounds of a failed starter versus a failed alternator, little children laughing, different kinds of sneezes, soft spoken words, loudness of a sports stadium, distant and near fireworks, flames, water running….I could go on.

Then there is the sense of smell. As one who had the most sensitive smellers in the world, sometimes this is a blessing and sometimes this is a curse. It is unfortunate that I have ability to decipher from your burp, what you had for lunch. It is also unfortunate that I can smell the occurrence of future rotting potatoes. I once dated a guy who yelled at me for throwing out my milk because I thought it had an expired smell. As much as this is a curse, it is also a blessing. Almost as much as music, I love food! LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it. I love trying new things and experiencing new tastes. In addition to this love comes an appreciation for new aromas. Some of my friends who visit my apartment often comment of the smell of the hallway. While they may consider it smelling horrid, I can smell when my sweet neighbors from Lebanon make paella and add that fresh shrimp and chili powder. A touch of basil to roasting peppers, the smell of melting butter, balsamic-glazed steaks marinades, orange and lemon peel potatoes, a touch of this a touch of that…..adds to the symphony of aroma I get to smell. And while I have attributed most of my favorite smelling experiences to food…I can’t forget those other marvelous times where I would wake up in the middle of the night in Sierra Vista and smell the rain coming in. I can’t forget the smell of my sweet little niece’s head after a bath, the smell of that amazing apricot gum, the smell of old spice deodorant, leather jackets, clean bathrooms, cement stairwells, old books, the list goes on. Sure some of these things are hard to imagine loving the smell of, but believe me when I say that without it, I would be lost.

Ah and to taste….well, that goes without saying.

‘Tis the ode to what popped into my head when I had 10 minutes to write about fuzzy socks.