For Risa. September 31st.

It doesn't exist.

There's no such thing as the 31st of September.
So when I say that it's been six months since Risa left, I feel a little disappointed with September for not giving her that extra day, which I think she deserves. Was it six months yesterday? Or is it today, the first of October? If we're being specific, it's been one hundred and eighty-four days, which is more than half of three hundred and sixty-five. Was it six months on Thursday, then?
Somehow, one hundred and eighty-four days seems to be a more accurate measurement than six months.
I'm not the only one who's missed her, Laughter, for one hundred and eighty-four days,
Nor am I the only one to ache, for one hundred and eighty-four days, for her infectious smile and bright eyes, her poise, and her kindness.

How do you express the infinite expanse of a life in just a few words? May I be so bold as to assert that it's an impossible feat? The more language I use to describe Risa, the less adequate the words feel. And, unfortunately, the more people I meet who haven't known Risa, the harder it becomes to capture her essence with mere linguistic description. The best I can do is to borrow a passage from Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables:

     "Have you ever imagined what it must feel like to be divinely beautiful?"

     "Well now, no, I haven't," confessed Matthew ingenuously.

      "I have, often.  Which would you rather be if you had the choice--divinely beautiful or dazzlingly         clever or angelically good?"

     "Well now, I--I don't know exactly."

     "Neither do I.  I can never decide."

I've lost track of the number of times Railee and I discussed our respective approaches to this conundrum. We still haven't exhausted the subject, but whenever it comes around again, I think of Risa. Risa was a complete portrait of beauty, wisdom, and goodness, and if I may add, integrity, faith, virtue, courage, charity, and so much more.
I am grateful to count myself among the few and infinitely blessed to have known and befriended Risa Whitaker before she quickly finished her work among us. To know her was to be changed by her. And the truest way I've found to express her influence and legacy is to reflect back to others the light I gleaned from her over the years. 'Risa' means 'laughter', and Risa means 'light'. Of all the lives she's touched, there isn't a single one that Risa hasn't changed.

Not one of those one hundred and eighty-four days has passed that I haven't thought of Risa and remembered silly and important things like how she used to dot her 'i's with circles, how she literally couldn't hurt a fly, and how we used to tease her for crossing her eyes when she ate with a fork.

Oh, how I miss her.
And oh, how I marvel at the joy she continues to spread.

This is my tribute to Risa -wholly inadequate and the best I can do.

Date Night

It's Friday night. It's date night. The house is empty and you're looking at four hours of solitude on a late summer's eve, with naught but the warm breeze and the sound of the dish washer to keep you company.
What do you do?
I'll tell you what you do. You march upstairs, you put on something nice, and you get your hair did. You put on some tunes and cook up a fancy dinner. (Table cloth, candle, and wildflowers optional, but recommended.) You pop in a black-and-white starring Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, or a lady named 'Hepburn'. (Any combination of the aforementioned will also do). You could curl up on the couch with a blanket and a good book, take a moonlight stroll, go star-gazing, or take a field trip to Powell's City of Books. It's all up to you, and it's going to be a fantastic Friday night.

Yes, I am not at all ashamed to say that I took myself on a date. I had a great time. It was a lovely. I'd like to do this again some time soon.

Don't let your Friday go to waste. The night is young.

All right in the head. And some thoughts about thoughts.

I got an MRI.
It was more fun than anyone lets on.
If you're one of the lucky few to have had one, you know I'm not kidding. This is seriously enjoyable stuff.

Each of my doctors and nurses was sure to ask me at least twice if I am claustrophobic, but I assured them I wouldn't have a problem. I can see how this experience might not be so much fun for those who fear tight spaces, but I didn't mind at all. I was the kind of kid who enjoyed being put in boxes or shut in the closet. (If you ever feel like your room is too small, try doing your homework in the closet. It changes your perspective, and it's actually a pretty chill place to spend some time.)
Enough about closets.

The technician was trying to talk to me and keep me calm, but I was already tired and super relaxed, so I wasn't much for conversation. I wore my softest, most comfortable t-shirt and stretchy pants; I wanted to see if I could make good use of the time and doze while they photo-copied my brain. From the inside, the machine sounded exactly like Captain Kirk's command deck. I'm pretty sure there was some dolphin mixed in there as well, but I was wearing ear plugs, so it was hard to tell. The technician then proceeded to take very loud pictures of my brain for the better part of an hour. I got a little bored at first, but soon discovered that I could make strange noises by swallowing or blinking- cool! After a minute though, I decided I had better stop with the fun, in case I was disturbing the process.
As I lay on my back and focused on being obedient, with my hands resting folded on my stomach, I remembered that this was the exact position in which I sleep. The ambient Star Trek/dolphin noise did a decent job of drowning out the loud picture-taking, and the technician had stopped talking, so I let myself drift. I was surprised when he abruptly fished me out of the machine.
Done already?
I was pretty happy with myself; I had successfully slept in an MRI machine! (sorry, I'm mixing tenses all over the place in this post)
I had a very pleasant time. And as a bonus, they let me know that all is well and perfectly normal in my brain.
It was a good day.


While we're on the subject of brains and falling asleep, I've got some thoughts about thoughts. More specifically, I've been puzzling lately about the concept of original ideas. Perhaps I'm the only one (though I don't think I am), but it seems to me that we don't see much original thought these days. In fact, it seems that we haven't seen any significant original thought for at least the last fifty years -closer to a century, with the exception of Einstein and perhaps very few others.

Let me explain: In Western society especially, we've long been in a state of complacency concerning our performance on the intellectual and scientific front. People aren't thinking new or earth-shattering thoughts anymore. Instead, they simply follow prescribed and accepted patterns of thought to reach the same conclusions at varying depths. That's not to say that there are no useful or innovative ideas on the horizon today; simply no new ones.
Take psychology for example. An explosion of new questions, thoughts, and suggestions about human nature and the mind began with the Ancient Greeks and, with the exception of a few dark spots, continued until the late eighteen-hundreds when William James introduced his pragmatism. Since that glorious and riotous handful of centuries, I truly believe we haven't seen a single original thought about human nature. We have only seen new people re-opening old arguments and revisiting old philosophies.

When was the last time a truly great thinker scrapped the universal blueprint of reason and interjected a wildly, deliciously different idea? What would it be like, I wonder, to have been on the earth when glimmers of new thought were touching the realms of art, philosophy, psychology, physics, chemistry, etc. through the influence of figures such as James or Newton? I could go into each of these fields and others individually, but I'm sure we would both get bored. Not to mention that I would just be restating old news, which would only further prove the redundancy of this post.

This brings me back to the thoughts I've been having about thoughts: Have we truly abandoned advancement on the intellectual, literary, and artistic trails? Or, rather, have we been pressing forward along the same well-trodden paths and been turning blind eyes all the while to the possibilities of forging new ones? Is there value in a 'new thought'? Aside from the purpose of entertainment, is there any use for a new idea in the world? This is an especially interesting question from a Latter-day Saint perspective, I think. If we believe that we have all of the necessary tools to live lives pleasing to God and worthy of eternal progress, should we be interested in a thought that could change the world? (A good friend of mine also noted that, if we believe in eternal progress, do we also believe that new thoughts that could change the world are always just around the corner? Since eternal progression is taking place right now, perhaps we really are seeing new ideas emerge on occasion.)

My attention has been called recently to the realm of medicine -especially the great chasm dividing natural medicine and traditional medicine as we understand it through empirical anatomical study. Both worlds seem fundamentally at odds with each other, neither is new, and each seems to have its own claim to effectiveness. Try to convince a sufferer of Fibromyalgia that their once-inescapable pain hasn't been relieved through acupressure, massage, and dietary changes. You might have as much luck convincing the recipient of a donor heart that their life-threatening condition could have been cured without the replacement of a major organ. This dispute within the field of medicine has made me wonder whether we really know what we think we really know. Is what we think is working, really working? What if we're burrowing so deeply into the rabbit hole, that we've entirely missed a different, more enlightened tunnel? Is there a new inspiration missing from the equation, or are there simply two acceptable solutions?

I'll stop my rambling, because I don't have an answer. And you're probably falling asleep now anyway. Go get an MRI.

Since my thoughts are getting me nowhere I'd like to hear yours: New ideas. Do we still see them? Are they valuable? Are they necessary? Or am I a just crazy person?

Trust me, I'm Pocahontas.

I've been home for almost twenty-four hours now, and things are already falling comfortably into place. I hadn't been back long before leaving my mark on the piano and the Mix Master. But above all, I was excited to spend Sunday evening with my family in our traditional way. I was getting antsy waiting for my sister Britny to arrive so we could catch up. Whenever I visit home, we like to spend a lot of time together, reminiscing, updating each other, and laughing at each other.

In terms of Disney princess comparisons, Britny is the hot one with the fiery attitude (you know, the Jasmine/Pocahontas type), and I'm the one singing songs to myself and sweeping floors (Eat your heart out, Cinderella) or walking around with my nose in a book, Belle-style. I was always a little jealous. But then again, we never were the Princesses-and-Barbies-type of sisters anyway. When we were young, we could usually be found stealing the neighbors' flowers and using them to cook up leafy "potions" in an upturned Frisbee, or else we were keeping mom and dad up at night with the racket of "Fat Santa" (The rules were simple and few: wear one of dad's T-shirts, stuff said T-shirt with as many fluffy pillows and stuffed animals as possible, run full-speed at each other whilst yelling "Fat Santa!", and collapse into a mess of fluffy-stuffs in the middle of the bedroom floor. Repeat.).
We were sophisticated children.
I should probably mention that my dad isn't fat, he just has a lot of T-shirts. Regardless, you will be relieved to know that Britny and I no longer play "Fat Santa", and we now maintain the highest respect for the neighbors' azaleas.

After we were about 9 and 7, respectively, my sister and I didn't do a lot of sisterly things together until our twenties. We grew up to be very different people and didn't have a lot in common for a good ten years or so. People would see us together as kids and never guess that we were sisters. (We are equal parts Indian and Norwegian, but she took all of the Pocahontas-looking genes, and I look thoroughly European). Britny was a committed and gifted musician, and I was busy with hockey and dance. By the time we were both old enough to be at the same social events, Britny had a boyfriend (hello, brother-in-law three years later) and few things could persuade me from a good walk or an interesting read. In a few short years, Britny was off to school, she and Luke were married not long after, and then it was my turn to leave the house. Now that Britny is married and I'm a college bum, we rarely get to see each other. But we get along quite well when time and circumstance allow for a reunion. Britny makes me laugh with her quick wit and sarcasm, and I entertain her by dancing around like a fool and trying to convince her that there are 100 delicious ways to prepare a zucchini. Trust me, it's true. I know a lot about earthy, good-for-you, plant stuff. I may not look the part, but I'm totally Pocahontas.

Britny and I spent the day doing what we do best together: sharing music, stupid dance-moves, stories, recipes, and everything else. I wouldn't have my day any other way.

Insomnia and other beautiful things pt. 2

Just when you thought you'd had enough of my rambling, here I am again. I've done more thinking.
I think I've realized the source of my confusion concerning whether or not ideas can and should be shared.
I think it boils down to egoism. We today have the ego of the Renaissance humanists, but lack their skill. Our culture is ruled by the notion that anyone, anywhere, at any time, can and should have access to our every thought process (e.g. facebook status updates). And it doesn't stop there. It is widely considered that these minute thoughts and actions contribute significantly to others' lives. And so, via countless technological expressways, millions upon millions of pointless thoughts and impressions are spewed into the social and intellectual atmosphere on a daily basis.
That being said, there are undeniably some things which require communication in order to gain significance. Such ideas as "I like you.", "Thank you.", and "We're running out of toilet paper." would be entirely useless if kept to one's self and not shared with another human being. (The latter may be an exception, depending upon how cruel you can be to your roommates). Some ideas are born to be shared. And still others may never develop if not expressed publicly in the first place. Sometimes you need another brain to bounce things off of. (Sorry, there's another strange mental image) The problem with a journal is, you can think out loud all you want, but no one thinks back.
So there you have it. I think I'm actually going to publicize this thing. All 5 posts.
And yes, I did eventually fall asleep last night.

Insomnia and other beautiful things

It's 2:15 am. I'm in bed, and I'm certainly tired, but I'm nowhere near asleep.

After falling asleep on Joseph, Seth, and Sam's couch (thank you for your services) during O Brother, Where Art Thou, and heading home to preform the regular bedtime rituals, I found myself in bed, desperately tired and completely awake. A quiet thunder storm had started outside, and the flashes were distracting me. I had too much on my mind to try to sleep. I wanted to watch the lightning, but the trees near my window were obscuring my view. After a quick check of the temperature outside, 75, I deemed the weather suitable for my bedclothes and headed out sans jacket or shoes to wander the empty Y-lot nearby.
An empty parking lot might seem like a funny place to watch a storm, but it's a perfect space to think and wind in aimless patterns between parking spaces. The lack of trees gave enough space in the sky to see the lightning through the marbled clouds, and I quickly found the rainy patches of asphalt that had been warmed by pipes running beneath. After an hour, most of the storm had passed and the rain was beginning to turn cold. I figured I had better go inside before I did irreparable damage to my ipod. (If you've never witnessed rain and lightning to Saint Saens's Le Cygne, I encourage you to do so.) I returned to my bed wet, shivering, and blissfully happy.
The storm is starting up again. I'm still not asleep. But the smell of rain in the air, and the trickle of droplets through my hair and down my back can clear my mind like little else. It shouldn't be long now.

I have a thought. Is an experience devalued once you bare it to the world? It seems to me that in this day and age, once someone has had a profound experience, or perhaps a merely significant one, their knee-jerk  reaction is to post some kind of record of it on the internet for all the world to see. I've wondered for a long time about this. So many people do it. But once a few hundred people know about your significant experience, does that make it less significant, or does it create a context within which it can be shared, appreciated, and understood?
Let me explain.

I remember the first time I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig. I was about sixteen or seventeen, and I happened to bring the book along on a family road trip to pass the time. This was around the time in my life where I became attached at the hip to my journal (interesting mental image there). Sometimes I wish that I could read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance on a road trip every time; there's nothing like it. Pirsig's imagery really affected me and I began to see things differently than I ever had before. I spent almost 24 hours round-trip alternating between feverishly flipping through Zen's pages and drinking in the scenery as it shot past, pouring my soul on to paper as the perceptions washed through me. When the trip was over, I had filled about a quarter of my journal with observations about the world and it's beauty, observations about how people work and how things work and how the world works, and on and on and on. I wanted feedback. I remember thinking I'd like to have a blog (bleck, that word) and share my words with people, so they could share words back. But what stopped me was this reservation I have that somehow, by opening my experience to public eyes and minds, it might lessen in significance.
I still have that journal. I've flipped through it a couple of times since then, but I would venture a guess that the words get a bit lonely sometimes.

Anyway, it's just a thought. I still haven't come to a conclusion yet... Or maybe I have, since this blog still hasn't been made public. I think I'll do that soon.
Maybe.
Goodnight.

Veganish.

It seems like being vegan is the cosmopolitan thing to do these days. A lot of young, forward-thinking, individuals are finding personal and social fulfillment- one rescued cow at a time.
It used to be a feat worth mentioning if you were vegetarian, or perhaps if you abstained from red meat or dairy. Now vegan has become the new vegetarian and some of the omnivores are starting to get flak.
For those of you who may be out of the loop:
Vegetarianism is defined as abstinence from animal meats, including beef, poultry, and seafood.
Veganism is abstinence from eating any animal byproducts, including dairy and eggs. However, forms of Strict Veganism are becoming more prevalent, in which individuals prefer to avoid all products which have been processed using animal products, or come from animals at all. For example, honey is an animal product and is off limits, though it does not involve bee-slaughter in its production. Likewise, most table sugars are processed over animal bone char, and are thus considered not vegan. Things may get more dicey as you explore vegan movies, vegan fabrics, vegan synthetics, etc. Be careful, these people are serious.
This "More-vegan-than-thou-art" syndrome is slowly taking hold. I like to think of it as the vegetarian's process of self-actualization. But once you've exhausted the vegan circuit, you haven't yet reached clean-eating nirvana. Next comes organic (pesticide- and insecticide-free foods, clothing, containers, etc.) and the raw food movement (by it's very nature, a vegan concept).
All of the above have claims to medically-supported health benefits, some of which I agree with, and some of which I think are clap-trap. But since the onset of my own medically-compelled semi-veganism, I've been obliged to join the veggie party. I'm not really a "Save the cows" kind of person, but being veganish  has been an enjoyable ride so far. I like to experiment in my kitchen, and I think that mastering cashew cream has helped me reconnect with my Portland roots.
Moo.