I'm Falling In Love . . .

With Quotidian.
I came across the word in a narrative essay. It was love at first sight. It made me think of old quills, scratching out chinese characters--the dark ink seeping out of the feather and flowing on to the page , settling the way it was intended to rest, in perfect characters. And when I think of characters I think of Shan Yue, my friend. I think of studying together in the library, in a one-windowed study room on the top floor. I think of spontaneous study breaks, like when I told her about the bridge in the Fine Arts Building that's been nick-named the Star Wars Bridge. Of course, we had to go find it. And we did.
When I think of Quotidian, I think of quotes--not the kind you hear across the pulpit from eminent speakers, historic heroes, or pop-culture celebrities, but the kind that influence in a more intimate way. I think of those quotes I hear every day like, "I love you" and "It's good to see you" and then  I think of those quotes that, though you hear them only once, strike you so deeply that they are replayed in your sleep like a favorite song that plays itself over and over, creeping into the most mundane moments. I think of what I was told by a classmate in my English grammar class. "You're a very eloquent person," she told me. "Also, you have a very good . . . feeling about you. I just think you're great." I used to think eloquent was one of the highest compliments I could be given. If ever I was told that by someone such as E.E Cummings or Jeffrey R. Holland, my life would be complete, but surprisingly, it was what followed that meant the most.
I think, too, of another time when I was in my Chinese class. A group had just presented a dialogue in Mandarin and our teacher was writing notes about their scores. "He's writing a lot," said one of the presenters, "we must have done pretty bad. He's writing down all our mistakes."
"Or he could be writing down compliments. There's just so many to give," I countered.
"Brooke, you have to be the class optimist," Shan Yue said, laughing. And then, after a pause. "That's why Brooke is my soul." Of course she said it loud enough for our small class to hear, but I didn't care, because by then anyone who hadn't figured that out had zero powers of observation. I only laughed because it was the first time such a thing had been said and it was just like Shan Yue to say it so candidly, so emphatically, and just grand enough to actually be true.
When I think quotidian, I think "tidy." Not necessarily as in "neat" but more like "routine." There's a certain sense of order and  . . . oh, what's the word? Control. There's a sense of control and security that comes from following a routine, which is why I have one. Every morning I wake up and make my bed first thing. After getting dressed, I fold my pajamas and put them neatly under my pillow. I grab the rose-gold CTR ring that my brother gave me and slip it on the middle finger of my right hand. From the same spot on the shelf above my bed, beside my journal, my scriptures, and my favorite books, The Giver, MoonRaker's Bride and Unwritten, I grab the silver necklace with a small elephant charm from my sister, and put it on, the elephant's trunk always facing to my left. I grab my laptop, backpack, and scriptures, and exit quietly to the kitchen where I pull up General Conference talks on my laptop to listen to as I make breakfast. I try to listen to a new one every morning, but sometimes I come across ones such as Dallin H. Oaks' "Strengthened by The Atonement of Jesus Christ" which merits more than one listening. I give it a week's worth. After washing my dishes, I curl up on the couch and read for half an hour or so, then head up to the library on campus, looking for familiar constellations as I walk, amazed that anyone could sleep so long they miss the view I get every morning. One morning, I discovered my own constellation: a question mark. It sits right above the mountain I see outside my bedroom window and it makes me smile because it's right above the big cement Y on the mountain. I smile because even after all you learn in college, there seems to be more questions than there ever will be answers. Sometimes it's absolutely daunting, and other times the intoxicating thrill of uncertainty is also the promise of unlimited possibilities. It's all in your perspective.
I get to campus and find what I am convinced is the best kept secret in the library--the comfy chairs in the far left corner of the second floor. By then it's seven o'clock and the library is empty, which is how I like it best. At 7:40, I leave for class, which doesn't start till 8:00, giving me just enough time to sit down at the piano in the lecture hall and play "Velvet Tear" until my mind is calm and relaxed. Then it's on to class with Shan Yue.
After class, she walks me to my next class in the Joseph Fielding Smith Building, my favorite building on campus. I milk every minute. Sometimes its so hard to go to class, even though I love it, because it's those little moments and those little things we share and laugh at that I know I'll miss the most.
Every Tuesday and Thursday when I walk home from campus, I take the long route that goes by the Frozen Yogurt place and grab a free sample. It's not quite a sampling though, because I know beforehand exactly what I'm going to get and it's always the same--coconut and chocolate. And then on Wednesday nights after Orchestra rehearsal, I walk to the temple, and on my way home I grab a small bowl of coconut-chocolate frozen yogurt, and recall those summer days when I would bike with my brothers to the frozen yogurt place by our house and pester Dallin for taking so long to eat, while paradoxically wishing he would never finish so that our time would never end.
Come to find out, Quotidian means"daily", "ordinary."
The key to living  a happy life and loving it is to fall in love every day with quotidian things. Every day there is something to love and when you find it, you'll begin to love every day. You'll find that it's in the small and ordinary that we find the great and extraordinary. It's the smile from a friend you take for granted. It's the constellations that paint the sky every night. It's the things you hear so often you're almost sick of hearing them, but that you'll miss so desperately when they're not said.
It's the quotidian things that we'll remember, cherish, and love.

And so, I am delighted to say that I am falling in love . . . with Quotidian.

Candidly,
Cookie

People Are Just So Good

Utah has sucked me dry. Not only am I constantly thirsty and constantly reapplying lotion but it seems too, at least lately, that the ink of my pen on the pages of my journal is as sparse as rain in the Atacama dessert. My thoughts are scrambled and the right words elude me, which, for me at least, is a rare phenomenon.
College seems like such an ordinary part of life that I feel as though I am left with little subject matter.
Or perhaps the problem is that when there is something extraordinary, I just don't have words to describe it.
I'm just clean out of words. And so I'm left with the impossible task of writing what there are no words for.
There are few words to describe goodness besides perhaps good, but that's repetitive.
Similarly, there are few words to describe the way I felt on Friday night. I came home and turned on Taylor Swift, and even she fell short - but I sang my heart out anyway. I was packed full of that uncontainable joy that that seems bent on declaring to the world -- or, in my case, to the white walls of my dorm room and to my only audience, Lorrence and Fish, my two stuffed animals -- how incredibly happy you are. It was ten thirty or so; most nights I'd be getting ready for bed, but getting me to sleep that night was about as likely as getting a toddler to put away his toys after Christmas.
Friday night was my "date" with Tyler.
Of course, having panned to do my laundry on Saturday, I was left with nothing but a couple t-shirts, but my sister came to the rescue. She loaned me a shirt and some earrings, and so, feeling pretty darn cute in a striped pink and white shirt, dark blue jeans with faded knees, my hair having formed itself into perfect little ringlets to partially cover my pearl earrings that in technicality didn't match, I stood outside my apartment under the "sketchy lamppost" and waited for Tyler.
We walked up to the on-campus movie theater because neither of us had cars (though I prefer walking anyway) and talked the whole way.
It was my first time seeing Inside Out and I loved it. What a cute show!
After the movie, we went and got ice-cream, and upon my insisting, he let me pay. After all, he's already payed for our date next week to the dance concert. And, besides, ice cream was my idea.
We talked and ate our ice-cream as we meandered through campus and back to our apartments.
Which brings us back to where we started, with me dancing with my stuffed animals as I cleaned my room and jammed out to Taylor Swift's "Love Story", "Our Song" and "You Belong With Me."
When my roommates got home I was still too wound up to fall asleep so I joined them for a game of Apples to Apples.
Part way through, exhaustion hit me and so I switched places with my roommate, Katreena, who had come home more recently and had taken residence on the couch to watch.
It was not a quiet game, and yet, the next thing I knew, it was well past midnight and Calli was waking me.
"I was going to let you sleep, but I didn't think you'd want to sleep in your clothes," she said, and offered me a hand up.
When I told my mom, she said, "You have good roommates." And she's right.
I love to go for runs at night. One night, as I was headed out the door, sweet Calli asked where I was headed.
"Just for a run," I told her.
She proceeded to inform me that Provo really isn't as safe as one would think.
"Would you like me to tell you when I'll be back?" I asked her.
She would. And so now, whenever I go on a night run, Calli knows when I'll be home.
And while there are some nights I regret being bound by my watch, it means a lot to know someone cares.
I really have been blessed. And, of course, it doesn't stop there.
Andrea seems to be the one who keeps it clean around here and though it may be done more out of annoyance than love, I like to believe it's the latter.
And I shan't forget when I came into the kitchen one Saturday morning to find her and her boyfriend, Tim, eating French Toast, Bacon, Strawberries, and Oranges.
"I don't think I can finish mine," Tim says, speaking of the two pieces of French Toast on his plate which I have no doubt he could have finished. "Grab a plate, Brooke."
"I don't think I can finish mine either," Andrea adds, dishing a piece from her plate along with the one from Tim.
Tim scrapes his last piece of bacon onto my plate along with some oranges and Andrea dishes me some strawberries. It was the best breakfast I'd had since leaving home.
Then there's Rachel Anderson who is sweet enough to play Nertz with me even though I always win, Alison who gives me rides to the grocery store, and Katreena who is so kind to slip in quietly when she comes in late every night even though she knows how hard it is to wake me.
There's Rachel from my Mandarin class who took the time to explain all of Marvel and the Avengers because she either pitied my ignorance or couldn't believe I could live without her number one obsession. I didn't so much care about them because I knew I'd never watch the movies, but the fact that she was the first to, upon hearing that I knew nothing of them, actually take the full hour to explain it to me, says something.
There's Great Uncle Allen and his family who invite me over for dinner on Sunday nights and there are Kylie and Josh who invite me over to make cookies and save me when I don't have enough quarters to finish my laundry.
Utah may have sucked me dry, but the people here are overflowing with goodness, and I've been blessed enough to take a drink. There are few words to describe goodness and there are few words to describe this past week. It's been crazy, it's been hard, it's been fun, and all-around, I'd say it's been pretty darn good.

Candidly,
Cookie

College Week One: Everything's Cooler in [Chinese] Characters

My first night in Provo I couldn't sleep. I was so excited to be back, but I was also apprehensive. This year is filled with so many unknowns and so many firsts. Most of my friends from last year are gone on missions or living far enough away that I won't see them often. I didn't know my roommates before moving in, and I couldn't really predict what my schedule would be like. When I'd tell people I was going to take Mandarin, they'd say something like, "Wow, Mandarin's hard." As if that didn't add to my apprehension . . .
My roommates were very kind but I quickly learned that they were seldom home. I was glad to be left to myself to unpack, but that night, when my roommates didn't return until long after I'd gone to bed, I was a little sad. And the following morning, since I was still on Eastern Time, despite a restless night, I was up by 4:45.
Not wanting to wake the apartment, I laced up my running shoes and went for a jog. The stars were breath-taking. I could see all the constellations I'd learned about in my senior-year astronomy class--Andromeda, Orion, the Big Dipper--they were all there, and absolutely beautiful. You don't see stars like that in Georgia.
I wandered up to campus and felt as though I was joined to it. The rosy-tan humanities building with its large front window and beautiful courtyard looked exquisite, and it felt like home.
But later that day wen the stars were shunned by the bright noon-sun and campus was buzzing with freshman walking their schedules, and everyone else walking along with their groups of friends, I suddenly felt like everyone was part of something I wasn't. A crowd isn't company; the more crowded campus got, the more alone I felt.
I came home to an empty apartment, had a bowl of cold cereal and watched the clock. Again, I couldn't sleep. Again, my roommate came in late, and again, I left before she awoke.
I was thinking things couldn't get much worse, and, for once, I was right.
They got better. Much better.
I still don't see my roommates all that much so I feel like I still don't really know them, but my first impression was that they would be quite easy to get along with and, fortunately, that impression has failed to change upon closer acquaintance. They are seriously the kindest people.
And though they're hardly home, now that school has started, neither am I.
The other day, I left at 7:00 A.M. and came home at 10:30 P.M. After classes, I'd met up at the library with a girl from my Chinese class, Rachel, to practice a new dialogue and review the characters for our homework. Now let me back up just a little to tell you about Rachel. On the second night of school I prayed that I would find a friend. The next day in Chinese class, I sit next to Rachel, with dark brown hair died dark red and slate-blue eyes, jeans and a red Ninja-turtles t-shirt. She's taken Chinese in high school so she's good with the characters and pretty good with pronunciation, both of which I could use some help on. I, on the other hand, am told I am quite good at the tones--something Rachel struggles with. We were given a dialogue to practice and Rachel and I finished quickly and began adding on with the little Chinese we had learned.
By the end of it, Rachel turns to me and says, "I think we're going to be good friends."
Now fast forward to last night. We ended up studying for over three hours and honestly, it was a blast!
Rachel taught me to text in Mandarin, which is honestly quite hilarious, because, given our limited vocabulary, our text messages translate to something like this:

"Hi. How are you?"
"I'm good. How are you?"
"I'm good."
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye."

And somehow we get a kick out of this. Everything's cooler in Chinese characters.

Then we decide to go split a footlong sub because by now we haven't eaten in over five hours. The lady making our sandwiches asks, "Are you guys together?"
Rachel replies that we are.
"I meant the sandwich," the lady adds quickly. Uh-huh. Nice save.
We couldn't stop laughing.

Classes are going great. Honestly, I'm a little nervous about my class editing for the Prelaw Review Journal, but, all in all, things have gone better than I could have imagined.

Candidly,
Cookie

Change

A little butterfly

Once in a cocoon

Knew not then I

That beauty comes so soon

Back at the beginning of summer, I roamed the yard looking for the perfect spot to plant a small tray of freshly sprouted Marigolds. I cleared away the mulch from a small flower bed in the back, dug nine holes, filled them with fertilizer and placed nine marigolds in the cool, damp soil. And there, all summer, in the bright evening sun, they flourished. They are a reminder to me of the beauty in change. 

I often find myself wishing things would never change. But if they didn't, I'd still be a lifeguard this summer, my bed would never be made, I would never have been able to revisit a high school teacher and find a friend, my marigolds would still be tiny sprouts, and that little butterfly would still be a caterpillar. 

I would be the same person I was one year ago, before I ever boarded a plane for Utah to begin my year at BYU. I would never be able to say those sweet words that Shakespeare so masterfully penned "Twas I, but tis not I."
I would still be an English major who wanted to minor in ballroom dance and creative writing. I would know nothing of the joys of editing, language, and linguistics. I would never have met my good friend and running buddy. I would never have laughed with the girls down the hall or joined them as we sat outside in the freezing cold late one night eating grilled PB and Js. I would never have sung duets with my coworkers in the dish room as we washed dishes with the gay-heartedness of the seven dwarfs singing on their way to the mines. I would never have met the wonderful group of people that work with me at the Dentist's office, nor the sweet, sweet children that I have the privilege to play with at the YMCA play center.
I heard a story once of how a man who was planning to go home and commit suicide, but, after attending a concert, changed his mind when he heard the beautiful music. I'm sure the artist had a beautiful voice, and I do not doubt the power of music, but after a summer working with young children, I am convicned that any toddler could produce the same change.

If nothing ever changed, I would take everything for granted, like a roommate, friends, a home, grades, and marigolds. With friends all across the globe - at home, or on missions - I've made keeping contact a priority, because I've realized that change is inevitable, and so you have to fight hard to keep anything constant, and friends are just that: not constants, per say, but two people constantly changing to, in change, be two that are constant.
And so, while I have my anxieties towards the upcoming year, I've resolved to welcome change, for without it, I could never recognize the constants.

My sheets are tucked tight. My bed, for once, is made. My suitcase and duffel are lying open in the corner, almost packed. My closet is full of empty hangers, a couple shoes and a bag of yarn. My bookshelf is crammed tight with all the books I wish I could bring with me but know better than to believe I'd have the time to read. There's a journal sitting beside my laptop that is finally absorbing ink after a summer's drought, as I try desperately to record the last few days of summer. There's a stack of notes, concert tickets, and memorabilia from college, that minus some pictures, is finally being scrap-booked. I did a terrible job of keeping up with friends from home, but my desk is littered with letters headed out to Mexico, California, and Russia, where my college friends are serving missions. Somewhere in some corner of my room is a little dust bunny crying because he is all alone after I went through and exterminated all his friends. Scattering the floor are a couple shoes, the gym shorts I'm supposed to be changing into to mow the lawn right now, my running shorts, which for once are clean, awaiting my half marathon tomorrow, a couple cords and chargers belonging to who knows what, the scrubs that I wore to the dentists office all summer and will have to be returning shortly, and a small stack of books I'm hoping will find room to squeeze into my carry-on.

But outside this mess is a small plant box, where, four months and forever ago, a young girl planted nine orange Marigolds.
And, there, all summer long, in the bright evening sun, they've flourished . . .

Candidly,
Cookie

***See A Summer's Portrait

To College Rookies Part Two: The Secret to Grades

You want to know the big secret about grades?
Keep 'em secret.
And here's why: Unless you are absolutely certain you have the worst grades in the group and are wishing to make everyone feel better about themselves at your own expense, no one wants to hear it. Or it may also happen that you talk to someone about your perfect scores because you assumed they were as smart or smarter than you, and then realize they aren't . . . Awkward . . .
So far, you're either so smart everyone hates you and is secretly (or openly) jealous, or you come across as stupid.
But wait, there's a third option. You could find out that you land right about the middle of the crowd. Well, here's the problem with that: people resist change, and this includes yourself. The problem with finding yourself to be in the average crowd is you and the crowd both begin to believe that that is where you belong, and subsequently, where you will stay. And if you don't stay, and your crowd finds out, you'd think they might be happy for you, but that's not always the case.
There's a special secret that any crab fisher knows, and it is this: it is alright if you're bucket is not big enough to hold the crabs, as long as there are two in the bucket, because as soon as one crab tries to escape, the other will pull it back in.
There are crowds that will do that to you when you try to break free, and perhaps even worse is when we do it to ourselves. When we categorize ourself or label ourself according to our ability, we get this absurd notion that our level of intelligence is as much a part of who we are as an arm or a leg and it will never change. When we do this, we are effectively putting a cap on what we might otherwise achieve.

I'll let you in on one more piece of wisdom: no one likes a proud winner, but few people mind a humble one. The thing is, if you really are trying hard, making good comments in class, taking diligent notes, and studying often, people notice, and already, in their minds, their categorizing you in the smart crowd. Either you aren't as smart as they think, in which case, you can just go on saying nothing and they'll think you are very humble, which they will like you for. Or, you ARE as smart as they think, and in saying nothing, they think you are not only smart but humble. Like I said, no one likes the smart and proud, but few people mind the humble genius, and those who do mind, don't matter.


And that is why, it's best not to share your grades. It' alright every now and then to get excited when you did really well. I'm not saying you can't every now and then tell a few good friends.
But for the most part, it's best to keep 'em secret.

Candidly,
Cookie