I was slowly walking along one day last spring, neck craned way back to catch the full glory of the newly-beleafed Tulip trees, as a couple walked towards me from the other direction. "What, are you stargazing?" the husband asked, laughing.

"No," I said. "Treegazing."

But it all worked out

I did flunk my Differential Equations test on Tuesday, but a) I flunked it with a 20% higher grade than I had been expecting, and b) the exact problem my tutor and I had worked on for an hour and a half the night before was problem #6 (of 7) on the test. Which without a doubt contributed to a). Also, when my teacher handed the test back to me on Thursday, he said that he thought I could make a 90% or even 100% on the next one, and I do believe he is correct. While we're on the subject, any of my Differential-Equations-knowing-relatives who has time and feels like discussing LaPlace Transforms is welcome to call tomorrow (Halloween) morning, any time before 10:30 Eastern Standard time.

My car died, like, REALLY dead, about three quarters of an hour in to Thursday morning, but it did so within easy walking distance of my friends' house that I had just left. Ha! So I went back and stayed the night, and spent most of the rest of Thursday with said friend and felt much less crazy afterward.

You were feeling crazy, you ask? Well, yes...

The food for yesterday's service activity was making me feel crazy because I was in charge of it (the food, not the whole activity, thank goodness)--but, as per the title of this post, it worked out. I ordered (in case you were wondering) 72 pieces of fried chicken from the deli at the grocery store which is close to our house; bought 12 lbs. of potato salad and 6 lbs. of cole slaw (which were both on sale! for 1/4 the price they would normally have been), from that same deli; and looked at the expiration dates on the cookies and the brownies I bought, feeling very clever in buying ones that were the freshest. And my sweet roommate, who was able to make it to the activity, said that there was exactly one piece of fried chicken left over afterward. Whew! I had been so worried! Because, the chicken was the biggest per-item expense, and also is more difficult to send home with people safely*, but heaven forbid you actually be skimpy on how much chicken you serve--so it's important (=stressful) to guess well both how many people are coming and how much they will eat. Silly though it sounds, I do feel like I got some help from Heavenly Father on that decision.

(And next time I will try harder to get more people involved. I was just really short on working brain cells this week, notwithstanding my claims of having done comparatively fabulously well on both tests I took this week.)

(Also, the next student who tells me that they hate story problems-- I'm just going to make them imaginarily Mormon for a moment, and let them be in charge of figuring out how much food of which kind to get for the next ward party. After that, they will (I am sure) BEG me to be allowed to go back to the nice, simple problems they have in their books.)

I "najahht" (suceeded) on my Linear Algebra test on Friday. (Some words are just better in Arabic.) It's true that I didn't answer one of the questions, but I felt completely confident on the vast majority of the others. Also, I did so poorly on the first test of the semester that it would actually be difficult not to improve on it. Heh.


I have to preface this next story with an explanation. My esteemed brother-in-law, Dr. Weathercolour, is 1/3 Maori and while he says that his dad claimed that their tribal group were not among those that participated in certain practices which I shall not spell lest they bring people searching for them to my blog, Mr. Weathercolour himself says that he is not so sure. Thus, his jokes about the fact that the Maori word for white folks (which would include all of his wife's immediate family) is "long pig". Also, his children have picked up on this strain of humor. Also, we (the Pale Ones) have maybe picked up on it a bit ourselves. I can certainly tell you that Mr. Weathercolour is solely responsible for the fact that I now always invite friends to come "to dinner" rather than "for dinner".

Long explanation for a short story. Sorry.


Papa was watching the younger members of the Weathercolour set so that Dr. and Mrs. Weathercolour could go to a fireside this evening. "What shall we do?" he asked them. "You want to tie me to a stake and burn me?"

Sroon: "Bor-ing." But later, he proposed that Grandpa would taste good with Barbecue sauce, so perhaps they shall have some fun tonight...


*It's not that I expect the dead-and-fried chicken to get up and start trying to hijack anyone's car or something, but I do expect people to perhaps forget and leave it on the counter for a little too long before putting it in the fridge.

Miss Forgiveness, part II

A few thoughts:

I would still be extremely interested in an advice column focused on how to forgive. (I would put a link in to Miss Forgiveness part I, but Blogger doesn't seem to want me to do that right now. So sorry.)

I went to a murder trial in August. The jury found the man guilty (first-degree); sentencing is next Tuesday. I had thought I might go, but am feeling now like it would be better to stay home. I have work; I'm not sure how much more closure I would get from going to the sentencing hearing; the benefits don't seem to outweigh the cost. I do wish that I could send someone for me, to report back, but I have no idea whom I could ask. The majority of my closest friends in this area have young children, so attending a sentencing hearing on my behalf just wouldn't be practical for them.

Why is it that I feel a sense of genuine-- as far as I can tell-- forgiveness, or at least of leaving it in God's hands-- for this murderer, but then lie in my bed and cry over the little slights I perceive from the people around me? What is it about little things that makes me think God can't handle them, too?

I've read/skimmed a couple of books-- one a few months ago, the other just last night-- which seem to exude a genuine sense of mercy. (I've put their covers up to illustrate this post, though I'm unskilled enough that they aren't really where I want them to be.) The first was called I Shall Not Hate, by a Palestinian doctor-- the first who served a medical residency in the state of Israel-- who had two daughters who were killed by an Israeli rocket attack on his town. The second, from last night, is Amish Grace: How Forgiveness Transcended Tragedy. I would be interested if anyone wanted to read them and discuss with me.

It isn't just that I have work. It's that the emotional cost for the trial was pretty hefty: I wanted to lie in my bed and cry, and not about anything in particular-- just a general misery-- and never get up again. I do feel that the trial was worth that cost; I gained a lot of "closure," which is a word I would still have a hard time defining, but which still seems to suit the experience I had. But I believe that the sentencing hearing may be different.


I think that this is a dogwood tree. Caught it last Spring. Extra credit to anyone who can tell me why I thought this might even tangentially be related to this post.