True love

I have been thinking lately about the person I would like to be when I am in my future married relationship. Here is one of the effects that I hope true love will have on me.

Real love, to me, only expands. When people have love in their lives, they don't just save their compassion and affection for their partner, but become more loving toward everyone. I hope that the love I experience in my future marriage will give me an anchor from which I can share my increased love. I know that in my life when I have been blessed with wonderful loving friends, their love provides a sort of security that allows me to take risks in other areas of my life that I wouldn't have done before. I want my attitude to be something like, "It doesn't matter if I fail at this attempt, because he still loves me." I think this will give me confidence and freedom to share with and serve others.

Some couples, on the other hand, seem very into themselves. Their focus turns inward to the point where they become what my friend calls "boyfriend-boring": they are boring to their friends because they are so focused in on themselves. While obviously every relationship needs nurturing and people who love each other share intimate expressions, I don't want to have the kind of relationship that is so ingrown that I hardly notice people around me.

I hope to use this as a key by which I can recognize if a relationship I am in is a worthwhile relationship or not. I hope that you, my readers and friends, will let me know if this is an appropriate way to judge relationships and that, assuming you agree, you will hold me to it.

Swedes

So I was watching old episodes of Hope and Faith on hulu.com, and the episode came up where Hope's brother-in-law is getting married to a Swedish girl named Astrid, who has blond hair plaited back into pigtails. Which of course got me thinking about Swedish stereotypes in the media.

Click here to see the episode on Hulu.
(Sorry, Hulu doesn't work outside the United States!)

I feel I probably know more Swedish people than a lot of Americans, including my best friend, who hails from Sweden. I suppose in a way the stereotypes are somewhat accurate: there are many Swedish people who are tall, good-looking, and buxom. But of course not all Swedes are tall and blond and so forth.

Another popular stereotype is about the way Swedish people talk. The below video shows the singular language of the Swedish Chef on the Muppet Show:



While I have met Swedish people who speak English with sing-song accents, most Swedes that I know are EXCELLENT speakers of English. Even my friend's teenage little sister speaks English better than many of my college-age ESL students.

And while pondering these stereotypes about Swedes tonight, it occurred to me for the first time: why are Swedes so popular? I mean, there are tall, good-looking, crooning people in all of Scandanavia, but it seems that Danes and Norwegians don't show up in the American media (even in stereotypical form) nearly as often. Why not? Why is he the Swedish Chef instead of the Finnish Chef, for example?

I have a cool life!

I had the opportunity yesterday to go to a shop where a 77-year-old man and his son repair musical instruments such as player pianos, organs, and jukeboxes.

This is what the inside of a player piano looks like.

Cool, huh?

And here's an old jukebox that plays 33s:

It hasn't been used since the 80's.  How did I know when it was last used?

Just a hunch.

Their shop was packed with cool stuff, and they taught us how to use a player piano, too!

Yes, it is what you think it is.

Twilight New Moon: The Movie Board Game.

Ain't it the truth?

"...Bree said, 'And now, Tarkheena, tell us your story. And don't hurry it -- I'm feeling comfortable now.'
"Aravis immediately began, sitting quite still and using a rather different tone and style from her usual one. For in Calormen, story-telling (whether the stories are true or made up) is a thing you're taught, just as English boys and girls are taught essay-writing. The difference is that people want to hear the stories, whereas I never heard of anyone who wanted to read the essays."
From The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis

Cat on a leash.

I'm coming back from my long pause in blogging by sharing my feelings on a subject I've been thinking about lately. It's not that I have chosen not to blog; it's just that I didn't really have anything to say until now.

Have you ever tried to teach a cat to walk on a leash? I have heard that it is possible with at least one breed of cat, but I can remember well attempting to teach my cat to lead. As soon as I clipped the leash onto her collar, she stretched against it and tried to get her head out and wouldn't even change her mind for the treats that I offered. I gave up pretty quickly and she never did learn to lead.

Sometimes we people can be like that too. When presented with a rule or restriction, sometimes we are so busy fighting against it just because we want the freedom, that we are much less productive than we could be if we just followed the rule. We are so interested in having independence that we jeopardize the trust that others would otherwise have in us.

The ultimate example of this, in my mind, is learning to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. Jesus taught, "If ye love me, keep my commandments." (John 14:15) It sometimes seems counterintuitive that submission to God's will and obedience to his commandments makes us free. But that is exactly what happens. When we make any choice the natural consequences of that choice go into motion. With some choices the natural consequences lead to captivity and death; with other choices the natural consequences lead to liberty and eternal life. (2 Nephi 2:27)

It seems like a big waste of energy to strain against my leash and complain about how I am cheated and restricted when I could be enjoying a walk outside.

Some amusing things that have happened in the past two days

1. I went to a town about an hour south of my house yesterday to visit a friend who is staying there. Not being particularly familiar with the town, but knowing the Utah grid address system and sporting a handy Google Maps printout, I didn't worry about being able to locate the place. So off I went toward the address I had on my paper, which looked like this: 1337 West 140 North. (Address has been changed to protect people's privacy.)

When I arrived at the cute little house at the address, I walked up to the front door and rang the bell. A nice young mom a babe in arms and three or so other kids curiously gathered around her answered the door.

"Hi, I'm ," I said. She looked at me blankly. "S's friend," I said. When she didn't seem to know what I was talking about I realized I must have the wrong house. So I got back in the car and called my friend, asking for the address again. Turns out that the address was really 1337 West 140 SOUTH. What a coincidence that there just happened to be two 1337s!

2. Last night I was visiting with my mom and my "sis" in the latter's bedroom. We noticed a quiet but audible high-pitched sound and were trying to figure out where it was coming from. We searched the closet, moved our heads around to sense the direction of the sound, unplugged things, turned things on and off, and even branched out into the hallway and other rooms to try to figure out the source of the sound. After 10 minutes or so of a confusing search my mom finally realized where the sound was coming from: the electronic mosquito repeller in her pocket. She had it at work and had put it in her pocket to bring home. Every time my mom moved, the sound moved, which explains why it was so hard to locate.

3. I pulled into a local quick-lube place to get my emissions test and inspection. Hey, it's the last day of the month; no time like the present! Since there were a couple of people in line in front of me, I parked over to the side where directed and went into the waiting room. After I perused a magazine for a while, one of the workers came in and asked for the person who brought in the Corolla. "Can I borrow your keys?" he asked.

"I thought I left it in the car," I said.

"The car is locked," he said.

I realized what had happened almost immediately: upon getting out of the car I left the key in the ignition so the workers could move it, but habitually pressed the power-lock button so the key was locked inside the car.

Luckily I was able to reach my mom at work and she could bring me a key. While I waited for her to come in the waiting room, another customer told me a funny story about her 16-year-old daughter, who called her once from outside her boyfriend's house. "Mom, I just broke up with Billy, and I locked my keys in the car." Talk about ruining your exit.