November's Links to Love

Artsy:

Cutest wedding ever.

New York Skyline by an autistic artist.

Cute postcards (I like the blue the best).

"Hey Jude" flowchart.

I love these dots sewed on paper.

This woman made her own book 35 times. That's a lot of work.

Beautiful Sharpie-d walls.

Beautiful art project paper castle.

Origami money faces with hats.

Have you ever gotten a beautifully-folded love letter? I can only think of those awful notes we passed in junior high. Oh man.

Lady Gaga before she was scary and when she was more Nora Jones-ish (yeah, I didn't know who she was anyway until I looked her up):



Blue Skies:



Drew Danburry Loves Lynette:




Random:

The oldest dog in the world, Otto!

Tips for families on how to be TV owners (when TVs were still novel). My advice: don't own a TV.

Not my body. Blech to the veggies.

Do you know how much sugar is in what you eat? These sugar cubes show you.

List of odd motherhoods.

Slideshow of life behind the Berlin Wall.

Look at this sight gag from No Caption Needed. It maps out the seven deadly sins in America.


Mormon:

Temple Square panoramas.

What Latter-day Saint Men Should Know (1914).


My Love for Technology:

Footage of Anne Frank is now on YouTube.

This website, Still Tasty, tells you all about knowing if your food is still good or not.

Google four times in one window: http://googlegooglegooglegoogle.com/

Online therapy--with that once again repeating theme that writing is therapeutic.

Google Parisian Love:




Literary:

Did you know Ayn Rand's editors asked her to cut the long John Galt speech, and she said, "Would you cut the Bible?"

Kerouac's writing tips.

A favorite short story of mine, by Flannery O'Connor: Good Country People.

East German jokes explained.

Allen Ginsberg's mind-writing slogans.

Charly's Baptism

This is Charly. When I first saw him, I was playing the piano for the primary children at a harvest church activity at the end of October, and he walked in. I thought, "Wow, who is that? He must work at a bank." (Bank employees here always dress a bit nicer than the average person.)

During the course of the evening, I introduced myself to him and found out he is from Wurzburg and that he just started studying law in Leipzig (meaning he doesn't work at a bank). Somehow we got to talking about how much we love books. That made our conversation continue for about an hour and we immediately felt like we had a strong connection because we were both impressed with the authors we both knew. Later he asked if I played the piano, and just about died when the answer was yes.

After that, Charly and I saw each other a lot, meeting for food, church activities, and appointments with the sisters. When he decided to get baptized, I was elated. Then my tonsillectomy was scheduled for the week of the baptism, so Charly changed his baptism date so I could be there. I have hoped and prayed for an opportunity like this for so long. I love the Gospel so much and I want everyone to share that love.

Today was the big day. I played the piano for the program and Charly gave a testimony (okay, it was a speech), that brought question marks to some foreheads and friendly laughter to some mouths.

Here are the clean, clean, clean boy and I:



Happy first advent!

Nutria

During the GDR, the government tried to help out with the lack of meat by importing what I've just learned from the dictionary is a muskrat. And apparently they kind of just took over and made Germany their home. People ate these "nutria" for Christmas like they used to eat roast goose or duck. At least, that's what I've been told.

I've seen a few nutria swimming around and I finally got this picture:



I want to try eating one. I've heard of a Fleischerei that still sells them.

Sometimes You Only Need a Picture

(Thanks, Allison.)

Auerbachs Keller

Goethe wrote:

„Wer nach Leipzig zur Messe gereist,
Ohne auf Auerbachs Hof zu gehen,
Der schweige still, denn das beweist:
Er hat Leipzig nicht gesehn.“

a.k.a.

"He who travels to the trade markets
of Leipzig without visiting
Auerbach's Yard must hold his peace.
It proves: He has not seen Leipzig."

In other words, if you haven't been to Auerbachs Keller you haven't really seen Leipzig. As a alcohol-loving, womanizing student in Leipzig, Goethe frequented Auerbachs Keller and wrote it into Faust.

Well, I've finally been there.

This is what it looks like:


























And the food was so great I forgot to take a picture to entice you to visit. We had roasted apples, goose, potato dumplings, red cabbage . . . We scarfed all the German classics (excepting Rouladen).

Thanks, Mike.

MHA Presidential Seerstone

Here is my contribution to the Mormon History Association's traveling Presidential Seerstone:














That's the Presidential Seerstone (and moi) in front of the church where Bach worked for 37 years.

Candid Picture

I found this picture of me in my sister Amy's picasaweb archives. (And today is her Geburtstag!)

It gives me a feeling I can't explain . . . the stormy sky, the look on my face, my unawareness that I'm being photographed, a shadow of Paul behind me, my untidy lavender scarf, the lack of contrast between colors, my wind-curled hair . . .

Snow Ball

Who rides their breaking-down clackety bike to a ball, all dressed up? I do.

Anhedonia

Someone hugged me a while back, looked me in the face, and said, "You're looking a lot better than you were a few weeks ago." I was a bit surprised, because I didn't know I hadn't been well, besides the onslaught of the usually unnoticeable health problems (seriously, who notices from your face that you're not doing well when your back hurts?). A week later, this picture was taken on a day when I thought I was doing really well:
















And now I understand. I could say it's just a bad picture, or that I'm just really pale, or that I should have learned my lesson wearing white a long time ago (an institute teacher thought I had been really sick and said it must have been the white), or that I was tired, or that I'd been reading too many vampire books (Dracula and The Historian), or that I was busy concentrating on the piano piece. But take a look at my eyes.

I look like I'm on the edge of a breakdown.




And maybe I was.

Maybe I am.

Maybe I'm already deep in it.

Why do I tell you this? I have no idea. I certainly don't want pity and I certainly don't believe anyone can help me out of it, when I can't get myself to want to do anything to get out of it.

People seem to think that depression has to have one big reason, and that that reason is usually individuals having too high expectations of themselves. In other words, they think that perfectionism has driven them over the wall, meaning they are now eternally sad. But that's not my experience. My experience involves repeated bouts of complete lack of feeling for what seems like no reason.

Anhedonia would make a beautiful name, if only it didn't indicate what it does. I only recently found out about this term for this recurring depression symptom of mine. I'd just been thinking of it as "absolut keine Lust." It's a numbness that gets to me and threatens all well-intended plans, because all I want to do is never do anything ever again. The word "crippling" is too physical. "Debilitating" as well. Maybe "emotionally deadening" would be closer, but it doesn't do justice to how harmful anhedonia's effects are. (And for me it's accompanied by dissociation, depersonalization, and derealization. I guess you could say I have ADDD.)

I wish I could really share with you what it's like. Think of all those book characters that just stopped living, though their hearts were still beating, and you might get an idea--Esther Greenwood (The Bell Jar), Holden Caulfield (Catcher in the Rye), M.S. Fogg (Moon Palace), and Anna Morgan (Voyage in the Dark), and last name-less Jack (American Purgatorio).

I want to be able to deal with this recurring issue instead of always being again and again reached by it. I want to be able to figure it out now, without medicine, because I won't always have five or six months where I can just crash and isn't the purpose of life to have joy?

But being so numb that nothing appeals to you and nothing has a purpose doesn't help you figure anything out. And it exacerbates every other normal problem. For example, your money dwindles but you have no motivation to do anything about it. You know that having someone there for you might help, but you're not attractive to people in that state, and they can't awaken any feeling in you either. And these problems turn into vicious circles. If you don't want to do anything, your health turns bad because of lack of exercise, and because of your bad health, you are even more deadened to the world (a.k.a. depressed) and less inclined to exercise (which is supposedly a mood booster, though I think of it more as a temporary stress shedder, but who has stress when they have no feeling?).

And there are all these levels of thinking, where you know that things are getting worse, but you have no desire nor ability to react. And somewhere deep inside you wish you could do something, but you are too indifferent about everything to be able to do anything. You think of the real you, who likes to get things done and who now avoids any responsibility and shuns any social interaction whatsoever. But anhedonia has become you. You have become anhedonia.

Sometimes you don't even look at your planner to see what is scheduled or what you could get done on your to-do list. You have days where you know you should be proud of yourself for accomplishing something, anything, but the next morning you spend full minutes looking into your eyes in the mirror and you find nothing there. No reaction. No emotion. No passing thought. And you spend the day lying still, looking up at the ceiling, or gazing at nothing at all out the window. And something inside says that you should do something, that you should be disappointed in yourself, but you can't move. So much of it is about time. Passing. Passing. Passing. All you can do is wait.

I realize all these things should be negative, at least by the standards of the world, and that's why I can only write about them in negative terms, which throws you off. You think, "But she sounds really frustrated, she can't really be without feeling, can she?" But feeling that frustration is not possible. It's like watching a slow-motion movie from under water and being able to make some slow-motion thoughts about what the characters are doing, but not doing anything about it or being able to. How do you explain, on terms that aren't related to frustration, that you can be frustrated without being frustrated? Here is where language fails.

This is my battle. But again, that word is too active. This is my passive surrender that doesn't feel like a surrender at all. It is happening without me being involved in the matter and without any clear enemy. I have an understanding now somewhere inside me of what others I know have gone through, not that it "comforts" me to know others have gone through the same. (Yet another word attached to emotion! It's not to be escaped. It is a part of life. It is a part of language.) Maybe that's why I have to struggle too, so that I can learn to be more sympathetic in the times when I have feeling.

I've always noticed that when I least want to be with people is when I need them the most. And my strong beliefs force me to be with people at church at least three times a week where I can forget about myself and smile at people, so no worries there. I'm forcing myself to take care of myself. I'm training twice a week and eating more vegetables than I ever have in my life. I'm not going to die from this, at least not physically. But am I going to be able to really live and feel it? Even asking that question evokes no feeling. I'd just like a "no" and a way to live off of no income and with no schedule and no social interactions. (Hello, not possible.)



Or a "yes."

Mi familia, la lengua y chino

Mi familia es grande y vive en Utah y Kalifornien. Toda la familia es baja. Tengo sinco hermanos—dos hermanos y tres hermanas. Tengo once tios. Mi padre es alegre y abierto es moreno. Él tiene cincuenta y cuatro años. Mi madre es optimista y tiene cincuenta años. Ella cocina bien y es rubia. Mi hermana mayor está casada y muy intelegente. Ella vive en Kalifornien y se parece mucho a mí. Su esposo es estudiante de la universidad de Stanford. Ellos tienen dos hijos. Mi sobrino se llama James. El tiene tres años. Mi sobrina se llama Sadie. Ella tiene un año. Mis hermanos son guapos y solteros. Mi hermano Mike tiene veintisiete. Él parece el nuevo James Bond. Mi hermano Jeff tiene veintidós años. Su sobrenombre es jefe. Mi hermana menor Sica tiene diecinueve años. Ella es estudiante de fisioterapia de deportistas. Mi hermana menor Heidi es muy delgada y rubia. Nosotros todos llevamos gafas. Todos somos divertidos y alegres.

The Spanish is coming along. What an easy language, at least for understanding I read something and I can figure it out. But memorizing things for myself so that I can come up with my own things is another story.

Chinese--hmm. I don't like the book we have at all, and the teacher, though hilariously strict and blunt ("I don't like the way you said that") doesn't seem to be a real language teacher. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why we were learning such useless words as "Buddhist nun" and "dagger" until a friend pointed out to me that those signs will help us form other ones later. I still don't feel like I can really say more than a couple of sentences, though I can say individual words with their correct tones, so I'd like more focus on speaking than on vocabulary at this point.

Bedbugs?

Yesterday, I kept scratching at these mosquito bites that were driving me bonkers. (If you know me, you know it is my personal opinion that you should scratch them as much as you want until they bleed, and then they will stop itching.) I had one on my face, two on my wrist, two on my elbow, and one on my finger, prime spots for getting annoyed what with watches, sleeves, hair, and general movement. And I couldn't find my anti-itch cream. (Actually, do I even have any?) But they didn't seem to be getting better, and when Jenny and Seppl looked at them later, they agreed with me that it was weird there were still mosquitoes around in November. Upon closer inspection, they said they didn't look like mosquito bites at all and suggested fleas or some other bug.

Before I went to bed, I found some slide show online with different bug bites, and it looks like bedbugs! Eek. Apparently they sneak out before daylight and suck your blood, and they can go for 18 months without eating. I think I'd much prefer the mosquito.

Yeah. I do not suggest that you read about bedbugs before going to bed. It was almost like in sixth grade after watching that movie about the bugs that live in our clothes and hair and skin. I remember walking around at recess and shivering with disgust and wishing I could go straight home and stay in the shower forever. But at least those bugs are ones you don't see. And they do something useful--they take care of all those dead skin cells. But bedbugs, no. They sneak out when you're completely unaware and leave you with really itchy bites. Like Alyssa said, sneaky little buggers.

I set my alarm to wake up and try to catch it/them at its/their work, but after about 3 I could barely sleep. I didn't find anything, and I don't have any new bites, but as soon as I have time today and as soon as its late enough to vacuum without incurring wrath, I'm going to clean everything.

I can't help thinking . . . seriously, me? Again? What other health-related thing is going to pop up this year? There's only a month and a half left . . . then again, this could be a good way to get me out of bed early each morning to get things done. That's a good attitude, right?

And at least I can say something that sounds really weird. I currently have the best cold of my life. I can barely notice it and I really think it's because of that nose surgery I had.

There's a Lot of English Habits Who Bug Me

What's wrong with these sentences?

There's a lot of people going to college now.

There is a cat, a dog, and a chair in that room.

There's too many new kinds to count.

And these?

I mean the girl that has a nose ring.

The man that rang the bell asked for Allie.

Some people that have cats are crazy.

Last time I was in the U.S., I was surprised by how bad English was, especially as I listened to talks in church, and I even found myself saying them after a while. Using "is" where "are" should be, and "that" where "who" should be are things I notice every time I speak English with Americans now. These two examples are habits I hope my own English students never get into. Shiver.

December News

Good news!

I scheduled my tonsillectomy for December, at the same place I had my nose surgery, outside of Leipzig. (Does anyone want to come be my personal nurse? Free board . . . ) Pray for me.

Ten days later, I will fly to SLC to spend Christmas there for the first time since 2006. Get excited!

Bananas

The only thing worse than bananas is cooked bananas. (Banana bread doesn't count. Almost anything that's baked together with sugar and flour and butter will taste good.)

20 Years

Happy 20 year anniversary of the fall (or should we say "enthusiastic tear-down"?) of the Berlin Wall! Yay! It's scary to think what would have happened if, after all these people started celebrating, the government went into some kind of frenzy. So much could have gone wrong.

Every time I see the movies of people helping each other climb onto the wall and how they're all cheering, I get teary-eyed. Can you imagine what it would be like to be separated from friends and family by a wall? Can you imagine what it would be like just to finally know you can go?

Good Night

Sometimes, "Good night" also means, "Please leave the hall light off and be quiet." Doesn't it?

And does saying, "I wanted to ask you" the same as asking? Because nothing came after that . . .

Swimming

I've taken up swimming. My primary care physician (Dr. Voß) and two physical therapists have convinced me that swimming would be great for my knee (non-impact) and my shoulders (lots of resisted movement). I remember having a visitor last year tell me he really didn't believe that I don't like swimming. Well, now I can say . . .

I hate swimming. Here's why:

• It costs moola. (I've found a way to avoid this, though.)
  
• It is BORING! You can't even make up for it by listening to your iPod.
• It is something you really have to plan for according to when the pool is open.
• Sometimes, showering once a day or every two days seems like too much, and here I am doing something that not only requires two changes of clothes, it requires two showers and simply being wet.
  
• I'm swimming in other people's sweat and other unknown bodily substances . . .
  
• There are always lots of other people there who can watch you make a fool of yourself.
• You're in front of lots of people wearing very little.
• There are community showers and locker rooms. I just don't want to see what gets seen there!
• The German system makes it worse because there are only lanes, no open pool for just playing or something, so I feel pressure to swim faster with people behind me who all seem to be pros.
• But even though I try to keep up with other people, I feel like there's really no competition. I want to play a game! I want to win! Swimming laps just doesn't hack it.
  

The one good thing about swimming is that it makes me sleepy. But that can also be bad. Depending. But I've also noticed I could really use a new swimsuit. So I started surfing. And I really like this swimsuit:



I like that it covers a lot of skin and has a cute pattern and cute colors and even a bow on the side. But there are two problems (not to mention the price). One, the description says, "Our LeCover swim dress offers . . ." and I don't know if the word "dress" means "clothing" or that this is really a swim dress (in which case I don't want it anymore). Two, according to the size chart, I'm a small bust, a medium waist, and a small in the hips. Okay . . .

Back Love

When my back is bothering me, this is all I want to do:



Too bad it's way too hard to accomplish anything while in this position.