A little about yesterday's melancholy thing

Being ill, of course, automatically lends itself to feeling The Melancholy.  But I was also saddened by this news.

I knew Todd Christensen slightly.  We'd bump into each other in the Richards P.E. Building on campus sometimes, and because he liked to chat and wasn't shy, we'd chat.  Or at least he would chat and I'd listen.  I can still remember the time he told me he wasn't sure how much my dad actually knew about football.  Oddly, I didn't take offense.  I'd already heard that Todd was his own kind of guy, and because there didn't seem to be any malice in his statement, I just let it slide.

I can still see him, his wet hair combed and slicked against his head with an almost military-like precision.  And there were always a load of books under one arm--books I was pretty sure he'd actually read.  Not to trade in stereotypes or anything, but I knew he wasn't one of those guys my dad would lock up in his office until that player got his homework done in order to maintain eligibility.  Todd cared about school.

Anyway.  It doesn't seem like that long ago I watched him play in the early days of my father's career as a head coach--tough and wild and full of hope for his future.  It was a pleasure to watch him in action.

RIP, Todd Christensen.

Butterfish

Lisa B. sent me a message the other day asking if I were feeling better-ish after my bout with the flu.  Only better-ish was auto-corrected to "butterfish," because (of course) that's a term real people use in real conversations all the day.  Thank you, auto-correct!

Butterfish!  Butterfish!  Butterfish!

I love this word, and I now challenge all of us to use it and make it part of mainstream English by the year 2015.  WE CAN DO IT!

REPORTER AT NEWS CONFERENCE:  How would you characterize the state of the economy now?

POTUS:  It's doing butterfish, a fact for which we can all be grateful this Thanksgiving season.

Anyway, I am definitely doing butterfish today, although I still have some of The Queasy left and also I had my eyes zapped this morning at the doctor's office to deal with scar tissue leftover from my cataract surgery two years ago.  So I'm having another sort of semi-languishing day which lends itself to a bit of melancholy, actually.

I'll talk about that tomorrow.

Meanwhile!  Butterfish!

Journals and their ilk

Tonight I am going to visit the Young Women in our ward--and if we all lived in France I would have just said right there "Tonight I am going to visit the jeune filles in our ward"--to speak on the subject of journals.

So yeah.  Mormons are big on journaling, which is good, although sometimes it becomes a burden--another thing we aren't doing and therefore another thing we have to feel guilty about.  (Which reminds me that a friend I taught with at Westminster College always said she liked to work with Mormon, Catholic and Jewish women,  because she could always pull the guilt card and get them to do stuff no one else in the department wanted to do.)

Anyway.  Whatever.  Obviously I am doing a lot of random association right now.  So back to the subject at hand.  I think what I'm going to do tonigh is present these radical ideas.

1.  A journal is not for posterity.  It's for you.  NOW.

2.  A journal can be anything you need it to be--a scrapbook, a blog, a sketchbook, a place to record dreams or write poems or record daily events.

It'll be fun, I think!

This week's column! And also! Flu! Or is it food poisoning?

It always makes me a little melancholy when a neighborhood institution closes its doors for good.  This is a tiny farewell.

Meanwhile, I was up all night with an intestinal something (NOT fortitude).  A stomach flu, I assume, although Stef just e-mailed, wondering if I had eaten any bad chicken lately.  At first I thought no, because I don't really love chicken unless it's fried and spectacularly unhealthy.  But then I remembered I had a chicken pot pie for dinner Sunday night.  I won't say where because I don't want to cast aspersions on a lovely little place where old people go to eat Sunday night dinner before watching episodes of the new Matlock, aka "Castle" they DVR'd earlier in the week.  You know.  Old people like me and Ken Cannon.

Anyway.  Being sick sucks.  Especially when it's all amber light and warmth outside.

Well, wow

I just re-read my "regretting" post, and I'm kind of regretting that I ever put it up.  I realize now it sounded like I was seeking affirmation, like when a skinny girl puts on tight jeans and says "do these make my butt look big?"  And you guys were nice enough to be--well--nice and to tell my butt doesn't look big.  At least metaphorically speaking.

I was just honestly really disappointed in myself.  But yeah.  Maybe the rake confused me.

Anyway.  More later.

And also anyway.  Thank you.

Regretting

I don't know.

Today I had an experience which I would describe as a fail.  I was late to church, and as I was walking up the stairs, a man who looked homeless asked what kind of church it was.  So I said Mormon.  So he said the church didn't look Mormon.  So I said well it's old.  Old Mormon churches look different.  So then I smiled at him.  So then he smiled at me.  And we paused.  And I wondered right then if I should invite him to come inside.  You know.  Welcome him.

But I didn't.

And I think I should have.  Not because I have any interest in proselytizing.  I don't.  A missionary I am not.

But it would have been a human gesture--one that I believe in.  So why didn't I say, "You can come inside if you want to"?   I don't think he would have been offended by the offer like some people might be.

So why didn't I?

Did his appearance make me nervous somehow?  Me, the person who always says appearances don't matter?  Or did I wonder what he would do with his backpack and full-sized rake if he came inside?  Or did I worry he would feel awkward in the chapel or that other people would feel awkward (the answer to the latter is no--my ward embraces the awkward).

I wish I had been generous enough to let him say no for himself.  Or yes.

Boot camp!

Finished up a weekend weekend bootcamp, sponsored by The King's English and organized by Sara Zarr and U of U professor Anne Jamison.  Faculty included agent Michael Bourret and editor/writer Jennifer Adams.

Here's the thing.  I always learn something at a conference, no matter how many I've attended.  I'm also inspired by attendees who keep working to become the best writers they can be.

A good day.  In spite of the fact that BYU lost.