Good Morning Susan: California Edition

Although I'm pretty positive that no one regularly reads this blog, I must confess to all of my lovely followers out there (it's 3 I believe), that I've switched my blogging habits over to Wordpress.com.  I apologize, but the Press really has captured my attention, and I can't let it go.  If you're interested in keeping up with reading anything Sariah, check out my daily/weekly blog Good Morning Susan: California Edition at: goodmorningsusan.wordpress.com.  It's currently a collection of adventures this summer in Northern California.  I used to write about BYU student living, the topic of choice tends to change, but for the time being, call it my own personal stab at citizen journalism.  Love to you all!

Sariah

A Hopeless Romantic: life truly lived, for you, me, & future posterity.

I picked a rose this afternoon, and it was a beautiful rose.  

I've found myself immersed in study and work lately; but don't worry, I've had my fair share of play.  Not to mention a daily dose of art and intrigue.  Sometimes I try picking up my favorite book, "To Kill A Mockingbird," when it's late at night, but I always fall asleep with my hand on the page.  I've taken to riding my bike a bit more lately too; and I've decided that his name is Bill, and we've come to be quite the comfortable pair.  

I've thought several times lately about what it means exactly to be a romantic, after finally deciding-or was it realizing? that that is what I am.  It's funny really, how pragmatic we assume ourselves to be.  In conclusion I've learned recently that to be a romantic is not only to joy in a sunset at a lover's side, but to joy in the sunset for being a sunset alone.  To climb a tree for the sake of climbing, and to lie in the grass under that tree, because you're tired from swinging in the park, and just want to watch the leaves fall.  It's living life for the sake of living, and loving every moment of it.  To feel squishy mud beneath our feet, while listening to a cricket's rhythmic beat.  But the romance of life does not reside in nature alone; it breeds from ideas and people too.  From the taste of a Roman pear, to the reflective impressions of Plato himself.  To live my brothers and sisters, to be a romantic is to truly live.  

Counting the moments till the leaves really start to fall off the trees, and planning trips up the canyon and piles in the park, I realize a little more deeply what life is all about.  What my experiences today can do for the world tomorrow, for my friends, family, myself, my children.  How can I show them a world I've never seen before?  How can I inspire without having answered the call alone?  From this moment onward I'll live a little more truly, sincerely, fully even, so that one day and along the way, I can better share it with those around me; the world, my friends, family, myself, my children.  

i absolutely love walking -in bare feet.

The first thing you should know about me-before we become friends-is that I absolutely love walking in bare feet.  I'm not exactly sure as to why, I just love it I guess.  Maybe it's the texture of cool grass or course cement that coaxes me out my socks-but then again, I've always hated socks.  Actually, this isn't exactly true.  Growing up I wore socks all of the time-wait, though never in the house.

Yep, it's settled, I've always loved bare feet, and always will.  Though, I know it's begun to take a toll on my left foot at least, but que será, será, we all live and learn.  

Of course, I can't always wander without shoes; and there are always places where I would hardly dare to-like empty allies, state parks, or county fairs.  So what do I do when it comes to places like these?  SANDALS! heck yes.  

Now, you may wonder, as to why exactly I'm explaining all of this.  I mean, what does it matter to our friendship if I wear socks or not?  Personally, I'm not so very sure either.  But I do know that this is one tendency that definitely defines me.  So, I thought that I'd just let you know.  

love

me.

Stereotyping.

I honestly cannot, can never, hide from the sociologist inside of me; that rare identity I never knew existed until I came across the course description in the BYU catalog two years ago. That weird little quirky side that can't help but analyze and contemplate every social class, group, or gathering. The people somehow thrown together, drawn to each other, inseparable, yet in spite of their perfect sameness so different as individuals they seem, --they are, rather. 

What brings these people together? 

I'm baffled a second time when I realize that stereotypes, no matter how close one may come to fulfilling them, can still be spotted on a random corner at anytime doing something completely ridiculous and out of character. Like the preppie relishing in a Star Trek re-run or the skater secretly stashing the rainbow collection of Express Polos in the back of his closet. I mean are we really what we seem to be? Are we truly what we're labeled as? NO. We're not. And I guess deep down inside, most of us definitely know that, but sometimes we forget. And most of us play to every crowd anyway...how can't we??

Blanks to spread the jam over

There's something I just love about the sound of cities and busy Provo streets. Is it the cars? The wind? The moon in her hazy glow...a honk, a shout of laughter, the smoke stack shooting steam off from campus while the Bell Tower chimes "come, come ye saints". A car door slams, breaks squeak, and the SWKT just glows. There's some kind of engine off in the distance. The air is warm, and I'm tempted to daydream until morning. This is springtime in Utah: a regular Washington summer. It's 8 months that I wait for these days: 8 months of school. And again, I'm only a week away from the BYU graduation ceremonies that often surround my birthday, or at least I was when I first wrote this--I'd like to graduate on my birthday. Today I reflect on that moment and realize how quickly summer has found me. I comforted a sudden shock with a simple weekly chart I scribbled down on some journal paper this morning-it was some sort of schedule; very basic: work, work, work, FHE, church, just the basic things; you can fill in the blanks from there. And you know, I think we really need those blanks in life, you can't plan every moment in my opinion. Where would be the room for spontaneity without blanks? The freedom to breath, dream, and live? I'm not so sure. We need the blanks to spread the jam over, or perhaps take advantage of as free moments to breath-"one hot minute" as my good friend, Camm likes to say. So I dive into summer; for that's what I like to call spring too (I can't be content with only 1 season). I live 8 months for these days, and I soak them all in-like a sponge. I love my life, and life is good.

Flat Bread

Indian food is amazing. I mean, I've known this forever now, but I secretly just want to shout it from the rooftops. That's a little crazy...so we went to India Palace tonight in celebration of Muriel's BIRTHDAY, and it really took me back to that time Cheryl and I went out to eat last summer in that one restaurant, what was it called? The one next to the 7-Eleven? They put those everywhere don't they? Man, I really miss Northgate and Meridian, holy toledo, I lived on Meridian Ave...I miss Green Lake, and sleeping on the balcony when it was super hot. Oh, but what tonight really brought me back to were those Arab dinners we made back in the day: Fatoush, Fuhl, Lamb Curry, Couscous, hummus, oh sooooo good.

I'm going to learn how to make flat bread without turning it into crackers like last time.
It's just divine you know?

And potatoes, don't get me started. There's something comforting in a potato; it just brings you home.

I miss Arabic and I miss Spanish.