I watched Funny Girl this weekend, and decided that Barbra Streisand officially is talented. If you haven't heard her voice for some time, check out this video of her singing the final song in the movie. It is so emotional, powerful, and skillfully executed:
She has a beautiful voice! Here are some of my favorite songs, sung by some of my favorite female singers:
1. "Man of la Mancha" sung by Linda Eder. This woman has an amazing range:
2. "Pie Jesu" sung by Sissel. She sounds like an angel:
3. "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" sung by Judy Garland. The Wizard of Oz is a magical movie, and Judy has an enchanting, powerful voice. She was only 16 years old when she recorded this movie:
4. "Reflection" sung by Lea Salonga. Actually, she also is the singing voice of Jasmine in Disney's Aladdin, as well as Mulan's singing voice. She's from the Philippines, and has had numerous roles on Broadway, including the part of Eponine in Les Miserables:
5. Laura Pausini singing "Como Si No Nos Hubieramos Amados." She is Italian, even though the song is in Spanish. I love this song. It is so emotional. Laura sings very, very well, too:
6. Alegria by Cirque du Soleil. If my kids run away and join the circus, it had better be Cirque du Soleil. I can't find the name of this singer, but she has a magical voice, and this song is moving.
7. "A Song for You" sung by Karen Carpenter. Always an emotional performance, this woman's voice is like a rock:
8. Jewel, "Foolish Games." Need I say more? No, I need not.
I believe in angels, something good in everything I see
I believe in angels.
When I know the time is right for me,
I'll cross the stream; I have a dream.
One day, when I'm grown up, things will be different.
I'll have a long, tall bookshelf, with all of my books out. They'll be easy to find, take, and read. It will be lovely.
I'll have a mudroom where I hang up all of my coats, jackets, sweaters, and scarves. It'll have a place for my boots and hats, too.
I'll have a kitchen with plenty of counter-top space for all of my appliances: and I will have appliances. Specifically, I'll have a kitchenaid (I mean, what's the point of getting married if you don't get a kitchenaid? Isn't that the whole purpose of a reception, for the kitchenaid?)!
There will be room in the fridge, and the freezer. And all of the food in it will be mine! ...and my husband's, I guess, except really it'll be mine, because I'll be the one to get mad when I catch one of our kids drinking orange juice straight from the container.
...Apparently I'll be married.
I will have a pantry, too. More than one shelf, that is. And we'll have all the cereal I could ever eat, which is a lot really!
I'll have a walk in closet, where all my shirts, skirts, dresses and shoes will have a place to stay. Also, I'll have enough room in my underwear drawer for all my underwear. and socks.
There will be windows, and new carpet. And efficient insulation (meaning the doors and windows and walls won't leak cold).
The lights will not be yellow.
And I'll have a garden! There will be herbs, flowers, and fruit trees! I want apples, and pears, and cherries. Also, grapes and tomatoes. I'll have days when all I do is can fruit, sweat, and talk to my Mom on the phone (unless she comes over to help, then we'll talk but not on the phone. And we'll probably have to tell Toby to stop bothering Fizzgig, the dog, cuz Toby's gonna be young forever, and Fizzgig will be easily teased, but it's okay, because I'll have kids by then, too, and they'll play crazy games in the woods about being chased by witches, and we can talk about raising kids, and Mom will give me advice about potty training, and I'll complain about the school district, and my kids will be super happy about having Uncle Toby over, but then they'll break a bone or something, and then on the way to the emergency room I'll tell them that Grandma won't come over for at least a month, and even though they'll all know she'll be back next week, they'll be sorry for what they did).
Also, I'll live in Pennsylvania! Obviously. How else could my mother come over to help me make applesauce?
When I was younger, I had this theory. It's one of those things that I look back on and laugh. Why? Well, actually living this part of life is so much different than I thought it would be, theoretically, and that's why it's comical. I had a lot of bogus theories like this one. Then again, maybe it's not such a bad idea...
Theory: I should marry an ugly man. Why? If he's uglier than I am, then he will never leave me. Could he do better than me? No, are you kidding? What kind of a lucky miracle was it that I agreed to marry him in the first place?
If you think this is a good idea, read this link for some help:
the NOVA video is split up into three fifty minute videos (it's designed for classroom integration, I guess), and it is riveting. It will blow your mind. If you want to just get your mind off of this world for a bit, I recommend watching it. If you have to make time for it, because you have a tight schedule, I still recommend watching it. If you're about to die, and have only three days left, then I recommend watching it... with a loved one.
We are not selfish people. We believe in giving of ourselves: our time, our talents, and our energy. This means helping the poor and sick, the emotionally weary.
We also are a family people. We believe that the family is sacred, and deserves much of our time, dedication, care, and most of all, our love.
There is an unfortunate problem in the American home that is making children sick. It is distracting parents from loving their children fully, correctly, and healthily.
It is the problem of gender roles in America.
It has been said, and it might be easy to misunderstand, that a woman’s place is in the home. The first go-to document on family is “The Family, a Proclamation to the World,” which states that “Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children.” The definition of the word “nurture” is “to feed and protect; to support and encourage; to bring up, train, educate.” Within the “nature vs nurture” debate, we do know, for certain, that environmental factors play heavily into the identity of an adult, varying greatly between identical twins (genetically, with one identity) who are different in personality, morality, and stability of character due to different environmental factors.
Now don’t get me wrong, I actually do believe that a woman’s place is in the home when that is her choice. If a woman decides to stay at home, then that is exactly where her place is. I’m not trying to say that’s wrong.
My mother nurtured me well. As an adult, I am autonomous: I care for myself in every way, I interact healthily with other people, I have goals, ambitions, and I am financially responsible. She fed me, protected me within reason(I was physically safe, and introduced to the less savory aspects of human life at a reasonable pace, at appropriate times). She supported me in my academics by expecting me to do well, and allowing me to do so. I can remember not even once when my mother helped me with a homework assignment. I guess I always knew I could ask, and it’s possible that she did and I just don’t remember it, but the important thing is, I always knew that she knew that I could do it, and therefore did not need her help. She had high expectations for me. So did my Dad, I guess, because he certainly didn’t ask me “Heidi, did you do your homework?” every evening at seven. He did, on the other hand, make sure I fed the dog.
I try to imagine if, for some reason, my mother had been waiting at the door when I came home from first grade with my first homework assignment, and after she hugged and kissed me, and told me she missed missed missed me, and plopped a plate of cookies with glass of milk in front of my seven year old self, she ripped open my backpack, and began doing my homework assignment aloud. Suppose, then, that this was not a 24-hour affair with insanity, but the actual method by which my mother was “supporting, encouraging, and educating” me.
Does this show love? Maybe. Or dependence. Dependence is easily confused with love: does my imaginary mother, here, love me, or need to live vicariously through me, by taking her role as mother to a point where it includes living my, her child’s, life? How is this supportive, encouraging, or educational? It in fact does the opposite. It takes away my freedom of self: my freedom to chose to be responsible, growing, and educated. It undermines my basic, human value.
That’s not to say that no children need support, encouragement, and education in the home. No way! I also happen to know that my mother and father have helped siblings of mine who needed a different kind of parent, a parent who inquires after academics, and they have been those parents, too.
But they still don’t DO the homework. And we are better people for it: because that is real love, and real love is the kind of love that makes real people in the end. Real people contribute to society in a meaningful way and are able to give real love, too. By “‘loving” your children in the way that takes away their opportunities to grow up, including homework, you take away their ability to eventually contribute meaningfully to society and participate in real love with everyone -- including parents, spouses, and their own children. How is that kind? How is that possibly what our Heavenly Father wished for his children-mothers to do when he prescribed their role as mothers to nurture? How is that nurturing?
It is not.
It is a false love. It is the kind of love that inhibits growth, and it needs to be checked. It needs to be squelched. It needs to be exterminated from our behavioral vocabulary.
Children have a right to do their own homework: mistakes and all.
I love listening to French. It is a beautiful langauge. This film is in French, and it is just beautiful to listen to. It is emotional. It is controversial. I'm not saying that I agree with what happened in it, but I appreciated the acting, the idea, the display of human emotion in a most extreme situation.
Multiple times weekly, I make myself feel nauseated. That's right; I run. Why? Well, there are multiple health benefits that I could describe in detail, but they are not the ultimate motivator -- not when it comes to me, and running. No. It's something else.
About the time that it begins to be necessary for me to suppress my gag reflex -- usually during the third mile -- I experience something sublime. Rivulets of electricity begin to dance along my skin in waves of flight hormones, and I begin to find myself mid-air. I'm running faster now. Yes, although my sneakers continue to deliver the sidewalk a corporal punishment, the rest of me is transcending this world, all care and stress delivered to the sublime ecstasy of purposeful living. I feel the graceful, powerful expansion and expulsion of my lungs and air. My heart sings with intense rhythmic clarity. My arms pumping, my legs stretching and reaching, my feet whisking through the air like arms on my Mom's electric beater -- I feel, I do, I am.
I am living in, and of, that exact moment, trembling on the lip dividing its birth and death. I will still exist when the moment is gone, but I will only experience that moment once. And what do I do with that moment? If I refuse to look at it, and know it, and experience it, am I not already dead?
What is more important than understanding life? What is more important than running? Is it not worth the price of nausea?
Every year, BYU hosts a murder mystery dinner theater. The events transpire and Springhaven lodge, and this year's dates are November 5th and 6th. Tickets will be available two weeks before the event -- and I'm going to be in it, folks!
Guests are fed, entertained, and given the opportunity to figure out "whodunit." These are photos from the shoot we took for the poster. Someone else is putting the poster together; I just took the photos.
The motives are many, and varied, and sordid. It will be quite the trial for the inspector to puzzle together. ...Maybe you could help?
This is Travis. Except I call him Maverick (efy). Except, he's playing Edward Cullen. That's why there's glitter all over his face.
Sometimes I amaze even myself with my genuine absentmindedness.
Take the past two days, for example:
I am currently procrastinating a paper that I forgot about, which is due today, which is supposed to be about 5 pages. Brilliant, I know.
This morning, I remembered my work schedule as being in the farthest booth from the police station. I’m actually in the 2nd closest booth, but I didn’t remember that until I actually arrived at the farthest booth. Genius, I can hear you thinking it, I might as well say it.
Yesterday morning I had to leave work early for a guest lecturer, visiting from Calvin college, an author who we are studying in one of my classes. I have been excited for this lecture all week, but I totally forgot about it until my phone’s alarm went off 15 minutes before the lecture was scheduled to begin. I was still in my uniform and everything! So I rushed back, and made it just in the nick of time.
After class yesterday, I stayed on campus in the computer lab to do some work. I stayed there for about an hour when hunger finally overcame me, so I headed home. When I got there, I realized with a jolt that cleaning checks were tonight, plus the temple trip was tonight, and there was only an hour before take off! So I scrambled to do my cleaning (luckily our apartment is actually super clean, and the work needed for cleaning checks is basically a sanitation process that may or may not be visibly noticeable), changed into temple appropriate attire, and met for the carpool on time.
I ate something, too, but apparently not enough, because I got a low blood sugar while in the temple, which is not exactly embarrassing or anything.