tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88762630869348148132012-02-16T18:43:41.249-05:00laeltaylornoreply@blogger.comBlogger131100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-89674867583647842352007-04-19T23:26:00.000-05:002007-04-19T23:28:55.739-05:00

I’ve developed a secret indulgence. It starts in the evening at 11:00 and ends at 12:00. Tonight’s installment began with ice cream made with milk and cream from cows not treated with rBGH, whose decadence is only tempered by its simple flavor. No sauces. No toppings. Just pure naked vanilla. But this is not about ice cream.Sex and the City. I confess. I’m a little late in the game, I know

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-58048027537010328502007-03-31T23:24:00.000-05:002007-04-01T10:49:16.060-05:00

In German the word is "ohrworm," and how appropriate for music by Carl Orff. We've been performing Carmina Burana all week for the Ballet, and I can't seem to get it out of my head during non-performing hours.The other day I was in the bathroom at work, just one stall and one urinal. Enjoying a brief solitary moment without coworkers, I began humming whatever part was stuck in my head at the

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-36272781516288873942007-03-18T13:59:00.000-05:002007-03-18T14:05:46.851-05:00

When I read past journal entries, I find recurrent themes that reach the monotonous equivalent of a scratched record or CD. I read things that I wrote 2 years ago and find I’m writing the same things, with sometimes the same words. Just when I thought I was making progress, I find I’m right back where I started, at least on an emotional level.I was washing dishes, listening the Mormon

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-82166496795402429762007-02-24T23:57:00.000-05:002007-02-25T00:09:43.089-05:00

I cheated. Tomorrow I give a talk in sacrament meeting, and as I felt less than inspired in trying to prepare one, I am using one I gave in a different ward two years ago. It seems to fit in enough with the topic "Our relationship with Christ." References are meagear. After rereading this, I realize there are parts I would say differently. So here's the talk in its unedited state:Heber

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-31700606395718043882007-02-04T17:06:00.000-05:002007-02-04T17:48:01.543-05:00

One of the members of the bishopric approached me before Elders' Quorum began today at church."Hi, iasme. How are you?""Fine, Thanks. And you?""Not too bad. Hey, I have a project for you."A project? Curious. Since I transitioned from the singles ward to the family ward a few months ago, I have only prayed once in Elders' Quorum and just recently was asked to be a home teacher. No other

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-24850126493937685112007-02-01T23:06:00.000-05:002007-02-01T23:39:31.386-05:00

I think it’s finally happening. I’m growing up.I always equated growing up with being mature. When one is an adult, one is mature. This carries with it a certain awareness and responsibility that children don’t have. Mature adults are reliable; they do what they say they will, follow through, and meet deadlines. They are respectful of people and carefully choose their words and actions.

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-44446956555286767892007-01-23T19:52:00.000-05:002007-01-23T19:57:22.156-05:00

I was late for work and walking to my car. My thoughts still ruminating through the conversation I had last night with Cody (it was a brief IM and confirmed that we still need more time away from each other), I walked with my head looking down at the sidewalk. It was then I spotted an errant green note laying to the side of the cement.Every time I see money on the ground, I think back to a

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-4103006387352372332007-01-09T23:46:00.000-05:002007-01-10T00:06:56.256-05:00

It’s been almost a week since I got home from Christmas vacation, and it’s been almost one week since I wrote Cody an email. The leak in my bathroom that ensued before I left for the holiday continued throughout the duration of my absence. Since the concierge would be closed over Christmas, I wrote Cody in a moment of desperation before I left for the airport and called him (had to leave a

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-28155557541232837552006-12-31T12:26:00.000-05:002007-01-27T23:26:26.873-05:00

Mom sat at the breakfast table signing her name with a birthday wish on cards for about a dozen sisters in her ward. She is the newly called Relief Society President, and as a way of reaching out to the women, she and her counselors send out a birthday card to each person who has a birthday in the respective month. This was January’s batch.I stood at the kitchen bar stretching as I waited for

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-65957855726348740122006-12-22T21:49:00.000-05:002007-02-03T14:34:26.818-05:00

What’s so scary about labels?Labels embody the nature of objects so that we can communicate with each other. What’s so scary about that? I have a carton of orange juice in my fridge. I call it orange juice. Tropicana calls it “Tropicana Pure Essentials Not from Concentrate Low Acid Smooth Great Taste” all in big letters and three fonts with the subtitle “100% Pure Squeezed Reduced Acid

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-91688550462090505112006-12-21T00:34:00.000-05:002006-12-23T01:18:27.549-05:00

I’ve been anxious the past few days. Perhaps it is the Christmas present. Months ago I had an idea for a gift for Cody. I didn’t realize back then that we wouldn’t be seeing each other. I’m finding I walk a peculiar line. I don’t want to be taken advantage of, but at the same time, I don’t want to feel like someone else’s actions dictates mine. Those may not seem like opposites, but they

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-66353550859179175012006-12-05T23:57:00.000-05:002006-12-06T02:09:31.046-05:00

After spending a day sick at home I was getting stir crazy. I decided I needed movement, and so I walked to the nearest Barnes and Noble, thirty minutes away. Winter is finally taking over, and it was a particularly cold night. I was trying to walk away from my broken heart, leave it home and get relief from the out of doors. But it followed me all the way to the third floor.I didn’t really

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8876263086934814813.post-52950244829731310572006-12-03T17:10:00.000-05:002006-12-05T18:25:43.568-05:00

Her hair could have be mistaken for a home perm over baked. Its naturally tight curls clamped around her apple face, giving her a sort of Shirley Temple look without the bounce. "Do you feel that once you have emerged from phases of depression, that you are left with nuggets?""Nuggets?" I knew what she meant, but I was stalling for time."Yeah, something that pulled you through, a new

laeltaylornoreply@blogger.com3