Threshold

So . . . my parents gave Sam a Costco Membership for Christmas (yes, we got it early).

And we feel like we have entered this new phase of adulthood. 

Costco shopping dates, Costco samples, and Costco pizza are now all at our fingertips. 

If this isn't power, I don't know what is. 

Is beauty all that matters? Or, why Prince Derek's response is what Instagram would have us believe

There was something profound I was thinking when I was walking home this afternoon, but now the moment has passed, and so has the clarity of profundity. But I think (hope) that maybe if I just keep writing, then the meaning will come back, if not crystal clear, then at least still somewhat good (if also somewhat messy).

It began along the lines of thinking of Anne Shirley's classic, over-Pintrest-ed and -Instagrammed line, "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers," and how I'm glad I live in this particular October, right now, for the first time when I feel like I can actually enjoy this Princeton fall. I'm enjoying it in a way I haven't been able to before--watching the leaves slowly change color, feeling the drop in temperature day after day, witnessing the world unfurl into glory.

And in thinking about Anne Shirley, that delightful, orphaned redhead from Prince Edward's Island (who I know would rhapsodize with me about the raptures of autumn), I thought about an essay I recently read by Jia Tolentino in her book of essays entitled Trick Mirror: Reflections on Self Delusion. There are a few really profound essays in there; two which particularly hit me were her essay on girl literary heroines and how much more appealing they are as people than young adult or adult women literary heroines, and an essay called "Always Be Optimizing," which looks at the way women (in particular, though in no way limited to) are trapped in the cross-hairs of patriarchy, consumerism, the attention economy, and the ways society continues to value appearance and image as related to worth (both character-wise and net-worth-wise). Let's just say it's one of those essays that makes you take a hard look at the ways these systems both benefit and hurt you.

You might think that I might want to talk about the ways how many a childhood (including my own) was shaped by girl literary heroines (Betsy from the "Betsy-Tacy" series, Laura Ingalls from The Little House on the Prairie series, Mary Lennox from The Secret Garden, and, of course, the indomitable Anne-with-an-E Shirley from her eponymous series), but you would be wrong. What I really want to ask is:

Do we think Anne Shirley would have an Instagram account?

And if she did, how would she portray herself and her life?

We'd probably get a lot of pictures of trees. And possibly a lots of Instagram stories centering around shenanigans with Diana.

[I really do think that most of Anne Shirley's feed would be filled with trees, rivers, and lilacs and how everything is beautiful and wonderful and that the world was made for lovers.]

[I think that Princeton needs an Anne Shirley takeover, tbh]

But, in this day and age, we also would probably get a lot of selfies of a young Anne, wanting validation, wanting someone to tell her that her red hair was pretty, wanting to hear affirmation from acquaintances that she was good enough.

I don't know if Instagram would be the best thing for young Anne of Green Gables (but I still think that she would still be fun to follow, especially as she got older). I don't think it would have been good for her because of her obsession of being someone she was not; and I think something like Instagram would have hurt her ability to find out who she truly was, as it would bombard her with a curated vision of the Ideal Woman.  

In her "Always Optimizing" essay, Jia Tolentino talks about the idea of the ideal woman--how she is always generic: She always has glossy hair, a fit body, a personal brand, a validating boyfriend or husband, and she is always "optimizing," or, in Tolentino's words, "She takes advantage of technology, both in the way she broadcasts her image and in the meticulous improvement of that image itself. [. . .] Everything about this woman has been preemptively controlled to the point that she can afford the impression of spontaneity and, more important, the sensation of it--having worked to rid her life of artificial obstacles, she often feels legitimately carefree" (64).

But this optimization is not just for successful models or Instagram influencers, and, as Tolentino points out, mainstream/pop feminism hasn't eradicated the idea of the "ideal woman, but rather, has entrenched it and made it trickier. These days, it is perhaps even more psychologically seamless than ever for an ordinary woman to spend her life walking toward the idealized mirage of her own self image. She can believe [. . .] that she herself is the architect of the exquisite, constant, and often pleasurable type of power that this image holds over her time, her money, her decisions, her selfhood, and her soul" (65-66).

I realize I'm now quoting the entire essay. But the ideas Tolentino talks about in this essay--about the dangers of diet culture parading under the different name of fitness/wellness culture; about the companies we devote our time, bodies, and money to in the hopes that they will make us attractive, beautiful, and valued; the questions she poses about what would happen if we could make beauty matter less were on my mind before I read the essay. And after reading the essay, those ideas, arguments, and questions have been percolating in my mind, creating semi-profound thoughts that leave before I can actually write them down and make them stick.

The world that Instagram (and other social media platforms, but especially Instagram because of its hyper-focus on images) creates changes the way I portray myself and affects how I value myself or how I value others. Although Instagram *can* be about community (and there are a few people I follow who do an excellent job of creating those communities), or sharing your life, the people who seem to be most "successful" on Instagram are those who advertise themselves. They commodify experiences, images, and their "brand" for social capital and net gains.

Since that is the successful model, it is also a very seductive model for the rest of us to follow. It's also a model that can make us feel like we have more control over the system than we really do. Because who doesn't want to fit into that perfect, flawless prototype? Many of us do want that. There is power in that. There is power and satisfaction in having an idealized profile picture, to have validation in the forms of "likes," and "loves", and it feels directly related to our worth. And it can give you the illusion that anything can be bought with this power, and that success is an individual endeavor. Can you buy anything you want in this world? Or are there things that shouldn't be bargained for? How much is our soul worth? Our time? Our relationships? If our lives just become ways to optimize ourselves, our looks, our net worth . . . is that really living?

Is beauty all that matters?

There's a scene from the 90's classic, The Swan Princess (a show which I religiously watched as a 5-year-old . . . which might explain a lot about me), in which Princess Odette and Prince Derek--who have been betrothed since their childhood and have this love-hate relationship going on--grow up (by which I don't really know how old they are when they "grow up." Sixteen? Eighteen? Twenty-one? I'm sure neither of them are over twenty-five), and they both realize that they are into each other. We are never really given Odette's reasons for suddenly liking Derek (maybe she thinks he's sensitive now? I really don't know), but we are given Derek's reasons. It's because Odette has suddenly become drop-dead gorgeous.

Derek announces to everyone that it's time to "arrange the marriage," but Odette stops him and asks him why they should get married, to which he replies (with gusto): "You're beautiful!"

"Thank you," Odette replies, "But what else? Is beauty all that matters to you?"

And then Derek makes his worldview perfectly clear by answering, "What else is there?"

[The Swan Princess. Trying to convince young girls that they should choose someone who likes them for more than their looks, but also portrays women with unattainable body standards. /via/]

I think, that for the Instagram world, beauty is and always will be what matters the most. Because even though Instagram does allow for stories and communities, it was created first and foremost for images--for beautiful, creative images, whether of a landscape, or face, or a perfectly-made slice of pizza. And when this drive for beauty meets with advertising and optimization, we enter a world where yes, beauty is all that matters. 

Realizing this doesn't mean I won't keep using social media. Or that I don't enjoy curating my digital life or enjoy watching friends curate their own digital lives. Because I do and I will. And this doesn't mean that I am anti-makeup or anti-self care (although I think we need to seriously complicate that term and decide what it means for us personally rather than just what skin care or beauty companies think it should mean for us).

But, I do not agree that beauty should be all that matters to us in our choices--of how we live, how we act, or how we view ourselves or others. And I think it is important for all of us (myself included) to critique our assumptions of beauty, which includes our consumption and social media choices. (I say consumption choices, because isn't that where we are now with social media? We consume each other's lives as they appear on screen, and we consume the products and experiences that are presented to us as the most beautiful, the most affordable, the most needed. And I know I've spent too much money on skin care products and clothes because of these seductive presentations.)

I think this critique is especially needed when social media influencers promote a certain lifestyle as "attainable" when in reality they are promoting dangerous diet culture values, or saying that "I'm just showing my normal life" when no one's normal life includes a part-time live-in nanny so that you can work on promoting your headband shop and personal brand.

This isn't a manifesto. And this is hardly as profound as that moment of clarity I had this afternoon when I knew I wanted to write something about these thoughts swirling around my head, thoughts that will continue to develop. But I can feel those swirling thoughts converging around these questions:

What would your world/worldview look like if beauty mattered less? (Either to you, individually, or to the different societies and communities you belong to?)  Or would it matter at all?

P.S. (Almost as important of a question is: What do you think Anne Shirley's Instagram account would look like?)

some early october observations

-this month is going too fast for its (or my) own good.

[we are now smack-dab in the middle of decorative gourd season.]

-we have a beautiful tea box given to us by a friend for our wedding, in which we store all of our packets of herbal tea. there are many different kinds: chamomile, licorice, peppermint . . . but the one i always go for is the "throat coat" kind. it just tastes the best. i wonder if we should just have a tea box full of throat coat tea.

-last week the temperature dropped forty degrees. we are now happily into autumn and autumn is good for my soul.

-i've discovered that crunching and kicking acorns is just about as delightful as crunching crisp, autumn leaves. i'm also glad that no acorns have fallen on my head yet, because that wouldn't feel very nice.

-i'm convinced that princeton just digs up trees and replants them in opportune places to try to amplify their overall arbor-y experience (which, they don't really need to do, but whatever).

[can you see that little tree just beyond the barriers? yeah. that one was just barely re-planted.]

-i had the realization the other day at a gathering of young adults that all of the buzzfeed "what jane austen character are you?" quizzes i religiously took when i was in my early twenties were all wrong. i'm not jane bennet, elinor dashwood, or even caroline bingley. i'm actually mr. darcy.

Random happenings, random sightings

I feel like I would be doing the world (or, more like, my ego) a disservice if I didn't share my first real celebrity sighting. Like, a celebrity that people outside of the Latter-day Saint world would know. Working in the Church Office Building meant that I saw and worked with a lot of Latter-day Saint celebrities on a weekly if not daily basis. But when playing the, "which celebrity have you run into?" game with non-Latter-day Saints, they don't really get the importance of having eaten lunch with Elder Holland. 

And, to be fair, I think Sam actually gets more of the "wow, so cool!" factor than I do with this story, for reasons I will explain below, but hey. I am counting it as a win for me, too. 

About a month ago, Sam and I were at a James Blake concert for his birthday. We got there a bit late, so we ended up standing by the sound booth. About halfway through the concert, a woman walked past us to get into the sound booth, and I turned and recognized that the woman was Jameela Jamil, who is currently dating James Blake. (If you don't know who Jameela Jamil is, she plays Tahani on "The Good Place" and is also an feminist activist.) 

I tapped Sam on the shoulder and said, "Look who it is." 

So we both awkwardly looked over at her from time to time, trying not to act too weird/obvious that we knew who she was, when she obviously just wanted to groove to her boyfriend's music. 

Eventually, she left the sound booth, tapped Sam on the shoulder and said, "Sorry, love," to ask him to make some room for her to leave the sound booth and get to wherever she was going. 

That was probably my favorite part of the concert. 

(Not to say that the rest of the concert wasn't good, but that was my favorite part.) 

And honestly, having Jameela Jamil as my first celebrity run-in is not a bad way to start. 

a stream of words [five]

/one./
//two.//
///three.///
////four.////


it's been awhile since i've just put down thoughts, just letting go and letting words, thoughts, phrases, ideas come out onto the empty screen. i thought i'd try it again. especially since it's the time of the semester when there's just too much to do and deliverables to deliver, but then again, have i even started reading any of the books for my final paper? hahaaaa. that's a funny question to ask. good thing princeton has a weird schedule, right? actually, the weird schedule kind of stinks and i'd much rather be done with my papers before Christmas break, but here we are and everything's due in january. but i guess that gives me more time to procrastinate, which, you know, is what i'm doing right now.

as i'm preparing my general exams reading lists, i kind of feel like i'm writing my own death sentence (and sentences like these make me wonder why i'm not on twitter). but really. preparing around three hundred books to read over the course of next semester feels incredibly sadistic. i mean. i've read most of these books. but some of them i don't want to read again--or at least dread reading again because they're 600 pages. like. no.

for thanksgiving, sam and i visited family in maryland. there were about ten children between all of the families, and sometimes while i was reading for school, one of the little girls would come up and ask me to play or why i was reading so much or why i was still in school. i discovered (again) that explaining a phd is kind of a hard thing to explain to children. they don't really care so much about what you know, more that you actually know that they exist and you care about them. but really. how do you explain "i'm getting a phd" to children?

more than that, how do you explain it to a lot of adults? it's really hard for people who have not experienced a phd to get just what is required of you. of course, i also think that phds can ask too much, and when they ask for your soul, you say no. a phd does not need your soul. which can be really hard to remember sometimes. but it doesn't. and that's the advice that i would really give to all of those lovely people who keep asking me for advice on princeton and other phd applications. no matter what, don't let this take your soul. don't let the crush of the application process, the expectations, the work, the lifestyle make you forget what makes you, you. it can be so hard to remember at times.

in other news, i made these incredibly succulent butternut squash pancakes with sage butter, and I WILL EVANGELIZE THEM TO ANYONE WHO WILL LISTEN. but. i really will. mom, dad, and siblings, you are next. i will make them when i'm home for Christmas, and even if you don't like them, i will. and i will eat them all.

there are so many things i want to bake. so little time.

around this time of the semester, i start forgetting that i need to plan things. or that i have a planner. and i just forget to write things down. this is a problem. because, like money, whenever i budget out time, i found out i actually have more. surprise. (also, i've been reading a lot of history books about the late 19th century and becoming more and more horrified about how we've commodified time. like, before the 19th century, people did not "waste" time. they just "passed" time. now we manage, waste, save, budget, and spend time. it's freaky. also, when did consumption change from being tuberculosis to being what we buy? the questions that obsess a historian in training.)

there is something so soothing about Christmas lights. last night, sam and i got a tree (a very small tree) and decorated it. my favorite part is that now there are Christmas lights that cheer us in the living room. just looking at them is soothing. i can look up from reading or studying and look at those lights and just--ahh. i feel a bit of that peace. the same way my chests opens up a bit when i look out across an open landscape, or up at the mountains of utah county. those lights open up a place and make it easier. easier to breathe, dream, remember, and believe.

And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden

One of my favorite places in the Princeton area is Terhune Orchards. They have delicious produce year round, but fall is my favorite time because you can go apple picking.

We always end up picking more apples than we need--there's just something really fun about picking apples. Then you end up getting a bushel, and you just don't know what you're going to do with them all. (Although apple pies are always a good option.)

There's something about apple picking that makes me feel like Snow White and Eve. I guess the comparison's not completely off-base. There's always more about Eve, though. And recently, I've been thinking more about her story. Something to do with the way fall feels like a new beginning. Something about the way fall intertwines death and life. Something to do with possibilities and fullness and harvest.

Melancholy talks is apparently what we're good at

Today, Sam and I gave talks in church today. After the meeting, people in our church congregation were very kind and saying that we had done great, etc., etc.

One of our really good friends came up to us and said, "Those were great talks, but there was kind of, like, this melancholy but hopeful quality about them. It felt very Eastern European, and I'm sure there's a word for that in Russian."

There is. It's "toska"--Тоска--which roughly translates to sadness, melancholy, wistfulness, yearning, etc., etc.

Maybe it's time for some lighter material?

May flowers

The last couple of weeks have been full of flowers. Flowers from my bridal shower, flowers on my runs, flowers all around campus. The world seems bright with color and it makes me very happy.

[Some bridal shower gifts. And that candle smells like Utah. But not like refineries. It smells like a ski lodge in Park City.]

[Azaleas! I think? We don't have these flowers in Utah, but they are so, so pretty.]

[We don't have this tree/these flowers, either. But I think it is a dogwood tree. In any event, it is so bright and beautiful right after the rain.]

Some trips to the city

I've been pretty open with how I feel about New York City: I just don't get it. I really don't. It just feels so big and I don't know if I'll ever love it. (I am a basic white girl in many ways, but not in NYC love.)

But there are things I love about it. Like beautiful art museums and the New York Public Library.

A few weeks ago I went to the Met to see the Michelangelo exhibit. It was really beautiful. (But, confession: I took most of the pictures for an Instagram Story which I then did not post until two weeks after I went. Oh well. Hahaaaaa.)

[That red chalk art is beautiful.]

[In the room, the women come and go . . .

[. . . talking of Michelangelo.]

[Not Michelangelo. But still a beautiful picture of Joan of Arc (who I deeply admire).]

[My ticket covered the Met Cloisters, and since I had time, I decided to make the trek uptown. And I wasn't disappointed.]

[I remember learning about this triptych in Art History 202.]

[Look at that detail.]

[So lovely.]

[All alone with the unicorn tapestries. That was really cool to be the only person in that room.]

[Why I love Medieval art. So wacky.]

My most recent trip to the city was for archival research at the New York Public Library. I went up there on Valentine's Day, and it was a beautiful winter day, and the city was quite charming to me that day. So maybe I'm warming up to New York. Maybe. 

[NYPL]

Especially when you can find views like this in New York. I do get some of its appeal. I have a few more years for New York to grow on me. We'll see what happens. But I do enjoy quiet uptown vistas like these.

That D.C. Life [take 3]

I've gone to D.C. a lot in the past year, but particularly in the last few months. Each trip has been fun and it's wonderful to see friends and, most importantly (the reason I go there at all, really), my boyfriend.

Some trips have been more anticipatory or nerve-wracking than others. Like jumping on a plane in January to see if anything would happen with a certain young man I had been corresponding with. Spoiler alert: It did. But you don't know that when you jump on that plane with your tickets and heart in your hand.

Recently, I've driven to D.C. instead of flying there. Because I can drive there! Which is awesome. But also scary for me, because driving is not my favorite thing to do, and driving on the East Coast terrifies me. I spent the good portion of my first month in New Jersey getting lost, staying in the far right lane, driving too slowly, and clenching my hands on the steering wheel.

So driving to D.C., which is a three-hour drive complete with tolls, bridges, traffic jams, and the Beltway, was quite a feat for me. (And, hahaaaa, I screamed when I got onto the Beltway. In a way to release tension and stress. I screamed. I felt it was an appropriate response.)

It's always lovely, eventful, and fun being there. It's fun seeing friends. It's nice to study in the National Portrait Gallery and the Library of Congress. It's wonderful to go to museums and see works of art and historical artifacts. And there's certainly a romance to the city. There's so much energy in that city and it's so young. I'm always blown away by how, oh, our country is being run by 25-year-old staffers. It's a young city. It's an ambitious city.

D.C. is a place that matters to me in different ways than I thought it would. I always thought I would end up there. I distinctly remember a conversation I had with my mom a month after getting home from my mission, and I said, rather unprompted, "I think I'm going to end up in D.C. after graduation. Or Boston. But probably D.C."

And she said, "I think the same thing."

Neither D.C. or Boston has been in the cards for me. England has. And the East Coast has. But not D.C. in the way I was thinking (and in the way that so many young professional Mormons think--of a place where you'll be for a few years, have your first job or go to grad school, interact with scores of other young Mormons doing the same thing, and maybe date--or not date--other aspiring young Mormons). It's been a place that has featured prominently for me in my life (and in my dating life) but it has not been a home like I thought it would. It might be someday, but it won't be in the way I thought it would as a young 20-something. And with the way my life has played out in the past five years, it's better that way. Much better that way. Still, it is a city that means something to me. It means a lot of somethings to me.

D.C. has been a place to conquer fear. Whether jumping on a plane to take a chance on a guy, driving on the Beltway, or facing people I'd rather not run into. Jump in and let go. It's been a place to jump into that fear and let go. Relationships and dealing with people sometimes takes more courage than you'd expect. But it is rewarding (and sometimes a comedy of errors, which is rewarding in its own way).

D.C. has been a revelatory place for me, especially in the first half of this year, with deciding to date Sam and also making decisions about where I would go to grad school. Things have calmed down--the past few times have not felt as weighted when I go to D.C. It's become more familiar. But D.C. is a place of decision-making for myself, and a place to reflect. Perhaps because it isn't home, it performs the same function travel does for me--where thoughts and plans and dreams crystallize a bit more and I am able to come home more determined, brave, and clear-eyed.

I have a complicated relationship with D.C. It's not what I thought it would be for me, but it is a place that I am growing to love. And as I head down to Maryland and the D.C. area for Thanksgiving, I'm both nostalgic for this city that will never completely be mine but also looking forward to the memories I will make--and grateful for the memories associated with it, too.

[Also, just as an aside--fall is the perfect time to visit D.C. Not busy, crowded, or hot at all.]

Squinting into the sun

I just think these pictures are funny: 

The sun was so bright and the struggle was oh, so real. 

Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

-Book clubs and get togethers with dear friends. Especially when those friends are from that golden summer of Cambridge. That Cambridge Crew is awfully special to me. It amazes me how we are still such good friends--they are "my people," and talking with them is free, easy, and soul-filling.

-Lunch with new friends.

-Giggle fits over text messages and video chat features.

-Cookie dough with Em.

-The anticipation of travel.

-Going on feminist rants.

-Mountain air and mountain views.

Just a few of my favorite things from this week.

Children of dust and ashes

Sometimes I randomly find new or old musicals and get obsessed with one or two songs from those musicals. (Sometimes, it's the entire musical, like with Hamilton.) But the other day a New York Times update buzzed on my phone saying that a musical called Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 had been nominated for 12 Tony awards.

It caught my attention because it's an adaptation of War and Peace. And basically anything that has to do with Tolstoy or War and Peace will definitely catch my attention.

Anyway. I've been listening to the some songs. And there's one that I'm just obsessed with. It's sung by Pierre, who is (arguably) the main character of the novel. Pierre's great. And by great, I also mean that he's confused, searching, kind, selfish, and ultimately has a beautifully messy soul. I love his character arc and watching him grow. He has a lot of "ah-a!" moments in the novel, but they don't always last (but that's also so realistic--often we have those moments where we recognize that we have to change, and we fully want to, but then life happens and we forget, or we lose our zeal--and then we have to be reminded of our need to change--and the other beautiful thing about Tolstoy novels is that there is no statute of limitations of the amount of times someone can recommit to changing their lives).

The song I've been obsessed with (and thus the one that gets featured on my blog) is a song sung by Pierre after he's dueled a friend of his (such a trope in Russian novels and it never goes well), and he realizes that he has to make some major life changes. And the song is just so beautiful, powerful, and full of Russian existential angst--it captures the essence of Pierre:






Is this how I die? 
Ridiculed and laughed at
Wearing clown shoes. 
Is this how I die? 
Furious and reckless 
Sick with booze. 

How did I live? 
I taste every wasted minute
Every time I turned away 
From the things that might have healed me. 
How long have I been sleeping?

Is this how I die? 
Frightened like a child
Lazy and numb. 
Is this how I die? 
Pretending and preposterous 
and dumb. 

How did I live? 
Was I kind enough and good enough? 
Did I love enough? 
Did I ever look up 
and see the moon 
and the stars
and the sky? 
Oh why I have been sleeping?  

They say we are asleep 
until we fall in love. 
We are children of dust and ashes. 
But when we fall in love we wake up 
And we are a God 
and angels weep. 
But if I die here tonight
I die in my sleep. 

All of my life I spent searching the words
of poets and saints and prophets and kings
and now at the end all I know that I've learned
is that all that I know is I don't know a thing. 

So easy to close off 
place the blame outside 
hiding in my room at night
so terrified. 
All the things I could have been 
but I never had the nerve
love and life
I don't deserve. 

So all right, all right
I've had my time
close my eyes
let the death bells chime. 

Bury me in burgundy 
I just don't care. 
Nothing's left
I've looked everywhere.

Is this how I die? 
Was there ever any other way my life could be? 
Is this how I die? 
Such a storm of feelings inside of me?  

But then why am I screaming? 
Why am I shaking? 
Was there something that I missed? 
Did I squander my divinity? 
Was happiness within me the whole time? 

They say we are asleep 
Until we fall in love 
We are children of dust and ashes. 
But when we fall in love we wake up 
and we are a God
and angels weep. 
But if I die here tonight 
I die in my sleep. 

They say we are asleep 
until we fall in love. 
And I'm so ready 
to wake up now. 

I want to wake up. 
Don't let me die while I'm like this. 
I want to wake up 
Don't let me die while I'm like this
Please let me wake up now
Don't let me die while I'm like this
I'm ready
I'm ready 
To wake up. 

There you go. My latest/not-so-latest obsession (because I've been obsessed with Tolstoy for years now). But it just speaks to my soul. And I love Pierre.

"It was clear and frosty. A dark, starlit heaven looked down on the black roofs and the dirty, dusky streets. Only by looking up at the sky could Pierre distance himself from the disgusting squalor of all earthly things as compared with the heights to which his soul had now been taken. 

“And there in the middle, high about Prechistensky Boulevard, amidst a scattering of stars on every side but catching the eye through its closeness to the earth, its pure white light and the long uplift of its tail, shone the comet, the huge, brilliant comet of 1812, that popular harbinger of untold horrors and the end of the world. But this bright comet with its long, shiny tail held no fears for Pierre. Quite the reverse: Pierre’s eyes glittered with tears of rapture as he gazed up at this radiant star, which must have traced its parabola through infinite space at speeds unimaginable and now suddenly seemed to have picked its spot in the black sky and impaled itself like an arrow piercing the earth, and stuck there, with its strong upthrusting tail and its brilliant display of whiteness amidst the infinity of scintillating stars. This heavenly body seemed perfectly attuned to Pierre’s newly melted heart, as it gathered reassurance and blossomed into new life.” (War and Peace 663)

Chocolate polka-dots

My friend Chloe and I have decided to do a "Russki Chas" (Russian hour) this summer in order to practice and improve our Russian. Every day we decide on a different theme--and it has ranged from Russian literature to electrical engineering. It's really fun. Like, really fun.

Today it was cooking. Because, let's be real. How often in Russian courses do you go over how to read even basic recipes in Russian or read a cookbook? Not often.

Today I learned the Russian word for "chocolate chips." Which you would think I would know, because, oh, I don't know, chocolate chips are one of my 5 basic food groups. But I never learned it because they don't really have chocolate chips in Ukraine or Russia. (When I baked chocolate chip cookies in Ukraine, I always just cut up a chocolate bar.)

But it's the cutest thing. It's "schokoladny kroshky," or literally, chocolate polka-dots.

Isn't that amazing?

I love Russian.

And I love chocolate polka-dots.

Farmers' Market, SLC

Sometimes I go to farmers' markets and take pictures. And eat all the cheese. And find out about amazing chocolate shops in downtown SLC.

[Winter apples.]

[And so much honey.]

[And allllll the cheese. So much cheese. It was delicious.]

[Farmers' Market Wisdom: "Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."--Abraham Lincoln.]