Important things to know ...

Tonight I learned that married daughters never, ever accompany their parents to wedding receptions without their husbands. This knowledge came at quite a cost.

The following account is true. As in not exaggerated. I know I sometimes do exaggerate. But tonight I am polishing my skills from journalism school and using only facts.

Tonight I accompanied my parents to a wedding reception. I did this because I like the bride. And because I received my very own invitation, as in separate from my parents, even though I know the bride because her dad knows my dad from back in the day. As in their high school days. This means that my dad saw a plethora of old friends from back in the day. And that is all the background you need.

Conversation #1, with the Happy Couple.
Me: Congratulations!
Bride, to Groom: This is Callie. Callie, Groom has cute younger brothers.
Groom: How old are you?
Me: 27
Groom, after slight pause: Oh. I am 27 too.
Me: Well, congratulations.

Conversation #2, with Random Relative of Bride, directly after conversation with Happy Couple.
Dad: This is my daughter, Callie
Random Relative: Oh, I have some sons.
Callie: How nice.
Random Relative: How old are you?
Callie: 27.
Random Relative: Well, I think my sons might be too young for you. Here's one. (Inviting 20-year-old son to join in the fun.)
Callie: Nice to meet you. (Note: I just accidentally typed "meat" you. Sums up my feelings well.)

Conversation #3, very near the exit, hindering our escape, with a Random Old Friend of my father and the Mother of the Bride.
Dad: Callie, this is my Random Old Friend.
Random Old Friend: Nice to meet you. I have sons!
Mother of the Bride: They are very attractive! Are they attached?
Random Old Friend: One of them is married. But one is not. How old are you?
Callie: I am 27.
Dad: Callie is in law school.
Mom: We have another daughter, too. She looks just like this one, only she is 22.
Husband of Random Old Friend: We will take the lawyer. Every man needs a lawyer.

I would like to note that throughout most of these encounters, my left hand remained firmly planted in my pocket. Which means that for all these people knew, I had a lovely diamond ring encircling my finger and a husband at home tending our triplets. Which would obviously explain me attending the reception with my parents ...

This discovery brought to you by the letter "a" ...

I have been studying for what feels like forever. But just now, I discovered something. Look closely at the difference between Callie and Callie. Then consider that this discovery seemed exciting to me. Then realize the state of my life. Good thing I finish my finals in the morning ...

The week of my finals ...

In Capital C tradition, I thought up the following when I should have been studying this week. It is rather pathetic, to be sure, but I am sick of the last post ...

'Twas the week of my finals
When all through my dwelling
Some roommates were studying
With a few bouts of yelling.

The lights have been strung
Round the windows with care
And the wreath has been hung
More than once, to be fair.

Four girls were nestled
In rooms freezing cold
While the fifth one complains
Of the heat (well, she's old).

When out on the lawn,
Where no snow remains,
We heard a faint sound,
A small omen of change.

We flew to the doorway
To take in the sight
Of our leaves disappearing,
Finally ending our plight.

The huge pile of leaves
That had cluttered our drive
Had been rained on and snowed on,
But still it survived.

The men in the truck
Came and picked up the pile
And allowed a return
TO our old parking style.

Now the leaves are all gone
That last symbol of fall,
So we gladly exclaim,
Happy Christmas to all!

I don't want to think right now ...

I am reading stories to the 3-year-old in my lap (my favorite 3-year-old, truth be told) when my Dad comes in and starts asking her questions. The same questions my Mom and I just pestered her with, about preschool, and her day, and the like. So she tells him the truth: "I don't want to think right now." I am so with you, girl. Who wants to think, and to write two papers, when there are friends to see and movies to watch and turkeys (or ham in our case this year) to eat ...

Dear People Who Hate My Braids ...

You should probably not read the next post, or at least just have someone read it to you so you can avoid seeing the pictures. Because this weekend involved two days of two braids. And I know you hate them. I am confused as to the exact reason, but I have thought of a few possibilities:

1. I look silly/ridiculous/unattractive.
2. I am not 10 years old.
3. I am not in Utah anymore. And people from Utah make people outside of Utah think certain thoughts about people from Utah with braids. (I hate the word "Utahn." But that is a different post entirely.)

I am not sure which reason you choose. But I am pretty sure I will keep wearing them anyway. Because:

1. I like them. Not in the "I look good today" way, but in the "good things will happen today" way that I also feel when I wear the yellow shoes and the striped shirt. I guess if I ever have a really, really bad day I could just wear the braids WITH the yellow shoes and the striped shirt. Although I am pretty sure that would make my mother cry. So maybe not. But I am still going to keep wearing braids. Just to warn you. Thanks for talking to me anyway.

Sincerely,

Callie

New York at Christmastime ...

Yes, in the land of Capital C, it is already Christmastime, and it has been for the past 14 days, for the record. So this weekend, I went to New York City for two reasons: 1) to see Heather, and 2) to see the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall. I loved the show. Everyone should go. Or at least everyone who loves Christmas should go. I also loved the self-termed Irish lassie sitting next to me. She wore a red flannel plaid skirt and a wreath pin, spoke with a great accent, and told me all about her son. And how she has gone to the show for 40 years. She loves it. Clearly, we are kindred spirits. The other highlights of the weekend included walking through Central Park, drinking apple cider at the Union Square farmer's market (or is it farmers' market?! Kallee, I am sure we discussed this at one point), catching up with Emily while eating delicious chocolate, and last but certainly not least, finally going to the Strand bookstore, which has 18 miles of books on four levels. I loved that too ...

At Central Park, taking what I like to call a "special picture." For some reason I find great satisfaction in being able to take a picture of ourselves without asking a random stranger to do so. It feels like a great accomplishment. I might be a bit too independent for my own good.

Another special picture. This one in Radio City.

What the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree looks like before the lights and ornaments. Autumn, I do not think this quite meets the definition of a poor little Christmas tree standing all alone.

Christmas decorations ...

A confession ...

So today the wives of the president and vice president spoke at GW. I saw Jill Biden get out of the car. And I did not recognize her. And for some reason it seems like this should be publicly confessed. So there. Also, I like the number 11. And Christmas music. And macaroni and cheese. And discussions about the color yellow. And today included all of those things. So there ...

P.S. I also like this. And especially this: "I represent a church that believes in human dignity, in treating others with respect even when we disagree – in fact, especially when we disagree. The Church’s past statements are on the public record for all to see. In these comments and in our actions, we try to follow what Jesus Christ taught. Our language will always be respectful and acknowledge those who differ, but will also be clear on matters that we feel are of great consequence to our society."

A little note ...

Dear Professor Who Sounds Like Joan Cusack,

My last name is an actual word. A verb, to be exact, and one that you read every Sunday in the store ads you get with your newspaper. It is not pronounced boy-ees. Or boo-iss. Which were your last two attempts in class. If you expect me to decipher boring and complicated subjects like the one you teach, and you expect me to master them enough to actually attempt to answer your questions in class, I expect you to learn how to read my last name. Or, as a compromise, we can agree that you will never learn how to pronounce my last name and thus you will never again call on me in class. I feel really great about that idea.

Thanks,

Callie

P.S. I would also like it if you never asked me to do any math in class. Yes, I still remember yesterday, when you called on me and the answer involved doing some multiplication in my head. I know you think it is easy when one of the numbers is 100,000, but I think it is easy when my last name is an actual word. So now we are back where we started. Except that I lucked out and answered one of the math questions correctly. You, I am afraid, still mangled my name ...

The Supremes...

Carly and I decided it would be pathetic if we graduated from law school in D.C. and never listened to an oral argument at the Supreme Court. So we waited in line and made it in this week. I quite enjoyed listening to the questions from the Justices, especially after reading their opinions for so long now. I also found it rather amusing to watch them during the arguments. I could only see their heads and shoulders, and it turns out that at any given time at least half of them sit in some variation of having their face in their hands. Not so much Justice Ginsburg. She sort of leans forward like a little bird. And Justice Thomas and Justice Scalia liked to rock in their chairs. And no, Justice Thomas did not say a word ...

Hershey ...

Today Carly and Andrea and I took a day trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania. I have been wanting to go there for months now, and we had a delectable time.


I must report however, that contrary to my expectations, the air did not smell like chocolate throughout the town. It definitely did smell like chocolate at Chocolate World. Delicious. And, Hershey makes some amazing cinnamon chips (like chocolate chips, minus the chocolate. Ironic, yes.)


And the lampposts (notice the correct spelling of lamppost, family; Bapa would be proud) were shaped like kisses. Delightful.


After Hershey, we went to Gettysburg. I loved seeing it in the fall, with the addition of gorgeous leaves, and minus the crowds and heat from my last visit. (Also, family: they have a new museum. Remember that really weird old one?!)


Our visit did make me wonder about the proper way to pose with a cannon. Clearly, I did not figure that out. Andrea came closer. She demonstrates a respect for the cannon that I think I am lacking.


After all of that, we came home, and Carly and I watched October Sky. Note to anyone reading: Stop reading immediately and go watch October Sky. If you live near me, you can come to my house and I will watch it with you. If you live near my parents, you can go to their house and watch it. If you live somewhere else, try Blockbuster. Seriously, go. Now. I had forgotten how much I love this movie. So inspiring. And not just because the nerdy girl gets the boy in the end. Why are you still reading?! Stop! Really, stop ...

Proof ...

Rise and shout ...

Right now, my Dad and my brother Roman are driving the blue convertible and the white truck through Provo in the BYU Homecoming Parade. My Mom is along for the ride, and to make sure Roman behaves, and Autumn is in charge of something alumni-related. And apparently they are all wearing blue.

This, people, is a miracle. A mere nine years ago these same four people wore red University of Utah shirts to move me into my BYU dorm room. And Roman tried to put the University of Utah fight song on the communal computers in the lobby. Clearly, Autumn has more powers of persuasion than I do. Or they just love her more. Or I should have followed her example and called my Dad "Daddy" all these years. ...

I should be studying right now ...

I like to think of the people in charge of my school as being quite intelligent. They generally prove this to be true. Except that no one in the building seems capable of mastering a thermostat. Thus, every fall and spring I have the great pleasure of attending class in either a sauna or an igloo. Delightful, I assure you.

In other school news, I am studying Shakespeare in my law and literature class. I lived in London last time I did this. I like him fine now, but I liked him better there. I am also writing a paper about Jane Austen. Yes, a law school paper about Jane Austen. Which means I am not dreading it. Hooray! I am not going to lie, though, I definitely thought about trying to convince the professor that I should write about the legal system in Harry Potter instead.

And now, for some famous people. But not the People.com type. Sorry about that. Last week Justice Kennedy spoke at our Law Review Symposium. I do not remember what he said. But I do remember that another panelist quoted someone I also do not remember saying this:

"History is not what happened. History is what we remember."

Or something like that. But I liked it. Finally, yesterday Secretary Janet Napolitano of the Department of Homeland Security spoke at school. In the same classroom as my Criminal Procedure class lass semester, which seemed appropriate. She told us to wash our hands and to cough into our elbows. And some other stuff, quite a lot of impressive other stuff actually, but this seems most practical to report ...

P.S. Andrea, Carly and Megan, I made that one reference just for you. I am so capable of planning a wild party. Just you wait.

God blessed you ...

It rained, without stopping, for three days this week. Which makes my trek to school unpleasant when I have some hope of having cute hair, but perfectly lovely when I have already given up on my hair and am wearing my rainboots. So during three days of rain, I wore my rainboots one day, I did my hair one day, and I stayed inside one day. Good compromise, I thought.

My usual commute goes like this:

12 minutes: Walk to the Metro
2-8 minutes: Wait for the Metro
10 minutes: Ride the Metro
8 minutes: Walk to school

Going down the escalator at my Metro station, I usually see a homeless man sleeping between the outside edge of the escalator and the cement wall. This week, he had a birthday balloon tied to his cart. I wondered if he had tied it there himself, or if someone had done so while he slept.

At the top of the escalator at the Metro station at school, I see people selling sunglasses or umbrellas, depending on the day, and of course, my favorite, flowers. They sell the flowers rain or shine. I like that. Down the street from the Metro station this week, I saw another homeless man. He held the traditional cardboard sign, but with a difference. His said, "God blessed you." An important -ed. I saw him first on a sunny day. I thought about him all day, and the next. And then the rain started. But there he was again, in the rain, without an umbrella. I had a $10 bill tucked carefully in my backpack pocket with my student ID card. I keep it there just in case I need cash. I kept it there.

The next day, the one where I did my hair but did not wear my boots, I had a few one dollar bills. This time, I would not be sorry. But this time, I did not see the man with the sign.

My problem is that I am only partly a skeptic. I am skeptical enough to keep my hand in my pocket, but believing enough to pinch myself for being selfish. I am not really sure if birthday balloons mean a birthday or a scheme to guilt me into giving. I always think of the homeless man outside the bank who wore a different coat every day of the week.

The plan behind the sign did not matter to me this week. It might just be good for business. He might not believe in God. But he made me notice him, even from the shelter of a yellow umbrella and a half-formed fast-walking smile. He made me think ...

World peace ...

How to win a Nobel Peace Prize in two easy steps:

1. Be born.
2. Talk about hope and change and peace and joy and love.

It helps to repeat step two frequently, and eloquently, at various sites throughout the world, and to make sure you or your significant other has nicely toned arms and wears sleeveless clothing at all times. No other action required! Obviously Miss America qualified for this prestigious prize decades ago ...

I love Autumn ...

Today I made my favorite soup. And I am wearing my favorite pumpkin lotion. I love Autumn. Both the season and the sister, for the record ...

The Comcast experience ...

Last week at this time, a New York City Comcast man from somewhere in Eastern Europe had no idea of the lovely scene he would encounter the next morning.

But, if you keep reading, you will ...

The scene: The darling Upper West Side apartment Heather and Kevin moved into a mere five days earlier. It is now 9:20 a.m. on Friday. Kevin has managed to get ready for work amidst the four girls who have invaded his space, and he has now escaped to the safety of his office somewhere in the city. Heather is asleep in their room. Jennie and Callie are asleep on the couch bed in the living room. Katie is asleep on the inflatable mattress next to the couch bed. Karli is, inexplicably, showered and dressed, hair and makeup done and looking perfect. She hears a knock at the door. She answers immediately, far too cheerfully, with nary a question or a glance at her four sleeping friends. It is, of course, the Comcast man, who had told Heather he would come between 9:30 a.m. and 1:30 p.m. and would call a half hour before he came.

So, the Comcast man takes two steps into the living room to see three not-so-fresh, we-rode-on-a-bus-for-nearly-six-hours-and-then-went-to-bed heads peeking up from an assortment of sheets and blankets and beds, which happen to be two feet from the television and the computer. That would be the television and computer where the Comcast man needs to do his Comcastic things.

Karli, remember, already looks like a supermodel. The kind wearing clothes. Heather has awakened enough to grasp the situation. The three of us in pajamas clearly are not and have not. We make a beeline for the bathroom. We huddle there, deciding what to do. We opt to be normal. Or as normal as possible, under the circumstances. Which means that two of us should leave the bathroom. One at a time, we get ready.

An hour or so later, the scene has changed. Now the television works. And the people have all showered. But somehow all end up back on the couch bed. This time, watching the television. And unavoidably watching the man, too, still working on said television. So what started with four sleeping girls in pajamas ends with them all sitting on the couch bed, fully clothed and presentable, waiting for the Comcast man to finish his Comcast things ...

A supercalifrajalisticexpialadocious week ...

I had a good week. Actually, a surprisingly great week.

Monday night, Jennie surprised me.
Tuesday morning, Karli flew in from Las Vegas. Surprise squared.
Wednesday afternoon, I found Katie from Cleveland on my doorstep. So, naturally, on Thursday we took the bus to New York City to see Heather.
Thank you, Provo.

Maybe because of the fabulous surprises, or because we now live in five different cities, I realized once again this weekend that I am really, really lucky to have such talented, witty, kind, stylish and just plain amazing friends. I am also really lucky that expert photographer Katie documented our week of fun in these photos:

Pretty much sums up how we act we when get together. In D.C. ...

or New York City ...

Cute Heather ... and baby!

Back in D.C. at our impromptu photo shoot.
The out-of-order photos add to the fun of the post, right?!

Times Square. College roommates. Classic.

Central Park, obviously.

Eating our way through New York. We also had delicious cupcakes, pizza and nutella on toast (thank you, Kevin and Heather). And yes, I am blurry in this picture. Apparently I am frequently blurry in pictures. I guess I am not so good at holding still. And that is required for some pictures. Picky, picky.

This was legitimate picture-taking movement. And they clearly didn't call her Karli Cartwheel for nothing.

The Brooklyn Bridge, always a favorite.

I took a few photos of my own, for good measure ...

The church next to the World Trade Center site.

A bench where firefighters working at Ground Zero would rest between shifts.

Still the church ...

We saw Mary Poppins. I LOVED it. Preview: It included tap dancing on the ceiling.

Thanks, girls ...

Did I mention I like books ...

Today it rained. I went to the National Book Festival anyway. Because I love it that much. When I think about how next year at this time I will be a Working Adult (again, since I did try that out for a while there) with an Actual Paycheck, I dream about the library I will create with said paycheck, with a really comfortable reading chair and a great lamp and lots of bookshelves and framed posters on the wall. And one of those posters will be the picture above. From the National Book Festival today. And I will remember this:

Listening to Jeannette Walls, of The Glass Castle fame. She told us that everyone has a story to tell. I agree. Next came Lois Lowry, who wrote The Giver and Number the Stars. I read The Giver for the first time this summer, thanks to the suggestion of a wise friend, and good news, Lowry told us that Jonas lived. She told us how she narrates her life in her head as she lives it in person. She said writers do that. I do that too. I like that. Then I listened to Sue Monk Kidd, who wrote The Secret Life of Bees. She came with her daughter, since they have written a new book together. Something about pomegranates and traveling through Europe, mother and daughter. Note to Working Adult Self: read that book. Also read book Laura Bush is writing. And, read book that came out this week, written by former White House speechwriter Matt Latimer, who, in my limited experience, never seemed to display any sort of human emotion. Yes, I met him. In the speechwriting office. Where I interned, and he worked. And I have absolutely no respect for people who pretend to believe in something and someone and then sell out three weeks later for a measly 15 minutes of fame and some cash. So, Working Adult Self: read that book because I met this particular sellout. But do not buy that book because that would benefit him. And I am morally opposed to that. Also, Working Adult Self: do not sell out. But back to the Book Festival.

I loved the last speaker, Azar Nafisi, who wrote Reading Lolita in Tehran. I wish I could remember everything she said, but I especially liked how she said that every culture, every civilization, has made some hideous mistakes and committed terrible atrocities, but a country grows stronger and becomes better by overcoming and coping with these challenges. She said it better. And so much more. I love the National Book Festival ...

Ode to the lost firefly ...

Two nights ago I smashed a firefly. Accidentally, but on purpose. With, ironically, a box of unlit candles. And I have been thinking about it ever since.

I am not opposed to killing insects. I killed a spider this morning and a mosquito last night and have not felt even a speck of remorse. But fireflies, well, I like fireflies. When I make the inevitable list of what I will miss most about living on the East Coast, fireflies will be on it. But I learned too late that fireflies look like regular beetles, until it gets dark and they decide to glow.

I know some people like that ...

Worlds colliding on a Thursday afternoon ...

So today I was partly listening to my professor talk about adult adoption but mostly debating in my head whether the name Naleigh (as in Naleigh the newly adopted child of Katherine Heigl) rhymes with the name Callie. Then I saw it, right there on People.com: an advertisement for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My very own church. On my very own People.com. Obviously, this validated my choice of reading material.

Today I also saw a picture of Ashton and Demi amidst a discussion of older women marrying younger men. In my casebook, not on People.com. Then a few pages later, a discussion about Pamela Anderson. Still in my casebook.

And one of my professors sounds exactly like Joan Cusack. I hope this makes the bankruptcy code more memorable.

So, let us review. Inane trivia about famous actors is more important than previously thought. Lesson learned ...

Happy Monday ...

I only have one class on Mondays. It happens to be my current tied-for-favorite class: Copyright Law. And it does not start until 11 a.m. And today I wore my new yellow shoes. And they did not give me any blisters. Thus, I like Mondays. Good logic, eh ...

Now, a paragraph from the reading for my other tied-for-favorite class, Law and Literature. This comes from a closing argument defense attorney Clarence Darrow made in a 1924 murder case:

"If there is such a thing as justice it could only be administered by one who knew the inmost thoughts of the man to whom he was meting it out. Aye, who knew the father and mother and the grandparents and the infinite number of people back of him. Who knew the origin of every cell that went into the body, who could understand the structure and how it acted. Who could tell how the emotions that sway the human being affected that particular frail piece of clay. It means more than that. It means that you must appraise every influence that moves men, the civilization where they live, and all society which enters into the making of the child or the man! If Your Honor can do it--if you can do it you are wise, and with wisdom goes mercy." ~ Attorney for the Damned, Clarence Darrow in the Courtroom

In which I attempt yoga ...

This week Carly joined a gym. I got a free one-week pass out of the deal. So today we went to a yoga class. The teacher came in five minutes late, in heels and a dress, and immediately began a continuous stream of instructions as she situated herself at the front of the room.

Being me, I did not completely follow her command to close our eyes and breathe. I am opposed to closing my eyes in unfamiliar public places, so I did not do that. But I am in favor of breathing, so I did that. Well, as I breathed she began removing articles of clothing. She seemed to be wearing shorts underneath the dress, but she definitely added a shirt and removed said dress as we all continued breathing and some of us closed our eyes. Apparently the eye-closing is less for relaxation than for some minimal form of modesty.

Despite realizing that this class might not be quite as Puritan as I am, and yes I know that few things are as Puritan as I am, for the first ten seconds of instructions after the breathing and eye-closing business, I felt pretty good about myself. I could totally do the whole turn-my-head-side-to-side routine. Then things became more complicated. For the next hour, I twisted and wriggled and tied myself up in knots and attempted a few maneuvers my body has not attempted since the age of 12. It turns out that I am not a natural at yoga. Shocker, I know. But apparently the skills required to repeatedly win the balancing contests in ballet class are not the same ones needed to remain balanced while flailing various limbs. Dang. Or perhaps one must work on such skills more than once a decade. Something to consider ...

Old and new ...

The last view from the window of our old apartment ... yep, we moved ...

the view from my new bedroom ...

and the view I will probably see most often ...

Harper's Ferry ...

On Saturday we took a day trip to Harper's Ferry to see the town and go tubing down the Shenandoah River ...

The arsenal John Brown raided. Or something like that.

Jefferson stood on this rock and deemed the view worthy of traveling across the Atlantic to see.

Carly, Callie, Melanie and Beth ...

Philadelphia ...

I have wanted to go to Philadelphia since I moved to D.C. I finally made it last weekend before my parents left.

Liberty Bell

Independence Hall, up close.

The room where the Declaration of Independence was debated and signed. Definitely my favorite part of the tour.

Apparently Jim's Steaks is the best place in town ...

and I must say, Philly cheesesteaks are surprisingly delicious.

The oldest residential street in America.

The cemetery where Benjamin Franklin was buried.

Amish Country

My Mom loved the clothes lines

A chicken ...