Marissa Coco Richmond

berry pie

2012-01-24T11:38:00.000-08:00

I am ready for it to be the Fourth of July already. I want to go swimming, eat pie and watch some fireworks!

Anniversary Peonies

2012-01-24T11:08:00.001-08:00

Chan and I got married Nov 28th 2009. My theme was black and white but I knew I had to have Peonies. The pale Pink from the Peonies softened the contrasting black and white. Every Anniversary I buy Peonies. I am a little obsessed. I think I get my Flower obsession from my Grandma Milly Moores, before dinner everyday she clips a few flowers from her garden and arranges them in a vase . So beautiful.

Lunches

2012-01-24T10:50:00.000-08:00

Above: Mixed greens with Raspberries and chocolate truffles
Above: Crispy Romaine, Whole Foods Fresh Peanut Butter and Alfalfa Sprouts. Pears on the side.

Above: Spicy Salad- Long Grain Black wild rice, Edamame, Avocado, Radishes, Basil, Red Pepper Flakes, Cumin, Olive oil and lemon juice

Music Therapy

2011-11-12T22:34:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, your suppose to embed this on the side. Enjoy.

You are Mine

2011-11-12T22:00:00.000-08:00

There is something strangely refreshing about breaking all of the rules. Painting a piano. Painting a piano yellow. Living in a Barn. Playing a Piano in the barn while watching the sunset. A few minutes before I took this picture, I had excitedly stripped off all of the the blue tape and cleaned off the sticky white and black keys. The air was gusty and chill. The hay bails piled up on the left smelled earthy and tickled my nose. I awkwardly pounded on the foreign, out of tune keys for several minutes before I realized how pretty and purple the sky became. This is one of my best memories.

The next morning...

Country Life and Archery

2011-11-12T21:49:00.000-08:00

Missing Enya and Imogen

2011-10-23T18:52:00.000-07:00

I have been lost ever since Imogen Heap stopped producing as many songs. My love for dreamy, high pitched voices started at the tender age of 9 when I first heard Enya's angelic Irish whisper. It was at that moment, that I was in raptures! It is impossible for me to avoid getting the chills when I hear "May it be". I am pretty sure that Heaven sounds like her voice.

Enya

Imogen Heap

So what am I to do without Enya or Imogen? Eat salted caramels? Hmmmm fabulous idea, but I'll opt to listen to Ellie Goulding for a while. Although she sounds nothing like Enya or Imogen Heap, she still satisfies my need to hear feminine ethereal music (kind of like Adam Young).

LOVE: The Writer and Starry Eyed

If you feel like dancing, try out "Lights Bassnectar remix".

Other Exciting News?

Water For Elephants comes out on DVD soon! The book was beautifully written but unnecessarily inappropriate at times (I would not suggest reading it), The movie was a masterpiece. Robert Pattinson was perfect. Reese Witherspoon was a horse-trainers dream.

Crafting and Creating

2011-10-07T19:49:00.000-07:00

This baby bracelets is the real deal: Fresh water pearls, sterling silver beads, the works. I started making baby Bracelets this summer and I enjoy it. I decided to try and sell them on Etsy (for kicks). If I were looking into purchasing a baby bracelet, I would buy these . I adore them. I am going to post two new designs on Etsy pretty soon . Yayaya. http://www.etsy.com/shop/MarissaRichmond?ref=si_shop

(please note, I am not trying to sell to my friends, I dont want to try to sell to you. I would rather sell to friendly strangers, simply because I don't want to create bad blood or anything. I just want ya'll to know about it.)

My Piano. I hope to finish it this Saturday. I have been working on this all summer. I hope to teach piano lessons from home .

I made these cute pumpkin toppers with Chandlers Mom. She made the colorful one (left) I made the plain looking orange and white star (right).

The Texas state fair on opening day

2011-10-07T19:39:00.001-07:00

Italians dress pretty

2011-09-29T20:19:00.001-07:00

Autumn Venice

2011-09-28T18:34:00.001-07:00

coming up next? food and fashion, and by that I mean stalking local Italians.

Hello blogger

2011-06-25T06:38:00.000-07:00

Add a little Edgar Degas to your life

Deidra in Jerusalem

Family updates:

Ta& Jon: Jon just graduated from OU Dental School. So now he is Dr. Clarke! I can't imagine how good it feels to have gone through that much schooling and to finally be graduated. I admire them both. Ta is in active labor at this very moment with her baby number four!! Its a little girl. And of all people, Chandler is the one who can't wait. He calls Ta daily, asking how she's doing.

Gar & Kels: They are living in Washington DC this summer. Gar is an Intern in the White house for Senator Hatch (much more clout than Senator Hutchinson-my bad). Cool eh? Kels is living it up with Hudson. They have a cornucopia of world-class museums and parks at their fingertips. I so wish I could be there! Check out her blog, its cute.

Deid: I miss this girl so much. She is doing the whole BYU travel abroad thing in Israel. She just got back from Instanbul, Turkey a few weeks ago. You would have died if you saw her pictures. The mosiacs! ugh! Did I mention that I miss her? I am also very envious. I've come down with travelers jealousy!

Ciara: Is now Senior in High School and she is performing in the Jubilee this weekened. Ciara is gorgeous as ever with her long blonde hair and womanly curves (when did those arrive?). She runs track, cross country and plays basketball. Dylan her boyfriend is about to leave on his mission (sniff sniff). But seriously, Dylan is Chan's younger brother and I will definitely be crying and crying. We love Dylan so much. Does he really have to go? Missions aren't that important....wait?

The happy couple

I love this little doll. Her name is Audrey and she looks a little grumpy. Chan and I are happy to have her in our family.

This is the inside of a diaper I am made. This was my first one. The liner is Terry cloth and its removable. No, I am not pregnant. Don't even think about it until I am close to graduating College which will be next July 2012.
I made it with snaps instead of velcro or safety pins.

Voila! Its soft too. Its made out of flannel (from walmart) and terry cloth (also from walmart). I want to cloth diaper my babies, so I figured I better start making the diapers now while I have time. I will need thirty or so of these. They cost about 3.00$ each. Thats a bargain considering how much bum genius diapers cost 15.00$./ea. I should spend less than 100$ total for diapers, which means more money for traveling.

More fun facts: The more diapers you make, the less you spend on water. Detergent costs? You use washing soda to clean these, a 5 pound bag of washing soda costs $4.00 from Costco (you'll never use more than 4Tbs per load). Drying? You dry and bleach them with the Sun.

This is my diaper and wipey bag. The blue fabric is quite sturdy, its made of upholstery material. The green loop is actually a new hair tie (which is also durable), that I tacked down with a strip of yellow material. The white button is antique.

Just to give you some closure, they are sprouting.
He looks so cute with a Tan.

I feel like I just got home from blogger vacation, better yet, I took a blogger slumber. The blogging sleep fairy dusted some of her magical sand in my eyes and I took a rest. Hello everyone. I don't know if you still out there, but I'm back in a slow return. Honestly, I was trying to wean myself off of blogging in order to come back to myself. I didn't like I how my writing changed , it become quixotic, dull and uber sweet...cloying almost. So, I apologize.

Ice breaker:

Name: Marissa Coco Richmond

Favorite nail polish color:

1) Midnight Plum! c'mon.

2) Hello kitty pink

3) Lipstick Red

Favorite Movie:

1) Pride and Predjudice (new version)

2) Becoming Jane

3) Bright Star

4) Water For Elephants

5) The count of Monte Cristo

6) The Young Victoria

What is your favorite outfit to wear:

I love wearing jeans, with tan knee boots, with a white collared shirt and a tuxedo jacket( or a bomber jacket). Chan just bought me some pearl earrings, so I'd wear those too.

Favorite songs:

1) U2, Its a beautiful day

2) Coldplay, Yellow

3)Paganini, La Campanella -drool worthy

4) Trois Gymnopedics No.1 ( Lent et Douloureux)

5) Frank Sinatra, Fly me to the Moon -reminds me of my wedding

6) When the Stars go Blue, Tim McGraw

7) Do you remember, Jay Sean- reminds me of being newlyweds

8) Imogen Heap anything

Pet peeves

1) People that can't compliment.

2) Cheap people.

I dislike tight-wads. I dislike it when people feel guilty after purchasing clothes (or whatever) and return 1/4 of what they bought.

3) People that insist on following the rules.

I call them "Hermoine Granger-types". I am not a rule follower, or a recipe follower or a tradition keeper. I don't like to going to the same restaurants, I like to try new ones. I don't like eating the same meal recipe, I like to eat something different. I don't like to sit in the same seat at the dinner table, I like to move. I don't even like sleeping on the same side of the bed every night, I would prefer to switch.

Things I want to do before I die

1) Write a few books

2) Be a mother and raise three or four children

3)Travel, Travel, Travel, Travel

4) Go on 25 Medical misssions

5) Speak another language: Spanish, Italian and French

5) Go to culinary School

6) Get a masters degree once my children are a little older ( I am sick of school right now)

7) Become a sewing proficient

8) Have nice clothes (I know this sounds vain) but I want to be able to dress to kill

9) Feel comfortable wearing no makeup in public

10) Travel to all of the national USA parks and hike them

11) Become a proficient piano player

12) Not become obese (I would be a liar if I didn't admit my constant fear of becoming huge. I don't mind if I get a little thick here and there. I am sure acute pudginess will sneak in between pregnancies, but I'd prefer to keep my health and stay thin until I die.)

13) Really help someone.

The joys of gardening

2011-05-19T18:50:00.000-07:00

sorry, my title is ridiculousI found this wooden contraption at a local monthly flee market "Canton". I couldn't stop myself from buying little clay pots from Home depot and painting them blue. Soon tiny purple flowers will be budding from them!
Ze herb garden is growing!
Hmmmm, how did this sneak in here? Parmesan and onion egg omelet

hello my love

2011-05-17T20:18:00.001-07:00

You only get to be young and stupid once, but you can be passionate forever.
When I wake up in the morning I have two luxuries to brood over, the exquisiteness of my stupidity and the brilliance of adventure (sorry I just finished reading Keats, he sort of bleeds into your life).

Late late late one night I decided to do something wild. It was one or two in the morning, I don't remember. I was probably suppose to be doing homework, or resting for work the next day like a responsible adult, but I did neither. Chandler was softly snoring in our bed a few feet away. I was hunched over a glowing, blue lit laptop trying to decided whether or not I should click the "purchase" button on the American Airlines website. My heart was pounding. I was excited and hundred's of pictures of Italy floated across the screen of my mind as if I had already traveled their once before. Every book that I had ever purchased about Italy and Michelangelo came to my remembrance and tempted me. I salivated at the thought of eating real Italian pizza, complete with powdery thin crust, mozzarella and basil.

So I did it.

We are going to Italy in the Fall and I may burst. I can't even convey how much I can't wait. Did I mention that I want a baby too. Yes? Well I do! Did I mention I was stupid? Yes? Well, I am. We are way too poor to afford Italy, we may be sleeping in an abandoned Alley in Rome, or maybe a dumpster in Venice. But for some reason I don't care. The tickets and travelers insurance have been purchased and the deed is done.You only get to be young and stupid once, but you can be passionate forever.

P.S. Game plan:

Days 1-3 explore Rome

Days 4&5 take a night train to Florence and explore

Days 6&7 take another night train to Venice and explore

Day 8, spend the last day back in Rome

Deep dark stuff- nope

2011-04-27T22:25:00.001-07:00

Newest intrigue: dolls. Blythe dolls. I think the real issue is that I am a tiny bit baby hungry. I would love to have a little girl to play dolls with, to buy dolls for and to dress up like a doll. The time will come . Patience.

Herb garden

2011-04-09T11:06:00.000-07:00

Oh glorious man...you are so glorious looking. I tricked you into flexing for this picture by telling you that you "have some food stuck in the back of your teeth". I won. You believed me

So I have been needing to write about this. The other day I came home to find some amusing things:

Wooden elephant pooing cheerios down my bathroom counter

My little wooden men making love hearts on the toilet...once again, with cheerios

Boy and Girl Towel elephants wearing my accessories. Sitting next to the elephants was my camera, which documented the entire ordeal. While Chan and I were out my siblings had some fun.

Yes, they are now trying on my clothes

It was very very funny, amusing, entertaining and dare I add creative. I laughed so much.

Love you Ta, Jon, Gar, Kels, Deid, and Ciara.

Now, to explain the title of the post.

Chan made me an herb garden. Yes he made it. He even made the plants. Today I am playing a little game called "no backspace day". So I refuse to backspace and replace "made" with the correct word, "plant". I digress. Chandler toiled and labored over this blessed little plot of land and I tried to pretend like I wasn't in love with the garden. But I am. In fact, I adore it. (Is "adore" more potent sounding when compared with "love"? Surely not, maybe I should have said "idolize"?) Even better news; the Garden (do you see how I capitalized the word "Garden" as if it is some obscure proper noun? How dare I! Oh well, I obey all rules regarding "no backspace day") will only get bigger and better. Chan plans on adding, not planting, butternut squash, watermelon, cucumbers, radishes, tomatoes and copious amounts of colorful wild flowers.

Cilantro

Basil

Thyme

Ze herb garden!

By the way, I just made up "no backspace day", feel free to play just don't take cred.

Have your pets spayed and neutered

All I want is Italy

2011-03-30T13:45:00.001-07:00

Its finals week in school. I am switching jobs and I am a tiny bit stressed. I find myself pushing off important tasks like APA citations to day dream at my desk about wandering the street of Rome at night. Ahhh.

One more reason to love Breakfeast

2011-03-30T01:52:00.000-07:00

So its 3am in the morning and this idea and whirlwind of ingredients flood into my head. So I whipped this made-up French toast recipe together and started snapping away with the camera- sorry for the quality, Its hard to shoot late at night.

I find myself limited in the health food arena. I just can't bear to eat ugly dishes. I don't see the point in eating ugly, mishapen, granola colored, monotone, funky ugly healthy food (hey Rissa lets try to add just one more adjective in there). Another problem, healthfood companies and restaurants that are good at cooking (or mixing- to all you raw foodies) healthy food usually aren't good a plate presentation. Don't knock or hate. I speak the truth.

So here is one more reason to eat wholesome nutritious food this summer. French Toast gone good.

PS. Its much tastier to blend up your own peanut butter in the blender right before. Its fresher.

P. ES .EHS. The uber mild coconut makes this dish very aromatic.

Seriously whats better than a Manicure and a Pedicure

2011-03-15T17:31:00.000-07:00

Chan holding baby Ivy. She looks serene in this picture. Congratulations to Natalia for finding out that she's pregnant with another BABY GIRL! I am so happy for her. I can't wait.

Manicure. I did Gel because it stays for two weeks and it makes me feel pretty. I didn't post pictures of my feet, no matter the shot, I couldn't get them to look good, despite being freshly pedicured. So I'll spare you.

Clocky and I have become good friends. He likes to wake me up every morning by running away from me, falling off of my bedside table and running down the hall. He sounds like R2D2 with all of his chirping, high pitched whistling and running away.

I Made this bird pillow around Christmas time and wanted to show my goods. The pink button is handmade, my Mom and Kels found these cool flower molds off of Etsy. You press any colored clay into the molds, pop em out and then bake the clay in the oven. This particular button is pink and in the shape of a flower. Its really pretty.
It has taken Chan an I forever to get matching blue pillow cases but it really goes deeper than that. For the first few weeks of our marriage Chan and I slept on a blow up mattress. NICE. No not at all. A month later my Grandpa generously offered us a cozy double and we were so grateful but over time Chan started to hate it because he was so squished and apparently I move around violently at night (oops), but its all we had and we had no money. No money= no choice. After our first anniversary we felt like we could buy a new bed so we decided to splurge on a Mattress frame. We knew we wanted this frame so we saved saved saved and bought it in November. It was a pretty proud moment to look at something so grownup-ish, so pretty and sleek. I know your not suppose to be proud, but I was. We saved another few weeks and bought this super sumptuous to-die-for cushy delicious heavenly King mattress. I said that I would post about it, but I realized that I never did, so here it is.

Dinner Tonight. good. Recipe on the bottom

Chan bought this for himself, so I hope he doesn't read this post and find out that I drank his special drink. Its just so tasty!

Oooh he looks so melancholy...but he's not, he's just thinking in Spanish, in his right hand you see a paper and pen. He is writing down what he needs for tomorrow's Puerto Rican Dinner.

Good man right there, washing the dishes after dinner
My new shoes.

Recipe (I made these recipes up on the fly and they are really tasty):

Curry

2 Tbs Curry seasoning

1 Can Coconut Milk (not the sweet stuff)

Salt to Taste

Freshly chopped Basil leaves

Cooked Brown Rice

Chicken

Wheat flour

Egg

Olive oil

Start cooking your brown rice so that its ready by the time you finish. I have to head out the door now...I will finish posting this recipe if any cares.

LOVES Rissa

Whats for dinner.

2011-03-13T11:41:00.000-07:00

When I realized I was lactose intolerant I thought my life, which was full of happiness, was about to end. No more blue bell, no more glasses of whole milk late at night, no more whip cream....the list goes on.

I am joking here, but seriously I was in denial for years, until one day. All of my siblings and I were sitting around the dinner table, I think it was Thanksgiving, and someone brought up how milk had been reaking havoc on their body. Its like a terrorist attack! (Dear reader, aren't you so glad that you decided to read this today) All of a sudden all of my other siblings started joining in on how Milk had become their enemy despite decades of loyalty and love to the lactose family. We all started to get angy, like a crowd of towns people with pitchforks and fire lanterns ready to kill MILK! Just kidding. But it was a funny conversation to say the least

I just have to get this off of my chest, here is my Shout out to milk. Milk, why did you turn on me? I always loved you and supported your career. I loved you in everyway, skinny skim milk to whole, curvacous creamy whole milk. . I only loved you! Why'd you turn on me? HATER!

Just a few months ago, thanks to Daf, I also realized that I have a sensitivity to Gluten. So in addition to being Lactose free, I also went gluten free. I feel so special now! I get to go to that Nerdy isle, that I used to make fun of, in Whole foods. You know the isle, all the food labels look cluttery because they are constantly reassuring their purchaser that they are "Lactose free, gluten free, nut free" Yep, thats me now.

But look at the picture below. I just ate this 2 minutes ago. Warm chocolate brownie and milk. Or is it?

Victory!

Urgent! Everyone now must look up Aaron Coplands "Hoe down from the Rodeo". I am serious, don't put it off until after you read the entire post, because you might forget. Just listen to it. Copland is the best American composer of all time ...Beef, its whats for dinner............ Unless your Vegan then its tofu, lentils, Quinoa, avocado...

I am getting off. Here is my reason for blogging. FOOD

Below we have a fresh corn tortilla, with warmed green and yellow lentils, topped with Spouts. The red stuff on the side is fiery hot sauce.

Who knew spinach rivaled Kale? Below I have a steaming pan of sauteeing kale. Yesterday evening I sicked myself out by trying to sneak a few branches of Kale into the Vitamix blender. It was alright. (My dad commented "'alright' is never a good way to describe food"). My gross smoothie consisted of carrot juice, strawberries and pineapple, and even after all of those delicious masking fruits, it was still just "alright".

Instead try this!

3T Olive oil

2T garlic

1 cup chicken broth

1-2 pds Kale

Salt to taste

2T Balsalmic Vinegar

Steam this up with the first 5 ingredients in a frying pan, when the kale turns bright green and becomes tender add the balsalmic vinegar (It evaporates if you add it too early).

Brie Cheese! Ugh so creamy. I could die. Cut this up and stack it on top of Fuji Apple slices, if you feel wild top it with some sprouts.

Brown rice and shrimp stuffing on top of a Portobello mushroom

Chocolate: Hazelnut and Milk. My dad is my hero. He imported 30 lbs of Callebaut Chocolate from Belgium for Valentines Day. The whole family crowded in the kitchen to watch it being cut. It was actually quite the task.( Notice on the first picture below Natalia's cute little baby bump. )

Creamy Salad:

Spring mix

Baby Arugula

1 Avocado Mashed

1 Avocado sliced (for the side of the dish)

2 T Lemon juice

Cashews for topping the salad

Mix the two lettuce's with the mashed avocado and lemon juice

Girlfriends

2011-03-08T21:08:00.000-08:00

Fashionista girlfriend

Foodie Friend
Funny Friend
Sweet down to Earth Friend
Earthie friend
Artistic Friend

Do you have someone, or more specifically a girlfriend that you adore simply because she is refreshingly (and painfully) honest? One early morning you walk past her and she says "you smell so good, thank goodness, because for the last few days you've smelled like B.O." or "your acne is actually getting worse" or "your life choices have a pattern of being poorly executed" or "You look beautiful right now" and you actually believe her, because...well she tells the truth. She is the type to say, "I love the way your mind works" and that alone sends you to the moon in excitement. She is the type that can use the words "lazy procrastinator" and"brilliant" in the same conversation, whats crazy is that you don't get mad or defensive when she does. (I am not soliciting to be treated this way all the time though...draining)

This girlfriend is the type that you wish all of your deluded self absorbed enemies could meet in hopes that she'd bring them to their knees via humbling brutal honesty. You fantasize that she'll say things like "you have no morals" or "You like to manipulate people because deep down your jarringly insecure".

I don't know where I am going, except to say that all of us need different friends. We need the fashionista friend that reminds us to dress up and enjoy clothes: You know her, she walks around like she was born in patten leather heels and raised in Milan. We need the foodie friend that introduces us to different restaurants, vegan cookbooks, grilling techniques and cooking blogs. We need the sweet, gentle and down-to-earth, girlfriend that everyone loves because she has the "I love you no matter what" attitude. We need the artist girlfriend that plays the piano, violin, paints, photographs, writes, designs clothes or whatever. We need the yogi, hippie tree-hugging crunchy friend that refuses to wear deodorant, eats only raw vegetables and is disgusted with modern medicine. We need the hilarious girlfriend that should be on Saturday Nigh Live, who intimidates men with her voracious wit and loud uninhibited laugh.

Girlfriends cannot be put in boxes and I realize that I am making myself a liar, ( if you are confused dear reader just look at the above paragraph of cliche's), but women and people in general are complicated combinations of talent, gifts and specialties. Their gifts enrich, balance and infuse our lives leaving our hearts and minds with a burning yellow glow like that sunset scene in Pride and Prejudice when Kiera knightly decides to walk into a dewy field at the break of dawn to meets Mr. Darcy, her true love. That was a tangent and I think I may have to watch that movie now.

Watch and learn my friends

Childfree

2011-03-02T12:32:00.000-08:00

(above book by Madelyn Cain- its an enlightening book)

I just want to hear every one's thoughts: I would like to predict a trend that may move through the U.S.: Choosing a Childless life by choice. Book titles on the subject: Baby Not on Board or Child Free and Loving it or Two is enough and The Childless Revolution.

Its an interesting concept with valid logic: reliable birth control, better education for women, postponed childbirth, increased maternal age, satisfying careers, infertility and simply not wanting to have kids. Obviously, for me and the majority of the current population, "child free" would not be the way to go. I enjoy kids too much and after I interact with them I always walk away feeling happier, brighter and deeper. I also believe that many "childfree by choice" people enjoy and love children, but I would feel like I've missed out, if I skipped over that crucial part of my life called "parenthood".

If am lucky enough to be able to conceive and/or adopt children I will always consider Parenthood as a privilege (despite its trials). Lastly, having children, creating a strong family unit and becoming a nurturing supportive parent holds deep religious and spiritual roots.

Mind you, I have been single before, I lived alone, by myself in a quiet apartment taking online classes. I went to church and sat with empty chairs next to me every Sunday. I lived without a roommate, friend or even a friendly neighbor for 6+ months and I loved my absolute solitude, I didn't feel sorry for myself and it was great. I relished in my freedom. But what I am getting at is entirely different, much much much different and I think you can see that.

Main Point:
I have already noticed a few times, that couples who decide to have a baby, are being negatively labeled as "breeders", which has connotations like we are a pack of unsophisticated, overpopulating animals. I am intolerant of this kind of discriminatory attitude. Respect should be given mutually in both directions.

Getting it

2011-03-01T06:01:00.001-08:00

The roses opened up a bit.

I have been awake since four this morning. This is not unusual, I usually go to bed around 10am. Night shift baby! Represent. No just kidding, its alright.

So I had the day off yesterday, so I forced myself to bed at 11:50pm and woke up around 4am this morning. I don't get to cuddle with Chandler very often, so I cuddled up next to him for about an hour and just listened to him breathe (and snore a couple of times) until about 5am. There isn't much to do at 5 in the morning, so I decided to make wheat bread. eh? I don't know why either but I did. Now its 8am and my heavy breathing is fogging up the carefully laid saran wrap that protects my bread dough. I am going to stop hovering and write about something that I have been thinking about lately on my walks. oooh dramatic entrance. no not really.

About a month ago I had a patient that made me re-think my whole idea of life. First I will tell you what I discovered and how I got there.

Discovery: Everything that I think is "important" isn't.

Before you start backing up, this is not a sob cry your heart out story, so don't be scared. (If I feel like something will make me cry, I do not partake ex: chain letters, depressing news stories, sad stories and weepy Christmas stories. For the longest time I thought Charlie St. Cloud was a sad movie, so I didn't watch it. After copious reassurance, I watched it and its actually only a tiny bit sad...but that movie rocked. Nuff said)

Lets call this patient Charles. Every time I went into Charles dark room he would shake in his bed. Charles was an African american male around 45-ish years old. Thats young in my book. I am used to taking care of cute little wrinkled prune-y 97 year olds that think its still 1989 and George H. W. Bush is the president, so I was grateful for a younger patient. Charles was struggling with an infection and insane hypertension. Oh yeah, and he was also paralyzed. He got in a nasty car accident that left him paralyzed and then he got an out-of-the-blue stroke (its not so out of the blue really) at 35yrs. He has been paralyzed for ten years and is dysphagic and dysphasic (can't swallow and can't talk).But that doesn't mean that he can't think or feel. Because he cannot swallow, he has a feeding tube or "peg tube". I guess I should say "had", remember that infection? Well somehow before he came to our hospital, his peg tube became dislodge. Obviously Charles didn't pull it out, so I blame a thoughtless healthcare worker or caretaker from wherever he came from, for the "accident" removal and eventual infection.

When I take care of patients I usually don't let stuff get to me, I have taken care of 885 patients (impressed?) and I remember only a handful- I consider my amnesia a blessing. For example, I took care of two malignant cancer patients this Sunday night with a "three months left to live" sentence and it didn't even phase me, because I don't let it. When I get on the floor, I compartmentalize my life. I am very kind and understanding with all of my patients, I literally wait on them hand and foot, and I love doing it. But I do not take them home with me and I don't remember their names, or else I would spiral into depression or some dark psychological disorder. I have had patients in much worse state than Charles (20yrs old, paralyzed with one leg and no arms- yes, I have had that- I cried a little) So thats why its strange that Charles has stayed with me for so long.

All night I would crack open his door and check his blood pressure. Every time the blood pressure cuff expanded (and those cuffs can get pretty tight!) he would shake. I think he was scared. For some stupid reason I put myself in his shoes, I wondered how frustrating it would be to not be able to scratch your face when it itched, or to move your blanket when you slept or to be able to say "Hey its hot in this room, turn on the A/C" It would be hard to rely on people and to hope that they notice that your pillow is crooked and starting to give you a crick in your neck. It would be hard to rely on complete strangers everyday.

Every two hours I went into his room and turned him, he was so stiff he literally moved like a log. He had no control over his bowels or bladder, so like a baby, I had to change his diaper several times throughout the night. The turning and changing of diapers would bring on more "scared shakes". I wondered if he felt embarrassed or ashamed by his loss of control, I hope he did not, because changing diapers on grown adults/geriatrics is something I do at least 3-6x a night- Its nothing new and its not a big deal.

It was probably around 3 am, I had just finished giving him his third dose of metoprolol, a short acting anti-hypertensive IV drug.I am sure he had a monstrous headache. I was fighting against the clock, trying to prevent Hypertensive crisis. His room was dark, I stood in front of him and held his hand, he did not hold my hand back of course. He had decerebrate posturing and his hands were stiffly curled back. I looked over him to make sure that he was comfortable: the pillows were all tidy, his blankets were straight, his twisted feet were propped up and his hands were free.

I thought, "What is the worth of this man compared to the worlds standards?" He is 45-ish,overweight, has no $100,000/yr income, no job actually, no muscular toned body, no eloquent speech, no charismatic personality, no bank account, no I-phone, no laptop, no cute neighborhood house, no green lawn, no Honda or Altima or Ford or Mercedez or car for that matter, no children, no fame, no special or unique handwriting, no skills, no eccentric hobbies. He is no one's husband. His only family is his older brother. Nobody knows about him. Nobody has heard of him. He doesn't talk on the radio or walk on the red carpet. He hasn't had any visitors for five days- so he's not popular. He hasn't written any books or received any awards. He hasn't appeared in any magazines. He doesn't have handsome tailored clothes. He just wears blue hospital gowns. He is not handsome or attractive. He can't even walk. He just lays there patiently. I wondered what is this man's worth? And like an envelope with a message scrawled across the inside of a carefully folded note, I read the words in my head, "He is very important, in fact, he is priceless". I knew this all along. I guess, I asked the question, "What is his worth?" Because I was starting to question my own worth. I was comparing myself to Charles. I think Charles is actually worth more than me, I am just lucky enough to write about him and his story.

I admire Charles. My admiration is in equal proportion to my sympathy. I don't think I am strong enough or patient enough to be paralyzed, dysphagic and dysphasic for ten years. Its strange how 90% of my thoughts are ridiculous and fluffy: "I need a better exercise routine, "I want another car, like a Volvo", "I want to have an Anthropologie wardrobe" "I should be investing more" "How are my stocks doing?", "I need more blue-ray DVD's!" "How does my classical music compare?" "My job sucks especially when I have to change diapers and work nights!", "I want to go on a cruise to Belize","How good is my health insurance", "My house needs an Urban Outfitters makeover" "How are my bank accounts doing?", "I want a baby grand piano" "Do I cook enough? like Julia Childs?", "Where can I get the best organic produce?" la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la. Everything that I think is important isn't.

I realized that Charles will, thoughts and attitude are the only thing that he has left and that inspired me to re-evaluate mine.

Gettting to know Charles freed me. Really. It temporarily pulled me out of the Rat race of human life and I hope that I can forever pull myself out of it. I am more accepting of those simple slow days that are not saturated with "success" by the worlds standards. I am more accepting of different bodies, bodies that cannot walk, bodies that cannot hold hands, bodies that are over weight. I am more accepting of simplicity. I am more accepting of myself and others. I am more accepting of that lady that just cut in front of me at the grocery line. I am more accepting of my grumpy sadistic co-worker who tells me daily "you are too nice Marissa, you're just young and naive, just wait until life hits you" as if bad things have never happened to me before and my "nice"-ness is unintentional and coincidental (wha? No, no I am not still bitter about it). We are all just a little bit scared, just a little bit insecure, just a little bit nervous and just a little bit neurotic. Not all of the time, but sometimes.

I think about Charles, I wish I could know everything he knows. I wish I could peek into his head and see what life lessons he's figured out. I wish he could open up his mouth for a few seconds and say "Don't worry about it kid. Don't sweat the small stuff." I don't know, maybe he'd chew me out and say "Hey, that room was so Hot. Why didn't you turn down the A/C ?"

hahaha
just kidding.

Oh and the bread is done.
and its AMAZING

Heat your oven to 350 and keep the door open so that you can get your kitchen hot. When I worked at a bakery we'd keep the doors of the ovens open and the bread rises brilliantly in the warm enviroment.

Recipe (that I made up)

2 Cups Warm Water
1 1/2 packets yeast (Hodgson Mill Brand for whole wheat flour)
1/4 Cup Honey (use your local honey)
1/4 Cup Potato flour
1/2 Cup Brown Rice flour
1/2 Cup Soy Flour
2 Cups Whole Wheat Flour
3 Tablespoons Melted Salted Butter
Mix all these up for 3 minutes
add
1/4 Cup Honey
2 1/2 teaspoons salt
2 Cups Whole wheat flour

Mix for 8 minutes in kitchen aid or Bosch or whatever mixer you have.

Watch it. If the dough pulls away from the bowl and feels barely tacky you have it!
If it is sticking to the sides of the bowl after 8 minutes, scrape the sides of the bowl with a spatula and add another 1/8- 1/4 cup whole wheat flour and mix for another 5 min.

Form the dough into 2 nice little loaves.
Place loaves in pans that have been greased with olive oil.
Let Rise in warm area for 60-90 minutes
Bake 35 minutes at 350F
Cool for 15 minutes and then remove from pans.
Cool for another 15 minutes.
Dribble olive oil or butter on tops of loaves

Names, exact ages, location and dates of patients have been changed to protect identity.

Valentines day for life

2011-02-21T21:46:00.000-08:00

This is chan getting ready in the morning and he is about to walk into the bathroom and spray on cologne. MMMmmm...

This is what I woke up to this morning.

When I was little, every morning my sisters and I would watch my dad walk out the door to work. But before that happened we would eat breakfast together and read some scriptures. Then he'd leave the table early to throw on his suit jacket and spray on some cologne before work. Afterwards, my dad would come back, walk by the table with his briefcase, kiss my mom softly on the lips and say "love you baby" and then he'd wink at us girls and tease"bye my little rascals" (the word rascals morphed to ras-cools, raz-cuels and so on).

My dad has black black hair. Its like comic book blue colored and all of my sisters and I had crushes on it. He was dreamy to us, like superman. He always smelled good too, like musk, cedar, lemon-grass and vanilla rolled into one. As my dad walked out the door, the light smell of his cologne lingered in the air and all my sisters and I would sort of sigh and melt over our granola and fruit smoothies. After breakfeast we would huddle into his closet and spray on his cologne.

I can't let go of this habit, so I have transferred it onto Chandler.

Chandler mesmerizes me . Whenever he fixes his dark curly hair my knees get a little weak. Very few things will get me out of bed in the morning, but I will drag my sorry self out of bed just to stand in the corner of the bathroom (with its scary bright lights and cold tile under my feet) in order to watch him fix his hair. He has Rhett Butler sort of hair. Like a cherry on top of perfect whip cream, Chan sprays his Yves St Laurent cologne and I immediately feel like I may burst into a thousand happy fireworks. He is so DREAMY. I just can't help it. After Chandler has left for class I rummage through his drawer and spray on his cologne.

On Sunday Chan made this for dinner all by heem-self, the picture says it all . At first I was going to try to resist the meat. I was like "No Thanks baby, I will just eat the salad and mashed potatoes. I'm sort of vegan now." Yeah right! After my second serving I was like...."Baby don't scrimp with that gravy! I like me some gravy! ROAR!" (food bits and particles were flying out of my mouth like a ravenous cave-woman)

So Gooood.

Mr. Salmon loves Cedar

2011-02-20T11:34:00.001-08:00

Honey and plain Greek yogurt is good.

First things first, my cell phone was eaten by aliens approx one week ago, and I am getting a new cell phone this Tuesday. I am so sorry. I have not been ignoring on purpose. If you get any wierd text messages or voicemails from my phone, relax, its just the aliens trying to contact you.

Whenever a piece of salmon is lightly touched or examined while it waits in the cold fish isle, it whispers “please buy me and wrap me up in cedar sheets!”. With each turn or inspection by a pretty female hand it pleads “Wrap me up in cedar sheets. Cedar sheets! Wrap me up!” Yes, it screams this, but we can’t hear their high pitched screams (almost in-audible to humans.. but not to dogs of course). Well, I decided to indulge my salmon a few days ago. He was so happy. I even let him get a dill and olive oil rub.

Soak Cedar Sheets in water for 30-40 minutes.
Cut ze salmon to your hearts desire, heck cut it in the shape of a heart. I should have done that. Wrap salmon in Cedar sheets, drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with 1/2 tsp dill and cut up 2 Tbs. green onions on top.

Sprinkle halved (or quartered) red potatoes with whatever seasoning you desire: rosemary, dill, basil, ect and drizzle with Olive Oil
Wait until you are near "serve time" to sautee the Mushrooms in garlic and oil oil.

Bake! 350F. I would say for at least 30 min (to max of 50 min). I didn't set a timer, I just watched, for when the potatoes looked golden and the salmon looked pale pink.

Opening up the Cedar paper at the table gives a fun presentation, especially with the steam wafting. The gentle smell of cedar is the best part!

Chandler bought himself a gun. Its really sleek looking. I made him hold his gun at the wall for the picture, but he would NEVER do this inside the house normally -Chan is very safety conscious.

Me with my "gun"

Makeover

2011-02-16T12:49:00.000-08:00

I have been looking around lately: at school, work and church and I noticed that a lot of the lovely ladies that I am surrounded by have different styles and sometimes their styles correlated loosely (not always, but some of the time) to the year they graduated school/college. This is not a bad thing, because some clothing styles are timeless and should not be changed, while other clothing trends are so heinous they should have never be indulged in the first place. I am guilty of indulging such heinous styles. Anyways, this vague theory makes sense to me. For example, look at different women and notice how they wear jeans, where is their waist line, what color wash is it? Or look at their hair, is it flat-ironed, permed, teased, frosted, air-dried what do you notice? Sometimes these subtle details may give clues to the year they were in high school/ college, or what styles they feel most comfortable in. Maybe the clothes they wear represent an era that was good to them. Once again, not all women are like this, nor is it bad, its human nature, but I realized that I am this way, thus explaining my overwhelming sense of boredom, monotony and discontent with my closet. For the last couple of mornings, I have stood in my tidy closet sort of unnerved before the day has even started. Retreating to bare minimum comfort I find myself in black yoga pants and a t-shirt or scrubs. Since I am a poor newlywed, solving my problem is trickier.

Dressing up should be fun. It should require a little bit of adventure and it should feel good.

So I ask "What would Coco Gabriel Chanel do?"

So I did something that i have not done for at least 6-7 years. I went to Goodwill

Goodwill- 2 skirts, 1 dress $11

Payless shoes- 1 pair of shoes $21

Burlington Coat factory- 3 new shirts $17

Shopping spree grand total $49

I just want to add that the Goodwill skirts are well made and heavy. I LOVE IT. Usually $49 dollars buys me one or two new shirts, so I am okay with the change.

Here is the result

Outfit Number #1

These little shoes remind me of My Grandma Millie Moores. She always has cute little keds in different colors. I was nervous, so I started it out in conservative gray.

Lame, taking pictures of myself. Surprise surprise.

Outfit #2

This outfit is definitely not Coco Chanel material, but I feel fresh.

Outfit #3

Once again, not Classy, but It makes me wish I were a librarian.

Lastly, I bought a painting for a rocking deal, $160. It goes along with our "tree", "into the woods" "seeing the forest for the tree's" Robert Frost apartment theme.

"Spite" Part Three

2011-01-24T23:46:00.001-08:00

March 2009

I was walking on BYU campus wearing a grey and white striped maxi dress with flip flops. To be honest, I was relishing in the fact that I was wearing flip flops. I felt like a rebel. Why drive a Harley Davidson Motorcycle paired with a leather jacket when you can get the same rebellious buzz wearing flip flops to campus?

I still missed BYU-Idaho and Tuesday Devotionals like crazy, but I couldn't help but melt whenever I walked through the stunning BYU gardens or passed the bottle green colored windows of the library only to hear the happy roar of a distant crowd from the football stadium. My problems and sorrows seemed to dissolve away when I admired the surrounding beauty of Provo Canyon.

The landscape on campus looked especially green this morning. Scarlet colored tulips smiled resiliently above the harsh winter soil. Soaring tree's swayed gently in the cool breeze. The warm yellow sun touched my skin and I couldn't help but feel happy, exquisitely happy, even if it was for a moment. Summer was coming. Seasonal Affect disorder anyone? My happiness lingered until I felt my cell phone vibrate in my purse. My stomach always bunched up in knots when I got a call. I fumbled through my purse pockets nervously until I found it." Call from...Ember Allisyn". Ember Allisyn was a friend in the loosest form. She loved to call me and keep me up to date on her most recent successes. She was the type to say things like: "I don't know why all these boys keeping asking me out!" She could throw down three large pizza's at 3am everynight and still weigh a whopping 100 pounds.She was 5'10, svelte, and had the body of Giselle Bunchen. She went to sleep in her makeup every night and managed to be zit and acne free. When she worked out she didn't sweat. I wonder sometimes if she even urinated or had ever been inside of a bathroom. Her hair was always effortlessly shiny and chic, she pulled off her Bob like Victoria Beckham and the Boys really did love her...... But I wasn't jealous. Oh yea one more story about her,I want to paint a picture here: After eating at Dickey's BBQ one day we headed back to our car in the parking lot. Once getting in the car and buckling up, she reached for her phone and exclaimed "6 missed calls and 20 missed text messages! I'm so popular! How many missed calls do you have?" Well, to make a short story even shorter, I had no missed calls or missed text messages.

"Marissa! How are you doing?" Ember said in a happy bubbly voice.

Before I could respond she said "Great. Great. Glad to hear your doing so well. Guess what?"

I really couldn't guess, "What?" I responded going along with it in a happy tone.

"Well before I go on my mission I want to do a couple of things so I applied for the Miss USA pageant and I got in! I will compete for the title of Miss Texas!"

"Wow good for you. Your perfect. They are crazy if they don't pick you." This was true.

"Well thanks. Hows your life?"

"My life? Well I am wearing flip flops and the sun is shining, so I guess I am doing pretty great." I meant this whole heartedly.

She paused, confused at the stupidity of my comment.
"Well great. great. Glad to hear your doing so well. I just wanted to tell you. Wish me luck!"
"You'll do beautifully Ember!" And she would.

When I got home from campus I immediately started going to work. Out of spite, I decided that I would also apply to the Miss Texas USA pageant and show her up. So I downloaded the application and filled out a paragraph about myself and said things like, "I would make an excellent Miss Texas USA because I am determined, hardworking and compassionate. When I see little girls, I see their potential....every girl is beautiful." I also said little self serving things like "One of my biggest flaws is that I am a perfectionist and overly punctual." So I shipped off my shining application and my best picture and waited. In fact I forgot that I even did it, until one day I got a paper in the mail that read:

"April 7, 2009

Marissa,
Congratulations, you have been selected to compete in the very prestigious Miss Texas Pageant..."

Ahhhh.I felt drops of golden victory pulse through my veins. I was beaming. It wasn't that I wanted to wear a crown or be Miss Texas USA I just wanted to ruin Ember. Like really really show her up and destroy her emotionally to the point of her developing some massive eating disorder that made her gain 300 pounds and become diabetic. You know? That would be satisfying.

So the day of the pageant came, I wore a perfect white dress, wowed the judges with my ethereal presence and WON!
And then I yelled "IN YER FACE EMBER!!! BY the way your name, its wierd. Your like burning wood or hot coals. Basically your carbon based HA! Bet no one's ever made fun of you for that before."

No, thats not how it went down. In fact, getting the paper in the mail and reading it was the beginning and the end of it. I never told Ember what I did, I never pursued the Miss USA pageant again, I prayed for forgiveness and I supported Ember in her dreams, despite her obliviousness to mine.

I am glad I didn't make too many rash decisions during those dark times. Can you imagine if I did what I fantasized about? Horrible. I think revenge sounds appealing, but after it is executed it leaves you with a disgusted feeling. I realized that Ember wasn't really a good friend, so protectively I kept my distance and eventually she faded away.

In the weeks to follow whenever I swam along the bottom of that scummy pool called Depression I would tell myself over and over again how I wasn't pretty enough or skinny enough to be Conor's. Sometimes I would plea with myself, almost defensively, that I was good enough. I would pull out that Miss Texas USA acceptance letter and cry over it, reminding myself, that they thought I was pretty, and I should start thinking the same. Strange.

Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction....

And on second thoughts.... This Harley Davidsons is pretty. Maybe one day.
enjoy...

The library part Two

2011-01-20T12:38:00.000-08:00

Emotional Mapping of Marissa From Nov 2008 to Nov 2009

May 2009
It had been several days since I went to the Oquirrh mountain temple and I was in Heaven, no actually I was in the Provo Library, but it felt the same to me because I had a library card that allowed me to check out a dozen books at once-Nirvana! I hid myself in that library and disappeared for several days. At one time I seriously considered whether or not anyone would be able to find me if I snuck in the bathroom and spent the night there so that I could have the ENTIRE LIBRARY to myself! Barnes and Noble bookstore has the same effect on me: it’s sort of like the entire world has paused for a moment allowing me to cozy up between the soaring bookshelves and disappear into another time.

Once in the library, I read books on various subjects. I decided to read about everything that I hated to match how I was feeling inside. So what did I read? Books about breastfeeding. I read a lot of other stuff too, but I’ll spare you and just mention this one. I don’t know why but I absolutely hated the idea of breastfeeding. Ok that’s I lie, I knew exactly why I hated breastfeeding. I hated going to church and meeting Sister Au Natural who sat on the front row of sacrament meeting, embarrassing the entire female population, breastfeeding her three year old (or eight year old) without a cover up. I hated it when it got really quiet because then you could hear her young sapling sucking…. UGH. I love how all “hard core” breastfeeding moms feel like they deserve to wear a badge of honor that says “I breastfed my kid till he was three”. And I love how all “hard core” Breast feeding mom’s talk about how much they “love to breast feed”, just in case you didn’t get their not-so-subtle message earlier during sacrament meeting. Realizing my outrageous disdain I decided I needed to intervene. Because all hate stems from ignorance, right?

So I went over into the “health” section, and found an abundance of breastfeeding books. I snatched up an entire years worth of Breastfeeding Magazine and I checked out three dictionary sized books that made Harry Potter look like a quick read. I read them all day and night. What happened? By the end of the next day I had a notebook that I was taking notes on. I started to learn more in depth about all the hormones involved: the Pituitary glands, the Hypothalamus, Prolactin and the addictive oxytocin rush that causes mothers to get addicted to breastfeeding and exclaim things like “I Love Breastfeeding!”. I learned about how colostrum can actually be absorbed in the lungs and if a child has a fistula (unnatural opening between two organs ex: esophagus and lungs) in their esophogus they will be “ok” for a little while and won’t get aspiration pneumonia. I read all the appropriate holds “the Football Hold” the “cradle” and dozens more. I had learned most of this stuff before in Nursing school, but I skimmed the surface because I knew that if I ever became a Lactation specialist, I would also become a criminal and evil mastermind of hate crimes. I continued to read about how economical breastfeeding was. I read somewhere that it lowers your risk of ovarian, uterine and breast cancer. And you know what? I think breastfeeding is amazing. Now, with that said, let me make a vow right now (my hand is over my heart and I am typing with one hand) that I will be very modest when I breastfeed. My goal will be to avoid embarrassment or exposure and I will probably breastfeed for 6 to 8 months, because they say the nutrient value drops off after then. But whatever- what do I know? Absolutely Nothing- Because I am a punk 22 year old sitting in front of a computer. I just hope my baby learns how to latch on correctly. (I can’t believe I just said that, my 2005 Marissa would have kicked me.)

Things were starting to look brighter in the emotional department. Every day I would take a walk to the library and check out dozens of books. After I got over my “I hate everything and everyone” phase, I found myself attracted to biographies and books about travel and architecture. Subconsciously I started to read books about women I admired. I think I was reaching out and trying to find a role model or something. I would bring home stacks of books about Laura Bush, Coco Chanel, Grace Kelly, Princess Diana, Audrey Hepburn, Majorie Hinckley, Emma Smith, Jane Goodall and Angelina Jolie. I poured over those books like a competitive furniture store looking at Ikea displays, thinking “Wha? How do they do it?” I studied how they dressed, how they held themselves, the way they phrased their words. I studied their makeup techniques. I read about how they dealt with conflict, bad press or pushy interviewers. I studied their religious beliefs. I poured over their romantics lives, especially Grace Kelly’s romance and marriage with Prince Rainier III of Monaco. I watched Youtube videos too. My favorite is when Audrey Hepburn accepted her Oscar for Roman Holiday:

Donnor O’ Connor : “Ladies and Gentleman in New York our winner is Audrey Hepburn from Roman Holiday”
Audrey Hepburn walks to the stage in a short perfectly tailored floral dress. Her thin arms swing gracefully as she walks. It is obvious that she is shy and slightly embarrassed by the attention. She glides up the stair case and accidently turns the wrong way, left. Immediately, noticing her error she turns around and smiles demurely without revealing her lips. She strolls forward, shakes Donnor O’ Connors hand and accepts her award. It is now time for her to speak. For several seconds the applause goes on and she silently looks down. Her eyelashes are strangely long and beautiful.
She lifts her head and softly says in her pretty accent, “Too much” she pauses, returning her head down. She seems almost pained and nostalgic, “I want to say thank you to everybody who in these past months and years have helped, guided and given me so much. I am truly, truly, grateful” Then she lifts her head and a wild, uninhibited smile spreads across her beautiful face “and I’m terribly happy.” The crowd claps loudly.
After watching that video I always feel sort of elevated and graced by her presence. I always feel inspired.

Anyways, I started learning about myself. I accepted being alone. I have always preferred being alone, but this time it was a mental aloneness. I left my old self in the past and was new and naked, like a mole rat. I think I got nervous with the new naked Marissa Mole rat theory so I tried on other people’s personalities like clothing. I started pretending to be other people. I sort of went through a phase of being infatuated with Angelina Jolie, I think I was attracted to her introverted, mysterious, self obsessed, dark and delusional personality. I could watch Angelina Jolie wash dishes and take out the trash and be mesmerized. To me, She was not human. She was extraterrestrially beautiful. She was an alien.

Well, that phase lasted for a while until I realized that I was broke and poor and couldn’t eat rice and boiled pasta everyday nor could I spent all my time at the library in the corner with my faced stuffed in a book and my hair and eyeliner looking eerily like Angelina Jolie. So after dozens of awkward weepy interviews and praying for a miracle, I applied at a bakery and landed a job at Great Harvest, where I was forced to get out of bed at 5am instead of 2pm, wear a baseball hat and more terrifying than anything, I was forced to make friends, interact and socialize.

I remember going to my first day of work, it was dark and still cold outside- kind of like me. HEY! I am really good at first impressions. Oh yeah, and my hair was red at this time. My mom use to say that when a girl is stuck in a rut, she will often changer her hair or cut it. So I went to work with red hair, I was early and I got to meet my co-workers. The head baker was named Cameron, he was 19, handsome, tall, skinny, blonde and ultra cute and I had absolutely zero interest in him. It felt good not to care if a guy thought I was pretty or not, to me it was all about what I thought.
“Hi I’m Cameron” he said in a happy friendly voice. “What’s your name?”
I thought about lying and telling him my name was Viola but I decided it wasn’t worth it, not because it was morally wrong to lie, but because it took effort to keep a lie going and I was already exhausted.
“Marissa”, I said. It came off really irritated sounding; it made me feel a little bad because he was so nice.
“Oh, nice to meet you. Tell me about yourself.”
I paused, “Well, I just broke up with my boyfriend of 4 years. I failed my nursing boards. I am broke. I live alone and I hate old people. Especially old ladies”. I had gotten over breastfeeding, or else I would have mentioned that too. I am sure he was wondering, And did you bring your bombs to work today too?
Cameron responded kindly, trying to see the good in me, “Do you dislike old people because you’re a Nursing student and you get to know them in the Hospital and you fall in love with them, and then they pass away leaving you heartbroken?”
Oh wow, he was a saint. My heart melted a little but I responded grumpily, “That’s exactly it”. Nope not even close muchacho . Disclaimer: he was actually right, but at the time I would never admit that.

The good thing about going to work so early is that you get to come home at 1pm every day. After that I would take a shower, nap, walk a mile or two, watch TV and write stories, dramatic sucky stories, but to me they were like chocolate which is synonymous for therapy.

But today when I got home there was a package waiting for me. My mom was notorious for sending me packages at the most perfect times, but it wasn't from her. Garrett and Kelsey were angels from God, was it them? No. Thoughtful Natalia? No. Dad? No.

Wha? Who then?

The box was small, beaten and torn on the edges. The label read:

"To: Marissa Coles
From: Elder Chandler Richmond

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

"Broken" Part One

2011-01-18T20:31:00.000-08:00

I decided to write about a time in my life that lasted for a few years. There were moments of unexpected happiness and joy but it was mostly horrible, don't worry it ends happily. In fact, I think it makes a decent story. I've decided not to tell it sequentially. It will be a long winded story, similar to the stories that you hear at nursing homes after you've introduced yourself to a sweet old lady named Stella. This story will take several bloggings to finish. So, to all of my friends, spare yourself and don't read any of this for a couple of weeks. And if you do read it prepare to be shocked and depressed. Here goes:

January 2009
I sat in my apartment that I was renting from my Aunt. The living room smelled like vanilla. I prided myself in my ability to keep an apartment clean and well decorated. I was even a little arrogant about it. I confess that I had a cleaning schedule for myself and I followed it religiously.

I sat on the new black leather couch across from my current boyfriend, Lets call him Conor. He is tall with dark brown hair and big roundish brown eyes. I stared at the vacuum lines on the carpet, I couldn’t look in his eyes. He and I were supposed to get married in May in the Salt Lake Temple, because he liked Salt Lake and his opinion always won. Salt lake was pretty so I didn’t fight. After that we were suppose to move into this exact same apartment that had an extra room for our future baby.

Conor was angry and had just finished uttering a string of criticism about how he needed someone less selfish like his mother, who in fact was an angel. I didn’t appreciate getting compared to his mother who had 30 years of maturity and life lessons ahead of me. I sat on the couch stunned and defenseless. I started to believe what he said and I questioned, Am I selfish?

I couldn't believe that our relationship was ending. He was my high school sweetheart. I was always so proud to have him at my side. I remember looking up at him and being startled by the exquisiteness of his eyes. I waited on him for 2 years and wrote him faithfully every two weeks and I sent him a package every month. While he was gone, I was determined to avoid being "that girl" that never changed and waited like a gelatenous lifeform for "her man" to come back home and sweep her off her feet. I saw roommates "dear John" their missionary left and right, I was determined not to be "that girl" either, oh how I wish I would have second guessed that decision. I worked my tail off while he was gone and devoted my self to the library. Every night before I went to sleep, I kissed his picture. In the morning I would slide off my tall dorm bed groggily, get on my knees in prayer and plead with God to keep him safe. I cried under my blankets countless nights wishing that I could at least dream about him in my sleep so that the pain of missing him would lessen, but it never happened. I thought about him several times a day, every day for two years. If he was a Religion, I would be his most devout and faithful believer. I always made sure to visit his family during the holidays. I defended myself while getting countless unsolicited remarks from people who felt the need to lecture me on how “waiting for a missionary was a bad idea and would only “distract him”. I am in awe now, why no one argues the girls point of view: how waiting for a missionary might distract her from her studies? Waiting for Conors letters was thrilling and terrifying. The combination of fantasies and fears while waiting for him to come home produced exhaustion. I wanted to be Conor's wife so bad. Right now, in this tiny apartment that smelled like Vanilla and had vacuum lines, I saw my plans, my dreams and my hopes slip through my fingers like an ignorant child trying to grip sand in their hand.

I had lost 30 pounds in the last 3 months. I weighed 115 pounds and my elbow bones and knees were knobby and poking out. I was terrifyingly skinny, and not because I wanted to be, but because I was tormented by the idea of losing him and the stress of it all made me nauseas. Two months before he came home I started to get nervous and I went from 160 pounds to 145 pounds. Then Conor got home. Everything was bliss for about six months and then we started to fight and when I say fight I mean I took his venom and listened to his complaints.

During those last three months of our relationship, like I mentioned above I dropped 30 pounds and started to remind myself of a pale unattractive version of Nicole Richie. People at parties, church or even strangers at the grocery store would stop me and comment, “ You are so skinny. You look great. How do you do it?” Uncomfortable by their questions, I would partially lie and say, “Oh, I just watch what I eat and I walk a couple of miles every morning.” I was walking every morning but I wasn’t eating- at all. I would make a pan of brownies and they would sit untouched on the stove for several days. I would make buttery fettucinne alfredo and like the brownies, they would sit on the stove untouched. I tried to force myself to eat but I couldn’t. It was like trying to force myself to eat after I had food poisoning for three days and had just finished wiping the vomit off the corners of my mouth. Food was gross and unattractive no matter who made it.

Conor yelled at me again, letting out another string of criticism perfectly suited to dig at all of my weak points. He reminded me of every mistake I ever made and brought up old issues that he previously had forgiven me for. He called me a cheater and liar and reminded me that I had "ruined him".

"Conor, I didn't lie to you.” I defended queitly. I will admit, that I made my share of mistakes in our relationship. I screwed up several times, but nothing worth deserving this. No one deserved this. “You constantly criticize me and belittle me especially in front of people. It’s like you like to see me squirm. You were never that way before. Why did you start?"

I remember his words perfectly. He smugly replied, "Do you expect me to be Mother Teresa? You never cared before anyways. You need to be less sensitive."

Ok running list: I need to be less selfish, less sensitive...

Immediately after he finished I whispered "And those are the words of a gentleman". I couldn't believe that I just quoted Kiera Knightley's line from Pride and Prejudice. I watched his face, I was afraid that he would call me out for quoting a chick flick. I knew how to read him. He was stumped. He was surprised and even a little impressed. Then again Conor was a douche bag and would never watch any movie that was vaguely feminine or romantic so of course he wouldn't know.

Even then, Conor had lied, because he never criticized me before, so I never "cared" because it never happened. In High school, when we fell in love, I was gentle, soft spoken, a people pleaser, introverted and shockingly insecure. (I am still insecure but I am cool with it, I see it as a humanizing quality. I can laugh about it too.) In High School I constantly got run over by others agendas. Conor could smell my insecurities and He liked it. He liked protecting me, He liked feeling needed. He liked seeing me vulnerable, weepy and needy. But while he was gone for two years I changed. I grew emotional muscles. I figured out what I liked and I became confident, even a little too confident. When he returned home he saw the new, opinionated, independent, strong me and well take a guess, he didn't like it. In efforts to return balance to the relationship Conor would put me in “compromising situations”.

His hurtful words were like needles in my heart. He was finished with me and I was crumbling. They say in Psychology that the one that cares the least in a relationship also holds the most power. Conor was working this thesis, and it was proving itself true. I am not the type to yell, raise my voice or criticize but under tremendous stress I have an amazing ability to fight back. The pool of repressed emotions, which had accumulated after 9 months of hell, and a total of 4 wasted years was starting to boil through my veins. I erupted. I went crazy on him, my heart was pounding, my hands were shaking. I stood up and screamed like a maniac and spoke the words of my heart. Conor’s eyes widened. He was shocked that I actually fought back,

"Conor, you sabotaged my life! Every time I went in to take my Nursing Boards you either broke up with me the night before I took my test so that I was distracted or you kept me out late the night before so that I was tired. And why is it that every time I am with you, I go home with bruises! You break my jewelry. You tear my clothing. Every time! I always have bruises on my ribs, my legs, my wrists and my neck." I showed him my current collection of bruises to prove my point.

"You act like you’re sorry after you hurt me but then you turn around and bruise me again all in the name of 'playfulness'.” He tried to cut me off but I pushed forward, screaming even louder."What about the time you kissed me and then started to bite me? Do you remember me crying? Do you remember the huge purple bruise you left on my lower lip? Or what about the various times you 'wrestled' me? Smashing my back into corners of tables. Remember that time you picked me up and smashed my head on the ground? You hyper-extended my neck. I blacked out! I saw colors that I've never seen before. I couldn’t move for several minutes. All I could do was cry on the ground until the temporary paralyzation passed. What about the time you threw me against the wall and started to kiss me all in the name of 'passion'. How could you do that?"

I paused, waiting for an answer, but he remained silent. He was probably blocking me out now,but I continued, "And what about Thanksgiving? I had to lie to my mom about why my car was wrecked. Let me jog your memory. I was driving from Utah to Texas for the Holidays. You didn’t have a Car so you nagged me to drive. We were close to home, passing through Denton. You were sitting in the passenger seat. You decided to play a game with me that I begged you not to play. You grabbed my right thigh, the same thigh that needed to work the gas and brake pedal. Your entire hand wrapped around my puny leg and you started squeezing. I begged you to stop and you squeezed harder. It hurt so bad that tears streamed down my face. Do you remember me screaming in pain? During this entire episode, I was trying to stay in my lane."

He tried to cut me off again but I gave him a nasty glare, “We were driving over a bridge, and you were still squeezing my thigh and I was starting to get fatigued from fighting back. Instead of stopping, you used your other hand to grab the steering wheel and drive the car into the cement barricade. You drove me, the driver into the wall. The force of the car caused your head to swing to the left which immediately hit my head. My head had just hit the window causing it to smash for the second time against the glass. Remember that? You destroyed alot more than my car that day. And how did you apologize? Instead of coming over to my parents house during the week long Thanksgiving break you wrote my parents an email saying, 'I am sorry that I didn't keep Marissa safe while she was driving. I accidently bumped my hand on the steering wheel. I take full responsibility' Pathetic. My parents loved you. They forgave you. I was forced to go along with it, because I was afraid to tell them what really happened. Because no matter how brainwashed I was, I knew what you did was wrong. You walked away from the accident with clean hands and you didn't pay a dime for the damages which totaled $8,000. Do you remember that Conor?"

And What did Conor have to say to all of this? Cooly he responded to my rant "Marissa you were the one behind the wheel driving, so technically it was your fault." He grinned. I don't know how anyone could smile after all of that.

They say that girls who are in abusive relationships don't even realize they are being abused. I knew what abuse was. I studied it in several different text books. I remembered the questions that I was suppose to ask just in case I ever got a victim of abuse in the Emergency Room. I remember being warned about it by my parents. But It took me several months to realize that I was one of those stupid girls, stupid because I was madly in love with a physically and emotionally abusive man.

Four Months Later May 2009
I was in the Oquirrh Temple. It was the open house and it would be dedicated in August. It was beautiful and bright. I wasn’t use to all the bright light because during the last four months, I had turned my apartment into a cave. It was the type of cave that has deer bones sitting at the entrance and nothing but darkness beyond that. I had been in a numb daze for the last four months after our breakup. I wasn’t even sane enough to lick my wounds. I stayed at home and stared out the window like a 95 year man who keeps on watching and waiting in hopes that his deceased wife will visit him in the nursing home. I pushed myself to go to the temple open house in order to get my mind off of him. In public I was good at faking it. I was good at acting like I was smart, sassy, sophisticated and independent, I watered down our breakup when people asked and left it at "It just didn't work out". Only to a few close friends and family members, did I confess how hurt and depressed I was but even then, I never told the whole story, I was ashamed.

Although the bruises had left me, my insides felt darker, colder and creepier than Marilyn Manson. I fought with myself internally vacillating between feelings of savagery, wildness and chaotic hate. I walked through the halls of the temple remembering how much I missed the feeling of warmth and happiness. I awed at the chandeliers, the craftsmanship and the art. I watched the small children eye’s reflect the grandeur and beauty of each holy room. I saw the little boys and girls tugging at their mothers shirt and pointing with excitement, “Look at that!”. I wanted to be innocent again like them.

It was the end of the tour and I sat alone on a cushy yellow chair on the front row of the celestial room. It was peaceful and splendid until I destructively remembered, that I was suppose to get married that day, in a celestial room like this, in the Salt Lake Temple to Conor. I missed him immensely. A flood of memories poured in. I saw all of our sunny summer days together blur past me like a bullet train. I started to think about how funny and charismatic he was. I remembered when I saw the hidden paper in his car that showed his ACT score: 33. Conor was destined for success due to his unstoppable brilliance.

My gush of thoughts immediately stopped, I had a pressing unexpected vision that overtook all of my previous thoughts. I have a hard time calling it a "vision" because I don't want to sound "holier than thou"-ish or "self righteous" but thats what it was. It was a vision of Conor and I in heaven. We had married, lived a long life, died and gone to heaven. We were wearing white and Heaven was more beautiful and bright than I ever imagined, but I was depressed inside. I could see sadness and anxiety in my eyes. I was like Ebenezer Scrooge in a Christmas Carol. I was an invisible third party watching myself in the future. I couldn't believe what I saw: Conor was criticizing me in heaven. I got a deep unspeakable understanding that Conor would continue to criticize me for the rest of eternity. Horror sunk in my heart. I felt the pain and weight of a thousand years. I felt bad for the future me. I looked terrible. I had endured his punishment for hundreds of years and I was left battered, beaten and demoralized. My head hung low with shame as Conor continued to verbally abuse me. Marriage with him was like being shackled into eternal prison. Then I heard a clear solid voice, "Marissa, You don't even want this". The vision evaporated. I don’t know if my eyes were closed or opened, but I know what I saw was real. My vision wasn't meant to show me what heaven was like, because I am pretty sure, heaven wouldn't let someone belittle another like that, but the vision was meant to show me Conor's character.

The ushers asked us to leave the Celestial room so that the next tour group could come in. I walked away feeling three things: very stupid, awe inspired, and gratefully touched that Heavenly Father cared enough about me to do that.

I walked outside of the temple, my heels clicking like a horse on the concrete. I inhaled the cool crisp mountain air and exhaled slowly as I stared at the mountains. I thought to myself, "What do I do from here?" “Why do I continue to hope for a future with this nasty human being?” I continued to think “Why do I bombard myself with destructive thoughts?" "Why do I idolize him and put him on a pedestal?”
I knew getting over him would be difficult. I managed to remember him everyday for two years and now I had to break that habit. Conor got over me quickly, he bought himself a car and drove out of my life. Now, I had to teach myself something, how to move on.

My family, grandpa, siblings and sibling-in-laws never really liked him. They weren't in a foggy haze like me. They could see through him. They saw his neglect, criticism and manipulation. If I learned anything from this experience it is 1) Listen to God and obey him 2) Listen to your family. If they don’t like someone, run as fast as you can in the opposite direction.

P.S. They say that everyone goes through stages of mourning 1. Denial and Isolation 2. Anger 3. Bargaining 4. Depression 5. Acceptance. The five stages don’t necessarily go in order, sometimes they change from day to day. All I know is that Around March, I was in the stage of Anger. I will spare you the gory details, but I will confess, that it involved a hoodie sweatshirt, a parking garage, security camera’s, keys for scratching and his car. If I had a knife I would have been tempted to slash his tires too. I have heard that his family now refers to me as “Conors Crazy Ex”. Nice.

Publishing this post has taken a lot of courage for me. Part of me is still afraid that he will find me, read this blog, and sue me for defamation of character. I changed his name and physical features in order to prevent that. Part of me is still terrified of him. I hope I never see him again in this life. I hope that Chandler never see’s him either.

Papa bear tree. I swear I wont blog again till February

2010-12-07T23:27:00.000-08:00

I just got the gloves below, they have nothing to do with Christmas and they feel like butter. Leather and cashmere= warm soft hands.

Why do stay at home Mom's get bashed??

2010-12-07T11:37:00.000-08:00

I was just reading Katy's blog and as always I agree with her. She inspired me to make a shout out along similar lines, although I appreciate my 40 hour work week at the hospital and the income that it brings, I also kind of dread my career, which makes me realize that its not the right career for me....and its more like a job. I also cannot wait to be a Mom and stay at home and cook and paint and photograph and clean up and sew and write and read and watch and play and sing along to Caillou. I think when I have a kid I may work 1-2 days a week just for spending cash, but I really hate the idea of working at all while they are babies, because they will be mine and they will only be babies for a few months and I don't want to miss anything nor do I want anyone else raising them, its called ethnocentrism baby, even though I have no experience and no idea what I am doing, no one else can raise my non-existant babies better than me! ALL RIGHT?! just kidding.

These are my favorite scrubs. Baby Phat knows what its doing

Thanksgiving weekend

2010-12-07T00:39:00.000-08:00

Here are pictures of the family from thanksgiving weekend and cutting our cake on our first anniversary

"Kiss it Whoville" The grinch

2010-12-07T00:07:00.000-08:00

Chandler and I have zero self control, but we are working on it. Chan wanted a big manly daddy Christmas tree and I wanted a baby-bear tree that I could cuddle with. Instead compromising like mature adults I said something along the lines of "I want my own dang tree!!" kind of like Julia Roberts did in runaway bride when she charismatically replied "I want my own horse (... to ride off in the sunset)" but horses are a lot cooler than tree's, and Marissa is a lot less charismatic than Julia Roberts so it all works out.

365 Days of Chandler

2010-12-03T15:38:00.001-08:00

This was the first time I was with Chandler....I had no idea he was looking at me during the dinner until I saw this picture.

I have now been married to my pale green -eyed boy for a year.

I will borrow the words of John Keats

"You absorb me in spite of myself- you alone.I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. Oh that I could have the possession of both in the same minute. I am distracted with a thousand thoughts.

"Pillow'd upon my handsome love's chest
To feel for ever its soft swell and fall
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest.
Still, Still to hear his tender -taken breath
And so live ever- or else swoon to death

I knew I loved Chandler when one late night, like many other late nights at his house, Chandler walked me to my car, buckled my seat in for me and closed the door. This night was different thought, it was raining outside and it was chilly. As water streamed down the sides of my windows I fiddled with the radio, reorganized my purse and eventually started the car and drove off. For some reason, as I drove off down the long road I looked back in my rear view mirror only to see Chandler standing in the front of his lawn watching me drive away. I felt bad because I thought he had gone inside already. How long did he wait out in the rain as I fiddled with my purse? I felt really oblivious all of a sudden. Once I got home I got the traditional phone call "Rissa are you home safe?" (Once I didn't answer and he was terrified and came to my house looking for me). The next night, the same thing. It was late and raining, Chandler walked me out to my car, buckled me in like a toddler, leaned in to kiss me and then closed the door. This time I quickly started the car and drove off. I looked in my rear view mirror and saw him again standing on the front lawn with his hands tucked in his pockets watching me drive off. After several times of this I finally asked him
"Do you always wait outside and watch me drive off?"
"yes" he quietly replied.
"Why? Its freezing out."
"Because I want to make sure you are safe for as long as I can see you."

"

Beginnings of Chandler

2010-12-03T15:05:00.000-08:00

I am the luckiest girl in the world. I have the love of a man named chandler Richmond.

The very first day I saw chandler I was 16 and in my kitchen. He came over and I looked up at him and all I saw were his pale green eyes. Oh how they vexed and bewitched me! I tried to hide my liking toward him and in doing so hid part of myself. Eventually our mild young love relationship ended.

When I was 19 I was living in Rexburg. I opened up my mail box and behold! A letter from Chandler, It was his High School graduation announcement. Surprised, I wrote him a friendly note back and tried to convince him to come to BYU-Idaho. During this time I was waiting for a missionary so I never let my thoughts drift toward the possibility of Chandler.

Eventually chandler left on his mission to the Virgin Islands and I received letters from him. I casually wrote him from time to time and sent him packages on his birthday. I was always impressed by how much time Chandler took to write me back. I knew he was busy but he always made sure to email me or sent me a handwritten noted and remind me that it was only his pleasure to do so. Despite being in a serious relationship with someone else it was hard not to compare the two, I always wondered why my boyfriend couldn't be more a little bit more like Chandler.

I was 21, I was living in Provo Utah. I had broken up with the other guy 6 months earlier and had not dated at all since. I wondered if Chandler was home from his mission. I jogged my memory and did some math and realized that he could be coming home or could possibly be home already. All of a sudden I became nervous. My heart pounded and I felt a bit exhilarated. I also felt like I was doing something illegal. Chandler had been off limits for so long it was hard to get past that "guilty feeling". I decided to send Chandler a message on facebook, "Chandler, I just wanted to say hello and good luck coming home!"

I wrote the email quickly and sent it off quickly afraid that if I went any slower I could possibly scare myself off. I remember I was in my room getting ready. Three minutes after writing my email I heard a "ding" indicating I had a new letter in my inbox. I rushed to my computer and quietly giggled like a disturbed school girl, "Chandler wrote me back!". "Hey yes, I just got home yesterday. I also just got my Phone today. My number is XXX-XXX-XXX, call me."

So at that very moment I whipped out my phone and dialed his number. I was never the type to play games and make a man wait for no reason. Twenty-eight seconds later I heard a familiar voice, a voice that I had not heard in 4 years but had not forgotten. "Hey rissa".

Several weeks later Chandler was flying up to Utah to attend his Brother Eddy's wedding. Immedialty after chandler got out of the car from his long trip from Texas he came to my apartment. Within thirty minutes we kissed. (Side note- this is not typical behavior of Chandler and I)

Three months later we were married in the Nauvoo, IL temple.

Being Sticky is the most loathsome thing

2010-11-30T19:41:00.000-08:00

I have decided single handedly, without of memories of hearing grown men and little girls squeal "EWWW whats that sticky stuff?", that the state of "sticky" is the the most loathsome awful form of semi-liquid. Just think of it now. You just touched the underside of some dark hidden spot that you were required to or accidentally touch be it the edge of the table, an unfamiliar chair, the underside of the grocery cart, the toilet lid, the bottom of your shoe, and then you feel it. Wet, sticky, thick....Viscous! And then you think how dare it be viscous. And its not done yet either. "Baby whats that smell?"

Sticky is gross.

Why do Some women date Ugly men?

2010-11-20T06:32:00.000-08:00

I was just looking at pictures of My husband. I find Chandler very agreeable in the looks department. Somehow this morning I fell on an old picture of one of my exes. I dated this guy for like 4 years. In the beginning I had to kinda convice myself that he was cute, and then I got over it, because "looks don't matter". This morning as I saw his picture I laughed and blurted, "DANG! His faced is jacked up!" Anyways, I started wondering why some ladies (myself included) lower our standards and date jerks that are ugly. Ugly+ jerk = typical? (nah)
Think about it.

Not shaving or wearing makeup

2010-11-16T23:52:00.000-08:00

From 5th grade to basically 9th grade l I did not wear a bra (like not once), use deodorant, wear makeup or shave my legs. Sounds sick right? My mom didn't make me. It wasn't a rule. My dad didn't make me either. But it was sort of a family thing. My dad always taught me that being natural was better. He told me that it was pretty to leave your eyebrows alone and to not wear makeup.

In the beginning I was tiny in my chest region (oh wait...I am) so I just wore tight tank tops underneath my shirts, I showered daily instead of wearing lots of deodorant. I don't really have hair on my legs or arms so not shaving wasn't a big deal. I didn't use perfume. I didnt wear make-up. I didn't pierce my ears. I didn't do anything girly or unnatural...well... until high school kicked in and then I joined the crowd. And it was fun. I tanned in High School. I hair sprayed, I permed, I pedicured, I painted, I dyed, I tweezed, I shaved, I wore padded Victoria Secret bra's, and I wore make-up. It was a lot of fun AND it makes you look really good. Then college kicked in and I went into turbo mode.

I don't know what I am getting at, but I think I need to warn everyone that I feel like going Au-natural again. I can feel a new phase kicking in. In my next blog, you may see a bra lit on fire. I am just kidding.

WHY on earth would you do that Marissa?
Well Sometimes I think about the good old days and what it would be like to not have to worry about all that stuff. I have had my fun for sure, but I am craving a little break from the smell of hair dye, cosmetics, the smell of nail polish, the pain of tweezing and so forth. Bra's have always bothered me. I see no use in them and I don't like wearing them. I wouldn't even mind a break from jewelry. Not forever of course, but for a time.

I am not saying that I am about to go out hugging tree's and getting dread locks or riding my bike everywhere....but maybe I am.
By the way, its no shave November.

It just sounds really appealing.

Bee's and Honey

2010-11-16T22:18:00.000-08:00

The insect whose sting pains the most
creates the sweetest nectar to boast.
Perhaps they are mean and bitter outside
To protect their soft and sweet insides.

I just jotted this down. Its not brilliant work (or even good for that matter). But I was thinking about the concept of being protective over something you value, love and/or work for. The poem popped in my head.

What its not Like a Cheese-stick?

2010-11-12T23:18:00.000-08:00

I'm feelin so fly like a cheese stick, like a cheese stick, Like cheese stick.

I am just messing, but am notorious for doing stuff like this.

Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, in my ride, like Three 6
Now I'm feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now now now now now now I'm feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now now now now now now I'm feelin so fly like a G6

Gastronomics

2010-11-10T23:34:00.000-08:00

I didnt make any of the above, I just bought them and enjoyed them like an enduring french girl. Here is the line-up: Creme Brulee, Chocolate mousse cake, Chocolate cheesecake, Dark Chocolate truffles, and chocolate french macaroon cookies. The cookies came in lots of pretty pastel colors but I didn't feel like eating lemon and strawberry and almond flavor. Lame. Thank you Kelsey for the Spoons! She got them from Anthropologie.

By the way, publishing these food posts has been really gratifying for me. I use to be one of those calorie/carbohydrate/fat counters. I was unrelenting and unforgiving of myself if I felt any sort of natural craving for anything fattening or tasty. I would beat myself up after eating pizza or cake or anything. Living that sort of life is miserable because hunger and food become your enemies. What kind of human experience is that? After reading "Intuitive Eating" my life changed. Since then I have found great pleasure in food. Whenever I eat, I pour over my food. I make it an event. I adore it. I smell it. I look at it. I am not picky, but I have low tolerance for bad food. I expect my food to be real. I want mostly organic ingredients. I want quality. I want presentation! I want color. I want glass dishes. Turn off the TV, Stop talking to me and take in this moment to EAT. I never eat energy bars or health smoothies. No way! When I eat, I want to eat something amazing. I want it to be steaming. I want it to be aromatic. I want it to weaken my knees. This is the art of Gastronomics.

What would be your last meal? If you knew you would die soon, what meal would you absolutely savor?

The above yogurts are part of an experiment. I dont really dig yogurt. I burned myself out my freshman year in College. But Chandler likes them. I just bought a bunch of different kinds. If ya'll have any good ones please tell me. I have heard Activia is really tasty.

Ok So this is me trying to do my part and be green. In the past, it always made it difficult when I reached in the fridge for a bell pepper but I couldnt find it because all the plastic bags were foggy and less transparent. I dont have that problem anymore.

Brazilian Pineapple

2010-11-10T23:29:00.000-08:00

Brazilians know what they are doing.Chan and I love this one Brazilian roadhouse in Richardson and at the end of every meal they bring out the most satisfying succulent, warm, juicy, cinnamon sweet pineapple thats been rotating on a skewer for the last half hour. DELIGHT.

This is my version
1. Heat oven to 300F
2. Core and clean pineapple
3. Rubb Cinnamon all over pineapple
4. Place pineapple in oven and rotate every ten minutes (it makes it so so so Juicy)
5. Cook for 25 minutes (or until tender- mine was quick because it was already ripe)

Berries and cream

2010-11-10T23:23:00.000-08:00

1. Place kitchen Aid bowl (or any metal bowl) in freezer first. The whipping cream will whip better
2. Mix cream with sugar and vanilla and WHIP it
3. Melt Dark chocolate with butter and milk
4. Server with fresh berries

Mushroom and Provolone Melt

2010-11-10T22:18:00.000-08:00

1 pound Ground Sirloin
1 Tbs olive oil
1/4 cup thin sliced yellow Onion
1/8 teaspoon salt
Pepper to taste
2 Tablespoons Mustard
1 Tablespoon Worcestershire Sauce
1 package Cremini mushrooms
2 teaspoons flour (I like using blue corn flower)
1/4 Beef broth (its a subsitute for what the original recipe asks for: alcohol)

Foodie crossing

2010-11-10T21:19:00.000-08:00

I went to Central Market and blew our budget.....guilt? Anyways This is whats going on in the Rissa Richmond Kitchen.

In one of the pictures you'll notice that I am holding a bottle. That is fish sauce. It smells like...... well I dont want to deprive you of that experience so you can find out for yourself. But its an experience. If you eat this stuff and put 1/4 cup or less of it in your soup your Asian Friends will applaud you for not being a total American pansy. It smells terrible in the bottle, but once you mix a little bit in your soup it becomes unnoticeable and it gives everything a very authentic flavor.

1 pound Shrimp
4 cups broth (chicken)
2 slices (1/4 inch thick) of Fresh ginger
1 Tablespoon Olive oil
3/4 Cup thin slices Red bell pepper (for more flavor I pureed the extra red bell pepper, it added better flavor to the broth and made it an appealing red color)
1/4 Cup thin slices yellow onion
1 garlic clove minced
1/2 cup Sugar snap peas
3 Tablespoons Chili garlic sauce (its the red sauce in the Asian isle-HOT)
Salt to Taste
Clear Rice Noodles- Add right before you serve.

Top with cilantro, onions, peanuts and lime. DELISH

Hats off to the good men in our lives

2010-11-08T13:58:00.000-08:00

I was reading this article "Life without a Father", it made me think of the good men in my life: my Dad, Chandler, my grandpa's and my father-in-law.

Here were some of the thoughts from the article:

- Fathers' style of play seems to have unusual significance. It is
likely to be both physically stimulating and exciting.Mothers generally spend more time playing with their children, but mothers' play tends to take place more at the child's level. Mothers provide the child with the opportunity to direct the play, to be in charge, to proceed at the child's own pace. Kids, at least in the early years, seem to prefer to play with daddy. In one study of 2 1/2-year-olds who were given a choice,
more than two-thirds chose to play with their fathers.

-According to one expert, 'Children who roughhouse with their fathers . . . usually quickly learn that biting, kicking, and other forms of physical violence are not acceptable.' They learn when enough is enough.Children, a committee assembled by the Board on Children and Families of the National Research Council concluded, 'learn critical lessons about how to recognize and deal with highly charged emotions in the context of playing with their fathers. Fathers, in effect, give children practice in regulating their own emotions and recognizing others' emotional clues.

- A study of convicted murderers in Texas found that 90 percent of them either didn't play as children or played abnormally.

-Indeed, it's far more often said that fathers should be more like
mothers (and that men generally should be more like women--less aggressive, less competitive). While such things may be said with the best of intentions, the effects are perverse.

-Several studies have found that the presence of the father is one of the determinants of girls' proficiency in mathematics. And one pioneering study found
that the amount of time fathers spent reading was a strong predictor of their daughters' verbal ability. For sons, who can more directly follow their fathers' example, the results have been even more striking. A number of studies have uncovered a strong relationship between father involvement and the quantitative and mathematical abilities of their sons.

- Examining the results of a 26-year longitudinal study, a trio of researchers reached a 'quite astonishing' conclusion: The single most important childhood factor in developing empathy is paternal involvement in child care. Fathers who spent time alone with their children more than twice a week--giving meals, baths, and other basic care--reared the most compassionate adults.
It is not yet clear why fathers are so important in instilling this quality. Perhaps merely by being with their children they provide a model for compassion. Perhaps it has to do with their style of play or mode of reasoning. Perhaps it is somehow related to the fact that fathers typically are the family's main arbiter with the outside world. Or perhaps it is because mothers who receive help from their mates have more time and energy to cultivate the soft virtues. Whatever the reason, it is hard to think of a more important contribution that fathers can make
to their children.

-Just as cultural forms can be discarded, dismantled, and declared obsolete, so can they be reinvented. In order to restore marriage and reinstate fathers in the lives of their children, we are somehow going to have to undo the cultural shift of the past few decades toward radical individualism. We are going to have to re-embrace some cultural propositions that throughout history have been universally accepted but that today are unpopular, if not rejected outright. Such changes are by no means impossible. Witness the transformations wrought by the civil rights, women's, and environmental movements, and even the campaigns to reduce smoking and drunk driving. What is necessary is for large numbers of adults, and especially our
cultural and intellectual leaders, to agree on the importance of change.

I love the Aesthetics of life, but all day I give anesthetics.

2010-11-07T19:21:00.001-08:00

It was still dark and cool outside. It was 0730am and I was waiting outside of the CVS pharmacy. I sat awkwardly in front of the chain link wall feeling very much like an early-bird geriatric person. Of course I happened to be sitting between the isles labeled "Stool softener and Laxatives". I laughed because it didn't irk me at all and I felt completely comfortable. I still had about an hour to wait. I had just finished my 13 hour shift at work. That night was particularly uneventful and all of my patients slept generally pain free and comfortable. Job accomplished.I had a good night. 9 hours earlier, during that same shift I had received a transfer patient from the ICU. She was an 86 year old female with tubes coming out of every orifice of her body (natural orifice or surgically created orifice). She was a DNR. (The patient/power of attorney signs a paper stating that they do not wish to be resuscitated.) She lay in bed motionless moaning. Her eyes did not track me as I moved around her room and she did not respond to my voice. Because she was a transfer I needed to do an in-depth assessment of her. I gently pulled down her blankets, one at a time. The cream colored blankets were warm.They smelled like a warm body. She moaned more, as she was now feeling the cool air fill the spaces where her blankets once occupied. I felt sympathetic towards her.

Sometimes I am amazed by the pain people go through, most of the time, I try not to think about it. I do not get any sort of rush/ high out of seeing people suffer.

My heart sank a little. I felt bad for taking away her warm blankets to look at all of her drains. It was my job to make sure everything was functioning correctly but a part of me felt like I was taking advantage of her pain to satisfy my curiosity. It was not true, but I felt that way.

When people become aged and sick they stop moving. Even when we sleep (I am talking to my young healthy audience now) we move around in bed every thirty minutes. Our bodies naturally prevent us from laying on one part too long. Occasionally, if we are too exhausted we may lay in one position for a few hours. All of us knows how uncomfortable it is to wake up after sleeping in the same awkward position. Because of the elderlies' declined ability of move I have to turn them every 2 hours. They hate this. It hurts. But it prevents sores and wounds. I am restoring that which was once a automatic function.

It was time to turn her so with the help of a nurse assistant, we lifted her to one side and placed several soft pillows under her back, her knees and under the heels of her feet. Two hours later I did the same thing again but on the opposite side. I did this for the rest of the night.

This is not my only patient, I had four more, one of which was the cutest little 90+ year old man who was french and didn't look a day over 60. He was thin and tall with dark black hair. He looked young but his mind was totally gone. I had to turn him too. He moaned for a few seconds but quickly dozed off. In two hours I did it again. I did this for the rest of the night.

I am not whining. I take great pleasure in taking care of people, its the coldness of healthcare, the business of medicine that irks me and I happen to work at a great hospital, it is one of the least business-like hospitals out there.

About three months ago I started to get upset. I wondered if Nursing was right for me.

I consider myself a creative person. I love the Aesthetics of life, but all day I give anesthetics.I love color but the hospital is a monotone blue. I love lights, but all I see are long flickering fluorescent bulbs.

August 2010 I was sitting in the pews at Church holding Chandlers soft buttery baseball mitt sized hands. We were visiting his ward. I love that ward. I was feeling very drained and contained after a long week of work and school, BYU Idaho bachelors Nursing program. Sunday was my day for dressing up and self expression. I was feeling very Kate Spade-ish that day. I wore blingy jewelry and speckled tights. A beautiful girl about my age walked past the isle. She looked fresh, young, happy and well expressed in her clothes. I admired her for her boldness. Chandler being a true gentleman leaned over and satisfied my wondering "That is __________'s fiancée. She is in Texas now doing a Internship with Gary Riggs." Riggs, the wildly successful interior designer that works in Dallas. I immediately became jealous. I wanted to be that girl. Not because I want to be an interior designer. I didn't want to look like her. I didn't want her clothes. I didn't want her hair. But I wanted to have her type of job. I wanted to be surrounded by beauty. I wanted a job that created rather than repaired all day. Do you follow me? I was envious, but it was more like a heart-broken-longing-pining-type envy. My mind started talking to itself, "I bet she loves her job. I bet she has always wanted to be an interior designer." I wanted to be an interior designer in high school. I even took a class but I shot it down with self talk:"Its tough to make it big as an interior designer. Be more practical. You probably won't make it anyways."

My senior year in high school I was determined to be a chef. I was even in a Culinary program (which I loved). But once again, I thought, "Its hard to make money as a chef. The hours are long. The work is hard. And I would get annoyed if anyone returned their plate back to the kitchen because they didn't know what Gourmet really was." Eventually I came up with Nursing. Nursing is practical. Nurses get jobs. Nurses make good Money. Being a nurse means security. So I sent off my application to the nursing program to BYU I and I got in.

I do believe that I was suppose to be a nurse. Chan and I are newlyweds and we only struggled to the point of starvation for 4 months. Now, I can say that we have a fabulous income. Chandler and I can travel. Chan and I don't struggle anymore. I DO have job security in a tough economy.

But returning to the Interior Designer girl at church I sat there and asked myself the a poignant question, "Why does everyone else get to do what they want to do? Why do I have to be the practical one?" This girl looked young and fresh and happy. I was pretty on the outside, but on the inside I felt very old. I don't know any 22 year old that has seen as much death and heartache as myself. I have seen hundreds of wounds. I see vomit daily. I see urine daily. I change adults diapers daily. I see adult male genitals daily. I see adult female genitals daily. I see wrinkles. I smell terrible odors and vapors daily. I have had to deal with schizophrenics and their voices. I have had to deal with new amputations. I have had to deal with newly diagnosed malignant neoplasms.

I felt like my innocence was gone too young.

But then something happened:

The other day I had a small Asian man. He was 80+ years old. He like many of my patients had tubes coming out of every orifice. I also had to turn his bony and emaciated body every two hours with soft pillows. He was dying and his silent wife who was no more than 4'5" sat at the end of his bed weeping. Every 20 minutes or so I would hear my patient coughing and choking. His lungs were congested. I would immediately rush in and suction him. After a long shift and a very bad episode of choking I suctioned him and returned the yankeur tubing back to the wall and pulled the blankets around him to keep him warm. (He was also a DNR, but I was still allowed to suction). As I focused on the task at hand I was distracted by a small body clutched around my waist. It was his wife and she was weeping into my scrubs. She spoke limited English but I heard a muffled "Thank you". I looked down at her. I was surprised and touched. Immediately she became embarrassed at her gush of emotions and returned to her chair and sunk her head down with her chin touching her chest. I did not know what to do. So I approached her and stroked her beautiful salt and pepper hair for a few moments as she sat sobbing in the chair. Dafni Gifford use to always stroke my hair during church. It always made me feel better. Then I gushed, "I am sorry".

I sat at that church pew feeling very heavy and burdened.

I went home that day from church and cried. I cried in my bed and then like a little baby I started hyperventilating and gasping after air. Pathetic right? I am not one of those girls that looks pretty when she cries either. I am not like Liv tyler who lets one diamondy tear drop slide down her cheek from her crystal blue eyes. No, my nose gets red. I get snotty. My eyes get small and beady. I become self loathing and irrational. This is me.

Chandler laid down beside me and asked "Whats wrong sweetie" I relayed to him my dillema. He was sympathetic. He held me and cradled me and made me feel safe and warm. His loving hug made my mind start going again. I thought, "What if I quit the Bachelors of Nursing program and take classes that actually interest me? Heck I already have my associates degree and my license in Nursing. I should get my Bachelors degree in literature or family science or ANYTHING. My heart began to pound happily. My burdens magically lifted. My envy melted. I had hope. This was my chance. I didnt care that I only had 4 classes left in my BSN program. I could care less.

I called the BYU Idaho, told them I wanted to drop out of the coveted BSN nursing program. They thought I was insane.But I didn't care. I wrote my resignation paper to the program. And I am currently in my first semester as an offical Literature/ Family Sciences major. And Yes I am still a nurse.

Now, I come home from a heavy day of work and read Blake, Pope, Shakespeare, Austen and Byron. I feel enlivened by their genius. I feel like I have a little secret when I read their words. I feel like me.

Although changing my major will put me back another year, I don't care. What is the rush to graduate if I know that I will be miserable and feel resentful for the rest of my life? What is the rush if I know that I will always regret not being true to myself? Thank you Shakespeare, "To thine own self be true." After I graduate I plan on writing. I want to be like Jane Austen, instead of ink and quill, I will have Laptop and keypad. I want to live by my pen. I want to take more culinary classes. I want to go to pastry school. I want to take photography classes and learn how to use my camera better. OH what I would give to learn!

Closure: Because i am in school and working full time, my job has become better. I know that I will not be a nurse forever so I try to enjoy every moment I get. Now that I am taking literature classes, I appreciate the diversity and the change of mentality at the hospital. I fall in love with my patients daily and I have become a better more caring Nurse.

So my question to you, if anyone is still reading this lengthy post, is Have you found your true calling? Are you studying what you want to study? Are you doing the job you always wanted?

I read in Oprahs November 2010 magazine this quote/ challenge, "Grab a pen and make a list of every time you remember being utterly happily absorbed in a activity no matter how odd"

And I did it. It will surprise you by the things you write down.

Channy's Lawn

2010-11-03T13:48:00.000-07:00

So, Mr. Chandler Richmond has many amiable qualities besides being dangerously good looking he is also good at fixing things, lifting heavy boxes, giving me compliments and making anything around him beautiful. Just yesterday he hung my chandelier over our kitchen table. He also made our little 1/4 acre lawn my Oasis. This may seem simple but let me explain. I have lived on Parker Road in Wylie TX my whole life. I have also always disliked the grass. After going to Utah and living in Rexburg I grew even more intolerant of "dallas" grass. For the last several weeks chandler has been lightly fertilizing, raking watering and seeding our land with what I call "Utah grass" he dislikes Utah so he calls it what it really is "Rye grass".

Everytime I walk outside I sigh a little. How is it that this man has transformed this little plot of land in to something so stunning. I honestly feel like I live in Ireland. Its SO GREEN. Its so green I start speaking spanish and I blurt out words like "Verde". After my 20 years of living at my property, no one has managed to make that little plot of land look so dang good.

Here is a quick story to explain the phenomenon that Chandler has created:
"My agreeable brother, Garrett and his Lovely Wife, kelsey came over to visit last week. Garrett quickly noticed the beauty of our little lawn besides the barn. He asked Chandler a few questions, "How much does it cost, how often did you water it, what is the maintenance" then with answers in hand Garrett walked to my parents home and without hesitation started protesting to my mother that she let chandler do the rest of his miracle working on the rest of our lawn."

Second story, my younger beautiful sister Ciara raises Chickens and sells their organic eggs to obliging locals. Ciara lovingly calls her little hens "my girls". Lately our little hens have not been producing and one chicken went missing! Gasp. (no but seriously that is freaky). My dad immedialty went to work trying to figure out the source of such commotion. One late night, while waiting up at the top of the barn in the hayloft my dad spotted the source "A BOBCAT!", Yes a sneaky, mean chicken scaring/eating bobcat. My dad tried to capture the bobcat but no luck. The next night my Dad waited again except this time he waited outside of the barn with my sister Ciara (my Dad reminds me of John Wayne just in case anyone wanted to know my opinion.) Ciara and he saw the bobcat. The bobcat was close and within shooting distance but was (get this) crouched behind my CAR! The only way he could have got good aim was if he were to stand on our little grassy knoll. Ciara whispered "dad, go on Chan and Marissa's Lawn, you'll be able to reach him from there!" my dad responded seriously "No, their lawn looks so nice, I dont want to mess it up"

I present, Chandler and his Lawn.

Oooh I made caramel apples and they are DELISH

2010-11-03T13:42:00.000-07:00

Make homemade caramel (takes 45 minutes- there are lots or recipes online)
Wash & dry Apples while caramel cools down to 100 F
Dip apples in Caramel and place on no stick silt pad in fridge
Melt chocolate chips and butter while apples cool
Dip caramel apples in chocolate
Cool Chocolate caramel apples in fridge for 15 min
Top with whatever you'd like

Spending time with Natalia's three and Kelsey's little one. MY Nephews and Niece!

2010-11-03T13:35:00.000-07:00

Autumn by John Clare 1821

2010-11-03T13:30:00.000-07:00

The summer-flower has run to seed,
And yellow is the woodland bough;
And every leaf of bush and weed
Is tipt with autumn’s pencil now.

And I do love the varied hue,
And I do love the browning plain;
And I do love each scene to view,
That’s mark’d with beauties of her reign.

The woodbine-trees red berries bear,
That clustering hang upon the bower;
While, fondly lingering here and there,
Peeps out a dwindling sickly flower.

Beside the brook, in misty blue,
Bilberries glow on tendrils weak,
Where many a bare-foot splashes through,
The pulpy, juicy prize to seek:

For ’tis the rustic boy’s delight,
Now autumn’s sun so warmly gleams,
And these ripe berries tempt his sight,
To dabble in the shallow streams.

My sister is dating Chandlers Brother

2010-10-27T21:56:00.000-07:00

THEY ARE SO CUTE

Calling all opinions; Woman? What is she.

2010-10-18T23:09:00.000-07:00

I got to reading a talk by President Ezra Taft Benson in 1987. Quite frankly I enjoyed it and found great wisdom, advice and teachings in it. His talk focuses primarily on the subject (and importance) of motherhood. Read it sometime, its like the pure strength bleach version of "Mothers who know", another talk which I enjoyed.

I walk a tricky line now analyzing religious views because I don't want to seem apostate or argumentative. I just feel trapped in a conflicting messages and observations. This is the thesis of my paper: HOW DOES A WOMAN FIGURE OUT WHO SHE IS AFTER SHE HAS REALIZED THAT SHE IS A LOVED AND BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER OF GOD? This is a personal question and meant for contemplation and thought.

1)Is a woman defined by her body of knowledge and wisdom? Education is essential, religious knowledge is important, wisdom is power.
MAYBE.

2)Is a woman defined by her personality?
DON'T THINK SO.

3) Is woman defined by her Job? I am a Nurse and write stories at night.
HMMMMMmmm nope.

4)Is a woman defind by her or her husbands income?
SERIOUSLY MARISSA???

5) Is a woman defined by her children? Oooh, this one is tricky. Women invest tremendous amounts of time and love into babies. Mothers grow deep loving (and essential )bonds with children. Does this mean she is defined by them?
I DON'T BELIEVE IT DOES from the simple fact that not all women have children and also children make their own choices. Children are human beings. One human being cannot define the other.

6)Is a woman defined by memories? Hmmm, I like where this is going.
TOO VAGUE, SO NO.

7)Is a woman defined by how she treats others? I tend to favor this idea.
MAYBE

8)Is a woman defined by how she thinks of herself?
MAYBE, regardless she should be kind and gentle to herself.

9) Is a woman defined by her relationships? (Wife, sister,Mom) Oooh another good question Marissa. Sociology tells us that women DO define themselves by their relationships. Just think about the way women communicate: they talk, they relate, they generally want to become intimate and understood in their conversations. Women build relationships (as opposed to men who use humor and teasing for domination.) I'll prove my point quickly: few men blog, why? Because blogging is a form of communication, getting to know you, expression. Who blogs mostly? Women. So, If the majority of women define themselves by their relationships does that mean it is a true determinant of self?
MAYBE, BUT A LOW GRADE MAYBE

10) Is a woman defined by her good looks and slim waist? HA Ha nice try. But thanks for making me feel guilty for chiming doom fully in the mirror "I am getting fat!"
I LOVE GUILT TRIPS

11) Is a woman defined by her relationship with Deity?
YES, THIS IS PART OF THE PUZZLE

12) Is a woman defined by how she responds and reacts to her enviroment?
HMMM, I LIKE IT ALOT, YES

But let me stray for a bit and I promise I will make this mesh. I feel sometimes that their is a identity crises felt among women, men get it too. For simplicities sake I will forgo the men; my focus today is on women.

Just in case you are wondering I am not going through the dregs of hellish identity crises. Well... okay maybe a little. This post may bring out fiery feelings and opinions. Feel free, I want to hear it.

Sometimes I think woman don't know who they are. I mean really, they don't have any clue.

a)I think some woman think of themselves as business/ career women. When they decide to stay home and give up their lucrative career they feel uncomfortable. I can just see it now, she is sitting forlornly (and bored) in a wooden rocking chair. The room is dark and a sweet smelling baby is starting to pout and cry. All of a sudden CEO-career-woman-know-it-all is at the mercy of 8 pounds of screaming angry baby. She is left with no Bachelors degree in how to deal with swollen breasts and foreign bra's flaps. She is lost. What am I doing? Who am I if I am not making rockin' deals... where is my investment strategy going...who is selling...who is buying....Who's picking up my dry cleaning? WHAT do I do with this tiny baby?

b)I think some women think of themselves as Mothers only. They marry and have babies with the best of intentions. They may or may not have an education. High School was the last of their memories. Motherhood is a fantastic time for these women, they are needed, they thrive, children depend on them and they can deliver. These women love and relish in their role. Soon the kids grow up, they go to college, they get married, and they leave. Soon the house is quiet, the carpet never gets dirty anymore and dinner is only for 2. "Mother" types feel a massive sense of loss and discomfort and instead of utilizing the opportunity to figure out who they are they simply don't.

c) I think some woman identify themselves by their talents and interests. Imagine Creative Girl, she loves to make clay sculpture and travel. She also paints impressionistic murals, takes pictures, plays classical piano and sews anthropologie dresses. All of a sudden this girl loses money, nothing can fund her hobbies. She has to move to Fiji (poor thing I just hate exotic islands!) and there is no craft store. I will confide that I am this lowly girl. Of course one could argue that a true artist can find beauty in the humblest of circumstances, this is true, but it is a surely an ugly thing to define oneself entirely by interests and talents.

Is knowing who you are achieved by having confidence in yourself during times of transition? Imagine CEO business woman saying confidently to herself "I can pacify this baby!" Imagine Empty Nester "Mother" saying confidently, "Now I can go back and get a Masters Degree AND have clean carpets!" Artistic girl says, "Wow, their is so much more to me than just my interests! Maybe I can volunteer and serve others on the island!" Is knowing who you are achieved by being ripped from what you thought was your identity? After praying and confiding in God and learning what you need to do? Is knowing who you are actually an ability rather than a laundry list of interests, accomplishments, relationships, children and resume like achievements?

Before Job was tested he could have said in interview "yes I know who I am, I am a wealthy land owner, with hundreds of cows, camels and goats. I have many handsome sons and beautiful daughters. I am healthy and am well known in my city." He could have. But what happened to him? Job lost everything, he became lowly, he became ill, he became impoverished and he lost all of his relationships (sons, daughters, wife, friends). Job figured out who he was during the transition of losses. He learned after the trial. Knowing who you are is the ability to be confident during the storms, the changes, the transition, the losses, the disappointments.

Edmond Dantes in the Count of Monte Cristo said it best:

Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout: Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you: as Albert Mondego, the man!

The End

Conde Nast Traveler, In Style and Architecture Digest

2010-10-16T17:40:00.000-07:00

Each month I wait greedily by the mail box for my Magazines to arrive in which I prompty read in whichever corner I can sneak them into: Conde Nast (thank you to myself for subscribing!) In Style (Thank you Jana Richmond Momma) and Architecture Digest (thank you Dangerously Handsome Husband Chandler)

Ode To In Style Magazine

Architecture Digest

A few visual thoughts from Conde Nast

What the World thinks about us (Conde Nast article)

They love our movies. They hate our politicians (well, most of them). But what about our manners? We found out what everyone thinks of our behavior—be it good, bad, or just plain perplexing

There have been better times to be an American, at least in terms of world opinion, yet tourists and immigrants continue to flock to the United States. And when they do, they find that our mores are a lot more complicated than what pop culture, or the chance encounter with fanny-packing tourists, has led them to believe. For all our vastness and diversity, we do have a culture of etiquette—one that can be just as confusing for the visitor to navigate as Japan's, or Egypt's, or France's is for the American tourist. Which is why this edition of Etiquette 101 is an inside-out affair, an introspective examination of the U.S.A. in the eyes of the rest of the world

1. THEY THINK WE'RE A "LOOK, BUT DON'T TOUCH" CULTURE…
THE SMILE: One of the qualities that sets us most apart is how often we smile—even at strangers. "It really is peculiar to Americans," says Gary Weaver, a professor of international communications at American University, who's trained many a foreigner. Visitors often take a smile very seriously, "and then when they realize that it extends to everybody, [they assume] it's because Americans are phony." But it's just a basic signal of politeness—mixed with perhaps a preoccupation with first impressions. "We're a very mobile society," says James L. Bullock, a diplomat at the American embassy in Paris. "We're always trying to fit in—that's why other people think we're always smiling."
EYE CONTACT: Whereas in other cultures avoiding eye contact—particularly with an elder—can be a sign of respect, here eye contact is mandatory, even if you're just making small talk about the weather.
PERSONAL DISTANCE: Weaver warns visitors that Americans are not to be touched beyond the forearm, and estimates personal space here at nearly two feet—twice what it is in the Arab world and in Mediterranean countries. The author Aleksandar Hemon, who emigrated to the United States from Bosnia in his late twenties, noticed that people here flinched at his touch. It's not that Americans are cold or that Eastern Europeans are pushy, he says. It's just a cultural difference related to notions of personal space and privacy.

2. …AND THAT OUR WOMEN ARE TEASES
In most countries, a scantily clad woman smiling at a stranger is an invitation. "We've had major issues," says Pamela Eyring, director of the Protocol School in Washington, D.C., "especially with the Russians and Serbians." Some men have even given female colleagues the keys to their hotel rooms. Eyring is currently preparing a course on dressing conservatively. "That's an area we're having trouble with in the United States." Weaver finds himself having to emphasize that "when an American woman says no, she means no. It doesn't mean ask me again," as it often does in other cultures.

3 THEY THINK WE MAKE MEANINGLESS SMALL TALK
Small talk—which Hemon calls "the verbal equivalent of smiling"—is a staple worldwide, but it seems that we Americans do it the most. Take the phrase "How are you?" "In many countries where people say 'How are you,' they really mean 'How are you,'?" says Weaver. "We just want people to say 'fine.' It's not an invitation to a health report." Sherry Mueller, head of the National Council for International Visitors, gives detailed workshops on small talk. "I recommend that they read a local newspaper or a magazine. That gives them topics and conversation skills." It's a way to avoid just discussing the weather, or topics you'd rather not hear about, because…

4 WE DO HAVE OUR SORE SPOTS
Religion and politics are two topics that often get passionately discussed at European dinner parties but are studiously avoided here. Part of this, of course, has to do with our astonishing diversity: You just don't know what your acquaintance believes, or how strongly he or she believes it. "People who are spiritual tend to share it," Mueller says. "But they usually share it with people they know are of the same religion." The same could be said for politics.

5 THEY THINK WE'RE ALL BUSINESS, NO CEREMONY
TIME MANAGEMENT: Compared with the rest of the world, Americans do business at a furious pace. Weaver tries to explain to visitors that "because we measure productivity based on time, when people come to meetings late, we get upset, we feel that you stole our money. Whereas in other countries, time stretches."
BUSINESS ON THE FIRST MEETING: "Things that would normally take a lot of time and massaging to get done in your home country, you don't require that here," says Karim Haggag, a press attaché at the Egyptian embassy in Washington, D.C. This means more efficiency but also leads to a feeling of having to strike early to develop sources. "It's always finding the right hook with whomever you're dealing with to take you beyond the initial phone call," he says. "If you don't find that hook—the issue at hand, whether he feels it is a benefit to him—the relationship can be halted very abruptly."
A BUSINESS LUNCH IS A BUSINESS LUNCH: Americans don't always talk business at dinner, but there is no real break in the workday. "Something people are startled by is that we have working lunches," says Mueller. "We are determined to use every possible part of the workday to get something done."
CARDS AND TITLES ARE NO BIG DEAL: Whether we're throwing them around the room—the "shotgun" approach—or unceremoniously stuffing them in our pockets, we just don't give business cards the attention other cultures do. "The verbal introduction is the most important part, not the business card," says Eyring. It's much more important to remember someone's first name than his title.
OUR FIRST QUESTION IS "WHAT DO YOU DO?": "Our identity as Americans has a lot to do with the work we do," says Bullock, "whereas others identify themselves in terms of who they are, their traditions, and where they're from." So naturally, our first question of others is about their jobs—even in social settings.
BUT WE MAY NOT TALK AS MUCH ABOUT MONEY AS YOU'D THINK: Visitors can be forgiven for asking impolite questions about money in a country where making it and spending it seems to be of unusual importance. They're shocked to discover that "how much do you make" is a rude question. In many places, it isn't.

6 THEY THINK WE EAT FUNNY
One of the common misconceptions about our eating habits (aside from the assumption that we eat only junk food) is that we're basically Europeans. So even European visitors or those from other countries who were educated in the "Continental" style may find subtle contrasts: * We often keep our hands in our laps at the dinner table, which the French consider rude.
* We generally put our knives down after cutting, switch our fork hand, and pierce our food, rather than use the knife in conjunction with the fork to cut our food and scoop it onto our fork.
* We eat much more quietly than people from some cultures: no slurping, loud sipping, or open-mouthed chewing. This seems normal to us but unnecessarily uptight to many others.
* We almost never use a fork to eat a burger or a pizza—or at least that's what their guidebooks warn them about. In truth, we do, but mostly in formal restaurants or situations.
* We don't know how to throw a dinner party—at least not by the highly choreographed, festive, and communal standards of many other cultures. The idea of just getting one serving, on a paper plate—of being told to "help yourself" to something from the fridge—leaves many visitors perplexed. Weaver tries to explain that visits to people's homes are a less planned-out affair than they are elsewhere. "?'Grab a beer, make yourself at home'—we interpret that as meaning you're one of us," says Weaver. "But it comes across in exactly the opposite way."
* We don't cook nearly as often, and we go out or order in a lot more. There's a much broader variety of price points and ordering options here than pretty much anywhere else in the world.
* For Americans, eating on the go may literally involve going while eating. That's one of the reasons so much of our fast food is handheld. In most countries, eating and walking are (sensibly) mutually exclusive activities.
* Whether we're inhaling takeout or drinking green shakes, to many visitors we just don't seem to savor our food. "You eat to lose weight or to keep yourself healthy, not to enjoy food," says Hemon. To be sure, he's talking about a rather upscale demographic, but the other extreme—grabbing a Croissandwich for breakfast, a taco to eat in front of the computer at work, and a Domino's pizza for a late dinner after soccer—is just as strange compared with the practices of many cultures where family meals dominate the day.
…AND WHAT IS IT WITH THOSE DOGGIE BAGS?
The takeaway bag for the balance of our dinner is an American phenomenon. Ask a French waiter if you can have the rest of your cake to go and you might find him scooping up scraps from everyone's dessert plates, assuming it's actually meant for your dog. Taking food home is tacky to people in many other countries, who don't go out as often and, for another thing, generally eat smaller portions than we do. The forerunner of the doggie bag actually evolved in the Old World—in ancient Rome, to be precise: Many guests at a banquet would bring their own oversized napkins and, at the end of the night, fill them with leftovers.
7 THEY THINK WE KNOW LESS ABOUT THEM THAN THEY DO ABOUT US
It's true that Americans can't find a good number of countries—or even our own states—on a map. Yes, most of us don't have passports. So that part of the equation is, regrettably, largely correct. But how well do they really know us? "They'll say, 'We know all about you because we watched your movies and we watch CNN,'?" says Weaver. "But what they see are sensational stories. They just don't realize until they get to the United States that it's really a distortion, an entertainment." This is why so many visitors are astonished that all Americans don't have guns and that the chances of getting mugged are higher in London than in New York.

8 THEY THINK WE TREAT OUR PETS LIKE KIDS, AND OUR KIDS LIKE PRINCES
Pets are not coddled in many cultures—much less given elective surgery and organic treats or blessed with a master who dutifully carries around their droppings in a bag. And in many places, children aren't dealt with in the same way ours are, either. Bullock is married to a Frenchwoman, and his French relatives and friends like to say that American children "aren't badly brought up, they're not brought up at all." The American idea that "a child is a seed, and you're supposed to water it and tend to it" conflicts with the concept behind the strict French school system: "The child is a wild creature, and you have to tame it." It comes down to: "Are you being broken, or are you being nurtured? My children go to an American school, by the way. I don't want them broken."

9 THEY THINK WE DON'T DRESS WELL ENOUGH
When Hemon was attending graduate school in the United States, he often wore a suit to class. It was, after all, a public space "where you meet people, where relationships are established." But most other people were wearing sweatpants and "would not dress up in an attractive way." Eventually he met them halfway. But his observation wasn't unusual. The contrast is even more striking for, say, the French, who wear makeup to the grocery store.

10 THEY THINK WE DON'T RESPECT OUR ELDERS
WE DON'T ADDRESS THEM PROPERLY: Part of this perception comes from our penchant for first names. It's an extension of our general informality, but it isn't easy for a businessman in his sixties from a culture where people use different verbs depending on their age to get used to a 22-year-old calling him Bob.
WE THROW THEM OUT OF THE HOUSE: Weaver often has to deal with the perception that we put elders away in nursing homes because we don't respect them. And while there might be a grain of truth to that, he sees it differently—more as a by-product of our independent streak. "Most people who are old want to be independent. If you want to kill older people, make them live with their children." He remembers a group of Russians taking offense upon being guided through a cathedral by a senior citizen. "They said, 'Why do you make your old people work?' But they're not working. They're being valuable. They enjoy it. It's a very different world."

A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous. Coco Chanel

2010-10-11T20:12:00.000-07:00

I thought I should explain somethings, like: Why did Marissa change her name? WIERD. Marissa Danielle Coles was the name I was given and loved but I changed it to Marissa Coco Richmond. A little Pretentious eh???

Many were not thrilled. But let me explain....

When I got married I thought, "I am going to be different" I am going to keep my maiden name and hyphenate it .I will go by Marissa Danielle Coles-Richmond. Go Feminism! Yeah right. After writing it out several times on school lined paper I realized how insanely ugly of a name I had conceived. Not only was it long, mangled and masculine like a thorny tree limb, but it also had black girl attitude, but not in the like-able, charming sort of way, more like "Hey I think I am going to make a big deal out of everything and start hyphenating stuff."

(several months later)
As I was looking at the social security paper work a part of my brain illuminated like a EEG brain scan of a man viewing a pretty female face.Yes, at that moment I thought of something very pretty. I realized Its just a name! My brain started speaking to me " Marissa, change your name to Richmond, show some respect girl.Drop Danielle which you have never enjoyed (due to its masculine counter part Daniel) and make up your own middle name. You might as well do it now while your changing the last name."

I confided in a few persons that I planned on changing my name, this was met with resistance. Additionally, in my family, in show of honor, the women keep their maiden name as their middle name. This practice has been done for GENERATIONS! By not participating I was literally going against the grain. This was unintentionally offensive. It was also offensive that I disregarded my middle name. I was sad, the moment of euphoria I felt about changing my name had vanished and was replaced with lingering guilt.

I crawled back into my cave and thought about if for a couple of days, mourning over the loss of my new name until I realized something, Its my life. I am changing my name dependent of anyone else's opinion. My inner ego let out a happy "Damn Right", oddly it was in a southern accent. I thought to myself "Now that I've decided, how can I make the best of it." I wondered, "what name is closest to Coles that is feminine and could be used as a middle name?" C... C... C... Cole? Cola? Colestria? Colonoscopy? YIKES

And then I thought about Coco Chanel. The women responsible for making pants chic and available to women for the first time. Chanel was a brilliant designer who had no prestigious family history or talent. Chanel started out as a poor dancer and apprentice seamstress who eventually, by her genius, created the icon we remember today as Coco Chanel. Trivia: Coco Chanel wasn't her real name either, she changed it.

And that was it.

Of course some made comments my favorite was "Are you trying to be sexy or something".

I replied, "I was born sexy"

No just kidding,I didnt. I was speechless and just stared back appalled by the idea (and the audacity) that someone actually thought that I, a married mormon woman, would change her name to sound sexier. I am sure I started glazing over at that point thinking about how many other people probably assumed that same idea about me. But if anyone knows me, like really knows me, they know that I have messy hair and bad breath 75% of the time: A name change would be insufficient incentive to make me sexier.

In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different.
Coco Chanel

Read the Previous POST too. It explains these oddities

2010-10-09T18:46:00.000-07:00

Conference, Mission Reunion EDDY and MIKEN

2010-10-09T17:47:00.000-07:00

So we got back from Utah. Why did we go? Well, Chandler has never been to Conference, we wanted to see Eddy and Miken and it was time for Chandlers Mission reunion!

Going back to Utah was especially poignant and special for me because it has been nearly a year exactly since chandler came to Provo to pick me up and take me back to Texas to be his wife. Being back in Utah brought back alot of sweet memories: College, my old apartment, the cool weather and fall seasons,and falling in Love with Chandler. It was very fulfilling to fly back.

And here is my shout-out to Miken. I LOVE YOU pretty lady and your apartment is artistic, clean and CUTIES, You've inspired me. LOVES!

Lastly, I don't think I've posted pictures of our place. Its still a work in progress, we just bought a bed yesterday from IKEA so I will post that in a few.

Also, the 2 black boxes with CD's in them are how I organize our pictures. After each trip or holiday or anything I come back home and burn each event onto a CD.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

When the End comes will it get crazy?

2010-08-31T06:56:00.001-07:00

Humans, unlike coral, nurse sharks, fluffy puppies, willow trees or any other thing living on this earth, are the only ones that are consciously aware that death is inevitable. (I apologize dear reader, I am sure you are thinking...what the heck. Is this suppose to draw me in?)

Last night during Chan & I's drive home from his parents house we started up one of those uncomfortable conversations that you just can't shake off until you wake up the next morning and realize that you still haven't shaken it so you write about it. You know the conversation...Death and the end of the world.

For Latter Day Saint this is a gritty subject. Why? Well think about it: we are constantly encouraged to have food storage and be prepared. Joseph Smith once casually stated that he thought it could occur during his lifetime. We even have a name for it, the "Second Coming". Then again, I prefer the LDS standpoint: be prepared, don't deny it, don't skirt around the issue, no matter what happens, whether it be a job loss or the literal "end of the world" be prepared.

My question is, will there really be a death of the earth? Will there be an armaggedon? Will things get crazy? Will the United States Constitution really hang by a thread? Will 10 pound Hail fall from the sky? Is all the bad "end of the world" war stuff already full swing in motion, but because we were born into it we don't really realize how bad it is? What parts of the bible are symbolic and which ones are literal? I know there is a time and place for symbolic intrepretation and Dispensationalism (the dispensationalism viewpoint interprets biblical prophecy literally and expects that the fulfillment of prophecy will also be literal).

I shake my head thinking about it, I shake it out of terror.
I think alot of people get this way, why? Because they are just starting out and haven't had a chance to really live. Some have babies that are just starting out. I am just starting out in my marriage. Chandler is in his first semester of College. I dont want this happy life to end: Sunny summer days, fireworks on fourth of july, popsicles by the pool, fireflies at night that float and glitter amongst the trees. The smell of chocolates during Christmas. Watching movies at night while cuddling under a blanket.

I do believe that alot of the older generation (think Grandma and Grandpa, think baby boomers) believe the end will come quite soon, which it might. In fact, I heard one kind older gentleman predict: "I think things will start getting really crazy in the next three years". I am not sure what exactly he is seeing, but part of me thinks that because their lives are coming to a close they assume the Earth must be coming to a close too. I am not saying that all old people hold that opinion nor do I believe that they are narcissistic enough to believe that when they die, the earth that rotates for them must die too, but I am just saying it.....and I think I am making a pretty good connection. I only mention them to reinstate why so many have anxiety over the issue, they are constantly warned by the whispers of their passing elders that the end is "very very soon, the world has gone to hell...its inevitable".

While I sat in my seat parked outside of the barn under the moonlight with the car's headlights on and flies swirling around them like obsessed teenagers surrounding Katy Perry at the Mall I realized something. This idea/thought calmed me down significantly:

The earth is a metaphor for the human life and process. It took significate time to create the earth. It takes 9 months, a significant amount of time, to create a baby. The earth was flooded by water and fire during Noahs time. We are immersed in water at baptism and enlivenend by the fire of the Holy Ghost. (We know this) Since that time, the earth has matured, grown, become polluted, and used. As we age, we mature, get polluted and eventually wear out. From what I have seen of death, it is extremely peaceful. When someone passes, its like the lights in there room dim for a bit and a peaceful fog sets in. For those that are aged and wragged and worn out, death is a desirable option. When my Dad was thirty he taste tested death, he started to pass away as his heart failed him. He stoppped breathing and told me that he felt like he was on a gentle rocking boat. He finished the story up by saying "it wasnt scary at all". After death, we reunite with our maker, Christ, who is the giver of peace. When the Earth Passes and the End comes, Christ will appear and the Earth will be reunited with its maker.
There is no reason to fear, the giver of peace is here.

The Most Talented Marissa

2010-08-24T19:43:00.000-07:00

Ok so this is chandler writing(not that you wont be able to tell i am not near the writer that my lovely wife is) and i just wanted to show some appreciation. The past 8 months have been interesting and wonderful. I was married to my sweetheart and have since had the privilege of figuring her out. Not to say it wasn't difficult at first, but i think i have it nailed. Marissa is a lovely very artistic girl. She amazes me with the ability she has to see something and make it beautiful. There are several examples of this but i will mention one. We just moved into my in-laws barn, a lovely apartment is inside the barn, and we were trying to figure out our living room. I thought it was going to be impossible to do. Rissa kept insisting that we do something and i was not agreeing just thinking how dreadful it was going to look. Well nothing was working so i decided to give it a try. Just deciding wasn't an easy task. it required moving a 200lb tv. Once it all got into place it looked amazing. The lovely apartment turned very homie and cozy just from the brilliant mind of a talented artist. I mean the word artist in every aspect of the word. Artist meaning musically talented. Rissa has an amazing singing voice and here voice is compared to the beautiful sound of waves crashing against ocean rocks. Artist meaning the art of music. Marissa plays the piano brilliantly. I feel i am listening to Mozart every time she plays. Her love and talent for music is something that i hope gets passed on to our children. Artist meaning great in art. Riss has a sharp eye for art. She is able to compile things to astonish those around. I gave and example of the designing of our home. Truly talented and amazing.
Since Marissa doesn't let many into her head i am going to leave you with that. It has taken me 8 months to figure this out and many other wonderful qualities and talents of Marissa. i am definitely still learning, so I'm not going to give it to y'all in one setting. Maybe another day i will let you in on more. But for now my sweet readers and the readers of this future author Marissa Richmond, i say farewell. The ever talented Marissa will keep writing and show up the shmuck of a writer i am.

Is it annoying?

2010-08-24T11:40:00.000-07:00

Hey Is it lame to have music on your blog? Basically what I am doing is admitting that I really want music.

I want everyones opinions.

I adore music, but I know it can be irritating to be reading a blog and 5 minutes into it the music bursts loudly onto the screen. It can be terrifying! Dozens of times I have jumped out of my seat because I have been so startled by the sound (because of course my volume is all the way up).I keep on saying in my head "Its just those crazy kids". Because thats what your suppose to say when Your house is in a constant state of chaos and your the volume on your laptop is always up, but oh wait.... but I cant use that excuse yet. Give me a couple years.

2010-08-24T11:15:00.000-07:00

2010-08-23T10:34:00.000-07:00

2010-08-23T08:15:00.000-07:00

2010-08-23T08:14:00.000-07:00

I have never been the most fluid person when it comes to speaking. I rarely emit or verbalize what’s really swirling around in my head and that’s probably a good thing because I can be feisty, aggressive and occasionally emotionally saturated. I guess I write this today as a sort of poignant letter of gratitude and reflection. Because I feel so strongly about it, I am afraid of speaking it poorly and ruining the depths of my feelings. I feel more accurate in writing, erasing and rewriting.
SO thank you.

There was a time when Chandler and I were overjoyed, nearly ecstatic about having $50.00 dollars in my Wells fargo account. We were your typical poor newly wed LDS couple except he nor I attended BYU, neither of us were attending any school for that matter and I was an new Nurse stuck in a tough economy. I found out fast that no one was finding success acquiring a job.
I passed my Nursing boards in December with a perfect score (that is a miracle in itself and I will take no credit for it, because it was not me and I want to make sure that everyone understands that.) At the end of April I landed my first job and ever since then I have felt overwhelmed by the blessings it has brought. The stablility I feel about being able to bring in a comfortable income for two 22 year olds is satisfying. I didn’t realize until I sat down at this desk how much confidence I have gained from being able to bring in money to our measly bank accounts. It feels good to save. It feels good to invest. It feels good to make large purchases because quite frankly…... I never thought I would be able to .
Whenever I sit down to write I find myself coming back to the same old over exposed topic: my job. But I can’t be harsh on myself because It’s a massive part of my life. I see differently now. I am humbled from being poor for so long. My patience is stronger from dealing with certain patients. My intolerance and anger is weaker after encounter the kindness of one patient who had every reason to be unkind. My confidence is taller from being able to work and provide for my husband and I.
When Chan and I got married on November 28th everything was perfect. It really was. We were happy to be able to get married in my fairy tale white temple: Nauvoo. We were simple and we didn’t have a dime for a honeymoon. But we didn’t care. Nauvoo was a dream.
After our wedding dinner in Nauvoo, I remember vividly sitting in the car parking lot looking at Chandler without speaking, we knew what the other was thinking: we don’t have any money for gas for the drive home to Texas. Not only that but where would we stay if we needed to stop? Once again, God blessed us, his Favorite Aunt slipped us $100 bucks. My dad also slipped chandler $200 bucks. That would be our gas and food money for the rest of the trip home.
I sit in front of my computer today in awe. This past week (August 16th-22nd) Chan and I went to Puerto Rico and Culebra. We paid for the whole thing: the Flight, the 4 star resort, the cute little rental car, the overpriced food and worthless future regretable trinkets. We blew so much money it was nauseating but I was happy! Because of Chandler’s work and my Work we were able to do this. As I walked along the clear blue water at Flamenco beach I keep on getting this overwhelming emotion that rushes in and has about as much power as each wave crashing against the sturdy rocks: gratitude.

SO thank you.

2010-08-14T15:02:00.001-07:00

I wake up and Chandler is sitting at the side of the bed playing with my hair and pulling the strands out of my eyes.

I find myself groggily floating between reality and illusions' tangled layers of confusion. I was convinced that I was in a hospital room that looked identical to Chandler and I's bedroom. I fell back asleep, I knew something was fishy about reality but I was too tired to try to reason it out. Last night, like three out of seven of my nights, I worked.

I wake up again, this time to smell. Its chandler. Ever since High School I have had crushes on Chandler and his imppeccable taste in Cologne. If Zeus had a smell, he woulds still get Schooled by Chandler. What is Chan wearing? Yves St. Laurent? Ahhhh smells so good. I feel like a dog that just got his first wiff of bacon.

I didnt have my contacts in, making me adoringly blind, so I agree with the ill fitting quote from O Brother Where art thou, "The blind are reputed to possess sensitivities compensating for their lack of sight, even to the point of developing paranormal psychic powers" I agree with that for those who are truly sightless. But I guess Chandler Is taking advantage of my "paranormal psychic smelling powers" because its working.

He leans forward and presses his perfect plump soft lips against my crusty nasty lips that cover the gaping hole called my "mouth". My mouth is the hole of stinky-ness.He pretends to like kissing me. I immedialty cover the lower half of my face with a thick blanket and croak "Morning Handsome What time is it?"

"Three thity" He says cheerfully (yes thats what he said 3:30 PM), Not at all annoyed that he has spent his whole day unpacking in a silent home while his wife layed in bed in a near comatose state.

Oh yeah, Chan and I moved too. I live in my parents Apartment. Its so cool. Its a barn that has an apartment in it. I think a long time ago, the people that owned my parents home (my parents house is like 50 year old) owned alot of land with livestock. I Assume that they had a ranch hand who took care of the animals and lived in the barn apartment. I don't know,I am just making it up, but that seems like it would be the most accurate. My parents property only has 11 acres to it, but that is still enough wiggle and run room.

Anyways, so this has been our week:
Work, pack, Work, Pack, Gar and Kelsey move (sad) Work, Pack, Work, Pack, Eddy and Miken come into town (happy), Unpack, Work, Unpack.

OH yeah did I tell you that I got in a wreck on Friday (YESTERDAY!) night on my way to work? Basically It sucked and the left front of my bumper has a small hole in it. And much to my pleasure one of the nameless guys that was in the wreck said verbatim: "your car doesnt look too bad on the outside, but all the damage could be INTERNAL!" I was tempted to say something like, now my car matches me. No just kidding. Remember to love yourself and be gentle with yourself Marissa.Hoommmm.(yoga). Hahaha. I think I love myself a little too much. It was not that bad of an accident, but It was still an accident. I was so impressed with myself, I didnt even get upset, I was totally chill and calm and even tempered like : "at least we are all safe and the cars aren't too jacked up" I still can't get over the fact that the person that caused the wreck sped off leaving two other cars in the middle of the road stranded (me included)" Good thing I left an hour early for work I was STILL ON TIME BABY!

Back to the original story. Ahh yes...Chandler is caressing my face and and says gently: "I went to Costco and got groceries" Our fridge has been EMPTY. He leans down, the air around him rustles and I am surrounded by his smell. He kisses me and continues "then I unpacked the kitchen" I freeze. What? Thats like 20 boxes of pure heavy crap! That also implies that he went back to our old apartment and packed all of our freezer fruit and cans of food while I was asleep!

I walk out of my bed groggily to see the evidence of his accomplishment. Chan protests that I stay in bed and rest some more, but I am too eager to see. Chan walks by my side in the hallway and I sway side to side and occasionally bump into his chest like a drunk(I have never been drunk for the record,Just drunk in love?). The kitchen lookes fabulous, the spice wrack is up, the Kitchen Aid is sparkling. All of my favorite knives are neatly polished and stacked in a drawer. He even has our Scentsy plugged in and its scenting up the place with...what is that....vanilla? Yes! ...with heavy undertones of musk and hazelnut? OOoooh I am good. (He probably put that thing up first....Chan likes things that smell good)

My eye glances over to the new fridge, I open it. It is filled with yummy costco food and....is that a Brita Filter? YES. SUCCESS. My happiness has now doubled. I have been whining about the offensive...I mean vitamin filled, Texas water. My eyes cross the counter tops and there it is, the holy grail of chocolate foods. The staple and determiner of whether a party was a success: 10 pounds of pure COSTCO CHOCOLATE CAKE!!!! My mouth immedialty starts watering.I turn around looking for a knife and then I see it, not a knife but my other favorite food. LASAGNA and its sitting on the stove top waiting for ME. Hehehehehe

From 7:30 am to 3:30 Pm chandler managed to empty, clean and vacuum our old apartment, go grocery shopping, unpack our entire kitchen, buy the connections for our dryer and washer and make me tasty FOOD. Like L.V. Miles was quoted saying, "Heck, the boy will fill up the Gatorade cooler, walk the dog, and paint your back porch. I'm telling ya, the boy can plain outplay football. "

Yeah thats my husband.

ITS SO FLUFFY I'M GONNA DIE

2010-08-11T08:58:00.000-07:00

SO channy and I try not to indulge ourselves too much (ya who am I kidding) but we find that we have about as much self control as a three year old locked into Willie Wonka's Chocolate "lollipop closet" when it comes to MOVIES.

WE MUST GIVE IN....

We watched so many good movies this summer: Alice and Wonderland, INCEPTION, Eclipse, Despicable me.....la la la la la la and lots more where that came from. (By the way I just discovered The Young Victoria several months ago....NO one told me about it last year!...I was probably in love or engaged or something. Any ways, The Young Victoria is still having its way with me and I am about as consumed with it as I am with Pride & Prejudice Kiera Knightly style )

So for all of you who have or haven't seen Despicable me I just want to replay the part where the sweet generally mute little girl exclaims over her newly won unicorm "IT'S SO FLUFFLY I'M GONNA DIE!!"
Ahhhh cuties!

Please copy and paste me to WATCH IT (probably illegally)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Fu6g6yT1EM&feature=related

Your family doesn't have to Love you

2010-07-29T08:58:00.000-07:00

Patient from Hell No 3: (I hereby decide that I will call all of my female patients this: Lucy)

She sat there outside nearly naked, with her blue gown flapping in the wind. She had insisted that she was leaving the hospital and forced her way out. I had to follow her, not to change her mind, but to make sure she was safe until she left. Her dark eyes were brooding with anger. Her bald head had sprigs of hair growing at various lengths, she looked astonishingly similar to the Toy Story toy that had the bald doll head and the terrifying metal spider legs. Lucy started to scream at her poor hunched over 80 year old mother whom she lived with and depended on. Lucy stood there like a naked idiot swearing at me, the road, the water fountain, anyone that came to visit her, the hospital, her sister and her boyfriend. She was swearing at everyone and no one. Lucy had literally pushed away everyone that could have possibly loved her. She was making it easy for them to say good-bye. I stood there outside of the hospital sliding doors keeping a safe 10 foot distance from Lucy and I realized that so was everyone else. They was scared and sick of her. Lucy’s mentality was: “They’ll love me no matter what. Time heals all wounds.” But I just stood there in silence thinking, you don’t have much time left and this is how they will remember you: mean.
After that I day I came home in a daze. Who do I push away? My husband? My family? Who do I think: “Oh they will forgive and forget, they’ll love me no matter what.” For a moment I wondered if this is what it’s like to be an angel in heaven with my belly pressed to a cloud peering down through an opening watching the people below with unlimited perspective. My patient today taught me an unforgettable lesson about how NOT to treat your family.

Your family doesn’t have to love you. Never forget that

They don’t. If you treat them bad enough over and over again, they will avoid you eventually. It hurts them too much to be beat up (verbally or emotionally), because deep down a tiny part of them still loves you immensely and they want to protect that love. They want to remember the happy moments of love. They don’t want to stop loving you. They don't want the guilt, but it just hurts them too much to realize that you won’t try to love them back.

Yes I number my patients. This is the third patient I have had from the eternal pit of self loathing. Satan himself must be bad with directions because he thought room 462 was actually hell and that his name was Lucy. He stayed there for a while until he figured out that he was actually in a hospital room. Lucy, was admitted to me at eleven in the morning. JOY. No, more like gigantic hassle and load of paperwork. Not only did I have 5 other patients to care for (one included a 70 year old man in restraints who kept on kicking the nurses and his wife in the face) but now I had a lot of paperwork to complete and I had to ask 1,000 questions like (are you suicidal…. Do you have any known drug allergies?.....Do you or anyone in your family have a history of: cancer, Pulmonary problems, blood clots, anesthesia complications la la la la?.....This “family history” question must translate to “Story time” in neon lights to people with the age greater than 60yrs. Because right after that question I usually get this response “Well….pause pause pause….My great aunt had this weird lung thing (turning question to wife now) Hey Shirley…what did she have? (Wife looks back mystified and responds) What? I cant hear you?) This is all very funny and amusing and also painfully sad because I will be the same way someday. SO I wait patiently and listen. I like people that were born in the 20’s and 30’s. They have a sense of confidence in their country and in their work ethic and in their religion that I feel is slowly fading from the United states. I find certain old people charming. I like to soak up their charismatic simple outlook on life.
Back to Lucy! Whoa reader, I was really getting off on that one. I am extremely distract-able. My future children will take advantage of that I am sure. SSOOoo, Lucy was a 40 year old female admitted to me at 11am with stage 4 lung cancer. Translation: this woman will pass away very soon. I nearly cried when I read her diagnosis. She just found out 6 months ago that something was going on and it happened to be lung cancer.

At first I was extremely sympathetic to Lucy. In fact my eyes got wet (I NEVER CRY). My heart went out to her. She came off as combatitive and extremely agitated and quite frankly rude. This is to be expected, she is going through her grieving process which rotates wildly between the five expressions of: Denial, Anger, depression, bargaining, acceptance. So I gave her some happy drugs I like to call: Xanex, ativan and morphine. Here you go lady, I thought happily as I push them seperately into her IV. This calmed her for a bit. But not much.
Over the course of 6 hours my feelings of sympthathy melted and turned to observation. This woman had relatively few family at the bedside. Eventually her only sister came who was cautious and apathetic, accompanied by their sweet 80 year old mother who looked raged from exhaustion and stress.

What followed was a jerry springer episode. I happened to be in the hallways (trying to take care of my other well behaved peeps) when I hear yelling and screaming (which is not that unusual for the hospital unfortunately). Then I hear “I am dying I am dying I need oxygen *&%$@! “ I recognize that as the voice of my beloved patient so I go running into her room. She is crouching over the toilet gasping for air yelling. Her sister is standing irritated at the bedside and her mother is not sure of what is even happening.

Of course Lucy needs oxygen. At first I think! Crap! I am a terrible nurse. How did this lady get to this point? Her O2 saturations were in the 60’s (95% is what we want). So I run out of the room in a panic. I grab oxygen and tubing to bring back into the bathroom. By then 2 other nurses come running in to help. What happened was this: Miss Lucy was sitting in her bed with 10 Liters oxygen running into her face mask (its called a non-rebreather for those who dig details), Her tubing is engaged in the “wall”. Between the walls we have large reserves that hold compressed pure fresh O2. What happened was Lucy’s family. Lucy doesn’t want to hear them say “I am so sorry” because she is in denial and she doesn’t take advice very well so Lucy decides to pull off her oxygen mask, walk to the bathroom and sit on the toilet. (Lucy has been on Oxygen for 6months so she knows exactly what will happen).

If a patient needs to go the bathroom, what normally happens is they call the nurse and then the nurse brings them in a tank (if they need one…usually they don’t), the whole process takes 60 seconds. After I realized it wasn’t my fault that Lucy didn’t call me to tell me that she was going to the bathroom to avoid her family and would need oxygen I didn’t feel bad. In fact I was what you call pissed.
I have 6 other patients whom I am usually caring for: giving shots, turning or cleaning. I don’t have x-ray vision, nor can I mind read, when someone needs to go to the Lou.

So I hook lucy back up to Oxygen and wait for the saturations to go up. All of this is still in the bathroom.

This episode happened about three more times.

Lucy then began to ask “When am I going to die?” She asked me this once and I as struck “I don’t know Lucy”

She then looked at me perplexed and asked again “Why wont you tell me when I am going to die, why are you holding back information from me?”
I guess Lucy thought this was TV and that we keep secrets from patients and hide their charts from them (A lot of people think this).
I still felt sympathetic, “Lucy you know as much as I do, You have stage four lung cancer and you are in the hospital right now being treated for exacerbation. Your saturations are extremely low. That’s why you need oxygen. That’s why its important that you keep your face mask on at all times and you tell me if you need to go to the bathroom so that I can bring you oxygen before hand. Also lucy, if you don’t want your family here you just tell me, if they make you upset, I will ask them to leave.” I had to remind myself that I was talking to a 40 year old.

She looked at me again, with closed ears “Why wont you tell me when am I going to die”
Frustrated I said “You wont die, not my shift. I am never that fortunante” No I didn’t say that, instead I said something professional like “I don’t know, keep your face mask on” and I walked out.

This whole “when am I going to die” thing went on about 8 more times. More screaming at family. More swear words. More accusations. More swear words. More yelling. I eventually found out from her boyfriend that she has been like this for the last “4 or 5 months.” YIKES!

Two weeks past. Lucy Passed.
How do you think she is remembered?

Lets be brutually honest….do you think her family and boyfriend are relieved?
Do you think that Lucy could have changed her actions? Do you think this whole process could be smoothed? Made Sweeter?

Instead of cuss words and accusations do you think there could have been more forgiveness, more sweet words? More hugs? More love? More gratitude?
No doubt Lucy was going through the grievance process, but there comes a point when you must decide, with your brain, I have to stop. I have to regain control of my actions. I have no control of when I die or how I die, but I must control how I treat others.

Has anyone else almost lost bladder control from pure excitment

2010-07-21T14:23:00.000-07:00

I stood in the Costco checkout line feeling nervous, happy, scared and unnaturally excited. No, I wasn't staring at the pizza/ hot dog $ 1.99 signs (Although I wont deny having those same reactions from previous shopping encounters). But in my hand I held the golden ticket that would finally quench my camera envy: it was a piece of paper signifying that the cashier could charge me 799.99 in exchange for pure happiness.

Today I would finally get the camera of my dreams. Well thats a lie....and an exaggeration.... the camera of my dreams is like $2,000.00 but I don't have the cabbage or the heart to blow that much on a camera.

As soon as I got the camera in my cart I felt like a kid on christmas morning, a mother of a new born baby, a fat lady on a diet who just bought a chocolate cream pie and couldn't wait till she got home to eat it....so she ate it all in the car...more specifically in the parking lot. I was so happy. I became protective of every bump on the road and then I started to dream.

As I drove down 75 I started having visions of grandeur. I tried thinking of how I could casually incorporate my newly purchased camera into a normal conversation over dinner without giving away that I had been waiting like a lion to sneak the comment in. After about 2 minutes of dreaming I realized that I should focus on the road and stop talking to myself, because I was waiting at a light and the people next to me were starting to stare. I wished that I could pretend that I had a blue tooth cord dangling in my opposite ear, but I had nothing.

So here are my new pictures. Alot of my friends have become proffesional photographers.....just know that ya'll are the ones that got me salivating for a sweet camera and no matter what....my pictures will always suck compared to ya'lls.

Pattinson makes Twilight real despite bella's constant stuttering staring and lack of smiles or even personality for that matter

2010-07-18T15:07:00.000-07:00

Well.... Despite all rational I still believe my husband Chandler Richmond to be the real Edward Cullen.

For a long time I felt resentful that Robert Pattinson would play Edward cullen. In my mind the honor obviously fell into Henry Cavill's lap. He looks exactly like the text says he should. Even the author, Stephanie Meyer stated that her "perfect Edward" would be Mr. Cavill.

But after a few yoga episodes and meditating about it I realized that Robert Pattinson is easily the best young male actor out there. He has raw talent. He makes Twilight real despite Kristen Stewart's constant, drug-induced stuttering, staring and lack of smiles or even personality for that matter.

Henry Cavill, despite manifold support from the female peanut gallery, would do an excellent job portraying Edward physically, but he would have ruined Edwards spirit. I can just see Henry Cavill making Twilight look like a weird dracula soap opera complete with dim lights and extra long awkward pauses.

Three hooray's for Edwards I mean Roberts excellent acting.

Chandler and I watched "Remeber me" several nights ago and the movie was wierd, but insanely good at the same time.
Chan and I agreed that Robert made the character so raw and gritty, that we almost felt like we were eaves dropping on an intimate part of his life simply by watching him act.

2010-07-18T14:21:00.000-07:00

UGLY Desk be GORGEOUS!

Did you sand it down? How dare you suggest otherwise!
Fresh paint job -yup
New handles- yup
The drawers are lined too with raw organic cotton fabric

Big thanks to my dangerously handsome husband who did a lot of sanding and lifting. Thankyou Chandler!

All this desk needs now is a lovely framed piece of art hanging over it.....or a large mirror.....so that I can look at myself.jk

Yay for FAKE EYES

2010-07-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

This is what unforgivably happens when a brown eyed girl (who has always wondered what she would look withblue eyes) finally gets enough money from her job to buy color contacts and then gets bored and takes pictures of herself ...... "Then why did you take the time to post in on your Blog?" You got me there Reader.