Pride

Well, I realized I am a very prideful person this past week. But, I don't think that's always a bad thing. Who knows, though.

Here's my list:

*I am proud to belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
*I am proud to be an American. I am proud of the privileges and responsibilities that it brings
*I am proud to be the daughter of my father. He taught me everything I know about work ethic and the value of hard labor. He taught me to respect people so that I can expect respect back.
*I am proud to say that after 31 years, my parents are still happily married
*I am proud to be my mom's daughter. So many of my personality traits I inherited from her. She is a smart lady who knows what she wants, and is willing to do what it takes to get it
*I am proud that I am 1/2 Tongan, and 1/2 everything else (I am also German, Welsh, Scottish, Navajo, and Paiute)
*I am proud to say that I am 100% American, a veritable melting pot, or a mutt. Either works. I have an ancestor who came to America on the Mayflower, ancestors who have lived in this land since Lehi and his family left Jerusalem, and a dad who came to this land when he was a young man (and everyone in between)
*I am proud that my ancestors chose to join the LDS church and come to America from Europe
It fills me with pride to know that even though my great-grandmother was full-blooded German, she did not agree with the evil things her government did in the name of the German people
*I am proud of my two sisters and the amazing mothers they are; I am proud of my brothers and their contributions to society
*I am proud that I spent 18 months of my life as a nanny, and I hope that I had as much of an impact on the kids as they had on me
*I am proud to say that my Grandfather is one of the most amazing men I have ever met. I am proud he was a professional scouter with the Boy Scouts of America
*I am proud that I received my Young Womanhood award and graduated from seminary (4 years, nothing but As) when I was 18
*I am proud to be the descendant of father Lehi
*I am proud to be able to look a police officer in the eye and know that my conscience is clear
*I am proud that I taught myself to quilt and enjoy it as a pastime
*I am so proud to have known my Grandma, and proud of the legacy she has left for her posterity
*I am proud to know that I can live for eternity with my family
*I am mostly just proud to be me.

There are so many reasons for me to be proud; I cannot name them all.
Suffice it to say that I am mostly just proud to be who I am, and where I am with my life. I am proud of the successes I have had, as well as the hard times, because I know it has taught me things about myself or about life that I would not have learned otherwise.

My Heartsong

Have you ever noticed how much music affects you; what sort of influence it has on memories you have and your life in general?

I know that, at least for me, music has a huge impact in my life. Music has the ability to instantly alter my mood. It is something that I usually take for granted. Most days find me humming my way through life. I hum in the halls and at lunch at the Jr. High. I hum in the car. I hum at the store. I hum while surfing the web. My life is one giant concert of humming.

Unless I am paying special attention, I don't realize I hum. I never realized what a problem it was until about two years ago when the 20-month old little girl I nannied for began humming all the time. She would hum to herself in the car, hum her dolls to sleep. I thought it was obnoxious until my mom pointed out that she probably learned it from me.

I am fully aware that my humming makes me sound like an idiot. The sad part is that most of the time, I do not hum melodies of songs. I harmonize. I am sure it does not help my I'm-not-crazy case.

Songs have the power to literally take me back in time, to a specific moment. I can usually remember smells, sights, sounds, feelings, etc. simply by hearing a song. For example, the song Starry Eyed Surprise by Paul Oakenfold reminds me of driving down 8th East in Orem with my friends Bonnie and Elizabeth. We (or I should say they) went tanning for Elzabeth's birthday. It's about 11:43 pm on a warm summer night. I am heading home, trying to make curfew because I was late the night before. I remember wondering how long those happy days of my youth would last, but knowing there was no way to answer that querie.

Lake Michigan, by Rogue Wave, takes me immediately back to Nauvoo, IL (or I should say the road above town) I've been gone for about 4 days, and am already incredibly homesick. I am stressed out at being in a situation where I have nearly no control. As stressed out as I am, I cannot help but notice the beautiful farmland we are driving through. It is quite lovely, and easy to imagine the early LDS saints fleeing from mobs across this very farmland.

Music has amazing powers. Whether it is the power to freeze a moment in time in your memory or the contagious humming, Music is amazing. Utterly Amazing.

I sing you to me

That line is from Australia (the movie). The narrator said it constantly to Nicole Kidman's character. I absolutely adored the movie. It was a great movie, and I was crying pretty much constantly for the last half of the movie.

It was a really blunt look into the race struggles that Australia has had in the past. It was odd, to be honest, because it was set during WWII. When I think of the war and that whole era, I just assume that Australia was still an island full of convicts. There were several profound moments in the movie for me.

The first was when someone said something to the effect of to breed the black out of them! It was in reference to the island where they were sending kids who were 1/2 Aboriginee and 1/2 white ("Creamies"). That struck a chord with me because I realized that, had I been born just a few decades before I was (and obviously in Australia, too) I could have met a similar fate. Not because I had done something wrong, not because my parents had, but because Society as a whole looked down upon the mixing of the races.

That's the odd thing about society. We live in a free country. We are free to do pretty much anything that we want. The hold up comes when we do something that infringes on the freedom of someone else or something that society has deemed bad. Usually, all it takes is a few people to agree about any given point for it to become taboo. 12 jurors can decide the fate of one person. 9 judges interpret the constitution. We are free to choose our actions, but not free to choose the consequence. That's done by society as a whole.

I feel like I'm on a soapbox right now, but society once saw me as the product of some sort of deviant behavior on the part of my parents-Labeled an anomaly. It makes me think pretty hard about the types of labels I apply to others. I know that for myself, I understand the part in the movie where the narrator explains that he is a Creamie- He doesn't belong to the white man, and doesn't belong to the black man. He belongs to no one.

We often get on our high horses and preach about how much further we are from our racist, hate-filled grandparents/ancestors, but the truth is that we are not. Perhaps the hate is gone from the labels, but they still exist. When I am around white people, I am labeled as Tongan. When around Tongans, I am labeled white. Neither is willing to accept me blindly as one of them. I myself apply labels to people. Skin color is the most noticable characteristic you see. Maybe that's ok, as long as it is not acompanied by hate. Who knows.

The bottom line is that I could ramble on about this forever, but there's a line from the movie that I love.
Just because that's how it is, doesn't mean it should be.

I hope to be able to one day fully raise above the "labels" of our society. Someday, right?

We acknowledge our dependence

I know this is a little late, but I wanted to blog about Thanksgiving nonetheless.


I read a quote in October about Thanksgiving by William Jennings Bryan (I have yet to Google him; I have no idea who he is or what he did) he said On Thanksgiving day, we acknowledge our dependence. Dependence is not a term that Americans take kindly to (dependence on foreign oil, dependence on foreign money, etc) we generally do not like to be dependent on anyone or anything. Dependence is like 4-letter word in the USA. We have gone to war several times to avoid that fate. So, when I read that, I was offended-until I thought more about the sacred meaning of dependence.


Thanksgiving is a day that we as a nation have set aside to acknowledge our blessings (and in some cases, our hardships) It is a time to rejoice and be grateful. An action word. Literally the act of giving thanks.


This Thanksgiving convinced me that Thanksgiving is my absolute favorite holiday (even more than Christmas. Blasphemy, I know). I did not do anything spectacular, just the normal family together time. I didn't eat anything different. This year, it just meant something different to me, and I realized a lot of stuff. I realized that I am grateful for my family. I realized the blessing I have to be employed, to have insurance and security. I am extremely grateful to know that my family can be together forever. I realized that even without my Grandma, Thanksgiving can be an enjoyable family activity. I realized that, like the hymn says, I need [the Lord] every hour I am absolutely dependent on the Lord and his goodness. Nothing I have or will ever hope to have in my life would be possible without the Lord.


The Pilgrims made seven times more graves than huts. No Americans have been more impoverished than these who, nevertheless, set aside a day of thanksgiving.
~H.U. Westermayer


I hope that I can follow the example of the Pilgrims and set aside time to give thanks for my blessings, and see the blessings in my hardships, too. I have so very much to be thankful for.

I am anti-doctor

So, this past week I visited the doctor/hospital more than I have the entire rest of the year combined. And it has not done much to make me want to visit it more. I decided I am against doctors. At least for now. Maybe check back in a while, perhaps when I am sick and need them again.

This post is mainly for my own use, for record-keeping, etc. Feel free to read on if you like, otherwise, I won't be offended.

It all started on Monday, when I went in to the Doctor to check up on my thyroid levels (another long story, probably for another post, another day) I mentioned casually my feeling that the reason we have struggled for 5 years to regulate them was because I have a growth on my pituitary gland (all hypochondriac symptoms aside, it actually makes sense) The doctor agreed, so I was scheduled to have a CT scan of my brain (or the section called the Sella) to see if there were any weird growths, rampant brain cancer, etc.

Tuesday afternoon, I leave work early and head over to the hospital. I am actually excited about the CT scan (I've had one before of my head) but mostly excited because I have the feeling I am about to be proven right. I walk in, receive random compliments from the tech about my bag, and lie down. It's painless, and over in a few minutes. Then, I'm off down the hall to get some blood drawn, and on my merry way.

Wednesday morning, I receive a call from the doctor's office telling me to call back and get my test results. So, I call back during my lunch to be informed that (like this is a huge surprise to me by now) my blood work was back, and the levels are way low. Big surprise there. That's the whole problem. Anyways, I ask the lady if my CT results are back, and she says no. So, I hang up the phone. Literally 5 seconds later, my phone rings. I answer it, and it's the same lady.

Is Latu There?
Yes. This is her.
This is Carol from Dr. *****'s office. I have some test results for you from your CT scan yesterday.
Yeah, I just finished talking to you.
Oh! I'm sorry! I JUST saw these results!
You're fine. What do they say?
Well, it looks like there is a growth on your pituitary. We're going to have you go in for an MRI.

That's the part where my heart hit the floor of my car. Possibly the parking lot beneath. It was absolutely crushing. I have never been so horrified at being proven right in my life. There are not words to express how absolutely terrified I was at that point. I pulled it together long enough to to schedule the MRI for the next morning, but then I fell to pieces.

To make matters worse, the one person I needed to talk to at that point (my mama) was MIA. So, I cried for a minute, and then went back in to work.

Thursday morning, I was awake before dawn (even though I work mornings, I try never to greet the sunrise) and getting ready. They did not give me a whole bunch of info about how to prepare, but I knew the "M" in MRI stood for magnetic, so I made sure I was not wearing any metal (the last thing I wanted was to have to wear a hospital gown for the MRI)

When I saw the machine, and how incredibly tiny it was, I started getting VERY anxious. (Up to this point, the only thing I could imagine was a scene from House, where they do an MRI on a newborn. The MRI machine absolutely dwarfs the baby. I just assumed that the MRI machine they were using was a baby one, and they had adult machines that were 4 or 5 feet in diameter. WRONG!)

It was a lot of talking myself down and prayer that kept me from a full-blown panic attack once I got in the MRI machine. (that, and there was NO way I was going to do it again because I was moving and ruined the pictures) I was in up to my knees, struggling to keep my breathing in check, and wondering why, if they were imaging my brain, I had to be in the tube up to my knees. I got through the 45-minute process, and then the waiting game began.

Friday I got the fateful call from Carol, my favorite test-results reader.

Um.... looks like your pituitary is normal!
..... OK.... That's good, right?
Yep! Have a great day! Click.

So, either I was healed (which is incredibly possible, because of the priesthood blessing I received) or the radiologist read the CT results wrong (or, the radiologist read the MRI results wrong, and my brain is slowly being taken over by a tumor, unbeknownst to us all)

Whichever option is right (I won't know until I go into the doctor again) it has me looking at the world just a little differently.

I have spent a long time focusing more on the things I don't have, and not enough time focusing on the blessings I do have. Just in time for Thanksgiving, I am determined to be a more grateful person.

Eye opener

So, the history teacher across the hall from me is doing a pretty powerful demonstration on slavery today. About two minutes into the period, I started hearing two people yelling in some funky language (German, Dutch, something like that) Concerned that there were kids in the hall yelling/fighting, I went out there. It was then that I realized that the yelling was coming from the class across the hall. I shrugged and went back to my work.

A few minutes later, I went out to look again (the yelling has not let up or stopped) only to see all the kids lined up along the center of the room, laying parallel to each other on the floor. Then, I remembered; they are doing a unit on slavery. Suddenly, the screaming and awkward placement of the kids made more sense.

With this new knowledge, I was just a little jealous of the kids at my school. It is a pretty awesome demonstration; strange men come into your classroom, start yelling and giving orders in a language you do not understand. All of the sudden, you realize your teacher is nowhere to be found. Then, they start picking off the kids who are defiant or do not follow directions (directions which are given in a foreign language!). You are forced to lay practically on top of each other (all the while trying to understand the constant screaming) and then taken to another room, where you see the kids who were taken out getting "whipped." It would be an awesome day to be in an 8th grade US history class at this school.

I wish the kids in these classes would really stop and think about how powerful this demonstration could be if they let it. None of us really knows what it was like to be a slave in the 1800s. None of us can fully understand the fear and confusion, but for one 90-minute block, these kids were able to experience just a little. Hopefully, one day they will look back on this day and silently thank their teachers for the lesson they learned. Maybe they will realize that it has helped make them more compassionate, more empathetic, and just an all-around better person.

I guess that's the goal of every teacher for every child, that someday they will realize that a you had an impact on them for good. I know that I vividly remember only a few of my teachers all through school, but the teachers I do remember are the ones who cared enough to help me succeed. The ones who gave up on me because I talked a lot or gave them attitude or constantly ditched their class are gone from my memory. I am left only with the ones who pushed me even when I pushed back, who refused to let me become one more statistic. It is for those teachers that I am forever grateful.

Saddened

Note: this post is not intended to be a blanket statement about protesters, "gays" Californians, or any other group. Mostly just a choice few who are doing things I do not agree with (and also happen to fall into the above categories)

I hate protesters. Mostly because I feel like any issue that people feel passionate enough about to protest over is one in which they will also feel passionate enough to try to force their beliefs on me. I think it is great that people who disagree with Prop. 8 want to protest its passing, but I do not think it is great that they are focusing their anger and frustration on the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Nor do I think it is great that the minority in California is trying to force their desires on the majority.

I am not thrilled that Obama won the election, but I have enough sense to realize that my opinion is contrary to the opinions of most of the country. Should I blame the democrats for lighting a fire under voters, and spurring one of the most amazing voter turnouts EVER? No. I think that any time you can get people out and voting is good for our country. Unfortunately, this election's turnout did not sway the vote in my favor. But there is always next time.

Proposition 8 is a heated topic. One that hits close to home for a lot of people. But don't use my temple, and my religion as your scapegoat. Voters in California passed the Proposition. If you disagree, too bad. In every competition or election, there has to be a winner and a loser. You just happen to fall on the losing side this time.