Newtown.

Written 6 months after the tragedy:

I remember sitting in the back of the cold room. It was always cold in that church building. Children's chatter filled the air as I sat there, glancing at each Primary teacher to make sure they didn't need my help.

This was my church calling when I was home summer of 2012. Primary helper. I aided the children's Sunday School teachers if their kids were ever rowdy or if they just needed an extra pair of hands. And so I sat in the back, looking out for the panic in teachers' eyes and for children wiggling about. That was my cue to assist them.

At the front, the Primary president was giving an object lesson. I don't remember what it was, but she asked for a couple volunteers. A sea of small, eager hands waved frantically, each one hoping they would be picked. A small, blonde six-year-old's hand rocketed into the air ahead of everyone else's and she was chosen. As she was walking out of her row, I thought to myself, she must be a Parker, that blonde hair and high voice. I was in Nursery just the Sunday before helping her youngest sister slide down the slide and in Sunbeams the week before that taking another sister and her classmates to get a drink. The way each of them chirped filled my ears and quickly became a part of each of my summery Sundays. Blonde, beautiful and beaming, all three Parker children.

As she was heading towards the front, another child bumped into her. She turned and said something sassy.

Her mother, who was also a Primary teacher and who I knew only as Sister Parker, chuckled to herself. Brother Parker walked in then to drop off something with her and she relayed the story of their sassy daughter. They laughed.

"Oh Emilie."

It was that moment that I had a sudden urge to be married with children and to be able to sit back with my husband and watch our kids learn and grow to be people like us.

December 14th, I was in the Salt Lake Airport when the tragedy at Newtown hit the media. I landed in Hong Kong when plastered all over the televisions were videos of Newtown, the place where I spent some of my weekends, where some of my very good friends lived, where I went to church every week for many years. Anchors commented in Cantonese on the other side of the world. Pictures of Emilie and her classmates were surrounded by Chinese in newspapers. Brother Parker was on TV. And I cried in the little Hong Kong apartment, filled with sorrow, filled with grief for the young lives that ended too soon, too brutally.

I am home for the first time in almost a year, and six months after the tragedy, I am in Newtown, sitting in the back of the cold room, remembering.

This really isn't a post, but after, in a sort of way, paying homage to the place I met the Parkers, this is my way of saying, rest in peace, Emilie, and God comfort the Parker family and the families of the children.


December 14, 2013, one year after the tragedy:

theparkerfive.wordpress.com

Happy birthday Camille.

Dearest Camille,

Today is your birthday. I have an opened bottle of Martinelli's in hand and am toasting to you an exciting 21st year. I wish you a glorious day in Malawi as I celebrate here in America with people who love you.

Speaking of glorious, Wes and I made you a video.

I hope your birthday is the best and that the beginning of your 21st year is full of happiness and glory. Also, we must resume the Critiques when you come back. And perhaps we shall incorporate Wes' German Cupcake Critique. This week's, if you can't see it, is "Better than S" cupcake.

Happy birthday bud.

With much love,
Eden
Wes

Not too bad.

After this post, I had myself and some of you worried about me living alone this summer. And I guess it didn't help that I haven't posted on my blog in a while. But, as the title suggests, living by myself is not too bad. In fact, I love it. Don't get me wrong. I love people and I cannot wait till my darling roommates come back from Africa. But I have a feeling that when I think back on the summer of 2013, I will remember it as the summer of greatness and of growing up.

School and work have kept and still keeps me busy in the mornings and afternoons. But I have to admit, I didn't know what to do with myself those first, quiet May nights. So I cleaned. A lot. And it wasn't because the apartment needed cleaning, but because I had nothing better to do. I remember making a midnight run to Smiths solely for the purpose of purchasing Lime-A-Way. But hey, the water fixtures have never been shinier.

And on the especially quiet days/afternoons/nights, I decided to not only fill it with music, but with loud music. My sincerest apologies, neighbors.

Suddenly, I realized the greatest thing about living alone.

Those of you who know me in such a setting know how much I love to dance. But dancing in an empty apartment? That's a whole new realm of awesomeness. There's just something absolutely freeing about dancing off of everything--couches, chairs, stools, counters--in anything I want and without the fear of being stomped on or accidentally touching the bare, sweaty arms and exposed pectorals of grunting bros in tank tops (ugh, *shudder*). And when I'm too lazy to go to the gym? What an entertaining form of cardio.

Happy birthday Nicolle.

Dearest Nicolle,

Today is your birthday. I have yellow tulips in hand and have lit some candles for you. I wish you a beautiful day in Malawi as I celebrate here in America with people who love you.

I also made you a video. But first, here is the blooper take. And yes, that is a cardboard cutout of a horse. You said I couldn't have cats in the apartment while I am living here, so some friends brought over a horse for company. Perhaps I should name her Grace or Majesty...or Debbie.

But I digress. Onto the blooper take.

And here is the actual video.

I hope your birthday is great and that the beginning of your 21st year starts with much excitement and happiness. 

With much love,

Eden

Max

Sam

Derik

Mystery (who was sadly taken away by said friends)

Life is Art, You are the Artist

Oh hey there! I'm Sarah Swan, today's lucky guest blogger. Here's my deal. I'm from Seattle. I like puppies, cars, movies, music, and camping among other things. I usually make dumb faces when people take pictures of me. I always dance like nobody's watching, because they usually aren't.

And here's the deal with this post. I graduated from BYU in Film in December 2012, but walked early at the graduation ceremony in August. Then I was asked by the Film Department to speak at the graduation ceremony in April, which December graduates usually attend. So, I had two fake graduations. My first one was fake because I still had a semester to finish. My second graduation was fake because I'd already graduated and attended a ceremony. It was a big surprise and a huge honor to be chosen by the people I respect the most, my professors and advisers, to represent the department at the ceremony.

This is what I said at my second fake graduation.

Life is Art, You are the Artist 

Good afternoon everyone! My name is Sarah Swan. I’m from the Seattle area. And I’m honored to be speaking to you today as an official graduate of Media Arts Studies or, in other words, Film.

Like many of the graduates here today, I finished my course work in December. So, I’ve been out in the professional world making a living in film art direction. Art Direction or film design is the process of creating the sets where the story is filmed. Most of the people I work with have not gone to college. One of my co-workers has been pretty vocal that he feels it would be a waste of time to get a film degree. Perhaps some of the graduates have had similar discussions with some members of the audience. In my discussions at work, I kept quiet until I felt it would be appropriate for me to speak up. I think I surprised everyone when I said, “I wouldn’t trade my education for anything.”

It may be true that you don’t need a degree to furnish a film set. But it’s also true that my BYU education has been much more than just learning how to create and interpret films.

Professors and classes expanded my mind in ways I could not have done on my own. In history classes I was challenged with abstract films whose visuals read like poetry or international documentaries that made it clear there are usually more than two sides to every story. In theory classes I worked hard to wrap my mind around the metaphysical side to film interpretation and creation. The art that professors had us view, read, listen to, and discuss brought new insights that I’m glad to say have stretched and reorganized the way I see the world. I would be a very different person if I had skipped all of this and gone straight to working for a living.

Guest #5.

This is Sarah.

We're new friends, but I love her a lot. Before we kindled our friendship, I admired her from afar and thought she was the funniest when she conducted Sunday School. I don't remember what she said, but you can bet it was funny. We were, and still are, in the same Family Home Evening group. FHE has never been greater.

Sarah has one of those senses of humor that puts you at ease, making her super approachable. She graduated in Film, which is something that I also want to do in my life. At some point. She also drives a big truck, which is something that I also want to drive in my life. At some point. She makes killer enchiladas. Basically, she's super cool.

She hasn't witnessed my awkwardness yet. Maybe I'm getting less awkward. But I highly doubt that. In due time, though, Sarah. It'll come. And you'll laugh it off with me.

We rented a puppy named Miles once.

Sarah's great and I love her.

Welcome.

Update 5/30/13: Sarah's post

The Great Gatsby.

Before I begin my review, I had a panic attack in the theatre during this trailer

Talk about every person's worst nightmare.

Onto my review. My delayed review. And it's a short one too. Ehh, sorry!

First things first, Baz Luhrmann is incredible. He really is. And I loved many things about the film and his vision for the whole thing. The cinematography, the music, the characters--everything was so beautiful. And in the end, I give the film two thumbs up. It does the Fitzgerald classic proud. 

However, I felt two things, or rather characters, were underdeveloped. 

Baz could have done so much more with Daisy. 

Daisy, the center of Gatsby's obsession, the reason why he did all he did, why he tried so hard to break out of poverty in order to provide the extravagant lifestyle that Daisy always dreamt of.

To me, it seemed that the film simply just grazed the fact that Daisy didn't wait for Gatsby because he was penniless. I felt Baz could have inserted little comments here and there to further enhance Daisy's superficiality. He could have also had her seem more unsettled with her life because she hasn't yet realized that what she thought would make her happy didn't make her happy.

Jordan Baker. I don't know who that actress was, but she looked like a stretched, length-wise, version of Emily Blunt. And was a lot taller than Nick. Now, I haven't read the book in a while (so I guess that undermines my review), but from what I remember, Nick admired her because he thought that she was different than the people that surrounded them. Then he was incredibly let down when it turned out that she was just like everyone else.

I also am not the greatest fan of pointing out the symbolism so when Nick was all like, "the eyes of God were watching us" as the camera panned across the eyes of TJ Eckleburg.

Moving on.

Conversations with strangers.

Over the last year, I have been stopped multiple times on campus by random people as I am walking. Everytime, without fail, these bold people ask, "Where do you come from?" Honestly? I'm rushing to class. This isn't the time nor place to be asking me about my ethnicity. Years of answering this question has allowed me to quickly, and clearly, state. "Imfromconnecticut, myfamilysfromhongkong."

"Oh, I just got back from a trip/mission to China/Korea/Japan," is usually their reply.

Blah blah blah. Don't get me wrong, I like talking about my heritage, but in a three minute conversation while I am trying not to be trampled by students, nothing profound can come from it.

The weirdest experience was when I was speed walking--because running makes you look like a fool--to work at the SWKT when I hear steps behind me quicken, each step sounding closer and closer. Suddenly, out of my peripheral, I noticed this guy matching my pace and stride. As I sped up, he sped up with me. I slowed down, he did the same. I finally looked at him and acknowledged him. I heard him ask, "Are you from Chinese?" and thinking he meant Chinese class, I said yes.

In retrospect, I think he either asked, "Are you Chinese?" or "Are you from China?"

"Well neat. Did you serve Chinese speaking?" expecting him to be yet another return missionary.
"Nope, I went to Peru."
"Oh."
"I work at Chinatown."
There it was. "Neat."
He then attempted to speak Chinese.
"Sorry, excuse me?"
"Woshimiegoren."
"Oh, ni shi mei guo ren," I said, correcting his tones.
"That's what I said, woshimiegoren."
"OK."
"You should come by Chinatown sometime."
"OK."
"Bye." Then he turned around and walked back the direction we were walking away from.
And there we go. We're probably going to be best friends forever.

The zipper.

I felt good. I felt really good. My job interviewing skills were getting better and better and I think I got this job. This is a dream--PR and secretarial work. No one likes organizing calendars and working with social media more than this girl.

The original shorteralls (overall shorts).

So I went back to my apartment, happy as clam, or mussel, or some short of shellfish (how did this idiom come about?). I shared my excitement with my friends and went on for a couple minutes about the company. I turned around and started heading back to my apartment to change. 

"Eden," Nicolle hesitated. "Has your zipper been down this whole time?"

I thought for a second. Did this skirt have a zipper? No...right?

Nicolle walked up behind me and ziiiiiiiip.

Oh crap. My mind started racing. Where have I been? Who had seen me? How did I miss the zipper? The room was rising in temperature. I remember rushing home from my final to grab Camille's car keys and changing very quickly. I remember fastening the clasps...but I couldn't recall zipping the zipper. My interviewers might have seen. "Eden?" I became unresponsive to my friends. I'm clawing at the recesses of my mind to find a place to hide. I kept thinking. The man was at least a billion feet tall, so maybe not him. The woman seemed exhausted from interviewing all day long. She was seated. She could have witnessed my plaid blue underwear (thank goodness it was appropriate). The man in the back booth of Kneaders. For sure, he saw. All those cars that passed me when I went to Illia's to say goodbye. All five of those cars, abundant with people.

And now my friends. (Oh, how I will miss them.)

As my flashbacks began to dim, I became more conscious of my physical surroundings. Laughter filled my ears, the room was hot and it was hard to breathe. I was so confident in my interview, and one simple mistake, one sign of weakness tore me down.

Predator.

There is a crazy cat infestation around my complex. Sometimes the meowing in the night keeps me up. It definitely is becoming a problem. And it doesn't help that the old mattress in the parking garage is housing a billion of those cats.

Over a month ago, there was a grey cat lying very soggy and very dead on the storm drain in front of my apartment, the same entrance to hell that the raccoon around here sulks into each morning.

Don't worry, I called animal control.

Nicolle wrote a nice eulogy for Banjo the cat.

Sometime last week, I was walking to grab a soda and fries for a night in with Camille. I strolled by some bushes next to my apartment complex when suddenly, the bushes rustled and started growling. I stood still for a half a second, stiffened when the snarling intensified and I heard the sound of flesh tearing. I quickened my pace and thought, "What the heck am I going to do if this animal pounced on me?" Two more steps and I was out of the devil's sight but not before hearing a rough bark--not of a dog--and gnashing of teeth. It must have been rabid as the sounds rising from the stirring bushes concocted images into my mind of a creature with froth and blood dripping from its open, hungry mouth.

To the victim of the vicious circle of life, although you didn't go in such a way, I hope you rest in peace.

Anyway, I hope finals are going well. Here's a clip from Bob's Burgers...one of my newfound television favorites.

It's a special brand of humor. It took me three or four episodes to get into it. And now I love it.

In other news this morning, the Associated Press' twitter was hacked. It tweeted falsely that there was an explosion at the White House and Obama was injured. The AP stock fell drastically then came back up. And now my primary source of news (AP tweets to my phone) has been suspended.

Have a good day, my friends.

The silence.

My best friends are the best out of those I have made in my life. They understand my quietness not (solely) as introverted awkwardness (because let's admit it, I am sometimes awkward when I converse), but as just thinking time for me, as time for me to just soak in what is going on around me and to just be with whoever I am with. Other people, even you, may misunderstand this quietness as a barrier between myself and the world, as extreme introverted-ness, or an unwillingness to get to know you. One of my high school Spanish teachers once described me as "nice, but not friendly." I am sorry if I come across to you that way. I promise, I am friendly once you get to know me (and that was high school...wasn't that a weird time for everyone?). And I can't really explain why I am so quiet. I did take a personality test for my class this semester and it said I am an ISFJ, which, I guess, kind of provides an answer to the why. Upon reading more about what psychology had to say about my personality, I came across a segment in the Wikipedia article saying that my "reluctance to open up to strangers can lead others to misread them [ISFJs] as standoffish." I apologize if I ever come off as standoffish. This is not me. So, as my remedy to any misconceptions you may have of me, I decided to periodically post about my thoughts and emotions as a way for you to get to know me without me having to really talk about my thoughts and emotions.

I have always preferred writing to talking about my emotions.

So right now, I am feeling very anxious. The same best friends are leaving for their home, for their internships abroad or for their mission. I am very happy for them, don't get me wrong, and I am excited for this summer. But I am also scared of change. And although I have done many things by myself--I love the quiet of my room, of my apartment, of my world--there are moments when I am alone where I feel troubled and suffocated by the silence. And I am going to be alone soon.

But this will be good for me. And it'll only be for a little while in the grand scheme of things. That's what I keep saying to myself. That's what everyone keeps saying. I just need to stay focused on the good that will come from this and not let my mind go to a dark place. I have a new calling in church, I have neat classes that will keep me busy, I (may) have a job, I have more time to read books and take up new hobbies. I have you. I have future me. I have God.

Dear friends and readers, my closest of friends are leaving so please be patient with me if I seem even more overwhelmingly quiet in a couple weeks.  But I will come out to play soon.