Reason #47 why English majors are awesome: VERY WELL-WRITTEN ANGRY LETTERS!

Once upon a time, it was 7:30 on a lovely Thursday morning, and I and my husband were all asleep and cozy in our bed, waiting for the alarm to go off at 8--which I'm sure you'll agree is a perfectly reasonable time for college students, whose classes don't start until 9:30, to wake up. But alas! We were cruelly ripped from our dreams of ponies, rainbows, Organic Chemistry and the like, when someone began pounding on our door! I, in my half-awake doze, mumbled something about putting clothes on to see who it was, before the pounding ceased, someone actually tried to open the door (couldn't because it was chained), and we heard a voice yelling "HELLO! MAINTENANCE! MAINTENANCE! HELLO!"

I was slightly put-out.

You see, we knew that Thursday was to be our day for having our linoleum replaced--a fact that I was not displeased about--but this was contrary to all of our experiences with maintenance. They had posted a flyer on our door telling us what day to expect, and something about an information meeting, but the meeting was at 3:00 on a Friday afternoon, which is impossible for most people who have classes or jobs to make. We didn't bother about it, because what questions would we have? I had planned on making breakfast, cleaning out the pantry, and maybe seeing the workers in passing as we headed out to school. They'd replace our floor, everything would be fine.

But no. No, it was not fine.

Mike threw on some shorts, went to the door, and found the whole crew of linoleum guys waiting anxiously for us to get out of the apartment. He made some attempt at "we haven't even showered yet," to which the oh-so-compassionate gentlemen replied, "if you hurry, you'll be able to shower before we unplug your water heater." All this while I'm hiding in the bedroom in my garments, in shock at their callousness.

So, we tried to hurry. We were in the shower for ten minutes between us--Mike went in for five minutes, then I took a turn--but no sooner had I lathered up my head in shampoo than the water instantly became so cold it felt refrigerated. Doubtless it was my scream of insatiable rage that caused them to plug it back in for me, but they still sent Mike in every 30 seconds or so to say, "are you done yet?"

So to recap: we were woken up, my kitchen was destroyed by a bunch of dirty, disgusting footprints and gloves, I had to shower with a bunch of strange men in my apartment, AND they unplugged the water heater on me. Then, after I had hastily dressed and packed up, Mike and I had to leave for school without breakfast or packed lunches (=not good for our budget). I felt completely violated, like just because we're poor student renters, they could throw us out or subject us to any kind of indecent situation they wanted.

So I wrote a letter. And this was not the I'm-so-furious-I'm-going-to-spill-my-wounded-bleeding-heart-all-over-the-page-and-send-it-to-you kind of letter. No, this one took me an hour to write, making sure there were no excuses or loopholes they could find in it. No, this was one furious letter. It felt really good.

After all this happened, and I had related my experience to some friends who were about to go through the same experience (but with warning this time), they told me about someone else from our quad who had told the linoleum guys that his baby was still asleep, that building quiet hours were until 8, and then slammed the door in their face. Amen, brutha.

Today, Mike got home before I did, and texted me at work saying someone from the Wymount Office had hand-delivered a letter for me. When I got home, I discovered a very apologetic letter with two coupons for a free half-gallon of ice cream at the Creamery. I don't want to say I wrote the letter for the ice cream, but it sure was vindicating. :)

Mostly I hope they just stop doing that. If they're on such a tight schedule, they should put ON THE FLYER that they're coming at SEVEN THIRTY IN THE MORNING. Give people a chance to save their own humanity. Geez.

Sorry, guys. Writing this a little of my terrible anger is returning, just remembering how violated I felt. I hope this makes any horrible landlord situation seem a little better in comparison with mine. :)

A belated St. Paddy's Day Joke

So an Irishman walks out of a bar--

hey, it could happen! :)

Three O'Clock

Salty lamp-light tumbles

through the blinds, crashing

on the denim rocks, interspersed

with tiny yarn birds.

The cold breeze dries out wide-

open eyes. Above, fireworks

crash, their plaster explosions

keep you awake.

Behind, the carnival continues--

the merry-go-round begins to

turn, the quilt chasing

like an anxious parent.

Shrivel, exposed

to the incoming tide,

skin prickling

instantly. Turn back to the pier, catch

one of the porcelain horses,

taking shelter in the warmth

of the machine.

It reverses--

disappears with a snort--

His dream ends long enough to wrap long arms

around shivering shoulders.

Laundry soap, aftershave, a hint of something

sweet--

The churning waltz begins

its slow dance, the gears

rumbling

back into their pulsing rhythm.

Hold your breath, feel the heavy

sway of the engine. Feel the cool

of the sea pulling back, as the carnival drifts

away, leaving only the tappling

of the rain--

the tide bustling into the tiny

apartment, stare into a tiny

reality, three thousand miles

away from a New England shore,

where the beach is cinderblock

and chipped tile

and no children cry.

My New Favorite Scripture

Mostly just so I remember the reference. :)

Alma 38:5 - "And now my [daughter, Brittany,] I would that ye should remember, that as much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day."

Thank you, presidents, for giving us a day off.

Here's what President's Day looked like when we took a break from our EIGHT hours of homework and cleaning to go for a walk.

Yeah, okay, maybe it was a little darker. :)

Thinking about the Parker-Guy

The other day, when Mike got out his journal to write in it, he found something that I had slipped into the front cover when cleaning.

"The 'Best Man' Toast
"Mike & Brittany Morgan
"December 2008
"As a few of you probably know, I don't have a lot of experience being a 'best man.' I know that's hard to believe. For a long time I wasn't sure what I wanted to say.
"But over the last several months I've gotten to know Mike a little. I know that he loves my sister and has a strong testimony. I've decided that if I ever had an older brother--I'd want it to be him.
"I love my sister Brittany more than anything in the whole world and look up to her. Most important is her testimony and knowledge of the gospel. I'm glad she has made right choices adn is sealed in the temple.
"I'd like to offer a toast to Mike and Brittany Morgan--Thanks for showing me the right way to do things. May you always stay close to each other, to the gospel and to the Lord."

It's not signed, but I'm going to tell you all about the author anyway. This is the toast my then-eleven-year-old brother Parker gave at the luncheon right after my wedding. He was the best man 1) because Mike doesn't have any brothers and 2) he's just awesome. Reading that, you'd never think a pre-deacon wrote it, right?
Perhaps I should explain his nickname-- When James was learning to talk, he couldn't say 'Parker', but somehow had picked up the word 'guy', so he called Parker 'guy' for a long time. After that, even when he became 'Parker' again, the guy remained. Now it's mostly just my mom that says it. :)
After reading that toast though, I've been thinking a lot about my brother, and how much I don't appreciate him enough.
Growing up, he suffered multitudinous abuses from us sisters. I'll only speak for myself, but I know that during my year and a half when I hated the world as a teenager, he usually got the brunt of it. Maybe little brothers are easier to find things wrong with, but that was the case. And I know it carried over with certain other sisters who went through similar phases. Whether it was his whistling, his cheerfulness, or his general brotherliness, he was the one who always got the screaming tantrums from his sisters, and whom my mother vainly tried to defend in the face of it.
In the face of all this, somehow he managed to still love me. Going back after my first year of college, he was one of the siblings who actually seemed the most happy to see me, and now he talks to me on the phone, recommends books for me and Mike to read, and is just plain awesome. So today I just feel like telling some stories about my kid brother Parker, because I've been thinking about him.
When he was younger--we're going to guess 3rd or 4th grade, our neighbors had a Pit Bull puppy. She was huge. And they were not very good at keeping hold of her in their yard/house. Well, one day, Parker and Emma (who would have been in 1st or 2nd grade) were walking home from the bus stop after school, this pit bull puppy came bounding out of the house at the end of the cul-de-sac towards them. Now, I want to paint a picture for you. Only in recent years has Parker achieved the stature he has now (he's taller than mom now). He was this little kid with a big head, and Emma Grace has never been big at all. So we're looking at two little Whiting children, alone under the oppression of this gigantic dog, whose intentions they knew nothing of.
What does Parker do? Rather than run away, as I probably would have done, he pushes Emma behind him and faces the dog. Now, I don't remember if the owner came out and called her just in time, or if Park ended up kicking the thing, but either way, I was so proud of him. Despite the fact that no one in my family is in any way fond of dogs (except Nonny), he thought more about protecting his sister than not getting bit. And he was like nine.
More recently, while we were visiting my family over the week of New Year's, a few of us stayed up late to play a game of Phase 10. During the entirety of the game, Parker was talking, whether it was bad jokes, anecdotes from school, or even whistling while everyone was organizing their cards. Mike leaned over to me and said, "he really doesn't stop making noise, does he?" Now, initially I was annoyed. But then I realized that if all we did was sit and stare at the cards in our hands, we wouldn't be having any fun. Parker, you are the life of the party.
So, that's my brother. He's smart (ridiculously so), funny, and we love him tons. Just a thought. :)

Various points of interest . . . and such . . .

Medical school is going to be so much fun.
Well, I guess I shouldn't be so blatantly sarcastic. I mean, I have set up a pretty nice routine for myself. Thursdays I teach my organ class, and occasionally a meeting beforehand to coordinate those of us who currently play in sacrament meeting, Tuesdays I hang with the Heathen, and what time I have left I usually spend talking on the phone to various members of my family (but always Sarah) because I can't focus when Mike is not home.
I'll need to think of another routine for when Mondays get taken out of the picture.
Major things that have happened recently:
-Mike is on a leave of absence from the temple right now. He is now considered a regular patron, because his study load was too heavy and the long shift on Saturday was taking its toll. He's prayed about it a lot, and decided the best thing to do right now was focus on his schoolwork so he can secure us a future (and the 1 1/2 hour session is a lot less time out of your day than the 6 hour shift). I've been praying a lot to know that he's doing the right thing, and I'm okay with it now. There are just a lot of traumatic changes going on recently.
-Mike also officially is quitting his library job today. Dr. Seeley (his biomechanics prof last semester) offered him a research job in his lab, because they got the funding they had been looking for, but they can only pay him for a month's worth. But again, after much prayer and faith, we've decided that it's better for him to get this experience to put on his application for medical school, and once the paid month is up, his hours in the lab will be fewer and he can find another job, hopefully TA-ing. In all likelihood, he will be jobless for about a month and a half until spring term starts, and I'll be the only source of income. It's not like we won't be able to survive (I make enough to live on, trust me) but I guess it's just a preclude to our completely destitute days in the future. The difference now is that we're still completely debt-free, which means that no matter what happens, our consciences are clear. That will not be the case in a couple of years.
On a lighter note, January was obscenely warm this year, and February seems to be following in its footsteps. I wore a light jacket to church on Sunday. Seriously.
Classes are not eating my life nearly as much as I anticipated. By far my hardest one is probably my poetry class, and he only expects two good poems out of us this whole semester. In fact, I have to turn in poems for my first workshop (which will happen next Tuesday) tomorrow, and I haven't figured out the poem yet. Ew.
Mike's having a bit of a hard time so far, probably because he bit off more than he could chew this semester, and starting to realize it. Hence the leave of absence and quitting the job for his research position instead of just adding them together. I hope having more time makes a difference.