True Love

I know I already posted about Valentine's Day, but-- hey-- I'm waiting to hear back about whether or not a HIDA scan has been scheduled, so... "free" time.  As I spend this afternoon, I've been browsing the internet for possible field trip locations (a planetarium) and been wondering what it would be like to actually be able to afford a fancy vacation (in Seoul).  It's interesting to me how smart the internet is:  Side-bars know everything about me, it seems, and know exactly how to tempt me to over-use my credit card.


Yeah, the internet is smart.  It also knows how to celebrate Valentine's Day.  Its ads come equipped with phrases like, "Earn a love-swept vacation for 2 to Paris."  "Give him something he'll really love this Valentine's Day."  "Show her you really care.  Roses on sale."...  Cool....  I like roses.  Never been to Paris, but I'm not really interested in changing that.  I wonder when these things became to depict "love."


I think love is one of those words we tend to over-use in our English language, but it's not necessarily our fault.  Other languages-- Spanish, Greek, and Korean, for example-- have many words and phrases to express "love."  There's love-- like the way we love that purse (but would never, ever pay more than $10 for it).  There's love-- like the way I would love to be able to eat chili-cheese fries someday.  There's love-- like the way I love my job.  There's love-- the way I love my friends.  There's love-- the way I love my family.  And there's love-- the kind that teenagers think they understand.


I think all of those kinds of love can be true love.  But, being bombarded as we are with "love" messages from the media, I can see how it's easy to get confused about what true love is.


As I see it, true love isn't winning trips to Paris, giving someone roses, or investing in uncomfortable lingerie.  True love isn't holding hands in public.  It isn't dinner and movie or snap-chatting.  To me, those are only artificial ways to represent (or misrepresent) our feelings.


In the romantic sense, sometimes true love is choosing to be alone.  I'm often asked by coworkers and acquaintances if I'd ever consider dating or marrying someone who's not Mormon.  My quick answer is, "No, because there'd be a conflict of culture, and it would be very difficult to raise a child under those circumstances."...  It's not a lie.  The more precise answer would be, "I need to be married in a Mormon temple where my [hypothetical] sweet-heart and I can be promised to each other for time and all eternity."  'Till death do us part' isn't what I want for my true love story.


True love is the way my dogs come running when they hear me come home from work.  Tails wagging.  Eyes shining.  Not for any reason.  Just because I came home, and I take care of them, and they love me.  Even the husky, stubborn as she is, insists on staying at arm's length whenever I'm home; and even chose not to run away when she had chances to.  (That's true husky love, friends.)  Their love may be instinctive, but it's true love nonetheless.


True love happens when a family member gets sick, and all the others wish it would have been them instead.  It's when the sick family member is thankful that they're the sick one and not someone else.  True love is when a family member drops everything to buy a $6 California roll for a sister, because that's the only thing she wants to eat.  It's coming to the defense of a brother or sister or son or daughter whose character is being attacked by bitter and unforgiving critics.  It's putting in sprinkler systems-- one after the other-- and building playhouses and swing-sets.  It's moving pianos and couches and washing machines.  That's another way that true love can look.


True love is hearing that a new niece or nephew is going to be a part of the family.  That their existence, even in the womb, is already so programmed in with the family unit that we can't remember what life was like without them.  It's loving those babies completely and totally.  It's watching their parents, though exhausted and worried, light up whenever their children enter the room.  Missing those little ones, holding a little sock longingly, tracing over little hand-smudges on the bathroom mirror, and planning the next big tea party-- that's love.  Watching those children pick dandelions for their mom, or watching them squeal when they see Grandma and Grandpa-- that's true love.


True love is my Gramies and Gramps.  It's when, later in life, they were in a car accident. Gramps was saying what he thought would be his final good-byes, yet-- upon hearing that his wife had suffered from a heart attack and needed surgery, his demeanor changed.  He demanded to be made healthy again so that he could be with his wife who needed him.  Love was watching Gramies recover from that surgery, because she demanded to be with her husband who needed her.  True love was watching them care for each other.  Even now, after his death, I feel my Gramp's love envelop their home.  True love is like that.


True love is a Savior who suffered every injustice, every misdeed, and every miserable experience-- through no wrong-doing of His own.  It was suffering those experiences to a point surpassing death, even suffering those things alone.  True love is a Heavenly Father who allowed all of it to happen so that all of us would know just how infinitely and perfectly we are all truly loved-- collectively and individually.


True love is believing that we are worthy of receiving and giving these expressions of love in return, as much as we are capable.


So, my hope is that artificial or expiring love won't take the place of true love this Valentine's Day.  Or ever.  True love is more than a Hallmark card, a box of chocolates, and a candle-lit dinner.  If that's all we're seeking, then we're certainly missing the forest for the trees.  Because true love doesn't expire, doesn't need a holiday, nor does it need to be advertised in a pop-up window.


May we all feel loved, truly loved, this Valentine's Day.  No purchase of Paris vacation needed.

Surviving Valentine's Day

It's February!  Good things that I suspect will happen this month:  every one of my students' parents will show up for parent/teacher conferences, I'll have a productive appointment with my internal medicine doctor to make me healthy again, and my anonymous snow-shoveling friends will keep up the good work.  Oh... and Valentine's Day is happening.


Not to talk myself up or anything, but I'm pretty much an expert at spending Valentine's Day alone.  Come to think of it... I don't know that there was ever a Valentine's Day where I had an official "valentine."  Not unless you count elementary school when everyone was required to bring valentines for the class.  Yep.  Take it from a girl who hasn't had any suitors since 2008-- you, too, can survive and thrive "alone" on Valentine's Day.  (No hoarding or unreasonable purchase of cats necessary.)  Here's what to do/remember:

• Watch this link.  It explains life:  All the good ones are taken.
• It's just one day.  One day out of 365.25 a year.  Love doesn't limit itself to just 24 hours or just one set of experiences.  Who's to say that March 14 or April 14 can't be just as special as February 14?  Every day has the potential to be a special day.
• Don't be bitter toward those who have a valentine with whom to spend the day.  Whether looking up or looking down on others to judge them-- both situations are wrong.  Don't criticize those who, in their loving relationships, make a big deal about Valentine's Day.  I hope that my friends and family have a blast sharing the day with their significant others.  When others are happily celebrating, it doesn't mean that my reservoir of happiness suddenly becomes depleted.  Joy isn't a competition-- be happy that someone else is happy.
• For the realists who can't stand the sappy sentiment:  Feel sorry for the high percentage of couples celebrating who will probably break up and/or divorce before the year is over.
• Depression is a sign of selfishness.  Stop being selfish.  I'm not talking clinical depression.  That's something else entirely (and not selfish at all).  However, becoming easily irritated, moody, and overly emotional because of a holiday-- that's selfish.  If you must, throw a tantrum, and then get over yourself.  Think of someone else.  Chances are, there are dozens of people you know who would appreciate a call or a visit on Valentine's Day.  Maybe there's your grandmother who's missing your deceased grandfather?  And what mother wouldn't like to receive a call from a child saying, "Happy Valentine's Day, Mom.  I love you."  I bet she'd like that better than whatever bouquet Dad is going to bring home.
• Take yourself to dinner and a movie.  Be your own valentine.  Why rely on outside sources to validate your importance?  Love yourself enough to celebrate-- not because it's a holiday, but because you genuinely believe that you are important.  You are important, so act like it.
• If dinner and a movie is a bit out of budget, make it a night in.  Treat yourself to a night of your favorite movies, TV shows, and/or videogames.  Since Valentine's Day is on a Friday this year, you won't even have to keep an eye on the clock.  The day will be over before you know it.  (I also recommend eating your own weight in Valentine's candy... assuming your body can take it.)
• Adopt a pet.  Ok, ok-- I know I mentioned above that no unnecessary purchase of pets was necessary.  If you're afraid of becoming the crazy-cat lady, then disregard this suggestion.  However, I've gotta admit that my pets have put into perspective what it means to truly care for someone else.  For some (**cough**hack**Mom**), pets = bacteria and carpet stains.  For me, pets = unconditional love.  What better way to express the love in your heart than to save a life?
• Put it in perspective.  Having someone to love, and someone to love you, is a powerful thing.  I don't imagine there are too many people who hope to be alone forever and ever.  We tend to put our relationships on a pedestal for a reason, after all.  (Wait one sec.  I've gotta get on my soap-box here.)  I don't think a loving God would plan for any of us to be eternally alone.  The unfortunate statistics are that, yes, some of us may have to spend our entire mortal lives without ever finding a special someone with whom to spend that life.  But, that's ok.  In comparison with eternity, a lifetime really isn't so long-- just a blip on infinity.  Call me crazy, but if love is what gives us great happiness in life, I doubt that Heavenly Father will suddenly choose to have us live without it.  He promises that every person who follows Him diligently will receive every deserved reward.  That reward includes love, a very special someone with whom to share eternity.  Whether in this life or the next, it's a promise.  So enjoy the phase of life which you're in, because all good things are promised to those who are obedient.

Holding On and Letting Go

Why do we name months, but we don't name years?  I decided I'd start.  2014 is now to be called "Crit."  It's "crap" and another word (that I can't say unless I'm doing yard-work or sewing) put together.  I thought of that today, at about 10 o'clock, when I felt a cold coming on.  I guess it was to be expected, seeing as how a good proportion of my class has been in and out this week with various ailments.  And I'm the lucky one who gets to throw away their Kleenexes when they forget to.  (And teachers don't get paid enough....  Yeah....  Right.)


At any rate, it's just a cold.  A stupid cold, in addition to the dysfunctional digestive tract (which I'm sure you're all tired of hearing about) that gives added dimension to what it means to be sore from a cold.  My poor students.  I'm sure they want their old teacher back-- the one who teaches them Yoga at lunch or line-dancing after school.  Or who throws that rubber rock at them whenever they give really dumb answers to obvious questions.  (They do it on purpose, I swear.)


Because I'm in such a mood, I think it's appropriate to predict what other events will occur this Crit:

• My cold will turn into the flu.
• My flu will turn into a weird strain that the CDC will insist on studying.  I'll be quarantined, and they won't even give me a TV or books.  Just old copies of Seventeen magazine about Justin Beiber.
• My weird flu strain will turn into the zombie virus, and I'll become the one responsible for the impending zombie apocalypse.  You're welcome.
• My dogs will run away, because I never walk them anymore.  I always mean to, but... alas....
• My car's engine will fall out.
• Every appliance will decide to stop working.  Not just my appliances.  Every appliance everywhere.
• Someone will make me watch The Lone Ranger again.  (Bad movie.  Bad, bad movie.)
• Juan Pablo won't find true love.
• My bladder will go out, and I'll have to wear Depends.
• I'll have to pay a ridiculous amount in taxes equaling a month's paycheck.  (Oh, wait.  That was last year.)
• If I had a boyfriend, he'd break up with me.

Oh, Crit.  Why?  Just, why?


Actually, though, I don't say this so that anyone feels sorry.  (Unless you want to walk my dogs.  Then, feel sorry for me.)  I really don't feel sorry for myself.  Besides my initial reaction to getting a cold, I'm all right with this.  I'm holding on to the good (that I'm mostly functioning) and letting go of the bad (that my Emergen-C failed me).


The older I get (Pushing 30, folks!  I know what I'm talking about!), the more I realize that learning to live happily has a lot to do with holding on to some things and learning to let others go.  As a teacher, I learned quickly that I can't control what goes on in my students' homes.  I can, however, control what my classroom's environment will be-- safe, reliable, consistent.  Holding on to that responsibility, and focusing on that, helps in learning to let go of what I cannot change.


Remember a couple of posts ago?  Worry about what "is," not what "if."


I suppose that all of us, at some point or another, feel like we have to face the armies of the world with nothing more than a toothpick with which to defend ourselves.  Whether it be a battle of finances, a battle of health, a battle of belonging, etc, etc.  (Etc. means I got tired of thinking of things to list.)  That's life, right?  You either cave in and fail, or you don't.  You either hold on to every little thing and let it crush you, or you learn to let go.  You learn to hold on to what little slivers you can control, and you cling to the glimmers of sunlight that give you joy.  That's life.  For those of us who don't quit, I firmly believe that this refining pressure will turn us into diamond-like versions of ourselves.


Luckily, I don't think any of us were ever meant to face these obstacles alone.  What would going it alone really accomplish?  Even though my family and many close friends aren't readily available, should I need them, I am lucky enough to work with many elect ladies (who are also friends) who could help me stare down those armies of misfortunes I face.  And even if they weren't available, I still don't feel alone.  (But isn't sitting alone in your house every night being alone?....  Hey, peanut gallery, let me explain-- sheesh.)


Yeah-- this is going to get religious.  Again, I invite you to stop reading if religion is the kind of thing which offends you, or if it's something you find incomprehensible.  That's Ok.  We can still be friends.


There's a song I heard once growing up.  (Not an expression.  I really only heard it once.)  I don't remember the exact words, but it was about a girl growing up.  As a little child playing with her friend, they struggle to find an appropriate way to share.  The girl asks her friend, "Which part is yours, and which part is mine?  I think I'm unsure."  As an older girl, she had a problem and needed her mom's help.  She went to her mom and said, "Mom, which part is yours [to worry about], and which part is mine?  I think I'm unsure."  She wanted to do her best, but she also knew that she needed help.  Several verses later, the girl is married and raising teenage children.  Sending her child out one night, she finds herself nervously kneeling in prayer.  She says, "Lord, which part is yours [of raising my child], and which part is mine?  I think I'm unsure."....  I really wish I could remember more about the song, so that I could have y'all listen to it too.


At any rate, I find myself in that position a lot lately.  "Lord, which part is yours?  Which part is mine?"  Or, what are those things that You'll care for?  What are those things which I should be doing?  What should I be holding onto?  Of what should I be letting go?  More often than not, I find that my portions of my own agony are much smaller than His portions of my agony.  Not quite sure how it works out like that.


That's what having a relationship with Jesus Christ does for me.  Somehow, not just magically and metaphorically, but very literally, through His Atonement, my armies of frustrating challenges are eliminated from before me.  Somehow my toothpick becomes a walking stick, and I'm able to move forward as I keep His commandments, do all I can to endure, and leave the rest to Him.


Yeah.  I don't know what the rest of Crit is going to look like.  I suppose it doesn't really matter.  From an eternal perspective, all of these small things will eventually amount to one very important thing: the development of myself into who my Heavenly Father would have me be.

Favorite Things

A young Julie Andrews once instructed me that, should I ever encounter the more bitter vicissitudes of life, I should... think of my favorite things.  Upon trying her words, I realized just how many favorite things I really have.  Here's some:

Raindrops on roses

Seriously.  I love roses.  And rain.  And roses and rain together!

and mittens on kittens.

And he shall have some pie.

Stuff about science.

...or history, or literature, or art, or music, or... basically anything that could be on Jeopardy.

When books are well written.

I love books so much that I even blogged about it!

Speaking in Spanish.

el idioma de los cielos


Life under the sea. 

Except when my dive buddy abandons me.  Thanks, Dad.
These are a few of my favorite things.

My Big Apple City.

Forget San Francisco.  I left my heart here.

The Doctor on Hulu.

Well.....  Allonsy!

Cuddling with babies.

All day.  I could do that all day.

The wisdom of gurus.

What he said.

Playing a Steinway

Seriously.  I, physically, cannot pass up the chance to play a Steinway.

and when huskies sing.

Not that I recommend getting a husky.  Talk about high maintenance!
These are a few of my favorite things.

The Captain

...gu.... tongue tied.

and pirates

As an elf is also acceptable.

and Korean dramas.

They will take over your life if you let them.  Fighting!

My nieces and nephews

Sorry, guys.  They're just too cute to be showing off on public sites.

and talking to llamas.

Yeah.  I know.  It's an ibex.  I'm pretty sure that's almost the same thing as a llama.

Bollywood dancing

Hadippa!

and homemade ice cream.

Assuming it digests well, of course.
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the bills bite
or my side stings
or I'm feeling marginally frustrated,
I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel....  much different than I did before, but I had a great time looking at pictures of Chris Evans.  A+ for attractive.

Unexpected

Wow.  I don't know about you, but 2014 sure didn't waste time in slapping me in the face.  And it only has very little to do with the fact that the 9ers lost to that classless team (who will get their butts handed to them by the Broncos, PS).  Thanks a lot, 2014, for all of your twists and turns.  You're sure making me look forward to 2015-- trust me.


Yeah-- unexpected changes make life hard sometimes.  Take, for example, getting older.  Never did I expect to be fighting with acne and gray hairs at the same time.  (What is this?!  The Twilight Zone?  Seriously.)  Never did I expect that I'd have to be a morning person.  Never did I expect that I'd be living and working where I am....  But, here we are.


I certainly never expected the challenges of this year.  The unexpected passing of a cherished loved one.  The surgery and rehabilitation of another.  And I can't seem to get rid of this gnawing guilt that I have from having texted my mom late one night to get a ride to the ER (poor Mom)-- then again, that gnawing is probably just my gallbladder trying to digest dinner.  Yogurt and tuna, by the way.


I know that many make resolutions to live healthier lifestyles as a new year rolls around.  Yep.  Me too, but not by choice.  I've officially reached "old age," well... my gallbladder has anyway.  I'm just hoping I can hold out until summer when I can gorge myself on fat and grease, hopefully do enough damage that I can have the dang thing taken out.  Until then, it's nothing but rice, fruit, and protein shakes (Ensure, anyone?) for me.  Thankfully, I still have frozen yogurt to rely on should I start losing too much weight.  Maybe the occasional handful of Cheezits isn't totally out of the question, if I'm feeling brave.  Unfortunately, it's R.I.P. to my two favorite food groups-- chocolate and French fries.


Yep.  Unexpected changes.  We can adjust.  Or we can complain... and then adjust anyway.  Because there's really no choice not to.  Complaining isn't going to reverse the events which have already happened.  In the words of my Gramies, "You shouldn't worry about what if.  You should only worry about what is."


I was thinking about that the other day as I was recovering from a rather severe attack-- the same one that landed me in the hospital.  My side was aching, felt like someone had beat me up with a crowbar, and I was scared.  I was scared of how tired I was.  I was scared that I wouldn't be able to adjust to my job (which requires an abundance of energy).  I was scared to eat or drink, because I never again wanted to feel the pain that I had felt the night before.  On top of that, there was the worry, sadness, and stress of other expected and unexpected events which had occurred within the new year.  Yet, even feeling all of that, I realized something.  I was hurt.  I was weak.  I was scared.  But I was at peace in spite of it.


That was probably the most unexpected response of all.  Peace?  Really?  Yeah, maybe even with a little bit of "happy" mixed in too.  I don't know how, or when, or if all of 2014's issues will be resolved.  I don't know if I'll ever be able to indulge in Taco Bell again (without needing a side of morphine, that is).  Thinking about it, though, it's a good thing.  I've never been so motivated to take care of myself-- not just for me, but for my students and family also.


As I was pondering there, I also thought about how thankful I was for the parts of my body which function properly.  Think about it-- so much can go wrong in a human.  It's amazing any of us are alive at all.  So many things have to work just right, and most of them do.  Incredible.


I was thinking about my friends and family.  Through this unexpected health "crisis," I've had so many friends and family offer concern and help.  Being the stubbornly independent person I am, I rarely think about who can help me.  Needing to rely on others now, and realizing how many are willing to be relied upon, has been an unexpected blessing to me.


I thought about everyone else I knew who had gone through similar experiences.  While sympathy is an admirable and divine quality, I find that empathy offer a bit more in the department of understanding.  To all of my relatives and friends who have gone through this, I suddenly understand their past struggles much more than I used to.  For those who I encounter in the future...  well, maybe going through this is as much for them as it is for me.


Mostly, though, these last few days have put me to thinking about my Grandmas.  About how worried and sad I was for them.  I decided, in the end, it's good to worry and feel sad because of others.  Because, on the opposite side of that "worry and sad" coin is "love and joy."  Feeling pain, whether physical or emotional, is good.  It means we're capable of feeling.


So-- yeah.  It's certainly going to be an uphill battle through January.  I figure, though, (assuming I can keep a cool head when the hospital bill arrives) that unexpected is to be expected.  Yet, if we continue to do our best to search for those unexpected opportunities and blessings which arise from trial, it's not going to be such a bad year after all.

Kids are the Worst

I have the best and worst job.  This afternoon was one of those "bleh" times.  You know, it's like lunch isn't settling, your stomach is cramping, your up-chuck reflex is in full-swing, and your colon is threatening to explode unless you take off your panty-hose right now!  It's like your head is pounding, your eye twitching, back aching, and-- basically-- your body hurts so much that all you can seem to do is sit behind your desk while student after student come to you asking the same question that you know you answered at least 12 times before they began working on their assignment....  Yeah.  It's like that.




Kids.  How annoying.




Can't they let me enjoy my body's violent episode in peace?  Can't they listen to directions the first time?  Can't they just sit quietly at their desks and teach themselves how to spell "another" and "responsibility" on their own?  Can't they use the restroom without asking my permission first?  (PS-- When is my restroom break?!  Huh?)  Can't they find something with which to quietly entertain themselves while I quietly cry to myself until the bell rings?




Kids.  What a pain.  What a terrible blessing it is to take stewardship over 26 little people everyday who may-- or may not-- want to be in school.




I think Charles Dickens said it best in Nicholas Nickelby when he called children exactly what they are-- "a divine burden."




Do I enjoy every moment as a teacher?  No.  Kids are hard work, and I applaud you parents who get to take the little rascals home.  They are-- they are a burden.  You actually have to take time to teach them to do things the way you want them done.  You have to make sure they have clothes (and coats for recess, please), food, a place to stay.  Anyone who knows kids know that they can smell bad, they can do the stupidest things (like pour water on a light-bulb for no reason), and --for some inexplicable reason I've yet to figure out-- they're usually sticky and messy.




Who would want to put up with that?  Who would willingly put themselves in charge of a little person that, by the way, looks up to and absorbs everything you do?  Who would choose to give up their selfish habits and lifestyles in order to maintain a safe living environment for a kid?  You cry when they cry.  You hurt when they hurt.  You would sooner chop off your own head than wish them harm (except for, you know, vaccinations).  Why on Earth would I care enough to fight through my own physical and emotional pain to run laps around a classroom as I'm bombarded with raised hands that may--or may not-- have a pertinent question on the other end?




Yeah-- kids make us miserable.  But you know what else they do?  They make us better people.  And, you know what?  It kind of bugs me that some would see kids as lesser-people.  They're little.  Not lesser.  In many ways, children have impressed me and taught me more than any adult ever could.  Who wouldn't want that divine burden to become acquainted with a child?




Yet we still have stupid "grown-ups" who feel that kids would "cramp their style."  (Insert TIME magazine article here, except I won't because it made me mad.)  Nope.  No kids for us.  We're too cool.....  All right.  Have fun looking back and regretting your life in 20 years.  Having no kids for medical reasons is tragic, and I'm deeply sorry for those in that situation.  Having no kids because you're too selfish... yeah.  That's maddening to a girl like me.




Even worse-- what about the adoring parents who so lovingly abandon their children on the street?  (Seriously?  Do you know how many people would love to care for that baby?)  At least be responsible enough to get rid of your offspring in an adult way.  Sheesh.




I think I need to mellow out a bit.  Maybe I'm just cranky because my insides are still actively stabbing at me from the inside out.  Maybe it's this stupid "uplifting" video I just watched: watch at your own risk.  I suppose that, deep down (even beneath my temperamental bowels) there's a girl who would gladly carry a divine burden such as a child.  For those out there who crave to hold a baby and help that child grow into adulthood-- yet haven't had the opportunity-- I get it.  I understand your need to punch a wall and/or throw up whenever a child is abused or neglected.  I understand your frustration when you wonder why "so-and-so" had an abortion when you haven't been so divinely "cursed" with a pregnancy.  (Or even the opportunity to get pregnant.)




I don't know why that happens.  I don't know why some of us who yearn to be mothers and fathers never get the chance.  But I do know that every child is infinitely loved by a Heavenly Father who is infinitely aware of their trials.  That goes for both born and unborn.  That goes for you.  That goes for me.  That even goes for the girl who, for some misguided reason, felt that the best choice was to kill her baby.  That even goes for the jacka** "father" who "helped" create the child, yet did nothing to help save him/her.




As for the parents who ask teachers what they can do to help their child improve their grades:  Thank you for taking an interest in your child's education.  You never annoy us teachers when you do that.




As for the parents who joyfully accompany their children on weekend outings:  Thank you for exposing your child to the world in a safe environment.




As for the parents who work three jobs to make sure their children's needs are met:  Thank you for loving your child enough to sacrifice for their physical needs.




As for the parents who would do anything within their power, up to and including the sacrifice of their own lives, in order to raise their children:  Thank you.  Just thank you.




Kids.  What a profound responsibility.  What a meaningful adventure.  What better way could we choose to spend our lives?

Guns

I had plans to run all over town getting this-and-that done today.  That was before I woke up to find that I'd be lucky to make it out of my driveway.  In spite of my hatred for driving in the snow, I did manage to make it a few blocks to the grocery store to buy dog-food.  (My dogs are spoiled.)  I wanted to stop by the classroom and set up a fish tank, but the unplowed parking lot didn't look like something my Chevy Classic needed to try to conquer today.  So now I'm at home.  The dogs are fed (or would be if they'd quit hiding food in the couch), and there's a whole lot of nothing for me to get done here.

That happens sometimes living in the Rockies.  Weather happens, and sometimes my plans have to drastically change.  It was a minor "problem" that I had to learn to deal with in New York too.  Yeah-- NYC and Wyoming/Colorado definitely have snow in common....  That's about it, though.

Due to changing gun laws in some states, I've been thinking a lot lately about the differences between gun culture out east and gun culture in my house.  Hopefully, based on other posts, I've proven myself as a person who doesn't revel in violence or the mistreatment of life.  However, I'm also one who would refuse to give up her AK, even to the extent of surrendering my life.  In simpler terms, they'd have to kill me before I'd let them take my guns from me.  (Whoever "they" are.)

Don't be surprised.  That's western gun culture vs. city gun culture.  We don't use our guns as a means to gain control or power.  We don't use our guns in petty turf wars or gang shoot-outs.  We never use our guns pre-emptively as weapons.  Ever.  (Yes, that includes hunting.  We'll get into that later.)

So, my east coast friends, let me elaborate on some of those reasons why your "crazy" Wyoming friend would sacrifice her life before sacrificing her guns:

• Guns are a tool, not a weapon:  Let's get into that hunting thing.  Personally, I was never able to bring myself to shoot anything, but I don't judge those who have.  Most hunting families who I know use their meat throughout the year to keep their kids fed.  Guns, then, are a tool used to make sure a family's dietary needs are met.  For those of us who own land and/or animals, guns are an absolute necessary tool in scaring off and, in rare cases, killing threats to  property.  Losing a few cows to some coyotes may not seem like a big deal to folks out-east, but such a loss is devastating out here.  Losing a few cows could mean losing the farm, losing the family, losing everything.  Thank goodness ranchers and farmers can use their firearms to protect their livelihoods.  Guns are also tools necessary for self-reliance.  I can confidently say that, if the west were suddenly cut off from all outside resources, my family and I could live comfortably for years providing for ourselves.  We'd rely on our survival skills, knowledge of the land around us, and our guns-- we could do it.  How many people can say that?
• The vast majority of gun owners are responsible:  What I mean by responsible is that they practice gun safety.  When a Wyomingite walks into a gun shop, they're not doing so because Rick's .357 colt python was SOOOOOOO cool on The Walking Dead.  Gun purchases are not on a whim or done to achieve a certain image.  When we bring our money to a gun store, we also bring years (yes, YEARS) of firearm and self-defense training with us.  It's our culture.  Learn to ride a bike-- check.  Learn to handle and store firearms safely-- check.  No joke.  Long before I was allowed to touch a gun, I had it drilled into me what it meant to own one.  "Always act like a gun is loaded."  "Never aim at something unless you intend to kill it."  And there's a whole mess of other rules to go along with those two.  Most of us are professionals, folks.  We have the training and the permits to prove it.
• Firearms run in the family:  Some of the most precious family heirlooms out west are the family firearms.  The shotgun that great-great-grandpa used to settle the homestead.  (We don't have one of those in my family.  It's just an example.)  It's true that certain guns are significant in a family tree.  To take those away from the family would be to take away an important part of that family's legacy.
• Guns protect us from people:  I was going to post a bunch of statistics here to prove my point, but I'm getting hungry, so I'll leave it up to you to do the research.  Where there is strict gun control, there are also elevated amounts of violent crimes-- homicides, stabbings, shootings, etc.  Yeah-- I can't think of any criminal who would walk into a Wyoming establishment expecting to get much done by waving a gun around:  No doubt that criminal would have more than a few barrels pointed back at him/her.  Problem solved.....  I know what you're thinking-- What about mass shootings?  I certainly don't mean to make these tragedies out to be less ...well... tragic than they are/were.  The loss of any life is remorseful.  Did you know, though, that more people are killed by drunk drivers every year than by guns?  (Again, I'll leave you to do the research.)  Yet we're not rallying together to outlaw alcohol or cars....  Think about it.  Taking away guns would only serve to treat the symptoms of a much larger issue, all while taking firearms away from responsible owners... and pissing off everyone from Montana down to Texas.
• Guns protect us from animals:  Living out here, one can expect to run into all sorts of critters.  We're not talking about going up to the mountains for the weekend (although that is an option).  We're talking about seeing elk, deer, antelope, coyotes, foxes, and badgers on the way to work.  Ever been nose to nose with an angry moose?  My dad has.  You never know when a ridiculously aggressive rattle snake or mountain lion is going to pay a visit to your backyard to play with your dog.  Or your kid.  (Yes, there are parts of the country still like this.  Many of us call it home.)  "But that's not safe!" you say?  "Why would you choose to live in a place like that?" you wonder.  Where else would we go?  Chicago?  Detroit?....  No thanks.  I'll take the grizzly on my front porch.
• Guns are a symbol of our independent "western" spirit:  My ancestors were some of the first to settle in America, because they sought freedom.  Tired of persecution and regulations, they came to a land where they could live and let live.  They supported the 2nd amendment, because they knew what it was like to live under a tyrannous government.  Generations later, other ancestors-- again tired of persecution and regulations-- sought freedom again, this time out west.  They established themselves.  (Let's not get into American Indian rights.  That's another blog for another time.)  Generations later, you have me.  You have my family.  You have my friends.  You have thousands of us.  And we're not the types to give in to persecution and regulations.  (Imagine that.)  If a tyrannous government were to demand our guns today, it would be an insult to our identities and everything our ancestors fought to establish.  That's why we won't give it up.  Are we stubborn?  Yes.  Are we right to stand up for rights?  Yes.  Don't like it?  Fine.  Don't move here.

That, my friends, is why I would rather die than live in a world without my AK.