Decisions

When it comes to most things, I have never been a decisive person. Deciding to serve a mission was no exception. I was certainly never the girl that "knew my entire life that it was my calling." It had been a decision that I began seriously considering the summer of my 20th birthday when I realized that I could be very well be serving as a missionary exactly one year from that point. Serving a mission was not exactly on my to-do list. But neither was attending BYU, majoring in piano performance, or living in Utah (not to be a hater or anything ... ). Life is funny sometimes. Prior, it had simply been a matter of "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it" situation.  Only, that bridge came much sooner than I had anticipated.

One Saturday afternoon, I was making my way out of the BYU testing center, my hand recovering from a winding essay on polyphonic 16th-century music. As I do following every exam, I glanced at the wipe board near the exit that generally screams some sort of witty remark or countdown to brighten a student's dampened spirits. President Monson announces that girls can serve missions at age 19, it declared in glaring red Expo marker.  I didn't believe it. However, the countless texts of Are you going on a mission?!  I've already called the bishop! confirmed that no human crying "April fools'" would be jumping out of the bushes anytime soon.

What ensued was a fascinating frenzy of seemingly every BYU girl reassessing her life plans to see if a mission should be a part of it. For me, it was a matter of prayer, scripture-reading, countless late-night phone calls with my parents, and far too many bowls of Life cereal at 2 am for months.  I guess I was just waiting ... waiting for some single, momentous confirmation. I didn't want to go "just because it was cool" [insert hipster joke]. But the more that I thought and prayed about it, the more right it felt. Interestingly enough, the strongest confirmations came as I would be perched on my little piano bench in the solitary confinement of a practice room. One day, as I was drilling a measure of a Debussy prelude for the umpteenth time, it hit me like a ton of bricks. And that was enough for me. The gospel makes me happy; I want others to be happy. The world could use a little lovin'. I'd also be a liar if I didn't admit that the prospect of living in a foreign country for 18 months was appealing. I decided that I would just begin my papers, and if it truly wasn't something that I was supposed to do, I would know it. I finished my papers. I submitted them. I received a call. 

Some days it feels so entirely perfect. Tokyo remains the former stomping grounds of my father, brother, and sister-in-law during their days as missionaries. I'll finally progress beyond the second grade in my Japanese skills. Most Some days it feels so entirely intimidating. I realize I have little comprehension of truly how difficult missionary work can be. Regardless, I'm confident it's a leap of faith that I won't ever regret. This doesn't mean I won't miss my family, stilettos (so sorry to sound shallow), my "sleep-inducing hipster music" as my brother likes to say, the piano, or my friends in Provo any less. But I'm so grateful to have the opportunity to serve and can't wait for all the experiences that will be undoubtedly difficult but rewarding.

On a side note, I stumbled on the following video one day. If I needed this, maybe someone else does too. It's a good one.

my name is Richard Parker

// life of pi by yann martel //

This book has been sitting on my "to read" list for far too long. And by long, I mean ever since the eighth grade when my middle school best friend delivered an oral report on a book about a tiger, a raft, and God.

Better late than never.

I'm no book critic, but because I want you to know that I am literate, here are my thoughts.

Particularly with the recent film adaptation, the plot line is familiar to many: 15-year old Piscine "Pi" Molitor Patel of Pondicherry finds himself in the harrowing struggle for survival following the sinking of a cargo ship. The lone survivor, Pi finds himself in the company of an orangutan, hyena, crippled zebra, and one gargantuan Bengal tiger Richard Parker. Unfortunate circumstances soon leave Pi with no traveling companion other than the tiger, and the pair endure a 227-day ordeal.

I quickly realized that to reduce it to the tale of just a "tiger, a raft, and God" serves injustice to the complexities of the novel. The many juxtapositions--of the rational and irrational (3.1415926535 ... ), empirical and theoretical, scientific and philosophical--made for a well-crafted story. Furthermore, the book's structure serves to be an allegory of sorts. We are initially presented with a note from the author, who relates his experience in stumbling across Pi's incredible tale. The novel then launches into a first-person account in the eyes of Pi, who tells reveals that he has a story to "make you believe in God." His experience that began with the ill-fated cargo ship turns out to be more than just a story of human survival; it becomes an exploration of the resilience of the human spirit and reconciliation of beliefs and reality, and throughout the novel we are drawn to Pi's inclination to find the "better story". In a distant similarity to Big Fish, the book examines the value of differentiating between truth and imagination and the merit of storytelling. Pi asserts that he spent 227 days aboard a tarpaulin with a tiger; the Japanese investigation crew asserts that such a story is ridiculous. Readers are confronted with the decision to choose to believe the far-fetched but "better story," or be satisfied with the mundane.

I saw the movie first. I loved it. I loved the book more. The novel is able to delve further into the theology and ironies that make Pi's account so captivating. Squeamish readers should probably take note, however. Martel's writing, though lyrical and fluid, spares few details, and I found myself resorting to speed-reading skills that I learned in Mr. Ross's seventh grade Language Arts to save my stomach.

I worried that the novel would quickly fall flat (Castaway, anyone?) but found the theological bend to be thought-provoking and led me to reassess my own faith. Though my personal experience did not find the novel so faith-promoting, this isn't necessarily a criticism as it led me to reconsider the roots of my own faith and was therein faith-building. A simultaneous subscriber to the beliefs of Hinduism, Christianity, and Islam, Pi finds appealing elements of each religion, chiefly a belief in a higher being. He also finds some admiration in atheism, as it requires a commitment to not believe in God in spite of lacking evidence for such a conclusion. In his mind, however, agnosticism is "unimaginative" and analytical to a fault.

One of my favorite passages:

"I can well imagine an atheist's last words: "White, white! L-L-Love!"--and the deathbed leap of faith. Whereas the agnostic, if he stays true to his reasonable self, if he stays beholden to dry, yeastless factuality, might try to explain the warm light bathing him by saying, "Possibly a f-f-failing oxygenation fo the b-b-brain," and, to the very end, lack imagination and miss the better story.'"

the Would-be Baker

There's something so magical about baking. If this week is any indication (1 batch of brownies, 1 strawberry-rhubarb pie, 3 loaves of banana bread, 1 batch of cookies, 2 double-layered cakes ... ), I can't help myself.  I'm not necessarily good; I'm just addicted.

But I think I've done it. Found the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe, that is.  In my determination to succeed, I've never used the same recipe twice. (I actually don't really like to use recipes ever--maybe I'm prideful, maybe I'm stubborn. I call it creative license.) From the moment that I mixed up my first batch of chocolate chip cookies, I have been on a journey to find the mother of all homemade chocolate chip cookies. When I pulled these babies out of the oven, KA-CHING. It just LOOKED like a chocolate chip cookie should. Originally printed by the New York Times (I knew I liked that city), the recipe takes at least 24 hours and 45 minutes to be properly executed. Yes, you MUST let it refrigerate an entire day. Allows the sugars and yumminess to mellow.  No cheating.

Chocolate Chip Cookies  

Adapted from Jacques Torres  

Time: 45 minutes (for 1 6-cookie batch), plus at least 24 hours’ chillin' 

2 cups minus 2 tablespoons (8 1/2 ounces) cake flour
1 2/3 cups (8 1/2 ounces) bread flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups (10 ounces) light brown sugar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons natural vanilla extract
1 1/4 pounds bittersweet chocolate disks or fèves, at least 60 percent cacao content (see note)
Sea salt

1. Sift flours, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside. 

2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.

3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside. 

4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie. Or, if you're like me and you'd prefer many smaller cookies as opposed to 18 monstrous ones, scoop mounds of dough the size of baby golf balls to yield about 2 1/2 dozen 2.5-inch cookies. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes (or 16 minutes if using smaller mounds of dough). Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day.  Or don't and just eat it raw.  

Yield: 1 1/2 dozen 5-inch cookies.
Note: Disks are sold at Jacques Torres Chocolate; Valrhona fèves, oval-shaped chocolate pieces, are at Whole Foods.  

Now I can die a happy lady.  For a more danceable baking experience, turn on some tunes.  Ready, set, go.

1. You Can Tell the World, Simon and Garfunkel
2. Tell' Em, Sleigh Bells
3. Milord, Edith Piaf
4. Down With the Trumpets, Rizzle Kicks
5. Party, Beyoncé

good things.

I suppose some sort of introduction is in order.

Confession: Blogs were never appealing to me. Something about spilling my guts on the worldwide web was not on my list of enjoyable pastimes. Yet here I am.

I was sitting at my kitchen table the other day, lamenting about how I missed writing for my high school's paper and found myself with a sudden, relentless itch to just write. Something. Anything. I subsequently began this blog as a creative platform for releasing my thoughts, my latest musings. On the good.  Good things. Like the really cute grandma that asked me if I was fourteen twelve years old, or the privilege of getting the last licks of ice cream from the carton, or the piano concerto that brought me to tears.

I don't really know where this is going. I'm not sure if this will even be interesting. But apologies aside, here it goes. If you want to read along, that's great.

In other news, I'm leaving on a mission in 14 days.

Cover photo courtesy of http://www.standardculture.com/posts/7287-Wanderlust-Chronicles-Secret-Travel-Items#