A Self-Education

Three years ago I interviewed at the BYU library for a position in the Humanities Reference department. I was currently working at Book Repair. And while I was quite good at paper-mending, recasing, strip binding (not as exciting as it sounds) and myriad other esoteric repairs, book repair was not what I wanted to do with my life. (If book conservation is what you want to do with your life, it is very cool. My sister does it.) So I applied for the reference position, had a really good interview, waited for kind of a long while to hear back...never did. So I called them. "Ohhh.." the assistant said when I called, "Well, we actually gave the position to someone else. Because he speaks German."

Oh!

"But!" she replied, in conciliatory tones, "Another librarian saw your resume, saw that you are a Portuguese speaker, and is interested in hiring you."

Hm! Okay.

So that's how I got that job. About a month ago, I interviewed for another position (than the one I currently have) at OPL, had a perfectly adequate interview, and then played the waiting game once more.

(As an aside, I think it is healthy for everyone to be turned down for a job at least once or twice in their lifetime. It's humbling. And it helps keep everything in perspective. Anyway, moving on.)

You probably gathered that I did not get this job either. "We found someone who has experience in video and editing," they said. Well that made perfect sense, since my only video experience consisted of recording something on my digital camera and uploading it to iMovie for minimal editing. I didn't feel bad in the least.

I did, however, realize that I have a lot to learn, and that I can develop certain marketable skills all on my own. Like HTML and web design. I have a GINORMOUS book about HTML and CSS sitting on my bookshelf gathering dust. I've built a web site, sure. But it's extremely rudimentary. I can do the basics in Excel and InDesign--but my skills are not exactly "mad." I could make a video, but I had never really sat down and done any finishing on it.

I say "could" because all of this is, in fact, just a really long introduction to the fact that I, Erin Mumford, have created and posted my very first YouTube video. I googled how to rip DVDs, downloaded the software, did all the editing, formatted it for YouTube, and--unlike the Little Red Hen of lore--am perfectly disposed to share it with you now. I am only a little bit embarrassed how much time this took and how much homework did not get done as a result. Also...I am perfectly aware that this particularly work of "art" will never appear on any resume.

WARNING: It's a fan video. (If you don't know what that is, you soon will. They constitute a worldwide pandemic on YouTube.) And yes, I created it ironically. Here it is:

Things I Know at 26

- This is how I look to most people most of the time.
- I have a long face, stern eyes and a crooked mouth. *shrug*
- I know so much more than I did five years, two years, one year ago.
- And I am beginning to understand the immensity of how little I know.
- Age is a mostly arbitrary number.
- I am glad I married older.*
- Adults are petty and stupid and set in their ways.
- Don't believe everything your elders tell you.
- Don't believe everything you read on the internet.
- Don't believe anything involving superlatives (best, surest, safest, blah. blah. blah.)
- Don't you dare do something simply because it is "done."
- Question religion. Think deep and hard about it, and often. Take a stand, but humbly.
- Question everything. But disregard everything at your peril.
- Own your opinions unequivocally.
- Be passionate! But not pugnacious.
- Be kind. 
- Kiss a lot.**
- Avoid cliches.
- Weigh others' opinions before dismissing them out of hand.
- Do things because they are right, not because it will please someone, but because you reap what you sow.
- Don't worry about recognition.
- Don't concern yourself with accolades, with the opinions of others.
- Think about yourself as little as possible.
- But do try to dress well. It will help reduce self-consciousness.
- If you find a pair of pants you like, don't look at the price tag, and buy two pair.
- Avoid feeling angry. It's contagious in all the worse ways.***
- Empathize instead.
- Eat well. Not for your figure, but for your immune system, your stamina and your overall health.
- Have plenty of snacks in the cupboard.
- I am not going to go to Hell for watching movies of a certain rating, or saying things like "damn" every now and then, or drinking a caffeinated beverage every once in a while. I'm not. Sorry to disappoint.
- I am not going to be condemned for my imperfections.
- BUT don't use your imperfections as an excuse.
- Everyone hates their job at least a little bit. Don't be disappointed when you aren't completely satisfied with your own.
- Don't pay for TV.
- Don't watch TV. Not in real time, at least.
- Commercials are Satan's own spawn.
- Read. Read as if because your life depends on it.
- Read the news. Don't watch it. ****
- Practice. It isn't too late to learn a new skill. 
- Create. Do it because it's good for your brain.
- Worry about money only as much as necessary and, generally, as little as you can afford. *****
- Write often and without regard to quality. There is always revision...
- Go out of your way for your friends.
- Don't judge your friends.
- Don't judge your family. But learn from them--mistakes and all.
- Laugh at yourself.
- Respect yourself.
- So you can love yourself.
- So you can love others.
- Just...you know...love.

*An arguable point. In Mormondom, marriage at the ripe age of (nearly) 25 is on the shady side of average.
** Should've learned this a lot sooner.
***Screaming impotently at other drivers does not make them regret cutting me off.
****If Fox News is "fair and balanced" then my Aunt Sally is a three-toed, yodeling monkey's uncle.
*****No pun intended.

The Power of a Good Teacher

I was going through my old blog posts today and found this one from over two years ago. I'm not sure why I didn't post it. Maybe I was going to go back and revise it. I ended up forgetting about it. Anyway, I think it's worth posting now, so here it is.

May 20, 2009

Yesterday, I woke up and found myself no longer in Spain, unemployed, with a mountain of laundry to do. After going to an early-morning workshop regarding the paid internship I've been approved for (yay!) I went back home, calmly gathered together all of my dirty clothes--which was ALL of my clothes, basically--and drove the five minutes to the parents' to wash them. it was the one thing of importance left on my agenda to do for the day. That's what happens when you don't have a job, I guess. I got my laundry going, played piano for a while, read, and then, decided to do something I hadn't done in three years: visit Mr. Carpenter.

Mountain View High School is fifteen minutes drive away from home, in good traffic conditions. I chose to go the neighborhood route--which was a bad idea, since every school zone in Orem was flashing and I saw at least three cops and two cars get pulled over. It was a war zone. But, twenty minutes later, I pulled up to the long, white building, parked in Visitor Parking (unnecessary at that time of day) walked past several groups of loud teens who, to my college-conditioned eyes, appeared so young and foreign, and entered the building. I was aware that, six years after the fact, I easily passed for one of them. Only, not nearly as trendy.

I climbed the stairs and entered the social studies hallway. Carpenter's room was the second on the right. it wasn't the same one as when I was there, but when i went in, I saw at a glance that it was arranged exactly the same way. Nothing changed. Carp wasn't there at the moment, so I just stood looking around until he came in. When he walked in, I smiled, held out my hand and said, "Do you remember me?" Of course he did. It didn't take him a second to remember my name.

We talked about everything. We talked about school and history and life in general. In the three years since I'd set foot in the school, I'd gone and come back from Brazil, finished a college degree, and, in short, seen a little bit more of the world. In the three years since I'd been there, his kids had gotten older, his vision had probably gotten worse (though I didn't ask him) and his curriculum was basically the same. "Nothing changes here," I said. "I change, but this," I said, indicating the classroom and the school, "has all stayed the same." Carpenter nodded and said, "Well, the teachers get older and crankier." Somehow, I can't imagine Carpenter ever getting cranky. Older maybe. Never cranky.

I left Mountain View reminded, once again, why Carpenter, of all the teachers and professors I've had, was the most important one. Over the course of my mission, I read and re-read a discourse on 1 Corinthians 13 written by a man who was not of my faith...yet still of my faith. Part of developing the Christlike attribute of Charity, this man says, is--interestingly enough--to believe in people. Nothing influences people more than our belief in them. Mr. Carpenter is in a unique position where he is able to influence a lot of young people for good. I'm glad I got to be one of them.

Has any teacher influenced you for the better?

Anniversary cake

It's 10:53 p.m. and I can barely keep my eyes open, so this should be interesting. It's our anniversary today! Numero uno. Yesterday we pulled the top layer of our wedding cake out of cryogenic freeze, and about an hour ago we cut through year-old fondant into a surprisingly...hmm...fresh cake. I'm serious. It actually tasted like it was baked yesterday.

I should explain that I never in my wildest dreams imagined myself EVER observing that tradition. I've imagined myself doing crazier things than that (skydiving, bellybutton piercings, childbirth) but never that. The decision to have a cake in the first place was really last minute, so the decision to preserve it for future posterity was equally last minute, and done in response to Travis and I having each had a total of one bite of the bottom layer (courteously fed to each other at the reception. not so courteously tonight, heh) and our mothers having had NO cake whatsoever.

We weren't even going to wait a whole year, but then, well, time has a way of getting away from you, and before you know it, it's been a year, and it's just about time to pull that sucker out and dust it off. Hey. That cake was expensive--and surprisingly delicious. And thanks to Mom, it was frozen in just the right way to make it thaw right back into bakery fresh readiness. You'd freeze it too if you only got one bite. Or you wouldn't.

Basically, I wish I would feel less embarrassed about having just eaten a year-old cake, but I don't. Moving on.

The Power of Vulnerability

The secret to a happy and full life: to let yourself be seen--utterly, inside and out. This is worth the 20 min. it takes to watch.

Laika in Space

You've probably heard of the little dog that got sent up into space by the Russians. I just learned some pretty interesting things about her in this graphic novel by Nick Abadzis.


First of all, her real name was Kudryavka. "Little Curly," for her curly, samoyed-esque tail. Second of all, they sent her up there to die.

What they teach you in elementary school is that the Russians sent the first two satellites up into space and that the second one constituted the first "manned" orbit, with Laika on board. Yay! A dog in space! What kid doesn't get a kick out of that?

What they don't teach you is that after the successful launch of Sputnik--the first object launched into space--Kruschev ordered his space engineers to have a second, manned satellite ready to go one month later in time for the 40th anniversary of the Revolution. One month, folks. One. Because of the time crunch, the engineers did not have time to create a rocket that could bring anyone home safely from space. Only launch them out forever. All for propaganda's sake.

So they sent a dog. The best tempered dog they had. A dog unfailingly sweet after the most grueling training sessions. They re-named her "Laika" for the launch, because the name was more fierce. Laika, "barker." They put her in a special doggy space suit, strapped her into a tiny capsule and blasted her into space.

It was all over world news! "The Soviets still ahead in the space race! Laika in space! 'Muttnik!'" The official report was that she lived for four or five days in orbit and then was humanely put down and that great strides in research were made.

Actually...she died five hours into the flight, from stress and heat exhaustion. Just like that. A tiny life, gone. And the worst part is, it was kind of in vain. "The more time passes," said Oleg Georgivitch Galenko in 1998, "the more I'm sorry about it. We did not learn enough from the mission to justify the death of the dog."

It totally made me cry, in case you were wondering. Check it out, if you can, though. It isn't all tears and sadness.


Doesn't this just look like the nose of a pooch you'd wanna pet?

Looking Death in the Face

My sweet, fragile Grandpa Rasmussen passed away on Monday. He was 95.

While at work on Saturday afternoon, I received an email from my mom about the recent decline of my grandpa's health. He had been steadily declining for years--forgetting little things, like where he put the keys, to forgetting the names of grandchildren he didn't see regularly, to forgetting his own children whom he saw daily.

Grandpa never changed though. He grew disoriented, and by the end of his life, a brief Sunday visit to my parents' house next door to his was a trip to a stranger's house. But he was always the same, gentle, gracious man he always was. He never lashed out in his confusion, never shied away from the "strangers" he saw all around him. He lovingly looked for my Grandma, whom he almost always remembered til the end. (On the rare occasions where he couldn't quite remember who she was, I'm told he would sometimes propose to her. :) That's the kind of man he was.)

Mom's email on saturday was just to let us know that Grandpa had gone to sleep a few days ago and was still restlessly sleeping. In other words... Grandpa was dying. It was time to gather round and say our goodbyes.

Later that evening, Travis and I went to see him. Grandpa was in his own room in a hospital bed, swaddled in many blankets, with a little white night cap to keep him warm. Unconscious, gaunt, and breathing laboredly, he didn't look peaceful; he looked like he was struggling--struggling to be free, perhaps. I was a little frightened by what I saw. After my mom and grandma left Trav and I alone to whisper our goodbyes, I began to cry into my husband's shoulder. "Death is horrifying," I whispered. And, to me, in that moment, it was. The man I'd known and loved my whole life, his quick wit and sharp intellect, his gentle humility, was reduced to this struggling shell of a body. The women I loved, Mom and Grandma, and all who did their nightly vigils with Grandma--women who knew this man far better than even I--had to tend this dying body, knowing that soon he would be gone. How was it to be borne?

"No!" Travis whispered back. "Death isn't horrifying." And as I remained many minutes more, and became more accustomed to Grandpa's, at first, alarming new visage, I realized Travis was right. This was as important of a journey as Grandpa's life. It marked a change, and not an easy one to accept, but a natural and a good one.

A picture of his mother, who died when he was twelve, hung on the wall next to his bed. It was one of those old-timey photos that, as it hung in my grandparents' guest room for years, I had often found humorous and even a little frightening. People always looked so solemn back then. But as I stared at that old familiar photo, I had the thought that in a few short days--or hours, I didn't know how long--he'd be reunited with his mother, a woman he hadn't seen in nearly 84 years.

There was nothing horrifying about that. In fact, I was filled with such joy at the thought that it makes me cry a little bit even now to think about it. Yes. Joy. It's a little bit stronger than mere happiness.

I feel like I experience the quotidien details of my life with blinders on. I believe that my existence began before I was born, and I believe that it will not end with my death. But I take this for granted every single day. I go throughout my routine and feel, however subconsciously, as if this--this--is all there is. As if my job, my schooling, my routine, my husband here and now are the most important things. In the religion I practice though, we often talk about having an "eternal perspective," or remembering the long-term reasons for doing things; remembering to choose to focus on things that will be of eternal importance to us--such as Family over Money, for example. Often, things such as reading Scripture help me refocus and remember the eternal perspective. But it's so so so easy to forget again.

My Grandfather Ellis's death has forced me to stare into Eternity, such as I believe it to be, and really come to terms with it. I hope and I have faith that he is happily reunited with his mother, his stepmother, his father and countless other members of his family. That idea feels right to me; that idea is consistent with my belief that familial relationships do not end after a brief and ephemeral coexistence on earth. No! NO! We go on. We'll be together again. If not? I don't care. I'll still believe it, because that belief alone I know will inform my choices and help me make the most of my life here and now.

This is my first experience with Death. It is sad--and for one moment, one brief moment, I felt the shock and despair of loss. That was horrifying. I still mourn for the separation from my Gramps. But there's no despair now. Only peace. I've looked Death in the face now and, as my mother said, "I'm not afraid of it anymore."

I'm not afraid of it anymore either.

Ellis Theo Rasmussen. Sept 21, 1915--Jun 6, 2011