Somtimes

A bouquet of flowers and your favorite snack on your doorstep are enough to chase away the blues. Thanks, Elf Ears!:)

Dear Sir,

I hope on this cloudy day you find some sunshine.
The latter I someday hope to be.

with love darling,
your Sabrina Danielle

My Fine Feathered Friend

Let me tell you a wonderful story about a chicken I named Ralphie(after the little boy in A Christmas Story. I know chickens are girls. Stop trying to ruin my story). After I finished my very last class at Dixie State college I drove to my sisters house so we could go to lunch and run some errands together. On my way to her house it started to snow. Not heavy and definitely not the kind that sticks, just a a little wispy snow. I pulled up to my sisters house and noticed a little figure moving close to a tree. At first I was pretty certain it was a little orange cat. Not so! It was indeed a chicken! Lost in a STG snowstorm. I told my sister I had something to show her and yanked her out in the snow to show her Ralphie huddled under a bush. Poor Ralphie. My sister tried to beckon Ralphie into her garage to no avail. Not even when she said "Come here, Chicken." She probably thought we were going to put her in my sisters oven.
So, back inside we went to get her ward directory to see if anyone knew who Ralphie belonged to. No one. So I called my friend Patrick who has some experience with these chicken-y situations. And I'm pretty sure he thought I was joking when I said "Hey how do you catch a chicken?" He said we were going to need a towel or a sheet to sneak attack and chicken-nap Ralphie. And then I realized there was no way my sister or I were going to be able to capture Ralphie in a towel. Treats! Of course! I then asked "What do chickens eat?" To which he replied "Is that a real question?" Apparently chickens like fruit and vegetables. I asked if chicken soup was out and he didn't think I was too funny. Then he told me it would be a terrible idea to try to lure Ralphie into the garage with treats because my sister would have chicken feathers and poop all over her garage.
"But what if he dies!" I protested.
"Then he dies. Don't you know how much a chicken costs? About as much as a carton of eggs!" To which I mumbled something about him being heartless. Poor, poor, Ralphie. After his grinchy heart grew three sizes, Patrick agreed to come rescue Ralphie if she was still outside after he got off work. Off we went to run errands, Ralphie huddled under the bush like a little orange rock. When my sister got home there was no Ralphie. No one knows where our little featherball has gone. I hope she's warm.

Post Edit: Patrick said that she probably got eaten by a dog. I said that Ralphie was too smart to get eaten by a dog "she was hiding under a bush for protection! Would you think of that?" He said "If I hid under a bush for protection you'd think I was retarded!" He has a point. But he's not a chicken. Nor does he care for them apparently.

What I'm going to be when I grow up...

For as long as I can remember my parents have encouraged me to think about what I want to be when I grow up. In kindergarten I told my teacher I wanted to be a concert violinist, even though I didn’t play the violin. In third grade I was going to be a lawyer, a model, run an orphanage, and have my own family. When you’re little it seems there’s no bounds to what you can become. Of course by the time I reached middle school it seemed like anything I wanted to be was so far beyond me. But I quietly pursued dreams of being a photographer, an interior decorator, a dance teacher, a mom, a wife, a writer, and even owning my own boutique.
As the end of high school loomed I began to feel pressure to pick something to be. Before I knew it I was telling everyone I was going to be an English major. Not exactly my dream, but it was responsible. I had the option of teaching if it was absolutely necessary later on in life. But I wasn’t excited for the future. In my first semester of college I signed up for an intro to American Lit class, to test the waters. I’m grateful that I was able to quickly confirm that an English major was not for me. After three semesters at Dixie, I realized for reasons more social than academic, I wanted to move to BYU. I was grateful to be accepted, but there was the fear of not getting into the right program that hung over me like a rain cloud. I changed my major on nearly a weekly basis until one day I got the best advice I’ve ever been given. “Do what you love. Do what you think about when you don’t have too, “ was the advice given to me by my spectacled hero. The advice was simple, but true.
My heart knew I didn’t swoon over grading English papers, or translating documents into Spanish, dissecting animals, or performing in front of masses of people. As I thought about what it is I truly love, who I love, and where I love to be. My major manifested itself to me. My love of family, sewing, baking, organizing, and all things related to the home were obvious indicators that I needed to pursue a Home and Family Living major. It’s not a degree that will catapult me into a lavish lifestyle and it’s definitely not a degree that I get a standing ovation for. Most of the time when I tell people my major they stare at me blankly and ask what kind of job I could do with that. But that’s another component of this major that I’m so excited about. I feel like I’m in third grade again telling my mom things like “I’m going to be an interior decorator, a wedding dress designer, a journalist for the Martha Stewart Magazine, a mom, a children’s clothing designer, a wife.”
I guess there isn’t one thing in particular that I’m planning on becoming but a combination of many things. But if I had to sum up exactly what it is I want to be I would say that when I grow up I want to be a creative person, ever creating. Whether it’s cookies for a fifth grade Valentines party, a pinecone garland, copying a dress I saw in a magazine, Halloween costumes, birthday cakes, “Get Well Soon” cards, a place called home, or whatever the occasion calls for I want to be able to create something beautiful.

Nervous Nanny

Life is funny. We ask for things and then when we get them, we realize how much change actually scares us. This has been my pattern my whole life. I wanted so badly to be a middle schooler and nearly passed out from fear on my first day. Couldn't wait to leave behind the salmon and teal walls of SCMS to go on to be a high schooler. Almost faked sick on my first day of high school. Wished I could leave behind all of the drama of high school, only to cry the night before I started my first semester at Dixie. Now I'm being faced with what I feel is a mammoth change. BYU. Wait. Did I say I wanted to move to the freezing cold, away from my family, friends, and everything I've grown so accustomed to? It's true. I'm the one who applied. It was me who signed up for classes. I'm also the one who searched high and low for a dwelling. It was me. The same me who is now second guessing myself.

The bright side is this. I survived middle school and maybe even enjoyed portions. I met some amazing friends in high school, of whom I'll love forever. College wasn't nearly as scary as I imagined. Something (and not just my mom) tells me I'm in for a surprise at the Y. Hopefully my nervous nanny-ness wears off soon.