intense.

Yes. I am an intense person. I am remembering more and more what I meant when I first verbalized it that way so many years ago. I tried to talk myself out of this fact in an earlier blog entry, but it remains true. Being intense does not mean that I am merely deliberate or calculating. It means that I am intense regarding everything I am interested in. In some ways, I think it's a good quality.

For example, I think I've become a skilled seamstress entirely due to my intense nature. It was my dream to be able to design anything I wanted and have the skills to see it materialize. It was my dream to have a "This I Believe" essay published, and I worked as hard as I could for long hours to make it happen. I think with almost everything I'm good at, it's not so much that I'm full of natural ability, but that I get intensely interested.

But of course, above all, my most favorite thing is people; and my most favorite activity is communication. Lately, all kinds of communication. Email, chatting, phone; of course face to face is my favorite.
The only thing that distracts me from all of my other intense interests is people, and especially people that I adore.

Everyone who knows me knows that I love my little brother, Michael, to the point that I'm doing well to finish speaking about the nature of our relationship with dry eyes.
Whitney's own sister once made a statement like, "to adore Whitney more than Laura would be unhealthy."
And anyone who knows me, knows that I absolutely adore Mike Alger. Not to mention Caleb, Meri, Magnus, Zina, the Vuissas. . . the list could go on and on, and I'm not even getting into the rest of my family members.

The only problem with my intense nature, is that I think it freaks some people out. Conversations with me can often turn into interview questions that can feel reminiscent of a therapy session.

Really, I'm okay with somewhat awkward social exchanges, but I am not okay with people feeling pressured. More than one person in my life has abruptly ended our friendship, because they can't take the love. I guess they think that my intense adoration means that I think we have to be best friends, or lovers, or something. Really, there are way too many people that I adore to make them all best friends or lovers.

I just love the people I love soooo much. That's all there is to it. I've often wished for a naturally indifferent personality, but it's just not gonna happen. Please don't get freaked out.

(how could you not love this guy?)

relief society session.

A time when cattiness is thrust from female relationships.

"Creating and being compassionate are two activities that we, as His spirit children, can and should emulate... The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul... Creation brings deep satisfaction and fulfillment. We develop ourselves and others when we take unorganized matter into our hands and mold it into something of beauty."
Dieter F. Uchtdorf 9.27.08

fix yrself girl, you've got a. . .

Once Aaron lent Whitney his ipod when we were roomies at the minthouse in P-town (Provo.) She discovered this song on it. We guilt-ily listened and laughed over and over again.
Please don't watch if you're easily offended/grossed out (but it's not really so bad.)

Me gusta recibir cartas.

Nothing makes my heart go pitter-pat like seeing this in my mailbox:
An excerpt from the contents:

Do you longboard around campus? That would be so great and cool. I can see you with a nice long skirt and huge backpack carving around kids. Then they'd be like, "oooooo, a cutie that longboards. . . interesting. . . , " you know?

Ope! gotta go!

Elder Barlow


Maybe I won't tell him that longboards aren't allowed on BYU campus.

I think if I remarry, the prospective fiance will have to ask Michael for permission. My dad will be satisfied as long they are a temple-worthy priesthood holder, college graduate, and employed. Michael will scrutinize them to see if he thinks they are really cool enough for me.

npr

I went through a phase not long ago where I literally listened to 8 hrs. of npr everyday. I loved it. Steve Inskeep, Renee Montagne, Doug Fabrizio, and Neil Conan were my daily companions. I looked forward to hearing their voices.


Every time I started listening to music I'd wonder what interesting news story or topic I was missing out on and give up and tune in again.
I think I liked npr so much because it allowed me to think outside my own circumstances and escape my reality to something that still seemed substantial and important.

Now I only listen to music. Everyday, while I'm commuting, folding, and walking on campus. If I'm not listening to music, I'm enjoying silence. I think it's because I am so thoroughly comfortable with myself and my circumstances. If I ever start listening to npr, I worry that I'm missing out on a perfect opportunity to enjoy some music. Sometimes I don't realize how big my smile is while I'm listening on campus until somebody passing me flashes a weird look.

election season.

In the midst of our presidential election and economic turmoil, let's reflect on some political propaganda of the past:



Thanks Grandmaster Flash & Melle Mel.

wigged out.

My mom recently made some kind of statement that expressed fondness for my wig-wearing of the past.

"When did you stop wearing them, anyway?"

I was surprised. I think at the time she probably offered a few prayers that I would stop.
Her remark got me thinking about those days and I went in search of photographs.

Dressing people up and having photo shoots was my favorite activity in high school. It was partially a joke, but really I'm not sure there's anything I would've preferred to do with the time I spent with my friends.


By the time my hair grew long I didn't even realize it because I wore wigs so frequently.

erykah live.

Wish I could get away with wearing this wig.

craving.

I've been searching for this high and low.

linguistics.

Editing the custom wordlist on my cell phone was the most entertaining thing I did all day. I've had some pretty cool conversations via text message. I think there's a little something for everyone:

ab
af
aight
alright
badu
bahr
barlow
bauhaus
bjork
blogspot
boner
booger
byu
caleb
cheerios
congrats
cud
cuz
da
danburry
dang
ddr
decal
def
derogatory
doin
dtr
duh
dvdr
dvdr's
dvd's
emperor
erykah
fark
fav
faves
fo
fuminao
gallivan
gmail
granola
guilting
hackberry
hah
hahaha
hellboy
horrock's
hrs
hussy
ihop
kamikaze
kat
kaylene
kers
kohlers
larboe
lds
ldsff
love
magnus
mikado
moofia
mtc
nibley
npr
orem
paraben
pics
pix
rambo
riddler
roomie
saucony
scariness
sho
shucks
slc
smithstix
spooning
sooo
sup
synergystics
tatoo
tatoos
texted
texting
timp
toney
trackball
traveling
treehugger
um
uvu
walmart
waynoe
whitney
whitney's
yogax
yr
zen
zina
zions


In some ways, this could be my most revealing entry.

redemption.

My Grandma Barlow left me all her fabric. Specifically me. She'd inherited a lot of it from Aunt Miriam when she died. Aunt Miriam was known for her good tastes and I think my grandma really valued it.

I didn't see my Grandma Barlow much before she died. My visits had tapered off to once every few months, if that. I was dating adam, and I guess that's pretty much all I was doing.
When I heard that she was hospitalized for internal bleeding, I insisted that we go see her.

Only one person was allowed in her room at a time.
At first glance it was all so unsettling. She was strapped down and tubes seemed to tangle around her body everywhere. This dignified matriarch that I usually saw in Sunday outfits had only a hospital gown thrown over her.

But when she saw me, she smiled like I was the guest and she my hostess. We held one another's hands and her skin was so pale that it seemed to glow. I can't remember what she said to me, only that it was warm and sincere; fearless and hopeful. I was shooed out when the doctor was going to put some kind of tube down her throat.

I remember feeling embarrassed about how much I cried at the funeral. I couldn't forgive myself for how I'd ignored the last bits of her life. But even then, I wouldn't go with the rest of the family to clean out her house and divide her leftover belongings. Everyone just set the fabric aside for me.

I started making this quilt over the weekend. The pattern pieces are small enough that I can use whatever scraps I have and I intend to use as much of my inheritance as possible; perhaps with some of my own favorites thrown in.

This one circle took me over two hours to make and the quilt pattern requires 56. I think I'll develop an association with each one; with her memory as the dominant theme, mixed in with whatever is going on in my own life/mind.

When I iron down the individual seams, the steam that rises smells like her house.

un poco triste.

Wish this picture was presently possible.

true story.

Last week I was feeling really stressed about finances as I was driving back to work from BYU. I found a ziploc bag of carrots that my mom had packed for me and tore into them.


I ate them angrily and vigorously, one after the other. I wasn't even thinking about the carrots. I just devoured them in one solid streak of chewing until they were gone.

An hour later my jaw started to hurt. Really hurt. It wouldn't go away. Then I notcied that my regular bite was off; I couldn't close my mouth normally because my teeth wouldn't line up properly.

I described the symptoms to my brother Tom (a doctor) and he told me that I'd damaged my temporomandibular joint. He prescribed eating only foods that were easy to chew, and taking 800 milligrams of ibuprofen 3 times a day for 5 days. Then he laughed at the cause of injury.

So of course I didn't take his advice. I hate popping pills and I thought that my jaw would mend itself for sure.

Fast forward a week and it's worse. Much worse. I started taking the ibuprofen last night and I don't even have the option eating foods that aren't easy to chew.

Moral of the story:
1. Listen to doctor Tom
2. It's hard to believe that I did this with carrots.

this is me?

Today as I'm heading toward the bathroom in the HFAC a girl stops me.
"I bet you get this all the time, but you look just like Julie Andrews."
"...No, I don't actually, but... uh, thanks. Like, Sound of Music Julie Andrews?"
"Yeah, with the short hair and her bright blue eyes. . . I can't even think of another movie she's in right now."

I'm not sure what to think, but I'll confess I briefly considered growing my hair. ( I think Mike Alger also said something about me looking like Julie once... that makes 2...)

big decision.

fall/spring

winter/summer

speak now or forever hold your peace.

food.

Last night I followed Mark into his garden with bare feet. We picked enormous tomatoes and handfuls of fresh basil and he used them for dinner. It seemed divine. I ate to absolute capacity.

I don't like to cook, in and of itself, but I love feeding other people.

Preparing food for yourself simply doesn't seem worth it to me. I lost 7 lbs. during the 2 weeks that my parents were gone on vacation. It didn't even occur to me that I should eat.

Conversely, I have been in close relationships with people who intrinsically love food, and have gained as much as 20 lbs. over time. (Maybe it's due to the better judgment of my sub-conscious that I've typically crushed on fairly skinny guys.)

Cooking a meal for someone you care about demonstrates profound love with exquisite simplicity. Especially if it's on a regular basis. My mom has 2 meals for me packed and ready to go by 5:50 every morning. When I arrive back at home by 9 or 10 p.m. there is almost always something simmering on the stove top. I cannot conceive of a way that she could better demonstrate her love. To prepare a meal for someone means that you've thoughtfully considered them. You've expressed concern that they may be hungry and you've taken their preferences into account. Then you spend time, effort, and creativity in order to serve their needs. And you make yourself vulnerable. All of your work could be rejected at first bite.

I could never be a vegetarian, vegan, or even a picky eater, because it would mean turning away someone's else's effort and generosity.

When I was in charge of cooking, I became a health food freak. I eliminated all food items containing corn syrup and started buying organic. Sugar was substituted with agave nectar and I gladly paid $6 for raw milk. It made so much sense to me because it seemed in the best interest of those I was feeding.

Thanks mom, lunch was good today.
Thanks for feeding me in Rochester, Miriam.
Thanks for the amazing meal last night, Mark.
Thanks to everyone else who has ever bothered to feed me.

b y u.

I'll confess that BYU campus is one of my favorite places to compose blog entries. I got out of my Spanish class 45 minutes early and I headed straight to the library because I've been thinking about blogging all day.

I feel like someone should've warned me that my Spanish 101 class was going to be taught in all Spanish. Scary.

At least I have been warned multiple times about how crowded it is during fall/winter semesters. I felt like a worker bee navigating my tasks among the maze of all the other worker bees as I attempted to purchase my text books at the bookstore. Shoulder to shoulder book buying.

And at least Hilary warned me that there are 2/3 more girls here than boys. Maybe my experience at BYU will teach me to have plethoras of healthy relationships with girls. Maybe I'll finally learn to be more comfortable with my own kind. I hope so. Truly I do.