Cruel Irony

Let's talk about allergies: those nasty histamine responses I used to pride myself on lacking as a child. That was back when I wanted a pet so badly, but my dad used his allergies to animal dander as one of many reasons I should give up the argument (We did finally get a dog!). Unfortunately, there was a point in high school when I felt sick for a good chunk of the summer, and we decided to go to an allergist. Younger brother Isaac came too, and we each got the lovely prick test on our backs where the assistant makes a grid with various common allergens and pricks each spot to open the skin and wait for a response. I was glad to be free of food allergies (having just a slight reaction to turkey) since Isaac showed at least some allergy to dozens of foods (as a side note, we were grateful for the Word of Wisdom that day since he'd probably have died if he ever tried coffee). We both had a few animal allergies and I turned out to have lots of plant allergies... lots. I'm allergic to grasses, weeds, trees: the works. So I'm pretty much allergic to outside.
Challenge accepted.
You may remember my major is all about the outdoors, ha ha. This semester I joined the plant ID team (an extra-curricular in the major) where we learn 200 range plants and compete on exams to identify them by various characteristics. Now that I think about it, I'm probably allergic to most all of the plants we learn, but fortunately the mounts we study are often older than I am and haven't produced pollen in decades. Anyway, I can usually keep the sneezing and whatnot at bay with OTC allergy meds, but I learned that even then, there are times of the year in certain places that I should probably stay hidden inside or at least wear a mask outside (because of the pollen, not how I look...). Earlier this year I was quoted as lamenting (between sneezes and sniffles), "Everything and its mom is pollinating!"
Other than those few times of the year, I almost forget I have allergies, but a few weeks ago I was reminded when some friends from the major/plant team invited me to spend a Saturday with probably my worst allergy of all - my childhood love: horses.
We got to go riding, which is a rare occasion but something I love doing, and since I'm around horses so seldom, I forget how crazy-allergic to them I am. I took my allergy medication in preparation, but not quite early enough for it to kick in before we brushed down the horses and saddled them up. By the time we were getting on our steeds I had hives on my forearms and was trying to avoid touching my face or I'd be miserable the rest of the time. It turned out okay - when I was on the horse I didn't have much of a problem and the medicine was helping by then, but man, talk about cruel irony. I loved horses as much as the next girl when I was little, and horses don't seem to particularly have a problem with me, but my body sure hates horse body. So this is what I pondered as we set out on our ride, but soon enough I was distracted trying to identify live plants in their natural habitat.

XXI

Today marks 21 years since I was born, so it seems fitting to provide an overview of the person I've become so far.

My name is a palindrome, and although I've learned not to hate being called "Hannah Banana" since elementary school, I will not speak to you if you add "Montana" to my name.

I drive manual transmission and I always take care of oil changes on time; when I can use my brother's jacks I change the oil at home (he helps). I can change and have changed a tire and I usually wash my car by hand.

Someday I will own a handgun and get a concealed-carry permit... someday.

There aren't a whole lot of foods I hate, but I'm not a fan of mint with chocolate, coconut, or canned carrots. Foods I love are really too many to count, but include chocolate/peanut butter/banana in any combination, treats with graham cracker crusts, honey-roasted peanuts, fried things (but don't get crazy), and milkshakes.

I'm a junior in college studying wildlife and wildlands conservation - but no, I don't want to be a forest ranger; I'm still deciding what to do with the degree when I get it. Conservation is not synonymous with environmentalism and is not to be confused with preservation. It means proper management (which indicates use) of natural resources in a way that will allow said resources to be utilized by future generations as well. I am currently becoming a plant nerd as part of the plant identification team where we learn around 200 range plants (family/tribe, genus, and species) before going to the Society for Range Management meeting and competing against other teams in a huge plant ID test.

I don't get to read a whole lot for pleasure, but I enjoy a well-written book/story/play. As far as movies go, I like action films (with substance - not just built around the action), thrillers, classics, and anything that makes me think. There are very few "chick flicks" that I will watch, especially since most seem to follow the same plot and character profiles anyway. "Comedy" in film seems to be merging with "crudeness," but I do enjoy TV shows with good, sophisticated humor.

Laughter is one of my favorite things ever. I love to laugh almost as much as I love to make other people laugh.

I am learning to play guitar, ski, and bowl; my goal is to bowl over 200 by the end of this semester. It's one of my dreams to see the northern lights before I die, and other than that my "bucket list" needs some work.

If you are one of those "color code" people, I'm very blue with a touch of white, and my dominant "love language" is quality time. It means a lot to me when people choose to spend their time with me.

I have been single for over a year and a half, and although it's a stigma in LDS culture, I'm learning to accept, expect, and embrace life on my own as I plan a future for myself. At this point it doesn't include a full-time church mission, but who knows?

I am thankful for my parents who brought me into the world - especially my mom who brought all 8 lb 15 oz of me into the world - and kept me alive this long, and for everyone who has helped make my life a little happier and more worthwhile. Thank you for your friendships, for teaching me, and for helping in countless ways.

Driving the Interstate

Having just made the long drive back to my college town, I had the opportunity to observe some interesting phenomena of the highway variety.

It's always fun to take note of the sociological behaviors associated with passing lanes, for one thing; sometimes I feel relief at being passed by an irksome tailgater, but I may feel a rush of competition when a seemingly unworthy opponent challenges me to stay ahead. In some cases I feel almost embarrassed at being passed - especially by larger vehicles. I don't want to be judged by these rival drivers in case our paths cross again someday and my honor and abilities are questioned (my subconscious imagination goes pretty crazy sometimes). The worst is when I'm passed by someone whom I've just passed a few miles back. Is it improper to pass him/her again? Is worrying about it some kind of driving disorder? I also feel déjà vu upon resuming the trip after a stop and passing the same big rig from an hour before.

Then there's the road kill. I probably saw more shredded tires on the road than dead animals, but there were plenty of both. I saw prairie dogs, rabbits, racoons, a skunk, and a few unidentifiable critters. No deer this time, though - which is refreshing.

At one point on the drive I passed an interesting mile marker: 68.99. I thought about the absurdity of this sign for about a mile before realizing that the alternative was probably either regularly defaced - or anticipated to be so. I don't know if the state had too little faith in mankind to invest in a mile marker 69 in the first place, or had too much faith to start out and realized after replacing/cleaning the sign a few times too many, opted for a decimal change to save trouble and face.

During one of my stops I pondered the irony of a man in the parking lot who, cigarette in hand/mouth, was checking for any scuffs on his motorcycle. His [bike's] body is a temple?

Later I had the misfortune of being behind a rig loaded with hay bales - not that anything of note happened; it's just rather disconcerting to have a thousand shards of dry plant stalk hurtling toward you - but at least they don't stick to the windshield like bugs do. I also hate driving behind vehicles loaded with logs/lumber, construction equipment, and/or cars. All I can do is pray the cargo is strapped down properly and drive like mad for the next passing lane.

Between delays, construction zones, winding roads and insect attacks, it's a wonder anyone gets anywhere alive. I guess I'm okay waiting until the holidays to make that drive again - but the weather may be against me then...

On Savoring

Anyone who's shared a meal with me knows that I'm a slow eater - to some, the slowest they've met. I attribute my sloth in gluttony to habitually thorough chewing, a small jaw that tires easily, and (you guessed it) my tendency to savor what I eat. I like to enjoy the flavors of food and drink, so although I'm usually the last to finish at the table, I've often eaten the least. Hopefully I can keep up this eating habit and maintain a healthy body weight for life...

I haven't been noted for voracious reading in my lifetime either. When I'm reading a book I like, I don't want it to end, so sometimes I stop reading altogether just halfway into it. It's a silly method, I realize, but I wish to take the time I need to take in the characters and situations - the flavors of literature, if you will. It really kills me when I want to read a book, but I'm too stressed with schoolwork to find the time. Some of my peers will read a 600-page novel in fewer than 48 hours, but I feel that this practice is like scarfing a fine meal - they miss the whole point of savoring.

This summer I've been working on reading more in a sitting, while still absorbing all the details available. I'm trying to be less reluctant to finish a book - since I can always read something else from the seemingly endless list I've composed when one book ends. There's a problem with reading textbooks because I find I don't really want to spend time savoring dry passages, but if I try skimming I'll completely ignore the content.

I started replaying a video game from my childhood and now that I'm almost to the final boss, I've stopped... I don't want it to be over. I've spent several weeks developing this blog post because once it's done I'll have to think of an entire new post to write. I guess some of it's savoring and some is just procrastination.

Older people tell me that college is the best time of one's life and that I'll miss these days, so I was shocked when one lady last week asked how many years I have left and replied, "It's okay; they'll go by fast enough." I'm actually trying to savor the time I have in school - not that I love having homework, but college has been a great growing experience so far.

With just around a month left, I'm trying to savor the rest of my summer and put off the anxiety of the approaching semester with new classes, a new apartment and new roommates.

You've just crossed over into the Friend Zone

The "Friend Zone" is a concept I recently learned about from some of my male coworkers and friends. It sounds harmless enough, but actually, the FZ is a state of relative limbo in which a guy becomes trapped when his friend girl puts up a barrier in their relationship, dashing his hopes of ever potentially being more than "just friends." RhettandLink of YouTube describes it as a "tormented pit of relational Hades" and "the place where single guys go to die." Basically, it's hard to escape.

According to guys I've talked to (and the link above), ways a guy can know he's been Friend Zoned by a girl include- but are not limited to- her:
-Asking him to a movie with a bunch of her girl friends.
-Limiting hugs to the side variety.
-Going for a high five, or calling him "buddy" or any cutesy variation of his own name.
-Explicitly stating through a text message that she doesn't want to be more than friends - before he even tries for a date (true story).

Admittedly, some of these could be bad signs, but at the same time, I evaluate my interactions with guy friends and in some cases, I think these behaviors can indicate uncertainty about how to act - not because the girl doesn't want to be more than friends, but because she doesn't want him to shy away if she indicates too much interest. Of course there are girls that are nothing like me outside the biological sense, so with them, I'm sure there may be an eternal FZ.

That being said, girls are decidedly not the only ones who stick their friends of the opposite gender in an awkward zone of "friends only." Guys do it to girls all the time and I'm telling you from experience that it really bites.

From mine and other girls' experiences, a guy indicates that he's placed a girl in the FZ by:
-Asking her - and her friends - for suggestions on asking girls for their phone numbers.
-Inviting her over to play video games (not so bad, right? She loves video games) - with a bunch of his guy friends.
-Leaving the room to set up a date with another girl during said video game party.
-Asking hypothetical questions that begin, "So, if you were a girl..." (true story, though not mine).

Now, I'm sure it depends on the situation and some of these can be misinterpreted just like the other side, but generally, these experiences tell a girl, "You won't be going on a date any time soon; get used to it." As a girl who grew up with all brothers, and maybe spent more time being "one of the guys" than honing her feminine wiles, I now spend most of my time in the FZ. You could say it's my territory by default, since I certainly don't have to defend it (wildlife reference). To be honest, I tend to get along better with guys and love having their friendship. The problem is that I'd like to date a guy or two at some point, and it seems like most people are quite content to keep their friends close - but at a comfortable distance.

The Wild Side

In high school I couldn't have dreamed that I'd be in a major like Wildlife and Wildlands Conservation. For one thing, I had no idea such a study existed. Classes in public school keep students fairly limited to the disciplines of language arts, mathematics, history and a few sciences, and while I was able to perform well enough in all of these, I certainly can't say I had a passion for them. Each teacher imagined I would go on to an advanced degree in whatever subject he/she taught, but I couldn't explain that passion for good grades does not translate into passion for the core studies.

So far I've completed two semesters in the major, with about five more to go, so I haven't quite decided which career direction I want to take - be it in state departments, federal agencies or some private company. I'm sure I'll figure that out in the next couple of years.

The thing about a major like mine is that it sounds unimpressive. I'm sure any of those core teachers I mentioned would make a guttural sound upon hearing my choice of university study. No, I'm not an economics or engineering major, but as I've discussed in other posts, wildlife/wildlands isn't a "dumbed-down" field of study. I'm doing my best to excel in these courses just as I did in calculus and U.S. history in high school. The classes are interesting to me and this field of work has one of the highest job satisfaction ratings of any out there. I may not make as much as a surgeon, but at least I will be relatively happy.

Sorry I've been neglecting my blog lately, but now that the semester's over I can think about non-school things again. Here's a taste of some activities I've gotten to do as a member of the wildlife and range club this semester that I'm pretty sure nobody experiences in those tame majors:

Attended a falconry event
Wrangled alpacas
Tasted alpaca meat
Shot skeet with a 12-gauge shotgun
Shot balloon leprechauns with a .44 handgun
Rode a 4-wheeler around some sand dunes
Played in a puddle at said dunes
Ate lots of Dutch oven cookin'
Explored some slot canyons
Looked at petroglyphs of bighorn sheep
Visited a local Bureau of Land Management office
Hiked to some dinosaur tracks
Went to a national park and hiked one of its most
famous landmarks
and
Failed to wash the campfire smell out of my clothes

The hike up the landmark was difficult. 5 miles round-trip isn't much, but it was steep and we gained a lot of elevation in a short amount of time, plus my stamina isn't the greatest. Despite the struggles, I was able to make it up the narrow - and kind of scary - sandstone path to the top by taking it one bit at a time.

They say the best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. I think the same can be said of an alpaca, a burnt Dutch oven meal or a delicious Dutch oven cake. Oh yeah, and it applies to tackling any challenge in life, I suppose. I'm convinced that after making that treacherous climb, I can conquer just about anything that comes my way, as long as I go at my own pace.

Downhill Followup

I know, I haven't written in a while, but not to worry - I didn't die on the ski slopes. In fact, the first block of the semester is now over, which means skiing class is too. I'm excited to have spare time on Tuesdays now - for napping, skiing on my own, or - I guess - homework... but the class was definitely worth it.

Since I last posted, our class experienced every type of snow I can imagine: icy ("fast"), fresh & powdery (oh, yeah!), and everything in between. I've also bruised most parts of my body and fallen in quite creative ways.

The first week we started on the beginner slope as I mentioned before, and then we got to work on the next level up: green circles. With the right instructor and fresh snowfall, I was loving that third week of class. I still fell a lot and had to work on solidifying certain skiing strategies (hee hee, alliteration) but I came to feel like I was really skiing!

By week five, the instructor decided it was time for us to move up in the world: blue squares. This freaked me out a bit, since some of the stretches were narrow with seemingly sheer drops on the side and I had some major falls that made me grateful I had rented a helmet. Come week six and the last class, I was worried about braving the higher slopes again, but the instructor convinced me to be more assertive in my turning and I gained a lot more control and confidence, even in the steep parts. The class may be over, but I still have a ski pass and I plan on using it as long as the lifts are running.

A friend of mine who's a more advanced skier told me that skiing is all about being brave. It's true - it takes guts to speed down a slick slope and not lean backward, especially when other people are whizzing past. When you think about it, a lot of things in life are all about being brave. Sometimes it's going out on a limb and taking a class that may be frustrating but potentially rewarding. Maybe it's sharing your belief/opinion even at the risk of upsetting some people, or taking a shot at being happy, even if it stretches you past your arbitrary comfort zone. Whatever it is, it's certainly worth being brave, even when you have to try it before you gain that necessary bit of confidence. I'm still working on the bravery part, but I like to think I'm off to a good start.

Downhill Battle

When people say, "It's all downhill from here," I look at it two ways: Either the rest is a lot easier or it's all going to get worse. The word, downhill sounds fairly negative to me, despite its implication of ease.

You may recall from my last post that I have a skiing class on the schedule for this term. Tuesday was the first trip to the resort, where I quite literally hit the slopes for the first time in almost two years.

I've skied once before - with my younger brother and dad during my last spring break of high school. When I recall that day I tend to emphasize the last hour or so on the slopes (actually, the beginners' slope), when I finally got the hang of it and enjoyed myself; this is what I had in mind getting on the bus this week. What I failed to remember was the five-hour chunk that started out my first skiing experience: it was quite possibly the most frustrating day of my life. My dad and brother had skied a few times before and pretty much knew what they were doing, but they were by no means ski instructors. Nevertheless, Dad gave me a condensed lesson on the basics of turning and stopping, which turned out to be incorrect as I discovered after wiping out countless times. Outraged by my lack of coordination and sore from the uncomfortable ski boots, I retired to the car for a rest. When I tried again by myself, I finally made it down the slope without difficulty and actually enjoyed skiing!

At our introductory meeting for the current ski class, the instructor had us pick our skill-level based on the basic maneuvers we could handle. Well, the last time I went, I was able to do some wide turns and wedge moves, so I marked that level. Upon arriving at the slopes, I was placed in the group just above non-experienced (where my Floridian roommate started), but when I stood among my group and realized how awkward the skis felt, dread crept through my nerves.
Maybe skiing isn't like riding a bike.

I told our group instructor, Sherm, that I thought I should maybe move down a level; I'd been only once and it was a long time ago. He talked to Bruce, the beginning instructor, who suggested I'd be bored in his group since they were going to be hiking around for a while before skiing. A few other people in my group said they were in the same boat so we all figured I'd be fine.
It started with the chair lifts. I still had very little control over my own movements with the planks on my feet, so I missed the first two chairs I was supposed to take and finally someone pushed me up to the line to get on. I don't remember how getting off went, but I fell down twice after the lift on my way to the group. Getting back up after a fall is a skill I perfected by the end of class, but it was still difficult in the beginning. I probably wasted five minutes of the class's time before the instructor told me he was sending me back down to the other group. He asked if I could make it down to the rope tow okay and I figured I had no other choice, so I said yes.
They left me up there.
It took an hour for me to get down the three or four slopes between me and my new group because I was practicing falling... every time it was meet to turn, I picked a new and exotic way to biff it. Occasionally I would sit for a few minutes, glad my pants were waterproof and mad that my goggles were fogged up. I fought back tears of embarrassment and frustration when members of my initial group were going up the lifts for the third time since leaving me and Sherm was calling to me from the lift, shocked that I still hadn't made it down. I had forgotten everything about controlling myself on skis and was exhausted from pushing myself back up countless times.
I finally slid over to the group where the instructors (Bruce and Jerry) and my roommate were relieved to see me (Sherm had told them I'd be there).
They referred to the trip down as my survival run and patiently retaught me the basics of skiing. It came quickly to me and apparently my posture on the skis was great - it helps being on a more subtle slope. It was a much safer and more enjoyable second half of class fixing the poorly laid foundation of my skiing skills with the help of Bruce and Jerry. The muscle aches that arrived Wednesday morning finally wore off around Friday and I regained range of motion in my limbs - at least until next Wednesday.

As cheesy as it sounds, I realized from this experience that it's better to be humble, underestimate one's abilities and need to move up a level than to overestimate, be embarrassed and move down.
So the downhill of this week was mostly negative, but now that I'm in the right group, I think it will just keep getting better.