Happy Halloween! 
[That's a Mario pumpkin, obviously.]


My bad. Day light savings doesn't end for another couple weeks -- November 7, actually.

Which means, my clock is even more messed up than I thought.

Oh, p.s. Happy Birthday Scotty and Aurora!

[I was going to post pictures of them on their original birth day, but apparently I don't have them on my computer and my dinner break is almost up. Maybe later.]


I woke up at 9 o'clock this morning. Except, it was really 10:45. Not only did I forget to set my clock forward an hour for daylight savings being over, but apparently it also decided to be lazy and slow down another 45 minutes. I honestly don't know how that happened. I wrote the other day that I thought I'd taken up smoking in my sleep as evidenced by my wicked nasty cough. If that's true, then I also have taken up messing with electronics in my sleep as well. ... Nah, that's just ridiculous.

It is cold here in Utah. Windy too. The leaves are nearly all yellow, red, orange, brown -- anything but green. It smells like autumn and mixed with that smell is this feeling that something is incredible is about to happen. It overwhelms me at times, and I can't place it. I can't figure out what it means or where it's coming from, unless it's coming from the leaves and the cold and that smell. That smell. It can only be described by the feeling it infuses into me, and that, unfortunately for you, is indescribable. It is good though. Very good.
[OK, so I took this photo today and the leaves on these trees are green still, but that doesn't negate the fact that's it's cold (there's snow up on Y Mountain) and it smells. Like autumn. And stuff.]

I want to watch "You've Got Mail." There are summertime movies ("Sandlot," for example) and there are too many wintertime movies to even begin to name them all (I like "Little Women," "While You Were Sleeping" and "Elf" quite a lot), but not too many movies can be classified as "autumn time." But Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks walking the streets of New York City and saying lines that are permanently affixed to my gray matter? That is an autumn time movie.

I bought a shower curtain today at the dollar store. Two of them, actually, because, well, they were only a dollar. I never realized how much I loved the dollar store until I actually started paying close attention to my budget. OK, OK, that's a lie. I never really had a budget before. Ha ha haaaaa, man I'm a failure.

I read blogs. But mostly I look at them. And I've noticed, a lot of bloggers post blurry pictures. It's like, "Here's a picture of my best friend's daughter. Isn't she cute?" And you think, "Well, maybe. Except I can't see her. She seems to have been running away from you at the time your shutter opened." Yet some how, they make it seem "artistic." Boo. It's not. Learn to use your flash, for crying out loud.
[Look. A not blurry picture. This is my brother's car. He's selling it. Just so you know.]

I've decided to start recording written depictions of the people I encounter at work. They are fascinating, in both appearance and action. I've spent so long at a university filled with, albeit nice people, very homogeneous. But now I have a whole newsroom filled with people so different than myself, I can't help but write down what I observe.


  • I moved into my new apartment today. My roommates are really nice. But judging from the history of this area I know live in, I may or may not be buying me some mace and a knife. I've seen West Side Story enough to know how to use the knife, and I'm pretty sure mace is just like spraying PAM. Hey, maybe I could just carry PAM around with me. Less expensive, I think. Well, the Western Family kind is.
  • Do you think you lose weight by coughing? I've heard laughing can be a great calorie burner. I've been coughing so much that my sides feel like I've been doing crunches all day, and the middle of my chest, where my ribs connect, feels like someone hucked a softball at it. I've gone to two movies this week (yay dollar theater and dates!) and, well, you know that guy you always dread sitting by, the one with the sinus problem or the phlegmy cough? Yeah, I was that guy (girl). Sorry, strangers. My bad. 
  • I love food. I hate how expensive it is. 
  • Elizabeth = Champion of Dr. Mario. Challenge me, I dare you. I will conquer. 
  • Tomorrow = farmers market. So. Excited. Apples, pumpkins, 50-60 degree weather. Mmm, yeah.


I went up in the canyon this weekend. By myself, which is how I like it. Who better to share one of my favorite things with then the person I know will enjoy it as much as myself?

It was beautiful. I find many places beautiful and worthwhile, but I think the canyon is at the top. It is so quiet up there in the mountains.

[Do you like how I lead this post off with a picture of myself? What can I say, I AM worth looking at. Especially in high contrast black and white. Am I right? Or am I right? Right, right, right, righ, ri...]


I think I bruised my throat from coughing.

And I think my co-workers -- probably the whole newsroom -- hate me for coughing.

All. the. time.

I don't think of myself as a cougher. You know, when you get sick, you have common symptoms that occur more often than others. With me, it's a sore throat and a really gross, stuffy nose.

Not coughing.

But this time, it is.

All. the. time.

Sometimes it comes suddenly, like I'm choking on a cheeto. Other times, it's a tickle in my throat that results in self-inflicted coughing fits. And other times, I suddenly feel like I can't breathe, so my body automatically reacts and there I am again, bent over at my desk with my nose in the crease of my elbow, eyes watering, as the invisible germs going spewing into the atmosphere.

I think I bruised my throat from coughing. I didn't think that was possible.


I started a new job this week. It's at a newspaper. A big-kid newspaper, as some would call it. It looks (the newsroom, that is) like the movies, I suppose. Old furniture, old computers, stacks of books and papers, horrible lighting in a sketchy break room with a rank fridge and over-priced vending machines. The people vary in age and race (OK, basically all white) and religion (Mormon and Jack-Mormon, I believe are the majorities). Unlike the movies, however, the people are not all gorgeous. (I mean, have you seen "The Soloist"? Robert Downey, Jr., even as a scruffy and beat up columnist, is good looking. And don't eve get me started on Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffmann ["All the President's Men"], James Marsden ["27 Dresses"], Josh Duhamel ["When in Rome"], Alexis Bledel ["Gilmore Girls"] and the list goes on). But I think I'll fit in because of all these "normal" looking people. (Don't get me wrong, there are some very good looking people there, I was just trying to make a point).

While we're on the topic of movies and newspapers, do you notice how Hollywood romanticizes journalists? Seriously, reporters, journalists, copy editors -- whatever you want to call these people who work in dingy newsrooms -- do not have the best jobs in the world. Looking at how Hollywood presents it, though, they'd have fooled me. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is: Do not trust Hollywood. Not with your future career. Especially not with men. And not with living in the big city. (Man they make it seem awesome, huh? I have my doubts. Give me the beach, the forest, even the prairie or a suburbia, and it'd be better than a big city for livin'.)

Maybe in the near future I will write more about this topic of journalism and my involvement in it. Not for your sake, poor readers, but for my own enjoyment, I guess. Like how I was tricked by the aforementioned Hollywood into entering a career I didn't completely understand, and now doubt whether I want to continue in. (Although, please, don't tell my boss that. I like my job now. I'm just considering the future.)


[lyrics by Chris Merritt]

"Talking to the old man
says i done screwed up big
tell me what i don't know
tell me how to fix it...

...My mouth is hungry
my chest is empty
i miss Virginia
but do i really?
i remember darkness coming into me there
trouble breathing even in the fresh air.

Talking to my good friend

don't know how he puts up with
listening to my milksop
and still he stays my good friend.

And i lay down, i'm avoiding looking over at the clock

is it 3:00 or 3:15? Does it make a difference?

Cause i've been there just about twenty-five times and i

seem to recall that there ain't much difference.

my mouth is hungry

my chest is empty
i miss Virginia
but do i really?
i remember darkness coming into me there
trouble breathing even in the fresh air

there ain't nobody there

and there ain't nobody here
there ain't nobody there
and there ain't nobody here. ...

...Well i look down, and i got no money for a few days

i tried to work alot, but it made no difference
well i been here just about twenty-five years
and i seem to recall that there ain't much difference

my mouth is hungry
my chest is empty
i miss Virginia
but do i really?
i remember darkness coming into me there
trouble breathing even in the fresh air
California ain't no different
California, when you gonna feel like home?"

Change a few names around in this song and you have my thoughts right now. When I find a song that expresses what I'm feeling, that says something that seems to have been stolen right out of my head, it gives validity to my life. Not that my life isn't valid, but songs seem to make it more so. 


Just so my family in Texas knows, I don't love Provo more than you. That's why I cried when I left you and that's why my heart is still sore now.

I just thought I needed to add that.

And also, I've been wanting to watch the 2009 BBC "Emma" ever since we (Cath, Deon and I) finished watching it last week. It's way good. I mean, Mr. Knightly? He just, gets me, you know? Ha ha.

Speaking of Mr. Knightly, I'm pretty sure this guy I know is the modern-day Mr. Knightly. Unfortunately, I think I'm Harriet Smith. But, then again, if I can find a Mr. Martin, then that'd be OK too.

And speaking of Mr. Knightly some more, he's 16 years older than Emma. And Fredrick Bhear? He's like, 20-something years older than Jo March. I think, looking at my literary preferences, I am destined to marry an older man.

And, speaking of older men, my great-great-great grandfather, Jens Nielson, was the first bishop of Bluff, Utah. He was a polygamist -- three wives. I come from the second wife, who I have heard referred to as, "the ugly wife." But, no matter. On the way up to Provo on Saturday, Dad and I followed Devon, Sarah and the boys up to Bluff to check out the old fort, grave yard and Jens' house.

Spencer in a wagon at the fort.

James in a handcart.

Me in front of Jens Nielson's house in Bluff.

 The (second) wife -- Kirsten Jensen Nielson.

The husband -- Jens Nielson. (See that gold plaque on the bottom? That means it's recognized as a pioneer landmark. ... Or something like that. It means it's cool, basically.)

There was a fence around all these graves, but there was also a gate to get in, so Dad started pulling the weeds. Devon and Sarah joined in. I took pictures.


I'd be lying if I said this isn't hard.

It is.

I don't usually realize how hard things are until I've gotten through them and, looking back, I think, "Wow, that was hard, huh? Welp, good thing it's over."

But not this time. The awareness of my sorry situation hit before it even really began. I guess that can happen when you choose to make your life harder as opposed to life springing stuff on you.

But you know what? It's fall in Provo, and nothing is better than autumn in the west. For me, anyway. And you know what else? Utah has become my home. Yeah, I grew up in Washington and it'll always be a magical place in my mind, but Provo is my home. I grew up physically in the northwest. I've grown up in every other sense here on the Wasatch front. So, it was hard to move back, and it's hard to be back, but I'm glad just the same. Because I'm home and there are so many things (and people) making this easy.

Now if only the rest of my family would come back too. ;o)

BYU Campus 2009 -- © e. gosney


After 16+ hours of driving, Dad and I arrived in Monument Valley to the hospitality of Devon and Sarah on Friday night. I was so tired, having driven all that way on only 5 hours of sleep and the ill effects of caffeine (i.e. crashing after a temporary high, but still not being able to sleep). Anyway, on Saturday morning, Sarah and the boys came out into the living room where I was sleeping, so Sarah suggested I go into James' room. I was incoherent and disoriented, so as I got up I said to Sarah, "I'm confused as to where I am." As I said it, I thought, "I am not using modern-day English," and was really embarrassed before falling unconscious again. As I started to wake up again, I thought, "Hey, this'll make a really funny story to tell Catherine." And once again, I was mistaken. Yet I took the time to type it all. So part of me must still think it's funny.

But seriously now, here's something genuinely amusing. Spencer and his amazing singing talent.