Full.

So if you're curious, this is what I was ranting and raving about from yesterday's BYU Jazz Voices concert. (The sound isn't very good and I don't know why they only film that one girl, but you'll get the idea and HOLY CRAP it was incredible.)

I sat with my mouth unhinged, paralyzed, and the chills would not stop.

I want to do that for the rest of my life-sing and listen to and direct and write songs that do that to people, that is.

I try not to be a music geek, talking about music all the time and thinking about music all the time and being like, "Music is my life blah blah!" all the time-but, confession: I am a music geek. To the core. I've been doing a lot of things lately in owning up to who I really am-and music is such an incredibly basic part of my makeup, like water and oxygen, and I don't care if that's cheesy or far-fetched, music is entertwined and weaved and stitched in me so deeply that it can't be separated from the intangible qualities of Brooke Beecher and I've got to shout about it!!

Nothing else in the world makes me feel as much. It's not just happy or sad-it's the depth that music adds to my existence that I can't ignore.

The ancient Greeks thought of music as its own distinct intelligence, to be weighted as equally as math or science in schools. Everyone has musical ability-we just don't develop it. Musicality can be learned.

But God gives gifts. Inclinations, powers, aptitudes, and abilities. Yeah, He gave me music-I can sing. But moreso, I think, He gave me the love of music. The endless adoration that makes me want nothing at all but to have those chills thrill me for every minute of my small, insignificant life.

Music fills me.

Wonderful Tonight

I wish I could express everything that was the essence of today.

I feel wonderful.
I guess that (now) sums it up. There are lots of efforts behind the feeling wonderful; lots of wonderING, pondering, second-guessing. But I chose.
I'm grateful for agency, for the power to choose. I'm grateful that I've been given a sound mind and the opportunity-and responsibilty-to make decisions for myself. I'm grateful for that now. Sometimes I'm thrown off balance and want to receive a divine manifestation with fireworks and laughing/crying hysteria for every single decision-but I'm grateful for a God who steps in when He knows I need Him, and steps back-but never away-when He knows I need that, too.
I've been seeking change for so long, and almost waiting for it to fall in my lap, although I thought I was doing all in my power. But now I'm ready to step up to the plate-and bring my own bat, if I have to. This tutorial is so magnificently orchestrated. I know I don't get even a fraction of it. But sometimes I catch glimpses. And whoah-it's awesome.

Sweat

My house is not really an apartment, see-we've made it something so much better. We love each other!
That makes it real.
When people ask me where I'm from, I want to say "#304!" not Utah, or Washington.
Because the house may be temporary, but our relationships and memories are so lasting, and comfortable-it feels like home to me.
We get in our sweats, and we sweat, and our eyes do too, sometimes.
Those things don't expire with contracts in August.

Dinner Party

Isn't there a way I can consume every wonderful piece of literature ever created?

Can't I read like I chew?

Chomp up and swallow the words, taste them, roll them around in my mouth?

People spend so much time writing books-sometimes lifetimes developing the ideas-and then we read them in hours! It's like magic. Music to my ears-it's the ultimate in sharing. The other magic: it doesn't even take talent to read. If you like it, you're automatically good at it. How much better does it get?

Chalk Chuck

I can hardly wait!! THIS Saturday, Festival of Colors. Last year was a total blast, partly because we weren't expecting such wonderful brouhaha-the cardigans, the foreverly pink-tinged WHITE shirts, the llamas, the chalked temple, the delicious pizza afterward (slash scaring the people in the pizza joint with our chalk-diseased skin) and the friends. Although the group is discombobulated this year, I am stoked for another round of incredible pictures, chalk throwing, and memories.

And this time I won't wear a white shirt.

For Delicious Carrots

Here's what you do:

1. Take some perfectly healthy baby carrots, full of rich antioxidants and delicious vitamins.

2. Boil the nutrients out of those babies.

3. Drain.

4,Add the loveliness of butter and Kendra's dark brown sugar.

5. Enjoy.

(p.s. don't you wish butter and brown sugar from regular cupboards looked like this?)

Post #51

I have a very specific reason for posting today: I just saw that I have a total of 50 posts on this blog, and I have to change it.
I have a weird complex about numbers/time. I don't ever, ever set my alarm for 6:30. It has to be 6:27 or 6:28, 6:32...for some reason, I hate the monotony of waking up at a logical increment of time.
This is one of many symptoms of a greater condition: thriving on change. I crave it. It permeates my life, from needing 37 combinations of shampoo/conditioner to never being able to eat the same cereal two mornings in a row. Sure, I'll never get the guts to go totally blonde or wear my 'Tuesday' underwear on Saturday*-but when I think of the worst feelings in the world monotony is pretty close to the top of the list. There is so much life to live, so much world to experience that I have to try every single way. So what does it feel like to wake up at 6:26 instead of 6:30? It feels four minutes earlier. But I am happier to see the numbers-thinking somehow I'm sticking it to The Man.

So here it is, post #51, redefining the way you get up, eat breakfast, and shampoo your hair.

*This happened once by accident. It was a disaster.