Blue No. 1

Blue Pancakes.

No, really, blue pancakes!

Thanks to literally buckets of Blue No. 1 BYU dishes out the bluest pancakes permitted by the FDA each year for homecoming to thousands of hungry college students.  Being the recipient of such blue benevolence my freshman year I could hardly wait to celebrate this delicious tradition this year.  I wasn't disappointed.

Blue pancakes with Carolyn in 2011.

Following the blue breakfast, the marching band led a parade through the streets of Provo while various BYU club members hurled candy at me and the young 'uns surrounding me.  I let them keep all the saltwater taffy, but I mercilessly grabbed every Reese's peanut butter cup that landed on the ground.  Sorry, kiddos--survival of the fittest.

Amidst all the fanfare and freebies, I glanced down at my watch and thought, "Shoot! I'm late for my hair appointment!"  Yes, I'm secure enough of my masculinity to go to hair salons. But before I lose all my man points I'll add that the only reason I had a hair appointment in the first place is because of a marvelous thing called a starving student card, which grants the owner of said card (cough, cough--me) to get sucked into all sorts of freebie and BoGo gimmicks around town.  You can tell I'm a college student on a budget because I used the word freebie twice already in this paragraph.

And so there I was, cheering at a parade getting free candy and missing my free haircut.  I weighed my options and decided that missing the latter wasn't worth enjoying the former, so I grabbed my roommates, Scott and Miles (who also had hair appointments :) and bounded for Scott's car.  We were about to whisk away to our appointments when we realized our parking lot was blocked off by the parade.  Grrrr.  So we waited for a gap in the parade to bolt across the street and prayed the police man supervising the parade would have mercy on our late souls.  He did.  But then I ordered Scott to slam on the brakes, because just as we had successfully froggered past the parade my favorite BYU group came up--the folk dancers!!  Scott obliged, and I got my fill of folk dancing through the rear window of the car, waved good-bye to the cop, and then we sped off.  Thankfully, our hair salon was only five minutes away, so we made it fairly on time despite intentional and unintentional delays.

Blue pancakes in 2014--just as yummy.

Walking into the salon, I felt like what Dorothy must have felt like walking into the Emerald City for the first time, except for the commercialized ambiance and little Effie Trinkets running around trying to convince customers to buy the store's beauty products.  Judging by how out of their comfort zone Scott and Miles were, it was clear to me they had never been to a beauty salon before.  I on the other hand had previous experience in this exotic environment thanks to starving student escapades before my mission.  But none of my prior experience involved what happened next as I was browsing the product shop.  A girl walked up to me and with no warning grabbed my hand and squirted a glob of lotion onto it and started massaging it into my palm and fingers.  "Don't be freaked out," she said, "Here at Aveda we like to give our clients the best treatment possible.  This is your complementary hand ritual before you meet your hair stylist. Would you like any water or tea while you wait?"  Whoa!  Talk about customer service.

Eventually my stylist, Makaela, came out to save me from the awkward, yet soothing hand ritual, and took me to her booth.

"How much would you like taken off?" she asks.  I never know the answer to this question because Mom always takes care of those kinds of details.

"Um, I don't really know.  Maybe short on the sides with a little something to play with on top?" I reply.  "Actually, I was hoping you could make me look like Andrew Garfield.  Do you know who that is?"

To my disappointment she didn't, so she quickly pulled out her iPad and google-imaged my hair hero.  She must have understood what I was going for because she said, "Oh, I know just what to do."  With an extremely attractive Brit as her muse Makaela set to work.

Andrew Garfield, my hair hero.

But before she set the scissors loose I got my preliminary essential oil massage (part of the package deal, I guess).  I selected vanilla cream oil, and inhaled the oil out of Makaela's hands in three deep breaths before she rubbed my shoulder muscles with it for a fleeting three minutes.  If my hair weren't so dang long I would've traded in my free haircut for a free massage.

By this point I had spent a good half hour in the salon and my hair wasn't any shorter than when I started.  So I was glad when Makaela finally brought the scissors out, because I was going to be late for a lunch date at noon if she didn't get the show on the road.

She trimmed and cut, and cut some more.  She cut and cut until her cutter was sore.  Not really, but points to anyone who caught the Dr. Seuss allusion.  After what seemed like hours of cutting each of my hairs individually, Makaela escorted me to the wash room where I got a luxury shampoo and condition, and a hot-towel facial treatment.  The fanciest lotion that had ever touched my skin up to that point in my life was ProActive's anti-acne cream, so my skin was feeling all kinds of happy after the facial.  And voila!  after a quick application of product, my hair was finished.

The name tag that smuggled Claire and I past the
big, mean security guards at the alumni luncheon.

Another glance at my watch, which had been kept hidden beneath the hair cape, revealed that I was officially 20 minutes late to my lunch date.  So I bolted with Scott and Miles to the car to pick up Claire.  We sped once again on our way to the Hinckley Alumni Center on campus where I had lunch reservations waiting for two.  Now before you think I'm important or fancy enough to merit lunch reservations for a prestigious alumni event, I'd better explain how I got them.  My uncle Dave Litster once upon a time was student body president at BYU and former alumni board member, so he gets invitations to the homecoming luncheon every year.  He accepts every time, but only goes once every three years or so and bequeaths the reservations on the odd years to someone at BYU.  That happened to be me this year, much to my pleasant surprise.

At the luncheon we were served lots of delicious food buffet style, but the only thing I really remember is the peach pie served with a mountain of ice-cream and whipping cream on the side for dessert.  Did I mention this was a buffet? :)  Oh, and we ate our lunch a few tables away from Julie B. Beck, which was really cool.  I could feel myself wanting to join the Relief Society sitting in such close proximity to her.

So what did I learn from this day?  A) Be sure to have cool connections like being related to former BYU student body presidents,  B) always budget at least two hours for hair appointments, and C) never park on the wrong side of a parade, because you may not always get a nice cop that will let you sneak your way to the other side of the street.  But if he is stringent, then just feed him blue pancakes with lots of whip cream and you'll be sure to get a police escort to where ever it is you need to go.

Observations on a Catholic Mass

I received the following text message on Thursday:

"Dear Owen.  I here by officially invite you to mass in the glorious cathedral of Madeleine.  Your options are at 8:30am or 6:00pm on Sunday.  Please send word of your availability.  Refreshments may be provided.  Cordially, Claire Michelle."

To my delight I found out that refreshments were indeed provided in the form of a tupperware bowl filled with German potato soup presented to me by Claire early Sunday morning.  I have since consumed said bowl of soup and can attest to its deliciousness.  But the story neither ends nor starts there.  The proceeding series of events are merely repercussions of (A) agreeing to attend mass in the first place and (B) opting for the 8:30am service.

I'll go from (B).

So 8:30am mass turned out to be pretty early, especially when the mass was 45 minutes away in Salt Lake City, necessitating a departure time of about 7:15am to allow for delays.  And 7:15am was made unrighteously early because I had fallen asleep just three hours prior.

Why was I playing insomniac?  Well, you try watching a theatrical presentation of Stephen King's  novel 1408 and you might find your serotonin levels depleted and replaced with sleep depriving levels of adrenaline.  The show ended right at midnight, so to calm myself down I discussed international affairs and politics with my roommate Stephen for three hours (which only gets me more riled up), and then I began watching another movie before passing out on the couch.  So after three hours of sleep, I get a knock at the door and a bowl of German potato soup.

Although my eyelids weighed at least ten pounds each and my brain was functioning in a semi-comatose state, I had to be bright-eyed and perky to impress Claire.  Gotta impress the ladies, right?  So I faked being alert for the car ride to Salt Lake City, but then I stopped pretending once I stepped through the doors of the Cathedral of the Madeleine.

These pictures capture the moment much better than I can:

Besides the bold architecture and breathtaking artwork that adorn the walls of the cathedral, I was most impressed by the reverent atmosphere that filled the vaulted ceilings.  There was a good size crowd at church that morning, but all were reverent and intent on the service.

Claire and I took our seats and proceeded to experience mass.  The only other mass I attended was in high school.  I was in a quartet that played at weddings and one of the gigs was at a Catholic wedding.  After playing "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" for what seemed like 20 minutes while the bridal procession inched down the isle, I took my seat in the pews and observed the ceremony.

Mass at this cathedral was similar, except I wasn't dressed in a tux.  There also seemed to be a lot more priests and interludes.  I noticed that mass was read in English instead of Latin, which I believe to be a fairly recent alteration to the ceremony.  Also, there were a few women officiating in the ordinances, which is a major change as of recent years.

But my favorite part was singing the masses under the direction of a little soprano girl.  When she sang, her pure, beautiful notes transported me to Middle-Earth, and I felt like I was worshipping amidst elves in one of their temples in Rivendell.

At one point during the mass, I saw everyone begin to hug each other, clasp hands, and wish the peace of Christ upon each other.  Claire and I followed suit by first hugging each other then clasping hands with those all around us, wishing the peace of Christ upon them.  I felt that at any moment our true identities as Mormons would be exposed and we'd be run out of the cathedral while being beaten with the collection baskets we opted not to put money in.  But, no, we were treated warmly and respectfully, even though I'm sure everyone around knew we weren't Catholic.  I think not knowing when to cross ourselves gave us away.

Probably the most remarkable features of the cathedral are the scores of stained glass windows.  Because that particular morning was mostly overcast, the windows displayed only a portion of their brilliance, but just as the priest held up the chalice of water to bless it for the sacrament, the clouds broke and sunlight suddenly poured through the windows directly onto the chalice of water.  It was kind of surreal watching the sun illuminate the windows (and the ordinance) for a few moments before the sunbeams disappeared.

Overall, I enjoyed my time as mass.  I could feel the Spirit in the huge room as I watched the parishoners worship God the best they knew how.  I felt an almost intense love for them and a longing to share with them everything about the restored gospel that fills my life with light.

Epilogue:

Part I

After returning home, I promptly found a pillow, curled up into fetal position, and abandoned consciousness for an hour or so before it was time for my temple recommend interview. I got to the stake presidency offices at about 12:15pm, which I thought would give me plenty of time to get in and out before church started at 1:30pm.  But such was not the case.  I waited for over an hour and half before my name was called for an interview.  My interviewer began to ask the usual questions about worthiness, and when he got to the question about supporting or affiliating with organizations that opposed the Church, I paused for a moment and for fun answered, "Well, I just back from Catholic mass, but I hope that doesn't disqualify me from getting a recommend."  Then the interviewer got to the question about attending church meetings.  I glanced at my watch and confessed that I probably wasn't going to make it to sacrament meeting today, and he asked me why with a concerned look on him face.  I responded, "My meeting started 20 minutes ago, but surely a temple recommend interview is a valid excuse for tardiness."  Amused, but more importantly satisfied with my responses the stake presidency member signed off on my recommend.

Part II

I totally bore my testimony about the importance of worshipping God with a sincere heart during our church services, a quality that I must admit I more easily sensed among the Catholics in Salt Lake City.  I joked that even though we partake of the sacrament in the MARB (oddly enough in the same lecture hall as one of my previous physics classes), we ought to maintain the reverence due to the Lord's sacrament as if we were in a cathedral or in a temple.