Sarah Jean Sheranian. . . Monson

Sarah means princess in Hebrew, so I’ve always thought my name was pretty cool. When I asked my parents why they gave me the name, they said, “Because we liked it.” The truth is, they were very close to naming me Rebecca, but my cousin Becca was born only 2 months before me, so my parents had to go back to the drawing board.

My middle name, Jean, comes from both my grandmas. My dad’s mom is named Jean and my mom’s mom is named Val Gene. I actually had no idea what Jean meant until I just looked it up and found out it means, “God is gracious.”

My last name is definitely the most unique part of my name. It is Armenian, and has an interesting history. When my great-grandfather came from Armenia to the United States, he was only 10 years old. Living in Murray, UT he was teased about his accent and looks. So, he decided to become as American as possible. He changed his last name from Sherinian to Sheranian to try and make it easier to pronounce and “more American sounding.”

Even though it is usually misspelled and mispronounced, I’ve loved having this last name. It’s unique, beautiful, and just rolls off the tongue after my first and middle name. I get compliments on it all the time. It’s also very convenient because I am literally related to every Sheranian in the world, by 3 generations. When I was single, I thought that I would keep my last name if I ever fell in love with someone who had an awful last name like Bergerman or Shlops. Luckily, I fell in love with a Monson. A good, solid last name with just the right combination of familiarity and rarity. It moved me up the alphabet, and it is fun to use the letter M in my new signature. Plus Brent is so adorable I would take his name no matter what it was.

But here's the real question: When I change my name, what should I change it to? I want to make my new legal name Sarah Jean Sheranian Monson. I don't want to have to give anything up. But will that make my life more complicated? If I do give something up, which do I give up: Jean or Sheranian? Here are the options:

Sarah Monson
Sarah Jean Monson
Sarah Sheranian Monson
Sarah Jean Sheranian Monson

What is your advice?

My (And Jenny's) Bedroom

Bright sunshine walls and long carpet
that gets infested with hair if we don’t vacuum.
Desks cluttered with books, papers, and keepsakes.
Beds sometimes made and sometimes not.
Two desks, two beds, two dressers, two ways of living,
But perfect harmony.

A Jon McNaughton Arizona sunset,
An Elspeth Young calendar of Biblical women and a white BYU graduation tassel,
My first oil painting: the Drakensburg Mountains in autumn,
Underneath a plaque that reads “HOPE.”
June and July desk calendars, one above the other, taped behind the door for the wedding plans countdown.
An orange racers bib from a feat of a lifetime—my first half marathon.

Burnt sienna and green vermillion,
Indigo and paynes grey,
Linseed oil washed sky:
An unforgettable moment captured in color.

Home

I am from busy streets and starless nights.
I am from riots and earthquakes and nine-month-long trials.
I am from first story apartments and sidewalks carpeted in purple jacaranda blossoms.

I am from Hawaiian haystacks and taco salad.
I am from crying over homework and avoiding piano practice.
I am from “Make it a good day,” and “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

I am from playdates, bike rides, and the bake-sale club.
I am from swimming lessons every summer just to make sure.
I am from the Box Car Children, Babysitters Club, and Anne of Green Gables.

I am from generosity.
I am from faith.
I am from love.

Everyday China

My Grandma Sheranian is one who believes that if you have something good, you should use it. And so after her set of everyday dinnerware finally wore out, instead of replacing it with some cheap stuff from Target, she brought out her mother’s china for everyday use. The family was shocked. How can you use china everyday? Won’t it get broken? Won’t it loose its charm? But grandma wasn’t concerned: “It’s been in my cupboard all these years and has hardly been used. What’s the use of having china if you never use it?”

Grandma did own more china than usual. She had her own set of china she got when she was married—cream colored and Asian looking with blue flowers. We didn’t see it much because many of the pieces had broken and there wasn’t enough to set a full table. She had her mother’s china that was gold rimmed with blue and pink flowers, which I had never seen until she had brought it out for everyday use. She had her mother-in-laws set of Rosenthal China that only came out for VERY special occasions. And she had another set of china that I’m not sure where she got, but it was what we normally used for birthdays so we saw it quite often.

I’m sure you can understand why someone who has four sets of china would put one to everyday use, and now it makes sense to me too. In a way it shows grandma’s attitude about life: enjoy it while you can.

Hoedown Bridal Shower

The Ogles family threw me a very fun and nontraditional bridal shower. Everyone in the family age 2 to 80 came --- boys and girls! Nina decorated the Church gym like a wedding reception except that in the center of every table was a kitchen-themed gift! We had amazing food-- burritos and empanadas. YUM.

Then the best part was the karaoke program. The first song Darcy sang. Martha and family rewrote the lyrics to "Hey Soul Sister" by Train to tell the story of how Brent and I met:

Hey, hey, hey.

I--R--S... We want to thank you for her taxing mess,
As they figured out her incomes--
brown eyes gazed into her green ones...bottom line.
They hit it off,
Then separated and they felt the loss
At the temple they collided,
it was then he decided to ask her name.

CHORUS: Hey soul sister, ain't that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo, the way you move ain't fair, you know. Hey soul sister, we don't want to miss a single thing you do.... tonight.

Hey, hey, hey.


Cal-i-for-nia trip,
a romance growing step, by step, by step
Mickey gave direction,
A Disneyland connection you can't denyyyyyy.
Both mother's shared a meal at Tortilla Joe's,
They sealed the deal, oh yeah.
They finally did their thi-ing,
She got a diamond ri-ing
It happened at the Jr. High, "oh my."

Repeat CHORUS

Now the wedding date is set,
It will be 6 months since the day you met,
August 12, 2010, you've been dreaming of then
We'll all be there your family,
It was meant to be
It's the day you say "I do"...for eternity.

Repeat CHORUS



I realize that this is the first time I've mentioned on my blog that I'm engaged, so if you didn't know: SURPRISE!!

My Feeble Attempt at Historical Writing

One evening in Boston, colonists gathered in growing resentment towards the British soldiers who enforced laws and taxation upon the colonists. Outside the Customs House, where taxes were collected, Captain Preston and his troops gathered in response to the growing group of rowdy colonists. According to Preston’s account, he stood in front of his men and tried to reason with the group of colonists when a snowball came from the crowd towards his soldiers. Immediately, one soldier fired and the shout “Fire” was heard, but Preston said it was not him. Another witness claims he did not see Preston say it, but did not rule out the possibility.

The patriots reacted passionately after this skirmish occurred, writing poems and inscribing pictures about this “Boston Massacre,” putting Preston at blame. However, according to Preston’s testimony, he was not guilty.

Clearly both sides played a part. More important than who was at fault, this incident shows the growing tension between the Colonists and the red coats before the Revolutionary War began.

Hillcrest, South Africa

You look up at me with clear, round eyes through the wrought iron gate and tell me your mother is busy. I see her through the sliding glass door in the guest cottage at the end of the drive wearing a pink bathrobe, talking on a cordless phone. “Tom,” she calls, “Who is it? Come back here.” You ask us to come back later, so in my small white notebook, I write Tom, 10 year old boy, and the address of the house. You probably forgot about me quickly, but for the next 6 months, I think about you. I think about how much I want you and your mom to be happy. I think about how much I want to teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ. And so, I return. I return, again and again. Your property has no intercom, so we knock with a rock on that wrought iron gate. But the cottage is dark and no one comes to answer. And I wonder. Where are you, little boy? And where is your mother?

Six months later, we meet again. This time outside another guest cottage on the other side of town. I am there to visit someone else, but here you are. With your mother. You don’t seem to remember me, but I remember you. And I am speechless. Finally, I gather words to ask your mother about your stay. She tells me that your house burnt down, you lost everything, and you are staying with friends. I think about the cottage where I found you before. Have you been homeless for these 6 months? I wonder if you realize how much I care. That the weight of my responsibility burned your face into my memory forever.

Grandpa Sheranian

In the corner of the den in my grandparents house is a big, comfortable recliner. It sits in front of the sliding glass door that looks out onto the backyard. Next to it is an end table with a lamp, a telephone, and a pad of paper and pencil to take messages. On the other side is a small wooden piece of furniture about the size of a moving box that is designed to hold magazines. In it you can find Newsweek, Time, National Geographic, Car and Driver, Consumer Reports, the AAA Magazine, the LA Times Magazine, and the Reader’s Digest. You can usually find a few Louis L’Amour books shoved in there too.

The recliner has changed over time—but the one constant is its occupant: my Grandpa Sheranian. Most of my memories of Grandpa come from moments while he was sitting in that chair. Memories of him grabbing me, pinning my arms behind my back, and tickling me until I begged, “Mercy! Mercy!” Memories of coming over for Sunday dinner and watching episode after episode of “I Love Lucy” because grandpa willingly changed the channel from the game when we came over. Memories of finding grandpa comfortably reclining flipping through a magazine or reading a good western.

Even now when I call the house, the phone usually doesn’t ring more than twice because Grandpa is right there to pick it up. And when I talk to him, I can see him in my mind, sitting just right where he should be.

World Traveler Ruins Her Life by Buying a Home!

Julie Hatten*, a travel fanatic, usually can’t go 6 months without taking a trip. From Guatemala to Europe, this girl is determined to conquer the world. Planned or spontaneous, with friends or alone. Hatten doesn’t miss any opportunities. So, this year when the chance to buy $500 tickets to New Zealand came up, she bought them that day. And this impulsiveness has become the fuel of her life.

But life is about to change—for the worse. Hatten is buying a house. Most people look forward to settling down, painting the living room their favorite color, growing a vegetable garden. But for Hatten, it means the mortgage fly swatter has taken a whack at her travel bug.

No more rocking out to “I Want to Know What Love Is” alone on the beach in Cancun. No more Parisian sunsets. No more fresh, island fruit. No, for Hatten, she will enjoy a stable life in Idaho Falls and try not to ruin her life.

*Name has been changed.

Many Shades of Chocolate

Chocolate—considered a candy by some, a food group by others—is by far the most sophisticated sweet. With a history that goes back to 16^th century Spanish explorers, it has been refined to perfection. However, not all chocolate is equal.

About a year ago, a close friend who knew that I was a chocolate purest—the higher cocoa content the better—invited me to a “chocolate tasting party.” For $10 we could taste the finest chocolate in the world and hear a lecture about it. We arrived at the small home in Springville where the host, an engineer and chocolate connoisseur, invited us into his cozy living room. He passed out white sheets of paper that listed the names of about 12 different chocolates, and water and French bread to cleanse the palette between each taste.

First a lesson on chocolate tasting. The first step before you even put the chocolate in your mouth is to look at it. Notice the luster and color of the chocolate. Next, you smell it. This helps improve your ability to taste the chocolate once in your mouth. Then, you eat the chocolate slowly, allowing it to melt in your mouth, paying attention to smoothness, initial taste, after taste. After each taste, we took notes on our reaction and the flavors we noticed and then discussed our experience. It was like a book club about chocolate.

I had never experienced anything like it. Chocolate from Madagascar to Venezuela. Chocolate that hinted of fruit. Chocolate with the savor of the rich soil from which it came. Chocolate with a different taste for every second in your mouth. Then, after tasting about 5 chocolates from the finest cocoa fields in the world, we each had a piece of regular milk chocolate Dove candy. The difference was shocking: the taste of gasoline with an undertone of peanut butter. Yes, no two chocolates are alike.