do you ever feel

like there are a hundred thousand people in the world already doing what you are trying to do (whatever that is), and doing it better?

i do.

i don't really care about doing something no one else is doing, or even doing something the very very best. i just want my something to be meaningful, an act of love.

"i try to be honest, i try to be kind, and honestly leave when i know that it's time."



one of my most important lessons from college (a life lesson that college gave me words for) is that love is not a zero sum game. despite understanding that, it's still hard for my brain to fathom infinite love that never saturates.

even on this crowded earth, i'm sure there's a place for me, perhaps the kitchen with the big wooden table i see in my mind's eye that is just another instance of every kitchen table i've found myself welcome at before.

there's room for all kinds.

christmas time is here

i love this movie and this song and charlie brown. i relate to the guy. and we have similar taste in christmas trees. here's ours this year:

nice and skimpy, just the way i like it. when the fam went south to hunt christmas trees this year, laine kept picking these fat old trees, the kind where you can't even see the trunk, and i told her we had to choose a tree that looked homeless. she responded, "they're all homeless catherine." she is a very smart six-year old.
i've been a little obsessed with the tree this year--enchanted, rather. jane put the lights on (the hard part) while i whined to her, but i did the ornaments all by my lonesome, late at night.


the ornaments must go on one at a time, and slowly, so that each story has a moment of life in my memory. there's the starfish santa from friends in california, the hot pepper santa from friends in houston, the sourdough santa from friends thirty years ago. there are the blown glass balls from our trip to venice, the angel from our neighbor angels, and the star the star the star.

time under the christmas tree is sacred. it means everything to me that is beautiful about the holiday: family. history. light. sacrifice. tradition. gifts. belief.

you may be thinking this post is a little late, but in my house, in my heart, christmas can't sneak away so easily.

oh my darling oh my darling

the clementine.

a bright orb to pull from your pocket.

the sun of winter.

the passing of peace between friends and almost friends and not yet friends. by the slice.

i have eaten so many of these lately i expect my skin to turn orange, starting in my fingertips, where under my nails it has already begun--the price of peeling. the smell is not very different from christmas and it lingers in a room the way i wish christmas would linger.

are you noticing a theme? i do not like rushed goodbyes unless i'm leaving.

thank you clementine for lighting my days.

deadlines are descending, so i come to the blog to hide and breathe.

isn't life mysterious?

i'm thinking about relationships and the crazy way we can build fragile unseeable connections between souls, between hearts, and those connections stretch and bend and prove (sometimes) to not be that fragile at all.

"often we live side by side and do not communicate heart to heart."
--president thomas s. monson

i believe that. sometimes i feel like i am shouting in a hundred different ways: hear me! understand me! love me! love me! and everyone around me is shouting too, out of desperation to be heard, sure, but also because the gap between bodies is big, and expression could go anywhere once it leaves me, even all the way to outer space. even when it arrives at the desired destination, i can't always be sure it's arrived.

this is why i keep being amazed by love. it is one of many things that works without me understanding it.

dreams

i spend a lot time picturing my future.
i want a simple life.
i want a modest, well-lit (naturally lit) home with a really big kitchen table.
i want more space outside than inside. i think it'd be neat-o if what some people have in living rooms/family rooms i had in fields and forests.
i want the future to be full of people i love.
that's pretty much it.

but if i don't get any of those things, that will be okay (except for the one about the people. that would make for one lonely future.)

today i've been thinking about that one summer that i was a bike guide in jackson, the summer i lived in a tent and spent about one hour a day indoors. that was my idea of bliss.

you can't see the bliss in this picture because i wanted to be going back home with sisters who were dropping me off.


here's to hoping i get another summer like this one.

fleeting

i would be okay if it started snowing november 1 and did not stop until march 1. maybe even later. i would be happy if my door was snowed in every once in a while and i had to climb out a window and slide down a drift to the sidewalk. i would give up every pair of shoes i love to wear clunky boots all the time, if it meant deep deep snow.

i am not a "just snow in the mountains" type of girl, though that is clearly better than nothing. i am a five-miles-per-hour on the highway and no-school and flash-of-snow-plow-lights-down-the-street type of girl.

i believe in weather that inconveniences. i believe in gray skies. i think i have reverse SADS because when it stops snowing, my heart drops. in fact, my heart drops the minute it starts snowing because i know that the thing i love must end. so, would it be better for my heart if it never snowed? you may be thinking, "duh, totally better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." what if, though, losing wasn't just a possibility or risk but a guarantee? if every time you loved, you lost? every time?

where did i get the expectation that i should have everything at once, forever? marie? jane? fess up.

in other news, we took the annual christmas tree hunting trip to fremont.







i might have an address on this street someday, if i get lucky. come visit.




















here is kingfish doing his thing at fish lake.

failure

another day where everything falls short.

i've been trying to tell myself that i like failing and that failing is a good thing to do. i don't try very hard (to tell myself, not to fail. failing takes no trying).

today's failures:

woke up late.
no shower.
bad socks.
no lesson plan.
late assignments.
an essay that doesn't amount to anything.
things that need to get done that absolutely wont't get done.
no snow. (i somehow feel responsible for this. i'm trying to be good.)

and then...
i remembered i had a big reese's peanut butter cup in my drawer. SUCCESS.

the witching hour

it's late and i don't want to go to bed. i will want to go to bed tomorrow when it's time to wake up, and i will wish that i had thought more of the future me when i decided to keep writing into the night. i apologize, me, for my selfishness.

it's just that i'm doing something i love, and while this is blessedly not rare in my life, i know that it is rare in many other lives, so i stay up and rap on my word-crafting keys till they drum like laughter.

poo poo on the things i'm supposed to be doing in addition to sleeping (ie lesson plans, homework, work work), poo poo until tomorrow when every nighttime thing will look foolish in the light.

tonight i'm staying up as long as my eyes will allow.

my head is too small to hold everything i need to understand

today my head hurts. i blame the headband(s). today i also want to crawl in bed instead of doing the dishes or grading papers. i blame the world. for being too interesting, too mysterious, too challenging. not too--that implies excess and i don't want the world to be any less interesting, mysterious, or challenging. i do want to understand just a little bit better.

lately, i have learned some important things about what i hope from writing.
number 1: i want to be more honest.
number 2: i want to challenge myself more, instead of accepting the first line that comes out of my fingertips.
number 3: i want to write things that matter to me.
number 4: i want to be more deliberate in my craft. meaning i want my ideas to resonate with my style (once i get a style.)
number 5: i want to be more honest.
number 6: i want to be a more radical reviser.
number 7: i want to use writing to work through my own sincere questions.

i have so much more to say, but tonight it comes too slowly.

"Thou was not born for death, Immortal bird!"

i was talking with a friend this week (you know who you are) who does not love this world, though he tolerates it. this was a surprise to me--i'm afraid i love this world too much. i believe in something before and beyond, a frame for this scene, but besides the suffering and confusion of here and now, i wonder how this place we inhabit (and not just the physical place) can be improved on. that's a very big but besides, though, in the previous sentence. the concept of 'heaven' eludes me in every practical way, except that as someone once said, "heaven becomes dearer as those we love go there." so my heart learns to long for something it does not understand. it does understand, however, love and community and snow on the mountains and discovery and awe--all in the here and now.


i saw two lovely films this weekend. one was better than the other, and i'll let you puzzle which.



ok, not much time for puzzling. WATER is one of the best films i've ever seen. i saw it for the first time with Steph and it's stayed in my heart since then. the second viewing did not disappoint. it portrays several things i wonder about: the role of women and the power of faith. at one point, kalyani talks about being like the gods who grow like lotus flowers from the filthy waters (that but besides part from before), and the man says something like, "but you are not a god." and kulyani says something like, "but i can still be the lotus flower." PLEASE see this movie. and then tell me what you think.

i also saw this movie about john keats. i liked it. it was pretty. i like john keats. it didn't change my life however. sometimes movies can just be movies.



p.s. i would like to amend my previous "i believe" list:
i believe in not having all the answers and in asking sincere, authentic questions. i have written a letter to the editor of the Daily Universe about this that the paper people may or may not read, and soon it will be on my blog.

somethings really lovely

these are the songs that are saying it how i feel today.
----------
i heard someone sing this song today, and it was very very nice. made me cry. i don't want to be responsible for binding anyone to the pasture. that's the lesson of the day.

HOMEWARD BOUND
Marta Keen

In the quiet misty morning, when the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stop their singing and the sky is clear and red,
When the summer's ceased its gleaming, when the corn is past its prime,
When adventure's lost its meaning, I'll be homeward bound in time.

Bind me not to the pasture. Chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my calling and I'll return to you somehow.

If you find it's me you're missing, if you're hoping I'll return,
To your thought I'll soon be list'ning; in the road I'll stop and turn.
Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its end,
And the path I'll be retracing when I'm homeward bound again.

Bind me not to the pasture. Chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my calling and I'll return to you somehow.

In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stop their singing, I'll be homeward bound again.

-----------

and this one--well, just give me one thing that i can hold on to...

ANGEL FROM MONTGOMERY
John Prine

I am an old woman, named after my mother
My old man is another, child that's grown old
If dreams were thunder, lightning were desire
This old house would have burnt down, a long time ago

Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery
Make me a poster from an old rodeo
Just give me one thing that I can hold on to
To believe in this living is just a hard way to go

When I was a young girl, well I had me a cowboy
He weren't much to look at, just a free rambling man
But that was a long time, and no matter how I try
The years just flow by, like a broken down dam

There's flies in the kitchen, I can hear 'em there buzzing
And I ain't done nothing, since I woke up today
How the hell can a person, go to work in the morning
And come home in the evening, and have nothing to say

this vid is not the best ever, but i kinda like bonnie's feathered bangs. plus, she's just pretty killer i think, though getting better with time.

i wish it would snow

i wish it would snow* and wash my face clean
i want to find some dark cloud to hide in here
oh love and a memory sparkled like diamonds
when the diamonds fall they burn like tears
when the diamonds fall they burn like tears
--nanci griffith


i know i carry my sadness and everyone carries theirs too. meaning: i go on and on and on here about my particular lot, but that doesn't mean i'm not thinking about the people around me who struggle and bow under weight. and there seem to be an awful lot of people around me--people i love love love--who seem to be measured a bigger piece of the pain pie.

we can't compare lives: there is no grand equal sign or scale that balances the dispersal of pain. i like to think it is in our power as compassionate and conscious human beings to ease the disparity, even just a little bit.

all i want to say is thank you to everyone who shoulders a chunk of my load.

"my waking thoughts of you are but extensions of the dream and without you here beside me, i'll never know all that you mean."

some holes never fill. they will always be holes.

went walking a few days ago and it was winter, all of a sudden. in the same way, it is three years, all of a sudden.

each year is a reconfiguring. a new constellation of meaning.
see that precarious balance, the fragile weight, how things cleave to hold on?
surprised at how loss can be so universal and individual at the same time. hoping everyone has someone's love to make them an individual in a crowd.
doesn't matter how many times winter has come, how many lives have ended, how many treasures lost. eventually it is the first missing, the first frost, and a new sensation: cold cold cold.

what does it mean to let go?

loss is the home, the object, of all of my longing.

perhaps I've become predictable in writing this--but only as predictable as death, never more predictable than winter. i hope to meet her in my dreams tonight, to see her eyes regard my face as they did that last time, with love and approval.

ps forgive me for using the same picture. it isn't for lack of suitable pictures. there's just something about this one.

"Keep me, I pray thee, whole. Not as the dust."

It took feeling wonderfully happy to realize I have been sad for a very long time.

This is not to say (see here for a lovely short essay titled thus) that I have not felt any happy in between or amongst sad. Or that sad will not continue to appear in my life. In fact, my heart has become quite serious about feeling all kinds of things lately (are you getting this sense too, or is it an inside-looking out sort of thing?), which is indicator number one that sad, as a way of life, is on it's way out. Sad does not like to be interrupted.

So long sad.

The cause of wonderfully happy? Only the rain at three in the morning or a dinner table of family and friends or a nice poem. Which is to say nothing is the cause that hasn't always been the cause, but something has been working inside my heart, healing healing healing. Putting things back together, but slowly.

More on the rain.

I have a very good life. A very good life. I feel lucky to be alive, to be human, to be part of this blur and thrash of mortality.

Someone died during the Ragnar Relay, got hit by a drunk driver, someone with a family and a future. I don't want to be dramatic because that cheapens things, but I do want to grieve out loud.

Someone died this weekend. Someone dies every weekend. Someone died five minutes ago and someone is dying right now. I don't mean to sound morbid or calloused or depressed: to live is to die. No way around it. But we try so hard to prevent dying (what other inevitable process do we resist and resent as much, drain money into, obsess over?--besides aging, which is just the body's warning that the end is not far off.) We fight so hard to stay here and for what? The people? The beauty? The fear of the darkness ahead? We cannot learn how to die, really; we'll never know how it feels, really; until it is our turn. And for some people, they are gone before they know it, transformed into an incomprehensible state of being before saying goodbye.

How do you properly say goodbye to this life?

"Where else could I dwell," Scott Russell Sanders asks, "except in this familiar flesh?"

Today I walked in the rain. My pants were soaked and my feet were soaked and my sweater was splotchy and soaked. My hair, weighted with water, fell over and into my eyes. And all I saw was colors. Everything was dripping, slipping down; the colors were leaving blank bodies behind and crowding the ground with a puddley rainbow mess. That's how sadness feels sometimes. That's how thinking about people dying feels too.

"And as I watch the drops of rain weave their weary paths and die, I know that I am like the rain: there but for the grace of you go I."

I am amazed by the duality of things: the mystery of life and death descending upon us hand in hand, the kinship of joy and sorrow. The line intersecting the circle at a point called now.

Here's a photo of me feeling lucky to be alive.

Ragnar

Running.
Running.
Running (that strongly resembles limping. Which is fair, after 9 miles of hills.)
Pretending that running is fun. Liars.When not running, peeing. And admiring local flora and fauna. If you are scared of the burros during your run, race rules allow you to get in your van. We all know burros can be dangerous.

to women with thoughts in their heads

what follows takes a little braveness on my part, perhaps more than i've had on this blog to this point. so stop reading or be kind (but never, ever coddling.)

i have a lot on my mind in a heart sort of way. by which i mean i really care about the things on my mind so my distraction is compounded. the whole me is out for lunch. pondering. pondering. feeling. pondering. note: i will never apologize for feeling. i will also never apologize for expecting other people to feel too, even if they are men. (in case this sounds very stereotypical, this is a reaction to several recent conversations and, actually, a whole heap of foundational experiences.) the notion that feelings are the province of women--i refuse.

with my girlfriends, or perhaps inspired by my girlfriends, i have been asking, why is it so hard to love ourselves?

i see myself in the mirror; i see my face critiquing my face, my shape, my size, and the spirit beneath it all, and i know i am participating in a ritual. i am not alone, fighting against the darkening sky of social pressure and medical manipulation, redefining beauty as how i look instead of how others look, how i treat my body instead of how much i weigh, how i feel about myself instead of how others feel about me.

i love this woman. for her, about her, i feel deeply.

i cannot separate my identity from her, nor do i want to. she is strong. gracious. intelligent. committed. beautiful in my eyes. she loved her body till the end; loves it still, i imagine, from a distance. and yet, i learned the ritual from her, inherited a simultaneous gratitude and disgust. i saw her dissatisfaction in retail fitting rooms and the safety of her bedroom. looking at photographs. i remember sitting with her on the couch, flipping through newly developed pictures of a trip to the desert and hearing her bemoan the size of her stomach. she didn't know then, wouldn't know for months, that it was the cancer creeping into her space, taking territory by sleuth. so maybe this one time, she was right to cast a disapproving eye. i don't know. i know that i feel very sad when i think of her seeing her body as though she had let herself down, done something wrong, failed in some way, when in reality, it was never her fault.

unlike most rituals, this one in front of the mirror is isolating. we only see the faults in ourselves. my mom thought imperfection was her curse, not mine too. i was perfect in her eyes; my body was perfect. i felt the same way about her. i feel the same way about my friends. i appreciate the diversity around me. i do not appreciate the diversity of me. i cannot hear a response to my appearance without cringing, whether it is a compliment or a critique. this is the place i have come to. i do not want to hear that i am beautiful because i don't trust the words and i don't trust the people saying them.

maybe men feel this way too. maybe a lot of women don't feel this way. i don't know. while i don't think this is specifically a gender issue, i care about being a woman and i speak as a woman. i believe i have an important voice that should not be silenced, even by my own fears, especially by others' fears. my beauty is my power, my voice, the thoughts in my head, and my feelings. i read a blog yesterday about a girl with an eating disorder. as i read, i thought This is the power of blogs. this is what they are for, voices reaching other voices, individuals sending up whispers that find their way into shouts of collective humanity. the stories that aren't told are forgotten. the stories that aren't told are forgotten.

sometimes people ask questions, the answers to which mean life or death, faith or flounder. (church, in its perfect state (for me), would be full of people asking these questions.) this is my question. why is it so hard to love ourselves?

i'm having such a very hard time doing my work

which leads me here, old blog.

i had the most splendiforous weekend. the things that happened outside of me were only slightly better than the things that happened inside of me (this is a strange sentence because it could imply swallowing a penny or conceiving a child or kidney stones or something, where all i really mean is that i felt and thought a lot of nice things; also a strange sentence because how often do nice things happen outside me without corresponding to nice things inside me or vice versa--probably fairly often actually.... i'm confused.)

anyway, i'll post more pics, but i wanted to start with this hilarious video. hilarious for several reasons.
1. yodeling is always funny.
2. yodeling on horses is even funnier.
3. yodeling on horses while trying to get them to run is funny too.
4. look at marie's face when laine kicks starfire into gear. very funny.
5. notice my determination to keep yodeling and filming despite running, being left in the dust, etc. kind of funny.

p.s. you can't hear that well, but dave, marie, and laine were all yodeling too.

Today it is fall.

And today I wish I were old. I wish I had experience behind me rather than in front, my life's path trailing into specifics rather than mist, my hands bearing decades of meaningful work. So many years have passed, and I am still young. Very young. I do not want to arrive on the other end of my life without having lived it, but I'd like to have lived it today. I want to deserve and have earned more things in my memory. I want to be wise. I want to be fall.

There is snow on the mountains. Do you know what this does to me? How the sight brings on the delicious (not frightened) shivers? How a little speckling of white on brown grounds me to this place?

not that i'm obsessed with food...

but i figured i would be blessed if i went to fhe tonight. and i was.

oreo's for treat.

proof that God loves me.

milk's favorite cookie is good enough for me.

the donut

today i had a maple bar for breakfast. a maple bar and chocolate milk and a poppyseed muffin. if you know me, you may be surprised to hear that i have been trying to eat healthy. (i actually assume that anyone who reads this does know me, but i was gonna say "for those of you who don't know me, i have been trying to eat healthy," and then i realized those words made it sound like those who know me would obviously know i'm eating healthy, which is unlikely considering i can't kick some habits. namely desserts. and french fries.)

anyway, i've been thinking about a chocolate raised donut all week and resisting the urge to buy one all week. you know that old shopping strategy though, the one that says "if you leave the store and you're still thinking about the sweater a week later, you should go back and get it?"

i bought the donut.

i asked for a chocolate raised and as her gloved hand went to the glass, i shouted "No! Maple Bar!"

--

before i bought the donut, i was thinking about which of the many achievements of the week i should make it a reward for. and as achievements of the week were slim, i decided to buy it for myself for just being me. how do you like that?

the donut was so worth it. i only wish i could have made it last forever. i'm mid-muffin, and it's pretty darn good too.

go buy yourself a donut. you deserve it.

sweet fall

everywhere i look in blogland, people are heralding the fall. this is obvious: fall is the superior season. fall makes dying look good.

i often misuse words. for example, i was going to talk about how fall makes me want to be a heathen, but really, fall does nothing to alter my religion or my level of culture. then i thought, ah! fall makes me want to be a pagan. not really, nope. a hedonist? pursuing my sensual desires is my highest good? a hippie--yes on the long hair and beads, no on the rejection of conventional values or taking of hallucinogenic drugs.

so forget the labels: fall makes me want to lay on dirt and roll in leaves and wake up outside with frost on my hair. during fall, we celebrate the earth.

here's to you.

always and forever

i hate technology. passwords of my own choosing will eventually lock me out of my own life. last weekend i forgot the password to my iTunes, so they sent a link to reset it to my email account. turns out, i also forgot the password to my email and the answer to my secret question. it's strange that i would forget the cryptic workings of my junior high brain, the brain that put "Brad Pitt?" as my secret question. there are probably infinite answers to that question. yes. no. not as hot as johnny depp (though i didn't know that in junior high.)

i suppose it is foolish to put the secret question for my email on the www, but if i bested my own brain, i bet i'll best most everyone else too. plus, as b pointed out so gently, no one cares about getting in my email anyway.

apple has proven their superiority once more, because they have a live chat support feature where my email has none. so i start chatting with the nice guy, and he's about to reset my password when i accidentally hit the back button on my computer (but the ear is in the vicinity of the face! so is the finger when you're shaving!). curses. (howst do you manage the telegrammaphone whilst wearing gentlemen's sport gloves?) every time i hit the chat button, my computer told me that no reps were available and i thought all was lost. then a friend told me to switch computers, which i did, and start chatting anew, which i did. though the second guy was a little slow (coming from the girl who hit the back button in the middle of a chat to reset the password she forgot.) all's well.

i have been measuring my time lately in the segments i'm blocked from trying to get in my email. i get like twenty tries, then i'm blocked for two days or something. very frustrating. i spend all my free thought time in those two days trying to get inside my own head. if i was me, what would i change my password to? today, after my sign-in freeze was unfroze, i sauntered technologically over to my email and on my tenth or so try, I GOT IN. mind blowing. it's like being let back into your house. so familiar, so yours, so strange to have been kept out like a thief or a liar.

i hate how bad i am at verifying my own identity. that is something i will always hold against technology. "i know i am me, i swear." just try telling that to the credit card email online retailer.

p.s. all of this has made a very compelling argument against writing my journal in code. my poor posterity.

Thanks Kim! (p.s. i miss you and the cupcake truck i never knew!)

http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?ref=vl_other_1&listing_id=23993044

I figured it out!

enjoy The Avett Bros singing Salvation Song, Red Butte 2009

it's raining. trees are changing. the earth is trying to convince me to let go of summer.

"Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life--well, valuable, but small. And sometimes I wonder, Do I do it because I like it? Or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when really, shouldn't it be the other way around? I don't really want an answer, I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So, goodnight, dear void." --Kathleen Kelly

One of the best lines from one of the best movies.

In other news, I've found my dream home. See below.



Doesn't that look delightful? I know it's a bit of a fixer-upper, but heck. What's time to a hog?

Next to that house, I'd like to have this barn.



Quite lovely. Just have to do something about all those holes so the livestock (we'll have six or seven) doesn't get wet.

And last, I wanted to post a vid of the kickin'-ist concert I went to this summer. But I couldn't figure out how to do it, so I can't show you. sorry.

"I want to say farewell to all the darkness in my life"

--Kevin Hart, poet extraordinaire

In honor of the places that sustain and maintain, for easing generations into their heritage, and binding us to those who've gone before.

when my children's children ask me why i didn't go, i'll say the heart of any town is the people that you know

i live a solitary life. i pass hours with my lips zipped, staring at pages in a book, with nothing but the occasional pencil scrawl to prove that my mind is not snoozing on the job. if i could materialize my thoughts, i think they would look like the wispy cotton that blows off cottonwood trees in southern utah. puffs of productivity. coherent in that they are made of the same stuff, but disparate in direction, destination. (i'm not searching for alliteration. it's jumpin' me.)

i have friends. i have roommates. i have family. my heart isn't snoozing either, (what would my material exchange of love look like?) but there is no one who i am accountable to, in the flesh and before my eyes at least. i come and go as i please, making a hundred decisions that only ask for my approval. nothing and no one grounds me, though so many lovely people greet me wherever i land.

i hear my roommate downstairs. she's talking to her mom on the phone, asking her for a piece of domestic wisdom. i'm startled by the routineness of her voice, the casual way in which she says goodbye. ("my waking thoughts of you are but extensions of the dream.") surprisingly, i rarely see or hear my peers interact with their mothers. it is always a pang. i am not inclined to preach against complacency or the taking of what we love for granted: i don't think it's possible to live every day in full gratitude and awareness of our blessedness. even now, i am taking those i still have within phone's reach for granted. i, at least, need jolts. death just happens to be a lighting bolt that sets your insides to trembling with no end in sight.

so many "i"s in the above. i'm grateful for all the "you"s.

God is good, and goodness is all around.

God's Grandeur

THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.


And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

--Gerard Manley Hopkins

(forgive me for posting this poem over and over, but i love it.)

oh sweet summer

first things first. worst smell ever: egg salad. worst place to smell said smell: byu library bathrooms. yuckarama.

moving on. lately i've been looking out the window and feeling like i could fly. could run across the clouds. could jump up into space any old time and chat with the moon (which is really the only reason why i'd go to space.) good music gives me my wings, along with this place i've been the past little while. check out these pics . perhaps they will make you as happy as they make me.

brother shredding.

view from the porch. i can trick myself into thinking i deserve a lot of my happiness, but i never feel like i deserve this place. it always feels too good to be true. like one summer i'll drive down the lake road and the cabin will have faded into a shadow on the tall tall grasses and i'll have to wonder if it was ever real. of course, i'll know it was.

kingfish.

land of the BIG SKY. home of my heart.

this is the view i see most often when at the lake. peering over a book. or hiding behind a book. depends on my age.

one of the hardest things for me is accepting that my eyes show a different scene than other people's eyes. not that i have a hard time accepting that we're all different etc, but that what's home to me is just like any old mountain lake to someone else.

i feel like i have less and less to say these days. i alternate between thinking that life is so rich that i need to document it all and thinking that life is so rich that living will be enough. i have to remind myself sometimes that things still exist without being put in words, that i can still feel things without writing about them. i often think of the verb "capture" in conjunction with writing, which proves that i am a hoarder. i like putting anything that will hold still long enough (and especially memories, though they're unusually frisky) into a box to collect dust in the back of my closet. i want to know i've caught it. i want to know it's mine in case i need it later. it's like the boy Marvin who puts his ice cream cone in his pocket for later and is so sad to find it melted the next day. when i go to pull out my boxes, it's all dust.

among the things i wish:

that my mom had a blog (i'm curious what she'd write) and a cell phone that i could send silly text messages to.

that i could do everything from my bed. perhaps i could get a rolly bed. (i'm typing on my lappy while in bed right now. number one reason i wanted a lappy. typing in bed.)

that i could handle the big choices in my life and give all the little choices (what to eat for breakfast and what music to listen to--MAJOR time-wasting dilemmas in my world) to someone else. like a personal shopper. except for choices.

that, if no on the rolly bed, i could live underwater. just for a week or so to see what it would be like. my underwater world would have to be totally shark/jellyfish/stingray/danger free. i'm not that great of a swimmer.

that i could turn my internal autocracy into a board of regents, with different little people representing my various interests, debating various decisions, and sending me the results and weekly minutes. how cool would that be?

that i could write song lyrics. i wish i could write exactly what i wanted to say.

that i never ever wished to be someone else.

that i was a star on broadway, or even the playmill would be fine...i just want to belt it (on pitch) in front of a crowd.

that it would rain at least once a week. and be cloudy at least twice a week. and snow from november to april. i've always preferred inclement weather.

that the world was more conducive to bare feet. or that my bare feet were more conducive to the world. either way. i really like the textures of the earth so i'd probably choose tougher feet.

that people's attractiveness reflected their personalities. kind of like that bit in 101 Dalmatians where the dogs look like their owners.

that i could shop off of other people's bodies. when i saw a sweet article of clothing on someone else, i could request one in my size. and free shipping.

that when someone says, "you think too much," i could say, "yes. i do," and promptly think less.

another birthday

thanks for laughing at my jokes and playing along with my charades.
thanks for playmill double headers and mrs. field's after shopping.
thanks for teaching me perseverance in pain on a mountain bike.
thanks for exhausting me with your love for life.
thanks for singing in the kitchen and on the trail.
thanks for big dreams and the confidence to catch them.
thanks for knocks on my door after arguments and for quick apologies.
thanks for being a woman who loves her body.
thanks for being a woman who loves her strength.
thanks for being a woman who loves her daughter.

thank you Brian Doyle, once more.

"Piety is valuable but not intrinsically interesting, whereas belief is intrinsically insane and usually interesting."

Missing

David with the curly locks, who sang "raindrops are falling on my head" and "i like to move it move it", who called the portapotty yuckarama, who would not hold my hand, but who smiled at me enough that i got over it.

Juliette with the many colored barrettes that slapped her head when she ran, who preferred tether ball outside to movies inside, who was shy but not insecure.

Jillian, who frequently "peed herself" but never got upset about it, who came to camp with her whole calf blue from marker, who rubbed my arm black with a dry erase marker, then disappeared to get towels to clean me up, who gave the most sincere apologies.

Every boy who cried without shame, from the four-year-old who was afraid to take the swim test, to the ten-year-old who got in a fight with his friend.

Mattie, who could never seem to keep her nose blown, who loved holding my hand, who had energy to spare but not for camp activities.

Connor with the short temper, who drove me crazy at first and won me over at last, who loved calvin & hobbes, who was not afraid of the diving board, whose skin was tan and leathery.

All the fish bodies refracted and wavering under the pool surface, the kool-aid mouth stains, the sticky fingers, the dirty clothes, the trail of belongings, the general dishevelment.

obsessed with the police.

what gives?

i think i'm growing up.

but first, b and i went on a bike adventure to golden gate bridge. it was windy. and foggy.
took lots of self portraits.
took lots of quasi-artsy poser photos.
this one looks like it could fit on a dentist office wall with some motivating quotation about perseverance.
really loving this city. not sure i'm ready to leave it for the desert.
palace of fine arts. no bikes allowed.

about growing up:

i was laid off for the first time (thanks kim. important distinction). while i can't help but feel totally rejected, i take comfort in pointing a finger at the big bad economy who sneaks in the back door and chases the children out onto the street to beg for their bread. i can now come closer to imagining how it might feel for someone to learn with no warning that their career has ended. how it might feel to wonder what the future will be and if there will be money in it. how it might feel to doubt yourself and your capacity to contribute. i know what you're thinking (as the author of my blog, i grant myself omnipotence): this is summer camp. please. you are right to think that, but a job is a job, and being fired is rejection, no matter if you don't care for the people rejecting you and think that they and their hoity-toity club can stuff it.

i have to make big decisions. i try to resist this. i try to pawn off choices on anyone who'll take them (interested?), but they keep coming back and staring me in the face.

i am learning to budget. a little slow on the game, but i'm excited about the organizational possibilities. it makes me feel like i've just been given my first franklin day planner all over again.

i am leaving home, emotionally. i try to resist this, too, but i think i have time to ease and sidle and pause plenty.
the wheels are in motion and my future is waiting.

happy late birthday sister

sister came to visit me for her birthday. very nice sister, giving me a such a spiff present for your birthday. (thanks squinty-eyed dinky, too.)

sister and i forgot to take pictures while we were escapading. i got a few. like this one in muir woods.

sister is kind of like mother except that she can handle sleeping in on vacay. sister is kind of like mother because she takes care of me. i love sister.

sister has been kind of like mother since i was born. she used to drive me all over tarnation for lessons and so on (with frequent stops at wendy's and taco bell), she helped me with my homework (ie taught me the art of b.s.), and she let me tag along with her cool friends. sometimes sister had to make me do things that were good for me that i didn't want to do. the dishes. piano practicing. dedicated horseback riding. sometimes i got angry at sister just like i got angry at mother. i feel bad about getting mad at both of them.

i did a lot of things because sister did them first. extended trips to countries i was scared to visit. summers in wyoming. taping pictures to my wall. pressing wildflowers in books. strange the things you remember.

sister used to take me out of school for ski outings in the ruby sue. we would sit on the back bumper with the trunk popped up into the air while we ate pb and j and oranges that sister packed. i always count on sister to carry a little food for me.

i loved having sister all to myself again. it's been a really long time, perhaps even pre-wedding. i loved hearing her talk to her babes on the phone and realize that she is not just kind of like mother, she is mother. she sees the colored carrots in the berkeley bowl with six eyes instead of two, making mental images of everything cool to report back to the little people. mother did that too. her thrill and delight at life did not diminish in retelling, and neither does sister's.

love you sister. wish ya happyappyappyappyappy.

inspired.

janie my dear. you have not lost your style.

Dovima with elephants, evening dress by Dior, Cirque d'Hiver, August 1955

and neither has richard avedon. how awesome is this pic?