hi me, it's me

i just love life, even when i hate life. you know what i mean? of course, i never really hate life, but i think you do know what i mean because sometimes maybe you feel the same way.

i love that life is dimensional and takes different shapes and i get to figure out what those shapes are by guessing and exploring.

i love that when life is a shape with corners and shadows, i sometimes find presents that i didn't see at first. i love unwrapping life presents.

like this one: sometimes i surprise myself. isn't that cool? i've been with me for 27 years, and there's still plenty of horizon. chuch told me today that i am able to have a very complex life because i have 100 billion (!) nerve cells in my brain, and none of these cells is random. they are each placed in specific connection because of the way i use them. that makes it seem obvious and impossible that i could surprise myself.

i've been sharing some marvisms on here, and i guess that's because we hang out a lot lately. we have professional development lunches, therapeutic drives, and mindless movie nights. all are great. the other day he told me that just because i don't see truth doesn't mean it isn't there. it probably just means that my eyes aren't ready yet.

that's why i get to surprise myself. and why we get to surprise each other. and why i love life.

sloughing, searching...

do you know how a hermit crab knows when it's time to find a new shell? me neither. maybe it's like the little pinch i feel when i've grown too big for a year or when a year has shrunk too small. either way, i'm looking for my next place. if your home was a year, what would it look like?

speaking of designing years, i take new years resolutions quite seriously. i have adopted the tradition of modge-podging them on a piece of cardboard as my annual craft. here's my first draft for 2012:

• stop over-sharing
• have less stomachaches
• attach my front license plate that is still in an envelope in my car
• stop congratulating myself and buying myself donuts when i do things like attach my front license plate
• go to china
• stop saying things about hipsters that i don't mean
• only share really really good youtube videos
• stop wearing clothes that are noticeably stained or that have large holes

i'll show you the collage when i finish it. i think it's going to be good.

the sad state of those cuffs

below are the lyrics from the song i heard driving home from work today, and i had to keep listening because they were just that silly. turns out this song is number 3 on the charts. whaaaaaaat? people, what are we doing? what do these words even mean?

If you ever leave me baby,
Leave some morphine at my door
‘Cause it would take a whole lot of medication
To realize what we used to have,
We don’t have it anymore.

There’s no religion that could save me
No matter how long my knees are on the floor
So keep in mind all the sacrifices I’m makin’
Will keep you by my side
Will keep you from walkin’ out the door.

[Chorus]
Cause there’ll be no sunlight
If I lose you, baby
There’ll be no clear skies
If I lose you, baby
Just like the clouds
My eyes will do the same, if you walk away
Everyday it will rain, rain, rain...

I’ll never be your mother’s favorite
Your daddy can’t even look me in the eye
Oooh if I was in their shoes, I’d be doing the same thing
Sayin there goes my little girl
Walkin’ with that troublesome guy

But they’re just afraid of something they can’t understand
Oooh well little darlin’ watch me change their minds
Yeah for you I’ll try I’ll try I’ll try I’ll try
I’ll pick up these broken pieces ’til I’m bleeding
If that’ll make you mine

and on and on and on

i'd like to hear these words in a love song on the radio, or maybe i'll just listen to this song a few times. those are good words too. weirdly, i chose two counter-examples that are nonsensical at first blush, but morphine at my door? just like the clouds my eyes will do the same? come on man.

somethings i forget

one of my favorite things in all of life is how somethings i remember. like lindsey walker's phone number from middle school. or like movie lines from dennis the menace. or like that thing mom said the christmas before she died, about how she wanted to get as much christmas inside her as possible, like she knew. (though christmas in heaven must be a sight to behold.)

i think of this every time christmas comes around, and i promise, in tribute, to stuff myself to the brim with good tidings and cheer for me and my kin, light to last me all year long. but then suddenly christmas is over and i'm not even two-thirds full yet.

not this year. i've been to every concert, baked bazillion goodies, watched a charlie brown christmas, and even strung lights on my own tree. i don't mean to get all grinchy on you, but as i've wondered why my heart isn't christmased inside and out, he's the man i heard in my head. christmas isn't something you can buy at a store; perhaps christmas is a little bit more!

tonight i went to a party and i forgot that i like new people. i forgot that there is a light inside of me and a light inside of them. i just sat like a dark corner and hoped people couldn't see me.

where does that come from? what puts the light out?

why he's a good dad

because when i'm angsting about dating, he takes me seriously, and when i'm doubting that it will happen for me, he disagrees. we all need someone who will disagree when we suggest writing true love out of our lives. and we should always listen to a man with a saw.

yurtin

last weekend, the jacksons let me and chuch tag along to the east fork yurt in christmas meadows. it was pretty typical. chuch and i left two hours later than planned, had a pleasant "argument" on the drive up about reliability that morphed into a discussion about dating and psychology that morphed into a lot of the new coldplay album, started skiing in the cold and dark, and on the first hill, i fell. chuch, of course, did not. i made him pretty nervous though, moaning like the grape lady. anyway, jim skied out to meet us in case we got lost or were eaten by bears or something, and chuch and i tried to make a case for why we should be treated like responsible and competent adults. we all agreed it wasn't a great case. once to the yurt, we ate pounds of junk and strutted around in long johns. all in all, a great trip. marie and jim, you still got it.

trip to the john

she's warning me, i think.

strutting

i couldn't get over how good these kids were on the skis!

hand warmers outside the gloves, obviously

even good skiers need the occasional breather

j bird

for some reason, we were on a "let's take a lot of pictures right in a row (isn't there a name for that?)" kick. i'm sparing you from the series. chuch is my fave.

this is the j bird's chariot and sherpa. that thing has skis!

a little awesomeness

holla.

today i drove home from work thinking a bazillion miles a minutes while the traffic stopped and goed for miles.

i came home and immediately forgot everything i was thinking about, except for this video i wanted to share with you. (the irony is not lost on me, nor was it intentional.)

i can't embed the video, but watch it here.

how i look to the things i do year after year to tell me who i am

thanksgiving bowling with joanie

two enthusiastic bowlers

johnny and joanie

rom, hunting for christmas trees

before

after

the messiah sing-in

and for something entirely different, dave with rom/t-rex arms

of late of note

it's november and the whole world is happening, and that's where i've been.

this won't surprise anyone, but i've been thinking about death. perhaps you'll recall this post, where i remember saying more than i actually did about how the way we think about death is inseparable from the way we think about life. so i'm not calling myself morbid anymore, rather, a student of both sides of the same grand thing.

at my aunt's funeral last week, her family released white doves at the graveside to symbolize the parts of them that are moving on with her spirit. to stand with my pillars in celebration of a glorious life, to watch those fragile solitary birds circle into a flock in the snapcold sky, to feel the flap of desire to go where they're going but know that i'm ground-bound--

sometimes i'm stopped stilled by the texture of experience, how beautiful and complicated and simple and all it is.

alivest

it's been an emotional day, a peak day. some days just are, and i'm glad.

during my valley days, i harvest from the humdrum unknowingly, and on peak days, a flash of perspective shows the pattern binding all that i've gathered: thoughts, friends, sadnesses, smiles, memories. there is coherence in everything if i have the right eyes.

i'm so delighted to be alive and i'm ready to be my alivest. do you ever feel that way? for me, i always need some contrast, some kick into fullness, to realize that i wasn't full before. today, it was revisiting losses, the ghosts who believe my heart will always be home, and telling them that they can stick around, but they won't diminish me anymore.

i'm in the company of a crowd of memories that mean loneliness can't last too long. i'm on the edge of my seat to see what i'll make of tomorrow and i think it's gonna be good. and i'm at peace with the now in between.  

my words aren't coming, so i'll defer to mr. whitman to say it how i feel: 

O Me! O Life!

O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer. That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

--Walt Whitman

yes, about love

sometimes i feel like sharing my guts on the world wide web, which i find troublesome. is it because i'm lonely? crave attention? need feedback? is it because the www is a venue where i can trick myself that i'm being vulnerable, sharing with faceless people from the solitude of my bedroom?

mostly, lately, i refrain from sharing, but today you're getting the guts. brace yourself.

this week, i got several messages from the universe and each of them said, 'good morning. you're kind of lame.' don't start feeling sorry for me--this is self-imposed lameness. like, 'good morning. you didn't return the calls of any of the people who tried to show you they cared about you AND you still had the nerve to tell yourself that no one cared about you. you're kind of lame.' or like, 'good morning. someone extended a heart to you and you stared at it like you'd never seen a heart before til finally the owner ordered a retreat. you're kind of lame.' or like, 'good morning. you didn't have the guts to do what you knew you needed to do, namely make that choice close that door turn off that light and keep walking. you're kind of lame.'

there's a happy ending to this story, and i'm going to spoil it and tell you: it's me learning to love myself when i'm kind of lame. you know those crazy people who think they're going to get to heaven and happiness by blowing their own sail? i'm one of those people! perfection, in my eyes, is like bowling a strike. it shouldn't be too hard if you just apply yourself. weakness is a choice.

well, i'm not a great bowler. infer what you will about my level of perfection.

i have a friend who believes there is depth under every surface. she doesn't only believe it, she looks for it, and i aspire to be like her. the other day, we were having a nice little chat about heartbreak wherein i expressed a concern about the depth of my heart, and she said, "i know that my heart has the capacity to expand and love someone so well, better than he even knew he could be loved." since then, this thought has been running around inside me because while i'm drawn to the depths i've never felt like my heart had anything great to offer.  just ordinary love.

here's what i've determined. my heart is the best thing i've got to give. it has to be, right? and not just romantically, or to one person--to myself, to you, to everyone.

this post is a real-life triumph about the power of writing to reveal you to you (or me to me). yesterday i wrote in my journal that i wanted to work on developing a new gift, but i wasn't sure which gift, and now, at the end of this post, i know. i have a good idea of where to find depth too: in loving my lameness, my gutter ball days, my shallow sometimes.

cheers to the over and over quest for an extraordinary heart. join me?

creme brulee can never be jello

every time i look at someone's feet, i think they have six toes. every time. and then i count them, and inevitably, there are five toes. i've never met someone with six toes. that don't make no sense.

why i write

i am reading the most lovely book right now, so lovely that it shelved the honorable mr. steinbeck and his east of eden (apologies to every person who swore that was the best book ever written) and stole my heart. i think i was predisposed to love it because it came to me in the mail from a dear friend, and opening it was like laughing in the dark before bed when we were roommates.

at least i think the book is from her. there was no note. she has always given absolutely time-of-life gifts, so it must be from her. i'd trade my superhuman ability to spot deer on the side of the road for the superhuman ability to always know what book to recommend to someone. there's nothing quite like reading the right book at the right time.


anyway, as i was reading tonight, i read a chapter that dropped my jaw. the author so perfectly resurfaced the images of an earlier chapter that i thought, it's like she planted that camelia and moss and cup of tea chapters ago, knowing that soon enough i'd get here and need camelia and moss and cup of tea to really understand here.

my next thought was, of course she planted them, you silly, and what a kind author to anticipate my future and give me what i needed to see deeply before i even knew i'd need it, and present it in a way that would allow me to catch on.

then i couldn't help but think of God, and how He does this all the time--plants seemingly insignificant things in my path so that, down the road, when i'm ready for my lesson, the teacher can appear. thank you, God, for preparing me so artfully, so subtly, so far in advance, to see. and for filling my life with messages that you're way out in front.

like how this moment with the book was preparation for me to relove my favorite scripture:

---

and I will also be your light in the wilderness; and I will prepare the way before you, if it so be that ye shall keep my comandments; wherefore, inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall be led towards the promised land; and ye shall know that it is by me that ye are led.               (1 nephi 17:13)

---

why do i write? it's an apprenticeship in order and creation and love, in a realm where i can't mess too much up.

God is good, and goodness is all around.

because it's friday and almost the leaves are turning and i don't have any more words

thanks chuch. (or the link to the official vid)

the sounds of summer

once upon a perfect summer night, ben and dana had extra tickets to see fleet foxes at red butte garden. there have never been more generous people, and usually their generosity makes me cooler too. i'm never cooler than when i'm with them.

total bonus of the night was the opening act with the raddest name: alela diane and the wild divine. i never expect opening acts to be much or even memorable, but this song this song, i can't get it out of my head.

fun fact: the back-up singer is alela diane's husband. watch for how he winks at her. real life cute. and the bass player (all in black with the gray hair) is alela diane's dad, which i totally guessed. it's a family band! doesn't that make it all the better?
i'm not the biggest summer girl. but this year, perhaps because i miss the hottest of the hot while freezing my buns off in my office (seriously, it is so cold in there that i can't write. my work notes look like my school notes except one for cold and one for sleeping.) i am holding on to summer with both my hands. how can it be anything but great to step outside in the early morning and not need a jacket on my bare arms? or to sit outside until the wee hours of the morning (which for me come around midnight) and only feel the slightest chill?

last night jane made fondue and we ate it outside on a yellow tablecloth and listened to french music. after, we had a fire in the grate and roasted mallows while the moon rose. it was a celebration of summer. cheers!

the kinds of things that matter

eating lunch outside, for instance, instead of in my office staring at my computer.
because how else would i have learned that everything has a rhythm--the chatter of the Indian women laid over their sandals flapping cement; the tree flutter and pause; the cylinder of curry-scented air that pushed out of the Asian restaurant next door; the bike posse that rounded the corner like a veering flock of birds; the shouts of the bare-chested man who stole my bench and his rocking forward and back.

so sue me

another year and another song

people, i'm getting older. i know, i know--it happens to all of us, but lately i've really been feeling it happen to me. at the same time, i feel so young and foolish. so clumsy. so forward and backward. today on the train, i overheard a woman say, "i've been working there for 19 years now." this blew me away. she has spent the majority of my life at the same job. i've been working inside myself for 27 years now, but the life learning curve is steep.

yesterday, i had some good reflection on the state of my life. things haven't gone quite like i expected, and i'm sure they won't down the road either. i am not sure where i'm headed, but i want to add to the beauty. i want to give more back. i want to give more.

while i reflected, i listened to one song over and over. when i have a bit more time, i'd like to explain why. in the meantime, i'll just say i have designated it the anthem of my 28th year. here are the lyrics:

Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me
by Edward Hopper, 1818-1888

Jesus, Savior, pilot me
Over life's tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll,
Hiding rock and treacherous shoal.
Chart and compass come from Thee:
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

As a mother stills her child,
Thou canst hush the ocean wild;
Boisterous waves obey Thy will
When Thou say'st to them, "Be still!"
Wondrous Sovereign of the sea,
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

When at last I near the shore,
And the fearful breakers roar
'Twixt me and the peaceful rest,
Then, while leaning on Thy breast,
May I hear Thee say to me,
"Fear not, I will pilot thee."

and here is a vid from the lower lights, from one of the best concerts of my life.

song of the day

this one got me through a long day of work with a head cold.  thanks much, weepies.

presence

my thesis came in the mail last week, and as i sat on the couch looking it over, my jim brother saw me and said, "reading your own book...a little pretentious don't you think?" 
the weird thing is that those essays are like revelations to me--i wasn't reading them because i think they're boss; i was reading them because they keep teaching me things about myself. i feel this strange relief knowing that some of my stories are tethered, like the buoys that anchor the boats in hebgen lake, a still stay against perpetual motion. why, when for so many the world is often still, does the ground always slide under my feet?

i've been in montana, and before i went i was trying to prep myself to appreciate every single second. having a job skyrockets the value of a vacation, and i wanted to make the most of it. unfortunately, my family has this genetic ailment called "unrealistic expectations," and there was basically no way for this trip to measure up, even and especially though it is my favorite place on earth, my most home home these days. the day before i left the cabin, something clicked. "making every moment count" means letting the moments be what they'll be, not forcing them into my idea of what they should be. i was supposed to learn this lesson watching someone die: the moments we beg time to give back aren't the extraordinary ones listed in country songs--they are the most common moments, the ones that we first take for granted. coming home to someone sitting at the kitchen table. cracking up together at mispronounced words. sharing a hymnbook at church.

someday i will drop another anchor and write my story of this place. it won't be sentimental; it will be like The Meadow, an exceptional story of the way land holds on, the way land mixes with family until it becomes a character and you start thinking that turning on to that dirt road must be how coming home to the family of your hope will someday feel.

kingfish preparing his haul at the beach

one of many pictures where the photographer thinks chuch and i are dating

bro and sis trading baby tips

favorite. this is the cabin.

p.s.

america! america!
God shed his grace on thee
and crown thy good
with brotherhood
from sea to shining sea!

sharing

i moved. and i now ride public transportation to work. (helloooo i have a job what?) these two facts mean that i consume more and different types of media than i have been consuming for the last three years of schooling. ahhhh fiction. guiltless reading. it's so nice to be back.

this first book isn't fiction, but it made me cry pretty much every single page. i do not cry when i read. in fact, i can't remember the last time a book made me cry. this book...there is something about it. it is a compilation of interview excerpts, except these are ordinary people being interviewed by people who love them. i now have my eye on a digital recorder, and i may be asking some of you for interviews. stories are power. joan didion said, "we tell ourselves stories in order to live," and my goodness, i agree. read it. or don't read it and tell a few more stories (and check out this site.)

i've also been reading this, and as usual, jane austen's lessons stand the test of time. take care with your muslin and try to avoid foolish and false friends.

being totally honest, for the first time, i think i liked the movie better.

finally, i've been watching the les miserables 25th anniversary edition with sis. i love enjolras even more than mr. tilney. something about this music gets me--what a story! i tuck these bits into that part of my heart that i'm counting on to get me through the courage-needing times.
check enjolras out.


"stars"


"bring him home"


"one day more" w/original cast


ahhhh. i'm sorry for posting so many vids, but hey, you don't have to watch them.

forgive me for i wrote this at 6 in the am.

sometimes my brain hooks a brothah (sistah) up.

so many nights i have really weird dreams that leave me feeling a little bit off when i wake up. last night, i had a really weird dream but it was totally awesome.

picture this: i'm riding up a ski lift in whistler, b.c. and next thing i know i'm in a helicopter flying over epic mountain ranges. i say, "you know what this reminds me of? duuuuuhhhhh duh duh duuuuuuuuhhhhh duh duh duuuuuuhhhhhhhh," which is obviously one of the themes from lord of the rings, and immediately the helicopter banks and lands and suddenly i'm in new zealand with peter jackson touring the lord of the rings sites.

not that this dream was without major weirdness (eg a harry potter life size diorama instead of edoras), but it was mostly awesome.

proud to be a nerd.

the drive home

remember that episode of flight of the conchords where murray tells brett and jermaine that the city is too dangerous and brett wears that reflective safety vest and they get mugged despite the vest and the hiphopapotamus rap (ain't no party like my grandma's tea party; hey, ho), and brett's camera phone that's really a camera taped to a phone get's stolen?  well, my car is kind of like that camera phone except it's like a boat taped to a wind tunnel* (boat on account of the engine that gurgles and idols, wind tunnel on account of the several doors and sunroof that don't properly close, tape on account of the whole thing barely hanging together.  boat also on account of the water that gets in the car when it rains because of those doors and sunroof, and both boat and wind tunnel on account of the sheer monstrosity.)  because my car is like a boatwindtunneltape mess, i have to listen to my radio really loud.  so loud that by the time i got home tonight, my neck hurt.  it's like i need earplugs to hear my music, and "that don't make no sense."

the radio was sooo lame tonight.  nothing good.  the weird thing is that even after the forty minutes it took me to get home, i was still looking forward to every new song on every single station.  each time the song changed, it could have been the one.  it never was.  (okay, it was one time--more on that later.)  while i was flipping between really loud bits of really lame songs, i was contemplating a few things i could post on this blog.  many times i have nothing to say, but a few rare times i have to fight with myself over what to post.  should i post the top ten reasons why i wouldn't take myself on a second date or should i post the three songs i wish i would have heard on the radio?  luckily, the long drive gave me plenty of time to talk myself out of the top ten list as this blog is a major source of date revenue.  i'd be shooting myself in the foot.

and i was spared from posting the three songs i wished i would have heard by hearing the one song that was exactly what i wanted, which i will post below with clues for the tickling of your ears.



2:38--the riff on the hey jude bit

3:01-3:08--this is as close as i come to screamy music

3:58--hey judey judey judey judey judey

some people think the beatles are no good, and they're wrong.  that's all.  their name is a little silly, or i probably would have thought it was silly back in the day if i hadn't been in love with the guys.  "oneders.  like 1-ders."  "yeah i get it. still looks like oh-knee-ders."

*i have to admit that i don't know what a wind tunnel actually is or how big they run because brendan might read this and he probably knows and would want to correct me.  also, i'm grateful to have transportation even if it is consigning me to environmentalist hell.  that really is all.

hiiiiiii

i just burned my tongue (on totino's party pizza, so i guess i deserve it.  can't even wait a full minute before that thing's out of the oven..."how do i get this goodness in me!")

i've been thinking about doing a little stunt blogging (e.g. julie whatsername cooking julia child's recipes), and i'd call it "if i were a _________."  here are some examples.

if i were a fashion blogger:

okay, so that isn't me, but it's a great pose and fashion statement.  i can always count on jim. seriously, though, sis and i were thinking about starting a blog photographing what we are actually wearing every day but doing all the fashion blog poses (feet turned in, sideways hairblowy looks, etc).  it'd be a really fun blog, promise.

if i were a food blogger:

(see above bit about burning my tongue and imagine i'd taken a shot of my food.)  (or imagine i posted some pictures of costco samples because that's what i had for lunch and it'd be kind of awkward to take pictures of that too.)

if i were a craft blogger: 

remember this guy? lovebot etsy shop anyone?

anyway, that test run didn't go very well so i'm not going to do that idea. you know what is cool though? how chuch helped me move. he came over, totally willing to carry loads of stuff down three flights of stairs, but then he had this crazy idea.  i was skeptical.

but then i was convinced.  i will never move without a pulley system again. thanks chuch.

closing time

i am becoming a web nerd.  nerd isn't really the right word because i'm not websmart, so revise: i am becoming a webophile.  i love the internets.  today i was thinking about how drastically twitter changed the game (a line of thought generated by the justin bieber movie never say never--don't hate till you've seen it) because it shifted the emphasis of communication from receiver to sender.  imagine if you could send a message without signifying an audience?  if the audience could come to you?  enter twitter and facebook statuses and BLOGS. 

that really has nothing to do with what i intended this post to be about, so to prep you, here's a summary of what is to come: i moved, i feel sad, i'm not really sure where i'll go next, all the songs on the radio as i drove away from provo were appropriately depressing (multiple stations playing "i hope you'll dance"--what better theme song for a crisis?), and on top of all that, i hit two hygiene lows today: i forgot my toothbrush etc at bro bro's house, and i forgot my towel at the ward swimming party, which necessitated drying off with paper towels. (edit: you know as well as i do these are not my hygiene lows, but no matter who you are or how dirty, forgetting your toothbrush is always a bust.)

i am sick of moving.  i don't care so much about the physical hassle; i just don't like having to leave people, especially since i know from so many parallel experiences that the closeness i cherish now will fade into the awkward grocery store aisle recognition of acquaintances who used to be friends.  isn't that sad?  people can't always mean what they once meant to us.  i find that terribly sad.  in this weird phase of life, the people i live with/near/etc are my family.  so when i move, i have to start over.  i look forward to changing place but not people.  i think that will be nice. 

i'd rather not grow up.  or, i guess growing up just hasn't been what i thought it would be.  grief is a kind of growing up, a getting kicked out of the nursery, a home you can't return to; and that was my first shock.  but provo, peter pan land, where you only really seem to grow up if you get married or move away, absorbed some of that shock.

i'm rambling, and lindsay isn't here to tell me it's never a good idea to blog when i'm tired, so i'll tell myself and stop with a toast to "all good leaps of faith must eventually touch ground again."

crises

remember when i used to live here (aka emeryville)

and how now i live here (aka provo)

but in the future i could live anywhere i want?

i've been thinking about that summer in emeryville a lot lately because i'm once again falling asleep to faint car rumblings through my open window and wondering if tomorrow will be the day i'll figure life out.  i'm spending most of my days in my pajamas scouring craigslist etc, tinkering with cover letters and resumes, asking myself again and again why someone should want to hire me.  (i'm always inclined to hire the other guy, but i've never been a good self-seller.)  i'm out of sync with the daily routine of most of my peers--no babies or husband to pace the way i use my time, no job to report to, no classes to attend.  this time of life always seems so ideal, but when you're in it, you can't escape the one major hitch: it's lonely outside when everyone else is in.

as kingfish and i drove from san antonio to slc, we had plenty of time to talk about the state of the universe, and when i was expressing my anxiety re: my current directionless state, kingfish said, "you always have these kinds of crises.  you are always at the point of reexamining everything you know and don't know and where you have been and where you are going.  everything is up for grabs, then you make a choice and move on."  hm.  disappointing to be so predictable to everyone else and so novel to myself, but crises, i suppose, are my guilty pleasure.  i'm always finding my way into them and managing to stay awhile before finding my way out. 

i'd like the world to have a mission statement, an expression of purpose, so i could know if i'm working for or against.  i'd like us all to acknowledge that we're part of a team and hang the world flag.  mission statements are what get me through my crises, and a mission statement might clarify some of the world's crises too. they're kind of like those totems in inception, and when up turns down it's nice to have a message from yourself reminding you what you're all about.

some words from obama

among the many interesting things i could post about (defending my thesis; making first time trips to canada, the northwest, and texas; recent discoveries and obsessions, some resulting from listening to 1776 and some resulting from more sleepless nights in the presence of kingfish; etc etc etc), i'm posting this video because i appreciate having a president who calls the media back to task. i realize that some of you likely see this video quite differently than me, and i'm interested in how it happens that when i see sincerity and leadership, others see gimmicks. is it because we've already decided our position before watching?  similarly, i'm wondering how so many people can still hold on to an issue that has factually been laid to rest.  how do we escape the limitations of our opinions--all of us? i'd really enjoy hearing any insights.

thank you matt

for finding this collaboration of my last two posts.  totally crazy.

with dreams of

this song is quite literally writing my thesis for me. 

ummm are we the same type of humans?

check this out.  start around minute 11.  (the whole thing is cool, but this is where it gets really cool.)

note: since you can't see the whole screen below, follow this link.


additional note: last night, the voice in my head started speaking with a russian accent.  it must be thesis time.

sometimes ups outnumber the downs

it kills me that i can even have days when i'm blind to my blessedness, but i can and i do.

today, for example, i thought the morning stunk. you stink, justin matisse, you stink.

the morning stunk just because even though my head understood that love and life and happiness are not zero-sum, my heart did not. it stunk because i had to look many missed opportunities in the face and acknowledge that i could have played things better. and it stunk because i kept wishing i wasn't me.

then this evening, i got to hold my brand new niece, and i saw how my daily scale was incredibly weighted with gains instead of losses, and how even the losses are gains, in a way. it just takes washing my eyes with miracle soap. 

here's to fresh life.

so sue me, i want one

to soothe a troubled heart

With half-closed eyes I watch the huge cloud shadows in their noiseless play upon the high bluffs opposite me, while into my ear ripple the sweet, soft cadences of the river’s song. Folded hands lie in my lap, for the time forgot. My heart and I lie small upon the earth like a grain of throbbing sand.

--Zitkala-Sa, “The Great Spirit”

riding with the kingfish

last weekend i went ice fishing with pops.  pre-outing, i shared the same opinion as my uncle: ice fishing is like boring plus cold.  post-outing, i was singing a different tune.  i took a bazillion pictures because i felt like it was my job to set the record straight and to confirm that pops does know what he's doing out there. 

it is an exhausting and demanding sport.

this was the set-up while i was sleeping for two hours.

the sherpa enjoying a cold arby's roast beef sammy for breakfast

drilling the hole.  and the sky!

did i catch the biggest fish of the day? yes. yes i did. did i refuse to bang it on the head, explaining my very very tight grip? yes. double true.

dad preparing the fillets.

my fish again.

carnage.

trekking across the wasteland. 

it was seriously gorgeous and a really great time.  as we left for home, he asked me if it had been as bad as i thought it would be, and i said The fishing was better; the sleeping was much worse.  we slept at the lake in the back of the pilot, and i was a little concerned the night wouldn't go so well when pops handed me a pair of earplugs before we turned off the lights. (we both remembered that time i put a sock in his mouth while he was sleeping because he was snoring so loud.  not my finest moment.)  i have never worn earplugs to bed, but turns out they are not for me.  luckily, i didn't need the earplugs because pops didn't sleep or snore a wink.  instead, he spent the night tossing and turning, rummaging for things, reading, being paranoid about noises outside the car, and asking me if i was responsible for the noises outside the car.  kind of like camping with a boy scout.

in honor, here's a little something i found on my computer that i must have written on another sleepless night. it kind of cracks me up. 

INSOMNIA

Have you ever stayed awake past life?  Have you found yourself in the geometric land of shadows and frightening foreign forces outside your open window, holding onto your bed sheets like a shield, or white flag, betraying your willingness to surrender to sleep if sleep would only claim you?  Have you seen your past transformed to the monster that chomps and slobbers and pursues you from out of the closet and under the bed, which pushes you into the corner of night and your room?

Thoughts that shape clearly by night slip and fade under the sun.  I can muster the parade of ideas to march around the walls in ridiculous costume, but when day comes I’m embarrassed by my circus.

Even if I bang my fists.

I can’t find any cold sides to my pillow.

One sheep two sheep red sheep blue sheep.

Still awake.

(kind of reminds me of bro ben's poetry.  "did you get the flowers i sent you? why are my ears hairy?" we have a family talent.)

a new blog

so i've started up another blog on the internets. i want this blog to be a forum for sharing and discussing interesting stuff found on the web (or off the web, really.  just interesting stuff.).  i wanted a better way to share what i'm reading and to get to read what you're sharing.  so check out the blog here.

ideally, there will be enough contributors that we will have a large diversity of topics.  that way, if you're not that into the stuff i post, you just might like jae's post on gender roles or bob's post on architecture.  

the site is still in flux, both in design and concept, but i hope you will check it out and consider sharing something yourself.  (if you want to share, email me. if you don't know my email, leave a comment.)  

or am i dancer?

sometimes i feel like i don't get people.  like, people in general and people in specific.  like, every conversation, every interaction, every imagining of conversations and interactions that don't actually happen.  sometimes i can't stop asking myself: should i have said something different?  are we understanding each other?  do the meanings i attach to my words survive the flight from my mouth to those ears? 

i want so badly to get people.  i want to know the right things to say.  i want to catch the slight jokes and be able to tell when someone is laughing at me and when someone's not. 

on the one hand, i think i shouldn't care so much.  all this sideways glancing is juvenile or representative of insecurity.  on the other hand, i think, what else matters?  

doesn't it seem like it should be easier to understand creatures that are so like me?

PSA

i am just now about to go to bed because, among other things, i got distracted looking at my tongue in the mirror. 

when was the last time you really examined your tongue?  do yourself a favor, and find a mirror.  soooo cool.

some things i love

valentine's day is a fave.  i love hearts.  i love love.  i don't care if you have someone or not--it's a good holiday. 

 meet the love-bot.  roommate erin and i made him yesterday because making a valentine's box is one of the best parts of valentine's day. (ps if you know where i live, feel free to bring love-bot some love to eat.)

i love this version of the song "fixed" (start at 3:05, or watch it all if you want.)

i love everything about this picture: the place, the matching jerseys, the intensity on rom's face and the happiness on chuch's. 

i love being a woman with these women.  i always looked forward to valentine's growing up because mom would write us love notes and sneak cummings chocolate treats into our lunchboxes.  i have soooo many love notes from mom (and from sisters, for that matter.) 

i love this love. 

dc pictures part II: monumentals

there are so many memorials and monuments in dc, it's almost like the present doesn't exist. 

capitol

i experienced a major resurgence of patriotism while on vacay, mostly because i relearned that patriotism can be (and has been from this country's beginning) the defense of debate and compromise and "you're free to think what you want even if i don't agree with you."  maybe it's my eyes, but i've been seeing patriotism as the troop trump card, or the justification to be boorish, or the obligation to not ask too many questions. and maybe it's my program, but cynical and jaded is the new idealistic, and enthusiasm is so naive.

can't we think critically without being grumps?  isn't thinking critically being able to separate wonder and dull so that we can cling to the wings of one and flush the other? 

national archives

washington

washington

i have this friend bob who is going to be an architect, and i'm pretty sure he'll be a good one because he gets what buildings do to us in a way i've never understood except when he explains it to me.  i'm including some of our conversation about these monuments here. 

the lincoln

B: "The assumption behind the neoclassical monument, and neoclassical architecture, is that the values embodied in that style are timeless, even eternal. Monuments before World War II tend to state clearly and forcefully "this is sacred," and "this is good." However, our society is conditioned by postmodernism to subvert and rethink all old values, we question the very idea of timelessness. For every person who is bold enough to say "this is good," there are five others who will say "no, the issue is not so simple." We can no longer expect universal expressions of the sacred and good to be so universal."

C: "Perhaps we aren't drawn to the neoclassical style because there is a right and wrong, but because we wish there were so badly.  Lincoln, though full of moral resolve (it's amazing to read how certain he was that slavery was wrong), deserves memorializing partly because of how he managed an unclear course.  What is more postmodern than civil war, or the fracturing of united states?"

B:"I think you are right about our reason for using the neoclassical style, that it lies in our aspirations more than our reality. For a long time the real natures of the men Lincoln, Washington, and Jefferson have been less relevant than the values people ascribe to them. Whether that is good or not is another matter, but it is those values we capture in monument. People can and do spend many thousands of pages debating whether the men themselves lived up to their legacy, but that debate presupposes the importance of the legacy. I would love to hear what they would say about their own monuments."

(i might have just included this snippet because bob said i was right, and bob is a smart guy, but so what if i did?) 

jefferson

washington to capitol

korean war

these two memorials (korean war, fdr) are among my faves.  they allow me to participate more in the meaning making part of memory. 

fdr; "i hate war"