Climbing, clean

Brutal day, excellent day. A serious climb. There's so much to say, but I feel deeply quiet now at the end of it all. More tomorrow, maybe. 

But there is this: Thanks, Diane O., for praying to keep me safe on the road to Salt Lake and back. I'm  giving you some of the credit for the fact that our meeting was canceled and we didn't have travel, but instead were able to join our incredible neighbors at the temple. Way to represent, Diane!

I'm going to my sleep tonight grateful for love, and for the renewal of my belief that no one is forgotten. Not a soul at any time or in any place is forgotten. All are known by name and by heart, and loved.

The rest can wait. Goodnight.

The prettiest, cleanest party

So much for September's NaBloPoMo. I turned in my badge earlier, after not posting on the last three days of the month. Oh, well. I did finish my detox, which was far more important to me. And I will write about that.

I also hope to write about some other wonderful bits from the past few days:

• The dreaded cranberry juice blitz
• The grand entrance of Alice Chlotelle
• Winning a pedicure
• Loving Relief Society
• A shopping spree with Bec o' my heart
• Intro to Jillian Michaels
• Breaking my 30-day detox fast with one of Leland's eggs (not one that he laid himself, whew)
• The El Salvadorean pupusa as a soul meditation
• Buddha bowls—my new fixation

But for now, I am going to focus on a few special moments from today.

(1) Remember this girl? She dictated an email to her mother today, to send to me. It was such a sweet starting point for the day and the perfect intro to General Conference. The conversation in the middle was an aside, between Scout and her little interrupting brother, Finn.

I have not gave you to say something to me. I want to say, "I am the Queen of Everything." But I need to tell you something. I have the Queen recipe. It is called the Queens' Cookies.

It has: sugar, milk, cinnamon, and yummy yummy spices and cream and jello.

Finn: Eww! I don't like those kind of cookies! They taste like poo!
Scout: No, why?
Finn: Because I don't want you to be the Queen.
Scout: Well, I'm not really, Finn, I'm just writing it to Georgia.

Then, you set it in the stove with oil, and before you put it in the stove, you can cut it into cookie shapes too, and put it to cook for uhhhh, 11 minutes I think.

And then, I have another question: You can take care of the world, and I can take care of the world. I want to have a party on the next conference day, or today! And I want to invite all my cousins and aunts and uncles, and maybe Grandfather if he can come, and Ahma and Jeanne. I want to have that party, and I want it to be the prettiest, cleanest party about Jesus and us and how we can take care of the world.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoscout

That sounds like a great party. I'm in. 

(2) General Conference was so very very good. To prepare myself, I wrote a long list of personal questions that concern me, ranging from simple yes/no to onion layer to pert-near-impossible-to-answer, and I was amazed at how many of them were addressed in some way, either through a talk, through music, through quiet consideration, or through discussion. I am eager for tomorrow's sessions. I wish everyone I know would listen and enjoy the inspirations to be had at this conference.

(2.5) When President Thomas S. Monson announced this just after 11:00 a.m., I screamed for joy. I'm not a screamer by nature, but the sounds came all the way up from my toes, I'm pretty sure. Three good loud primal hallelujahs, of sorts, which left me with a sore throat!

Maybe one day I'll write more about why I feel so connected to the Tabernacle, but it has a lot to do with many special meetings inside, stake conferences I attended, including one at which I gave a talk and had the most remarkable speaking experience of my life—yeah, yeah, shy me. So many happy church- and community-related events. The Tabernacle is part of my neighborhood and I pass it all the time. Our friends were the caretakers. I remember when the fire took it, I stood in the street all morning in the January chill, crying and watching it burn, unable to tear myself away until I could barely walk home, I was shaking so hard and my feet hurt so from the cold. It was a heartbreaking time. And now it's turned to something sweet. Lucky President Monson, getting to deliver such a happy message this morning. I can't wait for our second temple to be built, in my own backyard!

(3) While the guys were at their meeting this evening, I recruited the ladies and kids in the family to trek over just before dusk to see the old Tabernacle. It was fun to see the traces of other neighbors' celebrations: balloons, a sign. I'm imagining some dancing in the street, lots of picture-taking. I was too busy screaming at home to join them. We played a while beneath a big sycamore, and went home with glad hearts. Happy day!

Time to celebrate!

Vanna White, eat your heart out! Here are the lovely and talented Ahma, Daffodil, and Eden

Big with Mercy

Spent some time offering service and meditating in the temple today and came home with a headful of quiet ideas, enough to keep me busy working and adjusting and reflecting for a while. Part of me wants to list out what I can here, but the other part says to wait a while, keep processing.

A song has run through my head since the temple time. The particular shape of a beautiful chandelier, of all things, is what turned on the music in my head. Funny how that can work.

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

The stuff of Conference weekends: Friday

My book shipment finally arrived! This is part of my self-sufficiency plan—learning patternmaking. I am going to master this; I'm determined! And I'm also going to become a refashionista. Who wants to join me?



Another Tryst Press interview, a very short one, this time for a 2-minute KBYU piece. I sat this one out and let Rob do all the talking on-camera. My hands did make a cameo though, turning the pages of the Allegory of the Olive Tree. Good thing I took off my chipped-like-a-junior-high-schooler aubergine nail polish before the media team showed up. (I think the finished story will air on KBYU-TV/BYU Television this coming weekend . . . ?)



We don't usually mix our temple trips and date nights, but after a frazzling day, I requested that we make a mad dash to the temple early, before the usual Friday night crowd showed up. It turned out to be a good decision, and as I'd hoped, it helped me calm my mind and begin to ease into a listening mode to help me invest myself in the rest of the weekend—two days of General Conference.



After the temple, Rob and I went in search of a good burger (Rob's dream). We wanted to try Five Guys, but there was no available parking for about five miles, so we ended up at Coney's, where we thought we remembered having had decent food once upon a time. Our rating: two mehs. But we did get to enjoy this terrific appetizer, which the person before us left on the table instead of dropping it in the comment box on his way out. Delicious!

One

Congratulations, Amy and Chris. You are so beautiful to me.

Oh-eight, oh-eight, oh-eight, don't tell me!

I went to two out-of -town weddings in two different cities today. Then I was in a wreck and totalled my car. I wasn't able to make it to either of the receptions this evening, though I had the very best intentions. Sorry, my young friends. Happy honeymooning.

P.S. My head hurts. But at least it's still on.

Epiphany, buffet, bubbles & living snow globes

3BT:

1. When I was struggling with intense feelings of loneliness this morning, an impression came like a voice in my mind: You can always talk to ME. So as I did slow laps in the fieldhouse before my walking partner showed up, I began to talk to God (very quietly and discreetly, so my track neighbors wouldn't become alarmed if they discovered I was having a conversation but not wearing a phone headset) about what I was thinking of and anticipating for the day. It felt a little awkward because I am not practiced at being . . . chatty, for lack of a better word . . . in prayer, but I realized that free-form open-ended communication with God, like the kind that happens between good friends, is a simple and accessible strategy for overcoming one of the particular effects of depression. The realization that I am never alone was very welcome.

2. I was invited to an impromptu lunch with two friends who blow me away with their beauty and goodness and grace. I feel incredibly fortunate to know them.

2-1/2. I got to see with my eyes and hear with my ears and feel with my heart that my prayers in behalf of a friend are beginning to be answered.

3. Rob agreed to go with me when I accompanied the YW to Salt Lake to see the Christmas lights at Temple Square. That made the evening even more lovely. Because he is an alpha driver, he relieved me of my designated chauffeur status, and I was free to sit farther back in the big van and play a game with another leader's 9-month-old daughter: I blew a bubble with my watermelon Extra, she watched the process with big eyes and great interest and then lifted her index finger to touch the bubble, the bubble popped, I chewed my gum and she mimicked me. Rinse. Repeat. When I took too long with a bubble, she squawked. Fun!

3-1/2. The Salt Lake Temple was marvelously beautiful as the snow, which danced and glowed in the spotlights pointed toward the angel Moroni, fell quietly upon it.

Vintage blues

Whew, what a month! (What a summer!) Travel, YW camp in the mountains, reunion here, reunion there . . . there's barely been time to take a swamp coolered breath of home between excitements.

Rob and I just got home from our latest shared adventure, this one in Idaho. We attended a family reunion for the several families of my paternalmost (isn't that a fabulous word I just invented?) great-grandfather. I met many family members I never knew existed before this month, and admired the common Bowen nose gene as expressed by various aunts, uncles, and cousins. Uncle Kelly, my dad's kid brother, and one of only two people I actually knew at the reunion, solved a mystery for me that has tickled at my curiosity for years—the story of how my dad knew the identity of my guardian angel (I'm serious). Rob and I visited the graves of the great-grandfather in whose name the gathering was organized, and his first wife, my great-grandmother, a woman who captured my heart the first time I read her patriarchal blessing (which I read again, aloud to Rob, while we sat there alone in the cemetery). We enjoyed the quiet rural landscape of Madison County, admired the under-construction Rexburg temple, and nearly bought a pretty, colorful set of Noritake dishes from the local D.I.

As if that lineup of events wasn't homegrown high times enough, we spent the weekend in Pokey, with more family. It was lovely. They are fun. Their home is peacefully quiet, clean, and ordered in the deliciously simple way. My ears and eyes loved the space. We hung out with them when we weren't Bowenizing. We went for a night walk. We went to church with them. We ate too much good food with them. We sang "Popcorn Poppin' On the Apricot Tree" more times than I can count. We stayed up too late together laughing at some of the 2007 Cannes Lion award winners. (Okay, okay, I have to share one with you and then I'll get back to my post.)



(Good, huh? Onward!) Our little alpha male weasel of a dog sexually harrassed their much larger alpha male killer dog who, gratefully, did not decide to draw blood, although he certainly talked like he would. We visited their next door neighbor and made friends with a herd of beautiful, affectionate, toe-nibbling donkeys. We snuck sideways looks at our family's sweet life on the hill, used their shampoo (thanks and sorry), and loved them a whole lot.

After our stay in Pokey, I am energized again to work toward my own ideal order here at home. Our resources trickle in slowly, so I've got to be patient with the process, but I so crave mental and physical space and polish. At least I can keep up the decluttering.

I was just now doing some of that, going through a big filing cabinet, tossing out old unnecessary folders and papers, and I found a little family-related treasure from several years ago: two blues "songs" Rob and I wrote with his family while we were travelling together. I introduced them to Exquisite Corpse games, and that's how we came up with these. We never set them to actual music, but we certainly did sing the blues that day in the old Suburban. What a hoot.

PG Blues

A-hop skippin' baby, I can't set down, no no
Got a pepper in my shoe, a pepper in my shoe
I'm gonna give you the hot foot baby
If you try and run away from me
So so hum sho higgity pig pag boggety blow by blow
Blues blues blues for me, pee wee paw paw me
So short I am, I cannot see
I have not grown since I, since I was three
I am still only as tall as my mama's knee
I just need hormone pills—now there's the key
Riders in the sky will soon come by
To take me home I'm sure


Fast Food Blues

Denny's says their breakfasts are cheap and good
For $2.99 you wait a long time, and they're out of that food
Runnin' to the store there right across the way
You wouldn't think it's big enough to shop in all day
Sippin' my cold pop, umhum, fizzin' untroubled beauty
You cain't buy when you ain't got no money
Don't give me no cooked taters, no cooked taters for me, baw baw baw
I'm sick of green termaters, green termaters for me
I need a little sugar darlin'
That's the only medicine for me
Howdy
Chowder

Tell you what: I love my families.

I like what I like

people's stories
reverence
gritty music
equilibrium
dancing

I just had a moment when all of the above came together. I was listening to a recent episode of a favorite podcast, about an old southern trader/storyteller, and the segment ended with a Tom Waits song I love. I was in the house by myself, crazy-dancing with my iPod, and something important fell into place. I had this deep sense of okayness within myself, about myself.

That sense has been missing for some time. I have felt like a fringe-dweller much of my life, and that imagined state of being has intensified lately as I've been presented again with several opportunities of varying intensities to work through loss. It's not instantly apparent how loss can move a person closer to the edge of things, but it can and often does, at least for a while. Dealing with big grief and other changes—the death of my gran whom I've cared for steadily for nine years, quickly followed by being released from my joy-filled calling to work with the young women of my church congregation, and then two of my best-beloveds moving off the continent in two different directions—I've at last come to feel like I'm wearing some sort of emotional Michelin Man suit. When and why did I put on this gobby insulation? Or was I shanghaied? It's a swollen barrier that dulls the impact of my interactions with others. Yesterday I had lunch with a terrific group of women whom I adore, and then later spent time in the temple doing something I care deeply about, but a lot of the good stuff just bounced off me. I feel keenly enough what's going on inside the suit, but outside? Seems I'm pretty numb.

Numbness unfortunately aggravates the perception I already wrestle with of being an outsider. This perception may be a true reading, or a false one—likely some of both. It's surely the case that for me grief is married to loneliness, and their offspring are persuasive thoughts like "I don't fit" and "No one understands." Honestly, it's not a pity party; it's more just plain ol' desolation.

BUT. Just now, as I was twisting and flapping around to Tom Waits, giving myself a break and a stretch, this weighty and lovely sense of me-ness snuck into the suit and overtook me. I caught myself smiling, for no reason. Smiling flirtatiously at no one and nothing in particular as I danced past a mirror.

I don't think I'm like anybody else I know. If I didn't work so hard to look for common ground with others, the difference would become screamingly obvious. I admit I'm an odd mixture of dark and light. I don't want to say I'm a lone wolf. I don't want to say I'm socially retarded. With others, I'm more like oil on water. Or, to be more appetizing with the analogy, oil on balsamic. I'm there and I do my thing, but I can't ever seem to blend.

But it's okay. My body, that forgetfully smiling image I saw in the mirror, Tom Waits, the Spirit—they're all telling me it's okay.

And it isn't true that no one knows me or comprehends my history. I am known and loved (as you are), even when I feel strange or like a stranger here. Someone (capital S) knows the solution to the problem of Me. And likes that I like what I like. And IS so that I can become what I am. And doesn't demand that I blend, not now, not ever. With that as a comfort to my mind and heart and even my limbs, desolation becomes passé, and I can keep on dancing.

It's hard to deal with grief. And I know for certain that it's hard to deal with someone who is dealing with grief. I have empathy for people who have had to deal with me as I have lately swung like a pendulum from one emotion to another. I'm tired of grief. Anyway, I don't look good in the fat insulated suit. If I don't locate a zipper soon that will enable me to ease out of it, then I'll just have to find something sharp to pop the bulging thing. It's taking the bump out of my hip-shake.

Pin your ear to the wisdom post
Pin your eye to the line
Never let the weeds get higher
Than the garden
Always keep a sapphire in your mind
Always keep a diamond in your mind

Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow