It's oh snow quiet

Parts that don't photograph

So we went on a vacation, and it was great. If you're someone who knows how I reacted to coastal Oregon my first time there you may have wondered if I would make good on my old dream of moving there, but I came home. I kept a journal every day as we traveled—mostly I wrote late at night, so it's going to be tough to go back and decipher that chicken-scratched fatigue-speak, but I expect some of my notes will find their way here. Tonight I'll mention a couple moments, not the stuff of scrapbooks, but for me very memorable. They took place on the first and third of three progressively sick days, which happened to coincide with a planned hike and many hours of driving from There to Home Again.

Moment #1: After climbing to the top of Multnomah Falls, I stood staring into the waters as they rushed over the rocks and down, down, down. It was there that an unusual impression came to me: the elements are my friends. Something seemed to say, Whatever comes your way in the future—if there are lonely times—you can always find support and friendship here. It seemed like a love declaration, an expression of family solidarity. From the earth. Huh.

Moment #2: On the long road between Nampa, Idaho and home, I was in lots of pain and was sadly no help at all with the driving. I flopped, a twisting turning passenger, trying to sit up and be company to Rob, trying to talk, trying to read, but quickly I had to go horizontal again, so I lowered my seat till it was nearly flat. As I lay back and breathed into the hurt, I sensed someone sitting behind me, female, very gently stroking my hair, the way you might do when you want to help someone relax or feel better, or when you're just being quiet and close. Another unexpected friend? Huh.

Okay. I'll take them where I find them when they're true.

Most of the other parts I'll share about our time in the Pacific Northwest are concrete experiences, stuff I actually took photos of (or at least could have if I'd been quick enough), the great fun we had, the wonderful visits we enjoyed with people we cherish, the lovely views we applauded, the interesting meals we ate, the beached jellyfish we poked at. So don't worry that I'm going all funny on you. Just a little funny. No more than usual.

Nighttime questions

POP QUIZ:

1. How far would you walk if it meant you could get away from yourself?
2. If you found a Hostess Ding Dong lying in the grass (still safely in its plastic) would you take it home to share with someone, find a place where you could sit and enjoy it by yourself, or leave it on the ground for the next person (or hungry dog or bird), never looking back? What if it was raining?
3. If, up ahead of you on the sidewalk, there was a homeless man animatedly fuming and gesticulating to some unseen person while he made up his sleeping bag bed with great care on a city bench, would you approach and pause to wish him a good evening, or would you quickly jaywalk to the other side of the street, waving a stupid hello from the center line, taking no chances?

How to Spend a Successful Day Celebrating Best-Beloveds' Birthdays

• wake up early
• strike out together for adventure, forget the camera (oops)
• hike up Rock Canyon
• laugh at each other while drinking from a violently spastic water fountain and nearly drowning
• practice being in the moment
• pet a stranger's Golden Doodle puppy, make two new friends: one human (Tamara), one canine (Finnegan)
• make a memorial stop at Provo Bakery for my dad's favorite treat (raisin-filled cookies), sing him "Happy Birthday" in the car under a shade tree, make a wish he might make, and blow out a flickering "finger candle" for him
• shop at Good Earth for eggs from happy Nephi chickens
• buy 49.25 lbs. of red-banded organic bananas, cause an audible stir among the checkers and customers (we've got a big freezer, okay?)
• come home, make banana pancakes with cardamom (YUM—I finally found my pancake-making niche)
• flop, nap, shower
• talk briefly about perfume-making with Becca but be no help at all
• think about our niece, E., who turns 12 today at camp
• write a birthday love note to Rob
• wait for Rob to take a time-out for a friendly visitor
• surprise Rob with a subscription to the TLS
• compare notes about the cost of this gift
• dig anxiously through the garbage and find the unbelievably discounted offer on TLS that Rob secretly hoarded for ages and finally threw out last week
• cancel the online gift subscription immediately, fill out a happily modest check, and mail it postage pre-paid at the P.O. (how wonderful that snail mail still rules over some parts of our existence)
• marvel at how two years' worth of reading can magically turn into six with the right math skills and the right subscription offer
• watch this repeatedly: 

• work on more adoption papers
• eat at Fusion and lick our plates
• shop for backpacks
• reject Emergency Essentials' offerings
• dawdle in REI
• feel grateful and gooey while the nice sales guy who helps us fit packs tells us the story of his hero dad's Army Air Corps ring (it looks so at home there on that proud son's hand)
• decide on the red 40 for Rob, and the chartreuse 30 for me
• visit Tribal Headquarters, collect birthday gifts and family hugs and a father's blessing from Rob's very sick but very wonderful dad (whose own birthday was yesterday—three great men in a row!)
• eat exquisite salads made by Gary (hand-pressed raspberry dressing, really?)
• come home with my chakras realigned and stuck all over with medical tape and magnets, thanks to  my loving, acupressuring sister-in-law, Jeanne
• write
• sleep

Starling

Found out earlier that a young woman I'm acquainted with, a family friend, is dying. Three weeks she's been given. Weeks! That's practically like budgeting out the rest of her life in hours. It's only been a few months since this beautiful girl was singing over the supper table to entertain us and our extended family. She was already well down the road to a professional singing career when she fell ill. And now she's nearly ready to leave home on a startlingly different kind of journey.

And seemingly to drive that hurtful point home, the sweet starling baby my tender-hearted mum-in-law has been lovingly tending and urging toward adulthood (so kindly that the homely little thing was practically calling her Mama after a couple weeks), was killed by Coco and/or Cowrie, the big dogs in residence. What a sad thing. I know plenty of people dislike starlings, but it's impossible not to be charmed by a friendly baby, however ratty looking, who sits contentedly on your finger and talks and chirps and asks comically for food.

So, it's been a thoughtful day.

We had a no-lunch lunch date with some wonderful people, friends I'm glad to claim. But afterward, when the chumming hour was over, more thoughts. They just wouldn't turn off.

Existential angst.
My age.
Other people's problems and griefs.
Mortality.
All the books I won't get around to reading even if I live another thousand years.
Library fines.
Stuff I dare not mention.
My dog's dental problems.

You know, right? Because you tumble down the stairs into your own dark spidery basement of thoughts sometimes too. I wasn't in the black abyss I sometimes visit, but I was definitely below ground in a musty place where the light doesn't adequately reach.

Even when Rob and I went out for Korean food this evening, I had a hard time shaking some of more troubling thoughts (i.e., far beyond the book and dog worries). And a strange fatigue got hold of me. I could barely keep my eyes open or stay upright. Felt like everything was shutting down. Even my speech was coming out in slo-mo. Some date I was!

But we drove out toward the lake in search of sandhill cranes and ended up walking along a tucked away path we haven't explored together since last October. What a beautiful evening—the light was golden, and the clouds and sun rays made an incredible show. The wind whipped my hair twentythirtyforty directions, but blew away the usual bug clouds and also churned up the lake till it seemed you could almost surf on it. Pelicans were everywhere. Elegant terns, with their hilariously incongruous buzzy voices, snapped through the air and mixed with countless swallows, all catching their dinner to the left and to the right—zip! swoop! A great blue heron rose up from the reeds just ahead of us. A muskrat. The species of bird I spotted in our neighborhood last week—black wings, yellow neck and breast and back, rosy red head. Wildflowers, yellow and purple, of which I pinched an armload for the dining room table. A houseboat anchored in a small swampy inlet area of the lake. Birds singing all around, beautiful songs. Shifting light. An airplane high above us, seeming to head straight for the sun. A good walk and then a slow ride around the lake, to spare Mudhoney some alignment problems from hitting too many holes too fast.

It was during the first part of our time at the lake when I caught a whiff of something fresh and flowering then got my body moving, one foot after another, and my thoughts corrected themselves; I'm wasting time on these worries, I said inside me. What if I had three weeks to live? What if today was my last day? What would I want to be doing? and thinking? It didn't take me long to boil it all down to gratitude—that's where I would want my thoughts to be centered, and what I would wish to use as a template for my "last" choices.

How would you wish to spend your day, if today was your last? I know it's almost cliché now, that question, but it doesn't bother me. It's still a good thing to consider.

I spent the rest of the evening trying to be present and notice everything beautiful. When we drove by a bank full of bunchy white weeds and they were thrashing in the wind as if they were in a mosh pit, we stopped and smiled at their wild party. It really looked to me like the earth was dancing. And why not? What could be better than feeling the wind in your flowers?

What if I really had only three weeks to live? What if today really was my last day?

I spent the evening focused on gratitude and loving and concentrating on righthererightnow, and everything about my day changed, in an instant. And energy returned. But maybe that just was the kimchee talking.

Saturday

Saturday

Saturday is a special day.

It's the day we get ready for Sunday. 

We grab our hats 

And we hike to the Y

And we ride up the bike trail to Borders.

We make salad 

And we go to the church

And we eat barbecue with our neighbors.

Then we soak in the tub

And we curse our shin splints

That'll keep us from walking on Sunday.

In other Saturday news, I made:

• really good whole wheat sourdough pancakes (the biscuits on that page are also great)
• editing marks on a friend's screenplay
• bubble bath: 1 liter water + 100 ml glycerine + 100 ml Dr. Bronner's Castile Soap + 2 drops patchouli oil + 7 drops geranium oil
• noise (aka music practice)
• my first complete and correct page of lyrics and chords for The Be Heres' up and coming Ukulele Songbook (Nellie the Elephant, if you want to know)

Yes, You May (part 4)

Last installment!

The dress-up direction I received from Justin in preparation for the 30 Strangers shoot was (and I'm paraphrasing him very loosely here): Dress dark and come as you are, unless you're a slob. Fair enough. I went a-thrifting to see what sort of new-to-me black beauty of a top I could hunt up that would work with jeans. I figured if I couldn't have my mom there with me too, I could at least carry on her indigo legacy. Symbols—I like them. What I found instead of the perfect shirt was the perfect dress, retro J. Peterman, in mint condition. Eight bucks. And just right as an expression of the classic style handed down to me by my mother and her mother—one I love but often lay aside. Finding that piece of them felt like a particular blessing. And the dress paired well with the shiny red slingback pumps I'd picked up for I think six bucks during an earlier second-hand spree. I bought those shoes with two special people in mind—my darling vivacious gram, known throughout her life as Lady Bug, and my dear friend Caitlin, who once convinced me that every woman needs a pair of red shoes. The shoot was my first time wearing them. A red bracelet my mother bought for me years ago and enough red lipstick to last me a week completed my simple ensemble, and then it was, "Alright, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my closeup." Well, more or less. Mum told me as we drove to the studio that she got married in red slingback pumps. That's a nice connection.

On the way to our appointment, I revealed a secret to Mum, one that went right along with the generational theme of the day. Now I'm ready to tell it to you too, the nutshell version. On Wednesday of this week, Rob and I will go to an adoption orientation and intake meeting with LDS Family Services. We are laying down real money. Non-refundable money, even. Who knows if anyone will choose us as adoptive parents, but we are determinedly heading down that road of searching. I feel very emotional when I think of it. Inspired. And absolutely terrified. I'm forty-what? (Don't answer that.) And I know how much? Next to nothing? I guess we'll find out if the opportunity presents herself or himself. Anyway, you are all very cordially invited to celebrate the  strange and wonderful step we're taking on Cinco de Mayo 2010. Wherever you are, if you'll include us in your prayers and/or thoughts, and if you'll eat some beans and rice and dance a little salsa in solidarity that day, we will be much obliged.

I still sometimes can't believe I'm saying and doing these things. That we are, Rob and I. It's so surreal.

Isn't life one surprise after another?

So, here we are, finally at Hackworth Photography ready to shoot some photos. Mum and I creep up the stairs and slip into Justin's office and... well, he is just lovely, as I knew he would be. So gracious and engaging. There was nothing forced or difficult or irredeemably awkward about the experience. Justin put the two of us as much at ease as two camera-phobes can get, I believe. I can truthfully say that I had fun, in spite of myself. Plus Mum struck me as just so beautiful, and it touched me to get to do this with her.

But this is the thing I most want to say about Justin—and whether he meant to do this or not probably doesn't matter—he shot my bad side. I mean after he'd been snapping us a while in different positions both together and apart, he sat me down in a chair and aimed that camera right at my beaky half. Do you have a good side that you try to position to face the world? If you do then maybe you know what I'm talking about. It's funny, but if you check out my nose from the left the line of it is clearly my dad's, and not bad at all. I look more like my idea of myself from the left. It's the side on which I part my hair and open my face to view. Check out that same nose and same face from the right, and it's my gram's nose, completely different, a stranger's profile. How can the two sides be or at least feel so different? No one thinks about it but me, I know that. And that's why I imagine Justin didn't consciously make a choice about good side/bad side. He merely shot the side that showed when he sat me down in a chair by the window. I felt my anxiety rise immediately—Oh, don't shoot her! She's the stranger, and she's got a wonky nose! I even laughed out a mild protest, but Justin paid it no mind and kept on shooting. Good for him. And I let him. Good for me. For that hour and a half that he and Mum and I worked together, I let him shoot into my bad side all he wanted. I let him really look at me, and approve of me, and I looked back at him, through his lens.

It was an oddly liberating experience. Something akin to surrender on my part, but a positive kind of surrender. It reminded me of the time, years ago, when my then-boyfriend's sister paid for the two of us to attend an Impact Training course. In those meetings we did a lot of things which took us beyond our comfort zones, but one evening especially made me cringe. That was the time I was assigned to sing a solo in front of the entire class of strangers (except for my boyfriend, of course), a capella. The National Anthem. For me at the time, it may as well have been a command to parade naked down Center Street, I dreaded it that much. I clearly remember though the way I felt once I began to sing, not as melodically as I wished, but not as monstrously as, say, Animal from The Muppet Show. Something began to happen inside me, likely the thing my boyfriend's sister paid too much money to have happen: certain fears shrank in size, leaving space for feeling brave and beautiful.

I suppose I'm actually offering kudos to two people. First, to Justin, for being the sort of interested observer and sensitive responder who subtly encourages his subjects to allow themselves to simply be beautiful. Second, to myself, for permitting someone—a stranger at the outset—to get close enough to take a long analytical look at me, then get closer still by peering into and capturing my foreign, so-called bad side. Somehow my "sides" don't feel as divided after that experience. On May Day, when Rob and I went out for a drizzly afternoon walk by the river, we snapped a few pictures of us together, and I felt a greater sense of ease with just being, and just smiling.

I wonder if any of this sounds sensible to anyone other than me, or if it reads rather like an endless flurry of narcissism. Can't worry over that too much; it is what it is. And part of what it is, is a metaphor for the rest of my life. I love patterns, and here I have a nice personal one to consider: Let go of fear, and beauty naturally increases.

After the shoot, I went to sleep that night and dreamed till morning that I was painting one canvas after another—large, loose, creative, vibrant, saturated images. Hour after hour I painted. I can't clearly recall now any specific subjects; I only remember all the wonderful color.

I felt so ready for May Day this year. I woke up with the words "beauty" and "joy" flying, untethered, in my mind. I felt ready to claim my queendom again.

And this is where I stop. I think I won't write any more serial posts for a while. Back to bullet lists for me, maybe.

Yes, You May (part 3)

So here's another diversion from the subject I am so disjointedly treating this weekend. Or maybe it's another layer of the story. Probably that. If you want to get right back to the story(?), skip this italicized part.

I woke up this morning from a dream of walking, walking, walking, up a straight canyon road. I wore a backpack. Toward the end of the dream I realized I was also carrying my purse (which is not pursey at all, but a very ethnic-stitchy casual bag) (but still... my purse?). It was now, this weird spring-clinging-to-winter season. I can't quite recall what my purpose was, but I was out for a solo day trip, and I had horses on my mind. I think I was looking for a horse to ride. Why? As I walked I saw some people up ahead, standing and talking together in front of their family ranch. There were two horses also standing with the group. I passed by as quietly and unobtrusively as I could manage and kept walking up the road, but I became aware that one of the horses, a trim one with beautiful clear brown and white markings, had recognized me as a familiar friend, stepped out after me, and wordlessly called me back. I turned around and went to the horse. His people began talking to me, then I was in their den with them, and what had been intended as a family meeting of some kind turned into a rather political discussion. I stayed quiet for the most part, realizing I was the lone moderate in roomful of tip-of-the-longest-feather-of-the-right-wing-ers. I felt like I had already intruded by interrupting their original purpose of enjoying some family time, just by my being there. As they talked on, I looked around and was surprised to find I knew one of the faces. He didn't know mine, however. As he talked on it dawned on me that this was a famous family (which I choose not to name here) that enjoyed an incredible heyday of fame during my growing up years, and whose name is still known—still respected as important and talented by some, but certainly not by all (if I mentioned their name here, I'm positive some eyes would roll, and I don't want to tempt you to snarkiness). One by one I began to recognize several other faces in the room, and had to smile inside. Why hadn't I known them from the outset? I made a promise to call up my best childhood friend and tell I'd met the ________s; she'd idolized them when we were kids. Nothing in me responded to their past or present VIPness. They seemed ignorant and lost in a has-been sort of way, and that made me really sad for them and especially eager not to give away the fact that I knew who they were. What a relief not to give a hoot about their name or their old famous faces. An hour passed while they ranted on about current events, then another hour, and I grew more anxious about having disrupted their evening together, so I slipped out. I kept walking up that canyon road. Did I have the horse with me then? I had some kind of creature with me. The canyon was so wintry then. I stepped up onto a rise to look out over the view, and all I could see was white everywhere. Snow, snow, snow. Earth and sky blended into one. I could just make out a hint of a distant cave opening here, and there, and there, but even those soon vanished in the white. It was as if the world was being erased. I could look over my left shoulder and still see part of the road and a dark mountain peak blocking the sun, but looking ahead there was nothing but a white world all the way to the periphery of my vision, and it became impossible to keep looking at it. It wasn't exactly blinding, but there was so much whiteness (I almost said nothingness, but that's not it) to take in that I couldn't maintain my focus or even keep my eyes open. They grew heavy and tired and so sleepy, so I closed them. And then I woke up.

Anyway. Back now to April 30th. Still care to join me?

The more pieces I chop this post into, the more story parts fall by the wayside. Maybe that's not a bad thing. I think the part I want to keep now is the lovely thing that happened in the Hackworth studio. (How many days in a row do you think I will continue to link to Justin? Any bets? I am not afraid to repeat myself, you know, especially when I have a good reason. I am my grandmother's girl.)

So, it's April 30th, the day of the shoot. I am good for absolutely nothing all day except for sipping red bush tea and trying not to throw up, tweezing my eyebrows, practicing standing in shoes taller than I've worn for umpteen years. Oh, and pep talking myself: "It doesn't matter how these photos turn out. The important thing is to enjoy the people you're with. Enjoy Mum. Enjoy Justin. Enjoy yourself. Just let yourself smile and be. You look how you look. It is what it is. Nobody will be surprised to see you as you are; you're the only one who doesn't know what that looks like." Remember that verse in Ecclesiastes: "Vanity of vanities; all is vanity"? King David sure got that right. I won't go into my neuroses much more now; I'll only admit that I have been self-esteem-challenged for a good long while, and how I look is just one of my many irrational bugaboos. If you can't relate, then I am truly glad for you, you well-adjusted person! Kiss your mirror, quick!

So. So, so. How about some more relevant background info about this shoot? I was fortunate enough to be given a slot in the 30 Strangers project. This is Justin's third year doing this great thing, which has evolved into both a wonderful and badly-needed fundraiser for our local Center for Women and Children in Crisis, and a way to celebrate the generational chain of women in thirty lucky families annually. That second purpose presented a difficult irony for me, because I am currently without living family members (of either gender) before me or after me. That makes it a little tricky to shoot since spirits and hopes, like vampires, tend not to show up on film. Or even digital. Ghost hunters and paranormal pundits, please just leave this point. I don't feel like arguing about it.

I asked Justin to schedule me for the last slot of the project, vowing to do my problem-solving best to find a baby, borrow a baby, or otherwise come up with some sort of reasonable mother-daughter arrangement that would fit the bill. Making a baby has been a hoped-for possibility right along, but there's no way to demand or put a rush order on a gestational period for the sake of some photos, or for the sake of anything else, for that matter. None of my (pro)creative ideas worked out. (More on this subject later, however.)

Those of you who know me might be wondering now, "So what about your in-laws? What are they, chopped liver?" Oh, honey, they are so much better than filter organs. They are truffles and hummus and and homemade peach ice cream and freshly-baked bread. I have a wonderful tribe of women I married into when I sealed my deal with Rob, and even more treasures joined the group after I did. Adorable people. People I never want to be without. A mum, and sisters. But... would Justin bend the rules for me, and let me bring my in-laws? It was either that or steal a baby when it came down to the wire.

Lucky for me, Justin was willing. Since I couldn't figure out how to get all of the sisters (seven altogether, plus their daughters) to Utah by April 30th, I decided that great as it would be to get lost in a beautiful sea of in-laws, I would go for the small, simple, perfect choice: to be a twosome with Mum, the lady who is second only to my own mother in her contribution to my well-being and joy in life. (Mum made an especially fabulous number one son.) But that would mean no hiding in the crowd for either of us, and far more focused individual attention, something neither of us seems to crave.

I was worried Mum wouldn't want to do it. I asked for a date with her on the 30th but didn't tell her why for a long time. I finally got my courage up four days before the shoot, and confessed the plan. She replied, "Oh, is that it? I'm so relieved! I thought maybe we were going for pedicures—what a waste of time! But I would even do that for you." Those of you who fancy pedicures will not understand just how much love was expressed in her statement.

Well, I've done it again. I've talked myself all the way up to another stopping point and still haven't told you the great thing that Justin did. Next time. What a lot of words for such a little story. I'll just be talking to myself by the end of this, if I'm not already!

Still, I promise next time to stick with my theme of distraction and continue to derail the straightforward progress of this telling with far too many details. I want to talk about red shoes. And second-hand symbols. Then I'll work my way around to Justin, and to May Day.

Right now, I'm off to eat popcorn for lunch, go to church, take a walk, then enjoy a family dinner, but I'll eventually be back with part four. TTFN.

Reasons to smile today

And this list is just for starters—

• My retro polyester Edna Stride suit fit me well enough to wear today with its waist slightly unzipped. That's progress.
• None of my eight divas stood me up for this morning's Relief Society readers' theater. That doesn't count the one whose doctor ordered her to stay on bed rest the day after our first rehearsal. (Totally unrelated events, I'm certain.) We made it successfully through our performance and only offended one person that I know of. We were received well by a good-hearted class, thankfully also one with a collectively good sense of humor. 
• Rob playing the part of the angel Moroni for Primary kids this morning and making his own costume, consisting of an enormous white "conduit" hat and two LED shop lights. I had offered to spray paint him gold and send him to church with the antique trumpet. 
• Breaking my fast with peruano bean hummus and homemade Nutella.
• Getting a terrific idea for a broadside project.
• Remembering two of my favorite people today, on their shared birthday: the legendary Tony Kahn and the infamous Riban Conbajos. I love you both.
• Realizing again how great it is to serve with three very lovely men in the stake Sunday School. It's continually surprising to me how much I enjoy this calling. The leaders I work with are tremendous people, really funny, intelligent, sensitive, inspired characters, not to mention excellent teachers, and I count myself lucky not just to work with them, but also to have the experience so few women do in any part of this world—that of feeling respected, valued, and among friends in the company of men. 
• I spontaneously told a secret to a friend today, but he won't tell (although I might, soon).
• Meeting our rockstar neighbors, Dan, David, and Marty, after they got their plastic kite stuck in the tree across the street. Fifteen seconds after meeting us, Dan was playing and singing for me on our front steps. Funny, lovable guys. Dan and I discovered we have the same favorite restaurant in Portland: Riyadh's Lebanese. 
• Tickling a plump, sweet, and juicy nephew.
• The whole western contingent of The Tribe plus one adopted grandma gathered for Mum's late birthday celebration—bigs and littles. 
• Baby bro-in-law Chris' abfab pun. If you know him, I'll let him tell you instead of ruining it. Tell him you want to know how to analyze a book.
• A funny impromptu family reading after dinner of the morning's readers' theater, followed by the hammed-up singing of old spirituals. 
• Watching nieces and nephews grow and become more themselves, especially E., who is on the verge of turning into a young woman. 
• Being told twice today by unexpected but heartfelt sources: "I love you!" and "I'm glad you were born!" 
• Going for a night walk, holding hands with my dear Rob and keeping talk to a minimum after a noisy, busy day.
• Our beloved Pokeysmiths moving to Salt Lake Valley soon.
• JH, listen. You're no stranger. You're a friend. The end.

(Looks like I should wear my Edna Stride supersuit more often. See what a great day it produced?)

There she goes

First it was Bec o' my heart suggested running as a great way to slow the aging process, so why not go running with her? (Never mind that we live in different cities, in adjacent valleys.)

Well, okay, that wasn't actually first, but for my current late-night blog purposes, that was first.

Then I had The Dream that I was in pre-training for a half-marathon. (Oh, yeah, and Bec o' my heart was training for one herself when she made her suggestion to me.)

Next day after The Dream I decided there was something significant in it, and made a decision that I'd buy some running shoes. Real ones. Quality-like-I've-never-had-on-my-feet-before running shoes, the kind that would set me back financially but hopefully propel me forward at the same time.

That evening, my friend Sherry invited me to join an early morning walking group and also to consider signing up for the Lavender Days 5K Run/Walk.

After hearing me go on about all this, sweet Rob did some supportive research on local vendors and chauffeured me north to a runner's shop to buy shoes. We arrived just as the employees were closing up shop. But I started walking with the early morn-ers anyway that week. And came home with shin splints.

I went back to the store alone. Two in-store sports watched me run . . . and run and run . . . and analyzed my form and put me in a half-hour's worth of swap-'em-out shoes. I ran the length of that strip mall parking lot over and over and over, in a skirt, huffing and puffing, testing and trying. I came away with great shoes. And shin splints.

I walked with the pre-dawn gals again, and was forced to admit that my insomniac tendencies weren't allowing me to become the extreme morning person I'd hoped to as rapidly as I'd planned, so I turned off my alarm. Anyway, my brain chemistry really needs the benefit of full sunshine; the time I spend hoofing it around town needs to be making me some seratonin while I take my exercise. I walked with Rob when I got a chance. I rode my bike. I ventured out into the light.

A few late nights ago I stayed up reading about running. That was still technically progressing toward the goal, even if it didn't exactly get me moving, right? One important thing came of my study: I found a workable schedule for pacing myself, called The Couch-to-5K Running Plan. Not a very flattering name—it definitely causes me to feel the ouch in "couch"—but there it is, a good place to start.

And today? Today I ran. I stretched, I warmed up, I alternated running (oh, hahahahahahahaaa!) with walking. I made it to the cemetery and surprisingly didn't have to take up residence. I dragged myself home, and I stretched some more. Then I said to myself the rest of the day, "I'm a runner." With no shin splints.

Then this evening I saw Sherry again and she reminded me of the Lavender Days 5K. I may be out of state when it happens, but yes, I'm going to train for it.

I'm enlarging my definition of a runner to include someone newly emerging from couch cushions: me.

So, did you hear? I'm a runner. Yeah, really. Go ahead, lap me. See if I care.

I brake for torment

We did it. We went to La Tormenta for our celebratory March Forth supper. I forgot to pick up a roll of Tums, but since we hoofed it to the restaurant, I figured we could walk around downtown all evening, if need be, to help the digestive process along. I was in the mood for a ramble anyway.

As we approached the building, I'll admit, my heart beat just a little bit faster, anticipating the danger and romance we were about to embrace in joining our Spanish-speaking neighbors for the grande opening. I snapped some photos to document the moment. Rob and I took a deep breath, gathered up our gringo-ness, and rounded the corner to the main entrance. It was closed. ¡¿Qué pasó?! There was a short Latino man standing at the front door, chipping away at loose paint. "We will open Friday," he informed us. ¡Ay, caramba!

Apparently the Universe didn't want us partaking of torment on March Forth. I suppose there's wisdom in that.

So we walked all over downtown. Should we eat here? Should we eat there? Should we go home and eat? Nah, there's nothing good in the fridge. I requested a quick detour across the street as we neared the local beauty supply, for nail polish, the good stuff (OPI). I'm so very glad that, hungry as we were, we didn't stay perfectly on task, because if we had, we'd have missed seeing this:



What's that? Can't quite make it out? Okay, maybe a closer view will help:



Do you see now? It's been very windy for a couple days, and the west desert's been all churned up in the atmosphere, making everything in the area hazy with dust. Some poor bird, a very dirty bird, made a committed face plant in the window of this vacant storefront. I know it shouldn't be funny, but . . . if you could just see it in person, you'd understand! I mean, practically every feather is imprinted. I can almost see the bird's facial expression from the outline he left. Ha! I couldn't help myself; I laughed all night about it. Poor bird. Now there's someone who marched forth resolutely, headlong into torment. That could have been us. Maybe I'm glad after all that our newest local eatery put us off so we could make a better choice: Los Hermanos' chile rellenos required no Tums intervention and fueled our forward march safely, if not spicily.

My only real complaint there was that the waiter kept touching me. He did not get a better tip for his effort.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Other tidbits from March Forth (this is for you, Irina):
• I received love letters! (Way to reinforce my letter-writing experiment, friends. This week's sweet windfall is doing nothing but reconvert me to the beauties of handwritten correspondence. Maybe I'm going to jump on the Change Wagon.)
• I listened again to a remarkably beautiful address given by one of my favorite people, and it really set the stage for the rest of my day, and the year.
• I did some indexing, to help with the effort to make US Census and other records available to the public for genealogical research—Irish and French farming families this time.
• I decided to break down and do a little shopping, and stop waiting till I'm my most comfortable size again to be dressed in something other than my raggedy jeans. (My closet situation has grown downright pathetic while I've been waiting for magic alterations to happen.) Managed to find pants on sale that should tide me over till I can make some more things or get lucky thrifting.
• I bought the most gorgeous brown eggs from Nephi chickens from Good Earth. Sure, they cost more, but in our currently difficult times, my conscience tells me the only cost to count is not my own food budget, but also the livelihood of local farmers and small business owners. Besides, these are the tenderest, tastiest eggs I've eaten in ages.
• Rob and I had a great evening together, and it all ended with a discussion about what his name should be. He's never thought the name Rob fit him, and for years after we got married, I thought the same thing. We didn't come up with anything last night, although we ruled out a whole lot of possibilities (he'll never be a Bruce, I can assure you of that). We did, however, agree that Banjo is a terrific name for somebody.

Marching forth

It's finally here—my heart's New Year. March Forth! I love this day. And boy, what a bright, warm, beautiful one it is. Thanks to the person who ordered it.

Hold on, I'm the person who ordered it. Thanks, Geo! (Thanks, Nature. Thanks, God.)

So, what are you doing to celebrate and march forth today?

There are a few dear ones in my life who have fallen dangerously ill, strangely all in a batch. For that reason, and for reasons of my own, with more concentration than ever I'm dedicating this March Forth to preservation, to joy, and to healing. I had originally planned to spend the day on the phone, but that no longer feels like the right agenda. I want to pack March Forth full of little quiet things, nurturing and encouraging things. I've not been too steady lately, so today I want to work on getting my footing because it's no good going off on a big march when you're off-balance.

It's been a good day to this point. I got up earlier than usual after a non-insomniac trip to Slumberland. I prayed, made the bed, then sat with my laptop on my two fat layers of ducky down comforters and read good news from one of those dear ones I mentioned above. His cancer is treatable, and there's hope, and chemo begins for him on Tuesday. Relative relief—if that's not a fine way to start March Forth, I don't know what is. I wish for similar good news from other dear ones . . . . My friend sent me a beautiful poem along with his news, and I knew right away that one of the things I'd do today was work on memorizing a poem or two, starting with the sweet one that just arrived:

The Silken Tent
by Robert Frost

She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To every thing on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightlest bondage made aware.

Haven't you heard that memorizing and reciting poetry preserves the health of your mind? It also helps you learn and activate/integrate parts of your brain, just like singing or playing a musical instrument. Well, it sounds like a perfect project to begin today: turning myself into a walking collection of poems.

The other long-term task I want to begin today is Project 365. I started taking daily photos a couple years ago, but didn't keep up with it. Maybe this time I'll make it a full year, at least. Care to join me? Sounds interesting, don't you think?

What other activities will be part of the celebration today? So many options. The list of possibilities so far includes, but is surely not limited to:

• going for a walk in the sun
• taking a therapeutic deep tub study-soak, with music and candles
• making a dress (oh, you should see the fabric I got)
• finishing the novel I'm reading
• doing another Kundalini Yoga session (already did a short one this morning, and it felt great)
• attempting some creative writing
• thumbing through library cookbooks and planning a week's worth of menus from interesting new recipes
• painting a wall
• shopping for a yogurt maker
• buying some clay and sculpting a little guy, for fun

One thing which is firmly on the agenda is to go and try out a "new" Mexican restaurant in town, a place that recently changed hands. The new management somehow got my email address and sent me this humble invitation:

Hello:

My name is Alejandro and I want to invite you to LA TORMENTA RESTAURANT, in down town Provo. Now I am administrating the store and we are reopening on Wednesday 4th. of this month. We are working hard to make the restaurant a better place, with good quality of food and low prices.

Sincerely,

Alejandro Puye

How am I supposed to say no to that? You think for a minute I could resist eating at a place called Torment on March Forth? Why, it'll be like thumbing my nose at whatever nasty forces would bring me down. "See? I laugh in the face of danger! Ha ha! I eat torment for lunch! Get out of my way, La Gringa is marching forth!" And anyway, it's opening on my holiday; it's sure to be successful, and I'm sure to survive the ordeal. Rob and I thought we'd try it out a while back when it was still Taqueria La Tormenta, but when we got to the front door the closed sign was up, and a peek through the window scared us off. Now that it's "a better place" maybe it will be safe for us to go inside and order. My expectations are low, so it's likely not to disappoint. I'll have a roll of Tums handy, just in case.

Stay tuned for a March Forth update later on, and my first photo for Project 365.

Now get out there and do some marching forth yourself. Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup!

In the December sun

Went for a walk across the face of the mountain.

He came with me.

I like him.

A tree posed for me.

Nosey moon!

Moon wannabe!

I found a homeless guy's hidey-hole. 

(It's rope, not hair.)

She alone survived his campfire.

He must have spent Thanksgiving there.

Without a can opener.

Is he really a Tarheel?

Does he love Tarzan?

Or is this kindling?

Looks like he warmed himself with hymns.

When the dog bites, when the bee stings

• new earplugs (NRR 32!), a giant box with 80 squishy foam pairs in two colors: Disney purple and construction worker orange
• waking from a dream and realizing that my dog hadn't actually turned into a housefly and died on his back with his legs quivering
• recovering from a long late night episode of scrambled brains
• reading Heck Superhero in less than a day, between things
• 45 minutes of phone time with a friend in Boston, talking over a creative project in the works
• new software and gadgets amassed through the week: a shotgun mic (finally!), two other mics on loan from a kind friend, JK Audio Inline Patch, a new hard drive to store our growing collection of video footage, Final Cut Express, a new camera bag—where is all of this leading?
• the effect of a nap and a hot shower on rot gut-level fatigue
• a husband who endures with me through the hard stuff
• stretchy clothes
• walking to Guru's for supper
• sharing a meal in the sun on the lawn of the Tabernacle
• a cool sax and a jazz singer outside the gelato shoppe covering "My Funny Valentine"
• the First Friday gallery stroll on the most perfect September evening
• sharing the last piece of cheesecake in the Coleman Gallery
• Raquel's artwork—wet and terrific!—and oh, to buy a Phoenix . . .
• Coal Umbrella, my beloved and drafty apartment of yesteryear (in its pre-jacuzzi days, for those of you like Raquel who might wonder) turned totally charming hipster boutique
• watching the second half of The Sound of Music with Rob and loving it
• an appointment with Patrick on Tuesday (finally, finally we will meet beneath the shears)

Today's guide to life's adventures

Failure to Yield—$82
Expired Driver's License—$40
American Fork City's Gratuity for having provided a place for a car wreck—$30

Still on the planet in one piece—PRICELESS

Nie times three

First, this:
Please notice my sidebar and the link for donating to NieNie. If you don't know yet why it's there, please do read my previous two posts and, more importantly, check out C Jane's blog to get yourself caught up.

Second, this:

"Celebration of Hope" Balloon Launch
Saturday, 23 August 2008, time TBA (5:45/6:00 p.m. till ?)
Kiwanis Park, Provo, Utah

Please come prepared to launch your good wishes, prayers, and support in behalf of our friends. Helium balloons will be available for purchase at $1 apiece. Every dollar will go to the Stephanie and Christian Nielson rehab fund.

Come and enjoy food, entertainment, hot air balloons, and most of all, extending your love and help.

If anybody wants more details, Denae is the woman in charge, and you can email me—pogofig at gmail—for her contact info.

Third, this:
Rob and I hiked to the Y in honor of Nie, who reportedly has a habit of running all the way to the top and back down again. I can't say that I even kept a respectable walking pace the whole time, but it was a lovely perambulation just the same. We took our headlamps so we could find our way back down the mountain. I think we'll do it again and take our guitars next time.


Trailhead.


A gentle start.


Foreshadowing.


Good advice for life!


The happy hikers.


Pretty stickyheads.


Magpie nest.


Japanese girls, out of breath.


Give this wood a sniff—it smells like hard-breathing, sweaty hikers.


Friendly, half-naked, law-breaking trail enthusiast (friends also on motorized bikes not pictured).


Geneva Steel's still on the map.


Sunset.


The top of the Y.


Tired feet, big city.


Resting on the Y.


See the temple?


Due west.


Utah Lake and beyond.

*sigh*

Seeing the hand

I haven't been blogging here much lately. I have, for over two weeks now, been consistently journalling in a private spot about the blessings that find me each day. Two Sundays ago I was in a church class and made a comment referencing a talk that really impacted me last fall. It's one of those that seems to have impacted many others as well, because I hear it mentioned with some regularity. President Henry B. Eyring suggested a really uplifting practice that can be a help to us in the here and now and can potentially be a help to those close to us—First, pray and meditate each day on two questions: Did God send a message that was just for me? Did I see His hand in my life or the lives of my family? Second, find some way to preserve that memory. I did that for a while after hearing that talk and then let the practice fall by the wayside. But two weeks ago, when I referred to that talk and that specific suggestion, I felt a strong urge to pick up the habit again. So, I've been writing my heart out each night, sometimes staying up way too late in the process (gotta fix that), and this blog, which I fully intended to revive, has continued to be neglected.

The really astonishing thing, no matter how many days in a row I realize it afresh, is that the more I look for these blessings, the more blessings I uncover. Even last Friday, the day I destroyed our only vehicle and knocked myself into pain and shock, when I sat down for my nightly accounting, I saw that the day was "pressed down, shaken together, and running over" with blessings.

This morning the blessings didn't even wait for me to get out of bed; one, an early phone message I didn't reach in time to answer, jolted me out of sleep. Never mind that I'd had a really rough night; after that it was time to get up and see what else was waiting for my attention.

Ii decided that I'd try to snap a few photos of my proof of the Lord's hand in my life today. Here's a little tour you can share with me.

Wonderful kind friends we haven't talked to for months, and haven't seen in much longer, left a truck in front of our house, with keys under a seat, so we'd have something to drive this week if we need to.



Our dining table was awash in magical light when I came upstairs to get ready for the day.



I tried out C-Dub's yummy homemade soap during my morning shower. Nice! It reminded me of her loving visit on Sunday. Again, I was reminded that I am blessed with good friends.



My senses all work, and they bring me incredible joy, every every every day. Especially my my sense of smell—I am a bloodhound, and aren't I lucky to know a little something about aromatherapy?



I got to have breakfast with a man who has both a funny sense of humor and a pair of talented eyeglasses.



(And breakfast was simple and tasty.)



I have two feet and they work. Clean sidewalks, good sandals, and a sparkling disco ball pedicure—these made my walking errands so much nicer.



I saw opportunity all around me . . .



. . . and inspiring ideas.



I made a deal with Gary of the Tiaras for a new old couch. My house just got another step closer to my personal aesthetic.



I get to be married to man who wishes he wore old iron glasses.



I like to cook, and we eat a lot of good food. I came up with a nice new combination at lunchtime: buckwheat noodles with garlic, green onions, bok choy, and parmesan (or was it romano? or pecorino? I forget). We are blessed every day with enough, and frequently with tasty.



I got the chance to say goodbye to a dear friend who's been a sweet part of my life for the past year or so. I am going to miss her and her family, but I just know we'll meet up again someday. And anyway, I wouldn't have missed the acquaintance for anything. I've learned from her and had the deep pleasure of working together for something really important—the growth, happiness, and well-being of a small group of young women. I've seen this great lady be the Lord's hands on many occasions. Happy trails, my friend! The midwest is lucky to be receiving you and yours.



This isn't all, of course, only what I snapped photos of. I've abbreviated for you here, to spare you (and myself) some brain strain, but it's a little taste of what a quick, plain day can hold. I call even this a lot of blessings, and a lot of proof that a higher, loving, communicative power is at work in my life. As it is in yours.

What do you say? Did God send a message today that was just for you? Did you see His hand in your life or the lives of your family?

Equinox

e•qui•nox

noun
the time or date (twice each year) at which the sun crosses the celestial equator, when day and night are of equal length.

ORIGIN late Middle English : from Old French equinoxe or Latin aequinoctium, from aequi- 'equal' + nox, noct- 'night.'

My own definition: the balancing point between dark and light.

Since it's spring, the balance now tips in favor of light after today. Tomorrow a little more light will shine, then the next day a little more, and so on, till the summer solstice. Just what I've been waiting for.

What did the light bring me today?

• an electrician, who installed new outlets and a ceiling lamp in the living room—You see? It's true; light cleaveth to light!
• a reconnection with The Guppy, and a copy of her travel itinerary to Europe
• touching, smelling, and looking at books bound in beautiful olive wood
• Rob bringing me home the latest issue of this
• this community ed tip-off
• receiving a warm visit from my angelic Blogger Ward visiting teachers and excellent huggers, compulsive writer and b.
• decadent delectables from Kneaders delivered like revelation by aforementioned angels, with the solemn admonition to "eat and be merry"
• another surprise love visit, this time from The Coach, and a walk with her in the late afternoon sunshine
• finding this in the grass:



• making a great joke about Renaissance Man and Middle Age Woman (sorry, you had to be there)
• Rob getting my jokes even if nobody else does (see above)
• figuring out how to fix a computer problem
• talking with Gigi's new nursing home roommate
• the spotlight moon, hanging above the mountains and shining-singing into Gigi and Donna's room
• making a late-night trip to the OPL and checking out almost more books than I could carry
• a well-stocked vegetarian cookbook selection
• hydrogen peroxide

Baby, cat, baby, baby, etc.

3 Beautiful Things du jour:

1. Y., my young Puerto Rican friend who likes to sometimes call me her American mom, phoned this morning and asked me what it means if the test shows two lines, but the second line is lighter than the first. I told her that her baby probably prefers pastels.

2. Another friend of mine, K., a single woman, gave an amazing talk about gratitude this evening at the Saturday session of our stake conference. I got to visit with her afterward and it was sweet to catch up a bit, and also compare notes about our recent thoughts on the subject of her address. K. took care of her elderly mother for ages till she died about three years back. K. told me that for as long as her mother lived with her, every day when K. came home from work her mother said to her, "I'm so glad you're back. It's so nice to have you home." When her mother passed away, K. said it was such a lonely feeling coming home to a quiet house with no one there to greet her with words of warmth and love. I'm sure the house would've loved to offer some, but like most houses, it didn't come outfitted with a tongue. After some time went by, K. decided she needed to get a pet: a cat for company. She carefully conducted a search for just the right creature. She looked everywhere, taking great pains to make no mistake. When she met up with a small cross little kitten she felt such a strong sense that this was her pet, so she took him in, lacerating claws and biting teeth and all. This cat now has a nasty reputation among the neighbors. Wo to the catsitter when K. goes on a trip! There have been stories of blood and gore, and I believe them. Boots, of course, is not a cuddler (not that anyone's offering), and he sniffs at the idea of condescending to purr . . . generally speaking. The astonishing thing is that every day when K. comes home from work, Boots is expectantly perched (as he is at no other time of the day or night) in the front window, watching for her arrival. When she walks through the door, Boots purrs at her with the greatest of genuine pleasure and solicitous affection, and they have their moment of greeting. K. says she knows that Heavenly Father is in the details of our lives, and that he cared enough about her lonely feelings to help her locate a little grumpy cat who would say (in catspeak) the same things to her that her dear mother did. She attributes her recognition of this connection to spending time every night recounting her day and looking for ways to be grateful as she prays. She says, "I'm sure I would have missed that detail otherwise."

3. T., a friend from Salt Lake, stopped by late tonight on his way out of town to say hello and give us an update on life. He is in his early 50s, I think, and his wife of just a couple years, L., is either closing in on or just beyond 40. Their news? A baby on the way, of course. We don't have frequent contact with T. and L., but we like them both a lot. They'd heard from our good friends next door about our recent episode—miscarriage #3—and he was very serious about encouraging us to "keep trying," "whatever it takes," "the fourth time was the charm for us." He shared with us that they had miscarried three times in rapid succession before this one "took." (And at the six-month mark, they are well past their dangerously unlucky first trimester.) T. talked about environmental factors and all sorts of other possibilities that he saw as potential hindrances, so we agreed we should wear nothing but organic fig leaves and get off the consumer grid to help our fertility along. Anyway, he was so kind and so sincere. They've had dreams of two boys like we've had dreams of two girls, so his parting suggestion was that we merge the family lines when the time is right.

Why stop there? I'm also grateful for:

• spotting our friends for the first time out with their new adopted baby, and noticing how thrilled and involved they look
• the fragrant green wreath on my front door (finally a piece of Christmas cheer!)
• a wonderful handmade Japanese-style pin cushion, just arrived from Australia—thank you, Donna, for the fabulous PIF pressie!
• running half of my laps this morning
• no shin splints yet
• Portabella ravioli, sautéed mushrooms, garlic cream sauce
• knee socks
• way too many umbrellas and Rob's plan to give them to strangers getting wet
• clementines
• contrasting friends
• hearing a story about Elder Russell M. Nelson memorizing faces and names of people he'd be with for less than a day
• the white stuff—the right stuff (snow, snow, and more snow)
• snowmen and snowwomen appearing everywhere
• safely accomplished car errands
• not falling down stairs
• the way the tiny girl dragged her dad away from the psychology aisle (also the sexuality aisle, which is where Dad's attention seemed to be stealthily drawn) and said, "C'mon, Dad, c'mon. C'mon, Dad. Kids' books. C'mon, Dad."
• seeing one of our teen friends doing a giftwrapping fundraiser with his speech and debate club at Borders (apparent positive extra-curricular involvement + one very überintelligent, dynamic kid = relief for those who worry about him)
• writing something small and impromptu for a Segullah word game
• News from Lake Wobegon
• walking together in the snow
• getting to bed before midnight (at least I think I will)