Thirteen good reports

1. smiling black chihuahua, river-wet, disheveled, delighted
2. two olive-skinned boys in flannel, cautiously looking for a hidden fishing spot
3. sweet grassy horse breath
4. swerving to miss pedaling over wooly bears and grasshoppers
5. beautiful toothless woman working at the gas station who gave me a free coffee cup and cold water
6. September light filtering through trees 
7. skin as solar panel
8. evidence of primal sidewalk chalk screams
9. going back for the $10 I forgot in the self-checkout machine's change slot, and some honest soul had turned it in to a cashier
10. writing our gratitudes at lunchtime
11. Casey Bowen's handmade soap
12. watching friends succeed at acting, directing and doing
13. THIS:

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.

Cross-eyed and scrambled

A long good day. Zzz.

A new world here

Out of small [and sometimes seemingly impossible] things proceedeth that which is great.

Hello, 2013. You've renewed my faith in love at first sight. Thanks for a sweet Day 1.

Leftover New Year's ceviche, cilantro, perfect avocado and Good Earth chips. Even tastier than it was last night. Adding fresh orange to the mixture of lemon and lime juices and herbs was inspired. To think how much more fine a flavor fresh rather than dried oregano might produce... oh! I might have to grow a potful just to make this dish.

Dancing for Rob while he played my guitar. Stupid, happy grins.

Dancing with Rob to twangy Pandora. Remembering the holiday season we spent with my family in North Carolina when we were still newlyweds. On New Year's Eve we went dancing at The New South with my gram and her new (4th) husband. Tell ya what, there were some real hot dogs doin' some fine steppin' in that dance hall. Near to midnight, that tricky Ladybug stole my partner and wouldn't give him back, not even for the countdown or Auld Lang Syne, and she left me doing the Twist with dear Tom, who was cheerfully stiff as a board and half as coordinated.

Walking in the bright sun, inspecting the new Front Runner station till the cold wind pained my ears. Being snatched up unexpectedly and carried over little snow drifts and slick spots.

Cleaning the house together.

Cooking for people I love.

Little traditions. Last night's gleeful Good Riddance ceremony for pyromanic pagan purification. New Year's Day soul food prescription: black-eyed peas and collard greens for success and wealth.

For the first time in ages, wishing to make resolutions for the new year, and then actually articulating them, writing them down. Many resolutions. And I added a few more just now. Maybe I'll keep adding all year. Could be this is really a bucket list taking shape. P.S. I'm abandoning perfectionism.

Rebooting my Morning Pages practice.

The beautiful dream I had early this morning, which not only broke a chronic, exhausting stretch of nightmares, but also acted as a kind of antidote to one particular recurring night terror I experience, the very worst of them. When I woke up I was filled with a sweet hopeful feeling that this year is going to be very good—lucky, even. The 13 I didn't realize I was waiting for! It's always been my number.

Guests. Family. Friends. Children, grownups. A stranger who isn't anymore. Pot luck. Easiness. Sharing a table, breaking bread. Plenty. Amazing my small nephew and niece with a tiny treasure—a hummingbird egg. Teaching them to make the sound of a galloping horse with fingersnaps and hand-pops. Shooting off bottle rockets in the front yard.

Cleaning the house together, again. Anticipating the gratitude I'll feel in the morning when I wake up to order.

Believing in the incredible, taking the long view of what's possible. Warming an egg that's gone cool and quiet because an even quieter whisper says, "Something beautiful may yet hatch, so get comfortable." I dedicate this year to whatever beauty inside is ready to come to life.

If you chance to meet a frown(ing salad)

No one likes a frowny face.

Change it for a smile.

Make the world a better place

by smiling all the while.

One of the benefits of self-employment: Rob and I get to eat together—not every meal of every day, mind you, but we share a fine majority of our repasts. Family meals, being with people at table—so healthy. I'm convinced, and there are studies that back me up on this, that breaking bread together heightens the nourishing impact of food, especially when the folks gathered 'round the board allow themselves to relax and invest in good conversation. Do you believe in shared meals? The simplicity or complexity of the spread make less difference to the experience than the seasonings of love and friendship and goodwill. Certainly it's great to aim for food that's interesting and flavorful, but I for one will take a communal PB&J over lonely gourmet just about any day of the week, any meal. It's the company that makes the meal truly delicious.

Rob and I aren't very good at routine—often our meals take place at odd hours—but we do follow a few constants. One of them is our breakfast pattern. When we sit down together for this meal, we pray and ask for a blessing on our food, and another on our shared study time. We eat and visit, and then when the food's gone and we're sipping our Pero or smoothies or chamomile tea or what-have-you, one of us will bring up some point or principle or story from the scriptures and we'll have a small discussion about it. We pull from our personal studies to prepare for this morning time. Then we wash up dishes together (sometime this step gets neglected, ahem), and start the day in earnest with a kneeling prayer. It's a really grounding habit that has helped us come to know ourselves and each other better, and learn about the nature of life and happiness and truth. We are stronger, closer as a couple, and closer to God because we observe this practice. We're not perfect in our process—sometimes one or both of us are stressed or fatigued, or anxious about the day, but even when we carve out the merest moment to slow down and focus on something made of light, we are blessed.

I highly recommend that you give ideas like these a try with your own family. If you live alone, or have other circumstances which require adaptation, then you have a perfect opportunity to exercise your creativity. A shared meal can be so good for the soul. And adding the element of spiritual feasting makes mealtime exponentially more sustaining.

Bon appétit.

Cookie art #1

On Valentines Day, our big day of two family surgeries (a new kidney for Dad B. courtesy of his brave, loving 2nd daughter, Heidi), a few of us were taking a lunch break at Becca & Martin's, less than a mile from the hospital. Becca graciously allowed us to dip into the leftovers of a $20 box of fortune cookies, and discover together what lay in store for us. I felt a little ripped off when I first read my luck: "Nothing's perfect," but then, okay, I had to laugh. It's true—even my free cookie—not perfect. Primed with that baseline perspective, I reached again into the magical mystery box and cracked open another gem:

What? It's like the fortune writer was interrupted, bound and gagged, just as that one thing was about to be revealed to me. See? There's a comma, then nothing more. No answer. I'm supposed to figure out on my own what that one thing is so I can stop focusing on it, without focusing on it? Paradox, you win again!

But the cookies and I continue our relationship. Saturday I walked with Rob to Chao's and bought three bags full, yessir, yessir—52¢ for 12, a bargain! I took them home, packed them into an earthy ginger gar, and set myself a challenge, which by the way, is not too focused on that one thing; all I have to do is open a cookie and respond to whatever I read inside. Maybe with writing. Maybe with drawing. Maybe with movement. Whatever. The point is to create with a medium that suits my mood, be it ink or breath.

So. My first cookie? Opened it Sunday night. Thought about it all day Monday. It predicted: "You will be surrounded by things of luxury." Seems like everyone has a natural pathway pre-set in the brain to process a fortune like this one by painting elaborate pictures of how beeyooteefull life will be after the prize is won. It's all future-based, and that's fine for motivational carrot-dangling and occasional masochistic self-delusion, I suppose, but what about the luxuries that are right here right now? Chopped liver?

What things of luxury do I or can I enjoy without waiting, and surround myself with always, no matter what my budget or circumstance may be? The wherever you go, there you are kind of luxuries. I started counting them out on my fingers and toes. I got into a groove with c-words mostly, and I suppose that's yet another proof of my tendency toward focusing too much on that one thing. Some of these could do with a little explanation if you are to have a fuller understanding of this blogger, but that would make for a much longer post, so I'll leave it to your imagination unless you want to discuss any of these elsewhere.

Care
Conversation
Change
Commitment
Consequence
Consideration
Conversion
Creation
Christianity
Questions
Concentration
Conviviality
Country
Crosswalks
Correspondence
Conjugal conubium!
Kindness
Counsel
Cooperation
Choice
Companionship
Community
Comedy
Counting blessings
Collaboration
Cleanliness
Compassion
Callings
Callouses
Canoodling
Consecration
Colors
Classics
Covenants
Cultivation
Charity
Quiet mind

Good for starters. It's an astonishingly luxurious life, and that's only me getting hung up on 1/26th of the alphabet.

Yesterday, for the purpose of celebrating (not to mention gratuitously flaunting) mein aforementioned überwealth, I spent some time luxuriating with my mates, Jeanne, Deborah, Lucy, Aaron, and Jeromiah. We made an enthusiastic and rather sticky attempt at group cooking—our intention: fruity homemade marshmallows. We now call ourselves the Marshketeers. Observe how this Big Event illustrates our genuine affluence:

creation, concentration 

callouses, choice

counsel, collaboration 

conversation, cultivation

companionship, kindness

conviviality, community

care, consideration

compassion, comedy
(Jeromiah's response to a suggestion: sausage-flavored marshmallows?)

commitment, cooperation

colors, counting blessings

I'm rich. My life is flooded with abundance. I don't have to wait for some magic to happen to see myself surrounded by the things of luxury. Maybe there are more creature comforts coming to me and mine, or maybe there aren't, but I've got nothing to complain about. I've got plenty of plenty.

And you're kind of rich too, aren't you? Tell me how.

Caves aren't everything

I didn't sleep much last night, and from morning till night I've had a splitting headache which did its best to become a sick migraine in the late afternoon. I had a ton of stuff to get done today, most of it sit-down work, and most of it Relief Society business that I just couldn't feel good about putting off. I wanted to crawl into a dark quiet cave and wait for sleep to ambush me, but it just wasn't a realistic option. I chucked from the to-do list many details that didn't truly matter, but there were still so many people deals left to help with or respond to, and more came rolling in throughout the day. It was one of those days that kinda make you wonder what is going on, like maybe somebody planted a big Grand Opening sign in your lawn.

It was a good day in one very big way—people are important to me and I appreciate the opportunities to interact with them. But, yikes! It's hard to think and talk and write and troubleshoot when your head is throbbing.

I bring this up because there were some moments of sweet compensation today, tender mercies. Our breakfast smoothie was terrific today. Go ahead, laugh, but I'm grateful for it. Look, on a day like this, the last thing in the world I want to greet me is a tall glass of swamp nog. (I had a bad run for a couple days there, failed experiments. Not all green smoothies are created equal.) I was too sick midday to go out for a scheduled lunch with a girlfriend, but before the lunch hour was over, a different friend showed up hungry, treated Rob to El Salvadorean food, and brought some home for me too. Then! When I was hitting the lowest point of the day, another friend called and invited us out for supper. I absolutely could not accept, so she brought food over and ate with us. I noticed she even kept her voice down so as not to pain my head. That takes concentration for her, because she's got a big musical theater voice.

Food doesn't usually appear at my doorstep. It was such a welcome blessing that it showed up today, and from such gracious friends. Thank you.

Other tender mercy: First thing this morning one of my duties was to interview a dear woman in our church congregation and help her prepare a welfare order for her family. I was so ill that I texted her and asked if I could visit with her by phone rather than have to dress and go to her house. It hurt to move. She was very kind and came to me instead and didn't care that I stayed in my robe (hey, at least it's pretty and red). We had a good visit, and when we were through with our business she gave me a sweet gift: a relaxing head massage which really did help for almost half an hour.

Another one, which ties back into the first: Getting to work with women who are willing to give needed help, who network, who care, who make smart plans and follow through, who create good things, who aren't afraid of work or commitment, who express gratitude, who can laugh at themselves, who are willing to serve others without passing judgement, and who talk it out appropriately and are able to move forward rather than bog down in the muck when a serious offense has been given. I saw some of all of that today. Mercies. Beautiful ones.

Oh, also: We got to watch three doves walk around in our big plum tree this morning, just like it was a network of sidewalks.

And: My book on companion gardening arrived.

And: Firming up plans with great friends.

And: A concerned husband who keeps urging me to drink more water.

And: Oh, those crazy wonderful flowers in the dining room.

And: I'm too tired to keep counting them up.

Now I will go to my cave and hope for the best. But wait, I had that already today.

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

All things being equal

Equinox, a moment of balance. It came and went this morning at 9:03 a.m., while I was doing my morning study and meditating on personal liberty. Apropos.

The spirit of balance lingered today. I celebrated the even divide between dark and light by driving south with family for our annual grape-picking excursion at the home of some friends. Delicious green Himrods, those Utah beauties—oh! Soon my kitchen will be filled with the aroma of steaming grapes, and then we'll have the first provident bottles of 2011 ready to line the shelves of our pantry. I love the harvest season. And it's especially nice to begin refilling the coffers on a day of celestial balance.

On the drive down to Salem, I sat in the middle row of seats in my sister-in-law's van, next to my darling nephew, 3yo Finn. He announced to me happily, out of the blue, "Ga-ga, I KNOW you're gonna have a baby!" It seemed like all the grownups in the vehicle stopped breathing for a couple seconds, but maybe that was just me. I'm pretty sure this wasn't something Finn had heard from his parents, but I could be wrong about that too. Wherever it came from, I just laughed and accepted it. Why not? Who would know better than Finn? And who am I to doubt such an intelligent fellow? He made his powerful assertion again a little later: "Ga-ga, I KNOW you're gonna have a baby!" And then went on to describe to me how much he loves babies and likes to hold them, and I decided I would be very glad for him to hold mine once I have her... or find her... or him... or them... or... however this thing's going to happen. But I have it on good authority now; I'm gonna get one. Finn says.

Last year when we went grape-picking I was the beneficiary of another magical sentence, shared with me in a whisper while little arms were wrapped around my neck, a secret from my niece, Scout. Since it was a secret I won't share it, but it was a lovely shaft of light that came in through my ear and went straight into my heart to burn there all these months. I appreciate the tiny shiny voices of these people I love so much. I treasure their gifts and don't minimize them the least bit.

After today I'll be in my last week of my month-long garden detox diet. I took a Mason jar full of green smoothie with me grape-picking: it was lunch, if you use your imagination. There was enough that I gave everybody who was brave enough to try it a taste. Finn wanted a drink of it, so I helped him tip up the heavy jar and when it came down, he was wearing a Kermit green moustache. Ha! After his second swig, his moustache had grown into a perfect half-circle of swamp nog, plus a bright green unibrow from pressing the messy jar against his face. Pretty hilarious. I grabbed my camera but before I could shoot he'd sleeved his cheeks and was focused on the next part of lunch. (That green unibrow dried in place though, I'm tickled to report.) Scout saw me trying for a Kodak moment, so she obliged by taking her own big drink of my stuff and modeling the latest in lip fashion:

"Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." —Leonardo da Vinci

Listening, thinking, stitching, rambling

I was supposed to be at a very friendly knit night this evening but instead I'm home, sick with a fever, but my sticks and string are flying as I flop. I've got a gift to finish by Saturday. I'm set up in the shop, where my Rob is working late on an art project... a sound sculpture, to be exact. He's given me a chair to sit in near the center of the action. I'm surrounded by speakers and my ears and head are filling up with the nicest stuff. I'm excited to see (and hear) him seriously working in this new medium; I'm pleased and proud. It feels really right. He's preparing for a show and I think you should join us when it happens. Yes, you.

Late last night we went out for a walk downtown. We heard the most delightful squeaky fuss coming from high up, next to the alley behind the art store. It was sweet, funny bat music. What's a group of bats called? Surely not a flock, or a gaggle. What about a bite (megabite?), or a siphon, or a strangle of bats? Anyway, there was a crowd of them, making a tight little home together behind a sign. We stood there, peering into the dark, listening to them fret, hoping to see them fly out for their nightly hunt. Eventually, they began to emerge, one at a time, each one winging out crazily, many of them buzzing our heads. Bats! They're fabulous! They made me think of skydivers leaping from a plane, only they never fell to earth.

I think I'd like to build some bat houses with Rob. I don't want them in MY house but I'd love to have them as neighbors. I feel pretty sure their voices would end up in a sound sculpture somewhere.

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.

Sunflowers

I'll admit it. Sometimes Doctor Who speaks to my soul. Yeah, it's predictable and silly. Yeah, it's full of monsters. So am I. Occasionally.

After a night of fighting some monsters of my own, I plugged myself into Netflix Instant Watch while I worked in the kitchen and watched the episode about Vincent Van Gogh from Season 5.

Van Gogh was the first artist to show up on my radar when I was a child. My mother was enamored of him, particularly his sunflowers. This image was one of the daily influences on the development of my brain.

Van Gogh was also my first famous example of mental illness. Again, thanks to my mother, I knew his story. It fascinated me and excited my sympathy as all such stories of unrest and struggle always, always have. (As a child I read with intense interest books like The Three Faces of Eve to supplement my typical kids' book fare. Is that weird?)

So I sort of loved watching that episode and seeing Vincent Van Gogh fight an alien monster that no one else could see. Of course he did. He always did. That part was no invention by the BBC.

What I liked best was this thought, which came at the end of the show, when the Doctor and Amy Pond take Vincent forward in time long enough to show him his own work, hung in a beautiful gallery, being seen and appreciated by an admiring public. It's cheesy, but so lovely. The Doctor engages the curator while Vincent is within earshot:

The Doctor: Between you and me, in a hundred words, where do you think Van Gogh rates in the history of art?

Curator: Well... um... big question, but, to me Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all. Certainly the most popular, great painter of all time. The most beloved, his command of colour most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world, no one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world's greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived.

That nails the fineness and heroism of the man. And of any person who fights to bend such an internal struggle to the greater will of beauty and truth. In the world there are more such artists and creators, though most of them carry no paintbrush. But like Van Gogh, they often go without recognition in their time. These are the people I admire. People who publish peace, on any scale. People who act and won't settle for being acted upon, and keep turning their heads to face the sun.

The Loaf of Love is Large and Wordy

Saturday we went to a wedding celebration. Happiness! Found out that our friend married her friend the day before the party, on March Forth. What an auspicious day. I say they are destined for connubial bliss.

Beautiful Andi hosted the party. Happiness! Pompons and popping flashes. Old friends, good food. Profundities baked into Andi's artful and ever-communicative bread, like so:

It originally said, "MARSHA MARSHA MARSHA" in honor of the bride. March forth, Marsha. Marcha, marcha, marcha! May your joys be plenty and your kisses long.

And now for the advice of the evening:

Funny, but even after reading the directions on this loaf of bread, one of the party guests felt compelled to ask a stranger's permission (mine, because I was the one standing there) to cut into the words. He never actually spoke to me, just looked at me helplessly with a worried question on his brow. I told him, "Oh, just go ahead!"

I wonder if he felt guilty eating the word "ENJOY"?

Forget the meaning and enjoy. Observe how it's done properly, this letting go and taking pleasure in a wonderful moment:

She's just blindly tossed a pretty green bouquet, launched it, laughing, not looking. And see what happens next?

More delight! Leaping and laughing. Where's the bouquet? You never saw it, did you? So either I'm not a great photographer, or it just doesn't matter—your choice. (Trust me, it was green.)

Look, aren't the newlyweds wonderful? Marsha and Clint. Full of meaning that they don't have to remember every conscious moment. Full of joy because they let themselves forget for a little while and simply enjoy.

At least that's my take on things. 

Check out this cake. After Marsha and Clint nodded to tradition and fed each other a piece (nicely, not stuffingly) for the crowd, they walked away to continue enjoying themselves. And The Cake became a help-yourself affair. I was amused at how long it took people to give themselves permission to furtively walk up and hack off a hunk. Guilt, guilt. But as we saw earlier in this post, even a label might not have been enough to help them with that. 

Glad I wasn't shy because that almond frosting rocked the house. (Forget the calories and enjoy.)

How I Celebrated March Forth

I went with Rob to visit another planet.

We brought home souvenirs. (I carried so many in my pockets that my pants wanted to fall down.)

Spied a tree growing rosary beads, but decided not to harvest any for my prayers (wrong religion). 

Listened to jazz (and you can too, right here), loved it. Loved my friends.

The pièce de résistance was rehabilitating this (nearly two feet long prior to surgery):

and giving it a fresh chance at living. This is significant.

I'll tell you why in the next post. (Must sleep now. Tired out from all this Marching Forth.)

Brown Paper Packages

This morning a mysterious box appeared on our porch from some of our favorite people on earth. I laughed when I discovered it. I brought it inside and set it on the dining room table. I waited all day to open it. All night too, nearly. Wasn't that nice of me not to rip right into it when mine wasn't the only name on the package? Wasn't I the epitome of self-control? I had to pretend it wasn't there, had to ignore it. Wasn't easy. I mean, these are best beloveds we're talking about. And a history of interesting packages from said beloveds.

Hey, it's a coffee machine! (Wait, we don't drink coffee!) Hang on...

It's a box of John's incredible pickles! Party time! (Could you hear me wishing for some of your okra spears? I've been craving them since October. Seriously.)

And a bee-YOO-tee-full Christmas photo of the kiddos and one heckuva lucky red cat, but I'm not sure if I should post it. What do you say, pickle pals? Mugs or no mugs? 

Now we are waiting for one very special occasion to crack open these bottles. We are waiting for, say, tomorrow. That's special enough, or will be once the beets and okra start flying.

Thanks, friends! We love you and are working on a plan which will allow us to take a tuck in the western U.S. so we can be close enough to see you once or twice in a while, at least. 

I've been hearing this song in my head since we opened the box:

Green pickles, red pickles
Send 'em to Utah with a stamp
The stamp of love (the pickle stuff)
People people
Paper paper
Paper paper
People people
People people
Pickle pickle
Pickle pickle
Paper paper
Put the pickles in the package
Send the package to the people
Let the people eat all of the pickled beets
And okra baby
Yeah

Sliding (part 1)

Photography tip: If you want to capture a feeling of motion in a picture, it generally doesn't work to shoot straight into the oncoming action, like so:

and so:

and so:

and so:

or you wind up getting static shots that give no sense of speed. Shoot from the side or it will make little difference whether your subject moves rapidly (Rob) or slowly (Geo); what you'll end up with is a static image. As in this case, you could miss out on accurately demonstrating the whee of an overdue sliding lesson, sought by an eager, awkward novice and delivered with playful panache by a long-time pro, at Utah Lake on a bitingly cold New Year's Day. (But this doesn't mean it wasn't fun.)

More on this and other January subjects tomorrow. Happy 2011, everyone.

Hi, Neighbors

Long-time beloveds and more recent inductees into adoration who crossed our threshold today:

• brother Brian (who likes toast with oomph)
• Annie Lennox (via CD—thanks, Brian)
• all three Homo sapiens inhabitants of Tribal Headquarters (Dad in a cloud of sick-day vision, the women fluttering anxiously behind)
• skinny Dave (whom I intend to feed)
• Melody's offspring, Luke (who seems like a lovable guy in his own right, but automatically warrants a place on this list because he's got his mama's blood and steadily merits her approval)
• President Amanda (with her megawatt smile)
• Leland and Charla (even though they came while we were having dinner at Mama Pupusas'—phoo)
• Santa, née Bruce (out of uniform and wearing a safari hat and no whiskers, but ho-ho-ho-ing merrily as ever)
• the shake rattle and roll Tanner boys (come a-bearing season's drum beatings)

A great day for visitors!

To give unto them beauty for ashes

I'm out to banish an old demon. I am calling for a new holiday, and invite you to celebrate it with me. The third Tuesday of November is to be known henceforth as Love Your Life Day. Feel free to interpret that however you wish, but I do hope you will find something to do that brings you real joy, something that makes you glad you're a resident of this planet, something that invigorates your spirit and helps you want to go on, and on, and on. I hope you spend the whole day in beautiful thoughts and choices that allow you to feel real and strong and clean and vibrant. Take good care of yourself. Nurture your soul. Eat something wonderful. Laugh for a good reason, and also for no good reason. Spend some time under the sky. Dance. Move. This is starting to sound like some cheesy motivational quote already, and I haven't even warmed up. Never mind—you can figure it out on your own without my suggestions. Just love your live. And if you feel like sharing later, tell me how you celebrated.

Happy Love Your Life Day.

Vacation as love letter, part 1 (for my #1)

The most fulfilling journeys begin with clear intent. That intent can take any of a number of forms—a question, a curiosity, a wish, a dream, a goal—but its purpose is to set things in motion, and to suggest a meaningful direction. It's okay if your intent evolves as you travel on; in fact, it's almost bound to happen, but you've got to get the wheels rolling on the road before you can steer the car.

Rob and I left town for a vacation October 21st and came home three nights ago. Our intent was to get away for some rest and relaxation, enjoy each other's company, and revisit some beautiful places that were very good for our souls a few years ago. We succeeded, I would say, in each of those goals except for the rest one. We cried wolf for a few weeks in September and October before we managed to tear ourselves away from work and life, but once we finally began to nail down plans and actually packed up our toothbrushes, things fell into their proper places quickly, and our intent sweetened and deepened and expanded, continuing through the whole of our trip. I felt changed before we even climbed into the car, and I feel changed now.

I have love letters inside to write to each day of our time off, to every person and place we adored along the way, but the letter my soul sends first and last and every step in between is the longest and lovingest of all, the one for my good travel mate. Oh, what a lot we learned in just two and a half weeks! I know we came home richer than we left, even if we spent our little travel fund dry. I'm certain we came home better equipped to love and work and be. I absolutely came home more hopeful, determined, and married. And more full of clear intent.

Here's a kiss for you, Rob, and another, and a fond pronouncement that honey, you ARE a trip. A very, very good trip.

Here's a hink pink for you: WET PET.