Headlock of Love

While pulling up some childhood costume pictures for our work Halloween party, I ran across this picture of me lovingly holding my first cat, White Paws.

I think this is evidence that some things never change.

Meditation

Kevin grabbed this snapshot of my meditation over the weekend, 1,000 feet above the Fruita orchards.

Those hard-to-reach behind-the-ear spots

Watching Phoebe and Aja like this reminded me of all the great things friends and partners do for each other. I shudder to think of where we would be without the other to support us and cover us in those hard-to-reach parts of our lives.

One thing I'm surprised you can't hear on the video is Aja's very loud motor of a purr.

Acorns

My childhood was surrounded by bark, leaves, and acorns. My backyard was home to a tall stand of wild oak trees. This small grove hovered above my park-issue swing set, and I could almost touch the branches with my feet when I swang high. The oaks had a nailed-in ladder to a high platform that served as my tree house, and later my dad added another, lower tier so that I had a proper second story.

In autumn the leaves came down in abundance. The ones that fell over the lawn were swept into heaping piles, but the majority of the leaves were left to provide a floor for the mini-forest that was replenished and re-layered with every cold season.

Around this oak patch and up in my tree fort, I engaged in the kind of unstructured imaginative play that doesn’t come from Barbie dolls or watching cartoons. I was an orphan like the Boxcar Children, surviving in the forest, Mowgli in the rain forest, and even a creator of vast worlds. I would invite (which usually meant I would carry) my cats up to the fortress and make them my subjects while I barked orders and they lazily rolled over in the spotty shade. It was the kind of place I could bring my friends or attend alone, but it always proved to be an open, freedom-filling space.

Down below the tree dropped hundreds of acorns. These were my earliest experiences with seeds, which are the metaphors for our growth, our spirituality, our human stories of life and regeneration. I wanted to understand how something the size of a fingertip could grow into the massive organic structure that held my two-story fortress, shaded my yard, and provided enough of a large forest for me to get lost in imagination. Occasionally I found the decomposing ones, which were pliable and allowed me to peel down to the heart of the nut in an attempt to uncover the magic of their potential treehood. The cupules would detach freely and make perfect fingertip covers, tea cups for grasshopper tea parties, or small shovels for miniature construction sites. Now when I see an acorn still attached to the tree, I can't help but think of those cup-shaped cupules and how I used to collect those perfect half-spherical shells.

I never ate the acorns despite knowing that they fed birds and other animals, not to mention the Native Americans that were able to store them up fresh for months—even years—at a time without processing them. I think that’s what makes the acorn somewhat unique: they are an early, natural hand-me-down source that doesn’t need immediate modification to be used at a later time. Like the acorns, my playtimes in the wild oak tree patch were ones that preserved themselves well, stored up raw in the reserves of memory, to draw upon when the simple times have all but diminished. I can barely recall those times of processed, commercialized play with heavily-branded merchandise. Instead these unstructured, natural experiences are the ones that last for years in their pure form, a harvest I can draw upon when new production of unstructured imaginative experiences are harder to come by.

Evening at Silver Lake

I've been thinking about mountains and water, and so Kevin and I decided to take this gorgeous autumn stroll around Silver Lake this evening. I can hardly believe this is so close to our home. The aspen color is better than I've seen it in years, and you can see the snow that's coming down the mountainside.

Where Mountains Meet Water

I love this picture I have that belongs to a series Kevin and I took at Jenny Lake in Grand Teton National Park this summer. The lake is beautiful, but it's the mountains coming right up out of the water that gets to me.

I first learned to recognize and love the blend of shoreline and rising peaks when I went on an Alaskan cruise with my aunt and uncle almost nine years ago. I just can't help but think how great it would be to have this view out of my back door. I guess I'll have to settle for mountains rising up out of the desert valley for now.

Hi-Ho, Anybody Home?

Growing Hearth, Red Butte Garden

Matt mentioned campfire songs recently, and it made me think about two things. First, there's been a serious lack of campfires this year, and second, I love autumn-sounding songs like "Hi-Ho, Anybody Home?" and "Have You Seen the Ghost of John?". Great rounds.

I'm also thinking about Halloween. I suppose it would be pretty inappropriate to don a prairie dress and do up my hair like a polygamist? It's a shame. I could totally pull that off.

5th Remote Control

This weekend Kevin put in our digital converter boxes. Yes, our TVs have rabbit ears as we don't watch enough TV to justify a cable bill. Those rabbit ears look good with our Atari 2600.

So far, things look pretty good. We're getting occasional pixelation and glitches, but that goes away quickly. We're also getting four BYU channels, four KUED, and three UEN. So it looks like we'll get plenty of the public television, which is about 50% of what we watch anyway during the 1-2 hours a week the TV is on.

We're counting our blessing because our neighbors have had some trouble getting any picture to show with the new converter boxes. They get "no signal" all the time. The only thing I don't like is that we have to change channels through the converter box but we have power through the TV. So we have five remotes: converter box, TV, DVD, VCR, and stereo. That's going make for a lumpy couch once the remotes find their way to their natural home between the cushions.

Peach Pie

I've posted on peaches, and I've posted on pie, so it was only a matter of time before I posted on peach pie. This is what Kevin and I made together, our first pie of this variety. I made the crust, he added spice and sugar to the fresh peaches, and then Kevin put the top on. Can I tell you it was fabulous? When you taste it, there exists nothing but the pie.

Lovely Deseret

This past weekend I accepted a call to be a teacher at church in Relief Society, which is the women's meeting. Ironically that same day at church I witnessed three mortifying comments made in public that hurt someone else in attendance (on tattoos, child discipline, and politics). Now I am thinking through the best ways to handle these types of comments that will inevitably be raised when I am leading the classroom.

Handling these non-doctrinal (or what I guess I mean to say is non-Christlike) comments with delicacy is never easy. While I have never used church as my personal political forum, I don't want the views of the few to be unduly squashed by the views of the many. But I also want people to feel safe to comment in class, even if their comments aren't perfectly worded. I think church, including the church classroom, should be a place where everyone is welcome. Bring your tattoos. Bring your noisy kids. And, hey, it's OK to think this war was a bad idea in the first place, even if you're in a small minority here in our lovely Deseret. I will try to deflect critical comments directed toward you.

And if you make one of these types of comments that I dread, please know I will do my best to see past it and get to the heart of what you mean to say. In essence, we'll all just have to do our best.

Enough to Be on Your Way

I discovered this James Taylor song about the Southwest today. Yes, I've heard it for years, but today I actually listened to it and absorbed its images, beginning with the sun that shines on both sorrow and joy. Appropriately, I first learned to love his melodies and lyrics on a college road trip to Las Vegas, crossing the Great Basin and skimming the Colorado Plateau. The powerful image of sending his deceased lover "up a smoke stack" to return her to "what she knew the best." These heartbreaking images call me back to this place I call home.

The sun shines on this funeral
The same as on a birth
The way it shines on everything
That happens here on Earth
It rolls across the western sky
And back into the sea
And spends the day's last rays
Upon this [messed]-up family
So long old pal

The last time I saw Alice
She was leaving Santa Fe
With a bunch of round-eyed Buddhists
In a killer Chevrolet
Said they turned her out of Texas
Yeah she burned 'em down back home
Now she's wild with expectation
On the edge of the unknown

Oh it's enough to be on your way
It's enough just to cover ground
It's enough to be moving on
Home, build it behind your eyes
Carry it in your heart
Safe among your own

They brought her back on a Friday night
Same day I was born
We sent her up the smoke stack
And back into the storm
She blew up over the San Juan mountains
And spent herself at last
The threat of heavy weather
That was what she knew the best

It woke me up on a Sunday
An hour before the sun
It had me watching the headlights
Out on highway 591
'Til I stepped into my trousers
'Til I pulled my big boots on
I walked out on the Mesa
And I stumbled on this song

Oh it's enough to be on your way
It's enough just to cover ground
It's enough to be moving on
Home, build it behind your eyes
Carry it in your heart
Safe among your own

Or, if you prefer to listen to the southwestern red rock music video.

Autumn Beauties

While running a mid-day errand yesterday, I saw a woman on the side of the road harvesting sunflowers. She had a large tub in which she placed 20-30 cut flowers. They were cheerful and bright, a growing testament to late summer sunshine. I felt an urge to jump out and join her, to get a large bucket bouquet for myself, but I had to continue with my task.

Ever since, my awareness is increasing of sunflowers populating all the places I usually pass in my commute: in yards, in vacant lots, on the side of the freeway and on street corners. These are the wild-weed beautification of the urban desert valley.

The only place that are not, it seems, is my yard. Why is that? I've got a huge place with many wild things growing. Sunflowers belong here among the sweet peas, the wild rose, the high mint. My garden is simply craving these autumn beauties. For now I know what I'll be welcoming into this space next year.

Something Better

And to make up for posting that nasty foot photo, here's my favorite one from the garden Saturday.

Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.

-Robert Frost

The Joy of Callouses and Blisters

A warning to my more sensitive readers: this post is about feet. Well, it's about feet, and legs, and hips, and gripes that are now eighteen months old. The thing is that I love to run. I love it because it's hard, efficient, and intense, so I get all the added benefits of an exercise that is all consuming for a girl on the go.

But last year I hit a snag. I won't go into the long story of pain and diagnosis, so to make it short, I have a chronic IT band issue caused by supination, a bow-legged, outside-edge-of-foot way of walking and running that I just can't help. That has kept me in pain for eighteen months, and it's kept me out of my running shoes for almost a year. But finally, bit by careful bit, I've been working my way up to this:

Yes, that is a callous and a blister (hey, no one ever said runners have pretty feet). And to me that means victory. I don't even mind that pain. I'm working carefully on my hip with daily stretches and a killer hard foam roll to smooth out all the tight spots. In the last two weeks, I've successfully been on five runs. Sure, the runs are short and nothing like what I used to do, but when I compare it to where I've been, it's a dream.

Red Foothills

I spent the morning hiking the trails east of Red Butte Garden. While there is a surprising amount of flowers blooming, I can also detect the earliest signs of autumn in the foothills.

I am excited for the new season, but I also feel the need to store up the pleasures of summer against the approaching season. Things to keep (even if only in a feeling of a memory) from this summer: sunlight, nighttime crickets, long drives and road trips, good books, watercolors, and of course photos of flowers and gardens to mark my first year of devotion to growing things.

What will you store from this summer?

Life is Dancing the Twilight Blues

Consider this thesis, that we are drawn to nature because nature has a way of being. Nature doesn't do so much as it is, and this is this peace that results from being congruent with one's divine nature. While we run around half asleep and in conflict, it's this peace that appeals to us on a higher plane.

I recently read a book that reminded of some of the spiritual awakening I had when I was a college student reading the Tao Te Ching. All the doing we have in our lives actually distracts us from being who we are meant to be. Eckhart Tolle says, "Life is the dancer, and we are the dance." Life plays us; life interprets us. The best I can be is mindful of the present moment. I certainly can use the practice of being more in tune with the present moment, and I think nature is one path that can teach me how to be.

Peaches

There are a lot of things I love about late summer/early fall. I always loved going to school, taking new classes, wearing new clothes. Now I really love the fresh abundance of vegetables in farmers markets and home gardens. I could eat tomatoes with goat mozzarella and olive oil every night for dinner for a month or two before getting sick of it, and I've made a couple loaves of low-fat zucchini bread that are so delightful for breakfast on the run.

One thing that I have always loved is the season of peaches. Growing up I had several peach trees in my delightful backyard. I remember strangers would sometimes see our trees and knock at our door to see if they could take any of the loads of peaches off our hands, and my mom was happy to comply. Now my current home has a plum tree and a crab apple tree, and as of Saturday, our very own peach tree.

Not only did Kevin surprise me with the tree, but he went to all the work to pull out the allergy-inducing forsythia and plant our new addition. Sure, we'll have to pick any forming fruit off for the next couple of years so that the nutrients go into the tree, but that's doable. I am just looking forward to the chain of events. One of the few truly "domestic" things that I can do is bottle peaches like these in my pantry:

And then of course, that leads to lots of this when it gets to be autumn:

Stop by and I'll make you some cobbler sometime.

A View Through the Curtains

A 12-minute drive and a swift hike up a steep, steep canyon puts it all into perspective. It is amazing this is all it takes to get above it all.

Now, for this cause I know that man is nothing, which thing I never had supposed.

I mean look at us. We're ants.

Simple Gifts

When true simplicity is gain'd,
To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right.

I have had this Shaker tune in my head all evening. This is a beautiful day of simple, delightsome gifts. I got off work at 5:00 (on time!), came home to a lovely bowl of local peaches and some fresh, hot nutella crepes, spent time in the garden with my fall planting, and even went running a couple of miles during the sunset. Now I'm off to stretch and take a bubble bath, followed by some reading of my new novel (Foucault's Pendulum) and a decent bedtime.

I have been working on simplifying my life through detachment from identifying too much with outside things such as career, peers, pressures, and material possessions. It is painful work, brought on by suffering because in the past I have let myself become attached to things that are not who I really am. Today I feel the difference.

How about you? What have you given up lately that has made things simpler or better in your life?

The Curious Incident of the Arch in the Nighttime

I used to backpack up through Landscape Arch before boulders feel from it in 1991. Since then I've been resigned to take the Devils Garden trail past Wall Arch, but now that area is in peril and the trail is closed. Or should I say that, as of two weeks ago, Wall Arch no longer exists?

So my question is this: If an arch crashes 71 feet to the desert floor, but no one is around, does it make a sound?

T.S. Eliot has this answer:

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

-The Hollow Men (image from Arches National Park)

So what is left for us is the evidence of an unobserved, but supposedly violent transformation. And maybe I should try to make my next post about something besides the end of the world.

Evanescence

Waves harmonized, with slivered particles
Refraction blasted on boulders
Forms a dissolving phantom
Covenants no immediate Armageddon
Which signals no Rapture, but I'll take it

Bark Beetle

“The clearest way to the Universe is through a forest wilderness” -John Muir

Have you seen how the bark beetle thrives in some forests? I was sad to go up Cedar Canyon and discover the forest is half dead.

Ransacked, rummaged bark,

Beetle swallows, grinds, renders

Breathless remembrance

Shakespearean Festival: 2008 review

It's time again for my annual Shakespearean Festival review. Kevin and I saw two plays in the outdoor Adam's Theatre--we really enjoy the outdoor ambiance and try to see our plays there if we can. Although the outdoors have their drawbacks--we were slightly distracted when a big unassuming bug crawled along the balcony railing and the man next to me leaned forward and flicked it down onto the people sitting in the orchestra seats. Kevin and I had to try very hard to not laugh.

(Images courtesy of bard.org.)

I know that Othello traditionally ranks as one of the top four Shakespearean tragedies (with King Lear, Macbeth, and Hamlet), but there was a lot in here that reminded me of Julius Cesar: wars, senators, spousal (dis)loyalty, deceit to gain political position, trust, distrust, shame, and suicide. Igao has more lines than anyone, so this play could bear his name as the title, and he serves as an author and director of the plot from within the play. I've always wondered why he is so malicious. It's not obvious he's doing it for promotion only, but (sorry, but I think the analysis fits) like Heath Ledger's Joker, he just wants to control people, to make people destroy their own excellent lives.

I also found myself admiring Desdemona more this time. Lindsey Wochley did a fabulous job portraying the smart, gracious, sincere (and innocent!) woman and bringing her to life so we are truly as amazed as she is at Othello's turn in character. Jonathan Earl Peck performed a masculine and tragic Othello.

Cyrano de Bergerac was a different change from the Renaissance-era outdoor plays. What an interesting character. He makes many enemies with his sensitive poetic soul and his inability to walk away from an insult. Yet, he bears tragic sorrows and personal inhibitions for years and years. Despite that, he's determined to never miss a letter to or an appointment with Roxanne, and he dies fighting to the end, refusing help and sympathy. Brian Vahgn, a regular at the festival, played very convincingly and amazingly. He was the show. I really felt Cyrano's loss in this play.

Dangerously Beautiful

While in Yellowstone over the weekend, my family watched a dramatization of the "super volcano" of Yellowstone erupting and taking out the entire continental U.S. I'd just like to thank my brother for bringing that movie and its thoughts of impending doom on our trip.

Despite being one of the world's largest and most active volcanoes, Yellowstone is beautiful this time of year--covered in wildflowers. I wasn't too hot walking around unshaded geyser basins all day either, although I've never known the Old Faithful and related geysers to be a cool (temperature-wise) place to hang out.

It is a fragile and changing place. I was surprised that the Steamboat Geyser I remember from my childhood trips has stopped erupting at all.

Hayden Valley

Artist Paintpots

Porcelain Basin (double meaning, I know)

Wildflower Meadow

Lower Falls/Inspiration Point

Jackson Lake with Grand Tetons

This is the birth day of life and love and wings

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

- e. e. cummings

MVSEVM

Over the weekend, Kevin and I went to the "Monet to Picasso" exibit at the The Utah Museum of Fine Arts. What cool set of unique pieces: Lots of Monets, Rodins, a couple of Van Goghs, a Dali, and oh yes, Picassos. If you go, wait for the free audio set--it's worth it.

This exhibit also made me realize how much I don't know about art history. I'll always be sad that I didn't take a university-level art history class when I had the chance. Instead, I only find art very mysterious.

One thing I learned is that Rodin's "The Thinker" is symbollic of Dante plotting The Divine Comedy. That creates a whole new meaning for that piece for me. How the physical ability in the sculpture represents a mind capable of taking on such a huge task.

And this is my favorite piece in the show:

This is a piece Monet did of his future wife. He captured her in this pose like a camera's snapshot. The whole idea that this is like a snapshot, even though a photgraphic lens was not developed enough at the time to take snapshots, just intrigues me. It makes me contemplate my own anachronistic observation I impose on the painting. The closed doors and the sideways glance also imply future separation (she later died in childbirth). So it's sad and beautiful.

August at Albion Basin

Today Kevin and I took our annual wildflower walk through Albion Basin. The wildflowers this weekend are strong and amazing, and there are hints that more are to come through August.

The one thing I wish I could document for myself is the fresh, clean smell. As I'm up there, I know I'm getting sweaty and dirty from the trail, but I can't help feeling like I want to bring my entire wardrobe up here and just let the fresh breeze clean my clothes straight through with the mountain air.

I wish I had that smell, that coolness, the overall feeling of mountain air to go back to whenever I wanted.

A Blog Text Mosaic

Rachel led me to a very fun website, wordle.net, and I could stay at this site forever. You can enter any text you want (in this case I chose my blog), and it creates an image from your text. Apparently the more times you enter a word, the larger it shows up. I love what showed up from my blog: garden, Keats, family, motto, Kevin. I could do this all day, if only I had the time (I don't). I will defintely be back later to try some others out.

A Simple Thing

Today I found a saving grace in a small thing. Lately I have been experiencing a lot of stress, and today I just needed a break from it all. I went on a walk around the LDS Conference Center to get my heart pumping as I trucked up part of Capitol Hill. And while I was in the middle of power-walking, I saw lamb's ear next to the sidewalk. I never pick flowers out of someone else's garden or even off of the nearby mountains. But, I love lamb's ear and I felt the need to touch it. I reached down to feel it, and then I picked a leaf. I felt a little guilty, but I figured my tithing would more than cover picking one leaf out of a little garden by the Conference Center.

I've kept this leaf with me all day. It's so soft and comforting, like flannel sheets out of the dryer in winter. Thank goodness for the little things.

Family Motto

Upon reading one of my old friends' blogs this weekend, I was curious to find out that she has a family motto. Hers is "Je suis pret," or "I am ready." I think the family motto is a great idea. The problem is deciding on one good phrase out of so many. Kevin and I are the open-ended sort of people. We don't have "a song," because that would be unfair to all the other songs, and also block out any new songs that might come out that remind us of each other. We don't have "our show" anymore either, especially after the Simpsons really started going downhill. But, I thought, why not a first for decisiveness? Why shouldn't Kevin and I have a family motto?

Today at church I suggested to Kevin that we should stay open to the inspiration that might come in helping us decide on a family motto. After much pondering, here are our best options (and sorry to those authors and pop icons who we've hopelessly ripped off):

• "I can't believe I ate the whole thing."
  
• "Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhh"
  
• "Look upon our works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
  
• "I would prefer not to."
  
• "Never complain. Never explain."
  
• "Live with intention. Play with abandon."
  
• "I don't know why I said that."

My favorite is the one from Shelley's "Ozymandias," about the mighty despairing at our works, because it's very tongue in cheek, and how can that be bad in a motto? We also really like the Bartleby one, "I would prefer not to." I need to use this phrase more in my life.

(image courtesy of wikipedia.org)

Do any of you have a motto, personal, family, or otherwise? If not, what would it be?

A Gardening Exercise in Futility

After viewing an awesome virtual garden tour on Brooke's blog, I decided to go through my backyard and take a photo tour of my own. I've been working hard in my garden, and I watch it grow every day. I am happy that I've only had the online seller replace five or six of the 120 plants I ordered. It makes me feel like a good nurturer.

So I thought it would be fun to do a side-by-side comparison of my Afternoon Delight garden that I posted on a few months ago. When I got back to the computer, I looked at the new photo and the previous photo. Surprisingly, I could see little difference between the two. Oh, and did I mention that it was supposed to look like this? It makes me sad that despite my efforts, the garden hasn't grown that fast. After all, it's been three months.

Here's the garden before:

And now:

Granted, this picture doesn't show the close-up details like the flowers some of these have now. But just so this post isn't completely depressing, I am posting my favorite, healthiest coneflowers planted this spring.

"When I have fears that I will cease to be": A Tribute to Keats (of a contrived nature)

In what way do you think the angst of a young adult differs from that of a teenager? While all angst seems somewhat narcissistic, to me teenage angst is routed in powerlessness. For a young adult, angst is more about futility, failed hopes and dreams, and a feeling like life has already passed us by. Now in my late twenties and re-reading John Keats' poetry, I view Keats' obsessions differently: that his life was wasted, was essentially over, and he would never achieve his dreams. He died slowly of tuberculosis at 25 and never knew he would become so revered.

I read this book review of Keats' poetry in my most recent New Yorker Magazine, which reminded me of my admiration of the poet. My senior-year seminar was on Romantic/Victorian poets and painters, and I became amazed at Keats' clear analysis of literature (he coined the description "negative capability" in regard to Shakespeare's enduring characterizations) and his own poetic creations.

This inspired me to write a poem of my own about the angst I see in Keats. Below is the sonnet I wrote, which contains four quotes cited in the New Yorker article. Now I can tell you what I found out: I hate writing sonnets. I find the form very limiting and the results contrived--I used words I'd never actually say. It's not just the rhyme scheme, but the ten syllables per line that are supposedly alternating between "down" and "up" emphasis of the iamb--or is it "up" and "down"? You take a line directly from Keats himself, “Here lies one whose name was writ on water," and see that it's hopelessly the opposite of iambic (it's trochaic). On the other hand, "When I have fears that I will cease to be" is perfect iambic pentameter. Oh well. Perfection be damned, and here it is:

Angst of a Wasted Life (A Sonnet inspired by Master Keats)

Earth awoke to cheerful blossoms and hearth
While I awoke to meet the Pain of Day
Noted a poet I met on my way,
“When I shook her by the hand, there was death!”
When I have fears that I will cease to be
I differ not from the fresh-scented flower
Turned withered bloom or dried-up bower—
I live this existence Posthumously.
Earth’s Glory subside, her Wonders deride
Praiseworthy actions all shrink before long
All Courage deemed haughty—Right be judged Wrong
Mercy extinguished by Fear and by Pride.
Moot is my glory or voice’s thunder
“Here lies one whose name was writ on water.”

Now on to doing something I enjoy: eating spaghetti made from herbs in our garden, made by Kevin, the superior chef in this house.

A Mosaic Meme (of Me)

D'Arcy presented this meme of an artistic expression, and I thought I'd give it a try.

And for those of us who don't know what "meme" means:

Meme: (from mimesis) "An idea, behavior, style, or usage that spreads from person to person within a culture."

I made a meme--this is how the meme works:

Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr or Google Image search. Using only the first page, choose an image. Copy and paste each of the URL’s into the mosaic maker over at FD's image maker.

The questions:

What is your first name?
What is your favorite food? (cheese, but not all kinds are created equal)
What high school did you attend? (Brighton)
What is your favorite color? (blue)
Who is your celebrity crush? (Bono, for the whole persona, not just looks)
Favorite drink? (Coke Zero)
Dream vacation? (Southern France)
Favorite dessert? (crepes with nutella or lemon juice & powdered sugar)
What do you want to be when you grow up? (a leisurely woman)
What do you love most in life? (wilderness)
One word to describe you? (seeking)
Your nickname? (only one Kevin can use--lisa bug)

When Grandpa was our dealer, this used to be easy

Alisa: “Enjoy driving your new Hyundai!”

Kevin: “No, it’s a Honda. Oh wait…” Pauses while reality sets in. “Oh crap.”

All jokes aside--after several weeks, three makes, three models, six dealerships, and a lot of research, we are finally very happy with our new Hyundai Elantra.

Methodical Miscellany: Two Ideas

I discovered Jana's blog through Exponent, where I guest posted several months ago. I enjoy her nature photography--she has enviable close-up skills. There are two of her older posts that I think are really worth revisiting.

Maya Angelou on Forgiveness

Living Small

Beautiful Repetition

For the last few years, my family has made a tradition of going to the Uintah Mountains on July 4th. This was where I, as a child, first learned to love the mountains, forest, meadow, and fishing. It's wonderful to see that, nearly 30 years later, my father hasn't changed much, although the little girl has.

A God Among Cats

Many people will say that emotion is what separates us from the animals. Sure, they have fight or flight responses; they can feel pain and fear. But complex emotions, those are reserved for the humans and maybe a few of our like-minded mammal buddies, such as dolphins and chimpanzees.

I, however, proudly stake myself with the other crazy pet owners who think our animal companions have the ability to show and process complex emotions. The skeptics say this is merely a form of projection—a need of our pathetic pet-owner lives to see more than what is actually there. Well, let them say it. I just happen to disagree and can vouch for the complex emotions animals express.

Jealousy: Take for instance my cats. When we brought Phoebe home to live with us, I wasn’t surprised that Aja rejected her at first. But what surprised me was how she rejected me. Even though she had little idea of why this kitten appeared in the house, she knew I was trying to make peace between them, and that made me her enemy. We had it out and didn’t really get over it for a few weeks.

Let me even make a further stretch: Empathy. What makes a cat realize that when she wants something—to go outside, to have her litter box changed, to have the floaties removed from her water—that the more pathetic her meow is, the more likely she is to receive attention? She’ll start off whining, but gradually the meows will become elongated, deeper, and more mournful. Why does she doe this? Empathy. She has to know that I want her to be happy. Then she makes her pitiful attempt, so that I will realize how my lack of action is torturing her, so I will obviously remedy the situation. Her ability to feign complete helplessness is an exercise in her emotional awareness.

Yesterday I discovered a new emotion in Phoebe. Everyone knows cats to be an aloof sort of creature. I am their servants, they are the queens. It is a privilege for me to scratch Aja behind the ear, or to twirl a toy for Phoebe. This is one thing they never let me forget, until yesterday morning. I was sitting on the couch, reading, and Phoebe came to grace me with her presence. She sat sitting on the arm of the couch, and, not wanting to make eye contact with me, she stared at the closed blinds covering the window. For a few minutes she sat that way, deeply interested in staring at nothing to avoid my gaze. At that point, I got out of my seat, walked over to the window, and turned the wand on the blinds. A whole universe opened up outside the window. Phoebe stared at amazement at how the view from her couch arm was transformed. She then looked up at me, as if I had not only exposed this new world, but created it myself. She stood amazed, asking with her eyes how I had accomplished this great work. Projection of my own desires? I think not. Since that time, I have been admired as her god.