Going Gawking

One of Kevin's family traditions is to go on drives to look at the lights on people's homes at Christmas. This turns into the quest for trees that have been done up really well (each branch illuminated with light, as opposed to the sloppy wrap-around). But it also leads us to find the odd and amusing lighted outdoor decor that people will put in front of their homes. So over time, a bizarre decoration has become just as good to see as a professional-looking light job.

One Christmas Eve, we split the family up in two cars equipped with walkie-talkies to communicate between vehicles. We had a great time joking back and forth, and occasionally poking fun at the decorations we saw, until the fire department came on our walkie-talkies, asking us if everything was OK, and we realized they had heard our conversations. Oh, the embarrassment.

To build on that, I thought I'd share some treasured Christmas light "gawking" fun. In less than 30 minutes of driving, we found the following beauties:

"No, Frosty! Don't do it!" Nothing like a glam, gleaming Frosty right on the edge.

I still don't get these huge blow-up lawn decorations. This one is a Christmas tree with a sled stuck in it on the right and a Santa hanging off it on the left. It's amazing how many people put up sorry-looking "hang 'em high" Santas in different forms (hanging from poles, banners, places of business), but the sight of this deflated Santa cracked me up.

I don't know how to explain this house, as its mysteries are many and astounding. This house is one of the best.

On the right, we have in a basement window a glowing floating Santa head, beaming out with a detailed mouth. Above in the window there's something that looks like it may once have been a Tweety Bird, but the lights have faded and it's indistinguishable. I think it looks like an alien or a fetus.

One the left we have these smiley faces on sticks, with a big light shining on them for all to see. All I want to know is why.

One million lights

Or almost.

Heifer Holidays

Lately I've been bugging Kevin about checking out the zoning laws to see if we can have chickens. They're totally sustainable, eating garbage and making eggs, which I love (eggs, not garbage). Besides, I just like having pets.

While I realize that having chickens is not realistic anytime soon, I found something better in Heifer.org. For a couple of years I've been getting their catalogues of gifts that buy livestock for developing communities. The beneficiaries of your gift give offspring of their livestock to another community member, so it's a gift that keeps on giving. And the chicks are so cute.

Perhaps some of your friends and family may not be thrilled to receive a charitable donation as a gift, but I am sure others would be. Six geese a-laying cost $20, and could provide 450 eggs a year to a poor family.

It's better than feeding the Walmart beast, is it not?

Mr. Krueger's Christmas

I make sure to watch Mr. Krueger's Christmas every year. It's the last film Jimmy Stewart made, and it even stars the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

What a special man Willy Krueger is, going about his custodial duties, never complaining. He refuses to let his loneliness get to him, and burns with Christmas spirit and imagination. And he's a cat person to boot! The scene where he imagines he's at the manger has one of the most honest and open prayers I have heard.

Joshua Tree in SLC

Ever driven across the desert on I-15 between the Arizona canyon and Las Vegas? Have you seen the Joshua trees? I guess they're all over the Southwest and even in Northern California, but they're certainly scarce here. While they grow in St. George, they don't even make it up to Cedar City's frigid altitudes. But we have one here in the SLC.

I disovered this Joshua tree a couple years ago on a lunchtime walk, but it took me this long to get a picture. It's not a great picture taken in the dark, and the xeriscape looks so strange contrasted with the Temple Square trees behind it (side note: horses!). I've adopted this tree as a fish out of water. Do you know of any others on the Wasatch Front?

The Road Not Taken: My Alternate Reading

I realize that I posted on this just last April, but a friend reminded me of it, and I started thinking more about the questions I had then on this poem.

I am not convinced that this poem is about the merits of pursuing the alternate path, but instead is about questioning the decision to travel the unworn path. At the end of the poem, the narrator sighs and thinks about that other road that he always had intended to go back and take, but life got away from him before he was able to travel back.

May I indulge in an alternate reading? Even though the title usually is understood as the road the narrator took, the more I think about Frost's title, "The Road Not Taken," the more I become convinced that the road not taken is the one the narrator did not take. Both paths were roads, which by definition must have some passage and travellers to keep their status (he wasn't bushwacking through the brush). And Frost never says that his road was the one not taken, but only "want[ing] wear," "grassy," and "less travelled by." That leads me to conclude that the title and focus of the poem is the other road, the road of conformity, which keeps its place as an absent presence through the poem.

What if this is the pensive meditation of the non-conformist on what could have been? What if it is the uncertainty that is granted about battles that were fought against the mainstream, and the questioning if that path was worth it in the end? The poem doesn't seem to answer these questions for me, but raise them.

As far as I can tell, this is quite a drastic change from the way this poem is touted by outsiders and minorities of all kinds. But now that I see it this way, I can't help myself in thinking that it is the artist that wonders what life would have been like if he'd been like everyone else instead. In the words of a Christmas carol, Do you see what I see? Does that ruin it, or add new meaning to you?

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Christmas songs that must go

I love Christmas music. I have a hard time restraining myself to listen only after Halloween (except I allow myself to listen to The Carpenter's Christmas album when it snows for the first time of the season).

But there are some songs that just bug me when they come on the store speakers or the radio. Now, if you don't feel that way, and if it's going to bug you to have me disparaging your favorite song, stop reading here.

Here is my list of Christmas songs that must go:

• "Christmas Shoes" (Newsong) - This song is the reason for this post. It's all about the narrator bragging what a good deed he did, and it's obvious for many reasons the "poor" kid was running a shoe money scam. Think about it: if you were poor and your mom was dying, would your first instinct be to go shopping?
  
• "Santa Baby" (Eartha Kitt) - Gross old lady singing nasty song with lots of innuendo to Santa. Enough said.
  
• "Feliz Navidad" (Jose Feliciano) - I hesitate to put this one on since it was first introduced to me by Sesame Street Christmas (the old one, with Mr. Hooper). But it's overplayed and a bad representation of multiculturalism.
  
• "Where are you, Christmas?" (Faith Hill) - Too much containment, not enough subversion.
  
• "12 Days of Christmas" - Some people say it's a catechism, but I don't care. It's too long, too repetitive.
  

Any I left off the list?

100 Days of Exercise

With health insurance costs rising, a lot of companies are trying to incentivize healthy behaviors. Our health insurer encourages fitness by paying everyone $60 who records at least 30 minutes of exercise for 100 days of the year. In June Kevin and I decided that we would go for it, and this week we finished our 100 days, which is a 55% exercise rate. Not that it was hard to exercise (I end up walking at lunch for a half hour most days), but my problem is that I couldn't remember to write it down and lost my chance to record a lot of days with my forgetfulness. But we did it, and now we each get $60.

What do I plan to do with mine? I plan on going out to eat!

Clouds on Mt. Olympus

I love watching how the clouds will change Mt. Olympus and Twin Peaks. They will filter, reflect, and hide light on the mountains and bring snow or rain to change the entire color palate. What a cool canvas.

On a related note, when I drove to work this morning on the I-15 corridor, I looked straight ahead but I could not see one inch of downtown. There was just one dark curtain of a cloud that they freeway went through, with a rainbow right in front. Rainbows in Utah in December are certainly a rare sight.

Outdoor Lights

This year we cut down our juniper tree on the left side of our house, which is good for all reasons except that we can't put Christmas lights on it anymore. Sure, I love junipers in the desert. In fact, I'm all about changing Utah's state tree to the juniper (our state tree is the Colorado blue spruce--yes, it has another state's name in it, although we usually leave that part out). But despite my love for the juniper, I'd like them to stay in the desert and out of my yard.

I think Kevin did a great job with the lights, especially on the gnarly hibernating trumpet vine. We're experimenting with the blue LEDs this year. Also note those very clipped rose bushes along the driveway.

Christmas Tree Tour

My favorite decoration for Christmas is our Christmas tree. We bought this one seven years ago, and it's getting a little fragile, but still good enough. We aren't purists, but for some reason have always loved the way the white lights look in our home. These are snow lights, where every other one is a frosted white light.

When Kevin and I go on trips, instead of buying souvenirs, we buy Christmas tree ornaments. These keeps our house from being cluttered with foreign kitsch during the rest of the year, and it makes decorating the tree ultra fun as we can remember the places we've been together.

Here are a few highlights:

This is from the old cat shop in Seaport Village in San Diego. It's a ball with three very fat cats on it in Santa hats. Hmmm... remind you of any kitties you know?

This jester is from Shakespeare's birthplace in Stratford-upon-Avon. There's something that feels so Christmasy about England, and Shakespeare did write Twelfth Night to be performed on January 6th, the 12th day of Christmas in King James' court, so why not have a court player from Shakespeare's home on my tree?

This one is extra special. This Navajo story teller was bought in Pipe Springs, Arizona for me by Kevin's Grandpa who isn't with us anymore. However, it's just one of the many things that reminds me of him and his ever-giving ways.

These two aren't from trips, but they are two of my favorites. The one on the left is from 2006, and the two little cardinals are in their new home. Kevin and I bought this to commemorate buying our home that year. The one on the right really spins. I got it when I was a girl because I had a hamster that would climb up and down stairs and I'd make up super-hero stories about her. I just can't believe they thought to make a hamster wheel ornament.

This last one is from our honeymoon in Mexico. It's a teacup turned on its side with a little nativity inside. I still keep it wrapped in the newspaper the shop owner wrapped it in. I don't think it's even supposed to be an ornament, but since we got married at Christmas time, it will always remind me of our first Christmas together.

List of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of all. The family, the food, the non-commercialization, these all add up to what makes this the best week of the year.

My list of thanksgiving, in no particular order:

Art, freedom of expression, and authenticity
Good books, great authors
Food in abundance
Being a woman after the feminist movement blazed the way for my freedom
Music, singing Handel's Messiah, family singing
Heat, energy, and light in this great vacuum of space
Jobs, employment, health insurance, good work
Health, strength, exercise
Home with Kevin, music, garden, and kitties
Education, learning, teachers and mentors who made a positive difference
Generosity of friends, family, and strangers
Quality time
Conversation
Diversion, leisure, browsing, relaxation, vacation
Soft answers, patience, forgiveness
Global community, exchange of information, travel, many cultures and human richness
Wilderness, primitive places, isolation
Civilization, political stability, engineering, medicine, warm sanitized water
Humor
Creation, songs, painting, improving the world
Sacrifice
Beauty, nature, flowers, mountains, deserts, sky
Mercy
Questions, processes, opportunities
Family, tribe, heritage, roots and connections
Good night's sleep
Love

I hope that you will be blessed with thankfulness, happiness, and companionship this holiday!

These Roses Know What They're Doing

This week I am aspiring to be what I've been wanting to be: a woman of leisure. I took off work and it feels wonderful! I spent the morning in the warm sunshine seriously cutting back my roses for the winter.

As I knelt down with each of my 16 rose bushes today, I couldn't help feel a little apprehensive with all this cutting away. It was a tangly, thorny job. Thank goodness the garbage man came in the middle of my pruning because I filled the garbage can twice. I almost didn't get the first full garbage can to the curb while the truck rumbled down my street, but had to go running down my 80-foot driveway with an awkwardly full can crying, "Wait! I have garbage!"

I'm told that roses love nothing more than to be cut back, that essentially my hacking away at them down to the wood today will make them blossom even more come June. Taking a break myself this week, I couldn't agree with them more.

Methodical Miscellany: Women Doing More

When I start feeling grateful, I start wishing there was more I could do to help people who are really in need. A great new blog (new to me, at least), Women Doing More is a place that gives daily ways we can become more involved in filling these needs. How awesome.

I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world

Today I am thankful for beautiful music, warm days, and loving friends. I've been thinking of this primary children's song lately, and I think its message is beautiful and simple with the merging of nature, the senses, and God's love. I should have sung this more when I was the primary chorister last year. I think if I could give one message to children that they could internalize, this would be it.

Whenever I hear the song of a bird
Or look at the blue, blue sky,
Whenever I feel the rain on my face
Or the wind as it rushes by,
Whenever I touch a velvet rose
Or walk by a lilac tree,
I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world
Heavenly Father created for me.

He gave me my eyes that I might see
The color of butterfly wings.
He gave my ears that I might hear
The magical sound of things.
He gave me my life, mind, my heart;
I thank Him rev’rently
For all his creations, of which I’m a part.
Yes, I know Heavenly Father loves me.

"My Heavenly Father Loves Me," The Children’s Songbook, p. 228

Here's lookin' at you, kitties

Here are two crazy autumn cats caught doing what they always do: Aja is perched on something that's a wee bit too small for her so that she will be noticed. And Phoebe? She likes it when she can see, but not be seen (always suspicious). Any proximity to Aja is a bonus. This picture cracks me up.

We are the ones for whom we have been waiting

"We are the ones for whom we have been waiting."

-Hopi Elders

What do you think of this idea? Are we the ones who have come to rescue ourselves? Are we enough? Is the idea that we may have to rescue ourselves from ourselves a frightful or comforting idea?

An ice-axe to break the sea frozen inside us

If the book we are reading does not wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skull, why then do we read it? [...] What we must have are those books which come upon us like ill-fortune, and distress us deeply, like the death of one we love better than ourselves, like suicide. A book must be an ice-axe to break the sea frozen inside us.

-Franz Kafka, as quoted in The Promise by Chaim Potok

This is not a post about the books we read for fun, for guilt, for pleasure. This is about the novels that shape us, sometimes in painful ways.

What are the novels that have torn you up, that have cracked the ice within you? The first fiction I remember that was really meaningful was A Wrinkle in Time. It changed my perspective on many things. As you think of your own soul-shattering novels, here are a few of mine. I had long explanations on each of these, but I've decided that these books are just too personal to explain in a few sentences and share with the world. So you get the revised high-level list:

• A Wrinkle in Time

• To Kill a Mockingbird

• Beloved

• Heart of Darkness

• My Name is Asher Lev

As I look over this list, I realize that all of these books were read between the ages of 12-18. It's a transformative time. Yes, as I was earning two literature degrees in college I encountered many far-reaching novels that I assume have shattering potential equal or greater to the ones I've listed (The Color Purple and Jude the Obscure come to mind). Yet in some ways these were variations on the themes of the previous books. The foundation had been laid, torn down, modified, rejected, and remodeled through each of these reads. Now with that, I could build a palace with other uncomfortable, strange, new, and sometimes disturbing reads.

What about you? What novels/fiction did you read that shattered your universe and molded you into who you are?

The Leaves are Falling

The leaves aren't just turning anymore: they're falling. Unfortunately for my cats, that means all their outdoor hiding spots will be revealed. Some people say that fall is a spring where every leaf is a flower. I really enjoy the colors, and I'm sad to see them go.

One saving grace is November has pretty clear, beautiful skies.

Spooky Halloween Night

When I was in elementary school, the two best school-celebrated holidays were hands down Halloween and Valentine's Day. We stopped regular lessons, ate sugar cookies and cupcakes, paraded in our costumes (Halloween) or handed out candy to everyone in our class (Valentine's Day). Next to the school carnival and field day, these were two of the best of the entire year.

For work I had to locate some kid pictures Halloween costumes, and I came across ones of my dear husband too. Kevin and I want to wish you all a fun, spooky holiday, brought to you by these low-resolution photos. We both agree his traffic light costume (with real blilnking light) is the best (with a cameo from Tracy). Happy Halloween!

.

Beyond the Horizon

As I sat at work today, not too happy about some things that are taking longer than I would like, this Bob Dylan song came on iTunes:

Beyond the horizon, behind the sun
At the end of the rainbow life has only begun
In the long hours of twilight 'neath the stardust above
Beyond the horizon it is easy to love

I'm touched with desire
What don't I do?
Through flame and through fire
I'll build my world around you

[...]

Beyond the horizon, the sky is so blue
I've got more than a lifetime to live lovin' you

The sliding steel guitar and dancing tempo of this song brought me back to Hawaii. Now there's a place I'd love to be right now, dancing to Bob Dylan on the beach.

Here's to Hope

Kevin and I just finished planting 100 some odd bulbs, including 50 crocuses, 10 white daffodils, and the several varieties of tulips. It's not the kind of thing where you plant a seed and expect results in 2 weeks, a month, or anytime soon. I figure the crocuses are five months out at least, but I am excited to plant them because crocuses are the first spring flower I remember from when I was a kid.

Here's to hope to last through two seasons.

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.