Kevin and I have his and hers flowerbeds. I don't know how it worked out the way it did, but one of us would come up with a plan for a particular spot in the yard, and the other one would be OK with that.
This is Kevin's water-wise and native plant bed, chosen around our lamppost where he ripped out the lawn because the sprinklers never hit there. Beautiful, if you ask me. And I didn't even pull up any weedy-looking early penstemons or poppies this year.
Jessica does Embarrassing Personal Confession features on her blog, which are always fun to get the juicy tidbits of her life (gray hair!). I'm not saying I would make this a repeat feature on my blog, but seriously, I've got something embarrassing to confess. But it's probably not very juicy.
It's not enough that in our marriage we've had two hamsters, two cats, a frog (that came into the marriage from my sophomore year in college), and a beta fish. The fact is, I love pets. And I love to look at all the pets on Craigslist. If it doesn't have a picture, I won't look at it. Also, I won't look at it if it's not a local listing - even though I don't really want another pet!
I just think animals are so cute. Look at this baby chinchilla, now available for adoption here in Utah:
I bet it's even cuter when it spins around in a tub of ashes to clean itself off. Early in their marriage, Jessica and Mark used to have a chinchilla, and an ash bath was one of the funniest things I ever saw. *Sigh.*
Today at lunch with some coworkers, I mentioned how much I love Pixar movies, and how I'm looking forward to seeing Up! However, I lamented that Pixar has yet to release a movie with a central female character, and only two of the movies, A Bug's Life and The Incredibles pass the female character test devised by my Internet friend Starfoxy.
Her test has two requirements:
Of course, the test doesn't even mandate a central female character. It looks like Pixar's next film is going to feature a central female lead, but it's advertised as the "frirst Pixar fairytale," and of course that female lead is a princess.
As Linda Holmes so aptly said on NPR:
Of the ten movies [Pixar has] released so far, ten of them have central characters who are boys or men, or who are anthropomorphized animals or robots or bugs who are voiced by and imagined as boys or men. These movies feature women and girls to varying degrees -- The Incredibles, in particular -- but the story is never "a girl and the things that happen to her," the way it's "a boy and what happens to him."
So here's hoping Pixar can give us a movie about Dory the forgetful, spontaneous tang fish. For a similar commentary, click here.
I had a post scheduled for today on Disney Pixar movies, but it just doesn't seem appropriate in light of some news I received this hour. My dear, wonderful friend MaeLynn has been diagnosed with terminal neuroendocrine cancer. I don't know the details yet, but I think that the cancer is slow growing, even though I understand she's in stage 4. Unfortunately, she's been in pain since October, and only now do they realize the cause.
MaeLynn and I learned to tie our shoelaces together. We attended the same preschool. I taught her how to make forts out of blankets in her basement, and she taught me about being in tune with people's emotions and sensitivities. Just a few weeks ago, she called me to ask about my dad's terminal cancer, and she was so supportive, which she always is.
MaeLynn rejoices in life. She had five kids in five years, and her oldest is just about seven now. Although she struggled physically with severe scoliosis and pediatric back surgery, she shows amazing strength, giving birth naturally to her babies. When we last spoke, she told me how comfortable she now feels in her body.
I'd just like to take a moment to pause to pray for MaeLynn and give her and her large family the support they need. You can see her cousin's blog about Mae's cancer here.
A fun St. Martin attraction is the Butterfly Farm, a tropical plant refuge where they have imported butterflies from all over the world.
Our tour guide, Peter, was an amazing storyteller. From chrysalis to adult, we saw butterflies in each stage. And they flew in abundance.
I can't believe that a caterpillar (larva) actually completely dissolves into a liquid before making itself back up into a butterfly. Talk about rebirth and transformation! This chrysalis is showing the making of the head and wings through the shell.
This means Kevin was lucky for 24 hours (but unfortunately, we didn't have the desire to go to the casinos on the Dutch side).
I loved these little ones with a wide wingspan.
Butterflies are hard to capture on camera, and even moreso on video.
There's nothing like literally getting away from it all. With no phone or Internet access, I realize how liberating it is to be tied only to the ocean, to a refreshing beverage, and to good conversations or good beach reads on the cool Caribbean sand (yes, the sand doesn't get hot there!).
What we've been up to:
Enjoying our balcony view of the ocean (free room upgrade - I love the off season!)
Eating delicious French and Italian cuisine oceanside (real pizza and crepes) with friendly Frenchies for Kevin to talk to
Kayaking, snorkeling (sea turtle and barracuda), and water games, followed by pina coladas served right on the beach
Breathtaking cacti views on our hike to the secluded beach (which several tourists made into a "very French" beach - until 20 jet skis and a party boat showed up)
A hike through the rain forest in flip flops and beach clothes (fortunately, with herbal bug repellent)
View of the French side from Chewbacca Rock
Kevin's massive order at a French bakery (shot taken about halfway through lunch - the foot long panini didn't last more than a few minutes)
What is the iris?
The pillowy, tissuey petals
The rich and faded colors
The wrinkles like elephant skin
The feeling that the semi-wilted bloom should crinkle at the touch
The self-propelled bloom, unafraid to droop or cover as it meets noonday
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
~Mary Oliver (posted on First Fig)
This Memorial Day has me thinking about a lot of my not-too-distant ancestors. On this day, my gradmother would take lilacs and place them on the graves of her loved ones, and two years ago, Kevin's grandpa, who was like a grandpa to me, departed from us. The memory of those who passed on is with me on this beautiful day.
Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so brightBe now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquish'd one delightTo live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.-William Wordsworth
Can I tell you how beautiful my yard smells? The air carries lilac on it from our five bushes. This is my dwarf lilac bush, about 12 inches high and wide by our back door.
Last night I had a great conversation with friends on philosophy and social power. One of the main themes was how transient beauty is - that it is often noticed as the moment passes. That by the time beauty is noticed, the moment is on the way out. There's something tragic about that impermanence, but that is what makes the moment striking.
While the Tao talks more of defining something in how it's not, this for some reason speaks to my understanding of beauty, which resonates at a more core level with me:
What cannot be seen is called evanescent
What cannot be heard is called rarefied
What cannot be touched is called minute
These three cannot be fathomed
And so they are confused and looked upon as one.
Its upper part is not dazzling
Its lower part is not obscure.
Dimly visible, it cannot be named
And returns to that which is without substance.
This is called the shape that has no shape
The image that is without substance.
This is called indistinct and shadowy.
The ability to know the beginning of antiquity
Is called the thread running through the way.
Yup. That was my natural gas bill for April. Sometimes putting a stamp on something and sending if off just seems excessive.
A lot of my out-of-state students tell me how ugly Utah is. Sometimes I see what they mean. You know, the freeways. I'm always surprised when I drive somewhere and there's not a bunch of tumbleweed growing in the median. In some states, flowers grow there instead!
I encourage these students to look up at our mountains. They are impressive. They are gorgeous. And you can't beet the sunsets over the Great Salt Lake.
Lately I have been almost giddy with being outside. I broke my body weeding my gardens over the weekend, but I guess the strenuous nature of the work paid off, as I'm now jogging my route like I'm gliding through the evening air. Being outside in the freshness of spring, looking at the sunset burning toward the east mountains, I am amazed at the beauty of my Utah home.
Then I enter my yard, full of native and other wild-ish plants that I love. Shunning annuals, Kevin and I focused on water-wise perennials that bloom or are known for an attractive aroma (mint - tons of different mint - oregano, sages, thyme, lavender, lamb's ear, and rosemary). It's so encouraging to see things come back 2, 3, or 4 times bigger than they were a year ago.
Now it's dark. Touching back to reality. On to grading papers.
Photo credit: Theoriss
Dad: When I was a kid growing up, we could always tell what the weather was by looking at the Walker tower. Blue means it's clear, flashing blue was cloudy, red was rain, and flashing red meant it was snowing.
Me: Gee, when I was a kid, we'd just look at the sky.
Dad: I've been noticing eyebrows lately. Like in that movie, what's it called? Getting Mad about Stuck-up Guy.
Me: There's a moving called that?
Dad: Yeah, that snooty guy in old European times with all the daughters.
Me: Captain von Trapp?
Dad: No, you know, they're all getting married. Well anyway, they go through the door with the time warp...
Me: What time warp?
Dad: And the girl, she's upside down. And she's got weird eyebrows. And then Darcy turns into Leopold.
What do you do when you run out of new Jane Austen movies? When you own all the good Jane Austen films and have watched them over and over? Well, I explore other BBC drama and move on to film adaptations of another author. I have been delighted to view three Elizabeth Gaskell movies recently: North and South; Cranford; and Wives and Daughters.
I embarrassingly embrace at least one popular genre besides animated sitcoms: I can't get over a good 19th-century romance. There's something about the focus on conversation, social subtleties, unstable political and economic environment, and the mesh of reason and romance (sense and sensibility, anyone?) that wins my curiosity. And it doesn't hurt that there are often gorgeous, intellectual men with quiet strength who bear their suffering in such a manly way, and are great dressers to boot.
(Image from Amazon.com)
Move over, Mr. Darcy, there's a new passionate, brooding man on the scene. In North and South, John Thorton is first seen by the heroine, Margaret, when he's beating the tar out of a factory worker who was caught smoking inside the cotton mill. Thorton is a self-made man, a survivor of poverty, and the man on whom all of the hopes of his mother hang (sense some meddling?).
(Image from Amazon.com)
Margaret, on the other hand, is a vicar's daughter from the country and is appalled by the brutishness she sees in city factory life. In essence, this film is about the move from country to city (a huge shift in 19-century England), but it is also about feminine (the country) and masculine (the industrialized city). While I think I will always prefer a Regency ballroom to the Victorian child-labor factory, the romance and intrigue is just fun to watch with these two main characters.
(Image from pbs.org)
Based on only the image above, Kevin began referring to Cranford as my "old biddy movie." And I guess it really is, but this is my favorite of the three. Merged from three stories from Mrs. Gaskell, this series of TV episodes is about a small town on the verge of the arriving railway. It focuses on female characters and their unique moral code. Simon Woods, of P&P fame, plays the new town doctor and love interest for, well, practically the whole town.
Dame Judy Dench was fabulous in this, and the movie is centered in her character's middle class home and follows her friends and acquaintances through the course of a year. I think what I loved about it was enjoying the fleeting moments of a town on the verge of upheaval. We don't see too much of the enormous disruption coming, but we get to see the great intimacy between the town folk that is about to be changed forever.
(Image from pbs.org)
Wives and Daughters was the longest of the three - five hours. Now, I'm the first one to defend the five-hour Pride and Prejudice, but that was Pride and Prejudice. While this story is intriguing, it sometimes gets a tad painful. Especially because the main actress sometimes fell apart in her role.
As the daughter of a widower doctor, Molly Gibson moves more freely through society, socializing with the humble as well as the great lords and ladies. Like Anne Elliot in Persuasion, she bears much with her duty, her integrity, and the seemingly unattainability of the object of her eye.
(Image from pbs.org)
But this man, Richard, redeems the show. He's the misunderstood second son (read: poor son) of a squire. He's a geographer and a naturalist. He's sensitive, calm, and forgiving. He also walks around for a good time with his shirt off and gets dirty while remaining pleasant to look at.
At work, people were posting a list of their first favorite songs, and as someone posted this one by the Carpenters, a gush of memories came over me. My parents love the Carpenters, and Karen's voice was one of the first outside my family that could make me jump when I heard her.
Yes, the song is camp in the over exaggeration sense of the word. But as I look to the lyrics, I think of those, like my Dad, who have lived their life to sing, simplify, and make everything last for as long for as their life does. And what a celebration of life this song is.
Sing, sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things not bad
Sing of happy not sad
Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last
Your whole life long
Don’t worry that it’s not
Good enough for anyone
Else to hear
Just sing, sing a song
"Sing" is a song from my childhood that's accompanied me these near 30 years - in a way it's become a mantra for my life. My mom used to sing this to me and my sister when she tucked us in at night, and I'm sure the song's messages sunk deep into my unconscious mind.
I loved seeing this some of my first TV friends, Bob, Luis, and Susan, on this video, where I first learned to love this song.
Can you believe how far Sesame Street has come? I doubt nowadays they'd allow the kid in the center of the shot to pick his nose (:44), or come belting in on Luis' solo. And to pull it all off with a tire swing, Luis' guitar, some distracted kids, and no muppets. It's simple. It's great.
So Dale Carnegie, in How to Win Friends and Influence People, said that a man's name is his sweetest sound. I guess we're all narcisists then.
With that fact established, I suppose it won't make me look too out of line to say I love the song "Alisa" by Ariel Pink?
Thanks to Bob, who found this for me.
Does a fleeting, dying moment make beauty? Is it something that only happens if you happen to catch it on the way out, and therefore it becomes precious? If it could last forever, would it truly be beautiful? Or is it that it is something that points our attention to the present moment and its transience that makes us sense the fragile, careful qualities of the passing nanoseconds?
Here are raindrops on my favorite tulips, new this spring, taken today in such a moment.
Spring has officially arrived at our house. Hyacinths, daffodils, and tulips abound in every garden. My crab apple tree is in full bloom, and our neighborhood is full of tulips at every house and alive with spring.
Kevin is very proud of these white daffodils. So to celebrate, here's a little official Gerard Manley Hopkins:
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
"God's Grandeur"
although this poet said that the writing pen was
a man's persuit of the virgin page
never dreaming of instruments suggesting
strokes, clicks, taps, and rolls
his words draw me out for celebration
because he said GLORY be to God for dappled things
and Ah! bright wings
I dreamt last night of
the home of my childhood friend
whose mother told me she learned of my father and
illness
a pained, remorseful face
not quite connecting in the eyes
today: two dings, two clicks
two messages
how sorry she was to learn of
illness
from her mother
another friend, backpacking
withstood rain, cliffs, wind,
a waist too small to support her pack
gave birth - fourth child, first boy
while I was moving backward
to the place we had slept after that storm
elegant portrait from the past
face of my father, but soft
face I never knew that gave birth to
another face I never knew
from which he sprang
a realization of what grows
out of such eyes and cheekbones
a face my children may know
This is one of my favorite places, where I had the pleasure of hiking this weekend with my dad and my husband, two of my favorite men.
This is from Devil's Garden, which I have decided is my most favorite hike anywhere. The three of us hiked out to my family's old backcountry camping spots, our secret arch, and the breakfast rock that we used to salute the rising sun when living out of our backpacks.
And, if you're craving more detail, sense, and emotion about this place, you can read my personal essay on it here.
It's 7:45 p.m., and the snow and rain have ceased enough that I am able to take inventory of my spring garden before twilight completes its magic.
And to my amazement: peach blossoms!
As I look at these blossoms on my peach tree, I reflect on my thoughts of canning and cobbler while we planted this tree last autumn. As I look at these tenderly blooming buds, I realize these blossoms will bear fruit in early autumn.
Each turn of the day, each moment of the seasons mean so much more to me now, knowing that our time here with loved ones is limited. But I hope there will always be time for peaches.
It's been a hard day, but I am comforted by the beauty I saw on my walk around Temple Square. I picked another leaf of lamb's ear, noticed the cherry blossoms, and saw a bird's nest. These are some Temple Square tulips. And as I walked the gardens in the rain, I listened to this:
As the ruby in the setting,
As the honey in the comb,
As the light within the lantern,
As the father in the home,
As the eagle in the mountain,
As the sparrow in the nest,
So, Lord, art Thou to me.
- Johannes Tauler (1300-1361)
This is one of my dad's favorite hymns, and it has been memorable to sing this in church with my family. The line comparing God to "the father in the home" has always resonated with me. There's a special feeling when my dad is in the same room as I am, and I love his conversation, insights, and yes, corny jokes.
My dad recently got some serious health news. I want to preserve his privacy and not get too detailed, but I thought I'd let you know so you can send all your warm thoughts and good energy his way. I remember so many of you pulled together for him 4.5 years ago when he first got sick and helped make miracles happen. I also know the power of community.
Last night I went on a short jog to celebrate two days of sunshine in a row. The weather has been so beautiful and fresh after days of rain and snow. I’m hoping to post some pictures of my garden tulips soon – if they would only show themselves.
I jogged past a bird-themed restaurant. To my amusement, there was a person in a bird suit outside the restaurant waving at cars. Now, I always think that wearing a costume on the street would be a humiliating job. It reminds me of the Pepsi commercial with the girl in the hot dog suit. How degrading.
Photo credit: slopjop
The bird waved at me, and I waved at the bird. As I jogged past, the bird walked in the opposite direction behind me. Then all of the sudden, I noticed the bird was right next to me, jogging in sync. It’s hard to be out of breath and laughing so hard at the same time. It also made me realize how slow I am, that someone in a bird suit can keep pace!
And if you want more chicken suit fun, check out the subservient chicken from Burger King. (Yes, I know it's old. But how long has it been since you visited?)
For five years, I have kept this book at my work desk, always intending to open it for some meditation, but rarely remembering. Today, the Tao makes my soul sing.
There is a thing confusedly formed,
Born before heaven and earth.
Silent and void
It stands alone and does not change,
Goes round and does not weary.
It is capable of being the mother of the world.
I know not its name
So I style it "the way."
I give it the makeshift name of "the great."
Being great, it is further described as receding,
Receding, it is described as far away,
Being far away, it is described as turning back.
Hence the way is great, heaven is great, earth is great, and we are also great.
Within the realm there are four things that are great, and we count as one.
We model ourselves on earth,
Earth on heaven,
Heaven on the way,
And the way on that which is naturally so.
I love what it says about the strength of a union. What it means to be connected. How to not let heaven or hell get in the way. And what it means to approach the unknown with your beloved.
Oh yeah, and it's a little creepy. But that's balanced with its solitary romance: "On the blackest of moons."
DCFC: "I will follow you into the dark"
For the last two months, I have been loving Indian food. There is a wonderful Indian restaurant called Ganesh Indian Cuisine that makes food that has me craving it all the time. So much, in fact, that I try to find substitutes for delicious curry anywhere I go: Thai restaurants, Vietnamese restaurants, my own crockpot, you get the idea.
I blame my obsession not only on the delicious yellow curries and marsalas, pistachio ice cream, rice puddings, and various fried puffed things. I think it has to do with the books I read. The Afghani books The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns put me to craving naan, which sent me back to Ganesh to begin with. And now I've been reading two Indian-American books, Interpreter of Maladies and Unaccustomed Earth. As my imagination dives into the Indian culture, I guess my taste buds can't get enough of India either.
It's actually GIMP, an open source editing program, which I've been using for simple cropping the last couple of months. This is not at all what I ended to do to this photo, but I like its strange near postmodernism.
The flower itself is completely unedited. Isn't spring amazing in its vibrancy?
This crocus variety is brought to you by one of Kevin's flowerbeds. It's a smooth, buttery yellow: more timid than the bold announcers I planted. I love them in their subtlety.
Post title by Pablo Neruda
Here's a junk photo I took, paired with my new obsession of Pablo Neruda.
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers
Sometimes our accidents reveal so much.
I'm not sure I need an even more immediate way to publish my thoughts, so this may be for a limited time only.
I don't have much to add to this poem, other than a delicate picture from my backyard and an emerging realization that intuition, insight, poetry come at the strangest times, searching for us.
POETRY
And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
- Pablo Neruda
Because I simply cannot resist the beauty that manifests each new day in my garden:
By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes.
- John Milton
As a sort of follow-up to my last post, I've been meaning to post the Prayer of St. Francis. I loved this since I sung it in church choir as a teenager.
I think his prayer resembles the Serenity Prayer - in fact, I believe AA uses both of these prayers to teach health, surrender, and responsibility. It hits on the point where what I love about Christianity combines with what I love in Buddhism, Taoism, and other healing schools of thought.
Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
Today has been a peaceful one, and I've been reflecting on some of my most satisfying friendships. Despite all the crummy things in life there are to complain about, I realize that I've always had good friends. At each difficult turn in life, there has been at least one person who amazes me in his or her capacity to reach out and make a profound impact in my life.
These people are positive, insightful, and seek out the well-being of others. They have responsibility down to an art.
On a blog a few months ago, I read a teacher's description of students who have "generosity of spirit:"
She explained that there are often students in her classes who are not only smart and intellectually curious, but who also have a knack for stepping back and letting other students shine, who are willing to really listen to their classmates and respond to their ideas and concerns, and who approach their own work and fellow students with a certain kind of acceptance and understanding.
While I think this characteristic is great for the classroom, I think it's even greater for life. And these are some of my friends, who have let me and others shine. This post is for them, for you, for what you do. And for me, as I am learning from you.
