August Afternoons at Last

When I look at the xeric gardens we have, it's amazing to think they were ever anything but spectacular and huge. I remember this post I did last year when I was very frustrated that my garden was not coming along as I thought it might. Here are the pictures I posted.

Here it is in April 2008:

And in July 2008:

And here it is now (if you look you can see the blue polka-dot chicken):

It's almost in full bloom (the oregano is just starting to flower), but already it's covered in small orange-striped bumble bees.

And, just because a certain 17 lb, 8 oz cat always brightens my day, a garden view (with the other chicken on the far right), and Aja's wide belly.

Why does it look like she's scowling? Well, she's a cat. And I just made fun of her weight.

Idaho Summer

Everything flows, nothing stands still.

You could not step twice into the same river, for other waters are ever flowing on to you. (Herakleitos)

Garden Life

The flowers we have in our garden attract a lot of life—particularly bumble bees and hummingbirds. If we attracted more butterflies, I'd consider the fauna to be about perfect.

I just spent five minutes watching at least six hummingbirds drink and rest in my garden. From nearly the size of an insect to the size of a sparrow, it seems to me a miracle that these birds were created to hover and shift in the ways that they do. I thought about grabbing my camera, but you know, sometimes nature just wants to be observed by the human eye.

Power of Imagination

"Worrying is using your imagination to create something you don't want." - Abraham-Hicks

I feel like I should give this post a warning that it's a little hippie. Hey, I'm in a condition here. A beautiful, natural, healthy condition. I get to be as hippie as I want to be.

Imagination in itself is like a form of creation. I find some major flaws in the philosophy of attraction—despite our best intentions, there are many things we don't control in the universe. So, some ideas I take, and some I leave. Overall, realizing I'm at least in control of my own thoughts has led me to think about the power of imagination and where I invest my energy.

As I think about my pregnancy, about Kevin's new graduate program (accepted, but no public details here) and his new job (still looking), and about all of the transitions we're facing, I'm so grateful for the power of imagination—for being able to think about what I desire and then thanking God for that blessing, even if I haven't received it at this point in time. Because I believe all time is before God, I don't think it's ever too early to feel grateful for something like having a beautiful healthy baby. A strong, sound pregnancy. Career success for Kevin and me.

The Navajos said that nothing was ever created that wasn't first dreamed. What good things are you imagining and creating in your life?

A little more detail

This last week has been wonderful to hear from so many friends and family with the announcement of my pregnancy. Thank you for being so supportive at this time of transition for our family, even though if any of you think like my siblings, you were probably expecting we'd get another cat first.

We are so excited to have our new little one joining us around the third week of January, and I am peaceful and content to be planning for our little independent-spirited Aquarius (yes, without anything else to tell me about my baby, I've turned to astrology). I had a very pleasant first trimester with only several days of annoying sickness. Motion sickness seems to amplify things, and while some of this has carried over to the second trimester, I am hopeful it will subside soon.

Mostly, I'm grateful that with a little snacking and an evening nap, I've been able to keep up with a crazy summer schedule. Speaking of that, I have a pile of grading crying out for my attention, so more to come later.

The Traveler

I'm excited to share my new poem here. I know it's a little nerdy to say the things I'm saying this way, and it's on the scientific and theological side. You just can't take the physicist out of the philosopher, and it's the best way I can convey my wonder at this new event in my life.

Nearing the end of my third decade
a new legacy, new magnum opus found me
So I decided on space travel

I'm building a capsule
complete with lifeline
Organic material, grounded and earthy
ignites this odyssey
It was at first a microscopic endeavor
a saline primordial sea -- the same soup
that broke in life upon this planet

My mission is not to discover life
but to invite it
Nothing less than a miracle, a lightning strike
an other, an infinite number of experiences and thoughts
an eternity of potential that I cannot own, nor will I try

And safely, under my skin, beneath this marked veil
my comfort capsule expands in space from minuscule detection
grows so large it will not be ignored
And faster than the speed of light,
as swift as thought, arriving from how far off
the space-traveler comes to this vessel
full and dark, with a flowing supply of oxygen
My song-sound is heard within
its soft, stretching walls

The messenger,
not so much of divinity elsewhere
but inside, fostering the ontology of all I am
without confinement or constraint:
I am Infinite. I am the Universe.

Inside cells divide
each knowing its work
Within the membrane
organelles dance with DNA and RNA
the ribosomal protein play
extending in atoms, electrons, quarks
Photons dance like stars
in the spinning sea of space

Angel Sweetness

Kevin and niece.

White Pine Lake

Kevin and I gave ourselves this Saturday off to run up to White Pine Lake with my dad and brothers. And thanks to everyone who asks about my dad. He's still doing great (as you will see). Keep your prayers, good thoughts, and sun salutations coming.

All of the June rain obviously did the canyon good because I was absolutely stunned by how green everything was. The wildflowers are just coming out.

Here's looking across to the twin peaks area.

And, speaking of all that rain, it rained on us too. Yes, that is a garbage bag over my dad's head and sticking out asymmetrically over one shoulder. While we took this picture he was saying, "And this is my daughter, Alisa. We're related." Very funny, Dad. Maybe that's why I'm making a fist. That or the cold.

And speaking of cold, it's always fun to cross a snowy moonscape just after the rain has made it all nice and slippery.

And at last the lake, 10,100 feet. And another appearance of the garbage bag poncho.

Quietly Suspended

I love teaching my night class. Interacting with students is far more rewarding than staring at a computer screen superimposed on gray cubicle walls. But at times it can get to be a little much, with the time commitment and the grading. These summer months I've been teaching six credit hours (two three-hour classes) in addition to my full-time work. It can be difficult to postpone my after-work routine for hours and make sure I get the grading done quickly.

Which is why I am so grateful for the parts of my day built around decompressing and relaxing. Like watering my flowerbeds. I should put in drip lines, but the manual nourishing of my garden is so soothing and natural. Same thing when I interact with those two rascal cats of mine. Or go on a jog, or a long walk with Kevin. Or eat dinner on the patio on our bistro table. Or watch the bees at work on our coneflowers and hollyhocks.

Yes, hollyhocks have bloomed this year. My brother tells me that this is the second year growth, so they must have appeared last year and I was too lazy - or too busy - to pull out these "weeds." And I am so delighted now that these naturally-springing whimsical stalks are beginning to bloom. Something about that makes me set aside all obligations, and stand quietly in the suspended moment awhile longer.

The Pond

You think it will never happen again.

Then, one night in April,
the tribes wake trilling.

You walk down to the shore.

Your coming stills them,
but little by little the silence lifts
until song is everywhere
and your soul rises from your bones
and strides out over the water.

It is a crazy things to do—
for no one can live like that,
floating around in the darkness
over the gauzy water.

Left on the shore your bones
keep shouting come back!
But your soul won’t listen;
in the distance it is unfolding
like a pair of wings, it is sparking
like hot wires. So,
like a good friend,
you decide to follow.

You step off the shore
and plummet to your knees—
you slog forward to your thighs
and sink to your cheekbones—
and now you are caught
by the cold chains of the water—
you are vanishing while around you
the frogs continue to sing, driving
their music upward through your own throat,
not even noticing
you are something else.

And that’s when it happens—
you see everything
through their eyes,
their joy, their necessity;
you wear their webbed fingers;
your throat swells.

And that’s when you know
you will live whether you will or not,
one way or another,
because everything is everything else,
one long muscle.

It’s not more mysterious than that.

So you relax, you don’t fight it anymore,
the darkness coming down
called water
called spring,
called the green leaf, called
a woman’s body
as it turns into mud and leaves,
as it beats in its cage of water,
as it turns like a lonely spindle
in the moonlight, as it says,
yes.

- Mary Oliver

A Friendly Request: To Stave off Going Private

I really don't like private blogs. I'm sorry if you're one of my dear friends who has one, but it's the truth. As a fan of Google Reader, I like to have a one-stop place where I can keep up to date with all my friends's goings on. All the manually going to the site and typing in a username and password, not to mention the account expiration issues, is a little bit of a pain. That being said, I still do it because I respect your need for privacy. And because I really love you.

I'm a little bit of a private person myself. As you notice, I blog with first names only. I don't give out my address or say when I'm planning on going out of town. I even try to avoid addressing exact birthdays. Yes, I'm that kind of private.

So I have a small request to make of you, my friends, my readers. Many of you have graciously included my blog on your blogrolls. This is especially kind of you since I don't even maintain one myself. But for many of you, the blogroll link includes both my first and last name, and some include Kevin's as well. I am wondering if you could possibly remove the last name from your list? If you would do that for me, I would very much appreciate it. You can even use the actual name of my blog, which would make me feel like a pro.

I find this to be a good alternative to taking my blog into the realm of annoying private blogs, requiring you to log in just to see if by chance I got around to posting anything. I know many of you are fully comfortable blogging with the full names of your family and friends, and you probably think I'm unnecessarily cautious. I probably am! However, Kevin and I both have simultaneous academic and professional careers, and I would prefer that when clients, students, university administrators, or potential employers do a Google search for either of us (something that is now standard practice) that this blog doesn't appear (and also that your blog doesn't appear associated with our names - only because I don't control your content). If you could also try to be careful to use only first names in your posts about us, I'd appreciate that as well.

One of the faults of this blog is that I don't post anything super substantial. You wouldn't really guess that I love philosophical conversation from reading this blog, would you? Instead, there are pix of my cats here, my garden there. However, I just rather be boring and safe than edgy and sorry.

OK, enough of a tour through my early morning hopes and fears. My sincere thanks to all for tuning in. Now back to my regularly-scheduled blogging.

June Pie Month Survived

Flickr photo credit: thepriapisticpress

As my regular readers know, I have a little issue with pie. I really like pie. A lot. In fact, I lied. I flat-out love pie.

So, it's no small feat that Kevin and I have survived this Marie Calendar's pie month by eating only two pies: razzleberry and lemon cream cheese.

Of course, we've had strawberry shortcake, strawberry crepes, and I bought a million of these cute little Haagen Dazs containers of strawberry ice cream. Because they were on sale. Yes, just because of a sale. Hmmm. Strawberries sound good right now... on something. Like strawberry ice cream.

Maybe I should make a post label for pie. That's definitely more common, on my blog anyway, than the Blogger suggested "scooters, vacation, fall." Scooters don't have nothin' on pie here at Bristlecone Pine.

Recipe for a Nearly Perfect (Rainy) Evening

• Being with my #1 guy
• Up!
• A full rainbow from Big Cottonwood Canyon to Corner Canyon
• Tomato soup with basil and ciabatta with basalmic vinigar and extra virgin olive oil
• Topping it off with a couple of episodes of The Critic

Buffy brought me the best five minutes of my day

Caprese

Every summer, I become absolutely convinced I could eat this salad every day for dinner.

Flickr photo credit: StormySleep

• Tomatoes
• Extra virgin olive oil
• Salt
• Freshly-ground pepper
• Mozzarella cheese

And were're going to have a lot of tomatoes, both traditional and heirloom, this year. Thank you, rainy June, for making them grow like crazy.

A little xeric gardening

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.

Embarrassing Personal Confession

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.*

Where are all the Pixar girls?

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:

1. There must be at least two female characters
2. At some point, the female characters need to have a conversation with each other about something other than a man

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.

For MaeLynn, My Friend

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.

Le Fermes de Papillions (Butterly Farm)

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.

Heavenly Sand on St. Martin

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)

Ode to the Iris

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

First Blooms

And they will never cease to take my breath away.

Your place in the family of things

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)

Ode: Intimations on Immortality

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 bright

Be 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 delight

To 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

Transience and Evanescence

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.

12 cents

Yup. That was my natural gas bill for April. Sometimes putting a stamp on something and sending if off just seems excessive.

Rocky Mountain High

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.

On weather

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.

After discussing new Spock's eyebrows

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.

Movie Review: Elizabeth Gaskell

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.

Still Hiding

Apparetnly she thinks we can't see anything above her eyes.