This was the view out my living room window last night when I arrived from work. I love how even buried in this neighborhood - not even on the benches - I can see the storms on the mountains that tell me summer is coming to an end. Isn't it amazing that with all of our modern distractions and occupations, nature can still speak to us in ways that have been appreciated by our ancestors for thousands, if not millions, of years?
I've officially reached the half-way mark! They usually count this at 20 weeks, when they can identify the gender and when the baby gains more recognition medically and more rights legally (in many ways he's already considered a little person). However, we all know that the first two weeks of pregnancy are pre-conception, so I'd like to say that now at 21 weeks I've made it half way.
I've been wanting to write this for a while, but I got sick and everything had to go on hold. I'm feeling better now and getting my strength (as well as my nutrients and fluids) back, so here you go. For over a month I've been able to feel the little guy squirming around in there, which I hear is a little early for a first-timer. Strangers are starting to notice my belly, and I have realized a protective hand on the stomach does wonders to confirm their suspicions (and hopefully keep their hands away).
So, to celebrate this half-way mark, here's my first belly pic. It may not look like much, but when I visually measure from my belly button to my back, there is definitely something taking up a lot of space already. Here's to hoping I can keep up the routines of working, teaching, walking, and running for many weeks more.
Little feet and toes for our healthy baby boy! Yes, we still have to wait until January to meet him.
When I had said I'd eat caprese every night for dinner, I didn't know how true that would be. Our garden is packed with tomatoes! We finished this bowl up tonight, and we've got another one overflowing.
Anyone up for a few delicious heirlooms?
Didn't mean to squirt the praying mantis with the power nozzle.
Of course I divert the water elsewhere
And watch with admiration
As she determinedly crawls back atop the echinacea.
I turn off the faucet and rest on the porch step.
That aspen, straight ahead in the back, has grown
Slender, and straight.
One cricket starts up. I always hear the first one cricket.
Another in echo, then in unison
Hailing the twilight.
A forehead, gently pushed against my knee
I reach down to scratch her neck.
She rolls on to her back, exposing her massive belly.
I run my fingers through that long, soft, teddy bear fur
She purrs a quiet humming, complete in the moment.
My neighbor has family over
A pleasant, happy gathering.
I think about a friend who might as well be next door
Or on the other side of the world.
The stillness sets in, each sound distinct.
I take a sip of peach and grapefruit soda—tart and sweet—
And put the can to my cheek for the fizz,
A million bubbles breaking at the surface
Extending the moment.
Last weekend, Kevin and I made our traditional trip to the Utah Shakespearean Festival in Cedar City. This is the largest, longest-standing tradition in our marriage, and when I was back to work, I felt a sense of loss that the trip had been completed. With a baby due before then, I'm not sure if seeing plays next year will be feasible (and there's a great line up of plays too).
This trip is more meaningful than just seeing plays. It's about visiting a city that's familiar to Kevin, and has become familiar to me too. It's honoring the grave of someone close to both of us. And it's about completing our yearly ritual of visiting a group of bristlecone pine trees to privately inventory our hopes and wishes, and draw on the strength of these old-soul trees to carry our wishes through tough times. This got me thinking about rituals we do as individuals, couples, friends, and families.
A ritual differs from a tradition in that it contains some level of ceremony, even if it's a small amount. A ritual is an action that is somewhat meaningless in itself, but given the ceremony, this common action takes on special meaning that, when coupled with our own willingness, has the ability to change us and our perception of reality. The magic in ritual comes only from our willingness to let it work changes in us. Otherwise, it's merely an empty act.
I know many of you have religious rituals. Temple attendance, baptisms, weddings, the sacrament/Eucharist, fasting/Lent. These are often initiated by institutions, depending on what religion you subscribe to. What I'm curious about are other rituals you perform outside of those prescribed by your religion. Ones that were invented by you, your family, your friends. The little intimate rituals that come from our humanity, our practice as believing beings, as social beings, as people who like to attach meaning to our actions and visibly show what we feel inside.
For instance, have you ever let a balloon go up into the sky, watching it lift away a burden or care that had been weighing you down? Have you ever lit a candle when a loved one was struggling? Worn a ring or bracelet as a reminder of a promise you made, or your dedication to a cause? Grown a rose bush in someone's memory? Made a yearly pilgrimage to a cemetery? Said a poem that connects you to an experience or individual? Retreated privately into a special spot in the wilderness to pray? Are there ritual words you exchange with the one you love that signify a renewal of your love, be it once a day, a year, or every 10 years?
It's 6:00 pm on Tuesday night, and I'm avoiding grading research papers. I've read through the stack, and I have only to match them up to my rubric. What that's done, I'll submit grades, and enjoy the week and a half before class starts again. I've never taught two classes during one 4-month period before while working full time, and it's kept me more than busy (thank you, oh fetus, for not making me too sick to teach). It will be nice to be back to just one long night a week.
People ask me why I do this. The answer is because I think it's what I'm meant to do. In fact, one of the recommended careers for my Myers-Briggs personality type is English teacher. I love mentoring others. I love discussing ideas. It's more satisfying than staring at a cubicle wall, and since I need to have my cubicle job to survive, I also teach on the side.
There's a reason I only need a master's degree to teach my class. The tenure-track professors are bored by general education classes, and even though students pay as much for my class as they do for any other three credits, they can pay faculty with only a master's a lot less to do it. That being said, I love my students. I have some of the hardest-working, sincere students. They know that English is not their best subject, so they come ready to learn. It's fulfilling that way.
But sometimes I dream of something more. Over the weekend, I popped into the bookstore on the SUU campus. I am always tempted to see what other schools are teaching in English, so I went through the shelves. I found a class on coming of age in the Pacific Islands. I found another on the Southwest desert with Wallace Stegner and Terry Tempest Williams, among others. One was a seminar on Willa Cather. But the one I found so intriguing was on graphic novels. They were reading Batman, the Incredible Hulk, America's Greatest Comics, a novel in woodcuts, and a theory book on Reading Pictures. Oh, how I would love to teach (or take!) a class on that. While I loved studying the classics, if I could do it all again, I would dive into the world of excellent contemporary literary art.
You know, I miss that. The exploration. English majors have all the fun.
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.
Everything flows, nothing stands still.
You could not step twice into the same river, for other waters are ever flowing on to you. (Herakleitos)
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.
"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?
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.
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
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
Every summer, I become absolutely convinced I could eat this salad every day for dinner.
Flickr photo credit: StormySleep
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.
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
