What might have been

Yesterday I found an old note from a boy I once loved. Still love, really. Differently.

It wasn't a love letter. It wasn't spectacular or awesome or particularly poetic. It was a simple note from a friend. About a friendship; a shared experience.

And it made me bawl.

Just for 30 seconds. But it was so sudden I was taken completely by surprise at my own emotions. Why did this strike me so powerfully? Why was I so overwhelmed in that moment? Was I sad? Nostalgic? Happy? I think it was all of those things really. But not quite any of them. Reading that note in simple black ink on plain sheets of lined yellow paper, I was completely engulfed, for those few seconds, in the possibilities that existed then that have since passed me by. I was suddenly back in a place that I have left. A time that is completely gone. And with it have disappeared moments and opportunities and potential that were very real for me then. Things that once could have been, but now will never be.

It's not sad, really. It's not a bad thing that life moves forward and some possibilities fade from view. There are always others that move in to take their place. The old cliche, one door closes and another door opens. True enough. Usually. A forgone opportunity is not the end. Some other hopeful potential will find its way into your life.

But still.

Not all doors are the same. Not every possibility is comparable. It would be ridiculous to weigh the un-happened of the past to the not-yet-occurred of the present. The hypothetical can only be imagined and predictions are dangerously unreliable. Yet, while knowing the reality of those possibilities is beyond our reach, it is easy enough to see that the outcomes would have been different. For good or bad. Better or worse. Every "might have been" is an unknown road into a life you will never lead. And while it is important to embrace the present and the opportunities we do have, here and now, perhaps there is nothing wrong with mourning, for a moment, from time to time, the little things that have slipped away. That have moved from the realm of potential into that of unreality.

And sometimes, it's just good to really cry.

It takes me back

I don't quite remember how I stumbled upon the video of Bon Iver performing a cover of Bonníe Raitt's "I can't make you love me." His version is beautiful in its own right, but in the end I had to go back to the original. Gorgeous! (Adele's version is pretty too, by the way.)

The thing is, listening to this song takes me back in time. For some reason I was suddenly overcome by a memory of sitting in the backseat of my grandparent's car with my sister. We were driving to a swimming pool in Albuquerque while there on a visit. Maybe I was 8. The truth is, it's fuzzy and hazy and unfinished. I don't know if the song was playing on the radio, or a CD, or goodness, probably a cassette tape! while were driving. Or maybe some other Bonnie Raitt song. I can't say, but it's strange the way a lost memory can submerge like that, for no apparent reason. But beautiful too. I love it.

And it made me think about other favorite songs we used to listen to in the car when I was little. There were many-- but here are few songs that really stand out in my memory from ages 3-6 or so, when we used to drive half an hour across town to visit my (other) grandparents. At the moment I remember these specifically...

The Judds...

And Eric Clapton.. this is still one of my favorite songs..

Plus a Disney cassette
with "Zip-i-dee doo dah" and "We are Siamese if you please," etc. , etc.
that we must have played 3 million times! 

It will forever remind me of winding roads and fields of flowers

 from summer visits to the White Mountains.

But I'll spare you....

Thanks for indulging me in this blast from the past. Does anyone else have any songs that just can't be separated from your childhood?

The End of An Odd Year

It is the last day of the year 2011. If you lived in my world that would mean the end of an odd year, literally. For me, anything related to numbers is automatically catagorized in to even and odd. And I confess I have a rather unjust bias against odd numbers. If I encounter them I consider it a bad omen, or I attempt to mathematically manipulate them into becoming even. And yes, I know that this tendency is, in fact, quite odd. Of course, I like oddities--any odd thing really, except an odd number. Which only makes my distaste for odd numbers stranger and more unfair than ever. But that's the way it works, in my mind at least.

2011. Yes, it is quite an odd year. But, if we take a closer look, it really has an even tendency that is just crying to get out. The first step to achieving evenness is to recognize our odd number is really quite even at heart: being as 1+1=2 we find a lovely and symmetrical 202. Then, of course, we see that 2+2= 4, thus the sum of this year is pleasantly even. And should we care to, we could divide it into each place perfectly evenly as 1111.

What does all of this mean. Well, nothing. But I guess, in reality, I feel like 2011 was a bit odd, but not in a bad way. It must be those even undertones!

I am not good at pulling out each moment and making lists of favorites and important events. These things slip through my fingers and the individual moments meld into what becomes an overall feeling or idea of the year. This year I am left with a feeling of blessedness.When I look back at this year (and at my life as a whole up to this point) there have been ups and downs and twists and turns; tears and laughter and joy and pain; struggles and doubts and fears and growth. But what I feel more than anything is love and happiness. I love my life, even though it is simple and small in the scheme of things. I love my life because of everything I have learned and everywhere I have been and, more than anything else, because of all the people who have shown up along the way to teach me and love me and help me and who make each moment, no matter how difficult, terrifying or incomprehensibly beautiful, worth living.

I have a faulty memory and at times it is hard to really put together the pieces of my life and figure out how one led to another. There hasn't always been continuity in the path I've taken, and it definitely hasn't been a straight shot from one point to the next. Yet I have enjoyed every bump and hill and tangent. I wouldn't change where I've been. I am happy where I am. And I am excited...SO excited... for whatever is coming next.

Farewell 2011. Hello 2012. May this year be, for all of us, one filled with love, joy, hope and opportunities for growth and change! Sending my best wishes, love and blessings to one and all!

We're Going Home

For some reason I was thinking about the song "Two of Us" the other day, and it brings me so much joy to listen to it! I think this is my favorite Beatles song! And lets be honest, that's saying something :)

It is a random connection, but this song reminds me of Christmas last year. I would listen to this song in the car sometimes as I drove all over Utah County for my job. I was always busy often hurrying from one place to another, bringing name cards for the Angel Trees, meeting with organizers and volunteers, picking up gifts, delivering materials, helping at the warehouse. There were so many different things to do for Sub for Santa and Angel Tree. I LOVED those days, even though they were long and tiring and there were a million problems to deal with (and it was cold outside), because I really felt like I was accomplishing something that would make life a little happier for children and families during Christmas. I think those few months will always stand out to me as one of the best experiences of my life. I am so glad to be reminded of it now as we're entering into that lovely holiday season once again (can you believe it's already here??!?!?!), living somewhere far away and doing something quite different. It's strange how quickly things change!

And so, a seemingly unassociated song that I love and will always remind me of my long drives around Utah County last year for United Way!

rain rain, come today

When did it happen?

Suddenly you're a 24 year old woman standing beside the window of your apartment watching it rain and wishing more than anything else that it was fifteen years ago: you are with your sister in the backyard splashing in puddles and laughing, screaming and grabbing each others hands when you hear thunder, running under the porch where you'll watch the sky glow with each electrifying bolt of lightning and count 1 mississippi, 2 mississippi, 3 mississippi until you hear the thunder rumble through the sky and shake the whole world a little and you'll guess how far away it is and you'll wave to mom in the kitchen where you know she's watching you to make sure you aren't still out in the yard with all that thunder so close.

Now, the best you can do is throw on shorts and running shoes to give yourself an excuse to go out into the rain. And while you'll pretend to be a dignified adult taking a jog, all you'll really care about is making sure to jump in each puddle and feel the rain on your face and those pockets of thick, heavy, humid air that hit you like a wall of fire. And it's good.

But running the streets of Provo with shoes on in rain that dries up two minutes after you leave the house, well, it isn't the same. It isn't the same as an Arizona monsoon. And it isn't the same as dancing barefoot with your sister in the yard, drenching yourselves until you're pruney and sopping wet and unfathomably happy; it isn't the same as yelling and hiding under the awning but giggling too because you're not really scared and you know (I mean you really know) that whenever you need to you can turn around and walk through that back door and be home safe. Perfectly safe. Confident that you will have everything you need, and more. And that you'll always have these people to be with you through everything--your sister and your mom and your dad and your dog and cat and tortoise. It's all so sure.

And I want that now. I want to know that everything is always going to be okay and that no matter what I can always run back inside and someone will be there to take care of me. Because while I try to be brave and adventurous sometimes, there is nothing better than the safety of your own home. I really can't imagine that there ever will be.

summer sweet

It all started with the sweetness of the white nectarines whose delightful scent wafted over to me from across the produce department and lured me in. I couldn't resist. And then, there they were, right next to the nectarines, a precarious pile of small, soft, pale sunset-orange apricots. I almost left without them, but then, why not? It's been so long, I thought. And I brought them to my apartment and left them sitting, waiting. Until today. I picked one up at lunch, and with the first semi-sweet bite, I was suddenly 5 years old again, in my backyard-- laughing and playing in the grass with my sister, enjoying a mild summer evening with my family as we picked and ate the warm, delicate fruits from our beautiful giant of an apricot tree. The tree that my dad meticulously pruned and my parents carefully protected with huge patchwork sheets on the coldest winter nights to save the delicate branches and leaves from (the occasional) freezing temperatures. The tree we tried to take with us when we moved to our new house when I was six, but which failed to thrive and blossom again after being transplanted into its (and our) new home, thus confining those fine memories of apricot summers to the few years of my life at our house on Mona Lisa Drive.

I like those memories. And so many memories of childhood. and summer. They make me feel warm and happy. They make me smile to myself 20 years and hundreds of miles away. I love that you never know when these reminiscences will strike. But that they are always beautiful and welcome and a little melancholy because you realize that those days are gone and there is no going back. And you miss it and want the freedom and innocence and simple joy of childhood. For me, the older I get the more I seem to long for those earlier days--"simpler times". And even though I love the ever expanding world of knowledge and possibilities around me, I still long to run carelessly around the backyard, knowing, always, that I had everything I needed to be safe and content, right where I was. It's nice to be taken care of.

Never change forever

The saga continues.
















2005

2011

After six years, husbands and state lines won't keep us apart! (right??)
Stay special, my friends!

May 28, 2011

I don't know that I have ever done much for Memorial Day. I celebrated having a day off from school or work to be sure. But celebrating the service of American soldiers, maybe not as much.

This year, though, I went with other
AmeriCorps VISTAs at United Way to help put up crosses and flags for the soldiers buried in the Orem Cemetery. It was actually a lot of work! But I'm so glad I went. Not only did I get to see the sheer number of men and women who served their country in this area alone, but I saw the dedication and continued service that our veterans still give, preparing services like this one for Memorial Day and giving of their time, resources and energy all for their fellow soldiers and their families and our country. That's pretty inspiring.


One of those people is George, our VISTA Leader at United Way.

He is an incredible example to me. He is serving his second term as a VISTA, runs the American Legion in Orem, and serves as an Emergency Preparedness specialist. He is always full of stories about his 24 years of military service. From WWII to the Korean war, he served with honor and gained experiences that shaped his life and his character. George is a person who stands up for what he believes is right and puts his all into everything he does. He is someone I honor and respect!

This Memorial Day, I have a renewed desire to learn more about my own family. I love them and I love what I know about them, but there is so much that I don't know. I am challenging myself to spend more time talking to my family and learning about our history as my way of observing Memorial Day.

All of these beautiful photos compliments of Matt Chambers.

Faithful

I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality... I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Sometimes I'm afraid that darkness and sorrow are growing more powerful every day. Sometimes I feel so utterly helpless that I want to give up hope. Sometimes I look at myself in the grand scheme of things and I am nothing but a speck--insignificant and unimportant; useless and small up against the terrors of the world. I am afraid that my weaknesses will make me incapable of being who I should be. I am afraid that even in my best moments I cannot begin to diminish the myriad of woes that beset humankind, that we inflict upon each other and the earth and other creatures. There are moments when I curse the world and can do nothing but cry and lament the dismal conditions I see around me. And there are reasons for lamentation: the old man on the corner in the cold, holding out his humble hands for anything a stranger might decide he is worthy to receive; the deaths of six people in a shooting down the street from my house in Tucson; the continual oppression of people in countries across the world, from Myanmar to Afghanistan to Zimbabwe; war and conflict abound in countless places; political rivalries are taken to extremes; and even those of us who are blessed with so much have personal struggles and pains and doubts.

But I know it is only weakness that makes me dwell on these things. It is not strength or love or hope or charity, but fear and pessimism--things that will never be noble; things that will never make the world a better place.

Listening to Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream Speach," reading his words, and turning to the same inspiration he followed, the Savior, Jesus Christ, I know that there is hope. I know that even in those darkest moments--the "starless midnight[s]"--love and faith can prevail. Joy can be found in the most desolate corners of the earth and in the humblest homes. We are strong. Man is able to overcome so much. And in the end, it will not be the suffering and the sins of the world that will matter, but the moments of charity and unity and peace that shine forth in its midst. I know that if I am to keep hope, I must choose faith, and believe that "unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word." And that even the small difference that I can make matters.

the scent of summer

the sent of the creosote bush always takes me back to the rains that came in on huge black clouds slowly creeping in bringing the most glorious shocks of lightning and thunder rumbling through the hot Arizona air and pouring down thick sheets of warm rain drops that my sister and I would dance in until we were soaked to the bone and yet warm in the soothing heat of summer evenings in Tucson when the scorched sidewalks still sizzled slightly under our feet as the puddles would grow into great warm lakes splashing all around us, surrounding us in water above and below and from every side until finally we would run inside to sit at the window and watch the earth light up with bursts of white light, glaring our eyes and illuminating the trees and bushes outside bowing under powerful gust of warm air and the great bolts began to break and crack so close we could feel it through our bodies and in the shaking glass of the window panes as the earth absorbed the great resounding power of
monsoon

Those are days to remember. And as a soft wind sifts in through my window screen tonight carrying the slightest hint of creosote this evening, I can't help but be glad that despite all the things that are changing around me everyday, the miracle of sweet summer rain can find me even here and now.

My wish today is that everyone might experience a monsoon summer in the desert. There's nothing like it.

And being the Jack Johnson fan that I am, I am thinking of his song Monsoon just now... so enjoy!

del ano pasado

I left my heart in Bolivia...

Guatemala . . .

Uruguay...

So I am getting antsy again- it's the travel bug. My roommate Rachel says it's the warm weather that does it, but for me it's something else. It's a kind of fear or nervousness; an anxiety that creeps up on me; the constant hand of time reminding me that with every passing day, every moment, I'm getting closer to the end...

the end of my days at BYU
the end of an incredible five years
the end of life in park place 2
the end of studying
and not studying
the end of plans
security
comfort
the end of knowing what to expect in the next
weeks
months
years
the end of a kind of freedom
from adulthood
or responsibility
and maybe even
the inevitable end of my life.

And I'm not ready yet!
there is still so much to see...

joy-full

One can never consent to creep when one feels the impulse to soar.
- Helen Keller.

Are we human or are we dancer?

Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Give my regards to soul and romance,
They always did the best they could
And so long to devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye
Wish me well...
You've gotta let me go
- Human, the killers

I've been listening to this song over and over today (I'm not even sure why this song, really) and I've been wondering...

I believe in a Heavenly Father who loves us and has a plan for His children on earth. And part of that faith is that life doesn't end when we die. I know that we go on, all of us, and we have hope of life that not only lasts for eternity, but is full of grace and beauty and peace and joy and creation and love and family and divinity.
I know this.

So I just wonder, why is it still so hard to let go?

This week I found out that an amazing man--Gary Bryner--has decided to end his battle with cancer and turn his life over to the Savior. His faith and courage inspire me. He has taught me so much about what it is to love the people of the world and to truly turn your life over to service. I will always be grateful for the light and goodness that he has shared with me over the past year, and with so many others throughout his life. I do not know how much longer he has, though I know it isn't long, but I know that he will leave the world a better place for the life he has lived.

Is there anything greater that can be said of a human life?

This one goes out to the ones I love

Today it rained.
And I wanted to complain until my friend said
"it's just enough to clear the air a little"
and I realized,
sometimes we need a little rain

. . . and a few tears . . .

just to clear the air

and afterward, with purified vision, we will start to see everything that was covered with the dust of daily life.

So today I am grateful for rain and for everything that has been made clean.

lost and gone

Last week I got a voice mail from my mom that scared me half to death. There was no real reason for me to believe that tragedy lingered behind her words, but there was something in her voice and her words and the way she asked me to call her back at 5:00 that just didn't seem usual. I told myself there was nothing to worry about, that I had no reason to suspect that anything was really wrong--she just wanted to talk!

But I couldn't help it. Terrible thoughts passed through my crazy brain all day--what if something had happened to Grandma Gail or Grandpa Jack? What if something had happened to Ashley or Jody or Christy or another friend from home and I just hadn't heard yet? What if my mom had gone to the doctor and was diagnosed with Cancer or any other potentially fatal disease? what if what if what if what if.....?

I was on edge for hours, hardly able to wait until 5:00 to call. When I did I found out that everyone was fine except for our little dog Casper. I felt a little guilty for not being more devastated, and I was sad, mostly for my mom because i knew how upset she was, but I could hardly contain my relief that everyone I love was safe for one more day. What a blessing!

The thing is, I don't know what I would have done or how I would have reacted if my mom had told me that someone had died or was injured or if some other terrible tragedy had taken place in my absence? What would i do or think or feel? It is a terrifying thought to me that I don't know how I might respond to tragedy. I have seen a bit of death in my days, but I still haven't figured it out. I don't know how to feel and how to not feel and how to not lock things up in little corners of my heart and try to keep them wrapped up and hidden away where they can't hurt me and where no one else will see them or know they even exist. I haven't figure out how to confess my sorrows or to let others see those pieces of me that not even I know what to make of. And because I can't sort them out and make them mesh with the happiness that I try to feel and portray to those around me, I just pretend that those other things don't exist. And sometimes it is easier than others. And sometimes I can't pretend at all and everyone sees right through me and I feel transparent and exposed. And death is one of those things that maybe never becomes easier; something that we never know how to blend with our own living and the reality of our own eminent deaths. Even for those of us who believe so fully in an afterlife and in the never-ending bonds between families and loved ones, there is something of our mortality that prevents us from accepting that these few short years of life alone can be redeemed by an eternity of togetherness. There is something about living earth bound that gives us loyalty to this life and makes us value it in ways that perhaps we should not. Or perhaps we should. Because as short and as small as life may be, it is real and it is all that we have here and now. This is where we must make our homes and our lives and our families and where we must learn to love and feel and break through the cold barriers in our hearts and learn to cry and laugh and connect and be who we must become. This is where we decide if we want to touch and be touched by those around us or if we want to blockade ourselves into safety and protect our hearts from the hurt that shall inevitably come. I haven't learned how to do this yet, but I have great examples around me.

I am so grateful to my roommate Rachel who has one of the truest hearts I know. She knows how to let others in and allow them into her life (though I am sure she has those hidden hurts as we all do). And this week she impressed me more than ever. She received the call I dreaded last week and found out that her grandmother had passed away. And she cried and she remembered and she laughed and she shared and I know that even though she is hurting now and she doesn't know any more than the rest of us how to make the death of her grandmother fit into her heart without tearing it apart, she will heal that space and it will become another mark of her strength. She amazes me. God bless her and her family.