29 March 2009

Sunday Morning

I woke early this morning, sat in front of the window and watched the clouds sneak into the valley. As I glanced down to read the paper I noticed a darkening and then a quickening in the corner of my eye, the sky let loose with heavy flakes of snow. There are inches upon inches and it confuses my sense of spring. We walked in the sunlight yesterday and watched the boys skate as the setting glow warmed our faces. The voice in my head is hollowed by trepidation, change is instantaneous and unexpected. Every morning I hope there is something familiar and everlasting to count on.

Morning Poem

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange

sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches —
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it

the thorn
that is heavier than lead —
if it’s all you can do
to keep on trudging —

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted —

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.

–Mary Oliver

(via slowmuse)

26 March 2009

digital immigrant

Can't sleep... but I did have Land talk me through how to email myself a pic from my phone before he went to bed. This is from May 2007... President Obama [well, not quite at the time] spoke at Kimball's Junction in Park City. I bolted out of my parent's house when I thought I might have the opportunity to see the next POTUS. [most of the family gathered were exhibiting puzzled looks and and asking, "who is Barack Obama?"] It was thrilling. I have shook the President's hand. A woman I met on the plane flying home from the inauguration wanted me to email this to her... now I finally can.

20 March 2009

let's go aggies

It is half-time and the Aggies are down 8 points. Channel 2 (dorks) didn't get the feed from CBS right - they advertised the game as USU vs. Syracuse and the game we were viewing on the tv was Syracuse vs. Stephen F. Austin. {yeah, you know the guy who was given the awful job of answering the flood of calls at the station got an earful from me} It is finally on (USU vs. Marquette) and the Aggies maybe can come back and win this thing. Aggie basketball has the best fans and student section. They are so quick and brutal with their chants. We have enjoyed going to the games. Gary Wilkinson pictured above always engages the crowd to get them cheering. So show me the "true-blooded Aggie from Utah, that doesn't love the spot where the sage-brush grows!"

Update: Aggies are down by only one!

A 6 point lead 4:20 to go.

AAAH! Utah State lost by one.

(photo via: utah statesman)

Odd allegiances: I am an Aggie basketball fan

I am a Ute gymnastics fan

I am a Cougar football fan... can't shake it.

17 March 2009

go green

My Irish roots are wishing the wind to be always at your back!
Listen to Lanae from BARRAGE sing Until We Meet Again. She is spectactular, and Barrage is such a fun production to attend; dancing, singing, violins. 
May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face now
May the rains fall soft upon your fields

And until we meet again
And until we meet again
May God hold you in the palm of His hand
May God hold you in the palm of His hand

May our children and their descendants
Be the ones to find a lasting peace
May their hopes and dreams become united
May the past be left for those who hate

And until we meet again
And until we meet again
May love and trust find a way to make a stand
May love and trust find a way to make a stand

May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind be at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face
May the rains fall soft upon your fields

May this world and all its wonders
Be a home to all humanity
May the people find a common purpose
May we help one another to survive

And until we meet again
And until we meet again
May Mother earth pour her heart into our land
May Mother earth pour her heart into our land
Note: I took Chase and Kate to Barrage when they were in 8th grade. One of my most embarrassing moments occurred during the intermission. I tell you, I have some doozers, but this one makes me blush, and laugh uncontrollably, especially if Kate recalls the incident. {it involves a 38 year-old mom attempting to show off some gymnastics moves - things didn't go as planned}

15 March 2009

light at the end of the tunnel

I am going to finish this thesis! I can see light at the end of the tunnel! [queue Starlight Express - ok, that makes me laugh, I'll have to explain one day] Today on my way to campus a young toddler flashed the most incredible springtime bright grin and enthusiastic wave, a gentleman was standing in his apartment doorway and happily signaled my existence while finishing off his Sunday dinner. I take these as good omens and now I am, seriously, not going to be distracted until the Amazing Race starts at seven. Salude!

08 March 2009

time since... ten months

Powell's Bookstore in Portland is my favorite. The first time I went there I couldn't take it all in fast enough. Like going all day without eating and then hoarding the food when you finally get access. I was ecstatic to get lost in all the stories, oh and Powell's holds numberless volumes on its musty shelves. I don't know why, but it felt like home. And so each time we go to Portland, and it seems we are there quite often, I must return to that familiar place and purchase a book. I've made a few in my family quite upset, not to mention late for the airport, but it has become imperative. I now select what story I'm going to purchase before entering and am given a set amount of time to complete the transaction. I make sure a store sticker is included, place it in the inside cover and write the date I purchased it. The last time I was there I brought home Infidel by Ayann Hirsi Ali, recommended by a friend.

Fast forward a few months later. My mother and her bestest friend are in Portland. They have a few hours before they need to be at the airport and my mom calls to inquire what book she should get at Powell's. I suggest Infidel, because of the above mentioned information and I had been captivated by the memoir. After her return home I ask if they had opportunity to visit "my bookstore" and she related that they had run out of time. If I'm honest, I have to admit I was a little disappointed, I thought she was just shrugging off my weird ritual, that she didn't "get me." My mother and I were tending to a few scars that had formed in our relationship... growing pains, you could call it. I sometimes would wonder where I came from - I was so different in the way I expressed my personality, I sometimes felt like the infidel. I love jazz - my family loves country, an insignificant example. We were doing good, my mom and I, and both she and I were looking forward to a continued mutually significant relationship.

Fast forward a few weeks. I am at my parent's house the day before or after the funeral. I can't remember time and sequence of events... shock does that to you. Sudden deaths are bewildering... the bargaining includes begging for one last conversation, just one more chance to say "I love you." Just one more time to hear her voice, "hey Nanner, how are you?" Once more hearing the lavish praise of how she is impressed how you have given your children the space to be "themselves." I feel like screaming to whoever is in charge of this universe, "just throw me a bone." And then my sister walks through the back hallway, where my mom would set her things when entering the house. She picks up a book, Infidel, and says this is what mom was reading and opens the page to the bookmark. I see a flash of something familiar and grab it out of her hands. The bookmark is from powells.com. I sometimes still just hold the book to my heart for comfort. A whole new story could be written to be cataloged in the vast collection at the bookstore on Burnside about the irony or tragedy or beauty that one of our last connections was an account of an incredibly brave woman called Infidel.
(photo via: chasingcleanair.com)

07 March 2009

sick every day

It is time to bring back the "man-cold" video, because it illustrates quite vividly the scene at our house the past 4 weeks. Darren has had the flu and according to him the breakfasts in bed and providing a quiet room to sleep it off has not been enough. I guess I forgot the rubbing his head while cooing, "poor little bunny." I just don't get it, do I.