tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1530088526406196112024-03-20T22:45:17.133-07:00From The WalkEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-32915693494611458162017-12-30T09:17:00.002-08:002017-12-30T09:17:31.284-08:00I'm seriously considering perfection as my goal for 2018. "In the year 2018 I will achieve a perfect existence" is really what my mind is comprehending when my heart suggests that I give up sugar, write every day, exercise for 30 minutes 6 times a week, clean my house daily at 5:00am, worship in 4 different ways every day, and in multiple ways on multiple days. Give up fast food meaning I cook dinner every night, pinch the budget so expertly that we save $1500 a month, have sex at least - well, more, and... Actually, that might be all.<br />
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Those things simultaneously feel like perfection on a stick. I've lived long enough to know that if by some miracle I'm actually able to do those things this year - you know, starting Monday - that my children will still worry me endlessly, my marriage will need lots of work, there won't ever be enough money, the dog will still poop, it will be cold and gray all winter, my job will seem like an impossibility, I will continue to age, the cars will need repairs, Trump will still be the president, public education will still be a mess, politics will still give me ulcers, and I will continue to be the slightly crazy person over there barely eeking out a decent existence. Whatever that means.<br />
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BUT - There is really a lot to be said for controlling the things we can control. I am interested in reducing the burdens in my life - not the stress. I am only burdened by things over which I have power. What I eat, how I spend money, how I spend my time, the priorities I choose, when I go to bed, what I look at, what I love. It is an unnecessary burden to be unfaithful to the things I love. I am grateful for my body and for my health - I can be faithful by eating smarter and moving more. I love writing and I love the exercise it gives my mind - I can be faithful by carving out time for it more often. I believe that for some reason I am really effected emotionally by how lovely my physical space is. I don't need a mansion or a game room or a fancy dining room, but I really benefit from a clean toilet, a floor that's mopped, clean cupboards and organized storage. I am able to be more creative, more spontaneous and more cheerful when my house is clean. I can be faithful by more consistently keeping a clean living space. I love God. I can be faithful by building my relationship with Him daily, weekly and in different places of worship. I love my family. We need the kind of spending money that increases our wealth instead of our waistlines. I want to develop the kind of fiscal discipline that I can teach to my adult children before they are burdened with financial habits that will essentially make them slaves. I love Rich and I love my marriage, and more sex is always a good idea.<br />
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So I think I'll start with this. It's hard to say that I'm going to take anything off the list in order to be more successful in one or two areas. Maybe if I can see them as intertwined, it will be like having one big goal instead of 8 big goals.<br />
Having a clean house will help me garner the emotional will power to stay out of the kitchen when it's not meal time. It will allow me to feel comfortable in the living room and the office in order to do some sunshine yoga and lift some weights. It will give me a kitchen that invites me in to cook at the end of a long day. Writing about my efforts will infuse some comedy and realism into the journey. I'll be able to look back and see trends. It will help me expel some emotional weight without eating my feelings. Walking will also help me expel that emotional excess - and it will keep my dog at bay so that she won't destroy my house. The clean house invites me to sit at the table and study scriptures, drop to my knees at the couch and pray, and if I can do it wisely throughout the week, I'll have saved up a chunk of time at the end of the week to visit the house on the hill. Staying close to God will help me forgive myself when I'm a mess and give me the peace of mind and clarity of thought to spend my efforts wisely. That clean house also means a clean office where I can keep working on the finances, and the more finances available, the nicer we can make the house, and the more often we'll want to be here to cook and not eat out and spend time here instead of spending money out there. It's so cyclical. So maybe it comes to this - I have some goals about my body and my pocketbook. In order to achieve those goals, I've got to get a clean house, get close to God and stay emotionally viable. That involves some other stuff - but they are all related to weight loss and saving money. Doable? Guh.<br />
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Let's talk about sugar. I've been thinking about writing a memoir called "2018: A year without the sweet stuff". Or "My 45th year off the sweet stuff." But I can't write the memoir without having the experience. ha!<br />
I have consistently made goals to not have any sugar for a day, for a week, for 21 days, until I lose 10 pounds, etc... But predictably I fail within the first few hours and then say to myself - it starts tomorrow, it starts Monday, it starts next month, or whatever. But if I decide that I'm going to go a year without sugar and I buckle on Jan 3rd, then I really will have to wait a long time to start a year over again. So will that help me maintain my goal? I've been alive long enough to know that a year isn't that long. And from what others have said about going off sugar it will be January that is the trick, not November. I feel like I have to have some rules about it. So many people say that you have to give yourself some days off. But I feel like that may not work for me. I would just adjust the days off. One day off? No, because February is an even month, we get two days off... etc. And it would be a mess. And other people have said that they took birthdays off and that kind of thing and on those days the sugar just made them sick - so... why do I need the day off? And isn't it kind of fun to think of sugar-free ways to celebrate life? BUT - I do think I'll cut myself some slack by having certain kinds of sweeteners - like Life cereal is ok but coco puffs are not. No hot chocolate, but I'm ok with sugar-free steamers. I'm going to fuel my life with Coke Zero. Fruit in any amount is ok, but no fruit juice - unless I do the juicing here. Jam on a PB sandwich is ok, but not on toast. (That one is kind of weird) Oh! Very important - no white flour products, or potatoes. So no french fries or potato chips, but I'm going to allow sweet potato fries and tortilla chips. No white bread, but I'm ok with wheat bread. No flour tortillas - but corn is fine. No white rice, but brown is ok. No white pasta, but whole grain is good. So I'm not making any exception days, but I'm going to allow sweet things like fruit, diet soda and sugar free stuff - and I'm allowing whole grains without a limit really.<br />
And I think I need to approach this like a "study" and write about it every day. As if I'm in the lab and I'm putting myself through an experiment rather than trying to achieve weight loss or something. Although let's be honest, if I don't lose weight I'll be sad. I read today that 150 minutes of moving a week - that's 30 minutes 5 times a week, drinking lots of water (which I think will happen naturally as I try to soothe my cravings) and cutting out processed foods can add up to losing 1-2 pounds a week.<br />
So...<br />
The budget restrictions and no starches rule will help me cook every night. La la la... We'll see.<br />
Today is Perfection Day -2. It's new year's eve eve. I'm gearing up mentally. And I still have it deep in my psyche that the more sugar I eat today, the less I'll need on Monday. ha! Can you spell binge?<br />
Alright... onward.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-809057441138940562017-02-22T21:40:00.000-08:002017-02-22T21:40:42.723-08:00I'm bored. My phone is smart. I am smarter. I foster a kind of faith where I believe that something in the universe wants to talk to me all the time. I believe truth is coursing through the space-time continuum galaxy spherical dimensional 5D existence we are in and if we resonate with it in some way, it can't help but be revealed to our infinite minds and souls. I really believe this. So what does it take to tune in? I heard or read or came across something the other day - truly can't remember where - that suggested that our creativity is oppressed by our smart phones. Could it be the moments of sheer genius happen immediately following boredom? Could it be that inspiration about our children's souls comes in moments when we are staring mindlessly at a stoplight, or at the tile in the floor in the bathroom at said restaurant? What about the pure truth we could encounter if we were tuning instead of scrolling? I tried this a little bit over the last few days - since I brainlessly came across the suggestion. <br />
<br />
It's a thing.<br />
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Maybe it isn't my Facebook account that's the problem, but my go to approach to it every time I'm in the same county as my phone. Maybe in order to be more mindful, I have to be more mindless. More boredom could be the solution to more resonating truth.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-9684510695703903342015-07-02T12:22:00.000-07:002015-08-22T18:07:31.448-07:00I'm a witness."Everybody is original if he tells the truth. – about who he really is, and not who he thinks he should be." - Ueland, If You Want To Write<br />
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What a tricky concept. I am battling all the time with who I am and who I want to be. Wait no - the sentence says "who I should be". What is the difference between want and should? Its' true that the should definitely fills in bits of the want. Where does should come from? Desire, hope, expectation, relationships, comparisons, wishing, obligation, duty. Should is what comes around when I want something in the future that I don't want to work for today. So I should. Should comes around when I know someone else's experience will be effected by my efforts, and I care about them - obviously, so I have to kick in should in order to beat selfishness. Ok - so should may not be as cheerful as want - but it probably maintains the overall health of humanity. I should go to work. I should pay my bills. I should make dinner for the children.<br />
<br />
But in matters of truth - in matters of telling the truth - I think should is based on what we've seen or heard from someone else. We see the success of others and are drawn into the same paths. It makes sense I suppose, but it's not necessary - especially if you aren't interested in acclaim or money or well-knownness. Not everyone's originality is going to sell books, make blockbusters or be a social hit. And yet, we want to tell a story that is interesting that is worth the telling. Cause we want to live a life that's worth living.<br />
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We want to make a difference. Isn't that something? We want the world to be different because we were here. I wonder why. Does it need to be different? Do we assume that things are out of order enough that we should change the world? Maybe it's a misguided innate desire in us to want to change ourselves. Maybe we don't need to change the world - we need to change ourselves. It probably seems easier to change the world than to change ourselves. Isn't that something? <br />
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I'm original if I say who I am, all the pretty and unlovely parts, with all the honesty and the tragic sections, and then illustrate from that starting point, my changing. I become a witness. I'm a quiet, glorious, powerful, unique witness. A witness of perhaps the most human beauty, change. Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-73775440764467688482015-05-10T08:55:00.000-07:002015-05-10T08:55:04.264-07:00Happy Mother's DayDear David,<br /><br />Thank you for making me a mom. I love being your
mom! I love your snuggles and sweet goodnight kisses. I love watching
you play soccer and I hearing you play the violin. I love driving with
you in the car and singing along to the music. I love that you want to
be with me and that you are so great to help around the house - doing
the lawn and anything else I ask for your help with. You are an
incredible and loyal friend. I am inspired by your love for Zach and
for anyone else who needs a hand - like Dalynne and Gayle and family
support and grandma and teachers at your school. You take such good
care of Douglas and Jessie and Corinne. You know when they need your
affection and especially when your sisters need a gentle reminder that
everything is going to be ok. You have made a significant impact on our
family since the day you arrived. I am a different person because I've
had the privilege of being your mother. Oh, how I love you. Thank you
for being mine. xoxox<br />Mom.<br />
<br />
Dearest Skibob,<br /><br />Thank you for making me a mom. I love being YOUR
mom! :) I love cheering for you while you are in your 12th hour of
homework, I love that you want to go to seminary, I love singing with
you and cleaning with you. I love that you love Jessica so well. I
love watching you be sisters together. I love that you love a clean
house and a clean room and that you pitch in so readily to help the
family. I love watching you keep a goal on the football pitch and
hearing you play the flute. I love seeing you giggle at a text and
laugh with your cousins. I love your squinty nose when you are
perplexed or annoyed and I love your determination to be happy. <br />You
came on to the scene with a willful peace and innate joy 17 years ago.
I know you don't always feel that on the surface, but it's part of who
you were before you came here and I'm so grateful that Heaven said you
could be ours. Thanks for coming to play with us and laugh with us and
to teach me joy in all things. Your tears teach us that too. You
aren't afraid to feel. And there is opposition in all things - which
means with all the joy, you are willing to feel the sorrow too. The joy
is worth it and you know it. Oh, how blessed I am to hear you call me
your mama. xoxoxo<br />I love you,<br />Mom.<br />
<br />
Dear Jessica,<br /><br />Thanks for making me a mom! I love it! I love
watching you negotiate life and live with so much determination for good
and the pursuit of real wisdom. I love that you thirst for knowledge
and experience - especially within the gospel. I love that you want
those around you to be happy, to feel needed and capable and know that
they belong. I admire both your empathy and your sympathy. :) You
have powerful gifts with which Heaven is blessing us all. I love
hearing you sing and play the guitar. In my moments of temporary
insanity, please don't let me convince you otherwise. I love your
gorgeously messy room and the fact that it means you can live peacefully
in the chaos, that it means you'd rather be with us than hidden away. I
love that you love movies and stories about other people - and that you
are feeding the empathy in you. You have a deep need to know the
stories on the planet. I love hearing you sing at the top of your
lungs, I love watching you dance across a stage, I love sitting with you
at soccer games and driving with you in the car. I love cleaning the
garage with you and shopping with you and making a meal with you. I love
that you came here 19 years ago with a will to LIVE in every moment, to
not miss a beat, to see and feel it all. You love us so well. You are
already so willing to forgive me for my humanity. Thank you for the
gift of constant forgiveness. Thanks for being a better example of what
a mom is to me than I could ever be to you. xoxoox<br /><br />I love you,<br />Mom.<br />
<br />
Dear Douglas,<br /><br />Happy Mother's Day! Thank you for making me a
mom! You were the first, and always will be. There is something
magical about that. I wonder if the four of you stood in a heavenly
circle and did rock-paper-scissors to see who would have to sojourn with
us first. You either won or lost. ha! From the first day there have
been things that have remained the same... I have loved watching you
take in the world. I love hearing you sing. I love your passion and
excitement for getting on the thrill rides of life. You want to play
and to do it all, to not miss a moment or an opportunity. I love that
you want to be where the action is - with the adults or the big kids or
the heavy hitters or the super stars. You know what people are feeling
and you minister to them in kind. I love watching you with your
siblings, with your dad, with your cousins, with your friends. You are wise and
you make me wonder at the beauty of the world and the plan God has to
teach us love. Thank you for teaching me patience, grace, hope, faith
and joy. I wish I was a faster learner - I must also thank you for
your forgiveness and understanding. You are wise beyond your years and
you are already willing to forgive this mother of yours for also being a
girl, a silly, flighty, irresponsible, emotional and selfish GIRL.
Thank you for coming to save me from my childish ways. :)<br /><br />xoxoxo<br />Mama. Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-42398701536064344532015-04-03T06:47:00.000-07:002015-04-03T06:47:24.952-07:00The Rhythm of ConsolationAs I think about what to write, it's interesting that in order to stay away from the details of my emotions and personal particulars, I default to offering a commentary about the weather. What a cliche, right? It plays out in social collections over and over, in every culture, in every class, in every imagined conglomerate. And even here where my faceless listeners are generations away, in order to say something about how I feel without revealing the unlovely details of my psyche - I use the weather as an allegory, a symbol, a prop. It works I guess.<br />
Spring is change, it's fickle. Spring is new and predictable. The mornings are cold and the afternoons are cheerfully sleepy. The evenings bring fresh breezes and windy promise. Spring ages quickly as she learns the colors of hot summer and her gentle green moves daily to fixed brown. Delicate blossoms drop every minute and their exposed, verdant leaves promise vivid Autumn.<br />
With this constant change before my eyes, I can still dare to be impatient, to speed the moments along. What is this thanklessness? This non-recognition?<br />
This morning I pray for a gentle heart, for fresh eyes, for a verdant spirit - unafraid of the change that is born in every morning - completely conscious of the age, the heat, the anchored, the vivid colors that will define the day at close.<br />
Spring comes again.<br />
Morning rises.<br />
The rhythm is consolation.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-90304045441620176472015-04-02T08:03:00.003-07:002015-04-02T08:07:41.446-07:00San Diego Time<br />
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All the right plants, smells, sand, sun and people. I heart California.<br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-3381187177620789962015-03-26T18:50:00.000-07:002015-03-26T18:50:00.732-07:00Something's Comin...Could be...<br />
Who knows...<br />
........<br />
It's only just out of reach<br />Down the block, on a beach<br />Under a tree<br />I got a feeling there's a miracle due<br />......<br />Could it be?<br />Yes it could<br />Something's coming<br />Something good.....<br />If I can wait<br />
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But wait - no more wait. Want it to be now. Or at least nowish. Nowish in the sense that I get to choose?<br />
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Poor Tony. Do you think that song is about the love affair or his impending doom? I choose Love Affair. Cause after that, there's nothing else worth living for anyway right? Once you've loved... you're golden.<br />
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But yeah - I want something to come...<br />
Spring.<br />
Energy.<br />
Clarity.<br />
Health.<br />
Smarts.<br />
Charity.<br />
nbd <br />
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I know I gotta do something to get something. But I hope that the gotta do comes because of the feeling like it. So it's the feeling like it that I feel is the "could it be? yes it could!"<br />
<br />
The stars are aligning. Seven months of saying no, four children home safe and sound, family landmarks around the corner....<br />
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Could be... who knows....<br />
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April is 5 days away.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-6712656884711109162015-02-15T10:43:00.001-08:002015-02-15T10:43:20.106-08:00Outside OnlineIt's Lent this week. I love Lent. I'm not a Catholic, in fact I'm a Mormon. But I love Lent and I look forward every year to getting off of Facebook for the 46 days of Lent. It's not a flippant observance of this holiday - I believe wholeheartedly that when we give up things in our lives, it has the potential to bring us closer to God. Mormons attempt that all the time - no alcohol, no coffee, no smoking, no playing on Sunday, no sex before marriage... we even fast once a month. That's like Lent. So I'm a grateful observer of the tradition. I'm not on a path of disrespect or blasphemy. Agreed? Agreed.<br />
This year as part of my preparation to leave Facebook for a bit (and honestly, every year I'm tempted to make it permanent) I realize that I'm looking for somewhere that feels like outside while I'm online. (Facebook doesn't, but it's a tempting disappointment every time) A really common time for me to log on is in between my 21 morning alarms. 4:45 for prep, 4:55, 5:00 for real, 5:05 and on until 6:30 when it's desperate. The alarm at 6:30 means not only did I sleep in, but Corinne did as well, missed seminary, and now I'm in jeopardy of being later than the kids who are tardy to my first class. I can usually avoid hearing all of the 21 alarms if I get on my phone and start reading the semi-interesting babble from my friends on Facebook. Honestly, I like the babble. It's amazing how long I can read it. All the way to 6:30 actually - which is mind blowingly stupid - cause I might as well have been sleeping all that time. BUT here's the justification - I love to go outside first thing in the morning. (Let's be clear - daylight means morning. No daylight - still night) And I think this is the phenomenon I'm trying to achieve without leaving my sheets and the side of my charming, snoring husband. If I can find something that will convince me that it's worth getting up... remember there are people out there... the sun will shine and the mountains will be beautiful and there is fruit to eat and dirt to dig about in - things to do! And it's not all bad - LIVE WOMAN! LIVE! <br />
This is the trick every morning isn't it? To choose to live. To shake off the dust from the night's slumber and push the blood through your veins and take deep breaths and live again. <br />
Maybe that's why we avoid bedtime - its like dying. Giving up consciousness is a scary thing right? And we don't control where our minds roam at night. Sometimes going to scary places, sometimes embarrassing ones... occasionally to a fantasy so intriguing we want to carry it right into our true breaths. <br />
What should I do at 4:55 to convince my dreaming mind, thick blood and slow breaths that it's time to live again? Facebook doesn't really do the trick, it's a charlaton, but it's my addiction - and starting on Wed, I'll have nothing... Nothing to convince me to live. I need to find outside online. Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-1042987998186940602014-12-18T21:50:00.000-08:002014-12-18T21:50:17.814-08:00Remorse90 days until Elder Wadley comes home.<br />
I'm scared.<br />
I'm thrilled.<br />
I'm definitely counting.<br />
I get the impression from some that counting makes me weak.<br />
I'm tired of that impression.<br />
I'm counting.<br />
I don't care.<br />
I do care.<br />
I wish I didn't.<br />
90 days I'm attempting sugarless. <br />
90 days I'm working on "wellness'.<br />
I even have a ppt.<br />
But on day ONE - today...<br />
I got angry.<br />
Annoyed.<br />
Exasperated.<br />
A head ache.<br />
And then I made a mistake.<br />
I spoke.<br />
I shared the anger. <br />
Fail.<br />
Fail.<br />
Fail. <br />
Wellness?<br />
Bah!<br />
At least I have some where to go...<br />
Wellness has got to be the state of mind that doesn't prevent bad, but permits it.<br />
I'm not there yet.<br />
Good night.<br />
I'm sleepy.<br />
Pills for the head.<br />
Sleep for the anger.<br />
Hopefully I don't talk in my sleep. <br />
Writing for remorse.<br />
xo Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-45468260865162937672014-10-19T21:00:00.000-07:002015-05-03T06:27:32.955-07:00children<div class="MsoNormal">
October 2011 <br />
<br />
David's been wearing a terrific pair of round
sunglasses with his 1840's cap. His moppy blonde hair peeking out from
every rim and corner, and his precocious smile sneaking out underneath.
He's quite pleased with his new old sense of fashion. He's a different
child than my others, somehow terribly alive in being adored by the
older three. <br />
<br />
Corinne is babysitting and I'm sure so well. She may be
running a more perfect home than the dear mother who left her in charge.
That certainly happens when I leave her. Jessica is outside swinging
and playing her guitar with two adorable friends who I would invite to
stay forever if their own mother's wouldn't miss them so.Douglas is on
an adventure. He's out with a new old friend to visit an old new
friend. Rich is tracking all of their activity and will eventually
wrangle them in for prayers and sleeping. It won't be an easy feat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I
have absolutely nothing to offer but the ramblings of my own days and
my own sorting. I have no new way of learning or loving or living to
give up to the world. Its all been written, painted and sung, and by
artists endlessly more talented than I. But I'm new. I haven't been
here before, so the old ways feel new on me. More clarity comes into
focus as I see fewer days ahead than in the wake, and I'm most certainly
afraid of what I may not write, paint or sing. But the stillness comes
as I learn what I'm meant to do and do more of it. There's no end in
sight.</div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-91309441006204717262014-10-19T20:58:00.000-07:002014-10-19T20:58:42.440-07:00Dare to Dream?<div>
Dare to dream?</div>
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"I would rather have been a French peasant and worn wooden shoes. I would rather have lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door, and the grapes growing purple in the kisses of the autumn Summer sun. I would rather have been that poor peasant with my loving wife by my side, knitting as the day died out of the sky, with my children upon my knees and their arms about me...and so I would ten thousand times" -Robert G. Ingersol</div>
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Dreaming about being an actress, is more exciting then being one. Marilyn Monroe</div>
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Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us. Jane Roberts</div>
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I cannot sleep for dreaming; I cannot dream but I wake and walk about the house as though I'd find you coming through some door. Arthur Miller</div>
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I find myself dreaming of doing normal things - like staying home and washing dishes. Shalom Harlow </div>
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One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today. Dale Carnegie</div>
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The life of a man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams, but in active charity and in willing service. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</div>
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I don't have lofty dreams. Do I? Does that mean I'm afraid? Does it mean I don't have vision or I lack scope? </div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-45796328884900631302014-10-19T20:48:00.000-07:002014-10-19T20:48:58.719-07:00SOTWI'm amazed at the things I learn while watching Savior Of The World. Here is a sampling:<br />
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It's interesting to think about always being on camera. I guess we really are. We really are always on camera. What we do, matters. Always. This is integrity.</div>
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As I watch friends on stage portray such important historical figures, its really interesting to think about their personal relationships with each other. I shouldn't belittle my relationships.</div>
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What if I always lived as if I was on the colonnade? Always looking at people as though their circumstances don't matter, but only the experiences they are having? What if I saw everyone with the same compassion and hope as I feel when I'm up there? </div>
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Am I teaching my children to learn to recognize the spirit? What experiences are they having up there?</div>
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The Shepherds were ready to tell and testify even before they were invited in to see the baby.</div>
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It's easy to love my 17 year old when he is on the stage playing a Shepherd.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: small;">I have had many thoughts that sadly didn't get written down. And I guess in some ways, I'm surprised - that I've had them. I always think that as I come to this production again and again that it can't possibly be that I could still learn from these lines. But as the gospel consistently does, I do learn. It seems it always has something different to teach depending on life's circumstances. As thy days may demand... I am blessed, even in moments of pride, by humbling events that bring me to these rehearsals on the edge of tears and as I hear the words and principles proclaimed, I find myself comforted and humbled by the very comfort. There are even moments of sorrow and forgiveness. The tears surface even now. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: small;">As I conduct I am remembering watching that conductor in Santa Cruz. Gorgeous church. What was that event? I was with people from school I think. She danced. This woman conducting this small chamber orchestra was totally inspiring to me. As I reflect on the opportunities I've had to conduct at various events over the last few months - including women's conference and this beautiful production, I am tempted to wonder if that moment is Santa Cruz wasn't revelation. Or at least preparation. I'm grateful for what music has brought to me.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: small;">"Perhaps this is what God wants." Oh, this phrase rings so true in so many situations in my life.</span></div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-83348292241625987692014-05-20T14:27:00.002-07:002014-05-20T14:27:46.024-07:00Smarts.I think I log on to facebook when I'm craving some kind of interaction. No wait, craving makes it sound desperate. That's not the right word. Maybe it's just a preference - My preference is to have someone to talk to or look at or ask a question. But I'm alone and so I log on thinking that someone on facebook will talk to me. That's the misconception. No one will talk to me there. They talk at me or near me or through me or around me, but not to me. And then I have to deal with whatever burdens have been placed on my news feed and instead of having my craving (preference) satisfied, I'm now worried about 8 different people, upset about some political conflict I don't understand and basing my self-worth on the fact that my first boyfriend's daughter is Han Solo, Arwen, the color purple and should live in a cottage in Nepal. Not helpful. I repeat, not helpful. <br />
<br />
I'm allergic to sugar. It gives me hives and my tongue fills up my mouth, I can't breathe and for the next two weeks I see everything with a purple hue, I have a taste in my mouth like asparagus and my right eye twitches uncontrollably. <br />
False. Darn it. I'm not allergic, I'm addicted. Why is it that I think I can stay up later, write longer, return more emails, balance my bank account faster, vacuum and love more perfectly if I've had 5 oreos and a glass of milk?<br />
<br />
Want one more? Cause good things come in threes? I would rather have my contacts cement to my crispy eyeballs than get up out of bed to take them out. Why? Why can't I move my body? Why can't I be reasonable? Why do I lay down with them in in the first place? Seriously, after 15 years of this phenomenon I haven't learned that when the TV is on, I sit on the bed, lean on the bed, rest on the bed, recline on the bed, lay on the bed.... then sleep on the bed. For the night. So, instead of wearing my glasses for 15 minutes before I go to sleep, I wear them for 15 hours the next day while my eyes recover from their nocturnal cement tomb. Dumb.<br />
<br />
Self discipline. Restraint. Willpower. Composure. Moderation. Temperance. Smarts. <br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-39226488484328777232014-03-01T07:50:00.004-08:002014-04-27T06:57:56.572-07:00In like a lionRemember that saying from elementary school? It goes along with the letter people, cartons of chocolate milk and carrot sticks, impossibly tall steps to climb on to the bus and praying I would never have to go to the bathroom. That's what I remember from my first school, 1st-3rd grade. <br />
But here we are on March 1st and it is perfectly blustery and cold and damp. The rain is coming in sprinkles, shoved around by the east wind. It's landing on soft, mushy, long grass waist deep in mud. Every once in a while I smell something like dill.<br />
I've been walking uphill lately and for the last week there has been a stream of water coming down the street. <br />
I keep forgetting my coat.<br />
David hasn't worn jeans to school for a week and a half.<br />
Corinne doesn't mind walking to rehearsal.<br />
Ben's glove was found in the back yard.<br />
The stupor has gone, the misty vision lifted, the weights of the world sluffing off, I run a little faster, I climb a little quicker, I'm more sure of myself and less worried. It's easier to love and faster to forgive.<br />
I find myself thinking about the ocean and that beautiful road that climbs over the Sierras.<br />
Do you know what this means?<br />
It's March. It's spring. I'm glad.<br />
Thank you winter for reminding me how blessed I am that the snow melts, the cold wind blows briefly, the birds fly back, the flowers only sleep, the leaves were right there all along, and the sun was just on holiday. <br />
I am still loved, still blessed, still adored.<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-56406131469633581322014-01-26T20:46:00.001-08:002014-01-26T20:46:31.680-08:00Dai."Jesus is like Santa, but not fat. And better. He gives everyone what they want. Think of how many gifts He's gived. Think of all the people on the earth. And He's answered every single wish." - Dai Wadley.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-62941808595477697492014-01-17T09:24:00.003-08:002014-01-17T09:24:18.383-08:00The burden and delight of love - Muses from La TraviataOpera fascinates me. <br />
Not in the -- I can't get enough of it -- kind of way, but more in the -- really? -- kind of way. <br />
But I'm drawn back to it. "Ok, let's try this again." <br />
Is it the 19th century's version of 8th grade drama? But because it's set in another century and you have to go to a university to be able to sing it, then fancy people without enough to do with their time or money will pay $85 to sit in a semi-decent seat to listen to it sung in a language, that albeit beautiful, is not their mother tongue? <br />
I submit, that when examined, the plot line is repeated in grade schools throughout the world. I want to write an opera set over three days in a jr high school. Someone will certainly have to die, but that would be the only real shocker. The rest is the same.<br />
<br />
"I don't know how to love, wait - he loves me, so I love him, I've changed my mind, I do know how to love and we are together, but wait - I might ruin his reputation, so I'll go back to someone who is no good for me. This makes him angry and mean. But he is angry and mean because he loves me. So I have no choice but to love him. I do. He does. It's too late, I'm dying."<br />
<br />
This is La Traviata - yes? And despite my "really?", I'm completely smitten. <br />
It's gorgeous and passionate and I am drawn in to the story and I fall in love with Alfredo and the sheer magnitude of emotion that erupts on to the stage and into the first few rows is like having your soul cleansed of guile and cynicism. <br />
Opera is a love story boiled down until all of the extras have evaporated into the steamy air, then what's left is baked in the juices of emotion until so tender that the insides come flowing out so freely that one is pushed along in a rush of rich turkey basting love. Delish.<br />
And when it's over, you are exhumed of all the grit and grime that once encrusted your weary heart. And now you are able to love; better and longer and with gratitude and vigor. Because love is a burden and a delight.<br />
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I submit again - 8th graders know this. Well, they've just begun to discover it. By sophomore year it is well covered territory, and they are either delighting in it or carrying an eternal burden. They get it. They get the inevitability of attraction and the capricious nature of men and women. It's alive in them. You don't have to have cushy red seats and gold leafed everything and woodwork and tassels and impractically long dresses and tuxedos that don't quit. But somehow love does look more mature all dressed up. It's true. <br />
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But the next time you need a purging of the soul, and you don't have $85 to spare, strike up a conversation with your local high school freshman. You'll learn about the burdens and delights of love. And you'll be better somehow. Especially if you validate that passion and pain. <br />
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Maybe that's how I should look at it. <br />
Opera is validation - of all we ever experienced in the world of love before we were swept up by practicality, responsibility, and a house in the burbs. Maybe that's why it carries us away. We know the story. <br />
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Thankfully, consumption doesn't take us out of the game. We live to die another day. <br />
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-8547857535188061302013-04-17T12:09:00.001-07:002013-09-25T12:48:02.672-07:00Without limitation.I am a creation endowed with His creative power. <br />
He sets me in motion. <br />
I see. I wonder. I wish. I imagine. I understand. I create. <br />
I am the seed of His faith. <br />
<br />
We dance so our bodies can speak.<br />
We sing so our hearts can fly.<br />
We paint so our eyes can touch.<br />
We write so our souls can breathe. <br />
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Time limits, body's decay, mind's doubt, heart's ache, and the soul desires anyway. <br />
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One day I want to understand creativity so perfectly that I will be able to love without limitation.<br />
As He does.<br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-40268629312578412622013-04-13T08:39:00.001-07:002013-04-19T19:32:49.902-07:00How to live an unremarkable life: and other blogable thoughts.I keep a running list of things that I'd like to blog about someday. Some of them I haven't tackled because I haven't found the time, others because they frighten me so, and some because I forget about the list when I sit down to write. So in case I don't find all the time in this life time, here's the current list at any rate... <br />
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*One could describe middle age, and for all I know old age as well, as a recovery from youth. A recovery from the lies we believed, the ones we told ourselves, the perceptions we misunderstood, the ones we naively held up as virtuous, the boys we loved, the girls we revered... At 39 I'm on the road to recovery, but it may take another 10 years to get back on my feet completely.<br />
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*Watching sports with Rich has become a talent of mine. More than a pastime or a skill, but something that enriches my life and in which I find joy in the pursuit of excellence.<br />
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*My English friends take the middle syllable out of my name. I should continue my reports of English/American studies. There is so much more to tell. <br />
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*Marriage pulls the dysfunction out of our souls, pulls it to the surface and sets it on fire.<br />
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*I'm not brilliant and how to recover from that realisation.<br />
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*You know that incredible moment when the sun light is more horizontal than vertical and as you start to close your heavy lids, the light reflects off of your lashes and they scatter tiny circles of sunshine?<br />
<br />
*Whipping Cream is wonderful. Whipping cream and coconut. I can't get enough. I dropped a single waffle square drooping with real whipping cream into the book I am reading. Ate the square and licked the page clean. I feel completely satisfied with my ability to make waffles. Next… to conquer the process of cleaning the iron. Honestly, I lack the passion for it. Or other squeaky clean pursuits.<br />
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*I have a strong desire to improve my vocabulary. <br />
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*Why don’t I get out of the bed to take my contacts out?, and other silly habits I should have overcome by the age of 15. They fritz against my eyeballs and I can feel the crust taking hold. Its gets harder and harder to blink and I sit in a permanent squint. Its hard to think of much else, but I don’t get up. I’m warm.<br />
<br />
*"I need not hurry myself; there is no good in that - but I must work on in full camases and serenity, as regularly and concentratedly as possible, as briefly and concisely as possible". - Van Gogh. How could someone with so much clarity as evidenced in this sentence, also be so tormented? I think I know a little about that answer.<br />
<br />
*"By painting the sky, Van Gogh was really able to see it and adore it better than if he had just looked at it." - Ueland. You will never understand your husband unless you write his story. What a challenge. I want to do this.<br />
<br />
*The rewards of an unremarkable life, and how to live one purposefully. This is important.<br />
<br />
*My creative pursuits: writing of late, losing weight - a lifetime objective, loving, forgiving, teaching,<br />
adoring Rich, performing, mothering; and how they are all the same objective.<br />
<br />
*Writing: What I know so far. It is not a performance, but a generosity.<br />
<br />
*"If one is imaginative enough, one can love others with all their limitations." THIS IS IT! This is the reason to foster creativity, empathy, forgiveness and generosity. My favorite virtues. - Maybe this is where I'll start.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-74376689978162966782013-03-31T06:57:00.003-07:002013-03-31T06:57:58.521-07:00English part deuxIf I learned about English/American speech in 2011, I learnt about English/American spelling in 2012.<br />
<br />
realise<br />
baptise<br />
organise <br />
learnt<br />
alright<br />
colour<br />
favourite<br />
neighbour <br />
paralyse<br />
dialogue<br />
quarelled<br />
skilful<br />
ageing<br />
programme<br />
cheque<br />
cosy<br />
grey<br />
gaol<br />
mould<br />
plough<br />
centre<br />
theatre<br />
zed <br />
<br />
and this is just the beginning love...Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-18848417884885369392013-03-31T06:54:00.002-07:002013-03-31T06:54:46.105-07:00Clichés.Woa. A whirlwind of life the last month. Douglas has been in the MTC for 25 days. I can assure you that all of the missionary-mom clichés apply, so feel free to shout them out or pencil them in. People kept telling me that the first week was going to be hard, but without having experienced it before I obviously didn't know what to expect really. It took a good 10 days after the first week had passed before I could explain what that first week was like. I had to keep reminding my sub-conscious that he hadn't died. If the sub-conscious is the gut of the brain - that was my brain's gut reaction - he'd died. Little things would trigger the thought process; his sock on the bathroom floor, accidentally calling David - Douglas, packing his last few shirts, finding his boots in the trunk of my car, coming home to an empty house for lunch, talking to the bank about his account, Jessica wearing his hat, and of course his uninhabited bedroom. It was a collection of heart sinking sorrow moments, combined with jubilation at the immediate reminder that the gut reaction was wrong and this boy was coming home to us - eventually. Sympathy for friends who have lost children or loved ones was overwhelming during that week and I prayed so fervently for dear ones. <br />
I testify that my favorite cliché from the last month is that hearing from said missionary is like oxygen for the heart and soul. It's true! No wait. Maybe it's that the missionary is having such an incredible time learning about their purpose in the MTC that they don't show any signs of missing their family. Oh, but - there's also the one about feeling closer as a family and unified and all of that hoop-lah. There is a lack of original thought or experience implied in clichés, but when it has not been a truism in your own life clichés are total game changers. We are changed. Life is better. It tastes so good.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-67255383577810997942013-02-10T22:02:00.002-08:002013-02-10T22:02:36.709-08:00hush.There are moments,... nights,.... some afternoons,.... even a morning here or there.... when I feel to write for so long and so rapidly to simply exhume the thoughts and layers of consciousness that I've packed away for months... years... Let's be honest, I can pack deep in mere minutes.<br />
I am hyper-feeling. What is a scientific name for that? Overly emotional? Melodramatic? Temperamental? Filled with Angst? That's my least favorite one right now. See how all of those terms are negative? What are the positive ones? <br />
<br />
Right now, I'm trying to avoid what I'm feeling low and deep by superficial deflecting and distraction. That's good right? Cause if I can get past a few emotions without having to examine them or sit in them or look at them and weep.... That would be.... better. Right?<br />
<br />
Why do we cry? How does Darwin explain it? I'm sure he does, and I would love to hear the explanation. Maybe he and I agree. I think that pride leaves the body through tears. And maybe Darwin would support an idea that those who are carrying around less pride live longer or breed better. Why do we cry when someone else cries? Is it the same reason we laugh when someone else laughs? Or yawns when someone else yawns? If the emotion is let out of the jar into the room, we all take it in and go with it. Well some do. I do. Oi. I wish I could breathe in a little less. I wish I could hang on to a baseline longer.<br />
<br />
Baseline - I'm loved and appreciated. This is the baseline I would choose. It's very empowering and makes me look outside myself almost immediately.<br />
<br />
This isn't working. My stomach still hurts and my heart is racing and my breathing is.... Well, I'm tired too. Maybe that's the best thing to do in this situation. Sleep. Yes.<br />
<br />
I'm going to watch golf with Rich. I love watching golf with Rich. He's so restful and untroubled, and the slumber arrives like a beloved guest coming in the middle of the night, sneaking in and rocking me gently saying - I am here, all is well. And I tell you what - golf is in Pebble Beach this week. I couldn't be happier to watch golf when the surf is flickering in the background. Every once in a while I get lucky and someone hits a ball into the water and we get to see the coastline even longer. And then there are the Cypress trees and the tall pines, and I start to smell it and remember that somehow all is healed on that coast. A few minutes with my toes in the cold sand, the sun spilling on my face and I remember... I'm loved and appreciated. Baseline. Rest. <br />
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Hush.<br />
"Why are ye troubled and why do thoughts arise in your heart?"<br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-30778029980990221612013-01-19T22:02:00.001-08:002013-01-19T22:09:20.376-08:00The death of a day.Saturday Jan 19th, 2013<br />
6:30am-2:30pm<br />
19th, 8 hours old, passed away at 2:30pm in the kitchen. 19th was born to Rare Surplus Time and Fully-Accomplished Lists, but sadly didn't see the fulfillment of the dreams of her parents. 19th was a happy child in the early hours. She saw yoga, a trip to the temple and the grocery store. She even saw a calendar and lists around 12:30. Her potential was far greater than any other Saturday that came before her in the last 13 years. Tragically she suffered a fatal blow just before 2:30pm with a deadly conversation. All parties were at fault and couldn't stay calm enough to stop the pernicious exchange. Once drive and ambition were drained from 19th's critical minutes, she didn't have enough strength to survive. There was a ray of hope around 6:45pm when we saw some color in 10 minutes, but it was not to last. We are deeply saddened by our loss. The potential of her life would have had far-reaching consequences into the garage, the laundry room, the honey-do list and the children's closets. We will never be the same without her.<br />
19th was preceded in death by Dec 15th and Aug 28th. She is survived by Jan 21st and Feb 2nd. A memorial service will be held tonight at 11:13pm by the bedside. Come on your knees. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that you send any free time you have to the schedule listed below. We hope that what we have learned today will prevent the senseless death of beautiful days in the future.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-6022655283298424752013-01-19T21:06:00.002-08:002013-01-19T21:35:40.672-08:00Pine Delight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's the 19th of January and I'm not suffering any seasonal melancholia yet. It's a January miracle. This winter feels... eventful. Let's credit the colossal snow storm we got 8 days ago. Jan 11, 2013 (Cosmically 20 years to the day of the last school-closing snow storm.) There are heaps and towers and piles and stacks and mounds of snow. Of course the day it came down was full of snuggling and warm drinks and feeling like reading and writing for 52 hours straight. But the continuing majesty of it is keeping me non-melancholic. This time January isn't just some chilly temperatures, hazy skies and dirty streets. This is WINTER in all of its glory and spectacle. This is something to be experienced and appreciated. See the tree above? I want to lick it. I want to pluck all of the pine trees out of the ground and slide the snow off into my mouth like olives off of a toothpick with one graceful slurp. What will it taste like? Cream? Cream on what? Something that honors the pine, but I can't really go with the prickly thing....<br />
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Those trees have been holding onto that snow for days and weeks now. It's their winter coat, keeping them safe from the elements. I can't take it all in by just looking at it. I want to put a hand to the whole thing all at once. Tricky, as the result would undress them immediately.<br />
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When I was little it was popular to put slim silver streamers on your Christmas tree to make it look like it had icicles on it. I never cared for the look but I also didn't understand it. Now I do.<br />
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It is the year of the icicle. (The spelling of that word is counter-intuitive to me. Icecycle? Icycle? Eyesikle in German. No wait, that's Eiszapfen) They are everywhere. On every roof, on signs, bushes, trees, power lines, cars, railings. They are getting long and menacingly beautiful. (Someone told me in Moscow they have snipers who shoot the icicles off of buildings so they don't drop and hurt anyone walking below. They're a serious hazard in the spring, killing a handful of people every year in Russia.) <br />
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So this is Winter 2013 so far. Hazelnut steamers have become a house specialty around here. J is surviving temperatures in the single digits before school with warm breakfast drink and a shot or two of Irish Cream. d is heating up rice bags around the clock and the electric blanket Rich got me for Christmas is my nightly indulgence. Ski guards her cherished socks which are only allowed to be washed while she is in a warm bath, and D is hoarding quilts. Staying warm has become a gratifying pastime for the whole family. 40 more days until the calendar says March. What will Spring be like if I'm not trying to recover from Winter?<br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-25092054007125526042013-01-18T07:32:00.001-08:002013-01-18T07:32:05.217-08:00Bolt the hermit crab.Little D's hermit crab died this morning. Well, we aren't sure when exactly, because hermit crabs are not widely known for their lively approach to life. It's hard to know precisely when he took his last...<br />
Oh wait. He just moved. He's alive. phew.<br />
You know the funny thing? When D came up to tell me that the crab was dead, he was crying, which was a little surprising. But I attributed it to lack of sleep, a pretty rough day at school yesterday, and generally a heightened state of emotion all around. It wasn't just a wetting of the eyes, or a tantrum cry. It was a genuine heartache cry, and so of course I cried. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the loss of Bolt that drew out my tears, but my kids' heartache tears are directly linked to mine. The valves are on the same knob. His tantrum tears, scraped knee tears and anger tears are not. These tears prompt action or frustration or scowls of disappointment. But woa - those heartache tears. Immediate sympathy, empathy, compassion, care, concern, tenderness, .... get out the tissue, those are Mama tears.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153008852640619611.post-33581444292554617712012-07-07T14:43:00.001-07:002012-10-20T23:35:40.374-07:00Meant To Do.<br />
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I've enjoyed a stillness and clarity of late that has eluded me in the mostly recent past. I'm reaching for a way to describe it, but I'm not sure my wordsmything is refined enough to bring these buoyant emotions to the page... er... to the screen. </div>
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I heard this phrase last week - </div>
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<i><u>It doesn't matter what you do as long as you do what you were meant to do.</u></i></div>
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For a moment this is a consoling, peaceful thought. But panic sets in when you realize its up to you to sort out what you were meant to do. </div>
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Meant to do? There is a mighty possibility for failure. It could be all about how you make money, or who you become or where you live or go to school, or do with your time each day... but I think it can be more resonant than that, and what I want to think of is this:</div>
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What I am meant to do is learn to be a complete version of me being made up of 10 parts Love. This would be a whole and complete me. This is what I want to be meant to do. </div>
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Right now I think maybe I have 6 parts love, 2 parts jealousy, 2 parts pride, and maybe 1 part something I can't even describe, and I realize that this would be 11 parts something - and that is certainly contributing to the challenge. It doesn't matter what I do to do it, but I'm meant to learn 10 parts Love. I'm meant to be pure of heart....eventually.</div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11109877782255379821noreply@blogger.com0