Blonde Tails: Mortified with Men

Do blonde's really have more fun? Really?
No, I don't think so. But we can tell one heck of an embarassing story. Or more than one.
Perhaps because obliviousness invites all sorts of odd spectacles into one's life experience, we become magnets for trouble, ridicule and the extraordinary. Which most people consider fun.
Most people aren't blondes.
The only fun from these tales is in the telling of them, trust me.
So enjoy

The other day I was finishing up my run on the Salmon Creek Trail when I espied a familiar face from my institute class emerging from the tree's with a group of rather large and muscular friends.
This particular young man had recently struck up a conversation with the line "You have the most amazingly beautiful eyelashes."
Viewing the meeting through the lens of my past experience with the generally shy breed of young mormon males, I immediately considered him rather eccentric, dashing and debonair. (The beautiful accent helped-though I can't pin down its origin). Here was someone I could easily play along with. A genuine flirt-so to say. So I smiled and playfully batted them at him and we passed a few notes back and forth during class.
I saw him a few times at random events in the weeks following and he would wink and wave or join me for a short conversation.
So, winding down from my run it seemed only natural to me that I ought to say hello my friend. I pulled my headphones out of my ears and ran to join him.
I had noticed the groups of young men in orange suits and vests cleaning up the weeds and debris from the path and really, in the back of my mind, I knew what such groups were.
It never once occurred to me that his group of friends was wearing these vests as well...or that he himself was.
No. The only possibility that entered my oblivious, endorphin happy mind was that I had missed the notice that there was a YSA volunteer group going to clean up the path today-like the one I had joined in on two years ago.
So, jogging up to this group of buff, sharp-eyed men I jovially called out-
"Hey! Is this a volunteer group?"
Completely valley girl style.
Like I said-lots of endorphins.
The group halted as one and turned toward me with dubious and amused expressions.
"Yeeeaaaah..." said my friend, looking me up and down through the corners of his eyes.
There were a few titters from the group.
Then the compatriot closest to my friend coughed loudly into his elbow.
"Cough***we're criminals***cough, cough, cough***"
I quickly continued on with my jog-my pulse racing far faster than before, and fire from the toe of worn out sneakers to the tips of my too-tiny ears.

One afternoon after a trying day of finals at University, I wearily wandered into the Hart Physical Education building, thinking to pound my stresses out on the gym equipment. My head was down and my thoughts were still racing. Every person I passed was possible critic, a hidden foe I had not considered.
I looked up as I entered the locker room to find a face peering intently at mine, as if to divine meaning from the twitch in my eye. He looked at me as though I were a bug squashed on the lense of his glasses. Irritation, confusion, surprise and suspicion-all were present.
"Humph," the noise came out of me of its own volition. I had already had enough. I tossed my head for extra effect. My finals were over-I didn't have to take any more criticism from anyone this day. And I wouldn't. I turned my eyes from his overzealous gaze and marched intently into the locker room. Agrily I stomped down the dark hall, thinking mutinous thoughts as I turned the corner to open my locker
...And froze.
For there in front of me was a rather large quantity of men, in varying degree's of nakedness. My face flushed the color of a cherry tomato as I turned and fled back down the dark hallway to the entrance.
But before I reached the exit I came to an abrupt halt. The boy whom I had snubbed still stood under the frame of the door, looking up at the 'MENS' sign with a bemused and concerned expression.

He did not see me. I tiptoed slowly and silently back into the black hall.
I was not going back out there to face Mr. Critical glare. No siree. No way. Not happening.
But how could I stay in here?
What if another boy needed to leave?
What if they found me here?
What would I say?
I began to pace restlessly.
I stared at the ceiling, hands tangled in my hair-considering yanking it out by the roots.
How did I get myself in these kinds of predicaments?
Why is it that these strange sort of embarrassments seem to happen so constantly to me?
I was muttering frantically to myself when chilvary and concern seem to have taken the better of the boy and he came after me.
I spun around to find him looking down at me with a nervous and somewhat pitying expression.
"Um...are you lost?" He asked.
I couldn't speak.
Shock had me completely wrapped within its icy talons for a full minute before I could embarrassedly choke out a pitiful,
"ya."
"Can I...escort you to the ladies room?" The previously scorned boy graciously offered.
"Please?" I whispered to the ground.
He didn't try to touch me, thank heavens-I may have melted like the wicked witch I had apparently been impersonating. He turned and walked slowly out of the Mens locker room and led me silently to the womens down the hall, glancing back at me cautiously as if afraid I were going to attack.
I released a chagrined 'Thankyou' as he turned away and left me at the door. I ran a full ten miles that day.


See Surrendering Stories-the tale of The Haunter, and From Rock-A-Bye Baby to A Goddess of Chaos for more examples of blonde fun with men. ;)

Kissing Frogs

Over the past few months, since the release of the movie The Princess and the Frog, I have experienced a distinct feeling of unease about my own relationship with the little amphibians. You see, every time I talked to a little girl about whether they liked the movie or not I got a response along the lines of:
"It was so funny, but I would NEVER kiss a frog! That is sooo gross!!!"
or
"Ya, but why did she kiss the frog if she wasn't a princess? Why would you do that if you didn't have to? Frogs are icky. Only princesses should have to kiss them."
Both answers disturbed me, and one of course prompted the age old lecture that every girl is a princess...of course this led the child to ask 'Then why did the girl turn into a frog instead of the Prince turning into a human like he was supposed to?'
Now riddle me the answer to that one.
Anyways, as I mentioned before, I was beginning to become uncomfortable. So I started asking people my own age. Nonchalantly, of course.
"So hey, uh, have you ever actually kissed a frog?"
I threw the question out in the middle of conversations, in hopes that the answer would be a mild-'Of course! Who hasn't?' and we would continue with the previous subject.
No such luck.
The answer was usually a burst of laughter and then the curiously dubious face 'Have you?'
I suppose you have already guessed what my answer is.
I kiss every frog I meet.
Every. Single. One.
First I have to chase them down of course, but I have had a lot of practice with catching small slippery creatures. I have the usual conversation with them, wonder out loud if they'll actually turn into my handsome Prince this time, then close my eyes and wish.
The frog is usually stunned for a moment or two and then begins to croak loudly and squirm desperately out of my grip. I sigh and let them go.
I have kissed many many frogs in my time. But I have never found my Prince.
Perhaps I am believing in the wrong fairy tale?
Yet Prince Phillip has yet to sweep up behind me and finish my song of dreaming, As much as I would want to I unfortunately did not grow up under the Sea, I'm not to eager to convort with the Beast, I'm not trying to escape the pressures of a Palace life or the bullying of a step family, and I most certainly do not turn into an ogre at night-though my brother might argue that point. So where do I fit in?
I'm thinking perhaps I have been looking in the wrong places. Like Stitch, I've been trying to steal stories that are simply already taken.
I'm thinking perhaps it's time to write my own.

Top 25 Lessons of Nannying

1. ANYTHING can be solved with gummy bears and tootsie rolls. You can have a snit, a fist fight, hurt feelings, general boredom or incooperativeness-and as long as you bring the back up, everyone will go home happy. Even you.

2. The Beatles still rock the world. Try to argue that they're the beginning of the modern downfall of true music and mark the start of horrifying musical commercialism with a seven year old. Go ahead. I dare you.

3. Children will say anything and everything about anyone you both know, just so their opinions are out in the open. And you don't get to be offended on behalf of your friends or relatives. Or even embarassed. Because if they see you react-they WILL pounce.

4. As it turns out, studying history has more than academic benefits. Little boys like WAR stories. Real ones. Detailed ones. And they don't want to read about it. They want you to recite everything you know off the top of your head. Oh-and make it sound good. Boring stories make for a very long bedtime process. Good thing I studied Napoleon's war strategy or I'd be a goner.

5. Entertaining children without electronics is far more difficult than one would originally suspect. Especially when the child refuses to do anything else. Especially when you live in constant rain and can not take the child outside. Where is the Cat in the Hat when you need him?

6. One should make sure the cell phone is hidden is a locked cupboard before any child even knows it exists.

7. Apparently, keys are delicious. So are pennies.

8. One should not assume that just because you have strapped the baby in with five different types of buckles, they are secure. Houdini took lessons from babies. This is especially true if their conniving brothers are present in the room-in which case one should really just give up and feed the baby on the floor.

9. The mothers who are constantly hosting friends are NOT crazy or even necessarily socially assertive. Life is about ten thousand times easier when the friends get the child out of your face and into the playroom, backyard, or bedrooms. Everyone is happier, boredom is generally unmentioned, and you can get quite a lot of other things done while they're distracted. Particularly if the baby is sleeping. Plus there's a BONUS (but only if you're actually the Mom): When you invite other children over to play, your children generally get an invitation to said friends house at a later date. Giving you extra and even more liberating free time.

10. Children like NOISE. A movie in the background, a radio or even playing the drums on your legs will keep things moving and children busy for hours. For some reason, silence makes them listless and crazy--while noise makes the world interesting.

11. Coloring books and utensils are God's gifts to babysitters. Thankyou God.

12. Little girls LOVE it when you sing to them and dance like a crazy person...little boys DON'T.

13. You must be --insert age of child speaking-- years of age to do EVERYTHING.

14. No matter how cool they think you are, or how old you are- you will never be as big or amazing as their oldest brother or sister. Even if they're 12.

15. If you walk into the house of four growing boys and you can't catch a ball-you may as well walk back out. (Thanks for all that training Dad!) Furthermore, if you don't actually know the names and various numbers associated with the players of their favorite sports teams, you must either act well and learn fast, or admit to being a complete and utter loser and failure at life.

16. Mom really is the most beautiful woman on the planet, and Dad is a superhero.

17. Maniacal laughter and the word NOTHING are VERY BAD SIGNS.

18. You think oil's a hot commodity these days? Try walking in with sugar and new movies in a house where they're generally unheard of. The world will be your oyster.

19. Older siblings can be very helpful. Especially when they're being paid.

20. Rocks, flowers, dirt, balls, worms and dogfood are all edible. And I'm not just talking about with the babies.

21. If you think things are going smoother than they should, you're right. You are being tricked. One (or all) of them was supposed to do the dishes. Bed time was half an hour ago. Somebody found a bag of hidden M&M's. There is now a frog or some other sort of lovely little critter in your bag. You are not hearing the baby wake up from her nap because she is perfectly happy emptying her bottle, her diaper, the wipee's, and the batteries from her newest toy onto her freshly washed sheets. You were supposed to serve brussel sprouts with dinner. You read an extra story-it was a large chunk of a chapter book. You forgot to make them brush their teeth or pray. They have found a new way to torture the house pet. Whatever you do-don't go upstairs. It will be worse than you imagine. Trust me.

22. There is no cure for a nine year olds insomnia. Unfortuntely, you can not legally drug other peoples children. Really, you can get in trouble even for drugging your own.

23. The only way to stop the series of questions is to come up with a truly amazing and undefeatable question that has no known answer. The unknown frightens and stumps them.

24. One should never say the words 'I just don't know,' or 'I'm not sure,' or 'Maybe when your mother gets home,' or 'absolutely not,' to a child. Them is fighting words.

25. After all the bumps and the bruises, when your hair hurts from being yanked and pulled, when your arms are tired from holding a cranky baby for hours on end, when your ear holes are three times larger than when you arrived and you are suffering from a headache and lack of nourishment; they will tell you that they love you, climb into your lap for snuggles, give you a sweet baby hug or kiss and say that you're pretty much their amazing older sister-and you'll remember why you love this job so stinking much. That moment is worth all of it. Every time.

Powerful Notes

Today I read the second half of a novel that greatly inspired me. About a mother who loses her entire family in Hitler's occupation of Leningrad (St. Petersburg) during the reign of Stalin. It was horribly depressing, and I cried through the whole thing. It was, however, not about tragedy. It was about the nature of love and forgiveness and moving on in the face of the impossible. It made me take a very hard look at myself, things that I've done and ways I've reacted to the things done to me. This author gets more into the mind of women than any I have ever read. Immediately after finishing (literally, I read the last pages in the car on the way) the story I went to Institute, where we talked about the nature of God and ourselves as His children. Needless to say, I had a LOT come to mind. I don't want to turn this into an essay, or elaborate in detail because I feel the true significance would be lost or twisted. But I thought I'd post the notes I took during this institute class, because it's something I want to share. Something very powerful.

'Steel in the blood.' 'The -insert chosen nationality or occupation-in me.' 'Her -insert chosen strong relative-'s relation.' So many sayings that boil down to the same thing. The God in us.


The part that continues to want to live, to create, to endure. The part that CONTINUES.



God is love. Love is all that endures. Love is all that creates. Love is a force in every dimension. Physical, emotional, spiritual. It is everywhere, in everything.

Every action is caused by or fueled with love. It is the origination of everything.

I have seen depravation, horror, death, hate. Lives ruined by every type of sin imaginable. I have not seen nor heard any thing to negate the evidence of God's love and power in all beings, in everything around me.

People are choosing to deny love, to deny and defy God. They deny themselves. They choose to separate themselves from the forgiveness and joy that comes automatically with love. I can not deny myself-my Savior-my love-my God. I am a child of God. God is love. I am love.

We have only to see and feel our own reactions to hate, anger and pain to realize we are made of love. It hurts us and we protect ourselves however we can.

I am sure that God is real and of His love for me through a thousand tiny little things that he shows me each and every day. For the guidance that I recieve, the spirit that I feel, the questions I am asked and what they make me think. I can feel His love in the hug of the two year old girl I nanny, and see it in the eyes of my friend who thinks she is beyond redemption and yet holds onto hope. I see Him in change for the better, in flowers among the thorns, in nature that continues to heal and rebuild-no matter how many times it is destroyed.

The tree of life in the vision is the love of God and the seeds are grown inside of you! You taste it only when it is grown and bearing fruit. When you have become and are able to issue to others the true love of God.

A Venture to Remember

A Venture to Remember

Tonight I went walking in memory lane,
Picking flowers from tree's most reminiscent to me.
First blown in with the scent of fresh fallen rain,
Came visions of growing, which taught my closed eyes to see
Lost dreams and lost passions that time has proved vain,
Which had sprung up behind me in the cracks of the lee
Whose shelter I crawled from, and yet I left fain
To explore the forgotten held in my memory.
For then I saw blossoms of laughter and game
And among glowing branches I danced joyous, happy
To remember their shining moments of flame.
My dancing brought me to the shores of a great black sea
Into which I careened with no thought of pain
Until crashing down on my heart and mind came the key
To rememb'ring why I'd no love of the lane
And why stayed so many years in the safe little lee
Hidden, forgetting, with no venture to diegn
Tempt me from imagined invulnerability.
Yet then I was trapped neath the waves of my bane
And suffered full punishment for the things I let be
That could have been succored with a righteous aim
If only I had listened when called upon to see.
A hand reached to grab me from waves that would maim
And laid me upon sweet smelling florets so softly
That I wept from the sudden absence of pain.
I looked up for the savior passionately
And tears stung my eyes for the unforseen gain
Of a friend I'd forgotten lived here in memory.
His smile angelic, he called out my name
And told me he had always been and always would be
The force I could lean on to keep my soul sane
To keep me from wallowing in my own misery.
He took up my hand and together we came,
Through long meadows of flowers each more precious to me
Home by the trial of my memory lane.

Battle

How do you fight a battle when you don't understand your enemy? How can you win a war when you're fighting on both sides? How will I defeat my foe if every step I take pulls me in two directions so forcefully that I will soon be split in two? How do I fight a battle when my enemy is me?

Searching Stars

Searching Stars

Sitting in the cooling sand,

While the gloaming settles round us.

Wavelets whisper against the land

As if to still the world with trust.

Here I tell my secrets,

My dreams and all my soul.

Here are all my doubts met,

By a private, comforting lull.

With the sun set all my worries,

Burning rays that brought no peace.

In the silence there's no hurry,

This night to struggle brings a cease.

The stars map out my future

As they appear in the gentle light,

To promised happiness they lure,

Leading me carefully into soft night.

Night that brings tomorrow

With hopes and dreams I've not yet seen.

Night that brings a new day,

With beauty that has not yet been.

...But now I watch it coming

And my heart cries out for yesteryear.

The pain in truth is numbing...

The future should not bring me fear.

But the sun comes in the morning

And sheds its light on all my days

...There's no hiding from the mourning.

It will find me no matter where I stay.

And those daylight hours will burn me,

Though my mind stays in the night

And I can only pretend to be free

When surrounded by the twilight.

Yet sit in cooling sands I will

And let my troubles seep

Out of my mind and fingers til

The night takes me in sleep.

-KristiAnne Atkinson-

Talking with Tarantula's

The Tarantula's name is Killer. He's as big as my fist with more eyes-that probably see much more-than I care to think about. He's covered in thick brown hair and he moves a little slower than frozen molasses. You see, he is very shy. You would be too, if you were his size and lived in a house with four sporty, rambunctious young boys--Who happened to find it entertaining to shake your cage to see if you would move.

He became the newest member of one of the households I work at last week, when the six-turning-seven year old's father presented him as the paramount birthday gift.

As I mopped up the waterfalls pouring from my eyes while I chopped onions at the house this morning, I happened to glance down at my elbow to find him watching me with all those beady little eyes.

"Well," I spoke in nasally tones, trying not to sneeze, "it's nice of you to finally grace us with your presence sir." I nodded at him cordially, "Those boys have been awfully keen on pulling you out of your reticence. Not that I blame you for hiding really, I'd be frightened if someone put their face that close to me as well."

His little hairy body bobbed slowly up and down. I was reminded irrestibly of Harry Potter's first encounter speaking parseltongue to a python in the London zoo. I couldn't resist.

"Can you...understand me?" I asked slowly.

Killer simply stared at me unblinkingly. Can tarantula's blink I wonder? Hmmm...but perhaps that is a question for another time.

"Hmmm." I said. "You know Mr. Killer, the more I see you, the less frightened I become of you, and the more sympathetic I grow. It seems you enjoy a quiet conversation as much as I do. I notice you only come out now-when it's just me humming along here in the kitchen."

At this point the four year old and his playmate came running into the room screaming.

"I'm gonna spank you-I'm gonna Spank YOU!" They bellowed at each other.

My legs became a mighty fortress and the kitchen an endless track. Killer quickly retreated into his coconut home.

I fed the boys their lunch of slightly warmed hot dogs with apples and cheese and sent them back to their upstairs playroom/battlefield.

I turned to the plastic cage next to the sink.

"That was an adventure wasn't it, Mr.Killer? Goodness those boys are silly. I do wish I had that much energy, don't you?"

Killer stuck one leg out of his coconut, and then another.

Eventually he re-emerged from his hidey hole and we spent the afternoon having a lovely conversation about the best methods to cook stew, how to entertain children without electronics, and what Santa might be bringing the boys for Christmas. After all-how do you top a tarantula?

I got to thinking after I left this afternoon-that perhaps I will never be cured of my inexplicable desire to speak to little furry critters. Of course, it could be an even worse sign that I seem to be under the impression that they understand me, and are communicating back to me in whatever various sundry ways they can.

This realization hit me when I was dropping off dinner at a friends house, and I was mid-conversation with a perversely mean cockatu who takes particular issue with human females. What am I doing? I wondered. This bird probably thinks I'm insane. Of course, that thought just proved my issues went even deeper.

I thought back on all the conversations I've had with God's smaller, speech debilitated creatures over the course of my life and it hit me like that crazy flock of sparrows that attacked me behind the outhouse in the middle of Idaho.

I have a problem.

Does this problem stem from feeling that there are not enough humans on whatever brainwave channel I'm using and so I must release myself to the animals? Or am I simply unable to consider that any living creature might not be able to communicate with the world around it?

Now come the deeper questions. Am I right? Am I simply more in tune with nature? Or am I an escapee from an asylum for Disney princesses gone wrong? After all I'm pretty sure the birds in all the movies I've seen sing along with the princess-rather than attack her at every turn.

Did you know I've been attacked by more than 22 different types of birds that I can count? Five of those in flocks?

Perhaps the birds are the more intelligent animals and they can sense whatever it is that is wrong with me?

Head Tenants: Miss Frank

Do you ever start talking and then realize that everyone in the room is giving you far more attention than anyone else has received...and perhaps more than you should be given? Have you realized that your audience reacts with gasps and enthusiastic laughter-to something you actually meant to be a rather serious thought? Have you ever then realized that it is because what you are saying should really not be said in the company to which you are narrating it?

This is a frequent occurance for me. And not quite a pleasant one. But you know, it is not completely my fault.

There is another head tenant, you see. One with whome I am sure some of you are intimately familiar, but who I have failed to mention so far.

Her name is Miss Frank. She has an opinion on everything, and feels absolutely no compunction to silence when that opinion is offensive, misdirected or even downright ridiculous. So, listening to this woman as a third party in most conversations and all lectures and intellectually inspiring speeches, naturally makes me forget that others have not heard her...and consequently when her shoking words come out of my mouth I become the full recipiant of every appalled (and generally highly entertained) listener's rebuttals, sarcastic remarks, teasing and of course, hilaric laughter.

She has most certainly caused some of the most embarrassing scenes in my life.

For example, when she doesn't understand something she hears, she will insist upon knowing its meaning. Even if it sounds like the definition could be something highly inappropriate. Even if I am in a classroom full of people who obviously know what the word means, and are made uncomfortable at its mention. College lectures were one of her most inspired scenes of devastation. However, no experience truly conquers the time she demanded that I know the meaning of the word circumcision, in a classroom full of highschool freshman. And kept demanding, despite the teachers assurances that she could explain to me later, that I draw out an explanation.

Another of her most infamous tricks is to spit out my opinion on a person before I have fully discovered their character. This inevitably leads to horrible regret. But occasionally, very occasionally, it can get me out of sticky situations in quite a jiffy. I once began a friendship with the friend of a roommate online. I would talk to this boy sometimes for several hours a week, and we grew to like each other rather quickly. He became determined to meet me. Which would have cost him quite a pretty penny, since he lived in Missouri and I in Rexburg, Idaho at the time. He started talking very seriously about a relationship. Miss Frank was terrified. This boy was not mormon. A relationship with him could never really be possible. But for a while she held back her opinion. Then one day he sent me a picture of himself. Oh yes. I'm serious. He then asked my frank opinion. Well-he did ask. Miss Frank told him without my permission that he was rather homely and should definitely shave that scraggly young man beard...but that it didn't matter any way as I could not be attracted to him because he could not be my eternal companion and a relationship would be superfluous. The not-really-existant relationship was then permanently terminated. As you can imagine.

She gives me a lot of cause to repent.

Today she out did even herself however, because I didn't even see it coming. I was proud of myself for actually speaking up in Relief Society in fact (where I am usually quiet and shy-feeling as though I am a mouse in a room of spiritual giants) when she opened her obsidious maw and let out the first thing that came to her socially inept mind.

The lesson was beautiful. It was on how we should treat our spouses and children (and for us of the younger generation, it was a consideration of future relationships, and a look into the manner in which our parents have to have picked up some of their favorite punishments in years past). Everyone shared comments about ways they honored their husbands and ways their husbands glorified them, how they maintained peace in their homes with kind, loving children who never fought.

Miss Frank said to me, "You should say something encouraging, so that the others who are sitting here going 'uh, my children fight all the time, does that make me a horrible mother?' maintain some hope for the future and realize that total home peace is really a non-reality in most situations."

"How would I do that?" I asked.

"Well, you turned out alright didn't you? And growing up in our house was not always a picnic, I remember...share some of the craziness and how your parents solved it!"

"Ok!" I answered, excited. "This will be grand!"

I raised my hand. Before I knew what had happened, Miss Frank was talking for me.

"I would just like to say, there were times in my home growing up that were absolute craziness. There was tons of contention." Imagine now the looks of horror on the Relief Society Presidency's faces. "I remember me and Bri used to tie Traci up in chairs." Now hear the entire room errupt in whispers, a few titters, and a loud half-whisper from the front saying 'Poor Traci!' At this comment I began to realize that perhaps Miss Frank was being just a little too frank. "So my dad came up with a wonderful punishment," I continued, smiling, "every time we thought a negative thought about somebody, or said something hurtful, we then had to come up with 10 wonderful compliments to say to that person." This is where I should have stopped, instead of revealing more of my inner home madness. "Then, we had to kiss their feet." The entire room explodes into laughter.

This is when Miss Frank loses her control over my person and the shy Maiden who usually takes over during Relief Society hours resumes her throne. She is, of course, horrified at Miss Franks behavior and freezes with absolute embarassment, turning me red to the hairline.

Luckily the speaker saved me and quickly adressed another person, changing the subject.

Is there any hope for muffling this mortifying woman inside me?

A Glimpse

This entry is pretty much for Bri-nana. You commented about some lines of a poem that I put as my status the other day, so I thought I'd post the whole thing for you to read. I'll warn you now though, it's not going to make you happy. Don't read this if you're already sad. In fact, to cheer you up after I'm also going to include a song that I wrote in High School, that I don't think I ever sang to you. Obviously I can't sing it to you now, but maybe I will when you get home. It's very touching though. I had forgotten about it and ran into it while I was reading old poems...it made me and mama cry-but in a good way :) So to start I'll post an old note that you appreciated, which seems rather appropriate for this entry ;)
*Sorry, it wont let me edit properly-so the verses run together :(

Glimpse

Writing to you seems like a dream.

Conversing with one who makes no response,

But gives as much back as I give.

A log of life, of time, of memory.

A dream of a memory of a dream.

The cycle of my dreamer's state.

Pages that mean life, love, despair and hope,

Stories of jokes of emotions,

A record that reaches my spirit.

A thrum by the drum that's the beat of my heart.

Keep my treasure and from it never part,

For in this you glimpse my soul.

Now for the sad one, whose happier lines you read. Take a deep breath. Ready? Ok. Start.

LOSS

I had rather see your smile,

Than a thousand flowers dancing in the sun.

But my sun is gone now,

And the flowers shrivel, their dancing done.

I had rather hear your voice

Than the chimes of a thousand church bells.

But my bells are silent,

And the silence feels to me as death knells.

I had rather smell your scent

Than a thousand sweet perfumes.

But my incense dwindles,

And your scent is absent in these hollow rooms.

I had rather taste your kindness

Than the comfort of a thousand kindred.

But my kindred cry for me,

And by their empty words I am not fed.

I had rather feel your laughter

Than a thousand warming rays of light.

But my light is darkened

And the hard of the cold is as dark as the night.

I had rather know your spirit,

Than the wisdom of a thousand worlds.

But my world gives no wisdom

And the broken mind on agony curls.

I had rather have your heart

Than a thousand lives to live alone.

But I am alone now,

With nothing but old forgotten tomes.

Ok. Right. Depressing. I know. I'm sorry. I guess I was feeling very lonely, and maybe slightly empathetic toward a character I was writing. But now I'll try to add some sweet to the bitter with the old song :)

Lullaby From Heaven

Sleep now my baby,

For death holds no fear.

All shall be well in the end.

When slandered and broken

All trials you've been through

Atonement the Savior will lend.

The days will go quickly,

The years fly right by

...And my arms fail to hold you for a while.

But if faithful you hold out, forever endure,

Then ne'er shall they fail any more!

Peace now my child,

Still fear not decease.

Reunion will not be so far.

If patient, enduring and humble you stay,

Remain ever more as you are...

Then days will go quickly,

And years fly right by

...While my arms fail to hold you for a time...

Be still, Oh my child, push through til the end

And ne'er shall they fail any more!

Rest now, my darling,

With joy in your heart,

For we'll be together again.

Through trials that seem endless,

Keep whispering still,

My lullaby in your head.

So that days may go quickly,

And years fly right by,

Though my arms fail to hold you during life.

But serve Christ, our Savior,

Be strong and Be true!

And my arms ne'er shall fail any more!

Come now, my baby,

Run into my arms,

And know that you've ne'er been alone.

You've passed through all trials,

How much you've endured!

Now joy celestial is yours!

The days have gone quickly,

The years flew right by,

And now I can hold you once again.

So strong, and so faithful,

You were til the end!

Now we'll be together forever more!

See-that's a happy thought right? I think I meant it to be our Heavenly Mother singing to us... or perhaps a mother who died before she could raise her children here. Either way, I guess its a meloncholy sort of happiness.

Well, that's all for now. Just wanted to share those thoughts-they've been swirling around like bees stuck in my head for days. Maybe this will give them away to escape :)

I love you nana!

Welcoming in the Hollow Season

I keep getting in trouble for wanting to skip the entire space between Summer and Christmas.

Can you blame me for wanting to jump into the holidays so quickly? I mean, that would mean we wouldn't have to deal with this whole school thing (not that I do anyways), we'd all be together again and we'd get to eat yummy goodies all the time! What's so wrong with that? Plus-there's no music on earth to compare with Christmas music. Seriously. What else makes you feel that happy?

Anywho, I thought to put your minds at ease I would prove that I do actually enjoy the inbetween holidays, and honor them in my own special way. Starting with the one that's coming up in just a little while.

Vicious Villians and Gruesome Ghouls,

Creatures of Myth and Royal Fools,

Children who prance with grubby fat hands,

Be ye warned my friends: Halloween is at Hand!

That was just a fun introduction I made up for you. The real tribute is something I wrote around this time in 2006.

HOLLOW

A glaring face of firelight,

On every doorstep sits.

While children run around all night,

Where have they left their wits?

Insanity of every kind

In hidden eyes doth lurk.

In looking behind masks you'll find

Every person has their quirk,

Which to them this night doth bind,

From it, they cannot shirk.

The devils trickery is this

A 'respite' from the ever good.

Mis-takes are the devils kiss,

For it's with these he ever could

Seduce men into eternal night.

But men follow? Never they would,

If they were strong and longed for light.

image from SheridanInternational

Ok. So I lied. As evidenced, I hate halloween and everything it represents.

But on a more positive note, there is something that comes from dressing up and acting a different character from yourself. A sense of security that can help you to discover things you have been bottling up. Thus acting is such a wonderful thing. And writing, for that matter.

So I don't have a problem with the activites of the holiday so much as the ideas and intentions behind them. All Hallow's Eve was never meant to be a frightening experience or a game. I think turning the sacred holiday for the dead into a mockery of them is something commercialism will have to pay for in the end. I do not really honor this false Halloween and I do not appreciate the joke on the deceased. It's cruel and disgusting in my opinion.

This does not mean that I will not be handing out candy to the little children who come begging at my door or lecturing party-goers about their disrespect for the dead. No, I am not a crone. I will celebrate the holidays as I always do, with some concession to a costume, a trip to the church celebration and an indulgent smile as I fill the neighborhood's pillowcases with junk to rot their teeth. But do I enjoy it? No sir, I do not. Except perhaps, ironically, the pumpkin carving. That's good fun. But Honestly, I would rather skip the whole affair.

Thanksgiving is a much more joyful holiday and I do very much enjoy it. It's just that it comes so close to Christmas that I consider it the pre-feast. The welcoming of the true holiday season. The cutting of the ribbon, if you will. I love starting the Season off with that bang of telling my Savior and my family why I am so grateful for them. This holiday inspires much more uplifting poems, such as this:

TWO ROWS OF ROSES

Two rows of fragrant roses

Lead to an always open door.

Sweet-scented, they invite me

To join their midst's and forever soar.

Two rows of colored roses

Show me home by their splendid blooms.

Bright patterns to allure me

Back to home's happy, peace filled rooms.

Two rows of silk-spun roses

Feel like a lane to hallowed walls,

Where all may enter safely

To be loved in her heavenly halls.

Two rows of laughing roses

Softly entice me to their song.

They call to those who listen

Pleading with them to sing along.

Two rows of sugared roses

Sweetly guide me to the inside

Of my haven in the forest,

Where my happiest mem'ries abide.

image from: ecards.alege.net

So while it's a hate-love relationship, I will make it through these months and I will honor the holidays in their midsts. But if you think I'm going to do it without singing 'I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas,' all along the ride, you're as crazy as those jack-o-lanterns. BWAHAHAHAHA

Farewell to Summer

This was inspired by our end-of-summer family beach trip on labor day. It says more than I could say with stories and memories, so I'll let it speak for me. Read it as a whisper and think of it as the dying summer speaking.

THE OCEAN'S PROMISE

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh...

I'll tell you the secret

Between the Ocean and me

While her waves pull us softly Out to Sea

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSssssssshhhhhhhhhhh...

It's crucial you're silent

If you want to know why

There's no other place I'd have chosen to die

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSsssssssssssshhhhhhhhh...

There's no sound beneath it

And therein lies the key

To understanding the promise 'tween the Ocean and we

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSsssssssssssshhhhhhh...

If you're quiet you'll hear it

The Lady Moon's cry

Whose silver lips tell me never a lie

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSsssssssssshhhhhhhh...

And you'll understand freedom

That comes without fee

The right to exist, the right simply to be

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSssssssssssshhhhhhhh...

For now comes your answer

Have you figured out why

The Sea is the place I come to take my last sigh?

Pictures from: hickerphotos

The Psychospirituality of Dreams

Ocean of Dreams by Josephine Wall
http://www.easy-dream-interpretation.com/

In my Senior year of High School I wrote a song. Now people close to me will exclaim that this is hardly a statement, since I play around with writing music all the time.

This song was a little different however. It is a lullaby to be precise, but not in the usual sense of the word. It sort of turned out more like a haunted melody along the lines of an LOTR song or a gypsy ballad. I called it a lullaby merely because I meant it to be sung at night, and because it was mainly about dreams and the unexpected yet revealing things that happen in the night. My father asked me to sing it at a ward talent show next week, and so I have been dwelling on it for the past little while. Now, I can't write out the melody for you to hear here, but I think I will jot down the lyrics, so you can get an idea of what I am talking about.

Dreams

The shores of the moonlight glow soft in the night,

Hiding her wonders just out of your sight.

For who looks in shadows for dreams to begin?

And who knows the night, with all of her whims?

In dreams live the secrets that have yet to be told.

Stories of valor that never grow old.

Memories that time has diluted and dimmed

Become nothing more than their silver rims.

When shadows are banished by breaking of light,

The dreams of the waking are taken in flight.

And few will remember what visions they've seen

They know only shadows that come with the Eve'n.

Of course, in singing it so often and getting it ready for presentation, I have thought to wonder what caused me to write such a song in the first place.

I have always been fascinated by dreams and waht they can tell us about our inner psyche and mortal experience. I don't believe our night visions were meant just as an escape from our worldly struggles or even as simple manifestations of our inner troubles and struggles-though certainly many of them are. I believe sleep to be one of the times we are most in tune with our spirits and our eternal connections. I believe dreams are a way of connecting to ourselves and revealing our deepest destinies, most inspiring stories, our prevailing fears and most troubling detections that we have yet to bring to the forefront of our minds. I do believe that one can see the future in a dream. I have experienced deja vu multiple times throughout my life, though usually I can connect it exactly, not to a past experience, but to a dream. I think dreams can show us those who will be most important in our lives before we know them enough to love them. I believe dreaming is an unproclaimed miracle. One I am most grateful for.

But almost all seriousness aside, dreams can also tell us some pretty disturbing things about ourselves and make us recognize that which we have been denying. I recently started keeping a Dream Diary on advice from a friend who had begun translating my dreams into very believable meanings for me. All in good fun, this experiment was meant to show me what recurring themes were appearing in my subcranium and get me to confront them and work out my anxiety issues. I noticed over time that what it was also doing, was forcing me to acknowledge the recurring variables and as I did so they became more solidified and unchangeable in my dreaming. Is this a good thing however, or is it taking something that's not meant to be taken so seriously to extremes?

Everything Starts With A Wish

"Fall-der-all and Fiddle-ee-dee, Fiddly, Faddelly, Foodle. All the dreamers in the world are dizzy in the noodle!...well I was just wishing, but I suppose that's not any good either....hmmm-Everything starts with a wish" ~Roger's and Hammerstein's Cinderella

I don't think I've ever really understood that song before. What on earth is the difference between a dream and a wish? I used to think. Aren't they essentially the same thing? After all, the cartoon Disney version of Cinderella says, "A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep..." But I suppose I've demonstrated already that we should not depend upon Disney movies as the source of all wisdom. Rogers and Hammerstein however, are like the ultimate creators of deep thought in theatre production. Ok, not really, but I really, really appreciate their insights. This one hit me today as particularly clever, and true.

I am a dreamer. A very bad one. I am often accused of leaving parts of myself in the dream world and forgetting to bring myself back to reality. I dream of being a successful writer and touring the country, no: the world! I dream of discovering hitherto undetected lands full of ancient artifacts and knowledge that will bring hundreds to the realization of truth. I dream of love and a warm, fuzzy, happily-ever-after with a companion who will never abandon me. I dream of peace and even saving all those little starving children in Africa and China. But do you know what? Not a single one of these dreams does me a lick of good. Sure, some of them have good purposes and intentions behind them, and none of them are truly bad things to dream about. Most of them are pretty good long term goals. But what does dwelling on them day after day and dreaming about what I could do or become tomorrow, do for today? Where does it get me? I'll tell you where. Sitting on my bed wondering why my arms are empty and being caught staring into space with a vacant expression during important conversations and having to rehear everything I missed because I was in lala land for the last fifteen minutes. Not particularly endearing to the speaker. No ma'am.

But a wish. A wish is grantable. Wishes are made one at a time, out of pure intention. If you are willing to get off your duff and believe in yourself and your wish, you yourself can make it come true. "I dream about marrying the prince," is very different from, "I wish to go to the ball so I can meet the prince and fall in love."

Do you understand what I'm saying? I'm not sure I'm being very clear. The thing is, dreams are passive. They are vague inclinations of what you think your future might be like, but probably feel it never will be. A wish is a clear and solid demand on reality of what you would like it to become. Wishes establish active intention, they're agressive!

So right here, right now, I'm going to establish some good solid wishes.

#1: I wish for a job. *I will now do the Cinderella-like thing and hunt one down with confidence

#2: I wish I could finish writing a book. *Now I shall work until the Eye is complete.

#3: I wish I could go on a mission. *I can start to prepare now and take the proper classes. I can save up everything I can and then ask for help with the rest. I will let others help me.

#4: I wish I were healthier. *And what kind of Cinderella doesn't clean up well? I'll cut out the crap and start running again. I can conquer asthma! I can conquer aching muscles! I can conquer my stubborn anti-will! Raar!

#5: I wish I were happy. *And what's stopping me? Happiness is a decision right? So you know what, from now on, I'm going to be happy! Try and stop me! I'm going to love my life for what it is and enjoy the ride. I'm going to stop criticizing myself and everyone around me and just love them. I'm going to stop worrying about the things I can't fix and happily solve the things I can. I'm going to walk on the sunny side and ignore the doom and gloom. As the good Lord instructs us, I am going to rejoice!

Love At First Flight

The other night around a cozy campfire in a good friends backyard I found myself sitting next to a very charming and attractive young man whom I had never before met. His conversation was enchanting, his stories thrilling, his laughter infectious, and his manner attentive. For several hours I was caught up in his spell and when it finally came time for our departure I was sad to see him go, for he lives pretty far away and I was not sure when I might see him again.

We went our separate ways and as I walked to the car with my younger sister she piped up with a comment along these lines: "Thank goodness, I wanted to leave hours ago but I wasn't about to interupt your flirting."

Shock crossed my face. My what?! "I...I wasn't flirting..." I spluttered, "He was just a very interesting guy and had fantastic stories about his mission that I was greatly interested in, thankyou." I harrumphed my embarrassed self into the drivers seat.

"Whatever." Said she, "you "may not" have been, but he most certainly was. He ignored everyone else who tried to jump into the conversation!"

"That doesn't mean anything..." I replied. It was silent for a few moments. "But he was pretty cute." I winked at her and we both bust up laughing.

Later that night as I dithered and dissected the evening in my head, I had to admit to myself that I had indeed been flirting with the entertaining young gentleman. What does that mean? I thought. I've cut myself off from dating and flirting and all of that. I am preparing for a mission! I don't have time for any of it and I'd only be setting myself and others up for disappointment at this point. No, it's no good. I'll just have to avoid him, or not be as friendly if I see him again, or something...

However, it occured to me later that this reaction is not strictly a result of my preparing for a mission. In fact, it's a bit of a trend I've noticed in my behavior that is slightly horrifying. This trend is that as soon as I discern that I have any attraction for a young, datable man who may be interested in me, I panic. I think of ten thousand reasons why it will never work, why it should never work and why it could never work. Then I pound them out into my behavior and attitudes until it becomes reality and I have chased the boy away. Or at least distanced myself enough to make him believe that I do not have any interest. The problem: I do still like them. Then I harbor these secret crushes as little stunted seedlings of something that could have grown but never did because I poisoned them. See exhibit A:



That's all. This story has no ending because I still have not solved this problem. It's a dillema.

Summer Fun

Just some pictures :) They speak for themselves really, all I have to say is what is better than sand castles and hammocks? Nothing! Yay Summer! *sorry about the sideways ones...dunno why it wont let me fix them :(