I, Sayyadina . . .

I desire a smooth surface for reflective purposes

2011-10-23T20:09:00.001-07:00

Over the years, people have said things to me. Most of these things have been said in passing. Perhaps it was the glancing nature of the blow that gave them staying power. Like the scar you have to really think about to remember where it came from. And from examination of these few comments I've become curious.

Because, as it is apparent from my blog, I can say things to myself all day long and have it mean almost nothing. But these particular observations from others have proven themselves true and in some cases changed my life. I will share:

Ms. Runnerpants said the animal I most reminded her of was a Mama Bear. I didn't agree and was in fact a little offended. Until a few months later when some people challenged the intelligence of my son, and I saw just what she was talking about. Since then I have recognized the ability and in fact the tendency to be everyone's Mama Bear.

Cowboy Bob once said "You have a great capacity to love. I'd like to see you use it one day." Ouch, right? Not really. Turns out he was completely correct, and I just didn't understand love. It goes along with a talk I heard once when I was 15: "Fight fire with love." I didn't understand that concept either. And it took almost three years after Cowboy Bob made his observation before I was able to utilize the truth it containted.

Muad'Dib used to say "If you were sorry, you would stop/change." This was often in response to my offering an "I'm sorry" after an emotional or financial misstep. When I first told my mom that Muad'Dib said this, she was furious. Other people have reacted the same way. I guess that's why I am Muad'Dib's wife (and love every minute of it): because this sort of thing is/was EXACTLY what I needed to hear.

My mother once said that I was not messed up or moody. I was "Passionate." That word has really given me a root. That and the day she defined "Romantic" for me. As in the Anne of Green Gables romantic: seeing beauty everywhere; rose-colored glasses, if you will. I AM passionate, and at heart, in my secret soul I am also romantic.

My father, when giving a talk the night I received my Young Womanhood award said, "With Sayyadina, I can sleep when the wind blows." I was eighteen, but that statement made a deep and lasting impression. He was speaking of trust. Trust in me! I didn't know that trust would be an issue with me as I got older, and that knowing I had it from my father would sometimes mean very, very much.

These are just a few examples. There are more. Advice, observations - even critisisms that hit their mark, and with time have made a real difference in my life.

Now, I've thought about doing this for quite a while, and I'm going to do it. I wonder if there is anyone out there who has something to say to me. Something you wish I knew. An observation about me, my mothering, whatever. Positive or negative. I do not promise that I will like it, but I am asking that you trust me enough to share it. So that I may find what truth there is from my friends.

In the past 6 months, I have spent literally days in a row where I have not looked at myself in a mirror more than a passing glance. Then on a day when I DO finally face myself in a mirror, it is hard to wrap my brain around what I see reflected, because it is not the truth I was functioning under. In some instances I am right. In others, the mirror is right. I am searching for this clarity and reflection for my inner self. Anyone willing to help me out? It would be greatly appreciated.

I just thought I'd finally put it out there. That is all. Thanks.

Jack Out of the Box

2011-09-01T20:51:00.000-07:00

It has happened. My sister has had a baby. It's surreal. Uh, I'll just tell the story:

AJ got the idea to make this brilliantly clever shirt just two days before she was set to have her baby.

She and Scott had done numerous polls on his blog to choose the baby's name, and finally settled on Jack for three reasons: 1. Jack Sparrow, 2. Jack Skellington, and 3. Jack Stevens (our grandfather; I'm guessing you know the other two.) It was pretty funny.

And Brogurt liked standing on his cousin.

Things were not progressing quite as naturally as one would like, so a week past AJ's due date, she checked into the hospital where they started her on drugs to hopefully induce labor. Here she is at the beginning of the 12 hour process: high spirited!

She had her iPod going with carefully chosen birthing songs, to which she sang between pushes.

Then, at 9:38pm, Jack was born! 8lbs 13oz 21 inches long. Look at all that hair!

I got to go in an see her just minutes after he was born. It was incredible....

He was SO aware; eyes open, looking around and ready for bear...

And looking a LOT like his big sister.

Hello, Jack! It is I, your Auntie.....

(That's what AJ has always said to my kids. It was so cool to get to say it to hers.)

And Proud Papa...

The Bredthauer Four.

First family picture, the next day. Lucy was just so excited to see Ariane.

As I hear the story, when they called to check on her during labor she yelled into the phone,

"Baby Jack, come out so I can play with my Mom!"

Ready or not, the day has come.

2011-08-22T21:07:00.000-07:00

Ah yes, that time has come. The time when the days get shorter and a little colder. The time when leaves begin to think about falling. The time when all little children go to school.

Whether a Sayyadina is ready or not.

My kids and I experienced a miracle, and they were pulled - months apart - in the lottery for the Montessori Academy in our area. During our school travails last year, Muad' Dib and I had read a few books on home schooling and the Montessori Method. We felt strongly that it would be an awesome fit for our children; particularly for Lemur. And today he began. Below are the pictures to mark the occasion. This one really shows off my sweet son. How can he be this old . . .?

Oh, and my Rivulet - my baby girl - began kindergarten. Not only did she begin, she pranced jauntily into school sporting her "Ratatouille" backpack this morning without backward glance, only throwing a few words over her shoulder: "Love you too, Mom!" Other children were crying, but there were no tears from my Squeaky Jean. Her hair is in "dog ears." She just wanted to be sure everyone knew they were not pig tails.

Awwwww. Together.

They had a fabulous first day, thank you for asking. They both liked their teachers and found the other students to be kind. They enjoyed the classroom setup and the fact that they had no homework, happy to have their own cubby or locker. And Lemur has kept up on his reading all summer long, now being 3/4 of the way through the first book in The 13th Reality series (a 5th grade or above reading level). And this from a boy whose teachers last year said he couldn't focus. Bah. Rivulet and Lemur are both entirely gung-ho about the whole thing. I can't wait to see what happens next!

And, to assuage the stress and heartache a mother feels sending her babies into the world, at least I still have this at home to keep me company:

My great big serving of cultured Brogurt.

And warm memories of moments like this. I sure love my children!!!!!!!!

Searching for perspective in the dark, with a flashlight and both hands...

2011-07-05T21:28:00.000-07:00

Today I expressed envy for a person who was able to go to a vocal lesson. Yesterday I yearned aloud to play a particular role again. Last week I lamented that I hadn't sung out loud - full voice - in months.
Today someone told me that I am still young. They told me that they did their best work after 33. They told me I would have more chances. And I had to leave the room before they saw my tears....

I'm having a pretty big feeling. And when that happens, I tend to leak the feelings. These leakages look like tears. But Rivulet knows better. She knows they are feelings that were too big for my insides.

There are parts of me that just feel old. They feel done. I fear that I will never again sing full voice, let alone full voice on a stage. And something inside of me paces like a caged animal: longing with creative blood lust to be let out. I wish there was a way to satisfy both Sayyadina AND this inner animal, which is my voice. I can't even sing in the car. What's really silly is that I sang full voice just this past February. I was pretty pregnant, and still totally ROCKED songs from "The Phantom of the Opera" to a room full of financial advisers who clamoured for more.

Yet...perhaps it is because with the birth of my wonderful and beloved son, I have added at least a two year and much more likely a four year wait onto a theatrical endeavor. That would put me auditioning for roles at the age of 34.

The fear inside me opens it's mouth wide and roars "Who will want you then?! What good will you be?! How could you compare or compete with the younger, thinner women who will vie for the same parts in the same theaters?!" And my strength cowers under this barrage of doubt.

Being as overweight as I am, I feel like a thief. I steal playtime from my children, because I'm too tired or uncomfortable to play. I steal a view from my husband, because I barely physically resemble the woman he married. I steal years from my life by pushing my body beyond healthy limits. And I rob myself of opportunities.

People ask friends to join marathons. They do not ask me. People plan hikes. They do not ask me. People plan trips to water-parks and swimming pools and do not ask me.   People audition for plays, and no one even thinks of me anymore. Although logic tells me the real reason is that they know I am anxiously engaged in raising my three incredible and well loved children, raw emotion finds another culprit.

When Brogurt was born, my doctor said to wait 3 months before beginning to exercise - at least anything beyond light housework or light yoga. So I have tried to keep weight far from my mind. Just be. Enjoy. Worry about it when I can do something about it, and not until then.

But it hurts NOW. Shouldn't I worry about it when I feel it? Last year was glorious because I was either succeeding on a diet or pregnant. The weight worry was minimal. But it has returned. And I don't like it one little bit.

I balance on the edge of a dangerous precipice: if I don't think about it, I remain complacent. But over the years, thinking about it hasn't helped the situation either. I cannot win.

I have learned. I would not trade the learning for all the world. Perhaps now my faith is again wrestling with my fear. Faith says that when I have learned all there is for me to learn, I will graduate, meaning leave that school of thought for another (in this metaphor, be able to lose weight). Fear says that this is all there is and I'd better get used to it. It is from this stem that blooms the flower which now fragrances my soul with loss.

Because if this is all I will ever be physically, I can only go downhill. I will only get older and less capable of hauling this weight about. I will only slow down, become more uncomfortable and less attractive. I will only...

This is TheaterGeek talking. This is the part of me that wants to stay in bed and cry when there is nothing wrong. This is the me that is dying to express itself and feels stunted and stuffed into silence by either the inability to physically or creatively function or the time constraints motherhood places upon these endeavors:  such as with theater or writing. My homemaker mothering self is thriving. But my creative processes are another story. And I am at a loss to fix it.

Just survive, right?

Then someone had better tell me how to duct tape TheaterGeek and her chorus of doubting nay-sayers until the day arrives that I can edit, write, play, sing or teach. Full voice. Somehow the half attempts hurt more than not doing anything at all.....

As we speak, I am sucking back tears, trying not to think the thoughts that are very powerfully muscling their way to the forefront of my mommy-centric mind.

For tonight I have no solution.  And I just needed to write it.  I needed to remember that at age 30, and with the birth of a new child, I felt my days of creative sharing were over; thinking that no one would want to hear from me either by way of the written, spoken or sung word. Because someday it's going to be REALLY funny that I ever believed it enough to write it down.....

Yeah. I will laugh about this someday. Probably someday soon. Maybe even now. :)

This is what I do

2011-06-18T06:14:00.000-07:00

The last time we saw the family, a new addition had arrived. The following is a pictorial update from the Seitch. The first is Brogurt smiling at light, which is his favorite waking pasttime.

Next you see here, Lemur attempting to encourage Brogurt through his "neck-ups."

And his efforts come to fruition. At three weeks old. He's my strong little sandworm!

Also, Lemur was baptised. It was a hectic, crazy, beautiful experience. He was a brave little man and made the choice on his own. Muad'Dib sang a prepared song, and I sang an impromptu duet with my dad while they changed clothes.

It was wonderful to be surrounded by so many supporting family members. I wish we'd not been in such a rush, so I could have taken more pictures. But Rivulet had the flue, and we were anxious to get back to her. (Thanks to Uncle Scott for watching her!)

Here, we were lucky enough to be joined by my Uncle and Grandma for the special occasion!

Lemur poses with little brother. He is so proud to be the "big one."

Here is Rivulet cuddling the Brogue at 6 weeks of age. She loves him more and more, as he becomes more fun...

And Lemur is proud that he can hold Brogurt up on his shoulder.

How do I make such good looking babies?!

Though he has an intense case of cradle cap, his baby acne is finally clearing up, to be replaced by heat rash, apparently. He's still so handsome!

And of course, there has been some playtime with the older siblings, though it might only last a few minutes. On this occasion, Rivulet and I made a picture of a little boy, and little girl and their dog under a blue sky with a red bird and dragonfly. Can you see all that? Blockus has many uses. :)

Muad'Dib and I also had a chance to shoot photos for a wedding (I'll post a few later) and I was able to do some headshots for a friend. It was fun to be behind the lens again, if only for an hour...

So that's the update.

All is well. I need to do a LOT of work in the yard, but as yet have not been able to get the bairn to nap for more than twenty minutes if I'm not holding him. No complaints, though. I'd much rather cuddle my baby than prune bushes and weed beds.

Oh! Funny story: Yesterday I took the kids to a park with a friend. We were having a lovely time, and began packing up to leave when I heard a scream: "No! NO!!! Not in the water! Someone HELP!"

My first fear was that a child had fallen in the swollen stream. It was Lemur screaming and I soon discovered the lost item was not a person: it was his beloved Donkey Kong Truck; the one he'd recieved for his 6th birthday and played with nearly every sunny day since we've lived here.

I knew how much the truck meant to him, as we had discussed it's uses and significance just a few hours ago on the ride over. So I tossed down my diaper bag (with phone), sprinted across the bridge and asked where the car was. He told me where it had fallen, and that it had bounced a little further down before he had lost sight of it in the murkey waters.

I remembered this stream. We'd played here many times in the last six years. I knew how deep the water was.... I was wearing my water-proof hiking sandals. So only moments after the scream, I was wading into the stream supported by a large branch for a walking stick.

Not two steps in, the creek bed gave way and I fell in UP TO MY NECK!!

The recent flooding had not left this stream unscathed: apparently it had torn away at the floor of the stream, making a very deep pool where once I could have walked from one side to the other without getting my pants wet above the knee!!

Well, I recovered my balance in the deep and swift water and could barely breathe enough to warn other kids NOT to venture in to help me search. Luckily, the chattering of my teeth was all the warning they needed. I combed the murky depths, but to no avail.

The kids even thought they saw something, but it turned out to be a red golf ball lodged in the shallows of a large rock. So the truck was gone.

Did I mention that there was a group setting up for a wedding at the park and that they were witness to my crazy venture into a flooded stream to save a TOY?! Yeah...

Though it was a very Sayyadina thing to do - going willy nilly into water -

I felt awful foolish...

Until I came out to embrace my crying 8 year old and through his tears he said, "Mom, I'm so grateful that you tried. I'll never forget that you tried. I'll never forget that you went into the water for me."

Hey. I'm the mom. This is what I do...

Welcome to the Family!

2011-05-24T16:02:00.000-07:00

This was me, April 11, 2011 in Gardner Village where we were celebrating Lemur's birthday almost a whole month before my due date...

Pretty gorgeous, though, right?

May 2, 2011: I check in to Labor & Delivery at 7am, for a planned 9am C-section.

I had a fantastic nurse who checked me in and gathered my medical history. When I got to the part where I was whisked to the ER just hours after being discharged (after Lemur was born). She stopped me:

"Was this like 8 years ago?!"

"Yes..." I answered, "Why?"

"I was the nurse! I remember you!"

As it turned out, this was the nurse who cared enough to notice danger signs and took the steps that saved my life when my doctors had simply said, "It'll go away." She even told me that the ER called up after taking care of me and let her know that she had well saved my life.

It was wonderful to get the chance to thank her.

Finally: it was time for baby to be born.

Muad'Dib and I were taken into the OR, and the docs were playing a Susan Boyle CD as I received my epidural from the same doc who had done my last one. He remembered us for two reasons:

1) Muad'Dib's camera; apparently they'd had a conversation about it the last time... and

2) "It's not every woman that giggles during an epidural."

Well, I didn't giggle this time! Anyway,

My wonderful Doc and his assistant set to work and in no time at all, I heard an exclamation:

"How big IS this kid?!"

The answer?

HUGE.

This picture does not lie:

10lbs 13 oz. 21.5 inches long.

Opening his eyes just 10 minutes old...

Proud Papa in Recovery.

Rivulet wasn't too keen on time in the hospital. Lemur took to it just fine: he was so excited to see his new brother. Rivulet was more concerned about me. She showed almost no interest in the baby until well after we got home.

Now a family of five!!!

So: Here is the Brogurt at home. Note the cute bassinet and monkey from Aunt Kira, the constant friendship of his very own N+ doll, and the awesome blanket from Aunt Taunya. When she gave it to us for Lemur's birth I wondered what I would use it for, as it was too thin for a quilt but too big for a receiving blanket...turns out it is the ONLY blanket thin and big enough to swaddle our 11lb bundle of love! Thanks, T. :)

It's been three weeks since this handsome boy joined our family. What have we been up to? The following pictures sum it up quite nicely.

We have been well taken care of. Not only did Muad'Dib exhibit super-human, super-husband, super-father powers in taking care of house, kids, cars and wife, but our ward fed us and came bearing gifts nearly every day. We had neighbors take our kids for playdates and family members come sit with me while I rode the crazy post-partum roller coaster (known as "The Panic").

It was the right time. I cannot put in to adequate words how incredible this experience has been so far; for all of us. We all love Brogurt, and he seems to like each of us right back. He could hold his head up within the first few hours of life, and sleeps/eats at regular intervals.

As I continue to wait out the crazies (though they are already diminishing), I take comfort in knowing that every moment of every day with my new baby is an answer to prayer.

Thank you to everyone who has helped us, given us support or gifts, offered prayers, or used your good judgement to keep your germs from us for a short time. I feel your love in all its forms. We'll keep you posted!

Timing

2011-04-29T15:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I give myself good advice. It has really paid off to "be now." Granted, the kids - especially Rivulet - have run me ragged with play-dates, but Muad'Dib will attest that I have been maybe 15% as cranky with situations as I was before applying my mind over my mood.

Since the last post I've been beset by painful contractions. They haven't done anything, however, except cause lots of pain and fire up false "this is it!" hope. Because even 3 hours of timeable painful contractions were, in essence, nothing. My doc gave me something to ease the pain just enough so I could get sleep. And that has been helpful.

At first I was horribly disappointed that I wasn't going to have another "early" birth. But then our fridge began it's swan song. We needed to get rid of one car that was no longer working and another that wasn't large enough for our soon to be larger family. Oh, and Lemur was about to have his huge birthday party, and I hadn't washed the new baby's clothes yet; I didn't yet have a bassinet...long list short: it turns out I wasn't as ready as I thought. Yesterday was a perfect example.

I had a very good night's sleep and went to my parents' house for the sole purpose of hanging out and letting Rivulet play with her little cousin, Goosey. I went down to say "hello" to my father and he asked if I could do this one business related thing for him: sending out copies of his renewed licenses. It's not that hard of a job - just time consuming, so I said yes. About two minutes into preparing the faxes I wondered to myself "When is my license meant to renew?" I called the Utah Insurance Department and asked. It was meant to renew in 2 days. And I was still 6 CE credit hours short of the manditory 24. Yikes. For those who don't know a snit about this world: if I let my license lapse - even though I'm not a producing agent - I would take a significant pay cut. To get the license again, I'd have to go through ALL the studying and test taking AGAIN, which would be costly, and not only in time (hours upon hours) but also in money (the test alone, last time I took it, was over $100...and I had to take it twice to pass!)

So. After doing the work for my employer/Dad, I came home and completed the necessary CE credits online and applied for my renewal. Now, had I had an "early birth" like I wanted, nearly two weeks ago, this would not have gotten done. I possbily wouldn't have even KNOWN that it hadn't gotten done.

I'll tell you what: Timing seems to be the theme of this pregnancy. With Lemur it was very much about learning where my limits were - especially as related to family. With Rivulet, I was meant to learn that "panic makes it worse." And with this one it's all in the timing. I got pregnant at exactly the right time to be well and/or sick at managable moments. And today - actually the last two weeks - are testimony that I will not give birth until "the stars have alligned," or in other words: when the time is ABSOLUTLY right. Awesome. Super Awesome.

I will be NOW.

2011-04-09T07:11:00.001-07:00

"Nothing is a waste of time if you use the experience wisely." - Auguste Rodin

Counting down days is a sorry state of being. Because then very soon, they are no longer "days" they are numbered ordeals to be suffered through before reaching that other thing we are waiting for. That other thing which we deem to be of greater worth than ANYTHING that could take place on one of the day's we are slowly bemoaning and marking off.

I felt this way as a child, waiting to be a teenager. I felt this way as a tween waiting to be able to date and drive. I felt this way as a teenager waiting to graduate and leave behind high school. I felt this way as a new college student, waiting to meet my future husband. I have felt this way in every single downturn of my depression cycle. In fact, thinking this way often TRIGGERS the depression cycle. Because it implies that what is happening NOW is not worth my energy or focus. And somehow that reflects poorly on me TO me and I shut down. "Must reserve energy for worthwhile events only."  Depression or restless anxiety ensues.

Today I am "waiting" for a baby. Yesterday the snow fell all day long and I spent the day sitting in a green recliner by the window, just enduring each hour. I coped with online T.V., "Notting Hill," crocheting and trying to keep the kids from bothering me.

When I woke up this morning, I assigned a new number to the day. 23 days from now is my due date. That makes today 23. Not Saturday. Not Cleaning Day. Not a day to spend with my children as one of the last 23 days we will have left as a simple, and basically well-functioning family of four. Nope. Just "23."

Then I as I was pouring milk into my cereal bowl, I saw the magnet that proclaims the above quote. Today does not have to be 23. It doesn't have to be a waste of time. I can use today wisely.    Wisely meaning: enjoy my children with whatever energy I have. If that's too much, at least I can use whatever energy I have to be kind to them. I can sit with them and do what they want to do instead of being a grump and saying, "I'm too tired to watch you play a game or sit next to you while you paint with water colors."

Like many people who dance with depression, I fall into the false belief that I only have a certain amount of energy. Granted: I'm pregnant, so that statement is a little less false than normal. Minimum physicality for Normal Sayyadina is Over-doing it for Pregnant Sayyadina. Still: If I can muster up the energy to shop for Lemur's birthday preparations, or for 3 hours of work, doesn't that show me that I can muster up the energy to make these final 23 days of Four-Some worthwhile?

On the last day before Lemur was born, I shopped for wigs in SLC, bought a LovSac for Muad'Dib's birthday and ate very spicy Thai food. Granted, I was in a wheel chair for most of the excursion, but I still didn't opt out.

On the last day before Rivulet was born, I walked all over Walmart with Lemur, and we laughed and played as only the two of us could.

Do I really want to look back and say, "On the last day before Baby was born I sat in a chair and ignored my children because it was snowing and I was grumpy" ? I don't think that's how I want to remember the next 23 days.

I want to remember Saturday at the Gem Show. Monday: Lemur's birthday; Wednesday: the day I read to Lemur's class from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Friday: the day I play fairies with Rivulet until she gets bored of me, and not the other way around. I want to remember DAYS, not speed through numbers. Because we will never be this way again. We will never simply be FOUR again.

Being FOUR is awesome. Being FIVE will be awesome, but it is not here yet. NOW is all I have. And if I sacrifice NOW for THEN, I sacrifice for an unguaranteed return, which is risky if not downright silly. Will I be less tired in 23 days? Nope. I'll have just undergone surgery and not really get to see my two children for three days while I lay in a hospital and become acquainted with my new one. Will I be more able to play with the Two? Nope. Two weeks will pass before I can go for a walk with them, or help them take a bath or really fix their meals.

What I can do NOW is worth my focus and attention. Baby will come when Baby is ready. And until then, I have the chance to enjoy at most 23 days with my first two children, and my dear husband.

I will rest when I have done good. And if all the kids are asking of me is to sit near them while they do what they do, I can and WILL form my attitude to be one of gratitude for the constant NOW that we are able to spend together. No more counting off days. No more wishing today would end so I could get to tomorrow, so I can get to May 2nd sooner.

I will be NOW. And I'm going to use all my substantial powers to enjoy it!

A few thoughts on age, humility and an answered prayer.

2011-04-06T06:08:00.000-07:00

I'd like to say that the sweet chirping of birds roused me from a long, luxurious night of sleep - but it is not so. In fact, the pain of having two ribs out of place, the need to walk out a charlie horse and a stuffy nose got me up at 6:30 with no hope of relapse into the land of nod. This is not abnormal. In fact, I was grateful that the above mentioned discomforts didn't yank me from dreamland much earlier - say 3 am - as they had the past few weeks.
And it's not so bad, really. Today is my birthday. Woot. I'm 30 today. It feels very much as it did yesterday. Tired, pregnant, in love, happy, responsible. I do have a streak of grey at my left temple that has been steadily gaining a following, like a cult movie. Besides that....just the same old me. In fact, perhaps I feel better than yesterday because I went to see the Baby Doctor and he cut a whole week off my wait! Instead of May 9th, my planned C-section will be May 2nd. Double Woot! He also said that the baby is so healthy, that if I go into labor, they won't stop me. Triple Woot!!!

So: what do I have to show for the year? Basically a lot of happiness. I've written little but done much. Theater, travels, playtime with kids, quality time with husband and popcorn, taking care of the house like I've never done before. I even lost 30lbs - though I quickly gained it back when I became pregnant with the precious Third (who is still unnamed). No complaints there, however. :)

I really wanted to write because of something that was said in General Conference. It reminded me that I had not shared something here.

Remember the Minor Heresies, with promised "further installments?" Notice how there were no further installments? I had been doing quite a bit of research into religious and spiritual things, compounded by the waves of truth I was reading in Muad'Dib's book (which I have been editing). I began writing a few of the debunkings, but they were incomplete and therefore unposted as yet.

Then I was in RS a couple weeks ago. A friend got up to give the opening prayer and in it asked a blessing on the teacher, Sister So&So. I cursed inside, knowing that this particular teacher was one I often had "problems" with; then felt bad for that feeling and said a quick prayer "Father, help me be humble." Then the friend asked in the prayer that Sister So & So would "say those things which thou would have us hear, which would inspire us to draw closer to thee and expand our understanding."

Well guess what? That's exactly what Sister So &So has been doing! She and others may have said things from the RS pulpit that I felt was wrong - minor heresies as I called them - but them doing so DID indeed inspire me to draw closer to God through greater study of His Gospel. And my testimony has only grown from what she and others have taught. So....humility.

I know many people who have left the church because of something someone said or did. Very rarely have these people left because of an actual point of doctrine.  Just like the guy who left the church because Brother Joseph spelled his name wrong, these people have forgotten one VERY important thing: People are fallible, but the Church is true. People can be wrong. People can misunderstand. People can use words and phrases that mean something different to them than they do to you (connotations cannot be controlled or monitered, quite honestly). People can be jerks. People are people. Are YOU perfect all the time?  Do YOU always say the right thing in exactly the right way at exactly the right time?   No. The only person who has done that is Jesus. So go read His words, and the words of His prophets. The truth is there.

I'm grateful for the opportunity to "learn" from fallible women and men. It gives me greater appreciation for the absolute truth found in the scriptures, from God the Father. Because even if someone says from a RS pulpit, "We'll never get the Second Comforter, so we shouldn't worry about trying," I can read Christ's words in which he promises: "I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you."

I'm grateful for the courage of the women who stand up to teach.  I haven't had that calling in a long time. And it's not in my nature to be afraid of such a situation, probably because I'm so prideful. ;) But for many, it is a stressful and daunting responsibility. Showing ANYTHING but gratitude for their time and preparation is just mean of me. And it shortchanges my church-going experience.

So sure: I can still keep my eye out for minor heresies: but not to mock the speaker. Not to get all fired up that people "just don't know." I will instead take this great lesson, humble myself and wait for the Lord to guide me to further learning.

In conference, I heard it said that we should share our testimonies more often; to not be afraid to share the gospel. This is me doing that. I learned something good, and the last thing I had written about church was sort of bad.  I'm fixing that, I hope.

Also, on a related "Prayers are answered" note, both Lemur and Rivulet have been accepted to the Montessori Academy - months after we were told that there was no hope of Lemur's getting in. (Rivulet was pulled just after the second lottery, but Lemur was denied in BOTH lotteries.)  I had kept praying. We kept working on his school and saw him improve leaps and bounds. And I kept praying. I even completed the paperwork for registration, just in case.  The "just in case" happened, only moments after we had been denied entranc to another open enrollment school. I screamed and jumped about the house like I wasn't carrying a baby, scaring poor Lemur to death with my sudden excitement. Good times.

Well...It tis time to end the post. Hope it was a good one. Feels good. And that's all I have control over. :)

Nothing special; just an update.

2011-03-06T16:29:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. How about an update? Sure.

Muad'Dib: Still working at the Post Office, and we've been blessed with his getting a few extra days work as we've had trouble with our car (which the kids have named "BooYah.") We've poured a bit of money into keeping the car drivable...and still we aren't sure it's all going to work out. Turns out a Daewoo is a tricky make. Anyway: He's been working on his book - which I have been reading in an effort to edit. Holy Awesome. This is going to be one fantastic read. The possible applications are mind-bending. On top of that, he comes home every day and spends quality time with the children and helps me with the house. Basically, Muad'Dib is continuing to be the best, most hard-working wonderful husband and father ever. He does that every day and I'm grateful he's mine. :)

Lemur: his eighth birthday is drawing on apace, and he has made the decision to be baptised. For a while it seemed that he had absolutely no interest in being dunked for any reason. Then one day in RS, we were having a lesson on the Gift of the Holy Ghost, and I realized I had never told Lemur what he would be getting out of the covenant.  As soon as he learned about the blessing of the Holy Ghost, he was on board.

Now, remember back in December when we were having trouble with Lemur and school?   As a refresher, his teachers (and principal) were pushing for him to be tested for ADD, citing that he couldn't focus and couldn't learn also telling us that they "didn't have time" for him. Well, after learning that we could not transfer him to another class or another school, we - Muad'Dib, Grandpa Bob and I - stepped up and helped Lemur. I began "pre-teaching."  Grandpa Bob became Lemur's math tutor, as Lemur and I didn't speak the same math language. Grandpa has been a great blessing in this endeavor, and Lemur LOVES spending special math time with him. Although it was often stressful for the poor kid to have to attend school for six hours, and then work in the "School Spot" with me for an hour or more a night, it began to pay off. His reading has improved leaps and bounds - doubled in fact. His math facts and ability to listen and stay on task have also improved.

I was prompted in mid-December to begin early morning scripture study. We've just reached the Book of Enos, and I am positive that this activity has not only helped him emotionally and spiritually, but academically as well. His comprehension skills have gone way up. He and Rivulet both ask some pretty perceptive questions and I have seen them understand the answers.

He has two best friends - Alex and Sam - and is going through a very big "Boys Rule" stage. He is honing his intuitive skills and lets me know that he understands that some kids just aren't "my kind of people; and that's okay."  I still see him try to make friends. And his tactics are the ones I would use...so sometimes it surprises me that kids don't respond. Well, he's got two and a bunch of cousins and if that's good enough for him, it's good enough for me.
Also, he's NUTS for adjectives, particularly when used in his favorite DS game: Super Scribblenauts. Wanna be on his good side? Just ask him about it. :)

Rivulet:  Happy as a lark, Rivulet is a very creative, social, funny little girl. Let me be more specific. Rivulet is four and a half. In January, she chose her own haircut (a layered A-line) so she could look like her Aunt Emily (my brother, John's wife). She looks super grown up. She and her new cousin, Lucy, are very best friends and love playing together every Tuesday and Thursday while I work. Yet that is not enough for her. She is constantly asking for play-dates with girls from the ward or with cousins. She is looking forward to school with bright eyes and crazy hope. She has been able to write her name for nearly a year, and enjoys poking her head in while math is being taught to her older brother. And when I speak of her creativity, well, Lemur and Rivulet are both creative, but in totally different ways. I describe it as this: Lemur thinks of things and then finds what he needs to make it a reality; like dreaming up a ramp for his cars, and looks for toilet paper rolls and other stuff to accomplish the dream. Rivulet looks at things that are already present and makes something out of it. Often times I find her cutting up a few different colored sheets of paper into a pile of random shapes. I come back a few minutes later and she has made a circus, paper dolls, fairies, a school, a farm or a party out of the "random" shapes. It's incredible.

Both kids are super excited for May, because that is when their baby brother is due. They are absolutely stoked about the upcoming addition to our family.

Sayyadina: Besides being called as the Ward Choir Director last week, an update on me basically is a bunch of info about the pregnancy since October. If any of you were present to the previous two pregnancies, it will shock you to hear that I have not thrown up once with this one. No; my three main struggles have been fatigue, forgetfulness and grumpiness. So basically, I am SUPER blessed. Okay, there was the problem with my SI joint being out of place for about two weeks, which translated into LOTS of pain and crying and frustration. But the Chiro finally got it to move back (after I was able to ease the inflammation with icing, walking, Dreampacker help and a few stretches), so I'm doing much less crying. Although I still don't have full range of motion, because somehow in that two weeks, my baby and baby belly got bigger. I have been advised not to clean, as bending over is almost completely out of the question, and I have to really pace myself. With Rivulet, I was still camping and doing all sorts of activities up until the week before she was born. And with this little guy, I might be able to do ONE productive thing a day before having to pay a high price later with increased fatigue.

It's tricky for me to maintain a positive attitude when I can't do those things that stir a sense of productivity within. Muad'Dib advises me to "just survive". Those words have a negative connotation for someone who has danced with Depression. To me, survival means just scraping by, not acutally BE-ing myself, because if I were being myself I would be up. I would be cleaning my wonderful house, cooking wonderful dinners for my wonderful family, going shopping for baby things, setting up the baby things, helping my sister, working in the garden, being ALIVE.
But, I am smart enough to know what he actually means. It's just a knee-jerk response to be afraid of falling into a pit of despair just because I seem to have permission to do so.  "Knowing there is a trap is the first step in evading it."

Being un-able to do for myself and my family COULD be license to fall into a pit. Or, I could see that pit and choose a path around it. Perhaps the path of asking for help; the path of gratitude that I actually have a house to worry about; the path of humbly accepting help.

So if anyone is sitting around wishing they had someone to serve: I offer myself and my house as a recipient of your service.

All around, though, I am very happy and healthy and so is the baby. Oh, did I mention it's a boy? It's a boy. We found out back in December. We are still considering names; luckily we have another ten weeks before we'll need to decide. :)

Since "Crucible" closed we've basically just been a family and done what we do. Our main focus was Lemur's schooling, Rivulet's social life and keeping up with our jobs.

In other news, my sister is pregnant (the one who just got married in August), due early September. My sister in law (John's wife) is also pregnant, due a few weeks after that. And I just found out yesterday that another sister in law (Tristan's wife) is pregnant as well, due late September, early October. So my parents will double their grandkids this year, and the Nelson's will go from 17 grandkids to 19. SO COOL.

So there's the update. Woot.

Minor heresies: Part 1.

2011-01-17T16:32:00.000-07:00

I have a word or two to say on keeping the Sabbath Day Holy. I will say them as they have been said before because - although it has been clearly delineated not only by God the Father, his Son, and their prophets both ancient and modern - I have heard minor heresy's taught in my own ward.

Minor. I know they are minor. And still, in the weeks since the lesson, I have heard women from my ward rattled with guilt and doubtings of their self worth because there is at least one practice that they were told from our RS pulpit that they cannot engage in on the Sabbath day.

So, minor or not as doctrinal principals may go, I'm still going to quote a prophet on the subject:

"President Kimball taught how we might observe the Sabbath:
“The Sabbath is a day on which to take inventory—to analyze our weaknesses, to confess our sins to our associates and our Lord. It is a day on which to fast in ‘sackcloth and ashes.’ It is a day on which to read good books, a day to contemplate and ponder, … a day to study the scriptures and to prepare sermons, a day to nap and rest and relax, a day to visit the sick, a day to preach the gospel, a day to proselyte, a day to visit quietly with the family and get acquainted with our children, a day for proper courting, a day to do good, a day to drink at the fountain of knowledge and of instruction, a day to seek forgiveness of our sins, a day for the enrichment of our spirit and our soul, a day to restore us to our spiritual stature, a day to partake of the emblems of his sacrifice and atonement, a day to contemplate the glories of the gospel and of the eternal realms, a day to climb high on the upward path toward our Heavenly Father” (Teachings, 216)." - emphasis added.
* view entire WONDERFUL talk here

I highlighted the above section not because it is the MOST important thing to do on the Sabbath, nor can I make the argument that on every Sabbath a nap is the best use of our time. I highlighted it because it is part of the council of one of our prophets that if we need a nap, if we need to rest: the Sabbath is a day given to us by God to do it. It is a day of REST. The God of the Universe rested on the seventh day, and decided it was a good idea to teach His children the same practice of self-care.

I understand if some have been wronged by others taking a nap on the Sabbath, but that is not license to teach that naps are wrong, lazy, forbidden, lax, idle or sinful. Especially when President Kimball made it clear that it's okay; even a good idea to actually rest on the day of rest.

Obviously, this has bothered me for weeks. It bothered me very much at the time, as well, but I am not called to be the RS teacher, so it was in no way my place to attempt setting-records-straight. But this here: this is MY blog. And here I will make it plain that - to me - even minor heresies will not be tolerated. Especially those that interfere directly with "Men are that they might have joy." He didn't say, "Men are that they might be consumed with guilt."

Speaking of which, I will quote my father in law: "Guilt is a useless emotion."
I argued that point with him for quite a while, saying that if we didn't feel guilt we wouldn't want to change. Well, that's not quite right. By definition: "•Guilt is a cognitive or an emotional experience that occurs when a person realises or believes--accurately or not--that they have violated a moral standard, and bear sole responsibility for that violation. It is closely related to the concept of remorse."

But a person can function forever in guilt and never have desire to change. In fact, I have been present to feeling SO guilty of a perceived or actual offense against person or deity that one feels they cannot change: that God wouldn't want them now anyway.

Well, here is the doctrine on that topic:
"In order to be forgiven, we must first acknowledge within ourselves that we have sinned. If we are striving to live the gospel, such an acknowledgment will lead to “godly sorrow,” which “worketh repentance to salvation” (2 Corinthians 7:10). Godly sorrow does not come because of the natural consequences of sin or because of a fear of punishment; rather, it comes from the knowledge that we have, through our actions, displeased our Heavenly Father and our Savior. When we experience godly sorrow, we have a sincere desire for change and a willingness to submit to every requirement for forgiveness." view entire entry from LDS.org here

Did they saw we should wash ourselves in the salt scrub of guilt: rubbing it in until we are raw and bleeding? No. I believe the term carefully chosen was "godly sorrow."

I know that "the wicked taketh the truth to be hard." Doesn't that mean that the righteous would take the truth to be soft? When our hearts or minds rebel against something that is portrayed as a truth we owe it to ourselves, our religion and our God to first assess our 'stats' (as it were) and then, if we find nothing truly out of order to search it out in the scriptures of our faith and find out whether we are hearing hard truth, or whether we are hearing a half-truth mingled with the philosophies of men.

"If ye cannot understand, it is because ye ask not, neither do ye knock." 2 Ne. 32:4

In this vein: I have never heard God say "Ask and I shall shut you out of all knowledge because you can't handle the truth." As I recall, it goes more like this: “ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”scripture here

Russell M. Nelson taught:
"Every Latter-day Saint may merit personal revelation. The invitation to ask, seek, and knock for divine direction exists because God lives and Jesus is the living Christ. It exists because this is His living Church. ... Revelation from God is always compatible with His eternal law. It never contradicts His doctrine. It is facilitated by proper reverence for Deity. To access information from heaven, one must first have a firm faith and a deep desire. One needs to “ask with a sincere heart [and] real intent, having faith in [Jesus] Christ." “Real intent” means that one really intends to follow the divine direction given. The next requirement is to study the matter diligently. This concept was taught to leaders of this restored Church when they were first learning how to gain personal revelation. The Lord instructed them, “I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.” just read the whole talk here!

I am not perfect. And I strive to progress beyond my current knowledge, current understanding and current level of compassion/love. It is true that I do not know what other people do in their own homes or hearts. I suppose it is quite prideful to assume that these other people are simply eating up the air-filled half-doctrines and then wondering why they aren't spiritually filled, and that I in my passion for truth have any responsibility to set the record straight. I do not mean to offend. If my assumption that some are in need of enlightenment offends: then I apologize. But to those who are relieved to hear that they are not going to hell or will have the Spirit of the Lord completely cut off for napping on Sunday: have a good rest. :)

Debunking of further minor heresies is sure to follow.

The Word Machine

2011-01-09T09:21:00.000-07:00

I finally beat my old highest score on the game that resides on my sidebar.

My last best round was 28, with a score in 59,000.

This morning: made it to round 29 with a score of 73,237.

That felt nice......

I am that I might have joy.

2010-12-28T22:04:00.000-07:00

I was driving home tonight, holding my husband's hand, and was so enveloped in joy that I knee-jerk wondered - fear in the thought - "What horrible thing is going to happen next?"

Then I laughed at myself as a scripture came to mind: "Adam fell that men might be, and men are that they might have joy."

For the record: in this context might does not mean or even imply maybe. I'm serious. Think about that for a second (unless you have known it for years. Even then, just take a second.)

How do I know? Well, grammatically, if it meant maybe we would be able to reword the scripture this way: "Adam fell that man perhaps could exist (there are no guarantee's after all), and men are (wait, didn't we just say that man might not be at all?) that they maybe could happen upon some joy if they were lucky while traipsing along their possible lives on earth; like accidentally stepping in gum or dog poop. Maybe."

I'm pretty sure that's not right. "Adam fell so man would exist, and men exist so they may/can experience joy." Implying that we could not have experienced joy without coming. Got it? Makes so much more sense. Especially coming from the God that I am familiar with and worship every day, whose commandments I keep because they bring me joy.

Anyway, so then I took a moment to examine why I assumed that something bad would happen just because I was so happy. It didn't take me long to find the infected root and the dirty water system that fed it. How many times have we heard "Opposition in all things" in a context that clearly states: "When there is good, bad will follow." Or "I am doing well now, so Satan will come at me again soon." Or even, "I better not get too used to these blessings, because they will be taken away eventually because - after all - 'opposition in all things.'"

I'm just going to say it: I'm getting really tired of people saying things they don't think about long enough to understand.

I know, I'm judging. I know that. I'd like to not to. Wait, that's another one of those things. "Judge not," they say, but then forget to include, "that ye be not judged." And they totally ignore the other scriptures regarding judgement, particularly this one in Matthew: "judge not unrighteously, … but judge righteous judgment."

I loved this by Dallin H. Oaks:

"I have been puzzled that some scriptures command us not to judge and others instruct us that we should judge and even tell us how to do it. But as I have studied these passages I have become convinced that these seemingly contradictory directions are consistent when we view them with the perspective of eternity. The key is to understand that there are two kinds of judging: final judgments, which we are forbidden to make, and intermediate judgments, which we are directed to make, but upon righteous principles." View the entire talk here

I NEVER hear that part of it in a RS lesson. NEVER.

Not being taught properly may not seem like a big thing, but it must be. Because as I was experiencing a great feeling of joy, it was immediately followed by my feeling afraid, ashamed, anxious, and wary of what would be coming around the corner to take it away. I wondered what I must be ignoring because I couldn't possibly be righteous enough to be happy. If I knew myself and my eternal standing well enough, I wouldn't have time to feel this great joy. Right? Isn't that what I'm being taught and have been taught in RS and Young Women and Seminary for as long as I have been in those classes?

I believe that the teachers are attempting to teach humility and faith through hardship. But - and I'm coming up against a lot of this recently - no one is asking or answering the most important question: "Why?"

*Why are there hardships?
*Why do we have children?
*Why do we keep the commandments?
*Why do we pray?
*Why do we attend church?
*Why do we clean our houses?
*Why do we care for others?
*Why do we feed our children, husbands, pets and occasionally friends?
*Why do we pay tithing?
*Why do we do anything while on this earth?

I'll tell you the answer, just as the Lord has: Men are that they might have joy.

The whole reason for EVERYTHING is to experience joy. And whose job is it? God's? Actually He did His part already. He came up with a plan (fool-proof, really, seeing as the Atonement is INFINITE), made an earth, gave us a Savior and sent us down here with complete agency (meaning, the ability and freedom to act as our own agent, free of force.) It took a lot of guts for him to do that. Joy and progression must be pretty important.....
So God has done everything within His power to offer us joy. Of course, as they say, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink." You can give your children Christmas presents galore, but you can't make them happy. You can give your wife an evening away from the children when she asks for it, but you can't make her calm the heck down and appreciate how great it is to be with the children. You can buy a new car, but you can't control the other moron who just rear-ended you....

Father gave His children the world and all the tools needed to enable them on their joy-bound journey, but He, our great Father in Heaven, will not EVER force a single one of us to experience joy.

In that same vein, He will never take joy from us.

"Know this, that ev’ry soul is free
To choose his life and what he’ll be;
For this eternal truth is giv’n:
That God will force no man to heav’n.

He’ll call, persuade, direct aright,
And bless with wisdom, love, and light,
In nameless ways be good and kind,
But never force the human mind."
- Hymn 240

God is not playing a game of chess, nor is He running a lottery. Our nightly prayers or daily scripture studies do NOT enter us into that great contest in the sky and up our chances of getting His pre-determined number of blessings to fall on our heads rather than someone else's.

So why commandments? Because the children of Israel said, "What should we be doing?" And God has always told His children, "Ask and ye shall receive," so he gave them some pretty great advice.
Don't kill, don't steal, honor your parents, don't fornicate, keep the Sabbath Day holy etc.

(and hey - don't even get me STARTED on what I'm being taught about the Sabbath Day... I'll do a whole separate blog on that later.)

I've kept those commandments - or at least I've made it my life's work to keep those commandments - especially the "higher law" versions of "Love God with all your heart, might, mind, and strength" and "Love one another."

And ya know what, I'll tell you the result: I'm a pretty freaking happy woman.

I was not always so. Three years ago I had almost exactly what I have now.... but I wasn't happy. I mean, I was essentially happy or content or whatever, but what I'm feeling now is so vastly superior to that emotion that it really doesn't compare.

What changed? I did.
According to modern day prophetic advice, I upped my Gratitude. Holy make a difference, Batman!

Because, okay, eternal perspective. That means - assuming we trust in God and trust that the whole reason for this entire thing is our joy - we gotta look at every experience with the question: "So how does/can this bring me/heighten my joy?"

I'm not stupid and I realize that in many situations, there will absolutely seem to be no answer. At least no answer that is outside the realm of sarcasm. :) But let's remember the part where we are trusting God. He doesn't lie. When He says that "men are that they might have joy," He was absolutely NOT B.S.-ing us.

For instance, as we were driving home and my 22-week pregnant belly began to contract, signaling the coming snowstorm, and I whimpered with discomfort. Muad'Dib expressed his concern that perhaps this whole meteorological anomaly was odd and he didn't remember me going through that with the others..... which led us to think about my last two pregnancies. And boy do we have a lot to be thankful for with this one.

I look at what two dear women are going through, and I remember acutely what it felt like to experience frighteningly similar emotions in my own life. And I'm led to gratitude for all those times I was convinced that I was on the despair paved road to insanity. I'm grateful for the sub-par poetry that gave vent to those toxic thoughts. I'm grateful for every good and bad play I've been in that purged my soul of the over-supply of emotions. I'm grateful for the ultimatums that got me off my butt and showed me what I was made of. I'm also very grateful that I'm not going through it now. I'm grateful then for learning that sometimes my help is not helpful, so I can sit back and wait for a good time, or wait for someone to ask for my help.

I'm grateful for the teachers that have made things hard for me and my son, because through the experience, I have learned so much about myself, my boy and my daughter. My son has become closer with his Grandfather. I have truly realized how much my children need me.

I could go on. When it comes down to it, what I mean to say is that our joy is our responsibility. And in fact, it is intended to be our first priority.

So when I sat in my car tonight holding my husband's hand, when my daughter played with my hair as she fell to sleep, when I covered my son's face with kisses and listened to him speak with wonder about his coming little brother, I took a deep breath and let myself feel joy free of shame, fear or guilt. Because that's truly what my Father hoped for when He made the earth for me, gave His Son for me and sent me here with agency.

I'd better not let Him down. And really, with a calling like "go have joy," why would I want to?

Another blog about writing.......

2010-12-23T09:38:00.000-07:00

So, I've been thinking a lot. Fedaykin and my hunny have brought some things to my attention, particularly as relates to writing.
Fedaykin noticed that when I discuss my writing, I get pretty - and simply - stupid. All the truth and wisdom I seem to be armed with on other occasions and subjects totally falls apart like a bike without bolts. He was basically laughing at me and my irrational fear-based arguments.
He even went so far as to kill one of my excuses with an early Christmas present: A digital recorder.

Then there is Muad'Dib who has made a few observations regarding my "poetry" and my brain blockage when it comes to long (novel length) fiction stories. I have characters but can't seem to get them from point A to point B. He thinks that I'm pretty good with short stories (note "The Mystery of the Missing Legos"). He also pointed out that I come alive when talking about non-fiction; such as putting life principles in a story-like context or sharing an experience for the purpose of illustrating a lesson/application of lesson.

I also enjoy being a "ghost-writer," and an editor.

So where does that put me?

Muad'Dib has suggested that I write a children's book about sharing, using true principles. Or a "feel good" book illustrating true principles of self-interest as found in the gospel, and how to incorporate those things into our lives (rather than the alternative, which seems to be "Do service or God won't love you as much, and the Spirit will LEAVE you. Especially on Sunday; which is only a day of rest if by 'rest' you mean doing as much for other people as you can regardless of yourself and/or what brings you peace.")

I guess that I am wondering - like my husband on his blog - "Where do I go from here?" The Lord has basically made a song out of the word "Write." And I hear it in my head any time I ask "What can I do" either to help myself emotionally, help my family financially, help others... the answer is always the same. Yet it seems that the direction ends there. So am I to conclude that I must do as Julia Cameron suggests and DO IT no matter my mood, without appraising the content - just hoping that something good falls out of me and lands on paper?

Or should I conclude that I have not yet found that venue that makes my brain whir like a fully functioning piece of machinery with full batteries and endless space to run?
I am at a loss. Sure I write the blog....and that is likely what makes Muad'Dib say "non-fiction."

I still get stuck on the thought, "What do I know well enough to write it?" I know myself.....and that's about it. I know what I've been through, how I've dealt with it, how that's been to my advantage or disadvantage. I even know how to see something as though it were to my advantage, rather than the opposite. Yet I don't know that my processes are of any worth to others.

On the other hand, I get downright upset when I read other books and see that the authors can't write as well as I can. I know: pride. I know. Yet when I read those kinds of books it makes me sick. It's like a person who CAN play the organ, and play it well, but chooses not to, but then that person gets mad when the "amature" who does get up to play the organ, doesn't do it as well. There's a word for that: ridiculous. Here's another: silly. Bad-selfish. Stupid.

And this is the rut I talk myself into whenever writing comes up. No wonder Muad'Dib lets me alone and Fedaykin laughs like he's watching the newest Jacka** movie. Because it's painfully, laughably stupid. It's the chance to watch my brain malfunction, when so often it seems to be a fine specimen of working order. Yikes.

At least these conversations over the past few days have got me thinking of how to portray the true principles of sharing....and if I can get to work, perhaps I'll need an illustrator in a few weeks. We'll see. Any other ideas? Anyone?

2010 Year in Status

2010-12-08T18:23:00.000-07:00

This is a compilation of some of my Facebook Statuses over the year. I had a hard time weedling it down, because it turns out: I'm pretty dang funny. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Stirred by a word

2010-11-17T08:55:00.000-07:00

Fedaykin said my blog this year has been - in a word - pathetic. Can't say I blame him for the brutally honest assessment. I have looked over the year and wondered, "Where did it go?" Events made up my year, more so than thoughts, definetely more so than strokes of inspiration or even creativity.

My writing has ceased entirely. I haven't written anything creative in...um...easily all year, perhaps longer. I haven't missed it entirely, taken up as I have been with theatrical endeavor after theatrical endeavor. Seven Brides, Drama Club, Sister's Wedding, Crucible, Pregnancy...Some of course being more theatrical than others. :)

I don't even believe I've had a creative thought that didn't have to do with positioning baby furniture, building set, arranging flowers or communicating with an actor. My kids have stopped asking me to tell them stories, because I've been so preoccupied, I've told them I can't think of any.

Is this sad? I don't know. Who is missing it, honestly? I've been VERY happy. It's not until I read past journals or meanderings of thought and see that for years my soul has been tied up in the ambition of being a true writer that I wonder what I've neglected. Maybe nothing. To everything there is a season, yes? I have seen it to be so; the Wheel Weaves as the Wheel Wills and all that.

Anyone notice my tone? It has nothing to do with the current topic, however. We've been having difficulties with my son's school. In fact, if my son's school had a face, I would punch it.  I have heard and seen things quite troubling and been told that it is the way it is, and that as long as test scores over all remain high, then my son must be in need of drugs to bring him up to everyone else's speed. This is of course a very short telling of a very long and involved story.

I am surprised by my emotional reactions to this situation. Lori described me as a Mama Bear on a Facebook quiz. I did not agree with her choice in animal until two weeks ago. I have done my utmost (and succeeded) in not letting the Mama Bear rampaging inside me to leak out into reality as I've attempted to manuver and handle this situation. Instead I've been the one thing I never thought possible of myself: diplomatic. And what have I learned? Diplomacy sucks. Yeah, you heard me.  Diplomacy might work if there was mutual respect between the parties. But these teachers do NOT have respect for me, nor do they respect the option that my son might be individual.

And all the while, they tell me their opinions of him and I see myself in their descriptions. I point it out and they look at me as though they were wondering how to get me on drugs, too.

I was the girl in fourth grade who, when berated by the teacher for not doing my classwork, would instead fill in the blanks thus: "If I were in charge I would: fire all the teachers in the world, especially you, you stupid dummy." Liam doesn't do that - he has a much stronger moral compass and isn't confrontational with authority. But he will ignore them if he wants to. As I grew up, I did the same things. I would open up Jurrassic Park rather than listen to my PreAlgebra teacher. I would write stories for hours on end rather than listen to the ramblings of my Biology teacher. Did I get the best grades? No. Did I even get grades that reflected my intelligence? Not even close...I bet my past teachers were just DYING for the chance to NAME my malady and drug me into submission. I guess that because that is what these teachers are looking for now.

I've illustrated some teachers/teaching situations that I ignored. Let me for a moment say a word for those who inspired me: Mrs. Georgis - 1st grade introduced me to theater and told me to use my special talents and abilities to my advantage. Mrs. Bonini told me I should write, because I had a great mind. Mrs. Harrison gave me books and let me immerse myself in them, guessing that I would learn more by doing that, than by doing what everyone else in class was. Mrs. Chady who challenged me to think bigger and more, to harness my confrontational demeanor into useful debates or to protect others.  Mrs. Jensen who brought Shakespeare to my awareness, and found that I had a talent with it. Mrs. DeHart who taught despite my refusal to think within her box, and would take the time to prove her theories. She made literature come alive. Mrs. Miya who made history relevant.

Come to think of it, all the teachers who worked for me were literature and writing centered. I don't remember a single science or math teacher that clicked with my brain until college. Oh, and they allowed me to ask questions without being put out.

I learned with pictures and concepts. Memorization of facts has only been my strong suit when it comes to movies or theater or books. What is the pythagorean theorum? I don't know. Who starred in the 1954 version of Jane Eyre? That I know. I could even tell you the famous siblings of the stars and quote a few lines and explain why the film noir version did good and bad for the storytelling.

My son is like that. What I can't figure out is why the hell teachers think there's something WRONG with it. He remembers science and concept math like I remember the names and associations of performers.

Basically I'm just frustrated. In the meantime I will do what I can to teach him, since his teachers are unwilling to take the time to do so themselves. When I asked for their curriculum so I could teach him before he comes to school, they were thrilled that I would be taking over. So I guess that's what I can do, since I'm not allowed to move him to another school or even to another class.

I will teach my son, because no one else will. I guess then it's a good thing he's got me. Just as much as it's a good thing I get him. I love him more than I can say, and in a way I am grateful for this horrible situation which has thrown my love and devotion to him into great relief. I see my love now. And my son will get that chance, too; and very soon.

Now that it is over...

2010-10-30T14:41:00.000-07:00

*Great sigh of relief*

It is time to be Sayyadina again. TheaterGeek struggled the last two weeks, seeing as Sayyadina was crowding TheaterGeek, itching to get back into action. My house has been a mess since the return from our vacation (which I still need to blog, I know). I have looked over the comparative squalor that I have been forcing my family to live in the past four weeks and felt less than great about it.

And then there was the play. Most of you got to see it. It was very good. And it was not without it's negatives. I felt friction on my soul the last two weeks especially. I hope I learned things...

As I have said, I felt that the play was important: Grand Scheme of Things Important, as a matter of fact. And there was a major part that felt it was not necessarily important for me, but for others.

Once again, I felt a brief hint of living the Law of Consecration. I had talents and understanding, my husband had the patience and passion, my mother had the connections and the space, and our actors had the time and the talent. We gave, and we took and we made something other people were willing to trade dollars for. That's pretty cool. Although, I did not take any of those dollars home for myself. No one will.

So what did I earn in exchange for my time and talents? I have satisfaction that I did something pretty good. I learned what it feels like to be completely disrespected by an actor for reasons I can't fathom. I saw a few people stretch their own abilities past what they originally believed they were capable.

And yet, I feel that the exchange was empty. Then I get the feeling that I have not been "paid" yet. I have not yet seen or received what it was originally intended that I see or receive. That's fine. I can be patient. I'm really much more excited about the upcoming child, anyway. And about going back to my home routine. I truly love taking care of my children, cooking for and caring for my husband, and going to bed on time. I love to make our home a welcome place for all. I have missed it. I knew that on the 30th of October, everything would go back to "normal." I have prepared for it. And in many ways, I folded space to get here sooner.

I'm sort of saying to myself - and to my Father - "Okay, I did it. So what was that all for?" I am just a little curious as to what the long term, Grand Scheme of Things payoff will end up being. Because I am sure I have not seen the sun go down on what this show was intended to do.

But I am ever so sleepy. And there is Trick or Treating tonight. So perhaps I should pull myself together, and draw myself up to be a mother, as I am bound by heaven to be. And my daughter needs a hug. Off I go to be Sayyadina again!!!!!!!!!

Our current endeavor

2010-10-10T16:20:00.000-07:00

Athur Miller's

THE CRUCIBLE

A few months ago I was in my mother's office and we were talking about what was next for Lights Up!, her theater troupe. We threw out ideas like "Little Women" around Christmas-time, a big musical like Suessical for the spring, or - hey! - wouldn't it be cool to do "The Crucible" around Halloween?!

Ya know, a play about witches and witch trials the week before we all go Happy Haunting?! That would be awesome! And ya know what else? Muad'Dib knows a lot about it. He did a scene from it in High School (or something) and it's, like, one of his favorite plays!

We're just riffing, right?

Two weeks later, Mom asks if I'm really going to do it. I have this feeling...so I say, "I'll run it past the husband and see what he says."

So then in the car I turn to my hunny and say, "Yeah, and Mom and I were talking and we mentioned how cool it would be to do The Crucible around Halloween."

His response was foresee-able: "We're going on vacation three weeks before Halloween; and we did say that we were going to take a theater break. I don't think we should do it."

"Okay. I see that. I'll tell Mom."

But then...a few minutes later..."But if we DID do it, we'd do it like this - "

Before I really grasped what was happening, Muad'Dib was all fired up and on board.

Well, then I thought, "There's no way we'll get the theater for those dates... lets just go talk to the Station."

I was right, there was no time available for us in the theater. It seemed like Crucible was dead.

Then the lady in charged asked us what the play was about.

I explained that it was a play set in 1692, following the Salem witch trails, with themes on morality, fear, infidelity, hysteria and goodness.

She got SO excited and basically said, "We have to find a place to put this on!"

All said and done, we decided on Gallery 51. To me, it looked small. To my mom and the lady, it seemed perfect. An intimate setting for an intense play.

Well, then it seemed unlikely that we could get a talented, age appropriate cast to show up for auditions.

Still, we set up auditions and held them.

Nine people came. Nine, for a cast that required at least 18 people.

We told those who did come that we didn't have enough. If they had any friends interested, we'd hold another set of audition/callbacks two days later. If we didn't have a cast by then, we'd call it off.

When Muad'Dib asked me if it was going to happen...I had a feeling. Yes, it was going to happen.

The next audition rolled around. Not only did we get enough people, we got enough TALENTED, AGE APPROPRIATE people to fill the cast - including Shematite and Mayflower.

We have blocked the play in about three weeks. We will go on a vacation for two, then come back and rehearse three weeks. Then we will open.

This is the story. All of these seemingly impossible things have come together to form what is already an impressive endeavor. I hope you'll all plan to come see it.

We will open with a noon matinee on October 23, and then have further performances at 7:30pm October 25 - 29.

Tickets are $10.00 general admission

$7.00 students and seniors

$5.00 for students accompanied by a paying adult.

More to the summer

2010-10-10T16:15:00.000-07:00

As it turns out, there is more to the "this is an incredible summer" than I originally thought. Okay: basic run down of the summer:

Drama Club - a variety show in the spirit of Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland but written by my brother and performed for Lights Up! when The Wizard of Oz fell through - spectacularly fell through, btw. It was great fun, but seemed to really change the game for Lights Up!, the theater troupe founded and run by my mother.

Brainstorm - while discussing the possibilities after the Drama Club, the name of a particular classic play came up.

Wedding: AJ got married. To see more, read down a few blogs.

Showtime - Jeff got a break. To see more, read a blog down.

The Crucible - the play we tossed out while brainstorming. I then tossed it out to Muad'Dib...before I knew it, we had decided to accept a directing gig for Lights Up!. We held auditions the Monday after my sister got married. We had 9 people audition. But I had a feeling that it was going to happen. And that it was going to be good. So we had callbacks. We had 13 people at callbacks. I told those present that we didn't have enough people and that if they were serious, they would spread the word. Little less than a week later, we had a full and talented cast for The Crucible. We began rehearsal.

Now, the next thing...we didn't find out until the fall...but seeing as I'm ten weeks on, it's safe to say that it happened this summer.

I am pregnant.

The big thing I kept saying about this summer - all the way back in April I was saying this - was that this summer was going to be a game changer. For every member of my family, the game has changed; and the catylist was something that happened late spring or during the summer.

Now, on the subject of pregnancy: WOO HOO!!!!!

Well...there are my disjointed thoughts on this summer. The ripples of it are still traveling to the shore, and have not yet reached their full wave magnitude. I'm just riding it out.

However, I should say that I'm a little ski-wompus. You know, reactionary in unconventional and unpredictable ways. Such as when I was in RS today and quite basically started...for lack of a better word - fighting with a friend and fellow Sister in the gospel. Yeah, I did. So: I quickly see the error of my reactions, and still - if we interact, please cut me some slack. Grumpy. Grumpy is a good word to describe it. Not sad, not angry...just grumpy. Happy! but also grumpy.

Starring my Brother . . .

2010-08-18T07:57:00.000-07:00

Why is there a picture of Monty Python's SPAMALOT on my blog, you ask? Because if you look ever so closely at the grail, just to the right of King Arthur, you will see MY BROTHER, who will be playing Patsy in this production in Ogunquit, Maine.

You may also recognize Charles Shaunessy as the father from the series "The Nanny." He is a well known Broadway performer, as is Rachel York, who I know as Margurite from The Scarlet Pimpernel.

This is a big deal for my wonderful brother, who has been auditioning in New York for over 8 months straight, without a single sign of hope.

Then all at once, he was given a job in My Fair Lady at a regional theater. He was asked to come back to Jackson to perform as Buffalo Bill in Annie Get Your Gun; he was asked to audition for How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying in New York. He got an agent (which is much more about the agent picking you than you picking the agent.) And then, he was called - virtually out of the blue - to play the role of

Patsy in SPAMALOT.

Oh, and did I mention that he was also asked to Franki Camp? It's a five day long "audition" where he learns the music and mannerisms of Franki Vallie (you know, "Walk Like a Man?") This is awesome because Franki is the LEAD character in the Broadway production Jersey Boys, and my talented little brother is considered for such a role. It's due in large part to his VERY impressive vocal range.

I'm just so happy for him.

He has worked very hard at a very hard business. And after years of trying, learning, taking classes, getting to know people and proving to those people that he's in it for the long haul, he is getting his first big chance.

I will keep you posted with any further pictures or clips I can find online.

As I have said, this has been an INCREDIBLE summer for the Stevens Family.

My Sister's Wedding Day

2010-08-14T09:18:00.001-07:00

Yesterday Auntie became Mrs. Bredthaur. Or, as her previous students said it, "Mrs. Scottie Hottie."

Here are some pictures Muad'Dib was able to take of the day's events:

Rivulet's hair in the morning.

Lemur at the Temple. Please note the missing front tooth. It fell out as he slept the night before ! :)

My Little Cinderella . . .

The kids giving Muad'Dib a "real smile."

Cousins and family galore! Even Little Brother was able to come in from Maine! Can you find his laughing, smiling face?

Here Lemur shows us his future "Calvin Klein" modeling capabilities.

I was SO glad to see my Grandma! It was a surprise to us all that she made it there!

The Temple

The kids had their meltdown earlier in the day. In fact, what you see of Lemur below was just the beginning. He didn't smile for ANY of the wedding pictures until I was able to take him aside and explain to him that he wasn't a player in this production. He was a prop. He was like the stick I used as the Witch. All he needed to do was be where we told him to be and smile like he meant it.

Somehow, that's what got through to him. Everything was fine after that.

SISTER!!

Then at the reception, Muad'Dib did a photo shoot with my older brother and his darling wife.

And here are some of the Bridal Pictures I took of AJ up in Afton, Wyoming.

Most of these were displayed on the tables at the reception. But a few had a more special setting.

Wildman (my brother-in-law) made some beautiful frames which housed these pictures.

What made the frames super awesome was that they were made of wood that was once used as the roof of the barn on the Michaelson Family Homestead, a barn that was built by our Great-grandfather.

AJ had always wanted her Bridals taken on the Ranch. We both have always felt very strongly about Afton; a deep sense of home, of past connected with present and blooming with future.

This is AJ's favorite picture. "The One" as we call it. This picture will hang in her new home, forever encased in the beautiful heirloom barn-wood frame.

My sister is MARRIED!

It was SUCH an incredible day. This has been such an incredible YEAR!!!

Not only did she finish school, get her Masters Degree, and go to China, she also fell in love, had someone love her - become devoted to her! -, she got engaged to this wonderful man, and yesterday she married him. And all on the same day, she became Lucy's 'Nother Mother. I don't like saying she's the "New mother." Lucy's mother is never far. AJ is not replacing. She is adding to. And I stand in awe of her ability to be a good mother. I mean, right off the bat: jumping in on motherhood without the incubation period, without the cuddly infant years, just right in there at the Terrible Two's and into Three-hood. If anyone doesn't know the full story, I may have to share it.

For the time being, though, I'm just filled with so much love! I sobbed in the temple. I sobbed at the luncheon and I ran myself ragged during the reception to avoid sobbing. Then I watched my sister walk to her car, hand in hand with her husband and I could not keep tears of joy at bay.

Scott is wonderful! Lucy is wonderful! The day was bright and glorious and filled with all good things. I am just ever so happy for my beloved sister. I am sobbing again. How wonderful!

And what would be lost?

2010-08-06T20:37:00.000-07:00

The late summer storm clouds are about to obscure my view of brightest star in the western sky. They have been moving in this direction for some time now, but I hoped they would spare the star. I take comfort in knowing that when the clouds pass, the star will be there. Yes, the star is above the clouds. It is above the rain and even above the sun. It has been a great marvel to look out over the valley and see lightning, clouds so dark they hide the eastern mountains in their plaque, and still to the east a sunset to take my breath away.

Thunder rolls to my left as pink ripens to deep purplish-orange on my right. I hear children gasp in wonder at the sight of a particularly impressive slash of lightning. Rain teases softly on my rooftop, plucking at leaves until it seems the trees themselves shudder with giddy anticipation. Too long they have roasted in the sun, too long relied on our piped water to sustain them, when all they truly desire is a good, hard rain.

My husband laughs in the living room, and a breeze stirs the aspen across the street. The storm draws closer. More lightning rips the sky, and I wonder at the dancing silhouettes before me. Sometimes I wonder if I am the light or the thing that blocks it.

I hear a single cricket; quite the change from the usual chorus that sings us to sleep most nights. And now even he, my solitary serenader, has fallen silent. As I write, things change. Time moves on. Clouds roil and churn overhead with a calm that belies their inner machinations.

How is it that I may see God's hand where ever I look? Not long ago I mentioned to my sister that sometimes it was hard for me to pray before bed because I felt that I had prayed so often all day that I could not imagine God wanted to hear from me more. Her answer was very much like her. She said, "It seems to me that if you see God everywhere, and thank him all day for each blessing you recognize: that is the definition of "the pure in heart.'"

I shy away from that definition, for obvious reasons. Perhaps they are only obvious to me: I dare not agree outright, because I fear the term "pure," let alone the idea of asserting that I am "pure in heart." I have worked a good deal over the past year to be actively grateful for all I see, hear, feel, learn and experience. I try, and sometimes I fail, though my failures are not stacking up too high these days, in this area.

The sunlight is nearly spent entirely. Now the lightning is even more impressive as it tears asunder the darkness that stretches over the valley. The thunder more ominous because it comes from an unseen place, echoing back and forth between the mountains.

I saw a neighbor girl outside today. She saw the rain and came out in it, just as I had. I have often joked that when the sun is out, my children are in. And when the rain comes to play, so do my children. It is true of myself. That is likely where they get the notion.

Late summer rains are some of my favorites. I remember nine summers ago now when in rehearsal for West Side Story, that it poured rain near the end of the night. I and my three best friends of the time ran into the shower headlong and danced in it. No stitch of clothing was spared. We were drenched. The rain smelled of salt and dirt. Our laughter rivaled the thunder for boisterousness. Whenever it rains in the summer, this is the memory that comes to me.

One year ago tonight, I opened as the Witch in "Into the Woods". How long ago that seems! How quickly this year has passed. Four years ago, I brought home my second child. In the rain. I remember it raining the second day Rivulet was in this world. It rained so hard that the power went out and she and I slept together in my hospital bed, as there was no nurse to retrieve her. The sound of her breathing still sooths me to sleep, as does the sound of the rain.

I am so grateful, for ever so many things. Most importantly tonight I am grateful for the advice and the permission I was given a few days ago, all of it wrapped up in one word: "Live." Not to imply that I would die...but I was in the process of putting myself and other things "on hold." Living means to be actively engaged. To enjoy, to be grateful, to experience without regret the exspendature of time. Two good men have advised me thus, and I feel it my soul that I must obey. And in the words of my favorite God Emperor, "Is not your obedience instructive?"

It is dark now, from the west to the east, the north to the south. The lightning has not subsided - nor has my desire to write - but I have perhaps run out of things to say for the time being. At least in this vein. I cannot say exactly why this has become my way: writing and expressing where once the purpose of the blog was to document and update daily happenings. Sometimes I wish it were the latter instead of the former. But then I remember that what is is, and I have a truer desire to share my thoughts and feelings than to recount the actions of my days. My actions speak of themselves, and say something different to everyone. I am the only one who can say and write MY words. If I don't, no one will.

Namesake similarities...

2010-07-21T15:42:00.000-07:00

Firefly's River...

Our River.

I came in from getting the mail, after a day of swimming with the kids to find THIS on the LoveSac. I suppose I can't argue with her logic: naked IS the best way to nap in the summer.

Quite the resemblence, wouldn't you say?

I'd like you to meet a less encumbered me.

2010-06-13T14:11:00.005-07:00

I happened upon an old friend yesterday, and while driving away from them I pondered how much I had changed.

Muad'Dib and I have a humorous habit of yelling out "Who ARE you?!" whenever one or the other of us does/says something surprising. Just this afternoon, I stuffed my face with a monstrous salad, using only a tablespoon of dressing to enhance the lettuce. And I loved every last bite.

This is only shocking for people like Muad'Dib who have known that I was no friend to salad (except the pasta variety) since my birth. And now, I love it. This is a very small and trite example of my change.

I look over my life and see basic SELF that might shift or bend and twist, though it is this SELF that basically remains the same. It is SELF. Then there are bits, pieces and habits that change drastically and totally.

What causes these changes? "Need for survival," comes the intuitive answer. Nearly all of my lasting changes were wrought from the emotional need to adapt or perish (figuratively or literally). I use the caveat "nearly" because though I cannot call to mind a single instance when this was not true, I cannot shut out the possibility that one change sometime was different. Other changes were fueled by desire alone, and I can't think of a single on of those that was permanent.

I'm trying to figure myself out. It's what I do. It's what has become the purpose of this blog. I am searching for the SELF in Sayyadina. Most of you were aware of my burst of knowledge when I figured out that my SELF existed before theater, and therefore could exist fully even in the absence of theater.

Now I desire to learn what causes my SELF to change.

Last year I went through a MAJOR down turn in the cycle my SELF follows naturally. It was during that time that "This too shall pass" was clearly illustrated. I shed some defensive armor. I was able to frame hope into a workable idea for my depression-able mind. So in that way: yay for last year.

I'm now wondering - after seeing this old friend - if even while gaining some knowledge and application, I also lost. I am a little more judgemental of certain behaviors. Little. Who are we kidding. A LOT more judgemental of certain behaviors. Which is ridiculous considering my penchant for hypocrisy. I love people through those behaviors, but I judge them first.

So, as I continue on my journey toward what I hope is perfection, I'm concerned that even if I'm getting smarter, I might becoming more stupid.

And if anyone says "Well, opposition in all things," I will scream.

This is a possibility for a tangent. I will control myself.

The purpose of this blog entry was to say - again - for those who haven't seemed to hear me: I have changed. If that change hurt someone else, I am sorry for the pain my change caused. I'm not sorry I changed, because I pretty well like who I am now. I did not set out to change, to abandon, to disappear, to become disinterested, or to give up. I set out to do one thing that had nothing to do with anyone else except me. I didn't even accomplish the one thing. So stop looking for that person you knew last year. She's not here anymore. If you want to be friends with this Sayyadina, be my guest, but don't go looking for the old one somewhere behind my eyes. She is gone. Because although I did not accomplish the one thing, I accomplished some other things instead:

I let Anger (for anger's sake) go. I discovered within myself the difference between "sensation" and "emotion." I learned that I have an "off-button" for use in emotional situations. I have grasped the possibility that my help may not always be helpful and it's okay to let other people do for themselves. Most importantly: I have greater patience with my children and I see my husband's love everywhere I look instead of just where I look for it.

I don't know how I existed before; caught in the rampaging anger, impatience and victimization that I used to be: but thankfully, that is gone now.

I cannot be - nor do I want to be - that woman ever again. I am happier this way. And as far as I can tell, so is Muad'Dib.

So while I enjoy foods I used to hate: tomatoes, green peppers, rice, and salad; enjoy past-times I used to loathe: gardening, being alone, cleaning, and mowing the lawn; and while I see love everywhere when I used to ignore it in all it's forms: I will laugh and sigh as those who care to become reacquainted with my SELF, absent of those bits of useless armor which I shed as I grew.

"The Art of Journaling" as learned from Nephi

2010-05-28T09:35:00.005-07:00

I haven't written in a while. Not a long while, granted, yet I have felt the separation from myself and the written word quite keenly. A plane seems to be flying low over Antelope Island. I can see it because I have the great pleasure of sitting on my deck, which although technically is in the backyard has a fantastic view over all of North Ogden, clear down to the Island. A few cars may drive by in the course of my morning, but all in all it is just me the birds and the breeze.

We have four lilac bushes now. Our garden has begun growing. Soon we will have a harvest of radishes, corn, salad greens, peas and green peppers as well as other veggies. We have spearmint growing the shadow of the main house and hornets trying to build a home in the eave of the playhouse. What a wonderful life!

The children have been sick. Rivulet has been sick for nearly two weeks, Lemur caught his just in time to miss the last three - and most fun - days of school. Summer is approaching, as is evidenced by being able to take Rivulet outside in the rain around midnight last night. It was not too cold, and just wet enough to wake her out of her bad dream stupor.

I have pictures that document all the things and events that have happened over the past few weeks, but I have few words. Perhaps it is the opinion of some that I have a good deal too many words. I noted something in my journal the other night, "I wish I wasn't so tired; so I could record some thoughts and not just events." I felt - and still do - that I and my children might be missing something having a record of events only.

In reading Nephi over the past few weeks, I have had my mind opened up in refreshing ways. I have taken for granted that I know the stories backwards and forwards and in fact have taught the stories, sometimes to my teachers. How glorious the chance to learn that there is more to learn!

Such as the event of Nephi coming to retrieve the plates from Laban. The final time, when Laban was passed out from drinking and lying alone, unconscious in the street and Nephi just happened upon him - something else took place. Nephi was instructed to do something that went against his then-current understanding. Did he do it? Not at first. He - in effect - spoke to the Spirit, and the Spirit spoke back. He "shrank away" from the deed. The Spirit offered more information, knowing that the law forbade the action he was now prompted to take. And then! Nephi, constrained by the Holy Spirit, employed reason. He opened his mind and the Spirit guided his thoughts that Nephi and the Spirit could be on the same page.

And how is that applicable to us?

Reading further, I get to the part where Lehi is murmuring in the wilderness and Nephi - after Nephi's bow had broken. LEHI was murmuring. The prophet!! And it was his child that called him - by action and word - to humility where he regained his footing as the patriarch of the family. I don't ever remember knowing that Lehi had murmurings. It spoke to me of difficulties ANY parent may have in their lives, and how we as their children can be comfort to them by living the truth at all times. Being a witness of God, showing our own faith can help even the people who taught us in the first place. Of course, here I was thinking of my Mom. A perfect example is the experience we had last summer changing the Shakespeare. There came a time - which I recorded in great detail - that Mom went kaput. I stepped in, and then stepped back out when she - for lack of a better term - came to her senses. Doesn't it make Nephi and Lehi more real to know they experienced this dynamic as well? It does to me.

Last week in RS, we were discussing how we could maintain our spirituality as we "grew up." It is no easy thing, quite honestly. Once we hit a high, we rest on it assuming the high is solid. I'm pretty sure it's more of an eternal escalator than a mountain. Once we reach the top of a mountain - you're there. But an escalator that is always going down, while we are striving to climb up; that seems to fit better. The world being the escalator, and each of our steps being the desire and action to rise above. Holding still will actually bring us down.

Now, for most of us, we have a solid foundation - a place we may never pass below. The problem is, I have met so many who believe either that a solid foundation is all you need or that there is actually a place you reach where you can never ascend above! That is not what the scriptures have taught us, so why do we embrace it?

To shake things up, I set aside my old scriptures: the Book of Mormon I had received at my baptism at the age of 8, the BOM I had used all through seminary and Institute and marked with all manner of pencils, markers, pens and personal notations. I set that aside an opened a new copy of the BoM, one I had bought when Muad'Dib and I were first married, and began to read the BoM as if for the first time.

And that's exactly what it feels like. Other bits of knowledge and learning that I have acquired over the past ten years are like a different lens to read the words through. I read the account of the Tree of Life much differently than before. I hear the voice of Nephi in my head with age appropriate timbre so clear it is disconcerting. I see similarities not only in spiritual understanding but in social settings.

And through it all runs a testimony of journal keeping. From Nephi to Moroni and Mormon, I am led to realize that their advice their words, were truly meant for our time. They knew it when they were writing it. And it was when reading Chapter 6 that I wondered whether what I was writing about was of worth: "Wherefore, I give a commandment unto my seed, that they shall not occupy these plates with things which are not of worth unto the children of men."

Writing the Book of Sayyadina began with my first journal at the age of 10. I have since filled over ten journals and countless other computer documents, random notebooks and scraps of paper tossed into a folder. No doubt, my words need an editor just as badly as those prophets of old; particularly because not all that I have written was intelligent by any strain of the imagination.

But I will say that throughout my journaling, I have taken opportunity to write guidences of the Spirit, and testimonies of the Gospel. Such things were the basic principals that occupied the entries of King Benjamin, Nephi, Jacob, Enos and others. I have the advantage of only needing to make a record of myself and an accounting of my actions in my day. Well, and perhaps a record of my children until they can themselves take up the pen. I hope that my testimonies may someday be of worth to someone. I know, on occasion, they have at least been of worth to me. And maybe that is all that matters.

I found the square hole.

2010-05-14T10:25:00.003-07:00

Remember about a week ago when I was riffing on a compost metaphor? It wasn't right, but it felt true . . . and now I know why.

It was incomplete and was basically being a square peg in a round hole. I just had to find the right home for it. Talking to my sister the other day, we discussed Depression. I can easily list more than five people in my family alone that suffer with this dis-ease. I am one of them.

I have been told and understand that Clinical Depression is chemical. I, myself, have gone the route of pills and medicine. In my experience (which does not negate the experience of another person) these things were much like muffling a gun-shot or wearing noise-canceling headphones: the gun and the noise is still there, you are just a little separated from it. Unless of course you had the misfortune to miss a pill, in which case the feelings overcame you in a mindless rush. For many, medication is the solution to their problem.

For me, it was not. Or rather, it was a short term band-aid on a wound that would not heal.

For me, and for many who I speak with, Depression and Anxiety go hand in hand. Depression is more of a "What's the point?" approach to life experiences. This leads us to find no joy in activities, in people or in the day to day events that spice the human life. Is is a give up attitude.

Anxiety compliments the big D, but is different because the Anxiety-ridden mind is ravaged by thought: ALL THE TIME. "What if this" and "What if that" and other misuses of imagination keep the afflicted persons from seeing and handling joy because they expect an awful, startling"BOO!" around every corner. They expect things to go wrong, likely because they have had that experience more often than not in their lives. The one condition could be illustrated by a tiger kept indoors, de-clawed and virtually toothless: laying there waiting to be acted upon, knowing he has no power to alter his life. The other condition could be characterized by just about any animal in a cage that once knew how it felt to roam free: pacing, fearing capture, fearing the unknown.

Simply said: Depression is fear coupled with despair. Anxiety is fear coupled with panic.

And both stem from fear.

A few years ago I was taught that the foods I eat contribute to my "chemical imbalance." To answer that, I changed my diet and periodically shake things up in regard to my vitamins and minerals. By doing so, I can today mentally cancel out what I perceive to be an emotion by going over what I have eaten that day. So: progress. I learned to understand the difference between "emotion" and "sensation." Sensations I can release, knowing they require little more than the passage of time to re-balance.

Around the same time, I began uncovering and examining my fears. Then I took steps to de-fang my fears. Frank Hurbert said it best in Dune: "Fear is the mind killer." I arm myself with the question posed by Wildman: "What's the worst that could happen?" And, so armed, I face the fear mentally and dance around it, negating the primal response of panic.

I have learned through much introspection which of my past experiences formed the reaction of Depression, and which formed the reaction of Anxiety. From that lesson, I can predict which experiences in future may trigger D&A reactions. Marry that information with what I know about me and food, I can either sidestep the situation altogether or handle it with grace as it happens.

Okay: So what does this have to do with Composting?

Life experiences pile up on our souls whether or not we want them to. They do. They pile up in our memories, the emotions pile up in our subconscious and become a heap of life weighing down our souls. Right? Or:

Could we compost?

If we imagine that each experience is tossed onto the pile of our past experiences, we have the choice to let them rot or to turn them over - mull them over - with the future in mind, with use, with learning in mind. Then we can take the experiences and spread that learning, that nutrient rich mass of knowledge around our current choices and be wise. In that way, our past nourishes our present and grows a healthy future!

As Moneo observed of Leto "I fear the unknown . . . You see everything that we know: the unknown . . . must be something new for you to know."

And it is!

The Depressed, the Anxiety-ridden: we are set apart by our seeming inability to change our lives, change our feelings or control the way we think. We cavort about as victims of our past actions, even our past in-actions haunt us in a most crippling way. We become hobbled versions of our true selves.

Now I say to you with what power I posses: It does not HAVE to be so! The idea that we are unable victims is false. We are able! We are accountable! We are powerful! We have the ability to take our past and choose to make it rot or compost, poison or antidote, fear or hope.

Is it easy? At first, no. Does it take work and focus and time? The answer to that is always yes. There are those who may read this post and decide within themselves that medication is right for them. Great. I'm not downplaying the good that drugs do for some. They gave me a much needed break. Choices are awesome and I am all for them.

This post is for me. It is to better understand where I have been and what I have learned from it. This post is so that I may remember this lesson when I feel over-run with emotion again: because it is inevitable in my nature. But this knowledge can keep me from hitting that bottom rock named "despair."

And hey, if someone out there learns something or thinks to themselves, "I'm as cool as Sayyadina; I bet I could use my powers of sensitivity for good instead of evil." (good being progression and learning while evil is cyclical self-loathing and self-damnation) Well, then I say: "You're right. I have the names and numbers of a few fantastic Life Coaches, should you require assistance." Because although I may be cool and I may be smart, beautiful and funny, I was not always so: (Okay, I was always beautiful.) I learned these truths from and with those who were kind and patient enough to guide me through the tangle that was my Self.

Now I function 97% of the time, not as a tangled mass of emotion and unconnected thought, but as a well strung Cello. And that other 3%? I work to keep it in perspective and don't give it any room to take root. Or leave rot.

I choose to compost. How about you?

Cramped week, open spaces.

2010-05-13T17:59:00.002-07:00

Has it really been six days since my last post? We've had a busy week.

My Uncle had blood clots and was flown from Wyoming to McKay-Dee where he was treated for a week, and we visited him nearly every day.

I attended a NAIFA conference for two days aided by DreamPacker and my mom as babysitters. I heard many kind and true things said about my father and learned ever more about the importance of insurances of many sorts. Not convinced there are any? Come talk to me or my dad (or my brother in law, for that matter) and we will teach you what we know.

I accompanied Lemur on his field trip to the Ogden Nature Center (Rivulet in tow) and learned about Pond Ecology. Directly from there, we drove to SLC and arrived at Kingsbury Hall via shuttle bus just in time to tape my sister receiving her Masters in Instrumental Conducting. Then we got on the wrong shuttle bus, getting us lost in UofU traffic for over 45 minutes before finally making it back to the car and down to Chili's for lunch with the fam.

My sister and I drove further into SLC to visit my Grandma for Mothers Day.

We then went to IKEA so Lemur and Rivulet could play in SmallLand for an hour. Why? Because last Friday, Rivulet decided to potty train herself. She had been potty trained for a whole week, and her reward was a trip to SmallLand, where only potty trained children are allowed to venture. She loved her reward! And I loved the chance to visit with my sister over a soda in the cafe.

Rivuleta potty trained herself! She has only had two accidents, one at DreamPacker's house just as the horses were led to the gate, ran and won/lost the Kentucky Derby. And the other was basically my fault. STILL! I was so worried she was behind others her age. Turns out, it's a lot less problematic if I just let her decide when she wanted to. YAY!

What else . . . Went to Mountain Road Ranch to watch the Kentucky Derby. Congrats to Super Saver, though I missed the win cleaning up the aforementioned "accident." I saw it on the replay, though. :)

I tore out grass in places it didn't belong and in it's place planted Irish Moss, Creeping Thyme and multicolored petunias. Also, we filled and planted our Square Foot Garden with everything from radishes to corn to tomatoes and onions. I'm excited to see what happens next.

I tore out the thicket behind the house and found (amoung other nameless shrubbery) a Viburnum Bush. YAY! They are so fragrant and beautiful. It hasn't blossomed yet, but is definitely on it's way. The lilacs are blooming too. I love our new house!

I drove to and from The Ranch this morning (6 hours in the car total) to return my Uncle to his home, and helped clean up a bit.

I'm sure there's more that I'm missing. I know I have pictures and videos galore to document it all . . . and hopefully I will post them sometime in the near future.

In the meantime, I'm alive. SUPER alive. I'm sitting on my back porch listening to the many birds that tweet and twitter (as nature intended) as the sun begins its descent behind the western mountains. Rivulet is seated next to me, dipping her finger into her peanut butter sandwich, and licking off the peanut butter - leaving the bread whole but empty.

I think everyone should have the chance to sit on my porch as I do now. Happy and tired and happy.

It's an odd reversal in my soul to be excited for all that is to come, not even knowing what it is. I'm excited for the roses to bloom. I'm excited for the geraniums to creep. I'm excited to smell the viburnum, to sit lazily on my porch for many an evening come June and all summer eve's. I'm excited that I am finally reading again! I'm excited to see what will occupy my summer, seeing as it feels wrong to plan anything. So that must mean something is coming. I hope it's what I think it is. And I'm okay if it's something else.

I remember realizing that depression was living one's life afraid of the future: living one's life backwards. Realizing that doing so was against nature, and that was hy it felt so terrible. It amazes me to find that gardening is one of the things that turned my brain forward.

A Bit of Earth, indeed.

Contributing is my role to help my children understand their feelings. We are finally at the stage when Rivulet is feeling so much and doesn't have words to identify or describe what she is feeling. So she often says, "No," "Nothing," "Never mind," or "I don't know." Having learned how important validation is - and seeing how much it has helped Lemur to be able to give name to his many feelings - I have had the great opportunity to focus on Rivulet and help her figure out what is up with her.

It amazes me that words have connotations before they have denotations. Rivulet can intuitivly know "angry" isn't the right word for her emotion, but "upset" or "frustrated" or "scared" is. And it is up to me to help her cultivate that sensitivity and clarity.

In this vein, Lemur's teacher said something to me the other day: "You told me Lemur has a temper. But I've never seen it. He always communicates very clearly with the other children, and with me." I don't remember telling her he had a temper. I remember saying he was emotional. Anyway: At the beginning of the year, I had "warned" her of Lemur's tendancies toward emotion, and advised her that he would calm right down if she asked him to take a deep breath. And as it turns out, he hasn't had a single problem at school. Then she expressed a bit of sadness that Lemur would be transferring schools for next year. We discussed that the second grade rooms had no windows. I told her that although Lemur was distressed about that at first, I told him that it was like a super-hero's hidaway lair. She smiled and said, "Ah, so that's where he gets it. From YOU!"

As it turns out, my kids get alot from me. When I was angry, they got anger. When I yelled all the time, they did too. When I found my balance and my center, they were able to stop protecting themselves from my volcanic emotions enough to flourish.

Again I am grateful to my Life Coaches and my Tuning Fork for teaching me so much so that I may now be a better mom and guide for my babies, who are swiftly turning into children.

Well, now it's cold. The birds don't seem to mind. But my fingers do. Rivulet has abandoned me for the warmth of the house and the hope of hot chocolate. Yet I cling to the moment just a little longer. Looking over the yard, slurping up every last view of this day until I am as full as I can be.

How wonderful to discover that I always have more space in my soul for beauty and love!

Composting?

2010-05-06T20:40:00.003-07:00

The practice of taking raw ,cast-off and mulched organic material, putting it in a shady spot and letting micro-organisms break it down into one great big pile of useful stuff where only garbage existed before. I've read that you must mulch, moisten and move. Cut up the garbage into "digestable" pieces. Not a whole branch, but chopped up bits of branch, for example.
There is supposed to be browns (wood, branches, twigs) and greens (grass, veggie leftovers, leaves) and water.
The water helps with digestion. And then there is the moving. Taking what is on the outside, scooping it up and adding it to the center, letting the center fall to the outskirts.

Why exactly did thinking about this process today try to become a metaphor for my mind? I don't know. Now that I'm writing about it, I see almost no similarities. In fact, I can't think of ANY similarities.

My thoughts . . . I do just let them pile up like garbage; most of them I even throw away without examining them for their complete worth. And maybe if I kept them in a concentrated area - a concious effort to keep them from being strewn willy-nilly about my backyard of a brain - perhaps they could . . . uh . . . feed off eachother and grow together to form something useful?

Nah. Because the purpose of compost isn't just to have good compost. You can't eat compost. It doesn't even smell good. it has no flowers. It isn't pretty and it doesn't recieve accolades from passersby . . . It's purpose is solely to nurture something else to grow. You compost to not waste organic matter and then to add nutrient elsewhere when it can no longer contribute in it's original form.

That is nothing like thoughts. Or writing. Or my brain.

I guess this goes to show that you can't make a metaphor out of a compost pile. And yet, I tried.

* I've now re-read this post 3 times. I'm not entirely sure I've failed at the metaphor entirely. . . or succeeded entirely . . . or just gone a little mad. At least I typed it very quickly. And that I can be pleased with.

Out of the mouths of my babes.

2010-04-28T15:29:00.003-07:00

A few cute stories of/from my cute children.

Lemur woke up this morning a little sluggish. I sat down on his bed to help him pick out pants. After he had chosen the wonderful "blanket pants" I had made him last year with Wildbound's help, he plopped down next to me and told me that he had had a dream.
"What was it about?"
His eyes glazed over a bit, as though he were attempting to re-enter the dream. I imagine it's how I look when recounting one of my nocturnal movies. "It was purple blind. There was another storm."
"Purple blind?" I asked
"I can't 'splain it. That's just what it was. We were in the car. And during Dr. Laura, the radio guy came on. He said there would be damaging winds, and hail stones this big" he made a marble sized circle with his fingers, "and I was so scared. Then the guy's voice went all krshshshskkshshsh and I think he got hit by the hail!"
I could see he was very upset, so I offered an alternative: "Maybe the storm was just dense like a blanket, so the radio waves couldn't get to the car any more."
He nodded and his shoulders relaxed a little, "Yeah, maybe that's it."
"Is that all?"
"Nooo," he said. "Then it hit our car, and we were purple blind - like a curtain and gooey! So you drove us home very safe and we came inside. We could see to Grandma's house and lightning was hitting so close to her house. The storm was bigger than anything I've ever seen in my life! There was lightning, and rain and hail and snow and it was like the sky couldn't make up it's mind, already." He stopped talking, though his eyes continued to move, as though he were watching it all again.
"What else?"
"Well, the lighting struck a tree up on the mountain, and the mountain caught on fire. Other houses were getting beat up and on fire. I was so scared, mom."
I reached out a hand to comfort him. He turned to me and smiled, "But then, mom, there were all these spirits and ghosts around us. They said that we were okay, and the storm wouldn't hurt us. They said that we shouldn't be scared because scared kills the brain."
I can't explain why, but his description brought tears to my eyes. "So they were protecting us?"
He nodded, "All of them. There was like nine for each of us. We were safe because they were with us and told us that being scared just makes it worse. So we stayed inside and waited until the storm was over and we were okay. There were lots, and we were safe with them."
"You know, Lemur, I pray for that every night."
"Well, it works."

The next was with Rivulet. At my parents house today, she asked to watch Bambi *commence eye roll sequence*. I turned it on and she watched the first part with interest as I wandered away to check on dinner. I came back just in time to see Bambi and his mother going out for their first meal of spring. Rivulet became anxious as the music changed, heralding danger so I sat beside her. Bambi's mother raised her head and perked her ears. "Quick, Bambi! To the thicket!" They began running and Rivulet clutched my hand, "What are they running from?"
"Hunters,"I answered.
"Run, Bambi! Don't look back! Keep running." Then the fateful sound of a gunshot. Bambi made it all the way back to the thicket before Rivulet asked, "What happened to the Mama?"
"She was shot by the hunter."
Rivulet gasped a Rivulet gasp, putting a surprised and sypathetic hand to her mouth. "Poor Bambi."
"Yes,"I said.
"It's okay, his Mama just went to be with Jesus Christ." Her tone was matter-of-fact, and though I turned to see her face, she looked completely okay with the turn the movie had taken. Then, as Bambi found his father she said, "See, it's his daddy. He's okay now. He's like Heavenly Father."
Wow.

Rain Dance

2010-04-21T10:18:00.003-07:00

Rumbling thunder woke me this morning. I very nearly jumped out of bed and then padded quickly to my son's window. As I pulled up the shades the sky was split with a thick bolt of lightning. Another "boom" echoed off Ben Lomond and it, coupled with my urgen whisper, woke my son from his dreams. He reacted much the same way I did: eager and excited he joined me at the window. But the storm was moving to the north and west, beyond our field of vision.

Together we quickly ran down the stairs to the bay window in the living room. I lifted the curtains to reveal a beautiful rain-soaked view of the valley. Both Lemur and I let out a deep cleansing sigh. We are rain people. Lightning again. Lemur ran back to his room to get dressed. I could not wait. I put on my jacket and went straight out the front door, standing in the middle of our lawn, facing the passing storm.

Very dramatically, there was a roll of thunder and then it began to pour rain. I lifted my face to the sky and let the drops wash over me, laughing and feeling totally free. I swayed a little, to such inner music that moved me. I was instantly reminded of Topaz in I Capture the Castle, who would go out to enjoy a rain storm in only a straw hat and hip boots. And that memory led me to my favorite line from the Broadway Camelot, especially as recited by my mother as Gueniveir:

"It's never being alone that bothers me most. Do you know, I have never been without someone around me my entire life? Neither at Camilliard or camelot. I mean, completely, totally, solitarily alone? Sometimes I wish the castle were empty, everyone gone and no one here but me. Do you know what I would do? I would bolt every door, lock every window, take off all my clothes and run stark naked from room to room. I would go to the kitchen naked; I'd prepare my own meals, naked; I would do some embroidery, naked; and put on the crown. And then I passed a mirror I would stop and say: 'Ello, Jenny old thing! Nice to see ya!'"

Now, I was not in this state - except emotionally. Although I don't doubt that my neighbors were concerned for my mental health all the same. I was outside on my front lawn at 6:54 am, in the rain, in my pajamas, showing no intention for going inside despite becoming increasingly drenched.

I opened my eyes for a moment, looking to the door hoping that Lemur was on his way out to enjoy the rain with me, but was instead met by a look from my beloved husband.

I went back inside.

And I have not yet been able to shake the feeling of well-being that standing ill-clad in the rain offered me this morning. Nor would I want to.

*Sigh*

Labyrinthine Lawn-Mower

2010-04-20T21:00:00.003-07:00

"A labyrinth is not a maze, but a walking mediation device with a single winding path from the edge to the center. There are no tricks, choices or dead ends in a labyrinth walk. The same path is used to return to the outside. The labyrinth represents the journey inward to our own true selves and back to the every day world.
Walking a labyrinth is a right brain activity: creative, intuitive, and imaginative. It can induce or enhance a contemplative state of mind. It is a tool which can calm our anxieties, guide healing, deepen self knowledge, enhance creativity, and lead to personal or spiritual growth." - labryinthcompany.com Today I was mowing the lawn for my parents. They have a large sprawling yard and A LOT of grass to keep in check. I remembered all the times I dreaded mowing the lawn as a young teenager. And I noticed that today was very different. I had no headphones on. I was not singing "It's in His Kiss" from the Mermaids Soundtrack. I was not wearing shorts and a cute shirt in case the neighbor boys looked outside. I was not trying to pretend I was doing something - anything - other than mowing the lawn on a beautiful spring morning.

No; today I was pleased by the opportunity to be outside, smelling the grass and staining my feet with chlorophyll. I slowly walked behind the mower, around and around the back yard. I thought about Julia Cameron, and how she said that walking "replenishes our over tapped creative well and gives us a sense of . . . well, wellness." That "walking with our soles is really walking with our souls," quoting the following: "The action or rhythm of walking was used as a technique for dissolving the attachments of the world and allowing men to loose themselves in God."

I also thought about DreamPacker. A while ago she went through a Labyrinth phase. (Not to imply that she is out of that phase . . . she might still be in it for all I know.) She taught me how to draw one. We discussed making one out of rocks in her backyard somewhere, so one could go out and walk it at any time - freeing their mind by connecting right to left. She made a beautiful custom rug that I only wish I could afford. These thoughts led to another which was that perhaps this wonderful woman doesn't know how much she affects my life and mind.

I kept walking. I kept thinking. I went over a story-line in my head. I meandered through countless possibilities for past, future, present events and fictional parodies of each. Then I found myself thinking in a rut. I was walking along the perimeter of the yard, going literally in circles downhill. When I realized it, I rationalized that it was logical that I should be traveling this way because it was the easier path.
The image of the Labyrinth arrived in my minds eye. So I turned around and began mowing in the opposite pattern. I was amazed that my processes lept out of the rut and began flowing in a different direction. I worked a little more, and I was walking directly into the sun . . . but it felt wonderful. Metaphors sprang to mind. I wished almost fiercely for a digital recorder so I could speak and keep all my thoughts . . . then laughing at myself because even if I'd had one on hand, I could not have been heard over the sound of the engine.

We bought a new old car back in January. It did not have a radio. I used to believe that if I didn't have music in the car, I would fall asleep. As it turns out, my brain fills the silence with ease and I am actually more alert without music. I begin to have unspoken communications with the car, and am a better driver. I can calmly think out all my thoughts. I even begin to open my brain up to unthunk thoughts that before had remained wall flowers at the dance where all the music was too fast.

So from this I learned that Music releases emotion, and silence releases thought.
I learned that walking pumps my brain - though the two seem unconnected.
After I was finished with the lawn, I walked the mower back to it's spot under the deck and put it away. I didn't feel sad that the experience was over. But I did take a moment to marvel at how good it felt to have had it.

These were my thoughts today. And my brain would not let my head rest on a pillow until they were got out in a meaningful venue. And I guess I consider this meaningful as compared with other places I could have stored my musings because if nothing else, DreamPacker will know that . . . well . . . I bet she knows anyway.

The story flowers tell

2010-04-18T13:49:00.001-07:00

These flowers, when I saw them in a corner garden on Temple Square this morning, made me think of my sister.

Then, while going through the pictures during the transfer from camera to computer, I was reminded of her again.

So I post it here . . . wondering if it will make other women think of their sisters.

As I think of mine.

I love my sister . . .

And two of two.

2010-04-17T19:56:00.003-07:00

Yikes. The week is nearly over and I haven't blogged once. I have even sat down to do it, but it seemed like so much work to ramble on and on in stream of consiousness hoping that something worth reading would tumble out.

Well okay, I have something I could write about.

Have you ever woken up with a song in your head and you can't figure out where or when you heard it last, even though it's obvious you have heard it alot because you know the tune and lyrics well enough to have it lodged in your brain the moment you regain conciousness?

Me, too.

A few days ago it was Hymn 143:

"Let the Holy Spirit guide;

Let him teach us what is true.

He will testify of Christ,

Light our minds with heaven's view.

Let the Holy Spirit guard;

Let his whisper govern choice.

He will lead us safely home

If we listen to his voice.

Let the Spirit heal our hearts

Thru his quiet gentle pow'r.

May we purify our lives

To receive him hour by hour."

Then this morning it was "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfeild:

"Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window,

Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find . . .

Reaching for something in the distance,

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhabitions:

Feel the rain on your skin.

No one else can feel it for you:

Only you can let it in.

No one else can speak the words on your lips

Today is where you book begins:

The rest is still unwritten."

Now back when I was younger and more idealistic - romantic one might say - I used to think that when I woke up with a very random song in my head that it was akin to Heavenly Father using words I already knew to bring home a particular message.

These two songs, if searched on Google or Bing would likely not come up together under any circumstances. But they turned up in my head this week speaking of a common goal. It is a desire my devoted readers are familiar with. In fact, I could probably do a "fill in the blank" and every single one of you would get it right. Let's play with that.

A common theme/goal I keep rehashing while not actually doing any real definite work to move the cause forward is:

A. Learning the famous poem "The Jabberwocky" by heart,

B. Peeling a potato in one long strip like Meg Ryan peels the apple in Sleepless in Seatle,

C. Cohearantly writing down at least ONE of my stories from beginning to end in an attempt not only to have it told, but also eventually get it published to wide acclaim, or

D. Make a new renewable energy source out of onions and wax.

So let's say, just for the sake of argument, that my romantic side is right and in fact I am being given gentle, musical nudges toward C. What would that mean exactly? It would mean that Sunday School teachers are right and we all recieve answers to prayer differently. It would also mean that HF is totally aware of me, no matter how far off a particular mark I seem to be focusing. It might even mean that in my brain is a capacity for writing a particular something. I just realized that perhaps I've been thinking about this all wrong (though, really, when haven't I).

Yikes . . . off the top of my head I can think of three other posts I've written just like this one! It reminds me of the people in Church who ask why we are taught the same lessons over and over again. Why are we always encouraged to read the Book of Mormon or attend a Gospel Doctrine Class teaching about the Fall of Adam again? It's because we're not learning the first or second or third or twentieth time!!!

So . . . this must be the Spirit trying to beat me over the head. It's sure a nice way to beat me over the head. Certainly there are worse ways . . .

And while thinking this over I have decided it's a good time to abandon this particular blog (the basic refrain that it is) and spend some time opening myself up to who ever or WHAT ever is knocking at my proverbial door.

One of two.

2010-04-15T16:58:00.002-07:00

I have been playing my dictionary.com game like mad. And found a new T.V. show to enjoy: Justified. I didn't think I was a fan of Timothy Olyphant . . . but I have had my mind changed. I really like this show. I hope FX likes it just as much so I don't have to keep falling in love with and then losing shows.

And that's really all I have to say on the matter . . . Muad'Dib seems to think that there is "quality" and there is "quanitiy." I have put a demand on my quantity. And although my hope is that by so doing I will step up my game and improve on my quality . . . I have not done so yet. And I'm not going to right now. I want to go to sleep. Instead I will quick-write a second blog, which you will read first. Maybe next week . . .

Rain is my witness that God loves me. (I'm not kidding.)

2010-04-08T20:56:00.004-07:00

I did say I would write more. But I have since been plagued with car troubles and the spending of money on groceries. These problems have only been broken up by . . . wait. A good many things. Okay. Out of the whine and into the joy!

*I cleaned out the front garden bed. Now when people come to the house (if they can focus their gaze just so) they will likely proclaim "It is just like the flower beds 'round the temple!" Or so I imagine.

*I played with the kids outside, blowing bubbles of gargantuan size and voluminous shape!

*I went shopping for my brother's birthday.

*I was able to go to a corner grocery store and find absolutely everything my little heart could desire in way of food, hygiene and drink. How many people all over the world wish they were ME today?!

*I talked with my very own father for TWO HOURS. I had him all to myself. How many women can say that?

* I was able to drive Muad'Dib to work today, which I have not had the pleasure of doing since we got a second car. We made Rivulet laugh with our flirty antics.

* I have watched Lost, New Moon and 24 with my hunny.

*I looked over the wonderful present made by our cast. They even have pictures of Muad'Dib and Alisha as Adam and Milly!

*I arranged picture collages in my father's new office.

*I was asked to write a letter of recommendation. ME! It was as if someone declared: "What you have to say is important. Please write it so others can read it and be swayed in my favor by your words and opinion." Who doesn't want to hear that?

*My son gets to finally attend the Rock show with his Grandma tomorrow!

*My daughter performed a puppet show for me entitled, "The Veggie Tale who got Kicked Over the Fence!" It was a knee-slapper.

So although I have no great, profound discoveries from the past few days, I have had many bursts of joy. And to think I was about to set the week aside as "uneventful." Huh . . .

Good Grief! I turned 29 this week! It was my Gor'ram birthday on Monday. I was totally spacing that!!

I was taken to lunch in SLC by my parents and sister. Then Lemur, Rivulet and I walked to the Church Office Building and found it closed. So we walked to the Lion House and toured the Beehive House. Lemur said it was like going into a whole different world.

We went back to the COB, going through the revolving doors over and over and over, just to make sure they were working properly (you're welcome) and then took a tour to the observation deck. The children LOVED the super fast elevator ride and even more enjoyed looking down on the "New York City" as they called it. We pointed out a few "treasure parks" and decided to explore them.

We descended the elevator and walked to Brigham Young Memorial Park where we played "War," which essentially is to stand at opposite ends of the field as mommy spins in the middle and run until we all crash into each other. I tried to teach them "Marco Polo," but I was just met with giggles and silence.

Then we walked to City Creek Park and took all the different paths we could find, splitting up whenever possible. Rivulet loved the bridges.

Finally we walked to the Kimball Memorial Cemetery behind the Kimball Condominiums where I have spent much of my youth. Lemur was enthralled by the secret walkway that led us to the Kimball Monument. He asked me to read the whole inscription and was very interested in what a Prophet was and why one would get such a big gravestone and park.

We did all of this wearing light jackets and weathering the light spring rain. Okay, so there was a moment while crossing the plaza that we were bombarded by sharp, diamond shaped hail stones. But the children just laughed and laughed.

I didn't take my camera, so there are no physical pictures to share . . . because I did not intend on having such an adventure. And perhaps that is what made it so wonderful. I did not plan. I did not rush. I led my children, my children led me. We were and we were together in exploration. It was the finest birthday gift they could have given me. And it definitely made for one of my best birthdays ever. Oh, and the rain! We all loved the rain!! The rain was a gift from Heavenly Father. His way of saying, "I'm glad you enjoy the earth I made for you. Happy Birthday." I'm sure of it. So don't remark to the contrary. You will be met with silence and a knowing smirk. You don't know.

I'm grateful for the knowledge and experience I have received in exchange for my twenty nine years of life on this earth. I will be grateful as that number continues to climb. Fountain of Youth? No thank you. Fountain of Experiences? Yes, please!

We might need an intervention . . .

2010-04-07T10:03:00.003-07:00

What is that odd music you hear when you visit my page? Why is there suddenly an advertisment to the right? Well, the simple answer is: I have an addiction.

It's alright. I can admit it: I am addicted to WORDS!!

So take note of the new gadget on my sidebar. My highest run to date is level 28, with a score of 58,986.

I am totally and utterly under it's sway. Using words like "Ubiquitous" and "Irrationality," or "Protoplasmic" has never had a more instintanious pay off! Give it a try.

If you dare!!!

"The Egg-Stravaganza Debacle" or "Do unto others."

2010-04-02T07:47:00.003-07:00

Last Saturday, I got some ants in my pants and decided to take the kids to the 100.3 Egg-stravaganza Easter Egg Hunt down at This is the Place park in SLC. Well, we packed some snacks, coats and baskets and set off.

The ride down was wonderful. We had a good time talking to each other and hanging out. Rivulet fell asleep. We arrived and I decided to be smart, and instead of attempting to park in the visually over-full parking lot, I just pulled off onto a side street and parked the car. We had 20 minutes to spare. We were SO going to make it on time.

So where are all the pictures of our wonderful adventure? There are none. Because the wonderful stopped there.

We exited the car into a beautiful March afternoon. It was sunny and warm, birds were singing and we were all in high spirits. Even Rivulet, who was only refreshed by her 30 minute nap. We followed the the droves of people who were walking into the park.

It's unfortunate that I didn't know the entrance to the park was nearly 3/4 of a mile away - uphill - from where we had parked, despite the appearance of being only 30 feet from a viable entrance. Oh no, that was an entrance to the road that led to the parking which was near the actual park which was still downhill from the actual entrance. Well, it was still a nice day, and a walk has never killed us.

But then a large fluffy white cloud thought it might be fun to block out the earths source of heat, but only on This is the Place Park. Seriously! I could look behind us - into the valley - and there was sun. I looked up the mountain only a few yards from where the park ended, and there was sun. But noooo, we had to tough it out and walk in the freezing cold shade. But I was determined to get my kids some of the fun.

We finally arrived at the gate literally 3 minutes after the gates were opened. And all the eggs were gone. I'm not being dramatic. I'm not messing with you. 12,000 eggs were already claimed and in baskets. And I'd say about 50% of the baskets being filled and carried were done so by parents. Yeah, that's right. ADULTS were doing the Egg Hunting, while children held on to a stroller or another parent and watched the fun. Ugh.

Well, we thought, we'll at least get to reap the glory of the Candy Cannon. So when they told us over loud speakers that we needed to clear Main Street because the candy was going to make it all the way from top to bottom, we went about 1/4 the way down the lane from the actual cannon and waited with baited breath.
The Cannon fired, candy zooming into the air in a glorious arc. Then about 200 parents ran into the fray, scrambling to snag candy for their children. My son surged forward with the grown ups, it being too late for me to see what was really going on and stop him. We lost each other for a moment, but he came back to my side soon enough with tears streaking down his cheeks. All the parents were slopping candy into their children's' baskets and buckets while my son cried that he only got one piece, but when he dropped it, a big guy snatched it up.

I decided it would be better to get back to the car and buy them an ice cream.

We began the long trek back to the car. All this time, the fluffy encroacher remained just above us in the sky. And to add insult to injury, it became very windy and blustery. My poor children became very, very cold.

On the way down the hill, we saw a trolley train. We asked if we could ride in it. They asked if we were parked in the parking lot. I answered no. They answered no. My son began to cry again. Rivulet took it like a woman and marched stoically beside me, doing her best to ignore life's cruelties.

We continued our walk and I decided what we needed now was a change of attitude. So I said, "Let's list how we wish this day would have gone; tell a story about it."
That worked for a moment or two. We each did a run down of how we wish the day had panned out. Lemur was full of angst and hurt. Rivulet wanted a pony.
I apologized for my flightiness.

Then it was quiet between us again. So I attempted to play with my kids and take their mind off the fact that not only did they not get to hunt Easter Eggs or claim candy, but that they were so cold and ill-prepared that I had tied their arms up in their candy sacks, hopping to offer some protection from the cold. I'm great, I know. *rolls eyes*

So I suggested we play the Opposite Game. Rivulet declared that she was uninterested in playing any game of any sort, in so many words. So I turned to Lemur, "What's the opposite of light?"
L: *silence*
M: *being chipper* "Dark, right! Okay, your turn."
L: *silence*
M: *still desperately trying to change the mood around* "What is the opposite of silence, you ask? Well that's easy. It's talking! Hahaha!"

L: *with vehemence* "What's the opposite of me wanting to play this game?!"

Well, people were staring at me as I laughed at/with my son. He joined in soon after. And the day was redeemed a bit just a few yards later when a little boy saw Lemur and Rivulet, looking miserable and asked, "What's the matter with them?"
"We were too late to get any candy."
"That sucks," he answered.
"Yep. But we're okay."
The little boy ran off ahead of us. When we caught up with him and his brother and father at the light, he handed my children a piece of candy each. Lemur's eyes brightened and glistened with a different sort of tear.
"Thank you!" he said excitedly.
"No problem. I'd want someone to do it for me," the boy answered. His father looked very proud. And then we walked off in different directions.

We reached the car a few minutes later. I asked the kids if they still wanted to get ice cream. Lemur looked at his one piece of candy, a kindness from a stranger and said, "Nah, I'm good."

Contingency Plans and (hopefully) Good Advice

2010-03-30T20:07:00.003-07:00

Today while driving along 84 east, I saw a mattress on the side of the road. It is not normally there, which might explain why it caught my eye. My first thought was much along the lines of "Nice. What moron would not only fail to secure a mattress to their car/truck but then not at least stop to pick it up off the road after it attempted a run as a kite?"

My next few thoughts were more like mental flashes.
A mattress in the middle of the road; what maneuvers would I take to avoid hitting it and/or the other cars around me.

A mattress on a truck in front of me, the wind whips it up and off the bed. Then, after making a shallow and terrifying arch in the air, it lands squarely on my windshield. What do I do then? I assessed the images in my head and came up with a plan or two.

First of all, it would be important not to freak out and swerve like a crazy.

Then - going with the mattress/plywood on the windshield thing - I would quickly but gradually slow down and pull to the right side of the road, using my passenger window and mirror to gage how quickly I was coming up on the shoulder. Then I would stop and possibly start crying.

Now, if the mattress were in the middle of the road, all I would really have to do is maintain control of the car, making a wide sweep, while slowing down at a reasonable pace, to the nearest shoulder and around the mattress. There was once, when I was driving to SLC with my mom and we happened upon a ladder in the middle of I-15 just before Beck Street. In what seemed like simulcast, I looked in the rear view, side view mirrors and turned on my left blinker; then I swept to the left and avoided the ladder. Granted, I was within about four inches of the car behind me, but I should also point out that I sped up to get that four inches between us.

Wow. Just describing it gives me a fear induced adrenaline rush.

These sorts of "Bad Scenarios" often then lead me to think, "Okay, what would I do if so and so in the car died?"

Mixed with those thoughts is an odd sort of self training. The last couple of times I've been in a relatively near miss, I have not shouted, "Oh come on you pile of @%&*!" No, instead I have said, "I love you kids!"

We have not yet been in a life threatening accident. Hopefully my mental Worst Case Scenario preparation will continue to keep us from it. And still I have taken the time to make sure that if I die in a car crash, the last words my kids will hear me say are, " I love you kids."

This may be morbid. But it's how I cope. It's how I roll. I also have mental plans for if an intruder breaks into our house armed with a variety of weapons or intents. I know how I'm going to get the family out of our house should it catch fire, and have a different route based on where the fire starts. Muad'Dib and I have discussed a meeting place should there be a disaster.

I have even talked myself into a bit of emotional preparation should any of my loved ones exit this life.

Why do I do this? Not sure, really. It began long ago. I play out my fantasies, dreams, plans and fears in great visual and emotional detail - just in my head. And I have a superstition. That is: "If I plan for it, it won't happen." I deep down hold to the belief that if I am prepared for it, "it" will not happen. And if I haven't thought of it, that's the "it" that will come out to play.

For instance: I never prepared to gain a ridiculous amount of weight while pregnant. I had planned for a perfect pregnancy, and five children all in a row. Hmm.

I didn't prepare to play Lily Craven in Secret Garden. Yet that's who I played.

I never planned on visiting Japan, yet that is the only place I've been outside the U.S.

I had an understudy for every bride but one in Seven Brides. And guess which one got hurt? You guessed it.

What interests me right now is that seeing the mattress and the subsequent tendency to plan for the very worst and most gruesome is the topic that rose to the top of my thoughts this evening when I sat to the blog.

My life coach, Wildman, once asked me, "What's the worst that could happen?" He meant it in a specific context; and yet I cope with seeing " the worst" and then deciding how I would meet it.

Okay: Swordfish thought: I was speaking to a friend today that I have not seen in a month or two. She was going on about how a particular first grade teacher yelled at her and demanded that her son be in the show today; downright attacking her mothering.

I listened patiently the first time she told the story, though the descriptions did not even remotely match the woman that I knew. So then the third time she went through it, I stopped her with, "I'd like to play the devil's advocate for a moment."
She looked concerned.
"Knowing what I know of Mrs. Teacher, couldn't it be possible that you perceived her as yelling, when in fact you might have been feeling guilty and like a slacker-mom anyway?"
Her eyes went wide. "No. I don't think so."
"So, you had your son out of school because he was sick for four days. This teacher, who has a reputation for being an absolute sweetheart, just plain has it out for you? She has picked you out of the sixty other parents she could yell at? Are you really that important?"
My friend laughed, and ran her hand through her hair, "No. I'm probably not. But then why did she yell at me?"
"Did she yell or did it just feel like she yelled? I do that sometimes. I remember what I was feeling and then when I retell the story to others, or even to myself, the person takes on characteristics that I assume they must have been exhibiting to get me to react the way I did."

Well, you would have thought I sprouted purple feathers from my head and bellybutton.
"Um . . ."
"I mean, if you were her: would you be really stressed out right now?"
"Yes . . ."
"And wouldn't you be a little snippy with a wishy-washy parent who was trying to make you decide whether or not their sick kid should be in the play today?"
"Well I hadn't thought about it like that."

Now that's a sentence I like. I like to hear itand I especially like to say it. I love to facilitate that in others, and even more I like the times when my brain is expanded just a bit; enough to utter those words myself.

What do these two commentaries have in common? I have no idea. But I did say I was going to post/blog more. So, take what you get. Unless someone would like to place an order. Anyone want me to review a book, movie, actor, song, picture, or gospel principle? Hey, I'll take suggestions. I'm just getting started here, after all.

I take upon myself this challenge.

2010-03-28T19:58:00.003-07:00

Did anyone notice that in 2007, I had 101 blog posts? Well, I did. I also noticed that in 2009 I had 39. That says something to me, especially in the light of my last post.

It seems that in 2007, I did A LOT of whining. Well, whining, complaining, venting, and so forth; mostly negative things.

Today before we left for church I found an old notebook of mine that I haven't looked at in over 3 years. Inside I found a bit of a treasure, for on about seven pages was a very basic rundown of my life, as written by the 2004 me. This outline was preceded by a diet/weight loss plan and objectives. It is obvious that I was trying to talk myself into action. And then I wrote this:

"I can ask myself 'important questions' all day long - but it changes nothing. Let's instead recognize the times that changed my life."

Then I began at birth and did numbers, letters and bullet points for various people and events in my life, often footnoted by comments like "poetry began," or "@ 8 saw Mom as Guenevere." I pinpointed the very age when I began to dream of writing and publishing my very own book. "True exaggeration for attention began" when I was 9. I noted that catching a lizard was important to my development and growth. Event listed as #11: "First sign of fear," followed by "True anger came out." Yoda was right: fear leads to anger.

I have recorded when I first heard and felt the difference between the Spirit and those who would impersonate the spirit. I figured out why my first real relationship failed and summed it up beautifully: "Why did J.R.R. fail? I held back."

And then I read the line that deeply spoke to me today. At # 31: "Developed 'introverted creative melancholy.'"

It was around that time in my life that I figured that there were more ways to describe sadness, and that sadness had a sort of accessible beauty to it. So many people could read my sadness and say, "Yes, I felt that way too, once." I also feared that I didn't know happiness well enough to write about it.

What I didn't understand was that happiness in my life is like oxygen. It's always everywhere. It exists for no other reason than to be taken in by me. If I hold my breath, hold on to one particular happiness: eventually I suffocate myself. If I exhale a happiness and never want to replace what I just let out, I will suffocate myself. And on the other extreme, if I breath it in day in and day out and never acknowledge it, whose fault is it that I do not see happiness? I totally get that now, because every day I employ my agency and take in my happiness, savoring it's sweet flavor!

I have past said that "I am essentially a happy woman," or "I am content." Those comments seem to have the caveat that I have not been or will not always be so. No more of that garbage. I will just come out and say the truth: I battle depression. I have a tendancy, spurred on by sugar and food abuse, to over-react to bodily sensations and misinturpret them as sadness or un-happiness. But if you ask me "Are you happy?" My answer will be "Yes." because even though I may not feel happy, I AM happy.

I'm not sure why I gave up writing after I got married/after I finished with school. I have not yet pinpointed what drove me to share and create less and less with the written word over the last two years. But I am deciding NOW that I will open myself up to the random creativity I enjoyed years ago. Random creativity that produced my heartbreakingly honest short story "What She Deserved," or random bits of verse like this:

"Down the page columns go
hopes and dreams come and go
Here today, tomorrow gone
What will stay number one?
Ev'ry day changes come
once a child - then a home
Love or fame, beauty bloom
Safe above sorrow's doom
Darker days where goals will change
open wide the shifting range."

Did anyone say I have to be Auden or T.S. Elliot? No. I have made similar declarations before. Perhaps some of my readers are tired of hearing me sing the same songs, as it were. So I am going to challenge myself.

I will begin writing the Book of Sayyadina. I will leave pieces of paper in my wake, scribbled and inked with my thoughts and creations. In fact, I will blog a blog twice a week. Wow. That is scary to put out there. I can do it though, right? Heck yeah. Bad, good, happy, sad . . . I have risked these emotions before and carry no fatal wounds for the sharing. Okay. I'm going to do this. Here's to more than 101 in 2010!!!

It feels like a squirmy-wormy. In my soul!

2010-03-27T08:27:00.003-07:00

Something is not quite jiving. Hmm.

In thinking over my last blog, I have recognize in myself a habit of self-deprecation. Not when it comes to singing or acting or even dancing, really. I can see my worth in those areas. Yay. However, while policing my thoughts the past few days I have noticed a trend:

"I should write today. But So & So told me she already has 326 pages of her manuscript done. She's so far ahead of me. Maybe the world has enough authors and I should find something else to do . . ."

"I'd like to go on a hike. But I'm not as fast as *sister-in-law* or as strong as *brother-in-law.* I'd slow everyone down. Remember Subway?" And then the memory of my behavior on Subway pretty much shuts me down.

"I wanna take a dance class. But I'm not as thin as Thus 'n' So, nor have I been dancing for as long as most of the people there. They'd have to spend too much time on me. I'll dance in my kitchen." Which I don't do because:

"I'll dance in the kitchen. But what if someone sees me? I don't look cool like people in the movies . . ."

"I want to go for a run. I'm too bouncy. And I can't run a marathon like Pretty Lady in the ward. She ran six miles yesterday, and it was like nothing. Leave the running to the runners."

"I feel like doing Yoga this morning." *image of adorable sister-in-law at a particular SU lake enters my mind, full of grace and form* "Well, maybe after everyone goes to bed or something. I don't look like it's supposed to look."

"I should pick up the Tobie story. But when I told that lady about it, she did say that my premise was common. I should just leave that one alone."

"I want to host a party! I'm not as well off as SomePeople. And my house isn't as big as theirs. Maybe I'm not a very good hostess after all. I wish someone would invite me over to their house . . ."

I'm sure the idea has been got. Yikes. I just wrote a big old blog about compliments. About being grateful for what and who YOU are. And I totally missed the point of being grateful for what I AM. And to do so without comparison.

None of these people said I wasn't as good at the activity as they were. I did. I said I wasn't as good or talented or fast or thin or flexible or whatever else. ME!

So . . . how can I rephrase these in my head to leave only the compliment to them, and make it not about me?

Um, I just took a minute aside and tried to re-write the above self-depricators. It's hard! I'm really struggling. How does one re-frame one's own thoughts so as not to shut one's self down? The best I came up with was straightforward, "So & So is totally focused. How could I learn from that?"
I'm thinking that could apply to all of these. "What could I learn from them/that/him/her/it?"

AHA!
That is the key! I must be humble enough to accept that there is always something we can learn from everyone! Even the people we feel we have no threat from, "I'm easily a better mom than her." (Sometimes I think people think this about me . . .) It goes back to asking yourself, "Is that true? Can I absolutely know it is true? What does that say about me? Who would I be without that thought?"

My brain opened up and I am pleased with the result. No wonder this has been itching around inside me for long. I was about to learn something! And I have. I have learned that pride is counteracted by humility, and humility is the attitude of being consistantly grateful and employing a willingness to learn from situations and my other brothers and sisters.
Awesome, Father in Heaven; simply awesome. Thank you!

I wish I could speak on THIS in church . . .

2010-03-25T14:32:00.005-07:00

Last Sunday Muad'Dib and I sang and gave talks in church. We shared our talents with music as well as our aptitude/talents with the written and spoken word, hopefully inviting the Spirit in the process. We received a wonderful response and outpouring of positive feedback from the ward. And intermingled with those compliments I began to notice something. It became prominent enough that I commented on it at a Relief Society activity this week. But first, let me say that through this experience I have had something clarified to me. There are three kinds of compliments.

1. The Sincere Compliment. If done well, all this does is build up the person you are trying to compliment. "Your eyes are beautiful!" "That was fantastic!" "You dance like a gazelle!" "You have such beautiful calves!" "Your hair is like wet slick rock." "I love watching you on stage: you sparkle." etc.

2. The Backhanded Compliment. In a nutshell, this is a compliment that also backhands you across the emotional face with a dis. Such as:"You did so well for a girl of your size." "It's interesting to hear that song sung by an alto." "That was great considering how tired you look." "That was so well done, I'm sure no one will remember how flat you were on the high notes." etc.

3. The Self-Deprecating Compliment. This was the one that was recently brought to my attention, although this week is hardly the first time I've been ambushed by it. These might sound like, "You sounded so beautiful that I'm sure no one wants to hear me!" "Watching you dance is so moving. I feel like a cow." "I wish I could write like you. I'm so scatterbrained." "What do we need a choir for when we have the Nelson's in the ward?" "You were such a perfect Milly I don't think I can ever compare." etc.

I have figured out the problems with the last two types of "compliments." They cannot be responded to politely or without adroit skirting skills. A true compliment leaves a few humble possibilities such as: "Thank you." or perhaps, "I'm glad you enjoyed it!"

What on earth am I supposed to say when people Backhand me or tear themselves down during a compliment?! I mean really:
"I'll just mouth the words while you sing so no one has to hear how bad I am!"
"Oh, thank you."
Come ON!

"You guys were amazing. If I had known you were going to sing that well, we would not have gotten up to sing after you!"
"Thank you for acknowledging that you aren't as welcome to share your talents as we are. It's the first step, really."
Had she just stopped after the first part . . .

"No one wants to hear me talk after listening to you in Sacrament meeting. Will you do my talk for me?"
"Thank you. I'd be glad to help you bury your talents and insight."
REALLY?!!!

Over half of the comments we received on our talents shared were of the Self-Deprecating type. I was getting very tired of dancing nimbly over the exposed feelings they set out for me every time they did this; trying to avoid hurting them, even though they had just said something very hurtful about themselves. One of these happened the other night, as I mentioned. We were about to sing the opening hymn.

A very funny and likable lady sitting next to me pulled out the hymnbook and said, "Now that we have Sayyadina at the table, everyone, just mouth it." To this I replied with some exasperation, "If sharing my talents causes everyone else to bury theirs, I will not be singing again in this ward any time soon." She just looked at me for a moment. Then a lady across the table made a comment to her and all was laughter.

Now, I'm not naive enough to think that she meant that they would not sing. I know it was supposed to be a compliment to me, but it's just getting stupid, and I was tired of it.

It reminds me of that quote by Marianne Williamson:

"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond imagination. It is our light more than our darkness which scares us. We ask ourselves - who are we to be brilliant, beautiful, talented and fabulous. But honestly, who are you not to be so?

"You are a child of God. Small games do not work in this world. For those around us to feel peace, it is not example to make ourselves small. We were born to express the glory of God that lives in us. It is not in some of us, it is in all of us. While we allow our light to shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. When we liberate ourselves from our own fears, simply our presence may liberate others."

I know that we as a church and even as a culture are warned against pride. I can understand how the two crappy types of compliments have stemmed from fear and misunderstanding not only of themselves but of pride. That understanding doesn't keep me from disliking it though. I have learned that good pride is okay, such as being a good steward and thankful for all we have. Bad pride is thinking we are "better than."

I'm a talented lady. I haven't hidden that fact for quite some time. My father taught me that if you are asked to share your talents, do it and you will be blessed with even greater talents/abilities. My mother taught me to always be grateful and remember that all talents/abilities come from Heavenly Father and that everyone has something to offer. The Nelsons have taught me that comparison can be hurtful and dangerous. This ties in to being grateful for what I have and also being grateful for the talents OTHERS possess. I have hoped and acted upon the belief that sharing my talents unshackle others. It's frustrated to think I'm wrong about that.

It's bothersome when sharing my talents flares fear in others, that they choose not to share and grow with me, but to crawl under a bushel and stay there until they rust.

"STOP COMPARING!" I want to scream, "There is no comparison. Talents are talents. They are all good, they are all worthwhile and they are all needed!"

*Deep breath*

Okay; because I cannot control how others compliment me - if and when they do - I will concentrate on how I can best respond. Also from this experience, I will be more careful in HOW I compliment others. I will not cut myself down while building up another. As if I was going to offer a compliment to Bryce Canyon, or Niagara Falls or a sunset. I would not compare myself to the wonder and majesty of that great arrangement of rock and sand, water and stone, cloud and light. So, too, will I not compare myself to the talents of others.

In this way the compliment will be true, sincere, honest and will not be about me. It will be a way to offer love. I must also remember that some people do not accept compliments well. I was taught that if given a compliment, no matter how YOU thought you did, or what flaws YOU see with what you have accomplished, the correct and polite response is "Thank you," possibly followed by "I'm glad you enjoyed it," or "Thank you for coming." Because a sincere compliment is an expression of gratitude, and must not be disregarded rudely. Had they handed you a rose, would you throw it to the ground and step on it? I should hope not.

I like what Trailblazer said a few years ago: "I never turn down praise." Amen, father-in-law. That bit of wisdom also implies that I should be grateful the Backhanders and Self-Depricaters spoke up, no matter that the form is hurtful to one or both of us.

I'll just take a deep breath and say, "Thank you for the compliment." And move on.

A Prize Winning Picture

2010-02-21T20:44:00.002-07:00

"Sonic, the Hedgehog Hero, races to fix the national debt,

so we can maintain our National Parks!"

Lemur's school had an art contest. The theme was "National Debt and how it effects me." I know: yikes. But Grandma Dreampacker gave Lemur a good idea, a picture of Delicate Arch for inspiration and Lemur drew and colored it himself! He won 2nd place and will be awarded $15 at an awards ceremony in April. We're pretty proud!!!

A sweet heart for my Sweetheart . . .

2010-02-21T20:34:00.003-07:00

Happy Anniversary, Love bucket.

Blarg.

"Please Process."

2010-02-12T09:02:00.003-07:00

In my work as the personal assistant to a Financial Planner ("Insurance Salesman" is the old-school term), I often write up form letters that go something like this:

"So and So:

Enclosed is the necessary paperwork and signed amendments to complete delivery on this policy. I am available if there are any questions. Please process. Thank you.

Warmest regards,

etc."

I was driving home from rehearsal for Seven Brides for Seven Brothers on Tuesday night and that phrase, "Please process" took on a whole new meaning.

For the devoted readers of my blog, I can say "Secret Garden" and a few of you could then map out where my next thoughts will travel. And since only the devoted ones really care enough to understand me anyway, I'll just say "Secret Garden" and go on.

It's one thing to look back at that experience and see mostly bad; that only the actual being on stage was any good. It's another thing entirely to say, "I was such a beast during Secret Garden" and have people say with a sigh of relief, "Yes, you were."

The reason that Tuesday brought this up is because I engineered a conversation for Shematite. I thought about it for a few days, wore a picture jasper necklace with a large picture jasper donut pendant, and then after rehearsal asked her if we could do an exercise.

For those who are unfamiliar with Seven Brides (though I can't imagine - if that's the case - that you would somehow have managed to turn on this new fangled computer, let alone find and read my blog! :), the two lead characters are Adam and Milly. They get married after knowing each other a few hours. Milly is surprised to find that Adam has six brothers. She's mad. She makes the best of it, because she believes that Adam is something special. She civilizes the brothers hoping that they'll get married and go away. Adam jumps the gun and encourages the brothers to kidnap the girls they are in love with and hold them captive in the Oregon mountains.

It is at this point that Milly and Adam have an argument/fight that ends with Adam leaving Milly (who is pregnant) to go up to the trapping cabin.

It is this argument that was the inspiration for the exercise.

I don't know Shematite very well. In auditions I asked her to argue with the Adam. After a weak attempt (I learned later that she doesn't yell), I asked her to focus on a life situation that she was angry about. What I saw then was encouraging to say the least. So I thought that a little "real life" application might help her in this scene. Because up to that point, she and the Adam were struggling to make a difficult scene work.

Because I don't know her well, but I did know that she - like I'm sure many others - had a problem with my behavior in Secret Garden, that's what I brought up. I hoped I could get her angry and yelling.

But that's not what happened

How it played out was so much better than I could have ever planned!

The experience was/is bittersweet. On the one hand, I felt a lot of feelings and deliberately opened myself up for some pain/hurt. But there's not a lot I won't do to get a play, scene, or character right. :)

Recall to mind the curls for Beatrice.

And then on the other glorious hand, it was marvelous to see what happened to her as the conversation got going. At first she seemed pleasing and deflective - like she really didn't want to talk about this (and who can blame her?!) But then, as I assured her that this was important to the play, she eased into it. My goal was to guide her into telling me what she wished she could have told me two summers ago.

I believe that although we are all told NOT to judge, we do it anyway. We can't really help it. I have had moments where I thought, "ugh, if they would just ask ME, I could fix it/them." (Please note the telling of the dream two posts down. It's a perfect example of how deep down I think a lot of people are dumber than me. Which is funny and sad considering how much work I still have to do on myself!)

I asked Shematite to let this judgement out. I wanted to see how it would change her body language, energy, speech and facial expressions. Because this sort of "I know best" is exactly what I wanted Milly to have with Adam. Many husbands and wives believe they know better than their spouses. Wildman pointed it out to me as "not playing our true roles." Instead of being Adams wife, for instance, Milly is being his mother. A marriage can't work like that - or at least it shouldn't.

So, in this light, I gave Shematite permission to judge me. She had the go ahead to - out loud - tell me how wrong I was and in what ways I was.

It's possible that she should consider a career in Family therapy. She is a very calm and easy teacher. I learned that when she knows what she's talking about, and when she BELIEVES what she's talking about . . . well, suffice to say: it was a whole different person sitting there. The self-assurity she possessed was downright powerful. Her energy was solid and THERE and totally pulled me in. She was sitting, I was standing but her body language clearly said that SHE was the adult. It was awesome!

And the next night was doubly cool, because when she did her scene with Adam . . . yikes. It was like a different girl. It was pretty close to perfect. It looked like Adam was a child throwing a tantrum and Milly, the totally in control parent, was just looking down on him like "What are you saying, you weirdy?" Which is quite a feat considering the Adam is nearly two feet taller than she is! It's going to be a beautiful scene because it reads so TRUE to what some marriages go through!!!

I'm proud of this experience for two reasons.

1) Shematite not only went for it, but then she applied it. That takes guts and brains. She's the whole package and I have new found respect for her.

2) I didn't wig out.

When I was driving home, my personal self and my professional self were arguing. "She only said what you told her to say." "She was mean."

But when it came down to it, there were two thoughts that ruled the others: "Was she wrong?" and "Please process."

Shematite's trust in me was the plea to process calmly and professionally. If I opened her up to that and then turned on her, I would totally suck. Her trust was the salve that eased the swelling on my pride.

I'm so sorry for my behavior two summers ago. I hope and believe that I have changed. Maybe not everything. Maybe not enough, but some. I have changed some. I hold onto that hope with both hands. I'm not a perfect mother. I'm not a perfect director. I'm not a perfect aunt or wife or daughter or teacher or student or actress or dancer or singer or piano player or writer.

But I do better; I process. And that is what matters.

Eulogy of an Intruder

2010-02-07T08:36:00.002-07:00

"We are here to mourn the death of our beloved Hive-Brother, Flitterbik (so named for Grand old Flitterbik who we believe to have sired so many of us, who was so named for a game he heard a group of humans playing years ago - though he could never quite figure out what "mythological" meant).

Each of us is aware of the conditions and possible future facing our hive-family. Despite the risks, Flitterbik - our noble brother - left the dry and safe confines of the hive this morning in search of food and water. He made little show of his going, shy and reserved as he was, but his actions did not go unnnoticed by Hive-Keeper Whzzzmn. Whzzzmn alerted us to the situation, speaking highly of the stoic and brave Flitterbik, who took no real concern for himself.

A search party was sent out. But as WaterSeeker, Damnit, Barkwalker, Ihatethosebugs, and Ugh reached the take-off platform they saw it was too late. The large long-haired human woman, the one which we call InBetween - so named because she stands between us and food, water and life - caught sight of Flitterbik. For a moment the rescue party thought they had been seen, for InBetween said, "Ugh, damn it! I hate those bugs," but in fact it seems she was just speaking a language that sounded like their names.

To the horror of onlooking eyes, she wound toilet paper around her hand, fashioned it into a soft white coffin - for indeed that's what it was - and approached our brother, Flitterbik. Flitterbik could see the end coming. But overtired from the cold, lack of food and water he greeted his demise gracefully. He held still. He did not make trouble. So doing would likely cause InBetween to actively retaliate on us all. He knew this. His sacrifice enables our survival for a short time longer.

InBetween enveloped him in the tissue and walked him to the Watery Tunnel. The rescue party believes she showed a kind of deference to Flitterbik, because she paused and mumbled something before sending him on his way.

Now, brothers - dear Queen - was Flitterbik's sacrifice for naught? I say no! Ugh tells us that his wings were not moving when he was captured. Ihatethosebugs says he was standing on cloudy air, but sideways. And Barkwalker noted that there was an uncommon amount of moisture in the air. So we have learned something. And that lesson is: If you we do attempt to go out the glowing square, we must not stop and stand transfixed by the cloud! We must push forward with more force and more determination and never stop to rest! For when we do, when we are distracted by the wonder of the man made world, InBetween will find us and InBetween will send us down the Watery Tunnel!

Remember Flitterbik in your hearts, my brothers. And let us wait a while until one of us tries again. Let InBetween think she has got the last of us! Hahahaha!!!"

Yes. This is what I imagine the hornets are saying back in their hive after I killed yet ANOTHER winged intruder in my bathroom. Ugh. I hate those bugs.

I Stand Smiling

2010-02-05T21:10:00.003-07:00

I sincerely feel like writing. And since my "I shouldn't's" overcome the desire more often than not, I figured I had better just let the desire wash over me and see what is left on the beach.

I guess I could start with what I did today . . . I woke crabbily and plodded to the shower. It was a nice shower. I don't remember thinking very much, though I must have because I came out clean and smelling of Herbal Essences. Then I heard an odd buzzing noise. This noise drew my attention and my eyes up to the lights above the mirror. Ah yes, another hornet. Or wasp or yellow-jacket. I don't really care to know the genus of the flying monstrosity that is just one of a dozen I have killed over the past month in the new house. Point is, he was there to frighten, peeve, and otherwise greet me as I emerged all warm and cozy from the shower.

Yes, a hornet INDOORS in January/February. I've heard that the only explanation of this is that there must be an active hive IN THE HOUSE. I know, it freaks me out too. I can't tell where they are coming from and my little friend this morning met his maker after an unsuccessful tango with our energy efficient light bulb, so I have yet to see where they go . . .

Anyway, then I dressed, dressed the children and before I knew it was in the car on my way to work. I worked at work. I didn't do what needed to be done before it needed to have been done, but I did other things that were on the docket. So I suppose that's a good thing.

The highlight of the day was taking the children to Bryson's Rock Shop on Washington. They went crazy in there! They have recently become enamoured of DreamPacker's rocks, gems and oils. Lemur especially is looking forward to a Grandma-Grandson date to the Gem Show this coming week. He desired a $70 Petrified Wood Ball on a golden stand, but opted for a $2 grab bag after he saw that Rivulet had one. They came home happy but by no means satiated. Rivulet declared, "This is the beginning of my rock collection!"

I have in my head the thoughts that should be, the thoughts that can't help but be and the thoughts that wish I had more time to think them. Sometimes it feels as though they come of their own accord, respectfully taking a number as I try to fill their order before they begin pushing each other and yelling "Hey, I was next!" to the thought that suddenly needed immediate attention.

Potty Training is one of these thoughts. Writing in general or in specific is one of the more patient loiterers of my mind. There is the self doubt, the self deprecation and the feeling of loss every month that I'm not expecting another child. Mostly, these stay in the background behind the joy and contentment that rules my greater waking hours until a trigger lurches them uncomfortably forward.
In those moments it is good to have Muad'Dib around. "It'll pass," he says as he strokes my hair, "In a few days, you'll feel your real feelings again and be okay."
He's right. He's almost always right . . . and I'm proud to be the sort of woman that can hear when her husband is right and just nuzzle up in the truth for a moment, enjoying the warmth and comfort it offers: "It'll pass."

Last year at this time I was beginning the Cleanse from Hell. Not my theater cleanse - that one worked super well. No, I mean the physical cleanse that kidnapped, tortured and overfed my emotional inner beast for four months. I'm still recovering in some ways.
I believe that, physically, the cleanse did a lot of good. But I was in no way prepared for the side effects of cleaning out one's body. As a warning: If you have taken ANY anti-depressants, pain medications, antibiotics, cold medicine, anti-psychotic medication, antinausea pills, sleeping pills or any other dosage of chemical weirdness it will be RANDOMLY re-released into your bloodstream as the cleanse does it's work.

Yikes. As a woman who took numerous antidepressants for five years, I thought that when I quit cold turkey and remained drug free for the next five years, I was home free. Nope. Turns out all of that stuff was still hiding out in my system.

Anyone want to know what I was doing last February through May? Trying to survive. That's what I was doing. I can't imagine how Mua'dDib handled it. I have small memory glimpses of him during that time, but the most I can remember of myself is sitting in front of my laptop watching T.V., eating, and trying not to think or feel anything.

And even then, Mua'dDib was right. It passed. It was awful. It was hard, it was trying. I wanted to leave. I wanted to check into an institution until I was past whatever it was. And instead, I rode it out. I shut a few people out of my life in the process . . . but I came out on the other side. And that's something.

So days like these that start weird, continue weird and end a little off . . . I can take those days. Especially if I can get that little reminder, "It'll pass." Because now I really know, can really believe that it can, will and does pass.
And I am still standing.

Quite honestly I am surprised that this is turning into the subject of my post. I intended never to speak of, let alone write about, this experience. I have a feeling there was more yelling and crying and hurt feelings than I would like to acknowledge. And yet this is what is scrambling to the front of my brain tonight.
And not for a journal entry either.
I don't know that someone needs to hear it, or that someone needs to read it so they can understand a little of why I behaved as I did last year. Perhaps it is simply my opportunity to declare that it is PAST and no longer PRESENT.

When I was fourteen, I had a dream that I was in Salt Lake City, walking around with a group of my Junior High girl-friends. They were all in flowing blue/pink dresses, much like long ballerina dresses. I was in jeans and a t-shirt. I knew we all wanted to get to the Chocolate Shoppe. I knew the way because I had been there before. I tried to lead my friends, but every one of them wanted to dally, look over the sights and even wander along unfamiliar or unmarked roads. I tried to urge them on, shepherd them to our destination as quickly and safely as possible. They did not listen to me.
Finally, we arrived at the shop. As mentioned, I had been there before. I had tasted all the chocolates and so knew the best of the bunch. I told them to choose the blueberry truffle. But no one would listen. One by one my friends chose another chocolate and one by one, they all fell to the ground. I don't know if they died or just fell asleep, but in the dream I was very distraught and disappointed.
This dream has come to me many times over the fourteen years since I had it. I still don't entirely understand it.

I'm not even sure how it applies, yet somehow feel that it does. So . . .

This is my gift for the night. It has been over a month since I wrote last. I have not read a book since the cleanse. I have little desire to read, honestly. And though saying so brings tears to my eyes, I have difficulty picking up a book. Even an old friendly book like Ender's Game or Rebecca. Actually, I still struggle with having a desire to DO things.

Despite that - despite all disappointments that hedge a normal life - I declare that I am a happy woman. Perhaps I should write about that next time. And until then, I hold close the fact that on days like this that start weird, continue weird and end just a little bit off . . .all in all I can take those days over the sort of days I had last year. Because I now have a firm testimony that "it" can, does and always will pass.
And I will remand standing.
As I am now.

Loving the Gamer in my Man

2009-12-14T20:59:00.003-07:00

It's possible that I write better when cold. Like wine or ginger ale, my thoughts are best when chilled. Though that could be said for most of us.

In this case I don't mean that my thoughts have been given a chance to run their course and thereby form themselves into greater literary greatness, but the actual physical temperature of my fingers. When I'm cold, I have a greater proclivity to write. So I guess in a way I will miss these horrible single-pane windows when we move.

My children are nestled snug in their beds. My husband is playing Modern Warfare, which explains at least in part why I am blogging. It is really all I can do online while he games. Watching a movie or catching up on a network T.V. show is out of the question as it slows his game play and might make him or his team lose.

I do not begrudge him his nightly games with such friends as Phred, The Scrub, StOffdog and DecrepitSpoon. No, in fact I often nights find myself at his feet, absent-mindedly massaging his "doggies" (my brother's term for feet) or scratching his legs as I watch and cheer him in his virtual victories. Sometimes those head shots are downright incredible. I even get so wound up that I have been know to yell, "Oh come ON!! You were robbed! You SO got him first!!!" I would say that I am just doing my duty as The Most Awesome Wife Ever, but I would be telling a half-truth.

Yes, enjoying his games as he games does secure my title, but I don't only do it for the glory. I also sit there because the visuals of the game are pretty great. Some more than others, though. For instance, I could sit for a few hours together watching Muad'Dib playing Assassin's Creed I or II. I just think they're beautiful. I also enjoy the story and the all around game play. I also liked Star Wars: the Force Unleashed, and the Prince of Persia series. And the music of Morrowind still takes me back to our second apartment: me pregnant as the day was long, lounging on the couch and scratching Muad'Dib's head as he played and I fell to sleep.

I seriously don't get the women who whine and complain about their casual gaming husbands. I mean really: have you ever even TRIED it? I actually enjoy playing a few choice games myself on Xbox 360. I certainly enjoy the look on my husband's face when he arrives to find me curled up on the LoveSac, finishing Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, or winning a game of Settlers of Catan.

Not to mention all the family friendly games that can be had on the consoles nowadays! In fact, we just held an impromptu "Family Night" and finished it off with a few rounds of Battleship and Connect Four. Rivulet and Lemur were actually able to play against each other! Muad'Dib helped and all the while I sat on the floor with a bottle of lotion, massaging little and big feet while cheering on who ever was not in the lead!

Well . . . I suppose that is all I have to say on the matter tonight. And when it comes down to it this post is really just a reminder of how much I love my life, my children and especially my husband. Even if loving him means I can't watch an episode of "How I Met Your Mother" before bed. Instead, I will go snuggle with him while he games. And, rest assured, I'm going to like it.

Thinking Willy-Nilly

2009-12-12T20:49:00.002-07:00

Spurred on by the comment of my long-time-not-seen Mother-in-law, I write before retiring to bed. At least this time it's my own bed.

Ah, and casting for Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is complete! So now if I am beset by theatrical images, they have faces and bodies to them. I can finally begin mental blocking, which I then run by my better half. And I mean the good kind of mental blocking, not the mental blocking that means things are gummed up and unmoving, but in fact the blocking that means I know exactly where everyone and everything will go. I outline their traffic patterns and reasons for said traffic patterns.

Muad'Dib is dangerously right: I'm going to enjoy this.

Part of me doesn't want to. Part of me is holding on with both hand and all ten fingernails to the Sayyadina that came home from "Into the Woods," hung up her theater shoes and just was. At home with my children, keeping up the house; staying within walking distance from my own front door . . . these are the things I want to hang on to. I was released from all the garbage that overwhelmed me last winter and spring. I was unshackled from the drama of the theater. I was looking forward to more home and more family and more children.

And now . . . the TheaterGeek inside is scrambling for secure footing in my head. As well it should be, seeing as The Husband and I are co-directors, and I'm the only one between the two of us who has done it before.

I have noticed in the past two weeks that I have lost a part of myself. It's a small part - but I have begun to miss it. I used to be a ListMaker. You know: To Do, To Buy, To Bake, Gifts, To Clean, To Pack, etc. Any process that could be made faster and clearer by having a list laid out before hand HAD a list. And then, as we were gearing up for Auditions I noticed that I had not the slightest inclination to list.

I then sat down and TRIED to list. It was very difficult. After a few minutes, holding my head between my hands, staring down at the lined paper of a purple notebook thinking "Where do I start?" I realized that I was unable. I remembered that I was once able, and was no longer so.
Over the aforemeantioned two weeks, I have attempted lists numerous times - just today, in fact - to little avail. It is much like trying to break an egg by squeezing it in your hand. Or like walking through a maze while hungry and dehydrated. You know there's a rhyme and reason to the twists and turns - or that there could be if you thought about it hard enough - but you're so miserable, you don't give a damn. You just want to sit down and - dude.

I apologize for the "dude," but it really fits my brain right now.

My infamous "Give-up Attitude" is not gone! It's still here! I wonder that perhaps it always has been.

No . . . I was not a "Give-up"-er my entire life. Were that so, I would not have ever been a singer, dancer, college student, good cook or good daughter. Or good wife or have well behaved children. No, this is a new-ish malady.

It's likely that the give-up attitude is directly linked to my weight, in which case I do not desire to further discuss it. In fact, I am now going to abandon this thought process altogether.

Except that in doing so, I shut off my mind from the free flow of inspired thought. And still I choose to keep it that way. So I will go to bed as I have been advised and try not to think of these things anymore.

No; not to think of possibly being over-run by TheaterGeek. not think of being a "give-upper" or an "Issue Skirt-er." Nor will I dwell on my being the "Dream Breaker" as I'm sure I was for some people while casting.

I just have too many thoughts I don't want to have. And the thoughts I do want to have and DO want to write about keep getting shoved violently aside, bombarded and trampled over by all the other yuck that I have taken in over the last few weeks like unaware shoppers on Black Friday.

Perhaps I always will need Theater. Sitting before my laptop, thinking that thought - I let out a low whine like a dog. How do my posts become so terribly personal like this? I suppose it has been quite a while, actually, since most of you were invited willy-nilly into my brain and heart, to be lost along the routes that my thoughts travel from one to the other.

Well, I guess then for those of you who missed these "Wonka Factory" type explorations, you will be pleased by my vulnerability and unwillingness to really see myself - and the opportunity that this give you to see me so clearly. From so far away.

And those of you who just skipped to the bottom of the post hoping to see pictures because the blog itself looked dangerously wordy: you were right to do so.

Good night.

"YOU rise, YOU shine!" grrr

2009-12-09T04:52:00.003-07:00

It is now 4:53 am on a Wednesday morning. I went to "bed" at 11:45pm and little more than dozed until around 3 am.
Muad'Dib and I had callbacks for 7 Brides last night. The dancing and the faces and the movements and the judging and the nuances of casting has been mosh-pit-ing in my head. Couple that with an uncomfortable couch, weird noises in my parent's house, an ill-sleeping Rivulet, a stuffy nose due to dog hair, and Lemur talking in his sleep a foot from me . . . and it translates to a night of un-rest.

So, what is a girl to do this early in the stupid morning? I've already watched a few things on Hulu. I've cursed the fact that I didn't just go home and risk being up until 1 - at least I would be asleep right now. I've debated eating something and tried to focus on all my bodily sensations so I wouldn't over-react and assume I was suffering from Anxiety or something. No, just dropping blood sugar. It feels the same, though.

We've been up to alot, really. Muad'Dib finished his run as Gaston in "Beauty and the Beast" at the Playhouse. I helped out my mom by running mic's for her show "Ebenezer" which finished performing just after Thanksgiving. We held auditions and the first set of callbacks for 7 Brides, which Muad'Dib and I will be directing together (to open February 19th).

Lemur has continued school. He's doing very well and his teacher is forever commenting on his art skills. I guess he's got a bit more "Robert" in him than we thought! Rivulet has continued on her path to turning four, but not on the one that passes potty-training. She avoids that path like it's a dark and spooky tree-lined Walk of Doom.

We will be moving into a new house sometime before the middle of January. Yay. A house. I'm exited for the open floor plan, superfluous closets and two car garage!

That exclamation point took a lot out of me. You'd think that because I'm so tired, I'd be able to sleep, right? Apparently not.

And I'm becoming aware of just how loud my keystrokes are, with my little ones sleeping almost peacefully not 10 feet away. Perhaps I should try another go at sleeping. I'm just concerned that I will merely continue the parade of theatrical judgement and so forth that thus far has kept me from sleep's sweet respite.

Oh that my mind would turn off; that I might be in my own bed, listening to my husband sleep and the heater click on an off periodically. My parent's apparently have a real gor'ram DRAGON under the stairs to serve as their furnace! Seriously! Every twenty minutes or so, this incredible belching grumph interrupts an otherwise close-to -silent environment. My heart does hopscotch - missing a beat - and then my brain tries to make sense of the feeling. "What the . . .!?" And despite that, despite the monster bellowing and roaring to life: my hands and toes are like little dexterous icicles. Okay, my hands are. My toes are regular ice blocks, not being very dexterous at all.

And yet, if and when I lay down, I quickly become overheated which - as most of us know - causes a normal nose to stuff up. Great. Now my back is cramping AND I can't breathe. Ugh.

I am meant to wake up and begin my day in one hour and twenty minutes. 6:30am to those of you not keeping track of the time. How will I be able? Suck it up and move forward, I guess.
Take the boy to school, clean the house . . . it's likely I'll be able to fit in a nap after the boy returns from his futile half-Wednesday. I mean really, if one is going to award a half-day to children, shouldn't it be on a FRIDAY so we can begin the weekend early? A Wednesday just messes everyone up!!

Meh. It's not like anyone listens to me. Particularly not during or through a ranting, incoherent and barely cohesive cognitive rambling at 5:12 in the morning.

I suppose it would behoove me to try again. If I fail, there is always "V" on Hulu. I haven't watched past the first episode. And I've just given up on FastDumbward. If I wanted to be spoon-fed a "Lost" type show, I'd just watch those horrible two hour ABC recaps. At least it'd be over in two hours!

Fine, you don't like me cranky-funny and sleep deprived? neither do I. I thought this would turn into a beautiful and majestic geyser of creativity . . . but it's just not. So . . . whatever.

also, if anyone knows what movie my title comes from, I will be most impressed."

A Story - Based on Actual Events

2009-11-15T13:18:00.005-07:00

The Mystery of the Missing Legos

While cleaning his room Saturday morning, my son made a grisly discovery.
“Mom!” he screamed from his room.
I ran to see what the problem was, “What?” I asked as I burst through the door.
I was met with large, wet, blue eyes brimming with tears. My son was squatting next to his most precious possession: a canister of 500 Lego’s he had received last year for Christmas and on his face was a look of pure anguish. “My Lego’s are missing!”
I made a face, “No they’re not. I’m sure they’re all in there. Remember how even when we opened it for the first time, it was only full halfway? That’s just how they do it.”
“No!” He yelled in protest. I could see he was both frustrated and hurt that I didn’t believe him. “Look!”
Rolling my eyes at his dramatic flair, I moved closer and looked into the plastic box. He was right. There were maybe 100 Legos inside. And they were all tiny. Where were the rest? I looked up at him, “Holy cow!” I said, “Where are the rest?”
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, “I don’t know. If I knew, I would go get them!”
My son was only 6.5 years old, and even at his age he was not one for losing things; especially not his Lego’s. It was nearly Thanksgiving, and he hadn’t lost a single one out of 500 in the eleven months since he’d received them. I had never stepped on Legoes in the night, I had never vacummed up a stray block. From Christmas morning till now, he had taken care of each and every one like they were tiny bars of gold.
“Well, where could they be?” I muttered under my breath. By now I was searching my memory banks to remember if I had seen 400 stray legos lying around anywhere. I had. But it was days ago.
“Hey Lemur, remember on Monday, when you came home from school?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you remember seeing the Legos when you came home that day?”
His eyes lit up with a 6 year-olds rage and then narrowed, “RIVER!!” He yelled his sister’s name just as I looked over to her in the adjoining Family room. She jumped a little at the sound.
“What?” she answered, surprised but unbullied by his tone.
He stood and stomped over to her. I followed. “Where are my Legos?!” he demanded.
“You don’t need to yell at her, Liam,”I chided.

“But she TOOK them - without asking! - and now I can’t find them!”
I turned his face to look at me, “But you don’t have to yell.” Then I took a deep breath and he followed my example. “River was building with daddy," I reminded him, "so don’t get mad at her. Let’s just ask if she knows where they went.”
I squatted down next to my 3 year old daughter who was playing with a Weebles treehouse, “River-bottom, do you know where Liam’s Lego’s went?” She ignored me, “River.” She looked up, “Remember when you played with Daddy the other day, and you played with Liam’s Legos?”
“Uh-huh. We built a castle.”
“Oh, yes.” I said, remembering the super-awesome dollhouse/castle my husband had built for his daughter out of his son’s Legos. Come to think of it, super-awesome doesn’t do it justice . . . anyway, I asked, “Do you remember where you put them when you were done?”
She sniffed absently. She said “Nope,” and went back to playing.
“Hmm.” I said, “I’ll go call Daddy and see if he remembers.”
I opened the phone and went up the stairs, hoping that I would just see the Lego’s displayed somewhere higher than the kids normally looked.
“Hey honey.”
“What’s up?”
“Do you remember the castle you built with River on Monday?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“You mean now?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
I heard a scream downstairs. “Because your son has noticed that about 400 Legos are missing from his box and is now screaming like a banshee at your daughter whom he blames for the loss.”
“Ah.” He started laughing.
“It’s not funny,” I chastised half-heartedly.
“Yes it is. Cause you’re home and I’m not,” he said, giggling.
I chuckled a little as well, until another bout of screaming wafted up the stairs. “You seriously don’t remember cleaning them up or something?”
“No. Did you check – “ and then he listed about fourteen of the most obvious places in the house, each of which I had already given the once-over.
“I don’t know what to do. He’s going crazy!”
“Just tell him it’s a game of Hide and Go Seek and the Legos’ are hiding.”
“See, this is why I call you,” I said with a sigh, “because I was about to go out and buy him more!” I laughed, but my husband didn’t see that it was funny.
“No, don’t do that.”
I laughed harder. “I won’t. Thanks. Love you.”
I returned back down the stairs to find my son crying on his bed, his sister standing in the doorway to his room with her hands on her hips yelling, “No. I. Didn’t!”
“YES YOU DID!” He screamed.
And back to the job.
“Okay, you two. Knock it off.”
River had the decency to look up at me with regret (for yelling or for being caught – it didn’t matter to me), but my son continued to cry even after I sent River out to play in the family room.
I sat beside him on the bed, prepared to implement my husband’s idea.
“Hey Lemur. Let’s pretend that the Lego’s are hiding, and we have to find them.”
“But we don’t have any clues!” He wailed through slowing tears.
And then it hit me. Not Hide-and-Go-Seek!
“Well, it is a mystery . . .” I began, hoping he’d take the bait.
His crying stopped. He looked at me with wild joy in his wet eyes, “Like a real mystery?” the excitement in his voice was obvious.
I nodded. I had a feeling this would work better if it was entirely his idea. He actually needed no further prodding.
He literally jumped off the bed, tears forgotten and pain behind him. He was in the throes of imagination. “We can find clues!” he exclaimed. “We have to question witnesses and keep a log!” He scurried to his desk and found a tiny Spiderman notebook, “Here, you write everything down. Let’s solve the case!” He put his hand out toward me. The excitement was catching. I put my hand on his, he put his other one on mine, and my other hand made the top of the pile. “Real Mystery!” he shouted.
“Let’s get going!”

“Okay, first things first,” I had taught him that platitude about four months ago when he began having chores. He loved to use it.“When did they go missing?”
“The last time Daddy or River saw them was on Monday, before Kenneth came over for dinner.” I said.
He was pacing in front of me as I sat on the bed, with one arm behind his back and his other hand stroking his chin, “We had better call Kenneth and see if he saw it,” he surmised.
“Good idea.” I took out the phone and began dialing.
“You intrerrogate him,” he instructed.
My eyes lit up in surprise. I didn’t know he knew that word. “Okay,” I answered.
Kenneth picked up after the third ring. “ ‘ello ‘ello.”
“Hey minion.”
“ ‘ello! Mrs. Muad’Dib!”
“I’m on assignment,” I said, my tone formal.
“Really?”
“Liam and I are on a case. And we need your help. You are a witness.”
“Oh, am I?” He sounded downright gleeful.
“Yes. Will you help us?” Liam was listening with baited breath, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Always as ever I can, Sayyadina.”
I smiled at the use of my multiple Dune-themed nicknames, “Thanks. You came over for dinner on Monday night, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And what time did you get here?”
“We arrived shortly after 5:30 pm,” He answered with a clipped tone. I knew he was doing it for Liam, for full dramatic effect. And it was working. Liam was intent on the conversation.
“And what did you see as you entered the house?”
“Uh . . .” He seemed confused, “You want me to describe everything?”
Liam interjected, “No! Did you see my Legos?!”
Kenneth and I laughed. And he answered, “No I don’t remember seeing any Legos. I did see the kids sitting at the pirate table, and they were watching Enchanted.”
“They would have been built like a house or castle?” I offered, hoping to jog his memory.
“Nope. Only clean house smelling of wonderful chowder-y goodness.”
Liam looked disappointed and we were silent for a moment.
“Does that help?” Kenneth asked.
“Yes. Thanks. We better get back to the investigation.”
“Anytime. Bye.” And we hung up.
Liam flopped on the bed, face first, his legs dangling off the edge, “That didn’t help at all!” he moaned.
“Oh yes it did.”
He rolled over to look at me, “It did?”
“Yes.” I began writing what we learned in the Log as I spoke, “It means that the Lego castle was cleaned up BEFORE Kenneth came over.”
“So we know it couldn’t have wandered outside, and that Kenneth didn’t see it, so he didn’t want to steal it,” Liam offered.
I nodded my head slowly, “uh, yeah. That, or it means that either Daddy or you or River cleaned it up.”
We were quiet for a moment as I finished writing.
Liam suddenly jumped up, “Return to the scene of the crime!” he exclaimed.
“Do it!” I said.
We ran happily through the family room and up the stairs, into the living room. Liam circled the room before coming to a stop in front of the couch under the window.
“Give me the log,” he said.
I did and he began drawing a sketch.
When he finished, he handed it back to me saying, “Here is what my lego’s looked like last time I saw them.” He had drawn a tall house, with an arrow pointing up along the side with the measurement “400 Legos” written next to it. “This,” he said, pointing to the arrow, “Means that it was 400 Legos tall.” Then he had drawn the inside of the house, with its two staircases and benches, and the lightning rod on the top. After I had perused the drawing, he took the log back, flipped the page, and began sketching again.
This time it was the room as he remembered it when he came home from school. He drew the couch and everything else in relation to it: River’s table, the mini DVD player, and the Legos. He even drew an arrow to show what direction he traveled after he came in.
(From the Log:
Scene of the crime: Living room.
Witness: Liam said he saw the castle on River’s little grey plastic table, which was in front of the couch. River was watching a movie, and the DVD player was on the couch. “I was surprised when I came in. Then I was mad. Then I came over in this direction. )
“Okay, honey.” I said as I prepared myself to write his answer, “What time did you get home?”
“Uh . . .” I remembered he couldn’t tell time.
“Was it a short day or regular day?”
He thought. “Regular.”
“Did daddy take you to the store first, or did you come straight home?”
“Straight home.”
I seemed to remember asking Caleb to pick up some potatoes and milk from the store, “You sure?” I asked.
“Yes!” he said, with that little burst of child attitude.
“Okay! So. That means you got home around 3:30 in the afternoon.”
“That sounds about right,” he conceded.
“I didn’t start dinner until 4 pm. So, there are 30 minutes where you and River didn’t have to clean up . . . did you play with her?”
He was pacing the floor again, deep in thought. “Yes. I remember that I was mad, but then wanted to help her build a tower. She was playing with her little dolls.”
“Good.”
“Oh!!”
“What?!” I asked, excited by his “aha” tone.
“River stopped playing because she was intent on Enchanted. She was only watching that. Then I got intent too.”
“Intent?” Who was this boy and how did he learn these fantastic words and know how to use them in every day conversation?! I tried to keep my pride and surprise to myself, so as to not make him feel self-conscious.
“So at 4:30 when Daddy and I asked you to clean up, who cleaned up the Legos?”
His face fell and he stopped pacing. “I don’t remember.” His sadness pulled at my heart. We had hit a mental dead end.
New tactic.
“Let’s search the area for clues!”
“Okay,” he said. He flopped on the ground and began looking under the couch.
Ten minutes passed as we quietly searched the living room for clues. Nothing relating to the case was found. I could see Liam was becoming discouraged and distracted, and frustrated that he was getting distracted.
“Okay!” I exclaimed, jumping up from my spot on the floor by the recliner, “I have a plan.”
His eyes lit up again, “What? WHAT?!” He was good at building his own excitement.
“Let’s begin a full scale search!”
He looked confused.
“Start in one corner of the house and systematically search every nook and cranny until we find either a clue or the Lego’s themselves!”
“What’s stestematicalily?”
“Oh, uh . . .” I searched for a way to describe my big girl word, “It means in order. Like in a system. System-attic-ly.”
“Oh.” He nodded and I could see he completely understood. “Let’s go!”
We picked up the Log and the box of stuff we had found in the living room – though it had nothing to do with the Legos – and walked to the hallway between my room and my daughters.
“Which room should we start with first?” I asked.
“River’s,” he said authoritatively, “because it is farthest south.” I loved his reasoning.
“Alright!” I placed the log and the box on my bed and we entered River’s room.
Liam picked up the Log, “Wait!” he said. I froze in place for comedic affect.
“What?”
“I have to draw it first, so we remember what it looked like.”
That was an ominous suggestion, and I wondered how he thought it would look when we were done.
He spent a few moments sketching the room. There was a vanity with no mirror on the south wall, and next to it was a wire bench, and in the west corner sat an ABC toy chest/bench where all her toys were kept. He drew her daybed on the west wall, and the cedar chest next to her bedside table on the north wall. “Okay.” He declared when he was done. “Start searching!”
He walked over to the ABC bench, “This is the most south corner of the whole house. We start here.”
“Done!” I said
He opened the toy chest and rifled inside. I leaned over the chest to look behind, as it was set at an angle and there was a nice triangle of space between it and the corner. There was a pink pool noodle standing on it’s end, a 3ft stuffed Dora doll, a baby blankie and . . . I started laughing.
“What?” Liam demanded, “What is it?!”
From behind the chest, I lifted out the Castle of Legos.
Liam began jumping up and down, and only stopped long enough to grab it out of my hands. “WE FOUND IT!!! We SOLVED the Mystery!!!”
I added my laughter to his excitement and we jumped around together for a moment or two. It wasn’t important how it got there – whether it was put there by Mom because she didn’t want it taken apart and who then completely forgot about it or not– most importantly, it was found! After a while, Liam stopped celebrating and looked at the building lovingly.
“Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“Good detective work.”
I smiled. “You too, son.”
“Let’s go take this thing apart.”
And so ended the mystery of the missing Legos.
November 14, 2009

I really should have built an ark back in December.

2009-10-12T07:18:00.004-07:00

My wake up call this morning?
"Mom, there's another flood."
For a moment I thought I was dreaming. "Wha?" I mutter sleepily.
"Mom. Mom! There's another flood with lots of water. Just like the last one."
It was my son. Was he speaking Biblicly? Was I about to drown with other sinners for not building an ark? I tried to shake the sleep from my head. "What do you mean?"
"Downstairs. The carpet's all wet. Like last time."
I was awake quick as a flash. Muad'Dib struggled a bit more and groggily grumbled, "Yagattabekiddinme!"
"Mom, come see!"
I followed my son down the stairs, expecting to feel the sickly slosh of water oozing up from carpet on the landing, but it was dry. Maybe I was dreaming after all. I carefully walked in front of the T.V., the cases which housed our beloved books, and the couch. Nothing. My heart began to return to it's normal rhythm.
"No, mom, over here."
I could hear the awful sucking sound of his foot lifting off the wet carpet. Just in front of the bathroom and laundry room, a dark spot was spreading. I stepped into it myself, hoping it was just a little damp. No such luck. Soaked. Standing water only. I ventured into the office, but it was dry as a bone. Lemur's room as well would continue to be a water free haven. But the last two rooms weren't so lucky. The bathroom and laundry room both had about a half an inch standing water. Ugh.
By this time Muad'Dib had dressed and come downstairs. We destroyed my perfectly packed closet, removing everything from the crib to the christmas decorations. The sump pump seemed to be doing it's job. My office is in upheaval to prove it. We then moved the washer and drier from the wall, hoping to understand what was happening. We found more than our fair share of socks and hair elastics, but no leak. Lemur was kind enough to point out that it was wet by the Rock Band stuff, which led to the discovery that the ENTIRE NORTH WALL was wet as well, with a gap already visible between wall and baseboard. Double Ugh.
My hunny and I moved all the furniture affected by the liquid onslaught, and were grateful again to have at least a dry corner for the couch and entertainment center. Lemur was just excited to have the LovSac in his room again.
The best part of the morning was when Rivulet joined us, happy to apprise us of the situation. She solomnly strolled around the basement, announcing her findings as she went: "A little wet here. It's much wet here. More water than over there. Yep, it's wet right here." She's so cute.
The landlord has come, but is unsure what is causing the inconvenience. From past experience, even AFTER the problem is diagnosed and a resolution is reached, it will be a week before we are dry enough to put anything back where it belongs. This revelation in mind, please note the following exchange between me and Muad'Dib as we ascended the stairs after moving our furnitureto a dry corner of the basement:
Me, under my breath (think Yosemite Sam): "Dirty filth and filthy foul, gribble grumble grouse-y pheasant!!!"
Muad'Dib, laughing: "Why are you so funny when you are mad?"
Me, whining: "I don't know!"
Muad'Dib laughs harder. Somehow my whining is also funny when I'm mad.

On the upside, Lemur is getting over the flu. He had a fever for three days, as well as being achy, ULTRA tired, coughing and enduring a sore throat. The first day he was sick, he took THREE two hour naps. This from a boy who hasn't taken a midday nap since he was 2 1/2!
We've enjoyed playing games, cuddling, and watching Daffy Duck's Quackbusters. Lemur's favorite part is when a possessed lady duck is floating in the air and recites the following rhyme, while changing into a demon half-way through: "Mary had a little lamb but I ATE it!" He just laughs and laughs.
Also my sister went to see Muad'Dib in BandtheB on Saturday, after which she stayed the night and all day Sunday with us. I sure like my sister.

So, in the face of this flood . . . I'm deciding not to let it ruin my day. I still have the upstairs. The books aren't ruined. Nothing in the laundry room could get ruined, because I had the foresight to clean it out on Saturday afternoon. Go me.
I just had to write it out, give it that "I am so funny when I'm mad" twist, so when I look downstairs, I can remember: anybad thing that happens today will be a funny thing to laugh at later.
"Do you remember the time my basement flooded three times in a year?!"
No. It's too soon.

A day of home-y joy!

2009-09-08T18:31:00.003-07:00

Meet our new friend: N+. *Lemur inserts the following: "Made by my mother. You can have one if you want. Just ask her nice and she'll make one just this nice for you, too."* He was requested by my son after his Reunion Bandana ninja became so well loved he could no longer hold up his head. So this morning I got an old sheet from MRR and while he was at school constructed this new little friend. But the real question was: would Lemur approve?

He says the above is his best smiling face because he is so happy. He thanked me all the way home from school, saying it was the best and most clever ninja ever. He especially loved the braided headband and sword holder.

Then I was surprised to hear that Rivulet wanted to play in the sprinkler. After a few moments of "play", however, I got the feeling she onlywanted to wear her swimsuit and dance around outside.

Oh well. She's cute anyway.

There's only one more thing you have to do and you know what it is!!!

2009-09-08T18:09:00.002-07:00

Do it Rockapella!!!
Last week Muad'Dib took me on a date. We went down to Thanksgiving point, had dinner at Iceberg Drive In and enjoyed a night outdoors with acapella music. T-5 opened the evening. See anyone familiar below? Yeah, that's Karston. He and Muad'Dib went to school together. Then came the main event! ROCKAPELLA!!!! Below is Scott Leonard, the only remaing original member of the group that sang on Carmen Sandiego all those years ago.

Papa was a Rolling Stone . . .

The funniest moment was when Kevin (the one on the far left) was singing "Zombie Jamboree" and forgot his prop. That prop is a fake eye that he takes from his pocket and drops on the ground. The song is supposed to continue as "Woah-o-oh Zombie Jamboree, it's getting very hard for me to see. I cannot find my eyeball anywhere . . ." and so on. So . . he forgets his eye and just stays doubled over for a moment. Scott comes up and says - in character - "what's up, Kevin?" Kevin, completely laughing and out of character (this was the encore, after all) whispers, "I don't have it! I don't have it." Those of us close enough to hear him started snickering. Until Jeff Thatcher (the BeatBox) offered: "Uh, I swallowed a bug." Everyone laughs. Kevin stands up and sings, "Woah-o-oh Zombie Jamboree, it's getting very hard for me to sing. I'm swallowing bu-ugs every where Woah-o-oh!"

Loved it. We have seen Rockapella perform live at least three times. I enjoyed it the first time, cried the second time and sat four feet from them this time. Loved it. The date, the outdoors, the music, the entertainment. The very best was being with my wonderful husband. Love him.

The Hand of Me.

2009-09-05T08:50:00.005-07:00

Many people struggle to see the hand of God in their lives. I am not nor have I for any great length of time been one of those people. Granted, there have been a good month or four when I wallowed in thoughts of "Where art Thou?!" But all in all, I lived my life as a woman of faith.

This morning, I was leaned over to flick on a light switch and felt what can only be described as a painful tearing. It felt like my lower back muscles just ripped apart. Now logically, I'm still walking and bending so that can't have been the case. So . . . let's just say "WHAT THE HECK!??" and take a deep breath and move on. No muscles tore, nothing broke. I'm just in a 6 amount of pain and all I did was reach over to turn on a light. The sort of thing a woman of 60 might experience.

While trying to further move and carry on with my morning routine I thought to myself, "Why me?" and "Why can't I just get a blessing and be healed?!" Healed of back problems, weight problems, super spiritual sensitivity (the bad ways), and roller coaster emotions. I want all these things to go away. I have been healed of other things. I have seen other people healed of things. I have seen the hand of God present in my life.

But what about the hand of Me?

That thought came at me out of months and years of Muad'Dib and Wildman and Fedaykin and others telling me that I must obey true principles in order to see true results.
But isn't my fantastic faith a "Get out of responsibility free" card? Why can't I just faith it away?

Because faith isn't my problem. I got faith. I got faith in Jesus of Nazareth as the Christ, the Messiah, my personal Savior and perfect example. I have faith in Joseph Smith as a true prophet of God. I have faith in God, who is my Eternal Father. I have faith that if I live the principles of the Gospel of Jesus Christ as outlined in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and the scriptures and inspired words of the prophets past present and future, I will gain eternal life along with those other members of my family who choose to achieve the same. Bam. I have faith that life continues on after this world. I have faith that family continues on after this world. I have faith that God loves me, is aware of me and is invested in my progress and joys.

Okay, I misspoke. Faith is the problem. But not my faith in God. My faith in ME is my problem. My faith in physical laws for physical law sake is my problem. The statement Leto makes to Moneo keeps running through my mind, "Is not your obedience lesson enough?"

If any of you remember, about this time last year I hurt my back pretty severely, after having been exercising, yoga-ing and eating well. I learned a valuable lesson about hope. Well, I learned what hope was and that I didn't really have it or implement it daily.

I went on to drop a couple dozen pounds before Christmas. Then . . . I gave up. Muad'Dib says it perfectly when he told me that the most important thing to him was that I not adopt a "give up attitude."

Yet this give-up attitude and I have held company for nearly six months. I haven't watched my weight except to beat myself up about it. I haven't exercised except as it pertained to being in a play - which was minimal. I have barely cooked at all. I have ignored many relationships outside my home. I have barely attempted to fill my calling at church.

Through this time I have prayed about certain things felt nothing. Then there are other, less personal things I have prayed about - like a friend being able to adopt a baby, like finding opportunities I sought, even financial help - and answers to those prayers come within a week!

This leads me to wonder if everyone else is right. I took control of my health and care once, and it worked out. It worked out beautifully. I told my body what to do, never broke the rules and in just over three months I went from 160 lbs to 118 lbs.

But over the past few years I have given myself over to my emotions. My emotions and feelings run the ever-loving show. I eat according to how I feel. Then I act according to the way I feel. What a messed up way to live every hour of every day. What an uncertain crazy "what the hell" way to do things! No one is safe. And if what you're living isn't working for you: change it.

So here is my current conclusion: My body is not solely an emotional or spiritual conduit, a pipe through which my life experiences either flow or clog. My body, quite basically is a machine. It is the vehicle in which I will travel through this life and this world.
So what's with all the abuse? What's with all the emotional molly-coddeling? What good does that do? My body doesn't want things that will hurt it! My body only wants to run at optimum performance! Which means that only my emotions want me to satiate them with comfort.

Comfort can be found in many areas. Food need not be that comfort. I would not take chocolate and butterscotch syrup and dump it into the engine of my car when I'm depressed hoping that I will feel better!! Does the clunking and the breaking apart of my engine really make it better? NO!

Where is this blog and it's rambing road of thought going? It's coming to the declaration that I need not look to the Hand of God to remove the burden of my weight. I must take my machine to the shop and sacrifice whatever I must to get the thing back in perfect working condition. Though if you ask Muad'Dib or any other Ayn Randian, Sacrifice is only the act of giving up something you want for something you want MORE. I will come out the victor. I just have to stop thinking with my vicious emotions and hunker down.

Get it done. Gain a testimony of the power of ME to fix my own self!!

Sunset on the Reunion. Oh, and the kidlets.

2009-09-03T20:37:00.001-07:00

BLERG!!! (And not in a good way)

2009-09-03T20:11:00.003-07:00

"So Michael is out there. What are we going to do when we find him?"
"Bring him back."
"What if he doesn't want to come back?"
"I'll talk to him."
"I think he's beyond listening to reason."
"So you think we should just leave him. Write him off?"
"Who are we to decide what people can or can't do?"

- Conversation between Jack and Locke in the second season of Lost.

I had an old friend call me today and tell me a very sad story about her mother in law who was sick and getting progressively sicker. She was upset that the government was failing her mother in law in regards to health care. Medicare, Social Security and so on. She talked my ear off about the righteous indignation she spouted to customer care operators and their supervisors. Then she finished this story with: "It just doesn't seem right."

So I asked her, "Are you saying it doesn't seem right that the government isn't taking care of your mother in law, even though she meets none of the lawful criteria for said help, or it doesn't seem right that a woman as old and as smart as her would have never bought disability or Long Term Care insurance as a protection against this kind of thing, seeing as it runs in her family?"

"What?"

~*~

These things kill me. Well, these things and the "I pledge to serve President Obama" video that was recently shown in a Farmington, Utah School. (I watched it on YouTube, but wouldn't recommend it unless you have a strong stomach.)

Really? A man wants to go out into the jungle after his son - personal safety be damned! - but it is somehow every one's JOB to go bring him back whether he wants to come back or not. And in this scenario, we are supposed to be rooting for Jack for being a caring guy, a team player. Ugh.

A woman works a bit in her life. She's mostly a stay at home mom. She has a certain illness that runs in the family. She never sees fit to put away even $65 a month into a policy that is DESIGNED to take care of her if she is stricken with that illness, and somehow the GOVERNMENT is the bad guy?

A bunch of "famous people" get on screen and pledge to do this and that, mainly be greener and be superfluously nicer (smile more, learn the names of their other rich neighbors, etc), asking you what you will pledge; followed by a Brady Bunch x 10 of their heads all pledging service to OBAMA!!

It hurts. It hurts my little soul in this big world. It's painful that kids who watch the President's address to children have to be TOLD not to pick on the kids who choose not to.

Maybe this is what happens when I read the paper. I think. I become involved emotionally in the dealings of this mad world and wonder . . . Then I get emotional and use a bit of anger because what I really feel is powerless. I can't change it.

I can only teach my children the principles of the gospel. I can teach them stewardship and respect for private property. I can teach them a solid work ethic. I can teach them how to be kind and diplomatic and honest. I can teach them to trade (I don't really emphasise the sharing thing. Trading makes everyone happy. Sharing just makes them resent the person they had to share with and me: the person who FORCED them.)

These things I will do. Hoping that it is enough . . . because it is the only arena where I hold any power at all.

First Day of First Grade

2009-08-24T07:38:00.003-07:00

My boy has begun his first day of First Grade (as the title denotes). I had planned to dress him snappily in a button up shirt and khaki pants, but this past week he seemed to find the approaching inevitable stressful. So while at Wal-Mart, I bought him two special shirts. He chose to wear one to begin the venture. He picked, as you can see, the Ghostbusters shirt sporting the glow-in-the-dark phrase: "I've been slimed." He loves it!

For anyone who has not yet heard the story, Lemur was at the Chiropractor with me. The Chiro handed him a silver instrument to play with while working on Rivulet. Lemur wandered away, deep in thought. Moments later he proclaimed, "You have ectoplasmic residue in this corner!'
Doc: "I have what?"
Lemur: *gesturing to the instrument*"My PKE meter is showing you have ghost activity."
The Doc then turned questioning eyes to me, "Did he just say 'ectoplasmic residue'?"
Me: "That's my boy."

Rivulet hasn't been all that excited for the first day, either. This morning she was rolling around on the ground proclaiming that she wanted Lemur to stay home with us all day. To address this, I asked Lemur what he wanted to be when he grew up. He replied, "Scientist. The ONLY scientist in the world!"
So I explained to my distressed princess that I knew nothing about science (to which truth Muad'Dib will attest!), so he needs to go to school and learn all he can. She seemed okay with that.

So, Muad'Dib, Rivulet, Lemur and I walked to the brand new School, and - after being walloped in the face by that "new school smell," we led Lemur to his class. He promptly sat down at his desk, made friends with the kid next to him and pulled a face saying, "Take a picture." After the picture was taken? "You can go now, mom." But as I got to the door I heard his little voice, "Mom?"
"Yes dear?"
"Just don't forget to pick me up, okay?"
"Okay."

So . . . one kid in school for upwards of four hours a day (depending on if it's a full day or half day - which this school seems fond of changing on a dime!). Another three years old and missing her brother home all the day.

I have a feeling there will be much cleaning, sewing and tea parties on the horizon for the two of us. Possibly even some doll playing or mommy-daughter dates to libraries and Grandma's house.

I will also be working part-ish time for my father again.

2009-2010 has begun for this family. And what a beautiful day to call the first! Did you SEE the clouds on Ben Lomond this morning???!! It was like Heavenly Father was saying, "I know this is hard. Here, enjoy the weather as you walk home all alone, leaving your son in someone else's care . . ." It helped a bit. And I offer Him thanks.

My Theatrical Cleanse is done. Time to assess the damage:

2009-08-08T15:31:00.004-07:00

Much Ado About Nothing: Beatrice.

I learned that sometimes my strength, leadership skills and fly-by-the-seat-of-my-intuition decision making is very helpful.

I also learned that other times, being a good actress (aka shutting up) is more helpful.

I learned that I can address a theatrical crisis with grace and confidence that calms those around me.
I learned over two hundred lines. Sometimes it pays to watch the Kenneth Branagh version over and over and over between the ages of fourteen and seventeen.

Turns out that I will endure quite a bit of pain to get a specific look for a role. Case in point: check out those curls. Those are mine. And they were accomplished by wearing my hair in sponge curlers for eight to ten hours a day, resulting in pains when I would move my face, a headache and beautiful curls that would go from tight to soft and feminine in the course of a show.

I learned that my optimism is contagious.

I learned when to keep my opinions to myself. Love goes further.

I learned that I CAN shut up when working with my mom.

I learned to trust my mom as a director.

I learned not to fight my mom's battles, or even to secretly want to. It's one thing to theoretically understand my mom, it's another to gain an active testimony of her ability in that light.

I learned that I really CAN let go of things that are not my responsibility. It takes a lot of work, but less work than getting involved and then being bent out of shape that my help doesn't actually help.

I learned that cast members can be absolute beasts backstage toward the director. And they must not be thinking much, either - just spouting off whatever whiny filth enters their mind because quite a bit of it was said to or in front of me. "Hello! I'm her daughter for crying out loud! You think I'm not going to set you straight?" Maybe they really thought they were right. Thanks to Wildman and Dreampacker and Trailblazer for teaching me how to redirect perception without causing hurt feelings. Boy did that come in handy. I was a master at the art of situation diffusion without actually defending anyone or putting anyone on the defense.

I learned that my instincts are good.
I also learned that my mother's direction is like holding up a magnifying glass to whatever talent I brought to the table. The Beatrice I performed was 100 time better and more varied than the one I had intended to play.

I was able to take the fear that used to breed my anger - the fear of being powerless - and translate it into a Beatrice worth playing and worth watching. I understood her as a woman who was powerless whenever it counted. On one hand, it's sad I didn't completely grasp that until closing night, but on the other, how glorious that I had the epiphany just in time to give a performance that will live in my head as perfection. I still cry thinking about it. And I heard - not just saw but HEARD people in the audience crying with me. That's quite the thing.

I really learned grace. But more on that later.

We opened and closed Much Ado. I was Beatrice, and then I wasn't. I didn't have long to mourn the passing however, because on Monday we started in on six hour rehearsals for Into the Woods.

Into the Woods: The Witch.

I learned that I knew nothing about stage makeup beyond being pretty. I was so grateful to Jessica for teaching me!

I learned that although I had very difficult time letting go, I could, in fact, let go when the time came. Explanation: When we began rehearsal, the lady my mom asked to be musical director was about to go on tour with the Tab Choir. So she didn't come. For over four weeks. I knew the music very well, so I offered to help. Suddenly it was a really good thing I had listened to Into the Woods religiously for nearly a year - though had never watched the movie - and could play the piano just well enough.

I was the Musical Director for all intents and purposes for the majority of rehearsal. When the lady stepped back in, I gave her a good talking to about underestimating the music and then, after three days of not getting along I realized that what I needed to do was step back and let her do what she was going to do, right or wrong. It was no longer my place. I did. And it all worked out. I was amazed at my ability to do the job and more impressed at my ability NOT to do it.

I learned that my belief in others sometimes has power to lift them. What?! It's no wonder people fear themselves. We are powerful beings.

I learned that I can still get nervous.

I learned that if I'm really riled up, it's okay to sit in a corner and not talk to anyone until I have myself under control again. This is big, because I used to think that I had to talk things out. That's a load of crap. I so don't have to talk things out. I can contain my hurt, anger, outrage or spite, let my brain go off on a few imaginary conversations, then take a couple dozen deep breaths, redirect my focus and move on. Yeah. I can!

I learned that not everyone is aware of others. It makes me not like Bridezilla's very much.

I realized that I am not the only person who undervalued my mom theatrically. So many of my cast mates believed that unless they told (read "yelled at") my mother regarding a piece of set or costume or character choice, it would go unnoticed and unfixed. Please refer to above when I mentioned that I learned to trust my mother in the first play. Even when things weren't working out, I would do what she told me and wait for her to see that it wasn't working. Because I trusted that she was smart enough to see it. Sometimes it turned out that I was wrong. many times it turned out that the cast members were wrong and mom got to use her "I told you it would work" face. I liked those moments very much.

I learned how to communicate with my mother when we were both under stress that had nothing to do with each other personally. Humor. Humor is such a better tool than whatever the hell we have been using for twenty years!

I learned that Heavenly Father truly loves his performers. Holy Spiritual Blessings! Our opening night was a testimony to that. About an hour before we opened, we were all angry, some crying, most frustrated, and every single one of us scared to death. There were even personal hurt feelings running around. So I asked if I could offer a prayer. Heavenly Father was completely there, completely invested in what we were going through. It helped me see the situation in a new light. He helped me see what I could do, instead of focusing on where I was powerless.

Wow. I learned what truly powerless felt like. And honestly, I held on to that feeling for a while, memorizing the terror of it. I was thinking to myself, "This is powerless. All those other times I felt powerless I was just being a sissy." I wanted to be able to recall the real thing the next time the fear of powerlessness sets in. Then I can say, like John Smith in Pocahontas, "I've been in worse scrapes than this!"

I was reminded that I am beautiful. Physically.

I remembered how much I loved being on stage.

I remembered the sound of an audience loving what I did. I also got to hear and feel an audience who didn't like me all that much. I've missed that unspoken relationship.

I learned that my children like watching me on stage. They didn't like me as the Witch, but both liked me as Beatrice.

I watched Muad'Dib be so . . . incredibly loving. On closing night, someone asked me if he was coming. I said no. They asked if he had gotten me flowers. I answered no. They expressed outrage that he not support me. I laughed and laughed and laughed. No one has any idea what sort of toll this took on him. I don't even. Because he never complained. Three months of not really having me around, of being main parent to our children and still: I never heard him complain. He just let me. He just supported me. He just loved me. Who needs flowers when I have that?

So. This is all said. It is all done. And in the place where I sit now - on the other side of the storm that has been my summer - I have learned so much. I have learned more even than I can write in this one post. Like about Grace. That lesson will have to have a whole post to itself.

I just have to say thanks to everyone who supported me. When I said a few months ago that I needed this, I didn't realize just how much. It was like the final after years of study. I passed. I feel so grateful to my family, my babysitters and my cast. This is starting to sound the acceptance speech at the Oscars. Well, maybe someday. For now, I am packing away TheaterGeek - well used and well worn - and happily return to Sayyadina.

Opening Night

2009-07-10T14:45:00.002-07:00

Tonight: Opening Night.

We will run with this play every night but Sunday at 7:30pm. Come see it. We are good. And I have learned so much. And in spite of the crap: I am happy and more emotionally fit for having embarked on this journey. Enjoy the fruits of our labor!

Much Ado About Nothing Teaser #1

2009-07-08T07:00:00.003-07:00

"Lady, as you are mine: I am yours!" But all that changes . . .

"No, Leonato! I never tempted her with word too large. But as a brother to his sister showed bashfull sincerity and comely love!"
"And seemed I ever otherwise to you?!"

What terrible event turned these two lovers against each other?!
COME SEE THE PLAY AND FIND OUT!!

We open this Friday (July 10), and run until next Friday ( July 17th). Tickets are $8.00 for adults and $5.00 for kids and seniors. TELL YOUR FRIENDS!!

I'll have more pictures tonight to put up tomorrow.

Fourth RunDown

2009-07-04T22:20:00.004-07:00

This year for the Fourth of July, we played it cool.

N.O. Parade at 10am. Loads of candy, a little crying and alot of people cheering for Lemur's rockin' dance moves.

Cherry Days complete with cotton candy, an oversized pretzle, a ride on the big slide, a cork-pop gun, and Rivulet napping in the shade.

Home for a nap while the kids played with Muad'Dib. Lemur and Muad'Dib actually have taken up the card game Magic. Lemur has beat Muad'Dib three out of five times! He loves to play! They both do. It's cute. And weird. Mostly cute.

Dinner of grilled hot dogs washed down with some raspberry lemonade (I know, "Can we BE more American?!"

Then we ate popsicles outside and I pushed my kids on the swingset in our back yard. They got restless so we went for a walk in the now quiet neighborhood. It was nice.

Finally, fireworks. We went late and decided just to sit on the front lawn of Weber High School. We could only barely hear the music. So when Lemur declared, "What is that sound? It's freaking me out!" Muad'Dib had to listen closly before he replied, "It freaks me out, too son. It's called Country Music."

Then as I was watching the fireworks, I thought about how the closer you are to something, more room it takes up in your life. Like, fireworks, when you are directly under them, are bright, loud, perfectly round and synchronized with Patriotic music. But from far away, they are like firefly butts flying low to the ground. No sound, no wonder, not pushing and clawing to be the ONLY thing you are thinking about. Still: to someone, those fireworks are all they see, all they CAN see. It's like life. This analogy is still rattling around in my brain.

This year was low key. We didn't invite people over, we didn't really go anywhere we couldn't walk to . . . we didn't even take pictures. This day was ours. I loved it. I love having the freedom to celebrate freedom any way I want.

I hope you all enjoyed that freedom as well! Happy Fourth of July!!

"You are the one for me!"

2009-07-02T08:15:00.004-07:00

So: I put on my cutest outfit this morning, turn to Muad'Dib who is combing his hair in the bathroom and I ask, "How does this look?"
He answers by singing, "Manatee, Manatee!" to which I reply - through laughter - "That doesn't help!!!" In moments we are both in a fit of laughter. If you don't know why this was so funny then either

A. You don't know Muad'Dib very well and could actually believe he would make such a derogatory comment to me,

B. You weren't there the time we were swimming with Shematite, Scout,Michex and Mayflower. They were each pretending to either be barnacles, dolphins or mermaids and I added, "And I'll be a manatee!" to which Muad'Dib commented, "You wanna be a sea cow?!"or,

C. You have never seen this: Barbara Manatee (Please click the link. It is well worth it. Then read the story again, and you'll see why it's funny!) It seems the tune was stuck in his head even before I asked the question.

I sure love my husband!

Much Ado About Nothing . . . now that's SOMEthing!!

2009-06-18T05:53:00.006-07:00

WOW.

Three nights ago, the guy playing Lysander in our production of A Midsummer Night's Dream walked out in the middle of rehearsal, with no intention of coming back.

Wednesday night, after a day of calling everyone age and talent appropriate we could think of to take over the part, the rest of the cast began to arrive for rehearsal.

Mom and I had discussed our options. We had been down a list of possibilities to replace the actor . . . none of them panned out. We went down a list of possible changes in the actual play . . . but had no firm decision made. Wednesday was set to be a "Makeup and Hair" night. Three out of twenty-two people came prepared to do that.

And then, to top it off, the costumers came in with fully made butterfly wings for the fairies to wear.

Mom broke. Before my very eyes, she crumbled in a state of anger, frustration, hurt, fear and worry. She took me by the hand and led me into an adjoining room where she cried, she swore. She downright panicked. And seeing her in that state, I was speechless until she said, "I should have quit years ago! What am I even doing?!"

Something clicked inside my head. I put my hands on her shoulders and said, "Not even. Everything is going to be great. I have a plan." And quite suddenly it was true. The plan was solid and fluid like chain mail.
"Let's do Much Ado. We can cast it. It's simple to costume, simple to stage, easily memorised and understood."
Her eyes remained vacant and broken, even as they spilled over with tears. "I just don't have the heart," she answered. "I can't go in there and tell them . . ." She trailed off with a look of dread and horror, playing the possibly scene out in her mind.
Now I was wearing the chain mail. A feeling not far from adrenaline kicked in. "Then let me do it. I'll take the helm. I'll take the crap or whatever comes." The feeling must have rolled off me and at least pushed against her void of reason.
She looked up to meet my eyes and nodded, "Okay?" She sounded unsure but trusting.
"You wanna come with me?"
She nodded again; so I took her by the hand and we went back to face the cast.

I told them the basic story, leaving out hurt feelings or gory details. I was all business; formality of the Now void of emotion. Silence was complete in the room.

I expressed the true problem: we could not find a new Lysander and have him learn such a difficult and physical part in the amount of rehearsal time left to us. Midsummer was not even fully blocked; and without a Lysander we could not finish blocking, let alone teach it to someone when they did step in. Our two options were cancel the show, or change it to Much Ado About Nothing.
Much Ado is a simpler Shakespeare for many reasons, I explained. Simpler costumes, almost no set, no wigs needed, no special makeup. The lines are conversational and easily understood. We would need to fill two parts, but they were both small and could be filled even the week before we opened with no great stress on the cast as a whole. I let them know that Mom has directed Much Ado twice, and I have directed it once before in High School. They were in confident and safe hands; we were in no way entering this play blind or ignorant.
Then I said, "If anyone is not on board, now is the time to make it known. I completely understand the emotional connection we all have to Midsummer. We are all invested. That is why I believe changing the show is a better option than canceling altogether. But if there are any dissenters, speak now to our face. I will brook no backbiting later. I want it clear that we aren't forcing anyone into this action." (And I'll admit, I really enjoyed being able to use the word "brook" in every day conversation. Though I paid only small attention to it at the time.)

If I had thought the room was silent before, it was nothing compared to this. Each member of the cast looked like I had punched them first in the head and then in the gut: muddled and wounded.

Finally the man who would have played Peter Quince, and who has been in just about every Shakespeare my mother has directed over the past ten years said, "I have walked out on you once, Carrie. I won't do it again."
A soft and emotional moment passed between him and my mother.
He continued, "I'm on board." And as I met the individual gaze of each person around the room, I heard and saw that they too were with us, come what may.

We discussed only a few more minute items, some people expressing quiet outrage at the selfish and irresponsible behavior of the departed actor. But from the moment the cast was with us, Mom began crying in relief and went into the adjoining room again. And I flew into a flurry, taking charge even to the point of announcing the cast right there.

Thursday, when everyone came to rehearsal I believe they were a little surprised. We set immediatley to work. We had it cast, we had scripts and rehearsal schedules ready and by 10pm we had Act 1 Scene 1 completely blocked.

The way the schedule is set up, we will often be blocking two scenes at once: Mom in charge of one, and I in charge of another. We will block for two weeks, run through the show for one week and then open July 10th.

Some people had their hearts completely broken, having had in Midsummer their dream role, and being "reduced" to a minor role in Much Ado. Others of us were taken from a compact role and expanded into something monumentally larger and in some cases creatively scarier. My mothers tears were not the only tears shed over this development.
The majority of the planned and built costumes will have to be revamped for the difference in era, need and casting.
When I say that the members of our cast and crew are being "troopers," it is a gross understatement . . . but how else can I say it?

Long story short: I will now be playing Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. Muad'Dib is not involved at all; no longer performing in this endeavor, not even for a night (because he was the understudy of the departed actor). He is instead being the best husband and father in the world EVER. Supportive and loving. I leave my junk at the door and he doesn't ask me "How was rehearsal?" When we are together, we ARE, without all the other stuff. It's what is working for us and I like it. The kids, also are doing incredibly well!

And now comes the big thing. (I know, "That wasn't the big thing?") The big thing is that these current happenings have opened my perspective in a most wonderful way.

A month or so ago, I was aching. Three months before that, I was downright suffering through a cleanse and detox so emotionally vigorous that I was little more than a tree waiting out a storm: still and mindless. I knew it would go away. And it felt like it would never go away.
One of those days, early on, I had written out my feelings while sitting in church. And the Spirit spoke to me saying, "Consider this a time to rest. Take it in. Rest. Be." I learned during that hellish experience that it was possible for me to simply turn off some emotions, for a time. I didn't have to tap it out or validate them or sift through them and understand them. If the need was great enough I could just switch it off, function, and come back to it later.

And boy did that come in handy the past few days. When so many others around me were still just reacting, I had a plan. I used my adrenaline as a tool and set to work, completely armored by my plan, armed with my tool and my mind clear and open as a cloudless sky!

And then, after rehearsal last night, after I had driven home, after I had brought my bags inside and set them down. After I had kicked off my shoes and gone to find my hunny, I ran my fingers through his hair . . . then my body said, "Crisis mode ended. Return to normal function."

I was suddenly so tired. So last night I slept. And this morning, I opted to share this incredible experience, and startling turn of events with my bloggy friends.

I hope that despite the change of play, and Muad'Dib no longer being in it even for a night, you will all still come and see Much Ado About Nothing. Because when we open, after only three weeks of rehearsal, you will enjoy the feeling of your jaws dropping in surprise. Because in spite of all the above hullabaloo, we are going to ROCK!!!

A Midsummer Night's Dream

2009-06-04T10:12:00.002-07:00

By William Shakespeare.
In the Historic Browning Theater at the Union Station Running July 10 through July 17 (no show on Sunday.)
Tickets are Adults: $8.00; Children 3-12: $5.00 and Seniors 65+: $6.00.
Tickets can be purchased at the door or from Me. I will earn a prize if you buy them from me!

Tickets make great gifts . . . and remember that Muad'Dib will be playing Lysander for only one performance: July 17! (it will be the first time we have ever kissed romantically on stage!)

This play is FUNNY! I will post pictures as soon as I have some . . .

My Simple Pleasures

2009-06-04T09:50:00.003-07:00

*Re-watching a movie from my youth and actually understanding what the people say. "Auntie Shrew! Timmy's sick!" "Cynthia dear, don't fidgit." (Can anyone name the movie? It's animated.)
* Sleeping in.
*A long shower.
* Crispy Waffles.
* a clean living room
* The sound of a lawn mower in the distance.
* The smell of grass.
* Clouds atop Ben Lomond.
*The sound of the dishwasher going as I put my children to bed, the true auditory mark that the day is done.
*My kids sleeping in a tent in Rivulet's room
*Children solving their own differences.
*Beautiful music.
*Playing the piano.
*Brushing my hair.
*Brushing my daughter's hair.
*Arranging roses in a vase.
*Baking cookies.
*Writing a paper.
*A made bed.
*A vacumed floor.
*A cold drink of water.
*A well placed quote: "The future is as bright as your faith." - Thomas S. Monson
*Open windows.
*A bendaroo's Sunflower.
*A hug.
*A fresh diaper.
*A lit candle.
*A fruity popsicle.
*A good movie.
*A pretty dress.
*Seeing a picture of yourself and being surpised to find that you are pretty darn good looking.
*A clean car.
*A letter in the mail.

And I have found something that is NOT a pleasure. Going to be without Muad'Dib. My desert has no shade; my catchtubes hold no water; the Great Worm slumbers, bringing no spice and no rest for my weary self while my Muad'Dib is absent from the Dune of my heart!

Three down, one to go!

Until That Moment, I Had Not Seen Her. Not Really.

2009-06-02T21:56:00.006-07:00

Tonight at rehearsal I was grateful for something. Then when I got home I was reading aimlessly through past blogs and re-read a post back in April of 2007 about my mom. And I realized there is a singular experience had with that woman that I have not shared.

My mother and I have spoken to each other with raised voices more often than not. Throughout my life, I saw my mother as an exposed wire, as a broken version of herself, as something less. From the time I was fourteen, I have vivid memories of three things in regard to my mother: Her singing.
Her bearing her testimony.
And yelling at/with her.

To illustrate I offer a story: When I was about sixteen, there was a Saturday when I wanted to go somewhere. The house was a mess. It's possible that I had been asked to clean it, I can't recall. As my mother and I were yelling at each other, she forcefully strode to her room and I called after her, "But we love you mom!" and she answered, "Then SHOW me." and slammed the door in my face.
I felt her to be the biggest jerk of all time. Why couldn't she just take my word for it? Why weren't my words enough . . . and so on.

My triggers were if my mother discussed, or even mentioned,
My father.
Money.
Her voice.
People treating her poorly.
Whenever she would express negative emotions about ANY given situation.

I found that my responses generally were to defend the other party, and tell my mother how to fix her broken self. I was always hoping to say that one thing that would open her eyes and heal her or cause her to change! I felt that she was never looking at everything. Honestly. I said prayers to the effect of, "Help me know what to say to help my mother see . . ." yada yada yada.

My husband, bless his dear sweet soul, often asked my why I would even GO to my parents house or design to spend time with this woman, my mother, when it was obvious that we didn't get along. And I always came home with heavy emotional scarring and baggage. WHY? And the answer, "She's my mom," was wearing thin on us both.

Then. Ah then, this past January it finally happened. I learned the answer.

We were downstairs. We were in my fathers office. Yelling. Yelling as if by doing so we could bring about world peace. The gusto, the lung power the sheer mass of our feelings filled the room and shook the walls. That is the capacity of us two women when got together and riled up.

I believe the conversation (and I use the term loosely) was sparked by a combination of topics like money, my father and her theatrical business endeavor. I had long felt abandoned and brushed aside by this focus of her life.

At the very apex of our spewing, my mother burst forth in magnificent glory by saying, "I got you kids up at 6 am to read the scriptures for three years before your father finally got the picture that it was important! I made orange juice every morning! I made your meals for eighteen years! I washed all your clothes! I went to every damn soccer game and performance! I signed you up for those soccer games and other ****. I DID! And what do you kids remember? You remember the times DAD woke you up for scriptures. You remember when DAD made you breakfast. You remember DAD going to your stuff. You remember DAD talking about Wyoming!"

And it was here that my brain ripped apart. The blinders I had worn my whole life were removed. It was as though Heavenly Father literally opened the set of eyes I had had closed before. And I saw every memory of my childhood differently.

Suddenly, my mother was there. She was present, ever present. All that she had listed, and more, flooded like fire and light into my awareness and I realized with a great pain in my head and my heart that my mother needed no fixing.

I did.

My mother was not broken.

I was.

My mother desired, above all else one thing: RESPECT. and when she had not gotten it as she needed it from her children or her ward she had turned to this Theatrical business. And although she continued to suffer, she was also being vastly rewarded.

And I had not seen any of that.

I began crying and stopped her tyraid with, "You're right."

Her defenses went up immediately, as she heard the words that were so often said to patronize her before.
But then she saw the tears in my eyes and fell into a shocked and wary silence.

As my mind raced through all my memories, trying to make sense of what I had done over my twenty four years of being a crappy daughter, the tears fell from my eyes, sobs racked my body and I found I could only say two things:
"You're right." and "I'm so sorry."

And oh how I meant it.

All the times. All those myriad of times when what my mother did went unnoticed, unappreciated . . . Now I understand that sort of thing is to be expected in motherhood. But what I had done was so much worse. Because I didn't just overlook her contributions, I gave the entirety of my credit, love and loyalty to someone else. Like she never even existed.
I didn't know that's what I was doing. It wasn't on purpose.

And the arrogance! I looked at this woman - without seeing her - and thought, "I know what will make her better."

Judgement. Pride. Betrayal. Conditional love. Truth out of context. I stood guilty of all these.

Because deep down I knew my mother was marvelous. And on the surface I treated her like an untrained mutt. Sure it has potential, but if you don't kick it, how will it learn?

The shame! The bitter taste my past words left in my mouth! I went to her and hugged her, all the while sobbing and repeating my new mantra, "I'm so sorry. I understand now. You are right!"

My mother didn't hug me back. She was in a sort of calm awe. As my mind was reeling, hers finally stood calm. And only one thought, one feeling permeated her: "Someone understands?" And inside, her soul relaxed.

That was six months ago. We have not fought since.

Because now I understand.

My mother had often tried to tell me that I was her daughter, while confiding in me like a friend or sister. I had abused that relationship in the most heinous way. Mostly because I didn't understand respect.

This lesson reflects deeply on my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Over the years I have grown lax. And the major ingredient I lack in regard to them is respect.

It is an uncomfortable awareness to suddenly know that I don't understand the meaning of a few basic words. Hope. Faith. Respect. Peace. Love.

And how wonderful to finally be able to answer the old question, "Why did you spend so much time with a woman you always fought with?" It was so I could one day be prepared to really SEE my mother. To truly be her advocate. To truly be her daughter. And I am sincerely blessed to be her daughter. To be her child has taught me so much. This experience . . . I am grateful she was willing to go through it, too. Because wow.

The experience I had tonight was what we have now. I can be the advocate she always knew I could be. Because I see and understand the woman that she is.
And I love that woman dearly.

Marvel-full

2009-06-01T08:45:00.002-07:00

*Rehearsal is AWESOME!!! I was originally cast as Helena . . . but then found out that Hermia has to be shorter . . and I am pretty short. So now I am Hermia. I am finding only JOY in this process so far. And what an opportunity to release! I feel downright good.

*Muad'Dib will step in for two nights to play my "lover," Lysander, as the guy originally cast cannot be there for the last two shows. We are both excited!

*Leemur enjoyed his last week of school, and is super pleased to have summer start! He keeps asking if we can sleep outside.

* Muad'Dib, after months and MONTHS of peparation, left this morning on his Venture Scouting trip to Moab. It will be the longest we have been apart since November 14th of 2001!!

*I had been complaining a little bit the past month about how things (especially singing time) was being run in my Primary. Then I woke up and realized that talking to OTHER people wasn't going to fix anything. (crazy, right?) So I talked to the Primary president and first counselor last week. We came to a new agreement and then yesterday had a GREAT singing time. They liked it, I liked it, the pianist liked it. . . ahhhh. Communication saves the day again!

*Rivulet and Lemur took their first ride on a horse up at MRR last week. For pictures please see Dreampacker's blog. It was priceless!

*My roses are blooming and smell incredible. I'm not just saying that, either. Muad'Dib smelled the two blossoms I had brought inside and asked if I had perfumed them! My kitchen lingered with the scent for an entire day, filled to the brim with rosey-ness!

*I spent four and a half hours yesterday baking for Muad'Dib's trip. Chocolate Chip cookies. S'mores cookies (I just made that up!) and Cheesecake Tarts. Holy I am a good baker!

*Muad'Dib bought me the new Xbox 360 Scene It! So if anyone dares challenge me to a movie trivia showdown, bring your A-game and some ginger ale. Because it is SO ON!

*I am going to attempt, in absence of my lover and my car, to make a baby quilt and finish crocheting a baby blanket. I'll keep my many readers posted on these projects.

*What other news . . . Oh, the play will open July 10th and close July 18th, with a show every night but monday. More info to follow.

*I want to have a campout in my backyard this week. Anyone want to join the fun? I have cookies . . .

*Muad'Dib will audition for Beauty and the Beast at Terrace Plaza Playhouse in June. If anyone else in the family is interested in these auditions, let me know and I will give you further information (Emily, Parker, Kira, Amberle etc)

*Our Ward Choir is taking the summer off. Again, my dreams of a patriotic choral program are dashed. Will no one stand up with me on July fifth and sing "The Star Spangled Banner" or in some other way pay homage to the creation of our country, recognizing God's hand in it?!

*My backyard and front yard and flowers are so BEAUTIFUL! I could just sit outside all day long . . . and perhaps today I will.

I'm pretty sure that's all the news I have. It may not be ground breaking or ten o'clock news worthy, and still it's all I've got. And I think it's great!

May you all have marvelous days!

TheaterGeek employed again

2009-05-16T07:35:00.003-07:00

For anyone who doesn't already know:
I will be playing Hermia in a summer production of Shakespeares A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Now, I imagine there are those out in blogland who are rolling their eyes at my decision. Tsk Tsking under their breath at my attempt at theater while a two year old and a six year old remain at home with my husband completely lacking my mother-presence.

I have not blogged much recently. I could say "Wow, I've been so busy." Or "This month just got away from me!" or something chipper that says "Don't worry what I've been up to the past couple of months. Everything is fine now and was fine that whole time . . ."

I'm not that kind of person. If that were true, then sure. But it's not. Instead these past few months have been . . . um . . . emotionally void while also being emotionally hell. I know, how can you have no feeling and too much feeling? Weirder things have happened.

So. My mother asked me to be in it almost four months ago. I said no. She brought it up three months ago and I said no. Then again two months ago and I snapped at her, asking why my "no's" weren't good enough for her. So she stopped asking. And between the time she asked and auditions rolled around, I felt and not felt enough that I knew I needed the Bard's Salve.

It is my sincere belief that if a Theatre-geek of any level needs a measure of healing, the answer is found in a Shakespeare. In no other play - even plays WRITTEN for the purpose - is a more open canvas for individual creativity. So many right answers. So many avenues to travel. And you can travel them all in the safety of creating. Then at the end you can stand back and heave a sigh of relief! Because all that stuff that was inside, all that stuff that had no where to go was just drawn out of you like poison. You are free inside. Your blood will run clean and oxidized again!

I gave up on theater because I had forgotten what it was good for. Muad'Dib is behind me 100%. And not in the "I just want you to remember how much you hate this" way, but in the " I know you need this" way.

I'm grateful for the experiences that led me to realize that I was not defined by my activity in theater. I still feel that is true. I am no longer TheaterGeek.

But I can call upon TheaterGeek to heal Sayyadina. Because she desperately needs some healing. I'm not asking an EVENT to heal me. I will. I will fix it. And this will be the medicine I need to clean out and repair whatever I have done to hurt myself over the past what-ever-measure-of-time. See? I don't even know when the bogging began!

I believe that my mother was inspired to produce a Shakespeare right now, at this time. This belief is the first flash in a long night of darkness that reminds me that God is aware of me and my struggles.

I'm not asking anyone to watch our children while I go off and do this. I'm not asking my kids to come to 10pm rehearsals. I'm not even asking anyone to go out of their way to watch the play come July. All I'm saying here is that I'm doing this. And for those of you who are wondering why, here it is. Here is why.

Dreampacker has pointed out that I am sensitive to feeling. I remember back in High School when I figured out that I could walk into a room and literally FEEL the emotions coming off of other people. And although I figured that out, I didn't know I could stop it. I couldn't separate their emotions from mine. I was all "If I feel it, it must be mine." I spent a lot of time crying in bathroom stalls not knowing why.

A little while ago, I was able with full presence of mind to separate and keep myself safe from the emotions of others. And now . . . that control has gone.
I am awash in emotions. And have the added *pthbbt* of sensitivity beyond the veil to contend with!

I know that life coaching teaches me to tap it out. I know that the Gospel teaches me to pray it out. I know that fear teaches me to sleep it out. I know that reason teaches me to ride it out. But my SOUL, the inner conjunction between emotion, spirit, reason and peace drives me to spill it out. It must be got out. And can you name me a safe venue?

Well I can. Shakespeare. Theater. I will exhaust myself with emotional sharing in a setting where it is not only accepted but downright encouraged! Then I will be left with what is mine, unhampered by what is not.

A common theme

2009-05-15T21:00:00.003-07:00

There has been a common underlying theme all through T.V. this past season. Almost any show you watch, you hear a main character say:

*We don't have a choice.
*We have to.
*There is no other choice.
*You don't really have a choice here.
*There isn't a choice.
*We don't have a lot of options here.

Basically, all of it is saying the same thing. And they are all wrong.

There wasn't a single instance when someone said this and they were completely correct. The idea that there wasn't a choice had more to do with manipulating a certain person into a specific course of action than it was doing right or wrong.

It's just been bugging me.

A Certain Strain of Funny

2009-05-02T08:57:00.002-07:00

I have tried to keep my children clean of "potty humor." But I am up against the Stevens's on one side and a few "Ghost Poopie" afficianado's on the other, as well as the public school system and all the "jokes" my son brings home.

So when Lemur tells a joke, it goes a little something like this:
"How did the cow learn to fly?"
"How?"
"Because a squirrel pooped on a diaper on his head and fell!"

Or

"Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Diaper."
"Diaper who?"
"Diaper full of poop that came from a donkey and fell on your underwear face!"

I have tried to discourage this strain of humor. I have even tried to teach him the proper forms of higher joke telling, putting emphasis on wit and pun rather than a disgusting and improbable punch line. My example was,
"Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Orange."
"Orange who?"
"Orange you glad I didn't say Banana?"

The humor was lost on my poor son. And apparently it was also lost on my daughter who joined the fun by saying: "Knock Knock."
Leemur answers, "Who's there?"
"Banana."
"Banana who?"
"Banana Poop!"

They'll grow out of this, right?

"The Seven Year Itch" or "I always knew eight-legged creatures were out to get me and mine!"

2009-05-02T08:36:00.004-07:00

For anyone who has been following the blog, you know that Muad'Dib, Rivulet and I have been "itchy" for a couple months. The common diagnoses were as follows:

3 of 5 Doctors said it was Eczema
2 of 5 Doctors said it was dry skin.
100% of Doctors said it would go away if we used enough lotion.

100% of family members said it was a toxin or food allergy.

One Chiropractor/Allergist treated us for a yeast allergy. And a milk allergy. And a sugar allergy.

Finally one Dermatologist actually looked at us and discovered this: Scabies.

I know. Could they think of a worse name for something that was already uncomfortable and disgusting?! But wait, there's more: Scabies mites are not insects but arachnids, related to spiders and scorpions."

It was difficult not to scream in the Doc's office! And it turns out that although the family and their energy testing was right, it was a toxin, truth out of context did little good. It's a good example of how truth out of context does no one any good. We were looking for a food toxin, or a deeply internal toxin. Not a toxin excreted by a female mite laying her eggs in tunnels under our skin. *shivers with revulsion*

Our obvious next question was: "How did we get these little demons?!"
Most common cases are on dirty people, hobos, etc. The doc told us that anyone can catch scabies if they are in crowded dirty conditions for even for a short period of time. Say, four days to a week.

Muad'Dib and I thought about that and came up with two possible scenarios. Either we got them on the houseboat in Lake Powell (considering I was nearly the only one who slept night and day indoors on the mattresses), or in the hotel we stayed at in Star Valley during the reunion.

Either way, it happened and "Ewww."

Here are 10 things I learned while afflicted with Scabies:
1. Don't just take a drug because a doctor "thinks" it will treat the symptoms.
2. Bring a sleeping bag.
3. WorldMark is worth EVERY PENNY. Because I know those beds are clean and Scabies-free! ya know how I know? Because I don't just pay for the room, I pay for the room to be CLEANED!
4. I'm grateful for Capitalism, because it makes places like WorldMark possible and affordable to us.
5. Muad'Dib (and many others) are right, "Scratching makes it worse."
6. Do the research so you can ask the right questions.
7. I respect people with enough guts to say, "I don't know, but you know who might . . ."
8. Most Dermatologists recommend NOT using a loofa sponge in the shower or bath.
9. Irritability is a byproduct of not sleeping because you are up scratching all night long. Evidence: Rivulet over the past three months; and
10. Yay for Health Savings accounts. Beacuse the lotion to fix us wasn't covered by insurance and would have cost us over $200.00!

Luckily, no one can catch it from us, and we have been given the two step cure. And in four weeks we should not be itching or scratching anymore.

One of the first things I said to Muad'Dib upon discovery was, "I told you. Spiders are evil."
He replied, "These aren't spiders."

Say what you will, but if it has eight legs and attacks me, I'm going to call a demon a demon.

Not about me

2009-04-17T19:33:00.002-07:00

I just read a blog by my sister-in-law where she was pursuaded to write about herself rather than her children. Seeing as I am the opposite and rarely write about my children, I will take a moment to do so. Hoping that their cousins (who they love desperately) will read and feel closer to my little monsters of love.

Lemur is rounding out his first year of Public School. He was having trouble listening and obeying the teacher at first, but apparently has gotten the hang of things. He loves science experiments and has made at least one very good friend named Jace. He turned six last Saturday, and we had a big - HUGE - party. I'll post pictures some other time. Lemur burst the pinata, though it had been primed with the help of his super-slugging cousins. It made me miss Mitchell, truth be told.
Lemur has come to love Sonic the Hedgehog, and was so happy when he recieved a 15inch stuffed Sonic for his birthday, he exclaimed, "I think I have enough toys now. You can tell people to buy me other things. I don't need anything else." Basically he found the one thing that will make him happy. So far he and Sonic are inseperable, and he has never taken better care of a toy!
Lemur enjoys writing letters, especially to his cousins. He loves getting letters in the mail. So if you are ever bored of an afternoon, spend ten minutes and 44 cents to tell Lemur a joke: he'll love you forever. And he'll hang it on his wall. And he'll write you back. He reads a LOT better than he lets on, and is finally showing interest in hearing scripture stories. I love teaching him the music in Primary, because it is so rewarding to hear him sing the words, and in tune! He is a bit of a class clown though. I wonder where he gets that?
He and his sister are good friends, and often mortal enemies. Rarely does the day go buy that I don't here the battle cry of "Attack" or the contentious use of the business voice saying "Get out of my room!" And yet, if his sister is crying, he is the first to apologize, or sacrifice to help her be happy again. He hugs her and tries to set up good experiences for her. He's a good big brother, and an excellent communicator. He's also very good a video games.

Rivulet will be three in August and just today decided to show me that she was still in the Terrible Two's. She screamed bloody murder for over fourty minutes because I wouldn't buy her a churro at Costco. I was awful proud of myself, though, because I didn't raise my voice once. I just sang Primary Songs and Hymns to calm myself. It worked. I remember that the last time I did that was over ten years ago. It's too long ago.
Anyway, Rivulet is NORMALLY a wonderful little girl. She recently recieved twin babies and a whole nursery set-up to care for them. She named the babies "LuLu" and "Sammy" and takes very good care of them. She doesn't care for a clean room, and speaks a little Spanish, a little Chinese and very good English. I'm glad to report that she already knows the word "pilfer," just as her brother did. I'm a good mom.
Rivulet has been sick recently which might lead to unpleasentness, but actually has been pretty great for she and I. The other night she was sick to her stomach and we ended up having to take baths. Afterwards (and this was between the hours of two and five in the morning), I braided her hair. I braided my hair. We watched Tinkerbell . . . and then we read Entertainment Weekly together until she fell asleep in my lap. It was actually beautiful. Can't plan a moment like that.
Rivulet loves to be a princess. She loves to be a mommy. She wants a baby sister and a baby brother alternately. Just today Lemur asked when we would be having a baby. They are really growing into their roles as siblings, personalities and all. Both of my kids love bubbles, working and/or playing in the dirt, playing with water, drawing with sidewalk chalk, dogs, birds, swimming, family trips, movies, coloring, and most of all FAMILY. They love everything FAMILY.

I am so greatly enjoying my children!

I'm going through weirdness, so I don't trust myself to share feelings, not wishing to slosh and spew unrestrainedly.

Regardless, there is an update on my wonderful children. Hope it was good stuff, I think it is. Love love love.

"Absence of Desire" or "My Brain is a Bog of Thoughts UnThunk"

2009-04-06T14:41:00.010-07:00

Do you know what I miss?
Flow.
I miss being a river of thought and feeling.

Rather, I have been hedged up my some dam thing that keeps me from rushing on in my loudly musical, dangerously beautiful flow.

Stagnation does not suit me.

I do not desire to be a sitting mass of unexpressed potential that after time becomes a death bog, stinking of despair and regret. I squirm listlessly in the bonds of that dam thing which for months has held my ability to share captive.

And it is not enough.

I have wondered over the past months, wondered what caused me to feel that increasingly heavy apathy. I didn't even realize it was apathy. I didn't know what apathy was. All I knew was that I increasingly felt the painless void of nothing. Sure, there were bursts of feeling, like death lights hanging over the bog giving a false glimmer of hope to onlookers. But I was boggy.

There were those who looked for a scapegoat for my behavior, whether it be here or beyond the veil. I don't know that I know the answer. I can't offer written consolidation for my greatly altered personality over the last few months. I have an event where it seemed to begin, and an event where it seemed to end . . . but they are not connected. Much like my thought.s

There has been no flow. No liquid rushing from point A to point B merely for the joy of feeling the movement.

The largest difference in myself was that I had no desire. The goals I had been working toward slowly meant nothing to me. The hobbies I loved . . . meh. I became little more than a stranger - a detatched onlooker who actually looked past me and not on me.

Gratefuly, the people I loved were so ingrained in my system that not even this downward spin on my cycle could have knocked them completely loose. I still loved them. I still worked at maintaining my relationships with them . . . because although I didn't feel a desire to do those things I knew they would appreciate, I knew that "This too shall pass" and I mustn't cause damage I could not repair.

My housekeeping suffered. I cooked a few good meals, but they were often by accident and I didn't really care. I gave my children over to the care of cartoons and Spanish-speaking explorers with their pet monkeys.

The good news is that I sense my bonds being loosened. They are not gone. I still feel numbingly separated from desire.

And yet: I have written today. I have written today as I have not written in months: yielding almost entirely to the creative flow I feel within.

I cried yesterday as I have not cried in months: under the gentle duress of the Holy Spirit, moved with compassion and understanding.

If I were ill, I am not completely healed. If I were a reservoir of creativity and ability and wonder, I am still hedged in by some dam thing. The worst part is that although I know something is not quite right within me, I don't have enough desire to discover it, let alone destroy it. Even if it meant being "back to my old self." I find it incredibly difficult to care.

So instead of using up my energy on worrying that I don't care enough to worry (try wrapping your brain around THAT conundrum), I will marvel in this little babble that made it's way past the dam somehow, and managed to flow a short distance.

My Desert Creature

2009-04-05T09:01:00.002-07:00

A few weeks ago I took my kids on a roadtrip to St. George for my Grandmother's birthday.
The second day there, we drove up Snow Canyon to play in the sand dunes. We played there for over an hour. It was warm and soothing and the sand was perfect . . .

When I finally told the kids it was time to go, they did not fight me. But when Rivulet was about to leave the soft sand for the prickly sand on route to the car, she asked for me to pick her up and began to whine:
"I want my desert. I want my desert!" with her little hands grasping behind me.
"Oh, are you a desert creature?" I asked
"Nyeah."

No I didn't spell it wrong. She has this way of saying "Yeah" that starts with an N and sounds both whiney and adorable.

And at that moment, I could only think of Heather. "I want my desert. I want my desert!"

(btw, this is my 200th post!!!)

Seven Year Itch

2009-04-03T11:31:00.002-07:00

As few know, Muad'Dib, Rivulet and I have been over-run by "itchies," which basically means we itch all the time.

We don't know why, we have been to all sorts of doctors - even the family shaman - and still, we are covered and itchy without a cure or relief in sight.

So the other night, the children were in bed and Muad'Dib and I were enjoying a movie on our new loveseat. He leaned over and I began scratching his itchy back.

"Ah, sweet nectar! That's the ticket!" he moans relaxed-ly, giving over to the wonderful sensation.

There is silence between us for a moment, then I say, "You know, we've been married for seven years . . ."

"And?" he asks, my fingernails still working magic all over his back.

"I know it's not what the saying implies, but we have our very own Seven Year Itch!!"

Ha, Ha, Ha.

We celebrated our anniversary by . . . I think I made us a special salmon dinner. Muad'Dib had to work, so we really just relied on the still-beautiful Valentines flowers and the impending delivery of a new couch and loveseat to mark the occasion.

Seven years. And I still absolutely love my Muad'Dib.

And although the itchies we have aren't any measure of fun, I will say that I'd rather have this brand of "seven year itch" over the other kind HANDS DOWN!!