From November 1st -Thanksgiving, I posted something I was grateful for everyday on facebook. It made everything better.
Not one to deny what works, I am going to do this for the entire year of 2013. But rather than clog up people's newsfeed--I'm going to record my gratitude here.
That's my ONLY resolution...
I simply resolve to be grateful.
There is a lot I would change about myself, my finances, my health...
But I'm not going to resolve to change anything but how I look at myself and my life.
At the end of the year, we'll see what happens.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Friday, December 28, 2012
Talking with Aldste Francom
Merry Christmas Gentle Readers!
On Christmas day, as is tradition, missionaries are able to call home to speak with families. One of two days a year during their two years out that they get to talk to family.
So we gathered on a google hangout that Nick established from Sweden. We could all see each other via video chat. It was exciting and funny. As we were all conversing, you could hear the 5 year old just below the microphone playing with his new Christmas toys.
Me: So how is Sweden?
Nick: It's GREAT! It's...(insert little boy vroooooooooooming across the floor)
It took everything not to giggle.
I asked Nick what was the hardest part about his mission. He said that the people always just said no. He said that his most exciting moments were when the answer was "I don't know", rather than just "No."
I smiled because I so relate with what he is saying!
It was a lovely conversation, full of smiles, encouragement, and testimony. I always felt such a let down after the Christmas and Mother's Day conversations because it just reminds you as a missionary to feel what you're missing of family and home. Nick looked happy, healthy, and ambitious. He had a lot of plans and he is enjoying the time to study and meditate as well as the time to teach and serve. But it is hard getting a taste of home. I wish there was a way to make this week easier.
I was talking with a dear friend the other day about how two of us have a tendency to put off feeling things until they are better. Things have been difficult lately. I generally prefer happiness and optimism to the latter, but I have felt a bit ridiculous smiling in the face of one trial after another. But what choice do you have?
After a dear friend died, I was driving to my grandma's to take her to see the movie Lincoln. She's a history buff and I was excited to share the movie with her. On my way there, my radiator went out. I stopped at a local mechanic shop. At the end of the day, I used my rent money to pay to replace the radiator. I told the mechanic that I wished I had spent money earlier in the month to flush my radiator. He told me that if I had done that it would have cracked sooner. Essentially, the gunk was holding it together. He also explained that I had narrowly avoided having to get a whole new engine. So I sailed out of the shop with a smile, a fixed car, and no rent money, but I at least felt like the trial had come in the most positive way possible. The next day, I went to my friend Russ McBride's funeral and played the piano for Leah as she sang a beautiful song for our friend. I sat and made funny faces at his beautiful young son, trying to give him something familiar and hokey to latch onto at the funeral. I don't think I shed a tear.
Fast forward a week--I have a new job--I can finally relax and start budgeting again--
And the tears won't stop. I am irritable and passionate and angry and feeling every emotion I should have felt at the funeral, when the car broke down, before and after surgery, after getting fired, after difficulties in my love life...
I am this odd duck that puts off feelings until I'm in a safe place. So the feelings all come at these odd moments when things are finally looking up.
So if you see me surrounded by friends and blessings and weeping like a baby--it's because I'm this strange bird who can't feel things in their proper order.
On Christmas day, as is tradition, missionaries are able to call home to speak with families. One of two days a year during their two years out that they get to talk to family.
So we gathered on a google hangout that Nick established from Sweden. We could all see each other via video chat. It was exciting and funny. As we were all conversing, you could hear the 5 year old just below the microphone playing with his new Christmas toys.
Me: So how is Sweden?
Nick: It's GREAT! It's...(insert little boy vroooooooooooming across the floor)
It took everything not to giggle.
I asked Nick what was the hardest part about his mission. He said that the people always just said no. He said that his most exciting moments were when the answer was "I don't know", rather than just "No."
I smiled because I so relate with what he is saying!
It was a lovely conversation, full of smiles, encouragement, and testimony. I always felt such a let down after the Christmas and Mother's Day conversations because it just reminds you as a missionary to feel what you're missing of family and home. Nick looked happy, healthy, and ambitious. He had a lot of plans and he is enjoying the time to study and meditate as well as the time to teach and serve. But it is hard getting a taste of home. I wish there was a way to make this week easier.
I was talking with a dear friend the other day about how two of us have a tendency to put off feeling things until they are better. Things have been difficult lately. I generally prefer happiness and optimism to the latter, but I have felt a bit ridiculous smiling in the face of one trial after another. But what choice do you have?
After a dear friend died, I was driving to my grandma's to take her to see the movie Lincoln. She's a history buff and I was excited to share the movie with her. On my way there, my radiator went out. I stopped at a local mechanic shop. At the end of the day, I used my rent money to pay to replace the radiator. I told the mechanic that I wished I had spent money earlier in the month to flush my radiator. He told me that if I had done that it would have cracked sooner. Essentially, the gunk was holding it together. He also explained that I had narrowly avoided having to get a whole new engine. So I sailed out of the shop with a smile, a fixed car, and no rent money, but I at least felt like the trial had come in the most positive way possible. The next day, I went to my friend Russ McBride's funeral and played the piano for Leah as she sang a beautiful song for our friend. I sat and made funny faces at his beautiful young son, trying to give him something familiar and hokey to latch onto at the funeral. I don't think I shed a tear.
Fast forward a week--I have a new job--I can finally relax and start budgeting again--
And the tears won't stop. I am irritable and passionate and angry and feeling every emotion I should have felt at the funeral, when the car broke down, before and after surgery, after getting fired, after difficulties in my love life...
I am this odd duck that puts off feelings until I'm in a safe place. So the feelings all come at these odd moments when things are finally looking up.
So if you see me surrounded by friends and blessings and weeping like a baby--it's because I'm this strange bird who can't feel things in their proper order.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Women Part 2: Pants
If men knew how glorious wearing a dress was--they'd understand why men wore togas and skirts for thousands of years before buttoning on their trousers.
As an evolved woman, I have embraced the glorious "dress". I can spin in a circle! I can make it long, or pull it up short for convenient air conditioning. And when I gain or lose weight--the skirt still fits!
As many of you have heard, this Sunday LDS women have an opportunity to support feminism by wearing pants.
Argh. There are a million feelings tied in with this.
I am a lucky woman. I was raised by a strong feminist mother. My grandmother has been a widow for 50 years. My father and my step-father are both incredibly respectful of women, and if my mother or my step-mother ever felt they weren't respected, open dialogue was encouraged. And things changed. In the same light, I was taught to love and respect men.
As a single woman, I have never experienced unrighteous dominion at church or in my home.
I have never been judged by my peers for wearing pants to church, because I love to wear dresses.
I have never been judged for working instead of staying home with my kids, because I don't have kids.
These issues aren't personal to me. And so there is a temptation to dismiss them or to say that they don't exist.
In my ward, the bishopric and their wives sit on the stand--demonstrating that men and women serve together as leaders. I see equality in the church. I see women and men leading committees, saying prayers, teaching men and women, and I feel heard.
But I know that it is not that way everywhere.
I had no intention of wearing pants on Sunday because I don't feel like there's a problem in my limited experience. And I believe in the priesthood authority. I believe that there is a reason why men are called to lead and to serve. It isn't easy to explain--but I love how the priesthood allows men to live up to their potential as sons of God. And as a woman in the church, I feel empowered. My grandmother and my mother both serve in the temple and exercise their power in sacred ordinances. I believe that women have far more spiritual power than they allow themselves to have. As a feminist--I want to encourage my sisters to live up to the power that God and the Gospel gives them and not to be afraid of it or to lie about their nature saying, "I'm just a girl."
But then I read some horrible comments on the events page. And I felt this horrible feeling that I was abandoning my friends and my sisters who were not as fortunate.
Things are not perfect. As a church, we become better at respecting ourselves and one another. I believe that what we can be is not where we are. And this has NOTHING to do with church policy, and everything to do with how we view one another.
So--because technically the church does not frown on wearing pants--
And because I want my sisters to know that I too believe we can be better and we should be better--
And because I believe by wearing pants I am not going AGAINST my leaders--but rather SUPPORTING them in their efforts to convey that respect for one another is a part of the Lord's will--
And because I believe that support for gender equality DOES NOT have to mean just identifying with those who want women to receive the priesthood--
I choose to wear pants on Sunday.
Worst case scenario--the women who planned the event wanted to use this as a platform to promote giving women more priesthood responsibility and to protest against the church leadership.
I will participate for my own reasons, and perhaps you will participate for your own reasons. And those who wish to jump to the worst case scenario conclusions about this will be left to wonder where we stand--and perhaps it will open up conversations and help us to actually identify and confirm those things that we want to encourage and change in ourselves, our families and our congregations.
As an evolved woman, I have embraced the glorious "dress". I can spin in a circle! I can make it long, or pull it up short for convenient air conditioning. And when I gain or lose weight--the skirt still fits!
As many of you have heard, this Sunday LDS women have an opportunity to support feminism by wearing pants.
Argh. There are a million feelings tied in with this.
I am a lucky woman. I was raised by a strong feminist mother. My grandmother has been a widow for 50 years. My father and my step-father are both incredibly respectful of women, and if my mother or my step-mother ever felt they weren't respected, open dialogue was encouraged. And things changed. In the same light, I was taught to love and respect men.
As a single woman, I have never experienced unrighteous dominion at church or in my home.
I have never been judged by my peers for wearing pants to church, because I love to wear dresses.
I have never been judged for working instead of staying home with my kids, because I don't have kids.
These issues aren't personal to me. And so there is a temptation to dismiss them or to say that they don't exist.
In my ward, the bishopric and their wives sit on the stand--demonstrating that men and women serve together as leaders. I see equality in the church. I see women and men leading committees, saying prayers, teaching men and women, and I feel heard.
But I know that it is not that way everywhere.
I had no intention of wearing pants on Sunday because I don't feel like there's a problem in my limited experience. And I believe in the priesthood authority. I believe that there is a reason why men are called to lead and to serve. It isn't easy to explain--but I love how the priesthood allows men to live up to their potential as sons of God. And as a woman in the church, I feel empowered. My grandmother and my mother both serve in the temple and exercise their power in sacred ordinances. I believe that women have far more spiritual power than they allow themselves to have. As a feminist--I want to encourage my sisters to live up to the power that God and the Gospel gives them and not to be afraid of it or to lie about their nature saying, "I'm just a girl."
But then I read some horrible comments on the events page. And I felt this horrible feeling that I was abandoning my friends and my sisters who were not as fortunate.
Things are not perfect. As a church, we become better at respecting ourselves and one another. I believe that what we can be is not where we are. And this has NOTHING to do with church policy, and everything to do with how we view one another.
So--because technically the church does not frown on wearing pants--
And because I want my sisters to know that I too believe we can be better and we should be better--
And because I believe by wearing pants I am not going AGAINST my leaders--but rather SUPPORTING them in their efforts to convey that respect for one another is a part of the Lord's will--
And because I believe that support for gender equality DOES NOT have to mean just identifying with those who want women to receive the priesthood--
I choose to wear pants on Sunday.
Worst case scenario--the women who planned the event wanted to use this as a platform to promote giving women more priesthood responsibility and to protest against the church leadership.
I will participate for my own reasons, and perhaps you will participate for your own reasons. And those who wish to jump to the worst case scenario conclusions about this will be left to wonder where we stand--and perhaps it will open up conversations and help us to actually identify and confirm those things that we want to encourage and change in ourselves, our families and our congregations.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Women
Last night I went to see Melissa Leilani Larson's show Martyr's Crossing.
I love Mel's words. Every turn of phrase is well constructed.
I love that she focuses on women. It is such a pleasant experience to see a play about women where getting married and having children is briefly referred to... (these aren't bad things at all)... BUT... It is lovely when a writer conveys the crazy notion that as women, we do have other things to focus on.
I was sitting with my dear friend Lyn. Lyn works as a hospice nurse. She was a little emotionally raw because she has lost patients very recently. After the show, I turned to her and said, "So this show was about angels who lead mortals thru the pains of death. In other words, we just saw a play about you dear." She laughed and cried.
I can't believe I'm actually friends with a person like this. She is an angel. A real life angel.
To my right was a writer named Courtney. I spent the afternoon today reading her blog. Such amazing experiences, told in such a raw and powerful way.
I want to live up to the power of my sex.
I am so happy to be a woman.
This song has nothing to do with this post, but it's in my head... And it makes me laugh.
I love Mel's words. Every turn of phrase is well constructed.
I love that she focuses on women. It is such a pleasant experience to see a play about women where getting married and having children is briefly referred to... (these aren't bad things at all)... BUT... It is lovely when a writer conveys the crazy notion that as women, we do have other things to focus on.
I was sitting with my dear friend Lyn. Lyn works as a hospice nurse. She was a little emotionally raw because she has lost patients very recently. After the show, I turned to her and said, "So this show was about angels who lead mortals thru the pains of death. In other words, we just saw a play about you dear." She laughed and cried.
I can't believe I'm actually friends with a person like this. She is an angel. A real life angel.
To my right was a writer named Courtney. I spent the afternoon today reading her blog. Such amazing experiences, told in such a raw and powerful way.
I want to live up to the power of my sex.
I am so happy to be a woman.
This song has nothing to do with this post, but it's in my head... And it makes me laugh.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
The Procedure
Friday afternoon, I went to the hospital for a "procedure". No cutting. Nothing to really get scared about. Although, the hospital kept asking about a living will... I told them to DNR and Donate! Cause hey--why not? I can't imagine giving the financial burden of keeping me alive to my loved ones.
I stepped onto the elevator to ride up to Ambulatory Care. Everyone was very quiet and somber. So of course I made a joke. I got off at the top floor where a nice nurse showed me to the best room in the hospital.
It was a corner room. It overlooked the city. And the snow was gently falling. I undressed and crawled into my super adjustable hospital bed and enjoyed the amazing view.
I had to wait a while before the procedure. I had a good 3 hours in that room to just nod off, read and talk on the phone. I wasn't sick going in... but I was really tired. Apparently, when you have the medical problem I had, anemia can be a problem.
I wasn't scared. I just felt incredibly blessed. If I hadn't lost my job, I would never have gone in for a check-up. The very fact that I had the job with the health coverage for the short time that I had it was in and of itself a miracle. So I had the coverage and everything was going to be fine. The feeling of gratitude simply would not make room for any nerves. I felt incredibly cared for as I sat in my adjustable bed on the top floor, in the corner room.
One fear haunted me. What if this is a completely avoidable procedure? What if I didn't do enough homework? What if there are other avenues I should have explored? This was my first time ever getting anything done. I was afraid that I would end up paying money for something that was unnecessary because I didn't really have time to explore other options. My insurance was ending in a few weeks. But, I couldn't really do anything about that. What was done was done. I was going to relax and play with the adjustable bed.
When the time came for me to go down to the operating room, the transport nurse pushed me in my awesome bed down the hallway. I felt like I was in a parade. Of one. I resisted the urge to wave. This was difficult. I could not resist the urge to giggle as we zoomed down the hallway.
When I got to the operating room, I talked to the doctors and nurses. I remember feeling very uncomfortable. I tried to tell the nurse that I was not pleased with the feeling that had just come over me. They put the oxygen mask on me. I ripped it off to tell them that I couldn't breathe. The anesthesiologist was very nice and just said that everything would be fine. And then I was out.
The next thing I know, there were doctors and nurses around me saying that everything was fine.
My doctor was really excited. He said that while performing the procedure, he found lots of polyps and showed me pictures of two particularly big ones. I thought about the consequences of not getting the surgery. Polyps lead to infertility. For the first time, I just cried. I let myself feel the fear and I cried and cried over what I might have lost.
I let the tears kind of hang out for a bit, but I wasn't sad. Just one more thing to be grateful for. My mountain of gratitude is getting ridiculous.
This time, when the transport nurse wheeled me back through the halls, I waved. I waved like Texas Beauty Queen. And then I sang like Evita, both hands stretched out as I sailed by in my hospital gown, "My people!"
I stepped onto the elevator to ride up to Ambulatory Care. Everyone was very quiet and somber. So of course I made a joke. I got off at the top floor where a nice nurse showed me to the best room in the hospital.
It was a corner room. It overlooked the city. And the snow was gently falling. I undressed and crawled into my super adjustable hospital bed and enjoyed the amazing view.
I had to wait a while before the procedure. I had a good 3 hours in that room to just nod off, read and talk on the phone. I wasn't sick going in... but I was really tired. Apparently, when you have the medical problem I had, anemia can be a problem.
I wasn't scared. I just felt incredibly blessed. If I hadn't lost my job, I would never have gone in for a check-up. The very fact that I had the job with the health coverage for the short time that I had it was in and of itself a miracle. So I had the coverage and everything was going to be fine. The feeling of gratitude simply would not make room for any nerves. I felt incredibly cared for as I sat in my adjustable bed on the top floor, in the corner room.
One fear haunted me. What if this is a completely avoidable procedure? What if I didn't do enough homework? What if there are other avenues I should have explored? This was my first time ever getting anything done. I was afraid that I would end up paying money for something that was unnecessary because I didn't really have time to explore other options. My insurance was ending in a few weeks. But, I couldn't really do anything about that. What was done was done. I was going to relax and play with the adjustable bed.
When the time came for me to go down to the operating room, the transport nurse pushed me in my awesome bed down the hallway. I felt like I was in a parade. Of one. I resisted the urge to wave. This was difficult. I could not resist the urge to giggle as we zoomed down the hallway.
When I got to the operating room, I talked to the doctors and nurses. I remember feeling very uncomfortable. I tried to tell the nurse that I was not pleased with the feeling that had just come over me. They put the oxygen mask on me. I ripped it off to tell them that I couldn't breathe. The anesthesiologist was very nice and just said that everything would be fine. And then I was out.
The next thing I know, there were doctors and nurses around me saying that everything was fine.
My doctor was really excited. He said that while performing the procedure, he found lots of polyps and showed me pictures of two particularly big ones. I thought about the consequences of not getting the surgery. Polyps lead to infertility. For the first time, I just cried. I let myself feel the fear and I cried and cried over what I might have lost.
I let the tears kind of hang out for a bit, but I wasn't sad. Just one more thing to be grateful for. My mountain of gratitude is getting ridiculous.
This time, when the transport nurse wheeled me back through the halls, I waved. I waved like Texas Beauty Queen. And then I sang like Evita, both hands stretched out as I sailed by in my hospital gown, "My people!"
Friday, October 26, 2012
Painting a Life
I decided to paint something.
I like the feel of painting--the immediate satisfaction as you watch the strokes hit the canvas.
When I picked up the paint brushes, I wasn't even sure what brush to start with. I just let the paint hit and if it was off balance, I'd balance it with another color. I had all the colors out. It started as a horizontal color exploration. I let the colors ease in from both sides. Then I started blocking, because I liked how the squares looked. But it wasn't right.
I was feeling really unsatisfied with my work. I had this desire to plan it out and make it be something, but it wouldn't let me. The painting had to evolve through chaos. The ultimate form had to arise from something else--without manipulation.
I thought about my own life. I would like very much to script certain aspects of my life and to dictate how it will arise. It's not that I don't work on my life--I work very hard--but rather than choosing specific paths that will give rise to a specific picture perfect life--I am dabbling in color, stringing random blocks of white, and ultimately seeking balance.
I decided to throw in a random blue triangle. Then a purple one. Then I decided to patch in some yellows. Then red. At about 9pm, I had this strange urge to paint something big and yellow above the triangles. I liked swooping. So I just swooped. And swooped. I swooped in the triangles. I decided I wanted to do something between the triangles. But I couldn't imagine what. I started to dot paint in purple, blue and green. I let the dots sit for a bit then took my thinnest brush and swirled. I swirled until everything mixed together in this circle. Then I swirled in white. Then I dabbed the sides with red clouds.
There was no design. I simply followed the pattern as it emerged. This isn't to say that painting with a purpose is bad. But I tend to live my life in this way. I want so much to be able to find a clear design, but each layer of experience builds on the other and gives way to a design beyond what I could have imagined.
I'm really happy with it. And my good friend has already bought it from me. I'm really happy it is going to a good home.
So here it is:
Despite the turmoil of it's beginnings, it ended up being a lovely painting. Someday, I hope the same can be said of me!
I like the feel of painting--the immediate satisfaction as you watch the strokes hit the canvas.
When I picked up the paint brushes, I wasn't even sure what brush to start with. I just let the paint hit and if it was off balance, I'd balance it with another color. I had all the colors out. It started as a horizontal color exploration. I let the colors ease in from both sides. Then I started blocking, because I liked how the squares looked. But it wasn't right.
I was feeling really unsatisfied with my work. I had this desire to plan it out and make it be something, but it wouldn't let me. The painting had to evolve through chaos. The ultimate form had to arise from something else--without manipulation.
I thought about my own life. I would like very much to script certain aspects of my life and to dictate how it will arise. It's not that I don't work on my life--I work very hard--but rather than choosing specific paths that will give rise to a specific picture perfect life--I am dabbling in color, stringing random blocks of white, and ultimately seeking balance.
I decided to throw in a random blue triangle. Then a purple one. Then I decided to patch in some yellows. Then red. At about 9pm, I had this strange urge to paint something big and yellow above the triangles. I liked swooping. So I just swooped. And swooped. I swooped in the triangles. I decided I wanted to do something between the triangles. But I couldn't imagine what. I started to dot paint in purple, blue and green. I let the dots sit for a bit then took my thinnest brush and swirled. I swirled until everything mixed together in this circle. Then I swirled in white. Then I dabbed the sides with red clouds.
There was no design. I simply followed the pattern as it emerged. This isn't to say that painting with a purpose is bad. But I tend to live my life in this way. I want so much to be able to find a clear design, but each layer of experience builds on the other and gives way to a design beyond what I could have imagined.
I'm really happy with it. And my good friend has already bought it from me. I'm really happy it is going to a good home.
So here it is:
Despite the turmoil of it's beginnings, it ended up being a lovely painting. Someday, I hope the same can be said of me!
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Thoughts Stemming from Jekyll and Hyde
During the past few days I saw two very different productions of Jekyll and Hyde.
I feel like the opportunities to see both productions so closely together created an unparalleled theatrical experience.
The first production was Dark Horse Theatre Company's musical production, currently playing at the Egyptian in Park City. This is not a review--but suffice it to say--I was intensely pleased. The music was beautiful, but I've always found the lyrics of the musical to be a shallow telling of such a thoughtprovoking story.
The telling was as rich as anyone can make it--but you cannot undo the travesty of such lines: "Look at me and tell me who I am, why I am, what I am. Call me a fool and it's true I am, I don't know who I am." I adore this song because the melody is so satisfying. But those words! I giggle every time I hear them. It's like a nursery rhyme!
The colors, the passion, the music, the talent--everything was incredible.
But it just touched the surface of the incredible philosophical question posed by this story.
Last night, I went to Provo and saw Mortal Fools production. The space was small. We sat on white folding chairs. The stage was small. One man played Dr. Jekyll and four other actors played both Mr. Hyde and his neighbors and colleagues. While Mr. Hyde performed wicked deeds with the abandon of a man who knew he was innately evil--his reason being unbridled passion--Dr. Jekyll was not perfect. He was simply reasoned. His wickedness stemmed from justification and shame. Mr. Hyde was unfettered by shame and so was able to love and be loved. Dr. Jekyll kept himself apart because of his pride and his so-called righteousness. His pompous separation from his wicked half--declaring that through will alone he could rid himself of all his passions was so fraught with pride and self-delusion that it struck me to the core. This production articulated that there are not two halves to us-- Good and Evil--but rather one tragically acceptable form of justifiable evil and the other obvious evil--collectively condemned by ourselves and society.
This life is a contradiction. It is wickedness and naivete to deny bits and pieces of our humanity. While our passions must be controlled, it is because of our passions that our life has meaning. We grow in our passions and learn to find the joy that comes from true balance and wholeness.
The other night, I was utterly overcome with heartbreak. I thought very seriously about ending my life. It was a situational depression that overcame me and shook me. Maintaining the thought, "This too shall pass"--a phrase that has saved me a number of times--I crawled into bed and slept away my misery.
As days passed, I found myself enthralled with every little nuance of life. I giggled at the ducks pecking their way across my patio. I laughed at the chubby little neighbor girl in her sparkly Hello Kitty shirt and black tutu chasing after her other friends. I cracked up at the little kids running through the laundry mat.
There are bad days and there are good days. Both illuminate the other and make life rich. And we have our bad parts and our great parts. All facets of ourselves reflect in us and make us complicated and amazing individuals.
A Victorian, puritanical and naive notion is that in order to become a good person, we must ultimately destroy one half of ourselves. Both productions showed that this line of thinking will inevitably destroy the whole and is as wicked a notion as any other.
I feel like the opportunities to see both productions so closely together created an unparalleled theatrical experience.
The first production was Dark Horse Theatre Company's musical production, currently playing at the Egyptian in Park City. This is not a review--but suffice it to say--I was intensely pleased. The music was beautiful, but I've always found the lyrics of the musical to be a shallow telling of such a thoughtprovoking story.
The telling was as rich as anyone can make it--but you cannot undo the travesty of such lines: "Look at me and tell me who I am, why I am, what I am. Call me a fool and it's true I am, I don't know who I am." I adore this song because the melody is so satisfying. But those words! I giggle every time I hear them. It's like a nursery rhyme!
The colors, the passion, the music, the talent--everything was incredible.
But it just touched the surface of the incredible philosophical question posed by this story.
Last night, I went to Provo and saw Mortal Fools production. The space was small. We sat on white folding chairs. The stage was small. One man played Dr. Jekyll and four other actors played both Mr. Hyde and his neighbors and colleagues. While Mr. Hyde performed wicked deeds with the abandon of a man who knew he was innately evil--his reason being unbridled passion--Dr. Jekyll was not perfect. He was simply reasoned. His wickedness stemmed from justification and shame. Mr. Hyde was unfettered by shame and so was able to love and be loved. Dr. Jekyll kept himself apart because of his pride and his so-called righteousness. His pompous separation from his wicked half--declaring that through will alone he could rid himself of all his passions was so fraught with pride and self-delusion that it struck me to the core. This production articulated that there are not two halves to us-- Good and Evil--but rather one tragically acceptable form of justifiable evil and the other obvious evil--collectively condemned by ourselves and society.
This life is a contradiction. It is wickedness and naivete to deny bits and pieces of our humanity. While our passions must be controlled, it is because of our passions that our life has meaning. We grow in our passions and learn to find the joy that comes from true balance and wholeness.
The other night, I was utterly overcome with heartbreak. I thought very seriously about ending my life. It was a situational depression that overcame me and shook me. Maintaining the thought, "This too shall pass"--a phrase that has saved me a number of times--I crawled into bed and slept away my misery.
As days passed, I found myself enthralled with every little nuance of life. I giggled at the ducks pecking their way across my patio. I laughed at the chubby little neighbor girl in her sparkly Hello Kitty shirt and black tutu chasing after her other friends. I cracked up at the little kids running through the laundry mat.
There are bad days and there are good days. Both illuminate the other and make life rich. And we have our bad parts and our great parts. All facets of ourselves reflect in us and make us complicated and amazing individuals.
A Victorian, puritanical and naive notion is that in order to become a good person, we must ultimately destroy one half of ourselves. Both productions showed that this line of thinking will inevitably destroy the whole and is as wicked a notion as any other.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Knowing
I'm watching conference. It is on pause for a moment while I put some thoughts down.
Walter F. Gonzales just gave a talk about the need to spend time learning and knowing things through the power of the Holy Ghost.
Yesterday, I was driving home from Bountiful and I thought about how easy it is to create evidence.
I was thinking about an episode from Scandal.
In this episode, the president receives a photo (evidence) that leads him to believe that he would be justified in attacking an evil regime. Later in the episode it is revealed that the photo was doctored.
I thought about this as one of the speakers yesterday afternoon talked about a letter released in the 90s that destroyed his friend's faith. This letter was later revealed to be a fraud.
Elder Gonzales's words struck home this morning as he talked about the importance of building a foundation of faith through the Holy Ghost. In years past, it would be plausible to combine a testimony built on the spirit with one built with historical facts and images that hold up the seemingly fleeting "feelings" of the spirit.
Now as I find myself trying to define and identify my faith, I think back to moments where I felt the truthfulness of the gospel. I can see the hardfloor beneath me and the light shining from the kitchen when I knew that an investigator and mother of 4 had decided to become baptized. I can still remember the feeling sitting in the home of the Bozicas' when I felt the spirit say--"He knows. Ask him to be baptized." It was our first meeting with him so it seemed crazy--but he knew.
My faith is a part of me. It is built from quiet moments driving through the country side when I felt a conviction that God and Jesus Christ live. It does not come from photographs or well-crafted arguments--not that I am opposed to scholarship--but it isn't a foundation for faith.
So these are my thoughts. I know it is ironic to post a painting of Jesus in a post about not needing physical evidence as a foundation for testimony--but I love this picture. The softness of the eyes reflects the humble compassion that the Savior feels towards all of us crazy imperfect people.
In times when it seems impossible to know who is lying and who is telling the truth--there is a way to have confidence in your convictions.
I should unpause the DVR now. Enjoy your weekend!
If you want to watch General Conference, you can find it here:
General Conference for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Walter F. Gonzales just gave a talk about the need to spend time learning and knowing things through the power of the Holy Ghost.
Yesterday, I was driving home from Bountiful and I thought about how easy it is to create evidence.
I was thinking about an episode from Scandal.
In this episode, the president receives a photo (evidence) that leads him to believe that he would be justified in attacking an evil regime. Later in the episode it is revealed that the photo was doctored.
I thought about this as one of the speakers yesterday afternoon talked about a letter released in the 90s that destroyed his friend's faith. This letter was later revealed to be a fraud.
Elder Gonzales's words struck home this morning as he talked about the importance of building a foundation of faith through the Holy Ghost. In years past, it would be plausible to combine a testimony built on the spirit with one built with historical facts and images that hold up the seemingly fleeting "feelings" of the spirit.
Now as I find myself trying to define and identify my faith, I think back to moments where I felt the truthfulness of the gospel. I can see the hardfloor beneath me and the light shining from the kitchen when I knew that an investigator and mother of 4 had decided to become baptized. I can still remember the feeling sitting in the home of the Bozicas' when I felt the spirit say--"He knows. Ask him to be baptized." It was our first meeting with him so it seemed crazy--but he knew.
My faith is a part of me. It is built from quiet moments driving through the country side when I felt a conviction that God and Jesus Christ live. It does not come from photographs or well-crafted arguments--not that I am opposed to scholarship--but it isn't a foundation for faith.
So these are my thoughts. I know it is ironic to post a painting of Jesus in a post about not needing physical evidence as a foundation for testimony--but I love this picture. The softness of the eyes reflects the humble compassion that the Savior feels towards all of us crazy imperfect people.
In times when it seems impossible to know who is lying and who is telling the truth--there is a way to have confidence in your convictions.
I should unpause the DVR now. Enjoy your weekend!
If you want to watch General Conference, you can find it here:
General Conference for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Thursday, August 23, 2012
The End of the Tunnel... Or the Post with lots of Ellipses
When I finished college--it was 2002--post 9/11 and the world was not ready for a slew of new college graduates....
When I finished grad school--I found a nice teaching position--but it was just before the big ol' crash--you know... 2007.... Fun times.
So... long story short... despite all of my glorious experiences and lovely jobs from here to, well, there...
I have never had a salaried position...
Until now.
(and the clouds were parted and the sun did shine down and all the little duckies sang with joy!)
I got a job! And I have real benefits! And I make monies!
I am so excited to make a budget and pay my bills and go to the gym with my company paid for gym pass and visit the dentist with my dental coverage and and and and....
I am humbled, grateful, and really excited to get to work.
It's a nice job as a recruiter for a firm that matches physicians with hospitals and vice versa.
My goal is to maintain balance and to make sure I take care of myself so I can be the best employee possible.
I am so happy. I am so happy to be employed here in Salt Lake City. I love this town. So... life is particularly joyful right now.
Thanks for bearing with me through the more depressing posts. Y'all are peachy keen.
When I finished grad school--I found a nice teaching position--but it was just before the big ol' crash--you know... 2007.... Fun times.
So... long story short... despite all of my glorious experiences and lovely jobs from here to, well, there...
I have never had a salaried position...
Until now.
(and the clouds were parted and the sun did shine down and all the little duckies sang with joy!)
I got a job! And I have real benefits! And I make monies!
I am so excited to make a budget and pay my bills and go to the gym with my company paid for gym pass and visit the dentist with my dental coverage and and and and....
I am humbled, grateful, and really excited to get to work.
It's a nice job as a recruiter for a firm that matches physicians with hospitals and vice versa.
My goal is to maintain balance and to make sure I take care of myself so I can be the best employee possible.
I am so happy. I am so happy to be employed here in Salt Lake City. I love this town. So... life is particularly joyful right now.
Thanks for bearing with me through the more depressing posts. Y'all are peachy keen.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
An Indulgent Post Describing Pain
**Really not very interesting--You can read or not read, I'll still love you**
When I went to bed, the only pain I felt was the normal ache in the lower right quadrant of my back. Now that I have a new bed, I don't wake up with back pain--but throughout the day, tension builds and I commonly have severe pain by the end of the day. But it's tolerable and I don't mind.
But no tightness in the gall bladder.
I was smiling. I had been good. I had eaten properly throughout the day. Except for the ranch dressing. And looking back, the milk in the diet shake and the dairy in the Naked Protein drink... But no candy, no onion rings, no ice cream.
And only my regular bouts of stiffness that come from starting the day at 7am and ending it at midnight. I'm 34--aches and pains happen.
I crawled in bed, still smiling, but I noticed the stiffness was spreading. I had a hard time breathing, but I was still at peace and happy. I noticed that my CPAP mask didn't feel like it was providing much help.
At 4am, I woke up. I don't generally wake up in the middle of the night anymore with the CPAP machine. I was really bothered that I would have to go to the bathroom. The pain had not registered. It was there; it had woken me up--but it had not registered in my mind.
I went to the bathroom and distractedly began to push on my left side, then I massaged the center of the abdomen, then I began to push on the right side of my abdomen.
Suddenly, my mind connected what was happening in my body.
My arms went weak.
My fingers felt separated from the rest of me. The tightness pulled my in on myself. I stumbled from the toilet and ran for the pills that would relax my gall bladder so I could sleep. I struggled to grasp the bottle, but still my fingers felt so disconnected. I could barely lift the pitcher of water to pour. Walking was insanely hard. Holding still was impossible. My legs were shaking. I started to hyperventilate and moan softly.
I downed three pills and three ibuprofen.
The pain tightened.
I curled over and flopped on my bed face first, moaning into the mattress. I immediately felt I needed to go to the bathroom again. I ran to the toilet, but knew the best thing to do would be to throw up. I sighed as I realized I would lose the pills I had just taken--but I could not handle the pressure that was building up inside of me. I keened on my knees and begged my body over and over again--"Just pass, just pass, just pass". I imagined the stone and I pleaded with it to just go through. Finally, I stuck two fingers in my mouth and held them to the back of my throat. I began to gag. There wasn't a whole lot to throw up. The pills came up though--perfectly intact. I dry heaved several times after dispensing with all the contents of my stomach.
The body continued to clench.
I remembered a possible help--something called metphos--I dragged myself into the kitchen and filled up the glass of water and dripped in this super phosphorous concoction. I took the gall bladder pills--they're designed to relax you so that stones will pass easier.
I paced my room, swinging my arms, trying to distract myself.
I finally went into the living room and begin to watch late night/early morning television. Finally at 5:30am, I felt my body begin to relax. All the pain began to melt away. I fell asleep at 5:50am.
I am trying to put into words this pain. Mainly for myself to remember so that I can continue to strive to eat better and avoid this experience.
Pain is a funny thing. In the midst of it, it is the worst thing. But afterwards, the euphoria at it's passing makes it less memorable. I need to remember it in order to avoid it.
I am taking steps. I am doing all that I can. The fact is, I have stones. I can: take medicines to help clean out the stones--but they still have to pass, take medicines to help make the hole where the stones pass get bigger, avoid fat and sugar. This is difficult to do. There is fat and sugar in lots of different things. And I quite enjoy both.
If this continues, I may have to go to plan B and nuke this little gall bladder.
The pain is starting again. The tightness. Maybe it's just hunger. Drat. Now I have to eat. You'll forgive me if eating scares the piss out of me.
UPDATE: It wasn't gall stones. It's kidney stones. So that's a fun new development. Yay.
When I went to bed, the only pain I felt was the normal ache in the lower right quadrant of my back. Now that I have a new bed, I don't wake up with back pain--but throughout the day, tension builds and I commonly have severe pain by the end of the day. But it's tolerable and I don't mind.
But no tightness in the gall bladder.
I was smiling. I had been good. I had eaten properly throughout the day. Except for the ranch dressing. And looking back, the milk in the diet shake and the dairy in the Naked Protein drink... But no candy, no onion rings, no ice cream.
And only my regular bouts of stiffness that come from starting the day at 7am and ending it at midnight. I'm 34--aches and pains happen.
I crawled in bed, still smiling, but I noticed the stiffness was spreading. I had a hard time breathing, but I was still at peace and happy. I noticed that my CPAP mask didn't feel like it was providing much help.
At 4am, I woke up. I don't generally wake up in the middle of the night anymore with the CPAP machine. I was really bothered that I would have to go to the bathroom. The pain had not registered. It was there; it had woken me up--but it had not registered in my mind.
I went to the bathroom and distractedly began to push on my left side, then I massaged the center of the abdomen, then I began to push on the right side of my abdomen.
Suddenly, my mind connected what was happening in my body.
My arms went weak.
My fingers felt separated from the rest of me. The tightness pulled my in on myself. I stumbled from the toilet and ran for the pills that would relax my gall bladder so I could sleep. I struggled to grasp the bottle, but still my fingers felt so disconnected. I could barely lift the pitcher of water to pour. Walking was insanely hard. Holding still was impossible. My legs were shaking. I started to hyperventilate and moan softly.
I downed three pills and three ibuprofen.
The pain tightened.
I curled over and flopped on my bed face first, moaning into the mattress. I immediately felt I needed to go to the bathroom again. I ran to the toilet, but knew the best thing to do would be to throw up. I sighed as I realized I would lose the pills I had just taken--but I could not handle the pressure that was building up inside of me. I keened on my knees and begged my body over and over again--"Just pass, just pass, just pass". I imagined the stone and I pleaded with it to just go through. Finally, I stuck two fingers in my mouth and held them to the back of my throat. I began to gag. There wasn't a whole lot to throw up. The pills came up though--perfectly intact. I dry heaved several times after dispensing with all the contents of my stomach.
The body continued to clench.
I remembered a possible help--something called metphos--I dragged myself into the kitchen and filled up the glass of water and dripped in this super phosphorous concoction. I took the gall bladder pills--they're designed to relax you so that stones will pass easier.
I paced my room, swinging my arms, trying to distract myself.
I finally went into the living room and begin to watch late night/early morning television. Finally at 5:30am, I felt my body begin to relax. All the pain began to melt away. I fell asleep at 5:50am.
I am trying to put into words this pain. Mainly for myself to remember so that I can continue to strive to eat better and avoid this experience.
Pain is a funny thing. In the midst of it, it is the worst thing. But afterwards, the euphoria at it's passing makes it less memorable. I need to remember it in order to avoid it.
I am taking steps. I am doing all that I can. The fact is, I have stones. I can: take medicines to help clean out the stones--but they still have to pass, take medicines to help make the hole where the stones pass get bigger, avoid fat and sugar. This is difficult to do. There is fat and sugar in lots of different things. And I quite enjoy both.
If this continues, I may have to go to plan B and nuke this little gall bladder.
The pain is starting again. The tightness. Maybe it's just hunger. Drat. Now I have to eat. You'll forgive me if eating scares the piss out of me.
UPDATE: It wasn't gall stones. It's kidney stones. So that's a fun new development. Yay.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Maps
Do you know what I did this afternoon at work?
I looked up directions from Finland to Prince Patrick Island. Apparently Google doesn't know how to get there.
I am trying to wrap my mind around this whole "Globe" thing.
When I was a child, I thought America and "the world" were synonymous, as any good little patriot would.
And as a 34 year old woman, I somehow imagined that if you went north from Finland, you'd eventually end up in Argentina.
Not really sure how I came up with that.
I finally decided to look at a ball and try to figure it out and realized that Canada was on the other side of Finland! So now I imagine cruise ships taking off from Helsinki and ending up in Canada. Somewhere.
Of course there's the giant polar ice caps--but they're melting, right?
I have spent entirely too much time imagining Viking adventures and taking note of how much further north Sweden is from Utah.
I love maps.
I looked up directions from Finland to Prince Patrick Island. Apparently Google doesn't know how to get there.
I am trying to wrap my mind around this whole "Globe" thing.
When I was a child, I thought America and "the world" were synonymous, as any good little patriot would.
And as a 34 year old woman, I somehow imagined that if you went north from Finland, you'd eventually end up in Argentina.
Not really sure how I came up with that.
I finally decided to look at a ball and try to figure it out and realized that Canada was on the other side of Finland! So now I imagine cruise ships taking off from Helsinki and ending up in Canada. Somewhere.
Of course there's the giant polar ice caps--but they're melting, right?
I have spent entirely too much time imagining Viking adventures and taking note of how much further north Sweden is from Utah.
I love maps.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Joys of Working in a Storage Unit
For the past 6 months, I've been working at a storage unit in down town Salt Lake City.
It has been eye-opening to say the least.
We have 5 floors of storage units.
One day a wealthier customer asked me what he should do with his barely used queen box springs and mattress.... I told him we'd find a nice place for it.... (in my bedroom!)
We have a group of homeless guys that share a 10x10 unit. They're usually dirty, but really polite.
There's a very nice man who comes in everyday to his little corner unit. His hair is always slicked back perfectly. He looks very nice. The only way you would guess that he was homeless is that he has a deep tan and he carries a heavy backpack. He looks to be in his 50s. Last night, I needed to find one of the carts that had gone missing. I figured he was using it for something. I came upon him sitting on clean utilitarian grey blankets spread neatly on the blue cart. He was using rubber cement to repair the holes in his shoes. It broke my heart that I had to ask him to give up his seat.
Today, a woman came in with her curly haired daughter. The child is almost 3 years old and autistic. The woman wore a dirty tank top, no bra and a smile. She was drenched in sweat. She is legally blind, so she wasn't able to read the receipt I handed her as she made her payment. She commented that she had just walked from the airport. (We're a good 6 miles away.)
Every day I meet people who are moving up in the world--buying houses, moving to Singapore for work, Boston for school, moving in with lovers, getting married. And everyday I meet people who happily survive within their less fortunate circumstances.
I am amazed at how many different lives occur in this city. Worlds within worlds.
It has been eye-opening to say the least.
We have 5 floors of storage units.
One day a wealthier customer asked me what he should do with his barely used queen box springs and mattress.... I told him we'd find a nice place for it.... (in my bedroom!)
We have a group of homeless guys that share a 10x10 unit. They're usually dirty, but really polite.
There's a very nice man who comes in everyday to his little corner unit. His hair is always slicked back perfectly. He looks very nice. The only way you would guess that he was homeless is that he has a deep tan and he carries a heavy backpack. He looks to be in his 50s. Last night, I needed to find one of the carts that had gone missing. I figured he was using it for something. I came upon him sitting on clean utilitarian grey blankets spread neatly on the blue cart. He was using rubber cement to repair the holes in his shoes. It broke my heart that I had to ask him to give up his seat.
Today, a woman came in with her curly haired daughter. The child is almost 3 years old and autistic. The woman wore a dirty tank top, no bra and a smile. She was drenched in sweat. She is legally blind, so she wasn't able to read the receipt I handed her as she made her payment. She commented that she had just walked from the airport. (We're a good 6 miles away.)
Every day I meet people who are moving up in the world--buying houses, moving to Singapore for work, Boston for school, moving in with lovers, getting married. And everyday I meet people who happily survive within their less fortunate circumstances.
I am amazed at how many different lives occur in this city. Worlds within worlds.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Writing from 2006
I found this piece I had written while I was in graduate school. It was hidden in some random folder on my computer. Enjoy.
life
Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Just in Time,
I opened the beer cooler with 30 minutes left to open and saw all the beer I needed to replace. Sighed and then
No one came in until 11:30am, and so I happily sliced lemons.
When they did come in, they came in at lovely intervals, and I floated from one table to the next.
At noon Corey came in. Smile.
After five hours of work, I wiped down my tables and noticed that the usual aches and pains were missing. Smile.
I forgot my brother's diagnosis and learned how to make myself fried ice cream with caramel and chocolate. Before I bit into it, I remembered. Somehow it just tasted better. Ahhh the forbidden. . .
I walked out the front door of the restaurant into the brightness of the afternoon. All my obligations finished. I walked across the street and remembered my plan to pay my parking ticket at City Hall.
I looked up the street to see an ambulance blocking the street. The lights were off. The road was closed. A group of five or six people stood waiting in the street.
I looked up to see what they were looking at.
A woman hung by her arms from her windowsill on the fourth floor above the street. She wore a hot pink shirt and jean shorts. For a split second I thought--maybe she was trying to install her air conditioner. Somehow I didn't think that was the answer.
She was gripping the ledge. For a moment I felt hope. I felt like she would be able to pull herself up and into the open window. And then I thought that maybe she had decided to practice climbing up the side of the building, and this window sill was her last step. That image brought me even more hope. Surely if she could scale the side of the building, she would be able to pull herself up off the window sill.
And then she slipped. Or let go. I'll never know.
She fell down.
I never saw her land. Thank God.
I stood there with the others in the street. One man ran. Colleen stood on the opposite corner. A stranger asked what I had seen. I tried to be honest about what I had seen, not wanting to start any false rumors.
In the minutes that followed, the ambulance never left.
The hope and then the fall.
I came home.
Fell asleep watching tv.
Paid bills.
Drove to
I'm home now.
Perhaps I'll be more wary of hope in the future. The fall seemed further in light of the hope.
It Was Wonderful
This show is magic.
When Tammy first asked me about being a part of things,
I thought--but this is a show about rent... and I pay my rent.
In the above scene Mimi is trying to convince Roger to live. "No Day But Today!"
My favorite lines in the show are from the song "What You Own"
It is hard living in America right now. We earn little, we work hard, we value different things from our parents, and I doubt any of us will end up with much material wealth--but we have deeper connections with one another, with art, with ourselves. We are more honest with ourselves. We refuse to live the inauthentic lives that others before us embraced. We may not have much, but what we have is beautiful.
Don't breathe too deep
Don't think all day
Dive into work
Drive the other way
That drip of hurt
That pint of shame
Goes away
Just play the game
You're living in America
At the end of the millenium
You're living in America
Leave your conscience at the tone
And when you're living in America
At the end of the millenium
You're what you own
ROGER
The filmmaker cannot see
MARK
And the songwriter cannot hear
ROGER
Yet I see Mimi everywhere
MARK
Angel's voice is in my ear
ROGER
Just tighten those shoulders
MARK
Just clench your jaw til you frown
ROGER
Just don't let go
BOTH
Or you may drown
You're living in America
At the end of the millenium
You're living in America
Where it's like the twilight zone
And when you're living in America
At the end of the millenium
You're what you own
So I own not a notion
I escape an ape content
I don't own emotion- I rent
MARK
What was it about that night
ROGER
What was it about that night
BOTH
Connection- In an isolatiing age
MARK
For once the shadows gave way to light
ROGER
For once the shadows gave way to light
BOTH
For once I didn't disengage
[following two sung almost at the same time]
MARK
Angel- I hear you- I hear it
I see it- I see it my film!
Roger
Mimi-I see you- I hear it-
I hear it-
I hear it my song
[following two sung almost at same time]
MARK (On the phone)
Alexi-Mark
Call me a hypocrite
I need to finish my
Own film
I quit!
Roger
One song glory
Mimi your eyes
BOTH
Dying in America
At the end of the millenium
We're dying in America
To come into our own
And when you're dying in America
At the end of the millenium
You're not alone
I'm not alone
I'm not alone
Don't think all day
Dive into work
Drive the other way
That drip of hurt
That pint of shame
Goes away
Just play the game
You're living in America
At the end of the millenium
You're living in America
Leave your conscience at the tone
And when you're living in America
At the end of the millenium
You're what you own
ROGER
The filmmaker cannot see
MARK
And the songwriter cannot hear
ROGER
Yet I see Mimi everywhere
MARK
Angel's voice is in my ear
ROGER
Just tighten those shoulders
MARK
Just clench your jaw til you frown
ROGER
Just don't let go
BOTH
Or you may drown
You're living in America
At the end of the millenium
You're living in America
Where it's like the twilight zone
And when you're living in America
At the end of the millenium
You're what you own
So I own not a notion
I escape an ape content
I don't own emotion- I rent
MARK
What was it about that night
ROGER
What was it about that night
BOTH
Connection- In an isolatiing age
MARK
For once the shadows gave way to light
ROGER
For once the shadows gave way to light
BOTH
For once I didn't disengage
[following two sung almost at the same time]
MARK
Angel- I hear you- I hear it
I see it- I see it my film!
Roger
Mimi-I see you- I hear it-
I hear it-
I hear it my song
[following two sung almost at same time]
MARK (On the phone)
Alexi-Mark
Call me a hypocrite
I need to finish my
Own film
I quit!
Roger
One song glory
Mimi your eyes
BOTH
Dying in America
At the end of the millenium
We're dying in America
To come into our own
And when you're dying in America
At the end of the millenium
You're not alone
I'm not alone
I'm not alone
Monday, May 7, 2012
On Golden Pond
We open our show On Golden Pond this week! Come and see it if you're in Utah!!
We open next week. I am so proud of this cast. It is hilarious! Marc Reading is in it--the same Marc Reading from high school. And the other cast members are phenomenal.
It's Thursday, Friday, Saturday May 17, 18, 19, 24, 25, 26 at 7pm. Only $10!!
Please come!!!
www.midvaletheatre.com for more information
The address for the theatre is 7711 S Main Street (700 West), Midvale, Utah.
It probably won't sell out because it's a straight play. But it is a comedy!! And it's delightful. Please tell your friends and family about it. We would love to see you there!!
We open next week. I am so proud of this cast. It is hilarious! Marc Reading is in it--the same Marc Reading from high school. And the other cast members are phenomenal.
It's Thursday, Friday, Saturday May 17, 18, 19, 24, 25, 26 at 7pm. Only $10!!
Please come!!!
www.midvaletheatre.com for more information
The address for the theatre is 7711 S Main Street (700 West), Midvale, Utah.
It probably won't sell out because it's a straight play. But it is a comedy!! And it's delightful. Please tell your friends and family about it. We would love to see you there!!
Friday, April 27, 2012
Memory Lane
So I found this picture. I'm 3, Jack's 2. My mom was 25. We're with my grandma is California. I am proud of how beautiful my mother and grandmother have always been. And I am proud of my 3 year old self for forcing myself to smile with my fingers. he he he. Silly little me. I kinda dig my fly red suit too.
Tonight I drove up to Tremonton and played pool with my brother Nick and my sister Kim. Kim brought my nephew Konner with and he shot pool for the first time while standing on a chair. We were all shooting pretty well! But it's hard to take the game seriously when the 4 year old is randomly knocking balls into the pockets!
So that's my update. And a picture. No cohesion whatsoever... but it's a post! Woot!
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Not There
I want to write a book about my life.
But books are supposed to have happy endings.
And I'm not there.
At some point, you're supposed to reach your best self before you start the downward slope.
I feel like I'm sliding towards death. And I haven't yet reached the top of my mountain.
When I was younger, I created a picture in my mind of who I wanted to be when I was older.
This ain't it.
I don't know why I feel so inadequate right now. I am doing a lot of positive things.
I am hoping I'm suffering from some paranoid delusions, but I feel like my mom doesn't enjoy my company. It's a major bummer. When I was younger, we didn't spend much time with extended family, and I thought--when I'm older, we'll get together as a family. We'll have normal family get togethers. We'll have fun at birthdays like other regular families do.
When I moved back to Utah, I expected that I would enjoy family get togethers on a more regular basis.
Well, that's not happening. And I no longer have the "I live across the country" excuse.
I feel like a move to Bali is in order.
But books are supposed to have happy endings.
And I'm not there.
At some point, you're supposed to reach your best self before you start the downward slope.
I feel like I'm sliding towards death. And I haven't yet reached the top of my mountain.
When I was younger, I created a picture in my mind of who I wanted to be when I was older.
This ain't it.
I don't know why I feel so inadequate right now. I am doing a lot of positive things.
I am hoping I'm suffering from some paranoid delusions, but I feel like my mom doesn't enjoy my company. It's a major bummer. When I was younger, we didn't spend much time with extended family, and I thought--when I'm older, we'll get together as a family. We'll have normal family get togethers. We'll have fun at birthdays like other regular families do.
When I moved back to Utah, I expected that I would enjoy family get togethers on a more regular basis.
Well, that's not happening. And I no longer have the "I live across the country" excuse.
I feel like a move to Bali is in order.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Singing My Faith
I love to sing. I finally figured out how to record myself on garageband. A couple of months ago, I decided to experiment with layering tracks. I decided to sing all the parts of my favorite hymn. I accidentally commented on youtube that it was 8 parts, but I think it's only 4...
There are things I want to improve about it, but I think it's a good effort.
I wanna share it with you. I hope you enjoy it.
There are things I want to improve about it, but I think it's a good effort.
I wanna share it with you. I hope you enjoy it.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Story of 3 Cakes
It was a really nice birthday.
I got 3 different birthday cakes. That's how wonderful it was.
The Story of the 1st Cake: I was with two close friends. We shared a chocolate raspberry torte and shared our deepest secrets. We laughed and cried. It was magical. The cake was unexpected. A lovely surprise that showed me that my friend was thinking of me.
The 2nd Cake: I was at rehearsal. I knew something was happening during our break because the cast wouldn't let me into the lobby and I wanted to use the bathroom. When I finally walked through the doors, the whole cast and everyone in the theatre gathered around a large pink and brown cake. They sang the most beautiful rendition of "Happy Birthday!" It was overwhelming. So much love. And such a wonderful surprise. Once again, I was overwhelmed at the thoughtfulness of my friends.
The 3rd Cake: I made Thai food for one of my favorite girlfriends. We enjoyed great food and great conversation. And she brought a beautiful chocolate cake. We didn't have time to eat it. We were too full from dinner.
Later that night, I tried something new. I decided that on this third and final cake I would light my own candles, sing "Happy Birthday" to myself and blow out my candles alone.
It felt like I was jumping off a cliff.
I wondered if it might feel lonely or pathetic or if some other negative emotion might come over me. But nothing like that happened. It felt oddly empowering. I could feel a smile growing inside my heart. (I know... corney...) I felt the most genuine happiness overwhelm me. I just felt peace. I like where I am right now. I am gloriously alone. I am joyfully comfortable in my own company.
After sharing cake with friends old and new, I loved that I got the chance to celebrate my birthday with one of my favorite people--ME!
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
The Many Faces of Kannon Roscoe
This baby cracks me up.
This is my little nephew. Look at those big eyes!
He just turned 5 months old in these pictures.
Oh! He's so sad! Life is a tragedy!
"Why?! WHY?! Life is so tragic!"
"You ain't nothin' but a hound dog!"
"Really? Is that really the choice you wanna make? What would your mother think?"
"The more I think about it, the more I must conclude that fingers really are the tastiest things in the world."
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Nick's Growin up!
Last night I took Nick's pictures at the theatre. He's growing up so fast!! Look how tall he is now!
This is a picture of him at our sister Kim's wedding back in 2005. He had decided at the beginning of the summer to not cut his hair at all that summer. And then he got transition lenses. We call this his John Lennon look-a-like phase.
He's in college now at BYU studying International Relations. He decided to live in the German house so he could nail down his German. He will have just a year of college left to go when he comes back from his LDS mission. He will put his papers in soon.
I think he will make a happy ambassador for Jesus! But in looking at these pictures, a mystery presents itself.
How did his teeth get so purty? Interesting...Also--please note that he is wearing the same tie.
I think he will make a happy ambassador for Jesus! But in looking at these pictures, a mystery presents itself.
How did his teeth get so purty? Interesting...Also--please note that he is wearing the same tie.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Phillip the Acting Dog
I'm directing To Kill a Mockingbird at Midvale Main Street Theatre. The show goes up Feb 16th. Come and see it!
These are the talented kids playing Dill (the future Truman Capote), Scout (young Harper Lee) and Jem... (who is someone wonderful too, I'm sure.) The kids playing Scout and Jem are brother and sister in real life. I have funny stories about these three, but I'll save those for later.
This is a picture of some of the gentlemen in the cast. The guy playing Atticus is a rhetoric professor at UVU. Bob Ewell is played by Tom Drury, a great old actor and banjo player!
But this entry is about a dog.
One of the guys in the cast, Joe Puente, has a little dog that is 13 years old. The dog's name is Phil. Phil is old, wise, and near deaf. Joe brings him to rehearsal every night. The dog wanders across the stage at will, which I frankly love! The play is about a little southern town and most of the scenes take place outside, so watching a dog walk across the stage at random moments just cracks me up.
There's a scene where the kids tell Calpurnia about a mad dog coming down the street. Calpurnia goes up to the Boo Radley house and says, "Mad dog! Mad dog's coming!"
And like clockwork, Phil comes trotting onto the stage EVERY TIME she says this line. He enters from the right entrance and everything. It cracks me up! And the kids and Calpurnia all react appropriately running from the dog and screaming "Mad dog!" and so Phil, who is generally perfectly quiet, picks up his head and barks.
It's a riot.
And that is generally how rehearsals go.
There are serious moments, but most of the time, we're just having a wonderful time laughing and working.
If you can make it, I'd love to have you see this show!
But this entry is about a dog.
One of the guys in the cast, Joe Puente, has a little dog that is 13 years old. The dog's name is Phil. Phil is old, wise, and near deaf. Joe brings him to rehearsal every night. The dog wanders across the stage at will, which I frankly love! The play is about a little southern town and most of the scenes take place outside, so watching a dog walk across the stage at random moments just cracks me up.
There's a scene where the kids tell Calpurnia about a mad dog coming down the street. Calpurnia goes up to the Boo Radley house and says, "Mad dog! Mad dog's coming!"
And like clockwork, Phil comes trotting onto the stage EVERY TIME she says this line. He enters from the right entrance and everything. It cracks me up! And the kids and Calpurnia all react appropriately running from the dog and screaming "Mad dog!" and so Phil, who is generally perfectly quiet, picks up his head and barks.
It's a riot.
And that is generally how rehearsals go.
There are serious moments, but most of the time, we're just having a wonderful time laughing and working.
If you can make it, I'd love to have you see this show!
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