I like music. Especially Keane's kind.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Missing
People have said this before: You never know what you have until it's gone. People have said it way too many times before. So let me suggest this one instead:
I love my sister.
I've never had anyone in my family leave my house before, not for an extended period of time, at least. A week. Maybe two weeks. But this was always with the confidence that, after a week, or maybe two weeks, they'd be back and lo and behold ALL IS WELL IN THE WELL.
In fact, more often than not for the past, what, eight years? There's been an extra person living with us--a cousin working here or schooling here or marrying here. For our family out of town, we were the perfect hotel (as long as they didn't mind some messes and lack of room service). So eight of us were always sitting at dinner or kneeling for prayer, and when somebody was gone, they were missed. And when our working-schooling-marrying-cousin left for good, the trite phrase at family prayer became: "It feels like someone's missing..." Because all of a sudden our eight was seven, which was the normal number of family members, but not for us.
Our family is young. A lot of my friends are the second youngest or youngest in their families, but we were always young. We've watched each other as we've grown. And we've occasionally forgotten that he was in fifth grade or she was in eighth grade, but it didn't matter, because Betty's sister was getting married and Maggie's brother was going on a mission. They were the old families. We were young.
When Lynzi graduated, it wasn't that weird. Remember? We'd watched her grow up. She was the oldest so it wasn't that weird to see her donned in blue and throwing her cap in the air. It wasn't that weird when she started going to ASU because she came home every night, even if it was after F.H.E. with her ward or something.
"It won't even be that different if Lynzi leaves for BYU," I said, "because she's gone all the time anyway."
But we didn't know that Lynzi was going to BYU until later this summer. What did I say then?
"It won't even be that different when Lynzi leaves for BYU because she's gone all the time anyway."
But I forgot what happened when our eight became seven! And when seven becomes six? I'd never felt that before.
It's not like when someone's gone for a week or two. I have my own bathroom. I only share the upstairs with my parents. Looking around at Lynzi's scant and disarranged room made me very, very sad.
Those people who use that cliche aren't really so bad. They only say it because it's true.You never know when you have an awesome, fun, righteous, kind, loving, good-exampling, stick-up-for-you kind of good older sister until she goes to BYU. You never know the extent of her awesomeness and goodness until she leaves, for reals.
Our only comfort is that she's in the hands of good ol' BYU, and Rachel Schlappi.
Thanks goodness it's only Utah.
I love my sister.
I've never had anyone in my family leave my house before, not for an extended period of time, at least. A week. Maybe two weeks. But this was always with the confidence that, after a week, or maybe two weeks, they'd be back and lo and behold ALL IS WELL IN THE WELL.
In fact, more often than not for the past, what, eight years? There's been an extra person living with us--a cousin working here or schooling here or marrying here. For our family out of town, we were the perfect hotel (as long as they didn't mind some messes and lack of room service). So eight of us were always sitting at dinner or kneeling for prayer, and when somebody was gone, they were missed. And when our working-schooling-marrying-cousin left for good, the trite phrase at family prayer became: "It feels like someone's missing..." Because all of a sudden our eight was seven, which was the normal number of family members, but not for us.
Our family is young. A lot of my friends are the second youngest or youngest in their families, but we were always young. We've watched each other as we've grown. And we've occasionally forgotten that he was in fifth grade or she was in eighth grade, but it didn't matter, because Betty's sister was getting married and Maggie's brother was going on a mission. They were the old families. We were young.
When Lynzi graduated, it wasn't that weird. Remember? We'd watched her grow up. She was the oldest so it wasn't that weird to see her donned in blue and throwing her cap in the air. It wasn't that weird when she started going to ASU because she came home every night, even if it was after F.H.E. with her ward or something.
"It won't even be that different if Lynzi leaves for BYU," I said, "because she's gone all the time anyway."
But we didn't know that Lynzi was going to BYU until later this summer. What did I say then?
"It won't even be that different when Lynzi leaves for BYU because she's gone all the time anyway."
But I forgot what happened when our eight became seven! And when seven becomes six? I'd never felt that before.
It's not like when someone's gone for a week or two. I have my own bathroom. I only share the upstairs with my parents. Looking around at Lynzi's scant and disarranged room made me very, very sad.
Those people who use that cliche aren't really so bad. They only say it because it's true.You never know when you have an awesome, fun, righteous, kind, loving, good-exampling, stick-up-for-you kind of good older sister until she goes to BYU. You never know the extent of her awesomeness and goodness until she leaves, for reals.
Our only comfort is that she's in the hands of good ol' BYU, and Rachel Schlappi.
Thanks goodness it's only Utah.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Memories
In the days before school starts, dreams of--whaddya know--SCHOOL haunt me.
So let's forget about THAT THING and remember THIS THING.
So let's forget about THAT THING and remember THIS THING.
Ah, the beautiful mountains. Pine trees, open blue skies, huge clouds, pleasant breezes, cool rains...
And cows. Don't forget them. They loved plodding through our camp--day or night.
Aaaaand this guy. He wanted to get in our garbage. Maybe I shouldn't have led him on with that piece of pancake...aw well. He was cute.
I miss these beauties--tiny, but bright and happy all the same.
I don't miss these fingernails. But hey, it's all part of the camping spirit, isn't it? (As is Pokemon Yahtzee)
White. Perfect.
I miss little things like this, too, laying all around camp. Cute. I also miss the little guys who sat in them. Not to say that those little guys won't be at my grandma's house next Sunday. They live close by. Nevertheless, something about toddlers in the mountains...*sniff* It just gets me.
And these dudes, bien sur. Love 'em love 'em love 'em.
Ah.
Nothing like Rook in the mountains!
I LOVE TREES SO MUCH REAL ONES TALL ONES GREEN ONES THAT HAVE PRETTY GRAY SKIES IN THE BACKGROUND I LLLLOVE THEM!
I'm gonna miss wearing these pants. You can't really see them, but...they are soo comfortable. Fuzzies, see? Comfortable.
The scriptures are always nearby so I won't miss them. But scriptures are infinitely enhanced in the clear mountain air, where there's nothing to distract you but the brisk breeze that seems to bring the very Spirit with it as it wooshes through camp...
I guess I won't miss these guys that much. But he is cool looking, non?
I will most definitely miss this stuff. IT'S RAIN, if you can't tell. Loverly loverly rain.
Rain that simply sparkles on the tips of pine needles...Loverly.
Oh, and this too...Just loverly...
Sunday, June 26, 2011
It's Fresh. It's New. It's Real.
As part of the Willie Handcart Company, Levi Savage (Jasen Wade) feared that leaving late in the season would lead to despair and death. What he came to find out is that for every tragedy, there is a multitude of miracles.
Levi Savage kept meticulous records as he made his journey west toward the Salt Lake Valley. Many of the unbelievable miracles showcased in 17 Miracles come directly from Levi's first hand journal entries.
Based on unbelievable actual events, and brought to you by filmmaker T.C. Christensen (Praise to the Man, The Work and the Glory), 17 Miracles will open your eyes to the stories of the Mormon Pioneers as you have never seen them before. Something extraordinary is about to happen.
I've never been in such a quiet theater before.
You know the usual chaos after a movie--the general clumping of feet, rustle of empty popcorn bags, and chatter of opinions about the film. Not at this one. None of that. As the credits rolled, the entire of the theater sat still--a couple people got up and left, maybe--but still in the silence that follows something profound. Something profound, and sad; but something peaceful, and so great in the end.
I shuffled my body in my seat, waiting. What's...supposed to happen here? I looked around nervously. Nope, nobody was leaving.
At the end of the short credits, I stood nervously. Yeah, ok, now everyone was leaving. A girl in the row above me said something to her mother, her voice ever a whisper, even as the lights came back on and the people began to file out the door. The only one who said something above a murmur was a lady at the top--"You people are so quiet!" I couldn't have agreed more with that lady.
Things seemed so different. Suddenly, the movie theater wasn't a mess. Things seemed orderly, and soft, and shadowed instead of bright. The posters on the walls seemed a bit more gaudy, but they didn't matter as much in their gaudiness. Things in the world were set straight. Even my neck didn't hurt as much.
The drive home was just as quiet.
Never has a cinematic feature had such an effect on me--nor anyone, I dare say. When, where, HOW else do you see a mass of people so collectively quiet? Not at the Super Bowl, I can tell you that.
You've heard stories about the pioneers. You've heard them all your life, and maybe you've even gotten tired of them. Well, let me tell you, it's time to get UN-TIRED. It was definitely my time. It's one thing to read about the pioneers, and another to watch their lives played before your eyes (no matter how pretended). Especially when you know that every wit of what is being played before you is true.
It's great to step back. To see that movie...It's to remember why we are here, why we do what we do. Why I do what I do. It's because, and for, THEM. For those pioneers. And it's because I know that the Lord's hand did not--and has not--ceased at 17 miracles.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
YEE HAW
"If you wanna horse, I kin getchoo a horse. But I ain't no horse."
"BEHOLD! A camera in the distance!"
"Where?"
"Do those glasses of yours work at all?"
Saturday, May 28, 2011
The Glories of Summer
1. Wearing no makeup.
2. Wearing your hair up (or down) even when it looks bad.
3. Having time to do nothing.
4. Planning the evenings without having to worry about homework.
5. Waking up to a day dawning with no rules, no regulations, and no monotonous routine.
6. Cleaning your room.
7. Reading for hours (and days) on end.
8. Doing all those things that you meant to do during school, but never got around to, like
9. Personal Progress.
10. Spending days with your friends.
11. Spending days with your family.
12. Making an awesome meal.
13. Helping your mom do the dishes.
14. Starting a project, and finishing it.
15. Posting on your blog.
2. Wearing your hair up (or down) even when it looks bad.
3. Having time to do nothing.
4. Planning the evenings without having to worry about homework.
5. Waking up to a day dawning with no rules, no regulations, and no monotonous routine.
6. Cleaning your room.
7. Reading for hours (and days) on end.
8. Doing all those things that you meant to do during school, but never got around to, like
9. Personal Progress.
10. Spending days with your friends.
11. Spending days with your family.
12. Making an awesome meal.
13. Helping your mom do the dishes.
14. Starting a project, and finishing it.
15. Posting on your blog.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
All I Know
One of the most challenging challenges for a young writer is creating characters unlike themselves. Really--a teenage life is summarized in one word: ME. Check out the title of my last post.
Bingo.
At our young age, all we really know ( I mean really know) is ourselves: our loves, our beliefs, our failures, our looks. So we weave that knowledge into our writing. Why do I know this? BECAUSE I DO IT ALL THE TIME.
It's hard to plant a girl character in a plot and not shape her from something that I am, wish to be, or hope to be. Whether it's physical characteristics or emotional tendencies, some part of me goes into that girl. I can try not to. I can try to mold her into someone who I would never be. But it doesn't work. I really believe that you can't write something that isn't you.
Even if she is described as nothing like me, my voice is my voice, and thus, the voice of my characters.
Not to say that Mark Twain was nothing like Huck Finn, or Stephanie Meyer like Bella Swan.
But we youth go a little out of control, golly gee---we just put ourselves everywhere, don't we?
Bingo.
At our young age, all we really know ( I mean really know) is ourselves: our loves, our beliefs, our failures, our looks. So we weave that knowledge into our writing. Why do I know this? BECAUSE I DO IT ALL THE TIME.
It's hard to plant a girl character in a plot and not shape her from something that I am, wish to be, or hope to be. Whether it's physical characteristics or emotional tendencies, some part of me goes into that girl. I can try not to. I can try to mold her into someone who I would never be. But it doesn't work. I really believe that you can't write something that isn't you.
Even if she is described as nothing like me, my voice is my voice, and thus, the voice of my characters.
Not to say that Mark Twain was nothing like Huck Finn, or Stephanie Meyer like Bella Swan.
But we youth go a little out of control, golly gee---we just put ourselves everywhere, don't we?
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Me
"I have learned that performing doesn't always have to be a lie," she had written. It was for an English assignment. But it had much more meaning to me, because it had MACEY written all over it. It summed up many things that I had learned over the course of my life so far.
I tried out for Annie Jr., our Highland Elementary musical, as an introverted third grader. But when I made the part of Molly and found myself up on that stage, I loved it. I was terrified. But I loved it.
And at first, I considered my short acting career to be one of fantasy, lies, and pretending. It was not until later that I realized that true performing is not something that one does, but something that one is.
After all, how can you be something that you are not? It doesn't really make sense. We can act like something we are not, or think like something we are not; we can even have the deepest intentions that coincide with something that we are not. Nevertheless, we are always and forever what we are.
Thus.
If you are like me or like my dear insightful friend, performing is not a lie-- it's a part of you. Performing is who you are--dancing, singing, speaking, even acting is you.
I didn't understand this until earlier in this my sophomore year, when I was musing about trying out for the spring musical. Why do I want to do it? I asked myself. I'm not an outgoing person. No one even knows that I like acting. And why did I want to do it? Because, I figured, acting was an extension of myself. It was the me that I kept hidden from the world the other 99% of the time; nevertheless, it was me.
Sure, anybody can get up on a stage and act like they're a performer. In that case, no, performing is not a part of who they are. But if the stage is their home away from home, if every minute spent performing is a new adventure, if that rush of adrenaline sends them flying unlike anything else, if building and practicing and growing and perfecting is their world . . . yes. It's who they are.
So I'm not being a liar when I get up on stage, I concluded.
I'm being me.
I tried out for Annie Jr., our Highland Elementary musical, as an introverted third grader. But when I made the part of Molly and found myself up on that stage, I loved it. I was terrified. But I loved it.
And at first, I considered my short acting career to be one of fantasy, lies, and pretending. It was not until later that I realized that true performing is not something that one does, but something that one is.
After all, how can you be something that you are not? It doesn't really make sense. We can act like something we are not, or think like something we are not; we can even have the deepest intentions that coincide with something that we are not. Nevertheless, we are always and forever what we are.
Thus.
If you are like me or like my dear insightful friend, performing is not a lie-- it's a part of you. Performing is who you are--dancing, singing, speaking, even acting is you.
I didn't understand this until earlier in this my sophomore year, when I was musing about trying out for the spring musical. Why do I want to do it? I asked myself. I'm not an outgoing person. No one even knows that I like acting. And why did I want to do it? Because, I figured, acting was an extension of myself. It was the me that I kept hidden from the world the other 99% of the time; nevertheless, it was me.
Sure, anybody can get up on a stage and act like they're a performer. In that case, no, performing is not a part of who they are. But if the stage is their home away from home, if every minute spent performing is a new adventure, if that rush of adrenaline sends them flying unlike anything else, if building and practicing and growing and perfecting is their world . . . yes. It's who they are.
So I'm not being a liar when I get up on stage, I concluded.
I'm being me.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Just That
Sometimes I'm faced with thoughts like these. They don't come often, and they don't come too hurtful. Mostly, they are just accompanied by a thorough longing.
They come when I see kids running the canals and sporting track t-shirts. I just really wanted to be a part of a team. I'm not very much of a TEAM person--most of the time I find myself doing activities, classes, everything, alone. I think I feel like I have more control of the situation (any situation) when I'm by myself. But track was supposed to be where I could be like everyone else, but do my own thing. A happy medium.
Nevertheless, I'm rambling.
All I know is that track isn't where I was nor am supposed to be. And that's just fine.
Monday, April 18, 2011
The Calculation
I am grateful for muscles that work involuntarily. I'm in biology this year, and here I am studying for a quiz about the circulatory system.
I've known all along that hearts do a lot. But man. Cells, tissues, ventricles, valves, all flowing and moving together in absolute harmony to keep bodies living. Beat. By beat. By beat.
Feel your heart.
It's beating, isn't it? And you didn't even have to try. Because your body knows what to do, and your heart knows that its job is to keep you alive. Isn't that marvelous??
What if we did have to think about it? What if every beat was a conscious effort?
I feel like our lives would be so much simpler if we did. There wouldn't be time or energy to do much else but keep our hearts beating.
-Beat.
-Oh.
-Beat.
-School.
-Beat.
-Man. I wish school was over.
-Beat beat beat beat.
-Whoo.
-Beat.
-Almost forgot to beat my heart.
-Beat.
So I'm glad that that's not how things are. Not to say that I don't sometimes still worry about my heart beating. But I know that I can trust it to beat for as long and as hard as it's supposed to---and for that, I am very grateful.
I've known all along that hearts do a lot. But man. Cells, tissues, ventricles, valves, all flowing and moving together in absolute harmony to keep bodies living. Beat. By beat. By beat.
Feel your heart.
It's beating, isn't it? And you didn't even have to try. Because your body knows what to do, and your heart knows that its job is to keep you alive. Isn't that marvelous??
What if we did have to think about it? What if every beat was a conscious effort?
I feel like our lives would be so much simpler if we did. There wouldn't be time or energy to do much else but keep our hearts beating.
-Beat.
-Oh.
-Beat.
-School.
-Beat.
-Man. I wish school was over.
-Beat beat beat beat.
-Whoo.
-Beat.
-Almost forgot to beat my heart.
-Beat.
So I'm glad that that's not how things are. Not to say that I don't sometimes still worry about my heart beating. But I know that I can trust it to beat for as long and as hard as it's supposed to---and for that, I am very grateful.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Within Reach
I knew that I just couldn't go through the day without it.
There was no way I could face what I had to face if it were not with me. No matter how little I actually called upon it, I knew of its power. And looking down at the scattered papers in front of me, I felt an odd mixture of knowing my situation was impossible at the moment, but very possible if I had it.
So I asked the one who could help me, embarrassment fringing my being, but the most part of me humbled. Tears threatened at my eyes. I blinked and fought the choke in my throat. As always, his answer was simple and in the affirmative.
Hands pressed against my head, large and strong, but gentle and protective. They shifted slightly on my hair. Words, good words, entwined my ears in a sweet melody.
And just as I'd known, there it was, exactly what I needed. Encouraging things, seemingly implanted from those hands into my brain. Exactly what I needed. Every syllable perched itself inside of me and brought me higher. Shivers prickled across my skin. New tears, purer and kinder, cooled my cheeks.
And everything was suddenly within my reach.
There was no way I could face what I had to face if it were not with me. No matter how little I actually called upon it, I knew of its power. And looking down at the scattered papers in front of me, I felt an odd mixture of knowing my situation was impossible at the moment, but very possible if I had it.
So I asked the one who could help me, embarrassment fringing my being, but the most part of me humbled. Tears threatened at my eyes. I blinked and fought the choke in my throat. As always, his answer was simple and in the affirmative.
Hands pressed against my head, large and strong, but gentle and protective. They shifted slightly on my hair. Words, good words, entwined my ears in a sweet melody.
And just as I'd known, there it was, exactly what I needed. Encouraging things, seemingly implanted from those hands into my brain. Exactly what I needed. Every syllable perched itself inside of me and brought me higher. Shivers prickled across my skin. New tears, purer and kinder, cooled my cheeks.
And everything was suddenly within my reach.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Back to the Future
I hope that, when I'm older, I write lots of books. I mean, right now it seems like it would be an amazing feat to just get one poem published, but I can hope.
So, I hope that I write. I hope that I grow old and write books---inspiring books. Good ones, with inspiring quotes. Quotes that everyone knows because they're so inspiring.
I imagine myself writing things like this when I'm old:
"I look in the mirror and finger my silver hair. I almost begin to wish for the blonde locks of my youth, but I just smile and turn away.
Being old isn't so bad. Not compared to what they told me when I was young. 'You're eyes will go bad, your back will ache, your hips will have to be replaced . . .' It seemed like my body would just fall to pieces as soon as I hit 60---my back, my knees, my eyes, my ears, my mind.
My heart.
I pat the place where my defibrillator once nestled inside of me, just beneath my left collar bone. I smile again. Funny how my heart was intent on giving up on me at 14 years old, and now here I am, 68, and it's still going strong."
You know. Funny little things like that.
So, I hope that I write. I hope that I grow old and write books---inspiring books. Good ones, with inspiring quotes. Quotes that everyone knows because they're so inspiring.
I imagine myself writing things like this when I'm old:
"I look in the mirror and finger my silver hair. I almost begin to wish for the blonde locks of my youth, but I just smile and turn away.
Being old isn't so bad. Not compared to what they told me when I was young. 'You're eyes will go bad, your back will ache, your hips will have to be replaced . . .' It seemed like my body would just fall to pieces as soon as I hit 60---my back, my knees, my eyes, my ears, my mind.
My heart.
I pat the place where my defibrillator once nestled inside of me, just beneath my left collar bone. I smile again. Funny how my heart was intent on giving up on me at 14 years old, and now here I am, 68, and it's still going strong."
You know. Funny little things like that.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Demain
Devant toi, c'est demain
Et qu'est-ce que tu feras avec tes mains?
Emporteras-tu mon coeur
Ou attraperas-tu ma peur?
Je te promets
Je serai sans prejuge
Et je ne te quitterai pas.
J'irai jusqu'a demain avec toi.
Devant nous, c'est demain
Et qu'est-ce que nous ferons avec nous-memes?
Nous pouvons aller aux etoiles
Et bien nagerons dans notre joie.
Je te promets
Je serai sans prejuge
Et je ne te quitterai pas.
J'irai jusqu'a demain avec toi.
Devant moi, c'est demain
Et si demain a des projets
De te voler,
Je te laisserai aller.
Je te promets
Je t'aimerai toujours
Et je ne te quitterai pas.
J'irai jusqu'a demain avec toi.
Tomorrow
In front of you is tomorrow
And what will you do with your hands?
Will you carry my heart
Or will you take my fear?
I promise you
I will be without prejudice
And I will not leave you.
I will go to tomorrow with you.
In front of us is tomorrow
And what will we do with ourselves?
We could go to the stars
And swim in our joy.
I promise you
I will be without prejudice
And I will not leave you.
I will go to tomorrow with you.
In front of me is tomorrow
And if tomorrow has plans
To steal you,
I will let you go.
I promise you
I will love you always
And I will not leave you.
I will go to tomorrow with you.
Et qu'est-ce que tu feras avec tes mains?
Emporteras-tu mon coeur
Ou attraperas-tu ma peur?
Je te promets
Je serai sans prejuge
Et je ne te quitterai pas.
J'irai jusqu'a demain avec toi.
Devant nous, c'est demain
Et qu'est-ce que nous ferons avec nous-memes?
Nous pouvons aller aux etoiles
Et bien nagerons dans notre joie.
Je te promets
Je serai sans prejuge
Et je ne te quitterai pas.
J'irai jusqu'a demain avec toi.
Devant moi, c'est demain
Et si demain a des projets
De te voler,
Je te laisserai aller.
Je te promets
Je t'aimerai toujours
Et je ne te quitterai pas.
J'irai jusqu'a demain avec toi.
Tomorrow
In front of you is tomorrow
And what will you do with your hands?
Will you carry my heart
Or will you take my fear?
I promise you
I will be without prejudice
And I will not leave you.
I will go to tomorrow with you.
In front of us is tomorrow
And what will we do with ourselves?
We could go to the stars
And swim in our joy.
I promise you
I will be without prejudice
And I will not leave you.
I will go to tomorrow with you.
In front of me is tomorrow
And if tomorrow has plans
To steal you,
I will let you go.
I promise you
I will love you always
And I will not leave you.
I will go to tomorrow with you.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Because of Him #1: Essences and Icons
The only thing that I can think of that really resembles being on the verge of passing out is dragging a computer icon.
You know, it leaves the real icon there, right there, where it was before--but you've picked up an essence of it with your mouse. It's a little shadow of the icon that your arrow can drag around your desktop, without the real one moving anywhere at all.
Let's say you're the icon. So you're quite yourself, sitting next to your icon friends. Then the arrow comes along, clicks on you, and takes out your 'essence', leaving you with nothing but a shell.
Let's also say that this happens quickly. So you're minding your own business when BOOM ARROW BOOM ESSENCE BOOM GONE BOOM SHELL. And you are so awestruck by this hasty happenstance that you have nothing to do but try to regain yourself.
It's like that arrow swiped half of your insides. Only a single hemisphere of brain is left to mind the collection of thoughts for you. Those thoughts--they're hardly thoughts, they're whisps or shadows of thought--drowsily drop into your head. You can only process a hint of what they mean before they lazily lift themselves back into the atmosphere.
All the world seems unreal . . . or, rather, you yourself seem unreal. The tips of your appendages tingle and the only thing that occupies your energy is trying to stay awake. Your body is desperately reaching out to grasp that essence that so quickly left it. Everything else around you is nothing. But you are frightened, because everything else around you used to be something. And with all your heart you are hoping with fragmented hope that you don't have to leave it all.
Then your essence comes back. It's only bit by bit, but slowly, those chunks of brain and lung and esophagus that you were missing fix themselves back together. You are real again; real thoughts and real loves spring back to you at full force.The arrow drops the essence of icon back onto itself . . . and all is well.
You know, it leaves the real icon there, right there, where it was before--but you've picked up an essence of it with your mouse. It's a little shadow of the icon that your arrow can drag around your desktop, without the real one moving anywhere at all.
Let's say you're the icon. So you're quite yourself, sitting next to your icon friends. Then the arrow comes along, clicks on you, and takes out your 'essence', leaving you with nothing but a shell.
Let's also say that this happens quickly. So you're minding your own business when BOOM ARROW BOOM ESSENCE BOOM GONE BOOM SHELL. And you are so awestruck by this hasty happenstance that you have nothing to do but try to regain yourself.
It's like that arrow swiped half of your insides. Only a single hemisphere of brain is left to mind the collection of thoughts for you. Those thoughts--they're hardly thoughts, they're whisps or shadows of thought--drowsily drop into your head. You can only process a hint of what they mean before they lazily lift themselves back into the atmosphere.
All the world seems unreal . . . or, rather, you yourself seem unreal. The tips of your appendages tingle and the only thing that occupies your energy is trying to stay awake. Your body is desperately reaching out to grasp that essence that so quickly left it. Everything else around you is nothing. But you are frightened, because everything else around you used to be something. And with all your heart you are hoping with fragmented hope that you don't have to leave it all.
Then your essence comes back. It's only bit by bit, but slowly, those chunks of brain and lung and esophagus that you were missing fix themselves back together. You are real again; real thoughts and real loves spring back to you at full force.The arrow drops the essence of icon back onto itself . . . and all is well.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Healing
"I see something really fresh about getting a new age at the same time as a new year. All things start again, together. . .
And that is the power of looking back in time. It comes with it enlightenment and clarity. . .
--C.Jane
Mm...healing. I suppose it can never really come too late. As part of this life that we all signed up for, it is necessary that we suffer, but only for a time. Holding on to the past only brings more sadness. And what's my favorite saying? "Men are that they may have joy."
It's kindof hard to 'master' healing. It's not something that happens in a single moment---it's long, it's hard, and it hurts. But C.Jane taught me something really awesome with this post of hers. With a new year, it's time for me to heal. Care to join us?
(Note--I didn't realize that C.Jane actually used that same phrase to end her post. Whoops. I am such a plagiarizer. Just kidding. I ain't no plagiarizer, yo.)
And that is the power of looking back in time. It comes with it enlightenment and clarity. . .
--C.Jane
Mm...healing. I suppose it can never really come too late. As part of this life that we all signed up for, it is necessary that we suffer, but only for a time. Holding on to the past only brings more sadness. And what's my favorite saying? "Men are that they may have joy."
It's kindof hard to 'master' healing. It's not something that happens in a single moment---it's long, it's hard, and it hurts. But C.Jane taught me something really awesome with this post of hers. With a new year, it's time for me to heal. Care to join us?
(Note--I didn't realize that C.Jane actually used that same phrase to end her post. Whoops. I am such a plagiarizer. Just kidding. I ain't no plagiarizer, yo.)
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Nuffing
Typically, a break would be the ideal time to post.
You would think.
But really, on break, you don't want to do anything. Not even post on your blog. Because although posting takes little effort, it does take effort. Sitting on the couch all day does not take effort. And, as my science teacher would say, "All organisms want to use as little effort and as little energy as possible." It's so very true.
It's difficult to get out of that lazy-fied state and throw yourself back into school, especially when you don't even want to be there. I enjoy talking to people, I enjoy speaking French, I enjoy seminary, but I don't enjoy work. Too bad that's what school is all about.
This post isn't really going anywhere, but lemme tell you about my break. I knew you'd want to hear about it.
Numero Un: Christmas
The music, the movies, the tree, the lights, the temple, the Spirit, the Savior.
NUMBA TWO: MUSIC
We got an awesome new CD courtesy of Lynzi's friend, and are now fully enjoying the songs. Woot woot.
#3: Dancing
New Year's Eve brings many things, including STAKE DANCES. Yep. That's right. While some of you were out lighting some fireworks or freezing around bonfires, I was jamming with my friends at a stake dance.
Number 4: SNOW.
That's right! Snow! Here! In Mesa! Sure, yeah, it melted as soon as it touched the ground, but so what? I LOOOOVES THE SNOW.
So, something better will come soon. I promise.
You would think.
But really, on break, you don't want to do anything. Not even post on your blog. Because although posting takes little effort, it does take effort. Sitting on the couch all day does not take effort. And, as my science teacher would say, "All organisms want to use as little effort and as little energy as possible." It's so very true.
It's difficult to get out of that lazy-fied state and throw yourself back into school, especially when you don't even want to be there. I enjoy talking to people, I enjoy speaking French, I enjoy seminary, but I don't enjoy work. Too bad that's what school is all about.
This post isn't really going anywhere, but lemme tell you about my break. I knew you'd want to hear about it.
Numero Un: Christmas
The music, the movies, the tree, the lights, the temple, the Spirit, the Savior.
NUMBA TWO: MUSIC
We got an awesome new CD courtesy of Lynzi's friend, and are now fully enjoying the songs. Woot woot.
#3: Dancing
New Year's Eve brings many things, including STAKE DANCES. Yep. That's right. While some of you were out lighting some fireworks or freezing around bonfires, I was jamming with my friends at a stake dance.
Number 4: SNOW.
That's right! Snow! Here! In Mesa! Sure, yeah, it melted as soon as it touched the ground, but so what? I LOOOOVES THE SNOW.
So, something better will come soon. I promise.
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