So a handful of you might have noticed that for the past two days I've posted something new, then deleted it by nightfall. Wrong voice? Bad timing? Too personal? I can't pinpoint what exactly was wrong about either post, but I didn't feel settled enough to leave them up for long (alas all you google-reader-users can still access them, so feel free to give your feedback if you so desire).
This blog, for me, is as much (or more) about the actual writing as it is about telling people what's going on in our lives. I want it to be original, interesting, reflective, open, and honest. I want it to be good writing (which, I know, is a hit and miss for me). I purposefully experiment with grammar, language, and imagery. I do short writing exercises (like the last post on Honduras that has now been at the top of the page for almost a week) in which I try to focus in on people or places. I'm guessing some of you find some of those types of posts a little boring, but I don't mind.
To appease the masses, I splash up occasional bouts of poor photography of my little fellow, but I cringe in the process. Because in my mind, that's not what this blog is really about. If I'm going to do a post about Raymond, I would prefer it to be good writing about Raymond. Not a bunch of phone pictures. Alas, sometimes I fail on both accounts.
Anyhow, Long story short, I'm sort of in a writing funk this week.
I appreciate your patience.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The old ways
Tede's comment on my last post made me sink back into a well of memories and want to write about Honduras.
Living in Honduras is like stepping back in time 150 years. It is almost like being in some sort of new kind of reality. An odd mix between ancient and modern. At least in the places I spent my time.
The majority of the people have outhouses. Real outhouses that were outside--if they were lucky with a porcelain toilet. And yet, most people also had small rickety TVs inside, wired to who knows where. Go figure.
There are cowboys--young boys and old men riding donkeys and horses, herding the cows in and out of town. Wearing cowboy hats and flip flops, ragged t-shirts and cut-off jeans, some riding saddles, others without.
All over the pueblo you can smell the wood burning stoves--made from adobe with a metal trash-can-like disk being the stove above the fire. Cooking corn (for making tortillas) or the tortillas themselves, bottomless pots of small red beans, and rice. All the while little kids run barefoot in the dirt roads outside eating bags of potato chips and drinking bottles of coke a cola.
Hand drawn community wells are in some places, infrequent bouts of outdoor running water in other places. The pila (outdoor water basin) being the hub of the woman's life--a place to wash the food, clothes, children, and home--all with bucket-fulls of ice cold water.
Small uniformed children walk to and from school in crisply ironed white shirts and knee highs. While little siblings watch from the windows of adobe or cement brick homes. I marvel at how clean the women could get those white shirts when washed by hand at the pila.
Narrow two lane roads meander through curving mountain passes, trafficked with old American school buses crammed full people standing and sitting, holding their wares and hastily reaching out of windows during stops to buy from the food venders calling prices below them while pushing home-fried foods at them on long sticks.
Poorly paved highway roads dead end on Main Streets to trails of dust and dirt. Most small towns have only one paved road--for the buses. Donkeys outnumber cars in some areas, mingled with roaming pigs, chickens, and horses. In the summer, the dust of the roads settles on everything in sight--leaves, trees, and children's faces. Women systematically water, rub, and pat down their packed dirt floors to give the appearance of cement and decrease the loose flying dirt that inevitably eddies up in their small one or two room houses.
Self constructed stick-and-wire fences gate the adobe houses, fencing in the mango and papaya trees, pila, outhouse, and stray animals. Although most gates lay slack as children run eagerly to the nearest pulperia (corner store--out of a neighbor's front window) to spend their cents on candy, chips, and whatever is needed for the next meal by mama. Animals also come and go with ease. There is a definite air of freedom, openness, and community among close neighbors. By early afternoon the women have done their daily chores and cluster around soap operas; by late afternoons, the menfolk--home from their labors in the fields--lean against the door jams or crouch in the dirt and drink coffee, calling hallo to passerbys. By sundown, dim electric lights begin to flicker on, and then soon flicker off as families crowd into their rickety family beds, small children snuggle in hammocks hanging from the ceiling and all drift off. It is quiet as the stars hang low and bright in the sky.
Honduras is a mix of the yesterday and the today. It is it's own world and lifestyle, just as, I presume, most places are. Sometimes, I ache for the quiet simplicity of that life. But I know, that for all it's calmness, it is a hard life. It is a life, more often than not, of simple survival. I used to muse that I would someday buy a small plot of land in some small obscure place in Honduras--somewhere in the mountains--and I would live in a house made with my own hands. I would spend my mornings making tortillas while watching the sun rise and the afternoons tending a garden or embroidering or washing clothes. By night I would write poetry and watch the stars glitter. And I would have many children--just as the Honduras women do--and call to them at twilight from the soft yellow light of my small home to come in and wash up.
Living in Honduras is like stepping back in time 150 years. It is almost like being in some sort of new kind of reality. An odd mix between ancient and modern. At least in the places I spent my time.
The majority of the people have outhouses. Real outhouses that were outside--if they were lucky with a porcelain toilet. And yet, most people also had small rickety TVs inside, wired to who knows where. Go figure.
There are cowboys--young boys and old men riding donkeys and horses, herding the cows in and out of town. Wearing cowboy hats and flip flops, ragged t-shirts and cut-off jeans, some riding saddles, others without.
All over the pueblo you can smell the wood burning stoves--made from adobe with a metal trash-can-like disk being the stove above the fire. Cooking corn (for making tortillas) or the tortillas themselves, bottomless pots of small red beans, and rice. All the while little kids run barefoot in the dirt roads outside eating bags of potato chips and drinking bottles of coke a cola.
Hand drawn community wells are in some places, infrequent bouts of outdoor running water in other places. The pila (outdoor water basin) being the hub of the woman's life--a place to wash the food, clothes, children, and home--all with bucket-fulls of ice cold water.
Small uniformed children walk to and from school in crisply ironed white shirts and knee highs. While little siblings watch from the windows of adobe or cement brick homes. I marvel at how clean the women could get those white shirts when washed by hand at the pila.
Narrow two lane roads meander through curving mountain passes, trafficked with old American school buses crammed full people standing and sitting, holding their wares and hastily reaching out of windows during stops to buy from the food venders calling prices below them while pushing home-fried foods at them on long sticks.
Poorly paved highway roads dead end on Main Streets to trails of dust and dirt. Most small towns have only one paved road--for the buses. Donkeys outnumber cars in some areas, mingled with roaming pigs, chickens, and horses. In the summer, the dust of the roads settles on everything in sight--leaves, trees, and children's faces. Women systematically water, rub, and pat down their packed dirt floors to give the appearance of cement and decrease the loose flying dirt that inevitably eddies up in their small one or two room houses.
Self constructed stick-and-wire fences gate the adobe houses, fencing in the mango and papaya trees, pila, outhouse, and stray animals. Although most gates lay slack as children run eagerly to the nearest pulperia (corner store--out of a neighbor's front window) to spend their cents on candy, chips, and whatever is needed for the next meal by mama. Animals also come and go with ease. There is a definite air of freedom, openness, and community among close neighbors. By early afternoon the women have done their daily chores and cluster around soap operas; by late afternoons, the menfolk--home from their labors in the fields--lean against the door jams or crouch in the dirt and drink coffee, calling hallo to passerbys. By sundown, dim electric lights begin to flicker on, and then soon flicker off as families crowd into their rickety family beds, small children snuggle in hammocks hanging from the ceiling and all drift off. It is quiet as the stars hang low and bright in the sky.
Honduras is a mix of the yesterday and the today. It is it's own world and lifestyle, just as, I presume, most places are. Sometimes, I ache for the quiet simplicity of that life. But I know, that for all it's calmness, it is a hard life. It is a life, more often than not, of simple survival. I used to muse that I would someday buy a small plot of land in some small obscure place in Honduras--somewhere in the mountains--and I would live in a house made with my own hands. I would spend my mornings making tortillas while watching the sun rise and the afternoons tending a garden or embroidering or washing clothes. By night I would write poetry and watch the stars glitter. And I would have many children--just as the Honduras women do--and call to them at twilight from the soft yellow light of my small home to come in and wash up.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Speaking of the weather...
(doesn't it consume your life too?)
... today is GLORIOUS. Holy smoke-a-rooskies. Wish you were here and able to bask in the Cedar sunshine-y-ness with us. Wow.
So when I was little (as I've mentioned before), I LOVED being a Californian. Loved the weather. Loved the beach. Loved the fog in the mornings and blue skies at noon. Loved not wearing winter coats. Loved it all.
And then I grew up (of sorts) and moved to the lush land of Provo, Utah. And I feel in love all over again. Daffodils aren't only sold in stores?! They actually poke their little heads up all over town? And trees blossom for real? And snow?! Goodness, I'd never really had a face to face interaction with Mr. Snowman before. I found we were friends! I learned to love seasons with a passion I didn't know was in me.
And I vowed to always live in a place with seasons. All four of them in all their glory. Because my children, I decided, needed to experience this passion.
And then I lived in Honduras for a while. I was in smack dab middle of the country in the mountains. No beach front humidity there (there were pine trees growing next to banana trees, I kid you not). Yes it was definitely a bit more moist that Utah, but I didn't gag water in my sleep. But it was HOT. Oh so hot. And I fell head over heals in love with that hot Honduran sunshine (and inevitable breezes). I only endured the cold and rainy days--preferring to bask in my own sweat than the drip drop of the skies. (I'm being serious.)
And then I moved back to Utah and pulled all those warm wool sweaters from their hiding places and remembered the thrill of changing leaves, snowmen, and daffodils. And I questioned my sanity to love that Honduran heat so intensely. My first few winters back didn't feel long enough or cold enough or snowy enough. I fell back in love with seasons like never before.
But a strange thing happened this last winter.
It wasn't the same as my previous Utah winters. This time around (like never before) I was not at liberty to romp roam in the winter-ness. And it was because I actually had a child. And since I didn't want him getting sick (oh and didn't really have a car available to me all that often or need to go walking), I didn't leave the house much. We went from daily summer/fall walks to homebound coldness. And suddenly winter wasn't all that glamorous.
If it's too cold to go for a walk for four months straight, it's too cold.
And so I'm left with a great big I DON'T KNOW when it comes to what I want or envision for myself when it comes to settling down in life. (You know, as far as where and what kind of weather)
Good thing we'll be applying to 12-15 law schools all (and I mean ALL) over the country and we don't have to make the decision quite yet. But, humph. I feel like I should really want to live somewhere specific
(other than Virginia. I'll always want to live in Virginia. I just don't know if that's realistic yet).
So who knew weather could be so all-consuming? Who knew I cared or thought about it this much.
... today is GLORIOUS. Holy smoke-a-rooskies. Wish you were here and able to bask in the Cedar sunshine-y-ness with us. Wow.
So when I was little (as I've mentioned before), I LOVED being a Californian. Loved the weather. Loved the beach. Loved the fog in the mornings and blue skies at noon. Loved not wearing winter coats. Loved it all.
And then I grew up (of sorts) and moved to the lush land of Provo, Utah. And I feel in love all over again. Daffodils aren't only sold in stores?! They actually poke their little heads up all over town? And trees blossom for real? And snow?! Goodness, I'd never really had a face to face interaction with Mr. Snowman before. I found we were friends! I learned to love seasons with a passion I didn't know was in me.
And I vowed to always live in a place with seasons. All four of them in all their glory. Because my children, I decided, needed to experience this passion.
And then I lived in Honduras for a while. I was in smack dab middle of the country in the mountains. No beach front humidity there (there were pine trees growing next to banana trees, I kid you not). Yes it was definitely a bit more moist that Utah, but I didn't gag water in my sleep. But it was HOT. Oh so hot. And I fell head over heals in love with that hot Honduran sunshine (and inevitable breezes). I only endured the cold and rainy days--preferring to bask in my own sweat than the drip drop of the skies. (I'm being serious.)
And then I moved back to Utah and pulled all those warm wool sweaters from their hiding places and remembered the thrill of changing leaves, snowmen, and daffodils. And I questioned my sanity to love that Honduran heat so intensely. My first few winters back didn't feel long enough or cold enough or snowy enough. I fell back in love with seasons like never before.
But a strange thing happened this last winter.
It wasn't the same as my previous Utah winters. This time around (like never before) I was not at liberty to romp roam in the winter-ness. And it was because I actually had a child. And since I didn't want him getting sick (oh and didn't really have a car available to me all that often or need to go walking), I didn't leave the house much. We went from daily summer/fall walks to homebound coldness. And suddenly winter wasn't all that glamorous.
If it's too cold to go for a walk for four months straight, it's too cold.
And so I'm left with a great big I DON'T KNOW when it comes to what I want or envision for myself when it comes to settling down in life. (You know, as far as where and what kind of weather)
Good thing we'll be applying to 12-15 law schools all (and I mean ALL) over the country and we don't have to make the decision quite yet. But, humph. I feel like I should really want to live somewhere specific
(other than Virginia. I'll always want to live in Virginia. I just don't know if that's realistic yet).
So who knew weather could be so all-consuming? Who knew I cared or thought about it this much.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Dry Bones
Last year for Paige's birthday I gave her a handmade fabric envelope as a place to put the letters I promised to write her each week for her 16th year. It was a way to keep in touch even though I don't live close enough to come home as much as I would like.
I actually did pretty good writing her each week (most of the year... right around Raymond's birth was rough, and I kind of slacked off at the end), but I'm not so sure my letters were all that entertaining, you know?
She heard a lot about the weather, the latest book I'd read, the weather, talks I was preparing, the weather, pregnancy and then Raymond, oh, and the weather. Every now and again I might have been funny or insightful.
Seriously in every letter I guarantee there was at least a comment (if not a paragraph) about the weather. The hot, the cold, the new daffodils, the falling leaves. She got it all. The play by play of Cedar City weather.
I'm sure she loved it.
But you know how sometimes that feels like the most important thing going on? And even if it's not, it somehow influences and matters to every other little thing in life?
So for your reading enjoyment, today was sunshine and breezy in the morning, turned to windy in the afternoon. Wind is a usual here in Cedar. The singles ward folk are flying kites tonight for FHE--good plan.
I'll take any sort of wind though if it includes sunshine and heat hot enough to leave the door open (despite the breeze).
So today was a good day. And yours?
I actually did pretty good writing her each week (most of the year... right around Raymond's birth was rough, and I kind of slacked off at the end), but I'm not so sure my letters were all that entertaining, you know?
She heard a lot about the weather, the latest book I'd read, the weather, talks I was preparing, the weather, pregnancy and then Raymond, oh, and the weather. Every now and again I might have been funny or insightful.
Seriously in every letter I guarantee there was at least a comment (if not a paragraph) about the weather. The hot, the cold, the new daffodils, the falling leaves. She got it all. The play by play of Cedar City weather.
I'm sure she loved it.
But you know how sometimes that feels like the most important thing going on? And even if it's not, it somehow influences and matters to every other little thing in life?
So for your reading enjoyment, today was sunshine and breezy in the morning, turned to windy in the afternoon. Wind is a usual here in Cedar. The singles ward folk are flying kites tonight for FHE--good plan.
I'll take any sort of wind though if it includes sunshine and heat hot enough to leave the door open (despite the breeze).
So today was a good day. And yours?
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Our Trip to California
Two years ago when I was teaching 11th grade English, I had my students write a personal narrative. They were to tell a story as part of illustrating a bigger idea or concept. To be quite honest, the whole idea was lost on them, but I did get a quite a few narratives illustrating the long drive to California for a family vacation or trip to Disneyland. I couldn't help laugh (after reading the fifth or sixth of these essays) how the bulk of the narrative focused on the bathroom stops, fast food, and sibling fights of the drive from Blanding to Sunshine-Land. A short paragraph at the end proved that they did go to the beach or Disneyland or their cousin's house.
A few days ago my mom asked me if I was going to write a story about our trip to California. I smiled as I thought about writing a narrative for all of you about how many times we had to stop (at scary gas stations--I don't recommend Victorville unless it's to get some Taco Chon) to change dirty diapers or nurse in the car. The trip takes a few hours longer when you have a nursing baby in tow. Good times.
But I know better. I know that a good narrative will focus in on a single event and bring it to life, adding in details and dialogue and thoughtful reflection.
And yet I just can't pick a single event of this trip to represent the whole. I struggle to put into words the fleeting images of The Week At Home. How do you boil down something so comfortable and natural and loving in a single blog post? I feel like Joe March of Little Women and I am tempted to write a novel instead. To capture the essence of lazy afternoons with my sisters, of watching my dad hold Raymond with a contented grin on both their faces, of fun shopping trips, and late night bonding watching family classics (like Wild Hearts Can't be Broken, and the already mentioned Little Women).
The first few days were a blur of activity and family and wedding goodness, just as I knew they would be. But despite the hustle and bustle of hair cuts and family coming and going, the wedding dinner the night before, getting to the temple, pictures and receptions and so many people to catch up with, the sealing was a moment of calm and serenity.
I love how simple temple weddings are.
They are peaceful and quiet and serene. The sealer was focused on Blake and Whitney and said some very specific things about them and their posterity that was tender and touching. I loved sitting in the very room where Jeremy and I were sealed and remembering the experience we had. I loved seeing so much family there and remembering the welding link that is formed when we kneel across such an alter in such a place. Truly beautiful.
The reception was a bower of live and bounteous flowers in a gorgeous backyard. The food was wonderful, the DJ a hit, and the Bride and Groom aglow. Unfortunately Raymond was beyond exhausted, so most of the evening is a blur for me.
The rest of the week was a long relaxed week of sunshine and happiness. Raymond settled into a good sleep schedule and my sisters came and went.
Monday was Raymond's first beach trip. He loved running the sand through his fingers and being fed graham crackers on demand. Jeremy and Stanford loved building a castle. My mom got some sun and Maggie got to run into the water. Goldenspoon was the perfect ending to such goodness.
Tuesday was Tasha and Brayden and Chase coming with Jeremy off to San Fransisco. We went to Ikea and Bergstroms and took naps together on the couch. Ah the sweetness of sister time. I love spending time with Tasha.
Wednesday was Paige's day. She stayed home from school to study for her AP test... and shop with Mom and Raymond and I. That night we popped fresh pop corn (mmmm) and watched Wild Hearts Can't be Broken for Paige's first time. She loved it as much as I knew she would. There are few things I love more about going home than watching Torgerson Classics with Paige.
I'm really not sure what we did the rest of the trip. Made dinner and ate strawberries? Watched more movies, read books, took naps. It was the comfort of being home, of spending time with my mom, not feeling pressure to go anywhere or see anyone, watching Raymond fit into Torgerson life with ease and comfort.
The whole week was ideal.
At the last minute we decided to not do the whole drive home on Saturday, and stayed to watch Paige play rugby (yeah, she plays rugby) and go to Tanner's party. I was so glad to get to be part of all that fun. That night we drove to Henderson and spent the night with Jon and Summer. It was great to hang out with them that night and Mother's Day morning as Jeremy and Jon whipped up a killer crepe breakfast. Wow. They have the cutest kids ever, who loved Raymond to pieces.
Seriously, are we the luckiest ever?? Yes, yes we are.
(PS. My brother-in-law (the photographer) posted some dang cute pictures of Raymond here.)
A few days ago my mom asked me if I was going to write a story about our trip to California. I smiled as I thought about writing a narrative for all of you about how many times we had to stop (at scary gas stations--I don't recommend Victorville unless it's to get some Taco Chon) to change dirty diapers or nurse in the car. The trip takes a few hours longer when you have a nursing baby in tow. Good times.
But I know better. I know that a good narrative will focus in on a single event and bring it to life, adding in details and dialogue and thoughtful reflection.
And yet I just can't pick a single event of this trip to represent the whole. I struggle to put into words the fleeting images of The Week At Home. How do you boil down something so comfortable and natural and loving in a single blog post? I feel like Joe March of Little Women and I am tempted to write a novel instead. To capture the essence of lazy afternoons with my sisters, of watching my dad hold Raymond with a contented grin on both their faces, of fun shopping trips, and late night bonding watching family classics (like Wild Hearts Can't be Broken, and the already mentioned Little Women).
The first few days were a blur of activity and family and wedding goodness, just as I knew they would be. But despite the hustle and bustle of hair cuts and family coming and going, the wedding dinner the night before, getting to the temple, pictures and receptions and so many people to catch up with, the sealing was a moment of calm and serenity.
I love how simple temple weddings are.
They are peaceful and quiet and serene. The sealer was focused on Blake and Whitney and said some very specific things about them and their posterity that was tender and touching. I loved sitting in the very room where Jeremy and I were sealed and remembering the experience we had. I loved seeing so much family there and remembering the welding link that is formed when we kneel across such an alter in such a place. Truly beautiful.
The reception was a bower of live and bounteous flowers in a gorgeous backyard. The food was wonderful, the DJ a hit, and the Bride and Groom aglow. Unfortunately Raymond was beyond exhausted, so most of the evening is a blur for me.
The rest of the week was a long relaxed week of sunshine and happiness. Raymond settled into a good sleep schedule and my sisters came and went.
Monday was Raymond's first beach trip. He loved running the sand through his fingers and being fed graham crackers on demand. Jeremy and Stanford loved building a castle. My mom got some sun and Maggie got to run into the water. Goldenspoon was the perfect ending to such goodness.
Tuesday was Tasha and Brayden and Chase coming with Jeremy off to San Fransisco. We went to Ikea and Bergstroms and took naps together on the couch. Ah the sweetness of sister time. I love spending time with Tasha.
Wednesday was Paige's day. She stayed home from school to study for her AP test... and shop with Mom and Raymond and I. That night we popped fresh pop corn (mmmm) and watched Wild Hearts Can't be Broken for Paige's first time. She loved it as much as I knew she would. There are few things I love more about going home than watching Torgerson Classics with Paige.
I'm really not sure what we did the rest of the trip. Made dinner and ate strawberries? Watched more movies, read books, took naps. It was the comfort of being home, of spending time with my mom, not feeling pressure to go anywhere or see anyone, watching Raymond fit into Torgerson life with ease and comfort.
The whole week was ideal.
At the last minute we decided to not do the whole drive home on Saturday, and stayed to watch Paige play rugby (yeah, she plays rugby) and go to Tanner's party. I was so glad to get to be part of all that fun. That night we drove to Henderson and spent the night with Jon and Summer. It was great to hang out with them that night and Mother's Day morning as Jeremy and Jon whipped up a killer crepe breakfast. Wow. They have the cutest kids ever, who loved Raymond to pieces.
Seriously, are we the luckiest ever?? Yes, yes we are.
(PS. My brother-in-law (the photographer) posted some dang cute pictures of Raymond here.)
Thursday, May 6, 2010
That cute Raymond Boy
Well, words couldn't describe the wonderfulness of home right now. Life doesn't get much better. The wedding was beautiful and perfectn (see here, here, and here to see for yourself). The family in town has been heart-filling. The food in my mom's fridge as been tastey. Goodness, I feel spoiled.
And to add it all, I have a few good photos of Raymond to boot! Tasha did a little photoshoot of my guy (since you already know my own skills, this should make you happy)... and there were so many darling shots. Here are a few of my favorites:
Here is the oft-seen "crying face." If you do it back to him, he realizes how silly it is and can't help but laugh. love it.
Still a very happy clapper.
I love his crooked little smiles.
Hello cheeks, please stay as long as you like. Don't you just want to kiss them?!
I had to throw this one in so you could see how cute his little outfit was. Love that little red car on the side!
Can you blame me for loving them all? All week people have been telling me that my blog pictures don't do his cuteness justice. And I know it's true. I think these do it some though. He is such a happy, smiley, sweet boy. Oh how we all love him!
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