Redwork

During the Victorian era, women looked for new ways to decorate their homes and come up with what soon came to be termed redwork. They embroidered animal or nature, children or kitchen themes onto blocks of fabric later to be used in quilts, pillows, dishrags, wall-hangings etc. The name for this type of embroidery stemmed from the fact that they only used red floss. Imagine, an entire quilt embroidered in red. It thrills me just to think of it.

The tradition carried to America from Europe and was also known as turkey work (because turkey red was one of the only colorfast colors of the time) or as penny blocks (because a block stamped with a design could be bought for a penny, as could the skein of red cotton floss).

I was in high school when I stumbled across this beautiful idea: all red embroidery. I had already made my first dishtowels and was ready for more. Since then I've been working off and on on a redwork quilt with all the letters of the alphabet blocked out in typical redwork design. I've done over half the blocks, I just currently don't know where they all are (someone remind me to look in my box in the garage when I go home in a few weeks...)


In the meantime, I love love love doing embroidery. It is relaxing and calming to me. I have made a fair number of dishtowels and a handful of other fun projects. What is fun about dishtowels is that they allow for all sorts of creativity. Since the actual towels were fairly cheap, I don't feel bad about trying out a new design or getting done and deciding one wasn't my favorite. They are quick and satisfying and make for fun little gifts.

Yesterday, as I worked on this little dishtowel, I realized, however, that I am ready to finish that long-lost redwork quilt! No better time like the present, right?

Summer officially starts...

RIGHT NOW.
My last Upward Bound class just walked out the door and I am home free...

And, for your information and enjoyment, tomorrow is the longest day of the year! Here in Blanding the sun will set at 8:43pm and "civil twilight" will end at 9:14pm. I feel that this calls for some sort of summer celebration. Any suggestions??

Gradually...

It was still significantly light outside at nine o'clock as I walked to my car and drove home from Jeremy's. Light enough that I paused and marveled. Then, a few minutes later as I looked out my window, I was surprised to find the night had fallen like a deep blanket over Blanding. My initial thought was how strange it is that one minute it is day and the next it is night. But I had to check myself because even night does not come in the blink of an eye. Like so many things in life, it comes gradually. So gradually that we hardly notice one moment from the next the subtle emergence of the stars and the shift from rustic pinks on the horizon to deep purples and soft blues.

I am grateful for changes that come slowly like a comfortable friend joining and keeping stride on impromptu walk. I have never been one for big surprises. I will purposefully ask around to know the end of a movie before watching it, and I always enjoy a book more the second time through. I don't like being taken too much off guard. I much prefer to have time to get acquainted with an idea or decision or change of plans before making the actual transition.

I have noticed in my life that such is often the case. While life has thrown me a few curve balls (and a few right at the face), things still seem to be happening naturally. As I learn one lesson, the skills and knowledge gained help me to learn the next lesson. Gradually and step by step I am moving forward in my goals and in my ambitions and in my efforts to become something more. I am grateful for such a smooth and steady incline (and grateful for the unexpected twists and turns that produce the most stunning views and vistas). Just as the dark of night comes a moment at a time, just as climbing mountains and hills require always putting one foot ahead of the other, so does progress require building blocks and stepping stones and small, seemingly insignificant changes.

Tasha's here!

I am one lucky girl, that is all I have to say. Friday morning I drove up to Green River (about two hours) to pick up Tasha, and the fun began! We have explored Valley of the Gods, tasted the goodness of the Trading Post Cafe in Bluff, danced, flipped through wedding magazines, talked incessantly, napped, perused the Blanding antique store, lazed about my apartment, and (much to Jeremy's displeasure) snapped engagement photos.

Tasha was brave and brought with her her expert-looking camera and the skill with which she always captures her two little boys on film. I made sure my hair was nice and curly and Jeremy donned his one red shirt and all the endurance he could muster. We made our way up the Blue Mountain (which Tasha had yet to see--she, of course, loved it). Our main stop was a little waterfall just past the water basin (I think that is what it was called). There were SO many that I loved (and probably won't use), but thought I would just share one or two with you.

(Jeremy, starting to get tired of smiling)

(me, trying to rally the troops)

(Jeremy, begging to know if we've taken enough yet!)

There were tons of other really good ones that have a higher chance of making it into the invitation envelope... but I just loved some of these anyway and wanted to share!

Summer is coming...

Yesterday I was unexpectedly told that today the high school wouldn't have water and therefore could not be open for summer school (or Upward Bound classes). While I have no qualms about teaching my three little classes a day, the unexpected day of summer was very appealing. And after today, I must say I am pretty excited for more.

Here is why I can't wait for summer to officially start:

1. I have gotten in the habit of sleeping without an alarm. The trick is I pull my blinds open right before I go to bed. By about five thirty the room begins to lighten and by six or so the sun is streaming in. Inevitably everyday for the past two weeks I look at my clock within ten minutes of six, stretch, roll over, and am up. No nasty alarm, no jolt from bed. It is tranquil and easy to get out of bed when the sun is inviting you to. Since I am teaching, I have needed to be up between six and six thirty to do most of my lesson planning. Soon, oh, so soon, I can use all that precious morning time to write or read or sew. . .

2. As a teacher, I make an effort to look professional in the classroom. I try to dress up a bit. Since Upward Bound is a bit more casual, I do wear jeans more often, but I still try to look nice. Today, for first time that I can remember, I wore shorts! I honestly can't remember wearing shorts since high school (maybe I did??). Anyhow, I didn't have to go to school today, so I pulled out a pair I bought a bit back (feeling brave) and put them on today. And you know what? They are pretty comfortable and much cooler than jeans.

3. I am not going to lie, I have been a bit distracted lately. Ok, a lot. My mind seems to be on lots and lots of other things (Jeremy, jobs, moving, wedding plans, etc). And yet I have a (self-diagnosed) guilt complex: I feel guilty if I am not giving 100% to my responsibilities (aka, my job). I am looking forward to not worrying about lesson plans or papers to grade or any of that. I should have 6 weeks to two whole months of such freedom! I don't hardly even know what that will be like, but I'm guessing pretty good.

4. I get to go home. I love being at home and spending time with family. I love slumber parties with Paige, shopping trips with Mom, and reading in my favorite chair. I am looking forward to a few weeks of sunny California and home in July. (And in the meantime I am looking forward to a very fun weekend with Tasha that starts in, oh, 35 hours...)

5. Summer means the end of summer is closer and the arrival of a certain event on September sixth that I am so looking forward to. The anticipation is building already... and it has only been a week! Still, the summer looks like it will be filled with all sorts of fun events, plans, preparations, moving and here and there some quality time with that boy who still makes me smile...

Readers make writers

"What would you recommend to someone who wants to become a better writer (aka, me)?" --Alicia

1. Read. Good readers are almost always better writers. They are more aware of what makes good writing.

I really and truly believe that writing is strategic. It makes sense that it would be, because so much of our lives are strategic. Think about why you drive home the way you do every day--is it because it is the shortest route? the fastest? the least plagued by traffic? There are often methods to our madness. We use strategies without even thinking about it.

The same is true for writing, we just don't usually pay as much attention to the strategies that work best for us when it comes to posting a brilliant blog post or scribbling out a note or email to a friend. But the best writers are a little more aware of what strategies they use to have their readers react a certain way. To be good writers, we need to notice what other good writers do strategically.

I am talking about simple strategies here, like using a simple sentence (i.e. just a subject and a predicate: Carly likes red.), or even a fragment (i.e. just the subject OR the predicate: Red.). Remember: punctuation was made to convey meaning. I know your high school English teacher told you never to write a fragment (and she probably marked up your papers with "frag." all over the margins in a bold red pen), but published authors use fragments all the time in order to make an impact. Notice it. Published authors do all sorts of interesting things.

They use lots of line breaks. Even when they don't need to.

They use colons: again for emphasis. They use powerful imagery, similes, metaphors, personification (giving non-human things human like characteristics: "Our house was small, with it's feet tucked under like a cat." Of course, house don't have feet.), alliteration (repetition of the initial sound: The wind whistled around the white house.), and repetition in general (i.e. The quite night, the night, and the stars, and the damp of the cold...). They write long sentences. And short ones. They use strong verbs (why say she "walked" when you could say she "creaked" across the hard wood floor?) and interesting adjectives (she's not just a "tall" girl or a "skinny" girl, but a "long-legged, narrow-hipped" girl).

When you're reading, slow down and savor the words a little more. When you find you can't put a book down or you've read so fast you didn't notice the light growing dim outside without you, try to stop (or go back after the fact) and figure out just what they did to captured you so completely. And don't just say "it was good" or there were "nice descriptions." Dig deeper. Think about not only what happened in the story that was exciting, but try to figure out what about the way it was written that made it exciting.

To be good writers, we must be good readers. We must notice the tricks of the trade.

2. Write. I know that sounds obvious, but it's not to be overlooked. To be a good writer, you need to be writing. Everyday would be ideal, but if that's not feasible, pick a goal that is. Have places where you write (as in a diary, a writing journal, a blog, or a word document on your computer, in bed, at your kitchen table, in the park). Your goal could be a time limit (15 minutes a day) or a page limit (at least seven pages a week) or at a set time (everyday at 10am). Whatever it is, make it something that will get you writing a little bit out of your comfort zone.

And don't be afraid to write junk. Too often we expect to write the great American novel (or the most inspiring post or a breathtakingly poetic journal entry) in one go. Feel free to write a whole lot of really bad stuff before you write anything worth even looking at again. The more you write the better you will be.

So in conclusion, my simple suggestions for being a better writer is to read (chances are you already do this, just try paying more attention to how it is written) and to write (if you already are, try to write a little more).



On a completely unrelated note, but because I know so many of you want to know...

Jeremy Christiansen and I will be married in the LA temple on Saturday September 6th, 2008. Of course the colors will be red and red (much akin to "blush and bashful"...). And there will be daisies and roses in abundance. Thank you for all of your comments and emails and phone calls and well-wishes! I am one lucky girl. And I am sure you will all hear more about this wedding as the days and weeks and months tick-tock their way to September. In the meantime, just know the planning has begun!

A day late and a dollar short

When I was three my mom sat me down on her knee and explained that I would no longer be the baby of the family. I remember crying and not quite understanding, but being excited with my two sisters that we were getting a brother. A few weeks or months later, my mom brought little Blake Allen home from the hospital. I remember my mom sitting in the blue chair (that is now upholstered red and in her bedroom) in the living room of the Stearns house and crowding around the little bundle in her arms. I remember when it was my turn to hold him, how proud I was.

Getting a little brother was definitely something new to us three little girls. Bats and balls and gloves soon showed up at our house that had been solely inhabited by barbies and dolls and pink playthings. As far back as I remember, Blake loved sports. I have vivid memories of him playing catch with my dad and hitting the ball of the tee when he could barely run. Those memories are mixed in with the hundreds of little league games that started when he was five. Our Saturdays always revolved around the baseball schedule.

Even as a little kid, Blake was feisty. He had three (somewhat soft) older sisters and torment us, he did. If I remember right, he got along with Sara pretty good--they had a mutual respect for each other--but Tasha and I he would chase around the house screaming. I still know the look he gets when he is going to be mischievous.

Blake has always had a mind of his own. As a kid, he loved anything that had to do with being outside--skateboarding, surfing, soccer, baseball, bike-riding, lawn-mowing, etc. He always had energy and he was good at helping. My grandpa Snowball used to always tell how it was only Blake who had the stamina to work in the yard with him all day--long after the other grandkids had gone in for a glass of water or a movie. When he was old enough to help my dad put up the Christmas lights, he spent hours lining up and staple gunning what previously had been crooked and softly strung lights done by my dad.

His freshman year of high school I went away to college. My college semester would end for in April--just time in for the high school baseball season. While I didn't always love going to his little league games all Saturday as a kid, I did love watching him play on his high school and club teams.

My most vivid memory of Blake during those four years was right before my mission. He was a junior in high school and I was home getting ready (waiting) to leave. One Friday or Saturday night I was downstairs in the living room reading when he came home. He came in and we were talking. He told me that he was going to stop being friends with a kid down the street that he and Chad had both been friends with off and on since we'd moved to that house. I asked why and he told me that the kid was involved in drugs and other things that weren't good. He told me that he didn't do any of that stuff, but he didn't want Mom or Dad hearing rumors or thinking that he was. He didn't want to lose their trust. I remember feeling so proud of him for making that decision--for valuing my parent's trust over a friend's.

I will never forget how excited I was to get the email that Blake had made it onto the BYU baseball team. I was on my mission and missed almost all of his games that first year. When I got home it was early May and the season was almost over. Five days after getting off the plane, my mom and I drove out to Provo to see the last home games of the season. There is nothing so exciting as seeing your own little brother suited up in a BYU uniform and on the field or hanging out of the dugout watching the game.

That summer we all sat in the living room as Blake calmly opened his mission call to the St. Louis Spanish speaking mission. I hate to admit that I was not as good a letter writer as I should have been. We loved getting his fun little emails and hearing about his Spanish adventures. It was so fun to be on the home end of the Christmas and Mother's Day phone calls. We would put the phone on speaker and sit ourselves around it like the spokes of a wheel every time we got to talk to him. I loved speaking Spanish with him and asking about his investigators.

Almost a year ago he came home bigger and taller and really looking like a baseball player, and jumped right back into BYU baseball. I was able to be at a handful of games and don't know if there is anything I love more than a BYU game with Blake in the dugout. Alright, I like it when he is on the mound too--although I get really nervous for him! I loved sitting by Whitney, his girlfriend, or any of my family that was also in town for the game. I love going out afterward. Blake is so funny! He always has a joke or something witty to say. He came back from his mission just a little bit softer--more considerate. Every time I was in Provo this year, he had a way of making me feel welcome. I loved getting to watch him play, and I loved getting to spend time with him.And YESTERDAY was his birthday! Happy (late) Birthday, Blake. I love you.

And one was a saucy little redhead...

For as long as I can remember my grandpa Snowball used to sing me a funny little song from the 40s. Since I was the first granddaughter to have red hair, it was mine. Rarely a visit would pass without singing this song with him...

There were ten pretty girls in the village square.
Count them, ten pretty girls in the village square.
Some were short, some were tall,
and the boy loved them all,
but you can't marry ten pretty girls.

Five were blondes, and four brunettes,
and one was a saucy little redhead.

The boy grew up,
the girl left school,
and at 21 he wedded...
that saucy little redhead.

When 21 passed me by I remember feeling a slight twinge that this beloved little song wouldn't come true since I wouldn't get married at 21. There was no boy and no small town village square. Silly me. According to the song, I just had to be my saucy self and leave school (I graduated last year, made my way to small little town of Blanding--where I was they only redhead at institute, and about two weeks ago I decided to leave my little loved San Juan High School). He had to be 21, not me.

So it looks like it will come true after all. Because last night (about an hour after I lamented nothing to write about on my blog) Jeremy came over to my apartment unexpectedly (he "got off work early"). We decided to go for a drive and made our way to the fourth reservoir in Blanding--a spot I had said the night before I wanted to see. We walked around a bit and finally sat down on a log to enjoy the chill afternoon air, the ripples in the water, and each other's company. And before we got back up off that log, he asked me to marry him, and I--of course--said yes. And I couldn't be happier.

Details forthcoming.

As are answers to questions from my previous post!

One bad blogger

It is chilly and threatening to rain outside. I am sitting on my coach with a bowl of jiffy pop kettle corn and Jane Eyre--which I will be reading shortly--next to me. I just got home from a day of teaching Upward Bound and tutoring A+ at the high school, and I am ready to relax. But the truth is, I have been a terrible blog writer this past month, and first I need to repent and write a note to all of you. It's not to say that nothing much has been going on in my quiet little Blanding life. De lo contrario. I feel like life has been moving at rocket speeds and in a good direction. But every time I sit down to write something, I draw a blank. I have a serious case of blogger's writer's block. So I have decided to open it up to questions. If there is anything specific you want to know about me and my life, my opinions, my reading or writing habits, my goals and ambitions, my preferences, or any other type of trivial or informational or useful info that I might be able to share with you, leave a comment and ask. I'll respond. I promise. (Well, unless it is just too personal for the openness of cyberspace, in which case I'll make an effort to call or email you specifically.)

So there you go.

Ask away.


ps. I have this sinking fear that no one will comment on this post. So maybe even if you don't have a question, feel free to just say hello...

I am the dang happiest girl ever

because I am moving to Cedar City. Whew! Decision made. Who would have thought? And I can't wait.




ps this in NO WAY detracts for the deep and abiding love I feel for Blanding and my beloved Blandingites. It seriously breaks my heart to leave you and San Juan High School and the little purple flowers and the stars. But I know I will be back to visit. And you can ALWAYS read my blog.