Sonnet 1 -Revised

I walk alone along my path in life.
The men surrounding me are merely boys
And will not be my match nor I their wife.
I flit from date to date with dancer’s poise,
But their left feet destroy the tandem flow.
My toes, they hurt! and I resent dim youth
Who will not take the lead that real men show;
to guide me forward with their moves—so smooth.
Someday I may just find my perfect match—
The glove that fits my hand with loving ease.
And when he comes into my life to catch
My eyes and ask me with a gentle ‘please;’
I will not hesitate to say I’ll be
His one true love for all eternity.

See original poem here.

You know that giggle you can feel in your heart?

I am so in love with life right now!

Sounds of my Mother

***Penguin Cafe Orchestra: “Music for a Found Harmonium”***
For my mother, the sun did not rise with choirs of angels, but with an alarming beep, beep, beep, beep. That moment, when her slumber was cut short, began the repetitious tedium of a mother’s daily schedule which wore on her like a song on repeat, or a melody without dimension. The score for this part of my mother’s life was “Music for a Found Harmonium,” a song of few notes and even fewer instruments. The song’s almost monotonous recurrence of the same few quickly paced violin tones could be heard playing over and over as she lifted loads of laundry, chauffeured anxious children, and scoured daily dishes. But my mother heard this same song differently than I did. “Listen, listen,” I remember her saying. “Here comes the change in the music.” Her eyes would close, and a small slit smile would cut across her face as she soaked in the variation of melody heard within the same “Music for a Found Harmonium.” A few key changes and the occasional trill brought my mother pleasure. The music was simple but she enjoyed it nonetheless. She found magic hidden in the ordinary; and she discovered its power. My mother didn’t get bored with a simple violin like others, because it wasn’t about the violin; it was about the music as a whole. Violins aren’t what remind me of my mother, but the changes in melody like those she heard when no one else could. And I won’t find her in the monotony of washing daily dishes, but in the occasional plastic popsicle stick leftover from homemade popsicles—the trill that caused the smile. She taught me to find harmony through the magic of ordinary days.

***Blue October: “Into the Ocean”***
But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. While I can always hear the sounds of my mother, it’s not constantly through sweet changes in violin melodies while happily doing the dishes. Sometimes, she would spin, “colliding into sound, like whales beneath me diving down.” I can remember the days the black hole mess in our bedrooms would suck her in and consume her, when “the lighthouse beam [had] just run out.” It didn’t matter how many times we all worked on organizing the girls’ room; somehow a whirlwind managed to sneak in every night. Shoes were in the bed and dolls were under it, and no one knew where the bed blankets were. By ten o’clock at night we were all frustrated and even mom was near tears. Again and again the black hole would try to eat my mother. But instead she would fall “Into the Ocean,” and drift on the waves of a heavy beat; the rhythm took her away with drums and guitars and men with liquid voices. She would listen to it in the car and in the kitchen, and she would listen to it in full volume; the beat of the song helped her conquer the abyss.

***Imogen Heap: “Hide and Seek”***
However, more often than not, I tended to out-stress my mother. At times of high tension, a different tune was sung and happiness seemed like a game of “Hide and Seek.” I remember coming home from school very frazzled; and frazzleness often came in the form of Brittney B. It didn’t matter how hard I had tried, she always had to be better than me. I can remember the way she would turn and flip her dirty blonde locks around in Dance Company. Strands of hair would fly, and then settle as she cocked her head to catch my eyes with a sideways glance. She wanted to see if I had watched. I would come home completely exhausted from play practice, Dance Company, and class with Brittney; lack of sleep and high stress easily overcame my emotions. All I needed was to let off a little steam with my mom. She would crank up Imogen and I would sing the words I couldn’t say: “Where are we? What the hell is going on? The dust has only just begun to form crop circles in the carpet. Sinking. Feeling.” I would dance around the kitchen; most of the time this resulted in me hitting some appliance or dish with either a foot or an arm. One kick to the back, right into the cupboard, and a flick of my own hair, right through the spaghetti sauce, and a sideways glance to see if mom was watching. She always was. We played “Hide and Seek” after school, and she always knew just where to find me.

***John Butler Trio: “Better Than”***
She taught me lessons from my stressful moments, lessons I’m still working on learning today. Sitting on a bar stool with my elbows pressed into our lime green countertop, I listened to the sound of my mom sing words of wisdom: “All I know is sometimes things can be hard, but you should know by now they come and they go. So why, oh why do [you] look to the other side? 'Cos I know the grass is greener but just as hard to mow. Life's not about what's better than.” The “grass is greener,” but on my little patch of shriveled grass, I could giggle with my mom, my best friend, about John Butler Trio’s “hot hip-action;” somehow that was fertilizer for my soul. Life wasn’t about being “better than” Brittney Bowman; I will never be able to raise my leg up above my head the way she can. But sounds of my mother became the power by which I got through the hard times.

***Matt Nathanson: “Come on Get Higher”***
***Eurythmics: “Here Comes the Rain Again”***
***Safety Suit: “Someone Like You”***
***Loreena McKennitt: “The Mummers’ Dance”***
The sounds of my mom pick me up and carry me. When I walk across campus alone, when I lie in bed at night, when I turn on my music “I miss the sound of your voice. And I miss the rush of your skin. And I miss the still of the silence, as you breathe out and I breathe in.” “I want to walk in the open wind. I want to dive into your ocean. Is it raining with you?” “If I were strong enough, if I were wrong enough to be someone like you, would you have let me come to be with you?” I can’t remember a time when I didn’t hear the sounds of my mother. And together in the music, we will always “link our hands and dance round in circles and in rows.”

A Prayer for Peace

Dear God,
"Friday February 13, 2009, just after 9:00a.m., a tragic accident occurred.” I have had a lot of mixed emotions about the deaths of Shilo and Micah Edwards. Everyone experienced such an overwhelming shock to discover that at nineteen and twenty years old they were taken from this life. I’m not sure I will ever fully accept their deaths; but they happened nonetheless, and many people want to know why. I know, what a classic question—why?
I’ve grown up with these girls, and they are the first young people to die that I have known so well. I can remember being nine-years-old and sitting on a church pew with Shilo only a few rows in front of me. She was all dress up in her baptism dress—so pretty in white. I remember that we didn’t like each other very much at that age, but we were young and grew out of the pettiness. When were just a little older, we would sit on the cold tile floor together and played with her dogs’ puppies. Micah was a little older than I was, but I still remember her. Mostly, I just remember them being there—image after image of their faces flash through my mind, them, in my life, there, and then not.
Heavenly Father, you were there when all of these things happened, and you knew all along their time was shorter than the rest of ours. You have the vision of the entire eternal plan, and you know why things happen the way they do. But the rest of us have been left to question: Why? Was this really necessary? Could there have been any other way?
For some reason you have given me a very cushioned life. I am constantly blessed. Sometimes this causes me to believe my larger trials will be just around the corner, but most of the time such comforts lull me into a passive expectation for ease. My testimony has never really been challenged, and although my life is full of stresses and difficulties, they pale in comparison to situations like this. Because of such a past, I felt very lost in my own religion when trying to understand death. I’ve come to the conclusion that most testimonies are just a compilation of words, and not a manifestation of beliefs. Too many members give lip service to thy word. I still know my faith to be of the true and living gospel on this Earth, but I have so many open ended questions.
My brother Josh has now been home from his mission for a year, and he has all of the missionary answers when it comes to things like this. But the classic image of The Plan of Salvation, the recognizable pattern of circles and lines just didn’t do it for me this time. No one could tell me whether Micah and Shilo felt lonely after dying. And I had never thought about trying to give a hug without a body, but now the need for Shilo and Micah to be able to hug each other was so great for my heart, I became angry that bodies were required to hug--is that silly? And the idea that the dead began to serve missions and teach the gospel was fine and dandy when it was my grandfather who died—someone who would have wanted to drop everything and serve a mission—but that didn’t work for them. They had too much life left to live. What are they going to do every day now? And how does time work in the afterlife? And will they get to stay together? And what happens to Drew? Shilo and Drew were going to be engaged Friday night, now what? If this life is so insignificantly short in comparison to the next, why will he have to move on and find someone else when he so badly wants to be sealed for eternity with his true love? They were perfect for each other! And now he just has to “move on.”
I don’t have the answers, but I’m glad that you do. Thank you for letting their sister, Shelby, see them in her dream. Thank you for comforting their family, especially their mother. Thank you for helping Dale to understand that losing his girls is a blessing as much as a trial. He told me Micah struggled greatly. But for the first time in a long time she was at peace with where she was at--in a sense, she was ready to die. And to die with a clean soul now, even though she is young, may have been the only way that they could be together forever as an eternal family. But that doesn’t entirely help me reconcile Shilo and Drew.
God, please don’t take anyone in my family. Please.

Stop and Listen

A man sat at a metro station in Washington, DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.
Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule.
A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk.
A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.
The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.
In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.


No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars.
Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston and the seats average $100.
This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of an social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?
One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be:
If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?

Feb. 6th

My roommates remembered my 1/2 birthday!

How nice was that.

This, I Believe

Much of my generation seems to have forgotten the simple, but unfailing values of gratitude and respect. Religion is seen as weak, and obedience as blind. Our selfish and lazy attitudes demand instant rewards others have reaped only after many years of hard work. We are immature, and uninformed. I know these faults are not exclusive to my generation, but we have attacked values at their very foundation and our ability to stand has begun to falter. Crime is on the rise. Divorce is on the rise. Bankruptcy has skyrocketed. And we have forgotten our God. I believe in the significance of the basic but most important constants. While clothing fads come and go, gas prices rise and fall, and new meanings develop over time, some values never lose their worth.

I attend a school with at least thirty-four thousand young adults of my own faith; and although religion tends to dictate one’s value system, my standards have been questioned and compromised here as much as anywhere else. I have been exposed to immoral and degrading media content; I have seen absolute and utter disrespect for one’s elders; and I have been deeply hurt by the uncaring egocentricity of others. Even the general state of our nation’s economy can be directly linked to the selfishness of bankers and the need for instant gratification by the borrowers. Many of our government leaders have been uncovered as corrupted, and all future hope rests on the shoulders of a people who do little more than text message and listen to their ipods.

I believe dedication to values would solve many of our world’s biggest problems. Government bodies and reformists must understand that the professed ‘change’ they hope to cause won’t be solved in a White houses on the hill and can’t be bought with large price tags. Change is of the heart and begins in the home.

A lot of lessons are learned within one’s own family. Parents should teach their kids to pray, say ‘thank you,’ and be patient. Video games are not a good babysitter. And Family hugs are important. We have developed such an unquenchable need for the constant go-and-do, we become too busy for these simple but important value-teaching actions. The value of motherhood is lost in the dollar sign, and our kids are suffering because of it.

I can remember learning how to waltz while standing on my dad’s feet; giggling with my mom while the smell of home-made bread wafted from the oven; and walking across a half acre lawn in a foot of snow to feed the chickens and in the scorching summer heat to weed the garden. I’m not perfect, but I am who I am because of the values my parents taught me while in my youth.
Parents, teach your children. Children, listen to your parents. Values create character, and character is the foundation of a better world. This I believe.

We are the Champions!

Out of over one-hundred couples, we won 3rd place in the Rumba!!!

He Was "Let Go"

Lonny would bring the newspapers to the newsroom every morning. At 7:30a.m. the door down the hall would open, and two seconds later his large ring of custodial keys would clip to his belt with a loud ‘click.’

“Good morning, Lonny.”

“Good morning. How are they treating you down here?”

“Oh, just great. How about you?”

“Fine.”

He carefully stacked each paper in a neat over-lapping line; just enough to see the title of each paper as they fanned across the desktop.

“Thanks for the papers, Lonny.”

“You’re welcome.”

Morning after morning, Lonny’s keys clicked like clockwork. However, the routine that began long before I started my employment at Brigham Young University ended two weeks ago.
Lonny was born mentally ill, yet in spite of physical and mental setbacks, he dutifully worked for Brigham Young Custodial in the Harris Fine Arts Center with more diligence and patience then I’ve yet to see demonstrated by a mere quarter of my spoiled generation.

Now the papers come irregularly. They are never placed across the desktop with dedication and precision. Lonny was “let go” because of “economic necessity.”

So, for those of you who refuse to lift a solitary polished fingernail; for those who allow your parents to pay; who think that it's more important to buy your organic milk than to donate money to the homeless; I hope that you can grow up, and remove the blinders that such selfishness creates. You carry a lot of responsibility for our current economic status, so how dare you say it's not your problem that people are going hungry! Why don't you tell Lonny that it's not your problem?!

The selfish demand for instant gratification got us into this economic mess. If you have no other reason, think of Lonny—a little Christ-like selflessness might get us out of the rut, and halt this rolling storm that leaves nothing but destruction in its path.