Victory... Victory at all costs... Victory at any cost

The funniest thing happened last week.

Now you probably know I'm a runner. I've run a couple of marathons, and while I'm no Boston-qualifier, I love the thrill of the pulse and the finish-line flourish.

Well. The past two weeks I've suffered from what has been called Washington DC's worst pollen in ten years. So when the annual Victim's Rights run came to campus, as it does every year, and my department coordinated registration and t-shirts, and I coughed up a lung that morning, I decided to walk instead of run. Which I did with my friend Sheila. Sheila and I chatted it up the whole time--it was a pleasant morning, and we talked about the state of the history department, her current success at defending her dissertation and now working full time at the Center for History and New Media, and all sorts of things. When we walked across the finish line, some man asked if we were students. Sheila just graduated, but I gave them my name. We sat down with our running friends and ate sandwiches during the little awards ceremony.

Lo and behold, they called my name. I was the first place student walker! Complete with a trophy! I don't know whether to be proud or not, being a runner... but the trophy earned a place of honor above my computer.

I AM, however, proud of my victory at the Lunt annual Easter Eggstravaganza a couple of weeks ago, when my hearty egg, named Eliza R. Snow, won the egg crack-off...

Yes--I did decorate her Martha Stewart-style, although you can't see the fine design in this action shot.

Check out the winning bracket! Intense competition, I tell you.

Bhangra Blowout

Last Friday, Andrea taught ME and I to make Indian food. Of course we stayed up too late to marinade and watch High School Musical 3 and an episode of Alias (season 3, episode 1--was she really gone for 2 years?!?). But all the delicious food and dancing was prelude to this...


Last Saturday, Jamie persuaded Jennifer and I to attend the Bhangra Blowout with her at Constitution Hall. What's that, you ask? Well, only the premier Indian dance festival in the country, of course!


Jamie decked us out in all her Indian garb (it was so hard to choose!), and we headed into the District (there's something about riding the metro dressed up... you get a lot of looks when you wear garb that's obviously not your skins!). I think we were the only Caucasians around. It was a party, I'm telling you--Bollywood at it's finest! Dancing--on the stage AND in the aisles, singing, and I hear the after parties are crazy.
How I LOVE me a good celebration! The music pumped through that auditorium, the colors swinging around, and boy do I want to learn some of those moves. Who knew all of this could come out of the good ol' DAR? I need to go to India one day...

On the Up and Up

Good news moment! Brought to you with pictures of my favorite cherry blossom neighborhood in Chevy Chase from a couple of weeks ago...

drum roll...

I have funding! My department has offered me one more year of funding. This news came the day after I did NOT receive funding from another significant source (which was a good thing because I didn't necessarily want to move back to Utah, although it would have been ridiculous to turn it down if I DID get it). Ahem. Anyway. The PhD director swore up and down that he would most definitely NOT give me funding ever again after this year, which means I either need to finish my dissertation this year (wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles!) or find another fellowship (I'm trying! I'm trying!). So one more year of pittance upon which to thrive and write and write and thrive. Just you wait!
AND... just found out today that I received a Charles Redd Center for Western Studies fellowship--a very small award but money! Hooray! More pittance!

AND... (the list goes on!)... as I went online today to find a new laptop battery, I discovered that I'm still under warranty for 49 more days! Hooray! New battery for free!

My View

This was my view. Not today, but two days ago. I didn't have the energy to post on Tuesday.

I must say one of the greatest rewards of growing older (this is not a post on age) is the recognition of what you're feeling--physically and emotionally--and what you want to do about it. You recognize when you're elated and why, you know when you're mad and you can decide what you're going to do about it, and you sense when you're discouraged and you figure out how to handle that.

I've been attacked by allergies. And it's made me feel sick. I haven't been sick in a long, long time. I refuse to let my body slow down long enough to feel sick. But after huddling in a blanket all day, not really being able to breath deeply, clinging to my laptop for warmth (and catching up on a billion emails), when my sweet friend Diedra called to invite me over to dinner, I admitted it. I didn't feel good. She immediately offered to bring me dinner. I started to cry. And then I knew I really was sick.

So this was my view: notice kleenex, water bottle, mug of hot tea, tin-foil-covered dinner from Diedra, my puffy Laura Ashley comforter, and, of course, my bound Woman's Exponent and laptop open to the Nauvoo Relief Society Minutes resting on the awesome antique coffee table I found on the street and still haven't figured out how to refinish.

I'm on the mend. I have prescriptions for flonase and an inhaler, I've had a delightful sleep thanks to some benadryl (who knew it was almost as good as ambien!?!), and lots and lots and lots of liquids. And emails to catch up...

And the Heavens Opened

Bozeman, Montana, May 2008

Last night I inadvertently left my sun roof open. Thank goodness when I got into my car this morning that it hadn't rained and that the temperature had lowered and prevented a fine dusting of pollen to fill my Golda with its springtime wealth.

I like to believe that I was tapping into my conduit to heaven through my sun roof. That and the wind rippling through my hair and the bright spring sun are what motivate me to open up Golda in this pollen-infested world.

Just last week, for instance, I was in a tight spot with my dissertation. My adviser was convinced that my structure was all wrong and that my previously-written chapters were off and shouldn't be included. She was partly right. The biggest problem, though, was that I didn't have a tight focus. I couldn't figure out the core value of all my little strands. I'd felt blocked the past few months as I tried to hammer out a dissertation that didn't really stand on its own.

So I struggled through it that weekend. I went to all my usual sources of inspiration (including the fabulous Kenwood neighborhood in Chevy Chase for some non-touristy cherry blossom stimulation). I read an article by my dear mentors from a previous life at BYU, Jill & Carol. They seemed to have hit one of my ideas right on, and while I was delighted in their work, I was also a bit disappointed because it's now not mine to make.

And then it hit me. It came. The heavens opened and all of a sudden all these little pieces from my past years of research and papers and exhibits instantly fell into place. CLICK. I figured it out. I saw so clearly, in that beam of sunlight on my back patio last Wednesday, the day before I met with my adviser to restructure my dissertation, and my conduit popped. I welcome those brief moments of clarity. This morning at the gym as I labored on the bike (breathing heavily through my allergy-infested lungs), I had another moment, explaining another part of my life. These are the moments, these bits of light, these conduits, that I cling to and that provide direction for the next little bit. Oh thank goodness!

Bits and Pieces

This, my friends, is a pretty nice explanation for my life these days.

In all reality, it's what I've been spending 20 hours a week working on with my fellowship with the Papers of the War Department. Piecing through fragments. Finding dates and names and locations. Making sense of any word or phrase I can find.

This is actually a letter from James McHenry, Secretary of the War Department, to some guy named Roach (as far as I can tell), dated 12 January 1798 (as far as I can tell). In fact, the only thing I can really tell is that nice, clear signature. James McHenry. This I know.

Sometimes that's all I know. But sometimes that's all I need. Just a name. Sometimes just MY name. The rest can be a foggy haze until the bits and pieces settle and we can make more sense of it. And you'd better believe I'm going to run with that name. I'm going to get all the mileage out of it I can. Because it may be all I have right now.

Like my life. I know I need to finish this dissertation. I don't know how long it's going to take, or how I'm going to pay for it (or my rent or food for that matter!). I don't know how it's all going to shake out in the end (although I think we win. At least that's what history tells us today.). But I'm going to stick with what I DO know and run with it. Just you wait.

said through the mail slot...

Tonight I dropped a treat by my friend Julie's house. Little Elliot and I are great friends, and even though it was an hour past her bedtime (maybe especially because it was an hour past her bedtime), she invited me several times to come over and play with her. I only stayed a few minutes, and as I as getting into my car, the front door opened and Julie told me that Elliot had something else to say. She wanted me to know that if I wanted to, I could call her tomorrow on the phone and come over and play with her.

The best part? Before her mom opened the door, Elliot called for me through the mail slot in the front door. "Jenny Reeder! Jenny Reeder"

Love those little messages. That made my day!

Stuck

Digging out from the Blizzard[s] of 2010 has been a much more lengthy process than I anticipated. Walls of snow line my streets... we're still down to one lane. Last night I drove around my block six times looking for a parking spot. There is plenty of space--but it's filled with crusty, icy snow. Many cars are still snowed in; they didn't even try to dig themselves out.

After being snowed in for over a week, with two free Sundays, we finally had church. Short church. The parking lot, though well plowed, was still full of snow. There's just nowhere to put the darn stuff. So we split into two groups and just had one hour a piece. I can't tell you how great it was to be back with the folks, even just for an hour.

Everyone is hoping for sun. That seems to be the only way to melt this mess. But then we think about the potential flooding problems if it melts too fast. And the other problem with melting is that the water quickly turns to ice at night. It's like a no-win situation. Too much? Too fast? Not enough?

Which sums up how I'm feeling about now. Stuck. Trapped in walls of snow. Bogged down in grant applications--which means I'm not working on my dissertation, but I'm trying to define my dissertation for these proposals, and then I feel like it's undefinable and dumb, and then I get further and further away from it.

So. I'm waiting for sun. And this time I hope it comes quickly and wholly and completely.

Snow on snow, snow on snow

It's been called Snowcapolypse, Snowmageddon, the Blizzard of 2010, 2010.2. You name it. The thing is, it really is snow on snow on snow. And I, a lowly Utah native, have never seen anything like this Virginia winter.

This is so old news... back on Saturday when we could find the sidewalk...

The stats:
December 2009 storm--canceled church one Sunday and a day or two of school. Probably 2 feet of snow.
January 30 storm--forecasted to be a dusting but snowed a foot or two. Canceled church and school on Monday.
February 2 storm--2 inches. Delayed start of school the following day.

February 5 storm--35 inches. Federal governement and school closed after 12. Snowed from Friday afternoon through Saturday night. Power out from late Friday night to Saturday night. Temperatures in the single digits. No plowing. Church canceled. School canceled on Monday.

February 9 storm--hasn't stopped yet, but predicted 10-20 inches. Blizzard conditions--winds 45-50 miles per hour. Local news has taken over every channel to report the storm and ask people to stay off the roads, both in cars and walking. Hospitals have requested assistance with 4-wheel drives. School canceled Tuesday and Wednesday, and at this rate, there is no way anything is moving tomorrow.

Overlooking the freeway back on Saturday. This morning on the news they showed the traffic cameras with NO ONE on the 66 or the Capitol Beltway because of whiteout conditions. If you know these freeways and the headache of rush hour, that is pretty trippy.

I've learned a few things about emergency preparedness. I was super excited to pull out my 3 different 72-hour kits on Saturday--I was convinced I had the tools necessary to sit it out. I found all sorts of fun stuff, including packs of macaroni and cheese, cup-a-soup, hot chocolate, and slim jims (I didn't get THAT hungry). I had plenty of food in my shelves and fridge. And water? Well, frankly, I'm SURROUNDED by it. In the pipes and in the snow.

The view outside my front door this morning.

But what I didn't have was a heat source. How does any of this help if you have no way to heat water? Just a question for all you emergency preparedness people. I have loads of hand warmers, but that heat isn't going to boil anything. My mom even suggested I light some charcoal. The biggest question is WHERE. I mean, my back patio now has snow up to my mid chest. So that, my friends, will be my next big purchase: a camping stove. Or a backpacking stove. Seriously.

The view out my back patio, where my mom thought I should whip up some Dutch oven cooking... under the snow that comes up to my mid-chest.

We've had a lot of fun with this storm. We've watched a lot of movies and we've bundled up and walked down to Shirlington for warm food and more movies (I've seen Young Victoria twice now--LOVE that movie). We've played cards. I've cleaned and studied and read and worked on grant applications. I even made a Winter Storm 2010 playlist (with a little IngridMichelson, Lenka, Joshua James, Brandi Carlile, A Fine Frenzy, Sarah McLachlan, Fiona Apple, Simon & Garfunkle--"Hazy Shade of Winter" and even Reo Speedwagon's "Ridin' the Storm Out"--thanks to an old boyfriend's older taste in music). I'm making some yummy Mexican soup tonight and I'm even going to attempt some french bread (hey--I'm trying to learn how to make bread so one day I can get married). We're planning an Olympics opening ceremony party. I tried to convince my roommates to have an Indian Leg Wrestling Championship to no avail. Six days in this house is too long. And there's no end in site.

We guessed these were our cars... and this was last Saturday. We spent hours shoveling. Who knows what they look like today! I haven't driven since last Friday!

But let's face it. I've got cabin fever. I'm going stir crazy. I may resort to skinny-dipping snow angels. Please.Rescue.Me.

Brighton: without the "B," it's right on!

Yes... that's a cheer from Brighton High School taught to me by my favorite cheer alumna Ms. Amy Rae Stokes.



But this is a post about Brighton, England. Home of dear Ms. Suzanne Milne, pictured above with Janiece and below with me. Suzanne moved to England to be a traveling nurse, and provided a nice, warm, clean, and very entertaining place for us to crash (literally on top of the crashing waves of a sometimes angry, sometimes picturesque ocean). Plus she hung out with us all over London and Brighton. While it's been kind of a lonely new existence for Suzanne, I must say, she lives in a pretty fine town!

First stop: Brighton Pier. This super kitschy old-school pier reminded me of a much cleaner, classier, and excitedly more British Coney Island.

This is the spot where the famous old carousel runs, but it was totally packaged up for the winter.

We didn't stop in the casino or play Guitar Hero or win an Ipod, but we did wander around the old rickety pier and took in great views of the city. We also didn't jump off the pier, thanks to the many signs warning us of the danger. We also stopped to check out the artists in the stalls along the beach and made friends with the sweetest photographer. His business goal is to take pictures of happy places. He gave us some copies of his prints.

We wandered around the Lanes--some great shopping to be had in Brighton, I must say! Gourmet chocolate, Cath Kidston, Laura Ashley, and many, many, many very cool jewelry shops. Then we headed to the Royal Pavillion. What a beautiful monstrosity, this showcase of Orientalism mixed with royal playground!I loved the lines and points and arches set against the sun. That sun! There IS sun in Brighton in the winter! It may be cold, but there IS sun!

We learned all about George, Prince Regent at the turn of the 19th century, and the way he created this pleasure palace. I enjoyed hearing about all the different iterations of the building up until the time of Victoria. I loved the flamboyant taste and exotic splendor. It's all so self-contained. Victoria hated the place because she could barely see the ocean from its windows. It's true. You'd think in such a location you could capitalize on the beach. Not here, my friends. It's all what goes on within these walls, stays within these walls.

Great tour. Great shopping. Great town. Yeah, it's pretty right on.

A Bunch of Hot Steam

You've got to hand it to those Romans. They were thinkers. They find a hot spring and they build this ginormous sacred temple and social spot on top. Basically they found a whole town based on this spring--the same town that evolves over years of Roman and British use for different reasons, including our friend Jane Austin and her folks who somehow always spend some time there.

I don't blame them. I love that town. I don't love the difficulty of finding parking (now the whole adventure of driving in merry old England deserves a post all its own), but I love the winding streets and the ways the 18th century British architects used the natural curves to form the Royal Crescent and the Royal Circus.

So there was a sign outside the fenced area inside the Crescent: "No Fly Tipping." Any ideas what that means? Anyone?

So basically, I'm a believer. I believe in building on the landscape you have and in drawing out that hot steam or the dips and curves in the terrain. I believe in utilizing and improvising and creating beauty in the situation.And there's great shopping...

Ancient of Days

I don't know why I have this huge insatiable interest in Stonehenge, but I do. It's so Tess of the D'Urbervilles. I still remember reading Thomas Hardy in Mr. Burton's AP English class and really getting it. But you know why Tess was drawn to that stone altar? Because she felt what I felt: ancient. old. antiquity. ages past.

I don't know how to explain it, but I think Stonehenge and Avebury feel like the oldest places I've ever been. I love hearing how these ancient people moved heaven and earth in order to better understand heaven and earth--how they used stone, so immovable and permanent that it remains today, to measure time. I love the creation of calendar with the use of light--that each month the sun would shine through different portions of the stone columns. I love the use of the solstice.

And most of all, I love that we just don't know so much. We don't know really how or why. And it's all the more intriguing. I love that Avebury is so non-touristy compared to Stonehenge--that these nearby stone circles surround the small village, and that you can actually go up and touch the stones, unlike the barriers and tickets and audio guides at Stonehenge.

I love that a really hot gay couple at the greatest fish and chips place our last night in London told us that there's a certain Avebury "female" stone. Legend has it that if a woman touches it, she will get pregnant within a year. Oh the irony...

I love that these rocks and this land bend back and forth across time. Sort of reaching back to former lives...

Returning to a Former Life...

This past week I went abroad.

And I returned to a former life.

Every once in a while I meet up face-to-face with my former life. I get all snuggled in and busy and forging forward with life-worthy goals and plans, and then I somehow sneak back to the past and remember who I was. Who I am, really, but who I've become somehow so wrapped up in the current that I've forgotten that Other Part of me. Does that make sense?

When I was young, my dear grandparents, who lived next door through the hedge, were called as mission presidents to the England London mission. We joked that we would take care of my brother Little Ben while they took care of Big Ben. They filled those three years with postcards of the Tower of London and newsclippings of Princess Diana's wedding and Paddington bears and Beatrix Potter tea sets and Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny, with the occasional matching Laura Ashley dresses.

Then when I was in the Utah Valley Youth Symphony, we went on tour to London. Oh those days... Grandad and GranNomi came along to conduct the orchestra and show me, my sister, and my mom their old haunts. How I loved walking the flower-ful mews between their flat on Exhibition Road and Harrods and the Barbican performances and wandering through Oxford.

I also grew up listening to my mother's stories of her college study abroad in Salzburg. Study abroad was always a part of my college intentions, and I chose London. 27 Palace Court. Oh those four months were packed to the brim with the most amazing, life-changing, eye-opening opportunities--certainly the best undergrad decision I ever made. From running in Hyde Park to wandering through the Lake District to learning how to always carry a book to read in que to coming to the important realization that Trafalgar Square certainly is the heart of London--I loved it all.

When my friend Debbie and I backpacked through Europe before I moved to Arizona, we ended our journeys in London. And I loved it again. And again.

Well, friends, it's been over ten years. I've been a poor student. I let my passport expire. I've plunged my little heart into American history--particularly Mormon history, and I've never looked back. I've busy-ed myself with part-time jobs at all sorts of places and I've come to love the East Coast--New York City and now Washington, D.C. I've soaked in sun at the Outer Banks and I've run a couple of marathons. I've loved sewing quilts and aprons. I've had a very significant relationship and many great, dear friends. I've immersed myself in this stage of my life, and I haven't looked back.

Until now. After my dear little sister got married, I decided I needed to take the reins and do something really GREAT. So I did. I bought a plane ticket to London and persuaded my dear friend Janiece to come along (the persuasion part wasn't hard).

The minute I stepped off the plane at Heathrow, I felt like I was coming home. I forgot how much I love to travel. I love the new sites and sounds and smells, the interesting people and ideas and the different hustle and bustle of new places. I love the crowding plans of scheduling in all the important things to see and taste.

But I love England. It felt like it was in my blood. I loved feeling like I was in a familiar place. I had returned! I knew the tube stops and I embraced that ever-present English sans serif font. I remembered the old smells. I filled my lungs at Stonehenge with that ancient breath, and I felt the British wind and rain and occasional sunbeam on my cheek. I drank it all in.

Returning to a former life is invigorating. I remember ME. I remember my younger hopes and dreams and I remember my previous personalities and tastes and tendencies. And I embrace them. Somehow they give me the courage to continue pressing forward. I love the curves and dips in life, and I love looking back and seeing how it all fits together and ebbs and flows and returns. I have such high hopes for my future based on the adventure of my past.

More tidbits from England to come...

I'm Back.

That's right. I have so many blog post ideas running around in my head after a really really really great trip to England. Just got back late last night and am so tired I can't see straight. Must go to bed.

But first, a funny.

Tonight I was sitting at a Relief Society service auction--the kind where you donate homemade items and acts of service, and then you bid on each other's items based on a point system, based on how much service you've done over the past month or so. No money exchanged. Brilliant idea.

Photos courtesy of Julie's blog...

My good friend Julie was auctioning off a darling stuffed elephant she made and a homemade onesie. The perfect baby gift. I mentioned to my whole table that this was a top item and that I wanted it. The cute young girl sitting next to me looked at me and said, "Well I guess you'd better start having grandkids."
What does that mean? Is she saying something about my age? Do I look that old? I know I need highlights--in fact I had just texted an appointment five minutes before. Does she know that kids have to come before grandkids? Does she not know it would make the greatest gift? Or the greatest stash for my own kids one day?

I sat there for five minutes, trying to decide how I felt about that comment. But then I decided not to think about it. It doesn't make sense. And it's not worth getting offended over a silly little comment, ESPECIALLY at a service auction. Hello. I think I just need to go to bed.

More tomorrow. I promise.

Come Off Conqueror

This morning I woke up in a funk. The longer I stayed in my cozy warm bed, the funkier I felt. So what did I do? Inspired by my dear friend Laurel, I went running. In 28 degrees, wind chill 18.

I bundled myself up--leggings, thick pants, one short-sleeved shirt, one long-sleeved shirt, two jackets, gloves, head/face/neck wrap, hat, gloves.

Instead of being vanquished to the warmth of the gym, I battled with the wind and joined its forces. I ran up and down hills, pounding the pavement to my tunes and my own beat.

This morning's run reminded me of other very chilly morning runs--like the Snowflake Race in Central Park with Tori. I think it was windchill 4 degrees--we lathered up in vasoline as a windbreaker for our faces and braved the frigid. That's when I became a true New Yorker. Then there was the George Washington President's Day run with Jessica in Alexandria. The roads were so snowy and icy that they changed the course to do two loops on boring Eisenhower Boulevard. But we braved the ice and finished the race. Or last year's Thanksgiving Day Turkey Trot with Lisa. I sort of forgot my warm(er) running clothes as I packed for Annie's wedding, and ended up buying some construction gloves at a nearby gas station (thank goodness). It was 23 degrees and we ran as fast as I can remember running. Then there was training for some marathon with Debbie and Lindsay on the Provo River Trail. I still remember those icicles in Deb and Linds's eye brows.

I've done it again and again. Sometimes I just have to put those shoes on and grab those ear warmers and hit the pavement, ready to brave the frigid. Sometimes I think it's important to understand the necessary tools, to learn how to pad and protect and shield ourselves. And to come off conqueror.

Let's Have Snow (and mistletoe!)

New! and improved! pictures added! (much more dramatic than before!)


I must say in all honesty that I mocked the forecast. One thing that I love about the East Coast is the morbid fear of snow and the quick effort to shut down. Last weekend the prediction was for two feet of snow on Friday night through Saturday and into the wee hours of Sunday. My friend received a text from her airline canceling her Saturday afternoon flight, even before a snowflake appeared. (She subsequently received several other messages, each pushing the rescheduled flight back until she flew out Monday morning!)

After a graduate student end-of-semester obligatory happy hour (gotta love free diet Coke!), and a quick trip to JoAnn's for some Christmas sewing material and to Trader Joe's for my favorite seasonal candy cane Joe-Joes and chocolate-covered cranberries, the flakes started to dance. Nothing in my mind to warrant the snow plows at the ready at the mixing bowl of 495 and 395. I laughed.

In the parking lot that had been plowed that morning...

I also laughed at Alicia's traditional hors d'oeuvres party. People came in covered in snow and threatened to leave early to make it home. East Coast pansies, I said. But then when I drove home, the roads were quickly icing up under the accumulating snow.

Saturday morning my roommate was all set to move. I popped out of bed, made muffins for the angel movers from church, and then tried to problem shoot with her rapidly declining party of movers. She went out to shovel the walk (the first time that California girl had ever shoveled!). We rolled back the carpet. To no avail. The snow was winning.

And so I let the snow win. I surrendered. And LOVED it. Later in the afternoon, Marni and I trudged through two feet of snow across the street to the grocery store. The bare shelves--no milk and no bread whatsoever!)--resembled a Soviet-era market. On the way home, we stopped at James and Lauren's house for a Christmas party. Too bad with the complete lack of snow plows, the only people to attend were those locals in the neighborhood. Better for us--more ham and rolls to go around!

Saturday night I played games with the girls down the street. Church was canceled. (Note: I don't think church was ever canceled the whole lifetime I lived in Utah with the Greatest Snow on Earth. No complaints from this girl!). By Sunday morning the storm had stopped but had left the most snow this region has seen in 100 years. We took turns digging each other's cars out of the snow banks (up to the windows!), settled in for some hot soup, and sang Christmas carols.

Pure delight.