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.

Thy Leaves are So Unchanging

There's something about a Christmas tree. I think it's the smell, the promise of a green that remains constant throughout the changing seasons, the opportunity to adorn the branches with light and symbols of the season, and the excitement of celebration. I love the line from the famous song: "O Christmas tree! You fill my heart with music."

I've had such fun with Christmas trees over the years.

One of my favorite things about being in London for study abroad was experiencing all the Christmas festivities. We went one wintery Sunday evening to Trafalgar Square for the lighting of the Christmas tree and witnessed protesters from Norway, where the tree had originated. We didn't let that hamper our BYU Christmas spirit... we had our own It's an Emily Christensen Christmas special and danced to Yahoo Dooray around the tree in the parlor. Anyone have a picture of that?!?

I remember one year living at the Riviera in Provo. We had a delightful roommate, Tanya, who kept her bike in the living room corner and NEVER rode it. Not even once. So one late night, Tammy and Jamie and I made it into a Christmas tree. We hung it from the ceiling hook in the corner and wrapped it in fake evergreen boughs from my mom's attic. Then we decorated it. If ANYONE has a picture of this, PLEASE send it.

Then, of course, my Christmas in Italy. We found this little teensy bitty tree tucked away in the closet and brought it out into our beautiful Palermo home, with torn wallpaper and disgusting furniture and cockroaches and running water only every other day or so. We decorated it with ornaments Mom and Barbara made at Thanksgiving and mailed to Sicily--can you believe they made it in time for Christmas with the Italian postal system? We also found one of those Primary paper nativity scenes and an Italian Libro di Mormon to complete the decor. I loved that little tree. I loved that Christmas and the memory of the African branch Christmas party and drunk Italians singing "They Say This Is Christmas" to us because it was the only Christmas song in English they knew. Oh and the food! (the exclamation is NOT for the panettone pictured here).

Yes, my sweet mother sent me that big, comfy knit red dress for Christmas. And can you believe those shoes I'm wearing? I'm SO 1990s sister missionary...

The next year I had just returned from my mission. I came home to a crazy Christmas--divorced parents, three cousins killed in a car accident on the way home from my homecoming, not to mention the crazy transition of returning home from the mission, feeling awkward, fat, white, and between two worlds. We got a Christmas tree that year but never decorated it. Instead we went to Disneyland and sat in the sun.

When I moved to New York City with my three suitcases of all my worldly possessions and living on the tightest student loan budget, I didn't know how Christmas would shake out. My good friends shipped me my little artificial Christmas tree, and Becky and D'Arcy and I decorated it with cheap lights from Rite Aid. We made ornaments out of dried apples and oranges and strung popcorn and cranberries. It was our cheapie Harlem Christmas tree and we loved the light and excitement it brought to our little apartment.

As I've lived in the East, I've come to love the big Christmas trees set up around town. Of course the tree at Rockefeller Plaza in NYC. A couple of years ago I loved a date night to the National Christmas tree on the ellipse, complete with a visit to the designer Christmas trees in the Georgetown Plaza hotel, with my boyfriend pretending to be interested in purchasing a couple of them and making arrangements to come back and pick them up. It was great fun!

For some reason, this year I just couldn't make do with my little artificial Christmas tree. I'm not going home for Christmas and what with a lot of crazy changes around this little house, I needed the real deal. So Ivy and I ventured out to Home Depot after Thanksgiving and got our little Douglas Fir pictured above. Even better was the little red purse ornament my GranNomi sent for "your first Christmas away from home."

I love walking in the door, dusting off my snowy or leafy feet, and taking in a whiff of the real deal evergreen scent. I love plugging in and basking in the light of the tree. I love the constant green and the music that it brings as I forge forward.

For every year the Christmas tree
Brings to us both joy and glee.

No Cookies from Me this Year!

Count yourselves lucky. No cookies from me this year. None with glass shards in them.

On Tuesday I made cookies for the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers Old Dominion Camp Christmas cookie exchange. Homemade devil's chocolate Oreos with peppermint cream cheese frosting with crushed candy canes. Delicious.

Tonight I made a big old batch of peanut butter Snickers cookies drizzled in chocolate. Half of them were for the Relief Society cookie exchange, and the other half were for the 8th annual Christmas gift card exchange party on Saturday. And a few to give to my roommates and friends here and there.
Only look what happened when I came home from the church and packed them all up in a pyrex dish on top of the fridge. Slam. It was pretty cool-looking.

I thought about trying to save the cookies. But then I realized the power of glass shards. Not going to do it. Not even to people I don't like.

Peace On Earth

Every year we read the same words and sing the same songs, proclaiming the same idea. Don't get me wrong; I am not a scrooge. In fact, I feel myself fully embracing the season this year. I need the lights and the excitement, the planning and the parties. I love the regularity of it--and yet the fact that these words and notes and decorations have been packed away for a while. It's all fresh again.

I made a fascinating observation last week. I had been assisting with the Festival of Lights at the Washington, D.C. temple. It was an exciting--and slightly stressful--evening. I was assigned to greet guests at the door, including ambassadors, diplomats, dignitaries, and representatives from the White House, Congress, and other churches. I was nervous, especially after the whole White House State Dinner crashers the week before. I had to run through a list to check off names and prevent interlopers. I also had to welcome these people in out of a terrible rain storm, from horrible traffic out on the Beltway, and help them feel comfortable at the visitor's center. No pressure. As the event progressed, and the bulk of the guests had arrived, I relaxed enough to listen to the program and observe the tired, anxious faces of the people. For the closing song, the choir sang the familiar "Let There be Peace on Earth," which, although not a Christmas song, presented a very clear, powerful message to a room full of international representatives and policy-makers.

All of a sudden, I got the message. This idea of angels proclaiming "Peace on earth" is very real. And we repeat it every year--even in a world raging with wars and strife and contention all around. But we work for it. We meet together to try to come to a common understanding, across racial and geographical and cultural and class divides. We seek escape and deliverance from each other and for each other.

But we also have to--we get to--repeat the same message and same songs. Year after year. And although not all in that room were members of my Church--not all were even Christian--we all, every one there, want peace. We share that one hope. And we keep trying, year after year.

Thank goodness for multiple opportunities. Thank goodness that peace can be a daily affair. And thank goodness for the realization that instead of waiting for it, it must begin with me.

This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again. Howard W. Hunter

Dirty Fingernails and Blisters

Note: NOT my picture (see here)
NOT my hands--my hands were caked in dirt and my fingernails are NOT that short, and I was wearing my BYU football T-shirt and the rest of me was caked in glorious dirt. For the record.

'Tis the season!

When my friend Mark moved into a new house, I jumped at the chance to plant bulbs. There is something delightfully magical about planning a spring garden this far in advance--the anticipation kills me! Tulips! Daffodils! Hyacinths! Those little purple flowers that aren't crocuses and the name I canNOT remember!

I love digging holes. I love squishing down into the dirt with my shovel to find the perfect place for the bulb. I love getting into the groove and yet feeling like each spot is different and requires a different tactic. I love the warm, crisp November/December sun. I love filling my days with the hope of a new seed that will grow and thrive in a few months. I love that I can create something by getting dirty and by covering things up with dirt. I love having spring to get me through the winter. I love the new idea that mothball crystals will keep the squirrels away from the tulips. I do NOT love the smell of mothball crystals, but oh I hope they work.

Here's to spring, and to preparing now, and to looking forward with anticipation.

Yes, I scrubbed and scrubbed and got most of the dirt out of my fingernails before the big event last night at the Festival of Lights. How can you shake an ambassador's hands with dirty fingernails? Those Americans...

This One is Married

What a day! I think my favorite part was watching Annie walk in with Ben. I have never seen her look so happy or feel so beautiful. It made my heart happy. It was a beautiful day at Sundance and it was so fun to see family and friends. I love Ben & Josh in this picture... so typical... I just wish you could see Lisa's Uggs in this picture. She was DONE with her fancy wedding shoes.

And I leave you with some Thanksgiving pictures...Wait, are Mom's eyes closed? Weird. Her rolls were awesome--although they took oven precedence over my sweet potatoes. I must say my new recipe of stuffing turned out fine... even better... don't tell GranNomi her recipe has been trumped...Savannah had only apple juice. I think she ate too many peppermint JoJos before dinner. What can I say--I admire her taste...

Yesterday's Top 3

Ok. I know. I have loads of things to write about (well not loads, but at least a few brilliant blog posts. But. Non c'e' la faccio, as they say in Italian (which doesn't translate well--but it's one of those brilliant phrases). It's just not in me. You bloggers know how that is.

But I must share yesterday's top 3. After two bits of bad news in the preceeding 12 hours, and loads (yes loads) of the heaviest stuff, and the third trip to Utah since the end of September (out of the frying pan, into the fire), I needed, nay NEEDED, these top 3 things, in this order:

1. A sweet, dear friend drove me all the way to BWI. In the pouring rain and the middle of the day. He arrived, saw I was in the middle of a conversation, didn't say a word, picked up my stuff, loaded his car, turned it to point in the right direction, and sat waiting for me. Then he listened to me talk for a really long time, to the point that he missed that crucial turn and there was recovery time in Anacostia (and yes, we've both lived in DC for years!), then dropped me at the curb with the kindest thoughts and hopes. Bless his heart.

2. When I arrived in Salt Lake City, another friend met me at the curb. She was headed to Mesa for Thanksgiving and needed someone to pick up her car to avoid long-term parking costs. She returns a day after I leave. So I have Sylvie, her car. Can I tell you, my friends, what it is to have a car? I know I'll be working in the sweat shop today (in preparation for Annie's big day tomorrow), and just the thought that I. have. a. car. means the world. Bless her heart.

3. I shared the rabbit room last night with my baby nephew. He was sound asleep in his pac-n-play, and there was no moving anything in that tiny room without him waking up. Plus I love the kid. LOVE the kid. So I climbed into bed and pretty soon he was awake and he climbed into bed with me. He just wanted me to hold him and he wanted to put his head on mine and he had to be touching me. I needed that physical contact. I needed that pat on my cheek and that reassurance that he's there. Bless his heart.

So tomorrow is this one's big day:
And guess what I realized I forgot, hanging from the doorknob of my bedroom in Virginia? Yeah. My camera. Oh well. Better that than my dress or my shoes, I guess.

One of those A-HA moments...

After a week full of those "adventures" (where you do NOT ask what else could happen because it DOES), I saved up Friday night to go visiting teaching (church program, see details here--it WAS, after all, the end of the month!). Julie and I had a nice, cozy visit with Jen, which went slightly longer than anticipated. At 9:45 pm, we realized we still needed to run into Georgetown to visit Karen.

Now, this story will have more meaning for those of you who know Georgetown on a Friday night, particularly the Friday night before Halloween. The traffic is crazy and the parking is crazier. There were folks testing out their costumes and cops all over the place. Julie left a husband and sleeping child and baby at home who may or may not have needed feeding. We brought melting pumpkin ice cream for Karen. Our situation was a teensy bit dire.

In my desperate way, I hurled out a very vocal pleading to God: "Please provide us with a parking spot if you want us to visit Karen!" I was half joking--ready to creep down M Street and Wisconsin, and all the hopeful street parking in between. When what to our wandering eyes should appear, but A PARKING SPOT RIGHT IN FRONT OF KAREN'S SHOP. I'm not kidding. It was there. And the street was lined with cars everywhere else, parked and waiting to park. You know.

We ran in and chatted and laughed with Karen while she took a break from work and admired her kitty hidden away upstairs and hugged her and told her Heavenly Father must love her. Then hightailed it home. Where I found another parking spot right in front of my house.

I believe in visiting teaching miracles.

Candle in the Wind

Last week I had to go to Philadelphia. Twice. For two separate conferences.

Ok. I was cheap. I had a ride up and back on Thursday and I didn't want to pay for a hotel room until my Saturday conference.

I decided that after a couple of intense weeks of research, writing, powerpoint making, and all that other stuff, I deserved a slight detour after my second presentation: the Diana exhibit at the National Constitution Center.Judge me all you want. I admit: Diana was my princess. I am a Diana-lover. My grandparents lived in London when she got married and send us news clippings and books and postcards. When I was on study abroad in London, I lived around the corner from Kensington Palace, and everytime our class was interrupted by the sound of her helicopter flying in or out, we wondered what activity was happening.

I loved her dresses. I loved that it took a while for her to find her style, but boy did she find it. I loved that she supported British fashion designers and I loved her sense of class.

I loved her emphasis on humanitarian aid. I loved that she used her station in life to do an incredible amount of good. She didn't shirk away from the difficult situations that were so far removed from her own palaces and royal activity. She jumped in.

Most of all, I loved that she loved people. She touched sick people and held people with crazy diseases. She wasn't afraid of the royal imprimature being polluted in any way. She was brave and fierce.
She obviously struggled privately. And yet she had a grace and a poise that stood strong despite her difficulties.

I remember exactly where I was when I found out about her death. At first I was convinced it was a conspiracy plot by the queen because Diana had stolen her spot light and because of all the troubles with Charles. I watched her funeral and I bought the Elton John cd in support of her, and I listened to it over and over. She was my princess.

The exhibit, by the way, was delightful. If you get the chance, wherever it travels, you should go. I LOVED seeing the dresses I had seen in pictures. The train on that dress? 25 feet long. Incredible. And well worth the $36 parking ticket for being three minutes late to my meter. Take that, Philadelphia. You can't ruin my Diana experience.

And I think I'm going to go to London this year for Christmas. Or to do humanitarian aid somewhere. Is anyone in?

A Misty Moisty Morning

A couple of weeks ago, a friend gave us tickets to the White House garden tour. We braved the rain and chill and metroed in for the biannual event.

I've lived in DC for over three years and have yet to be invited to the White House (I'm still hoping for a Christmas party invite this year... hehehe), so I jumped at the opportunity to come within yards of the famous building.

The Rose Garden

It was beautiful--and exciting to be at the same location where so much happens on the news: the Rose Garden, the Oval Office (I loved that it was literally adjacent to the playground for the OBama kids).

The other thing I loved was the additions from each administration: the magnolia trees planted by Andrew Jackson in memory of his wife Rachel, the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden, the Children's Garden (with handprints of many First Children and Grandchildren!). I found it very interesting that the Clintons planted an elm tree. Who loves the elm? Anyone? Isn't it the most common of all weed trees? At least it was at my mom's house in Utah. I loved seeing the Obama playground, but, I'll be honest here, I was a bit perplexed why the famous Michelle Obama kitchen garden was not on display (Could it be in disrepair? Is it a farce? Are they growing unmentionables there, not fit for public view?).After a warm sandwich at Pot Belly, we were on our way. One DC experience richer and a bit wetter... (is that a word?)