light-in-leaves

Random Thoughts

2012-01-13T10:05:00.001-07:00

--Some time ago I saw a Halloween flag (banner?) flying at half-mast. What does it mean??!

--Being surprised about the weather is sort of a thing of the past, isn't it? Because of the pervasiveness of the forecast (phones, etc.)? Don't you kind of miss waking up to a totally unexpected snowfall?

--Having kids often just gives me an excuse to do the things I would have wanted to do anyway, e.g., keep to myself at parties, leave meetings early, keep refilling my plate at the dessert table, etc.

--I read about a baseball player whose kids' initials spell out his last name ("Barajas," I believe it was---I'm sure you read it on Laura's post, Melissa!) and became nostalgic for the days when our kids' initials spelled "ASM." "SAM," I mean. My determined brain has spent an inordinate amount (unauthorized by my consciousness, I might add---who's in charge here, anyway?) of time trying to see what all of us could spell now.

Damms SJ (an independent South Jordan engineering company, specializing in dams, of course)
Ms. Dajsm
Ms. Jadsm
Sad jmms (the jams are sad because they were spelled "jmms")
Jams MDs (What it does when I take all 5 children in for a checkup)
Ms. Sam, JD (I really ought to get a law degree)
Or, if we are creative with our directionality, perhaps a message to the Social Security Administration: "WWJD, SSA?"

--I really hate the way most people sing the National Anthem. Not YOU---I mean, not you normal audience singers, but the "soloists." I also hate the way people clap and whistle when they hit their (inaccurate, unjustified) high notes.

--Niels Bohr said, "The opposite of a correct statement is a false statement. But the opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth." What do you think of that? I think it applies to much of the seeming "paradox" in the gospel. (Sam and I always look for paradox when preparing to teach something---as we were taught by my uncle and my dad, both physicists---so we have considered this often.) Justice and mercy, to take the most obvious example. I also think that someday these apparent contradictions will become clearly compatible, not contradictory at all, under the light of our greater understanding.

Crocheted Angry Birds hats

2011-12-30T15:47:00.000-07:00

I finished these Angry Birds hats for the kids just in time (or, in barely enough time---Kenneth was laughing at me for bringing my "knitting," as he called it, to the basketball game with me) for Christmas. I spent much time gazing at image searches, pulling out and re-working eyes and beaks, and trying to make each one look just right. In accordance with their favorites, Abe is the bomb birdie, Seb is the red birdie, and Malachi is the tiny blue birdie. Daisy got the yellow bird because she would have been sad if she didn't have one, and Junie got the tiny piggy because I thought, doted on by her brothers as she is, she was safest from actual bombardment. Let us hope that optimistic assessment proves accurate.

I herewith mark this occasion, as probably the last time I will make something for them which fits within the magic trifecta of being something
a.) they like
b.) their friends also think is cool
and c.) I don't disapprove of.
We will enjoy it while we can!

(with beanbag bird from Kenneth and Sheila)

Patient gaze

Oh, what a sweet baby!

Build a bridge out of her!

2011-12-28T23:26:00.000-07:00

I overheard Sebastian saying to some little friend of his at a party the other day, "Do you know what a span is? It's the section between two supports of a bridge." I hope he really wowed her with this statement, but I don't imagine it's exactly the sort of thing that will win him lots of friends. It is exactly the sort of thing he likes to talk about, however. It is partially attributable to our reading lots of books about bridges lately, and I also (and perhaps this will prove to have been a grave misjudgement on my part?) showed him some videos of "Galloping Gertie," which I recalled fondly from various physics classes over the years. This has inspired Seb to new heights, and he has been filling the house with architectural renderings, some of which I have collected here for your enjoyment. Here is the "Monken Gate Bridge" under construction, above.

As you can see in this close-up view, the supports are formed in the shape of monkeys.

It supports a busy roadway

Here's a shot looking down the length of the bridge. A marvel of engineering!

But . . . oh no! What's this? The engineer did not take the phenomenon of resonance into account! Torsion waves are beginning to rock the bridge! The middle span is beginning to fail! A car (containing, sadly, a small dog---but no people, thankfully!) plummets toward the water below!

This picture (entitled by Sebastian, on the back, "TOTAL COLLAPSE") shows suspension cables twisted and dangling as the roadway disappears under the water, more cables raining down along with the actual rain, and only the two main supports remaining in this terrible storm. If you think this is scary, you should see the dramatic re-enactments using actual blocks and toy cars. Harrowing!

I don't know if all this means that he's going to be an engineer . . . or that he should never be an engineer. Perhaps someone wiser can enlighten me. I do know that I am always excited to see what he's going to draw next! :)

Christmas Village

2011-12-28T23:01:00.000-07:00

Just in time for your holiday festivities (next year), I'm pleased to inform you of a fun place to see Christmas lights: the Christmas Village in downtown Ogden. I had read about it and we decided to give it a try, and we loved it. I love Christmas lights of any sort, really, but this was extra good---much better than the drive-through scaffolding-lights at Thanksgiving Point, which gave me a sort of "isn't-this-cheating?" sort of feeling the year we saw them (a few years ago, admittedly, so maybe they're better now)---and certainly as good as the Temple Square lights, which, though always beautiful and enjoyable to see, have been kind of sparse lately (haven't they?).

At this Ogden Christmas Village, basically there are a bunch of tiny houses decorated with lights on the outside, and little scenes inside. You walk around and peek into the houses to see what's inside---many of them show elves doing Christmas-y things like building toys, but there's lots of variety. I think each house is sponsored by a business or city department, so sometimes they are themed around that---Fireman elves in a fire station, for example, or elves eating in an ice cream parlor. Some are animatronic (is that the word I want?) and some are more like detailed dioramas. Sam said it was just like a parade, but better because you could go at your own pace and get close-up views of all the "floats." We loved the house that held hundreds of tiny nutcrackers, and the one with dozens of stuffed bears sitting around a fireplace, and the one with elves throwing snowballs at each other. The kids thought it was just magical. They loved climbing up on the little steps and peering through the windows to see what they could see. And it was such a fun, Christmas-y atmosphere---hot chocolate for sale, and a few firepits for warmth, and a little snow falling. We want to go again next year! (Here is where I read about it, by the way.)

Seb liked the railroad arms, of course

Random Thursday thoughts

2011-12-22T23:58:00.003-07:00

Golden Gate Bridge

∙ Have I talked about how Daisy is exactly like her brothers? People keep telling me how different raising girls is from raising boys, but so far it's almost laughably similar. All day long, Daisy comes running to me saying, "Will you come see my thing?" which is, of course, what her brothers say when they've built something they want to show off. I asked her what she'd built in the picture above, and she told me "the Golden Gate Bridge". As you can see there's one car driving on it. :) She was quite pleased with herself.

∙ Another "thing" someone built (Sebby, I think). Everything is so meticulously placed, and each part means something---I think this was a city of some kind? but I can't remember)---and the boys have to tell me what each part is and how it works, and I just wish they didn't get out every single tiny thing available to them, but they do. Of course they do. [What is that monkey in the bucket? I wish I knew.]

Junie and Balunie

∙ We ate at Brick Oven in Provo awhile ago and the Balloon Man made balloons for all the kids. Malachi asked for "a pink baby Juniper," and the man obliged (he even drew clouds on her little balloony suit to match the real Junie). It was very lifelike, as you can see, and made me wonder if there is a market for balloon family portraits? "Capture childhood's fleeting moments in Latex?"

∙ I feel like the "child-playing-with-nativity-set" image is a popular sentimental favorite this time of year---usually some soft-focus vignette showing how the child has carefully positioned all the figures around Baby Jesus, or some such heartwarming scene. What these depictions leave out is the 1,000 other arrangements in which the child also places the nativity set. The other day ours had a sheep on top of the stable, the angel and the donkey standing companionably inside, and Baby Jesus consigned to distant reaches under the couch. I tried without success to imagine some heartwarming reason for that arrangement. Then, later, there was this:

It comes of having too many people who have too many of their own ideas about things. I try to discourage any such independent ideas but nobody ever listens to me.

The Christmas Chronicles

2011-12-14T21:48:00.000-07:00

One of the best things about having been a family for all these years now (ten and a half) is that we are starting to have lots of our very own traditions. I love it. I love looking forward to things "we always do," and hearing the kids talk about them excitedly to each other.

Something new for this year is that we've been listening to The Christmas Chronicles on KBYU, and I can already tell it's going to be something we want to do every year. I think we'll buy the audiobook, but for now the episodes are online so we can fit them in between all the other things we have going on.

It's a story by local author Tim Slover (he came and spoke to one of my English classes one time at BYU---we studied a story of his I like a lot, called "Jim of Provo," based on the story of Job in the Bible. He also wrote the play "Joyful Noise" about Handel's writing of Messiah; perhaps you've seen it?) about the history and origins of Santa Claus. It is simply delightful. Funny, interesting, moving, witty---we are loving it. Abraham is so involved in the story, he can hardly stand the waits between episodes, but Sebby loves it too and even Malachi seems quite captivated. I highly recommend it! There are 8 segments of about a half-hour each, so it takes some time to listen to, but I guarantee you'll be wanting to stay up late to hear "just one more" once you get started (especially if you have hot chocolate to drink while you listen!).

And just for a bonus, here are some totally gratuitous and unjustified shots of various elves and Christmas dresses.

Texture

2011-11-30T23:17:00.004-07:00

A few more thoughts on this slipping away of Fall (December will never be Fall to me). It struck me again this year how important texture becomes at this time of year. We feel it intuitively (everyone starts liking things like velvet and burlap for their decorating, right?) but I wonder if it's more that there are more textures around us, or just that we notice them more? When the variables of color are taken away, maybe our eyes just become more discerning---the same way when you're putting a puzzle together, all the sky pieces appear indistinguishable at first, but after staring at them for long enough they begin to sort themselves into gradients and differing shades until you wonder how you ever missed the differences.

It's almost like I've been staring at some truth all Summer and only as Fall fades into Winter does that truth suddenly spring into sharp relief, formerly smooth and uninteresting platitudes suddenly revealing themselves to me in all their terrifying complexity: "Time quickens as you age;" "Youth is wasted on the young;" "Life is short." When the colors fade, suddenly I can see the textures---and they are beautiful, but certainly many-layered, complicated, harder to classify. Unsettling. Which is maybe why I want so desperately to BE settled in the winter, to pull in, to gather myself, to let my thoughts run their long winding courses through the long cold nights, to keep my family close and safe.

There's a song Abe's choir sings right now, a Manx Lullaby, where the mother sings over her baby: "Oh hush thee my dove, oh hush thee my rowan, oh hush thee my lapwing, my little brown bird. Oh fold thy wings, and seek thy nest now, Oh shine the berry on the bright tree. The bird is home from the mountain and valley." I want to fold my wings over my little birds and keep them warm, and I will---but I see the complexities of it too, see how temporary and how small our little nest is against the many-layered world. And even, I see how it's best that way. But it doesn't stop me wanting to freeze things just how they are now: the golden air and the glow on the horizon, sending sparks of light over those bright little heads.

I didn't understand that line "Oh shine the berry on the bright tree" until I saw this tree. It was completely covered with yellow berries, like little bright coals. It was unbelievable. I couldn't get close enough to capture it sufficiently with the camera, but the effect of all those tiny berries en masse was staggering.

You can kind of see them here, maybe, if you click to enlarge

I love the textures in the pond here---the layers formed by the different thicknesses of ice, and then overlaid with reflected trees--sky--clouds. Layers upon layers.

There is color here, especially in the light, but since the colors are all so similar, each variation is exaggerated, and the overall effect is still depth.

Another berry tree. Red this time.

Berry clusters against sky

You would think the lighter parts would be easier to see here, but it's actually the shadowed areas that seem to hold more information. Again the details come out when the contrasts are lower.

Those furry grasses show up on the picture almost like sunflares: hazy and glowing, like they were transposed onto our eyes by some magical effect and not through mundane reality.

These reds have a brave, desperate quality to them: holding on against the inevitable end

Back-lit, these grasses turn into feathers, or wings

Velvet-textured seed pods, rimmed with gold

More glowing sparks: luminous pussywillow-lookalikes here, almost translucent in the last rays of light

Reluctance

2011-11-30T23:05:00.001-07:00

Melissa reminded me of this poem last year and I've had it on my mind all season long. I tend to be melodramatic (inside my own head) (or do I mean melancholic?) anyway, and it only gets worse when the seasons change. I was watching my little bears and birdies running around in this short-lived liquid-gold light, feeling like I could watch them running right out of childhood before my very eyes. I felt so contented and yet so sad at the same time: "Why does it all have to go so quickly?" That flash of brilliance before the sunset in winter is so short! If you turn your back you'll miss it---and I have too many days where I do turn my back, busy with futures and unknowns and perceived immediacies, too distracted for the actual immediacy of the moment.

I like the way Frost puts it, though, with his usual brevity. This is more than the usual "enjoy-what-you-have-while-you-have-it" chiding; he fully acknowledges the loss that accompanies a change of season. But yet he reminds us that when we cling to the past, we aren't really preserving a colorful, living reality---we're clinging to a dead world, to something that is actually already gone. I can't help but sense some religious angst here as well---the man "descending" back to earth like a fallen God, the allusion to Christ's "it is finished," the subordination of grace to the cold hard hand of reason. But I think for me the poem is more of a reminder that accepting the end of something is also acknowledging a beginning. No need to cling to the dry stalks of things gone when there are new things preparing to emerge, gestating under the seemingly dead surfaces. Better to "yield," as Frost says, to the natural progression of things. I don't think "the heart still aching to seek" needs to STOP seeking---but it must learn where to seek, and that's in the future, not the past.

Reluctance

Out through the fields and the woods

And over the walls I have wended;

I have climbed the hills of view

And looked at the world, and descended;

I have come by the highway home,

And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,

Save those that the oak is keeping

To ravel them one by one

And let them go scraping and creeping

Out over the crusted snow,

When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,

No longer blown hither and thither;

The last lone aster is gone;

The flowers of the witch hazel wither;

The heart is still aching to seek,

But the feet question "Whither?"

Ah, when to the heart of man

Was it ever less than a treason

To go with the drift of things,

To yield with a grace to reason,

And bow and accept the end

Of a love or a season?

Robert Frost

I'm going to build this when I get home

2011-11-14T11:46:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things about my boys is their insatiable need to build things. Every time---and I mean every time---we go anywhere remotely out-of-the-ordinary, they start saying (before we've even left the place), "Ooh, I'm going to build this when I get home!" I love it because it results in them playing such funny, interesting, creative things; and because it shows such genuine enjoyment of and interest in what we're doing. Every activity feels "worth it," because we're experiencing it not just once but multiple times. :)

Anyway, this love of re-creation is how the carwash obsession got started (they wanted to build their own carwashes after going to a real one with Grandma) and it has led to them building everything from tumbling gyms to Squaw Peak to Disneyland to pendulums to doctor's offices to swimming pools to temples to the Red Barn/Pumpkin Patch.

They use the blocks constantly, but they also build with anything else that's to hand (unfortunately, now that they are tall and can climb on chairs, everything is "to hand") and they build in any scale: fwuffball size, monkey size, boy size. Sebby likes to build something on the block table and then climb up to the top bunk (in the other room) and say, "I can see it from the 'Y'!" Anyway, I love seeing what they build. (Even though I am sometimes roused from my bed on Saturday mornings to come admire.) Sebby, particularly, has such attention to detail and he uses so many creative building materials that he genuinely amazes me with his re-creations.

Here are a couple of Sebastian's recent "Monkey San Francisco"s. (Monkey San Francisco is much like the real one, with a few additions, and name changes such as the "Monken Gate Bridge.")

I'm a twenty-first century Mormon poet!

2011-11-10T12:41:00.000-07:00

I have several poems appearing in this new anthology, which also includes work from many, many other poets I have learned from and admired. It's a great collection (even historic, apparently), with lots of thought-provoking and beautiful writing, and I am honored to have been included!

Blondies

2011-11-05T13:49:00.000-06:00

I have a favorite brownie recipe, but it has taken a long time for me to perfect a blondie recipe that's just as good. I like the buttery taste of blondies but I can't stand it if they feel greasy. I don't want them to be doughy or gooey, but they definitely must not be dry. These blondies fulfill all my requirements. I like the fact that, like brownies, these are just as good the day after baking (in contrast, I much prefer chocolate chip cookies the same day they are baked). I love the butterscotchiness the toffee bits add to these blondies; I love the occasional surprise of the melty chocolate; I love the crackly, papery skin on top that adds a feeling of crispness before your teeth sink into the soft chewy (not gooey) center.

You can, of course, increase the amount of chocolate chips (I don't like my blondie-taste overpowered with chocolate, but it's obviously a matter of opinion) or even use butterscotch chips for a change. Or the chopped-up Heath bars as I suggest in the recipe. If my kids had gotten any Heath bars in their Halloween trick-or-treating candy (why do they always gravitate toward yucky things like tootsie pops and rock-hard laffy taffys?), I would certainly appropriate those for making a batch of these blondies immediately.

Blondies

2 1/2 c. flour (I shake the flour to pack it down a little in the measuring cup)--about 14 oz.

1 t. baking powder

1/4 t. baking soda

1 t. salt

2 c. brown sugar

1 c. melted butter

2 eggs

1 t. vanilla

1/4 c. chocolate chips

1/4 c. toffee chips

(or substitute 1/2 c. chopped up Heath bars for both chocolate and toffee chips)

Melt butter and stir in brown sugar. Add eggs, mixing thoroughly between each. Add vanilla. Sift together dry ingredients and add to butter mixture; then stir in chocolate and toffee bits.

Bake at 350 for 25-30 minutes, or until they don't jiggle when you shake the pan. You can also test for when a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean or has only a few moist crumbs clinging to it.

These were made with Heath Bar bits which were very finely chopped, so it looks like there's no chocolate in them even though there is and you can taste it. Chocolate chips will give you more pronounced pockets of chocolate.

S.F. (unexpurgated version)

2011-11-01T01:03:00.002-06:00

Self-portrait with Shadows

A few more things from our trip. Happier things. Textures and snippets we might forget someday---but that will bring everything rushing back when we see them again.

Bonneville Salt Flats. If you've never been there, you should go---it's otherworldly. The textures and paleness and vastness of it all make it feel like a dreamscape. The children like to run, and run, and run.

We picnicked in the most lovely places. This canyon, with river and deep pools.

And woods like these---magical to desert-dwellers like us.

And every day, my favorite foods. Bread. Olive oil. Interesting cheeses. I could happily eat that sourdough daily for the rest of my life.

Golden Gate Bridge at sunset. Isn't it a strange feeling, when you are looking at something so iconic in real life? My first thought is usually, "This seems just like a postcard," which is really quite backwards, when you think of it. I love the way the light glinted off the water and pulled the bridge into shadow.

The boys (and girl) have a quite remarkable ability to annoy each other. This time I bought them earmuffs. Every time someone complained about someone else (usually it stemmed from them all trying to sing at the same time: they are inveterate car-singers. "He's messing me up!" "I'm not on that verse yet!" ), I called back unfeelingly, "Put your earmuffs on then!" It was moderately successful.

This is the water at Lake Tahoe. The clarity is unlike any lake-water I've seen. I can't get over that web of light, falling over and into the water from above, tracing the ripples and pulling the sunshine between that gradient from brown to blue.

Why yes, I did spend every few hours in this attitude. I may know every bench in the greater Bay Area.

The boys LOVE revolving doors. Not sure the snooty hotel-workers loved them loving them, if you know what I mean. But they weren't breaking anything, or even getting in anyone's way, so I smiled beatifically and allowed it for a few minutes.

Golden Gate Bridge from underneath. Aren't those girders cool? They look so delicate from this distance, but you know they are enormous. A man-made web of wires.

This was the greatest arcade machine ever. We each got to pick a machine to try and Sam, Game Expert, picked this one. I love the caption on top: THEY DANCE. Yep, they did. Love Seb's face all lit up in wonder, too.

Here Sebastian sits in time-out and Daisy joins him of her own free will. Seb is touched in spite of himself.

More picnic-ing, and donut carnage. We have a big family, and the way we handle (manhandle?) a dozen donuts brings this truth home to me. I didn't intend to include a grasping hand in this picture, but it's fitting, somehow.

Love this boy and his tiptoeing feet. He tiptoed right up to the water---then ran away giggling before it barely had time to touch those toes. Just like how many generations of little boys before him, I wonder?

If only I could re-create the feeling under these redwood trees. They have a presence almost like people, but slower, and statelier. I love Tolkien's trees and have felt a sort of watchfulness in European forests, but these redwoods encroach on my consciousness even more strongly. They have a cathedral-like stillness: quiet and unruffled, but with that waiting silence that precedes something important. And sunlight illuminates the spaces through the leaves like blue stained glass.

I left my [monkey] in San Francisco

2011-10-31T23:50:00.001-06:00

This post is very sad.

Brownie has been with Sebby from the beginning, the very beginning. He has been lost and found so many times I can't even keep track. He has been everywhere with us. He is the best monkey.

Seb drew this right before we left on our trip

In San Francisco, we left him at a playground. (The one in the picture above---perhaps in that very tunnel. I can't look at this picture without getting teary.) We were two hours south before we realized it. We weren't planning to even go back through the city on our way home, but I kept imagining Brownie lying there, waiting for Seb. I couldn't handle it. The next morning, I asked Sam to take us back, and he (good patient man that he is) agreed, though with little hope. Seb didn't seem that worried, even though we told him Brownie was probably gone. I felt in my heart we'd find him too. But we ran back into the fenced playground; rustled through every bush, rummaged through every garbage can, prayed. Brownie wasn't anywhere. Finally I couldn't justify looking any longer.

That night, driving into the dark towards home, crossing the Bay Bridge, it hit Sebby for real. "Brownie! Can we go back?" he sobbed. I thought his heart was breaking. He crawled up to my seat and I sobbed with him; his face in my shoulder, my tears in his hair.

I know. It's silly. Of course we'll get over it. We do have Brownie Two (as Sam keeps telling me, when the starter goes down, it just means someone else gets more playing time). Seb's fine. I'm not quite fine, yet, though. I miss that little Brownie, and who he was to my Sebby boy. I don't like thinking of him all alone in San Francisco somewhere. I don't like sad endings.

Ready

2011-10-31T15:13:00.000-06:00

Daisy believes in being over-prepared. Happy Halloween!

Leafy

2011-10-26T17:27:00.002-06:00

Catching up a little. This group of pictures is from a couple weeks ago. This was an interesting drive because we compared Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons on the same day, and Little Cottonwood was far brighter. These reds just spilled down the canyon right onto the foothills. I don't know if it's the way the sun hits this hill or what (temperature changes? angle of drainage?), but those maples were amazing.

Higher up, the aspens take over. Yellows replace the reds.

Junie considers, then decides she approves

Some sort of heathen dance going on here

Ky found a heart

Mapleton, later that day. Bright reds here too.

We drove a little way up Maple Canyon and there were a few spectacular trees. Not as many as some years, though. The early snow must have been heavy here---there were broken branches everywhere. It looked like a huge windstorm had blown through, ripping trees off mid-trunk in some places. It is strange that such a gentle, fluffy, incremental little thing can wreak such destruction.

A matter of a few degrees*

2011-10-13T23:01:00.001-06:00

*Heh heh

Every Fall I feel impelled by some inexorable inner force to GET OUTSIDE and ENJOY THE WEATHER. I am convinced that doing this will make the winter months more bearable (whether it actually does so? not sure) and I also feel a strong anxiety NOT TO MISS ANYTHING. (I speak in capitals merely to echo the strident voice of my Inner Self.) My other inner self tells me to calm down and that I am exaggerating the urgency of it all. This post validates all the feelings of Panicky Self and shows Measured Self that if it were up to her, nothing would ever get done around here.

As you know, we drove up Big Cottonwood Canyon a couple Sundays ago, and while there we saw a lake with a nice boardwalk/trail around it which I had never seen before (Silver Lake, I believe)---but it was too crowded and as the hour was hastening on, we didn't stop. When I saw later that the weather was going to change mid-week, I was really sad at the thought that we might go to our graves (so to speak) without having enjoyed that lovely walk. So when Tuesday afternoon was sunny and warm, I bundled the children into the car and off we went. And although Sam didn't get to come and the boys didn't do their homework and I got stuck in traffic on the way home and missed Young Women's (sorry ladies!)---I must say, it was totally and completely worth it. Because those leaves were something so fleeting that we could have blinked and missed them. But we didn't, my dears. And now that day is ours forever.

The sequel to this adventure is that we returned only five days later (the kids were anxious to show Sam every step of that trail) and it was like a whole different world. A few degrees colder, only, and still lovely, and still wild and woods-y---but just, muted and muffled and dimmed. And though I loved the muted version, I was so glad not to have missed that flash of brilliance earlier in the week.

If you read my other blog you have seen some pictures of this trip, but for you, my dear non-obligated readers, I include the best of them: a veritable, vegetable paradise. It would make the most sense to order them chronologically, but because I like happy endings, I will put the most beautiful ones last. Except for a few before/after comparisons which I will intersperse with each other. And now you know my plan down to the last detail.

Mirror with frosted mountains. I love the way the reflection is brighter/purer than the scene it is reflecting. [Insert commentary on virtual reality here]

If this is Fire . . .

these are the embers.

Trees . . .

Ghosts of trees

So placid, this lake. There was very little wind.

Here, the color of the trees themselves changes very little. But the context and the lighting make them read so differently! Warms . . .

and cools.

How odd. I took the first of these pictures, and Sam took the second. Yet they seem to have a nearly identical vantage point. Either it was a very picturesque spot, or we are uncannily similar to each other.

Aaa! How did these get in here? Two bundled people.

Now we go back in time. More mirroring, and those tall watchful pines! The effect of this double image reminds me of the Rorschach inkblots. If the types of objects seen in inkblot-readings tell us about a person, what can we infer about a person who sees inkblot tests in objects? Actually I also see a heart-monitor readout in this picture. And perhaps half the head of a sideways lamb?

Light changing and dappling with the cloud cover---I love this almost abstract blending of land and sky

Shadowed, but glowing.

Suddenly, the sun breaks out! And look at those trees flame up! (like shining from shook foil, as I have said/quoted before, though not regarding trees)

Driving home. Just in time: (though not for Young Women's; sorry, ladies) the storm approaches.

Home again: looking back at the canyon, now shrouded and dark. The sky, holding on to its light as long as possible. One more glint of gold before the night takes over.

Fresh Raspberry Turnovers

2011-10-11T09:59:00.005-06:00

We really love picnicking in this family, so much so that I am constantly trying to think of "picnic-ish" ways to interpret all our favorite foods. When there are Fall leaves to be seen, our picnicking (wow, that word looks weird, but it can't be picnicing, can it? Surely not) reaches its apex. Lately we have picnicked (maybe if I keep writing it the strangeness will wear off) with some of these foods:

Warm Bean Burritos with Fresh Tomatoes and Chives
Watermelon-mint Lemonade
Egg-and-bacon Sandwiches
Red Potato Salad
Popcorn, Hot Chocolate, and Apple Slices
Egg Salad Sandwiches with Fresh Tomatoes
Tomato-and-goat-cheese Sandwiches with Fresh Basil
Zucchini-and-cherry-tomato Turnovers
Raspberry-White-Chocolate Muffins

It was inevitable, then, that we use some of our recent raspberries (picked here, though not on that visit) to make more picnic food. I love turnovers (the crust-to-pie ratio is excellent) so that's what we made. I love the fact that the filling is bare-bones and only requires a bit of stirring together, and I love that (if you are not picnicking) these are superb served warm or cold with vanilla ice cream.

The best part of these turnovers is the sprinkling of coarse sugar on top! Cinnamon-sugar is good too, but I love the crunch and the sparkle of the coarse sugar. I use turbinado sugar from the bulk bins at Sunflower Market (this is what I use for rolling gingersnaps in, also).

Raspberry Turnovers

Enough dough for about 2 pie crusts (I used this recipe that makes 3 crusts, and used about 2/3 of it)

Filling:

2 1/2 cups fresh raspberries (I'm sure frozen would work, with some adjustment for the amount of liquid)

4 tablespoons sugar

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1 tablespoon cornstarch

Turbinado or cinnamon sugar, for sprinkling on top

Stir together filling. Roll out crust between pieces of waxed paper and trace around a small (4-6 inch) bowl to make circles. (I made 11, but some were smaller than others) Put a few teaspoons of filling in the middle of each circle. Carefully fold circle in half, press outsides together, and flute edges. Brush each turnover lightly with milk or beaten egg white, then sprinkle generously with turbinado or cinnamon sugar. Cut a few slits on top of each turnover. Put turnovers on a parchment-lined cookie sheet and chill for about 20 minutes. Preheat oven to 375.

After turnovers have been chilled, bake at 375 for about 30 minutes, or until golden brown.

Millcreek

2011-10-08T15:04:00.000-06:00

You have to pay a few dollars to go up Millcreek Canyon, and usually we're driving on Sundays so we've never gone up there before. This happened to be a Monday, however, so we took the $3 plunge. It was really beautiful---the road is a lot smaller and closer to the trees than in some of the other canyons, less like a highway and more like a trail. I liked it because it felt like we could really see a lot more of what was around us. There are some really pretty hiking trails at the top of the road, too (we hiked just a little ways up, but it was late and getting dark, so we didn't go too far).

It was a cloudy day so the light was strange and beautiful, and these pictures all have this sort of blurriness that must be caused by me not knowing what I'm doing with the camera settings. (Sam tries to show me, but I still don't get it right.) They're still pretty, though---the leaf colors really glowed against the gray sky. There was some pretty amazing underbrush too, bright-colored and lighting up whole hillsides at a time.

Yellows peeking out through the pines

Abe is so excited he got a yellow leaf!! (My kids are easy to please)

Muted mixed with bright

That red-orange color is unearthly!

I love it when there are different varieties of tree growing together so you get this patchwork of color

Wild men, who caught and sang the sun in flight

2011-10-05T15:33:00.000-06:00

From Sunday's drive in Big Cottonwood, I bring you some spectacular yellow aspens. This patch above, tucked in among the pines, was SO bright. It glowed like a patch of those neon algae you see in aerial photos of the ocean.

The sun went in and out of the clouds, and the leaves changed colors with it. The yellows were a true goldenrod in the sunshine, but they leaned toward chartreuse in the shade. Then of course there were the variations within each tree . . .

and among all the trees in a particular group. Here the colors run together, blurred but not muddy, like watercolors splashed across the hillside.

Blurry. But I include it because this is how it felt to drive through these tunnels of yellow--bright pinpoints of color blurring together; speed and air and yellow wind; a startling wash of sunshine splashing into your eyes and over your skin.

These yellows are are trending toward orange

More watercolor marbling

Bright red aspens! You would think they were maples. We saw a bunch of orange aspens in this same area last year, and this year we saw pretty much every color in a gradient from yellow to orange to red. So I guess the variation is normal, or at least not improbable.

The tiny observer, on top of the bright world

We stopped the car by the side of the road and the kids stayed in the car while I walked down a little incline into this aspen forest and took some pictures. Sam waited at the top of the hill. It was so peaceful and quiet and the light was so yellow and warm, I wanted to stay there forever. I tried to just breathe in that golden air and hold it like stillness inside me. Then Sam called down and said he heard yelling and the car was rocking from side to side. So I went back. :)

This is amazing. I love the stark line between the aspens and the pines.

Last blaze of sunlight. It makes lamps out of the leaves, as I heard it so well-described---but there is even more light held in this grove. Whole trees are lanterns, lighthouses, bonfires.

The light engulfs the whole hill. These colors mean the sun is almost gone. The golds are so glorious and at the same time so desperate: "Wild men, who caught and sang the sun in flight/ and learned too late they grieved it on its way."

A spoon of peanut butter

2011-10-03T11:01:00.000-06:00

Do you get the hiccups very often? Whenever my kids have the hiccups they ask for "a spoon of peanut butter" (not a spoonful of peanut butter, for some reason). I heard that suggested as a cure for the hiccups one time and we've done it ever since. I don't know if it works; it seems to sometimes, but mostly they just like it. In fact, they often try to convince me they have the hiccups when they don't, but I am strict and not easily fooled (my sensitive hiccup-detector must be triggered several times before I'm willing to get out the peanut butter).

My mom used to have me drink a glass of water upside down (tricky). And my cousin Spencer has explained the exact physiological causes of hiccups (which I don't recall) and set forth the foolproof cure (holding your breath for 20 seconds) but this never works for me as another hiccup always interrupts the breath-holding. Any other cures out there?

Junie's announcement

2011-09-30T12:27:00.001-06:00

I've been waiting for Sam to post this on his blog but he hasn't yet, so I guess I get to be first. Really, just because he drew the picture shouldn't mean he gets to take all the credit. Who designed the rest of the announcement and made that bird silhouette and selected the fonts, for crying out loud? Me, that's who. (Of course, everything I know about Painter and Photoshop I learned from Sam, so . . . )

I didn't ever post pictures of our announcements for the other kids, but you can find the baby pictures Sam drew for them here. It really is lovely having an artist in the family.

I also didn't mention when we sent these out so you can imagine that it was months and months ago.

Toasted

2011-09-29T21:11:00.000-06:00

This person apparently belongs to the same pagan sect that performed this strange rite

I've been slow admitting Fall this year. I was totally convinced that since summer was late starting, it should be late ending, and the fact that nobody ever guaranteed any such thing is just dawning on me now. We've had nice summery weather, but it's chilly up in the canyons and at morning and evening. I do love Fall. I'll be posting lots of pictures of changing leaves, probably. (This blog is "light-in-leaves," after all.)

Looks like the colors are a little behind where they were last year. There are lots of yellows and oranges here and there, but not many big clumps of foliage where everything is colored. I love how the tips of trees acquire a slightly toasted look just before their transformation, like a paper about to burst into flame. You can almost see those flames spreading over the mountain ridges---more trees everyday.

Encircled

This rock made a wonderfully shaped bench. [Note the looming shadow of Boy Holding Plate. Perhaps he is about to eat this juicy little Daisy morsel. If there is anything we love more than driving out to see the Fall leaves, it's picnicking while we do it.]

Lupine leaves. I didn't know they turned such a bright red.

How do those yellows and oranges get a toehold on this rocky slope?

Elves, or maybe goblins

This is going to be a long wait

2011-09-26T16:20:00.000-06:00

Here is what Sebby said the other day, in his Disneyland-ride-loudspeaker voice, as we were playing "roller coaster" together:

"Please, no eating or drinking on the ride. Keep your hands and arms inside at all times. If you have a baby, please exit the ride until the baby is grown up."

Watermelon Lemonade

2011-09-11T22:46:00.000-06:00

I buy melon all summer and what we don't eat right away, I always freeze in baggies to make smoothies later. (I got the best watermelon a few days ago which yielded me 10 bags full of fruit to freeze!) Cantaloupe, honeydew, and watermelon smoothies are some of my favorites---but lately I can't get enough of this watermelon lemonade. It's so easy to make that I almost hate to insult you with a recipe, but this will give you a starting point. Feel free to adjust the ingredients to your taste. I think it's particularly amazing with fresh mint in it, but I have made basil- and rosemary-flavored lemonades, and they're delicious too.

You can also make this with un-frozen watermelon, in which case you will get more of a traditionally thin lemonade. I love it with the frozen melon because it makes a thicker, slushier drink. It settles into a beautiful deep-ruby-to-pale-pink gradient as it sits in the glass---I think it looks so lovely. The best kind of summer drink. We sit out on the porch swing drinking it in the evenings, feeling like we are sucking up the marrow of life---er, or if we prefer not to use Thoreau's rather smug and unappetizing metaphor, we could say it's like we're hummingbirds enjoying the last of our summer nectar. Try it!

Watermelon-Mint Lemonade

1 small baggie-full of frozen watermelon chunks (16-17 oz.), thawed slightly in microwave (I open the ziploc and microwave for about 40 seconds---enough to loosen the melon so you can get it out, but it's still mostly frozen)
1 c. water
1/2 c. lemon juice
1/4-1/2 c. honey or sugar
A handful of mint leaves

Add all ingredients to blender and blend. Serve immediately, garnished with mint.

We-pick berries

2011-09-06T13:58:00.000-06:00

Yes, so it's "the agricultural equivalent to a private liberal arts college." We like to pick our own berries! The McBrides are the nicest, friendliest people ever (we even like their dog!) and we go to their Briar Patch every year. I wish I had pictures of the armful of flowers I took with me on the way out---purple, pink, yellow, and orange zinnias, and orange and yellow sunflowers. They were GORGEOUS.

A very small taste

Berry-stained mouth (from not-so-small tastes). She LOVED picking blackberries with Sam, and took emphatic possession of one of the berry buckets, refusing to let it out of her grasp even to be weighed.

He wanted my approval on every single berry. "Look at THIS dark red one, Mommy!"

Would you believe we picked 14 pounds of berries? It's true. We're good pickers (and we have the scratched legs and forearms to prove it).

I foresee this, some of these and this in our immediate future, among other things. Yum!

A coming storm

2011-09-04T22:19:00.002-06:00

Sometimes I feel so sad that summer has to come to an end. I love the realities of Fall---yellow leaf-light, football, woodsmoke---but I've always had a hard time enjoying things with the impending doom hovering overhead. It's the same reason I like Friday better than Sunday, Spring better than Fall, Christmas Eve better than Christmas. Sam reminds me that if we don't call 3:00 p.m. "almost-night," we also shouldn't think of Fall as "almost-winter." And certainly not late summer as "almost-almost-winter." So I'm trying not to. I lay outside on the grass with Junie the other night while everybody played with the Stomp Rocket Sebby got for his birthday, and watched a storm roll in over the mountains. The silent flashes of lightning were beautiful, and I thought about how it's not so bad, waiting for the rain to come. I need to remember that the cycles work all the way around---rain brings snow brings winter brings spring. Storms come, and they have their own beauty, and then they pass by and there's beauty in that too.

Anyway, it's still summer and there will be nights like these---many of them.

We peeled these socks off of her when we went inside. There were THREE SOCKS on that foot. (Sebby's socks.) Three!!

These clouds look like the Aurora Borealis.

Biggest stomp ever

Junie against an ominous sky

(Abe=sympathy jumper)

Back-to-School Treasure Hunt

2011-08-24T12:14:00.003-06:00

We had lovely weather for our Annual (how many years do you have to do something before it can be "annual"?) Back-to-School Treasure Hunt. There was some slight unpleasantness in the form of a screaming baby in the bike trailer, but this subsided periodically and we all had a great time anyway. We love family bike rides, especially with treasure involved!

A shadowy figure hunts for clues

We had a picnic mid-way through, with zucchini-tomato turnovers (vegetables fresh from the garden!)

And angel-food cake, with lemon curd for dipping

The boys did not let the food distract them from the task at hand, however.

(Although some of them were distracted anyway.)

Baby Junie, getting into the spirit of things, discovered a treasure of her own: FEET! This was her first time finding them and she was VERY pleased. As was I. I love it when babies eat their own toes.

Getting close . . .

Aha!

Treasure! (New backpacks for the older ones, books for the younger ones)

Mountain flowers

2011-08-22T12:15:00.000-06:00

We went hiking up near Cedar Breaks a couple weeks ago, and the wildflowers up in those mountains were SO beautiful. The air was still cool up that high, so it almost felt like we'd gone back in time to Spring.

Lots of meadows just had sprinklings of color, like this . . .

that resolved themselves into separate flowers when you got up closer. (The purples look like some kind of lupine---I have lupines in my yard and I love them!)

Then there were some meadows that were just totally full of flowers. These are mountain sunflowers, I think. A photograph can't even capture what it was like to be surrounded by all that yellow.

More lupines, and Indian paintbrush! I remember seeing a lot of this in New Mexico when I was little.

Mountain columbine. These are some of my favorite flowers too, especially growing in the wild. They look so starry and delicate, it seems impossible they could be hardy enough to survive in a harsh mountain climate!

Sunflowers near Navajo Lake. So lovely!

Peanut Butter Muffins

2011-08-17T10:48:00.000-06:00

These peanut butter muffins turned out to be everyone's favorite. The best part is how moist they are. I'm having a hard time conveying in pictures just how moist. But they're almost like a soft peanut butter . . . cookie? Really good, especially the top edges.

These have an interesting mixing method. (Here is where I got the original recipe.) You recall that usually in muffins, you use a specific mixing method: dry ingredients, wet ingredients, fold together until just combined. You don't want to develop the gluten like you do in yeast bread; if you overmix, the muffins won't have a nice tender crumb. Or, if your muffin recipe calls for softened butter instead of oil, you probably use the creaming method, like you would for cake. I learned all this from my mom when I was little.

These muffins, though, have you do weird things like mix the eggs with part of the brown sugar---and add the butter before the peanut butter. Strange. I couldn't see why it was necessary, so I didn't do it the first time, and my muffins turned out flat. And sure, looks aren't everything, but they just weren't as moist as I felt they might be, either. So I wanted to try to improve them.

Flat muffins can be caused by a few different things. Filling the cups too full (they are only supposed to be filled three-fourths of the way) can do it , and so can a too-low baking temperature. So next, I tried preheating the oven to 425, and immediately turning it down to 350 once I put the muffins in. This is supposed to help "oven spring." I also made sure not to overfill my muffin cups. But still, they were flat:

Okay, now I was ready to sheepishly try the mixing method the recipe called for in the first place. Using that method (and the regular temperature, 350 degrees) yielded these:

They aren't perfectly domed, but much better. See the crust of the muffin in the foreground? It rose up above the rim of the pan before hardening. I like to see that because it shows they are getting a lot of "oven spring."

Then I tried two more things: (1.) using the called-for mixing method, and ALSO preheating the oven to 425. I tried baking them at 425 for 12 minutes (many of my muffin recipes call for high temperatures like these, with shorter baking times---as opposed to the 350 degrees/25 minutes in the original recipe) and they looked good, but I thought they were a bit dry.

Then (2.) I tried the different mixing method, preheating the oven to 425, and then immediately turning it down to 350 when the muffins were in. Perfect. And there we have my somewhat scientific method (can one be somewhat scientific in method? Must ask my brother Karl) of testing this recipe. I don't know why the mixing method works, but it appears to, so I'll do it.

After wading through the preceding discourse, you deserve some peanut butter muffins. So here is the recipe, adjusted as I have described. I hope it yields you perfectly delicious muffins.

Peanut Butter Muffins

1/3 c. butter, softened
1 1/2 c. brown sugar, divided
1/2 t. salt
1 t. vanilla
1/2 c. peanut butter
2 large eggs, beaten
2 1/2 t. baking powder
2 c. flour
3/4 c. milk

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Put the softened butter in a large bowl and gradually add 1 c. of the brown sugar, the salt, and the vanilla, and cream together until light and fluffy. Next add the peanut butter and cream again. Set aside.

In another bowl, whisk the eggs together until well-beaten. Add the remaining 1/2 c. brown sugar and mix until completely blended. Stir into the creamed mixture gradually, until well blended.

In (yet another) bowl, [you can see why I didn't want to use this method right off the bat; I don't like dirtying so many bowls] sift together the baking powder and flour. Gradually add these dry ingredients alternately with the 3/4 c. milk to the creamed mixture, until everything is combined.

Spoon batter into greased muffin tin, filling cups 3/4 full. (I prefer NOT to use cupcake liners for these, but you could if you wish.) Put muffin tins into oven, and immediately turn oven temperature down to 350. Don't forget, or your muffins will burn. [I've done this. Twice.] Bake for 16-17 minutes or until tops of muffins spring back when touched lightly with your finger.

The best thing we've done this summer

2011-08-14T08:59:00.001-06:00

You know how our boys like carwashes, right? Well . . .

This is an idea that has many roots. I guess it started with this:

and also drew inspiration from this:

And then Beth sent me this picture, and I immediately knew we had to make a life-sized "carwash" for the kids. (First I was planning to make it for Sebby for his birthday, but then it started turning into such a good idea that I didn't have the heart to give it to ONLY Sebby. We never would have been able to match it with presents for the others' birthdays.) I asked Sam if he thought we could figure it out, and he said he thought so.

And then I found these plans, so we didn't even have to figure out as much as I thought. I just had to come up with the finishing touches, which is probably one of my favorite things to do in the whole world. In fact, I was telling Sam how much I love it: I love thinking of just the right thing to give (of course it helps if the receiver has an obsession with something) and then I love making things that are just pretend but they sort of actually work, and I love thinking of all the tiny details I can, and I love figuring out things that you can use as other things (I guess they call that "re-purposing," right?). SO FUN. I got excited about working on it every night, and when we were done I was sad. Sam said I should have a job as an "imagineer" working on theme parks, because that's exactly what they get to do. Sounds good to me.

Anyway, here it is in all its glory. Everyone who goes by our house turns to look, and then smiles, and then I know they are wishing they could run through it too. And who can blame them?

Sponge ball tutorial here

Card reader (made of craft foam)

Moveable stop and go lights (also made of craft foam)

The other lights say "Wheel shine," "Spot-free rinse," "Tri-colored foam," and "Pre-soak"

I knew I had to get all the details right because my boys are basically the world's leading experts on carwashes. (I forgot the air dryers, though. Abe pointed it out kindly. "Where are the air dryers? Oh---it's okay, Mommy. There are lots of other things. It's still fun.")

I got most of this stuff from the dollar store. Pom-poms (or is it pom-pons?) and sponges. The red brush on top is the cover of a duster from IKEA.

Those beige things are paint rollers and the blue ones are dusters, also from the dollar store.

The rainbow-colored flaps are made of various vinyl remnants, except orange and purple are fleece remnants (did you know fleece is waterproof? It dries really fast). I got them all on the clearance table at the fabric store. I just folded them in half (so they'd be colorful on both sides) and sewed a seam on top so they could slide onto the PVC pipe. Then I cut them into strips.

And here it is in action (there are tiny holes drilled in the PVC pipe to let the water out):

Waiting in the queue

Seb gasps

Brave Daisy

Not sure what Seb is doing here

Orange Muffins

2011-08-13T08:24:00.000-06:00

Orange muffins, chocolate chip muffins, peanut butter muffins

It's no secret that we love muffins around here. Lately I've tried out some new recipes to share with you.

Honestly, the chocolate chip muffins were just okay. Of course they were yummy (chocolate chips!) but they didn't have anything extraordinary about them, in my opinion. Maybe you want to try them anyway? Okay, I got the recipe here.

The peanut butter muffins will get their own post.

These orange muffins are really light and delicate. They have a delicate flavor, too, so I like to serve them with a salad or lemony pasta or something else summery.

Orange Muffins

1 c. milk
1/2 c. orange juice
1/2 c. plain yogurt (or sour cream)
2 eggs
1 c. canola oil
3 1/2 c. flour
1 c. sugar
1 1/2 T. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
1 T. orange zest

Preheat oven to 425. Combine milk, orange juice, yogurt, eggs, and oil in a large bowl. Whisk to blend. Combine rest of ingredients in separate bowl and whisk to blend. Pour wet ingredients into dry ingredients and mix until just combined. Fill greased muffin cups about 3/4 of the way full with muffin batter. Put muffins into oven and IMMEDIATELY TURN OVEN DOWN TO 350. Bake for 18-20 minutes or until middle of muffins spring back when touched lightly with your finger.

Huge . . . tracts of land

2011-08-12T16:13:00.000-06:00

Sam's mom asked me awhile ago what I would do, besides being a mother, if I could have any job I wanted. I said maybe someone could pay me to travel around the world eating delicious things and then writing about them. Or I could write poetry. Or I would also like to own a little flower shop. Or a little bakery. Not the business part of it---the accounting and the marketing and so forth---but just the baking. I'd like it to be small enough scale that I didn't have to use an industrial mixer and walk-in ovens like they had at the MTC when I worked there---small enough so I could make just a few dozen each of all kinds of things every morning. Changing them every day, maybe: cheesecakes, pies, muffins, cream puffs, eclairs, cookies, brownies, cakes. And breads, of course, all kinds of breads. I'm sure in real life it would be harder than I realize, but in my imagination I would love it: trying new recipes, perfecting old ones, letting people taste things and then seeing how much they liked them.

Last week was our Young Women's Camp, and I couldn't go, so I sent love to my girls in the best way I could. I made vanilla syrup and two kinds of brownies and three kinds of muffins (for various meals). It made me feel like I was working in a bakery, and I liked it.

(If I worked in a bakery I would keep it cleaner than this.)

Here (above) is what the kitchen looked like during this process. I have taken the liberty of highlighting some of the more notable objects, for your edification.

Anyway, the best part was that it resulted in big platters of food, all piled up invitingly. I love big platters of food! Even if I'm not going to eat them (which I wasn't, in this case), I just love knowing that they will be eaten, that someone will enjoy them. There's just something about a big platter of something that makes me happy. I used to go to the BYU Employees' Christmas Party with my dad, and they always had huge platters piled high with donuts. It was my favorite part. Sometimes I only ate one donut, but getting that donut from a huge pile of donuts was infinitely better than just being handed a single donut on a napkin. I don't know if that resonates with anyone else, but there's another reason I would like to work in a bakery and construct huge piles of delectable things to eat and then display them in a pretty glass display case. Abundance, I guess that's what it is. And I'm so thankful for the abundance in my life that I want to give platters and platters of it to other people too. :)

I will post these muffin recipes sometime soon.

(Cream cheese brownies on one side, peanut butter brownies on the other. Recipe here.)

Fancy (dancing)

2011-08-05T11:02:00.000-06:00

The boys made a fancy restaurant yesterday which I was privileged to attend. It was very dim (to preserve the Romantic Atmosphere), played soft music (soundtrack from Cars 2), and the waiters carried lanterns.

There was also entertainment. There were cliff divers, which were exciting, but the best part...

was the dancing. It was Not To Be Missed! I wish you could have seen it (these pictures only capture a fraction of the awesomeness).

And like any true professional, he acknowledges applause graciously, with a bow.

Maths

2011-08-03T16:07:00.000-06:00

A sight you may see often if you live nearby---boys pushing down a sprinkler that got stuck in the "up" position. (This particular sprinkler is a good one because it nearly always gets stuck.) We usually have to stop the car when we are going somewhere, to let the boys get out and take care of the sprinkler.

Abe and Seb decided the other day that they were going to teach math to Ky. ("I want him to know how to do math before he even starts school, just like you knew how to read before you started school," Abe told me.) Ky was obliging, as usual. The teaching consisted of Seb and Abe peppering Ky with math questions all day, many of them "story problems." Here are some things I overheard:

"If you have one mommy, and she goes to the church for Young Women, how many mommies do you have left?"

"If you have three windmills in your backyard, and one falls down and cuts your head off, how many windmills are left?"

"If you have five babies, and they are all crying, and two more babies come and start crying TOO, how many babies do you have total?"
"All those babies probably wouldn't be crying at the same time."
"Fine, then two of them can be laughing. How many total?
"I don't know."
"Five plus two, Malachi. Look at my fingers."
"Oh. Seven."

"What if you have a birdie, and another birdie in a tree, and another birdie on the grass?"
"Like the birdie that I petted?"
"Yes, but concentrate, Malachi!"

Under such tutelage we'll probably have a boy genius on our hands soon. I'll keep you posted.

Pear, almond and feta salad

2011-07-20T11:08:00.000-06:00

Here is my favorite salad. When I was pregnant I wanted to eat it every day. Now, I still want to eat it every day. :)

My sister-in-law Allison has made some awesome salads for us at her house, which I've tried to imitate but never with total success. She taught me how to make sugared almonds and also the salad wizardry of fruit + nut + cheese. When I finally tried this dressing recipe I knew my salad dreams were coming true at last! So, this salad can be easily customized with what you have on hand. I tried it with strawberries recently instead of pears, and it was good, and the original recipe calls for bleu cheese and walnuts (that seems to be a common combination of flavors). But I think I love it most with a slightly firm pear, almonds, and salty feta. The dressing is a vinaigrette, not very sweet, but perfectly suited to the whole.

At our house, this salad (with muffins) is a perfectly acceptable summer dinner. Thank goodness!

Pear and feta salad with sugared almonds

Spring mix or similar mix of greens
2 pears
1/2 c. crumbled feta (or bleu cheese)
1/2 c. almonds, chopped
1/2-1 c. sugar

Place almonds in frying pan and sprinkle sugar over the top. Cook over medium heat until sugar starts to melt
and caramelize, adding more sugar as needed. Stir almonds frequently to coat with the melted sugar, and remove from heat when sugar turns golden brown. Let cool, then break up into pieces (they will stick together, but they break apart easily).

Dressing:
1/2 c. olive oil
2 T. balsamic vinegar
2 t. Dijon mustard or ground mustard
1 heaping teaspoon sugar
1/2 t. salt

Combine all ingredients in small bowl. Whisk until combined.
Slice pears (long slices look nicer, but I dice them to make them easier for the kids to eat) and place on top of salad greens. Sprinkle with feta and candied almonds, then pour dressing on top.

Bright July flowers

2011-07-19T13:08:00.000-06:00

It has been quite hot lately and all the nice green mountains are starting to turn brown. I love the flowers that come out this time of year, so bright and sturdy. It amazes me that anything can flourish in such hot weather! Although I suppose we are not THAT hot, as climates go.

Delphiniums are some of my favorites, and these are such a deep blue! Gorgeous. The ones in my yard are a wan-looking sort of indigo.

Serious (and a bit disapproving?)

Bright!

I like these flowers that look like fireworks . . .

and does it surprise anyone that they inspired Seb to BE a firework?

Sad sitters-in-time-out (it's not all fun and games around here).

(Sometimes their sad expressions make me laugh; is that so wrong?)

On a happier note, fwuffball bush!

Pretty

2011-07-18T11:31:00.004-06:00

She's so cute here, but I don't know why she has her hand up like that

After reading this article I have done a lot of thinking about what I do, or should, talk about with my nieces and others. It's true that "you look so pretty" or "I love your dress" is an easy conversation starter, and it's also true that it's probably not the best topic you could choose. I appreciated many of her points in the article, especially about being a lone voice helping girls understand that they are more than simply "pretty." Seems like great advice when talking to girls you don't know very well.

What about daughters, though? My mom and dad did an excellent job of helping me believe I had value beyond my appearance. I can't count the number of times my dad emphasized that math and the sciences were as accessible and valuable to girls as to boys. I certainly felt that my mind and personality were my most important assets, and yet, like everyone, I wasn't able to escape the feeling of wanting to be pretty, and never feeling that I was. (I never found much comfort in people telling me, "Boys probably aren't asking you out just because they're intimidated by you." Huh.)

I know that girls are constantly bombarded with expectations of beauty, and of course I want to help my girls expand their view beyond that. (And my boys too!) But do you think that means I should avoid talking about their appearance at all? I am always telling Daisy and Juni they look pretty, because they DO, and I just can't help myself! They are so darling and cute and it's so fun to see them in their pretty dresses! I also tell my boys that they are handsome, and I mean it. As long as I ALSO emphasize their other traits and capabilities, is that okay? My parents told me I was pretty. I don't think it made me immune to feelings of insecurity as an adolescent (and adult), but it seems like it probably helped. But since the media now emphasizes beauty so MUCH, do I need to spend all my time as a parent just counteracting that? Does any praise of appearance send the wrong message? What do you think?

Thriving

2011-07-17T22:54:00.000-06:00

"Junipers are very tolerant of drought and thrive in all areas"

I know it's too early to tell what she's really going to be like, but I can't help already feeling that she is someone exceptional. I'm afraid when I describe her as calm and peaceful that people might think she's one of those fat, placid babies who stare at you vacantly while drooling, but she isn't like that at all. Ever since the moment she was born, she has locked onto the world with her bright, alert, interested eyes. She rarely gets alarmed, and like her namesake she seems to thrive in all conditions (even while being carted around precariously by brothers, or with her head falling off my lap because I'm leaning over to help Daisy with something, or while tucked under one arm while Sam roasts marshmallows with the other, for example). She takes everything in stride. I love her serene, clear-eyed gaze.

And it's not just that she's alert---she's so eager to connect with people! (You won't believe it, but she first smiled at us when she was only a week old!) I I especially love the way her calm gaze gives way to delighted smiles and gurgles when we talk to her. Like this:

I know I'm a doting parent, but she is special, this girl. We love her so much!

Powerful

2011-07-04T14:25:00.003-06:00

Fall (normal water levels) and this Spring

As we don't live in the flood plain, we have been able to watch this year's water levels with more interest than nervousness. Of course getting close to the water does make me nervous and we kept the kids far, far away. But we did enjoy watching, from a safe distance, the sheer power of water + gravity. This is Big Cottonwood Creek (which I don't believe actually flooded) a few weeks ago. For comparison, look at the following pictures of the same creek last Spring (which was also a very high water year; impressively high, we thought at the time) versus now.

Turbulence---brown and white

Air full of spray

The air was misty all around, like at Niagara Falls

Seb's squinched-up shoulders=a sure sign of excitement

Churning water. It's mesmerizing. Terrifying, too, if you allow yourself to think about it (I tried not to imagine anybody falling in, but was unsuccessful)

Boys, off on an adventure

Two small friends, unable to look at the camera simultaneously

Calm, and apparently unafraid that someone might mistake her for a marshmallow

Birth

2011-06-24T17:40:00.003-06:00

I've deliberated over what to write here, knowing that some people are annoyed by this type of self-indulgent drivel. (If you are one of them, please don't read this. I hate being annoying.) But I have persisted for three reasons:
1. I am a writer (or, we should say I like to write) and I get unsettled about things if I leave them unwritten. Telling people, aloud, can sometimes fill the need, but I often forget things or say them poorly. Writing in a journal for myself alone doesn't work either (anyway I've sworn off journals); it doesn't seem REAL. Writing it here, and having to edit myself and consider whether I'm being excessively dramatic, etc., produces results I'm less likely to hate in ten years.
2. I love reading about births, myself. I don't usually feel like I have to get defensive about it. We're all different, etc. etc. I just find childbirth and motherhood fascinating subjects and part of our heritage as women. (Slightly related: for an exellent article on birth and its symbolism, see here. The author brings up fascinating insights; subjects for a future post, perhaps.)
3. One particular detail in this story seems too good to keep to myself.
Intrigued? Then pray, continue.

It was a dark and stormy night. Not really, but weren't the "Spring" months in Utah disappointingly rainy? It was actually a beautiful sunny Saturday morning, the first for some time. I thought to myself as I woke up, "The baby was waiting for nice weather and it will come today." It wasn't my intuition telling me so, but the contractions I'd felt through the night. They'd been going on long enough that I was pretty sure. I wasn't necessarily expecting immediate results (cf. Malachi's arrival six minutes after arriving at the hospital) because of my previous labor with Daisy, which was long and leisurely, but I felt it was time to get ready. We showered, packed kids' suitcases, stopped at the neighborhood bakery for breakfast, and drove the kids down to stay with my mom in Provo. It passed the time.

Driving home, my contractions slowed, but didn't stop. Sam and I spent dreamlike, child-free hours walking the neighborhood, going to a movie, going out to eat, all while the contractions came and went. It is the most delightfully secretive feeling, to be around crowds while in labor, and no one knows but you. I wasn't worried because my body seems to prefer laboring at night, and sure enough, as it got dark, the contractions increased in intensity and duration. I was supposed to host a breakfast for the Young Women leaders in my ward the next morning, so I called my counselors to let them know I was (conveeeniently, I'm sure they thought) in labor, and figure out a change of venue. Then Sam and I filled up the birthing pool in our room and went on a walk. It was such a beautiful night, with sprinkles of rain in the air and the moon nearly full, and walking was difficult but the air felt wonderful. We walked by the temple, resting on benches when the contractions got strong, and enjoyed the quiet darkness.

Back at home, I slept somewhat restlessly, and around 2 a.m. woke up feeling much stronger surges. I texted my midwife, Cathy, and she drove over in her tiny red car. So far, everything was feeling just like with Daisy, so I was pretty sure I knew what was next: labor that progressed quickly and ended with a sweet baby at dawn.

All morning I waited for the familiar upsurge in intensity, the mixture of certainty and fear that always comes when the birth is imminent. But after several hours I started feeling fearful because nothing was changing. The sun rose. Cathy and her assistants assured me that all was well with baby, and went to get themselves some breakfast, trailing many cheerful encouragances behind them.

It seems excessive to give a play-by-play account here, but from that point on, I felt I had entered some sort of other existence, where I was only half living in the real world, and the other half of me wandered through endless empty, shadowed halls somewhere inside myself. As overdramatic as that image probably sounds (and I hesitate to use it because I don't want to sound like I'm feeling sorry for myself or like I think I had the worst situation in the world or anything---of course I know it could have been MUCH worse, and IS for many people), it describes perfectly how I felt. I always turn inward during labor, but the length of this labor seemed to increase the effect. The constancy of the contractions, the uncertainty of what would come next, the lack of sleep, all combined to make me feel otherworldly, like I was alone in a boat drifting farther and farther from reality and closer to some other fog-covered shore. I started doubting everything, especially myself: Was I dreaming? Were these contractions psychosomatic? Was I even really pregnant?

My midwife monitored me throughout the days, making sure baby was still active and undistressed. So many days, so many nights: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. I know, and I knew then: it's just four days. Really nothing, in the general scheme of things. Still, it felt like weeks, or months. Because I was dilated to between a 5 and a 6, had this been a hospital birth, I would no doubt have been induced within 24 hours. My midwife gave me various herbs and tinctures to help urge progression, and my chiropractor did a gentle adjustment to make sure the pathway out was clear and straight for baby, but it didn't feel right to do anything further yet. Or at least I didn't think it did, but as I was uncertain about everything, this decision worried me along with everything else. Many people knew I was in labor and all of them were wondering about me, and I knew this, but I literally could not deal with it, so I drew further inward. Turned off the phone. Turned off the lights. Went on long drives with Sam, and emerged for long walks when it got dark and the contractions increased. I listened to all the echoes of my fears in those dark, inward caverns I couldn't seem to escape, and couldn't hear which ones were real and which were products of hormones---sleeplessness---irrationality. I reached points of absolute desperation, cried, and prayed "I absolutely cannot endure this for one more minute"---and then (somewhat sheepishly) did. (Isn't that always the way? I don't know why I bother to keep giving up when I have no control over when I actually can give up.) Sam and I read poetry to each other, hiked in empty canyons, let the rain fall on our heads. I felt like we were different people who had somehow sprung into existence from nowhere. I anchored myself to him and let him hold all the weight. Hauled myself back to reality when I had to talk to someone other than Sam, and then let myself drift away again like mist.

As I think back, my memories have that odd, shifting quality too, like light and shadow underneath fast-moving clouds. Sometimes I thought the fear and the uncertainty and, more prosaically, the embarrassment and the impatience, would swallow me up and I would get lost in the dark halls. I felt so sorry for myself, and then ashamed of feeling sorry for myself. I felt exhausted and fragile and like my whole body was contracting at once: waves of tension, regular and deliberate, washing over me every so often despite my desperate attempts to let them drift downward, to float on top of them. But then, my head was full of voices, and some surfaced to reassure me: "In a dark time, the eye begins to see." Yes, and I did, and there are flashes of brightness: yellow-headed blackbirds by the salt marshes; rain sifting down over daffodils; fresh avocados and yellow eggs on a plate; the moon's reflection staring out crisply from the middle of a dark lake; the first mountain flowers, yellow dogtooth violets, emerging between patches of melting snow. And I think: it can't have been that bad. And it wasn't. I survived it from one of those flashes to the next, clinging to each as I got there, holding the memories to me even as they were forming and thinking: This. Remember this when it's all over.

And eventually it was. Wednesday night began like the others: a gradual increase in contractions, a surge of hope and fear, quickly pushed down. I slept and woke in waves, finally getting up to wash dishes (I clean while in labor---it's because I want the house to feel like a nice hotel) in the dark. I didn't wake Sam until I was pretty sure something was different this time. But I wasn't really sure, of course. I didn't know how to trust myself anymore. I wanted to be in the water, warm and cocooned like the baby inside. The full birthing pool had sat there expectantly all those days, getting cold and adding the spice of danger to every midnight bathroom visit (would I fall in?). I didn't know how to drain it quickly (naturally it didn't occur to me to ask Cathy for her pump) so I turned it over to Sam: I need this warm. Make it happen.

And now, finally, here is the detail too good not to share: he sprang into action, following that most basic of all male urges: to BOIL WATER. He bailed water out into the bathtub, filled pots and pots for the stove, and ran up and down stairs with them. I was sufficiently myself to feel bad for him, but when I told him he could stop, he laughed triumphantly. "It feels like exactly what I should be doing! It satisfies some deep need inside! I only wish I'd been able to do it during your other labors!" So, up and down he went, while I rolled around on my big blue birthing ball, and started out my window at Moroni, and breathed. When the water was warm I got in, and this is the beauty of a waterbirth: you can MOVE. I was perhaps not as graceful as a dolphin or a porpoise, but compared to elephants and houses I might as well have been.

You remember, of course, the story of Elijah---how "the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice." But do you remember how Elijah reached that mountain? How he found the strength to scale it? I'll remind you:

He "went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper tree: and he requested for himself that he might die; and said, It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers. And as he lay and slept under a juniper tree, behold, then an angel touched him, and said unto him, Arise and eat . . . because the journey is too great for thee. And he looked, and, behold, there was a cake baken on the coals, and a cruse of water at his head. And he . . . arose, and did eat and drink, and went in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights unto Horeb the mount of God."

As I said earlier, before I give birth, there is always a point where I hover in darkness between certainty and fear, between peace and doubt. This time that moment extended for four days. But sometime that Thursday morning, the scale tipped, as it always does, to peace, to light. To confidence. To gratitude. And with that dawn, Baby slipped out like a little blue eel, and Sam fished it out of the water and put it in my arms. A baby girl. "Sweet baby, I was waiting and waiting. I wanted so much to meet you," I whispered in her ear. And we finally had her: our sweet Juniper Lark.

Sky lava

2011-06-20T13:02:00.000-06:00

Last night was lovely. We saw baby (teenage?) ducks, and then the sunset was such a bright orange-red. The sky looked like one of those slow Hawaiian lava flows, sweeps of blue-grey edged by fire.

Five

2011-06-17T12:58:00.002-06:00

Everyone has been asking me, "How is it with five kids?" The answer I usually give is, "We're finding a new normal." Because in spite of the fact that we're happy and Juniper is amazingly good and the boys are frequently the helpers every mother dreams of, there's just . . . I don't know, more chaos, more uncertainty, less time. I've adjusted to it in the past and I will again, and the untidiness of it all is balanced out by the sweet, sweet baby smiles and those tiny, clutching hands---but there is definitely a learning curve with each new addition. Let me illustrate:

The other day in an ill-advised fit of productivity, I set out with the children to Costco. Abe and Seb are out of school for the summer, so I thought they could help me and it would be better than going with just the little ones.

I think I forgot about how you can't see over the cart with a baby seat in it, so it's not a question of whether you're going to crash into someone but how often, and how annoyed of a look they'll give you (and how sure you are that they have sized you up and decided you are one of those poor polygamous wives stocking up for the compound). And maybe I forgot about how everyone in the family wants the samples yet none are actually capable of independently eating the samples (walking while simultaneously holding a food item and a spork is among the highest-level motor skills, apparently). And about how large bags of flour don't fit in carts already holding flats of marigolds. And so forth.

I got to the check-out line holding Juniper (screaming, like a baby cat) in my arms while her carseat sat in the cart and continued to block my view of everything; Daisy in the other seat with food dribbled all down her dress and saying "Too hot!" accusingly at me as she ate a piece of ravioli; Ky alternating between running into people's legs and saying "Wait mommy! I need to sit down!"; and Sebby and Abraham fighting over who would push and who would "guide" the cart (answer: neither, instead they would keep crashing into the edges of the aisles as they wrestled it back and forth between them, drawing glares from [no doubt population-conscious] bystanders).

As I started trying to unload the cart with one hand, a lady came up to me and said, "Here, come over here in this other line; you'll be next and I'll unload your cart." I thought she was an employee at first (probably there to tell me about some rule my children were violating) so I followed obediently, but then I saw she was just another customer, there with her two darling red-haired teenage daughters. They put me in front of them in line and unloaded all my groceries onto the conveyor belt while I stood there holding Juniper and blinking back tears (of embarrassment and gratitude). And then after I paid, the mom said, "I'm sending my daughter out with you to unload and help you with your cart!" So one of the girls shyly pushed my cart out and filled my trunk up with crates and boxes while I buckled in children. I couldn't believe it; I was SO grateful. I kept saying Thank You and the girl kept smiling and unloading and then finally running back inside the store with a little wave. All the way home I kept thinking how nice they had been, how I KNOW when you have a bunch of kids that some people will think you're an idiot or irresponsible or whatever and I was prepared for that but it makes me self-conscious anyway, and to have someone smile and help instead of glaring at me was just . . . so nice. And how even though I sort of felt embarrassed that I'd looked so needy and probably desperate, because I thought I was holding it together pretty well actually, and I WAS capable of managing by myself and I would have managed (eventually), it still touched me that someone noticed and CARED, and wanted to make it easier for me. And it still brings a few tears to my eyes, actually, thinking about it.

And that's how it's going with five.

Fears

2011-06-06T22:13:00.000-06:00

When I was a little girl one of my favorite things was to go to work with my dad, which meant walking over to the Eyring Science Center at BYU with him, spending an hour or two drawing on the chalkboards in his classroom, maybe having a look at his model of a salt crystal, reading some of the e.e. cummings poems taped to his wall, and then getting him to take me to see all the best parts of the building: the giant ground sloth skeleton, the wave machine, the anechoic chamber, and of course, the top of the Foucoult Pendulum.

Visitors to the building can observe the pendulum as it swings on the ground floor, but if you look up, you can see the long wire going up through all four stories to the top floor. This is where my dad would take me so I could look down the long, long hole to see the pendulum way below. It made me nervous to peer down through all that space (unprotected by a railing or anything) but I loved it anyway. I just tried my very hardest not to think about falling.

Twenty years later, my kids are enjoying the same things in the ESC, thanks to my mom, who takes them on field trips there when they stay with her. They love all the same things I loved (although the ground sloth skeleton has somehow grown skin since then, and it's much less cool and scary than it used to be). Sebby, especially, has been fascinated with:
a. the telescope, and its filter to allow you to look at the sun without burning your eyes
b. the "pendulum hole"

I suspect his fascination stems partly from the fact that both those things scare him a little. But he deals with it so differently than I would. Instead of trying not to think about it, he builds things like this:

The Eyring Science Center (note empty column where the pendulum hangs)

Top view, looking down into the pendulum pit. "Do you know what that triangle down there is, Mommy? A person! Someone who fell down the hole!"

And, whenever he runs down a hill, he pauses at the top for a moment, rocks forward on his toes, and then:

"Help! Help! Oh no, I've fallen down the pendulum hole! Help! Fooooooour stoooooooories doooooown!"

It's better than being immobilized by his fear, I guess. Or being scared of the Pixar Lamp like he used to be. However it's not much help to me, whose formerly dormant fear of heights has returned on behalf of my children. It's MUCH worse seeing them teeter atop various perches and craters, and having to act like I'm not terrified they'll fall, than it ever was to teeter atop those things myself! (I wonder what my Dad, World Champion Worrier, went through every time I peered down that pendulum hole?)

Still, I have to admit it's funny. "Oh help, foooooooour stoooooooories dooooooown . . . .! "

An elephant, a ponderous house

2011-06-04T19:52:00.001-06:00

Maybe you've read Sylvia Plath's poem "Metaphors"? This is how I felt during most of the month of April.

I'm a riddle in nine syllables.
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.

She may have come to an unhappy end (have I ever mentioned that I used to have a t-shirt that said "Sylvia, get your head out of the oven"?) but she knew pregnancy, by george!

Like

2011-05-25T12:11:00.001-06:00

"Like" has now become a word fraught with implication, so much so that I almost feel using it is a cliche. Thanks, facebook. [Not, I should admit, that I've ever been a purist about my "like" usage---in speech I use it far more often than an educated person should as, like, filler (and hear Mr. Boren's voice in my head every time: "Do you mean similar to but not the same as, Ms. Nelson?").]

Nevertheless, some things I like (or not):

I've made peace with writers addressing me as "dear reader"---it may be a bit overdone (yeah yeah, you're being "ironic") but it has a fine history and makes me think of Dickens or one of the Brontës. Like.

Strangers averring, in writing, that they "miss me already", however? Affected, condescending, and almost certainly untrue. A firm "don't like" from me.

Talking about the weather has a reputation as being the antithesis of authenticity; conversation people only turn to when they're shallow or uncomfortable. I think that's unfair. Weather talk brings us together; the Great Unifier. I can respond to five different strangers' "Can-you-believe-this-rain?!" talk with sincere and heartfelt agreement each time. Likewise with "Isn't it beautiful outside?" The weather's on my mind every day and I'm always happy to discuss it.

I don't like the saying "Stick a fork in me, I'm done." First of all, yuck. But more importantly, you don't stick a fork in something when it's done. You stick a fork (or more likely, a knife or toothpick) in something TO FIND OUT IF it's done. So, if we must use this metaphor, we ought to say, "I'm not sure if I'm done or not. Stick a fork in me and we'll see." Think it will catch on?

All my children sing and sing around the house. I love Malachi's wrong lyrics but I also love the ones he makes up completely (one, which runs through my head constantly, goes: "Oh-lee sephola, bi-vee bi-vee bi-vee"). The "Winnie-the-Pooh" in this video (below; song starts at about 1:10) sounds eerily like he's singing one of Malachi's songs. His voice is also not unlike Malachi's. Like, like, like!

The birthday of my life is come

2011-04-28T12:12:00.030-06:00

I have always loved Springtime so much that I felt a tiny bit cheated because my birthday was in February. It felt like it should be in April or May, because that's when I feel like I really come to life again each year.

Getting married in April felt right for the same reason. I love the way this poem describes the awakening and anticipation and re-birth that comes with finding love: "the birthday of my life is come/ My love is come to me." Being married has been like being awakened. Every year when our anniversary comes around, I feel like I am celebrating another year of my REAL life---the life I began with Sam ten years ago---and which I hope to continue forever. It's been more exciting and interesting and surprising and silly and fun and hopeful and challenging and exhilarating and satisfying and delightful than I ever could have imagined it would be.

from A Birthday
by Christina Rossetti

Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

We didn't have a digital camera back then

I had the good sense to say yes twice

Portland

Our finest hour

Out

Circumstances haven't allowed us any wild and lavish celebrations this year, but having another sweet baby join our family seems like a fitting way to observe such an Occasion. I can't wait to embark on the next hundred (years, not babies)!

Love you, my Sam. Thank you for making every day Springtime.

Early Spring

2011-04-07T21:22:00.000-06:00

Even with the cold and the snow, there IS a difference in the air and the trees this time of year. I was saying to Sam the other day, the bare branches of the trees seem like they should look the same as they do in November---but they don't. They are softer, maybe, or more hazy with almost-yellow color. It's hopeful, somehow.

Naturally, Rilke says all this better than I do. [He was a German poet. Don't let the "Maria" fool you into thinking he is a woman, as I did for some time. Although interestingly enough, I read that his mother called him "Sophie" and dressed him in girls' clothes until he was 5 because she had had a baby daughter die earlier.] So, a Spring poem for you:

Early Spring
by Rainer Maria Rilke

Harshness vanished. A sudden softness
has replaced the meadows' wintry grey.
Little rivulets of water changed
their singing accents. Tendernesses,

hesitantly, reach toward the earth
from space, and country lanes are showing
these unexpected subtle risings
that find expression in the empty trees.

Hard

2011-03-18T15:13:00.000-06:00

"Don't take my picture!"

As sweet as she is, I get the feeling Daisy thinks life is quite hard. I understand; I can see how it would be hard to not actually be able to do all the things you think you should be capable of doing. She thinks she OUGHT to be able to read and run and climb and carry things and open doors and make toast and pour her own milk and work on the computer and so forth, ad infinitum. (I guess she assumes she should be able to do anything her brothers can do?) And it irks her greatly when she has to face any reality to the contrary. Anyway, she really wishes someone (the government, probably) would step in and DO SOMETHING about it. (And when no one does, she assumes it's because they REFUSE to, rather than because they just can't figure out what the samhill she even wants.) Poor little lamb!

"Why won't these shoes stay on?!"

"I want to be on this bench!"

"This bag holds some perplexing secret!"

"I need this book read to me! In a certain way!"

"Why can't I lift this?"

"Do something!"

Oat Waffles

2011-03-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

Birthday waffle feast

I requested that Sam make waffles for my birthday dinner last month, and it was everything I've ever wanted. This is kind of a surprise, since I have never preferred waffles over other breakfast foods (in fact I tend to prefer eggs and biscuits and other savory sorts of things) but since discovering this recipe, I am a waffle convert.* They are so oat-y and crisp and soft and good, and I like that you don't have to separate the eggs for this recipe. Fresh fruit and yogurt and lemon curd are my favorite toppings---but since they aren't particularly sweet, we also like these waffles topped with eggs and bacon and hollandaise sauce. Or, for that matter, hot fudge and ice cream and strawberries (but just for dessert, of course). Other toppings popular with our family: applesauce and cinnamon, pumpkin butter, and vanilla syrup.

*I was already to a convert to true Belgian waffles ever since I went to Belgium with my family when I was a teenager. Those are yeasted waffles, I think, which I still haven't tried making, but Beth has, and I want to. In my mind, though, Belgian waffles are a whole different food.

In fact, these oat waffles are so good plain that I usually eat at least one with just butter on top. But I think to have the best experience you can, you need at least these two other components: lemon curd and the yogurt spread ("recipe" follows).

Oat Waffles

I'm putting this recipe in the amounts we make it for our family. Just so you know: we eat a lot. This is 4x the original recipe. It fills everyone up . . . for now.

2 2/3 cups flour (we have used both white and whole-wheat flour in this recipe, with good results)

2 cups quick oats

1/4 c. brown sugar

1 T. plus 1 tsp. baking powder

2 tsp. salt

2 2/3 c. milk or buttermilk (or sour milk---a good use for it)

4 eggs

1 cup canola oil

2 tsp. lemon juice

Combine flour, oats, brown sugar, baking powder and salt in a bowl; stir to combine. Mix milk, egg, oil, and lemon juice; stir into dry ingredients and mix well. Let stand for 5 minutes. Bake in a preheated waffle iron until golden brown.

Yogurt Topping

I can't really call it a recipe. It's just plain non-fat yogurt with a little brown sugar or honey, and then cinnamon, stirred in. Greek yogurt is the best because it's so thick and creamy, but regular yogurt just makes a thinner, more syrupy topping. Both are good. I love the way the yogurt flavor works with the lemon curd. This is my favorite topping for pancakes, too (even without the lemon curd). And it's good to dip apples or other fruit in.

Work

2011-02-17T14:54:00.000-07:00

We have so much IKEA furniture that I am starting to feel like I built (well, you know, assembled) everything in this house with my own two hands. Evidently someone has been watching and learning. Good girl.

Cookie Pizza/Fruit Pizza

2011-02-11T16:20:00.000-07:00

Here is the recipe for cookie pizza. If you do it for Family Home Evening refreshments, you can pair it with a lesson on truths vs. opinions (our kids need some form of this lesson fairly frequently)---the point being, that some things have one best answer, and some things are just a matter of opinion. I've held up pictures of various colors or animals or toys and asked, "Which one is best?"---then asked the same with pictures of people dropping babies or hugging babies; sitting at the table or on top of the table; hitting each other or taking turns, etc. (Yes, hand-drawn pictures. You'll just have to imagine how good they are.)

Then when you make the cookie pizza you can emphasize that when we make the dough, we have to follow the recipe or it won't turn out right. But when we decorate our pieces, we can do it the way WE like them best, because "the best way" is a matter of opinion and varies from person to person. (I must use that phrase a lot. You should hear Malachi yelling at Sebby, "It's just a matter of PINION, Sebby!" when Sebby tells him his block tower doesn't look good.)

Or, you know, you could just make it because it's fun, and forget about trying to teach meaningful life lessons.

In MY opinion, though? This is good as cookie pizza, but becomes elevated to its highest form as FRUIT pizza---which variation you will find at the bottom of the recipe.

Cookie Pizza
Crust:
1/2 c. butter or margarine, softened
1/2 c. shortening
1 1/2 c. sugar
2 eggs
1 t. vanilla
2 1/4 c. flour (12.5 oz)
1/2 tsp. cream or tartar
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt

Cream butter, shortening, and sugar. Add eggs and vanilla. Combine dry ingredients and add. Pat out the dough onto a round pizza pan or any cookie sheet. Press chocolate chips, peanut butter chips, M&Ms, cinnamon, coconut, raisins, etc., into the top of the dough. Bake at 350 until slightly puffed and just barely brown (10-12 minutes, depending on size of pan). It will flatten as it cools.

The recipe makes enough to fill a pan this size plus a little more---we used the rest of the dough in an 8-inch cake pan.

Fruit Pizza:

Mix and bake crust as directed above, but with no toppings. Let cool completely. Then top with frosting (below) and fresh fruit.

Frosting:

8 oz cream cheese, softened

1/2 c. sugar

1/2 t. vanilla

Milk, to make it a spreadable consistency (maybe 1-2 Tbsp?)

Beat frosting ingredients together and spread over cooled crust. My favorite fruits to use are strawberries, kiwis, blueberries, raspberries, and peaches. Bananas don't have as much contrast with the frosting (too bland/sweet?) but are still pretty good. I also keep meaning to try mandarin oranges, pineapple slices, and tiny apple slices.

Allocation of Household Duties: SAM (part II)

2011-02-09T17:44:00.001-07:00

It's time for another edition of Sam's Household Duties.

Making juice
Remembering room measurements
Translating cake ideas into actual cakes
Pointing out Inefficiencies in Everyday Life
Changing the size of the computer desktop (but not changing it back)
Being every baby's favorite
Being in the edges of pictures

Intercepting and interpreting meaningful glances during conversations with in-laws
Defending the accused and then elaborately and convincingly backtracking when informed that I'm not interested in their possible mitigating circumstances and merely want to be told that I was totally in the right and very unjustly used
Creative Interpretation of dreams
Comprehending and then standardizing strange proportions and multi-angle perspective in my "drawings," into viable design plans
Making alarming faces through the windows while waiting for the car's gas tank to fill
Managing Netflix queue
Chasing people up the stairs
Explaining trendy internet phenomena, though not participating in them
Assuring me that what I said in the preceding social setting wasn't really that stupid
Replying "But I love it!" when I comment on the nerdiness of my laugh
Apologizing for forgetting to start the dishwasher when I forget to start the dishwasher
Saying "We really need to ______ [get the oil changed, go in to the doctor for a Physical, set up a Roth IRA]" in a tone of Great Earnestness and Significance and then crossing the item off his mental to-do list for another four months with as much satisfaction as if he'd actually done it
Breaking into song when appropriate
Being Outraged when appropriate
Cutting very thin apple slices
Causing me to collapse with laughter by picking names out during movie credits and Saying Them
Pointing out inconsistencies in various prevailing public attitudes
Understanding what I really mean, even when I don't quite say it right
Reducing things to their graphable essentials (and then graphing them)

And while we're on the subject of Sam . . . I'm so lucky, to have that rare gift: someone capable of both understanding and elevating who I really am, someone who I am both endlessly comfortable with and endlessly fascinated by. Whenever I begin to feel overcome by insecurity and confusion, I have someone that pulls me back and lets me---helps me---be who I want to be, and feel like things are clear again. Let me quote Matthew Arnold:

But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves—
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our breast,
But they course on for ever unexpress’d.
And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well—but ’t is not true!

Only—but this is rare—
When a beloved hand is laid in ours . . .
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life’s flow,
And hears its winding murmur, and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.

And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth forever chase
The flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes.

Happy Birthday, Sam dear. I'm not really me until I'm with you.

Random Thoughts

2011-02-01T17:27:00.002-07:00

I used to think I wanted to be one of those moms that my kids' friends would like. Nope, turns out I don't care one little bit. How liberating.

There are few things in this world I want badly enough to "like" them or "follow" them on facebook.

We attended the musical "Peter Pan" at BYU a few weeks ago, and while overall it was fun and enjoyable, you know the part where Tinkerbell is dying and Peter turns to the audience and tells them they have to clap if they believe in fairies? I hate that part so much I cried actual tears of embarrassment. No exaggeration.

Of course, seeing as I wept, caught up in a wave of sentimental sappiness during an (ill-advised) viewing of "Starlight Express" in London's West End ("He really IS the starlight!!"), I suppose I am hardly in a position to criticize embarrassing displays of emotion.

Let's talk about donating blood.
A. The "refreshments" they give you afterwards really aren't worth it. When as a youth I heard they had snacks and cookies, I thought it was REAL cookies, but no. I bet more people would give blood if they had real cookies. (Good ones.) Lucky for all you blood-needers, some of us are altruistic and not doing it for the cookies.
B. The only people I ever hear talking about giving blood are saying, "Oh, I wish I could give blood, but I'm anemic/gluten intolerant/too skinny/prone to fainting/other non-embarrassing health issue that showcases how fragile and delicate I am." Or they talk smugly about how long and harrowing the process was, due to their wispy and willowy veins. ("It took me 40 minutes to fill one bag!"). Come on, people! Where are my fellow specimans of sturdiness? Who are the evolutionary winners here? As for me, the workers always tell me what "great veins" I have, and I've never so much as let out a dainty gasp when the needle goes in. Anemia? Ha! Let's show pride where it's actually due, shall we?

If I hear Ohmygosh Social Media 2.0 Twitter Networking Empowerment for Women Wave of the Future!!! one more time I will probably leave civilization and become a hermit. And become much sought-after for my prickly wisdom, no doubt.

Seasons

2011-01-20T15:13:00.001-07:00

[I don't like the way these pictures are hanging indecently over the edge of the page here, but despite my vast knowledge of HTML, I can't manage to put them right. The other alternative seems to be making them miniscule, which is worse.]

I don't think I ever posted these collections (taken over a 7-month period or so, at one of our favorite places, Red Butte Garden). I've been flipping through them over and over today, thinking about the strangeness of time passing. I can't see the changes in the boys from month to month, but over half a year's time, they become obvious. And even then, it's only through pictures that the changes are noticeable: I certainly wouldn't be able to remember how they looked a year ago well enough to compare it with how they look now.

So that makes me wonder, how does the fact that we have photographs influence our memories? Do we, generation of the digital camera, remember our kids' stages more accurately than our parents (forced to be stingier with photos) remembered ours? And then did our grandparents and great-grandparents (with few or no photos at all) have even sketchier memories of the way their children changed over the years? Or does all our record-keeping just give us a false confidence in the accuracy of our own memories? Maybe memory is tricky enough that even with pictures documenting each stage and each change, we still can't re-capture the REAL PEOPLE behind those pictures, and maybe our grandparents knew that better than we do?

It does seem like if you have 200 pictures of some little guy talking to you one day, you are more likely to capture in one of them (or in the sum of all of them) what that little guy really was like at the time. Whereas if you have one picture of that guy per year, taken at Kiddie Kandids on his birthday, the photo may have been taken at some odd moment, with some odd twist of a facial expression, and it may not really show HIM at all. But later on, it is all that will remain of HIM as a two-year-old. So when I look at pictures of me as a baby, how do I know if that's really ME or not? Or even my mom, who at least kind of remembers it---how does she know if the picture is right, or her memory---or if her memory has been re-written by the picture?

[Side note, kind of: I still can't help but wonder if all our obsession with "capturing" people through photos is a little misplaced. Aren't we just as likely to "capture" someone in words? Or really, just as UNlikely---since it seems improbable that we could accurately reduce a whole person to any one dimension, whether visual or verbal or anything else. I'm afraid that maybe I'm going to be lulled into thinking "Look how well I know my kids! I have 17,000 pictures of them!" and then someday I'll look at the pictures and be surprised because I can't actually remember the people that went with them---or at least, I won't be sure if I'm remembering RIGHT. Which is partly why I try to write down things about my kids, even if they're inane: just so I have attempts in two media instead of only one.]

Well, so I wonder what's the real benefit of even having these point-of-reference-type pictures, then? I feel like they do HAVE benefit. I guess they can serve as a trigger for more extensive memories. That could happen even if they were inaccurate, really. And they can give form to the kind of formless recollections I often have ("it was a warm day . . . and it was quiet outside . . . and Daisy wasn't crawling yet, was she?")---something on which to hang the collection of feelings and sounds and impressions my brain manages to call up as I try to remember an event. These specific pictures make me feel warm again (no small task), and hopeful that there will be Spring again. And a little bit sad, to know that the cuties in these pictures have already turned into slightly different cuties. But mostly happy, because I love remembering happy times together.

Breakfast and Robert Frost

2011-01-03T17:57:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you were unaware of my credentials in the little-known field of Breakfast Poetry Scholarship? So was I myself, until my recent appearance at the Breakfast Symposium (SBAMR, as we refer to it). My presentation focused on the poetry of Robert Frost. My dad, Frost-lover that he was, would have been so proud. Or would he? . . . Yes, I believe he would have felt these new discoveries were true to the spirit of the "originals." I include here the text of my remarks about the provenance of these newly discovered Robert Frost poems, as I feel a little historical background only improves their impact.

“And Mounds to Eat Before I’m Filled”:

Breakfast and Human Appetite

in the Poetry of Robert Frost

by Marilyn Nelson-Nielson

The poet Robert Frost is well-known for his poems about nature and rural life. He often used natural settings in New England to introduce more complex themes about human nature and social philosophy.

Much has been written about Frost’s early poetry coming out of his time abroad. Less well-known, however, is the spiritual awakening he received after visiting the Shrine to Breakfast in Dorsetshire, England. While historical details of the experience itself are few, its influence on Frost was immediate and profound. Mere weeks later, he was introduced to, or sought out, the group of English poets calling themselves “Pastriests.” Led by essayist Ezra Poundcake, this group fostered a lively exchange of ideas and commentary on Breakfast Pastry, and indeed, Frost himself took on the name “Robert Frosting” for a time. During this period, Frost wrote several donut-themed poems, notably “The One Not Eaten,” which is thought to be based on biographical experience.

Although certainly influenced by the Pastriests, upon returning to the states, Frost declined to ally himself with any one movement. Instead, he began to explore his own themes of the rightful place of breakfast in society. While not wedded to the idea of one specific type of breakfast food [see, e.g., his use of eggs, toast, and ham in various poems], Frost had definite opinions about the necessity of breakfast itself as a societal institution. He stated, famously, that “Going through the day without breakfast is like playing tennis with the net down.” The forms and structure he favored in his poetry mirrored what he saw as a fundamental need for the formal, three-meal structure of daily American life.

Frost further showed his independent spirit by resisting the impulse which was in vogue at the turn of the century to romanticize breakfast in poetry and prose. For instance, consider the lines from T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,”: “Should I, after tea and cakes and ices/Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?” Frost disapproved of this sort of lofty lumping together of “tea and cakes and ices”—a kind of Platonic Ideal of a meal rather than the nuts and bolts of actual refreshment. Instead, in his own work, Frost insisted on depicting what he termed “meals as they are actually eaten.” Thus, we have phrases like “frosting and apple lumps” or “the egg yolks give a little sway”—details that take us into the real essence of the poetic meal without pretense or ornamentation.

After the First World War, Frost began to experience somewhat of a crisis of faith. His poems, always meditative, now became darker in theme and tone. His “Stopping For Eggs on a Hungry Morning” is a bleak commentary on endless human appetites, encapsulated in the haunting final lines, “And mounds to eat before I’m filled/ And mounds to eat before I’m filled.” This period culminated in one of Frost’s most famous poems, the starkly titled “Nothing’s Good Post-Brunch.” Here Frost muses on the inevitability of decay in a Fallen world, using the descent from day to night, from breakfast to dinner, as a metaphor for man’s expulsion from Eden.

While Frost’s work remained contemplative, some critics think that later in life he drew away somewhat from this darker view of human nature. In “Ham and Toast,” the tone is seemingly less strident and more tolerant, apparently allowing for alternate views in man’s definition of breakfast. However, others scholars disagree with this reading, seeing instead a deep derision in Frost’s citation of mere physical functionality (“I think I know enough of wheat/To say that for digestion, toast/Is good to eat”) as a defense of toast. They cite Frost’s final line, “And would suit most,” as a repudiation of the “any breakfast goes” view, and a wistful cry for breakfast purists to reclaim breakfast’s moral high ground. The speaker’s deferential phrase “though I do not like to boast” is in this reading filled with irony, and reflects Frost’s own belief in the superiority of his own breakfast attitudes.

After Frost’s death, tensions in breakfast politics continued to escalate, to the point that his estate hired a legal team to re-write many of Frost’s most controversial poems and make them less overtly food-related. By republishing these expurgated versions, the Frost estate hoped to avoid the anti-breakfast backlash that was spreading throughout so many other parts of the country in the 1960's. For the most part, they were successful; so much so that the changed poems became the standard in many collections and anthologies. However, thanks in part to a grant from NOCAB, scholars have been able to find and restore the original content of these so-called “Breakfast Poems.” We are pleased to be able to present, side by side with their more well-known versions, the original texts of four of these poems today.

SBAMR 2010 (Or, A "Holiday Party"!)

2011-01-03T17:45:00.000-07:00

I'm think I'm pretty good at resisting the typical marketing efforts I always get emailed/mailed to me by various retailers, but there's one I am always drawn in by: the Holiday Party. If anything says, "Stock up on dishes for all your holiday parties!" or "Sparkly dresses for your Holiday Parties!" etc., I can hardly resist. But it's silly, because I always realize (after thinking "Yeah! I need this for my Holiday Parties!") that I don't really ATTEND any Holiday Parties. Not fancy ones that require sparkly dresses, anyway (more's the pity). Sam used to have a fancy work party but it's morphed from "Fancy party with Spouses and Drinking" (not that the two necessarily go together very well) to "Sort-of-Fancy Lunch for Employees only" to "Free Brunch from 11-2 in the Break Room!" But I digress.

There is one Holiday Party, however, which I can count on attending. It's an annual party Sam's family has for Adults Only (and only if you know how many kids a big Mormon family can amass do you appreciate the significance of that statement) at Christmastime, and this year we were in charge of it. We are given great freedom in choosing foods, themes, etc. for this party, so it turns out differently (and wonderfully) every year. I assume you know by now how much we love to be in charge of things: well, more accurately, you know how much Sam and I like to have A Project we can work together on. Yes, indeed. And so, I give you:

The 2010 Symposium on Breakfast and Ante-Meridian Repast (SBAMR 2010)
Sponsored by the Neo-national Association for the Conservation and Advancement of Breakfast (NOCAB)

Egg wreath! Festive. I found this craft in Martha Stewart Living. (Joke.)

Invite letter. Click to enlarge. I suppose this was believeable enough because several siblings said they nearly threw it out as junk mail. Rather hasty of them, don't you think?

NOCAB newsletter (enclosed with the registration letter). Touches on historical roots of current controversies in the Breakfast Movement.

Decor

Place setting

Part of the buffet spread

It really was quite a feast. If I may say so.

Name badges (distributed at the door)

As good as the food was, the real delight of the evening came when we began the symposium itself. We'd mailed out the above schedule and hoped people would come through with some entertaining presentations, but we could not have POSSIBLY foreseen how amazing those presentations would prove to be. AMAZING, I tell you. As I set up the stage/podium before the party, Abe asked me if I wanted him to put the box of Kleenex by the podium. I thought it was a funny idea (very observant, that boy; he knows what is required when Public Speakers are present) but I never envisioned us actually needing/using them. But it turned out we DID---not for tender emotional moments, but for the sheer hilarity of it all. We were WEEPING with laughter. We couldn't even breathe at times. Or, as President Monson would say: Many, many tears were shed.

I wish I had a transcript (or a video! If only we'd thought of it!) of everyone's actual remarks. The presentation titles in the schedule above can only give you a glimpse of the varied and informative topics which were touched upon. We enjoyed:

originally composed Beatnik Bacon poetry

A heartfelt call for relaxation of our Cultural Biases in the selection and scope of Breakfast Food (and proposals for government subsidies/trade agreements encouraging same). Oh yes---and did you note the egg-festooned Christmas tree?

An enlightening quiz covering facts and fictions about the History of Bacon

A re-written children's classic incorporating 15-minutes' worth of Broadway showtunes, impeccably timed and sung

A glimpse into the shocking secrets of breakfast-related murder and violence in the Great Beyond (complete with contemporary news accounts and a thrillingly revelatory seance)

An impassioned plea for greater tolerance and diversity, including de-segregation, in Egg Color

A discourse on Breakfast in Art History, with stunning new discoveries from the field including deeper x-rays of the Mona Lisa and early sketches of Dali's "Persistence of Memory" (early working title: "Persistence of Yolks")

That intrigues you, doesn't it? All right, I'll include those slides here:

And there was more. Much, much more. (Usually when someone says that it means "There was one more thing, which wasn't that great or I would have already listed it." But in this case, believe me when I say that each presentation was equally stunning in its own way, and only space considerations and lack of pictoral/written images keep me from sharing them all.) I will share my own contribution, for the sake of space, in its own post shortly.

To sum up: My only regret is not indulging in a sparkly dress for the event (Sam and I both wore "business pajama" attire, as we felt was more fitting). But it was indeed a Holiday Party to remember, and one of the most enjoyable evenings we've had the pleasure of hosting. Thank you to all those who had a hand (or mouth) in it.

Six-sided snowflakes

2010-12-17T10:44:00.001-07:00

If there's one thing my dad couldn't stand it was a square snowflake. Snowflakes are hexagonal crystals, you know, which means for accuracy you need to fold your snowflake paper to have six sides, not four or eight. Do you know how to do this? I always used to forget. So here is your handy guide. Make my dad proud.

First, fold the paper [by the way, it's much easier if you use tissue paper or some other thin paper!] diagonally to make a square (above) and cut off the too-long end:

Then fold it about one-third of the way in (from the center of the bottom side of the triangle) like so.

Fold the other side in so the paper is now folded in thirds. If you miscalculated your first fold, you can adjust it here so that each third is equal.

Now fold in half (lengthwise). Like this:

When you open it up you can see that part of the paper is shorter. Re-fold and cut the whole snowflake off across this line so that all of the sides are the same length.

Like this:

Lovely! Now you are ready to cut patterns in it!

Snowflakes

2010-12-10T16:08:00.001-07:00

We had such a great time making paper snowflakes last year that we could hardly wait to do it again. Last time we were all a little sad to take them down ("Shouldn't we SAVE them?") but we knew it would be more fun just to make more. And finally we did.

Seb and Abe were both really impressive cutters this year. I couldn't believe how good their snowflakes were. And Ky, amazingly, thought gathering scraps into little piles was the best job of all, and was content to do that all the time we were cutting. There were scraps everywhere---it looked like it really had snowed in the kitchen.

Some of my favorite creations this year:

Sun/wheel

Bunnies

Above you can see the snowman/antler design on top, and then we have the ornament/six-pack ring in the center bottom. Plus one of Abe's on the left, and one of Seb's on the right.

Abe's rockets---big and small. Can you see both? Some look like the space shuttle ("with fire coming out") and others are rockets on the launch pad.

One of Sebby's snowflakes on the left (amazing!) and spiderweb on the right

Christmas trees and star (Abe)

Lace---and are those some of those optical illusion face/vases? (What theory of perception is that? Gestalt?)

Spirals and star

Owls---or should I say, snowls?

Losing

2010-11-30T14:22:00.000-07:00

I hate it. But sharing the pain with others who understand . . . helps.

So, this helped: Levels of losing.

I've experienced most of these. Last Saturday's football game combined about 5 of them in one game.

And now we will move on.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-29T15:08:00.001-07:00

We had Thanksgiving Dinner at our house this year (18 people) and I cooked a turkey for the first time ever. As a woman of mature years, I felt it was time to be the host. And I loved (nearly) every minute of it. I had everything planned out on a spreadsheet (that's right) so I knew what time to start doing what. Two columns; one for my duties, one for Sam's. We are a good team. I love cooking and planning with him (and even cleaning, and the kids were great helpers).

Everyone I talked to was falling all over themself to help me learn the secrets of roasting turkey. I brined it the night before (doesn't that sound fancy) and it made the meat really tender. And it was done cooking two hours earlier than anticipated (thank you, convection oven) which was great but I worried it might not be hot enough? or something. But it was delicious. Next time I'll know I don't need to allow so much time.

What else did we cook? Mashed potatoes, turkey gravy, carrot soufflé, homemade rolls (my favorite part of Thanksgiving), roasted asparagus. (Abe nearly froze his hands off in our backyard, digging out some fresh herbs from under 14 inches of snow. But he got the rosemary and it was delicious. :)) Our guests brought stuffing and cranberry-marshmallow salad and green beans. It was all so tasty.
And then pie, of course. I like to have a surplus, an abundance, a wealth of pies. I wish I'd gotten a picture of all the pies lined up. They were lovely. I made this pumpkin praline cheesecake (with gingersnap crust, yum) and our old favorite chocolate chip cookie pie. My sister-in-law brought apple pie and vanilla cream and chocolate cream pies, and my mother-in-law brought pumpkin cake with whipped cream. It was perfect.

I thought it looked really beautiful with all the dishes out and the Fall colors and everything, although as I look at these pictures it doesn't really seem that impressive. And I forgot to get flowers for the table (I meant to) but, oh well, it was pretty anyway. I got to use the turkey tablecloth Beth gave me years ago and I've never used because I'm always at someone else's house for Thanksgiving.

I love pretty dishes and silverware and paper lanterns and good food and having people over, so this was pretty much an ideal day for me and I'm happy I got to do it!

Now I might as happy be as earth is beautiful

2010-10-28T12:58:00.000-06:00

Here is an October Poem for you. It's one I love, because it captures so well the strange sadness that comes over me in the Fall. I love the colors and the leaves and the gold light on the mountains, but there's this feeling of loss and endings and passings-on that I can never shake.

I remember Leslie Norris reading Edward Thomas to us fairly often---Thomas was also Welsh---and his poems always seemed to have a touch of sadness to them. To me it seemed like he must have had some premonition of his own death (he died in combat in World War I), but then, I guess it doesn't take any special foreknowledge to be aware of or disturbed by the relentless march of time. Especially in the Fall, when the coming winter looms so large and un-ignorable.

First I love Thomas's comparison of Fall and Spring; the realization that, taken out of context, Fall's changes are just as "fresh" and "new" as spring. It's only what comes next that makes them endings instead of beginnings. And I love the balance he finds in the season---"the touch is not more cool / Than it is warm to the gaze"---because I always notice that too: the coolness of the air balanced with the warmth of the colors, like the extremes of the summer are finally being moderated. Like we're being compensated somehow, or given an extra measure of beauty to bear us up during the winter to come.

I love the line, "now I might / As happy be as earth is beautiful / Were I some other or with earth could turn / In alternation of violet and rose." I guess that is the problem: that as a prisoner of mortality, I know everything is changing, time is passing, my children are growing up and away, my body is slowly breaking down---but unlike the changes of the seasons, these changes are irreversible and permanent. There's no coming "spring" on which to fix our hopes through the dark winter of change, no restarting point where things will go back to the way they once were. And that's why we can't just enjoy the Autumn, carefree and heedless of what's to come. We know each year brings a death of what was---a place we can never really return to.

But then that last quatrain brings a sudden and surprising insight. Here Thomas suggests that maybe true happiness comes WITH and BECAUSE OF this very melancholy: in the contemplation of change and the realization of impermanence, in spite of the pain such thoughts bring. "But if this be not happiness, --who knows? / Some day I shall think this a happy day." Doesn't it remind you of "for if they never should have the bitter they could not know the sweet"? After bringing back all our deepest fears of change and getting old and dying, Thomas suddenly forces us to ask ourselves if we would have it any other way. If we really could change back and forth with the seasons, alternating between new and old, "violet and rose," would we ever feel we had actually progressed? Would we be able to appreciate the times past, if we knew we could re-live them at any point? Would we value rebirth without the death that comes before it?

All right. Enough analysis: now, the poem.

October

The green elm with the one great bough of gold
Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one, --
The short hill grass, the mushrooms small milk-white,
Harebell and scabious and tormentil,
That blackberry and gorse, in dew and sun,
Bow down to; and the wind travels too light
To shake the fallen birch leaves from the fern;
The gossamers wander at their own will.
At heavier steps than birds' the squirrels scold.

The rich scene has grown fresh again and new
As Spring and to the touch is not more cool
Than it is warm to the gaze; and now I might
As happy be as earth is beautiful,
Were I some other or with earth could turn
In alternation of violet and rose,
Harebell and snowdrop, at their season due,
And gorse that has no time not to be gay.
But if this be not happiness, --who knows?
Some day I shall think this a happy day,
And this mood by the name of melancholy
Shall no more blackened and obscured be.

---Edward Thomas

Important Bulletin

2010-10-28T12:57:00.002-06:00

You should know (as I just found out) that today is National Chocolate Day.

When I think of chocolate, this is what I think of. This cake. Sebby Cake, to be precise. [It is called Sebby Cake (stop me if you've heard this before) because the first time I ever tasted it, I promptly went into labor with Sebastian. Meaning, perhaps, that he couldn't wait to get out and be part of a world that included this cake. And who can blame him? We took it to the hospital with us, where it made a very nice post-labor meal.] Have I really not posted this recipe before? It's one of our very favorites. Easy, and delicious. Please try it. For me? For National Chocolate Day? You'll not be sorry.

Chocolate Sebby Cake

1 Devil’s food cake mix

1 small package chocolate pudding mix

4 large eggs

1 c. sour cream (or, I use plain yogurt)

½ c. warm water

½ c. canola oil

1 to 1 ½ c. semisweet chocolate chips (mini chips work well, but regular are fine)

Mix all ingredients. Pour into sprayed bundt pan. Bake at 350 for 45-50 minutes. After 10 minutes turn out of pan and drizzle immediately with frosting.

Frosting:
1 1/3 c. chocolate chips
2/3 c. evaporated milk

Combine chocolate chips with about 1/4 c. milk in glass bowl; microwave on high for 1 min.; stir till smooth. Then add rest of milk to reach desired consistency.

Lemon variation: Use lemon cake and lemon instant pudding. ½ c. poppyseeds instead of chocolate chips. Drizzle with glaze made from lemon juice and powdered sugar.

Random Thoughts

2010-10-27T10:37:00.000-06:00

I can think of few things worse than having to exercise while someone yells, "YEAH LADIES! WORK IT! WOOOO!" at me.

It may be a cliche, but old people really do just want to talk about their health problems all the time. (As an honorary old person, I'm not meaning to criticize. Maybe I'll understand someday.)

I'm glad I don't have to teach my children another language so they can read the scriptures.

Sometimes having access to too much information on a subject is just as discouraging as having not enough.

We finally saw How to Train Your Dragon, and I liked it, but I couldn't help thinking it was strange to make a movie where the moral was, "If you'll just take the time and effort to get to know the big scary monsters you'll find they're actually not that bad! Except for the biggER scariER monster of course; he's exactly what he seems so just go ahead and kill him right off."

Maple Canyon

2010-10-19T12:19:00.002-06:00

I love warm days in the Fall. I can do without the "hint of chill" everyone's always raving about (unless that means temperatures in the 70s, in which case, I agree). It's fun to go places that we went last year, and see how different the colors are this year. I guess all the variables---temperature, amount of water, root systems?, etc.---make for an endlessly variable Autumn display, and I love it.

I was saying to Sam, I used to think the leaves with spots and speckles on them weren't as pretty as the more flawless specimans. But now I love that kind of variety, too---the leaves with holes eaten through them, the spotted ones, the ones that are half red and half green. I love the distant views, where you just get the full impression of the colored trees like streaks of paint on the mountain, and also the close views, where you can see each color in each leaf. I think I will never get tired of it.

(Not Maple Canyon, but pretty)

In the spotlight

2010-10-18T10:05:00.000-06:00

Hey! Here's one of Sam's book covers finally out!

I would like to draw your attention to the words "The Secret Life of". Do you recognize that handwriting? That's right, it's Marilynhand. (I think he modified the "S" a bit, though; it doesn't look quite right.) Still, doesn't the font convey just the right amount of playful casualness while still being neat and readable? The cover, honestly, wouldn't be the same without it. I haven't seen my share of the royalties yet, though. Sam?

sigh.

2010-10-14T20:12:00.000-06:00

Abe brought this test home from school the other day. Now please believe that I always try not to be crochety about spelling (no correlation between that and intelligence, etc. etc., as Mr. Rutter always pointed out) and I really do understand that we all make stupid writing mistakes sometimes (especially when working fast---trying to get through lots of papers---etc.). I've never wanted to be the all-knowing grammar snob (at least not openly), because I've got enough flaws/blind spots of my own, and I try to remember that. But . . . "YOUR so smart"?? And this isn't the first time I've seen his teacher make that particular mistake. As well as their/they're. And it just makes me a tiny bit sad, because these are not really difficult concepts, right? Contractions vs. possessives? Certainly not un-learnable, with a bit of effort. And they're things I'd really like Abe to have a grasp of. But how will he if even his teachers don't? And WHY don't his teachers? They have college degrees, they're smart and capable. So . . . why? Of course I wouldn't say anything about it to the teacher. But I'm silently (not so silently now, I guess) disappointed.

On the hill's shoulder

2010-10-07T22:46:00.001-06:00

A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill’s shoulder.

That Dylan Thomas, he's something. And you know what else was something? These aspen trees. I was astonished to see RED and ORANGE aspens among the usual golds up the canyon. I didn't know such a thing was possible! I sent Sam scrambling up hill and down gully to retrieve me a single leaf from each tree for closer inspection, because I couldn't believe my eyes. But indeed, they were all aspens---just multicolored. Amazing.

Orange! Orange! Orange!

A few golds, with oranges and reds mixed in

This is more what I expect to see: bright yellows and golds!