Deepest Secrets

From the beginning of my existence there have been two things that I have always wanted to do. Do not take this lightly - it isn't some phase I have come across and will be gone this time next year. These are things that get me giddy, send me into fits of passionate longing, make me wish and hope with despair. All secretly, of coarse, because there is nothing like not actually accomplishing a long lost goal - no sense to do it publicly.
Believe it or not, I have ALWAYS wanted to play Cape Breton Fiddle,
and I have always wanted to Salsa Dance.
Why have I waited so long to get on with it?
All the reasons that we never start a goal - and probably a lot of reasons more complicated than that.
I am a classical musician and for me to dabble in the other musical fields is looked upon with all sorts of snobbish attitude, in addition to just being one more thing to get better at. There just simply is not a lot of time to study celtic music - there never is enough time to learn everything I need in classical. And classical musicians look at fiddling with this attitude of "ohhh please". It's easy. It's for the masses. It's done so very often badly. There's no technique, or there is only bad technique. There is no discipline.
sigh.
And salsa dancing? Well. I don't know why I haven't done this. Maybe because I got into it in a phase of life that no matter how much I wanted it to be, was not the best time to be dancing in very sexy outfits and in very sexy ways. Something in me must have known, because I just never got started.
But alas. I am one of those people that finds the cheesiest sappiest dancing movies and watches them again and again. I love Dirty Dancing. I love Shall We Dance, and Dance With Me and even Dirty Dancing II. Ridiculous! I know.
But today I finally came to terms with these forever lingering wants and wishes.
I've done it. I am learning Cape Breton Celtic Fiddle. Jamie and I had our first lesson today - we're trading. She's a kick butt fiddle player. We're trading information every Tuesday at 11:30. Of coarse we talk the first hour, but the second hour I am finally learning how to play those cool licks and she's going to learn some classical technique.
I figure, why not dedicate a summer to just indulging? I've got two degrees in classical playing - can't I just try fiddling for a second without always feeling guilty with the lingering thought "I should be practicing real music" in the back of my mind?
As for the Dancing . . . . I asked for it for my birthday. As you recall, my birthday was three months ago. Brent said he would take me, but it has yet to happen. Now I'm as big as a balloon and have no desire to try and fit into a sexy salsa dress. But don't think I've forgotten. After the baby comes, I am hitting the dance floor and cashing in my birthday present.
Olay!

Quote of the Week

My favorite comment on the photos below came from Nadine, a loud loving jewish mother of one of my students. "Those pictures were dangerous!" she smiled as she came in for her daughter's lesson today.
"why?" I wondered.
"That big belly in those tiny slot canyons! I thought you were going to get stuck!!"

South for some Sun

After a long stretch of working a lot, practicing a lot, preparing for a recital, playing the recital, remodeling the house, and feeling like every morning was a new opportunity to become exhausted, I declared Brent and I take a day off.
Monday morning we packed the gear into the car, loaded Mesa, and off to Buckskin Gulch we went. It's usually done as a two day hike, but because it's known as the world's most amazing slot canyon, there were no camping permits left. So we camped outside the canyon and did the 18 miles in one day the following morning.
Sometimes you just have to leave the computer home and go breathe some fresh air.

"We think we know a great deal, because we are ignorant of what remains to be learnt." - John Newton

"Someday, when those we love honor our memory, they may be proud of all the times we were right. But they will be inspired most by the times we admitted we were wrong, when we realized we were blind and were willing to see."

Melissa is learning to embrace all things pink, Brent is learning to stop staying IT. :)

Make it a good day.

Sometimes I feel like I am sifting through life up to my eye balls. It's like sand, growing heavier and heavier with every stroke. It's not that I'm not strong, it's not that I lack motivation. But oh how it can be exhausting. I thought today that in having motivation it only makes the journey that much more tiresome, because I am trying so dang hard.
Tonight was a very rare night off that was so needed I feel I have collapsed on the couch unwilling to do anything but breathe.
Of coarse life is not always this way. I actually like being busy, but often I am overwhelmed by how much this new job of teaching really requires. Hours of phone calls with mothers and juggling the ups and downs that come with teaching their teenagers . . . it was more than I thought came with the job. But I love it. There are three recitals coming up that we're all working hard for. The outcome will be fantastic, but the work has me running from one event to the next, working long and odd hours, and pulling myself up to face it all with a will that often feels like a breeze running through all the core parts of my fibers: Somewhat hollow.
Lately I have neglected the details . . . . phone calls that didn't get returned, neighbors that I drove right past without stopping to chat, people I was impatient with because time sometimes seems so fragile . . . I hate it when I neglect the details. There is a reason why the Lord gave us a day of rest . . . . I just keep wondering where that day goes when you are busy running around doing church things on Sunday. Any comments on this?
On the upside, I did find a doula. She is wonderful and I am now feeling like I am on my way to being prepared to go through the whole "having a baby" episode.
A friend of mine is a therapist and on her answering machine, right when you expect to hear the cliche "Have a good day" she instead says "Make it a good day". I love hearing this. There is decision there, firm resolve. It's not about control, but actually the lack of it, and taking responsibility for what we can. So everyone, in the midst of all this chaos, and especially me until after May 9th, then June 1st, then June 14th, and after the thing that will come after that . . . Make it a good day.

Brent the Super Hero

Throughout remodeling our home we have diligently gotten bids, watched for sales, and asked around as to how much we should expect to spend. When the handy man packs up his tools and gives us that pink paper saying how much it would cost us to hire him, Brent undoubtedly looks at me and says "I think I can do this."
Brent's method of choice is his stare. He can stare for hours. As he stares, his brain formulates a plan on how to get all components of the house working and functioning together without a glitch.
When the woman with chalky dry hands in the tile department at Home Depot heard that we were laying Travertine for the floor instead of ceramic, and that we had never done it before, she shook her head. "Not one I would recommend for a first-timer." She smiled, trying to soften her honesty "Travertine is a bear to lay. Go with tile. You could do tile".
The next day I left Brent in the kitchen staring as I took off to play a gig. I returned several hours later to a kitchen where every square inch of floor had been carefully covered with perfectly laid Travertine. I never even saw him open a box. One minute it was seemingly impossible, the next is it was done. And done well.
This is after he had completely rewired our kitchen to allow for more outlets when I cook, knocked out a wall to allow for more space, built a fence for the backyard from scratch, textured both the ceiling and the walls of the front room and painted them the perfect color, sanded dozens of times the hard wood floor and then stained and sealed it, torn out window frames and reinstalled new shiny ones, torn plaster off brick to expose a wall, actually moved where the kitchen plumbing would be so we can have the sink under the window, installed base boards and crown molding, rewired the electrical so we can have dimming lights in the front room and under-head lighting in the kitchen, ran wiring through the house to a room that didn't have any lights, and then continued by installing canned lighting in the ceiling, moved washers and dryers, and then moved them back again, and installed the dishwasher.
So. Today, after all these months of watching his miraculous work, I had to give him credit for his latest endeavor. Brent is saving us thousands of dollars by cutting, shaping, and installing our granite counter tops. Imagine raw rock in the middle of a granite yard. Now imagine Brent with goggles on, evenly cutting that granite into large slabs and loading it on a truck to be delivered to the house where he has set up a work station in the backyard that he toils at until after dark: polishing and rounding corners, cutting out where the sink will lay, and measuring each end so it will fit perfectly.
sigh. He's amazing.
What more can I say?

sigh.

Ever since I met my dear friend and professor in France I have been terrified for one moment: telling him that we're having a baby. He prepped me for the entire two months that I lived there: baby = end of career and much disappointment for him about me. He must have mentioned it to me at least 3 or 4 times a day.
Honestly, this was a factor that weighed very heavy on my mind as we began discussing starting a family. Imagine how I procrastinated telling him when we finally made the decision.
So.
Last week I sent him an email with the news. I admit, I was too chicken to do it over the phone. But a possibility of him showing up in May for business made me finally break down and do it.
A week went by and there was no word. Of coarse there was a looming feeling in my gut telling me I'd been cut off and abandoned.
So this morning we surfed the phone lines across the world and gave his cottage a ring. I was shocked to discover that he was not indeed upset, but very pleased and happy for us. He's been to busy with three students in International competitions to write back. Maybe it has something to do with all the buttering up we have been doing beforehand. :)
Anyway, a HUGE sigh of relief.

10 Best things about the first 17 weeks:

10. It puts a deadline on when the house remodeling has to be finished by.
9. Many people recommending many great books (and stories, and advice, and council - all of which I love and need to hear.)
8. Feeling grateful and appreciative of any woman who has ever gone through this before me.
7. Lots of people give you lots of stuff.
6. An understanding of something I have never experienced before.
5. The feeling of selflessness that comes with sacrifice.
4. Sympathy for the smallest things.
3. Everyone takes a huge interest in your life.
2. Finding an awesome midwife and doula.
1. BIG boobs (or, in my case, actually having them at all :) )

10 Worst things about the first 17 weeks:

10. That extra fight with being tired.
9. Craving crazy foods at all the most inconvenient times.
8. Slowly getting bigger . . . and bigger . . . and bigger.
7. Worrying about things like "how the heck am I going to pull off being a mother?"
6. All things that were hard before just got harder.
5. Pregnancy brain: you know, forgetting, forgetting, and then forgetting that you forgot?
4. The humbling experience of feeling slightly out of shape and much like a weakling even when I'm still working out everyday.
3. All feelings of nausea.
2. Realizing (as my face blows up and my butt gets as big as my new very round stomach) that no matter how hard I try, I am NEVER going to be that skinny, cute, even sexy, pregnant model.
1. The unfortunate and frequent event of having to convince some people that:
A. I want to have a child, I have not been brainwashed, and my career won't suffer.
B. I want to have a child, I have not been brainwashed, and continuing to work is not going to ruin my family.

Declaration

I'm very happy to announce that I, after MUCH searching, worrying, and wonder, have finally found a midwife.
It sounds so old fashioned - I know. But after several books and a thousand conversations with experienced mothers, I have determined that giving birth with a Midwife at the hospital instead of a OBGYN is the best thing for me.
This is not to say I think anyone who does it differently is doing it wrong. I just know I'm going to be happier in this set up. (for those that would like a detailed account of why and what's the difference, call me).
So. Dr. Demeter it is. Turns out she is amazing and everything I had hoped for in the last three months as I've worried about this.
The next step is to find a Doula so Brent is off the hook, because he says the Bradley method is just not for him, which I have to agree with. I'm meeting at Wild Oats on Tuesday with a woman who was recommended to me. I know. Can you get any more natural?

Ah Sunny Cali . . . .

After two years of marriage I just yesterday came to a huge epiphany about my dear husband.
First, some clarification.
When someone looks at me and says "I love you", immediately a smile spreads across my face, my heart fills up with warmth, I see stars, hear birds sing, laughter rings in my ears . . . every good and beautiful thing seems to come full force into the moment.
Love sponge that I am, how naive of me to assume every other living breathing thing would have the same reaction I experience, let alone my husband.

Yesterday, while driving with the windows rolled down, sunshine pouring onto our laps and the radio singing to us loud, I turned to him smiling and said out loud "Brent, I love you."
I waited for the pure joy to spread across his face.
Nothing.
Maybe a slight nod of the head.
Don't ask me why I hadn't noticed this any earlier - I suppose I was simply more aware in that moment. Out of curiosity, I prodded "why don't you react when I say that, like it's not a big deal?"
He looked at me with half a smile and said through a quick laugh "well, you're just telling me something that you feel - it has nothing to do with me."
WHAT?!
Suddenly my world warped. Expressing "I love you" meant no more to him than me saying "my favorite color is blue." Brent, King of the love language Affirmation, needed to hear specifics about him, not about me. Here I was, thinking that being loved by me would be seen as a privilege. Ha! How not true. How silly of me. Instead, what he wanted to hear is "Brent, you are the most athletic person I know." or "Brent, I appreciate so much right now how sensitive you are." Either or would be better than "I love you . . . and my favorite color is blue".
wow.
Just to make sure, I called the number two. Number two was number one until I, through marriage, bumped him to number two. But yesterday, to my complete shock, I realized number two, even with the lower rank, knows my husband better than I: "Dave, Dave. You will not believe what I just discovered about your brother" - I relay the conversation in great detail. He's laughing so hard he can hardly get it out, until finally he says "And what he would REALLY like to hear is that he is the best looking."
I turn to Brent in shock. "Brent you are very good looking" I try it out.
He beams.
Who. Knew.

Chew on this.

I have been shocked to find that against all my better judgement, I, yes I, am the most stereo typical pregnant person ever. I cry over stupid things. I throw up my breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I can not cook. If I finally cook, I can not eat it. Smells drive me crazy. If I don't eat all the time, I get more and more nauseous. Therefore I eat all the time.
I am trying desperately not to give into what I know will haunt me later, but the most ridiculous? The cravings. For those of you who know my eating habits, you will understand why this is something to blog about. It never fails to amaze me that all day I wish I could eat:
Cheese cake.
Cheese crust pizza.
Sour candies.
Gummy candies.
Jelly Bellies.
Pasta.
Potatoes with Sour Cream and Butter.
Guacamole.
White bread.
White bread with warm butter, honey, and cinnamon sugar.
Sweet Rolls. SWEET ROLLS! You have to be KIDDING me.
the only relief? Fruit. I still LOVE fruit.

AND, it makes me sick to even think about:
Lime Tortilla chips.
Dried Mangos.
Mexican Food.
Chicken.
Canned Soup.
Anything with garlic. It will send me out the door.
Anything with onions.
Lentils.
Salsa.

This is me we're talking about here. Can anyone picture me not liking dried mangos? sigh. It's shocking, I know. Please don't give me any of that "oh just eat it now, you're pregnant" or "maybe the baby needs cheese cake" crap. I will not give in! I need support here, not more devils in my head. I'm trying to stay a healthy person. The problem only escalated yesterday when we ripped up the kitchen to continue the remodel. Do you know how hard it is to be picky when you only have options of eating out and you are going to puke if you don't eat something NOW!? Oh heaven help me, this is complicated.

In the brain there are different lobes that are associated with different reactions to feelings. For example, when someone feels sad, more activation has been demonstrated in the ventrolateral prefrontal cortex (VLPFC), the anterior cingulate cortex (ACC), the transverse temporal gyrus, and the superior temporal gyrus. I recently learned of a study done on both a group of Grad School students and Buddhist monks. After several wires were attached all over their bodies, they proceeded to show each group a video of a burn victim being treated by doctors carefully peeling off the layers of dead skin. To simplify the story, this particular study showed that when watching the video the Grad School students almost unanimously felt distress. However, the Tibetan Monks mirrored neurons of compassion. Think about the difference. Grad School, full of stressful situations that have us practicing distress - felt distress. Buddhist Monks - who have learned to meditate, practice calm, and train for mindfulness - felt compassion. Distress . . . compassion. We, meaning westerners like myself, usually respond to our own judgements, not another persons. However, the monks were able to feel the pain of the person in the video, instead of their own pain in watching it.

Yesterday I had the rare opportunity to practice calm. Ironic, it seemed, that this was the topic of conversation with my therapist this week as well. (yes, I go to therapy, I recommend it to everyone). Oh how often we are not aware of how we are feeling. Not just "I am feeling sad", but to know where we hold tension, how much of it, and how we respond to it as it builds. . . . Michelle says that meditation is the study of the awareness of our awareness. Again, I realize how I live in a culture that is trying, but I believe the majority (because I am so often one of them) is only really trying within walls that a society has built. Is it possible that in their effort to conform they are loosing some lessons worth learning? For example, my chiropractor (welcome to ALL the crazy stuff I do during the week :) ), who is LDS, says that some people in his ward really had difficulty with a lesson he gave on meditation. But isn't this a form of prayer? So in shunning something because it's not normal in Salt Lake, could they be giving up an eternal truth that is actually taught in the scriptures?

We spent this weekend at a beautiful cabin isolated between drifts of snow and pines. The rooms were full of patterns of light, music and good books. Saturday morning everyone else bundled up and went out on the snowmobiles, and I found myself and this baby inside of me alone for the day. (Tadaa! This was also my sneaky plan - to reveal that I'm pregnant in the middle of a post, so only those who really read will know . . . he he). For the first few minutes I panicked - all this time and so little to do?! Stripped of laptop, no violin in sight, not even a cell phone to keep me busy. It dawned on me that this is what people pay for: spending thousands of dollars for someone to provide isolation so they can "retreat" from the world for a spell. And here I had it - all to myself. However, I am a product of my society.
And so, yesterday I determined it is time to begin a quest to understand my own reactions and responses well enough that I can alter them and elevate myself to become a better person. By repeating any one activity we build up pathways in our brain that grow stronger and stronger, until they become easy for us to repeat - making the strongest pathways the ones we fall back on for snap decisions, first impressions, and quick reactions. Therefore, by practicing calm, by stopping. feeling. listening. surrendering. I am literally changing my nervous system: working methodically to rise above what I have done before, which is, without going into the gory details, responding in ways I often later wish I hadn't. I am hoping by practicing calm to learn to build a better self. Because, in the end, is this not how God is? He is, because of the understanding he holds, love. Therefore, if I can but stop, learn to listen and understand, I too will be love.

Craig says that "so so many of our actions are conditioned responses."
I found out today that he resigned from being director last night. There really aren't enough words for this . . . the loss everyone will suffer with him not there. He is the light and the life behind the music . . . his words, his stories, his musical richness is just not comparable. What will we do without him to greet us with love as we sing praises?
Sigh.
Change is hard. But I guess the only way to break free of the conditioning is to be okay with change, and let our minds open.

What I would do for my own Norwegian Maid. :)

AH. Skiing. Tis the season to pack the boots and poles, adorn the helmets and ipods and let go of everything but the hill, your line, and the beat in your ear. I ski fast. I love the wind whipping past me and my edges cutting into the snow. I don't have flawless technique, as Brent will tell you smiling, but I ski fast anyway because there is something very dangerous about skiing fast, and if you ski carefully you end up looking like an idiot. It's a thrill usually needed in my life of discipline. Who doesn't need a little danger in their lives?

Balance

It's amazing how often I come back to the thought that life is best lived when we are in balance.
The holiday season was overwhelming. Someone told me once that December for musicians is like unto April for Accountants. November 10th began for me the work hours of 6:30 am - 11 pm . . . day in and day out for two months. It didn't take long and I was sick, and then cutting things out right and left to try and free up time, until I was left with not much more than a cold and long hours. Not surprisingly, all things cut out were things that were there to make me happy: Body and Soul workouts, riding horses, practicing, hanging out with Brent. It became awful, and I spent the first week of the new year trying to resurface from the over-exhausted, over-strained plague. Luckily I can learn from it and hopefully not get myself in the same pickle next year.
Now, as I get back into the better swing of things - going to the gym, taking time to have dinner with Brent, practicing - I am reminded of how much happier I am when I can balance my life and feel like there is time to breathe.
So - here's yet another post about staying in control of our lives and taking time for ourselves because it happens to make life that much more fulfilling.

sigh

I bought this book December 24th. I finished it December 24th.
I bought the next one December 26th. I finished it December 26th.
I bought the third one December 31st, and yes, finished it December 31st.
Too much time on my hands? Kind of . . . . but not really. I thoroughly enjoyed spending the day in bed, with no one bothering me, and not a single concern on my mind - except that the book would end.
Now, lest I be assumed as one of the masses: This is a simple read, a perfect holiday-lounge-about-the-house read. It isn't good writing. There are no metaphors, no deep insights, no beautiful language that inspires you to underline and jot down notes in the column like so many of the beautiful classics. But it is wonderfully romantic, and so easy, and so much fun. . . . and Edward. My heavens - Edward.

"There are years that ask questions, and years that answer"
- Cry the Beloved Country, Alan Paton

What do you do when you don't understand . . . . but wait, and hope the answer will one day unfold itself, bringing a balm to the pain that sits like a white noise inside of you?

Winter

Brent brought me flowers. For no reason, other than it is the dead of winter and sometimes we all need a little more Spring time in our snow. He is sweet like that.

***
I remember years ago sitting on the floor of my bedroom, phone to my ear. I'm telling him how much I need color, smells, dirt. I'm starting to cry, telling him how I just hate the winter, the cold, and all that it represents. Now, so many years later, I have more insight and could tell you exactly why I was feeling so tied down and confused, but then summer twisted around like smoke inside of me, haunting me with it's memories. Horses. Sweat. Hot summer nights playing games under the stars. Summer means getting away - leaving this house that feels like a prison and running free, free, free, backpacking to places no one could find me if I didn't want them to. Clean air and the most liberating feelings of independence.
Lyrics catch up to me and I hear Counting Crows in my ear. "Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog where no one notices the contrast of white on white."
I fall asleep wishing I wasn't here, in the winter, in my room, in High School.
The following day I make it to my room after school, breathing in sharply when I get there. Flowers. Every shape, color and size - not a square inch of my room isn't covered in flowers. They are draped over the computer, scattered over the bed, laying thick like carpet on the floor. I smile - a small note in his handwriting lays at my feet. "It looks like spring to me". And I laugh at what my dad's reaction will be when he sees that my boyfriend, who is in college, has broken (again) the rule of: No Boys In The Bedroom!
We dated for four years. Well, three, and wrote for one on his mission. Then he came home and left the Church. I fought to find common ground between dating and caring, and somehow in the middle of it all, we lost touch. I saw him with his fiance once. She stared at me because I'm something from his disconnected past. I stared at her because she was something from his future. Although I tried not to, I glanced at her ring and found myself trying to convince myself it wasn't supposed to be mine, anyway. Now they live happily in India, where he's studying at the University of Calcutta, and I'm married to the most wonderful person I can imagine being married to. And just like that there are two happy endings.
***

No wonder by the time life has wrinkled our skin and taken the color from our hair that we end up just talking talking talking about the people that used to be in our lives, the things that we have seen. "Oh yes, so and so. I knew her great Aunt Lucy. Good blood. There was this one time when . . . . . . . . "

There are days that I remember these things and my heart shutters because we were real. And those feelings were real. And even with how real it was, they could never be Brent. I mean that not so much in the cheesy way it sounds, but underneath that, in all that it really means. It's amazing - life and all of it's crazy tunnels that in the end have us standing with a past, with a future, with all these memories that determine our response to so many biases. I usually remember, smile and then say (sometimes out loud) "Wow. I really loved them." - stated, like a fact. Then I smile at how many beautiful people God allowed me to love, and give me love, so that I wouldn't wither and die until I found the one I would love for eternity.

Getting Bigger

I have a cousin who I often watch from a distance with fascination. She has long golden hair, a kind warm smile, and carries so much of a distinguished air about her that in a fairy tale she would without hesitation be royalty. I’ve known her my whole life, and she has always been this way. She was raised without money, but married into a lot of it – a result, I’m sure, of the natural regal manner that absolutely drips from her aura . . . . pristine, without a trace of arrogance.
Last week I saw her mother and commented to her about her daughters amazing demeanor. Without a moment of hesitation, she smiled and responded, “Well, she’s in control of her life.” – a response I haven’t been able to get out of my head. What does it take to stay in control of our lives? Why do I feel like we, especially as women, let ourselves loose control?
I was raised to believe that women who had interests beyond mothering, were falling short. A ‘good’ woman is one who only has her children in her life, beyond that everything is a distraction. I have grown far away from this mentality, believing now that women with their own strengths and interests can be the best mothers possible.
But even without kids, those strengths and interests alone can seem so time consuming and overwhelming. Life sometimes gets the better of me and three days into the week I feel like I have been running, running . . . running.
I have to believe that my cousin’s life is not any simpler than my own. Somehow she has learned to stay calm, even through hectic chaos. The line out of that cheesy Sunscreen song comes to mind:
“Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is about as affective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind – the kind of things that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.”
This line catches my attention so much so that I stop for a moment, and remember.
A breath comes out of me when he says "you DON'T have control of the things that happen to you. You just don't." He's right. it’s not so much about controlling what happens to you, but controlling your inner quiet through it all. There is a billboard by my gym that says "I will choose the things over which I sweat." Every time I pass it, I think "It's true." We can control over what we worry. We can choose to stay centered and new like spring, even when life is busy. At least, we can as much as we can. After that, when the things that we never thought possible come at us, maybe we will be rested enough to "surrender to the pain" and come out on the other end alive, strong, and palpable.
Things will fall, no matter how we try to balance them perfectly above our heads. I think somehow the acceptance that we do not control the universe, or the people in it, gives us a peace that allows us to stay in control of our own calm. My therapist says that suffering is simply resistance to pain. So here’s to an effort to give in, admit we can’t do it all, give it our best and be satisfied with who we are.

working on the house - yes, I look like a bug.

stage two . . . coming along!

Before the fence. . .

This is Austin and Sadie, our Nephew and Niece who live across the street. Sadie is a goldfish, if you can't tell.. . and Austin is, well, the fisherman. How can you not love them?

10 New Things

Here's the cliff-notes update of our lives:
10. The house is still not remodeled, but hey, we're working at our own slow pace.
9. The fence in the backyard is coming along. Through the mud, snow, rain, what have you - Brent works on.
8. The new best TV show on: Chuck. I would be a great special agent.
7. It snowed again in slc last night - 3 inches on the ground.
6. Mesa is the still, by far, the best dog alive.
5. The best thing EVER is having the horses at the indoor arena. RIDING EVERYDAY IN A HEATED INDOOR!
4. I switched phone companies from Verizon to AT&T, which means a hot new red phone.
3. Mesa has learned how to catch grapes mid-air.
2. Against popular belief we're still poor, and not pregnant.
1. Brent shot a 72 at the Ranches last week. A 72. I'm married to the next pro.

Everyone Welcome MaRea and Kyle to the blogging world: www.mareah.blogspot.com
Next stop: Kim & Lee :)

This Autumn has been an unlucky season for most Utahn's. With literally every saturday being rained out, most days too cold to go out and enjoy the falling leaves, and yes - it snowed last night. Not a light fluffy beautiful snow - but a wet, heavy, freezing cold rainy snow. sigh. We're trying to keep our chins up.
Hows the weather for the rest of you?

Dancing in the Leaves

HEELLLLOO AUTUMN!
What is it about this time and of year and the overwhelming feeling to be honest with myself? It's like the trees are stripped bare and so is my soul - I have to level with myself on all sorts of things that I've been pretending.
Like the fact that I like to plan.
Recently I had to take this Kolbe test promoted by my dad . . . I answered all those questions and the computer coughed and sputtered as it printed out the results of my inside intuitions. There it was, in black and white with all of what's implied between the lines. It declared to the world, friends, and all family that I do indeed like to plan ahead. I've been fighting my whole life it seems to not fall into what I perceive as a trap set my parents to overplan everything until it wilts and dies. But, alas. When all of me boils down to nothing but the stalk in my bones - it's there, right along with all the other parts of me that are as real as the color of my eyes. I am a planner.
sigh.
So today I laugh at the metaphor "turning over a new leaf", because with all these fallen and overturned leaves comes a sigh of surrender from somewhere deep inside. For all the years I grimaced whenever a palm pilot chirped or Franklin Planner emerged as a leash to the real world, somehow the system has gotten me too and it seems to be the easiest way for me to stay sane. Long live Autumn and the way it uncovers silent suggestions.

You've Arrived.

Congratulations, collect $10 and pass GO.
Lately I've been trying to overcome a most recent discovery of a problem I never thought I'd have. All those days of running from one train to the next, spinning. . . racing. . . colliding in and out of subway stations and fruit stands, always dreaming of the life I couldn't yet live: backyards, BBQ's, a dog, driving with the windows down through streets without traffic. It seemed like a dream I just would never quite get to. The yearning for this life became so intense especially when I was in France that I had to stop allowing myself to even picture it.
So, after almost two years of fighting to make it. . . here I am.
I should be celebrating, throwing house warming parties, and kissing the hood of the car every morning - but for some reason I have found myself feeling deflated with this weird voice in the back of my head suggesting to my mind that life just isn't as exciting when you live it so easy.

I think mostly the problem is the ever-so-frequent demon: Inertia. It is a hard thing to come to an environment that doesn't make the pace you work at best an easy thing to keep up. I miss the energy of the city that propelled me into action every morning at six am. Instead, I find myself having to gather all that motivation from my own gut - and I'm just not used to that yet.
But it will come. I'm convinced that if I were to transport myself into my Woodside apartment tomorrow, I would immediately remember the familiar feeling of wanting all the things that for some reason I'm seeing as 'boring' in this moment.
I will throw a house warming party. I will enjoy the feeling of driving on tree-lined streets without the smell of dog urine and garbage coming through the window. My life is so dang good, and I refuse to let the demons that try to rule perspective take it away from me.

This is Mesa on her first hike. Three months old, and she almost has 15 words memorized. She knows her name, how to fetch, to stay, sit, shake, lay down, go to her bed, go potty, release, leave it, quiet, off, and she's aaaalmost potty trained.

Today was one of those days where the universe seemed to have a unified goal to conquer me, and it seemed that no matter how I tried to fight it, I was somehow loosing the battle.
Brent is in New York this weekend, and I am baby sitting my two youngest siblings in Utah. Upon waking up this morning, the third day of having my dreaded cold, it was made clear that the power in the house was out. So just two minutes into the day, it became my task to shower myself and two children, before school, in the dark, at 6 am. Then there was forgetting the right things in Matt's lunch, having the rare but roaring problem of a zit located directly in the middle of my face exploding in redness all over . . . having two teachers at the high school yell at me for being on my cell phone - and the humiliation of realizing I didn't look any older than a high school student . . . and, yes - I am not making this up - I got bit by an ant in Matt's third period. Six times, it bit me, all on my arm. If you haven't had an ant bite in quite some time, let me remind you what I had to remember. It hurts. Bloody searing pain up your arm. Damn ants.
Why is it just so much easier to surrender to a bad mood on days like this then to fight it and reign triumphant and gloriously smily?
There were a lot of good things that happened today too. I got a new student, I had an hour extra for lunch in between working with Matt . . . it's Friday . . . Mesa and I played in the yard for a half hour and it filled me with yellow to watch her summersault around with her favorite toy. . . Matt and Sarah are a dream to babysit - Matt always offers to set the table for dinner and Sarah is completely bounding with energy with how much she loves school . . . I paid the check to VW and they weren't mad that it was 3 days late. . . and believe it or not, I am starting to feel better with my cold.

So there you have it. A completely normal day full of positives and negatives. Okay, I feel better. I think I'll end it "a good day".

much to do about nothing

hello world. where did everyone go, you bloggers? We bought a house, it's under remodeling construction - done by Brent and I in our spare time . . . which I guess is why it is going so slow. It's a beautiful thing to have your own home though. I love it. What else for an update? Mesa is getting much bigger . . . I'm slowly getting work here in Utah . . . I love being home.

Mesa

This is Mesa, our new little puppy. She's a welcome home present and a celebration that we now have a house and a yard to keep her in, and that none of us will be getting on any planes to leave any time soon. Isn't she the cutest thing ever?

You know when you experience so much that it feels like in and of itself a lifetime? Good trips are always this way. This is how I feel about the last six weeks. People stop and say "oh, how was it?" and I have to look at them for a while, as my brain flips through a thousand emotions trying to pick one out that would adequately describe the experience as a whole. I haven't found my word yet.
France.
I lived in a small guest cottage on a beautiful estate overlooking the Lot valley, surrounded by vineyards. I lived with a world famous teacher/violinist and his wife. His castle used to be a 13th century church, with stone walls and wood roofs and a beautiful wine cellar that is now their dining room. I was introduced to artists, poets, philosophers and psychologists. We sat, we talked, they drank wine and I listed to them slip easily in and out of French and English. I had two hour lessons six days a week. Does anyone know what it takes to be prepared for a two hour lesson six days a week? Lots and lots of practicing. I woke up, I used the internet, I practiced. I ate breakfast, took a shower, practiced. Then the lesson, then lunch, then practice. Then dinner, then practice. Then sleep, and in my sleep I dreamed of practicing. I learned three complete concertos, one complete Bach sonata, one piano/violin sonata, one show piece, and hours and hours of technique and etudes. It was amazing.
But amazing can't be the word that describes my experience, simply because it leaves out how hard it was. I wish hard could be my word. Overall I feel like it was, just so bloody, unbearably hard. But hard just sounds so negative, so I can't use that word either.
The details are that my very intelligent teacher also has a very hard time with organized religion. He believes in God, but not in a God that listens to us mere mortals. He therefore sees any efforts to be nearer to God by trying to become a better person, as a complete waste of time. No, it's stronger then that. Its not just a waste of time, it reveals to the whole world your lack of intelligence. So, enter me - obviously lacking in intelligence. I felt every day it was a battle to defend what I loved and believed in. After five weeks, you leave exhausted. That was hard. It was hard to be told that I had ruined my career by getting married and that my divorce was inevitable because all great artists have to live in Europe and my husband lives and works in Utah. You may think it sounds funny out of context, but believe you me, it was not all that funny when I was there, alone, hearing it everyday.
The lessons were fantastic, even though his teaching style is that "old school abusive" type. He told me I played like a F*%# pig almost on a daily basis. But I know this, so it wasn't much of a shock. Overall though I improved dramatically and came home singing on that beautiful piece of wood, although my little heart was quite bruised.
I have a new violin, a new bow, and a new appreciation for life. Life - my life. My life that includes a husband, and a mortgage on the house we are buying, and maybe even a very small and dismal career full of beautiful music, and my family that surrounds me in this ever self populating state. I love it. I love BBQ's and church and people speaking English. France was amazing. It was hard. It was 500 other words too.
So yeah. I don't know how to put any more of this on paper. It was so blooming complicated, but wow, it was pretty darn cool.

not broken

hello world.
Five weeks, completed. I learned, tried, gave,and withstood. America, open your arms - I'm coming home. France has taught me much ... so much has changed. I worked my guts out, and now, I begin.
thank heavens.

Nonie asked me yesterday if I was breathing. Funny question - but it really does apply to life here. The answer is usually no. There is so much pressure that I've never felt before - screaming words demanding I move abroad and don't I dare think about having kids. It is hard, I remind myself that he is German and most Germans scream. He screams even when he's happy. But it is still hard to breathe. I tell myself he does not control my life and that Brent and I are in the middle of buying a house in Salt Lake. But sometimes that feels so far away and then I break down in tears when Emily calls from Israel. So I find myself having big sighs; reminding myself I am strong; and then I play and am shocked at how much better I sound only in 10 days.
I'm buying a new violin. I know I just bought one. It's such a long story. My violin is going to Amsterdam and my new violin is on it's way to France. But I am excited - the new violin is of coarse, better. Everything is better - but that is why it is so complicated.
someone tell me it will all be okay.

From New York to Holiday, from Holiday to Roxbury Rd, from Roxbury to France. That is the next couple days. Boxes, more boxes, diesel moving trucks, strained backs, stairs, uhauls, cursing large quantities of crap. I leave in less than a week for France. I'm taking 2 Bach sonatas and 1 Bach Partita, 2 piano/violin sonatas and 3 concertos. I've been practicing like there is no tomorrow. And moving and cleaning. I guess I've beend doing a lot, and mostly I feel tired. Why do I always feel like I'm holding my breath when I'm moving? It's like I can't settle in until everything is put in it's place. Brent thinks its fascinating that humans by nature hate change. He says he's exempt, which he may be . . . although there is all kinds of change, not just physical. I am excited and scared to leave. He will teach me a lot. I will learn a lot. I will grow a lot. I will come back a better player. And then I enter the tomorrows that sometimes seem filled with promise and other times seem like a big blank page. One day at a time, I guess.

I have a big sigh that I can't seem to get out of me. It's been forever since I sat down with a pen and an unquenchable thirst to write. Life got busy. Life got a little lonely. Life was always being shared. It's harder to write when you always have someone to talk to. And I guess that's okay. Adam inspired me to update my blog. He says we're comfort friends, which I have always known but didn't always want to believe. Now I'm glad I can believe in it. My apartment is in boxes, I'm finished with my last final as a grad student, and all of the sudden I'm leaving New York. There's the big sigh. But there's always something to look forward to, which is the only point I disagree on with the new book he's reading. There is hope in looking forward, so we can't always be in the now, or sometimes we would loose sight of our dreams . .. although I understand the caution and think it truly does help eliminate fear.
I hope the tomorrows are filled with a lot of writing, a lot of talking, a lot of feeling, breathing, singing, laughing, dancing, playing, and maybe even some gardening. Now is time for all those things I kept saying I'd do when I had more time. I'm going to plant an herb garden . . . wear fashionable shoes . . . read more . . . go to lunch with friends.
I called my sister tonight and she sang me to me over the phone the solo she's singing in her second grade assembly. It's called "I could have danced all night". She has an awful voice, but she hit every note in tune. I smiled through the whole telephone performance and felt like I could have exploded by the end. It's amazing what love does to us. So - everyone, here's to dancing, and here's to the next chapter.

There is too much to say today to deal with specifics. It is important to note, however, that I am blogging less and less and using myspace more and more. hmmmm.

Great quotes from Brent in the last 24 hours.

"I'm not lazy, I just pick my times to work"
"I wish I was a dragon-rider. I think I could be. All I need is a dragon. That wasn't supposed to be funny".

"She says 'no one will love you more than me'
I look at her, she looks at me.
I think she's waiting for me to believe."
- John Legend

Monday.
Got to school by 7:30 am
Rehearsed the concerto with the orchestra.
Danny came to listen.
Talked it over with Danny. He loves my new violin.
Quartet rehearsal.
Taught a lesson
Went to the Gym
Practiced
Stravinsky rehearsal.
Performed entire Soldier's Tale for a good audience.
Nate and Cami came.
Left school at 10:30 pm

Tuesday.
Slept in.
Cleaned the house, packed the boxes.
had a slight melt down because I was tired and stressed, cried a little. Brent was very nice to kiss my face all over.
went to school.
Practiced and felt much better
rehearsed quartet.
performed quartet for our grade, did well.
Danny amused me with his "No! Oh my Gosh Melissa" as he slapped his head with his hand.
went to class.
performed the chaconne for the class.
Left class early.
Practiced more.
Went home.
Finished the 20 page paper

Wednesday.
Rehearsed with the orchestra and had weird memory slips.
Dealt with the sick feeling of being nervous.
Got in my concerto dress.
Played it slow and centered my nerves.
Performed the concerto with the orchestra.
Angie, Sid, Linda, Dave, Tara, Claire and Brent were there.
Lots of congrats from friends.
Went home.
Finished packing and cleaning.
Brent had done all the laundry and cleaned the whole house.
Taught two lessons.
Made dinner.
Went to the LIRR to catch a flight to Utah.

Thursday.
Arrived in Utah
Ate tortilla chips as a treat.
Went to the gym.
Danced to loud music for 20 minutes because it's a good workout and because I felt like dancing.
Bought Christmas cards, made christmas presents, listened to Jazz.
Went to wedding reception for Libbie.

Friday.
Made Brent a sack lunch like most wives would do everyday.
Christmas shopping.
Started studying for graduation exams.
Started learning notes to Sonatas. New rep :) yes.

8:38

Being married means that you now can screw up royally. Congratulations.
Being pregnant means that you agree to give up your fine body, and sacrifice it to the greater cause.
Being away means that half the time you are alone. A word that echoes with a hollow sound.
So, Thomas Kramer, why do we do things that are hard?
I’m not pregnant, but I am married. And today I did screw up royally.
I remember when I could count how many times I’d really done something worth erasing while being married. Now I can’t remember how many. It’s a license to know someone well enough to hurt them very much, all in a dose of raw reality that you never knew existed. There are too many things to pray for these days. . . . it’s overwhelming to kneel. Which means, of coarse, I’m doing it all wrong.
I play in church on Sunday. Maybe it will bring some clarity. Then rehearsal. Then another rehearsal, then another rehearsal, then a student, then another rehearsal and then the performance. That’s Monday. Tuesday means another rehearsal, and another performance, and then Wednesday is the big day. Before that though I need to pack everything, box it up and hope that the contract goes through. Meanwhile Nate and Cami are in town . . . to see New York and to come to one of the performances. I miss Brent. I look at the mirror and wonder if I ever will be that strong woman that I imagined myself becoming.

Merry Christmas New York!

does anyone else ever think of weird things when they're sick? Like why exactly do radio stations attatch themselves to letters? The classical station in NY is called 96.3 FM - WQXR.
WQXR? I don't get it. what about a random assortment of letters would help people want to listen to them?

Last week, I felt like I was climbing this.

Since getting married,

I have learned that TV, in moderation, can be a fantastic thing.
I've come to really appreciate laughter.
It's occured to me that, believe it or not, I think I'm compulsive.
I've come to love just knowing he cares, all the time.
Buying sugar cereals at the grocery store is regular.
My fridge is filled with things I would never eat.
I love the surprise of a bed already made.
When I go shopping, I browse the mens section.
Communication has become a degree I'm earning.
I've come to learn the aweful feeling that comes when you waste money.
I can cook three meals at once.
It suddenly matters to me if the house is clean or not.
I understand how hard it really is to be selfless.
I know how badly I want to be that.
I sleep in past 6:30 on the weekends.
I've learned that what other people think doesn't matter.
But to me, what he thinks does.
I'm learning the meaning of tender.
I now drink Diet Pepsi's when I need a really really big treat.

announcement.

Lincoln died and I now live alone again.

from my journal one year ago . . .

"I’ve discovered a sexy and wholly new element unique to the city: the feeling of someone calling you a cab.
With several different options, it all consists of:

1) The suave flick of the wrist, one or two fingers extended:
This is used most often when you know see a cab from afar and know you will be answered.

2) The frantic running in heels towards the road, both hands waving in the air: Used when in a panic to get to an appointment on time, during rush hour, or just to draw attention.

3) Just get in. Often used at a stop-light where there is an empty cab. No notice or acknowledgement needs to be made between driver and passenger – just casually open the door and step in. It’s a rather odd trip – try it sometime.

4) The general and most common: raised hand slightly above ones head. Can get tiresome, so used only in situations that you know you won’t be waiting more then five minutes. Feels a bit like elementary school, but most memories are reminiscent.

5) The quick and high-pitched whistle:
Unique to Brent.
He steps out onto the road, scans the cars for the familiar yellow cab – looks at me with a quick wink and lets out the sharp blow. The taxi cuts across three lanes of traffic and pulls to a stop. He opens the door, throws that irresistible look, and I climb in. He leans over the door, telling the driver to “take her to 74th and Broadway”, and hands me some cash. Then the moment when New York’s energy weighs heavy, suspended with a gaze that will swarm in reality the minute I look away. The driver weaves into traffic and maneuvers into formation.
very romantic, eh?

I appreciated Joy’s testimony where she expressed her gratitude for failure, which I have done so much of lately. I was struck the other day by the idea that God often gives us trials so that His hand may be manifest. And so, again my heart turns to God and is quieted by knowing failing is righted through Him – that it draws me closer to Him, and that I am a tryer - which means I am often a failure. . . but trying I will not stop.
I feel like Christ wants us to get to know Him better – a process we can choose to commit to through trial, although sometimes it is easier to just shut off. Brent added, “and to get to know ourselves” . .. which is beautiful, to me – to think that whatever happens, we prove ourselves to ourselves.
The President spoke words on solitude and how in all the epic moments in Christ’s life he was significantly alone. I think of my own solitude, and how often I feel like the city is swallowing me whole. His words helped me to realize what a milestone NY is in my journey: Forging through the paperwork, commuting miles, hours of practicing to finish my degree even after getting married and having my husband so far away . . . this is not easy. The solitude is often suffocating and for a moment I thought how oft our Savior stood alone, and how well he knows my own little feelings of loneliness.
So it was a beautiful Sunday where I was reminded of the good of Failure, given some perspective in aloneness, and how, after we live through it all – we really do learn how strong we can be in Him.

over six months now - how has it been so long already?

I can't help but notice how different we all are.
These experiences that fill our buckets - whether sought after or involuntarily spilled over us . . .
we are who we chose to become after stirring the pot of things we didn't want to happen
into a brew that inevitably others look at and examine.

To me, the most beautiful are those who take the worst stenches
given to them and plead,
crave,
wrestle through the roughest patches to
save hope
and recommit to covenants
with a broader mind
and a softer heart.

This week, here's to:

rain
the glory of an oven
driving to the grocery store
learning to love sleeping in.
Season Premiers.
finding a new violin - :)
lots of lasagne.
Logan, where the rain smells green.
how chick you feel when commuting via airplanes
how tired you feel when commuting via airplanes
getting my computer back from the shop
Lincoln staying alive while I was away
max who would rather swim.
Soldiers Tale and lots of listening
having church in the new chapel
back to humid new york,
until wednesday

Three cheers for Melissa's second major melt-down since moving to New York.

the power of consistency

"O heaven! were man
But constant, he were perfect. That one error
Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins:
Inconstancy falls off ere it begins."
- the Two Gentlemen of Verona, William Shakespeare

happy and satisfied

Tonight was a gorgeous evening. I left the gym after dark and walked across the campus lit with golden lamps through mediteranian archways. The grass spread out before me, the fountains caught moonlight. . . I almost laughed outloud. I'm in New York and it feels like Logan. Ah the peace that space brings. The air hinted today that autumn is around the corner. I can't wait, It is my favorite season. It seems that everything is good today.

Welcome Lincoln

Brent and I are in two locations while I finish school. He lives in Utah, where my Grandparent’s have kindly taken him into their free ‘mother-in-law apartment’ downstairs, and I live here in New York, just minutes from the airport by subway (yeah – no taxi fee!). We see each other three out of four weekends a month, with lots of long phone conversations in between. As you can imagine, it was a difficult decision and came after lots of prayer and fasting – but, like most situations that are right, things have just fallen into place. The only problem so far is that I've gotten lonely. Not crazy lonely like the kind that leaves the world dark . . . because I've been to that place; no, just kind of dissappointed to come home to an empty apartment kind of lonely. I miss Brent.
It’s a new thing when you are starting out in a fresh area and don’t know a soul. So, yesterday I got up, got dressed, and promptly marched myself to the pet store and bought myself a friend. I can’t tell you how much I wanted a puppy, but with being out of town so often to go to Utah, I knew how impossible it was going to be, so I settled for a Crowntail Betta and I named him Lincoln, after a good man, and my favorite place in New York – the Lincoln Center. He is blue and red and has lots of personality. . . for a fish. He gives me someone to say hi to when I come home anyway. Cami called and said I had made her sad when I told her I had bought a fish for a friend. I reassured her that I'm not that desperate. But he is the coolest fish I"ve ever owned.

Tomato Soup

It all started with a bad break-up. I mean, a break up of the very worst kind. Think for a moment of the most painful, heart dripping "slice-me-open-and-rip-out-my-heart-with-your-bare-hands" kind of breakup. Yeah - like that. It was July and hotter than Hades in Moab, where I was working as a river guide - eating most things straight out of a can, sleeping on the ground or in a hut without running water or electricity. Then the break-up occured. I had never thought of tomato soup as a comfort food, in fact, I had always avoided it when my mother tried to serve it. But my temporary friend who I haven't hung out with since this particular summer, I think because she moved to Europe with her boyfriend, introduced me to tomato soup. She was staying with the mayor of Moab - in her condo. The mayor, she was out of town, and you can imagine my drooling eyes as I walked into a real live apartment with real running water and nice leather couches, and best of all - AIR CONDITIONING. I took a nice long shower, changed into some comfortable clothes, and went downstairs where my friend had cooked up every type of soup you can order - each in a seperate bowl. Shrug. Who would have thought? We ate the soups, I cried a little more, and we watched a chick flick not worth seeing even once. And for some reason the tomato soup stuck. I can't ever see it without remembering that night. We slept together in a big feather bed, Me, her, and a very expensive looking dog. I got up red-eyed and swollen the next morning and she ran off to work, leaving me and the dog to a beautifully furnished, empty house. I took another shower and cleaned up the soup cans.
Since this day I have reserved tomato soup as my "break up" food. I eat it only in my lonliest, darkest, most self indulging moments. They don't come often - but hey, we're talking tomato soup here. . . who really wants to eat it?
Sometime last week I found a new tomato soup. The thought process went as follows: "hmmm. Tomato soup. That's the break-up food. !!!! I'm married!!!!! Oh my gosh - that means no more bad break ups!!! How did this occur to me only now? But what about Tomato Soup? I'll never eat it ever again?!" glancing over my shoulder nervously "I"ll just buy this one, the cashier won't know . . ."
I came to discover I had stumbled upon a whole new breed of soup. Progresso, Vegetable Classics. Hearty Tomato. (say it with an Italian accent and it makes it much more legitamate). With a full serving of vegetables and a good source of fiber. Tomato soup with PARSLEY, and real chunks of tomato. Last week I learned I LOVE tomato soup. I have returned to the store twice, each time buying the same - making this the third night in a row I have had tomato soup for dinner. I am not sad, I am only a little bit lonely, and Tomato soup is now not a break-up food, it is a staple.

I get internet tomorrow in my apartment. Internet is like Oxegyn - especially when you are married and live alone. School has started and I remember how much I love to learn. I love to hear about the details, how things work and how things happened. Danny says that everything with rhythm works, everything without doesn't. Think of your heart, an engine, the solar system, the music. I am learning to always always always have rhythm. It was a good lesson. I have to run to another class - but tomorrow it will be easy to blog. :)

home.

We found an apartment and today are moving in the last of the things that make it feel like home. It is beautiful. I've discovered the glory of living outside the city - half the rent, only a fifteen minute commute to midtown, HALF HOUR commute to school (this is like a miracle everytime I experience it), and all the trains you would ever need within walking distance. I love it. Hardwood floors, lots of windows, a kitchen I can walk around in . . . . and a neighborhood filled with Latino's ,which means my favorite type of food all over the place. I can't read the menu's because they are all in spanish - but I love where I live and I love my new home. School started. sigh. One more year - half of me thinks it's not long enough, the other half can't wait to just be done. It won't be a hard semester academically - just musically. I play an entire concerto with the orchestra in just a few months. That scares the hell out of me but I'm really really excited. And somehow I need to pull off a recital with all new rep. But I'm ready - Mr. G and his technique exercises did me well this summer.
so here we go - one more new chapter. :)

where are we?

Today it's raining. - - - The days country songs are written about: rainy sunday afternoons. But not really because I'm in NYC, and mostly country songs talk about front porches and pastures - things NY doesn't know much about. It dawned on me today that I don't know much about where certain people are. I mean - where the heck IS Sarah Graves? Did she make it to her new home, has James started school? What about Jamie Prince - what exactly is is the update with her and this boy that I've only heard referred to as her "friend"? Meagan and Randy have a kidlet and I've never even seen her. What about the emily's - Is Jane back at Peabody yet, and how is it going? I mean - I'm loosing the details here. It was interesting - first I was just going, living on and on without, then it occured to me in a sudden inspired moment and now it's driving me crazy.
So, while I'm at it, and for my own good - here is my position.
I live in New York. I don't have a house yet. I have spent all day praying I will find the right one. First it seemed easy, but then a thousand other options seemed to spring up and now too many opportunities is too many question marks. Maybe by tomorrow night I will have a place to call home. I am married. I love being married. My husband lives in my grandparent's basement on 33rd South in Utah. They had a tornado go through their backyard a few weeks ago and it took out all their beautiful trees - including the ones I like to sit next to when I'm on the phone. So many blogs about trees that are now gone. I am buying a new violin. There are two with me that I am waiting to decide between. I love them both, right now. This is a complicated mess I don't want to write more about now. My horse is in a pasture in Logan. He loves it there, until it gets cold. Then I will pray for a new place for him with a warm stall. My truck is on it's last thread. School starts on Wednesday, with orchestra at 9:15. I just want a place to put my things and begin my scales. I need scales today - it would do my insides nothing but good.

today in rehearsal

Zinman: "No, no! the Chinese block - it's not right."
Percussionist, hitting a few different blocks: "Do you want a high pitch or a low pitch?"
Zinman: "Lavender!"

My commuting history

why is it that I always seem to be living between two places? My life is a commuting journal - with the miles ticking away as I sail with the windows down in my trusty toyota. The two of us have flown past plenty of fields golden with wheat, the sprinklers shattering sunlight across the rows. 278.74 miles from Salt Lake to Victor, ID where my summers were filled with milking the cow, weeding the garden, building fence, stripping rails, swimming in ponds, hiking with the boys, games of capture the flag, huckleberry shakes, music until the morning, hot summer romances, and a freedom the winter left me starving for. 82.76 miles from Salt Lake to Logan - from free laundry and mowed grass to the sheer Wellsvilles where I loved and laughed with the granola hippies. 468.3 from Salt Lake to Moab and then back again. . . Every weekend fighting the oars against wind to pull out of the river in time to drive 5 1/2 hours to see a boy who kissed my forhead and told me he hoped and I loved. Time unwound like a spool of thread and I found 2005 and 2006 brought 410.51 miles between Slc and Aspen, CO where I met everything that makes me me in a small town and big music school. Back and forth to get to the temple; to see the man who kisses my mouth and takes me equally with ups and downs. He wraps his strong arms around me and tells me I am amazing. Worth the drive? He is explosions of laughter, moments of yellow, and a warmth inside everytime he looks at me like that. It fills me up, fills me up with white - I would drive it a million times without ever wondering why. Moving to New York began the commutes in the stale air of planes. 2172.85 miles and 4 1/2 hours in the air. Today is one week out from the next series of commutes. I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I try to bundle up inside and prepare my mind. three weeks on, one week off - thanksgiving break, and then to get to the end of December. To stay focused, riding all the breaks in between as part of the rhythm, without allowing them to detatch me from consistancy, studying in my mind, ipod attached to ears, lessons on mini discs, music packed in the carry on. I can do this. I can do this. This takes courage. To live in New York - and this time to brave it alone. With that feeling of responsibility weighing on me - responsible for a lot of debt, a lot of credit cards, a lot of jet blue points, a lot of rent and new york priced groceries. And to be a "non conventional wife". He smiles and says it will be okay. He says he believes in me.
That degree is calling to me from the other side - another year to learn, to play in concerto night, to keep the music growing inside of me. I want this badly.
I guess when it comes down to it, I'm a natural at commuting.

How can I begin to explain how much I love Aspen? Renee's voice melted me, filled me up, and then melted me again. Hillary Hahn is worth listening to over and over and over. And then you eat breakfast with these people. You see them hiking, you sit next to them in Beethoven concerts. Ms. Hahn signed my Bach. Ms. Fleming lightly shook my hand and laughed outloud when we described her brother as a soft teddy bear. The mountains sing here - every corner is bursting with wildflowers. The nights are crowded with stars, like each one is fighting for it's own space up there in the sky, the temperature nestling into a light 50 degrees. During the day the air warms right up and a thousand windows let the chitter chatter of practicing musicians slip from their frames. The air is bursting with inspiriation and I drink drink drink every chance I get. ahhhh.

today my computer deleted all of my contacts. Just like that - gone. sigh. It took me a minute and then I thought "this is kind of nice - a new start". So as of now I only have email addresses for people who have emailed me in the last 7 months. I guess that's appropriate.

Hagar.

Let's talk about Hagar. She's an anomaly to me - it seems that her reputation precedes her as one not quite as righteous as Sarah. But I can't get her out of my mind - and it seems, to me, that in the beginning that was not so.
She was Sarah's handmaid. Without a choice in the matter she was 'given' to Abraham as a wife, to bare the children Sarah could not have. So when she does get pregnant, granted, she gets a bit haughty with Sarah and "looks on her with deceit". Sarah gets mad and "deals hardly with her". Okay - so she lost her humility. I can see the sin . . . but there must be so much there not written because it seems Hagar is a very spiritual woman. She runs away and finds herself at the well, where she stops to have a very legitimate breakdown and spend a few moments with a good cry. An angel of the Lord appears to her (see, spiritual woman) and asks her 'why the tears?' She answers and he proceeds to comfort her by saying 'well, go back to the situation, humble yourself and be at the mercy of Sarah.' Hard stuff. But she does it. What character she must have. He then bids her goodbye by telling her that yes, she is with child, and the child whom she will bare will be at arms with all those around him. Not the greatest blessing to be given.
Years later Sarah does conceive and out of fear for Isaac's life both Sarah and Abraham throw Hagar and her son Ishmael out. Can you imagine - miles and miles of desert and you alone with a young child? I'm just having a hard time seeing the bad side of Hagar here. Every book I've researched sides with Sarah - and there must be something there because ultimately she is the one chosen to carry the royal lineage. And in reality, I think there must be an amazing repentance story to be read here. I would like to believe that in the time between Ishmaels and Isaac's birth that the beautiful miricle of a heart changing occured, that Sarah grew to be the righteous woman that was heir to be mother of countless numbers.
I just can't forget the other part though - the woman who was eventually cast out. There she is, sand and sun -and she begins to cry and pray unto God. He opens her eyes and she finds a well of water, which sustains the both of them until they can continue into a new land.
I'm still mulling over it all - but as of yet my heart really goes out to Hagar, the woman servant who was given a life without choice.

You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again . . . so why strive to climb? Just this: what is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art to conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can still at least know.”

- Rene Daumel

some distinguish between courage and foolhardiness in that a courageous person overcomes a justifiable fear for an even more noble purpose. If the fear is not justifiable or the purpose not noble, then the courage is either false, or foolhardy.
- Wikepedia, Free Encyclopedia

I opened the door inside this morning and found I had forgotten how strong I am.

wouldn't it be interesting if we got a bill every month from our gaurdian angel?
"oh, shoot. Man, I knew it was dangerous but I didn't think it would be that expensive!" . . . .

Yesterday I ran into a friend of a friend of a friend who said that sarah had asked mauri if she had seen me lately and mauri had asked a different sarah, and that sarah said yes. Then mauri poured into her eyes with all seriousness and said "is she okay?" . So sarah, the second one, told me she had reassured them, but the whole thing in general caught me by surprise. Of coarse I"m okay. I've never been so happy - has anyone else ever gotten married? It's amazing how quickly your life get's brighter, even when you thought it was bright before. So here is the announcement. I am still really glad I did it. :) Things are good, and when I say good, I mean the good that goes all the way down to your bones - like the belly laugh of an old black jazz singer. I realize I could be the next candidate for the ultimate slacker award - - - blogging less, calling less, lunch with everyone less . . . but, and I emphasize, this is in no way an indication that I am not happy in being married. On the contrary, I have become obsessed with the obliviousness I have found in being so caught up in Brent. So there it is - let the grapevine be informed.

the wet heat of july

ah, the familiar feeling of change. The winds are blowing again . . . this season of rest and release has filled me up inside and now the clock is calling my name. To aspen. a new paragraph in this new chapter. But the old is still there and I am battling without ever drawing my sword. This is a turning point: to walk ahead and pretend or to look back and begin to heal. Either is possible, but only one will build.
Yesterday I sat surrounded by concrete and heard what I thought was an answer to prayer deteriorate before my eyes. I should have known - concrete never supports life. The rest of the day was deflated and numb. Where is the right place?! My heart just doesn't know yet.
Later that night I leaned against an old oak tree under the stars and listened to a familiar voice from a chapter of hell in my past. It was beautiful to hear the calm that met me half way back then, now, in the new pages. I think it was good for both of us, to speak again and laugh like we understand . . . still. He is going down the river. The amount of irony in all of that is shocking. The river holds me humming in it's waters. I have left all that wet, and been baptized anew. But so much is still there and I need Him these days. I need Him.

I am human this week.
What does that mean? It means that I am full of mistakes, and find myself over and over again disappointing who I know I want to become. it means that I am quick to yelp, slow to listen, quick to blame and point fingers, get angry and always it seems I forget to forgive. I am slow, slow, slow, to be the person I would rather be. Why? I at myself inside - why am I acting like this?
Yesterday was the first day I failed as a wife. How many more will there be? I had every opportunity to love him anyway, put my justifications aside and be the first to say I'm sorry. He beat me to it . I was still fuming over in the corner - still upset at the nothings. It's aggravating, falling short of the better part of me.
I will keep trying, which, after a good nights rest and a long deep prayer, is about the only good thing left.

we are nomads, the two of us.
you, me and the thermarest
ipod hippies
ibook junkies
river rats that bleed with the stars,
love the sun on our skin
the thrill of a good view -
bring it on Mt. Olympus, Moab Mexican diners, and DuWayne's Cement Driveway.

"This is the best summer of my life" he laughs into the phone

Nate wishes he would have slept on the porch outside too
we had a good idea, he said.
and the sound of the mountains lulled us to sleep
you, me, the thermarest . . . and Toby.
What about Lake Powell and the mornings that set rock on fire?
The boat was named and baptized - Golden Dragon, Matt deamed.

Alice says there are a thousand good places to experience eating, just in the backyard.
Nate says God answers prayers in simple ways.
Music is being worked on, even if the Utah Symphony is jagged
I'm screaming in Barbeque's - how I love them, how I love them
and We finally got you a ring.

It is good, isn't it.

Brent is singing in the car. He would be very mad to know I put this on my blog - but I love it, I mean - he's belting some forgotten song at the top of his lungs on our drive to powell.

As I was walking
through green, over brown, inside blue
smells of water, willows
birds call back and forth
horses breathe clean through the air
the sun is setting in quiet glory

I realized
my head is clear
my hands are worn
my body brown and agile
music runs through me in and all around
space fills
family heals

and that I
am.
totally here in this moment
not somewhere else
not halfway with it

but whole
present
complete
full
happy

air fills my lungs
sunlight fills my eyes
I lift my arms and sing

Linda says a ripe watermelon should thunk at a high A.

mothers day 2006: learning the growth that helps us become

Wife.
afternoons. adorable. actions. understand a once-bachelor. breath. breathe. become. build. communicate. care. cook. compromise. clean. creative. don't mind dirt. dream. efficient. economical. funny. forgive. gyno. grateful. give. groceries. goals. happy. helpful. honest. interested. intuitive. inspirational. initial. joke. kitchens. kinship. kind. laugh. laughable. light-hearted. learn. lovely. love. meliss. mind myself. muscles. neat. nice. name. nature. near. nickels. open. odorless. offer. peace. people person. prayer. quick. quirky. reasonable. resourceful. save. serve. soft. sensitive. tough. tender. talk. talker. thank you. united. virtuous. validate. willing. welcome. xenocryst. yin. zeal.


Mother.
accept. artist. brown. bake. bandades. create. cuddle. compassion. consistent. cope. carry. carry on. driver. establish. enthusiastic. fair. forgive. fix. groceries. gain. guidance. hero. healer. hiker. infinity. instilled. imagine. insist. insure. jest. kiss. kindle. love, love, love. learn. listen. merciful. mature. never complain. negotiate. nest. newspaper. organize. principles. persevere. potter. qualified. quench. release. support. self. selfless. smiles. super hero. stable. teach. tireless. thick. thinker. talker. understand. valiant. valued. values. versatile. vital. warm. worn hands. wrinkled. wise. x chromosome. yours. zenith.

Married Life: FANTASTIC.