Unlike most people in my Sunday School class who read their scriptures on their phones, I pack around an actual Bible. That is if I think about it. And honestly I just grab whatever one I find lying about because you know how Bibles are. Always lying about. Which is why I had Ken Cannon's missionary Bible with me yesterday.
Anyway, it was filled with underlinings and notes in the margins. Child baptism! Faith! Missing scripture! I saw the handwriting of Ken Cannon's nineteen year-old self, and suddenly I had a vision of him being all earnest in his brown Napoleon Dynamite suit, TAKING THE GOSPEL TO THE WORLD, YO.
That was a lot of years ago. But I enjoyed thinking about Boy Ken Cannon, and I felt grateful to him for writing in his Bible. That's the beauty of a physical book. You can see what people marked up or which pages they folded or how they responded (!!!!!!) to an idea. It's like having a conversation with a previous reader. A one-sided conversation, maybe.
But still.
Monday, July 30, 2018
Saturday, July 28, 2018
Time's Gift
Ugh. What a boring title. Who'd want to read a post about that?!
But whatever.
I went to a wedding shower today for my great-nephew (seriously? I have one of those old enough to get married?!) where my mother-in-law (who's 98) fondly reminisced about her old home in Lincoln, Nebraska. My sister-in-law noted that her mother only remembers the good things about life there, and it occurred to me that the passage of time frequently allows us to do that--remember what we loved about a place or a person.
When I think about my childhood in Edgemont, I don't think about the nightmares I was prone to having as a kid. I don't dwell on the anxiety I frequently felt about my dad's job and whether or not we'd have to move. I don't remember the way that neighborhood kids made shifting and hurtful alliances with and against one another. I rarely remember the illness that put me in bed for the better part of a year.
Instead, I think about the way it felt to go screaming down our street on a that green Schwinn bike and running barefoot--fast and hard--through a sunlit summer.
But whatever.
I went to a wedding shower today for my great-nephew (seriously? I have one of those old enough to get married?!) where my mother-in-law (who's 98) fondly reminisced about her old home in Lincoln, Nebraska. My sister-in-law noted that her mother only remembers the good things about life there, and it occurred to me that the passage of time frequently allows us to do that--remember what we loved about a place or a person.
When I think about my childhood in Edgemont, I don't think about the nightmares I was prone to having as a kid. I don't dwell on the anxiety I frequently felt about my dad's job and whether or not we'd have to move. I don't remember the way that neighborhood kids made shifting and hurtful alliances with and against one another. I rarely remember the illness that put me in bed for the better part of a year.
Instead, I think about the way it felt to go screaming down our street on a that green Schwinn bike and running barefoot--fast and hard--through a sunlit summer.
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
Feeling Better Now
Well, it's no secret that I got toppled over by Churchill's Black Dog this spring. But I've been doing my best to show Black Dog who's alpha.
This afternoon when I looked at my great-grandmother's empty white pitcher sitting on the table in my entry way, I felt a little explosion of joy in my chest when I thought about buying a bouquet of sunflowers and filling that empty white pitcher right up with bright yellow flowers. I haven't felt that way in months.
Black Dog hasn't exactly won his Canine Good Citizen certificate yet. But things are definitely looking up.
This afternoon when I looked at my great-grandmother's empty white pitcher sitting on the table in my entry way, I felt a little explosion of joy in my chest when I thought about buying a bouquet of sunflowers and filling that empty white pitcher right up with bright yellow flowers. I haven't felt that way in months.
Black Dog hasn't exactly won his Canine Good Citizen certificate yet. But things are definitely looking up.
Monday, July 16, 2018
Oh. I get it. I'M AFRAID!
I've been tinkering around with a manuscript. And I have the whole morning blocked out to work on it. This is what I've done so far.
1. Taken out the garbage
2. Also the recycling
3. Also the brown bin where you put grass clippings and stuff
4. Texted my kids
5. Texted my kids' wives
6. Checked out Lisa B's Facebook and noted how adorable the dress she was wearing to her event the other night is
7. Rearranged the gnomes on my desk
8. Drunk two Dr Peppers
9. The ones with unicorns on the cans
10. UNICORNS!
11. Called for the cat who is ignoring me
12. Looked for my calendar to remind myself what I have to do today
13. Which I already knew
14. Write!
15. Why am I not writing?
Because I'm scared. I don't know exactly what to do next. I'm at that place where I need to move on, leap to the next level, whatever. But. Instead I'm letting myself be earthbound.
I'll let you know how it goes.
P.S. I just looked at some dragonfly earrings on Etsy.
1. Taken out the garbage
2. Also the recycling
3. Also the brown bin where you put grass clippings and stuff
4. Texted my kids
5. Texted my kids' wives
6. Checked out Lisa B's Facebook and noted how adorable the dress she was wearing to her event the other night is
7. Rearranged the gnomes on my desk
8. Drunk two Dr Peppers
9. The ones with unicorns on the cans
10. UNICORNS!
11. Called for the cat who is ignoring me
12. Looked for my calendar to remind myself what I have to do today
13. Which I already knew
14. Write!
15. Why am I not writing?
Because I'm scared. I don't know exactly what to do next. I'm at that place where I need to move on, leap to the next level, whatever. But. Instead I'm letting myself be earthbound.
I'll let you know how it goes.
P.S. I just looked at some dragonfly earrings on Etsy.
Friday, July 13, 2018
Opposites Attract and Then Drive Each Other Crazy For the Rest of Their Lives
It must be said that Ken Cannon has been the tiniest bit grumpy with me these past few weeks. And today I figured out why. The weather! He's holding me personally responsible for this heat because he knows I like summer.
It's okay. After all, I totally hold him personally responsible for the cold in January. Because he is. Responsible for the cold. Dude loves WINTER, if you can even believe it. He's freaking Maria Von Trapp in the winter, singing about doorbells and sleigh bells and snowflakes that stay on his nose and eyelashes.
Also.
Doorbells?
It's okay. After all, I totally hold him personally responsible for the cold in January. Because he is. Responsible for the cold. Dude loves WINTER, if you can even believe it. He's freaking Maria Von Trapp in the winter, singing about doorbells and sleigh bells and snowflakes that stay on his nose and eyelashes.
Also.
Doorbells?
Thursday, July 12, 2018
My friends, the trees
Last night TRQ asked what I'm reading.
THE OVERSTORY by Richard Powers, I said.
What's it about? she asked.
It's about trees. And people. And trees.
Pause.
Well okay then, she said.
The thing is that OVERSTORY is a special book. Really amazing. But I don't know how to talk about it in a way that would make TRQ (or anyone else) want to read it. The book has, however, made me remember three tiny tree stories from my youth. All of these happened when we still lived in Holladay when the Coach worked at Granite High School.
First Tiny Story: My parents bring my brother home from the hospital. I am two and I am NOT PLEASED. I run away and by that I mean I go stand under the crabapple tree in the front yard, hoping people will notice I'm gone and come find me. No one does. SAD!
Second Tiny Story: Someone arranges to have a large tree cut down in our front yard. I stand at the window, watching this and crying because I have come to think of this tree as a person.
Third Tiny Story: My grandmother and I are standing near the bank of lilacs that line our driveway. She tells me trees can talk. And I believe her.
Yes. I was a fanciful child. But sometimes I drive out to Holladay, looking for that old crabapple tree even though our house and our garden and our chicken coop and our orchard are long, long gone.
So yeah. It's no wonder that I'd like a book about trees and people and trees.
THE OVERSTORY by Richard Powers, I said.
What's it about? she asked.
It's about trees. And people. And trees.
Pause.
Well okay then, she said.
The thing is that OVERSTORY is a special book. Really amazing. But I don't know how to talk about it in a way that would make TRQ (or anyone else) want to read it. The book has, however, made me remember three tiny tree stories from my youth. All of these happened when we still lived in Holladay when the Coach worked at Granite High School.
First Tiny Story: My parents bring my brother home from the hospital. I am two and I am NOT PLEASED. I run away and by that I mean I go stand under the crabapple tree in the front yard, hoping people will notice I'm gone and come find me. No one does. SAD!
Second Tiny Story: Someone arranges to have a large tree cut down in our front yard. I stand at the window, watching this and crying because I have come to think of this tree as a person.
Third Tiny Story: My grandmother and I are standing near the bank of lilacs that line our driveway. She tells me trees can talk. And I believe her.
Yes. I was a fanciful child. But sometimes I drive out to Holladay, looking for that old crabapple tree even though our house and our garden and our chicken coop and our orchard are long, long gone.
So yeah. It's no wonder that I'd like a book about trees and people and trees.
Monday, July 9, 2018
Cherry season
If there's a fresh fruit I love as much as a peach, it might be a cherry.
Except I like peaches better.
Except that cherries are practically as good.
ANYWAY. I bought a bag at a fruit stand last week, and the first thing I wanted to do when I got home was to call up Dad and have this annual conversation with him.
ME: I'm planning on getting a stomach ache tonight.
DAD: You bought some cherries, right?
ME: Yup.
DAD: I'm also planning on a stomach ache. Bought myself a bunch, too. I know they'll make me sick but I can't stop eating them.
ME: Have you washed them yet?
DAD: I told your mother I did. Does that count?
ME: That's good enough for me.
Not long ago, the therapist I check in with now and then told me to keep a little notebook to jot down those moments when I felt my father's presence in one form or another. And yes. When I dug into that handful of sweet shining fruit, I could almost feel Dad smile.
Except I like peaches better.
Except that cherries are practically as good.
ANYWAY. I bought a bag at a fruit stand last week, and the first thing I wanted to do when I got home was to call up Dad and have this annual conversation with him.
ME: I'm planning on getting a stomach ache tonight.
DAD: You bought some cherries, right?
ME: Yup.
DAD: I'm also planning on a stomach ache. Bought myself a bunch, too. I know they'll make me sick but I can't stop eating them.
ME: Have you washed them yet?
DAD: I told your mother I did. Does that count?
ME: That's good enough for me.
Not long ago, the therapist I check in with now and then told me to keep a little notebook to jot down those moments when I felt my father's presence in one form or another. And yes. When I dug into that handful of sweet shining fruit, I could almost feel Dad smile.
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