New Beginnings

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." -- Semisonic, "Closing Time"

Friends, think back with me to a time when you ventured into the unknown--first day at a new school, first Sunday in a new church congregation, a first date, or even the first social outing with a new set of friends. Remember the butterflies? The queasy uneasiness? The nerves and petrifying fear, wondering how this next chapter of your story would play out?

Well... I'm on the precipice of major changes once again, and somehow I keep thinking this will get easier with age, but... it doesn't. It still feels raw and vulnerable and so scary to face the unknown, walk away from what's comfortable and joyous and working, and venture into a new opportunity with no certainty of what lies ahead.

This January, I will officially age out of being in a young single adult ward (congregation) and will once again attend a "family" (traditional) ward for the first time in my adult life. I haven't been part of a family ward since the Sunday before I graduated from high school!!! I left high school graduation in my cap and gown and moved straight up to BYU, where I've been actively engaged in the YSA scene ever since--from BYU wards aplenty to the two singles wards in the southernmost tip of Orange County to four wards across the four years I've been back in Utah. In each case, a huge chunk of my social life (if not the majority, honestly) has derived from the friendships made within the current ward. It's so natural in LDS life!

Singles wards are busy busy--three hours of church on Sundays (plus a couple more hours of leadership meetings for the bulk of the last nine years), post-church potlucks, ward prayer, firesides, Monday night "Family Home Evening" activities, mid-week Institute classes, a number of activities that pop up throughout the weeks and weekends... and that's only the formal stuff! Then there are the social gatherings that naturally grow out from the friendships cultivated through so much church-sanctioned interaction.

And in a mere seven weeks... that part of my life and my identity will end. Completely. Forever. And there's not a danged thing I can do about it.

To say this feels intimidating and powerless is an understatement. I absolutely adore my ward! And the feeling is mutual. I was out of town yesterday and managed to receive at least five texts or Facebook messages from friends, telling me how missed I was and asking how I'm doing.

Come January, I'll switch to a family ward, which is what it sounds like--a congregation filled with participants of all ages and stages of life instead of the 18-31-year-old singles of YSA wards. Each type of ward has its benefits; a family ward certainly trumps the YSA ward on depth of life experience, especially in the ward into which I'm heading. I've been attending intermittently since August to ease the transition, and I've been nothing but impressed with what I've found there.

But that still doesn't stop me from having a heartbreaking sense of loss, defeat, and trepidation each time I walk into the back of the chapel and sit alone, uncertain of what the heck I'm doing there... feeling like a failure in the deepest, most visceral sense.

My life's mission is to marry and raise a family--no, not in some broad, sweeping gender stereotype sort of a way, but in a personal, Christa's-hopes-and-dreams sort of a way. It's all I've ever wanted, and getting booted from the singles ward because I've expired is really, truly the actualization of one of my greatest fears. I never wanted this to happen, just like I never expected to graduate from BYU single. And while that unexpected life path has brought countless blessings and such great happiness that I wouldn't have had it any other way... that still doesn't completely soothe the sting of feeling like I've failed to accomplish the One Big Thing I want in my life.

And... oh, the ridiculousness... I also recognize that with each passing year, I grow closer to the inevitable fulfillment of that dream, and it fills me with just as much trepidation as the lack of it does too!!! Talk about a Catch-22--I just can't win!

Couple those senses of loss and uncertainty with how the other Big Thing I wanted to happen didn't, and... I haven't felt so at a loss for understanding where I fit into this great, big world and what comes next in my story in a loooooooong time. And for a PLANNER, feeling totally lost and unsure of what's next is just about the scariest, loneliest feeling in the world!!!!

I do trust in God's timing and in His plans for my life--and, without a doubt, His plans always turn out to be a million times more amazing than anything I've dreamed or schemed for my own days.

But still... this hurts. A lot. And as much as I just want to savor every last second of my seven weeks in the singles ward, the fact that I know it's ending and soon just rips up my heart. I felt like I missed enough with yesterday's absence while in another state. How on earth will I handle stepping away when geographically I haven't budged?!

How do you handle life's great disappointments and unexpected twists? Goodness knows this problem pales in contrast to the life-or-death battles friends of mine are facing--and these kinds of disappointments are just part of life. I'm no different from anyone else. But even so, I'd love to hear how you cope!

Spring Awakening

"Does a snake mourns the skin it sheds as it grows? Or a butterfly—does it hesitate when breaking free from its chrysalis and flying onward and upward?"

These are the thoughts I find myself pondering tonight. Glorious as it may be, growth means departing from the familiar and moving into the unknown, trusting that great things are ahead but not really knowing what that means. And for someone who struggles to let go of the reins, venturing into the unknown world alone is about as terrifying and uncomfortable as it gets!

The end of 2012 dovetailed with a life chapter's closing, and while I charged headlong into the new year with big hopes and aspirations... life had other plans (including two months of bronchitis). Six weeks ago I finally stepped into some semblance of a normal life, and... it's been a start-and-stop process ever since, relearning to what it means... well... to be me. 

I guess when you break a bone and reset it, there's inevitably a period of physical therapy, right? The fracture has healed, and that old, pesky limp is FINALLY gone, but the atrophied muscles have to awaken and regain their strength, and it takes so much patience and perseverance to get back to running and kicking and swimming and dancing and all those good things. And none of those will feel or function quite how they did before, nor should they.

Well... I suppose my heart, mind, and spirit are in something akin to physical therapy.

It's weird, picking up the pieces and moving forward into life again after a year spent on hold—breaking down to the core, working through heartbreaks, treasuring every moment with my sweet grandmother, transitioning into a new phase of complete independence. I didn't realize just how dearly I needed the connection and purpose and belonging I felt in Grandma's last months... and now... it's just me again. No roommates. No place in a family unit. No debt. No emotional obligations. I've never been so wholly independent in every sense—which is both liberating and isolating. 

As much as I try to look at everything as an opportunity... it's not easy. Most of the time I feel kind of lost. Keeping busy keeps my mind off of things... but I don't have the desire to push as hard as I once could. Busy is not a badge I like to wear anymore. Slowing down is great... except when it reminds me that I'm alone. Keeping the "nobody loves you" gremlins at bay is a frequent battle. I know in my head that I'm dearly loved by many... but when my days come and go with little meaningful connection to others, it gets tough to really believe that in my heart.

New friendships have helped immensely—I've been adopted into a wonderful group that fits so well, and we do dinner twice a week plus play games on Sunday nights—but there again, it's a mixed blessing. New relationships require patience and effort and vulnerability—and goodness knows I feel vulnerable enough as it is just existing these days! I'm finally authentic and comfortable in my skin... but what it means to "be myself" is new, too. I'm not who I was a year ago (or six months ago, even). Just skimming my blogposts from as recent as December... man. That feels like ancient history. Even the focus on my "30 by 30" list—who was that girl?! So much of it seems silly and trivial now in the grand scheme of things. Familiar, good things are snapping back into place, like a desire to bake again Sunday for the first time in ages. But the deeper, emotional things are all new.

And it's funny, because when I get out of my own way and just LIVE, I do wonderfully. People tell me I'm amazing frequently... and I'm not trying for that feedback. I'm just being myself. But when I think about it, that's when I second-guess and wobble and fall—getting scared, wanting to run away and hide in my condo, where it's safe. And don't even get me started on dating!!! So many false starts lately that ultimately lack real traction and potential... but hope still prevails. It'll happen when it happens, and when it does, it'll be glorious.

Meanwhile... I just keep trekking along. Usually I like imparting of some overarching insight or wisdom when wrapping up a blogpost, but this time? I got nothing, kids. I'm making life up as I go! And, really, I guess that's the best insight of all, because that's reality. It's all we're asked to do—no more, no less.

But I will leave you with a couple gems I've found of late:

"You're going to become more tolerant with time, and not only because you have more to tolerate in yourself. Because life will batter you and you'll have a surer sense of what's important and has meaning and is good."—Peggy Noonan, 

Wall Street Journal

And...

Prop. 8, Four Years Later

We all knew this day would come.

Even as the votes were tallied and California voters opted to pass Proposition 8, defining marriage as between a man and a woman, those of us on the fight's frontlines knew it wasn't over. A sigh, perhaps, of temporary relief - we cleared one hurdle, won one battle. But we knew the fight wouldn't end until the case was ruled on by the Supreme Court.

And that time is now.

Prop. 8 is a tender subject for me. In many ways, being as involved hands on as I was really, truly changed my life for the better - but it wasn't about marriage, then or now.

For me, it was about integrity.

I believe in prophets. I believe in continuing revelation. I accept that while I may not see what lies ahead for us, and I may not understand what the consequences of varied courses of action may have, I do know that God has called men to be prophets, seers, and revelators. They are watchmen on the tower, and they receive guidance from God regarding how to act and advise for the best of God's children.

It's easy to follow the prophet when his requests aren't all that demanding. But what do you do when they truly test your soul and commitment and endurance?

As my hero Neal A. Maxwell put it, "Not shrinking is more important than surviving."

Well, I've never been one to shrink.

And so, while I know it's an unpopular stance, and while I know I may lose friends over this, I want to once again reaffirm that I support Proposition 8. There's a plethora of reasons I could give, supported and driven by hours upon hours of research I pored into the issue in 2008, but at the end of the day, it comes down to this: men who I sustain as prophets, seers, and revelators specifically asked my peers and myself via satellite broadcast in October 2008 to get involved in support of Proposition 8. I personally walked out of that fireside with strong, bold, clear direction about how specifically I was supposed to engage. My friend Heather and I hopped online immediately upon returning home and set up Preserving Marriage, springboarding from the LDS Church's website PreservingMarriage.org, as a group blog for several of our friends and ourselves to share insights and reasons for supporting traditional marriage. I spent hours of my evenings making phone calls; I spent Saturdays walking the streets of San Juan Capistrano to go door to door, explaining why the proposition made sense.

It wasn't easy. For one thing, some of my dearest, favorite, cherished friends are gay. I love them. I want them to be happy, and I know that they want marriage. I support them in their relationships. For another thing, getting involved in this made my friends and me targets of hatred and vitriol. Some even lost their livelihoods over it; goodness knows we all lost friends over the issue. Clearly "tolerance" only applies when you're arguing on one side of the issue. For those of us on the other side, no holds were barred in mocking, shaming, scorn, and insults.

But still, I knew that I aligned my actions with my belief in following the prophets, and regardless of what anyone else thinks on the matter, I know in my heart that I did what God asked. And I know that my life has been enriched immeasurably for acting with faith, integrity, and courage.

Meanwhile, I wish people could see the issue from my side of the line. It's not about hate or fear or homophobia or any negative emotion. It's about a firmly rooted belief in God and trust in His word. He is not a fickle God, and what He declares, He does for a reason. Yes, I understand that that line of reasoning doesn't hold up in today's forum of ideas -- in fact, the irreligious would argue it isn't "reasoning" in the first place. I don't care. I believe that respect is a two-way street. I would never shun or shame someone for taking a stand because I understand and respect that they reached that conclusion from a life experience that differs from mine. I would hope others would permit me the same space and freedom.

And so, honestly, when it comes to the court ruling... I'm ambivalent. I will be shocked to see Prop. 8 upheld. I just plain don't think it will happen. But regardless of that, I am proud to have taken a stand when it wasn't easy or popular because I knew it was right according to the beliefs I profess. I don't expect others to understand, but I hope they will appreciate that integrity, and I hope they will understand it's possible to unfailingly love all of God's children, regardless of their actions and choices, while still toeing the line God has drawn.

Weakness in Strength

You know the old adage, "When I am weak, then am I strong"?

Well... I've learned this week that the opposite is true:

When I think I'm so strong I don't need others... then am I weak.

In general, I don't rank pride atop my list of struggles or weaknesses. I think I'm a fairly humble, meek, teachable person...

... until I need help. It doesn't matter what the help is, really, either. Help with painting my condo or moving or even hosting a party. Someone to take care of me when I'm so rundown and exhausted, I accidentally starve myself for a week and go into diabetic shock. (Yep, that happened.) A hug and shoulder on which to cry while mourning my grandmother's death. Asking for the help I need is almost impossible. Somehow I think I should be able to do everything on my own, and if not, I'm failing.

That, my friends, is its own form of pride. And the last year - especially the last week - has compelled me to humility on that front.

I just like to tread lightly, I tell myself. Other people are busy enough. I don't want to make demands on their time and emotions. We're not close enough of friends that I can crumble in front of them. No one likes an emotional mess, right?

And, worst of all, I don't know how to be anything but strong. Even when I'm not, and when being strong is the last thing in the world I want to be.

So I'll admit it. Losing my grandmother is absolutely devastating. And while I genuinely felt so much support and comfort that first day, I also was at a total loss of how to react, and almost a week later, I'm still totally lost. There's no instruction manual for losing your sole earthly source of unconditional strength and support. I've been emotionally self-sufficient since the bottom fell out on my family when I was 13 and didn't have anyone to lean on - except for my grandmothers. Over the years I've built a phenomenal support system of friends, but my grandmothers had been there my whole life, and I felt like I could claim and expect their support. When Gram died a decade ago, I just rolled that closeness and emotional connection over to Grandma Doris. Without her, I feel so lost. Who do I have now? Add to that an additional 10 years with Grandma Doris in which we made that transition to an adult friendship filled with so many fun moments and important common bonds like temple attendance, and... wow. I still can't quite let myself "go there" and feel the shock because I worry I won't be able to pull out of the grief, especially with the full plate in front of me from now until after the funeral. And there's no one who I feel like I can ask to hold my hand through that journey, either, even as I'm getting more offers for help than I know what to do with. My family is soooooo "suck it up and deal" that I can't recognize when I need to stop going it alone - a not-so-good trait I inherited from Grandma. It is incredibly difficult for me to let go and let others take care of me, even when that's what I want and need.

I keep thinking about when I climbed Mt. Washburn this summer, something I proudly did alone. A few groups of fellow hikers invited me to join them along the trail, and while I did chat with them briefly, I always changed my pace to get back to doing my own thing. It was something I'd been wanting to conquer for decades, and I just felt like I needed to do it solo. But was I truly without help? Nope. California girl that I am forgot to bring a jacket, and mountains get cold, so Grandma sent me off with her windbreaker. And I'd forgotten my sunglasses at the office before heading to Yellowstone for the weekend, but my friend had forgotten his shades in my car a couple weeks earlier, so it was his sunglasses shielding my eyes. And that was actually a total blessing, because his were far better geared for athletic feats than my cheapy wayfarers. Most importantly, at the summit I discovered that the hikers before and after me all saw bears along the trail. Plural. I didn't see a single one, although I did notice their tracks on my way back down. Later I learned that Mt. Washburn is the one hike in Yellowstone notorious for bears... and I sure didn't have bear spray. But I had a Heavenly Father watching my back, even as I stubbornly tried to climb alone.

Well... lesson learned. Even though she's gone, Grandma is the voice in my head, and her love fills my heart. She can't give me her windbreaker when I forget my own anymore, but I can draw from her love forever. And there will always be friends there to lend their proverbial sunglasses to help me if I'm willing to take them up on it. The sunglasses wouldn't have helped unless I put them on my face, and my friends can't help me unless I let them in and take them up on their offerings of support. And again, most importantly, I have a loving Heavenly Father to protect me from dangers both seen and unseen. He wouldn't leave me without the resources needed to succeed and thrive in life. Here's to the next stage of life's climb: learning to lean on the love in my life and climb with the amazing company that surrounds me.

A Word on My Single Status

Friends, I feel like every time I say anything remotely related to dating or along the veins of saying that I'd like to be married, I need to give a disclaimer.

So I'm going to give this disclaimer once. Please listen and take note - and I'm sure your other single friends would concur.

Ready?

When your response to anyone's commentary on their own singleness is something along the lines of a platitude or patronizing remark about how "It'll happen at the right time..." or "Just have faith..." or "Aren't you so glad you can traipse around New York City while I'm at home potty-training an unruly toddler?!"

Please... and I say this with the most love in my heart possible...

Save your breath.

There.

I said it.

After 12 1/2 years of being in the marriage-obsessed LDS singles scene, believe you me, I've heard it all. I understand and appreciate that the comments and compliments are meant to lighten my load, but honestly, they don't.

Because I know undoubtedly that God is preparing an amazing, righteous, wonderful man for me. I know that he will be worth every bad date endured, every tear shed, every hope dashed painfully to pieces. The caliber of men I've dated in the last couple of years, coupled with the phenomenal guy friends in my life, assure me that there are still plenty of keepers out there. I don't opt into the "all the good ones are taken" philosophy. Mine's out there, and he'll come when he and I are both ready for it. Period. End of story. And I wouldn't have him come along a moment sooner.

Because if I'd wanted just to be married by now, I would be. I've had offers, guys. And I mean that pretty seriously, even if the relationships didn't have labels affixed. There's one in particular who would marry me this minute, and boy, I would be the most cherished, lucky lady in the world... except for that whole temple marriage thing. I can't budge there. Some things you just plain don't settle on.

Because when I say I could really use a husband right now to hold my hand as I face the passing of my grandmother, I don't mean it as an invitation for platitudes. You mean well. I get it. I appreciate it. But I'm not complaining. I'm just acknowledging reality. There is a difference. I want someone who will hold me as I cry. I need that now more than I ever have in my 30 years. There's not a person on whom I can call for that right now (well, in the same state as me, at least), and that stings. I'm tired of being strong and feeling like I have to do it all myself. I want someone who is mine forever and always, from whom I can claim protection, companionship, comfort, support, etc. and who I can, in return, love with all of my heart, who I can nurture and cherish, with whom I can just plain enjoy how fun and wonderful life can be. Even awful situations like a midnight ER run can be an adventure with the right company, as my best friend and I learned last weekend. Yes, I have amazing friends who are here for me. And I don't discount that. But they have lives - busy lives and families of their own. And due to how I was raised, my default assumption is that I'm bothering people if I ask anything of them. I've had a lifetime of self-sufficiency. I want someone to whom my life materially matters, and vice versa.

Because life is supposed to be a team sport. Remember that whole Adam-Eve thing about it not being good for man to be alone? It's right there at the start of the Bible for a reason - it's the most essential, basic part of this earth-life experience.

Because I am really, truly, blissfully happy with my life right now. It is amazing. I'm done waiting to let myself fully enjoy and embrace my happiness with life as it is right now. No more asterisks. No more "Everything's great... except I just need a good man." So please refrain from discounting my happiness and putting conditions on it for me, okay? My post about how blissful and perfect my Thanksgiving was this year elicited a comment about how "all it was missing was a good man, and that will come!" Gag. Me. I know she meant well, but... she really didn't need to remind me what I'm missing and then top it with trite words of "comfort." I'm not postponing my happiness. Please don't do it for me, either.

Because it'll happen when it's right, and really, honestly, from the bottom of my heart, I am not worried about it. Do you have any concept of the energy I've expended in the last decade-plus, worrying about dating and crushes and trying to read between lines and decipher what's going on in the minds of the objects of my affection?! Can you imagine the amazing things I could have accomplished by channeling that into something productive?! Yeah. I don't want to regret wasted time and energy anymore, either. And after the last year, I'm out of extra emotional energy for the wasting anyway.

And, most of all, because I'm not going to pretend the lack's not there anymore than I'll let myself be defined by it. It is what it is, just as much as I can't control my height (but I can improve my posture) or my grey hair (but I can dye it). I'll make the absolute most out of my current single status, but acknowledging reality is neither a whining complaint nor a cry for complimentary platitudes. I know why I haven't gotten married yet - I've needed this time to grow and learn. I am an amazing woman now, far better than I was a year ago, and I am sooooo glad I didn't meet Mr. Right a moment sooner.

Please join me in embracing the awesomeness of what's there and letting go of what we can't control. And thank you, as always, for your love and good intentions. I appreciate it.

Growing Up

"I could really use a manual for adulthood right about now!" I thought exasperatedly, unsure of what I "should" be doing. What do you do when the call to say final goodbyes to Grandma comes while you're en route to a dress rehearsal for tomorrow's big Christmas concert?

Well, if you're me, you go to rehearsal and then pull the all-night bedside vigil. So here I sit, kids, listening to cheesy Christmas music while Grandma sleeps, unaware I'm in the room. My fingers are always so cold in the winter, I don't dare even touch her, lest she wake.

But I sit. I wait. I think and wonder what lies ahead. How exactly are you supposed to handle losing the person you love most in the whole wide world? The one constant in your 30 years, the one sure source of unconditional love (tough and no-nonsense as she is)? My grandmother has become one of my best friends, and the reality that she won't be here much longer is something my mind and heart can't quite grasp.

She'll never get to hear how Thursday's date goes. I'll never play Scrabble or Yahtzee with her again, or eat waffles slathered in peanut butter and syrup with her while sitting at the cabin's dining room table, watching the early morning fishermen on Henry's Lake. We'll never attend a temple session together again, each nudging the other awake. But the never-evers are almost worse to consider. She'll miss my wedding. My children will never get to meet her, nor will my future husband. Would she think he's good enough for me? I'll never get to ask. What on earth will I do without her as an oracle of sage wisdom and advice on everything from family to career to dating to cooking to health? We have such different personalities, and yet, I am my grandmother's granddaughter.

She moves her head. I perk up, hoping she might wake so I can say hi, but she keeps snoring, and I keep waiting. And wondering. It's a helpless feeling, having absolutely no clue what to do but to sit. But sometimes, just sitting and being still are all you can do.

The Writings of the Author as a Young Woman

Actual home of my Jensen great-great-grandparents in Brigham City. It's supposed to be the house in the book, but... let's just say I took liberties with when it was built.

When I was 13, I lived in Utah during its centennial. One of our class projects for my fabulous English/history class was to write a story about Utah history (preferably about our own ancestors). While unpacking boxes in my office tonight, I found my book and thought it'd be fun to transcribe the text. Kind of a fun stroll down memory lane. The fact that the book is dedicated to my grandma, who is one of my favorite folks in the world and who won't be here much longer, makes it all the more tender. 

The story's not perfect by any means -- the ending is pretty rushed, the likely result of perpetual Christa procrastination, and the development needs work -- but it's not half bad! Makes me wonder what I could've accomplished if I'd pursued writing more. "But Christa," you say, "you are a writer. Professionally. For a decade now, hon." To which I say... sure... but... as a trade. Not for creativity's sake. We've discussed this before. There's a difference. Still... time to finally write that book, methinks.

To let you in on a little running gag... my grandmother is descended from two lines of Jensens. So the guy that Emma's family keeps trying to push at her is actually another one of my ancestors, too, just on the other side. 

Also, fun fact: researching this book was the first time I ever went on the interwebs!!! I distinctly remember the librarian taking me to a small computer lab and showing me this newfangled World Wide Web circa 1996. In fact, I still remember how the webpage about the Brigham City Co-op looked!

And now, without further adieu... in unedited, 13-year-old Christa prose...

Emma

by Christa Jeanne [Last Name]

I dedicate this book to my wonderful grandmother, Doris Elaine Jensen [Last Name], who helped me so much with ideas and took me on a historical tour for illustrations. Thanks for the fun day!

*   *   *

"Emma! Eh-maah!" The exasperated cry rang throughout the newly built brick house. "Emma Lovisa Jensen, come here right now!"

The wedding bells that were ringing in Emma's mind quickly faded as her daydream stopped soddenly. "Coming, Mother," she replied. An embroidery needle pricked her index finger as she hastily set the white handkerchief down. "Ow!" Emma cried out in pain as she hurried to get a bandage of some sort. She wrapped a strip of tan linen around the bleeding fingertip. "Yes, mama?"

"Emma," Valana Jensen asked her daughter, "would you please go to the general store and buy a pound of sugar?" As soon as Em's mouth opened in protest, Lana hurried on. "We're having company for tea. Elder Snow and Sister Snow will be here, so I was planning to fix kringle, but there is no more sugar. Ask that Isaac Jensen to carry them home for you. He is so nice," she barely finished. Emma rolled her eyes. Lana just handed her daughter a dollar bill. "Oh, Em, could you pick up a newspaper? Your father wants to see who the new President is. Good ol' U.S. Grant was running." Sighing, she entered the kitchen. The smell of sweet cake dough and chopped nuts filled the air. "Emma just isn't interested in getting married like Belana, is she, Abby?" she asked the golden retriever. Abby just wagged her golden-gray tail sympathetically.

*   *   *

Emma sighed as she bought the pound of sugar. Why didn't Mother think that she couldn't find someone to marry. Besides, she was only sixteen and Brigham City was full of guys. Anyway, everyone knew that Isaac liked Lenora Hansen. Just because Belana was getting married didn't mean that Emma was ready to get married. She paid for the sugar and left the store. Oh, well. Emma began humming the wedding march as she exited. If only she could find the right guy --

"Ugh!" Emma pushed her reddish-brown hair out of her face and looked up from the pavement. The sugar was safe and sound in its bag. Next tot he bad was one hand. Emma followed the arm that was connected to the hand.

Another hand was extended to her. She took the hand and rose. Rising, Emma, followed the hand to an arm and then to a face. A handsome face. 

"I'm sorry," the person said apologetically. "My name is Brigham. Brigham Andersen."

"Hello. I am Emma Jensen," she said softly. Her heart fluttered.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jensen," Brigham said politely. He picked up the bag of sugar and walked, following Emma's lead. She walked up the street, blushing. Her blue eyes met his. She was so busy watching Brigham instead of the street that she walked straight into Aunt Mary Maria, affectionately known as Aunt Ryer.

"Hello, I mean, good morning, Aunt Mary Maria," Emma said timidly.

"You needn't be so formal, Emma. We are not at a formal affair, are we?" Aunt Ryer said crisply. "Should not you be hurrying along. Elder and Sister Snow are joining us for tea. So is Brother M.C. Jensen. I hear that he has a fine son, Isaac." Emma laughed, in spite of herself. Aunt Ryer left as they approached Emma's house. Brigham stepped inside at Emma's invitation. His curly brown hair was tangled from the breeze outside.

"May I call on you tomorrow?" he asked.

"Umm, uh, sure," Emma dreamily whispered. His brown eyes twinkled as he left. She went back inside and ran to her room to change for tea. As Emma raced up the stairs, she nearly tripped over Abby. She just looked up at Emma. Emma smiled, scratched behind Abby's ear, and went to Belana's room. Belana was sitting on her bed, monogramming her trousseau. Her brown curls fell down her back. "Bel," asked Emma, "can I borrow your midnight blue satin?"

"Mm-hmm," Belana answered dreamily. Emma was amazed. Bel never let anyone touch that dress. Emma just grabbed the dress and hurried before Bel could change her mind. After she changed, she pulled up her hair and sighed. Brigham was so sweet, but did he like her? Maybe. If only they could go to some sort of a--

"An ice cream social!" exclaimed Elder Snow. Lorenzo Snow was a short man with wire-framed glasses that always slipped down his nose. "That's a magnificent idea, Brother Jensen. What do you think, M.C.?" he asked. One wiry white hair stuck straight up from his head. When they saw Emma, the men were very secretive about the social. Hmmm, thought Emma. A social! That's just the thing. But how to get him to ask? That was the question. Emma hurried to help her mother in the kitchen. The traditional Danish kringle was finished. The house smelled of cinnamon and spice. Emma cut the kringle and dished it up. As she served it to her brothers and sisters, she laughed. Her brothers were dressed in their Sunday clothes, which they all despised. The eldest brother, Thomas, who was twelve, had his unruly black hair slicked back. Little Andrew, who was only two, had his messy blond hair parted down the middle. He beamed angelically. Little Hiram Jr. was wearing shoes that were two sizes  too big, but no one would notice. It was hilarious!

After tea, six of the nine children ran outside to play with Aunt Ryer in hot pursuit. The men went into the study to discuss plans for "a secret." Mother, Belana, and Susanna, the fourteen-year-old, went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Emma went outside to the porch and sat on the porchswing that Father had built with Thomas the summer before. The sunset lit up the sky and set clouds on fire. Emma just sat there and smiled. It was wonderful. It reminded her of Brigham.

*   *   *

Emma took her hair out from the curlers that Belana had put in her hair. She was just barely finished when Abby ran into the room and tugged at Emma's dress. A wave of fear washed over her. "What's wrong, girl?" she gently asked. Abby dragged her downstairs to the kitchen. Mother was just lying there, lifeless. Emma screamed a blood-curdling scream. "Belana! Aunt Ryer! Susie! Somebody, HELP!!"

Emma ran down the street, hair flying, as she ran to Doc Marten's house and pounded on the door. When the doctor answered, she grabbed his arm and ran back home. She led Doc to her mother's body. Little Andrew was crying with Lena, the four-year-old. Doc just sat there, trying to figure out what had happened.

Doc Marten said that she had had a stroke. That now Mama's left side would be partially paralyzed. She could walk, with a cane. Doc said that we were lucky she wasn't badly hurt. Lucky, huh. "I don't think we're all that lucky," grumbled William, the six-year-old.

"Me too," whined Hannah, the eight-year-old. Emma just sighed. Now what, she wondered. Mama was okay, but she couldn't go to the social now. Not with mother in the bad shape she was in. Belana had gone to the social with George. How shallow. What a lack of emotion! Brigham would be here any --

Knock, knock! Now Brig was here. What should she tell him? She opened the door. There was Brigham, holding a dozen daisies. "Well, Cinderella, shall we go to the ball?" he asked. She looked down and blushed. Her feet were bare and she was wearing an old gray wool dress.

"Um, Brigham, I can't go." He looked crestfallen. The daisies hung limply from his hand. My mother had a stroke and so I really need to stay with her." Emma lightly put a hand on his arm. "Maybe we can go to see the joining of the rails. It's in two weeks. I'm sorry."

Brigham looked up and forced a disappointed smile. "That's okay," he said as he handed Emma the flowers. "I'm sorry too."

*   *   *

"Wow," Hiram Jr. cried excitedly as the golden spike was tapped into the laurelwood tie. Brigham and Emma just smiled at each other. Now Mother knew that Emma wanted to get married. Father hugged Mother as she hobbled forward on her cane. Emma smiled. Things can turn out well, with a little sugar.

About the Author

Christa Jeanne [Last Name] was born on 30 August 1982, in La Crescenta, California. She grew up in Glendale and La Crescenta, both in California. At age 13, she moved. She currently lives in Provo, Utah, with her father, step-mother, 15-year-old brother, and three cats: Anita, Maria, and Angus. Christa is a bookworm and an avid photographer. She loves cats, dogs, and the Beatles. She hopes to write another book soon.

Defining Moments

Earlier today, I read this article about how a simple choice to head down a floor made the difference between being a victim or survivor to the World Trade Center tragedy. A quote in the piece is particularly chilling:

"Seemingly insignificant decisions a person made that day determined whether they lived or died. It's still something that's a bit hard to fully come to terms with."

This made me think of my own life. What split-second decisions have made a huge, life-shifting impact? Certainly nothing's been life or death, but there have been majorly disruptive moments, and it's funny to see the ripple effect these words and actions can have. Misjudging the distance between my moving van and the carport by a matter of inches cost me $300+ to repair, for instance - and the damage hit in a second. Boggles the mind.

Back in the spring, the wonderful guy I was dating felt the need to take a step back. His reasons were legitimate and, really, had little/nothing to do with me - but, being inexperienced and insecure, I let my tongue get away from me. In one sentence, I swiftly destroyed the immense potential that was there. In the moment, I didn't realize how huge a deal it was. It wasn't until I saw friends' reactions when I told them what had happened to the relationship - "You... actually said that to him?!" - that the reality of my mistake sunk in. It's haunted me daily ever since - this Sondheim piece aptly sums it up (and the plot of the show from which it originates actually examines the whole idea of defining moments, too):



You know what I love, though? My story isn't over yet. It's still in the process of being written. I don't know how it will end, ultimately, and regardless the outcome, things do work out, even if we fumble and misstep in the moment. I've seen so many split-second mistakes ultimately result in happily ever after. Not without tears and heartbreak and time, of course - but, in the end, things work out. They always, always do.

Sometimes the missteps are a matter of life or death. A moment's misjudgment behind the wheel killed a close friend and her father several years ago, drastically affecting many, many lives in an instant. I watched from a close observation point as her fiance and family grieved and dealt with the aftermath - but, eventually, they were able to move on. Her mother is happily remarried; her fiance is happily married to an amazing, dear friend of mine, and they have beautiful babies. Life goes on, and the broken pieces fall into place.

Earlier this year I had the blessing of attending a close friend's wedding, and it hit me during the ceremony that I was there because of a broken toe. Don't believe me?

Well, in 8th grade, while living in Utah with my dad, I broke my toe by tripping over home base and falling while playing kickball in my drama class. (Birkenstocks are not an ideal choice of kickball footwear, FYI.) Because of the injury, I left my bike at school - and when we came to pick it up that night, the back tire had been stolen. My dad was not a happy camper, to say the least, and he felt an appropriate punishment for my thoughtlessness was having to miss out on the 8th grade promotion dance. I, in turn, felt this was a gross injustice. After all, it wasn't like I got rid of the tire maliciously. Long story short, a HUGE fight ensued that ended with 13-year-old me shouting "Fine, I want to go live with Mom!" My dad handed me the phone with a warning that if I called her, that was that: one-way ticket back to California, end of story. My mother was one to make threats she didn't back up, and my father wanted to teach me that words carry weight. (Apparently I still need to learn that lesson... but... yeah.)

Although that choice had heart-wrenching consequences, it also led me to the women who are among my closest friends in the world today. Those friendships sustained me through high school, college, and into the present - particularly with those who live in Utah along with me, including the aforementioned bride. And, really, I wouldn't trade the strength or wisdom acquired through the hardship at home for the world. That experience has made me who I am today.

The "what if" moments in life may be haunting - they certainly give gravity to every moment in life - and at the same time, they're not the be-all and end-all. They act as the imperfect cracks that let God's grace shine through. He can bring light and joy into the messes we cause. Sometimes, as the song notes, there really is "hell to pay," but that price can be worth the wisdom and humility earned. We just have to maintain the perspective that, as Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught, "The cavity which suffering carves into our souls will one day also be the receptacle of joy." Oh, how sweet that joy will be when we embrace it and let go of the struggle faced in the split-second missteps.

It's in the Stars

So... confession: I totally buy into astrology where it describes personality traits, largely because I fit my own so ridiculously perfectly. It's intriguing, and I always enjoy reading up on descriptions for friends, family, and - let's be honest - romantic prospects. It's all in the stars, I know.

Don't believe me? Here's what an August 30th baby's supposed to be, according to TLC - think it fits the bill?

Virgos born on August 30 have an overwhelming urge to express their individual identities. They have a great love of learning, travel, and the written word. They are known for their discriminating good taste and good looks and always appear well dressed in public. Although August 30 people seem calm, they're actually high-strung and excitable.

Friends and Lovers

People born on this date are sincere friends. They're extremely fun-loving and enjoy a vibrant social life. They are natural romantics who often fall in love with love. The tumult that characterizes their relationships is usually of a positive nature.

Children and Family

August 30 natives are often the beneficiaries of a fortunate upbringing. They are dearly loved by family. As parents, they are good at encouraging their little ones to express themselves as creatures who exist apart from their parents. This liberal approach brings children and parents together.

Health

People born on August 30 are not overly concerned with health and exercise. They have a great interest in food and make excellent cooks and nutritionists but are not averse to eating junk food. Though Virgo natives tend to be slim, August 30 people have a tendency to put on weight. They may favor competitive sports.

Career and Finances

People born on this date have a broad view of their world. They like to express their expansive personality through work. Because they think big, they have a tendency to spend big. Fortunately, they have a talent for financial management.

Dreams and Goals

August 30 natives have a positive attitude about life; setbacks and delays don't worry them. They are self-confident and can envision their success before it happens. They want to accomplish great things but also want to live well and in a worldly manner.

 Yup. Me to a tee!

PS: Ohmigosh, I'm 30!!! How did that happen?!? I really need to do a "30 by 30" recap, but with moving, celebrating, singing in choir, being busy at work, traveling, etc., it might be a little late. Ah, well... par for course in my world. 

Family History... I Am Doing It!

Guess who missed out on her Friday night social plans because she got distracted by family history?

Yup. Nerd and a half, right? Next I'll be rescuing cats from a shelter and knitting. Oh my.

Anyways... This year my stake has a challenge for each ward member to find a direct relative for whom they can perform all the vicarious ordinances in the temple... which presents a particular challenge for me, the sole Latter-day Saint on my mom's side of the family. I've got an entire side's work to do -- but I've already helped out with the proverbial "low-hanging fruit" and haven't done more because it's daunting. All four of my mom's grandparents immigrated to the U.S., and details about their families beyond them are fuzzy. I did all the work I could a year after my grandma passed away (so, 2003) and then started into family history again a couple of years ago -- remember when FamilySearch offered to find me a husband? -- but didn't really get too far. It's time to get acting on the information I gathered then and take it to the next level, getting these great and powerful sealing ordinances done.

I feel so lost, though! I have a handful of names -- my mom's half-brother who died before my grandparents met, my grandmother's two sisters who died young and need to be sealed to their parents, various great-aunts and great-uncles, and even my great-grandma Rosie from Bohemia -- but I haven't a clue where to go from there, how to search out their data, match it out, and move on to the next generation.

Any other fledgling genealogists out there? I'm thinking a field trip to the Family History Library in downtown Salt Lake is in order soon, if anyone wants to come with.

{PS: I just had the sweetest experience! While clicking through my mom's mom's line, I gasped -- a new name was in the mix, and it was one of the ones on my list!!! Eric Bolton, aka "Uncle Eric," my dear Grandma Jean's uncle about whom I'd heard for years. Totally just snatched up his name to do the work for... and tears started falling. I'm such a baby! But there is something so awesome about getting to do this work for my ancestors who can't do it for themselves, and I'd rather have that privilege than having it fall to some random person. It feels like any time I pay this some attention, names just come out of the woodwork. Anyways. Too fun, had to share!}

Celestial Sight

"With celestial sight, trials impossible to change become possible to endure." -- Neal A. Maxwell

As long as I live, I'll never forget the awe and wonder that accompanied my first pair of glasses. I must have spent hours staring out the window from my bed, repeatedly lowering and then raising the frames, marveling at the definition of the leaves and twigs that I'd been missing for years. That I needed glasses was no surprise -- I noticed my eyesight declining in middle school -- but until I had those corrective lenses over my 14-year-old eyes, I had no real idea of precisely what I'd been missing.

That memory struck me once again tonight as I thought again of the parable of the glasses.

That first pair of glasses we get is similar to baptism, an introductory ordinance that grants us lasting clear vision for the first time. Maintaining that clarity isn't a one-time event, though. It's only with those corrective lenses (the Holy Ghost) that we're able to see clearly day in and day out. We must step aside and, with help from a qualified professional, reassess our vision periodically to make sure we're still seeing 20/20 -- and to take any corrective action necessary for our very individualized vision needs. (Thank you, repentance!)

Thanks to countless hours spent staring at a computer screen or smartphone, my vision seems to be worsening by -0.25 each year. The lenses I replaced just over a year ago aren't sharp anymore. They're good enough for me to survive, but I could use new ones again. What worked not that long ago won't do now. Such is life, right? We're progressing or regressing -- what was enough in the past will fail to be enough in the future.

Kind of a fun analogy, right?

Well, as I was pondering this upon leaving the temple tonight (bespectacled, of course), I was struck by how important it is to have celestial sight, with that great Neal A. Maxwell quote coming to mind. To truly see clearly, we must see with more than our eyes. There is so much more depth and potential beyond what we see around us -- in every person and situation that crosses our paths.

Lately I have been all kinds of myopic, and as a result, I've not seen the forest for the trees. I was so ready to flee my Utah life at a moment's notice for greener pastures back East -- until I had an amazing work week followed by a wonderful weekend, and I remembered again just how great I've got it here.

But beyond that, I've spent time pondering and praying about whether New York City is right for me, whether I have God's green light to chase after that dream. I got a no. Actually, I got an "okay... if you're sure that's what you really want..." followed by obvious reasons to stay. I'm not going anywhere, at least not for now, even if corporate does make an interview offer.

And while that definitely led me to shed some tears, and while it breaks my heart a little to not chase that dream (at least for now), I know that God has a plan for my life, as He does for each of us. I've seen evidence of it too clearly and undeniably in the past to doubt it now. Any future He has in store for me will be far grander than what I could choose for myself -- taking me to adventures higher than the Chrysler Building or the Empire State Building, more sparkling than any Tiffany's jewel, and more fun than even the Big piano at F.A.O. Schwarz. (Which, by the way, is ridiculously fun.) Knowing that this is where I need to be, I can work within the parameters of my obstacles and make the best of them (which, all things considered, are not all that bad!). It helps to see that bigger picture, to remember that there is wisdom behind everything. I've always been led to exactly where I needed to be, and it's been amazing. God hasn't failed me yet, nor will He in the future.

Also, how grateful I am for the temple, which expands our visions on an eternal scale. It's such a blessing and privilege to run less than 10 minutes up the road and be reminded of my eternal mission, to catch a glimpse of the family's eternal nature and of our potential to return to God's presence someday. I love how the temple anchors me to eternity and turns my heart and mind to more important matters -- reaching out to serve my family on both sides of the veil, preparing for that future family of my own, trusting in the promises and impressions I've received. What a rich gift it is to peer through heavenly eyes while making this mortal journey!

My Love-Hate for the Holidays

I have such an intense love-hate relationship with the holiday season. On the one hand, I absolutely ADORE the holidays. They really are magical!!! It's so fun to get into the season and enjoy the camaraderie and celebration and giving that happens during this time of year. Shopping and wrapping presents, baking up a storm, decorating - LOVE it all. My favorite thing all year is throwing an annual party for my friends. In California, I did a "cookie party" each year. Since being roommates with Christina, we've broadened the scope to an amazing, full-blown Christmas party, complete with lots of food, games, and even a service project. Planning that thing is my favorite part of the year!!! Chris and I started discussing it back in October, I think, and it's going to be all kinds of awesome. That party really is what makes Christmas special for me! It's so fun to throw my whole heart into creating something special for my friends.

But at the same time, the holidays just magnify the aloneness I feel where family is concerned. While I have relatives aplenty who I love, including two sets of parents and two wonderful siblings, I don't feel like a part of a "family." I haven't been included in a family unit since childhood, really. Even as a teen, I was a free agent, arranging who I spent holidays with on my own. It is what it is, and I can't do anything to change it, but that doesn't take away the sting that comes each year around this time. So many people are so sweet and kind and welcoming, inviting me into their celebrations so I'm not alone, but honestly, that makes it harder! It stings to see the joy and sense of belonging that come in those familial bonds - joy and security I lack. Holidays with my family are too painful, and so staying on my own has become the lesser of two evils.

It's the better choice for me at this point in my life, and it is a conscious choice - but that doesn't mean it is ideal, either. Frankly, it kinda ticks me off, because there really isn't a good choice. All I want is my own family - a loving husband, fun in-laws, my own children, my own home. I want people to spoil rotten and to receive all this love I want to lavish, but for which I lack an outlet. It isn't even like I have nieces and nephews to spoil, y'know? Families can be so beautiful and wonderful, and I can't wait to create that someday. For now, I'll just keep on keeping on - and sincerely hoping that this is the last year I have to do it alone.

(Thanks for letting me vent, friends. Sometimes I just need a hug, and there's no one to ask for one, so the digital listening ear is much appreciated.)

Thankful No. 2: My Sister

When I was little, all I wanted was a sister. All I had in the way of siblings was my older brother, and we fought like cats and dogs - but I was always so, so sure that if I had a sister, things would be different.

When I was 14, I got my wish. Her name is Tessa.

My darling little sister is so awesome. We've been really close ever since she was teeny. I'll never forget the first time I held her in my arms. She was a few months old by the time I got to meet her, and I remember being so filled with love for this little person. In high school I stayed at my dad's on the weekends pretty often, and I always got sooooo excited to see Tessa - to play with her, to see what new things she'd learned. And the feeling was mutual! Her whole little body would get so tense with excitement, it was so cute! I loved every minute of being an older sister, getting to dote on her and teach her new things.

Well, now Miss Tessa is 14, and she doesn't need me to take care of her like I would during those babysitting weekends. Still, some things never change. Whenever I go home to California, I still get so thrilled to see Tessa, to see how she's changed as she grows up, to hear about her latest archery accomplishments (oh yes - she's a competitive archer with a whole slew of medals and wins in her proverbial quiver!). She's becoming such an awesome young woman, and I thoroughly enjoy spending time with her, having fun on our "sister dates." Doting on Tessa still comes so easily - she's my favorite family member to shop for, and I always see fun things that make me think of her. 

Most of all, I still love teaching her things, sharing with her what I've learned from experience, from hair-styling tips (since she inherited the same crazy curls from our dad) to dating advice to being confident and happy. Not sure how much of it sticks, but knowing I need to be an example to her has helped me become a better woman. How grateful I am for my darling little sister, and I look forward to many more adventures as she moves into adulthood in just a few short years!

My "Joseph" Family

Photos courtesy Taylored View Photography

"Yeah, well, I’ve got a dream too - but it’s about singing and dancing and making people happy. That’s the kind of dream that gets better the more people you share it with. And, well, I’ve found a whole bunch of friends who have the same dream. And, well, it kind of makes us like a family.” - Kermit the Frog

When I was 16, our high school put on Bye, Bye, Birdie - and when I came home from the cast party after closing night, sobbing inconsolably, my mother freaked out and thought something tragic had happened to me. No... I was just so sad that the wondrous joy of the show had come to a close.

Bye, Bye, Birdie held the spot as my favorite show experience - until May, when we started rehearsals for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Right off the bat, it was clear that this was going to be a special show. The talent, the lack of egos, the warmth and affinity and respect everyone involved had for everyone else - it started off wonderfully, and its magic has only grown for the last three months.


Remember how I debated whether this was a good idea? Oh man. No doubt about it. This show has fed my heart and soul. I adore the people I've met and the fun I've had, singing and dancing and performing. Last night we went out as a cast, and I happily sat in the corner there at Wingers and observed. It warmed my heart, just being around these great people, watching how much we all enjoy one another's company. Our group has such a range of ages and backgrounds. Some folks joined the cast as replacements midway through rehearsals; some, like the "hairy Ishmaelites," came on board only in the final few weeks. Yet each person has been a huge component of the whole experience. Each personality has contributed to the fun, and each player brings his or her own strengths, whether it be phenomenal dancing or pulling hilarious faces that leave the audience giggling. And let's not overlook those who aren't on stage but who make the show pop with lighting, sets, costumes, music direction and choreography, and, of course, direction and vision. It's been a delight.

I love musical theater. Music, in and of itself, has a phenomenal ability to touch the heart and to convey emotions that words alone fail to reach. Music has always been an intrinsic part of my life - it was ever-present in our home growing up, and I've always had tunes playing more often than not. Combine that aural power with the visual storytelling of dance - also rife with emotional power - and then layer in lights, sets, costumes... and poof! You're transported to another world, if only for an hour or two, carried away in a story that runs a gamut of emotions. Whether it be Broadway tours of Wicked and Les Miserables or a local high school production of Thoroughly Modern Millie, musical theater brings more joy to my heart than just about anything - and that joy grows exponentially when I'm the one on stage, pouring my heart and soul into the story.

Throughout childhood, I said I'd do community theater someday - and I have. And I do. It makes me delightfully happy - so much so, in fact, that I'll continue dancing (taking ballet two days a week and tap two days a week) and singing (I'm resuming voice lessons with my college vocal coach in September). If I'm going to continue with it, I'm going to commit to it, work to refine and develop my abilities, and do it right.


Meanwhile, tonight we get a night off before launching into the final three performances of Joseph. I can't wait to get back on the stage with my Joseph family - and at the same time, I want to savor the experience and not have it end too quickly. Just the thought of it ending made me misty-eyed yesterday. It's been fun to watch in the Facebook feed as all of us castmembers have added each other, wanting to maintain a connection. The show might end, but the friendships won't.

It's so funny - my time living in Lehi wasn't the greatest, honestly. (More to do with circumstances than with the town itself - it's a wonderful community!) And while I enjoyed Singin' in the Rain, it wasn't my best experience, either. Not bad, but not great. The wonderful director of Singin' in the Rain came to the show last night, and seeing him got me thinking about all of this. I'd felt strongly that I needed to do that show, and yet it wasn't a phenomenal experience for a myriad of reasons.

However, it was because I lived in Lehi that I ended up doing Singin' - and through that, I met my dear friend Paige, the amazing assistant director for Joseph who talked me into auditioning. Those two things laid the groundwork for me to do this show - and if for nothing else, that makes those 10 months worth it, warts and all. I really admire, respect, and enjoy the folks I've met in the Lehi Arts Council, and if they'll have me, I look forward to doing many more shows with them in the years to come. Next summer they're doing Crazy for You, which is all Gershwin numbers (my fav composer!) - can't wait to dust off my tap shoes and get to work!

And in the meantime, if you're around Utah, come to Joseph!!! You won't regret it. Check out the great reviews we're getting - and come see what all the buzz is about. The play runs Thursday, Friday, and Saturday at 7 p.m. at Lehi High School. Hope to see you there!

The Emerald City

One of my favorite, favorite cities in the world is the Emerald City.

No, not this one...



... but this one:

Oh, Seattle. I love you so. Tonight I get to venture to my much-beloved city to visit my older brother - you know, the genius one who's a programmer for Microsoft? Yup. Pretty much awesome.

Looking forward to a weekend filled with family bonding and some Seattle awesomeness. One of my brother's hobbies is sailing, so that's on the agenda, along with a trip to the Seattle Art Museum (in all my trips, I've never been! Ridiculous, no?). And, of course Pike Place Market. How can any trip to Seattle be complete without stopping there?

And if I have my way... some shopping at H&M is in order. Holy crepe, I miss that place!!!

Love and Marriage

What a whirlwind weekend!

I'll give my full report on the wedding and funeral later this week, but everything went wonderfully! Don't Laura and Kirk look fabulous? I don't think I've been so full of joy for a long time, seeing my dear roommate marry a great guy, plus getting to spend time with family I haven't seen in a long time - including relatives I haven't seen since childhood.

It's funny how weddings and funerals - the happiest and saddest of events - have the power to pull families together. After this weekend I'm filled with such a renewed love for my crew, quirks and all.

(PS: that's my older brother in the black on the left, and then my dad and stepmom are the ones closest to the camera on the right... in case you wondered what my people look like. Tessa, my little sister, is halfway back on the left, between Rob and Katie, our cousins. Grandma is across the table from Tessa. The rest of the bunch are aunts, uncles and cousins - I could name them all, but that would take a while...)

Sad News

Hi, all!

I'm back from Arizona, having had a delightful trip (about which I'll busily blog in coming days).

But first - I just got the call this morning that my great-grandmother, Ruby Faye Fowler Woodall, passed away around 2 a.m. today. Grandma Ruby was such an AMAZING woman!!! We were really close when I was a little, little girl. She moved into the apartment complex where we lived (which my grandparents owned) when I was 4 or 5 - I can still remember watching from my bedroom window! - and I spent a ton of time with her until we moved from there when I was 6. She eventually moved back to her home state of Arkansas, flying out for Christmas every few years.

It's been about six or seven years now since I saw her, but thank goodness for phones! I took to calling her every few weeks during college, and we developed a tight bond. It's been harder the last few years as her hearing's gotten worse, and especially since a stroke more or less took her ability to speak last year.

Thankfully I got in one last conversation with her on Sunday - best excuse for ditching Sunday School ever! I'd been with friends my entire Arizona trip, so I slipped out, found a quiet spot and called. She can't speak too well, so it was mostly me filling her in on what's happening in my world. However, she did manage to grunt out something I understood as "birthday." That's right - she's 100 years old, on her deathbed, and still remembered my birthday! I felt so humbled. Grandma Ruby's body may have deteriorated over the years, but her mind was 100 percent sharp. It blows me away!

So, that's my latest update. I'll have to do more of a bio on her when I get home - what a neat lady with an extraordinary life! She was among those who trekked out West during the Great Depression, and she and my great-grandfather set up a successful camera business. I'll remember her most, though, for a heart full of Christian love and kindness.

And I will miss her dearly. When someone's 100, you figure death has to happen sooner or later, but that doesn't make it easy or fun. Grandma Ruby sent me the music to sing at her funeral several years ago - the thought of finally having to make use of it makes me want to cry!

P.S.: I don't want to sound too trivial, but - further evidence that my life is a sitcom: the memorial service is planned at the exact same time as my roommate's wedding (for which I'm a bridesmaid)! What are the chances!

Adventures in Yellowstone, Provo, and Beyond

So, when I left off blogging consistently, I was off to Utah and Idaho for a delightful little trip. What a blast it was!

Here are a few shots of some of my fav Utah spots:

The Provo Temple

 Rock Canyon Peak

Mount Timpanogos

The first leg of my trip put me in Provo, where I was blessed to stay at the Witt condo. And, lucky for me, Pam was in town! Pam is amazing. She's been like a second mom to me ever since her daughter, my close friend Sarah, passed away a year and a half ago. I love that whole family!!! They're just plain wonderful. Anyways, Pam was in town from Albuquerque, and I hadn't seen her since October, so it was a blast hanging around with the Witt fam for a few days.

And, of course, I got to spend some quality time with my own family. My wonderful grandma, Doris, had been in Provo, nursing her brother and sister in law. I saw her briefly in Provo and then reunited a few days later at her cabin in Island Park, Idaho.


I just have to gush for a moment here - my grandmother is such a truly incredible woman. She's set such a wonderful example for me and my family, setting a lot of firsts: first to graduate from college (she got a BS in nursing from the U of U in the early 1950s, when college wasn't exactly a must, and followed it with a successful nursing career), first woman in the fam to serve a mission (as far as I know, that is - she served in the Georgia Macon mission in the early 1990s, shortly after my grandpa's passing). She's a skilled golfer (who, I'm proud to say, once scored a hole in one at Aliso Creek!), a talented seamstress and quilter (who made ALL of my childhood dresses before switching to quilting - and she won the Fremont County Fair blue ribbon at that, to boot), a gifted cook and chocolatier... and one of the most giving, service-oriented women I've ever seen. She takes such good care of her siblings and her mother-in-law when their health requires, and she's always so willing to help with just about anything when there's a need. She's not your typical teddy-bear type of grandma - she's definitely more of the tough love variety - but her love is always there. I love her soooo much!!!

Anyhoo... so, Idaho. My timing worked out so perfectly - my good friend Stacy, from my college days, happened to be in Provo the same weekend, so instead of heading straight to her home in Idaho Falls, Stacers came with me (and provided the transportation) to my grandma's cabin, which is about 20 miles from Yellowstone National Park, for a few days.

Grandma's cabin is, hands down, my FAVORITE place in the world. It's more of a home and a refuge to me than anywhere else in the world. Every inch of that place is saturated with memories - and that's not an exaggeration! - from childhood rounds of "Life" or "ToeJam and Earl" with my cousins and brother in the loft, to a giddy phone call to my best friend after my first kiss, to a phone call a few years later with the first-kiss-giving fella as he told me about his first kiss with his now-wife.



Memories of childhood ice cream cones on the patio, of swimming in the mucky lake and peeling off the leeches (yeah, nasty, I know!), of lying on the cool grass and stargazing on a clear summer night while chatting on the phone with my then-squeeze. Walking into the cabin, inhaling its certain aroma - man, I felt like I was home, like I never wanted to leave!


But, alas, three days were all I had - and a snowy three days at that! That's right - snow. In June. Lame, huh?

Here's a shot of Stacy, working on our wonderful breakfast-for-dinner from our first night there:
Our first full day, Stace and I had a lazy morning and then headed into Yellowstone for about four hours, savoring the scenery despite the somewhat bleak weather. I had a field day playing around with my dad's camera, which he graciously loaned me for the trip (I had ordered the same one, but it didn't arrive 'til after I got home). Here's a smattering of my favorite shots:

Grandma arrived that night, and then Day Two of the trip, Stacy and I woke up to snow and rain! So much for the full Yellowstone day we'd planned. Instead we spent the majority of the day curled up in the basement, fire burning in the fireplace, while I devoured the Twilight series and she worked on homework (she's getting a master's from Idaho State). May I just say, those Twilight books are insanely addictive!!! I read the first three all the way through, plus all of Twilight and half of New Moon again during my 10-day trip. Granted, there was plenty of travel time for reading, but still - I couldn't put them down! I got Stace started in Twilight too.

Look at how choppy Henry's Lake got in the storm!


That night we braved the snow to grab dinner in West Yellowstone and see "Oklahoma!" at the Playmill Theatre, a darling little summerstock theater with a cast composed of mostly BYU and BYU-Idaho kids.

(And yes, I did chuck that at Stacy after she took the picture!)

The play was fabulous, as it always is. The Playmill is, again, one of my FAVORITE things in the WORLD!!! I mean, I've always been an arts-loving girl, but I think going to the Playmill as a child was my first exposure to live theater, and the Playmill Players were my heroes when I was little!

I still remember seeing "Brigadoon" there when I was 6 or so - the couple starring in the show, Roger and Heidi Merrill, eventually married (if they weren't already by then) and stayed involved in the Playmill through the years - now they run the theater and their college-aged daughter is in the shows! (And that means I'm old... but whatever). Now I'm older than the majority of the Playmill Players, but I still feel a glimmer of that hero-worship for them. (And yes, I did audition for the Playmill in college, which was a lifelong dream of mine. Sadly, I choked on my second song despite a brilliant intro number - but that was the summer I interned in Seattle, and I'm glad I didn't miss out on that life experience, so it all worked out...)

But I digress... Stacy went home early Wednesday morning, and I got to spend a day with my grandma, just the two of us, which was delightful. I stayed in my PJs until late afternoon as we played round after round of Scrabble. I finally showered and dressed just in time to go to dinner at Dolly and Andy's, my grandma's neighbors a few doors down, for dinner. I've known of Dolly forever, it seems, but this was the first time I remember spending much time with them. Joining us for dinner was Dirk, another longtime Island Park resident. Yep - me with four septugenarians/octogenarians. It was such a blast!!! Admittedly, I was worried I'd feel out of place, but I wasn't at all. I just listened to story after story, which was just plain awesome. I love spending time with people older than 30!!! It's great to be enriched by their wealth of life experience.

The next morning was my last in Idaho. Grandma was kind enough to drive me to the airport shuttle in Idaho Falls, which is about a two-hour drive from the cabin. I enjoyed the scenery the entire way - I'm such a city girl, so the rural beauty of the Idaho countryside is just amazing to me!




Grandma and I did a session in the Rexburg temple (which is lovely!)...


... and grabbed lunch, and then I was on a shuttle back to Salt Lake, where I rented a car and returned to the Witt condo in Provo. My second weekend there, I had it to myself and enjoyed the R&R. I actually spent a LOT of time during that second leg of the trip at Bill and Necia's place in Orem (Sarah's brother and sister-in-law who is pretty much the big sister I never had!).

Finally, the whole reason for the trip came on Friday night: a retirement dinner for Dr. Frank Fox and Dr. Clayne Pope, the founders of American Heritage, the oft-maligned BYU general ed course for which I TA'ed for three years. Dr. Fox is my academic idol!!! Not only did he found the class that was such an integral part of my college experience, but he also founded the American Studies Department and taught two of my all-time favorite classes (San Francisco and the American Imagination, and Pop Culture).

Organized by the current American Heritage course coordinator, the dinner in the brand-new Hinckley Alumni Building was for all American Heritage TAs and professors.

While wandering through the alumni building, I found a bunch of old BYU yearbooks - including one with my Aunt Janet's pic! Can you spot which one is her?



(Top row, in the middle - see a family resemblance?)

The dinner was soooo worth the trip!!! I'd worried that I wouldn't know anyone, but instead I gladly reunited with Jordan and Kiersten, a couple of fellow TAs from my AHtg days. We sat together, plus Kiersten's hubby (who she met when *gasp!* he was one of her students!) and a really nice husband, wife and daughter from Louisiana - he had been a TA during the course's first year ever. We had such fun conversation - I especially enjoyed catching up with Jordan after the dinner. I wish I'd gotten to know her better during college!

Here we are - Jordan's in the red, Kiersten's in the pink. Huh, we're kind of color coordinated, now that I think about it...

The official presentation was just powerful. I don't think there was a dry eye in the house as we watched some classic clips from Drs. Fox and Pope's lectures.


That class has had a profound effect on my life, from the subject matter influencing how I see the world to the TAs I met there becoming some of my dearest friends in college and beyond. It made me so proud to be among the elite group who call themselves American Heritage TAs! People may grumble and groan about American Heritage, but I can attest to the fact that it is truly divinely inspired.

My final full day in Utah was devoted to my La Crescenta girls - Rebecca, Tabitha and Haas, my BFFs since high school. Haas's birthday had been that week, so I thought it would be fun to surprise her - Rebecca and Tabitha helped me in the ruse by arranging for a girls' day out with Haas's hubby, Mike. The surprise totally worked!!! I hid behind as we got to the door and totally got the shocked reaction I was hoping for. :)

Haas has an annual pass to This is the Place Heritage Park, just up the hill from her Salt Lake apartment, so we headed up there first and enjoyed looking at the historical buildings from the pioneer days. Here are some of my favorite shots:

By the time we were done there, we were all starving - especially a very-pregnant Tabitha! - so we piled into Rebecca's Prius and winded our way up Emigration Canyon to Park City for lunch at El Chubasco, my fav Mexican restaurant up there. It was fun, going back there with them - we'd gone there on a group date 5 1/2 years earlier during the Sundance Film Festival (it was Tabitha's second date with her now-husband).

After lunch we hit the Park City outlets, where they shopped for kid clothes while I beefed up my professional wardrobe (which was a must, since I got rid of my PR clothes during Round 2 of the Register and therefore had nothing to wear to the job I'd start the next week!). Man oh man, do I ever looooove the Park City outlets! Unfortunately, we had to head home before I could really sink my teeth into the Ann Taylor outlet (although I'm sure it was better for my wallet, in the long run).

All in all, it was a delightful trip. Somehow I keep traveling back to Provo - I've been at least a half-dozen times since leaving - but when you've got such good friends and family there, who could stay away?