Friday, October 6, 2017

Timshel... thou mayest



It only took me just under a year to finish this book, not for any lack of enjoyment, rather a lack of frame of mind. To read Steinbeck, I have to be in a certain frame of mind, which is unfortunate as I desperately wanted to finish this book. And I did; it just took much longer than I liked.

A long, long time ago, in a city far, far away, I chose this book for my book club read. I made it halfway through and still ran a rather interesting discussion on the book. Obviously aspects of good and evil were brought up, right vs. wrong, and a thorough dissection of human nature. All three members of the R.A.D. book club were English majors and librarian-ish (only one a full-fledged faculty member) and each of us had pretty definite opinions on Steinbeck (and Hemingway for that matter). Personally, I loved East of Eden. Absolutely LOVED. Five stars on Goodreads loved. Which doesn't happen very often, at least not anymore. While I was preparing for the discussion, I came across a review from a fellow Goodreads patron in which she said, "Steinbeck is the zucchini bread of the literary world: not appealing if forced onto you by well-meaning grownups, but every crumb is scrumptious when you give it a chance on your own time."

Nail. *Hit* Head. 

I vaguely remember struggling through The Grapes of Wrath in high school but other than the dirt, remember little else. I had several well-meaning English teachers who would force feed novels that were sublime, classic, stretching, and expect a pubescent girl only really interested in boys, I am ashamed to say, to respond with awe. Well, with awe I did not respond. And I went on to study English, for goodness sakes. One teacher in particular (God Bless you Mr. Kittle) was very strict and had uncommonly high expectations, but he also didn't pick "ordinary" books. There was no reading of War and Peace for my AP Lit class (though I'm looking to tackle that in the near-ish future). No sir. No ma'am. We read the likes of Ishmael, Utopia, and watched the Reduced Shakespeare Company. Read current events and were quizzed. Wrote local opinion pieces for the newspaper where our writing was examined under his critical but kind microscope. I learned more in one year than the other three combined, unfortunately. Certainly this has more to do with me than my teachers. I fondly remember those teachers and all that they tried to teach me, but outside the classrooms, high school was a ridiculous place, with ridiculous values, and ridiculous hair. It's all my own fault, my education, or my own perceived lack of it. There is so much of the written word I haven't read and haven't loved because my attentions were focused elsewhere. Even in college (remember my utter lack of Shakespeare education the whole reason I'm looking to study him now), and I'm slowly attempting to fill the holes that are missing.

And that is sort of what Steinbeck is about. Sure I'm trivializing perhaps his greatest work and comparing his masterpiece with my own life story, but isn't that what literature is for? To take our narrow self-written evaluation and compare and contrast it with the lives of others whether through fiction or non. I'm living my story, and occasionally writing about it. Fiction helps me understand certain particulars of my own narrative. Ursula Le Guin has said, "All fiction offers us a world we can't otherwise reach, whether because it's in the past, or in far or imaginary places, or describes experiences we haven't had, or leads us into minds different from our own." Or, I would add, helps us to understand our own humanity in all its kaleidoscopic varieties. Steinbeck shows us the world as it is, in all its baseness and wickedness, while also showing us how the world is, in all its goodness and hope. In order to better understand ourselves, and the world, and others, I would argue that we need literature, good literature, to show lives unlike our own - from the past, present, future, imaginary, realistic, wicked, and good. East of Eden does that and it does so in one word: timshel.

Someday, when I'm brave again (and let's face it have a little more disposable income) I will get a tattoo permanently needled into my body that reads: timshel.

Timshel is the Hebrew word for "thou mayest..." Biblically speaking the Lord says this to Cain before he has slain his brother Abel. The brothers have given their offering to the Lord, the Lord accepts Abel's, but rejects Cain's telling him to "do well" and to be a "rule over it [his desires or sin] (ESV). The KJV reads, "If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And uto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him [emphasis mine]." In East of Eden, Lee, the Chinese sage, is explaining this word to Sam Hamilton and Adam Trask. He explains how much study and how many people were involved in the correct interpretation of the Bible. He went to Jewish scholars and Chinese scholars and argued and discussed and wrestled (mentally, I mean) with them to come to this conclusion: “The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’—it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ Don’t you see?” 


This word crops up again and again as many of the characters struggle against and with their own humanity. But for me, the crux of this quote comes much later when Lee is speaking with Cal, who believes that he is inherently sinful and bad and cannot overcome this and questions whether he should even try. Lee says to him (and this is my favorite quote of the WHOLE book): "And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good." 
God gives us the choice. We can try, thou mayest, or we can not try, thou mayest not. But it is our choice. Agency is the greatest, most precious gift a loving Heavenly Father has given to us. And with that agency comes responsibility. But we're flesh. We sin. So much more than we realize (or care to acknowledge). And Satan is pretty crafty. He too knows our weaknesses and that giving into the flesh is so much sweeter in the moment than holding out for that divine promise. And so he beguiles us. He tempts us. A scene in Wonder Woman illustrates this beautifully. 
The magnanimous Gal Gadot (Wonder Woman) (also heart eyes emoji) is fighting Professor Lupin Ares. In his description of the atrocities mankind reeks, he mentions that he whispers formulas and ideas (usually destructive), but he doesn't make them (the humans) use them (the destructive ideas). Humans do that all on their own. And he's right. Absolutely right, in a sense. Wonder Woman, mistakenly, believes that killing Ares will end the war (which in the movies sort of works, because we all love a happy-ish ending.) But it doesn't, not in real life. Humans are still destructive and still prone to do that which they probably shouldn't do, because we are fallen beings. We sin. Period. 
And we always have the choice. The option to do good, to be good is always there. 




So. Much. To Dissect. And yet, also pretty self-explanatory. 




But God gives us strength. 

Period. 



Timshel. 

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Rootless



Whenever it was I last posted (months and months and months ago), I wrote a bit about road trips that morphed into a bit about self with just a dash of ambiguity and hearty heap of USA. After all USA road trips are the best road trips, in my humble opinion (no that was not meant to sound like Uriah Heap but if it came across that way, I am both sorry and a little thrilled).

I linked to a blogger who wrote a little about what she saw as dissonance here in the USA. Basically she talked about rootlessness. This got me thinking.

I've always considered myself rootless. Whenever people ask where I'm from, I go blank. Do they mean most recently? Do they mean where I was born? attended elementary school? middle school? graduated high school? College? Grad School? Currently reside? Because each of those questions has a different answer.

The honest truth is: I don't know where I'm from.

For a long long time, I sort of held a huge chip on my shoulder about living in America. Ask anyone who knew me from third to twelfth grade. It was a problem. I was a problem. I struggled with my identity and felt that anything "American" would drive out the "British." Turns out living over twenty years in a country will actually "drive out" or at the very least alter a person's sense of identity. I am much more American than I am British, with a few varying exceptions, a trunk is a boot always and forever. And yet, I am British, through and through. It's a very strange place to be. And whenever I go back to that glorious island, my poor brain just can't handle the accents and I honestly cannot think of how to speak. Literally. It takes very conscious effort not to speak with an accent, either too American or too British. Though I'm not copying the accent of others, it's always the accent I would have had, but with an American twist. It's strange and usually takes me at least a week to acclimate.

I had hoped to settle down somewhere so that my children would have roots to be from somewhere but already in their short little lives, I've given up hope of "settling down" as was purported to occur in the good old golden days of who knows when or where. I'm convinced that the "good ol' days" are a myth. A legend. A folk tale. I'm almost convinced that every day, every ordinary day, is a "good ol' day" to someone somewhere at some time. None of my children were born in the same city. Only two were even born in the same state. Chances of us staying anywhere for at least the foreseeable future are slim. We're already "prepping" our minds for a probable move next summer.

But, as my husband pointed out, Biblically there were some who belonged to city-states, and others who belonged to nomadic tribes. The tribes stuck together but moved from place to place. That's us. Gypsy living. We are minimalists not because it is the new popular trend but because we know that someday not far from now we'll have to pack up all that stuff and haul it somewhere else. Yet, I desperately want to belong to some place.

I want there to be a place that is so soaked with memories that it becomes a "thin place." A place that holds spiritual meaning, that is heavy with love and connection. I thought it was Glasgow. And you can read my feelings on my most recent trip to that amazing city HERE. But I'm afraid it wasn't or hasn't yet become a "thin place", though I still have a hankering to visit again this time with my husband and children. Perhaps going back again and again and again reinforces the "thinness" or maybe "thinness" is based solely on our perception. I do feel pulled to certain places, then again, I feel pulled all over the globe if I'm being completely honest. I would like nothing better than to road trip all over the world (obviously with a few flights thrown in for convenience) and maybe someday that dream can become a reality. For now though, I'm living the rootless dream in Southern USA!

Post-edit: My apologies, we've moved. Again. Across the country. Again. And are back in Utah, though an entirely different part of the state. However, these thoughts, for the most part, still ring true. And to sinch the deal I read this wonderful article/post by Candace Rose Rardon that perfectly summarizes my thoughts on home and to some extent my rootlessness:

"Home is the aggregate of our journeys, a collection of people and places, memories and experiences, each home building on the last." 

Friday, July 14, 2017

I love road trips...


It's true. I do. I absolutely adore road trips. I wouldn't necessarily call myself an experienced roadtripper; however, I have moved across the continental United States twice, not quite coast to coast, but I'm only a couple states shy. I've lost count exactly how many states I've been through or my children, and I'm pretty sure my husband only beats me by two tops, but I think it's safe to say, most. In fact, it'd be easier to count how many I haven't been to: Maine, Vermont, NH, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts (hmmmm, I'm seeing a pattern here). So pretty much New England. I haven't yet experienced New England. Or Michigan. Or New Mexico. But that's about it. 

And growing up, we went on a lot of road trips. It's the absolute best way to experience the United States, in my opinion, especially the Western United States, which is where I hail from, though not originally, but you knew that. Now experiencing the deep South is remarkable and has given me a greater, grander appreciation of the people, places, and things, all the nouns that make up this country. However, at the same time, there's something just a bit off. Maybe it's with me. Entirely probable, since I can't seem to shake a perpetual anywhere-but-here mentality, and want to fulfill a nomadic existence which grows more and more impossible the more children I bring into the world, and yet, I just can't not bring more children into this world. They're too perfect, even and especially in their imperfections.

This blog post read recently sums up my current feelings about living in this beautiful country: 

"There is something particularly dissonant about it, something that explains so much of why the culture can't seem to pull together, to truly embrace its diverse origins... it does shed a light on what I consider a truly American dilemma: rootlessness. The sense that one can do anything, move anywhere, experience whatever kind of spirituality, lifestyle, culture, bioregion, is emblematic of the American experience, and yet, the "freedom", the endless amount of choice doesn't seem to make people happier, or even create a more diverse culture. Many, if not most people here seem lost, wandering to different places every generation, and the dominant culture, for the all the diversity on offer, seems strangely mono-cropped, and constrained..." 

I was fist pumping, hallelujah chorusing, and checking if anyone else could read my mind because this gal sure did. You can read the entire post here. She goes on to explain in other prophetic words how the internet monetized blogs and that people are out to get a buck by branding themselves, which I find terribly amusing because I have tried. More than once. To "brand" myself. But, it turns out, I don't fit neatly into a box. Or a hole. Or a peg. I cannot be branded because I am a million different facets rolled into one and those facets change as I change. 

I originally started writing to show off my crafting, which went well enough. Then I had a baby and didn't craft for a loooonnng time. And since that baby brought my current count to four, I didn't really have time to do much else, except eat, sleep, work and care for younglings (and a husband who is going through grad school and rockin' it, I'd like to add). I also tried my hand at photography and I LOVE it. Oh, how I love photography, but that wasn't really a new thing, I just started pushing what I and the camera could do. 

I've been stealing my dad's camera for as long as I can remember and there's photographic evidence of my charades as a "camera bag holder" on many a vacation. However, a pattern began to emerge. When I put too much pressure on myself to really be fantastically amazing at something I realized that I wasn't that fantastically amazing. Don't get me wrong, I take some pretty amazing photos, and I never ever shoot on auto, but when I was caught up in the staging aspect and getting my children (or other people's children) to look and act a certain way it just wasn't natural. I love being behind the camera and capturing moments that are real. Moments that will transport me back to that moment. That joy. That surprise. That awe. I love photographing people (so it's a good thing I'm surrounded by so many). But I also don't want there to be photographic evidence of the fact that it's been three days since the dishes were cleaned and put away. I couldn't brand or stage or construct my images any better than I could brand myself. 


So what does all this have to do with road trips? My, what a good question. Honestly? 

I don't know. 

I began writing about road trips because I'd like to go on one. I just love being in the car and staring out the window at God's and man's creations. I love listening to audio books as a family and piling pillows so high I can barely see the people in the back row who are play fighting with action figures and actually fighting with fisticuffs and throwing sandwiches and Twizzlers every which way hoping they land on someone's lap. Before my computer crashed I had a photo, two actually in succession, of a road trip we did early in our marriage, back when we only had one kid. The first is of my husband, at the wheel, with a Capri Sun (Mountain Cooler all the way) hanging from his mouth (both hands on the wheel), he's slightly smiling and the trees are blurred behind him. And the next image is the cup holder console area of our Subaru Forester (loved you Suzy) filled to the brim with the discarded silver pouches. For some reason, those two photos epitomize my roadtripping fantasies. Maybe it's just me, okay, it's totally just me, but I like being trapped in a car for hours on end. That's a box I'll happily climb in. 

So what does this mean? Nothing really. I'm just putting it out there that I like road trips and hope to someday soon enjoy the open road to somewhere. I don't like self-branding, I just can't fit in a box, there is too much happening in my head, too many interests, not enough time, and lots of little people. I have learned to love and appreciate this glorious country while also taking a long hard look at why it is the way it is and how that has shaped me to be the way I am. These thoughts were jumping around my head and desperately wanted to get out. So here they are. 

Friday, June 2, 2017

Perspective


I needed a swift kick in the bum the other day feeling all sorts of sorry for myself and lost in the confusion of decisions and circumstances. So I scrolled through the photos on my phone looking for a little happiness. And I found it.

It was so neat looking through all the images of the year thus far and I felt overwhelmingly grateful for this life we're living and the husband and children I have. I find it just so easy to scroll through other people's instagram feeds (my social media weapon of choice) and just slowly creep into despair about how little I'm doing or how dull my images are or how I can never for the life of me think up a clever caption for my own photos. Comparison is the thief of joy. And you should never compare your behind the scenes to someone else's highlight reel. And all that. Not that you should air all your dirty laundry either, too much keepin' it real is just too much. Sharing the good is good and it helps, at least for me, keep my life in some perspective. I've got four wonderfully amazing kids who I genuinely think rock their socks. My husband is working incredibly hard and is such an example to me and my children. I am so lucky and should thank my lucky stars (and God) every single second of every single day that I get to spend as much time as I do with these awesome people. We live in a pretty incredible city with good restaurants, cool local haunts, lots of parks and outdoor spaces to roam around, and humidity. Wait a sec, that last one isn't really something I count as a blessing really, but it will help me appreciate the not humid places all the more. And that's keeping things in perspective.

That very same day as needing the bum-kick, my husband also explained some much needed truths about myself. Things I knew but needed to have explained to me in such a way that would not send me either into a rage or a panic and he did so beautifully. This then led to the scrolling and the gratitude and the glow of past remembrances, the joy of our present, and the excitement for our future. I want to do just about everything, as evident from my constant inconsistencies in writing. I want to quilt, and cross stitch, and write, and photograph, and inspire, and lead, and follow, and mother, and wife, and live fully, and live simply. I want all these things pretty much all the time. Which is impossible. I can't do everything all at once. No one can. 


Taking stock is never easy, especially when my tendencies are prone to wallow in self-pity and misery. Sometimes that's a really nice indulgent place to dwell for a time, because I do think self-reflection can help. But my time was up. Giving over fully, completely, totally to these types of feelings allow for bitterness, resentment, and hollowness to take root and eventually consume all that is good and humble. That feels quite dramatic. But in the moments the very real, raw, unabashed moments when I feel these feelings, it feels an awful lot like descending into a cave, experiencing total darkness or being swallowed by a black hole. Luckily, stars, in their multitude, lighten and guide in darkness and there is no pit so deep that the Savior of the world cannot get to me (or you for that matter). And all I needed was a little perspective. 

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Roll Tide

Let me start by saying this is not a football post. For one thing we are clearly not in the right season for a football post and for another, I'm not actually that invested in football, Tide or no Tide (but don't tell my kids, okay?) Okay. But all these photos were taken during A-Day when Alabama plays Alabama and Alabama wins. 



In Tuscaloosa, you will hear "Roll Tide" said over and over again especially during college football season but not limited only to those six months. Though the phrase has its roots in relation to the Crimson Tide, it seems to have taken on a life of its own and is used for just about anything. Child received high marks on difficult test? Roll Tide. A family member has fallen unexpectedly ill? Roll Tide. You find a penny on the ground? Roll Tide. A really good BBQ joint opens up downtown? Roll Tide. The Tide wins the National Championship again? Roll Tide Roll. Each of these "Roll Tides" have a different inflection of course, one wouldn't cheerily shout the phrase at someone whose parent just passed. But you would say it.



The proliferation of this saying got me to thinking about Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift of the Sea. There is a tide/sea correlation so that's what I'm working with. In this book Ms. Anne discusses some of her time at the beach. It is a lovely, philosophical little book that inspires me to pack up and head to the beach...alone. However, since that is not humanly possible at this stage in my life it brings me to reflect on my current stage. Ms. Anne describes how a woman's normal life tends to run counter to creative life, and that the problem is "more basically: how to remain whole in the midst of the distractions of life; how to remain balanced, no matter what centrifugal forces tend to pull one off center; how to remain strong, no matter what shocks come in at the periphery and tend to crack the hub of the wheel [which is mothering and the interests and duties are the spokes]." In some ways, life has sucked all the creative juices right out of me. I have little time to dream either during the day or in the night. Exhaustion prevents creative brain function. And so I wait. I wait until I get a little burst, a glimmer of what dreams may come and I hang on desperately to those starbursts until the time comes when I can examine and develop and cultivate my creative dreams. 


Right now, I'm in my Roll Tide life. Which means a couple different things, but here's a snapshot of life currently: Living in Tuscaloosa, literally Roll Tide Country. Husband. In graduate school. Working hard. Grueling summer schedule. Me. Currently working full-time. In a library. Working hard. Four children. Each growing. Each learning. And differently from each other. Each talking. Each touching. Fighting. Playing. Me again. Hormonal. Pregnant. Weepy. Making tough decisions easy and easy decisions tough. Always. Feeling. Love. Happiness. Despair. Joy. Hope. 


The current season of my life is temporary. I know this. My children will grow, to my never-ceasing sorrow and I know that I will look back with some regret. Regret that I wasn't fully present. That I was always looking to what was next in the daily schedule, to the next meal, the next grade, the next phase, the next milestone, the next day, the next week, month, year. I'm not the only one. I read enough of other mothers to know that I am not alone. Neither in my "forward-thinking" nor my lack of energy for dreams. I'm great at starting things, not so great at finishing them. Sometimes it's time. Sometimes it's interest. Sometimes it's exhaustion. But it's just phase. Like the ebbing of the tide, sometimes cast out to sea and other times sticking to the shore. 


I also like what Ms. Anne has to say about relationships stating that "All living relationships are in process of change, of expansion, and must perpetually be building themselves new forms." As a wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, colleague, I see how each of these relationships change and morph into something different over time or even in a single moment. Ms. Anne continues, "The light shed by any good relationship illuminates all relationships. And one perfect day can give clues for a more perfect life." I seek after these clues. I catch glimpses of them in the ordinary moments with my husband and my children, with my work and with my friends. They graze my heart and soul and brain leaving minor gold flecks, traces of their having passed through pointing and preparing me for what will come next, because I need those bursts in order to maintain the consistent balance of the tide. I need to be steady, coming in and receding at regular intervals. While also remembering that in any phase of life "Roll Tide" is a legitimate response. 

My next phase won't necessarily be a Roll Tide phase, as I may not be in Roll Tide country, but I will always have the experiences that led me here and here will shape me for hereafter: "For it is not merely the trivial which clutters our lives but the important as well." 





Monday, March 13, 2017

Glaswegian Reflections

"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect" - Anais Nin




While I was in the UK last summer, I had the opportunity to visit Glasgow, and can you believe that I didn't take a single big camera picture while there? I am agog at my own blunder. It certainly traveled with me, but I must have been too consumed by the thoughts I will now share to have pulled the contraption from my bag. The image above was taken right before we left in July of 2012 and shows the back (or the front) of Kelvingrove Art Gallery and some graffiti in the skate park. All things remained as depicted by this image, but the graffiti was different.

I had the highest of high expectations for this quick little visit to the place that shaped so much of my early-adult development. In the moment, I wrote about four lines in my journal about the experience but shall write more than that here in reflection.

Returning after a four year absence was surreal. Everything had changed. The bus routes. The subway. The restaurants. How is that even possible? While still riding high upon our arrival, my sister asked what it was about Glasgow that drew me to it and I think my response was something like this:

Glasgow is the ugly step-sister to the prettier, more well known Edinburgh. But Glasgow has grit. And determination. The people are friendly, unless there's a Rangers/Celtics match. And the city has heart. It digs in its heals and won't give in without a fight, and I find that admirable in a city and in a people.

My response is still true. Glasgow is all that (and a bag of chips) and MORE. It is a fantastic city and well worth visiting (and living in given the opportunity). But for me, Glasgow now lives enshrouded in memory. I had built the city and my experience in it up to unattainable and unrealistic heights. I did a lot of stretching, both in the belly and in the brain while living and studying in that glorious city. I realized how desperately I wanted to be a stay-at-home-mom in that city. I connected with people and built a community and made some of the best friendships I've ever had (barring SBC and now Titletown). But it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows - it never is - and coming back after having been away for so long showed me just how rampant my imagination had run not only with the city, but also with me.

I had this image of me in Glasgow that was not accurate. Just as the city had changed so had I. Sure, the memories I made while there are true. And the feelings were felt and the sites seen. But I had built up this otherworldly interpretation of myself in that particular location that upon seeing Glasgow again in the flesh reminded me how impressionable the human mind came be. I fancied myself smarter, healthier, and stronger while living in Glasgow. Again this is in retrospect. I had conceived this idea of my experiences there that though true were only one version of the truth. For example, I gave birth to our second child in Scotland, naturally. Drug free. Not completely by my own choice. It ended up being a terrifically wonderful and character building endeavor. Less than a year later, I gave birth to our third child with lots of drugs and it was not a wonderful character building experience. In fact it was pretty dreary altogether and I suffered for weeks after because of it. (SIDEBAR: all the comments I make on this blog are personal to me. I do not advocate natural childbirth or one with drugs, I've done both and have my own opinions about how I (as in ME) do in each scenario and in MY instances using drugs is not as wonderful as not: SIDEBAR OVER.) Because I managed to miraculously deliver baby #2 without drugs and felt wonderful and because my birthing experience with baby #3 was not-as-wonderful I felt like I (as in ME) was more wonderful in Glasgow and that therefore Glasgow was the only wonderful city in the whole wide world. It's a stretch but the mind does that sometimes. I let the one experience (or several experiences for there are a few others) define my whole experience. 

But what I have now realized or am coming to realize through reflecting and rereading old journals is that I am what I am and I am that wherever I may be and that there are some wonderful moments intermixed with the not so wonderful moments and that allowing one experience (or few experiences) define an place or phase in one's life does not do the place or the life justice. 

That's not to say that I don't progress or change or that Glasgow doesn't have the right to change, although changing ALL the bus numbers and routes was seriously inconvenient. Because as hoomans we certainly have the right to change, especially if we're wrong, we need to grow and progress and experience. It's how we learn and live and love. But as I've grown up I've become more and more concerned with what is true, and the version in my head of Glasgow is not the truest version of the city nor is it the truest version of myself. So much has changed - in the city and in me. I am older. I have many more children. I have a slightly different view of the world than the wide-eyed-bushy-tailed-newlywed-expectant-mother of the Glasgow Rosie. But I still love her and love remembering her and bringing her out every once in a while to reminisce with my children about the adventures we had traipsing around Scotland and other parts of Europe.  She and the city are beautiful memories that have helped form the woman I am and the woman I will be.

Monday, January 9, 2017

Twenty Seventeen



I love the new year, don't you? It's like new pencils at the start of the school year or the first page of a new book or the world after it snows and the sun is shining and all the world glitters. Sigh with me, won't you? *Inhale**Exhale* Ah! Lovely!

This year I've got some goals, do you? I recently wrote a review of last year's goals which I gave a mediocre performance and finished less than half of my sixteen items. I decided not to set number this year, just in case I couldn't get to seventeen. What I chose to focus on instead was areas where I wanted to improve or areas I found lacking.

First, Shakespeare. The Great Bard himself. I have a Bachelor's in English and I have never, not once, taken a Shakespeare course. I vaguely remember in high school watching the Romeo and Juliet (the one with tights) my freshman year, attending a school production of A Midsummer Night's Dream (where I had a crush on Puck) my sophomore year, doing a spoof on Julius Caesar (where I cut out paper ears for Antony's speech) my junior year, and watching the Reduced Shakespeare Company my senior year. At college, the year I was supposed to take the course, the university offered an author symposium on Jane Austen that could be taken in place of Shakespeare. True Austen aficionado that I was I promptly signed up for that course, and almost regret it now. I'll never be able to truly regret Miss Jane but I do feel my education was insufficient (in more ways than my lack of Shakespearean knowledge) and that I am responsible to fix it. So though my goals are in no specific order, my first is to study Shakespeare.

Another area where I lack is that of the gospel. I am a convert to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (let me know in the comments if you would like to know more about the Church or my conversion) and since I converted from a position of basically zero knowledge of the Savior and God and that that knowledge has grown minimally in the six years since my baptism, I would like to feast more fully upon the Word and better understand the Atonement. Last year, I read the entire Bible and we read almost the entire Book of Mormon as a family. I was called as a teacher in the women's organization and have been so lucky to read and study the current council of our prophet and other leaders and now I've been called into the children's organization where I teach simple doctrinal principles. But that still feels like it's not quite enough. I would like to gain greater understanding of Christ's life and how to emulate His teachings. This form of study would include reading the Bible again cover to cover, the Book of Mormon cover to cover, and studying in smatterings the Doctrine and Covenants, and works by Church leaders and others on specific topics chosen throughout the year.

Next up, budgeting. I recently read Rachel Cruze's new book "Live your Life Not Theirs." I highly recommend this book. Cruze is funny and serious, loving and critical, and above all honest. It felt like we were having a conversation, a pretty personal conversation actually, about finances and at times I found myself answering out loud and also texting my husband in an anxious panic. I think making sure that our finances are looked at regularly and setting a monthly budget would be most helpful for us to get where we'd like to go.

Record keeping for myself and my kids - Last year I bought four record books for the kids. Nothing fancy just some blank notebooks that I could fill with words about how much I love them and how much they stress me out. I read about the concept in the book 5 Spiritual Solutions for the Family. Record keeping and family history has always been something I've been interested in (as my Archives degree will testify (I think family history and familial ties are very important) and I would like to give my children a tangible gift of there growing up years, because if they are anything like me they will have terrible memories. I've included photographs and anecdotes. I have a few pages written in each and would like to be more regular in my chronicling their childhoods.

In addition to writing to my children, I would like to write more to others. I know I enjoy receiving mail from loved ones and would like to send more letters, especially birthday cards. Who doesn't love a note of cheer for their birthday?

I have a little bit of a soda problem and so getting that under control is of the upmost importance to my health so after much deliberation I've decided to quit cold turkey. I tried last year and did not succeed but this year I will. I just know it.

Amusingly, I'm noticing that my explanation of goals are getting shorter and shorter as I go.

By and by I would like to attempt to finish some crafty-like projects this year. I didn't quite finish any last year, something I sorely lament now. I will have (at least) three cross-stitch projects going in the foreseeable future and would like to finish one this year. Surely, one is feasible. Similarly, I would like to finish a quilt. I have lovely fabric just sitting in the box and my poor husband's 50 states quilt has sat near completion for almost two years, whoops. So I'd like to finish a quilt and a cross stitch. 

In past years, I have had marginal and resounding success with trying new recipes. I've set the goal at 12 in hopes that carefully considering these recipes will encourage them to become a regular part of our meal plans. I received a wonderful book for Christmas and this one comes out around my birthday. I gain considerable pleasure cooking in the kitchen and would love to devote more time to trying new recipes. 

And finally, 52 weeks of Family Home Evening. In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we have been asked to set aside one day a week, typically Monday, to have a family night where lessons on gospel instruction are given and family's make sure to spend quality time together. In the past, we've done alright at being consistent, but as my children grow older I can see how valuable this activity is not only the gospel instruction where the children participate in teaching, but also the quality time spent playing games (we love games at our house) and just being together. 

So those eleven items made my resolution cut. What made your list?