Witness

With less than a month to go there has been an increasing number of people constantly asking me, "are you ready?"

Ready? Who is ever ready? It started to overwhelm me toward the end of last week. I begun to question myself, can I do this? Is this right? Yadda, yadda, yadda, cliche, cliche, cliche. There was a quote once on an NPR piece that really struck me about how times like this is like living through a cliche, yet when it happens to you it feels so specific. These questions seem specific and important and big.

I had to escape.

I went to the temple Saturday morning and spent three hours there in quiet solitude, contemplating various aspects of the temple that I have been learning about and asking over and over again the questions that have been circulating in my mind.

I was flipping through the D&C and found these verses that were pointed out by Extraordinaire! to me years ago when we were on the family trek. I remember underlining them then and thinking, if you have your answer, why would you ask again? Now I know why. But the verses put my mind at ease. They read:

Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried to me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?

It made me think about the early saints who so stalwartly relied on Heavenly Father and repeatedly took the step into the dark in an act of Faith.

Lion

They say March is "in like a lion, out like a lamb."

What they should say is that, more often than not, March comes in like a lion, then the lamb frolics in and out just to tease you and make you wish it would stay right up until the time it gets EATEN BY THE LION.

Winter will never end.

Krishna

I had been looking forward to the Festival of Colors (or in other words the Festival of Way Too Many Pictures) since we finally came clean after last year's festival. This year was extra great because PapaBear, Mogli, OlderAndWiserToo, BrightBoy, Roommate, and others were there. What's better than being surrounded with some of your most favorites and covering them in colors?

I argue that nothing is better.

Pictures coming soon. Since you haven't seen enough of everyone else's.

Honor

The HBLL became extremely unpleasant after my meds wore off, but the following surly brightened my day. I decided to post it in honor of Bear Kitty.

Tap

I have talented friends. One such lovely has been working tirelessly on this.


Utah Tap from Mike Morris on Vimeo.

Check it out.

And Donate.

R.I.P.

Ever since I moved into Typewriter'ma's basement I have been cursing her cat, Bear Kitty. I used to like, maybe even love, Bear Kitty. Growing up she provided us with love and snuggles and oodles of kittens to play with. But then I grew up, and she became a mildly deranged animal that meowed incessantly and waited at the door to pounce inside. Right when you were trying to lock up for the night. Cursed thing.

I can't even count how many nights BrightBoy and I have been in the entryway saying our goodnights and as soon as the door is opened ever-so-slightly, Bear Kitting flashes inside and up the stairs. If we leave her inside, she wakes everyone up in the middle of the night with her Moaning Myrtle Meows, so getting her out becomes an inconvenient imperative. At this point it's my gut reaction to say a few swears and stomp up to find the wretched sneak, but instead I turn on my sweetest voice and tip-toe around cooing and coercing. She hides in corners and darts behind furniture, but I always win and feel quite accomplished when I lure her into my arms and throw her outside, dusting my hands off proudly as I shut the door.

And now she's dead.

When Typewriter'ma told me I immediately felt like I had killed her; like all my ill-wishes were finally granted and some possessed driver clipped her in the middle of the night, leaving her rigor mortisized body in the gutter ALL BECAUSE I WANTED HER DEAD. It wasn't a happy feeling.

Tonight the strange reality hit as I said goodbye to BrightBoy and we didn't have to brace our legs at the door to keep her out when it opened a crack. We flung it wide and no cat came bounding. It felt solemn and lonely. When I shut the door I felt a reluctance, a saddness, about not more fully appreciating her when she was alive. I felt sad for not loving when she would follow me around and do that terrible whiney-meow at me, or for not adoring her when I would pick her up and night and all ten little claws would dig into my skin right before snagging my sweater in half-a-dozen places. I felt bad for not kissing her softly as I bent down to place her gently on the driveway, and for not stroking her fur when Typewriter'ma was away, and letting her know that someone here always cares.

No. I don't think I loved her. And my death threats paid off. But now I have a guilty conscience because somehow I'm a vicarious cat killer.

R.I.P. Bear Kitty. May your new home be more hospitable than the one you just left and devoid of girls who hate you.

Wisdom

Great Things About Getting Your Wisdom Teeth Out:

1. BrightBoy brings you flowers wrapped in brown paper packaging tied up with string
2. You get to lay in bed all day and MotherCheer gives you a bell to ring so you can call for help with your snooty voice
3. JustTooCool brings you RedMango, the big size
4. You get to eat popsicles and ice cream when it's not even a designated treat day
5. People read to you for hours, just because your mouth is drooly
6. People tell you to get back in bed, even when you feel just fine
7. When you say things that you can't remember in the dentist office and ask repetitive questions, people still have to love you because you're so pathetically cute
8. You can eat an endless supply of mashed potatoes
9. Sleepovers

Terrible Things About Getting Your Wisdom Teeth Out:

1. Swallowing pills when you can barely open your mouth is especially hard for someone who can hardly swallow pills when their mouth is fully functioning
2. Throwing up because of Lortab
3. Trying to figure out when to take what pill, how many, at what time, and how many times a day
4. People tell you to get back in bed, even when you feel just fine
5. Stitches. And getting in trouble when you pull them out
6. Kissing like Pip
   
7. Coveting everyone else's real food while you're stuck eating the equivalent to some kid's Gerber leftovers

Womartherhood

Tonight I watched a screening of "Who Does She Think She Is" and stayed for the Question and Answer session with the director/producer and one of the artists featured in the film. I walked away so empowered and inspired by these women. One of the experts interviewed in the film is Courtney Martin, the award winning author of Perfect Girls: Starving Daughters The Frightening New Normalcy of Hating Your Body set the tone for the film by commenting that, "this patriarchal world gets perpetuated by the fact that it would fall apart economically if women didn't accept the burden, and joy of course, of being caretakers without pay . . . the world sort of spins on that idea . . . "

The film reaffirmed my belief that art is the soul of any culture. It explains why we're human. It is an expression of the deepest aspects of humanity. It illuminates humanity and sheds light on the souls that inhabit it. 52 percent of those souls are women, the driving force that literally perpetuates humanity. The film featured five women artists who all spoke about their experience of balancing motherhood and their careers as artists. They explained their inner turmoil caused by being torn between wanting so badly to dedicate all their time to their kids, but at the same time having an insatiable want and need to be in the studio creating. They spoke about how interconnected the creation of a family has been to the creation of their work.

One artist, Janis Wunderlich, is a Mormon woman who was featured in the film. It was so interesting for me to watch her balance her life as a mother and artist and see how the two complimented each other. I found myself really getting emotional as I watched her with her family at one of her openings in Chicago. It was such a culminating moment for her, and I felt such a part of it as a spectator through the screen. There is a direct connection between motherhood and art, but I think that to be a mother and an artist, it takes a particular mix of spirit, drive, sacrifice and focus to pull it off.

While watching the film I felt a powerful surge within me telling me that yes, I can do this and it can be a bonding force within my home rather than this difficult choice between to great things. I want more than anything to be a mother, to be a wife, to be a cultivator, to be an artist. I want to build. I want to create. And the message that I got tonight is that I can.

I think that one of the most powerful pieces of advice that I got out of it is that all it takes is time every day. Wunderlich is a prolific artist, participating in 10 to 15 shows annually which means she is constantly pumping out work. But she runs a household of seven and spends most of her time with her kids. She says that some days it's only an hour, sometimes even less. But rather than wasting time feeling guilty about not spending more time or being frustrated that she never has enough time, she focuses that little bit of time in her studio. Obviously the little moments of time really add up.

She says that some of the most fulfilling moments in her life is when she is surrounded by her kids in her studio, them working on their own little projects, homework or whatnot, and she busily creating, and all of them engaging in a great conversation, informing each other's ideas and work. I want that. So. Badly.

What a great example so many of these women are. I felt today that I can do what I love and be who I know I want to be. It was empowering and also made me realize what a need we have to hear from those who are like us, to build us up, encourage us, and keep us all moving toward becoming more like the people we want to be.

Symbolism

BrightBoy and I got into a bit of a discussion last week about symbolism verses representationalism in art. We were walking around the exhibitions in the B.F. Larsen Gallery on the third floor of my home-away-from-home and I fell in love with the BFA show by Whitney Lewis Johnson (I've tried Googling her for a website but found nothing). It was a series of oil paintings collectively entitled Pattern in All Things. I oohed and ahhed over her rich patterns and deeply seated symbolic representation of things that are significant and spiritual. I made some comment about wanting to make compelling work like this. Work that isn't engaging in a superficial way, but in a way that asks the viewer to dig a little, to have a dialogue, to interact in such a way that they walk away enlightened.

BrightBoy felt like I was attacking some of his favorites (and maybe I was little) by saying that I didn't find much fulfillment in works that have been so commercialized they're now on every bookmark in every primary child's scriptures across the globe. I agreed with him that there is a place for that sort of art; there is a place for that which is so easily accesible it is comfortable. But yet again I argue that some of the most growth comes from spending time with that which is uncomfortable. Maybe it doesn't challenge you directly, but it's uncomfortable in that the meaning doesn't jump out at you from across the room. It takes study.

Yesterday in my D&C class the resident Museum Educator came and talked to us about the show a few years ago that explored images of Christ and "beholding salvation" through them. She talked mostly about symbolism and how much of it is all around us; what a powerful teaching tool it is. She referenced scriptures that showed how inspired teaching with symbolism is. I kept wanting to smack my hand on the desk and shout "Amen!" when she started going through works of art and showing how by spending time with these works that may seem "Catholic" or "Puritan" that there is actually a lot of insight to be gleaned. They can be difficult for a Mormon viewer who is used to learning symbolically through the scriptures but has yet to fully understand how intragal learning by visual symbolism is.

She told us a short story of when she worked in the Salt Lake Temple how the president of that temple came to her, knowing of her position as an educator and her involvement in that particular exhibition, and asked her fervently to, "Teach them to learn by visual symbols." He said that so many come to the temple so prepared to think in literary allegories and follow parables in their scriptures, but they do not know how to use the symbolism that is represented in a visual way, and learn from it.

I believe that visual symbolism is an inspired way of teaching, and I think I have back-up from someone who knows well what they're doing.

Along

Plans are well underway and it has been exciting to watch as everything comes together for the big day on the 23rd of next month. Here's the weekend run-down:

Thursday, with the help of my dear friend and her way-too-nice-and-letterpress-owning compadre, we pressed all 600 invites in just a few hours. It was so incredible to be part of the process and I couldn't be more thrilled with the results. Now if I could just finish up gathering addresses . . .

Friday I donned the cloak of motherhood for about 32 hours while Kimiker flew to Hawaii with the rest of Dad's side's adults. (When do I get to be considered an adult? Honestly. . .) Her kids were darling, but it didn't take long for me to wonder how in heaven's name mom's do it. After about 25 minutes of shooting the nerf gun at the fridge and trying to convice Chowie to stop kicking Sweetie-J while balancing Mo-sterous on my hip, I was ready for them all to just take a nap already.

Yeah right.

That night BrightBoy and I got the kids ready for bed and he put the Mo-sterous to sleep while I put Dora on for the others. We passed the chillin's off to OlderAndWiserToo and went out for the night to some of our favorite places. After we settled down to watch this. I stayed awake for most of it which was a serious feat. I really think I have a disorder.

Saturday morning Sweetie-J was up at 5 completely confused about where she was. She crawled in my bed and I sang her to sleep so I could get a few more hours of much-needed shut eye and she stayed there until Mo-sterous woke us up around 8. We did the morning cartoon thing and played for a bit in the morning before I got ready and headed out to AF with Mogli for his cello performance. Can I just say that holding a baby on your hip while trying to put mascara on, and keeping the baby far enough away from the mascara wand so that you and she doesn't end up with black all over her is a trick. That I've mastered. Already.

BrightBoy and I spent the afternoon with this lovely lovely taking these. We absolutely love them and have so many we're excited about. It made me even more about bridals and groomals coming up here in a few weeks. Craziness. Here's a few for the 'rents to chew on until we can go through all 391! They're still unphotoshopped so capture(d) is probably going nuts. But trust me, she's a genius.

Birds

This morning while sitting at my desk on the fifth floor I had to close the blinds so the sunshine pouring in the window, piercing my eyes for the first time in months, didn't get in the way of my work. While the vertical slats slid closed, blocking out the streams of light, the birds out my window started dancing in the breeze and singing, welcoming the warm morning rays.

It's no longer debatable. It is Spring. It is Spring. It is Spring!

Joggers

I've never been a door buster at the mall before. In fact, I'm not really a shopper at all. Ideally, I'd just get everything online and never have to find a parking space, walk for hours, spend way too much time looking in mirrors and dealing with annoying sales people. But this morning I was fighting the clock, trying to nail down what I'm going to wear for engagements, and make it back to campus for class. I got to the mall at 10:04 am, just in time for the doors to open. This gave me plenty of time.

When I opened the doors I was stunned at just how many bustling walking groups were powering through the mall. I've never seen so many larger ladies in black stretch pants all in one place in my life. It was uncanny. Who knew there was this sort of mall subculture? It reminded me of this episode I listened to the other day that highlighted other such subcultures in the mall. Like the T-Mobile sales punks who hound everyone that walks by their pink and silver booth. Or the Amalgamated Order of Real Bearded Santas (AORBS).

I didn't know the groupies at the mall extended far beyond the eighth graders who have their mommy's drop them off at four and pick them up before dinner. My eyes were opened this morning as the mall joggers lined up outside their favorite stores before the gates were unlocked and lifted. As I thought about it, it seemed pretty efficient to couple exercise with shopping to-dos. It's all pretty tidy . . .

Need

To be a champ for 44 more somedays.

Lincoln

Last night BrightBoy sent me a New York Times online piece that an artist did on Abraham Lincoln. It was fun and informative, whimsical and silly. I loved it. It was a nice break from the heavy criticism reading I was doing earlier that evening. While scrolling down, reading the words and letting my eyes feel the images I became fascinated with Mary Todd Lincoln. I realized that I've never heard much about her, the 16th First Lady of our country. She was described as being a misunderstood and even tragic figure. Reading about her made me want a personal interview with Elizabeth Keckly. It also made me want to read Keckly's book Behind the Scenes, or, Thirty years a slave, and four years in the White House which I have already checked out on Amazon. I could get a new copy for just $2.66! (The problem is I already have about fourty books on the shelf by my bed that stare at me every night asking, "Why haven't you read us yet?")

After reading through and looking at Kalman's work, it really made me want to be in DC with my sketchbook in hand, meeting Lincoln myself. Right now.



I.
Just.
Can't.
Wait.

Bigger

I walked part way to school today before Extraordinaire! flipped a U and picked me up. But during those precious few steps outside, the gusty wind picked up my hair and threw it back at me, lifted my skirt (and even my feet a little), and reminded me of the many things all around me, that are so much bigger than myself.

Just

I'm convinced it's Spring. The calendar and maybe the forecast wants you to think otherwise, but Spring is just as much an inside thing as it is an outside. Spring, to use the brilliance of cummings, is "everything/which is natural which is infinite which is yes." Today it is Spring because my days don't seem quite so dark. Because the world is full of little sprouting yeses and budding truths. It is alive again. There is something about Spring that e.e. cummings understands.

in Just

by e.e. cummings

in Just-

spring when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far and wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

the

goat-footed

balloonMan whistles

far

and

wee

as a note: one of the most beautiful things about cummings is how he arranges words on the page. Blogger hasn't figured out how to let us be equally as beautiful yet (which is why there are a few poems I've written that I haven't posted even though I've been asked to). But I couldn't pass up posting this one. It's been in my head all day. However, if you really want the full experience, you just need to see it on the printed page.