Plaid and Pumpkins

Clad in plaid, we headed out Saturday morning for some pre-conference pumpkin picking. Shagel Farms was only a short drive away and while I didn't think Ada would get a grand snooze in the car I was hoping for a few minutes of shut-eye. No such luck.

But the farm. . . the farm! Picture perfect and tons of fun. Ada had a blast in the corn bin. We looked at the animals and gave the horses nose a good pat (and who knew turkeys were so terrifying!) She did a bit of the hay bale maze, took several plunges down the slide and spent so much time swinging she nearly missed the tractor ride out to the pumpkin patch.

It was one of those we-really-are-our-own-little-family type mornings and as we packed our pumpkins—two of the orange variety and one of the baby variety—in the backseat I couldn't help but fill with gratitude.

Then we got to listen to conference and eat for a solid weekend.

What could be better?

Prophetess

It's like my mood was prophesying about the weather. Yesterday we were on tornado watch until 7PM. Luckily, no tornadoes, just fallen limbs and branches (and a tree, conveniently, on 2nd right where I wanted to turn...) And rain. Torrential rain.

But today? Blue skies. Perfect 70 degree, breezy, crispy Autumn weather. Just perfect for an afternoon in Georgetown with my besties. I came home to a clean house and a sleeping baby. Today is so great.

Eyes wide open, unknowing

Waking up to an orangesicle sunrise was the cherry on top to my beautiful day that ended just hours earlier. I regret not spending time reading stories from my pioneer ancestors, or perhaps just reading a few talks or scriptures, but I think spending time with our present-day families—and really enjoying them—might pay just as much honor to our heritage than visiting some headstones, or reading old journals. Maybe not. But I'm going with it this year.

My heart was nearly bursting all day long. Having Mikey home during the day mid-week is always a treat for me. We stayed the night at my aunt's house along with OlderAndWiserToo and her husband. I have flashes of the day on repeat in my brain:
We had pancakes for breakfast and splashed in the pool.
Ada ate grapefruit and goldfish and carried a green plastic chair all over the yard.
She went down the slide and landed in the grass.
Mike pushed her around the yard in the red plastic car while the two of the took turns making all the car sounds we know.
We played in the basement with balls of all sizes.
Mike got Ada dressed and ready while I took a shower.
We just felt happy.  Content.
We went to the MOA and felt the beauty of another culture's aesthetic.
I felt close to God.
I felt grateful.
 felt proud of my family (even though Ada was about as hyper as I've ever seen her, holding her cup of pretzel sticks and running helter-skelter, through the wide galleries).
Making dinner with many helping hands.
Sharing a meal.

It all made me so excited to begin a new adventure together in a month. I'm excited for all of it. I know some of what to expect, but have a firm awareness that the unknowns will soon take over. But I'm beginning to like it this way: eyes wide open, unknowing, but grateful.

Firmly rooted, but not so firmly

Today I feel grateful.

I fell asleep last night laughing with my husband who held me close and told me how proud he was of me. The last thing I remember before waking up this morning is the sound of my giggle stifled by burying my head on his chest and the sound of him laughing back at me.

I woke up to the sound of Michael lifting a happy Ada out of her crib. He brought her to me and I spent a few minutes singing with her before we both got up to make breakfast.

*

I'm grateful for our stories. I'm grateful for our histories. I'm grateful for the dialogue between past and present. I'm grateful for my heritage, for the knowledge that I can work hard because I come from hardworking people. History is one of the ways we define ourselves, it's our claim to existence. I find comfort in knowing that the state of existence is really a state of impermanence. I'm grateful to know how false the phrase, "People can't change" is and how true the phrase, "We are people at change" is. 

I'm grateful that even though history can't be stuffed into compartments, or soundbites, (or websites), that we record our stories—our histories—anyway. I'm grateful for my believing heart. I'm grateful for my sometimes-doubting mind and for my spirit that reconciles the difference.

I feel grateful for my religion that is rooted in tradition, history and the past, but not so firmly that it loses the spirit which created tradition, history and the past. I'm grateful for creation; for family; for faith. I'm grateful that God speaks.

This is my kingdom

Ada in Piazza Galvani, one of our favorite hangouts.

 I'm not sure what caused the switch. Last semester during Mike's midterms I was moaning that I never got enough time with him and the simple tasks at home were making me crazy.

This time around, I feel like a powerhouse. Maybe it's part of becoming more adult—learning that you are in charge of your reactions, learning to take on more responsibility, and understanding that you're responsible for all of your actions (and consequences) no matter how unconscious (or conscious) you were that you were actually making a choice.

Does any of this make sense?

I guess I don't feel like I need to be on the defense anymore. My choices are my own and they have brought me to this point in my life: married, with a baby, living in a foreign country, sticking to a strict budget, trying to figure out how to paint again, learning to cope with life as a nomad, learning that I am stronger than I knew. . .

Mike and I have talked about how so much of maturity is being comfortable in your own skin; of just knowing that you are who you are; not feeling the need to prove your worth or mystique or beauty or brains to anyone.

Today, I feel comfortable.

I'm coming to better understand that this is my kingdom.

I rule here. In my kingdom, those dust bunnies that crawl under the couch and make as bunnies do will get swept up nightly (and morningly, depending on how busy they were) because I'm in charge. I see my job of sudsing down Ada's highchair as a daily, personal decree that my toddler's stickiness will not take over like the sticky, thorny brambles of fairy tales. Each piece of laundry is carefully hung because here, no detail (or sock) goes missing.

I set the mood. (I set the table.) I make sure my kingdom is fed and well. I make sure my kingdom is happy and bright.

These aren't the burdens of motherhood. They're the responsibilities of a queen.

So I'm off to conquer the kitchen floor. I feel a victory coming on.

Playing tourist again

Ada in San Giacomo Maggiore. She got over her fear of churches in a hurry.

 It had been too long since Ada and I had ventured out to see something new in the city. We took a walk to a church near by which supposedly houses Saint Caterina de’ Vigri’s incorrupted body. Google maps said the walk was 4 minutes, so I thought it would be fun to let Ada toddle with me to the church, rather than strap her in for a 4 minute ride.

The walk took us 20 minutes.

But she (and I) enjoyed it so much.

We stopped in at the church and Ada was uncharacteristically afraid. She wouldn't let me put her down. Maybe it was the echo, or the dim light. Or the deeps reds and gold?

We shared a pastry at a corner cafe on the way home and Ada flirted with the Napoleon who work there while trying her hardest to score a free Magnum bar.

I did some research during her afternoon nap on some of the ruling families in Bologna before (and after) the Papacy took over. The Bentivolgio's were a major family that ruled from the early 1300's through the 1500's until they were expelled when the Papacy gained control of the state. Their family history is laced with murder, scandal, Catholic indulgences, sinister plots and rebellion. It's a wonder that a movie hasn't been made (but maybe that's just the way all ruling families were during the Renaissance. Nothing new or noteworthy?)

Their seat of power was in church (made ornate by their wealth) called San Giacomo Maggiore. I've walked past it numerous times, but never gone inside. At a certain point in Europe you start to think: A church is a church is a church. I got there a few months after arriving, but after doing some research on the family and the artists who decorated the space, I found the whole experience to be much more enriching in a historical way, rather just a "Whoa. Another gigantic church." Ada got over her initial insecurities and walked every inch of San Giacomo chirping all the way. (Aren't echoes fun?)

After the church we poked our heads into the palace across the street and then stopped by a bakery on the way to the library.

The whole day was so perfect. I was discouraged after being jolted from painting just an hour after I began (note to Ada: if you don't take morning naps anymore, you had better make up for it in the afternoon), but I ended the day feeling like I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

Being surrounded by sights and sounds like these, how could I not be?

Piena Vita

The view from the courtyard where we lock up our bikes at home.

In forced and broken Italian, we tried to explain what we feel makes up a "full life." In the article we had just read, Alexandra said her life was full: she had a good job, a beautiful house. My Italian teacher began asking each of us: What does it mean to have a full life? (Che cosa significa 'una piena vita?'")

My friend was asked first. She is probably one of the most sincere women I have met here. You can tell by watching her for just a few moments that she would do anything for her family. She's an extremely devoted mother and wife. She works hard. She doesn't complain. I'm always impressed by her day-in and day-out positivity and cheerfulness. She responded, "Mia famiglia. E . . . basta!"

I was asked next. "Anchio, ma anche abitare in un bellissimo posto." In a different setting, perhaps both of us would have answered in a different way. As the rest of the class answered, I thought of how I would answer the question if I had all of the words and ability that I did in English. At the top of the list, undoubtedly, was my family. But without being surrounded by beautiful and inspiring things, would I still think my life was full? What about without other relationships? Without friends? Is there room in a full life for good food? For working hard? For achievement?

I began feeling guilty for not giving my friend's answer. I felt that maybe she was better than I because she said her family is all she needs.  

Does it make me a discontented person to confess that I need more than just my family (even though they make up the large majority of what I need) to feel like I have a full life?

I took these questions to Michael and we talked while we ate leftover tomato soup from the night before. He has a way of teaching me while we talk, but not making me feel like a louse in the process. It makes me grateful every day. We talked about how we have both always felt stirrings and tuggings that there is something important for us to do. We both agreed that while the most important thing to do is to raise a family that Heavenly Father would be proud of, the gifts and talents that He placed in our hearts are also worthy and important pursuits.

Michael shared a quote with me from Joseph Smith that says,

"A man filled with the love of God is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.” (History of the Church 4:227) 

Those words settled on me softly and made me feel dignified again. And I thought how grateful I am for the Restored Gospel and modern-day prophets.

I think when we're acting as our best self, we could boil our efforts down to blessing the human race. The feeling of wanting to surround myself with beautiful things and thoughts and people and places isn't selfish in its very nature. It can be used as a tool to show others the beauty in the being I worship every day. It makes me happy to have beauty as a constant presence in my life, and the God I worship cares about my happiness.

I feel deep gratitude, especially on Thanksgiving Day, as I think about what I have been given and what I have to do. My life is full. From the stirrings in my heart to the dinner on the table, I feel blessed by and indebted to a host of people, but most of all to Jesus Christ for placing those stirrings there and giving me the power to turn them into actions.

For his "vacation"

Sunday two weeks ago in the foothills near Ponticella, overlooking Bologna. Image credit.

 The ward members in Bologna are among the most generous people I've ever met. Maybe it's an Italian thing. They always want to feed you or have you to their house. The past two Sundays we've spent eating really good (read: "It's the best you have ever had, right?") food with ward members and friends. It makes Sundays here feel a bit more like Sundays back home.

Last week we went to Pioppe di Salvero (just minutes from Marzabotto where the infamous Marzabotto massacre took place during WWII) where we had lunch (the largest meal of the day. As in, three courses. As in, I loved it so much) with a few families from the ward. The home we at ate used to be an old hotel and restaurant in the center of town. The main floor was a dance hall, trattoria and small shop. Upstairs, where the family now lives, were the hotel rooms.

The patriarch of the home is slowly renovating the main floor. The dance hall was turned into a preschool years ago. His wife used to teach 1 - 3 year-olds. (Now, he told me, there aren't enough kids to ever have a preschool). Another portion he finished for an apartment for his daughter and her husband. But the shop and part of the restaurant have never been tackled. This week he's taking on one more room.

"This week will be my vacation'," he told me. "I don't go to work. I stay here and finish this room for storage. The prophet says to have one year of food for storage. I think, I have the space. Why not make a room for storage?"

And, whamo! I learned something about sacrifice. In a tiny village of only about 500 people, a member of the church was taking a week off to make a room for his food storage. (As as serious as the Bolognesi are about their food, it's no wonder why it's so big and going to be so beautiful. He even has some little glass details poured into the concrete walls). And did I mention he was born with limited use of his hands? And has a limp? When he was born the doctors told his parents he wouldn't ever walk.

I was put in my place when I saw the devotion that this man has to following a modern prophet. I immediately wondered what my problem is?

Why can't I take a few minutes off to pray more sincerely? to study more earnestly? to serve more diligently? Those are the bare bones of devotion! Food storage is so out of my league right now.

I think I grew up a little more on Sunday. I realized how immature excuses are. I understood a little bit better that we are in control of our actions, and consequently, in control of where we are going.

Made my day

The only full-blown craving I ever had when I was pregnant with Ada was for a Cinnabon. Not just a cinnamon roll, mind you. A Cinnabon. And I never got one. And I was seriously torn up about it.

Yesterday a former Young Women leader left one for me at my parent's house.

I can't even tell you how warm and fuzzy it made me feel. Not only did the thought count, but the deed, the genuine Cinnabon, the trip to the airport. . .

It's moments (surprises, good deeds, genuine love) like these that make me think that I'm really going to miss Provo when we take off in a few weeks. Growing up here has felt like growing up surrounded by so many people who are looking out for me. It's a comfort and a blessing and something that I hope my kids will have when/where ever we settle. (We are going to settle someday, right Mikey?)

Sometimes I feel like I'm the luckiest girl in the world. Yesterday, it was because of a Cinnabon.

A wet reminder

I have loved these afternoon desert rainstorms. I know it's summer, but this summer has felt so different from every other summer in my life, it is only right that the weather contribute to the distinctiveness of it all.

It seems like there must be some reason why the valley has needed to burst open everyday. The rain doesn't seem malicious or furious or torrential. It's not the kind of downpour that I associate with anger or punishment.

To me, the downpours seem more like an out-welling of praise. It's the gushing that comes when you're full up with gratitude or overwhelmed with love.

The rain has felt like a gift each day reminding me that I have much to praise and thank and love about; helping me understand that even though things feel loose and shifting and nomadic right now, there is power in letting the small things go in the shower of support that I receive daily. It helps me to feel washed over in wonder and admiration for the people and circumstances placed in my life.

We leave in less than a month. I hope it rains every day until then.

When the crickets came alive

We went to the park twice on Saturday. Ada was sleeping in her car seat for the first little while both times. We went to read the 4th installment of Harry Potter's Adventures (the point at which Mikey stopped reading but now wishes to start up again after seeing the last film) but neither time actually cracked the book.

We laid on our backs and watched nature sway. And then later we laid on our bellies, listened to the crickets come alive and talked about awkward moments when we were dating. (Like this one: Mike: "Hi it's me. I was wondering if you wanted to go to a play with me this weekend." Paige: (Long pause) "Ummmmmmmm (hand over the receiver, whispering to my aunt and sister, "It's him! What should I say?!??) Ummmmmmmm . . . (you see I was just telling them how dashing he is, maybe too dashing, and I wasn't sure about this whole getting serious business) Ummmmm. . . sure. I'll go.")

Then Ada woke up. We sat there together for a little while and I was overcome by just how much I love my little family. I can't wait to grow together in Bologna, far away from familiarity and family. It's going to be scary and lonely and maybe terrible at times, but mostly I think it will be binding, extending and strengthening.

We leave in less than two months. Gah!

No, YOU live a charmed life

The other day my sister overheard me telling Ada what we had planned for the day. "A run," I told her, "and then baths. After, we'll read some books and play until Daddy gets home. Then we have to go to the grocery store, to the bank, to the dry cleaners . . ."

"You live a charmed life," my sister told me.

At first I wanted to shoot back, No I don't! Charmed? What is charming about the spit-up smell that has taken up permanent residence on my clothes, changing diapers, dealing with tears and laundry and dishes and errands day in and day out? Why did I want to react this way? I swear there is something about human nature that makes us want to have the tougher life, the harder story. "No, myyyyy day was worse. No, myyyyy hurt is deeper."

But when I sat back for half a second, I realized that I do have it so good. This is what I've always dreamed of doing. I love spending all day with my girl, even if she might be teething and has bouts of fussiness. I am learning to find satisfaction in a clean home, a well prepared meal, an organized closet and a happy husband.

I came to understand "The Charmed Life" as "The Grateful Life." Anyone can love where their at (it just might be harder to love some spots in life than others). There is always something to gripe about. There is always the tendency to compare. But the reality of it all is that each of us can choose a charmed life by learning to love our circumstances.

Grateful, grateful

Mike and I have felt overwhelmed lately by the love, support and generosity of our friends and family. We owe so much to so many.

I got out my boxes of thank you notes to start making a dent in our debt of gratitude and now I have the quotations on the outside of one box bouncing around in my head.

Everyone appreciates being appreciated.


There is always something to be thankful for.


No duty is more urgent than that of returning thanks.
- Saint Ambrose

How true, how true.

But really what gratitude does to me is makes me feel more responsible for the way I live my life. It is a culmination of the efforts of so many that not doing well and doing right would let down a host of people. Researching my ancestors for my final show planted this thought in me: I am an outgrowth, so I should be grateful. And my gratitude needs to result in better living.

So today I resolve to be more loving, more kind, more thoughtful, more true, more generous, and more grateful. Because there is always something to be thankful for.

A letter

Dear August,

You've been good to me. In fact, I think this is the first month that has actually felt like Summer. Sure I was in California for 2 plus weeks in July, but can you say COLDEST SUMMER ON RECORD? That's what the newspaper said at least . . .

So I just want to take a moment and thank you. Thank you for showing me why I love Provo. Thank you for those seemingly endless nights where it was warm past midnight. Thank you for letting a friend come and for helping my mind grow. Thanks for letting us find out early that our baby is going to be a girl. I've basically been on a high for weeks. Thank you for that really long (and hot, I might add) bike ride last Saturday with my sweetie (both of them). I won't be able to ride too much longer (doctor's orders) and I needed to feel my body in the wind like I did.

Thanks for letting me be productive, even though it felt lazy to lay in bed until 11 in front of my computer. I have two books ready to send off and I can't wait to smell their new pages (laptop screens just don't provide the same pleasure). Thank you for helping me sleep in a little bit since I'm up much of the night making so many trips to the bathroom that my knuckles are chapped from washing so much.

Most of all thanks for ending soon. I'm excited to face this semester head on and you need to get out of the way first.

With much appreciation,

P