Sunday Scribblings #277: Distant



This is a painting that in part inspired this scribbling. I include it for whatever it may be worth to your reading.


He had been away at sea for eight years. Eight long years, and now he was coming home.

Sean had been her friend since before she could remember. Their fathers owned adjoining land, not far from the coast and half a day's ride from Belfast. It was beautiful country - long green grasses, blue sea, blue sky, the smell of new growth, the touch of the winds, the sentinel ruins on the cliff watching over it all... When they were small, she and Sean would run through the grasses and meet at the low wall dividing their two properties. Some days they would stay there, balancing on the wall or playing games in the grasses. Some days they would run up to the old watch tower and hide among the crumbling stone, pretending to be king and queen of their own castle, or fair folk in their lair. Some days, when the sun was particularly warm and the breeze especially fine, the would hike the mile and a quarter to the sea, where they would splash in the water and pretend to hunt for kelpies - sea deamons in the shape of horses, whom only the bravest could ride. They would draw pictures or build cities in the sand, staying as long as possible until the sun began to set and they knew that their mothers would be frantic with worrying where their young bairns had gone.

When they where small, they thought that their adventures were a grand secret, their friendship unbeknownst to anyone else. She realized in hinsight that their parents were well aware of their activities, and even encouraged them - for their was nothing to make a body grow up strong like running in the fresh air, and nothing to make a soul grow up good like being with a dear friend.

As they grew older, their adventures continued - though with less frequency, as Sean had to begin working on the farm and she herself had to start "learnin' to be a right proper lady," as her mother said it. So Sean worked in the fields, sowing and reaping, while she set to her "book learnin'" and her graces and baking and needlepoint. But in the evenings, when the baking and needlepoint were done, and it was too dark to see well in the fields, they two would meet by the wall again, and this time their meetings really were secret. At first, they would set off on adventures again, usually to the old ruins because they were closest. After a time, they would more often just walk in the moonlight, talking and enjoying each others' good company. Sometimes he would play his pipe and she would dance. Sometimes they would both dance without any music at all. It was upon that little wall that he kissed her for the first time.

By moonlight, they promised their love. They wanted to marry as soon as Sean could raise a little money for their support. It was still all a grand secret.

The next week, he signed on to a ship as a sailor. He would see the world, and earn good wages, and in a year or two return to his beautiful bride to be. He departed Belfast with her kiss lingering on his lips and her words of parting ringing in his ears.

Eight years. He had been sailing for eight years.

The first two years had been easy to bear. Soon her Sean would be home, she would be his forever. Surely she could wait a little longer for that. The third year had been harder. By the fifth, she was almost frantic. Now, six years beyond his promised return, she had begun to despair. Had he found someone abroad? Some beautiful, exotic maiden in a far off, adventurous place? Had he found a new world, with better prospects, where he had decided to stay? Had he been shipwrecked, or drowned, or worse? And her greaterst fear of all - had he promised to someone else the beautiful feelings he had once promised to her?

She knew she was thinking too hard. Her mother said that women needed men because women often delt in possibilities, while men delt with the present, right as it was. Her mother was right, but it didn't help. She didn't have a man to tell her what the present, right as it was, actually looked like. She tried to remember Sean as he was, as she had loved him, and felt as though that person were miles and miles and years and years away. She didn't know if the person out their sailing the world was the same person she had let into her heart on the little stone wall. For all she knew, that person was as far away as their childhood romps to the ocean.

When she received word from the shipyards that his ship was coming home, she became terrified.

He was supposed to come into port tonight. She stayed at home, fretting. A storm was boiling in the heavens and on the sea, thrashing about the waves and the countryside, and she worried for the fate of his vessel. The wind howeld and wuthered around her family's little cottage, driving sleep from her thoughts. She sat at the window with a candle, staring out at the storm. The moors and ruins and grasses and hills were invisible in the driving rain. She wrapped a shawl around herself and waited, staring, unsure what she hoped to see. A lantern... a light in the other farmhouse... a call in the dark... anything.

In the few moments when she dozed, she was tossed into dreams of tearing sails, splintering beams, spinning helms, and flying ropes... He was so close, so near, but the storm! The storm! What would become of the ship? If it wrecked, would their be any kelpie to rescue him from the water? He was brave enough to harness one... it would not pull him under the waves to drown him, as they creatures did to the faint of heart. He would tame the sea... he must... he must... But the wind howled on... and still no sign... no sign...

When morning broke, a little bit of sun managed to force a path through the clouds, which were now weakened from the night's downpour and begining to disperse. She lay at the window, her candle burnt down to a stub, awake but motionless. Her mother found her there and held her for a time, allowing her to cry away all the hopelessness and pain that had settled over the course of the night. The little ray of sun have little comfort.

The mother sat up slowly as a sound reached her ears. Footsteps on the path outside. The daughter didn't move. She didn't hear the sound, still weeping where she lay. Then the cottage door swung open - just a little ways, and familiar voice called to her, tearing her out of her grief. She leaped to her feet and whirled toward the voice - just one word, and she knew. Just her own name - and all other words could be left behind.

"Ailis."

Top 10 List #1: How I Know I am Meant to Be an English Major

So it isn't particularly magical, but I did find it funny to see how literature classes have been influencing me.

-oo0oo-

10. Dictionary.com and Thesaurus.com are two of my best friends.

9. My vocabulary has gained me a reputation (in high school especially) for being a walking dictionary.

8. I've done copy edits on my own journal entries.

7. My puns are intended more often than not.

6. I write in dactylic tetrameter for fun (and if you know what that means, it's possible that you are an English Major, too).

5. I can speak fluent Shakespearean (in soliloquy style, pun and play-on-words, dialogue and banter, or sonnet - you name it).

4. I manage to find situational irony if half the situations I encounter day to day (just ask my roommates).

3. My summer reading list looks like my ENG 292-293 syllabus (including but not limited to Great Expectations, Wuthering Heights, The Merchant of Venice, The Great Gatsby, and Moby Dick).

2. The most exciting thing to happen to me in the last three weeks was the discovery of a topic on which I could write a really good thesis paper (Societal Origins of the Princess Story).

1. Reading Dickens, Twain, Joyce, Bronte (any of the three), Shakespeare - and/or any other writer that has a place in about 80% of the classical and contemporary Cannons - excites me to the point of rapture.

-oo0oo-

Well, there you have it. If it there was any doubt before, it is now dispelled. I am a literary fanatic. A novel enthusiast, a poetry zealot, a short fiction nutcase, a Shakespearean disciple - all of the above and more.

I don't think I shall be changing my major any time soon.

Thanks for reading through yet another example of my secret (and not-so-secret) craziness and eccentricity. Your patience and tolerance is much appreciated, as ever it has been.

'Til next time, my friends...

The Rainbow Connection

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
and what's on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions
and rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we've been told and some choose to believe it.
I know they're wrong, wait and see...
Someday we'll find it, the Rainbow Connection
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

I'm sure most of you have heard this song before. I can't sing it or play it on the piano without having a mental vision of Kermit sitting in his swamp, playing his little banjo and singing to the trees and lily pads and spanish moss. It's a beautiful song, about magic and belief and beauty - exactly what we're all about here at Everyday Magic. And it's sung by a muppet. Does it get any better than that?

I thought of this song yesterday as I was driving along highway 40 to singles ward FHE. The day had been gray and heavy, threatening rain since we first woke in the morning. The promise of a storm, however, had been kept back all morning and afternoon, held in suspense by the overhanging ceiling of clouds. Finally, just minutes after my father had finished grilling our hot dogs on the barbecue, the sky finally broke loose. The storm didn't last long - perhaps half an hour before temporarily abating - but it was long enough to water the plants, coat the windows, and turn the gray driveway pavement two shades darker. Just after the rain retreated, I clambered into the family van and headed out for FHE.

"Why are there so many songs about rainbows and what's on the other side...?"

As I was driving along the highway, I discovered that hanging overhead there was an enormous rainbow, stretching clear from the neighborhood I had just left to the other end of town (so if anyone asks me what's on the other side of the rainbow, I can say "Timber Lakes"). It was magnificent, a full arc of every color spanning the valley floor. I was probably a hazard to traffic, as I kept taking my eyes away from the road to glance at it again. The purple-gray clouds behind it and the vibrant green fields below accented its beauty and gave it a perfect background against which to rest. It was all I could do to stop gazing upon it in favor of the black asfault road in front of me.

"Rainbows are visions, but only illusions, and rainbows have nothing to hide."

Anybody could have explained it in science terms - an atmospheric phenomenon caused by water vapor and sunlight creating a colorful illusion - but it was magical to me none the less.

"All of us under its spell... we know that it's probably magic..."

It didn't last long - in fact, by the time I turned off the highway it had all but disappeared. Before it was gone, however, I had time to marvel at the number of cars that were driving straight past it - some even underneath it - and who's drivers and passengers probably didn't see nature's masterpiece hanging in the sky above them, just waiting for them to look up.

"Have you been half asleep, and have you heard voices? I've heard them calling my name..."

Take time, now and then, to open your eyes and look up from your life. You never know what kind of magic you might see or adventures you might find if you do. I myself discovered my own little Rainbow Connection yesterday. However, because it is you and your eyes and your heart, you may see something that I would never have discovered, something that is brand new and no one's in the world but your own.

What might your discovery be?

"Someday we'll find it, the Rainbow Connection - the lovers, the dreamers, and me." 

'Til next time...

God Bless America

Eleven score and fifteen years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in many great conflicts, both at home and abroad, testing whether that nation, or any other nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.

You will have recognized above a little of Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, but with my own alterations for the modern day. On this July Fourth, I read in the newspaper that only 4.5% of the world's past and present population has experinced the kind of freedom that we enjoy here in the United States. So few... I never imagined how fortunate I was until I read that article - how fortunate we all are.

I can walk outside of my house at night without fear. I can go to bed secure in the knowledge that I and everyone in my home will be alive and well in the morning. I can speak ill of the president or the senate if I choose, and not fear that I shall be arrested. I, a woman, can attend any college I choose, provided that my grades are good, and become anything I want to be - scientist, doctor, astronaut, lawyer, mother, writer, anything at all. I can stand up with others in a public place and raise my voice in protest against what I believe to be wrong, without arrest or law enforcement brutality. I will not be killed for choosing my own way, or going where I want to go, or saying what I feel is right. That is liberty.

So few countries enjoy or have enjoyed what I have just described. In Nazi Germany, enjoying music or literature that was not German was punishable by imprisonment or even shipment to a work camp. In China, youth raising their voices against their nation's wrongs were gunned down while protesting in Tianamen Square. Very recently, Egyptian pilots flying bomber planes had to seek asylum in other countries in order to refuse their orders to drop their deadly cargo among their own people, who were protesting a tyrranical rule of government. Yet we here in American speak and act freely, without fear.

It has not come without a price. Thousands, even millions of men and women have laid down their lives over the years to preserve that freedom. Some continue to do so today, and for them we are forever grateful. Their final sacrifice has placed the American cause in a temple where the whole world can behold it, and know that it is something worth dying for, concecrating our highest beliefs far beyond anyone's power to add or detract.

However, the brave military servicemen are not the only guardians of our freedom. It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought and died for this nation have so nobly advanced. The only way that this country can continue to house the kind of liberty we have thus far held dear is if her people resolve that those dead will not have died in vain, and that they will give their own full measure of devotion - their voice, their hands, and their hearts - to her cause.

If we can do this, then our God-given government of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from the earth.

God bless America - land that I love!
Stand beside her and guide her
through the night with the light from above.
From the mountains to the praries
to the oceans white with foam...
God bless America,
my home sweet home!

And that He will my frieds - have no fear for that.

'Til next time...

In Memorium

This is a little piece I wrote in response to a writing prompt. In honor of Kalem Franco and those others who leave the world early, before anyone is ready to see them go.

Dear Friend -

I don't know if I know you. As of right now, that is. I don't know whether we have yet met. If we have not, though, I am sure we will in the not-too-distant future. I do not konw who you are or what you look like or what sort of person you will be. I know only that I will love you, that you will be my friend... and that I will lose you.

I have thought much of this lately, as a couple of deaths have occured not to far from me, though not so close as to cause me immense grief. However, I know that I cannot go through life without at least once (and likely more) losing someone near to me. I write to you now, so that when, someday, that does happen, I might be a little more prepared to endure it.

I want to thank you for all the happiness you have brought (or will bring) to my life. I am a creature of emotions, and especially of emotional connection with others. Though I can be independent, I crave human company. The friends who I consider my closest companions are the ones who have given me beautiful memories to look back on - happy times spent in good company. Thank you for all the sweet memories, the happy moments, and beautiful dreams that will be ours to share.

I want to thank you also for shaping me into the person that I am. I have seen myself change as I have been acted upon by those around me. As I have surrounded myself by those who, like yourself, are better men and women than I am. Simply being with them, I find myself turning into something new - someone like them. And I like that person. I love being the person I am when I am with those I love. In the words of the poet, "I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you... Not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me." Thank you for your example, for your presence in my life - and for the person you believed I could be.

Thank you for the gift your life was, or has been, or will be - and for the strength and faith your death will bring. I know that I will see you again one day, and that we will be as happy then as we were on earth. I truly believe that friendship can be a divine relationship in itself - especially when those friends are encouraging and strengthening each other in righteousness, as I have no doubt that you will do. In the meantime, though we be separated, I know also that the veil is a thin barrier. You will be near, and we will be friends apart, just as we were friends together.

I love you, my friend - whoever you may be. God be with you until we meet again.

 Your friend,
Rachel

Do You Hear the People... Swing?

I have recently seen an excellent movie. It is called "Swing Kids" (starring I really don't know who). It takes place in Nazi Germany, among the German people, and centers for the most part around a group of teenage boys who don't want to conform with Hitler's rule. They refuse to join the HJ (Hitler Jugen, or Hitler Youth), wear their hair long, dress like English kids, and listen to American music. Their biggest act of rebellion, however, is...

Swing Dancing.

That's right. They make their stand against Hitler by getting together on weekends to dance. It's resistance that isn't just peaceful and nonviolent, but also fun. Protest evil in the world by doing the Charleston. Or singing Django Reinhardt music. Or listening to good records.

Some people do the same today. Music and dancing have often been forms of rebellion or protest over the past century. Teenagers listen to music their parents don't approve of, just to say that they can do what they want, or go to dances where such music is played. Women in South America living under tyrranical rule, whose husbands, sons, and friends had been murdered, rebelled by going out into the streets together and dancing - an act which the guards and soldiers could not punish.   Civil rights activists sang as they marched in the streets, "We shall overcome!"

However, while it is easy to sing and dance, it is not always easy to stand up for what you believe. The Swing Kids were beaten, imprisoned, shipped to work camps, and even killed for dancing against Nazi command. The women in South America were left without husbands and fathers, alone against opression. The civil rights movement was stained with the blood of unpunished murders, terrible abuse, imprisonment, and martyrdom.

But they all did it anyway. In spite of threats of pain, prison, and death, they continued to sing and dance. And, eventually, their songs and dances were not in vain. Change came, and the world was made better for their work and sacrifice.

A wise man in my life - my father - said it this way. The only way for evil to gain power in the world "is if good men and women do nothing." It is easy to sit in our homes, surrounded by close friends and family, and say, "I don't like the way things are going." That is what many Germans did during the Nazi regime. But to step outside the door and raise your voice against evil for all the world to hear... that takes great courage, and it is the only thing that will make a difference in the end.

Mohamas K. Ghandi, the originator of peacful nonviolent resistance and one of the greatest men of the last century, said that we must "Be the change you want to see in the world." He is right. If we want change to happen, the only way is to make it happen ourselves. It is easy to think, "I am only one person. Nothing I do will make any difference, so why worry?" This is why - in "Swing Kids," the father of the main character said in a letter, "We must all take responsibility for what is happening in our country. If those of use who have a voice do not raise it in outrage at the treatment of our fellow human beings we will have collaborated in their doom."

You have a voice. We, who live in the freeset nation on earth, have voices. Raise them in outrage against wrongs, and in praise for that which is right. If enough voices join the chorus, change will happen, and the world will become as we know it should be. We will become the change.

Raise your voice in outrage for that which is wrong, and in praise for what is right. You don't have to be a politician, humanitarian worker, public speaker, or anything else to make a change. Sing. Dance. Paint. Write. Play sports. Whatever it is you do, do it while keeping in mind the reaons why you are doing it, and what you believe in. I, for one, will be on the dance floor, doing the lindy hop with all of my heart. "It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing..."

'Til next time, my friends...

The Eve of Midsummer

As I have thus far undertaken the task of informing my dear readers about the occurence of significant astronomical dates, I do so here again. Yesterday, June 21, was the Summer Solstice, or Midsummers' Day - the longest day of the year. I make particular mention of it because in many cultures it is not only the longest day, but also the most magical.

From what my little tidbits of research have revealed (thank you, Wikipedia), most countries around the world celebrate some form of Midsummer ritual - particularly any countries in which either (or both) Paganism or Christianity in some form has been present. The Christians celebrate it as a saints day - the day of St. John the Baptist. The Pagans had something else in mind.

I have found that in much of modern English, the words "pagan" and "heathen" have become synonomous (or at least very similar). There was a time when the were used as synonyms, back in the day when the Catholic church was trying to rid the continent - indeed, the known world - of Pagan traditions. However, Paganism wasn't all evil, or all heathen. They were simply polytheistic in a world where monotheism was begining to take the stage. They worshiped many gods, worshipped primarily through ritual, and possessed a deep-seeded belief in magic.

To the Pagans, Midsummers day was special. It was the halfway point between the equinoxes, the farthest away you can get from Midwinter before you start coming back. It was a time to celebrate life (the survival of one winter) and to pray for future good fortune (plentiful harvest and a good winter to come). They often celebrated by lighting bonfires, jumping over the bonfires, telling fortunes, performing fertility rituals for the young women (midsummer being a good time to conceive so that children will be born the following Spring), and in general eating, dancing, and making merry. Midsummer was also said to be a time when magic could be used at its highest potency. Sorceresses, magicians, alchemists, healers, and potion makers would go out in the darkness before sunrise and collect their herbs and ingredients for a new year, believing that the presence of the Midsummer sunrise would give their spells and potions added power. Midsummer's eve was also a night to have great caution, as it was said to be the night when devils and evil spirits roamed free upon the earth.

Some of these traditions have carried on into modern times. People from most countries (including the United States, as it happens) still participate in bonfire festivals - with and without fire-jumping. Women in Russian and the Ukraine take part in fertility rituals and tell their fortunes by casting their flower garlands onto the water and reading the petals. Eating, dancing, and overall merriment still prevail. Some places, sorceresses and healers still roam the hours before sunrise, collecting herbs.

I, for one, took part in my own celebration. I sat in the sunshine and read books, my feet dangling into the kidie pool. I drank cold lemonade (though not with mint leaves, unfortunately). I laid myself out on the dew-covered lawn and looked at the millions of stars that adorned the night sky, trying to find constellations in their midst. I even danced on the grass in my bare feet, in the light of a setting sun.

It's not a bonfire. It's not remotely ritualistic. And it probably won't produce any magic whatsoever. But it's my way of celebrating the coming of summer, and to rejoice in the warm days, full harvests, and magical memories to come.

Happy Midsummer, my friends. 'Til next time...

Light on the Water

Sorry for the delay, friends - I have been living in a cabin by a lake this week, where (perhaps fortunately), there was no internet access. However, it was good to get away from technology and live near the untamed wilderness. It's a wholesome, healthy thing to be in company with nature, away from the hustle and bustle of modern life.

Lake Cushman - home to birds, chipmunks, various freshwater fish, and - occasionally - higher mamals like myself. It is a beautiful place, where the pine forests come down to the water's edge, where the mists rest on the lake's surface every morning, and where the blackberries ripen with the summer sun. Sadly, they where not wholly ripe when we arrived, but the nectarines were - so we bought many from the fruit stand on the way. As lovely as all of this is, I want to talk about something different - the water itself.

The lake's depths give it a beautiful color by itself - a deep, beautiful blue-green. The water's motion gives it a shimmering texture, always changing as you watch. But most beautiful of all is when the lake is touched by the heavens.

The sun's reflection on the water makes it gleam gold and silver in the afternoons, almost as brightly as the sun itself - more replendant than any gold or silver mined from the earth. I sat upon the roots of a felled, driftwood-smooth tree at the waters edge and watched it, wanting to preserve it in my memory.

Early the next morning - 3 AM or so - I woke with congested sinuses. I happened to look out the window, and was taken by surprise. The full moon was hanging low over the tree-lined hills, and below that, on the water, it's light had cast a stripe of pure, shining silver across the dark lake. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

It is amazing to me how much beauty can occurr in Nature.There are many beautiful things that don't occurr naturally - like architecture and paintings and musical theatre and thanksgiving dinners - but there are infinitely more that do. Flowers, mountins, soft grass, sweet smells, painted skies... I had the the privilege of enjoying one of them this week - the gleam of the heavens, brought down to the earth, just beyond my reach.

'Til next time, my friends... 

Say Not The Struggle Naught Availeth

Life continues to be as well as it ever has been. There have been blue skies and green grass and warm sunshine happening almost every day now (but as is hardly surprising on the Wasatch front, there have been interruptions to the warm streak). Popcicles have immerged from the freezer, and my 19th birthday has come and gone in the company of baked alaska and zoo animals and disney movies and frisbee and loved ones. On the whole, all is well.

Thanks for tuning in to the "Life and Times of Rachel" update. Now on with the post.

-oo0oo-

Today I wish to share with you a favorite poem of mine, one that my father introduced to me some years ago. It was written by English poet Arthur Hugh Clough, and without further ado I include it as follows:

SAY not the struggle naught availeth,
   The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
   And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
   It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
   And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
   Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
   Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only,
   When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
   But westward, look, the land is bright!

On several occasions - generally at the start of a new school year, when I was anxious and afraid that I would not be cut out for the new workload - my wise father shared with me the second stanza of this poem. "If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars," he told me. If hopes can be easily laid aside or stated faulty, can fears not be the same?

In the last year, I have learned a little of despair and fear. I have felt myself swallowed up by worries and difficulties, and found myself wondering if I was equal to the tasks before me. I wondered how it could possibly all be done. I discovered, though, that often "in yon smoke concealed, your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, and but for you possess the field." This certainly was so with my comrades - more often than not it was they who reminded me that my battle did not wage as sore as I believed. However, I think this idea applies even more so to my Heavenly Father.

I have felt sometimes that there is no way that every problem before me will work out. I tell myself I'll never be able to pay for all of my schooling, or I'll never be able to publish my book, or join the Tabernacle Choir, or find someone who loves me enough that he would take me his for all eternity - all of which are my brightest, dearest dreams and ambitions. Shadows of self doubt set in, and the hope of their coming true succumbs to despair. Yet in spite of my fears, I have seen, time and time again, that Heavenly Father is looking ahead of where I am, placing the solutions just beyond my vision, "in yon smoke concealed," waiting for me to go on a little longer until I can discover them. I have come to realize that He always possesses the field - no matter how our own smaller battles are progressing.

Do not despair. The world is sometimes harsh, and life can somtimes be too much to bear. Everyone has dark days and heavy burdens. However, I promise that "the labor and the wounds" are never in vain. Keep fighting the good fight, pressing forward, carrying on - and one day you will see how much of the field has been won beyond the smoke. The enemy will faint, things will change for the better, and are probably even changing now, whether you have seen it or not.

Westward look, my friends - "the land is bright."

Yours always, 'til next we meet...

Heaven Sent

I held an angel today.

This morning was the Joy School end of year field trip. Nathan (my four year old brother) has been participating in Joy School for the last year, along with three other children - two boys and a girl. To celebrate their commencement from the Joy School program, a trip to the zoo was arranged. So each Joy School mother packed up her children and brought them to Salt Lake, where we met at the entrance gates. The McKrollas came with three children, including their Joy School student. Among the three was Collin.

Collin McKrolla came into this world two months ago. He was diagnosed with down syndrome before birth, via ultrasound. He was also diagnosed with an aortic coartation - the same heart condition I had when I was born. When he was born, it was additionally discovered that he had clubbed feet. Miraculously, however, there was no sign of the anticipated coartation. No heart surgery necessary.

As we went through the zoo, he lay in his stroller, half asleep most of the time. His legs were both completely encased in plaster casts to correct his feet, and he wore oxygen tubes in his nose to keep his breathing regular as he slept.

Part way through the day, I had the opportunity to hold him for a while, and even take a turn carrying him - always close to the stroller, to keep attached to the oxygen tank, but at least giving him a chance to get out of it for a while. He lay almost perfectly still in my arms, occasionally shifting when the sun got in his eyes or his position was uncomfortable. Once or twice, he even pushed his eyes open and looked up at me.

I felt I was holding an angel. I was certainly holding a miracle - to have a heart defect disappear as it did was nothing short of that. He was so pure, so perfect, despite the hardships his physical body had suffered, and would continue to suffer later on. However, I knew also that despite the hardships, he would continue to be an angel for the rest of his mortal life. I have known several children like him - those sweet spirits who are not held accountable, who are incapable of evil. Those beautiful souls who come to this earth with bodies and minds incomplete, but who bless the lives of all those around with them as much as they are able to give. Collin was pure, and would always be pure - until that holy day when all shall be restored to its perfect frame.

It was a humbling, almost sacred experience to help care for that baby boy today. I held an angel. I kissed an angel's head. I comforted an angel when he began to cry. I pushed an angel in a stroller through animal exhibitions and crowded walkways.

And I can truly say that in doing so, I was brought closer to God and His angels above.

Yours always, my friends, 'til next we meet...

Learning to Fly

I must apologize to this poor little blog of mine for the terrible neglect it has experienced this month. I have no excuses, really... I still have my laptop, I still know how to read and write, and there's still magic everywhere to be written about. If anything, I should be writting more, with all the time I've got on my hands at work. I solemnly promise that I shall get with the program from hear on out - both to my blog and to my faithful readers.

My four year old brother Nathan said something particularly striking to me a couple evenings ago. He seemed a little sad - as sometimes he wilfully chooses to be - so I asked him what was wrong. He looked up at me with a sad little sigh and said, "I forgot to learn how to fly."

Now Nathan is a superhero in a little boy's clothing. I'm sure that what he was referring to was something like Clark Kent's version of flight. I, however, was reminded of something else.

You all are familiar with Peter Pan, I am sure - whether through book or stage or silver screen. The little boy from Neverland who never wanted to grow up, who ran around fighting pirates and indians every afternoon, and who lived in a tree with the Lost Boys and a fairy friend named Tinkerbell. The little boy who could fly. "All it takes is faith and trust and a little bit of pixie dust."

I was reminded of a moment at the end of the stage version of Peter's story. Peter returns to the nursery for Wendy, as he does every year at Spring Cleaning time. But the girl he finds there is not Wendy, but her daughter, Jane. Wendy has grown up. Not realizing as much at first, Peter tries to take Wendy with him, but she pulls back, saying, "I can't, Peter. I've forgotten how to fly."

Sounds familiar, doesn't it?

We live in a world where faith and trust have begun to diminish. Science has explained everything, so who needs faith? A person is expected to make something of themselves, be independent, get something done right by doing it themselves - so why keep trust? We have bullet trains and boeing 747s and cars of every assortment of color to get us where we're going. We have money and influence and technology to give us a boost. So who needs to fly?

I would argue that it is simply for the sake of flying.

We continue to have faith because we need to believe in something - anything - to keep ourselves going. We continue to trust because when life begins to press upon us and we cannot keep our footing any more, we need someone else to pick us up and help us finish the journey. We may not have pixie dust, but these needs - these absolute human necessities - help us to fly when everything else in the world is fighting gravity's battle, keeping us anchored to the bustle and pain and weariness of the world. They bring us above it all and give us room to spread our wings and imagine what adventures may lie in wait, just beyond the horizon.

Little children, like my brother, know this better than anyone. A child will believe in anything without anyone telling them to - like faeries and monsters in the closet and Santa Clause at Christmastime. They will run to their mother or father or sibling in a heartbeat, never questioning the safety and comfort those open arms proclaim themselves to offer. They hardly need to be taught - they simply fly, without a thought.

Despite the dark and difficult world we live in, have faith and trust. Don't lose faith, but believe in something. Always remember those who are cheering for you. You are never alone, and must never despair. Though the world may seem bleak, the sun is only moments away from rising.

No matter how old you are or how long you have been away from Neverland, never forget how to fly. You learned as a child. You know how it's done. Just remember, believe in yourself, spread your wings - and soar.

'Til next time, my friends...

Topaz and Ebony Wings

I experienced something yesterday evening that I can only describe as magical - and so, of course, I share it with you.

It was evening. The sun was beginning to cast its last golden rays upon the world. My siblings had been playing with the hose on the deck, so the floorboards were moist. I went out the back door and stood there, on the deck, about to call out to the kids - when I spied something on the boards near my feet. It was a beautiful winged creature - at first glance a butterfly, but on closer inspection more likely a moth - with wings of bright orange and black. It simply sat there, unmoving except for an occasional shift in its wings. Then a moment later it fluttered upwards and flew, making several circles in the air, each time getting closer to the deck - until finally it landed right on my foot.

I froze. I didn't want to break the spell the butterfly had cast in that one act of unknowing trust. If it had been someone else, I don't know what might have happened to the creature. When Nathan saw it outside later on, he actually asked me if he could squash it (he was removed to the indoors in a hurry, suffice it to say). But I had no intent to hurt it. I wanted nothing more than for that moment to stay as long as I could keep it. The little butterfly held very still, sunning its wings (which I later assumed must have been dampened by the hose) upon my very skin, trusting that I would not upset it. I didn't. I held perfectly still for several minutes, watching it intently, until it finally lifted itself and flew to a new spot.

It repeated this cycle several times - take off, circle around, land again - each time touching down on a new part of the deck. I sat there on the quickly-drying floorboards and watched it, trying to hold onto that little piece of magic and preserve it in my memory. It was like seeing a faerie, living and breathing and flying before my very eyes. This gentle creature, with wings that even a strong wind or hard rain could have torn, was allowing me to look upon it, standing quietly by as it exposed itself to the life-giving sun.

That is one kind of magic that fills this world - the little, delicate, beautiful things that fill our lives with color. Even more magical, though, was that moment when the little faerie chose to put its trust in me, if only for a moment. In a world governed so dominantly by the rule of survival of the fittest, it is magical that this little creature - whose wings could be torn to ribbons by even a strong wind or hard rain - should even be alive, let alone that it should choose, by whatever instinct it possesses, to land upon a creature far bigger, stronger and fitter than it, and trust that that creature would not harm it. What faith - or perhaps blindness. I cannot say. I would like to believe that it was faith.

At length, the butterfly's wings were finally dry enough to keep him aloft. He left the deck for the last time and flew toward the roof - where we watched another butterfly join it, and together the pair flew skyward in a dazzling flutter of topaz and ebony wings.

All the Little Live Things

As you can see, Everyday Magic is once again sporting a new suit. I've always loved this template - all the bookshelves on the background. I was thinking about saving it until September, when school begins, but obviously I have changed my mind. I simply couldn't resist.

Unless you live in the far north countries or the southern hemisphere, you will have noticed that Spring has begun to make her annual appearance on Nature's stage. It's usually a quiet piece of blocking - a couple steps onto the back of the stage as Winter is finishing his final soliloquy. Sometimes she will slip into the wings again, but always she returns, each time appearing closer and closer to the spotlight, until Winter can no longer maintain his place. They have a bit of dialogue together, and Winter puts up a good fight - but always he is forced to leave the stage in the end and let Spring have her moment of glory.

I love watching this part of the Seasonal Play. I delight in watching Spring's chorus line dance onto the stage - all the Little Live Things that come with her appearance. The singing birds, the blossoming flowers, the green growing grass, the sweet-smelling buds, the bright blue sky, the fresh winds and new rain - all beneath the gaze of the smiling sun by day and a sea of stars by night. Such a beautiful cast dancing across such a dazzling stage! And all happening just beyond your doorstep. What a miracle!

This performance is happening beneath your very feet, and before your very eyes. However, this play does not come with a playbill or ticket which you could take home to attest to your attendance. You have only yourself and the play. I encourage you not to let it pass by. Go out into the world, dance on that same stage with the Little Live Things that have returned to your world once again. Be part of Spring's entourage before she gives way to Summer. It is a beautiful season, filled with more magnificence and mystery than any man-made production could claim. "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." Go don the beauty of the lilies, rejoice in the new birth of the new season, and become one of the Little Live Things of the world Spring has created.

'Til next time, my friends - blessings go with you. 

Apart Yet Not Afar

Well, it has happened at last - I have come home from college. You remember how homesick I was when I first started this blog? How this whole thing kept me sane because I could commit my feelings to someone elses' eyes, albeit unseen? Well, now I'm doing the same thing again - but longing for a different home.

The move home has been hard, but as a result I've discovered something that I probably should have put together years ago. I think I knew it for a lot of that time, but I never really articulated fully, even to myself.

You know the old phrase "Home is where the heart is," right? It's about that saying that I wish to write today. However, I would make an addition. Consider it like one of those old logic problems: "Caius is a man, men are mortal, therefore Caius is mortal." Well, here's my spin off of Caius. "Home is where the heart is, the heart is with loved ones, therefore the home is with loved ones."

Does that make sense?

I've been with my parents and siblings in our beautiful mountain valley home, sitting by a fire and drinking wassail and watching a movie or reading books from Dad's library. I've also been with them in a room in the Holiday Inn on the edge of town, with next to no belongings and no house to go to. I've even seen them out in the wilderness, when all of us were living in a tent, wearing torn jeans and old sweatshirts and smelling like sweat and campfire smoke. But no matter where we were, I was happy - because I loved them anyway.

I have been with my fondest friends in the comfort of our apartments, laughing and enjoying good food (usually courtesy of Adrianne) and listenening to Brittany or Adrianne singing or Katie playing heavenly strains on the harp. I have also been with them when we were all makeup-less and wearing pajama bottoms in the middle of the day, hoping that none of the young men from the ward would choose that moment to call on us. I have seen them in snow and rainstorms, on campus and off, and while hiking up temple hill in the middle of January. But no matter where we were, I was happy - because they were with me.

Whether it be my friends, my kin, my parents, my brothers, my sister - it won't matter where we are. If they are with me, I am home.

And once you have made your home with someone, and bound up your heart so closely with theirs, something happens. No matter where you go, even when you are alone, there is a part of them that will be with you. It is as it is written in a poem my Grandma Pullan shared with me:

"Go thou thy way and I'll go mine
Apart yet not afar
Only a thin veil hangs between
the pathways where we are.
'For God keeps watch 'tween thee and me'
So never fear.
One arm round thee and one round me
will keep us near."

See? Isn't that an amazing blessing? Those that we love, though apart from us, are never far away. This even goes for those who have parted from this mortal world. I know that God keeps watch between me and my great grandparents who have passed on to their next habitation, just as he does between me and my fond ones who have parted from each other until next fall. And better still is the blessed promise that one day we will no longer be kept apart, but will be reunited before the Lord.

"I know not where thy road my lead
nor the way of mine
but coming to the judgement seat my soul shall meet with thine.
'And God keeps watch 'tween thee and me'
I'll whisper there.
He blesseth thee, he blesseth me,
and we are near."

'Til next time my friends - and may He always keep watch over thee and me.   

Raindrops and Hyacinth

Well, it seems that the old saying is come true. April showers we have had aplenty, and the spring flowers begin to emerge. The robins are back, singing in the tree branches and on telephone poles; t-shirts and pastel church dresses are becoming less and less endangered every day; the grass is rising greener, and the wind is blowing gentle from the East. Spring, my friends, is upon us. But, as mentioned before, that does tend to bring with it the occasional cloudburst - as was the case yesterday.

The day before, Sunday, was absolutely beautiful - but Monday dawned cold and gray. Everything outside was wet when the apartment woke, as though it had been raining earlier, and before too long it began to rain again. With all the anxiety and pressure of finals and the emotional ache of approaching partings weighing heavy to begin with, it did not improve my morale to look outside and see the dark, rain-laden clouds hanging low over the valley. The morning didn't change anything, filled only with the tense silence that accompanies rigorous study.

Later that afternoon, I hurried up to campus to take one of my finals and found myself wanting for cheer, feeling alone and troubled by many things. Feeling the need to see something beautiful so as to improve my thoughts, I went and stood for a time in front of the fine arts center, allowing myself to be rained on and looking at the blossoming tulips that grew there.

I remembered the way in which a friend had put things into perspective for me. The end of finals was right around the corner - and really, with all the hard study and reading I had done for my classes throughout the semester, I was more prepared than I thought I was. I would soon go home and have the best of summers, filled with family and friends, sunshine and sprinklers, petunias and popcicles, hard work and hard play... Then we would return to BYU and have a semester just as wonderful as this one has been. And after that, we would go to Jerusalem and have the experience of a lifetime... How blessed I have been! And how blessed I shall be! To think of it that way, I could not keep myself from being comforted.

As I came away from the tulip bed, I had a thought. It was spontaneous and out of character, but I acted on it anyway - I took off one of my shoes and tested the ground. It wasn't all that cold. The earth and pavement were warm, and the rainwater was fresh and cool. So without further ado, I removed my other shoe and set off for the JKB walking barefoot in the rain.

It was good and wholesome and healing - like new rain should be. The cool water splashed over my feet, and the still-falling raindrops delicately annointed my uncovered face and hands. The whole world was filled with the smell of moist earth and growing grass and - as I bent over one of the flower planters - the sweet perfume of fresh hyacinth. Every hue was brightened by the rain, turned by the storm's magical touch into the world's finest treasures - emerald grasses, jewel-bright tulips and pansies and hyacinth, ghost-white flowering tree buds, and paving stones of shining silver. And there I was in the middle of it - bare headed and shoeless and smiling.

Yes, it was probably not wise. Yes, I got funny looks - more than my usual share. Yes, I could have caught my death out there, and yes, the bottoms of my pants got soaked, and yes, my feet were nearly numb by the time I got to the appropriate building.

I don't care.

For a few moments, I was able to leave behind everything that was weighing me down. I was able to remove the intervening layers and make myself a part of the magic that was nature. I was at one with the puddles, the storm, the growth and newness and life all around me. It is as Ralph Waldo Emerson said:

"To speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most person do not see the sun. At least, they have a   very superficial seeing. The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and heart of the child.... To the body and mind which have been cramped by noxious work or company, nature is medicinal and restores their tone. The tradesman, the attorney, comes out of the din and craft of the street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again. In their eternal calm, he finds himself."

This time of year is hard and crazy, especially for students. My encouragement for the day is this: find a little nature every day. A flower, a bird song, a vernal breeze... whatever you will. As Emerson so perfectly put it, come away from the craft and din for a few moments, let nature work its magic upon you, and allow yourself to become a little more human. You don't have to go any futher than outside your door - no long hikes or retreats required - but even so, in nature's eternal calm, you will find yourself. Go see the sun, feel the moving wind, or walk barefoot in the rain - and let yourself become whole.

Faithfully yours - 'til next time...  

Sunday Scribblings #262 - Befuddled

I know why you're here. You've come to ask me what happened. That's right, isn't it? You want me to tell you the whole sad story.

Well, then, I don't suppose you'll believe me when I tell you that I don't know.

Don't look at me like that. I know what you're thinking. "Of course she doesn't know. That's what they all say." Think what you will - but its true. I don't know what happened.

It's not that I don't remember. Not really. I do remember, but only in flashes - like seeing bits of the landscape lit up in a lightining storm. Something here, something there, but never the whole picture. I can't even say for sure if I did it or not. They tell me I did, so I suppose I must have - but I don't know.

Could I have done it? Physically speaking, I suppose so... but I don't think I have the right psychology. Not normally anyway. Normally, I wouldn't be able to lift a finger toward such a thing. But people can become desperate. At that moment, perhaps...

Perhaps I could have done it.

You read books or hear stories where a character feels something "snap" inside them. I didn't have that moment. I didn't feel anything snap. Something must have happened, though... With a whole resevoir of emotion pressing against my every nerve, there must have been a point when the dam burst.

But I didn't feel it.

There we were, and he was... and I... and the next thing I knew, there were more people around... I couldn't say if I was on my feet or on my back... that horrible thing was in my hand and I couldn't say how it got there... He was bleeding... it was on me, too... Someone was shouting, people were shouting, running... People asking questions  I couldn't answer...

They took me away after that.

They say I should plead insanity. I won't do it, though... I won't... I wasn't insane. I don't know what I was, but I wasn't insane. I'm not crazy, I wasn't crazy then and I wasn't crazy now.

That's all I know. Please, don't ask me anything else. That's all I know.

I don't know what happened, I swear.

On my honor.

So help me, God.

I don't know...

Let it Snow!

Sorry about the delay, everybody. Life has not been granting me the luxury of leisure time of late. And as far as budgeting my time goes, leisure is all I can afford to spend on this poor neglected little blog of mine. Right now, though, I am in desperate need of something to write that isn't literary criticism, so I am more than willing to make it work with my otherwise hectic to-do list.

I have a roommate. Well, five actually - but one in particular I shall make mention of. She is from Georgia. She is a regular Southern belle, minus the thick accent. She always looks lovely, is of a sunny disposition, and is an exellent cook (suffice it to say that the good old Freshman 15 wasn't a danger to us until she moved in at the start of semester). But as I said, she is from the South, and so is accustomed to sunny skies, warm days, and a significant percentage of humidity during the spring and summer. As a result, today came as quite a frustration to her, to put the situation kindly. And why, do you ask, was she in such a state?

Well, my friends, it snowed. Heavily. In MARCH. And here's the great irony of the thing:

HAPPY VERNAL EQUINOX, EVERYBODY!!!

Indeed, it is so. Last Sunday was the official, astronomical, by-the-calendar, universally known FIRST DAY OF SPRING. And how does Mother Nature celebrate? Well, it didn't look like Botticelli's "Primavera," I'll tell you that much.

However, there is still great beauty in it. Have you ever seen fresh, living green grass covered in delicate snow crystals? Or how about a little bird dancing through the air with a chorus of snowflakes? Have you thrown a snowball lately, or caught one of the cool, delicate flakes on the tip of your tongue?

I am a cock-eyed optomist. I know this about myself. I made most of these observations to my best friend while we walked home through a big, wet, drippy blizzard, both of us soaked to the bone and so cold we couldn't feel our feet. After I had stopped mid-stride and bent down to observe the aforementioned blades of grass, Katie just looked at me, shook her head, and declared in a disbelieving tone that I would probably be able to find something pretty to look at even if I were stranded in the middle of Antarctica. I took it as a compliment. But in spite of it all, I hold to it still - there's beauty in any situation if you're willing to look.

You know what I'm going to say, I image - but I'll say it anyway. Go find something beautiful! Every single thing in creation is a blessing. And even if it snows, they're still there, just waiting to be discovered. And who knows? You might just find something magical you wouldn't have known before.

That's all for now, friends - I'll try and be more prompt in my postings in the future (though I won't make any promises I intend to keep until after finals are over). 'Til next we meet....

The Love of Learning

I have an announcement to make, everyone. I have found it - the solution to every education related problem there is.

OK, that's not exactly true. I don't say it will solve the issue of underpaid teachers, nor will it deliver books and paper to third world countries. It won't improve buildings, or save the rain forest, or notch up the public transit system. It won't give you the perfect principal, and it certainly won't do a thing for the quality of public school lunch.

But it does have great advantages. It WILL solve the problems of inattentive students, failing grades, and low test scores. It CAN make a great student out of a poor one. And what is this almighty solution, you ask? Well, here it comes... drum roll, please... The solution is:

LOVE LEARNING.

Sorry if that was a bit of a disappointment. Think about it this way, though, and maybe you'll change your mind. Here is a list of frequently heard school-related complaints uttered by average male and female secondary education students in the vicinity of Wasatch County:

"This book is boring. All those classic books are."

"I'm getting a bad grade in math. My teacher hates me."

"This is stupid. Why do we have to do this?"

"What's the point?"

"I don't get it."

"Who cares?"

Those are the problems. I have told you the answer. Match it up with each statement on that list, and you will see it. Mind, I don't say that you have to love learning everything. If you are not a fan of reading classic books, so be it. It would do a lot of good to read them anyway, but I don't say you have to enjoy every word. I, for one, have a terrible grudge against learning math, as a result of a rather poor classroom experience in high school (slow learner, advanced class, bad combination).

I don't say that you have to love everything you learn - but I do say that you should love learning in general, and you should love at least one thing that you study. It can be most anything, and it doesn't have to be what you're going to do for the rest of your life. My father went into law in college, but he has never stopped learning and loving literature. My mother is a nurse, but never stopped playing the piano and improving her already practiced hand at craft projects. She even took up photography, and for years has had the pleasure of learning the ins and outs of her cameras. In the last six months I myself have taken up knitting, contemporary piano, blogging, a little harp, and some on-the-side Arabic. I become excited every time I knit a new stitch, teach myself a new song, sound out Arabic characters, or reverently place my hands on Katie's harp. None of the above have anything to do with my major - but I have loved learning them anyway. I have even grown to love the work that does have to do with my major - and that is what has made school not only bearable but the most enjoyable time of my life.

Besides the obvious, having a love for learning something has yet another advantage: it is entirely sharable. It's like I've said with love - knowledge, too, is something that can be infinitely given but never diminished. All of the subjects I listed above that I have been enjoying are the result of the tutelage of a friend. It is admirable to have a talent, but it is infinitely greater to have a talent and to be willing to share it with others. It is one of the greatest gifts anyone can give. My father taught me to love books, my mother taught me to love music and to play the piano - and I've haven't stopped since. They have filled my life with pleasure and fulfillment, and will doubtless continue to do so as long as I continue to cultivate them.

Imagine how the world would be if everyone had something to learn and love. Perhaps it would give our teachers an excitement in their classrooms, despite their low salaries. Perhaps learning could inspire someone to bring books and paper to third world countries. Perhaps it would produce architects and environmentalists and engineers who would give us better buildings and save the rain forest and discover renewable energy. And best of all, because those people loved what they had learned, they would perform their work at its best - as close to perfect as it can be. Just imagine - if everyone was able to make one improvement to the world they inhabit, no matter how small, how much could the world be changed for good?

Start now. Find what you love, and put it to use. A little change in you, or a little change you work in someone else, will be the first step. And maybe, if we all work at it together, we can change the world one step at a time.

Yours always - 'Til next time...

Feels Like a Smile

Yep - time once again to change the wallpaper. It's not easy, being green... but it's worth it. St. Patrick's Day is next week! We've got to be green this month!

And speaking of green, did anybody else see what a beautiful day it was yesterday? I bet half the student body here at the Y was sitting outside on the campus lawns. Some were studying, some were pretending to study, and some had abandoned the books all together and were either asleep or just soaking in the sun. Whole classes, even, came pouring out of their buildings of habitation to do their work in the open air. I, for one, was reading a series of excellent short stories and doing my knitting. But that was the afternoon. The story I want to tell was in the morning.

My dear friend Katie and I decided to meet up for lunch, as we had a mutual hour of free time from 11 to 12. We spent the better part of that hour just lying there in the grass, barefooted and coatless, drinking in every ounce of sunlight we could touch. The breeze blew just enough to keep the day from being sultry, but not enough to usher away the warmth. After several minutes of soft companionable silence, Katie sighed peacefully and said, "It feels like a smile."

She was right. That's exactly how it felt. A big, warm, beautiful smile - the kind that is just on the verge of turning into a laugh.

In a week and a half, it will be March 21 - the Vernal Equinox, or astronomical first day of Spring. It's true - spring is right around the corner, and the whole world is smiling and singing in anticipation. The robins are coming back, the grass is coming up green, the trees are beginning to bud, the daffodils and tulips are bursting into bloom, and the golden sun is shining over it all. It is a time of renewal, of fresh starts and new birth. It is a time of coming back and revitalizing after the long, cold days of winter. It is a time for all things to live again.

Funny isn't it - even with all our internal heating and insulated clothing, we human beings come away from winter feeling like we've weathered something. It's as though the whole world breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank heaven - one more winter behind us, and another spring ahead."

I encourage you to get outside and feel the world smiling. You can do it however you please. My father will do it riding some thirty or forty miles on his bike. My friend Addy will go running around the grassy field behind our apartment in her bare feet. And I shall be found sitting in the grass, shoes and jacket forgotten, reading a good book and smiling along with the sun. May it be as glorious a spring for you as it is quickly becoming for me.

I am respectfully yours in Penmanship always. 'Til next time, my friends...

Human Again

Guess what? It is time once again to talk to all you scholars out there who feel like you are drowning in a veritable sea of higher learning. Or who are still working on that High School diploma. Either way - this one's for you. And if you are not a student, you may of course read on - you might find some value in it yourself.

There is a difference, in my book, between being a scholar and being human. The two are different species entirely.

The scholar is a bipedal primate whose greatest advantage in its environment is its literacy. Its natural habitat is a library, desk, or anywhere where textbooks, computers, and lined paper can be found in abundance. It is a solitary creature who spends its time foraging for factual information and applying it in meaningful contexts, such as papers and exams. Their diet is severely restricted to time and current resource, but often consists of heavily processed items that can be prepared in haste. Some are even nocturnal, depending on the time of semester.

The human being is also a bipedal primate, but the resemblance doesn't go much farther than that. The human being is a creature capable of seeing the world around it, and of being at peace with itself - much more than can be said of the average scholar. It can inhabit almost any ecosystem, live off of a wide variety of sustinence, and is generally aware of both its emotional and physical needs. The human being is capable of creating and appreciating things of beauty, and of doing many things as a matter of personal improvement or endurance - rather than for the sake of a grade or score. The human being is a creature of widely varied temperments, but that can generally be found in good spirits, especially in the company of other human beings.

You see? Different species entirely.

However, for all those of you who consider yourselves died-in-the-wool scholars, there is a ray of hope. These two species are physically interchangable. Yes, it's true! You can be a human being if you want to - whenever you want to! All you have to do is put down the books - really put them away! - and do something that doesn't bear any relevance on your grade.

I know, I know - its a great sacrifice. But it will do you all the good in the world. Just put the books out of sight, close the word documents, lock up your Facebook, rid yourself of all flashcards, highlighters, and sticky notes. Get it out of your view and out of your head. Then, when that painful process is complete, go do something else. Ride a bike, bake cookies, go for a run, see a movie or play, have a look at the stars (yes! They're still there! Even during exams!) or simply take a rest. I like to go out on the lawn in front of my apartment building and read a book, or sketch something, or even just lie there and breathe. Did you ever consider what a miracle it is just to take a full breath? You don't realize what a blessing it can be until you've experienced a constricted airway. Believe me - deep breathing is heaven itself.

I won't prattle like this forever, I promise - though you may not take my word for it. I've listed these options before, and I'll likely do it again. The point I wish to make is this: It is possible to be both scholar and human. It is not healthy or productive to be only one or the other. The two must work in tandem - perfect harmony. When they do, you'll find yourself better rested, more productive, and more at peace with yourself all the way around. Take all things in moderation - both the things that must be done and the things that merely should be done.

All scholars need a little humanity from time to time. So take time to be human - don't let yourself look up from your textbooks and realize that the day is passed! Enjoy every moment - even the one's spent in studying. I will bet a pound to a penny that there's even a little magic to be found in that textbook, if you'll only seek it out.

'Til next time, my friends. Ciao!

The Poetry Lense

Last semester, while deeply immersed in my astronomy course, I discovered a handy little impliment called a defraction grating. It looks like a normal photo slide, but without any image on it. It's made of cardboard and cheap plastic. When you look through it though... every particle of light is bent into its seperate wavelenths, and the world becomes a sea of rainbows. It's a beautiful, magical, scientific wonder. I have one myself, a gift from my teacher in the aforementioned class. I look through it from time to time, just to remind myself that the rainbows are still there, just out of sight.

I know I've written about my defraction grating before, in one of my first posts - so my apologies if it's old news to you. I wanted to share it again, though, for a new purpose. I've recently been assigned to read a work of Japanese fiction in my World Literature class - The Narrow Road of the Interior. It's about a pair of poets that go off on a trip to travel the countryside, getting ideas for their work and putting in some quality time with their spiritual improvements. Everywhere they go, if they see something that inspires them they write a Haiku about it. Some, they take with them; but others they leave behind, tacked to doorframes or settled between two rocks, waiting for another traveler to discover them.

I think this is a brilliant idea. I might just leave a couplet on the door of the fine arts center tomorrow, just to see what happens. But why, you ask, would I want to leave bits of literature on public structures? Well, think back to the defraction grating. You see everything as normally lit and normally colored when you look at it with your normal eyes. Through the defraction grating, however, the world becomes colorful and bright. I think that poetry is supposed to work this way. It's a little window into the way the poet views the world, a place where ordinary things, in the words of William Wordsworth, "Through turnings intricate of verse, present themselves as objects recognized, and shining with a glory not their own."

For example, my father gave me a poem of his to read last week. I will not detail it here, for I don't have his express permission to do so. Suffice it to say that it related winter images to a religion, such as stooping "Pine monks of the monastic order" or a tree's "bare limbs trace stained glass window panes." It was beautiful work, but I didn't notice the really beautiful part of it until the next day, when I saw just such bare tree limbs "crisscrossed high against the sky." It took me a moment to remember why I was thinking of a cathedral as I looked at the tree. I soon realized that my father had done the magical thing poetry is supposed to do - giving those ordinary objects their own shining glory, so that I will come to better understand them in the literal world.

This is why I like the idea of leaving poems behind us when we travel. I don't say everyone ought to do this - its a rare person who can whip a poem out of their pocket on such short notice. But just imagine! What would it be like to see the same object, be it building or brick, through the grating of someone else's soul? How different would the world become if we could see it not only in our own way, but in the way others do as well? How different would those others become to us? What new magic and glory would we see in the world through their eyes, minds, and hearts?

Just something to think about. I don't say we must all go write a poem tomorrow - but you might try it sometime when you feel so inspired. I shall certainly be looking for an opportunity with bated breath.

May the wind be at your backs, my friends. 'Til next time...

Everyday Humanity

There's a funny thing about the way we human beings tend to think. Because it is your brain, your heart, and your body, and because you are the spirit inhabiting them, you have a tendency to thnk more about yourself than about others from day to day. This thought process should not be mistaken for selfishness. It's only natural. Because your joys, sorrows, peace, and pain are for you alone to experience, you feel them more acutely than those of anyone else. This is how we are.

However, this natural phenomenon can become a less-than-innocent vice if too long ignored. In this state of self-awareness, it is easy to become less and less aware of the emotions of those around you. The real catch, however, is this - all those people you see and interact with every day are feeling their own pain and sorrow just as closely and sharply as you are feeling yours. The fact that you cannot feel what another feels does not lessen the gravity or depth of the emotion in their own heart. It is still there - but so easily goes unnoticed.

I would beg my readers to remember the feelings of those outside themselves - whether they be friend or enemy, acquaintance or kin, stranger or family. No matter the circumstances, no matter what barriers may divide us, we are all part of the same whole - humanity. We are all people, no matter where we come from or how we think or what we do.

We all have felt pain, and just the same have known joy. We know what it is to be hurt, and also what it is to injure. We have known days of sunshine, and days of cloud. We have experimented with faith, each trying to find his way in a world that offers few anwers. We have experienced both excitement and dissapointment, both euphoria and despair. We have all felt the cherished love of another human being, and in turn have loved over again. We have all felt the agony of loss, the darkness and sorrow of grief. We have known happiness and sorrow, peace and pain - every single one of us.

I think that this deeply egrained humanity is a keystone to the admonission to "Mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort." Comfort without experience is empty - mere pity, nothing more. If someone comes to you in need of comfort, look deeper than that. Look into your own past, your own memories, your own feelings. Look deep enough, and I think you will find that you have felt what that comfortless soul is feeling before, even if under different circumstances. And when you have experienced the feelings of another, it will become infinitely easier and infinitely more meaningful to give them the respite and peace they need.

Remember, too, the one who did this same thing for each of us. He willingly experienced all our sorrows and pain, so that he could bring us the joy and peace we seek. It is a miracle simply to know of that sacrifice - and more of a miracle to feel it at work in yourself. "I shall not leave you comfortless..." "My peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart by troubled, neither let it be afriad." "Therefore, continue on your journey - for behold, and lo, I am with you, even unto the end."

So it is, and so it shall be. 'Til we meet again, my friends...

The Simple Things

Once upon a time, way back in the days of Greek mythology, there lived a Titan named Atlas. Atlas was very big, very muscular, and had been asigned the less-than-pleasant task of bearing the weight of the sky on his shoulders. He made Heracles carry it for a while and tried to ditch him with it, but of course Heracles tricked Atlas into taking it back. Why? Well, the Greeks couldn't just leave Heracles there - he's the hero. We can't have him missing out on his happy ending just because he's stuck under the sky. But Heracles isn't the one we're focusing on here, so forget about him for a while. I want to take a moment to think about Atlas. He had to carry the weight of the whole sky for a milenia before Heracles came along, and even then he only got a ten minute break. I feel sympathy for the poor Titan. The sky is quite a load to shoulder.

I find that sometimes we as people try to take on the weight of the sky, so to speak. Of course, thanks to modern discovery, we know that there isn't acutally a giant guy in a loin cloth standing at the top of a mountian holding the sky. We know about astronomy and gravity and atmosphere and everything else. When I say we hold up the sky, I mean it figuratively - in the sense that we hold up burdens that are extremely heavy for us, but that we feel are necessary to bear. For example, I now bear the burnden of my major requirements (all of them), my finances, and many thoughts of a future for which I cannot yet plan. Others shoulder the weight of supporting a family, the paying of bills and mortgages, the battle against illness and physical pain, or the crushing pressure of debt. You name it - everyone has something to carry.

Now, I must introduce another character to the scene. His name is Henry David Thoreau. He went out into the New England woods, built a cabin, grew his own food, and lived there next to a little lake in Massachusets for two years, two months, and a couple days. He wrote about his experiences there and published them in a book named after the lake - "Walden." He told the world to "Simplify, simplify, simplify," to live on the nessesities, and to own our possessions and not to let them own us. He said of his experience, "I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I cam to die, discover that I had not lived."

I wonder, sometimes, if that person won't be me - the one that gets to the end of their life, and realizes that I spent so much time worrying about what may be, or could be, or should be, that I forgot to live. May I urge every one of you not to let that happen to you or anyone else. Own your burndens and troubles - but do not let them own you.

The weather is becoming warmer. Today was absolutely beautiful, and the rest of the week promises much of the same. It is, as I have heretofore stated, the time of year for chocolate and sugar cookies. I suggest going and enjoying these things while they are present, instead of letting them pass by in the shadow of worries and troubles. Go and feel the sun on your face. Let the wind brush across your skin and bring new life to your lungs. Look at the trees and the grass and the robin readbreasts on the buildings and telephone wires. Listen to music or birdsong. Run. Rest. Dance. Sing. Anything - just go experience one of the simple, beautiful, magical things that make life worth living from day to day. Every blessing you discover will bring a little more peace and happiness to your days - and I think you'll find that the burden you carry will be a little lighter for the experience.

That is all I can write. I must now go out and enjoy the sunshine before the clouds roll in. Many thanks, and much love on this Valentines Day. 'Til next time, my friends!

Valentines Day 101

Yes, it has happened again - Everyday Magic has changed her look. There are two reasons for this - first is that I got tired of blue. People always use the color blue in January, but blue is such a cold color - if it's already freezing outside, why add to it? If one is going to color January (or any other winter month, such as February), I say one ought to color it with a bright, warm, sunny, happy color - something that will keep us from freezing before the winter campaign is over. The second reason for the pinks and reds is because of the Holiday we are all going to celebrate in less than two weeks:

Valentines Day.

If you are a hopeless romantic, perhaps this is a holiday you look forward to. If you are not a hopeless romantic, perhaps this holiday makes you want to be sick. And, perhaps, if you have a significant other to provide for and pamper thereupon, this holiday might even give you a scare (or at least a nervous reaction).

So the question is - what to do? What can one do to celebrate Valentines Day? Well, if you are one with a significant other, I don't have the answers for you. I have never been party to such a relationship (virgin lips still!), so I am not the person to ask. Go talk to someone you know who is married, who has been courting for a significant period, or who knows your significant other up close and personally (like a close friend or cousin). But don't ask me. I don't know.

This post is for people who lack a significant other, but may in fact wish that they had one as this holiday approaches. It is also for those who simply want a good way to celebrate. So here are my thoughts:

1. Make Valentines anyway. You don't have to have a boyfriend or girlfriend to give them to. Make them for your friends, just to tell them how much you appreciate them. Make one for your mom and dad, and remind them that you love them (and just in case my parents are reading this - I love you both!). My family always makes one for each of the grandmothers and great grandmothers, and ships them off with lots of love and homemade treats. And on the subject of treats...

2. Make cookies! Sugar cookies! Heart-shaped! With sprinkles! But wait - that's not all. There is a multitude of advantages to the cookie baking activity. First of all, you can make a date out of it. Just ask someone you know and like of the opposite gender to come mix up some sugar cookie dough with you. Who's going to refuse that? And if you don't know how to make sugar cookies, comment below and I'll send you the best recipe I've got. The other fun part is this: when put on paper plates, cookies are extremely useful for activities besides eating - such as being left on doorsteps or given as gifts or cheering up a sad someone. I need not say more. You are educated people - you know where I'm going with this.

3. Stop and smell the roses - even if you can't or don't want to buy any. They've got some beautifully scented ones in their selection at most Costco wholesale stores, if anyone's interested. Or if roses aren't your thing, do something else. Watch a sunset. Go for a walk or a run or a drive. Look at the stars. Feel the sun on your face and the wind in your hair. Go to a museum. Listen to beautiful music. Whatever you will - just go experience something that you think is beautiful.

4. Pamper yourself just a little - whatever pampering means to you. For me, it's curling up with a treat and a good book, or even taking a hot bath. You can define it how you will - but whatever it is, do it for yourself on the 14th, just to make the day (and yourself!) feel a little more special.

5. Remember that there is always someone out there who loves you - even if you are without a boy/girlfriend status or a ring on your finger to prove it. There are so many people who love you more dearly than you know. And best of all, there is one who loves you the most - your Heavenly Father. Never forget it.

So this sums it up: Love yourself. Love the world. Love other people. Love the Lord. It doesn't get any plainer and simpler than that. And as I've said before (and will likely say again), love is an absolutely inexhaustible resource. It never diminishes when you give it away... it multiplies. So give it away freely this month, the month designated for its celebration, and you will find that you have more in the end than when you began. May it be so at this time and always.

All my love and gratitude! 'Til next time...

Echoes of the Ages

Greetings, once again, friends, kin, near relations, strangers, critics, and enemies alike. You are reading Everyday Magic. If this is not the blog you were trying to reach, my apologies - you somehow typed the wrong URL. If I may say so, however, you might find it worth your while to read on. I've actually got a really good story for today.

I have had a momunental experience as I rambled through the Social Sciences section today. This afternoon, here in the Harold B. Lee Library (from whence I now write), I handled the oldest book it has ever been my privelage to encounter. It was a very aged thing, wearing away at the bindings, barely keeping it's long-since yellowed pages together. I could not at first locate a date within, so I had thought to simply put it away and move on. As I was about to shelve it, however, I caught sight of the library catalogue label on the spine - and couldn't suppress a gasp. This book - a collection of heroes and characters from Greek antiquity - was published in London, England... in 1774. 1774! I couldn't believe my eyes. I was holding a work of non-fiction literature that was 237 years old... older than my grandparents, my great grandparents, my great-great grandparents... something to the tune of four or five "greats" on the prefix.

I was suspended for some time in a state of awe. I withdrew the book again from the shelf, carefully examining the pages and cover with a sort of profound revrence. The inside cover held two labels - one with stamped the crest of the Royal Family (the lion and the Unicorn) that read "Haud Muto Factum" (Latin for "nothing comes from being mute"); the other depicting a tall sailing ship with the words "Ex Libris" ("from the books") printed above. Within the cover was written the name John J. Kest. My mind immediately started going a mile a minute. Who was John Kest? He wasn't the author... so perhaps an owner of the book? What did tall ships have to do with anything? What did the author and the printer and Kest think about the Americas? Did any of them realize that revolution was but a year away?

A veritable treasure trove - and right there in a college library. I remained with the book for some time, looking it over and enjoying its presence. I was reluctant to shelve it again and return to my usual work. However, even after I had left the bookshelves, visions of John Kest and sailing ships and antiquitous books danced before me, and my hands smelled of the dusty vellum cover for an hour afterwards.

I was reminded of this poem by Emily Dickinson:

IN A LIBRARY.

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,

His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.

His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;

What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty.
And Sophocles a man;

When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,

He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true;
He lived where dreams were sown.

His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.

I have experienced the action of this poem firsthand today. I certainly believe that last stanza - "His presence is enchantment, you beg him not to go... old volumes shake their vellum heads and tantalize just so." That said, I think I can truly proclaim that I have been both fully tantalized and unwittingly enchanted today. I was glad to make the aquaintance of such an ancient friend, and I can promise that I will certainly be back to see him again very soon.

Many thanks, and keep smiling! 'Til next we meet...

Sunday Scribblings #251 - Eternity

The little girl walks down into the water, where her father stands waiting for her. He takes her hands and arranges them on his arm as they had practiced, she intently trying to remember his earlier instructions while concious of the luke-warm font water soaking through her jumpsuit. She closes her eyes as her father raises his arm to the square, addresses her by her full name, and speaks the baptismal blessing. As soon as the 'amen' is spoken, he carefully pushes her back and submerges her beneath the water. For an instant all is silent, then she is up again - blinking and spluttering, but suddenly... happy.

The little one leaves the font to put on her new white dress, feeling lighter and more cheerful than ever before. It had happened so quickly, but she knew that didn't matter... she was baptised. "Clean and pure...," she whispered to herself. And so she was.


-oo0oo-

The young bride and her handsome husband came out of the temple at 11:30, and hour and fifteen minutes after going in. Her flowing white dress blended in with the pearly white stone behind her, both sparkling bright in the sunlight. Pictures were arranged with both families - first with his parents, then hers, then the siblings, then all the aunts and uncles and cousins.

The day to come will be a long one, filled with greetings and goings and preparations for the reception. But for now, all that is forgotten as she looks deeply into the eyes of the man she loves more than anyone in the world and smiles as he draws her close. He sweeps her up into his arms and walks down the hill to the gates, the sealer's words still ringing in both of their ears. Together... not "'Til death do us part," but "For time and all eternity..." And so it was.

-oo0oo-

The newspapers had put a story out about it the week before, but it was small and went generally unnoticed. A teenager and an involved in a car crash. Black ice... an accident by most accounts, though the police wouldn't have called it so. Both cars were totalled. Both men were killed.

The young man's family was devastated. At his funeral there was a great deal of pain and many tears. The widow of the old man attended, but she felt that there was little she could say or do to assuage their grief. Yet it made her heart ache to see them brought so low - they looked as though they would never be happy again.

Her husband's funeral could not have been more different. There were tears, and there was time for mourning... But when all the words had been spoken and the dedication of the gravesite was through, the crying stopped. The pain of loss was still present, of course, and would be for some time to come - but it was only a shadow of what it had been before. The family retired to the cultural hall in the church and enjoyed a beautiful meal prepared by the Relief Society sisters of that ward. There was laughter and conversation again, smiles and love flowing freely. Somehow, it was almost impossible to feel pain in the midst of such joy.

Later, at home, the widow continued to smile. It had been a beautiful service... the best she could have hoped for. Everything was cleared up now, and everyone gone home... but there was one more thing that needed to be done. For a moment she disappeared into the bedroom, then came again into the living room, this time with a framed photograph in hand. She looked at it fondly - an unplanned shot of a beaming bride being kissed by a dashing young husband. Smiling again, though a little sadly, she placed the picture next to the painting of Jesus Christ on the mantlepiece. For a moment the tears almost came again, but one glance at the Savior stopped them. It would be alright... She would see him again soon. And when she did, it would not be a fleeting embrace, but a lasting union...

"For time and all eternity." And so it is.

Love's Magical Touch

Again, I am going off of a quote. If you've read my little quotes list to your immediate right, you will have seen it before. It was spoken (or written) by Charles Morgan, and it goes as follows:

"There is no surprise more magical than being loved. It is God's finger on man's shoulder."

I want you to think back to your childhood. Remember the people who were close to you... and single one out who could be considered your best friend. If there's more than one, that's fine, too. What were they like? Why did you like to be with them? And most importantly, what did you feel like when they were around you?

I have a poem to share with you now. Keep that person in mind, and read this excerpt:

I love you
not only for what you are,
but for what I am
when I am with you.

I love you
not only for what
you have made of yourself,
but for what
you are making of me.

I love you
for the part of me
that you bring out.
I love you
for putting your hand
into my heaped-up heart
and passing over
all the foolish, weak things
you cannot help
dimly seeing there
and drawing out
into the light
all the beautiful belongings
no one else had looked
quite far enough to find.

There's more to it, but it's rather long - by Roy Croft, I think it is. Anyway, does this sound any familiar tones with you? It does with me. Here at college I have found some of the best friends I have ever known. And in doing so, I have discovered a version of myself that I didn't know before. It's true. They are the sort of friends that make me want to be my best self - and I have found that I love the person that I am when I am with them. They make me feel like I am someone worth being... and after hearing it so many times, I have begun to believe it. Just a little, day by day - but still.

Have any of you had those kinds of friends? Do you have any now? Then my thought of the day is this: the best thing you can do for a good friend to give them your thanks is to be a good friend back to them. It's easy to do, really... and it's such a beautiful feeling for everyone. I would also remind my readers that there are many out there who have not been truly befriended. May I encourage you to give of yourself to those who need it. A little love can work wonders - it truly can. A person touched by the love and belief of another can become almost a new being.

The effect is... how shall we say it... magical?

'Til next we meet my friends. Fare thee well... 

The Great Decision

Welcome once again to Everyday Magic, coming to you for the first time in this brand new year of 2011! The holidays are at an end, and routine has made its annual encroachment back into our lives. But no worries there - good old routine will soon be welcome enough.

Today is all about a choice. For many years, my mother kept a little framed embroidery sample hanging in the upstairs bathroom, just above the towels. Being in such an often used room, the members of our family had many opportunities to read it throughout the day - as we went about brushing our teeth, bathing little ones, washing hands and so forth. It read as follows:

"We are as happy as we make up our minds to be."

Now as a child, this phrase was lost on me. I thought it meant that we would be happy when we made up our minds to become something. We are as happy as we make up our minds to be... nurses? To be mothers? Primary leaders? I was a long way off the mark. This little quote means that we are only as happy as we choose to be. What an idea! We can choose to be happy... just imagine the sorts of possibilities that open up.

This idea came back to me as I was sitting around on the couch a couple nights ago. I hadn't been given much homework, so I was rather bored. Without some sort of productive occupation, I'd had a relapse of homesickness and was vainly craving human companionship. I had been in such a sorry state for over an hour before it occured to me. I didn't have to be miserable. I could choose, right then and there, to be happy, have a good day, and to be content with where I was. Even though the lonliness did persist a little, I was much improved thereafter.

The decision is yours, my friends - happiness or sorrow, contentment or misery. Your pick. And while there is no doubt that our circumstances do contribute to our emotional well being, they are only what we make of them. In the words of a poet, "Environment is but [our] looking glass." We possess the ability to make the world around us completely miserable if we view it through the wrong mindset. But if we can make the world miserable, surely we can make it joyful as well?

Perhaps I am simply a broken record. The appearance of the world depends on how you look at it - I've surely said it a thousand times. But it's a true now as it was last semester. Your world is only as bright, as beautiful, as magical, and as happy as you make up your mind that it shall be.

May you be safe and cared for, my friends, 'til next we meet...