Resolution 2013 - Just Do!

I am a little famous for making resolutions. I like large ones that are pretty much impossible to keep, but I still like to try.  I can usually get a couple months out of them and learn a lot.

This year I am stumped.

I told myself that I would make them after I've had time to reflect on the past year. After the kids went back to school, especially after I put that last child on a plane, then I would have time to really think about what I want.

This past year has been a whopper in a lot of ways, some great--some not so great. I don't know if I am fortified enough to do something difficult. I jokingly told my niece at a New Years Brunch that my resolution was "More Bling in 2013," it kind of rhymes and it is easy. Just wear more jewelry--maybe get some thick gold necklaces with a dollar sign on them, or just wear some dangling, sparkly earrings.

Is that what has become of me--did I throw in the towel in 2012.

Well, not no, but heck no! There is stuff to do and by golly we are going to do it.

I am a big talker, but I am not always a big doer! I want to talk less and do more. This year I put a quote on my refrigerator that I love and I want to live by in 2013, "When we argue for our limitations, we get to keep them," Evelyn Waugh (who is a man, by the way, just in case you wanted to know). No more arguing for why I can't do things. That's just silly.

I went to a local artists open house this December.  His name is Ben Behunin and you can learn more about him at  potteryboy.com. All the pictures in this blog were taken at his home (with the permission of his wife). All of the pictures are of things he created. It was inspiring and I've never seen anything like it. Every nook and cranny of his home was filled with beautiful, personal creations that he shared with us. We walked into his closet, his bathrooms, his workshop, his yard, his kitchen and ate cookies. I couldn't imagine the work they (he and his wife) had done in planning, creating and cleaning! We could buy some of his art at the end, but we didn't have to. I left feeling uplifted. What a nice way to make a living and to share your gifts.

So for 2013:

Love
Help
Save
Give
Experience
Move
Write
Support
Inspire
MORE

Talk
TV
Sleep
Eat
TV
Whine
Excuse
TV
Criticize
LESS

How's that for non-specific goals for 2013.

Why I love Instagram

I've enjoyed social networking platforms. I'm on Facebook, but seldom post. I have a Twitter account and I've been known to tweet, but I am more likely to re-tweet. I am on Google + but I don't have the hang of it. I obviously blog and I enjoy it a lot, but it takes quite a bit of time. Besides blogging, nothing else has really captured my imagination until Instagram.

It is as if I've been struck by lightning.

I am going to be a shameless advocate here, so please forgive me.

I am one of those people who lives inside my head a lot. I love solitary things--like walking, hiking, reading, writing, (napping), and driving. This rather strong need for solitude can be hard to explain. I love to do those things because it is then that I feel in tune with my surroundings. I notice things and I find many of the things I see moving, rejuvenating and inspiring. Then I want to share those discoveries with people I love.

My very first memory is of the side steps on our house. There were several brick steps and on every other one was a large rectangular (at least 4 feet long) planter of red geraniums. They led to lovely french doors that we didn't use and that were purely decorative.  I would lay down on the step next to the planter and hide. From this position I could look up at the flowers and see them framed against the blue sky and be alone. To this day I love the sharp sent of geraniums and the sky through green leaves.

Instagram captures moments like these for me and then allows me to share them.

Instagram also makes me think of Impressionists. I looked up the definition of Impressionists online and here is what I found (I highlighted what I am talking about in blue):


"impressionism [ɪmˈprɛʃəˌnɪzəm] n 

1. (Fine Arts & Visual Arts / Art Movements) (often capital) a movement in French painting, developed in the 1870s chiefly by Monet, Renoir, Pissarro, and Sisley, having the aim of objectively recording experience by a system of fleeting impressions, esp of natural light effects

2. (Fine Arts & Visual Arts / Art Terms) the technique in art, literature, or music of conveying experience by capturing fleeting impressions of reality or of mood

Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003" 

The beauty of a face just waiting for a subway

I look at Instagram as the whole world recording fleeting moments. Stopping time for just a second and recording what they found interesting, moving, compelling, funny or sometimes just snapping a picture because they were bored.

I find so much beauty in the world. It is what makes life worthwhile to me. The small snatches of beauty that pack every single day. The times that transcend driving carpool or washing dishes. The living in-between.

Instagram also helps me feel connected to other people. I love seeing what my niece has her daughters wear to church. I want to see what family members are eating, where they are going and what they find beautiful.

Another one of my favorite things about Instagram is finding people in other cultures who love the things I do. Who love architecture, landscape, faces and flowers.

The very moment the sun makes something utilitarian beautiful.

I feel connected in ways I didn't think possible. I also feel like the whole world is being documented second by second and then it's gone and the new second is upon us. It's a futile and beautiful documentation of the ephemeral.

The perfect watermelon.

For example, one day I took a picture of the sun and then posted it with hashtag (#) sun. I then looked up on Instagram all the pictures with the #sun. My picture was already buried under 50 or more pictures of the sun--from all over the world.   That's it--it's filed in some digital obscurity.

Of course on Instagram you have followers and people you follow. There is also the possibility of going on Instacanvas to sell your pictures. It's satisfying to connect with people and have them get what you are trying to do--but it isn't why I do it. I do it to just have the ability to capture and share a moment I found inspiring.

The apex of a college career.

Favorite hamburger ever (Toast NYC).

Something grand, like the flowers at the Metropolitan Museum in NYC. 

Something unpredictable like petal-less black-eyed susans marching along the trail. 

The weirdness of the mundane in a mass planting of marigolds in my yard.

The grandeur of my favorite mountain, Mount Olympus, in April.

The simple perfection of a Hollyhock as it blooms.

Cheers to People Who. . . Build in the middle of nowhere!

Cheers to the people who built the US railroad and ended up in Box Elder County, Utah! This is the view from Golden Spike National Historic Site. I took this picture standing just past the RR tracks looking to the NW. Let me tell you that the view isn't any less desolate (and in my mind, beautiful) from any of the other directions.  

This site is pretty much in the middle of nowhere--unless you just happen to work for a jet propulsion company. I was told that it was located out in Promontory because there were fresh water marshes that those steam engines needed to run (instead of that salty and stinky lake just south). 

Cheers to people who love their job. The ranger shown in the picture below (and I am very sorry I did not get his name) loves his job. He had more stories than you had questions and made my teenagers laugh. He had a microphone and wasn't afraid to use it! There is something to be passionate about for every single human--go out and find it for yourself--he obviously did!

Cheers to hyperbole! Golden Spike Burgers in Garland, Utah.

Cheers to hyperbole that actually may even be true--Yum, yum. Just as a side note on this burger--it had bacon, mushrooms, cheese, onion rings, avocado, lettuce and beef of course. I usually don't like kitchen sink style cooking--but this was really good.

Wasatch County's Delicious Surprise - Tarahumara

We have been slowly working our way through the counties and so far we have 6 out of the 29 done. I wanted to get the rest by the end of the summer--we shall see. 

The rules for this county quest are:

1. Can see as many counties as want to in one day.

2. Must see something in said county that have never seen before.

3. Must actually stop and see something in each county.

Well, I have found much to cheer about so far in our quest, so here goes!

Cheers to people who make incredible deserts with a Mexican twist, and in Midway of all places! Tarahumara, Bakery and Tortilleria, which in English translates to really yummy place to eat (Wasatch County's new thing). 


The people there were really helpful while we made our selection.

I had to look up what Tarahumara meant and it was so fascinating I just had to share it.

     "The Rarámuri or Tarahumara are a Native American people of northwestern Mexico who are renowned for their long-distance running ability.^[1][2] In their language, the term rarámuri refers specifically to the males, females are referred to as mukí (individually) and as omugí or igómale (collectively).. .
      "Current estimates put the population of the Rarámuri in 2006 at between 50,000 and 70,000 people. Most still practice a traditional lifestyle, inhabiting natural shelters such as caves or cliff overhangs, as well as small cabins of wood or stone. Staple crops are corn and beans; however, many of the Rarámuri still practice transhumance, raising cattle, sheep, and goats. Almost all Rarámuri migrate in some form or another in the course of the year."
 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tarahumara_people

It doesn't say anything about their baking ability, but who cares--as I always say--the proof is in the puddin'!

We didn't eat at the attached restaurant, but it got rave reviews by many online reviewers and by family members who have eaten there.

Beautiful pan dulce.

Beautiful everything else.

Yes, We ate this too and it was delicioso!

   

Poppy's Garden

I would call my father a renaissance man. He can pretty much do anything--who else starts doing Bikram Yoga in his late 70's and does it well?  He went to Harvard Law, always active in church, raised horses, ran large companies, ran small companies, was President of Ballet West for a bit, managed a ranch,  plays tennis, loves art, hiking, thinking, reading, a loving husband, amazing father and inspiring grandfather. 

That said, when I think of my dad I think mostly of gardening and hiking. Some of my earliest memories were working in the garden with him. When I was very young he decided to plant tons and tons of bulbs in the large yard that we had at the time. I remember planting those bulbs on a cool autumn day. When I became an adult and had my own yard I bought some peat moss to remediate the soil. I opened the large pack and was immediately assaulted with a sense memory so strong it made me cry. I was taken directly back to planting those bulbs and how much I loved the soil and how I had forgotten it until that moment.

I remember when we went hiking when I was little that he would tell us the names of all the wildflowers. I still know the names of all the ones he taught me. When we would go on long hikes we were always quiet on the way up the mountain, but then on the hike down we would talk and talk. I love to hear him talk about anything--to this day he is always interesting--although not always talkative.

I feel blessed that my children know their grandparents well--on both sides and that they are all wonderful people. My mom and dad have all of us (as many as are in town), kids and grandkids alike, over almost every Sunday. There are usually about 30 of us. Who does that every week and still smiles when we arrive?

No one grows zinnias like this. Not a speck of powdery mildew. If you've ever grown Zinnias in Utah you know how hard it is--you have to be vigilant and committed. Yet, he does it. Anything in his care is lucky.

Rosie's Cottage

I received a phone call a few days ago from the woman who previously owned our house. Her husband died over a year ago and her health was in decline so late last summer she had to sell the house she'd lived in for decades. We bought the house on the last working day of 2011. She loved her house. My husband and I could tell just by walking through it. They had customized the house to fit their needs to an extreme degree. 

It has six small bedrooms, a dark room and his and her separate work/craft rooms. There was a rose motif throughout the house, the back door with roses etched into the glass, the trash compacter with a wooden rose stenciled on the handle, rose address tiles and actual roses, roses everywhere. 

I counted over 25 rose bushes just in the small garden in front, probably 20 in a similar garden in back and another 20 at least throughout the yard. 

We decided not to do anything with the roses until we had seen them bloom. I wanted to see and smell them and I am glad I did. We were in for an extravaganza of rose variations and boy oh boy, do they ever smell good. 


I've been trying to discern the types and it looks like we could have, Alba, Austin, climbing, floribunda, hybrid tea, miniature and roses that have gone to root stock, to name a few. I wish I knew the exact varieties --I am pretty sure there is a Peace Rose and my particular favorites are a yellow rose that smells faintly citrusy, a deep red with a wonderfully saturated heavy sent and the cabbage style roses that look like peonies.

Anyway, back to my conversation with the woman I now call Rosie (real name withheld because it's not near as fitting).  She thanked me for sending her roses. Unbeknownst to me--my very thoughtful and non-communicative husband had told the neighbors who are still close friends with Rosie that if they were going to visit her in the retirement home that they were always welcome to take roses to her. They did. 

Our conversation was very nice. She of course talked of her love for the house and we had a discussion on the cultivation of roses. I spoke of a recent infection of aphids that is now under control. She spoke of the things she loved about her historical home. I knew she had not been ready to leave, but circumstances forced her out. The conversation made me both happy and sad. 

I was happy that I shared the love of the house. It is simple, useful and charming. It is smaller than we were used to, but it feels right. It is slightly run down and we've been ripping out wallpaper, painting and putting in new light fixtures. We found beautiful wood floors under carpet and we sanded and waxed them back to life. The list is long of other repairs that need to be done--but nothing is urgent. It has a view of my beloved Mount Olympus and of our neighbors beautiful gardens. It is a family neighborhood with a strong community feel and one we are familiar with. My son can run and play with his friends at a moments notice. So much of what I love about the house is what she had loved about it too.















I was sad because life marches on, children move away, husbands die and our bodies fail.  I was sad because we've already made changes to her beautiful cottage that I know would make her sad. We took out the kissing dove bird bath in the front rose garden and other small statuary.  A neighbor approached me at church and asked me what I had been doing inside the house and I just mentioned that we are updating it a bit. She must have been a friend to the previous owners because she made the statement that "some day someone was going to do the same thing when you move out," like I had personally offended her by making changes. Even though it hurt my feelings it also made me feel good that the family who lived there previously had made an impact--were thought worthy of defending.  

The phone conversation ended and I was left with an overwhelming feeling of love for the woman. She just had to connect with us and check on her roses. 

We've left pretty much all of the roses in front untouched. We had to remove a couple that had gone to root, a few that were crowded against the house and crowding other bushes. The back has been a different story, we have removed quite a lot and I've said a silent prayer asking for Rosie's forgiveness.

9-11 Memorial

 I am always happily overwhelmed by the architecture in NYC. It has at its conception a wonderful and almost unconscious hubris that for some reason I find comforting. I am the kind of person who would walk through a creek many, many times before I would ever think of building a bridge. So, I end up admiring people that even think about building things, let alone going out and doing it. 

My husband went to NYC on his mission for the LDS church. He used the World Trade Towers as a point on the compass that helped him navigate the city, much as we use the mountains here in Salt Lake. When 9-11 happened he felt it deeply and personally. He was at the Concert for NY on October 20, 2001. I couldn't even think about going to New York at that time because I was in a state of shock and genuinely scared. He saw the smoking debris at Ground Zero and since that day we have both visited the site multiple times and have seen the many stages of the process of mourning, clearing and rebuilding.

This was the main reason we had to see the 9-11 Memorial, and we found that even unfinished it was stunning. We were there on a chilly and windy day with a blue sky made even more brilliant by the buildings surrounding us.

 I couldn't stop taking pictures. It made me teary and hopeful. I wanted to thank all the people involved in the process--from politicians to the family members of the victims of that terrible day. I loved that they fought about it and for it. That they considered everything and went forward.

 The fountains glowed in a somber kind of hope.

The many people we happened to be grouped with were respectful and interested.

The wind carried sheets of water that washed over the tourists. It was an interesting unintended consequence that I think will end up having to be addressed.

The descending waterfall was powerful and moving and I thought that it did exactly what the architects meant it to -- "reflecting absence."

Here's what the website 9-11 Memorial Website had to say about the waterfall:

"Of all the designs submitted, we have found that "Reflecting Absence" by Michael Arad, in concert with landscape architect Peter Walker, fulfills most eloquently the daunting but absolutely necessary demands of this memorial. In its powerful, yet simple articulation of the footprints of the Twin Towers, "Reflecting Absence" has made the voids left by the destruction the primary symbols of our loss. By allowing absence to speak for itself, the designers have made the power of these empty footprints the memorial. At its core, this memorial is anchored deeply in the actual events it commemorates-connecting us to the towers' destruction, and more important, to all the lives lost on that day…."

I was happy that the Memorial showed respect for the victims but also comfort and in my case a big dose of awe.

Sky and Kathleen taking a moment.

The family reading the names of those that died on 9-11.

It left me feeling hopeful and inspired.