Fall in the Springtime

Wrote this in February. Seems appropriate now. Yeah, pretty much.

Mid-February
of a pregnant winter
and still they cling.

As faint and tattered stains
terminating the dark silhouetted tree branches:
the gray sky like a sidewalk stricken with cracks.

Somehow, where the lines are thinnest,
they catch the wind;
the branches to which they hold,
less still,
and out of place.

Still,
a slight rustling,
like hands waving.
A reminder, of sorts:

That after hours,
seasons, minutes, days
of weathering
the snow sleet icicles wind rain,
defying gravity, (among other laws):
they will not fall.

Until the branches bring forth blossoms,
that push in a refusal of cohabitation,
and grow them out
and into downward flight.

Sans titre

Sometimes, I feel like this:

Je ne voulais rien entreprendre qui n'eut une justification totale. Je souffrais de ne point parvenir à mettre des étiquettes définitives sur les choses et sur moi ; j'aspirais à la nécessité. La liberté c'est très joli mais épuisant. Je ne voulais pas d'un monde où subsistaient des choix, des remords et des compromis. Tout me paraissait vain si tout n'était pas assuré.
-Jean D'Ormesson

My relationship status with life right now: it's complicated. The next few months of my life are up in the air, refusing to subject themselves to my meticulous planning. It's times like this when I resort to lists and cold, hard, delicious facts.

Fact #1: I have applied for grad school.
Subfact: If attending grad school is as intense as applying for grad school, I may just be in over my head.

Fact #2: I don't know if I will get accepted to grad school.
Subfact: I don't know what I will do if I don't get accepted to grad school. But I've been working myself up for so many months now for a big change that I don't know if I can continue without some sort of upheaval. Nothing like a change in scenery to remind you you're alive.

Fact #3: I don't know where I will work or live this summer. And it's already March.
Subfact: I may remain ignorant for some time now on this account. There are many other factors that the where's and if's are contingent upon.

Fact #4: I have failed in the following New Year's resolutions:

• Do yoga every month at least twice. Yep, haven't touched the mat since January. Unless you count a few post-run downward dog stretches. Which I don't.

• Read at least one book a month. January only made the grade because I reread Chretien de Troye's Le Chevalier au Lion, in English, in order to rewrite a paper on the same. February found me part way through 3 books. One of them is under 50 pages. I will finish it tonight. A victory?
• A monthly post for the blog and journal. Yeah, nuff said.

Subfact: I have succeeded in the following resolutions:

• Maintain a new recipe a month. Success in this case is, quite literally, sweet. I have tried several new recipes a month. So much so that I can't keep track of them all. I even made curry the other day WITHOUT, yeah, that's right people, WITHOUT, SANS, SIN, a recipe. Oh yeah.
  
• Learn to live with less. If you don't take into account my body's voracious ability to need doctors, supplements and expensive, GF good, I think you could give this one a check. Plus. I haven't bought myself a book or item of clothing all year. I also have barely had time to buy myself groceries. But. like. whatever.

Fact #5: Sometimes, happiness is getting off work in time to watch the sun set.
Subfact: Happiness is exponentially greater when I am able to run in it. Rare. But not impossible.

Fact#6: I like running again! I nailed 7 miles this weekend and my recovery seems to be better every time. I'm even averaging 9:30 a mile instead of 10.
Subfact: Oh, and did I mention, my calves are getting bigger.

Fact#7: This weekend I got to run, read, nap, and hang out with friends after I was done being alone. Today, I cracked open one of my Runner's World magazine. I've been subscribed for 6 months and this is the first time that has happened. I feel completely spoiled. My dishes have been done the last 3 days. My room is semi-clean. I am prepared for school tomorrow. And I'm BLOGGING! I'm sorry for the friends I'm abandoning in the process of filling my me-time meter.
Subfact: All apologies aside, truly, I am a better person for these simple indulgences. Trust me.

Fact#8: Since having started this post last week there has been the earthquake/tsunami/nuclear explosion in Japan. I'm not going to attempt to touch on the magnitude of the thing. First of all because it's unknown and secondly and most importantly, I know there are so many other people out there living it whose stories won't get told or understand and I don't really want to waste anyone's time with mine. But, let me just say that I've felt a little guilty, this past week, going about things as if nothing had changed with the routine remaining the routine when there are thousands of peoples' lives which will never be the same. I am grateful for so many things and I feel like it's so unfair for me to have them when others don't. I've been plagued by an obsession with justice since before I can remember. I have a girl in one of my classes who suffers from the same condition. She's a walking panic attack, honestly, the 4 year old has "anxiety" written all over her. So I'm not saying it's a good thing. It's just a thing and if anything probably not a good one. But aside from all the injustice and my inability to really do anything at all, I'm reminded of Job, actually. And of my last post. The one about belief in God being a product of having to rely or not rely on him and all the varied, deep and well undiscussed implications. Yeah, that one. And so, in the spirit of vicarious fairness, I have been imagining myself in the middle of such a catastrophe. Not that I claim to be able to fathom. But human empathy has its uses and I claim them often. Human empathy has brought me to the realization however that no amount of self deprivation on the part of anyone or everyone else living is going to be able to set things right to the point that things will be how they were. And, looking at the history books, that's nothing new. Call me cheesy or whatever but it puts me in mind of a Lord of the Rings quote. Oh yeah, the one about deciding what to do with the time given to us that makes me cry every time. I guess what I'm trying to say is that there are a lot of things I feel unfit to do. But I think that the most meaningful thing I could do now and in the midst of any personal catastrophe is do what Job did. Or, as Journey puts it: don't stop believin'.

Metamorphosis. 2010 to 2011 in list form.

Books read in 2010:

• Grapes of Wrath
  The Road
  The Boy in the Striped Pajamas
  The History of Love
  My name is Asher Lev
  Mindset
  The Alchemist
• Hunger Games Trilogy
• How Languages are Learned

Books started but not finished (I blame the ADD)

• War and Peace
• Manual del guerrero de la luz
• Book of Three

Bands seen in Concert:

• Desert Noises
• Joshua James (twice)
• Spoon
• Vampire Weekend (twice)
• Imagine Dragons
• Neon Trees
• (I think I'm missing some)
  

Soundtrack of 2010:

• New Slang-The Shins. This song is in my soundtrack for every year.
• Countdown (Sick for the big sun)-Phoenix
• My Moon, My Man-Feist
• Bodies and Minds-Great Lake Swimmers
• Don't Stop Believin'-Glee. Yes. Glee
• Dream-Priscilla Ahn
• Defying Gravity-Yeah. Wicked. Maybe I listened to this song on repeat for hours on my drive to Colorado. Et alors?
• Hero-Regina Spektor
• Horchata-Vampire Weekend
• Fans-Kings of Leon
• Contra-Vampire Weekend
• Quelq'un m'a dit-Carla Bruni
• Finer Feelings-Spoon
• Somedays-Regina Spektor
• Dog Days are Over-Florence and the Machines
• The Underdog-SPOON!
• Be my Thrill-The Weepies
• Dilly-Band of Horses
• Next to Me-Sleeping at Last

Now onto some post-worthy goals for 2011. Because, let's face it, I bet there isn't a blogger out there who isn't obsessed with goal making, if not list making. I just can't fathom it. I'd happily be proven wrong. So I'm gonna indulge the suspicion that bloggers are also typically blog followers. And made of the same stuff. And therefore justify you wanting to read about my goals.

And so, in no particular order:

• Maintain this blog. Also maintain a journal. At least one post/entry a month for each.
• Get accepted to grad school. Yeah, no big deal.
• Maintain one new recipe a month. Hey, here's an idea: if I write about it, that could also fulfill my blog post per month requirement. Augh. Fulfill. Requirement. Yeah, I'm not applying to grad school and my mind is not being infiltrated by loaded, restricted and otherwise unhappy words or anything.
• Read a book a month. I've done the math. If I read a book a month for the next 50 years, that is only 600 books left to read in my lifetime, likely. 12 books in a year is hardly an accomplishment. So, I either have to read more than that, or I have to make each one count. Book club, anyone?
• Run that stinking half marathon. Or else die trying. Seriously. Sometimes, when I squeeze into my stinking running gear and look into the mirror I think to myself: hardcore. But, most of the time, I think: fraud. I think the fraudulent version of me will haunt the hardcore version of me until I have photographic proof of me crossing the finish line. But if I really want a hardcore version victory, I will run the entire race. And be crying with laughter or pain as I cross that line. Just sayin.
• Learn to live with less. Which will entail saying no to myself several times a day. No, you don't need a new itouch. No you don't need that new app. No, you cannot buy that book because guess what, you can read it for free. It's called a LIBRARY. No, you don't need to buy that movie even if you can watch it (by yourself) in French. Because guess what, you haven't watched 6 of the last 10 movies you've bought. No, you cannot buy any more clothes that do not fall into the following categories: socks or underwear. Because you have so many clothes you forget about half of them and don't physically have room for more. (I could probably write pages on the art of saying no to oneself. We are familiar foes, the word 'No', and I. 'No' knocks on my door several times a day, challenging me to duels. I look him up and down several times in admiration and open the door only to shove it in his face in secondthought as he is about to cross the threshold. I'm a pansy, to tell the truth. I don't even try to fight. My mom has kitchenware that she has had for over 20 years. No upgrades. I've heard several women tell of when they were new mothers and too poor to buy a crib so they used a drawer in a dresser. Such 'No's seem unfathomable to me.) But hey, maybe if I made a list of all the things I passed by or reconsidered I would, it's true, not have anything more. Except a beautiful, checked off list. And maybe the satisfaction of that list will get me by where 'Yes's once did.
• Do Yoga at least twice a month.
• Become an Aunt. Oh, well, this one is already being taken care of. But it's exciting news! And I have to point out that I couldn't be an Aunt if I had been such a terrible child that I scared my parents away from having any more children. So I should get some credit for that.
• Have a little more faith. So we learned about Utah becoming a state and all this week. You know, the story of the pioneers and such. And maybe it's because I've had a lot of conversations lately with various people about life planning, career pursuing, the economy, marriage making and all that hitching your horse to somone else's wagon bit, which, let's face it, complicates all those other matters exponentially, BUT I seem to be reminded a lot lately how vulnerable and unpredictable life is. And there's this part of me that thinks that vulnerability is an exception to the rule. That it's wrong and and unnatural. That it should justifiably be paralyzing. But I got thinking about them pioneers. And then we read about Elijah in Bible Study at school (ensuing drought and famine). And I remembered the Grapes of Wrath: and realized that civilization has, for thousands of years, lived and breathed such vulnerability. Maybe they fought it? Maybe they were so well acquainted with it that it had ceased making them uncomfortable? But for thousands of years, life could be compromised several times a year. If it didn't rain or if it rained too much, if it was too hot, or if it was too cold, or if there was a migration of the wrong kind of animal. There was no guarantee of food. There was no guarantee that a fever couldn't wipe out an entire family. But it didn't stop them from living and dreaming and believing. And it just got me thinking, that it's no wonder so many people don't believe in God anymore; they don't have to. Why would they want when they live with the justifiable illusion that they are in control? I guess this hit me pretty hard because I'm kind of a control freak. A planner, to put it nicely. And I think I need to learn to live with, get comfortable with, this notion of unpredictability. And, mostofall, to have a little faith that, despite all the ways things might go wrong, they will turn out all right in the end.

Comment te dire adieu? Or merci.

So if I don't write on this thing soon it will mean that I fail at my goal of writing on this thing at least once a month. And we can't have that now, can we?

As usual, I have too much of everything to say. For one reason or another I feel like I've lacked the time recently to process half of my thoughts, let alone write about them.

I gave a talk today about agency. It's something I thought alot about over the summer and I went back and I realized I had written pages and pages on this thing in the form of miscellaneous drafts about life, this, that, and the other.

I guess I underestimated the significance of this summer. I thought through a lot of stuff. I've said it before and I'll say it again: it's funny how some of the things I've gone through or done thinking they would be minor have ended up having a long lasting impact. I think half of the reason I like to get away, and relocate temporarily as often as I can is because it forces me to do a lot of adapting and reevaluating. Being out of my comfort zone-though not in a hugely forced or awkward way-has always resulted in this huge upheaval of confusion and questioning and ended up in me piecing my self back together more solidly than before. Maybe it's just age and the fact that most people, as they age, become more conservative, but I feel like the upheavals are less intense and that the piecing back happens more readily with each year.

Speaking of years, this one is almost up. I've been smiling to myself all week as I've thought back on it and on what I wrote on this thing almost a year ago: that 2010 was my year. And it really has been. Not in the outward sense; I have nothing to show for myself. But I know I'll look back on this year as one in which I figured out a lot of things. Hopefully.

Call me freakishly methodical or just plain weird in my desire to ascribe significance to random things, but I was thinking the other day how my "big years" are always the even years.

2000: Um, I turned 16. Fall football as yes, a pep-clubber. Enough said, right?

2002: Graduated Highschool. Freshman at the U. In this first semester I met most of the people I would hang out with the rest of my college years.

2004: Went to France. Toured Europe. Wasn't sure about the whole God thing. Decided I believed after all. Discovered the Shins. Stopped working for my Dad and started working at Lenderlab. A pretty darn pivotal year.

2006: Decided to graduate. English and French, baby. Did the whole diploma thing. I was accepted to teach English in France but decided I wanted to serve a mission instead. Had the best darn summer of my life. Said some awesome goodbyes. Left for Quebec.

2008: Returned from my mission. Got to see my sister married. Picked up the thread of my old life, though I was never, ever the same. I miraculously found out about the school where I work now and got a job there. I am grateful every day for that wonderful blessing. Grandma H and Grandpa B passed away. I decided to not go back to school. (Yet)

2010: A full year of this blog and gluten free eating! The Moab (ie Hundred Acre Wood) and Vegas (ie Horchata meets the 3 Gemini) trips in all their disastrous glory. Third year of teaching-and yes, it's a charm. Nanny job in Colorado. A summer of way too many phone calls and not enough person to person interaction and a lot of thinking. Almost a full year of barefoot running. Moved out. Made a decision about grad school. Passed the GRE! I should probably mention the 500 words smarter I am. As humbly as possible.

But do you see what I mean? The pattern is striking. So I guess next year I can just twiddle my thumbs and wait for 2012 so don't be sorry if you don't hear from my uneventful self. Too bad the world will end that year. (But at least it fits the pattern, right?)

In all seriousness though, this year has been awesome. I'll post some resolutions in a week or so.

What I'm trying to say- really, truly, humbly-is that I'm one of the lucky ones. Not that I deserve it. Not that I always will be. But I hear about how hard life is for some people and I cannot truly relate. I can empathize, yes. But I've had it so good. I chalk most of this up to the wonderful people I know and the rest of it to the big guy upstairs.

But sometimesIgetselfishandmaybedesperateandItrytoholdontoItwiththetightestgripIknowhowto makeinfearthatsomeday,thesethingsmightgo

away.

And in moments like that, the words 'thank you' seem too small. But I'll say them anyway.

For the record. My number one goal for 2011: to loosen the grip. And to really start showing them.

Logophilia

11/15/2010

Days till my half-marathon: oh wait, nevermind. Because all the cool, ideal races are planned on SUNDAY! Yeah, not bitter.

Days till Thanksgiving break: 9

Days till Christmas break: 33

Days till GRE: 33

Yep, that's right ladies and gents. The GRE preptest book and I are the latest item. You can find us snuggled up in my lovesac. Sharing a cup of tea in my appartment. Inseperable in the waiting room at the chiropractors office.

You wanna know the sick thing? When I'm not tired or hungry (it does actually happen) I actually really LIKE studying.

I mean, what's not to love:

*flashcards!

*multiple choice!

*right and wrong answers!

*tactics!

*words, words, and more glorious words!

*ball point pens in aching hands!

*latin bases prefixes and suffixes!

*oh and did I mention flashcards!

(Can I interject here and reference Thursday's French lesson and how I taught regular -er verb conjugations and loved it? And how words "I get it!" and "This is COOOL!" and "So easy!" rang out like the bells that signaled the end of school in 8th grade? And how I somehow smiled and sighed all at once? And how it was pure grammatical joy? Oh grammer!)

I'm back to being in my element here, with all these words. I think my word enthusiasm has come just in time to fill in the gaping hole where my enthusiasm for running used to be. Which makes me think that it's maybe a good thing, after all, that running funk of mine. I don't know how well I could have handled juggling that much enthusiasm inside one little me.

When I started to study my words it made me want to write on this thing every day, putting them to use not just for the sake of reinforcement (which isn't a wholly bad idea, you know) but because I love them and I want to welcome then into my life and let them be a part of me.

Thanks to this beautiful list of words, I now know who I am!

I am a NEOLOGIST!

Neologism is the creation or use of new words or expressions. Incidentally, it provides me with new incentive for continuing my trend of made up words. Lucky for you, all this new vocabulary also provides the incentive to look up and learn the words that my made up words are probably trying to express. Histoire de faire ses devoirs. (Yeah, that just doesn't translate).

So yes, you can all breathe a sigh or relief: I do have an identity after all.

Because I rarely get home before 7 these days and still have to nourish myself after that, operation blog-new-words remains unlaunched. I had another ephiphany though when a facebook friend posted this link:

http://westwinducla.wordpress.com/2010/11/05/it-has-begun-november-is-national-writing-month/

So I know that November is the month but it is SO not happening what with all I have to do. But come January, things are gonna get a little narcissistic here. I am totally taking the suggestion noted to just write about oneself. In fact, I was having this conversation with a coworker the other day about my fascination with intense people and situations and how they make me think of characters in a book. The only problem is, I forget sometimes that these people, unlike ink on a page, actually have lives. Interactions. Of consequence. (Or is it with consequences?) So it's all well and good to be fascinated, but life, real life can get messy. (Fuss).

I have, on more than one occasion, felt like I was watching myself from the outside in and that what I was living was terrificly Dostoyevsky-esque. Explain to me the irony of the fact that it makes me feel alive to feel like my life is, if only fleetingly so, like words on a page in a Dostoyevsky novel. And yet, there it is. Reminds me of a quote from "History of Love": "...larger than life...I've never understood that expression. What's larger than life?"

Apparently I suffer from the (if not often recanted) belief that literature IS in fact larger than life; suffer from the weakness of putting my better interest aside for the sake of a making of my life a "good story". And by good story, I mean dramatic, ironic, and deeply psychological.

The good news is, apparently mine is not an isolated case. Co-worker and I decided that writing about ourselves, making ourselves the central character of the story of our lives as lived by our drama-craved alter-egos, would maybe satisfy that insatiable call of that-which-can-only-end-badly. Basically, we would live vicariously through ourselves. And I have to wonder, is this what separates me from a true "Author"; the fact that an author is one to whom the stories come to whereas I can't imagine writing a character and not having it be some alter-ego version of myself and can't fathom how they are able to either.

I know I'm chalking it up to another effort of being my own therapist. I know that it doesn't change the fact that the narcissism is nauseating; that I'm just one garrulous son of a gun; that, like so many of my good intentions, this is probably another idea I will not actually follow up on.

And that writing and finishing this whole post has just been an ill-disguised attempt at procrastination. I have a Monstrous Liar post on its way. But don't be fooled. It's just another sad attempt to not do what I am trying to convince myself that I love: studying.

Oh ambiguity!

THE Bell Tower

I held off so long on posting this. At first because I thought posting poetry on a blog was, as my friends and I say, "cupcakes" (Yes, it can be used as an adjective or a noun. Derivation of the adj form naturally is cupcakey, but sometimes the extra syllable can get excessive).

Obviously, I got over that reservation about a year ago.

And then I wanted the timing to be perfect: when this poem would be the quintessential encapsulation off what I was feeling; the only route of expression I had left to me. The irony is of course, that when I wrote the poem, I didn't understand it. It was like IT taught me something I didn't know. And yet. I can't say it was the product of all these thoughts or feelings at the time for which this poem was the only outlet. It never hit me like that, and I keep waiting for it to and I don't think it will. And yet. It's always been there. Not hitting, but pulsing, perhaps. Or ringing, depending on how you look at it.

And so here it is. The poem whose name this blog bears. Not because the timing is perfect. Not because I even still care all that much about this poem. But because I'm feeling poetic but not enough to write. I'm feeling numb but not enough to want to feel. And so, in my laziness, you're invited to join me as I try to remember what is already there.

The Bell Tower

A crater’s birth was mine,

A hollowing of bone and sinew,

Downside-up, downside-up.

I only want to hear the pealing of bells again.

Yes, the bells have always tolled for me

A stranger’s story,

They call in diatonic scales to fill the gaps between my ribs;

between the true and false pairs whose job it is to protect the peace.

“Together”, the belfry cries, “together,”

Aware, as I am, of the spaces (air) between.

“Don’t you realize that the cage you carry in your chest

is no match at all.”

You might call me a bell tower;

I throb instead to make good use

Of such sound structural design.

Not all bell towers house bells.

And some bell towers have no belfry.

I only want to hear the pealing of bells again.

In the countryside, or in cobblestoned lanes,

On trains that distort the echoes

In my chest and make me catch my breath;

It’s something to feel the life inside the hollow.

Some days, I am the ringer of the bells.

Eventually defeated by the inertia

Of the back and forth that I began;

There I dangle from the ropes,

Follow up to follow down,

Or let go

Entirely. And I never enter

Those heavy wooden doors,

Nor pay the toll.

I only want to hear the pealing of bells again.

And oh, love, how you call

Like the church bells;

I never heed them

But just revel in the sound.

On a out-dated note, happy thanksgiving. I am grateful for a great many things. Things that if I tried to make a list of in my current state would probably end in me hunched over my keyboard and silently sobbing. (Because naturally I cry when I'm happy, haven't we figured that out yet?) Another post for Monstrous Liar. Another night. Note to self: start that list with the letter 'F'.

But for now, for tonight, I am grateful for the copy and paste. For this space on a screen I have that is mine to share and the people I share it with.

But especially that I have heard. The pealing of the bells.

Now off to bed with me before this sentimentality engenders some sick, mutant, sappy and-might I add-poorly written novel. Can I still keep some of my integrity, please?

Play that funky music

10/29/2010

So I've been in a sort of funk that I was going to chalk up to the fact that I haven't run for a week. Just a week. But it feels like an e-tern-i-t-y!

The truth of it is, the funk was pre-run injury. As for the injury, don't ask me what I did. I have done my research. I have formulated theories. It's not that I don't have an answer so much as I don't really care about the what or the how. My question has more to do with the tick tock on the clock (Yes, I did just publicly make a Keisha reference on my blog. I really hate that I love her. But the truth of it is that she just makes me want to dance. Pretty much without fail. And sometimes it's good to remember that buried deep (or sometimes not so deep) inside this composed exterior of mine is still that shameless 19 year old past self). It's not severe enough that I would see a doctor so it's not keeping me up and night. Not in an of itself, that is.

All my researched is driven by the search for the answer to one question: will I be able to run the Halloween half on the 30th? I had my answer last Thursday, when I ran 4 miles against my whole body's will: "Tu rêve?! And so, now another, still undetermined: What about the Vegas Rock n' Roll Half?

I think that the answer is probably a 'heck yes', if not a 'well sure, if you wanna die trying." And this brings me back to the funk. Because the week, maybe the week and a half before I injured myself, I had to force, coerce, compel, even bribe myself to hit the sidewalk. I don't know if it's the shortened days or the evening chill. But I was not enjoying running like I had before. It had started to feel like........work. A few weeks back, I was going to write a post-more like an ode-to barefoot running. I was going to laud the sunsets, my running track, my vibrams in all their smelly glory. I felt like a fraud doing it in the midst of a funk though.

So, maybe an obligatory break was in order.

11/7/2010

Visiting us today is my friendly facebook status:

What!?!? The Vegas half marathon is on a Sunday!? WHY????? Wow, I fail at using calendars. GAH. I feel like a kid who got their favorite toy taken away. Anyone have a rockin workout/running songs/mix they wanna recommend to help pull me back from the brink of depression?



As you might guess, this revelation did nothing to help my funk. It's like, I no longer care to brave the cold weather, dark nights, or the gym. Incidentally, no one had any musical remedies to offer me so I took upon myself to rewrite the soundtrack to my life and I'll eventually get to a workout mix. I reaquainted myself with Pandora and downloaded the new Band of Horses and the new Weepies and am happy as a clam.

The conclusion: I am not depressed. I've been lulled back into contentment with the help of a overwhelmingly busy schedule and a few choice chords. But I think something in me died and I hope when all this yucky weather is gone I can nourish it back to life again.

So I know that's dramatic like wow. But I really did want to write that ode.

Here's to running being a good thing. And a good thing never dies.