Live the Life

Is it All About Time?

2012-01-26T21:39:00.001-08:00

Time. On the one hand, it is the selfish pursuer, always tracking its prey, waiting in the wings for a moment of stillness. And quite the opposite, time can be the literal Balm of Gilead for a broken soul. Time is a paradox; the greatest of masterpieces can be created with time, and the most atrocious tragedies happen by the minute and second hand of time. We are all slaves to it, and it waits patiently to beckon us when we least want it to.

Often it is lamented that time passes too quickly. What about the mother that loses an infant to death, or a child that suddenly becomes motherless or fatherless? Time to them is something fleeting, something they wish they could rewind and live again, but differently and with precious pause for each last second.

Time laughs in the face of control as it cunningly slips through the death grip of those that try to constrain it. It cannot be stopped, nor can it be slowed. It can, however, be intensified and relished. Though we have no concept of when time will run out for us, we can emulsify ourselves in the time we do have, trying to wring each and every moment of minutia we possibly can before surrendering to the great Father Time.

Rather than worry and anguish for time that is lost or wasted, try instead to anticipate the quickening of time and walk out confidently to meet it as two enemies about to duel on an empty, dusty road. Know it will control you if you do not maximize it. So decide to be the one to mock Father Time by paying attention to each passing moment, to every encounter, to the people you love most, to the things in life that are valuable. Be patient. Learn to wait. Time is all we have, and yet it is what we lack most.

Forgetting the Good While Pursuing the Best

2012-01-26T21:37:00.000-08:00

We live in a perfection-obsessed society. In every facet of life, the society-approved ideal is intentionally infiltrating our minds and thoughts. It is inescapable. There is no way to avoid it. Perfection is recklessly forced upon us, invading the impressionable and domineering the defiant. It is not a respecter of persons and seeks to unilaterally defeat us all, leaving no survivors in its wake.

But perfection is the unattainable, the impossible to possess. So why does perfection reign supreme? We are taught from childhood to always strive to be the best, not to strive to be good, but the best. Life becomes a competition, with each participant striving to be better than all the rest. And unless you are one of the very lucky few, you are left in the distant dust of all that are merely good, as we watch those that are the best continue to have and be that which is best.

Settling for mediocrity, or stagnating into nothingness is not the answer, either. However, there is a middle ground. And it lies in striving for good, not demanding the best and avoiding nothingness. I have so poignantly seen this play out in the spotlight of my own life as an English major. Letting go of the need to be the best writer that produces the best writing has given me a new found freedom to appreciate the great writing of other great writers, while acknowledging the good of my own writing and ability. The need to be the best, to be the most profound or beautiful did nothing but create an overall dissatisfaction with myself, my work and even potential to be a good writer. I realized that I am surrounded every day by amazing writers, many that are far better than me, but their talent does not take away from mine, and I am not the best, and that is okay. I am happier when I am not the best, but when I am seeking out the good.

Put away the sense of best. Discard the pursuit of perfection. Step away from the need
to rise above all others and all else. Guard the good; commit to it and be it. Allow someone else the empty, short-lived feeling of attaining the best, for it is temporary and fleeting. Embrace the good and help others recognize and align their own lives with the freedom and brilliance that comes from achieving that which is not the best, but good. That is where the best really reside.

Pushing Outside The Essayist Box

2012-01-10T21:31:00.000-08:00

I have attached a label to myself. I am an essayist. I love writing essays. I love analyzing literature, summarizing it from my point of view, and writing an essay about it. I'm good at it (sorry...not trying to brag, but it's true:) ) I've received much praise regarding my ability to compose well-thought, well-composed essays.

What I've realized over the course of last semester is that is basically all I write; essays. I do not consider myself a novelist, a poet, a playwright. No way!! Another observation of my work: I tend to write on heavy, deeply emotional and taxing topics. As I am starting a new year, a new semester, I have committed to stepping outside the Essayist Box I have so willingly occupied for the last year or so. I want to challenge myself to be that poet, playwright, writer of historical fiction - whatever it may be. I've been very inspired by my two literature classes I'm taking, and trying hard to expand my writing style.

Today's assignment: write 10 lines of harmonic couplets in iambic pentameter. Whaaaat?!?! I don't do poetry. Everyone thinks they are a "poet". I don't relate to poetry. Except I do. Since Emily Dickinson entered my life nearly a year ago, I have found great solace and wisdom in her poems; I have felt connection to poetry unlike ever before. So, I gave it a shot. I penned my first poem today. And surprisingly, it came pretty naturally. Who knew. I do not claim to be an amazing poet by any means, but I am proud of my first attempt at trying to become a good one. Maybe a half-decent one, at best. So...in all its glory, here it is:

Sometimes I feel that it is just me

Floating along in this vast and dark sea.

I see beautiful and frightful things along the way

Like suffering, sadness – the light of a new day.

I want to be strong, to know my course is sure;

To live with integrity, hope, and a heart that is Pure.

And when I falter, as I well know I will

My vision of purpose shall remain, Still.

I have been given a great gift – my life

And it is full of both triumph and strife.

To suffer – the pain, sometimes I ask why?

To which, silence is often the reply.

But I know who I am, and who I should be,

And therein lies the power in Me.

Lucy

2012-01-10T21:19:00.000-08:00

Lucy

It was ten o’clock on a clear, frosty spring day when they drove to the home of a stranger. It was a home in the country, on the West side of the valley. It took a long time to get there, and the boy and his mother were anxious to arrive, eager to see the puppy the that may become a part of the family soon.

The house was old, run-down and in complete disarray. The boy looked at his mother, as if begging her reassurance as they walked, hand in hand, up the chain-linked fence walkway. There were big dogs everywhere and even some goats on the side of the house. The boy was only four and the mother, sensing his subtle uneasiness, spoke softly and smiled to him as they approached the door.

The boy rang the doorbell. He always loved pushing all the buttons when they went places together and especially liked when it was just him and his mother, so he didn’t have to share the opportunity with his sister. A sloppy, loud woman with large glasses swung open the door, startling them both. The boy’s big brown eyes instantly became bigger as they stepped inside the dark, cluttered house.

She invited them to sit on the green velvet couch. The boy took off his red jacket, subconsciously pleading for another reassuring glance from his mother. She patted his back and talked to the loud woman when suddenly from the other room came five of the cutest, smallest puppies the mother and her son had ever seen. The puppies stumbled along, following their mother, trying to latch on for food. The puppies’ mother looked old and tired. The loud woman told the boy and his mother that the puppies’ mother had had four litters of puppies, and was to have another litter as soon as possible. The boy’s mother’s heart silently broke for the poor dog mother, knowing she was simply being used for money, sorrowing over the grueling effects it had on her small body.

The boy, prior to coming to the loud woman’s house, had decided upon the black puppy of the litter – a little girl. She was sweet and spunky, and she was also the runt. But, another puppy, a small, white one with light brown ears and a very light brown spot on her face paid particular interest to the boy. She came right up to him, her tiny tongue licking the boy’s hand, her baby tail wagging in delight. She was fiery, this little one! The loud woman told the boy and his mother that this puppy, the white one, was the favorite of the dog mother and also the loud woman herself. She was feisty but cuddly, lively but loving.

The mother looked at the boy, and in a finite moment, the decision was made as she saw love in its rawest and purest form manifested by the light in her little boy’s eyes as he played and loved the white puppy with the light brown ears. The boy was beaming from ear to ear and was sweet and gentle to the little puppy.

The mother and her son left soon after, letting the loud woman know they would be coming back to get the white puppy with light brown ears when she was old enough to leave her mother, which was just a few weeks away. The boy did not want to leave his newfound companion there, especially not with the loud woman that did not seem to love and adore the puppy as he did. And so his heart was heavy, and that spark of light in his eyes that his mother saw so clearly now had turned to pools of sadness. He searched his mother’s face in desperation, wanting to be comforted, to know he would see his puppy again soon. She lovingly took his perfect little hand and walked him back to the car. She tried to be strong, to alleviate his concerns; all the while, her own mother-heart was swollen with sadness, as she wanted to care for and love the little puppy, too.

And just as promised, only a few weeks later, the mother returned with her son to the dilapidated, dysfunctional home of the loud woman, where they retrieved the long-awaited for white puppy with light brown ears. The boy, once again, had the spark of love and light ignite in his eyes as he held her, comforted her, and loved her all the way home. And he named her Lucy.

To Be Confounded

2012-01-05T22:26:00.000-08:00

As of Monday, I am officially back in school full time. I am so grateful to be in such great classes with first-rate professors. I am more convinced than ever that I am meant to do what I am working so hard towards, which is being an English professor. Things keep falling into place; I simply cannot deny it. So, here is a sample of some of my first writings from this new semester. I was inspired by the musical piece "Te Deum" by John Rutter, specifically by the phrase "O Lord, in Thee have I trusted; let me never be confounded." , and the words to the piece prompted the following writing:

I Am Confounded

To be confounded. Why not use the words confused, afraid, scared or unsure? Confounded. It is beyond confused, and beyond afraid, scared and unsure. It is a feeling that there is almost not words to describe, and yet there is, and it is confounded. I thought I knew what that word meant. I thought I had lived and experienced what it means to be confounded. Geometry as a sophomore in high school was a time of confoundedness that produced some of the most frustrating feelings I ever had. I just did not understand it! I was confounded – beyond the normal “I just don’t get it” that comes with math.

On January 16, 1996 my best friend that I grew to love like a brother, Dan, died. Again, I was brought to my knees, paralyzed by pain I did not know existed, and there were those feelings of confoundedness I had not known before. I questioned and pleaded with God – why and the question of why is the keystone of confoundedness. And it is the why that caused great despair and sadness, which caused further confoundedness in me.

And then there is the opposite kind of confounded. The kind that entered like a meteorite, changing the landscape of my being forever, and that is the level of confounded that without hesitation appeared the second, the literal instant I became a parent. That baby, her beautiful eyelashes, lips and nose – her tiny body, perfect head, little hands and the sweetest, most heart-achingly, precious cry I had ever heard. It was her that instituted confounded in a way that nothing else before or since. I was confounded with joy.

I am time and time again confounded by the power and far-reaching influence of music. The capacity to stand arrested, astonished by its influence and authority leaves me lying in Confounded’s wake, touched and moved to a place that is sacred, that is mine, and it is my communion with God. The brilliant musical works of Handel combined with the inspired words of Isaiah lead to a type of confounded that has the power to change lives, inspire improvement and become the balm of Gilead that heals wounds that would otherwise be incapable of healing.

It is in the simple things that confoundedness can be found. A fiery sunset, a perfect, full moon, a glowing, autumn day all have potential to create a state of confounded that should be a regular part of human life. For if we can learn to be confounded by the small and simple, then we experience the sense of wonderment, gratitude and humility that contribute to greater contentment and happiness. And that, to me, is the catalyst for true confoundedness.

My Final Writing Project - Fall Semester 2011

2011-12-14T19:03:00.000-08:00

Death.

Life.

Happiness.

Knowledge.

Purpose.

Suffering.

The broad, bold brushstrokes that indiscriminately illustrate on the canvas of the human experience. These topics cannot or should not be ignored or left unattended, whether in thought or action. They are the foundational elements of what makes up me. What makes up you. And because of that commonality results human connection, and the human connection is what fuels the bright and roaring fire of life that is in each one of us.

To my reader, whoever they are and wherever they may be, I have been fortunate to live a full life, highlighted by greatness and joy; I turned thirty-one years old during this course, this amazing but challenging fall semester in the year 2011. I have enjoyed tremendous triumphs and successes, but also endured unspeakable, racking pain. And through it, I have continued to write what is uppermost in my heart and mind, not to simply satisfy certain course requirements, but because it is who I am; writing lends vibrancy to life and reality, and also an escape from life. It is the way in which I record the trajectory of my experience, my thought, my emotion my deepest everything.

As I have recollected upon the last thirteen weeks, reread my writing, and passed along much of it to my friends and family, I have discovered there is a central theme; upon first glance, much if not all of my writing appears negative in nature. Sad, perplexed, doubtful. While I do not deny these basic and fundamental truths of my writing and also of my own self, it must be also recognized that it is also the perpetual pulse of the desire for knowledge – knowledge about who I am, what I want, what I fear, what I hope for, who I want to become. It is this realization of knowledge that has been the driving force behind my writing, my life, my self. At thirty-one years old, I feel a sense of immense intelligence alongside incredible ignorance. The decision to go back to school, pursue the dream I have of receiving a Ph.D. and doing what I know I am meant to do in life has opened my mind to a large and lofty influx of knowledge and information; some classes have been an all-out struggle, and some have come naturally and easily. But while I have been fed a great feast of otherwise unknown knowledge, I feel more and more like I am only just beginning, as if my eyes are being opened for the first time, that actually, at thirty-one I know less and less about life than I did ten years ago. In the words of the brilliant Blaise Pascal, “It is certain that as man’s insight increases . . . he finds both wretchedness and greatness within himself.” My own wretchedness and greatness have been put on display, plumbed to depths I did not know existed, and come forth in the form of words – honest and sometimes beautiful words.

Death. Death is a central theme in life and literature, and one that recurs often in some of the greatest literary works in all of history. My writing prompted by Thomas Mann’s “The Path to the Cemetery” reflects my recollections of walking through my hometown graveyard with my mother as a child, and the thoughts and feelings it conjured for me. However, the subject of death that most profoundly impacted me was the great short story, The Death of Ivan Illych by Leo Tolstoy. As a lover of Tolstoy, I was anxious to read this story and eagerly ingested every word. Although a large portion of the story surrounds the subject of death, and the literal physical death of the factious Ivan Illych, the prevailing theme was the natural, innate humane desire to have life matter and mean something to those around us. This was reinforced with reading excerpts from “East of Eden” by John Steinbeck, one of my favorite novels of all time. Steinbeck says, “In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved.” At the end of the life of Ivan Illych, those were the two most important things, that he felt he had mattered, done good, and that he was loved and had given love.

Life. It seems only natural while living a mortal life to stop and ponder its elements and facets. In “East of Eden”, John Steinbeck writes, “We have only one story.” In other words, this life is a gift, and with that gift we have one chance at how to use it. And while it is true, we have only one story, we have countless opportunities to reinvent, recommit and revitalize our lives, thereby improving the quality of life, perhaps without concern for the quantity of life. One of the elements of life that has been brought to the forefront for me is my ability to be more compassionate, more tolerant and open-minded to the people I travel and meet along this journey called life. The wise and almost always right Walt Whitman said, “In all people I see myself.” Is that not the greatest achievement in mortality, to say that in another person you see yourself, and therefore have love and understanding for another human soul that exceeds expectation? From the magnificent Viktor Frankl, concentration-camp survivor and Psychiatrist, “The salvation of man is through love and in love” (Frankl, 1985). And finally, from the poetic words of Victor Hugo in the illustrious novel Les Miserables, “To love another person is to see the face of God” (Hugo, 1987). In my writing inspired by Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”, many elements of life are acknowledged, and although the theme of the piece may at first seem sad, in the end it is the love that comes from light, joy and God that is abiding and never ceasing. Love, in its purest form, is the answer.

Happiness. “No aspect of life is more desired, more elusive, and more perplexing than happiness” (Nicholli, 2002). Happiness, although seemingly foundational in the life experience, is seemingly abstract and can be fleeting. Why? What really makes us happy? In comparing and contrasting the great minds of Sigmund Freud and C.S. Lewis, the answer to the often puzzling pursuit of happiness is found in meaningful relationships, and as an antithesis, the lack of happiness is found in the rhetorical lack of meaningful relationships (Nicholi, 2002). It is impossible to discuss happiness without simultaneously discussing love, as love is more often than not the quality that either is or is not in such relationships. Nicholi says, “…we are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love, never so helplessly unhappy as when we have lost our objects or its love.” The more we are willing to love, the more love we can receive in return, thus bringing happiness in its fullest measure. And the great poet Charles Williams, as quoted by Armand Nicholi so simply states, “Love you? I am you” (Nicholi 2002). To truly love, unabashed, unselfishly means that the one becomes the beloved, and the beloved comes the other, and a unique unity is born that offers such great, lasting and real happiness. To further clarify, Emily Dickinson pens the simple but beautiful words in which the word beauty can be substituted for happiness:

"Beauty be not caused – it is.

Chase it and it ceases

Chase it not and it abides . . ."

Happiness, although the pursuit of which proclaimed by our Founding Fathers as something available to all, seems more to be a byproduct of living a good, purposeful life rather than a state that should be actively pursued. In addition, I have found that the knowledge that I am not alone attributes greatly to my own personal happiness, and in my writing titled “Sovereign Sojourn” I illustrate the painfulness of feeling alone and contrast it with the happiness that can come with realizing I am never alone.

Knowledge. The great philosopher Rene Descartes famous statement, “I think, therefore I am” implies that the origin of all knowledge is actually thought. If thought is the spark of knowledge, it then becomes crucial to cultivate thought, pay attention to it, write it down, record it and expand it. Ortega y Gasset says, “Tell me to what you pay attention, and I will tell you who you are.” So simple, yet so profound. From E.F. Schumacher’s A Guide for the Perplexed we learn much regarding knowledge – what it is, how to obtain it, and what to do with it. We learn about the Four Fields of Knowledge (Schumacher, 1980): self-knowledge, empathy, objectivity about oneself and objectivity about the world. “The goal of human knowing is knowledge of total reality, which includes all four Fields of Knowledge” (Schwiebert, 2011). In other words, sole focus on only one aspect of acquiring knowledge will lead to a vast imbalance, a direct disservice to the soul and mind. The more open we are, meaning taking an active role in our experience of life and then committing completely to making a habit of paying attention to those experiences, the more we grow and develop, learn and progress; in essence, the more knowledge we gain.

Purpose. Why am I here? What is my life for? Does my life matter? The questions that have been asked since the beginning of time, and will be asked until the end of time. I have found clarity in my own purpose in and through writing, and in my piece from Wendell Berry’s “Life is a Miracle”, I discuss what motivates me to write, and through my writing I am able to express some of my purpose. More than anything else, I want to know that what I do matters, to someone; I want, need, to know that my life has a purpose and I have a reason for being; I believe that desire is universal and irrespective of persons, race, creed or religion. In “The Death of Ivan Illych”, one of Ivan’s greatest tormentors is the idea that his life has meant nothing to virtually no one; and in that solidarity, he was forced to face suffering, and ultimately a painful death, alone. No other work in the course of this semester so profoundly affected my vision of purpose than Viktor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning”. Frankl strongly suggests that love and unearthing the purpose of a life are intertwined: “Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality…By his love he is enabled to see the essential traits and features in his beloved person; and even more, he sees that which is potential in him, which is not yet actualized but yet ought to be actualized. Furthermore, by his love, the loving person enables the beloved person to actualize these potentialities. By making him aware of what he can be and what he should become, he makes these potentialities come true (Frankl, 1985; emphasis added). Purpose is synonymous with potential; the potential we see in others, that we see in ourselves, fuels the purpose that we all so desperately need and desire. To awaken potential and worth in another human soul is to achieve the highest level of purpose. I have had a greater understanding of my own individual purpose; my purpose has been cut with a clarity and precision that has caused me to know for a surety the direction and path of my life, where I will go, and what I will do. With that knowledge, that purpose, comes a great deal of peace and hope, despite seemingly endless pain and sorrow. As Frankl illustrates by his own life and example, once you know the why of your life, you can endure almost any how; for if you never understand the why, what would be the purpose of the how? (Frankl, 1985). Find the why. Dig deep. Do not be afraid of what resides there, what you may find. As I scrape the hidden recesses of my soul and inner core to discover what the ‘why’ is for me, then and only then can I apply the ‘how’.

Suffering. I have relied heavily on “Man’s Search for Meaning” over the last thirteen weeks of the semester, and in particular for this final course project. Because of the deep and lasting impact Frankl’s book has had on my life, it only follows that much of my material and thought is found in the pages of Frankl’s meaning-seeking masterpiece. Physical suffering has been a part of my life for almost as long as I can remember. Emotional, mental, spiritual and psychological suffering also compose much of my experience in this life. But instead of choosing to be unhappy, negative and miserable, Frankl has shown me how to find meaning, and therefore purpose, in that which I suffer. And as Frankl himself so bravely showed by his own life and legacy, he did not succumb or surrender to his suffering; but instead, he was victorious. And because Frankl was victorious means I, too, can be victorious. I may not be victorious every moment of every day, but that is beside the point. What does matter is remaining steadfast, always looking toward the future with hope and purpose, realizing that suffering is unavoidable and inescapable, but what I can control is my attitude toward my suffering. There is always choice. No matter what, no matter our circumstance or situation, no one can take away my mind, my ability to think, my experience, my past, my memory, my feelings, convictions and principles. Not even my hope and potential for the future can be taken unless, and only unless, I am the one to forsake it. In the face of tremendous tragedy, heroes rise, valor reigns, courage and dignity resound and hope is victorious. That is the purpose of human suffering. Frankl says, “To suffer bravely, that is, with your head held high, is among the greatest of human triumphs…but what can never be ruled out is the unavoidability of suffering. In accepting this challenge to suffer bravely, life has a meaning up to the last moment, and it retains this meaning literally to the end. In other words, life’s meaning is an unconditional one, for it even includes the potential meaning of unavoidable suffering” (Frankl, 1985).

So, what? The two simple but provocative words. My views of death, life, happiness, knowledge, purpose and suffering have been expanded and fortified through vibrant and tangible examples found in some of the best literature known to mankind. I have rediscovered truths, truths about life, myself, my soul. I have recommitted to living with purpose, actively pursuing the habit of attentiveness, in order to appreciate and embody the beauty and sheer magnitude of being alive. I have paid homage to my own thoughts by recording them, using them to explore the depths of my self and soul. I have clearly defined my own purpose, and resolve to help unearth the purpose in others; I understand that my purpose may change and be subject to time and a season. I now see that purpose is and can be found in suffering, and while suffering is unavoidable, the way I deal with my suffering will in essence define me, showing the depths of my character and commitment, values and truth.

References

Frankl, V. E. (1985). Man's search for meaning. New York: Pocket Books.

Hugo, V. (1987). Les misérables. Penguin.

Nicholli, A. (2002), The question of God; C.S. Lewis and Sigmund Freud debate god, love, sex, and the meaning of life. Free Press

Schumacher, E. F. (1980). A guide for the perplexed. Harper Perennial.

Schwiebert, J. (2011). Supplemental text: English 3210: advanced college writing (fall 2011).

I Wish I Was Better At - I'm Thankful I'm Good At

2011-11-13T18:56:00.000-08:00

Found this on Leah's blog. An interesting introspective activity. So here it goes.

I wish I was better at . . .
- Apologizing when I am wrong
- Putting the needs of others first
- Not procrastinating my school work
- Freaking EXCEL!!!
- Managing my time better
- Answering the phone, returning voice mail, and texts. :)
- Getting the laundry folded and put away
- Not being so negative about myself
- Having a better attitude about getting up early
- Getting the mail (I hate getting the mail, and seriously do it about every ten days)
- Making dinner
- Drinking less Diet Coke (something I wish for, but will never change - just sayin')
- Hanging up my clothes in the closet, instead of piling them on my dresser
- Cataloguing the pictures I take in actual albums
- NOT needing so many surgeries
- Controlling my facial expressions. Kathryn is always reminding me: "Control your face!"
- Letting the people I love know how much I love them
- Wanting to work out - because, I just don't!
- Taking my dogs on walks
- Not shutting down and building walls
- MATH
- Being less anxious
- Spending more time with my kids
- Not having so many food/eating issues
- Not wanting to deal with tedious, irritating issues, like phone calls to insurance companies.
- Remembering things I need to do for people
- Saying no when I need to say no
- MATH
- Having trust in people
- Turning off my mind!!
- Visiting my out-of-state family and friends
- NOT speeding. And not getting tickets
- MATH
- Spending money on things I never wear, or wear only once

I'm thankful I'm good at . . .
- Loving my kids more than anything else
- Giving my sweet puppies the best life possible
- Expressing what I think and feel through words and writing
- Being a good friend
- Desiring to be an excellent student
- Setting goals, and attaining those goals
- Staying positive, despite the odds
- Wanting to spend time with my parents and sisters
- Cleaning my house
- Being a Full-Time Arts Philanthropist (aka, president of Utah Voices)
- Singing
- Listening, caring, having empathy
- Taking pictures
- Doing hair and makeup
- Typing fast and accurately
- Sitting up straight
- Being in charge, being a leader
- Reading
- Having a vision, and carrying out that vision
- Being very patriotic, showing my love and immense pride in and for my country
- Knowing the world isn't black and white
- Public speaking
- Loving to lay in the sun
- Shop for baby clothes, even though I can't have any more babies
- Being tolerant and open minded
- Cooking, even though I don't do it that often.
- Going to lunch with friends
- Singing at the top of my lungs in my car
- Not being a picky eater
- Drinking lots of Diet Coke (oh wait, didn't that already appear on the list above...?)
- Staying in touch with friends
- Feeling close to God through music and singing
- Shooting guns
- Caring about what goes on in the world around me

2011-10-10T21:28:00.000-07:00

From Leo Tolstoy, “The Death of Ivan Illych”

This story great affected me from the very first paragraph. I am a lover of Leo Tolstoy and was anxious to read this short story. It resonated with me for a number of reasons, one of them being I know people that have lived a life (or are currently living a life) depicted in that of Ivan Illych. Unfortunately, I have known many more people that have died a tragic death, such as Ivan did. As I thought of the life and death of Ivan Illych and what it meant to me, the resounding theme was two-fold; first, that Ivan felt overwhelmingly alone, although he rarely was literally alone, and those feelings seemed to intensify as he lay dying. Second, the natural, human desire to have life matter and mean something to those around us was so sadly and pathetically illustrated in this short story. I annotated heavily around both concepts, and decided to chose the topic of loneliness, and what that means and feels like to me, to write the following:

Sovereign Sojourn

I stand alone. In a life full of people and places, I find myself alone. There is no sense of belonging, nor a desire to belong. Wandering, wading through the maze of choices, responsibilities, decisions and stewardship. A sovereign sojourn across the vast trajectory of humanity. The aloneness becomes a constant, a beacon piercing through the murky darkness of unfulfilled and indifferent companionship. Aloneness becomes preferable, even of utmost desire, rather than existing alongside what is now been realized as counterfeit.

Alone.

Unaided.

Singular.

God will not leave us alone, it is said. He will not leave us comfortless, in the darkest of hours. It is not God that leaves us, it is man. The soul – my soul – is invisible to so many, and that is where the loneliness is born. The undetectable things, the fears, hopes, dreams, desires – that is where true companionship and togetherness is formed. To delve deep, reach high, brush away the trivialness and trite is to discover the being inside – the being in its truest, unadulterated form. No one can be admitted there without expressed and entrusted permission; and the few that have received entrance have in essence received a real and tangible piece of me, a piece that belongs to only me and only them. It is ours and it is the lifeblood of reversing the plague of aloneness.

No one wants to be alone; we choose to be alone.

You choose it.

I choose it.

Together we choose to defeat it.

It is in your touch, your eyes, your smile, your words that the loneliness floats and fades away, becoming the nondescript cinders and shrapnel in the fireplace of solitary existence. It is no more, for you have entered that place that few have been, and no one has captured completely. Loneliness has been commandeered by the subtle, gentle hand that led it confidently out of the shadows. It is beautiful, yet it is new and startling. The deep chasm of isolation has begun to fill with healing and happiness. A new direction has been charted on the course that is this passage through new and unfamiliar waters. But it is a sure course, with a sure destination, and in that surety can the aloneness be buried once and for all.

Man's (And My Own) Search For Meaning

2011-09-06T22:19:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wondered, what is the purpose of my life? What are we doing all this for? What is the point? Why is there such vast and unspeakable tragedy? At the encouragement of my favorite professor of all time, Dr. S., I read Viktor Frankl's Man Search For Meaning, and I was profoundly and forever not only affected, but changed. Changed.

Dr. Frankl was a prisoner in the concentration camps of Nazi Germany, one of them being the infamous Auschwitz. By profession, Frankl was a psychiatrist. He writes the book from the viewpoint of his experience as a concentration camp prisoner AND a psychiatrist.

I could never begin to express how tremendously I have been influenced and moved by this book, this experience. I urge you to read it for yourself. I want to point out a few of the life-lessons I have learned.

Frankl taught often about the concept of love. He says, "The truth - that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love" (Frankl, p. 57). He goes on to say, regarding love: "Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality...By his love he is enabled to see the essential traits and features in his beloved person; and even more, he sees that which is potential in him, which is not yet actualized but yet ought to be actualized. Furthermore, by his love the loving person enables the beloved person to actualize these potentialities. By making him aware of what he can be and what he should become, he makes these potentialities come true" (Frankl, p. 134).

THAT is the definition of what true, abiding, undivided and eternal love is. Great and lasting, even triumphant and immeasurable meaning can be found in not only seeking to be the "beloved", as Frankl describes, but also the "loving person", the one that sees through to the very inner core, the very soul of another human, and sees light, hope, potential, worth, even when it is not seen by the actual person. To achieve meaning in life through the ultimate avenue of loving another human soul is to achieve what Victor Hugo describes in his infamous Les Miserables, "To love another person is to see the face of God."

Our society is so full of inaccurate, distorted and perverted examples and descriptions of what "love" is or should be; in actuality, it really is as simple as Frankl, as well as Hugo, have described. Real love. Lasting love. The type that exists between two people no matter what, that is what Frankl is describing. Not the foolish and self-serving examples we see in mainstream media and society in general. To awaken potential and worth in another human soul is to achieve the highest level of meaning.

Frankel discusses in dire detail the account of his experience in Auschwitz. I could go on and on regarding what I learned from his words, but the main point is this, and it truly is this simple: There is purpose (and meaning) to be gained from all suffering, no matter now hopeless and grim the situation main seem. Et lux in tenebris lucet - and the light shineth in the darkness. It always, always will. Why? "We must never forget that we may also find meaning in life even when confronted with a hopeless situation, when facing a fate that cannot be changed. For what then matters is to bear witness to the uniquely human potential at its best, which is to transform a personal tragedy into a triumph, to turn one's predicament into a human achievement" (Frankl, p. 135).

What is the bottom line? There is always CHOICE. No matter what, no matter our circumstance or situation, no one can take away our minds, our ability to think, our experiences, our past, our memory, feelings, convictions and principles. Not even our hope and potential for the future can be taken; that is, unless we are the ones to forsake it. I have known people that have gone through truly unspeakable tragedies, situations or experiences. But what happens from there can be truly miraclous. In the face of tremendous tragedy, heroes rise, valor reigns, courage and dignity resounds and hope is victorious. That is what the purpose of human suffering. We have the choice; we can simply resign and surrender to the suffering, offering it meaningless, or, we can do as Frankel so eloquently not only described but lived and experienced: "Our generation is realistic, for we have come to know man as he really is. After all, man is that being that invented the gas chambers of Auschwitz; however, he is also that being who entered those gas chambers upright, with the Lord's Prayer or the Sherma Yisrael on his lips" (Frankel, p. 157). To suffer bravely, that is, with your head held high, is among the greatest of human triumphs. To go on, Frankel says, "...but what can never be ruled out is the unavoidability of suffering. In accepting this challenge to suffer bravely, life has a meaning up to the last moment, and it retains this meaning literally to the end. In other words, life's meaning is an unconditional one, for it even includes the potential meaning of unavoidable suffering" (Frankel, p. 137). Finding meaning is indeed possible, in spite of the most severe suffering imaginable. This is an extremely hopeful and transcendent concept that has caused me great introspection at the "suffering" that I endure, that people I know endure and endure bravely, honorably - with their heads held high.

Now, I am not suggesting that bravely suffering is an easy task; it isn't. It is perhaps the greatest of all challenges; to find light in infinite darkness, a darkness so deep and encompassing that it cannot be measured. There are many days that I wonder why I have to suffer like I do, why I can't have a "normal" life, free of the chronic and debilitating pain (among other things) that I endure every day. But, instead of succumbing to the suffering, the only other option is to rise above it. I will not succumb, I will not surrender; but I will be victorious. I may not be victorious every moment of every day, but that is not the point. The point is to remain steadfast, always looking toward the future with hope and purpose, realizing that suffering is unavoidable and inescapable, but what I can control is my attitude toward my suffering. If all I can say, at the end of my life, is that I endured the suffering bestowed on me with my head held high, then I will know that I have fulfilled my portion of meaning in my own, individual suffering; that my suffering meant something to someone, that it was not in vain.

Another recurring theme and one that I deeply believe in and have begun to actually live in my own life is the concept of choice. The mind/body connection is intricate, delicate, like nothing else and not to be undermined. The mind, our ability to think thoughts, live our thoughts, is uniquely human, and something that does not get utilized enough. It is my promise, what I will give back in return for all that I have been blessed with, to live my thoughts and to never, ever let any body or entity take control of the sacred and priceless treasure that is my own thoughts. As Frankel says, in describing the conditions of life as a concentration camp survivor, "And there were always choices to make. Every day, every hour, offered the opportunity to make a decision, a decision which determined whether you would or would not submit to those powers which threatened to rob you of your very self, your inner freedom; which determined whether or not you would become the plaything of circumstance, renouncing freedom and dignity..." (Frankel, p. 86-87). Do not become a plaything of circumstance. You are better than that. You deserve more than that. Take charge of that control; take charge of the meaning of your life, actively seek out meaning in your life. Make those decisions with the big picture in mind and never, not ever, submit to those powers, whatever they may be, that threaten to rob you of your very inner freedom - in essence, your soul. You must rise above; become the type of prisoner that would choose to walk into a gas chamber, or other such circumstance, with your head held high, looking your executioners in the eye, as you have nothing, nothing to regret and everything to have pride and dignity and honor in.

I have always believed, almost intuitively, that there is great and untapped power in the past of a human life. I reflect often on my past; the things I'm proud of, the mistakes I've made, the suffering that I overcamed honorably and some suffering I barely endured as well as the fun, care-free innocence of childhood. Again, the past, your past, is something that cannot be taken away from you. When Frankl was imprisoned, he reflected often on the experiences of his past. Frankl says, "In the past, nothing is irretrievably lost, but rather, on the contrary, everything is irrevocably stored and treasured. To be sure, people tend to see only the stubble fields of transitoriness, but overlook and forget the full granaries of the past, wherein he had salvaged once and for all his deeds, his joys, and also his sufferings. Nothing can be undone, and nothing can be done away with. I should say having been is the surest kind of being" (Frankl, p. 144). I absolutely love the imagery of the metaphor "full granaries of the past". To think of my past or any one's past in that light sheds knew meaning, a fuller meaning on what the past really is and what it does. The past isn't something to be ashamed of or brushed under a rug, it is something to be celebrated, appreciated for what it was and also what it was not, and fully accepting the consequences of such.

Another substantial portion of the book deals with the concept of responsibility. When first coming upon these sections, I was somewhat taken off-guard; how does responsibility fit into finding meaning in life? Perfectly and acutely, actually. Frankl says, "A man who becomes conscious of the responsibility he bears toward a human being who affectionately waits for him, or to an unfinished work, will never be able to throw away his life. He knows the 'why' for his existence, and will be able to bear almost any 'how'" (Frankl, p. 101). Responsibility is not only foundational, it is one of the keys to unlocking meaning in that allowing yourself to feel that sense of responsibility, or stewardship, as I like to refer to it, does indeed give greater meaning to life outside of yourself. For example, when I became a parent is when the mantle of stewardship, or responsibility, was bestowed upon me by from what I would refer to as a higher power - something greater than myself, to in turn, do and be something greater than myself for the one I now had stewardship over. And just as Frankl says so beautifully, once one understands the why for his or her existence, he or she will then be able to endure almost any how. Understanding the why is such an integral part of the process in pursuit of meaning; for if you never understand the why, what would be the purpose of the how? Find the 'why'. Dig deep. Do not be afraid of what resides there, what you may find. Scrape the hidden recesses of your soul and inner core to discover what the 'why' is for you; only then can you apply the 'how'.

But what about the times of utter desolation - either of the human soul, the human body, or other circumstances. The darkest of dark; the bottomless devastation, infiltrated with despair type of reality that is world which many are forced to face; whether by their own choices or by the choices of another. "In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way - an honorable way - in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment" (Frankl, p. 57). In some cases, I firmly believe all that is required of us is to endure suffering honorably, and as Frankl describes, in the right way. THAT, in and of itself, is purpose - meaning. When there truly is nothing left, no hope for any change or any improvement whatsoever; when the end result is nothing but tragedy, the only thing that may be asked of us is to endure it honorably; to be steadfast, to the very end.

To summarize and highlight what I believe to be the main point of this book, Frankl again demonstrates that in the end, it is always a choice; that we, as humans, have the unique and the God-given ability and privilege to practice discernment, to choose, to rise above any and all conditions, and not let the evils of mortality regin within us, therefore rendering us a slave to it. No. Rather, we take the control and never, ever raise the white flag of surrender - the surrender of our free will, our attitude and ability to choose to the evils and circumstance of mortality. "A human being is not one thing among others; things determine each other, but man is ultimately self-determining...we watched and witnessed some of our comrades behave like swine while others behaved like saints. Man has both potentialities within himself: which one is actualized depends on decisions but not on conditions" (Frankl, p. 157).

We cannot control our conditions, but we can always control our decisions and our ability to actualize those decisions, rendering we, as human beings with a heart and soul, the one at the helm, leading the way, guiding the path, lighting the way not only for ourselves, but for everyone in our circle of influence - and beyond. The power to choose, and to honorably choose, is perhaps the greatest gift bestowed upon us as human beings. It is in that power that we find meaning and purpose - finding the why, so we are more able to endure all the how's that continually come our way as we journey through this vast and precarious experience we call life.

Her Name Was Irmgard

2011-07-18T21:36:00.001-07:00

She is dead now; she died on June 30, 2011.

I was five years old then, when things were so much simpler and happier - completely carefree. She had blondish hair that was always perfect. It was short, and had a wave-like swoosh across her forehead. Her eyes were always smiley, glittering with bright, happy rays of acceptance, love and pure, unadulterated kindness. She had a small waist, long legs and perfectly-formed fingernails. Her nails were always polished, usually a pinkish hue. She loved living next to the five little Kitzmiller girls that adored her and spent hours and hours in her home. She loved painting my nails. The smell of nail polish is synonymous with Irmgard.

At Christmastime, she and Siegfried always had an actual, living Christmas tree; something that we never had growing up. The smell of pine infused the air. The bright, shiny red ornaments were always perfectly placed on the tree, alongside various ornaments shaped like a Crucifix. They were Lutheran. She had many Crucifixes in her home. I had never seen that before. She would wear one around her neck every Sunday. I always thought it looked so pretty on her; it was made out of turquoise

Christmas was her favorite holiday, I'm sure of it. She gave each of us (my sisters and I) an Advent calendar. There was magic in that calendar, and I couldn't wait to open the little doors and windows on the Christmas Village scene dipicted on the front of the calendar. To this day, whenever I see an Advent calendar like it, emotions, feelings and memories tug at my heart, and in that moment, I am back to being that little girl, so excited and full of anticipation and hope. She gave that to me - hope and happiness. I hope she knows that. I wish I could have told her myself, before she died.

Year after year, just days before Christmas Eve, Irmgard would knock on the door. The door swung open, and there she was, eyes smiling, heart brimming, hands full of German Christmas delicacies. I remember her handing the plate to my mom, and even in the harshness of that ice-cold, wintry night, I noticed her soft pink nails, perfectly painted. I tried so hard to paint my nails like she did, but never was I able to do it as well as Irmgard.

The Zander's backyard was a forestry-filled wonderland. Huge pine trees, fruit trees, running water, places to sit and meditate, wooden benches, grassy hillsides. It was an enchanted place where fear, anger, hurt and sadness simply did not exist. Our imaginations ran wild in that backyard; free and uninhibited, untainted by the harshness of life and reality. They had a glorious hammock that was tethered between two gorgeous pine trees. I would lay on my back, like a pea in a pod, and gaze up through the wooded paradise and into the azure blue sky on a hot summer day. Those were the days.

Siegfried smoked a pipe. Remember? From the northern most corner of their yard, on the bench, under the tree. He would sit at the top of his yard, with his pipe, taking in his amazing handiwork and creativity that was his yard - his pride and joy. From sunup to sundown, Siegfried worked in that yard. He was meticulous and it was perfect. I will never forget that yard. And the memories I made there.

We went to their church, the Lutheran church, a number of times. My family attended their son Steven's wedding. It was different and almost strange to me, but Irmgard was so happy to have us there that it erased any and all feelings of uncertainty. Anytime I or one of my sisters would sing in our church, she would be the first one there to support us. We never tried to "convert" them; they loved their God, their religion, their people. My dad did an excellent job instilling in us the concept of tolerance, love and acceptance for all of God's children.

Siegfried served under Hitler's hate-filled regime in war-torn Germany. He was always very quiet about his military service; it was almost as if he just couldn't relive the horrors he witnessed, the atrocities he saw day after day. One time, and only one time, he opened up to me about the war. I was an awkward, insecure seventh grader at South Davis Jr. High. The project: interview someone that lived through WWII. Siegfried. I was almost afraid to ask him. I remember sitting on their living room couch, listening to Siegfried's deep voice and his heavy German accent recount the events he tried hard not to remember. I recorded his voice and took notes. I wish I knew where that recording was.

That dreadful day in November 1998. I was home, babysitting my sisters. I saw an ambulance pull into the driveway. I knew it, right then: Siegfried. I ran over to the house to find Siegfried laying on the back porch, as the EMT's performed CPR. Irmgard was hysterical. They were to supposed to be hosting a social gathering later that day at their home. As I consoled Irmgard, she was frantic about getting the word to her guests, that she would not be able to entertained as planned. I desperately wanted to believe Siegfried would be okay. As we watched the paramedics try to resuscitate Siegfried, her hands dug into my teenage arm and clung to me as a baby to its mother. But it was clear, only a few minutes into the life-saving act, Siegfried would not survive the heart attack, and he would die. He did; at Lakeview Hospital, about a hour later. I was 17.

She was alone now. She had led such an incredible life filled with highs and lows that you and I cannot imagine; being drafted into Hitler's 3rd Reicht, fleeing Germany, coming to America, being separated from her husband and young daughter for eleven years, the tragic and life-altering loss of a child to meningitis, among many other tragedies.

She sold the house next door to mine. It was never the same when that house was relinquished to new owners. A part of my childhood, and all that my childhood represents and encompasses, died that day alongside Siegfried. I was so grateful I was there for her that day, that I could help her in some small way; at the very least, she was not alone when Siegfried died. His death changed her, and she was never the same.

Irmgard came to my wedding, only a short 30 days after Siegfried's death. My heart dropped when I saw her, for I knew how difficult it was to come to a wedding reception of all things, but she loved me and my family; she wouldn't miss it, even if she was in her own grief-filled agony. She told me I was beautiful and patted Jon's face with her pink-manicured hand. She was wearing Siegfried's wedding band. I'll never forget that.

She came to my baby shower, when I was pregnant with my first baby. She was always there to support and love. She thought Anna was beautiful and held her against her chest. She came to her blessing day. Irmgard has been there for all my milestones, and those of my sisters.

She would send us Christmas cards every year, except the last year, when she was so sick from ovarian cancer. The sad thing, and the thing that I have the hardest time with as I grieve her loss, is I do not remember my last encounter with her. I regret, deeply, that I didn't reach out to her. I had the thought, often. I was prompted, pushed. I didn't listen, though. The chaos and break-neck pace of life took precedence. When I heard that she had passed away, I immediately thought of all those times I was impressed to think of her, and especially to visit or contact her.

It is a life-lesson. One that is hard to learn, especially when having to learn the hard way. I wish I would have reached out. Just one last time. So she knew that I loved her, that her life mattered to me, that her love meant the world to me, and that her example has inspired me.

Irmgard, I love you and will never, ever forget you.

Much love,

Juliann

Why Oprah is so Important to Me

2011-06-17T22:31:00.000-07:00

Back before the days of TiVo and DVR, the days that I worked full-time as a paralegal in a prestigious law firm, I went into a literal place of mourning right before 4:00 p.m. Not because the workday wasn't over yet; and not because it had been so long since my lunch break. Because I was going to miss Oprah. And because this was ten plus years ago, it was once of those things I just had to accept; it could not be changed, only dealt with. I tried to push it away, as I do with so many things, and I was actually successful for a time. After I had my baby, ten years ago, and chose to become a stay-at-home mom, I became a faithful, fearless follower of Oprah Winfrey. Every day. Of my life.

I learned things from her that I had never heard of or known. I remember watching her interact with a young boy named Mattie. You remember him, right? He profoundly affected me and touched a place in me that had previously been undiscovered. But, Oprah is a liberal, Obama-loving, black woman? Why did she, time after time, reach across the racial divide, not to mention the geographical divide, and touch the live of a simple housewife in Salt Lake City? Because she has a calling and she wasn't afraid to pursue it and bring it to the world. And her calling found its way to me and my struggles and insecurities and questions. And I identified with her, and with her guests. Another memorable guest that changed the course of my life? Randy Pouch. You know, the professor that contracted pancreatic cancer. He wrote an entire essay of, basically, what he knows for SURE - primarily for his children and his wife, but it inevitably touched the entire world. I am not a crier, but I cried my eyes out while watching him deliver his discourses on life and living. It is something that I will never forget. Google it. Take it in. Appreciate it.

As this has been the last season of her show, I have clung to each episode as if it were the very last one. My mind has been opened; my heart has been tender and receptive. I believe her to be the most influential female in the history of the world. Although I disagree wholeheartedly with her politics and some of her morals, it does not discount the fact that she is a remarkable human being that has touched the lives of millions, including a nameless nobody in the heart of Kaysville, Uath.

Her commitment to giving, to sharing and to providing for others what they could not provide for themselves is something that I strive to become.

When the countdown began to her last show, I reveled in each and every show; taking in every little nuance and being present for each episode.

The last three shows, I devoted all my attention and energy towards. I recognized that the end of an era was fast approaching, and since I really struggle with change and the end of things, I knew it would be tremendously difficult. I sobbed my eyes out during the last three shows. She has been a constant fixture in my life for many, many years and I have leaned on her and her guests in time of crisis and extreme upheaval in my own personal life. I have learned life-lessons from her; learned to appreciate what I have; learned to expect more out of myself and others; learned how to become a better me. I am worth it; I am worthy of a life of happiness. I deserve it. And I should expect nothing less.

Also, I have learned that education is not only important but a necessity!! I have learned empowerment, hope, and worthiness. I have learned to take control of my life and to accept nothing less. Those are qualities that I have been tough through other conduits, but never as powerful as through her.

There are plenty of things that I disagree with her on; but I can set those things aside, I feel that I have been blessed with a unique and powerful gift of the power of discernment. She doesn't have all the answers, and what I love about her. She doesn't pretend to know it all. She is real. And she speaks to my heart.

I cried. I cried uncontrollably during the final week of her show. I knew that all the many lessons and moments of "aha" that revolutionized my life will come to an end. I don't do well with change and uprooting. She has meant more to me than I could possibly put into words. The lessons that I will take away from her, from the guests, from her staff will stay with me indefinitely. She has changed me; for the better. She has made me a better me; made me a better spouse; but most of all, she has made me a more compassionate human, a more decent parent, a more open-minded individual. I believe that she has altered the face of history; she has truly changed he annuals of time and history.

I am forever grateful, humbled and changed.

How Are We Really Perceived By Others?

2011-04-04T21:08:00.000-07:00

I had a very challenging writing assignment this week that I wanted to post. We've been talking about how we are perceived by people very close to us, preferably those that live with us. We were to write, in their voice, how they perceive us, in the first person. Are ya with me?! So, to make it easier: I chose Anna. And so I wrote in the first person as if I were Anna, perceiving me. Let me just put it out there, this was incredibly difficult and took me a long time and I tried to be honest with myself and literally give Anna's thoughts a voice. But, I'm proud of it. I challenge you to think about how you are perceive - by your spouse, kids, parents, siblings. I promise it will make you want to be a better person for those that you love. So here it is.

My mom, her name is Juliann. She has very dark hair, and mine is blonde. People say that I look like my dad, but I think I look like her. She always seems to be busy and on the phone a lot. People like her and like talking to her. I love coming home from school and seeing her sit on the front porch, waiting and smiling. My mom looks young; all my friends tell me they think she is pretty. I am pretty like her, but with golden hair.

She asks about my day at school, but sometimes gets distracted when I answer. She texts a lot and always has her phone. I love how she calls me “Beauty”. She hugs me a lot, and Andrew, too. She has homework now that she has to do, and she sits at the kitchen table with her white computer while I do my homework. She’s in college now.

I love when she puts me to bed; she is always the sweetest at night. I pray, and sometimes she says the prayer, too. She kneels by my bed and holds my hands while we say the prayer, together. I love to talk to her afterwards about lots of things, as she scratches my back. I like when she smiles at me when I say, “I’m a chatterbox”, as I lay in my bed looking up at the ceiling. Her eyes are brown like mine; but she doesn’t have glasses like me. I’m the only one who does

One day she taught me not to be afraid of the wind. I was so, so scared. I was in the backseat of the car, on our way to Kindergarten. It was so windy, with branches blowing everywhere. I had seen “The Wizard of Oz” and knew twisters happened in the world. I asked her if they happened in Kaysville. I was crying and wanted to stay with her, safe in her arms. She told me that I could say a prayer and that Heavenly Father would help me. And He did. Right then. We both felt Him help me. I think she cried, and she told me we were both feeling the Spirit. She doesn’t cry a lot. I went to school and never was afraid of the wind again. I think about it sometimes, and I tell her that I think of it, which makes her happy and smile

My mom sings so pretty. I want to sing like her. I sing in the shower, and in the car, and to music on my iPod. She told me I have a more beautiful voice than her. We sang a song together called “Heavenly Choirs” at church one Sunday. I was so nervous but we practiced and I loved the words, especially the “Hallelujah’s”. My dad cried; my grandma and aunts did, too. They were so proud.

We go to her choir concerts a lot. She is very busy with her choir. I think she is the boss and president. She always tells us to be quiet when she has to talk to someone on the phone about choir. I like to watch her get dressed up for her concerts; I love that long, black dress and pearl necklace. I wonder if she’ll let me wear it someday.

Sometimes she is very sad, like when people she knows die. Her friend Jane died. And her friend Andy. She cries a lot when people die. I watched her cry hard when Ginger died. Ginger was her puppy that had gotten old and was very sick. But my mom still loved her and didn’t want to let her go. I sat on the couch while she held Ginger for the last time. I wanted to cry, too, but tried to smile at her because I knew she was sad. I was very quiet. All my aunts cried, and my grandma and grandpa, too. We took a picture with Ginger; my mom held her. Grandma had given Ginger a pill to make her sleep so she wouldn’t be afraid. Ginger couldn’t walk very well, and it scared me. I didn’t want to hold her

My grandpa said a prayer, and I heard my mom cry out loud and put her face in her hands. I saw tears fall down into her hands. My eyes stayed open during the prayer, every though they were supposed to be closed.

Then they left and took Ginger to the hospital for animals. I wondered what would happen to Ginger, but no one told me exactly; they just said she would be going to sleep forever. My mom tried to smile at us as they walked out the door, but in her eyes were still tears. I waited for them to come home, wondering if they would bring Ginger back with them.

Then they were there, in the backyard. We had been playing with my dad and uncles and didn’t know they had returned home. My mom stood under the apple tree, her arms folded, while grandpa dug a grave with a shovel. I asked if I could watch, and they said yes.

Grandma held Ginger’s body in cream-colored towel. I could see Ginger’s back paws. Grandpa lowered her into the ground. My mom cried more, but she didn’t seem quite as sad. She put her arm around me and talked about what happens when we die.

That night when she prayed with me in my room, she asked that we all be blessed not to miss Ginger too much. I love when she says prayers with me, tucks me in and gives me a hug, and walks out my door as she says she loves me.

And I say, “I love you, too.”

Timeline

2011-03-27T15:31:00.000-07:00

Timeline

Three Years Old.

The gray skies of Monterey, California. The roaring waves and rising ride. I remember the squirrels, and I fed them. This is my first memory. They came right up to me. There is a tattered and bent picture of me feeding the squirrels, somewhere. I got caught in a wave; the tide was pulling me away from the beach. My mom was screaming, and my Dad ran to rescue me from that ominous ocean.

Five Years Old.

Kindergarten. My Grandpa Rasmussen took me to school on his light blue moped. It was spectacular, that moped. The California air blew through my short, dark hair. I rested my cheek on his arm. All the kids watched me. I felt so special. I was the new girl at school. I was shy, painfully shy. And I was so afraid of her – the librarian. She was in a wheelchair, she didn’t have any legs. I cried and shook with real, tangible fear. My teacher tried to pacify me, having me help prepare a snack for the class, pieces of banana dipped in something. . . cereal, granola? They were in white cupcake liners. I can still feel that fear. I can almost even taste the bananas. I was the spotlight of the week. I got to bring home that beautiful teddy bear I wished so much was mine to keep. It wasn’t. But I held it in my arms as I rode home with my Grandpa, on the blue moped.

Seven Years Old.

We were on top of the slide on my swing set in the backyard. We went to church earlier in the day. My mom wore a white dress with vertical stripes; the fabric was shiny in one strip and dull in the next. She was pregnant with my fourth sister. My friends said something mean about her. I don’t remember what. Tears instantly stung my eyes. I turned away, pretending to look over the fence. I was so hurt inside. I loved her. I cried, when my friends finally left. I cried, under the apple tree, right where Ginger is now buried.

Eleven to Twelve Years Old.

The majesty of summer. Those scorching summer days that gracefully melted into magical summer nights. We played softball in the cul-de-sac, and yelled “CAR!” when a car approached, and then “GAME ON!” when the car passed. The sun setting signaled the beginning of what was known as nightgames, the quintessential culmination of everything wondrous about summer. Playing hide-and-seek, freeze tag, capture the flag. It was when everyone else went home that the truly priceless and cherished memories were born. Laying on the trampoline, together. It was round and stood above ground, with blue faded pads covering the metal springs. We laid on our backs, hands behind our heads and feet crossed, without a single sadness, stress or care in the world. We stared up at the purplish-black night sky, littered with glittering stars, and wondered. Wondered which boys liked us, where we would go to girls camp, what class we could be in when school started again, would life would be like when we grew up. Would we still be friends? Would we live far apart? What would happen to us? It is those sacred and perfectly pure moments that prick my heart with such glorious tenderness. The innocence. The hopefulness. The freedom. The wonder of it all.

My Mind, Metaphorically

2011-03-27T15:28:00.000-07:00

My Mind, Metaphorically

The fascination with the human mind. It seems universal, something that knows no beginning and evades end.

The mind is a vault, a cast-iron container of the innermost intimacies of existence. It is the sponge of super absorbency, always there to catch and hold the remnants of each and every experience, memory, emotion and impression. Even the mundane and terrible. It all is caught there.

It is the ever-faithful companion of sorts; pure fidelity. It is silent and subtle, never calling attention or selfishly seeking the spotlight.

Thought passes through the mind as a screaming bullet to the center of a target. Always in motion; never at rest. To try and count the thoughts? Impossible. To control and create purposeful, meaningful thought? Noble.

Your mind.

His mind.

Her mind.

My grandfather’s mind.

My Mind.

What is it, my mind? It is a cluttered and clattering mess. It is bright and reflective, as glitter in the sunlight. It is desperate, like the grip of a man hanging violently from a ledge. It is what I love about myself, my mind; and what I love so much in you. Sometimes it is rigid and locked, like a cold, iron door at Alcatraz. My mind (and me) is the most happy, most content when it is calm and sound, like the brilliant, blue, cloudless sky on a perfect summer day.

But what is it, The Mind? It cannot be described the way a house or a book or a tree can. Some abuse and misuse their minds, that most precious and imperial thing. Oh, such tragedy. It is they whom are guilty of the most despicable treason – treason against your own self, you own soul, your Mind.

The mind.

My Mind.

It is mine, and only mine.

And it is me.

i love/i hate

2011-03-14T19:49:00.000-07:00

Oh, WHY must things be so black and white with me?! I am tortured by my own starkness of opinions; it is or it isn't, it's high or it's low, I love it or I hate it. I like to say that I'm just "passionate" and that is the reason for such extremity. For your reading pleasure, a list of my loves and hates:

I love peach ice cream.
I hate grocery shopping.
I love reading good, purposeful, profound books.
I hate when I run out of washer fluid in my car.
I love this blog.
I hate the word "food".
I love being the Managing Director of Utah Voices.
I love to vacuum my floors.
I hate watching people brush their teeth.
I love driving with my sunroof open.
I hate the smell of hair that hasn't been washed in a while.
I love the my beautiful Anna wears glasses.
I hate getting the mail.
I love blackened, barbequed hot dogs. With a LOAD of ketchup on it.
I hate the term "boys will be boys".
I love using Comet to clean my kitchen sink. It's like my favorite thing ever.
I hate, hate, HATE when people say "lady" to refer to a woman younger than 50 years old.
I love that my dogs sleep in my bed.
I hate finding a parking place at Weber State.
I love that I know what I want to do with my life.
I hate most pens and every single #2 pencil ever made.
I love to cook, even though I hardly ever do it.
I hate when asphalt has those retarded black ribbons of tar that randomly go back and forth on the street.
I love when my grandparents come to dinner.
I hate unrequited love.
I love going to the dentist.
I hate the feeling of a cat purring.
I love shoes. Amazing, beautiful, HOT shoes.
I hate facebook statuses about the weather. Just think of something else, people.
I love sleeping in.
I hate my alarm.
I love a concrete from Nielsen's Frozen Custard
I hate marinara sauce.
I love earrings.
I hate rings.
I love a plain, black pencil skirt.
I hate flowing, shapeless shirts that make me look pregnant.
I loved being pregnant.
I hate I don't have any friends in my neighborhood.
I love the people I've been able to meet through my association with Utah Voices.
I hate CBS news.
I love Fox news.
I hate Mike Huckabee.
I love Chris Christie.
I hate when I run out of paper towels.
I love everything MAC.
I hate running in the cold. So I don't ever do it anymore.
I love Crossfit.
I hate that I can't stop driving fast.
I love my backpack.
I hate when anyone besides me loads the dishwasher.
I love sitting on my porch and waiting for my kids to walk home from school.
I hate putting gas in my car. It's so time consuming and annoying.
I love fine point Sharpies.
I hate that I don't have a storage room.
I love trivia games.
I hate that 24 ended. What the H am I supposed to do without Jack Bauer in my life?
I love Walt Whitman.

I hate that I could go on and on . . .
I love that I could go on and on . . .

First Person, Third Person...but what about Second Person?

2011-03-03T22:25:00.000-08:00

I wrote this piece in response to Moore’s “How to Become a Writer” on 2/23/11. This was an in-class brief writing assignment, giving us the opportunity to write something in the second person. Up until this exercise, I had not written anything in the second person – ever. I was very uncertain on how to even begin this assignment, but once I began I discovered that I loved writing in second person and will use this style much more often in my future writing.

Name

You love your name. You always have. You remember being in elementary school and hearing other kids complain about their names, expressing their desire to have a different name.

Kelly, Jennifer, Emily, Ashley.

Those were the names the kids in your class liked.

You were not like them, and couldn’t imagine your name any different than what it is. Juliann.

You have been told often, people love your name. In school, when your teacher calls roll on the first day, she comes to your name and says “what a pretty name that is”.

You smile.

You appreciate the appreciation from others of your name.

Your name isn’t common, so you find yourself haivnt to spell t often; even pronouncing it for those that say Julian rather than JuliANN.

Sometimes you wish your parents had spelled your name with an “e” on the end, Julianne, so there would not be confusion. The confusion embarrasses you, and you wish they would all just know.

People often ask if you go by the name Julie. You quickly and definitively answer no. Julie is not your name.

It is not you. You are not a Julie.

It is assumed that your name is two words, with Ann being your middle name. It isn’t.

You’ve always wanted a middle name, though. All your sisters have a middle name but you, all four of them.

You have always loved names.

You have decided to give yourself a middle name, legally. You’ve been thinking about it for a long time; years, really. But, isn’t it such a hassle and also expensive? Yes. You know this, but you don’t mind. It is important to you and therefore you will make it happen. Because that is what you do.

You have chosen the name. It was easy because it just came to you one day.

Maria.

That is it – your new middle name. It feels right. It sounds right. It is right.

You talk to your mother about it. Why? Because she named you in the first place. You want to make sure she doesn’t feel bad. She shouldn’t; Juliann is the most beautiful name to you, and it makes you, you. You want her to know you aren’t disappointed with her. No, no! She expresses her feelings, and she is a little unsure but still supportive. She loves you. She named you your name for a reason, but she is supportive of you adding to it. She wants you to be happy. She always has.

So then, you begin the process. They are right, it is somewhat of a hassle, but it’s okay, for you are anxiously anticipating the day when you will be Juliann Maria. It is beautiful. You love how it sounds and how it looks.

It will be soon your legal name.

And you will love it.

The Pulse

2011-03-03T22:18:00.000-08:00

The Pulse

   The perpetual pulse of the world; there is no beginning or end. It is absolute in a world of chaos and uncertainty. It elicits feelings of frustration and fear, disappointment and despondence. It is wholly faithful among the bottomless sea of unfaithful.
   The pace –
   I saunter and sprint to keep even just a fingertip on it, for it is always barely beyond my reach, my grasp.
   It is selfish and self-serving, never giving a second thought for the victims lying in its catastrophic wake.
   I saunter and sprint to keep even a finger on it, just a fingertip even, for it is always just beyond my reach, my grasp.
   It is selfish and self-serving, never caring for the dazed, creeping victims lying in its wake.
   It taunts me, points and laughs like a freckled-face bully on a play ground, for it knows I have no choice but to surrender. Oh, but doesn’t the pace know that in that very surrender is when I lose myself and the essence of who I am and what I’ve worked for?
   And it knows. And laughs lightheartedly.
   I desperately scan and scour the landscape, searching for strongholds to save me – even my very being. But the pulse is perfect and never erratic. I must not stand still, lest that torrential tide encroach around me and sweep me away to nowhere and nothing.
   Sometimes it retreats, the pulse. But it never ceases. I gain a false sense of achievement in the retreat, and it feels good and complete and right, just for the pulse to return with an unknown and renewed vengeance.
   It’s cyclical, and I know it on a fundamental level. I can’t help but become captivated in the fantasy and fairytale-like sweetness and child-like innocence that inevitably comes before the looming grey-black storm. Sometimes I can even see it, so far out there, faintly dancing along the horizon of earth and sky. Something inside me begins to churn, and even though the warning, blaring foghorn of alarm starts to subtly sound, a part of me chooses to remain oblivious.
   The pulse insists on being heard.
   The pulse will win.
   It has to.

2011-02-17T20:57:00.000-08:00

I wrote this today for an assignment for my writing class. From time to time, I will be posting things that I write here.

God has granted us the gift of instinct for a reason: to protect to warn, to inform, to inspire. The gift of instinct is graciously bestowed on us to battle one of the fallacies and also strengths of human nature.

Doubt.

What is doubt? Webster’s 1828 dictionary defines doubt as “to waver or fluctuate in opinion; to hesitate; to be in suspense; to be in uncertainty, respecting the truth or fact; to be undetermined.” Doubt is unique in that it is universal and is not a respecter of persons, just as instinct is universal and is ingrained in each of us.

As in so many things in life, doubt can be used for good and bad, right and wrong. Doubt can serve highly positive purposes, as it prompts us to question, which then promotes valuable introspection of one’s self, even the careful and own soul. Doubt can act as the catalyst to solidify beliefs, principles, morals and faith. Doubt can provide clarity where only confusion and uncertainty dwelled. It can create a path of meaningful, life-altering thought and the desire to seek and pursue adequate answers to critical questions. Doubt can be a protector of sorts; preventing a child from being too trusting of a stranger, or of a consumer being taken advantage of and sold faulty goods. There is a time and a place for doubt.

Doubt is the constant predator of instinct, and instinct the unwilling victim of doubt. It happens through no action of our own and comes to us as a thought, an idea, a feeling. Instinct rears its subtle head and remarkably, doubt is there to meet it, like an unexpected and uninvited dinner guest. We are then forced to acknowledge the doubt head-on, while at the same time acknowledging the instinct. Doubt and instinct occur virtually simultaneously. It is then that the crossroads occurs: do we surrender to instinct or ratify doubt? It is a tumultuous battle that silently and subconsciously takes places within us. And who will come out victorious?

We must learn the delicate balance of instinct versus doubt. One must not act on instinct alone, just as those that are crippled by doubt live a life of uncertainty, fear, mistrust and insecurity.

To use wisely the God-given instincts we as humans possess and to constructively use doubt in productive, purposeful ways is to master one of the many aspects of human nature and maximize the human experience we call life.

Best Things

2011-02-10T22:35:00.000-08:00

Best Things dwell out of Sight - by Emily Dickinson

Best Things dwell out of Sight

The Pearl - the Just - Our Thought

Most shun the Public Air

Legitimate, and Rare -

The Capsule of the Wind

The Capsule of the Mind

Exhibit here, as doth a Burr -

Germ's Germ be where?

We analyzed this poem in my writing class yesterday, and the first time (and several times after that) I read it, I couldn't figure out what on earth she was trying to say. But, after giving it some thought, here is my analysis:

The best things in life aren't seen, just like a beautiful pearl is hidden inside an ugly oyster, justice and thought are not something visible to the eye. Thought and the ability to think is a beautiful, valuable but unseen gift. Wind is unseen, the mind (not the "brain") is unseen, but what is the result of each? We know the wind is blowing by the trees waving, by hair blowing; tornadoes, hurriances. What is the result, the "time capsule" of the human mind? It is THOUGHT. But what is a thought? What is the physical result of a thought? All things were originally a thought in someone's mind. Think about it. This computer, my MacBook, is the physical representation of a thought. And so is this table I'm sitting at, the house I live in, the car I drive, the choir I created. Even my own children originated as a thought. Right? You can't NOT look around and experience the result of thought, just as when running into a "Burr", you cannot ignore its presence.

There is nowhere you can turn without encountering a creation of the human mind.

So what does that mean? Our professor is constantly wanting us to ask the question "so, what?" when we read. So, what does all that mean, and how is it relevant in my day-to-day life?

It means this: I am so overly-committed and accountable to so many people, things, organizations, tasks, deadlines, etc. There are so many things I absolutely must do, that I have no choice but to comply with. There are so countless things out of my control, that I cannot change. I had a conversation with a best friend this week where I complained to him of my ridiculously crazy and complicated life. I told him, my life is not my own, my time is not my own, that I am OWNED. I am owned. But, no. The very next day, in my writing class, we analyze this poem, Best things dwell out of sight. And you know what? I am not owned; I will never feel that way again, because although many things may try to own me, my thoughts and my ability to think is all my own. That is a powerful concept; a profound concept, one that I challenge you to really ponder. No one has reign over our minds. Instead of being subject to life and the things in it, feeling "owned", I feel so much more liberated at the idea of owning thought - my thought. To write down thought is to honor it. That is something my professor preaches, and preaches passionately. WRITE IT DOWN. I only wish I had started honoring my thoughts earlier in my life.

And to the concept of "Best things dwell out of sight", it is a true principle. What are the best things? What are the best things in life? My life? Your life? The best things are relationships, feelings, emotions, memories, thoughts, love, joy, peace, faith. And they all dwell out of sight, in one way or another. You cannot physically pick up a relationship, or love. You cannot put emotions and peace in a box and stow it away. You can't buy a relationship, thought or faith and wear it to a black-tie event.

No.

The best things dwell out of sight.

Honor your thoughts. I promise it will change how you experience life.

Utah Voices/Broadway Bingo Fundraising Event

2011-02-08T17:43:00.000-08:00

As many of you know, I am the President/Managing Director of Utah Voices, a 170-voice community choir that I co-founded in July of 2009. We are gearing up for our Spring concert, entitled "Broadway Bingo", in March. It is going to be a phenomenal event; the brilliance of broadway meets the fun of bingo. Yes, actual bingo. Like with bingo cards and awesome prizes.

It costs a significant amount of money to produce concerts like this, and to run a choir in general. I am asking for your support and help in a fundraising campaign that we just recently kicked off on the website kickstarter.com. Check out this link for information on who we are, what we do, what sets us apart, and what you can do to help!

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/utahvoices/broadway-bingo

This choir is my life. It literally reflects so much of who I am and what I love and believe. It would mean so much to me to have your support.

--Juliann
www.utahvoices.org

My Thoughts on College...So Far

2011-01-27T07:57:00.000-08:00

I went back to school. Wait. Let me be accurate: I started school. January 3, 2011. Weber State University. It has been a lot of years since I've been a student. I've waited a long time. I'm ready to do this. I have had mostly positive reactions and support from my family and friends. My first day was pretty much a disaster: literal parking hell, running into a car, getting a ticket, late for class. Awesome. Despite everything going against me, I managed to hold it together, resist the anxiety, conquer the desire to break down and cry, and just DID it.

It is now the middle of week four. I learned one week into school that I had taken on too much, and subsequently dropped two of my classes. It was the right decision and I've been grateful I made it from that day forward. This is what is difficult about going back to school when you have a family, kids and responsibilities: you still have a family, kids and responsibilities. I have experienced tremendous opposition in the last four weeks. I have wondered so many times, is there even any point to all this? Why am I doing this? How did I ever think I could take on something like this? Nearly every time a negative thought has come into my mind regarding school, one of you (my dearest and truest friends) have stepped in, probably unknowing, and saved me from surrendering to all my doubts and fears. School is the one and only time that I feel complete and total focus and purpose. I love it.

I am taking two classes: a public speaking class and a college writing class. Public speaking: I would consider myself a good public speaker. I've had the opportunity to be in front of large and various groups of people throughout my life. I am the second oldest person in the class. Most of the students are in their 20's, even some in their teens. There is one man older than me, and he is 53. And guess what? I love it. I think that my age will be nothing but advantageous in my schooling. It has already proved to be. I gave my first speech in that class on Monday - a speech of self introduction. I felt good about it and got very positive and informative feedback from my peers and professor.

I can say with surety that my college writing class will end up being, if not my favorite class of my college experience, certainly one of the top three. Those who know me know that I love to write. It has always come very naturally to me and is a way that I love to express how I feel or think. This class, in the first four weeks, has completely revolutionized my life in so many ways. I walk out of each class shaking my head because of the many things I learned, realized, thought about or heard. One concept that has been life-altering, literally, is that of a "commonplace notebook", a small, pocket-sized notebook that we are to record our thoughts, impressions, things we hear or see, quotes, anything that comes to our minds. I have been doing this for the past two weeks and it has been incredible the things I have observed and then written down. The key is writing it down. I am confident I will continue this habit long after this class is over. I really see it as a valuable way to record things that would be otherwise forgotten. Beyond recording things or events, writing in a commonplace book allows to record the feelings and emotions that coincide with the actual written thought. It is truly a brilliant concept. I dare you to try it out. Do it. I now carry two of them with me - one in my backpack and one in my purse. When they get full, I will type everything from both notebooks and keep it with all my other important and valuable things.

Although I wish that I would have gone to college when I originally had the chance, right after high school, in a way I'm grateful that I waited. I have a different perspective, a different objective, a very concentrated and specific purpose. I'm so excited for what the next few years will bring.

The Best and Worst Hymns of All Time

2010-11-07T12:00:00.000-08:00

I totally love music. More than I could ever express. That being said, I don't love all music. As I was sitting in church today, I started thinking about the hymns that I simply can't tolerate, for one reason or another. Here is my list of the Top Ten Worst Hymns:

10- Welcome, Welcome Sabbath Morning
9 - Carry On
8 - We are all Enlisted
7- You can Make the Pathway Bright
6 - In our Lovely Deseret
5 - Let us Oft Speak Kind Words
4 - Count Your Blessings
3 - Scatter Sunshine
2 - Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel
1 - There is Sunshine in My Soul Today

There you have it.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, the best hymns of all time - in my opinion, and for me personally. The good news is that I couldn't keep this list to only 10. I love so many hymns, and for once, it was so much easier coming up with things that I love rather than things that I don't. So here, in no particular order, is a list of my favorite hymns:

All Creatures of Our God and King
Battle Hymn of the Republic
Each Life that touches Ours for Good
God Moves in a Mysterious Way
Lord, I would follow Thee
While Shepherds watched their Flocks
He is Risen
Upon the Cross of Calvary
In Humility, Our Savior
Abide with Me, 'Tis Eventide
Abide with Me!
Where Can I turn for Peace?
Cast Thy Burden upon the Lord
Lead, Kindly Light
Now Thank we all Our God
For all the Saints
How Firm a Foundation

What are YOUR favorite or not-so-favorite hymns?

Life, As I know It

2010-10-24T12:15:00.000-07:00

In a period of six days, I attended two funerals. Two funerals of two healthy, young men - both husbands, one a father of four. Two tragic deaths. Almost impossible to understand, let alone accept. One that has changed me and affected me deeply and in a way that many will never understand.

I will be 30 years old next month. I have mixed feelings about it. However, I can not deny how blessed I am to have the life that I do. That has become so very clear to me in the six days of unbelievable grief and mourning that I witnessed, participated in and dealt with myself. As I've contemplated turning 30, instead of focusing on the "negatives" or the loss of "youth", etc., I look back at my nearly 30 years on this earth and I am profoundly thankful for the experiences - both positive and negative, profound and insignificant, painful and elating, tragic and triumphant, disappointing and inspiring, right and wrong.

For a person of almost 30 years, I feel like I have been through a lot, suffered incredible physical obstacles and hardships, dealt with death on way too many occasions, seen tragedy, seen the profound human emotion that is grief in ways that many people I know haven't. But, through it all, I have felt the grace and love of God. And I know that He is. On the very short things of things I know for sure in this life, that is at the top of the list. I have never doubted; and I will never. I will never, never, no, never forsake that knowledge. Never.

I have made my fair share of mistakes. Some small, some monumental, some that I wish I could go back and change. If only. I see the world differently than I did when I was 25, 21, 18, 16, 12, 8. I feel like God has blessed me with an immense capacity to feel. I have known from very early on in life that I feel things deeper, stronger and with more of a lasting presence than others. It's a gift I'm so grateful for, but it also can plague me at times. It's hard for me to let go, to move on, to accept change, to see those that I love suffer, to see those that are perfect strangers suffer. I worry and stress about people, things, issues, subjects, topics and situations that most people probably never even think twice about. Sometimes it's hard for me to have perspective of all the good in my own life because I focus and internalize the difficulties in others' lives.

But, I wouldn't change it. Because in the end, all we are left with is the people around us. My gift, that sometimes can be my curse, has allowed me some of the most beautiful friendships, relationships and familial experiences that I will always treasure. I have reflected a great deal on the many, many individuals that have crossed my path in this life. Some have left a greater imprint than others. Some of those imprints have been positive, and some not. Some will never know the imprint that they left, as it may have seemed like they were simply passing through, when in reality, they changed me and left me with memories and experience that I could not have gained any other way.

And then there are those, and you know who you are, that, in the plainest terms, I simply could not travel through this journey of life, as I know it, without. My family, my sisters (and not just those that are sisters by blood), my brothers, my tremendous parents and exceptional grandparents, cousins and the many true friends that have carried me through times of gravest sorrow and immeasurable joy.

The human experience that is life. Isn't it amazing?

"Fear not, I am with thee; oh be not dismayed, for I am thy God and will still give thee aid. I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand...I'll never, no never, I'll never, no never forsake!"

New Blog

2010-09-06T13:01:00.000-07:00

I've started a new blog about food, nutrition, goals, etc. I'll still be posting here, of course. Check it out and let me know what you think!

http://iwillconquerit.blogspot.com/

Anna's winning program at Skate Salt Lake, 8.07.10

2010-08-09T20:14:00.000-07:00

So proud of Anna and all her hours and hours of hard work! It certainly paid off!

Lake Powell 2010

2010-06-14T19:34:00.000-07:00

We just got back from an amazing week-long trip to Lake Powell. First time that I've ever been there. It was truly spectacular. The best week of my life, and some of the most amazing scenery I've ever been lucky enough to see.

Love, love, love these girls.

Perfection.

Surfing is my new favorite thing. On. Earth.

What I Believe to be True

2010-05-30T19:44:00.000-07:00

I believe firmly in the death penalty, and I don't think it's used nearly enough as it should be.

I believe that life begins at conception.

I believe that in most cases, there isn't such thing as a "soul mate", at least in the terms that it is commonly referred to.

I believe that just because I may do or see things in my own way, it doesn't discredit or lessen my spirituality or devotion to my religion.

I believe that it's time to take the focus off sewing and baking, and other such things, in Young Women's.

I believe the Scouting program should be a completely separate entity from ANY church.

Further, I personally do not endorse Scouting for a myriad of very valid reasons. Now, that does not mean that when Andrew is old enough to be in Scouting that I won't help him, because I will. I won't go to the ends of the earth to promote it or encourage it, but I will support him if he chooses to participate.

I believe the United Nations to be a complete waste of an organization.

I believe that "hell" and "damn" are not swear words.

I believe that being a good mother may not always include baking cookies together, craft projects or sewing. At the same time, it may include those things, but just because I choose not to do them doesn't make me any less than someone that does, and vice versa.

I believe that volunteering in my kids' classroom is critically important and I'm grateful that I've been able to do so, most of the time.

I believe that we live in land provided by God Himself and the liberties that we have are a direct gift from God.

I believe that I would identify much more with women leaders of the church if they would speak with more conviction and less sweetness, more power and less intentional pauses.

I believe in the power of saying things out loud.

I believe that there are always reasons people do the things they do - not that those reasons excuse behaviors or choices, but there are reasons why people are they way they are.

I believe myself to be an objectivist.

I believe that money can indeed buy happiness on a lot of levels.

I believe that there aren't very many things in life that are black and white.

I believe that music expresses things that can't be expressed in any other way.

I believe that everyone should run a marathon (or something similar) at least once in their lifetime.

I believe that they key to a stable and healthy relationship of any kind is good, effective communication.

I believe that a mission is NOT for every 19 year-old boy.

I believe that having family home evening is very important, but I DON'T believe that it has to be structured with a lesson, song, prayer, game and treat. I especially don't get into the treat thing. Seriously?!

I believe that most people never really know what they are capable of, because they don't push themselves enough to find out.

I believe that exercise for children is critically important and not stressed enough by most parents, teachers or schools.

I believe that socialism and socialistic policies are fundamentally wrong and serve as a very viable threat to our independence, sovereignty and all other things that make America what it is.

I do not believe that President Obama is "evil", just as I don't believe that all of the world's problems are the fault of George Bush.

I definitely believe in evolution within species.

I believe that being involved in a sport, skill or talent as a child has profoundly positive effects on their self-esteem and self-image.

I believe that no matter what else I accomplish in this life, in the end, it will all pale in comparison to being a mother to Anna and Andrew.

I believe that if there is any semblance of polygamy in the next life, count me out (and maybe not for the reasons you're thinking...). I will gladly forfeit any position I may attain and step down a kingdom or two. I know my sisters and mom will be there waiting for me, along with probably the rest of my extended family.

I believe firmly in a small federal government.

I believe in capitalism.

I believe that my dogs probably love me the most out of any living thing on the earth.

I believe in guns and the right to own and bear weapons.

I believe strongly in saying The Pledge of Allegiance in schools.

It's Just a Tooth, But Really, It Isn't

2010-05-22T20:45:00.000-07:00

Andrew loses his first tooth, 21 April 2010, and his second tooth a few days later.

It happened. I knew it would. I knew it was coming. In fact, I had begun mentally preparing myself for the event months prior to its actual occurrence. That said, it did not soften the reality of the loss of Andrew's first tooth.

Now, I realize it's a tooth. Kids lose teeth all the time. I get it. But there's something about losing that first tooth - in your last child. At least to me.

I actually wasn't home at the time of the tooth-pulling. Jon texted me while I was at choir. Want to know my reaction? Tears.

This is why: it is the end of an era. Those of you that know the real me know that I don't deal well with the end of anything. Once a child loses a tooth, it changes the structure of their face - forever. They no loner have that baby face, with those baby teeth, with that baby/toddler look. It marks the beginning of a whole series of changes that last for years to come. Andrew is my baby. My last child. As I have mentioned in many previous posts - because he is my last, I felt like I have made a tremendous effort and have been very successful in cherishing each and every moment of significance, and even those moments that hold virtually little significance. When I am old, and he is grown, I will be able to say that I truly enjoyed him, enjoyed the little things, appreciated every minute I had with him. I feel blessed that at the time of Andrew's birth, I knew he would be my last, which provided me with the opportunity and therefore prepared me to really relish my time with him.

I have control issues. Always have. There. I said it. I cannot control time. I cannot control that my kids are growing up. I cannot control the fact that I don't want them to. I am forced to go with it, though. Life can be brutal sometimes, and it's times like these, when I feel that brutality and wish it didn't have to be that way. But it is.

Don't worry. I have accepted it and am continuing to deal with it. Accepting and dealing with the fact that my Anna and Andrew are growing up, gaining more and more independence, etc. has, is and will always be a very difficult thing for me. Maybe it's because I had them so young. Maybe it's because I only have two. Maybe it's because all my friends, my sisters, my family is all in a stage in life that is very different from mine (child-bearing, babies, toddlers, etc.), and that creates feelings of isolation and sometimes great loneliness for me. Maybe it's because I wish they called me "Mommy" all the time, and not just on occasion. Maybe it's because I wish that my kids still thought that I was their whole world.

Bottom line: I resist change, especially along this type of change. When Andrew told me his tooth was loose, I begged him (and yes, even bribed him) not to wiggle it, touch it, play with it, etc. - hoping that would buy me some more time! I asked him to promise me that after these two teeth he lost, he would never, ever lose any more. I said that I "forbid" it! His response? A huge, happy smile. Minus two teeth. The spectacular thing that I refer to as his "smiley eyes", where his eyes light up and sparkle with pure joy. A sweet, joy-filled laugh and an emphatic, "NO WAY!"

That's my boy.

Greatness Defined, and yes, I'm back.

2010-05-03T21:46:00.000-07:00

Greatness is defined in Webster's 1828 dictionary as elevation, dignity, distinction, eminence, magnanimity, elevation of sentiment, nobleness, grandeur, pomp, magnificence, force, intensity.

What I experienced last night, as we as members of Utah Voices presented our spring concert, embodied distinction, magnanimity, nobleness and grandeur. It was an experience that was like none other for me. As the Managing Director and co-founder of Utah Voices, I have willingly and intentionally poured my heart, soul and essence into creating and perpetuating this phenomenal organization. Outside of God and my family, there is nothing else in this life that I have put more time, effort, love, dedication and commitment towards. I do not say that out of pride or boasting, but truth. I recently came up with a phrase that describes how I try to live my life: "Love it. Live it. Do it." Last night was the culmination of it all. I loved it, lived it and I did it.

I believe in God. I believe that He created you and I. I believe that all goodness comes from Him. I also strongly and passionately believe that music facilitates a way to praise, honor, worship and commune with Him that is pure and perfect. It is for that reason alone that I do what I do, have worked so hard and sacrificed so much. My soul truly craves it - needs it.

I have achieved and accomplished many things that I am extremely proud of - conquering seemingly impossible physical situations and setbacks, triathlons, marathons and other physically grueling events. However, I truly believe that greatness is not achieved in moments of solidarity. Greatness extends beyond the individual. Sure, I believe that one can experience a level of greatness on their own. But, in my opinion, greatness, in its purest, truest sense cannot be achieved without the combined efforts of others.

It has been said by many, including our beloved Kelly DeHaan, that music is healing to the soul. Not only have I witnessed the healing that music brings on countless occasions, but I have been the recipient of that very healing. It is the beautiful and universal balm that heals all wounds, whether they be inflicted by being part of the human experience that is life, self-inflicted or inflicted by others.

I am overwhelmed and in awe of the caliber and commitment of the people that make Utah Voices what it is: my fellow singers. My people. My friends. We come together each week for one purpose: to sing. We all work. We all sacrifice. We all learn. We all desire. And, we all were triumphant in that moment when it mattered most - when we were able to live it, love it and do it. Together. That is greatness.

Now, to those who have supported me in this endeavor, this dream of mine that has become nothing short of a miraculous reality: it is you who make it all worth it. As I looked out over the audience last night, some of the people I love and care for most in this life were there, participating in what has been one of the greatest accomplishments of my life. Last night was truly a glimpse into the very essence of who I am, who I've been and who I hope and want to become. I will never forget how I felt and WHY I felt what I did. The things I care most about, love the most, respect, admire, cherish and value above all else were all represented in one way or another.

I am forever grateful for the opportunity to express on such a large and literal stage the things of which I hold most precious and dear; to be able to ponder, explore and share the very essence of who I am and what I believe in. It was all worth it and all done for a reason and a purpose. That purpose is profound, beautiful and transcendent. It is our purpose. It is MY purpose.

Here are some pictures from the concert:

Kathryn, Dr. Michael Huff and me. Such an honor to be able to work with Michael and all his brilliance!

Speaking of brilliance...

So glad all the sisters were there. Amy was most definitely there in spirit. :(

The whole crew. It truly was a family effort in so many ways. It was wonderful to share such a tremendous experience such as this with so many members of my family.

Dress rehearsal at Libby Gardner Hall.

So proud of my dad for being in the group. It really is so great to have him there.

Jon was truly the "unsung hero", as Michael described him, for his countless hours of work on the beautiful and inspiring DVD that went along with Carmina Burana.

James & Brooke have always been so incredibly supportive of me in everything I do. Can't say enough how grateful I am for them. Love you guys!!

Last, but most definitely NOT least...The Entourage: Steve, Jesse & Surba. Love my boys! So happy they came to support me.

A very long time...

2010-05-03T21:44:00.001-07:00

It's been so long I don't even know where to start. I don't even know if anyone ever checks in here anymore. Regardless, I miss blogging. Writing has always been something I enjoy as well as a stress release. I can't believe this is my second post in all of 2010. That is about to change. Today.

Instead of trying to catch up, I'm going to start from this point and move forward. I'm anxious to connecting with all of my blog friends once again.

Best & Worst

2010-01-28T12:03:00.000-08:00

I tend to live my life in extremes. Rarely middle ground. Always all out or not at all. Black and white. Very little gray. I’ve always been that way. It either is or it isn’t. I love it or I hate it. I want it or I don’t. I’ll do it or I won’t.

The best. The worst. Again, taking it back to extremes. When I was little, I remember the best days in my entire life consisting of spending hours in my best friend’s enormous tree on the side of her house. It wasn’t just any tree; it was magnificent; truly the best. It had a long, narrow trunk that took some serious skill to climb up. Once we were able to scale the trunk, the rest was easy. The branches were long and sturdy and most of the year they were covered with leaves the size of my hand. The tree was so tall and full that literally, anyone passing by on the street would not even notice we were there. Some of the best hours of my entire life were spent in that tree. When I think of those days now, the words that come to my mind to describe that time period are innocent, happy, easy, simple, joy, pure. The best.

Thankfully, my childhood wasn’t very black and white. It was mainly one-dimensional: happy. I fortunately haven’t endured some of the tragedies and difficulties that many others I know have gone through. I’m pretty blessed; I acknowledge it and I’m grateful for it.

Probably one of the worst experiences as a child was when I had just gotten Whitney Houston’s new tape (yes, cassette tape) with the song “How Do You Know” on it. I was so excited and thought I was pretty much the coolest girl around. That ended one day when my friend came over and said she wanted to listen to my new tape. I was beaming inside at the prospect of listening to Whitney Houston with my “best” friend. That idea was shattered when she then told me she didn’t want to play with me at all, but only wanted my tape. I was heartbroken. But, I let her use the tape anyway. I felt sad and alone. All because of a Whitney Houston tape. If only things could stay that simple.

The realization that my best friend was, for all intents and purposes, using me to listen to my new Whitney Houston tape all those years ago doesn’t even compare to the realization that happened seven months ago when I got the phone call that a good friend of mine had passed away totally unexpectedly, under very confusing and sad circumstances. She was beautiful, vibrant, talented, organized, smart and most importantly, a wife and mother of five children. Five.

I would be confident in saying that death is something that would be one of those “worst” experiences in anyone’s life. But, I have spent many months trying to understand why her particular death was the worst day of my life. I still don’t have all the answers; I probably never will. But, this is what I do know: it changed me. I’m talking a fundamental change. I no longer think of things in the same way. Not just the obvious things, like the time I have with my children and family, but smaller, obscure things like the opportunity I have to volunteer at my kids’ school, helping with homework, noticing when my kids’ hair needs to be cut, holding my kids’ hands when we walk across a parking lot. It even extends to even more general experiences like eating an incredibly awesome dessert, driving, singing at the top of my lungs to the Black Eyed Pea’s “Pump It”, and even getting a speeding ticket. You know why I don’t think about things like that the same since her death? Simple. Because I still can do all those things. And she can’t. And that is hard for me to deal with. Probably always will be.

So, if that’s the worst, then what is the best, you might wonder? The day I became a parent – a beautiful, warm spring day in May and a gorgeous, colorful autumn day in September. As I look back over my life, I can say with certainty that some of the only days that I would give anything to relive, anything, would be the days that both my babies were born. That was the absolute best. Nothing can even compare. But, in some ways, it also was the worst. Delivering babies did not come easily for me, to say the least. Pain, problems, complications, anxiety, fear. I heard it said somewhere that giving birth was like walking through the valley of the shadow of death. In my experience, it was precisely that. But, from the depths of that dark valley came the most triumphant, jubilant, transcending, proud experience of my life.

Unequivocally, the best.

To Quote: Sunday

2010-01-17T16:08:00.000-08:00

Those of you who know me well know that I love all things about language - words, definitions, quotes. I have a collection of amazing quotes that I want to start posting, once a week. Mainly for my benefit and record, of course, but hopefully some of you can enjoy them as well.

“With an active and independent mind, an endless thirst for knowledge, the capacity to make bold decisions based on reality and a tireless commitment to action - you will reach a level of confidence and competence that will lead you to greatness.”

- Mark Quam

Kitzmiller Family 2009

2010-01-01T19:14:00.000-08:00

New Job

2009-12-18T22:13:00.000-08:00

Thought it was time to write about my newest endeavor: a new job as a personal trainer. It's kind of a long, random story of how it all came to be, but let's just say it literally came out of the blue. This is a picture of me, my boss Neil and fellow trainers Megan and Lizz after our Thanksgiving Day 5K. So lucky to work with such great people.

I've been in the athletic/workout realm for a long time now, but never from this side of it. I've got a lot to learn still, but what I have learned has been interesting and really fascinating to me. I've really loved it so far. I'm passionate about health, active lifestyles, running, biking, swimming, etc. so I think it's a good fit for me.

I've basically been apprenticing under Neil's instruction and supervision for the last few weeks. Soon I will be coaching my own workouts, which I'm really looking forward to!

Aspirations

2009-12-18T21:50:00.001-08:00

This post is purely for me to remember, years from now, what Andrew told me tonight.

We were driving home and Anna mentioned that her friend's grandma is in the hospital and will pass away soon. She then said, "she's going to die - just like President Hinckley died. But she will be happy because she'll go to heaven and get to see her mom and dad."

Andrew then said, "I want to be the Prophet when I grow up."

Pretty ambitious, wouldn't you say?

Excited?

2009-12-06T12:47:00.000-08:00

The day we put the Christmas tree up and he found his Santa hat among the decorations, he's been wearing it constantly. Yes, even to sleep in. This little guy isn't excited for Christmas at all. Nope. Not one bit.

Top of Utah Marathon

2009-12-06T11:48:00.000-08:00

Have you ever been through something in your life that for whatever reason, it took a while to actually acknowledge that it really did happen? That's exactly how I feel about running my first marathon...almost three months ago. Typically my races are things that I can't wait to write about. Not this one, and not because it was a miserable experience. Well, parts of it were. I think it was one of those things that needs some time and perspective to really be able to process it all. Here is my marathon story.

We headed up to Logan, UT on Friday afternoon, picked up our race packets, went out to dinner and headed back to the hotel to get ready for the next day. Had a great sleep that night (thanks to Ambien, I mean, come on - let's be real here) and woke up at 3:50 a.m. Jon took this picture of me right as I was getting ready to get on the bus and head up the canyon. Probably the most enthusiastic picture of the day.

My friend Jim and I got on the bus with all the other runners to begin the ascent to the starting line. Jim is an old pro at marathons, with this one being his ninth (I think!) so he knew the drill and helped me to remain in a relatively calm state. :) At the start, they had set up a huge white tent with several heaters to help keep everyone warm. Most definitely the best starting circumstances I've ever experienced.

There is so, so much that I could write about every individual mile that I ran. In a nutshell, the first 13 miles of the race were fantastic. Very little pain. Great attitude. Positive energy from all the runners. Beautiful scenery. Mile 13-17 I started to feel significantly more pain, due to my torn plantar fascia cord and torn ligaments in my foot, but still overall, felt pretty good.

The above picture was taken at mile 17. That is the first time that I was able to see Jon and the kids, and it was just what I needed. I started to cry when I saw them, especially when sweet little Andrew started jumping up and down and clapping for me. He ran out into the street to give me a hug. The next time I would see them would be at the finish.

Mile 17-20 was hard, but I still was very positive and happy. Then I hit mile 20. Talk about hitting the freaking brick wall. It was weird. I think mentally and physically I was just done. I couldn't believe that I still had 6 miles to go, which for me, would be over an hour of running. Everything hurt. Bad. I struggled through mile 20 and 21. At mile 22, Jim called me and said that he had finished (in under 3 hours, of course) and he, Betsy and Jared were at mile 24 and they would wait for me there. He said if he felt able, he would run the last 2 miles with me. Once I knew that I would be seeing them in two more miles, it helped me to climb out of the misery that had totally taken over.

Mile 24. I see the Bordens cheering for me. Again, just what I needed at that point to keep going! Jim did end up running the last 2 miles with me, which was so awesome. The last 2 miles was brutal because it loops through downtown Logan. You can literally hear the finish line, and at one point about 3 miles out, you can see it. Jim warned me ahead of time about that, so when I knew I was coming to that point, I didn't even look that direction.

The last half mile was surreal. I still recall in detail many of the people that were on the side of the road cheering all of us on. I've never been more grateful to complete strangers. Jim told me, "you have one more left turn, and then you're there". I couldn't believe it. Finally! That final left turn was quite an experience. Being able to see for myself the finish line and see the crowd of people lined up on either side of the street.

I tried to really enjoy this moment - the end, the finish, the completion of this goal that I've had for so many years. I'll be honest, though, it was hard because I was hurting so much. Once I saw my family on the right side of the street, it made it so much better. Andrew ran out and gave me an American Flag to take with me across the finish line. I saw my parents, Jon, Anna, Andrew. That's when the tears started.

Almost there!! It was awesome to have the announcer say my name and where I was from as I headed into the finish. I even saw one of my friends Lizz on the sidelines yelling my name! Coming across the finish was unlike any other finish line experience I've ever had. This marathon was the hardest thing I've ever done. The joy, elation and pride was there, but it was accompanied with so much suffering, exhaustion and pain, too.

Anna and Andrew passed the time by finding a patch of dirt to play in. Awesome.

One of the highlights of the whole experience was having my parents there, especially my dad. It meant so much to me that they would come and support me in this, the hardest and most momentous endeavor.

Jon was a great support not only on race day, but the whole 4 months that I spent training. It's a big sacrifice for not only me, but for him and the kids, too.

Jim, me and Ernie at the finish. The three of us trained together often during the several months prior to the race. Of course, Jim and Ernie had finished hours before me (like, literally) but I'm so glad they stuck around to see me at the end. Both Jim and Ernie placed in their age groups!

The whole gang!

MAMA!! I think I scared my poor mom to death after I finished. She was worried about me, I could tell!!

Thanks to Jim for all his support, knowledge, encouragement and expertise through this whole process!

At the beginning of 2009, I wrote a blog post of my resolutions. So grateful I was able to fulfill this goal. Marathon? Done and done.

I've been asked many, many times since if I would do it again. First of all, let me say that never once when I've finished an event have I said that I hated it and would never do it again (except for the Farmington Half Marathon - but that was only due to the course...). Even in the pain and exhaustion after the race, I knew that I would do it again. Even in my extreme and intense soreness after the race, I said I would do it again. Now that almost three months have passed, I can say, I would do it again, and I plan to. I don't know when or where, but I will.

Guaranteed.

An Email of Thanks

2009-11-30T17:14:00.000-08:00

I normally wouldn't post something like this, but I need to. I had a very unique moment of gratitude over the weekend, and I want to make sure that in a year from now, I remember it clearly.

I am the oldest of five girls. I'm 29 and my youngest sister is 17. We are all very different, but very similar. I just want them (and everyone) to know how thankful I am for each of them...hence, my email of thanks that I sent to them:

So, last night in Andrew's prayer, he was mentioning things he was thankful for, and he said, with absolutely no cooersion, "thank thee for all my aunts". It was the sweetest thing ever, and it really was very profound to me now that I have had some time to think about it. I need to tell you all how truly blessed I am to have the greatest sisters in the entire world. I could not be more thankful for all of you. I am so lucky to have each one of you. I think it's amazing that even the 6 year old recognizes how blessed we all are to have you in our lives.

I know I can be difficult, opinionated and kind of a wench sometimes, but I really would be lost without you all. I need communication from everyone on a very regular basis, and I'm glad that we have the kind of relationship/friendships that enables that. You are all incredible examples of everything good, fun, happy, intelligent, courageous, determined, faithful and stalwart. I could go on and on.

I know that I have made a million mistakes and bad decisions in my life, but I hope that you can forgive and look past all that. I think it's incredible how we've always come to the aid of whoever is in crisis - whether it be a crisis we've caused ourselves or something completely out of our control. That is rare. And, it is wonderful.

I think that a lot of why we are the way we are as sisters can be attributed to the way we grew up. I was just saying last night to all of my in-laws how incredibly fortunate I feel that I honestly can not think of any major "issues" I have with my childhood, growing up, relationships with parents, etc. I think that Mom and Dad are the absolute example of successful, positive parenting. They created an environment of stability and love that perpetuated security, friendship and just plain, pure happiness. They are my greatest heroes and I can only hope and pray that I can be half the parents to my own children that they were and continue to be to each of us. We owe them a lot.

Amy, I admire your constant loyalty, your sense of sacrifice and selflessness, your honesty, your humor. Kathryn, I admire the way that you constantly try to be helpful to everyone, the way that you always are willing to put your own needs secondary, your resilient spirit - despite the countless setbacks and trials you continue to be given, the way you take such good care of your family. Jenna, I admire your fiery but incredibly tender and affectionate personality, the way you play and interact with all of our kids, your willingness to stand up for principles and values. Leah, I admire your strength and unending courage, the fact that you are the one that people always want to go to when they're struggling, your willingness to simply be yourself - no matter what.

My relationships with all of you is on the short list of things that matter most to me in this life, and forever. I love all of you so much.

Love,

Juliann

10 Things

2009-11-28T12:56:00.001-08:00

My friend Hilary challenged me to write 10 random things about myself. So here they are. In no particular order:

1. I am completely obsessed with the Olympics - whenever I hear the Olympic theme I always start to get emotional.

2. Blue Christmas lights will always be my favorite.

3. When I was in Kindergarten, I had a recurring dream that I drank a bottle of bubbles and subsequently had huge brown spots all over my face. I can still clearly remember that dream, to this very day.

4. Some of my most cherished childhood memories were spent with my friends in the Jorgensen's tree on the side of their house.

5. I am very particular (and tend to have strong opinions) when it comes to names - names of people, names of businesses, places, etc.

6. Speaking of names - I have always been annoyingly good at remembering everyone's name...and the names of all their kids, relatives...well, you get the idea.

7. I kind of am obsessed with pens - I totally love them, but I won't use one if it's not absolutely perfect.

8. I was deathly afraid of the librarian at my school when I was in Kindergarten because she had no legs and used a wheelchair.

9. I hate wearing anything with long sleeves.

10. I've always been a really, really good speller.

Proud Soccer Mom

2009-11-01T18:45:00.000-08:00

SO proud of this little guy.

Andrew played soccer for this first time this fall and LOVED it.

It was so much fun to go to his games!

My parents came to almost every game, and Andrew totally loved that they came to support him (and so did I!)

The Life-Long Lessons of School Lunch

2009-10-16T20:17:00.000-07:00

School Lunch

So, you know how there are just some things that happen in life that you just can't seem to stop thinking about? Those things that, even though you've put them on the back burner in your mind, they still haunt you? One of those experiences for me is a kid named Jake. Jake, who also happened to have Down's Syndrome.

I had a fantastic childhood. It was magical, wonderful, carefree and fun. I was lucky enough to go to an elementary school that was within a short walking distance of my house. It was the absolute best of times.

In second grade, I vividly remember going to eat lunch in the school cafeteria. My mom let me have school lunch only on occasion, so those days were especially great days. I loved walking into the school and being able to smell the homemade rolls already cooking. Oh, and the peanut butter bars. Seriously. I still crave them to this day. My best friend Andrea and I always sat on the same table, usually just the two of us. We were best friends, and still to this day we are best friends – almost 25 years later. On this particular day, we sat down at our usual table when the "new kid" came into the lunch room. Jake was his name. He was a big kid, much bigger than us. I later learned that he was actually 4 years older than us, but due to him having Down's Syndrome, he was in our 2nd grade class anyway. Jake had light brown hair that was never combed and really huge, thick glasses that magnified his eyes so much that it looked like they weren't real sometimes. Jake was always dirty. I remember specifically thinking that it looked like he never washed his hands. His clothes were old and usually had stains and holes in them. Jake was loud. Intimidating. Scary. Thankfully, he usually had a teacher's aide that came and helped him. However, that day, the aid wasn't there. It was just Jake.

Andrea and I kept to ourselves at our end of the lunch table, trying desperately not to make eye contact. Jake had a thing for girls. He liked being around girls, and seemed to really like the two of us. To my dismay, Jake came and sat down at the opposite end of our table. Andrea and I exchanged looks and tried to finish our amazing school lunch experience, complete with chocolate milk, in peace. That peace was short-lived.

Some of the kids at school weren't very nice to Jake. Knowing that they could manipulate him, they would approach him and try to barter his good school lunch food for their crappy home lunch food. Jake would always give in. He wanted so desperately to fit in - it was obvious. Even though I was little, I clearly remember the feeling of watching that happen - watching kids take advantage of a kid that was so easy to take advantage of. I hated those bratty boys that were pretending to be his friend to his face until they got what they wanted from him, and then turned around and laughed at him and called him names. But, at the same time I was disappointed in myself that I didn't know how to help Jake, because even though my heart went out to him, I was still scared of him - scared of his size, scared of his verbal outbursts, scared of his erratic behavior. Ultimately it was my fear of him that overpowered my wanting to help him, at least in the beginning.

I have to wonder, though, was anyone else affected in the same way that I was when seeing Jake at the end of the lunch room table, by himself, day after day, constantly falling for the manipulation of the school bullies? Does anyone even remember him? I'm sure that if I asked my best friend Andrea about it, she would remember him. But would she have the same deep-rooted feelings, regrets, and even a sense of remorse and shame? Why did Jake affect me so much? Is it normal? I mean, maybe it isn't. Maybe it isn't at all normal to think about the scary, disheveled, loud kid with Down's Syndrome from elementary school, and still feel my heart hurt over how he was regarded and treated.

The experience has affected me so much that now, as a parent of a second grade child, I am frequently talking to her about how important it is to be kind to people. Those experiences I had in the lunch room in my elementary school have literally initiated conversations where I have specifically encouraged her to seek out the kids that always sit by themselves at lunch; to try and sit by someone different each day; to look around and help kids that seem like they're sad. The thing that has amazed me is that it has worked. My daughter has a natural, innate compassion towards other kids. I'm not at all saying it's all because of me and my lunchroom experiences with Jake, but what I am saying is that it's so critical to teach kids how to be kind and considerate. The only thing worse than being a parent of a child that is constantly bullied at school is being the parent of the one that is doing the bullying.

Fast-forward a few years to sixth grade. By now, Jake was nearly twice the size of me and still as frightening as ever. But, I had gotten used to him. I had come to expect his outbursts and rampages. In a strange way, we had become friends. I still never got up the courage to sit by him at lunch time; that was just too much. Andrea and I continued to sit at our end and Jake sat at the other end. Always alone. Still being accosted by the idiot boys that sought him out only for the purpose of making fun of him. I wondered then, and I still wonder now, did he know? Did he know what those boys were doing? Did he feel bad? Did Jake ever go home to his mom and cry because of the way kids treated him? I can hardly stand to think about it.

Back to sixth grade. It was our sixth grade Valentine's dance. Jake was once again in my class and, as I mentioned, we had become friends. For some reason, the teachers had taken it upon themselves to teach us how to dance properly - in preparation for our "first" boy/girl dance. It was an awkwardly painful situation. The boys were pretending they didn't want to be paired up with a girl and then taught by a random teacher how to dance, and the girls truly didn't want anything to do with it. As I was waiting to be assigned a partner, my eye instantly sought out Jake. He was, as usual, in his own world - seemingly not paying attention. The teacher's aide that helped Jake had obviously picked up on the fact that I had reached out to him a little here and there. She came and asked me if I would be Jake's dance partner. What? She couldn't be serious. I had never danced with a boy before, and the first time I do, it has to be with HIM? I did it. I did it even though I was horrified. Although we had become friends, it honestly was the last thing on earth I wanted to do - to dance with Jake. I was wondering what people were thinking the whole time. The group of "popular" girls seemed to be laughing at me - and him. They were all paired up with the "popular" boys - naturally. Who knows what the boys were thinking. I have long ago stopped trying to understand the mind of anything male.

Somehow, I made it through the agonizing dance instruction, with Jake as my partner. Ironically, he was very well-behaved and attentive the whole time. I was relieved when it was over, but honestly, it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Afterwards, I had several kids come up to me and express their horror that I "had" to dance with him. Then, an interesting thing happened. I found myself almost defensive of Jake. I felt it my responsibility to express to those kids how well Jake did, that he actually listened, that he wasn't screaming obscenities and trying to hit the wall with his fist. No. Quite the contrary, actually. He did great. He seemed to enjoy it.

The day of the dance finally came. It was a big deal. Parents came to chaperone, of course, because you just never know that kinds of things that could go on at a sixth grade dance in the 80s. The gym was decorated with pink and red hearts cut out of construction paper. There were balloons everywhere. We all dressed up. It was a big deal. We each had a heart-shaped dance card that had 10 lines on it. The idea was that we were supposed to sign the dance card of the person we wanted to dance with. Why that was considered a good idea is beyond me. Of course all the popular girls were being approached by the popular boys, and then there were the rest of us, the average ones, that just stood around feeling completely and totally awkward and border-line humiliated.

That's when I noticed Jake. For the first time ever, Jake was dressed nicely. His hair was combed, his hands weren't as dirty. He seemed calm, but he was alone. Completely alone. He didn't have the companionship of his aid. He certainly wasn't being approached by the popular girls. He seemed to be floundering - not knowing what to do. I watched as this went on for the first few songs and realized that I couldn't stand by any longer. I had been doing that for too long - too many years. In a rare moment of courage, I walked up to Jake and asked him if I could sign his dance card. He looked at me through his ridiculously huge, thick ultra-magnifying glasses. The look on his face I will never forget. It was a look of surprise - but of a pleasant surprise. Like the kind of surprise you feel when you reach into your coat pocket from last winter and find a $20 bill. Or when it snows two feet and you look outside and realize the neighbor has already shoveled the driveway for you. Pure, unsuspected surprise.

Jake behaved like a perfect gentlemen. He was quiet, sweet and kept his hands in all the right places (which by the way, he struggled with during our initial practice session). At the end of the song, I thanked him and walked away. The very last dance of the day, he came to me and asked if he could sign my dance card - meaning, the last dance of my sixth grade dance experience would be spent with Jake - and not the cute kid I had my eye on all year. However, the most surprising part of all this is that I didn't care. I genuinely was happy to dance with Jake.

Unfortunately, that's where the story ends. For whatever reason, I don't have any more recollections of Jake after that memorable sixth grade dance. I have no idea what happened to him. He didn't end up going to the Junior High that I went to. After elementary, he seemed to have disappeared. I think the reason that Jake still enters my mind so many years later is that I learned a valuable lesson from him - a lesson that I hope to have started to teach to my daughter. Jake never changed. Even though by sixth grade, we had become friends and I had gotten used to him, he was still the same Jake that occasionally scared me, terrified me, and horrified me. In the end, I was the one that changed. I feel like I was able to see past the image of the gross, loud, scary kid at the end of the lunchroom table that was constantly making messes and being bullied by the other kids. From that point in my life on, I have always had a true compassion for people that are different, ridiculed, struggling, lonely or sad. It propelled me, later on in my life, to volunteer at a community hospital and to work very closely with people just like Jake. I think those experiences have contributed to who I have become and who I still want to become. Even though I will probably never know what happened to Jake, or if he even would remember me from our time together in elementary school, I will never forget him - and more importantly, never forget the many lessons he taught me.

(written: 26 March 2009)

Resilience

2009-10-12T16:25:00.000-07:00

I've had a lot of time on my hands over the last few days. Like, a lot of time. More than I know what to do with. I've found myself thinking about a lot of different things - people, places, experiences, etc.

I was thinking about one of my friends that went through an unimaginable trial a few years ago. When it all happened, I remember thinking, "how can someone ever go on after something like that?" Well, it does happen. People do move on, even after the most heart-wrenching situations or circumstances.

I can think of four different people that have been through some of life's most difficult tragedies. Now that some time has passed, I can say that each of these individuals have somehow managed to do it - to move on. Wait, wait. Stop. I don't like the phrase, "move on". I think "move forward" more accurately describes what it must be like to live through a tragedy so profound. The amazing thing about each one of these situations is that it really is possible to move forward in life, even when it seems like life as they knew it was over. Not only is it possible to move forward, but to move forward and attain happiness, success, joy, peace and hope. The concept is astounding to me. In a world where there seems to be so much despair and heartache, we always have the choice to move forward.

As I looked at the beautiful, happy picture of my friend, my friend who lost her husband to cancer three years ago and left her with three young children, my friend that has suffered so much but has been able to somehow move forward, I was in awe at the resilience of the human spirit. We are resilient. Sometimes we may not want to be resilient, but we have to. She had to. And she has been. And it shows.

Resilience.

I love that word.

Lotoja - Logan to Jackson

2009-10-04T20:39:00.001-07:00

The highly coveted sticker! Lotoja: aka, Logan to Jackson. A bike race consisting of 206 miles.

At packet pick-up, they stamp your left calf with permanent ink. Quite the badge of honor, if I do say so myself.

I've wanted to do this race for the last year and a half, and I was able to get on a team with my Uncle Steve (through his company, CR England) and my cousin Kristen. We had a blast together! This was taken in Preston, ID, right before Kristen took off for her first stage of the race.

Just an example of one of the many, many stretches of roadway that the cyclists travel on.

GO TEAM CR ENGLAND!! What a great group of people. So honored that I had the opportunity to ride with all of them.

Getting ready to ride my stage - stage 4, from Afton to Alpine.

Me, Kristen & Ezra following the completing of Stage 4.

I ran into several people I know, including Surba! He actually rode Stage 4 as well.

Kristen & I hanging out, waiting to hook out with our team so we could ride the last 18 miles together towards the finish line.

The finish line, in Jackson Hole. It was absolutely incredible. It was a pretty emotional experience riding into Jackson, in the midst of the beautiful and amazing Grand Tetons.

All done!!

Me and Danny. It was so fun to see him there. We've become really good friends.

Driving to our hotel for the night. Definitely a little tired, but all in all, everything went so well. Can't complain in the least. We had a phenomenal team, great support, no injuries, and a lot of fun. Can't wait to do it again next year!

Utah Voices

2009-09-28T17:36:00.000-07:00

It has been an absolutely crazy last several weeks for me in many, many ways. One thing that I haven't been able to write about yet is my involvement with the creation of Utah Voices, a new choir in the Davis County area. As many of you know, I have had the privilege to perform with a few professional choirs in recent years. To make a very long story short, at the end of July the opportunity arose for several of us to try and create our own group, along with our incredible and talented director, Dr. Michael Huff. Seven weeks after my initial conversation with Michael, Utah Voices had its first rehearsal. We had hopes that about 60 people would show up to our first rehearsal. 135 people came. That number has continued to rise each week. I am absolutely thrilled and proud of the progress that we have made so far. It turns out that I am the General Manager (or President) of the choir, and my great friends John, Kathryn, Ariel, and Mike round out the rest of the Board of Directors. It's been a fascinating and very educational experience to create a group like this from the ground up. We function as a 501(c)(3), which 7 weeks ago, I knew absolutely nothing about. We are now incorporated and waiting for our 501(c)(3) status to be processed.

Each week as I sit in our rehearsals and observe the singers interact with our director, I am overwhelmed by how satisfying and rewarding this experience has already been. We on the Board have all spent hours upon hours working to make this idea of ours a reality, and then to have it materialize even more successfully than we had hoped - words just can't express how happy I am about it.

We will begin our Christmas season with a performance on November 29th, followed by two more concerts on December 5th and December 7th. Check out our website: www.utahvoices.org

or our Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=137057051014 for more information.

Major Catching-Up!

2009-09-28T17:17:00.000-07:00

I can't believe summer has come to an end. Wow. What a summer! One of the highlights was having Amy and the kids here. One day, Kathryn (of course - I mean, seriously, like it would be Amy or I that would EVER think of something like this) decided we needed to have "Craft Day". I know, I know. This is totally out of character for me. Like I said, not my idea. Anyway, we had the kids paint ceramic figures and then we did tie-dye shirts. Wow. It was quite the production, but the kids loved it.

Oh how I love my Parker!!

Remember how I said the kids loved Craft Day? Well...this is how we all felt about it. No other explanation needed.

On August 29 was the Cache Valley Century - a 100 mile bike ride through beautiful Northern Utah and into Idaho. My good friends Danny, Jim and I all rode together. Early into the ride, we hooked up with Caitlin from New Hampshire. It was fun getting to know her, too.

Getting ready to start 100 miles! Go Utes!

Why I can manage to talk on the phone and ride at the same time, but drinking water and riding at the same time is difficult, is beyond me. I spent much of the first 25 miles on the phone with my sisters who were trying to get Andrew to his first soccer game...anyway...it's a long story.

The gang at our last rest stop...only 15 more miles to go! This was the first full century I've ever done. It was a total blast! Especially loved the Fig Newtons at the 50 mile rest stop. Awesomeness.

The last triathlon of the year for me was the Labor Day triathlon at the South Davis Recreation Center. It was FUN! I had a great swim and bike, but struggled a bit on the run. I felt like I was going to puke the whole time. Never did, but I was close. It was AWESOME to have Kathryn and Parker at the finish!!! (Jon was out of town...) I didn't know she was planning on coming, and when I saw her I was ecstatic! My racing partners in crime Erica, Jim, Thomas and Lora also competed.

Go #54!! I was really sad to have this be the last triathlon of the year. They have quickly become a passion of mine. I'm very much looking forward to next year!

Oktoberfest 2009

2009-09-28T17:05:00.000-07:00

Anna competed in Oktoberfest a couple weeks ago. She has been working hard on her program for several months. She did SUCH a beautiful job. She skated the best she probably ever has.

It was fun to be back at Cottonwood Heights Recreation Center. I haven't been back there since I competed in Oktoberfest, and also won. :)

The results get posted on the wall. Anna had gone upstairs to watch some of her friends compete, so we had to go and get her so she could see the good news.....

She WON!!! All the judges put her in first place!

Anna and coach Keith.

So, so proud of my beautiful ice princess. A "My Moment", that's for sure.

That's my girl!

Anna was thrilled with her first place finish. Next competition will be Winter Games in January!

Even though I didn't think I would...I survived it.

2009-09-06T15:23:00.000-07:00

It has happened. It has taken me almost 7 days to be able to write about it, but that doesn't change the fact that it happened. My last baby went to Kindergarten. I've known for the past few years that this monumental step forward in my life would be the source of a major emotional breakdown. In fact, in thinking about it over the last six months or so, I would start getting teary. Sunday, the day before school started, I cried all through church. I'm sure people were looking at me and thinking one of two things 1) that I must have really been spiritually in tune that day, or 2) that I must be in a severely compromised emotional state.

However, just as with almost everything in my life, the first day did not go as planned. In fact, these pictures are from the second day, because Andrew deleted the pictures I had taken of the first day off the camera. Okay. Well, so we had to reenact it. What are you going to do? So then, I was trying to beg Andrew to take a picture with me, which he absolutely refused to do. I bribed him, threatened him - everything I could think of. In the above picture, I was actually trying to get him to kiss me (on the cheek!) and of course, he wouldn't. I think my face adequately expresses my feelings.

I was finally able to bribe enough to create this picture, which I happen to love. Oh how I love my favorite boy in the world.

I walked Andrew over to the school. The whole way there I was perfectly composed, on the outside at least. Once the bell rang, though, that's when I started having those feelings swell inside of me, and I knew it was going to get ugly.

There he goes. Into the public school system. Out of my protection and influence. Away from my always-ready hugs, positive words, my acute attention to his bottomless pit of a stomach and always watchful eye. It's a brutal reality that I was not prepared to face, but one that I could not put off any longer. It was at this point that the tears started. I got half way across the parking lot before the sobbing and heaving began, so at least I was able to do that somewhat privately.

As I walked the two blocks back home, it was as if my whole life flashed before my eyes and I could hardly believe that THIS was my life now. My kids are both in school. I am 28 years old. This is not what I had planned for my life. This is not what I had envisioned. I came home to a quiet house. My dogs, Lola & Lucy, were very happy to see me, thankfully.

This is what is is: being forced to accept what I cannot change. It's hard. Very hard for me. Always has been. I don't want this phase of my life to end, but it has. Yes, there are other stages, many of them, and much to be excited about and look forward to. But, I will never again have Andrew at home with me. It's a tough thing to realize and accept. For me, at least. What I am so grateful for, though, is that Andrew is HAPPY. He looks forward to school. He doesn't cry. He doesn't have separation anxiety (even though I seem to have a severe case of it). He is anxious to learn and seems to have a lot of friends. I couldn't be more thankful for that.

It's that time again

2009-08-26T21:47:00.000-07:00

School has started. Anna is a 3rd grader. Where has the time gone? So, because of this...

it's time again for this...

Daily notes, written on a napkin, in Anna's lunchbox. I clearly remember my mom doing the same thing for me, and I loved it. Anna must love it, too, because as I was making her lunch on the first day of school, she asked: "Are you going to still write me notes in my lunch?"

Yes, Anna. Absolutely.

Add another one to The List...

2009-08-16T09:20:00.001-07:00

Yes. This absolutely needs to be added to The List. Why? Because I distinctly remember seeing one of my friends from my running group wear compression socks like the ones I'm wearing during a run. I distinctly remember thinking, "I will NEVER wear something like that. Ever." Well, as is the pattern when I make statements like that, I have and I will continue to do so.

They are compression socks. Compression socks help the lower legs during running by increasing circulation, help prevent injuries, aid in recovery following a run, etc. My legs and feet have been bothering me a lot lately, as my mileage is getting higher and higher. (Have you noticed my Top of Utah countdown is decreasing at a frightening pace??) I thought I'd try out the compression socks and see if they help.

I ran 18 miles yesterday. That is 4 miles further than I've ever run in my life. I had a good run yesterday and at the end of it, I felt like I could keep going. My training is working.

I did feel like my compression socks helped during my run, and now, a day later, I definitely think they help. I don't know, maybe it's just all in my head. I wouldn't count that option out...

This is the other thing that made a huge difference. The beautiful, glorious ice bath. This is how it works: a 20 lb bag of ice + the coldest water possible + crazy, high-pitched screams (at first) + the desire to yell obscenities because of the shocking and intense cold = bliss. I'm telling you, it's absolutely true. The ice and the cold water eliminate the inflammation in the legs and hips which leads to a very quick, almost pain-free (in this case, anyway) recovery. Today I feel awesome. I could totally run today if I wanted to. My legs feel tired, but I have very little pain, if any. All my injuries (knees, feet, IT bands) all feel good.

You should ALL try it sometime. You'll love it.

Spudman: 0 to the 9

2009-08-06T16:40:00.000-07:00

What: Spudman Triathlon: 1 mile swim, 25 mile bike, 6.2 mile run

Where: Burley, Idaho

When: July 25, 2009

Time: 7:00 a.m.

Why: Because I committed to it

Spudman. Isn't that just a cool name of a triathlon or what? Or, as my loveliest sister Kathryn so eloquently puts it, "the potato race". I registered for Spudman at the beginning of the year. I registered for it without even knowing it was an Olympic distance event. I registered for it before I could even swim 200 meters without stopping. I registered for it without ever having done a triathlon of any distance. Let me tell you this: I'm so glad I let my friend gently coerced me into registering.

We got to Burley in the late afternoon on Friday. We went with my friend (the one that gently coerced me into doing this craziness) Jim, his wife Betsy and their kids. Jim has competed in Spudman several times. It was so nice to have him around to calm my ever-increasing anxiety about what I had gotten myself into.

We went and picked up our race packets and got a good look at the starting line, finish line, and transition areas. We set up our bikes in T1 and found a spot in T2. I must admit, it was pretty exciting being there among so many other triathletes. It was actually very beautiful there. The Snake River runs right through Burley. It was a little intimidating to see that river and think of having to swim a mile in it, but after jumping in and testing it out the night before the race, I felt much better.

We all stayed together at the same hotel right in Burley. By nothing short of a miracle, we were able to stay in the hotel both nights rather than just the night after the race as was originally scheduled.

This is Jim and I on race morning. There were 7 waves of racers; Jim was in wave 4 and I was in wave 5. I liked being able to watch the 4 waves ahead of mine start. It helped me to know what to expect a little more. Oh. And it made me anxious. And nervous.

Getting all suited up in my wetsuit. I had about 10 minutes to go before my wave was scheduled to start.

Awwww yyyyeeeeaaaahhhh. You betcha. Total awesomeness in that hunter-orange cap.

My beautiful future triathlete.

This is wave 4 (Jim's wave) starting out. It was pretty incredible to watch so many swimmers. My wave started at 7:40. Jon and the kids were there watching me, which was SO awesome. I loved it. I struggled a little with the swim, but I now know it was because of a problem with my wetsuit not fitting properly. Once I get that taken care of, I'm sure open water swims will be a much better experience. Right?

Swim? Done. I can't tell you how excited I was to get the heck out of that water, and more particularly, out of my wetsuit. I had a pretty good swim to bike transition; although I did run right passed my bike! Thankfully Betsy was there to help direct me.

Beginning the 25 mile bike ride through the potato fields of Burley. It actually was a beautiful course and I really enjoyed it. I had a great ride with no problems whatsoever. I kept a good, quick pace and but felt like I still had enough left for the run.

I had a great bike to run transition, even though I ran right passed my transition spot (again!) and Betsy had to direct me (again!) I've been really struggling with a tear in the plantar fascia of my left foot which causes a tremendous amount of pain, especially when I run. Yeah, that doesn't help me very much, now does it? I was SO worried that I wouldn't be able to finish the run. Two weeks before Spudman I was even entertaining the idea of having someone relay the run section with me. I had a lot of pain right at the beginning of the run, but after the first mile I was able to run with very little pain. The run was hard because it had gotten hot outside and there was no shade along the course. But, all things considering, I felt pretty good during the run. Of course my iPod's battery died, but that's just the way it goes for me during races.

Coming down the hill on the beautiful golf course that was the finish line was one of the best experiences I've ever had. There were so many people lining the sidelines - cheering, clapping and sometimes screaming their support. I can't tell you how overwhelming it was. It was a pretty emotion thing for me; especially considering all the obstacles I had to overcome to get to that finish line. I finished with a fantastic time of 2:53:16. I was expecting to come in almost 20 minutes later than I did, so I was (and still am) extremely happy with my time. In fact, I ran my second fasted 10K time ever.

I was so happy to see everyone at the finish! The kids seemed so happy and excited. I could tell that Jon was so proud and happy for me.

Check out that sweet medal!!

Andrew thought it was pretty sweet, too. The first thing he asked me when he saw the medal is if he could have it. Not a chance, son.

I'm an official Spudman finisher. Loved it. Can't wait to do it again next year.

Resolutions 2009: Failure #1

2009-08-02T15:39:00.000-07:00

Remember when I resolved to do these things? Well, apparently it was time for a reminder of some of those resolutions, and a realization that I have indeed failed at one of them.

BLAST. It finally happened. I got pulled over AND received a ticket. I know, believe me, I know. It was a surprise even to me, because this is the 6th time I've been pulled over - all without being cited for anything, ever. But, my luck has run out.

As you will notice from my ticket, the officer that pulled me over was actually pretty generous, as he only gave me a ticket for going 5 mph over the speed limit, and not the 15 mph I was actually going.

Please, people, there is a lesson to be learned from my experience here. The cop that pulled me over was NOT a Highway Patrolman. Oh no. Of course I would never drive 80 mph passed a Highway Patrolman. He was in a local city police car, off-duty (in plain-clothes), and driving with a passenger in the front seat. I had no idea (up until now, of course) that anyone besides Highway Patrol could pull you over on the freeway. WRONG. Totally wrong. So, lesson of the day: if you're going to drive 80 mph, just make sure there are no Highway Patrol cars, city police cars, or any plain-clothed officers with passengers anywhere nearby.

Or, just don't drive 80 mph at all. That option seems to be working well for me, especially after having to pay $90 for that blasted ticket.

Am I right or am I right? Right? Right?

2009-07-29T13:57:00.000-07:00

So, this is not going to make a whole lot of sense to most people. I get that. But, don't you sometimes feel like you have to just put it out there, regardless of who is listening or who isn't or who understands and who doesn't?

I resent having to be a part of something that I am so absolutely against. Don't worry - it's nothing earth-shattering or life-altering, I promise. I wish I could elaborate, but I can't yet. Let me just put it in a very vague context: have you ever had such strong feelings about something, anything - but no matter how much you tried to voice those thoughts, feelings, emotions, it simply did not matter because you were in the minority? I think that's why I'm feeling so shaken today. It simply does not matter how passionately I feel about this; in the end, I was out-numbered. Simple as that. How is that right? How is that fair? As I'm sitting here reflecting on that experience, I believe that this is the first time in my entire life where I have had this happen: been the minority, out-numbered, had my opinion overruled by mere numbers. This is the thing: I feel like I, and the ones who stood with me, am right. The ones that held the opposite perspective also felt they were right.

But, in the end, the majority rules.

My new love

2009-07-27T16:27:00.000-07:00

That's right. I've broken down and done it. I'm an iPhone owner. I swore I'd never do it. Never. But, just like everything else I swore I'd never do, I've done it. And I love it. Truly, I do.

Skydiving: Check.

2009-07-08T16:31:00.000-07:00

Last year at our annual trip to St. George with my family, Rob proposed to Jenna after they both went skydiving. Well, it apparently has now become a tradition - the sky diving part, that is. Jon committed to doing it. He was so excited and just a little nervous.

Practicing exiting the plane with Instructor Rick.

Practicing air position.

It took about 20 minutes for the plane to reach the altitutde they needed - 14,000 feet. We, the spectators, had a blast watching Jon slowly decend once he pulled the parachute. We could even hear him yelling! He had a good landing and was totally, totally pumped about the experience. He said he loved it! It was awesome watching him...so awesome that...

...I decided to do it, too!!! This is me signing my life away (literally). Of course, skydiving is one of the many things on "The List" - all the things I swore I'd never do. It probably was in the top three, actually. Not anymore!

Practicing with Instructor Rick. Right now I'm feeling excited and a little bit anxious.

Getting all ready...definitely starting to feel just a little nerouvs now.

Everyone told me that the worst part is having the door to the plane open and having to scoot out on the edge. I actually didn't think that was too bad at all. What I did think was scary was the whole FREEFALL thing 14,000 feet above the earth. Yeah. That. I tried really hard to not look like I was scared to death, but if you watch the video, you'll notice I didn't do a very good job at that. After a few seconds, that panic feeling went away and I really did think it was fun. After I pulled the parachute, though, that was the highlight of the whole experience. It was so peaceful, beautiful and incredible. I had absolutely no fear at that point; I could've stayed like that indefinitely.

I had the best landing of the day! It was so easy, no problems whatsoever. As soon as I landed, Anna came running out to meet me, which I absolutely loved.

Well, we did it!! I can honestly say it was the craziest, scariest but coolest thing I've ever done. I would totally do it again. What a RUSH!

Here's our videos; proof that we really did it!

Wasatch Back 2009

2009-07-08T16:19:00.000-07:00

What an incredible experience Wasatch Back was! It was my first year doing it...and definitely not my last! I loved it and can't wait for next year. We had such a fantastic team, especially the girls from Van 2!! Our team name was "Run Your Butt Off", hence the plastic butts. And yes, some of us really did run wearing the butt.

Me on my first leg - 3.8 miles.

This is my last leg, 3.4 miles uphill (7.5% grade) at Guardsman's Pass. Probably one of the hardest things I've ever done. My second leg was 9.7 miles, which I started at about 1:00 a.m.

The Van 2 girls at the finish!

We did it!

My Angel

2009-07-08T16:15:00.000-07:00

My beautiful angel Anna was baptized on 6 June 2009. It was a wonderful day.

Oh how I do NOT love...

2009-06-14T18:07:00.000-07:00

A follow-up to yesterday's post.

Having my blood drawn

Chaos.

When the bushes outside aren't perfectly shaped. Perfectly.

Realizing I've forgotten about something important.

Answering the phone.

Talking on the phone.

Listening to voicemail.

Returning calls. (Do you get the general pattern yet?)

Tomatoes.

When my favorite comb goes missing.

Dragonflies, butterflies...anything that flies.

When people drive slower than the speed limit.

Nike workout tops for women.

Kris Allen.

The hymn "There is Sunshine in My Soul Today" and a handful of others like it.

Katie Couric, and all the rest.

Getting the mail.

The cheap, tan-colored, flimsy paper with light blue lines on it that is used all the time in elementary schools. Can't stand the way it looks or feels. It makes me cringe to this day.

The scars on my elbows - particularly the left one.

Grocery shopping.

Wrapping presents.

The word "pecan".

When the toilet doesn't get flushed.

Winter.

That I am so particular about things that most people probably have never even though about.

The zoo.

When people write checks at the grocery store.

Organizing social events.

Spaghetti.

Oh how I love...

2009-06-13T22:12:00.000-07:00

Fox News.

My Garmin Forerunner 405.

Really, really spicy food.

Driving.

My scrubs.

Cherry chapstick.

The rocking chairs on my front porch.

Mowing the lawn.

Reading the obituaries.

Keeping in touch with people on Facebook and blogs.

Laughing hysterically with my sisters.

Vanilla coke zero.

Going to the dentist.

Staying up late.

Laying in the sun.

Buying workout gear.

The simple things.

Andrew's incredibly "squishy" ears.

My neighborhood.

Vacuuming.

Maps.

Filing papers.

Being busy.

Feeling involved.

Finally having a key to my front door.

Meeting new people.

The smell of the ice rink at South Davis Recreation Center.

Natural peanut butter.

The Gateway.

Driving through the neighborhood I grew up in.

Being the oldest child.

Bono.

Adam Lambert.

Texting.

South Davis Road Runners.

A brand new, perfect, untouched book.

Looking at pictures from the past.

Scentsy.

Bleaching my teeth.

Getting a physical every year.

Being able to laugh at myself.

Being smaller than I was in high school (or probably junior high).

Being able to still play the piano well.

The word "immediacy".

Taking on a challenge.

Having short hair.

Keeping a journal of what the kids say in their prayers.

Seeing "Mt. Ju" from the dirt road as we're driving to the cabin.

The sound of ice skates on the ice.

DVR.

Feeling the good kind of sore.

Google.

"Coming to America" by Neil Diamond.

Sunday dinners at my Mom's house.

Summer.

Triathlon: Check.

2009-06-08T19:33:00.001-07:00

It's that time again. It's time for me to update the "All the Things I Swore I Would Never Do" list. Time to add "triathlon" to the list. I have done it. It has happened. It is in the past...and now it is most definitely in the future!

30 May 2009. The day of my first triathlon. As I've mentioned, if you would have told me 6 months ago that I would do something like this, I would have kindly referred you to The List (heretofore, I will refer to "All the Things I Swore I Would Never Do" simply as "The List"). Six months ago, I had just bought my first road bike. I had only ridden a total of 20 miles. I had fallen off the thing within the first 30 seconds of riding it. To add to that, I had just started swimming (refer to this post) and I honestly, truly recall so clearly hardly being able to swim ONE length, 25 meters, of the pool. It took me weeks (and weeks) to swim two consecutive lengths. Oh, and one last thing: I had just had knee surgery.

But, despite all that, I can now say that I am a triathlete. And an addicted one at that.

Please don't get the wrong idea; I am in no way saying how great or spectacular I am. Quite the contrary, actually. Truth be told, I am an average runner, a pretty good still kind-of-beginner cyclist, and an average but improving swimmer. I'm not that person that wins my age group. I'm not that person that competes with others. I'm that person that does it because I can. And I enjoy it. And it's fun. The point I want to emphasize is that if I, Juliann, can do it...anyone can. Anyone. And I'm not only referring to triathlons. The older I get, the more I am convinced at the importance of setting a goal and working hard to achieve it. Especially the kind of goals that you swear you will never do.

The swim portion of the triathlon - 400 meters.

Running to transition. Feeling so relieved that the swim is OVER!

Crossing the finish line...oh how I love that feeling.

ALL my sisters were there to support me, plus my Mom, Anna, Andrew, brother-in-law, nieces, nephews...

...oh yeah, and this guy! I was so incredibly grateful to have so much support. It makes an event like this so much more meaningful...and worth it. I love you all!!

Thou Shalt Not Resist Change

2009-06-01T16:53:00.000-07:00

It is no secret that I struggle with accepting change. It's always been hard for me, as long as I can remember. Even back when I was little, I can remember being devastated at the end of each school year, knowing that I had to leave the teacher that I had grown to love. As a teenager, I resisted the change that came in the form of the death of a dear friend. As a senior in high school, I felt physically sick every time I thought of graduating. When I was first married, it was hard for me to let go of my family environment that I was so used to. Having my first child was probably the most difficult of all - having to deal with change on every level imaginable. It was rough, to say the least.

Why must I be so resistant to change? In my logical mind, I know that there is nothing I can do to alter or control these changes. So why put myself through the agony? All I know is that I still have a hard time. This time of year, especially, brings out a lot of those feelings. The school year is coming to an end. That means my kids are getting older, moving out of their current grade and into the next. Anna is eight. Eight! She will be baptized soon. Andrew will never be a preschooler again. Ever. He is on his way to Kindergarten, not for a few more months, however, but soon enough.

I sometimes feel like my life is like an important paper or document that I had firmly in my hand, but then a sudden windstorm comes, and it accidentally slips out of my grasp, floating farther and farther away as I desperately run to try and catch it again.

I'm trying to say that I don't want my kids to grow up. I don't want them to get any older. I want to hold on to these sweet, precious, almost magical moments of their childhood and not let go. I want them to never stop calling me "Mommy". I want them to always run to me when they get hurt. I want to feel like their whole existence is pure, innocent, happy, simple. I don't want Andrew to have to look around to see who's watching before giving me a hug and kiss. I want Anna to always tell me that I'm her best friend. I don't want to feel like they are so independent that they just don't really need me very much anymore, except for maybe driving them to and from their activities.

Is that so much to ask?

I know what the answer is. That is why I resist change. That is why, although I'm excited and hopeful for their futures, I want to hold on to the present with a death-grip. I try to completely saturate myself in every experience - each preschool program, school program, Primary talks, singing on Mother's Day, sitting on the porch waiting for Anna to walk home from school, volunteering in her classroom, going on fieldtrips, watching Anna ice skate, playing Legos with Andrew, seeing him play with the puppies, all the letters, cards, pictures, songs, etc. It is in those experiences that make everything worth it. And then some.

My Moments

2009-06-01T16:30:00.000-07:00

So many things have happened in the last two weeks. It would take forever to talk about each one individually. However, I can summarize them into what I like to call "My Moments." My mom coined that phrase long ago. Whenever one of us would sing in church, or perform at school, or achieve an accomplishment, she would proudly exclaim, this is another one of "My Moments." I've had many of those lately. My Moments:

I became a proud aunt to beautiful baby Parker.

My beautiful ice princess Anna skated in the Ice Show and did such an amazing job. She was SO cute! She has worked really hard and did her very best at each performance.

We are so proud of her and her amazing talents and accomplishments.

Anna's 2nd grade class performed their end-of-year program that was absolutely wonderful. It was a patriotic-themed program, complete with some of my favorite songs.

She sang her heart out; I cried my eyes out.

Andrew graduated from Preschool. (I cried my eyes out over that, too.)

My first baby turned 8 years old. Eight. How is that possible?

These are some of the "My Moments" that I've had lately. Each one is so precious to me; I feel so blessed to have the opportunities that I do. I love my little kiddies so much. They are everything to me. Everything.

On somewhat of a sidenote: as I was sitting there watching Anna's program at school, I was so overwhelmed with gratitude just to be there. That may sound like I'm stating the obvious, but I couldn't help but think of Anna's friend, who's mom (my friend) is no longer on earth, and just be thankful for the chance I had to be there. I never take times like those for granted. Especially now. It is in those moments that I find true joy.

Lucy

2009-05-14T20:13:00.000-07:00

Well, we've done it again. Another addition to the family. No, not another human. A sweet, beautiful little shih-tzu puppy that has been named Lucy. She is 7 weeks old.

Here she is meeting her big sister Lola for the first time. Let's just put it this way: it's going to be an adjustment for them.

Lucy getting a treat from Jon after going to the bathroom outside successfully.

I am a proud Mama.

Field Trips = Things I Have Never Seen

2009-05-07T20:18:00.000-07:00

Okay. Any of you ever witness a lamb being sheared before?? Well, now I can say that I certainly have. I accompanied Anna on a field trip to a local dairy farm recently, and this is the first thing we saw. It's been a couple weeks since the field trip, and I can honestly say I think about this image and the experience that went along with it far too often. I just couldn't believe how they just flop that huge lamb around like it's the most normal, routine thing in the world. Oh and get this - the poor thing was PREGNANT. My heart truly went out to her. I seriously wanted to comfort her, and them promptly smack those idiot cowboys and tell them to be more considerate to the poor thing.

What I've Learned From Our First-Ever Family Vacation.

2009-04-27T19:13:00.000-07:00

Family Vacation 2009: San Diego. To look at our pictures, one would be inclined to think that our long-awaited trip to San Diego was truly wonderful, fun, exciting - a time for family bonding and memories. Yes, all that is true, but there were some other things I discovered on our trip that I want to share.

Discovery #1: It is so much work to get all of us ready to go anywhere, let alone to another state for several days. I now completely understand why my poor mom was always a frazzled, frenzied wreck by the time a trip actually came around - it's because she had been up until the early hours of the morning for days trying to get all of us ungrateful brats ready to go.

Discovery #2: It would be wise from now on, in regards to family vacations, to set my standards and expectations much, much lower from the beginning, as to avoid feeling any potential disappointment that my occur.

Discovery #3: Children have an unbelievable and miraculous ability to intensify the fighting between each other TEN FOLD before even arriving to the desired destination of the family vacation.

Discovery #4: Everything that goes wrong is my fault.

Discovery #5: Plan on spending at least triple the amount of money you think you will spend. And then add a few hundred more dollars to that amount, and you'll probably be about right on.

Discovery #6: Children instantaneously develop exhaustion-induced paralysis when entering an amusement park.

Discovery #7: Due to Discovery #6, we ended up carrying the children much more than I thought was humanly possible.

Discovery #8: The realization that children have no concept of cost and the value of money is never more apparent than when visiting an amusement park.

Discovery #9: We (Jon and I) were so consumed with providing a fun, memorable experience for the children - oh, and preventing the children from fighting and trying to physically injure each other, that we found it difficult to talk and interact with each other.

Discovery #10: The children acquired the tendency to talk back more than ever before.

Discovery #11: I now appreciate my trip to Hawaii (without the children - and the accompanying work, hassle, fighting, attitudes, etc.) much more than I ever have.

Discovery #12: Possibly the most enlightening of them all: I can now completely and fully understand why my parents were reluctant to ever go anywhere when we were growing up.

I know that after reading my discoveries, it seems like everything was negative. It wasn't. Not everything...just a lot more things than I thought there would be. BUT...even if I would have known all of these discoveries prior to leaving, I absolutely still would have done it. The time we spent with Amy, Jim and their kids was priceless. Being able to see part of their lives as a military family was fascinating. Seeing the kids interact and create memories and friendships with their cousins was fulfilling. Watching Anna and Andrew play in the ocean for the first time was extraordinary. Seeing the kids' faces when they saw dolphins, whales and sea lions in person was rewarding. Watching their excitment and nervousness when getting on a plane for the first time was thrilling. Creating a memory for Anna and Andrew is what it's all about; and with that as the end result, I couldn't be happier.

Don't be fooled - I had to force Anna take this picture with me.

Anna, me, Megan & Amy after our roller coaster experience. My first one in my whole life.

Amy and I doing what we do best.

At the dolphin show at Sea World - notice Andrew's face. Classic.

The Shamu show.

When and where will our next family vacation be, you ask? That is yet to be determined. However, I can tell you our next Hawaii trip will be much sooner rather than later.

This is a MUST see!

2009-04-18T21:01:00.000-07:00

I came across this blog recently and I can honestly say it is one of the BEST blogs out there! I absolutely love it. Whenever you've had a crappy day, things just don't seem to ever be going right, kids are extraordinarily bratty, you feel overwhelmed, you've cleaned up one too many dog messes, been depressed after paying bills, and just plain had it with everything and everyone...just take a look at this: http://www.sexypeople-blog.com/

I promise you will feel better.

2009-04-17T21:52:00.000-07:00

I just need to say what has been on my mind the last few weeks. As some of you know, a very good friend of mine passed away last month; a beautiful, vibrant mother of 5. I do not cope well with change; especially THAT kind of change. It's really been difficult for me. It completely shook me to my core - left me reeling with grief, sadness and confusion. However, I had the great privilege of doing her hair for her for the viewing/funeral, as she had been a client of mine for a while. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but also one of the most incredible, spiritual and peaceful experiences I've had. It was a true honor, and I feel so blessed to have done that for her. Just a few days ago, another friend and neighbor passed away. With it being Easter time, and especially considering the deaths of these two amazing people, I have been reflecting on life, death, purpose, meaning. Why? Why do these things happen? I don't know, and I don't know that I ever will. But, I have found tremendous comfort in the lyrics of a piece of music that my choir will be performing next month, entitled "Let Peace Then Still Thy Strife" by Mack Wilberg. The first time we rehearsed this piece, I was immediately overwhelmed by the power and depth of the words:

Let peace then still the strife,
The loneliness and grief,
Come heal the piercing silence of passing.
And sweet familiar strains,
The voices lost in death,
Arise in songs of hope - ever lasting.
Then let the voices roll,
As waves upon the sea;
Come forth and break upon us, refreshing.

And barren coves be filled-
O'er-flow with reverie!
Let mem'ry salve as Gilead's caressing.
And though the balm be spread,
Let tender rifts remain
That breaking hearts not yield - to forgetting.

For hearts rent wide at death,
Unfolded to our dead,
Hear singing from beyond - sunlight's setting.

Then sing, beloved ones,
Reach o'er the summer sea.
Pour forth thy boundless love - for us living!
Sweep into ev'ry soul,
Make music of our tears,
Turn all our songs to joy - and thanksgiving!

And when we silent pass,
From far across the sea
Let praises ring for life' - wond'rous blessing.

Then sing ye living souls!
Sing generations past,
Swell high the tide of life, us refreshing!
Sing forth as with one voice,
Bear silent grief away,
Resound, peace and hope, ever lasting!

And all who wait and all who sing earth and heav'n
And make crossing forth joyful passing!

Amen!

101 Things I've Done: good, bad and just plain retarded.

2009-03-31T18:33:00.000-07:00

My cousin Kristen did this - listed 101 things she had done. I was fascinated with her list of things and wondered what I would come up with, if I had to think of 101 things I have done in my life. Of course, I gotta keep it real, so I threw in some not-so-flattering things. The thing I realized the most by doing this list is all the things I have YET to do; the things that I really want to do in the future. I look forward to adding to the list of things I've done, and hopefully keeping the retarded things I do to a minimum. Yeah, right.

101 Things

1 – Skipped Kindergarten.

2 – Took my dad as my date to my Senior Ball, and it was one of the best dates I’ve ever been on.

3 – Worked as a volunteer at a local hospital.

4 – Watched a best friend die.

5 – Been pulled over 4 times, but never had a ticket.

6 – Had bone removed from both of my hips.

7 – Had said bone used to do a fusion in my lower back – 3 times.

8 – Slapped someone in the face.

9 – Said a lot of things I shouldn’t.

10 – Wished that I were skinnier.

11 – And taller.

12 – Spent upwards of $150 on a pair of jeans.

13 – Told my parents I was going somewhere I never intended on going.

14 – Felt stupid when my parents found out I never intended on going where I said I was.

15 – Snuck out of the house after my parents were asleep.

16 – Gambled in Vegas.

17 – Broken someone’s heart.

18 – Been caught telling a lie.

19 – Picked up a sink on the side of the road with my friends, put it in my car, put a few goldfish in it, and left it on Justin Thompson’s doorstep. He loved it. “Pick it up!”

20 – Felt like a failure.

21 – Wanted more out of life.

22 – Gotten more out of life.

23 – Been fluent in sign language.

24 – Skinny dipped in just about every body of water in Utah with my girl friends.

25 – Made out in a car.

26 – Felt like I’m not doing enough with my life.

27 – Cried when I got to see U2 in concert for the first time.

28 – Played the cello for a while.

29 – Most of the things I’ve always sworn I would never do.

30 – Dry heaved at the sight of a spider (and a dragonfly, now that I think of it…)

31 – Been on the receiving end of a prank call – and the caller was a total pervert. It pretty much scarred me for life.

32 – Gone hunting with my dad.

33 – Shot many different types of guns.

34 – Sang at a funeral.

35 – Witnessed an elderly woman actually die during a death requiem the Utah Symphony was performing.

36 – Been on fertility.

37 – Been thrown up on while working as a dental assistant.

38 – Watched my dad accidently stick a serrated knife through his arm.

39 – Steal some articles of clothing out of my friend’s house – with a couple other friends.

40 – Given someone a phone number that wasn’t mine.

41 – Lied about how old I really am (back when I was 18 and I was telling people I was 22...I was 22 for approximately 5 years.)

42 – Pretty much have become Michael Phelps.

42 – Had extensions. Twice.

42 – Lived as a student in student housing.

42 – Performed for two LDS Prophets – Pres. Hinckley and Pres. Monson.

43 – Made promises I didn’t keep.

44 – Met Dorothy Hamill.

45 – Have tailgated many, many slow idiot drivers.

46 – Have served a subpoena to someone.

47 – Thought I was going to die.

48 – With the help of my girl friends, we deposited countless boiled hotdogs into the new truck of a guy, that will remain nameless, on graduation night. We put them everywhere you can think of: exhaust pipe, under the door handles, in the rims, skewered them on the windshield wipers, even inside the gas door.

49 – Had voice lessons.

50 – Wished I were an amazing dancer.

51 – Put the totally wrong color on someone’s hair (it was in beauty school, so clients - you need not fear).

52 – Stalled my manual-transmission car in the middle of an intersection. Multiple times.

53 – Gotten onto a very fast-moving treadmill that I didn’t know was moving.

54. Consequently fell off said fast-moving treadmill. Twice. In front of my whole gym.

55. Entertained the idea of competing in figure/fitness competitions.

56. Loved being a ice skater.

57. Broken my tailbone.

58. Confided 100% in someone.

59. Fed (read: breastfed) my baby in the middle of the Chicago O’Hare airport, while sitting on the floor in some random, deserted, gross hallway.

60. Given birth to two amazing, beautiful, healthy babies.

61. Resigned to the fact that I am completely incapable of using chopsticks. Yes, I eat sushi with a fork, people.

62. Felt what it feels like to have two screws suddenly break in half in my spine.

63. Been too critical of the people I love most.

64. Taken a road trip by myself.

65. Eaten an entire tube of cookie dough in one sitting (I was pregnant…give me a break!)

66. Made up an excuse so I wouldn’t have to go on a date with a guy that I thought wasn’t cute in the slightest.

67. Sung in the Tabernacle.

68. Comforted a crying child I didn’t know.

69. Pierced my own ear.

70. Took that piercing out after my dad told me he would rip it out of my head if I didn’t take it out myself.

71. Had my eyeliner tattooed on.

72. Donated blood to myself to be used during my back surgeries.

73. Was spit on by a complete stranger in downtown Salt Lake.

74. Was a Notary Public.

75. Asked a boy to dance in Jr. High, and he told me no. That still stings to think about.

76. Had braces.

77. Committed to going sky diving on 7.03.09.

78. Faked being sick to get out of running the mile and a half - pretty much all through junior high.

79. Experienced true and real happiness.

80. Envied my sisters.

81. Tried out for cheerleader in Jr. High…and didn’t make it.

82. Seen Stonehenge.

83. Refused to participate in dissecting a frog in 10^th grade.

84. Had an entire box of Christmas cards thrown at me by a former boss.

85. Went to state solo and ensemble in piano and won my division by performing Lieder ohne Worte.

86. Been on the front row of a concert (RASCAL FLATTS!!!)

87. Had a complete and total head-over-heels crush on Michael J. Fox.

88. My mom suggested that I use some nose spray because I had a really bad cold when I was probably 15 or 16, and I pretty much ended up snorting half the bottle, which burned my throat to the point that I had to call poison control. Never will use that crap again.

89. Never doubted the existence of God.

90. Dated a couple of guys I totally shouldn’t have.

91. Was completely humiliated when I had to be casted in plaster so I could be fitted for a custom (might I emphasize the word "custom") fitted back brace by some middle-aged guy that I swear may have just been released from prison.

92. Lived for walks on the Willow Creek golf course with Grandpa Rasmussen.

93. Cheated on just about every single test in Human Biology. (It's okay, mom, everyone did it.)

94. Had to walk into the cafeteria of the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo to notarize a signature on an Affidavit.

95. Was called "chubby" by a girl in 7th grade when I really wasn't at all - but it affected me so much and I've never forgotten it.

96. Had many good times at the "B".

97. Duct-taped a big gulp cup to the top of James's van and drove around, laughing hysterically at all the MANY people who went completely out of their way to try to signal to us that there was a drink on top of the car.

98. Been a part of something truly great.

99. Hung a copy of The Declaration of Independence in my front room, to act as a reminder of the brilliance and inspiration of the Founding Fathers; and the courage and sacrifice of all those who are willing to protect and defend the greatness that is the United States of America.

100. Kissed Alecia multiple times, as she was always the dad when we all played house when we were little.

101. Decided that The Last of the Mohicans is probably my favorite movie of all time (“I will find you!!!!!!!!!!)

I love him.

2009-03-22T20:40:00.001-07:00

Yesterday we had a surprise birthday for my Grandpa Rasmussen, who turned 80. 80?! Can you believe it! Doesn't he look fantastic!

I just have to publically say how much I love my Grandpa. He is truly a hero in my life - always has been, always will be. I look up to him so much. He has been monumental in my life, in my decisions, in my pursuing my passions...in so many ways. I am extremely blessed to have such amazing, involved grandparents who love and support me and my family through it all. I could never say enough how grateful I am. I love you, Grandpa.

I just gotta say...

2009-03-16T18:35:00.001-07:00

...that I have just had it lately with one thing in particular: people that tell my kids to "be careful" when I am clearly right next to them, observing their every move.

Case in point: Last week I went to three places - the post office, the bank and the grocery store all in one afternoon. I brought along Andrew, who is 5. He is a boy. He likes to climb on things. He does not like to sit still or be so calm that he is almost comatose. At the post office, he was climbing on the ledge that is underneath where you put a letter to be mailed. I was within 5 feet of him and not one, but TWO people said to him, "you better be careful, you're going to fall!" Oh really? Off a 2 foot ledge? And even if he did - so what? I don't mean to sound cruel and indifferent, but really - so what? Why and how does that concern them? It is so undermining to have random strangers need to "warn" my child of the obvious, imminent danger that they're in. So, of course, I roll my eyes (in a very exaggerated way), completely ignore the comments, and finish what I was there to do.

Onto the next instance: the bank. Andrew was climbing on the stand where you fill our your transaction ticket. Oh, and not that it matters, but I was right there, too. He jumped off of it - just once, mind you. Immediately I had some old hag telling him, "oh you better be careful, you'll crack your head open." If I had the tools necessary to conduct a formal, scientific experiment on how many children, age 5, have jumped off a 1 foot pedestal and consequently "cracked their head open", I'm telling you now, I would be all over it.

And finally, the grocery store. Just as an added bonus, this next event occurred behind the slowest check-writer of all time. Check this post for more details. Anyway, Andrew was hanging on the bars that separate the checkout lanes, as all kids that go to the grocery store always do. Due to my extreme level of irritation by this point, I was half expecting another comment. Never do that. I should know not to challenge my own pitifully bad luck. Again, another good samaritan warning Andrew of the dangers of hanging on the two-foot tall bars has to pipe in and make an over-exaggerated, cautionary comment. Instead of just disregarding the comment, as I am so used to doing, I decided to take a different approach. Encourage the behavior. That will really make me look like a failure of a mother in front of the good samaritan. So, I told Andrew how strong he was and how awesome he was - with a big, fat smile on my face and my eyes beaming with pride, at the same time taking a split second to quickly glance over my shoulder at the good samaritan, just to make sure she saw how truly happy and proud I was.

[Total side note: I am aware that I might indeed being going to hell for all this]

So, my two questions are these. #1: Am I really just a horribly neglectful, irresponsible parent that needs to be reprimanded frequently by total strangers, most of whom probably have never had children or are too old to remember what it's like to have children? #2: What is the motivation of these strangers to make comments like that? Is it because they are trying to teach me how to be less of a danger to my child, or are they truly so concerned and obsessed with the safety and protection of some random child that they have never seen and will probably never see again?

Anyone want to take a wild guess as to how I answer these questions?! I can tell you this - my answers would just pave the way for my impending trip to that fiery furnace...

Hawaii

2009-03-10T08:47:00.001-07:00

We got home Sunday from a great trip to Kauai. We had some unexpected things happen, but overall it was so nice to be away together! We stayed in a beautiful condo in Princeville. I can't wait to go back there. This picture was taken at Hideaways Beach - the first beach we went to.

We spent two days at Poipu Beach. Supposedly this was the sunniest place on the island. One of the things we encountered on our trip was NOT very good weather. It was rainy, cloudy, cold, windy and overcast almost the whole time. Poipu beach was definitely better weather than anywhere else, so we had no problem having to make the drive there.

Kauai was absolutely beautiful. It truly is a paradise - a heaven on earth. I just can't say enough about it.

Another situation we encountered was me being completely slammed with influenza type A the day we got there. I was so incredibly sick - second only to when I had mono for the first time. It was terrible. I went to see a doctor there because I was so sick.

A beautiful lighthouse just outside of Princeville. A definite must-see.

The other beach we spent a lot of time at was Lydgate. We totally loved it there. This was the only partly-sunny day we had in Kauai, and it was wonderful.

Another view of Lydgate Beach.

A beach along the Na Pali coast line - where movies like "The Thornbirds" and "South Pacific" were filmed.

Along the highway by the Na Pali coast line we saw two caves! They were SO cool. The above picture is taken from inside the cave looking out. It was amazing.

Jon was ALL about the snorkeling! He seriously spent hours doing it. He tried to convince me...but to no avail. Because I was so sick, I didn't feel like doing anything like that. I had a high fever and horrible body aches, so getting in the water was not going to happen.

So now...a few observations:

#1: I could never live in Kauai. It's an ideal place to vacation, but I couldn't live there because I'm not a laid-back enough person! I swear everyone there was so laid-back, go with the flow. I wish I could be more like that, but I'm just not.

#2: I really don't like feeling like a tourist. It took me a while to really put my finger on this observation. I don't like feeling lost, confused, totally disoriented, like an outsider.

#3: It seems like Kauai is a place where anything goes. On the beaches there were all different types of people, and no one really stood out one way or another. The people there seem to be very tolerant and open-minded.

#4: The humidity!! Oh wow.

#5: The hitchhikers!! Oh my gosh, I couldn't believe how many people were trying to hitchhike. Maybe it goes back to observation #1 and 3...

#6: Everything in Kauai was at least double the price you would pay for the same thing here.

It was a great six days in paradise. I can't wait to go back again soon.