Troop Support

Last week during our drive to Harpers Ferry, WVA, Jamie, Kelly and I started talking about the prolific presence of the yellow (camouflage, etc.) ribbon magnets on people’s cars that read: “Support Our Troops.” Kelly remarked, “Hope you are willing to keep those ribbons on your cars for the rest of your lives.” This war represents tragedy not only in the form of an ever increasing body count but in the multitude of soldiers who come home wounded, sometimes so badly that they will never be able to work or provide for a family. If people really wanted to ‘support the troops’ then they would realize what types of support are needed and find mechanisms for helping them either recover or transition from war to home. The soldiers and their families often need long-term support and hopefully as the war progresses and more soldiers are wounded we can realize the fullness of this dilemma. I am sorry when I hear of soldiers so wounded and maimed that their lives will never be normal again but what of the soldiers whose wounds are invisible, in the form of posttraumatic stress disorder? Surely these emotionally wounded soldiers struggle to switch from soldier mode to husband, father, friend, and son mode. Most of the soldiers are young and I wonder how deep, emotionally and physically, the ramifications of this war will be. In meantime, I support the troops and the wounded without a yellow ribbon on my car.

Carroll Valley Snowboarding

I went snowboarding on Saturday, my first time snowboarding with Jamie and my first time snowboarding in the East. I had snowboarded once previously, seven years ago with Ashley. We had friends working at Deer Valley in Park City, UT so we got the rental and lift tickets for free but we had no formal training and we spent most of our time tumbling down the mountain failing relentlessly to discover the tricks to starting and stopping successfully. I remember being terribly sore. Jamie and I went to Liberty Resort in Carroll Valley, PA where one could get a lift ticket, gear rental and lesson for $19. The weather was bright and cheery and the man-made snow was soft and fluffy, perfect for learning to snowboard. I was lucky and had an instructor all to myself for two hours. He patiently and encouragingly taught me how to glide, jump on and off the lift, start and stop. After two hours I was confidently combining toe turns with heel turns to become an official snowboarder. Nevertheless, I was enormously sore and tired. My knees were disfigured and bruised so I was only able to go on one run with Jamie but it was a fantastic run and gliding down the mountain with a growing sense of control was wonderful. Afterwards Jamie went on a last run down the more advanced slope and I proudly watched him cruise swiftly and even land a menacing jump. He is a terrific snowboarder. We went home tired, happy and excited to snowboard in Utah next week. Surprisingly, December has been a very active month for us. Last weekend we joined a Census outdoor group for a hike in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. The hike was roughly five miles and the ascent nearly killed me but the view from the top made the struggle worthwhile. We had a 360 degree view of lusciously green valleys and most impressive, an aerial view of antique Harpers Ferry. Walking through downtown were men and women in period clothing and the shops were all decorated with fresh garlands, wreaths and fruit making a very festive atmosphere. The active theme will continue when we arrive in Utah later this week. Fun!

Handel and the National Gallery of Art

Tonight Jamie and I are going to the National Cathedral to hear Handel’s Messiah. The last time I went to a Handel’s Messiah concert was five years ago when I was in London. The performers at the London concert were dressed in period costumes, which that added a nice historical context to the music. Handel’s Messiah is powerful celebration of Christ and my favorite chorus is, “Surely He Hath Born Our Griefs.” I would love to make a tradition out of going to the Cathedral for the Messiah concert. Jamie has never been to the Cathedral so tonight’s concert is doubly meaningful for him. I love this holiday season so much for the emphasis on family, traditions and thanksgiving.

Well, I failed to post the above paragraph last week. Jamie and I did attend the Messiah concert and it was a magnificent experience, one that I am still processing. Prior to the concert we met friends at a wood fired pizza restaurant a few blocks north of the Cathedral called 2Amys. I walked to the restaurant from the Tenley Town metro stop and the mile walk downhill in the dark of early evening was wonderfully refreshing because the lights and colors of the street all seemed to celebrate the holiday season. The cathedral came into view after a few hundred yards and the spires loomed large and wonderfully. 2Amy’s pizza was delicious. We all tried official Neopolitan pizza and the thin, chewy crust was perfectly satisfying. Baked olives marked the entire meal a success.

I loved walking into the National Cathedral with Jamie, watching him observe and soak in the scope and scale of such a brilliant structure. We quickly found our seats and had a few minutes to contemplate the sacred space before the concert started. The orchestra, choir and soloists performed the entire concert, which was a luxury for me since I had only ever heard the Messiah choruses. The instruments were Baroque, so we were graced with the sounds that Handel would have heard and expected. Most impressive of all, was the counter tenor soloist. When he first stood to sing I wasn’t sure if he was a man or woman because he looked like a man but the sound he was creating was what I would have ignorantly assigned to a woman. Welcome to the breadth of counter tenors. This man’s voice and artistic capability were so impressive that I greatly anticipated every solo he performed. His voice was celestial and seemed to celebrate the life of Christ better than the other voices. The chorus parts were dramatic and beautiful and so was the music. It was as if I were hearing the music and lyrics for the first time and when it all came together resulting in a tribute to Christ, I was humbled and grateful to have been a witness to something so powerful.

Earlier this week I went to the National Gallery with a three fold purpose: to view the Dutch collection, to see the Gerard ter Borch exhibit, and to celebrate Christmas with a myriad of paintings depicting Mary and the baby Jesus. I went on a beautifully clear and warm day, which proved to set the tone for an experience so wonderful I hope to repeat every year. The rotunda of the National Gallery was punctuated by bright red and white poinsettias and blooming amaryllis flowers. Visitors were greeted with grapefruit and orange trees heavy with fruit. The museum was tastefully festive.

The Dutch paintings were stunning in their rich color, pastoral settings and their remembrance of a simpler life. The landscape scenes were particularly tranquil and I wanted to step into any of the scenes with slow travelers on dusty roads shaded by thick, warm trees. Gerard ter Borch’s paintings were wonderful and his talent was in making the mundane transmundane by capturing facial expressions and posturing. He was famous for fantastically replicating satin and I must admit that his fabrics looked incredibly real and rich.

I found many Mary and the baby Jesus paintings that were sweet and celebratory. There were also many adoration of the magi paintings that I appreciated. It just made sense to view Christian art to conduct a ceremonious tribute to the season. The painting that I loved most of all (sorry…forgot the painter) was titled, “The Flight to Egypt” and showed Mary sitting on a rock wall holding the baby Jesus, who was playing with a bunch of grapes. Joseph was in the background hitting chestnuts out of a tree. Everything about the painting connoted peace and shared love in a precarious journey. I hope to return sometime this month with Jamie, who returned last night from a five day trip to New Mexico. It’s wonderful having him back, I can actually sleep again.

Trophy Rolls

Well, the French Dimple Rolls were delicious and they will now become a staple at the Davis Thanksgiving table. Successfully baking bread is a rare accomplishment for me so I was certainly reveling in my good fortune.
I can't believe my Thanksgiving holiday is over...Seems like I spend months anticipating my holidays only for them to end before I am satisfied. Nevertheless, Southern Virginia was beautiful and I enjoyed spending time with family.
A big congrats to Nicki on her weight loss and job promotion!

Thanksgiving menu, in parts

I am going to make my favorite apple pie with cheddar cheese crust for Thanksgiving. I prepared the last of our freshly picked Virginia apples several weeks ago and froze them for this happy holiday. Here is the recipe:

Apple Pie with Cheddar Cheese Crust
Makes One 10-inch Pie

Cheddar Crust dough (recipe follows)
1 1/2 pounds Granny Smith apples (about 3), peeled, cored, and cut into 1/4 inch thick wedges
2 pounds Cortland apples (about 5), peeled, cored, and cut into 1/4 inch thick wedges
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
2 tablespoons unslated butter, cut into small pieces
1 large egg, beaten

(1) Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Divide dough into two pieces. On a lightly floured work surface, roll out each to a 13-inch circle.
(2) Fit one circle into a 10-inch pie plate; transfer to a baking sheet. Put other circle on another baking sheet. Refrigerate dough until cold, at least 30 minutes.
(3) Stir together apples, sugar, flour, lemon juice, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and cloves. Spoon into bottom pie crust. Dot filling with butter. Cover with top crust. Fold edges over; crimp decoratively to seal. Cut a steam vent. Chill in freezer until firm, about 30 minutes.
(4) Brush with egg. Bake pie 10 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 350 degrees; bake until golden brown, about 45 minutes. Tent with foil; bake until juices are bubbling, about 45 minutes more. Let cool at least 1 1/2 hours before serving.

Cheddar Crust
Makes enough for one 10-inch double crust

2 1/2 cups all purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
14 tablespoons (1 3/4 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
4 ounces white cheddar cheese, coarsely grated (about 1 1/2 cups)
1/2 cup ice water

(1) Process flour, sugar, sand salt in a food processor. Add butter; pulse until pea-size lumps appear. Pulse in cheese. With processor running, add ice water; process just until dough comes together.
(2) Turn dough out; gather into a block. Wrap in plastic wrap. Refrigerate until cold, at least 30 minutes or up to 2 days. Dough can be frozen three weeks.


Notes: I used a mixture of fresh apples that were neither Granny Smith or Cortland and predictably, the pie was delicious. I didn't bother refrigerating the dough before preparing the pie. I learned recently that all the ingredients for pie crust should be chilled, in my opinion eliminating the need to put the dough in the fridge, if you are in a hurry. I also used regular yellow sharp cheddar cheese and again, the pie was amazing.


I like to make rolls for Thanksgiving in addition to apple pies. Two years ago I made sweet potato rolls and last year I made roasted garlic whole wheat rolls. Both were good but not perfect enough to warrant a tradition. This year I am going to try a french recipe for basic rolls. Here is the recipe:

French Dimpled Rolls

3 1/2 cups unbleached flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 ounce yeast
1/2 cup lukewarm milk
3/4 cup lukewarm water

Makes 10 rolls

(1) Lightly grease 2 baking sheets. Sift the flour and salt into a large bowl. Stir in the sugar and make a well in the center.
(2) Cream the yeast with the milk until dissolved, then pour into the center of the flour mixture. Sprinkle over a little of the flour around the edge. Leave at room temperature for 15-20 minutes, or until the mixture starts to bubble.
(3) Add the water and gradually mix in the flour to form a farily moist, soft dough. Turn onto a lightly floured surface and knead 8 to 10 minutes, until smooth and elastic. Place in a lightly oiled bowl, cover with lightly oiled clear film and leave to rise for about 1 1/2 hours, or until doubled in bulk.
(4) Turn onto a lightly floured surface and knock back, re-cover and leave to rest for 5 minutes. Divide the dough into 10 pieces. Shape the balls by rolling the dough under a cupped hand, then roll into a an oval. Lightly flour the tops. Space well apart on the baking sheets, cover with lightly oiled clear film and leave to rise for about 30 minutes or until almost doubled in size.
(5) Lightly oil the side of your hand and press the cneter of each roll to make a deep split. Re-cover and leave to rest for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, place a roasting pan in teh bottom of the oven and preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Pour 1 cup water into the tin and bake the rolls for 15 minutes, or until golden. Cool on a wire rack.


Happy Thanksgiving! I am grateful for Jamie, my family, the gospel, sustainable friendships, four seasons, bright red maples in the fall, hopping birds in the city, music, books, foreign films, free admission to museums, Alaska, the countryside of Virginia, candles in wintry windows, London, JingShan, Sangria, limes, baby pups, dinner parties, my wonderful job, Mark Rothko paintings, amaryllis flowers, blooming dogwoods and azaleas in the spring, a healthy body and mind, crisp fall mornings, sweet summer evenings, hikes with my nieces and nephews, laughter, and well, so much more.

Regret to Inform

At BYU's International Cinema approximately five years ago I watched a documentary on the Vietnam War that had an enormous impact on me. The film, ‘Regret to Inform,’ in conjunction with the book, ‘We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families,’ by Philip Gourevitch was my impetus to study war during graduate school. I had sincere aspirations to analyze the effects of war on women and children in Rwanda and other war ravaged nations. I wrote a few papers on war but I have done nothing with this interest since graduating, apart from feel despair in the comfort of my deeply grounded life.
‘Regret to Inform’ showed the rich vistas of Vietnam emphasized by the sounds of Yo Yo Ma’s cello and the doleful interviews of Vietnamese women whose families and villages were destroyed by the war known as, ‘The American War.’ Most haunting about the film is the image of a woman standing in front of the Vietnam Memorial lamenting that her husband's name was not listed. He returned from the war but his heart and mind were so traumatized that he finally committed suicide. He was a casualty of the war and his name should be on the wall.
I bought ‘Regret To Inform’ for $2 online last week. Jamie and I watched the first half of the movie a few nights ago and basically I cried myself to sleep. I don’t want my life to mirror the suffering of those women but with a husband in the reserves, I cannot escape that fear.
See the film. Read the book.

Man in Black

I would like to posthumously declare Johnny Cash an honorary sociologist. His song, Man in Black, particularly expresses his social sensitivity and awareness of stratification, making him a thoughtful sociologist.


Man in Black

Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,
Why you never see bright colors on my back,
And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.
Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.

I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down,
Livin' in the hopeless, hungry side of town,
I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime,
But is there because he's a victim of the times.

I wear the black for those who never read,
Or listened to the words that Jesus said,
About the road to happiness through love and charity,
Why, you'd think He's talking straight to you and me.

Well, we're doin' mighty fine, I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin' cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back,
Up front there ought 'a be a Man In Black.

I wear it for the sick and lonely old,
For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold,
I wear the black in mournin' for the lives that could have been,
Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.

And, I wear it for the thousands who have died,
Believen' that the Lord was on their side,
I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died,
Believen' that we all were on their side.

Well, there's things that never will be right I know,
And things need changin' everywhere you go,
But 'til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You'll never see me wear a suit of white.

Ah, I'd love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything's OK,
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,'
Till things are brighter, I'm the Man In Black.

Key Lime Bliss

I made this recipe last night and it was enormously delicious.


Key Lime Pie


2 large eggs
2 large egg whites
1/2 cup Key lime juice (such as Nellie and Joe's Famous Key West Lime Juice)
1 teaspoon grated lime rind
1 (14-ounce) can fat-free sweetened condensed milk
1 (6-ounce) reduced-fat graham cracker crust
1 1/2 cups frozen reduced-calorie whipped topping, thawed

Preheat oven to 350°.
Beat eggs and egg whites at medium speed of a mixer until well-blended. Gradually add juice, rind, and milk to egg mixture, beating until well-blended. Spoon mixture into crust, and bake at 350° for 20 minutes or until almost set (the center will not be firm but will set up as it chills). Cool pie on a wire rack. Cover loosely, and chill 4 hours. Spread whipped topping evenly over filling.

Yield: 8 servings (serving size: 1 wedge)

The Morning After

I left work early yesterday to vote. It was my first time voting in Virginia and my first time voting for a Democratic Presidential candidate. The thrill of pulling into a crowded elementary school parking lot and walking into a tidy gym nearly put me to tears. This election is extremely personal…I fear that another term for George Bush means that my husband, who is a navy reservist, will be called up and perhaps sent to Iraq, Afghanistan or any other country Bush might invade. I cast my electronic ballot and met my husband in the car and looking at him smile and wear his “I voted in Virginia” sticker made me feel warm and happy, despite my growing fear that he could be sent to war.

November 3, 2004. The results are not clear or definite but the election seems to favor Bush. Deep emotions seem to hover over my eyes and I struggle to keep from crying.

Sorrow aside, Jamie read a beautiful poem to me yesterday and following the lead of a freelance NPR writer, we have decided to read this poem to our future children every election year and talk to them about the power and importance of voting.

The Poor Voter on Election Day
John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)

The proudest now is but my peer
The highest not more high.
Today, of all the weary year,
A king of men am I!
Today alike are great and small,
The nameless and the known.
My place is the people’s hall,
The ballot box my throne.
Who serves today upon the list
Besides the served shall stand;
Alike the brown and wrinkled fist,
The gloved and dainty hand!
The rich is level with the poor,
The weak is strong today.
And sleekest broadcloth counts no more
Than homespun frock of gray.
Today let pomp and vain pretence
My stubborn right abide.
I set a common man’s plain sense
Against the pedant’s pride.
Today shall simple manhood try
The strength of gold and land;
The wide world has not wealth to buy
The power in my right hand.
While there’s a grief to seek redress
Or balance to adjust,
Where weighs our living manhood less
Than Mammon’s vilest dust-
While there is a right to need my vote
A wrong to sweep away,
Up! Clouted knee and ragged coat-
A man’s a man today!


American John Greenleaf Whittier wrote this poem well before women had the right to vote but he was a pioneer of his time, championing civil and women’s rights. I need this moment to celebrate the ideal and the hope of ideas because, frankly, it’s a dreary morning. My favorite lines of this poem: “My place is the people’s hall, the ballot box my throne…today let pomp and vain pretence my stubborn right abide.” This poem is an anthem to the exhilarating potential of true democracy.

John Kerry said that whoever wins the presidency will need our prayers. Pray I will for the stability of this country, for the Iraqis, and for the safety of my family.

To Be a Maple

If I could be a tree I would be a Maple. Tall, full bodied and colorful, a mature maple seems to represent the breadth and stability of nature. A bronzed maple in the autumn is such an exquisite sight that all things around it, if noticed, seem mundane. It is a rich and startling experience to see something so enormous and alive. Every fall seems to be my favorite fall but this year feels more special than previous seasons. I am still mourning the loss of my grandpa and I have found the solace of this season to be a source of healing. John Muir said, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul,” and this truth resonates well with my recent experiences with the outdoors.

Jamie and I have been busy exploring the splendor of Virginia in the harvest rich month of October. We have picked apples on several occasions, returning twice to our favorite Shenandoah apple orchard, Stribling Orchard. I went to Portland, Maine, which could very well be the poster state for displaying the gilded brilliance of autumn. My mind is filled with images of trees: elms, maples, oaks, dogwoods, the memory of aspens, and all the trees in between.

I saw my favorite pastoral Virginia landscape this weekend: rolling green hills dotted with fluorescent maples, grazing cattle and variegated with black fences. I love this state.

Kunming, Yunnan, China is known as ‘The City of Eternal Spring.’ Is there a city that can boast of an Eternal Autumn? If such a place exists then I want to live there. Virginia is a close fit because Spring and Autumn are the longest seasons of the year. Orange is my favorite fall color this year. Reds and crimsons are always pleasing but a rich orange is unforgettable.

The Debates

I missed the final presidential debate last night because I have a burgeoning cold and a swig of nightquil put me to bed early. I listened to bits of the debate today and it seemed to be the same rhetoric from both candidates repeated from the previous debates. The debates are amusing because they are a mechanism for revealing the nuances of each candidate and lets be honest, we’re watching for ill timed sighs and awkward phrasing. Kerry has been criticized for alienating people with his obtuse language but I love it. We should have a president who not only sounds intelligent but shows confidence in expressing her or his ideas while at the same time relating to the population and not alienating them with erudite language. The Washington Post had a great article today highlighting the best and worst moments of the debates. Saturday Night Live has done an extraordinary job exaggerating the drama of the debates. Will Forte has done a hilarious interpretation of George W. Bush. Last week Will Forte went wild as George Bush talking about ‘internets.’ I love political comedy.

Listening to NPR on a daily basis makes me confident that Kerry will defeat Bush. On the other hand, talking to my visiting teacher who is a political appointee in the Department of Education makes me realize that the Bush camp are confident that he'll be around for another four years. I don't know who will win but I hope people take this election seriously and cast their votes.

Conference

I made applesauce and watched conference last weekend. I like the idea of establishing traditions so the Davis family will now associate fresh applesauce with autumn conference. Conference was particularly exciting because we learned who our new apostles would be: Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf and Elder David A. Bednar. I appreciated their inaugural talks and I felt they were sincere in expressing their desire to serve well and serve humbly.

October has been a perfect month so far…perfectly blue in the sky and cool in the air.

A Funeral

My grandfather's funeral is today. He passed away holding my mother's hand on Sunday, September 26th. I will miss him.

Someone There Is Who Loves an Apple

I love apples. Last weekend Jamie and I picked apples at Stribling Orchard in Markham, VA. The orchard has been in the Stribling family for 180 years. It was easy to get a sense of history and place as we walked through lanes of trees pregnant with fruit with a view of Virginia’s variegated and beautiful countryside. We ate hot apple pastries and drank cold cider under the shade of fertile trees. It was a perfect experience, one that I would love to repeat often. For the first time we sampled Ida Red and Nittany apples, both of which were superlative in their crispness and white fleshy flavor. Using our fresh Ida Red and Nittany apples, I made an apple pie with cheddar cheese crust and it was the ideal way to celebrate the versatility of the apple. This weekend I am going to make apple sauce and I can't wait for the steaming smell of cinnamon mingled with apple to fill our apartment.

Damon Barrett Edwards

My grandpa was diagnosed with cancer less than two weeks ago. Cancer has corrupted his throat, lungs, stomach and liver. He went to the doctor for chronic back pain. Today he announced that he was ready to go. Now we wait and we hope that he passes peacefully. I have said goodbye to him twice now and I don’t think I can manage another one. Jamie and I were able to make a trip to Utah last week to participate in the unique and heart felt dynamics of a family journeying to mourn together. My grandpa has been a symbol of work—he has lived a long life characterized by work, work, work. As a kid he worked on a farm, as did many people in that generation. Even when injured or completely exhausted, he was not allowed to rest because the work had to be done. I am grateful for his strong work ethic. Upon learning of the disease, he seemed to submit fully to the cancer and his health deteriorated rapidly. I know he was tired and ready to put down his tools and reflect on his family and experiences long enough to realize that his was a good life.

He was in bed looking thin, tired and ill when I last saw him. We gripped hands tightly and I thanked him for my beautiful mom and for the legacy of the gospel that his life was. He told me that he loved me and that he was proud of me. In all the sadness and cancer, it was a beautiful experience.

Go in peace Grandpa. I can’t wait to see you again.

Pioneer Day

I grew up in a state that dedicates a day to celebrating its pioneer heritage. The 24th of July is special day in Utah, one that signals a remembrance of history and heritage. As a kid I was immediately bored by all talk related to pioneers and the long trek and more simply, anything church history related. As an adult I have an appreciation for the cumulative history that creates a context for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and I am no longer instantly bored by the mention of pioneers. I would like to submit, however, that we change our pioneer dialogue from the exclusive circle of those nineteenth century saints who trekked across America to an inclusive circle that embraces all pioneers, especially contemporary pioneers who are navigating their spirituality in a global environment. I think of the members in Africa or Russia and elsewhere who are the first ones of their families and communities to accept the gospel. The decision to live a disciplined religious life is not easy and their efforts should be applauded. Let us recognize the sacrifices that are being made around the globe and bring those stories into our pioneer celebrations. I hereby declare the 24th of July Global Pioneer Day.

A tree

Maya, a third grader from New York City wrote this poem:


A tree is a wedding gown in the spring
A tree is a giant Chinese fan
A tree is a great messenger of God
A tree is Mother Nature’s child
Strawberry trees, maple trees
A tree is a day care center for baby birds
A tree is the giver of air
A tree is God’s wig
A tree conceals a beautiful story
Coconut trees, palm trees
A tree is a dog’s toilet
Scrapes the sky in the middle of nowhere,
Surrounded by vicious animals
A tree is an angel’s choir
Red trees, green trees
A tree tells God about the sights on Earth
A tree is suffering in the desert
A tree is a wise, ancient teller of scents
A tree is a tree


This poem is sensual and observational. It makes me happy. My grandpa is dying. I crave all things happy.

Viewscapes

In my cubicle, a postcard of Diebenkorn’s Cityscape 1, 1963, is pinned beneath a photo that I took this summer of the Alta mountains in Utah. I try to keep my dull grey cubicle alive with a little color and for the first time today I noticed that the colors and shapes are strangely analogous in these two images. The greens and yellows are a beautiful match and it is striking that the raw nature of a mountainside can resonate perfectly in an abstract painting of a shaded city street. Perhaps the reason I love Diebenkorn paintings is for the way they conjure images of natural places using man made structures of urban places. I can relate to both environs but deep down I crave the openness characteristic of the west.

I have three new favorite words:
Patois: uneducated or provincial speech or the characteristic special language of an occupational or social group
Twee: affectedly or excessively dainty, delicate, cute, or quaint
Caterwaul: to make a harsh cry or to quarrel noisily

I started reading Remini’s biography of Andrew Jackson and I am enjoying his lucid writing so much that I am flipping through the pages like they are fast fiction. Jackson experienced his first duel in Jonesborough, TN (location of the national storytelling festival), a town Jamie and I drove through over the weekend. It is amusing to think of Tennessee as the wild ‘west’ but I appreciate that perspective because it emphasizes how much our point of reference has changed in 200 years.

Nieces and Nephews

My niece Zoe loves to play the electric guitar. She has no formal training but she strums with great attention and her fingers seem to naturally fall into chord formation.

Delaney once remarked after watching her father remove the skin and bones from a chicken, “I am so glad that I am a girl so I don’t have to do that.”

I once told Delaney that she had a good memory. Delaney’s sister Berkeley responded, “I have a good artist’s memory.”

My niece Hannah once asked if we could play Sunday School and if she could be the teacher. She then proceeded to give this lesson, “And then Jesus said, ‘Be still,’ and the waters were no longer rough.”

My nephew Jaren drew me a picture of a T-Rex on a birthday card he made. My sister later explained why the T-Rex’s mouth was pointed towards the sky. Jaren told her the T-Tex was “roaring into the sky looking for a mate.”

When my mom asked my niece Isabel, who was turning three, what she wanted for her birthday she answered, “pink.”

My niece Annika is my cutie cutes. When my sister asked Annika if she was her cutie cutes, Annika responded, “No. I am Aunt J’s cutie cutes.”

Beslan

I did something I should not have today…I viewed photos from the bombed wreckage and carnage at the School No. 1 in Beslan, Russia. Why kill children? I realize that terrorists and those with a desperate cause don’t hesitate to inflict misery through heinous acts of violence but what message is sent by killing children other than wanton discord? I suppose the unnecessary death of hundreds of children would easily expose the emotional and physical vulnerability of not only the surrounding community but the world at large. I hate it. Apparently the community made a pilgrimage to the bombed school, a kind of visual catharsis. "We need to see this," said Alla Khablieva, 46, a teacher at another school. "We don't need sweet medicine. We need bitter, so we know, so this will never happen again." I hope the bitter works and that this never happens again.

An Operatic Moment

Opera entered my life just recently and today I learned the momentous capacity of a celestial voice to enrapture the emotions with unequivocal drama and passion. I bought a cd called the Passion of Callas, which contained a number of songs sung by the famous Maria Callas. She has long been dead but she was recently heard at the opening ceremony of the Greek Olympics. I bought the cd for one song in particular and ultimately the cd has been a beautiful education in the rigors and breadth of Opera music and I love it. My favorite song on the cd is “La Mamma Morta” from the Andrea Chenier opera. Today I learned that the opera is about a famous French poet who was executed during the reign of terror. Before I even found a translation of the lyrics I felt my emotions loosen because I just finished reading a fictional trilogy about Josephine Bonaparte and since she lived during the reign of terror, I had a point of reference for that period and I understood the trauma and chaos of a messy revolution.
The translated lyrics told a story of incredible loss, despair and love. Listening to the song and finally understanding what was being said caused me to weep, with gratitude for art and aesthetic experiences that make life meaningful. Already convinced that music is one of the purest forms of both expression and worship, it is no wonder that I reacted so strongly to this song.
Here are the lyrics:

La Mamma Morta

They killed my mother
in the doorway of my room;
She died saving me!
Later, at dead of night,
I wandered about with Bersi,
when suddenly,
a livid glow flickers
and lights ahead of me
the dark street!
I looked at it!
My childhood home was ablaze!
I was a lone,
and surrounded by nothingness!
Hunger and poverty,
deprivation and danger.
I became ill,
and Bersei, so good and pure
traded her beauty for my sake!
I bring misfortune to all who love me.
It was then, in my misery,
that love came to me!
And murmered in a sweet, melodious voice:
“You must live! I am life itself!
Heaven is in my eyes!
You are not alone!
Let your tears fall on my breast!
I will walk with you and be your support!
Smile and Hope! I am love!
Is all around you blood and mire?
I am divine! I can make you forget!
I am the god who descends to earth
from the empyrean and makes this world
a paradise! Ah!
I am love, love, love.

Men and the Future of the Family

In researching for a PAA (Population Association of America) poster proposal on educational attainment and timing of marriage for American women, I came across this quote, “It seems increasingly clear that the road to the ‘new families’ will lead through men, who must decide whether they want homes, families, and children enough to share the responsibility for them.” As men’s real wages decrease, their ability to solely provide for a family deteriorates, which makes women’s financial contributions to the family more important. As the division of labor in the home becomes less gendered and women’s attachment to the labor force becomes more permanent, the relationship between a college education and marriage is positively associated for women. Pursuant to the quote, I think a lot of women are attracted to men who will substantively help in the chores of sustaining a household because as more and more women work, the idea of fulfilling the dual roles of full time paid labor and household maintenance is overwhelming without help.
My husband was not expected to do more than take out the garbage and mow the lawn when he was growing up because chores such as clearing the table, washing the dishes and vacuuming were for women (read: his little sister). Coming from that point of reference, I am so grateful for his willingness to keep house. I would be daily maligned if I was the only one preparing meals, cleaning the kitchen and taking out the rubbish and doing all the other chores because after all, I do work a half hour longer than my husband during the day. Fortunately, I am not much maligned and in the future, it is my hope that our children will see household responsibilities not as mom’s work or dad’s work, but simply, work, because they see their parents interchangeably tackling the household chores.
So, here’s hoping that more and more men learn to share the joy and tedium of household labor.

I Love the Cello

I got on my bike for the first time in a year this weekend. Jamie and I biked in Prince William National Forest. We traversed unpaved roads that varied in texture from sandy to treacherously rocky. I was overly cautious and refused to bike down any steep hills, opting to walk my bike down instead. Jamie was turbo and maneuvered the rugged terrain brilliantly. Biking was tough but I enjoyed the challenge of conquering both the trail and my fear in the quiet shade of an isolated green space. It is great having a husband who loves the outdoors and is excited about engaging in activities that immerse us in our environment.

As soon as I walked into church yesterday I was paralyzed by the rich sound of the cello. A man in our ward, who we just learned has an enormous musical talent, was warming up to later stun us with an arrangement of “Be Still My Soul,” a favorite hymn of mine. As soon as his bow struck the strings my soul erupted in emotion and I couldn’t stop crying. I have thought a lot about the connection between music and my emotions and in this case, the music was a perfected form of raw worship. The deep, sensual tones of the cello seem to reach into places of beauty and gratitude that words could never find. After thanking him for his wonderful performance, he told us that in the French hymnal there is a song written to the music of Dvorak’s New World Symphony. Can we please get that song in our hymn books?

Reading

Yesterday I learned that children entering kindergarten from middle to upper income households have been read to an average of 1,500 hours. I was afraid to even guess the average number of hours for lower income children and when I learned the actual figure I was stunned. 50. Children from lower income families entering kindergarten have only been read to an average of 50 hours. Generally these children have parents or single parents that are either illiterate or work several jobs and simply don’t have the time to read to their children. Immediately I realized how easy it has been for me to take for granted my love of books and learning. I can’t imagine a life without engaging fiction and educational non-fiction. My future children will benefit from my love of books because I want to read to them and ultimately help them learn not only how to read, but how to love words, language and books.

Speaking of words and language, my husband is a hidden poet. Sometimes he surprises me with a verse or two and I am silenced with admiration at his ability to make the mundane transmundane with thoughtful observations and clever words. He is my ethnographer and has a remarkable ability to make the familiar unfamiliar and the unfamiliar familiar. He gives me a creative context for life and I am so grateful for his warm and beautiful companionship.

West Wing and the Olympics

As an enormous fan of West Wing, I was thrilled to sit in a Census news conference today. The annual Income and Poverty report was released today, which is the second biggest project that the Census does behind the Decennial. The director gave a nice introduction then the numbers were unveiled. Sadly, the official poverty rates increased and as would logically follow, the number of people in poverty increased and the poverty rate for children rose from 16.7 percent in 2002 to 17.6 percent in 2003. After the numbers were released, reporters were allowed to ask questions and that was when it got really West Wingish except that the questions were not too probing or aggressive and the respondents were not nearly as witty or defensive as Jeb’s press secretary. I am really enjoying my new job.

On another note, the Olympics are rocking my flabby world. Watching American Deena Kastor win bronze in the marathon was surprisingly very emotional for me. She entered the stadium and upon realizing that she would medal, she started to sob and cried for the remainder of the race, probably because she felt both joy and relief. Her triumph and emotion made me cry, partly because I know running a marathon would kill me and I really like my life and I am not ready to die right now. To train she would run an hour (read: 10 to 12 miles), nap, lift weights for two hours then finish off the day with another hour or so of running. I love it. I wish my full time job was to run and lift weights and have a hot bod. In an effort of solidarity, I jogged yesterday and felt triumphant in the two miles I endured.

I watched men’s volleyball last night for the first time and was elated to discover that a sociology peer of mine and former BYU volleyball star was on the men’s Olympic team: Ryan Millar. I remember him being really nice and fun to have in class, which says a lot because the jocks were a blight on the sociology department.

Being Lost

Jamie and I saw "Open Water" a few days before going to the beach. More than simply being a scary movie--Open Water condensed the fear of being lost into a frightening image of two people drifting hopelessly in the ocean. I know that fear. I was held hostage in a tent for an entire day with a menacing grizzly bear a few yards away. At least I was able to take comfort in knowing that my location was known and that if I didn't show up at the camper drop off, the authorities would be notified. A companion is essential in frightening moments because the ability to share fear is a great comfort, even if only subliminally.

Garrett Bardsley has been missing in the rugged Uintah mountains since Friday morning. I used to think that he would be found alive and perhaps suffering a bit of ptsd but nevertheless he would be in the arms of his family. The rescue mission has been transformed into a recovery mission. The furor of Open Water was manifested in an unfortunate and tragic manner. At first I can't imagine what his parents and siblings are suffering but then I wonder how scary it must have been for him to be lost. My heart goes out to his family and I will cling tightly to all the people I love, thankful for their good health and location in my life.

Giving it a Go

This is good for me. I used to write a lot but I stopped and suddenly, the creative part of me is stunted and shriveled. I have been reading blogs for many months now and my impression is that they are a great forum for individual and group dialogue, just be careful what you say...

I have decided it is time to set aside the fiction in my life and pick up the history books. Knowing more about revolutionary America and Jacksonian America in addition to the history of Arab peoples is important to me. Ever since I graduated from college I have felt an urgency to continue learning and acquiring new skills and sometimes I don't feel very successful. I would also like to become fluent in another language and to have my own perpetual education fund that allows me to take classes from local universities any time would be great...any philanthropists in the crowd?