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.