Saturday afternoon, we pull into the driveway, park the car. The front of the house looks the same. The same family lives there, but it has become a favorite place for the grandchildren in the past few years.

The old elementary school next to the house hasn’t moved, hasn’t really changed. A few more portable classrooms, maybe a new sign, ramps for wheelchairs. Fifth grade seems so long ago. Twenty-five years equals one-fourth of a century, yet I can’t believe that I’ve known these people for that long; I’ve been on this earth for eleven years beyond that.

Time is linear, they say. Life is planar, with individual experience along the y-axis as a function of time. Varied and numerous interactions yield points on this graph, too, on as many axes as people a person can know. The cosmos of human life holds a volume of countless dimensions and tells volumes of stories that connect us to both ends of eternity.

My mom and I walk inside the house, and most of what we see hasn’t really changed. Piano room, dining room, kitchen, family room. The new sun room is gorgeous. Dark wicker furniture with red cushions. It used to be a simple concrete patio, where I used to play games and have relay races with other friends and the girl who used to live there but now lives in a nice subdivision in Jacksonville proper with her children and husband.

Twenty-five years.

A few ladies I immediately recognize are already sitting and chatting. Shortly, the family room fills with my past. Mothers of friends I met in the late ‘80s, friends from elementary school, teachers from church. It’s been years since I have seen some of them.

We chat and eat. The company and conversation are delightful.

My selves at 10, 12, 15, and 17 years – and 35 years – look at each other with deep nostalgia and wonder. Worlds fold and intertwine.

The women surrounding me helped raise me. They taught by example, they molded strong minds and distinct personalities that became the even more awesome adult versions of my childhood friends. I’m grateful not only to know these friends but to have kept in touch with most of them. My mother’s wisdom encouraged their influence.

Only goodness abides here. As I sit with these friends in this circle of couches and chairs in the family room, as I tell the story of how Reilly and I met, as I cry telling the story our engagement, as they beam with pride and mutual adoration, as we laugh at and admire the lingerie and talk of sex, affection, and nakedness and the protection and happiness Reilly and I provide for each other, I realize that nothing else is quite like the safety and familiarity in this kind of feminine bond.

A single point of love within me contains the love of those who have and will always love me.

The line is a circle. The circle is a sphere; my life, a Borgesian aleph.

A formidable and unforgettable village raised this child, wandering, curious, confident, loved. I pray to keep honoring them.

Last Thursday after commencement, some friends and I went to the Ingrid Michaelson concert at In the Venue in Salt Lake City. The music was fun, and Harper Blynn opening for her made the show extra special.

On several occasions, Harper Blynn was the backup band for Ingrid’s husband, Greg Laswell. They’re good friends. So it feels like a nice little community when the openers are friends with the headliners. Then I talk as if I’m friends with all of them. If only I were a smidge as cool.

I still tend to call Harper Blynn by their former name, Pete & J, and I have autographed Pete and J albums, but I don’t have any Harper Blynn ones. Which I need to fix. Anyway, Harper Blynn performed their cover of Beyonce’s “Halo,” and they did their usual brilliant job of it.

Ingrid performed a lot from her new album, Human Again, but she also played some older tunes.

My friends and I ended up standing behind two tall couples, whose PDA was pretty gross. We started out behind some shorter people, but we were also underneath a glaring hot light, so we wove our way through the crowd and somehow decided being behind those couples was better. At least it was cooler. And when one of the guys slouched to hug his girlfriend/wife, I got to see Ingrid on stage for about five seconds! I felt tall and amazing.

We sang along and laughed and despite being behind tall people who knew they were blocking our view, the concert was a lot of fun. Totally different than the last time, almost a year and a half ago, when we waited outside in line for over an hour and then walked into 5 inches of snow after the concert ended. This time we walked out into slightly cool air and clear skies.

If my camera weren’t broken, I would post pictures. Alas.

Here’s the setlist:

Fire
Palm of Your Hand
Soldier
Parachute
Do It Now
Blood Brothers
Ghost
Fools Rush In (Elvis Presley cover)
The Way I Am
San Francisco
In the Sea
This Is War
Overboard
Black and Blue
Ribbons

Encore:

Maybe
You and I
Chain

This past Saturday a friend threw a bridal shower where a few of my favorite people in the world came. She and her sisters brought a lot of good and refreshing food and drink, like

strawberries
chips and salsa
veggie tray of carrots, celery, broccoli, sugar snap peas
chocolate chip cookies
ginger snaps
apple juice
lemonade
root beer

We sat around and talked for a little bit. Some people got reacquainted, like Amy and my mom. Did I mention my mom was in town? She is the incontestable coolest person in the world.
Some people got to know each other for the first time.

These people came:
Cynthia
Helen
Emilia
My mom
Maddie
Pleasy
Kylie
Amy
Reilly’s mom also came toward the end of the party.

Those people brought these gifts, most of which are from Bed Bath & Beyond, where Reilly and I are registered. As they are listed, the gifts do not correspond to the guest order:
salt and pepper shakers
placemats
coasters
finger paint
canisters
book about who to marry
bedding/comforter
hand mixer
90-minute massage

Gifts surprise me. It thrilled me to receive them. It sometimes blows my mind that people like us so much.

We played the game where two teams create dresses made out of toilet paper. I have creative friends, and they made beautiful dresses. And my mom was the model for one of the teams. She was a very good model.

Then Cynthia read us a children’s story on who to choose for marriage. It was cute, and all the advice applied to how I chose Reilly.

This is a very scattered post. And I have used a ton of passive voice. College has destroyed my thinking and writing ability.

Am I really getting married in 35 days?

The trees still look lacy in their early bloom. The mountains still loom, as they always have, and they still do not scare me. They have protected me and given me a reason to wake up every morning.

In January 2010, I rebegan. Confident and cynical, I wanted to finish as quickly as I could. I had been in school long enough. I had been out of school long enough.

That first apartment, my bedroom window All that time looking at the mountains.

Classes have been wonderful. I’m grateful to have learned so much, but I wonder if I have turned into more of a cynic. BYU is a unique environment; I’ve come across a special kind of bigot here. Supposed soldiers of righteousness in an armor of hyp0crisy. At least it’s knee-length, I guess

Those who aren’t idiots, the ones who have blessed me with their friendship, we can talk about the others. We wonder why marriage is infused into every church discussion; why certain professors say misogynist things or teach non-doctrine. Why these professors seem to be a part of an old-boys club who aren’t really professors.

Okay, so there’s that story of a teacher at a private, religious school who got fired for getting pregnant out of wedlock, and all I kept thinking about was Brandon Davies.

And negative feedback about the Muslim art exhibit at the Museum of Art.

The conversations take on a different tone, and I’m grateful for the contrasts in perspective.

BYU is a good school. I’ve appreciated my experience here, partly because of the classes, but mostly because of the friends. It’s hard to believe sometimes that I’m cool enough to be around all those young people. And I know that I talk as if I’m a few generations removed, but most of the time, it feels like there’s no age difference at all. Times like this, with graduation only six days away, does my life come into a different perspective.

Maybe I would have turned into one of those bitter people who aren’t really cynical but mostly sad and angry. If I didn’t have people to call and hang out with and go to concerts with and watch movies with and play games with, my experience here would have really sucked.

Maybe if professors hadn’t encouraged me to do things beyond the requirements for class or my major, my life wouldn’t be nearly as rich. Maybe if I decided not to risk my GPA by not going to Africa or minoring in French I would have deprived myself of some incredible memories and even better friends.

Friends! What if I hadn’t decided to move in August 2011? What if the circumstances weren’t perfect for me meeting this Reilly guy? Would I still have met him? I probably would have managed not knowing what I was missing, but it’s so hard to imagine my life taking another direction.

I close my eyes, and I’m in the Marriott Center. I’m in my blue cap and gown. I look for my mom and her husband in the crowd of friends and families, and I wave to, them again. Reilly’s there, too. Maybe others. Hopefully others. I look around at my classmates, and I see quite a few faces that I recognize, and I’m glad to be graduating with them. I look toward the professors, and I remember everyone who has cheered for me during this time in my life, and think I couldn’t have been luckier, more fortunate, more blessed.

The arena is the mountain range. I am in the valley. The faces I see are facades of ridges and crevices and looming cliffs and majestic peaks; familiar terrain, steady, solid. The reason I will keep waking up.

It is time to begin again.

Patience

Patience is
wider than one
once envisioned,
with ribbons
of rivers
and distant
ranges and
tasks undertaken
and finished
with modest
relish by
natives in their
native dress.
Who would
have guessed
it possible
that waiting
is sustainable—
a place with
its own harvests.
Or that in
time’s fullness
the diamonds
of patience
couldn’t be
distinguished
from the genuine
in brilliance
or hardness.

– Kay Ryan

*****

One of these days I will again post my own thoughts, but Ms. Ryan says lots of great things.

If my mind is space, and time is time, the exact location of my mind cannot be determined at any point in time, not without that location occurring in the past. When I want desperately to be in the now.

This is my uncertainty principle. That’s what I’m feeling.

Rest assured, there’s lots to be said about school (SO. MUCH. SCHOOL) and boys and friends I don’t see nearly enough of. And meeting poets. And autographs. And food. And boys and church. And some boys that aren’t smart. And new friends. And the cooling weather. And swearing at school, though not by me. And running into former seminary students who are so very tall. And staying up until 4am or waking up at 3am and either way letting the silence soothe me. And seeing those people in my life that make me feel like all is right with the world.

Eventually, the past will catch up to now.

Thanks for your patience.

My first week of school was pretty much amazing, but I’ll write more about that later.

In the past few days I’ve asked people what I should do with the rest of my life, and they came up with some pretty interesting answers. If you have an opinion either way (because you know that I will hold you completely responsible for my life), feel free to comment.

x: for a while i was gunning to live by a river with an irish poet-explorer. i’m way off-track, so you could take over for me
This definitely has a lot of appeal, and really, I don’t see why this couldn’t happen.

C: hard to say
Other people are supposed to have an easy time figuring out my future, but I’ll let this one slide.

H: ummm….go to paris eat really amazing food and find a handsome french man that admires you and buys you really pretty dresses and takes you to balls and then let me come visit you and then in a few years after you’ve had you’re taste of paris, move back to the states to be closer to your family and friends and of course your husband will have an amazing job that will let you travel when ever you want, but he wont want to leave your side, so he’ll have to come with you wherever you go in the meantime, you’ll be an amazing writer who will have your own column and eventually book that everyone in the world wants and becomes a number one seller in seconds then you could donate some of your money to charity and go on excursions to help the less fortunate people of the world
too much?
Is it really ever too much? Is there ever a detail too small? I say no.

B: grad school

  rock climbing
  love life
  reading
  teaching
  family
  Go

And then there’s the list approach, an outline with some really basic ideas. Then I get to fill in the gaps. Not bad.

J: we need to find a professional decision maker

 just do something that you like to do
 you don’t have to obsessively LOVE to do it
  but like it
  and be challenged by it

and feel like you’re doing something worthwhile

  or there’s always bellydancing
I like this advice, too, because not only does it leave my options open, but because I don’t have to wait to obsessively love something to pursue it. Also, bellydancing just seems like it should be impossible.
 

K: I don’t know much about life plans, but I believe in your ability to make choices

I like this a lot.

F: You ever read any jack kerouac? I say you either do something like him, minus the drug dependency, or write total money making fluff. It doesn’t have to be writing. I just came up with that since you seem to enjoy it and be decent. I suggest getting a publicist or agent. And don’t be afraid to get bad reviews at first. They can’t all be winners. I’ve been thinking about that as I write stand-up. I want to get a decent amount of material, then if I get any time off, looking into getting a booking agent or manager and doing some traveling gigs to get a feel for it and getting my feet wet. I feel like we were raised to struggle or hit it big. Nothing in between. But I guess that would be okay too.
Okay, maybe you can figure out who this one is. His response impressed me. He does often say substantial and wise (and often raunchy and funny) things, but I’m glad that he’s also thinking about his life.

You folks are so great. I’m so grateful for all of you.

-called mom to wish her a happy birthday

-found supreme delight in how much we compartmentalize things in our lives

-watched the first hour of Ran,  a Japanese version of King Lear

-did a load of laundry

-inner-tubed down the Provo River with Amanda

-shopped at the Roxy/Quicksilver outlet store with Amanda

-put gas in Amanda’s car with Amanda

-watched L’arnacoeur (The Heartbreaker), an adorable and funny French film on Netflix and ate Bajio’s with Amanda

-watched Super 8 at the dollar theater with Amanda

-had A LOT of fun with Amanda

It was great seeing Amanda. It had been a year since the last time.

Dangit, summer. Please stay.

Please.

Thanks to Sarah for bringing this to my attention. I may have elatedly sworn when she told me about it.

Follow these instructions:

1. Click on this link.

2. Notice the photo credit. Follow the link to flickr if you want.

3. Listen to Meg Hutchinson. She’s got some great things to sing. And say.

(optional)
4. Read the story around the photo.

Sometime during the process of writing my final paper two weeks ago, I decided to take a picture of my bed:

And then I thought the picture would go well with a gift some friends brought me this evening. They attended the Shakespeare Festival sometime during the week of finals and found something that made them think of me. I guess when someone says that they want to have Shakespeare’s babies, or that she and he would have beautiful genius babies, it’s not exactly forgettable. And because of this pillowcase, I’ll always remember my nights with Shakespeare.

Thanks so much for this. You’re the best.

My first actual memory of Jera Gunther was a random spring evening in 2003 in the west foyer of the Inwood ward building. She sat on one of those floral print couches, reading a book. I can’t remember why I was there, but seemingly out of the blue, she asked me if I’ve ever read the Scarlet Letter. That’s pretty much all she had to say. We’ve been friends ever since.

When I walked into Jera and Jordan’s house last Wednesday night, Jera told me that I looked the same. I can’t imagine changing that much in the past four years, and I told her that she looked the same, too.

We played with the kids and toured the town and talked about grownup things like politics and economics. We laughed about old times.

I don’t remember how I met Summer and Joel. I do recall going over to their Manhattan apartment for karaoke parties. It was me and Adam and Sheridan, and we’d choose songs from the computer and sing silliness into a microphone.

We’d also meet at ward picnics and go on bike rides and there was this one time we went to an Egyptian restaurant and paid way more for the meal than it was worth.

Summer and Joel haven’t changed much, either. We remembered when and listened to the kids sing the Beatles and laughed when the older sister dressed her younger brother as a girl in a polka dot dress and purple hair bow.

St. George in August is hot. Around 10:00 one night, I came out of the Gunthers’ house to get something from the rental car and  felt the heat from the day and in the driveway against my face and bare feet.

Their house is on a hill. At night, the valley twinkles. When I saw that, I wondered if I could live in the town of St. George, Utah.

This past Wednesday night, I went to dinner with my friend, Angie. It had been four? or so years since I’ve seen her. We met when she moved into the Inwood ward, and we had a few mutual friends. We caught up and gossiped and laughed and talked about important television and people we remember from New York.

On Thursday, my friend Cristi and I caught up over Jamba Juice and chocolate-covered cinnamon bears. I asked her when we first met, and she said that it was probably through Becky. Which: of course. We talked and laughed about everything in the shade of the JFSB courtyard.

I’ve known these cool cats for years, but I’m convinced yet again that time doesn’t always determine quality. It felt amazing seeing those friends, but when I see people I love from Utah/BYU, I’m equally pleased.

The Williams family has been generous to me. I started hanging out with Cynthia in January 2010, and we’d go to the music documentaries at Muse Music, where we learned about Daniel Johnston, Radiohead, Sigur Ros, and Arcade Fire. Then she made sure to invite me to everything she did. Potlucks, concerts, family drives, birthday dinners. We went with other friends and her other family members to the Festival of Colors and the Llama Festival, and we have inside jokes about peeing on ourselves and share a few family stories and secrets. I have been able to meet a lot of people through them. My boss knows their dad. They have been a stabilizing force for me here in Provo. I’m truly grateful for them.

Then there are Africa friends. With them, I shared things about myself that I normally wait to tell people in “normal” circumstances. I’ve been ever so fortunate to run into Natalie twice in the computer lab this summer. And to hang out with Sarah and Kylie. The Skabelunds and I met for lunch this past Monday. And I saw Spencer once, too. I’ve only known these kids for only four months, really, yet when I’m around them, it feels like home. Like we can kick back and talk about anything or watch tv or not feel any pressure to talk at all.

My heart has been so full this week. I have loved the quality time.

This past week was also Education Week at BYU. I’ve joked trying to compare it to EFY and Women’s Conference, because campus gets crazy and crowded and annoying during those events. Walking around these past few days, I met a lot of kind eyes and smiles, and it was rather touching to see how happy all the adults of all ages were to be at BYU learning fun and cool things. They get a week each year.

I’m coming up on two years. I pay tuition for each semester, but still.

It’s easy to forget how exciting it is to be here. To have access to all sorts of information and the academic community. To be someone to offer a perspective  of a roundabout path that might actually be valuable.

And I’ve been thinking about grad school. It’s my last undergraduate year, and I’m trying to reconcile the joy in moving on to even greater opportunities and the heaviness of my heart that also comes with moving on to even greater opportunities.

Yes, I do have to plan for the future, but I need to be ready to make the most of now. Of BYU. Of Utah. Right, Thomas Traherne?

Entering thus far into the nature of the sun, we may see a little Heaven in the creatures. And yet we shall say less of the rest in particular: tho’ every one in its place be as excellent as it: and this without these cannot be sustained. Were all the earth filthy mires, or devouring quicksands, firm land would be an unspeakable treasure. Were it all beaten gold it would be of no value. It is a treasure therefore of far greater value to a noble spirit than if the globe of the earth were all gold. A noble spirit being only that which can survey it all, and comprehend its uses. The air is better being a living miracle as it now is than if it were crammed and filled with crowns and sceptres. The mountains are better than solid diamonds, and those things which scarcity maketh jewels (when you enjoy these) are yours in their places. Why should you not render thanks to God for them all? You are the Adam or the Eve that enjoy them. Why should you not exult and triumph in His love who hath done so great things for you? Why should you not rejoice and sing His praises? Learn to enjoy what you have first, and covet more if you can afterwards.

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