Looking forward

(photo credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/dpetrus/)

I have a tendency to look backwards in time. To be fair, this is partly because the past has already been written. I can go back and look at old journal entries and photos and news stories and remember what happened. The future contains all these question marks. And if 2020 has taught me anything, it’s that there are more question marks than I ever thought. 

I do think there’s value in looking backwards now and then. You can remind yourself of things you learned, or see patterns you didn’t notice at the time. And I’m a sucker for nostalgia in general. 

But in this strange time of suspended animation, I find that looking into the past is a little bit painful sometimes. Much of my nostalgia is tinged with faint heartbreak nowadays. I don’t think it will always be that way, but when I find myself looking backwards, it’s with an ache of longing for things that are impossible right now. 

So I’ve decided to look forward to those “impossible” things instead. 

I may not be able to do many of these things for months, or even a year. But here’s what I’m looking forward to in the future. 

I’m looking forward to sitting in an IHOP with my laptop open, writing a blog or a poem or a script. I’ll order a second hot chocolate, and now and then I’ll notice the song that’s playing and smile. I’ll try to avoid getting syrup on my keyboard and will somehow fail, and it will be completely worth it. 

I’m looking forward to having friends over, and laying my head on someone’s shoulder and laying my legs over someone else’s lap. We’ll see each other’s entire faces, and we’ll bump into each other as we go to get another drink or snack from the kitchen. We’ll squeeze a hand or shoulder affectionately as we pass by one another, or mid-conversation. 

I’m looking forward to sitting in an airport, after hurriedly gathering my coat and shoes and laptop from the TSA bins that get re-stacked in that tense chaos. I’ll get a chocolate croissant and some fruit from Starbucks and then go sit by my gate with a book. On the plane, I’ll drink a ginger ale and do part of a crossword puzzle and then fall asleep, and be a little groggy and hungry when I land wherever I’m going. 

I’m looking forward to going to a movie theatre and paying way too much money for a giant bucket of popcorn and a gallon of soda. I’ll consume at least half of it during the 28 minutes of trailers before the movie starts. After the credits, I’ll walk into the parking lot and look up at the sky and the world will seem a little bright after the darkness of the theatre. 

I’m looking forward to standing in line for the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland, avoiding the diamonds in the floor and hoping one of us gets to sit in the driver’s seat. I’m looking forward to the brackish smell of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, and churros and lemonade, and my feet being absurdly sore from walking around the parks all day. 

I’m looking forward to sleeping on friends’ couches. To driving a few hours to someone’s house, then talking late into the night, and then being woken up by friends’ children in the morning, wanting to play. 

I’m looking forward to visiting someplace I’ve never been to before. I’ll take the afternoon or evening and wander on my own, with no plan—just exploring whatever I come across. Maybe I’ll walk along a beach in the moonlight, or stumble upon a gallery or historical site, or people-watch at a park. 

I’m looking forward to going to concerts. To being packed into a huge stadium with a stressful amount of people and blissfully yelling lyrics along with whoever’s onstage, or packed into some small venue somewhere where the music is loud enough to make the cartilage in your nose vibrate. 

I’m looking forward to visiting family. To holding the people dear to me, and eating food together, and talking for an hour or two afterwards. I’ll try to be extra helpful with the chores, to make up for all my teenage years spent at rehearsal instead of sweeping the kitchen.   

I don’t think life will ever completely go back to “the way it was.” I kind of hope it doesn’t. I don’t see how it could. But I think all of these experiences that I’ve been thinking about—travel, time with loved ones, communal art—will all be a little sweeter after this time. 

I look forward to finding out. 

For the Strength Of Youth I Wish I'd Had

Growing up in the LDS Church, I had a small booklet that guided me through my teenage years. "The Strength of Youth" helped me define my standards in every aspect of my life, with more detail added in subsequent editions. 

But my views have changed quite a bit since those days. I'm grateful for the guidance this book gave me, but they also led me to be judgmental, both of myself and others. They perpetuated harmful ideas about race, class, gender, and "worthiness." In my adult years, there have been times when I wish I'd had some different version of these standards--something to give me guidance without making things so black and white. I know teenage brains don't always handle nuance as well, but I'm pretty sure most of them can do better than we give them credit for. 

So I decided to write my own version of "For the Strength of Youth." The kind I wish I'd had, and the kind I wish was available to youth today. Many of you may be scandalized that I'm taking something written by Church leaders and re-writing it, and I understand if your feelings are hurt by that. But it was just such a convenient format to encapsulate these ideas. 

Some of the language has remained, some has been adjusted. I've tried to keep the same general tone, for simplicity. 

You can read the full current "For the Strength of Youth" standards from the LDS Church here, but here are the sections: 

Agency and Accountability 

Dating 

Dress and Appearance

Education (changed to "Education and Learning")

Entertainment and Media 

Family (removed) 

Friends (changed to "Compassion and Empathy")

Gratitude (removed) 

Honesty & Integrity (removed) 

Language (IMPORTANT NOTE: SPECIFIC OFFENSIVE WORDS ARE WRITTEN IN THIS SECTION TO GIVE TEENAGERS THE KNOWLEDGE THEY NEED) 

Music and Dancing (removed) 

Physical and Emotional Health 

Repentance (removed) 

Sabbath Day Observance (removed) 

Service (removed) 

Sexual Purity (changed to "Sexuality and Gender")

Tithes and Offerings (removed) 

Work and Self-Reliance (changed to "Financial Responsibility")

ADDED: Good Citizenship

Go Forward with Faith (changed to "Go Forward with Hope and Courage"

Agency and Accountability

Freedom of thought, speech, and action is one of the most precious aspects of being a human being. Do not let others coerce you into thinking, feeling, or being anything other than what you wish. Develop and use critical thinking skills.

Note that while you are free to choose your course of action, you are not always free to choose the consequences. Sometimes your words or actions may hurt others. When that happens, acknowledge their pain, offer an apology, and make restitution.

Do not infringe upon the right of others to think, speak, and act as they wish. If you disagree with them, speak out rather than silencing others.

Dating

A date is a planned activity that allows people to get to know each other. In cultures where dating is acceptable, it can help you learn and practice social skills, develop friendships, have fun, and eventually find a romantic companion if you wish.

Be kind and courteous when you ask for, accept, or decline a date. Never coerce anyone into a date. This is especially important for young men. Rejection is often painful, but “no” does not mean “try harder.” Learn to respect another person’s desires, especially those of young women. Young women, do not feel obligated to say yes to anything that makes you feel unsafe or uncomfortable. You may decline any dates, dances, and/or conversations that you wish to.

Be honest in your interactions with others, and do not play “hard to get.” This only reinforces the false idea that “no” means “try harder.”

Remember that dates don’t have to be expensive or elaborate. Find ways to enjoy time together in situations that are safe, both physically and emotionally.

Dress and Appearance

Your body is a powerful tool to help you accomplish things during your life on earth.

Some may have you think that the way you dress affects the thoughts and feelings of those around you, and that you are responsible for helping them maintain "pure thoughts" by keeping certain parts of your body covered. This is not true. You cannot control the thoughts and feelings of those around you. Furthermore, if the way someone is dressed affects your thoughts and feelings, those thoughts and feelings are your own responsibility. This is true regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity.

In many cultures, a great deal of emphasis is placed on appearance, whether it be weight, skin tone, height, or other features. But your body’s primary function is not to be looked at. Rather, your body’s primary function is to experience life on earth. Celebrate the positive things your body can do, instead of what others may think of how it looks.

Avoid making disparaging remarks about appearance, whether your own or someone else’s. If others make disparaging remarks about your own appearance, try to have patience and compassion and remember that their opinion does not change your inherent worth.

Education and Learning

Education is an empowering force to better prepare you for greater service in the world. It will help you better provide for yourself, your family, and those in need. But more importantly, it will help you be wise and thoughtful in your every day life.

If you are able to obtain a formal education, make college a goal. If college is not a good fit or an attainable option, strive to find ways to educate yourself on your own. Seek out as many different perspectives as you can, and study even those you disagree with.

Maintain an enthusiasm for learning throughout your life. Find joy in continuing to learn and in expanding your interests. 

Do not worry too much about whether or not your formal education will help you be “successful” or “rich.” Be mindful of what your life may look like in various careers, but pursue the things that ignite your passion.  

Entertainment and Media

We live in a marvelous time of media—video games, television, film, theatre, dance, music, books, magazines, social media, podcasts, websites, and more. There is much that will help you gain greater empathy and understanding, and/or that will allow you a respite from your troubles.

Use wise judgement in choosing what media you consume. Pay attention to the messages surrounding sexuality, violence, culture, and the human experience. When there is violence, how do the characters experience the consequences? When there is sexuality, how does it inform the characters or plot? How does the media you consume break or perpetuate harmful stereotypes? It takes practice to learn how to answer these questions, but if you are uncertain, talk it out with others. If you feel that your empathy is lessened because of the media you are consuming, shift your use.

When using social media, be compassionate to others, even when you disagree with them. Never say anything on the internet that you wouldn’t be willing to say in person.

You may have been told to avoid pornography at all costs, and that viewing it is addictive. This is not necessarily true, but be aware that pornography is not an accurate representation of human sexuality.

Think of a high speed car chase in a movie. Because you have likely ridden in or driven a car, you know that the car chase you’re witnessing onscreen is the high-adrenaline version of driving. Pornography is like that high speed car chase. It may normalize things that are violent or unrealistic. If you are curious about sexuality, ask a trusted adult for resources.

Also be aware that there is a great deal of abuse within the pornography industry. Be as ethical as you can be in your choices of what to consume. 

Compassion and Empathy

In order to participate in society, you must learn to practice compassion for those around you. Work to be patient, to give others the benefit of the doubt, and to nurture empathy within yourself. These things will help you have more meaningful connections and help you be an influence for good in the world.

These traits are also deeply important in your relationships with friends and family. This does not mean that you need to remain in situations that are harmful, or allow others to take advantage of you. Boundaries allow you to show compassion for yourself and others equally. 

Language

How you communicate should reflect who you are as a person. Use your words to uplift, encourage, articulate, and question. Do not use your words to bully, insult, demean, harass, or threaten others, whether in person or in writing. Even in teasing, sometimes using unkind words can have painful effects.

Never use words that are sexist, racist, homophobic, or ableist, or that perpetuate discrimination of any kind. For the purposes of education, examples of these kinds of words include: nigger (if you are not Black), wetback, chink, lame, fag/faggot, retard/retarded, kike, gay (when used to describe something disliked).

If someone asks you to refrain from using certain words around them, respect their request. Always use the correct names and pronouns for those around you. 

Physical and Emotional Health

Caring for your body will help you enjoy a fulfilling life.

Eat nutritious food, exercise regularly, and get regular sleep. Others may attempt to convince you that if you are above a certain weight, you are unhealthy. But know that weight is only one very small part of overall health, and that you are valuable and worthy and can be healthy no matter what your shape, size, or weight.

In your teenage years, it’s important to be sparing and mindful in your use of alcohol, cannabis, and other drugs. You may be curious, but these substances can having lasting effects on brain development. It’s best to wait until you are older to consume or experiment with these things. (Do not ever “huff” glue or other household chemicals, as these practices can cause immediate death, even if you’ve never tried this practice before.)

Your brain and nervous system are also important parts of your body, and should also receive care. Yoga, mindfulness, and cognitive-behavioral therapy can all help you maintain a healthy nervous system and process your emotions. You can learn these things from classes, apps, books, or YouTube channels. 

Seek professional help for prolonged/consistent feelings of sadness or anxiety, distressing thoughts, and/or unresolved trauma.

You deserve wholeness and wellness, in both body and mind.

Sexuality and Gender

Sexuality is an important part of being human. Sexual dreams, arousal, and masturbation are some of the ways that humans experience sexuality before they share their sexuality with another person, and they continue throughout one's lifetime. 

How, where, when, why, and with whom you share your sexuality with others is completely up to you. However, in all sexual experiences with others, make sure you have the “three C’s”: Consent, Communication, and Contraception.

Consent is agreement to participate in any sexual activity and/or intimate touch. Consent must be given freely and enthusiastically, and can be withdrawn at any time. It may feel awkward to ask permission or check in, but it is absolutely vital, especially if you aren’t as practiced at reading body language or other social cues. Never do anything violent (such as slapping or choking) as part of your sexuality until and unless you have learned about proper consent and after-care.

Communication also takes practice, but being clear about expectations, desires, triggers, preferences, and more will help you to have meaningful experiences. You are allowed to communicate if you do or don’t like something, and you are allowed to ask for something you want.

Unless you are trying to become pregnant, make sure you use contraception to protect against unwanted pregnancies and infections. Condoms are often the cheapest and most effective options if there is a penis involved. Clinics like Planned Parenthood often have free resources with detailed information about contraception, and often carry free condoms.

Know that there is nothing you could do or have done to you that would make you “dirty,” “shameful,” or unworthy in any way. Women are often made to feel that their worth is dependent on how they experience or share their sexuality. To you young women: You are not a bad girl, or a good girl. You are simply a girl.

If you have experienced sexual assault, violence, or harassment (anything that happened without your consent), there is help for you. Reach out to a trusted adult, close friend, or hotline.

Sexual orientation is who you are most attracted to. You may be gay/lesbian (attracted to your own gender), straight (attracted to the binary opposite gender), bisexual (attracted to both binary genders), pansexual (attracted to people regardless of their gender), asexual (not attracted to anyone), or still figuring it out. People can even change throughout their lifetimes! None of these are superior or more normal than any other. 

Gender identity has to do with your own gender. Many people are “cisgender,” which means that they identify with the gender they were assigned at birth, based on their genitals. Many others are “transgender,” meaning that they identify more closely with the opposite gender from the one they were assigned, or that they identify with both or neither. How you dress or speak or look can sometimes show the world things about your gender, but they don’t have to.

Regardless of your sexual orientation or gender identity, you are valued and loved. You have much to contribute to the world. Find connections with friends and loved ones who celebrate and respect you no matter what.

If you have more questions about sexuality, check out the following resources:

Unitarian Our Whole Lives Sexuality curriculum 

Planned Parenthood 

Financial Responsibility

No matter what your financial circumstances, be honest and diligent in your financial activities. Find a good budgeting system that works for you, and practice saving if possible. If you have extra money that you do not need for yourself or don't wish to save, consider how you could use those funds to improve the lives of those around you, whether through donations to non-profits, gifts to friends, or supporting small local businesses.

Try to spend your money ethically when possible. You can “vote with your dollar” to show support for companies who prioritize fairness, equity, and sustainability.

Good Citizenship

If you live in a country where you are able to vote, register and use this powerful tool to be an influence for good in your community. Take time to be informed about the issues, both local and global, and find ways that you can contribute to the growth of humanity. Work for equity and fair treatment of all people.

Make an effort to live sustainably. You have a responsibility to help take care of this planet, and to use its resources wisely. Research and implement small steps to make a difference.

Go Forward with Hope and Courage

Each generation has an opportunity to learn from the previous generation, and then to go out and make the world better. Sometimes this is easy, and other times, it may be very challenging. But you are equipped with unique talents and interests, strengths and abilities, and you can be confident that you have something beautiful to contribute to the world.

Newcastle, California

I’ve been thinking a lot about my late Grandma Jo’s house lately. I have only snippets of memories of the place, but something about it has been floating to the surface a lot lately. And recently, it has become deeply important for me to find it.

I follow a winding path through the internet, from FamilySearch to burial records, until I narrow my search down to one small town outside of Sacramento, California that “feels” right.

I’m fairly certain the house was on a hill. I remember my cousin Hillary falling down the gravel driveway. I know there’s some kind of large body of water within walking distance. There was a summer when I found “fool’s gold” in the mud on the shore and was certain I’d struck it rich. There are lots of trees and blackberry bushes—or at least there were in the early 90s.

I search “Josephine Avellino Newcastle California,” and instantly, an address pops up. 520 Mandarin Hill Road. I look at the satellite image on Google maps. Lots of trees. A long winding dirt road. A nearby reservoir. I think this is it. There’s no Google Street view available, but…I think this is it.

It’s hard to verify. I only have one picture from the house, of all of us cousins on the back deck, which doesn’t provide much “corroborating evidence” for this 520 Mandarin Hill Road house being Grandma Jo’s.

I check Zillow and Realtor.com and half a dozen other realtor websites, hoping for pictures. They all say the same thing. “Single family home built in 1973. Approximately 2,584 square feet, 4 beds, 2.5 baths. 5.7 acre lot. Last sold in June of 2000.” None of the sites have any pictures.

The problem is that I know how unreliable memory can be. I have a distinct picture in my head of the color of the exterior paint, of the garage on the right side of the front door, of the layout inside. But I have no way to check the reliability of these memories. And for some reason, I want to see it. I want to remember the house as it was.

I doubt I could find any old internet listings for the home from June of 2000. The internet was barely a thing in 2000. But I keep thinking about my old backyard on Rio Street in Medford, how it was one of my favorite places in the whole world, and now it’s gone. There’s a whole additional house built on the lot where I spent my teenage years gardening and reading and swimming and eating. I don’t want to lose Grandma Jo’s house, too.

My memories are fading, and if I don’t see pictures, if I don’t draw it, if I don’t write it, it will be gone forever. In this time when so many things feel uncertain, I need this to be certain. I need to know that my grandmother lived in a house on Mandarin Hill Road, because I know that I loved that place dearly.

Maybe I’ll have to write it.

The one picture I have is of warm red wood planks. A railing and a bench. To the left, a gazebo with a hot tub. There was a thermometer with birds on it hanging from the side of the gazebo. Trees and trees and trees all around. One growing right through the deck. There was a large field of grass down further left, with rhythmic sprinklers watering throughout the day. The sound still makes me think of Grandma Jo’s.

There were blackberry bushes all along the left side of the road near the house. In the summer, we’d go out and pick buckets full. Grandma Jo would put them into bowls and pour heavy cream over them, and we’d eat them with a spoon.

There was a two-car garage on the right side of the house, which I don’t have any memory of every going into. The house was painted with a weathered grayish green…the color of homes near the coast. The interior was decorated in this antique Victorian style, with late 1980s sensibilities. There was a cabinet full of antique dolls. Needlepoint samplers and lace doilies everywhere.

The living room was wide and comfortable. Overstuffed couches and armchairs, and lamps on end tables. I think the carpet was thick brown shag. A large sliding glass door led to the deck, where that picture of us cousins was taken.

The kitchen was a territory where children were in the way, and I don’t have strong memories of it. Light wood cabinets, maybe? White patterned linoleum?

The dining room is giving me some trouble, too. It was either through the kitchen, on the farthest left side of the house, or it was through the living room. Both feel equally accurate in my fading memories. I remember the continued theme of Victorian décor. Finely decorated china on the table, which was covered with a white tablecloth.

And I remember the food I ate there. Breakfasts like American gods. Breakfasts I still dream of and attempt to find at diners and restaurants around the world. Thick, buttered slices of toast. Plates of bacon. Orange juice and waffles.

There are two bedrooms and one bathroom down the hallway, off the living room. The bedrooms are forbidden territory. I don’t know if I ever even saw inside of them. The bathroom was small but available for use by guests. There was a soft pink toilet seat cover.

There’s a narrow staircase near the front door. If you walk up it, dead ahead is one of the bedrooms. (I think.) Right next to it is the upstairs bathroom, and at a 45 degree angle to that is the other bedroom—the one Beckah and I stayed in when we visited. And alongside the staircase, with a wooden railing protecting us from falling, a large landing. Right above the front door, there was a window seat. My memory is that books lined the walls, but I’m not completely certain—I may have just filled that in with my own description of a fantasy room.

This “room” was a perfect playroom for all of the cousins. Out of the way of the adults, but still within eyesight and earshot. We kids could peer through or over the railing (depending on our heights) into the living room below, spying on our parents. (What DID adults do when they weren’t taking care of us?) We played games up there for hours. A crowd favorite was “animals,” which didn’t seem to have any rules, in that way that children’s games often don’t. It mainly consisted of just…pretending to be animals. There was a rule about no two people being the same animal, so there was often some fighting over who got to be certain creatures. For some reason, “flying squirrel” was the most coveted species.

Maybe I’m drawn to memories of this house because as I imagine my own dream house, it looks a lot like Grandma Jo’s. In the trees, with wild blackberries all around. Enough room for the entire extended family to stay. A deck and an upstairs landing with a window seat. Rooms crowded with things that mean something.

Of all the things I love now, so many of them can be traced back to those summer visits to Grandma Jo’s. Outdoor decks and big sumptuous breakfasts and big family gatherings.

Maybe that’s how Grandma Jo’s house stays alive. Through more of those things.

(That said, if any Whittakers or Fortuners have pictures of Grandma Jo's house, and/or can verify that it was on Mandarin Road, let me know.) 

It's Gonna Be Okay

There are so many things I want to write about. Kathleen and her memorial, opening night of Safe, thoughts on loneliness and friendship and love and illness and grief and self-esteem and romance. But every time I try, my psyche is like NOPE. So I’ll just have to let those things out slowly I think—just let them grow until they’re ready to be set down fully formed, or else put them down a little bit at a time.

So instead, I’m going to write a bit of encouragement to myself. A short imagined letter from the future Liz. If I’m continuing the growth metaphor from above, consider this the Miracle-Gro. (Or maybe this is an oblique way to write about some of those things I listed after all.)

Dear Liz,

It’s okay to feel grief. It’s okay to not “handle it well” and to accidentally fall short while you’re trying to process your sadness and fear. Grief creates a fog that sometimes you simply must walk through. You’re doing your best, and it’s going to be okay.

I know you’ve got the blues lately. It’s partly just January. Keep going on walks—I know you never feel like it, but you can handle the cold for 20 minutes, and those 20 minutes of walking make all the difference in the world to your mental health. You’re always glad you went, even if you never feel like going. Take naps if you need to. Be compassionate to yourself.

I know you may feel lonely lately. In your efforts to be professional as a director, you’ve put up a few walls between you and the cast and crew. In your efforts to protect Patrick from your own sadness, you’ve put some distance between you. And after Kathleen’s memorial, it was hard to leave Medford and Beckah and everyone behind—all of that love felt blinding and you still ache with it. But it will be okay. You are loved and loveable, even in your grief and sadness and confusion.

I know you haven’t felt very pretty lately. That’s okay. We all have those phases. So you’re fatter than you used to be and your hair is kind of at an in-between stage and your body hair is doing weird things lately. You still rock those curves, girl. Your eyes still sparkle, you beautiful soul. Give yourself a pedicure and a face mask just because it feels good. Stand in a hot shower with your beautiful body just because it feels good. “Pretty” isn’t objective. You’ll find it in yourself again eventually.

I know you’re dreading that audition on Wednesday. But I promise, it will be fine. You dread every single audition you ever do, and then you survive it and sometimes you even get to do a show afterwards. You have nothing to lose in doing this audition. The worst that could happen is they could say no, and if you do get cast and are overwhelmed by scheduling conflicts and other challenges, you can decline. It’s good to just practice auditioning, if anything.

I know that there are a lot of things that just feel uncertain right now. And you can look for guidance in tarot cards and universe splitter apps and self-help books, but sometimes you have to just embrace the uncertainty. You can embrace the age-old wisdom of that damned Serenity Prayer, which is so trite as to be cloying but is nevertheless one of the truest prayers ever written. You can accept the things you cannot change, change the things you can, and be wise enough to know the difference. Trust your intuition. It hasn’t failed you yet. You are a divine being navigating a beautiful world where you can grow and learn and give and heal. Trust that your journey is perfect exactly as it is. Let yourself be carried where you need to be carried.

And to give you some perspective on the goodness you do get to experience, here are a few things to give you hope and happiness. Between your tax return and your savings, you’ll be able to make a down payment on a car in the next few weeks…one that gets better than 18 mpg. Aaaaand you’ll be able to start saving for a bike soon too, which for short distances will be better for your wallet, your body, and the earth. In two weeks, you’ll be in Disneyland with Beckah and Mom and Ray. You have wonderful roommates and a wonderful boyfriend and a wonderful family and wonderful friends.

It’s gonna be okay. Better than that…it’s gonna be beautiful. It already is.

Gratitude Journal, again

Sunday, June 17, 2019
Wednesday, July 31, 2019
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
Thursday, September 26, 2019
Friday, October 4, 2019
and a dozen others
Today I love my life for naps/sleep.

I rarely want to go to sleep at night. There are just usually more interesting things to do. Books to read, shows to watch, Instagram feeds to scroll. But I find myself enjoying more and more the slow drifting in and out of long afternoon naps, or weekend mornings when I can sleep in.

I’m enjoying the simple possibility of naps. My therapist once gave me permission to sleep if I need to, and I think that absolution is what makes the naps so enjoyable. I don’t need to be productive every second of every day. Sometimes living life to the fullest means listening when your body says it needs rest. My instinct is still to think of naps as a “treat” or something to indulge in on special occasions. But I’m learning to let that go. I’m learning to embrace the “unproductive” “lazy” “indulgent” and “childish” practice of naps.

*  *  *

Wednesday, September 18, 2019
Today I love my life for going on a walk and rehearsing for auditions even though I didn’t feel like doing either.

I don’t feel like doing any of the things I need to be doing tonight either, or even could be doing tonight. I don’t feel like taking this dog on a walk, and I don’t feel like blogging, and I don’t feel like reading, or watching something, or sleeping, or being alone, or being with friends, or eating, or sound designing, or anything. But I’m going to take this dog on a walk, because I’m being paid to and because I suspect it will actually make me feel better. And I’m going to eat, because I suspect that will make me feel better too.

But that’s as far as I’m going to plan ahead. If I don’t actually feel better, maybe I’ll at least have the satisfaction of doing 2 things. I’ll figure the rest out after I get that far.

*  *  *

Wednesday, December 11, 2019
Today I love my life for Aaron and Jessa.

I’ve got some kind of poem building in me as this chapter closes. Right now it feels too big to write. Right now I’m simply holding it in my heart, waiting to see how it grows.

*  *  *

Wednesday, December 18, 2019
Today I love my life for impeachment.

I know it’s complicated. And I know that it all feels so partisan. And I know that it’s very unlikely that all of the Democrats and all of the Independents and at least 20 of the Republicans all currently in the Senate will convict the current President.

But dammit, we did the right thing. Even if it doesn’t lead to removal from office, impeachment was the right thing to do. It showed our commitment to the just laws that govern our citizens and leaders. It emphasized that no one is above the law.

I don’t think impeachment is meaningful ONLY if it leads to conviction and removal from office. No President in United States history has ever been convicted and removed from office. Presidents Andrew Johnson and Bill Clinton were both impeached by the House, but not convicted by the Senate. Richard Nixon resigned before he could be removed. But we remember that Nixon was impeached. We remember that Clinton was impeached. We remember that people stood up and said, “You can’t too that.” And that’s powerful. I like to think I’m bipartisan in this, even though I know my own biases run pretty deep. The rule of law applies equally to both/all parties.

*  *  *

Wednesday, December 25, 2019
Today I love my life for a beautiful Christmas with someone I love.

Here’s the problem with healing old family traumas and wounds. It means that now I miss my family all the time, and especially on holidays.

I think every family has traumas and wounds—it’s just the nature and extent of them that differs. I won’t spend time here describing mine, because that’s not the point. The point is that I’ve spent the last few years in therapy working to heal. And I’m discovering that all of those old wounds and traumas were also a wall keeping me from connecting with loved ones. And now that the wall is crumbling, I miss loved ones. We’re spread far and wide—California to Oregon to Colorado to Nevada to South America.

And holidays can be hard. I wish I could spend Christmas in the kitchens and living rooms of my own family, eating good food and singing and laughing and playing games and watching movies. I miss being with my people. I miss baked goods and caroling and homemade candy and reading aloud. I miss conversations with the people I belong to.

So if I can’t have all of those things with my own family, I’m grateful I could share some of them with someone else’s, and with someone I love.

Patrick and I opened presents together at his mom’s house, along with his sister and her husband, and it was a beautiful chaos of wrapping paper and explanations and thank you’s. We had dinner at a neighbor/family friend’s, where we played games and talked. I read “Angela and the Baby Jesus” and we did a Christmas Mad Libs.

But my fondest memory of Christmas is later that night, when Patrick and I listened to musicals and sang and played Rummikub and talked and laughed. It's so easy get lost in the stresses and uncertainties of life and dating and schedules, especially during the holidays, and in my anxiety, I forget to do the things together that fulfill us: good music and good company and good conversations. That Christmas night, just the two of us, I felt connected to him and to myself and to us as a couple, and it was beautiful. It felt like family.

Stories I Inherited

Children playing in the rubble, Hamburg, Germany, WWII

For most of my life, there was only one time I can remember my Opa speak about World War II. We were watching television, some program on the Discovery Channel, and from the silence, he said in his thick German accent, “I have seen a plane wing falling from the sky in Bavaria.” I turned and looked at him. He lifted his hand and let it drift, floating towards his knee, demonstrating the path the wing he saw followed.

“When was that?” I asked.

“I was a boy,” is all the detail he gave.

Opa’s father lost his arm during World War I. Ferdinand Wolff. When Hitler called men up to march, I’m told that Ferdinand sat behind a desk. Oma’s father, he was a soldier, too. Friedrich Flack’s military records no longer exist, but I know that I am descended from men who wore swastikas on their arms. Oma was ten when World War II ended, twelve when her father returned from a Russian prison camp, 90 pounds, tuberculosis-ridden. It’s difficult to untangle the war from the Holocaust. They aren’t exactly the same thing.

I know my great grandfathers weren’t tried at Nuremburg. Neither of them were Goethe, or Hoesse, or Himmler, or Mengele. I’ve heard other stories, the thoughts of the men and women who knew their ancestors were the architects of the “final solution.” Monika Goethe, whose father ran the work camp Plaszow. Rainer Hoess, whose grandfather was in charge of Auschwitz. His grandmother used to tell the children to be sure and wash the strawberries they brought in from the garden; they always “tasted of ashes.” Niklas Frank, who executes his father anew every time he speaks at a school or a community center.

The Nazis I come from do not have stories that are published and dramatized and studied. I do not have that weight to carry. I have the weight of an ordinary man. A man from Hamburg, father of four, who smoked a pipe and got tuberculosis during his stay in a Russian prison camp, and returned years later to the ivy-covered house a few blocks from the harbor. I have the weight of a man whose son and daughter were sent to live in the country for protection, while he sat behind a desk and went home to a freezing house.

Over the years, I’ve heard excuses made for the SS. They were just doing what they were told, Stanley Milgram-style obedience. They didn’t know what Hitler was really doing. They were poor and starving and just trying to survive. And I’ve heard that every single German is culpable for the millions of lives lost in those dark years. My grandparents have stories of homes being destroyed, of eating turnips fried in coffee grounds, of winters so cold and no coal for heat. And I carry the stories of the people who hid, who were taken, who were murdered.

I do not want my feelings about World War II to be complicated. Hitler was wrong, and those who supported him were wrong, too. But I love my Oma and Opa. I love the stories of their fathers, and their families. My compassion for my family feels like betrayal. I am not a Nazi sympathizer. But I sympathize for my family.

There are white supremacists and Neo-Nazis among us still. Skinheads who run poorly designed websites about the “white genocide.” (Which, for the record, is not a thing that is happening.) For years, I thought they were too isolated to do much more than talk, but the last few years have shown me how many have been in the shadows. A tire iron swung behind a bar. An arm raised in an SS style salute. Hiel Hitler. Men with rifles and tattoos, who walk in parades, glowering. Women who cook meals for them and bear them blonde children.

These men, and Hitler, propped an entire movement up on a belief that the worst of humanity must be “bred out.” In 1922, Hitler said to a friend: “We must try to bring to the surface the valuable traits of the people… to cultivate and to develop them, and we must find ways and means to prevent the propagation of all the bad, inferior, criminal and decadent tendencies and all the congenital diseases so damaging to the Volk.”

When I first learned about World War II, there was a part of me that ached. I felt guilt for my family’s part in the story. I feared what I had within me. I feared there was an evil in my heritage. I was born of the “bad guys.” I’ve dealt with this fear in different ways over the years—making jokes, ignoring it, playing devil’s advocate. Writing about it.

But perhaps this fear of what I carry is the very fear at the heart of Nazi thought. I fear “the bad, inferior, criminal tendencies” that may have somehow made their way into my blood. But no doubt all of us carry darkness in our family trees. And if I’ve learned anything from the past few years, it’s that fear should not rule us. Fear can lead us to betray ourselves and each other.

So if I have darkness in my blood, I will carry it. But it’s not all I will carry. I will carry with me the story of Oma and Opa meeting at a dance hall and spending all night in one another’s arms before they knew each other’s names. I will carry the story of Oma’s mother pulling down the picket fence to burn, rail by rail, to keep her children warm. I will carry Ur-Opa’s pipe and Ur-Tante Maren’s red socks mended with white yarn and Ur-Onkel’s car-tracks in the backyard. And I will give these things to my own children someday. Every story—the aching ones and the shining ones—and they can carry those, too.

Of lake and parks and creeks

When I was very small, I thought Lake Elizabeth was named after me. It’s a man-made lake in Fremont, a city to the southeast of San Francisco Bay, where I grew up. It’s surrounded by a large park, several playgrounds, and a couple of community buildings. 450 acres, and a lake that’s around 80 acres and maybe 8 feet deep. I sat in my grandparents’ sailboat on Lake Elizabeth’s waters. We rented paddleboats and bought ice cream cones. I fed ducks on its shores. A few times, we went swimming in the roped off area that demanded payment for use. I remember once we found a tiny orange kitten in the reeds on the south side of the lake, his little eyes glued shut with sickness. We named him Moses and took him to the nearby animal shelter.

There was one summer when my sister and I went to a day camp there. My sister and I were separated and the teenagers working there never gave us the color of marker we requested. If I could have figured out how to wander off, I would have. Maybe I did. As a child, I much preferred the company of nature to the company of my peers.

So many of my memories of Lake Elizabeth are of the small creek that meandered from the lake, through the playground, and into a wilderness refuge. To a dreamy girl like me, it was paradise. I was a small peasant girl, fetching water from the river to bring back to my family in our hut. I was a witch, gathering herbs and performing spells in the grass on the edges of the water. I was a pioneer, lifting my petticoats to ford a river on my way across the Oregon Trail.

There are strange, unspoken rules among children in public spaces. There are two ways to stake a claim on a particular area: be the first, or be the loudest. I was rarely the loudest, so I usually tried to be first. If I wasn’t, I had to settle for some other, smaller patch of shore to call my own.

I moved back home to Fremont for one semester during college. In the afternoons before my closing shift at the bookstore, I would take my grandmother’s old bike and ride out to Lake Elizabeth. As a twenty-two-year-old, the walk around Lake Elizabeth was short and manageable, an easy two miles. I would bring a book, or my journal, or a picnic lunch. Sometimes all of the above. I would watch as kids played by the same unspoken rules of territory by the creek. The grass was kept short (and often soiled) by flocks of Canadian geese.

There was less imagination in my use of the park as an adult. I went there for a change of scenery while doing the things I would be doing at home—reading, writing, walking, eating. But I could still feel the green of the park seep into my spine. It made me feel calm and quiet in the same way that it did when I was a child. Like a fish returning to water. Or more like breathing when you’ve been underwater.

I still visit Lake Elizabeth now and then. Everything at the lake is a little smaller to me now. The creek that was a wilderness to 6-year-old me doesn’t have the same untamed nature that it did then. I’ve embraced the fact that it was not, in fact, named after me, but rather after Fremont’s sister city, Elizabeth, South Australia. There’s a tunnel for BART, the public train, that runs right under the lake now. There’s a tree there planted for my late uncle, who died when I was too little to understand what that meant.

We adults still follow the same unspoken rules about territory—whoever’s first or loudest claims a spot. We’re more civilized about our claims, but we make them nonetheless. A picnic blanket here marks the border between my space and yours. Stay away from my picnic table, strangers. I didn’t come here to connect with people. I came to connect with the trees.

I wonder how long Lake Elizabeth will remain. If I’ll wheel a stroller with my own daughter around its perimeter. If I’ll watch her wade in the creek. If she’ll have a daughter that will do the same. I wonder if Lake Elizabeth will be a precious sanctuary to them, as it was to me. I hope it is. I believe it will be.

Rockaway Beach, Oregon

We stayed in a small apartment, decorated predictably with a “seaside retreat” theme. Jars of shells. Paintings of ocean waves. Disturbing and brightly colored salt and pepper shakers in the shape of fish, their lips puckered obscenely. There’s even a framed copy of “Footprints in the Sand.”

When I was young, I had a bookmark with the familiar allegory printed on it. I remember being fourteen, a poet at heart already, and astounded by the unexpected beauty of the last line. “It was then that I carried you.” Standing in a Hallmark gift shop, I showed it to my father in awe, and used it to mark my place in my scriptures for years.

Now it feels cloying. Trite to the point of absurdity. There’s a Gideon’s Bible in one of the drawers here, alongside playing cards and a selection of puzzles. Hints that maybe we’ll all get saved on this trip.

Beckah and I share a pullout sofa bed that somehow gets absurdly smaller every night we sleep in it. I have no physical explanation for this phenomenon and conclude that it must be either metaphysical or metaphorical. A symbol of having outgrown something, maybe.

That week, I spend every morning walking on the beach. A brief 15-minute communion with my first love. The Pacific Ocean is creator and destroyer, nourishing and violent. It is genderless and powerful and bigger than I can fathom. My love for it feels the same way.

I felt quiet on the last morning, sitting in the car as we drove away from Rockaway Beach. That morning was an efficient flurry of packing and cleaning, carrying things down the stairs. Quiet cooperation. We drove through forests of dense pine and ferns and I listened to my parents talk in the front seat. I’m sad to be leaving my family behind here. I’m going to miss them.

The melancholy of already missing them feels like my heart has been dipped in warm honey. I’ve spent the last few months digging through all of my miniature childhood traumas, stumbling over anger and hurt from the past like driftwood after a storm. We’d all been broken at some point, for some reason or another, and there were times when our home was a hospital with no doctors or nurses. We were all doing the best we could with what we had. All of our volatile hearts reading abandonment in every choice everyone else made. I remember times when we were all of us so hurt and angry with each other that the air seethed with it.

But it all feels so long ago now. Not something to ignore, but something that doesn’t really matter anymore.

There are still hints of what was, in small moments, spread apart. There are moments when we are impatient with each other. When wounds barely healed break open at the slightest word. Some olive branches are dropped into the sand. There are table settings that are empty. And yet look at us, all these years later, passing marshmallows around the campfire. Talking about whether or not the morality of the artist affects the art as we drive to a restaurant in Manzanita. Smiling, sharing frozen yogurt samples. Taking turns at the dishes, at taking out and putting away bedding. Walking through brambles and weeds on that hill in Tillamook, where in five or six years, there will be a garden and a porch and a house with a giant kitchen.

It may sound trite, but it feels like the ocean no longer dashes us against the rocks. Sometimes a rogue wave knocks us off balance. Or the water rises above our knees with the kind of freezing shock that paralyzes us for a moment. But the ebb and flow of the tide doesn’t threaten to drown us anymore. Our heads are above water now.

We’re laying a foundation above the tsunami zone, at the very least.





photo credit: Dad Whittaker

Dear Diary: A Toddler's Life

I found this project I had started years ago, when my nephew Benjamin was just 2 years old. It was inspired by a nursery school teacher who had kept a similar "diary" on my behalf when I was that age. Benjamin just turned five about a month ago, and I'm feeling deeply nostalgic. It was fun to re-visit this two-year-old Benjamin and re-work this piece.

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Aunt Liz has been asking me about my dreams lately, but I haven’t given her a straight answer until today. She explained that “sometimes we imagine things while we sleep, and those are called dreams.” After that explanation, I replied, “Oh yeah! ChuckWagon! Mommy more pay-dohs. Daddy don’t bite it.”

"Chuckwagon" is what I call the Chuck-A-Rama restaurant, because of the wagon in the logo. That restaurant a big deal in my mind. (So is Play-dough.)

No one knows where I got this, but I keep using the word “forty-eight.” Today after my nap, I sat up and looked at the bookshelves and said, “Whoa lots books. Forty-eight books.” I use this number to describe things all the time.

My favorite things at Liz and Jacob’s house continue to be the “duggle balls” (juggle balls) and the “cale” (scale) in the bathroom. I also love dancing to the Ting Tings, watching “Danel Tiger” on the iPad, pressing the doorbell button, and singing to Frozen in the car. Today, I discovered that I can slide around in the kitchen on my stomach, but Liz won’t let me—she says it’s too dirty. Maybe she should clean it more so I can slide.

Also today, Aunt Liz was pulling a sticker off a pear and I saw it and wanted it. But she had already thrown it away by the time I asked for it. She told me she was sorry and that she threw it away. So I stood in front of the garbage can and quietly said, “Sticker? Where are you?” I don’t know why Aunt Liz hugged me so hard and smiled so big after I did that.

Benjamin

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

I was sooooo sleepy all day today. But Aunt Liz and I had some fun running errands. We went to Walmart, where I held the little mirror she was buying for a long time, and that was fun. Then we went to the pet store, just because it was close by. There were so many fun things there! Fishies, kitties, birdies, and I even got to pet a puppy. I wanted to hold every animal, and open all the cages. But Liz told me they had to stay there in their homes. My other favorite things were the bags of rocks for fish tanks. I love rocks.

Then we went to the Dollar Store and played with toys for a long time. I found a cool microphone toy and made Aunt Liz sing into it, and then I looked for everything remotely shaped like a microphone and made her sing into them too—fake lightsabers, nunchucks, bubble wands.

The only sad thing is that grown-ups never let me take things from stores! I just want to hold everything and take everything home, but they never let me. Someday I’ll figure out why.

I do know some things, though. While we were at the store, Liz said, “I wonder what time it is?” And I replied, “Forty-eight!”

At lunch today, Aunt Liz gave me some special Jewish bread called “challah,” but that’s too hard for me to say, so I just call it “Lala bread.”

I’m still obsessed with listening to Frozen whenever we get into the car. My favorite parts are the very beginning of “The First Time In Forever”—the music is so exciting! It always makes me grin and dance when it starts. And I also love the end of “In Summer,” and I sing it reeeeeeealllly loudly. Liz always smiles so big when I do that.

Benjamin

Monday, November 15, 2015

I spent the WHOLE WEEKEND with Liz and Jacob and Grandma and Grandpa and Dave and Camilla and Anna and Laura. I saw Anna in a show called “Mary Poppins,” and even though it went waaaaay past my bedtime, I loved it. When we were leaving the theatre, I told Liz, “Saw Anna! We did it! Really really fun.” Then I saw someone that I thought was Anna, so I called out her name. Liz explained that it wasn’t Anna, but that she did kind of look like Anna. I said, “Kind of Anna. Friend!” and reached out to the person for a hug. I’m quick to make friends.

I played with Lucy and family all weekend, and it was fun. Grandma even gave me a haircut and I stayed still the whole time. I slept for most of the drives, but the last hour to Salt Lake City made me INSANE. I just sat and made crazy faces and crazy noises for at least half an hour. I was going nuts being strapped in the car seat, so Jacob ran around with me in the grass at a rest stop. It was FREEZING, and my little nose was red with cold, but I just wanted to run around, and I was pretty upset when we had to get back into the car.

I went to nursery in Grandma and Grandpa’s ward, and I was a little nervous to be in a new nursery, but then there were bubbles, and it was okay. And I made a shaker with two paper plates! I was very proud of it.

Benjamin

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Today, I told Liz several very detailed stories during lunch.

STORY #1: “Go see lots books! Libary! And see see see? Winnie Pooh. And Eeeeeeeyore. And libary stay really quiet. Stay stay right by me. We did it!”

STORY #2: “Don’t ride it the frog. Scary frog at the zoo! Really really fun. See muggies [monkeys] throw bread up there! See lions. Eflants [elephants] water. Muggies stand in trees! Scary muggies.”

STORY #3: “Play outside, too shiny. Oh no, fall down. Hurt leg, go doctor. Benjamin hurt leg, Daniel Tiger hurt leg. Get sticker.”

The last story was probably inspired by the episode of Daniel Tiger I watched, where Daniel Tiger gets hurt and goes to the doctor for a bandage.

Also during lunch, I pretended to sneeze some apples into my hand. Then I looked at them and said, “Oh no! Apples fall down!” Then I dropped the apples on the tray, and said, “Try again, apples!” I did this a few times.

I’m starting to put longer and longer sentences together, and I’m starting to understand more about grammar. Today, instead of saying “Craisins good,” I said, “Craisins are good.” I also identified the fridge and told Liz that there was a second fridge. She explained that the top one is called a freezer. A few minutes later, I pointed over and said, “That’s a fridge. And that’s a freezer. At Liz house!”

I get kind of crazy when I’m sleepy, and sometimes it takes some persuading to get me to take a nap. But sleep always wins. One day I’ll stay awake! I will!

Benjamin

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

I went with Liz to get an oil change for the van today, and spent a long time in the waiting room. It was pretty fun. There was a baby in there, and paper to throw around, and vending machine buttons to push. I kept asking Liz if we could watch “Daniel Tiger” on the vending machine, but she said no. Also, Liz said we would go to the library today, but we never did! I reminded her about it in the afternoon, but she said we didn’t have time. Maybe next week. Because, as I told Liz today, “I really love books.”

I still have a cough, so my nap was a little rough. But when I woke up, Liz said, “Hi Benjamin.” I looked at her blankly for a full ten seconds, and then said, with no expression at all, “Muggies.” Liz raised her eyebrows and asked if I dreamed about monkeys, and with excitement, I said, “Yeah! And Benjamin go Chuck Wagon really really soon!”

As a two-year-old, the most influential experiences of my life have been seeing monkeys at the zoo, and eating at Chuck-A-Rama, so it makes sense that I would dream about those things.

Benjamin

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Today, Liz and I took the train to Gateway shopping center. I saw Olaf in a window, which I was very excited about, and also watched a splash pad/fountain show. I kept telling Liz I wanted to play in the water, but she said it was too cold. When I heard the announcement for the musical fountain show, I looked up at the speakers and said, “Oh! That’s conference!”

After my nap today, I told Liz that I dreamed about “Mary Poppins! See Anna on stage!” And Chuckwagon. As usual.

I’m way more independent than people think I am. Today, Liz noticed I had a little hangnail. She tried to just pull it off, but couldn’t get it, so she said, “I’ll get the clippers.” As she walked to the bathroom, I belligerently called out, “No! I can do it!” A few seconds later, I walked into the bathroom and handed Liz the hangnail I had just taken care of myself.

Also, I have no idea what colors are. At age two, I can count to ten accurately and consistently. I can point out circles and triangles by name. Today, I correctly identified the letter E. But any time Liz tries to talk about colors, I have no idea what she’s talking about. “That’s a blue pillow!” I’ll say. She’ll say, “Actually, that’s orange. The blanket is blue.” And I’ll smile and say, “That’s greeeeeeeen!” So I know the names of colors, but not what they mean. But how am I supposed to know? There’s no shape to them! No one knows how to sufficiently explain what green or blue or orange is. Ugh. Babyhood.

Benjamin

December 16, 2015

I had a pretty uneventful day with Liz. We did go to IKEA, but it wasn’t super fun because she wouldn’t let me get out of the cart. When she said we were leaving, I said goodbye to everything I saw as we walked past it. (“Bye, boxes! Bye, other more boxes! Bye, so many clocks! Bye, lights!”) After a while, I didn’t know the names of things, so I just resorted to “Bye, stuff! Bye, other stuff!”

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve kept two toys in the car: a little flashlight and a little stuffed sheep. I always talk about them when we get into the car, and request them if they’re not immediately available. I also always say good-bye to them when I get out of the car. Today, when Liz woke me up from my nap in the car seat, I found the little sheep right away and exclaimed, “Oh, seep [sheep]! So sweet, seep. Like a little lamb! Snuggle up little seep.” Then I cuddled up the little sheep to my face and Liz almost died of my cuteness.

My outfit was so cute today: little blue jeans and a plaid button up shirt. I was like a little lumberjack! And when I sat on the couch to watch Daniel Tiger, I crossed my little legs like a grown up and Liz almost died of my cuteness again.

Also, Liz ate like, HALF of MY cheddar bunnies this afternoon, like a responsible adult. But I still snuggled up with her anyway. I’ve got a big heart like that.

Benjamin

Two Stories: "You Have the Heart" and "Twas the Night Before [Noun]"

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I hope you all had a lovely holiday. I spent Christmas in Washington DC with some whacky and creative family members, and I thought I'd share two of the stories we collaboratively wrote together.

"You Have the Heart" 
By Beckah, Liz, Isha, and Dad

This was composed during sacrament meeting on Christmas Eve (I know, I know) by each person writing a sentence or two and then passing it on. Color change indicates when a new author was writing. We ended up with a short, incomplete tale that was one part Star Wars, one part Avatar, and one part Monty Python. I scanned and included the first page of our "illuminated manuscript" so that you can appreciate the artwork. Final note: If you read this aloud, please note that the sea monster's voice sounds like a bad Julia Child impression.

Some time before the world was covered in concrete and ablaze with artificial light, there was a great and green forest. And within that forest, all things were connected by a power that lived and traveled through the roots of trees. The people of the forest called this power "the flow." 

The flow, however, required sacrifice. Human sacrifice. 

For the flow understood that, with its power, the people would destroy the world around them. 

But there was one woman who wanted the power of the flow for herself. She could feel it coursing beneath her feet and she knew that she could rule if she could somehow harness the flow. So setting off on a hero's quest, she began her journey, deep into the uncharted regions of the forest. For days she walked until she suddenly came upon a body of water. The trees grew right up to the edge, but she could not see the far side of the pool. She would not be deterred; neither would she go around. Calling upon the powers of the flow, she held her hands out to the pool. 

The waters began to shimmer, then vibrate, as if the very earth beneath was trembling. Suddenly, the water froze in place--not like ice, but frozen in time, solid as the banks surrounding the pool. She took a step. The water was solid beneath her. She began to walk slowly across. But as she did, she saw large shadows moving through the water, coming towards her. She held her breath. Suddenly, the creature burst out of the water, landing right in front of her. 

"I am at your service," it said. 

"Well, is there anything you can do about all this water you just splashed on me?" she said. 

"Well, no," the creature said, looking a little sheepish. "But I can lead you to the gateway!" 

"What is the gateway?" the woman asked. 

"The gateway is the entrance into the flow system. You have the key, I presume?" 

"Uhhh..." she replied. 

Looking at her slightly askance, in a pond creature kind of way, the creature said, "You have the heart, I presume." 

"Well, yes, I think I'm brave." 

"No, I mean the heart...from the human sacrifice. You did perform the required sacrifice, did you not?" 

"Uh, no. And yet I managed to freeze the water." 

"No, I did that." 

"Why?" 

"So I may counsel and show you the way." 

"So...I begin my hero's quest by following a pond creature. Lead on...I guess." 




"Twas the Night Before [Noun]"
By Beckah, Isha, Daniel, Liz, Jillian, and Dad

Every year, my Mom sends out a "Mad Libs" version of the famous "Night Before Christmas" poem. This was our result of filling in nouns, adjectives, etc. What we lack in rhyme scheme we make up for in absurdity. 

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the snuffle toast,
Not a water bear was watusi-ing, not even a mouse.
The Ho-Hos were hung by the carpeting with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be sleeping.

The children were nestled all snug in their Frances,
While visions of sugarplums purged in their toenail.
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my grass,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.

When out on the tesseract there arose such a clatter,
I fornicated from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I shot like a trout,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and 2,092 glossy trilobites

With a little old driver, so brisk and unabashed,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More slothful than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the Captain! To the top of the lard!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As shy leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with a nucleus, mount to the monkey.
So up to the house-top the courses they flew,
With the sleigh full of feet, and St Nicholas, too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The coping and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
down the facade St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his upper extremities
And his eviction notices were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
And bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a barricade, just opening his pack.

His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His gall bladders were like roses, his nose like a crown molding
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his phalanges was as puce as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had an annoying face and a little bouncy belly,
That shook when he presented, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and textured, a right jolly old elf,
And I eviscerated when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the tables, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his iguana aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he slipped!

He sprang to his popsicle, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all baked like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he pranced out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"