from a tweed couch, on a mountain

some things you never grow out of. candy, for one. and sugar cereal. my dad, in his early 50's, will still eat sugar cereal with me, in my mid-20's, in the morning.

but, something that struck me today as meaningful and, well, nice was the decision i made to visit my grandparents. i'm on a little retreat. my contracts final is now less than 48 hours away and i am taking refuge in the far-off land of Orem where i can study without my phone and without visits and without temptations, (well, at least the usual ones) and i don't get kicked out of the library.

i'm studying where i imagine my dad used to study, since he lived here and went to BYU as an undergrad, catching a ride with grandpa to provo since grandpa taught music at provo high for years and years. my dad is diligent like that - and consistent. but what has amazed me today and something that i realized i have not outgrown is the wonder that i feel at my grandparent's house. the size has maybe changed a litte. the rooms aren't as big as they seemed when i was younger and the hiding places have all but vanished as viable crawling spots, but the intrigue of the house's personality is still here.

i catch myself getting distracted by the house's accessories, like the lamp that hangs elegantly down on the right hand of the piano, like an illuminated pearl drop earring. later, i move down to the study once the sun has left the wide stretch of windows that kept me warm, and in here - books and books. from "the new oxford history of music: ars nova and the renaissance" to "minute masterpieces" to the "age of elegance" and books on every genre of history. and there are records, vinyl records! and a rack of cassette tapes with labels like "the music man" and "the little engine that could" and "it's a wonderful life, lux radio theatre." some of my grandpa's plaques are on the wall from his years at provo high and some from being the director of a barbershop chorus. one of my dad's watercolors is framed against the brown paneled wall.

i'm sitting on a couch that looks like a tweed jacket. it's pretty sweet. files of family history, music compositions by grandpa, disks of stories, an old chess set, 3-D slides on various desks around me. the wireless router is on top of a stereo from at least 25 years ago. that's an interesting blend of technological history.

a book of picasso's drawings and michaelangelo's too - bottom shelf. books on reading and literacy up higher. which reminds me, grandma was an english teacher. she has all her beloved novels on these shelves. "to kill a mockingbird," "cry, the beloved country," "jane eyre," and collections of thomas hardy, willa cather, and i think everything written by ray bradbury.

over there, a book on poland. gilbert and sullivan recordings.

i imagine my great-grandmother's house was similar to this - at least that which i can remember. nana's house. somewhere in old-money Salt Lake. she had exotic things in her house - from interesting places. fine things and strange things. she used to be a great singer, my grandpa said - she even sang as a soloist in the Messiah at our very own Salt Lake Tabernacle. she and my robust and fiery great-grandpa somehow skimmed past the devastation of the depression and lived a good life with their twin girls (both poets and musicians) and my grandpa, the only boy. i wonder what things/tastes/personality traits i will carry with me from this heritage. probably my love for information, literature, the world, history, music, and fine things. but also, things unexpected.

as i walked with grandpa outside to see his pansies and cherry trees (leftover from Orem's orchard days), i mentioned how beautiful mt. timp looked. "would you look at that..." he said as he gazed up at it. it was gleaming. he told me that one time, he had flown into Salt Lake and saw timp from the air. "that's my mountain!" he told his neighbors on the plane, who wondered why he was so excited. "it is quite magnificent, isn't it," he mentioned as we walked back to the house. now, i know my grandpa and i are different, to be sure. but, today i realized that i shared something very great with him. we both have the same mountain.

post 81

i could smell the blossoms from the trees as i rode by today.

for the sake of the first time

Dear Readers,
I am one who is wary of sad, unrequited-love poetry. So, forgive me. But, I have to be honest with you all - I experienced something for the first time within the last little while that I couldn't help writing about: a broken heart. It's true. And people - it does hurt! I was taking everyone's word for it. And about the poetry, let's face it - I am in good company. The best and worst of poetry/prose is on this very topic and I am merely offering my meager contribution.

Sabishikatta kedo

i think i am almost over you.
colors that made me think of you
are setting in with the concrete.

i talked you out of us once.
twice.
the second time was to convince myself.
but you
you
you never protested.

some tried to comfort my loneliness,
saying they hoped someone would fill the void.
but loneliness didn't want 'someone,' it said.
it was lonely for you.
it even wanted to keep hurting
because it meant part of you was still around.

but, i think i am almost over you now.

"lonely for you" is sinking into "vague lonely" -
no longer attached to anyone in particular -
and it seeps in like concrete filling an anthill,
hardening inside each chamber,
till the researchers wash the sand away to see the tunnels inside.

march 16: happy freedom of information day

so, i noticed that march has a series of under-appreciated holidays right in a row like the following:
march 13 "friday the thirteenth,"
march 14 "pi day,"
march 15 "ides of march,"
and march 17 "st. Patrick's day."

but what of the 16th, you ask? i asked the same question. fortunately, my good friend natalie was able to find something we could celebrate today:

Freedom of Information Day

Freedom of Information (FOI) Day is an annual event on or near March 16, the birthday of James Madison, who is widely regarded as the Father of the Constitution and as the foremost advocate for openness in government.
Madison Awards

Each year, the James Madison Award and the Eileen Cooke State & Local Madison Award are presented by the American Library Association on Freedom of Information Day to recognize those individuals or groups that have championed, protected, and promoted public access to government information and the public’s right to know.

so, happy freedom of information day. remember not to take for granted your freedom to share information.

and let's face it, holiday movies are always fun. White Christmas, Groundhog Day, etc. so, for suggested movies to watch on these holidays, i've thought of the following:
friday the 13th - "freaky friday" (the old one with jodie foster)
pi day - "dying for pie," the best spongebob episode (i think my fam has this on dvd)
ides of march - "julius caesar" (with marlon brando)
st. Patrick's day - "darby o'gill and the little people" (or you could watch "behind the waterfall," if 'feature films for families' is your kind of thing)

i still need one for freedom of information day. any suggestions?

also, can i just celebrate something very exciting for me today? i donated blood for the first time today and considering the fact that i was feeling all queasy just watching "the office" episode where they donate blood and that m*a*s*h on occasion makes me nauseous, i was very excited to get past my big fear. so, happy blood donation day for me.

here's me with my tough hot pink bandage:

(i had a different picture up, but i needed to look tougher and i'm afraid this is as good as it gets)

o youth

this picture is hatsune chan who has been on my mind recently. i miss this little lady. we used to sing and play together, and i was "Barker teacher" at English class. how can you not be charmed by that wink and smile?

today, i played soccer on the sunny, soggy grass with a handful of law students and a flock of fifth-graders. i was so happy after that little bit of exertion, my heart sang a hymn to youth. how subtle those experiences are when we get to interact with children and experience their innocence once again... and feel free of care... and to think - i was once a child too... so why do we see them as a whole different subset of the population now? what changes occur that make us cease to "make-believe" and instead begin to doubt? i think i've forgotten too much what it was like to be a kid. do they know they bring joy and vibrance with them?

petit allegro

two tall queens
one blazing, one ice

standing on my instincts
of bricks, black and white

rosy cheeks, coy smile
magenta drapes
white chords
warm gaze, cool response
wink in the blur
against the pulse

i'll borrow that genius
borrow the burden too
'cause it was just two days
fearing not seeing you

words part IV

i'm not really an artist.
you made me realize things about myself
as we talked across plastic glasses of life.

i'm not really a poet.
i come, directions not included,
stumbling across my words.

i don't know. maybe it's not what i'm not.
maybe it's what i am.
and our lines crossed

like the kites in those lyrics that i like.
and i'm not sure which is stronger for you,
the wind or the pull.

i'm hovering over right v. wrong and
someone ate tonight's directions and left
a styrofoam leftover in my lap.