Time Yet for Visions

Noodles of the Night

2012-01-23T21:04:00.000-08:00

Every year, as part of the Sydney Food Festival (which, incidentally, was way back in October...that's how behind I am), they hold Night Noodle Markets for a week in Hyde Park. When we heard that this would be part of the month-long culinary celebration, we knew we must check it out and get our fill of dim sum and noodley deliciousness. Asian street food is definitely on our list of things we love to eat. (But then...that's a long list.)

When we could not eat even one more noodle, we walked around the city for a bit to take in the scenery.

St. James Station

The Sydney Tower

The Queen Victoria Building

Built in 1898 to replace the Sydney markets on the same site, the QVB was later used for offices for the Sydney County Council. At one point it was in danger of being torn down, but was instead restored and returned to its original purpose as a shopping center--currently housing a very posh mall. It is one of our favorite buildings in the city. We love to walk around inside to admire the interior, although I can't say we make many (or any...) purchases.

Sydney Town Hall

Split Personality

2012-01-11T15:27:00.000-08:00

We live on a little neck of land between the Sydney Harbour and the Pacific Ocean, which means that when we come out of our apartment, we can go right one block and hit water or we can go left one block and hit water. The harbour side has a sort of East Coast feel--with ferries making their regularly-scheduled journeys and quaint little lighthouses in the distance and sailboats rocking back and forth in the water. The ocean side feels more West Coast--with surfers and bikini-clad sun worshipers and everything that comes with a beach culture.

I love both sides equally for their different personalities.

After living in Dallas my whole life, I struck out to the West Coast to try Los Angeles on for size. And I loved it. After a few years there, I decided to finally head to the East Coast, where I'd always envisioned myself landing. So, it was off to Washington, DC. I loved it there, too. LA and DC are completely different from one another in pretty much every way, and I have a deep love for both cities for totally different reasons. Each one awakens different parts of my soul. When I moved to DC, I missed LA terribly. But I knew that if I ever moved back to LA, I'd miss DC just as much. What do you do when you want to be in two places at the same time? Or, rather, when you want two places to be...the same place...?

Living in Manly is a little bit like living on the West Coast and the East Coast all at once. At last, my multiple personalities are able to find simultaneous fulfillment.

Still...this place could really use a Georgetown Cupcake. Just sayin'.

Reading Room

2011-11-10T00:01:00.000-08:00

"A room without books is like a body without a soul." So said Cicero.

It could be said that my and Spencer's relationship is based on a book. Well...books (plural), actually.

I moved many times as a single lady. Many. Times. In ten years, I lived in seven apartments. Four in Dallas, two in LA, and one in DC. Moving for me means boxes and boxes of books to be hauled down the stairs...only to have to be hauled back up the stairs again at my new place (because I almost always live on the third floor somehow).

Amidst one of my many moves as I was boxing up my books yet again, I remember wondering aloud to my mom, "What if I end up with a boy who doesn't like books?" She said she didn't think that was possible.

Spencer and I met three weeks after I arrived in DC in July 2009 and had gone out six or eight times before he moved to Australia that October. When he left, there was no arrangement, no understanding between us. But we kept in touch and would chat here and there--just small talk, mostly. And then! And then we had a conversation about Atlas Shrugged. He'd never read it, I told him he must. He bought the book and started reading it within the week. He loved it. He couldn't stop talking about it. And, for the first time, I started to think things could get serious. When he came home for the holidays he gave me a bracelet that had reminded him of the one Hank gave Dagny, and I gave him...another book: Shop Class as Soulcraft.

I hadn't yet read that one, but I wanted to, and I hoped he would want to. He did. He read it on the plane on his way back to Australia. And he loved it.

Before we were engaged, I'd given him two more books. He began reading every book I gave him almost the minute he had it in his hands. I'd never had a boy show so much interest in what I cared about. I wasn't even sure it was possible.

And now, a pattern has officially developed. A few weeks ago, when he arrived home from work, he surprised me with a book he'd picked up for me. The best part about this constant book exchange is the conversation it fuels. We talk and talk about what we are learning and about how our world views are being affected. And we are more connected because of it.

It seems my mom was right. It could never have been otherwise. Books have to be a significant part of my life with Spencer, else there would be no life with Spencer.

In every room a stack of books and in our bodies, souls.

Manly: Up Darley Road

2011-10-10T22:28:00.000-07:00

Every time I leave our apartment without a camera I regret it. There is so much to capture--so many endearing things about Manly, so many details I've grown to love. I love the sidewalk cafes and little boutiques. I love the architectural stylings of all the old buildings. I love the traditional Aussie houses with their red tile roofs and swoopy waves on the peaks. I love the chimneys. I love the doors. I love the fences. I love the gates. I love the tiled front porches and the ornate overhangs. And I think I'll never forget what life looks like here.

But then I remember. Time moves quickly and images fade and your memory is all too soon only able to offer up very vague renderings of what life was before it became what it is.

So. New goal. Take the camera with me ~~everywhere I go~~ more often. Even if I'm just walking up Darley Road to visit a friend in the hospital. Which, incidentally, is where these shots came from.

Great Barrier Reef: Check

2011-10-06T20:36:00.000-07:00

An anniversary is a good excuse for a little trip, don't you think? We thought it the perfect occasion to check the Great Barrier Reef off our list.

Check!

We flew into Cairns on Thursday evening and drove north on a dark, winding, 2-lane road for what felt like forever, but what was really only about an hour. We arrived at our hotel in Port Douglas at almost midnight and headed straight to bed, as we were scheduled to meet our shuttle for our snorkel tour first thing in the morning.

We spent Friday on the open seas. The Great Barrier Reef is 50 kilometers off shore (which takes about an hour and a half by boat). It was a beautiful day, so we headed to the top level of the boat and claimed a couple of lounge chairs and thought we'd get some sun since we had some time to kill.

The water was a mite rough, and we were getting tossed around pretty good up on the third level of the boat...but we thought, eh, we can take it! The further we got from shore, however, the less sun we seemed to have. Dark clouds were on the horizon, and the wind was blowing something fierce. (For a second I wondered if we'd boarded the USS Minnow.) We kept getting pounded by huge waves of icy water, which is fine when there's sun to dry you off and warm you up. Less so when it's just cloudy and windy and cold. Needless to say, we didn't last long "lounging in the sun" and ran for cover down below.

The sun didn't really come out all day, but luckily, our snorkel guides were fully prepared and provided wetsuits to help make our adventures in the water a little less chilly.

The Great Barrier Reef is amazing. Its sheer size alone is almost unfathomable. The water is crystal clear and there is plenty of sea life to hang out with, of course. Our favorite sightings of the day would have to be the reef shark and the giant clam. (Oh, and Angus--the huge blue groper who was hanging out under the boat at every stop. How did he know where to find us every time?) The red, blue, orange and yellow coral just goes on forever. We didn't have an underwater camera, but our snorkel tour peeps had a photographer in the water with us so we got this amazing shot of us in action. Christmas card material? Hmmmm, perhaps not.

Other than adventuring "way far away from the dock" to see the reef, we spent the rest of our time totally relaxing and enjoying the scenery of Port Douglas. Oh, and eating. Lots of eating.

We loved getting to see such different terrain from what we're used to in our
neck of the woods. Much more tropical and mountainous in that part of the country.

Rock oysters and a bottle of Pellegrino equals one happy husband.

The view from our table for our anniversary breakfast.

Mmmm.... A delicious brekkie. Please, could someone
make me stuffed french toast for breakfast every morning? Thank you.

I may or may not have snagged some protein off the
mister's plate. Really. Who needs that much meat in one meal?

And the most interesting part of breakfast was this guy hanging out in the water. Spencer was
less intrigued than I. He forged ahead with his meatlover's special while I grabbed the camera every time
the croc came close and went running to the edge of the dock trying to get a shot.

I sang, "Don't ever smile at a crocodile," the rest of the day.

Obviously. I mean, wouldn't you?

As the Shadows Fall

2011-09-27T19:49:00.000-07:00

I took this picture from my window as we flew back from Cairns last Sunday night. I had become rather involved with my book as we flew, but looked up just in time to see this golden ribbon of sunlight momentarily resting on Australia before the indigo sky gently pressed it down into the shadows.

In that moment, I became very aware of the space our silver airplane occupied as it moved through the sky in what suddenly felt like slow motion. I thought about all the life that was being lived on the ground below as the darkness gathered--life that is rich and satisfying at times, cruel and heartbreaking at others--and how none of it ends just because night comes. I wondered at what God must see from above that ribbon of light. How many individual circumstances and struggles. How many tragedies, how many triumphs. How many loves and hurts and joys and fears. And how He knows them all. And feels them all. And holds them all in His hands.

"And [my] heart swelled wide as eternity." Because I have a part in that great scene playing out below. And, tiny as my role may be, I am tied to the whole of it.

As the shadows fall, O Savior,

Turn our thoughts and minds to thee.

Help us, Lord, that we may strive for

Peace, and find our rest in thee.

Grass So Green

2011-09-19T07:44:00.000-07:00

We took this picture when we visited Kangaroo Valley last Christmas, and I think it's so pretty. And so green!

You know that thing about how the grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence from wherever it is you’re standing? Well, I’m here to tell you it’s true. The grass is greener.

A year ago yesterday, Spencer and I tied the knot. Before finding him, I had moments here and there (slash everyday) where I wondered if he was ever going to turn up. Sometimes, in such moments, people would tell me that marriage isn't all it's cracked up to be anyway, so not to worry about it--to enjoy my single life while it lasted 'cause, you know, the grass is always greener. But a year ago, I hopped the fence to inspect the grass myself. All I can say is this grass is so dang green! Greenest grass I’ve ever seen, I tell ya.

Maybe I'm still experiencing a bit of a honeymoon phase...? Perhaps it's that I was single into my 30s and had plenty of time (not to mention reason) to wonder if there was ever going to be an end to that chapter of my life--so, now I can look back on my single days and know for sure what I'm missing (or rather, not missing...). Whatever the case may be, I'm not worrying too much about what's making the grass look this way. I'm just enjoying the view.

Green. As far as the eye can see.

One Day More

2011-09-08T17:17:00.000-07:00

Everyday we spend living here, I can’t help but think about how we're one day closer to returning back to a life in the States, which is to say, everyday here brings us one day closer to leaving this adventure behind. Every time I take a run to Shelly Beach, I think about the day I’ll be running on sidewalks on regular streets in a regular neighborhood in regular America. Every time I see the Sydney Harbor bridge and the Opera House, I think about the day we’ll only be able to say, “Oh, we’ve been there,” instead of, “Yeah, we live there.”

We often talk about how our lives will never again be the way they are right now. And we know that there will be days where we will long for this life when we no longer have it. Still, we feel drawn to what our lives will become on one of those regular streets in a regular neighborhood in regular America.

But right now, we have this life. For at least one day more.

Home, Sweet Home

2011-08-23T23:51:00.000-07:00

We got to go home to the States a couple of weeks ago. Spencer's sister was getting married, so that gave us an excuse (thanks, Katie!) to make the trip across the pond and spend some time with family and friends. (And stock up on all the items we can't get over here in Australia. Hauling one empty suitcase home to fill with goodies is just SOP these days.)

First stop was Salt Lake City for the wedding. Our first night in town we went into the city for dinner and, while there, took an obligatory picture on the wedding pedestal and wondered if we'd made a mistake getting married in Dallas. (I think I'll always be torn on that one.)

How could I not feel a little bit that way when we see this as we're coming up the sidewalk? Really.

Before leaving Utah, we took a day and drove down to BYU. I haven't been back since I graduated and wanted to see what had changed. The "Y" is still up there on the side of the mountain. (Whew.)

While the new Joseph Smith Building is beautiful...I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty sad to see so much concrete between the SWKT and what was once the SFLC, where there used to be a nice grassy quad. So many sunny afternoons spent lounging on that green with friends, then heading to class (on those rare occasions when we actually chose to go to class) only to come back to find a whole new group of friends spread out on the grass with books open and notes out. (Who were they kidding? None of us ever got any studying done like that.)

We hit up the BYU Bookstore. I think we spent almost as much at the candy counter as we did on books.

On to Dallas, where it was ridiculously hot and humid. I think they were on day 26 of over-100-degree-temps when we got there, and we didn't have a day with a high below that our whole trip. (Last time I was in Dallas they had the ice storm that threatened to shut down the Super Bowl. I seem to always be there for the extremes in weather.)

We got to attend the baby blessing of my newest niece, Reese. We got our Tex-Mex fix at Chuy's. Two words: shrimp taquitos. Oh, man.

We also hit Wild About Harry's for some hot dogs and our favorite banana pudding shake...

...and some wedding day deja vu.

And speaking of wedding day deja vu...seeing as how we're almost at our one-year mark, and how we will be far away from home when we actually hit it, and how there was wedding cake waiting in the freezer for the traditional first anniversary commemoration, we dug in a little early.

I'm pretty sure this bite never made it into Spencer's mouth...but some icing may or may not have made it onto his chin.

Take 2. Success! Mmmm, tasty. Freezer-burned cake! It actually survived pretty well, considering.

Birthday Boy

2011-08-16T23:29:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time (a month and a half ago, to be exact), there was boy who had a birthday to celebrate. The boy whose birthday it was had to be in Singapore for the week leading up to the big day, of course, arriving back in Sydney the very morning of the birthday bash. (And when I say "bash" I mean a quiet day spent just the two of us.) So the night before, I stayed up late decorating the apartment and making a big fat cake and writing sappy cards and other such birthday-related silliness which silliness is exactly what make birthdays so much fun.

When Spencer arrived home, he found that our apartment number had been changed to 35 in honor of his new age.

He received a series of less-than-life-altering, but very thoughtful (if I do say so myself) gifts. You know it's a good birthday when you get the all-about-China issue of"The Economist."

We took a ferry to Watsons Bay to hike to the two lighthouses there--something we've been meaning to do for a while now. (I had hiked to the red and white one before, but he never had.) The weather was crisp and cool and windy, but sunny and beautiful.

After a yummy seafood dinner, we headed back home for birthday cake. Quite the inferno, no?

I had whipped up a Chocolate Peanut Butter Layer Cake that was waiting in the fridge. (Although, since I'm not a coffee drinker, I actually only used this recipe for the peanut butter mousse and the frosting. For the cake, I used a recipe for Velvet Chocolate Cake that I pulled out of one of my mom's "Southern Living" magazines a million years ago.) It was a huge hit, as the birthday boy is a chocolate/peanut butter lover. Seriously. LUV-er.

Happy birthday to the Hubs.

Gargoyles. Apostles. But No Kangaroos.

2011-07-15T16:49:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine came to visit a few weeks ago. She's a PoliSci professor and was doing some research in New Zealand and here in Australia. She stayed with us for a few days in Sydney and then went on to Melbourne and Canberra. The Hubs was traveling, as usual, so I tagged along for the adventure.

Melbourne

Melbourne is such a cool city. It has a totally different vibe from Sydney. Like LA is to San Francisco as Sydney is to Melbourne. That kind of different. It has a fantastic art and food scene. The architecture is so interesting--a ton of Gothic Revival and Art Deco style. (My fav.)

I was obsessed with the gargoyles, of course.

The streets are the broadest I've ever seen in a large, metropolitan city.

Sometimes up to four lanes on either side, with wide medians where the trolleys run.

Oh, and traffic turns right from from the far left lane. Because of the trolleys, we think.

(In the States, that would be like making a left turn from the far right lane. What the?)

We loved all the old homes that look like spooky haunted houses. So lacy and ornate!

The Great Ocean Road

Jessica had it on her list to drive out to see The Twelve Apostles, so she rented a sporty little

Mini Cooper and we made the trek. (I was happy to join her, as that's been on my list, too.)

The Great Ocean Road is comparable to the Pacific Coast Highway.

It's a 151-mile stretch of road along the southeastern coast.

(The arctic winds were definitely not comparable to the Pacific breezes of the PCH. Oh my brrrrr!)

We pulled off at several lookout points to take in the view.

Or at least what we could see of it through the mist.

We appreciated this reminder getting back on the road. Really. We did.

We saw many a "kangaroo crossing" sign...but never any actual kangaroos. We actually would have preferred to see many of the latter and none of the former. I mean, if we could've had our druthers.

The Twelve Apostles are a collection of limestone stacks just off the coast, about a four-hour drive outside of Melbourne. There are actually only eight "apostles."

There were nine until one collapsed. Never twelve. So why the name?

Apparently the rock formations were originally known as The Sow and Piglets. But it was decided that something named after swine wasn't going to draw the tourists. And so.

Apostles.... Piglets.... Whatever you call them, they sure are beautiful.

Canberra

On to the capital city of Australia. Since Jess was doing research for her PoliSci-ness,

Canberra was kind of an important stop. When she wasn't in interviews, we poked around a few of the government buildings.

We toured the Parliament House.

The grass on that side slope goes all the way up onto the

roof of the building. The idea here is that the elected officials are not above the people,

but rather beneath them. Get it?

We visited the Old Parliament House. It was in use until 1988 and is now a museum

where you can roam around freely. Many of the rooms and offices are set up very much the way they would have looked when the representatives moved to the new building. Retro office furniture, early desktop computers, rotary phones, the whole bit. Kind of fun.

We visited the Australian War Memorial, which is a museum dedicated to Australia's veterans. It is huge. H.U.G.E. (I think I actually spent six years in the WWII wing.)

The interior is divided by each war Australian soldiers have ever fought in. It was fascinating to view the wars of history through eyes other than my usual American ones. Never done that before....

¡Viva México!

2011-06-21T04:30:00.000-07:00

Exactly how far is the outback from Mexico?? Coming to Sydney, I knew Mexican food wasn't the most popular cuisine over here, but I figured I'd be able to get the basic ingredients I needed.

Enter Australia and its unfortunate placement clear on the other side of the world from Mexico.

Turns out, Mexican influence hasn't infiltrated Australian culture like it has American culture. I know, I know. Hard to imagine such a place.

Most Mexican ingredients are either not easily obtained or not available at all. I can't get corn tortillas at my grocery store—I have to go to the one across town to find them. (Corn Tortillas!! I think you can buy those at any corner store in the States, can't you? (Yes, I'm exaggerating.)) It took me weeks to track down black beans. Tortilla chips cost a fortune. I think my grocery store has one brand of salsa and it's not a good one. Definitely nothing of the verde variety. Want to make anything that calls for a can of green chilies or chipotle peppers? Forget it. No queso fresco to be had. And at first I thought they didn't even have cilantro. (Gasp!) Then I found out they do have it, but they call it coriander here. (Whew!)

I did find chipotle peppers at the import store, finally. Eight dollars for one of those little tiny cans! Some of the cheapest items on my grocery list back in the States are like gold here.

It's taken a little time and a little adjusting, but I've figured out how to get by. And "getting by" has called for learning how to do things from scratch, which I've always wanted to do with Mexican food, but it was so easy to just buy stuff like sauces and mixes and canned chilies. I have learned how to roast my own chilies and make my own enchilada sauces. And, as you know, fresh pico de gallo beats a jarred salsa any day of the week.

And while Australia doesn't have a love for Mexican food, they do have the internet. And I'm finding more amazing Mexican-inspired recipes than you can shake a maraca at on the Homesick Texan.

Not sure I'll ever go back to my old pre-prepared ways. (Hopefully not....)

Try the sour cream chicken enchiladas. They're uh-mazing.

Straight-Up Hong Kong

2011-05-24T06:43:00.000-07:00

Mmmmm. Just look at that air quality. There's a reason many residents wear white masks everywhere they go.

The Hubs had to go to Hong Kong a few weeks ago for work

and asked if I wanted to come along.

Duh.

I didn’t even know what to do with that city. It’s not like any place I’ve ever been before. So many people occupying so few square feet. I mean, I’d heard, you know—

how they ran out of space on the ground, so they just went up. And up and up.

And up.

But I didn't know. Until I'd seen it with my own eyeballs, I just didn't know.

It was a quick trip, but we managed to fit a few things in.

We went up to The Peak for what we'd heard was the best view of the city.

We went to the temple. We were asked to be the witness couple, which was funny,
considering the session was in Cantonese. Not a big deal. Until the prayer….

And then...well...and then it's too late, isn't it?

We took the escalators up to the Mid-levels.

And then we had dinner and walked around SoHo taking pictures.
That was our favorite night.

We went to church. Which was not in Cantonese, even though the sign is.

We ate some pretty legit Chinese food, although deciphering the menu was no small task.

And we just enjoyed seeing another part of this amazing world we live in.

Good times, they were.

Mom, can you please hold my wand?

2011-05-08T04:55:00.000-07:00

I heard a little girl say this to her mother as I passed them on the street the other day and couldn't help but laugh to myself. The child was wearing a poofy pink skirt and clearly had something important she needed to do that would require both hands, which meant parting with her wand for a moment.

It made me think—even when we don’t need our moms, we still need our moms. There are those days where we just don’t feel like we can do it alone and need someone to help us through. Or days when we just don’t know if we can deal with all it means to be an adult. Or days when we just need someone to prop us up a bit until the rough times pass and we can pick back up where we left off. To lend us strength when we feel like we’ve run out of our own.

It seems that no matter how “grown up” we get, Mom is still the one we run to for advice, comfort, encouragement, validation…or just to hold our wands for a bit. And what would we do without her?

Happy Mother's Day to all the amazing moms. Especially my own. Heaven knows she's held my wand more times than I can count.

There's Nobody Here

2011-05-02T05:04:00.000-07:00

(Actually wrote this a few months ago...but never posted it.

J-dub left for Shanghai again this morning...and it mostly still applies. Except it's fall now.)

I’m the loneliest girl in the world. No, really.

Okay. Not really. But I’m PRETTY lonely.

But how can this be?

I lived alone for four of the six years before I got married. I KNEW how to live alone. And what’s more…I liked it. Not that I didn’t love the roommates I had when I didn’t live alone, ‘cause I did love them. I still love them. But I also loved living alone. In my very own apartment. With my very own front door. And my very own refrigerator. And my very own everything. Knowing that the whole place was the way it was because I alone had caused it to be that way. Having every speck of floor space and air space to do with it whatever I pleased.

The Hubs left for Shanghai this morning. From Shanghai, he will go to Tokyo. And I won’t see him again until the end of next week.

This is a short trip compared to his last one, which lasted over 2 weeks. But he hasn’t even been gone 24 hours yet and I’m already going crazy. I’ve been married now just over four months. Four months! I lived totally and completely alone for FOUR YEARS. Have I really forgotten how to be alone so quickly?? And I only spend an average of three and a half hours a day with the boy anyway (awake, that is…).

So I find myself needing to do a little self-evaluation to see if I can identify the reasons I might be suddenly feeling THIS lonely. And the results are in:

1- It’s summer, which means it’s spider season. And in Australia, the spiders are the size of my hand. And I spotted one in our building yesterday. And I just KNOW there’s one lurking somewhere in our apartment. And if it shows itself sometime before next Thursday, I will have to deal with it. Alone.

2- I have no access to American television. No Fox News to fill the void. No Candice Olson or Ina Garten or Glenn Beck to keep me company.

3- My family and 99.9% of my friends live approximately 8,000 miles away. I can’t imagine how far away that would actually feel if it weren’t for g-chat and skype.

4- It’s raining. Hard. And rain always makes me lonely. Even when I’m not alone.
5- While I used to love living alone, that was before I had ever lived with a boy, which I always suspected I would rather like. Now I live with a boy. Which I do rather like.

And now I feel better. ‘Cause it turns out that I’m not such a miserable failure at being alone, after all. It’s just that being alone has gotten lonelier.

But mostly, I just miss The Hubs.

Newtown + the Stephens

2011-04-26T04:10:00.000-07:00

So, we told our friends, Dale and Aki Stephens, about our search for really good Indian food, that ended in really good Thai food and Dale’s eyes lit up like a little kid’s on Christmas. Said he, “There’s this place. In Newtown. BEST Tandoori Chicken.” Said we, “Let’s do it.”

That weekend he and Aki picked us up for the adventure. We drove over the ~~river~~ Harbor Bridge and through the ~~woods~~ the city to Newtown, which is a happening little part of town right by the university. Everyone’s all edgy and alternative and hip there.

Dale told us the restaurant was kind of a hole in the wall. We told him we weren’t scared, as holes in the wall often have the best fare. When we arrived, a quick glance around informed us that every Indian cabby in the city had beat us there, so we knew it was gonna be good.

And it was. Tandoori chicken like no other. Seriously.

And to finish off the night, we sang loudly with the windows down on the drive home. Proclaimers. Crash Test Dummies. Good times.

Stuff We See Sometimes

2011-04-17T20:50:00.000-07:00

The Hornby Lighthouse at South Head.

(I always get that "Candle on the Water" song in my head when I look at it.

You know. The one from Pete's Dragon...? Anyone?)

Fountain in Hyde Park with St. Mary's Cathedral behind.

One of our favorite spots in the city.

View from one of my newfound stair runs. Not bad....

5-0 in the ~~house~~ Harbor.

Saw this boat get "pulled over" the other day. Not sure what they did wrong,

but they did not get away with it.

Birdy friends. Rainbow Lorikeets and Cockatoos are regular visitors to our balcony ledge.

Especially when I'm providing the grapes.

An unexpected glimpse of the bridge from inside the city.

Thai is to Indian

2011-04-14T06:45:00.000-07:00

We’ve been hankering for some good Indian food. The Hubs has been telling me about this place in Potts Point that he went to way back when having me as his wife was only a hope and dream in his little heart. Potts Point equals not easy to get to. But it also equals a chic little part of the city I haven’t seen before. Aaaand…if it also equals really good Indian food, count me in. And so. To Potts Point!

Ferry across the harbor, pleasant walk through the Royal Botanic Gardens, lovely meander past Elizabeth Bay, and a quick detour through just a corner of Kings Cross. And we found ourselves at the Opium Den in Potts Point...which, you should know, does not serve Indian food, but rather Thai food. Which was very good for Thai food. But not very good for Indian food. In case you were wondering.

The Hubs couldn’t quite figure how all this time he’d thought it was Indian he’d eaten in Potts Point when it was clearly Thai. He was on a date with some girl, who he had very little interest in, of course, because he had already met me, of course, and meeting me was the end of his interest in any other girl on the planet. Of course. So, perhaps he was so distracted by the fact that the girl was not me and preoccupied by having to make conversation with someone he wished was me…. And that could make anyone forget whether the food was of the Thai or Indian persuasion, I suppose.

Rear Window

2011-04-07T04:55:00.000-07:00

This is what we see outside our windows on the back side of our apartment. How "Rear Window" is that? Some days I half expect to see Raymond Burr tying up a trunk in one of the apartments across the way or burying something in the flower bed.

We're like Jimmy and Grace--getting glimpses of our neighbors' worlds just by looking outside of our own. Like the lady who does her cleaning in a t-shirt and her underwear (which, incidentally, we choose not to look at very long...). Or the woman who cuts her tiny patch of grass with one of those old-timey lawn mowers that gives a high-pitched squeak with every push. Or the guys across the way who appear to have nothing in their apartment except for a couple of chairs and some surf boards.

Strange to think that we live right next to people we never interact with. People we never know. And yet, we are connected. The human experience connects us. Or is it the fact that there is more to the human experience than...the human experience?

How to Attend the Temple: In 37 Easy-to-Follow Steps

2011-03-26T06:40:00.000-07:00

1- Leave your apartment at 3:05. Yes, I know that’s FOUR hours before the session starts, but trust me on this.
2- Run to catch the 3:15 ferry.

3- Get nailed by a seagull somewhere between your apartment and the wharf...for the second time in a week. (The seagulls, they love me.)

4- Try not to curse at the bird and your misfortune. (You are going to the temple, after all.)
5- When you arrive in the city, duck into a McDonald's and steal some napkins.
6- Moisten the stolen napkins at an obliging fountain and use them to wipe away the seagull excrement from your soiled bag.

7- Continue walking the ten blocks to your hubsy’s place of business. Only, you should probably half-walk/half-run as you've lost a good deal of time messing with napkins and fountains and seagull poo.
8- Retrieve your hubs and half-run/half-walk with him another few blocks to the train station.

9- Take the train to Epping station, about a 45-minute ride.

10- Walk a couple of blocks to a bus stop, which you hope is for the right bus.

11- Misread the route information at the stop and start walking the other direction to see if you can identify the “correct” bus stop.
12- When you see what actually is your bus coming up the street, run back toward the original stop to see if you can catch it.
13- Try not to curse when you don't make it. (You are going to the temple, after all.)
14- Sit at the bus stop in a disgruntled manner because getting to the temple is so hard.
15- Reminisce about the good old days when you lived just down the street from the temple in LA.

16- Get on the next bus when it arrives, and take it to the stop a few blocks from the temple.
17- Take a shortcut through the nearby shopping center.
18- Purchase some interesting/not entirely appetizing items from the Asian bakery because you don’t have the time to sit and enjoy a legitimate dinner (if you can call a meal at KFC “a legitimate dinner”) as you had originally planned.

19- Eat a couple bites of the worst excuse for a chocolate croissant you've ever laid taste buds on while you simultaneously dodge eight lanes of traffic to cross the street to the temple.

20- Make a mental note to never trust an Asian-owned bakery chain with your French pastries.
21- Hand the rest of the thing masquerading as a chocolate pastry to the hubs to finish off as you exchange your flip-flops for heels.

22- Walk calmly, coolly and collectedly into the temple as if coming to the temple is a breeze and you are in the perfect frame of mind for a session.
23- When you come out of the temple after your session, do another quick wardrobe change, this time switching your heels for flip-flops so you're appropriately outfitted for the journey back home.

24- Hope against all hope, as you’re leaving the temple grounds, that someone leaving in a car might notice that you are leaving on foot and think to stop and ask you if you need a ride somewhere.
25- When no one does, make a pact with the Hubs that someday when you have a car again, you will offer rides where possible. Especially to temple-goers.
26- Make the 15-minute walk down the hill to the Carlingford train station.
27- Buy a ridiculously overpriced Sprite to sip/inhale as you wait for the train.

28- When the train arrives, choose your seat carefully as it is the end of the day and the end of the line and the whole car smells of urine and there are unidentifiable substances smeared on all surfaces.

29- Try not to curse humanity as you settle in for the ride. (You did just come from the temple, after all.)
30- Share your mister’s headphones to watch an episode of the Office to take your mind off the condition of the train car and make the trip go faster. Choose the one that was the hour-long special, 'cause you will be on trains that long.

31- Get off the train at Clyde to transfer to the red line to get you back to the city.

32- Fight the Friday night bar mob for 10 blocks back to Circular Quay. You should probably try to hold your breath most of the way because the cigarette smoke is so thick.
33- Arrive at Circular Quay only to learn you've just missed the ferry.
34- Wait 30 minutes for the next one.
35- Drag your filthy, disheveled and beat-down self off the ferry and across the street to your apartment building.
36- Test your mister’s patience in the elevator as you take one final picture to document the journey.

37- Collapse on the sofa and swear to yourself you will never leave your apartment again.

See? Nothin' to it. The whole trip only takes about 8 hours. And I figure the Pioneers’ trip from Nauvoo to the Salt Lake Valley was probably almost as hard. I mean, they didn’t have to figure out the stupid public transportation system. But still….

Corned Beef Love

2011-03-21T15:17:00.000-07:00

This past Friday marked our six-month anniversary. "How is that possible?!" you ask. I have no explanation. I told the Hubs that in some ways it feels way shorter, and in other ways it feels way longer. Like we got married yesterday and also we've been married forever. New and old. Inhabiting the same space in time. Like something out of the Twilight Zone.

And, as everyone knows, nothing says love like corned beef. Am I right or am I right? With our six-month anniversary falling the day after St. Patty's Day...it seemed the only appropriate way to celebrate was probably with a big slab of corned beef (minus the cabbage). So I went into the city and met the Hubs after work for dinner at Bistrode CBD. He's been raving about the corned beef here since he first partook of its deliciousness some time ago. The Hubs is not one to exaggerate, but having never experienced truly phenomenal corned beef, I must admit, I was not duly prepared. After devouring, I decided maybe I never wanted to eat anything else. Ever again. Maybe it's just my teeny-tiny sliver of Irish blood talking, but that CBD chef knows something about corning beef.

And to think it didn't even make our waiter's top recommendations. Probably because he was French. And really, what does a Frenchman know about traditional Irish fare? As for me and my fair Irish ancestors (and my Hubs of English descent), we know that corned beef love is indeed the truest of all loves. (Believe me. It is.)

Longest Ladies in All the Land

2011-03-06T05:16:00.000-08:00

The Queen Elizabeth and the Queen Mary 2 were in Sydney a couple of weeks ago. I hopped the ferry into the city just to give them a gawk. Can you blame me? These are two ladies you ought to get a good look at if ever you have the chance. Definitely not your average cruise ships.

It was Mary's first time to Sydney. She had parked herself over in Woolloomooloo Bay, making it hard for anyone to get a good look. (Such an elitist!) But Queen Elizabeth was hanging out right there for all to see, so my fellow ferriers and I got our fill of pics as we pulled up alongside her. Felt like she went on for miles.

I honestly could not get over how massive she is. So much bigger than I'd imagined. Astonishingly, staggeringly, larger-than-life big.

It was almost as if someone had gone and plucked one of the skyscrapers out of the Sydney skyline and just laid it there on the water. With the city as her backdrop, she seemed to blend right in, although, it was certainly a tight fit in the cove that day.

Here's the skinny on her royal highness.

Queen Elizabeth:

Length: 964.5 feet

Width: 106 feet

Guest capacity: 2,068.

She is second only to her sister, who is the largest cruise ship in the world.

Queen Mary 2:

Length: 1,132 feet

Width: 131 feet wide

Guest capacity: 2,620.

Wowza.

Ode to an Etude

2011-03-02T16:37:00.000-08:00

I've had an etude by Czerny in my head for over a week.

Here's the thing. I used to play the piano. A lot. Then I stopped. Not because I didn't want to play anymore, rather because in order to play the piano, one must have a piano to play. Granted there were always pianos I could have played, if I were the disciplined type who did what it took to fit that into my life. But I'm not and I didn't. I'm the type who wants a piano in the next room that I can play in my pajamas and bare feet, all lackadaisical like, whenever I want. I'm sure you understand.

Enter the J-dubhub and his 88 keys. Don't tell him I said so, but I might have married him for his piano.

A piano! In the living room! That I can shuffle over to and play any ol' time. Like when I should be going for a run. Or when I should be doing the grocery shopping. Or when I should be looking for a job. Or when I should be doing laundry. Or when I should be making dinner. You get the idea.

So, that's the long and short of it. I'm getting squishy. I still don't have a job. And the Hubs never has any clean clothes to wear or food to eat. Because I'm playing the piano.

When I was at home in Texas last month I rummaged through the music cupboard to see if I could find any of my old piano books. Lo and behold. So many! It felt like an amazing discovery, the likes of which I had not known since maybe the day I found black beans in Australia. (But that's a story in and of itself.) I brought that whole stack of books back with me...which is mostly why my suitcase weighed as much as a small car. (But just a small one. A smart car, probably. That's not so bad.)

And my world is full of sonatinas and bourres and waltzes again.

How happily they're all back in my head. Beethoven, Chopin, Bach, Haydn, Kuhlau. Like old friends who have been away for a very long time. I catch myself singing their melodies everywhere I go.

And Czerny. He'll probably hang around for a while still. With his etude and his octaves.

Welcome back, sir.

Surfer Dude

2011-02-28T18:47:00.000-08:00

Somebody cue the Beach Boys.

Summer's still on in Australia. But not for long.
We're doing our best to soak up
every
last
drop.

My Mom is Better than Your Mom

2011-02-24T02:19:00.000-08:00

(picture taken at my wedding, courtesy of my aunt cecily)

It's my mom's birthday. I won't say which birthday. I prefer the approach of Houston socialite, Lynn Wyatt: "I don't count my birthdays, but I sure as heck celebrate them."

I'm down.

So. In celebration of my mom's birthday, I have compiled a list of the top 10 reasons my mom is better than your mom. (No offense. I know your mom is lovely, too.) (But mine is lovelier.)

Drum roll, please...

10- My mom has insane spatial-temporal reasoning abilities. Insane. Like, you should NEVER try to pack a box or organize a closet or fill a moving truck or even arrange your furniture without her.

9- She makes the best pies known to man. Seriously. If you've never had her cherry pie, you've never HAD cherry pie. For real.

8- My mom is 100% devoted to her family. She has been known to drive...alone...all over the country to help with moves or participate in major projects or simply to provide moral support.

7- She'll listen and listen and listen to anyone who needs to talk. And she has.

6- She is an extremely talented artist. She painted this. And somehow my little brother got his hot little hands on it before I even knew it existed, which I might be slightly bitter about still.

5- She can make anything line up perfectly. Lasagna noodles. Pictures she hangs on the wall. Doctrinal concepts. Stars...if necessary.

4- My mom is, hands down, THE best prayer—as in "one who prays." Her prayers have located lost diamonds, made important missing files appear out of thin air, and produced international visas nine days before they're needed to enter countries that don't even consider applications for visas within two weeks of the trip. Ever.

3- She taught me to read before I'd even started kindergarten because I wanted so badly to learn. She took me through a lesson every day (two, if I was being particularly demanding) so I could read like my brothers.

2- She has always been an example of being true and faithful, and that example has been the most consistent guiding light of my life.

1- She's my best friend and has been since the day I was born. She's my favorite person to shop with, cook with, clean with, work with, and just plain hang out with. I value her opinion more than anyone else's and usually can't proceed with anything until I've obtained it. Which I'm sure she gets tired of, but if she does, she never lets on.

See? Best. Mom. Ever.

Happy birthday, Mom! Don't count it. Just celebrate it. Wish I could be there to celebrate with you.

Valentine Cookie Stacks

2011-02-17T13:02:00.000-08:00

For those of you who are not so lucky as to have previously had cookie stacks play a role in your Valentine's Day celebrations, allow me to introduce you. Valentine Cookie Stacks are crispy chocolate wafer cookies layered with whipped cream and topped with a cherry. Pop 'em in the fridge and after a few hours the cookies get soft and cake-like and delicious. (Chopped pecans are optional. Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't. I always do. But that's just me.)

Every Valentine's Day, my mom would whip up a batch of these, furtively place a tray of them on the front door step, ring the bell, and quickly run back inside to be standing innocently in the kitchen when all of us kids emerged from the back of the house, racing each other to the front door. Every year we were determined to catch the cookie-leaving culprit. Every year we failed. It never even occurred to us that the reason we never saw any trace of the co-conspirator was because there was none. Mom worked alone.

Last year, before the Hubs was the Hubs, we spent Valentine's Day apart. I was in DC, he was in Sydney. In true "I have a crush on you" fashion, I sent J-dub a package filled with all sorts of Valentine cuteness, including a box of chocolate wafer cookies and a jar of maraschino cherries. I told him that when I came to visit the following month I would show him what they were for. But, alas. The boy ate every last one of those chocolate wafers long before I even arrived. And the cherries, he put in the fridge where they have been ever since.

So. This year was the year for the cookie stacks to make their debut.

But, wait...Nabisco chocolate wafers aren't available in Australia. (No big surprise there. Just add it to the list of things I can't get over here.) And since I've been learning to make so many things from scratch lately, for the first time ever it occurred to me that I might be able to make homemade chocolate wafers. Could it be?

According to Smitten Kitchen, it could be. So, I tied my apron strings tight and got to it. And behold...homemade chocolate wafers!

Okay, so maybe they're not as thin as the folks at Nabisco make 'em. And not as uniformly shaped. Gimme a break, it was my first attempt! And anyway, they're just as crispy, and just as tasty. I may never go back to the store-bought variety. And the misshapen-ness is actually kind of fun, if you ask me. That's the dead giveaway that they're the real deal.

Aaaaand...you can make some pretty phenomenal ice cream sandwiches with the remaining cookies. We only had vanilla ice cream on hand, but I'm already dreaming of trying them with mint chocolate chip and peppermint next go 'round.

A Study in Climatic Extremes

2011-02-15T17:33:00.000-08:00

I hate packing for trips. Hate. But. Truth be told. There is one thing I hate even more than the pre-trip pack. And that is...the post-trip unpack.

Oh, how I hate it. Words cannot describe.

I mean, really. Is there anything more tedious and, frankly, more depressing than unloading suitcases stuffed to the gills with clothes, now dirtied from all your adventures? Reminding you that all the fun you were looking forward to during the pre-trip pack (the anticipation of which is the only thing that got you through the miserable chore) is now lost and gone forever and all you have to show for it is a mountain of laundry. (Okay, you might have a tan and some fun stuff you bought with your birthday money, 'cause, as it turns out, fun stuff is obscenely cheap in the States, which makes birthday money loads more fun there than you'll find it to be in Australia.

But, oh the post-trip unpack. What a downer!

And two weeks worth of post-trip unpack just adds insult to injury. Especially two weeks spent back and forth between seasonal opposites. Forget packing light when you'll need everything from sweaters and winter coats to sunscreen and flip flops.

But what a two weeks it was! (Two weeks it was? What a two weeks they were...? Hum.)

As soon as we arrived back in the motherland, the Hubs had to go straight to DC for work, but I got to dawdle my way across the country starting with a blessed morning in LA where a friend treated me to brunch in Santa Monica. (I don't think I'll ever be able to quit Santa Monica. It's just too...Santa Monica.)

Then it was several days in Dallas. Just in time for the ice storm that shut the entire city down a few days before the Super Bowl, maybe you heard about it. And seriously? I get three days in Dallas, not to return again for who knows how long, and this is what I get? I mean, it's not like I had plans or anything.... Nope. No big plans. No plans involving Mexican food and a decent Target, and most likely a Banana Repub. Work with me! The withdrawals are killing me.

(I know, I know. It looks like nothing. But this is ice, people. Not snow. Totally different things. And temps didn't get above freezing for days. I probably don't need to tell you about how ice has this way of hanging around when temps don't rise above freezing....)

On to DC. DC was different this time. (Probably 'cause I was staying in a hotel. With a man.) But DC was also the same. In all the right ways. My girls. Georgetown Cupcake. Cheesetique. And how.

(I meant to take a picture of my three little perfect G-town cupcakes, and then forgot and ate them instead. So, all I have is this picture of G-town itself in all its wintery-ness, from across the river. Which, depending on your point of view...and possibly on how much you like cupcakes...is not nearly so pretty as the Chocolate3, Red Velvet, and Birthday cupcakes cozying up to each other in their little pink box. And that, my friends, is why my blog will never win any awards.)

And finally a little weekend in the Dominican Repub to wrap it all up. It was the J-dubhub's work team retreat. I'm here to tell you, there are worse places to be than the Dominican Republic in February.

Holidays. Sydney-style.

2011-01-22T22:39:00.000-08:00

I’ve never not been with my family for Christmas. Mom. Dad. Brothers. And me. Every year. My whole life. (In more recent years, there have been sisters-in-law and an increasing number of nieces and nephews added to the mix, of course.) And since both my older brothers married girls from our hometown, everyone stays right where they are for the holidays. And I fly in from wherever I am to spend a week or so. At home with the people I’ve known and loved the longest.

It has always been this way. Except, last year. Last year it was not this way. Last year J-dub and I decided to stay in Sydney for the holidays. Barely 3 months had passed since we’d had more than our fill of flying back and forth across continents and oceans and such. So. We thought we’d give that a rest for a bit.

Plus, we thought the idea of spending our first Christmas together, just the two of us, in a faraway land sounded like the romantic, newlywed thing to do. And so. We celebrated our first Christmas together about as far away as you can physically get from everything that has heretofore made Christmas…Christmas.

Sydney at Christmastime, in many ways, is very much like most US cities at Christmastime. Evergreen garlands adorn store windows, and all the familiar tunes about Santa Claus and silver bells and chestnuts roasting are piped into all the shops. There is a hustle and bustle that is different from the usual comings and goings. But. It is not the same. Mostly because all of this—the garlands, the Christmas tunes, the holiday hurry—is happening at the height of the Australian summer. It’s hot. It’s humid. The air is heavy. It’s right there. Pressing against you. All the time.

Somehow, the usual activities…sipping hot wassail, baking fragrant breads and spicy cakes, cozying up in front of a fire to let your bones thaw from a jaunt out in the wintry air…just don’t hold the same appeal when it’s hot as blazes outside. You know? Yes, well.

It’s all part of the adventure, you see. We will likely spend most every Christmas season for the rest of our lives much the way we always have. Which we are glad about, and look forward to. For that is Christmas as we know it and love it.

But. There will always be the year we spent Christmas in Sydney. And that’s pretty fun, too.

----------

Here’s how the holidays went down.

We hit up the city for some Christmas shopping. Obviously. We checked out the tree downtown and pretended not to notice that it doesn’t hold a candle to the tree in Rockefeller Center.

I sufficiently wore out the J-dubhub with our very own hustle and bustle. He’d just flown in on a red-eye from India that morning and hadn't even had a minute to rest, so I let him sit a spell while we waited for the train.

We didn’t have a traditional evergreen tree, as they’re a mite hard to come by where we live. But I managed to come up with a mini, makeshift tree that served the purpose. Found these adorable little red, glass birds in a boutique on the path to Shelley Beach, and couldn’t resist. A few homemade paper snowflakes finished ‘er off.

We spent Christmas Eve outside enjoying the sunshine while walking part of the trail from Manly to the Spit Bridge (a 10-kilomaeter walk that runs all the way from Manly to…well, the Spit Bridge).

I love this walk, ‘cause it gives you a little bit of everything. A harbor full of sailboats, a view of the lighthouse that hangs out all by its super charming self over on the South Head, some good bushwalking, and some not-too-shabby views of the harbor and the city from afar.

From this point, we could look back and see our little neck of land, otherwise known as Manly. (I love how that skinny little stretch of ground just lies there all lazy-like on the water between the harbor and the ocean.)

My family’s tradition for Christmas Eve dinner is a full Mexican spread. Most of the ingreds you’d need to pull that kind of feast together aren’t easily obtained way out here where the Mexican influence hasn't seemed to reach so much yet. (I know, right? Who knew there was such a place on earth?) So, we had to do something different. Some steaks from a nearby butcher shop got our vote. And for an appetizer, we decided to try our hand at making mussels for the first time ever. I was proud of us for being so adventurous and brave but I didn’t expect them to be so dang AMAZING. (Or oh-so easy.)

I've never had a Christmas morning quite like this one. We spent it at the beach with friends. Everyone brought food to share for breakfast. Needless to say, our traditional southern grits and fried eggs and hot biscuits weren't on the menu. BUT...the Stephens served up some pretty amazing Australian eggs benedict, which I thought made for a pretty perfect stand-in.

Our little friend, Davis, (who belongs to our friends, the Helmers) came to show us the jellyfish he'd been catching in his bucket. (Look closely to see the translucent jelly blobs in their hands.)

The husbands braved the chilly water for some diving, and I was overcome with pride knowing that this icon of grace belonged to me. I mean, just look at that form, would you?

And, don't worry. The ice cream man comes by sea in Australia.

The Hubs and I spent the rest of the day delivering goodies to members of our ward, and then came home and opened our gifts. The whole thing was so small and quiet, and kind of great.

Best Christmas gift ever = a pack of dish cloths courtesy of the good ol' US of A. When my mom told me she was stumped as to what to send in our Christmas package, I told her this was at the very top of my wish list...which makes me think my wishing needs a little work. But the heart wants what the heart wants. And a simple dish cloth is just one of the many things I can't find in Australia. Now I have seven. Merry Christmas to me!

We rented a car the day after Christmas and drove down to Kangaroo Valley which is a 2-hour drive south of Sydney. We stayed at a cute little B&B and spent a couple of days exploring the neighboring towns and doing some bushwalks, and generally enjoying the scenery. It was misty and rainy and cold, so we got a little taste of the type of weather we're more akin to this time of year.

(As a side note, we did not see any kangaroos in Kangaroo Valley, but we did see many a wombat. We’d catch them in our headlights and they’d slowly lumber away. Just exactly the way you’ve always imagined a creature answering to the name of “wombat” would lumber. And don't pretend you haven't imagined that, 'cause really. Who hasn't?)

On New Year’s Eve, we got up close and personal with the Sydney Harbor fireworks show. Kinda surreal to be standing right at the base of the bridge for one of THE grandest New Year’s spectacles on the planet.

I've always thought that someday I'd like to be in Times Square to welcome in the New Year. I think if I never make that happen, having been in Sydney to say goodbye to 2010 is pretty good.

Why hello, 2011. Welcome.

2010 Highlights: Singapore

2011-01-16T23:54:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I probably shouldn't go backwards, but I finally downloaded some pictures, and thought it wouldn't hurt to review some of the stuff that happened in 2010 before I get on with a new year...and a new country...and a new life....

So, here goes. Starting with the most recent haps.

I joined Spencer on his work trip to Singapore at the end of October and we stayed for Halloween weekend. We could see the newest, most outlandish hotel in the city from our hotel room.

A ship perched atop three huge towers. A little weird, yes. But far be it for us to not do the touristy thing and go check out the view from the top.

We walked and walked and walked and tried to hit every pocket and park we could.

We saw a boat race on the river. (I'm sure this is actually called something other than a "boat race" but I don't know what that is. Anyone? Anyone?) The team member sitting at the front of the boat beats on a drum to help his/her team members keep pace with each other while simultaneously pushing them to increase their speed to pass their competitors.

We saw great British colonial architecture.

I tried my hand at learning to use Spencer's fancy camera and became acutely aware of random things like fire hydrants.

We ate amazing seafood, including S's favorite—crab at Jumbo Seafood. (Don't look now, but I think his Jumbo bib is on backwards....)

We hung out with the merlion. ("What's a merlion?" you ask. "It's a legendary sea creature with the head of a lion," I answer. Duh.)

We went to church.

Then we took a little detour through Little India on our way back to the hotel and visited another place of worship...

...and saw all the hoopla for the Diwali/Devali/Deepavali (whatever your preference) festival.

Our best discovery of the trip: you can get ROOT BEER in Singapore. And you don’t even have to go to an import store to do it. You can get it at regular places, like 7-11.

Of course, for root beer to truly fill the measure of its creation, vanilla ice cream must be involved. A can of A&W, a little McDonald’s soft-serve, and voilà.

All is right in the world when a root beer float is present, is it not?

2010 Highlights: Wedding/Honeymoon

2011-01-16T19:42:00.000-08:00

And...the wedding. The amazingly talented Rachel Thurston took our wedding photos. (She also took our engagement photos way back during my blogging hiatus.)

The wedding was so much fun. A whole crew of my closest girl friends came from all over the country, and I wished there was more time in the day so I could just play with everyone who was there. Some of my favorites in the whole world.

Spencer and I frequently say we would just re-live the day over and over again if we could. It was such a good time with friends and family, and just went so fast. Everyone said the day would be a blur. Everyone was right.

We haven't received our disc of pics yet, so I can only share the ones Rachel posted on her blog at this point. When we get the other images I may post some, 'cause there are lots to love. But of the shots she got with just the two of us, this one’s probably my favorite. It's so smoldery. Or something….

We honeymooned in Fiji. Spencer surprised me. In a word, it was dreamy.

See? Dreamy, right?

We took a little tiny plane from the airport in Nadi to the other side of the island.

Kinda scary to climb into a plane with the same guy who had just given us our boarding pass now sitting in the cockpit. But we took the risk and got some great views of the island.

And I amused myself by taking pictures of the mixed messages aboard the plane.

It says "No Smoking" here.

But wait...this is a clearly marked "astray."

I’m confused. Maybe I'll just ask the ladies in front of us to check with our pilot. Spencer also wanted me to see if they could ask when our beverage service would be.

After our quick plane trip, it was a 45-minute boat ride to the island where the resort is located—the resort is the only thing on the island. Hard not to relax and enjoy it when you're this remote.

Here’s our little villa. Number 9.

From our villa, we had access to a little private beach where Spencer spent some time contemplating the events of the past couple of weeks.

I call this one "What Have I Done?"

And this one…"It’s Not Unusual." (Any guesses why? Here's a hint.)

We lounged. We snorkeled. Sometimes we did both at the same time. Here we are. Doing both at the same time.

We visited a Fijian school in a village on a neighboring island.

We ate amazing food. Lots of it.

We swam. We read. We got treated to a couple's massage. We mostly just relaxed and enjoyed a week of being in the same place with no wedding to plan. Not a bad start to our life together. Really, it can only be downhill from here, right?

2010 Highlights: Upstate NY/Philly

2011-01-05T18:00:00.000-08:00

Still going backwards...

Before I left DC, I finally got to take the upstate New York trip with the parentals. This one has only been on my list for about 14 years.

A couple of weeks before I was to leave DC, Mom and Dad flew into town and we piled in the car and headed north.

We saw the Whitmer Farm, the birthplace of Joseph Smith, the Smith home, the Sacred Grove, the Hill Cumorah, the Grandin Print shop, and stood at the banks of the Susquehanna River where the Priesthood was restored. How great it was to visit such sacred spots and feel the Spirit of those places.

We visited lots of the places my dad lived while he was on his mission here. We ate a Ted's hot dog. I finally met Sister Wills. And we did a quick run up to Niagara Falls.

We found Mott.

My mom has one ancestral line that lived for a time in Elmira, New York. Since we were so close, we went and spent part of a day in the basement of the County Clerk's office digging through old legal documents. She didn't find what she was looking for, but she did stumble upon a long-lost brother, Mott, no one knew existed, so we decided it wasn't a total loss. I'm betting Mott would agree.

We swung through Philly on our way back to DC to hit Independence Hall, which was the perfect ending to the trip.

Kind of overwhelming actually—to stand in the very room where all the action happened—where every word of the Constitution was deliberated over, finally agreed upon, and then the document signed.

It's one of those moments where you know it's all so much bigger than you and you're so grateful that there were people who cared enough to sit in a hot, stuffy, hall, in sweaty, dirty Philadelphia for days and months on end, to give the American people the best government they could conceive of—which just so happens to be the most enduring government which has ever existed in the history of the world...and, incidentally, just so happens to be the government that HAD to exist before all the history we'd spent the previous three days reviewing could happen. Before Joseph Smith could do his work...George and James and Thomas and Ben and John had to do theirs.

Being there made me wish I could say thank you. Someday I will.

2010 Highlights: Washington, DC

2011-01-05T15:38:00.000-08:00

I loved living in DC. Had no idea when I arrived that my stay would be so brief, but…I managed to fit a few fun things in:

I got to live in a condo here (old WWII housing), right across the street from the Potomac River. Loved it. It's on the George Washington Parkway, which runs from the 495 all the way to Mt. Vernon. One of THE most beautiful drives on the planet. Hands down.

I got to live with this girl—one of my favorite people ever. I was so lucky that Jill was needing a new roomie when I decided to make my way east. And so lucky that she loves history as much as I do. That meant I always had a pal to go see dead presidents’ houses with. Like this trip to Montpelier.

Behold Montpelier! (James Madison's estate.) This one had only been on my list of places to see for about 5 years…. Check.

I became the proud holder of an annual pass to Mt. Vernon, and put that puppy to good use. I was a regular at George's house.

I got snowed in with the rest of the east coast. My first real blizzard! Here's Marta standing next to her car. She came to get snowed in with us. On purpose. (I think her car was the most buried in the entire parking lot.)

I finally got to see the cherry blossoms live.

I found some (somewhat inferior) stairs to replace my beloved Santa Monica stairs. This was my and Jill's favorite Saturday morning workout—we'd make the jaunt to Georgetown every weekend. Incidentally, these are the very stairs where “that one scene” from The Exorcist was filmed. I never saw the movie, so I have no idea what people are talking about when they say that. But apparently it was scary.

I had lots of visitors. Courtney and Sara came to visit from LA just after I got engaged, the same weekend I was trying to make a final decision on my diamond. Here they are helping me.

For the first (and, I'm pretty sure, last) time in my life, I had a personal bodyguard. Since Spencer was so far away, his good friend, Matt, took it upon himself to make sure no one got too close to me in S's absence. The ferocious Virgil helped, too. (Thanks, guys!)

And the best part of my time in DC...I left with this guy in tow.

Or was he towing me? Hard to say. Whichever it was, the time had come to say goodbye to DC for the moment.

By the time I left, I still couldn’t drive anywhere in the District (except to work and back) without getting lost. BUT…by the time I left, I could always find my way out of the District AFTER getting lost. And for those of you who've ever driven through DC—you know that’s something to be proud of.

All Roads Lead to…

2010-12-20T03:04:00.000-08:00

Ah! Sydney. Of course! Or at least it seems that all my roads have led here.

So…it’s been a while. Okay…maybe longer than a while. And I can’t believe I don’t have a single blog post to show for the last year and a half of my life. ‘Cause one or two blog-worthy things have happened.

Quick re-cap:

1- Moved from LA to DC in July 2009.

2- Met Spencer Wixom 3 weeks later.

3- Took a job with a Republican political consulting firm in the District.

4- Got engaged to Spencer on April 10, 2010.

5- Moved home to Dallas for eight weeks in July to plan the wedding.

6- Got married in September and moved to Sydney to join Spencer for the last year of his job assignment here.

There. I guess that brings us up to date.

Pretty sure that when I wrote my last post it would have been impossible to guess that so much would transpire before I’d write my next. Seems kind of strange to just pick back up again out of the blue. But, you gotta start somewhere, right? And that “somewhere” is usually…wherever you are. Turns out that for me right now, that just so happens to be Sydney.

So. Here it goes.

Ombama?

2009-03-09T22:39:00.000-07:00

Please. More like Ombnoxious.

Saw this sign in the Lululemon window in Beverly Hills several weeks ago, not long after the inauguration, and wanted to gag. Seriously? Gimme a break! Like Obama is the new source of peace and happy thoughts. And to actually see his election as something worthy of a cross-branding opportunity...? “Unbelievable” is the word that came out of my mouth as I stood outside and snapped this pic. Now I think it's just plain weird.

I was back in Beverly Hills a few weeks later and noticed the sign had been removed. Not sure if it was just because enough time had passed, or because they were feeling a little self-conscious with such high praise of the new pres hanging in the window of their swanky Beverly Hills retail space, while retailers everywhere (including Beverly Hills) are dropping like flies. Perhaps the fact that the stock market plunges another 200 points every time the man they are “om-ing” to opens his mouth made them rethink how much peace he’s actually the source of.

Who is John Galt?

2009-03-02T23:58:00.000-08:00

It's the question that opens the novel, Atlas Shrugged. And I wish I could tell you that I know for sure who John Galt is…but I haven’t finished the book yet. So, the identity of the infamous John Galt remains a mystery. But I have a pretty good guess. I think John Galt is the guy who invented the engine that Dagny and Hank find in the abandoned factory. And I think he disappeared in an act of defiance to make a statement: that he would not stand by while the product of his own creativity, his own industriousness, his own genius was given freely to those who had not earned it or worked for it—that he would rather not produce anything than produce something by force only to be stripped of any right to the fruit of his own labor.

Interesting, isn’t it? Especially considering what’s happening in our own country?

I've had variations of this conversation with multiple people in the last few months. The most recent went like this:

Him: "Oh, you're an Ayn Rand fan?"

Me: "Yep."

Him: "How do you reconcile Ayn Rand's views with your religious beliefs as a Christian?"

Me: "How do you not?"

Him: Speechless. Eyes wide, head pulls back almost involuntarily in shocked disbelief.

Okay, so I kind of said it just for the amusement I knew I would get from the reaction, but it's true.

I know, right? How could you possibly subscribe to the philosophies of an atheist capitalist who places the rights of the individual above the many and claim to be a practicing Christian? It's unthinkable! I had to clarify, of course. Yes, Rand's ideals are built on a religion-less foundation, so you have to recognize that and take it into account. But the principle of agency is a fairly prominent one in Christian theology, and that is the core of Rand's philosophy—that the individual should have the right to his property and the right to do with it what he will. While we may disagree with someone's choices from a moral perspective, the individual ought to be allowed to be selfish and concern himself only with himself, if he so chooses. And in the end, the market as a whole will benefit from this, because people will have a reason to keep pushing and striving and reaching for bigger and better. If the laborer has no motivation to seek for new and innovative methods, if the inventor has no incentive to invent, if the doctor has no promise of reward for the discovery of new cures, none of it will happen. Competition in the marketplace has to exist for progress to be made. And let’s face it. Competition requires a lot of focus on Numero Uno.

Unfortunately, I see the fiction in Rand's story becoming the reality of our society and it scares me senseless. Government is getting too big, taking a role where it has no role. Obama spoke of freedom, equality, and opportunity in his inauguration address and it made me ill. Not because I don't want those things myself, but because I don't want them as he defines them. Many have tried to wake us up to the dangerous notion that equality of opportunity is synonymous with equality of outcome. It is not, nor should we try to make it be. Making everyone's outcome equal removes competition and halts progress. In his address to Congress last week Obama said, "As soon as I took office, I asked this Congress to send me a recovery plan by Presidents Day that would put people back to work and put money in their pockets, not because I believe in bigger government—I don't—not because I'm not mindful of the massive debt we've inherited—I am." Mr. Obama, I don't believe you. Not one whit. You can say it until you're blue in the face. But talk is cheap. If you genuinely did not believe in bigger government, you would be asking for solutions that would look very different from what we've got.

Someone very close to me just the other day confessed that she has actually caught herself thinking, "How can we make less money this year so we don't have to give the government more?" Isn't it obvious what the negative effects of the socialist tendencies sprouting up in our government will be? Don't people understand that to redistribute wealth makes the productive members of society want to stop producing? That's great. The already unproductive will remain unproductive, and the productive will be driven to stop striving, competing, producing…because there is no reward. Obama is bringing change, alright. But not the sort of change that inspires me.

Who is John Galt? I think we're about to find out.

Joy to the World

2008-12-25T18:52:00.000-08:00

"Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy." One of the most quoted scriptures from the Book of Mormon. When I was a kid, I remember hearing this passage quoted often by people using it to justify incessantly seeking after frivoulous fun. See? Men are that they might have joy. Proof that God wants us to be happy (or in other words, to have fun)—that the whole reason we exist is to have fun. I remember my dad teaching us that this passage could not be read without the following verse: "And the Messiah cometh in the fulness of time, that he may redeem the children of men from the fall." At the time, I didn't fully understand the connection.

It wasn't until years later that I started noticing that, in the scriptures, joy seems to be inseparably connected to redemption through Christ.

In Mosiah 4, when King Benjamin's people realized their need for a Redeemer, they "cried aloud with one voice saying: O have mercy, and apply the atoning blood of Christ that we may receive forgiveness of our sins." Then, "after they had spoken these words, the Spirit of the Lord came upon them and they were filled with joy, having received a remission of their sins."

In Alma 36, as Alma the Younger was "harrowed up by the memory of [his] many sins," his mind caught upon the thought of Christ and he cried within his heart: "O Jesus, thou son of God, have mercy on me." His pleas were heard, and his pain was taken away and replaced with "joy as exceeding as was [his] pain."

Again and again throughout the scriptures, joy seems to connote a state of mind, spirit, and emotion that comes as a direct result of receiving redemption through Christ.

Understanding this has given added dimension to my concept of joy. Indeed, men are that they might have joy. When Adam and Eve are taught about the atonement, Eve proclaims, "Were it not for our transgression we never should have had seed, and never should have known good and evil, and the joy of our redemption."

The Christmas hymn means more now than before: "Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let earth receive her King!"

This Episode: Brought to You By the Letter "J"

2008-12-18T00:52:00.000-08:00

Sometime ago I noticed a pattern in my life. 90% of the guys I've ever had crushes on or who have had crushes on me have names that start with the letter "j". It's weird. My very first crush that I can even remember was on a boy named Joel when I was in first grade. He had blond hair and could run uncommonly fast for a kid his age. He was dreamy...or at least as dreamy as a first grader can be.

And so it began. Since Joel, I've had a string of "j"-names to keep me preoccupied. I've been through a Jeremy, a Jared, a Jason, a John, at least three Jeffs (one of whom was actually a Geoff...but the "j" sound was still there...). There have been two Jordans, a Jim and a Jimmy. A Josh (a guy I knew in college who now, 10 years later, is dating a friend of mine...), a Joshua (who I actually professed my love to, and then wished I hadn't), and a José (where the "j" sound was lost but the letter remained).

Now, don't think I haven't given any of the other letters a chance. The more serious boyfriends in my past have not had names that start with "j". In fact, while there have been many "j"-names in my life, I've never legitimately dated any of them. It seems that the "j"s like to come around to keep things interesting. But boyfriend material for me, at least so far, has been found in other realms of the alphabet.

Nevertheless, I keep collecting "j"s. And who can blame me when they're so collectible?

Define "Separation"...

2008-12-09T00:49:00.000-08:00

So, I've been meaning to write a response to the ridiculous display that was the Larry King Live show a few weeks ago. Enough time has passed now, that I really should just let this one go. But, I can't. That's how much it irked me. The program focused on the same-sex marriage issue. Joy Behar from The View was sitting in for Larry King, so I knew from the get-go I would likely be driven to yelling at my television before the hour was over. And Joy, bless her heart, did not disappoint.

There are so many things that deserve commentary from the hour-long show, it would be impossible to address them all. So, I'll focus on the thing I yelled the loudest/longest at. And that was this inane statement made by her first guest, lesbian/actress/gay rights activist Cynthia Nixon. This statement was made in response to Joy's question about whether the LDS church should lose its tax-exempt status because of its members' involvement in passing Proposition 8. And I quote:

"If they're doing the things they have been doing—if they're making robo-calls in favor of candidates or political positions, yes. One thing we really need to keep in mind here is that we do have a strong separation in this country of church and state. So, once a church starts advocating a political point of view, I don't feel like that's free speech on their part, I feel like that is mixing where they really don't belong."

She reiterated: "Separation of church and state—very important."

So, here...once again, we need to have a history lesson. People love to pull out the "separation of church and state" clause. But do any of the people who use it to defend their positions really have any clue where it came from? Doubtful. If they did, they would stop using it since it doesn't mean what they want it to.

The phrase "separation of church and state" is not, contrary to popular belief, in the Constitution. Rather, it was a phrase Thomas Jefferson used in a letter he wrote to the Danbury Baptists in 1802. Again, I quote:

"Believing that religion is a matter which lies solely between man and his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legislative powers of government reach actions only, and not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their Legislature should 'make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,' thus building a wall of separation between Church and State."

Thomas Jefferson was merely asserting that there should never be a State religion. In other words, a government should not determine nor define the faith of its citizens. He did not say that religious organizations should not be permitted to encourage their members to advocate a particular side of an issue which arises in the public square. In fact, he supported this.

Few things perturb me more than this claim by so many in our society that religion has no place in politics. When Sarah Palin was named McCain's running mate, everyone was concerned about whether her religious beliefs would influence her choices. OF COURSE THEY WOULD! Just as Obama's and Biden's fundamental religious views (whatever they are) will guide their actions. It would be impossible for them not to.

I love how people who don't consider themselves religious think that their lack of religion doesn't affect their politics...so they shouldn't have to stand for the religious beliefs of any other person or group being "imposed" on them through any established standard influenced by religious values. Do they not realize that their anti-religious views are being thrust upon those of us who consider themselves religious? Do they not realize that everyone has a religion—that the absence of religion is a religion?! There is no neutral ground here, people.

In his talk entitled "A More Determined Discipleship," given in 1978, Elder Maxwell quoted MJ Sobran. Try this on for size:

"The Framers of the Constitution … forbade the Congress to make any law ‘respecting’ the establishment of religion...; and they explicitly forbade the Congress to abridge ‘the free exercise’ of religion, thus giving actual religious observance a rhetorical emphasis that fully accords with the special concern we know they had for religion. It takes a special ingenuity to wring out of this a governmental indifference to religion, let alone an aggressive secularism. Yet there are those who insist that the First Amendment actually proscribes governmental partiality not only to any single religion, but to religion as such.... It is startling to consider that a clause clearly protecting religion can be construed as requiring that it be denied a status routinely granted to educational and charitable enterprises, which have no overt constitutional protection. Far from equalizing unbelief, secularism has succeeded in virtually establishing it...."

Elder Maxwell then said:

"Brothers and sisters, irreligion as the state religion would be the worst of all combinations. This new irreligious imperialism seeks to disallow certain opinions simply because those opinions grow out of religious convictions. Resistance to abortion will be seen as primitive. Concern over the institution of the family will be viewed as untrendy and unenlightened. In its mildest form, irreligion will merely be condescending toward those who hold to traditional Judeo-Christian values. In its more harsh forms, as is always the case with those whose dogmatism is blinding, the secular church will do what it can to reduce the influence of those who still worry over standards such as those in the Ten Commandments. It is always such an easy step from dogmatism to unfair play—especially so when the dogmatists believe themselves to be dealing with primitive people who do not know what is best for them—the secular bureaucrats’ burden, you see. "

This was 30 years ago. Are we there yet?

Sing Praises to His Name, He Forgets Not His Own

2008-11-27T19:36:00.000-08:00

As Whitney and I stuffed our turkey today, we wondered who came up with the idea to fill the cavity of a dead bird with bread crumbs and onions and celery. I mean, it was genius, whoever it was...just doesn't seem like the most obvious of culinary maneuvers....

But a day of thanksgiving? What could be more natural than, as George Washington said Thanksgiving should be, "a day...devoted to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be—That we may then all unite in rendering unto Him our sincere and humble thanks—for His kind care and protection"?

In 1857, Sarah Josepha Hale, the individual most credited with making Thanksgiving a national holiday, wrote that a national day of Thanksgiving would create a union among all the States and Territories such that "the peoples of the Old World would thus be taught that freedom from man's tyranny brings us nearer to God—that, while rejecting earthly lords, we willingly acknowledge our dependence on the Lord of heaven and earth."

And what a dependence we have. But here's the irony of it all: it is through our reliance on Him that we grow strong. And as we continually demonstrate a willingness to rely on something more than our own arm of flesh, "God, our Maker, doth provide for our wants to be supplied."

Today, I'm thankful. For so much.

Wait a Second...

2008-11-13T00:37:00.000-08:00

While chatting on the phone with my mom the other day, we were reflecting on my coming to LA and on the incredible experience it has been, particularly with the recent occurrences surrounding Prop 8. She told me that she had come across a passage in her scripture study that had made her think of me. I asked her where it was. "Amos 4:9, I think," was the response.

I looked it up and read it aloud:

"I have smitten you with blasting and mildew: when your gardens and your vineyards and your fig trees and your olive trees increase, the palmerworm devoured them: yet ye have not returned unto me, saith the Lord. "

Uh...wow. I don't even know what to say. Thanks, Mom....

She quickly corrected herself. "Oh, wait. What? No...try Micah, not Amos."

"For now shalt thou go forth out of the city, and thou shalt dwell in the field, and thou shalt go even to Babylon: there shalt thou be delivered; there the Lord shall redeem thee from the hand of thine enemies."

Ah. That's better.

Aftermath

2008-11-11T20:19:00.000-08:00

A week ago today, California voted on Prop 8. By a 52% majority, it passed. On Wednesday, the day after Election Day, demonstrators gathered in front of the Los Angeles temple to protest the passage of the Proposition, and specifically identified the efforts of the Mormons as the reason it passed.

I couldn't resist the opportunity to go check it out. It was truly surreal. My friend, Zach, who was in the area, came and met me there. We went and stood right in the middle of the mass to get an up-close-and-personal view of what was happening. At first there were maybe 75-ish people gathered in front of the temple listening to some representative of a gay & lesbian organization give a speech about how unfair this was and how now that Obama was president, he was going to help change this, blah, blah. It was pretty weak, really. Not largely attended and rather quiet. We looked at each other and said, "This is it?" So, we turned to leave.

As we turned and faced east down Santa Monica Boulevard, we saw a mass of people coming our way—filling the four west-bound lanes of the street. An estimated 3,000 of them. They held signs with the most condemnatory language I've ever encountered. (And they say we are full of hate.) They waved gay pride flags. They chanted and screamed rude things about the Mormons and the things we hold most dear. (And they call us bigots.) They posted their signs on the gate to the temple and wrote "Liars" and "Bigots" on the walls. They told us to get out of California because this is their state. (And they say we are intolerant.)

One guy climbed up on the base of the light pole and screamed, "My fellow Americans..." He did the whole "give me liberty or give me death" thing, which kind of offended me to have Patrick Henry's noble declaration used in this context. He continued by proclaiming that this was why our Founding Fathers had created the Constitution, that this was what men have fought and died for—so that the gays could have the right to marry. I could not help but shake my head and say, "No sir, you've got it all wrong." (Luckily, only Zach was close enough to hear me.)

I'm continually shocked by how misconstrued the intents of the framers of the Constitution are by people who clearly do not know their history. They think that the Constitution was created so that the people of this country would be free to do whatever they want—to act on their basest desires, if they feel so driven. This could not be further from the truth!

The Founders advocated freedom of thought and belief, to be sure. But they frequently acknowledged the necessity of religion to influence government and moral ideals to directly shape the structure of our society.

George Washington: "Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, Religion and morality are indispensable supports. In vain would that man claim the tribute of Patriotism, who should labour to subvert these great Pillars of human happiness, these firmest props of the duties of Men and citizens."

John Adams: "Our constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other."

Benjamin Franklin: "Virtuous Men ought to league together to strengthen the Interest of Virtue, in the World: and so strengthen themselves in Virtue."

The Founders created a Constitution which would allow all religions to stand on equal footing. But they also created one which would allow the religious-minded to do everything they could to perpetuate the morality of their society.

The outcome of Prop 8, my "tolerant" gay friend, is a perfect example of what the Founding Fathers intended. The vote was put to the people and the outcome was influenced by the "Pillars of human happiness." Barely.

Check out more pictures, taken by a good friend of mine, and get a behind-the-scenes look from the perspective of an LAPD officer. Also, see the Catholics come to our defense.

♂ + ♀ = 8

2008-11-03T03:34:00.001-08:00

So, I've been MIA for a while now. And for anyone who doesn't know why, the title of this post says it all. Here in California, we're fighting same-sex marriage. And what a fight it has been. I have been lucky enough to have landed myself right in the epicenter of activity. The bishop of my singles ward has a great deal of experience managing campaigns and, therefore, was called upon to help lead the membership of the Church in the Yes on Prop 8 efforts in cooperation with the Protect Marriage coalition. Because of his direct involvement, we, the members of the Santa Monica 3rd Ward, have become his foot soldiers.

It has been an absolutely incredible experience working with other singles under the direction of our Fearless Leader to preserve the traditional definition of marriage. We received the assignment from the Brethren to mobilize the Young Single Adults throughout California. I have learned so much. And I have truly been amazed as I have seen what I feel is only the beginning of the division that will form among the members of the Church as the world moves farther and farther away from Christ, and as we individually have to make a conscious choice. Do we "blindly" follow the prophet? Or do we consider ourselves more enlightened, more tolerant, more progressive...finding it too uncomfortable and inconvenient to buck the trend being set by the rest of the world? Would we rather remain inconspicuous and not, as an acquaintance of mine said, "make a scene?" I firmly believe this is only the beginning of the "scenes" we will be asked to make as the chasm between where we stand and where the world is headed grows ever wider. (Does Lehi's vision ring any bells?)

It has occurred to me several times over the past many weeks, as supporters of Prop 8 have been called intolerant religious fanatics, that "tolerance" is a dicey ideal to embrace. We would never be "tolerant" of a plague or a deadly disease. We would do everything in our power to protect ourselves from something we knew would so seriously harm us. So why would we not take similar precautions to protect ourselves, our families, our children, our society from something that we have no doubt (and that, in fact, we have been warned) will ultimately lead to ruin?

We are not against gay rights. We are for marriage and family. We are not for taking away any fundamental rights. Homosexuals have all the same rights under domestic partnership as married couples. And, last I checked...getting married isn't a "fundamental" right, anyway. (The opposing side keeps claiming that this is what Prop 8 would do—take away fundamental rights. Where did this argument come from?) We do not hate gays. We do love our religious freedom and our right to believe that some behaviors have been declared by God as unacceptable. And we feel strongly that as the world demands that homosexuality become a protected class under the law, our religious freedoms are being put more and more at risk.

We have been called upon to hold the line, to maintain a standard, to proclaim that marriage is defined by God as between a man and a woman. No matter how unpopular our position, we must stand our ground. Even if the world refuses to accept a truth, that doesn't change the fact that it is true. Whether you like it or not, Mayor Newsom.

The fight (or at least this round) ends on Tuesday, but my fellow foot soldiers and I have all acknowledged to each other that we know we will be fighting this for the rest of our lives. Fortunately, we are so much more prepared now than we were when this began. Whether we win or lose on Tuesday, we know we have done everything we could do to ensure this passes, just as we were asked. More than that, because of our involvement in this, we are different. And the world will be different as we each carry this experience with us wherever we are called upon to take a stand—for the world will be spared, however obliviously, "for ten's sake."

The Texas Sky's the Biggest One I've Seen

2008-07-10T18:04:00.001-07:00

That one line of Miranda Lambert's song has been hanging out in my head for a week now. I got to go home for the 4th of July and it was on this trip that I finally decided that Dallas might just be the best place on earth. Despite the ridiculous heat, one of the things I enjoyed most while being there was the weather. In correlation with that weather, the Texas sky made quite a display.

On one day of my visit, the blue expanse was littered with huge cumulus clouds that had been busily piling their tufts higher than you'd even think possible. And because there's not much to interfere with your scope of vision in my hometown, it was a perfect panorama of monstrous cottony formations.

One of the things I miss most about Texas is the summer thunderstorms. And the day before I headed back to LA, I got an unexpected gift. The sky, rather suddenly, turned that indescribable greeny-gray color that I have yet to see replicated anywhere else. The sun was just setting, so it cast that perfect evening light on the trees, creating a stark contrast between them and the darkening sky--almost as if the trees were stage props against a false backdrop. The gray mass of sky quickly moved in and swallowed the unassuming white clouds, the temperature dropped and the gorgeous thunder ensued. Those huge deliberate raindrops you'll never see in California were quick to follow. I was in heaven.

It's funny. Since I hadn't remembered how much I love the Texas sky, I hadn't remembered to miss it.

Yosemite Part II: The Panorama Trail

2008-06-12T20:08:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, part of the group did the Half Dome hike. I was pretty beat from the Yosemite Falls hike the day before, so I wimped out and stuck with the group doing the Panorama Trail – which is the easier/shorter hike – but the most scenic in the whole park. I’ll have to tackle Half Dome next time. The Panorama Trail begins at Glacier Point with a spectacular view of Half Dome, as well as the Nevada and Vernal Falls, our destination across the valley.

It winds in a U-ish shape around the valley with a steady decline to the floor below. On this trail, you encounter three sets of falls. When we reached the first, Illilouette Falls, we stopped for a quick snack and a short nap in the sun. Then we were on our way again.

After leaving Illilouette Falls, the trail turns into the mountain, causing you to lose sight of Nevada Falls. Upon reaching the summit of the trail, it cuts back to the edge of the mountain where Nevada Falls comes into view again.

The visual splendor is so impressive, you almost don’t notice that, even from this distance, you can hear the rumbling of the crashing water as it collides with the granite cliff and boulders below. When I realized what I was hearing, I was surprised by the incredible enormity of the sound. I’ve never heard anything like it. Joseph Smith’s description of Jehovah’s voice from the passage in D&C 110 came unexpectedly to my mind: “And his voice was as the sound of the rushing of great waters, even the voice of Jehovah….”

I’d never given any thought to that comparison, but suddenly I understood the brilliance of the metaphor. Was it Joseph Smith’s own wisdom to describe the Savior’s voice this way, or was it given to him in revelation? I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. The phrase, for the first time, meant something to me.

We followed the Panorama Trail to the top of Nevada Falls. We stood next to the water and watched it forcefully throw itself over the edge of the cliff. The sound was louder now, simply because of our proximity to it, but it had held the same intensity from across the valley.

On the way down to the valley floor, the trail takes you past the third and final set of falls. This part of the hike is called the Mist Trail for obvious reasons.

*******

On Sunday, we attended the LDS services in a small non-
denominational chapel directly across the meadow from Yosemite Falls. Coming out the door after the meeting, we could see the falls straight ahead of us on the other side of the valley. Joseph Smith’s words were still at the forefront of my mind and I wanted to be as close as possible to the “voice of Jehovah” again before heading back to Los Angeles.

Sarah and I took the path to the base of the falls which winds through a wooded area and climbs a slight incline where the calmness of the trees is suddenly opposed by the crashing water. We stood there momentarily and felt the spray of the water and the surprisingly strong wind produced by its force.

Again I was struck by the accuracy of the comparison. The “sound of the rushing of great waters” is immense. Amazing and beautiful and unstoppable. You can feel its magnitude as it vibrates through your insignificant frame. You are faced with the sheer energy of the rushing water, its unmistakable power, as it pushes the otherwise still air into great wind gusts. Strangely enough, despite the sense of power it carries, the sound is not scary, but inviting. Yet, you become acutely aware that if you choose not to respect the source of the sound, if you dare to test or challenge its strength in a feeble attempt to prove your own, you will not win.

Joseph Smith surely had occasion to hear the rushing of great waters at various times in his life. Prior to my visit to Yosemite, I had not experienced such a sound. Now that I have, the voice of Jehovah sounds different to me. And I love it.

Yosemite Part I: Yosemite Falls

2008-06-12T19:18:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I had the opportunity to go to Yosemite with friends. Unbelievable. I’ve done very little camping in my life. It’s not that I don’t enjoy it, but I’ve never LOVED it. And I realized why over the course of this trip. It’s because the only camping I’ve ever really done has been in Texas and Oklahoma. Spending a week in a cabin or tent with high Texas-summer temperatures, and humidity to match, is not particularly enjoyable under any circumstances, but would at least be bearable if the landscape were interesting enough to make up for the sauna-minus-the-spa conditions. But sadly, the campsites I’ve seen in my day certainly do nothing to invoke any sort of Whitman-esque love of nature.

Now, don’t misunderstand. I have a rarely-shared appreciation for aspects of the Texas landscape. I love confronting the openness of the western portion of the state as I make the drive from Dallas to Amarillo. It fills me with a profound sense of loneliness that somehow makes me feel totally at ease and completely anxious all at the same time. That perfectly blue sky juxtaposed against the endless stretch of prairie with the occasional windmill...or, even better—oil well...makes my heart ache. In a good way. While I love it, I prefer viewing it from my car window with the A/C cranking. I’ve heard there are other areas of the state that offer spectacular views that serve as wonderful backdrops for scenery-hungry campers. But it’s no wonder I haven’t ever gotten truly excited about camping considering my girls camp leaders took us to an open field for our 4th-year hike.

But I digress. My more recent trip to the great outdoors summoned an appreciation for nature which I have not previously realized. Chad, I now understand why you take that annual backpacking trip. (And I definitely understand why you don’t take it in Texas.) Clearly John had already discovered the secret. See? Hiking brings out the dancer in him. Who knew?

Yosemite was breathtaking. I was awestruck. The sheer granite cliffs rising straight out of the ground have an incredible and indescribable presence – a silent and overwhelming force. The weather was phenomenal. Not too warm, with nice breezes during the day. And chilly enough at night to really enjoy hanging out by the fire.

We climbed to the top of Yosemite Falls the first day we were there – a challenging hike for an amateur like me (pretty sure I wouldn’t have made it at all if it hadn’t been for my year-long love/hate relationship with the Santa Monica stairs), but so worth it.

The most significant take-away of the weekend: learning how spiritual communing with nature actually is. I’m no tree hugger, but I am obliged to say that I saw God in Yosemite. Alma was really on to something: “All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it.” I’ll second that. And I would even go so far as to make a slight adjustment to his statement. Going forward, I will read this passage thusly: “All things denote there is a God; especially the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it.”

Everything in Its Place

2008-06-12T18:25:00.000-07:00

Ever wondered how much your life weighs? Neither had I, but I had the good fortune to find out, anyway. And now…I kind of wish I didn’t know.

In March, my roommate and I moved out of our (amazing) place in Santa Monica. She is returning to school and I was quitting my job (another story for another time) and was not sure if I would be staying in Los Angeles or not. Since the next steps for me were anything but clear, I decided to put all of my belongings in storage until I figured out where I was going to land.

Enter Door-to-
Door Storage. They delivered a 4’x7’x11’ crate to my door. And for the next few evenings after work and the entire following weekend, my master packer (ie, my mother) and I worked to solve the puzzle of fitting everything I own into slightly more than 300 cubic feet. I have enough furniture to fill a one-bedroom apartment.

Some said it couldn’t be done. At times…I said it couldn’t be done. But somehow, my mother kept finding ways to fit more in the box. It was like watching Mary Poppins in reverse. You remember how much we admired Ms. Poppins as we saw her pull lamps and birdcages and coat racks out of her bottomless carpetbag. But what we really wanted to know was how she got those things in there. They don’t show us that part. And let’s face it—pulling stuff out is easy. No offense, Mary.

While my mom does have mad packing skills, and while we both worked our tails off to get the job done, neither of us is obtuse enough to actually think we did it on our own. I had the help of a master packer. And she had the help of a Master Packer. Over those few days, things fell into place – figuratively and literally – in countless impossible ways. We call it the Miracle of the Move. (To see a complete list of the many small miracles that make up the larger Miracle, visit my mom’s blog.)

After we had fit as much as was inhumanly possible into the portable storage crate...

...the Door-to-Door man came back to collect it. I was at work, but from what I hear, when he went to pick it up with his forklift, the back tires of his lift literally came off the ground. Turns out there’s a weight limit on those boxes. It’s 2,000 lbs. My box apparently weighed 2,800 lbs. The D-t-D man said it wouldn’t be a problem unless the bottom couldn’t support the weight and it caved. Great. Thanks for the reassurance.

A month later, when the storage crate was re-delivered to my new little 1-bedroom apartment in West LA, my mom (who came back again to help me move in. What a sport!) and I held our breaths as we opened the door. Amazingly enough, there had been very little shifting. Everything looked as it had when we had locked it up weeks before. I know what you’re thinking: “Where would any of it go?” Still, though…watching my life being carried away in a box has a way of making me nervous.

When we started with that empty box and all of my stuff, it seemed like there was no way it could be done. So it goes with the Door-to-Door portable storage unit…and with life. I find myself evaluating what I've accomplished over the past few years and wondering how what I’ve always wanted/expected fits with where I find myself now. What on earth am I doing trying to make it as a single working professional in Los Angeles?! I’m supposed to be married with kids. Not pursuing a career and continually losing hope that the dating life will ever pick up again. The reality does not jive with the vision I’ve always had for my self. And so the Miracle of the Move becomes a parable for my own life. Even when it seems like the things I hold dear can’t possibly fit in the box I’ve been given, everything, in fact, has a place. I just have to rely on the Master Packer to fit it all together.

Super Tuesday

2008-02-05T19:13:00.000-08:00

Santa Monica, CA. 7 AM. I'm standing in line with fellow citizens who have come to cast their votes in the presidential primaries. I’m standing and standing and standing…and standing. The line is inching very slowly down a staircase just inside the door of the little gray church on the corner of Lincoln and Washington (a rather appropriate intersection for a polling place, no?). “There must be more people ahead of me than I thought,” I muse silently to myself. “But still…why is it taking so long to move even the tiniest bit? I mean, really…take your ballot, fill in the bubbles and be on your way.” Is it possible that some are still undecided as they enter the voting booth – still weighing the candidates and propositions even with ballots in hand?

I finally make it to the bottom of the stairs and now have a view of the front of the line. I see the problem. Can someone explain to me why of all the individuals facilitating the voting process, the one who appears to be the most able and quick-witted of the bunch is handing people their ballots (the job that requires neither thought nor dexterity), while the most (although seemingly sweet and grandmotherly) elderly and most likely to – at any given moment – go blind, senile, or possibly just die, has been commissioned to check people’s names on the roster? Upon reaching her, each person must state his or her name and then immediately repeat it at least once, as the Roster Lady is clearly hard of hearing. Once she discerns the name, she flips through the roster in so haphazard a manner that we all question her grasp of the alphabet. She then uses a ruler to help the voter more easily identify the line where he/she is required to sign. Between finding each name, however, she either drops the ruler on the floor or forgets about it when she starts flipping pages to find the next name, thus burying it somewhere in the roster book. So, before each voter can sign there comes the inevitable “What happened to my ruler?” Those of us in line quickly learn to pay attention so that when it is our turn to step forward, we will be prepared to state the whereabouts of the ruler.

Love it. Just another tribute to the efficiency of government. Let’s hear it for the American way.

When I finally reach the Roster Lady and perform the name/ruler ritual, she announces, “You are registered as a Republican.” I proudly say, “Yes, ma’am,” as all the other voters present turn to gaze upon the alien in their midst. She says, “That means you can only vote Republican.” She had given each of the Dems before me the same reminder – that they had to vote within their party. But she speaks to me as if she expects me to protest. Instead I say, “Fine by me,” and make my way past the shiny Democratic booths to the lonely cobweb-covered Republican booth in the corner.

As I head back up the stairs, and out to the street, I can’t help but think how liberating it feels to vote – even in Los Angeles – and how blessed I am to live in “this the greatest nation on God’s green earth!”

And Then There Was Maui

2008-01-29T00:49:00.000-08:00

It's official: I'm a fan of a trip to the tropics in January. The thought of making this an annual tradition is extremely appealing, I'm not gonna lie. There's something really satisfying about getting a sunburn in the dead of winter. Though I probably shouldn't have taken another almost full week off of work so soon after being out for an entire week over the holidays, I justified it by viewing it as an indulgent birthday gift to myself. You only turn 30 once, right?

Rach and me at Paia Bay. We'd all gone to Paia for fish tacos and hoped to see some wind surfers in this popular spot, but the wind had picked up too much, and the choppy waves were more than anyone was willing to brave that day.

The change in the weather turned the water and sky a cool gray and green, and the strong winds made for some nice crashing waves.

Very picturesque, no?

We stayed at the Hyatt Regency in Lahaina, which is apparently the "ghetto" part of the island. The resorts are older, and according to Rachel "ugly." (Old = ugly. Good to know.) On Sunday we went out to Wailea, the not-so-ghetto part of the island to see the sunset and walk the path along the beach behind the stretch of amazing resorts lining that coast. (The Grand Wailea and the Four Seasons are pretty spectacular. Perhaps someday I'll be a guest there, and not just a trespasser. Something to wish for, anyway.)

We got there a little later than planned, so this is about all we caught of the sunset. I'll take it.

On Monday we chartered Captain Steve to take us for some snorkeling/whale watching/dolphin chasing. The snorkeling was pretty ho-hum, frankly. (Snorkeling in Belize has yet to be topped.) But the whale and dolphin sightings were unbelievable.

This was our view as we left the Maui shore to head for Lanai in search of some sea life. They don't call this the Rainbow State for nothing. (And when I say "they," I mean those who, like me, have always thought Hawaii's nickname is the Rainbow State...when it is actually the Aloha State....)

Our fearless captain, whose name was actually Dennis...not Steve, got us right up next to a whale who honored us with a full breach. It looked EXACTLY like this. Unfortunately, it happened so fast that the picture below is actually all I got....

My trigger finger wasn't quite warmed up, I guess. Or my camera likes to take its sweet time focusing before snapping a shot. Either way, I only captured the top of the head and a flipper to document one of the most incredible things I've ever witnessed.

After our one whale friend graced us with an impeccable breach, we moved on and found a competitive whale pod which, we learned, is comprised of four or five male humpback whales all competing for one female whale. (Incidentally, this ratio is the opposite of what I encounter in my life.)

At first, we watched the mammoth creatures from a distance, but they soon approached our boat (actually, it was more of a motorized raft, which means we were right next to the water—so close to the whales that it seemed we could have reached out and touched them). We got a nice, close look as they swam just under the surface of the water, showing us their backs as the moved silently past us. Kind of surreal to be so close to that many animals of this size.

Our dolphin sighting topped off an already well-worth-it adventure. We came upon a pod after our snorkel stint and they surrounded our little raft. These pictures don't at all convey how many there actually were. We had probably 25 almost within arm's reach. And we were told that for every one we could see on the surface, there were at least three more below.

Our view of Maui as we headed back from Lanai.

Turning Thirty

2008-01-23T21:46:00.000-08:00

Remember when 30 was old? And when it meant you knew what life was all about and what your purpose was in the world? It was wise and experienced and unafraid. Nothing left to discover or learn.

As it turns out, 30 is none of these things. For me, at least, it is in every way the antithesis. It is being more unsure than ever about what life is all about and what I'm supposed to be doing in it. It is realizing how much I don't know and how much there still is to accomplish and experience.

Thankfully, the reality of 30 is far less dismal than the childish idea of it. As a kid you think that by 30 life is pretty much over when, in actuality, it has really only begun. With the anxiety that accompanies facing the unknown comes the chance to learn and do and continue moving forward. The path which cannot be seen is, by definition, a path to be discovered – an adventure to be had, a life to be lived. Bring it on. Here's to 30!

...............

I've had over a week to reflect. Admittedly, as the actual day approached, I was dreading the turning of age. On one hand I wanted to pretend 30 had not arrived, but on the other hand, I knew I would regret it if I didn't in some way commemorate this landmark of a birthday. So, I chose – maybe in an effort to dull the awareness of leaving my 20s behind me – to spend it at the spa with good friends.

A sunny day in Carlsbad meant spending the afternoon by the pool after our spa treatments.

What is it about wearing cucumbers on your eyes?

I mean, aside from the obvious aesthetic benefits....

We had a lovely, relaxing time and left – feeling refreshed, rejuvenated...and quite comfortable with 30 – just as the fog came rolling in (hence the spots in this shot–do not attempt to adjust your set).

And Speaking of Visions

2008-01-06T22:49:00.000-08:00

"No great discovery was ever made in science except by one who lifted his nose above the grindstone of details and ventured on a more comprehensive vision." --Albert Einstein

Well said, Albert. Well said. And I like to think the same goes for discoveries in any discipline...or just in life. An excellent reminder—especially in those times when it feels as though you've become a slave to the details.

Oh My Word

2007-12-27T12:07:00.000-08:00

Words are truly among the best things in life. I love that there is such an assortment available to anyone who speaks to duly express thoughts and feelings. It’s like standing before a vast verbal smorgasbord every time you open your mouth or take up a pen. Even better, the sheer number of existing words provides endless opportunity for exciting discoveries. There are so many obscure and unappreciated diamonds in the rough – literal gems which would surely serve to enhance our ability to communicate if only we were acquainted with them.

Sadly, I find myself getting too comfortable with a modest collection of words, continually choosing the same common language rather than actively broadening my linguistic horizons and increasing my options. Like repeatedly selecting twinkies over crème brulee because they’re cheaper and more familiar.

But few things give me more enjoyment than learning a new word. So, I was thrilled when a friend recently introduced me to this website: http://www.freerice.com/. Aside from being an ideal time waster at work, it's great for getting your mind moving and a fantastic way to learn new words – like my new favorite: logorrhea. Means excessive and often incoherent talkativeness. How great is that?! And, as if vocabulary expansion isn’t satisfying enough…for each definition you identify correctly, hungry people get free rice. Ending world hunger and dull speech all at the same time – brilliant.

Worlds Colliding

2007-11-19T00:33:00.000-08:00

Nothing better than a Farmers Market. And I especially love this one held in the plaza directly below my office window. What a delicious (literally) juxtaposition of the corporate and the agrarian. Every Thursday, the skirt- and suit-clad professionals of Century City descend from their glass skyscrapers, briefly abandoning their virtual harvests to sample the literal fruit of someone else’s physical – and in that sense, real – labor. Each week when the Market comes, I can’t help but wonder if any of my fellow office dwellers share my secret desire to leave the desk job behind and head to the fields – to draw something out of the earth rather than out of a spreadsheet. There must be a very different sense of satisfaction connected to working the ‘cursed ground’ than of that connected to sitting day after day in a fluorescently lit great and spacious building (which, as it turns out, isn't very satisfying at all...).

Give me the sun, the smell of damp dirt, a row to hoe, the thorns and the thistles – the whole nine yards. I want to grow something for a change!

“In this state of total consumerism—which is to say a state of helpless dependence on things and services and ideas and motives that we have forgotten how to provide ourselves—all meaningful contact between ourselves and the earth is broken. A person who undertakes to grow a garden…is helping himself in a way that dignifies him and that is rich in meaning and pleasure. But he is doing something else that is more important: he is making vital contact with the soil and the weather on which his life depends. He will no longer look upon rain as an impediment of traffic or upon the sun as a holiday decoration.” --Wendell Berry

Yucca it Up

2007-11-11T23:16:00.000-08:00

We took a trip to Joshua Tree recently. Okay, so it’s been several weeks - but I’ve been too busy to post anything….

It’s an interesting place. Not much to see except a plethora of Joshua Trees (go figure) and a decent sampling of unusual rock formations. Many of them seem almost too contrived – as if someone ("someone like maybe God," suggested Eva, as we all sat atop one of said rock formations) stacked these enormous stones in somewhat unnatural and seemingly impossible configurations just for laughs. Good work, I’d say. Very funny.

Pearls Before Breakfast

2007-10-14T22:40:00.001-07:00

Oh my word. Love-LOVED this article. Stumbled on it randomly and was dying to share it with anyone who might appreciate it...which is one of the beautiful things about blogging. By posting something on the internet, you can share it with everyone – or possibly no one.

This appealed to so many of the things tucked away in the corners of my soul – love of music and acknowledgment of its divine attributes, appreciation for a sophisticated use of language to clearly articulate an enduring principle, and a longing for increased attention to refinery and reverence in everyday life.

It intrigues me – the thought of a master standing amidst a crowd of unsuspecting passersby who do not have ears to hear – so focused on what they think is important that they miss the eternally significant. (Why does this scenario sound so familiar?) As I read, the question came: Which of the wanderers am I? The one who is stirred enough by the 'soul speak' to pause and take note or the one who moves on unawares, too busy to be bothered? And more than that: Do I actively "seek after" the things that really are "virtuous, lovely or of good report or praiseworthy" so that I more readily recognize them, or do I merely trip over them if they happen to make their way onto my path and curse the obstruction to my narrow view?

Read it: Pearls Before Breakfast. You won't be disappointed.

Where Chelsea and Santa Monica Intersect

2007-10-13T01:27:00.001-07:00

Whatever. This place is amazing. Finally made it out the other day to take some pictures - now that I've been here over a year.

I’m in awe of the ocean every day. Makes me feel small somehow. On the edge of the world, an entire continent at my back. “And then the water reached the west coast, and took the power lines....”

'Tis the Season for Revision

2007-09-30T22:17:00.001-07:00

September may be the most optimal month of all for visions and revisions. What is it about the coming on of Fall that makes me want to clean the slate and start fresh? Must be a life of transitioning from summer vacations into new school years. I always loved the first day of school. Equipped with newly sharpened pencils and virgin notebooks, I felt I could conquer whatever curriculum lay ahead. For some reason the newness of the supplies made the material seem manageable – perhaps because I hadn’t yet seen the study guide or opened the textbook. But somehow a fresh pencil and unmarred notebook made me want to write. A not-yet-opened textbook made me anxious to absorb everything it had to offer.

My favorite new-school-year item of all was always the new box of crayons. It seemed like the perfect salute to fresh possibilities – the sturdy yellow box, two rows of pristine points with perfectly even tops, the spectrum of color. It’s enough to make you take all 12 crayons in your fist and introduce the whole lot of them to a blank page at exactly the same moment in one rapid scribbling motion. Undoubtedly, I succumbed to this temptation more than once.

While the days of heading into Fall with a brand new box of crayons or experiencing the sheer thrill of a new lunchbox are long gone, there is still something about this time of year that sweeps me into a state of renewed revisionist thinking. Time to buckle down. Time to shed the poor habits I’ve allowed to take hold over the summer. Time to re-evaluate and sharpen my focus.

Last September, I moved from Dallas to Los Angeles. A revision, indeed. This September, I look for new ways to revise – less drastic, perhaps, but no less visionary, I hope.