Forty-Two.

Tonight, I saw 42.

I loved it from the minute it started.

In the first two minutes this truth was uttered:

"Baseball was proof positive

that democracy was real."

And then for two hours,

I watched my love for baseball

play out on that screen,

my love for this land,

and for its heroes.

Now let me say,

I hate clapping at the end of movies.

Umm, hello.

The people who made the movie

aren't in the theater.

They can't hear you.

But tonight,

not only did I want to clap,

I wanted to stand up

and praise God in heaven

and applaud His children

one and all.

Because despite any and every wretched thing

ever done in this land,

there is still that firework that bursts overhead

and promises that life is still good,

and people are still good.

The bottom line is this:

See it.

Haughty.

You know how girls like guys

that are bad for them?

It happens to me too.

I have an unfortunate penchant

for guys who are

1. smart

2. cantankerous, and

3. haughty about how smart they are

(This is a picture of William Faulkner.

But it seemed to embody those points.)

Set someone like that in front of me,

and I'm sure to swoon.

I like trying to make them laugh.

When you manage,

it's a stamp of approval in the best way.

Like they're saying,

"Not only are you intelligent,

but you're _____ enough 

to break through my crusty exterior."

I'm not sure

what adjective

should go in that blank.

Rodeos.

Things to love about rodeos:

The palomino broncos.

The cowboy names, like

Levi

and

Tate

and

Stockton.

And the bulls' names, like

Alamo

and

War Cry

and 

Tomcat.

The rodeo queens' sequins and fringe.

And the fact that

you're watching people compete

to see who is the best

at various farm tasks,

and loving it.

Midsummer.

In pagan cultures,

magic is thought to be stronger

at midsummer.

And I believe it.

Each year,

I see more and more

how magical summer is.

...

This year,

I was determined to celebrate midsummer

and the summer solstice.

So I did.

Snow cones,

swing sets,

The Sandlot.

There are all sorts of pagan midsummer rituals

that I would have liked to do too.

Like jumping over bonfires

or dancing around a maypole

or casting wreaths of flowers into the river.

What I did was sleep with flowers under my pillow.

(It seemed easiest.)

Apparently,

when you sleep with flowers under your pillow

at midsummer,

you dream about your future spouse.

I guess you're supposed to have
at least seven different types of flowers.
All I had was a hollyhock
and some sort of weed that resembled a flower.
(Limited resources.)

At any rate,

I don't remember my dreams from that night,
but it was still fun.

...

Pagan comes from a Latin word
meaning rural or rustic.

I like the idea

of doing the same things

that centuries of simple folk did

to try to make sense of the world.

The Sights of My Own Real Life.

I've been reading a lot more lately,

and riding public transportation.

Usually at the same time.

But sometimes on the bus,

I'll be reading Jane Eyre,

and my eyes flick up and catch upon something.

The mountains,

the sky.

A little girl staring off into the distance

as if deep in thought.

Today, it was an older woman with a pink walker

and a young man grasping tightly a metal lunchbox

that had Edward & Bella on it.

And in those moments,

I practically throw the book down,

and give myself over to looking.

Because there is something that whispers

This is real

and you don't want to miss it.

What is a made up story

to seeing the sights of my own real life?

The book will be there for me later,

but for now,

I want to appreciate

what is tangible

and fleeting.

Pool party, baby.

When I was a kid,

I never really learned how to swim.

Over the years,

I got to the point where I could be in a pool

and not die.

But it's always been just that.

A fight for survival.

Really,

treading water feels like a constant state of

fight or flight.

And the whole going-underwater-thing

seems a bit overrated.

Humans were made to breathe.

But tonight!

I swam.

I flitted and floated.

I jumped off the diving board!

I learned to dive!

And I only belly flopped once.

I loved it.

Life is looking

a lot brighter

from here on out.

Level 37 achieved.

Fancy Pants.

I bought some pants at DI.

They're basically this color:

I actually think they're really ugly,

and that's my favorite thing about them.

When did I become a hipster?

My daddy is my favorite pal.

This is my dad.

Childhood:

I jumped from the top of the stairs

into his arms

when he came home from work.

We went to the park,

and he pushed me on the swings, singing,

"Oh wind a blowin' all day long;

oh wind that sings so loud a song!"

We had a game:

how far could I kick off my shoes

when I was at the height of the swing's arc?

He was the meticulous record keeper of my feats. 

High school:

He made my lunch,

brought me trays of fruit to eat

while I spent an hour on my hair in the morning.

He drove me to seminary,

and taught me I couldn't be mean to people

just because I was tired

and it was early.

College:

He helped me file my own taxes.

Every time we spoke on the phone, 

he asked,

"What interesting things are you learning

in your classes?"

...

We sing together in the car.

We quote poems and favorite General Conference talks.

He gave me my love for

doo wop

folk music

& bald men.

He loves trains and rivers,

and he'll eat anything.

He's everything that being a dad should be.

Among the Public.

I have a hard time

when people ask me what my hobbies are.

I'm alive,

and I enjoy that.

Isn't that enough?

But lately I've realized

that one of my hobbies

is going to free public events.

Parades

Carnivals

Festivals

Museums

Concerts

Fairs

Etc.

I like to go and be among the people

and walk around,

looking at things

that I've never seen before

and will never see again.

You might could say it's boring,

but that's what makes it so enjoyable.

Today,

I went to the Orem Summerfest.

I walked around,

learned about bookbinding

from a kind, earnest man,

sat inside a helicopter,

ate a snowcone,

and rode the swing ride.

And that's what I like to do.

image

Brother.

This is Rider Strong,

better known as

Shawn Hunter from Boy Meets World.

And this is my brother Jeff.

To this day,

I always feel happy and nostalgic

when I see Rider Strong.

I'm never sure whether it's because 

he reminds me of my brother,

or because he just reminds me of himself.

And I can't remember whether I think he's handsome

in his own right,

or handsome because he looks like Jeff.

I grew up with one great brother

and one Shawn Hunter.

And it was wonderful.

Leveling Up.

It's such a good feeling

to do things that you never did as a teenager,

and probably never would have done,

and to like them.

Like go to an outdoor concert,

or ride rides at the water park,

or attempt a vault at a gymnastics gym,

or dance in front of people.

Truth is,
I try to use this picture
as much as possible.

It's not like those are big things.

But liking things you didn't know you could like

makes you more of a person,

you know?

There's more to you.

It's like leveling up.

By now, I'm at least Rachel Level 36, I think.

Silvery chords.

I believe

that when this big ole world is no more,

our souls and bodies will go on livin

forever.

And we'll have nothin but time.

Then we'll have the chance

to make everyone our friends,

to say all the nice things

that we were afraid to say here,

to think all the nice things

that we weren't kind enough to think of here.

...

Sometimes you love people on earth

and it don't make sense why you do.

So you don't tell 'em.

Me,

I'm gonna take all that lovin

and hold it in my heart

until the day comes

when there ain't no walls between any of us,

only silvery chords of sociality,

drawing us to one another.

The kind that make us say,

"Set down a while,

and we'll be the kind of friends

we was meant to be."

via

The throb of it.

I love words

because sometimes they themselves

are more beautiful 

than the thing they're describing.

Example.

There were none of the signs of spring

for which I used to watch in Virginia,

no budding woods or blooming gardens.

There was only--spring itself;

the throb of it,

the light restlessness,

the vital essence of it everywhere:

in the sky, in the swift clouds,

in the pale sunshine,

and in the warm, high wind.

Here comes the sun.

I just had my first fresh peach

of the summer.

Conclusion:

It's been a long, cold, lonely winter.