Inside the Book.

There's something special

about reading your friends' favorite books--

just because they're their favorites.

When you're reading,

you're not alone:

They're there inside the book with you.

It's like comparing apples and peaches.

It's Fall, guys.

I'd done my ritual,

and I'd officially accepted it.

Coat, socks, rain.

Everything.

But last night at Sprouts,

there was a big ugly empty spot

where the yellow peaches

were supposed to be.

Genevieve asked them to check.

And the handsome clerk came back and said,

"I'm sorry.

That was the last of them."

It felt like a sentence of death.

I got tears in my eyes.

I don't know what my deal is.

This is the twenty-third time

that this earth has shed summer

and put on autumn

since I got here.

But this time I'm taking it hard.

There's beauty to it, of course.

I feel like I can see God

in the snow on the mountaintops,

in the inexorable change of the seasons.

And even though they didn't have peaches,

Sprouts had pallets and pallets

of honeycrisp apples.

On sale.

When I got home,

I hugged my bag of apples

and smelled them

and cried again.

The Last Rose of Summer.

Today is the equinox,

the first day of autumn.

From now on,

there will be no more fresh peaches,

no more sandal tan lines

on the tops of my feet,

no more mosquito bites

on the back of my legs

from lingering in the warm dusk.

For a few weeks it's been coming,

but I couldn't let summer

"go gentle into that good night."

Now, though, the alignment of the planets

has forced me to accept it.

So last night,

Genevieve and I created our own ritual

to bid farewell to summer.

I can accept these things better

when there's a formal

changing of the guard.

We put on long floral dresses

and walked the stream path at night,

gathering flowers and plants,

and weaving them into wreaths.

Holly,

chrysanthemum,

Russian olive,

lavender,

apples,

and the last roses of summer.

We sang hymns about nature,

and quoted poems and scriptures:

Nature's first green is gold, 

Her hardest hue to hold. 

Her early leafs a flower; 

But only so an hour. 

Then leaf subsides to leaf. 

So Eden sank to grief, 

So dawn goes down to day. 

Nothing gold can stay.

Today,

I woke up and it was autumn.

I was glad to see that it was raining.

I put on boots

and listened to the appropriate movement

of Vivaldi's Four Seasons

and ate oatmeal for breakfast.

Farewell, summer.

Until next year.

I'd like to spend an hour or two with you.

(I know I'm idealistic,

but bear with me.)

This is how I view dates:

A boy calls you up

and says,

"Hi.

I'd like to spend an hour or two with you--

just us.

I've been wanting some dedicated time

to appreciate everything about you

worth appreciating."

And you say,

"Yes! I'd love that.

I'd love the chance

to appreciate everything about you

worth appreciating."

A date isn't necessarily about being in love,

but it is about love.

The real kind.

I don't have a good experience

if I spend the whole time asking myself

Am I having fun?

Does he think I'm funny?

Am I proud to be seen with him?

But if I notice

his laugh next to me in the movie theater,

his hand gestures while he drives,

the reverent way he says my name,

the glimmer when he talks about the things he loves,

I have a better time.

I like when

an hour or two of

doing some activity or another

becomes a holy experience,

because I get to bask in the grandeur

of another human being.

Sometimes,

you get a call out of the blue

from a boy who is very easy to appreciate.

And then the smile on your face

when you tell him yes

is real and unsuppressible,

because you know that an evening appreciating him

is going to be a delight.

And that is the best.

There's a certain slant of light.

My favorite time of day

is when the sun is about to set,

and the slant of light

lands just so on the mountains.

And then they are lit up golden brown

and reddish,

and every crack

and crevice

and corner

draws its own long shadows

on the glowing rock face.

Footloose.

I think sandals should be worn

until you're going to get frostbite

walking from the curb to the door.

Today, I was shortsighted enough
to wear socks & boots
just because
it was raining when I left the house.

Thirty minutes later,
it had cleared up
and warmed up.

And I was the loser
who had to wear socks
all
day
long

God Grew Tired of Us.

This week at International Cinema,

I saw

God Grew Tired of Us,

a documentary about Sudanese refugees

and their new life in America.

It was made in this century,

but these boys coming to the U.S.

had never even used electricity.

They had fled as children

and grown into men

in exile.

And it made me wonder,

which is worse?

Staying in a refugee camp

with your friends and brethren,

with little to eat

and not much prospect of a future?

Or coming to the U.S.

and working long hours

at thankless jobs

and spending precious little time each day

with the people you love?

I don't think

there's an easy answer for that.

Donna Reed was not a cannibal.

Nolan:

Ian, what part of Grantsville did you grow up in?

Ian:

Do you know where the Donna Reed museum is?

Me:

There's a Donna Reed museum in Grantsville?

Why?

(Cracking up.)

Ian:

I don't know.

Why is that there?

Me:

(Still cracking up so hard.)

Everyone else:

(Giving me funny looks.)

Amy:

Wait, who's Donna Reed?

Me:

She was an actress in the fifties.

Nolan & Ian:

(Looking confused.)

Me:

Wasn't she?

Ian:

Not Donna Reed!

Donner-Reed.

Nolan:

We were wondering why you were laughing so hard.

No,

that's not quite as funny,

is it?

Newlywed Blog.

The main thing I'm looking for

in a man

is a last name

that I can make a good pun with

for the title

of our newlywed blog.

Dadaism.

Today,

I was sitting in the UVU Writing Center,

and all at once I noticed

that in front of me,

a shaggy boy was reciting

original slam poetry

to two obliging listeners, 

and next to me,

a ESL tutor and two students

were conversing on light topics

in pleasant, polite broken English.

It was the most absurd combination.

And I sat and laughed

because life is nonsense.

(Hugo Ball's nonsensical poem Karawane

and what he wore to perform it.

One day I want to have a cultural pageant

and dress up like this

and recite it.)

The Artist.

As part of my post-grad education,

I've decided to try and attend

the International Cinema

every week.

Last night,

I saw The Artist.

It was beautiful.

A silent movie

about silent movies,

made in 2011.

The form was perfect

for looking at the interaction

of speaking and silence.

I liked how hard I had to concentrate on it.

Turns out this nearly century old art form,

tossed aside so quickly to make way for "talkies,"

is powerful enough to keep us from multitasking 

while we watch it.

No Goats, No Glory.

Yesterday was my first state fair.

Thanks to Utah

for being a state

and for letting me come.

We watched the sheep judging

and a lumberjack competition.

We looked at cows and swine and rabbits

and goats.

This is me at the county fair last year.

There was a big sign that said

NO GOATS,

NO GLORY.

And I realized how much I love goats.

They're right up there with quails.

The best part was the creative arts,

seeing the woodwork

and leatherwork

and quilts

and little Christmas decorations

that people had made.

Some of the stuff

honestly looked so strange,

was so small and homely.

And I shed a tear,

thinking of the earnest people

who spent hours making these things

and cared about them enough

to enter them in the fair.

It was a great display

of American tradition

and of the human spirit.

Walking in the Same Direction.

Let's say

you're walking down the hall at school

and you see someone you know

coming the other way.

What happens?

1. You ignore them.

2. You try to say hi,

but they don't hear you.

3. You both say hi

and keep walking.

4. You both stop and talk.

5. Oh blessed number five.

You see each other and say hi

and you keep walking,

but the other person does an about face

and walks in the opposite direction

so they can talk to you.

How humble of them,

to not be deterred by the fact

that you weren't going to stop.

There's nothing like that

to make you feel like

you're worthwhile.

Labor Day.

If you read the things I write,

you'll know that I love history.

I love to think about people of the past

and what they did to make sense of their lives.

I like to see how similar we are,

and to remember how the things I have

are because of what they did.

Today is Labor Day,

a holiday I've never really thought about before.

But picture those gritty, dirty factory workers,

beat down from laboring around the clock.

This was the land of promise,

and America wasn't delivering,

as it sometimes doesn't.

So they fought back,

with that ironclad strength

that rises up through weariness.

They formed unions

and went on strike,

and said,

"I will not stand for this."

And people listened.

A hundred years later,

I spent my childhood watching television,

not languishing in soot.

Once a year,

I get a day off just because of what they did.

And I will never live through

what they lived through,

because they bore the burden of that

for me.

But I can listen to their songs

and think about them singin 'em.

In the heart of the fight,

this kind of thing must have made them feel strong.

 

What is my reason for being happy today?

We have a quote on the back of our front door.

What is my reason for being happy today?

Sometimes I see that and hate it.

Sometimes I don't.

Here's what made me happiest today:

1. The print of my new skirt,

and the fact that I got to stare at it

every time I sat down.

It is seriously so beautiful

it makes me want to weep.

This is it.

2. Turkey Hill ice cream,

imported straight from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania,

was on sale at Smith's yesterday!

Who knew that was even possible?

I bought Fudge Ripple,

and it tastes exactly like my childhood.

3. Meeting a girl who just did an internship

at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library,

and whose dream is to work at the Nixon library.

New best friend?

4. Roommates.

One who feels like my little sister,

one who is exceptionally good at reading

Lord of the Rings out loud,

one who I just met and love,

one who knows the songs of my heart.

And old roommates

who are still part of the family.

And friends who come over 

and feel like roommates.

5. Let's be honest,

Jesus Christ is my reason for being happy

any day.