Marauder's Map.

Sometimes I think of God

as keeping track of us all

with a big old Marauder's Map.

I thought of this tonight.

The cool darkness of sunset

tugged at me inexorably,

and so I left my empty house

to go for a walk.

I saw the most amazing moon,

taking its throne 

as the last memories of day

disappeared over the distant western mountains.

And I contemplated how singularly dear

is the whack of a tennis racquet

and the soft screeching of shoes on a court.

I watched my shadow walk next to me,

both of us caught in sad nostalgia.

And I thought,

"No one on this earth has any idea where I am.

Only God, with His Marauder's Map,

can see me."

Treasure Hunt.

Sometimes, internet stalking

makes me feel really accomplished.

Like a detective.

I'm not talking about

when you look at your TA's sister's wedding pictures.

That just makes you feel gross.

I'm talking about starting with nothing but a first name

and finding everything.

Name.

Facebook.

Twitter.

Blog.

Small Etsy craft business.

You get the picture.

You don't do it because you really care about this person.

It's more of a challenge to see how much you can find.

Like a treasure hunt.

The more they put out there,

the better.

You've sort of made a new friend
with someone you'll never meet.

...

I have no qualms about posting this,

because I'm convinced that everyone who reads this

will agree with me.

But my roommate said it was creepy.

So be it.

This is the internet, folks.

Images:

first | second | third

Existential.

Some days,

you feel like this:

And then you laugh at yourself.

Dairy.

I've been thinking recently

about how amazing dairy is.

You just start with milk,

and you get

milk

cheese

cream cheese

whey

curds

cream

ice cream

yogurt

frozen yogurt

dulce de leche

butter

etc.

etc.

etc.

Wow.

Live Music.

Here's what I love about live music:

You just stand there

and listen.

You're not expected to do anything,

but you're not bored either.

And so you're free to think,

usually about how life is funny and beautiful

and how glad you are to be living in that moment.

You also get the chance to look around at other people

without them noticing.

Truth is,

they look silly if they're bopping around;

they look silly if they're standing still.

Everybody looks silly.

I love when it's loud

and you can feel it rumbling inside you.

(Physically,
not like metaphorically or anything.)

It's like mixing your sense of hearing
with your sense of touch.
Synesthesia.

The other day, I felt the bass humming and buzzing

behind my belly button,

and I wondered if that was what it felt like

to learn to apparate.

The Place for Pain

I have never quite understood people

who are always happy and cheerful.

It's admirable, of course,

but seems quite beyond attainment.

Yesterday in a church meeting, I asked myself,

If I had to be cheerful all the time,

would I still be me?

I'm not sure I would.

I spend a lot of my life

thinking and writing about beauty

and what it means to be human--

two things that can only be understood

in the context of pain.

How is possible that these cheerful people,

I often quip,

don't feel the pain of the world around them?

And how do I become like them?

I beat myself down,

without an answer to these questions.

But a few minutes later,

in that same meeting,

the speaker quoted C.S. Lewis' The Problem of Pain,

which compares kindness with love.

We often think of God as Kindness,

the type of kindness whose only end

is to see others happy.

This kindness says,

"What does it matter so long as they are contented?"

There is no concern for whether people become good or bad,

"provided only that [they] escape suffering."

This kindness is like the cheerfulness I have described--

an end unto itself,

naively misapplying its own virtues.

However,

"If God is Love, He is, by definition,

something more than mere kindness.

And it appears, from all the records,

that though He has often rebuked us

and condemned us,

He has never regarded us with contempt.

He has paid us the intolerable compliment

of loving us,

in the deepest, most tragic,

most inexorable sense."

God's love for us means that it's okay if we suffer.

He was willing to suffer for us so that we don't have to,

but He knows we will.

He has more in mind for us than just our escaping suffering.

He wants us to become like Him.

So there is a place for pain.

If cheerfulness is like the kindness Lewis describes,

then I think real happiness is like the love he describes.

Happiness is possible,

and men exist to have joy,

but it requires a price.

It is a joy because of pain,

not one in spite of it.

And I sure am glad.

I wrote down in my book,

"A world with only cheerfulness and no pain

would have no room for me in it."

Pals.

In honor of yesterday,

I'd like to say something that I've been thinking about.

Being afraid of commitment

doesn't make sense.

Just in general.

It started back in evolutionary times, see?

You didn't want to die.

So you picked someone

to be your pal,

and stuck with 'em.

Hunting,

gathering,

raising littluns.

End of story.

...

Nowadays, it's not all that different.

You don't want to die alone

or live a life not worth living at all.

So you pick someone

to be your pal,

and you stick with 'em.

You talk to 'em

and give 'em things to eat,

go to the things that they care about.

Hunt.

Gather.

Raise littluns.

...

You're afraid your pal will leave you?

They won't.

When they do,

it hurts.

But if you don't even try,

you still don't have a pal.

So either way,

you die.

Dumb.

And everyone wants a pal.

So you'll find another one.

And you'll be happier than with your first pal.

Afraid you could find a better pal?

I guess that could happen,

but that's not what it's all about.

Haven't you ever made a decision

that you didn't end up regretting?

Apparitions.

Have I ever seen a ghost?

You bet.

Sometimes you look at someone,

and all you see

is the ghost of someone else.

Someone who you're not around anymore.

And you say,

It can't be.

He would never be here.

I know she's in another country.

I don't even know what happened to him.

But they look so much

talk so much

smile so much

like someone you know

that sometimes you can't help but stare.

And sometimes you laugh and look away.

Photo cred: Michele.

I enjoy being a girl.

Today, while browsing Etsy,

I decided

If I'm going to spend my whole life as a woman,

I might as well wear pretty things in my hair

Etsy shop

and scarves

Etsy shop

and high heels.

Etsy shop

There are a lot of things that women can do

that men can't.

And I should do more of them.

Stating the Obvious.

Making hot cocoa without milk:

It's just chocolately water.

#mormonworldproblems

Sometimes

you've got something to tell

that is just

dying

to be told.

But the only person you can

really tell,

who would

really understand,

is across the world

and you can't call her

and 

letters.

just.

don't.

cut it.

America's Pastime.

I have this pet peeve called

when people think baseball is boring.

I would submit

(and I'm about to say something offensive)

that there are no boring baseball games,

only boring spectators.

It takes class to be a baseball fan.

And yeah, in de facto terms,

football might be everyone's favorite.

But baseball is America's pastime--

de jure.

When I grow up, we will be a baseball watching family.

We will love the home team, whoever it is,

so we can watch the games every night.

And my babies will know to call them runs and not points,

and they'll know about

tagging up,

full counts,

and RBIs.

'Cause you just sit there and think about America.

That's why it's okay that it's 3 hours.

Truck Drivin' Girl

I like road trips.

When I was little, I would get bored,

but now the hours and miles pass

and I like sitting still.

I like driving down a straight ribbon of highway

that stretches forever,

flying at 80 mph,

only worrying about passing semis.

I like the funny names of little towns 

that you read about on the reflective green signs.

I like reading about the funny little attractions they have

and stopping there on a whim.

They pronounce it Hurrikin.

I once went here.

I like seeing things you've never seen.

Like palm trees and Spanish-style houses

or red rocks.

I love seeing more of America,

of the unfettered, wide open West.

I love going and going

and ending up somewhere new.

Baby Dino.

This post is about toilets, but don't get alarmed.

.

.

.

.

You know toilets that flush automatically?

Next time you use one,

listen.

Just before the water rushes into the bowl,
the flushing mechanism makes a sound like

a baby dinosaur 

waking up from a nap. 

(http://www.millybee.com/dinosaurs-c-23_32.html)

Some have asked how I know what a baby dinosaur waking up from a nap sounds like.

When you hear the toilet, you'll know.

Speak, Muse.

More people should blog.

More people should blog more often.

Everyone interesting should have a blog.

I wish there was an unlimited supply of interesting new blog posts every time I wanted.

So, yeah.

Get to it, folks.

Two.

I still love the number 70,

but there's also something nice about 2.

I think it's because

2 = 1 + 1.

I'm talking to you, and you're talking to me.

But also,

2 = 2 + 0.

Neither one of us is talking to anyone else.

Talking in threes and fours is great,

but I think talking should mostly be done in twos.



Conundrum.

Is it possible to be a blogger without being pretentious?

I think the answer is clear.