Friday, December 12, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
|GLORY be to God for dappled things—|
|For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;|
|For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;|
|Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;|
|Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;||5|
|And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.|
|All things counter, original, spare, strange;|
|Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)|
|With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;|
|He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:||10|
| Praise him.|
Monday, November 17, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
1. The candy (and the melt-downs that accompany too much of it) almost gone! 2. New/borrowed Thanksgiving books 3. Piggy-back obstacle courses
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
So I have been doing some of those "hard things" the last couple of weeks during my blogging break:
Sunday, October 12, 2008
I came home from an early morning run this week, tired, rather than re-energized. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and go back to sleep, sweat and all. I think I would have done it if it weren't for the three bears.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
1. Dancing kids.
2. Utah peaches.
3. Breakfast for dinner.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
I managed to take a couple of pics, the one above on timer. Sweetie was the designated party photographer (of the cake and the blowing-out-the-candles action), but she mainly managed to capture some fabulous close-ups of body parts that you don't really want close-ups of when you're 33.
In honor of my birthday, I have to quote some from Sandra Cisneros's short story "Eleven" in her book Woman Hollering Creek. I love this story and its narrator, who sums up birthdays and age for me so perfectly:
"What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And you are--underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree truck or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is.
You don't feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don't even feel smart eleven, not until you're almost twelve. That's the way it is."
So, happy birthday to me. Maybe I will feel smart 33 when I'm almost 34. That's the way it is :)
Saturday, September 6, 2008
2. Your children automatically lay out their BYU garb the night before a game.