I am sort of obsessed with something lately: babies. I went to a ward party with my parents in Connecticut and the whole time I was holding someone's baby. I held Clara, Paolo, Mischa, etc. Except the whole time I was wishing I had my own baby. I don't really want a husband, I just want a baby. I don't really want a toddler and definitely don't want a teenager, but I do want a baby. It doesn't help that with all the NYC shopping we went into baby Gap, Anthropologie, and some other tres chic baby boutiques. I don't mean to sound strange, but I do want a baby. Just not all of the unnecessary pieces that accompany one.


Post- Thanksgiving Gratitude

I am grateful for a lot of things, and have so much to be grateful for! Here are some of the things and people I am grateful for:

1. Music. LOVE IT! My recent favorites: Coldplay, Coldplay, Coldplay, Debussy, Ryan Adams, Nickel Creek, and Taylor Swift.

2. Family. I love love my family. I had the best break ever with my sisters and was so happy to see Lacey, Drew and Emmy! I also love having classes with Missy and Jess and seeing them almost everyday.

3. Reading. Obviously... I am pretty obsessed with books but I am very grateful for them. My current reads: The Book of Mormon, Jesus the Christ, A Thousand Splendid Suns, and Good Poems (by Garrison Keillor)

4. Good friends! I have the best friends in the world. Shout out to Liz, Laura, Chrissy, Becca, Ryan, James and Ashley. (and of course all of my other friends) Love you guys!

5. Little Kids. My all time favorites: Callie, Taylor, Emmy, and the four kids I nanny- Sophie, Nick, Cade and Zach. I am so excited to see them this week.

6. Prayer. I know I can access Heavenly Father any time, anywhere. Even if I knew for some reason He wasn't listening I would do it for me. Luckily, I know He is.

Happy late Thanksgiving!


Some Days

Today was a bad kind of day.
Here are some things that went horrendously wrong:

1. I failed my Italian oral exam. Well, maybe not failed but my Professor patted me on the back at the end, so I took that as a negative sign.

2. I wore shoes that were not water-proof and it poured rain all day. They went through my socks and so I was freezing and wet all day long.

3. The saddest part of my day was my drive home from Alpine. It was pitch black and I completely rammed into a deer. I felt so bad for it I sat in my car and cried for about fifteen minutes before I called my Mom or checked the front of my car to see what the damage is. Poor little deer, I hope it is still alive, even though it was a reckless deer who ran into me. I feel so bad for it.

But my day livened up a little because I stopped at Chef's Table on my way home and the lady saw I was crying so she gave me a giant box of mashed potatoes for $3.23 and then I watched 90210 on my computer in my pajamas. Tomorrow is a new day, with no mistakes in it. (and hopefully no dead deer)


Book Friends

I have a lot of friends. I am one of those people, divinely gifted, to have friends everywhere I go. I have all kinds of friends too. Friends I like to shop with, friends I like to eat with, friends I like to study with. There are friends who have sleepovers with me, and we share our deepest secrets, and friends who laugh at me when I do something ridiculous and love me anyway. I have energetic friends, pessimistic friends, sarcastic and hilarious friends.

But I also have book friends.

These friends are special friends, and hard to come by. In a sense, they understand everything I am saying without me having to say anything at all. They understand my obsession with Caleb Trask, and my fascination with India after reading both Elizabeth Gilbert and Jhumpa Lahiri. They don't mind when I tell them about my new favorite Anne Sexton poem and a tear slides casually down my cheek, and they don't judge me when I cancel my weekend plans to start the fourth book of the Sisterhood series. They have an unfathomable crush on Rudy Steiner and Gilbert Blythe too, and they wish that Cold Mountain had a different ending. They eagerly awaited the Seventh Harry Potter for literature's sake, and that book dominated our lunches for months following. My book friends and I may have nothing else in common - except our bridged obsession with characters, and stories, and villages and castles far away from our own. They understand Kafka when he said, "A book must be an ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside our soul." They smiled when Kate and Richard worked things out, and laughed at Rachel's humor in the Congo. They even cried aloud when Hans Huberman's accordion was found, and giggled when Ramona cracked the raw egg on her head.

They understand the canon, because they live it.
Every day when they open their books.



I was a good girl.
I drove all the way home between the white lines.
My vision was blurred -- not from tired, not from tears
But from love.
I drove all the way home between the white lines.
I felt like an animal --
with no feelings, no thoughts to guide me through my actions.
Just pure, hard, courage
That I didn't think I had.
Somewhere in my engorged organ
I felt a thump.
Then nothing.
Nothing at all
I drove all the way home between the white lines.


Secret Message

"Those who love the most,
Do not talk of their love,
Francesca, Guinevere,
Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,
In the fragrant gardens of heaven
Are silent, or speak if at all
Of fragile inconsequent things.

And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strength of the fates
Fighting in somber pride
Never spoke of this thing,
But hearing his name by chance,
A light would pass over her face."


where we are

"i envy those
who live in two places:
new york, say, and london;
wales and spain;
l.a. and paris;
hawaii and switzerland

there is always the anticipation
of the change, the chance that what is wrong
is the result of where you are. i have
always loved both the freshness of
arriving and the relief of leaving. with
two homes every move would be a homecoming.
i am not even considering the weather, hot
or cold, dry or wet: i am talking about hope."
- Gerald Locklin

I agree Gerald. And I am soon to be one of those you envy. One who lives in two places. One hot and dry, one cold and wet. Both home. I am talking about hope.


Book Thief

"'Hair the color of lemons," Rudy read. His fingers touched the words. "You told him about me?"

At first, Liesel could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty from the waiting.

Years ago, when they'd raced on a muddy field, Rudy was a hastily set of bones, with a jagged, rocky smile. In the trees this afternoon he was a giver of bread and teddy bears. He was a triple Hitler Youth athletics champion. He was her best friend.

"Of course I told him about you," Liesel said.
She was saying goodbye and she didn't even know it."

Thank you Rudy Steiner.

Feeding the hungry Jews. Rescuing "The Whistler" from the water. Giving the teddy bear to the dead pilot. You are beautiful. You have set a standard for young men everywhere. Go Jesse Owens. Go Rudy.


Tell the Truth Tell the Truth Tell the Truth

It is hard not to cry sometimes.
For me, it is hard not to cry most of the time.
But there are some things you can't not cry about.
Luckily, I know a good place to cry.
When you are in the shower, you are most likely alone.
You have the noise of the water coming down on you so you can cry as loud as you want.
You can wail and scream and pant, and its alright.
You are alone.
The water may as well be Niagara falls. Piercing, reeling, bloody.
The water also mixes with your tears.
You can pretend that the salt water and real water are both coming out of you.
You can pretend that the rage and rush of the fountain are all of your feelings.
Enough to drown you.
You can release everything you feel when walking through crowds of people.
You can forget your family is moving.
You can forget that you are missing a major piece of you.
You can pretend that the tears are just chemical properties.
Part of your physiology.
Instead of the gut-ripping, intensifying, earth shattering feelings they really are.
Luckily, I know a good place to cry.
When you are in the shower, you are most likely alone.


What We Need


It is in the small things we see it.
The child’s first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
The first spanking when your heartwent on a journey all alone.
When they called you crybaby
or poor or fatty or crazy
and made you into an alien,
you drank their acid
and concealed it.

if you faced the death of bombs and bullets
you did not do it with a banner,
you did it with only a hat to
cover your heart.
You did not fondle the weakness inside you
though it was there.
Your courage was a small coal
that you kept swallowing.
If your buddy saved you
and died himself in so doing,
then his courage was not courage,
it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.

if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.

when you face old age and its natural conclusion
your courage will still be shown in the little ways,
each spring will be a sword you’ll sharpen,
those you love will live in a fever of love,
and you’ll bargain with the calendar
and at the last moment
when death opens the back door
you’ll put on your carpet slippers
and stride out.

-Anne Sexton

I believe it too.


Girl in the Glass

I didn't always like me. My adolescent years, in fact, were sated with me not liking me. And, although later then desired, I am beginning to realize that I never really knew me. I knew my imitation. I knew my supposed best side which transformed into a monster threatening to mask who me is forever. I knew the me that I thought everyone else wanted, never really being... me. Over the past couple years, she has unearthed herself. And you know what? She is not as even tempered, or as beautiful physically, or popular. But she in fact, is more honest, and more passionate, and more fun. Much, much more fun. She is also unfeigned, and not two-faced, and not insecure.
This realization felt like synesthesia to my heart, where my sight and my heart began to correspond with the young girl in the mirror. "I know her," I began to feel. And I began to love the girl staring back. I also, began seeking for her approval, because the girl on the other side wanted me to be me, and a good me. And I had so much fun, beginning to understand that girl, and beginning to let her be her own kind of beautiful. No longer an imitation.
The girl in the mirror prefers to go barefoot if possible. She thinks no makeup is desirable, and gossip is overrated and unkind. She has compassion on those who struggle socially, instead of pretending she is above them. She waits sometimes three days to wash her hair, and often would rather watch Pride and Prejudice for the 151st time with her Mom then see friends. She keeps secrets. She confronts those who have hurt her feelings, and is quick to anger and quick to forgive. She is nice to people, and honest with herself and Heavenly Father and wipes tears away from her eyes when she talks to friends and they are real tears, and not pretend. And her split ends, and flat chest, and unshaved legs are part of her, and her smile is real and same with her hands. And she is me. And I love her. And I didn't always, but I do now. And I am excited to take her along with me for the rest of my life.

-- Some luck lies not in getting what you thought you wanted but getting what you have, which once you have got it you may be smart enough to see is what you would have wanted had you known. --Garrison Keillor, Lake Woebegone Days



"I’m not interested in the insurance industry. I’m tired of being a skeptic. I’m irritated by spiritual prudence and I feel bored and parched by empirical debate. I don’t want to hear it anymore. I couldn’t care less about evidence and proof and assurances. I just want God. I want God inside me. I want God to play in my bloodstream the way sunlight amuses itself on water."
- Elizabeth Gilbert


A Concern

I have a concern. It is regarding this period of my life. (For those females my age you may be able to empathize.)
Lately I feel like every conversation, revolves around marriage or relationships:

Who is engaged to who.
Who is dating someone seriously.
Who is talking about marriage with someone.
Who is waiting for a missionary faithfully.
Who is not going to wait for their missionary faithfully.
Who is secretly engaged but it just isn't official yet.(aka no ring)
Who is heartbroken because of a recent break-up.

I admit- in the past I have contributed to these conversations. I have listened and asked questions that are in a large degree related to relationships.
But then I thought about it, and realized it has been awhile since anyone asked me about something other than my past, present and future relationships. So if you are my friend here are some questions you can ask me next time you see me:

How did you feel when you read Pride and Prejudice for the first time?
What is your favorite character on Lost?
If you could taste any color, which one would it be?
What is your favorite memory of ours together?

These topics are interesting too I think. And if you agree with my concern, let your voice be heard.

Let's all find something new to talk about.


The Age We Live In

There are some problems in this world.

#1- I saw a girl on campus wearing leggings with nothing over them.
#2- A kid I know misspelled the word teeth. (Teath).
#3- There are currently four email addresses I occupy, 3 of which are spam infested.

There are also some great things in this world.

#1- My college physical science professor gave us a 100 point test and the only question was what our name is.
#2- People are proving that tanning causes cancer which is good news for those of us who do not have naturally olive skin, making white skin more permissible.
#3- I won speed scrabble three Sundays in a row.

There may be hope still.


Germany: Love, Friendship and Tom

I have a friend. His name is Tom. He is a very special kind of friend because he is very far away. He lives in Germany with his family and likes to come visit me in America and teach me German words and go to Lake Powell. And I miss him. That's all.


My ABC's

A - Alpine. Not born and raised, but partially raised.
B - Books. Bible. Book of Mormon.
C - Christmas. I cry everyday on the 26th before getting out of bed.
D - Drawing, Painting, Sketching, etc.
E - Elaborate plans I make in my head.
F - Flying. I dream about doing it every night.
G - Google - I use this pretty little tool everyday.
H - Hugs or Kisses? Hmm.... Hugs and Kisses.
I - Imagination. It is both a blessing and a curse.
J - Jocks? Nah.
K - Kit. My most commonly used K word in scrabble.
L - Little Women. Chronologically I'm Beth, but I am Jo at heart.
M - Mandy Madson.
N - New stuff. I like to shop.
O - Only my best friends really know me.
P - Popcorn. My one true love.
Q - Quilting was not fun the one time I attempted to do it.
R - Running, Rain, Reading, Rock and Roll
S - Snow. Snowboarding. Skiing.
T - Thoreau or Emerson? e.e. Cummings.
U - Underwear. I once spent $140 on it at one time. I like it.
V - Vision. I have bad eyesight. But I still have vision.
W - Warts, Weirdo's, and Weddings freak me out.
X - X-tremely into spelling things correctly.
Y - Young. And in love. With the idea of being in love.
Z - Zzzzz Sleeping. Was invented for me.


Socio- Rules of Amor

There is this theory we have created. (We being me and my other half - Elizabeth, aka Lizzie Cosper.) There are three groups of people in this society. I cannot say world, because that is a variable so large I do not wish to attempt*. However, in this society - America, Utah, BYU, whatever you choose - there are three groups of people who relate differently in the ways of love. I will attempt to explain this thesis.

The first group are the ones who are different, and do not care. They may like anime, or Russian literature, and may have bug collections and/or fingernail clipping collections. The point is - they are naturally drawn to those like themselves. Outsiders if you will. They will also grow old happy and content to discuss Star Trek and/or underwater basket weaving.

The third group, (we will come back to the second), are God's gift to mankind. And one another. They enjoy spending Daddy's money, looking great in a size 2 bathing suits, and golfing at the nearby country club. They are well fed, well bred, and well read. They are immediately drawn to one another and one another's equally stunning accomplishments: perfect hair, eyes, bodies, and overall, general perfectness. They may or may not grow old happily, but will eventually marry and spend their trust funds on vacations to Crete and Range Rovers with silver rims.

The second group are, sadly, most of the human race. We may not love Star Trek, but may still enjoy Harry Potter, Scrabble, and the occasional splurge at Buckle. We may or may not be extremely smart, wealthy, nerdy, good looking, or talented. However, we may have great personalities, and may be talented in some activities such as badminton, and Egyptian War. The plight of the seconders is, that unlike the first and third parties, we are not united. We do not want the firsts. We however, all want the thirds. Who, not suprisingly, do not want us. We are then forced to wed one another. Unless true love is acheived, we may marry wishing we could get a third, or we may never wed because we refuse not to marry a third. Although this scale may be exaggerated, it is somewhat factual.

Advice to fellow seconders: Third is not always the best.

*Not to mention, there are still arranged marriages in some places like Arabia


Shh. Code of Hope.

algún día

un jour


un giorno


algum día




Spring Time

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson


Davy Crockett and Sally Ann Thunder Wedding

Inspiration Board:

Sally Ann Thunder and Davy Crockett united for a wedding
that the backwoods of Tennessee and Kentucky
are not likely to ever see again.

Some fun facts about the happy couple:

Sally Ann can: "Tote a steamboat on her back, outscream a panther, and jump over her own shadow."
Davy Crockett can: "Slide down the slippery ends of a rainbow, outrun, outlick, and outholler any ring-tailed roarer east of the Mississippi!"

What: A wedding uniting Davy Crockett and Sally Ann Thunder Ann Whirlwind
Where: The Backwoods of Tennessee
When: One spring day

The wedding's colors included:
Whiskey Brown
Prairie Yellow
Berry Red
Various Rattlesnake Prints

The groom and groomsmen wore: Coonskin caps
The bridesmaids wore rattle-snake belts - (The same ones Sally Ann used to rescue Davy with)
The bride wore prairie plaid.
The entire wedding party wore rattle snake boots.

The guests dined on:
Alligator Stew- (Courtesy of Mike Fink)
Dumplings - (That could make a bear cry)
Berry Cake - (Foraged by Sally Ann herself)
Each Guest took home a crock of churned butter (Courtesy of the Grizzly Bear)

The guests enjoyed:
Square Dancing (With bears and humans alike)
Smiling Raccoons out of trees
A rousing game of horseshoes
Walnut Cracking (With front teeth of course)

The guests included but were not limited to:
Mike Fink in the form of an alligator
Fellow Prairie Folk (Supporters of Davy Crockett's political campaign)
Sally Ann and her prairie friends (especially Lucy)
The Panthers - especially the Big Eater of the Forest

Sally Ann says of the day, "After freein Davy from the tree, I knew he was something special. When he told me his "heart was bustin" I knew it was high time that I took his calloused hand in marriage. But there ain't nothing I can do with Davy that I couldn't do before. I was tickled pink that the grizzlies made it to the wedding for some square dancing, and even made some apple dumplings in their honor. I also decided to put myself and Mike Fink's differences behind me and invite him to the wedding. I kept a toothpick in my pocket in case he tried any funny business, I would throw him into the muddy swamp. I will slide down rainbows with you any day Davy. Thanks for being my man."

p.s. a special thanks to Davy for freeing the sun for the special day.

"Oh my stars and possum's why not?"

Text taken from: Osborne, Mary Pope. American Tall Tales. New York:1991. Text.


Makes Me Smile

I heard something beautiful today by my recent friend Jeff Moffat. Hi Jeff. I hope you don't read this, but if you do... consider it a compliment. It was testimony meeting and Jeff followed about five very teary girls. This is how he began, "The gospel makes me happy. Some people cry - and I guess they are tears of joy, but it just makes me smile." As he said that, I realized that I felt the same way. I cry sometimes in my testimony, but only when expressing feelings about loved ones, not really when I share my feelings about the gospel. When I share my testimony about the church, I can't help but smile. I smile because I know it. I smile because it's true. I smile because every part of me is so grateful to have it in my life that it doesn't make sense to me to cry. The gospel makes me happy too Jeff. Thank you.


Emerson Lynn

Today I became an aunt. Yesterday I was not an aunt, but instead a sister, a daughter, a cousin, a niece, a grandaughter and a friend. But today I am an aunt. And I will be an aunt until tomorrow and the next day and the next day and on into the eternities. And even though I have yet to hold my niece, and officially become her aunt - It is possible I will have that opportunity soon.

This makes me think of all the things I have yet to become. A fiance, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, etc. I have a lot of labels left to acquire. But today I am an aunt. And I think I am going to like that.


Ex Libris

I'm reading a terrific book: Confessions of a Common Reader by Anne Fadiman. Warning: Do not read this book if you do not love to read. Furthermore, do not read this book if you only partially like reading. Only read this beautiful book if you are passionate about reading. Because Fadiman is, and she needs only the support of full fledged readers to enter her domain. In this book you will learn proper bookmark techniques. You will also learn about how sexy reading about food can be, as well as the definition of such delicious words as: grimoire, adytum, and my personal favorite, very delectable word - opopanax, ( a reddish-looking plant formerly used as an emmenagogue and antispasmodic). Wouldn't you like to play with a balloon shaped just like an opopanax? I would. She also teaches you a lot about how your future spouse should be - at least to those who wish to live a romantically booky life. You are only truly married when you can share each other's books. You also need someone who will buy you 19 pounds of dusty books for your birthday, and who will inscribe in his very own novel, "To my beloved wife...This is your book, too, as my life, too is also yours." You will read about how romantic it is to be surrounded by Gore-tex, cuddling with your husband (romantically christened George), as John Wesley Powell's diary lay before you by lantern light, watching the Granite Rapids roll by. There are many things each of you need to learn about books. They are - not just things to be read and put down. They are our history, our present, our very future, and the mark we leave as human beings. They in fact - determine our existence, and validate our consciousness. So before you sprawl a book face-down, or dog-ear, or heaven forbid tear out its pages; take a minute. Breathe. Respect.



There has been some debate. Never mind how long or how intense. It is about two of my favorite composers; Johann Brahms and Clara Schumann. I have taught Master-classes about them, I have studied their music, and have attempted to play their notes with the passion they composed with. The debate has been going on since they died, and I am sure long before that. No matter Brahms hot temper - he loved Clara. He could never offend her. His beautiful Romance was undoubtedly written for her. Out of respect for them, I must post this poem. Lisel Mueller wrote it, and I cannot say it any better. In other words: Stop debating. Let their music speak for them. It tells us everything we need to know. (As if it were our business in the first place.)

"The modern biographers worry
"how far it went," their tender friendship.
They wonder just what it means
when he writes he thinks of her constantly,
his guardian angel, beloved friend.
The modern biographers ask
their rude, irrelevant question
of our age, as if the event
of two bodies meshing together
establishes the degree of love,
forgetting how softly Eros walked
in the nineteenth century, how a hand
held overlong or a gaze anchored
in someone's eyes could unseat a heart,
and nuances of address not known
in our egalitarian language
could make the redolent air
tremble and shimmer with heat
of possibility. Each time I hear
the Intermezzi, sad
and lavish in their tenderness,
I imagine the two of them
sitting in a garden
among late-blooming roses
and dark cascades of leaves,
letting the landscape speak for them,
leaving us nothing to overhear."


O.C.D = Our Courtly Desires

There is this disorder I have. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Mine is not extreme, although some may worry it is. It does, however, pervade my life. I would like it to stop. To stop. To stop. Some things need to be repeated three times. Random things, there are no rules. They just do. My alarm must be set to the four. I cannot wake up at 7:15. It must be 7:14. Not 9:45, but 9:44. Always. Always. Always. My blinds must be checked one- two- three times before climbing into bed, and stepping on cracks is taboo. Leaves are pulled off of their branches and torn in 19 pieces. It used to be 12, then 15, then 17, but now it is 19. That might have to do with the date of my birth. I worry for when I turn 44. That is a lot of broken leave pieces to scatter as my breadcrumb trail. (I've done this ever since I heard the fairy tale of Hansel and Gretel.) Cupboards must remain shut at all times. Doors must be locked. Teeth must be brushed 14 times each. Hello, hello, hello before I answer the phone without a hello but a hey - or a what's up? Smiles must be faked, pulses must be checked, and on and on and on. And so forth and so on and on and on.


Read On

I have this thing I do. I call it reading. Some of my audience (whoever it may be) may be thinking, "Oh, I do that too." But I have to differ with you a little bit there. I read. And my reading is a little bit different than maybe some of you read. When I read, I read. It's not like I pick up a book and say, "Oh, I'll read until the little hand gets to the six," while I look up after every page or so to see if the little hand is there yet. I read with abandon. Because when I read, I can forget. Who cares about my miserably sad life right now, when Rochester and his little bird are falling in love despite his blindness? Who cares if my tears are running down my face when Florentino and Fermina Daza finally find each other after a terribly long and boring life. (and book). Adah and Caleb are meant to be. And Rachel can be rich in South Africa. And Lily gets to find all eight of her mothers. And Carl Ray finds out who his father is, and Beth Ann shuts up and Anna can die in a freak car accident and ruin an otherwise lovely novel. And it's okay. Because when I read, I am not alive. At least not my problems. And that's the way I prefer it. So go ahead and read - read as you always do, as you always have: one page at a time, while that little stick tick-tick-ticks, and you dog ear, or heaven forbid, sprawl your book down to pick it up later. I cannot do that. Because when I read, I read.


Wise Words

"You know how when you were a little kid and you believed in fairy tales, that fantasy of what your life would be, white dress, prince charming who would carry you away to a castle on a hill. You would lie in bed at night and close your eyes and you had complete and utter faith. Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Prince Charming, they were so close you could taste them, but eventually you grow up, one day you open your eyes and the fairy tale disappears. Most people turn to the things and people they can trust. But the thing is its hard to let go of that fairy tale entirely cause almost everyone has that smallest bit of hope, of faith, that one day they will open their eyes and it will come true."
- Meredith Gray


For Bryan

"She was a girl
no one ever chose
for teams or clubs,
dances or dates,

so she chose the instrument
no one else wanted:
the tuba. Big as herself,
heavy as her heart

its golden tubes
and coils encircled her
like a lover’s embrace.
Its body pressed on hers.

Into its mouthpiece she blew
life, its deep-throated
oompahs, oompahs sounding,
almost, like mating cries."

This poem made me laugh so hard, in a very lame, poetry loving dorky way. And who doesn't deserve to laugh like that at least once?


Fire and Hope

The way the Greeks put it, Zeus put Prometheus and Epimetheus in charge of creating life on earth. Epimetheus made animals, and gave out special bonuses like wings and swiftness and strength. By the time Prometheus made man, all of the awesome bonuses were taken, so he just made them walk upright and gave them fire.
However, Zeus was angry when he saw that man had fire on earth, and took it away. But then Prometheus looked down on earth and saw his beautiful creation cold and eating raw meat, so he lit a torch from the sun and gave fire back to man. To punish Prometheus, Zeus chained him to a rock where an eagle fed on his liver. Then to punish man, Zeus created the first woman - Pandora - (but if you ask me it was actually a blessing not a curse) and gave her a box she was forbidden to open.
Among women's many good traits, Zeus also made them curious, so of course one day Pandora opened the box. Out of the box poured plagues and sickness and death and misery. However, she quickly shut the box before hope escaped. It is the only weapon we have, according to the Greeks, left to fight the others.

Hope is a pretty powerful thing. Believe me when I say, it's sometimes the only weapon we have left. But if used properly... it's enough.



"It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak."

- Mary Oliver



I heard these lyrics for the first time a week ago in my English 150H class. Immediately I assumed the song was about a relationship. Reading deeper, I came to realize that it was actually a song from Judas Iscariot's point of view. "You" is Jesus Christ. It was hard to believe U2 could create such a meaningful song, but it taught me a lot about betrayal. Christ was betrayed, by one of his closest friends - his disciple. And we are all betrayed by our own disciples. Our own closest friends. And each time it happens, each of us reach out for Christ - the only one who can save any of us. And he is the one who delivers us. Every time.

Havent seen you in quite a while
I was down the hold, just passing time
Last time we met was a low-lit room
We were as close together as bride and groom
We ate the food, we drank the wine
Everybody having a good time
Except you
You were talking about the end of the world

I took the money, I spiked your drink
You miss too much these days if you stop to think
You led me on with those innocent eyes
And you know I love the element of surprise
In the garden I was playing the tart
I kissed your lips and broke your heart
You, you were acting like it was the end of the world

In my dream I was drowning my sorrows
But my sorrows they learned to swim
Surrounding me, going down on me
Spilling over the brim
In waves of regret, waves of joy
I reached out for the one I tried to destroy
You, you said youd wait until the end of the world.


On Overcoming

"The cure for anything is salt water-- sweat, tears or the sea"
-Isak Dinesen

My Dad

This poem completely sums up my experience in leaving for college. My Dad sat me down, and we both cried. We both told each other we loved each other, as he recounted his memories of my youth, that seemed every day to pass faster and faster until it was gone. Gone like my diapers, and my Barbies, and my braces. Here, perhaps less poetically than my Dad, Gerald Stern describes his own goodbye. Mine was more poetic, only because it was mine.

"I wanted to know what it was like before we
had voices and before we had bare fingers and before we
had minds to move us through our actions
and tears to help us over our feelings,
so I drove my daughter through the snow to meet her friend
and filled her car with suitcases and hugged her
as an animal would, pressing my forehead against her,
walking in circles, moaning, touching her cheek,
and turned my head after them as an animal would,
watching her helplessly as they drove over the ruts,
her smiling face and her small hand just visible
over the giant pillows and coat hangers
as they made their turn into the empty highway."

Little Women

"We're all going to grow up someday Meg, we might as well know what we want."
- Amy


"For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone."
=Audrey Hepburn


Love in the Time of Cholera

I recently read Love in Time of Cholera, by Gabriel Garcia Marouez. Although I did not especially enjoy the book, I found some insights into love. Hildebranda, Fermina Daza's cousin tells Fermina regarding Florentino, "He is ugly and sad, but he is all love." Maybe she's right.


Did you know, my favorite character in Little Women isn't even Jo? It's Beth. And I claim I love strawberries when really I would choose a tomato over one any day. I am more afraid of birds than spiders, and when I talk to myself when I'm alone, it's always in a British accent. I don't think I'll ever get old, at least I never plan on it and my greatest fear is never being able to write the multitude of books in my head. Did you know that sometimes I have communist thoughts? Because I do. I never want to own a cat, and my favorite color is green like the grass on a well-watered soccer field. I despise poor grammar and all I want for Christmas this year is my own air-popper popcorn machine but I'm too embarrassed to ask for it. I'm sick of learning about the constitution because I feel like that's all I've done in college. I want to live in the country someday with rambling fields and once - just once - spent a day from dawn until dusk reading Cold Mountain again, and using my sleeve to blow my nose when Inman dies. Someday I think I'll run out of blood because I don't think I have enough. In my head I am still eleven years old. I still feel the urge to build forts sometimes. I sing the Star Spangled Banner in the shower. Go fish.