My garden is growing! Most of it looks beautiful, but there are a few things that will definitely be improved upon next year. Something is eating the leaves right off my beans, although the cucurbits (vine fruit in the cucumber family) are not being eaten very much. Right now it looks like the cucurbits and the tomatoes and the basil are the big winners of the year. They are all healthy and thriving and producing flowers, excepet the basil, which is good. When basil flowers it puts all its energy into making seeds instead of deliciously scented and flavored leaves. I crushed a leaf from my cinnamon basil yesterday and it smelled like cloves. Yum!
Meanwhile, the beets and carrots are coming up in a rather patchy manner, mostly because the seed packages were a few years old and the seed viability was probably falling quickly. The peppers look healthy but the flowers appear to be dying before they can set fruit- I wonder if they want more sun. And I am very excited for my lemon cucumbers, sugar pumpkins, and nine varieties of tomatoes. See, isn't gardening an adventure?
I also finally got my new picnic table set up outside a few weeks ago, the solar-powered garden lights in, and my pots of hostas and bleeding hearts established. And I planted impatiens in Amber's window well, which, fortunately, she thought was funny. It was better than the weedy tree of heaven that was growing up from her window well before I sliced it down and put in the impatiens.
In order to celebrate the backyard oasis, and also because Trevor was bored, he come over on Friday night and we made kebabs on Cassaundra's little gas grill along with my roommates and our friend Jon the Amazing Mechanic. I was very excited for the bacon-wrapped mushrooms, even after they dripped on the grill and started a grease fire that somehow spread to the lid of the grill. Fortunately, Trevor, like many men, is a pyro enthusiast, so between the two of us we got some very tasty and not-too-badly-singed kebabs made. Kerstin, Cassaundra, and Sarah made mangoes and sticky rice for dessert. It was a lovely evening, and it solidified my pleasure in my picnic table purchase. Good friends and good food on a pleasant summer evening is one of the great pleasures in life.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
And many things did come to pass
One unfortunate mark that depression has left on my life is that my desire to write is substantially decreased. I'm not depressed any more, but I used to have words almost flowing out of me, as my journals can attest. I make no claim as to their quality, but I wrote and wrote and wrote- mostly personal reflections and experiences that I didn't want to forget any details for. The year that I started keeping my journal electronically, I had about 70 pages, single spaced, by the end of the year.
I still love the idea of writing a lot, but it doesn't seem to compel me to the point where I have to sit down and pull out y computer. Thus, both my blog and my journal are scantier than they used to be.
This is sad to me. I wish it were not so. I'm starting to work on changing it back to how it was- especially since I know, as a scientist, that record keeping is critical. I also know that as a religionist. And just as a person who likes to remember what she's done and how she's felt at various times in her life. I think my favorite thing about rereading old journal entries is how much I can remember about how I felt at a certain stage of life based purely off of the topics of choice and also word choices. I've gone back and read entries from very hard times and been amazed at the upbeat, optimistic tone that I chose to record my emotions of the time. I've also read a few entries where the sheer pathos I put into baring my soul almost made me feel like I was intruding in a time that ought to be left alone as a sacred period of grief. I've chuckled with myself on rereading accounts of summer days and nights where life just seemed too delightful to be true, I've rolled my eyes with myself at anecdotes of confusing boys acting in ways that are hard to interpret, and I've sighed wistfully, rereading accounts of longing for certain events to come to pass in my life, some of which have been achieved (finally getting my master's, going to Kenya, singing in the choir), and some of which have not (marriage and family, having a well-established NGO, being independently wealthy and traveling the world).
I guess the point is, life is so rich and full of so many emotions and experiences that I really cherish my records. So I'm working on becoming an instinctive writer again.
As part of this, I am writing this post at night, per tradition, although it's not really late enough for me to start with "It's so late! I should be in bed!" (That's how about half of my journal entries start). But to prevent myself from going overkill and writing a huge, long entry, I will now end this ruminative post and start another one with a different topic.
I still love the idea of writing a lot, but it doesn't seem to compel me to the point where I have to sit down and pull out y computer. Thus, both my blog and my journal are scantier than they used to be.
This is sad to me. I wish it were not so. I'm starting to work on changing it back to how it was- especially since I know, as a scientist, that record keeping is critical. I also know that as a religionist. And just as a person who likes to remember what she's done and how she's felt at various times in her life. I think my favorite thing about rereading old journal entries is how much I can remember about how I felt at a certain stage of life based purely off of the topics of choice and also word choices. I've gone back and read entries from very hard times and been amazed at the upbeat, optimistic tone that I chose to record my emotions of the time. I've also read a few entries where the sheer pathos I put into baring my soul almost made me feel like I was intruding in a time that ought to be left alone as a sacred period of grief. I've chuckled with myself on rereading accounts of summer days and nights where life just seemed too delightful to be true, I've rolled my eyes with myself at anecdotes of confusing boys acting in ways that are hard to interpret, and I've sighed wistfully, rereading accounts of longing for certain events to come to pass in my life, some of which have been achieved (finally getting my master's, going to Kenya, singing in the choir), and some of which have not (marriage and family, having a well-established NGO, being independently wealthy and traveling the world).
I guess the point is, life is so rich and full of so many emotions and experiences that I really cherish my records. So I'm working on becoming an instinctive writer again.
As part of this, I am writing this post at night, per tradition, although it's not really late enough for me to start with "It's so late! I should be in bed!" (That's how about half of my journal entries start). But to prevent myself from going overkill and writing a huge, long entry, I will now end this ruminative post and start another one with a different topic.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The satisfaction of small things
I'm rather intrigued. After years of believing that I'm a terrible runner, that the activity is loathsome, and that I would never do it unless I forced myself to, I am discovering that probably my biggest problem was running too fast for my endurance level. Having slowed it down and built it up a little, I went on a jog yesterday morning that I later discovered, thanks to the glories of Google Maps, was a four mile round trip. This leads me to believe that my goal of a half marathon is not far-fetched, maybe even next year.
But that's still in the future. Yesterday's jog was my first outdoor run since the triathlon (thanks to the very wet weather Salt Lake has been having), and it was glorious jogging weather. The kind where I was chilly when I started but a very pleasant temperature when I stopped. I looped up along the Bonneville Shoreline Trail, past the zoo, and ended at my destination, a little grassy knoll called Donner Park that I often drive by but have never explored. Upon arrival, having just jogged on an uphill slant for half a mile, I rewarded myself by allowing myself to walk along the paths in the park. Coming over the hilly part, I discovered a small playground, hidden from the road, that I hadn't known was there. I love playgrounds because of all the fun memories they bring back. I was such a playground kid- and still am, let's be honest. And when one is by oneself at a park, the best activity is without a doubt the swings.
I hadn't been on a swing in several months, so as I passed the swing set, I found myself veering to the right and taking advantage of the vacantness of the area to pump myself towards the sky. I've always loved swings, and there are some swings that have a special place in my heart. I could write a whole post about that (in fact, I wrote half of it before I realized that it was a huge digression from this post and put it in a Word document for safekeeping). Yesterday morning, fresh off of running two miles, it was wonderful to kick my feet up towards the clouds and realize that I really do love living in Salt Lake City. For now, it's the best place for me to be.
Donner Park is situated at an elevation and location to have a view of a lot of the unique things that make Salt Lake City special. Right behind me was Emigration Canyon, passageway into the mountains and all kinds of glories. Fittingly, of course, if I turned my head, I could also see This is the Place Park, which is not quite a living museum, because the staff do dress up in period clothing from the 1850s, but they don't pretend to actually be people from that time.
Ahead of me spread the whole valley, big and open, with the Great Salt Lake, hard to see because of the overcast day, sprawling behind the downtown skyline. To my left, blocked by a bank of trees, lay Kennecott Copper mine, a huge open mine that is fascinating, beautiful, and hideous, all by turns.
And those mountains- those mountains that I love so much. They are truly beautiful things and I love living in them and learning about them and exploring them. As I ended my swinging, I began to get excited for more opportunities to find new trails, new treasures, and new adventures in my mountains.
I jogged home and stretched in the backyard, where I could inspect and observe our newly-planted garden, and gloat over the rows of carefully planted seed and the tender young tomato and pepper plants. Ah yes, I thought to myself. I am a true botany nerd. How many people take this much pleasure from marking not only the growth of their plants but also the development of their anatomical and physiological features? Not nearly enough.
Hm. I find myself rambling again. Must be time for bed. Other fun and exciting things happened on Saturday, including a bridal shower for my sister Laura, a rousing game of six-square with my family, digging in the dirt and finding worms with my one-year-old nephew, mowing the lawn and accidentally jamming the lawn mower with grass, and sewing half of one of the most unique dress patterns I've ever worked with. But the details would take me too long to type out, so I will just leave you, my readers, with the
knowledge that I had a very enjoyable day, filled with the satisfaction of small things.
But that's still in the future. Yesterday's jog was my first outdoor run since the triathlon (thanks to the very wet weather Salt Lake has been having), and it was glorious jogging weather. The kind where I was chilly when I started but a very pleasant temperature when I stopped. I looped up along the Bonneville Shoreline Trail, past the zoo, and ended at my destination, a little grassy knoll called Donner Park that I often drive by but have never explored. Upon arrival, having just jogged on an uphill slant for half a mile, I rewarded myself by allowing myself to walk along the paths in the park. Coming over the hilly part, I discovered a small playground, hidden from the road, that I hadn't known was there. I love playgrounds because of all the fun memories they bring back. I was such a playground kid- and still am, let's be honest. And when one is by oneself at a park, the best activity is without a doubt the swings.
I hadn't been on a swing in several months, so as I passed the swing set, I found myself veering to the right and taking advantage of the vacantness of the area to pump myself towards the sky. I've always loved swings, and there are some swings that have a special place in my heart. I could write a whole post about that (in fact, I wrote half of it before I realized that it was a huge digression from this post and put it in a Word document for safekeeping). Yesterday morning, fresh off of running two miles, it was wonderful to kick my feet up towards the clouds and realize that I really do love living in Salt Lake City. For now, it's the best place for me to be.
Donner Park is situated at an elevation and location to have a view of a lot of the unique things that make Salt Lake City special. Right behind me was Emigration Canyon, passageway into the mountains and all kinds of glories. Fittingly, of course, if I turned my head, I could also see This is the Place Park, which is not quite a living museum, because the staff do dress up in period clothing from the 1850s, but they don't pretend to actually be people from that time.
Ahead of me spread the whole valley, big and open, with the Great Salt Lake, hard to see because of the overcast day, sprawling behind the downtown skyline. To my left, blocked by a bank of trees, lay Kennecott Copper mine, a huge open mine that is fascinating, beautiful, and hideous, all by turns.
And those mountains- those mountains that I love so much. They are truly beautiful things and I love living in them and learning about them and exploring them. As I ended my swinging, I began to get excited for more opportunities to find new trails, new treasures, and new adventures in my mountains.
I jogged home and stretched in the backyard, where I could inspect and observe our newly-planted garden, and gloat over the rows of carefully planted seed and the tender young tomato and pepper plants. Ah yes, I thought to myself. I am a true botany nerd. How many people take this much pleasure from marking not only the growth of their plants but also the development of their anatomical and physiological features? Not nearly enough.
Hm. I find myself rambling again. Must be time for bed. Other fun and exciting things happened on Saturday, including a bridal shower for my sister Laura, a rousing game of six-square with my family, digging in the dirt and finding worms with my one-year-old nephew, mowing the lawn and accidentally jamming the lawn mower with grass, and sewing half of one of the most unique dress patterns I've ever worked with. But the details would take me too long to type out, so I will just leave you, my readers, with the
knowledge that I had a very enjoyable day, filled with the satisfaction of small things.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
There's no "try" in "triathalon"
Yesterday morning, Emily, Melanie, and I congregated with about a thousand other women at the fitness center in American Fork for their women-only sprint triathlon. After all my careful doube0checking, I did remember all the crucial things to have- swimsuit, bike helmet, running shoes- and most of the nonessentials, too. It was a beautiful sunshiney morning, the one sunny day sandwiched in between all the rainy ones. Perfect triathlon weather.
My goal was to complete the race and to complete it without coming to a complete stop at any point in time. And I succeeded. I didn't love it the whole time, but there's enough of a competitive spark in me that even when I was wondering why I wanted to do this, I was still observing the people around me and making sure I kept pace as much as I could.
A few things stand out in my mind as pivotal in this event. First, the sheer triumph of knowing that I have the strength to do something like a sprint triathlon. I remember being in high school and dealing with Candidas (which has symptoms very similar to Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) and having to go home and sleep for long periods of time just to have the energy to get through the remaining school day. Or being a college student and not being able to carry my backpack across campus all the time because of the searing pain behind my ribcage when I wore too much weight.
Yesterday that familiar pain behind my right shoulder blade made an appearance on the run- the final stretch of the race. I was frustrated and annoyed at first, and went from a jog to a walk for a while. But then I realized that the pain hadn't been there for several months, even with the increased activity I've been doing. And then I celebrated- in a sweaty, tired kind of way.
A second thing that made an impact on me was the support of friends and strangers both. No one was at the race to cheer for me- Kerstin was going to come but ended up going to a funeral instead. But she stayed up on Wednesday night and made me a special triathlon support sign for my door, and she texted me on Saturday morning before the race to let me know she was cheering me on. And there were people along the race route who cheered for everyone- some in a rather placid manner, but some with a large dose of ebullience. There were kids who held out their hands on the 5k route to give us five as we ran past. There was one little girl who jumped up and down every time someone ran past calling, "good job! Good job!" And I hope all those people know how much they boosted my spirits along the way. I'm so independent in most of my life that I almost forget just how much I love getting that support and cheering from people. But it always makes a difference.
Lastly, afterward when I was talking energetically with Mel and Em and we made plans to2 do it again, I realized yet again how lucky I've been to find such good friends, who not only have interests like mine but give me opportunities to improve and excel in those interests. We are making plans to go back to Cedar City for some Shakespeare this summer and climb a few mountains and go on a few campouts. And now I am on a new topic- Summer Plans- that could fill a while nother blog post, so I will save that for another day and conclude by saying that I am very glad that I completed my first triathlon and I'm excited to do another one.
My goal was to complete the race and to complete it without coming to a complete stop at any point in time. And I succeeded. I didn't love it the whole time, but there's enough of a competitive spark in me that even when I was wondering why I wanted to do this, I was still observing the people around me and making sure I kept pace as much as I could.
A few things stand out in my mind as pivotal in this event. First, the sheer triumph of knowing that I have the strength to do something like a sprint triathlon. I remember being in high school and dealing with Candidas (which has symptoms very similar to Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) and having to go home and sleep for long periods of time just to have the energy to get through the remaining school day. Or being a college student and not being able to carry my backpack across campus all the time because of the searing pain behind my ribcage when I wore too much weight.
Yesterday that familiar pain behind my right shoulder blade made an appearance on the run- the final stretch of the race. I was frustrated and annoyed at first, and went from a jog to a walk for a while. But then I realized that the pain hadn't been there for several months, even with the increased activity I've been doing. And then I celebrated- in a sweaty, tired kind of way.
A second thing that made an impact on me was the support of friends and strangers both. No one was at the race to cheer for me- Kerstin was going to come but ended up going to a funeral instead. But she stayed up on Wednesday night and made me a special triathlon support sign for my door, and she texted me on Saturday morning before the race to let me know she was cheering me on. And there were people along the race route who cheered for everyone- some in a rather placid manner, but some with a large dose of ebullience. There were kids who held out their hands on the 5k route to give us five as we ran past. There was one little girl who jumped up and down every time someone ran past calling, "good job! Good job!" And I hope all those people know how much they boosted my spirits along the way. I'm so independent in most of my life that I almost forget just how much I love getting that support and cheering from people. But it always makes a difference.
Lastly, afterward when I was talking energetically with Mel and Em and we made plans to2 do it again, I realized yet again how lucky I've been to find such good friends, who not only have interests like mine but give me opportunities to improve and excel in those interests. We are making plans to go back to Cedar City for some Shakespeare this summer and climb a few mountains and go on a few campouts. And now I am on a new topic- Summer Plans- that could fill a while nother blog post, so I will save that for another day and conclude by saying that I am very glad that I completed my first triathlon and I'm excited to do another one.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Roll round with the year, and never stand still
Like a lot of things in my life, blogging seems to come and go in cycles. I often will think up little anecdotes and stories that I can't wait to post, but then when there's actually time to do so, which isn't often these days, I've lost the phrasing that made them sound so elegant and articulate, if I can remember what I wanted to write in the first place.
I'm not even sure why I'm making time tonight. By rights I should be in bed. I left for work this morning at a quarter after seven, learned how to culture peripheral blood, quantified DNA, scored cells labeled with fluorescence in situ hybridization, and hybridized microarrays until about 4:20, swam from 4:50 to 5:40, got soaked in the slush storm walking back to my car, went to Temple Square, and sat in the recording studio with my crocheting until class started at 7:25. I got home at 10:00. This is a very standard day for me right now on Tuesdays and Thursdays at least. Going to bed is a luxury. But I felt compelled to write something tonight.
In my swim class, I regularly marvel at the drastic change in ability I've seen in myself. When I began this class at the beginning of February, I swam one length -25m- at a time and stopped to breathe hard after each one. I was pretty proud of the 600m I swam back then. Today I went to class and did four lengths in a row with barely a pause in between. I completed 1300m total. And I wasn't nearly as winded when I was done. I tend to push myself quite hard- Mel swims with a lot more deliberation, really focusing on the technique, where I tend to attack it more head on, like something to be conquered. I'd love to find a place somewhere between our two approaches.
I've noticed a lot lately that the years of dance instruction I took as a child still impact my muscle memory habits regularly, which is interesting to me. By no stretch would I ever have called myself a ballerina, but when I stand in rehearsal to sing, I find myself alternating between mostly third and fifth position, sometimes second. Then I'll realize that I'm standing on one turned-out foot and pointing the toe of the other in front of me, to the side, to the back. Then I'll be doing a very subtle releve and plie (going up on my toes and bending my knees). I was in a running class a few weeks ago and the instructor was having us do backward lunges. He watched my lunges narrowly for a minute and then asked "are you a ballerina? You're going into pointe when you raise your leg in front of you."
The interesting thing to me is that I don't think about any of this. My body just does it because of some training I had well over a decade ago- some of it over two decades ago. It's habit, it's memory built in to me.
I started reading President Monson's biography (on the biking machine, about my only available reading time right now), and one of the main themes woven throughout is how Thomas Monson's whole life has trained him to habitually serve, give, and inspire. He doesn't think about it, he doesn't make calculated plans- he has just been so imbued in a culture of giving and serving, from his childhood on up, that it's a habit. He gets a prompting, and his trained response is "yes. I will go and do." One thing that stood out to me more than any other when I watched his DVD biography (for lack of a better term) was towards the end when he says something to the effect of that when the Lord has an errand to be run, he wants the Lord to know that He can trust Tom Monson to do it. Something about that statement almost brings me to tears even now, just thinking about it.
How would it be to be so trained to respond to the guidance of the Lord that running errands for Him was second nature? That, like my pointed toes, I wouldn't even necessarily realize that I was doing anything out of the normal course? I want to be like President Monson.
Another thing I love about this man is that he, as his friends describe him, is larger than life. He is who he is and he doesn't apologize for it or try to make himself smaller in order to make others feel better about themselves. He just shines, and those who come in his path get shined on and feel better for it. This, in my mind is what real humility is- not false modesty or hiding under a bushel, but truly shining forth and acknowledging the source from whence the light comes. Using the light to reach out to everyone, that all may be edified.
Doesn't that sound great? Let's do it! Let's all be truly humble and shine forth like God intended for us to do! Hooray!
I must be truly tired- I started my rambles talking about my day and swimming, and I'm ending on a much higher plane. This is good. THe goal is always to go higher than I am. With quite a few sidesteps back to lower ground along the way. But always looking up.
I'm not even sure why I'm making time tonight. By rights I should be in bed. I left for work this morning at a quarter after seven, learned how to culture peripheral blood, quantified DNA, scored cells labeled with fluorescence in situ hybridization, and hybridized microarrays until about 4:20, swam from 4:50 to 5:40, got soaked in the slush storm walking back to my car, went to Temple Square, and sat in the recording studio with my crocheting until class started at 7:25. I got home at 10:00. This is a very standard day for me right now on Tuesdays and Thursdays at least. Going to bed is a luxury. But I felt compelled to write something tonight.
In my swim class, I regularly marvel at the drastic change in ability I've seen in myself. When I began this class at the beginning of February, I swam one length -25m- at a time and stopped to breathe hard after each one. I was pretty proud of the 600m I swam back then. Today I went to class and did four lengths in a row with barely a pause in between. I completed 1300m total. And I wasn't nearly as winded when I was done. I tend to push myself quite hard- Mel swims with a lot more deliberation, really focusing on the technique, where I tend to attack it more head on, like something to be conquered. I'd love to find a place somewhere between our two approaches.
I've noticed a lot lately that the years of dance instruction I took as a child still impact my muscle memory habits regularly, which is interesting to me. By no stretch would I ever have called myself a ballerina, but when I stand in rehearsal to sing, I find myself alternating between mostly third and fifth position, sometimes second. Then I'll realize that I'm standing on one turned-out foot and pointing the toe of the other in front of me, to the side, to the back. Then I'll be doing a very subtle releve and plie (going up on my toes and bending my knees). I was in a running class a few weeks ago and the instructor was having us do backward lunges. He watched my lunges narrowly for a minute and then asked "are you a ballerina? You're going into pointe when you raise your leg in front of you."
The interesting thing to me is that I don't think about any of this. My body just does it because of some training I had well over a decade ago- some of it over two decades ago. It's habit, it's memory built in to me.
I started reading President Monson's biography (on the biking machine, about my only available reading time right now), and one of the main themes woven throughout is how Thomas Monson's whole life has trained him to habitually serve, give, and inspire. He doesn't think about it, he doesn't make calculated plans- he has just been so imbued in a culture of giving and serving, from his childhood on up, that it's a habit. He gets a prompting, and his trained response is "yes. I will go and do." One thing that stood out to me more than any other when I watched his DVD biography (for lack of a better term) was towards the end when he says something to the effect of that when the Lord has an errand to be run, he wants the Lord to know that He can trust Tom Monson to do it. Something about that statement almost brings me to tears even now, just thinking about it.
How would it be to be so trained to respond to the guidance of the Lord that running errands for Him was second nature? That, like my pointed toes, I wouldn't even necessarily realize that I was doing anything out of the normal course? I want to be like President Monson.
Another thing I love about this man is that he, as his friends describe him, is larger than life. He is who he is and he doesn't apologize for it or try to make himself smaller in order to make others feel better about themselves. He just shines, and those who come in his path get shined on and feel better for it. This, in my mind is what real humility is- not false modesty or hiding under a bushel, but truly shining forth and acknowledging the source from whence the light comes. Using the light to reach out to everyone, that all may be edified.
Doesn't that sound great? Let's do it! Let's all be truly humble and shine forth like God intended for us to do! Hooray!
I must be truly tired- I started my rambles talking about my day and swimming, and I'm ending on a much higher plane. This is good. THe goal is always to go higher than I am. With quite a few sidesteps back to lower ground along the way. But always looking up.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
A lot of different "me"s
I am rereading (for the umpteenth time) one of my favorite books- Anne of Green Gables. There is so much in Anne that I feel makes us kindred spirits and I love all the descriptive passages that L.M. Montgomery includes. I feel like she always has little gems of wisdom and truth tucked in the humorous stories of Anne's adventures.
One passage in particular caught my eye the other day- Anne is talking to her friend Diana and says:
"There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I am such a troublesome person. If I were just one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but the it wouldn't be half so interesting."
Like Anne, I feel like there are such a lot of Marias in me. Some of the Marias are not very admirable and are rather selfish, and some of the Marias can just dance and sing for joy that the world exists and there are people in it. I am working constantly to encourage those Marias to grow bigger and stronger. Sometimes the progress comes in great leaps and bounds. Sometimes it feel like it might be going backwards. And such is the joy of life.
When I was a girl, I was extremely haphazardous. I had no self-discipline for anything. I took ballet lessons, gymnastics lessons, played soccer and coach pitch and did swim team and 4-H. My mother taught me to cook and sew and garden and play the piano. And I loved all these things. But I wanted to jump right in and go, proceed without thinking, and I couldn't stand the disciplined work it took to do a job well done. My early sewing projects can attest to this. I remember when I made some delicacy in the kitchen and was amazed at how poorly it turned out because I had no clue that the directions included with the ingredients list were actually meant to be read and followed. I have no idea how many scowls and fits of temper my mother put up with or how many times she told me to slow down a little. It was probably a near-daily occurrence. It reflected in my schoolwork, too. I loved school and learning and reading, but the discipline it took to be a good student was more than I was willing to invest. I was a certified bookworm by the time I was eight, but my mom had to make a rule that when we went to the library I had to get at least one book I'd never read before, because the effort of reading a new book was too great compared to the ease and comfort of a book I knew like an old friend.
This carried over into junior high. I started playing the flute and I remember conversations between my flute teacher and my mother that essentially consisted of Merrilee telling Mom that I could be a very good flutist if I would just take the time to practice, and Mom rolling her eyes in agreement.
Two things initiated the first change from the haphazardous Maria to the more work-oriented Maria. The first began, actually when I started junior high. That's when Mom started showing symptoms of her illness. With so many younger siblings, I'd always played a caretaking role around the house, but now it increased. I got up early a lot of mornings to make breakfast for the family. I felt sorry for myself a lot, until I realized that I was spending more time feeling sorry for myself than I was actually doing anything useful. Then, as Mom's health got worse, I slowly started stepping it up.
The other thing was the change in my own health. I had always prided myself on my good constitution and strong little body. When I was 10 years old, I could do 15 pull ups, a fact that delighted my father. But now in junior high, I developed a very painful condition in my arms called thoracic outlet syndrome. It was two years before the problem was diagnosed and operated on. Those were two long, painful years. But the stubborn Maria decided to face them head-on. Now that it was actually challenging to play the flute, I started practicing with an intensity I'd never had before. Now that I couldn't do much else, I was certainly going to do well in school. One semester in ninth grade, I missed two weeks of school (and would have missed more if my mother had her way) recuperating from two surgeries. Well, I may be missing school but you'd better believe I head-butted that challenge straight on and stayed on the honor role with my grades.
Isn't it interesting that the stubborn Maria actually ended up being a tool for the disciplined Maria to make an appearance? It continues today, to be honest. I chose to be a scientist. I love science, but it's not the most intuitive thing for me to do. When I started working in a lab as an undergrad, my lab book was a mess, for a scientist. I didn't have an eye for the kind of painstaking detail and note taking that is required to excel in this field. As I look back over seven years of mishaps and learning experiences of all kinds, I feel that I've really pulled myself up by the bootstraps in a lot of ways. And that has spilled over into other areas of my life and what I've come to refer to as conscious creating. Every second of every day, I am creating things- usually I am creating moods and feelings and thoughts and words, but sometimes I am creating assays and documents and lab notes at work, or quilts and skirts and gardens and meals at home, or experiences for myself or other people. A lot of what I create is not really intentional. It just happens as life goes by. But when I stop and map out what I intend to create and what my goal is, then I am creating consciously and taking hold of the reins of my life rather than just always allowing life to happen to me.
I feel like that's the most important difference between that Maria that used to dominate my life and the one that I am currently cultivating. This Maria has plans and dreams. She has goals and she knows enough to know that she wants them and is willing to set aside momentary pleasures and desires (often, but not always) to achieve her desired creations. She wants to create a good career, a beautiful singing voice, a healthy body, and a compassionate spirit, all of which involve a good deal of commitment and dedication. And it's not easy, because the Maria who's stubborn and always wants to have fun and get results right now without any effort is still here, putting in her voice and opinions. And another Maria, who is depressed and anxious, also speaks up from time to time and makes the whole vision blurry and seem pointless and hopeless. But these Marias have served to make me stronger in the past, so I trust that they can continue to do so, even though I dislike their presence so much.
So maybe in this life I'll never get to the comfort of having a single Maria inside of me. But maybe I'll continue to learn from the other Marias, since they may not be going anywhere. And as Anne said, that might just make things more interesting.
One passage in particular caught my eye the other day- Anne is talking to her friend Diana and says:
"There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I am such a troublesome person. If I were just one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but the it wouldn't be half so interesting."
Like Anne, I feel like there are such a lot of Marias in me. Some of the Marias are not very admirable and are rather selfish, and some of the Marias can just dance and sing for joy that the world exists and there are people in it. I am working constantly to encourage those Marias to grow bigger and stronger. Sometimes the progress comes in great leaps and bounds. Sometimes it feel like it might be going backwards. And such is the joy of life.
When I was a girl, I was extremely haphazardous. I had no self-discipline for anything. I took ballet lessons, gymnastics lessons, played soccer and coach pitch and did swim team and 4-H. My mother taught me to cook and sew and garden and play the piano. And I loved all these things. But I wanted to jump right in and go, proceed without thinking, and I couldn't stand the disciplined work it took to do a job well done. My early sewing projects can attest to this. I remember when I made some delicacy in the kitchen and was amazed at how poorly it turned out because I had no clue that the directions included with the ingredients list were actually meant to be read and followed. I have no idea how many scowls and fits of temper my mother put up with or how many times she told me to slow down a little. It was probably a near-daily occurrence. It reflected in my schoolwork, too. I loved school and learning and reading, but the discipline it took to be a good student was more than I was willing to invest. I was a certified bookworm by the time I was eight, but my mom had to make a rule that when we went to the library I had to get at least one book I'd never read before, because the effort of reading a new book was too great compared to the ease and comfort of a book I knew like an old friend.
This carried over into junior high. I started playing the flute and I remember conversations between my flute teacher and my mother that essentially consisted of Merrilee telling Mom that I could be a very good flutist if I would just take the time to practice, and Mom rolling her eyes in agreement.
Two things initiated the first change from the haphazardous Maria to the more work-oriented Maria. The first began, actually when I started junior high. That's when Mom started showing symptoms of her illness. With so many younger siblings, I'd always played a caretaking role around the house, but now it increased. I got up early a lot of mornings to make breakfast for the family. I felt sorry for myself a lot, until I realized that I was spending more time feeling sorry for myself than I was actually doing anything useful. Then, as Mom's health got worse, I slowly started stepping it up.
The other thing was the change in my own health. I had always prided myself on my good constitution and strong little body. When I was 10 years old, I could do 15 pull ups, a fact that delighted my father. But now in junior high, I developed a very painful condition in my arms called thoracic outlet syndrome. It was two years before the problem was diagnosed and operated on. Those were two long, painful years. But the stubborn Maria decided to face them head-on. Now that it was actually challenging to play the flute, I started practicing with an intensity I'd never had before. Now that I couldn't do much else, I was certainly going to do well in school. One semester in ninth grade, I missed two weeks of school (and would have missed more if my mother had her way) recuperating from two surgeries. Well, I may be missing school but you'd better believe I head-butted that challenge straight on and stayed on the honor role with my grades.
Isn't it interesting that the stubborn Maria actually ended up being a tool for the disciplined Maria to make an appearance? It continues today, to be honest. I chose to be a scientist. I love science, but it's not the most intuitive thing for me to do. When I started working in a lab as an undergrad, my lab book was a mess, for a scientist. I didn't have an eye for the kind of painstaking detail and note taking that is required to excel in this field. As I look back over seven years of mishaps and learning experiences of all kinds, I feel that I've really pulled myself up by the bootstraps in a lot of ways. And that has spilled over into other areas of my life and what I've come to refer to as conscious creating. Every second of every day, I am creating things- usually I am creating moods and feelings and thoughts and words, but sometimes I am creating assays and documents and lab notes at work, or quilts and skirts and gardens and meals at home, or experiences for myself or other people. A lot of what I create is not really intentional. It just happens as life goes by. But when I stop and map out what I intend to create and what my goal is, then I am creating consciously and taking hold of the reins of my life rather than just always allowing life to happen to me.
I feel like that's the most important difference between that Maria that used to dominate my life and the one that I am currently cultivating. This Maria has plans and dreams. She has goals and she knows enough to know that she wants them and is willing to set aside momentary pleasures and desires (often, but not always) to achieve her desired creations. She wants to create a good career, a beautiful singing voice, a healthy body, and a compassionate spirit, all of which involve a good deal of commitment and dedication. And it's not easy, because the Maria who's stubborn and always wants to have fun and get results right now without any effort is still here, putting in her voice and opinions. And another Maria, who is depressed and anxious, also speaks up from time to time and makes the whole vision blurry and seem pointless and hopeless. But these Marias have served to make me stronger in the past, so I trust that they can continue to do so, even though I dislike their presence so much.
So maybe in this life I'll never get to the comfort of having a single Maria inside of me. But maybe I'll continue to learn from the other Marias, since they may not be going anywhere. And as Anne said, that might just make things more interesting.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Blessings
Today I am grateful for the crisp, cool morning air on my face and the damp soil on my hands while I planted seeds in my yard.
I am grateful for a safe neighborhood with fun houses to go jogging in.
I am grateful for the wonderful people in the Chorale and their love and friendliness.
I am grateful for my sewing machine and for Christina, who worked on sewing together quilt pieces with me.
I am grateful for Matt and Tricia and the great lunch they made.
I am grateful for my fun, adorable nephews.
I am grateful for Angi and her friendship and the opportunities she'll get to have at college next year.
I am grateful for my wonderful grandma in Minnesota and her open, warm, loving nature
I am grateful for goals and lessons and learning and repentance and second chances
I am grateful for my power to choose how I feel and react
I am grateful for Temple Square and the first blooming bulbs.
I am grateful for the Little House books and all the fun relaxation they've given me over the years.
What are you grateful for?
I am grateful for a safe neighborhood with fun houses to go jogging in.
I am grateful for the wonderful people in the Chorale and their love and friendliness.
I am grateful for my sewing machine and for Christina, who worked on sewing together quilt pieces with me.
I am grateful for Matt and Tricia and the great lunch they made.
I am grateful for my fun, adorable nephews.
I am grateful for Angi and her friendship and the opportunities she'll get to have at college next year.
I am grateful for my wonderful grandma in Minnesota and her open, warm, loving nature
I am grateful for goals and lessons and learning and repentance and second chances
I am grateful for my power to choose how I feel and react
I am grateful for Temple Square and the first blooming bulbs.
I am grateful for the Little House books and all the fun relaxation they've given me over the years.
What are you grateful for?
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