what to ask me when i'm old (or after we're done moving)

Storyteller genius, Donald Davis, says not to ask old people what they remember about their childhoods.

Instead, he says you should ask about their childhood home. Or their third grade classroom. Or the hard church pew they sat on every Sunday. In other words, if you want to retrieve a memory, access the location where it's stored. Open the door and go inside the space where it happened.

Since we've been married, we've gathered a whole collection of spaces.

And here we go again. Arizona. For a good job. To the place we will be when we make that final student loan payment before the end of the year. I will experience that victory in a sunny spot on the globe.

You wouldn't know it from all our gypsying, but we really hate moving. We had a sweet babysitting swap with some friends in the neighborhood. My sweetie girl has a crush on one of the boys in nursery. When we first boxed up my books last week, I cried.

And maybe I'm making too much of this, but I've been thinking about how we simultaneously live in the spaces by which we access those memories later. By leaving that space, we have to accept that another chapter in our lives has closed—those moments are now memories, and not the present. Time keeps moving and so do we. 

I know which memories happened in this familiar space, but I haven't yet seen which ones happen in the new one. We always seem to fall in love where we're living, though, so I'm hopeful and excited. Each move, we're just as reluctant to leave as the last.

So here's to fabulous memories in new spaces. And here are some of my favorite images of the one we've just left—where things have been so happy, sometimes hard, and altogether wonderful. If some young whippersnapper ever asks me about that basement apartment I lived in down the street from the bakery, I'll say it was one of my favorites.

 

free art and writing workshops. you're invited...

I know this girl who just does things.

What things? Like, anything you can think of. And when I hear about her newest project, I look around and think, Can you do that?

You can, apparently. Although I usually don't. Here's what she cooked up recently: The Billboard Poetry Project.

She was sick of billboards for laser surgery and boob jobs cluttering up the freeway. So she held a contest and the winning poem is going up on a series of billboards here in Provo.  

The whole idea is very cool, so you should check it out—especially the free workshops. I'm not sure how I fell in with such brilliant people, but they're gold, every one of 'em.

And, lest you suspect this is a personal plug, I want you to know that you shouldn't necessarily sign up for my workshop (although you'd be most welcome—we'll explore the outdoors, read some things, probably eat some food and you'll leave with a finished little piece of prose).

If you're not sure which class to sign up for, holler and I'll give you my two cents for free.

Everyone's welcome—to the workshops, to the reception and the art show. Just come create and celebrate.

why i heart provo: an update

People generally have strong feelings about Provo.

I've never seen anyone shrug and say, "Provo. Meh. Whatevs." Unless, of course, it's too small a town for them to have heard of before.

There are people who grew up here with some pretty amazing Provo pride. Others moved here for college and have opinions connected to their grades or how many dates they got. Others have never lived here, but know the stereotypes and roll their eyes. And more—some love, some hate.

I can see where they're all coming from. I hated Provo the first time I lived here. And I was a little nervous to move back.

But put me down as one who loves Provo. Loves it.

• Our house? Old, kind of quirky—and absolutely made for us. We store our bikes in a cute entryway. The baby's room is the coziest, prettiest little space. And she sleeps better here than any of the 3 places we've lived since she was born.

• Neighborhood? Just seems so neighborly and adorable. And we live close to everything, but on a quiet street. So I can go anywhere with my bike and the baby trailer without getting nervous. Also, the first time I went riding, I actually thought, "Wow! The trees are greener here!" Then I realized I was wearing sunglasses that make trees look greener.

• Food? Awesome. We cruised over to Bombay House with just a stroller and our feet a few weeks back. When we finally go to Communal, we'll just walk down the street. And have you ever eaten honey bran muffins from the Provo Bakery? Well, don't. Because they're always sold out by the time I get over there.

• Job? Awesome. I mean, Christopher works in a chocolate factory. Also, I got a writing gig that I do from home that I absolutely love. Our commutes rock.

• Not being students? Provo's a different place now that we don't have homework hanging over our heads. It's easy to find fun stuff to do—on the cheap. One particular outing included welcoming the first non-stop commercial flight from Denver landing at the Provo Airport, with all its accompanying small-town fanfare. 

• People? I saved the best for last. I've heard all about Provo being a hot spot for self-righteousness and poor driving. But some of the loveliest people live here. I would tell you all their names, but you don't have time to read a blog post quite that long.

Say what you will. And then come visit us.
I love this town.

a thank you note. you know who you are (i hope).

I made the baby write her own birthday thank-you notes.

I kind of suck at writing thank-you-notes. Not because I'm not thankful—just the opposite.

I always feel super grateful for and almost surprised by people's generosity. And, even though I love to write, I never feel like I convey exactly how appreciative I am. Maybe I should just do what my coolest sister-in-law did for me once and slip in some cash.

I would, but we just paid first and last month's rent on a new place to live. We're out of here this weekend. It happened much faster (read: 6 months faster) than I thought it would.

I'm grateful that Christopher found his dream job, that we get to live closer to it, and that we always find a place to live that's better than the last in some way (in this case, it's bigger).

But I've cried a few times this week. And I need to say thanks:

1. To the people who gave us wedding presents. Seriously.

While packing, I found a list of unfinished wedding thank-you's (which I thought my husband had conveniently "lost"). There are people on it who don't know how grateful I am on a daily basis, when we use our dinner plates, or our salad tongs, or our towels.

Thank you—almost 4 years late. I'm going to stop feeling guilty now that you never got a note.


2. To the people around here. I take a minute to feel comfortable in a new place. And the minute here took a lot less time than it usually does. I don't think it was really anything I did.

Like I said, I often fail at conveying the extent of my appreciation. Please know that's especially true this time for every single person I've met here since we moved in last November. You made this feel like home in one second.

Thanks. For every little thing. It matters. We're going down the road a ways, but I will always consider you friends.


3. To the people around there. I sure hope you're as cool as the people around here.
I'm going to say thanks in advance and just assume you are.

we did it for the photo op

We almost didn't go to graduation. Reasons?

• We technically graduated 4 months ago, before Christmas break, when there were no graduation ceremonies.
  
• Cap and gown rental fees seem like a racket after you've already paid your four years' tuition.
• My husband often scoffs at pomp and authority (and so also, possibly, at "Pomp and Circumstance"). He initially didn't look forward to the fancy hats, color-coded tassles, and terrible parking.
  

But one of my favorite pictures of myself as a little girl was taken on my dad's graduation day. I wanted a picture like that for our baby girl. Possibly for tradition's sake. Or possibly to have proof to show her when she's a teenager (and thinks she knows everything) that she has smart parents. Caps and gowns make us look like we know something.
















Which is probably why I didn't take some of the other, non-smarty-pants pictures that I should have that afternoon:

• The mess I made when I didn't put the lid on the bottle correctly so all the milk we brought spilled in the diaper bag
  
• The spot where I would have gotten lost (on a campus I've known for years) if other people hadn't insisted I was going the wrong way
• Or the moment we had to break into the car because I'd locked the keys inside

I opted for the photo that makes us look smart, that we'll put in a baby book—which might be an unfair representation of everything we did that day, but reason enough to go to graduation.

A chance for Provoites to eat locally

Our farmers have expanded into the Provo area. They grow their crops in Draper and Sandy.

You can sign up by visiting the Bell Organics web site.

Here's Jill's announcement:

"Hello,
David and I were able to meet with the owner of Pizzeria Seven Twelve in Orem today for lunch and he has agreed to host a CSA pick up for the Utah County area.

We will be adding this location to our program on Wednesdays from 4-6 pm. Their address is 320 South State Street #185, Orem Utah.

If you are not familiar with this locally driven business you can visit their website at www.pizzeria712.com where their blog does a nice job of explaining their vision.
—Jill"

To join the CSA, you pay Jill and David up front, and then you get a new box of vegetables each week once the season begins — from June 14th to October 13th.

David in the garden

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You'll eat more vegetables than you ever have, making yourself and your community healthier.

You can also order local eggs, cheese, fruit, and beef through their website.

They have additional pick-up locations in Draper, Salt Lake, Millcreek, and Park City.

making peace with provo

Six years ago, I thought I was moving away from Provo for good. I couldn't WAIT. I packed up fast and by the time I hit the freeway entrance, I was flying. I almost shouted out the window: see ya', suckas! And I was never coming back.

Then the universe laughed at me and sent me to Provo again two years later.

Good thing it did, too. When I lived here the first time, I worked and spent most of my free time in a different city, while spending the rest of my time rolling my eyes at Provo stereotypes.

Not until the second time around did I discover that this supposedly boring, stifling city is home to some of the most interesting, intelligent, wonderful people I've ever met. I know they didn't hide from me before; I just never bothered to look for them back in the day.

On Saturday, I'll move away from Provo again—this time, in a very different mood. I'm thrilled about our new place for so many reasons (can we say washer and dryer?). But I now know that I'll miss the apartment and the streets and the campus and especially the people who have made me feel so at home here.

Goodbye, Provo. Goodbye, little house under the stairs.










And to all you suckers who ARE sticking around this good little town: you can't get rid of me that easily. I'm not saying goodbye for good. I've made my peace with Provo and she says I can come to visit.

i always do this

Every summer while I was growing up, my family went to Mill Hollow up in the Uintah Mountains. We stayed the weekend in cabins at a science camp where my parents worked during summers after high school. They led us on hikes, taught us names for plants, and took us to the little general store that the camp director opened for an hour or so on Saturdays—just for us, as the school kids who visited the camp had already gone home.

My parents gave us each some money, which we used to buy magnifying glasses, Mill Hollow Stickers, or long strips of colored plastic we could use to make boondoggle lanyards. My brothers spent their money fast. But I rolled those dollar bills up so tight that they turned into little slivers that got all sweaty in my hands. Should I get three feet of the green boondoggle? Or two? Would it match the blue better? Or the purple? How many keychain clips should I get?

And on and on—until it was time to close up shop and I wouldn't be able to buy anything unless I decided RIGHT NOW. You have no idea how many painful decisions went into those crappy lanyards that I made.

Unfortunately, that indecisiveness has followed me until now. I take AGES to make a decision. And once I finally do, it's sometimes too late. For instance, I've deliberated for 2 months now over a rug for our apartment. I finally found one that I love, took some time eliminating all other possibilities, made up my mind and...

It's sold out. Unavailable. The general store has closed. Go buy your boondoggle supplies somewhere else.

Such a pretty rug. Such a silly girl. If any of you see another rug just like this one, tell me. And if I manage to get over what I always do, I'll unroll my dollar bills and buy it before it gets away.

just wondering:

How does a woman decide to dress in black, sparkly, skin-tight, plastic pants and shoes like these to go shopping at Target with three kids under the age of 5? And are they her own kids? And do they notice that she looks ridiculous? Are they developmentally capable of being embarrassed? I wondered these things in the checkout line.

I would have tried snapping a sneaky picture, but our camera fell from a great height last week and has now decided to only take pictures like this:















So, unfortunately, you will never know what she looked like. And I will be left to wonder how she got into those pants.

Why'd the Chicken . . .

We had an Easter miracle on Saturday morning. I came home from the store to find a baby chick in our yard.
I ran inside to tell Kathy, and the chick ran after me. When Kathy came out it ran up to us and started chirping. We fed it soggy oatmeal and put it in a box to protect it from the cat that lives in our garage.
We asked our neighbor if she had chickens. She said she wished she did, and came over to see it. She named it Lucky, because it was lucky to find Kathy and I.

We called our farmer, Julie, at the Clifford family farm. She said her chickens had just had chicks and that lucky would fit right in with them.
She just sent this email:
christopher,
just wanted to let you know lucky is doing fine. if you want to see lucky or look around, feel free. my phone is ___-____ if you call then I can show you lucky. he's in the outside brooder with the other "big boys" He's probably a leghorn and a little older than we thought -I'd say about 3 weeks. thanks- julie
Happy Easter. Make sure to watch this soon.

Wallet, Eggs, and Stauffer's

I made eggs that looked like eyeballs and spiderwebs. They would be great for Halloween, though I intended them for Easter.
We saw these Goldfish ripoffs at the store.
Not only did they steal the product, but they stole the brand, which looks like Stouffer's one of the largest and most trustworthy food processors in the world.
And my new wallet is the coolest. I still have my first one, which I bought when I was 16, and have glued back together more than once.
My new one looks just like a piece of paper, but it's made out of super-strong tyvek.

And I forgot to take a final this week. I went in on Wednesday, and the testing people said it ended Tuesday. Oops. There goes 30% of my grade. I emailed the teacher to ask for mercy, but he's kind of old, and I don't think he uses the internet.

Buying Local: Eggs and Honey

Kathy and I went to the Sunshine market on 500 West/State St., but it didn't live up to my hippie expectations.

And it had a thirsty fail.
I want to buy local. I don't want my money going to some CEO. I want it to go to a family right here in Provo. In down times we have to help each other out.

So I googled "Provo farms" or something, and found a place that sells fresh eggs and honey made right here in Provo.

Clifford Family Farms at 1461 N. 2100 W. Provo.

It's five minutes from Macey's Food on 500 W.
To get there:
You'll see this on your right:
The road will start to go uphill and curve. Just stay on it.
Drive for a few more blocks and you'll bump right into this:
The front door had a sign that said come in and help yourself. But I rang the doorbell and waited a minute before letting myself in. A large fridge held several cartons of eggs, and a lone jar of honey sat on a wooden bench.

A plastic bottle partially filled with money indicated that I should just take what I wanted and leave the asked price. These people are honest.

But then a teenage boy showed up, in answer to me having rung the doorbell. His name was Zack and he lived there. I asked him about the farm, it's about three acres. They have sheep too, but they don't use them for meat, because his mom came to care for them too much. Anyone is free to tour around the farm to see what it's like. It's that kind of transparency that could really keep our food supply safe and honest.

I grabbed a jar of honey and a box of eggs, wrote a check out to Clifford Family Farms, and stuffed it into the jar.
I bought 18 fresh local eggs for $5.30, which is a ton of money for what I usually get for eggs. But I'm okay with that because:

1. It's going to my neighbors.
2. A chicken lays only 1 egg a day, that's a lot of work for 18 eggs.

I bought a 32 ounce jar of honey for $13.00, which is a good deal for good honey. Because.

1. A 32 ounce soda costs about $1.30, 1/10th of the price, but 1/16th the amount of syrup, or sugar content.
2. Fresh, local honey tastes a lot better than the watered-down over-pasteurized store-bought stuff.

3. And no hidden costs.
. . . Food at the supermarket isn't as cheap as it appears. It's cheaper because the government takes our money and gives it to the companies that make our food. And these huge businesses don't pay for the pollution they make, which inflicts an unseen cost on our planet.

I didn't take a tour of their farm yet. I plan on going back when Kathy can come.

You can call Julie Clifford or email her if you have any questions:

Peaches. Smog. Cats. Cash.

We found this beautiful jar of strawberries at Target'.
But bought the peaches because canned strawberries are gross. We usually buy peaches in gallon drums from Costco, but I wanted to support a company that makes such a beautiful product.

Then we drove up to Salt Lake to a friend's birthday party, and crashed our car into the stinkiest bag of smog I've seen in my lifetime. It clogged the streets, making it impossible to see signs until I was passing them. Like breathing urine and swimming in a bog of car farts.

Taken at 6pm last Friday
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Fortunately Gov. Huntsman has taken a stand with Obama against air pollution.

Video of the air

I also saw some kitties on campus.
And spent many hours making this spreadsheet for our family finances.

I did not really make a million dollars last week.
We could afford a house, if it cost $8000.
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I stayed up at night to finish it. Kathy said I was a budget addict. I worked on it non-stop, when I woke, in class, and until I went to bed.
If anyone wants a copy of this spreadsheet for your own finances, I'll email it to you. It helped us realize we spend more than we make, and have lots and lots of debt.

under the moon

Last night, Christopher and I rode Sundance's ski lift. They don't have enough snow for skiiing, but that's not why we went. We arrived at 9:30, bought tickets and hot chocolate, and bundled up in our blankets to ride the lift up the mountain and back down.

Gorgeous.

The moon's full about now. The mountains are lovely. And snuggling with your favorite person in the moonlight while cruising over the treetops can't be beat.

Support BYU's Fizzix Program

My professor Dr. Lynn Ogden invented Fizzix, a carbonated yogurt made by Yoplait.
If you buy Fizzix, some of that money will go to BYU. If you buy a whole bunch, like $200,000 worth, some money will go to Dr. Ogden.

Dr. Ogden invented it, but has not yet received a penny. I don't really understand why. I think it's because the first million goes to BYU, and then after that Ogden gets his cut.

He's a great guy. Buy Fizzix and make him rich.
Here's a mom's review of Fizzix.

Do not shake

the bicycle's only built for two

I'm a chronic eavesdropper. Not because I really care what's going on in strangers' lives, but because I think it makes for good writing material. Plus, it's super easy to do on a college campus; students move in giant herds between classes, and they're all self-absorbed enough that they fail to realize that everyone FOR A MILE AROUND can hear them.

Some of those conversations are so revealing they actually embarrass me. But today's just made me sad. Here's how it went behind me while I walked down the hall after my writing class:

Girl: So, what are you doing this weekend?

Boy: I'm going biking.

Girl: How cool! With a bunch of people? (said with the blatant intonation that shouts, "Invite me! Invite me!")

Boy: My girlfriend rented a tandem bike and we're going together.

Girl: Oh. (said with much ouch.)

Silence. Very awkward silence.

Girl: (with that sort of boundless enthusiasm that overcompensates for sudden disappointment) Wow! You didn't mention a girl last time I saw you!

Boy: Yes. I did.

We rounded the corner and I turned to look at them as they walked past. I'm pretty certain that her heart was sloshing around in her feet. And from the look on his face, I felt just as certain that he didn't even know. I wanted to stop her and say, "Don't worry. He's just clueless. And taken. As well as doofy looking. You don't really want to go out with him." I didn't say that, though. Maybe I should have.

The look on her face was about enough to make me want to stop eavesdropping.

Panerda's Box

I found myself whispering to my wife as we walked together on campus. I had to keep what I said secret, keep it safe. No one could hear, otherwise they would know WHAT A BIG NERD I AM.

The secret: Battlestar Galactica.
I reviewed the storyline with my wife so that we could start watching season 3 together. I got overexcited as I told her the plot, and got kind of emotional too. Then I realized what I was saying, so I lowered my voice. I imagined I might run into cool people who would think less of me if they heard. Imaginary wedgies tickled my crack.

My wife has been too busy with reality to join me in fantasy land. I'm already halfway through season 3.

Other reasons I'm a nerd:

1. I've seen every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
   
2. And every episode of Angel, a spinoff of Buffy
3. I enjoy comic books
4. I pick my nose in secret

If I've left any out, let me know.

watch out

Signs posted on the hill just south of campus warn people to be safe. I think I know why now.

While I drove on the little road that runs through campus today, I saw a deer. Now, the deer did not pose any particular danger, but the thing coming after it must have, because that deer was hoofing it so fast that I bet it could have jumped over my car. Who knows what it was running from? Danger could lurk anywhere in Provo....

what's the best day of YOUR life?

After preparing for a three-day weekend bash with our younger siblings, we threw a few of our well-made plans out the window when we found a big pile of new dirt in a parking lot just south of BYU. After half an hour of climbing around 30-foot hills, jumping off the top into dirt up to our knees, and somehow collecting as much sand in Sophie's pant-cuffs as she weighs, we headed home. On our walk back to the house, Sophie sighed, "This is the best day of my life."


A little hyperbolic? Perhaps. But tell me the last time you jumped off a gigantic pile of sand in your bare feet. If you haven't done that in a while, try it out; there might be something to it.