Weekly Inspiration

As I drive to work, or the kids to school, or the grocery store, or even if I just walk out my home or look out a window I am inspired by the area I live in. The clouds, the storms, the changing of the leaves, the seasons, the wildlife, and the mountains all play a part; always changing and always inspiring. 

I struggle with a disease. When I started this blog, I thought I would write about it. I thought the blog would allow me to speak about the struggle, the pain, the gravity and hopelessness I feel, at times.  It is a living part of me and should reside here, in this blog. But, I have a hard time writing about it. I hate dwelling, whining, or even thinking about it. Yet it exists, whether I speak about it or not. And even though some days are hard, most days, are not.

Sunset over Dimple Dell Park

New moon: a movie (experience) review

Casi and I at 8:00 am,  Saturday morning, on our way to see New Moon. Casi is very excited to see film in a "I got up way too early" sort of way.

The tickets we purchased included, the movie (of course), breakfast, and a raffle; of which our whole group won! Cyndee won a bag of chocolates, Casi a bottle of O.C.D. (Obsessive Collin Disorder) hand sanitizer (made with love by Cyndee), and I won a smack on the head with Cyndees chocolate as it flew threw the air over a theater of people. Giving me a free headache for the whole movie! Yea, Me!

The biggest disapointment of the movie was Edwards car. Luckily, I was told a month ago, by Cyndee, that my cute C30 was not in New moon. Edward was given a different car. *sob, sigh* Of course,  I was totally disappointed... for at least 2 weeks. I even lost interest in the film.  Since seeing the C30 in action was what I enjoyed most in Twilight.  But, I persevered and went to the movie. During the first scene when Edward parks at the highschool in a sleek black Xc 60 I did not erupt in dissapointment and even smiled when I heard a an adable gasp from Casi sitting next to me. 

Weekly Inspiration

As I drive to work, or the kids to school, or the grocery store, or even if I just walk out my home or look out a window I am inspired by the area I live in. The clouds, the storms, the changing of the leaves, the seasons, the wildlife, and the mountains all play a part; always changing and always inspiring. 

Antelope Island is a place that owns my heart; interlocked with my passions for the environment, birding, and beauty.  Yesterday I went to the Island to see three rare gull species that were seen earlier this week. I did not see any of them. Instead I observed a storm and a small raft of social Bonaparte gulls gracefully play a game of "roll over" as they floated with the currents.

Things I overheard: "Belch"

"Belch". Tanner likes to convert burps into open mouthed, drawn out, rumbly, belches. He can compete with Homer Simpson. I think his lips even rumble; due to the force of the burp coming out of his mouth. This drives me crazy. 


Initially I was proud of his accomplishment. The day  he figured out how to burp. His whole face lite up. I might of even clapped and shouted "yeah!". Of course, he was much younger and his burp was cute and innocent.


But now, he is a belching monster.


"What?" when I give him the displeased mom look. "I had to burp" he says innocently. As if the burping is a method to keep his head from exploding.


I am not a big fan of telling your kids non truths well unless, its for adult comedy. Then its O.K.


So the other day when Tanner walked in the house and gave off this disgusting belch. I lied.


Me: sitting on the couch getting the bird nerd on; reading birders magazine. Without looking up, I said "Tanner, do you like your left hand?" 


Tanner: "What?"


Me: (Still reading the magazine) "Do you like your left hand?"


Tanner: "Yeah?"


Me: (slowly, I turn page of magazine and still don't look up). "Well if you keep burping like that your left hand will fall off!"


Tanner: "What?" Out of the corner of my eye, I witness the look of concern as it blooms on his face.


(Casi, behind tanner, peaks into the room a grin on her face)


Tanner: concerned now, says "but I have to burp sometimes".


Me: (still reading the magazine) "Well, I guess you better get it under control or 'pop!' just like that it will fall off. 


Tanner trudges upstairs deep in thought, Casi and I control giggles, and the burping has stopped (at least for a week or two).


Update: I just learned that Casi elongated the causes of burping to include the "growth of a tentacle that you can not control"

Halloween costumes:2009

A quick post of Halloween pictures; for documentation purposes only...

Casi: The Game of Twister

 

Tanner: Zombie Ninja

The first picture is his hair before we tried to "Mohawk it up". Next year I may try to get him to do an Albert Einstein.The hair and expression in the photo make me think he could pull it off. 

Pumpkins grow on trees.

OK. We went and did the "go out and pick your pumpkin out on the farm" thing. It may have been overratted... well, it could have been the farm we choose...I think. OK. It probably was.

We pulled up to a cute little farm in the middle of Sandy. To the side of the entrance road, pumpkins were neatly arranged in rows alongside young, newly planted fruit trees. Part of me wondered if the pumpkins were even grown at this location yet appreaciated not having to trudge down muddy rows of dying pumpkin plants to find the perfect Jack -O-latern shape. There were a few other families there. Some, like us, wanted pumpkins and searched the rows with their kids. Others wanted fall pictures and were arranging pumpkins and kids; camera in one hand, kid in the other.

Tanner picked out his pumpkin almost immediately. He was so excited to get one home and carve it that he did not care about the artistic nature of choosing a pumpkin. This may have bothered me. I think every decision should be painfully thought about. Options weighed. He also insisted on carrying the 25 lb pumpkin to the wagon  himself. Now I dont know his body weight but I would venture to say that a 25 lb pumkpin is more than half of it. So all I have to say about that is Preeeetttty iimmmmprrrrreeesssive!

The photo of him carrying the pumpkin, makes me wonder if he will one day be a contestant in the Worlds Strongest Man.  If you have not seen this competition; you should. Its quite entertaining and the large bulky men are not so bad either.Hehm. Anyways, check out Tanners picture compared to the strong man. See! He has pretty good form. Oh, and by the way. Tanner does work out.... just ask him.

Casi, as usual, avoided the camera LIKE the PLAGUE! Complaining immediately as we left the truck; seeing I had the camera. I commented (a bit too loudly) that "at least I wasn't forcing her to pose with a pumpkin". Feeling bad for the mother who was still trying to make her kid do just that a few rows over. Then when she found her pumpkin, I suggested she pose with it. Perhaps she "should show her love for your pumpkin and kiss the pumpkin". She declined such silliness with a smirk expression which said "Mom, are we really related?". Tanner then exclaimed that he "would kiss the pumpkin" and I took a picture (not shown).

Eventually, I was able to manipulate this shot. It was taken while her face was turned towards the ground  (the pumpkins are actually on the ground). The image, though, when turned this way makes her  look like a happy, golden-haired, giant excited to consuming tinner pumpkins and that makes me get a smirk expression which means "I think I'm funny".

Once we got the pumpkins home, everyone started carving.Well, except Nate who went to the internet. Casi started work on Frankenstein, Tanner carved bats, and I "did what the pumpkin told me to do" with a crazy, evil (because his eyes had a mean expression), eagle eyed, cigarette smoking personage. Then Nate, once finished with his research, started work on his version of the flaming skull. We all think he won "the award".

* there really was no award**

** unless by "award" we mean "the good candle".

Weekly Inspiration

As I drive to work, or the kids to school, or the grocery store, or even if I just walk out my home or look out a window I am inspired by the area I live in. The clouds, the storms, the changing of the leaves, the seasons, the wildlife, and the mountains all play a part; always changing and always inspiring. 

I want to capture clouds. It seems they always know how to artistically decorate the sky; creating patterns one day and caous the next. Someone once told me that since moving to California, he missed Utah Clouds. "Utah has the best clouds." he stated. I followed his gaze to the sky and agreed.

To counter this, I asked another Utahan native, who has since moved to California, about her experience with the clouds of Cali. I got a scrunched up face and a quizzical expression. Realizing the survey was statistically irrelevant, I believed it anyways. Not because its true but, because its what I want to believe after his statement inspired me look to the sky and realize their value.

The clouds tend to congregate in little cottonwood canyon.

(one day I will get a better picture of this meeting of clouds)

photo taken (94th south looking east) on the way to work after a Halloween parade at Tanners school

Toasty Toes

We took the weekend to the sand dunes.

For the last camping trip

this year.

It was cold.

Casi and I laid on the picnic table.

soaking up what warmth the sun would give.

I said "Tanner, put your shoes and socks on"

(and also shirt and coat)

Too many times.

Today, I spend the weekday.

Home.

with a sick kid.

Letting go

I feel so perplexed by my own feelings. I want to write them down. To sort through them. I want to resolve these feelings. I think writing will help. But writing is so permanent. Do I want to remember? Do I want others to know about them?

I have been enjoying the season of fall in our yard. We have many more trees and the air is colder, crisper, and contains the heavy smell of rotting leaves. There are so, so, so many leaves. The other day Tanner raked a few hundred thousand of them up into a pile; just to jump in.

Symbolically, ironically, but mostly lamely, it seems appropriate that death would happened at such a time; as summer turns to fall.

A death in the family brings distant family members back into our lives. These aunts and cousins share with me their memories of Grandma. I am irritated at them. I feel they know my secret. I think they feel obligated to change my memories. To help me remember. Do my jaded memories distort theirs; warp their truth. I guess in some ways my memories are linked to theirs, but then again perhaps not. Perhaps, the physical distance of where they lived kept them from making new memories over the last few years. The last few years have been hard for those of us that remained close.

I spend most of a week, up late scanning images into a computer to show at the funeral. Images that represent different moments of my Grandma Verdie's* life. I put them into a video; each photo fades into the next. I invite my Mom over. Mom and I watch quietly as the photos pass by. My mothers mom, changes from toddler to adult, mother to grandmother.The series of photos is finished in 2 min and 37 secs; it repeats again. For some reason the duration of the movies time sticks in my head. It is strange that a whole life could go so quickly.

My Mom quietly asks, "How does this person become what she became?"

"I don't know" I respond quietly.

*I love my grandmas name; it means faith and truth. To me though, her name always made me

think of "nature" since it sounds like "birdie**" and reminds me of the color green (due to its similarity to "Verde").

** My grandmother loves birds. She was an avid bird watcher. ***

*** No, sadly, I did not develop my passions for birding from my Grandma. Our passions evolved independent of each other. I owe my passion to a professor at the University of Utah.

The last few years have been hard. In some ways we have grieved the loss of my grandmother for many years, as she slowly pulled herself away. For some reason she was unable to share herself. I wonder if I should have tried harder. Sometimes I blame myself for where our relationship ended.

I sat at the funeral and watched as others cry. I start to cry because I was not. I wanted to miss something too. I want to remember something that we did together. Remember the love I know she felt for me. Anything. A look. A sentence she stated. A moment of her and I. I dug deeper into my past. Looking for the memories. The memories my distant cousins remember; Christmas eves, pies, new potatoes and peas, gardening... I need to remember my Grandma, the Grandma who loved her grand babies, who loved me, so I can let her go...

Don't let bad jeans ruin a good day!

I sat at our computer, sulking over my coffee and reading anything, I found slightly interesting, on the internet. I was trying to find the energy to go to work. The room I sat in was dark and cold. For me, nothing existed outside the small halo of light produced by the computer screen and I planned to keep it that way. I was trying to hold time still.

Looking for something new to read. Something else to distract the obligations. The immediate checklist that enters my mind upon waking; work, kids, home. I remembered a website I used to visit almost daily. At one time. With the energy of indifference I typed in the address: www.utahbirds.org Clicked on the link for recent (and at times exciting) bird sightings with in the state of Utah, then slowly sifted through the headings:

October and Hummingbirds, Photo of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak in Dugway, Stilt Sandpiper, Yellow-bellied Flycatcher @ Garr Ranch, Rose-breasted Grosbeak at Dugway, Stilt Sandpipers Continue, Lee Kay Ponds, Four days of birding in Utah Co. (no uncommon birds), YELLOW-BELLIED FLYCATCHER, Washington Co. birds,Goldfinch.

Finally, I felt motivated. I jumped up from my seat, hurriedly put on shoes and shocks, and started grabbing gear. Scope. Check. Binoculars. Check. Camera. Check. Sibley. Check. Coat. Check. Scarf. Check. Gloves. Check. Hat. Check. I tossed item after item into a pile at the front door, then dragged the two armload's to the car before heading to work.

Tangent: The reason I was having a hard time getting to work is because I am getting fat.

Nested Tangent: O.k. I know I am not fat but, I am getting bigger ...in a good way?Curvier. Round-ier. Hippier. Breast-ier. All good, really because, I'm getting my body back (its been missing for 12 years- another story.) I will not miss "pre-pubescent boy" body. But (and its a big "BUT"!) my clothes no longer fit. Which means, I spend most of my days sucking "it" all in since my "fat" pants are a bit too tight; pushing my belly fat out over the rim of my pants into a great wall of blubber. This "great wall of blubber" circles, like a tire tube, around the middle ... of me. I hate this feeling. Its miserable.

OK where was I? Oh yea. I am getting fat. So last night when I went to Kohl's to buy Tanner clothes, I bought some too. I will admit it took me a while to get up the energy to do it. You see Kohl's has a history with my family. Their clothes suck. The quality is terrible. They shrink, come un-stitched, and they don't handle washing. So when I go to Kohl's (for Tanners clothes only- We love the Tony Hawk clothing line) I don't look at clothes for me. I don't want to be tempted. But, after spending 3 months sucking in the old fatty tire that hangs in the middle ... of me, I was tempted and wandered through my section. Touching. Looking. Searching for a new pair of pants. Something that will make me feel better about this new body.

I know, you still don't know where I am going with this. I will try to get to it but first I have to tell you about my personal history with jeans.

I have a testimony. A testimony of pants and the dollar. You see, for me, the quality of jeans is strongly correlated to the amount you pay (figure 1). I have seen this correlation. I am witness to it. I am a strong believer having spent the majority of my life in bad pants but, I am also a desperate woman without time to go find a great pair of pants... and I was at Kohl's. I was determined to end the discomfort of fatty me with the next size up and a new pair of jeans.

So there I was sitting in front of the computer with one of the two pair of jeans, that I bought, on my body. I could feel the scratchy material against my legs, the lack of support against my bottom; the material having too much lycra would not make it past hour 2. I hated the idea of leaving the house in these pants.

Don't mock me. I know you all have felt the power of great pants. Pants that feel so good you do not ever want to take them off. Pants that you look forward to wearing. Pants you hate to give up to the Laundry basket and only do the day before laundry day. I will stop now, before I start sounding like a Levi's commercial but understand I love a great pair of pants and that these new pants were not such pants. Having only paid 20% of what I paid for my last pair, I knew they would never fit into that category. I knew it at the check stand when I bought them and I knew it, sitting at that computer that morning as I tried to get motivated to leave the house because once I did I could not return the crappy jeans.

Finally founding a distraction, carried everything out to the car, and left for work. Work? Why work? This has to do with the rotation of the planets. Doesn't everything?

Essentially, it was too early and too cold to go birding. It was 6 in the morning on a chilly fall day which for a birder equates to, "I might as well go to work". So I went to work. Hoping to get in a few hours of paid time before I headed to Glover ponds (near Farmington Bay).

By 9:50 am I was, once again, headed out the door. I headed to the... gas station. I needed gas, food, and drink. But then, I was on my way. The sky was clear. It was a perfect day. I may have sang out of tune to the radio as I drove. I was very excited to be out (even in terrible jeans). As I neared the exit to Glover ponds however, the weather changes. The sky darkens and it begins to rain. In seconds there is torrential downpour and I can barley see as I take the exit off the freeway*.

* a very common occurrence as you near the Great Salt Lake.

Within a few minutes I am sitting across from Glover ponds trying to see through the rainy haze for a small, long legged bird. The window to my car is open and I watch as the rain hits the window sill, rebounds up, down, hits the window sill again before it streams down the door and into the car. I was getting wet and I was not seeing the bird I was looking for or even the yellow legs* that it was described as "hanging" with. I have an hour before I should go back to work and so I waited.

* The term Yellow legs refers to two species of birds with long yellow legs and a long thin dark bill. The body is grey brown on top and white underneath; the neck and breast are streaked with dark brown and the tail is white. Both breed in the Boreal forest; migrating through Utah in the spring and fall. Both also forage in shallow water using their bill to stir up insects, small fish and crustaceans.

They are also not each others closest relatives. The lesser yellow legs closets relative is the much larger and quite dissimilar Willet (Pereira & Baker, 2005) due to the patterns demonstrated during breeding. The Greater Yellow legs is related to the Greenshank and Spotted Redshank.

After about 30 minutes the rain stopped; the sun immediately parted the clouds, the sky turned blue, and I heard the sounds of yellow legs; in sync with the weather change. I opened my car door and stepped out to get my spotting scope. The reading I had done, as the rain fell, recited in my head. "Seems structurally similar to yellow legs but more curvaceously lined. Dowitcher shaped but not Dowitcher plump. The bill thicker than yellow legs and decidedly down dropped near the end. Vestigial barring on sides. Tends to forage in open water with Dowitchers; the Yellowlegs in deeper water. Moves deliberately, does not probe like a Dowitcher, or dunk its head like a Yellowlegs. " The easiest way to ID this bird from similar species is to use "GISS". A funny birding term that means "General impression of size and shape". Its coloring, speckling, striping, leg length, bill shape, ect would not be helpful."Yeah", I thought sarcastically as prepped the spotting scope, "a slam dunk".

I scanned the small pond and noted the large group of Dowitchers at the back of the pond and the smaller group of yellow legs at the shore closest to me. I then noted a long-legged sandpiper to the right of the Yellow legs; and in shallower water. I placed the scope on that bird. Immediately noted the vestigial stripping, the thicker bill, shape-lier outline, and droopy bill. I was looking a Stilt Sandpiper; my target bird. I spent the remaining 30 min studying the Stilts characteristics against the yellow legs and dowitchers. Before I left, I noted my new jeans, now wet and dirty from the rain and muddy roads, would stay in my closet. And, I still hated them.

A quick trip to the zoo: Zuri

The kids and I went to the zoo to see babies. Hogle zoo is full of them right now. I know it seems weird right? Are babies not a spring item? The popular ones are: 1 new elephant, 3 Amur tigers, 1 snow leopard (we missed this one but it's still worth mentioning), 1 giraffe, 1 Siamese crocodile, and a crap load of meerkats* .

* I think it is funny that they spell "cat" with a "k".

Mostly, we wanted to see Zuri; the new baby elephant.

Zuri is cute, and "fun'er" to watch than a batch of new born puppies! Here she is leaning against her mom. "Mom, are you still up there?"

Zuri occasionally feed (thanks mom!), played with a stick*, and would pick up poo. Tanner thought the last action was too funny!

* The "stick" is famous in Zuris world. Zuri found it the day before we arrived. See Zuris blog here about her stick.

Another fun thing to see is this video. If you don't go "Aww!" when you see it, you are a Nazi*.

* I know, its about as related as calling OBama a Nazi for socialized health care and I thought "why not join the mass of unrelated correlations". I must admit it was kinda fun!

A few pictures of the kids because people tell me they like to see them.

I will leave you with a picture of the Amur tigress and one of her cubs. I just love the duplicity, of body language and white spots on their ears.

What culturing cells taught me

Laughter of those who do not understand the term passing cells

the ability to open containers with one had ... for example:

put on eyeliner while blow drying your hair

Things I overheard: from myself

"Winder dairy day! Crap, I forgot to order", I said to myself.

As I opened the ice box located next to the back door, I wondered what was on my automatic weekly order. Oh good, soy milk and eggs. What a relief!

"Well, at least its something I need", I thought.

Remember a time

A man stands in line and dances to a tune.

He remembers. He remembers a time; a time, of youth, and passion, and music. He remembers with the movement of his body.

His belly no longer flat, bulges through a light blue, button down shirt. The bottom two buttons not buttoned, give brief views of a world not many want to see. Yet he dances. His white belly, light brown hairs strewn across, peaks out as he thrusts and jostles.

His eyes now wrinkled around the edges are closed. His forehead bare, no longer with thick locks, is cocked slightly to one side and up. And his mouth moves, as he silently sings the lyrics of the song that plays.

The tune from the radio, everyone hears, yet only he dances and no one else. His heal thumps the ground. Thump. Thump. Thump. His feet move to the beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. His hand slaps his thigh. Slap. Slap. Slap. And his hips give slight thrust in tune to the music. His music. His time. His story.

I stand in line too and watch as the story plays out in his own interpretive dance. I love the man. I love his story, his passion, and love for a song. I love seeing into his memory. Perhaps, a favorite time in his past. I even love the expression on a teenagers face as his dad lives. Lives within a memory, if only briefly, in the form of a dance.

I am in Zions National Park with a friend and we are at the Zions lodge. We hope to quench our thirsts for caffeine before taking the bus down the canyon, to our cars, and then home. It's been a great trip. One of laughing, hiking, birding and friendship and ...

I want to remember:

The excitement as we realize both of us own (and love) cute little hachbacks.

Enjoying each others complaints about wind, dirt, leaf debree, and occasional insect that gets into out sleeping bags. And choosing not to act on the complaints, by putting up a tent. Both of us loving to sleep out under the stars.

Note: Forgive the image. Borrowed from another bushtit trip with another great bushtit

Note of note: A bushtit is a very small drab grey bird with a long tail. They have a very social nature, in that they are often in a flock of up to 40 individuals, are very noisy, and tend to hang with other species of birds. Bushtit is also what the group of girls I bird with call ourselves. I am sure you can see the resemblance.

The pain of accomplishment.

Recovering from the pain of accomplishment.

The ability to recognize a great photo opportunity

The shared love and appreciation of a great view

Hike states:

Observation point:

Elevation gain: A freaking lot!

Miles: 8

Temperature: > 108F, exposed, hotter than hell.

Water: not enough

Hidden Canyon:

Elevation Gain: 1,000 ft

Miles: >3.2

Temperature: <108f

Emerald Pools:

Elevation Gain: What elevation gain?

Miles: 3

Temperature: Shady!