It's here!

My new camera arrived yesterday! I simply can't express how excited I am, so following the old adage of "a picture is worth a thousand words," I'll just post a picture or two that I took with it on my test run! :-D

I went geocaching yesterday and I came across a group of these wildflowers. Have I mentioned that I love wildflowers? I do. :-D

And another just for good measure. :-)

My caching trip took me down to Spanish Fork, near the Windmill Farm (or whatever it's called). It was right towards sunset, and I really liked this shot.



As I was hiking in to grab one of the caches, I had quite an adventure. First, I almost stepped on a snake. (Luckily, he was kind of drowsy and sluggish since it was towards the evening, so he didn't even react. I'm not even sure it was a live, though I think it was.) And then, as I trekked through the field, I almost tripped over this guy! Seriously, what IS that!? I'm gonna say it's a cougar. I don't care if it is or not, it makes for a better story. So I almost tripped over a cougar carcass with the ribcage still largely intact!

And this was the view from an earlier cache I found today.

Don't worry, there will be more photos to come. :-)

As dreamers do...

"What a horrible candle-snuffing word. That's like saying, 'He can't climb that mountain, he's just a man,' or 'That's not a diamond, it's just a rock.' Just."
~J.M. Barrie, Finding Neverland

I saw a shooting star tonight.

I was laying down on the top step outside, just staring at the night sky, and thinking about some things that have really been weighing on my mind recently. Don't worry about what it was, that's not important to this topic.

As I was staring at the sky, pondering and shaking my head in silent frustration, with half of my view completely obscured by the house, a cosmic beacon of light briefly burst to lief, conspicuously burned across the sky for what my head knows must have been less than a second but my mind perceived as much, much longer, and vanished. Just a brief moment, an inconsequential flash, and it was gone. I know what a shooting star is - it's just a hunk of rock, a piece of debris that fell off the tail of a comet, made a wrong turn at Neptune, and burned up in the earth's atmosphere.

Just.

Whatever it "actually" was, I feel like that shooting star was for me. Because even if it is a "simple" phenomenon explained by science, it's so much more than that. It's a symbol of hope, of improvement, of a knowledge that somehow, sometime in the future, things are going to work out. Just don't stop believing, and don't stop wishing.

Of course I made a wish, and no, I won't tell you what it is. Maybe at a future date, after it's come true.

Maybe not.

But whether I tell you or not, that star let me know something. Yes, I've got things on my mind. I have no idea how or when it's going to happen. But somehow, sometime in the future... things will work out.

Smiling for the camera!

Friends, I just made the second most expensive purchase of my life, tuition notwithstanding. (The MOST expensive was my car.) The purchase has been made, the transaction has been run, and I now await the arrival of my Nikon D90 camera. People, this has been a dream of mine for YEARS. For years, I've been working with a nice film SLR, but film is expensive, and most images are shared digitally nowadays, anyway, and film pictures just don't translate to digital as nice as I would like. Now I can take my pictures and share them with my family (and you!) right away, with better quality. I'm finally back on the path to my secret dream of becoming a photographer.

Trust me, people, there will be pictures later.

One lick at a time

My brother told me an interesting story yesterday. Apparently, when I was two years old, most of my older brothers and sisters entered a mile run at the local middle school. Because I was not the type of child to be left out of anything, I insisted (as only a headstrong two-year-old can) on entering as well. Apparently I was the youngest participant, which isn't really that much of a surprise.

I'm told I held pretty strong for the first half-mile; however, at this point, my youthful determination began to flag. This mile run wasn't everything it was cracked up to be! However, then Johnny (always thinking) had an idea. He ran about 50 yards ahead of me (not too difficult, considering he was 15 years older than me and 6'3, and I was two years old with stubby little hobbit legs), and he held out a Jolly Rancher. Oh, how my eyes lit up! With determination in my eyes, my little arms started pumping, and I fell forward into the ever-popular toddler run, head leaned forward, legs pumping wildly to catch up. When I reached him, he held onto the Jolly Rancher and gave me a good, long lick. Sweet bliss!

However, then came the betrayal. After that one tantalizing taste, he stood up and ran another 50 yards ahead. How dare he! However, I screwed up my little face, leaned forward again and took off. Again, I reached him, and again I was rewarded with that one lick; but then, moments later, he took off again, and I was forced to follow in 25- and 50-yard bursts. All of a sudden, the distance didn't matter. It was only another short distance until I got another taste, and since I trusted my brother, I knew that I would get that taste every time. And then, all of a sudden, the next time I reached my brother and the prized Jolly Rancher, the crowd burst into cheers. Step by step, lick by lick, I had completed the mile. And, of course, I was given the entire Jolly Rancher, a laurel wreath of which Apollo himself would be jealous!

Honestly, does it get any better than that?

Of course, I came in dead last. (Come on, I was two years old!) However, my brother said that the cheers when I crossed that finish line were deafening. Now naturally, I don't remember any of this production, but I know all the players involved, and I know the script. It's not that difficult to recreate the scene in my head.

I think there have been other occasions scattered across my life where the same sort of thing has happened. I'll be running along at a good clip for a while, and then I'll get winded. It's very tempting to stop, but then off in the distance I see a glimmer of my goal, so I lean my head forward and pump my little legs until I get to where that glimmer was. And perhaps I'll get a taste of something wonderful -- just a taste, mind you -- and perhaps I won't, but I'll see another glimmer of it a ways off, and so I'll lean forward and run some more. At times, I'll get frustrated, but I'll receive comfort from a loving Heavenly Father, and he'll point off in the distance, and I'll see that prize again, and off I'll run, because even though I'm only getting the occasional taste, it's something I know I want, and it's something that I know is simply wonderful. And then finally, one lick at a time, without even realizing it, I'll cross the finish line.

License and Registration, Please!

Story time!

A few weeks ago, my parents were in Utah for a family reunion. When they left, my aunt drove them to the airport. After dropping them off, she was driving back to Provo when she saw the tell-tale red and blue flashing lights in her mirror (amusingly referred to as the "cherries and blueberries" by a friend of mine). She checked her speed, the speed limit, and her lane: 63 mph in a 65 zone, and she was in the right lane.

Odd.

Still, law-abiding citizen that she is, she pulled to the shoulder, and the police car pulled up behind her. The officer climbed out of his vehicle, walked up to her car, leaned over as she rolled the window down, and asked her, "Do you know you're doing 63 in a 65 zone?"

*blink* "Yes sir?"

"Ma'am," he responded, "this is a very busy highway. People go 80 down this interstate, and you're obstructing traffic."

Clearly this event did not take place in Provo.

My aunt, pleased at this revelation, smiled and said, "Oh! I can go 80?"

The officer looked at her incredulously and emphatically said, "No!"

Ah. Of course, officer. Thank you for clarifying.

At least she got off with a warning?

"Are you listenin'?"

I have a metaphor to present.

Do you remember when you were a child, and you believed in Santa? The excitement you had every Christmas Eve, just knowing that if you stayed up just a little longer, if you listened a little harder, you just might hear those bells on his sleigh, and perhaps the clop of tiny hooves on your roof? You just knew that he was coming, and that if you just believed hard enough, if you closed your eyes and just listened, you'd be rewarded with that jingling, and you might even get the chance to sneak down to the living room (in spite of warnings from your parents that to do such was a nigh unforgivable offense) to see if you could at least catch a glimpse of a black, polished boot vanishing up the chimney. However, as the years passed by, and you never heard those bells, you started to wonder.

Do you remember the day when, finally, you accepted his "true nature?" Do you remember the disappointment you felt, knowing that no matter how hard you believed, you just weren't going to hear anything? Not a single hoofstep. Not a single jingle. Nothing.

However... I'm betting that, on occasion, during a soft, brisk night with perhaps a magical glimpse of a snowfall... occasionally you'll stop and listen carefully. You doubt it, but sometimes you just wonder if maybe... maybe you didn't believe hard enough... If perhaps you could have heard those magical bells if you'd tried just a little harder, waited just a little longer... And so you stop, close your eyes, and wait... Of course, a few moments later, you start to feel a little silly, grin to yourself, chuckling wryly while shaking your head, and continue on. You think it's ridiculous, but that urge to listen is still there, gnawing just a little bit.

My question is this...

What do you do if you stop to listen for the bells... and you actually hear them?

A Theory of Relativity

I wrote this a few weeks ago at my family reunion. I decided to post it on here. As things stand, I'm planning on having new entries from now on, with perhaps an occasional old entry or something.

I'm sitting here at my family reunion, surrounded by relatives, and a thought comes to my mind. What, exactly, is family? Is it a strictly biological factor, a group comprised of similar pairings of nucleotides, a cosmic accident wherein certain individuals just happen to be born into the same clan? Is it a legal definition, by which the powers that be can more easily classify humanity, packaging people into tidy little groups, then shuttling them off to be dealt with at the beaurocracy's convenience? Is it both?

Is it neither?

As I quietly observe from my bench overlooking a basketball court, I see myriads of interactions taking place. My teenaged cousin Cougar (his parents are unparalleled BYU fans) faces off against Diane, an older cousin, showing off for her, and for whoever else may happen to be watching. (I doubt he even realizes I am even a part of this latter group.). His sister, Melissa, is standing over by the wall, smiling at some off-hand comment her dad just made. Quietly, she sneaks over behind her brother and snatches the ball away. Instantly, she is in an offensive stance, dribbling the ball, searching for some crack in Cougar's defense that she can exploit. (all this while wearing a black, knee-length skirt.) She makes a quick feint, then spins around him and takes off across the court. That's right, she seems to think. Even though you're good, and taller than me now, I'm still your big sister, and I can still take you on.

She doesn't even take a shot. She just passes the ball back to him and returns to her seat on the floor by the wall. She femininely spreads her skirt around her and smiles demurely, her facade replaced, but I've seen her secret. I'm no longer fooled. Besides, it's only a short while before my cousin Don sets a volleyball for her and she's back on her feet for an impromptu bump-set-spike practice session with him.

Across the way is the indoor track, a raised walkway that rings the entire upper level of the rec center. The race for children aged two, three, and four has just begun. The parents all cheer as their children make their ways down the track, some running full-force to be the first to break the victor's tape, others bewilderedly wandering along, absolutely dumbstruck at the commotion. Before the race is even halfway done, one inexplicably bursts into tears.

How many years since I was the one on the track, unsure why I was running, but going as fast as I could because hey, that's what everyone else was doing? One? Two? Twenty?

Sometimes it seems like yesterday.

Sometimes...

Just to my right, a small voice babbling incomprehensibly wakes me from my reverie. Taylor, my younger cousin Andrew's year-old son. Wow. A year old already? Honestly?

He plays happily, completely oblivious to the fact that the people surrounding him are his aunts, uncles, cousins, two, three, four times removed. To him, they're just someone else to smile at, another person whose day he can brighten with a laugh as he toddles over, clutching in is hand a gleaming treasure to bestow, its shining beauty hidden under the guise of a scrap of paper or perhaps a broken piece of plastic.

It amazes me as I look at the various relationships, all the cousins, and mothers, and brothers, and aunts, and greats, and thirds, and fifths, and once removeds, and family.

A quick aside: And, of course, the meddlers. Those relatives with whom I haven't spoken since the last reunion and know very little more about me other than the fact that I play the piano and... well honestly, very little more than the fact that I play the piano. And, with no malice whatsoever in their hearts, they come sit by me to talk, then ever so casually mention that they know a girl, and she's cute, and she's just about your age, and hey, I've got an idea! She lives close to you, why don't you just...

Did that just happen? Perhaps. *sigh* Bless their well-meaning hearts.

But back to family. I'm surrounded by so many people, and I'm tied to each of them in some way. Some of us share common blood ancestors. Some are related by marriage. Some are adopted, though I defy anyone to guess which, they're so much a part of us all. But no matter how they link themselves to me and to each other, they all fall under that wonderful umbrella word: family.

What exactly is family? In the end, I suppose it's all relative.