Butterfly Sonnet

My Spirit finds protection in this cloak;

A comfort only stagnancy can yield.

This sanctum, where I'm rid of duty's choke,

Sets free my mind, yet still my body sealed.

In my cocoon my body's limp and frail,

And, though I am at rest, I yearn for growth.

The longer hidden from the outside gale,

The more I wish that I could nurture both.

At once, a realization of the truth

Upsets, and rest no longer satisfies.

I shed the selfish wishes of my youth.

I dry my wings and soon my Spirit flies.

It pains both mind and body, yet the ache

Releases me, and freedom shall I take.

Silent Skirmish

The yellowing grass is matted down. It is still upset that the blinding sun has turned cold. I didn't notice for a while because the trees had been putting on such a beautiful show, but now that their gold and red appendages are dropping to the ground my attention is refocused. I hear crunchy footsteps with ears that are turning pink and I wriggle myself into scratchy wool things that climb up to my chin.

Today brave flakes began to drift down in occasional spurts, asking permission to join the leaves in their descent. Apparently the leaves didn't mind because by the end of the afternoon, the air had accompanied more of the feathery cloud shavings carefully to the ground.

Everything is frosted with white, but browns and oranges refuse to be hidden so early in the season and they peer out around the edges. Jack-o-lanterns sparkle with powdered snow. Thin skins of ice have grown on car windshields. Peppermint hot chocolate clings to the corners of my mouth, but newly brewed apple cider waits patiently on the kitchen table. Wafts of 'Silent Night' float through our ears even as we apply gruesome costume makeup.

Winter will come, but not without a fight.

Curse you, Bob Ross!!

I had an adventure today.

I'm sure every one of you has had the desire to paint. It looks so inviting to dip a clean brush into a little mound of color and make it do whatever you want it to do. Right? Right. I'm sure every one of you has seen multiple episodes of Bob Ross... with his floofy hair and his happy trees and clouds... and it looks like anyone could do it! Right? Right.

I've had Grandma Jean's old oil painting things stored away since she died. I attempted to begin to try to sort of kind of paint once a long time ago, but I got intimidated and worried and I stopped. But this week I dusted off the paint box, took inventory of brushes, easels, canvases, palettes and even more and planned to paint. I was smart and checked out a book from the library all about oil painting. Once I could tell the difference between a flat brush, a bright brush and a filbert, I took things seriously.

So this afternoon, I galavanted to Robert's Arts and Crafts Store ((my first time!)) and came out with arms full of little tubes of oil paints in colors such as "phthalocyanine blue," "alizarin crimson" and "burnt umber." I had a bottle of linseed oil and one of turpentine. I put my grungy clothes on and found a nice little place to set up my studio and I was all set! And guess what??

• I successfully dyed my hands blue within the first ten minutes.
  
• I cried.
  
• I laughed.
  
• I mumbled rude things to the canvas.
• I mixed colors like a pro. And then like a not-so-pro.
• I dyed my hands blue. Again.
  
• I used almost the whole bottle of turpentine.
• I never did get the clouds to look like clouds, so there aren't any.
• I got paint smudges on my face and clothes.
• I used paper towel after paper towel. After paper towel.
• I dyed my hands a yucky shade of green.
• I came off triumphant.
  

And now I can tell you that I am officially a painter.

-ish.

Well, it's finished and I'm happy. That's what being a painter entails, right? It was a lot harder than it looks, but I'm going to do it again! Hopefully I'll get better, and then I'll sell my masterpieces and make money. Ha. But seriously, I need a job. Anybody need a slave?

And according to the computer... neither floofy nor phthalocyanine are words. Hmph.

Little Blue Eyes and Big Yellow Ears

Post time again!

Well, as you may have deduced by now, I have a fish. His name is Vivaldi, after the manner of animals I have owned in the past (two hamsters named Beethoven and Mozart). Before I ventured to the pet store I was listening to Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons" on my record player -- a record which was a happy find at the ever-so-wonderful Deseret Industries. My new friend sits in a glass bowl on my desk, which ironically enough, also came from the land of DI. I don't really know why I like to have little critters around. I guess it's mostly because they're good secret keepers and they don't seem to mind if you ramble on and on about your troubles. It's like being alone, but better. Plus it's sort of sweet to look over and see a pair of curious eyes and know that it's you that keeps those eyes open. He's a pretty little thing.

And with that, Blog Readers, meet Vivaldi. Vivaldi, meet Blog Readers.

This evening, for Family Night, we once again plucked deliciousness from the garden and put in air-tight baggies. It's wonderful to know that we will have free, homegrown corn all winter long. It's not quite as wonderful as fresh corn on the cob (which is just as good or better than any dessert), but it's much more wonderful than store bought corn-from-a-can. Yick.

Dad's making peach shakes now, so I better get going. But enjoy pictures of our corny evening! Love you all!

Fishy wishies.

My silent friend

with tiny ears,

he floats around

and only hears.

His movements, small.

His eyes don't close.

He cannot speak,

but still, he knows

My pains are his

and his are mine.

We pity, and

we both are fine.

He patient is

and hears me out,

but still I wish

that he could spout

One single sign

of mere reply.

A word, a wink,

a noise, a sigh.

I ponder what

this fish does think.

Oh, does he like

this homey drink?

And yet if we

could trade one day

I think that he

and I would say,

"I'd rather be

where I have been

than ever live

like you again."

And so we sit

and float and wait

for someone else

to take the bait.

For we will not

and we refuse

to ever, EVER

be like you-s.

We are content

to be ourselves,

in our heads or

on our shelves.

I wave my hand

and he, his fin.

We like the place

that we are in.

So from our house,

and from our bowl

we say to you:

That's how we roll.

Scatterbrained

I have a lot to say today.

Firstly, I wanted to post a few pictures from my bean bottling experience with the mom. This happened the same evening that Grandpa passed away, so of course that took precedence. I think, though, that he would have been proud of us. I don't really care for beans, but they sure make for nice pictures. I guess there isn't much to say except that there were huge bowls full of green beans, lots of empty mason jars, a big pot, my mom, a red and white plaid apron and me. My mom had never canned beans by herself before, and I had never done it at all, so after several phone calls we finally figured out the basics. I washed the snipped beans in the sink and filled the jars, my mom put in the salt, I put in the water, and my mom took over the rest.

It's been a bit over a week now since I finished this project, but it's worth mentioning. I revamped my bedroom. Two of the walls have been red since my sixteenth birthday (I loved it at the time) but recently it's been a bit much. So, I taped, primed, painted, touched up, breathed in horrible chemicals and gained a few sore muscles. It was great! My whole bedroom is now a springy shade of green. It's exactly how I wanted it to be. There is so much light in there now. It's peaceful, and I actually get visitors! My mom comes down at least a few times a day just so she can sit and look around. It's quite nice!

Next I want to recommend a movie. My mom bought it a while ago and said that she thought I'd love it, even though it had a sad ending. She was right. The movie is called "Miss Potter." It's based on the life of Beatrix Potter, who wrote and illustrated the Peter Rabbit books and many more. The cinematography is simple and the locations are rapturously lovely in their simplicity as well. Just my style. Miss Potter's character is everything I love.

Also, here are just a few of my favorite pictures from last Saturday when we were [literally] digging through Grandpa's old things. I know Nate got a bunch of pictures too, and my dad suggested that he and I make a disk of pictures from the funeral and from this day and give them out to anyone who wants them. So just let me know if you'd like a copy! I got a ton of pictures from Grandpa's shop. While we're on the subject... this was such a fun day!! I loved seeing everybody and it was wonderful to look through all of Grandpa's things. Soooo many memories. I got several books, a sweater or two, a record player (with a few records to accompany it -- forgive the pun), and a PIANO. Who knew that piano out in the shop that has been covered in dust for so long belonged to my parents? Not me.

Yesterday I spent most of the day reading "Cold Sassy Tree" by Olive Ann Burns. If you have never read it... do. The thick southern style is delicious. It sticks to your ribs just like a good breakfast of biscuits and sausage gravy. Just as filling and wonderful. Mmm.

One more thing. I am SO EXCITED for this movie. Some of Tim Burton's stuff weirds me out, but I love love love love love Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. (You must read that one too.) I think he'll do a good job. March 5, 2010.

Well, I'm off to purchase a fish. A goldfish, maybe. Just something to keep me company. (My dad is through with hamsters.)

Have a lovely day!

Nate the Great and the Mission Call

This is more than a week overdue, but it most certainly deserves it's own post.

It was really weird to hold that thing in my hands. For as long as I can remember, Nate has been here. Close to me. Always a phone call away or just in the next bedroom. One of my best friends. It was weird to know that I didn't know where he would be for the next two years -- none of us did -- but the answer was just underneath my fingers. It was torturous to sit in the same room with that giant, white envelope. I paced back and forth unconsciously several times during the next few hours.

Finally it was seven thirty and Nate was home. But wait, dinner?? NOW!??!!? Okay. One BLT down, one mission call to go.

Of course, before actually opening the call, Nate set up one camera on the tripod and the other in the hands of his friend, Trey. It all must be documented, of course.

I was almost positive he would be going to somewhere in the states or Europe.

Mom was crossing her fingers for Omaha, Nebraska.

Rrrrrrrip!

Brazil Porto Alegre South Mission.

None of us knew where that was, so we checked out the globe and discovered that it's at THE very bottom of Brazil. It borders Uruguay and Argentina and the Atlantic Ocean. All the people that I've talked to have told me that there are fantastic barbecues in Porto Alegre, which is great news for Nate. Also, the record low temperature is about 32 degrees Fahrenheit. WAY. TO. GO.

I'm totally jealous.