Bum buttery, flit fluttery Dum diddly-ooh, Bum Buttery, bluebird Is singing a tune!

Peach pancakes with spicy brown sugar syrup, gentle spring

sunshine, snacks smuggled into movie theater. Today was the best day this week. I finished cleaning my room (a feat,

I assure you, that would have made Hercules cry like a little girl). Trinkets and memories and clothes in the garbage- 3 days of deconstructing my world and tearing little pieces out,

discarding the inessential. And now I can breathe. I shut my closet doors against aliens and monsters. Cobwebs (physical and figurative) have been cleared away. My thoughts have room to go skipping about. I fit comfortably back into my life.

So many things happened to me last week. A dinner party, poorly planned (and appropriately attended), yet lovingly prepared for my high school friends. We talked, the conversation fragile as our crystal plates and goblets. Time changes things. Time changed me. I felt the space between us, miles of life, years.

I washed the last dish today. I hid it in a cupboard behind some other, less ornate serving trays. I don't know when (or whether) I'll need it again.

The day after the party was Therapy Thursday, also known as the day I used Lou's kidney stones as an excuse to avoid confronting my emotions. I sent Jack an email ten minutes before my missed appointment. Coward. I fake solace in the fact that he hasn't responded- if he doesn't care enough about me to see if I'm alright, then he doesn't care about helping me fix my problems. That sort of reasoning lead to a second session skipped. Coward. Coward, coward, coward.

While I didn't go to therapy, I did take a trip to Saint George with my ward. A great many things about one's personality can be revealed on the face of an immovable mountain.

We hiked Angels Landing, a notoriously difficult climb in Zion National Park, responsible for several deaths.

(photo courtesy goldengatephoto.com)

By the second mile, I was sure they'd add my name to the Wikipedia article. Somehow, I survived. I didn't even get sunburned.

I think I have a secret fear of heigh

ts. I've always told myself otherwise, as though that could make it go away. There's something about my family- we suffer in silence (we don't use our problems to get out of things, we don't talk about our fears, we convince ourselves everything is okay, etc.). Somewhere along the way I came to associate maturity with fearlessness, and so began to deny my phobias. I think I will have to admit, however, that I kept envisioning my dramatic plunge from the 1500-foot-high ledge and the horrifically abrupt end to that fall. Pretty sure that qualifies as a fear of heights.

I'm learning to accept myself. I may be afraid of falling, but that hasn't stopped me from dragging myself up the mountain by chain. I did it, after all. I wasn't even that far behind the group on the way back down. I think it's okay to be a little freaked out sometimes, so long as I don't let these things take over.

That night (Friday, in case you're still keeping track) I attended a wedding reception for my mom's best friend's youngest daughter.

I missed her so much, maybe more than I have yet this year. It was odd to be saturated in loneliness, to be so full of an emptiness, especially surrounded by all those people. It wasn't so much that she wasn't there that day as it was that she won't be there when it's my turn. There is now a finite supply of letters, of handwriting samples; of pictures of the two of us; of memories and experiences; of hugs; of inside jokes. Those few moments at the reception illuminated my future, and made my mother's absence more real to me than it has been in the year and a half since her death.

I haven't done much since I got home, except make a few spectacular meals and dejunk my life. while I was going through the stuff in my bucket, I had a "The Letter That Never Came" moment. I found a postcard from my mom. Inscribed on it is a hope that I will get married in the temple, an expression of gratitude for caring for my dad while my mom is away, and and a little shot of encouragement by way of "I'm proud of you." She couldn't have planned it better- I must have received that postcard when I was 8 and my mom was visiting friends in Salt Lake for a week. I should frame it. Put it next to her picture on my dresser.

Lou got me out of the house today, and not a moment too soon. We wasted a trip to Salt Lake (Sam Weller closes at 6. Who knew?), then puttered around Provo for two hours. Sherlock Holmes is funny, but awkward people make it just a tad hard to watch.

I love the way the cottonwood tufts dance on the air, then when they tire, collect in the grass and in the corners of the porch.

We have purple tulips in the front yard, hovering on the verge of wilt. I think I'll take them to my mom's headstone tomorrow. It's a lovely, lovely spring (I'm not ashamed to admit that I just started A Series of Unfortunate Events for the second time in a row. Jude Law is S U P E R attractive, even in voice over and silhouette, and it's a great catharsis movie).

~~~

Recorded 5/20/10

The Day I Lost It in Salt Lake

FHE today-went to Salt Lake, obscure caravan of cars. The rain, so uncharacteristic of the springtime weather, drizzled over roads, over cars, over minds and moods. Lighthearted conversation in the back seat. Buzzing, buzzing small talk, information, life plans, stories. My brain overloaded. My body overreacted- nervous, angry, frustrated, sad ball of energy and anxiousness filled my chest, overflowed into my eyes, into my throat. I didn't cry (it was a near miss).

Parking garage- possible death trap. Endless maze of ramps and turns and cars and pillars. Everything echoes, everything is swallowed up. Maybe I'll be swallowed up, keep driving into the very bowels of some monstrous concrete demon, never to be seen again. We stopped on level 3. "Maybe next time," yawns the beast threateningly.

Elevator. So many bodies. Moves so quickly, so many sick faces. My stomach dropped out around level 1. Confusion, noise, panic- panicked laughter. Back down to level 1. Hello, stomach. Nice of you to catch up again. Care to join us? No vertigo. Good. Empty elevator.

Lobby- awkward. Social situations aren't my forte. Gaze out the window (stunted window- robbed of its potential, denied the possibility of ever swinging wide again. Locked, trapped, stuck) at the magnificent temple. Castle. Palace. Stretching high into the heavens, bridging the gap. Mottled by the aforementioned rain. Stained. Beautiful. Perfect. Peaceful, even by sight. Quiet chat. Bad memories- not mine, but important. Announcement. File slowly into theater. Bodies. Confusion. Hesitancy. Family? Ward? Politely inclusive? Let's sit over here.

More announcements. Beautiful broken English. She'll be writing home to her family this this week. The lights dim, the bodies hush, though minds keep whirring- I can almost hear them. Red velvet curtain slides back, doors close automatically. Music swells. Movie begins. Something stirs inside me. Why am I crying before the movie has really started? Silly. Lame. Pathetic.

Pain, ridicule, torment, death, hardships. One man, one people endured so much. So much, they cracked, they broke, they died. Bodies aren't people. Bodies break. Strong people, people of the Lord, survive. Joseph Smith died- murdered, martyred, shot dead. He survived his test. Good man. Great man.

Something inside me stirs. God knows me. He knows what it'll take to make me break. But He wants me to be strong, to be brave, to endure, to live through. He gives me what I need. Christ was broken, beaten, crucified. But He lived through. He lives now. That little ball of anger, sadness, heartache, rage, anxiety- it dissolved. Nothing was left but my tears. Fear- gone. Worry- absolved. Pain- gone. Instead, I hope. I hope in a melancholy sort of way because I know that I'll break. Some day, it'll be too much. Some day my mortal shell, my body, my stamp on this earth will be gone. But the purest love sings through my soul. I know things will turn out just so. There is no end to my spirit. There is no end to God's love or wisdom. Broken I may be, but perfect I may become. That is the plan. that is the truth- my future, my hope.

Lobby again. Hushed conversation. Souls touched... by what? Song? Script? Cinematography? Spirit? Doesn't matter. Beautiful broken English testimony (another story for her letter). Beautiful message. Beautiful city lights blurred by careless motorist. Glimmering streets, rain-slicked, reflective. Freeway. Church. Home. Shower. Bed. Prayer. Love- every side filled with, painted by, bursting to share.

~~~

Recorded 3/23/10