Next to October, April is my favorite month. Not just because it’s my birthday month, and my daughter’s, and my best friend’s (also one of my grandmother’s and two of my great nieces’), but because it is beautiful. I love spring flowers so much. Especially hyacinths! We’ve had a cold, slow,
rainy spring here in Utah this year, so everything has bloomed later than usual (which is fine by me because there’s less chance of flowers being withered by late snows), the grass and trees are bright green, and even the foothills are verdant (I love my mountains but they’re in a desert; temperate, yes, but often and usually brown and dry). The valley is full of color in April, flowering plum and almond trees in shades of pink, yellow forsythia, sometimes even a few early lilacs. Daffodils in every shade dot yards and even the dandelions seem beautiful, it’s just so lovely to see color again after the grey, dun shades of winter.

I’m always sad when April comes to an end.

So here’s a list to help me remember this beautiful April before May starts in with its certain lilacs and vibrant iris.

• My sisters and I finished emptying my mom’s house. We spackled and painted and got it up for sale. While I am glad this is finished, I am also really sad this is finished. There are no more treasures left to find and I don’t get to see them every week.
• Kaleb spent a Saturday afternoon straightening up my mom’s yard. It looked so much better when he was finished.
• After a rough start, Kaleb started enjoying his soccer games again. The start was rough because he has really fallen in love with basketball, and the rhythms of a soccer game are definitely different. Once he remembered he loves it, though, he loved playing again.
• Haley went to Mexico to celebrate her birthday. I loved seeing her pictures come up on Instagram and now I really want to take a trip to Cozumel, too!
• Whenever my schedule and the weather let me, I went outside to work in my yard. Last year I let it get ahead of me, but not this year. (I think I will always be grateful now for springs without whooping cough!) I’ve weeded and planted a few new things. All of the rain has made it more difficult, though, so I still have some seeds to plant.
• Nathan settled in to his training at Fort Huachuca in Arizona. He struggled with shin splints and with knowing how to negotiate getting medical care. This military experience is new to us. He didn’t want to seem like a wimp. But eventually he had to take some time off of running (which really is the only way to conquer shin splints) to let them heal. I hope his fellow soldiers didn’t give him too much grief. To help, I sent him a bunch of different things: another tube of Deep Blue, some compression socks, two new pairs of running shoes, new combat boots. He has just started running again and I am hoping the time off will have helped.
• 
  Kendell and I hiked four trails: Desolation, Johnson’s Bowl (new to both of us!), Battlecreek Overlook, and Grove Creek. I loved the winter hiking but it is pretty nice to not need so many layers anymore, and to see colors in the mountains again. Our last two hikes even had a few wildflowers! 75 miles of hiking, 7000+ feet of combined elevation gain.
• I ran just over 40 miles in April. As my March total of hiking and running was just under 40, I’m happy with that. I ran longer than I have since my marathon in July; when I told Kendell that he pointed out that running 5.5 miles isn’t as impressive as running a marathon and then I had to remind him that I’ve been fighting an injury, duh! I am grateful every time I go out for a run that I’m still running.
• We tried a couple of new restaurants. Bam Bam’s BBQ is a place my sister recommended for their nachos. We didn’t love them and will continue looking for a good place for take-out nachos. (Our favorite place, El Azteca, closed over a year ago and we’re still sad about it!) We also tried Bajio’s, again for nachos, which were better but still not fantastic. We went to Rubios on National Burrito Day. My burrito was delicious but they were out of almost everything (even though we got there at barely 5 pm) so I was disappointed not to have the steak burrito I first wanted. (While we were there they also ran out of chips, guacamole, and sour cream; seems like someone forgot to check inventory!)
• Some meals I made: chicken alfredo, chicken with cream sauce (I made this with ricotta and romano, so the flavor was different from alfredo), cream of broccoli soup, chili with savory corn cakes. Also, of course, tacos, which are Kendell’s favorite. And red bean burritos, which I usually only make when Haley’s home. I am trying to cook more, not always successfully, as sometimes it’s just me and Kendell eating dinner and it seems like a waste of time to cook just for us. One thing that’s helped me a bit is trying to prep a few things on Sunday. A recent favorite is to dice a whole package of chicken breasts (the big package from Costco) into bite-sized pieces, toss it in olive oil, Italian seasoning, garlic, red pepper flakes, and basil, and then bake it. I like this so much better than cutting the chicken after it’s cooked, because then all the edges are a little bit crispy. I make a meal with some of the pieces, save some for another meal, and then freeze the rest.
• Kendell and I finished up watching The Walking Dead and started watching Game of Thrones. My favorite thing about this season so far: the song in the second episode, and talking about each episode with Jake. He watches them with friends and we’re sometimes watching a day or two later, but he’s careful to not give any spoilers.
• I did pretty well with my goals: I ate more veggies (not every day, but way more), I only had two days when I didn’t reach my water goal, and I think I rocked it on my blog-every-day goal—I only missed three days.
• Things I bought: A new Hydroflask (the watermelon color!), new regular shoes for Kaleb, new basketball shoes for Kaleb, new soccer shoes for Kaleb. New bras, yay! A few Skirts. A red dress that I’m not sure I’m going to keep. Sprinkler parts for the sprinkling system. A new blade for my rotary cutter. A bunch of storage containers.
• I used my DSLR. I haven't done that since November! I took it to Kaleb's Alpine Days track meet. He won fourth in the high jump and I got some great pics. I think I'm going to add "use DSLR" to my goal list!
• I read two books: Ammonite by Nicola Griffith and The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning.
• I only read two books because I spent all of my free time doing stuff with fabric. I shopped, I bought, I cut, I pieced. I made it more complicated than it needed to be but I think I just needed the process of a more intricate quilt (two, actually). I think it was my way of dealing with my mom’s death. She didn’t teach me everything I know about quilting, but she taught me to love fabric and to give pretty gifts. I can’t say I gained any resolution or much peace…but some. A bit. (I will share more of these two quilts once I finish them and give them to the moms of the babies they are for.)
• Actually, that’s not true: I worked on three quilts. And I shopped for four. I started a new quilt for Jake, as the one I made him oh…four years ago, I think, or maybe five, was totally worn out. I’m doing it in shades of blue and grey, all flannel except for a little bit of minky. And I’m still picking up pieces for Kaleb’s quilt, which he needs because he’s now sleeping in a queen-sized bed. I’m excited to see both of these quilts come together!
• Kendell had a heart check-up in April, and everything is looking good. This will of course never not be scary for me, AND to make it more difficult I also talked to his surgeon about Kaleb’s heart issues. I managed to not start sobbing, but only just. Every single one of you reading this right now, stop and give thanks for your healthy heart to whatever deity or spirit you believe in. Hearts are scary and the fear is pervasive.

Now on to May!

There’s always a moment when I’m making a quilt as a gift when I think…is this worth it? Will the recipient appreciate it? Do I do this well enough that I can give this without being embarrassed?  Maybe I should just give something practical, like diapers and wipes.

(Usually this moment comes when Kendell has had enough of the quilting mess!)

One time, six or seven years ago, I went to a baby shower where I didn’t make a quilt. I made a little “baby’s first year” scrapbook album instead. While we were chatting and snacking, one of my friends whispered to me “I can’t wait to see what quilt you made!” and right then I decided, husband’s grumpiness and my self-doubts aside, I will always bring a baby quilt to a new baby. Maybe the mom will love it, maybe it will be the baby’s favorite quilt. Maybe it will just sit on a shelf in the baby’s room, and that is OK too.

It’s my way of telling the baby and the mom that I love them, and that is enough. I hope it becomes a part of their story in some way.

I made this quilt for my niece, who is having her first baby in a few weeks.

I’ve been a little bit obsessed lately with making log cabin squares. There are several new babies coming this year, so I’ve been making smaller squares—but this shower was sooner than I expected. So I made one big log cabin, which was faster. Here’s what I did:

• The center square is 10” of paisley minky. This was a left-over scrap from a quilt I made for another niece, Lydia, eight years ago!
• The logs are roughly 3” wide. I say roughly because I fussy cut some of them, so they are larger. Twelve light logs, twelve dark logs.
• I wanted to include more minky, but I’ve discovered that putting TWO minky logs perpendicular to each other is difficult—the stretch and nap run in different directions so it’s hard to keep the square square. So, instead I put in two different minky logs (the solid pink, which actually has stars on it, and the print with the white background and big paisleys). I think with a scrappy quilt like this, it is totally OK for the vertical and horizontal logs to not always match.
• I used scraps! Some of the scraps came from my mom’s stash, some came from mine. I love scrappy quilts so this was a fun challenge for me.
• I only used flannel and minky, no regular cotton (except for the binding). I’ve learned that, with flannel and minky, a 1/4” seam will not be very durable. So, all of the seams in the quilt are 3/8” instead. The texture mix of flannel and minky is so luscious and lovely to me!
• I backed it with a polka dot minky. The finished quilt is about 43x46”, so I didn’t have to seam the back since minky is 60” wide.
• I really wanted to try to quilt this with some free form quilting, instead of straight lines. In the end, though, I decided I’m not skilled enough at free form yet, so I did straight lines with echoing. My favorite part of the quilting is the four echoed square medallions in the corners. I know straight-line quilting isn’t as impressive as free-form, but I think with some thought and purposeful decisions it is just as beautiful.
• I freaked out about the binding. I love making quilts with a binding that contrasts in some way, or is a little bit of a surprise. (Like, last year I made several all-pink baby quilts with aqua binding.) I wanted to bind this one with a brown and white floral, but I couldn’t find anything I really loved. (I learned that brown is rarely paired with a white background.) I LOVED this pink floral I ended up binding it with, but I didn’t have the quilt with me when I bought the binding fabric, and I didn’t realize until I got home that it was more coral than pink. So then I agonized. Literally, I had dreams about this quilt binding. In the end I decided to go with the strips I’d already cut, even if the color was a little bit not-quite-right. I ended up loving it, though. I think it works.

Here’s a story to go along with the quilt:

While I was making this quilt, I found myself thinking quite often about my mother-in-law, Beth. And my mom, too, since I was using some of her fabric. I had just one small piece of this fabric, with the ballerina elephants and sweet little angels, barely enough to make the two logs if I fussy cut it. I stopped to think…should I use it? Or save it? And I swear: Beth just keep nudging me to use it. So I did.

I made this for a niece on Kendell’s side, Lexie. When Beth passed away, we found several finished receiving blankets, and my sister-in-law, Cindy, has given one to each granddaughter for their first babies. (None of the grandsons have had babies yet.) She brought one to the baby shower…and it was the same fabric as that one Beth was nudging me to use. My mom didn’t know Lexie, but she did know Beth, so it made me happy to know they’d both contributed, in strange ways, to that quilt. I think it would make my mom happy to know that story. Beth too.

This weekend I was chatting with my neighbor Blanche. She mentioned that she’s always wanted to hike to Lake Blanche because, well, coolest name ever, right? But she said she wasn’t sure where to start with hiking, as it’s not something she’d ever loved doing. Still…Lake Blanche! It looks so beautiful. I’ve never hiked it either, but now I’ve got to do it, even if my neighbor does.

When I was hiking with Kendell this weekend, I was thinking about that conversation, and how overwhelming it probably seems, to try to start hiking. How do you pick your trails? How do you know what to wear, what to eat, how long to go, what gear you need?

What I told my neighbor was this: just start. Start hiking and then keep hiking.

Of course, it’s more complicated than that.

So while I was hiking (we did almost 7 miles today, after planning on just doing 4ish; it was just too beautiful to stop), I thought about how someone could become a hiker. The only expertise I bring to this question is my own experiences, so take this advice for what it’s worth. But here are my suggestions for becoming a hiker.

1. Pick a goal hike. This can be whatever you want, but try to choose something that is six miles or longer, so you’ll have a good challenge. Pick something that inspires you, for whatever reason. The highest peak in your county, a mountain you’ve always loved. A lake with your name! (I would like to hike to Lake Blanche because it’s beautiful, but also because a little bit higher up is a lake called Florence, which was my grandma’s name, so I’ve always wanted to see it.)
2. Set a date for your goal hike. I’d say to give yourself about four months, but this also depends on your current level of fitness. If you’re already exercising in different ways, you could do it sooner. Write the date on your calendar, take the day off work, commit to the date and the hike.
   
3. Pick a day of the week that will be your hiking day. Every week, you will hike on that day, so make it a day that you will be able to remain consistent with.
4. Start flat. This will require a little bit of research. You can use Summit Post (a website with tons of details about many hikes all over the world), All Trails (an awesome hiking map app for your phone), or just start Googling. Check your library to see if there is a book there about hikes in your area (they’ll be somewhere in 796 probably). See if you can find a hiking group on Facebook. Talk to the people who work at your local REI or other sporting goods store. Your goal is to find hikes that are fairly close to you, close enough that you can drive to the trailhead, hike the trail, and drive home, all in one day—but also hikes without a ton of elevation gain. Even if you just find one or two trails that meet this criteria, it’s OK. Flatish trails, anywhere from 3-5 miles long. (I think I will write another blog post with recommendations near me for beginning trails.)
5. HIKE! On your designated hiking day, drive to the trailhead. And hike. What if the weather is bad? Sometimes I hike in the rain. Sometimes I just wait until the next day. Sometimes I cut the hike short. Sometimes I do a brisk walk on a paved trail that is lower than the bad weather. Missing a long hike now and then will not derail your plans though. If you miss a day, go the next day, or if you can’t, just miss that long hike and start again the next week. Don’t give up!
6. Be patient with yourself. Even if you do other forms of exercise, hiking is different. It works different muscles in different ways. Use these flatter hikes to start learning about how your body responds to hiking. You might have to adjust gear (also another post) and nutrition (something else to write about!) as you gain more experience. Your body will learn how to hike only if you take it outside and hike!

Hike your flatish trails once a week for four weeks. On the days you’re not hiking, do your usual exercising. (If you are starting totally from scratch, try biking, walking, or swimming for the days you’re not hiking.)

7. Add some altitude. Again—this will take research. Locate a trail near you that is steep but short. The trail I use for this in my area is the Y trail. It gains 1100 feet of elevation in a little bit more than a mile. Think of this hike as your exercise hike. It doesn’t have to be pretty because the point of this hike isn’t scenic overlooks or amazing vistas. It’s just to get your lungs into the habit of pushing through being breathless. Choose a different day, one that’s not right before or right after your long hike day—I do my exercise hike on Wednesdays—and, again: commit. Yep, you’ll now be hiking two days a week, but this exercise hike doesn’t have to be hours and hours. Take it slow the first time, and as the weeks progress, try to push the speed a little bit.

Hike your flatish trails on your long hike day and your steep hike on your exercise hike day for four weeks. Continue with your other forms of exercise.

8. Combine! Find some steeper hikes for your long hike day. Keep doing the exercise hike, but on the long hike, get some altitude. Give yourself permission to take the entire day on your long hike, so you could drive further to different trails. Research your area and explore. If you go on a trip during this time, find a hike in the place you’re traveling to. Find some friends who also hike and do a friend hike. Enjoy this part of the training! Your body will be getting stronger and hiking will be a little bit easier. This is why you hike in the first place, you’ll learn. Not really for that goal hike, but for the weekly exposure to beauty and cliffs and tired quads and pushing through. Try to find a few trails that are similar either in length or altitude to your goal hike just to give yourself an idea of what you might experience.
9. Continue with consistency. Two hikes a week, one long, one for exercise. Continue with your other forms of exercise. This is important because A—two days of hiking a week won’t be enough to get you in tough enough shape for that goal hike and B—your body needs variety. Your muscles need to be used in different ways. Consider some strength training, if you don’t already do any.
10. Complete your goal hike! Take lots of pictures! Have a great time!

Now, here’s the most important step:

11. DON’T STOP. Keep hiking!

Favorite Quotes:

Save your favorite dildo—but throw away the other fifteen!

(OK, no really….that doesn’t represent this book at all, but it made me laugh simply because it is so out of tone with the rest of the book.)

(Here’s a real favorite quote.)

If you give an old desk to a young person, make a story about it, not a lie of course, but tell them what kind of letters were written on it, what documents were signed, what types of thoughts were entertained around this desk—and the story will grow as it is passed on from young person to younger person to younger person. An ordinary desk becomes extraordinary through time.

I really wanted to give this book to my mom for Christmas last year, but I didn’t because I thought it would hurt her feelings.

Then I checked it out to read for myself, but then she got sick. Then she passed away.

Then my sisters and I had to do her death cleaning.

What is death cleaning? It is decluttering your possessions with an eye to help your family after you are gone. Sometimes death cleaning is writing small notes about the meaning of the objects you keep. Its purpose is to give meaning to your objects—what is left is what matters to you.

I didn’t read Magnusson’s book until after we had finished cleaning out my mom’s house. I discovered that it probably wouldn’t have mattered if I had given it to my mom, and by some miracle it didn’t hurt her feelings and she actually read it, because the thought processes captured here are so different from hers.

Consider, for example, the giggling doll. This was a doll she bought for my oldest sister Michele, when she was about four or five. When you shook her, she giggled. (Clearly this was in the days before shaking babies was discouraged.) When my mom moved from her house in Springville, the giggling doll came with her. Even though she was filthy, and her head was literally hanging on by only a few threads. When I asked her why she was packing the giggling doll, and she said (after some annoyance and avoidance and after I literally held that dirty baby by the arm behind my back so she couldn’t touch it, maybe not my finest moment) that she wanted to keep it because the giggling sound reminded her of the days when Michele and Suzette was little.

I understood this. I thought about my Rubbermaid of Halloween decorations, which has those three cat handles in it. The cat handles I got for free from Baby Gap one fall when my Bigs were little. 2000 I think. The cat handles were made to put on a trick-or-treating bag, so when the kids opened it, the cat handle meowed. Howled, really, like a scary Halloween cat. I never used the handles on bags (because my kids liked buckets), but those cat handles. That sound. That sound takes me right back to those very specific years, with their happinesses and troubles. With exhaustion and sweet baby nibbles, Haley’s sticky hand in mine, Jake’s little voice naming off all the dinosaur names he knew.

The cat handles take me back.

The giggling doll took my mom back.

This is so hard. It is hard to do on your own because possessions, while they don’t entirely define us—they are tied to memories. And memories are tied to feelings. So I’ve kept the cat handles because of how they make me feel.

So that is why, even though my mom had passed away and we did her death cleaning for her, I wanted to read this book. (Also, even though I am not dying.)

When Magnusson wrote about that desk, I started to cry. Because that is why it was so hard to go through my mom’s stuff: because I had that memory of the giggling doll, and it made me realize that everything she kept made her feel something—but I didn’t know the stories.

So what I didn’t keep, or what someone else didn’t keep, felt like sending my mother’s feelings to the Goodwill.

Now her house is empty. Now her car is sold and the house is clean and all of her possessions have been spread out into the world, and now I need to turn to my own house. My own possessions.

I can’t help it. I know it is maudlin and maybe a little bit morbid, but I do think about the time after my death quite a bit. And I don’t want my kids to feel like I felt, death cleaning my mother’s house. I want them to go through my things and know the stories, know where I got this desk I am writing on (it was my grandpa Fuzz’s desk) and what I did with it (not just writing blog posts, but lots of different writings, and I sew on it, and I craft on it, and I remember my grandpa sitting at it and figuring out the rent payments). I don’t want them to feel like they are throwing or giving away things that are meaningless to them but had meaning to me.

Right now, my front room is full of a bunch of my mom’s stuff. Knick knacks from her curio, fabric from her stash, a few clothes, some dishes and cooking tools. Photos—so many photos. And it just keeps sitting there because I don’t know how to start. I don’t know how to start processing my stuff in order to make room for hers.

I was hoping The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning would give me a check list: do this, do that. It doesn’t, really. Instead, the author discusses her process in a kind and rambling sort of way, but always coming back to that central fact: having too much stuff is a burden on everyone, you while you’re here, your family once you’re gone. I don’t want to be my mom, toting around a dirty old doll because it helps me remember a different part of my life. I want to find a balance between remembering and looking forward. And I think Margareta Magnusson doesn’t spell out an exact process because it must be different for everyone, it must be individual.

Death cleaning my mother’s house was difficult. It broke my heart to get rid of some of her things. But more than anything, it broke my heart that I didn’t know more stories. That we didn’t have a strong enough relationship for her to tell them to me or for me to ask her about them. That I have the aqua and gold vases, the floral-print oval-shaped china bowl with silver chasing, the tea cups. The images of faces I am related to but who I don’t know. These are all beautiful things and I kept them because they tie me to my mother, but the only stories I can tell are the ones I make with them.

Which is true of all of my stuff.

So, the biggest thing I took from Swedish Death Cleaning was this reminder: without stories, nothing means anything.

And if, in the end, all we are is stories…then if we want to still be stories, we have to tell them. With our voices or, if no one wants to listen, with pen and paper.

It’s hard to explain the pull I feel to return.

I wasn’t happy there. It wasn’t just the wildness of adolescence, either—because maybe I was happy then, or, at least: I felt something then, something deep and abiding that I would like to feel again. But even as a little girl, swinging on the red swing set in my back yard, I could hear the kids one neighborhood over, on the other side of the corn field, laughing while they played tag or chase or catch or whatever it is groups of kids play.

I was shy and bookish. I got embarrassed easily, I licked my lips until they were chapped, I liked my ponytails so tight they tugged at my eyes. I had a high forehead and I lived inside of it, dreamy, with flowers and fairies and stories. I didn’t make friends easily and I didn’t go to church very often.

I still remember that listening, the way I would feel torn between delving into a book or just listening to those voices unspooling. Wondering what made them laugh. I didn’t know to name it loneliness. I didn’t know how to adapt, yet, to being odd and shy and bookish, a lover of words who had a hard time speaking.

I still remember the Friday evening in sixth grade, when I walked into the house of my new friend Tiffany, who was popular and had a loud laugh and always had something to say—maybe that was the first time I noticed the sharp divide. Was there something wrong with me that she lived in a big, beautiful house on the east-side hills and had a closetful of Chemin de Fers, while I lived in my average house and had just one pair?

I still remember the loneliness without voices when, in the spring of sixth grade, my new group of friends, Tiffany included, ignored me on the Monday after my birthday party. It was years before I knew the faux pas I had made that caused my banishment: I had shown the movie Cujo at the party. An R-rated movie. A scary movie. Something good girls don’t do.

That feeling I had maybe been born with, which was at first a tiny fragment, sharp-edged but manageable, started accruing. Became, as I grew up in that small town with its snobberies and divisions I couldn’t make sense of, into a heavy, conglomerate thing. Self-doubt and insecurity and loneliness and shame and bewilderment; anger and frustration and envy; unworthiness. I started to see my identity as fully informed by those things, and whenever something else difficult happened, it seemed to confirm my deepest, unsayable fear, which was that everyone else deserved happiness, but I did not.

Why do I feel compelled to return occasionally to that small town?

A decade after I left—and maybe I could absolve myself for marrying so young if I explain it like this: I needed to leave the place I grew up—I met a woman at a writer’s conference, who lived in that small town but had arrived there as an adult. She clarified for me the way I had struggled there, what I hadn’t understood: Springville is a small town based in old Mormon money.

Ah.

It wasn’t enough that actually, my family was old. My paternal line was a part of the original settlers who established the little town in the crook of two mountains.

It was the other two qualifiers: Mormon. Money. Never Mormon enough, of course, and my dad’s blue-collar job at the steel mill certainly didn’t help.

I was never going to matter there.

I can’t explain why it mattered that I didn’t matter. I don’t matter where I live now, which is a larger and less financially divided, less snooty small Utah town, but it doesn’t matter anymore, not mattering. Maybe because I created a life, with a family and a few very dear friends? Maybe because I did the things that mattered to me. Maybe because I learned how to adapt to being odd and shy and bookish, not just adapt but embrace, and I learned how to find words.

I learned to set down that ugly, bulging, mucky stone. It’s still there, of course, but I don’t carry it with me.

I went back to my hometown for holidays. To see my mother, because she still lived there. For family parties and holidays and just to visit. When my Dad was first diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, before he had to have full-time care, Nathan and Kaleb and I went there every Thursday afternoon to spend time with him. When I drove into and through my hometown, I would remember. Random memories every time, but a flood of them. I felt haunted.

Eventually, my dad passed away and then, eventually, my sisters and I convinced my mother to sell her house—the place we’d all grown up in, with a yard full of flowers curated by my father and with more than one cat and dog buried in its dirt—and move closer to us.

So then almost never went back to Springville. Except for funerals. And planning my mother’s funeral. And dressing her body before she was buried.

But not for the annual parade and carnival. Not for the beautiful mountains. Not for the memories, not for the haunting.

But I still sometimes feel that tug: come back.

I answer this tug on my birthday, when I put on my running clothes and shoes, drive to the canyon between the two mountains, and go running. The return is partly about that canyon, Hobble Creek, where my grandparents sometimes rode horses, where all the Allman families, perhaps, going all the way back to the 1850s, went for picnics or for hunting or maybe, like me, to hear the rush of the water in the creek and to see the light on new leaves in spring or auburn in fall.  The canyon I would drive in as a teenager, in my 70s muscle car, when I couldn’t face going to school. The canyon with a golf course where, one early spring, the boy I was dating shoved me down in the road, slicing open my jeans and then my knees and severing, at last, the last bit of hold he’d had on me.

I know my DNA is no longer on that road, 29 winters later. But I still know the patch of blacktop where I bled a bit, and everything changed once again.

It’s not only the canyon, though. It is the mountains, too, the way they feel like home. There is a face on the mountain, and sometimes that face was mournful and sometimes benign but it was always watching me, a patron saint of stone. It made me feel seen, and even though when I drive down those streets where I used to live and I am full of knowing that while I am haunted by that town and while there is a part of my ghost that haunts it still, it is under no obligation to acknowledge its worthless daughter—even now the face sees me. An old friend who’s not going anywhere.

This year, I didn’t make it to Springville for my birthday run until after my birthday. But I still went. I almost, almost drove past my old house. I almost drove the old paths my friend Chris and I used to drive, past houses that were important to us. Past my grandma’s house. But I didn’t, because I don’t want the memories altered. For that morning, I let myself be haunted. I brought the person I am now to the place I lived when I was both myself and utterly different. I drove down Main Street, where the library used to be, past the building where I used to go to gymnastics, along the road that leads out and away.

Where we grow up shapes us. Springville certainly shaped me. But it is not the only thing that makes us who we are. I don’t have to carry the stone—I can, in fact, leave it there, and only visit once a year to be reunited with the ghost of the person I used to be. Then I turn north and drive home.

Here I am, just past three weeks into my 100-day project of blogging every day. I’ve missed a few days, but not many. As I’ve continued to write my posts, I have begun asking myself: Why am I doing this? Not in an existential “why” sense. But, what do I hope to gain? What can I learn from this process?

One thing I wanted to do was re-establish a writing habit. In a sense I have done that, as I’ve blogged nearly every day. But it hasn’t been at the same time or with any predictability. I’ve written some of my blog posts while watching TV at night with Kendell, which really is just fulfilling my self-imposed requirement rather than dedicating myself more fully to writing. I started out doing this project with the hopes that I would find my writing personality, my writing identity, again. I’m not sure I’ve done that. I think I need to find ways to explore other topics and look at things in different lights. Not because I’m trying to capture more readers or followers, but because of that search for my writerly self.

But this post is not going to be one of those kinds of posts.

Today while I was gardening, I was listening to a podcast about scrapbooking. (The Scrap Gals podcast.) In this episode they were talking about telling our stories (as opposed to feeling like everything you make has to be about someone else, an idea I am thoroughly a fan of), and one of the ways to do that was to make a layout about who you are right now. I used to do this with some regularity, mainly about my kids but sometimes about myself. Often enough that has an abbreviation in my scrapbooking spreadsheet (YES! I do have a spreadsheet about scrapbooking; two, in fact): LRN (for Life Right Now). Sometimes I did this on my blog, sometimes in my journal, sometimes on scrapbook layouts. I really do love looking back on those past ways of being and thinking, and while yes: it isn’t really fantastic writing, I do think there is also merit in it, simply because my own story matters, too. So here it is, the long-awaited and very popular post about my life right now.

My biggest complaint about my body right is my unreliable knees. (Ten years ago, when I was in my 30s, I’m not sure I had any complaints about my body, except the usual my-boobs-are-small-my-thighs-are-big vexes.) They aren’t really painful, per se, except for occasional stabby pains and right at the start of a run or a hike. More, it’s just that they don’t work like they’re supposed to. They just don’t bend normally, and the right one (the one that suffered from a crackled femoral condyle) won’t straighten all the way. But still: I am running and hiking. I am trying to find exercises to strengthen my quads that don’t require lunges or squats (harder to find than you might imagine). And I’m just going to keep on keeping on for as long as I can.

I am pondering going back to physical therapy though. Maybe once a week e-stim and stem would be good for me.

While my identity is not only tied to my kids, no life-right-now list would be complete without them. Haley is living in Colorado with her boyfriend, Austin. She is working at a pharmacy at a hospital. She recently figured out that she applied to med schools too late last year and so will have to reapply this spring. So, one more year of working, saving money, and (I hope) resting and building up her energy for med school. Jake is living at home and sorting out his life. So much of his story right now is just that, his story, not mine to tell. But he is doing so much better than he was a year ago. I have every faith in him that he will figure it out. Nathan is at his AIT in Arizona. It is so nice to be able to communicate with him so much faster now; when he was at Basic we could only send letters. Now, in the evenings he can call or text. He is struggling with shin splints and has discovered the magical inefficiencies of military health care. Kaleb is enjoying his soccer season finally. He wasn’t thrilled when it started again, as he has a new love: basketball. He loves basketball. He even watches basketball games on TV. His track season ended yesterday with the regional meet, called Alpine Days. He got 4^th in the state on high jump, matching his PR of 5’2”.

Stuff I really like right now: half square triangles, dark chocolate toffees from Trader Joe’s, hazelnut-flavored beverages, my new big pink mug, being outside doing almost anything but especially working in my garden, the last Game of Thrones season, talking about the last Game of Thrones season with Jake.

Things I am grappling with: My faith. (Right now I don’t have any callings and am not going to church very often. Am I happier this way? I’m not sure yet.) Whether or not we should move. (I know exactly what I want my new, imaginary house to look like. In my head it is designed to accommodate the next 25 years of my life, which I’m hoping will eventually include sons and daughters-in-law, grandchildren, family parties, as well as Kendell’s OCD issues. But…I love this house, too. I love my memories here. I love my trees and my yard and my view of Timp. But I want to live somewhere I feel like I fit in. But that’s a lot of effort and expense considering the very large possibility that maybe I don’t fit in anywhere. But that vision in my head of my beautiful new house!) How to fulfill my goals. What will happen if I really do need knee surgery. Selling my mom’s house. Coming to terms with the reality of my relationship with one of my sisters. (Despite what alcoholics and addicts think, their actions, words, and decisions don’t only influence them.) How to help my adult kids in their adult lives. Whether or not I should let Kaleb play ninth grade basketball. (He is really good at basketball but his pediatric cardiologist doesn’t want him to play and that’s all I can write about it for now because I am filling up with terror and despair.)

What I am wearing right now: (I don’t mean literally right now as I write this, but if you’re curious: a black running shirt and the long sleeve from the half marathon I ran in Brooklyn; Kendell just walked by and said “you stink!” which is true as I just finished running and haven’t showered yet.) My knees feel so much better if I wear compression. So lately I wear a loose dress (almost all of them are like this one by Karen Kane) with black running tights or capris. Do I look weird in these outfits? I don’t know. I think I’m old enough that I don’t care. I also wear my workout clothes when I work in the yard. Or do housework. Sometimes I make myself put on actual jeans or pants, but honestly I just want some compression.

The story of my shoes: I have to wear orthotics because of my bunions and capsulitis. So I’m still wearing my Dr. Martens a lot. I know, summer is coming. (I dread the coming of summer because I look so awful in shorts.) But my feet are happier in shoes with tons of support. BUT I’ve got my Chacos out of the summer-shoe storage and my feet are also happy in those. Don’t tell anyone, but because of an awesome deal at the Rack, I currently own five pair of Brooks running shoes. And, because Kendell is slightly obsessed, I have three pair of Keen hiking boots. But one has purple laces so how could I resist?

Hormone status: I’m forty-freaking-seven. I am starting to have…I don’t think they are actual hot flashes. They are hot sleeping. My circadian rhythms are a freaking Katie Perry song. Also, losing weight: that’s a myth, right? From here on out it’s just gain, gain, gain, no matter what I do???

Stuff I do: work (poetry & essay collections, book group everything, reference desk hours), laundry (it is so weird how easy it is to do laundry for just three people—Jake does his own. Sometimes the easiness gets me behind, though, because I’ve started thinking, ehhhh, there’s almost nothing in the baskets, I’ll wait until tomorrow and then I wait too long.), running, hiking, gardening (OH how I love spring gardening!), cooking (but only sometimes, see note about 3 people’s laundry; it’s the same with food and, actually, I need to be better about cooking). Every morning I drive Kaleb to school, which is kind of a pain because it means I have to haul my butt out of bed, now that he’s at a different junior high and can’t walk. But once I’m awake I actually really love it because it gives us some one-on-one time to talk or tell stories or fight over the radio station. I’ve been sewing a lot and honestly, I think it is my way of coping with my mom’s death. A little bit of scrapbooking, but not much.

One last thing: I got a new curling iron from my friends the McAlisters and it is the best thing ever. Smooth curls, not too tight or loose. Swoon!

Favorite quotes:

“They were connected: the world, her body, her face. Perhaps she should not be asking who she was but, rather, of what she was a part.”

“How do you stop being afraid? You don’t. But love and responsibility don’t give a person the prerogative to be always right. We can’t protect people forever.”

“I demand of you the Great Death. The death of change…the death of your way of life, the death that is not just an ending but a great and terrible new beginning.”

This science fiction novel, Ammonite by Nicola Griffith, made me think about many things, but one of them is the process that brings specific books into a reader’s life. I think that some books must be read at just the right time, and other books can be read whenever. For example, I hated The Grapes of Wrath as a high-school junior, but I loved it as an adult; seeing more of the world, understanding history and politics better, and going through different difficult experiences let me appreciate it as I couldn’t as an angsty, angry teenager.

There’s always a loud clatter I am aware of, of books asking me to read them. This is partly because of my job, of course; it’s part of my responsibilities to know what is new and grabbing attention, and to have a wide knowledge of different genres so I can help readers with many different tastes. If no one wrote any new books for the next decade, and if I had unlimited reading time, I’m not sure I would ever be able to read all the books I want to read.

So how do I pick what to read next? Sometimes it’s a whim, sometimes it’s what comes up on the hold list (although I am much more careful now to manage my hold list so it’s not the boss of me), sometimes it’s a recommendation from a library patron. Searching for book covers for library projects has helped me discover several books I didn’t know about. I belong to a couple of books+reading groups on Facebook. Becky recommends things to me. Sometimes I search out something specific that fits my mood or the season (as with this winter, when I read Spinning Silver and the Winternight trilogy). Sometimes it’s because I’m sitting in the car while Kendell and I drive to yet another doctor appointment in Salt Lake, and I’m bored and I forgot my book, so I do some random searching in Overdrive and read something on my phone.

Sometimes the universe brings a book to me.

This was the case with Ammonite. This isn’t a new release, or a book that everyone is talking about. It was published in 1992. And yet, it kept coming up in different places, websites and bookish emails and random book blogs. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I realized it was written by Nicola Griffith, who also wrote Hild, a book I adored. So the next time I was at work, I grabbed it and started reading it.

It took me awhile to finish this. Not because I didn’t enjoy it, but because it feels like a book that requires slowness and savoring. I had expected it to be just another science fiction novel; interesting, but nothing unique. And, in a sense, it is classic sci fi: a human arrives on another planet with ideas about what it will be like, influenced by her life on earth and the company she works for, but the planet changes her utterly.

It’s that pronoun that makes the difference: her. The planet the protagonist, Marghe, arrives at, called Jeep by the massively powerful Company that discovered it, is peopled only by women. Centuries ago, when the first humans arrived there, they were hit by a virus that killed 100% of the men and roughly 20% of the women. This virus caused Company to retreat, leaving the (women) scientists on the planet as they did not want to bring the virus back to earth. When Marghe arrives, Company is in the process of reestablishing itself on Jeep, believing that in all those years, the virus will be gone.

However, the women who were left were changed by the virus, and humanity—women only—has changed to adapt. Marghe, an anthropologist, arrives at the planet to figure out those adaptions. How has the community continued without men?

That science-based question is what takes her to Jeep, but her exploration becomes much more than that. Her experiences fully integrate her into the planet and its societies. (The details are why you should read this book, too.) As I got further into the story, I started realizing that no, this isn’t a typical science fiction novel. It does feel very female. All science fiction strives to answer some sort of what-if question, and the basis of Ammonite is: what if there was a world where women could reproduce without men? What would an all-female society look like? How would it function, what would its strife be, what would its social structures look like and how would individuals work within the larger group?

What I loved about how the story answers these questions is that it is not all flowers and cookies. The group of scientists and soldiers from Company create a type of contrast: the represent, in the beginning, male structures, wherein everything is precise, ordered, and regimented. Yet, as they stay longer on the planet, some things soften; they decorate their spaces, for example, or paint their doors. And yet, within the native societies, women fill all necessary roles: some are what we might think of as “traditional” female roles, some are more “male.” But without the binary construction of male/female, the people are simply people, able to figure out the responsibilities and talents that fulfill their personalities. There are all sorts of women, not all fine, upstanding paragons of morality or nurturing. There is still conflict. There is love, betrayal, family, complicated politics. There are the sheer necessities of trying to survive. 

But the details of the societies, their culture and myth and traditions and ways of being: these are entirely fascinating.

I’m glad I accepted the universe’s nudges to read Ammonite. And maybe this blog post can be a nudge to someone else to also read it.

When I was pregnant with Haley, right at the end there was a little scare where the doctor was worried that her growth had slowed down. A few stress-tests and ultrasounds later, he decided that everything was probably OK but that an induction would probably be best. (I have to add that I’m grateful I had babies when the philosophy was “let’s induce!” instead of how it is now, which is “wait until you’re 57 weeks pregnant and then we’ll think about it.” I would be pissed if I were some of my friends, who’ve had enormous, 11-pound babies. Kaleb, at almost 9, was a struggle to deliver and my body has never been the same.) When he was looking at his calendar, he said “what about Thursday, April 20^th?”

“That’s my birthday,” I said.

“Oh, that would be so cute!” the nurse said. “She’d be like a birthday gift for you! And you could share your birthdays your whole life!”

But I already had a strong sense of who that baby would be. I had a feeling that she would want to have her own birthday. So I disappointed that nurse (who really: she was beaming, she loved that idea so much) and said “No, let’s do it on the next day if you can.”

The doctor had space that day, the nurse stopped beaming, and I had my daughter the day after my birthday.

She was still a gift, though.

One of the things I have loved about seeing my kids grow into adults is witnessing them becoming people. With each of my pregnancies, I had that same strong sense of each of their personalities, and in general it has proved true. But how they use those personalities has been so amazing to watch.

That feeling I had about Haley was partly the idea that she would be independent. An adventurer. And that has been the case. She was never a clingy baby who couldn’t be away from me. She could play on her own; she was happy to be held by almost anyone (but she rejected any form of snuggling; you could hold her but she wanted to see what was going on) and she never seemed afraid of anything. When she was barely two, Kendell and I went to Hawaii for a week; she stayed with my mom and my mother-in-law and was happy and never cried about missing us.

Independent. Confident. Strong. An adventurer.

Now she is having another birthday. Now she is in her twenties and living her life fully. She thrived in college, where she worked nearly full-time and still graduated with two majors and three minors. She is a great employee, even when she had a sexist and demeaning boss. She is passionate about her causes. She is a feminist through and through. She is smart—so smart. And she loves to travel; so far in her life she’s been to Canada, Mexico several times, Florida, many of the cities on the east coast, and Europe, including a semester in Spain.

I still remember her face, though. Her face when they handed her to me, her baby face, her toddler face surrounded by her blonde curls. Her smile before her braces, her smile after. I will never not feel that same feeling I had at her birth: awe and gratitude and excitement at her existence.

I’m glad I followed my gut all those years ago, even if I disappointed the nurse. It was one of my first decisions as a mom, and while I’ve made many mistakes with other choices, that one was right. She needs her own day. I'm glad our birthdays are so close, though. I love that we can celebrate during the same weekend.

She will always be a gift in my life.

Today was my 47^th birthday. I have some thoughts on the year that just passed in my life, but today I just want to document the things I did. A few things happened today that don’t usually happen on my birthday, so I just wanted to mark it.

After a horrible night’s sleep, in which I dreamed I had an argument with Kendell and then I was so angry I just wanted to break something so I went into the kitchen and threw everything I could think of onto the floor, the walls, the counters, the cupboards, and nothing, nothing would break—after that pleasant dream, I dragged  myself out of bed and started baking. I made two cakes, a vanilla Mary Ann cake with blackberries and raspberries and blackberry whipped cream and a triple-layer lemon cake. I sipped a hot beverage and listened to music and made cake, and it was a lovely start to my birthday.

(Even if, yeah, I was sort of making my own birthday cake.)

I did cry twice, though. Once when I thought about my first birthday without my mom. The second time when I had that birthday moment, when you stop to think about how much of your life has already past, and wonder what it has all meant, and how you might’ve wasted the time you had.

Anyway.

I cleaned up the kitchen a bit, changed into my running clothes, and ran down to the soccer fields, where I caught the last half of Kaleb’s soccer game. They ended up tied, 1-1, and he was bugged about not winning but glad to not lose.

We grabbed him and his cousin Jace, who was hanging out with us today, some food from McDonald’s. We were in the truck, which is incredibly uncomfortable with four people, but since I am now officially the shortest, I still crawled in and out of the back cab (those inflexible knees make that difficult!)

Once we were home, I made the lemon cream cheese frosting for the lemon cake (I am feeling a lack of confidence in my lemon cake; I’m not sure everyone loves it like I do. It’s pretty lemony, which is what I love; it’s not too sweet, and the texture is enhanced by the lemon-curd filling), and then Kendell frosted it while I showered. I had him put it on the cake plate that my mom always used for birthday cakes and which I was bequeathed by my sisters because I do the most of the baking.

Sniff.

Kendell and I ran a few errands, and then we went to the park to meet the rest of my family for a little Easter party. That’s the thing that doesn’t usually happen on my birthday: I got to see both of my sisters, and several of my nieces and grand-nieces and nephews. Becky even brought some birthday candles, which we couldn’t light because it was too windy, but still. There was cake and singing and candles and family, and it was perfect (even if it really wasn’t a party for me).

I didn’t eat a whole bunch at the party, though, because we had plans to go to dinner. In between, I got to talk to Nathan, and Haley sent me a text. Not as good as actually getting to hug everyone, but at least we all got to talk.

A little bit later, Jake, Kendell, Kaleb and I went to dinner together. We don’t do this often enough, between Jake’s work schedule and everyone’s food particulars. So it was so nice to sit together, talk, and share a meal. (We went to Mi Ranchito, a local Mexican restaurant that has my favorite Mexican rice ever.)

Finally, to end a sweet birthday, a little bit of sewing and a little bit of relaxing, and some prep for tomorrow (it’s Easter!).

I can’t let myself hope too much—but I’d really like to think that this good birthday could be a harbinger of good things to come in my 48^th trip around the sun.

Sometimes I’m itching to write something, to make something with words that is structured and shaped and maybe well-written, but other days my thoughts roll through my head like the credits at the end of a movie. This is one of those days, so here’s a random list of things I’ve thought about today:

• Even though this work-from-home thing that Kendell’s doing lately is really making. me. bonkers., sometimes it’s nice. Like today, when his schedule was a little bit sparse and so we went for a walk together on the canal trail this morning. The birds were singing, the sky was blue, the air was fresh, cool but not cold. Everywhere, the flowering trees were in blossom, and all lit up by the morning light. We talked, we pondered, we argued a bit, we walked in silence. We admired a woman who was at least twenty years older than us, power-walking past us. We discussed our individual outlooks: do people really just suck in general? Or not?
• I wanted to stop and take a photo of us, using my running-selfie techniques, but I didn’t because I knew it would likely annoy Kendell. And if I posted it on Instagram he’d be bugged. But I still wish I would’ve done it anyway. Always take the photo you’re prompted to take. (Is there a God of photos that carries out those promptings?) You’d think I would know that by now.
• Today is my friend’s birthday. My friend who’s been my friend for longest, since I was 16. I don’t get to see her enough but out of any of the people in my life, she understands me in a way no one else does. I’ll always be grateful for accidentally leaving my wallet in the car of a girl I didn’t know but who drove our group that summer night so many years ago—more than 30!—and that she returned it to me and then we worked in the same telemarketing group. My life would be far less without her, and even if we don’t see each other very often, we both know we are there for each other.
• You know I love my job, but…I was so annoyed I had to work today. We have had a lovely, chilly, very wet spring in Utah. The foothills are literally green, which doesn’t happen very often. And then today, today, today was a perfect spring day for gardening. I wanted to stay home and weed in my bright green grass under my pink flowering plum tree. Instead I was responsible and sat inside the library all day. No one knows the sacrifices we librarians have to make in order to help you print your divorce papers! It wasn’t just me, as many of my co-workers said something about wanting to be outside with the flowers. See…we’re not all dusty bookworms. We love life! And spring! And dirt and flowers!
• One rainy day this week I sat on my porch and tried to write a poem. It doesn’t look like I am even trying, really, but I am trying to invest energy and concentration and work into actually writing things, instead of just wishing I were a writer. So I was sitting on my porch staying dry from the light drizzle, and my purple hyacinths were just perfect, and my back was resting against the brick of our house. And I had an idea I was chasing with my pen. Then Kendell needed something and then Kaleb needed something and then I heard my phone buzz with a text. I kept going back to my poem until I got frustrated. But then I also felt a little bit…less ashamed of my efforts, maybe. Because maybe it’s not only that I have been lazy for the past twenty years or so. Maybe it is that, for me, it was impossible to write and to be a mother. But, I also realized: boundaries. I need boundaries. I need the people who need me to respect my efforts and give me the space I need. I need to stand up for this boundary, establish it firmly.
• Because, and I keep thinking this: people die. People die. It seems impossible to imagine, but one day I will die. One day someone will write my obituary and plan my funeral and what will I have done with my life? I was a mother and a teacher and a wife and a librarian. I ran and I hiked and I traveled; I sewed and I took photographs and I made scrapbook pages. I cooked meals for my family and was a pretty good baker (except for cupcakes, I’m dismal at cupcakes, but then, that might be because I don’t really love cupcakes). I had some friends. I tried to be a good person. If I died tomorrow (and, please: I don’t want to die tomorrow), one of the things I would regret is not becoming a successful writer.
• I realized this morning while Kendell and I were walking that it’s Easter this weekend. And I haven’t bought anything. And I don’t always know what to do. Jake’s 21, but he’s living with us right now. Do I get him some stuff for an Easter basket? Kaleb definitely needs some stuff. Parenting is never easy my friends.
• I had a salad for dinner, a Caesar chicken salad from Costco. I am a microdipper when it comes to salad dressing (and to salsa and fry sauce and almost every condiment you dip something into), so this was a fairly healthy meal for me. Like, does ANYONE actually eat all the dressing that comes with a salad? I think I eat like 1/16^th of it. I always remember when I eat salad or other veggies that they really do help me to feel happier in my body. But I don’t eat them often enough because I am lazy. The prep makes me nuts. I actually don’t love salad like my gender is supposed to, but I would probably eat more of them if the prepped ingredients magically showed up in my fridge. And I actually really do love almost all veggies, but it seems like I run out of energy for making them quite often when I cook dinner.
• Log cabin quilt squares. I’ve made 41 of them over the past few weeks, one group of 25, one group of 16. I will write a blog post about them after I have given the quilts to the moms I am making them for, but I want to say this: strip piecing makes log cabins WAY FASTER. Like, 200 times faster.
• My sisters Becky and Suzette and I have spent so much time over the past months working on my mom’s house. Now it is clean and empty and we are trying to sell it. It’s strange to have my Thursdays back. I’m glad the project is done, but at the same time, I’m really sad it’s over. There’s nothing left to find, and I did not find my grandma’s ugly opal ring I was holding out hope for finding (it was stolen and hocked for drug money, literally, which, gah. Makes me so angry. I know it’s just a ring and rings aren’t people and having that ugly opal ring wouldn’t bring my grandma back to me. But that ring was her in jewelry form, and I just kept on hoping it would magically turn up. It did not.) Plus I was really enjoying that I got to see them every week.
• I just realized as I wrote this: tomorrow is my birthday. So today is my last day of being 46. I spent it like this: took Kaleb to school, walked with Kendell, ate breakfast, went back to Kaleb’s school to check him out because he was too sore to go to his conditioning class, showered, started working on the 42^nd log cabin square, which will eventually be its own quilt, ran some errands because HELLO! It’s Easter on Sunday! which means I need something to put in Kaleb’s basket, and also Jake’s, and then I felt bad because if I had it together I could’ve sent Nathan an Easter something, and Haley too. I got the berries, lemons, and eggs I need for the Easter party we’re having tomorrow. I bought that salad at Costco and then I went to work.
• There is a librarian position that just opened up at my library. I want to apply for it. And I don’t want to apply for it. There are things I would love about it and things I would really not love. Mostly my hesitation is over whether or not I’m ready to work full time. Working full time means no more quilting, no more scrapbooking, far less running. Poetry writing likely non-existent. No more spontaneous early-morning walks with Kendell. But it would also mean I would be pushed into getting my Master’s. And we would have more income so maybe we could finally move. The last day to apply is Monday so I need to decide soon. (Of course…I’m also 100% certain there will be some excellent librarians applying, so all the should-I-shouldn’t-I would probably be pointless because likely they wouldn’t hire me anyway, seeing as how I don’t have an MLS or other Master’s degree.) There are so many things I love about my current job and about how my life is right now. But am I being selfish by continuing to work part time instead of full time?
• Haley is in Mexico for her birthday. (Isn’t it cool that my best friend’s birthday is the day before mine and my favorite daughter’s birthday is the day after mine?) I think it is awesome that she tries to travel as much as she can. My only complaint is that I am not also in Mexico to celebrate my
• I am almost finished with the novel I’ve been reading for three weeks now, Ammonite by Nicola Griffith. I’m not reading it quickly because, hello: 41 log cabin quilt squares. But also because it is a story that’s inviting me to savor it. And it’s totally not what I expected it to be. I am trying to not respond to the little protesting voice that’s reminding me of all the other books I want to read. Ah, see. That’s another thing I would do less of, ironically, if I became a full-time librarian. Less reading. Anyway, I keep thinking about it, and I need to finish it because I just really want to know how it ends. I mean, duh. I read the last page already so I sort-of know how it ends. But how does it end, how do the characters get to that end?

Aren’t you glad you don’t actually live inside my head with all of those thoughts?