For her honors English class, Haley has to put together an illustrated anthology of some of her famous poems. I pointed her towards poets.org, which is an awesome resource full of American poets and some of their poems, arranged by topic (if you wish) to make things easier and less overwhelming. I also told her I'd share some of the poems I used when I was teaching poetry.

Even though I was an idealistic first-time teacher, I wasn't so silly as to think that the majority of my students would like poetry. In fact, I made sure to teach poetry to all of my classes because one of my goals as a teacher was to help students learn that poetry isn't scary or necessarily hard. It requires you to think and, most importantly, to feel, but its reputation of being difficult and unfathomable is one I was determined to break.

So I collected poems I thought my students would like. I looked for accessible poems, topics that related to their lives, imagery that was especially visual. I wanted them to experience poems that moved them---that made they feel something they wouldn't have any other way. I don't know if I managed to do that or not. Probably I just came across as that crazy poetry-loving weirdo of a teacher my students had to suffer through an entire 90-minuted period with.

Last night I pulled out my old poetry lesson plans, looking for some poems to share with Haley. As I re-read ideas and thoughts I'd tried to express and revisited poems I had forgotten, I realized that even if I failed at teaching them anything other than the fact that real people read poetry (well, if they were capable of seeing their English teacher as a "real person), I succeeded in some small way. Because, you know, I did find some pretty good poems to share with them. I taught them to think about what writing might mean to them as individuals, not the oft-spouted concept of "what the poet was trying to say here." (As if the poet failed at saying what she meant.) I showed them poems that make immediate visual images and then tied those pictures to how they might have felt. And, in my blathering and ecstatic way, I taught them (I desperately hope) that even if you don't understand it, if a poem makes you feel something then it is a poem that you relate to.

All of which has reminded me that I haven't been sharing as much poetry on my blog as I had originally intended. While I'm not, obviously, teaching anymore, I still have this wish: that more people might love poetry. That I could share what I know about poems: some you'll never, ever understand or even love, but others can, if you let them, change you; that understanding isn't always the point; that beauty in language is sometimes its own excuse. And that the moment when a phrase hits you and you realize I've been wanting to say that exact thing my whole life but didn't know how? Well, that moment is the best part about poems.

Take this poem, for example, which I meant to share in October but didn't:

October

~Carolyn Smart

Those fallen leaves, pale supplicants,
have much to teach us of surrender,
how, wrapped in autumn's incense
they unfurl their flags to the wind
Every year I want to kneel in damp soil
and say farewell to blessed things:
the swift geese as they shout each to each
above the treetops, the white nicotinia
at my door, still releasing its fragrance
against the chill of evening,
the memory of a much-loved hand the last day I held it
There was early morning light rich as silk,
the flash of late fireflies
amidst the cedar,
cows' tails whisking in the amber fields,
the chiaroscuro of a moth's wing
Goodbye, brief lives,
ablaze with tenderness;
today the glory of the leaves
is enough, for I am learning anew
to release all I cannot hold,
these moments of luminous grace
saying Here and here is beauty,
here grief: this is the way to come home

Oh. That ending—and today, the last day of November when the wind is grabbing, at last, the last dead leaves from my sycamores and that is enough to make me notice what is luminously graceful.

I know myself. I know I don't share poetry on my blog because there's that voice saying "no one really cares, no one is interested, right now whomever is reading this is rolling her eyes because you sound like a stuck-up, pretentious know-it-all" and I listen. But today the other voice is stronger, the one that knows that here and here is beauty and that by beauty we find a sort of home, so I am giving it its vocal range, its space to speak.

And I might just do it much more often.

At the start of what proved to be a nearly-perfect day, on Thanksgiving morning Kaleb and I snuggled in my bed for a few minutes. We talked about the Pilgrims and the Mayflower and the Native Americans and why we have Thanksgiving. He told me what he learned in school—that the Wampanoags taught the settlers how to plant corn with a fish in each hole. I mentioned that Thanksgiving is about remembering to be grateful for our blessings and he said "Oh, yeah! I forgot about that part!" so I asked him if he could tell me ten things he was grateful for.

"Ten!" he giggled. "I could tell you fifty!" He made a stab at it and got up to twelve before he grew bored and scampered off to find a brother to hang out with, but our little interaction left me thinking.

I (obviously!) didn't do a fabulous job this year of blogging my gratitudes along with the rest of the blogosphere. This isn't because I don't feel grateful, but because I wasn't feeling any sort of writing inspiration. Still, there really is so much I am grateful for, so throughout the day I kept a sort of running tally of small, specific things, experiences, or blessings I am grateful for. (I've been working on this list on and off since Thanksgiving night.) I wondered if I could accomplish what Kaleb came up with: fifty things I'm grateful for. Here's my list, in random order:

1. My husband's persistence. Sometimes this makes me insane (namely when he's using that persistence on me) but it makes our lives so much better. Once he gets going on something, he generally finds a way to make sure it gets done, whatever the "it" is.

2. Hot water. I know I am a complete baby about this, but there's almost nothing that gets me annoyed more quickly than running out of hot water. It makes me annoyed and grumpy for the rest of the day. But a few weeks ago, something even worse happened: our hot water heater stopped heating water. We've known we need to replace it soon, but were hoping to get just a few more years out of it. Who wants to pay for a water heater at Christmas? So I was throughly relieved when a friend came over to help and showed us that it was just the pilot light. (I joked with Kendell that we are now adults, since we know A—the pilot light can go out and B—how to relight it.) Since that day I have reminded myself, with every hot shower or delicious bath or even a series of pans to be washed: hot water is the modern convenience I am most grateful for.

3. My developing relationship with Haley. We've never really had a bad relationship, just sometimes not as close as I had hoped for. But lately I find myself able to joke with her in a way I haven't before. Partly this is me trying to not be so closed up, some of it is her growing up, the rest is answered prayers.

4. Jake, who is always teaching me about what it means to be the mom of a son. Perhaps one day he will understand how his arrival blesses my life, the wound it soothed and the peace he brings my heart. (Even, yes, when his rambunctiousness is making me insane!) He makes me laugh and he makes me feel loved like no one else.

5. Chocolate—and my chocolate control. I confess: I love, love, love chocolate. The darker the better. But over the past two years or so, I have mastered my chocolate cravings. (This took a lot of patience, time, prayers, and, well, chocolate eating.) I can now make a bag of chocolate last for weeks (instead of eating the whole bag in a few days). Getting ahead of the cravings means that when I do indulge, I savor and appreciate every last delicately delicious morsel.

6. My calling. At church, I teach the kids who were 14 and 15 this January. These are some good kids. Sometimes I get a little bit discouraged with what I am teaching, because I'm not sure I'm getting through, or that any of it makes sense; I'm afraid I'm boring and monotonous and, well, old. But I am grateful anyway for the teenagers I teach. They make me laugh, they make me remember how it felt to be their ages, they add a little youthful ump to my life. Plus, they sometimes surprise me with the best, most thought-provoking questions!

7. Nathan, who is my bright blue sky. He arrived with his very own light and he makes sure to share it. Everyone who knows Nathan recognizes this light—in very different ways, but without fail. I still wonder at his (my unplanned, surprise, and exceedingly welcomed) existence.

8. Kaleb's joy de vivre. To say that he is temperamental is a fairly-extreme understatement. He can go from happy to despondent—and back again—faster than anyone I know. But he carries this underlying joy that flows right out of him, as if he is still just so happy to be alive. I love this about him!

9. Running. I know I have said this a bajillion times before, but it bears repeating: I am grateful for running, and not because of its effects on my body. Well, that too. But I know that without running, I would be a far less mentally stable person than I am. It keeps me sane.

10. And this must follow: I'm grateful for a healthy body that allows me to run. I'm so grateful that my heart and my lungs and my knees and my hips and my ankles and spine and pelvis and shins and everything else it takes to get my body moving all happily work together (for the most part!). Isn't it odd...by running I am able to keep my body running. It's sort of magical! And while I believe that almost anyone can run—you just have to start and then keep going—I do know several people (including Kendell) who physically cannot. My gratitude that I still can is immense.

11. My mother's example. On Thanksgiving, I watched my mother-in-law teach my niece Hilary how to make gravy. It reminded me of one of my friends, whose mom served on Thanksgiving a rotissery chicken from the grocery store, instant mashed potatoes, and gravy made from a powder; when this friend of mine got married and had Thanksgiving at her in-laws—who served all the homemade stuff—she was in heaven at tasting real gravy. I'm so grateful for a mom who taught me how to make gravy. How to make lots of things, in fact, pizza dough and spaghetti sauce and chicken noodle stew. Fudge and caramel and chocolate chip cookies and carrot cake. And it's not the specific recipes that matter most, even, but the knowledge that the best food is always the kind you make yourself. She made me unafraid to try things in the kitchen that seem to scare other people, and I think this confidence makes it easier for me to reach out and try other new things as well.

12. The place where my dad is buried. Kendell's dad is buried in a beautiful little cemetery in Wyoming; you can see the west side of the Tetons from his gravestone. It is truly a stunning view, exactly where he wanted to be buried, but it is so far away. I wish we could visit more often! My dad is buried in the Provo Cemetery, which is about eight miles from my doorstep. Since he's been buried I've gone several times to visit his grave, some of them on a run. It is a comfort to me, even if I just stop by for a few minutes.

13. My friend Chris. We've been friends since I was 16...more than half my life has had her in it. We don't see each other as often as I would like, but the amazing thing is that when we are together, we just pick up talking again. I'm not sure there is a secret in my life that she doesn't know. The weight of shared experiences, knowledge, understanding, and lots of laughter create a warmth that my life would indeed be chilly without.

14. Photographs. I'm not sure if that's a weird thing to be grateful for, but I am. I love that with the technology we have, we can capture little slices of everything—and in that way we can remember more. It probably bugs the people who know me, but I continue to be the lady with the big camera, always taking pictures.

15. Photographs bring me right to scrapbooking. This craft is another one of those things that not many of my friends and family really get. I used to have some scrapping friends, but I'm the only person I know who still does it on a regular basis. Quite simply, combining photos and words and some pretty bits makes me undeniably happy. It is my safe, good spot to go.

16. My work with Big Picture. The cool thing about teaching online classes (as opposed to writing articles for scrapbooking magazines which I've also done) is that I get to include a ton of content. I can't tell you just how good it is to be able to share all the ideas and concepts and philosophies regarding scrapbooking that bump around in my head. The thought of helping other people tell their stories? Well, it is, again, just so good.

17. My work with Write Click Scrapbook and my friends there, too. There's a whole story to why WCS is so cool, but to keep it short it goes down to this: the scrappers there come from a realistic place. It's not about the froo-froo or the popularity or the big names but about the scrapping—the getting words down with photos. Plus there are some seriously talented women I get the chance to work with there. Many of them have become good friends and I'm so grateful to them!

18. My sister Becky. I've written about this before, even. What would I do without her? She totally gets me. The reading and the running and the writing and the quilting. (Perhaps one day I will convert her to scrapbooking, too.) We're different in many ways, too, but I think that makes things even better. We are individuals who get along. Plus, she's always got my back, even when I don't ask. A few weeks ago—a Sunday night, I think—I was having one of those random meltdowns when you just lie in bed and weep over everything. The next day, she texted me to ask if I'd been OK the night before—she'd been worried about me. Right at the time I was overreacting and hyperventilating and wondering whether I deserved to exist. Quite simply, it settles me knowing that she is there.

19. My sister Suzette. She is, also, a good example to me. She is always ready to listen to me and to give me advice, whether it's about cooking or relationships or where's the best place to buy expensive jeans. She's been through a lot of difficult things and has managed to still make a good, vibrant, strong life for herself. Plus she managed to raise four amazing daughters!

20. My sister Michelle. I don't write a lot about her because, well...her life is complicated. I don't always agree with her choices. But her example is still something my kids have learned from. Perhaps her choices will help them to avoid certain things in their lives, and for that I am grateful.

21. Education. One of my clearest memories of my dad goes like this: we're walking from the car to the football stadium at BYU. (This is nearly inexplicable to me—we didn't usually buy tickets to football games, so I don't know why we were there—but it makes me happy in a way that relieves some of the guilt/anxiety/sadness I have that my dad didn't have a son.) It is a cold, Novemberesque day, the kind that threatens snow and blusters with a bitter wind. He points out that we are surrounded by college students and then he tells me, with a forcefulness that was rare for him, that one of his hopes for me is that I will grow up and graduate from college. Probably this isn't the first time he and I (and/or my mom) talked about going to school. But it is the sharpest memory, the clearest and the sweetest. I didn't want to go to BYU (but my circumstances meant it was my only choice) but I always, always wanted to get my degree. It seems a miraculous set of situations that had to occur for me to be able to go when I did, and I continue to be grateful that I was given the chance. (And wistful that I didn't push on and get my MA and PhD. And hopeful that one day I still will.)

22. Music. I'm fairly ignorant when it comes to real knowledge about music. I can't read it, for one thing, nor play it. My singing voice is abysmal. I mostly listen to weird alternative stuff that only 1% of the world would recognize. But I know that music has, quite literally, saved me. From boredom and long runs and dirty kitchens for certain, but also in a spiritual way. (Even though I don't really listen to spiritual music very often.) It makes me happy to hear a song I love, to turn it up loud and sing along.

23. My amazing nieces. If I stop to think about it, I know I don't do enough to foster my relationships with my grown-up nieces. (I have four of them who are married and have babies; I am now the great-aunt to ten children!) But I am grateful to them. They remind me what it felt like to be a young mom, full of that irascible joy that is always tinged with doubt and worry; the reminder helps me in two ways. It lets me remember just exactly how good those days were, and it points out just how good my days are right now. Plus, they keep having babies so there are babies to hold and play with and quilt for!

24. My mother-in-law, Beth. You know how the cliche goes, the one about people not getting along with their in-laws. I never really felt that way about mine. Beth and I are very different, but I love her. She is an example to me of courage, persistence, and kindness. I always remember that, when I was first dating Kendell, he told me that if his mom didn't make it to heaven, no one would. I think he was right!

25. Reading. Like writing and running, reading is something I can't imagine myself without. In fact I can't remember a time when books weren't a solace and a joy to me. Getting lost in story and language...there just isn't anything better to me.

26. My job. I'm certain I've said this before, but I really, really love my job as a librarian. Kendell and I were talking the other day about the future, and he asked if I want to stay there forever. (Mostly he asked this because it's not a very high-paying job.) Of course, my ultimate goal is to be able to really work as a writer, but I'd have to be really, really, really successful before I gave up my library gig. It challenges me to communicate in ways I otherwise wouldn't; it lets me share my small bits of knowledge with others. And it gives me some great stories to tell!

27. Writing. Despite my recent lack of words, I continue to be grateful that, in my heart (if not, obviously, my career—yet!), I am a writer. I process things by thinking how could I write about this? and I make sense of what I experience by framing it in words. It keeps me sane in a way that's completely different than the way that running does. It makes me think and reason and dig down to what is true and real and right. Even if I never achieve a smidgeon of success as a writer, I still will always process in this way, and for that I am grateful.

28. Poems. I am nearly always reading some novel or another—but I am always reading a book of poems. I am grateful because they are small, swift knives, cutting right to the important parts. I'm also grateful that writers write them at all, as they definitely don't have much financial value. The value of poetry lies in how it forces you to see yourself, both when you recognize something in a poem and when you don't.

29. Essays. I read a lot of essay collections. There is the swift shortness they hold that pulls me to them, but it is something more—the uncovering of other people's lives. It's nearly voyeuristic, except it's also about the writing. When I am reading essays my thoughts are simultaneously these: how cool (moving, magical, transforming, tragic, exhilarating) is it that this person had this experience (I wish I could have it, too) (but I'm grateful I can read about it) and Oh, MY. How did this person write this experience in this way? I want to write like this! Which is a long way of saying I'm grateful for essays both for what they show me about life and what they teach me about writing.

30. My friend Jamie. She lives just a few blocks from me, and five or six years ago, the boundaries of our ward (church congregation) were changed so that we went to church together. We'd said hello a few times, and then one Sunday afternoon she showed up at my house with a bag full of clothes that her youngest son had grown out of. Did I want them for Kaleb? Yes! We stood in my front yard that day and talked, and then we just became fast friends. She knows a lot of my secrets, too. She's listened to me and given me advice or just been that person who knows what I'm feeling by how I walk down the hall at church. Plus, she's an example of truly striving to be like Christ. She is the person in my life who lives the gospel the most.

31. In addition to my friend Wendy, that is. She and I also met because of that boundary rearrangement. I wanted to be friends with her for a long time before we finally started talking, but now I can't imagine life without her. She is wise and dedicated and unafraid to be herself. She invited me to come to the temple with her when she was sealed to her son (whom she adopted) and that stands as one of my life's best days. Plus, she'll go hiking with me!

32. Jeramy, who changed everything for me and is never very far away from my heart. Actually, never far away at all. Always right there.

33. Perfect black pants. There are more than one pair of perfect black pants. Three or so of them, in fact, and I feel blessed to own them all! It's true that the majority of my closet is of the black persuasion; contradictory or not, wearing black makes me happy. But forget the little black dress (I have two of them!), it's the perfect black pants I can't live without.

34. Sweaters. Perhaps it is my profession—is there anything more librarianish than a cardigan?) but I don't think so, because I loved them long before. I wear sweaters a lot. I have decorative sweaters (you know, the ones you wear because they're cute and finish your outfit) and functional sweaters (that actually keep you warm). Sometimes I wear both. Certainly this gratitude exists because I'm that girl, the one who's always cold. But it also has something to do with comfort. Wearing a sweater out into the world is the next best thing to just staying at home in your bed.

35. My sister-in-law Cindy. Most of our kids were born within a year or so of each other, so we've been in the same place so many times in our lives. I actually was friends with Cindy before I met Kendell. Marrying a good friend's brother is a great way to make sure you love your in-laws! She is the kind of person who always has exactly what you need somewhere in her purse or her car or her house, an accomplishment that astounds me as I'm the sort of person who never has what you need. Plus, she's always willing to help with my kids, listen to me complain, or give me advice.

36. My sister-in-law Melissa. Here is the thing with Melissa: I don't think I've ever seen her sad, grumpy, moody, or severely annoyed. She's quick to laugh and has a way of making people feel at home. Since I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, I love those aspects of her personality. Plus: she also has a baby she's willing to share a little bit with me!

37. My friends at work. I really do love my job (see #), but part of what makes it good are the people I work with. They have each taught me something, and not only about being a librarian.

38. Kendell's job. It's been almost a decade since he was re-hired at Novell and we started trying to recuperate from his 16-month unemployed stint. In some ways I've never fully emotionally recovered from that time—deep down, I don't think I will ever trust that the rug won't be pulled out from under us again. But all of that emotional baggage means I count his job as one of my greatest blessings. We've had awesome insurance, a steady paycheck, a 401k and a way to try to plan for the future. I know it isn't always perfect, but I don't know what we'd do without it.

39. Health insurance. Here's a story. Last month, we took Kaleb in for his yearly heart check up. (His aortic valve is bicuspid—Kendell's was monocuspid, but no doubt this is a genetic connection between them.) He had an EKG, an echo, and a twenty-minute appointment with our awesome and wonderfully sweet pediatric cardiologist. He needs to have this exam yearly, just to make sure that his heart stays healthy. He'll need it for his entire life, just in case. Yesterday I got the bill for this experience—$2500. To say that I am grateful for our health insurance is an unendurable understatement. What would I do without it? I wouldn't be able to sleep for the worry. We are all of us just one medical disaster away from financial ruin, but the blessing of health insurance makes this risk a much more bearable. Thank you, fates or choices or heavenly intervention that brought us health insurance!

40. Fragrance. During our Black Friday shopping this year, I remembered something about my teenaged self that I'd forgotten: even then, I loved perfume. My friend Christie once gave me a bottle of Giorgio perfume and it became one of my prized possessions. I loathed some fragrances and adored others (mostly for the memories they connected me to); I visited the perfume counter whenever my friends and I went to the mall. I'm not so obsessed with perfume now, but I still think about smells quite often, how they infuse and strengthen memory, how they soothe or invigorate, how they make things more pleasant. As one of my greatest fears is being the stinky ________ (wife, mother, teacher, librarian, friend, lady at Target etc), I am grateful to live in a time where beautifully-scented body products are pretty easy to come by.

41. Wool socks. I run in Smartwool socks. I hike in them, too. And as soon as it gets cold outside, I start wearing them inside my boots. Wool socks are magical. Even on the hottest run they keep my feet cool, and yet on freezing winter rushes to the mailbox, they make sure my feet are cozy. They're vaguely indulgent but so worth it. (Nathan, who is fond of socks in general, shares my penchant for wool. He's been wont to sneak a pair of mine when his are all dirty.)

42. SDBBE. This is my group of reading friends. It's sort of like a book group...only not, because we don't actually meet in person very often. Instead, we each pick a book, read it, and annotate it. Then we send it on to the next person. This means that each month I'm reading a book I didn't pick out but am bound to love because I trust each member's reading tastes. Plus, it is amazing how close you can get to people just by conversing within a book. Britt, Becky, Isabel, Apryl, and Jeannette—I love you girls!

43. Our friends the McAlisters. You know when you find that perfect couple—all of the spouses like each other, there's not a huge gap in income levels, education, or lifestyle choices, and you all like the same chocolate cake? Those are our friends the McAlisters. They moved away from us a few years ago, and we still miss them desperately, but I also continue to be grateful for their friendship!

44. The Lees. Another perfect-for-us couple. Kendell and Steve were mission companions many, many years ago, and they've remained friends ever since. Steve is awesome to have around because he's great with kids (seriously...my children love & adore him!), he's easy going, and he doesn't get flustered by the occasional off-color joke. His wife, Staycha, is equally awesome—smart and funny and kind. And also beautiful, but not in that snotty, I'm-better-than-you way. They live in southern Utah so we don't see them as often as we'd like, but! They did spend Thanksgiving with us this year, which made the day even better.

45. Our friend James. Kendell and James started working together at WordPerfect in about 1992 and we've been friends ever since. We watched each other's families grow up; he has a Nate to go with our Nathan, even. My three Bigs are almost the exact same age as his three youngest, so they always had built-in friends. James divorced his wife awhile ago, which was an ugly and sad thing. But our friendship has endured worse than divorce (namely: his stint selling Amway). He's my person who will always help us if he can. I know that some people might think it's weird that I have a great friendship with a single man. (This bothered my father-in-law quite a bit, for example.) It's not though. Our friendship simply works!

46. Neighbors. Back in 1993 when we were building our house, there were three other houses in the cul-de-sac and a great big expanse of field behind us; the road ended right next to our property line. During the next summer, the road was finished and houses started to fill the field. Since then we've had tons of neighbors move in and then move out—we are, in fact, the longest residents of our little neighborhood. But despite the coming and going (and a few, let's confess, awfully painful experiences), we've had (and continue to have) great neighbors. It is nice knowing that if I need a can of tomato soup or a cup of sugar, someone will be willing to borrow it to me. (Let alone lend me space in their recycling bins, haul my garbage can to the curb if I forget, and call at 1:37 in the morning just to make sure we know we went to bed with the garage door still open.)

47. My house. #45 lets you know that my house isn't new by any stretch. The kitchen is dated and the design is...well, right out of the early 70's, I guess. A perfect representation of "rambler." (Read: we have an enormously long hall connecting all the bedrooms.) I often wish I could move so we could have the perfect house (we know exactly what we'd do if the economy would allow it!), but since I won't be going anywhere anytime soon, I'm going to be grateful for the house I have. Since we started building just before the great big building boom happened here, our payment is really pretty reasonable. Everything is finished (basement, fence, yard) and a few things are renovated (ok, just the floors). But the best thing is the memories it holds. They built up, layer upon layer, in all the rooms. If I ever do get to move, that is what I will mourn leaving behind—the images connected to my home.

48. Living by the mountains. When we got out of the car yesterday to go to church, Haley said "Mom! It's cold! Why do we live here?" and while I am not crazy about the cold, I am grateful to live in Utah by the mountains. I love having seasons and watching Timp change with them. I love that if I want to go hiking, I can be on a trail 15 minutes after leaving my house. I love that the mountains have become a thing I have a relationship with. Despite the cold, and the hot summers, and the constant worry over water, I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.

49. Online friendships. I don't respond to comments left on my blog as often as I want to. This isn't out of a lack of affection but a lack of time and organization. But! I am so grateful for every. single. comment I get on my blog. I'm grateful for the friends I've made through blogging, even if I haven't met them in person yet. I've cried, cheered, happy-danced, shook my head in agreement, and responded in kind to so many good people. This technology makes my life better (even if I do spend too much time on it!)

50. The gospel. OK, I know: I started out wanting to count the little things I'm grateful for. But when I look back on this list, that sort of got away from me. None of these are little things, and so the gospel must also be included. I know my relationship with it is often convoluted. I make so many mistakes and fall short so often. I sometimes feel like my past will never allow me to really feel comfortable living the gospel—sometimes it feels like a shirt instead of my own skin. But there's this: I know it is true and I know it has blessed me. I know that giving up my rebellious ways (as much as I can) and trying to live a better life has helped me have a, well—a better life. Who would I be without it?

So there it is—my list of fifty things I'm grateful for. It took me longer than I thought, but only because I tend to get wordy. And here's a challenge: before December starts, try writing your own list. It doesn't have to be wordy—just a list. Link me up if you write one!

Last night was Nathan's Grandma Dinner. This used to be called the Grandparents Dinner, and it has been a birthday tradition since Haley was two. Now that we don't have any grandpas with us, we have just the two grandmas come for dinner to celebrate a birthday. The birthday kid gets to pick out exactly what he (or she!) wants for the meal, including, of course, the cake.

For dinner, Nathan really wanted my homemade chicken nuggets. I happily obliged but I had forgotten how long they take. The meal ended up being served in chapters, as I forgot to make the gravy for the mashed potatoes and had to wait until one pan was free of nuggets before I could whip it up. I spaced turning the burner on under the carrots, so they were late, too. Everyone sat down to eat garlic breadsticks, naked mashed potatoes, jello, and the first round of nuggets while I frantically cooked the rest of the meal.

When it comes to big dinners, I really suck at the timing.

But you know what I don't suck at? Cakes. Any dessert, really. They are sort of my specialty. They don't always look perfect, but they taste good. Mostly this is me standing on the shoulders of dessert giants (meaning: I read a lot of recipe books) but I have two secrets for extraordinary cakes.

1. Prepare your pans with sugar instead of flour. So: butter the pan, then add a little extra spritz of Pam just in case you missed any spots. Then, dust the buttery pan with sugar instead of the traditional flour. This way you avoid that icky, white crust on the edges. Instead, you end up with a slightly-crispy, sugary edge. (The cake will still slide right out of the pans.)

2.  One-and-one-half times your recipe. I do this almost every time I make a layer cake: increase the ingredients by one half. (So, for example, if the recipe calls for 4 eggs, use six. Just make sure to 1.5x ALL the ingredients!) This makes your layer cake taller and it feeds more, too. It does take more time to bake this way. Start by adding five minutes to the recipe's time, and start checking it. (The time increase seems to vary depending on the ingredients in the cake.)

Even though I was just cooking for my family, my mom, and my mother-in-law, my ineptitude at timing the meal right was embarrassing to me. But it's amazing how eptitude with cake overcomes all my other ineptitudes.

(Nathan with the carrot cake he always requests; the 2 candle looks weird because it tipped over into the "happy" blue frosting.)

The cake's the best part of the birthday party anyway, right?

Do you have any baking/cooking secrets?

It's weird. I always have ideas for blog posts knocking around in my head. Probably only 65% of them actually ever get written, mostly because of time and lack of focus and insecurity.

But right now? Right now I have zero ideas for any blog posts. Not even Becky's recent beautiful gratitude posts have inspired me. I'm trying to blame it on the post-marathon buzz kill, which I've previously only read about. After all that focus and training, the race comes and goes and then whammo: what are you focused on now? I'm not running enough and my face is starting to look chubby and I'm severely afraid of stepping on the scale to see if the entire TWO POUNDS I lost while training have come back.

I'm pretty sure they have.

I always wonder at people who don't blog consistently. Not that I'm judging at all. I just wonder how they cope without the swirl and rush and startle of writing often. But here I am: it's been a week since I last blogged. And it sort of terrifies me. What if all my words are gone? What if, along with increasing wrinkles and the inability to lose weight and that pesky reoccurring chin hair—what if one of the symptoms of getting close to forty is a loss of my writing jouissance? I couldn't stand it.

So I'm sticking by my post-marathon buzz kill theory. Or blaming it on November and its associated, mounting Christmas pressures. Or just hoping it will go away soon.

But I really don't know what's wrong with me. What's wrong with you?

One of my favorite essays in the fabulous book To Be a Runner by Martin Dugard (booknote forthcoming!) discusses the joys and terrors of running on mountain trails. The author writes about avoiding trails where mountain lions have been spotted, but only until he manages to "convince myself that the threat is no more or at least reduced." In his running grounds (California), the threat of wildlife on mountain trails is greater than it is here, yet he still does most of his running on trails. Why? "When I'm on the trails, my mind is free. The absolute quiet is a haven . . . Being in nature challenges me, fills me with a sense of adventure, and makes me whole. . . Nagging riddles and problems have a way of uncomplicating themselves. . . [and] because the hardest packed dirt is always softer than pavement, the scent of sage and licorice beats breathing exhaust any day of the week, and once in every great while, I witness some natural marvel that makes me high with wonder."

I included that long (but greatly shortened) quote because I respond to the entire thing. Those are the reasons I love running in the mountains along trails, too. Here's why I don't do it more often:

Fear.

Unlike Martin Dugard, I'm not especially fearful of wildlife. Of course, there is the possibility of coming across a mountain lion or a bear. But they are so rare now in our suburbanized foothills. A moose or two is more likely, or a rattlesnake. Squirrels, certainly. But what scares me more than coyotes, bobcats, or wolves are the human predators.

Last spring, a woman runner was raped and beaten on the lower section of one of the trails I run on often, the Provo River Parkway. This is a paved trail with plenty of traffic. Enough traffic, in fact, to cause controversy. (It's all the long boarders fault.) But she still had this horrific experience, on a section of the trail that runs close to a neighborhood, apartments, and a park. The fact that her rapist was a convict from the state prison who'd escaped while on work detail did not make me feel better about running there; neither did his quick capture (he was later sentenced to life in prison. Hopefully this doesn't include work details). I didn't run on that section of the trail for more than a year, and I avoided the entire trail almost all last summer.

There are three different trail systems within a five mile drive of my house. I long to run along them. I have, in fact, done so a couple of times. But not as often as I wish. And not because I am afraid of cougars; I'm afraid of being vulnerable to the attack of a deranged person. So I take the safe route. I run in neighborhoods or on the paved and crowded river trail, nearly content with my safety but still feeling the tug toward wilder country. I don't like that I let my fear determine my path. And honestly, I don't know if it is a rational fear or one flamed by watching TV shows like CSI.

Two weeks ago, though, I went running in the mountains anyway. The leaves are past their red peak, but I wanted to be outside one more time in their chilly fire. I needed to get a good long downhill run in before the half marathon I was running the next weekend. And I craved the casting off of fear. So I had Kendell drive me to the top of Squaw Peak Road, and then I ran home.

As we drove up the mountain, we talked—about the kids, and Kaleb's upcoming appointment with the heart doctor, and who needs new shoes soon (Jake and Kaleb), and the advisability of my plan. Kendell wasn't so certain I would be safe. But, despite my usual pre-long-run nerves, I felt confident that I would be OK. Certain to not let fear overtake me. When we were about three-quarters of the way to the top, two Subarus passed us going down. In each car was a man wearing a helmet. We both laughed a little at how odd that was—why the helmet? But it left an impression on me. Their helmets were nearly identical and I imagined they were friends, doing some sort of mountain-esque something. Something that involved helmets. Those were the only cars we saw, though, until we got to the top of the road.

The road ends in a parking lot. There is a trail head there that will lead you to the actual Squaw Peak (this is the short route I've never taken) but most of the traffic there comes at night as the view is incredible. (Also it is a good spot for making out with your boyfriend I have heard.) There was one lone, black truck, empty, in the parking lot. Kendell asked me one more time if I was sure—and I was. I wanted to run that scenery. I hopped out of the car and then he trailed me for awhile, talking and joking, before he had to speed off to work. Not four minutes after he left, one of the Subarus passed me, this time going up and with both passengers. This made me twinge just a little. Why were they coming up the road again? Why were they still wearing their helmets? Was there malice in their intent? What did they think of the sight of my solitary run? (Kendell also saw the Subaru. It stressed him out enough that he stopped at the bottom and took a photo of the other Subaru's license plate number, just in case.) But I went with my courage and my gut feeling that I would be OK. I went with my desire to fly down the mountain, surrounded by autumn, to find that quiet rightness that only exists away from suburbia.

Of course, running on SPR isn't exactly trail running. It's a paved road. But it's windy and narrow and steep. And beautiful. Even now, at the end of the fall leaf season, the landscape is still stunning, with dusty yellow and faded red and even a few orange spots left. There were no mountain lions, bears, wolves, or rattlesnakes to be found, although I did startle a large tidings of magpies away from something they were eating (I didn't stop to investigate). It was chilly, but as the road wound around the mountain's curves, I'd find myself in captured pools of warm air. These dissipated when I rounded another curve, the warmth blown away by wind, so that I was exposed to seemingly every possibility of temperature. I watched the trees and mountains in front of me and relaxed into the downhill, letting my legs go as fast as they wanted.

When I was about halfway down, I started hearing a strange, humming rattle coming from behind me. It sounded vaguely familiar but I couldn't place it. And then, just as I rounded a curve, something low and fast shot past me—something wearing a slick, aerodynamic teal-and-grey suit. Something burnished by speed. 

Something wearing a helmet.

Now the puzzle was solved: the men in the two cars going down, one going up? They wanted to fly down the mountain, too. On their long boards their flying was remarkably faster than mine. I had a clear shot of that first speeding human; I watched him hurtle down the straightaway, then take a curve with precision before disappearing into the trees. He reappeared a few seconds later on the switchback below me. Then, ten minutes later—I assume they timed this so they didn't run into each other—his friend catapulted past me. They were each a dynamic composition, something made of technical fabrics and slick wheels and a seemingly complete lack of fear.

That realization hit me like a sound wave: did they lack fear? Or were they winging down the canyon with their spines mere inches from the blacktop not out of courage but out of the desire to feel the fear—and do it anyway? They had to be terrified of hurting themselves. Yet the exhilaration overcame the fear.

Only the first five miles of my last long run were in that steep canyon. That left me seven more to think about my experience. I loved running down the canyon for the sheer fact of running down the canyon. It's a steep, swift descent and its Alpine beauty is a panacea. But I also loved that I ran it despite being afraid—that the exhilaration and the quest for quiet nature was stronger than my fear of rapists. It is a feeling I want to hold on to through the long winter (SPR has since been snowed on twice and will soon be impassible to anything other than a four-wheel drive, if that) until the spring when I hope I will be brave enough to stride out into the wilderness around me.

Maybe I'll even be lucky enough to see some wildlife.

I had lots and lots of big plans for the month of October. I was going to make a new Halloween quilt. (Check! I accomplished this!) I was going to run my marathon (did it!) I was going to continue running a lot (not really...but sort of. Between my October 8 marathon and my October 29th half marathon, I ran four times. One of those was 12 miles, but still.) I was going to do a big cluster of scrapbook pages to get all the photos from Halloween over the past five-ish years matched up with their stories. (That quilt took me way longer than I expected, so I only got as far as processing and printing the pictures. Oh, and buying a few Halloween-ish supplies. I'm starting my scrapbook cluster today instead.) (If you want to see the layouts I did make this month, you can check them out here. The one about my Dr. Martens is one of my newest most-favorite-ever layouts.) I was going to polish and submit one essay. (Barely got started with the rough draft.) I was going to spend more time with my kids (I sort-of accomplished this. We missed the pumpkin patch, but we did decorate sugar cookies together, do a photo shoot, and carve pumpkins. And I also made sure I got one-on-one time with everyone.)

What I certainly, 100% accomplished is the fact that we ate macaroni and cheese. Several times. And not even the good homemade kind, but Kraft. This was never a goal of mine, but Target was selling Halloween macaroni and cheese—the noodles were shaped like witches, ghosts, and jack-o-lanterns—and I could not resist buying it. Several times. I don’t feel entirely good about feeding my kids the day-glo orange "food" but every once in a while has to be OK, right? And, a perk of having boys: we went through the ten (OK, 15) boxes I purchased very quickly. That happens when Jake and Nathan can each polish off a box all on their own.

One of my favorite days in October was the one before my marathon. We got our kids situated with various responsible adults in charge and then Kendell and I left. Overnight. We didn’t really do anything exciting—there wasn’t even a movie we wanted to see. We did go to the Home Show, which is a convention with, obviously, home-related stuff in it. As all of our home-remodeling energy is gone (as well as our home-remodeling savings!), this wasn’t thrilling, but it was still fun if that makes sense. (Thanks for the tickets Steve!) We went out to dinner, then drove to Layton. Checked out the race finish line, wandered around Walmart, and then went back to our hotel. It was just really, really nice to be away as just a couple, even without doing anything exciting.

Kendell was busy with Brainshare this month, which is the conference his employer Novell does every year. He had to do a presentation this year, which he wasn't happy about, but I am certain he did a great job! The kids look forward to Brainshare every year because of the spiffs, but this year? Totally disappointing. I think he might have brought home some pens and a handful of hard candy. (Nothing like the year when one booth had balls shaped like brains. Those were awesome!)

One of my favorite days this month was with Nathan. He and I went outside one warm afternoon to work in the flowerbeds. Our goal was to get all the nearly-dead leaves trimmed out of my patch of hostas. As we worked together, we talked about all sorts of things. Nothing earth-shattering, but it was a sweet, good moment I imagine will work as a touchstone in the future.

October brought the end of the first term for Haley and Jake. It was interesting to watch as Jake made sure he got straight As—talking to teachers, doing a bit of extra credit, retaking a test or two. I am grateful he’s making the effort to keep his grades up without me having to spearhead the entire endeavor.

Jake also remembered that he loves going to the skating rink. As he is in 8^th grade this seems entirely appropriate to me! He went several times with groups of friends. Two of his new friends are girls, and while he keeps reassuring me that he doesn’t like them "that way," I still wish I could don an invisibility cloak to keep track of these interactions. Jake is teaching me (has always taught me this, really, as the oldest boy in my family) just how differently things work with sons. I worry about different things with him than I did when Haley was the same age. Part of this is, surely, his personality. But it’s also boys. I hope (and pray! Often!) that I am steering him the right way.

Haley was also swamped with end-of-term schoolwork. She read 1984 in two days and brought up all her grades. She ended up with two A-s and the rest As. She’s taking hard classes so that is incredible! The best thing was her physics class, which has been really hard for her, but she managed to pull out an A. Again...this has been interesting. This year is the first year she’s really been pushed by her classes and had to struggle a little bit. I think it’s been good for her to see what she is capable of but also to realize that it isn’t always easy.

She and I also went to a program that the three high schools here put together every year for juniors. We learned about different scholarship options and then talked to some of the local colleges. I’m so happy she is ambitious and wants to continue with her education!

Kaleb’s focus all month has been drawing and writing. He’s still in the cute-spelling phase which I love! He likes to sit down and make books; he draws the pictures and then spells out the words as best as he can. These are always done in secret, with much "Mom! Don’t look!"ing, and then he gives me the book with much fanfare. I love, love reading these and seeing him progress. How can drawings like this one:

 (made just last night while procrastinating getting to bed) not make any mom happy? That is him and me outside picking flowers while it was still warm. He folded it up like a card (only backward, so it opens left to right instead of right to left); on the front is a robot and on the back is a "triangle pattern" and the words "t end." I finally broke down and got over thinking how cute that spelling of "the end" is and taught him the correct way. When he understood, he laughed and said "I always thought that word was T."

This specific October—2011—is one I have thought about for a long, long time. I hate it when people are vague and mysterious on their blogs (I like specific and detailed), but allow me to be vague and mysterious for a few sentences. The 29^th marked an anniversary of sorts, a momentous one, of an experience I had two decades and a bit ago. I don’t know if this will influence my future. I am terrified that it will and terrified that it won’t. I am not who I thought I would be when I imagined myself, 21 years ago, on this October 29^th, and the disparity between what I imagined and what I really am is what terrifies me. This topic will continue to be in my thoughts.

Make sure you write down some of your own October 2011 details!

Right now, my house looks like Halloween exploded. Kaleb got halfway through sorting his candy before getting tired, so there's candy spread all over the front room floor. There are piles of discarded costumes here and there. And every. single. one. of the donuts are gone (even the one I was saving for myself although, alas, someone else ate it; my donut appetite is annoyed but my belly fat is not).

I need to deHalloween.

Instead I'm trying to clean up the computer room, which has been the scene of all my Halloween sewing. First the quilt, then two costumes. Toss in the few scrapbook layouts I managed to make this month, Kaleb's piles of crayons, markers, and pens (he's been on a drawing spree lately), and the bag of new supplies I bought at Archivers (who had an actual SALE...I don't think I've everbeen to a sale at Archivers before last Friday), and yeah: this room is getting my attention first.

Still, a photo I love from last night's activities:

Haley was a leopard. She and I shared a costume this year, which turned out just fine since I needed the leopard parts on Saturday the 29th. (Note to self: Although I referred to myself as a cheetah, it really was a leopard.)

Jake gave me a last-minute costume meltdown. Sort of. He told me that he wanted one of those "this IS my costume" Halloween t-shirts. I assumed that meant he wanted to wear it as his costume. Then, the day before Halloween, he was like, "Mom! I don't have a costume!" and I was like "what do you mean, you have your cool t-shirt!" and he was all "but I can't wear that for trick or treating!" so I was in a panic to find him a cool, non-stupid, teenage-boy-appropriate costume. ON HALLOWEEN DAY. Haley suggested he be Frankenstein's monster, which really would only require a trip to the Halloween store for make up and then a trip to the thrift store for a suit jacket. Luck was on my side, though, as I found this Frankenstein's monster-esque costume at the Halloween store, on sale, so I didn't even have to go to the thrift store. Add some hand-drawn stitches and he was good!

Nathan was sort of unenthusiastic about Halloween in general this year. He wanted to wear the same cloak he wore last year but didn't want to be Aragorn again. He came up with the idea of being Robin Hood. Easy enough! I sewed his tunic and his hat. (I used this brilliant hat pattern to make the hat; I only had to cut out and re-sew three different times before I figured it out, but it still turned out great I think.) Adding to his Halloween letdown are the facts that his friend from school couldn't come over and the kids from the neighborhood didn't include him in their plans. Plus, in a horrible Bad Mother Moment, I failed at procuring a bow and arrow set from the dollar store for him. I don't think it was his favorite Halloween ever.

After much discussion, Kaleb decided to be a pirate. Actually...much discussion happened, and then *I* decided he would be a pirate because the pirate costume pattern was on sale at the fabric store for just $1. I finished his vest about a week ago and he wore it as often as he remembered to. At first I was sort of antsy about this, because I didn't want anything to happen to it. Then I decided it didn't matter. He could be a bedraggled pirate if worse came to worst. And nothing did happen, until last night when he was running in to eat dinner (pizza of course!) and he fell, scraped off the entire top half of a fingernail, and tore a hole in his pants. (You know...the pants I finished sewing late Sunday night, after the church Halloween party; another Mom Fail.) He was crying so hard over his fingernail and broken pirate gun, and terrified that he'd have to go to the hospital for stitches instead of going trick or treating, that he didn't even notice the hole in his pants. It's always good to look on the bright side!

How did YOUR Halloween costuming go?