What's in a Family?

My cute niece, Josie, at my sister Ashley's reception.

I spent an excellent weekend in Las Vegas. My siste who got married a few weeks ago had her reception. It was a really lovely affair. I got to spend some good quality time with Chris. It was great. Jinny and Kimball were kind enough to host us, and it was great to get to spend some more time with them and catch up. Jinny really is one of the best friends I have/have ever had, and also has the biggest heart. You know you've got a great friend when, after being around them, you want to be a better person and have faith that you can be better. Jinny is just that kind of friend.

I don't know if it's that I'm older or married or what, but I feel like every time I go home it gets better. I feel less like I'm slipping through the cracks—and never like I want to. I used to feel that way around my huge family; I could only handle so much of them, and after a while I would drift off to my room to hole up and read. I remember feeling like I didn't have a place in a family so full of people.

But now I love every minute of being around them. Things get easier with all of my siblings and my parents. Not that it was ever very hard, because my family is AMAZING and we all get along and are very close. Maybe my family treats me more like an adult, or maybe I just am more adult—more grown up and in a better place. But still, it's a great feeling. They are amazing people, all very different, but all full of hope and love and charity. I'm so blessed to have them in my life and to be a part of such a great fam.

Also, it's getting so lovely out. There are tulips along our walkway. Freakin' tulips! Those don't grow in Vegas, and were sort of rare even in Rexburg. I am loving spring time.

Chris got accepted to an Interactive Media program at Elon in NC. He's really excited about it, and I'm proud of him. We'll be spending the next few months preparing/scraping money together to go. Everyone I've talked to has said the NC is really green, even if the people there can be blatantly racist. It'll be an adventure.

A Case of Wanderlust.

Today Chris and I were watching The Brothers Bloom again. During the scene where Bloom steals an apple, Chris said, "That park is awesome."

"You've been there?" I asked.

"Yea, I've been there."

"Where is it?" I asked.

"It's in Prague." Which would make sense, as that's where this particular section of the movie is set.

I paused. Repeated in my head: Prague. "I want to go to Prague."

Image courtesy of here.

To be honest, I didn't even know what country the city is in. Google has since informed me that Prague is the capital city of the Czech Republic. But my initial ignorance of Prague's location has only reaffirmed this fact to me: I need to see the world.

The onset of my wanderlust has been a recent thing. In my younger years, I wasn't that interested in the world. And in many ways, I think I was afraid of what I would see.

When I was fourteen, my family flew out to Chicago. I remember visiting the Art Institute of Chicago, posing next one of the towering lion statues out front, majestic even though they were crusted green with oxidization. We visited Buckingham Memorial Fountain at night, watched it light up spectacularly with different colors.

I don't remember being that impressed. I liked it OK, but growing up in Vegas, you get used to spectacles. Vegas has an Eiffel Tower, a Statue of Liberty, a volcano, a bi-hourly pirate attack; and artificial as all these things may be, they still manage to cheapen the overall effect of the originals.

I was impressed, however, by the bums.

Maybe it was because I didn't spend much time in downtown Las Vegas, but it seemed that the Windy City had more than its fair share of the homeless.

Homeless people in Vegas are often charming, will chat you up. They look tan and leathered. They say, "God bless you. Now you have a good day, now," when you give them some money. They might thank you by doing a dance. They hold signs that say things like: "Father killed by ninjas. Need $$$ for karate lessons." Maybe most of the time they are just too blitzed out of their minds to appear that sad.

But in Chicago, not only were the homeless more numerous, they were more pitiable as well.

Bums there sat in wheelchairs, one leg or even both clearly missing. Some leaned against walls, or huddled over, knees to chest, one hand holding a cup that they slowly clinked from side to side. They were everywhere, and they looked so openly dejected, and it frightened me. I wanted to give money to enough of the homeless people we passed on the street that my dad finally told me to cut it out, that at this rate we would never get anywhere.

But the whole thing was uncomfortable to me. I remember that whole trip as being overshadowed by a greater realization that the world was a bit uglier than I had previously thought.

Then, the summer after I graduated from high school, I made a trip to Boston and New York with my brother Brandon, his wife, and my younger sister. Before going, I was apprehensive of visiting another big city.

To my surprise, however, I loved the city. I loved its life, its ceaseless pace.

I loved when it surprised me, with its sheer size, the endless number of people packed onto each street, the delicious food. One night we headed back to our hotel after midnight, after going to the jazz club, Birdland. I don't know why, but I was surprised to find the subway car empty but for us; tired and slaphappy, I did a Russian-style jig around the car.

I think I was afraid, at one time, of seeing the world, of facing the reality of it.

But now, I see: the world guarantees I will be surprised, but I am the one who decides if it's good, or if it is bad; if it is beautiful, or if it is ugly.

I want to see the world.

I want to be surprised.

Now, around people like Chris who have been all over Europe or spent months at a time living outside the United States, I am envious. But I am hopeful. I'll get my turn.

A Week Home for the Holiday (pt. 3)

V. Wednesday

Eyes level with the table, I poured a layer of the syrup over ice. Flavored blood orange, I had been eyeing the sweet liquid since my mother had placed the brand-new bottle on the table. I mixed in some mango syrup next, then cream, and finally filled the rest of the glass with sparkling water.

It was a girls’ night in, and the others at the kitchen table were also busy concocting their own Italian cream sodas. I tasted mine, and encouraged Aunt Lara to try the blood orange. Janelle, on my right, was mixing a piña colada. Ashley was there, with Robert’s sister, Alycia. Mom was there, and Karalee, as well.

With a six to one ratio of sisters to our only brother, it used to be that most nights in our home were girls’ nights. Karalee loved to bake cookies; to this day, she still makes the meanest chocolate chip I’ve tasted. Ashley would help, but mostly chat. Janelle often would be there with her son Byron, then just a baby, now a rambunctious six-year-old. She might have sat at the table, spooning cooked and mashed carrots into his mouth.

Brittany and I would have hung around, basking in the self-assurance that our older sisters so embodied, glad no one had felt the need to invite friends, which would have precluded our inclusion. We might have painted fingernails as we waited for the cookies to bake, or watched our favorite moments from the BBC version of Pride & Prejudice (which meant skipping over the whole Lydia mess, and replaying several times the moment when Mr. Darcy emerges, dripping and delicious, from the pond at Pemberley).

Now, girls’ nights were a slightly more formal affair. We made Italian cream sodas and had cheese ball and crackers. Pedicures may have been planned and mentioned once or twice, but the talking goes on for too long and they never happen.

I was on my second soda, a pina colada. I offered it up, stating that even though I didn’t wish to finish it, it was still very good; everyone laughed.

“No, really,” I asserted, “It’s delicious. I’ve just had too much sugar tonight. I’m just starting to hit my gag reflex, which means I’m done.” More laughter.

The cream settled in a milky haze in my half-empty glass.

I basked.

VI. Thursday: Thanksgiving

I dumped puzzle pieces onto the golden tablecloth. As I started to collect the edge pieces, I realized my mistake in picking this particular puzzle. It was a photograph of Arches National Park, an arch that is bright, rich orange. The edges, however, are made up of a speckled but homogenous cream-colored frame.

I sighed, and started to sort through the pieces, forming piles: edges, pieces where the border and the photograph meet, brilliant blues of the sky, the white and blue pieces of sky with cloud, bright orange of the smooth sandstone foreground, and the deeper reddish-brown of the background.

Janelle joined me after a few moments; she had given me the task of picking out a puzzle and starting it. Puzzle assembly is another holiday tradition in the Squires home. Actually finishing those puzzles, however, is not.

The house was fairly quiet. Thanksgiving dinner had come and gone in the early afternoon, and now it was evening. Loony Tunes played on the TV. I could hear Mom and Ashley talking and dishing up leftovers in the kitchen.

We assembled the outer rectangle, slowly and laboriously. Janelle talked to me, asked me about dating. I told her about a guy I like, but already messed up a chance with. She listened, offered advice, and all the time, the pieces fell into place.

A Week Home for the Holiday (pt. 2)

III. Monday

Jenny had planned this outing at least a month in advance, a date between her, her recently acquired boyfriend Chris, and me.

I sat in the backseat, slurping on the eggnog shake that I ordered, even though I knew I wouldn’t finish the whole thing by myself. We had eaten dinner at an Italian restaurant, and now Chris was driving with Jenny in the passenger seat; I watched them interact.

It was easy enough to see that Chris adored Jenny. He deferred to her in almost everything, an attribute I’m sure my bossy friend didn’t mind. He seemed aware of her, picking up on the fact that she doesn’t really like PDA, or that she hates having her face touched; the small things that matter, things that I know only because we have been friends for so long.

I considered my position in the car, and laughed inwardly. It was somewhat appropriate. Over the years, as boys had come and go for both Jenny and me, it was consistently the case that when Jenny had a boyfriend, I took backseat.

I dragged on the straw, feeling bored. Chris and Jenny were chatting, bantering within the dynamics already created in their relationship, a dynamic I couldn’t quite match. The spiced sweetness of the cold shake felt too heavy, too thick as my esophagus constricted the liquid downward.

“That was at the same time that you were dating Jamie, right?” Jenny addressed me. I hadn’t been listening; I had no idea what she would be referring to.

“Uuuh, yea, I’m pretty sure,” I replied in a bright voice. Facts satisfactorily verified, she carried on with her story.

IV. Tuesday

At the grocery store, I called my mother. She relayed to me the list of what she’d sent me there to pick up:

“–8 bags of lemons—you know, the ones that come with 3 lemons in a little mesh bag.

–6 bags of oranges, I’m pretty sure these come in a red bag. . . .

–A loaf of bread, whatever looks good will be fine, and

–a gallon of milk. Pretty sure that’s it.”

I snagged the groceries, the citrus fruits weighing down the shopping basket on my right arm. By the time I checked out and make it to the car, my biceps were shaky from holding the burden up.

I piled the groceries onto the corner of the counter at home; Mom stood by the sink and looked as if she had been at this for to long. She was in the midst of the annual season tradition in my family, one that has been so central to my life that I couldn’t imagine a holiday season without it: making cranberry ice.

On the stove sat a large steaming stockpot. I knew what would be in it even before walking over, but I did anyway. I peered inside and breathed in deeply. It smelled tangy and thick. Cranberries winked in the bubbling water; some had already burst open, others were still firm and bright.

My mom ordered me to add sugar to the bowl sitting next to the stove. It held a soupy goop, a runny mush that was a deep burgundy pink, a magenta perhaps. I measured out the sugar, counting to eight aloud to ensure I got the amount correct. I followed Mom’s further directions to add water. Then she got busy, slicing oranges and lemons in half and juicing them with quick, deft movements.

As we worked, Taryn wandered into the kitchen. Two years old, she has an inquisitive, round face, and large eyes that sit under fast, dark eyebrows. She has often reminded me of baby pictures of myself, with the cherub face that still manages to look determined and focused. And in many ways, I am told, she acts like I might have as a young child. We share intense, curious dispositions.

And just then, Taryn was curious to know what Mom was up to.

“Nonni, want see,” she demanded, reaching her arm up to point at the juicer on the counter. My mother obliged her and set her on the counter to observe and assist in the process. Taryn swung her legs, clunking them against the wooden cupboards. The boiled cranberries and juiced citrus produced a heady mix of rich and fresh.

As I watched my mother instructing her granddaughter on the art of juicing, I felt certain she had once spoken to me in the same, affectionate way. I can’t quite conjure up the frame of time, or memory, but she must have once swung me up, seated me on the counter, and let me watch her work.

Somewhere in my memory I am studying her hands; one holds a sieve with boiled cranberries in it, the other works to mash them against the metal mesh. I am a young girl, perhaps four, or maybe an overlay of several ages. But I watch the innards of the cranberries, in consistency somewhere between goopy and syrupy. It creates a ghastly drip into a large metal bowl, looking like so much vivid blood. After a while, I am given a turn. I mash with inefficient vigor. When the cranberries in the sieve are sufficiently turned to a pulp, I turn the spoon around and scrape the velvet-rich cranberry pulp from rounded underside of the sieve and into the bowl.

In the present with her granddaughter, my mother poured the juice into the bowl. Taryn let out an awed, “Ooooh!” These were the last few ingredients.

Soon, the liquids would be mixed together and then separated into Tupperware containers and old cottage cheese tubs saved especially for this purpose. They would be sent to the freezer to sit, then retrieved again, hardened, to be added to lemon-lime soda. And on some future night, the family would gather and eat, talk, visit, laugh, and drink this treat--carrying on in the same vein of tradition it was made.

CNF Piece: A Week Home for the Holiday (pt.1)

I. Saturday

My mother hugged me warmly, despite my ten-hour road trip from college to Las Vegas that had left me tired andgrimy. As she made to release me from her embrace, I tightened mine.

She smelled clean, like laundry detergent tinged with a faint chemical trace of cleaner, possibly Simple Green or Windex. She was comfortable, familiar in the way the skin on her upper arms felt slightly dry when my hand brushed them, and how she tucked her chin over my shoulder.

I released her; leaving one arm around my shoulders, she said in a calm, even tone, “I’m so excited to see you.”

“Oh, yea, and don’t you seem so excited,” I said.

“What were you looking for, something more like this?” She clapped her hands together and then threw them up with a dramatic shriek and a wide-eyed, manic expression of faux-delight. She let out a genuine laugh then at the sheer silliness of it—such an overwrought contrast to her perpetual poise and reserve.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” I said in a mischievous tone. We both know she is not the type of mother that insists on hugs and kisses. She doesn’t fly at me with barrages of questions or smother with attention.

No, she is the kind of mother who waited, instead, with a reassuring smile, a quick hug, a simple but constant welcome home.



II. Sunday

Siblings, brothers-in-law, an aunt and uncle, cousins, nieces and nephews poured in for the first family gathering of the week that I would be home for the Thanksgiving holiday. The fare of the dinner looked like something from a poolside barbecue, almost comically incongruous to the holiday season: pulled pork sandwiches, my mom’s famous potato salad, and fresh spring salad loaded with grape tomatoes and avocadoes.

I loaded up what I would eat, skipping the pulled pork. I laughed inwardly; Janelle had apologized earlier for bringing a main dish that was so meat-centric. “I still always forget you’re a vegetarian now.” It was amusing to me, but oddly relieving that no one had over-accommodated me.

We ate, and as the food on our plates disappeared, the talk grew loud and the children ran screaming and exuberant up and down the length of the house.

Eventually, we gathered in the family room, sleepily filling in pulled-up dining chairs, the couch, the love seat. I shared a wide lumpy armchair upholstered with an earthy-colored, nubby cloth with my close friend of five years. Jenny has become as much a fixture at family gatherings as any of us.

The room quieted as Ashley began to speak, thoughts on gratitude that she had prepared. Her voice was clear and high, a voice that mine resembles. We are blood; she is the fifth child, preceding my position as the sixth, and four years my senior. She has been married for over three years, and her husband Robert sat next to her now, gripping her hand.

She spoke of experiences that the rest of us only half-knew: hospital stays, radiation and chemotherapy treatments, intensive care units, weakened immune system and bone marrow transplants. She spoke of what the months watching, waiting, serving, holding out faith for a leukemic husband had done to her soul, and what it had done for it. Sometimes wavering, she spoke of prayers proffered in despair, others in hope, of hearts aching, but also hearts healing. Her voice coagulated on those words that rose from a place that is an opening to both pain and peace.

“A grateful heart is the beginning of greatness,” she said.

Jenny placed her hand on my arm. I looked around the room at my family. My niece Taryn sat on the floor where she had busied herself pulling tissues from the box. I noticed Dad scoot his chair closer to Mom, then extend his arm across her shoulders, saw the way she settled into that elbow crook that she must know so well.

I had all the beginnings of greatness right there.

This is the first installment of a creative non-fiction piece I wrote (and still finishing) that is a memory from each day I was home for the Thanksgiving holidays. The rest will follow.

time flies on...

So I think it's starting to really sink in that I have a pretty limited amount of time left at home. I am sad about this in a lot of ways, but mostly I just feel a motivation to kick it in gear and get all the family-loving and free-time-hugging in that I can.

I am really excited about going back up to school, though. I have been thinking about it, and I have been getting a feeling that there is something I'm meant to be doing in Rexburg. Not that I would necessarily be the president of anything, but I definitely want to be more involved. I want to start a mini-company with Tess maybe, based around handmaking, refurbishing, and upcycling, and selling the awesome stuff we make. We have also talked about putting out a monthly zine.
In any case, I'm not sure exactly what my contribution will look like, but I am pretty sure it will involve writing. I'd like it to, anyway. I do have a lot of ideas; I suppose I will just have to see which pan out.

And just a reminder, in case you needed it (I know I have): God is mindful of you. And he loves you. Like, a ton.
That warm feeling you have?
Means it's true.

Until next time, much love.

ps: if you have any cool ideas, I need a name for my company/zine. leave a comment with suggestions! leave one, really. even if it's totally silly. it is needful for you to do this. now!

Besties.

As many in my family know, my good friend Jinny has recently started attending church and taking the missionary discussions. She had been talking for a while about finding out more about our church (I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, i.e. LDS or Mormon), and so I invited her to attend with me probably four weeks ago. She really enjoyed it! Everyone in my singles ward was really friendly. She particularly like the Sunday School lesson, which was on Faith in Jesus Christ. She has attended church with me every Sunday since, and Thursday she had her second discussion with the missionaries. She has started reading the Book of Mormon, and has felt the Spirit very strongly.

I really love Jinny. She has been an example to me for all of the four years we have been friends. She has always been very strong, loving, and generous. It has been exciting to see her faith increased, and her heart opened. It makes me so happy to see the truths that bring me joy in my life bring joy to her, as well. To see her remembering things she once knew. She has had two missionary discussions so far, and have a third next Tuesday. She really loves them. I also, have loved being their with her on this journey, to be reminded of truths, and to remember my faith, as well. As I have been with her and supported her, I have noticed that my perspective, especially spiritually, has been renewed, and my excitement about God and my relationship with Him revitalized. It has been fun, touching, and awesome. She is an amazing person, and such a great friend. We have shared a lot in the time we've been friends, and I know we'll share much more in years to come. I love her!

Jinny and me at Ashley and Robert's wedding reception.

Yesterday, I went over to Karalee's early in the morning (though not as early as originally planned--oops!), and we did yoga! Well, I did yoga, and she managed to squeeze in a couple poses before her two kids put an end to all of that. Tyler is adorable, and I love that every time she sees my she runs over and gives me a hug. She always so happy when I come over. It warms this Aunt's heart!
I also accompanied them (along with Brittany, Janelle and her two chilluns, and Ashley) to Linens'N'Things. It is closing down so they were having a big sale. I got some sheets, a rug, a mattress cover, and a throw pillow for my room when I go back up to school. Byron and Tyler were hilarious, they had these little vibrating, handheld massagers, and were running around the store with them. Byron was sure this device had to do somethign more than simply massage; so he pressed it against his chest and yell, "I'M INVIS'BLE!! YOU CAN'T SEE ME I'M INVIS'BLE!!!" We all humored him and played along with, "My goodness, where did Byron go???" and "Don't know, I can't see him anywhere!!!" Tyler didn't really get that we were pretending, and just stood there looking confused, pointing at Byron right in front of us, and saying, "Here! Here! He here! Right here!" It was adorable. I love those kids.

We also went to JoAnn's, and I got some REALLY gorgeous textured silk to make a duvet cover with. It is a rich, beautiful gold color, and I got it for SUPER cheap--only $4.50 a yd! I think my angels really worked that one out. We also ate a delicious and wholesome lunch at Panera Bread. It was great to hang out with my sisters and their cute kids.

Faith.

It is something I am trying to learn more of. I thought I was doing pretty okay with it. Was doing alright with the whole, pray-study-ponder thing. I figured my faith had grown a lot up at college, in leaps and bounds. Me and my faith, we were pretty strong. Ready for most everything.
And then I came home from college.

It seems silly to me to sit here saying that coming home from BYU-Idaho has been so hard. I mean, I was going to a great school, and then came home to an even better family. Hard life, huh?
But, oddly, it was. I guess I had all these expectations of how it would be and what would happen. I was going to get a job that paid well and gave good hours. I was going to be part of a totally awesome singles' ward and dominate the social scene. Boys would be falling over themselves to date me! My family would be so strung out with elation over my triumphant return that, well, they simply wouldn't know what to do with themselves. I would practice the cello! Learn the guitar! Paint! Write! Show the world what I was meant to do.
And then, I came home. I didn't have a bedroom. All my plans for getting a job fell flat. My singles' ward turned out to be awkward. I've been on a total of one date. And, I have all this free time, but what to do with it? I sat around for many hours. Re-watched all 4 seasons of the Office. Wasted a lot of time.

Which is how I got to where I was last night. On the way to pick up Britt from work, I thought about how I had spent my day. I had promised myself that I would get my bedroom and bathroom clean; both still lay in gross disarray. I had watched the Bee Movie "on demand"--and by myself. I had eaten a entire half of a frozen pizza by myself, in one sitting. The thoughts were all pretty dismal.
And then Brittany gets into the car and asks me: "So, what did you do today?" aaaand I kind of lost it. Started crying. Pretty intensely, too. I don't think Brittany really knew what to do. I was just so--MAD at myself! When we got home, of course, Mom and Dad wanted to know what was wrong. Dad offered a blessing, which I accepted, gladly. Then we had a nice, long talk. I prayed and went to bed feeling much better.

I woke up this morning, eyes all puffy still. Sigh. Got ready for my first day of work (at Tilly's! seasonally! minimum wage!). Eyes still looked puffy. And they kept looking and feeling that way all day, reminding me of all the things I had to think about and ponder on. And I had some inspirations.
I was reminded of Matthew 6:24-34. It's a particularly poetic excerpt from Christ's sermon on the mount (you can read the whole thing here). But, I will quote verses 31-34.

"31 Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?
32 (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.
33 But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.
34 Take therefore no thought for the morrow; for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

Maybe the whole not-getting-a-real-full-time-job-thing is a blessing. Not even really in disguise. I mean, I have loads of free time. More than I know what to do with. Something that so many would fall over themselves to have a li'l mo of in their lives.
More than that, though, there is a reason I need to have a complete overload of it in my life right now. I know that the Lord has something great, something important He wants me to do with it. It might be something different each week, or it might be a lot of little somethings each day, or it might be one big something from now until the time I head back up for school. I don't know, and I decided: I don't have to! I just need a bit of faith, enough to take the step I'm feeling right about, and that will be good. That will be enough.
And also, I don't need to know and figure out exactly how my schooling will get paid for. It will because it's where I want to be, and where Heavenly Father wants me to be. It is right. It will happen. I know that.
I guess my lesson right now is not to worry that I'm not "toiling" or "spinning" as much as I should be or think I should be, or whatever. But to just have faith. Trust that the Lord will reveal to me all things that I should be doing, if I will keep a clear mind and an open heart to receive what He has to tell me.
And trust that, as I allow myself to be more of what God created me to be, that I will know what to do, and that He will feed me and guide me. Just as He does the fowl of the air and the lilies of the field.
And all it takes to start is a little more Faith. Maybe only a mustard-seed's worth more than I had yesterday. But just that tiny bit.
And the rest will follow.