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.

The Year of Discipline

Happy Two Thousand and Eleven!

photo by my talented and lovely sister, Ashley Ashworth

I like setting goals. In fact, it’s something I took to doing every three months or so this past year. That works better for me; that way I have a time to stop and assess how I’ve been doing and course-correct as needed.

Chris and I sat down and made some goals to start off the new year. Mine included flossing daily, running a marathon, and starting a blog about bookbinding. Also featured was getting my house tidier/more organized and paying ¼-1/2 of my school loans.

But I’ve been thinking about myself and the things I really want to change. As I stared at my list of things to do, it seemed that most of the things on the list of goals were things I should already be doing (flossing, keeping my apartment cleaner). And I knew that it was likely that most of these things would happen—but all of them? And what would fall through the cracks?

My sister Brittany posted a link on facebook to Christine Kane's post about New Year's resolutions. She suggests a different approach; instead of setting goals, pick one word that you want to kind of encompass the change you want to see in yourself. I liked the idea.

I looked over the list and almost immediately I knew what it would be for me: discipline. I consider myself many things, but disciplined is not one of them. I think, for me, it was a way to rebel when I was younger. I’ve never liked being told what I should do. It always seemed to me that if I absolutely should do something, it would happen eventually. Like dishes getting clean or essays written, book read or even graduating from college. They happen, right?

But I guess that I’m starting to realize that somewhere along the way, I was losing control. Losing my power over my time and how I would use it. Losing my ability to focus and accomplish.

And that’s really what I’m feeling like true discipline is about—not doing things because others think I should, but rather, keeping the commitments I’ve made to myself. Getting a little follow through for all my hare-brained schemes.

So, my mantra for 2011 is discipline. Already I’ve caught myself getting off task and been able to ask myself: is this a disciplined way to do this? Is this really what I’ve committed to doing right now? Looking at my list of goals, the only way to make sure they happen? Discipline myself. Make a plan and stick to it. Become my own best friend and personal assistant.

I talked to my sister, Kristin, about this idea. She shared a quote with me that went something like this:
“You can either face the pain of discipline or the pain of regret.”

And I don’t know about you, but I’ve tried regret on for size a few times and I don’t much care for it. It’s itchy and chafes in all the wrong places. My guess is that the pain of discipline will be closer to the burn of a good work out and the delicious achiness that follows. The pain of strength.

So here’s to a regret-free 2011.

What are your goals and ambitions for the coming year? And what is your plan of action?

The Name Game

“How do you feel about the name Milton?”

“Do you hate that kid?” Chris replied.

“Maybe I would,” I retorted.

“Then Milton would be a great name.”

Any time I suggest a name to Chris, this is pretty much how the conversation goes. I tend to like old-fashioned names, like Wilford or Madge. Or names that have literary significance, like Seymour (from J.D. Salinger’s Glass family) or Finnegan (James Joyce). Or ones that do both, like Ezra (Pound) or Virginia (Woolf).

But then Chris likes really boring names. Like Peter or Jane.

For now, it’s a fun game. But I have the feeling that some day my husband is going to pay off some doctor to put me under long enough to change the kid’s name to something more innocuous than Ernest. You know, like pretty much any name out there.

Nonetheless, there are a few names we’ve managed to agree on. Here they are:

Male:
Seth
Liam
Peter

Female:
Leila
Jean
Kalina (Lina for short)

Also, this is tangential, but what is up with parents giving their kids long names with the intention of shortening them? If you want a kid called Cal, name him Cal, not freaking Callahan. Want an Emmy? How’s about just naming your daughter Emmy instead of Emeline?

Now, if it’s a family name and then you shorten it or something like that, that’s fine. Whatever. But the rest of you parents, cut it out.

Don’t burden your kid with the name Gertrude if she’s just gonna end up being Trudy. In fact, don’t name her Gertrude at all. Even I can agree that that’s cruel.

An instruction in living

I love photography. In the way that I admire talents that others have, to capture life's moments. To tell so much, to invoke such feeling simply with recorded light.

I follow some photographers on twitter, not the least of which is theJed.

Browsing his Flickr account today, I came across a series of beautiful images from a trip to Lake Powell with his family (from which the above is borrowed). The gold light, red gritty sandstone, and the algae-colored water that turns murky and brown in the shallows; it came alive to me. I wasn't there, but I felt the sleek water run through my outstretched fingers as I paddled, the warm sting of a sunburn, the slimy sludge between my toes.

Trips to Lake Powell every summer were a long-standing tradition on my dad's side, up until I was thirteen or so. Looking at the photos brought back those times — not in specific memories, but in impressions, in the vivacity of youth, the joys of being strong and free on a lake in the heat of summer. It brought my mind alive, relishing this internal stream of responses brought on by stimuli. This is what beauty is, I thought, what art should be: an instruction in living, a how-to for cherishing existence.

Later as I headed home on my blue Huffy, I still rode on that high. Rather than resenting the wind, I noticed the cold, recorded the steely sensation. In my head, everything was a photograph, everything was art. The scraggly bush that grows over into the sidewalk, the rolling gray of the sky above; things I usually don't notice, that I take for granted, were suddenly there, so real and deliciously tangible. I enjoyed the rumble and shift of the rubber wheels over a path of cement blocks set in the earth, end to end.

There is a quote from Anaïs Nin: "We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect." And while that's true, I know that I write, at least in part, to anticipate life. Because I know that for every moment I take the time to delight in and write about in retrospect instructs me on how to better appreciate the moments that are to come.