Sunday Synopsis

• Started the morning at the kitchen table with Steph, writing and studying. And scheming. (We're always scheming. A bit.)

• Listened to Kelly's wonderful words of wisdom at one. Took notes.
  
• Skipped out on the next meeting with S&L to have a meeting of our own (productive, of course).
• Spent the last half of the hour chatting with Bishop and Brother O. Helped ourselves to treats on Bishop's desk as we talked. Snacked on mint chocolate in the hall with L on our way to the next meeting.
  
• Spent the third hour being enriched by words and music. Enjoyed I's especially.
• Met with the girls in the RS room, following. Short and sweet. Love them.
• Pow-wow in the kitchen at the YBH after church, all roomies present. Glad we have each other to lean on. (Can't wait for the Liberty Park House and the big green kitchen to spread out in.)
  
• Dinner with the family at 1928. Joy's chicken, our fave. And my favorite time of the year on Yale: the ivy painted glorious shades of red, orange and golden yellow. Heard about Dad's adventures in Boston: the leaves in Harvard Yard (maples a-blazing). Fun with Paul and Karl in Belmont quoting The Greats while K knitted at the dining table. Interesting intellectuals at the conference from all over the world; thoughts and views as various as their countries of origin. Advice from Clayton about Life. A ride to the airport from R & L, the baby twins smiling in the back seat.
• A post-dinner chorale concert with The Ladies. M's solo was lovely. Ricky's my new favorite gospel singer/soloist. Amen!
  

Ended the evening with Steph and Mern. At the table. Heard about adventures with The Sub. And soccer games. And new FB friends. Now, with the porch light streaming through the window, it's just me at the table writing, studying.

*Carved pumpkins last night and ate soup and bread sticks with the masses. Lined our jack-o-lanterns up along the walkway. Watched as the candles flickered yellow-orange from within. Pirate. Scarecrow. Skeleton. Owl. Comrades du Pumpkin, four in a row. Had a garden tour in the dark. Danced about among arbors and pebbles and the sunflowers, now bowing their heads towards the ground, ready to slumber for a season. Can't get enough of Fall!

Scenes from Aspen Lane

For Grandma

oh thank heaven...

Les is 27!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

to this lovely lady. I've got journals full of stories with Les, all of which make me laugh. Even the time we got hit by a 16 year-old in a brand new Jetta we were laughing. (After a breif freak-out by yours truly). There isn't anything this girl can't do. She's full of brains, beauty, unbelievable athleticism, creativity and un-matched wit. To top it all off, she married one of the best guys around! Everyone loves to be with her. Her laughter is contagious (even the fake one she busts out from time to time) and her accents and impressions leave you holding your sides. Thanks for all the fun, Les. Here's to 27. "What a dream!" Happy, happy, Cappy!

1 away from 1

Been there. Done that. Headed there again! (And Dad is headed there tomorrow, lucky guy.)
Go SOX! And go Dad!*

*Mostly, Go DAD!
{image from here}

No Parking

Sometimes, sometimes I miss living in Provo. (It sounds better if I say I miss living at BYU, doesn't it. Yes. I believe it does). I miss living between walls as thin as tissue paper, (therefore equally as sound-proof) and in stairwells where the smell of every one's dinners would indefinitely collide (sometimes for days) creating a sort of goulash of Lean Cuisines, frozen pizza and Strawberry Poptarts. I miss the feeling of family right outside my window, the grass between apartments our collective playground. I miss the stepping stones. I miss having peanut M&M's thrown at the bay window by the boys in 311 and playing executive billiards, even if I always lost. I miss stealing LoveSacs, sitting in lawn chairs gabbing until the early hours of the morning and making quesadillas for L&L at 1 am. I miss popping screens off of windows. I miss visiting The Shed and taking Spence to Costco to buy roses for whichever girl he was currently trying to woo. (So glad he ended up with Sara!) Mostly, I miss the people; those dear souls who sat beside me on Sundays, below the Periodic Table of the Elements, while we listened to Bishop Ballard's weekly challenges. BOND.

Once, I parked my car in the slot marked 117. It was adjacent to the spot assigned to our apartment and...vacant, which was basically unheard of at that late hour. It was just for the night. I didn't think my new neighbors would mind. It was the first week of school. No mid-terms, projects or papers to pen. I'd move it in the morning when students awoke and both bodies and autos dispersed. I wish I had taken a picture of the outcome of my misdeed: huge block letters made from silver duct tape, a midnight maneuver by my new "neighbors." YOU PARK HERE, it read. A large arrow pointed from my car to the spot labeled 216 where my roommate's car still sweetly slumbered. I pulled the tape from the cinder block wall which separated our complex from the complex behind us* and walked around the corner to the dumpster. I threw that sticky stuff away. It took me about 3 days to get up enough courage to fess up to the sticky situation I had gotten myself into.

The good news: the tenants of 117 became dear friends. (I'll forgive Cody his smelly Costco pot stickers, which permeated the stairwell for days on end). I saw Brady (the duct tape artist) a year ago at a Santa B get-together. He's all grown up and responsible (meaning he always parks where he's supposed to), with a wife and two darling kids. He's an attorney now. And, if I had to, I'd call him up to represent me. Especially if, say, I needed to get out of a really bad parking ticket.


*Speaking of big block letters, the complex directly to the south is called "The Colony." (I could write a whole post about the names of apartment complexes in Provo, but I'll save that for a later date, or for some other blogger who feels prompted to do so). The Colony's sign is painted with reflective paint so you don't run right into the sign (which you would, because it is smack-dab, dead-center, right in the middle of the entrance to the place.) Some geniuses whom I will forever love, scratched the paint off of the "Y" in Colony, so at night the sign reads, "The Colon." Ha! And people think there's nothing to do for fun in Provo!

she & him

Am really loving these two ever so much. Can't wait to see Ray live in a few weeks! Glad I can go to J&L for a review. And so The Year of the Concert continues. (Mare, have I mentioned you need to come home...purdee please?)

where oh where has my mernie gone?

Come home. NOW. (please).

stepping stones

We walk down the path where the gravel meets the wooden planks of the bridge, and then we divide. I head for the riverbank. My orange shoes carry me over the rocks until I am farther and farther away. Leaves rustle and the rush of the river provides percussion to the song in my head -- the one with lyrics about time, which roll over and over, eternally on repeat. It seems fitting that my heart wishes to sing about time, something that in this moment seems to be dying; in the early evening light, in the crisp air of fall, and in the leaves that hold their breath before they have to let go of the branches they've called home.

I hop from one rock to another. I step closer, pausing at the sight of leaves that have fallen to their watery grave. They lie stagnant in a small pool, separated from the larger part of the whole by several large rocks. Rest in peace, the rocks say as they shoulder-to-shoulder themselves, protecting the fallen ones from the rush of the river. Other leaves look down from branches above knowing that at any moment, they too will be plucked from their beds to join the throng, assembling in the pool below for Fall's Memorial. Bare branches bend in the breeze and create a sort of hollow hallowed sound; a recognition of their sacrifice for the Season and respect for the service carried on below.

The river courses on, passing trees with tired leaves and branches stripped of their color, naked except for those brave souls, the procrastinators who wait until the last minute before they fearlessly tally-ho into the water, not wanting to surrender to Time or to the Season. I turn to face the river. Wind dances across my cheeks. I curl my hair around my ears. I breathe in and let go, stepping back along the rocks, one orange step at a time, until I reach the bridge. The lyrics about time still run through my head as I step back up onto the dirt road.

Shades of Millcreek

Scenes from our Sunday drive

this photo by Steph

autumn time

Sing a song of seasons!

Something bright in all,
Flowers in the summer
Fires in the fall!
-Robert Louis Stevenson

We took a drive up Millcreek Canyon between General Conference sessions today. Uplifting words from Latter-day prophets and leaders and the beautiful Utah scenery; a perfect day.
{Pictures to follow}

I'm it. You're it.

I was tagged by Em.

Six Quirks
But first...
Question: what's the definition of a quirk? I don't think these are all that quirky. Or does the fact that I think that I think they're not quirky qualify them as a quirk?

1. This stems from Emily's biting nails comment...I pick mine. Quite the celebration was thrown when I kicked the biting habit, but somehow I've never been able to stop the picking. It's hereditary, right? My Dad does it, too. I like him quite a bit and a lot of other people do, too, so it's o.k., right?
2. I arrange everything by color. Books, for example: I don't put all the reds together, or all the greens spine-to-spine. I choose color combinations I like, and group those books just so. The same goes for the items in my shower caddy: I put the pink and orange bottled body wash next to the green foot scrub because I like the color contrast. (I love color theory a little too much, maybe?)
3. I brush my teeth in the shower.
4. I switch off between creamy and crunchy peanut butter. If I bought crunchy the last time, I'll get creamy the next. What can I say...I like to mix it up.
5. This proves I'm a Haglund (and proud of it). Just like Karl, Paul, David, and Karen; Rich, Evan, Matt and my Grandfather, I stick out my tongue when I'm concentrating. And it helps. (If I've accused any family members of innocent tongue-sticking, forgive me. If I've failed to mention you and your tongue wants some recognition, stick it out. The more the merrier. And, I'm still pulling for the tongue picture portion of the slide show this summer at the reunion.)
6. I love to paint my toenails (or, even better, have someone else paint them) but not red. Although red is one of my favorite colors. Just not for toes. For them, I like shades of pink.

Next up: Anna, Meeks, Kates, Kas and Bibbers.

dear fall, come in

Phone calls, faxes and photos scanned, I took one look at the mountains, laced up my running shoes and headed for the foothills, knowing there was only so much light left in the day. As I drove towards the trail, the colors became closer, richer.

Fall trickled down the mountainside, all crimson, vivid gold, and rusted shades of orange. Colors combined then tapered off at the point where sunlight meets the shadow and the treetops in the valley; a bowl full of green leaves, yet to begin the process of shedding their summer skin.

I hit the trail, shoes beating the path, kicking up clouds behind me. I ran towards the colors, up towards the line of sun and shadow. I felt a part of it all - breathing mountain air, running past the tall flaxen grass and oak bushes whose acorns have taken their hats off to the season. I reached the bottom of the trail just as the city started to twinkle and drove home with the windows wide, the night breeze rushing in.

Confession

I spent most of breakfast stirring the food on my plate, sunny-side up eggs turned scrambled, at no extra charge. I cued the melancholy music as I sat down to work - acoustic. Chords that reverberate in the hallows of my mind, forcing me to remember. The strings and melodies tug at my heart, which is currently hanging by a thread. One that needs sewing up. A heart that hasn't been whole in a long time.