Vanilla Wafers and the Future

Tuesday night I thought I might die. Like literally fall over and d-i-e. And while that may sound a little dramatic, in my realm of things slash my then state of constant panic, it sounded better than trying to survive the 24-hours that followed.

And then I saw my high school math teacher and she said It's all about the process, which gave me hope.

And then at Institute we talked about hope and I met a boy, who over coconut caramel chocolate chip brownies, told me he's not so great at math either. Then I came home and read a story about a woman named Hope who survived the internment camps and thought, It could be a lot worse.

And tonight this dude in the front row shared his Vanilla Wafers. And someone in my writing class said my story sounded like a painting. And when we were getting in the car after class we were whistled at. Twice.

And then we ate fresh peaches.
And there were pumpkins at the market today.

So while things seemed bleak, there's hope in new friends who hate functions and dudes who bust out Vanilla Wafers and pass them your direction as the lecture's about to go Snoozeville. And kind people who compliment your writing. There's hope in a box full of peaches and a crate full of pumpkins.

And tomorrow is October and October is my favorite.

to the hip hip hop, a you don't stop

{I'm not going to admit how many times I've watched this, but if a certain someone up in Seattle hasn't done the same, I will be disappointed. And no, I'm not talking about my missionary brother. If he has watched this, it's trouble with a capital "T." And we all know what that means.}

A few years ago, in the wee hours of the morn while dancing in the kitchen, I found out my sister knows all the lyrics to Rapper's Delight. If it had been appropriate, I would have made her sing it at her wedding. I would have danced. Voluntarily. This is a little shout out to her, and to Mr. MKG, who does the sweetest Tootsie Roll this side of the Mississippi. Especially upon request slash force, late at night in the beams of your headlights.

**You can FF to the part where they start rapping (about 1:10).

Song 2

Today I got off on University Parkway, which I never do, but I was craving an "O Red Mango," (that's what my sister calls it) which is located on the eternal stretch of asphalt that is University Parkway in Orem. As I drove past UVU, fond memories came flooding back and the British beats of Blur popped into my head. Suddenly I was riding shot-gun on the way to pick up a little brother from math class, prepped for a full days worth of stories, and an afternoon of gourmet snacks followed by a bit of color theory.

I passed half a dozen car dealerships along that millennial stretch of highway yesterday. Unfortunately none of them advertised a DeLorean (B Money discussed at length his plans to build a gold one at lunch the other day, so if I was really desperate to drive down Memory Lane I could have asked him.) Going back in time wasn't an option. Instead, I cued the soundtrack to the Blockbuster hit, "Levi's Jump" on my ipod, curbed my Red Mango craving and headed to the physics lab.* Gone are the blessed days of youth. (Sigh).

*Boy, could that place use a healthy dose of Unkle P.

Starry Night Over the Seine

Last week I took a client to pick up a few oil paintings. While we waited for her artwork (wrapped in brown paper) she told me about the first time she saw Gustav Klimt's Der Kuss in Austria. It was at the top of a long winding staircase, all symbols and shades of bronze and she was completely overcome. It made me think of Paris and the Musée D'Orsay and how I went back three times. After the last time, we walked along the Seine, lined with bateaux mouches twinkling like stars in a river of dark blue. It reminded me of Van Gogh's Starry Night Over the Rhone. I knew then that I'd never see the sky the same.

just me upon my pony on my boat

Sometimes I wish I lived here. One minute you're surrounded by golden aspen eating a delicious meal right out of the fire pit and the next thing you know, you're twenty miles or so down the canyon out on the lake. And, even though you need wetsuits and hoodies and your arms are so tired they feel like they're going to fall off, it's all worth it for the leaves and the landscape and the hilarious tell-alls in the bow of the boat. (And the character-of-a-park-ranger who comes to jump start you at the dock when you realize the battery is dead before you even launch.)

New Lane

I drove along New Lane today where nothing is really new at all. Time turns slow, like the wheels on a tractor. A farmer bobs along to the beat of his own drum behind the wheel of a plow on the one lane road between two small towns. Painted signs advertise crawlers for sale at the end of a long dusty driveway. The line of the river can be traced by the treetops and an apple orchard stretches on row after row. At five o'clock the sun shines through the slats in a barn so old the only thing holding it up is the bales of hay inside. And everywhere I look the landscape of golds and greens is begging to be photographed.

late lunch

We sat on the patio under the turquoise umbrellas across the street from the little bookshop and the art gallery with the white walls. I ordered a fresh mozzarella and tomato sandwich hoping to bite into one last piece of summer. But, like the weather, the sandwich tasted decidedly fall. We ate Greek olives and yellow peppers while rain dripped from the tips of the umbrellas.

blue.red.yellow.

The two of them looked like a color theory lesson standing on the platform against the yellowing tiles of the subway -- he in his blue oxford shirt, the one with the collar stays, and she in her red coat. Add his dark features and they were a study in contrast, too. The photograph was taken seconds before the final train uptown by the fellow with the poorly tuned violin. He had been squeaking his way through the subway system, one unharmonious symphony at a time.