living lovely

Things have been busy.
Taylor, Kelsey, and I are finally beginning to call this blue house on Park Avenue, Home. KELSEY PUTS IT BEST.
More and more each day do I appreciate their company.


And a youth said, Speak to us of Friendship. And he answered, saying: Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
And He is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.

When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay."
And When he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.
The PROPHET, Kahlil Gibran

One of my fondest memories of my grandfather occurred during one of our visits up North to Victoria, Canada. It was my mom, Nate, and I who were there to spend time with Grandma and Grandfather. The three of us had gone on an exploration through downtown Vancouver, and made a significant stop on the sidewalk in front of a street band. They were Irishmen with Irish spirit in their songs and in their instruments. Their charm and rhythms were so contagious that it very much became an atmosphere that we wanted to keep with us always; in our pockets, in our suitcases, through our ears, and in our heads. Resulting in a purchase of a low-quality, burned edition the band was selling behind them on a worn tabletop. The music was especially endearing to my mom, Nate, and I because after that performance we would drive back to Victoria, home to our grandfather, an Irishman; straight from Ireland who ate a baked, whole potato every chance he could. Now once we returned back to the house we found a CD player, brought it into the kitchen, setting it on the breakfast table and pressed "play". Realizing what he heard were fiddles and Old Irish tunes, my grandfather began to jump and dance in the kitchen. His spirit was entirely lifted. He became a tangible image of what those band members might turn out looking like years and years later. He then, opened the freezer door, pulled out a vanilla ice cream container and ice cream cones from the cupboard and started scooping ice into two cones. For myself and Nate. He filled the cone to the very tip, making sure not a single hollow pocket without ice cream remained in the entire cone. It was the heaviest cone I had ever held, and knowing that it was filled with sweet vanilla ice cream made me float with happiness. We sat there in the kitchen, Nate and I, eating ice cream, listening to Irish tunes, and watching our Grandfather, an Irishman dancing. Everything was so good.

These Days

One Long Blow

Me and Einstein

Bottles with Messages: Messages in Bottles

We were at Lens Crafters and it went something like this:
Jordan: I have my polaroid camera with me.
Reba: Take a picture of me.
Jordan: Here?! okay, but it will make a loud noise.
Reba: Let me first put on some glasses.

Happy Anniversary Mum&Pops.

Sheet music seems most appealing during this time of year. The good and the less good of tones and pitches blend together to echo out carols of delight. I am convinced that my own voice becomes better during this time of year, and an overwhelming burst of confidence hiding in the bottom of my diaphragm from January to November seems to make a once-a-year appearance along with Santa and his reindeers*.
But as we sing the Christmas hymns in sacrament meeting, I feel as though we are but a few harmonies away from the tabernacle choir, and that in itself is something to write home about.
'Tis also the season, not only to sing, but to listen to Christmas music. This year is my third year in which I have had the opportunity to binge on Sufjan Stevens, who sings some mighty holiday melodies. All of his tunes are simple and wonderful, and each year it seems that I allow myself to attach my ears to a single song of his. Vol.III: DING!DONG! has been on repeat, and more specifically is the traditional 12th century French carol, "Orientis Partibus" or "The Friendly Beasts"

*I would love a taxidermied reindeer for Christmas, and I would pay to see a taxidermied Santa, if there is such a thing.

Messy Room
by Shel Silverstein

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!