Dark Was the Night

Dark was the night-- great musical compilation of artists and songs-- also a great idea for my next book.

I think it will probably begin with 20 pages of random sheet music along with a quote about night time, which, appropriately, I will create and attribute to Mark Twain.

The rest of the book will be written in invisible, glow-in-the-dark ink so you have to read it in the dark. (This is vaguely reminiscent of school-girl days when my sister and I would set up elaborate hunts for each other that included deciphering clues that were often time written with candles or white crayons and that you had to color over with a marker to read).

Plot soon to come.

And your lucky number is....

When I was younger my dad had a contest. Except you didn't have to excel or even do much of anything. One evening while I was sitting around the dinner table with my family, my dad happened to pull out some prize or another, if I remember correctly, it was a yogurt.

Unless you've been in a large family, you may not appreciated the significance of your dad being home, eating dinner with you, an bringing yogurt-- with fruit.

Asking each of us to guess a number one through 20, my dad went around the table to see who was the closest to his number and who would win. Coincidentally, my dad's favorite number is 4, the same number that I picked. And ever since that day, 4 has been my favorite number.

Other than that, I'm not really sure what it is about 4 that gets my blood going, maybe past memories of my father and other things I learned about him, completely on accident. Maybe it is the perfection of how four has 4 letters and is the perfect reflection of the word and what it means, just in the word itself.

Or maybe I just like it.

Island Fever

While listening to someone during an evening of "culture" and Mongolians, the presenter talked about how once he was on an island, he served there. In the mornings he would run around the entire 4 mile radius of the island and he mentioned that to say that people get island fever is a bit crazy, because in our day to day lives how far do we go?

But today I have it.

Do you ever feel that? A need to leave, to get out, to be someone else, to listen to music that you never have, to meet people you probably never will. Some days you just have to put your running shoes on. Some days you have to feel the cold snow on your neck-- to feel real-- to feel and to be.

Another evening spent in my basement living room, another four hours wasted, another, another, all I want is some other.

And all we can do is keep breathing.

Planning is an art

I've been planning my wedding for years. Three to be exact. I have discussed marriage with not only every person I have dated but most people I have come into contact with. It's not a scary thing and I don't consider it rushing things just to want to know people's opinions. In fact, I think it is just another way to get to know people.

If you need someone to help you plan, call me up, I'd be happy to help.

Depths of Despair

Wednesday night I started to spiral into sickness so that Thursday and Friday I had no desire to move as my head ached, my throat hurt, my eyes only wanted to be pasted shut, and I couldn't breath from my nose. This morning I still feel pretty sick, but as, again, I am the only one home, I decided to have a dance party and run around in my skivvies.

There is something so liberating about not wearing clothing.

And I think that's the difference between married and single people, when you're married you have so many responsibilities, so many things that you worry about. I have nothing. I am not worried, I am just myself, running around naked in my basement apartment.

I did happen to find the blog of my first real boyfriend though. Mostly it is maintained by his beautiful wife. He looks happy in all the pictures and it sounds like he is doing what he wanted to-- getting ready for Medical school so that he can be a radiologist, married to a gorgeous woman who is actually starting her own spa. But how often does he get to kiss a Peruvian, skip work because he's coughing up a lung, or run around naked dancing to Nigerian hip hop?

Immortality

My dad has always been a rock. Although this makes it hard to talk to him sometimes and often it causes family tiffs, he is always there. Daddy has always run around from place to place, working on projects from houses to computer software businesses, not even stopping his progressing family as he has 11 children and one due in May (ranging from 34-0 years of age).

And even though I could never talk to my dad about my feelings, there wasn't anything that I couldn't ask for his advice about, from toilets to cars to computers.

The last time that he was in Utah was only a couple of weeks ago for my brother's wedding. My neice Elise asked him "Grandpa, when are you going to die?"

to which he replied "Never. I'm planning to live for at least another 20 years."

My sister Sara and I looked at each other dubiously, he is very stalwart and brave, but it seems a bit foolish to say that you are never going to die.

But who would have thought that it would have been such a foreshadowing conversation.

As I sat down for class tonight I received an email from my step mom annnouncing that she just wanted to let us all know that my dad was in the hospital because he had lost a lot of blood from internal bleeding. He was in Las Angeles for a business conference and was supposed to present, I only know because I called him yesterday afternoon and he told me. And now.

I don't know what happened exactly, I called my sister Sara who was on her way to Las Vegas to babysit my sister Susan's children as Susan had driven to Las Angeles. And no one seems to be too certain what has happened. But it's a little scary. I think the uncertainty of it all is what gets me the most.

Or maybe it's the fact that I feel like I've held a lot of enmity towards him and a lot of things have gone unresolved. And suddenly it all seems silly, taxes, family fueds, misunderstandings, divorce, childhood dreams dashed, things that I've held onto for so long that don't even seem to matter any more.

And then, when it's all gone, the only thing that remains is a question.

What's left?

A Picture Says a Thousand Words

I noticed that lately all I post are pictures, which is okay with me, because I assume that a picture says a thousand words and how could I possibly explain so much without my hands falling off? Of course, on the other hand, a picture says a thousand and you assume the other million, because what really took place behind the picture or the lighting and the background and the participants are all that you see.

This leads me to a tangent with my friend, who for privacy sake I will change her name to.. Carbin. One day I went over to visit my friend Carbin while we lived in a small apartment complex I like to call the "Fish Bowl" because there were these terribly large windows in the living room and kitchen that faced all the other apartments so that you could almost always tell what drama was happening with your neighbors.

As I walk in I hear a screech and the last remaining light in turns off.

Carbin: Who is there?
Me: Just me, what are you up to?
Carbin: Do you want to help me out with something?

At that statement the light was turned back on and I saw that the living room had been barricaded with couch cushions and draped with blankets to block out all light sources as the blinds has been squeezed tighter than Hillary Clinton's bum and sitting in the middle of the floor was Carbin wearing nothing by a white sheet and holding part of a tree root.

Carbin, who was generally known for her extreme modesty, quickly explained that she needed to take a picture of her holding this root from just the right angle and with just the right lighting in order for her to paint it later on. Needless to say, for the next two hours we went through every position imaginable in order to get just the right setting. Also needless to say, it never happened and eventually her room mates came home and she went scurrying into her room to dress and pretend like nothing had ever happened.

One day I would like to take that perfect shot.