I Left My Heart in ...

There's nothing like 12 days away from home to make you passionately realize that Dorothy was right.

There's no place like home. There's no place like home.

Especially when home is chock full of wonderful things like a washing machine and dryer, clean clothing, a large bathtub, air conditioning, free water and, of course, an adorable family.

I think that it was pretty clear that I was intensely home sick during my trip to Europe. That home sick feeling shouldn't be interpreted as a lack of gratitude or regret at being where I was. It was a simple, healthy acknowledgement that I love my family and am very aware of the blessings that center around the hearth.

That home-sick feeling is actually one of the things that I most treasure about my trips away. It is a reminder to be grateful for the everyday things that seem mundane--the ability to clean my clothing, the ability to drink water, the ability to grab my children in huge hugs and listen to them giggle in my ear. Every time I have a few days away from my home, I come home feeling like I've fallen in love with my family and my life. It's a passionate love affair brought on by an aching heart.

However, Germany was astounding. I cannot describe the experience because it was just that: an experience. It wasn't a list of sights seen or places discovered or pictures taken or relatives visited. It was a constant bombardment on all my senses: new smells, images, thoughts, realizations. It was seeing a different way of life that made me question my own lifestyle and ask, "Why not?"

Why not give herbal tea another try? I've always had it warm and hated it, but my relatives in Germany served it iced and it was quite refreshing (and low-cal!)

Why not landscape my yard like my European relatives, planting flowers and herbs in every precious inch of land I own? Why not live my life outside more often and treasure the cool-morning breeze or the evening chill?

Why not build some boxes around my back patio with trellises to make a nice outdoor eating space? Or grow grapes along the fence?

Why not really become fluent in German after discovering how much I really already know?

Why not teach my boys to live life full of vim and vigor by having them help me out in the garden?

Why not spend my days discovering the history behind some of that artwork I saw in the museums? Why not grab some paint brushes and try to surprise myself?

Why not think about installing a small pool in our backyard ... someday?

Why not learn more about fashion so that I can fit in next time I travel abroad?

Why not... why not... why not...?

I feel changed by the intense feeding of my soul that occured in Germany. I don't know how I've changed, but I can feel that I am not the same person I was two weeks ago. I like this feeling of growth and cerebral expansion. My muse was well-fed and now she must be well-exercised to give those seeds of creativity room to expand.

All is well, all is well.

Drunk Guy :: Part Two

It took him a couple hours to talk to me, but he did. We were with the same group of people--it was inevitable that we'd run into each other when we were stuck on the same boat, cruising the Spree River.

I was in back snapping 238 photos. He finally approached near the end and before he could say a word, I asked, "So are you drunk again yet?" He was only slightly buzzed but not yet deliriously drunk. He literally couldn't remember what he had done the night before, but he remembered me as a sort of guardian angel who had (figuratively) taken him by the drunken hand and reminded him which direction the party was at. (The museum was rather large.)

He seemed to make a few pointed comments to find out if he'd made a fool of himself or not. I just smiled and let him keep talking. No use in telling him he's now been immortalized as "Drunk Guy" on my blog. So as far as his memory will serve, I'm the nice lady who showed him where the party was. In my mind, he'll always be Drunk Guy.

* * *

In other news, I saw two amazing museums in Berlin today. I saw the bust of Nefertiti. Yes, The Bust of Nefertiti. You know which one I mean. I'll post pictures later in case you really, actually don't know which one I mean. There was a bunch of other cool stuff at the Altes Museum, blah blah blah, but what I really want to tell you about is ....

WOW!! The Pergamonmuseum was amazing. Just. Simply. Breathtaking. Literally.

If you can imagine the explosion that happens when a submarine has been torpedoed and blown out of the water, you can start to imagine how I felt when I walked into Pergamon. I had just finished off a pretzel on the steps of the museum, looking at the German Chancellor's flat. I didn't know what to expect in this museum. It was just another museum. Right?

When we walked in, I was staring up and into a full, restored Altar with stone steps and columns and friezes that ran around the entire, amazingly huge room. Then I walked into the next room and saw the Market Gate and was blown away. Then I walked into the next room and saw the Ishtar gate and was blown away.

Torpedo ... hit! Hit! Hit! Blown out of the water!

That museum was ... breathtaking. If you are planning a trip to Berlin, please take time for the Pergamon Museum. Stunning.

I came back to the hotel, tired and sweaty, swam in the top floor pool for a while, showered and then went on the above-mentioned river tour. I'll post some of the 238 pictures later on my Picasa album. What a day!

It's been great but I'm feeling antsy to see my little darlin's again. I fly home Thursday and can't wait to see the kiddos and have good water to drink for free and have a washing machine (YEA!!) and lots of other amazing conveniences.

That leaves one day... Time to buy chocolate.

Drunk Guys and Rembrandts

I could blog about going back to Potsdam and the cute little shops and historic sites and how I was so brave about figuring out the regional train system all by myself.

I could blog about the wonder of staring at original Rembrandt paintings and feeling like I'm about to cry.

I could then blog about how I always cry. Always. Even when I watch things like American Idol or The Apprentice. I don't know why, but I always cry.

I could then blog about how that is neither here nor there and I've blogged about that before. I could then go off into many tangents that are also neither here, there or anywhere in between.

I could blog about many things, but I have chosen something very special for you today: the drunk guy. To give a little background, I was with my father at a reception for some group-or-other that has something-or-other to do with libraries and spanish stuff. I should probably pay closer attention to details like this, but I didn't care. All I knew was that I was incredibly excited to go to the art gallery where it was being held.

There was food. There was wine. There was beer, I believe. I had juice and sparkling water. (I could blog about my irritation with the European obsession with water that is not just nice, cool, still water.... but again... I must not sidetrack. I'm blogging about drunk guy.)

We had a guided tour through some highlights of the art gallery and then my Dad and I split off into different directions. I was walking through some Dutch paintings alone when suddenly, there he was: drunk guy. He was standing next to me as though we were best friends in the world, rambling about how his group had abandoned him just because he had to pee.

I was amused.

He said unabashedly that he was incredibly drunk and had better go have another drink because... well, I didn't quite follow the reasoning. I told him I'd never been drunk, but I thought I'd probably be very entertaining because I already make a fool of myself in normal life without the help of booze.

He kept talking and I realized that he wasn't going to let me look at the paintings in peace. We were apparently friends now and looking at the paintings together. He was being decidedly friendly. And then he started asking me personal questions: how old was I? What was my name? Was I part of SALALM? (SALALM is the library thing-a-doo-hickey that my Dad is attending here in Berlin.)

I started feeling a tad concerned.

I kept smiling and started walking, very deliberately, back toward the main reception area. He kept talking and I realized very quickly that he was coming onto me. Man, it's been a looooong time since I've realized someone tried to pick me up. Usually the wedding ring on my finger and details like me being overweight and in the presence of three screaming children are enough to make the thought laughable.

I was entertained but alarmed.

I wasn't really 100% sure he was coming on to me until he asked in his drunk stupor, "So if your Dad saw us together, would he kill me now or wait until after the conference?"

I replied, "As long as you don't touch me, I think you'll be all right."

He backed away a little bit and said, looking reflective, "I don't think I did that."

"Then you should be okay," I replied.

We found the main group again and I quickly eased away. Problem solved. Only one thing remained: get out of the reception so I could blog about it and let the rest of you laugh with me.

All is well in Berlin. Life is different... unquestionably... but all is well.

Independence Day

Yesterday, I stood with one foot in the former East Germany and one foot in the former West Germany.

I saw the outline of where the wall used to divide this country unnaturally into two different worlds.

In the car, my cousins told me what life was like when their country was divided into two. They were small children during WWII and witnessed the division and the reunification of their beloved home. "Every year, we come now to this part of Germany," said one cousin, "because when it was divided, we could not come here at all."

She told me that she lived for one year of the war in an industrial town that was bombed repeatedly. She told me of the fear she lived with. I told her that my city has never witnessed a war. Never a bomb or an enemy plane flying overhead.

"Yes, you cannot imagine what it is like," she said. I agreed. "My children, also. They cannot imagine what it is like." After a moment: "It is better so." A look of sadness tells me everything I need to know--I don't know want to know.

Now this place is beautiful. Peaceful. A place untouched by anything except memories of a wall. We stand in the fields of flowers and eat fresh cherries from a picturesque town full of half-timbered homes.

"I have a suggestion to make," says my cousin. "Take a picture of the flowers to remember this place." She wants me to remember the beauty of Germany and put the ugliness out of my head. I snap a few photos gladly and prepare to leave. A sign by the parking area says that it's nice we are here. I agree.

I think about war and division and unity and fields of flowers and my small, insignificant town that has never been bombed. It is nice that I am here, and it's nice to have a country of peace and freedom to go home too. It is too big for me to wrap my brain around right now. So, so much that is important and I cannot feel the weight of what it means.

Happy 4th of July to all of you.

Alles gut in Deutschland

I have been taken to task by that ever-present Internet phenom: the anonymous comment. I can't blame Anonymous for feeling envious of my travels and irritated by my lack of enthusiasm. When my friends and family travel out of town, I am always exceedingly envious and cannot envision them having any down side to the luxury of travel.

Life, however, is neither all black nor all white. Jet lag is a real drag. If you think it is easy to be in the middle of people who are talking about you, judging you and literally laughing at you in a language you cannot understand, then you're just being silly. If you think it's easy to figure out a balanced diet when you can't even read the menu, you don't really know how important healthy food is when you're on your feet all day long. It's hard and it's stressful!

Today I was on the verge of tears. Correction: today I actually started crying in the middle of lunch when people were saying "Juliana...blahblah gibberish blah... ha ha ha... Juliana ... blah blah blah .. ha ha ha!!" and I had to pull myself together (quickly) to not make the matter worse. The heat was ... hot. I was sweaty. I was so hungry by dinnertime that I honestly thought I couldn't get out of the car. We had to hike way up to a beautiful castle and I was so dehydrated that I probably would have sold all three of my kids for a liter of water.

However.

Today was perfect! I got out into the real Naturpur (Pure Nature!) the "Green Heart of Germany." I toured an amazing castle and learned a new story that I had never heard before. I felt the inspiration flowing into me as I thought about what might happen in those dark woods that towered on either side of the road. I grinned foolishly on an Autobahn and told a cousin that he likes to drive the same way I like to drive: fast. I stood on the border between West Germany and East Germany and pondered th stupidity of men in ruining a beautiful countryside with a wall from one end to the other.

I visited villages full of half-timbered homes that took my breath away. I saw the room where Martin Luther translated the New Testament. I saw the house where Bach lived. I bought some amazing hand-made gifts for my Mother. I had dinner on the porch of a beautiful restaurant overlooking a perfect German valley.

Alles war wunderbar. My German language skills are quickly getting better and better und besser und besser. I'm amazed how much comes back to me from my five years of junior high and high school German.

I will post pictures and write more details another time. Bis spater und lots of liebe.

Virtually UNVIRTUAL

Almost no internet access right now... I have a few minutes on my Dad's laptop and that is all. Connection too slow to even load Facebook.

I am taking deep breaths and trying to remember the beautiful German countryside that I toured today. I... must... survive... without... Internet. I need to repeat this mantra every time I look at my lonely little laptop with photos that I can't upload.

We took a train from Berlin to Kassel. It was nice to get out of the big city and into the German countryside. Here is the birthplace of the fairy tales (although the locals will hotly debate who actually wrote them, so don't ask...) Our train arrived late, so we only saw part of the Water display at Wilhelmshohe castle, but it was beautiful! The grounds there are heavenly. The museum inside has Rembrandts and other famous pieces of work, but when I asked about them, my cousins didn't seem too impressed. I hope I can see them anyway, but I don't have high hopes.

I'm getting really homesick. I miss my kids. I almost had a nervous breakdown yesterday evening because I started missing home so much. You can't imagine how much pressure there is when you are with relatives and they know that you know SOME German, so they keep asking you questions which you can't understand! Between relatives that ich konnte nicht verstehen and menus that ich konnte nicht verstehen and changing hotel rooms and cities and still being jetlagged, I am feeling really overwhelmed.

All is well and I am more grateful than ever before for the luxuries of air conditioning and a washing machine. There's no place like home.

How to be HOT

Hot, hot, hot

The air is hot, the style is hot, my chocolate is hot and melted. After looking at all the fashionable men and women, I feel like the anti-hot. I am totally sporting the "Utah Housewife" look while I'm in Berlin, but worse: It's Utah Housewife without air conditioning. Not hot. I got back from sightseeing this afternoon and immediately took a long, cold shower to cool off.

I have started taking photos of unsuspecting men for a blog entry that I will later title, "How to Look Hot :: Men of the Continent" or "How to Look Like a European Man in Three Easy Steps." You can choose which title you like best. I need to find some quiet park bench where I can hold my camera in hand like all the other tourists, while stealthily photographing the PEOPLE instead of the SIGHTS.

Loud, loud, loud

I thought I was over my jetlag on the first day. Miracle! And then last night happened. I couldn't sleep. I lay awake in the semi-darkness, counting car horns since I couldn't count sheep. The noise in this city never slackens, never dies out. There was one minute when a stillness slowly crept on the street below me. I waited with baited breath to see if the car tires, horns and engines would actually be silent for an entire moment. Just as the sound had died to almost-impercepibility, the process reversed and a car revved around the corner and awakened the street. Isn't New York supposed to be the city that never sleeps? I think it ain't got nothin' on Berlin. This place never stops moving.

Smells, smells, smells

I am trying to keep a good attitude about the smells. I am saying to myself, "Breathe it in. It is part of the atmosphere of a big city." I am sure that if I were to return one day, I would chuckle to myself and say, "Ah yes! I would recognize the smells of Berlin anywhere! What a sentimental return to the past!"

Until that day, I am trying in vain to love the cigarette smoke and general grime in the air. The air is thick with scents every moment. I can feel the air going into my body, especially on Unter den Linden, where my throat cries out in allergic pain.

Wet and dry

The air is so wet that my jeans stuck to my legs yesterday in a rather unfortunate way. The cloth chafed against me with every movement, refusing to relax and let my legs breathe. Today I am back to wearing my loose, shapeless khakis.

After about ten minutes outside, I can put a hand to my face and feel the perspiration running down it. It is so, so hot and humid that I don't know why I keep trying to put on makeup. What's the point?

My hair is suddenly not itself. It's taking on some kind of strange personality of its own, curling outward at the ends and frizzing all around my face. I don't know what to do with it, but I think I may have to put it in a pony tail because of the heat.

I miss the accessibility of WATER at home. I normally drink and drink and drink all day long. Here, I have to pay 2.5 euros for a glass of mineral water. The result is that I am gradually dehydrating myself, which I can't afford to do when it is so hot. Must... figure... out... water...

Photos online on Picasa Web.

Guten nacht, Berlin

Did you know that if you leave Salt Lake City at 4:40 p.m. and fly direct to Paris, you never truly lose the sunlight? You go from sunset to twilight to dawn instantly, and a few short hours later, the sun has risen again. There is never darkness.

I left my comfortable home 24 hours ago: kissed my children goodbye, cried and turned away. I boarded a plane to Paris, spent 10 hours and 45 minutes wishing I could sleep well on planes, got off the plane and into a bus, out of the bus and into the Paris airport, walked all the way across the airport, bought a croissant (just so I could say I did--it wasn't really that good), boarded another bus that took me all the way back across the airport to another waiting plane, flew 90 minutes to Berlin, settled into a top floor apartment of a hostel (!), walked for hours around Berlin, caught the underground back, ate dinner in a small mexican restaurant and cheered in disbelief as the US scored two goals agains Brazil in the Confederations Cup. (Too tired to watch the whole thing.... I'll have to get the final result tomorrow...)

I realized in the Paris airport that I could hardly remember enough French to say "One croissant, please" or "thank you." I recovered my wits enough on the plane to Berlin to say, "Eau, sil vous plait." I was delighted when the flight attendant promptly turned and poured me a cup of water. I actually communicated something in French! I was equally excited when I asked a German man for help and he understood what I was asking. What a crazy, exciting thing to realize that these people, however foreign they may seem to me, are not completely out of reach.

I listened in amazement to my Dad and our taxi driver discuss American politics, German debt, Barack Obama, finance, the philosophy of war-making, etc. I was amazed at how much I understood and wondered at why such a well-educated, clearly intelligent man was driving a taxi for a living. The taxi was a Mercedes. Perhaps that is a hint of something I don't understand.

I started--and finished--Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury and was moved by the powerful messages. So true that we distill our lives into convenience and entertainment and "happiness" instead of depth, meaning and triumph over challenges. What a book. What an author.

I wrote three nonsensical, sleep-deprived pages about the way the clouds looked. I know you're dying to read that, but I'm sorry. I'm too tired to do data entry. You may have stream of consciousness tonight until I completely lose consciousness. That is all.

My feet finally started hurting, I finally started feeling drowsy and I discovered that I am very allergic to Linden trees while I was walking Unter den Linden to the Brandenburg Gate. I tried not to cry as my Dad reminded me of the simple ease with which we can walk from the former West German Berlin, through the gate and into the former no-man's land. He said that when he was younger, he visited Communist Berlin and saw people gather at sunset to wave good night to their families on the other side of the gate. A symbolic, powerful gesture of love despite separation. Now we walk through, peacefully rubbing our hands against the stone pillars and snapping photos of the architecture.

I never knew that vacationing could be this exhausting. I miss my children and my comfortable routine and my small, quiet suburb. The hint of communism has left a subtle, bitter aftertaste on this town that I cannot wash away. Buildings are blackened and covered with soot. Some buildings that used to be landmarks are now green fields. This city almost chokes one with its' bitter history and struggles. Tomorrow we start to discover some of the beauty that has not been bombed away or dismantled by human folly.

Guten nacht, Berlin. Schlaf gut.

Father's Day

There must be something in the water here: I've been crafting again. And not just a little bit this time. Oh no no no. I have been virtually swallowed up by bits of paper, glue sticks, double-stick tape and scissors. Call me crazy, but I think it was fun. I've also been baking up a storm. I can't help myself. It was Father's Day, which sounds to me like "A Good Excuse to Bake Some Delicious Food and Pretend Like It's For The Fathers" Day.

Here's what my oh-so-domestic side came up with for Father's Day:

Banana Crumb Muffins for breakfast

Whole wheat blueberry pancakes with cinnamon, blueberry syrup and toasted pecans

Gift card inside a homemade pillow box (so fun to make!)

Homemade Card #1 (inspired by this from marthastewart.com)

Version #2 (my person favorite)

I found this on the Martha Stewart website and loved it. I changed it up a bit by adding a different color backing, which also made the entire thing more stable. I used folded bits of the backing cardstock for the "legs" which hold it up. Inspiration here.

I am very proud of this one because I took the idea above and made my own template. The photos were much smaller but the end result was super cute! I made one of these for both my father and my father-in-law. It took a bit of time, but it was well worth it.

This is what the back looks like.

A few photos were sacrificed to the cause ...

Okay, it was a "Very Martha" Father's Day. This is yet ANOTHER Martha Stewart Dad Day craft. Inspiration here. Of course hers is a bazillion times cuter than mine, but I get an A for effort.

We added a patriotic twist to Father's Day dessert with perfectly ripe strawberries from our backyard and blueberries (not from the back yard, but we do have some dying blueberry bushes that I want to revive someday). These are vanilla cupcakes made from the Williams-Sonoma Mary Ann Cake recipe, which has become my staple cake. We added a cream cheese frosting and they were perfectly delicious ... but not as delicious as the cupcakes below ....

I know: these ones aren't as beautiful. I'll give you that. But wait until you hear what that topping is: CARAMELIZED WHITE CHOCOLATE GANACHE. *drool* The middle-right cupcake has ganache atop the cream cheese frosting (good blend of flavors, but didn't do the ganache justice). The bottom left frosting is the ganache and cream cheese mixed together. Check back soon for my blog entry all about the joys of making caramelized white chocolate. It's a miracle. If you just can't wait, you can check it out at David Lebovitz's blog and see some photos that are CONSIDERABLY more attractive than mine!

I didn't even photograph our pre-Father's Day dessert with my Father-in-Law. Just close your eyes and imagine a white plate, drizzled with caramel sauce and topped with a homemade brownie, homemade vanilla ice cream and freshly whipped cream.

Imagine my surprise this morning when I hesitantly stepped on the scale and found that I was a pound or two LIGHTER than I was in the middle of last week! If this kind of eating promotes weight loss, I'm going to be a rich, rich woman when I reveal my secrets!

Positive Affirmations & Top 50

I know, I know. The whole idea of "self affirmations" sounds so silly that you wouldn't be caught dead practicing it, must less blogging about it. That's what makes you appear normal and what makes me appear quirky. I'm okay with that.

I have been thinking a lot about the choices we make to be happy or sad or angry or amused. I'll blog more about that later. I picked up a magazine article about self-affirmations and thought it would be a fun experiment to try. The idea is that by putting these validating principles in your mind, you are taking that first step toward choosing to make that thing a reality.

So here are some positive affirmations to go with some random thoughts about life. Enjoy.

"I am beautiful."

I went through all of my youth convinced that I was unrepairably ugly. That's a sad way to live as a teenager. It was so built in to my self image that I didn't even bother fighting it.

Well, I'm fighting it now. I feel more beautiful at 30 than I did at 18, despite being 75 pounds heavier. (ACK!) I may never be a paragon of beauty, but I can at least put an effort into it. This year I've lost 20 pounds and I am planning to keep going. I am more adventurous with my clothing, hair and makeup than I was as a teenager. (Keeping in mind that going from 0 to 3 on a scale of 100 may not be amazing to you, but I am happy with an improvement.)

Which brings us to today: I'm getting braces. Again. I had them for over five years. All through high school and most of college. (Wow.. it occurs to me that I started 9th grade when I was 15 and had finished almost all of my college coursework by age 20. That's an amazing five years.) I'm embarrassed to be doing this all over again. I'm not happy. But I'm grateful that I can do it, even though it will make me feel like a clumsy teenager again.

"I am talented."

I got an email from somebody this morning, telling me I'd found a spot on their list of the top 50 Mormon websites. Since I have no idea how they determined their top 50, I'm not going to let myself get too carried away here, but it's fun to be recognized. Check it out here:

University Reviews Online :: Top 50 Mormon Blogs

Apparently, there are others who think my blog is worth reading. I have 47 subscribers, according to Google Reader, and that number increases regularly. Thanks to all of you who take the time to read through my aimless ramblings! My blog was also nominated for an award over at the Utah Baby Guide, which is fun.

And let's not forget that I earned 69 cents last month from my ads. That's gotta be encouraging.

"I have amazing self control."

This is what I am telling myself after a horrible yesterday. I actually spanked one of my children. That's about the worst thing I can imagine so I am naturally blogging about it. I don't believe that spanking is effective in most circumstances. There have been a couple times when my oldest was so emotionally out of touch with reality that a swat on the behind really snapped him out of it, but in general I think it's a really cruddy thing to do.

The kids and I had a rough day yesterday. Rough. About three thousand time outs for each of them--even sweet little Elijah who is so well-behaved. By the time my husband got home, I ran out of the house screaming and swearing I'd never return. Well, technically, I just gave him the status report and went to my singing lesson. Then I took some much-needed "ME" time and spent a couple hours at the temple. I came out refreshed, invigorated and ready for one more day of Mormon Motherhood.

I woke up this morning to cranky, demanding children and immediately started putting kids in well-deserved time outs. Again. Then I realized that even a few hours in the temple couldn't make one more day like yesterday bearable. So I made a decision: I have amazing self control. I will not yell at the kids. I will not lose my temper. I will not run to the pantry for chocolate because I need to cope. I will be an example of patient virtue and love. When the kids act up, they will be disciplined in a patient, loving, unemotional way. I have amazing self control.

After making that conscious decision, the day has gone more smoothly. The kids are still talking all over each other and questioning every single thing I say ... deep breath ... but they are mirroring my calm mood and catching themselves before they really lose their tempers with each other. I'll take every small victory I can get. This makes life go from "unbearable" to "survivable." My eventual goal is to make summer vacation actually "enjoyable" but I am not holding my breath quite yet. Baby steps... baby steps...

Humbled.

Found some old stuff. Laughed about it. Blogged about it. Words were kind of funny but not very charitable.

Letter arrived a couple weeks later. Person I joked about wrote to apologize for anything he might have done that offended me ... 15 years ago. Out of the blue? Coincidence?

Uncomfortable feeling.

Did he see the words that were so casually thrown out to the world? Did he blush at my harsh criticism and think he was at fault?

I blush at my criticism and know who was at fault.

Humbled.

Apologies will be spoken. Publicly now. Privately later.

A good reminder that wit is fun but kindness is better. Yet through the tumult of questioning myself, I become stronger as I ponder the rippling effects of my actions. A friendship, long since dead and gone, will be revived. Out of the ashes, rebirth.

Baseball

Aww, baseball. That tradition of American traditions; that symbol of the red, white and blue. The word alone conjures up images of summer sunshine and shared smiles. Baseball. It almost brings a tear to your eye.

Unless you're me.

If you're me, the word "baseball" conjures up images of endless innings of guys standing around scratching themselves in embarrassing places while waiting for something--please, SOMETHING!--to happen on the field. People stand around. They chew and spit. They stand around some more. The crowd goes wild.

I would be more entertained in a completely dark room. At least I'd have my anxieties and dreams to keep my mind busy.

So why--why? WHY?--did I sign my oldest son up to play baseball this summer? What could have possessed me to purposefully fill my summer hours with this tedious, monotonous, utterly atrocious "national pasttime"?

I think it was the peer pressure. When Joseph began toddling around, I started putting a soccer ball in front of his feet. He would toddle, kick, toddle, kick, step on the ball, fall on his face, toddle, kick. It was fabulous. I adore soccer games and couldn't wait until he was old enough to play. That's when the peer pressure began.

"Maybe he would be really good at baseball," my Mom said pointedly. "He doesn't have to like soccer just because you like soccer."

"I hate baseball," I replied. "Why would I sign him up for baseball when I'd have to go to his games and pretend to enjoy watching people standing around the field not doing anything? Whoop-de-doo."

"Don't be selfish," she would reply, finding a vulnerable target in my psyche.

This conversation has been repeated over and over with my Mom. Every time the kids play in her backyard, she pulls out the bat and ball and starts the indoctrination process. The mental retraining. The not-so-subtle, not-very-sneaky grand-parental sabotage that she excels at.

And as it turns out, Joseph is good. (mental expletive) The boy loves it and is really not half bad. I have no idea how he'll do in a public setting when there are a million distractions--he didn't even look at the soccer ball when he was in U6 soccer because he was having so much fun just running after the other kids and laughing--but my Mom's treacherous betrayal was effective and Joseph's first baseball game is today. (Actually it was last week, but I was out of town and it got forgotten in the confusion.)

And so I sacrifice myself up in exchange for the delighted smiles of my seven-year-old. I'm sure it'll be worth it the first time I see him hit that ball and run to 1st base. At least, it better be worth it. If not, my Mom and I need to have a few words.

And as for me, I think there is a Real Salt Lake game (with David Archuleta performing afterward) that is calling my name. Really, I think I deserve it.

Virtually Screwed Up

I am starting to get the impression that I spend too much time with my technology. I opened the blinds upstairs and looked out the window. I was AMAZED at the crisp, clean colors and thought, "Wow! That resolution is amazingly lifelike." Then I remembered that I wasn't looking at a computer, TV screen or iPod. Huh.

Time to get out more, eh?

Midnight Terrors

Nearly midnight in Arches National Park. The pavement ahead of us was brightened by our headlights. As my friend, Alysa, and I traveled, the patches of light were ever-shifting and changing. What was lit a moment ago was now an unknown shadow. And just ahead, where the light hadn't reached yet? There was only one way to find out: keep driving.

The moon was just bright enough to illuminate the shapes of massive rocks looming on each side of the road. In the near-darkness, their shapes were contorted into ugly demons and terrorizing faces--hundreds of feet tall. We were swallowed up in the eerie canyons and cliffs.

The idea was sound enough: I thought it would be fun to go star-gazing away from all the city lights. What better place to ponder the universe than in the heart of one of our national parks? The road is open 24 hours a day, so we thought it would be great... until Alysa casually remarked, "You know, I'm really scared of the dark."

"Oh, really?" I asked breezily ... and then quickly admitted: "Yeah, me, too. Scared to death."

"Why?" Alysa asked.

"Because you have no idea what might be lurking two inches away from you," I replied honestly. "You could be feeling safe and secure and there could be a mass murderer holding a knife two inches from your throat and you'd never know it in the dark." We pondered that for a few moments, feeling the skin on the back of our necks crawl. I continued: "What are you scared of with the dark?"

"Ghosts."

"Ghosts?!?!" I asked, laughing. "You're kidding, right? What about good old human people who might want to kill you ... or... stuff ...?"

"I'm not scared of people," she replied. "Just the supernatural."

As we continued driving along the steep roadway, I thought she was kidding. I mean, come on. Ghosts? Whatever.

Suddenly, a massive form loomed along the side of the road. It looked like a huge animal and I knew it was going to jump out in front of the car, stranding us with our fears and lack of cell phone coverage. I gasped and jumped in my seat. It was a rock. I hate the dark.

After driving for about 20 minutes or so, we spotted the parking turnoff for the Petrified Sand Dunes. Perfect! We pulled over on the side of the road and contemplated finding a comfortable stone sand dune to sprawl out on. We stepped out of the car and gazed into the blackness.

"Maybe we should just sort of look up while we stand next to the car," I suggested. So we leaned against the car and looked up. My brain kept wondering what would happen if we met unsavory characters while we were out here in the middle of nowhere. With nobody else around. That creepy fear started crawling up my neck again.

That's when it happened: a car rounded the corner and shone its lights on us. Fine. If they were good-intentioned people, they would have no interest in us and they would keep driving.

They slowed down.

Why? Why were they slowing down? What kind of freaks would want to come and bother two total strangers in the middle of the night?

"Frrrreeeeedd..... Get back in the car. They're stopping. Fred, let's GO," I said. Fred is Alysa. We like nicknames.

"Why?" she asked as I realized she was sincere when she said she wasn't scared of other people.

"Because those people in that JEEP are STOPPING and there is NO GOOD REASON why they should be STOPPING and checking us out and shining their headlights on us," I replied. "And it's freaking me out. I'm serious. Go get in the car!!!"

The Jeep slowly passed us, then came to an almost-complete stop. They swung around slowly in an arc until their car was next to ours and their lights were shining directly on us again. If you think the dark is frightening, it is nothing compared to being blinded by bright lights in the middle of the darkness. I felt completely exposed and helpless.

"Come on, come on, come on," I insisted, reaching for my doorknob. "Now, now, now, now, now!"

Alysa/Fred looked at me in confusion. "What? You're really scared that those people want to hurt us or something?" She was totally sincere. I was starting to feel panicked.

The car slowly swung around ours and drifted off into the darkness. Alysa burst out laughing.

"That was the PARK RANGER!!!!! You're scared of the PARK RANGER!!!!"

"What?" I gasped. "You're scared of GHOSTS and I'm scared of PARK RANGERS?!! This is ridiculous!!" We got back in the car and kept driving. We (unwisely) continued to swap stories of why we were scared of the dark until my senses were all on full alert. Our late-night communion with the great outdoors was seeming like less and less of a brilliant idea.

We reached the end of a roadway and were entering the parking lot loop to turn around when suddenly, the space in front of our car was filled by something other than light. A shape emerged from the darkness and raced across the road, inches from our bumper, before disappearing again a moment later.

Alysa may claim she didn't scream but I am certain we both screamed out in surprise. It looked like a jack rabbit, but I swear it was about 11 feet tall. Okay, maybe not 11 feet, but it was HUGE and it was FAST. My heart was racing as we decided we'd had enough thrills for one night and headed back to our hotel.

"You were totally scared of the rabbit," Alysa said laughingly a minute later. "And the park ranger. You're scared of rabbits and rangers. Ha ha!"

"You screamed, too," I said sullenly.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

"Maybe," Fred half-admitted. "But I wasn't scared. Just surprised."

"Scared? Who was scared??" I asked in indignation. "As if. Just surprised. Like you said."

I arrived back in Moab with everything intact except my ego.

Hi, my name is Juliana. I'm 30 years old and I'm scared to death of park rangers and rabbits. At least I'm not scared of poking fun of myself by sharing it with the whole world. That's got to count for something. I hope.

5 Minutes With My Box

Who would have guessed that cleaning out a closet would rip me out of 2009 and send me flying back to the past? I started cleaning out my boxes of memorabilia from my youth. I'm not sure how I ever put a lid on those boxes, because they were teeming with stories, emotion, pain, and heart-breaking forgiveness that flew out at me as soon as I started sifting through the jumble.

* I found a crumpled piece of paper that held a reproof from a friend. I remember how angry I was because she was SO right... so I kept wadding the paper up in a ball, then unfolding it to read it again, and re-wadding it.

* I read a plea from a guy friend who told me he was so scared that our friendship would change after high school. He was afraid that I would move on with life and forget about him. Ironically, this guy has pushed me so far out of his life now that we haven't been able to even talk in years. Sad.

* I read letter after letter from one friend, apologizing for treating me so badly and wishing that she were a better friend. She was one of the best friends I've ever had and I never understood what she felt so guilty about. I still adore her whole-heartedly.

* I found a "love note" from a guy that I had never dated, telling me that he would never french kiss me because it symbolized ***. Gosh, that sure won my heart over as I ran screaming in the opposite direction. In case it's not clear, he didn't need to worry about the kissing bit. Really, really, really didn't need to worry.

* I found an old prom picture with a boyfriend who had scrawled "I love you" on the bottom. Dang I was skinny.

* I found love poetry that I wrote for Josh

* I found love poetry that I did NOT write for Josh

* I found multiple letters from a guy named "Mark" and couldn't for the life of me figure out who he was... Until I found some pictures and remembered freaky-guy Mark and how we had been pen pals until he sent pictures and I saw how freaky he and his life were.

* I found the letter that my first boyfriend sent in response to my "Dear John." His missionary companions had a few choice words for me after the breakup:

I've known Elder XXXXX since he first got here. He's an incredible man and a wonderful missionary. Are you sure you don't want to restate that lovely letter you penned him? Well, you know what, IT DON'T NOT MATTER CUZ HE DON'T CARE ANYHOW. ... I pray that your life in XXXXXless solitude will be as frutiferous as an Argentine street vender in Lomas de Zamora. With all my deep love and appreciation for the laughs, Elder Sanches

The other replies are less interesting/probably more so but in Spanish. I don't speak Spanish.

* I fought back tears as I read the sincere apology the above ex-boyfriend sent me a few months later:

You and your firendship have always meant a lot to me and just because you've decided to marry one of my best friends doesn't mean all that has to end...

He and I are still friends and I get together with his wife every month for a Girl's Night Out. That's the power of "moving on."

* I found an old email that a "friend" had sent to Mr. XXXXX while he and I were dating. In the email, this "friend" of mine demanded that he stop paying attention to me and start dating her instead. Since my boyfriend showed me the letter and let me REPLY to her from his account, I think you understand the way things were. Luckily for both of us, there was a problem with the mail server and she never got my reply. That was a stroke of luck.

* I found at least a dozen letters from a guy that I couldn't for the life of me remember. As I went through the box, I unraveled the mystery a little bit. Embarrassing to realize I'd forgotten him.

* I found several letters from somebody else that I still can't place. Sorry, Nelson, but I have no idea who you are. Even if we did correspond while you were a missionary.

* I found my ACT score of 32. Dude.

* I found two of the college recruitment letters that I got in high school. I had a whole box of them but apparently only kept the ones from Brown and Yale. I am very upset that I didn't keep the one from MIT. And I'm still slightly offended that I didn't get one from Harvard. They were the only Ivy League to ignore me. Hmph. All I can say is:

H-A-R

H-A-R

H-A-R with a V

V-A-R

V-A-R

V-A R with a D

Harvard boys are big and tough.

They know how to knit and stuff.

Harvard! Yoo hoo!

(Courtesy of my Yale alum family members)

* I found a short (VERY short) story I had written at a VERY young age. It was called "The Frozen Unicorn" and was so creative that I was jealous of the younger me.

* I found the famous Fight I had with one of my best friends while we sat in the back of a BYU class. I had no idea I kept it. She and I are getting together this weekend, and I can't wait to reopen this can of worms! Time brings great perspective.

That is only skimming the top of what I found in those old boxes of stuff. Someday I'll do a blog giveaway, and the prize will be FIVE SOLID MINUTES alone with My Box. If you don't laugh, cry and get some good inspiration for a melodramatic movie or novel, I guarantee your money back.

High School Assemblies

During my sophomore and junior years in high school, a string of tragic car accident claimed the lives of several students. They were so young, so full of promise. I didn't know them personally but mourned along with the school.

Nevertheless, life went on. There is no compromising with the dictates of fate. Death is absolute; so is the throbbing continuation of life and renewal. So the student body picked itself up and cleansed itself from sorrow. Laughter filled the hallways. Flirtations made young heart and minds accelerate in anticipation. Jocks continued to increase their physical prowess. Intellectuals continued to increase their cerebral prowess.

Sorrow forgot--life continues onward.

There were times during the year when the student body came together as a sort of celebration of uniqueness and sameness. Assemblies. We all squeezed into our auditorium and basked in the lack of class time. Our eyes scanned the crowd for the friends that we could sit by, head to head, and laugh quietly with during the hour. After we were seated, our eyes still scanned the crowd for that special boy or girl that we just couldn't stop thinking about. Was he nearby? Did he see me? Would he come sit by me? Who was he with?

As the social fever pulsated, the faculty tried to quiet the roar long enough to establish some sense of order. The program was announced. Speakers spoke. Students clapped. The different classes tried to outdo each other with their chants of "95! 95! Ninety ninety ninety ninety 95!!!" The class of '95 was always the most vocal and seemed to honestly think that they were blessed with some superhuman specialness because they were part of the glorious graduating class of 1995. We '96ers were jealous of their enthusiasm, tried to emulate them and always fell short, muttering about how cool they thought they were (but really weren't).

One of the highlights of the assemblies was the student performances. Young vocalists donned long gowns and tried to sing Celine in a new way. Rocks bands feverishly banged their heads up and down and tried to keep a rhythm, but generally failed. Aspiring comedians tried to make the students laugh. We did laugh, but perhaps not for the reasons they had hoped.

The atmosphere was tangible as we celebrated our unique accomplishments but bonded together as students of our beloved school. We stood on our feet and passionately sang our school song. Joy was palpable.

Then one day, it happened. We were giggling, figuring out our after-school plans and exchanging glances that meant, "Did he seriously just sing that in front of 2,000 people? I'd rather be caught dead!" 

Two young men stepped onto the stage, acoustic guitars in hand. They were popular and good looking. The crowd welcomed them with screams and applause.

They sat down on stools solemnly and began to sing.

Would you know my name

If I saw you in heaven?

Will it be the same

If I saw you in heaven?

We immediately recognized who these people were. They were friends of the crash victims. We instantly understood. They weren't singing to the 2,000 people who were watching. They were singing to their friends. Whispering stopped. Laughter died away. Notes were not passed. The cute guy in the row ahead was forgotten. This was a sacred moment.

I must be strong, and carry on

'Cause I know I don't belong

Here in heaven

Time can bring you down

Time can bend your knee

Time can break your heart

Have you begging please

Begging please

There are some friendships in life that are so intense and so important that they can't be forgotten. There are some moments in life so unexpected, so intense and so important that they can't be forgotten. Both are sacred. Both are hallowed.

Beyond the door, there's peace I'm sure

And I know there'll be no more

Tears in heaven

I <3 Books

This is my nightstand.

I love reading. Can you tell? Here is what is on my nightstand right now:

* Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell -- Given to me by my Mom. Haven't started yet.

* Zen in the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury -- Bought last week and I'm LOVING it

* Story Structure Architect: A Writer's Guide to Building Dramatic Situations and Compelling * Characters by Victoria Lynn Schmidt -- Bought last week

* Goose Girl by Shannon Hale -- Bought last weekend at the Provo Book Fair and got autographed. I need to take this one upstairs. Just haven't done it yet.

* The Book of Mormon

* Characters and Viewpoint by Orson Scott Card -- Lent to me by my friend. About halfway done.

* The Mom's Book -- For the Mom Who's Best at Everything by Alison Maloney -- Given to me as a gift and I haven't started yet.

* Webster's New World English Grammar Handbook

* The Candy Shop War by Brandon Mull -- Bought last weekend at the Provo Book Fair, got it autographed and am enjoying it quite a bit.

* Fablehaven by Brandon Mull (2 copies)  -- Also bought at the Provo Book Fair, got them autographed and now I'm deciding which lucky nephew gets to have the spare.

* In the South by Salman Rushdie (short story printed from The New Yorker)

* Married for Better, Not Worse by Gary & Joy Lundberg -- Read a long time ago, thought I'd pull it out to remember the fun ideas it has inside for getting to know your spouse better

* I Don't Have to Make Everything All Better by Gary & Joy Lundberg -- Read it, loved it, haven't put it away yet

* The Wizard's Princess by Alyson Ingebretson King -- Written by my friend, Alyson! Loved it and I need to return it!

* The Hiding Place by Carrie Ten Boom -- Lent to me and I haven't started yet (It's on the list. I'll get there!)

* The New Strong-willed Child by James Dobson -- What? My children aren't strong-willed. Why are you looking at me that way?

* Phantom by Susan Ray -- Lent to me and I haven't started it yet

* The Peacegiver by James L. Farrell -- Lent to me and I'm almost done.

* Autobiography of Nuon Phaly (printed from the Internet) -- Story of the woman who started the orphanage where I am supporting an 8-yr-old girl

* Approximately half a dozen articles printed from http://www.lds.org -- This is a fairly regular feature ON or IN my nightstand

* Broken Things to Mend by Jeffrey R. Holland -- Given to me as a gift. I'm done reading it, but haven't taken it uptairs yet.

Looking at this list, I honestly wouldn't believe this would all fit on one nightstand. At least, not alongside a toaster that needs to be sold/given away, Boggle Junior (also needs to be sold/given away), a lamp, receipts from my latest trip to California, a clock and a box of thank you cards. It certainly SHOULDN'T all be crammed into one small space, but there you have it. I love books. I love reading. I want everything to be within my reach when I settle down to sleep each night.

Still ... it may be time to tidy things up.

Passion of Words

An invitation, an opening of arms--a plea--for the readers who open their minds to my craft:

I have built for you a house of words. Come, warm yourself by my fire. Breathe in the metaphors and imagery that I have carefully constructed as a gift for you. Tumble, fall, lose yourself in a new world.

I hold this world in my hands and offer it--so tentatively--for your inspection. Step in or step away--this world of words will still sit at my fingertips, spinning and flashing light, even if I enter this world alone. It is a castle of creativity, a yurt of passion, an empty meadow asking to be discovered.

I have opened the canvas wide and invited you to view this world with open eyes.

Come. Lose yourself and discover yourself.

Read. Think. Question. Ponder. Argue. See.

Be.

In the Language of Steinbeck

Last night, I started dreaming in Steinbeck. I have occasionally dreamt in German when I was younger, but never before in Steinbeck. John Steinbeck has a language all his own in the humble opinion of this devoted fan. His collections of words are piercingly true and imbued with a distant calm that simply sees life as it is.

I started reading "Tortilla Flat" a few days ago and I have already found myself narrating events around me in that unemotional third-person omniscience that makes Steinbeck so Steinbeckian. Or Steinbeckish. Or choose your own adjective. Last night, I was awakened from a dream and realized in shock that my dream was somehow colored through and through with the voice of John Steinbeck. Life was good.

~ ~ ~

Yesterday was Mother's Day. Don't even ask unless you really want to know. I wrote a four-page, single-space diatribe against this semi-annual Day of Wasted Expectations but decided that it may not be fit for public consumption. Email me if you want to read it.

~ ~ ~

Looks like I'll be headed to Deutschland in about a month. Wow! It has been a seriously long time since I have spoken any German, so I better start brushing up.

~ ~ ~

I took two of my nephews to "Math Circle" at Brigham Young University last weekend. The professor who runs the group looked at my two kids who were tagging along, trying to decide if they were going to be a part of the group or if they were just there to tag along. He looked Joseph over and handed him a worksheet and pencil. Then he turned to Thomas. Little, blonde four-year-old Thomas. He hesitated. 

"Does he understand clockwise and counterclockwise?" he asked. 

"Uhhh... probably not," I replied.

"Can he read?"

"Yeah, he can read."

That was enough for this math devotee. He plopped a worksheet fit for teenagers down in front of my four-year-old and went about his business. I couldn't help smiling. 

0.69

69 cents. That's how much I earned through AdSense last month. At this rate, I'll be rich in about three millenia. It's a good thing I'm a very patient woman.