Today is my 27th birthday. I sat early this morning reading, from a book called Jewish Grandmothers. I came across a passage that I would like to share.

...I had dreamed of free schools, free colleges, where I could learn to give out my innermost thoughts and feelings to the world. But no sooner did I come off the ship than hunger drove me to the sweat-shop, to become a "hand" - not a brain - not a soul - not a spirit - but just a "hand" - cramped, deadened into a part of a machine. A hand fit only to grasp, not to give.

-Anzia Yezierska, Children of Loneliness

Where The Wild Things Are

One of my favorite children's books is coming to the big screen! Where The Wild Things Are is that rarest of books that has managed to capture the essence of childhood, the art of make believe. I hope the magic is not lost in transalation to screenplay. You can see two trailers for the film at http://wherethewildthingsare.warnerbros.com/, I also suggest watching the featurette with author Maurice Sendak.

Inside all of us is
Everything you've ever seen
Everything you've ever done
Everyone you've ever loved

Inside all of us is hope
Inside all of us is fear
Inside all of us is adventure
Inside all of us is a wild thing

The Anthropology of Turquoise

I have had little time to read for pleasure as of late. I took two classes over the summer, an environmental geology class and a sociology class, neither of which provided me with enjoyable reading material. I have sprinkled in some Sylvia Plath, of which I was surprised to find myself unimpressed, and a handful of other reads not worth mentioning. That was until I picked up a book in Moab that has effortlessly drifted me into the dichotomy of the southwest. The Anthropology of Turquoise, by Ellen Meloy, has the most beautiful imagery of color and landscape. I do not typically employ words such as stunning and vibrant to literature, but this is perhaps the only way I know to best describe Meloy's use of language.

Last month I spent a day on the Colorado River. It was my first time in a kayak and the first time in almost two decades since I have been on a raft. The scenery was breathtaking, but the water, the water was resplendent. I slipped off the raft and into the water for a reprieve from the heat where I was enveloped in the cool waters of the Colorado. It felt astonishing on my skin. I have loved the water my entire life, but a new appreciation comes from being carried across its surface.

An excerpt from The Anthropology of Turquoise,

In ancient Rome women were inclined to wear nothing but pearls when they swam in the sea. Non recte recipit haec nos rerum natura nisi nudos, worte Pliny, the Roman naturalist. The sea receives us in a proper way only when we are naked. Water on the skin surrounding unclad limbs, urges forth some forgotten impluse toward bliss.

I shall have pearls in hand the next time I head towards the river, or perhaps the bathtub.

At my age, my mother had been a mother for ten plus years. Imagine me, the mother of a twelve year old – the mistakes I have made in the last decade; the disappointments I have faced, the struggle to find myself and be true to her, the difficulty in facing what I have become, the sadness in the acceptance of what I am not. Imagine all of this, accompanying the trial of motherhood.

Without the transparency of my own shortcomings I judged her, not as a woman who gave the best of herself, I judged her as one looks upon the stone of Rodin, not as the flesh and blood that she is.

With age comes clarity and gratitude, perhaps its greatest gift.

I see her now, my mother, as I should have looked upon her long ago. Without the intolerance of her imperfections I see her, as a woman once a child. Without the misgivings of her intentions I see her, as a woman who loved her own child.

And I, the child, blessed to know that she was loved.

understandings

As a child I saw my parents as infallible. They were all I knew of what was good and what was right with the world, they appeared flawless; my father could do no wrong for I knew of no wrong to be done. I assumingly saw their role as that of protector, of mentor; I viewed their knowledge of the world as unadulterated. I heard and trusted their word as truth, not yet aware that I would one day find my own truths for which to live by.
Childhood is the blissfulness of not yet being fully aware. A view of the world still untarnished, unblemished . . . untainted with the understanding of loss, of hate, of ignorance, of disappointment and of fear. Childhood is unsoiled with the blood of war, or at least it should be.
So imagine my disillusionment to discover that my parents were not the superheroes I once supposed them to be; coming to the self-realization that they have the same capacity for mistakes as I.

Flawed.

Imperfect.

Human.

And I, in this body once child, no longer unmindful of all that is ugly in this world.

The Hours

I watched the movie “The Hours” several weeks ago, its characters have been lingering alongside me since. One of my favorite movies, it is an adaptation of the Pullitzer Prize winning novel of the same name. Written by Michael Cunningham, the story chronicles the life of Virginia Woolf (played by Nicole Kidman) with a modern day Mrs. Dalloway (played by Meryl Streep) as their lives are interconnected through Laura (played by Julianne Moore). The film begins with a depiction of Virginia Woolf’s suicide in the River Ouse in 1941. The film is deeply moving. The first time I saw the film I softly cried. All three women must confront suicide: one is fighting madness, one is fighting for her life, and one is fighting someone else’s fight.

Some see Woolf’s suicide as an act of cowardice. I see Virginia as courageous. She was falling into madness again, having been there many times before she recognized within herself the strength to not allow her mind to fall once more– she recognized that when she slipped back into the abyss she took those she loved with her. She acted with fortitude and gallantry, saving both herself and those she loved.

my nephews

Here are two of the new little men in our lives!

She

She sees. She sees death and she sees ignorance. She sees darkness and she sees intolerance. She sees anguish and she sees mistreatment. She sees egregious acts against humanity. She sees ineffable acts of depravity. She sees. What she sees with her eyes is heard with her ears. What she sees with her eyes is heard by her heart. What she sees with her eyes is a poison. A poison to her mind. A poison to her spirit. A poison to her body. What she sees with her eyes often stops her breath. An awareness of feeling, a slow strangulation. For what she sees is felt.

A New Nephew

We have a new member to welcome to the Vallen family. Emily and Michael have recently welcomed a six week old baby boy into their home. We are excited to watch him grow and learn and take wonder in the world around him. Perrie has especially loved having another little one to hold in her arms. Living only two miles from Emily, we have been able to spend a lot of time with Collin. We also see Tatum several times a week. I think Perrie is happiest when both babies are in the house!!! Tatum is turning three months old next week, how quickly they grow! Our friend Abby is having a baby boy the first week of June, they have named him Alexander. And my sister-in-law is having a baby boy in August. So many boys in such a short period of time! Next summer our yard shall be filled with a circus of nephews and dogs enjoying the fleeting days of youth! Mud pies for everyone!!!

Perrie and I, along with my sisters, are having a baby shower for Emily on April 25th. We are having a baby shower for Abby on May 11th, and a wedding shower for Maggie in June. Our family is growing by leaps and bounds!!! It is wonderful to see the joy in Perrie's eyes as her family grows. She is always asking my sisters for opportunities to babysit!

I will get pictures posted of Perrie with her new nephews, as well as pictures of Perrie's performance as Joan Jett singing "I love rock and roll..." in the Special Needs Mutual Roadshow.

In other news, my biological dad, James, moved to Salt Lake City for the summer. We are enjoying sightseeing and family dinners together, all the while getting to know each other.

New home

I am so grateful for my new home.

I used to live in Eagle Mountain, a small city of only 10,000 residents. I enjoyed the quietness. I enjoyed the expansive darkness from above; glittered in starlight I would sit outside at night, paint outside at night . . . it was a beautiful home, a large home, with a magazine worthy kitchen. However, idyllic it may have appeared; it had a plethora of drawbacks – most of which left their impact on the environment. The homes three bathrooms required thrice the amount of cleaning products; the large open spaces wasted valuable resources required to heat and cool the home.

Eagle Mountain is set 9 miles from town, 9 miles through Lehi and Saratoga Springs on a heavily congested two lane road. A trip to town took a minimum of 20 minutes, which stretched to 45 minutes during rush hour. Fuel consumption to and from town, to and from Perrie’s activities and friends, to and from our activities and friends, transportation that is ruining the streets of Lehi with congestion and poor air quality.

The entrance to our subdivision in Eagle Mountain was flanked by two massive stone walls with waterfalls flowing from each.

Our home was modest in comparison to the size of many of the homes that lined our streets.

Embedded in our subdivision and winding its’ way through our neighborhood was The Ranches Golf Club.

The city could be defined in two words – CONSUMPTION and WASTE. In fact, consumption could be the anthem of the neighborhood. Hummers and SUV’s lined the driveways of our streets. ATV vehicles parked in third car garages. Boats parked on concrete slabs. I initially thought my disgust was jealousy; thankfully it was not; as I examined my feelings towards my neighbors and my neighborhood I recognized that I detested everything Eagle Mountain stood for. Under the guise of “progress” Eagle Mountain promises its’ residents “a master-planned community that captures the small-town feel in the midst of Utah’s urban corridor. “ (emcity.org) Eagle Mountain is 40 miles Southwest of Salt Lake and thirty miles Northwest of Provo, with no bus route this means that the majority of its’ residents are commuting in their oversized land-eating vehicles of destruction. (One day I hope we are able to hold car manufacturers responsible for poor air quality as we have held cigarette companies responsible in the past.) Green lawns were required. As was the only fence allotted by the HOA, with a specific height, color and style of wood. The color of which had to be applied within so many days of the fences install to avoid a fine. I had a single strand of Christmas lights in the one and only tree on our property, a tree not much taller than myself and certainly no wider. I left my lights on the tree after Christmas last year, prompting a letter from the HOA which threatened a fine if my lights were not promptly removed; they were kind enough to enclose a photograph of this atrocity in my front yard. Perhaps concentration camp would be a more appropriate title than neighborhood.

I felt as though I were living inside the movie “Stepford Wives”. With neighbors that grinned and waved from their driveways as mechanically as Jim Carrey’s in “The Truman Show”, authenticity was nowhere to be found.

The decision to downsize was easy to make, yet hard to live with at first. Nevertheless, my only regret is that I once believed that living in Eagle Mountain was a good decision, placing my own desires above the needs of our planet – the only true place we can all call home.

I am frequently overwhelmed when I think about my carbon footprint, our carbon footprint, the carbon footprint of our home, myself, Perrie, our animals. Every action I take causes a reaction, every action taken by Perrie and those taken on her behalf cause a reaction. There our consequences to our actions; consequences that I have ignored for far too long.

Yes, we recycle. Yes, we utilize the wonderful website freecycle.org, sharing our unused items and finding items we need (such as a composter and reelmower). Yes, we try to buy organic. Yes, we weakly attempt to buy items locally. Yes, I kept the same cell-phone for five years, resisting the temptation to upgrade until my phone finally went to its recycled grave. Yes, we take in grocery sacks to prevent bringing home more plastic bags. Yes, my bookbag is made of recycled plastic bottles . . . Yet these are merely weak attempts to help us feel better about our consumption, and its consequence.

What we need to do is address each consequence individually. By examining each consequence, and then working back to its origination, we can identify the source of each consequence and work towards eliminating it all together.

For example: the consequence of using furniture polish is an empty aerosole can that ends up in a landfill. The prevention: five lemons and olive oil, in a reusable spray bottle, which now serves as your household furniture polish and a simple salad dressing. Lemon peel composted, landfill avoided!

So this is my new years resolution - one by one I am listing a consequence to an action. As each action is identified I am going to retrace its steps backwards and discover a way to eliminate each consequence, one by one. I am realistic. I would like to say, "tomorrow I am going to go completely green" or "I am going to recycle everything from this point forward", these statements intimidate me, I feel helpless at the thought of trying to change everything all at once. So I am going to change one thing at a time, a gradual lifestyle change of learning to make new choices, better choices. Slowly changing our old ways of thinking. I hope to use my blog to track my progress.

She saw no light at the dawning of a new day. Nor did she see the noon day sun. She saw no glistened haze as the sun began to set. She saw no moonlit shadows fall upon her sleepless bed.

Darkness befell her, no longer saving itself for late night hours; the darkness now consumed her day. She breathed it in. She felt it on her skin. She felt it begin to fill her. Her body now full of darkness too.

All things end. A good book. A good dish. A good bottle of wine.
Some things end that should. Some things end that shouldn’t. Some things end that should have never started.
My search for motherhood has ended. An ending to what was never even a beginning. I was never going to get pregnant. I was never going to give birth. My DNA predestined me to a life of childlessness.
I have accepted this and I am moving forward.
I am now asking that others respect my privacy, respect my decision, and allow me the space to find peace and move on.

Lars and the Real Girl

Lars and the Real Girl was an amazing movie. A movie that reminded me of the reasons that I endure cinema. I love going to the movies, but so often I am left discouraged by countless movies bereft of true meaning and feeling, leaving me empty. I lied in bed that night pondering over the humanity and compassion felt through Lars story, the interconnectedness of his life, his family, his community, and his friends. I was reminded of the importance of kindness and understanding, for both myself and for others. I was reminded of the beauty of others. I was reminded of the human potential to create good. And for the first time, in a very long time, I felt hope for mankind.