A bean out of town

Mt. Ama Dablam -- It's distinctive shape makes it easily identifiable. How can you not love this mountain? Just look at it, and it is called ama dablam -- how can you not love saying that out loud?
This is why I never want to attempt the summit: These aluminum ladders are placed over crevasses that are hundreds of feet deep. Then, you, in a full snow suit, with a backpack, wearing crampons on your feet, walk across the ladder. A common ways climbers, including sherpas, die is from falling in crevasses. No thank you.

We stopped at this woman's tea house for lunch. It was amazing what came out of her open-fire kitchen.

Gelgin Sherpa: In the summer everything moves. Everything comes down from the base camp. During the summer earth is moving, glacier melts, it is very unstable.

Me: So, it's dangerous to go up to base camp in the summer.

Gelgin Sherpa: Yes, very dangerous.

Me: (in my mind...yikes!) -- even more yikes when we arrived and could hear avalanches all around us and see the trail being interrupted by glacial lakes, and newly opened crevasses

crazy glaciers

360 degree panoramas -- everywhere - enormous, beautiful peaks

There she is...the tallest mountain in the world!

"Meet Me in Harvard Square"

“Meet me in Harvard Square.”
Like some type of overrun chick flick, only this is real life. Not reality TV, but my life. 100 dates in 100 days. First dates are great and all, but I sincerely hope there is someone out there who wants to spend more than 2 hours over a burrito with me.

Ice cream is unto Mormons as beer is unto the majority of the American population.
I remember the first time a guy asked me to a bar. It was a Thursday night. Weekends start early, right? Mormon pop culture, on the other hand, is all about the ice cream. How about I take you for some ice cream? Ah… the natural (?) high of cholesterol and fat.

I am not cynical, just tired, and coming to the realization that I have become what TIME magazine dubbed a “twixter”. In between. Not a teenager, yet lacking the full-blown responsibility of an adult. We move from job to job, city to city, schooling to internship to placement. Never settling down to start a family. Continuing to text, email, and call our own parents instead of becoming parents ourselves.

I always thought I’d be married by this point in life. And maybe that’s the challenge. I was mentally prepared for high school, college, motherhood. I never heard a young women’s lesson about the joys of being 25 and single.

Touch me, hold me, compliment me. At the end of the night I walk back through Harvard Square, get on the train, and head to my apartment. The smell of Thai food, salsa dancing sweat, or the latest cologne still is on my clothes. I take them off and crawl into bed alone.

the book

You would think such a serendipitous meeting would happen in an old New England bookstore with used books and rare editions, but if providence wants to happen in Barnes and Noble in the center of downtown, I’ll take it. I had decided to return a Christmas gift. I had chomped through the first bit of the book, and was really enjoying it, which surprised me since I’ve been rather anti-reading-for pleasure for quite some time. The story was great and I actually cared about the characters, but it was also filled with a lot of dark. It is something that I have questioned more than once. Life can be evil. And the unthinkable actions of others can affect and harm the innocent. How do I preserve my naiveté, while not turning away from the suffering and want that exists? If I have a desire to help teenagers, should I not be cognizant of what goes on behind closed doors? And it is a personal choice. Different causes result in a variety of effects on people. And whether it is the bulk of my imagination or the sheer covering of my heart, for whatever reason, I packed the book up and took it back. The added drag in my feet had been the giver of the gift, who I knew spent time carefully selecting the book, and will no doubt ask how I enjoyed it.

I was delayed the first time I tried to return it. All of Huntington Ave. shut down in some rare accident, and the bus that I was on had to take a large, unexpected detour.
The next time, things went smoothly, and I happily dumped the thick, hardback novel out of my backpack onto the counter in exchange for a “Star Girl” gift card. As I walked away, I heard my name, and there he was. A dear friend from college, and one with whom I knew things were still incomplete. There was mutual joy in the “chance” reunion, and we promised to meet up again soon. He immediately recounted the times we had spent at a family’s house (unknown to him, it was the branch president).

The amount of joy I felt on the way home was enormous. I felt so much excitement, energy, and light. There was a clarity in my mind and a confidence that I can accomplish everything that needs to be done. And these feelings had been missing the past couple of weeks. I knew once again that I was part of a crazy cross stitch where God guides my steps to intersect with someone else’s in a pattern only He could design.

There are so many good things to read, why spend my time on something that potentially is not?

Obama

I echo the gratitude expressed by one of the co-directors at the school where I work. I am thankful that I shared this significant event in history with the Roxbury Prep community. At Roxbury Prep, the student body is comprised entirely of students of color. Seeing the students' excitement this week at the news of the election was thrilling. Every Friday, there is a "community meeting". It is an assembly with all of the students and staff at the school. The meeting always ends with a staff member reading a quote and everyone sitting in silence. This week, an 8th grade boy asked if he could be the one to read the quote. He choose to read excerpts from Barack Obama's Nov. 4 speech.

"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer."

"Its the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day."

"Tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope."

Why is it that when I try to speak a foreign language, my tempo slows?

My eyes are beginning to stay closed a little longer than they should. Her words gurgle on, a constant monotone stream of words, like thechanting of an Orthodox church. She perfectly transposes the rhythm,tone, and musicality of her speech onto English words. Not everything is understandable, but it does not matter, just keep to the beat. Like dance teachers have told me, even if you are lost, just keep moving.
"Wait," I say, and slowly ask, "Did you fill out an application for this job?" trying to emphasize each word.
"No, if you call, I go, need the number, call my son, someone else."
"So no, you did not fill out an application."
"Someone else…"
"Someone else filled out an application for you?"
"Yes, but they said, jobs in, clean I, need for to call job coach, here is number, call tomorrow."
She hands me a scrap of lined paper with a 617 number on it.

7th Grade Bus Ride

“Hey, we’re gonna pass my house. It’s mad ugly from the front, but the inside’s clean.”
“That’s where I got this shirt! They’ve got the illest skinny jeans.”

Stop & Shop, D’Angelo’s, Dunkin’
Followed by…
Dorchester Ave.
And then…
Mad Rags, Brothers #2 Market, Yanet’s Cafe
In addition…
Drive Safely.

Agency

It was warm tonight. A rarity to be warm walking to the T. I couldn’t help but dancing. It felt so good to be alive. Tonight I sat in the same room where I sat almost three years ago now. And I felt so good. And I was in awe at how a few little decisions can change everything. The choices to follow the Spirit have landed me here, in Boston. Those decisions made back in Middlebury were dynamic. They still move. I can no longer give details of many of those choices. I do not remember the mental processes or any of my thinking, but I still remember one of the final ones. I was so scared. So scared of losing a friend, of offending, of overstepping boundaries like I seemed to keep doing. Another rejection or awkward e-mail back almost prevented me. A few small choices and a daring move, and now I am here, surrounded by goodness and so happy. So much joy has come from deciding to act when the Spirit spoke. I am overwhelmed by the amazing people I have met here. I can feel the power that is in these souls. And I am so thankful for a loving God. As I neared Harvard Square all I could think was that even if I don’t become rich and famous here, or go to school here, or find someone to marry here, I will still be so happy and forever grateful that I got to breathe the air, and walk down the street in Cambridge tonight.

later on

Sometimes it takes a while for my mind to compeltely digest changes, like no, you really are no longer a student, free to go and do whatever you please or no, you no longer get to only do missionary work 24 hours a day. Maybe it's the law of inertia, my mind doesn't want to stop and have to derail itself, picking up the iron wheels, turning about each car, and heaving them onto another set of tracks. Effort enough to make the switch, and then there's the implications; bumps underneath what was supposed to be smooth metal.

My writing, My blog

The writer was well-known. I ended up sitting on the floor in the space in between the two tiers in the auditorium. For him, his goal was to sit down, with only a glass of water, and write. Instead, he said that he usually ate a package of oreos, downed a two liter bottle of coke, and then began to write.

Pablo Neruda told the man that he must walk down the coast very slowly, and then the metaphors would come.

Barbara told us to always write. It must be a habit. Just write. She said that she was sure that all of us had experiences that sparked writing, and times when the pen flowed. “Well…if you want the lightening to strike,” she said, “you must be out in the field waving your arms, waiting to get hit.”

Impious

I’m having one of those questioning moments, where I wonder if I should just move back to Utah, get married, and produce babies. To this end was I born. These episodes come regularly, like some type of menstrual cycle minus the blood.

Usually, God sends me an answer to tide me over, but this time I can feel the impious me wanting to dig out and demand more. I want something tangible with finite borders that I can hold tightly without squeezing the air out of it. I pray that there really are answers, and that the only reason why I am not receiving them is that God does not want me to be more accountable.

When did I decide I was “destined for greatness”? My mind's mirage makes me appear different and sparkling. I do not desire comments on my physical appearance. Another platitude from a male would simply serve my self-justifications of covering my body in an extra layer of vengeance. I want a solution, a way out, the type of fact that clicks into place and lets my thoughts out of their cage.