December 27, 2008
Today I saw a man die.
I went this morning to pick up Dayna at the airport. (She is here for the week to visit me.) I walked up the stairs to the “Arrivals” section. I heard a woman say, “does anyone know first aid?” There was a man on the ground and some security guards around him, slapping him and saying “Sir! Sir! Can you hear us?!” He could not. He wasn’t even breathing. What seemed like a common fainting quickly turned to life or death.
Everyone in the area didn’t know what to do. Stand around and watch or stay back and act like nothing was happening? Either way you felt guilty. Basically everyone decided to stand back and focus on anything but the man. Except for me and another woman wearing black heels. We stood by and watched.
A police officer came and began to perform CPR. The man was not responding. Heart attack I guessed. Everything seemed unnaturally calm, just the same it would have been had there not been a man on the ground- dying.
There was a blizzard raging outside and it took a little longer for the paramedics to get there, but finally they arrived. I remained nailed to the floor. They cut his coat off and his shirt. They hooked things to him and shocked his body. The whole place still felt unnaturally calm. Perhaps panic could save him. Shouldn’t there be some of that?
As they tried to bring him back to life I watched as a police man took the man’s coat and looked for some form of identity. The man was alone. His coat made me sad. Someone somewhere had bought that for him to keep him warm. Someone who cared about him. Someone who wasn’t there and who didn’t know yet that he was… well, was dead.
It was clear that the man had been dead for too long. They finally lifted him and put him on the stretcher. As they did so a woman wearing a green coat came around the corner. Shock hit her face and she began to yell, “That’s my husband! That’s my husband!” Her voice got louder and louder. Tears filled my eyes and my heart felt pinched. Some cops went to her and tried to help her. She collapsed. I wanted to move and run to her and help in some way. Anyway. But I remained nailed to the ground. I noticed that other people were around me, crying.
The wife got to her feet and ran out of the airport after her husband’s body. And that was that. I felt strange. I wanted to be traumatized, and I was, but I also felt like I was not the first person to see something like that and I’m not the last. And that it wont be the last time that I’ll see it either. Something that has kept the flow of the world moving. Death. I’ve experienced it’s effects as people I love have passed on, but I’ve never seen it happen. Something that so many people experience and I have just now seen a piece.
Some new people were arriving, unaware of the graveyard they just stepped into. I watched as I walked away. A woman hugged two children who just arrived. Another man hugged what looked to be his daughter. They shed some tears of joy as they reunited with their loved ones. At least they had another day, another moment to be together, alive. Did they know that?
Significance. I learned about that today.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I AM home for Christmas!
December 26, 2008
We did all the family traditions. Big Christmas Eve dinner. Read the bible story of Jesus’s birth. Got new pajamas. It even snowed. Most people pray for a white Christmas. Except me. Well, with my new found wrath against winter, I would rather be surrounded by white sandy beaches.
However, between you and me, the other night as we were out caroling in the snow I felt somewhere deep (very deep) inside of me that I wanted to actually admit that the snow was beautiful. Almost. But then that would be some sort of a surrender to the cold and I can’t do it.
But still, it seems to me that snow is beautiful in the same way that silence is. It adds wonder. A chance to imagine. And on top of that, it sparkles. Not even I can argue with that.
And while I’m being honest, let’s admit it, the fields and yards and parks that are full of virgin snow hold some sort of purity- full of glitter that just feel from God’s very hands. It’s the dilemma of every one who passes. Do we touch it? Be the first one to touch something no man has ever touched before? Or do we leave it there in all it’s sacred whiteness? To leave footprints and steal the snowfall’s virtue and chastity or leave it naive and clean? Hmmmm…
I can’t even believe that I am writing this much about snow.
Moving on.
We did all the family traditions. Big Christmas Eve dinner. Read the bible story of Jesus’s birth. Got new pajamas. It even snowed. Most people pray for a white Christmas. Except me. Well, with my new found wrath against winter, I would rather be surrounded by white sandy beaches.
However, between you and me, the other night as we were out caroling in the snow I felt somewhere deep (very deep) inside of me that I wanted to actually admit that the snow was beautiful. Almost. But then that would be some sort of a surrender to the cold and I can’t do it.
But still, it seems to me that snow is beautiful in the same way that silence is. It adds wonder. A chance to imagine. And on top of that, it sparkles. Not even I can argue with that.
And while I’m being honest, let’s admit it, the fields and yards and parks that are full of virgin snow hold some sort of purity- full of glitter that just feel from God’s very hands. It’s the dilemma of every one who passes. Do we touch it? Be the first one to touch something no man has ever touched before? Or do we leave it there in all it’s sacred whiteness? To leave footprints and steal the snowfall’s virtue and chastity or leave it naive and clean? Hmmmm…
I can’t even believe that I am writing this much about snow.
Moving on.
Summer
The heat of this place is wonderful, mixed with just the right amount of humidity. I feel that spending time with air conditioning is a waste of the summer’s juice. It’s august! It’s almost over! We need to be as hot as we can for as long as we can! No time to cool off or be air conditioned!
August 31, 2008
The last days of summer. Like a broken pearl necklace, each bead falling to the floor. Where does it go? And why? Is it too much to hope for an endless summer? Where do I need to go? To heck with it all. Here comes September. And then- Here comes winter.
Sigh.
August 31, 2008
The last days of summer. Like a broken pearl necklace, each bead falling to the floor. Where does it go? And why? Is it too much to hope for an endless summer? Where do I need to go? To heck with it all. Here comes September. And then- Here comes winter.
Sigh.
Oh Nauvoo II
August 11, 2008
Well, we’re on our way to Missouri again. I liked Nauvoo. It was quant. I loved learning about how they made everything. They really created their lives. Candles, barrels, wagon wheels, bread, quilts, bowls, TEMPLES. Everything was made by their own hands. It seems to me that these modern days, we just buy our lives, but back then their whole life was a craft.
Before I came to Nauvoo I thought of it as just another town that the pioneers got kicked out of. But now I have seen it; imagined it for what it was. Felt it. And it’s so much more to me because I see now how much it was to them- my ancestors and those who gave their lives for Christ’s church. Nauvoo is Joseph Smith’s city. His spirit truly is there. To me the whole place, however, felt sad. The ghosts of so many untold stories and unexplained feelings are there, reminding us that there is a price to believe. And that it’s not over yet.
One man giving a tour asked us at the end if we ever wondered how we too can add our names on the list of those faithful pioneers. I wondered. He then told us that to do this we need to learn to say “no” and how to walk away from the temptations of our day. But I still feel like they sacrificed more. They are the heroes.
As we were in Carthage jail, where Joseph and Hyrum was murdered, I had a hard time imagining that they were actually there. That perhaps their last breaths still lingered somewhere in that room. I felt angry that I never got to know him. The man who brought pieces of heaven down to the grasps of us all. Everyone talks so much about him, but I feel like nobody even really knows that man. That no matter how many words we throw around, we will never know him. I don’t know why this makes me angry, but it does. I want to know him. Meet him. I’m jealous that I can’t and that they did.
But we testify of him. I testify of him. I know he was a true prophet of God. I know he saw Them. Oh how I wish I could hear his stories from his own mouth. But I guess it is not needed. I still know it’s true.
My mom posed an interesting thought. Maybe we all watched from heaven as he lived and died. Perhaps we sat there crying into our angel hands. I suppose it’s possible that we did hear his story from his own mouth. I guess maybe we do know him.
Well, we’re on our way to Missouri again. I liked Nauvoo. It was quant. I loved learning about how they made everything. They really created their lives. Candles, barrels, wagon wheels, bread, quilts, bowls, TEMPLES. Everything was made by their own hands. It seems to me that these modern days, we just buy our lives, but back then their whole life was a craft.
Before I came to Nauvoo I thought of it as just another town that the pioneers got kicked out of. But now I have seen it; imagined it for what it was. Felt it. And it’s so much more to me because I see now how much it was to them- my ancestors and those who gave their lives for Christ’s church. Nauvoo is Joseph Smith’s city. His spirit truly is there. To me the whole place, however, felt sad. The ghosts of so many untold stories and unexplained feelings are there, reminding us that there is a price to believe. And that it’s not over yet.
One man giving a tour asked us at the end if we ever wondered how we too can add our names on the list of those faithful pioneers. I wondered. He then told us that to do this we need to learn to say “no” and how to walk away from the temptations of our day. But I still feel like they sacrificed more. They are the heroes.
As we were in Carthage jail, where Joseph and Hyrum was murdered, I had a hard time imagining that they were actually there. That perhaps their last breaths still lingered somewhere in that room. I felt angry that I never got to know him. The man who brought pieces of heaven down to the grasps of us all. Everyone talks so much about him, but I feel like nobody even really knows that man. That no matter how many words we throw around, we will never know him. I don’t know why this makes me angry, but it does. I want to know him. Meet him. I’m jealous that I can’t and that they did.
But we testify of him. I testify of him. I know he was a true prophet of God. I know he saw Them. Oh how I wish I could hear his stories from his own mouth. But I guess it is not needed. I still know it’s true.
My mom posed an interesting thought. Maybe we all watched from heaven as he lived and died. Perhaps we sat there crying into our angel hands. I suppose it’s possible that we did hear his story from his own mouth. I guess maybe we do know him.
Oh Nauvoo
August 8, 2008- Nauvoo Illinois-
Today. What did we do today? We saw a play. We learned how to make bricks and horse shoes. We ate way too much food. We went to Joseph Smith’s home. We read quotes from the pioneers. Oh, we got to see a sunset over the Mississippi River.
During the day I became bored with my thoughts. Then I became appalled. What on earth am I wasting my brain on?! I think so much about not wasting my time in life but today I saw my thoughts as precious as each second on the clock. I repeat so many of the same thoughts. So often they are selfish. More often they are about boys. Boys that I don’t even really care that much about. My mind could be used as such a means of discovery and adventure. Just think of the things that I could think of! And to waste it on some boring ole boys. Bah. Sick. It’s like taking a clean canvas and knocking the paint on the ground. Then taking cheap dollar store stickers and haphazardly sticking them to the paper. Weird analogy I know, but it’s just what came to me.
I felt so tired and listless just thinking about thinking about what I’d been thinking about.
So. I stopped the madness. Repented. A little. And tried harder. First thing I did was think more about my pioneer ancestors. We were walking in the last waves of the sunset down a path lined with quotes from the pioneers. My great aunt said, “you should really stop and count just how many relatives you had here. You have a rich family history.” I imagined them standing around right then, watching us. Is it really just as hard to walk away from our temptations of the world now as it was for them to leave their homes? How did they get through that winter? Why does God even think that winter is a good idea?! Is it just His biggest most symbolic way to teach us about opposition? Are my ancestors proud of me? I can’t wait to become best friends with them after this part of life.
My mind was already illuminating. My thoughts were zipping around like the fireflies who were mingling with the stars. Brilliant.
Today. What did we do today? We saw a play. We learned how to make bricks and horse shoes. We ate way too much food. We went to Joseph Smith’s home. We read quotes from the pioneers. Oh, we got to see a sunset over the Mississippi River.
During the day I became bored with my thoughts. Then I became appalled. What on earth am I wasting my brain on?! I think so much about not wasting my time in life but today I saw my thoughts as precious as each second on the clock. I repeat so many of the same thoughts. So often they are selfish. More often they are about boys. Boys that I don’t even really care that much about. My mind could be used as such a means of discovery and adventure. Just think of the things that I could think of! And to waste it on some boring ole boys. Bah. Sick. It’s like taking a clean canvas and knocking the paint on the ground. Then taking cheap dollar store stickers and haphazardly sticking them to the paper. Weird analogy I know, but it’s just what came to me.
I felt so tired and listless just thinking about thinking about what I’d been thinking about.
So. I stopped the madness. Repented. A little. And tried harder. First thing I did was think more about my pioneer ancestors. We were walking in the last waves of the sunset down a path lined with quotes from the pioneers. My great aunt said, “you should really stop and count just how many relatives you had here. You have a rich family history.” I imagined them standing around right then, watching us. Is it really just as hard to walk away from our temptations of the world now as it was for them to leave their homes? How did they get through that winter? Why does God even think that winter is a good idea?! Is it just His biggest most symbolic way to teach us about opposition? Are my ancestors proud of me? I can’t wait to become best friends with them after this part of life.
My mind was already illuminating. My thoughts were zipping around like the fireflies who were mingling with the stars. Brilliant.
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