Horizons

So I was thinking ...

2012-01-01T17:39:00.001-07:00

My sister Felicity and I were driving to my house today and I had to slow down quickly so as not to hit a pedestrian crossing the street. Felicity exclaimed that I would have gotten ten points if I had hit him (all in jest, of course). I facetiously replied that I would have gotten negative points because he was Asian, and therefore probably smarter than us and a great loss to humankind. From that point on, we made up a list of people who would be guaranteed points if you hit them, as well as a list of those who you should never hit. Disclaimer- we do not think you should ever run over people with cars.

If you hit the following with your car, you will get 10 points:

1. People who smoke in public- Hey buddy, I don’t wanna die by second-hand smoke! Take that!
2. People who are texting, talking on the phone, or listening to an iPod with both ears in and don’t even look up when they cross the road – in most countries, that would be called “Stupid”
3. People who wear their pants either so that their underwear is showing or that only go up to their knees- this would seem like a genetic mutation in our fashion genes and we should do our best to rid our generation of such a plague
4. Small, yappy dogs- this qualifies as double points, because you must only run over the irritating dog, not the owner
5. Attitude-y teenagers

People you should not hit with your car:

1. Nuns
2. Pregnant ladies, or women with babies
3. Couples that are still holding hands after 10 years of marriage
4. Nice old people (notice the qualifier- NICE. If they are mean, it’s open season)
5. People who walk their cats on leashes- if you can pull that off, you deserve to live
6. Asians- on the off chance that the racial stereotype is true and they are, in fact, smarter than the rest of us

Peavine Princesses

2011-07-10T04:22:00.000-06:00

The beautiful young women of Peavine Mountain Ward.

Girls' Camp 2011

2011-07-10T04:01:00.000-06:00

Dedicated to the girls of the Peavine Mountain ward. :D

Wherefore art thou pizza?

2011-03-31T16:46:00.008-06:00

I asked my students today to write about something that people don't appreciate or care for as much as they should. Most students listed things like the environment or their health.

One student seemed to ponder this question for quite a while, his face screwed up in heavy concentration. Excited by such effort, I eagerly grabbed his folder after class to see what he wrote.

"I think people should care about pizza. Pizza does so much for you and people don't care. If cars ran on pizza they would run better."

He got a ten out of ten.

************************************************************************

One of my more interesting students (the one that flashed the entire class a few months ago) called out to me in the middle of our period and said, "Hey Ms. Warren, look over here!"

I looked over to his table and screamed in panic, because his hand was on fire. I was super confused because he seemed to be enjoying his spontaneous combustion (it usually ruins my day)

Turns out, he was spraying his hand with opious amounts of cologne, then setting it ablaze with his lighter.

While the pryomaniac in me was super impressed and a little tempted to try it myself, I found myself pulling a responsible adult by taking his lighter away and trying to convince him that setting our classroom on fire would be a bad thing in the long run.

Good times, good times.

Tired, tired and then ... HUZZAH!

2011-03-17T13:12:00.010-06:00

Right now, everyone I know is tired. Tired of school. Tired of winter. Tired of the same ol'-ness of everyday life. Tired, tired, tired.

Getting my students motivated to learn when I am so pooped is a bit of a predicament. I was awfully tempted to propose nap time to my 5th period class today and they probably would have been all over it. (I resisted- I hear they frown on "nap time" in the 9th grade)

Thankfully, Someone upstairs loves me and has sent little golden nuggets of enthusiasm to keep me going.

Here are some of my favorites:

"Duty" and Semi-Naked Boys

One of my least favorite aspects of my job is "Duty." Just the name inspires spontaneous combustion via boredom. I was just noting that to my fellow "duty" sufferer when a student ran down the hall wearing a penguin outfit, closely followed by two students wearing nothing but neon blue spandex undies and rollerblades. I spent the next five minutes watching them try to evade the police officers on campus. If something like that happened everyday, well, one I would get tired of looking at hairy boys. But two, duty would cease to be so dull and we would also have to rename it to something with more pizzazz, like "cackle to yourself for 30 minutes" or "public indecency 101."

News stories and "Holy cow, he actually did something!"

I ask my students to write a paragraph every day and sometimes the topics are less than inspiring. Today, however, I was amazed at how engaged they were by the topic. I had them watch a Reuters video online about the situation in Japan. The students asked question after question about the impact of this event. They pondered together about how to help show the people in Japan their support. And one of my students, who is failing for never having completed an assignment, wrote me an extensive response to this video. This experience warmed the cockles of my heart.

Dumbfounded

In my fifth period class the other day, my students started to have a heated argument about how boring my class is compared to other freshman classes ... in front of me. I pointed out to them that this might not be the smartest idea, considering brownie points and that quarter grades due next week. They seemed dumbfounded, like this had never even occurred to them before. My unexpected happy moment came when one of my students defended my class as his absolute favorite. It was unexpected because I am pretty sure he doesn't care for me (considering that he told me , "I hate you and I wanna key your key" only last week). So, my class isn't the most boring for at least one student .... HUZZAH!!!

2011-02-15T08:43:00.005-07:00

One of the joys of teaching English is the occasional opportunity to strut your stuff and show your kids just how amazing a writer you actually are.

For our writing prompt for Valentine's Day, I gave a mini lesson on the arts and subtleties of how to write a love letter.

As I am not currently in a relationship, I modeled with the following:

O' how I love thee,

Let me count the ways.

You liven up my salads,

And you brighten up my days.

I love you when you're Cheddar,

I love you when you're Swiss,

And when too poor to find you,

Your savor I do miss.

Please never leave my side

As long as I do live.

Forever and for always

All my love to you I'll give."

I think they finally appreciate just how cool I am now.

14 months and 8 pencils later....

2011-02-13T20:30:00.008-07:00

As the stress in my life has increased exponentially in the last few months, I have retreated to one of my greatest sources of solace: drawing. While I love drawing all sorts of people, there is a special joy that comes in drawing scenes from the Savior's life.
It may sound silly, but I have an affection for my drawings a little bit like unto a parent's love for a child. I created them and watched them grow under my watchful care. As each of the following are gifts for other people, I will see them go with a mixture of emotions. There will be the sorrow of parting, but also that joy in knowing that something you made will, hopefully, bring something special to other people's lives.

*The Shepherd. I love this drawing, because of the joy you see in the shepherd's face as he tends his flock. This drawing is for my New Testament institute teacher, as thanks for re-engaging my mind and heart in the scriptures.

*The classic Savior as the shepherd. This will go to my friend for her wedding, as a reminder that in marriage, as in all else, the Savior will guide us through the trials that beset us.

*This is my absolute favorite drawing I have ever done, in part because it is the one that took me the longest. The drawing is quite large, standing at 3 1/2 by 3 feet, which I thought was fitting to depict such a lovely scene in the scriptures. It took my 14 months to complete.

The picture shows us a father desperate to heal his son. He asks the Savior to heal the boy and is given a profound reply. All things are possible to him that believeth, the Savior tells him. When the man declares that he believes, the Savior admonishes him with a glance. The father then begs, "help thou my unbelief." In the end, the boy's health is restored. Sometimes I feel down on myself for my lack of faith, skill, boldness, etc. Instead of resigning ourselves to failure, we all have the option of asking the Lord to help us find what we lack.

*note: None of these are original drawings. They are all my own artistic representation of another artist's work and I do not hold any of the credit for myself, neither am I advertising them for sale.

College apps ... for someone else

2011-01-30T21:08:00.005-07:00

So, my amazing and wonderful little sister Felicity is applying for college scholarships. While she was able to whip out her essays on goals and activities lickety-split, her essay about how wonderful she is was a little more challenging.

So, I decided to give her a few ideas. These are what I came up with. Let me know which you think would have been the most successful, had she allowed me to write her essay for her.

1. When my mother and father met at BYU, they had no idea what a hottie they had in the making ... ME! It took them three tries and fifteen years to create the perfection that I embody. After all that effort, I decided to leave heaven just long enough to grace them with my presence.

Sunday Musings: Love and Covenants

2011-01-23T14:28:00.009-07:00

Photo from stumbleupon.com/stumbler/Tina2/tag/canada/

Today we had a special meeting at church called a ward conference. During one of the interactive lessons, the gentleman teaching brought up the topic of covenants, which are two-way promises we make with God. He asked us how keeping covenants affects our relationship with our Heavenly Father.

As I pondered this question, I thought about the things that make a big difference in my relationship with my own parents. One of the factors that made the biggest difference in our relationship was my moving back home for a few months. Coming home, and while here, choosing to be home instead of always going out are the ways I show my parents that I love them, that I choose them over other people's company. I have activites virtually every night of the week and on those rare occasions when I do not go out, they express being overjoyed.

I thought about that in relation to covenants. Our Heavenly Father asks us to make covenants because He knows that they are exactly what we need to make it home to Him, to survive the wear and tear of this life. By choosing to keep these covenants, we are showing Him that we want to go home, that we are striving to make it back to His presence so that we can live as a family once more.

By maintaining this attitude when it comes to covenants, I think it will be easier for us to transcend mere duty and make love our motivating factor for following our Heavenly Father's commandments.

Mwahahahaha, I am finals' week, hear me roar!

2011-01-22T11:31:00.004-07:00

It's Finals Week, and can I just say- writing finals is so much more fun than taking them. There is almost this sadistic little joy in it, which I tried really, really hard not to feel.

I had my kids write a paragraph about a topic of their choice and wouldn't you know it, some of the kids that I thought didn't know how to write at all actually gave me fabulous paragraphs. Now I just have to figure out how to convince them to write that well all the time, and they'll be golden.

I was pleasantly surprised and often amused by some of the responses I got. Here are a few of my favorites.

Prompt about a favorite person:

"If you think I'm crazy by myself, well then just wait until you see me and my couzin together. Were wild monkeys going crazy over their bananas."

"When I left I started to cry so much, I made a swimming pool in the room."

Prompt about how to teach someone to play a sport:

"When you throw a football, you flick your arm like you were flicking a booger."

Prompt about a favorite trip:

"After about four rides I threw up. I had a blast!" (I don't think he was meaning to be puny, but I absolutely love how this one turned out)

I love grading my students' paragraphs, because they show a depth and a sincerity that often does not show through their hardened, high school facade. It gives me hope that they are diamonds in the rough, and with a little polishing they will turn out well in the end.

Music Mania

2011-01-14T15:48:00.007-07:00

I have read numerous articles in past years expressing concern that kids just aren't learning musical instruments as much anymore. Money, opportunity and interest all play a factor in this decrease in musicality in the modern generation.

One of my student's found a modern approach to address this problem.

I was chatting with some of my students today and I asked them what instruments they played.

"Aw, Ms. Warren, my parents made me learn violin," complained one student.

"I studied cello for years," explained another.

"My parents spent a lot of money to get me Rock Bank," stated a student. "I have been really practicing for the last few years and I think I'm getting really good."

Hey, why bother learning real guitar when you can just bust out your skills in a video game?

A polychromatic day

2011-01-13T13:53:00.006-07:00

One of my school kids told a funny joke to me today. "Ms. Warren, where would gangsters live in a jacket?" he asked.

"I don't know, the pocket?" I responded.

"Nope, in da hood!" he quipped.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

Although it's only been eight short years since I graduated from high school, I can still see a drastic changes in the social scene from when I went.

I went to a high school in northern California that had students from 28 different countries. The demographics were broken down roughly into a third caucasian, a third Hispanic and a third of everything else mixed together. There wasn't much contention between the different groups. In fact, there was hardly mixing of the groups at all. Everyone kind of kept to themselves.

At lunch, your race generally determined where you would ate- Hispanics munched in the cafeteria, Polynesians and African Americans dominated the quad, Asians lived it up in the AP classrooms and the white people ate pretty much everywhere else. That division of races was often reflected in every aspect of the social scene.

One day in the 11th grade, I went to the cafeteria because my Latina friend from church had invited me to sit with her during lunch. I still remember my feeling of discomfort as I walked across that seemingly endless cafeteria to where she sat, with a hundred pairs of eyes boring into me. While no one seemed angry about my presence in the room, it seemed like they couldn't figure out why I was there. I felt so awkward that I never attempted to cross that boundary again.

My first day of my teaching position at a local high school in Nevada, I felt taken aback by how those boundaries and barriers of race were being torn down. I noticed dozens of mixed-race couples strolling hand-in-hand down the halls. I observed groups of friends that were like kaleidoscopes of different colors.

Of course, I still see evidence of those walls on a daily basis. I hear more racial slurs uttered in a single class period than in an episode of the George Lopez show. One day at lunch, we had a school-wide brawl between "the Rednecks and the Mexicans." The entire school turned out for the fight and the administration had to ring the bell 15 minutes early to break it up.

I am excited for the changes I am seeing as I see those racial boundaries coming down. I only hope that we can keep moving in a direction that pulls us together instead of further wedging us apart.

More good in the hood

2011-01-11T14:24:00.006-07:00

Earlier today, some of the teachers were chatting in the break room during lunch. One teacher brought up the idea that this modern generation would eventually support us when we get old. The following shows why this is a potentially distressing thought.

Today my students wrote a prompt about what they would do in the case of a natural disaster. I told them I expected a strong first sentence and some really good details. My favorite response: "I would knock over a 7-11 and get some munchies. I would get RC Cola and some chips. Then I would steal a car and head for Mexico." The prompt was decorated with lovely drawing of 'shrooms.

Ah, our future is in good hands.

Musings of a high school teacher

2011-01-07T13:43:00.021-07:00

In October of last year, I took over a literacy class for freshmen at a local high school. The previous teacher had something of a nervous breakdown caysed by the behavioral issues in the class. Every teacher or adminstrator I ran into before starting the job gave me this look that said, "poor thing, it was nice knowing you" accompanied by an affectionate parting pat on the arm. One person even went so far as to say, "doom doom!" I had just watched the fabulous film "Freedom Writers" and was confidant that I, too, could make all the kids like me, solve all their personal problems, and look as good as Hillary Swank in the process. Ah, the sweet naivete of one about to be thrown into a den of lions.

I inherited a naturally wild bunch who were used to free reign and disrespecting ... well, everything and everyone.

As I have acquired the skills and learned the plans for fighting in that great battlefield known as teaching, I have had some interesting experiences. Here are some of my favorites:

I have to explain to my kids, down to the minutest of details, exactly what I expect of them. "Yes, I DO expect you to fill out your workbook." "No, I DO NOT want you to pick your nose and wipe it on the girl next to you." "Yes, coming is required to pass the class."

Each day, they are required to put their books and folders into a hanging file in a metal cabinet. And every day, I have to threaten, plead, beg and bribe them to do it properly. At the end of the day, all my labors are usually rewarded with a drawer stuffed full of chaos- folders mixed up, books jammed into the back, things ripped apart.

One day, I opened up the drawer for fourth period and could only stare with my mouth gaping open. It was unbelievable- it was neat, orderly and every folder was in alphabetical order. I swore that for just a moment, I could hear choirs of angels singing. (although, it might have just been my Pandora playing in the background) I quickly sent up some thoughts of gratitude to heaven, for I knew that only higher powers could produce such a miracle.

One of my more difficult students has trouble keeping things from dropping- his grades, his test scores, his pants. One day he received notice to go to the office post haste to have his picture taken for the yearbook. As he sauntered out of the classroom, I asked him to make sure to pull up his pants, and then I closed the door behind him. A minute passed, then the student surprised all of us by flinging open the door, mooning the classroom, then running down the hall like a bat out of heck.

I'll admit it- I burst out laughing. What else could I do? I tried in vain to get the class back on task for the last fifteen minutes of class, but after having "the incident" it was really hard to go back to thinking about double negatives. So I let them have some free time and went back to my desk, giggling to myself about my funny life.

My fourth period class is often pretty rowdy and it takes forever for them to get settled down for our ten minutes of reading time every day. Even after we get things settled, there is always that one kid that becomes fascinated with his own ability to make convincing cat noises, the student performing a STOMP audition with a pencil on his desk, or my personal favorite- the ever-flatulent boy doing a tuba impression in the back of the room. (I make sure in every seating change that he stays right where he is- on the opposite end of the room.)

As I was typing up some assignments during their reading time one day, I noticed that there was something amiss and I couldn't quite figure out what it was. Finally, it dawned on me- they were quiet. As I looked around in amazement, I realized that every single student was completely absorbed in reading their book. For some of these kids, it might be the longest uninterrupted period of time they have ever read a book.

It is moments like these that keep me from screaming "Adios muchachos!" flinging away my badge, and running down the hall, cackling maniacally at my joy of never again having to deal with another obnoxious teenager.

I told one my kids today that I used to have a twin, but that she was evil and I killed her. The student looked at me in horror and didn't seem to believe it when I told her I was kidding. I guess I need to keep the sarcasm on the DL until I have older, or more cynical students.

I often wonder if my school kids like me at all. My mother, a veteran in the teaching trenches, told me not to worry about it. She explained that fear is more essential in classroom management than friendliness and being liked. But I can't help but wonder all the same.

There is a good chance I will be replaced by a more certified teacher in two weeks. One of my students asked me if I knew whether I would be staying around next semester and I told him my chances looked bleak. I half expected him to jump on the desk, yell "woo hoo!" and do a victory dance. Much to my surprise, however, he actually looked crestfallen and declared they they would stage a protest if I was not rehired. That made me grin the rest of the day. And it didn't hurt his chance of getting an A either.

I wish there was an "Overheard in the Classroom" Web site for all of the funny things that are said at school. Today I attended a weekly meeting for the English department of our high school and all of the teachers were comparing funny stories. One comment in particular really stood out. "This has actually been a pretty calm, uninteresting year. I mean, no one has even tried to light my desk on fire yet!" If that is truly the standard for a boring year, then I think perhaps teachers are more hardcore than we give them credit for.

I am truly grateful for all of the experiences I have had thus far as a high school teacher. While the first words that come to mind about this job are exhausting, frustrating, demanding, and exhausting, there is also a satisfaction that I have rarely known in my work. And I stand in awe of the amazing teachers and staff who give their lives in educating these great kids.

Bob the Wal*mart employee- A character sketch

2010-11-24T20:28:00.012-07:00

I generally find that Wal-mart employees* fit into one of three categories. First, there's Polite-Smile, who is friendly in a detached sort of way and who smiles big while serving you, only to let their face slide back into a blank stare the moment you turn away. Then there's Blatantly-Irritated, the employee that doesn't even hide the fact that they hate you and would rather shove bamboo shoots up their fingernails than help you find a new microwave. Finally, there Just-Plain-Crazy, the type that looks at you with large, bloodshot eyes before hightailing it in the opposite direction. If I worked at Wal-mart, I would probably be the last one.
As I was sitting in Wallie World for four hours today, waiting for my tires to be changed, I had the chance to meet an odd fellow that didn't really fit into any of my previously noted categories. I will call him Bob (I don't really think Bob would read my blog, but you never really know. Heck, for all I know, we could be facebook friends... )
I was sitting on a bench in the tire section, staring into the distance, thinking profound thoughts (probably about which Harry Potter movie is the best) when I was suddenly pulled from my reverie by a high-pitched peal of nervous giggling. I had never heard such a noise before and quickly scanned the aisles for the source. That's when I noticed Bob. With a profound resemblance to a hobbit, Bob boasts about five feet of height, a rotund belly and hairy arms. Everything about him screams "uncontained!" from his wild, unkempt hair, his hyper gait and a speaking voice most akin to a nervous scream.
Bob loved to chat. He chatted with me about the book I was reading. He chatted with the rather stern-looking gentleman about why Ritz crackers are better than Saltines in Oyster stew. And he chatted with the teenage gal with the "I <3 Italia" sweatshirt about why she should love Sicilians instead. (A particularly long conversation that made everyone, including her humongous boyfriend, feel a little uncomfortable.)
I'll admit it- Bob made me nervous with his unconventional social skills. But he also made for a delightful conversation counterpart, was a dedicated and friendly employee, and he livened up my waiting time immensely. So, cheers to Bob.

*This post is in no way meant as a critique of Wal-mart employees. I think that anybody working at such a stressful job would exhibit similar traits. Thank you for all your hard work and your low, low prices.

And the personality award goes to ...

2010-08-11T17:38:00.017-06:00

... the small stores of Chester, California.

One of the things that always strikes me about small towns like Chester is the lack of the corporate. No Wal-mart, Kinko's, Starbucks or Wendy's brandished its cloned presence in this small haven. In fact, the only mainstream name I saw was Subway, and the shop was closed down.

Now, I am not a total hater of the corporate chain. I so sympathize with the mom and pop stores that get closed down when these corporate behemoth's roll into town. But my greatest commodity is time and these places are just so convenient.

Anyway, I loved driving through Chester because of the creative store names. The pics below represent my favorites of this edition of "tHE pERSOnaLITy aWarD."

Surviving the most boring drive of all time (Sights to see en route from Provo to Reno)

2010-08-05T17:43:00.133-06:00

"I am so bored, I could just die!"
Anyone who has driven along Interstate 80 between Salt Lake City, Utah and Reno, NV knows how true this phrase can be. The drive is long, straight, toasty and uninterrupted by interesting scenery. It would be all too easy to let those heavy, drooping eyelids close, which isn't usually a good idea when traveling at 75-84 miles per hour. The trail is peppered with little crosses, a testament of how important it is to have something to look for, to keep your attention focused.
Keeping this in mind the last time I braved the boring journey, I decided to capture images of the landmarks I look for along the way. I also dug up some fun history facts, to have a better idea of what I was looking for. So, the next time you have to make the sojourn, take a gander at these fun and historical landmarks. And don't forget- keep those eyes open.

The Hills ARE Alive

After making one last pit stop in Salt Lake City to gas up, run to the lou (a.k.a. British speak for restroom) and buy an overpriced bag of beef jerky, the eager traveler sets out along I-80, not anticipating a very exciting journey. If this traveler spends too much time peering at the last traces of civilization in the rearview mirror, they might miss an amusing sight- the hills are peering back too. Several little hills have faces built into them. If you can find this hill to the right, there is a set of eyes dangling in two little caves. I have counted at least three faces along the journey- see if you can find more than me!

p.s. If you decide to take a picture of these small landmarks, I would recommend either bringing a friend or pulling over. Let's just say that doing it while driving could potentially defeat our goal of not suffering a fiery demise.

Saltair III: The Bathhouse

A matter of 14 miles brings our intrepid traveler to the briny edges of the Great Salt Lake. The lake stretches for miles of uninterrupted monotony, a rather dreary sight to see. But after a few twists and turns of the road, a strange shape begins to form in the distance, hovering on the edge of the lake. As the windy path draws closer, a large, Moorish-style building begins to take shape, its ornate domes and arches out of place on the ascetic landscape. All too soon, the road curves away, leaving the traveler to wonder, "what on earth was that?"

"That" is Saltair III, a shadow of a once-glorious resort. The original Saltair opened in 1893, according to the Center for Land Use Interpretation. The resort grew to include a roller coaster, a 1,000-seat cafe and even boasted having the world's largest dance floor. A stairway led guests to the water level, where they would try to sink in the salty brine of the lake.
The resort met its demise in 1926 when the building was destroyed by a fire. Although many tried to restore the edifice to its glory days, a series of unfortunate disasters always left the resort a shade of its former self.
"Saltair III," located a few miles west of the original site, offers a large rental space for events, and also a gift shop and snack bar for those intrepid visitors willing to make the stop.

Drowsy Drivers

Since 2006, Utah has averaged 32 deaths and 1,220 crashes each year from drowsy drivers, according to the Utah Department of Public Safety. To remind people of the risks involved with drowsy driving, the state of Utah put up a series of these signs to remind people to get the sleep they need before embarking on this long journey.

The following warning signs might signal the need for a cat nap or a change of drivers:

• Difficulty focusing, frequent blinking or heavy eyelids

• Daydreaming or wandering thoughts

• Trouble remembering the last few miles driven

• Yawning repeatedly or rubbing your eyes

• Trouble keeping your head up

• Drifting from your lane, tailgating, or hitting a shoulder rumble strip

• Feeling restless and irritable
(source: The Utah Department of Public Safety)

Leaving your mark

In my family, we have something of an absurd
tradition - one mention of anything Christmas related, and one member in particular will start singing carols, even up to six months early! If you have someone in your family that does that, you might want to make sure they are asleep for the next hour of the journey, because you are about to enter what appears to be a winter wonderland- the Bonneville Salt Flats.
Stretching for miles in white, salty goodness, the salt flats are almost perfectly flat. Travelers take the opportunity to leave their mark for everyone to see, hauling rocks from the side of the road to leave little messages or symbols in the salt. Word to the wise- the salt can do nasty things to the bottom of your car, so get a wash later. And, really low cars can get a stuck in the rainy/ snowy seasons.

Metaphor: The Tree of Utah
By this point in the journey, all the diet soda and water our traveler drank at the beginning is starting to make nature come a'calling, causing them to look eagerly into the distance for any semblance of a rest stop. Before one appears, however, a very different figure materializes on the side of the road. It looks like an alien tree, surrounded on the bottom by little slices of orange peels. Even upon closer inspection, it appears that martians are giving Aladdin and his palace a run for his money on strange desert architecture.

According to the Utah Travel Industry Web site, this abstract sculpture was in fact made my aliens ... but not the little green kind. Swedish artist Karl Momen furnished the 87-foot-high tree to spruce up the barren landscape of the salt flats with color and beauty. Working on the project from 1982-1986, Momen then donated the work to the state of Utah before returning to his native land.

The Bonneville Speedway
While the 75-mile-per-hour speed limit on I-80 might seem like a rushed pace, the speeds at the Bonneville Speedway make those numbers pale in comparison. The uniquely flat landscape has enabled speed junkies to break records since daredevil Teddy Tezlaff first set the unofficial record of 141.73 m.p.h in the year 1914, according to the Utah Travel Industry Web site. This straightaway provided the perfect course to break the 300, 400, 500 and 600 m.p.h. speed barriers.

Every year mid-August, petrol, diesel, and nitro heads gather to race and try to set new records at Speed Week. For more info, contact the Bureau of Land Management, Salt Lake District, 801.977.4300

Emmigrant markings

You've crossed the line
Ever wanted to be in two places at once? A quick drive down the main thoroughfare of Wendover will let you straddle the Utah/ Nevada state line. Careful if you run into the street to take a picture - from my experience, it would seem people here like to play chicken with pedestrians.

Wendover is a good city to stop in, because the restaurants and casinos have nicer bathrooms than you will find anywhere else along the way.

Winking Wendover Will
On the Western tip of Wendover's main road, a rakish, 64-foot-tall cowboy greets weary travelers on their way through town. The sheet-metal giant got his name from William Smith, a drifter who rolled into town in the mid-1920s, bought up several small establishments, and is credited with introducing round-the-clock business hours to the town, according to an 2006 article on the American Heritage Web site.

Smith erected Wendover Will in 1952, and Will winked at travelers and smoked his cigarette until Smith's property changed hands in 2002, and Will was resigned to spend an early retirement in storage. Members of the community, eager to have a city monument, refurbished the old cowboy and rededicated him on his current roosting ground west of the city in 2005.

All hail the heroes of World War I
Along a quiet stretch of road next to Wendover Will stands a little monument. If our traveler passes it by without a second glance, they would miss out on a historical treasure.

In the summer of 1921, three years after the end of the first World War, community members in Kansas met together and decided to build a monument, a road that would span the entire length of the country, honoring the fallen warriors of the war, according to The Museum of Northwest Colorado Web site.

The citizens of cities across the country made Victory Highway, or US-40, a reality. Monuments engraved with the names of those lost honored the fallen statewide, while engraved statues of bald eagles commemorated those lost in each county. At the crossroads of Wendover, an archway, a bald eagle statue, and various plaques teach about this road, as well as various other historical pathways that run through the area.

Westward ho!

In pioneer days, emigrants bound for California, Oregon and Utah shared the same route for hundreds of miles, resulting in the name the Oregon-California Trail. According to the Emigrant Trail West Web site, as many as 300,000 emigrants traversed these trails before the start of the Civil War.

My kingdom for an iPod
When our now-dusty traveler is about 35 miles out of the town of Wells, a static storm will take over the radio and the search for a clear channel will provo fruitile. Best to have an iPod hook up or book on tape at the ready for the next hour or so.

Tongue Twister
I am easily amused, as anyone who knows me will attest. Whenever I see this sign, I usually spend at least 10 minutes cheerfully trying out different ways to try to pronounce the name. In all my searching, I couldn't find a suitable definition for the word Pequop. There really isn't anything to see - and that's the point. The area is a wildlife conservancy, protecting the area's deer and other fauna from the effects of mining and excessive gaming.

Honey, grab the camera!

One roadsign in particular in near and dear to my heart, probably because it cracks me up everytime. "Deeth Starr Valley" has humored travelers for years, leading to such blog posts as "Deeth Starr Valley: Home of Dork Vader." To the creator of this humorous name: thanks for the laughs!

Not long after passing the above signs, our traveler begins to see less amusing ones, like "Prison Area: No Hitchhiking" and "Prison Area: Report shooting from freeway." Ironically, the state prison is located in Independence Valley. Either someone was saying "neener neener neener" to the prisoners, or this is just a classic case of middle-of-nowhere Nevada irony.

As Reno nears and Utah fades into a dusty memory, beautiful vistas like this one begins to fill up your windshield. Thus brings us to the end of our trail together. I would love to hear of any other spots you have found along the trail.

Happy trails.

Joe at the Laundromat

2010-05-05T20:02:00.006-06:00

I met some lovely little mini-people in the park the other day. We had an in-depth conversation about the virtues of sparkly rocks and we discussed the best way to climb to the top of the boulder next to me. Although simple, it was probably the best conversation I had all day.

Happy 5th of May! Feliz Cinco de Mayo!
Being sick has its advantages. For example, it can take you out of your routine and put in the right place at the right time to meet some interesting characters. Take "joe" for instance. (His name is rabbit-eared because we didn't actually exchange names, but he totally looked like a joe) Anywho, I did laundry for my first time in the city at the laundromat on the corner today. I quickly remembered the joys of doing laundry in a quarter-starved, public laundromat: chill-axing to the lovely hum of driers, reading a good book and taking ample time for people-watching. As I sat down on a squeaky, blue chair to enjoy a borrowed copy of the book "Who moved my Cheese?" I noticed a hulkish man. Well, he was more of a mountain of flesh than a man. This guy was huge! His shoulders were as wide and muscular as the bronze bull's on Wall Street. With a noggin as bare as a bowling ball and tattoed arms the diameter of my legs, he appeared every inch the bad boy. Despite his menacing appearance, he sported a quizzical, lost expression on his face reminiscent of a little boy who has lost his mom at the grocery store. He was staring at a washing maching while his right arm hovered in the air, a single-use box of Tide clutched in his massive paw.

I asked if he were a body builder. He stood up real tall, flexed his mammoth arms and informed me of his six-time world champion status as a power builder. It might have made a really manly impression, were it not for the detergent box still hovering in his hand. I showed him how to operate the washing machine as he explained that it was his first time using a laundry machine ever. I thought I was a little behind the laundry game when I did my first load of laundry during my first week of college. I dyed all of my clothes different colors, then ended up spending about $10 a week doing a separate load for every single color. EVERY single color.

So what did I learn from Joe? I realized that it is never too late to learn how to do things. I could tell Joe was nervous and kind of embarassed about not knowing how to do laundry at his age. But he went for it and acquired a new skill. So, Joe inspired me to learn a particular skill many other has already learned at my age. Wish me luck on my attempt to acquire mad skills in ... well, I will let you know once I get it.

Springing into NYC

2010-05-02T19:05:00.005-06:00

Today I met so many interesting people with stories to share with me as I played the part of the intrepid traveler.

As I waited for my the airline ticket taker to announce B 30-60 in the terminal of the Las VegasAirport, I decided to kill time by doing a little people watching. I soon noticed one woman in particular. Short, blonde, mid-50s and not inheritantly attention getting, what really caught my eye were her accessories. She had four massive, curved tubes tied together and slung over her shoulder, looking every part the huntress with a big mass of bows. I jokingly asked her if she was going to use the tubes to make a giant hula hoop ... turns out, I nailed it on the head. Even though she was in what many consider the autumn of life, she has decided to pick up the hobby of doing tricks with hula hoops. She learned the tricks and how to make her special hula hoop watching videos on YouTube. The tubes looked like they would make a heavy, huge hula hoop (when put together, the tubes would have made a hoop over four feet long). Even though she had the waistline of a 13-year-old girl on a liquid diet, the woman insisted that "the bigger and heavier the better!"
As my new friend described her new hobby, a smile with childlike joy extended across her face. It was refreshing to see someone not acting their age, for having the courage and curiosity to take up a new hobby. I'm so inspired, I think I will finally sign up for a hip hop class. What have you always wanted to do that you have been putting off?

As I waited for the rest of the passengers to file onto the plane in Chicago, I tried to curb my boredom by flipping peanuts in the air and catching them in my mouth. After getting the evil eye from the lady in from of me (a few of my peanuts might have gone astray), I decided people watching would be a safer pasttime. I noticed a partuclar young woman coming up the aisle. It wasn't just the bright-red-streaked hair, the nose ring, the hands full of exotic-looking silver jewelry or the reflective, neon-yellow Dock Martins she was sporting that drew my attention (although, those shoes were pretty much the coolest thing ever). As she walked up the aisle, I noticed she was smiling - at everyone. I was pleased when we were seated together and had the chance to talk about our shared passions and our very different life plans.
This gal was all about community. She talked about organizing her far-flung family members for activities. She discussed her time as an R.A. at Berkeley working to help other kids develop a sense of family and community with their classmates. We conversed about the power of dance to produce and enforce a sense of community in a group of people. That made me wonder why we stopped dancing together as a modern society? We used to dance as a community - our grandparents jitterbugged, sock hopped and triple swung 'til the night was day. Now "dancing" usually looks like individuals shuffling around awkwardly or couples that, well, should probably just get a room. Did we, as a modern society, stop dancing together because suddenly those old dances no longer represented the growing diversity of our community? Could a common, communal dance, be a missing ingredient in helping our diverse melting pot take on a cohesive, bonded form?

Adventures in Zionism

2009-11-17T14:29:00.008-07:00

When July came this last summer, we were feeling a severe case of responsibility fever and just needed an adventure. So we packed up our camping gear and headed south to Zions' National Park. I was geeking out over the beautiful vistas and stunning landscapes and my shutter button was hot from over usage as I snapped pic after pic. We decided to begin our adventure hardcore with the five-mile hike up to Angel's Landing, setting out well into the heat of the morning. This would prove a key element in the later turn of events.

The hike up to Angel's Landing begins with a series of switchbacks, blessedly paved and sometimes shaded from the beating sun by an occasional tree. We would climb 1488 feet before reaching our destination. I ran out of water at about half that distance, several hours before our experience would be over.

I should probably preface this next part with a brief explanation. I am not afraid of heights. I'm terrified of heights. In elementary school, my friends had to tie me to the teeter-totter, because I would get so scared that I would fall off. So when I first set my eyes on the last half mile of our hike to Angel's Landing, a narrow path with a sheer, 2000-foot drop on either side, I am sure you can imagine my trepidation.

In my head, I had already announced to my group of brave and daring friends that I was not going across Angel's Landing. In my head, they said, "O.K., we'll miss you," then when on their merry way. It's funny how life doesn't always turn out like it goes in my head ... When we reached the point of no return, I gallantly announced to the world that there was no way I was going across Angel's Landing and that was that. They looked at me, said, "You're going" and started across. O' well- wouldn't want to miss out on anything fun.
I was at the back of the group the whole way, gripping with sweaty palms onto a huge chain, focusing my every thought on placing my foot safely into the next precarious foot hold. My good friend was kind enough to walk behind me, distracting me with a conversation that I will admit I do not remember, but for which I will always be grateful. I never looked down, though it called to me like those jelly donuts on the first day of a new diet. Yet I resisted the gnawing, irritating, overwhelming temptation to look down.

We made it. And the view was worth it ... once.

When you finally make it to the top of Angel's Landing, an amazing sight opens before your eyes. The whole length of the canyon, swathed in vibrant greens, tans, browns and reds, is truly stunning. And the altitude sickness makes the experience all the more moving.

Coming down from Angel's Landing, I felt high on my triumph- I had conquered my fears (with some prodding) and scaled the heights of Angel's Landing. To prevent me from becoming too prideful, the hike of the day left me with this parting gift. The hours of toil in the burning sun, with no food and too little water, had left a companion and I with the beginning stages of heat stroke. As I tripped and stumbled my way back down Angel's Landing, beautiful stars began to appear swimming around in my vision. Together with my companion, who was worse off than I, we slumped our way back down the mountain, with a new-found appreciation for the beauty (and dangers) of nature.

Martin/ Willie Handcart company trip

2009-07-26T20:37:00.029-06:00

Some dear friends and I embarked on a grand adventure on the weekend of July 11-13. We toured the church history sites of the Martin and Willie Mormon Handcart Companies in Wyoming. The historical information cited herein is from the Mormon Historic Sites Registry[MHSR]. The following are some of the pictures of our adventures:

"The first handcart company left Iowa City, Iowa on June 9, 1856 for the Salt Lake Valley. That year, four additional handcart companies would traverse the difficult trail on foot. The fourth company, led by James G. Willie, left on July 15, 1856 and the last company, led by Edward Martin, left on July 28, 1856

"Although the two companies that left before reached Salt Lake City without incident, Willie and Martin companies left later in the season and suffered tremendous hardships. Jens Neilson, a member of the Willie Handcart Company explained that 'No person can describe it, nor could it be comprehended or understood by any human living in this life, but those who were called to pass through it.'"[MHSR]

After the passing of more than a century, the ground here still bears the marks of the handcart wheels. We walked along these tracks, imagining what it would be like to pull a handcart with the hot sun beating down. It was humbling, to say the least, and we felt very close to the brave people who struggled along this path.

"Leaving so late in the season put the companies at a considerable disadvantage. On October 1 the Willie company arrived at Fort Laramie, but supplies they had hoped for to be left by Franklin D. Richards were not there. They had also suffered a serious loss of a number of oxen which they were unable to replenish there. Hunger, fatigue, and worsening weather conditions each contributed to the grave situation the Saints found themselves in. Upon reaching Salt Lake City on October 4, President Richards alerted Brigham Young to the companies' situation. A rescue party was organized and left three days later to give relief and aid. However, they would not reach the Willie company for three weeks."[MHSR]

The parts of Wyoming we traversed were pretty desolate. We were despairing not being able to see anything different from the grassy slopes and distant mountains. Then we saw an impressive sight- Independence Rock. This massive rock structure stands about half a mile high and boasts an impressive view of the plains. Independence Rock was so named because it was in the pioneer timetable- you needed to reach the spot by the 4th of July is you ever hoped to make it to Utah Valley before the winter storms.

The rock structured is peppered with graffiti. Unlike the usual variety, the claim-to-fame of Independence Rock is the series of names chiseled into the rock. From the early 1800s 'til present day, pioneers and travelers left their legacy imprinted in the rock.

We celebrated Independence Rock in our own "special" way...

From Independence Rock, a traveler sees an unusual sight in the distance. Following the path of the Sweetwater River leads one's eyes to a deep gorge cut into the side of a mountain. While the Mormon Handcart companies did not journey through "Devil's Gate", it was an important landmark on their journey.

"They settled into Martin's Cove to find shelter from the wind. However, several individuals died from exposure in the cove as well. The rest of the rescue party reached them and the finally came into the Salt Lake Valley between November 30 and December 15. In total, 177 individuals lost their lives from the Willie and Martin handcart companies.5 Though they passed through tremendous difficulty, those that survived were ever true and faithful to the gospel. One man who traveled in the Martin Compnany described that 'we came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities.'" [MHSR]

"After passing through Devil's Gate, the Martin company was forced to cross the Sweetwater River where four young men who were members of the rescue party carried people across the ice cold river."

In order to help us gain a better appreciation for this heroic event, the leader of our group decided to try to get the men of the group to carry the women across.... after several near droppings of the womenfolk in the river, most of us decided we could appreciate it more than enough on our own two legs.

(I bet the pioneer women WISHED they could have had my cool Wal-mart umbrella... ah, the wonderful conveniences of modern life)

This trip really helped me appreciate my pioneer heritage more as I had the opportunity to experience some of the inconveniences of pioneer life...

Getting sunburnt EVERYWHERE ( it doesn't help that I'm practically an albino)

DESPERATELY missing running water...

The difficulty of pushing a handcart...

Our little adventure helped me feel what it was like to be a pioneer, even if it was only for a brief day. I feel an increased gratitute for the pioneers and the lessons and legacy they left behind.

Can't escape the blogosphere!!!!!!!!!

2009-01-14T11:09:00.001-07:00

It is following me.... the BLOG! If you were to tie that word to similar sounding ones out there, you get the feeling that you are slogging through the bog on a hog- no particularly pleasant associations going on there. But try as I may, I cannot escape this new technology. Even if my life offers no tantalizing details to bring in readership... today I woke up, brushed my teeth, went to school, went to work, brushed my teeth again and AMEN, the day's adventures are done... I know, tempt me tempt me, right? But I must learn and learn I shall! Tune in soon for some more nonsensical nonsense.
For some fun eating in Provo, check out my Daily Universe review of Pantrucas Chilean restaurant.