Joe at the Laundromat

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

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 particular 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?
I love talking to random strangers. I hope I never get too caught up in my own life to stop learning from the random people who fate puts in my path.

Adventures in Zionism

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

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!!!!!!!!!

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.