Perfect

Yesterday in Sunday School a portion of the lesson came from 1 Kings 17:8-16, which is the widow of Zaraphath's faithful response to fed the prophet Elijah. We watched a short Old Testament DVD account of this story and then had a discussion of doctrine and impressions. My overwhelming thought was simply this: The timing of the Lord is perfect. The feeling satisfied my little pocket-full of purposes for my fast. I have nothing more to elaborate on that point. Those seven words are sufficient for me.
The timing of the Lord is perfect.
I know that.

Reason no. 1

Dear Dallin,
This is what started it all.

It was summer. It was Georgia. It was the Paget's living room. It was a little crazy. It was me dancing like a wild monkey with hyper children. And it was you making a violin sing. It was magical. It was an all new Dallin that I hadn't noticed before. And in that moment I think I feel in love. How I love to hear you play! Keep that magic alive. Your violin playing was then, and remains for me now, my reason number one.

Love always, Liezel

Gluten-free goddess (in training)

I have goddess envy--gluten-free goddess envy. I am a stalker of this blog http://glutenfreegoddess.blogspot.com/ and just don't seem to have her touch. This goddess posts a plethora of amazing gluten-free recipes in twenty different categories with gorgeous finished product pictures, yet try as I might my gluten-free baking always falls a little short of her high standard (no pun intended). Perhaps she will take an apprentice? Gluten-free baker certification might look nice on a resume.
Currently, I have more failures than successes. Like my gluten-free pumpkin muffins, which had nice texture, but the taste was questionable. Or my gluten-free quinoa peanut butter cookies--amazing taste, but required a five minute soaking in almond milk in order to be edible. My bread machine recipe for gluten-free bread is at about 85% satisfaction, good taste, texture is still a little heavy. And then there was the lemon poppy seed muffins that weren't even fit as food for the ducks.
Amongst all my hockey pucks and door stops of baked goods, though, there has been one overwhelming success. The gluten-free banana bread I made was spectacular (if you can handle that it didn't get a nice rise in the center of the loaf like its gluten counterparts.) The texture and taste (together at the same time!) were perfect. It was moist, it held together, you didn't gag on it trying to chew or swallow, it wasn't so thick that it got stuck in your throat half way down, and our apartment smelled like a banana paradise while it was baking.
Dallin, gem that he is, though, thinks everything I create is wonderful--except for the lemon poppy seed disaster, we were in mutual disdain over that one. His approval of my efforts is always good motivation to keep at it. I also refuse to be beaten by millet flour, potato starch, or xanthum gum. I will triumph, I will, I will.
Actually though, my real impetus for all these hours of what sometimes seems fruitless labors is about love. This is all for the "fatten-Dallin-up-while-being-easy-on-his-system" campaign. If I can have a success every once in a while and know that it is helping him, it is all worth it.

Summer Is...

wearing flip flops. eating watermelon. picnics under a perfect sky. carefree. spontaneous. relaxing.

Summer is also ice cream, frozen yogurt, and popsicles. What is it about ice cream that is so memorable? Why is the recollection of frozen sweetness from bygone days so delectably enduring? Perhaps we have brain triggers for pleasure that are distinctively aligned on our cold-treats-in-sultry-weather experiences. I certainly have a healthy collection of them: Homemade lemonade popsicles in the freeze-it-yourself tray on the back porch by the marigolds in Omaha, age five. Pralines and cream BlueBell ice cream direct from the source in Brenham, Texas eaten in a field of bluebonnets and indian paintbrushes, age eight. Mint chocolate chip ice cream cones from the Randall's grocery store, age nine. Dad's blender-made orange julius smoothies for a family home evening treat, age eleven. T.C.B.Y's white chocolate mousse and raspberry swirl in a waffle cone as a reward for good grades, age thirteen. And Coldstone with Sarah and Nikki and Lina. And Baskin Robbins with Julia and Kira. And Brusters with Jenni and Mia. And Blue Bunny with Mom and Lauren. And Ben & Jerry's with Katie. And homemade creations with Dallin in our own ice cream maker. Hoorah for summer!

Home-making

So it's not a temple landscape and it's not a real yard, but friends and neighbors, Liezel has a bit of earth! Here's to colorful Colorado and more green-thumbing in my new home. Here's to that wonderful process of planting, tending, maintaining, and patiently waiting for the fruit. A good reminder of what a wonderful marriage takes--consistent tending and joy all through the process.

Eternal Convergence

These pictures were in our wedding reception slide show and inspired a blog idea. Dallin and I were both roughly six months old and progressing equally along a normal developmental pattern. As we grew, though, we slowly diverged in our development pace, personal interests, and skills. About three weeks ago we created an eternal kind of reconnection in our earthly development. Marriage is the reconnecting point, or at least the beginning of a convergence. As we were dating I was amazed by our similar interests and now as a married couple continue to be amazed by the connection points that we have and are discovering. What a beautiful thing to find your eternal companion and have mutually enriching couple development on so many levels. I am grateful for my Dallin and his gentle heart. I am grateful for his generous, considerate attention. I am grateful for his homemade breakfast every morning. I am grateful for his good mornings. I am grateful for his kisses goodnight. I am grateful for being able to hold his hand for always. I am grateful for our growth time together. I am grateful for this sweet and rewarding relationship that creates unity. I am grateful for temple marriage as ordained by God.

Dad's hands

My dad is the one that taught me how to peel an orange. He would sit at the head of the kitchen table in his pajamas just before my bedtime, a cluster of two, sometimes three oranges arranged in front of him. There was a certain close of the back door that my ears seemed to know; a sound that meant my dad had brought the oranges in from the box in the garage. I would scurry in and take a seat beside him, tucking my knees up under my chin to watch. One at a time he would roll the fruit in his big hands, looking for that perfect spot to start peeling. I think he liked the familiar oily texture of the skin because no matter how long he rolled the orange around in his hands, he always picked the same place to start peeling—sinking his teeth in just enough to pull out a piece on the stem end. It was magic to me as a young girl to see the steady, deliberate way he used thumb and fingers to weave around and around the fruit. As more and more of the orange flesh was exposed, the curl of peel got longer and longer, dangling just above the surface of the table. With the last section of peel removed, my dad would quickly divide the orange in two, handing me half. Sometimes Dad would tell a story or two while we ate our oranges, memories of the Idaho farm, his favorite cows and the family dog, Caesar.

I realize now that my Dad speaks his love with his hands. Love communicated through handmade wood creations finished in the wee hours of the morning to be ready for Christmas morning. Love communicated through unsolicited back and shoulder rubs as I ate breakfast or did homework. Love communicated through his work in the garden, in cultivating the land to bring a bounteous harvest for his family. Love communicated in as simple a thing as peeling an orange and sharing half with me. I love you Dad. Happy Father’s Day.

Quiet goodbye

Picture this: 5:45 pm, I-285 rush-hour bumper-to-bumper evening traffic in Atlanta the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, Iowa-trained driver behind the wheel of a 17' U-Haul truck with a tow bar hauling an Acura Legend, and Ray Charles' "Georgia on my Mind" playing on the radio. That was me almost seven years ago when I arrived in the state for my very first "real" job. My departure will be much less dramatic. Lunch with friends, one more drive down the connector, and an evening flight to the west.
In the last few weeks, there has been much looking back, much reminiscing, and recalling pleasant memories of this home-away-from-home for all these years. When I make my quiet exit there will be trails of pictures scattered behind me like colored confetti thrown over my shoulder catching the breeze and slowly weaving downward. I will remember Eden-like springtime with dogwoods and azaleas. I will remember the magnolias and hydrangeas, the smell of gardenia after a summer evening rainstorm. I will remember whipped topping clouds that tell stories and cool autumn mornings. I will remember the daphne and camellias of winter. I will remember kudzu, and boiled peanuts, and peaches, and collard greens, and fried green tomatoes, and Vidalia onions. I will remember kayaking on the Chattahoochee River, climbing Stone Mountain, apple picking, and garden hopping. I will remember the rainstorms and the rainbows. I will remember my mornings with the cardinals and Moroni. I will remember all my travels with Tilly (may she rest in peace). I will remember the granola co-op and the Arab meze party. I will remember the farmer's market and planting season. I will remember the temple. I will remember creative writing and bike-ride commuting. I will remember institute and visiting teaching. I will remember tunnel and cutting cardboard. I will remember throwing out and bedding up. I will remember customers and shipments. I will remember finding myself and letting go of fear. I will remember Easter picnics and ASO concerts. I will remember bell choir and oil painting. I will remember live oaks and Spanish moss. I will remember tubing and ice cream at Bruster's. I will remember all the closet prayers. I will remember the tender mercies. I will remember my answers.
And I remember the people and the kindred sprits and the friendships. I will remember my Relief Society sisters. I will remember my temple sisters. I will remember so many faces and stories. Natalie. Jenni. Sarah. Tarryn. Amber. Nikki. Benjamin. Brooke. Christiana. Mia. Eryn. Stephen. Rreza. Hannah. Tamra. The Cheesman's. The Heaton's. Mollie. Roger. Germaine. Janet. Julia. Tim. Yvonne. Hitomi. Sprice. Ginger. Becky. Irikefe. Leslie. Dawan. Amy. Melanie.
Georgia has been good to me and I will remember her.

Reason no. 82

Dear Dallin,

I love sharing an umbrella with you. Just thought you should know. That is all.

Love always, Liezel

Lost Keys, Lost Time, and Lost Shoes

Recent events have strengthened my testimony of my Father in Heaven's interest in the details of my life.
Case study one: Lost keys. I have a little peg that I always hang my keys on in my room--well, almost always. About a week ago I forgot to hang them up before going to bed, woke up the next morning and they were no where to be found. I had a bus to catch and so much to do. My room was kind of cluttered. I looked everywhere, but no keys. Feeling like I had done everything I knew how to do, I pled with Heavenly Father to help me find them--quickly. While I was praying a very gentle thought came to my mind that they were in the seat of my desk chair. For whatever reason I had looked EVERYWHERE but there. I finished my prayer and pulled out the chair, and plain as day, there they sat. What a merciful Father to hear such a simple prayer as, "Where are they keys?" But He does and I am so grateful.
Case study two: Lost time. Last weekend I went home for my sister's college graduation. My plane had a connection in Denver. I was to meet Dallin there and then we we continue on together flying to my parent's house. My plane from Atlanta was delayed for electrical problems and because of a major storm system in eastern Colorado. The entire plane flight I had a prayer in my heart that somehow I could make my connection. It was the last flight of the night. My sister's graduation was the next morning at 8:00 am. If I didn't make the Denver connection there was a good chance I would miss her ceremony too. My layover was just 35 minutes. The plane arrived at the time my flight out of Denver was scheduled to leave. I resigned myself to the fact that circumstances were out of my hands, and that I would have to make alternative arrangements. With just a bit of hope, though I rushed off the plane (amidst a lot of other passengers with my same dilemma) and found the agent at the head of the gate. "Has the flight to Salt Lake City already left?" I asked nervously. Her answer was truly a miracle. No it had not. The plane I had just deplaned was the same plane that would take us to Salt Lake City. My worry and stress over a circumstance out of my hands turned to gratitude and elation that the timing and orchestration was not in my hands. How perfect! How merciful! What a blessing! I made my flight, I found my Dallin, and the lost time did not affect our travel plans.
Case study three: Dallin bought a really fantastic pair of new Sunday shoes over the weekend in Salt Lake (along with a two-pant suit, belt, three shirts, and two ties--handsome, yes indeed!) When we went to the airport he carried the shoes as a carry-on in their original box. In Denver he set them down on a console near a restroom and because of the other things he was carrying, accidentally left them and several hours later discovered his mistake. He returned to the console, but the shoe box and shoes were gone. What are the chances of recovering a brand new pair of expensive leather shoes in an airport with thousands of people teeming to and fro in a constant flow? I thought it rather unlikely. But, we made it a matter of prayer. Wonder of wonders, some kind soul turned in the shoes to the lost-and-found and they were picked up from the airport just a couple of days later. Again, another miracle. Another tender answer to prayer. Another demonstration that Father in Heaven is anxious to bless and help and hear simple, everyday requests. I am so grateful.

So, so grateful.

Lest we forget

In a recent conversation with my mom, I shared this quote by Robert Frost: "Poetry is a way of remembering that which it would impoverish us to forget." Without missing a beat she responded, "Yes, but the scriptures would be a better word to insert in that quote. The scriptures are the way of remembering that which it would impoverish us to forget."
I love poetry. I marvel at the poet's genius for capturing simple human experiences in poignant, concise, and beautiful ways. I am impressed by a poet's command of language and their thoughtfulness and observance that is expressed so completely in only a few lines. It is a form of literary communication that befuddles me, which makes me admire a good poet all the more. Poetry can distill complex emotions to a single moment in time that is vivid and tangible and memorable.
All that being said, I love the scriptures more. And I love that my mom bore a spontaneous testimony in an ordinary moment of the value of the word of God (sounds like Elder Bednar counsel from General Conference!) Scripture enlarges the memory of the people, (as D. Todd Christofferson taught earlier this month), but with saving power. Power to carry us "beyond this vale of sorrow into a far better land of promise..." teaching us the source and means of our redemption in Christ. Poetry is a collection of pretty words. Scripture is the iron rod leading to the tree of life and every good thing giving us that surety of hope in difficult times.

Meet the Magnolias

I can't help myself; it is spring (possibly my last one for awhile in this area) and the plants are amazing right now! For starters, I want to highlight two types of deciduous magnolia trees that are showiest right now.
The Magnolia family (Magnoliaceae) is a dicot with about 12 genera and over 200 species of evergreen or deciduous trees or shrubs, mostly in temperate regions. The leaves are alternate, simple, usually entire, pinnately veined (meaning the veins are constructed like a feather, with a central axis, or rachis and subveins off of that). One of the key characteristics of this family is its encircling stipular scars. Branches have a distinct look because of thelarge scar left behind after a bud (either flower bud or leaf bud) drops off. The buds on Magnolias are especially showy and have a silky bud sheath that makes identifying the tree in the winter quite easy.
The pink flowering deciduous Magnolia in bloom right now is called Magnolia x soulangiana, Saucer Magnolia, and usually stays a smallish ornamental tree about 20-30' tall. The tree flowers before it leafs out and blooms are 5-10" in diameter! This tree definitely steals the show during its magnificient, though short, blooming time. Sometimes a late cold snap kills all the blooms just before they open. March can be sort of a tempermental month, weather-wise, but this year, they flowered nicely before any unexpected resurgence of winter.
The Star Magnolia, Magnolia stellata also blooms in early spring with big floppy-earred white blooms. These trees tend to grow slightly smaller (15-20') and have a denser branching habit, with flowers and leaves more compactly spaced. Star magnolia flowers have the added benefit of a nice fragrance with many more petals (12-18) and are usually only 3-4" in diameter. I like this tree a little better because white blends into an overall landscape a little better than pepto bismol pink, and I like the tighter form with a slighter finer texture.
The magnolias, a most amiable group, the harbingers of spring. So, happy Spring, and also a shout-out to Dallin for a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Designing with Nature

I found it a little hard to leave such an undefiled representation of the miracle and majesty of God's creation and return to something much less than that. On the drive back I saw eroded banks, backhoes tearing out trees, a townhouse construction project, weedy wastelands, privet filled forests, etc. What a daunting, and yet ultimately rewarding challenge faces the landscape architect to take models from pure nature and abstract that pattern to the built environment.
Ian McHarg in his book Designing with Nature encourages all who would pursue that high road:
"Let us...give expression to the potential harmony of man-nature. The world is abundant, we require only a deference born of understanding to fulfill man's promise. Man is that uniquely concious creature who can perceive and express. He must become the steward of the biosphere. To do this he must design with nature."

In Awesome Wonder

I have a new favorite kind of landscape: the granite outcrop. Fascination, awe, excitement, surprise, the thrill of discovery, I was feeling it all investigating the granite rock outcrop landscape just five miles southeast of Athens that is part of the Rock and Shoals Outcrop Natural Area. Granite outcrops are a unique environment (the most notable example in Georgia being Stone Mountain which rises 825 feet about the surrounding topography).
The granite outcrop outside Athens is somewhat bowl shaped and because water can collect in and around the rock the herbaceous plant communities are extradinarily diverse and truly marvelous!

The plants that have adapted to this environment are growing in between 0-15" of soil. I was struck by the patterns and forms and textures. I began to see a "minaturization" of the earth's biomes in these little landscapes.
A cluster of moss and lichen aside a little pool of water looked like the birds eye view of a mountain lake and a tree canopy from 15,000 feet. Everywhere I looked was a new little "fairy garden"--a microcosm of nature in a tiny 6" by 6" space. These photos hardly do the landscape justice.

Perserverance, Perspiration, and Prayer

On Friday I turned in phase one of the "100 trees" studio project. The assignment was created to help us understand elements in the design of outdoor space by isolating and controlling individual components. The project explores the manipulation of three major landscape elements: vegetation (phase one), topography (phase two), and groundcover (phase three). We were given a flat, perfectly square one acre local site and were allowed to use up to 100 trees of any single species around a given theme. The theme was a single word that we each drew from a hat. There were words such as: opulence, relevance, reluctance, reliance, transcendence, acceptance, indulgence, emergence, compliance, etc. The word I picked was DECADENCE. My challenge then was to create a visual and spatial experience around that word. Everything about my design was to speak of decadence, which is "the process of falling into an inferior condition or state; decay, deterioration, moral degeneration." It was an interesting challenge! We were to create a 30" x 40" board using any medium of our choice with a plan view drawing of our space at a scale of 1"=10'-0", a small vignette sketch, a detailed sketch of the tree we chose, a brief concept statement, and any other pertinent information we deemed necessary to include. We also built a model using any medium of our choice at a scale of 1"=20'-0".

My design is accessible from all sides and starts with a repetitious solid square of trees that is intended to mimic a classical peristyle courtyard. As you move to the center of the design, the squares of trees slowly decay and break apart. Color demonstrates this decay from the outside moving to the inside. I emphasized the process of decay, so it is a rather measured falling apart of elements. The tree I chose, the Parrotia (Parrotia persica) has a slow decline into fall as its leaves move through a whole spectrum of color before dropping them in the dormant season. In old age the bark of the Parrotia exfoliates, peels, and flakes off in an interesting patchwork of color and texture.

One of the things that I enjoy about design work, or any creative endeavor, is that initial brainstorming period when there are many possible directions and dozens of ideas that may or may not be worth pursuing. I roll out a sheet of trash paper and an HB pencil and do some rough sketches, throw out words that come to mind, think about visual associations, imagine myself in the space, consider symbolic opportunities, and so on.

The design process also involves a lot of prayer and pondering and I am never really in that "zone" until I have put first things first in my life. It is a wonderful life lesson that has been replayed multiple times since I began my first studio in August. I simply spin my wheels and exert a lot of time and energy to no avail if I am not right spiritually. As soon as I acknowledge my weakness and take time for meaningful study of the scriptures and prayer, that conduit of revelation opens and ideas that are not my own start to flow. I know from personal experience that "ask and ye shall receive" is a true principle. I know from personal experience that miracles happen when I put God first in my life. And, it never ceases to amaze me how much He cares, even if it is just one project for one class that occupies just one week of my life. If it matters to me, it matters to Him, and THAT is a powerful and unchanging truth.

Much Fun and Laughter

"In all living have much fun and laughter. Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured." -Gordon B. Hinckley

In the spirit of that life philosophy, I wanted to share this bit of comic relief I noticed today on my professor's office door:

"It is with a heavy heart that I pass on the following news. The Pillsbury Doughboy died on Monday of a severe yeast infection and complications from repeated pokes to the belly. He was 71. Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out, including Mrs. Butterworth, the California Raisins, Hungry Jack, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, Uncle Ben, Francesca Rinaldi, and Captain Crunch. The gravesite was piled high with flours as longtime friend Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy, describing Doughboy as a man who 'never knew how much he was kneaded.' Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with many turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times, even as a crusty old man, he was considered a roll model for millions. Toward the end, it was thought he'd rise once again, but he was no tart. Doughboy is survived by his second wife Play Dough. They have two children and one in the oven. The funeral was held at 3:50 for 20 minutes. We're sure going to miss him..."

he he.

And today I am grateful for the smell of fresh cut grass! The grounds crew on campus was mowing the monkey grass groundcover today. Spring is coming!

My Matchless Match

I remember watching and loving Fiddler on the Roof as a young girl. It is such a magical story, a microcosm for the drama played out in any family in any age: relationships, traditions, hardship, joy, pain, hopes for the future, change, resolution, uncertainty, plans, and new beginnings.
Now I resonate with the film on another level; I have a whole new appreciation for the quirky, good-intentioned matchmaker Yente. Why, you ask? Because my life has been forever changed by my modern-day Yente, for my matchmaker who had the ingenuity, insight, and inspiration to bring Dallin and I together.
It is truly miraculous to me to think that this drama has been playing out since about 2002. The careful coordination of people and places and things is marvelous to consider. Who would have thought that through a college roommate and my connection to her family, I would eventually find my eternal companion?
I never dreamed that I would move to Georgia after school, but geography had much to do with this happy ending. I never dreamed that I could be smitten after one weekend, but the chemistry of an amazing smile and fantastic fiddling worked wonders on me. I never dreamed we could see each other again just two weeks after our intial meeting, but the stars aligned and astronomy was our friend. I never dreamed that a romance could be played out over the internet, but enter technology and believe the unbelieveable. I never dreamed that saying yes could feel so right, so peaceful, but embrace faith in Jesus Christ and it does.
Heaven be thanked for my modern-day matchmaker. And for sweet answers to prayers, and tender mercies, and for the culmination of all that I had hoped for in one tall and handsome Kermity package. How can I ever show sufficient gratitude to my Father in Heaven for helping me find my matchless match?

For your viewing pleasure, "Matchmaker, Matchmaker" from Fiddler on the Roof:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59Hj7bp38f8

Not Forgotten

Over my holiday break, Dallin and I visited BYU campus and while we were perusing the children's section of the main library, we found this quote: "If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write things worth reading or do things worth writing" --Benjamin Franklin.
I have been thinking about the meaning of that in my life and in the lives of those that I love. I have been thinking of what that meant for my grandpa, who passed away the day before Thanksgiving 2009.
Ten years ago today (Monday 17 January 2000) I went with my dad and several siblings up to Boise to visit my grandpa. As we gathered around him in his simply furnished living room to listen to his stories, I discretely held a little hand-held tape recorder to capture some of his life vignettes. The stories he shared were later transcribed and distributed amongst our extended family.
I offer just one small snippet from the life of a man who did many things worth writing. Gratefully, some of his little moments have been recorded and remembered.
In his own words, he shared this experience at Marine Corp boot camp in San Diego during World War II:
"We were lined up...[and the officers] would come and inspect your rifle and you would have to bring it up with real precision-like movement and snap [it] back...They delighted in grabbing it when you had it up for each shoot for them to inspect it...We would sleep with [our rifles] every night for as long as we were there because your rifle was your best friend. The [officer] came up in front of me. I thought I had done it real good, brought it up...to the manual of arms...He didn't take the rifle, he [just] looked down and he could see my heart beating right through my green tunic. He said, 'What the hell is wrong with you? You are going to have a heart attack.' Of course I couldn't argue with him. Then he said something I wasn't expecting at all. He said, 'Are you a Mormon?' And we called him sir, and I said, 'Yes, sir.' And he said, 'Be proud. Right over here across the bay they have made a monument for the Mormon Battalion.' This guy...told all the rest of them while talking to me, 'Be proud. Be proud you are a Mormon.' I guess the reason he said that was because about a month before that the Marine Corp wanted a public relations thing. They wanted to recruit a modern Mormon Battalion. They put out the word that they wanted 500 Mormon boys who would qualify to be Marines. He said, 'Those 500 who came through the San Diego training camp were the best ones that we ever had come through here. That's why you should be proud that you are a Mormon.' Then he let out a kind of an oath (a dirty word), he said, 'By damn, don't you ruin their reputation.'

The members of the original Mormon Batallion made the longest infantry march in the history of American warfare, as requested by the United States government, and have been memorialized for their tenacity. My grandpa served in quieter ways for his country, in his family, and in the church. To the very end of his days he took care of his yard and grew a garden. Never once did he forget my birthday. He often sent notes of encouragement or CDs of music he thought I might like. He was ever the champion of my efforts to make something of my life. He always encouraged my clarinet playing. He made it a point to attend every marriage sealing of his grandchildren. He helped instill in my dad a good work ethic and a love for the earth and living things. My grandma was confined to a wheelchair for the last eighteen years of her life and he singlehandedly attended to her every need until her passing. He is remembered for a life full of worth, a life worth writing.

Yes Virginia, there is a winter in Georgia

And I have the icicles to prove it.

Conversation with a lady

This morning when I woke up, I found a ladybug on the lampshade in my bedroom; a curious specimen to find alive and kicking in January. I was immediately inquisitive:

"Where did you come from?"

"Why are you here?"

"Where are you going?"

(no reponse.)

Perhaps, thought I, she was on her way to visit her Aunt Amelia in the neighboring mulch pile and she went left instead of right and ended up very lost on a lampshade? Poor thing, no one likes to be lost.

Or perchance she is just an adventurous spirit? Dissatisfied with the same old blade of dormant grass and the underside of the senescing oak leaf, she packed her bags and bid her apprehensive parents adieu? Little lady, welcome to a whole new world!

Maybe she is merely opportunistic and heard of warm, well-lit rooms and unoccupied lamp shades for sunbathing.

Or is this little lady lonely? In search of true love on a lamp shade? May I speak from experience my spotted friend, love can find you in the most interesting places.

I know! She is an insomniac without the hibernation gene and has gone a wandering to keep from being bored to tears while her 87 brothers and sisters sleep. I don't speak ladybug, little one, but can I admire your spots and watch you walk and offer you my lampshade for as long as you care to stay?

This is Classic

Not much explanation needed here. One happy Dallin, which makes me one happy Alissa.

My Happy Heart

So tonight I have a happy heart for many reasons.

I went to a holiday concert and got that zing of excitement for this time of year. The orchestra and symphony played and sang the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah and it gave me chills to stand and hear it--it does every time. The orchestra also played a Canadian Brass Christmas medley with those lovely old traditional tunes: Ding Dong! Merrily on High, I Saw Three Ships, and Here We Come A Wassailing (I want to frolic in snow like the March girls and throw songballs at Laurie whenever I hear that one!).

I have a happy heart because I finished my first semester of grad school!

I have a happy heart because I get to go home soon!

And best of all, I have a happy heart because today I chose to be creative and it had nothing to do with school or a grade. My creative urge had no deadline and no set parameters. I was creative purely for the sweet joy it gives me. I made fifteen Christmas cards Liezel style and enjoyed every minute of the process. The good news is I have more creative juices flowing and time to put ideas on paper--THAT gives me a happy heart too!

A Cornucopia of Blessings

Cornucopia comes from the Latin words cornu and copiae and literally means "horn of plenty." It is often represented in still life paintings as a horn overflowing with fruits, flowers, and grain. The dictionary also defines it as "an overflowing fullness; abundance." This weekend my cornucopia was filled with blessings and many good people.
I am grateful for time. I am grateful for time and opportunity to be with these good people. I am grateful for my friend Katie who made time in her life to come and pick me up from Athens. I am grateful that she loves me enough to sit for two hours in Atlanta traffic trying to get on the highway to come get me. I am grateful we could make time to visit my former bishop's wife. I am grateful for the time to be in her home, time to go out to dinner with her and her husband, time to catch up, time to observe, time to look forward to "the best yet to be." I am grateful to see what time and consistency in the gospel can do in the development of talents, and character, and a marriage. I am grateful that in my Georgia time I have been given time to know her.
I am grateful for time in the kitchen of a truly determined and talented mother. Katie's mother organized and orchestrated a truly magnanimous Thanksgiving feast. I am grateful for the time she took to teach me about needed culinary skills. I am grateful to see the time she takes to make her family happy. I am grateful for time with Katie and laughing until it hurts. I am grateful for time to be heard and to talk. I am grateful for a friend who enjoys things I do, like going to the High Museum of Art. I am grateful for a friend who takes the time to notice interesting quotes on the wall and wants to discuss them, or who sees opportunity for intellectual stimulation in a set of postcards about what defines a "genius".
I am grateful for time with younger married friends. I am grateful for time with their new baby. I am grateful for their enthusiasm and genuine interest in the details of my life. I am grateful for their example of support to one another. I am grateful for time in the home of a truly service-oriented wife and mother. I am grateful for a second Thanksgiving, Japanese style. I am grateful for time to know their friends. I am grateful for this time to be alive. I am grateful for this time that is mine to use well.

At Long Last!

Today I am most especially grateful for FINALLY getting to the temple. I am so grateful for a ride up with a friend from the branch and her mom. I am so grateful for safe travel back and forth to the temple in Columbia, South Carolina. I am so grateful for riding with people who love to sing--and sing we did! For an hour and a half! Every hymn we sang we did all the verses, including all seven verses of "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief." Marvelous. I am grateful just to see the temple, isn't it beautiful! I was even more grateful to go inside and enjoy the peace and quiet that can only be felt there. I am grateful for the gospel and the plan of salvation. I am grateful for beautiful truths. I am grateful to go to bed tonight knowing that I can answer in the affirmative, "have I done any good in the world today?" That feels good.

Thank the Lord thy God in all things

All things, right? Okay, so today I am thankful to know that I have two very healthy and properly functioning tear ducts. I cut up an extraordinarily potent red onion and HOURS after the fact they are still weepy, nose is still running.

I am thankful for the talents I have been blessed with.

I am thankful for scenes of beauty like these that are within short walking distance from my apartment.

All Things with Thankfulness

Today I was grateful for my umbrella, and a dinner invitation, which included sweet potatoes--marvelous! Today I was grateful for amazing conversations full of honesty and thoroughness and meaning. Today I was grateful for a most excellent mum who listens and imparts wisdom and teaches me. I was also grateful for the Primary songs prelude before our Relief Society meeting, "I Love to See the Temple", "I Feel My Savior's Love", and "I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus". And for the little thoughts I had about gratitude and humility and for rediscovering this quote:

"The kind of gratitude that receives even tribulations with thanksgiving requires a broken heart and a contrite spirit, humility to accept that which we cannot change, willingness to turn everything over to the Lord--even when we do not understand, thankfulness for hidden opportunities yet to be revealed. Then comes a sense of peace"
-Bonnie D. Parkin, Ensign, May 2007, p. 35.

I am grateful for unanswered questions that help me remember my reliance on the Lord and how I truly do "need [Him] every hour."

In the Spirit of Thanksgiving

I want to make a more concentrated effort in giving thanks in the coming week.

To begin, today I am grateful for sunshine. I worked on my graphics class drawing assignments outside in wonderful weather. I am grateful "for worthy friends whose lives proclaim, devotion to the Savior's name..." I am grateful to have a break from school! I am grateful for naps. I am grateful for people who exert great effort in their church callings. Last night was a branch activity that was a wonderful success because of the committee's many hours of preparation. I am grateful for fresh starts and new beginnings. I am grateful for clean laundry. I am grateful for baked sweet potatoes. I am grateful for modern technology that allows for instant communication with the people that I love. I am grateful for most excellent parents who tirelessly give, and give, and give to me and my siblings. I am grateful for truth, and for the Holy Ghost who can help us to see truth--to see "things as they really are, and...as they really will be..." Jacob 4:13.

This video is a good introduction to my thankfulness desire:

Can ye feel so now?

Alma poses a series of probing, soul-searching questions in Alma chapter 5 of The Book of Mormon that can be instructive in the process of becoming a true disciple of Christ. One particular question from that chapter has been on my mind the last week or so. Alma asked the people in the city of Zarahemla, and by extension, all of us, this question in verse 26, "...if ye have experienced a change of heart, and if ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, I would ask, can ye feel so now?" It is part of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ to endure to the endure, to "press forward" and to "continue in the way", not just once, but consistently throughout our lives. The challenge is to have faith in Jesus Christ, not last year or last month, but today, and tomorrow, and always. The challenge is to have a constant spirit of repentance. It is not just, "I did repent" or "I have repented", but "I am repenting." Faith and repentance. Faith and repentance. Faith and repentance. Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and seeking the gift of repentance that comes because of His Atonement encompass so much in that continually seeking, becoming, understanding, improving process. How merciful is our Father in Heaven who offers us an opportunity on a weekly basis to feel again that change of heart. "O how great the goodness of our God, who prepareth a way..." that we may feel so NOW.

The Kingdom of the Little People

Has it really been more than a month since I last wrote? Time flies! Life has been wonderful and busy with so many little things, I guess I have been enjoying them, but not writing about them! And...speaking of little things, I discovered a cabinet of little wonders in the visitor's center of the State Botanical Garden of Georgia. Amazing what creativity and simple little things like hickory shells, acorn caps, leaves, dried flowers, and sticks can become.
I have been working on my own little models in studio, what are called palm models (about 8" by 10") with a scale of 1/32" = 1'-0. They were built from plans I drew up for a sculpture garden and had to use three different "form vocabularies". I chose to use rectalinear, arc-and-tangent, and radial. These form vocabularies create a different feel based on the foundational geometry that is used. For example, the rectalinear is based on 90 degree angles and tends to be a little stiff and formal, while radial has a flowing, dynamic feel as it uses parts and pieces of the circle as its basic geometry. I thought it might be interesting to include some of my plans and models as they progressed. I started with functional diagrams, then hardened up the spaces and established a formal plan, then built the model (rectalinear was the first step). After building the rectalinear model I evolved the plans and models into arc-and-tangent and radial. Just for a sense of scale, a person (a tall person) in this scale would be about the size of a grain of rice.

Stippling Strike

As some of you may know I just finished a two-part tunnel project in studio that required me to 1) build a tunnel model (8" x 8" x 20") out of cardboard with a designed pathway through it and 2) display the tunnel in plan view, section view, and six transverse section-elevations on two 24" x 36" pieces of white matboard using only india ink and stippling to show depth and texture. The good news is there IS a light at the end of the tunnel! I have emerged, though with a slightly lower IQ after hours of cutting cardboard and dotting. I think my eyes are still adjusting, my wrist and fingertips are recovering--slowly, and I know what day it is! I am on strike from all stippling, or resemblance to stippling, including dotting my "i's" and "j's", until further notice!

Though these last few days were pretty intense, one of my fellow classmates found the comedy in the experience and recorded it on the whiteboard in our studio. It made me laugh; I thought I would share. (p.s.--the numbers listed are actually pretty close to what we really did!)

October nurtures the inner child

I love autumn. I love the colors: the crimson leaves of dogwood and red maples starting to turn, the clear blue of October sky, the gold of hay bales and ripening fields. I love the smells: cinnamon, cloves, ginger, apple cider, caramel. It smells like home, it smells like comfort and warmth. I love the feel: the crispness in the air and the excuse it gives me to pull out a jacket for the first time and wear fun striped argyle socks, the drier air is wonderful for evening walks under a harvest moon. I love the sounds: the crunching of leaves, the wind rustling through the trees, the soft rainstorms. I love the foods of the season: pumpkin anything! (pumpkin soup, roasted pumpkin seeds, pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, pumpkin butter), apple anything! (apple crisp, applesauce, apple pie, apple juice, or a crisp Jonagold apple), soup and cornbread, sweet potatoes, acorn squash.

I love autumn for its invitation for young and old to play. Not only do you get the sight and sound of colorful, rustling leaves, but you can make piles and jump in them! Not only do you enjoy the scenes of harvest time, but you can use those hay bales to stuff old clothes into a scarecrow! Not only do you see the rich orange of pumpkins, but you can have your very own, dig out the insides, and carve faces of your own creation! It is a time for bonfires and ghost stories, for hay rides, and carnivals, for apple bobbing, and trick-o-treating. The air is full of spices; goblins and ghouls, witches and wizards are prowling. It is a time of magical whimsy and color and mystery. Autumn is a time to be young again to relish in all the bounty of life; the final hoorah before a winter sleep.

Department of Romance

Yesterday I passed by this building and its marquis sign on the campus. In the few seconds I had to scan the sign as I walked by I sort of half registered the words, but for some reason got caught up on the fourth line and laughed out loud, Department of Romance--really? A second later I realized, no, not really, it is in fact the Department of Romance Languages. I continued walking but had a fun time thinking of what kind of courses one might take if they were pursuing a degree in the Department of Romance. One might expect, for example, Psychology 502: Demystifying the Knight in Shining Armor, English 301: Shakespearean Tragic and Triumphal Couples, Physiology 475: Vital Functions of the Romantic, Italian 302: Italianate Wooing, Etymology 220: Origins of Sweet-Nothings, History 130: The Life and Times of Saint Valentine, Music 360: Compositional Theory for the Smitten, Communications 202: Verbal Expression for the Sentimental. Oh, and don't forget the study abroad program in Paris and Florence. So supposing one was in the Department of Romance pursuing a degree, would they graduate with a BS or a BA? Is romance a science or an art?

Today I was grateful for a GORGEOUS day, eating lunch outside by a fountain, and talking to my lovely mum.

Eyes to see

Quite a few of my friends have traveled to countries around the world and a few have literally been to the four corners of the earth. I have a confession to make: it makes me a bit green (with envy). Their stories of far-land-away adventures are amazing and eye opening, but it leaves me feeling not so very cultured or informed. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to step inside their brain to see what comes to mind when experiencing ordinary life events. When they smell fresh baked bread, for example, does their mind go back to that little side street market somewhere in Italy where they bought an artisan loaf? When they see brightly colored clothing, do they think of the silk costumes of dancers in Thailand? Does the sight of a coconut make them wistful for a Pacific island they once visited?
A parallel thought runs alongside this quiet envy: "for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me." I realize that there is richness and abundance right under my nose, more than I can really be perceptive to or that I conciously take in and enjoy. Eyes to see the wonder of ordinary things is a challenge, but it helps me to appreciate my particular allotment. I tested that thought recently around the campus. I took pictures in black and white of just five things that caught my attention on one little walk on one random day. My brain surely noticed and captured a thousand, ten thousand images, but I picked five. They are five very ordinary things, but the point is, they were noticed. I did this for myself; my way of proving that before I get all antsy to see the world, I ought to really appreciate my little bit of earth. So...in no particular order I give you a shrub with irridescent berries (I will let your imagination tell you what color they ought to be), a window trying to look like a sun, a study in perspective at the bottom of a steep flight of stairs, a flower in perfect bloom ( I half expected her to turn and look at me and wink!), and a garden gate leading to some pleasant little space, doesn't it beckon, "Come in!"
Contentment with my little bit of earth is a way of showing gratitude to my Father in Heaven. If I am constantly pining for things I think I want or hope to experience, but fail to appreciate the mercies under my nose I am a very whiny child indeed. (And in our home you know how we feel about being whiny!)
Interestingly enough, the Savior performed his earthly mission in a very small geographical area. He was not well traveled, but his life's mission was performed well--perfectly well. And within that sphere he noticed and blessed and communed with the ordinary. A man with the palsy, a woman with an issue of blood, an invalid at the pool of Bethesda, the blind, the lame, the deaf. He is one who took full advantage of his time and place and circumstance and had the perceptive vision to make an ordinary day into a day of miracles for someone in need. Mormon calls it being "quick to observe"; its fullest refinement is spiritual discernment.
One of my favorite chapters in the Book of Mormon is 3 Nephi 17. The Savior becomes so very real to me in these verses; the mercy he displays is so tangible. He says: "I perceive that ye are weak...go ye unto your homes, and ponder...and prepare your minds for the morrow, and I come unto you again" (vs. 2-3). The Savior is perceptive to their unspoken feelings seeing that "they were in tears, and did look steadfastly upon him as if they would ask him to tarry a little longer with them." His bowels are filled with compassion and he invites any that are sick, any that are lame, any that are blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or withered, or deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner to come and experience the Savior's mercy and be healed. Why does he do this? Because as He says, "I see that your faith is sufficient that I should heal you" (vs. 7-8). With great tenderness He does heal them, every one. The chapter concludes with this summary "and the multitude did see and hear and bear record...for they all of them did see and hear every man for himself" (vs. 25). How merciful a Savior who would provide the means for all to truly see and hear BEFORE praying with them and BEFORE blessing their children. This most sacred experience was enjoyed to the fullest by everyone because they were first healed by Him who is ever perceptive to our needs.
And what does all this mean for me? There is a connection to be made here. If I am perceptive to the invitation, it is to truly see and discern beauty and goodness in nature, but more importantly in the people all around me. It is to acknowledge my gifts as opportunities to be perceptive for someone else and it is to make the most of my little bit of earth.

p.s.--I love you

May it be remembered that you made my day Miss Molly--no, you made my week. How timely, how kind, how appropriate, and how needed. How did you know? One of the things I love most about you is your thoughtfulness. You give gifts that are tailor-fit to the person. So many of the little niceties from you have been so perfect...thimbles, bonsai kits, cards, quotes. How blessed I am to have you as a sister, as a friend. I wish I could share the fresh pineapple with you!

MLA Class of 2012

Here is another of our studio projects. Our professor took full-body pictures of each of us in interesting poses, made then into color slides, which we then projected on the wall at life size scale, traced on butcher paper, observing shadow (and ignoring color). The shadow and light intensites were ranked as black, gray, or white, and colored with marker accordingly. Then the butcher paper drawings were mounted on foam-core, cut out, and given a stand. Because the project came from actual pictures they are an excellent demonstration of physical features and character.

Today I am grateful for taking the time to clean my room after a busy week. A place for everything and everything in its place--that is a good feeling.