On how no one can explain America

I know there are far more influential and relevant things to talk about, but if America is going to spend all this time on Miley Cyrus and the VMA’s, we might as well open up our eyes to something else no one seems to have mentioned. Here it goes.

Everyone is saying that this girl’s performance was downright nasty. And yes, I agree. It was a big gross mess. Everyone is saying how sad/weird/disturbing it is that she went from Good-Girl-Hannah-Montana to this Public-Scene-of-Obscenity. But here’s the thing– no one is shooting any criticism toward Robin Thicke, who stood right up there on stage with her. In fact, the whole nation has been singing his song “Blurred Lines” for months and raving about how they hope it will be the Song of the Summer. People turn up the bass. Have dance parties. Tweet their enthusiastic fandom. But have people really listened to the lyrics they’re raving over? Because hello, it’s about a former good girl “getting nasty” and doing some pretty detailed, graphic things. In other words, it’s the story of Miley Cyrus. So Robin can put this song out there and make millions of dollars. He can be glorified by the music industry. He can even stand up there on stage with Miley Cyrus, complicit with her twerking all over him, as she embodies the very meaning his song we’ve been singing all summer… but now we hate her? Still love him? Weird.



It still is.


This weekend I went to a barbecue. (Where I’m from we call it a cook-out– just try it. It’s fun to say. Hey, we’re havin a cook-out…) At this cook-out I played volleyball in my bare feet on the grass. I climbed a tree and sat in it’s big, thick elbows. While I was up there I found a little friend named Colter. He was way better at climbing trees than me. He scaled way up to the top while I and some other friends sat in the leaves and talked about boys. I love doing that. I just have one boy– but I sure love talkin about him.

Today I rode my bike to McDonalds to get a refill on my Dr. Pepper. I wanted it so bad. Right wrist rests on right handle-bar. Right hand grips cup. Feet push pedals. Watch out for bumps. I was out on my bike anyway to deliver some cough drops to a sick friend that lives by a whole bunch of trees. I sure loved the ride. And that Dr. Pepper. The sun was setting all the way home. Orange and gold.

There is a man on my roof. His name is Nelson. I know because he came to the door before he climbed up there. He wanted me to know that it wasn’t him who broke the window on Saturday. It was the supplier. He also wanted me to open the basement door so he could plug some huge thing in. Nelson does lots of roofs. I asked him if he ever gets scared. He said yes, and I appreciate that. Right now he is also working on a hotel that is six stories tall. The roof is very steep and if he drops anything, it will land on a car going super fast below him on busy State Street. Our house isn’t bad, he says. That’s good. We need a new roof real bad. He drops stuff on our car too. Ken is mad. He wrote a mad e-mail to our land-lord which is why Nelson came to tell us it wasn’t him that broke the window. I had to walk right under him to get my bike, but he didn’t drop anything on me. Had to risk it anyway, for my Dr. Pepper of course.

I am really into berries these days. Strawberries dipped in SO much sugar. Blackberries and blueberries and raspberries. They take turns being on sale. I take turns buying them. Having them in the fridge feels like a luxury, an indulgence. It makes me feel very blessed and lucky and vivid.

People keep asking, how do you feel about moving soon?
They keep saying Wow, DC, and Ooooh, Texas.
I’m saying: not much.
Why haven’t I thought about it yet?
Soon I will be there and it will be my new home.
I will feel that Utah happened long long ago, and wonder how I got there so fast.
I just know it.
That always happens to me.


“The universe is shaped exactly like the earth: If you go straight long enough you end up where you were.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

When I was younger my bedroom window faced the culdesac we lived on.
Does anyone say culdesac anymore?
It means a circly road like this:

My window would be like that one there over the garage.
Sometimes, while I was falling asleep, a car would drive into our culdesac.
The blinds would be down but the headlights would come through the horizontal slats and shine in golden stripes on my wall. As they drove around the circle and back where they came, those golden stripes would circle around my room real slow.
It was magic.

Now I live on a busy street. There is a couch on our front porch.
Sometimes I like to read a book out there and listen to the cars go by.
It sounds like my old room, except these cars go much faster.
So much faster that eventually it feels nothing like my old room and I come back inside.
My bedroom window doesn’t face the street anymore but every once in a while,
the golden stripes come back around.

Every time, I feel so young.

* * * * * * * * * * *

So, if you haven’t heard,
I’m trying to write about me.
About who I am Right Now.
Interestingly enough,
this post turned out to express just what
I was avoiding:
the contrast of then and now,
and what it means to me.


A Blabbering.

Did you know I used to be full of words? FULL.
I know they are still in me but they are way down deep, maybe even a little lost in there.
Because I don’t call out to them and conjure them together and USE them like I did before.
I don’t group them into identities or clarities or the nominative indicative infinitive diminutive.
Did you know that’s why I’m writing here?
I am writing here to practice my words. To practice Speaking. Shouting. Feeling. Again.
With words.

Almost no one knows I am writing here.
Because so far I don’t necessarily have much to say.
So far I’m still getting my voice out.
That’s a wimpy way to avoid admitting that I just don’t think my writing is very good right now so I’m too prideful to advertise it out in the void. It doesn’t feel completely ME yet.
But with my words I’m telling the truth! I am. I just want to tell more of it.
I’ll need to tell more of it before I am satisfied.
Before my soul is at rest with its level and quality of expression.
Until then, my soul is kinda bunched-up and wrinkly in there.
It’s still happy, but it won’t be still.
It’s tryin’ to wriggle itself free.
I wriggle in words.
Here are some for today.

Sometimes I get very sad. I find myself taking naps and not talking very much. I feel heavy and sleepy, even when I want to feel alive. I know this pattern. It scares me. I pray and go for walks by the river with Ken. Things get better.

I love the moment at the pool when I realize the sun has melted my crayon. I know because instead highlighting a line in my book, it squishes a victorious spludge of green wax across the page. Oozing youth and summer.

I love when the doctor’s office wants an emergency contact and after I write Ken’s name it asks: Relationship?
And I write: Husband.

I love when I’m at J-dawgs with my little brother sayin “Get the secret sauce! Get the secret sauuuuuuuuce!” He’s a first-timer and I’m way more excited than he is. Let’s sit in the grass with our chips and drink. (I never buy the chips but this was a special occasion.)

I love that as soon as I get home from work I can pick up whatever book I want.

Books Just Finished:

The Help (Writing truth frees the southern women of Post-slavery America.)
The Five Love Languages (Find out how to love your favorite people the way they want you to love them.)

Just began:

The Dance (From my friend Brooke. I think this book is about how to quit obsessing over your flaws and just love your life.)
One True Thing (This one’s from my Mom. It reminds her of me.)

I love that reading other people’s words is generally promised to spark your own.
I am reading reading reading.

I love that my friends are growing up too. They are wrapped-up in various corporate/creative/therapeutic endeavors that help them to further unfold. I know some fantastic people. They just keep unfolding. There is no end to them.