Sisters

I have a lot of reasons to be grateful for my sisters. Growing up in a family with 4 girls was a wild ride: lots of hair and make-up and clothes, lots of fights an

d taking sides, lots of laughing and inside jokes and secret languages. I have a lot of memories of my sisters, good and bad.

(Hannah & Rachel -- 2002, 2009)

I don't really know how it happened, but I feel like I have a very good relationship with each of my sisters. During my college years, I was afraid this wouldn't be the case. Meredith and I will always be close, at least in my mind, because of the small age difference between us; it seems like we've always been, and continue to be, in the same stage of life. Now, with baby boys under a year apart, it feels safe to assume we will always have reasons to talk and relate to one another.

But it's different with younger siblings -- I didn't want to be the distant "aunt" that was married before they could get to know her, who always lived away from home.

I don't know why, but it hasn't turned out that way. My sisters and I talk on the phone and facebook each other. When we get together, we tease each other and share secrets. We berate each other about various offenses, but defend each other vehemently against anyone else. I'm grateful my college fears about our relationships have not come true.

Oakland Zoo

On April 23rd, Cal and I drove up to the Oakland Zoo. Although his face in the following picture suggests otherwise, Cal had a good time. Cal's favorite part was taking the train around the perimeter of the zoo. He is really into machines and cars right now.

Yes, that's a leash he's wearing -- more on that later.

The Oakland Zoo is a little bit smaller, but it was very nicely organized and well-kept. I had Cal on his leash, and we ran into a little girl his age who had on the identical leash. The two of them stared each other down for a few minutes in front of the otter exhibit. That's what babies do when they meet each other: the baby stare-down.

The funnest part was that my childhood best friend, Kerry, drove down from Davis to meet us there. We had a fun time laughing and catching up, and trying to entertain Cal.

I'm pretty sure Cal's favorite part was the giraffe enclosure. And I don't blame him: they are huge! I could barely take my eyes off them myself. It's fun to see Cal interested in things. He was climbing up on the fence, trying to get a better look. When he could adequately see, he watched in silence, eyes wide, for maybe five minutes straight. (I know that may not sound like a long period of time to some of you without kids, but trust me, it felt like hours.)

One benefit of being small: the ability to bypass cautionary railings. Here is Cal getting up close and personal with a curious tortoise. Cal would have climbed right into the pen if it hadn't been for his leash--which, as you can see in the picture, is stretched to the limit.
Sometimes, in the "planning" phase of an activity, I wonder if it's worth it to bring Cal to places like this. It's a fair amount of effort on my part, and I always feel like he ends up ignoring the activity and playing with an elevator button instead (this has happened consistently). I wonder if he's too young to appreciate what I'm showing him, or if he can't really engage with or understand what's before him.

But then, there's always a little part of the day where I can tell he's completely into it, like when I saw his face while riding the little train:

And that moment is pure joy for the both of us.

Is Letter Writing Dead?

Anyone who knew me as a child probably received a letter from me at some point in time. I was always, and still consider myself to be, an avid letter-writer. And I'm not talking email. While that has an important place in today's world of correspondence, when I say "letter", I'm referring to a handwritten hard-copy one finds in the real mailbox at the bottom of their driveway. I have always thought there was something incredibly fun, even magical, about finding a letter waiting for you. It's something tangible, that was physically held by the sender just a few days before. I find letter-writing to be a very human method of connection.

But is that method obsolete? There are so many more convenient ways to connect with somebody--letters add days of chronological separation. If the goal is to relay events in real-time, letter-writing disappoints. There is the added effort that goes into mailing a letter, but is love truly measured by logistical difficulty?

I have two cousins in particular with whom I exchanged letters for nearly a decade: Jessica (on my dad's side), and Jorie (on my mom's). Our respective exchanges would have occurred 1990-1997, roughly. I still have most of the letters. (But how is that different than having my emails forever saved in my inbox--I frequently reread those, too.)

Maybe the time period was different then: long-distance phone calls on a land line were expensive, and email wasn't really around, or perhaps not widely used. (Not wide enough for ME to have access to it, at least.) Letter-writing really was my only viable option for keeping in touch with my cousins (who were also among my very closest friends). Maybe it was a product of my age, or lack thereof -- I didn't DREAM of having a cell phone until I was in college. Growing up, then, I didn't get cellphones for Christmas. I got stationery. (Which, incidentally, was on my Christmas list every year without fail.)

Perhaps it was something about the delayed gratification. There is a lot of waiting involved in letter-writing. When Reed was serving in Brazil, waiting for those letters nearly killed me, but they came. It was the same as a child--when a letter finally arrived, it was already long-expected (perhaps overdue!). With Jorie, who lived in Canada, a response could take anywhere from 3-4 weeks!

Maybe that's where the magic lies: in the waiting. In the deliberate slowness of a conversation. In the listening that takes two weeks. In reading and re-reading words from the sender, treating them as a little more valuable, because they took so long to get here. And then choosing your words just as carefully during your response, tucking them safely in an envelope and sending them traveling back to the recipient, who is no doubt already checking the mailbox.

Am I holding on to letter-writing as one holds on to an old blankie? It's no longer of any use, but I just can't seem to give it up. Any other letter-writing survivors out there? Or is this truly a dying art?

First Steps

I have a love-hate relationship with running.

It's always the same: a friend will talk me into running a race. I start researching the course and the recommended training schedule, and that leads me to articles and blogs about running technique, diet models, speed workouts...and I start getting excited. I wish there was a way to take that rush of motivation and bottle it up, because when I wake up at 6:30 to hit the pavement, I need it.

BAD.

Because I HATE the first mile of a run. Hate is a strong word, yes, but it is not strong enough to describe how I feel during those first minutes of a run. My knees and ankles creak, and my muscles feel stiff and weak, and I think, "Why do people get out of bed this early. This is really dumb."

Once I hit about mile 2.5, though, my muscles have warmed up and my blood is pumping through my body, and I could honestly keep going for a while, out of FUN, I daresay.

And then I come home and have a protein shake and bask in what a healthy lifestyle I live (aside from the half-a-cheesecake I've no doubt eaten the night before). That may be the best part--the stretching afterward, with endorphins running through my body. And BONUS: being sweaty that early in the day ensures that I'll shower and get dressed & put together by 9am. Not to mention the longer-term benefits of health and fitness.

If I know how good it feels to run and train, why is it so hard to start? It's all I can do not to let an audible groan escape my lips when I take that first step. If only that rush of momentum and motivation was there at that moment. Until it comes, I'm working on a leap of faith, believing that if I can just hold out until mile 2, it'll come, and things will get easier.

I guess everything we do to change ourselves for the better has its not-so-fun first step. There are many things I'd like to be better at doing: playing the hymns, for example. Or being well-versed in the scriptures. Just like a marathon, these things are within my power, if I can will myself to train. And usually, I don't have a problem finishing-- the problem, for me, lies with those first steps: sitting down at the piano to practice, or making time to study, memorize and apply scripture in my life.

I want this to be a year of first steps.

Christ and the Rich Man

Today, in our Sunday School Lesson, we were taught about the story of the

rich man who asked Christ how to obtain eternal life.

The instructor displayed the painting shown above, by Heinrich Hoffman. This painting always reminds me of my friend Kirstin. I remember walking into her room one day during college, and she was posting it on her wall. She'd just returned from a semester in Spain, and was unpacking some things for her desk and walls. I asked her about it, and I'll never forget her response. She said, "I think this is one of the most memorable lessons from the New Testament, at least for me. The fact that Christ would tell him to give his riches unto the poor, and that the young man just couldn't do it . . . it is a huge lesson to me, and a reminder to search my life for things that may be holding me back from true devotion to Christ."

I will never forget that conversation, nor will I forget Kirstin's good example to me. Whenever I see this painting, I am reminded of a close friend who is striving to have no limits to her sacrifice and devotion to the gospel. And I recommit to doing the same.

Easter Egg Hunt

Today, we got together at the park with several moms and their kids for an Easter egg hunt. Cal had his red bucket, but didn't really get how things were supposed to go...

Once I showed him there was candy in the eggs, he got down to business.

Daffodils!

A few days ago at the store, I saw a sign: "10-stem bunches of daffodils; 3 for $5". I bought 90 daffodils. Every vase in my house is full! Welcome, Spring!