last day of finals.
yes yes yes.
I V four three, one six . . . two six five . . . five. two half diminished four three, five six.
numbers and harmonys crammed in my brain.
I seem to be sifting through this instrument that can seem like a type writer . . . just let me run my fingers over silver strings.
Thank you for a hymn that was inspiring yesterday.
Thank you for a flight home . . . to the mountains.
Thank you for friends - amazing how beautiful friends make life.
Thank you for Matt - who says I owe him one letter everyday for the rest of my life.
Thank you for someone who loves me and fills me with white.


twenty two more minutes until final number one.

sometimes I just can't believe it.
I wake up overwhelmed with gratitude more often then I do just normal these days. . .

if you could pierce anything -

I would wear a nose ring in a heart beat. In fact, I have frequent moments when I'm convinced there would be nothing more fun than to march down and buy one. For some reason today was one of those days. . . . I think I'm on at least my fourth episode of unquenchable passion for a nose ring. it used to be these came when I wasn't getting in enough practicing . . . . lack of self expression He used to call it. But these days I'm practicing a lot - - - I think it may be a reaction to fears of putting myself in a homemade box called stable and settled. Maybe I should go with the nose ring . . . I'll be a stable and settled nose ring bohemian. :)

3:42 or 1:42

today a woman in Logan called me to play a gig. I had never met her, and I quickly explained that I have now moved. She was silent for a moment before exclaiming "well . . . we sure miss you!" after hanging up, I had to laugh. Oh the difference between those that live in logan and those that live in new york.

they're selling christmas trees on broadway for $80.
Boston and the freezing cold
New World Symphony and the rich sap of a cellist.
oh how I wish I were a cellist.
now a morning of baking bread . . . the noises of the city quieted on a Sunday
I think I'm in love.
that part makes me smile outloud
the dough sticks to my hands
its worth squeeling about,
worth singing christmas songs loud as I dance through crowds,
worth going to the top of the empire state building and shouting it to the world
worth waking up just to let it sink in all over again - my breath a sigh of contentment
all the things that fill me up inside are still not as good as love

wouldn't it be great if time zones were actually more like time machines, so where ever you were, the whole world was at that time . . . that way when you were in new york and had a day when you were running behind and didn't get your phone calls made, you could call someone in utah and have them call for you, because they are two hours earlier and it would still work out.

. . . .

The woman in a suit came onto the bus to continue her conversation. I sat, hands still muddy with clay . . . holding my music inside me. There’s a whirling noise in my head sometimes. I was trying to figure out what pitch it hums at . . . trying to distract myself from the nonsense demons that won’t leave me alone.
The woman’s words interrupted my thoughts.
“Yahh, Yeup. I know. Ah huh. Well, I’m working on this case – yeah – ten year old sat his mother down in a chair and shot her. Yeah she died. Ah huh. Six out of seven kids. NO Kidding! Can you believe that?
Six out of Seven!!”

Sometimes I just don’t understand.
This city that isn’t me. I love it completely, you know. I’ve learned you can love it completely and still need more – as if the word love is 360 degrees around, rather than the normal 180 for words like dried mangos and your favorite pants. 360 leaves room to miss things while still being satisfied. I wait for the moment I smell cows and hear the sound of kids playing in a pile of fallen leaves. I pray and try to figure out these feelings that come with loosing the big I’s – independence . . isolation, . . . and gaining the things that seem so scary – consistency, companionship. Sometimes in my head I decide to go home, pack my bags, and move to Italy – just to be unattached, because its familiar and in some warped world I try to justify that its more safe . . . but every night by the time I get home, buying a plane ticket just isn't as exciting as analyzing the arches of my feet.

I’m learning a lot about the idea “familiar”. I can see the value in not becoming the Larry in Somerset Maugham’s book. It just takes a lot of deep breathes is all.

Today: Roberts closest moment to admitting he was wrong.
“Oh of coarse! I didn’t play a C natural – you are right. It was more like a B sharp.”

why always the picturesque scenes on the blog? I don't know really. most of them are whims.

renewed appreciation

I had an experience today that really opened my heart and made me determine to do better. There I was, cell phone connected to the ear as I walked through crowds eating Chinese food in Flushing – calling an old friend and professional violinist in salt lake for some much needed advice. I guess you just have to be in that situation – vulnerable and feeling very much like a novice to appreciate how much her sweet and helpful nature were appreciated. It was like sunshine coming through that phone - the way she made me feel welcome and loved, the sound of a mothers voice who bakes cookies and walks with her grand kids to the park. I realized somewhere in between then and now that I need to redouble my efforts in having a good attitude when I serve people. Lately I have faltered in this area - going through the motions, even putting in the hours - but when it comes down to it feeling rather frustrated and like it truly wasn't worth the effort I was putting into it. Whatever happened to selfless service done with a light heart in my life? I have lost it somewhere on the path in gaining routine in a city full of people who don't know my name, protecting time in an overexaggerated battle with prioritizing, and loosing thoughts in the business of day.
I have been reminded.
New York you will not get me glorifying in proud isolation - I will do better at reaching out to the "other", as so beautifully put by Rebecca Mckonkie and her talk yesterday about the phrase "Love One An Other". And so it is. A renewed conviction to be more then I am, and a prayer to God to help get me there.

First reading of Mahler Symphony no. 4:
"read this like you would a bible."

honest to goodness direct quotes from todays trio rehearsal with cellist Robert who I want to obliviate from planet earth.

Andrew: "why are you playing forte there Robert?"
Robert: "because its a cello solo"
Andrew: "no its not, it doesn't say solo"
Robert: "yes it does, right after my pizz"
Andrew: "oh, so arco means solo?"

Robert: "we'd better hurry, we only have five minutes left"
Andrew, looking at the clock, "ten"
Robert: "some see five, some see ten. . ."

Andrew: "Gosh Robert you don't need to get so emotional there"
Robert: "the only important part is my part."
Andrew: "ooookkaaay. cry me a river!"

Robert: "I'm tired."
Robert: "My bow arm is hurting"

Robert: "lllllaaaaahhhhh laaaaaaaaaahhhhh llllllllllaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"
Melissa: "Robert, stop singing your solos".
Robert: "but they're the only good part."

Andrew: "Robert, can you play the triplets yet?"
Robert: "not now, my *%@**$# 'n hand hurts"
Andrew: "well, are you going to learn them?"
Robert: "look its not my fault I don't know the triplets"

Melissa: "okay, lets run the first movement without stopping"
Robert: " . . . . . . ."
Melissa: "any day now"
Robert: "just a minute. I had a massage, as I usually do, and he didn't massage my shoulder, so I can't use my arm."

Brent: no seriously, bubble butts are a thing of the future!

10/22/05

quote of the night : "and then your mouth just messes it all up."
want to go to Thailand?
spend a day in Japan
raisens and the thought of going dancing
as the rain beats the window
some things scream romantic
apple tea warm and autumn outside
bought a black and white photo today
went to the white house and thought of you

breathe deep
smile
and move forward



but slowly.

The culinary art of NYC.

"choosing the path of least resistance makes both man and rivers crooked"

to see renee sing manon

running under the warm glow of city lights, framed by the rain that was making the air thick
skirt bundled up in my arms as heels clicked the ground
I looked at you and laughed outloud, declaring "how romantic - running to the MET through the rain!"
you smiled back
because admit it, it was. :)

I recently looked at Nates Blog - who I've never met but seems to know people I know. I have to admit, there's so much there to relate to - one of my favorites being
"While the church is definately true, Jesus hopes people don't act too Mormon in Heaven."
and "He never said it would be easy, but he never said it wouldn't. so It may still turn out to be easy."
- insights he gained from the Sugar Beet Magazine.
Makes you kind of smile in a small way and chuckle, eh?

I live here.

"When each day is the same as the next its because people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives every day that the sun rises"
- The Alchemist

it just occured to me that the main boy character in the play is eventually revealed to us as the scarecrow . . . isn't that the one looking for a brain?

mass transit on a morning commute

In a heroic effort I bolt down the subway steps – slipping in between the sliding frames that box people in like sardines.
“Stand clear of the closing doors please”
Somehow I shove my packaged body among my fish friends. It even smells like sardines. The girl to my right keeps her eyes down. She is meditating. Some find peace in this morning ritual, I suppose. The man next to me is covered in chains and tattoos – I’m within inches of his breath. The warm of his day-old cologne passes over my skin. Here I stand, intimately wrapped around and through these strangers – nobody acknowledging anybody – averted eyes as bodies press up against each other . . . until skin touches skin on accident and a quick apology is mumbled.
I clear my throat but you can’t hear it over the rattle of the train, shift my weight and take my place in this ipod culture – shutting out the people I bathe with in this humid heat.
The doors open and everyone begins breathing again, shoving their way to the exits like a tournament round of moveable chairs or whatever we used to play at family reunions.
doors ding and the train jolts into movement.

I realize it's cheesy to put a picture of a sunset on your blog. . . . but hey, give me some credit - its been quite some time since I've seen one.

learning from breathing

today was one of those mornings that you remember with reminiscence in years to come. Lots of visitors this weekend - too many to get up and be productive. Can't run cause I broke my foot . . . can't practice because they are trying to sleep. So I found myself drawn to my bookcase - so many pages filled with thoughts and questions . . . . and often answers. I pulled out the journal from a year ago - and smiled as I read the line "isn't it crazy how much can happen in one year." October and my first trip ever to New York City - how much the exotic lights and consistant music charmed me and left me breathless. I was learning so much - I'm still learning so much. I laughed outloud as I read what I figure is the "sucky path" that seems to be the right path . . . but how oh well because if you try to take the path not right believe me its even suckier. ha. and now its beginning to lighten up here in the city - the air is turning crisper and apples are coming into season. sigh. I love the change of the seasons and how they encourage renewing in our own lives. It was a good morning, although I was pacing for people to get up so I could just get my fingers on strings. Sometimes you need someone to tell you to remember to read.

ode to the love fern

confession:
I killed the fern I bought at Ikea to be adorned in my apartment and make it feel like home. It was adding such nice green decoration to my NYC room. . . . "decoration" being the word to start the suspicion .. . . learning not one month later that anyone who calls a living breathing thing a decoration obviously knows about as much as I do on taking care of it . . . and hense the brittle stem for a plant that I have now. sigh. I'm really very sorry to have not been a better plant owner.

a bit too honest. . . .

a friend and professor at utah state once confessed to the class I sat in that day that he had received a phone call from a woman who had an unmistakable fake accent. It was so strong that in fact he assumed it to be his wife, playing a practical joke. Believing he had gotten the better of her before her cover was revealed, he played along with the joke - taunting and mocking her relentlessly - knowing that any minute her facad would have to be admitted. When the woman continued in this manner without interruption, my friend realized he had made an awful mistake: the stranger was indeed a stranger, and indeed the accent was real. Humiliated, he did what I think is one of the best recoveries I have ever heard of. Dropping the phone, he rattled it around a bit, picked it up again, and speaking in a thick masculine voice, said "I'm sorry! this is Mike Christiansen and that other person was not supposed to be in my office. How can I help you?"
I mean, really, who would have thought that up spur of the moment? You must admit - genius.

from somewhere in Astoria

in some sort of unexpected fluke I get internet on this corner of 30th street and 30th av - in the middle of a part of Queens I've never seen. I'm waiting for the Q18, watching people eat in a small sidewalk cafe as they drink their sunday afternoon coffee. At the moment I'm pretty darn grateful to my violin case, which is currently being used as my bench as I busily type away and wait wait wait for the bus that I'm not at all positive will follow through with arriving. What an adventure it is to take subways you've never taken, and wait for buses you've never seen come. Its a trust issue, I'm realizing. . . . so many things are a trust issue. when it doesn't come, what do you do? well, I know of no better way of getting to where I am going - so I guess you commit yourself to the unknown and determine that if it doesn't work, it must be for some reason beyond what we know. Then comes that poinant moment when we decide what to do with what we have. sitting here on this corner I guess is a living testiment that when it doesn't work, its best to pick yourself up off the cold ground, take a deep breath, gather your insides together, pray for a while until they soften up, and then trust again.
must go - the bus just arrived.

Picasso said once drawing is like taking a dog for a walk . . .

while they're still green . . .

he asked me what I would do if I were to turn over a new leaf and immediately I heard a type writer clicking in my head . . . lists of the things I would change. I remembered a sentence that strung together the two ends of my day last week - that split second when I realized that you can decide how your life turns out. so I guess it comes down to having the time. But if I could, I would

make my runs 10 miles instead of six.
learn how to throw pots.
become a massage therapist.
play the guitar
be a photographer
never be in a hurry with people I love
be a farmer
be a kayaker
never miss a sunrise
I would travel to foreign countries to climb sheer walls and sleep at base camps
never let unruly people taint how I see life, or water down my dreams
write all sorts of beautiful thank you notes every time I have the intention
fly to exotic places to try their food and camp on the beach
I would let go of the pessimist and allow myself the luxury of being a romantic . . . but just for a day.

announcing . . .

the best new purchase of Melissa, on sale at bed bath and beyond for $15.00 - a steal, if I may say so myself - with both wire rack and wooden paddle included - the new fetish and very old tradition of THE PIZZA STONE. Gourmet food at home. wallah!

textures

Sometimes you deserve a hot bath and a night to write - even if when you finally get there you stare at the blank page for twenty minutes before anything at all comes to mind that fits into these boxes called words.

I think about the cat woman downstairs - I think that there are so many people in this world, you better not risk being lonely. They may just forget about you. And I really do wish she would have come out of her door soon enough to get my bread before it went bad. But instead she stayed in there - which kind of bugs me.

I think about John Muir, and how everybody needs places to pray in where nature can give strength. Today we had a lesson on the difference between our thoughts and our actions - I liked the comment from the woman with the beautiful jade and pearl necklace - about how each part of us gives a certain energy to the aura of the whole. so much could be at peace if we all thought of the whole.

People and their questions . . . enough to make me scream, but whatever.

Most of the time I have a strong dislike for the grapevine and anything associated, being part of a checklist, redundancy of mistakes, feeling like a mooch (otherwise known as a smooge), most personal memories of provo, the smell of urine, peter brienholt and jon schmidt and any other so-called musician that could have been substituted in the conversation I found myself having today in the hallway about the Browns and Josh Groban and "don't worry, I'm sure we'll be working together soon" - gag me. But I do very much enjoy homemeade pesto artichoke heart sundried tomato pizza, deep sighs to stretch the lungs, most things blue, the luxory of a good nights sleep, thick conversations that inspire, photographs that are endearing, the feeling of calm when you pray, and the significance that enters your day when you know you have committed everything to Him.

just so you know

because people are cheating, I am now putting the unspoken rule no.1 of blogging down on paper, which is if you look at a blog, you are undoubtably obligated to respond somehow (even if it is nothing but "hey, I was here" - like the writing on the bathroom stall at a junior high.) Because thats what blogging is all about. see that little "post your comment" button at the bottom there ? yup - its really that easy.

reminiscing

Ever Wonder

what it would be like to fly -
how colors would taste -
if you never had to worry about money . . .
if you could live anywhere . . .
what you would do if you could pick anything -
what the president really eats for breakfast every morning -
?

things I am afraid of

that feeling when you're on a roller coaster and you suddenly plummet
getting to the point of forgetting how to have a conversation
loneliness
slipping on wet tile
finding no way to pack all my books across the country
loosing good friends
being misunderstood
hurting people that I care about
having a coughing attack in the middle of a cadenza
giving up what I love, even for a good reason
assumptions
not reaching full potential
not having a place to run
not having the time to run
burning my tongue
missing details
becoming a part of the stereotypical genre I can not stand because thats what we're raised to do
somehow getting to the point where I never making time to write
having the things that I am supposed to do be the hardest things I could think of
people leaving without warning
people asking me to trust them
being cold
working really really hard and never improving
hitting a sensitive tooth
not being in control
being overlooked
watching people I love do things that aren't beneficial and having no voice to change things
making the mistakes my parents made
settling
missing opportunities
disappointing most anyone
forgetting to say thank you
being busy with things that portray me as a stress case
having "me" time seen as selfish
Not being there for someone I care about when they need it
sharp objects
being a tourist
eating a bad grape, or worse, eating a spider
not taking responsibility
doing a job half way
having no explanation
tendinitis
any scene in a movie that is remotely suspenseful
confusion

currently listening to . ..

things I know.

there is comfort in the sureness of someone's laugh.
I am filled with questions.
I love the color blue.
I would rather hike then walk.
I don't ever want to be a romantic.
I love the mountains.
I think we're all just trying to do what we can.
what matters is what we decide to become. there is a lot of importance in the actual deciding part.
I love BBQ's and eating corn on the cob on a summer night.
Most of the time I wonder when I will let all these tangled feelings go.
I know I have a hard time proactively waiting for answers.
I really want rock jewelry but I really don't want to be a part of the crowd that has too much money and "positively reeks of it".
I can't stay here. I will move, many things will move.
She says expectations kill. I wonder if I agree with her.
I sure do have a hard time with expectations.
He says "this is not an excuse, its a reason". And I think . .. aren't they all reasons? The real question is what is fair.
Right now in my life I have a problem with being vulnerable.
I know that most things important right now are based on focus. Focus and consistency - such downplayed words.
I know that my sister andrea likes to play devils advocate so I prove why I think the way I do
I know we all get tired. even the strong ones.
Tired does not equal fear.
sometimes even the free and courageous ones just end up walking around in circles wondering what to do.
I know my favorite treat is dannon vanilla yogurt with fresh sliced fruit.
And that good friends are really what make it all okay sometimes.

what do you mean,

safe?

the art of practicing

"The value of an exercise depends on your state of mind"
- Madeline Bruser

they say at 10,000 feet

drink more water
adorn lots of smelly oily sunscreen
lock your garbage cans because the smell of sunscreen attracks the bears

renditions

wet after a concert that slowly baked us in the hot july sun. definately not a photo you would find on the cover of one of his cds, but what do ya do.

the addiction of a trail

there's something in redeeming your skin . . . to get up in the morning, shed the layers and adorn the ones with poly pro and whicker fabrics, to place the headphones and start the pattern of breathing as your legs move in rhythmic motion. . . . something about the soothing balm of repetative motion that allows your mind to clear.

to set my soul free

"People call me crazy for singing outloud like I do. But I got my song, and if I don't sing it it's going to burn a hole in me."
- Martin Sexton

4th of July in Aspen - a few friends, some fireworks, a night on the plaza . Ryan is trying to show off his new "Aspen Music Festival Nalgene". I had to laugh . . . .

art is subjective

The discussion today evolved into debating the point of music competitions. Kevin was almost sick over it - this exasperated effort, he claims, of putting ratings on such a subjective art. Isn't that what makes it art - the fact that it can be interpreted so differently by every person who views or hears it? Essentially you have two audiences you are trying to cater to - the educated "music student" who will normally be looking into the technical aspect of the playing, analyzing how the phrases were placed harmonically, etc.; and the "not so musically educated" listener prefers music to be a little easier to understand. So with these two groups in mind, knowing both typically make up one audience, essentially what makes a "good performance"? And take this a step further - take it to competitions that are being judged by a panel of professional musicians - put aside the easy points that can be debated such as technique and intonation - and tell me how after that point there is much to debate. maybe this is why competitions so quickly become political - with politics there is some weight that can be argued. . . . but in music, its all internal?

On a white board in a mountaineering store

"If you want to improve, be prepared to feel inadequate all the time"

All sorts of Topics

I've found that I get into an interesting conversation on more then a daily basis - usually with my pianist whose name is Kevin, but who wishes he had a more artistic name, like Andreas. He's an interesting one. Anyway, I've decided that since these topics have become, at times, heated discussions, what better way to expound then address them in a blog. So here is the first, I"m sure, of many.
On a hike to the Maroon Bells, the topic came up of clapping in between movements. My argument was that its annoying and awkward, for the uneducated person who made the mistake, and for those who hear the noise slowly teeter out in a pitiful array of embarrassment. His argument - well stated, I must admit, was that Chopin himself commented in a letter that he was disappointed with the lack of applause he received in between the first and second movement of one of his performances. So obviously there are famous composers out there who, even as far back as Chopin, not only expected applause, but appreciated it. This led us into all sorts of discussions on concert etiquette, which we'll leave for another posting, but the idea still stands that applause, encouraged or not, is an issue.
We finally agreed that the performer can induce part of the audiences response - nobody wants to start hammering away if the artist is still exposed to the moment of the last sounding notes ringing in overtones. Which is true, but I have to insist that classical music has a standard of conformity for a reason. I think its refreshing to be in an environment that encourages etiquette and a simple role of protocol. He says half the reason its a dying art is because the modern teenager regards the concerts as stuffy. But why should we lower the standard of our concerts to the typical rock concert image of today? I guess Kevin can have his raging mosh pits in between movements, but I will stick to the general comment before the program starts to keep it quiet until the piece is finished - when, as far as I'm concerned, all the cheering, clapping, hootin, hollerin, and foot stomping can be had.

May 5th - June 5th 2005

sat by a fire overlooking the Andes mountains in southern Chile
explored and hiked ancient Mayan ruins in Guatemala
shopped in a street market in Honduras
Drove from one end of Utah to the other in one day
Played Celtic music in Orem
Pulled off the side of the road somewhere by Parowan to sit on my tailgate and watch the sunset
Laughed out loud when I learned the gas station in Nephi has an actual oil painting in the womens room - framed no less
Recorded the music for the new Nauvoo pageant
Played yet another wedding.
Rode my horse through fields of yellow sunflowers in the hills of Logan
Learned that there is nothing more rewarding then old friends and the laughter that fills you up and sends you smiling when you are with them.
Ran the CO river in the red sun of Moab.
Judged the Miss Rodeo Draper Competition in , well, Draper.
Said goodbye to Vern.
Hauled a lot of hay.
Slept in the hayloft one last time
Slept in Millcreek canyon for the first of many times.
Recorded the new MoTab CD
Found a new favorite restaurant in Moab - Mexican, of coarse - - and outside!
Survived my own "fire swamp" with a bizzilion mosquitoes looking to massacre me on site and even identified an original platypus rock.

10 reasons why the GMC Denali should be melted into oblivion

10. WAY too many little computers
9. it locks its own doors on you
8. Every time you get back in, its reset the dang seat position back to straight up and waaay forward. arrrgh.
7. It only pretends to pull objects, Really it doesn't.
6. Every time you turn it off, the mirrors all re-adjust to reflect just the part of the road you don't need to see.. . . turn it back on and start all over again.
5. Three flat tires in two days. Need I say more?
4. Lots of snow and mud . . . no 4WD. Found that out the hard way.
3. What happens when you are in the middle of nowhere and need to haul horses off the mountain . . . and suddenly the auto-ride goes out? If it were a normal car no such ride would be needed, you know?
2. When you are backing up the side mirrors swivel to what they think you want to look at. Who says they know what I need to see? I hate not being in control.
1. After those three flat tires, dead battery stranded me yet again, not that I was going anywhere, obviously.

conclusion: too much money put into too many little things presents something that can break in too many ways. I say stick to the tried and true and trusted regular 4WD trucks.

smells worth letting in

wet wood at a high elevation
Pine Trees
BBQ Coals
The Desert after it Rains
sage
skunks. I love the smell of skunks, believe it or not.
campfires, of coarse.
the smell of a new book
Alfalfa. especially just after its been cut.
horses muzzles - the best is when they've been out to pasture - the perfect combination of horse and grass. mmmm.
rain
fresh cut lawns
the river
a wet deck in the hot sun
tamarisk trees

in retrospect

"There are years that ask questions, and years that answer." - Their Eyes are Watching God

getting somewhere

I'm all over the map these days . . . emotionally filling my lungs with the anticipation of moving, while my arms are full holding onto the things I'm leaving. I feel like the Lord is pampering me with moments of summer - he must know that I'm leaving to a place without mountains and need to quench my thirst before that fast. Every time I turn there is an image I want to burn into my memory and breathe in the moments when I may be short of breath. Sunsets . . . warm summer evenings with kids running on green lawns . . . the smell of horses and hay . . . lilacs and barbecues . . . the drone of a river . . . the companionship of dogs . . . the temperature change through a canyon in the morning . . . legs straddling the peak of a rocky ridge with a valley of green spilled out in front of me. I close my eyes and let it sit inside until its comfortable there - these images of home.
Lately I've been running around crazy. Not any more than usual - but my energy in places that it normally isn't - rather than focused on my fiddle, I find myself concentrating on the people who I take for granted - their eyes somewhat panicked that I'm actually going away. Its been a good change, although today I locked myself in a room and refused to let anyone make me do anything else because I just needed to practice.
The smells and colors of South America still linger on my lips. It was a beautiful vacation - one that prompted so much passion about the grit that makes me me . . . and the ambitions that won't leave me alone. I'd better live for a long long time because I'm never going to get it all done otherwise. I have this mental image of my grandma - +70's whirling past me on a zipline through the jungle. If you have blood like that in you, there's a better chance for you to live long. Good thing.
I feel like I could write forever . . . but we're rehearsing in about three minutes. Ah Dvorak.
Must go.

the newness of spring

"There is not anything like dawn from the top of a high mountain. About the rim, on the end of the world, a pink streak whipped across, a paintbrush swept a million miles across the sky. Morning wind picked up and hit our faces and me and Grandpa knew the colors and the morning birth had come alive. The paint-brush run up in streaks - red, yellow and blue. The mountain rim looked like it had caught fire; then the sun cleared the trees. It turned the fog into a pink ocean, heaving and moving down below. The sun hit me and grandpa in the face. The world had got born all over again." - The Education of Little Tree

who, me?

Sometimes I feel worn through with life. . . a feeling some of my "older" friends would scoff at. But I do - sometimes I wake up at think "22, and already worn through". But isn't it amazing how much stronger we are then we know . . . or at least I've found out this last year how much stronger I am then I ever thought possible. Strong enough to gather the things close to me and pack them in a big bundle to move. . . and then move again. To try when I think its most shocking. To cry when it would be easier to not acknowledge. So here I am. Salt Lake City when I vowed I'd never live there again . . . and actually loving it. And now looking at the next few months in front of me and seeing one thing: change. New York City, here I come. How can you even begin to know what to expect when you are moving to New York City? I find myself holding my breath. What will I do without my horse? What will I do without the mornings that smell like green on top of a mountain with the sunrise to wash over and baptize my imagination? Into the concrete mountains and crowds of people - - - a quest for new creativity and to continue in this adventure for good character. Into tomorrow we go.