Little brown dress

Would you -- could you -- wear the same thing every day for a year?

This person did. And I'm fascinated by it:

So, here's the deal - I made this dress and I wore it every day for a year. I made one small, personal attempt to confront consumerism by refusing to change my dress for 365 days.

In this performance, I challenged myself to reject the economic system that pushes over-consumption, and the bill of goods that has been sold, especially to women, about what makes a person good, attractive and interesting. Clothes are a big part of this image, and the expectation in time, effort, and financial investment is immense.

She blogs all about her experience and insights over the course of the year, and as I read I found myself secretly wishing I could wear the same thing every day, realizing that it's not realistic in my world -- but then thinking, ok, what IS realistic? Ten items of clothing? Fifteen? Yeah, maybe, actually. Twenty? That's still a LOT less than what's in my closet right now. And it's also a lot more than most people in most countries in the world own.

Anyway, I have approximately one million more thoughts related to this topic. The idea of simplicity, of simplifying life, seems to be popping up every time I turn around -- in movies, music, and friends' homes.

So this post is kind of just a teaser. More thoughts on this later.

Everybody hurts

Without going into personal detail, can I just acknowledge something here?

Sometimes I hurt. Sometimes I hurt a little, sometimes a lot.

Don't worry, I am fine. But the past couple of weeks have not been fine. That's just kind of how life works sometimes. I'm coming out on the other side of this one, amazingly intact, and starting to have some pain replaced by wisdom and insight and even peace. But a part of me -- call it the emo part? -- still wants to acknowledge it, to say, this is how I felt. Not, this is how I fixed it, or this is what I learned, or this is who helped me -- but simply, I felt this. I am a real person having a real human experience, and this is how it feels sometimes. And I know I'm not the only one who feels it.

And so, in the spirit of teen angst, this song from my teen years is for all of us.

It's all about me. me me me

I was spotlighted in the Relief Society [church women's organization] newsletter. Lucky me! It's rather informative, and is just like these sets of questions that are all the rage to tag people with on blogs these days, so I figured I'd post it here.

Where were you born and raised?
Where wasn't I? I was born in Provo, Utah, and over the next 13 years, my family lived in Utah, Idaho, Connecticut, Georgia, California, Mexico City, Michigan, Kentucky and Colorado. Some of my favorite childhood memories come from Mexico City, where I attended kindergarten and first grade at a British school called Green Gates, and from Kentucky, where we lived for five whole years. I went to high school in Colorado, and my parents still lived there until a couple of years ago.

How many siblings do you have?
Three. My brother Zach is just a year and half younger than I am and recently finished business school in L.A. My youngest sister, Emily, lives in Indianapolis with her husband and two adorable little boys. My sister Lindsay passed away in a car accident while I was serving my mission; she was 17 at the time. I still miss her.

Where was the last place you traveled to what was your favorite thing about it?
The Outer Banks, North Carolina. I loved the sun, the sand and the long talks with some old, dear friends. Just before that, I was in New Orleans -- my favorite things there were the live music, the beautiful cemeteries and all the balconies in the French Quarter. [I wrote this back in September before I went to the Middle East.]

Favorite Church Calling
I didn't think I'd like being a Primary [youth Sunday School] music leader, but I LOVE it. It's my new favorite calling. My other favorite calling is [adult] Sunday School teacher.

Favorite Hobby?
Reading. I've also taken up jewelry-making over the past year or so, and I play ultimate Frisbee regularly. And I love to sing.

Favorite Food?
Lebanese. And sushi. And C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E.

Favorite Book You've Read This Year and Why?
"Gilead: A Novel," by Marilynne Robinson, and "The Brothers Karamazov," by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Both books deal with issues of faith, doubt, grace, and human relationships in a beautiful way and are superbly written. I was deeply affected by them both.

Good Advice You've Received?
"Wherever you are, be there." My brother said this to me once in college, and it just stuck with me. It reminds me to relish life's experiences now, rather than dwelling on the past, obsessing about the future, or just wishing life were different.

Tell us one thing we wouldn't know about you after meeting you once?
I double dip. Salsa, ice cream, you name it. Guilty.

Overanalyzing the Polar Express

I have a sore throat.

So, I just made some chicken soup and found myself curled up in front of the ABC Family Christmas movie of the night: The Polar Express.

Am I the only one, or does anyone else ever feel like the kid in the Polar Express who is running around on the top of the train in the freezing cold, having run-ins with a hobo who fills your mind with questions and doubts, chasing after golden tickets that actually belong to someone else that you accidentally lost, jumping between train cars, delivering cups of hot chocolate, singing cheesy songs and looking at the northern lights -- oh, and nearly dying several times? And then, just for a moment, you go back to the regular coach full of the all other kids who are completely oblivious to the danger and complexity of the journey, who are just enjoying the ride and looking forward to the destination?

I mean, who are those kids, just hanging out in the coach car, sipping their hot chocolate and looking placidly out the window -- while for others, the entire journey is a mighty wrestle within themselves for the meaning of everything? Do I envy those kids in the coach? Pity them?

I can think of real-life counterparts to those kids. But now I'm asking myself, if I really got to know them, would I realize they are all fighting top-of-the-train battles of their own? Is it the human condition to have to struggle through things, to face challenges -- or are there people who really do just get to ride in the coach?

"One thing about trains: It doesn't matter where they're going. What matters is deciding to get on."
-- Conductor, The Polar Express

Happy Birthday, Linds

Say not in grief that she is no more
But say in thankfulness that she was
A death is not the extinguishing of a light,
but the putting out of the lamp
because the dawn has come.

-Rabindranath Tagore

On Saturday I visited my sister Lindsay's grave for the first time in at least three years. Jen and Marlise, former roommates of mine in Washington, DC, have been hearing about Lindsay for years, and since we all met up in Colorado last week, they got to come with me. I loved sharing something so special to me with dear friends; it was almost like I was finally introducing everyone.

I brought Lindsay some lilies -- my favorite flowers because of their strong, sweet smell. I took a moment to trace my finger over the image of the bleeding heart plant on her headstone and looked at the dates under her name: November 18, 1980 - December 28, 1997. She would have been 28 today.

We stood there watching a colorful sunset and I spouted a few memories; then we sat on her bench talking about life and made sure to sing her Happy Birthday before we left.

And I know it seems slightly irreverent to strike a silly pose in a cemetery, but trust me, Lindsay would appreciate it:

The next day, on my way home from church, I couldn't help stopping by the cemetery again. This time, I plopped down cross-legged in front of her headstone and stared at it for a long time. There were some bees crawling around on the flowers, and I watched them come and go, their legs heavy with pollen. I thought Lindsay would have been interested in them, and I wondered what she would be doing if she were still here. I felt the gaping Lindsay-shaped hole in my life, the one I don't think about very often, thought about the confusion and crossroads of my present life, and had a good hard cry for several minutes.

Today, Lindsay's actual birthday, I came home from work and found a candle burning in my room. Next to it was a white mug with blue snowflakes on it and a canister of Stephen's gourmet hot chocolate. And on the bed was a blanket with a yellow note and a yellow bow. It took me a moment to process (and to realize I wasn't being stalked or seduced), but I recognized the blanket as the afghan Lindsay started knitting, with stripes of different colors for each of her friends. It was a perfect, utter surprise, and some combination of a long day, the recent visit to the cemetery, and the unexpectedness of something so meaningful triggered a fresh set of tears. So, since I was already in the mood, I dug out the tape of Lindsay singing "Breath of Heaven" that she sent me just before she died, wrapped myself up in the blanket and listened to her sweet voice.

I don't often cry when I think of Lindsay, and her birthday isn't normally sad for me. In fact, we like to have fun with it. It's been almost eleven years, and it's gotten easier with time, but somehow this year, Linds, I miss you more than usual. Thanks for the blanket. I love it.

Death is not the end
Death can never be the end.

Death is the road.
Life is the traveller.
The Soul is the Guide

...

Our mind thinks of death.
Our heart thinks of life
Our soul thinks of Immortality.

-Sri Chinmoy

How do you beach?

During my first job out of college, I kept a little window open in the corner of my computer screen with a live beachcam of Waikiki Beach. I just checked, and it still plays Waikiki Baby and Rhythm of the Ocean ("Hear it calling your name ..." ) over and over and over, which is funny to me now. Anyway, when work was just too irritating, I'd click on the window and look at all the little people on vacation and daydream about my upcoming trip. (I believe this type of behavior is also known as "going to your happy place.") When I finally made it to Waikiki a few months later, I stood in front of that camera and waved encouragement (or gloated? not sure which) to whatever beleaguered office peon might be watching at that moment.

These days, my happy place is still the beach. After two sublime beach vacations in two weeks, I'm back in the office wishing for a live beachcam of the Outer Banks. But this time, I'm reading beach poetry, too ...

This first one is dedicated to Rachel and to walking until we can't walk anymore. In beaching and in life, I think I'm a walker.

The second is dedicated to John and his drip sand castles. And it is simply the essence of my very happy place.

Beach Glass
by Raymond A. Foss

How do you beach?
Sorry, don't want to get
Too personal
Just asking, to get a perspective
To put us on the same page.

Do you lay in place
drink in the rays, melt the stress?
Or maybe play – ball, Frisbee, or V-ball?

Not me. I walk, the length of the beach
Too restless to sit
Lost in my own thing
Looking for shells, people,
and beach glass.

Taking in the scene;
Hoping I remember where I left her
on my return.


Beach Sand
by Raymond A. Foss

Maybe it is the memories
the change of pace that brings us there
the sense of vacation
maybe the smell of the place
the sights of the gulls, the dunes, the grasses
but oh it is the feel of it,
the crunch and slide of it
the feeling of beach sand
so different from dirt, soil, loam
no, not earthy, moist, rich,
but oh so granular and gritty
even when wet,
moveable paper spreading under toes
sliding beneath the soles
smoothing my skin
clearing my mind
unburdening me of the rest
drawing me to the tactile, the feel
of beach sand

I don't want to be an ant.

I have a love-hate relationship with public transportation.

OK, I admit, it's mainly hate. I hate waiting, I hate standing, I hate not getting a seat. But there's something else. Something about the social phenomenon of so many people, fellow human beings, acting completely indifferent to one another. I mean, you're all in this small space together, and everyone is avoiding eye contact and pretending like no one else exists. It's like John Hannah's character says in Sliding Doors:

"It's funny the way nobody talks in the tubes, isn't it? I mean, I rarely catch the tube myself, but --or lifts -- confined spaces, everybody shuts down -- why is that? Perhaps we think everybody else on the tube or lift is a potential psychopath or a drunk so we close down and pretend to read a book or something --"

But then I also completely relate to Gwyneth Paltrow's response (in fact
sometimes I actually hide from people I know):

"Look, I don't think you're a psychopath, I just want to read my book."

So it's kind of contradictory that I want everyone to leave me alone, and yet I wish we all could be more human with each other.

Anyway, I was explaining this to someone who pointed me to this clip from the movie Waking Life. I'm weirdly fascinated by this: