Cabbage Fest

When I was in Japan one of my students gave me a box of 20 heads of lettuce for Christmas. The other teachers and I all ate some, but we had no idea what to do with the rest. Why didn't I think of doing something like this?

The pic is from Germany's cabbage festival.

layers and heroes

I know how to wear layers. I grew up in Montana. It seems that I"m always reciting to others all the layers that I have on--usually because I'm still cold despite the layers and I just want someone to understand. Like at the last football game for Tyler's team I wore a pair of "hot chilli's" (a tights-like layer, thanks to Bill who got tired of my complaining every time we are camping) beneath a pair of flannel pants beneath my jeans, not to mention my underwear as well.

Well, I recently finished reading the book "Long march to freedom" written by Thomas Hargrove about his 11 months of being held by Colombian guerillas in the mountains. The book is a compilation of the diary entries he made while kidnapped. He often talks about how cold it is there. Here is one particular excerpt:

from day 125—
....I wear three socks, three trousers, one shorts, two shirts, jacket, ruana, two ski masks, two heavy, three light blankets over me, one under, plus some sacks I found. I don’t sleep under covers, I wrap it around me. Still; so cold, I hate to move.

That entry just broke my heart. I remember actually feeling cold while reading "fire of the covenant" about the handcart companies of Mormons on their way to the Salt Lake valley. These stories humble me. There's probably nothing I fear more than being so cold, I hate the cold, but it seems strangely that many of my favorite inspirational and heroic stories involve braving the cold. Perhaps because their challenges seem the most difficult to face. My sister April introduced me to two heroic stories that are among my favorites--that of Ernest Shackleton's plight in his attempt to reach Antarctica and also that of the South American rugby team that got trapped in the Andes and had to walk out. I can't imagine having the courage and strength necessary to survive, much less to play a role in the rescue of my friends. I admire these people greatly.

I just keep thinking of these stories lately. They inspire me so much. I like how they are just regular people and able to do such extraordinary things. It makes me wonder what we are really capable of and it makes me feel so responsible to do the most I can with my life.

Gilgal Revealed

I've been to the sculpture garden numerous times, almost all after dark, often requiring me to climb a fence. Once I had to stand on a garbage can to get over the top of the gate. I love the place. It's eerie and yet inspires me to think about God. Last time I went the brochures were actually in stock and it was all explained for me.

For those who are unaware of Gilgal Garden, it is to me the most interesting and unique thing to see in Salt Lake City. Some Mormons could easily find it disturbing rather than provoking. There's a sphinx with Joseph Smith's head on it. There's scriptures and poetry carved all over the stones. Most of the scriptures are from the Bible--the Old Testament, my favorite. I especially love the installation art piece for the second chapter of Daniel. It's placed on the side of a hill with different stones cut to represent the pieces of Nebuchadnezzar's dream (a rock cut out of the mountain, a tall warrior strewn about in pieces--the helmet, the breastplate, the leg, the feet).

Another favorite is a small "cave" that represents a verse from Malachi, about how the hearts of the children will turn to the hearts of the fathers--in the cave are 2 hearts, one white (for the dead) and one red (for the living).

I like it because symbology is always fascinating. I took several classes on Maya art, theology, culture, and architecture at BYU. I loved learning how their sarcophaguses were painted red on the inside to represent the womb and therefore rebirth into heaven.

I also like it because this man was unafraid to make this art. He was a bishop for 19 years and starting scultping as a hobby when he was in his 50's. It may sound stupid that I admire his unabashed artistic expression, but it seems to be that a lot of Mormon artists may feel limited in the kind of work they can do. I of course can't speak for them, but I've steered away from a lot of Mormon fiction because the characters just didn't seem real at all--they never doubted, questioned, or struggled (there are exceptions of course). I've found that a lot of classic novels are far more religiously inspirational while at the same time they allow for the full exploration of faith and obedience.

But at Gilgal I kind of liked not knowing what all of the things stood for. I mean, sometimes I'd rather experience things purely sensually. It's fun to know how movies are made or who all the players involved really are--but what's most important is the experience it gives to me. I'm a fan of Whitman's poem "when I heard the learn'd astronomer"--because he spends an evening listening to an astronomer talk about the stars but doesn't really get much out of it until he just goes outside and walks beneath them.

Isn't that what's most important about people too? Not where they work, or what they've done, not their hobbies, but how they make you feel and how you make them feel? I love learning about others interests, but even if we have common interests, what matters is how they make me feel and how I make them feel.

Going to Gilgal garden makes me feel more in touch with the universe. I love to bring other people there, in hopes that they will feel the same thing.

and so it begins

I would bet that each of the kids in my family has at one time or another wanted to be a writer. I know I still think about it a lot, but I suspect my youngest sister might make it. I don't know anything about her writing, but here are my thoughts on her prospects.

In talking about growing up, as bad as I thought it was, I always had my twin sister. We would go to our room and spend the whole rest of the night crying and talking after bad times. My older brothers shared a room as well. So more often, I find myself worrying about my younger siblings. I think about them all of the time. I feel close to them, but sometimes out of touch at the same time. I'm proud of my little bro because he's making something of himself already. He's so involved and has lots of friends. He is writing now too. I was such a loser in high school.

My little sis is still quite young. I wonder what is ahead of her really. I worry about her a lot. I joked with my twin about how our youngest sib will probably end up being the successful writer.

That's because all good writers have had very traumatic lives it seems--and the best spent time in either prison or boarding school.

[side note here--my high school sophomore English teacher went to a Catholic boarding school. She told us about when one of the old nuns retired. None of the girls liked her because she was a very cruel teacher. Well as she was walking off of the campus, the girls all sang out of the dorm-room windows the song from Wizard of Oz "ding dong the witch is dead." A very weird story, but interesting.]

Anyway, I fear that my youngest sister's life may be very hard because she doesn't have someone else close to her to talk with. So I've joked about how she'll make the best writer. So I went to see my little bro's high school play this weekend and while sitting next to my little sister, she tells me that she has started to write a book. And so it begins. I hope the best for all of my siblings.

Death of a human

I say “a human” because he really understood what life was about—what it meant to be human, to think and feel like a human. Clifford Geertz died on October 30. He was my favorite anthropologist. That may sound funny, but I studied many. During my undergrad we read many influential theorists such as Ruth Benedict, Margaret Mead, Malinowski, Geertz, Marx, Hegel, Darwin, Frazer, Lamarck, Levi-Strauss, etc.

Geertz’s book “local knowledge” was my favorite—it was about how knowledge that may seem universal varies from locale to locale. He was always trying to make anthropology more human—he originally wanted to be a writer, studying English and philosophy before anthropology. He was interested in symbology and in not creating gross-overgeneralizations about cultures, but about about finding meaning in basic human interactions.

I admired Geertz first because of his story about running from a cockfight in Bali. He went there to study the people. He had lots of experience as an ethnographer, but had never experienced such resistance from the people to open up like he did when he first arrived in Bali. He soon discovered that cockfights, although illegal, were hugely popular. He talks about how the nation’s pastime reflects their culture—their values, their beliefs, their joys, their sorrows. While attending his first cockfight the police show up to break up the show and arrest attendees. Geertz takes off running along with the other observers, following a couple of young men all the way to their home in the village and sitting down at their table as if they had been there all along. When the police stopped by houses in the village, he was still there enjoying a meal with the family who embraced him completely. Following that event he had no trouble at all getting the people of Bali to open up to him, thus he concluded that nothing can forge a bond like running from the cops with someone.

If you want to get in some trouble with me, let me know.

Barracuda

My older brother just made the new Texas state record for Greater Barracuda caught on a fly rod. He loves fishing and seems to have been able to structure his life around what he loves most. Why is it that most of us rarely do the thing we love the most? We get so caught up in the have-to's and feel like our time is overbudgeted, but if it was important, if it was what we loved, wouldn't we arrange the have-to's so we can get away as much as possible? Maybe I'm not making sense, but what's so good about having the status quo if you're not enjoying it? If it isn't the thing that brings you joy?

anyway, good for Dave! It's awesome that he caught that fish!