Back to Britain, ladies and gents.

If you could take three months off from your current life and do anything in the world, what would you do?

If you read my previous post, you'd understand how I have a little bit of a love affair with England, mostly because that's where my kin is from. (Does anyone else think of O Brother Where Art Thou when you hear the word kin?) Alas, I've never been over there for more than a few weeks at a time. (I know, I know, my legitimacy as a half-Brit has gone down substantially.)

That is where I would go for three months. I don't know if I'd bum around at my grandparents' house (they're in their 70s, and I can pretty much fend for myself) or if I'd try and rent out a place, but I would go out to the green countryside where there is actual oxygen in the air (thank you high altitude of Utah). I'd probably eat lots of fish 'n chips with salt 'n vinega please (because if you don't have salt 'n vinega you shouldn't even be in England). I'd probably eat lots of doughnuts and traditional English breakfasts and beans on toast (don't knock it...it's a thing). I'd also visit all the places I've never visited in the number of times I've been there. Like the Beatles museum. (I know, considering I am the fifth member of their band, this is kind of a shame.)

Beautiful, isn't it.

You should see the view from my grandparents' garden.

Heck, you should see my grandparents' garden. Bless those red coats and their green thumbs.

Also, I only include this picture because it describes what a lot of my pictures look like from my last trip there. As I have been going through pictures for this blog the past couple of days, I keep running across pictures like this, where there is a random guy in the picture. Why? Because I was a creepy 17-year-old girl who decided to take pictures of all of the "cute boys" I saw. (Also take note of the massive amount of sweets on the conveyor belt....viva la Cadbury.) Let the record show, though, that in my three month sabbatical I would bring my husband, and would definitely not take creepy pictures of European men.

I believe I was inspired by Whitney's pictures from Italy, where there were lots of Italian men. And a video of her creeping on some old lady's mink fur coat.

The redcoats are a-comin'.

So, what kind of got me on the blogging bandwagon again was a month-long blogging "challenge" (if you want to call it that) that looked interesting and creatively stimulating (who says things like that?).

"Describe where or what you come from. The people, the places, and/or the factors that make up who you are."

I come from a train-loving, endlessly teasing, swearin' in church father. Shown here.

What is particularly interesting about this photo is that I remember when this happened. I legitimately thought I was going to be eaten by an elephant. I didn't know at the time that the elephant trunk can't actually eat you. I also remember looking behind my dad and seeing this crowd of people and not really caring that there were these people staring at me, because I was going to be eaten by an elephant, for heaven's sake!

Lesson learned.

My first concert ever was with my dad when I was sixteen. And we went and saw Journey and Def Leppard. That was pretty cool. Especially since the new lead singer of Journey (not Steve Perry, unfortunately) signed my ticket stub.

He taught me how to fix stuff until it's actually fixed or until it's so hopelessly broken that you have to call someone. Usually for me, I'd call him. Like when I was changing the outlets in our condo from cream to white. There were times when we didn't have electricity in parts of our house because I'd messed something up. But he would fix it.

Or when I'd call him from school down in Provo because Stella was acting up. Or if I needed help with physics or other terrible subjects in school. Or if I needed the recipe to his super secret spaghetti sauce.

He's pretty cool.
There was a time my junior year of high school where I was leaving with my guy friends, and he said, "Be good. And if you're not gonna be good...be safe."

Sound advice.

I also come from a British, tell-it-like-it-is, handy-woman mother. Shown here.

Unlike the other photo, I do not recall learning to walk in the English countryside. Although that would have been a cool memory.

My mom is pretty friggin' rad. She isn't afraid of anything. Except maybe spiders, but even those she had to buck up and kill anyways, because my dad wouldn't. [Secretly I think he was scared of them, but I don't think he wanted to admit it. Except for the spider that locked me in my bathroom really late at night when I was 13 and when it moved I screamed. My dad thought I was being kidnapped because that whole Elizabeth Smart thing was going down and he came down and was not pleased that I was scared of a "little spider." He killed that spider with an empty toilet paper roll (a pretty amazing feat, considering it was as big as a car). I think the adrenaline of thinking his child was being kidnapped/being irate with said child for the false alarm probably aided in the murder of that arachnid.]

Back to my mother...
She tells it like it is. You can thank the Brits for that one. She is not afraid of offending people and rarely gets offended herself. But the beauty of that is, she's probably one of the nicest women you'll ever meet. She will just tell you the honest truth about something, which means you can genuinely trust her opinion. Basically she's the right balance of being the nicest lady ever without getting walked all over by people.

That's what I'd like to be when I grow up.
She also taught me to cook. And made me persist with the piano, which I'm grateful for. And always believed in me and told me I could do great things. And because of the whole English-tell-it-like-it-is trait, I knew she meant it.

And she and I tiled a backsplash this past summer. We used a tile saw and everything. We don't need men to get a job done.

Half-British. That is my claim to an ethnicity (which isn't an ethnicity at all, really, unless you count our proper pronunciation of "worcestershire" and our habit of eating pork and beans on toast [it's a thing!]). Here's a secret. I always feel this sense of pride when people are anglophiles and I can say, "Yeah, my mom is British. I've got British family. Basically I'm the 5th member of The Beatles."

And if I'm ever not in the mood to be an American, I can switch my loyalties to the red coats. Because, you know, I have that right. Never mind the fact that legally speaking, my mom has American citizenship. Once a red coat, always a red coat.

Except for when I'm talking to my granddad. I like to harass him about how we kicked his trash in the Revolutionary War. Go America.

des soucis

Tonight was oh-so-lovely.

There are times when I look at the lot I've been given in life and ask, "Why me?"
We all do. We're human. We consistently look for what's missing instead of seeing what we've got.
Boy, do I got a lot.

Let's start with the father always willing to help with my poor Stella (who had a mishap a few days ago) (and Stella's my car).

The mother I call from outside the auto repair shop, stranded, with my credit card declined, and she laughs at me (I soon join her).

Then the wonderful people I'm blessed to call friends. The missionaries. The roommates (past and present). And the girls (who I had the chance to be with tonight).

Even as I sat tonight, hearing Transatlanticism come on twice in the movie we were watching, I remembered the people who helped me out when things were down. Everybody mentioned above. And more. Then Your Song was playing on my stereo when I got in the car. That takes me back. And that makes me realize that no matter what happens, those people will be there for me. They're the rocks. The ones that will never fail. Come marshmallow guns and killer sprinklers, I will always have those people.

"It's not time to worry yet."
And even if it was, they'd all be there.

flannel

fall is finally here in the beehive state. i've been waiting somewhat anxiously for it to arrive.
[days of sweating up the stairs from hell were finally taking its toll.]

here's a secret that i didn't realize until today.

i love fall mornings.

i love mornings in general (another secret i didn't find out about until i began waking up before the sun to clean), but fall mornings have something extra. they remind me of maple syrup and the smell of apple cinnamon. they remind me of home which is where i am right now.

i sort of almost cried when i realized how beautiful the scene was from where i was sitting.
the light from our new front door ethereally floating on a picture of christ.
my pink socks.
scriptures on the table.
jacob reading huck finn on the worn out blue chair.
the jutting out of our coat closet from the wall.

home.

--------------------

we went to the temple last night as a family. that was a first. we had family names. also a first.

afterwards, we made a not-so-quick stop at the farr's ice cream place in clinton (the one across from the ogden temple was too busy. everyone in my family but me hates crowds. another secret i learned).

it was one of those ice cream places where you get charged by the ounce. it seemed like a good idea at the time, but in retrospect (and after mom paid $30) we realized we didn't think that one through very well. we laughed.

the butter pecan custard with graham cracker crumbs my favorite, hot caramel, cookie dough, brownie bites, and cheesecake bites with a maraschino cherry on top was delightful.

jacob's, on the other hand, was disgusting.
he piled on every topping that looked desireable, which made for a not-so-good combination with his cookies and cream yogurt.
his fourteen-year-old self loved it.
we laughed. dad swore.

(lest we think this was a perfect family moment, i thought i'd add that. it was far from perfect. but it was my family. that's why it was real.)

(and, dare i say it, lovely.)

more miracles to come

two more miracles from today:
getting to hug see-ya-later to these lovely europeans.
a.k.a. my grandparents

dear joseph

"the fact that this many people are here today is testimony in and of itself of joseph smith."

the president of the nauvoo temple said that today as we stood in the balmy, overcast weather outside the window where, 166 years ago, the prophet joseph fell after being martyred. it was as though the heavens were remembering joseph and hyrum, too.

i stood in that room today. i realized the sacrifice that he made to bring christ's church back to the earth. he brought me the scriptures, another testament of christ. he sacrificed to bring the peace of christ and his church to my life. the knowledge that through repentance, i can live with my heavenly father again.

and i need that repentance now. i'm far from perfect.

bert and ernie

i remember getting grounded from scissors when i cut the bertser's hair. my mother was so mad at me, because bert was just barely getting hair instead of peach fuzz. we were bald children.

i remember playing barbies, too. and house. and school. i always bossed her around.

now she's graduating.
we're gettin' old.

good luck in the world of college, bert. if anyone can do it, it's you.

you've sassed me all your life;
go and sass the world.

this is my brother.

he thinks he works out.
i just liked the church socks with the basketball shorts.

perseverance and pipes

so, here's the thing: i guess i don't give up.

i got home from work, covered in nastiness from cleaning bathrooms all morning. our sink was beyond clogged. water was coming up and there was gross food everywhere, and all-in-all....it was pretty vile.

all growing up even now, if there were problems in the house or with the car or with the computer, my dad was there. whether he knew about things or not, he'd tweak them, push them to their possible breaking point, twist some pipes and run some programs, and it'd be back to normal. even better. i think i've taken a little bit of that with me.

so, i looked at the pipes, tried a few things, twisted some pipes and let some water leak, all the while getting dirty. i plunged the sink yes, i plunged the sink. mind you, the plunger i used was for the sink, not the toilet. gross. and sure enough, the sound of the disposal working might as well have been the rocky theme,

because i conquered.

when you think it's bad

there's a lot to be thankful for.

like these ladies.
especially the one on the far left


like this guy.
and his letter.


like this guy branticus
and his letter.


like the ducklings at the park.
you can't look at them and not smile.


like this song being number eleven on my cd.
eleven = my favorite number

and this song being fabulous.
and entitled one of my favorite names.

and this song.
for being beautiful.

world: 154; jacob: 0

i'm spent in more ways than one, so i leave you with this picture.
a picture is worth a thousand words, they say, and i think this one is most definitely included.

i think it says a lot about my family.
britt: staring off into the distance. complacent and standing still.
me: moving toward the water to get a better look at the rainbow.
dad: staring at the fire. probably wondering a more efficient way to have lit it.
mom: behind the camera. always. but without her, there would have been no picture.

and jacob: with a hatchet trying to slaughter a log.

so very jacob.

to you

i love love.

as i walked home today in the chilly march weather, i made this realization today. it was rather revolutionary, considering love has done me wrong one too many times (my theory behind why emily dickinson is so melancholy).

i walked, and i listened to garbled information from people passing me by. i walked, and i stole glances at the girl walking to class with stress in her eyes, the boy coming out of the science building--the couples walking hand-in-hand.

i love loving peanut butter m&m's.
i love loving art.
i love loving people

like my dad and his loudness.
my mom and her honesty.
my sister and brother and their banana fight the other day.
like my granny and her bread rolls.
like my grandma and her crossword puzzles.
like my granddad and his supposedly vast amounts of knowledge.

like the missionaries.
like sexy sadie. like whit leigh.

i love loving stella.
i love loving literature and learning and french.

i even love loving that one time. at that one place. in draper.

and despite everything that i haven't loved about the past little while, i may or may not love loving what i learned.

i'm pretty sure i'll love loving that, too.
it's just gonna take me a while to get there.