Winterberry

Dear 26:

2010-01-06T09:43:00.001-08:00

I'm so over you.

Loves, ke.

On Miracles

2009-12-30T11:13:00.000-08:00

I've been getting more pragmatic about God for the last few of years (normal post-mission/growing up phase I think), but even more notably this last couple of months. I'm a closet mystic, but have come to the point that I can't imagine God as an omniscient micro-manager without feeling micromanaged myself, which drives me totally crazy (in both senses).

The step back has been mostly positive. Rather, it's been enormously positive, but simultaneously sort of negative, so I think the net result is, you know, mostly positive.

Anyway.

Two months ago a woman came to one of my classes to present on her foundation whose purpose is to get pro-LDS content on the internet. I was sort of instantly excited. The inital thought was to get my smart, interesting LDS pals to write short essay on "Why I'm a Mormon." It felt good, and they were in, and it was going to be a kind of content that doesn't have a huge presence. I pitched the idea to my brilliant lovely sister who liked it, who liked it, but proposed that we do something a little less text-heavy. Visual testimonies? It was brilliant and good and right. We recruited my pal Annie (and picked the brains of our talented family and friends) and Hopefully Mormon was born.

Already I've been inspired by the "Reasons for Hope" (what we're calling our entries) that have been sent in. Already we've received really positive feedback and lovely, personal stories. It launches for real on the 1st, but it's starting, already, to feel like it's bigger than us.

Rachel and Annie and I met last week to work through kinks and I felt beyond lucky to be working with them. We have the right skills and the right friends to start this thing. And I'm having a hard time convincing myself that this is a coincidence.

I'm humbled and kind of awed that Heavenly Father would let me be a part of this. I'm certain that this confluence of people and time and information is auspicious. It's enough to poke holes through my pragmatism.

So. Go check it out. Send in a Reason if you haven't--or another if you have :)--we need need your help to get through the first couple of months). It's a great idea, come get involved.

Hard things

2009-12-30T10:39:00.000-08:00

Hard things I like doing:

Backpacking alone
Weeding
Shoveling
Cooking for crowds
Making things happen
Cutting off all my hair
Graduate school (depending on the day)
Teaching high school

Hard things I hate doing:

Making phone calls
Resolving conflict (the process, not the product)
Committing
Taking criticism

I want to elaborate on this last one a touch. Because right now I have a final draft (A-, with an endnote whose first phrase is anbiguous) in my bag and an email from a professor in my inbox,
relating to my final and paper. The final I think I aced. The paper was awful and I turned it in because I'd spent two weeks and hours and hours writing and and it was Christmas Eve and I had to finish, so I finished.

I don't want to read them. They could be super useful, really help me out in the long run, but my stomach feels queasy and my muscles are tight and my breathing a little frantic. I don't want to know. (I've made a deal that I'll read the email when this post is through. It maybe will last forever.)

Once I wrote a confessional email to a friend I'd wronged and/or mislead saying something like we should give us a try. He emailed back, I skimmed it, got the sense that is was negative, and I ignored him for a month. When, after a month, I reread the thing careful, it wasn't, actually, negative, but it had been a month. So.

Writing this out makes this issue sound kind of silly (which was my hope), but the issue remains. And it's kind of a big deal, I think, one of those habits of highly successful people (not one of the 7, but just folk-wisdom generally) is being able to take criticism, right? Eew eew ew.

(P.S. The email was 80% positive. I'm a baby)

Love/Hate

2009-12-26T13:39:00.000-08:00

Writing Papers
Papers are hard. I forgot somehow. The upside: I learn so much. Not about my topic even, necessarily, just thinking that hard opens things up. I forgot that also.

Working Hard
In case you missed it (you probably didn't, I'm not great at hiding this kind of thing), I kicked my trash finishing things up. It was really fun. I'm going to work on this next semester.

Failure
I might not do well this semester. I think that's ok. I don't fail very much (I mean, depending on who you're asking or what you're judging), and I think it's going to be good for me. I'm kind of falling in love with, not failing, but forgiving myself. Turns out I'm human. Dig it.

Music
I'm convinced that I have a music mix that makes you smarter: Thievery Corporation, Mogwai, Ratatatat (Daine. I loves it). It helped so much--the focusing, the white noise effect. The only problem is that the the first phrase any of these songs drives me into panic. Just a little.

Diet Coke.
You know.

Anyway. Go Christmas go. ke

Myth

2009-12-18T20:23:00.000-08:00

I was asleep while you were dying.
It’s as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow
I make between my slumber and my waking,

the Erebus I keep you in, still trying
not to let go. You’ll be dead again tomorrow,
but in dreams you live. So I try taking

you back into morning. Sleep-heavy, turning,
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
Again and again, this constant forsaking.

Again and again, this constant forsaking:
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
You back into morning, sleep-heavy, turning.

But in dreams you live. So I try taking,
not to let go. You’ll be dead again tomorrow.
The Erebus I keep you in--still, trying--

I make between my slumber and my waking.
It’s as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow.
I was asleep while you were dying.

--Natasha Trethewey

(Because it's beautiful, beautiful.)

Forgive a moment of lechery.

2009-12-17T02:57:00.000-08:00

Did everyone see this coming but me?

He's so handsome.

You should probably know

2009-12-16T09:04:00.000-08:00

that the reason your teachers make/let you do creative projects is because they're inevitably heartwarming.

Exhibit A

Exhibit BThis is a Rhetorical Analysis Guide Pyramid. In cupcakes. (Reversed, because that's how PhotoBooth works apparently?)

(ok. my last one and then I'll get back to writing)

2009-12-15T21:07:00.000-08:00

Carrion Comfort NOT, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me	5
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,	10
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.
--Gerard Manley Hopkins (I'll be fine.)

Good news/bad news

2009-12-15T21:01:00.001-08:00

"Turn it in at your convenience," he says,

"Just make sure it's good."

Was he never a student?

Not a girl student, certainly, with tendencies for perfectionism.

Grrm.

New Post, Short Post

2009-12-15T14:11:00.000-08:00

I just wrote a midterm and feel like my entire body is wrung. I kind of love that feeling.

I love dropping names. Love it. I don't think this is one of my most endearing characteristics, I'll be honest, but do you think it's enough to build a career on? "I am in academia because I like citing Foucault in casual conversation." I hope so. I think this is an adorable pettiness.

Also adorable: new hair.
I have a paper to finish. On Cixous. And Barthes. And sextuality. (I'm so clever. I can't get over it.)

Loves, ke.

Morning Sunshine

2009-12-08T09:39:00.000-08:00

My body is magic. I woke up early this morning with cramps painful enough, obviously, to wake me up. I know this routine, it happens every time. So I got out of bed, found some ibuprofen in the dark (in the mesh pocket of my backpack or the change purse of my briefcase or the basket in my linen closet), lumbered half-asleep to the kitchen where I chugged some soy milk to keep the advil from eating through my stomach lining, and went back to bed. I tossed, I turned, I tried to find a comfortable position and I drift-ed-off-to-sleep. When I woke up 3 hours later, this is the magic bit, I was so happy. My muscle were all relaxed, everything was mildly rose-colored. Once the pills (which I take every 4 hours for 36) have done their work, I'm golden. Golden.

Compulsory Heterosexuality and the Lesbian Existence

2009-12-03T15:45:00.000-08:00

I haven't read much feminist theory to this point. I wanted to write about why.

Reason number one: I believe that traditional roles and traditional marriage are important and I always wonder how I'm going to rediscover this conclusion after working through feminist theory. I've done stuff like this before, but it's hard. This is more a matter of convenience and comfort I think.

Second, my mother (maybe because we didn't have money for expensive clothes? I've wondered) (maybe because the competition in our family was/is silent but deadly) taught me early and thoroughly to avoid trends. I didn't listen to the Backstreet Boys. I didn't play pogs. etc. Feminism felt inevitable for me, once I left Provo High where I was actually fairly outspoken, because I'm a smart liberal arts major with daddy issues. I didn't want to fall into cliche.

Third. I had/have this suspicion that being an articulate feminist would disqualify me for marriage somehow. Tragically--almost hilariously--ironic, right? This suspicion is founded on vocal disparagement of feminism by, um, 95 percent of the people in my life, many of them men whom I love and/or respect fervently. And so I'd be disqualified because as soon as I really embrace feminism 98 percent of the men I come in contact with (oh, BYU) suddenly hold views about me that I can't possibly tolerate. Also because I think it will take me a minute to justify marriage again, because I'm going to have to reevaluate its value and the way I imagine me working within it.
This is ironic, too, because I've always had feminist tendencies which have managed to alienate me from a lot of people, I just haven't had the codified theory to explain how or why or to make it seem worth it. (Feeling "condemned to an even more devastating outsiderhood than [my] outsiderhood as [a] woman" (165).)

Finally (I think, at least for now), I don't know if I can do it. Looking over the last sev--oh, my entire life really, I am kind of grossed out by how often the things that I do are decided by/because of men. I feel like a need to please and a privileging of the masculine (masculine ideas, ways of knowing/interacting, etc.) are so inherently a part of my personality that I'm not sure who I would be if I embraced myself as a(n empowered) woman. I look at the really smart, strong, women I know and wonder if I could be that (offense not intended to anyone here--smart and strong are separate, here, from any certain ideological system). And maybe I'm being an absolutist, maybe I could change some small things...

But, we're sort of skimming through feminism for theory. I read Adrienne Rich's article (the name of this post. Attention-grabbing, isn't it?) tonight and devoured it. Not all of it may be true, but so much of it feels true. And feels important. And matches with things I've supposed for ages. I recognize that theoretical traditions probably (our personal worldviews certainly) are formed by so much by our own personal experiences--we find the truth we want to find. And so I can see how feminist theory maybe doesn't appeal to everyone. And I know why (strengths and weaknesses both) it definitely appeals to me.

I'll probably write more about this later. Hopefully a lot. I think feminism is important for me right now--if only because if I keep believing the stuff I do about myself, about men and women, I don't know how I can keep going. Dr Muhlestein said the other day something about "there are some things that, once you think them, you can never not think them again" and I feel like that's where I am. Kind of glorious. Thanks Rich.

Flood

2009-12-01T14:13:00.000-08:00

I woke to a voice within the room. perhaps.
The room itself: "You're wasting this life
expecting disappointment."
I packed my bag in the night
and peered in its leather belly
to count the essentials.
Nothing is essential.
To the east, the flood has begun.
Men call to each other on the water
for the comfort of voices.
Love surprises us.
It ends.

Eliza Griswold

What I love about this morning:

2009-12-01T08:37:00.000-08:00

Did you know Barry White died? In 2003? This seems like something I should've been (maybe was) aware of. In honor of the 65th anniversary of his birth (right, birthday is morbid after the fact?) his people released a new box set. For some reason Barry White is a ridiculous(ly inspiring) way to start out the day.

I used to have a bathroom with a window. A long time ago. My favorite thing was showering late so, when I was drying off, the sun hit my back. The warmest best feeling. I'm sitting right now with my back to the windows of the Memorial Hall with the sun on my neck, and I want to stretch out in it like a cat. Mmmm.

Advice please

2009-11-23T23:26:00.000-08:00

So lately, I'm kind of having a hard time taking myself seriously. Not in the way you're thinking--I'm very serious about how the decisions I make right now are going to affect the rest of my life and how the things I say are very wise. Sort of. I'm not having too good a time (though the Thanksgiving pre-game meal and Sunday brunch and etc etc are so fun) or kissing too many boys or whatever. I just can't seem to believe myself when I have those talks that start "Now Kjerstin, you have a lot to do today (this week, this year)..." and end "then at 10 you'll read in bed, then at 10:30 you'll go to sleep."
I make plans, that is to say, and then I blow them off.
Right now, as you might suspect, I'm avoiding: I have a page and a half left to write for this midterm I'm doing. "Now Kjerstin [ke; am I giving up the game? surprise!], if you'd just write your midterm, you could get to bed, then get up early to go running." Right. Or: "Kjerstin, if you don't do this midterm now, you may never succeed." Smooth. Or: "Kj, do you really need to play with wordle [wordle.net, check it out--so pretty] again, right now?" Yes. I do. Because nothing is ever due and I can probably pull it off if it is and if I keep telling everyone how busy I am than no one will expect anything from me. (Thanks for the backrub, btw, mom.)
It kind of feels like I'm 18 and away from home for the first time and eating donuts and rootbeer for breakfast every day: nauseous, guilty, and delicious.

I suspect that the key ingredient here is a biggy--like Grow Up or Take Responsibility For Yourself or Stop Being So Damn Selfish For A Sec--and if that's your advice, it's noted, thanks. If you have anything practical to add (I don't know, shock therapy?) suggestions are welcome. Thanks.
Love, ke.

a note on faith

2009-11-22T15:30:00.000-08:00

(Connie and Dave--you're only allowed to read this post if you promise not to panic. I'm doing just fine. ke)

So I'm in this theory class this semester and I love it a lot. If we talk in real life we have probably talked about Derrida or postmodernism or Marxism lately--ideas are so fun, and these guys are grreat at them, making them sing and dance. But of course theory is there to shake things up, to put names to the tricks we play on each other and that are played on us, to point out patterns in behavior--to make opaque the generally transparent underpinnings of social functioning. And while I'm good enough at compartmentalizing my Mormon brain and my scholar brain that I'm not crushed and offended by these theories about the way people are manipulated by those in power, it has started me thinking about all this stuff I believe, again.

We talked about how ideologies are reinforced: we believe a things we're taught to, because we're taught to; we somehow don't fit into that thing we believe so we feel guilty; we're taught, when we feel guilty, that we need to believe better, to participate more fully in the thing we believe (ideology), which starts the cycle over again. It's easy to see how, like, capitalist systems do this and how cults do this and how despotic regimes do this, but a little more tender to understand how the church does this (perfectly). I recently reread, um, John? Where it says if you keep the commandment you'll abide in His love? A favorite scripture denaturalized and made sour a little by the things I've been learning.

Plus. Plus. I've been trying to avoid should this past month or so. I've been trying to reframe my relationship with God so it feels a little less like Him bossing me around and making me do ridiculous things and criticizing me for not doing enough, and a little more like he's a loving father who wants the best for me (which, in my heart, I know he does). What this has looked like, practically, is a little distance from church stuff. Not bad distance, I don't think, not angry distance, just a step back to gain some perspective.

What I've found is that not much has changed. There have been friendly ward members and friends who have asked up on where I've been, and I know that God is around because there are nudges here and there toward ideas or people or practices, but no burning bushes, as usual. And today at church I realized this: God is serious about this faith thing. It wouldn't be faith if we had him there guiding us home step by step. On one hand, of course, this sounds like I'm falling back into the ideological system; but on the other hand I am. I don't know why circumstances are the way they are--why I find myself in this state, in this family, having learned the things I did about God--and I'm not sure that it's possible for me to make any decision other than continuing in the church, but I think I'm going to choose to stay. This distance has been good to remind me that I'm choosing this system of belief, I'm choosing to let it tell me how to interpret the feelings I have and the things I read. I'm sad that Heavenly Father didn't send an angel or even spiritual fire to come down and comfort me and set me straight (he did "send" great friends and an opportunity to speak in church and this class to help me reevaluate), but I'm glad he's consistent at least. And that he seems to trust me enough to, in a very real-feeling way, take a glimpse at the alternative and to choose.

Anyway. Great day. ke

Dear Mr. Elwes

2009-11-16T10:26:00.000-08:00

I was channel surfing this weekend, stopped for a minute on Georgia Rules. In the duration I noticed you, playing Lindsey Lohan's smarmy, unlikeable, step-father. Who does that casting director think he is, casting you as smarmy (fat) and unlikeable? Wait, that's the same role you played in Liar Liar, and that Christmas movie...and like every time I've ever seen you. What gives?

Need I remind you of how adorable and likeable you were in The Princess Bride? In case the answer is yes:
Totally adorable. And it was kind of a silly role (=cult classic), but I don't know that it damned you to a lifetime of simpering bit parts.

Luckily for you, I'm kind of great at rejuvenating celebrity careers, and I have a plan.

First: leave Hollywood behind. Just for a minute. Lose a little weight (you don't carry it well, hon), and head back to England.

Second: reestablish some credibility by joining a Shakespeare troupe. Do a little Richard III for depth (put your smarminess to good use, eh?), do a little Hamlet (because that goatee isn't hiding your baby face). Brush up on your acting.

Third: once you've fully purged Hollywood's cheap cologne smell from your lovely long hair, see what you can do about making your way into independent film, on both sides of the pond.

Fourth: you're ready, if you want, to come back to Hollywood--not as a demeaningly cast character actor, but as a force for cinematic good. You'll play historical figures--kings and leaders of rebellions and such. Hollywood loves a baby face with a dark edge, loves an accent. You'll could the next Ian McKellen, if you play your cards right. (Sorry, the next Sir Ian McKellen.)

Just some thoughts. If you're interested in further consultation, feel free to get in touch. (Also, TinTin? Good plan.)

Loves, ke.

Why I Wake Early

2009-11-03T08:40:00.000-08:00

by Mary Oliver

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who make the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety--

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light--
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

grrrm

2009-10-26T10:27:00.000-07:00

Once in 8th grade I went to the doctor for an ear infection. Hey took his little flashlit looker fellow and peered into my ear and said "Oh my, yes this must be killing you." And I nodded my head puzzled and said, "Yeah, that one hurts a little too, but it's the other one that's been bothering me."

I take pride, that is to say, in not getting/feeling/being bothered by sickness. It has something to do with being the child of workaholic parents with stout western European dispositions (my mom gets sick once every two years. She takes a day or two to sleep it off and then is on her feet and getting twice as much done as your run-of-the-mill mortal).

So yesterday I started sniffling. Headachey a little, nappy a little. I slept through class this morning. I was telling a friend about this as we were walking onto campus and as I ticked off symptoms, she drifted further and further away. She thinks I have swine flu. I think I'll be over it in a day or two.

I'll keep you posted. :)

Time Management

2009-10-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

What follows are the posts I've been composing this week but haven't had time to write. So. Enjoy the binge.

Movie Post

2009-10-24T14:53:00.000-07:00

1. Where the Wild Things Are.

Lovely, right? Also irritating and almost hard to watch?

2. The Fantastic Mr. Fox.

I read the entire thing walking home from school yesterday. Seriously, it took me twenty minutes. And was delightful.

a)
Even if I didn't adore Wes Anderson and run, not walk, to theaters to see anything that has is name on it I would see this film. Mostly based on this adorable tiny knit cardigan. Blow the image up. It's tiny and knit!

b) I wonder about appropriating kids' books for adult consumption. I think that TFMF is less not-really-for-kids than WWTA, but isn't it kind of weasly of us grown-ups, who get all the good entertainment anyway (and the means and autonomy to consume this entertainment as we will) to steal things from kids? I know it happens all the time and has always been the case--it doesn't make it any better.

Furthermore, I wonder about kid's lit. Background: I realize more the older I get that the only difference between kids and adults is that kids believe us when we say we're in charge. There are some physio-psychological differences with little little kids I think, but my 14 year olds were playing the same games and thinking the same way as I was, they just didn't know it.

It's troublesome to me that kids don't really have a voice in their own literature. Adults are constantly telling kids what is funny and what is interesting. We pretend to be able to relate to them and tell their stories, but I remember all the time when I was little thinking "this isn't funny. Why are they trying to get me to laugh at this?" Adults are constantly constructing childhood for kids, and using childhood as a playground for their own existential angst.

And I'm getting a little unclear--if I'm arguing that kids are the same as adults, why would it matter that adults are manipulating entertainment for them. I think our construction of childhood is what's getting in the way. We're treating kids like they're dumb or from another species.

Also a side note: I don't think we should be sitting kids down in front of Silence of the Lambs, or whatever either...we need to protect the fellows.

I don't know. This is the quandry: what does children's lit mean? Why does so much of it suck? Why did I dislike so much of it even when I was growing up? Why are adults constantly stealing it? Using it to forward their own ideological agendas? (and the argument collapses into questions. TaDa!)

Good Morning Sunshine

2009-10-24T14:51:00.000-07:00

Carbonated water
Caramel color
Aspartame
Phosphoric acid
Potassium benzoate to protect taste
Natural flavors
Citric acid
Caffiene

Ode on Grey Hair #1

2009-10-24T14:49:00.000-07:00

The old wives say that if I pull you out you'll multiply. And they would know. The rub there is if I don't pull you out you'll multiply anyway. This is the beginning of the end.

I love love love

2009-10-09T19:34:00.001-07:00

This morning I ran! I listened to peppy New Pornographers and was charmed. Then I listened to this song for the first time. Maybe not listened to, but heard at least.

These are the lyrics. Which are amazing:

Even before we call on Your name
To ask You, O God,
When we seek for the words to glorify you,
You hear our prayer;
Unceasing love, O unceasing love,
Surpassing all we know.

Glory to the Father,
And to the Son,
And to the Holy Spirit.

Even with darkness sealing us in,
We breathe Your name,
And through all the days that follow so fast,
We trust in You;
Endless Your grace, O endless Your grace,
Beyond all mortal dream.

Both now and for ever,
And unto ages and ages,
Amen.

–Michael Dennis Browne

Say/think what you will about the Mormon Tabernacle choir. Go ahead. I love this song and I didn't find a better recording. On YouTube.

Then I ate fried tomatoes and eggs and toast. Which, yes, made me feel a little like a hobbit.

Then I walked to school and I felt the sun like a hand on my face. It was so beautiful.

(And now I'm on my way home from campus to hang out with my sister and bro-in-law. Happy Friday!)

Go Team!

2009-10-06T14:27:00.000-07:00

So the Boys and Girls Club has an event called Sports Hero Day. College athletes come and play games with kids: there's a station for every sport, I think you collect tickets as you go, there's free food, good times for all.
The summer I worked for the club there was a slight change of plans: the cheerleaders, who had their own station, approached the organizers and asked if, instead of teaching kids how to cheer, they might split up and cheer on the other athletes. How could they refuse? So there was a roving herd (collective for cheerleaders? A pom?) of college cheerleaders jumping and dancing for everyone. It was sort of perfect.

Something you may not know about me: I was once verry girly. When someone asked me, before I started school, what I wanted to be when I grew up, I told them I wanted to be a cheerleader. The thing that recommended kindergarten above anything else was that my teacher had cheered for BYU. I'm not exaggerating.

A compliment that I keep in a mirrored box and take out when I need a chuck on the chin was paid to me by a favorite professor. He said that I'd be interesting in the classroom, that I'd be a good professor. I've been thinking about this lately in the weighing of life plans, and what this really means.

Because I'm excited by everything and nothing which makes the career of specialized research I'm staring down sort of daunting.

Because I'm much better at wasting time than I ever ever knew.

Because when people tell me I'm good at things I think I'm no good at or scary things it makes me want to change my plans. Every time.

Because I want this couple of years to be worthwhile and foundational and productive.

Because I keep having these fantastic intense dense unwieldy conversations with interesting fantastic people and I think: I'm good at this, this is what I love.

And where does that leave me? Swayed by moods and by compliments and by Facebook? Alternately, everyday, bored and exhilarated by this endeavor?

I bought a book called "Life of the Muses" which I still haven't read and which told the story of some half-dozen inspirational women, the Fanny Brauns in the lives of so many Keats. Keatses? I love this idea and love this story, right? Find me a very troubled brilliant man and I will make him less troubled and more brilliant? (Until he gets too much of either and tosses me out.)

Not brilliant.

Ok. I'll get back to work now. :)