Writing.

I am not a writer by nature.

Now, now, pick your jaw up off the floor, what I am saying is true. I never liked English. Well, I never liked writing. It wasn't something that was inside of me...except, maybe, when I was 16 and hormonal and wanted to be unhappy. So I wrote poetry. Bad poetry. 16-year old sad girl poetry. And I took honors English classes.

Later - much later - I met some friends who showed me how to read books for more than just the story. They taught me to enjoy the storytelling. They saw artistry in a sentence -- not just in what was conveyed but how it was written. When I saw how masterfully people put words together, I realized I wanted to write like that. I wanted to express ideas deliciously. I wanted to stir up emotions merely by word choice. And a well-placed period...and lots and lots of ellipses.

So I practiced. Thank you, my dear compassionate readers. I found inspiration and I mimicked it. Don't misunderstand me, I still don't claim to be a "writer". Writing, for me, is not a rush of eloquent statements -- a hurried purge. Nor is it constant brilliance. It's much more methodical. I put down some thoughts. I put down some more. I reorder them, piece them together, go over it and over it and over it, change something here, add something there. I come back day after day until my battered Scrabble board is an accurate rendering of what's jumbled in my head-heart -- the form of which is unclear until I give it shape outside my insides.

The reason I still write, despite my concentrated efforts, is because I've come to appreciate writing as an exploratory catharsis. I've produced maybe 3 worthwhile pieces in all my years of writing...and one of those was a vocabulary exercise in 2nd grade...but they are my Frankenstein thoughts and my deliberate words.

What I write may not be much but it's mine.

Who moved my cheese?

I'm not sure which cosmic committee decided I needed a good shake up but shaken up things have become nevertheless -- all jumbly jumbled like this sentence.

Minor contributors to this epileptic seizure-ing are some things I've learned recently:

1. There are bears in Michigan!

Yes, yes, this may not come as a surprise to any of you. I, however, was never warned of dangers in the woods during my reckless childhood. I wasn't tucked into bed with tales of people being mauled on family bike rides or Girl's Camp hikes. I was probably more wary of them while I was camping but somehow that was a different Michigan. A wilder, not-my-Michigan Michigan. So imagine my surprise last week when I found out that some marauding bear knocked over my parent's bird feeder and crushed the nut dispenser in our freaking front yard...what?? I'm actually still more inclined to believe it was a giant Great Dane...

2. There is a cabinet behind the mirror in my bathroom.

This would not be noteworthy except I've lived in my house for SIX years and I just discovered this a couple days ago. Seriously unbelievable. I had even recently stolen some plastic drawers that my sister left here so I could clear everything off my counter...and now this. I really could have used that space! My only excuse is that it's not your typical "bathroom mirror with medicine cabinet"...right?

3. I did not grow up a city girl.

While I recognize the ridiculous obviousness of this claim, it actually pains me to admit it. Now, no intelligent person would call Marquette a buzzing metropolis but it is the most populated area in Northern Michigan. It has a university. It has a...small...downtown. We have more than one grocery store and movie theater. We get visitors like Maya Angelou and Everclear -- remember that band? I rarely run into people I know. Which is why, when my friend who comes from a small town in central Utah -- think 500 people small -- would compare our growing up experiences, I tended to resist. "Marquette has like 20,000 people!" It's not like I biked to the corner store to buy nickel candy, for heaven's sakes! ...uh...actually...now that I think of it, I...did. Hehe. Ahem.

I've just never thought of myself as a country girl. I still don't. Marquette isn't an agricultural community. We never had our own garden or chickens or guns. I guess I just grew up believing I must have been the alternative: a city girl. They're so refined. And educated. And immodest. Everything I thought I was.

That same small-town-Utah friend came to visit Marquette with me this last summer and after a day napping on the beach, biking along the lake shore, and jumping off cliffs she remarked, "This has been the perfect Leave It To Beaver day." ...I'm sorry...what? She told me she loved her trip because it was a great small town America experience. I was genuinely a little confused. Then, after some reflection and significant time in the various stages of grief, I realized she was right.

4. A Relief Society President can select a temporary replacement in the case of poor health -- is this really allowed?

I've been serving as First Counselor in the RS Presidency since June or so and a couple weeks ago, the president was in a car accident in which she suffered a minor concussion. She's been experiencing nausea and headaches ever since. As a result, on Saturday she called an emergency meeting and (after talking to the bishop) appointed me the "interim president" so she could take 2 weeks off and rest. Doctor's orders. She is relinquishing all RS decision-making to me. Great.

I've actually been waiting for this day for a looooong time. I've already updated my ecclesiastical resume.

Leap of faith.

One of my other favorite moments during my time at home occurred at the Black Rocks, the local cliff jumping locale. My brother, James, was taking a turn and for the longest time he just stood there, staring out at the lake. We all thought he was nervous so we encouraged him to "just jump!"

It turns out he wasn't really nervous at all. He was trying to visualize his next move -- the leap of faith:

We were all shocked when he jumped off the cliff all horizontal and spread eagle. It was brave and it was bold. Usually this move ends in a dive...but James isn't the most coordinated...so his leap didn't turn out so dive-like. That determined soul tried THREE times with the same result:

 

Hahahahahahahaha.

Pretty cool though, right?

Start Wearing Purple.

My family has a theme song. Is that weird? I don't care. It's the truth. It's called "Start Wearing Purple" by Gogol Bordello.



It's a quirky song that my sister, Kathryn, found and shared with me years ago. Soon our sister was on board and then my parents were converted. After that it was official. My mom even had it as her ringtone for awhile. I don't know exactly why we love it. Maybe because it's a little bizarre. Fun bizarre. Like the movie Strictly Ballroom. "You stupid stupid man."

So when Kathryn got married this summer and chose different shades of purple as her wedding colors, my dad and I thought it would be a great joke to play this song at her reception.

By the time we turned it on most of the guests had cleared out and extended family was sitting around chatting. I walked over to Kathryn to get her attention and what transpired next was simply marvelous. We all started singing and then almost simultaneously, my parents began mimicking the Greek handkerchief dance...

My adopted brother, Sergei, did a little Russian dance...

And John, the ever-attention-seeking brother, walked into the middle of the room, dramatically doffed his suit coat, clapped his hands with a flourish, and then held up his coat like a cape for Kathryn to charge. Which she promptly did.

It was one of those moments for which you want to clap. And then instantly watch the replay. I just stood there laughing and yelling, "OPA!"

Do I have to...?

School starts tomorrow. 

There's a part of me that wants to skip. Which wouldn't be that difficult since I don't know where my classes are yet. Can't get myself to print off my schedule. I didn't even know when school started until last week. Couldn't be bothered to look. Or rather, I refused to accept the fact that summer was coming to a close for me. And now it's essentially over.

The end-of-the-summer blog post generally consists of a frenzied array of pictures. A frenetic photo update. This time is no different. Here's what I've been up to recently:

I went sailing/swimming in the Great Salt Lake. At sunset.

 

I went climbing on the side of a waterfall (!!). It was FREEZING but it was awesome.

I saw a moose! First time ever.

I went to Island Park again. A little water skiing, a little tubing, a little dance party in the boat, and a loooooot of relaxing. :sigh:

 

 

 

I hiked up a mountain called The Pfeifferhorn. It's an 8 hour hike up Little Cottonwood Canyon. Und eets sehr shteep, ja.

 I went with my boss. Weird? Maybe.

 

Kristin came into town and brought baby Nora. Nora didn't like me very much. Well, she did...just from afar.

And now? No more fun. Just books and books and headaches and tests and homework and books. One more year, folks.