Our advisor in Mia Maids shared this yesterday in our discussion on spiritual gifts. I love it!
Monday, December 16, 2013
good tidings
Our advisor in Mia Maids shared this yesterday in our discussion on spiritual gifts. I love it!
Friday, December 13, 2013
ego
Insatiable: the hunger you never escape.
Like Cronus I eat all that I create.
Too afraid that no one---no, nothing will ever
Stand as tall.
Infallible. The right to define the truth
is reserved for those who take it.
A battle ax, more cumbersome
than the weapon sharpened to a fine point.
In finite I exist. Not infinite am I.
Flesh and bone surrounded by a nebula
of thought; the nihilist rises.
Unanticipated the hope hidden in anticipation.
You know, just the typical stuff I think/write about while I putting the laundry away in the afternoon (that's been sitting in my entryway for two weeks). Whatya do?
Like Cronus I eat all that I create.
Too afraid that no one---no, nothing will ever
Stand as tall.
Infallible. The right to define the truth
is reserved for those who take it.
A battle ax, more cumbersome
than the weapon sharpened to a fine point.
In finite I exist. Not infinite am I.
Flesh and bone surrounded by a nebula
of thought; the nihilist rises.
Unanticipated the hope hidden in anticipation.
You know, just the typical stuff I think/write about while I putting the laundry away in the afternoon (that's been sitting in my entryway for two weeks). Whatya do?
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Sunday Musings
Be not afraid of the unknown. The glory of God is intelligence, and the more we explore the closer we draw to Truth. The more our struggles become the map of stars to new worlds, instead of fetters that tie us down. The hole in my heart keeps tearing open, and it hurts; but it's a sweet ache, a plague of love and compassion for others. Make your mind, heart and soul a holy place, that your spirit might become a mountain for others to reach their highest point.
Peace,
O.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Late morning breakfast
*As I made my breakfast in the kitchen this morning, my heart was full, and I cried tears of joy, of being completely overwhelmed by thoughts and emotions, and growth. I wrote this stream of thoughts to share with you, my lovely readers. I have left it unedited, and un-filled in. It just is. Take what you need. Love you. *
When all you can do is beg and plead and wrestle with the part of you that is one with the Lord.
When dancing and singing, and crying, flow from your body like branches from a tree, like leaves spiralling out to fall to the ground and nourish the earth.
When aspirations and dreams are both the most important thing, and yet mean nothing in the moment, for you are content with the world in front of you.
When the prospect of life ahead is so full of pain you almost wish that you could go home now, safe and finished; but you know that you love so many here.
Lift your head and feel the sun, smell the flowers, watch the ants crawl on the earth. They've said it forever, and I will say it again, because this whole earth was created for you, for beauty, for exploration, that we might worship a Creator more infinite than our minds can reach; but it feels so good to stretch, to reach higher than we can. And we reach those moments where it begins to hurt, to tear because we can reach no further. I sometimes feel that I am lost, that I have gone too far, that there was no purpose in the wanting, in the search; and then He reaches down to me. I kiss my baby's back, and I know that the Savior had a mother who loved Him, who kissed His back, she who loved the spirit inside Him. Who grieved for those terrible things that had happened, who feared for the future; who was only human, and could only pull back glimpses of angels in all the weaving, baking, washing, tending, walking, living that there was to be. And she who shed so many tears, to wash away an old world that her child might build a kingdom. That my tears might wash me clean that I might build, that my children might see. That we might all see, that we might all give. I want to give, I want the Lord to take. Take my best, take my worst. Give to whomever needs it, I don't care who they are, what they look like, what they're doing. For I am no better than any other; we've all been there. We all hurt, we all want. We all want what we can't have. And yet, we could have it. So lucky for all that I have, so cursed for the excess I let get in my way. I go round and round in circles that I can't understand. But I read books, and listen to music, and hug and kiss, and birth, and talk, and watch and sin, and write, and cry, and fight and forgive, and serve, and I sort into categories, and I make "reason" of things that I can't see from one end to the other, and I pray. And through all of it I grow through His grace, and I believe that it will serve a purpose. that I will serve a purpose. That we all will. It's what we're all meant for, that nothing is ever wasted. Every feeling, a tiny bird that flies home. Bringing you one flight closer to home, to Everything. To whatever you need.
When all you can do is beg and plead and wrestle with the part of you that is one with the Lord.
When dancing and singing, and crying, flow from your body like branches from a tree, like leaves spiralling out to fall to the ground and nourish the earth.
When aspirations and dreams are both the most important thing, and yet mean nothing in the moment, for you are content with the world in front of you.
When the prospect of life ahead is so full of pain you almost wish that you could go home now, safe and finished; but you know that you love so many here.
Lift your head and feel the sun, smell the flowers, watch the ants crawl on the earth. They've said it forever, and I will say it again, because this whole earth was created for you, for beauty, for exploration, that we might worship a Creator more infinite than our minds can reach; but it feels so good to stretch, to reach higher than we can. And we reach those moments where it begins to hurt, to tear because we can reach no further. I sometimes feel that I am lost, that I have gone too far, that there was no purpose in the wanting, in the search; and then He reaches down to me. I kiss my baby's back, and I know that the Savior had a mother who loved Him, who kissed His back, she who loved the spirit inside Him. Who grieved for those terrible things that had happened, who feared for the future; who was only human, and could only pull back glimpses of angels in all the weaving, baking, washing, tending, walking, living that there was to be. And she who shed so many tears, to wash away an old world that her child might build a kingdom. That my tears might wash me clean that I might build, that my children might see. That we might all see, that we might all give. I want to give, I want the Lord to take. Take my best, take my worst. Give to whomever needs it, I don't care who they are, what they look like, what they're doing. For I am no better than any other; we've all been there. We all hurt, we all want. We all want what we can't have. And yet, we could have it. So lucky for all that I have, so cursed for the excess I let get in my way. I go round and round in circles that I can't understand. But I read books, and listen to music, and hug and kiss, and birth, and talk, and watch and sin, and write, and cry, and fight and forgive, and serve, and I sort into categories, and I make "reason" of things that I can't see from one end to the other, and I pray. And through all of it I grow through His grace, and I believe that it will serve a purpose. that I will serve a purpose. That we all will. It's what we're all meant for, that nothing is ever wasted. Every feeling, a tiny bird that flies home. Bringing you one flight closer to home, to Everything. To whatever you need.
Monday, September 9, 2013
oh all right!
Since I just passed 10,000 page views I'l throw you a bone.
THE ANNUAL SUMMER PHOTO DUMP!!!!!!
THE ANNUAL SUMMER PHOTO DUMP!!!!!!
Roycie fell down the stairs at the lake
Sandpoint
4th
painting with cousins
Rach's baby shower
cousins
church at the lake
typical beach wear: Andee's baptism shoes
in need
happy six year anniversary!
Church in San Antonio
only this is us "ditching" and going to the nice, new building closer to our house,
instead of our own chapel. Rebels I tell ya.
these stinkin' kids
sweet nephew Everett
night swim
Grandma came for V's bday
SA temple
Riverwalk with G ma
Vida's birthday door
pretty crappy comprehensive, but, you know...
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Fantasy in a minor
Friday, August 2, 2013
Diurnal Urinal
Everyone reaches the point in their life were they say, "I can't live like this anymore." Maybe it happens everyday, wakes them up like a whiff of coffee percolating not far off. Let's say it happens only twice a year; connected to the poles of the earth, a biannual flip flop for solstice celebration. Or perhaps it happen only once in a lifetime---an earthquake that opens a chasm that can never be closed. Does it matter how many? Are they all different, or the same? Do they come from the same place? Does the child who's secret love has kissed yet another boy on the playground, and never him, feel the same as the alcoholic who crashes his car through the center divider? Is it the same pain, the same gaping inability to see God in that solitary moment. And I bet you're sitting there saying, "No, no, they're not the same; of course one is different, some are worse, some are better. Some get better, some get worse."
And I say,"Yes!"to all of that. But, all that begins in the moment after. Whether one changes their life, or lives through their life, or dies right then and there; that all comes after that prickly gnawing feeling in the middle of your abdomen. Like a tiny hedgehog took to hibernating beneath the ribs, and now that fuzzy, sharp little fellow is opening up right there, right inside. After that feeling comes the decision to change, or move, or do nothing. But in that one moment, I think we all feel the same. We're bound together by a common thought wave descending from our Mother Eve. She was the first to feel the pull. She took that bite because she couldn't live like that anymore. Her gut told her that everything she knew was a shell; she was just a doll, and she wanted so badly to be real. And so she bit down; she threw away her shell so that she could feel pain, so that she could love, and so she could experience that final moment where she would say, one last time, "I can't live like this anymore." One final scary moment separate from God before her spirit left her body; refined to too fine a material for a life like this.
We are all the same, and we are all different. We all go up, we must all come down. My moment will never change me in the exact same way the moment changes anyone else. We many never share the same joy, or wallow in the same depths of sorrow, but I am almost sure that each breaking point, for one infinitesimal moment, is exactly the same.
I don't know that any of that matters; but it made me feel squiggly inside today, none the less.
And I say,"Yes!"to all of that. But, all that begins in the moment after. Whether one changes their life, or lives through their life, or dies right then and there; that all comes after that prickly gnawing feeling in the middle of your abdomen. Like a tiny hedgehog took to hibernating beneath the ribs, and now that fuzzy, sharp little fellow is opening up right there, right inside. After that feeling comes the decision to change, or move, or do nothing. But in that one moment, I think we all feel the same. We're bound together by a common thought wave descending from our Mother Eve. She was the first to feel the pull. She took that bite because she couldn't live like that anymore. Her gut told her that everything she knew was a shell; she was just a doll, and she wanted so badly to be real. And so she bit down; she threw away her shell so that she could feel pain, so that she could love, and so she could experience that final moment where she would say, one last time, "I can't live like this anymore." One final scary moment separate from God before her spirit left her body; refined to too fine a material for a life like this.
We are all the same, and we are all different. We all go up, we must all come down. My moment will never change me in the exact same way the moment changes anyone else. We many never share the same joy, or wallow in the same depths of sorrow, but I am almost sure that each breaking point, for one infinitesimal moment, is exactly the same.
I don't know that any of that matters; but it made me feel squiggly inside today, none the less.
Monday, July 29, 2013
10 frings
1. I've never colored my hair, ever. Not even highlights. Now I can't, I'm just waiting for it to get too grey, and then I'll do some funky town on the 'ol bean.
2. I've never been in a tanning bed. Thank goodness.
3. Claire, my college roommate and bf, and I were once seriously addicted to solitaire. Many, many hours wasted, classes failed because of computer solitaire. I had to quite cold turkey, and I barely came out alive.
4. I've spoken of my love of miniature things, and my love of all things weird and supernatural many times; so of course, it only makes sense that I used to collect sardine bones, teeth, and kind of dead sick thing to keep in empty Altoid boxes lined in tissue.
5. I put hot sauce on just about everything.
6. I'm pretty much obsessed with healthy eating; but I will never give up pizza, doughnuts, or McDonald's french fries. I don't even eat them regularly, and I feel sick when I do, but I reserve that God given right.
7. This was the best thing that happened to me all day. I josh you not, lights up my face like a Christmas tree.
8. I used to say that if I wasn't married by 30, I was going to become a lighthouse keeper, a cloistered nun, or the appalachian goat woman from Cold Mountain.
9. This movie is so good I was screaming at the end. Literally screaming, it was that tickling. Watch it on Netflix and tell me I'm wrong.
10. I was once upon a time in a hand bell choir. No lies, I even played hand chimes before I could work my way up to the bells. I <3 nerds.
2. I've never been in a tanning bed. Thank goodness.
3. Claire, my college roommate and bf, and I were once seriously addicted to solitaire. Many, many hours wasted, classes failed because of computer solitaire. I had to quite cold turkey, and I barely came out alive.
4. I've spoken of my love of miniature things, and my love of all things weird and supernatural many times; so of course, it only makes sense that I used to collect sardine bones, teeth, and kind of dead sick thing to keep in empty Altoid boxes lined in tissue.
5. I put hot sauce on just about everything.
6. I'm pretty much obsessed with healthy eating; but I will never give up pizza, doughnuts, or McDonald's french fries. I don't even eat them regularly, and I feel sick when I do, but I reserve that God given right.
7. This was the best thing that happened to me all day. I josh you not, lights up my face like a Christmas tree.
8. I used to say that if I wasn't married by 30, I was going to become a lighthouse keeper, a cloistered nun, or the appalachian goat woman from Cold Mountain.
9. This movie is so good I was screaming at the end. Literally screaming, it was that tickling. Watch it on Netflix and tell me I'm wrong.
10. I was once upon a time in a hand bell choir. No lies, I even played hand chimes before I could work my way up to the bells. I <3 nerds.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
pin me
I used to drive around listening to this song, thinking how awesomely it would fit into a crazy, rainy car crash scene in a movie. The music video still tears me up.
And to end on a lighter note...watch the movie Butter, on Netflix. So good, so good.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
stars daisies babies King Kong
I have a bad habit of feeling empty. I try and cram, cram, cram as much in as I can. I'm a junkie for knowledge, affection, style, the internet, and wishful thinking. But, as you know, the junkie never gets enough, hence the bottomless pit.
Oh, and I do very little doing. Not enough to stretch the mind, or the body.
Bad combo, that thinking and not doing. A breeding ground for fear. Fear from all the things that could be done. Fear of never being enough. Fear that eats dreams, like Kobayashi eats hotdogs.
I've let fear tell me my whole life that there are things about me that need to be hidden, sensitive bits that were hurt long ago. But they were beautiful bits, and now sometimes I think they've rusted in their hiding places. I call them out, and they come slowly. It takes a lot of work tug the nightmares of children from the bones of sleeping adults. I personally find that talking helps; I'd probably love to talk to you, if I already don't. I'd love to tell you how I feel about the decline in population of large cats, or food, or anything in your life. I'd like to talk to you about my crazy family, and my crazy life. I'd love to talk to you about God, and about what you think your potential in life is. I'd like to comfort you, and tell you you're good. A small word, that 'good', and often underwhelming; but I find sometimes, that it if said just so, just straightforward enough, it feels clean and strong, and warm. Like old bare wood. Sometimes when I'm around adults, which I don't get to do vey often :) I talk so much I get jittery. I get a buzz off words. In fact, I'm usually quite ashamed after this, like any tipsy party girl. I talked too much, too loud, too bold. Funny things slip out when you hurt inside, don't they? And then, something strange happened as of late. We moved, and I talked, and I walked, and I stripped things away. My possessions, my family, Vida's health, our safety, bits of B's and my relationship. And I just kept feeling, like I was losing feeling. I kept seeing myself as this cup, and I was emptying out; and the fear kept filling it in with nothing. Because when nothing is inside of you, it becomes something. And I jut kept praying that I would get filled up. I prayed that I would be filled with things that would make me a better me. That's all. It was like a crucible; sometimes we do have to burn it all down.This time it was so intense it was like nothing was holding me here; here on earth. I just waited, and felt ok with waiting. And I kept thinking this should feel scary, but it didn't. It just felt like a bubble; quiet, and muffled, full of space, and at the same time so taunt, so precarious. And then the bubble must have popped, because I'm back. And I feel it; I feel my life inside of me. So now I'll do, I'll do something for a while, and then I'll probably cycle back through some other interior passageway. I love to take adventures inside myself, it's like Magic School Bus up in this hizzy everyday. I highly encourage you try one sometime.
Peace,
O.
Oh, and I do very little doing. Not enough to stretch the mind, or the body.
Bad combo, that thinking and not doing. A breeding ground for fear. Fear from all the things that could be done. Fear of never being enough. Fear that eats dreams, like Kobayashi eats hotdogs.
I've let fear tell me my whole life that there are things about me that need to be hidden, sensitive bits that were hurt long ago. But they were beautiful bits, and now sometimes I think they've rusted in their hiding places. I call them out, and they come slowly. It takes a lot of work tug the nightmares of children from the bones of sleeping adults. I personally find that talking helps; I'd probably love to talk to you, if I already don't. I'd love to tell you how I feel about the decline in population of large cats, or food, or anything in your life. I'd like to talk to you about my crazy family, and my crazy life. I'd love to talk to you about God, and about what you think your potential in life is. I'd like to comfort you, and tell you you're good. A small word, that 'good', and often underwhelming; but I find sometimes, that it if said just so, just straightforward enough, it feels clean and strong, and warm. Like old bare wood. Sometimes when I'm around adults, which I don't get to do vey often :) I talk so much I get jittery. I get a buzz off words. In fact, I'm usually quite ashamed after this, like any tipsy party girl. I talked too much, too loud, too bold. Funny things slip out when you hurt inside, don't they? And then, something strange happened as of late. We moved, and I talked, and I walked, and I stripped things away. My possessions, my family, Vida's health, our safety, bits of B's and my relationship. And I just kept feeling, like I was losing feeling. I kept seeing myself as this cup, and I was emptying out; and the fear kept filling it in with nothing. Because when nothing is inside of you, it becomes something. And I jut kept praying that I would get filled up. I prayed that I would be filled with things that would make me a better me. That's all. It was like a crucible; sometimes we do have to burn it all down.This time it was so intense it was like nothing was holding me here; here on earth. I just waited, and felt ok with waiting. And I kept thinking this should feel scary, but it didn't. It just felt like a bubble; quiet, and muffled, full of space, and at the same time so taunt, so precarious. And then the bubble must have popped, because I'm back. And I feel it; I feel my life inside of me. So now I'll do, I'll do something for a while, and then I'll probably cycle back through some other interior passageway. I love to take adventures inside myself, it's like Magic School Bus up in this hizzy everyday. I highly encourage you try one sometime.
Peace,
O.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Dinner Date with the Stars
If I were going to throw a beautifully organized dinner party, for any five historical dead figures, they would be as follows:
1) Princess Leia, hands down the most bada**, capable female lead character I've ever seen on film. I mean, she choked Jabba with the chain he had her tethered to him with. Girl be what I like to call a roll model. (And yes, I'm counting her as a 'historical' figure)
2&3) Sofia Tolstaya and Leo Tolstoy: Tolstoy has always been a hero of mine, and I recently finished reading War and Peace. Did you know that Sofia was scribe for him on that weighty tome, and copied it out, by hand, a total of seven times. That's true love! Tolstoy's depiction of marriage, and love, in W&P, gave me one of those moments, where like, a little piece of emptiness opens up inside my chest, so that I can start to fill it with new emotions and feelings, after experiencing something so enlightening. But, if you've seen the Last Station, you know that their marriage had its down side. They'd be perfect to see in real life.
4) Hans Christian Andersen: That dude be a freak, and I like it. His stories are so twisted and beautiful. He had to be pretty nuteriffic in person. Wikipedia tells me this: Shortly before his death, he had consulted a composer about the music for his funeral, saying: "Most of the people who will walk after me will be children, so make the beat keep time with little steps." Moribundus; I can dig it. And yes, I already have the music picked out for my funeral; I'm going to be lowered into the ground as the song 'Blinded by the Light' is blared.
5) Cleopatra: Not original, I know, but the reality behind her story that is so constantly repressed by modern depictions is fascinating. You know, the not actually being Egyptian, her real political ingenuity, and ruthlessness. Since studying her as a young child, (along with my obsession for paranormal phenomena there is a close second for ancient cultures, I mean come on, the egyptians swirled brains around with a stick, and drained it out your nose!) I combined my love of paranormal and egyptology, and fancied myself the reincarnation of Cleopatra. It explains my love of power, and seducing men by rolling out of carpets.
Bon Appetit!
1) Princess Leia, hands down the most bada**, capable female lead character I've ever seen on film. I mean, she choked Jabba with the chain he had her tethered to him with. Girl be what I like to call a roll model. (And yes, I'm counting her as a 'historical' figure)
2&3) Sofia Tolstaya and Leo Tolstoy: Tolstoy has always been a hero of mine, and I recently finished reading War and Peace. Did you know that Sofia was scribe for him on that weighty tome, and copied it out, by hand, a total of seven times. That's true love! Tolstoy's depiction of marriage, and love, in W&P, gave me one of those moments, where like, a little piece of emptiness opens up inside my chest, so that I can start to fill it with new emotions and feelings, after experiencing something so enlightening. But, if you've seen the Last Station, you know that their marriage had its down side. They'd be perfect to see in real life.
4) Hans Christian Andersen: That dude be a freak, and I like it. His stories are so twisted and beautiful. He had to be pretty nuteriffic in person. Wikipedia tells me this: Shortly before his death, he had consulted a composer about the music for his funeral, saying: "Most of the people who will walk after me will be children, so make the beat keep time with little steps." Moribundus; I can dig it. And yes, I already have the music picked out for my funeral; I'm going to be lowered into the ground as the song 'Blinded by the Light' is blared.
5) Cleopatra: Not original, I know, but the reality behind her story that is so constantly repressed by modern depictions is fascinating. You know, the not actually being Egyptian, her real political ingenuity, and ruthlessness. Since studying her as a young child, (along with my obsession for paranormal phenomena there is a close second for ancient cultures, I mean come on, the egyptians swirled brains around with a stick, and drained it out your nose!) I combined my love of paranormal and egyptology, and fancied myself the reincarnation of Cleopatra. It explains my love of power, and seducing men by rolling out of carpets.
Bon Appetit!
Monday, June 3, 2013
Is It You?
If you think time is linear, then you're a fool.
My heart beats hollow sometimes, there's a trap door there.
It leads to the past, which, I constantly think about becoming my future.
It takes me under you, around you, through you;
But never to you.
There is no such thing as 'space'.
The distance between us is always the same.
It fits half way across the world, and in between old embraces.
If you called me there, I would already be THERE;
But will you?
There is a difference between joy and contentment.
I will have one without you, but not the other.
One can live a whole life with a smile on their face,
For a memory that isn't there.
It is you.
My heart beats hollow sometimes, there's a trap door there.
It leads to the past, which, I constantly think about becoming my future.
It takes me under you, around you, through you;
But never to you.
There is no such thing as 'space'.
The distance between us is always the same.
It fits half way across the world, and in between old embraces.
If you called me there, I would already be THERE;
But will you?
There is a difference between joy and contentment.
I will have one without you, but not the other.
One can live a whole life with a smile on their face,
For a memory that isn't there.
It is you.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Howdy y'all!
Well, I'm sure that was a refreshing break for you all; unless you started following me on my newly minted instagram account, and if so....suckas! But, I think I could be back to the blog with a little consistency, perhaps. Haha, that sounds very convincing doesn't it?
Texas is....Texas. We're trying hard to settle in, and that's all you can do, correctamundo? Loving the sun, the hip hop music on the radio, and of course, the Mexican food. Vida is having a little relapse of her kidney disorder, that we're having a harder time getting under control than we have previously. Prayers and kind thoughts directed her way always help in my own, very earnest, personal, opinion.
Let's start with something silly, shall we? For the last year or so I've been feeling less like myself, for you see, the me I knew firmly shut the door behind herself. And it all has to do with a name, and the hair. I used to have beautiful hair, and a beautiful name. Not anymore compadres, and don't way one word otherwise, this is my sob story ya hear!? All growing up, I rarely ran into anyone named Olivia, never attended a school with another one, and I rather got to liking that original factor of my nomenclature. BUT NOW I'M A DIME A DOZEN!!! I heard a radio announcer the other day tell people not to name there kids Olivia, because they'd become the Ashely of their generation. Oh no, I'm an Ashley. No offense, Ashley; which one of you, you ask? Oh, I mean you Ashley, or you, Ashleigh, or you, Aeshlee, or you, Aschlea. NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Wailing and gnashing, I was original with an original name, and now I whip my head around at the park to every three year olds command from their mom. And to top it all off, the straight hair epademic. Each one of my tiny, curly hair soldiers has fallen down flat on the floor. Rest in peace curly hair. Where did you go? How do I use a curling iron? What is this nonsense about it mattering what your haircut really looks like? Someone save me from this hell I'm living in.
Ok, this was funny at first, but now it's kinda whiny, so long story short: I used to have a beautiful name, and beautiful lustrous curls, and now I am bereft of both. So I'm changing my name, and getting a perm. I shall from here on out be called Zarahemla Fae Lyons and I'll be rockin a sweet jheri curl.
Like this:
Texas is....Texas. We're trying hard to settle in, and that's all you can do, correctamundo? Loving the sun, the hip hop music on the radio, and of course, the Mexican food. Vida is having a little relapse of her kidney disorder, that we're having a harder time getting under control than we have previously. Prayers and kind thoughts directed her way always help in my own, very earnest, personal, opinion.
Let's start with something silly, shall we? For the last year or so I've been feeling less like myself, for you see, the me I knew firmly shut the door behind herself. And it all has to do with a name, and the hair. I used to have beautiful hair, and a beautiful name. Not anymore compadres, and don't way one word otherwise, this is my sob story ya hear!? All growing up, I rarely ran into anyone named Olivia, never attended a school with another one, and I rather got to liking that original factor of my nomenclature. BUT NOW I'M A DIME A DOZEN!!! I heard a radio announcer the other day tell people not to name there kids Olivia, because they'd become the Ashely of their generation. Oh no, I'm an Ashley. No offense, Ashley; which one of you, you ask? Oh, I mean you Ashley, or you, Ashleigh, or you, Aeshlee, or you, Aschlea. NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Wailing and gnashing, I was original with an original name, and now I whip my head around at the park to every three year olds command from their mom. And to top it all off, the straight hair epademic. Each one of my tiny, curly hair soldiers has fallen down flat on the floor. Rest in peace curly hair. Where did you go? How do I use a curling iron? What is this nonsense about it mattering what your haircut really looks like? Someone save me from this hell I'm living in.
Ok, this was funny at first, but now it's kinda whiny, so long story short: I used to have a beautiful name, and beautiful lustrous curls, and now I am bereft of both. So I'm changing my name, and getting a perm. I shall from here on out be called Zarahemla Fae Lyons and I'll be rockin a sweet jheri curl.
Like this:
Ain't nobody mess with Zarahemla!
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Moving On
Soooooo I mentioned that we're moving to Texas, yes? Well for those of you in the day to day circle, we said end of Feb, then beginning of March, then mid----we were so set on between the 18-22. Humph, freaking plans.
Brandon's visa required a visit to the US consulate. They immigration lawyers, and the consulate papers said once you've had your interview, and they TAKE YOUR FRAKIN PASSPORT AND YOU PAY THE FLIPPIN FEES, that you're visa should come in 3-5 days later. B's appointment was on the 4th....no visa still. And of course the bureaucrats never give an explanation. So I sit here in my partially packed, partially cleaned house waiting. Brandon and I are anxious, ready to go; ready to adjust to the heat before it's 95 deg everyday. So send you're good juju our way....alas, I suppose, what will be will be.
On the somewhat crappy brightside: Someone smashed in B's truck window last night to steal his wallet. They left his Oakley sunglasses, his hockey skates (which someone in Canada would steal), and a G Star jacket. He came inside to call the bank to cancel his cards, whilst I went out to do some detective work. From my sherlock like detections I deduced that they were probably druggies looking for cash, since they left the other stuff. Using what I've gleaned from books, and made for TV movies, small time criminals usually throw the wallet away. I was hoping to just find his temple recommend, and maybe his license. So I checked the neighbor's on the right trash can.... no dice. Started hittin the streets ( uh huh, just wrote that) to the left, and discover Royce's smashed inhaler in the street!! Told you it was tweekers.....kept walking and found B's wallet and ALL the contents strewn down the gutter two houses down. Super cool, criminals. Thanks....I guess?
Also, the real estate agent told B that he had to come by to look at something today, unbeknownst to me. He rang and knocked, and I was like, "whatevs, I'm chillin' in the tub with the kids, can't hear nothin', son," when all of a sudden my garage door opens. That's right just use my code, walk into my house and say whutsup while I'm nakey in the bath. At least it wasn't the robbers.
I put clothes on before I came downstairs.
I'll keep you posted.
Brandon's visa required a visit to the US consulate. They immigration lawyers, and the consulate papers said once you've had your interview, and they TAKE YOUR FRAKIN PASSPORT AND YOU PAY THE FLIPPIN FEES, that you're visa should come in 3-5 days later. B's appointment was on the 4th....no visa still. And of course the bureaucrats never give an explanation. So I sit here in my partially packed, partially cleaned house waiting. Brandon and I are anxious, ready to go; ready to adjust to the heat before it's 95 deg everyday. So send you're good juju our way....alas, I suppose, what will be will be.
On the somewhat crappy brightside: Someone smashed in B's truck window last night to steal his wallet. They left his Oakley sunglasses, his hockey skates (which someone in Canada would steal), and a G Star jacket. He came inside to call the bank to cancel his cards, whilst I went out to do some detective work. From my sherlock like detections I deduced that they were probably druggies looking for cash, since they left the other stuff. Using what I've gleaned from books, and made for TV movies, small time criminals usually throw the wallet away. I was hoping to just find his temple recommend, and maybe his license. So I checked the neighbor's on the right trash can.... no dice. Started hittin the streets ( uh huh, just wrote that) to the left, and discover Royce's smashed inhaler in the street!! Told you it was tweekers.....kept walking and found B's wallet and ALL the contents strewn down the gutter two houses down. Super cool, criminals. Thanks....I guess?
Also, the real estate agent told B that he had to come by to look at something today, unbeknownst to me. He rang and knocked, and I was like, "whatevs, I'm chillin' in the tub with the kids, can't hear nothin', son," when all of a sudden my garage door opens. That's right just use my code, walk into my house and say whutsup while I'm nakey in the bath. At least it wasn't the robbers.
I put clothes on before I came downstairs.
I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Dreams Hormones Abstract Nature of Life
I've been having these dreams all week.
They are not nice dreams; they are the kind of dreams that make me wake up feeling that I'm still in them.
The kind of dreams that make me feel like my subconscious is srsly trippin'.
"What are you trying to tell me Brain?", I say. But, I know, and sometimes I cry; it's been a while since I've cried like this.
And then I pray. I pray to feel comfort, to feel worthy, to feel loved. I pray that I will let go of the things that haunt me.
I'm not talking about large crazy things, no Lady Macbeth washing and wringing here, no I'm talking about the same stuff that haunts you.
The little things. The tiny, in the cosmic sense of the way, mishaps, misshapes, meanderings down what ifs? stored deep in every cell of your body.
How do we scrub them clean?
How do we see the real world?
I know I have some answers; but sometimes don't you just like to ask the question, and let it stand there for a while?
Alone
(segue)
And what's up with hormones!?! Goodness gracious, in case you didn't know, this is a hormone induced lucidness.
I mean really, we walk around all the time trying to pretend that our hormones don't rule much of what we do. I'm all for free will, but when a crazy cocktail of enhancing, dancing, dipping, damaged by GMO's, bubbles flow constantly through my body and the electrical impulses between, I think we should give them their fair share of recognition.
Instead we kind of laugh,
ESPECIALLY AT WOMEN!!!!!
"Oh, PMS time," snicker, snicker.
She grows, she gestates, she births, she ages, she breastfeeds, she tries to find her normal, but the hormones, they keep, keep, keep on a changin'.
Sista, there's a universe inside of you. A constantly changing house that grows, that nurtures, that saves the you inside for last as it spirals out. Be proud, and don't be afraid to point out that you are tired, that you have bad dreams, that you need a break from holding up all the stars.
And it's all the damn hormones.
Friday, March 15, 2013
WUVE
The other day Brandon and I went to the new Calgary temple. For those who aren't LDS, you can read about why we build temples here. I love the temple, but it's really hard (for me at least), to go frequently...or basically at all, when I'm in the pregnant/birth/breastfeed kid till they're 5/ toddler stage. So we were grateful to Brandon's mom for watching the kids so we could go one Saturday. But....of course we got lost on the way, partially my fault/ stupid i phone/ I think it should have just been common sense... which resulted in heated heads and loud but not overly angry per se words. We got there right as the session started. Lame. No Game. But!!!!! There is a silver lining, we decided to do sealings instead of an endowment session. Sealings are like renewing your wedding vows over and over, whilst holding hands and staring into your lovers eyes! So we came out happy again, and ready to rock and roll.
The temple helps Brandon and I to feel together; it is where we work even harder at becoming one. The temple softens our hearts, and opens our minds, to the endless possibilities that come from two constantly changing people who've chosen to bind themselves together for time and all eternity (AT the rip old age 20 AND 23!?!) And the spirit there instills in us the peace to make those decisions that lead us to become the people that go beyond the definition of who we even think we can be, like zombies. Just kidding, but it's like super cool, at least. Love B, love the temple, love my life.
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