Boston, Massachusetts

View from the Hotel

Patriot George Washington Boston Public Garden
Make way for ducklings

Kings's Chapel
Old City Hall
Old State House
Oldest Tavern in America

Paul Revere's Place
Old Iron Sides
Harvard's impenetrable library
Jon studying at Harvard
House with Seven Gables
Streets of Marblehead
At the Seaside

Acorn Street

I pull quickly across two lanes of traffic to make the left hand turn – I should have paid more attention to the distance when I copied the directions down from map quest. It’s followed by another unexpected left, and there I am, pulling up in front of the Westin hotel. It’s tall and grand, with revolving doors. A man in a double breasted tunic with gold trim greets me with a smile, as I roll down the window.

“I’m here to meet my brother – he’s staying at your hotel – could you please tell me where to park.”

“It’s valet only.”

Valet only. Huh. Interesting. I take in the situation. I’m pulled up behind a lovely, shiny, black Lexus. I feel sweaty and gross, with wind-blown hair, from the air condition-less drive, and my belongings are packed in a wicker basket that’s sitting on the back seat. I’m feeling so conspicuous – I want to blink my eyes and turn my pumpkin self into something remarkable and grand.

He can probably tell just by looking at me, but I croak out, “I’ve never used valet parking before…?”

His name is Carl, and he’s very kind. He explains how the whole thing works. He doesn’t even bat an eyelid when I pull my non-luggage from the backseat (why can’t I just consistently use a rolley suitcase like everyone else?) I leave my keys in the ignition, he hands me a little card, and that’s it. No worries. For $40 a day, you can have several men drive your car in and out of some secret lot under the hotel.

I kind of liked it.

1988 was the best year of my life. Heidi and Howdie came to school and taught me all about the biathlon, bobsled, and nordic combined. I fell in love with the olympic spirit - one of friendship, unity, courage, determination, and talent.

This year's olympic experience has been tainted.

In July of 2001 China won the bid to host the olympics, the IOC said "a Beijing Games would leave a unique legacy to China and to sports. The Commission is confident that Beijing could organise an excellent Games".

I understand the reasons behind the protests. But couldn't it have all gone down seven years ago? Is it just the conveniece of a torch running by that makes blood boil into action? Because, China and tibet have been having problems for quite some time. Since 1959 China has been illegally exercising soverignity over its neighbour. I'm not trying to obviate Tibet's independence - but could we please get on with the olympics and all that it stands for.

I want to fill my whole life with beautiful things.

Also in Palmyra...

A lovely graveyard nestled alongside the road.

I enjoy little detours -

running from car to site, and back again

I went to Palmyra this weekend. And the best part was that it didn't make an ounce of difference. I expected to feel something great and magnificent - but my heart felt all that a long time ago. I already knew it was true.


















The Smith family farm. A tiny log cabin on 100 acres. The site of the restoration.





Crocuses pushing through the ground, in the Sacred Grove

Palmyra Temple, built in the Smith's backyard

“Did she even know that was going to happen?”
“Oh, yeah – I think so.”
“Well, that’s crazy.”
“I know. I couldn’t believe it.”

Hello? Can anybody see me? My foot is anxiously tapping my distress on the floor. This is the third time this week, when I’ve entered a place of business and been greeted in this manner – or rather, not been greeted at all, but completely ignored.

They continue to chatter, and I continue to stand and wait.

When did customer service get flung out the window? Why is it I have to abide two teenage workers prattling on about the diurnal events of adolescence? Can’t I just get my blasted bagel?

I’d like to blame it on the hoodlums behind the counter, but surely this can’t be contributed to the slovenly and selfish ways of teenage-hood alone – it must be the result of a neglected education in good business practice. And further more, it doesn’t seem to be the direct result of age. I notice it all the time in the hospital. Older gals stand behind the desk chatting – while some poor family member waits for information or directions - and they finally get around to helping them, when they “feel like it”.

It’s shameful.

Stop what you’re doing, and help the customer for crying-out-loud!

Life tides change
and pull
and sink
in new directions

Hope is sent to sea

And I alone, stand on rocky shore
To sing its memory

I fall

Raspberry Zinger, Mandarin Spice. . .

Tea Party? Why not?

14 hours -
without food
or drink
or bathroom break
no time off feet
or time to pause
mind is in one spot
body another
focus is hazy
pen in pocket
paper too
8 meds
5 IVs
3 doctors to call
and 2 folk to subdue

Cup of juice
Interpret rhythm
Up to bathroom
Talk to family
Call x-ray
Change dressing
Back to bed
Sign consent
Lend an ear
Clean the spill
Check orders
Call the doctor
Get pain meds
Suction trach
Get a move on

Okay
Breathe

My scriptures were falling apart. The drive across the country, in a hot car without air conditioning, was not good for them.

Bro. Pickett was thoughtful and brought me a container of book binding glue back from the BYU bookstore.

So yesterday I glued some life back into the tattered pages.

I took a liking to Valentine's Day this year. It's not a bad little holiday.

I think I will enjoy it more often.

photo by clarisse gebs

On ending a relationship --

Let's take a closer look at the flashcube (some of you may remember them from childhood photo shoots, lovingly hinged to the top of a parent's camera). They contain fine wires made of magnesium metal, and when a current is passed through the wires - in the oxygen laden chamber of the cube - a flash occurs. The floor of the chamber is now covered in a powdery substance known as magnesium oxide, its properties quite different from those of the original materials, and the flashcube won't flash again.

My contents are changed.

My flashcube is spent.

I tried to make Lemon Bars today. They turned out all dry and disgusting. I was flabbergasted. I followed the recipe - so shouldn't they have turned out? I had nightmarish flashbacks to seventh grade cooking class - Mrs. Legg yelling and threatening me with detention, promising me that I would never amount to anything in the kitchen if I didn't stop goofing around, and pay attention to the way I sifted and leveled the flour. I thought she was crazy - but maybe she was right - maybe I'll never be able to bake anything with a crust because I just don't understand the properties of flour or its role in my life.

Appalachian Trail - Hike #1

Sometimes not even a wintry mix can keep you indoors. I conscripted a friend on Monday bought a guidebook on Tuesday, picked a route on Wednesday, bought food on Thursday, and headed to West Virginia on Friday.


Harpers Ferry grows gracefully up carved slopes to peer meekly out at the convergence of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers. It is delightful. Crooked homes on crooked hills, with narrow winding paths and steps carved into stone. We arrived at 1:30. Introduced ourselves to Gary who eagerly congratulated our ambitions and armed us with map and warm wishes, and then headed into adventure.






The AT spans 2175 miles from Georgia to Maine. It is the well developed dream of a man called Benton MacKaye. And the product of many a volunteer's hardwork. It's current mission is to preserve clean air and water, scenic vistas, wildlife and opportunities for simple recreation and renewal. And this week I became one of its weekend warriors.



Clarisse and I hit the trail at about 2:00 in the afternoon - all excitement and smiles. There's nothing like a cold rainy day on America's longest foot path to give you a sense of accomplishment.


This section of trail follows the C&O canal tow path and then ascends steeply through a serious of switch backs to the ridge of the Appalachians.




At sunset the trail yielded an enjoyable surprise - the site of a slanting roof through the fog, that suggested a warmer night's sleep. I'd like to thank Ed Garvey for his lovely contribution to the icy ridge.


Dinner: warm rice and bean soup.

We hunkered down inside sleeping bags, in a tent, in a shelter, on a blowing mountaintop - and went to sleep.

My friend Pat always says, "life is good on a mountain." He's right.

There is something so peaceful and expanding about being on a mountain top.

It gives you perspective, understanding, and purpose.

And he's still close enough to the edge

that he could go walking back over the line

Until his choices become clear

mine will remain hazy