The Ironies of Love

I write to process things. I write when the thoughts in my brain swirl around too much and need a release. I write because maybe, just like many people have told me, I simply think too much. I write. Sometimes my thoughts simply compose themselves in the form of stories. I rearrange them just so.

As many of you know, my oldest half-sister, Heather, was shot by her husband on Thursday night.

All day yesterday the thoughts wouldn't stop. All day as I sat in the ICU waiting room thinking of my sister and how all our lives how now been changed forever, it was just me and just my thoughts. I saw things in images and I tried to compose a logical story. But logic just can't exist in such an irrational world can it?

I saw my sister with a swollen face, with her entire body covered with bandages, with the only recognizable feature being her soft, long brown hair spread over the pillow in a fashion that was poetically beautiful, graceful and fragile. That first moment seeing her stopped my heart. How could that be someone I know? How could that be someone I love?

I sat in the ICU hallway because I didn't want to hear the television in the waiting room, clutching my bag with too tight fingers and an old lady in a wheelchair next to me. She looked sad and her body was frail and small and she was an age that I don't even know if I want to live to. To every hospital worker that walked by she screamed at the top of her lungs "Excuse me! You have my husband! I want my husband!" She couldn't go beyond the double doors because she was sick. They wouldn't let her. Her words just kept echoing in my mind. They had her husband, the ICU had her husband and they had my sister and they were calling the shots and they had other people in there. They had them.

My thoughts turned to my brother in law. They turned to the big hug he gave me before I left on my mission and how he told me he was proud. They turned to his height and strength and his smile and how he always made the perfect hamburgers at the family barbeques. They thought of how he held each of their three children with love and tenderness in the hospital after they were born. They thought of the day he married Heather. The day he stood by the priest and watched her walk towards him. Heather, in that white dress, married in a mountain grove of turning leaves in a beautiful Autumn flow of colors much like there are now.

My thoughts tried to put this story together, tried to compose how someone went through all of that and ended up in the driveway. She saying that she was leaving him. Him pulling out a gun and saying she would die first. Little Megan watching. Him shooting her four times, in the face, in each arm, in the knee. My brain can't make that into part of their story. They had a beautiful home, always good with money and always successful. They were always happy. They were to be envied, so how did this happen?

How can anyone do this to someone else? Any two strangers, how could they do this. What is humanity? Is the definition of that word lacking some malicious part that we pretend isn't there?

But how could two people who have shared so much have such a different story going on underneath the surface than the one my brain had been composing for them?

Yesterday, in that waiting room, I had a thought I haven't really ever entertained.

"I don't know if I believe in God anymore."

I don't know if God is apart of my story anymore.

At least not this weekend.

After an afternoon in the ICU I took a break. Then we went back in the evening.

We were in the waiting room. My dad and my mom were holding hands and leaning close together. My sister and her husband had their arms around each other and he was comforting her. My other sister had her boyfriend (almost fiance) and he was slowly rubbing her back and neck and being there. And my youngest sister had her fiance there, going to buy her some coffee, asking what he could do. And for just a few moments I cried selfishly. It was nice not to have anyone asking my why I was crying, we had all been crying. But for the first time that day I cried because I felt really, really alone. I cried because I didn't have that person to depend on. I cried because as we all sat quietly in the waiting room I just sat there and held my purse in my lap. I watched all my sweet sisters with the loves of their lives and I felt nothing but skeptical. I felt nothing but the fact that I was alone and maybe life is better when you don't depend on that one other person. Around me, in that waiting room, there was so much love. And yet, why was my sister bleeding and wounded behind those doors as a result of some twisted version of love? How could I be in the presence of such sweet and tender emotions as these four beautiful couples were showing last night? All the while sitting and waiting to hear if Heather would live because of what own husband had done to her. How is such a dichotomy of the same emotion even possible?

Last night the ironies of love were simply too much for me to handle.

Grand Tetons

We went on a hike to the Tetons over Memorial Day. We hiked out long and hard. We got caught in the rain and showed our fear. But we persevered and four blisters later I have a really great memory with my very best friend. Love you sis!

Family Time

I've been able to spend some quality time with this little one before I head off to Europe. We've made puppet shows, we've sang songs, we've frolicked in the park (with a few mishaps...oh the days when she will be completely potty trained). We've danced to Broadway songs, we've eaten fresh strawberries, and we've done make overs.


Although, she tends to chew on the headbands rather than leave them on her head. However, her manicure and pedicure were perfection!

Family, Isn't it About Time?

So, an interesting thing happened today. My mother just called in almost a fit of tears and sadness. Apparently, my sister called her and told her that my blog is covered with pornography (which I find quite entertaining/disturbing on several levels). My sister also told my mother that I was bashing the church, the 12 Apostles, and that I used the F-word every other word. I am not kidding, this is EXACTLY what my mother said to me. Now, given my families penchant for drama, I'll believe that my sister said about half of that.

My mom and my sister. They've never read my blog actually. I really only know of a cousin or two who occasionally checks it. Other than that, no one in the immediate fam besides April. Thus my freedom to discuss and talk and not worry about any repercussions.

So, back to this moment...my sister just printed out my last blog to give to my mother who doesn't know how to use the internet very well. They know I've not been active, but I've never given too many reasons because I know that they wouldn't understand. My mom in a fit of tears and frustration, just dramatically shouting "But why?! Why would you want the priesthood?! Why?!!!!"

It is the easiest thing for me to say, "Well, women need the priesthood." Because to me it sums up much of what I feel and see in the church about the patriarchy. Maybe I don't REALLY want the priesthood per se, but I do want more. I don't know how to voice that I feel hurt in a religion that doesn't hurt them, that I feel confused by a religion that doesn't confuse them, that I feel put down and trod upon and used and slapped, and lied to by a religion that has lifted, helped and loved them. And it does not help that they know very little about the actual true church history and the deeper doctrines, in response to this my mom said, "Well, I have more important things to do everyday." So, again, it's hard to get my point across with this type of "I'm right, you're wrong" attitude.


My mom confessed that she feels I am falling away from the family. With my family I don't mention a lot of ideas because I know no one will converse with me about them or even understand them. I am happy, simple, kind, the peacemaker, and when my mom or sister say things that I utterly can't agree with, i just smile and nod. I know, hard to picture me like that. But truly, it's the Pollyanna image I've cultivated for years as an active LDS/return missionary.

I've seen my family about 5 times in the last two weeks, so I'm not falling away per se, but I did finally confess to my mother something as well.

"Well, Mom, you don't really know me."

And then there was silence. And neither of us knew exactly what to say....


So she went on to tell me that Obama was the Lenin of our time, the Hitler and the Anti-Christ all in one.

Way to find some common footing mom.


But mom, as you read this, just think. Think about it. You've raised a daughter who is happy and accomplished, a daughter who seeks to do good and spends her days teaching children to think important thoughts. You've raised a daughter who has loved and traveled the world and embraced everyone...no matter color or creed with love and acceptance. You've raised a daughter in tune with her spirituality, a daughter who thinks on her own, a daughter who lives authentically and not how anyone else wants her to live. You've raised a daughter who is true to herself, who loves her family, who loves God, who is trying to do her best. Really, mom, just remember, you've done a good job with me. So, sit back, take a deep breath, and let's try to get to know each other, ok.

The Root of the Root

I like to revisit the past as much as I love thinking about my future as much as I am in complete and utter adoration of my present.

I was flipping through an old book my mom brought out and found my breath taken away by this collection of photos of the grandmother I am named for, Virginia. I love everything about it, from her hair and hat, to the gentle way that she must have had that smile spread across her face as the camera flashed. I wonder what she was thinking. I wonder if she knew how beautiful she was. I wonder if she knew that she would one day have a granddaughter like me. I wonder if she knew how far reaching her life and actions would have on so many different parts of the world as her children and grandchildren have given service and love across the globe from England to Hong Kong to Samoa to Africa to Brazil...

Can any of us truly know the times and seasons of the moments we are living and breathing?

"All that you have of body and mind will be transmitted through you to the generations yet to come." 

Gordon B. Hinckley

I have a HOT date on Friday....

With the ONE man who will always love me, no matter what. Nope, it's not Daniel Craig...it's my Dad. He's taking me out on a date this Friday. And, boy, do we bond over the new Bond.

Happy Weekend Everybody!!!!

Baby Mamma!

Today I really wanted a couple of kids of my own.

Even after the melt downs.

That's Progress.

See the whole "Celebrating Grammy's Birthday by Getting Lots of New Photos for Her at the Park Photo Shoot" here.

Come Together, Right Now

(Family Photo 1994)

Yesterday during lunch I took out my phone to see several texts and messages awaiting me (which NEVER happens, I'm just NOT a phone person)

dad's been in an accident....

hospital....

broken back....

paralyzed.....

Wow. How do you go on after that? How is it that everything can change in a second? Life is powerful. When I left my class to my awesome principal (who took over in a matter of seconds) and rushed to the hospital, shaking, trying to tell myself that everything would be alright..I just thought of my family. I thought of what this would do to my family. We only recently lost my favorite Uncle, a man who has been in my life almost as much as my father has. My dad is now his age. My dad's health isn't that great. What could my family handle?

I rushed into the ER and saw it full of all my loved ones. My nieces and nephews looking scared, my sister April coming to hug me. Audra and her small daughter in her arms. Brooke just recovering from surgery. David with tears in his eyes. LOVE.


SO MUCH LOVE.

(D'Arcy, David, and April...Christmas 1996)

Everything IS alright. The doctors, who told us to prepare for the worst and wouldn't give us details, finally let us know. Bruises and broken ribs. Swelling and tenderness, but spinal cord in tact. He will be alright. My brother-in-law gave my father a priesthood blessing, and it was amazing. And it softened me a bit ( I said a bit!). Once the good news was given, it was like we couldn't leave each other. We just wanted to sit, no where to go, just sit by my father's side and have us all be together.

Now, my family has had it's struggles. A LOT of struggles. It's had problems. It still does. I was wondering if my brother would even come to the hospital because he usually doesn't put family first. But, he was the first one there. All five of us kids got to my mother and father's side within the hour. That's pretty amazing. I wish I could take the time to tell you how beautiful a sight it was. I wish I could let you know the struggles that my family has faced. The heartaches, the fights, the distance, the addictions, the hurt feelings, the misunderstandings, the battles against depression. Often it is as if all five of us children came from different countries and we all speak our own language that none of the others can ever understand. But it is nice to know that in a crisis...we all speak the language of love.

All of us stayed at my parents house last night, late into the evening. Eating dinner together and helping clean house. I found an old photo album from 1996. I was starting my second year of college and found so many fun photos that I scanned a few to put up here. I am STILL in touch with all of these girls. Jenn, Stacey, Emily, Holly.....these memories are for you! They were another family for me for many years.

Lest you doubt my past claims about being the apartment freak at 6 feet tall and the only blonde...here's a photo to prove it. ALL of these girls got engaged or married within two years of this photo. It almost looks like a set of quintuplets and me (right Jenn?) That's Jenn in the plaid skirt.

Yep, Holly and I REALLY did reenact scenes from Jane Austen. This is a scene we would do where I was Emma and Holly was Harriet. It was just an excuse to do my hair big and speak in a British accent...and drink tea. Yep, my cheeks are that red and always will be. It's my curse.

The best girlfriends a girl could have, still are.

So go out, give you family or friends a call. Tell someone you love them. Remember how blessed you are. Look into the eyes of the person next to you and really see them. Slow down. Breath. Live. Dream. Hope. 

ThirtySomething

I told Jenn that I wasn't going to post anything controversial on my blog for awhile.

So...here you go...complete, pure, radiant innocence...breathtaking

I spent my day getting to know my new niece yesterday. Sunday was the day of her blessing, an LDS ritual similar to a Catholic christening, followed by a big family dinner and a birthday celebration just for me!.

Farewell 30. You've been a great year. A year of Paris and climbing the Swiss Alps, a year of becoming an Aunt for the fifth time, of seeing people I love get married, of starting my own business, of completely restructuring my belief system, of realizing what is important, of budding love, of orange skies and mountain meadows, Harlem nights and Broadway lights, of sweet kisses and afternoon naps, of voracious reading and endless girl talk, of new houses and summer flowers, of journal writing and secret longings, of directing and acting, of long walks, talking to the moon, painting my visions, praying, blue sweaters, and most of all....each of you! It will end with my trip to Argentina tomorrow.....and when I get back on the 15th, I'll welcome 31 with open arms.

Full of Magic

This little girl is full of magic. She is the sweetest, most lovable and cuddliest niece a girl could ask for. And the camera loves her!

Let's Do Everything For the First Time...Forever

My First Christmas Stocking (wow, it should have had a hairbrush inside it!)

Life is full of "first times"...that first slow dance, that first kiss, that first ice cream cone, that first time you see the Eiffel Tower in real life, that first bruise, that first broken heart.....so many first times. What is so important about these first moments? Is it the newness? the unexpected? the not knowing what the experience will be like?

One of my favorite songs by Of Montreal is "Let's Do Everything for the First Time Forever"

Will you kiss me again so I can pretend we're kissing for the first time. Because when we kissed for the first time I was distracted. I couldn't believe it was true that I was truly really finally kissing you. Will you hug me again so I can pretend we're embracing for the first time. Cause when you held me for the first time I lost my senses. I couldn't believe it was real. Inside I was laughing and dancing like peppermint eels

May we dance again so I can pretend we're dancing for the first time. Because when we danced for the first time I was so nervous. I could hardly stay on my feet. My felicity must not have been very discreet. Will you give me your hand so I can pretend I'm holding it for the first time? Let's do everything for the first time forever. And if forever you are my friend I'll never ever feel unhappy again

I love that idea of doing everything for the first time....forever!

Last night I went home to play baseball with the nieces and nephews and eat dinner. When April and I walked into the door we saw old boxes my mom was trying to go through. We sat down to help her and found all these old photos that I haven't seen in a long time. Some of them not preserved so well, but all of them full of memories. April and I kept saying, "Wow this was the first time I did this.....and this...." and there is magic in that first time!

What first times do you still have to look forward to in your life? What were some of your most memorable "firsts"? 

First times make life exciting!!

My first swing. This was replaced the next year with a huge tire swing that would define a childhood. My mom said I wore that hat around for about 3 months straight.

My first mudbath (thought you can't tell by the shadow, but Audra looks worse). We had just gotten home from church, in our Sunday dresses and I decided I wanted to play in the mud. Audra ran in after me, and we both slipped and slided all over the place. My parents never yelled at us, never told us not to get our dresses dirty, they just laughed and whipped out the old camera.

My first time helping to plant the huge garden that would feed us all summer and fall. I basically just followed every move Audra (five years older than me) made. I've helped plant this same, huge garden every year that I have been in the same country.

The first big family reunion on the Davis side (yep, my mom grew up with the name Betty Davis) with a professional photographer. I just remembered that I got to spend days and days in the water, one of my favorite places!) We laughed so hard last night at my dad's tennis shoes and wool socks and swim trunks...he's always had, eh, um, problem, shall we say, putting clothes together.

The very first camping trip with my entire family, meaning the caboose, Brooke was all of two weeks old in this photo (Audra is holding her, my mom is taking the photo..and yes, that is me, always posing with a mullet/perm I'd like to forget about.) We'd also get our yearly supply of firewood to keep us warm for the winter.

The first time my mom saved up enough money to buy all her kids (one to be born later) brand new clothes for very official and professional photos (both things a rarity of my childhood.) I remember not being impressed with the man taking these photos, he kept using all these manipulation tactics to get us to smile. He annoyed me and scared my kid brother to death, David burst into tears right after this.

My first time rowing a boat. I am at the head, my sister, Audra in the rowing position in this photo, but she actually turned it over to me during part of the outing!

Dressing up for my first Opera in the first dress I ever sewed for myself (in the fashion of Jane Austen, who I was obsessed with at this time).

The Never Ending Possibilities of Men!

(This is D'Arcy, she is currently thinking about how much she likes men. I mean, she adores them, she digs them, she's all about M-E-N! Give a shout out!)

OK, in an effort to propagate feelings of mutual respect and admiration between the sexes, and as a shout out to Jenn (who will always call me on my crap), I am putting on this blog, my first, offical post in praise of MEN!!!!

That's right. Did hell just freeze over? Perhaps.

I want to clarify that I LOVE men. Just think of all the great ones out there--Martin Luther King, Jr., Abraham Lincoln, Barack Obama, Leonardo da Vinci, Ghandi, Mandela, The Dalai Lama, Kenule Beeson Saro-Wiwa, Norman Bethune, Aristotle, Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Apostle Luke, Leonard Woolf, etc. etc. etc. The world would not be THE WORLD without the powerful, good, influential men that have struggled for the truth, fought for freedom, loved their wives, and rejoiced in their children.

In brief, here are just a few of the men that I love and adore in this world.

(Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch, an example to men everywhere)

Atticus Finch...aka Amasa Coleman Lee--

Atticus Finch, (based off of Harper's Lee's father, a real man) is a citizen of Maycomb during the 1930's, was a role model ahead of his time. Atticus was not racially or socially prejudiced. He was an amazing father who taught his children about love, honor, and truth. He taught them about looking at problems and oppositions from another's point of view. And, in addition, he taught them the beauty of a Mockingbird.

“Courage is not a man with a gun in his hand. It's knowing you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.”



Gordon B. Hinkley--
One of the most AMAZING men to ever live, in my humble opinion. I've been lucky enough to hear words of wisdom from this man for my entire life. So many important, influential messages that have filled volumes. His words have shaped my life in ways of a strong, powerful good.

“Under the plan of heaven, the husband and the wife walk side by side as companions, neither one ahead of the other, but a daughter of God and a son of God walking side by side. Let your families be families of love and peace and happiness. Gather your children around you and have your family home evenings, teach your children the ways of the Lord, read to them from the scriptures, and let them come to know the great truths of the eternal gospel as set forth in these words of the Almighty.”
( “Selections from Addresses of President Gordon B. Hinckley,” Ensign, Mar. 2001, 64.)

(I don't know who you are, but I love you!)

My Future Husband--
I know I don't know who this is yet, but the idea of "him" --of that one man that I will choose and who will choose me has played a major role in my life. I have found myself over the years wanting to be a better person for him, wanting to develop characteristics and improve my mind and body in the hopes that he is somewhere doing the same. Then, when we finally come together, we each bring an amazing abundance of wealth and intrigue and interests and love to each other. There are gifts I have worked on my whole life reserved to give only to him.

(My B-in-L and sister Audra)

My Friends, The Husbands of My Friends, My Brother, and My B-in-L--
Gustav, Robb, David Jr., Marty, Jacob, Daniel, Michael, Steve, Nate, Adam, Steven, Rob, Matt, Dave, Kevin, Mark, Hubster and many others. My friends tell me of the continuing devotion and love and affection of their husbands. These men have a desire to serve the world, to be good husbands, to treat their wives with love and adoration. I have sat back and watched these marriages for nine years and I stand in awe at these men who combat Fatherless America. They are strong warriors fighting daily battles for the lives of their families.

(This is my dad, with my niece. If I had access to a scanner right now I would post a picture of myself with my dad in just such a pose, I'll do that soon)

And finally, and MOST importantly--My Daddy--
I have seen my father ride the waves and storms of life for thirty years. I have seen his devotion to his family. I have seen him struggle to love and find love in his marriage. I have seen him feel sorrow and pain and tell the best campfire stories in the world. I have seen him be shy to the world and be a powerhouse in our home. I have seen him lead. I have watched his continuing humility. I have been blessed to go throughout my life with the ABSOLUTE assurance that my father, come rain or shine, will ALWAYS love me, that he will be proud of me, that he respects me, that he is there for me always. It doesn't matter if I wake him up at four in the morning calling from France because I need to talk to my daddy. I am his "cupcake", his "pumpkin", his "sweetie pie", his daughter. I realize how lucky I am. I DON'T take my father for granted. Each moment I spend with him is precious. So much of my faith in men and their never-ending possibilities comes from being my father's daughter!

( I believe this is me! Yep. And what am I doing? I am hugging a man, Hugh Jackman, in fact. Love him!!)

( I know he is fictional, and created by a woman, but I still love him!)

Who are the men that you love and admire?


Why?


What is the power of ONE good man?

Happy Birthday Blog!!

That's right, look at the little blog, she is all grown up! It was almost one year ago that I posted my very first post.

The Fourth of July, a time for fireworks, popsicles, potato salad, beautiful sunsets, and family traditions. It's always been one of the best holidays to spend at home. My parents have the perfect yard to see fireworks from 6 different locations (the best one featured in the above photo), the grandkids are growing and their excitement is catching!
( For clean photos of this little one, see the photo blog) Anna and I just ate red popsicles and were showing each other our tongues. She's learned all her features and loves to point them out and talk about them!
The evening of the fourth always starts with a beautiful orange sunset that I take in with delight each year.
It always changes from orange to gold.
And ends with gold to pink to purple. Each one is different, but each one makes me feel the same.
Riley is the Martha Stewart of the family and always has decorations to spare for each occasion.
The two cousins telling secrets and sharing giggles.
When the pack of fireworks is bigger than the children, you know it's gonna be a good time!!
Thank you to all of you who have made blogging so entertaining, thought provoking, and wonderful!! Here's to another great year!

A Room of One's Own

'a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction'

Virginia Woolf's extended essay, "A Room of One's Own" had it's effect on me as a college student deciding to make a life out of studying and writing literature, and I reread it every few years. I love her passion, I admire her strength, I want to emulate her talent, and I took to heart several of her ideas on womanhood, which were quite innovative (as so many women writers were) for her time. If I could have the deepest desires of my heart, it wouldn't be to be the teacher I am (which I adore), it would be to be a full-time writer and artist...something I am hoping to make happen in the next decade.

I've always shied away from thinking too much about marriage now that I am older. When you are 20, you don't worry about all the things you would worry about at 30. I don't know how I would feel marrying someone, letting someone support me if I decide to stay home and have children, giving up my own salary, and adjusting to all the things it takes to become partners. Thoughts of this terrify me, as I think, what if it doesn't work out, what if I am left without anything? What if I spend 20 years raising children and putting my career on hold and then we divorce and I am left with starting all over again? What it, what if, what if.....did any of you feel that way when getting married or committing to a partnership? How did you adjust? How did you handle it? Did you keep working, do you have a separate bank accounts (is that blasphemy?) (My real question is do you have to justify every beautiful pair of shoes you buy with your husband's money?)

In another life I would have been an interior designer...with a Southern accent and spent my days decorating homes and making them beautiful for the families that would be living in them. I think that a person should find their home the most beautiful and peaceful and romantic and enjoyable place on earth, no matter what they own. I have always delighted in creating elegant and chic homes for myself, whether it be my first tiny one bedroom apartment in Florida that I decorated with vintage flea market finds, or my airy room in Harlem with long white billowing curtains on the windows, or my attic bedroom in France where I would treat myself to fresh flowers often, and recently my new home here in Salt Lake that has such a homey feel to it.

I've spent many a wistful hour imagining a house full of children's laughter, and a husband's strong presence, and the chaos that comes from being the mother of a family. But, in that setting, there was always one room, just for me. It would have large floor to ceiling windows so that I could have the sunlight to tell me the true colors of my paint. It would have beautiful built in bookshelves where all my books could be housed in one place (not in drawers, and stacked on floors, and shoved in nightstands, and piled on end tables like right now).
When I look through catalogs I continually tear out pages that feature aspects that I love and I have them all in a folder that I will one day put into action to create this room. I love the light colors with rich accents, the softness and elegance of it all.
I am not one to make crafty things out of wood blocks or hang wreaths with hay sticking out of them on my walls. I love decorating with beautifully framed original photos.
As Woolf makes clear...three conditions are mandatory for a woman to become the writer she was meant to be: leisure time, privacy, and financial independence.

"Life for both sexes—and I look at them, shouldering their way along the pavement—is arduous, difficult, a perpetual struggle. It calls for gigantic courage and strength. More than anything, perhaps, creatures of illusion that we are, it calls for confidence in oneself." Virginia Woolf