Today, I swam in the sea.

It was freezing. I went alone. Best day I've had in months.

Decemberlist

1. Bump n' Grind hike with Mom.
2. Living room fort with Maren.
3. Homemade orange juice.
4. Boat parade in Newport Beach.
5. Volunteer at CVRM.
6. Take Dad to Borough Market.
7. Give twenty things to charity.  (25 down)
8. Visit Frank Sinatra's grave. (Seriously? I don't think I'm ever going to do this.)(UPDATE: DONE)
9. Hug my grandparents.
10. Give good gifts.

I miss this.

Big Sarah's Little Boots

When I was little, I loved this book:

It's about a girl named Sarah who loves her rain boots. When she grows out of them, she fills them with rocks, stretches them (with the aid of her dog), and even waters them, trying to get them to grow up with her.

(Photos: Kids Can Press)

But Sarah's efforts are to no avail. At the end of the story, she passes her adorable yellow boots on to her little brother in favor of new yellow boots, with a "fire-engine red" stripe around the top.

Eventually, Sarah's mom bought her larger and larger pairs of yellow boots, and eventually, some ended up at a Goodwill in Orange County. Because guess what Madelyn and I ran into in our thrift store perusal of Newport Beach?

Yes. Big Sarah's Little (ish) Boots.

Muss es sein?

Here is the cover of House of Leaves. I finished it a few weeks ago during my stay in Newport Beach with my sister Lissie and our grandparents. It follows the life of a filmmaker, Will Navidson, who moves into a house in Virginia with his family and sometime thereafter discovers that it is vastly bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. A man called Zampanó writes the story as an analysis of The Navidson Record, the film Will eventually releases documenting their stay in the house. There is also an introduction by someone called Johnny Truant, who also writes a series of long-winded, often unrelated footnotes throughout the novel. On top of these are a few notes by "The Editors," whose identities are never revealed. 

These  combined, the reader sees the story through four lenses: Navidson's, Zampanó's, Truant's, and his or her own.  Truant's account is especially interesting, because it describes his experience reading House of Leaves, which influences the reader's experience and reactions throughout.

I am not a person who reacts easily to literature or music or movies, and when I do, it's because of connections I make with other ideas or events. For me, the lenses that frame the plot of House of Leaves are what makes it brilliant. The combined reactions of characters within the plot and characters independent of it incites the reader to react more than usual and to make note of his or her reactions.

But after all this analysis, all I can say is that this book really blew my mind. It's full of cryptography and crazy formatting, etcetera, etcetera. There's a reason why it's got a cult following. Read it.

(And if you do, let me know. I have a project I want to put together regarding it.)

Isn't It Romantic?

I am in Newport Beach this week, and last night I was sitting on the dock of the development where my grandparents live, looking out into the bay. Across the water, you can see Balboa Island and on it, an old building, all lit up.

My grandma used to tell me stories about how that building was once a dance hall and how all the lovely Newport ladies would dress up for the dances there. I would love to have been there, slow dancing to this:

Blogging Landmark!

I am now a member of four blogs, and this new one is the first one I did not play a main role in creating! It is a site for my This I Believe class at BYU and it is located here. We will be discussing our class and talking about statements of belief once the semester begins. I'm so excited!!!

In unrelated news, I have spent a wonderful week in Newport Beach with my little sister, Melissa! I got to take her to the beach two times and we also went to the OCMA, the Pageant of the Masters (along with their Festival of Arts), and a lot of other cool places. Melissa especially liked the Environmental Nature Center or "ENC," where they had a butterfly house. While we were in there, a butterfly flew up to me and landed on my finger and then it came back and landed on my shirt. I tried to take a picture, but I wasn't quick enough. It was really cool though.

I'm excited to get back to the desert and finish up things before I move away for the year!

A Randomized Account of my Life Thus Far

I knew from an early age that Claude Monet was my favorite artist. I knew this because: 1) he painted with the most gorgeous colors in existence, 2) he had the most gorgeous garden in existence, and 3) I loved his persistence and his splotchy style. It has long been one of my ambitions to see his garden and paintings in person. My grandmother, Nora, had dabbled in painting once. A few things she’d done were around her house- and ours; I held her on the same level of esteem as Monet himself. I used to go to her house and paint scenes on giant pieces of poster paper in which everything- inanimate or not- had a grin swabbed onto its face. In first grade, I loved to draw and color. My specialty was combining magenta and turquoise while I crayoned in pictures similar to my giant paintings. I still paint occasionally. I’m not necessarily any better, though.

I went to church. I think I can count the days I haven’t been to church on one hand. I went to Sunday School and learned about Jesus. I loved Bible stories- especially Joseph and his many colored coat and stuff out of the Book of Mormon. My favorite of those was a story about a guy named Ammon. He was serving this king in the fields when some thieves tried to steal a bunch of the king’s sheep. The other servants feared the king’s wrath, but Ammon hacked the robbers’ arms off. Of course, the king was amazed. He thought Ammon was the Great Spirit. Ammon admitted that he wasn’t the Great Spirit, but he told the king all about Him.

My family was close. My best friend was undeniably my cousin Connor. We invented multiple games with what was at hand, usually involving mythical creatures or shipwrecked kids (us). There was one we played on the beach in Newport where you would turn to dust if you stepped on the hot, white sand. My brother, Collin, and I played games in which my Barbies interacted with his brainy Lego people. I remember him building me a Barbie house out of K’nex. My parents taught us right from wrong.

Music was everywhere. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love singing. There were two movies I was always watching: The Sound of Music and My Fair Lady. I was shocked when I found out that Eliza Doolittle’s voice wasn’t really Audrey Hepburn’s. I loved Julie Andrews as Maria. I remember picking up two baskets and parading around the house singing “Confidence.” Mom says I used to belt the theme song at the supermarket from the grocery cart. I had confidence in reams.

I started learning to play the piano when I was eight. It was- and is- frustrating at times. I’ve done my share of hitting the keys with fists in aggravation. It’s paying off though. I can play Chopin and the Pride and Prejudice music and accompany myself when I’m singing “Think of Me.” My mom and sisters generally end up singing with.

I was always reading books. Apparently I would fall asleep in my crib with stacks of books around me on a regular basis. I would get my dad to read me “Sleeping Beauty” over and over. After a few times, I would be able to recite the book to him while turning pages as if I could read it. Once, my dad changed the bit where the king burns all the spinning wheels in the kingdom so the king burned all the Sleeping Beauty books in the kingdom instead. You can imagine my disbelief. From the third grade on, I was reading the Harry Potter series. My dad once bugged me about that because I would read them whenever there was nothing new. May I remind you that his childhood books were things like Jonathan Livingston Seagull and a condensed version of Les Miserables. And I read those, too.

Politics didn’t affect me at all until fifth grade. On September 11^th ( I think we all know what year), I remember hanging up my backpack next to some other kids and hearing them talk. “Did you hear what happened?” “Yeah. My mom watches the news every morning.” I knew nothing about the news; I was shocked. I’d never heard of Iran or Iraq or any Middle Eastern countries before. I eagerly showed my mom a map of Israel in the paper that I recognized from the pages of my Bible. I was amazed when I heard Billy Joel mention the word “Afghanistan” in a song. He knew Afghanistan existed too? The only elections I recall are the ones involving Bush. I assumed I was republican, since my parents are.

Most of the same things are important to me now- art, music, family; church, books, etc. And I don’t think I’ll ever get hooked on politics. There are other off-hand subjects we could discuss, but they’re not at my core. My geocaching adventures, for instance, or my love of the BBC network; my endeavors in gardening; my random decision one night to be an astronaut in order to attain adventure- these may well stay or disappear, and my personal culture would still stay essentially the same. In the future, I want to have integrity. I want to be who I am because of who I am. But the truth is, no matter what my convictions may be, I am still changing. My culture is not through developing, and my childhood is not officially over (although the end of Harry Potter did seem to be a sign). But as my dad so cheerily reminds me, “Better to be changing than not changing. Not changing is dead.”