Scorched, 9/11

           This morning I woke up and had the same thought I have each year on this day. "I remember." I was twelve. The only thing normal about that day was my breakfast. I ate it and then rode the bus to school. The rest of the day was shock. There was nothing normal about the 8th grader saying we were at war, that an airplane had hit some building in New York. I remember not believing her. There was nothing normal about my two friends running at me, screaming, crying that they had just seen an airplane fly overhead. That's when I believed. There was nothing normal about the school doors being opened early for those of us waiting outside. There was nothing normal about sitting class after class watching the news. With each ring of the bell we moved mechanically from one classroom to our next, but the subject never changed. The World Trade Center, a building I had never heard of, a building I would never forget, was struck. There was nothing normal about the constant sobbing, sniffling, and hiccuping around me. There was nothing normal about people jumping out of flaming windows. There was nothing normal about the screams that filled my math classroom as the first tower fell. That was the only hour in the day when I did not have my best friend with me. And yet I never felt alone. I was surrounded by equally scared children, all of us wondering what would come next. And when it came, when the second tower fell, there was nothing normal about the quiet. 

           That was the worst moment. The moment of stunned silence in this room of twelve- and thirteen-year-olds.  We couldn't believe it. America was sacred. We were the strongest country in the world. No one could defeat us. And in that moment someone did. 

          There was nothing normal about our shock. There was nothing normal about the final bell ringing and no one rushing out the door, because we wanted to know what was coming. There was nothing normal about the fear I had for my pilot uncle. There was nothing normal about spending the evening watching the news, watching the same images repeating over and over and over. There was nothing normal about wishing my older sister would sleep next to me on my bed. There was nothing normal about the next few days, constantly watching the skies for signs of rogue airplanes, hoping to hear that just one more person had been pulled alive from the rubble. There was nothing normal about the fear.

           I remember. I remember thinking my older brother would die in the trenches because of this moment. I remember wondering how long this war would go on. Would he be drafted as soon as he turned eighteen? Would they lower the age? Would he fight in the trenches? Be killed by bullet or gas? Or would he be killed before that, by some unknown entity flying an airplane into our city? If they would run a plane down in a random field in Pennsylvania, why not our little town in Utah? I remember hearing later that a list of prospective targets had been found. The White House, LAX, The Golden Gate Bridge, The Salt Lake City LDS temple. I never considered if that list was real or merely something spread around the rumor mill by terrified kids whose worlds were completely rocked. It didn't matter. We were not safe anymore. If someone could attack America, there was nowhere safe. That moment of stunned silence as we watched the second tower crumble was a pivotal moment for me, and for all of us. 

          It was not normal. 

         And yet, when I woke this morning, I realized, possibly for the first time, that today IS just a normal day for so many people. I woke up with this heaviness in my heart, this memorized feeling of sadness and fear -- though much mastered and subdued, I doubt that unease will ever truly dissipate. But my six-year-old daughter woke happy and excited because she gets to go swimming today. My four-year-old son rushed at my legs and squealed "it's gymnastics day!" My two-year-old is contentedly sitting at my feet with a car in one hand and a sippy cup in the other. They are free from my anxiety. And today will continue to be a normal day for them. As we currently live outside of the United States they won't see crowds of parents wearing red, white, and blue. They won't participate in a school-wide moment of silence. They won't know that today marks a day that changed so many lives. Because though the flaming buildings, the billowing dust, the falling bodies, the scorched ground, the gaping walls of the Pentagon, and the American flag flying above the Ground Zero rubble will always, ALWAYS be a part of me, so much of the world came away unchanged. To some it was a really bad thing that happened to some people far away. To others it was just another act of cruelty in the world. And to still others, it is simply something that they will read about in the history books some day. 

         Seventeen years ago I was scared that my brother would go to war. Today he is. He is deployed somewhere in the middle east, fighting the war on terrorism. But I am no longer scared for him. He is not a fourteen year old boy pressed into service. He chose this path. And instead of being scared I am proud. I am proud of the way my country rallied after being attacked. I am proud that America didn't allow themselves to be destroyed by this one act, that the silence inspired us instead of overwhelming us. I am proud of those scorch marks in a field in Pennsylvania, because they are the bravery that became America to that trembling twelve-year-old. Those were Americans. And I am proud to be an American.  

Temples

Last week after church we decided to visit the grounds of the LDS temple near London. It was a beautiful, peaceful place surrounded by an abundance of cultivated nature.
Today after church we visited a temple of another sort: Stonehenge. And while it was beautiful in its own way, it lacked the glorious peace and spirit that I have come to associate with the word “temple.”
They were both delightful and I would highly recommend visiting both to learn about their purposes and the people who use(d) them.
Now, for pictures

London LDS temple

Temple Grounds

Neolithic Era hut

It could take over 100 grown men to pull the stones across rollers. The stones came from a quarry over 150 miles away from the temple site

the front

The entire site is surrounded by this ditch (a henge). At the time it was built, the entire site was white.The stones, the ground, the ditch.

Just me geeking out over ancient religion. No big.

The stones at the back of the site (here) were less carefully carved, some even shorter or thinner. apparently no one cared about the backside of the temple.

The main stones were once surrounded by 56 posts, each containing human remains. they believe these 56 stones are the oldest. So, Stonehenge is a temple built in a cemetery.

A barrow! I told the kids to say "I love dead people!" Is that terrible? The minute I saw these I thought of The Hobbit and Bilbo getting lost in the barrows. Turns out that scene is a lot creepier than him getting stuck in a hill. He was stuck in a tomb!

Janey was extremely excited about the sheep.

Dover: Of Cliffs and Castles

Sometimes in life, your wildest dreams really do come true. That moment you have imagined over and over and over again, day dreaming and wishing and imagining and writing, becomes a reality. That glorious and terrifyingly real moment for me came as I stood atop the ramparts of Dover Castle and looked into the castle courtyard below me. 

I love princess stories. I love to read them. I love to write them. I love to watch movies and shows about them. I love to make up stories about them in my head which will probably never be experienced by others. I dream of castles and moats and knights and dragons and damsels in distress. These dreams make my soul soar with excitement and joy. 

And yet they have always been something I experienced second-hand. But now that I'm living in England, a land rich with medieval history, I get to experience these places in my own right. This weekend, my husband and I decided to make a spur-of-the-moment trip to Dover to see the famous White Cliffs. As we drove into the city we were greeted by the site of an ancient fortress perched above the cliff-face, looking over the modern city below. 

The cliffs were breathtaking. Their height was more than a little nerve-wracking to a mother with three small children (none were let loose within fifty feet of the edge), but stunning. By the time we backed away from the edges, all of our noses were numb from the bitingly cold wind, but we didn't care. It was a lovely view and a fantastic experience. 

After the cliffs we returned to the castle and began our medieval exploration. The castle was staged as it likely would have been in the 1180s when it was first built. The stones we walked on were worn with 800+ years of foot traffic. the winding staircases, with bits of plaster (or whatever the medieval equivalent was) flaking away. I could feel the bustle of the kitchen staff as I walked past the tables laden with wax food. a real fire crackled in the fireplace of the king's bedroom, filling the whole castle with the pleasant aroma of burnt wood and incense. Janie squealed with delight when the docent told her she could sit on the queen's throne. Each of my children found some hallway to explore, some new room to discover as they ran about the castle. All of this was lovely and exciting and fun. But as I looked into the courtyard from the rooftop, I realized in that moment I was seeing the view that my beloved princesses had as her favorite knight (or wizard or brother or suitor) returned home. That moment, as the wind whipped into my face, I could see the carriages and the horses and the muddy stones and the merchants and the knights preparing for battle. I could see the peasants with their sheep, the merchants guarding their wares, and the worried mothers clutching their babies as they rushed into the protective walls of the castle, while the invading army marched closer. I could see my princess begging her father to let her fight beside him, or asking the dressmaker how much for her cloth. I could see the queen welcoming in the exhausted, travel-worn ladies from the neighboring castle. In a single moment, these dreams were real to me. 

Dover, my heart is yours.

327. Cindmerella (January 19, 2017)

Cindmerella loved gloves. Every day she would swim out of her home and scour the ocean floor in search of treasures she could arrange to create beautiful gloves. She would find pearls, coral, shells, jewels from sunken ships, and even once a bright pink ceramic rose. Cindmerella loved the gloves that she designed.

Unfortunately, she never got to wear them. Cindmerella's mean step-sisters always took her most beautiful gloves away and wore them to hide their own, ugly hands, but their hands were so much bigger than hers, they always ripped or broke them. Her step-sisters always tried to make themselves look better than Cindmerella. They dyed their tails the latest trendy color, covered themselves in glittery pearl dust, and wove ropes of seaweed into their hair. But nothing they did could make them as beautiful as Cindmerella. They were jealous.

One day the Mer-King announced he was going to throw a royal festival for his son, the Mer-prince. There would be sunken ship scavenger hunts, races, shark-wrestling, and all sorts of games. The whole festival would end with a very fancy ball in the sea-palace where the Mer-prince would choose a bride.

Cindmerella's stepsisters were very excited. They swam around in fast circles, singing and flinging their best jewelry around, trying to decide what to wear. When Cindmerella put one her favorite pearl-covered gloves and placed a pink anemone in her hair and looked at herself in the mirror, her stepsisters just laughed. "You can't go to the festival," they said. "The prince would never want to marry a glovemaker." They threw her anemone on the sea floor and ripped her gloves off her hands. The gloves ripped and her pearls scattered everywhere. 

Cindmerella cried as she swam away. Hiding in a cave, she watched her stepsisters leave for the festival, wearing her most wonderful gloves and so much pearl dust that they left a trail behind in their wake. "I wish I could go to the festival," Cindmerella cried to herself. 

Cindmerella heard a tiny pop and turned around to find a beautiful, shimmering jellyfish swirling at her. "Hello, Cindmerella," the jellyfish said kindly to her. "I'm your fairy blobmother." 

Cindmerella told her fairy blobmother all about the festival and the ball. She told her about her mean stepsisters and showed her the ruined gloves. 

"Don't worry, Cindmerella," her fairy blobmother said cheerfully. "We'll get you to the festival faster than you can say 'tidal wave.'

The fairy blobmother swirled her magic tentacles and all the pearls rose from the sea floor. With another swirl the pearls restrung themselves and Cindmerella's gloves were just like new again. Another swirl and Cindmerella's tail and seashells were white and glittering. Even the seaweed that held up her long hair was white and fitted with pearls. Cindmerella had never looked more beautiful. 

"Now go to the festival, Cindmerella, and have fun. But remember, you must leave before the tide is at its lowest. That's when the magic will end."

Cindmerella waved goodbye as she swam away to the sea-palace. 

Cindmerella was amazed by all she saw. Lights were hung on every kelp tree in sight. A fountain in the shape of an octopus was spouting purple mud in elegant arches from each of its tentacles. There was a three-way tie in the distance-swim. One gutsy merwrestler tried to swap his shark for a dolphin and was escorted out of the sea-palace grounds.

When the bell was finally rung for the ball to begin, everyone swam inside to dance. Cindmerella floated around the edges of the ballroom, enjoying the scene while avoiding her stepsisters.

Suddenly a handsome young merman approached her and asked her to dance. Cindmerella agreed and off they swam, twirling and whirling and flying through the water. They danced all night long. Cindmerella was enjoying herself so much she was startled when she looked up at the tideometer and realized it was nearly low tide. Cindmerella gasped and swam away in a flurry. The young merman called out to and tried to grab her hand to keep her with him, but her pearly glove slipped right off her hand and the merman was left alone. 

Cindmerella dashed from the sea-palace grounds, through the kelp forest and away from the lights and music of the festival, never slowing her pumping tail fins until she reached home. By the time she stopped, her tail had returned to its normal red hue and all her pearls, jewels, and sparkles had vanished. Cindmerella was left with only her memories of the evening and a single, pearl covered glove to remember her marvelous time, but that was enough for her. She tucked the glove under her sea-cucumber pillow and fell asleep with a smile on her face.

The next morning, Cindmerella woke to her step-sisters in a flurry. "The Mer-prince met the mermaid he wanted to marry, but she left the ball and now he only has her glove as a clue to who she is," they squealed. "He has vowed to marry the girl whose hand fits it." Cindmerella sucked in some krill in surprise. Her handsome merman was the Mer-prince! He wanted to marry her! 

When the Mer-Prince finally showed up at their home, Cindmerella waited and watched with her hand behind her back while her step-sisters tried to fit their large hands into her dainty, beautiful glove. They finally gave up and the Mer-prince turned to Cindmerella. A smile or recognition crossed his lips as he approached her, waiting for her to offer her hand. Cindmerella put both hands out for the Mer-prince. One was bare, and the other wore a sparkling, pearl-covered glove; an exact copy of the one in the Mer-prince's hand. He slid his glove onto her bare hand, and as her last finger fitted into place, a wave of light emanated from the matching pair. Cindmerella looked suddenly as brilliant as she had at the ball. The Mer-prince embraced his beloved mermaid and swept her off her tail, swimming her away from her mean step-sisters forever. He took her to the sea-palace where they were married. And they lived happily underwater after.

326. Alcatraz, Alcatraz (September 24, 2015)

Alcatraz Alcatraz whom do you hold?

I hold a bad guy, daring and bold.

Bad guy, bad guy, why are you there?

I stole a lot of dough from that big bank back there.

Big bank, big bank, where is your guard?

He took a sick day to mow his mama's yard.

Mama's yard, mama's yard, why are you so tall?

I like the bright sun, shining for us all.

Bright sun, bright sun, where do you shine your rays?

I shine down everywhere, but most on Alcatraz.

325. “Don’t Drop Her” (May 4, 2015)

My little brother, Josh, has never been great with babies. He wasn't even two when Steeny was born, and she was the last child. He had no real experience. Jane was a novelty to him. The first grandchild of our parents. The first real baby he'd ever been allowed to hold.

That didn't stop his confidence, though. He threw her up over his shoulder and she gave a little three-month-old laugh. Steeny, mom, and I watched, enjoying the interaction. I wanted Jane to have an early memory with her uncle, so I took a video of the two of them playing together. 

Josh flipped her and spun a bit, putting on his "I'm the coolest dude" face. He was macho.

And then Jane drooled.

Teenage boys don't do well with drool. He shrieked a little and pulled Jane off his shoulder, trying to get away from the string of baby saliva. 

Amused at his concern (I had grown immune to the grossness that is drool) I jokingly told him not to drop her.

It wasn't even three seconds later that he did.

Lucky for Jane she was only a few inches off the ground when she twisted out of Josh's hands. 

Unluckily for Josh, we caught the whole thing on camera. It's been three years and he still won't hold another baby.

324. Isn't i It Obvious, Daddy? Ariel's in Love (Jan 4, 2015)

"Do you think she swam away with him?" Arista asked, anxiously chewing her fingers.

"I doubt it," Andrina replied. "She's always been way too attached to that Flipper kid to leave everything behind."

"Flounder," Atina corrected. "And he hasn't been seen since she left, either. Father sent someone to his school to see if he knew where she is."

Aquanta interrupted, pushing her sister aside. "But where else would she disappear to other than with this merman she's in love with? I know Ariel's always been a bit floatier in head, but she's never been gone this long."

Arista popped her head between her sisters, bobbing up and down with each of her rapid questions. "Who do you think it is, Quanti? Have you ever heard her mention anyone? Do you think it's one of Queen Harmony's nephews? Is it Mak? Tuber? Gem?" 

Adela flicked her tail at her chatty sister's face in agitation. "Chill, Ris! Yikes, you're obnoxious."

"She's got a point though," Atina separated her sisters as with a gentle hand. "If Ariel did swim away with a merman, it probably was one of her mother's nephews. They're always swimming around her trying to win Father's favor."

Andrina snorted in derision. "And it's not like Harmony does anything to stop them. Mother never would have allowed that kind of behavior from her relatives if she were still alive. The polyp doesn't fall far from the coral."

"That's not fair, Dree. Ariel is our sister, too. And Father wouldn't have married Harmony if he thought she was unworthy. She makes a very good queen and Father loves her. She's never been unkind to any of us. You have no reason to be unkind to her."

"But if Ariel did swim off with her lover, what is Daddy going to do? Can he make her come back if they find her? Will they get married? Why wouldn't she tell Daddy who he is?"

Atina caught Adela's tail before it reached Arista's face a second time. "We don't know if she swam off with anyone. It's just as likely that she's on another one if her adventures and has lost track of time."

"Three days? Really, Tina?" Aquanta laughed at her sister's innocence. "Ariel comes in here obviously in love and that's the last any of us see of her. You know Ariel. When she decides she wants something, she gets it." 

"Human!" Alanna rocketed into the clearing, panting from her quick swim. Her sisters spun around at her urgent call. "Ariel's marrying a human!"