And Then I Wanted To Throw My Bra At His Feet

Ooooh, I hope that the controversial title roped you in.  Accurate as it is to the situation that I am about to discuss, it was really just meant to get you to click over so that you, too, can share in the awesomeness that was Friday night.

What was Friday night, you might ask...?  Only the most exhilarating out-of-body experience ever.

Oh, and also the third installment of Provo's Rooftop Concert Series.  The main attraction was The Abbey Road Show, wherein a bunch of local and local-ish artists got together and recreated the entire Abbey Road album from start to finish (including the extra, bonus "Her Majesty").  

If you are not already thinking that this was the raddest idea ever, you might as well just stop reading now.

Still reading?  Okay, then.  I'm about to get super intense.

Have you ever seen videos and pictures of women going c.r.a.z.y. over The Beatles?  You know, crying and screaming and trying to rip pieces of their (The Beatles', not the women's) clothing off as they passed by?  No?  Here are a couple of examples:

Listen, I never quite understood.  Really.  I would see these pictures and think I am so glad that I am not one of those girls who can be so taken with... I don't even know what.  These are just ordinary men.  So, you know, not only was I ignorant, but also a twinge judgmental.

 I am here to report that I have a newfound understanding.  Hard.  Core.  From the very first notes of "Come Together," I heard these squeals of girlish excitement.  And then I realized that they were coming from ME.  Not only were they visceral and uncontrollable, but they emanated from my gut and were equal parts sexual tension and hints of my eighth-grade-self that didn't quite know how to be in the presence of a Y-chromosome yet.  It was clear that this was going to be a problem, as I was on a date.  A first date.

And then, the raddest teddy bear of a man ever got on stage and sang "Oh! Darling," and I kid you not, blog-dom, I actually considered taking my bra off and throwing it on stage.  (And then I remembered that time in high school when my mom walked in on me and my friends watching a movie wearing my bra on her head like a kippah* and I thought I best not.)

Heavy.  Freakin'.  Sigh.

How did this happen?  I don't know.  I really have no answer for you (or for me).

But I will say this:  take a look at these pictures** and see for yourself if you still don't get how absolutely amazing this concert was (and how foxy the men were).

**These fabulous pictures are courtesy of my new friend Tim Schwarz.

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Recapturing the Je Ne Sais Quoi

Let me set the scene.  I was laying here in bed, the enormous bay windows in my room flung open with wild abandon and the overhead fan spinning with a creaky hum.  It was such a nice day today, and the time I spent beneath our willow tree reading the new issue of Martha Stewart Living just wasn't enough of this almost-summer weather we have had of late.  So I threw open the windows and let the breeze come pouring in.

So here I was, lounging on my miracle foam mattress, with the breeze and the freshly cut grass and all that summery intoxication (not literal intoxication, I promise, mom Bishop).  And I found my heart so full and joyous that the only antidote was to share it.  I'm super grateful because I have recaptured my absolutely joy over moving to Utah – a feeling so intensely potent for the first several months here, which has been somewhat lacking for the past little while.

To be fair, I have had a few experiences leading up to tonight's victory.

I have started running in the evenings.  I take a three mile loop, first going away from the mountains, down south, then back east and north.  I save the eastern and northern legs of the run for last because that's when I get to see the silvery moon light up the looming silhouettes of those mountains I love so dearly.  I am, without exception, sweaty and ready for the run to be over by the time I reach this part of the loop... and yet I smile all the way home because I get to drink in the Rockies.

Then last night, Mad and I went to the Rooftop Concert Series at Provo Town Square to see Mindy Gledhill and Meaghan Smith.  It was totally rad.  Apart from the fact that Madie and I got to let our hipster selves run free reign (think full vintage skirts and boy scout assistant scoutmaster shirts), it was just one of those perfect nights where love envelopes you whole.  Mindy Gledhill totally stole the show (even though I'm fairly certain she was supposed to be a side attraction) and I just found myself unable to resist smiling throughout the evening.  The happiness of that place and all of those people reverberated alongside the guitar.  It was totally infectious.  And I found myself thanking the powers that be that I'm here in Provo.

Man, I'm such a sap.  I just thought you should know that I'm totally aware of what a lame post this is.  But still, I love my life.  And in a world filled with complaint and sarcasm and pessimism, that's gotta be something worth sharing.

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An Unexpected Reaction

I think I recently let you all in on the fact that I was called in my new ward to be a teacher in Relief Society.  If you know me at all, you know that I could not have been happier with this calling than if I was tapped on the shoulder by Enoch himself and given a key to his city in the sky.

I taught my first lesson a couple of weeks ago on the dreaded topic of marriage.  Don't get me wrong...marriage is wonderful.  All I'm saying is that it's a heady thing, standing in front of a room full of women who generally want nothing more than to be married.  They're just waiting for the men to get on board.  And these are women who, by and large, were complete strangers to me.

A. w. e. s. o. m. e.

I had a bit of spiritual schizophrenia as I prepared for the lesson; what did these women need to hear from me...another single person?  I clearly do not have any key to snagging the man of my dreams.  Hell,* the last handful of dates I've been on have been...doozies.  {Have I thanked you enough for that, Utah men?  I really enjoy nothing more than being told that I dress too immodestly and that Satan influences me through my taste in music.}  

Regardless, I had a lightning bolt of inspiration and got the job done.  There was a quite surprising moment, though.  One that has kept me thinking.

I planned, somewhat hesitantly, to stage a slightly irreverent object lesson.  I had the sisters recreate that old Young Women's lesson where they write a long list of things they want in a husband... Returned Missionary.  Goes to the Temple Weekly.  Reads The Scriptures Every Day.  Oh, and please, oh please, let him be a stone cold fox.

And then, I had them rip them in half.

.....And then, I had them throw away the ripped bits into the garbage can.  *gasp*

To be clear, I was very quick to point out that I'm not saying that it's a bad exercise for Young Women (even though, secretly, I think it is).  I just wanted to make a point about becoming ourselves the women that we want to be as we enter into marriage.  (I also hoped in the deepest caverns of my irreverent heart that the sisters would feel the weight of impossible expectations we place on men in the Church.) 

I was nervous.  I was nervous because I stood in front of presumably born and bred, culturally indoctrinated sisters who might brand me with a scarlet letter for kind of, sort of, maybe implying that a standard lesson in the Church is inadequate.  What I got was...not what I was expecting.

The women were cheering.  Literally cheering.  A couple of them CLAPPED.  Seriously, they were like this baby.  I kid you not.

There was this intense lifting of heaviness.  These women felt empowered.   

And I was just left thinking, "...What just happened?"  Of course, I – in my infinite cool-headed, awesome teacher-i-ness – just moved confidently on without really reacting.  But that question has lingered.  And honestly, I'm still a little bit mystified here.  Is it possible that in placing our women (young or not) in the paradigm of expecting things from men that we take away bits of their own empowerment?  

All I know is this:  ripping up those lists freed the women in that room to make lists of what they themselves would like to accomplish.

*Sorry for my mild indiscretion here.  But, not enough to not write it.

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This Land is Mine

In this stretch of Interstate 80 between the Wyoming border and Provo Canyon, there is a winding road twisting and turning between giants.  These mountains are mine.

When I was driving down into Provo from Wyoming when I moving out here, I drove these mountains, watching an electrical storm dance across their peaks.  I cried the whole way from the "Welcome to Utah" sign to my front door in Provo.  I blogged about it here.

Recently, I drove this same pavement, returning from a rendezvous with some friends.  I had had a great time.  The muscles in my cheeks ached from smiling so broadly for so long.  I sang along with my favorite radio stations.  I loved the snow capping each mountain as I drove past.  I could not have been more content in that moment.

And then it hit me:  the juxtaposition between my tearful entry to Utah six months ago and this evening drive.  How different things were!  How grateful I was for Heavenly Father bringing me here!  I could never have imagined this life, nonetheless created it for myself!

My dear friend FEJ said to me when I was still living in DC, fretting about the move out here, "Heavenly Father doesn't downgrade our lives from good to worse.  He only ever upgrades us, even if it takes awhile for us to realize it."  In this moment, driving through my mountains on my stretch of highway, I knew that FEJ was absolutely right.

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Crack the Martinelli's!

I know what you're thinking.  I have found myself in the unique position of having reflective thoughts on the last day of the year.  It's not like the whole of the blogosphere is posting their thoughts on the past year and sharing their hopes, dreams and resolutions for the coming year...nooooooooo...

Still, I would feel remiss if I didn't put down some thoughts.  Mainly, I would feel ungrateful.  You see, this year?  It has been the best of my life.

But how make the post separate itself from the pack?  How to make sure that my thoughts on the past year don't blend into the white noise of every other bloggers' manifestoes?  (Is that really the plural of manifesto?)

I can say simply this:  As good as staying put can feel, it is the change that I have allowed to take place that has given me the most joy.  In all of my moving, yearning to put down roots and then eventually moving again, I have realized that it is the change–has always been the change–that has allowed me glimpse the higher plains that I could reach but that I couldn't myself see.

This year began on December 22nd of last year, when I flew out to Salt Lake City in order to receive my endowment in the Salt Lake temple.  The weight of and blessings from that decision aside, I knew...somewhere...that Utah was home.  When I got off the plane, I felt something click–I had a kick in my step, I felt grateful Utah existed.  Which was surprising.  I didn't know it then, but my love for the mountains, for the BYU Bookstore's FARMS section, for the Lambert family...it was all preparation for me accepting a HUGE change in my life in coming to BYU.

So, when I drove down through the mountains from Wyoming into Utah Valley, I knew I was home.

This year has had tears–perhaps more than any year of my adult life–but it has been a year of lessons.  Of love.  Of evolving.  As some people kiss 2010 goodbye with merely more than a passing glance and others anticipate diving into 2011 feet first, today I'm happy to walk the line between the two.  I think I'm going to mourn the passing of this year and stride, humbled, into the next.

Here are some pictures from 2010–Thanks to all those who made it great!

Right after going through the Salt Lake Temple.

Sophia during a trip to the Outer Banks with Jen and Josiah.

The room of the Knights Templar on a visit to the Masonic Temple in Alexandria with ADS.

Seeing the New Pornographers with FEJ.

Sitting on the lawn with ADS after a tour of the Capitol.

Massive ice cream cone during a trip to OBX with FEJ.

A sunset the last night at OBX.

Mama House in Key West, FL.

Cutest faux-nephews ever on a wheelbarrow ride.

The Maharajess herself at Diwali at the Hare Krishna Temple in Spanish Fork.

The crew at the lamest/awesomest Christmas parade ever.

Madi, the princess of cool, at the Winter's Night in Paris party.

ADS and I spotted Michael Jackson in the National Botanical Gardens.

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Home Sweet Home

Some of you may recall my first post upon arriving in Provo.  Its tone was almost sad, but it was tempered with a hope that swelled up over the melancholy and swallowed it whole.  I was just going through some of my old posts to find a quote that I had written about last summer and stumbled upon these thoughts about making Provo home.  I was floored.

You see, the most amazing miracle has happened.  Somehow, somewhere in the midst of living this life in Utah Valley, Provo has become home.  A home that I missed when I was away with an ache....a yearning for the familiar, for what is mine, for my world.

How did that happen?

Believe you me:  I was not expecting this.  I was anticipating remaining aloof, to neglect setting down roots.  I thought I would put in my time and then flee.  Such is not the case, my friends.

I love my people (you know who you are).  I love my house.  I love BYU.  Most of all, I love the me that I am in Provo.

Thanks to everyone who has helped make Provo home.

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