Clothes-Pinning the American Culture

Today the sun is shining and the breeze is gently blowing. I find myself sitting on a stand dressed down in my guarding gear, essentially a swimsuit, shorts, and a whistle. Across my lap sits my guard tube and I have on my BYU sunglasses and stars and stripes flip flops. I'm perfectly relaxed finding peace being in my element. The heat of the sun rays feel wonderful on my shoulders and across the fence, I hear the sounds of a baseball tournament. Kids are cheering and coaches are barking tips every moment. A bat connects with the ball and dust kicks up as the boys run around the plates. As I continue my scan I hear the men below talking about their war days as they do their water aerobics. The radio sings loud and I sing along under my breath, I've clothes-pinned the American Culture.


I've always been skeptical about American Culture. In the 40's with the coming of World War II and the end of the Great Depression, our culture was at its height with family, baseball, the crooners, patriotism, and penny candy and soda at the local drug store. And somewhere it disappeared, like dandelion seeds on a lights breeze. But the seeds are still there and today I realized that. Our culture is not gone it's simply slipped off of the clothesline. What should be wholesome culture has become shrouded by the filth of the world. We are known for MTV, Jersey Shore, and awards for various mediums of media. A good time on a Friday or Saturday night has become Hooka Bars and clubs, one night stands and getting as smashed as possible. It's not safe to run the streets as playing children and entitlement and laziness is rampant, respect and civility slowly dying. It doesn't feel right to call this "culture" yet if we do not safeguard our time and become better than we are we will soon lose the remnants of a happier day to the sleaze of the passing moment.

But this isn't how it must be. We can slow down and become the yesterday we long for. While life-guarding, it's my job to sit and simply watch, alert, and waiting. But we shouldn't need it penciled into a planner or forced upon us to find the importance of simply sitting and experiencing life. We make who we are by taking time for who we want to be. By taking the time we each pick up the scattered pieces of America and pin them to the line to wave for all to see. Kids shouting at a baseball game. Old men talking about their glory days while making eyes at a 65-year-old woman they still think is lovely. Summertime swimming and 4th of July barbecues. Civility and extra-mile kindness, just because. Bell ringing at Christmas time, and American ingenuity being born in children who discover answers as fast as they come up with more questions. A drive to improve and protect. Liberty, honor, hard work, fun, and wholesome American Culture. Who knew one could find all that while sitting on a lifeguard stand? 

-Natalie Cherie

Chasing a Sunset (Short Stories and an update on Lifeguarding)

So I've virtually stopped wearing real clothes. In the mornings it's swimsuits, sweatshirts, and shorts and at night it's Cafe Rio uniform (so I guess I wear real clothes every night then). Oh . . . Je vous présente Monsieur Hulot ... il m'aide avec mon français. ;)

Today is a great day! I'm totally exhausted after guarding this morning, doing deep water spinals for lifeguard in-service and cleaning out filters under 10 feet of water. Not going to lie I have a bit of, what I call, a pressure headache, or basically a headache from too much water pressure on my eardrums. But it's no big deal cause I now have an hour or two to sleep it off. So the summer has been going great. I'm currently working two jobs. In the mornings I either Lifeguard or teach swim lessons. Right now I'm teaching two classes of the cutest kids ever! One class is entirely girls who love to squeal and tackle me and hug me and show me their newest pair of cute earrings. The other class is higher level and they're just fun, telling me how sharks mistake us for seals, their prey, and other random facts. I think their favorite phrase is "Hey teacher! Watch what I can do!" In the evenings I work at Cafe Rio (a Mexican grill) and am lucky enough to get to take home some food when I close. And during the days if I'm not asleep, then I'm practicing French, exercising, emailing/blogging/writing letters or hanging out with my siblings.

  Okay so now onto the Short Stories part. So my mom is currently gone in St. George. She's visiting her parents and helping out down there for 8 days so the rest of us have been here just doing our thing and figuring out how to survive. :) Yesterday we ended up going to lunch in the park so Jason could play and the rest of us could get out and I decided it was time to sit down and write my short story. (Spencer and I are going back and forth and this is the first one I've written being given only the first sentence to go on). Well, Tanner decided he wanted to join me so we spent the rest of the afternoon sitting outside listening to music and comparing our stories. It was great! So this is what I came up with. I hope you all enjoy! :)

Chasing a Sunset

The sunset was more revealing than either of them thought. As it is with most paintings which tell a story none can seem to remember.

Marie often came looking for such paintings when she could escape the never-ending bore and sterility of her little French school. Marie lived in a little house, in a little town, where not even little dreams could grow. And inside that little house, in her little town, she lived with her “too-big” family, with “too big” of worries to pay attention to what her mother called, her “too-big” of dreams. So every Saturday afternoon Marie would pedal away to Paris, taking her “too-big” of dreams with her. She kept her “too-little” bike hidden in the bushes by the school’s front gate, which once white was now yellowed with age. There it sat poised and ready for the weekly adventure to the Louvre after the afternoon bell had rung, releasing her from her little schoolhouse.

After a particularly boring day at school (they had studied 5’s and 6’s in multiplication) Marie ran to the little clump of bushes and pulled out her bike, discovering a new scratch amongst all the others. The little bike once a bright periwinkle, was now chipped and faded, having been used by each of Marie’s six older sisters. Vague outlines of long-faded pink flowers were scattered amongst the chips of paint and a little bell rested by Marie’s hand, like a little-lost bird, trilling its tune amongst the nest of stubby handlebars and shredded streamers.  

According to Marie’s calculations, Paris and more importantly, the Louvre was a mere 6 ½ miles (or 20 minutes ride) away from her little house. So she clambered on her “too-little” bike and pedaled her “too-big” of dreams to Paris, and more importantly, the Louvre.

Today, Marie decided to explore the north-west wing and soon found herself snugly nestled amongst hundreds of scenic paintings with a thousand different colors. One painting, in particular, caught her eye. Walking over to the far corner she stared at the painting, the plaque underneath read, “Seaport at Sunset” Claude Lorrain, 1639.  At first glance it seemed like nothing special, just men standing at the dock waiting as the ships came in, looking for refuge from the night. But the sunset was more revealing than either of them thought, for Marie found herself angry that these men simply stood, not taking advantage, or even any notice of the enticing color, light, and symbolic opportunity of the sunset. All they could do was stand and wait for their stock, or merchandise, or any other number of profits the ships bore as cargo.

“Doesn’t anyone in this world care for anything but money and facts and figures?” Marie snapped out loud. Embarrassed, she quickly glanced around in hopes that no one had heard her outburst. Finding herself alone she decided to move on, grumbling that even if it were their last sunset they still just stand there waiting for their profit. Marie found no solace in the painting, but rather irritation, the itching in her soul she couldn’t seem to scratch.

Week after week Marie came to the Louvre and every week she would find the little painting and leave a little irritated. “Why must they just stand there?” She would wonder aloud. “If I were at a seaport at sunset I would find a boat and I would chase it.” With this decided she would pedal her “too-little” bike home wondering if she would return to find them gone away from their never-ending waiting, and secretly hoping that if they could escape to the sunset then perhaps, just perhaps, she could find a way there too.

-Natalie Cherie

The Significance of a Hero

Today is Father's Day. Of course, like every year, I feel it receives less attention than it should. So I decided to dedicate this post to my Dad so that he can know what he means to me. I'd like to call it the significance of a hero. Everyone needs a hero. Don't you find it ironic or simply fitting that the superhero industry thrived during the Great Depression and is again, starting with the Great Recession. It's obviously not a coincidence that when things become difficult or there seems like no answers, the world seeks the hope only a hero can bring.

So why heroes? What is it about a Hero that gives them such significance? Perhaps it is their characteristics that we hope to emulate. Or perhaps it's a comic book superpower we think would solve all our problems. But I think the significance of a Hero begins with struggle. In the movie "Megamind" Metroman put it this way, "As long as there's evil good will rise up against it." Let's change that a bit. "As long as there are struggles the strong will rise up in response to it." Nelson Mandela from the movie "Invictus" put it this way, "But how do we get them to be better then they think they CAN be? That is very difficult, I find. Inspiration, perhaps. How do we inspire ourselves to greatness when nothing less will do? How do we inspire everyone around us? I sometimes think it is by using the work of others." And therein lies the significance of a Hero. In the background of every legend, every great person, and our each individual heroes lies the struggles that gave them the reason to rise, to be more, and to inspire themselves to greatness, and further to inspire us all.

The inspiration my Daddy has given me is embodied by the poem:

 Invictus
By William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,

      Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

      I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

      Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

      How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

      I am the captain of my soul.

This is why my Daddy is my Hero. Over the years he's had more than his fair share of trials, hardships, struggles, and strife. In fact, I've never seen someone face such constant tribulation as he's been required to do. But every time he has risen and taken another step. He never gives up and he always turns to the Savior. He's a wonderful Father and I'd want no other, for I've always been his Little Buddy, and he's always been my Hero.

There is a poem called "Superman's Dad" that puts it quite nicely. (Yes, it's about father to son, but the sentiment is the same). :)


When you were young you looked to me
And asked me how to fly.
I shook my head, I didn't know
You just let out a sigh.

And then you pointed to the clouds
And told me that someday
You'd stretch your arms and reach up high
And then you'd fly away.

That seemed like it was yesterday
Oh how the years have flown.
And now you have a family
With children of your own.

You've grown into the father that
I always knew you'd be.
And now your son looks up to you
Like you once looked up to me.

And though I didn't know it when
You asked in days gone by.
I now know how to soar the heavens--
you taught me how to fly.

So with all the need for heroes, I'm glad that mine is found in someone so dear to my heart. Thanks, Daddy. I love you.

Love,
Natalie Cherie

Exploring and B.A.S.E. Jumpers

So yesterday my family and I decided to go on a little adventure. I had a few hours between coming home from work and going to my other work so we all got sprayed down with sunscreen, jumped in the car, and drove down into the canyon. Once there we decided to take a hike down to the river's edge (somewhere McKenzie had told us about). Little did we know how epic a hike it would be. :)

The Hike ended being a lot more rigorous than any of us imagined. It was extremely steep in certain parts, thick foliage in others, sinkholes of mud, rock slides, drop-offs, and lots of rickety bridges. But we had a blast as you can tell from above. Exploring was epic! And throughout the hike, we had fun singing "We're Following the Leader," "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," "The ABC's" and "Onward Christian Soldiers" at Jason's request (and Tanner's for the last one). I got to carry Jason on my back and shoulders through the "Jungle" and it was honestly the cutest thing!

I was definitely having fun with my camera! My family was so nice to stop every two seconds to pose, especially since we all knew I had to get back to go to work by 5:00. Ironic that I was the one holding us up! ;) Oh and just as a side note I'd like to claim the coolest family ever! Every three steps we were coming up with different analogies our hike had to the gospel. It was so great!

The bridge was beautiful but what was most interesting to me was how the perspective changed as we came closer and closer to it. I wonder in awe how desperate men in the Great Depression had the ability, nerve, and determination to build this bridge, spanning such a deep and treacherous canyon.

These set of pictures are about all of the cool plants I found. We saw so many butterflies and dragonflies! So pretty. Unfortunately, we got caught in some stinging nettle though, and Brittney came out a little worse for the wear but we pulled out our nature smarts and put mud on it to cool it and wrapped it in some nearby lambs ear. Who knows if it is actually what one is supposed to do but hey it worked! :)

So we had an awesome surprise when we reached the end of the trail. Unbeknownst to us, the trail led to the B.A.S.E. Jumpers Pad. And because it was a beautiful and windy day all the jumpers were out and ready to jump. It was SO cool! we got to see them jump and their chutes deploy from underneath, and we were right there for their landing. We even got to talk to a few of them. It was the neatest experience. For the parachuters, the best way to get out of the canyon is to take a donation-based boat ride out. But if that isn't available, the next best thing is to climb out of the canyon (you can see the steep incline in the picture with the parachuters walking away). And finally, the last resort is to hike out the way we came which also includes a hike up the road that leads out of the canyon. 

The most sobering part of our hike was looking at the memorials for those who had died B.A.S.E. jumping off of the Perrine Bridge. Last year a man died by getting caught and folded up in his chute when the wind collapsed it on him. And earlier a man froze to death when he jumped in the winter at sundown and couldn't find his way out in the dark. And due to Twin Falls's high winds, one man was actually blown into the Perrine Bridge. It was a sobering reminder of how fragile life really is.

It was such a beautiful hike and a wonderful time with my family! In one hike we got connections to the gospel, quality time with one another, exercise, we got to watch B.A.S.E. jumpers from beneath, and we got to use a little nature knowledge. Best day of this summer yet!

-Natalie Cherie

The Time for Dreaming

What does it mean to Dream?

I mostly mean the act of dreaming while asleep. Scientifically, of course, we know that dreaming is the succession of images, emotions, ideas, and sensations during the deepest part of our sleep known as REM sleep (rapid eye movement). During REM sleep our brain activity is at its highest and our eyes are in constant movement, and we most closely resemble being awake. Dreams can last anywhere from a few seconds to around twenty minutes and most people have 3-5 dreams a night. In an eight hour period of sleep, we generally spend about two hours of that dreaming.

That's a lot of dreaming in my opinion. Which makes me wonder...why don't I dream?  When I was younger I had dreams all the time. They were usually very very vivid and occasionally they would even reoccur. And then a few years ago my dreams just stopped. I don't even remember exactly when they stopped I just remember not having them anymore...and missing them. Who knew one would miss dreaming? I didn't think it was a big deal until I couldn't anymore. Jarod Kintz said, “I find out a lot about myself by sleeping. Dreams, they are who I am when I’m too tired to be me." That was an opportunity I'd lost and I wondered did I tire myself too much? Even now I sometimes wonder if the end of my dreams correlated with my seizures my junior year of high school, when I overloaded and collapsed my Corpus Callosum (or at least that was the diagnosis/guess). Other times I wonder if I simply used up my number of dreams like an overzealous child who used all their tickets at a night show carnival before the night even began. Or perhaps I simply had no reason to dream. Or maybe I dreamed of so many things during the day nothing was left at night...or was I too realistic, even in my subconscious...I doubt it. But regardless of the hidden reasons I missed my time of dreaming.

Then out of nowhere, sometime during my Freshman Year of College I had my first dream. I remember waking up so excited that I'd had a dream, (silly I know, but sleeping in absolute darkness and nothingness, though a reprieve, can be rather lonely). But within five minutes I could not remember my dream, no matter how I tried. It was like having a gossamer curtain pulled over a pool of murky water, just to make sure I couldn't reach through and pull it out of my memory. It was rather frustrating. After that, I had a dream every so often but could rarely remember them longer than a couple of minutes, or until I was fully awake. Then I began remembering bits and pieces of dreams that seemed to make no sense and made even less sense due to my only remembering scattered fragments. Then near the end of the year, I had one dream. I still remember it and what struck me was how short and simplistic it was. I woke up wide awake with a couple thoughts, one in relation to the dream, and the other an earnest thought that I couldn't, I just couldn't forget such a lovely dream. And I never have.

Perhaps the time for dreaming is not necessarily a scientific parameter of "this" type of sleep, for "this" long, for "this" many times. Perhaps, rather, the time for dreaming is when we have someone to share it with. After a long day, whether busy, stressful, or lonely, we can retreat to our darkness and await the time for dreaming. The time when we are no longer busy, stressed, or alone. When nothing has to make sense and an instant becomes an eternity. Where reality has no hold and fantasy comes alive. Those you find in your dreams may never know they kept you company in your quiet hours of peace and blissful unconsciousness, but they are forever invaluable, made so because they shared with you your time for dreaming. Perhaps, like me, they are the reason you have the time of dreaming. A.A. Milne (author of Winnie the Pooh) said, “I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other's dreams, we can be together all the time.”

So what does it mean to dream? It means to find who we are when we have nothing else to be, nothing else to do, nothing else to think. To find what keeps us company when we are inexplicably alone, locked inside our minds where we create realities out of fantasy, and simply dream, satisfied that they can last at least a moment. Dreams are where we can be close to those we love. Where I can see him who I meet only in the time for dreaming, even if only to brush finger tips or catch a passing glance. Dreaming is to be alive while asleep, awake while dormant, and free while perfectly still. To be together though separate. And to learn the answer to Nicholas Sparks question, “What are we after all our dreams, after all our memories?” And perhaps, even after all our dreams, we will never fully remember the answer, but it will always be there, safely tucked away in the time for dreaming.

“You know that place between sleeping and awake, that place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always think of you.”
J.M. Barrie

-Natalie Cherie

Vouloir, C'est Pouvoir

So I started French Lessons yesterday! Brittney and I are going to be going to lessons once a week and practicing and learning with each other throughout the rest of the week. I'm really excited because perhaps it'll finally click this summer. And now that the kids are finally out of school I might actually get to see them (and perhaps make them practice with me). ;) Yay! Either way it's the one time in the whole week, besides Sundays, that I don't have to work so I'm going to take full advantage of it!

So French Music, French Movies, French Books, and French Speaking, French Vocab, French Homework, French Culture and Clothes, French Food, and French Comics, but of course no French Kissing, we're having a French Summer, come on here we go! I can't wait because as the French say, Vouloir, c'est pouvoir. :)

-Natalie Cherie