19 Wooden Dolls

The past two days I've worked a little more than 12 hour days. It's been exhausting, but rewarding. In the mornings I helped take down our City Pool's "Bubble" in preparation for the Summer season and in the evenings I've been training in my new position at Cafe Rio. After day two I'm thoroughly sun-burnt and sore. The knots in my back would be unbearable except that I'm used to the seemingly chronic tension in my back muscles. I also got a super cool bruise from dropping the weight of an overly-heavy bench on my thigh...you see I'm not totally useless upper-body wise, but I'm so much stronger in my legs that I tend to resort to them. And I, unfortunately, got in a bit of trouble for not reporting my injury since I heard something kind of squish weird when it dropped. Yeah, it bruised fast, but it didn't hurt that bad and I've had worse so I figured I'd be fine and it wasn't a big deal...well think again, because today I was kindly and firmly informed otherwise. Does sunburn count as "injury" cause I'd love to get workman's compensation for that! ;) I'm also starting to catch on at Cafe Rio too! Supposedly I'm learning really quickly and I really enjoy the environment and the employees. I think as far as work goes it's going to be a really good summer. Oh and McKenzie and I got to go to the college ward together! I had fun going "Indian" style and I got a new calling! Ward Music Chairman, so we'll see how that goes. :)

I am officially 19! It's taken a few days to sink in, mostly because when I woke up on May 28th I didn't feel any different. This is what usually happens on my birthdays, no sudden transformation or epiphany of defined maturity, so I wasn't really surprised that I felt quite unaffected when I woke up. It actually reminded me of a passage I'd read by Sandra Cisneros called, "Eleven."

         "What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And you don't feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are--underneath the year that makes you eleven.
         Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on you mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three.         
          Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is.
         You don't feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don't feel smart eleven, not until you're almost twelve. That's the way it is."

These feelings set aside I had a wonderful birthday. The day was incredibly relaxing watching Monte Carlo while posting about poetry. Having a family barbeque and party and taking a walk with Mom and Brittney while Tanner played Frisbee Golf with Jason and McKenzie and Dad was exercising. Tanner gave me the complete Sherlock Holmes Collection and Brittney helped finish off my Jane Austen Collection with Northanger Abbey and my parents with Mansfield Park and Persuasion. I also got money to do with whatever helps me the most whether that's books, clothes, or other random expenses that seem to consistently pop up. I got tons of birthday wishes via Facebook and text which actually touched me quite a bit and I got an email from Spencer which I'd been hoping for, and looking forward to, all week. But soon McKenzie left, back to Rexburg, and the day was over. I was able to talk to Sarah on the phone as a perfect ending to the day, and my special day had passed.

The way time passes has intrigued me lately. In the moment time moves so slowly, yet looking back it passes quicker than we'd realized. I'm nineteen...somehow that doesn't quite sink in. My last year of being a teenager, a time in my life I thought would never pass, and here I am on the cusp of a whole new adventure. How is it that I feel no different yet I know if I could have seen myself now, even a few years sooner, I wouldn't have recognized myself? Time passes quickly, and I ask, will I keep up? Time passes slowly, and I ask, will the agonizing wait ever end? Time it is sudden, in a blink it is gone, but time it can crawl, in a moment too long. Time ever passes, it ticking away, so savor each moment cause time, it won't stay. A measurement of man to help us to see, the vastness of being, of time, of eternity. I still feel so young, at other times I feel old. A bridge to a new world? Or the last whispers of a past that's now cold... At times I am confident, and I stand with nothing to hide. At other times my nineteen years "rattle...like pennies in a tin Band-Aid box" not much inside. I wonder can I do it? Whatever this year holds? You see, I'm nineteen. Just nineteen wooden dolls. And somehow...somehow that doesn't quite sink in.

-Natalie Cherie

Breathe-In Experience, Breathe-Out Poetry

Last night while sitting in the living room we were having a normal Sunday evening. We'd all gone to church, eaten dinner, had our home teachers over, visited Grandma and Grandpa Harman, and had a family council (when we plan our week). As we sat in the living room the usual Sunday necessitates bed time. My family all goes to bed at 9:00 pm so with a family prayer and kisses and hugs and "I love you, good nights" we all head to bed. But this night was different, for the next day was Memorial Day and no one had school. So how did we spend our precious and new-found hours? We read poetry.

My Dad, actually, was the one who initiated the poetry reading. With our entire family, all seven of us together and returned to visit from college, sitting close so we could hear my Dad began to read out of his old leather-covered poetry book. They've always been two of my favorite books. Covered in stretched and hand stitched leather, it's embossed with floral patterns and my Dad's initials B.T.H. I actually loved these books so much my Grandma Harman went out and found me the same two books at a garage sale and bought them for me. They're very old, one from 1927 and the other from 1951. They have the smell of years in the pages, a smell I can't quite describe, and the pages are yellowed with edges worn to the softness of fleece. I too have covered them with hand-stitched and hand-carved leather to help save the breaking bindings and follow in my Father's footsteps.

What is it about poetry that has touched me so? In the past year, I've realized that my love of poetry is not entirely self-made. Perhaps an innate love was born in me somewhere, but a realized passion has been molded by the hours of my Daddy reading to us. Reading of tales of bravery and patriotism, quips of cleverness, and traditional orations with the coming holidays. I've long since cherished the tenderness of his voice as he sheds a tear and chokes back raw emotion as he reads of the goodness of men, of what we'd all like to be, and the words that we all understand.

This has begun a tradition for me. Without even comprehending the trend I've found that the men in my life have all read me poetry. The men most dear to my heart have at least one thing in common, they read to me. My Daddy on a Sunday Evening or a holiday, for every special number in Family Home Evening, and sometimes just because. Upon coming home from college Tanner sat me down and read me his favorite poetry from J.R.R. Tolkien. He has since begun to write poetry and will often come to me with questions of diction and rhythm. And it's truly beautiful poetry, poetry I wouldn't expect from a twelve-year-old. Even Jason will sit me down and read me his precious books he carries everywhere and sleeps with. And I fall in love all over again every time Spencer reads to me. Rudyard Kipling, The Little Prince, or Linden Hills. I remember one of my favorite dates we were sitting in the lobby of my building and he pulled out his book of poems and poems he'd written on his mission and he read to me for the next hour or two. Perhaps it's true, at least for me, that poetry is the fruit of love.

From a random person who I don't know I found this statement on poetry, "In the code language of criticism when a poem is said to be about poetry the word "poetry" is often used to mean: how people construct an intelligibility out of the randomness they experience; how people choose what they love; how people integrate loss and gain; how they distort experience by wish and dream; how they perceive and consolidate flashes of harmony; how they (to end a list otherwise endless) achieve what Keats called a "Soul or Intelligence destined to possess the sense of Identity."

In not so many words, Wadsworth described poetry as, "the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotion." And Muriel Rukeyser, a modern female poet, famous for her poem "To Be a Jew in the Twentieth Century" said, "Breathe-in experience, breathe-out poetry."

Perhaps this is why I love poetry. It gives understanding and meaning to all experience and captures the passion all can relate too. For sharing with me this love of poetry I will be forever grateful to the men in my life, my Daddy, Tanner, Jason, and Spencer.

Now for my favorite poems...there are too many so here are just a . . . few. ;)

*The Highway Man (Alfred Noyes)  *The Lady of Shalott (Lord Alfred Tennyson) *Sonnet 116 (William Shakespeare) *When I Have Fears (John Keats) *Apostrophe to the Ocean (Lord Byron) *Annabelle Lee (Edgar Allen Poe) *The Raven (Edgar Allen Poe) *O Captain, My Captain (Walt Whitman) *Horatius (Lord Thomas Babington Macaulay) *The Wreck of the Hesperus (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow) *Bright Star (John Keats) *Ode to the West Wind (Percy Bysshe Shelly) *Ode on a Grecian Urn (John Keats) *Ode to Autumn (John Keats) *Sonnet 130 (William Shakespeare) *The House by the Side of the Road (Sam Walter Foss) *Mother o' Mine (Rudyard Kipling) *Somebody's Mother (Mary D. Brine) *Somebody's Darling (Anonymous) *The Gettysburg Address (Abraham Lincoln) *The Crisis (Thomas Paine) *The Preamble (Thomas Jefferson) *The Declaration of Independence (Thomas Jefferson) [especially second paragraph] *Holy Sonnet X (John Donne) *The Bait (John Donne) *To Be a Jew in the Twentieth Century (Muriel Rukeyser) *Invitation/I Don't Care (I don't know, Spencer might, since I first heard it from him) *The Road Not Taken (Robert Frost) *Still I Rise (Maya Angelou) *Landscape with Yellow Birds (Shuntaro Tanikawa) *Mezzo Cammin (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow) *Forgetfulness (Billy Collins)

-Natalie Cherie

Kia Kaha

The other night my family and I watched Forever Strong for the first time. It was an amazing movie and has definitely made my favorites list. I think what touched me the most was the motto of the Highland Rugby Team, "Kia Kaha, Forever Strong."


At one point in the movie when Rick is in prison, his Dad comes to talk to him and they begin to argue about Highland Rugby and the influence the coach, Glewicx, has had in their lives. Rick says,
          "He was doing what was best for you and the team."
           "No, no Gelwicx stole my life." yells his Dad.
           "Well he's given me mine back, I play for Highland, I am benched for drugs and alcohol, suspended for lying, I don't do anything to embarrass myself, my team, or my family not anymore, Highland Rugby Kia Kaha."

This quote really touched me. It made me reflect on my actions and the way I represent my team. After all, do we truly know which team we're on? Do we think about the way we represent ourselves, our families, and our team? What are we willing to do or give up for the cause? Are we willing to stand up for what we believe in the face of anything? Can we truly claim the motto, Kia Kaha?

As Coach Glewicx said, "I want you to be forever strong on the field so you'll be forever strong off it."

Becoming strong in all we do, solid, and dependable, forever strong. Kia Kaha.

Anyway, just food for thought . . . oh and I absolutely love the Haka.

-Natalie Cherie

Going Vintage with Lipstick!

So Brittney and I decided to have a huge vintage photo shoot. It as super fun, especially the part where I got to choose her clothes and do her make-up. And of course, the best part of any vintage look is the lipstick! I love lipstick and Brittney and I rocked it...perhaps we were just born in the wrong era. I'm definitely leaning towards the 40's on this one.

So for this set of pictures, I decided to go for the army cadet look. After all, with the 40s came the end of World War II. this is obviously not what any woman in the war would have looked like since they generally served with the Red Cross, so we'll just pretend. By the way, in the top right-hand corner I'm flying my airplane . . . just thought you'd like to know. :)

And finally a truly vintage look with crazy red hair. I'm still in denial since I've never seen my hair show up this red before in any picture. It was kind of like the first time I saw Lucille Ball from "I Love Lucy!" in color. Shocking? I agree. :) But no matter by this time Brittney and I were seemingly delirious and couldn't stop laughing except for the famous picture frame shot, thank heavens. ;) We were also very hyper due to . . .

THIS DESSERT!!!! Yes, I made it, and yes, it was indeed fantastic! :) And yes, the boys were very excited! Anyway, it was an epic day with an adventure into the past and delicious dessert. Enjoy!

-Natalie Cherie

Love is a Duet

I've never been one to openly long for the cliche but I've always secretly been a very deep romantic. I give Paige the credit for bringing this characteristic out in me. Though I have often proven to be skeptical of the idea of true love I've always been captivated by the kind of love that supersedes distance and remains true through any difficulty. In a world where love is sold nightly and thrown away daily, I think it is crucial that we remember what we are all looking for. Traditional practice such as dating, courting, asking father's permission, maintaining chastity, and even our definition of marriage are viewed as old-fashioned and outdated yet these things are the things that create a classic romance. One cannot long for the cliche knight in shining armor, white charger and all, unless they live and expect the character necessary to achieve it.

I think Shakespeare says it best in his 116th Sonnet: 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

   If this be error and upon me proved,

   I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

 Is it truly so cliche to long for love at first sight? Or the kind of love that makes you dance in the rain, smile and laugh when no one's around,? The kind of love that makes you dream for the first time, and makes you dance and skip as you walk? The kind of love that makes a home in your heart and mind to never leave again.? Perhaps the cliche is not ridiculous or unachievable. After all, it would not be cliche if it was not spoken of so consistently as the ideal...what we all really want. And perhaps it happens more than we think. 

I mean that's what love is. Love is a duet. The intertwining of two hearts to become one. Your best friend and the one person who might know you better than you know yourself. The person you'll always love, always need and always want.  The one person you'd give everything to and trust completely because you know they'll always be there, "For better for worse, I've got you." 

I often say the phrase, "I love love." And it's true. The most beautiful things in this world are the eyes of those in love. Holding hands, a homecoming, the last dance, a kiss goodnight or a knowing look. Watching someone receive a letter, giddily hiding a love note, or laughing at an inside joke. Shakespeare said, "They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar." And I think that's what everyone wants. The familiar voice, form, and hands of someone to help them overcome anything, to leave a note just because, and spend the rest of eternity with. I know that's what I want and I don't think we should ever forget what we are all working for. The perfect duet, singing even when separate and dancing even when difficult. A Love worth every beautiful moment of eternity, and a feeling that it would still not be long enough.

                                           

This is an episode off of a series called Legion of Extraordinary Dancers. I think it beautifully illustrates the powerful connection created in love.

-Natalie Cherie

Reminiscing over Italian Food

Today I cooked . . . a lot! I spent the early parts of the morning job hunting and applying seemingly everywhere. I'm pretty sure I've officially bbrokenthe 100 businesses-applied-to mark if not more. Afterwards ,I had a fantastic headache so I laid down and took a nap, something I haven't done in forever it seems. When I woke up I was quite famished so I went to the kitchen and decided to work some magic. I haven't really gotten to cook anything since coming home from college which has been quite alright with me until today. I was hit with a sudden attack of nostalgia and felt the need to make pasta (Annica this is your fault!). Thus, I got to work making Manicotti. This is the perfect meal to make when thinking of Annica because it uses the main ingredients of pasta, Italian seasoning, and spinach. But of course I couldn't stop there so I began making pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, and pumpkin chocolate chip bread, and eventually took the extra hamburger and made tomorrow night's dinner, Swedish Meatballs. This whole time I'm suffering from a severe case of nostalgia, thinking back on the many times I'd cooked with Paige and Annica, made pasta with Spencer and of course tried his surprisingly good vinegar (by the way white peach vinegar on ice cream is a little weird but definitely worth trying just giving you all the heads up), and when I ate Italian food at the dinner before Festival of Nations. Indeed it is a lot of remembrances to be remembered from a little Italian food.

Soon it was time to go to Brittney's concert. It was Choir Night, the last concert of the year. I was able to see all my old choirs perform and many of my younger friends as well. I even cried during Chamber Singers performance of Prayers of the Children. During the applause, I "yetied" and was excited to see all my friends' heads turn, recognizing my yeti call, and trying to search me out. Getting to hug Ashley, Averey, Erik, Tyson, Amanda, Melissa, Johnny, Kaylee, and Larissa, talking to Mr. Casperson and just being back was amazing. I couldn't help but reminisce about all the fun times I had last year and wish that Sarah was back here with me. But upon returning home to finally eat my delicious manicotti I was once again happily surprised by how content I was.

It reminds me of a song I wrote the summer after I graduated. It's called Memories and the chorus goes like this:

Life is making memories of people, places, moments, things,
That made an impression and taught a valuable lesson.
Never waste the time you'be been given, it's precious like the air you breathe in.
What matters the most are all the things that go into you Memories.

I was once told by someone very dear to me that "Love is measured by the memories you share." Love is memories. I've always loved that idea because in that statement we find support, comfort, and opportunity. By looking back on past friends, loves, and relationships we can find comfort in the memory for we were loved. By nurturing the friends, loves, and relationships we have now we find strength and support in our daily endeavors. And by looking towards future friends, loves, and relationships we face endless opportunity to create more memories. An endless circle of memories, love, and possibility; beginning for me with a little bit of pasta.

-Natalie Cherie

Guns and Cows? Only in Idaho . . .

Tanner, Jason, and Brittney in the Snake River Canyon

So last Friday I got to go on a date with Will Kezele. It was super fun! We started out at Cafe Rio, a local Mexican Restaurant. Then we headed across the bridge to the shooting ranges out in the fields. Luckily, he'd brought handguns so I could aim at least a little. I'm right handed but left eye dominant so when shooting or doing archery I have to shoot left handed so I can align my sights with my left eye. In archery this poses no problem, I just get to shoot with a left-handed bow, awkward feeling most definitely, but hey at least I can aim. But when shooting rifles, it's always a hassle. Almost all guns are right handed (at least the ones I've shot with) and so I generally can't hit a thing or have to shoot a right handed gun left handed.
Handguns pose no such problem! I can align with my left eye while holding with my right hand and do great. I think my favorite gun to shoot, or at least the one I'm most accurate on would be a Glock 9 mil. but revolvers make you feel so cool! It's kind of that Sherlock Holmes feeling or perhaps I should say Judd Law since he generally handles the revolvers. The trigger is a little heavy which was weird to get used to but the concussion from the shot is awesome. Unfortunately about half way through our shooting a cow appeared at the top of the range. We couldn't shoot for fear of a bullet ricocheting off the rock and into the cow and because it had two calves and we were afraid it would charge in defense of them, and then Will would have to shoot it. Due to open range laws in Idaho, the law would probably favor the cow and its owner and not us. Thankfully the cow eventually left but not for long. On our way out we were trapped by a bunch of cows on the road. One cow was being super stubborn so it just stood there for the longest time, staring down our car, but not without getting all the other cows out of the way first. It jumped on one of the cows standing by it! It literally jumped on the other cow, yes, it was quite startling.

Living in Idaho has always been an experience, made better by the fact that my entire family loves to make fun of it, but now that I'm back from Utah I am reminded just how different things can be. Idaho has a singular beauty. Harvest season is my favorite time of year here, when the winter's dead, brown fields are suddenly alive with the swaying greens and golds of wheat, alfalfa, and corn. Crop dusters and huge irrigation pipes are everywhere turning our desert into a farming empire. Out in the country seeing families riding horses down the road is common and getting stuck behind a 5-10 mph tractor is an evil necessity. Southern Idaho is also almost totally flat making it perfect for tumbleweeds (very unlike the mountains in Utah). A lot of kids come to school in their cowboy garb and hunting clothes, and occasionally a kid will get in trouble for forgetting to take their hunting rifle out of their car (and yes, I've even seen duck whistles, camping axes, and hunting knives). Eating potatoes with every meal is no big deal, I mean potato donuts...delicious! The County Fair is the highlight of every year and half of the kids at school are simply not there because they're selling their cows and competing with livestock. Windy days are every day at an average of 10-20 mph and occasional microbursts with winds from 50-75 mph are not really so surprising anymore. At an Athletic Coach banquet I attended with my dad, they served us thick slabs of venison deer meat, and having political views contrary to the stereotypical republican candidate is practically a sin. And yes, one can even witness a cow molesting another cow. Suddenly the phrase, "Only in Idaho . . ." has more meaning cause some things are really found only in Idaho.

-Natalie Cherie