the pilgrims and the indians

Thanksgiving is a ritual from which I will never tire.
Turkey, naps, talking philosophy with Dad, building shelves for the storage room, watching a dozen movies, watching BYU win a clutch football game, watching my wife finally get the rest she deserves, talking libertarianism with Jana, spare time, observing the mastery of Mom's cooking, recalling past events and memories, visiting friends, tossing the football with Kimball, freezing mountain air, sweet Utah water, watching Ki become the too-cool teenager, and just kickin it. Thanksgiving is actually a lot like Christmas...but without all the anxiety and commercialism.
My favorite quote of the week: "oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was still talking." --Kimball (after I kept interrupting his story)
My favorite moment: Jes sleeping through the entire night (and most of the morning) without coughing or vomiting
My other favorite moment: eating inordinate amounts of food (and not vomiting myself)

A crystal ball darkly...

I’d like to respond to Bryan’s comment to my 90’s rant… Here’s what he wrote:

"Lately, I am more concerned with whether or not I will have grandkids around to ask me those questions. After reading the road, I wonder if the time will come that i will have to literally rally around my family with a pocket full of shells. I think the genX prophets of the nineties are more like Yeats than Keats. I think they saw the beast slouching towards bethlehem. I think they saw things fall apart, and like a rat in cage, they couldnt do anything about it. Why else would they want to be raped? Why else would they teach us to settle? If there really are no better men, if jesus really doesnt want me for a sunbeam, then why should I care, why should i not come down from my cloud and wallow in the shadows of my black holed sun. Blake said that if the doors of perception were open and men they would see things as they really are: infinite. the genX prophets doors were open, they saw the infinite bleakness and embraced it."

All is true. I’ll respond to the bolded sentence.

Yes. Yeats was dismal, mostly mystical, and, I think, an appropriate predecessor to the poet-prophets of the 90’s. He was so beautifully tragic. He was obsessed with the same woman for most of his life and proposed to her on four separate occasions (and denied every time). After she married and had a family, Yeats pursued the only suitable substitute…her daughter. Yeats was an emotional mess. It’s no wonder his poems are laced with such pathos. In my mind Yeats was Cobain’s dark angel—sitting over his shoulder whispering words of quiet rebellion.

Keats on the other hand…was the young master. Keats would have been another Shakespeare had he lived past 25. He wrote too hard. He bled all of his life into his poetry and couldn’t sustain the daily breathing. Yeats said Keats wrote with “deliberate happiness.” Unlike the other romantics, Keats lived his tragedy but wrote his fantasy. So…I retract my original analogy. I don’t think Keats parallels the Xer prophets. I think we’ve yet to see his equal. Perhaps—after the postmodernists have had their say—the new millenials or po-po-mos (post-postmodernists) will birth the next Keats.

That gives me hope.

The Fat Lady Vent...

Pregnancy isn't all flowers and bubbles. I'm constantly irritated, constantly hungry, constantly antsy to find the nearest bathroom, and constantly trying to find time to sleep. Am and I have finally seen the first trimester chaos in action... from waking up 4 times in the middle of the night to eat, pee, and hover over the toilet to crying for no apparent reason and making rude/smart remarks back without being able to hold my tongue... or even wanting to. The only thing that keeps me from crying when I attempt to zip up my pants in the morning (only to be held together with a rubber band) is the thought that maybe... just maybe... the lovely lil slug growing will appreciate all my effort one day. Maybe lil slug will love me and turn out just the way we planned. We all know that doesn't always happen, but here's to the bright side of my irritated side! To the future! Cheers!

8 Weeks!

For those of you who would like to be updated on how lil slug is doing, I have decided to give a weekly update thanks to 3D Pregnancy.com. I am due June 21st, so I am now 8 weeks (and 2 days) pregnant. Here is slug's growth for the week...

"By now your baby is approximately three-quarters of an inch (2 centimeters) long and weighs about a gram. He keeps on developing at a rapid speed: the beginnings of a skeleton are being created, with cartilage prior to the actual formation of bones. The little heart has started beating at about 60 times a minute, the stomach produces gastric juices, the liver makes blood cells and the brain starts working. Now the resemblance to a tadpole is quite clear, because webbed fingers and toes appear on the hands and feet! In the meantime, your little bean is growing pretty fast: less than two weeks ago he was the size of a grain of rice, now he's as big as your thumbnail."

Keep praying that everything will go as smoothly as it has so far!

Love you all!

Jes, Am, & Slug

p.s.

I'm gonna be a daddy.

Jefferson v. Adams

I read in TIME yesterday about the different political approaches of rivals Jefferson and Adams. I remember reading a biography by McCullough about Adams years ago and being completely surprised with the contradiction of the two founding fathers, in personality and conviction. Jefferson seemed (and still seems) to me as this young, sly wordsmith with a flair for literature and a tendency to go into debt. Adams on the other hand was a farmer, a tiller of the earth, a man who knew the value of hard work. He wrote like he talked—spouting his thoughts on the page without revision. (Jefferson wrote as if every personal letter would one day be published). Adams was also a tremendous lawyer and actually defended the British soldiers accused in the Boston Massacre. Adams died without debt; Jefferson accrued debt until his dying day—at one point selling some of his book collection to buy back his credibility. Jefferson and Adams: sometimes friend, sometimes foe, and prominent pageant pieces in our history classes. And I can’t help but look at these legendary personalities and wonder who would have had my vote. Of course, today’s politics seem so much more decisive, so polarizing. But isn’t it so American to think how much more virtuous, centered, and inspired politics were back then. (I guess somebody just forgot to put the clause in the constitution about abolishing slavery). For the record, I would have voted for Adams for a term, and then Jefferson. Exactly how it turned out. Weird.

I aint got no crystal ball

The 90’s have been a lot on my mind lately. What a romantic period—a period of individualistic, self-consuming, imaginative poets and prophets. A revolution of generation Xers too depressed to walk outside their doors and pick up the paper and scan the news headlines about people whose lives veered even more tragic. These middle children of history had only the voices in their heads to keep them company. They were the bringers of rain—the lithium dazed but emotive storytellers and songwriters of our time. And their songs sliced our hearts with splintering lyrics and choking throats. They were destined to die young and alone, like predecessors Poe, Shelley and Keats. And like Blake they refused to become enslaved by societal standards (instead enslaving themselves). Years from now, when our grandchildren ask about the music of the “old days,” we will (in proper cliché) wonder what they must be learning in school if not the classics. Perhaps the teachers have forgotten our romantic heritage, abandoning their dusty albums next to dusty books of poetry.

Not me.

I still remember the metaphors. The vampire worlds, the bulls on parade, the cancer turning black. I recall the smell of teen spirit and the effects of glycerine. I’ve seen champagne supernovas and people drawing blood under the bridge. I’ve walked through a forest of fake plastic trees.

You Guessed It!

The recently added ticker is for the baby that's growing in my lil (and by lil I mean ginormous already) belly. We're unbelievably excited and feel blessed to have followed inspiration! Pray for us and for our lil slug! Love you all!

Jes, Am, and slug