stars

I've been in California, and I've learned a lot this summer. I've learned a lot things that I didn't (or don't) know - I feel like life is more exciting that way. For example, I learned that another person's actions (whether or not you consider them moral) are not necessarily indicators of their morality; the same experience taught me I want to meet a wider range of people, not make assumptions and go camping more. I've learned that I don't know yet how to wash a car very well. Hopefully that will change this fall. I've learned that I can be responsible for my own actions and resulting happiness or lack thereof. I have not learned to go to bed on time, eat healthy food, or go running on a consistent basis, but I have taked steps towards them. I have learned that the world is a galactic ocean full of things I am completely unaware of. In addition, I now know that I love the movie 'meet me in st. louis,' and I come from a family of people who like a cold house.
I have also found that life is often a process of relearning. I am learning a little bit again of how to walk to the edge of the light and step into the dark, and then keep breathing. I know God is in light - I think that's why he gave us the stars.

The song in my head at the end of finals

Alison Krauss and Union Station - Crazy as Me

I'm used to being alone.
Except for six month playings without rings and phone bills that I've waited for.
This is the life that I choose.
I got no complaints if he is;
if he ain't, I guess he'll send me a rose.

Just don't ask me for the truth if you choose to lie honey.
And don't try to open my door with your skeleton key.
Some folks seem to think I only got one problem.
I can't find nobody as crazy as me.

I still love what I know.
I love to ride alone and sing a song and listen to the radio.
You can ride alone and if you change your mind, well, that's just fine,
But there is somethin' that you got to know.

Just don't ask me for the for the truth if you choose to lie honey.
And don't try to open my door with your skeleton key.
Some folks seem to think I only got one problem.
I can't find nobody as crazy as me.

Just don't ask me for the for the truth if you choose to lie honey.
And don't try to open my door with your skeleton key.
Some folks seem to think I only got one problem.
I can't find nobody as crazy as me.

Grow a garden

I had an idea a few weeks ago that I've been mulling over and I think i'm going to try and research. Since I came to college, I have started to really miss dirt. I know, I know, there's dirt everywhere - but the only dirt I can lay claim to is in a pot. (well, that and the dirt on my skin after I roll around on the grass). Anyway, I have a deep seated urge that won't go away to make something grow. I have an aloe vera plant right now, and that's wonderful, but I wonder if living in apartments is necessarily means you can't have a garden. A little while ago some byu students in married housing rented a plot in orem and are starting to grow a community garden together - that's somewhat along the lines of what I've been thinking. What if BYU got a plot of land, either close to campus or somewhere else, and students could grow fruits and vegetables in it? Even if it was for a class, like the display gardens at BYU Idaho, students who grew the food could either pay for space and then eat what they grew, or BYU could employ students to grow things and then sell the produce. Either way, I think a friday or saturday fruit and vegetable market for BYU students would be SO cool - it would let students practice life skills and grow their own food and save money and connect to each-other and their environment. The market could be on or near campus, or even wherever that land would be that BYU found (I think the closer it is to campus, though, the more people will know about it and come). I talked about this to my mom, and she suggested that students could sell their crafts and other things at a market - paintings, jewelry, etc. I'm sure there are already things like this in Provo, and byu might even have some, but I just don't know about it. Anyway, I think I'm going to do some more pontificating and research, and then talk to BYUSA about it. If I figure out a good plan, I think this is something I'd be very willing to go to bat for. Thoughts, anyone? Anyone at all? Please?

a sentimental and not very well worded post from jessie

SO....

I would like to take this opportunity to announce that from now on, I will be updating my blog weekly. I am going to transition my blogging habits from assignment-status to healthy-fulfilling-habit status. ( :
Today is a friday, and I am contemplating the weekend ahead. It should be full and exciting and busy. I'm going to have to remember to put my homework first. By which I mean Actually and Honestly put it first, so I will enjoy having fun without feeling guilty. That's the plan, anyway. I have a spanish test on monday, which means that following this plan may in fact be very important to me.
Yesterday I was introduced to Miss Saigon and Les Miserables, courtesy wikipedia and youtube. In light of my newly acquired culture, and also because I have a friend who has been playing the guitar a lot lately, I have been contemplating the beauty of when someone is really good at something they love. I think my zen parents would call the genius I am admiring the result of 'flow.' I want another word, though, for my intense reaction to observing said flow. Maybe that feeling of inspiration comes from watching human potential. Maybe it's a survival/mating instinct that draws me to ally myself with someone that is strong and skilled. Maybe, when watching beauty makes feel beautiful inside. ( :


-jessie

I'm almost done with finals!!!! or, "When I Leave this Old Red Couch"

So, this is the last essay I wrote for my wilderness writing class........here we go! (It's not really an essay, more of a reflection. but that's alright, because I really like the title.)

Jessie Riddle
Professor John Bennion
Wilderness Writing

When I Leave this Old Red Couch

My mother always told me that, “you never find yourself when you’re looking.” I guess I have been looking for me, trapped inside my head. I am sitting on an old red couch in a messy dorm room kitchen, reaching the end of my written odyssey and surrounded by half eaten food and half formed ideas. I examine what I have written. My college professors taught me never to use cliché’s in an essay. Or metaphors. But in four months of class discussions, solitary analysis and written self exploration, I have learned that literary rules are made to be not merely broken but danced with in the light of extended reflection. So in the pursuit of unique and profound writing I have explored the power of language to shape thought. I have wondered about what the impact of a decreasing vocabulary has on emotional depth, and I have considered the value of shocking an audience into attention, and I have contemplated the power of an essay to repulse and then inspire me within the space of a paragraph.
In my writing, I have discovered that I can build an essay. I had previously thought that a personal narrative was something I had to pull, mostly formed and in all its purity from inside my soul. When I was forced to keep pulling out essays, I realized that I couldn’t just let them come to me – I would have to create my essays, piece by piece. In the process of construction, I have watched and learned from numberless techniques of other writers, but I feel like I am finally beginning to find my voice as a writer. I have discovered that my voice needs a lot of revision, and also to embrace it.
Long after I have forgotten most of the scribbles in my well-loved black writing journal, I will remember what I thought about every Tuesday and Thursday for four months – that the form of an essay mirrors its content. Realizing this has allowed me to see my own writing and others’ more clearly, and thus become a better editor. Realizing that the theme of my essay will lend its strengths and weaknesses to the sentence structure lets me guess at flaws in my writing that are in my blind spots.
Looking for things to write about me, I got lost, way up in the Uintah mountains. I didn’t know where I was on a map geographically, and I couldn’t find myself on a page emotionally. At first I looked only for a small emotional shelter that I could hide behind; I found silence. I am not normally a quiet person, but in this unfamiliar situation with unfamiliar people I thought I could learn with less risk by just watching. This worked to an extent – when I said nothing, I started to realize things about myself that my chatter had disguised, and I could better appreciate the aching beauty of white peaks piercing a cold and bright blue sky. But by the time we got back to the vans and were leaving the mountains, I realized that I can’t remain silent. I need to learn how to engage other people in conversation with the same level of peace that I listen to them – I needed to learn how to talk without feeling the need to compensate for my exposed vulnerabilities.
In the middle of a Saturday spent typing away at my deeply rooted emotional issues, I walked to Rock Canyon park and had a testimony meeting with my student ward. The sun had just gone down, and the grass was cold, and in the darkness houses on the hills rose up to either side of us. Their bright windows of light looked like stars close to the earth. I stood at the foot of the grassy hill, looking up at the people, sitting in darkness, that I had only begun to know, and waited a while for words to come. I thought about the open space for thought I had found in places with only snow and ice, and about my nights on the porch of a yurt, freezing in a sleeping bag and watching the stars move across the sky. I thought about how insecure I had felt this semester because I was young and inexperienced and immature and from Utah, and about how I’d written countless times and in countless ways that I had forgotten how to like myself. I looked back up at the dark sillouhettes in front of me.
“I am grateful, because I have learned that all things testify of God. And I think, now, at the end of my freshman year, I am finally beginning to see that God wants us to trust him, but that he also wants us to trust ourselves.”
Now, back in my messy kitchen and still on the red couch, I can feel the wind on my face as I stood on the hill and declared trust in myself. A semester of writing has helped me to better know this girl sitting on the couch – both her strengths and weaknesses. My father told me, though, that honesty is part of trust, and so I will continue to recognize my mistakes without forsaking my trust. I’m not sure what will happen now, when I save this document and get off the couch, but I am excited to find out.

"it is the tradition of north americans to complain"

So, we had a wonderful class today - our last one in government. We talked about the readings (which I unfortunately didn't finish all of this week) and the byu club Free the Slaves and Lincoln's second inaugural address. As we finished class, Dr. Holzapfel was talking about what we can do as students, and he while telling a story he said something along the lines of 'it is the tradition of north americans to complain.' I found this remarkably appropriate, in terms of timing and its accuracy. Right now we are verging on finals, and lots of things seem like really big deals that just aren't. All of my life's little details choke the meaning out surprisingly quickly. It feels very difficult sometimes to reach out beyond today and beyond myself to get and keep perspective - to have a sense of things that really matter. *sigh* I know this blog sounds perishingly rote and cliche, but this is something I've thought a lot about - how to use your life to follow meaningful things, instead of adding them on as an afterthought.
As I read the South Carolina order for secession today, it was really striking how passionately convinced the author sounded of everything he was saying - things that to me are completely alien beliefs. (I.e., black people are inherently and eternally a subspecies) Sort of like last week, when I studied the religious revivals, I was reminded that because belief is powerful, it's dangerous.
So, bringing these two thoughts The first step is probably trying to be aware of what we're choosing to focus on and what we're choosing to believe. But after that - for me personally ( I think that these strategies differ from person to person), I think the second step has two parts - setting specific time to meditate and think things through, and then taking action based on those mediations. It's a tricky balance between listening to the truth inside of yourself and being aware of your blind spots. I hope that balance will be a life-long effort for me. My third step is that when I learn, I don't learn unless I remember. So write it down! Unless I write something down and make a concerted effort to implement it into my thoughts and actions, it disappears from my plane of consciousness; thus, it can be part of me, but it can't help direct my life.
(Btw, Kennedy, thank you for reading this) ( :

american Government post

I commented on dana bogart's blog - http://danasgovblog.blogspot.com/. ( : Cheers!