notes from the underground--grad school edition, volume 10.

last weekend i took a weekend trip with gradschoolbffallyson to her home in vernal.
we laughed, talked, and slept.
played games and took walks.
boated and roasted s'mores.
oh, and we studied.
a lot.

that whole big-exam-on-a-monday-in-the-summertime thing can be a real bleen, you know?
(motorspeechisarealkillerrrrrrr.)

people laughed when i told them.
ha. right. vacation. boating. like you're actually going to study.

ha, is right.
joke's on you.
exam aced.

also, turns out vernal is a hidden gem.
and i'm obsessed with their balconies, sunrises, and sunsets.

kremilyferightnow in a nutshell:

i stay up late and get up early.
i write a lot of soap notes. (when i die, you could bury me in all the documentation.)
i work play with a lot of preschoolers. (literally 70% of my grad school client tx hours.)
i fall asleep accidentally. (#noregrets)
i complete a lot of online additional requirements. (whatisupwiththissemesterandonlineadditives??)
i spend a lot (a looooooot) of time on i-15.
i take sanity breaks. (like aforementioned spontaneous trip to vernal.)
i worry about the future. (don't even get me started.)
i try not to think too far ahead.

whether or not i'm actually learning anything or growing in my abilities as a clinician?
to be determined. #workingonit

you really must be tired.
what you wrote was completely lacking
any of your usual flowery language.
--my m.

^^this is actually where we're at in america (and krem's grad schooling) today.
#realtalk
[and for the record, i don't one bit regret today's accidental almost-two-hour nap.]

also, in july we can start saying that there's only 10 months left until graduation.
and in august we're in the single digits.
not that anyone's counting.
(we're totally counting. and trying to avoid drowning along the way.)

contentment is:

waking up to bright natural light flooding a room. sunny and calm saturday mornings, you know?

sheep. my inexplicable fetish with sheep. (and the little ducklings!)

laying in the grass to do a little talking with the sun.

the scent of spring wafting through the air.

tomorrow being may day. we all know how i adore mymay.

sunshine breathing air into my soul, keeping me alive.

come the may, i say.

carry on.

head up, eyes open. (because we are members of the human race.)

after awhile you learn 

the subtle difference 

between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning

and company doesn't mean security.

and you begin to learn

that kisses aren't contracts

and presents aren't promises,

and you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes open

with the grace of a woman, 

not the grief of a child.

and you learn

to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow's ground is

too uncertain for plans

and futures have a way

of falling down in mid-flight.

after awhile you learn

that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

so you plant your own garden

and decorate your own soul,

instead of waiting

for someone to bring you flowers.

and you learn

that you really can endure.

that you really are strong.

and you really do have worth.

and you learn and learn.

with every goodbye you learn.

jorge luis borges.

- - -

this poem has been stuck in my head the last few days. for a myriad of reasons.

(literally. the other night i woke up at 3:30 in the morning

with a few lines from it running through my head. #whatislyfe)

megs discovered it and shared with me while i was still in ukraine, after she no longer was.

ever since reading it that very first time from a jank little internet club in ukraine--i've loved it.

and so we plant our own garden and build all our roads on today, 

decorating our own souls and learning those subtle differences that give the grace of a woman.

because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain--why wait for someone else to bring you flowers?

my slc. | october's gold.

when i am among the trees,

especially the willows and the honey locust,

equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,

they give off such hints of gladness.

i would almost say that they save me, and daily.

i am so distant from the hope of myself,

in which i have goodness, and discernment,

and never hurry through the world

but walk slowly, and bow often.

around me the trees stir in their leaves

and call out, "stay awhile."

the light flows from their branches.

and they call again, "it's simple," they say,

"and you too have come

into this world to do this, to go easy, to be filled

with light, and to shine."

when i am among the trees, mary oliver.

sunday evenings, you know?

He RELISHES your potential.

that future comes alive when you do more than just exist.

divine nature ignites--discover the depth.

rosemary m. wixom.

sense the sacred.

these trials are the very things that qualify us.

keep the vision of our Father's promised rewards in front of us.

linda s. reeves.

see in one another the beauty of the soul.

in partnership with the Almighty.

in the work of salvation, there's no room for comparison.

shine with the beauty of holiness.

God delights.

carol f. mcconkie.

dearest, God is near.

embrace truths. not only with mind, but also with heart.

the sound of her laughter filled the house.

eva herself was happier, whenever [great aunt rose] was around.

moving forward and upward, focus on the wonders and miracles of life.

God didn't design us to be sad. He created us to have joy.

eventually there was something that turned my whole life around:

FAITH. and faith led to HOPE. and faith and hope gave me confidence.

now is part of eternity.

faith gave me the hope i needed to live joyfully now, filling my life with meaningful things.

dieter f. uchtdorf.

(women's conference + sunday glows from the front porch.)

your soul you must keep, totally free.

walking home down second has become my new favorite pastime. 

the square around president's circle. 

the gentle calm of a friday afternoon. 

the stairs leading down at the steepest part of the hill. 

color. so much color and quaint charm in these houses. 

the golden autumn sun and crisping air. 

greens interspersed with gold and rust. 

the grassy space with two people out with their dogs playing. 

bean's traveling playlist on spotify. 

silent smiles shared with the man at the coffee shop on the corner. 

the dragonfly in the wind. 

glorious homes hidden behind hedges and giant blueberries. 

silent smiles shared with the older man who lives a few houses down and is often out on his porch swing.

the wind on my soul walking home. 

let it seep into your bones.

this beautiful neighborhood.

these beautiful things.

remember this.

my slc. | nine and nine.

a new country lay open before me: there were no fences in those days,

and i could choose my own way over the grass uplands, trusting the pony to get me home again.

sometimes i followed the sunflower-bordered roads.

fuchs told me that the sunflowers were introduced into that country by the mormons;

that at the time of the persecution when they left missouri and struck out

into the wilderness to find a place where they could worship God in their own way,

the members of the first exploring party, crossing the plains to utah,

scattered sunflower seeds as they went. the next summer,

when the long trains of wagons came through with all the women and children,

they had a sunflower trail to follow.

i believe that botanists do not confirm jake's story but,

insist that the sunflower was native to those plains.

nevertheless, that legend has stuck in my mind,

and sunflower-bordered roads always seem to me the roads to freedom.

( some people have a thing for ferry boats. 

i have a thing for quaint and charming homes. somanyhearteyes. )

i was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins,

and i did not want to be anything more. i was entirely happy.

perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire,

whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge.

at any rate, that is happiness;

to be dissolved into something complete and great.

when it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.

willa cather, my ántonia (both quotes.)

inspired by this lovely space.

buckets.

the thing about the orem location of one of my jobs this summer, 

is that it's meant being able to see megs so often because of proximity to her home.

which is to say, it's practically down the street.

a hop, skip, and a jump, if you will.

(the armknechts love me. obviously.)

i have a million things worth writing about, 

and i'm hoping i eventually get around to it.

but until then, we must be satisfied with snippets.
including the fotochki from some mountainingwithmeg.

because what's a blog for, if not for a vain gathering of photos of yourself and those you love?

come on. 

it's for posterity's sake, guys.

you know?
and because we like swings and parks and shakes and mountains and sunflowers.
and each other, obviously.

and there's for our vanity's sake.

because isn't megs a baaaabe?

(we're so vain. and the song actually is about us.)

it's mostly for posterity.

but maybe alittlebit because we and the mountains are pretty.

because life is about finding whatever it is that fills your bucket, you know?
like days with meglet.
snoconesandshakesandmountainsandlaughs.