Two Years



Brett, our almost-brother, and Brent


Can you just take a look at that grin? Does it take your breath away like it does mine? When I saw this picture earlier this week after Brett posted it to my Facebook wall, I was shocked to immediately burst into tears. It was the grin that stabbed me in the heart, that infectious grin that I haven't seen for two years. I sat at my kitchen table with saltwater pouring down my face. Sophie saw what was on the screen and put her arm around me. I caught my breath, dried the tears and closed the screen.

We miss him. We miss him dreadfully. It's terrible that he's missed two of his birthdays, two Christmases, two new babies (a niece and a nephew that he would have adored,) not to mention so much laughing, so many conversations, games of Big Boggle, boy movies with all the brothers, brothers-in-law and Josh, family dinners...oh, too too many things.

I've been thinking about the Jack Gilbert poem I posted a few weeks ago, especially these lines:

We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.

So today I decided to delight, to accept my gladness and grab the joy there is all around me, to remember my little brother by living fully and happily. I ran and hiked on another gorgeous trail near our home, talking to him about how much we miss him, how much he would enjoy the kids right now. I bought wildflower seeds to scatter. We nixed the yard work and cleaning. David and I went to breakfast with friends, then took Josh to The Avengers. I took Sophie and a friend to City Creek and to my favorite gelato place. I ate blackberry cobbler. I took pictures of the sunset. We watched a family DVD with the kids. I read to Ben and snuggled Kate. And through it all, I remembered him.
 
One of the hardest lessons I've learned through the last two years is that there is no safe and easy path through life. The world can indeed be a ruthless furnace, but every day we accept that truth and love our time here anyway is a day to celebrate. And so today I celebrated Brent, his life, and the fact that I loved him so much that his loss has created this hole. Holes left in our hearts are the proof of loving recklessly, with abandon, despite the risk of pain. The hole of his life is huge in our family's collective hearts because we loved him hugely. I would rather love hugely and risk huge pain than live a quiet, safer, subdued life with a quiet, safer, subdued heart. I may not have felt that way earlier in this journey, but I now make this conscious choice every day: to love, to cherish, to risk.
 
Rest well, my sweet little brother. You are missed. You are loved.

Another poem

Yesterday morning, I read this post at Segullah. It knocked me over.

The whole post is beautiful, so read it, but the poem...oh, the poem...

So here it is. (And I promise that my next few posts will be less heavy. My life is full of light and fun and spring rebirth and music and teenagers rolling their eyes at me and so much laughing...it's not all philosophy and pain. Really, it's not.)

A Brief for the Defense

by Jack Gilbert

Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that’s what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.

Ten More Things That Make Me Terribly Happy

1. When Ben wakes up in the morning, throws his arms around me and says, "I LOVE you, Mom."
2. Listening to Kate read out loud with INFLECTION.
3. Dancing with Sophie. Or, really, watching Sophie dance.
4. Laughing with Josh. And watching him drink eggnog. That kid seriously has a problem with eggnog.
5. SYTYCD. I know. It's a little embarrassing. Also, Sue Sylvester.
6. Dawn rising over the mountains during an early morning run, especially a run I didn't especially want to get up for. The dawn makes it worth it. Usually. OK, always.
7. David's happiness.
8. Christmas traditions.
9. The chukars that have been living in our neighborhood. I didn't know what they were. Then I thought they were wild turkeys. Then my hunter neighbor told me they were chukars and that they are delicious under glass. I told him I preferred them in my backyard, and he laughed and promised not to shoot any of the neighborhood chukars. I'm very glad. (They might also be rock partridges, but chukar is a funnier word.)
10. My huge extended family. Both sides. Hooray for big loud generally happy families.

Facing the Fear

So I was pretty freaked about my long run last week. The unknown...it can be a little unnerving, can't it?

I didn't sleep well. I set my alarm for 4:15 to eat a little, drink some water, and take some Imodium (don't ask), then I went back to sleep, or what might pass for sleep, until 5:40. I had many nightmares of the running variety...making everyone wait, missing the meeting place or time, running in strange places.

And then I woke up, strapped on my watch and did it. Not only did I do it, I kind of blew my expectations out of the water. I kept my pace slow enough that I made it to sixteen miles instead of the fourteen I'd planned and didn't even feel wiped out.

Dang. It was really cool.

So last night I wasn't as freaked. And today Liz and I hit seventeen, including some wicked hills, and I picked up the pace just a teeny bit.

It was really cool.

I think a little fear never hurts. It kind of keeps things interesting, anyway, and it lets me know that I'm trying something new, something a little out of my comfort zone.

So hooray for you, fear. I'll be expecting you the night before the marathon. And then we'll have to figure out another way to shake things up, because, well, I'd rather hang with a little fear than a lot of boredom.

Old Dog Update

After I finished my last post, I spent some time sitting next to Tally, crying my eyes out, preparing myself for the worst. I felt worn out when I crawled into bed. Emotionally spent.

This morning, after I carried her (all sixty pounds of her) outside to lay in the shade, I went inside to get her blanket. When I came out, she wasn't where I had put her. She had gotten up, walked slowly to the gravel area she uses as her bathroom, and was taking care of business. She then slowly and unsteadily walked back to where I stood. I was cheering and clapping and making a remarkable fool out of myself. She just kind of looked at me funny.

She ate the wet food I gave her and drank water. She moved to shadier areas when the path of the sun stole her shade.

She has some fight left! Way to go, old dog. We love you.

Wasatch Back 2009

The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

The parts:

12 girls.
2 vans (OK, one van and one SUV).
188 miles.
30 hours and 43 minutes.
Gatorade.
Little sleep.
Lots of cheering.
Bagels and cold pizza.
Hills and valleys and cities and pastures.
Crazy Utah weather.

The whole:

Amazing.
Inspiring.
Hysterical.
Overwhelming.
Hot.
Cold.
Dry.
Wet.
Exhausting.
Painful.
Blissful.

Mostly blissful.




This was not really about running really fast or trying to get a PR (good thing, too, or I would be disappointed). This was about pushing ourselves further than we thought we could and learning a lot about ourselves and our teammates in the process.

I was so impressed with the women I ran with. Our van was supportive and happy and funny and kind and interesting. Malisa survived on 30 minutes of sleep, did almost all of the driving, and cheered on Marianne through her nearly 10 miles in the middle of the night when the rest of us had crashed. Marianne ran those 10 with a migraine, and kept a good attitude. Cody and Malisa had never run distances before. Cody had an amazing climb, which she did with a smile. Malisa nailed her climb at 1:30 am. Mindy didn't seem to mind hanging with a bunch of women over 30, and had the best deep, dark secret by far. And Christa was just an animal. AMAZING. Fast. And funny.

When we met Van 1 at our first exchange, it looked as if none of them had run a mile. They looked gorgeous and maybe just a little bit tired. Julie ran up a dusty nasty hill and her hair looked better than mine ever does. Katie has a nursing baby and fed her at various points on the trail, and still managed to conquer a crazy hill on Saturday. Marysa fought bronchitis through the whole race. Tricia was always smiling, and man, that girl has biceps. And Bliss and Liz...what can I say about these two? I can say this. They both ran more than 18 miles for their own legs, but then when we got to Guardsman Pass, they jumped in our van to help support us. Liz ran with Marianne up part of her leg, and then they each hopped out and ran part of the way with me to help pace me. I know I was a little bit wacky and was talking all crazy philosophical junk and they just let me ramble on and on. Strong, beautiful women with huge hearts. And Liz, my co-captain...what a woman. I am blessed to be her friend. She ran with Marianne and me, like I said, but also with Tricia and Mindy. That is some huge team spirit.

So it all boils down to this. I started up Ragnar (my last leg, the second half of Guardsman Pass. 1700 foot gain over 4 miles. Gorgeous but nasty.), realizing that I wasn't going to be able to run the whole thing, but recognizing that it was OK, that I had worked hard to get there, and that my best effort was going to be enough. I've struggled with some internal battles in the last year. I have this crazy perfectionist in my head that keeps trying to convince me that I'm not quite there yet, that my efforts are not quite enough. As I ran and hiked, climbing this mountain, my iPod started playing "Falling Slowly" by Glen Hansard. The rain was falling, my feet were moving through the mud, and the music said:

"You have struggled enough
And warred with yourself.
It's time that you won."

Some big ol' cosmic yes welled up inside. All of the planning, all of the worry, all of the early morning training...it was all for that one moment. Will I forget this lesson? Oh, yeah, probably by next week. But one day, maybe it will sink in.

And here are some more Wasatch Back pictures:

I Won! I Won!

I never win anything! I won Katrina's first anniversary art giveaway! I am so excited. Shhhh...don't tell David, but I think I'll have her paint our first house as a Father's Day present for him.

Aren't I lucky? Don't you wish you were me?

Thank you, Katrina! I'm so excited!

Big Fish in a Little Pond

So the morning after the disappointment of the comp tryouts, Josh scored three goals in his last game of the season. Maybe this big fish/little pond stuff isn't so bad...

(Isn't he cute? I dig the kid.)

(Should I be calling him cute anymore? He's almost thirteen...when do I have to stop calling him cute?)

(But he is cute.)

All is Well

Don't despair. I am alive and kicking. The "aaarrrggghhh" of the last post was simply cosmic angst. OK, not so much cosmic angst as earthly hair-pulling. Preparing a house for selling is like the first couple weeks of braces...way worse than you think it's going to be, with pain that lasts weeks longer than it should.

I have amazing friends who have helped me through the process (and of course a husband who does more in one day than I accomplish in a week.) Thank you Malisa, and Prisca, and Christina, and Liz, and everybody else.

I'm going to cast a little special praise Malisa's way, though. Amazing woman...she installed baseboards (YES! She knows how to DO that!) in my sunroom one Saturday, and came back the following Monday to paint the baseboards and the walls. That Monday, she stayed from 9:15 until 3:00, helping me and Prisca throw things into closets when the realtor's photographer came two hours early to take pictures of my home. Then she came back later in the week, WITH LUNCH, and reorganized my entire toy closet. Remarkable.

How did I end up with friends like these? Grace. Pure and simple.

Cast out of Eden

So it's been mentioned that I have some pretty strong feelings about my neighborhood in general and my street in particular. It is with strong feelings that I reveal that we might be leaving my little inch of paradise.

I know many of you already are privy to this news, thanks to many tear-filled phone calls, word of mouth (news travels fast through the third grade grapevine), and a late-night Facebook confession.

But here's the whole story, nonetheless. Warning...I'm afraid I can't tell this story without veering into the spiritual realm. If that's off-putting, feel free to click here for a more secular (and much funnier) story about househunting. Actually, click on it, anyway. It's super funny.

You're back? OK...here is the story:

David and I love our home. However, a few years ago we started thinking about the little things we'd really like in our house, like a two-car garage, a master bathroom, more space for entertaining our big families and for our eventual teenagers to hang out. We've met with an architect, we've drawn up countless plans, and we knew just what we wanted to do to make our current home our forever home. That's been the plan. That's what we wanted.

In the last few months, we've started praying for some guidance in other areas in our lives. I've been praying for Heavenly Father to make our life path crystal clear. This was not about a move, but about some work-related issues, or at least that's what I intended the prayers to be about. At the same time, we've been talking about plans to start the add-on process. We figured that with interest rates as low as they are, there couldn't be a better time to take the equity in our home and make it all happen. But as we moved forward with those plans, we started hitting a few roadblocks, and we decided we'd better look at what existing homes were in the price range we'd be at after pouring money into an addition.

So we eventually ended up looking at two homes: one in Harvard/Yale, and one in North Salt Lake. We love Harvard/Yale. We actually got engaged on Yale, and we always thought if we left this area, that would be where we'd end up. North Salt Lake has been completely off my radar. I think I've been in the city once in my whole life. Somehow, though, we felt drawn to this certain house, and since NSL is so close to downtown, we thought we'd consider it.

We walked into the house on Laird, and knew it wasn't right. We walked into the house in NSL and I felt like I'd been hit over the head with a baseball bat. Within five minutes, I knew we had to make an offer on the house. It wasn't because it was spectacular (although it is lovely), it was because something bigger was pushing us in that direction. I felt it over and over again as we walked through the house.

I felt peaceful about it as we left the house, but I was really disturbed. I'm not a big fan of big houses on big hills. I'm not a big fan of non-walkable, non-diverse communities. I'm not a big fan of anywhere that's not similar to MY neighborhood. (Sorry, NSL people. No offense meant. I'm sure you're lovely people, and I'm looking forward to meeting you.) I fasted about it on Sunday, and felt like it was time for me to be stretched, but I was throwing an inner fit.

Monday I was a mess, and Tuesday was worse. David said he thought we should walk through again to decide if we really felt like we should make an offer. We did, and as we walked into the house again, I felt a spirit of peace just wash over me. So I signed the papers, and the rest was history.

Except then we had to tell people. Like Eric and Christina. And John and Katy. And Liz and Jeff. And...well, you all know who you are. It was AWFUL. AWFUL, I tell you.

And the kids were devastated. And then we told them the story, and then they were OK.

And then we drove up on Thursday night to show the kids. And afterward I sobbed for an hour. I don't want to leave my house, or my street, or my ward, or my neighborhood, or our schools, and especially not my friends and family. But apparently, this is what we're being directed to do, so I somehow need to adjust my attitude.

So that's the story. How it will end, I don't know. If our house doesn't sell, I don't have to move. The bishop threatened to take the sign off my lawn tomorrow. I figure if the bishop does it, it's totally OK, right?

Our Little Piece of Eden

We moved onto our street nearly nine years ago. We were excited to be in this area, especially after living in an area that was...hmmm...how can I put this?....unsavory. Unsavory might mean that there were 3 murders in the 3 blocks around our house in the 5 years we lived there, that our street was blocked off by SWAT teams more times than I can remember, once (or was it twice?) even trapping Eric & Christina at our house overnight, that I once walked into my backyard holding Josh to find a strange man looking back at me, and that our home was invaded by a gang that vandalized and burglarized us, leaving behind a gun for me to find a couple of months later. Yeah, it was unsavory.

So we eventually decided to find a new house, and moved onto our circle on July 3. The next day, on the Fourth of July, I walked to the park with my brother and the kids in the stroller and I was blown away by the people sitting on their porches, visiting with neighbors, exuding 1950's camaraderie. It just felt like I'd moved to a different planet, not just a neighborhood only three miles away.

And the love affair with my neighborhood has just bloomed. I love our school, and how so many moms hang out at the kindergarten gate and chat. I love my ward, and how we have original owners of the homes mixed with young couples just married. I love that there is a decent amount of diversity here (yes, we're still in Utah, and the majority of kids at our school are blond, but there's still more diversity than I expected.) I love how close we are to the mountains. I love how close David is to work. I love running up and down the streets and seeing so many other people doing the same thing.

But most of all, I love my neighbors. I LOVE MY NEIGHBORS! (Hey, guys! I know you're reading this. Didja catch that? YOU ARE AMAZING.)

When we had moved in, there were great people living on the street. Josh had plenty of playmates, and we had a wonderful time. We have loved so many people on this street, people who have come and gone, who we still love dearly. But it has never been better than it has been for the last few years. We are surrounded by amazing families who I trust completely, whose parenting meshes with mine, who have rescued me time and time again in so many circumstances, who have been there in horrible times and in great times. These are amazing people.

My favorite thing ever? Starting in the spring, as soon as it gets warm enough, night after night after night, we sit outside on the lawn, let the kids play until all hours, talk about everything and nothing, and just soak in the beauty of simple pleasures. Liz will make her zucchini chocolate cake. The babies will sit on blankets. John will bring out the portable fire pit and we'll make smores. David will set up the volleyball net and the kids will play badminton. The rollerblades go by, the bikes go by, the soccer ball comes out, the sidewalk chalk comes out. Summer barbecues, sleeping in tents in the backyard, Fourth of July picnics and watching fireworks on the lawn...there will never be anything like these nights.





I don't want to take this beautiful thing for granted. I know we are blessed. I think paying attention to the good things make them even more valuable. So here's my payment: Life is good. I recognize it. I honor it.

My Sweet Girls

This morning I walked in from a run to sounds of screaming and yelling from the general direction of my girls' room. This is not how I like to walk into my house. I would prefer to walk into a house full of happy, smiling children who are fully dressed with their teeth brushed and hair combed, preparing breakfast and setting the table (since I'm apparently living in dreamland, maybe they would also have finished their practicing and cleaned their rooms.) Has this ever happened? Of course not, but that doesn't stop me from fantasizing.

The girls were at that almost-fever pitch where they're not entirely sure why they're so mad, but they're just bugging each other more and more and spiraling nearly out of control. I let them know that they would be doing many extra jobs if they didn't quit it immediately. They didn't quit it immediately (why do I think they will?) and Kate will now be putting away laundry after school.

But three minutes later, Kate had made Sophie's bed, and Sophie was hugging her and saying thank you, and they were all of a sudden those happy, smiling children I would always love to have.

Life with these children is never boring. And sometimes it's so sweet.

(And sometimes it makes me want to hide somewhere dark and quiet for a few hours.)

A Boy and His Boots

Ahh, the joys of childhood obsessions. I LOVE the passions toddlers have for the most random things. Josh used to have a plastic fish that he called Gill (ha ha) and it slept on a tiny plastic skateboard for a few days next to Josh's pillow...

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Ben. Ben and his boots. This boy loves (adores) his boots, given to him by my friend Linda, whose son Andy also loved (adored) these boots. For the last six months, he has worn these boots 95% of the time that he's wearing shoes. They have been to church, on walks, to a wedding, to Disneyland, to bed, through snow, through rain, and everywhere else a little blondie boy can take them.

But, alas, sometimes the boots go missing. This is dreadfully disturbing to all of us. But Ben has found a way to survive without his cowboy boots. He borrows his sisters' boots.

These are Ben's boots:


These are not:


And neither are these:



How does he manage to pull off the hot pink snowboots or the gray and purple snowboots that go up to his knees? I'm not sure, but the kid has style.

Park City Getaway

Yesterday I headed up (By Myself) to Park City to meet Lyndsey, Debi, and Marissa to celebrate Lyndsey's birthday (I won't say which one, but it was a big one...). I drove (By Myself) with no radio on, no one talking, and no noise other than the gentle hum from the road under the tires. I thought big thoughts and small thoughts (By Myself) and didn't get interrupted by anyone, young or old.

We stayed in a lovely condo at the base of Main Street. We had dinner up the street, went to Albertson's to get treats and a movie, had cake and opened presents, talked, and watched a movie until almost 2 in the morning. I didn't have to brush anyone else's teeth, change any diapers, put any small people to bed and then put them back to bed and then back to bed again. I slept until 9 blessed 15 in the morning. Did you read that? 9:15. 9:15. 9:15. Ahhhhh...doesn't it sound lovely?

The others wanted McDonald's for breakfast, and I wanted a run. They dropped me off at Kimball Junction and I ran back to the condo. I took a shower in the empty condo, ate ice cream for breakfast (Cherry Garcia. Yummy.) and drove to the Outlet Mall to meet up with the others. I was BY MYSELF for more than TWO HOURS.

We shopped, we talked, I called David who said, "We're great. Stay longer," we had lunch, and I drove home in a quiet car, watching the windshield wipers move back and forth. Again, no radio, no talking, no noise. Bliss.

When I got home, I was greeted with hugs, kisses, and a clean closet, courtesy of my sweet David. Ben kept his arms around my neck for much of the next hour. And there was yelling, fighting, Ben slamming doors on Kate, people whining about having to work all day long, and various and sundry other complaints. And guess what? Still bliss. Life is supposed to be messy. We don't grow when it's easy. But that doesn't change the joy of a day of ease.

The Race

I just checked out my official race pictures from the half marathon on Saturday. You know, the ones the photographers take all along the route, including at the finish line, then post in hopes you'll spend a fortune on multiple poster-size pictures of yourself to hang all over your house? Yeah, those. Let me just say two words:

Truly Terrifying.

If that is how I look when I run, I may never run again. And no, I won't post a link. I am red-faced, white-armed, exhausted, sweaty, and scary. I look like I may just keel over at any moment. Somehow, when I picture myself running, I imagine that I have a lovely long stride, look ever-fresh, athletic, young and beautiful, and my face shows my glee to have the opportunity to enjoy the beauties of nature. The truth is hard to take.

But the race, overall, was a great experience. I love running with Liz, and she is an amazing friend. She stayed with me until I totally bonked and FORCED her to go on at about mile 10. It took much convincing, but she finally listened to her older, wiser (ahem) friend.

Good memories of the race: Seeing our friend Lesa before the race. Seeing how many thousands of people have worked so hard to accomplish a goal. Loving that the weather FINALLY turned decent. Conversations with Liz. Passing more people than last time. Turning onto 2700 South and seeing our families and friends cheering us on (what a joy). Powering up the hill on State Street and deciding that my hillwork has indeed paid off. Finishing almost 10 minutes faster than my PR. Malisa and Daniel finding us after the race after her very first 5K (which she did pushing her daughter in a stroller. Way to go, Malisa.) Seeing David, Sophie, my nephew Bryan (who finished his first half with multiple 2-inch blisters, but still managed a great time) and his family. Being reminded of what a gorgeous gorgeous valley I live in.

Not as good memories of the race: Really, just having to take a pitstop at 7-11 (yes, 7-11. Don't mock me.), feeling totally crummy for a couple of miles and not being able to make it under 2. Next time maybe I'll figure out how to avoid tummy troubles and I'll bury my PR again. Oh, and although I know Liz really meant it when she said she wanted to stay with me, I wish I'd made her leave a mile earlier, because then she would have made her goal. But she is truly a remarkable friend, and I am so grateful for her. (Oh, and she was even on the news. Maybe she won't talk to me anymore now that she's famous.)

In the middle of the race, I wondered why I do this when it feels so hard. And then I finished and knew I'd do it again. Some kind of crazy, I guess.

Easter Weekend Pictures

The neighborhood egg hunt, the Ingham egg hunt, Kate's birthday and Easter...so busy and so much fun.

Recital Program and Program Notes

(If you've already seen this on Facebook, I'm sorry! I discussed the recital in a little more detail here, if you need something ELSE to read about the recital. Oh, and I'm taking requests...if you have a favorite piece for my next recital, tell me what it is and I'll consider it. No Fur Elise, though.)

It was fantastic and fun and totally worth all the time and energy. Thanks for all your good thoughts and prayers. I appreciate them!


Kerri Green, piano
7 April 2009
6:00 p.m.
Steinway Hall at Daynes Music
“Dedication”

For my parents~

Etude in C minor, Op. 10, No. 12, Revolutionary
Frédèric Chopin
(1810-1849)

For my children~

For Ben~
Aria from the Goldberg Variations, BWV 988
Johann Sebastian Bach
(1685-1750)
For Sophie~
Prelude in G Major, Op. 32, No. 5
Sergei Rachmaninoff
(1873-1943)
For Kate~
Prelude in D-flat Major, Op. 11, No. 15
Alexander Scriabin
(1872-1915)
For Josh~
Berceuse, Op. 57 Frédèric Chopin

For my mother-in-law~

Prelude in D-flat Major, Op. 28, No. 15, Raindrop
Frédèric Chopin

Just for myself~

Canción y danza No. 5
Federico Mompou
(1893-1987)

For David~

Sheep May Safely Graze
Johann Sebastian Bach
transcribed by Egon Petri
(1881-1962)

Widmung, Op. 25, No. 1
Robert Schumann
(1810-1856)
transcribed by Franz Liszt
(1811-1886)


Program Notes

This recital began as a thought early this year that I would love to perform music for those I love, dedicated TO those I love. I have had a list of possible repertoire in my mind for a few years, but the time never seemed right. Finally, the spark came, and I began practicing in earnest. It has been a fun few months, and I hope you enjoy this recital, dedicated to all of you, my friends and family that I love so dearly. Thank you for everything you have done for me and for my family over the years. My life is so blessed with all of you in it.


Revolutionary Etude

I began to learn this piece in high school, and my parents (especially my dad) loved it. I never did perform it, although I relearned it for my dad’s 60th birthday, so this is my official Revolutionary Etude debut. I think it represents the big Romantic showpieces for which the piano is so well-known. My parents dedicated so much time, effort, and money for me to become a pianist, and I cannot express enough how thankful I am for their support.


The pieces for my children

When I was pregnant with Josh, I decided to learn a piece especially for him. I had a wonderful time going through repertoire, talking with friends, and listening to music to find just the right piece. When I did, I played it often before and after he was born. This became a tradition with each of my pregnancies, and the results are the four pieces in this group. I played through countless pieces to find the music that best fit my feelings about each pregnancy. I’ve never memorized or performed any of these in public, so it’s been a joy to really make them part of me. My kids have often started to request I practice “their” pieces at bedtime.

Josh’s piece, the Berceuse, is a cradle song, a lullaby. I loved this piece with its gentle rocking accompaniment. Sophie’s piece, the Rachmaninoff prelude, has both simple and complex elements. I was drawn to the simplicity and elegance of Kate’s piece, the Scriabin prelude. The Aria, Ben’s piece, is the theme of Bach’s Goldberg Variations, one of my all-time favorite pieces of music.


Raindrop Prelude

I learned this prelude (with all of Op. 28) for my senior recital. David’s parents bought me my dress for that recital and were as supportive of me and my music then as they have been always. My mother-in-law allowed me to teach in her home in Heber for many years, and even babysat Josh for some of that time. She has been a kind and loving person in my life and I am grateful for her. When I asked David what I should play for his mom, both of us thought of this prelude. She often commented that she loved this piece, and I think of her whenever I hear it.


Canción y danza No. 5

Federico Mompou was a Catalonian-Spanish composer who wrote mainly for the piano. His grandfather was a bell-maker. Mompou spent time in his factory and worked there briefly. You can often hear bell-like qualities in his music. He studied piano and harmony at the Paris Conservatory as a young man, and spent many years in Paris, both before and after WWI. He was especially influenced by Erik Satie, with his simple melodies and evocative harmonies.


Sheep May Safely Graze

David went with the Utah Symphony on their European tour in the spring of 2005. Leon Fleischer toured with them, and each night he performed, he would play this piece as an encore. David fell in love with it and asked me to learn it for him.


Widmung (Dedication)

Robert Schumann wrote Widmung, one of his most well-loved songs, in 1840, the year he finally was able to marry the love of his life, the pianist Clara Wieck.

I have performed this song with many singers, and have always loved it and its text. For our anniversary one year David and I attended a recital given by Van Cliburn. He played this Liszt transcription of the song, and I knew it would be one of “our” pieces.

David has always encouraged me and helped me to succeed. I remember many nights in the music building, after hours and hours of practicing, David would show up with dinner to help me get in just a little bit more time. He has given up a lot of comfort in the last few months to let me practice just that extra hour or two here and there. I am grateful for his sacrifices for me and for our family.

The English translation of the text (by Friederich Rückert) is:

You my soul, you my heart,
You my bliss, you my pain,
You the world in which I live;
You my heaven, in which I float,
O you my grave, into which
I eternally cast my grief.

You are the rest, you are the peace,
You are the heaven upon me bestowed.
That you love me makes me worthy of you;
Your gaze transfigures me;
You raise me lovingly above myself,
My good spirit, my better self.

Wish Me Luck

Actually, many of you already have, and I appreciate you!

I just got back from practicing at the hall. It went well-ish, and I'm excited. Nervous, a little, but excited. It will be nice to share these fantastic pieces with so many of you that I love.

The dress thing finally worked out, after much adventure.

I memorized one piece yesterday that I felt like needed to be added. (Scary? Yes.)

My sweet mother has been here helping watch the kids (and do dishes and read books and do puzzles) so I could practice.

My sweet sister has been doing Kate's hair and helping her choose an outfit.

My husband loves me and has been thrilled about this whole endeavor.

I love the gift of music and what depth it has brought into my life. Setting this goal, excavating this part of me...it's been a great journey. I'm thrilled that I get to keep moving forward and to find out what I'm supposed to do next.

Matt & Ananda's Wedding

We traveled to California this last weekend for my brother Matt's wedding to Ananda. We've been looking forward to this day ever since they announced their engagement (well, actually even before they announced their engagement). Matt is a wonderful, funny, extremely talented guy and Ananda is an intelligent, funny, beautiful, kind woman. We are thrilled beyond words for the two of them, and can't wait to have memory upon memory with them.

My parents hosted a rehearsal dinner on Friday night. It was nice to spend a couple of relaxed hours with Matt and Ananda before the happy craziness of the wedding day, and to get to know Ananda's family a little better.

Friday morning we drove to Los Angeles to the LDS Temple for the sealing ceremony. David and I were married in the LA Temple 17 1/2 years ago (I KNOW. No way is that possible, right?) and it's been a few years since we'd been back. So many sweet and profound memories flooded back to me as we entered the grounds and the temple. I'm so grateful for the gift of eternal marriage, for what it teaches about the sacredness of the bond between husband and wife.

ANYWAY...

The ceremony was lovely, the weather was perfect, the children were well-behaved. And Matt & Ananda...well, they glowed.

After pictures on the grounds, we headed back to my parents' home to help set up for the reception. The night was a fantastic party, full of love, happiness, good food, dancing, and a chance to celebrate love. And man, it was pretty.

It was a perfect day. Well, as close as it gets in this life, anyway.

Snowshoeing in Millcreek Canyon