I get a headache when I consider the responsibility weighted in the phrase “stewards of this earth”. Just considering microcosmic responsibilities alone sometimes gets heavy enough that considering the macrocosm of world wide hunger, war, Junta, dishonest world leaders, prostitution, tax, poverty, hunger, healthcare, abuse, parkinsons disease, lupus, AIDS/HIV, homicide, genocide, infanticide, “advancement” of weapon technology or biological “break through” based on stem cells/embryos, ethics, and so on just hurts my brain. I’m not one of those people that feels that a constant effort to do something equates with satisfaction. I’m the kind of person that won’t start a task unless I am sure I’ll finish it in a definite time. I like to list things and cross them off as I go so at the end I can feel fulfilled and see results of my work. A list of the afore mentioned world tragedies will never be crossed off until the millenium. I don’t know how to balance this guilt vs my interests and feel honest. I get frustrated with how menial and petty my thoughts can be. But at the same time, I recognise that living in a Western Country assigns me different, less glorified service opportunities to serve than being in a Burmese irwaddy saving those cut off from the world, or in Taiwan feeding refugees. It’s just so difficult for me to see raising good kids, or teaching classes in the state hospital, or “being kind” can remotely qualify as service when you consider the heavy load the world carries. It’s like taking a bite out of a glacier.If nothing else in addition to religious truth, I hope I can teach my kids to keep broad scope on life, one that extends beyond immediate society. I believe this to be key in learning to become unselfish, and that’s got to count for something.

These days, since I don’t get enough sleep at night and wake up early, I wake up and think in terms of single words. i.e. Alarm. Ack. Off. Shower. Moses. Move. Moses! Shower. Teeth. Clean. Cereal. No. Toast. No. Cereal. Yes. Mmmm. Car. Drive. Signal. Drive. Stop.
Then at a certain part of the morning (generally around the stop sign at the intersection of 5th E 5th N) I begin to think in full sentances. It is around this time that I think things that seem profound until I think about them. and then they just sound really stupid. I usually forget these thoughts but I remembered this morning’s gem: Isn’t it amazing that there are enough words for everything in the world that we can spare a couple thousand of them to use for people’s names?
I won’t be applying to an Ivy League school anytime soon.

A bit ago, when I was buying socks online for Andy, I found a turban for sale under the guise of a “beanie”. I am not sure who designed it, or how the model is keeping a straight face while wearing it. The only thing I am sure of is the fact that she upped her chances of attracting Lawrence of Arabia by about 48%

but that didn’t stop me from laughing my face off when I saw it.
p.s. ashley kinghorn responded to that with this…Kitlers.

Saturdays are so horrendously good when we’re responsibility free. We got a shot at such an opportunity on Saturday afternoon. We spent an hour in Sportman’s Warehouse until Andy selected the perfect fishing pole, reel, lures and line with the help of Fisherman Tyson. The oven man ticked me off by not coming at the procured appointment slot, so in revolt we took off up Provo Canyon instead of getting our oven fixed by McTardy the Appliance Man.

There are a couple reprieves from the tenous nature of Provo-living, one of them being Provo Canyon in the Spring. Andy practiced casting, Tyson caught and released a little fish and I managed to tangle Andy’s line, so was self-demoted from casting practice to tossing rocks into the stream. Frankly, I liked this better. It’s unlikely I’d catch a fish, but if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do with it. Better safe than sorry.

Angela Landsbury was practically at church on Sunday. Or at least her Samba dance was.

Haven Elizabeth Anderson:

Plenty of women tell me “oh you don’t care WHO is in the delivery room when it goes on” but believe me, I will. i doubt it’s a cultural thing, as some people have told me, I think it’s just a personality thing. As open as I can be about some things, there are a couple things I’m intensely private about. From this side of having a kid, I’m confident birth etc etc will fall into that category.
Anyway. Haven is absolutely perfect, healthy and both her & Liz are doing ridiculously well. Scheduled C-sections are so different from regular births: no panic, almost predictable kinds of pain and a totally different kind of recovery. Liz is pretty hardcore, she has MS to start off with, and Nash’s birth involved a lot of bloody towels before she was finally schedule a C-section. I was glad Haven was scheduled to emerge ceasarean style long before she did. Avoid the panic and all that. Nicely done Liz! Congratulations to you and Steve!

Since I don’t have any children to blog-brag about, I shall supply an update on Moses instead. As you can see from the pictures, he’s getting bigger. Much bigger. He’s harder to suspend in mid-air (that calms him down sometimes) but it’s still possible. He spends a lot of time attacking things (dust particles, hands, moving limbs, hair) and accompanies me to the shower every morning with a Meowing aria. He generally sits on the edge of the bath between the curtain and the liner dangling his tail/a paw into the bath hoping it will get wet. Recently, I found him hiding in a box. He stayed in there for a remarkable amount of time doing nothing at all.

Nash is kind of two-dimensional at the moment. He has a fetish for closing/opening doors, but when he’s not doing that he’s either: