The Night Owl

So I'm a bit of a night owl. Anyone who knows me knows I don't think about retiring for the day until about 12:30. And at that point, I wrap up my homework, get ready for bed, etc, and get into bed an hour + later. My brother Dallin's even worse. Summers at home find the two of us watching a movie or up wandering around. I'll go to bed at 3:30 and he's still up and at it. Ty, brother number two, also has the ability to stay awake late if he wants. But he's a bit more responsible and will usually go to bed before us if he has things going on the next day.

Anyway..

Why? Why are there some of us who stay up later? Well, I'm sure there are biological reasons.

But I wanted to hit on why I, when given the choice, opt to stay awake rather than curl into my warm bed with my dreams.

I like to sit and enjoy the silence. To unwind the day with my thoughts. I enjoy those times where it's just me and my mind. Now, I don't think my mind is in any way exceptional. But it's mine. And I enjoy it, as I'm sure you enjoy your own. Plus, who are you most comfortable around? Who's been there to see you through everything? Yourself.

Sifting through thoughts, through feelings. I think those quiet hours of late night/early morning are the best for such a pastime. The world is calm and still and the air is clean and fresh.

And those nights it rains? (Can I make a plug for how fantastic this weather has been!!??) Whether it be drizzling, pouring, sprinkling, hailing, thunder-ing, lightening-ing, it's fantastic. Sit back, listen to the sheets of water sliding past one another, splashing and beading on leaves, pattering on the cement, clicking on metallic surfaces. Take a deep breath of bathed-clean air. What beats that moment?

For some reason, I love 50 East, the little street outside my bedroom window. I just look out the window-- at the sky, at the mountains, at that little quiet street. I smell the air, crisp and wet or soft and dry and can't help but smile. And when the sky starts to lighten--beautiful.

So I encourage you to take some time. Some time that is yours and solely yours that you can use to ponder. It does not need to be at 5am. In fact, I counsel against it; this was really dumb. But find a time of day that you love, and just enjoy it.

A Dream of Someone Else

SPOILER WARNING FOR "YOU'VE GOT MAIL"

One of my favorite movies of all time is "You've Got Mail." I love the actors and the characters, the filming and the written communication laced throughout. And I love love love the story. I love the idea of falling in love through writing.

There comes a point when Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan) and Frank Navasky (Greg Kinnear) break their long-term relationship. They spend a while talking about a woman Frank is interested in. He then asks Kathleen, "What about you? Is there someone else?" She pauses, looks out the window, and says, "There is a dream of someone else.." And a shy, little smile slides up her cheek.

I have not had much experience in relationships. I am very picky, I'll admit. But not consciously. I don't write off a person because he doesn't play the piano or because he doesn't play sports or because his style is too casual. You laugh, but it's not uncommon out here for people to check of someone who's fantastic and perfect for them simply because they're lacking in some trait off of a list. It's not that I ignore feelings for someone because he's not everything I dreamed I'd have. I just don't feel it; he's just not right for me. I've tried to force it, tried to make myself feel something. And that's worse for him and for me than if I'd have just told him I wasn't interested.

Well, I have a dream of someone else.

The kids start to get antsy when they know he'll be home soon. And immediately after he walks through the door, he scoops their little bodies up into his arms
He holds my daughter in his arms and dances with her
He teaches our sons how to work and be polite, how to treat women and their sisters, how to be responsible Priesthood holders, how to be selfless and sincere
He leans on the door frame with a smile on his face just watching me
He wants our home to feel open and accepting to everyone who visits

He sings to our children and me, whether or not he's a good singer
He loves people
He gardens with me, an activity that allows us the opportunity to work hard together and relax together
He reads the scriptures and prays with me every night
He loves deep conversations

He sets his book, newspaper, etc down when approached by one of our children
He'll read Little Women because I love it. And tell me his favorite parts
He delights in making people happy

He reads to the kids before bed each night and prides himself on the fact that he taught them how to read before they started school
He likes to cuddle and laugh and stargaze
He loves to read and talk to me about what he read
He enjoys spending evenings with me on a swinging chair in the backyard



So I'm kind of a romantic. And although I love each of these images, they aren't necessary; I'm merely painting a picture of the husband and father I'm looking for. If you're reading this and feel like it's you . . . . I'm free on Friday

My Happy Place

Recently, I've been spending a lot of time looking at gardens. I've been getting emails from Better Homes and Gardens on how to make mulch, prepare soil, get rid of weeds, make compost, etc, how to plan around this and that.. and I love it.

I'm not usually a stressed person, but sometimes, despite my best efforts, I do get a little overwhelmed with all the necessary things in life that push aside other necessaries and all wanted unnecessaries. I always heard of a happy place, but didn't really have one. When stressed, I'd imagine myself cooking dinner in my future house with sweet, little children (that always tend to look like those curly-haired, rosy-cheeked precious Hobbit children from the Lord of the Rings movies..) pitter-pattering down the hall when Dad comes home from work and kisses me on the cheek. Or I'd picture myself happily working as a part-time PA when the kids are in school, loving it and knowing all the school was worth it. Well, I still picture those things (of course much more of the former) but now I do have a happy place. And it is my future garden.

My garden is very green and lush. I love color and I love flowers, but I'm not sure if they're in this garden. At least not all of it. Tall trees completely shade the entire backyard and the thick canopy casts a cool, serene, green tint. There is a rustling of leaves and the trickle of water; there are a few crooning birds in the morning and maybe even a quiet rush of distant traffic. But no other sound.

There are little paths that wind through the trees to secret places. My favorite: a seating area where my husband and I sit together in puffy patio chairs crowning a shallow, long pool of water that flows off to some other area of the garden. There is a little table between us and a low wall that surrounds the narrow resting area. Another favorite is in the very back corner. It is another pool of cool water, raised to the height of your hips, contained by a moss-covered, dark-stoned wall. This area is very shaded, a shade darker and a degree quieter than the rest of the backyard. The surface of the pool is absolutely covered by algae and other green flora. A Bocca della Verità-esque fountain mounted on a wall embellished with cracked tiles (which are, like everything else in this garden, covered in green) creates the only movement in the still pool and the only glimpse of clear water void of the obscuring greenery.

Well, this is my beautiful, serene, happy place. Welcome.

How to be Gorgeous

Dearest, dearest readers--
It is safe to say we all traverse through our lives making the comical error of thinking we are below the splendid, superb, grand, glorious, magnificent, smooth, velvety, rich, voluptuous clouds on which we stand. But let's face it; we are not! May Fry's experience be a lesson to us all!






I think it was Donald Minstock, the great amateur squash player, who pointed out how lovely I was. Until that time I think it was safe to say I had never really been aware of my own timeless brand of loveliness.

Embrace this Day

Every now and then you have a Sunday that is just exceptionally great. This week, we had a Sunday school lesson on agency. And it was incredible! I never really realized how important agency is. I guess I always knew it was important, but I'd never really thought about it before. In Moses 4:3, it says, "Wherefore, because that Satan rebelled against me, and sought to destroy the agency of man, which I, the Lord God, had given him, and also, that I should give unto him mine own power; by the power of mine Only Begotten, I caused that he should be cast down." Wow.

It was a great experience thinking about what influences my choices. And how I can utilize the gift of agency to better myself. Here is a great video the teacher shared with us. It is about six minutes, but is incredible, well worth your time watching it. It shares a great message on what to do with our lives and in what manner to live them.

Of Characters

My mom and I realized something over the Christmas break: that she likes books for their plot lines and I love them for their characterization and writing style. I love reading about a character whose traits fit perfectly. I think of characters as 3-D puzzles with unique curvature, outjuts and inlets, each their own shape. These characters have so many talents and weaknesses, fears and quirks, that you'd think all the descriptions of them would bulge out awkwardly and make a ragged outer surface on the container that couldn't contain. But, they don't. Somehow, they don't. The surfaces are smooth and the containers seem to have the ability to be all-encompassing. There is no limit to a person.

Once you know the character well enough, you know what makes him upset, what types of people he gets along with, what makes him nervous, and what his dreams are. There comes a point in the book when your response to his action is, "Oh, John, he would do that.." or "Of course that bothered him.." And you don't know this because you've seen him before. He's not a cookie-cutter character we see over and over again. Nor did you predict his action because it fulfilled something that needed to happen in the typical storyline and was therfore assigned to a character--any character--regardless of whether or not it's actually something the character would do. No, you can predict him because you understand him. Because looking at his traits you see hundreds rather than twenty. And they all connect and interconnect.

Your character John has some of the same components as does Huck Finn and Frodo Baggins and Scarlett O'Hara, but none of these characters have every one of his components. Someone may have a dominant personality that is very like the person John feels he needs to be and tries to be when Sarah is around. But the characters are still different. Nowhere in the world is there another like John.

Sometimes these different characteristics seem as if they could never describe the same person. But they end up doing just that, going into the same person. And they do so unexpectedly smoothly, like those smooth curves of the 3-D puzzle. They go together differently in John than anyone else. And their arrangement in John fits perfectly, just like their arrangement (amongst other descriptors) in Huck Finn fits perfectly.

Now, characters can be introduced in many ways, but they all fall under two main methods. The author can list traits flat out or can show you traits through events. An example of each is below. The two quotes were taken from Little Women, one of my favorite books of all time with perhaps the greatest character development of all time.

"Poor Meg seldom complained, but a sense of injustice made her feel bitter toward everyone sometimes, for she had not yet learned to know how rich she was in the blessings which alone can make life happy." (Little Women, p35)

"That night, when Beth played to Mr. Laurence in the twilight, Laurie, standing in the shadow of the curtain, listened to the little David, whose simple music always quieted his moody spirit, and watched the old man, who sat with his gray head on his hand, thinking tender thoughts of the dead child he had loved so much. Remembering the conversation of the afternoon, the boy said to himself, with the resolve to make the sacrifice cheerfully, 'I'll let my castle go, and stay with the dear old gentleman while he needs me, for I am all he has.'" (Little Women, p136)

The latter exerpt is one of my favorite passages; the imagery and characterization is so beautiful to me. So many things about the characters of Mr. Laurence and Laurie can be pulled from this. The two unwind from a long day by listening to Beth play; we know Beth is precious to Mr. Laurence because she reminds him of his child and that she is precious to Laurie because he loves each of the March girls; we also see that the music is a means of relaxation to the two, which, in the case of Laurie, who loves to play and compose, is no surprise, but in the case of Mr. Laurence, who seems to wish Laurie'd play less, is a surprise. Laurie standing hidden in the curtain, listening to "the little David" is not only a beautiful image, but shows a bit about his character and his relationship with his grandfather. We learn Laurie must feel strongly toward those with whom he discussed in order to want to change (March girls). Mr. Laurence's character and occasional harshness could be due to the death of his beloved daughter. . .

Obviously I prefer the second method. There is so much to deduce. And often times I can see more or less--or simply differently--than someone else. Therefore, the Laurie in my mind is different than the Laurie in yours. And, of course, my Laurie is based off of me--my experiences and my preferences--as is yours based off of you. So he means so much more to me than yours would to me. And he reminds me of me. And I LOVE that. That's why we read. To create our own.

You can give me the most boring story ever written and as long as I can fall in love with characters that are beautiful in their complexity and with a writing style that is effortless and artistic, I'll love it forever.

Welp, that's that...

There are No Ordinary People

There is a C.S. Lewis quote I LOVE. By far my favorite. I found it in high school when I was preparing a talk on charity and showed it to my Dad. We've loved it ever since. For Christmas, my Dad bought me Weight of Glory, the book it's from. I can't wait to read it and find more inspiration. Here is the quote; I've added the bolding and italics. Let me know what you think!

It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbour’s glory should be laid daily on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken. It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilization—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously—no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner—no mere tolerance or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbour he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also Christ vere latitat—the glorifier and the glorified, Glory Himself, is truly hidden.

Longing for the Imagined

One of my favorite songs right now is "Liz On Top of the World" from the "Pride and Prejudice" soundtrack. The following is what the song sounds like to me, not what's actually going on in the movie. I love the high point of the song, which moans an ache of yearning that sounds as if it has, until this point, been suppressed. And now it is released and sings out its refrain. It's not a sadness, but a longing for something that can't be had. This something is so ideal, so perfect, so beautiful. You can't fully comprehend it; it is only an idea, a wish of a world and of a life that you can only gaze at through a foggy glass window. A window that is far in the distance; a distance that can never be crossed. Because that distance is the dichotomy between reality and things that will not be.

No, this isn't a sad post on my dreams that will never be. Nor are these the feelings the character feels as the song is playing. It's just what the song sounds like to me. I love listening to music--to gentle lyrics, to the sighs and moans of a violin, to the whispers of strings and the hopes of the winds--and hearing a story that only I can hear. That means one thing to me at one time, and something different at another. I love hearing a story that probably wasn't the story intended by the composer but speaks to me far more personally than his would have. Another beautiful longing song I'd recommend is "Rose Garden" from the "Becoming Jane" soundtrack. Oh, and "First Impressions" from the same is a great song as well. Yes, I love sad, beautiful songs :) "Liz On Top of the World" is below. I couldn't find "Rose Garden," or "First Impressions" but they're on iTunes. I bought "Rose Garden" and think I listened to it 40 times in less than a week!

PS There's a new Great Quote to the left. And... I haven't changed my room picture yet! Terrible.

My Dad

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today is my dad's birthday, so I decided to write down some of my favorite attributes and memories about him.

My dad smells like sawdust and paint, stainer and lacquer thinner. His hair is soft and wavy, dark brown. His face, neck, and forearms are a reddish brown, darkened from many days in the sun. He works with wood, turning cabinets into works of exquisite art. His hands are dry and calloused, permanently stained, with deep cracks and cuts old and fresh, scars of wounds super-glued together. They are rough but held my five-year-old hands softly. He speaks in a gentle tone and is polite to those around him, perfectly mild-tempered. He makes faces in the mirror while getting ready and nudges me in the ribs with his elbow when he wants me to laugh at one of his jokes. Dad has never spent a lazy day. Every evening, after a long day of hard work, he walks up to the house, stomps the sawdust off his boots, shakes it out of his hair, and walks through the front door. A few hours later and he is sitting on the couch with his reading glasses, a red pencil, and his scriptures.

A few of my favorite memories with Dad:

He took me to the Nutcracker when I was in 2nd grade. My first exposure. I have no idea if he liked it or not, but I LOVED it and love that he was willing to spend time doing something he wouldn't particularly enjoy in order to spend alone time with me.

Dad and I used to play a hand game in church. He'd hold his palm open and I'd poke it with my forefinger and try to withdraw it before he caught it. If he caught me, it was my turn.

I remember one time my Dad got on me about how I wasn't spending me money very wisely. It was definitely something I needed to hear, and was delivered kindly (as always) but wasn't received humbly. A few hours later, he dropped me off at the airport for a tour I was going on and another few hours later I got off the plane with a message on my phone from my dad, telling me how great he thought I was and that he loved me. His voice was soft and I could hear he was sorry for things he didn't need to be sorry for. He said if he were told he could have ten girls guaranteed to be exactly like me, he'd do it in a heartbeat. He tells me that often and I know that he honestly means it.

One year while preparing a talk for church, I came across a C.S. Lewis quote on charity. I showed it to my dad and we've both loved it and quoted it ever since.

I am kind of scatter-brained and often make mistakes besides having the best of intentions and my dad knows that. Sometime within my first few weeks with a license, I scraped a car while trying to park. A friend and I were going to the movies at a particular theater with parking spots so thin that they (still!) make me shiver. Well, I called my dad and his voice was kind and he said he'd be there right away. I know I was all apologies and he reassured me that it was ok, that things like that happen. I know it was with complete sincerity. Once I got there, he told me to go in with my friend to the movie and that he'd put a note and info on the car for me and re-park the car. I have to admit, I've had more car issues and he is still, along with my mom, completely understanding and un-accusatory. They both laugh and relay driving incidents they'd had in their younger years.

On another driving note, I got my license on a Thursday, a day when both my parents worked. They carpooled the whole day so I could drive the car to school and dance practices. It may seem trivial, but they knew it meant a lot to me.

Any time I have a talk in church, I show my dad all my quotes and he sends me a few he likes.

I took the ACT when I was fifteen and had to go to a school three hours away to take it. My dad gave me his whole Saturday. After driving up, he drove around and found things to do during the hours I was taking my test. On the ride home, we found a cute little sandwich shop and had a great time together.

My dad's family has a family home video of him and all his sisters when they were young. The background music for the video was the Beatles. So to this day, when I hear the Beatles, I think of my dad and of what's important in life: family.

I'd like to point out a lack of a memory: I have NEVER IN MY LIFETIME heard my dad raise his voice. He's never had a temper, never sworn, never been angry.

When we lived in Texas, my dad would take my brothers and me around for a bike ride in the evenings. I never thought anything of it other than that it was a fun time with us kids and Dad. But now I suppose it was also for the benefit of my mom who was going to school full-time and waitressing on the weekends.

My dad loves reading Louis L'amour novels. Most years, I buy him a book for Christmas because it's sure to please. Well last year, I got him Louis L'amour's autobiography. My dad sent me an email a month ago telling me he'd finished the book and loved it. When I came home for Christmas he showed me some of his favorite parts and quotes.

When we were younger, my brothers, Dad, and I would play an amazing game. Dad'd be the ruler of the bed and my brothers and I would try to get on. He was so strong! But gentle. We NEVER won!

Younger years again: he'd lay one of us in his lap in the blue rocking chair and buzzzzzzz his fingers as bees around us. He wasn't allowed to touch us and we weren't allowed to laugh. Again, we NEVER won!

My dad doesn't critique me. He laughs at the state of my room, but that's about it. He sees me as perfect. Or at least, never says anything about me that would suggest that I was any less than perfect. He has an artistic eye, so always notices when someone's eye is bigger than the other or their nose is crooked or their ears are uneven etc. I remember asking him as a teenager what my facial feature flaws were and he said I didn't have any. And I don't think he's ever said anything about a need for improvement personality-wise either. Well, I know me and you know me and we know together that I am far from perfect. But Dad knew me even better and knew that in order for me to be the best I could be, he needed to tell me that I was already there, rather than how much further I had to go.

I was looking for Happy Birthday cards for dads in the BYU Bookstore and, while reading through them, started tearing up! In the middle of the bookstore! There were a lot of birthday cards to dads from daughters that expressed the beautiful bonds that develop between the two. Dad, I love what we have.

Happy Birthday. You are incredible. Thanks for being the perfect dad that Dallin needed, that Ty needed, and that I needed. Our family is so blessed. Much love,

Morgan

Demain, or Tomorrow

I took a French Literature class last year and LOVED it. My favorite reading, and current favorite poem, was written by Victor Hugo, Demain, dès l'aube. . . (Tomorrow, as Early as Dawn. . .) Hugo was a leading author of the French romantic style. These artists longed for the days of Napoleon, when the monarchy kept order and the institution of religion was respected. The majority of romantic writings longed for the past, but some looked to the future, l'avenir. Past and future were preferred to the present, which inflicted melancholy, weariness, and disillusionment upon the young French, a condition coined mal du siècle, literally maladie of the century, the "spiritual sickness" of the Romantic era (Professor Ceri Crossley, University of Birmingham). Nature, solitude, love lost, and introverted thoughts were the usual subjects of their works. Demain, dès l'aube. . ., composed of most Romantic symbols, is a well-known Romantic piece. Be sure to click on the video so you can listen to it in French while you're reading it. I highly recommend it. I'm a little biased, but I think it comes across most beautifully in French, especially when listened to, in addition to reading the poem. The translation is below the French text.


Demain, dès l'aube...

Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.
J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.

Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.

Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j'arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.


Tomorrow, as early as dawn, at the hour when the countryside becomes white,
I will leave. You see, I know that you are waiting for me.
I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain.
I cannot stay far from you any longer.

I will walk eyes fixed on my thoughts,
Without seeing anything outside of me, without hearing any noise,
Alone, unknown, back curved, hands crossed,
Sad, and the day for me will be like the night.

I will not look at the gold of the evening which falls,
Nor the faraway sails descending towards Harfleur.
And when I arrive, I will put on your tomb
A green bouquet of holly and flowering heather.




Hugo wrote this in response to the death of his daughter. Tragic and so beautiful. Demain, dès l'aube . . . .

Tricksy Trees!

I love Cottonwood trees. Do you want to know why, my friends? Well, first of all, they're on our lot back home, along the creek. So it reminds me of my home and my family.

I love the summertime when everyone is outside and you hear their loud voices down the street at the park. When it smells like hosewater and sprinklers, hot asphalt and trampolines, and everyone is smiling. When you can take the time to sit down for a moment in the outside air and bask in your contentment, in the golden sunlight, in the wildflowers, in the caress of the wind, in the hydrated thickness of the air, in the whispers of the trees. As you're laying in the soft, green grass, you see little white puffs of cotton float by. They drift nonchalantly along. To me, the air seems enchanted, magical as these breaths of white glide on the air currents.

And, oh, the leaves on those trees. When you listen closely, as you often can during those summer months, you will hear the wind caress the leaves. But it's not your usual 'wind rustling through the trees' sound. It is an enticing whisper, yes, but also a subdued energy, a tickle, as its leaves hush and laugh against one another. It's like a calm face with twinkling eyes. Eyes that twinkle not with curiosity, but with some secret they will playfully keep from you. These trees continue to charm and entice, lure and hypnotize, as they flash their leaves. I always find myself captivated. Because they sparkle. The leaves swivel at their stem and flash either side at you. And since one side is lighter than the other, you get a beautiful sparkling effect. Fascinating. Mesmerizing. Captivating. Ah! Clever tree! You got me again!

Splendors of Fall

I am sitting in my California living room looking outside the window. The grass is wet and vivid green, the skies filled with whispy grey clouds, interspaced by round pearly ones, and the world serene and beautiful in its absence of the golden hue it takes when in the sun. I love Northern California. And I love it most when it's fall and when it's overcast. I guess good ol' NorCal loves me too because it gave me a present this morning--a rainy autumn day.

In light of the beauty, I am going to write a piece all about the lovely fall. But it is specific to the Granite Bay/Roseville/Loomis/Rocklin area, so parts of it may not make sense. (Burn days :) and Apple Hill)
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In Autumn, every person seems to be more cheerful, to have more energy; each is full of some excited anticipation. The earth seems to take a deep breath. It relaxes, as do its inhabitants, as it recovers from the steamy busyness of summer and prepares for the hustle and bustle of the cold, frantic winter. Although it is a lull, a time of reflection and refreshment, there is a certain eagerness and excitement to be found on the faces of passersby. When I walk from my house into a clear, dewy autumn morning, I feel as if I have also taken a deep breath, only straight into my soul where my insides are elated and ready to burst with utter contentment. And then I take that breath. As I breathe out a cloud of mist, a smile creeps onto my face and into my eyes. And I can’t get rid of it. That same feeling returns when I smell the dusty, light smoke of burning leaves in the country or see rosy noses and cheeks and bright eyes.

Trees lining the streets turn smokey red, dusty orange, crunchy brown, creamy yellow. The Wind scuttles the leaves across the streets.

I love driving with my windows rolled down; I can feel the cool air caressing my face. On autumn days, I go to get the mail, just so I can go outside for a walk. I love to feel the comfortable warmth of the sun on my cheeks. And the wind—whether it’s gentle or blustery.

The climate change brings about feelings of independence and contentment, and the events and activities that occur during autumn evoke feelings of love and happiness. There are so many activities to be done in the fall. Children visit pumpkin patches and carnivals. There they get their eager little faces painted or pick out plump orange pumpkins; they wave at scarecrows or ride on bumpy hay rides. Football season starts. Fans fill the stadium with rosy noses, scalding, steamy hot chocolate, beanies, warm blankets, noisy cowbells, and loud enthusiasm. Families visit Apple Hill. Children lie next to fireplaces and look through countless toy ads as they plan out their Christmas lists. Starbucks brings out its red holiday cups. Disneyland opens its spectacular fireworks and busy parade. And Mothers decorate their home with bright leaves, brown turkeys, cheery pilgrims, and spooky ghosts.

Halloween is a holiday that can be looked forward to for months. Sweet little children plan for months what they are going to be. I love handing out candy to all the Buzz Lightyears, “Sleeping Booty”s, ninjas, ghosts, witches, and Batmen. Halloween catches the essence of youth. The children can be whomever they want to be, and I love to see it and encourage them.

Every Thanksgiving, we spend the week with all six of my dad’s sisters and their families. We are spread all over California and Oregon and often times, Thanksgiving is the only time we see each other, aside from weddings. It is a time for people to relax without engagements or commitments. During this week, we stay up late just talking with one another, asking life’s puzzling questions and talking about whatever we want.

Fall is everything wonderful—Gentle wind and rain; cozy sweaters and warm scarves; the vivid fullness of life and family.

Happy Autumn!

Great Short Film

Watch this! It won an award at the Cannes Lion Film Festival. I LOVE it! Thanks, Caye, for showing it to me!

Life is Beautiful and Led by Divine Hands and Heart

Wow. Life is beautiful. And I have so much to be grateful for.

This semester has been very difficult for me. I'm taking physics, which is very hard to comprehend and advanced french grammar, also difficult to understand. I'm working 15 hours at my regular job, and then 8 hours in the anatomy lab. I knew when I signed up that I was fully capable of doing it, but that I would need to stay on top of things (very un-Morgan, as those of you who know me are aware..) and would need a lot of help from Heavenly Father. Well, I fell behind and then struggled, unsuccessfully, to get back on top. I wasn't sleeping or exercising, wasn't taking time out for socializing or for increasing my spirituality. I kept falling asleep while doing my homework, so would wake up the next morning feeling terrible not only because I had failed to finish homework yet again, but because I hadn't washed my face, showered, read my scriptures, or said my prayers. Icky, icky times.
[I don't mean for this to be a pity Morgan. I'm pointing out the error in my perception. And I realize you all, as well as others, are going through much harder times than I was]

I still knew that life was a wonderful thing, but didn't love it quite as much as I had my whole life. Throughout high school, people told me I was the happiest person they knew. I didn't believe there was any such thing as a bad day. But this semester, that changed a little. People would ask how I was, how life was, and my answer was always "good" and it was always a lie; life was consumed solely by school and school was practically unbearable. I wasn't looking for the good things I had in my life or the good traits I was blessed with. Rather, I was focusing on that which I didn't have and that which I wasn't.

About a week ago, I decided I was going to do well on my upcoming physics exam, no matter what it took. I knew I could get a B on it if I tried. If you had asked me the first week of class how I would score on the exams, I would have laughed and said there was no way I could ever comprehend physics and would therefore fail every exam. Well, after a week of returning home at 10:30 pm, a week of practically nothing else, a week of next to zero social activity, after a good handful of skipped classes (bad!) and a Halloween evening spent in the physics lab, I took my physics exam and got an 88%! Not super impressive to most of you, but to me, it means the whole world. I never thought it was possible. But it was. And had I studied a bit more, I know I could have gotten an A. An A! In physics! Now to most of you I'm sure that wouldn't be difficult, but it was difficult for me and I am so grateful for the help I had and cannot deny the divine hand that supplied it.

I returned home last night a new person. On the walk home, I realized life will always be beautiful when there is love, the gospel, knowledge of a Heavenly Father that loves, helps, and blesses you, and music. I know there are many others and that music is kind of superficial compared to the others listed, but these were the ones I was thinking of at the time. I came home and began and submitted a project that was due at midnight. I got up and washed my face. I said my prayers. I read my scriptures. And then I got into bed. And I opened the window. And I laid my head on my pillow. And I closed my eyes. And...... I couldn't fall asleep. So I sat and thought about HOW grateful I was. For everything. It was an incredible experience. The soft, cool wind caressed my skin and carried in the scent of a still night. I opened the window further and stared out the window. I looked down at the beautiful, quiet street. I don't know why, but it was SO BEAUTIFUL to me. I saw a few windows with lights on and prayed that they weren't stressed with late assignments, but rather having fun doing something they loved. I smelled the cool crisp Autumn air I love so much. I looked up at the beautiful sky, still light despite the late hour. And I just sat there, looking out the window, looking at the street, at the houses, at the mountains and the sky. I can't even tell you what thoughts I had over the long period. I was mainly just reveling in contentment, soaking it up with deep, calm breaths, a huge smile, and satisfied sighs.
I pondered the gospel a bit. Thought about Joseph Smith and Moroni and Mormon, mostly.
And then I thought about those things I was most grateful for at that moment, and other collected moments throughout that day:

--That Heavenly Father had woken me up that morning at THE EXACT moment I needed to wake up (and has done so more than ten times in this semester alone). The number of times proves that this is no coincidence. It is SUCH a miracle. No human body would naturally wake up so early when it is so deprived of sleep.
--The beautiful weather we've been having.
--The physics TAs who explain torque and centrifigal forces and Newton's second law in a way that makes sense to me. Some are so brilliant I just don't understand anything they're saying; we don't think on the same level. But Mary, Rich, Alex, Jeffrey, and Michael all explain it in a way I understand without making me feel dumb for calling them over multiple times for one problem.
--That the physics test was postponed. It was scheduled for Monday, but Prof. Magleby postponed it till Wednesday. I'm sure that was an answer to about 30 prayers :)
--That my vocal teacher didn't chastise me for forgetting my music. And that through him, my voice has improved so I am proud of it. No, I won't sing for you, but I enjoy singing to myself. Not because it sounds particularly beautiful, but because it's not bad and it's mine.
--That I can TA for anatomy, a subject which I love with all my heart and strengthens my faith.
--That a friend gave me a lot of Conference talks that I have been able to listen to on my iPod throughout the days of the past week.
--That I have fantastic co-workers that strive to make me feel included. Even during Star Wars and zombie discussions.
--That my current and past roommates think I'm funny and not weird! Well, maybe a little weird, but not outlandishly :)
--That I have a mind and a body that work.
--That I am a woman.
--That my mother loves me and supports me and sees strengths I can't.
--That my dad, for reasons I will never see, thinks higher about me than anyone else does and has more belief in me than I ever would.
--That something I have been praying for for years is beginning to happen. This is the greatest miracle.
--That Joseph Smith prayed in the grove and brought the gospel to Earth. That I know of its truth.
--That I can pray with questions and uncertainties. And that I know my creator is listening and responding with comfort, aide, blessings, and revelation.
-- That nothing tragic has happened in my life.
--That I know people who love me and that I know my Heavenly Father and Savior love me.

There are many other things I am grateful for, but these were the ones I pondered. I lay in bed and my heart rate quickened. I was excited for today. I couldn't wait to start a new day and do it the right way. I couldn't wait to get on top of everything and do what I need to be doing.

Well, life is beautiful. Hopefully I will never doubt that again. I love the beauty of this earth. I love the gospel. I love my family, and I love you. May you have an incredible day every day!

Dreams

Well, school has started and jostled me around a bit, but I am ready for the semester. Emotionally. And motivationally.. Although I doubt I am in any way ready intellectually for physics or advanced French grammar--which, I might add with much lack of enthusiasm, is full of return missionaries. Nor am I ready for the chemistry that decided to taint a class (physiology) I thought would be a comfort to my mind amidst its crueler fellows. I was sitting in physics the other day, never feeling stupider. Sometimes things are hard to grasp. But I don't even know what to grasp. I sit there and try to understand the concepts, but all my mind sees is its own version of what Physics World looks like: 8-dimensional curves and slopes rotating without foundations or connections. To those of you who never struggled in physics, or even struggled only slightly, I salute you. WOW, I salute you. You could do pretty much anything and I would still think you were smarter than 99.999% of the world.

But, there is a sun ray purpose in this post. It's called dreams. Dreams and hope.

My lovely apartment, located ten minutes from BYU, has a secret. A roof that is magical and wonderful. It will never witness mediocre happenings. Instead, every night we've been there, something magical has happened--we've dreamt. Tonight, three of us girls sat on the roof for hours discussing our future lives and our determinations to live better lives in the present.

Last week, four of us made a two-week plan. We decided to return to the roof two weeks later and assess. Well, we planned to run every M,W,F, go to the temple every Tuesday, eat nothing sugary, say nothing bad about others, and read our scriptures every night before 8:00pm. It's hard and I've not followed it perfectly, but I love it. And am doing very well. Yay for new semesters and goals!

My New Year's Resolution Reminder

I've always been a big dreamer. I have huge dreams for life and many, many goals. I have a list of about eleven summer goals and quite the Bucket List (being a lover of lists as well as dreams, plans, and goals). BUT, I'm terrible at getting them done. I can even plan out little landmarks, objectives. I'm just really bad at getting stuff done, at using my time wisely. I'll always turn in a paper, read my assignments, etc., but I'll be a few minutes late to class because I started it an hour previous. And although I'd sworn to myself I'd never do it again, it had worked, I'd gotten a pretty good grade, and here I was, doing it again, a slave to my procrastination and laziness. But at the end of the class period, I've redirected myself with the goal to start all assignments earlier and have them done the day before they're due.

Well, with this goal setting comes MASSIVE New Year's Resolution Making. This past year, I made about 20 more goals than I could actually accomplish . . . But! I did one thing right: among the many lofty, well-meant, but ill-to-be-kept, goals, I made one main goal. And my main goal of this year was to leave everyone better than I found them. To make everyone feel like Morgan Anderson thought they were special. To find out what people love most about themselves and what I love most about them and point it out.

I had a nice littler reminder a few months ago.

This is the greatest movie, film, I've ever seen. A friend who knows me well showed it to me, knowing I'd love it. I did. It's exactly what I want to be and it's fifteen minutes that you won't regret spending.

Who wouldn't love knowing a Hugh Newman? Who'd like to be a Victoria--married to a Hugh Newman? Who wants to be a Hugh Newman? It's my new life goal. Be sure to let me know how I'm doing! Here's to accomplishing one of . . . many goals!

You're great! YOU are awesome! You have great cheekbones and a lovely laugh.

Sometimes Life is too Good to go to Bed on Time

Sometimes there are things that are just more important than getting your sleep. Examples:

Last night I was awake until 2:30. My friend Hannah and I stayed up, talking about anything and everything. We have a lot in common and see the world the same way, share most of the same opinions. I do enjoy talking to people who are different from me. It's interesting when a certain situation sends someone else's mind on a completely different path than mine. But it's really refreshing when you find someone a lot like you, who thinks the same things, who thinks the same way. Talking with friends, building bonds is worth an hour of sleep. I can ALWAYS always sleep. But it's times like last night that only come along when they happen to come along. And it tends to be these times that make a difference in life.

Second example: I take the days slowly. I do my HW at my own pace. Maybe it'd be better if I sped read and crammed all HW into 2-3 hours and then went to bed on time. But honestly? No. If I did that, I'd be stressed and uptight all the time. I take life at my own speed. So I lose a few hours of sleep. But I love every day. There are people I know who focus solely on hw and school and sleep. So they get their 8, 9 hours (opposed to my 3, 4, 5). Maybe these people love to live like this. But would I be a happy person? No. Fun to be around? Nope.

Life is fun. I can't imagine throwing away four years worth of it just because I'm in college. In fact, the college years should be years overflowing with living--with fun and happiness, experiences and memories. Four years worth of relative pronouns, solubility charts, cotangents, dates, and rhetorical devices is not living. And neither is four years of dreams unlived.

My Dear Mother

Today, a successful woman is one who sacrifices her life, her relationships, for a promotion. Last year, I lived in the dorms amongst freshman girls—girls who were determined to disprove the stereotype that they were only there for a husband. All BYU freshmen females fight this typecast. They want to be doctors, business women. They are going to tour the world and save the pandas in China. Now, I do not think this is a problem. I respect women with a drive for success and intellectualism. And I believe every living person needs something to be passionate about.

But I do see a problem when girls decide there are more important things to accomplish before, or in lieu of, marriage and children. I am not writing of the fifties mindset that the woman is supposed to marry and shrink under the shadows of men. But I do think marriage and family are becoming less and less admirable. I’ve heard girls say they may get married in this life, but that it is less important than… let’s say those pandas. Now, Mother Teresa was never married and didn’t have any children. And she has done things for Heavenly Father’s children that no one else was capable of. Her works and her heart were so great that only a small number of people will accomplish things of the same magnitude. But think about those people who have been able to reach nearly every human being on this earth—mothers. And the fact that EVERY mother that earns the term in a non-biological sense has changed the lives of each of her children. I respect my own mother just as much as Mother Teresa.

Bobbylee Anderson has, alongside with my dad, done more for me than anyone else in this world. She is one of the most selfless people I know. For over a month, she spent every day she had off of work at court. From 9-5 she sat through a trial for the son of a woman in the ward she wasn’t particularly close to. I still remember a time that I called her on a Saturday and asked what she’d done and what her plans were for the rest of the day. She’d said that she’d helped a girl in the ward with something, gone to one of my brother’s games, had a presidency meeting, and was going to sew curtains for her niece’s new bedroom. Nothing for herself, only others.

On a bad day, there is no one I’d rather call. When I have exciting news, there’s no one who shares the excitement as well as she does. She knows me better than anyone else. When I am debating a decision, I always call her. Not as a mother who’d command me, but as a friend who knows what I’d like most and what would be best for me. I was never a rebellious child, so while growing up, I was able to build a strong friendship with my mom. No, she wasn’t one of those irresponsible mothers who just wanted to be a friend. She is every meaning of the word “mother.” But she knew I also needed a friend. And that’s what she’s become.

She’ll listen to me rant and follow all the tangents I take. She doesn’t try to control my life now that I am of the age to make my own decisions, and never has. I tell her the things I’ve decided and she tells me what she thinks. But if I need advice, I always go to her and am always helped. When I’m wrong, she’s the only right I’ll see. She has a strength and a testimony unlike any I’ve ever seen. She loves me in a way no one else in this world does. She loves me despite how well she knows me, despite all the weaknesses I’m sure she’s seen. And yet, I feel as if she sees good things in me I’m not aware of, strengths only the love of a mother can detect.

And I know everyone feels this deeply about their own mother. Who could feel otherwise about a woman who wants nothing other than their happiness? So I call for the realization of the ideal role model—our own mothers. And for the respect and awe for the sacred calling of mother.

Footless Halls of Air

Wow. This was the first CNN news story on my iGoogle. Top news, my friends.

Socks, former Clinton cat, put to sleep.

On to my purpose for this blog today. I remembered a beautiful poem I discovered my senior year and thought I'd share it with you all since I don't want to study for chemistry.

During the early days of World War II, while the US was still neutral, many Americans crossed into Canada to enlist. John Gillespie Magee, Jr. was among them, giving up a Yale scholarship for a place in the Royal Canadian Air Force. He was soon flying in England where, at 19, he was struck with the inspiration for a poem: "To Touch the Face of God." He wrote a quick verse while in the air and concluded the poem on the ground shortly after landing. He wrote out the poem on the back of a letter to his parents. Magee died a few months later from a mid-air collision. On his headstone reads the first and last lines of his poem:
"Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth- Put out my hand and touched the face of God."

High Flight
John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter- silvered wings;

Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds- and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of- wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air…

Up, up the long delirious burning blue

I’ve topped the wind- swept heights with easy grace,

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew-

And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

I Love the Story

I love stories. A lot. There are many reasons and many manifestations.

First off, I've noticed my whole life that I have a deep love for music, reading, dance, theatre, movies, sculptures.. all the arts. There are probably many reasons, but one conclusion I drew was very interesting and fits nicely into this little piece: I love the story. And these are all different ways of telling a story. Music has a beautiful way of telling a story and expressing the emotions. There is such a beauty and depth when the melodies and harmonies are added to the lyrics of Les Misérables . And then the music swells for emphasis as the human voice personifies the message and adds a testimony, experience to the words. Literature has the ability to look into the minds and hearts of the characters, to explain the reasons people behave the way they do. I've often found connections between myself and characters that are deeper and much easier to see than those between myself and normal people. DANCE. All forms, but there is nothing in this world more beautiful to me than ballet. I cannot tell you how many times I have seen or performed in The Nutcracker. And when Christmastime comes, there's still nothing I'd rather do. Theatre. Now, to some, its sappiness and annoyingly high dose of melodrama is overwhelming and hard to get past. But when I do get past it, what an incredible thing to be able to witness. An actor takes a character and shows you how he saw the character in his mind. Movies. Again, I love seeing how the actor brings alive his character. And then there's the filming and lighting, the make-up and costuming, the music; the overall cinematography is something I can't help but notice. And sculptures—capturing a whole story, a whole range of emotions in a single moment. I am not at all an expert in art (or any of the past things) and I'm sure am generic and inexperienced in choosing the Pieta as my example of a beautiful sculpture. As Mary holds the limp body of the Savior, her face and her body show every emotion she feels in the instant and all that was felt previously.

I daydream. All the time. Not because I hate my life and daydream of how it'd be better. It's about my future life—I’ll think of the orphans I'll meet aand help when I finally do get to go to an orphanage, of the beautiful secluded, canopied, dappled backyard my husband and I are going to have. I love my life. A lot. BUT at times, it doesn't quite seem like a story, and I think those are the reasons I daydream about my present life. There once was a girl who woke up and went to work. and then school. after that she stayed on campus. Every day, she does her homework, comes home, and goes to bed. next day, repeat. next day, repeat. Not a very exciting story.
It would seem. But I know better. (Although I still can't hold back my imagination during the 35 minute walk to work.)

There were many times in high school, and still now, when, although invited to a party or asked to hang out, I'd rather stay home and read or watch a movie. People would say I was lazy or wasting time watching a movie. But oh no. I'm being quite stimulated.
I still remember those friends. The ones who would call and set my mind on ultra speed as I fought to find some half- truth excuse. But somehow they'd always find out I'd spent the night with a blanket and movie. Perhaps they knew me better than I thought.

The best music videos, songs, or dances, as my friend Melissa, and any other person, will tell you, are those that tell a story. Music Video—“If I Were a Boy" by Beyonce. Song—“Helena” by Nickel Creek, "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy. Dance—any ballet, "Bleeding Love" by Chelsie and Mark of So You Think You Can Dance.

Lastly, story time. It's the greatest. One time I was with a group of friends. As it was getting late and the room was getting dimmer and dimmer, we started story time. Everyone told a dream or funny story or memory. I loved it! How fun!

My friend Cait and I love to make up stories for each other. Stories that usually end up with an attractive, Banana Republic wearing, internationally and economically-minded, business majoring, trilingual husband. They contain their fair share of adventure as well.

And if you think about it, stories lead to inside jokes, which are, honestly, the stepping stones and markers of a friendship.

Well, my friends, this was my thought on a Thursday night as I shoved my homework aside and made a terrible batch of brownies.