Friday, April 30, 2010

Food for thought.

An object made with love and care can be a thing of beauty, a whole, even when it is imperfect; by contrast another one, although flawless, can leave us untouched and strike no sympathetic chord.

True amateurism should not be looked down upon. In times like ours any manifestation of liveliness must be cherished.

To become proficient in a craft resembles the slow and steady process of learning a foreign language: step by step a strange new surrounding becomes familiar. But the joys of new discoveries by far outweigh the difficulties. Nothing good ever comes from work done without prudence, intensity, and indeed passion. If the right attitudes do not yet exist, they have to be developed. The result will be feeling of wholeness that is so often missed in today's work and professions.

Is it not substance and meaning that we are longing for in our daily lives? The most wonderful result of our involvement in craft can be this: to stretch the boundaries of the ordinary and add a new colorful dimension to being alive.

-Franz Zeier, Books, Boxes and Portfolios

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Elder Parker Frischknecht.

My little brother (ha ha he is not -so-little) is serving an LDS mission in Mendoza Argentina.
he says he is "Living the dream"

Friday, April 16, 2010


“You must enshrine in your hearts the spiritual urge towards light and love, wisdom and bliss"

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Shelved Away.

Shelved Away

When I was about four years old, my dad painted the den in our house. The den had several shelves, and he was staining them from bottom to top with a dark wood stain. One day, when I was watching him paint, we decided to play a game, he picked me up and lay me down on one of the high shelves. While I waited, I looked at the unpainted shelves above me. The lines in the wood were like the lines in my hand. I was stuck on my back, so all I could do was stare straight up. I couldn’t look to the side without risking a roll off the shelf.

“I need your help. I can’t find Jessica,” I heard my dad yell to my mom. I knew, somewhere in my head, that he might be teasing. But I froze and tried not to let them hear me breathe, just in case I actually could hide. It’s hard to hide when you don’t have fully functional legs or arms. I heard my mom’s footsteps, and as they got louder and she entered the room, she said, “The last time I saw her she was in here.”

My mom knew where I was. A minute ago I was sitting on the floor and she knew I couldn’t walk or even crawl to get somewhere even if I wanted to. Plus I think they could see me. I don’t remember exactly because I was stuck looking up. But my mom played along. She might have shrugged.
“I can’t find her—where could she be?” my dad asked.
They waited awhile before they found me. My mom and my dad. They let me think I could hide.
When I look back to that day, it makes my stomach lurch like strawberries in a blender. I want to vomit.
It has been twenty years now and my dad still can’t find me. He doesn't look for me and he’s not playing this time.

As of late, I am not looking for him either. His excuses of inability exhaust me and I refuse his confinement. I imagine he is contemplating up more excuses in his mind...... desperately blaming his inability on the mailman, the little old lady that honked at him, the moon, the stars, by now, like Milli Vanilli, he is probably blaming it on the rain...

Who knows... maybe a dog ate his homework.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Friday, April 9, 2010

Ode to Kalai.

Mr. Kalai played at my birthday party in November of 08. Somebody needs to sign him pronto---he is amazing!