This Rain makes me feel like I'm in Ireland or something, not Utah

Life is good, but it's not easy.  It would be lame if it were easy.  In fact, if it were easy, it probably wouldn't be nearly as good.  But enough circular mumbling.  Some of the things that made my life good this week:

1)  Riding my bike.  The weather suddenly decided to be Spring, and I celebrated by turning to bike transportation as the easiest and most fun way to get around.  Rode to yoga class with good friends, rode to my brother's house to visit, rode to the temple, rode to the park for a soccer practice, etc.  It was fantastic.  My favorite thing is how the wind whooshes on my skin when I'm riding downhill.

2)  My friends.  I have realized how opulently blessed I am in the realm of friends.  Heavenly Father has really placed some first-rate people in my circle of acquaintance.

3)  Tulips.

4)  Sonatas.  Something about playing beautiful music in a small-ensemble setting just makes me so joy-filled.  Tonight I went over to a friend's house to play some sonatas.  He sight-read a bunch of Mozart amazingly well and we just played together for an hour or so.  It wasn't polished or perfect, but it was fun, and just the boost I needed.

Guster

This morning, the light filtered hopefully through tiny droplets of rain as I ran and listened to Guster.
That album ("Keep it Together") has done a lot for me.  I was remembering this time of year two years ago.  I was about to graduate from high school, and my grandpa was in the final weeks of dying of brain cancer.
Every Monday after school I'd drive to Berkeley for violin lessons and youth orchestra.  The trip took an hour.  I'd get in my car, talk to God out loud for a while, then listen to Guster.
Those songs still hold for me a kind of peace or catharsis.

Nice

My aunt Josie and her kids dropped by this afternoon.  They wished my luck on my final performance jury.We stood on the sunny front step and talked.  Olive climbed on the stair railing.  Gabe made us laugh.  We talked about the books we want to read.  Raya tossed Saul's hat onto the front lawn. 
The whole visit lasted probably no more than ten minutes, but it was easily the best ten minutes of my day. Isn't family the best?

alive

Sometimes I think that after we die, we will fully understand how exquisite it was to have a body.  This vehicle of bones and flesh that walks us around and smells our roses is no small miracle.  I'm sure I will miss the touch of a breeze on my arms, the texture of bread in my mouth, the warmth of another human's hand.  I will probably long for a sense of gravity, groundedness, mass.  Earth beneath my feet.  All the verbage:  running, dancing, shouting, singing, swimming, lunging, digging, rolling, walking, climbing, resting, playing.  I will wish to feel the fullness of a laugh in my belly, the excitement of attraction, and the wetness of tears on my face.

And I think I will miss the pain.  There is something so very real and mortal and exhilarating about suffering.  Sharpness, sting, ache, burn, soreness, bruise.  They are somehow important. 

The deep kind of sorrow that seems to tunnel holes through my soul - will I feel that when I'm just made of spirit?  Or the experience of hearing a mournful melody or seeing a breathtaking vista - something so beautiful that it actually hurts, as if a river of clear water is coursing through my heart.  Will I feel that?

I don't know.  But what I do know is that being alive is exquisite.  I want to feel every itch and sun ray, jump in more puddles, and weep through the heartbreaks ahead.  I want to get to the end of mortality and feel like I lived.

sentence about a phenomenon I love:

On the occasional bright winter morning, when there's no snow on the ground but the temperature is low enough for frost to stay crystallized, it looks like the grass has been scattered with diamonds.

among my favorite places

My bed.  I can't get over the fact that night after night, I get to crawl under the covers and snuggle up in the sheets, lost in blankety bliss.  My roommates think I'm crazy, ("You guys, we get to go to BED now!!!") but climbing in bed never ceases to delight me. 

The stair well.  We music majors spend hours practicing, usually in the practice rooms on the second floor of the Harris Fine Arts Building.  It's a level below the ground.  No windows.  (As an aside - if I ever become overwhelmingly rich, I'm going to build a practice-room structure with lots of windows for aspiring music students at BYU.)  Anyway, the lack of windows is ameliorated by my new favorite practice spot: the stairwell.  It's a level below even the practice rooms.  Concrete, high ceilings, and endlessly flattering acoustics.  Everything sounds good down there.

The backyard passage.  See, my brothers live on the street parallel to mine.  Walk out my back door, through thirty feet of unkempt wilderness, and I arrive at the back door of two of my top five favorite people ever.  But don't let me get going on them, it'll take at least a separate post.  Probably two.

the world is delightful

Winter pressed in like a hug
while I walked home in the dark
with a friend