C. Jane Kendrick

Provo 5

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Thu, 16 May 2013 15:25:00 +0000

Five things about Provo today.

1. The Blue Aces Need Our Help!

Last Friday the fabulous teen rock band The Blue Aces lit up the RCS stage and now they are fighting for a place on the Stadium of Fire stage with Kelly Clarkson and Carly Rae Jepsen. Please help us wherever you are by voting for them here. (You can vote by facebook, gigg and twitter once a day!)

2. My New Favorite Hashtag On Instagram!

Stunning views of Our Lady Timpanogos fill up the page--Timp shrouded with clouds, Timp pink and purple at sunset, Timp and the disappearing snowy top. Check out #timpstagram.
Also, feel free to use the #iloveprovo to show your love of Ptown on Instagram.

3. The Beehive Bazaar Second Weekend!

Any BB aficionado knows one weekend is never enough for the Beehive. This season's owners Noelle, Beccy (modeling above) and Richard invited some of Utah's most popular artists to sell their art at incredibly reduced prices (Kershisnik, Richards, Connolly to name drop a few...). Along with the usual highly-creative and inventive crafts, you can also find delicious baked goods and skin products for sale. If you missed last week, you have no excuse to miss this weekend!
At the Riverwoods, see TheBeehiveBazzar.com.
p.s. Ever's Vintage Fern dress below was picked up at the Beehive last weekend. We live in these dresses (both my girls) and are going on sale this weekend. Only $18. Check them out when you go.

4. Jay William Henderson

Last night Chup and I went to Velour to see the warm up act for this June's Rooftop Concert--Jay William Henderson. He was incredibly mesmorizing. If you like beautiful, haunting and soul-tugging singing and songwriting, check out his album here (you can listen online). I very much recommend.

5. The National Parks New Video
The dynamic Indie-Americana Provo band (also, on the Rooftops in July) came out with a video this week. Would you like to see it? Of course you would because it's good music:

See you around town!
C. Jane

Come See GIRL RISING

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Wed, 15 May 2013 17:24:00 +0000

Utah County,

My sister Page and her husband Vance are hosting a screening of GIRL RISING a film about how education can change a girl and ultimately change the world. The date is June 10th at the Water Gardens Spanish Fork 8 in Spanish Fork and tickets are $10. I haven't seen it yet, but Page and her three oldest daughters (Olivia 18, Emma 16, Cynthia 14) and (sister) Lucy and her husband Andrew (are you keeping these names straight?) have seen it at past screenings and say it's very powerful. Right after her screening Lucy texted me:

It was a huge awakening. I'm so grateful I can choose which preschool to send my daughter to without a blink of an eye. I want her to have every opportunity. I also felt so much sadness that I had the opportunity for education and didn't take advantage of it. Not yet anyway...

So, here's an invitation to come. Because of the way these screening are set up, we need 55 tickets to sell before it's a sure thing.
You read more about it and buy tickets here.
Here's the trailer. Stop crying you baby.

Pink Afternoon

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Tue, 14 May 2013 15:39:00 +0000

Ever has a gift of luminescence. She can light up a room, a soul, a long car ride to Idaho. She can sing you a song on the spot (lyrics and tune, by her) and can do a you a dance if you request. And she's pretty funny and clever--smart and quick. Her favorite show to watch is Rescue Bots. She likes to nap in the backyard on a soft blanket and a pillow (she has to have a pillow) and she loves to eat fries. Her charm can win almost anyone over to her side. She likes to swing high (towards the moon) at the park, go for rides on her red motorcycle, read books about bears and build towers with wood blocks. Her dramatic brown eyes seem to pop when she wears black, brown, lavender and white. But mostly black because that's the color that turns those eyes into weapons of mass persuasion.

On Saturday my Ever was invited to a princess birthday party. When the invitation arrived at our door a week earlier, I was a little concerned Ever wouldn't want to dress up like a princess. She's much more inclined to dress up like a masked ninja or a scowling witch. But Saturday afternoon when I told her the party was going to start soon, she picked through the dress-up box and came up the stairs with a pink puffy frock in hand. We put it on, completed it with a string of pearls and a hot pink head piece. I turned her towards the mirror and said, "Look Ev! You're a princess!" I thought she was going to melt with happiness. If we weren't running behind already, she would've stared at her pink being in the hallway mirror for the better part of the afternoon.

She kept giggling. Her little hands cupping her mouth. Giggling.

She felt pretty.

I watched as she headed out the door with Daddy, skipping down the street and around the corner in her multicolored sandals. Her confidence bounced like the hot pink head piece on top of her head. Life would never be so wonderful as Ever Jane's afternoon as a princess.

And hours later, when the party was over she came home--hot pink head piece in hand, newly coronated with a silver paper crown--and took it all off in favor of her flannel footed jammies with the penguins. (Those are her favorite.)

Please, let her feel pretty all the days of her life.

Is that too much to ask?

Oh My Mother

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Mon, 13 May 2013 17:33:00 +0000

It's Mother's Day.

I woke up to lilacs on the dinning table and Ever Jane's downy hair covering her morning face. We had buttermilk waffles with grade B maple syrup and daddy scrubbed each child clean in the green tub with the ginger soap. Like factory workers on an assembly line, as soon as the kids were cleaned by dad, I plucked them out of the tub with a dry, white towel and dressed them in their church clothes. Anson looked handsome with in his bicycle tie and Jay Gatsby hair. Ever and Erin were topped with bows--white for Ever's rosebud dress I passed down to her, and for Erin, pink to match her ruffled shoes.

We walked to church in the sunshine and into the chapel where there was holiday excitement. The bishop had to talk over the chatty congregation who didn't shush when the organ stopped playing. The meeting opened with song and prayer leading us all to the sacrament. After that, the Mother's Day talks started from an assortment of speakers--teenagers, mothers, husbands, grandfathers. One talk in particular meant a lot to me, from the first counselor in our bishopric. It was a talk about "the doctrine of motherhood" which started after a brief explanation and continued with all the quotes the church has ever published about our Heavenly Mother. From leaders in our pioneer past to recent prophets of the church, these quotes solidified the belief that we are children of Heavenly Parents--both a father and a mother. He ended properly with the reading of Eliza R. Snow's Oh My Father:

I had learned to call thee Father, Through thy Spirit from on high,

But until the key of knowledge Was restored, I knew not why.

In the heavens are parents single? No, the thought makes reason stare!

Truth is reason, truth eternal Tells me I've a mother there.

After church I put my pink cheeked baby down for a nap. Today was her first day of nursery and she braved it like the other two siblings before her. Ever hands me a Mother's Day card she made in her class. It asks, "My mommy makes great____" to which Ever responded "kiwi." (Someday I'll pass down the recipe.) And Anson begs to watch the last of "Jimmy John Jones" from last night's Family Movie Night (which is really Indiana Jones but how can you correct him?). I am bushed from cleaning the entire house top to bottom the day before and when all the whole house goes quiet with nappers and viewers, I found my lawn chair in the back lawn to sleep in the sunshine for a turn.

I woke up after a few minutes, peacefully realizing I had an essay to write. The quotes from the Mother's Day sermon still in my head, I am writing now in this impossibly quiet house. Here's what I want to say:

Martha is a woman superior to me in spiritual intellect. I sat across from her at lunch a couple months ago. She spilled from her soul many insights into the female divine of our shared religious past. She looked at me with burning eyes, almost searching to see if I could understand her offerings. I understood. Her words were like a pick--digging at my heart frozen and encompassed by ice. The more she spoke truth to me, the more my heart could pump, until it started to bounce out of the ice, melting it completely.

My Mother in Heaven is a constant in my life, she whispers truth to me. She enlightens my mind. She tells me about her son Jesus Christ and urges me to ask my Father in Heaven for the things I need. In fact, she does what Parley P. Pratt describes about the Holy Ghost in this quote,

...quickens all the intellectual faculties, increases, enlarges, expands and purifies all the natural passions and affections; and adapts them, by the gift of wisdom, to their lawful use. [She] inspires, develops, cultivates and matures all the fine-toned sympathies, joys, tastes, kindred feelings and affections of our nature. [She] inspires virtue, kindness, goodness, tenderness, gentleness and charity. [She] develops beauty of person, form and features.[She] tends to health, vigor, animation and social feeling.[She] invigorates all the faculties of the physical and intellectual man. [She] strengthens, and gives tone to the nerves. In short, it is, as it were, marrow to the bone, joy to the heart, light to the eyes, music to the ears, and life to the whole being.

When I think about my Heavenly Mother as the Holy Ghost, that once-frozen heart of mine soars. I feel like I could fly and float. I am happy to the point of utter joy. The nerves in my body vibrate and my head fills full of light. I want to cry and scream out and get on my knees and feel gratitude and humility all at once. And I know my body cannot lie. When it hears truth it cannot resist feeling this way. And so, because God talks to me through my body and my emotions, I have to ask myself, what if this were true? What if the very first concept of faith in the gospel contains truth about my Mother as well as my Father and my brother Jesus Christ?

This is not doctrine of my church. In most cases, we call the Holy Ghost a He. We talk about how the Holy Ghost has a body of spirit. In reality, we don't know much about the body of the Holy Ghost--and this serves to bring me closer to this concept. We also don't know much about our own bodies as women. In fact, women are lost on their bodies--ever trying to manipulate and change them, hoping to find peace. It's possible to me, the more we know about the abilities and power of the Holy Ghost's body the more women will understand their own glorious bodies--meant to nurture and birth, cycle and serve.

And maybe this was a doctrine for the women of the church to receive and reveal? I don't know. But I do know how good it has felt to embrace this, a Godhead that is family--Father, Mother, son. And maybe like Martha, I can carry this idea (this, What if?) on to the next person who can take it in and let it burn and consume their existence as well. When we are ready, there is a lot to feel about the gospel. A lot to discover and ask, "How does this feel?"

Happy Mother's Day.

A Little Taste of the Rooftops May 2013

noreply@blogger.com (ck) — Fri, 10 May 2013 21:52:00 +0000

I am so proud of this video by Mango Film. It's gorgeous and so much fun. Both bands--The Blue Aces & Desert Noises--are featured playing my favorite songs of the night. These concerts are an incredible amount of work but every time I sit back and say, it's all worth it. The experience almost always exceeds expectations. Thank you so much for your support!

For more great images of the concert check out Justin Hackworth's photography here.

p.s. Desert Noises I can't believe how embarrassed I am about the the I put in front of your bands name. Gah! We'll have to invite you back so I can try again.

p.p.s. Don't forget you can continue to support the Rooftop Concert Series (presented by cjanekendrick.com) here.

Don't Call Me Mommy--Unless I Birthed You

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Thu, 09 May 2013 16:17:00 +0000

A rant! A rant! Motherhood-tilted rant! Not Even A Well-Written One! Fair warning!

I'm fresh off an interview (maybe the most fun interview I've ever done) with BYU Radio's The Morning Show with Marcus Smith where we got into some shipments of cans of worms about motherhood. In the middle of this discussion it occurred to me that I have some pretty strong emotions about the way we speak about and talk about motherhood.

And this is why: motherhood is not a separate act to me. It's not something I "do" outside of myself. Mothering is something that occurs inside of my act called humanity. It's not a specialized experience of its own. I am a woman who has children and I mother them the way I live. The way I raise my children comes from the way I see the world. It's not formulaic, it's not rote, it's not prescribed. It's me--it's just enveloped in my character. It's person-first parenting. It means motherhood isn't robotic, it's actually driven by someone with thoughts and ideas, passions and opinions.

So when we have this day, this holiday made in commercial heaven, set out to separate the mother from the woman I feel frustrated. My mothering isn't some alter ego--it's me. You celebrated me on my birthday. If we want to celebrate the duties I perform as mother, that's fine. But those duties are done because they are what I've chosen to do. And I've chosen to do them because that's me.

I just don't feel like I want to separate myself from one aspect of my life to another. Motherhood isn't a costume, a mask, a stage performance. It's not a role I play. It's not even a role at all. It's just me. And I resent the idea that mothering should all look the same (opinions, beliefs, tactics) because womanhood doesn't look the same--and we would never expect two women to live the same lives. But why do we do that about motherhood? Why do we chastise women who mother differently?

So when I am asked, "How do you feel about this (subject) as a mother?" Or "Can you write about this from a perspective of a mother?" I think--what does that mean? Would the answers to those questions be any different if I answered them as a human? Or as a woman? I don't see my lenses changing in and out.

Has motherhood changed me? Of course it has. But it impacts me differently than it does my friends or my sisters. So how do we draw the line between what is the mother and what is the woman? To me there is no distinction.

This isn't "a calling" this is my life. I would never say, "I am grateful to have the calling of motherhood," I would say, "I am grateful I have children to spend my life with, to teach and to learn from." I want to be brave and smart and good at it, just as I want to be kind and courageous and sincere as a human. I want to do good and be good because it's the right thing to do--not because I am a mother. If I weren't a mother would I want to be awful? Of course not.

My children don't have A Mother, they have me. Nerdy glasses, cheetah-print jacket, on a horse, me.

God bless them.

p.s you can catch my interview with Marcus today at noon (MST) here.
p.p.s. are you coming to this tonight? we gonna be reading:

Impatiens

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Wed, 08 May 2013 16:05:00 +0000

Last week my Grandmother died.

Her name was Marion Larsen Clark for most of her life. She married three times after her husband died in an airplane crash when she had eight children at home (the youngest Cindy was six weeks old). My relationship with my Grandma was complicated and I suspect other grandchildren felt the same way.

We lived close to my grandmother growing up--she lived around the corner from our house in a beach-style white-brick house that boasted the brightest arrangement of flowers of any household in Provo. People would drive by her house to see all the pinks, blues and purples lined up in a dazzling display of nature and gardener. I have a neighbor now who tells me my Grandma's house was what sold her on the neighborhood when they were looking to settle down. "All those flowers!" she says.

In the backyard there was a small swimming pool. Grandma's posterity carried most of the pool maintenance burden. We were there almost every day dipping our bodies alternatively in the cool water and the breezy sunshine. That pool was important to us--right up until the day she covered it with dirt deciding it was too much for her nerves.

But what I am asking myself today, as I write this, is why do I have a sizeable lump in my throat as I write? What is making me so sad?

And I think perhaps it goes back to that display of flowers. Sometimes I felt in my relationship with my Grandma that I was a flower in her garden. What she wanted from me was to look my brightest as the people drove by. But it came at a price that was precious to me, in our relationship there was a lot of gardening. My grandma didn't like the parts of me that were wilting, like my youth ("You need to marry him Courtney, you're not getting any younger and he's willing to marry you") or my body ("you've got to watch what you eat Courtney") my fertility ("if you lost weight you'd probably get pregnant") or my love life ("Can't you see? He doesn't love you.")

I grew up in the flower bed--along with forty-four other cousins--wanting desperately to shine, feeling like my appearance was my greatest value. But I fell short constantly. The very genes my Grandmother passed along to me became my greatest pest. No spray could stop my thighs or chest from bulging in unbecoming ways. And this was made obvious to me too many times for me to ignore. So I stopped visiting because it hurt too much.

It still hurts. But I am not inclined to throw dirt over the whole pool of our relationship. I think now that she's gone, the work that needs to be done--the pruning and weeding of our shared mortal experience--can begin. I believe she will work at it from her state of being beyond the grave and I will work on it here. Hopefully when I get to heaven we'll embrace with empathy.

Not to push the metaphor, but I do believe forgiveness is a great fertilizer.

Guide to the Rooftop Concert Series presented by CJaneKendrick.com

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Thu, 02 May 2013 22:28:00 +0000

Hey everyone! This is a guide to our concert tomorrow night. I hope you can come or join us online. If you're coming, I'd love to meet you before the show down in the alley (street level, and south of the venue, by Restaurant Row) around 7pm. Will you come say hello?

Friday May 3rd, 7:30pm kicks off the 2013 Rooftop Concert Series. And we can’t think of a better way to kick off our fourth season of first Friday awesomeness than with this lineup:

We start with a stripped down acoustic set of beautiful songs from Caleb Darger, frontman/singer/songwriter for Americana-folk band The Mighty Sequoyah. Caleb’s got a soaring voice that’ll seep down into the cracks in your heart. So get there early.

Then it’s The Blue Aces, who will knock you out, just like they knocked out the judges who named them winners of the Velour Battle of the Bands last fall. Oh, and they’re all still in high school, so there’s that. Prepare to be wowed.

And, finally, headlining our this season’s first show is the part-blues, part-psychedelic, part-Americana, part-melancholia, ALL-rock sounds of Desert Noises, who took their propulsive, jangly, raw music to SXSW this year, as well as shows with The Head And The Heart, Blitzen Trapper, and Local Natives, among others.

But before the show, here's some things you might want to know:

Who should come? This show is recommended for ages 10 and up. It's going to be loud and intense. The crowd will likely be standing mostly in the front (and perhaps beyond). If you come early to set up chairs and blankets, your best bet is to stake a place somewhere in the middle of the terrace or towards the back. Here's a photo of what last year's Desert Noises crowd looked like:

Want to park? Check out this map of downtown parking.
What else is going on? The Art Stroll! It begins at 6 (until 9) and winds around the best of our downtown spots. So much fun and so much good art to see. Also, you'll love meeting the artists and gallery owners.

What's the weather going to be like? We're seeing perfection at 70 for the high. Bring a jacket.

Where should we eat before the show? There are over 50 restaurants in the downtown area! And so many of them are delicious and award-winning. See here for well-designed comprehensive list.

BUT ALSO, you can eat at the venue! Just south of the Rooftops in the alley below we've curated a Restaurant Row where you can order warm food to eat on the rooftop before, during and after the show starting at 6pm. Look for these mouthwatering restaurants this Friday on Restaurant Row:

Where should we eat after the show? There are some really good eats to be had after the show as well. You could head down to Bleu Pablano at 434 W for spicy chicken tacos. Center Street or Rocco's for tacos or wings (Center Street + University). Closer to the venue is Station 22 Cafe where you can get your chicken and waffles and choose from an extensive drink collection (22 West Center).

Who can we thank for a free show? So glad you asked! We are currently teaming up with our friend Mindy Gledhill on a PledgeMusic campaign to raise funds for the concert series. If this project is funded we'll have a good start on fundraising for this year's season. You can read all about that here. But also, at the show we will be handing out flyers that look like this:

Please take your flyer, get a shake across the street at Sammy's (A DOLLAR OFF!) and go home and donate to keep the Rooftop Concerts free! And thank you!

We can't be there, where can we see the concert? Again, so glad you asked! You can watch the Rooftop Concert Series in these ways:
If you're a Provo citizen you can watch on the government access Channel 17
(live/rebroadcasted/OnDemand).
Channel 17 online
CJanekendrick.com
Rooftopconcertseries.com

I have another question and it is . . .?

. . . yes? Leave us a comment and we'll get right to you. Or you can:
tweet us
facebook us
AND NOW follow us on instagram!

Thanks Provo! See you on the Rooftop tomorrow night!

Thank you for the use of your photos: Justin Hackworth, Tosh Metzger, Christopher Kendrick

The Gift of Giving Life

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Wed, 01 May 2013 16:08:00 +0000

Five years ago I wrote an essay called The Hour Glass Theory for Segullah. It's a piece about miscarriage, death, time and birth--the heavy things we feel. I wrote it to piece together the definitive answer we search for--when does life begin and when does it end?

I was honored when some of my fellow LDS sisters and birthers asked if they could publish my essay in their anthology The Gift of Giving Life--Rediscovering the Divine Nature of Pregnancy and Birth. It's a book about birth and spirituality in all of its shades from--infertility, c-sections, adoption miracles and unassisted homebirths to name a few. As a bonus to me, my essay appears right next to Nat Holbrook in the book. Nat and I have plunged into infertility together where we became sisters in the trenches. (I also have an essay called To My Sisters Who Still Hope that appears in the infertility chapter.)

When the book came out I gave it to my sister Lucy. The Hour Glass Theory is about her miscarriage and I thought it was fitting for her to have the book. But even better, she's now pregnant with her third baby (a boy, due in June) and is currently in nesting glory. She devoured the book (it's a hefty compilation, full of brilliant ideas and essays) and I asked for a short book review. Here's what she said:

I read "The Gift of Giving Life" at the perfect time in my life. I was 6 months pregnant with my third child. I had my 2 other children at my home with very beautiful births. Like most wonderful experiences, I started to doubt, to fear having another baby at home. Could I do it again? Is my body not as strong? Will there be a complication? Those thoughts came in my mind over bearing the beautiful thoughts I had about my previous births. Reading this 500+ page book in less than a week proved I needed to read it. It brought such calm and assurance to who I was and what The Lord wants me to do. Fear is not faith, we are in the Lord's care and so are our children. I was able to learn about how child birth is so very much like the atonement of Jesus Christ. I will have my third baby at home and I feel much more calmer, faithful, trusting in myself and God. This book brought new thoughts about women, labor, birth, my Heavenly Mother and my strong women ancestors. It's a very strong book.

Mother's day is coming up (as you many know) and I am recommending this book as a gift to any mother (buy it here). It's intensely spiritual--transcending a lot of topics we don't touch as a culture. It will enlighten you and teach you and give you better ideas about how to celebrate motherhood. (Like for instance, replacing the traditional baby shower with a mother's blessing--something a bit more profound and memorable.)

You can read more about it here.

All the Pretty Little Perksies--Updated!

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 22:27:00 +0000

I was looking at the incentives you can receive by donating to Mindy Gledhill's new album campaign (remember 30% of the proceeds go towards the Rooftop Concert Series oh yeah!) and one of them is for $50--she will sing you to sleep. Can you imagine? To sleep. Some people are insomniacs, that would be a LOT of singing for them. But if I know Mindy I know she's very determined. She probably will sing to you all night and that is a steal, my friends, for $50 (how much is Lunesta? Ambien? A lot more than $50 without insurance I assure you!). But think of the rest of us, don't wear her voice down and rob us of this gift. Please think of that, Insomniacs, before you choose this perk of donating. In fact, I think I will text Mindy and plead with her to make an asterisk on this choice that reads below *insominacs need not apply.

So that's what I am going to do.

Let me also say that for $75 you can get your name in the liner notes of Mindy's new album. You might think, Oh big deal. But let me tell you something: my name is in the liner notes for The Lower Light's albums and from experience I can say it is a BIG DEAL. I think of all those people who've purchased those albums and when they read those liner notes they think, Wow I wonder what Courtney Kendrick had to do with such a great album? (because when I'm not blogging I go by Courtney, you should note in case you have The Lower Light's albums and didn't connect me, C. Jane Kendrick with Courtney Kendrick it's all so confusing what can you do?) And did you know Mindy is also on The Lower Light's albums? I mean she sings on the album so naturally she has her name in the liner notes but I bet she'd pay $75 dollars to have her name on your album. Did you think of that?

Going down the list (sidebar on this website, if you're following along) it's too bad you didn't get the dress from the Anchor video because it's already taken. It's a cute dress. All of Mindy's vintage dresses are cute. I know because one time I went to this Christmas costume party (don't ask, I don't get it either) and my cousin Jayne borrowed the dress Mindy was wearing on her Anchor album cover shoot because she was dressing up as Mindy. Did you want to see a photo?

That's Jed her husband who is dressed up as Stuart Maxfield the leader singer of Fictionist because Stuart used to be Mindy's accompanist guitar player way back when. Do you like trivia? me too.

Also, Jayne's hair is a wig. SORRY TO DISAPPOINT she's a real brunette. But all wigs should look so natural and like they came from the set of Gollum as does Jayne's. In fact, I can show you Jayne's real hair because one time for a costume party in July (for my brother Topher's 40th birthday party, we dress up a lot around here) Jed and Jayne and their baby George dressed up as me, Chup and Squishy:

Jayne's chest is NOT real. SORRY TO DISAPPOINT AGAIN.

But back to the liner notes for $75, I also wanted to say this: my mother is so proud of me that when she talks about me to people in St. Louis she says, "Yes, Nie Nie is my daughter but I also have a daughter who is mentioned in the liner notes of The Lower Light's albums," or she says, "Courtney? That's the daughter who is mentioned in the liner notes of the The Lower Light's albums," and I thought being a Deseret News column was going to be a BIG DEAL to my parents. No. But that's because The Lower Lights albums are so good and so will Mindy's new album be good too. You should support it.

I guess I could go on forever but one last thing is this: for a decent donation you can be in a Mindy Gledhill music video (see the sidebar and all the way down) and in that realm you'd far surpass me. I've only been in a video where Mindy and I drove a mobile couch around the Rooftop Concert Series parking terrace. And I peed my pants. NOT ON THE COUCH DON"T BE GROSS, but when I stood up to try and breathe because I was laughing so hard. Also not my pants because I was wearing a pink dress. And yes I KNOW I WRITE ABOUT PEEING MY PANTS A LOT SO WHAT HAVE A LITTLE EMPATHY SOME PEOPLE CAN'T SLEEP, I CAN'T CONTROL MY BLADDER. Anyway, I'll refresh your memory:

This video reminds me of why this campaign is such a good idea. If Mindy's project doesn't fund, neither does the Rooftop Concert Series, nor the experience of watching such amazing videos. And that piece of us on a mobile couch was particular moving, wasn't it? We can't let art like that go extinct all willy nilly because we're stingy with our wallets.

Think of that Insomniacs. Won't you? (But not too long because time is a-runnin' out.)

You Can Now Watch the Rooftop Concerts From Wherever You Are

noreply@blogger.com (ck) — Mon, 29 Apr 2013 20:37:00 +0000

When spring comes I dust off my marketing chops and start working on this little concert series my friends and I started. I mean, it started out sorta little, but now it's a big part of our community and that's really humbling. And to have my blog involved as a sponsor and to be the host of the whole series is something I am really proud of. Every day I work at this I am grateful to those people who fill up the whole rooftops the first Friday of every month, May through October. Like Gavin said here about our concert, "It may be free, but it will be the equivalent of a sell-out." Amazing.

But ever since its inception our biggest complaint about the series is that it only happens in Provo. Could we take it on the road? people asked. Not really, but we can do our best to bring it to you--because Provo loves you Minnesota, Arizona, California New York, England, Australia, Norway and everyone anywhere.
This is for you:

Fade song: Velvet by The Blue Aces

p.s. follow @rooftopconcerts on Instagram for all the love, power, magic and rifts!

The Week We Touched the San Rafael Swell and Came Back to Claim It

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 19:07:00 +0000

The short philosophy I'm carrying around as a mother these days is simple: my children have enough toys to last us until next Christmas (or beyond, really). So for birthdays we've decided to forgo the wrappings, trappings and colored-plastic surprises for a BIRTHDAY ADVENTURE of the celebrant's choosing. Ever, our desert-loving, moccasin-wearing, serial brown-eyed doe face chose a camping/hotel (with swimming pools) combo caper complete with a doggie backpack, recycled sippy cups and the most loyal of friends: Minty Blanky.

We left just as the Boston bombings unfolded. I had spent the day before alternating between filling up coolers, folding footsie jammies and loading my twitter feed for the latest discoveries. Paired with the pain in Syria (and all over this planet, actually) I started feeling defeated. This world is rotting with tragedy and hate and here I am trying to raise children in the middle of it. I feel horrible for bringing these little people into such a vast disaster. I've felt these sentiments before, but it escalates when my twitter feed of media sound bites swells post-tragedy.

Our first two days we spent swimming and sand-dune-ing in St. George, Snow Canyon and Zion National Park. The third day we committed to ourselves the Scenic Highway 12 which wraps its way around dry, red, pink and coral vistas, bypasses towns Mormons settled more than a century ago and delivers you at the foot of Dixie National Forrest. After a night in Torrey, Utah a cotton-tree-lined town special to our family, we charged through Capitol Reef (quickly becoming my favorite national park in my spoiled state) onto the incredible terrain of Highway 24 towards Goblin Valley. We set up camp in a remote spot, covered by a canyon wall stenciled with petroglyphs. There, we settled in, met and teased the goblins, ate campfire hot dogs and melty s'mores.

My children. Oh my children! I have never seen them more happy--together--dancing and laughing, telling stories as we huddled together under blankets and sleeping bags and waited for the cold night to challenge our resolve. Me, happily holding Ever's hand and navigating my sleeping bag partner, the red cheeked Erin baby, spent the late hours worried about their comfort. But somehow, we all slept. In the morning we packed up and set out for Little Wild Horse canyon where we hiked through sunburned sandstone narrows and ate sweaty palms of trail mix. I will never forget Anson climbing the narrows as if he were a wide-legged ninja with shaggy hair (he insists on growing it out like a "rock star") and camo Crocs. Or seeing my Chup feeling like a champion for having taken care of his woman and children in the wilderness--fulfilling a primal need he never really knew he felt.

On our way home, past Green River our phones beeped with cell service. I read Chup the latest news of Boston while he steered us through the brown sand and jagged rock of Carbon County. The hunger to hear the news surprised me. I was sad for the whole lot of it. I spent many miles thinking of all the parents involved--those who lost children either to death or innocence. And the parents of the suspects, I thought a lot about them. What is this like for them? How do you try an evaluate your part as a parent? I had to conclude that it's all unfathomable. It's too much to try and decipher.

But the feeling of guilt for bringing my children into this world of torment and misery was appeased.

Because how can I feel like a fool for bringing my children into this world? The one that give us human failure, yes, but also gives us the brilliant hoodoos of Bryce Canyon? Or the wind that whips around Goblin Valley tempting you to believe the goblins are actually whispering in your ears? Or the perfectness of blue sky fat with clouds, mixed with peachy mesas of the Grand Staircase Escalante? And how can I say this parental experiment is useless when my children shrieked with delight as we crossed the swollen Calf Creek, danced in elevators, dipped in warm pools and discovered what stars look like without pollution?

And how can I give up when there are good people on this earth--enough to out-number the few hurtful, scary ones--who help me raise my children? Like the people of Hanksville who fed us warm, crumbling biscuits and sent my children on with an eduction of their lives. And the people here in Provo, talented, dedicated friends who join the efforts of mutual support--how can I deny these blessings?

Three years ago at home I gripped the ring of an inflatable tub, soaking and seething and begging a pink baby out from the depths of my body, onto my sweating skin, into this world. This one of regeneration and repentance and hope. And the experience was so intense to me, I've never gotten over it.

(Just like I'll never get over the belly of Zion Canyon, as you stash into the tunnel, a mile of mostly darkness, and come out the other side to a world of rock and God.)

Happy birthday Ever.

Oblivion

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 15:34:00 +0000

Yesterday in the middle of the day when we had no business doing it, Chup and I went to a movie. We just wanted to sit there in the dark and let our minds believe a story for a little while, a story that isn't our own. So we went, like old times, two in the afternoon, by ourselves.

It wasn't a big deal really, but it reminded me of the aspect of our relationship that is just him and me. The part of us that bonded before we were three, four and five in a family, way back when we used to go to matinees every week. Before the mortgages and the bills and the camping trips drained us of energy and made us think we want a million more children and no more all at once. As the film started we flipped up the armrest between us and snuggled on the top row of a mostly empty theater.

And when the movie went far too long and the babysitter was due to leave I told Chup I was going to go home and get the kids and pick him back up. I left at the apex, just as the action started to rev and the sounds of explosions manipulated a better resolve. Just as, I suppose, the world was about to be saved from certain disaster. I noticed people looking at me as I marched down the dark stairs lit by tiny white lights.

I imagine they were wondering why I was bailing after a two-hour storyline investment, but I left satisfied that I got what I came for and all would end well.

It always does.

I love him, all of them:

Provo for Ever

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 15:22:00 +0000

The week before my Ever turned three we went hiking on the foothills above our house. It was a breezy day with sun and natural activity--ants, bees and budding wild plants. We started our ascent from Old Willow Lane, climbing up towards the Y Mountain.

Ever is a great hiker, she moves without complaint. Midway up the path we stopped for a break and said our hellos to Mount Timpanogos--the massive heap of rock and grass guarding the entrance to our canyon and splits our valley in half. Legend tells of an Indian warrior princess who lost her lover in a battle. She was so distraught she climbed to the top of the mountain and willingly gave up her life to join her lover in the afterlife. After this heart break, the mountain responded--slowly eroding into peaks and valleys at the top of the mountain curving out the shape of a sleeping woman, her hands resting on her chest. A silhouette of the warrior princess, legend says.

Ever's hands were full of sticks and rocks, treasures of the earth, and I couldn't persuade her to give them up for better balance. I asked her if she wanted to keep going to the top of the foothill.

"Yes, all the way to the top!" She responded.

So we hiked some more, straight up a dusty incline. She stayed with me, her head bouncing on my hip from time to time. And then, when we reached the apex of the hill we turned around to see our town mapped out before us. The wide early-Mormon pioneer streets, the busy protruding of downtown, the pines and maples poking up out of our own neighborhood, the dark green rectangle of the cemetery and all the way out west the sparkling blue lake before our eyes.

"Can you see our town Ever?" I asked my daughter, her brown eyes wide to the view.

Then she responded, breathlessly, with hope in her voice,

"Oh Mom! Is this my stage?"

I was three when my family moved from the Bay Area in California to Provo. Ever's age. That was when I suppose Provo became my stage too. I found it a fickle audience at times and I spent most of my life wondering what it felt like to open up new curtains. But the stage is changing, the audience too. And I feel peaceful about raising my children here.

"Yes, honey," I said patting her back, "this is your stage." The sleeping warrior princess, the white-washed Y on the mountain, the bowl-shaped landscape of Kiwanis park, the delicious row of locally-owned restaurants in downtown, the sounds of the Rooftop Concerts in the summer, the roar of the crowd at LaVell Edwards stadium in the fall, the packed parade route on the Fourth of July--this is your stage, Ever.

"But I forgot my microphone," she said disappointed.

And even though her hands were full of sticks for improvisation, she chose to let the moment pass on by. No performing today. In this she's already ahead of my own act--knowing when to perform and when to cancel a show.

Happy Earth Day, Dear Friend

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 16:04:00 +0000

Somewhere along the blinking lines of Highway 24 and the ash colored piles of sand and sediment I decided I needed to write again. For some time the writer in me has been waiting like silt in my mind--at the bottom of mental fluidity, shapeless and still--until this weekend's passage into the quiet desert when I heard it ask to be sculpted by words.

So this is a start.

Writing is a terrifying venture. And a jealous time-suck.

Sometimes I wonder why I ever took this lover. I can't divorce it or leave it or let it shrivel up--dry and waste away like the elements in the dirt. Every time I threaten to quit writing all together it forces its way back into the door--slamming against the walls of my brain, reminding me I will never know peace without writing. It's writing that puts my feet on the ground and asks me to stay here, noticing, swallowing, questioning the present.

I need it. My children need it. My husband needs it. My mother needs it. My God needs it.

Earth reminds me of my demanding desire to commune with heaven. And when I am out in the green or down into the water or blinking at the sky I know writing is my channel to deity--without it I am lost. Every minute I am breathing in and noticing patterns and places untouched, I feel my confidence return.

Passing through the pink rock sculpted by wind and time I thought to myself over and over again:

I can do this.

2013 Rooftop Concert Series Line-up Announced Here First!

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 14:49:00 +0000

photo of Tyler Glenn of the Neon Trees by Justin Hackworth

Today is an exciting day for us Provoans. This afternoon the Mayor is set to make a major announcement about our city. Guesses are ranging from major infrastructure changes downtown to the acquisition of Google Fiber. I know this shows my inner Provo geek, but I couldn't sleep last night thinking about it. Also, I'm in a hotel in St. George and I slept with Erin last night who slumbers like a flipping fish caught by a hook. Refreshing!

We at the Rooftop Concert Series HQ want to add to the excitement of the day by dropping some news of our own:

Ladies and Gentlemen, CJaneKendrick.com Presents the 2013 Rooftop Concert Series!

May 3rd
Desert Noises
The Blue Aces
Caleb Darger

June 7:
Joshua James
Polytype
Jay William Henderson

July 5:
Get Off My Cloud: The Songs of the Rolling Stones
The National Parks

August 2:
Mindy Gledhill
Mideau
Scott Shepard

September 6:
Ryan Innes
The New Electric Sound

October 4:
The Lower Lights
Parlor Hawk

I suppose my favorite part of this line-up is the seasoned performers mixed with the newest Provo discoveries. Joshua James with Polytype? Amazing. Special thanks to Sarah Wiley our CEO and Corey Fox of Velour for arranging all the talent and curating the shows.

Now, join us in praying for dry, pink sunsets and come to our first concert--a little over two weeks away!

p.s.Remember, we're teaming up with Mindy Gledhill to make the Rooftops and her new album possible.
See here for details!

See Jane

noreply@blogger.com (ck) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 13:31:00 +0000

Something big happened yesterday. Anson read his first words,

"See see! Oh see Jane!"

It started when I asked, "Hey Anson, do you want to start reading today?"

And he nodded his head like a puppy following a hand-held treat.

Then he sounded out the first word,

"That's the snake letter! Sssssss."

"And there is an e and another e!" I told him.

"S-e-e. Se-e. See. See!"

"You did it! You read your first word!" I said smothering him with my arms.

Then with ease he picked up "Oh" and I helped him with "Jane."

"That's Mommy's and Ever's middle name, Jane."

"J-J-J-ane." He read.

And it was more thrilling--for him and me--than anything we've ever done together. He read it again to me, then to Ever, then to Daddy and lastly to Erin when she--stars in her eyes and hot cheeks--woke up from her nap.

The whole moment took me by surprise. Surprised he wanted to read. Surprised he would try. Surprised how easily it came to him. Surprised at the pride I felt watching him try. Surprised how much I loved the idea we were starting a new adventure together: R-E-A-D-I-N-G.

I highly recommend motherhood, by-the-way. It begs of almost everything you have to do it--but the little, spontaneous, rewarding returns are surprisingly magnificent (whatever shape they come in). Especially for those of us who hardly ever know what we're doing. (Which I dare say is most of us.)
(Or maybe just me.)

(Oh Jane! Silly, silly Jane.)

Mindy Gledhill + The Rooftop Concert Series

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 16:13:00 +0000

This has been in the works for awhile and I'm bouncing in my seat-- like a schoolgirl with the right answer--excited to share it today . . .

Two things: Mindy Geldhill is recording a new album and The Rooftop Concert Series starts again next month.
(May 3rd!)
And so: we've decided to combine our artist efforts and invite our friends and fans to help us raise money for both experiences. This collaboration is such a sweet fit and I hope you'll join us. Lovely people, you.

Allow me to invite you to watch Mindy explain (and sing) it all here:

For more details and to pledge check out her Music Pledge Page.

Thanks Mindy and Provo City for these opportunities!

Much to look forward to--we'll announce our concert line-up next week . . .

Spring on the Wasatch Front

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 16:18:00 +0000

As my friend Finn says, "The power-lines are so beautiful this time of year."

Here are some notable people + events going on in + around Provo:

April 20th Justin Hackworth divulges his secrets of documentary-style photography and pirate jokes in a workshop held in his famous studio downtown Provo. If you are lucky he *might* sing you Tom Waits on a tiny piano. Tell him I sent you.
Click on photo for link.

Heather Johnson of Family Volley worked her way into the heart's of the producers of the Listen to Your Mother Show (a national celebration of Mother's Day) and wrangled a spot in the line-up for a Northern Utah performance. Then she auditioned some of the valley's writers and performers and came up with a stellar cast (which, ahem, might include me, ahem).
Tickets are now on sale! Check out the details by clicking on the photo above.

This is a Provo Proud shout out to my friend and late-night fry-eating co-conspirator Susan Peterson whose Provo-based company Freshly Picked swamped the Brickyard Buffalo site last week with so many sales of their adorable moccasins in such a short amount of time it shut the whole thing down. Crashed the site! It was remarkable! Made me think about the days when Susan was selling her wares during the small weekly market at Provo Town Square. Dreams come true in Provo, people. That's all I'm saying. But also, Susan is extremely hard-working, thoughtful and industrious. She deserves the success in huge heaps along with her family and husband Christian (who I hold in the highest regards . . .)
p.s. those are my niece's Charlotte's generous gams. Aren't they gorgeous?

See you downtown for First Fridays this weekend. I'll be the one eating tacos at Bleu Poblano.

Runaway Bunny

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 16:07:00 +0000

When the door opens in my house, Erin sweeps right out of it.

No matter where she is in the floor plan--the Green Room, the basement den, the lofty heights of her blue-carpeted room--Erin will be there when that front door opens.

Sometimes I just want to throw away the smelly diaper, alone, uninterrupted, without the sheep-herding actions of a mother and her runaway daughter. Just one time, let me open the door and go out into the fresh air alone, please.

Yesterday evening though Erin found me with my defenses down. I was tired from meetings and a mind popping with stress like a microwave popcorn bag. When I opened the door to retrieve something in the car, she escaped through my legs like the water over the falls, toddling out into the driveway.

In my weak resistance I decided to stay my defenses and I followed her. I followed her down the street. I followed her up the hill. I followed her under the broken-limb cherry tree (winter's ice was ruthless) and across the red-brick homes smelling of dinner and noise. I followed her gold moccasins going west again, in and out of the deep gutters begging for the spring run-off.

Erin walks hippy. Her hips bounce back and forth. I thought it was just phase of learning how to walk, "But maybe that's how she walks," I said to Chup the other day at the park. It's walking with flair, a little sass. And it helps to have those olive-colored wispy curls on the back of her neck. Gracious, I love this child.

Every now and again, she'd turn around to see if I was following. And I'd pretend to march like a stiff legged soldier because it would make her laugh and jog away from me. Hips out first, like honored guests.

When we passed the big fir tree on Briar Avenue, she started shuffling. Her legs had taken her as far as she could go. I picked her up and wiped her nose on the hem of her turquoise dress. She resumed the walk in my arms, acting as a tour guide, pointing out all the spots of interests like the blue bird in the bare magnolia tree and the rust-colored rose bushes, stiff and thorny on the corner.

Brandy the dog next door blinked at us from her pillow on the porch as we rounded home.

"Gog! Gog!" My tiny tour guide told me.

I kissed her wide-open, happy mouth.

Because what else could I do?

Why Do You Waste Your Life?

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Tue, 02 Apr 2013 16:10:00 +0000

Dance, dance, dance.

Thoughts From Easter Morning

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Mon, 01 Apr 2013 16:01:00 +0000

First draft.

I believe I lived before I came to earth. I believe we all did. We lived as a huge, heavenly family. You were my sister, you were my brother. You still are. Things weren't perfect in heaven--there was conflict and complexity. It wasn't the perfect family. But we wanted to achieve something better. So we came to earth to have experience that hopefully would make us more intelligent.

One difference between that life and this life is our bodies. I think we had bodies in heaven, but we didn't have a heart that pumped blood (for instance). When we were created here, on this earth, our bodies started pumping blood for the first time.

Another difference is this: in heaven we lived with our Heavenly Parents. And although things weren't sublimely perfect, we lived in the presence of God. We were loved and coddled by divine beings.

And so I wonder if, sometimes we look at these bodies and think: you body, you are only a reminder that I don't live with God anymore. You are the difference between the life I had and the life I have now. You are the buffer between me and my security. I wonder, if our bodies remind us of abandonment.

We hurt our bodies. We punish our bodies. We dislike and have disinterest for our bodies. We try to radically change our bodies so they look different. So they don't look like abandoned shapes and sizes.

And I guess that's the good news of Easter. First, we weren't abandoned because Christ came for us. And two, these bodies we received when we left our heavenly home are the vehicles that will return us to serenity. Like Christ's body.

In that realm, Easter is a celebration of body as much as spirit. It's the holiday that reminds us of the potential holiness in our veins. It's the season to rejoice in the pumping of blood and the heart that pounds. I think about this as a new Easter tradition: how will I commemorate my body on Easter weekend? A fast? A walk in the park? A moment at sunrise on the shoreline trail?

And for my children, how will I tell them of the joy I felt co-creating their own blood-pumping bodies?

Something tells me: when I honor my own body, they will know.

High on a Rooftop

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 15:44:00 +0000

Sarah Wiley, Justin Hackworth and me after a Rooftop Concert Meeting in downtown Provo yesterday. We've been working eagerly around the clock to be able to announce this year's series by April 5th at Downtown Provo's First Friday April Event. As I see it, our biggest problem is finding a place for this year's crop of ingenious, hard-working, artistic musicians.

Provo, our cup doth over-floweth.

On an unrelated note: I've been wearing my pink shoes, pink jacket and DI jean skirt Chup hemmed for me in the basement laundry room for almost a decade now. The t-shirt I stole from our Rooftop Concert Series stash. A couple years I would have been embarrassed by my static wardrobe choices, but you know what? I look at these photos and I give myself a high five for frugality and curating a confidence that transcends trends. (Either that or it's just a matter of a slight self-inflicted poverty and growing old . . .)

Provo Happenings:
(click for link)

The Chickens

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 15:58:00 +0000

We were outside yesterday in the communal backyard when Ever started singing to Janna.

And her face was so cute, all scrunched up searching for the melody and making up the words, the delight and joy I felt looking at her made me laugh.

Then she stopped singing.

"You laughed at her, now she won't sing anymore." Janna said to me.

"Yes, she'll sing," I responded.

I looked at Ever who leaned against Janna's legs on the camper shell top in the field. She was squinting and blinking, the sun on her face from the side.

"Sing Ever, sing some more for us." I begged.

But Janna was right, she turned towards the chickens pecking around by the swing set and left me there to question my acts of motherhood.

I'm sorry Ever. I'm sorry I laughed.

Erin is a dear. She likes to check on her father who moves slowly with back pain these days. She coddles him and pats him like a good old dog.

When daddy's back went out all the children fell fast into nurturing. Bringing him drinks and giving him slight hugs.

"You need a drink of water Daddy?" Anson will ask. And retrieve.

(Note: when I'm sick they become more needy.)

And Erin has this face she makes when she's concerned. She purses her pink lips into a circle, like she's sucking a Cheerio. All day long she looks at her dad and makes the Cheerio face.

Poor daddy. Lucky daddy.

But Anson defies me by growing. I ask him kindly to stop.

I told him eating spicy food would make his muscles grow.

"Then I'm gonna eat a whole bunch of spicy food and lift our house off the ground."

And he's been eating spicy ever since. Tacos, masala, spiced rice and beans.

The growing boy is good to his word.

And his skin is still the silkiest surface.

Please don't let the spices (and the muscles) take that away.

And I'm just trying to be good enough for them. I'm trying to share their expressions, remind them to wash their hands and let them grow. I'm trying to understand how I feel about what's going on--from the communal backyard to the Capital of our country. I am trying to let them reveal their true selves to me without my control.

But first, I've got to stop laughing when they sing.

36 Things: 34

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Tue, 26 Mar 2013 15:37:00 +0000

34. Publish guest postings on porn and sexual addiction.

See: Guest Posts On Pornography and Sexual Addiction

I had reservations about using my blog to publish guest posts about these topics, first because I wasn't sure myself how I felt about them (and the wide slinging definition of the term "addiction") and I wasn't sure how my audience would receive them. In the span of the series I had to take many walks around the block to remind myself why I wanted to do this "thing" in the first place.

I wanted education.

And I was educated.

For the first time ever, in my four years of mothering, I would read the guest posts and feel a deep sense of protection for my children. I suddenly felt like a "lioness at the gate" mother, ready to stand solidly against tactics aimed to hurt my children. In the weeks of publishing those stories I finally became in touch with the side of motherhood I felt I've lacked so far--the warrior mother.

Now, hooray for that.

But also, it was devastating in a way. It meant my easy life of denial and fantasy started to melt away. My eyes started to see the affects of addiction. How lasting and long and painful addiction can be for loved ones. This education was a bitter pill, hard to look at, hurtful to swallow. I learned to see addiction the way John Bradshaw defines it, "An addiction is a pathological relationship with any mood-altering experience that has life-damaging consequences." Addictions can be behavior, emotions or chemical relationships. Addiction is how we medicate our loneliness and we all have them.

Including me.

And that's how I found myself in my church's 12 Step Addiction Recovery Program. First to heal myself from the chaos and havoc found in loving people with addictions and second, to come to terms with my own addiction (anger) and face it with recovery and sobriety and of course, God.

(I'm doing pretty well with that by the way, learning to stop the obsessive thoughts anger fires my way. Not that my ideas are wrong, or my pain isn't justified, it's learning to stop thinking I have no option but to FEEL ANGRY. I am learning I have a lot of options when I see wrongs--I have a voice, to begin with...)

I am so grateful for those who came forward with stories--not only for the ones I published but the ones I read privately. I think we have much more to express as it pertains to our addictions. Yours, mine, ours. Thank you for inspiring me to become better, even if it's requiring some hard looks at my core.

So that's where thing 34 took me--reading piles of books and discovering new light and feeling better in little increments. I'm feeling a little less control and little more compassion for myself. It's slow, but good. God is good. God is so good to me.

What did you think of the series?