C. Jane Kendrick

The Night I Fell In Love With Community Theater

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 16:41:00 +0000

I didn't know how early to get to the Scera Shell outdoor theater, but when Anson and I arrived I figured we were on the late side. White plastic chairs covered the western side of the grassy ampitheater and a patchwork of blankets smothered the eastern half. Still, we stood in line with our tickets, Anson picking out all the letters he knew on the sponsor posters lining the opening gate. At five years old this would be my son's first theater experience. When I asked him if he wanted to go to a play with me he asked, "What's a play?"

This was a defeat of sorts. My husband, has acted professionally for more than fifteen years. His resume boasts film, TV, industrial, commercials and (my favorite) the theater. However, I realized in this short invitation to my son we hadn't educated him at all on "what daddy does" or even the thrills of a stage coming to life. Granted, we are not the musical theater type family and this scales back the exposure we would give to our young children, but still I asked myself, why hadn't we taken time to create plays in the backyard?

I think when you are a professional of any sort, there is a sad pretentiousness about the less-professional performances in your field. Because I grew up with a brother who acted and directed and then married a producer/actor I haven't had much exposure to community theater. In fact, last night was the second time in my entire life I had been to a play at the Scera--a realization that came to me when it was announced that Tarzan (the play of the evening) was the theater's one-hundred-and-thirty-fifth play in twenty years. I only live ten minutes away.

We found a spot on the top of the hill, a pretty good view obstructed slightly by some speakers. Anson repeatedly asked if "this is the play?" as we sat and watched the empty stage covered in vines and rocks. When it did start, Anson couldn't believe his eyes. He talked and talked and asked every question under the dusty sky, which made me also realize I hadn't taught him "theater voice."

"Why are those people dressed up like butterflies?"

"Why is that girl dressed up like a gorilla?"

"Is that a real baby, like for reals?"

We watched dancers of ranging skills move and kick and twirl and focus on light choreography. We heard singing that sometimes strayed from its intended key, but boasted a meaningful deliverance. We saw lights that sparkled and shook the stage. And we clapped and laughed along with our neighbors sitting on quilts brushing off the gnats and hand-diving for popcorn.

For me it was refreshing to see all different body types cast in the chorus. In fact, my desire for the uniformity and professionalism in high-scale theater melted away entirely. I looked forward to the big cast numbers where I could watch lots of different bodies types dance to the same song. I liked looking at costumes produced by an imagination and a tight budget. The whole production -from the actors to the audience participation- was approachable and pro-community and it made me wonder, where have I been?

By the second act Anson was sold. We cuddled up in the cool June air and watch the play spark and die. Before the last line was delivered and Tarzan had swung on the vine across the stage for the last time, Anson turned to me and said, "I love spending time with you Mommy," and he gave me the most passionate kiss right on my lips.

And when we walked back to our car with the quilt in my one hand and Anson's hand in the other, he looked up in the sky and saw his first shooting star. He thought it was wonderful, "The star was falling out of the sky!" but I knew it was something more. A calling! Destiny!

My son, the son of an actor--this was his call to the stage.

And a calling for me as well: the ever-present, always-involved stage mom.

I accept!

[The mom bows.]

Scene.

Thanks to the talented and fabulously fun McKeon sisters for the tickets (Jacqueline, Camille and Gabby)! You'll be in my heart alwaaaaays...

Do you want to go? Tarzan runs until the 22nd. See here for details.

Editing For Length

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 17:19:00 +0000

Cut cut cut.

One of the best things we can do for our stories is to present them in their simplest form. There is no need to hoard words and details. Know when to say when.

I heard an essay the other day I thought was pretty great. I was totally engaged--laughing and feeling the narrative. Then it went on too long. And at the end there was a weak moral, stapled awkwardly onto an ending that could've been cut paragraphs before. I had a disappointed aftertaste. (Maybe it was my own essay...?)

So here's a good guideline for bloggers: if you can't write it in 500-1000 words, you might want to break it up into something you post over several days. Scrolling down is tedious. Online reading is tight and swift and internet readers are always eager for something to look forward to the next day.

I think that's all I want to say.

This reminds me of my brilliantly talented friend Paul's video called Proper Noun from his band Paul Jacobsen and the Madison Arm. The girl keeps talking and talking and talking. And talking:

Want to discuss this tip with me? Ok, I'll be on facebook.

The Givens Tree

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 21:49:00 +0000

If I may celebrate something about my life it's this: I meet great people.

Through channels God could only create, Chup and I have become friends with Terryl and Fiona Givens co-authors of The God Who Weeps and historians of the humanities and religions. In our Mormon community they have done dedicated and powerful work in putting our religious doubts in safe places by honoring them. "Be grateful for your doubts," write Terryl in his Letter to a Doubter.

Last week Chup and I hosted a lecture by our friends in our backyard. This was our second occasion to have Terryl lecture in our home. They are the kind of intellectuals that use words to fill your head with faith instead of fear. I really, really love them.

In Mormonism we are instructed to "read from the best books" and in her lecture Fiona talked about finding and reading books that illuminate God and self. After the lecture, a couple of my friends asked if I could request Fiona's Best Books recommendations. Graciously Fiona emailed me a list today, which I read thinking of her lovely British accent, ("I'm a huge fan of women's literature which is why it dominates...")("The Germans are a little dark.") and I thought it would be great to publish on my blog as well. So here it is.

Thank you Fiona and Terryl and Vicki and Terry for spending time with my family. And thanks for listening and changing our lives.

Fiona's Best Books:

Jane Austen--all

Bronte sisters--all (except for Wuthering Hights--a lot of suffering through which to tread to get to just a glimmer of redemption)

Elizabeth Gaskell--all

George Eliot--Silas Marner and Adam Bede

Virginia Woolf--everything except for Orlando which was a little whip-lashy

Elizabeth von Arnim--Enchanted April

Olga Gushin--The Dream Life of Sukhanov

Julian of Norwich (late 14th century visionary)--"Showings" (edited by Denise N. Baker)

J.K Rowling--the Harry Potter series

Emily Dickinson--poetry

Mariama Ba "Une si longue lettre" ( transl. "So Long a Letter")

Oscar Wilde--everything

Gerard Manley Hopkins--poetry. Like Woolfe he paints with words.

Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon--poetry. World War I. They've really influenced my feelings on war. Their poetry is stunning but not pretty.

Wilkie Collins--"The Woman in White" and "Moonstone"

Victor Hugo--Les Misérables--unabridged is best but don't read Tolstoy's War and Peace unabridged unless you like to line up little toy soldiers in various battle formations during your free time.

Stendahl--The Red and the Black

Shakespeare--Macbeth, Hamlet, Henry IV Part 1, Anthony and Cleopatra are my favourites. I would definitely read these in a group and read them aloud

John Milton "Paradise Lost" (must read aloud)

Jean Anouilh--"Antigone"

Franz Kafka--The Trial, The Castle and Metamorphosis (If you're in a dark going-out-there mood)

Thomas Mann--Death in Venice

Friedrich Durrenmatt's plays

Bertholt Brecht--"The Threepenny Opera" and "Mother Courage."

Edward Beecher: "Conflict of Ages" and "Concord of Ages". The first book is a treatise on pre-existence and the second is a treatise on the Vulnerable God. Must reads!

In January I wrote a little bit about The God Who Weeps after I finished the book, you can read that here. Also, I love this interview with Fiona for The Mormon Women Project.

Also! If you want to hear the Givens here in Utah: Terryl and Fiona will be giving their "Crucible of Doubt" fireside on June 26 to a YSA Institute in Orem. The fireside will be held at the "Costco" chapel in Orem from 7:30 - 9:00 p.m. (There are two chapels next to each other across the street from Costco. The Institute meets in the chapel that is to the north and the east of the other.)

C. Jane Vlog: Father's Day 2013 Edition

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Fri, 14 Jun 2013 13:07:00 +0000

I unveil my skills for penning poetry, Chup has a surprising reaction.
It's all about showing love for Father's Day!

This vlog is brought to you by these fantastic sponsors:

Buy tickets for the show here!

Hey, want to connect this weekend? I'll be around here:
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Happy Father's Day Weekend!

Wanderlost

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Thu, 13 Jun 2013 13:00:00 +0000

The dream of my life was to travel. I told Chup many times in and out of courtship and through the first decade of marriage, "If I can travel I will live anywhere with you. Even Idaho. Lo."

But curiously, as I have taken up a steady study of my town--the views, the discoveries, the wonder of the geography--my desire to travel lessens and lessens. My soul doesn't wait for it like a coming-of-confidence. If I can love where I live, I can love myself and others all the more.

Does this shrink my view of the world? Not necessarily. In my pocket in Provo I have explored many global cultures by sharing experiences with my neighbors. My friend Milli from Ghana often tells me about body image ideas where she grew up ("The pear-shape is considered most beautiful.") and she's been known to leave her traditional meat kabobs (with spice so fast it melts your intestines on the quick) on my doorstep.

I do family history work for Birthe my friend from Denmark. I learn Italian from Irene. Many times I've invited myself to Simy's house for hot fare from Hong Kong. My friend Jessica just brought my girls muumuus and gummies from her hometown in Hawaii. If I'm feeling brave sometimes I will pipe up and practice my French with my neighbor Jonathan from France.

Is knowing the backdoor alley-way restaurants in Paris better than walking in to Slab pizza with all the waiting MTC-bound missionaries and their tearful mothers? You know? I don't know. I've done both and each comes with unique thrills.

Of course, if Milli ever asks if I want to go to Accra with her and eat mangos on her porch, I won't turn her down. Traveling will always excite me, I've just let go of the idea that it will complete me.

Provo completes me just fine. Thank you.

This post was brought to you by:

Going on this weekend:
You need some new threads?
There are 2 one-of-a-kind vintage and thrift sales going on this weekend in downtown Provo.
(I will be selling some vintage dresses from my collection at both sales! Sizes 8 to 16!)

And:

On Plastics & Pools

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 13:00:00 +0000

We took our children to visit the delights of Southern California last month. We watched our feet disappear in the magic show of the washing tide. We skipped along the San Clemente pier cheering on the fisherman. And we counted those tall trees with the moppy tops, you know, "beach trees" my children called them.

We spent an entire four days in our swimming suits--in and out of blue pools and swashing sea water. I have to say that for all of its reputation of swagger and plastic body parts, Orange County has nothing on Utah County. Here in Utah County we set a sky high standard for body perfection and orange-colored-bought-in-a-bottle pseudo sexuality. Our freeway is loaded with clinics on billboards who eagerly wait to enhance, flatten or lazer-off something entirely. Given that we are the most conservative and Mormon county in the nation, it makes me sad that we obviously profess values but pay for vanity. We should know better, but we are failing awfully hard at loving ourselves in Utah County.

(In fact, given my lifelong love for this county and especially all things Provo, I feel like I can say as an insider that this place can be toxic for women. We live in a culture where it's encouraged to have lots of children. Many of us want to have lots of children, and because of the popularity of population our community does a great job of supporting big families. But that same community doesn't necessarily support our post-birthing bodies. It can feel like, Yes, have children! Lots of them! But heavens don't look like you've had them!)

Anyway, this is all to say, I found reason to love my own body in Orange County and it had nothing to do with diets, cleanses, Zumba or bronzer. Read it here.

....and speaking of Zumba, I also wrote this about exercising to love your body, not change it.

Be Generous (When Writing About People You Don't Like)

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 13:00:00 +0000

"You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better." --Anne Lamott

A couple months ago I attended a lecture by the great Mormon scholar and historian Claudia Bushman about the importance of women writing their histories. If we want to have a future, we have to have a history.

After presenting her data, collections and experience of compiling an anthology of Mormon women's stories, we were allowed to ask questions. Someone in the audience asked about the ever-present conundrum of writing about people who were unkind to us--those who abused us, mistreated us, presented a bad character for the stories of our lives--what about those people? And in my world, I think about this in a public sphere--how do we write publicly about these people? Some of us still carry fear around them, and some of them are still our uncles, and some of them read our blogs.

Claudia's response was this, "Be generous."

I thought about that response. And I thought about it some more and I am still thinking about it.

Be generous. I suppose she meant, don't be overly demonizing of the antagonists of your stories. They are, after all, people. But I have also thought about flipping this idea, and saying, be generous about the truth. It seems to me, when we can look at a person's life honestly and without any blurry technique of carefully-worded manipulation, we can feel empathy for just about anyone. If you choose to write about people in your life publicly, choose to write about them truthfully. And be generous with that truth.

Truth, isn't perspective. When writing about someone, take yourself out of the character assessment and try to see them as neutral. Your perspective is tainted and you will have to own up to that. But truth considers all the factors, it consumes an entire being, it doesn't omit the good or the bad or the ugly--honesty embraces them all with balance and enlightenment. If you choose write truthfully, everyone wins. Truth makes everything illuminated and right.

And be generously truthful with yourself too.

Truth also doesn't float to the top easily. It's usually anchored, weighed down at the bottom of an ocean of human nature. So don't trust your first instinct. Dig and dig and dig before you are sure you've found the bottom. When I wrote about Page yesterday, about how she felt her worth was in her fertility, it was the result of many, many conversations about who we are as people and as sisters. When we write we are anthropologists of the soul--digging and digging until we've pieced together our personal mysteries.

Anyway, that's it: be generous. Every once and awhile stop your fingers from clacking on that keyboard and ask yourself, Am I being generous? To myself? To others? To the situation? To the scenery? To the sentiment? To the truth?

Want to discuss this more? We're on facebook today chatting about it. Join us!

A Story for the Sisters

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 13:00:00 +0000

To Ever & Erin,

On Sunday afternoons sometimes my sister Page would play paper dolls with me. I loved it more than just about anything else I can remember. Page is seven years older than me, and in those times of our lives seven years was a century between us. But we still shared a gabled room, wallpapered in wedding bouquets, and a bed too. In fact, we shared a bed right up until the day Page got married.

This weekend we moved Erin out of the crib, and now you two are sharing a bed. You both sleep like steam rollers and I've found you on top of each other in the dark nights when I check in. But you don't mind, your mouths drop wide open, your sweaty hair bounces in the wind of the fan and your eyes stay shut. Anson couldn't handle that sleepy movement, that boy sleeps like a board.

I wanted to tell you something that Page did for me, something huge that affected me, your daddy and all of us really. I want to tell you about the best part of being a sister: sacrifice.

I am learning that sacrifice means to give up our weaknesses. Here's the tricky thing about weaknesses, we sometimes think they are our strengths, and we go throughout our lifetime unwilling to give them up because we think they make us so great. Or capable. Or special. But really, they make us miserable.

Page had to sacrifice her time to play paperdolls with me on Sundays. I remember her always being a little annoyed with me when I asked. But if she protested, our mom would yell from the clanging and smelly sounds of kitchen dinner be made, "Go play with her Page." However, once we had a fine storyline going on--of peril and paper society--Page would usually play quite nice. And that was all I ever wanted.

Years of Sunday afternoons on our bedroom floor with Hallmark dolls vanished into memories quickly. When I was ten Page started college, married Uncle Vance, became a nurse and started having babies. Lots of babies. And then it was my turn to sacrifice my time. Every few months I'd catch a flight to San Fransisco to babysit Page's children while she took a weekend off. I was there at the birth of two of her golden-haired babies and I learned to love them all like my own.

And then, I met your dad. I knew I wanted to have babies right off too--just like Page. I had graduated from college, studied in London, served a mission, worked in a deliriously fun job and now I wanted to be a mother. But unlike Page, the babies didn't come for me.

Years went by and the babies never came.

(What were you doing up there in heaven?)

This made me terribly sad. I cried a lot. I prayed to Heavenly Father for a baby. I didn't even need eight babies like Page, I just wanted one. But interestingly, every time I prayed I felt my answer was connected to Page and if I were patient, Page would help me have a baby.

I thought this meant, because Page was a nurse she'd have some special idea come to her mind about how I could fix my body. So every few months I'd go visit her and ask her if she had anything new I could try. We tried a lot of things--like oils and massages and diets. But nothing worked.

Then one day Page called me up to her house and told me she had received an answer to her prayers. You see girls, while I was praying for a baby Page was praying to know when she had come to the end of her family. She wanted to have lots of children, she would have had twenty. But she didn't know if it was the best thing to keep going. And in her praying and wondering and asking, she had a very bold, strong impression come to her mind, "If you stop having babies, Courtney will get pregnant."

On the day she told me that, we sat on her bed trying to put her revelation together like a puzzle. Could this be true? Was this just a thought helping Page feel better? We talked and discussed and ultimately my sister said to me, "The only thing that could make me stop having babies is the idea that you would start to have them instead." And because we're both women of faith, and we could both feel The Spirit swelling around as we talked, we decided to believe this was true.

Page had felt her whole life that her value was in her capability to have babies. This was a very core element of who she believed she was, to stop having babies was almost like asking her to stop breathing. And so, while that certainly isn't true, it was a huge sacrifice for her to give up that for me on the faith I'd get pregnant. See? Page didn't really sacrifice having babies, she gave up believing she was only special because she could have them. And in the big picture, that was a very large, scary sacrifice.

I never really told anyone this story, because I didn't think anyone would believe us. I carried on, doubting and wondering, praying and clinging to faith. Finally I told Heavenly Father I would have children if He sent them, but if He didn't, that was ok too. In the back of my mind though, the thought never left me--Page's decision would help me get pregnant.

I can see that almost anyone could be skeptical of this story, and perhaps I would've grown suspicious too, but months after we had this discussion I found out I was pregnant. I'll always remember that day for all of it's celebrations and happiness, but mostly because it was September 6th.

Page's birthday.

Happy Sister Bed-Sharing Days my girls!

Your Guide to the June 7th Rooftop Concert Series presented by CJaneKendrick.com

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Thu, 06 Jun 2013 08:17:00 +0000

The time has come for another First Friday in downtown Provo! This is a guide to our concert tomorrow night hosted by me, C. Jane. 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 June 7th brings the second concert of the 2013 Rooftop Concert Series. It's like an indie folk sandwich with some brilliant, gorgeous indie electronica in the middle. Or, if the electronica's in the middle, would that make it an indie electronica sandwich with two slices of incredible organic indie folk on each side? Either way, half-baked sandwich comparisons aside, it will be quite a night.

The night begins with the gauzy, melancholy stirrings of Jay William Henderson, whose songs will break you in the best ways.Few singers around have such a hard-wired connection between their aching heart and their voice. What a voice.

Then it's on to one of the buzzier local bands in recent history, Polytype. It's electronic meets organic. It's propulsive beats and layered, floaty melodies. It's a unique sound from a band just finding its feet. And you don't want to miss a second of it.

And, last but not least, our headliner Joshua James makes music from the heartland, music of the mountains, with a voice that can hush a storm or shake up the sky. He's toured the world, received critical acclaim from all corners, and we're lucky he's coming back to us for one summer night on the rooftop. Brace yourselves for the live revelation that Joshua's stage show can be.

FAQs About the Show:
Who should come? This show will be pleasant for all ages. Cool vibe and lots of different sounds.

What's the weather? 80 degrees by showtime, about 70 by the end. Bring a jacket. Or someone to snuggle with. Or a blanket. But snuggling is more fun. Bring a jacket, a blanket and someone to snuggle with, now everyone is winning.
Where should I park? Here.
What time can I set up my blankets and chairs? 6:00. And if you want a place to sit, it's recommended you set up early. Also, your best chance is to set up in the middle as there tends to be a standing crowd around the stage.
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.

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. Also on site is the southern style hot plates of Station 22 Cafe.

What should we do after the show? Please follow this guide to your after party options brought to you by C. Jane Kendrick, Justin Hackworth and their intergalactic powers to walk at speeds not known to regular mankind:

Are there videos of the performers I can watch before the show? Want a little taste? Here you go:
Jay William Henderson--Lonely Man

Polytype--Cyclone

Joshua James--Weeds

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!

A Request For Faith (Update)

noreply@blogger.com (ck) — Wed, 05 Jun 2013 16:06:00 +0000

Update:
Tyler's body was found this evening. I am devastated for his family yet relieved they found him.

Every morning Chup and I hike in the foothills behind our house. There's a trail that rises and falls along the east of our side of town. From the trail we can see the entire valley as it wakes up and receives the morning sun.

Last night from our bedroom we could hear the roar of a helicopter hovering over the mountains.

"They are searching for that missing hiker," Chup told me. Earlier in the day we had caught a glimpse of the story on the TV when we had a quick bowl of pho for lunch downtown.

"They still haven't found him?" I worried.

"He went missing on Saturday, he's been gone a couple days now," Chup told me.

"How old is he?" I asked.

"Twenty-two." Chup read on his phone.

And in the morning we woke up to the blades switching as the helicopter zoomed over our house. When we went to hike on the trail it was closed. A make-shift search and rescue base closed off the trailhead. We walked north instead, hearing the helicopter hovering just to the south of us. To me it was the sound of a mother's broken heart.

Even now as I write this from my second-story office in our home, the helicopter still hums towards the mountains, above the hills and and jagged rocks. Searching for a blip on the infrared.

Could you help our community today? Please pray for Tyler Mayle. In the words of his teary and torn mother, who has surely considered all the outcomes of this search, "Please pray for Tyler. We need to get Tyler back home."

Thank you.

Do You Feel Like You Are Casting Pearls Before Swine When You Write Personally?

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Tue, 04 Jun 2013 06:00:00 +0000

From Wikipedia:
"Pearls before swine" and "casting pearls" refer to a quotation from Matthew 7:6 in Jesus's Sermon on the Mount, implying that you should not put what is valuable in front of those who will reject the notion that it has value and furthermore that they will seek to diminish or destroy what you offer.

I get asked that question a lot because clearly I choose to write about vulnerable spots in my life.

And honestly, no I don't.

First of all, I think it's important to define, for you, what are your pearls and who/what are your swine.

I write the stories that wake me up at night. I write the stories that fight their way into a brain full of occupied territory. I write the stories that ask nicely--and then adamantly to be published. I try to honor their determination to be free of my head. So, I guess what I am saying is that I choose to write pearls that are ready to be put on necklaces and worn about the internet.

Certainly I have written many posts from cold, dry spots--those are the essays I hate, but I don't regret. If writing is the record of my existence, I need to have an arch in my character or my posterity will be bored and suspicious. So, sometimes I cast my swine before my pearls just to prove there was swine in me. Because there will be swine in them too. We're all sometimes the swine.

Also, sometimes I am my own swine. When that happens I don't feel like writing at all. I feel void of pearls entirely.

If there is a pearl in me that doesn't want to be cast anywhere to anyone, I am certain that story sits in me clammed up, never knocking or making a fuss about in my consciousness. When it's smooth enough, polished, clear and bright it will come and ask to be presented. I know because I've tried to coax too many pearls and I've been rejected many times. I've also heard them cracking out of their oystery shells--the first sounds of their asking.

And if I were to write something that 99% of my readers dreadfully hated and rejected en masse, but there was 1% who were moved to become something better--those 1% matter to me. It is still worth it. I know because that's happened to me too.

Trust the process you write for, not necessarily the people who read it. And I think you'll be ok.

We're discussing this topic today on facebook, come join us!

Charity Never Fails

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Mon, 03 Jun 2013 14:13:00 +0000

And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.--Moroni 7:45 The Book of Mormon

This weekend I thought a lot about charity. In the Book of Mormon it teaches charity is the pure love of Christ. It occurred to me that charity is the pure love of Christ for myself. If I love myself like Christ does there will be no room for my impatience, unkindness, jealousy, self-servitude, temper, and dishonesty for others. Charity is being so full of self-acceptance there simply is no room for anything else.

What if my children had a mother who knew, intimately, the power of charity? Can I wake up each morning feeling grateful instead of fearful? Can I become a role model who embraces charity by exercise and determination?

I know it's been said so many times, but I am starting to get it now: how I treat myself is the same as how I treat others. If I want to be good to others, I need to be good to myself. The standards I use to judge myself is the standard I will use to judge others. And by "others" I primarily mean my children. So those standards better be incredibly fair.

This weekend I wondered if I could master charity towards myself--my greatest enemy and doubter. And if I could, who couldn't I learn to love? And to what extent? How deep?

Heaven let me love myself, not for myself but for my children.

C. Jane Vlog: Putting A Pledge In Our Relationship

noreply@blogger.com (ck) — Fri, 31 May 2013 08:53:00 +0000

PLEDGE HERE!

BUT THAT'S NOT ALL!

I will also throw in a vlog tutorial on How to Take Selfies On Instagram! This is an imperative skill that would normally cost you lots of money to learn. Like $689. But I will teach it for free for you and your friends (if they read my blog) if we have a successful Mindy Gledhill & Rooftop Concert Series campaign.WHAT A VALUE. Pledge today!

You miss me sometimes? You can also find me here:
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Vine:cjanekendrick

Also. ONE WEEK FROM TODAY THIS WILL HAPPEN:

Idaho Turns Five

noreply@blogger.com (ck) — Sat, 25 May 2013 16:24:00 +0000

The night before he turned five years old he was bouncing and sinking on the big king bed in the hotel room. The crispy white linens were shushing over every movement he made.

"Hey Idaho?" I said to him.

"What Mommy?" he answered.

"How about I snuggle you like you are my little baby boy again? Just for a little tiny bit."

And he thought about it, his body language prepared to resist, but then he collapsed in my arms. The linens shushed again and his lean, tan body cradled right up into my arms.

I couldn't believe he let me cradle him.

I remembered what it was like when he was my only baby and really, my whole world. Before he was old enough to resist being held by me. Before I knew what a brave, real, unapologetic, athletic, sensitive, inquisitive, mechanical and silly boy he would become. Oh how I love love love him.

Seventeen seconds I got to hold him on the night before he turned five. His birthday, the anniversary of my motherhood, is the date my life hit a fast forward button and everything started sinking rapidly into a vortex of time and information. I never knew this was motherhood--watching life disappear into memories at a speed you can't control. It's a rush of so many sorts.

"That's enough Mommy," he said, his "rock star" hair shaggy and handsome around his face.

And the linens rustled back alive with his resumed bouncing.

From Anson's Birthday Adventure.

Snapshot of Bunnies & the Pacific

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Thu, 23 May 2013 15:41:00 +0000

Last night when the fog was hovering over the ocean and the lights from Dana Point Harbor were at our backs, we climbed up the hill to our hotel. Anson and Squishy were pushed in the stroller by Daddy, and Ever was perched on my shoulders like an African queen on safari. We paraded up a hundred stairs.

The flood light from the red roofs of the hotel spotted us in the park below, enough light to expose our shadows and the little cotton tails of the bunnies in the park. Ever jumped off my shoulders and started to chase them, they hopped in packs, little flashes of white like fireflies close to the ground. Anson chased too. Chasing and laughing, my children ran in the dark and the shadows, caught between the cliffs and the sea.

And from the stroller, Erin's olive eyes watched, barely able to keep them open after a long day traveling the interior of the great, dusty western frontier. Her day was spent confined to a car seat, consuming bottomless bottles and watching backwards all the miles between her crib and the silver Pacific.

The bunnies brushed by our feet, their shadows and white tails retreating to the bushes. We walked on, up the hill and into our hotel, where we opened the windows and let the spell of ocean air lull us all to sleep.

And in the morning the baby's bumpy skin was smooth, like milk or butter.

From Anson's Birthday Adventure.

Separation Anxiety

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Tue, 21 May 2013 20:01:00 +0000

The nursery leader at church said Erin could start attending nursery class little early.

"If she's nervous or cries she might not be ready to come without you."

Of course she's going to cry, I thought as I gathered up the yard sale we dump on our pew at church each week. Books, silly putty, snacks, drinks, discarded jewelry, sacrament cups, crayons, crumpled paper, hair accessories, magnets, toys stolen from the pews behind--and in front--of ours. So much entertainment required for a little over sixty minutes of the first hour of worship. And like every week, as I pick up crumbs and dying crafts I wonder if it all leads to over-stimulation and makes the kids more church hyper.

(Don't tell me, let me figure it out myself.)

The salvation of the church-going parent comes when the children are off in their respective classes for the next two hours of church. In our case it's Anson to Primary and Ever to the older nursery class. Chup and I have been bouncing Erin between us for the last six months waiting until May. May--the month Squish finally turns eighteen months and we can put her in the younger nursery class and actually hear words spoken in Sunday School and teach our third hour classes without her mid-afternoon red-faced melt-down. (We've also employed our friend Jessica to help with the bouncing, bless her for her troubles.)

Yes May! The month of our church-going peacemaking.

And yet, I worried for Erin's side of the bargain. She's many things: quiet, sensitive, emphatic, observant and skeptical, but not so much a socialite. In crowds she's fiercely devoted to me (shall we say) and when we leave her with a babysitter she curses at us through the front window. For weeks leading up to May I had visions of Erin in nursery clawing at the door, splinters in her fingernails, praying (with her limited vocabulary) for freedom.

OUT!

DONE!

NO!

MONKEY!

So last Sunday after our pew was cleared of debris, I walked my Erin to the nursery door for the first time. And just before I opened it I crouched down and looked into her eyes.

"You can do this Squish!" I told her with a kiss on her nose.

And then I took a deep breath and opened the door and my Squishy, in her rose dress with the ruffly shoes and that big pastel bow placed on her head, ran fast right through my legs into the nursery and with her arms extended skyward, she let out a huge,

"OooooooooooOOOOooooooOOOOO!"

like she had won everything.

And that's when the door slammed shut in my face and my eye was level with the peephole parents use to check on their children in the nursery room.

You know what? That girl didn't even look back.

Daughter of Eve

noreply@blogger.com (C. Jane Kendrick) — Mon, 20 May 2013 17:55:00 +0000

I sat at the temple this morning mulling over my personal inventory.

How am I doing?

I have been feeling sadness and (of course) anger a lot this past week. It seemed almost anything could set me whirling into shame and disconnect. As I work through the 12 Step program I am learning my disconnect comes from not wanting to feel feelings. Even happy feelings I've tried to escape. Feeling anything at all can be difficult sometimes.

Those things I used to lather myself in for the thrill of happiness just don't do it for me anymore. Certainly, there are little drops of joy in what I used to relish in--the colors in my house, new clothes, parties--but it's so far diminished from what it used to be. Happiness for me now begs for more than what is pretty or perfect.

It's imperfection that is beautiful to me now. I find myself buying into it more and more. Imperfection is the story of Christianity. It's the taking up of the cross. For centuries Christians have told stories of weakness and work, of overcoming great personal obstacles and broken relationships. Their imperfections told their stories. Why would my story be different?

The more I try to develop a relationship with God, the more I am aware of my pride and lust, my worshiping of idols and denial of truth. I know of my desire to be desirable, to have everything I want to have, to be just a little bit better than someone else.

But then, while gathering in my confessions and awareness, I have a moment where God transforms the worst of my vices into strengths. When my vanity turns from despair into a sweeping love for myself, I know I am seeing myself as God sees me. And in that moment I derive power from the idea of helping someone else swim in that sentiment too. Oh. Oh. Oh happiness.

Happiness beyond purchase and beyond colors and born from grief.

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