{Walt Whitman is my HOMEBOY!}

For all my love of Thoreau, I think it not blasphemous to admit that I hold equal love for another--the greatest American Poet {and yes, in this instance I must capitalize Poet} to ever grace history, Walt Whitman. For all Thoreau's beauty and profundity as an artist of prose, he was a crummy poet. I mean...even in my semesters in Karen Hufford's Creative Writing courses in my college years, I probably could have beat out H.D. in a poetry contest--and I turned out some truly atrocious stuff, I assure you.

However, whenever my want for poetry goes unfulfilled by HDT's heavy handed odes, I can always turn to Whitman and feel my haggard soul rise a bit. Though the two men--who met on occasion and both read each other's works--were ambivalent about one another's writing, I have no trouble reconciling their differences and reveling in each.

And because no post is complete without photos {is it any wonder I prefer the Mister to wear a beard?? In fact...I gotta admit, take a look over there-----> and tell me that there isn't a resemblance. No wonder I think my hubby is such a stud! } :

{photo via BYU}

So, to celebrate Memorial Day, and the birthday of a great American Poet, the man who made the common people his hero, my favorite exerpt from "Leaves of Grass":


A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
is any more than he.


I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.


Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?


Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe
of the vegetation.


Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
same, I receive them the same.


And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.


Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women, and
from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.


This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old
mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.


O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
for nothing.


I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
taken soon out of their laps.


What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and
children?


They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.


All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
luckier.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Whitman! Indeed I rejoice that you live on.

{Musings}

A few tidbits...
Remember when I was expressing the "worse mischief" my little trouble makers were finding? Well, I think I have a winner...and it isn't the one I would have expected...

{Uh-oh...}

{Look at me, Mom! This is FUN!}

{Oh...okay, I'll just clean this up for you...}

Ahhh...it's a good thing he's so awfully cute...and not allergic to peanuts...

In other news, a quick bit of gratitude. 

I tell the Mister often that one of the best gifts he gave me when we married was his sweet family. Granted, his dad likes to take pictures of me drooling in my sleep (he really has quite an impressive collection! [which is also due to the fact that I drool IMPRESSIVELY in my sleep]), but ultimately I am so grateful to be counted among them. I especially find myself in awe of so many of the women in his family--I have learned so much from all of them, including my fellow sisters/daughters-in-law, and love to feel the Spirit they carry. I count my blessings every time I hear those "Mother-in-Law Horror Stories" that so many women seem to carry proudly like battle wounds, because I've never had one to tell. In fact, I often find myself defending Mothers-in-Law the world over, because if mine is so wonderful. 

In addition to the Mister's awesome immediate family though, one of the best surprises I received as part of this gift was of Aunt Ellen. I believe I first met her at our wedding, and the Mister himself had only met her a few times before then. Since that time she has been around much more often and her amazing presence is such a source of joy for us. I LOVE seeing Aunt Ellen. Her laughter is contagious and she is positively full to BURSTING with life. She is also incredibly thoughtful....which leads me to a (sort-of) tangent. 

I manage a housing complex for college girls. This means that I am the replacement mother for 120 18-22 year old girls. This means that I am on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for everything from something as small as not knowing where to get a stamp to as large as strange men breaking in. (Thankfully, the latter has not happened on my watch!) Last semester, I think I had a bit of a honeymoon period; while I had some major crises, they were few, and the day-to-day drama that so many managers experience was almost non-existent. I can tell that this semester will be different, as I have already been faced with many challenges--challenges that outsiders might think are "insignificant," but which to girls in their first "real-world" experience are huge obstacles. I have been VERY tired, spending late nights mediating, and stressed from more time than I like on the phone, consulting other managers and talking to worried parents. 

Imagine my surprise when I received a package this week, containing this: 

It arrived from Aunt Ellen. In the few short days it has been here, this book has already given peace to my soul, been used to share advice to my girls, and brought the Spirit back into heated discussions. It was such a simple gift, and yet I am certain that she was led by the Spirit to send it my way. I am so grateful for this timely gift, but more for the love she showed and the example she gives--the reminder to listen to and ACT on the Spirit. As Elder Uchtdorf writes, "In the end, the number of prayers we say may contribute to our happiness, but the number of prayers we answer may be of greater importance." 

So thank you, Ellen, for answering a prayer from across the miles. Not just mine, but I imagine also that some of the very thoughts in this book have been answer to the prayers of young girls in need of their precise comfort. You are wonderful, and I am grateful for the gift of YOU! 

"How many a man has dated a new era in his life from the reading of a book."

Obviously, I'm a big Thoreau fan. And just as clearly, his words have made a powerful impression upon this reader. However, this post is not {exactly} about Thoreau...rather it is a gift I received from a friend at the start of this journey. And my apologies, because this post is a long time coming.

I am blessed to have the friendship and support of a group of women I came into contact with in an online forum. Originally, we started out trying to learn a little something on a somewhat unusual subject--cloth diapers. But our common interest was seeded in other, more meaningful commonalities--love for family, love of learning, respect for others and for the world in which we live. As such, the support from that group of women expanded far beyond the covering of our children's tushies, and I feel privileged to call many of these women my friends.

Indeed, one of these friends yet again demonstrated that love when she sent me an incredibly thoughtful gift as we began our attempts to simplify our lives. As a surprise one day, I arrived at the mailbox to see a package waiting for me, and what was inside, but one of the most wonderful children's books I had ever had the pleasure to read! The book, Henry Builds a Cabin is based on Thoreau's time at Walden Pond. It is filled with unique illustrations and tells the story, simply and clearly, without sacrificing its profundity. I was filled with gratitude and sentimentality when I first read it, and continue to be so each time I peruse it again. So, Helene, THANK YOU.

AND...if you'd like to see a few pages of Henry Builds a Cabin, you can see it right here. Or check it out from your local library and read it to your children {or yourself!}.