Tuesday, August 30, 2011

so blessed...


  • i can read
  • walking in early morning summer light
  • opening up the house to cool summer air each morning
  • tunes on my ipod
  • YOU RAISE ME UP...Josh Groban
  • joy in the calling
  • feet warmed by the sun
  • nate and greg visit
  • anson at the barbershop
  • my dad's "no soup for you"
  • hummingbirds still come
  • nathan scanned the scrapbooks
  • tomatoes from the garden
  • sweetie likes to plant, nurture and grow
  • Moroni has a solid sense of right and wrong
  • cucumbers
  • book group at Bear Lake
  • Bear Lake raspberries
  • my four boys, their dad...all holding...blessing Henry David
  • my body is healthy
  • my children are trying


Monday, August 29, 2011

holding two babies

expecting alison

sam in my arms

joy all over my face


Sunday, August 28, 2011

my brother

we took the bus to slc
bought lunch
looked around
sat in the photo booth

we goofed off
took the bus home
photos all that's left
reminder of that day

yesterday you came
grocery bags in tow
fish sauce, indian spices
lamb a slow simmer
jasmine rice

this offering
savored by all
generously served
edible love
he is my brother
we share much


apples don't fall far from the tree.


Thursday, August 25, 2011

the matter of words

this is not a wall of books

stacked almost to the museum ceiling

is is a square box consisting of books...enormous

"This piece of art is made for the exhibition, for the gallery space, and it exists only for this, and it won't ever exist after this, it will be destroyed," Bateman said. "It relates to the architecture of this particular space ... moving it elsewhere would undermine some of the meaning that the work actually has."
With the help of museum assistants, building the 14-foot tall, 83,000-pound sculpture took about 600 hours. The books were carefully stacked and are held by gravity only; something Bateman said is only possible through following strict parameters of stacking and using plenty of experimentation and faith.
"This piece is about the idea of language and the relationship language has to objects," Bateman said. "I think, typically, people are attracted to books because people have a familiarity with books, and they are predisposed to like books. And I think when they see this many books together it transforms the way they think about books, and that's something people enjoy."

If You Go

The Matter of Words: Adam Bateman, Harrell Fletcher, and John Fraser
When: Through Nov. 26, visit the museum's website for hours
Where: The Brigham Young University Museum of Art, in the Marian Adelaide Morris Cannon Gallery on the main level of the museum, North Campus Drive
Tickets: Admission is free, free docent-led tours can be scheduled with at least one week's notice by calling (801) 422-1140
Info: www.moa.byu.edu

Thursday, August 18, 2011

pretty much all week

 Susan Easton Black...Michael Wilcox...Lynn Scoresby
hanging out with sweetie
lots of walking
drive to Mapleton
some new ideas
Italian Place subs
running into old friends
remembering when

it's been a great week!


Friday, August 12, 2011

it's Friday!

Catherine's very talented/fun cousins at Island Park!

"Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. 

Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one."

 Jane Howard

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

something clever

United Stereotypes of America
by Haley


  • melissa has her iphone back
  • down time
  • drying hair in the hot sun
  • to watch the last star disappear in daylight
  • reunion gave me a chance to see old friends
  • cherries
  • sucking on the pits
  • creative types
  • lunch with YW leaders
  • chap stick (badgers)
  • my july company was a blast
  • roses on the kitchen table
  • Tamar, Ruth, Rahab, Bathsheba


I’ve always had the ability to recognize the happy moments I will miss later in life as I live them.  It’s like a pre-nostalgia – a certain knowledge that in the future, I will lament the fact that I cannot go back to that particular sliver of time.  Nostalgia is a nasty emotion.  Linger in it too long and it grows stronger.  Try to ignore it and it weakens you.  I suppose nostalgia gives us something to yearn for, but that yearning feels awfully hopeless as memories fade.
My children, still young and unaware that they will one day want to have their own lives away from their parents, are at the age now that I know for sure I will miss very much.  Though I often joke about how hard parenting is (and it is), I wouldn’t trade away this time of my life for an easier life of self indulgence.  Being a dad has been an important part of my own growth as a person and fatherhood adds a complexity to my existence that I cannot imagine living without.  My wife and I are still young enough to feel young and our own parents are still active enough to not seem too old.  This is a happy time, which I know I will miss desperately as the years go by.
As a workaround for that pesky problem of aging and lost years, I often imagine that an older me has been granted the wish to come back in time to right now.  I pretend that 95-year-old future me has been given that gift just before death and that my one wish is to come back to 2011 to see my kids as little kids, my wife as a beautiful young woman and to see a world around me still within my grasp. I know it’s a bit strange, but it helps me savor the smallest moments around me that might otherwise slip away under appreciated, or worse, unnoticed.
I suppose it’s something of a nostalgia alarm.
It hits me at strange times.  If I hear them playing and laughing in the other room, I wonder what it will feel like to dream about that very moment one day, when they have long since moved out and I won’t be able to walk in and hug them and play with them.  I picture older me waking from a dream of my happy past, hearing the fading echoes of their young voices evaporate into the darkness around me as reality reclaims an old man from his sleep. I can actually feel the longing (as if I am that old man right now) to run into that room and see them as young children just one more time, to hug them and talk to them and tickle them and play with them and laugh with them.  It’s a longing that I can vividly imagine and it makes my heart hurt.
But then, here I am.  I have not aged and my nostalgia is premature.  I have that opportunity every single moment of every day, I remember and I seize it with relief.  This weird nostalgia alarm seems to go off in my mind each time some piece of me senses that I am missing time with them or that I am ignoring the happy family moments I will later ache for.
Yesterday, I was watching a baseball game in the living room.  It seemed important, although I realize of course that it’s not at all. Outside, Lucy and Zach ran around the yard, chasing hummingbirds and inventing games to keep them laughing.  Emmy crawled in the grass and discovered the brand new world around her.  As I sat on the couch, the happy laughter and squeals from outside faded into the background behind the less important sounds of a televised baseball game.  Inside me, that familiar alarm sounded softly.  “Get out there while you can,” I thought.  A wish granted, I imagined. Suddenly, the laughter outside became the only thing I heard.  I recognized, with some sadness, that I will never wish for the chance to go back in time to see a baseball game on TV.  I turned it off and joined them outside.  Maybe somewhere, future me is enjoying this precious time as if he never aged at all.
Even if not, present me most certainly is.

down time that is

i do believe

as a matter of fact

this kind of time feeds my soul


Monday, August 8, 2011

to kneel

hot sun
digging, pulling weeds
to reap and sow

boney on tile floor
slippery little bodies

gathered with loved ones
"bless them, keep them"

wringing out the dirt
fresh clean ready

kneeling often
holy offering
reminding me
of Him


Saturday, August 6, 2011

what the...

ok...so i'm riding my blue scooter slowing for a turn

a bicycle rider is just ahead of me and asks me..."do you know what atrophy is?"

i say, "excuse me?"

he responds..."do you know what atrophy is?"

still smiling i shrug one shoulder as the road forks and we part ways. i'm thinking, did he say what i thought i heard?

i then wanted to cut through the path...run him down and ask...

"do you know what smug is?"...or
"do you know what jackass is?...or
"you think you're pretty athletic, huh"...or
"what gives you the right?...or
"don't mess with me chump."

i had a lot to think about on the rest of my ride.  xox


check it out


my brother told me about this delightful site

Dear Photograph: If I could turn the corner in 1942, and walk right into my mother, I'd ask her,
 "May I walk beside you one more time?"  Love, Your Daughter


Wednesday, August 3, 2011

every crow thinks her chick is the blackest

that's what my grandma told my dad

and that's what my father said to me

right after i called him
Sam was just born
"he's so beautiful"

Henry David Carter
our 16th grandchild
the blackest chick
a very proud crow

(photos Alison Carter Brasher)


Monday, August 1, 2011

Saturday Night

we did it all again
40 years later
high school
only this time we met
Oakridge Country Club
 i fixed up the best i could
piled on the beads
took my own picture since i was the only one home
and headed out the door
hanging photos
albums from our era
 copy of high school news paper
 all rolled up in school colors
red and gray
 table filled with memorabilia

paula did an amazing job decorating this room
 angie always had the cutest hair
then and now
 roger and i were in Mame together
 i sat next to tom (on the right) and his wife liz
during dinner
gee he's a good guy
 high school friends
karen and nancy
lovely women
janese and janet
knew her all the way...K-12
she married Gary who worked for Merck
we met up again in California
the early years of our married life
then middle years in Pennsylvania
now in Utah
we lunch often
we went outside for a group photo
a bunch of helicopters flew overhead