Happy May & Hawaii

Happy May everyone! This is what I woke up to this morning. It's been snowing off and on all day. Not funny, Mother Nature, not funny at all.

May is supposed to be filled with flowers and sun and pool parties and trips to the beach. I do not know what to do with this white nonsense. It's one thing when it's Christmas Eve and the yard is covered in a blanket of white, that was actually pretty impressive. White stuff falling from the sky in May is not impressive. It's just lame. So in my rebellion against the snow, I am going to write a post on the fourth state I've been to, Hawaii.

My parents are amazing and, last September, they paid for our lodging and the rental car when the five of us went to Oahu and Kauai together. If you want my opinion about Hawaii, well, let's just say I'd still be there if it was an option. One day, not too long ago, I said to Troy, "Hey, do you think that sometime we could live in Hawaii for like a year?" I fully expected his answer to be something along the line of Um. No. or We just moved here let's not talk about random hypotheticals or Do you remember how expensive food was in Hawaii? Instead he said You know, sometime that would be really fun. Especially if we did a pastor exchange or something.

I have no doubt that, if my family lived there, I could easily become an island girl. The sun, the sand, the beauty, the warm nights walking down the beach in a tank top at 10. If I think about it hard enough I can almost feel the breeze on my neck and the sand between my toes. I'd love to explore the other islands, but I know that I could live on Kauai for a year. Sure, I'd get sick of the traffic and the prices but I don't think a day would come where basking in the sunshine sounded like a bad idea.

If I had to come up with some sort of downfall to Hawaii I'd say that, once you go inland a little ways, the mosquitoes start a bitin' and I am nothing if not a loather of blood sucking bugs. Other than that, I can't really think of anything except maybe Island Fever. It might get old living so far away from the main land. But for a year, oh how I long to live there for just a year...

Colorado

The truth is, nothing terribly eventful is going on in our house. We have the daily, bi-daily, sometimes tri-daily toddler meltdown. We clean the bathrooms. We occasionally pull some weeds. The past few days just haven't been particularly noteworthy. So I thought that I might get back to posting on the states I've been to, since it's been a good three months. I'm going in alphabetical order and with Arizona and California being published already, it's time to move on to Colorado.

It's strange but, as a teenager, I always kind of wanted to move to Colorado one day. We went when I was eleven and I remember a horrendous windstorm nearly blowing my brother and me straight into Kansas while my dad tried to pitch our tent. I remember the University of Colorado at Boulder and how I decided that I would most likely go there for college. Because, after all, one should figure these things out when they are getting ready to enter middle school. I remember that the airport in Colorado Springs wasn't scary at all but when we tried to make our connecting flight in Denver we were sprinting from one end of Gigantic Airport to the other. I've since taken an international flight out of O'Hare so maneuvering DEN might not be as big of a deal, but as a little eleven year old it was large and I was not and it made me feel like whoever penned It's A Small World was maybe smoking ganja.

More than anything though, I remember the Olympic Training Center. We went to Colorado at the height of my obsession with being an Olympic swimmer. Every single set at every single practice had my two friends and me racing against each other to see who took gold, silver and bronze. I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I was going to swim in the 2000 Olympics at Sydney. Maybe, just maybe, I would be good enough for Atlanta. It's important to mention that although these dreams obviously did not come true, I wasn't just one of those kids who swam for six months and had delusions of grandeur. I trained 45 minutes from home four-five days a week for five years straight (that's not counting the other five years I swam exclusively in Ramona) and sometimes, in the summers and during my freshman year of high school, I did doubles. Back in the early 90's, when I visited the Olympic Training Center, I was consistently finishing ahead of Staciana Stitts and she got a gold medal in Sydney. It could have happened. That's all I'm saying. I mean, it didn't. But. It. Could. Have. Ask my brother. He lived in the car and at swim meets for, like, half of his childhood. What a trooper. Um let's get this rabbit off it's trail. My point being, the Olympic Training Center had a big, huge, giant impact on me and it's in Colorado so Colorado must be good.

I love Colorado. I've never been there in the winter and even my summer experiences are minimal but it's a beautiful state full of rivers and camping and hiking and mountains and the Continental Divide. But most of all, now that I live in Utah, I love it for keeping me one state away from *Kansas.

There are a few states I've been to that I wouldn't consider moving to unless God bashed me on the head with a frying pan or wrote it in the sky or put it up on the Jumbotron at a football game. Colorado isn't one of them. If I were looking to move (please God, no. Not even out of my rental. Please please please no. I do not like putting all my earthly possessions in a giant van!) I wouldn't hesitate. I'd explore the options in the Centennial State.

*As I've said before, I'm sure that those of you who live in Kansas find it quite lovely. My time there did not endear me to it's plains and biting winds and general, uh, vastness. If you'd all like to move I would gladly petition Congress to turn it into a giant lake or wildlife preserve.

California

Today we will do ourselves some talking about the great state of California. Why? Well, for starters, I plan to elaborate on my love and/or hatred for the states in alphabetical order. Being that I have written about Arizona and I have not been to Arkansas, it is California's turn. Additionally, I am leaving in about three hours to shoot the breeze with my home state. (Amen! Praise and Glory!)

I know what you're thinking. Haven't I already said all there is to say about California? Not in a million years, my friend. We determined that Arizona has heat and mosquitos and, well, thankfully, The Grand Canyon (to redeem its sorry soul*) Where Arizona is lacking in things you must see before you die, California is thriving.

California is made up of 163,696 square miles. And I'd be lying if I said that I love 'em all. Truthfully, a great number of these miles are icky desert and Central Valley. But it's fine. I forgive California for having such topography because some of her miles are the Redwoods, Yosemite, San Francisco, Lake Tahoe (Yes, Nevada, I realize you share that one), The Sequoias, Mammoth, San Diego, Hollywood, Crescent City and the list goes on and on.

There is such a relief and a joy in knowing that your dreams are not landlocked. I cannot describe the peace I felt in looking out at a watery horizon that never ended. Just the knowledge that my ultimate wishes could bob up and down in that vast ocean was enough. Even if they didn't come true, they were free to swim forever, because I lived on an edge.

California has the ocean and the mountains and the desert and the forest, all rolled into one great state. I can't think of much in terms of recreation that couldn't be accomplished within her borders. You couldn't climb Mt. Everest or swim in the Everglades (Question: Do people actually swim in the Everglades? I've never been to Florida but it seems to me that what with all the alligators, you just wouldn't take the chance.) but those are about the only things I can think of. If you need your leaves to change colors to be happy, drive north. The autumn may not be as gorgeous as a New England fall but you'll see colors. If you need snow, not a problem. Sun, definitely available. And Spring, in California, the world seems just a little cleaner, a little more holy in the Spring.

I suggest a visit. Even if The Golden State is not your idea of permanent residence, just take a moment out of your life to see her. Stand in wonder of the Redwoods. I dare you to deny God's existence once you have. Hike to a waterfall in Yosemite. Walk the streets of Hollywood Blvd and see if you don't feel alive with a thousand dreams and endless possibilities. Sit on the shores of Tahoe. Let the cold mountain water lick your toes and imagine God commanding the Sierras into being. Catch a wave in San Diego. Feel the sun soaking into your every pore. Walk the streets. Breathe the air. It's somehow different there, somehow simultaneously exuding freedom and protection.

*The author of this blog does not believe that The Grand Canyon can save souls. Nor does she think that Arizona actually has a soul. She maintains that the only entity capable of saving souls is the Lord.

Arizona

Given its close proximity to "the state that I am in love with" you would think that I would know a great deal about The Grand Canyon State. I really don't. I know that it's hot. It takes a lot for me to admit that a place is hot, you know, given the fact that I thrive in 90 degree weather and turn in to a veritable popsicle when the thermometer hits 62. But darn it, Arizona is hot. As in, a great deal too hot for me to really enjoy myself there for any length of time.

When I think of places in Arizona two things come to mind. Number one, The Grand Canyon. Number two, Lake Havasu. When we went to Lake Havasu I was, I don't know, five or six. We boated to our own private campground and, I'm sure the entire trip would have been smashing fun if it weren't for the mosquitoes. Y'all I am pretty much deathly afraid of mosquitoes. This does not bode well for my general happiness during Salt Lake City summers. Such a fear was developed as a result of the Lake Havasu Experience. We had a port-a-potty that we'd hauled out to our campground so that we didn't all have to spend a week, or however long we were there, relieving ourselves in the bushes. It was down a pathway and stuck modestly back into the brush. One day I tootled my unsuspecting kindergarten butt down the path, pulled down my bathing suit and squatted upon Sir Potty. At this moment 89 gajillion mosquitoes attacked my unsuspecting flesh and, if I remember correctly, the pain was almost unbearable. I don't even know how we ended up getting them off. All I know is that our golden retriever puppy, tied to a tree a few yards down the path, was nearly hanging herself trying to get to my screams. When all was said and done, I had 827 mosquito bites. Okay, I didn't. I think I had something like 71, but you'd have to ask my mom for the official count. Whatever the number, there were a great many of them and they caused a great deal of discomfort. I think we determined that the Satan mosquitoes had just hatched themselves and, when they saw my pasty white flesh, they knew they'd found dinner. So, uh, what we have learned is that Arizona has blazing heat and mosquitoes. Strike one and two.

But it also has The Grand Canyon. I've only been once and I must have been in about the fourth grade because every SINGLE picture of me shows yours truly wearing glasses and rocking the side ponytail. Let me point out that I have not ever needed my glasses for your average, every day, peering at a gigantic hole in the ground. I need them for seeing a blackboard. I need them for watching TV. When I turned sixteen, I needed them for driving (praise God for contacts). Apparently, in all my nine year old glory, I thought these new spectacles were stylin'. These were not awesome Tina Fey glasses. These were not tiny little wire rims that made me look fashionable and mysterious. These were big ole chunky rims. We didn't need a date stamped on our pictures, take one look at my glasses and it's obvious we were rocking 1989. Although it may have been '90. Those late elementary years are kind of a blur of layered neon socks and big bangs. It should also be noted that, during the Grand Canyon trip, I was at the height of my obsession with posing for the camera with one hip stuck way out and a hand bent ridiculously on it. It was sort of like Punky Brewster imitating Vanna White. But for this awkward little girl, the canyon itself was majesty. I remember standing in awe of sheer immensity and wondering, as I often do, what compelled the Creator to paint such a wondrous piece of art. Was it so that I could not, in my right mind, deny his existence? "To stand upon the edge of this stupendous gorge, as it receives its earliest greeting from the god of day, is to enjoy, in a moment, compensation for long years of ordinary uneventful life." John Stoddard.

I will take the heat and I will take the mosquitoes if that is the only way to take the Grand Canyon. Arizona is certainly not my favorite state, but I am glad to know that right now, as I sit shivering in the winter of Utah, there is a painted desert and a huge hole in the ground south of here, shouting the name of the Almighty God through its creases and crevasses and reds and browns.

The States

Awhile back I said that it is a personal goal of mine to see a piece of every state before I die. I'm afraid that, in order to achieve this dream, I might have to strike it rich or wait until I'm 80 and see a whole darn lot of 'em at once. Otherwise I'll have to plan a vacation every summer to a different state, but that would not be cost effective, exactly. So out of the 50, these are the 18 that I've been to:

Arizona
California
Colorado
Hawaii
Idaho
Illinois
Kansas
Missouri
Montana
Nevada
New Mexico
New York
Oklahoma
Oregon
Texas
Utah
Washington
Wyoming

I've seen a great deal of some and just a slice of others but they have all have left their mark on me. I'm sure that some impressions are a result of where I was in my life, what I was seeing, and what color the lens was that I was looking through. As an English student in college, I fell into a deep love with the American Writers who wrote about the country with such a raw depth that my heart was practically dripping with the blood of their words. I don't love this country because of its politics or its progressive thinking. I truly love this country because of its purple mountains majesty and its amber waves of grain. I love it for the way Cather describes Nebraska in "My Antonia" or the way I want nothing more than to float down the Mississippi in a chapter of Twain's "Huckleberry Finn." And though I wasn't ready for Steinbeck's "Travels With Charley" when I was first introduced to it, I identified with his description of California and saw it, for the first time, through the eyes of a man who died over a decade before I was even born. I love that the coast looks so different in San Diego than it does in northern Oregon. I love that there is desert and mountains and snow in Colorado and trade winds in Hawaii and moose and deer and alligators and waterfalls.

Periodically, as in, whenever nothing particularly funny or poignant or news worthy occurs in my life, I will discuss the states that I have been to, and the impressions they've given me. Who knows, maybe sometimes whatever I say will persuade you to visit the state (i.e. Wyoming) or move to the state (i.e. California) or avoid the state altogether (i.e. Kansas). And no offense meant to people who love Kansas and call it their home but I'd like to turn it into a giant, square, man made lake with house boating and water skiing in the summer and ice skating, ice fishing and ice hockey in the winter. But then, I only spent time in an itty bitty town in south eastern Kansas where the highlight of my stay was Sonic and people offered me fried chicken gizzards when I had a touch of the flu. This isn't the post on Kansas. That, in time, will come and I will give you a full rundown on the flying buttresses and the wretched Mexican food. Are you waiting with bated breath?