A few weeks ago, Liberty, Premal, Tom and I headed to Glenwood Springs for their annual Hot Air Balloon Festival. It was a long drive (nearly four hours), but driving through an unusually lush Colorado was actually a real treat. Whenever I come home I can't help but be in awe of just how beautiful this state is. Because call time for the hot air balloons was at 6am, we drove up the night before and camped out at a pretty little campsite a few miles from where the balloons were supposed to launch. Despite Premal and Tom's best efforts (Liberty and I stayed in the car and ate cookie butter while they constructed the tent), we were not comfortable. But apart from a less than perfect night's sleep, we had a blast. I felt like a kid in a candy store. Everything was so vibrant and everyone was so knowledgeable and solicitous about answering our questions (can you believe the two matching balloons were homemade by one of the pilots?!!!). Needless to say, we are definitely coming back - and may even visit New Mexico's festival this fall!
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This graphic is upsetting. I get that. But it's a question I feel forced to ask myself in light of recent events. For perspective, I've linked to the "I'm a Mormon" profile I wrote several years ago. I didn't have doubts then. I have doubts now.
"I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints." So goes the song Mormon children have been honking out in Primary Programs across space and time. "I belong to" -- what an endearingly possessive little phrase. Some people think it's indoctrination, but I've always found it more comforting than cultish. The Church has me. I'm supposed to be here. It's drawn its initials and telephone number onto the tag of my shirt with permanent marker so I'm easily returned if ever misplaced. Because the Church is just a place where people belong. The claim is pretty integral to its whole thesis, when you think of it: each person is a child of God; God loves His children; He wants every single one to come back and be with Him. If the Mormon church really is the tool God uses to achieve this ultimate aim, then people belong there. I do, you do, everyone does.
But Thursday night, news outlets broke this story. The Church has now proactively excluded gay couples and their children from its fold. They've taken aside those families and told them "No. You do not belong to us."
My religion is now at odds with the values it has instilled in me from infancy. This inconsistency has left me confused, scared, frustrated, infuriated, concerned. All of the bad feelings. Think of it this way: Mormonism is a 100,000-piece Bob Ross jigsaw puzzle of the snow-topped Rocky Mountains. I love the picture on the box. It gives me warm tingly feelings in my belly. I've been working on putting the puzzle together for the past 22 years. The process can be challenging, but on a deep level it makes sense to me. As the years go by, I fit more and more of the pieces together -- and at very least I can see how every empty edge must have a mate jumbled somewhere underneath the huge pile I've yet to assemble. Then, Thursday night, some old dude (let's call him Neil) walked up to me, tossed a shark tooth onto my pile, and said "here is another piece to put into your puzzle lol bye." NO NEIL. NO. I CAN'T PUT THAT IN MY PUZZLE. WHY? BECAUSE IT'S A F☃CKING SHARK TOOTH THAT'S WHY. JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE OBSESSED WITH OCEAN PREDATORS DOES NOT MEAN I CAN FIT A SHARK TOOTH INTO MY ALPINE-THEMED JIGSAW PUZZLE. Anyway, thanks to Neil, I now have a stupid shark tooth floating around my otherwise-groovy jigsaw puzzle. It hides out and jabs my fingers whenever I try to reach for new pieces. Do I ignore it? Do I throw it out? Do I give up on the puzzle? Or worse, do I try to fit the shark tooth into the puzzle -- poking and stabbing it into other pieces until they become mangled enough to accommodate the foreign body? To stop with the weird-butt metaphors and make my point, this new policy (policy NOT doctrine policy NOT doctrine policy NOT doctrine *starts hyperventilating*) simply does not fit with the Mormonism I know and love. It's made of other stuff entirely.*
I had the sister missionaries over on Thursday night, before I learned about any of this. For their spiritual thought they asked me to reread Elder Nelson's talk, A Plea to My Sisters -- one of my favorites from this past General Conference. In it, he exhorts the women of the Church to make our voices heard. He tells us "we need women who know how to make important things happen by their faith . . . who are courageous defenders of morality and families." This is me trying to be that, Elder Nelson. This is me speaking up. I love the brethren's good counsel. I'm grateful for their inspired leadership. But I do not accept this new policy. I once heard Elder Holland say that the Church can withstand a little false doctrine; what it can't tolerate is an absence of Christlike love. This new policy combines both of those things at the highest levels. It's a big old crack in the edifice of my religiosity.
So, dear brethren, fix this. Please. I'm not asking on behalf of gay people. Not for their children, either. This is a totally selfish request. Fix it for me because I'm afraid of leaving the place where I've learned the truest things I know. Fix it for me because I don't think I can become a bigot-by-association with an institution which proceduralizes discrimination against families. I don't know how you're going to do it -- the past days haven't exactly given me faith in your collective judgement -- but fix this because, right now, you're the only ones who can. You're my best hope against total despair. Please get this church back on the right track and please do it soon.
In preparation for a talk I'm giving next Sunday, I was googling the word 'meek' (I was thinking of doing this totally cool thing where I, like, *define* meek in my talk by, like, using the *dictionary* definition?!). One of the first things that pops up is a hella-corny needlepoint of the phrase 'If you think being meek is weak, try being meek for a week.' I'm going to take that sign as a sign. I'm going to try to give you time. I'm going to try to be forgiving and long-suffering and obedient. But don't expect me to ever fall in line with this bullshit and don't expect me to wait quietly for you to clean it up. Sorry for cursing. But seriously. This shit's fucked up.
*This isn't to say the church has never done stuff in the past which doesn't jive with me. There's a long list of non-groovy policies, practices, and decisions that I could lay out here. But somehow this one's combination of unnecessarines, contemporariness and officialness (← all made-up words) is especially galling. It's implementation reflects directly on the judgement of the present Church's presiding authorities.
As much as I love to party, I'm a Grinch when it comes to my kids' birthdays. For the last six years, their celebrations consisted of playdates at the park or backyard BBQs with the aunties and uncles that, save a few candles, are really indistinguishable from any other festive family gathering. But last year, after letting Hettie's birthday slide (again), I was humbled and inspired when an adult friend shared how much she treasured the memories of her fifth birthday party. It reminded me of birthdays spectacular that Momo conjured out of love and thin air, and I realized: My kids are going to grow old whether I like it or not. Might as well try to create a bit of magic along the way, dammit.
All of which is to say, Hettie's sixth birthday party was pretty amazing, and it's all because I'm overcompensating (for oh, so many things!), and I really don't feel bad about it at all.
We watch The Sound of Music at our house. A lot. I have to admit, I'm pretty thrilled that, given free reign to choose what kind of a celebration she wanted, Hettie thought of a Favorite Things party all by herself. As soon as I envisioned all those little girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, I was sold. In fact, I'm pretty sure I changed the subject so that no other ideas could be suggested.
I knew I wanted to party to be spectacular, but also low stress enough that I could enjoy it. Thanks to Hettie's grown-up fan club and their very able assistance, brown paper packages and ice cream ponies came together like magic, and the day was gloriously fun -- for all of us!
The Details
Menu
Schnitzle with Noodles
Dog Bites
Fresh Fruit and Veggies
Bee Sting Punch with Kitten Whisker Straws
Crisp Apple Strudel with (Ice) Cream-colored Ponies
We bought apple strudel and pig-in-a-blanket "dog bites" ready-made from Costco. It doesn't get any easier than that! Which is good, because the rest of the menu was a little more involved...
For our schnitzle with noodles, I ordered the most delicious chicken cutlets from our favorite sandwich shop (you could really use any thin, schnitzley meat). We cut the chicken into thin strips and stuffed it inside cooked manicotti noodles along with a dollop of soft Boursin cheese and a small bunch of arugula. You could also roll the little bundles up in lasagna noodles, and secure it with a toothpick. I'll be honest, most of the kids preferred the (previously frozen) dog bites. But I was happy to have something so fun and delicious to serve the parents, too.
Glorianna made the ponies using a cookie cutter the night before, and stored them in the freezer between sheets of wax paper. I am glad that Glorianna did this, because they were RIDICULOUSLY cute. And I never would have had the patience to bang out 15 of these. It is not easier than it looks.
We made fresh sparkling apple cider and some honey from Dave's hives on the roof for "Bee Sting Punch."
The Games:
Glorianna made the most precious silhouette of Hettie for "pin the snowflake on the nose and eyelashes." I was surprised at how much fun they had watching the other girls play. It was a huge hit.
We also had a "silver white winters that melt into spring" race -- an homage to the games of my own childhood birthdays, which inevitably included a ridiculous and ridiculously fun relay of some sort. This time, the girls had to run across the basement, don a coat, scarf, hat and mittens, take it all off, and then run back and tag their next teammate. We all sang songs from the sound of music soundtrack while they raced. Adorable.
More Details:
Glorianna made the "wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings" to hang over the table, and a big bunch of sleigh bells for the front door. The night before the party, I trimmed down some Costco roses and let the kids arrange the flowers themselves in a bright copper kettle we borrowed from Charity. It's all about the Oasis foam, people. Monkeys could make flowers look good with that stuff.
As the girls arrived, we tied on big blue satin sashes and let them make a necklace. I ordered the edelweiss charms from ETSY, and then my sweet brother, Zen, used simple jump rings and his giant man-fingers to attach the tiny sleigh bells and blue crystal pendants. If that's not love, I don't know what is. Hettie's guests ranged from 4-year-olds to third graders, so letting the girls choose between braided black silk and sparkly white floral ribbon kept things simple enough that everyone could participate and enjoy the process of creating something lovely -- without creating frustration or a mess!
Instead of gifts, Hettie asked her friends to bring "warm woolen mittens," which we gave to a friend who is a social worker to distribute to her young clients in need.
In addition to their necklaces, we sent our friends home with a packet of edleweiss seeds, and a brown paper package with some of Hettie's favorite things tucked inside -- chocolate and temporary tatts. Obvi.
I'm not over my birthdayphobia. But I loved pretty much everything about this sixth soiree. So much so, we're already kicking ideas around for Number Seven.
I made this. With fire. And my feelings. And my new ex-boyfriend's old t-shirt.
It feels normal and healthy.
Torres Del Paine translates to "Towers of Blue." Cradled deep within the Southern Andes, the park is known as the crown jewel of South America. Its glaciers, rock faces, lakes, plains and mountains leave nothing to the imagination. It's all there, resplendent with beauty no photograph can capture. Nonetheless, on Yoni's and my South American adventure, we tried our best. The story of how we actually got there is quite entertaining, but I'll save that for another post. For now, I hope you enjoy some of our favorite shots of this exquisite national park which is the most beautiful place I have ever witnessed.
TORRES DEL PAINE: IF YOU'RE GOING to Torres Del Paine National Park, You can get more information here. We stayed and ate most of our meals here. We rented a car here. While we opted for a hotel but there is a 3-6 day hike (depending on your pace) called the W and a 5-10 day hike of the entire park called the Full Circuit. There are campsites and little hostels along the way to stay at. If you do the W, make sure to make time for some of the smaller trails. There is a short and easy hike out to Lago Grey where you can see amazing glaciers. Despite its relative ease and obscurity, the hike around the Salto Grande (Big Falls) up to and around Nordenskjöld Lake is said to be the most beautiful in the park and should not be missed. We flew this airline (6 flights, no lost bags and generally on time) and they served remarkably good food free of charge. You might want to tack a few extra days on to see this (which we did see. there is a similar glacier at Torres Del Paine, but the Perito Moreno gLacier is pretty amazing, nonetheless) or this.
What is the most beautiful place you've ever been? We want to know (and maybe want to visit!). Give us your travel tips! Either email them to us at fivetdsisters@gmail.com or leave them in the comment section below. Can't wait to hear from you.
Hello All! We missed you terribly! (This is where you say "OMG! We missed you too! Like, sooooo much! Oh my gosh we were, like, sooooo lost without you! Totes serious! No you stop it! Besties forever. Love you, betch.")
You done?
No. Sorry. I'm so sorry. Ok. If you couldn't tell, my blog-writing skillz have gotten a bit rusty over the past 6-7-8ish months. But not even inevitable self-inflicted internet chagrin can tamp my enthusiasm to be back sharing so many sweet little somethings and nothings with all y'all lovely folk. It has been far too long. But we were busy while we were away! Kimber's been jet-setting from coast to coast, all while managing and expanding her urban homestead with aplomb (did I hear someone say 'backyard chickens'? No? That was me? That was me.) and homeschooling the heck out of her three angel creatures; Charity released her debut album and is now hard at work on a memoir to be published by Simon & Schuster sometime next year (nbd); Liberty seems to be gallivanting around a drastically new zipcode every other weekend, yet somehow bakes things like this in whatever free time she has left; and Mercina is back from Canada, generally dominating at school, work, and just *being* in general. As for me, I've graduated and pay my own rent -- life accomplishments I was never quite convinced I'd accomplish.
We ask that you please forgive us our myriad peccadilloes (both those present in our persons and our website). We're trying to work them out, but it's taking more time than we'd like. Dead links, dumb formatting, and undelivered thank-you notes notwithstanding, we're feeling pretty optimistic -- we got ourselves a fancy new site, a fancy new watermark, some fancy new partners, and a fancy new resolve to actually blog. Most importantly, we've got all of our beloved old friends who inspired this little venture in the first place, and who daily lend us any worth we can claim to possess.
Soooo, things are looking pretty rosy from where I'm standing.
To start things off, we're going to spend the next few posts deconstructing a fondue soiree we hosted when we all back at home in Denver over Thanksgiving (in collaboration with Bronx's own Il Forno Bakery and with support from our terribly talented, terribly handsome, and terribly well-named friend Bobby De La Rosa). In the coming days, my ever-capable sisters will guide you through the cheese-melting, stem-chopping, sugar-dipping how-tos of the evening, while I content myself with delicious memories of the fruits of their hard labor. Being the youngest girl is a tough row to hoe* guys, but somehow, somehow, I make do.
*Row to hoe? Hoe to row? Foe to mow? Trololo? Am I messing this saying up, or did it just never make sense in the first place?