"Some men were blind, others had poor tempers. It was all the same, in the end. A man was defined not by his flaws, but by how he overcame them." Brandon Sanderson
31.1.11
UTAH (June/July 2010)
So I completely forgot that these pictures were even on my camera..... they're from July. Oh well; at least they're here now, right?
Chilling at Grandma and Grandpa's :)

I love Emma's face in this one! She can sense that something is not quite right.....
Evelyn's eye.... not quite sure why I have a picture of that.
On the Trax on the way to Temple Square

All decked out for the 4th of July!

The sky was so clear and blue that day; it was perfect!
I'm pretty sure that we have about 20 pictures almost exactly like this one in our photo albums. I suppose you could say that it's a way to look at our growth :)
14.1.11
When I heard the Learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were arranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself ,
In the most mystical night air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.
Walt Whitman
I love what this poem is saying; that when we look into thing too deeply, when we analyze and dissect things so deeply, they often lose their meaning. Some things are better just being beautiful and mysterious.
When the proofs, the figures, were arranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself ,
In the most mystical night air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.
Walt Whitman
I love what this poem is saying; that when we look into thing too deeply, when we analyze and dissect things so deeply, they often lose their meaning. Some things are better just being beautiful and mysterious.
3.1.11
Mending Wall
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
Spring is the mischief in me,
and I wonder If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors?
Isn't it Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."
-Robert Frost-
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
Spring is the mischief in me,
and I wonder If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors?
Isn't it Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."
-Robert Frost-
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