Monthly Archives: September 2011

If I Could Make Love to a Printing Press I Probably Would

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My bed is covered in magazines. Magazines about everything. Seriously–everything you could possibly imagine.

I’ve just gotten home from meeting with three different printers where I jumped into the deep end and pretended like I knew all about paper weight, finish, perfect binding vs saddle-stitch, and 4-color offset printing.

I’ve got a fistful of quotes and a to-do list for the next three months that doesn’t leave much time for sleep.

I’ll admit. Today I felt a little overwhelmed and a little bewildered about how this is actually all going to happen.

But.

There was a moment today.

A moment when I was on a tour of one of the printing houses and my account rep (ha! I have an account rep.) led me into the press room. It was a massive room with machines for every purpose filling every square foot. There were some for binding and some for trimming and some for gluing and some for stapling and some for collating. Tubes and pipes covered the ceiling carrying ink and air and paper from one end to the other. It was incredible.

And in the center of the room were three presses. It was so loud I couldn’t hear what he was saying despite his yelling. He guided me toward the closest one; it was so big it probably wouldn’t fit in my living room, dining room, & kitchen combined.

Gigantic spools of paper, as big as a car, spun as fast as a speed-train through the rollers. Every few feet the print plates picked up a different color ink to paint the pages. First the black and then the blue and then the magenta and then the yellow. (That’s 4 color offset printing, just so you know.)

I watched it all fly by. Millions of letters being printed each minute. Page upon page of words.

My heart started racing and I got that butterfly feeling in my gut. You know–the one that tells you you’re in love? I could’ve sat there all day watching that beautiful dance between page and letter if he’d let me.

Words. They’re one of very few things, the thought of which, leaves me without them.

So yes, today I am bewildered.

But I’m also in love.

So over the moon in love.

With every letter of the alphabet.

With the way those letters form words, which then combine to create thoughts, that then have the ability to, quite possibly, change us, move us, and fill us.

And I’m in love with the idea that someday my words–my words–will fly by on that press, layered with color, to then be collated and bound and trimmed and mailed to a girl somewhere in the world who will then soak them up, and in turn, hopefully–hopefully–be better. Feel better. And love herself (and others) better.

All because of a collection of words.

Printed on a piece of paper.

Oh, Sorry. You Wanted to Know What “It” Is?

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I’ve received multiple emails the last couple weeks from friends who are very frustrated with my secrecy about my project/future/decisions. And to be honest, it’s been both difficult to keep things under wraps (cuz I’m so excited/certain/hopeful) and yet, quite easy at the same time (that’s that “fear thing” creeping in again).

But I had to get a few things in order before the cat was allowed out of the bag.

And now, it’s time.

(I couldn’t keep from smiling as I wrote that last sentence.)

But first, a little back story.

About five years ago, maybe six, I found out about an article in Seventeen Magazine entitled “Vagina 101: What’s Normal & What’s Not.” While I am a huge proponent of women being aware of our selves and our bodies, I was incredibly disheartened by the manner in which the information was dispensed. I felt it was inappropriate for the audience and forum and I joined a letter writing campaign to have the magazine removed from shelves. We were mildly successful.

Now. Before you go thinking I’m all about tearing up the Bill of Rights, believe me–as a journalist and writer I will fight for anyone’s right to freedom of press and speech, even when I disagree. However. I believe we have a duty to act responsibly when we’re feeding words and images to our youth. No, don’t burn books, heaven forbid. And don’t ban them either. But do think long and hard about how those words will influence a developing mind.

Anyhow, I kept flipping through the pages of the magazine.

A Q&A about dating and relationships caught my attention. One reader wrote in that she was thinking about having sex with her boyfriend. My eyes scanned her questions and rested on her name and age. Thirteen years old. Thirteen. years. old.

I read Seventeen‘s answer and my heart sank. It was not how she should have been answered. Where was the firm honesty about how sex at 13 would affect her for the rest of her life? Where was the “Don’t do it! You don’t have to! Why do you want to do this?” None of that was there. It was just a sterile, “Sex is a big decision. Think long and hard before doing it. And if you do, use protection.”

And in that moment an idea came to me. An idea that settled deep into my core and has stayed with me ever since. An idea that floats, no springs, to the top of the pool of ideas I slosh around in whenever I’m trying to figure out what in the heck I’m doing with my life. An idea that I want to run away from and yet run full speed into at the same time. An idea that I know I have to make happen.

I’m starting a magazine.

I’m starting a magazine for teenage girls based on standards and values. It will be less air-brushed, less fake, less celebrity drama and more real, more inclusive, more empowering. Oh, believe me–there will still be articles about what your lip-gloss color says about your personality, but there will also be articles about being (and becoming) the amazing women they are and were always meant to be.

There will be no mixed messages about modesty and sexuality and how those ideas play into self-worth and personal esteem. We will talk about education and dating and family life and health and beauty and fashion. But we’ll talk about the hard things too–drugs and sex and suicide–as these are things today’s teens are dealing with (whether you want to admit it or not). But we’ll talk about them within the context of moral truth.

What do you think?

So. Here’s where I need your help.

I need girls. Lots and lots of girls to fill out a survey (https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/GVVT7BY). There is SO much that goes into creating a magazine from scratch and I want to make sure I begin with as much information as possible. So would you please (please?!) send this link to as many girls, mothers of girls, teachers of girls, church leaders of girls, as you know? Post it on your blogs. Your Facebooks. Your Twitters. Send an email. Talk about it with friends. And tell them to forward it on too! Religious affiliation does not matter. This magazine will be rooted in spirituality, not religion.

My goal is to have 1,000 responses in the next two weeks. I don’t think I can do that on my own.

Y’all. My eyes are wide and full. I have a vision for what this can be–and I see a world-wide community of girls living up to the incredible within them. I see a place where they can come to talk “real life” and get real answers that will point them to the bright futures ahead of them. I see them dreaming and becoming. I see them loving themselves because they know who they are. I see them embracing their bodies and their minds and their hearts and their spirits. I see them living lives of greatness.

I’m planning to launch my premier issue in January 2012. Call me crazy, I know. That’s only 3 months away. And there’s much to do. Much to do.

But I’m only chewing one bite at a time. And the first bite is the survey. So here’s the link again: https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/GVVT7BY

Thank you for sending it to everyone you know. Thank you for being an ambassador for this magazine. And thank you for sticking with me through the blah. Truly. Thank you.

(So … what do you think?)

I Have Decided to Do It

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“Why aren’t you doing that?” he asked.

The car was dark, except for the neon glow coming from the lights on the dashboard. Beams from an occasional car heading in the opposite direction would illuminate his face for a passing moment, but even in those quick seconds I could see–his eyes said that he really wanted to know. He really was interested in what I had to say. He cared about my idea.

But despite his earnestness, we were only about an hour into our three hour drive home and I could feel myself getting uncomfortable with his line of questioning. And yet, I was also strangely exhilarated by it–as if something within me was waking up, saying, finally. Finally, we’re going to get to the bottom of this.

I tossed out a few safe (read: lame) excuses in response, but even I couldn’t deny the difference in my voice as I talked about it. And call me crazy, but it felt strangely akin to passion.

Passion? I thought. Isn’t that what I’d lost? Isn’t that what I’ve been hoping to re-find?

“No seriously,” he asked again. “Why aren’t you doing that?”

Apparently it was time to pony up the honesty–which was almost too much for me. I’d only met him no more than four hours earlier! But then again, honesty in those situations is sometimes easier.

Deep breath.

“I don’t know. I guess because I’m afraid of it,” I said. “I’m afraid I won’t know how to do it. I’m afraid I’ll do it wrong. I’m afraid I’ll fail.” And then I paused, knowing exactly what I needed to admit next. “But mostly (and oddly), I’m afraid it’s right–if that makes any sense.”

Once it was out I couldn’t stop. “But deep down, when I’m really honest, this is what I’ve wanted to do for years. It’s what I want to be doing now. And … I can feel it in my bones that this is what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“So … why aren’t you doing it?” he asked for the third time.

Silence.

I had no answer.

He was right. Why wasn’t I doing it?

In the weeks that followed, that conversation and car ride–in particular, his question–were on constant replay in my head. And I had no answer.

If I knew it was right, and if it was what I wanted to be doing all along … Why wasn’t I doing it?

Days later I recalled another conversation I’d had with a friend earlier in the year. She had asked my opinion about a creative endeavor she wanted to embark on, but didn’t know how it would turn out or what to do with it once completed. My response was, “When we create with the Lord, it will be what it needs to be. And it will go where it needs to go.”

How I needed to swallow my own medicine.

And then, in this series of providential events, I pulled out a book that had become my favorite summer read–a book that now sits next to my scriptures, if that tells you anything of its impact.

The opening lines begin:

Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance. … To yield to Resistance deforms our spirit. It stunts us and makes us less than we are and were born to be. If you believe in God (and I do) you must declare Resistance evil, for it prevents us from achieving the life God intended when He endowed each of us with our own unique genius.

And the book ends with this:

Are you a born writer? Were you put on earth to be a painter, a scientist, an apostle of peace? In the end the question can only be answered by action.

Do it or don’t do it.

Well. I have decided to do it.

Hello, you who made the morning

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Why I Wake Early

By Mary Oliver (my favorite poet)

Hello, sun in my face.

Hello, you who made the morning

and spread it over the fields

and into the faces of the tulips

and the nodding morning glories,

and into the windows of, even, the

miserable and the crotchety –

best preacher that ever was,

dear star, that just happens

to be where you are in the universe

to keep us from ever-darkness,

to ease us with warm touching,

to hold us in the great hands of light –

good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day

in happiness, in kindness.

While back East, I got into a habit of waking early with the sun. And I LOVED it. Now that I’m back in Utah–not so much. And I realized this morning it’s because I don’t have a “place” to welcome the new day here. On Hilton Head, I had the beach. In Florida, I had the river. So, I’ve got to find a place. In Utah. That fills me up. And makes me swoon.

That is my mission for today.

(pictures taken on my Grand’s property in Florida)

Welcome to the Ranch [a photo tour & a little family history]

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Every morning while I was in Florida, after breakfast and 30 minutes of Fox News, my Granddad would say, “Well Krista. Get your shoes on and come take a ride with me in the golf cart to go get the paper.” I, of course, did as I was told and we would drive around the property, picking up any debris that had fallen from the trees, inspecting the grounds, checking on the neighbors, and talking.

That is how I came to know the story of how he acquired this land. He told me twice. And I loved it just as much the second time, as I did the first.

He was a 30-something businessman–an entrepreneur, if you will–and he’d just purchased a Shanty Boat called the Lazy Bones in Florida. And so, he packed up his family (my grandmother and their two boys, one of whom was my dad) and moved them from Pennsylvania to Fort Myers in the late 60s.

One day he saw a sign for “virgin Florida jungle” right on the Orange River. The price tag? $30,000 with $5,000 down. Always a risk taker, he decided to buy the 20+ undeveloped acres even though he wasn’t sure how he was going to make the first payment. A few weeks passed and the deadline was coming up. He still didn’t have the money, so he called his realtor and told him he might need to sell some of it off. He then chose the choicest 10 acres and put the rest up for sale.

Within a couple days the realtor called back with the news that he had sold the 13 acres for $34,000. He, the realtor, would keep $4,000 for his commission and Granddad would get the other $30,000–essentially getting his property for free.

My dad helped clear the land. I always think about that when I wander around through the trees and brush. And this is where he grew up–on a river in the Florida “jungle,” taking tourists on cruises through the Everglades.

And that, is the story of how my Grandparents came to build their home here in Fort Myers.

Sunrise Over the Orange River

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The first thing I did when I got to Florida was text my uncle.

What’s the wireless password out here?

I couldn’t wait to upload pictures and show you around the property that is my grandparent’s “ranch.” But Granddad had no clue what either of the words “wireless” or “router” meant, let alone where to find the password to access it. And my uncle, the resident electronics helper ’round those parts, wasn’t there when the Internet had been installed.

“I guess Krista will just have to survive without the Internet this week,” he said.

To which I said, “Blah, blah, blah.”

I was able to get on Granddad’s laptop in the evenings to update my daily Facebook status, but blogging was impossible. I had no way to upload pictures and, like I said before, I’m apparently a finicky writer. I need my “space” in order to craft my words. Who knew?

But now that I’m back to Utah, and back on my computer, with access to the Internet again (p.s. I “survived” quite beautifully Uncle Scott, thankyouverymuch), I am so excited to show you the gorgeousness that is my grandparents’ home in Fort Myers, Florida.

First up … sunrise over the Orange River.

The first morning I was there, I woke up early (as per my new routine) and flip-flopped out to the dock in the backyard where I sat at the edge of the soft, glassy river, amidst the morning noises of the Florida jungle. The sun rose up from behind a palm-lined horizon, pouring pinks and purples through the mossy oaks, so deep and rich in color that I wished I could’ve pulled them from the sky to paint with later.

And I wondered…will there ever come a day when the Earth ceases to amaze me?

I doubt it.

Oh, the things we do for a blog post.

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So my friend Stephanie posted on her blog last week that she and her husband took the kids up to Sundance to experience the full moon ski-lift ride. Well I thought that sounded beautiful, and fun, so I texted Frit and said, “Let’s go!” She said, “OK!”

So off we went, through the canyon and up the mountain to Sundance. But upon getting out of the car and lining up for the shuttle, we looked around, only to find that we were surrounded by couples. Lovey. dovey. couples. Snuggled under blankets. Ready for a night of moonlit romance on the ski-lift. And here we were. Two single gals. No men to speak of. With a blanket yes, but too nervous now to actually snuggle underneath it–together.

It hadn’t even crossed my mind that this was a “date activity.”

I got to the ticket counter and couldn’t bring myself to say “one please” so I ended up buying Frit’s ticket too.

“Oh, the things we do for a blog post,” she laughed under her breath.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“It means I get dragged into some crazy things sometimes, just for the sake of a blog post.”

I said, “whatever.”

(Don’t tell her…but she’s right. She’s absolutely right.)

So we get in line for the lift, but the moon isn’t anywhere to be seen. It’s not even out for the first half of the ride up. It’s behind a bunch of clouds. And I’m thinking, I’m not even going to get any good pictures for this post! But, luckily the mountain is tall, and the lift is long, and eventually the moon crept out from behind the clouds.

And there we sat, a foot apart, Frit under the blanket, me with my hands shoved into the pockets of my hoodie, riding up the mountain, passing lift-chair after lift-chair of lovers whispering in the moonlight.

Truth be told, it was pretty amazing. Utah is such a beautiful state and we’re both glad we went. And we’d totally do it again. It was just a little embarrassing for a minute. Plus … this experience only slightly rivaled the time I decided to go to the movies by myself in college. On a Friday night. In Provo, Utah. In my pajamas. With a box of candy, a bag of popcorn, a giant soda and a wad of Kleenex (‘cuz I was going to see Charly–a “crier”…like, “ugly sobbing cry, snot dripping movie”). Clearly, I did not think that one through.

Mostly I’m Just Ready

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[A Florida moon over the Fort Myers airport last Saturday, 4:30 a.m.]

In an effort to record the details of my summer, I posted a micro-journal entry of the day’s events every night on my Facebook page. In total, from May to September, I had ninety-seven entries.

On my final day, I wrote:

Hilton Head [Day 97]: Started the day above the clouds with an East Coast sunrise. Ended the day with a desert sunset. … People have asked if I was excited or sad to leave South Carolina and come back to Utah. And really, I’m neither. And yet I’m both. But mostly I’m just ready. Thanks for joining me this summer. It was good to go home. And it’s good to be home. The end. Or rather…the beginning.

[The sunrise from my desert-bound plane]

I’ve been home for a week now and what a week it has been. Though I came home with a plan and though I feel peace and excitement and readiness and certainty about the future, there were still old habits and belief systems waiting for me when I walked through the door of my cute little house.

I think I expected everything to be different when I came home, simply because I was different. But I’m realizing that I have to make it different. I have to choose, each day, to make my life what I see that it can be–what I want it to be–here. I have to choose to see things with my new eyes. I have to choose to let go of the brier patch that is the past. And doing so, I’m learning, requires mental stamina, determination, and discipline.

But I wasn’t reaching when I said that “mostly I’m just ready.”

Because I am.

This really is the beginning.

—

Next week is probably going to be a heavy posting week (with lotsa pictures) as I have much to share from my last week back East with my Grands. Plus, I think I’m finally ready to share my plans for the future. So…buckle up!

In Less Than 24 Hours

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Welp. It’s over. My Hilton Head Summer of 2011 has reached its finale. By noon tomorrow I’ll be back in Utah and ready to dive into life post-”blah period.” That’s the official term, in case you were wondering.

The past four months were exactly what I needed. I needed to get away. From everything. I needed to empty. I needed to breathe. I needed to read. I needed to think. I needed to sit. I needed the sea. I needed my sister’s wedding. I needed one of the people who came to the wedding. I needed the sunrise. I needed to not write. And then I needed to write. I needed to pray. I needed time.

And I got all of that. And then some.

A friend I hadn’t seen in years said to me earlier in the summer, “You just don’t sound like you. It’s like your passion is missing or something. You used to be so passionate.” And he was right. But it/I (perhaps both) had been extinguished.

But y’all…the passion is back. (Do you hear me?!) And holy smokes. There are some big things ahead. Big, awesome, exciting, hard, things that I feel fire in my gut about.

(Finally!)

I know what I’m doing. And I know where I’m going.

And it’s right. Like the, “I-know-this-in-my-bones” kind of right. Which I haven’t felt in so long.

It will mean a lot of work and much about how it will all unfold is totally uncertain. But it’s what I wake up thinking about and it’s what I go to sleep dreaming about.

And is it weird to say that I can feel a lot of this in my eyes? Like there’s this familiar brightness, that has been missing–I’m not sure how to explain it–but it’s like my eyes, my old friends, are back. I doubt that makes sense.

But anyway, in less than 12 hours I’ll be on a plane. Headed back to life.

And I’m just really excited.

*Photo taken this morning as I mozied around my grand’s property. It’s what I saw when I looked up.

I’m on the Orange River in Florida

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I’ve been in Florida for a couple days now and if I stop to count, I’ve only got five left until I fly back to Utah. That just seems completely crazy.

Since I’ve been here I’ve watched the sunrise over the palm-lined river banks, joined Granddad for his morning turn about the property in the golf-cart (a.k.a “morning inspection”), read on the dock, watched fish jump, helped Grandma with her laundry, inspected a humongous orange grasshopper, watched for manatee floating up the river (no luck yet), and joined the senior citizen dinner rotation that seems quite prevalent in this area.

It’s quiet and green here and though my allergies are going crazy, it’s so nice to be in this place. There is history here. And history, like the Earth, grounds you.

Pictures will be sparse until I get back to Utah, for which I’m sorry–this place is beautiful–I want you to see it. But dear Granddad has no idea what his Internet password is, bless his heart. So all blogging will take place from his computer. Which has only taught me what a finicky writer I’ve become. I feel so out of place trying to craft words on someone else’s “space.”

And with that, I’ll sign off for the night. Hope you’ve had a great Labor Day! I’ll try to share more tomorrow.

xo

The picture above is of my uncle, dad, and Granddad in 1967 as they made their way from their home in Pennsylvania to their new home in Florida. Once here, my dad helped clear this land and though it has evolved a bit over the years, it’s essentially just as I remember it as a kid.

As I Pack My Summer Into My Suitcase

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There is much to say and so little time to say it.

I’m headed to Florida this morning for a week on the Orange River with my grandparents. And then it’s back to Utah.

Into the suitcase, along with my flip flops and t-shirts, go seashells and feathers and journal pages and books, but perhaps most importantly–a great sense of brightness. Of hope. Of calm. Of healing.

This morning I arrived at the shore for my last Atlantic sunrise of the season and it was the most peaceful it’s ever been. The ocean, though undulating, was flat. Minute waves broke only at the very last second and retreated back into themselves making no more than a slight rushing of sound.

No clouds. Just a clear sky and the sun–a florescent orange sphere, full and rising like a phoenix.

Every day these last few weeks I’ve felt the Earth in me and me in the Earth. And today, as I peered into the endlessness of color and shape before me, it felt like looking in a mirror.

The reflection was peaceful. Simple. Stripped. With an undercurrent of movement and motion. Hopes rising. And only light where Earth and Sky meet.