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Wednesday, November 16, 2011
About Me
Well. My name is Ashley and I come from a haughty little town in Northern California called El Dorado Hills. I'm the only girl in a family of three boys. I met my handsome husband Sean through a mutual friend (who I may or may not have dated first) way back in 2006. He's from a town right close to mine so when we first started dating our conversations centered who knew who and how and for how long (our grandparents went to church together for years but we never even knew the other existed).
*fun story*
One night when we were dating we started reminiscing about all the bands we'd seen and local shows we attended in our 'super-punk-rock' youth. He mentioned having gone to a show at a local venue that I just happened to have attended as well (Drive-Thru records tour circa 2003). So I started rummaging through some old photos and Lo and Behold there's a tall, skinny blond headed profile popping out of the crowd right in front of the stage. It was Sean. I knew then and there we were meant to be.
We got married for time and all eternity in Sacramento on January 4th 2008. We had a sweet little surprise seven months later and nine months after that we welcomed our first boy, Bannock Sean, into the world - March of 2009. In September 2010 we relocated to HAWAII to attend school at BYU. Both of us. It was crazy busy and in the midst of our schooling and relentless poverty we welcomed boy number two, Brecken Cove, in August of 2011. I graduated in April 2012 and am now just crafting and mothering my heart out while my intelligent husband finishes school.
I love to create things - paint driftwood, embroider canvas, make jewelry - the typical stuff most girls these days are doing. How is my blog different from theirs? Well, it's not really. I started this blog to record the everyday, the inspiring and eventful, the humdrum and nitty gritty of our lives, and when that gets boring I like to share a recipe or a craft or two - or amaze you with a little known historical fact from my vast knowledge I collected while pursuing a degree in History. On occasion you might find a rare gem of advice about motherhood, wifedom, feminism or a combination of all three. Thanks for stopping by and I hope you enjoy!
Sunday, October 24, 2010
moonrise
should anyone read this:
tonight i saw a vibrant full moon peer from behind a veil of clouds. It was as if the moment was only for me. A moonrise saved for that special moment when I would drive by and see it. oh to be alone.
tonight i saw a vibrant full moon peer from behind a veil of clouds. It was as if the moment was only for me. A moonrise saved for that special moment when I would drive by and see it. oh to be alone.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Waking up
I woke up in soft, cool soil. A gentle, smoke tinged breeze floated over me and I realized I was naked. I opened my eyes and could not make out where I was. It was night and the stars shined so bright they lit up the earth without the help of moonlight. I sat up and looked around. I was in a freshly plowed field in the middle of a small valley. There were green hills to the north west and south and a small wooded glen of ash trees to my right. The faint glow a city lit up the hill directly in front of me. At least there was some civilization nearby. My hair was a tangled mess, my limbs ached and my head spun. I looked around desperately to see where my clothes and bag had landed when I passed out. At least I assumed I must have passed out from the heat, there was no other explanation. My notebook, my clothes...they were nowhere to be found. Nothing around me looked even remotely familiar. Where was the barn? Where was the old oak tree? These hills were so different from the ones I had traipsed across earlier in the day. I could have sworn I'd never been here before. As it was it still meant I was alone and incredibly exposed. As achy as I was I stood up, reeling, and hurried for the shelter of the trees. It was so eerily quiet there. No sound of nocturnal animals only the rustling of the leaves in the night air. And the air, it was hard to describe, but it felt different. Aside from the woodsy smoke I smelt, the air seemed...pure, clean. Like there was more oxygen to it. Perhaps that was what was making my head spin. The elevation must be higher here, where ever "here" was. I crouched behind a bush and tried to think of what to do next. First and foremost I needed clothes. There was a small wooden barrow a few yards away so I guessed someone lived nearby. I couldn't very well go walking through the woods naked though so I hoped they were close. I walked deeper into the woods strategically hiding behind the trees as I went.
I had only gone fifteen feet when I spotted a small shack to my left. I approached quietly and as I did I couldn't help wondering if maybe someone had found me when I passed out and brought me here, and what if I this shack happened to belong to that person. And what if I was walking straight into a trap of some sort and they were waiting there to bind me and .... I shook the thoughts out of my head. I had to find shelter and clothing as soon as possible and I would figure the rest out later. the little shack had a small brick chimney and only one wood shuttered window on the side. The door stood partially ajar and it scraped the pressed earth as I pulled it towards me. Keeping my back to the wall I crept slowly inside and let my eyes adjust. I realized with a wave of relief that it was empty. There was no place in that seven by seven foot box that anyone could hide. A short, low cot was placed under the window to my right. It had what looked like a burlap sack filled with hay and feathers lying across a hatch work of rope. Odd, I thought, I remembered seeing those during school field trips to pioneer towns. I piece of thin fabric hung off the end like a blanket. There was a small table with a low stool, a stubby candle and a piece of old paper on it. On the far wall the fireplace held an iron pot and ashes. And next to me was a little wooden chest which I immediately began to rummage through in hopes of some scrap of clothing. I wasn't surprised to find nothing but rudimentary tools, flint and kindling and some crumpled linen cloth. But as I was about to toss it down the linen unfolded into a tunic and thick wool tights and a leather belt fell out. Without thinking I pulled on the tights and tunic. They itched horribly but I couldn't argue. They were clothes. The tights were two sizes two big but I remembered reading books about medieval dress and remembered seeing that the belt was worn over the tunic and strapped on so as the tights would not fall down. I hesitated with the latch on the belt. Medieval clothes? What were they doing here? Either I stumbled into one of those Renaissance reenactment towns or my captor has some weird fetishes. But I didn't linger to find out. In the chest there was a brown linen vest and an animal skin satchel that attached to the belt, I threw those on for good measure, put the flint inside the satchel and left the little shack.
For the time of day I was surprisingly alert. The ache in my limbs was dull now and my head had steadied. I walked carefully back towards the field to explore now that I had my new attire. It was still empty so I wandered toward the city lights. I was dress like a goon but at least I would be dressed when the police found me and took me home. I'm sure my family was wondering where I was by now. I started to climb the little hill to the north. I hadn't bothered to look for shoes and the little rocks and brambles dug into my soles. It was steeper than it had looked from the valley and I was panting a little as I got to the crest. A gust brought a harsh stench of smoke to my nose and I gasped as I looked out. Another little valley laid out in front of me. But in it was no brightly lit city. It was a medieval village. And it was completely engulfed in flames.
I had only gone fifteen feet when I spotted a small shack to my left. I approached quietly and as I did I couldn't help wondering if maybe someone had found me when I passed out and brought me here, and what if I this shack happened to belong to that person. And what if I was walking straight into a trap of some sort and they were waiting there to bind me and .... I shook the thoughts out of my head. I had to find shelter and clothing as soon as possible and I would figure the rest out later. the little shack had a small brick chimney and only one wood shuttered window on the side. The door stood partially ajar and it scraped the pressed earth as I pulled it towards me. Keeping my back to the wall I crept slowly inside and let my eyes adjust. I realized with a wave of relief that it was empty. There was no place in that seven by seven foot box that anyone could hide. A short, low cot was placed under the window to my right. It had what looked like a burlap sack filled with hay and feathers lying across a hatch work of rope. Odd, I thought, I remembered seeing those during school field trips to pioneer towns. I piece of thin fabric hung off the end like a blanket. There was a small table with a low stool, a stubby candle and a piece of old paper on it. On the far wall the fireplace held an iron pot and ashes. And next to me was a little wooden chest which I immediately began to rummage through in hopes of some scrap of clothing. I wasn't surprised to find nothing but rudimentary tools, flint and kindling and some crumpled linen cloth. But as I was about to toss it down the linen unfolded into a tunic and thick wool tights and a leather belt fell out. Without thinking I pulled on the tights and tunic. They itched horribly but I couldn't argue. They were clothes. The tights were two sizes two big but I remembered reading books about medieval dress and remembered seeing that the belt was worn over the tunic and strapped on so as the tights would not fall down. I hesitated with the latch on the belt. Medieval clothes? What were they doing here? Either I stumbled into one of those Renaissance reenactment towns or my captor has some weird fetishes. But I didn't linger to find out. In the chest there was a brown linen vest and an animal skin satchel that attached to the belt, I threw those on for good measure, put the flint inside the satchel and left the little shack.
For the time of day I was surprisingly alert. The ache in my limbs was dull now and my head had steadied. I walked carefully back towards the field to explore now that I had my new attire. It was still empty so I wandered toward the city lights. I was dress like a goon but at least I would be dressed when the police found me and took me home. I'm sure my family was wondering where I was by now. I started to climb the little hill to the north. I hadn't bothered to look for shoes and the little rocks and brambles dug into my soles. It was steeper than it had looked from the valley and I was panting a little as I got to the crest. A gust brought a harsh stench of smoke to my nose and I gasped as I looked out. Another little valley laid out in front of me. But in it was no brightly lit city. It was a medieval village. And it was completely engulfed in flames.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Mirage
I am hiking on my uncle Joel's property. He lives just outside Atlanta on 40 acres. I haven't been here often but I feel like I've lived here my whole life. The land is like an old friend; I know it's shapes, it's twists and turns, every tree greets me with its slow sway in the breeze. The hills are covered in little woody patches, interspersed by carpets of soft tall wheat colored grass and splayed down the left side by a gentle stream. On this day I am alone, how I usually prefer it. It's warm and the air is becoming thicker with moisture by the second. I love it. I follow the dirt trail through the grass by babbling stream, listening to the soft crunch of dry ground underfoot. My senses are so alive here-electrified even-and I feel more aware of nature than I have anywhere else in the world. My path leads me up a small open hill and veers me right, away from the stream, for a moment. The sun beats down on my bare arms. I come to the top of the hill and see the familiar decrepit wood fence that marks the boundary of the property. A short ways off is the big oak I remember, shimmied right up against the fence on this side. I look up in the sky to see where the sun is, my dad was always so good at that. He could figure out the time to the minute by just looking at the sun's position. Right now I judge it's about 11:15. I've been hiking for forty-five minutes. The family BBQ is at four so that gives me a good three hours before I need to go home and wash up. I sit down at the base of the old oak and take out my water bottle. I imagine Alice seeing the white rabbit. This place is much more dry and harsh than a beautiful green English garden. A jack rabbit would be much more fitting. I lean back and close my eyes, the first beads of perspiration begin at my temples. I wipe it away and run my hands through my hair. I lift the limp, dishwater blond hair up away from my neck rubbing my knuckles on the bark as I do so. I take out my sketchbook and look around. I've drawn this oak a thousand times, mostly from memory. It's the one thing I'm good at drawing-trees. I wish I had a talent more worth while. I wish I was more passionate about something in particular. I used to be passionate. I tried music - flute, piano, guitar. I tried art. One thing I did love was writing in my journal when I was lost. I used to be philosophical, I used to dig deep, I used to cut my heart open and bleed my emotions out in words. I don't know where it all went, all that passion.
I think about celebrities, world leaders, tyrants, people who've put their name on the pages of history. They have passion. And how hard did they have to work to be remembered for something? Did Genghis Khan realize his name would be spoken of for centuries? Did Homer or Shakespeare? I often think about those whose names aren't written on history's pages. The trillions of nobodies who meant everything to no one in particular. The people in the background on those documentaries. Who are they? Who were they? I like to think if I had their individual stories I could publish the greatest books. They have passion. Everyone has passion; painting, speaking, golf, money, religion, love, football, teaching, eating. I want to find mine.
I lean my cheek against the tree. Even this tree has passion, vibrancy, life. I touch the rough bark with my finger tips. I think of the lives this tree has lived. I know it has a spirit, it may not be one of intelligence but it has a spirit nonetheless. I close my eyes and breath in deeply. The air moves around me. So thick and heavy. I try to feel the thrum of life in this air as it pulsates over me. The buzz of an insect, the rustle of the leaves. I wish I could capture this feeling in a jar, to save it and open it again on a stressful day, to breath in the peace I feel in this moment.
I open my eyes. I sketch another tree then shift my position to the right. I'm now facing the old brown barn up on the crest of the next hill. It shimmered in the afternoon heat. I remember seeing that barn time after time and thinking there was nothing enticing about it. I do have an interest in old buildings, about their histories and who lived in them or used them. But this one did nothing in particular for me. It was a simple ten by twelve foot barn, more of a tool shed I guess. I'd been inside only twice and found nothing of interest - an old glass bottle, a rusted bolt. Today was the same but to kill some time I decided to go have another look around. I put my sketch book away and climbed the next little grade up to the barn. It was a little steeper than others and overlooked the neighbor's stark little valley to the west. A few cows were lolling in the sparse shade the mangy scrub oak put off. I watched a hawk hover over what apparently became an unenticing meal and soar away. The little shed was still just as boring and just as old. The wood was greying and the door hung on its hinges like a single loose tooth. I decided not to go inside this time as I figured there was nothing to go inside for.
As I rounded the corner something caught my eye. A few feet off to my right I saw a faint gleam. I backed up a couple steps and could just make out heat waves about three feet from my face. I tried to focus my eyes to see what they were coming off of but they appeared to be shimmering in mid-air. It was as if the heat waves had condensed in this one spot. At first I thought it was my imagination, either that or some sort of a strange little wind vortex - like a dust tornado without the dust. But as I took a step closer I saw a faint gleam coming from the waves in the air. I had the strange urge to reach forward and touch it, and as any reasonable human in my situation might do, I put my whole arm through the shimmering air. My arm disappeared completely. I gasped and tried to take a step back but I felt this strong tugging motion, as if I had just put my arm in a toilet. A toilet that got stronger and stronger each time I tried to remove my arm. With every inch i pulled, the little vortex gained. I couldn't allow myself to scream, I was still stupidly intrigued by this strange occurrence in nature. My shoulder was now steadily disappearing and my feet were slipping in the dirt. I yelled out in frustration. What was happening?! If I were completely sucked in would I just be spit out on the other side? Was this not nature? Had I stumbled on to something bigger? Something unexplainable? My cheek was now pressed against it. I felt waves of heat radiating around my body. I flexed my left hand, the one that had now disappeared, and felt nothing. The heat was now encircling me, stifling me, the air so hot it burned my throat and filled my lungs like I had just inhaled steam from a boiling teapot. The heat seemed to have its own gravitational pull and the harder I fought the harder it bore down on me. I tried to scream but my lungs were heavy. My head reeled from the heat and my last sight before I blacked out was that old barn, gaping at me with its loose tooth as if witnessing a crime it could not stop but could not look away from. My body fell and I lost consciousness.
I think about celebrities, world leaders, tyrants, people who've put their name on the pages of history. They have passion. And how hard did they have to work to be remembered for something? Did Genghis Khan realize his name would be spoken of for centuries? Did Homer or Shakespeare? I often think about those whose names aren't written on history's pages. The trillions of nobodies who meant everything to no one in particular. The people in the background on those documentaries. Who are they? Who were they? I like to think if I had their individual stories I could publish the greatest books. They have passion. Everyone has passion; painting, speaking, golf, money, religion, love, football, teaching, eating. I want to find mine.
I lean my cheek against the tree. Even this tree has passion, vibrancy, life. I touch the rough bark with my finger tips. I think of the lives this tree has lived. I know it has a spirit, it may not be one of intelligence but it has a spirit nonetheless. I close my eyes and breath in deeply. The air moves around me. So thick and heavy. I try to feel the thrum of life in this air as it pulsates over me. The buzz of an insect, the rustle of the leaves. I wish I could capture this feeling in a jar, to save it and open it again on a stressful day, to breath in the peace I feel in this moment.
I open my eyes. I sketch another tree then shift my position to the right. I'm now facing the old brown barn up on the crest of the next hill. It shimmered in the afternoon heat. I remember seeing that barn time after time and thinking there was nothing enticing about it. I do have an interest in old buildings, about their histories and who lived in them or used them. But this one did nothing in particular for me. It was a simple ten by twelve foot barn, more of a tool shed I guess. I'd been inside only twice and found nothing of interest - an old glass bottle, a rusted bolt. Today was the same but to kill some time I decided to go have another look around. I put my sketch book away and climbed the next little grade up to the barn. It was a little steeper than others and overlooked the neighbor's stark little valley to the west. A few cows were lolling in the sparse shade the mangy scrub oak put off. I watched a hawk hover over what apparently became an unenticing meal and soar away. The little shed was still just as boring and just as old. The wood was greying and the door hung on its hinges like a single loose tooth. I decided not to go inside this time as I figured there was nothing to go inside for.
As I rounded the corner something caught my eye. A few feet off to my right I saw a faint gleam. I backed up a couple steps and could just make out heat waves about three feet from my face. I tried to focus my eyes to see what they were coming off of but they appeared to be shimmering in mid-air. It was as if the heat waves had condensed in this one spot. At first I thought it was my imagination, either that or some sort of a strange little wind vortex - like a dust tornado without the dust. But as I took a step closer I saw a faint gleam coming from the waves in the air. I had the strange urge to reach forward and touch it, and as any reasonable human in my situation might do, I put my whole arm through the shimmering air. My arm disappeared completely. I gasped and tried to take a step back but I felt this strong tugging motion, as if I had just put my arm in a toilet. A toilet that got stronger and stronger each time I tried to remove my arm. With every inch i pulled, the little vortex gained. I couldn't allow myself to scream, I was still stupidly intrigued by this strange occurrence in nature. My shoulder was now steadily disappearing and my feet were slipping in the dirt. I yelled out in frustration. What was happening?! If I were completely sucked in would I just be spit out on the other side? Was this not nature? Had I stumbled on to something bigger? Something unexplainable? My cheek was now pressed against it. I felt waves of heat radiating around my body. I flexed my left hand, the one that had now disappeared, and felt nothing. The heat was now encircling me, stifling me, the air so hot it burned my throat and filled my lungs like I had just inhaled steam from a boiling teapot. The heat seemed to have its own gravitational pull and the harder I fought the harder it bore down on me. I tried to scream but my lungs were heavy. My head reeled from the heat and my last sight before I blacked out was that old barn, gaping at me with its loose tooth as if witnessing a crime it could not stop but could not look away from. My body fell and I lost consciousness.
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