There is something so magical about Northern California this time of year... the land hasn't yet shriveled and changed colors under the summer sun to make it resemble its nickname, The Golden State. Greenery grows in abundance. Tall grasses and flowers dot the hillsides and all is verdant.

NephewQ hung out with me for a bit the other day. We had a grand time dying in the water and dying in the fire while playing Mario, and then I packed him up for a romp outside. (Which he was none too happy about, until we got there.)

To see this boy take off down a tiny path, overwrought with glee at the thought of exploring! He was an intrepid scout, a safari master, the king of the world! A three year old boy, literally with the world at his feet. And he LOVED it. He and I, we blazed trails through knee-high greenery and were the masters of the moment.

Instinctively, NephewQ seemed to understand it better than most adults. He knew: This is the good stuff. This patch of earth and sun and dirt and flowers and grass. This. This is it.

And then he reminded me that he was three when he turned toward me, started repeating "brains, brains, brains..." in a low, guttural, mimed voice and then began to gnaw on my leg in jest... (Plants v Zombies, in case you haven't played it...)  A good upside-down tickle restored his curiosity for the path ahead and off we shot again. We threw dirt and I told him about fruit blossoms and how bees make honey and he collected the most amazing green grass stains on his knees, grass stains that would be the envy of every little boy and tom-boy around, I tell you!


Oh, to be three again!

Things started to happen this week. The universe began to speak to me, I guess I can say, living only 10 or so miles from Berkeley... But really, things in my life began to shift, pushing me toward other things. Ya know? It suddenly became time to get crackin'! And that's both exciting and terrifying.

It started Tuesday when I booked my cruise. Wendesday my roommate texted me to tell me that she might be moving out in May, which I knew might be coming, but still, it freaked me out a bit because it was earlier than I hoped it would be. In an ideal world, it wouldn't have happened until October. We'd both move out at the end of September. Easy. Neatly packaged. Done.

Life is messy, though, but in that mess everything usually works out so much better than we could have ever imagined.

After my roommate texted I began to tear apart my bookshelf and my closet. Piles of things to give away and things to sell have appeared in my house in random places. My neatly constructed life is being deconstructed. I am doing the thing I wished I would do. Seriously. After every trip I'd come home, observe my house, and just all of the stuff I have and wish I could get rid of it all. Bam. It's happening.

I have a million, trillion things to do. Tomorrow I'll call my doctor and start making appointments for vaccinations and travel medication. And every day I'll pack a box, or two, and sort out more things to get rid of. Eventually I'll sell my computer and my Jeep. And have a massive garage sale.

So. I might move out in June. I don't know yet. I might find another roommate. I have no clue. But something will happen. And it's scary, and it's so cool.

What scares you? What are you going to do about it?

If you read this blog regularly, you know that I'm planning a grand adventure. My original plan was to leave in April (next month!), but I ended up pushing those plans back in favor of September. The fall simply works better for my job and my life for many reasons.

So, the big announcement: I've booked the first leg of my trip! I'll be sailing on a cruise ship from Los Angeles to Sydney in the fall and I just can't wait! (Of course, at this point everything is still refundable. So I can still change my mind about where/how I want to start this adventure.) For now, I'm dreaming about one of the stops on my trip: Pago Pago, in American Samoa. As I sit in chilly, but sunny Northern California, I dream of sinking my cold toes into the warm sands of Pago Pago. I wish the clear water was lapping against my legs and I wonder how the island will smell. Will the air smell of flowers and fruit, like Hawaii? Maybe like spiced (jerk) chicken and coconut, like Jamaica? Or will it smell like nutmeg and banana bread, like it does in Grenada, the spice island? (Probably not.) It's all unknown at this point, and that, my friends, is the point of Faraway Fantasy Friday!




Where do you want to be today?

A rainy day in Israel provided the perfect opportunity for an indoor activity: visiting The Western Wall Tunnels.

To visit the tunnels, one must join a tour, which starts at the base of the Western Wall in the Jewish Quarter. It is given from a most assuredly Jewish perspective, which is, at times, hilarious. And at other times interesting/possibly controversial, but always it is just so "Jerusalem."

In any case, the base of Temple mount goes down about four layers of city beneath what is lived in/walked around in today. Over the years, buildings were built on buildings on top of buildings. It's the same in Rome, or any other very old city. The Temple mount as it exists today was leveled out by the Romans, who flattened the area by installing a base of very large to freaking-massive stone blocks. And by freaking massive, I mean larger than a couple of elephants standing side by side. BIG. Way BIG.

Wikipedia has this to say about the largest stone used in the base:

The Western Stone, located in the northern section of Wilson's Arch, is a monolithic stone block forming part of the lower level of the Western Wall in Jerusalem. Weighing 517 tonnes (570 short tons),^[1] it is one of the largest building blocks in the world. The stone is 13.6 meters (44.6 feet) long and 3 metres (9.8 feet) high and has an estimated width of 3.3 meters (10.8 feet).

--

When the Israeli government dug the tunnel along the base of the Western wall (without telling anyone, which was a HUGE deal when the story finally got out), they were able to literally uncover layers of history dating back through the years, over various occupations: Roman, Byzantine, Umayyad, Caliphate, Crusaders, Ottoman... the proof was all there, in the layers of buildings. 





"Whatever you do, don't hit the wall too hard. They" Our tour guide motioned up above, to the Temple Mount, run by Muslims, "They have seismographs up there. Any big movement recorded and *smack*," He clapped his hands together in a finite motion, "atomic war!"

At the end of this long hallway is a very, very narrow cleft in the cavern that you have to pass through. It measures only around a foot wide at it's narrowest point. Our guide told us a story about one VERY large guest. He told her she wouldn't be able to fit and she became offended. He shrugged and let her come along. At this point, she tried to shove herself through the opening and became seriously lodged in place. She couldn't move forward, couldn't go back. Other people on the tour had to push from one side and pull from the other to free her... Yah. Tour guides know what's up.


The tour is one-way and exits onto Via Dolorosa, just above an old cistern pool, which is actually connected to the cistern that is under the Convent my friends and I stayed in. Except our tour was apparently 10 minutes late and the Jewish guards who were posted at the exit to prevent heaven-knows-what happening from the Palestinian quarter (actually, violence is known to happen at that doorway on occasion) decided it was their break time, so instead of offering us an escort back to the entrance from street-level (per normal), we were told that we were extremely lucky in that we would be able to wander back through the tunnels to the entrance at our own pace. So we took our time, wandered, really enjoyed it and then walked all the way back to our convent/guesthouse at street level.

Welcome to Israel!

Visiting the "Kotel"/Western Wall Tunnels:
The entrance is located at the base of the Western wall, in the Jewish Quarter. If you're facing the wall, look to the left near the restrooms.

Opening Hours: Sun-Thurs 7am to "Evening"
Reservations: Highly recommended (but small groups of 2-3 will easily be able to join a tour)
Time: 1 hour, 15 minutes
Cost:  I don't remember. Around 20 shekels.
Cool official website: http://english.thekotel.org/VisitorInfo.asp?id=1
Bring: Water, camera capable of taking photos in dark, indoor spaces

Infrequent - that's what I'd label faith-based posts on this blog. Perhaps that's good, maybe I should post about my beliefs more often. I'm not going to commit to anything. But today, my heart is full and very grateful.

In LDS faith education, Jack R. Christensen is a trusted name, a reputable source for teaching, learning and sermonizing. While at school in Utah, I attended a few of his courses and was always edified and uplifted by them. They were a comfort. He released several audio talks, sermons, if you will and my favorite is one called "The Mortal Christ". It is simply beautiful, all about the mortal life of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Brother Christensen relates one particular story that came to mind during today's heart-heavy events. He relates a time in his own life when driving through the plains of Wyoming or Montana, several hundred miles from home.

It was dinner time and he was happy to find a Subway sandwich shop in a town on his route. As he pulled into the sandwich shop, an idea came to mind that Whopper meals at Burger King, just across the street, were only $1.99. Being self-admittedly, essentially cheap, he drove across the highway to Burger King for a whopper meal. When he walked into Burger King he found a friend from his home area inside, who was astonished to see him. The friend had been going through a very low point and Brother Christensen was able to help him because he paid attention to a seemingly unimportant idea, put into his mind by the Holy Spirit.

That message stayed with me over the years. That sometimes the Spirit doesn't shout at us, or tell us specifically what to do. (Believing that we are beings sent to Earth to gain wisdom and make choices pleasing to our Father in Heaven, it doesn't make sense that we would always be told what we should do.) Today I had a similar experience. I wasn't driving through Wyoming, and I didn't get a whopper meal. This morning I had planned to stay in my hotel room and work remotely while my sister took her kids to a play date with her friends. Afterward we were all going to go to my Parent's home and spend time with them. For some reason, as she was ready to leave, two ideas wouldn't leave me. The first, that it would be an inconvenience to the housekeeper if I stayed in the room, struck me as odd, and I didn't dispute that, but  I thought I would just ask her for fresh towels and to empty the trash. No biggie.

The second idea to surface, that the internet connection at my parents house would be better than that available at the hotel, mulled around in my head. Between the maid and the internet, I revised my plans on a whim and out the door went the sister, her kids and I.

I hadn't been in the house five minutes before I heard a yell for help. My father had suffered a stroke (another stroke, on top of other ailments) and had been laying on his bathroom floor for an unknown time. My mother was in the bathroom trying to help him move his 6'4", 250+ pounds of unresponsive body off the ground. Somehow, between my mother and me, we managed to move my Dad to his bed and then go about the business of helping him.

Tonight I'm so grateful. Grateful for lessons that stay with us. Grateful for promptings and whisperings and the popping of seemingly random ideas into our minds. I'm so grateful to have been able and around to help, but especially grateful to have more time with my father, perhaps, in small part, because the maid would have been inconvenienced by my staying in my hotel room, and because the internet at the hotel was slow.

This week I'm up north with my sister, her three year old and her eight-month old twins. We're visiting our parents and it's madness! Madness, I say! I knew it would be busy when I signed up to accompany the sis and her kids on this trip, but I have a whole new level of appreciation, respect and awe for mothers.

 View of the old city from BYU-J

One of a series of models of the old city, depicting the different occupations and building phases over the centuries.

In the distance you can see the Dome of the Rock.

 Entrance to the Brigham Young University Jerusalem Center. The facility was designed by David Resnick, a famous Brazilian-Israeli architect, who also designed the Hebrew University, located not too far from BYU-J.

The recital hall at BYU-J, which looks out over the old city.

 At the top of Orson Hyde Memorial Garden. 

The long, winding path deposits you a block away from the Garden of Gethsemane.

 Entrance to the Garden of Gethsemane. Entrance is free, but there are set hours. In the distance you can see the Dome of the Rock, and the city's eighth gate, the Golden Gate, which was walled up by Sultan Suleiman the Great to prevent Christ's return to the city as He is supposed to return through that gate.

One of the amazing, old Olive Trees in the Garden. A couple of the trees are more than 2,000 years old, which means they were quite possibly in the Garden when Christ prayed there and bled from every pore. My friends and I met the gardener, who keeps close watch over this piece of earth. His family has been tending the garden for hundreds of years.

 A beautiful frieze near the grove of olive trees in the garden, depicting Christ's prayer.

 The church built on the site, the Church of All Nations. It is quite famous and was a collaborative effort between several Nations to build. Behind the church you can see the golden spires of the Russian Orthodox church.

 Mosaics and statues of the apostles line the pediment of the church.

 This is inside of the church.

It is supposed to be "The Spot" where Christ offered up His prayer before he was betrayed by Judas Iscariot and arrested.

The gorgeous dome inside of the church.

Three years! That's how long one little bundle of energy and love and cuddles, excitement, and a few tantrums here and there that I call NephewQ has been around on this planet earth. Three whole years that have entirely changed my life. Sure, I'm not his Mom. But just being little Q-ball's auntie has made such a difference in my life, in who I am and in my understanding of what love is.

Thursday night I unloaded a big birthday present, a Zachary's deep-dish pizza pie and one birthday cake from my Jeep and walked into my sister and brother-in-law's house to be greeted by my adorable nephew, given kisses and told "'S'my burday, Tete! I furee (three)!" Then he ran gleefully over to the present. "My pesent! My pesent!" He ripped the paper off, determined to get every scrap off the box before looking to see what was actually in the box. "A car! Ooooh!"

"We'll put it together after we eat dinner!" We told him. And his sweet little voice replied, "Okay!"

It was okay for all of two minutes. Two minutes later he was shouting from the dinner table: "No dinner bites, no dinner bites!" So we let him out and he began to rip open the box and pull out the parts to the red and yellow little tyke's car.

And let me tell you, NephewQ was immediately brilliant. He's been playing a lot of the game "Bad Piggies" lately. If you don't know what that is, it's a spinoff of Angry Birds, except you have to build a vehicle in every level and make it cross a finish line. It's kind of brilliant. It's one part soap box derby, one part engineering, one part physics, one part luck, and three parts fun.

I've lost track of how many parts that is, but it's all kinds of cool, and very fun to see NephewQ put on his thinking cap and make the game work.

The car was completely in pieces, but the biggest whole piece was the car's body, which Q promptly inserted the steering wheel into and (tried to) put the wheels into the correct position. Then he got into the body and tried to drive. I stuck the odometer and gauges stickers on the dash next to the steering wheel and it immediately dismayed Q. He pointed at the stickers with a frown and pulled the steering wheel out of the dash.
"It not woorking!" 
His mom replied "It's imaginary. It's a sticker, those parts don't move."
Q, still dismayed: "It not woorking!"
Mom: "You have to use your imagination. Use your head!"
Q bends over, puts his head on the dashboard and taps it against the dash. And then we begin to laugh uncontrollably. Snort-laughing. It was that funny.

And then we gave him some birthday cake and let him watch a movie while three fully grown adults tried to figure out how to really assemble that bloody little car. (Grumble, grumble... seriously ridiculous)

And when it all came together, Q opened the car door, got into his car with a swagger, looked me in the eye and said (with the same inflection of The Terminator saying "Hasta la vista, baby!") "See ya Tete!" and he flintstoned his little feet off into the sunset. (Or toward the front door... maybe.)




This kid. This wonderful, stubborn, brainy, wiggly, amazing, thoughtful kid.

I love you, stinkerbug.