Guys and Making Choices

The other day, my sister called me. She was upset because her boy wanted to take her on a date, but he refused to plan anything. He wanted her to decide where to go. She was frustrated because she felt that being responsible for date activities is a sign of appreciation to her. If nothing else, she felt that he should decide simply to respect her wishes. I could relate to my sister's frustration because, not even a week earlier, Mike and I argued over the same thing. I told him that I have a lot of major decisions and responsibilities that I have to take care of every day. It is a relief when even one choice, even if it's a small one, is taken off my shoulders. He argued that he doesn't care what we do as long as I'm with him. Though this answer was flattering, I was not impressed. Today, at church, I overheard some girls talking about a date. The one who went on the date expressed her frustration over the fact that the guy had not planned the date very well and expected her to decide where to go out to eat. Really guys!? What happened to the days when the guys were responsible for every detail of a date? Girls, if you have any opinion on this subject, please reply to this note. Maybe, if the guys know that this is important to us, they'll try to change.

Memorial Park

I can see the whole park. The pond to the north. It's all covered in slime during the summer. It's fun to slide on. Like ice skating with water up to our knees. The slime collects in our toes. We play king of the rock on that boulder that someone threw in the middle. The police drive by. They yell at us to get out. We wait 'till they leave, then get back in.
From where I sit, I can see the playground. It's no longer hidden. It's behind those stumps. Those stumps were trees. Trees that we climbed. The police men didn't like that either. We never really liked the playground. It was built after we were kids. The old equipment was better, but they took it all out. "Too dangerous" they decided. The drinking fountain in the middle worked once. It doesn't now. Kids try it all the time. When the sun is hot, they are disappointed. One boy I liked kissed me in the slide. The big tube kind that kids try to climb up. It wasn't very fun. He was a bad kisser. We like the swings, though.
The bear cave is closest to me. It has only one door. It has bars on it. The cave is a small building. It's made of thick cement. It's sunken into the ground, like it's too heavy for the dirt. We were afraid of it. We aren't now. We saw the door open once. They keep boring things in it. Things my mom would like. Shovels and mowers for landscaping. We sit on top of it and listen to concerts. Only sometimes, though. It's too crowded, too. I try to push my friends off. I really want to push the strangers off. The loud, annoying ones.
The fields are far away. There are three now. Big ones seperated by a sidewalk. The sidewalk says no bikes. We ignore that, too. The policemen don't yell at us for it. We play frisbee and football in the fields. There used to be only two. The south field was the swimming pool. They tore it down. Another one was built further away. We miss the old one. The new one is crowded. The fields make us dirty. We get grass stains and mud stains. People bring their dogs. We get dog-doo stains. In the summer, we spray each other with the sprinklers.
I can see the stage. It's blocked by a few trees. The trees are fat. They've been there forever, I think. Bands play on the stage. Rock bands, sometimes, but mostly brass bands. They play every Sunday in the summer. People come from all the cities around to listen. Mostly, I think, they come to visit each other. Only the people who sit in the seats listen. The people on the grass play games and talk. We sit on the grass most Sundays. We throw grass at each other. We dance on the stage. When all the people leave. We dance the cha-cha. We dance poorly.
I can see the whole park. I sit on the wishing man. One boy I loved told me it was the wishing man. I told my sisters.
We sit on the wishing man. We close our eyes and make wishes. The wishing man grants our wishes. He always grants our wishes. Unless our wishes are bad wishes. One friend proposed to my cousin while she sat on the wishing man.
The wishing man is a tree. A giant pushed him over once. The wishing man didn't die. He grew bent. Bent enough for four five of us to sit on once. Now only two or three. We're bigger.
I sit on the wishing man. I can see the whole park. I sit on the wishing man because we are gone. Every lover who walked me over the fields has left. Every friend who muddied my knees and squished goo through our toes moved. The dancing stopped. It stopped because the partners gave it up. Other friends throw grass at each other now. A child asks me if I will move. She sits on the wishing man. I watch her make a wish. I don't know her.

Rotten Fruit

I'm having a rough night.
I could tell
you weren't thinking about me.
It's been too long;
We've had too long.
The giddy excitement's rotted
and grows green attachment;
fuzzy, unclear,
but I still cut away the mold
and try to sweeten the juice
that won't be salvaged
because you don't want it to.
What am I supposed to do
with rotten fruit?

Something Happy

Too much, I’m told, I’m in the dark
My silence is my night covering
My distrust, my midnight snack
Too much, I’m told, I’m in the dark
Too much, I’m told, am I alone
My music is my possessive love
My solo heartache, my hate symphony
Too much, I’m told, am I alone
Too much, I’m told, am I asleep
My slumber is my safe canvas
My mind, my free roaming pen
Too much, I’m told, am I asleep
To write something happy, I’m told
My night covering is my joy
My love symphony, my heartache
To write something happy, is my lie

Sometimes I feel like no one really reads things I post on Facebook or other such sites, especially this one. Well, I hate sharing my poetry with poetry with people, but I have an odd urge to share the one I wrote tonight. I figure, if no one reads my blog anyway, I can safely post it here and satisfy that urge while still being protective of my most sacred thoughts. Ceiling Textur/e Snow-capped peaks stretch long shadows,/ cropping the corners of lamp-lit valleys,/ Stage to child-like haunts/ and witness to forsaken cries;/ They speak, as dreams, do/ to the hidden, protected soul,/ uncovering horrors unsecured/ and fears realized, in solitude,/ Dripping omniscient truth/ frozen by day, light's serf,/ but, in the master's absence,/ rouses the ritual witch-dance,/ which tickles my guilt,/ boils my stew thoughts,/ allowing demons to be affectionate./ Into myself, I welcome the dance./ Snow-capped peaks dim into shadows/ as my lamp-lit nightmare ends/ forsaken sobs are still like dreams/ sleep cannot kill child-like haunts

Saturday May 30 As some of you may know, my family, Grandma and Grandpa left for Lake Powell Thursday night. Around noon today I got a phone call from my dad telling me that there had been an accident and Nathan was being life flighted out of Lake Powell. Nathan had been waterskiing down a canyon and tried to jump the wake. He lost control and hit the canyon wall. For an extremely agonizing hour, Stacie and I waited for my mom to call and tell us where he was so that we could go be with him. When that call finally came we rushed to Salt Lake and the Primary Children's Hospital. After waiting for about a half an hour in our own personal waiting room, Stacie and I were able to see him. They had not yet cleaned all the blood off. He looked like something out of your worst nightmares. The right side of his face was covered in scrapes and swollen. He was able to recognize both Stacie and me. That was a good sign. Being extremely squeamish, I couldn't stay with him while they cleaned and stitched him up. I went back into the waiting room where my boyfriend, who came with me for moral support, sat and laughed while I passed out on the couch. A long while later, they moved Nathan to a room and hooked him up to a bunch of machines. He fractured his wrist and very slightly fractured his cheek. We sat with him for many hours. We thought it was pretty funny that the doctor asked me if I was okay more often than he asked Nathan because I was still feeling like I was going to pass out. Nathan was talking, slowly, but talking. Stacie, Mike and I were discussing the accident. Nathan apparently was listening. He said, "I hit a canyon wall?" We said, "Yep." He said, "That hurt." He says that he doesn't remember going skiing at all. He remembers deciding to go, but nothing after that. During the next few hours Nathan slept off and on. I felt bad for the poor guy because one machine kept testing his blood pressure and it woke him up every ten minutes or so. We also tried for a long time to get a hold of our parents. We knew that they had to drive up from Lake Powell, so we were expecting five or six hours depending on how far away from the marina they camped and how long it would take them to pack everything back up. Around eight, they called to tell us that they had just barely left the harbor. This meant, for us, that it would be at least another six hours more before they would get to the hospital. We left Nathan sleeping around midnight. Hopefully, we'll have an update on his condition and more details about the accident tomorrow. Please keep Nathan in your prayers Sunday May 31 The last we heard, Nathan was in more pain today. Yesterday, while Stacie, Mike and I were there, the doctors said they might let him go home tonight. Today, however, we know that's not going to happen. He does not remember Stacie, Mike and me being there yesterday even though we spent about ten hours at the hospital. My Mom is still up there with him. My dad, last time we heard, was resting at my grandparent's house so that he will have energy to drive home. All of the kids are being taken care of by our relatives in Payson. We are so grateful for such a loving family and so many caring friends. Today, Cynthia told me her version of the accident. She said that everyone was in the boat, except for Joshua who had stayed back at camp. She said that she had been watching as Nathan hit the wall. They were in a narrow canyon, so it was difficult for them to turn around. As soon as they could, both Mom and Dad jumped into the water where Nathan was floating face down, and dragged him onto the swim deck. He was not breathing, so they gave him some rescue breaths. This got his breathing again, and he was given a blessing. Naturally, after the blessing, they sped toward help. For some reason, the boat decided to die. Only because God was watching out for Nathan, a boat passed and was flagged down. This boat happened to have a radio and they were able to get help quickly. After that, Dad was able to fix the boat. Then the family had to endure an excruciatingly long drive home. They did not arrive in Payson until two in the morning. After which Mom and Dad rested for a little while, and drove to Salt Lake to be with Nathan. We love you all and are grateful for your support and comfort. Heather Peck

Woot for College!

I recently received a full tuition renewable academic scholarship to UVU. It's not as amazing as Kassi's scholarship to BYU, but it works for me. I'm still waiting for news from the University Honors Housing Scholarship with my fingers crossed. I'm really hoping for this one because, if I have my housing paid for, then I can afford to not work during the summer. If I don't have to work, I can go to a three week Arabic program called "Startalk." It's an intensive language course. They offer a whole year of college credit for the three weeks. I really really want to go!!!