The Scampering Horse

Dear Ian, This is the first Father's Day since we've been married that I haven't been with you. That makes me kind of sad, because---you are the best dad ever. Watching the love and fun you bring into our home is amazing. Your Dadding skills are even better than your excel skills. I remember your first moments as a dad. That baby came by c-section, and so I was an inactive participant in the birth of our child, puking into a bucket, and feeling really pretty.  There you were holding my hand and giving me a play by play of what was happening to my giant purple uterus. Then the baby emerged into the world. You were wearing scrubs, and those funny blue slippers the hospital puts over shoes to keep things sanitary, and a shower-cap hat. You looked awesome. You were able to hold our little girl first. And you said, "I'll try not to drop her," and then bounced out of the room while I listened to them counting the blades, ensuring none were left lying inside my a

So, I sometimes hold a pole and say "I'm fishing." I really do want to catch a fish...sort of. I don't really want a fish. I don't want to eat it or anything. I don't want to keep it as a pet. I don't want to date it. So, when I say I want to catch a fish, I don't really think I do want to catch one. I want to feel the tension in the rod and then hold something up and get a picture of it. But I don't want to touch it, or gut it, or anything like that. I like the idea of catch and release. Catch it. Then release it. Here is the thing about releasing a fish. It has a hook in it. Once you catch a fish, you've put a hook in it. Like, pierced the fishy flesh and the weight of that gilled creature is hanging on a hook. And to release the fish, you have to get that hook out. Did you know that sometimes the hook doesn't come out easily? Sometimes the hook also will cut your finger in your efforts to get it out? This does not appeal to me.

I returned from a gathering of kindred spirits. It has been ten years since my European Literature and Hiking study abroad. I can't even remember where I heard about the trip in the first place, but I was made for it: hiking, England, and writing. The experience was a six week adventure between graduating from BYU and  marriage. I did take a British Novel class leading up to it, as well as a class on Thomas Hardy. Basically, I spent a lot of time with my professor, John Bennion. I don't even remember all the places I went on the actual study abroad, and there are many on the trip who were like me.  We woke up every morning surprised and delighted about our adventure for the day, and didn't look to close at the dots on the map. I know we started in Edinburgh, and went to the Isle of Wight and Tennyson Downs, Stonehenge, The Bronte Moore's, Stourhead gardens, Thomas Hardy's house, Stratford-upon-Avon, and ended in London. Even though it feels pretty fancy to