pictures of the missionaries & family just before....

Taking Over

This is Ross and Holly, Shanelle's parents. We will be taking over her blog and posting her emails every once and a while. Her address is in the "About Me" section if you want to write her. Thanks for being such good friends to our daughter!

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many thing..."

Tomorrow morning at about 7:45 a.m. I will leave my house accompanied by my family. We will load into our white Suburban and sit in our seats (Dad in the driver's seat, mom next to him, I sit behind Dad and Jaxon sits behind me, Nicole sits behind mom and Chaz sits behind her). We will drive down our street to our church house where we will walk in and sit on an old red couch. At 8 a.m. we will all file into a small room and Nicole and I will be set apart as full - time missionaries for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Following that will be eighteen months of service and teaching at the completion of which I will be a different person. This experience won't totally change me, but it will change parts of me, for the better.
Today I went up to campus to see Brother Samuelson, my very first English teacher at BYU - I. After sitting and chatting for about an hour he looked at me and said, "I have to tell you what I told my wife this morning. I told her I was coming to meet you and that you were going on a mission and I said, 'It's hard to believe this is the same girl who sat in my English 314 class three years ago.' You seemed like you were right out of Rigby High School Shanelle. You've grown so much."
He's right, Brother Samuelson is almost always right. I have grown so much in three years and I am so glad for the experiences I had at college. I am ready to go and grow some more in New York so that when I return someone can say to me, "It's hard to believe you are the girl who spoke to us a year and a half ago. You've grown so much."

Let the tears begin

Thursday I was driving into Rexburg to see Beckah, this was a very exciting and happy time for me. As I started rounding the curve next to the Les Schwab I started crying. My grandfather opened that store and eventually went out of business because he couldn’t stand to see the farmers go without. He had been one of the struggling sowers and understood when a crop had failed, but they had to keep trying. He wasn't the best business man, but he was a great neighbor and friend. My dad worked at the store until he left on his mission to Argentina. Directly across from the tire store there is a street that crosses the railroad tracks and leads to the house my mother grew up and in which my grandparents still live. As I looked straight ahead I saw campus and thought of all the memories that have been made in that small town. My best friends were made within that small radius of the "BYU - I Bubble." I cried as I drove around the round about with those perpetual children who would always be smiling. Not wanting to look like a baby in front of Beck I sucked it up by the time I got to the Hawmps, but even now saying that name I get a little misty because that was my house for 2 and a half years. Then yesterday Chaz and I are driving into Rexburg before heading up to the Playmill and he says, "I sure am going to miss you Shanelle. This is going to be so much fun, spending time together today," punctuated with his happy grin. Luckily my pink sunglasses hid the tears that pooled in my eyes from love of this not-so-little-anymore brother. Mini breakdowns followed throughout the day and the dam broke when I walked out the door of the Playmill. As Jordan asked me when I left I could barely squeak out, "Wednesday," before my eyes were full. I bawled. I stood there looking at some of the best friends in the world and cried, I won’t say shamelessly because I was a little ashamed. The embarrassing part was that I knew I would be seeing them again on Sunday, but I couldn’t stop crying. I am just not looking forward to having to say goodbye to everyone tomorrow. Please don’t stare when you see me and my flooded eyes, thanks.

One day...

I will have this ring. Not anyday soon mind you, but some day. For any of you readers who think it is wierd that I have picked out "The Ring," you are obviously male. All girls do this (that's my rationalization). Now, the website I found this ring on says that the suggested retail is $50,000, but it is on sale for $32,000. It is also platinum and has really great diamonds, I don't need that. I'm hoping that I can have some jewler make this ring for me, though I don't know how expensive that is. I am willing to take cubic zirconia in place of the 2 big diamonds for a while. I just really really love this ring.

Poetry

I have been working my way through "Good Poems for Hard Times," a compilation by Garrison Kieller and fell in love with this:

"Ode to American English" by Barbara Hamby, from Babel © University of Pittsburgh Press.

I was missing English one day, American, really,
with its pill-popping Hungarian goulash of everything
from Anglo-Saxon to Zulu, because British English
is not the same, if the paperback dictionary
I bought at Brentano's on the Avenue de l'Opera
is any indication, too cultured by half. Oh, the English
know their dahlias, but what about doowop, donuts,
Dick Tracy, Tricky Dick? With their elegant Oxfordian
accents, how could they understand my yearning for the hotrod,
hotdog, hot flash vocabulary of the U. S. of A.,
the fragmented fandango of Dagwood's everyday flattening
of Mr. Beasley on the sidewalk, fetuses floating
on billboards, drive-by monster hip-hop stereos shaking
the windows of my dining room like a 7.5 earthquake,
Ebonics, Spanglish, "you know" used as comma and period,
the inability of 90% of the population to get the past perfect:
I have went, I have saw, I have tooken Jesus into my heart,
the battle cry of the Bible Belt, but no one uses
the King James anymore, only plain-speak versions,
in which Jesus, raising Lazarus from the dead, says,
"Dude, wake up," and the L-man bolts up like a B-movie
mummy, "Whoa, I was toasted." Yes, ma'am,
I miss the mongrel plentitude of American English, its fall-guy,
rat-terrier, dog-pound neologisms, the bomb of it all,
the rushing River Jordan backwoods mutability of it, the low-rider,
boom-box cruise of it, from New Joisey to Ha-wah-ya
with its sly dog, malasada-scarfing beach blanket lingo
to the ubiquitous Valley Girl's like-like stuttering,
shopaholic rant. I miss its quotidian beauty, its querulous
back-biting righteous indignation, its preening rotgut
flag-waving cowardice. Suffering Succotash, sputters
Sylvester the Cat; sine die, say the pork-bellied legislators
of the swamps and plains. I miss all those guys, their Tweety-bird
resilience, their Doris Day optimism, the candid unguent
of utter unhappiness on every channel, the midnight televangelist
euphoric stew, the junk mail, voice mail vernacular.
On every boulevard and rue I miss the Tarzan cry of Johnny
Weismueller, Johnny Cash, Johnny B. Goode,
and all the smart-talking, gum-snapping hard-girl dialogue,
finger-popping x-rated street talk, sports babble,
Cheetoes, Cheerios, chili dog diatribes. Yeah, I miss them all,
sitting here on my sidewalk throne sipping champagne
verses lined up like hearses, metaphors juking, nouns zipping
in my head like Corvettes on Dexadrine, French verbs
slitting my throat, yearning for James Dean to jump my curb.


and these two (for pretty obvious reasons I think):


No Longer a Teenager

my daughter, who turns twenty tomorrow,
has become truly independent.
she doesn't need her father to help her
deal with the bureaucracies of schools,
hmo's, insurance, the dmv.
she is quite capable of handling
landlords, bosses, and auto repair shops.
also boyfriends and roommates.
and her mother.

frankly it's been a big relief.
the teenage years were often stressful.
sometimes, though, i feel a little useless.

but when she drove down from northern California
to visit us for a couple of days,
she came through the door with the

biggest, warmest hug in the world for me.
and when we all went out for lunch,
she said, affecting a little girl's voice,
"i'm going to sit next to my daddy,"
and she did, and slid over close to me
so i could put my arm around her shoulder
until the food arrived.

i've been keeping busy since she's been gone,
mainly with my teaching and writing,
a little travel connected with both,
but i realized now how long it had been
since i had felt deep emotion.

when she left i said, simply,
"i love you,"
and she replied, quietly,
"i love you too."
you know it isn't always easy for
a twenty-year-old to say that;
it isn't always easy for a father.

literature and opera are full of
characters who die for love:
i stay alive for her.

— Gerald Locklin




To a Daughter Leaving Home
Linda Pastan

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.



Poetry fills me.

Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace

Sometimes there are days when you just want to be loved. I have been having those days on and off for a while which has been interesting. Now, this is not to say that I feel unloved, because I don’t. I know I am surrounded by the love of my family and my friends. This is all great and it is so nice to know that they will always love me. But, sometimes I just want a guy to love me(this usually happens when I’m watching a movie or listening to music, and occasionally when I’m reading). That I just wrote that sentence is a little embarrassing. In my eyes I am a proud, successful, independent, "doesn’t need a man" woman. In reality, I would very much like to have a relationship. My last relationship lasted two years. That’s a long time for teenagers, especially when one of the years is spent in different states and visits are only two days long every month. That relationship ended a year ago. For a long time I wasn’t ready to let anybody else in; I totally shut myself off. Apparently now I am ready, and it has come at a really inopportune time, let me tell you. I leave in a month and a half for New York where I’ll be for 18 months. This formula really isn’t ideal for relationship starting. So I am currently letting go of that desire, as much as I can at least. I know I’m doing the right thing in going to New York, but I can’t help wonder about the missed opportunities I may have had this past year. I don’t want to wonder if so-and-so actually liked me and if we stood a chance, but that’s what happens when you push away and procrastinate. Lesson learned.