questions of the soul

Why is it ok for guys to go run around the city without a shirt on but I have to wear pants?

Why did an entire box of Cheerios fall off the top of the fridge, covering me and the kitchen in honey nut flavored cereal?

Why did it snow yesterday?

Why did I put my ski gear away 2 weeks ago?

Why is the inside of my car covered in hair?

Why did I shave today and then wear jeans?

Why does that man have pizza and I don't? 

Why doesn't he share with me?

Why do some people breathe really heavily out of their noses?

Why was I convinced that I couldn't breath out of my nose until 8th grade?

Why did 8th grade even happen?

Why don't I ever wear my retainer?

Why couldn't I finish my book before it was due?

Why did my little sister look fabulous for her prom while I had a wardrobe malfunction for mine?

peace and preguntas

that's "questions" in spanish. no i'm not pregnant.

rrw

let's get high

Alright guys. So I guess the last post I wrote had a few people concerned about my well being. First of all, bless you. Bless you all and the generations that will come after you. And if you weren't concerned, then dishonor. Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow...But I digress. Second, yeah, it was a little more thoughtful and serious than the usual randomness I put up on this thing, but I can assure you that I am not about to do anything drastic with my life. Unless staying in my pajamas until 3:30 pm counts as drastic. Then alright. I'm going off the deep end. and how lovely it feels.

I vacated the premises of Provo yesterday afternoon in order to attend and assist in the annual Canyon Rim Academy Arts Festival, planned and produced by my own mother. It was a hit, as usual, and I've taken the opportunity to remain in Salt Lake for the weekend. Because I like this place. It has a never ending supply of cheese, the dishes match the kitchen decor, and there aren't hairballs stuck in the couch. But more than that, I've been able to do and see some of the simple things that bring me immense joy. Things that I had forgotten I even like. There's obviously a list coming up so get the popcorn.

6 Natural Highs: How to Make the Safety Kids Proud

|| My family's scooter. The thing is older than my brother and my aunt drove it in high school. I can never get it to start on my own the first time and the seat is covered in duct tape. The wheels have white paint marks on them from when my friends decorated it 5 years ago and it can't go over 32 uphill. It leaves you smelling like gas and oil and I most definitely look like a crazy person when I ride it because I'm literally laughing the entire time. (please note that the use of "literally" was literally correct in the previous sentence)

|| The smell of Great Harvest. I took said scooter ^^^ on a ride and ended up in the bakery where I walked around and smelled things. My purpose was to get a free piece of bread but then I chickened out because I didn't want to buy a 4 dollar muffin. So instead I just walked in a circle about a dozen times smelling things.

|| When clothes are accepted as clothes but really feel more like pajamas. It's like I beat the system and quietly rebel against the social institutions dictated to us by the man when I can go out in public in such attire. And will you look at me being all progressive? Next thing you know I'll be out picketing for a protest against plastic grocery bags wearing nothing but a burlap sack.

...that's actually not a bad idea.

|| Quail. They are funny.

|| When I find something that I thought was lost. Like the charger for my camera's battery. I'm not a photographer by any means, but I love to take pictures and have missed doing so for the last few months. Now I can. So if you ever go out with me somewhere that I've deemed worthy of documentation, bring your pretty face because I will most definitely make you pose by that tree gosh darn it.

|| Ankle bracelets. I mean, why do I like those so much? I'm really not a fan of any jewelry other than simple earrings, but give me an anklet and I will wear it until the twilight of time. I think in another life I wanted to be a granola hippy. No. I know that in another life I would have been a granola hippy simply because my favorite anklet has a piece sign on it. Which I guess actually suits my protesting persona described three bullet points ago.
also i think warm weather brings out my liberal side.

|| My family. We can sit in the living room and talk about how to roll your "r"s for 30 minutes, a conversation that has actually happened multiple times.

So I've been pretty high all weekend. I'm heading back to Provo tonight, however, because I guess it's time for me to actually take finals seriously. And I've kind of missed that hair covered couch.

peace and chicken bombs
rrw

Owners of a Red Rope

So here's the thing. I've been reading.

No, no. Not the type of reading where you scroll through buzzfeed in order to see what kind of hamburger topping you are. Nor the type of reading that's assigned by professors and makes you want to vomit under a table because suddenly one of your favorite childhood past times has become the most acute and terrible form of torture.

No, that's not the type of reading I'm talking about. I've been doing the type of reading that is so good it makes you sick in your heart. You get sick of the characters because you see them making the same mistakes you make. You get sick of the fact that you can't do anything to change their circumstances. You get sick because you can see what's going to happen and you just don't want it to happen. And then you get sick because what you thought would happen doesn't actually happen and then you're sick of the author playing with your emotions and thoughts but it's just so good that you can't stop.

And then you get sick of your real life. You get sick of how you speak because nothing you say sounds as rich or full or communicates to emotions as well as the words in those books that you read do. You get sick of the petty worries surrounding you because don't people realize that Charles just tried to kill Adam and shows no remorse for any of the abuse he's shown his brother? You get sick of statistics because what are they really even telling you about the human condition? You get sick because the new perspective you get from reading these books throws you into a state of vertigo that is more difficult to stomach than an attraction at a carnival.

So I've been reading. And thinking. And then thinking about what I'm thinking because shoot dang metacognition is real. I should be focused and studious but instead I just want to keep escaping. Either to the dark and foggy streets of London or the warm and daunting valleys of California, full of flowers and life and death. But mostly I just want to write. I just want to take my thoughts to paper in order to make space for the new ones I can sense itching to form.

So I do.

peace out
rrw

.....

There is a window that I look out from and see the trees hesitantly asking the air whether it is time for them to show their secrets that have been held all winter, or if they should stay hidden within themselves. Their limbs bounce in the wind and I cannot tell if it is a cold or a warm breeze that moves them. For, while the window is clear and clean, it is a barrier. It prevents me from hearing the conversation being held across the road between two men who might be friends and who might be enemies. It separates me from the birds flying back and forth with seemingly no purpose but to fly. It removes me from the dog, once white and soft but now brown, gray, and matted. And while I cannot hear his whines as he pleads for release from the red rope tethering him to a tree, I can see his struggle. As I sit behind this window and watch him fight, which effort only entangles him deeper and deeper into the tree, I wonder when he will be released. And upon that occasion, what will he do? Who will he go to? How fast will he run? And will he then return to those people who own the red rope, to be tied up and ignored once again by those he trusts with all entirety? Yes. He will come back. He has been trained to do so and knows no other life. His will is no longer malleable because it has already been molded. It has been molded by the owners of the red rope.

And all this I see from behind the clear, clean glass.

weiler filled weekend.

If you have stopped by with expectations of eloquence and wit, then please, for my sake and yours, remove your eyes from the words that will soon follow, for I have nothing of that sort to say. No, today I am simply going to make broad generalizations about people I don't know at all and perhaps offend a few, but only if I'm lucky. You see, I just returned from a glorious weekend spent in southern Utah with my family, and while in transit I made a few observations. One, that the area of Floy, Utah is literally empty. I do not know why that exit exists and yes I just googled it to find out more and the first link that popped up was "No Town Utah: Floy."

Appropriate, for there is no town there.

Two, the seat in my car is lopsided and it is entirely my fault. Because I drive a manual, I find myself leaning to the right as I rest my hand on the gear shift. Years of this habit has caused the seat to anticipate my preferred reclining angle. It is bothersome and I must fix it and aren't you glad you know this now?

And third, drivers. You notice a lot of drivers when you're driving. And a few kinds stood out to me. So now I have to comment on them.


Tailgaters
Perhaps the closest thing to my arch nemesis, the tailgater has a way of getting to my nerves more efficiently than any known person, place, or thing on this planet. When the speed limit drops from 80 to 40 and I am the only thing keeping you from getting pulled over by that cop who was just waiting for someone like you to come speeding through here, you better have the decency to back off a little. The closer you get, the closer I get...to slamming on my breaks and giving you the opportunity to buy me a new car. Fortunately for you I don't want to have a broken body, so I resist.

Campers
They are endless and eternal in their parade of mobile homes and not once do you ever see the same brand twice. I swear, how are camper companies even making money? They sell one vehicle each. One. And yet there are incalculable amounts of them on the road to Moab. And yet not as many as there are on the road to Yellowstone. I don't really have much against these guys unless I'm stuck behind one. Heck, the Weilers did a cross country road trip in a Cruise America, which we look back on fondly and with laughter. But let it be known that I will not own one of these unless it is brown, has antlers on the front, and is called "The Moving Moose."

Pass Lane Incompetents 
Oh the glories of that additional lane, when one can be free of the barriers damming their swift travel. Each and every one is a 5 mile stretch of miracle. And then...you get the one. That one person who just doesn't understand how crucial this time is and who just won't. go. faster. Finally they see that the passing lane is about to end and they make their move, but you are stuck behind the 15 passenger van, wondering how the driver even sees through the back because it's completely covered in stickers of stick people playing baseball and dancing. And you wonder that until the next passing lane.

Granolas
Perhaps my favorite people to see on the road, the granolas cruise along in their subarus or VW vans with their beards, dreadlocks, and bandannas flying in the wind of their opened windows. But even better, their cars are completely packed. Old coolers, dented kayaks, worn camping gear, dirt covered bikes and carefully placed climbing ropes ornament their rather rusty car from the inside out. You look at them and know that they are either on the way to their happiest place, or that they just accomplished a lot of good over the weekend. And you feel slightly jealous of their lifestyle.


Contrary to everything previous written, I did more than just drive and judge people this weekend. Surprising, I know. The entire family united for hiking, joking, watching Cast Away, eating stir fry and pizza, biking, and conference viewing. Arches and Canyonlands are National Parks that must be visited, and visit we did.

I succeeded at waking the baby up in the middle of the night, but failed at bringing a camera that had a charged battery. So that's typical. But hey, phones.

Fourth couple of the family.

Mesa Arch.

 Island in the Sky.

Love the views.

And the heights.

Cooper's head is a rainbow.

These are my favorite people and I'm glad I get to spend so much time with them, even if they tell me I have man shoulders. I miss them. So I guess I'll just go see them again next weekend. 

Ok, sounds good.

peace and pickles.

there's just something about a pickle....

#insidejoke #borntobeweiler #hashtag

rrw