I have a sister who has a talent for looking fabulous. She always has some gorgeously textured cream colored sweater, and a matching bag and shoes that go with that sweater. The whole ensemble will also  complement her complexion. She buys a lot of clothes, and many of her castoffs come to me.

A few months ago, she gave me the sunglasses pictured above. They have a hint of Art Deco style, which is one of my favorites as I love natural and dramatic styles. I have really enjoyed them. Normally I just use sunglasses for their practical purpose, and don’t think much about how they look, but these are different. When I wear them, I feel a little bit like a movie star.

The other day I was walking out of the dining area on campus, and as I stepped into the sunshine I congratulated myself on my beautiful glamorous sunglasses. I liked my outfit that day, too.  I had a brief moment of anticipation that I was going to look so smooth as I took my fancy glasses off of the top of my head and placed them gracefully on my face, covering it in large rounds of sophistication.  Unfortunately, as I began to lift them off of my head, they got caught in my hair, and I was still unceremoniously yanking half-way down the stairs. At last they came off, and I shoved them on my face.

Three women were walking toward me from the library. I didn’t know if they had seen the fall of my hubris. I smiled at them warmly, so that at least they would know I am kind-hearted if not chic. Then I picked a hair off of my face that had got stuck in the glasses.  So much for my vanity. I guess glamour is not my destiny. I’m still going to wear those glasses though. They really keep the sun off of my face.

I am lucky to currently have a flexible schedule. This means that most nights I fix dinner for my family.

Tonight, as I was busily stirring this and checking that, my five  year old came in demanding a peanut butter sandwich.

“No. I’m not going to make you a peanut butter sandwich right now,” I said, proud of myself for my firm boundaries.

“What, are you just going to not get me anything until I die?” he retorted.

That escalated quickly.

Last month I did not post, and that’s because it was hectic. Earlier in the year I had asked my sister if she wanted to go to Moab with me and see Arches National Park, and she said she would get back to me. She never did, so I thought we weren’t going. Then a couple of weeks before the weekend I had mentioned she checked in to make sure we were still going. I immediately reserved hotel rooms for us, and contacted one of our favorite cousins who lives there so we could visit her.

We drove the long and lonely road to Moab late Friday night, and Saturday morning we got up and dragged our eight children up the steep hike to see the Delicate Arch.  I knew it would be beautiful, but I didn’t know it would be a profound spiritual experience. When I saw it, I couldn’t speak for a few moments. I almost cried, and that’s not just because I had hiked 1.5 steep miles with a five year old past a hundred and a half chances to fall to his death.  The stark beauty of the arch just took my breath away. I had seen it in photos many times, but to see it in real life was to be transported by its grandeur.

I had breathed the fresh air, felt the sandy stone hard under my feet. The sun warmed me just enough in the chilly fall morning. It was majestical.

We had lunch at the Devil’s Garden, and then went down to the double arch area for the kids to play in the afternoon. We had dinner with my cousin, and I put the kids to bed at 9 pm in the hotel room. The next morning the sunrise wasn’t until 7:45, so I got up at 6:30, dragged my son into the car with me, and left to photograph it.

I’ll bet I took a hundred photos. The stillness of the park in the dark morning really spoke to me. Cars still drove past, but it just felt more intimate. It was a long drive home after that much loveliness.