A Return to Blogging: My Grandfather at the Naval Academy

My friend Deja has recently inspired me to blog again. Unfortunately, I don't find much time to write with an 18-month-old and a 3-month-old, but perhaps I can share something I've been editing recently. Last summer, my grandmother wrote a series of emails to her progeny telling stories about my grandfather who passed away about 40 years ago. My dad asked me to edit them, and I am finally making progress on the project after months of procrastination. So here is a little bit about my grandfather, Douglas Eagar:

"Politics seem to enter in to so many things—certainly they do in appointments to the military academies. When telling about Douglas's appointment to Annapolis, Calhoun [his father] always contended that his connections got it. Gertrude [Douglas's mother], on the other hand, was convinced that his appointment was secured because of a girl whom Douglas was dating, who, according to her, was in love with him and who happened to be the niece of a Tennessee senator. I myself think it was the latter. (Of course, I was that Tennessee senator’s niece.)

"I did not hear from him until long after he took off for his adventure, which is no wonder because the midshipmen were informed that the Navy needed to get them out to the Pacific as fast as it could. So there would be no vacations, and they would go through the academy in three years and then out to sea. I think, while this was necessary, it had some harmful ramifications. While looking through some “Lucky Bags'” (the year book), I saw, in each one,  “In Memoriam” with names of boys, the midshipmen who had taken their own lives. Douglas had already had two years at Georgia Tech, so he was the second from the top in his plebe (freshman) year and was in the upper 10^th of his class at graduation. He was helpful to others who were struggling through at the academy; he was a great teacher—the other boys probably learned more from him than from their teachers. I will tell you what his first classman (senior) yearbook said about him:

Harry Douglas Eagar

Chattanooga, Tennessee

After spending two years at Georgia Tech, Doug finally succumbed to the lure of the sea. The transformation from a “rambling wreck" to a "savoir" he took in his stride. Though he preferred sleeping or reading a magazine to reading or studying, he was still always ready to offer a helping hand to the troubled. Though he was a good lacrosse and soccer player, his greatest enjoyment always came from sailing. During youngster year he seldom dragged; however, first class year found him an ardent admirer of the fairer sex. That same personality that served Doug so well with the women will assure him many friends in the years to come.

"I received a letter in late May inviting me to come for June week and graduation. Now what girl in her right mind would turn down an invitation like that? I called my mother, packed, and boarded the train for Annapolis! I had been dating a fellow I knew from home who was at West Point but had never gone to June Week.

"Gertrude and Johnny [Douglas's brother] had come for the graduation. Johnny was only about 12 years old then. We saw the all the interesting sites you see when you visit. The most fun was sailing with Douglas. Then came the big and special hop; it was the big event before graduation the next day—much excitement! The hops were held in a huge armory and usually some well-known band played, but I can't remember whom it was. For my high school May Day ceremony I was told to wear a long lavender gown—at the time that color was only for old ladies or those in mourning, so my mother was furious and had a hard time finding material to make it. But she did find some lovely lace, and the gown was actually very pretty, so I brought it for the hop. Gertrude and Johnny watched the Hop from the bleachers, and Gertrude told me that Douglas and I were the only ones she could spot on the dance floor because my dress was the only lavender dress there. I think she liked that.

"After the hop was over, Douglas was taking me back to the house, and we stopped and sat down on a bench. As I have said, Douglas was always shy, but that last night he said, “I think I love you.” I was completely taken aback. I had always been able to tell who had crushes on me, but this sounded pretty serious. I was only 19, and a serious relationship was far from my mind. I did not feel that way about him, so I didn't know what to say. I just blurted out that I thought that after college I would become a nun (actually the last thing I ever thought I would be). He never said another thing, just took me to the house. Do you know, though, I think it was then that I really thought about him, not as just a beau but as someone I should think more seriously about.

"The next day was graduation—more excitement! Then after that, Gertrude, Johnny, Douglas, and I went over to Baltimore and took a train back home. I saw Douglas once more before he took off to Pensacola. We had a picnic on the mountain with some of his friends. Someone there took my picture and gave it to him. I did not know it at that time, but Gertrude had it blown up and framed, and it went all over the Pacific with him."

The leaf blower

A few weeks ago I bought an electric leaf blower. I got an electric leaf blower because they are more powerful than the gas powered ones. This weekend we decided to try the vacuum attachment. Actually, Anna did all the work. She got covered in "leaf dust" (her words) and sucked up 10 bags of leaves!

Japanese Maple

We have a Japanese maple tree behind our house. Most of the year the leaves are a deep purplish color, but with the coming of Fall they turn a fiery red. It's really beautiful. When the sun shined through this afternoon, I couldn't help but get out the camera.

Indoor plants

We bought a pothos plant yesterday. In addition to adding a natural splash to your decor, indoor plants are a great way to keep your home's air clean. I found this list of the top 20 air purifying plants. Number one is the Boston fern. Pothos isn't on the list, but I read somewhere else that it's also a pretty good purifier. From what I've read, you need about one 6'' plant per 100 square feet to keep your air clear. One down ten to go.

Ada-bo-bada's Blessing Dress

Last Sunday, Ada received her infant blessing in church. Both sets of grandparents flew in for the occasion (whirlwind trips of 24 hours for my parents from Boston and 36 hours for Richard's parents from San Diego), and we were so busy with a tiny house full of people that we didn't get around to taking pictures of Ada in her blessing dress until a week later. Unfortunately, she was in the mood for a nap, not a photo shoot. Nevertheless, Richard managed a few pictures without her screaming. My mom made Ada's dress out of the skirt of my wedding gown, and Ada's bracelet was a gift from Richard's mom.

Engagement Pictures

are now on my future sister-in-law's website. Oh, yeah, did I mention I'm getting married this summer? :-)

Good Idea

It is a good idea to put your car in reverse before trying to back out of your parking space. While it is also fun to rev your engine, doing so may scare an old lady standing nearby.

Current song: "Put Your Records On," Corinne Bailey Rae

It Makes Me Sick

Sticking with the theme of my last post, a week ago I noticed a frighteningly thin girl who goes to the gym at the same time I go in the mornings. She is thinner than most of the patients at the treatment center I worked at. I honestly think I can see her losing weight every day. Her arms actually looked skinnier today than yesterday if that is even possible. Some days I get mad. I think people who clearly have such a problem shouldn't be allowed to have gym memberships. Gyms should turn them away as soon as they walk in the door! Not that any gym would do that because their goal isn't really to promote the health of their members but to make a profit. I'm sure she would jog and do sit ups anyway. Then I get mad that no one in her life is forcing her to get help. She should be dragged kicking and screaming to a treatment center! Not that it would help. She's old enough to discharge herself. Sometimes I hope she'll break one of those toothpick arms, so she'll have to go to the hospital, where the doctor will tell her that her eating disorder has given her osteoporosis and is destroying her heart. Sometimes I want to walk up to her and say, "You know, you are literally killing yourself," or hand her pamphlets about eating disorders and treatment programs. *sigh* This is all very distressing.

Current song: "Be Yourself," Audioslave

Update: It took me several months to realize that this girl actually was a former patient at the treatment center. She was so much thinner when I saw her at the gym than when I met her shortly before her discharge that I didn't recognize her. Sad.

How Food Became My Friend

I told Deja I would explain how I went from this grocery list:

1. cool ranch Doritos
2. doughnuts
3. hot dogs
4. orange juice

to this grocery list:

1. soy milk
2. romaine lettuce
3. carrots
4. fat free yogurt
5. cool ranch Doritos

in two years. The change was actually in the works for several years, but there was no concrete sign of improvement until recently. (And I still have a ways to go...) It's quite the story. In fact, I'm not sure I have the stamina to write it (it is also emotionally taxing), but I think I can handle the highlights.

Basically, my relationship with food has been bad since I was a kid. My mom says I was a pretty good eater when I was little, but I'm not sure I buy it. I mean, I've seen the home video of me when I was two or three, sitting on my Sit 'n' Spin with the big bag of Cheetos in my lap. (Those were my Christmas presents: a Sit 'n' Spin and Cheetos.) Like many teenage girls with low self-esteem, depression, and anxiety, I developed an eating disorder (though I was never formally diagnosed). I used to binge on the weekends and starve myself as penance during the week. When Mom made me lunch I would give it away, and when I got lunch money I would pocket it to spend on CDs. I used to say I wasn't hungry and was too busy doing homework to eat dinner. I would go to the kitchen once it was deserted and the dishwasher was loaded with dinner dishes and running. Lest my family discover my secret, I would put a few pieces of cereal and a little milk in a bowl with a spoon. Then I would put it in the sink and fill it with water. There was the evidence of my dinner: a lonely bowl full of milky water and a few soggy Cheerios. Yes, the seemingly good little girls can be masters of deception. (I like to think that is because each individual's potential to do evil is equal to her potential to do good.)

Food was not my friend, and my diet took a toll on my health. I was sick all the time. Eventually, my health was so bad that I could only handle school part-time. I managed to have high cholesterol--over 200--by the age of 20. That didn't bode well. And I worried what my poor health would mean for my future children. I wondered if they were looking down at me and shaking their heads in dismay. I needed to change things.

Progress has been slow--I've been working for 7 years now. I took a nutrition class. I worked on my psychological issues with food, and went to therapy to sort out some of the underlying problems that lead to my emotional eating. The most important lesson I learned was not to restrict what I eat in any way and never to feel ashamed of what I eat, no matter how unhealthy it is. I prefer not to think of food as good or bad. Food is food. For a long time, I removed "junk food" from my vocabulary, though it has recently crept back in but without the old guilt. I learned that if I tell myself, "You shouldn't have that cookie. Don't eat the cookie. The cookie is bad for you," I will hold off on eating the cookie for a while, but eventually I will give in. When I do give in, I won't eat one cookie--I'll eat the whole package. But if I tell myself, "You can have that cookie. You can eat a cookie any time you want," then I'll eat it, I'll enjoy it, and I'll be done with it. I never feel deprived, which allows me to listen to my body and know what I really want and need to eat. I'm not perfect. I still do the girl thing and eat ice cream when I'm sad, but I'm getting better. And chocolate soy milk is just so yummy!

Questions? Comments? Snide remarks?

By the Way

I am dating the young man who wrote this poem. He is lovely. I'm going to San Diego for Thanksgiving to meet his family. That is all.

Awesome

While I was driving home from the gym this morning, I saw a young man walking down the street in knee socks and a kilt, complete with one of those decorative pouch things that holds down the front--good thing, too, because it was windy. Awesome.

My Favorite Temple Patron

Is it bad that I have a favorite temple patron? I have written about her before. Sister Ellsworth comes to the temple every Thursday morning to do initiatories. Most weeks I am at the desk or performing the ordinance when she comes, so I usually get to see her.

Her health has been better this summer than it was in the winter. When I help her up from one chair and walk her to the next, I can feel that she is stronger and doesn't lean on me quite as much for support. She has been talking a little more, asking me about myself and telling me a little more about her 20 years of working in the temple.

When she missed last week and this week, I was worried she was sick. Then I was worried she would die!--I mean, the regular flu kills lots of elderly people, and everyone is even more worried about swine flu. Today I found out her husband is in the hospital (I don't know why) so she has been staying with him. I am sad to not see her.

In prayer meeting this morning, we reviewed the initiatory training, and, since we had time left, our shift coordinator asked us to share our feelings or experiences with the ordinance. I had not planned to say anything, but she singled me out when she caught me sitting in the corner bawling. I said that, when I started working at the temple a year and a half ago, I was pretty miserable in my daily life, especially last winter. While I was working crazy shifts including overtime and graveyards in December and January, it was nearly impossible to get myself to the temple for my 6:20 a.m. prayer meeting. A few days, I woke up, cried, and went back to bed. (Now I get to go to a small, later prayer meeting at 7:40--much easier.) One day, I showed up sobbing and gasped a request to change my assignment for that morning to one that wouldn't require me to talk. But initiatory has changed my life. On my worst days, when I worked in initiatory, the Lord always sent me one patron, who, for whatever reason, let me know that the Lord loved me and was taking care of me. One week, it was Tricia Tanner, a girl I grew up with. Sometimes it was a stranger, and sometimes it was a familiar patron who came regularly who simply touched my heart that day. Sister Ellsworth was one of those patrons, one who continues to melt my heart and put a smile on my face. Every week that I see her, I remember how the Lord has taken care of me in all my misery, which makes me, well, not so miserable.

One of These Things Is Not Like the Other Ones

Today at the grocery store, I bought:
soy milk
romaine lettuce
carrots
fat free yogurt
cool ranch Doritos

Two years ago, this list would have looked more like:
cool ranch Doritos
doughnuts
hot dogs
orange juice

Also, do you remember when there was a fuss over the Sesame Street song because someone decided "one of these things just doesn't belong" promoted prejudice? I know I became totally prejudiced against broccoli when I saw that it didn't belong with apples, bananas, and grapes.

Where's my snack?

Dear UVU,
Please stock the vending machines with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. How do you expect college students to survive without them?
Love,
Anna

Good Idea, Bad Idea...Good Idea

Good Idea: Participating in the class discussion about the chemistry professor's pedagogy.
Bad Idea: Telling the girl next to you to "stop whining and develop some intellectual maturity because education is about more than grades."
Good Idea: Developing some emotional maturity.

Childhood

I'm taking a liberty with this post--I'm sharing something that isn't mine, and I hope that the person it belongs to won't mind. I'll keep it anonymous, at least. I am in an on-going on-line poetry discussion with a friend. I should also mention I had been nagging him about the importance of expressing feelings, which he said he does best through poetry. He wrote:

"The construction of this poem is a bit on the experimental side, but it seems the best answer I could come up with. Also, you seem to like to share facts about your childhood, so I thought I would too (I mean this sentence to be interpreted as it was constructed. In other words, there is no syntactical mistake)." Now the poem:

I used to like
to get up early
like little
children do
for life is
fresh
for the young
when I was
young no
more than eight.

Mom would
be up too
just as early.

We lived in
rental homes
while Dad
built houses
we would live in
for a while
then sell.

Escrow meant
change.

It rained
rained almost
every day then
but we would
explore
badger holes
in the soft
dirt
and find
awe in
the deepest
ponds.

Do you know
what
lives in the
forest by
my house?

Is it not beautiful? The dull ache is exquisite. My response:

"If writing poetry allows you to be in touch with your emotions, it is a good exercise for you. Reading your poetry, I can tell you feel something when you write, but I don't necessarily know what you're feeling because my experiences and emotions color my interpretation. So to me, this poem is melancholy. It conveys a dull pain, the general dreariness of constant rain, perhaps because something is missing. The pain might be worse if not for the active distraction of exploring badger holes and the awe found in the deepest ponds, but even these just ease the pain rather than bring happiness. But these are my feelings; I still don't know what your feelings are or to what degree they are like mine. Still, I think it is good that you write poetry, and I like to read it. Besides, you don't have to tell me your feelings, as I have no claim on them. It is presumptuous of me to ask your feelings because it assumes that you feel close enough to me or will choose to be close enough to me to share your feelings.

"I talk about my childhood a lot because it is my mental short-circuit. The past several years, I have been consumed in an effort to come to grips with the events of my childhood (almost all my memories are traumatic or leave a bitter taste, at the least) and figure out what my past means for my future. I want to raise children who are better than I--happier, emotionally and physically healthier--so I think a lot about what has been good and bad for me. I think that's normal. I also want to know how experiences similar to mine affect people with personalities different from my own and how different experiences shape people with similar personalities to mine. So I like to hear about other people's childhoods and families. Thanks for sharing."

I just felt like this needed to go on the blog. Is it strange that I feel inspired to write things on my blog?--not just creatively inspired but spiritually inspired sometimes.

And, for the Newt, I have to add: "What badgers?" Do you remember that? Sorry. Seven-year-old inside joke.

Current songs: Today is all about Radiohead's melancholy moaning.

Why chemistry gets me through the day

I haven't blogged in a few months, but I enjoy my chemistry professor too much not to mention him. He is about 40 years old, wears his hair in a ponytail almost all the way down his back, frequently sports a bowtie, and just as frequently has a line of chalk across his rear despite the fact that there is no chalkboard in our classroom. When the students work in small groups during class, he walks on top of the desks, making rounds to answer questions. I'm sometimes jealous that he walks on the desks and want to jump up and follow him. (I often wanted to walk on the desks in high school, but, the one time I did so, my teacher told me not to do that because he and the school would be liable if I fell and hurt myself.) After our first exam he surveyed the class: "The exam was a) very difficult, b) somewhat difficult, c) meh, d) not difficult." When we learned about limiting reagents, our book used the anology of making s'mores--if you need 1 graham cracker, 1 chocolate bar, and 2 marshmallows to make 1 s'more and you have 100 of each ingredient, how many s'mores can you make? My professors happened to walk by as I said aloud to myself, "A whole chocolate bar for one graham craker?! This is a poorly constructed s'more." We then had the following conversation:

"Not if you use the right kind of chocolate. Maybe if you're using some junk called Hershey's."

"What kind of chocolate are we using? Ghirardelli?"

"Ghirardelli is the lowest acceptable grade."

"It's arguably the best American chocolate."

At this point, he shrugged and walked away, but I called him back. "Wait, if you had really good chocolate, why would you ruin it by putting it in a s'more? I mean, if you're making dessert out of graham crackers and marshmallows, you probably don't care about the quality of your chocolate."

He just smiled and nodded his approval.

He is a fascinating man. I told my best friend that if my chemistry professor were 10 or 15 years younger, we would definitely be friends with him.

My Affair with the UPS Guy

I've been doing some online back-to-school shopping. Between that and the increase in packages from my father ever since he discovered Costco online, I've been seeing the UPS driver frequently. Yesterday, he thanked me for keeping him in a job. Today, he simply said, "Good to see you again!" He's become so familiar that I've been struck with embarassment at the disarray in which he sees my living room every day, so I'm actually cleaning the apartment for the sake of the UPS guy.

Current song: Led Zeppelin, "Kashmir"

Amidst the Clutter

I found the following poem while I was cleaning my room today. I think it was a rush-write once upon a time.

(Untitled)
If we slide out of bed and crawl down the hall
Past Mom and Dad's room
Pressed against the wall at the top of the stair where the floor creaks
And you follow me into the yard
Where the dew is cold like just-melted ice
And our toes sink into the ground like burrowing worms
I'll lift you over the fence
And if you'll grab my hand once you're on the neighbor's roof and pull me up
Then we can watch the sun rise over the trees
And eat ice cream for breakfast.

Scrabble scores were on the back of the paper. I totally won.

Current song: "Hallelujah," Rufus Wainwright

May Mayhem Part 2: New Eyes and Baby Geniuses in Boston with a Quick Trip to NH

After a week and a half in San Diego, I flew with my friends Lacey and Troy to Boston. Lacey's older brother, Hunter, who has autism, came from Texas to explore the city with us. We crashed at my parents house for 10 days. The house feel more crowded than I remember it being, probably because it has been mostly empty during my adulthood, but now my oldest brother lives there with his wife and their 4 kiddos.

The first few days were thought provoking for me. I don't go home often anymore. I don't feel there is anything left there for me, and I've no desire to return to a place that triggers traumatic memories. But Lacey and Troy's excitement made me think about some of the parts of my home I take for granted. When I was little, I hated that nothing in our house matched--the carpets and the couches, the pictures on the wall, the tablecloths and the upholstery on the dining room chairs. I wanted the kind of home I see out here in Utah where everything matches and it all comes from Pottery Barn or Pier 1. My tastes have changed--I hang JMW Turner and Scott Mutter in custom frames to camouflage the Ikea furniture in my condo--but it's hard to shed my distaste for my childhood home. Lacey and Troy looked at the haphazard decor and said, "It has so much character!" They walked through every room with their mouths gaping in awe: "Look at this Persian rug! Look at this old china cabinet!" Soon my house looked cool even to me. It was the same when we walked around the naighborhood one evening. We walked about a mile and a half, looping around the high school and through the center of town. "Look at these houses! They're so colorful! Green, blue, brick, stone, yellow, white with a bright purple front door--it's like you can see the personality of the people who live there!" "This is where you went to high school?! It looks like something out of a movie! Your school has an ice skating rink?! People play ice hockey here?!" Everything was so exciting to them, I stood back and thought, "Yeah, I guess it is pretty cool."

Lacey and Troy were also impressed with my nieces and nephew. They are pretty smart. During dinner one night, the 9-year-old explained to us how to measure a footcandle. A few days later, when she scraped her elbow, she explained how blood clots. One morning, Lacey was telling the 5-year-old that plants need water and light when the 2-year-old said, "Otherwise it will die." "Otherwise"? What 2-year-old says otherwise?

Lacey and Troy were so entertained at my house and enamoured by my neighborhood that we did far less touring than I expected. We made it to the aquarium where we saw several kinds of penguins, jellyfish, baby anacondas, sharks, the colorful mandarin fish (my fave, below) and a hundred other sea animals. We held starfish--before we noticed the sign that said not to pick them up. Oops! I also enjoyed hearing every aquarium visitor say, "Look, it's Nemo!" when they saw the clownfish. I doubt any child will ever learn the real name of a clownfish again. We went to some art museums, down to the harbor to see a boat race, and to the Harvard Museum of Natural History to see the glass flowers (hundreds of anatomically correct flowers and other plants made of glass). I got us lost a few times, but I blame the GPS and my poor sense of above-ground direction due to my taking the subway everywhere when I was in high school. We took a day trip to New Hampshire to go boating on Lake Winnipesaukee. I think that was Lacey and Troy's favorite part of the trip because their favorite movie, What about Bob?, takes place there. On the way home, we passed and outlet mall where I introduced them to the joys of tax-free shopping. Ah, progressive tax system, how I miss thee!

Current song: "Dreaming with a Broken Heart," John Mayer