It's A Paradigm Thing...

A few months ago I got the chance to meet my friend Josh's niece, Elise. Aside from being a ridiculously beautiful child, she is also deliciously precocious and a handful...in a way that intrigues you so much that you can't possibly be frustrated with her, while at the same time fearing for her parents sanity when she hits teenager-dom. I adore her.


Since meeting Elise, her darling little sister Chloe, and their fantastic parents and spending a great day with them in Baltimore (my first time in the Charm City) I have started reading their blog occasionally on my routine web perusals and I am endlessly entertained by the shenanigans of these kids. The other day, however, I saw something that made me think a little bit about differing paradigms and how my upbringing differed significantly from this little girl that I identitify with in a lot of ways...

What intrigued me were some video clips of the family's recent trip to Costa Rica. In the first clip Elise is holding a small lizard, which she proceeds to give very tender and repeated kisses (in spite of being nipped on the lip by the mini-dino...maybe he's already got a lady-lizard friend). What can I say, the girl loves reptiles...her dad's got to be so proud. In the second clip, Elise is holding a small garden snake while her dad looks on. Mom, manning the camera asks what she is doing and Elise responds repeatedly "I hold the snake...I hold the snake..." (You really should see this for yourself...you can see the video here...many thanks to Juli and Ben for letting me post the link).

On seeing this I was so shocked at the fearlessness of this little girl, particularly given my own experience at her age with snakes...time for another flash from the farm...

See here's the thing...I grew up in south central Montana on a cattle ranch closer to the middle of nowhere than anything else. For those of you who haven't had the opportunity to visit the illustrious locale of Toston, Montana, you should know that the sagebrush hills enclosing the Missouri River valley where I lived are FULL of Diamondback Rattlesnakes. As a 3 year old, I knew no difference between a harmless garden snake and a 6 foot rattler capable of dispatching small mammals of various sizes and ferocities...that may or may not be a real word...just go with it.

Whereas Elise was happy to "hold the snake" all I knew at her age was "kill the snake." I got it from all sides...my only real understanding about snakes was that my dad smashed their heads with shovels, my grandma accelerated and braked over them until they were nothing but slimy skid marks on the road, my mom lobbed stones as big as her head onto their bodies until they stopped slithering, and my grandfather blasted them to scaly bits with his shotgun...and all the while they told me "snakes are dangerous, you will die if they bite you, WE KILL SNAKES." * You can see where my biases against said serpents come from...and why I always seemed to relate to Indiana Jones...

So it occurred to me that at that age if you had asked me to hold a snake, I probably would have screamed bloody murder and reached for the nearest blunt instrument (probably a damn hammer...but that's another story in and of itself). This is not to say that I was a scared little kid...after all, I was taking on hundreds of pounds of charging 'Grade A' American Angus at the age of six...much to my father's chagrin...please ref the Cat Story...It's just a matter of growing up with a different mindset.

I think one reason I like Elise is because we are a lot alike; independent, a little serious, each fearless in our own way, and, no doubt, making our parents very worried for what lies ahead (still probably more true for me than not...). I also realized how much a person's environment influences their worldview...Where I will always shiver a little at the thought of actually letting my skin come in contact with snake scales that are actually still on a living breathing snake, Elise will be Dr. Doolittle-ing it up with all sorts of slithery critters.

As for me and my Stanfills, however, we will probably continue teaching our posterity the virtues of the business end of a shovel in human-snake encounters**...sorry PETA, it's nothing personal...just a matter of paradigm.

*My family is not violent by nature, quite the opposite actually...it's possible that snakes just don't really bring out the Stanfill's best side

**To illustrate how the anti-snake biase has pervaded Stanfill Family culture, I will refer you to my cousin Emily and her husband Michael's blog where you can request a copy of Emily's entrance essay to BYU...specifically about her first experience with grandma's preferred snake killing tool...grandpa's gold Buick...it's classic, and may have been the original inspiration for writing about the snake paradigm.

My Desperate Attempt at Art...

Here are a few pics I took while we were in NYC for the 4th. Mostly some of my desperate attempts at producing something that resembles art. Again, lacking a good photo editing program, so the colors leave a bit to be desired (the watermark template doesn't help, so use your imagination). Enjoy.

These were in a community garden maintained by volunteers in Riverside Park

The Sailors Memorial Above Riverside Park

How did they get that tree to do that?

The World, in Tree

Steps below Riverside Park

A Few Things I Never Thought I'd Do...

I spent last weekend in the Big Apple with some friends to celebrate the 4th of July, and get out of DC...by escaping to an even denser urban jungle (?). I know, when we stopped to consider it, it didn't make a lot of sense to us either...but then again...a lot of things happened this weekend that didn't exactly add up...

On the 4th of July we headed out to Coney Island. This was quite the experience. Coney Island hit its peak in the 1920s and, from what I can gather given our experience there, has gone dramatically down hill since then. The main body of the island is taken up by a run-down amusement park bordered by a boardwalk and the shore. It has been my experience that places with boardwalks tend to be inherently seedy (what it is about providing a planked walking surface next to eating establishments and sand that brings out the weirdos I have no idea...I'm still in the early stages of formulating a theory involving lead paint, pirate fetishes, and clowns...), and Coney Island's boardwalk is hands down the worst I have ever seen.

Perhaps I should back up...the reason we went to Coney Island in the first place was not, in fact, to solidify a theory on why creepy people have taken to inhabiting former gems of prohibitionist-era Americana, but to watch the annual Nathan's World Championship hot dog eating contest. Yep, that is the one activity that worked itself firmly into our agendas for the weekend. Not only did we choose to spend the birthday of our country watching strictly average individuals gorge themselves on highly processed psuedo meat products, but we went specifically to cheer on a JAPANESE guy. I'm not gonna lie...it was a blast. In truth, I do not have the words to adequately describe the full experience...luckily for you my friend Josh does. So I will refer you to Josh's Blog (no really...you need to read this) to get all the baloney-laden details. Suffice it to say, I have been astounding my co-workers with my newfound knowledge of the rules and regulations of competitive eating...and I am pretty sure I never want to see another hot dog again...not until next independence day, anyway.


Maybe it was the guy with the rattail haircut that he clearly hadn't touched since 1992, maybe it was the "Shoot the Freak" booth where for a small fee you can take out your aggression on a live target (read skinny, underpaid high school kids from the Bronx) with a paintball gun, maybe it was Madame Cha Cha's Cafe (not even gonna go there...), maybe it was the alcohol flowing freely at 10 in the morning, or maybe it was the tiny fluorescent Wal-mart bikinis on the leathery, tatooed biker mamas...either way as we wandered up and down the boardwalk trying to find something redeeming about this tragically decrepit slice of beach front, I suddenly felt like I was standing in the center of a particularly creepy Slipknot music video (don't google these guys...the picture should speak for itself).
I have to say, on some levels, it was a little sad...What was once a place of lighthearted fun and entertainment has turned into what can only be described as...well...let's just say if Dante had known about Coney Island Francesca and Paolo would have been out on their ears and hell would have had a new playground. Needless to say, we watched the hot dog eating contest (speaking of Dante...third circle anyone?) and hopped the train back to the blessed normalcy (?!?) of Manhattan.

We spent the afternoon sleeping off the whole Coney Island experience and got up to go to dinner on the outer edges of Korea town. This, or course, was fantastic (what did you expect?) and we indulged in a fantastic dinner of hansik while enjoying the most appropriate of dinner entertainment...Discovery Channel's "Dirty Jobs" playing on the flat panel TVs mounted to the restaurant walls...yeah...I didn't get it either. Afterwards we joined the masses for strictly so-so views of fireworks over the East River. We opted to duck out early and beat the subway traffic...stopping on our way home for gelatto and finishing the evening with a laptop viewing of "Talladega Nights." Shake & Bake.

Saturday was spent trying to beat the rain with my most bestest friend from college, Marne'. It was wonderful to see her and the latest edition to the Stott family, Ms. Aubrey. Aubrey is an angel and has completely shot all my expectations of how a child will behave when carted from one end to the other of a major urban center. Great.


After dropping off Marne' and Aubrey, we met up with the rest of our group for yet another phenomenal dinner at a Japanese grill. Again...I have no words. Afterwards we headed out to Queens to check out a Korean bath house and spa. I was in heaven. While this place had definitely been Americanized a bit (the better part of the bathing areas were coed, meaning swimming suits required...lame...) it was still a great way to chill out and relax. We stayed until midnight, drove home, and passed out...very full and very clean. It doesn't get much better than that.

In the past, when I have visited NYC I have always been very ready to get out after about three days, but on Sunday morning as we packed up, I found myself a little loathe to be leaving what had been something of an urban haven for us that weekend. Much laughing was done, much eating was pursued, and many memories were made. It was a great weekend, and when I returned to the office on Monday and my coworkers and I went for our morning breakfast run the question came up "So, what did you do this weekend?" all I could do was shake my head and laugh...

Something New...

Okay, so no big news yet, just wanted to get thoughts on the new blogger template. I was getting a little tired of the canned blogger background and spent more hours than I care to admit sorting through Pyzam's roughly 2500 templates. Ultimately, I decided on this one. What do you think?

Something Funny Happened on the Way to the Mall...

Today Jane and I were on our way to the National Mall to take in a free jazz concert at the Sculpture Garden next to the National Museum of Art...well...that is not exactly true. We were on our way home from a failed attempt (got to love summer thunderstorms in DC) to take in a free jazz concert at the Sculpture Garden next to the National Museum of Art...but I was having a devil of a time trying to come up with a catchy title to that effect. Anyway...I digress...

So, Jane and I had gotten on the metro and take a seat amongst the other passengers, not thinking much about it. Jane was telling me about her day at work and how her crabby and rude co-worker had said something that really upset her. She was telling me how it had been really hard with this particular co-worker lately, as she was always saying really rude or mean things to Jane. I, of course, was advocating some sort of confrontation to tell the crabby co-worker to take a long walk off a short pier, out the window, to the bottomless depths of he...okay, you get the idea. Anyway, we were talking about constructive ways (come on, give me a little credit) that Jane could approach the crabby co-worker.

Just as Jane was giving yet another explanation of some of the angsty antics of this particularly nasty employee, the train was stopping at one of stations. The man behind us (who from the brief glance I managed to sneak of him as he exited, appeared to be a decently dressed white haired man in his late 40's or early 50's) leaned forward as he was getting up to leave and said (not in his temple voice)

"She's just jealous because you're gorgeous."

And then he walked away. That's it. Just walked out. Jane and I just stared at each other and then burst into fits of laughter. Had that really just happened? Amazing. This guy didn't even look like a nutjob.

Now don't get me wrong, there is no reason this sort of thing shouldn't be happening to Jane on a regular basis. Any guy would be so lucky to get close enough to give my gorgeous six foot tall red-headed friend such a complement. If guys knew what was good for them, they would be throwing themselves at her feet. Anyway...I digress...Again.

The point is, people just don't do things like that. I'm not saying they shouldn't...I think it just took us both by surprise. But as Jane and I were walking home discussing the event, we decided maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing.

So, I've decided. It's time to start giving people more compliments. I know that nothing makes my day like when someone gives me an unexpected and wholly unsolicited compliment. I've decided maybe it's time that I tried harder to maybe make someone else' day.

Because there is no doubt that this guy definitely made our night...

Bliss...Or As Close As It Gets With This Crew

As promised, here are the photos from claireclaire and Joel's wedding. It was a lovely affair all the way around...

Woo Hoo! Married!

Claireclaire and Joel Sittin' in a Tree...
Claireclaire and her bridesmaids...we were all on active duty that day
The bridesmaids: Kat, Carmen, Jocelyn, Amanda, Meredith

The Fam...plus the Wagstaffs

Daddy and his Girls
Me and Daddy...I love this one

Miss Jan and the Girls

Ryan was my date...So Handsome

Poppi and I...It Should be Illegal for a Grandmother to Look This Good :)
My Handsome Grandfathers...Grandpa Jed and Pop

Claire and Joel FINALLY got to cut the cake
Joel is already teaching Claire how to fit into a family of boys...and we were all ready...
But none of us could overcome Meredith's height advantage...so the 16 year old caught the bouquet...it could be a loooong couple of years :)
All in all, it was a fantastic weekend and we are so blessed to have Joel and his family as the newest part of ours.

By Definition...

Last weekend I attended my little sister's wedding. It was filled with family old and new and despite the chaos that is inherrent in arranging and orchestrating a couple's nuptials, it gave me a chance to appreciate the family I have and the experiences that have shaped my life into what it is today.

While I am still living the swinging life of a single 20 something (and rather enjoying it, thanks for asking), I can imagine that marriage is not only life changing, but somewhat life defining. From that point, your life will never be the same, and you will forever, in one way or another be defined by your marriage. As I was considering this, I began to think about some of the experiences that have, to this point, defined me.

For me there are several...

• My mission was clearly defining in that it taught me how fundamental a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ is in my life. It taught me how to work hard, and, perhaps, most importantly, it taught a chronically cynic and emotionally-guarded political science major on her way to the cold world of law school (thank goodness for detours on the career super highway) how to love those around her, regardless of how painful it could be.
  

• My time in Spain...it was on this trip that I developed a love for many of the things that I enjoy most...art, languages, night life, truly delicious food, and discovering the intricacies (strange, beautiful, and otherwise) hidden in otherwise daily scenes and activities.

• My move to Washington DC...this year has been so formative for me. I have grown up so much, and never before have I felt so comfortable in my own skin. After 12 long years I have finally grown out of my awkward stage...

As I thought about my life, these and many others came to mind. But, strangely, I kept coming back to one very early, and ultimately defining moment. Less of a moment, it is more of a story that has become a staple of Stanfill family lore; an event that I truly believe, in all seriousness, as strange as it may seem, set me on the course that I still find myself pursuing today...The Cat Incident.

Nobody forced me. That is the first thing you must know about this story. At no time was I ever made to do anything I was not completely comfortable with. I was encouraged to acknowledge my own limits, and act within those bounds. This is interesting, because I was four. That is the way my parents raised me, though...I never remember being treated like a four year old...more like an adult trapped in a very tiny body.

So that is where it begins. I was four years old. My family was living on a large cattle ranch in South Central Montana...you can google 'Middle of Nowhere' and it should be one of the first hits you get. It was a wonderful way to grow up, and there are still times when I miss it in a way that startles me. We were living in a tiny house on the ranch that had been moved there, originally, to house hired-hands. Because the house was not built on the site, it had been placed on a makeshift foundation of cinder blocks. There was a crawlspace beneath the house and a small opening in the foundation to the side of the front door that provided access to the space beneath the house.

That winter had been very cold, and, in an attempt to escape the weather, an ill-fortuned tom-cat crawled under the house to take advantage of the warmth, and met with some misfortune. More specifically, it died. I don't know how many of you have ever had the opportunity to be around a dead cat for more than a day or so...it is not a pretty thing. Needless to say, a dead cat detiorating beneath the kitchen of our very poorly insulated house was not a particularly pretty thing either. Something had to be done, but there were some problems...

The main problem was that there was no possible way my dad was ever going to get his 6'4" frame into that little opening beneath the house to get that cat out. In all actuality the main problem was that NONE of the men on the ranch (dad, grandpa, the hired men, etc) were ever in their wildest dreams going to be able to get that cat...and it needed to be got...fast.

So, my dad made me a proposition. He told me that if I would take a piece of bailing twine and crawl up in that hole and tie it around that cat's leg and pull it out of there, he would hold the flashlight so I could see (oh, AND I would get an extra cupcake after dinner, I remember that part quite clearly). He took me outside and showed me the hole, he showed me the hangman's loop he had tied in the twine, and he showed me how the flashlight made it as bright as day under the house. Then, he let me choose.

I think this is where part of the definition starts to come into play. My dad wanted ME to help with a job. I LOVED to help my dad with jobs. There was no question, I was in. Mom and Dad knew I could do it, and there was no reason for me not to...in all reality I was the most expeditious answer to a rather dire (not to mention odious) problem...but they never forced me. I got to choose. That's the way it's always been with my parents. They provide their support, experience, and advice, but ultimately, I get to choose. This has never been a question, and it might have something to do with that dead cat.

To put the end to a long short story, I climbed right into that hole, dad shining the flashlight the whole way. All I really had to say about it was "Dad, it STINKS down here!" Dad just responded "I know sweetheart, just put that loop around that cat's foot and let's get out of here." So I did. I crawled up to that dead cat, put that loop around it's foot, and crawled my four year old behind back out from under the house. I got to be a hero, and our house didn't smell like road kill anymore. It was a great day.

At the time (I was four, remember) I thought that was about the greatest thing that could have happened. I got to help dad with a job. I was ALWAYS trying to help dad with jobs and it usually ended up with me nearly getting trampeled in the cattle run, getting the four wheeler stuck in a ditch, or something else that would require dad to do more work than he already had cut out for him, so he didn't necessarily have to trust me. Now that I look back on it, I realize what kind of a feat the whole thing was for a four year old. A lot of things could have happened...I could have flat out refused (you might have too if you had seen what the underneath of that house looked like)...I could have crawled up in there, gotten scared and frozen, which would have been a serious problem seeing as how there wouldn't have been much of a way for anyone to get out me OR the cat...I could have gotten in there, decided it wasn't my bag, and turned tail and told dad to get the cat himself. All are fairly viable options and reactions for a four year old.

The thing of it is, I think the way I live now has a lot to do with that cat; independent and stubborn to a fault, implicity trusting of my parent's judgment and guidance, willing to go out on the occasional limb, and adventurous, despite usually wanting at least an informed idea of what said adventure might entail (I was cautious, even at four). Oh, and a sugar fiend (did I mention the cupcake?). It would be nice, of course, if I could blame my less admirable character traits on said feline; my inherent need for control, obsessive compulsive tendencies, and quarterly relationship (or lack thereof) related breakdowns...just to name a few. Unfortunately, we can't pin every last quirk on a definitive moment in time. The sugar habit does, however, still get blamed on the cat...when it's convenient at least.

Maybe you think I'm making light of the truly defining moments in peoples lives; the moments of clarity that make them change course, see the light, and blossom into the fully developed individuals they are today. You should know I am not. All I can say is that for me, the knowledge of who I was, what I could do, and exactly what I needed to achieve my goal crystallized in a very real way in my four year old mind as I stared into a dark hole, and set my sightes on a very dead cat.

*A note about the wedding, the actual impetus for this post...The photos are coming soon, since I know that's the only reason most of you look at this thing anyway.