A little bit about my life, plus Discovering Lucy Hannah, or rather, OH my goodness I need to start journaling.

I still don't feel ready to post about City Year. I'll work on that this week, and next Sunday I will tell you about my experiences thus far.

Today I spoke in Church. I was assigned 15 minutes on Knowledge, but the third speaker didn't show up, so I spoke until I had used up all of my prepared material, and then spoke for a little bit more, bore an extensive testimony, and clocked out at 25 minutes. I think it was the best talk I've ever given, and received many compliments. I was referenced in Relief Society, and even made it into someone's quote book! I feel good about the experience, and am grateful I had over prepared.

On Saturday, I had the opportunity to return a woman's stolen purse to her. I had found it on the side of the road cycling home from my school. She was very grateful, as it had her license, social security card, and a bunch of prescription drugs.

On a heavier note, I've become aware of a blogger from the Sacramento area, who was excommunicated from the LDS church for acting on his homosexual desires. As I understand it, he was in a relationship with a male, and his membership was removed, canceled, revoked, whatever phrase I'm supposed to use. He posted on his blog how depressed he was, and his plans for committing suicide.

It was pointed out by The Weed in This post. MoHoFoSho's blog post is located here. No one has heard from him, or even knows if he's alive.

I pray for this boy.



I wrote this a few weeks ago, well aware that there would be a week where I wouldn't be able to write a full post. So, just to give you something to read... here it is.

                                                                                                       

 Discovering Lucy Hannah

We urge our young people to begin today to write and keep records of all the important things in their own lives and also the lives of their antecedents in the event that their parents should fail to record all the important incidents in their own lives. Your own private journal should record the way you face up to challenges that beset you. Do not suppose life changes so much that your experiences will not be interesting to your posterity. 

This is from an article written by President Spencer W. Kimball. You can read the full thing here.

We know we're supposed to write in journals. We've had countless lessons (at least, those of us who are mormon, and I think all three of my readers are) on why it's important to keep a record. For our posterity, for ourselves, so the angels above us silent notes taking have a book to be taking notes on.

I've been thinking about this a lot recently, because I discovered Lucy Hannah White Flake.

Storytime!

The second-to-last time I went to Institute in Auburn, I had a real, actual conversation with my teacher. The next morning, I went to Summer Seminary (I'm pro at the double life) and we started talking again. I (or Max. Not sure, but should probably give him some credit...) anyway, someone told him we were going on a trip. He asked to where we were vacationing, where in Arizona, what family are you from...really? Me too!

We have the same third great grandfather. (I think) Maybe someone who knows his email address can forward this to him, and he can come and correct it? Anyway, we got really excited, and he spent the first 10 minutes of class teaching us about William Jordan Flake.

William Jordan Flake 
1839-1932
Photo Credit here.

He's kind of amazing. He gave freely of his resources to people who needed it, and then burned the books that kept a record of the things people owed him. He did what he was called to do by the church, he went where he was needed, and when he was sent to prison for his belief, he turned the miserable place upside down, starting with getting rid of the rancid meat they were being fed and improved the work, and counseled the other inmates.

Yes, William is a great man. But his wife, Lucy...

It was her autobiography that Brother Bushman lent me.

The two hundred pages of this wonderful record are filled with the stories of her life, of the lives of her husband and children. My heritage is found in these papers.

Lucy Hannah White Flake
(1849-1900)
Photo Credit here

She faced her trials, of which there were many, with a faith, dignity, and perseverance that I hope to somehow ingrain in my character, and someday teach my children.

She thought for herself, and formed her own opinions, writing “I don't believe in equal rights. I would like the franchise, but I am perfectly willing to let the men kill the snakes, build the bridges, smooth down the high places, and hold the offices.”

Not that she idled her time. Quite the opposite. “Our nearest store was in Salt Lake City, two hundred and twenty miles away. We had to make what we could, such as lye, soap, starch, candles, thread, yarn, cloth, clothes, socks, stockings, gloves, and in many instances, our shoes. I had learned to spin when a little girl...we wove all the cloth we wore, our blankets, rugs, etc. We wore our clothes as long as we could, then the best parts were taken to make clothes for smaller children, and the scraps for a quilt. When they were too near gone for any of these they were torn into strips, the ends sewed together, and woven into rugs.”

My 'feminist' friends may say that she wasted her life taking care of her family, but that, to me, is not waste. Righteously raising a family is the best that anyone can ever do in this life.

What most impressed me is her response to her husband when he asked “Lucy, dear, could you share your husband with another woman?”

Now, I'm certainly not going to profess to understand the law of polygamy, but I will promise to you that I believe Lucy, William, and their eventual sister wife received personal revelation that they followed as best as they could.

She struggled with that. Of course she did. She wrote “I flung my arms around his neck, and held him, as though I would never let him go. My eyes were brimming with tears. Of course I was not willing. He was mine. Mine by all the laws of man and God...Why should I let someone else come between us?”

But something changed. After days of praying, and struggling with God, she came to a decision. When William returned from a three day trip, she took him out for a walk.

“Will,” She asked “Who is the young lady we are going to marry?”

“We?” He gasped.

“Yes, we. We were made one a long time ago, you and I, who are we going to marry?”

She recorded later “I was his first and for ten years his only love. If in that time I had not found a place in his heart and life that no other could fill – then I had failed.”

She didn't fail. “On October 9, 1868, William and Prudence were married by the same power that had sealed us for time and eternity.”

Lucy often cared for Prudence's children their mother was ill. They worked together, they raised a family.

Now, I don't know my future, but I doubt I'll be called to make the same sacrifices Lucy ever had to make.

It was through her writing that I learned to love my ancestors. Her son, Charles Love Flake, was my 2^nd grandfather (I should check this, but new.familysearch.org is down) and he is as impressive as his parents. I felt a real pain when his death was written of.

When I think of the benefits of journal writing, I think of this example. A woman, righteously striving to care for her family, keeping a journal that in 200 hundred years would help her great, great, great granddaughter overcome some certain struggles.

But I couldn't write anything so inspiring. I don't do anything worth writing down. I spend too much time thinking about living that I forget to actually live, let alone keep a record of my life.

Or at least, I thought that, until I read this, another snippet from the article I hope you take the time to read fully here.

“No one is commonplace, and I doubt if you can ever read a biography from which you cannot learn something from the difficulties overcome and the struggles made to succeed. These are the measuring rods for the progress of humanity.” 

This is a blog that will keep me in touch with the people I left behind. It is a platform from which I can promote my volunteering, my cycling, and my religion. It is practice for the writing that I will do someday as I carefully record my autobiography. It might inspire some. It might make some think less of me. It might help some.

It will help me.

Photo Credit here

Music: Marvin Goldstein's Favorites From the Children's Songbook and Jenny Phillips' Arise and Shine Forth: Songs for Youth 2012

Worry: I'll get lost again on my bike when I go out tomorrow.

Amy Barton, girl who writes essays on Family History for fun/because she can't sleep.

Let me know in a comment any tips you have for keeping a journal, or any stories you have of reading someone's journal.


Also, I'm so using this as tonight's gospel study.

My Cycling Mantra

I ride my bike a lot. It's my main mode of transportation. Some people have cars, trucks, magical capes...I have a bicycle. Equally awesome as the cape.

It's a 2011 Marin Olema, white, with fenders and a bike rack. It's a hybrid, so not nearly as heavy as a mountain bike, but a bit heavier than a road bike. I have not yet named it. (A fact that has caused multiple friends of mine great distress)

This is my bike. I really, really like it.

I love riding it. I really do. I had been riding my brother's mountain bike in Auburn, kind of as a commuter, and I'm glad I don't have to do that anymore, because hauling that thing up Lea Hill was a PAIN. And it was too tall.

The roads in Sacramento are surprisingly bike friendly, and it's super great because it's so flat. Really, very flat. The only incline is an overpass. I'm not sure what will happen when I visit Auburn again and try to ride up my beloved Lea Hill, but maybe because of the fact that I'm riding every day, I might not have too hard of a time.

I am riding every day, except Sunday. This past week was the start of City Year Sacramento (more to come on that later, I promise!) and every day we've met at a different site, pretty much all over South Sacramento. It's great because every night before I sleep I get to stare at something from Google maps and try not to panic. I haven't been late yet, and I've only gotten super lost on the way home, so that's good.

We met on Monday at Shasta Park, about 10 miles away from where I'm living now. I got a ride there, with my bike in the back of the truck, because I didn't know how to get there or how long it would take me, but I was to ride my bike home that afternoon. Being the middle of a Sacramento Summer, it was rather uncomfortably warm when I left. And I rode for 3.5 miles in the wrong direction before I figured it out. I ran out of water, still didn't know where I was, so I stopped, chained my bike to a railing, and found myself in front of a frozen yogurt place.

Now, kind of a side note, but Yogurtland had become 'The Place' to hang out, back in Auburn, and my friends would take at least a biweekly trip there. So I was familiar with the cold, sweet treat that was offered within and decided it was worth the 49 cents an ounce.

Thoroughly refreshed and less frustrated, I left, with new instructions from the nice boy behind the counter. Turn right, ride for three years, turn left, two more years, and maybe you'll make it home if you don't get hit by a truck.

I rode until I was pretty sure I only had 10 more minutes of travel to go, when I got ridiculously dizzy and practically fell. Onto train tracks.

I took a half hour nap on the side of the road.

Ok, I was only half sleeping, and I had my feet on my bike so I would know if it was moved, and it wasn't the side of the road really, it was a grassy place between the road and a parking lot. And the half hour also included a twenty minute conversation with my best friend, who was still back home in Auburn. She got a kick out of the froyo.

That was Monday. Tuesday was just a 45 minute jaunt down a busy street, and Wednesday was a bit longer, but only an hour trip. Thursday and Friday were at an elementary school that was supposed to only be a 50 minute bike ride, but I passed the hour mark because I didn't want to take the route google told me too. I would rather go NW on one road and then SW on another than to turn 17 times.

There are a lot of bike lanes in Sac City. Unfortunately, they are a terror to ride on because it seems like everyone pulls over to punch out their windows, and would rather stick their yard debris and trash cans in the road than on their sidewalks or driveway.

I would rather ride in traffic, because people do see you, and they usually won't hit you. I've been cursed at once, but that was because I forgot to signal turning right. I'm sorry, but I was turning right, and there weren't any other cars. :P

I've been laughed at a few times, usually right after I fall off of my bike. Which has happened more often than I thought it would, but I blame it on having a very off balance bag on my right side. And my inability to stand on a flat, stable surface without falling over.

There are lots of trucks though. That's kind of a terrifying part. Not just dodge pickups, but actual semi trucks, with single or double trailers, and oversize warning signs that cyclists can't see until the truck is passed them.

Which brings me to another part.

I looked up some cycling laws for California, and was ordered to 'ride in the middle of the lane to discourage passing with inadequate room'. Um...I'd rather ride on the side of the road and pray they have enough room than ride in the middle and have them drive three feet behind me leaning on their horns.

I often find myself repeating over and over: “Please don't hit me, please don't hit me. I'm trying to serve your community so you need me alive! Please don't...” That's my mantra. It starts as I'm leaving my house “I'm feeling gooooood, and I'm riding my biiiiike, and I'm haaaappy...” and morphs in to “Just keep pedaling, just keep pedaling, just keep...” as the day goes on and I get more exhausted.

Enough complaining. I apologize. For the most part, I have really loved riding my bike around. I have a cute light for when I start riding in the dark, and a reflective vest. I also have a Kryptonite lock (link here) that weighs a ton but gives me complete confidence leaving my bike chained up for long periods of time. I wear my helmet wherever I go (via bike, not just wandering around with it, although some people do that, and that's good for them. Go Safety!) even though it's not the law here.

The ridiculously heavy lock combo.
 No, you will not be stealing my bike today, sir!
Nor will you be walking off with my wheels.

I've also mastered the transportationalist's stationary wave. No, that's not it's real title, and no, it's not even a word. But I digress. You know that awkward “Thanks for not hitting me even though I just accidentally cut you off” wave? Well, it applies to cyclists as well. In this situation it means 'thank you for waiting patiently as I got out of your way before you rush by me/sorry for not paying attention/thanks for not hitting me.'

As you can see, the wave is quite versatile and handy for cyclists.

Now, I'm going to stop trying to think of things to write about cycling because I just received a call from my Branch President. Guess who's speaking in Church next week? Yup. It's me. 15 minutes of me time.

My ring and pinkie fingers on my right hand are permanently numb. I'm kind of freaking out about this.

Will bike gloves help? What type?

Disneyland's Not the Happiest Place on Earth

The Temple is. End of story.

I'm exhausted, but I wanted to try to post every Sunday, at least. So, this past weekend has been great because I've spent it at the California YSA Conference. All the young single adults gathered in their temple districts and spent the weekend meeting each other, going to workshops, eating, giving blood, singing, playing games...doing whatever.

It was fun.

Goodnight.

A Rad Veggie House – My Lost Dream

Housing is a pain to find.

I went into it thinking, Ok, I'll find a studio apartment like my sister did her second year of college. A room big enough for a bed, couch, desk, and a bathroom and small kitchen. It will be across the street from the church building, and down the street from my volunteer spot. It would have a bike trail going 30 miles in either direction. It would have a large park, public pool, and why not add in a dog?

Yeah. Housing doesn't work like that.

When I was starting to search, I didn't know what I was looking for. But I knew what my Dad thought would be a good idea. So that heavily influenced what I clicked on. A few of the links I looked at just because they had a catchy heading.

“Rad Veggie House with Cool Chicks”

I clicked on it, kind of afraid of what might load on my screen.

“Do you want to live in a beautiful clean house? Do seek a community of like-minded individuals? Do you say YES to veggies?” Do you love puppies and rainbows and tofu? How about discussions on the merits of pranayamamanama vs asha and zudo or Zimbabwe?*

photo credit

It seemed perfect. A group of girls, all vegetarian? Living super close to where I wanted to live? Near a park and bike trail and volunteer site and church? Alas, it was not to be. For a few different reasons. one being it was a few hundred dollars more each month than what I wanted to pay.

But living away from your parents has some interesting aspects. So, the past few days, I've really had to adjust to not living with them. No one wakes me up when I've been sleeping to dang long, no one reminds me to eat, or do something besides facebook stalk people. No one tells me that I shouldn't bother to write a blog at 10 at night because no one will read it anyway and my eyelids are glueing shut. Actually, no one has to tell me that last one, I've got it down.

I don't have to tell anyone where I go. I don't have to go to places.

I decided I was too tired to go to a fireside on Sunday night. And FHE on Monday night. And Institute, whatever day it is. Too tired for that.

So I have to be more accountable/responsible/not lazy.

But there are other things.

I'm paying for room and board, which means that I don't buy my own food. Right now, that's a great deal, but also means I'm putting my vegetarian dreams on hold. Because dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets are too good to give up.

Ok, I only ate those once.

I haven't found the bike trails yet, but that's not too bad, because I have traveled at least 15 miles every day by bike. I'm enjoying it.

The Church building isn't within walking distance, but the nice boy next door gave me a ride on Sunday. So that was good.

I don't live near the other corps members, or any of our volunteer sites, but that's ok, because I am really enjoying my bike rides.

And the family I live with is great.

So, rad veggie chicks aside, I like my living situation.

 photo credit

Maybe later I'll start cooking.

Amy Barton, super tired halfblogger who had a great but long day today.

Anyone out there know of some good vegetarian dishes? How about your stories as a person trying to find to find your own housing for the first time? Let me know in the comments.

*I have a great deal of respect for both Yoga and the people of Zimbabwe.

Happy Birthday To Me! An Introduction

I wrote this on Monday, July 23rd. Much has happened since then, 

but I've been to busy/distracted to write about it.

 I'll be better about that. Really.

I'm sitting in my hotel room in Boise, Idaho, listening to the soundtrack to How To Train Your Dragon. This is interesting, because I know it so well that I can't concentrate on what I'm writing, because I'm imagining the scenes from the movie in my head. I've started this post over a few times now.

This morning I was in Auburn, WA. I was trying to get my stuff to fit in my bags, download new indexing batches, help/stay out of the way, and keep myself from freaking out.

I waved at everything when we left. Goodbye house. Goodbye random cat. Street, Jackie's house, old college, entrance to a friend's street. Then we got on the highway, drove for a little while, realized we forgot something, and went back home. Kind of awesome, like when you say goodbye to a friend in a hallway and end up walking in the same direction, so you say goodbye again, but this time it's different, because you already got the closure that from saying farewells.

But...it was different. It was my home, but not my house. It was my parent's house.

This is a picture of Max sleeping. I decided to share it with you for two reasons:
1) It makes me happy.
2) Blogs without pictures are dull.

Any way.

This is my introduction.

Several people have asked me to keep in touch, let them know what I'm doing. A few of them have asked for a blog specifically. Of course, knowing this is attention and an opportunity to practice writing, I was happy to oblige. Maybe the true impetus to this blog is that I really am excited about my life and want to share the details with the people I can't call and talk to forever. I'll keep this blog until my bursting social schedule is too straining. This is mostly a joke, seeing as how many friends I have in Sacramento. Umm, so far, I know the names of 3 people. That must count for something.

I'll try to write about the things people actually care about, like what City Year is, why I'm doing it, and how it's going, as well as other random things I want to share with the world, which can include anything from how I spend my day to cool things about Sacramento, and even a description of my religious views! Ok, warning, religion is my life. So you'll probably/definitely see a lot of that. If you are an avid Mormon hater, tough luck.

Ok, this really is my introduction.

My name is Amy Barton. I am 17 years old (while writing this. I'm fairly certain I'm going to start my weekly blog posts on the Sunday after I move in, which, coincidentally, is my 18^th birthday. This is relevant.)

I am a full-time volunteer for City Year. My program starts on August 8^th, so I'm exploring Sac City until then.

This is the City Year Logo. It is highly symbolic.
 You can learn about it here.
 Also,  learn about City Year by reading my page about it.

I love everything. Well, most things. I hate oysters and poverty and slugs.

I thought I'd let you know, I'm now listening to Symphonic Pink Floyd because the soundtrack was too distracting.

Why I'm here: I want to add my voice to the raging cacophony of the interwebs. I want my friends and family to know what's going on with my life. I want to uplift and inspire to action the people who don't know that they can do something great with their life right out of high school! I want an obligation to write in a journal like format at least once a week (because my avid readers, all three of them, will hunt me down whilst foaming at the mouth wanting more, more, MORE vicarious living through the exploits of a semi mature, fully awkward, very committed justoutofhighschool bright eyed girl who just wants to make a difference in a positive manner to someone, somewhere.

And guess what? I am going to make a difference. This is going to be hard work. But I am excited. And I have a support system. And I have my faith.

Not why I'm here: to attract thousands of readers and pay my college tuition (preferably Scotland) by use of advertisements. The worst thing that could happen to this blog would be to go viral. I'm not interested in that.

Word of day: Impetus

Music: Symphonic Pink Floyd. I haven't ever actually listened to real Pink Floyd Stuff, but this is good writing music.

Book: One Man's Bible, by Gao Xingjian. Kind of an autobiography, except different. But I'm only 3 pages into it, because I got carsick. Hopefully I'll remember to edit that out later.

Service: Indexing (almost done with personal progress)

Worry: Tires deflating in the car because it is so weighed down with my junk ( I mean highly valuable and relevant objects in my possession). Also that it wouldn't all fit, but it did, because Dad is master puzzle sir likeaboss. Car tires haven't gone flat.

Mender Tercies: I found a good deal on a mouse and laptop case. Also, I was able to see two of my favorite people this morning. I haven't gotten carsick. We got a room upgrade at the hotel, so Max doesn't have to sleep on the floor, and I can have the room as cold as I want. Excuse me when I go lower the thermometer a few more degrees.