What's In a Rocking Chair?

(mom…if you read this, please send me a pic of the rocking chair I love so much so I can put it on the blog…maybe one with me as a little girl?)
 BTW: This entry is officially dedicated to my mom!

In my Utah history clas, we have been discussing the turn of the 20th century and how the 1900s have changed the face of the state forever, especially in the loss and appreciation of the rich family and home oriented heritage. We read a short story called “Zarahemla” by Douglass Thatcher to illustrate the point.

In this short story, the main character is debating on whether or not to sell his grandmother’s old house. It was important to him becuase he grew up in this house, raised by his mother and grandmother. His grandmother was a plural wife to an early Mormon and this house was her own home. It still had a brass bed that the polygamous grandfather slept in and died in. The main character’s son wanted that bed. The house was full of memories of the past for the main character–his own childhood and the stories his grandmother told him. It was near and dear to him, it was a part of him. How could he part with this house?


That got me thinking of heirlooms.
What do we keep and why? What means a lot to us?


For Easter weekend, I went to my Grandmother’s. The whole time we talked about life–her life as a child, when she got married, my college life, my obsession and plans for Wales, my non-existant love life. Then we talked about my parents’ engagement and early married life. We looked at pictures of when I was a toddler.

In quite a few of them was a dark polished brown rocking chair with pink cushions. I have been rocked and nursed in that rocking chair, same as my siblings. I have rocked them to sleep numerous times as well as my mom. I have sat in my moms lap and cried as she rocked me after a bad day at school. I would rock in that chair and study for midterms. I would hurry and grab it when our Home Teachers came over every month. It is one of the few things left in the house that is as old, if not older, than me.

While looking at these pictues with Grandma, I realized, I wanted that rocking chair!

However, due to military transfers and poor housing economy, my family has moved 3 times within the past 3 years! I couldn’t remember if we even still had the rocking chair! I tried to imagine where we would have placed it in our newest home! I was nervous that I wouldn’t get this rocking chair!

I called mom. This is basically our conversation.

“Hi mom! Grandma and I were just looking at some old pictures and I was wondering…remember that old rocking chair? Do we still have it?”

“Ya, it’s in Dad and my bedroom. Why do you ask?”

“Cuz I couldn’t remember if we still had it or not. I like that rocking chair.”

“…You want it?”


“We’ll see what we can do…It’s not super comfy to rock babies in, though.”

“I don’t care, I want it! Please!”

So now, thank you mom! I may get this rocking chair! Why would I want a 20+ year old rocking chair, that doesn’t even have the pink cushions and is difficult/uncomfortable to nurse babies in? Why?
Because it is an heirloom. It meant something to me as a child and thus, it will mean something to me as an adult. Then the circle will continue–it will mean something to my children. And, I’ll always be able to remember and have my mom in the house with me every time I rock in that chair.

Poem for Today

A/N: No idea what to call this poem!

The smile lingers longer than expected.
I’m a contortionist in feelings,
Lost in a labyrinth of roses
Lined with rows of white dandelions.

I’ve been in this maze before
Why have I lost all sense of direction?

Hedges change their position
Branches cringing as they moved —
A cackling mock directed at me.

Running Suicides

As an athlete, I have had my fair share of these aptly named drills–Suicides!

But I have been lucky enough not to have to subject myself to this “death run” since I was on the Varsity volleyball team in high school 3 1/2 years ago.

However, it is turning spring. I am on an intramural soccer team. During the whole school year, I have slacked off in my eating habits and my running habits.

I want to train myself again. Train myself in perseverance, in determination, etc.

Saturday, I went running–a short run to a nearby park. I stopped to stretch by the empty parking lot. The lines reminded me of the lines on the volleyball court I had to run back and forth between. Back and forth and forth and back.

Before I knew it, I was standing on the 1st white line of the parking lot with the Training Montage from the Rocky Story on my iPod. I was running a suicide!!!

Why? I asked myself after. Why would I do that if I didn’t have to?
My legs burned after only one suicide. I was out of breath. Slowly, I made my way to the grass to work on curlups.

I was about about to leave to finish my run home, when, again!, I found myself with “Training Montage” playing just as I suddenly appeared at the first white line again. I told myself, “No,” but my feet begged to run past the white line.

So, I ran a second suicide.

Though this time I could breath easy, my legs had melted. Ground and leg became the same, became fused. Finishing my last double-back, time slowed as I inched toward the starting line.


My legs are still sore today, but I’m glad of it. I’m just not used to running suicides anymore.

And now, I’ve found a new method of torture when running:
Today, when I ran, I did 25 ups and downs on a 25 step staircase south of campus. Not to bad, honestly, but by the end, my fastest speed was slower than those walking down the steps.


Because I want to get back into shape. Because I’m crazy. Because I know I can. Because I’m “suicidal.”

Take your pick! =)

ABC’s of Me

I am a copycat.
 I see things I like, and I use them. On facebook I copy my friends’ notes and do them myself.
Here is another example. A previous roommate of mine has a fashion blog, but also does some silly posts–such as this one. I liked it and decided to steal it.
Now you can get to know me better!

(A)ge: 21
(B)ed size: Twin
(C)hore you hate: Scrubbing the tub, all others, I’m ok with
(D)ogs: Allergic to most of them, sadly. But, I would like a medium sized, active puppy
(E)ssential start of your day: Scripture reading while eating breakfast
(F)avorite color: ORANGE! (then green and purple)
(G)old or silver: Silver
(H)eight: 5’7″ (and a half!)
(I)nstruments I play (or have played): Piano for a couple years, violin for 2 years. (Look at my post: Violinist)
(J)ob title: Family, Home, and Social Science (FHSS) College Writing Lab (writing tutor) and Stand Leader for Concessions
(K)ids: Hopefully someday soon. As many as I am meant to have.
(L)ive: Right now, too bad, you don’t get to know. After I graduate, hopefully in the east (VA or New England), possibly even in Great Britain to teach.
(M)om’s name: Julia
(N)ickname: Tanney–my pen name!
(O)vernight hospital stays: Nope, but plenty of ER visits
(P)et peeve: Show-offs
(Q)uote from a movie: “It’s human to make mistakes Merlin, and part of you is human, the best part.”
(R)ight or left handed: Right
(S)iblings: Two younger sisters, one younger brothers.
(T)ime you wake up: 7AM
(U)nderwear: duh yes.
(V)egetables you dislike: Spinach and mushrooms
(W)hat makes you run late: Fixing my hair or finishing packing my lunch
(X)-rays you’ve had done: Teeth, wrist, shoulder, ankle
(Y)ummy food you make: Welsh cakes, snickerdoodles
(Z)oo animal: Monkeys


This is one of my favorite songs, ever! I love music that goes with it, the soft, lingering sound that fits lyrics by Rufus Wainwright perfectly. The first time I ever heard it was watching Shrek. Then, I heard it on the radio. Then one season of American Idol, someone sang it. (Don’t remember who or when.) It became one of my favorite songs ever. But then, last year in Welsh class, we listened to the Welsh version. The Welsh language is kown for its poetic and singy form. It is a musical language in its purest state. I fell in love with it even more. But, the lyrics are widely different than the English ones.

English Lyrics:
I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah
There was a time you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in with you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Maybe there’s a God above
But all I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It’s not a cry you can hear at night
It’s not somebody who has seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Welsh Translation
The White Star in a fist of steel,
There’s a shadow of a gun over Bethlehem,
No white angel singing “Hallelujah”.
Raising the walls, closing the doors,
Turning their backs on the value of the miracle,
The night’s so dark on the streets of Palestine.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.
There’s a barb-wire circling the cradle,
And a scar where once was the World’s creator,
Hope is weeping – on it’s knees.
Guilty – each and every one of us,
Holding Mankind’s coat –
While he destroys every trace of “Hallelujah”.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

The night is dark, The night is long,
Yet there are some that see the truth,
They know the message is more than words;
That from the darkness comes the dawn,
and the music brought the walls down.
There came the hour for us to sing, “Hallelujah.”
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

I find it very interesting that the English version is about broken love, whereas the Welsh version is truly about the sadness of the world, probably the real reason David wrote all his psalms. Either way, the song is beautiful.

English Version 
Welsh Version