The Joys of Poopy Diapers

This morning I knew I was going to be in trouble. By 11:00 AM I was acting like I belonged to the short bus. My poor husband suddenly had two belligerent children on his hands. I don't remember much of what happens when my mind goes. I know that I get really restless and keep trying to get up, yet I keep falling because I am too weak. I get really emotional and weep a lot, too. I get fixated on colors and names, and repeat them over and over again.

Sadly, when my mind finally comes back, I have to lay down and watch Nick take care of Jonas. It used to be a relief, but now I miss even being able to change poopy diapers. You see, Jonas has become my reason to live. I'm not a super great mom, and I probably never will be, but I would like to believe that he was sent to me for a reason. I would like to believe that I can offer him something that nobody else could, something that he needs to be happy and strong. So, the fact that I was feeling good enough to cook, clean, and take care of my Jonas the past two weeks was really a miracle. I'm really grateful that I was able to give him baths and feed him good food. I was so happy that I could chase him, even if I looked like Igor when I did. I got to make sure he was brushing his teeth, and I got to clean up after him. I even had the pleasure of taking him on a little walk. We talked about the trucks that drove by, and the rocks and the trees... We even watched a mother bird gulp down a worm for her babies. As she flew away, Jonas said "bye bye bye buh."

I don't know if I would have enjoyed motherhood as much if I had never gotten sick, but if there is anything my illness has taught me, it's not to take the little things for granted. When I get better, I hope I won't grumble about the mundane tasks associated with motherhood as much, but rather be grateful I can take care of them. After all, Jonas gave me a reason to live. The least I could do is change his poopy diapers.

I think my grandma is going to die tomorrow. I knew she only had a few weeks when I first came to my grandparent's house to straighten out their medications just over three weeks ago. She wanted so badly to die even then because she was in so much pain. This past week, however, her pain was so bad that I had been begging God to let her die, too. Now, the signs are too hard to miss, and everyone knows that her death will be soon. First, the agitation and anxiety set in, then the death rattle sounded when she breathed while sleeping. I knew she had only a few days left when I saw how child-like she had become. I found myself talking to her like I did to Jonas when he was a newborn. "Come on Grandma, open up your mouth like a baby bird and gobble down some of that yogurt... Good girl, Grandma."

Some people who know how sick I am get angry when they find out that I had been my grandparent's primary caretaker up until last week. I don't want to appear to be a martyr, and I know that they don't want a huge narrative, so I don't say much in response. But there were reasons I took on that responsibility, and they were all self-serving. First of all, my pain and my bouts of diminishing mental capacities have left me self-centered. I didn't realize it until my mom recounted how self-centered and cantankerous her father had become before he died because of his pain. I was so worried about becoming like him that I prayed and asked God to help me think more about others. The next day, I found out how much my grandparent's health had declined, and I went over and started to work. It was refreshing talking to doctors and nurses about them instead of about myself. I loved completely absorbing myself in their lives. I actually derived a small sort of enjoyment out of organizing their lives for them.

But the biggest reason I enjoyed taking care of them was because I had no other way to pay them back for what they did for me and my family. Despite being very private and enjoying having their own space, my grandparents moved out to Illinois within a week after my father's death. They helped my mom move back to Utah and let her and my youngest brothers stay at their house while my mom saved money for a house and my brothers finished high school.

Later on down the road, they helped Nick and I when we felt like life couldn't get any worse, (it got WAY worse, so we were kind of silly). One day, we arrived unexpectedly on their doorstep and started to unload on them all of our problems. We told them how both of us were being bombarded on all sides with the suggestion that we deserved our financial problems because we needed to be punished for the mistakes we had made in the first years of our marriage. We explained how people said that we were being punished for being artists, and that we needed to stop making art and start making more money. I cried like a baby when I told them that I believed so much of it, that I stopped asking God for help with our financial problems (much less any other problems), because I was making unwise decisions by frittering my time away making music, and we didn't deserve help. I thought they would agree but still offer comfort and love, but we got so much more than that. For the first time in Nick's life, two responsible adults whom Nick respected told him to be a writer and encouraged him to keep plugging away at it. Nick felt like a caged bird that had finally been freed. They also told us that shit happens whether or not you are always acting responsibly, and that we weren't the sole cause of our problems. Instead of lecturing us, they counseled us with love. Instead of tearing us down, they built us up. That night, Nick and I drove away from their house feeling hope and confidence, emotions that we had not felt for a long time.

On a more personal note (if it could get any more personal), my grandma always showed love and support for me. She had always been petite, beautiful, and fashionable. With my constant battle with weight, my hopeless fashion sense, and my not-so-outstanding genetics in terms of beauty, you would think that I would be a disappointment to a woman with so much poise and grace. However, my grandma ALWAYS said that she thought I was SO BEAUTIFUL. She always supported me in my musical endeavors, and seemed to genuinely enjoy coming to my performances. She always called me "Libby Wibby" and would kiss me on the cheek.

So, on Wednesday night, as I cradled her head in my arms and coaxed her to take her pain pills ground up in yogurt, I wanted so badly to say "thank you" in the most eloquent way I could. What I did say was"OK Grandma, open up your mouth like a baby bird and gobble some of that yogurt down." But what I really meant was "thank you." When I was wiping her ass in the bathroom, I said "I know it stings, I'm sorry, we'll put some desytin on that", but what I really meant was "thank you." When I said, "drink that whole glass of water with your dinner, Grandpa", what I really meant was "thank you."

Even then, we weren't even, because my grandparents kept thanking me back, and they kept finding ways to give. When I checked on Grandma in her bed, I sat down and stroked her head and said "I love you, Grandma." Though she hadn't been able to say as much as "yes" or "no" the whole day, she responded with labored breath and in words hardly audible, "I love you too, I have always loved you so much." She always said things like that in a way that made me feel like I was somebody special, and that God put me on this earth for a purpose. This time, the feelings was magnified, and I felt a little bit of hope again. I need to thank her for that.

So, tomorrow morning my supportive and wonderful husband will take me to my Grandma and Grandpa's house. This time I hope to cradle her head, kiss it, and say "I love you" again. But I won't forget to say "thank you", either.

God Must Love Me!!!

Thanks to a very kind good samaritan who is also a sound engineer, my creative juices have been flowing and I have recorded a whole song all by my lonesome! It is the first song off my new album that I'm working on called "Ghost Runners." Check it out on my new myspace page.

Here is my new myspace.

When Life Gives You Lemons...

When Life Gives You Lemons...

Dear Lil Jon,

My name is Libby West and I would like to crunk in your next video. I realize that there are probably plenty of eligible candidates that you need to consider, but I need to let you know that I have got what it takes to be your next crunking star.

Why, you ask, am I destined to be a groovy crunking sensation? Because not only do I have a large posterior region, but I know how to shake. Out of all the Latifahs, Valginas and Aishas that you may come across, what girl could boast that they shake ALL THE TIME? I am one serious shaker. I do it from the moment I wake up to the moment I retire to bed, and even shake in my sleep. I can outshake a Baptist on a Sunday morning.

With skills like mine, I will be like the vodka that laces your crunk juice. Then, crunking will become more than a beverage that makes a meal more fancy. I will make crunking a party in a cup. My talents afford an opportunity that comes once in a lifetime. Take it, Lil John. Take it.

So, Lil John, if you know what is good for you, you will have me on a plane to Las Vegas or LA within the week. And when I dance for you, tears will come to your eyes and you will know from your Nike Air Max shoes to your gold teeth that I have the makings of a crunking star. I will be anxiously awaiting your call.

Sincerely,

Libby "The Shaman" West

phone: 801-532-2002

email: crunkshaft2010@liljohnfanclub.org

PS. I require little payment, just a diamond-studded gold necklace that says "Libsteroni Pizza", and a vanity cup that I can pawn off when I get back to pay medical bills. Also, I will not engage in any hanky-panky or wear slutty clothes. I am a very moral woman.

Veronica Mars is suhweeeeeeeeet!!!

Delhi 6

Here is the next installment in my Bollywood series. The film is "Delhi 6" and here is a synopsis from Netflix:

Although he was born in America, Roshan decides to take his ill grandmother back home to India. Arriving in Chandni Chowk, the ancient walled city of Delhi, Roshan finds himself on an unexpected inner journey as he learns about himself and his roots. Director Rakesh Omprakash Mehra based the film on experiences during his formative years in the Chandni Chowk area of Old Delhi.

*Just as a little side note, I just found out that Roshan is played by the son of the most famous actor in India, Amitabh Bachchan. He is also married to one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, Aishwarya Rai, who is also a Bollywood actor. I just saw her in an AWESOME film called "Jodhaa Akbar". But I digress...

At first, I didn't want to watch the film because I could tell that the production value was pretty dismal. But, I am glad I continued to watch the film, despite my first impressions. When it is revealed that Roshans' mother was Muslim, and his father was Hindu, I got sucked in. (I've been reading about the volatile history between the Muslims and Hindis in India lately.) The fact that Roshan is half Muslim and half Hindu plays an important part in the film. This tension is paralleled by the black phenomenon. When Roshan arrives in Delhi, reports of a "black monkey" have begun to circulate. At first, the black monkey is accused of merely causing mischief, but as the film progresses, it becomes a murderer, which causes massive hysteria in the area.

When Roshan and his grandmother first arrive, the people are loving and kind, and do all they can to assist them. Surrounded by so much selflessness, Roshan falls in love with the people and realizes that Delhi 6 is where he belongs. However, as the black monkey wreaks more havoc in the area, the dark underbelly of Delhi 6 begins to emerge. The Muslims and the Hindis start becoming suspicious of each other, assuming that the other has unleashed the black monkey on the other. As tension rises, Roshan isn't allowed in either the Hindu or the Muslim temples, even though he was initially welcomed in both. His half and half blood incriminates him. Roshan is disappointed to see people who were once friends attack each other because of superstition. He realizes that the people of Delhi 6 will kill each other if he doesn't do something. Because he loves them so much, he dresses as a black monkey and makes sure he is seen. As the people see the black monkey, they forget their differences and join forces to catch him. When they capture Roshan, they nearly beat him to death. A man that was also an outcast for being slow and also for being of low caste tells them to stop. He explains that Roshan had dressed as a black monkey to save them. He tells them that the black monkey dwells in everyone, just as God dwells in everyone, and that the people had given in to godlessness. The crowd looks at Roshan, nearly dead, and mutilated, and feel ashamed of their actions. This time, they unite their forces to save Roshan's life. They clear the streets and rush him to the hospital.

I can't believe how much this reminds me of Jesus Christ. People can say that they don't need a god, and that's fine. I've been there. I've thought that. But I think anybody in their right mind can also say that they aren't perfect. Every person on the planet can look back at their life and regret at least one thing, and that one thing probably involves hurting someone else. Sometimes, the consequences of those regretful actions have far more impact on someone than we could ever have known. Case in point: my great-grandmother, a wonderful woman, once called me a "stupid, stupid girl" in a flash of anger. To this day, her flippant remark haunts me. I believed her. Too often, I have to encourage myself to try something despite my lack of intelligence, because I am a stupid, stupid girl. My great-grandmother had no idea how much that hurt me. If there is an after-life, which I strongly believe there is, I think she wishes she could take it back. Another case in point: a friend of mine from high school says that I ruined his high school career. He won't tell me why, but I am still responsible for making someone miserable for at least three years. I REALLY wish I could fix that.

That's where a Savior comes in. People suck, and they give in to their dark side all too often. In a just world, none of us deserve to be happy. If we make someone unhappy, we should be unhappy too. This is when the whole Savior thing makes sense. If there was someone pure enough and powerful enough to be miserable and feel pain for everyone because we make each other so miserable, then we can be happy, even though we don't deserve it. Those people in Delhi 6 were dicks. They nearly killed each other, and then someone innocent, who had nothing to do with their sins. But, to save them from misery, Roshan sacrificed himself to take the consequences of their evil actions. He did it because he loved them.

Thank you once again, Bollywood. You think you're watching something totally campy, and your like, "oh too bad." Then... BAM! POW! Pearls of wisdom hit you in the face! And then you're like, "wow."

What I Needed to Know Today

Sukkot (Hebrew: סוכות or סֻכּוֹת, sukkōt, also known as Sukkos, Feast of Booths, Feast of Tabernacles) is a Jewish holidaycelebrated on the 15th day of the month of Tishrei (late September to late October). The holiday lasts seven days, including Chol Hamoed and is immediately followed by another festive day known as Shemini Atzeret. The word Sukkot is the plural of the Hebrew word sukkah, meaning booth or hut. The sukkah is reminiscent of the type of fragile dwellings in which the ancient Israelites dwelt during their 40 years of wandering in the desert after the Exodus fromEgypt. Throughout the holiday the sukkah becomes the living area of the house, and all meals are eaten in it. During the holiday, some Jews recite the ushpizin prayer which symbolises the welcoming of seven "exalted guests" into the sukkah. These ushpizin (Aramaic אושפיזין 'guests'), represent the seven shepherds of Israel: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, Joseph and David.

-Wiki Pe Diasite

"Why has the Lord commanded us to stay in the succah? Not only stay there, but everything: eat, drink, sleep, all in the succah. God wanted us to feel that just as the succah is a temporary dwelling, so is this world, temporary, passing, where we are merely guests."

-Moshe Belanga in the film "Ushpizin"

"When a man changes something within himself, he progresses, right? He thinks he has earned some rest. It's then that he's given an even harder test. No rest. No rest in this world."

-The Rabbi in the film "Ushpizin"

How do you make God laugh? Tell Him your plans.

-Nick reiterated this age-old adage

Flatland Hotel

Here are some lyrics for a new song that I have written called "Flatland Hotel" about how high school can often incorrectly establish social hierarchies that we are condemned to live with for the rest of our lives.

Barricade doors, rampart wall,

Deceptive answers resound these halls.

Pilgrims trek this monument,

Where the mortar's "us" and the bricks are "them."

Cornerstones in every room,

From doctrines honed with caustic brooms.

Sonic waves that block the sky,

Are trapped responses to "who am I."

Leave these shadows, leave your fears,

This is not your world, this is smoke and mirrors.

Forge your own way, feel the elation,

You exist for you, not for demarcation.

I see the flaws in your roof, in your walls,

and I'm leaving it, Flatland Hotel.

Rooms of seven times seventy

Arrange themselves in seven rings.

Blood is required to obey

Wall idols that give and take away.

Outcasts dwell the passageways,

No place for masters, just for slaves.

From their towers lords appear,

To suck their blood and drink their tears.

Leave these shadows, leave your fears,

This is not your world, this is smoke and mirrors.

Forge your own way, feel the elation,

You exist for you, not for demarcation.

I see the flaws in your roof, in your walls,

and I'm leaving it, Flatland Hotel.

Bollywood Balm, anyone?

I have been addicted to Bollywood films lately. It is much easier to find a Bollywood film online to watch than an old musical, and Bollywood films fulfill me like an old musical does. There is always a love interest, and a conflict that is beautifully resolved. Admittedly, there are more obvious aspects of Bollywood films that a majority of Americans could find repulsive. Their incredible length (most Bollywood films are at least three hours long), the overacting synced with incredibly dramatic background music (reminiscent of a Mexican soap opera), and the songs and dance based on rhythms and music that seem almost alien to us makes a Bollywood film seem like a cinematic nightmare.

Luckily, I was not deterred by those elements. I love long movies and books because it leaves enough room for sufficient character development. I love the overacting because I grew up on old movies where the actors were still using movements big enough for a stage yet too big for a camera. I just lived with the incredibly dramatic background music. I had watched enough Mexican soap operas to not be completely surprised. As for the music and rhythms, a wonderful and unfortunately lost friend of mine had exposed me to great singers like Lata Mangeshkar, accompanied by the tambura and the entrancing rhythms of the tabla. So, I was set. I had the recipe for success. As I said, I only watched Bollywood for the same reason I watched musicals. When I needed a good, old-fashioned pick-me-up, I looked past the absurdity of "Calamity Jane" and let it make me feel good. That was all I expected of Bollywood films: a silly and absurd balm to my soul. However, The extensive and austere library of Bollywood films has provided much more for me than a simple pick-me-up.

A few months ago, I happened upon one of the best Bollywood films I had ever seen called "Banaras: A Mystic Love Story." Not only was the music absolutely exquisite, but the cinematography revealed the compelling, ethereal elements of the holy city of Banaras. But best of all, the film was spiritually instructive. The film is literally oozing wisdom out of its pores. One of these pearls of wisdom manifests in the scene after the hero, Soham, is found abandoned on the banks of the Ganges by a sweeper woman, who raises him. The hero at this point is about ten years old and is crying. The sweeper woman asks Soham why he is sad, to which he replies that the teacher at school was hitting him because he was of a lower class. The sweeper woman asks Soham "who is the biggest in Banaras." Soham replies that the Ganges is the biggest in Banaras. She then asks if the river ever discriminated against him by not letting him dive in, or calling him low class. When he replies in the negative, she says "This means that only low class people talk of such low grade things. Not big people." Ahhhh. Beautiful. It makes me never want to look down on anyone again. The Ganges showed unconditional love to Soham, despite his low class. What an eloquent way to show that "the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it (Alma 30:44)" denote that there is a God, and even reveal part of His nature.

Perhaps the most profound offering of wisdom in the film was it's use of forgiveness. Soham grows up, is hired at the university to teach music, despite his low class. It is in music class that he meets and falls in love with one of his students, Shwetambari, whose father is a brahman priest and therefore of higher class. You probably know where this is going. Her parents freak out, but consent to Shwetambari marrying Soham because they can see that they are very much in love. A few days before the wedding, Soham is found murdered. Shwetambari leaves Banaras and does not come back until her father is on his deathbed, seventeen years later. After his funeral, Shwetambari's mother tries to drown herself in the Ganges, but is saved by her daughter. Her mother laments that she was saved, exclaiming that she had sinned against Shwetambari. She admits that she had had Soham killed. She couldn't stand the thought of her daughter marrying someone of lower class. She begs her daughter to punish her. Shwetambari tells her mother that she needs no penance from her. She had forgiven her. She knew seventeen years ago before she left that her mother had Soham murdered because she had found Soham's engagement ring in her mother's drawer. She then tells her mother to look and see who has come to see her. Her mother looks through the mists, and Soham's spirit smiles at her. She knew that he had also forgiven her. "But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses. (Matt. 6:15)" I really need to remember that, and I have so little to forgive!

Oh, I could go on and on... Which is why I think I will start a series on this blog. (Even though only you, Nick, read it, and I don't even know if you have time anymore.) But I will try to spread the love, and impart some of the wisdom from these movies to others. I can't wait to write about the film "Delhi 6"...