150 words about my day.
Sunday, November 6th
I blew through the entire series of Firefly in a very short amount of time. Luckily, there's only one season and a movie, so I don't feel too guilty. It's a western sci-fi - kind of like what Cowboys and Aliens tried to do (I assume), just minus the aliens. Firefly didn't stick around for too long, though there's a huge cult following, enough to justify a movie since one season didn't wrap up ANY of the cliff-hangers. I swear, I do watch popular shows too - just not as many. You can bet wherever there's a cult following (and Nathan Fillion), I'll be there. Watching a show like that feels like a club with its own special code, an instant "in" to a particular group of people. I can't help it - I'm a fan of clubs. And griping about networks that cancel great shows. It's the best.
Saturday, November 5th
Nick and Nora - no infinite playlist. I'm talking the originals, Nick and Nora Charles. They're the main characters in black and white detective movies from the 1930s, five all together. Nick is boozy and sarcastic, Nora is beautiful and sassy. The second movie even has a young Jimmy Stewart in it. I find the movies incredibly delightful but also a fascinating look at that time period. Obviously, it was a very stylized version of the country's upper-crust. At a time when most of the nation is out of work and hungry, Nick and Nora traipse around cities, hosting lavish parties and looking glamorous. While it might not have been reflective of the general public, I wonder if they served a different purpose. The power of escapism can be very strong. And who wouldn't want to be Nora - lovely, rich, and sharp-tongued?
Friday, November 4th
I'm a little obsessed with crossword puzzles these days. I have to admit, I only do online ones that tell me when I get a letter wrong. I know it's cheating, but I'm terribly bad at them. People always assume I'm good with word games, but I'm really not. I'm not good at Scrabble, and I lost every Words with Friends game I ever played - before I got bored and stopped playing. I like the craft of words and sentences and thoughts - I'm not so good at isolated determining of the perfect word. But I find doing crossword puzzles soothing, and even if I cheat and simply type every letter of the alphabet to find the correct one (it turns from black to red if I do), I feel accomplished when I'm finished. I'll take what I can get.
Thursday, November 3rd
Days like these I feel like an adult, going in to work early, traveling for a meeting, giving shallow opinions about big matters that may simply be abstract and meaningless. And then I go home and have a hissy fit in front of my best friend, feeling very much the confused and frustrated child. Life is about these roles, the swing from adult to child, participant to observer, rational to abstract, here to there. We are never simply one thing, one role or box. We contain multitudes, as Whitman said, and it's true. Sometimes we are sure of which one belongs, and sometimes they fight to get out, tearing our chests in half. Just as long as I don't let the petulant child out too much, I think I'll be fine.
Wednesday, November 2nd
Today was a hard day for some good people I like very much. Times are still tough, and changes need to be made, and none of this takes into account the lives that are torn in half with that metaphorical slip of pink paper. I think back through all of the changes that I've been through in the last year and a half, and how it's all been shifted, and I wonder how God can be in this. I remind myself that I work for a business that needs to make a profit. And I remind myself that God is bigger than all of this, that he's in and through and behind and before this. All I can do is pray for the broken hearts and the dusty resumes and the students who may suffer through no fault of their own. It's all I can give.
Tuesday, November 1st
November. Am I ever going to be caught up? Is the passage of time ever not going to take me by surprise? Is time ever going to slow down again? I blink my eyes and weeks have gone by: babies' feet are growing, and Christmas decorations turned Costco into a winter wonderland, and my sweaters no longer feel warm enough. Wasn't it just yesterday I was biking through the shimmering heat of summer? Wasn't it yesterday I was packing a hiking backpack and passport? And wasn't it yesterday that I wondered what 2011 would bring? And now it's November, and I have to buy a new planner. I worry that it's getting away from me, that I'm not using these seconds wisely. I don't want to miss out on the magic of this next second.
Monday, October 31st
I haven't dressed up for Halloween in years. In high school my youth group had an event, but I usually came as a hippie - using clothing from my own closet (speaking of which, where is that stuff?). This year I went to a party, and I decided to go all out. Inspired by my favorite Gothic detective, I dressed as the manager of a Hot Topic, complete with nose ring, lip ring, and skull earrings - not to mention the long black wig and copious eye makeup. The effect was startling. To be frank, I liked it. I liked feeling different, alternative, and wild. I felt like strangers would expect different things from me, that I could slouch and gripe and no one would think otherwise. To play a role, a new part in life - it's oddly fun. But don't worry - I'll be blonde again tomorrow.
Sunday, October 30th
Confessional. I got a lot done this weekend. It was a quiet weekend, during which I avoided some pitfalls, did some necessary cleaning, and made scones. I didn't do the work that I'm called to do. Not as much as I should have, anyway. Today was meant to be a writing day. I had some other things that needed to get done - mopping the floor, Skyping with the sister, the aforementioned scones - but I only spent about two hours writing. I've had much worse days. But I know I need to force myself into the tough questions when I start wasting time, doing the Facebook/Twitter Shuffle. The tough questions are: what do I need to be doing with my time? What is it that I am called to do? How am I pursuing that which fulfills me? Very rarely is the answer, "The Facebook/Twitter Shuffle."
Saturday, October 29th
I probably had one of the most beautiful days in a long while. Nothing really happened, but that's what was great about it. The day was clear, so I rode my bike to writing group. I got encouraging feedback on my essay. I went to two libraries and got too many books. I finished a good movie. I went for a run. I tidied up while assembling my Halloween costume. Read a book. Half-completed a crossword puzzle. Read another book - one of my favorites. Ate some good food and listened to good music. I'm learning to enjoy these days, to not run about wildly just because I think filling every second of my day equals using my time best. Untrue. Using my time best is when I am happiest and most fulfilled. Sometimes that's being busy, seeing everyone, doing everything. And sometimes it's doing half of a crossword puzzle.
Friday, October 28th
I get sucked into YouTube in no time at all. It gets my by the sidebar that has related videos, and before I know it, three hours of five-minute long clips has passed. I especially get taken in by interviews with celebrities or just simply people I admire. I find it intriguing to get a glimpse at the people in a more natural environment when they're not saying words scripted for them by someone else. Of course, I know that the interview version of these people is a white-washed, fairly santized version of them. Still, there's something about hearing successful people talk about their craft. I watched an interview with Noel Fielding, a British comedian, and he just talked about stand-up comedy for about 15 minutes. It's fascinating to me how much thought, planning and intuition is involved with something that seems so effortless. Thanks, YouTube, for another evening gone.
Thursday, October 27th
Tonight I finally met a guy named Ewan. He's been on this earth for two whole months, but our paths had never crossed, mostly due to the fact that he cannot walk - yet. He is a beautiful boy, big wide eyes with long lashes, wide gaping mouth sans teeth. He loves to smile and talk, such a lovely picture of the combination of his parents. I had trouble taking my eyes off of him, getting my face right to his, looking into his luscious eyes. It's amazing to me that we all start out that way, big eyes taking in the blurry stimuli of this world. We smile at our mothers' voices, we cry when we are tired, and we are always changing. And then we grow up and somehow become the caretakers for the next round of the little tiny ones. What a joyful and painful responsibility.
Wednesday, October 26th
My friend gave me the title of Compulsive Returner. It's very true that I tend to buy and then return to the ever-gracious Customer Service desk. Ask about the saga of the bath mat - it is truly epic. I like having the option of changing my mind, of admitting that it didn't work out and there is no harm done. But I'm also a compulsive returner in that I am constantly going back to remind myself of things I've forgotten. I love to rewatch movies, reread books, listen to albums over and over again. I like the feeling of familiarity, that this is a place I have been. I also enjoy re-feeling the emotions and thoughts that I experienced the last time, those memories sticking into my mind and taking hold in a more permanent way. I return things and return to things. Yes, compulsively.
Tuesday, October 25th
What a strange day it has been. I started and ended it doing things I was afraid of. The middle part made me afraid of things I hadn't considered before. I'll just talk about my minor achievement this morning. I had a staff conference that was hosted at a church about 2 miles from my house. It was a lovely clear day, so I decided to ride my bike, knowing that I would have to deal with the Hill of Death. There's a ravine between here and there, and this ravine is one lane without sidewalks or a shoulder. Every time I drive it, I'm fearful for the lives of others, and today I took my life in my hands. Thankfully there were not a lot of cars, and I did not die. I did lose all energy coming uphill. Also, I probably won't ever do it again.
Monday, October 24th
Tonight was a major victory in terms of my writing struggles. I wrote 4.5 pages of this project that I have been avoiding for months. It's a painful thing, to avoid that which you love because you fear it. I won't go too far into it in fears of revealing my tortured psyche to a not ready audience, but suffice to say, I have a lot riding on this project. I've assigned to it more psychic weight than it should actually carry. Step two is to remove some of that pressure and just be thankful for the process. The long tortuous process. But I did it. Those 4.5 pages are most likely rubbish, but they give me a place from which to start, to edit, and to change. I actually know what my argument is, and that is a huge battle won. Many pages to go, but I'm going!
Sunday, October 23rd
I was reading through my Great Britain journal tonight in preparation for more travel posts. I'm incredibly behind, if you haven't noticed. It's been five months. I arrived back home five months ago. It seems like much, much longer. It feels like a dream. I'm so glad I have this journal, because otherwise, I would fear that it did not happen. And yet, the jumpy excited feeling in my chest when I think about London is not manufactured. So I'm writing about these things and places, in hopes to recapture them. Of course, the experiences would be more vivid if I hadn't waited five months, but oh well. I do know I'm different; I know that trip changed me. The big and temporary ways I felt were so obvious have mellowed into quieter, permanent ways. I am ever so thankful for the experience. More than I can say.
Saturday, October 22nd
Sorry, but I have another Downton Abbey entry. There's just something about Mr. Bates. Fans of the show know exactly what I'm talking about. He's older - mid-forties - and mildly attractive. He's a little rotund and he walks with a limp. Not exactly a heartthrob. Why he's so attractive is he gives everyone who deserves it the utmost respect and loyalty. This quality is his most defined characteristic, portrayed in many ways by his relationships. In an age when the radio stations play songs about relationships composed of sexual attraction and control, we don't see that. I don't know about the rest of the world, but I want to be wooed with devotion and loyalty. I want to be told I'm beautiful, but more than that, I want to be respected. I know it's not too much to ask for a Mr. Bates-ish type man.
Friday, October 21st
I'm not very good at adapting. Change frightens me, because I cannot predict what will happen. I am far more comfortable with what I know. Yet, I've spent a lot of time in Downton Abbey over the last few days, watching the family learn to adapt with wars and wounded and loss during World War I. I realize that my life is simple. My life is safe. It is wonderful and beautiful. My job will change, and my relationships will change, and my needs and desires will change. But it is not likely at this point that I will deal with all of the men of my generation going to fight in trench warfare, see them come home without pieces of themselves. Life changes. And I want to learn to be flexible, to bend and twist like a willow, because that is less painful than snapping in two.
Thursday, October 20th
I am both soul-weary and body-weary. My body isn't used to me pushing it quite this hard - it's more used to eating donuts. And my soul has had a lot of time to mull over things, like the fact that a video of the beating and murder of a very bad man is making the rounds on the internet. My soul is tired by those things, tired and sad because it shows how we are still depraved and grotesque human beings, capable of so much yet mired by our own curiosity and vanity. But you know what? Joy is all around, even with terrible things going on in the world. Mothers hug their babies and good tea is steeped and (for now) books are still caressed as eyes dance across them. So I will dwell on these things as I crawl into bed and sleep until tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 19th
Today was a weird day. Everything just felt a bit off-kilter, with morning meetings moved to the afternoon, and late lunches, and the announcement of ticket sales that completely exploded my concentration. Regardless, the most exciting news of the day is a) Mumford and Sons (only my favorite band after Switchfoot) is coming to Portland, and b) I am going. My excitement has died down into an undercurrent of joy and anticipation that will be bubbling under my surface for the next six weeks. Now is when I start praying that nothing happens to me before then, but I'm pretty sure I'd need to be in a coma and/or hospitalized for me not go to this concert. I forget how much I really do love music, good soul music. And I love it live. 2011 has been a good year for concerts. Finishing out the year well. Thank you, Jesus.
Tuesday, October 18th
My work-out today was extra long because I wanted to see the end of a Bones episode. Lots of gross dead people on Bones. Then I was rowing and listening to Switchfoot's latest album and I had this pressing on my heart, a girl I know whose brother recently died. I thought of another friend who lost her father last week. On my commute home, I actually saw the hospital near to my house. How many people there are feeling life slip away? "Where I Belong" was playing, Switchfoot's anthemic and powerful final song on Vice Verses. It is a song about death being welcome - "Until I die I'll sing these songs, On the shores of Babylon" - because we don't belong here on this broken and dusty Earth. It's about life and death, not being afraid but being glad to go home. I wanted to laugh and cry.
Monday, October 17th
Yesterday, I sat at my little writing desk in the corner of my apartment for quite a while, looking at a half-written letter to a man I hardly know. It was hard to find the words - for him and for me and for anyone else who would read it. My scars are not a secret. Most of the time I don't speak about them because they're so much part of me it'd be like mentioning I have two arms or ten toes - of course I do. But in outing myself, my past with a cancerous tumor, I have both labeled and freed myself. I wonder - am I bragging? Am I asking to be noted? Am I just being honest? I always doubt my motives, for good or for ill. Regardless, I am incredibly thankful for the responses of my readers. You mean more than I can say.
Sunday, October 16th
I recently started attending a Friends (Quaker) church, which observes open-worship during morning services. At the most basic level, it is a time of silence where people can share with the congregation if they feel so moved. The last few Sundays I have been using the time to journal and write out prayers, acknowledging them to myself and to God. Today, I had a complete epiphany about both my writing anxiety and my personal frustrations: I am D.R. Davenport. To explain, D.R. is the character I am struggling to write about. We are very different, but at the core of ourselves, we are struggling with the same things. There are many parallels. And when I'm frustrated because I can't figure out D.R.'s journey, I also am frustrated because I can't figure out my own. The beautiful thing is that D.R. finds peace, is redeemed. And I will be too.
Saturday, October 15th
I've had a lot of recent writing anxiety. Today I met with my new writing group - well, it was less of a group and more of a duo, due to conflicts for others in the group. Even so, it was refreshing and helpful. I love-love-love talking about writing - the process, the outcome, ways to refine and strengthen what already is. It feels wonderful to use my toolbox that has gotten dusty over my years outside of academia. I hope I was able to help Koh with her poem - which was lovely - and she was able to help me talk through some of my issues regarding this paper I've been anxious about and struggling with. It was just a reminder that community is better than being alone; that others can strengthen and assist you in ways you can't help yourself.
Friday, October 14th
Pardon another Twitter reference, but I'm following this young author who I heard speak at a panel last weekend at Wordstock. The author is from Louisiana, and his first two books were set in that area. For his third, he used his time in Portland to "scout" the place, get the feel for it so he can write about it. Now he's down in southern California, and his Tweets are filled with awe and wonder, photos of beaches and the Pacific. He's helping me remember what I've forgotten, now so acclimated to this area and used to the beauty of the ocean. I remember what it was like to move here from the Midwest, to see mountains in the distance and the brown rice-grains of sand at the coast. It's nice to be reminded that I am surrounded by the most gorgeous of landscapes, and I need to see it.
Thursday, October 13th
Sometimes I don't believe that there are still wise men in the world. That all of the wisdom the world contains has been said in all of the ways possible. I'm wrong, as proved nearly daily by Bob Goff. I first heard his name in a Donald Miller book, described as one of the most inspiring and Godly men Miller knows. I found him on Twitter recently, and because it's so easy, started "following" him. His tweet today said, "When we let go of a few things that don't matter, we make room for many that do. It's Thursday. Quit something." And I did. Sure, it's less than 140 characters, and it's just thoughts of a normal man with no supernatural powers, but it was what I needed to read today. And it inspired me to do something. That is wisdom, and I am very thankful for it.
Wednesday, October 12th
I've started something new this week - writing in the morning. I bought a composition notebook with a marbled black and white cover, and each morning (or day, depending on how rushed my morning was), I write one page. So far, it's been a lot of whining and self-pitying, nothing I'd ever want anyone else to see. That is the wonderful beauty of it. No one else will. I love blogging; I love putting my writing out for the world to see, and I crave people's responses. But I needed something that was just for me, where I could complain and write silly conversations and not worry about what anyone else thinks. It's both cathartic and freeing, and it gets me writing in the morning as well as in the evening. Plus, I get to use my TARDIS pen, so I really can't go wrong.
Tuesday, October 11th
I feel like I almost have the full house of friends who are undergoing massive life changes - I just need someone who is pregnant. I'm so excited for my friends who are recently married, getting married, buying a house, enjoying a little baby, exploring a new love. It's exquisite to watch. But then I begin to believe that life is about those big changes, that they are what make life interesting and worthwhile and meaningful. That's wrong by a mile. I have to believe that life is contained in the little things. The delicious chocolate-covered waffles. The snorting laughter of a friend. Commenting on inside work jokes. Listening to Harry Potter audiobooks at the gym. The smells of coffee woven into my new soft sweater after a coffee date. And celebrating with friends as their lives change, knowing they will celebrate with you when yours does. It's just life.
Monday, October 10th
Fall is definitely here in Oregon. Today was gloomy and cloudy and cold. Not too cold in temperature but cold that seeps through your skin and tells you that it'll be around for a while. I had to use my windshield wipers on both of my commutes. I made it home before the impressively aggressive rainstorm that reared up against my windows, like the sky split its zipper and dumped its reserve in a massive sheet. It was gone as quickly as it came, but it brought that cold, the one that hugs my bones and says, it's beginning. I try to love fall. I do love the changing colors and the warm drinks and the cozy sweaters. But I don't love the thought of gloom for the next eight months. And in fall, I see the death of things, and I'm not reconciled to that either.
Sunday, October 9th
Inspiration is days that begin with a good word from a wise man that challenges a congregation. Inspiration is writers who bust their butts to do what they must, and never give up, even though they are told one hundred times that their love, their writing, is no good. Inspiration is a community that helps, supports, laughs with, and makes each other better in their craft. Inspiration is chocolate-covered waffles and honest conversations about God and lateness and boys near the window of a cafe. Inspiration is a peal of laughter I haven't heard in a year as we reminisce about high school and life since then over garden burgers. Inspiration is old theaters and cheap movies and getting lost on the way home. Inspiration is being alone, being with old and friends, and being in the car, hearing the voices of my family. I am inspired by perfect days.
Saturday, October 8th
After much conversation, it finally happened. My former boss Rick and I finally hosted a reunion at my alma mater of folks who worked at the writing center, doing consultations with their fellow students on papers and studying and the like. It was a small turn-out, but it was composed of people who really like each other and have fine memories of the work they did. And then I went and had another reunion with a group of girls who surround a soon-to-be bride with love and kisses and cookies. I hadn't seen most of these ladies in a while - life gets in the way - but we laughed and decorated wedding cookies and just generally loved each other. That's what I think of when I think of reunions - not those awkward high school reunions where everyone tries to one-up each other. No, I think of love.
Friday, October 7th
Today, I had every intention of going to the gym. My gym bag was packed, I had blocked out the time, and I knew it wouldn't be too busy, as only lame people work out on Fridays (sigh). I just wanted to avoid I-5 because the Friday traffic turns me into an incredibly angry and homicidal individual. So I went the back way. Without directions. Well, I used directions for part of it, but then thought I remembered the route. I deviated. And I missed the turn. And I found myself way past the gym. So it took me twice as long to reach home, I didn't go to the gym, and I didn't work out at home. Instead, I ate macaroni and cheese and chocolate for dinner, and sat on my couch like a lazy bum. Glad I avoided being lame!
Thursday, October 6th
It's that time of year: fall television is back, and I'm a little too excited about it. Sometimes, I fear my attachment to fictional characters is stronger than it should be. I was pleased to see my characters come back, like seeing old friends who have been gone for the summer. Greeting Leslie Knope, finding out how she plans to run her campaign. Finding out who the new manager of the Office is. Predicting how the study group is going to handle Biology. And yet I just love stories. I love learning and growing with characters. Granted, they can never replace real interaction with real people; it's just that real people are messy, and TV people learn lessons in 25 minutes, and I can celebrate that and learn from it. It usually takes me a bit longer than 25 minutes, though.
Wednesday, October 5th
Tonight Hannah and I rode the MAX into downtown Portland to see a movie. The movie was about cancer. I wanted to see it, because I have this strange relationship with the disease. I guess I view it somewhat like how people view their family trees. They want to see where they come from, ultimately how they came to be who they are. They have a detachment, and yet they're insanely curious, digging up details, factoids that might explain this or that. They need a connection - they need it to feel whole. And while I don't have an insane curiosity about the whole cancer experience, I feel like it's part of me that I want to understand, to feel something about. It makes me unique, different, and a little broken. We all have those things, I guess. Something to think about.
Sunday, November 6th
I blew through the entire series of Firefly in a very short amount of time. Luckily, there's only one season and a movie, so I don't feel too guilty. It's a western sci-fi - kind of like what Cowboys and Aliens tried to do (I assume), just minus the aliens. Firefly didn't stick around for too long, though there's a huge cult following, enough to justify a movie since one season didn't wrap up ANY of the cliff-hangers. I swear, I do watch popular shows too - just not as many. You can bet wherever there's a cult following (and Nathan Fillion), I'll be there. Watching a show like that feels like a club with its own special code, an instant "in" to a particular group of people. I can't help it - I'm a fan of clubs. And griping about networks that cancel great shows. It's the best.
Saturday, November 5th
Nick and Nora - no infinite playlist. I'm talking the originals, Nick and Nora Charles. They're the main characters in black and white detective movies from the 1930s, five all together. Nick is boozy and sarcastic, Nora is beautiful and sassy. The second movie even has a young Jimmy Stewart in it. I find the movies incredibly delightful but also a fascinating look at that time period. Obviously, it was a very stylized version of the country's upper-crust. At a time when most of the nation is out of work and hungry, Nick and Nora traipse around cities, hosting lavish parties and looking glamorous. While it might not have been reflective of the general public, I wonder if they served a different purpose. The power of escapism can be very strong. And who wouldn't want to be Nora - lovely, rich, and sharp-tongued?
Friday, November 4th
I'm a little obsessed with crossword puzzles these days. I have to admit, I only do online ones that tell me when I get a letter wrong. I know it's cheating, but I'm terribly bad at them. People always assume I'm good with word games, but I'm really not. I'm not good at Scrabble, and I lost every Words with Friends game I ever played - before I got bored and stopped playing. I like the craft of words and sentences and thoughts - I'm not so good at isolated determining of the perfect word. But I find doing crossword puzzles soothing, and even if I cheat and simply type every letter of the alphabet to find the correct one (it turns from black to red if I do), I feel accomplished when I'm finished. I'll take what I can get.
Thursday, November 3rd
Days like these I feel like an adult, going in to work early, traveling for a meeting, giving shallow opinions about big matters that may simply be abstract and meaningless. And then I go home and have a hissy fit in front of my best friend, feeling very much the confused and frustrated child. Life is about these roles, the swing from adult to child, participant to observer, rational to abstract, here to there. We are never simply one thing, one role or box. We contain multitudes, as Whitman said, and it's true. Sometimes we are sure of which one belongs, and sometimes they fight to get out, tearing our chests in half. Just as long as I don't let the petulant child out too much, I think I'll be fine.
Wednesday, November 2nd
Today was a hard day for some good people I like very much. Times are still tough, and changes need to be made, and none of this takes into account the lives that are torn in half with that metaphorical slip of pink paper. I think back through all of the changes that I've been through in the last year and a half, and how it's all been shifted, and I wonder how God can be in this. I remind myself that I work for a business that needs to make a profit. And I remind myself that God is bigger than all of this, that he's in and through and behind and before this. All I can do is pray for the broken hearts and the dusty resumes and the students who may suffer through no fault of their own. It's all I can give.
Tuesday, November 1st
November. Am I ever going to be caught up? Is the passage of time ever not going to take me by surprise? Is time ever going to slow down again? I blink my eyes and weeks have gone by: babies' feet are growing, and Christmas decorations turned Costco into a winter wonderland, and my sweaters no longer feel warm enough. Wasn't it just yesterday I was biking through the shimmering heat of summer? Wasn't it yesterday I was packing a hiking backpack and passport? And wasn't it yesterday that I wondered what 2011 would bring? And now it's November, and I have to buy a new planner. I worry that it's getting away from me, that I'm not using these seconds wisely. I don't want to miss out on the magic of this next second.
Monday, October 31st
I haven't dressed up for Halloween in years. In high school my youth group had an event, but I usually came as a hippie - using clothing from my own closet (speaking of which, where is that stuff?). This year I went to a party, and I decided to go all out. Inspired by my favorite Gothic detective, I dressed as the manager of a Hot Topic, complete with nose ring, lip ring, and skull earrings - not to mention the long black wig and copious eye makeup. The effect was startling. To be frank, I liked it. I liked feeling different, alternative, and wild. I felt like strangers would expect different things from me, that I could slouch and gripe and no one would think otherwise. To play a role, a new part in life - it's oddly fun. But don't worry - I'll be blonde again tomorrow.
Sunday, October 30th
Confessional. I got a lot done this weekend. It was a quiet weekend, during which I avoided some pitfalls, did some necessary cleaning, and made scones. I didn't do the work that I'm called to do. Not as much as I should have, anyway. Today was meant to be a writing day. I had some other things that needed to get done - mopping the floor, Skyping with the sister, the aforementioned scones - but I only spent about two hours writing. I've had much worse days. But I know I need to force myself into the tough questions when I start wasting time, doing the Facebook/Twitter Shuffle. The tough questions are: what do I need to be doing with my time? What is it that I am called to do? How am I pursuing that which fulfills me? Very rarely is the answer, "The Facebook/Twitter Shuffle."
Saturday, October 29th
I probably had one of the most beautiful days in a long while. Nothing really happened, but that's what was great about it. The day was clear, so I rode my bike to writing group. I got encouraging feedback on my essay. I went to two libraries and got too many books. I finished a good movie. I went for a run. I tidied up while assembling my Halloween costume. Read a book. Half-completed a crossword puzzle. Read another book - one of my favorites. Ate some good food and listened to good music. I'm learning to enjoy these days, to not run about wildly just because I think filling every second of my day equals using my time best. Untrue. Using my time best is when I am happiest and most fulfilled. Sometimes that's being busy, seeing everyone, doing everything. And sometimes it's doing half of a crossword puzzle.
Friday, October 28th
I get sucked into YouTube in no time at all. It gets my by the sidebar that has related videos, and before I know it, three hours of five-minute long clips has passed. I especially get taken in by interviews with celebrities or just simply people I admire. I find it intriguing to get a glimpse at the people in a more natural environment when they're not saying words scripted for them by someone else. Of course, I know that the interview version of these people is a white-washed, fairly santized version of them. Still, there's something about hearing successful people talk about their craft. I watched an interview with Noel Fielding, a British comedian, and he just talked about stand-up comedy for about 15 minutes. It's fascinating to me how much thought, planning and intuition is involved with something that seems so effortless. Thanks, YouTube, for another evening gone.
Thursday, October 27th
Tonight I finally met a guy named Ewan. He's been on this earth for two whole months, but our paths had never crossed, mostly due to the fact that he cannot walk - yet. He is a beautiful boy, big wide eyes with long lashes, wide gaping mouth sans teeth. He loves to smile and talk, such a lovely picture of the combination of his parents. I had trouble taking my eyes off of him, getting my face right to his, looking into his luscious eyes. It's amazing to me that we all start out that way, big eyes taking in the blurry stimuli of this world. We smile at our mothers' voices, we cry when we are tired, and we are always changing. And then we grow up and somehow become the caretakers for the next round of the little tiny ones. What a joyful and painful responsibility.
Wednesday, October 26th
My friend gave me the title of Compulsive Returner. It's very true that I tend to buy and then return to the ever-gracious Customer Service desk. Ask about the saga of the bath mat - it is truly epic. I like having the option of changing my mind, of admitting that it didn't work out and there is no harm done. But I'm also a compulsive returner in that I am constantly going back to remind myself of things I've forgotten. I love to rewatch movies, reread books, listen to albums over and over again. I like the feeling of familiarity, that this is a place I have been. I also enjoy re-feeling the emotions and thoughts that I experienced the last time, those memories sticking into my mind and taking hold in a more permanent way. I return things and return to things. Yes, compulsively.
Tuesday, October 25th
What a strange day it has been. I started and ended it doing things I was afraid of. The middle part made me afraid of things I hadn't considered before. I'll just talk about my minor achievement this morning. I had a staff conference that was hosted at a church about 2 miles from my house. It was a lovely clear day, so I decided to ride my bike, knowing that I would have to deal with the Hill of Death. There's a ravine between here and there, and this ravine is one lane without sidewalks or a shoulder. Every time I drive it, I'm fearful for the lives of others, and today I took my life in my hands. Thankfully there were not a lot of cars, and I did not die. I did lose all energy coming uphill. Also, I probably won't ever do it again.
Monday, October 24th
Tonight was a major victory in terms of my writing struggles. I wrote 4.5 pages of this project that I have been avoiding for months. It's a painful thing, to avoid that which you love because you fear it. I won't go too far into it in fears of revealing my tortured psyche to a not ready audience, but suffice to say, I have a lot riding on this project. I've assigned to it more psychic weight than it should actually carry. Step two is to remove some of that pressure and just be thankful for the process. The long tortuous process. But I did it. Those 4.5 pages are most likely rubbish, but they give me a place from which to start, to edit, and to change. I actually know what my argument is, and that is a huge battle won. Many pages to go, but I'm going!
Sunday, October 23rd
I was reading through my Great Britain journal tonight in preparation for more travel posts. I'm incredibly behind, if you haven't noticed. It's been five months. I arrived back home five months ago. It seems like much, much longer. It feels like a dream. I'm so glad I have this journal, because otherwise, I would fear that it did not happen. And yet, the jumpy excited feeling in my chest when I think about London is not manufactured. So I'm writing about these things and places, in hopes to recapture them. Of course, the experiences would be more vivid if I hadn't waited five months, but oh well. I do know I'm different; I know that trip changed me. The big and temporary ways I felt were so obvious have mellowed into quieter, permanent ways. I am ever so thankful for the experience. More than I can say.
Saturday, October 22nd
Sorry, but I have another Downton Abbey entry. There's just something about Mr. Bates. Fans of the show know exactly what I'm talking about. He's older - mid-forties - and mildly attractive. He's a little rotund and he walks with a limp. Not exactly a heartthrob. Why he's so attractive is he gives everyone who deserves it the utmost respect and loyalty. This quality is his most defined characteristic, portrayed in many ways by his relationships. In an age when the radio stations play songs about relationships composed of sexual attraction and control, we don't see that. I don't know about the rest of the world, but I want to be wooed with devotion and loyalty. I want to be told I'm beautiful, but more than that, I want to be respected. I know it's not too much to ask for a Mr. Bates-ish type man.
Friday, October 21st
I'm not very good at adapting. Change frightens me, because I cannot predict what will happen. I am far more comfortable with what I know. Yet, I've spent a lot of time in Downton Abbey over the last few days, watching the family learn to adapt with wars and wounded and loss during World War I. I realize that my life is simple. My life is safe. It is wonderful and beautiful. My job will change, and my relationships will change, and my needs and desires will change. But it is not likely at this point that I will deal with all of the men of my generation going to fight in trench warfare, see them come home without pieces of themselves. Life changes. And I want to learn to be flexible, to bend and twist like a willow, because that is less painful than snapping in two.
Thursday, October 20th
I am both soul-weary and body-weary. My body isn't used to me pushing it quite this hard - it's more used to eating donuts. And my soul has had a lot of time to mull over things, like the fact that a video of the beating and murder of a very bad man is making the rounds on the internet. My soul is tired by those things, tired and sad because it shows how we are still depraved and grotesque human beings, capable of so much yet mired by our own curiosity and vanity. But you know what? Joy is all around, even with terrible things going on in the world. Mothers hug their babies and good tea is steeped and (for now) books are still caressed as eyes dance across them. So I will dwell on these things as I crawl into bed and sleep until tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 19th
Today was a weird day. Everything just felt a bit off-kilter, with morning meetings moved to the afternoon, and late lunches, and the announcement of ticket sales that completely exploded my concentration. Regardless, the most exciting news of the day is a) Mumford and Sons (only my favorite band after Switchfoot) is coming to Portland, and b) I am going. My excitement has died down into an undercurrent of joy and anticipation that will be bubbling under my surface for the next six weeks. Now is when I start praying that nothing happens to me before then, but I'm pretty sure I'd need to be in a coma and/or hospitalized for me not go to this concert. I forget how much I really do love music, good soul music. And I love it live. 2011 has been a good year for concerts. Finishing out the year well. Thank you, Jesus.
Tuesday, October 18th
My work-out today was extra long because I wanted to see the end of a Bones episode. Lots of gross dead people on Bones. Then I was rowing and listening to Switchfoot's latest album and I had this pressing on my heart, a girl I know whose brother recently died. I thought of another friend who lost her father last week. On my commute home, I actually saw the hospital near to my house. How many people there are feeling life slip away? "Where I Belong" was playing, Switchfoot's anthemic and powerful final song on Vice Verses. It is a song about death being welcome - "Until I die I'll sing these songs, On the shores of Babylon" - because we don't belong here on this broken and dusty Earth. It's about life and death, not being afraid but being glad to go home. I wanted to laugh and cry.
Monday, October 17th
Yesterday, I sat at my little writing desk in the corner of my apartment for quite a while, looking at a half-written letter to a man I hardly know. It was hard to find the words - for him and for me and for anyone else who would read it. My scars are not a secret. Most of the time I don't speak about them because they're so much part of me it'd be like mentioning I have two arms or ten toes - of course I do. But in outing myself, my past with a cancerous tumor, I have both labeled and freed myself. I wonder - am I bragging? Am I asking to be noted? Am I just being honest? I always doubt my motives, for good or for ill. Regardless, I am incredibly thankful for the responses of my readers. You mean more than I can say.
Sunday, October 16th
I recently started attending a Friends (Quaker) church, which observes open-worship during morning services. At the most basic level, it is a time of silence where people can share with the congregation if they feel so moved. The last few Sundays I have been using the time to journal and write out prayers, acknowledging them to myself and to God. Today, I had a complete epiphany about both my writing anxiety and my personal frustrations: I am D.R. Davenport. To explain, D.R. is the character I am struggling to write about. We are very different, but at the core of ourselves, we are struggling with the same things. There are many parallels. And when I'm frustrated because I can't figure out D.R.'s journey, I also am frustrated because I can't figure out my own. The beautiful thing is that D.R. finds peace, is redeemed. And I will be too.
Saturday, October 15th
I've had a lot of recent writing anxiety. Today I met with my new writing group - well, it was less of a group and more of a duo, due to conflicts for others in the group. Even so, it was refreshing and helpful. I love-love-love talking about writing - the process, the outcome, ways to refine and strengthen what already is. It feels wonderful to use my toolbox that has gotten dusty over my years outside of academia. I hope I was able to help Koh with her poem - which was lovely - and she was able to help me talk through some of my issues regarding this paper I've been anxious about and struggling with. It was just a reminder that community is better than being alone; that others can strengthen and assist you in ways you can't help yourself.
Friday, October 14th
Pardon another Twitter reference, but I'm following this young author who I heard speak at a panel last weekend at Wordstock. The author is from Louisiana, and his first two books were set in that area. For his third, he used his time in Portland to "scout" the place, get the feel for it so he can write about it. Now he's down in southern California, and his Tweets are filled with awe and wonder, photos of beaches and the Pacific. He's helping me remember what I've forgotten, now so acclimated to this area and used to the beauty of the ocean. I remember what it was like to move here from the Midwest, to see mountains in the distance and the brown rice-grains of sand at the coast. It's nice to be reminded that I am surrounded by the most gorgeous of landscapes, and I need to see it.
Thursday, October 13th
Sometimes I don't believe that there are still wise men in the world. That all of the wisdom the world contains has been said in all of the ways possible. I'm wrong, as proved nearly daily by Bob Goff. I first heard his name in a Donald Miller book, described as one of the most inspiring and Godly men Miller knows. I found him on Twitter recently, and because it's so easy, started "following" him. His tweet today said, "When we let go of a few things that don't matter, we make room for many that do. It's Thursday. Quit something." And I did. Sure, it's less than 140 characters, and it's just thoughts of a normal man with no supernatural powers, but it was what I needed to read today. And it inspired me to do something. That is wisdom, and I am very thankful for it.
Wednesday, October 12th
I've started something new this week - writing in the morning. I bought a composition notebook with a marbled black and white cover, and each morning (or day, depending on how rushed my morning was), I write one page. So far, it's been a lot of whining and self-pitying, nothing I'd ever want anyone else to see. That is the wonderful beauty of it. No one else will. I love blogging; I love putting my writing out for the world to see, and I crave people's responses. But I needed something that was just for me, where I could complain and write silly conversations and not worry about what anyone else thinks. It's both cathartic and freeing, and it gets me writing in the morning as well as in the evening. Plus, I get to use my TARDIS pen, so I really can't go wrong.
Tuesday, October 11th
I feel like I almost have the full house of friends who are undergoing massive life changes - I just need someone who is pregnant. I'm so excited for my friends who are recently married, getting married, buying a house, enjoying a little baby, exploring a new love. It's exquisite to watch. But then I begin to believe that life is about those big changes, that they are what make life interesting and worthwhile and meaningful. That's wrong by a mile. I have to believe that life is contained in the little things. The delicious chocolate-covered waffles. The snorting laughter of a friend. Commenting on inside work jokes. Listening to Harry Potter audiobooks at the gym. The smells of coffee woven into my new soft sweater after a coffee date. And celebrating with friends as their lives change, knowing they will celebrate with you when yours does. It's just life.
Monday, October 10th
Fall is definitely here in Oregon. Today was gloomy and cloudy and cold. Not too cold in temperature but cold that seeps through your skin and tells you that it'll be around for a while. I had to use my windshield wipers on both of my commutes. I made it home before the impressively aggressive rainstorm that reared up against my windows, like the sky split its zipper and dumped its reserve in a massive sheet. It was gone as quickly as it came, but it brought that cold, the one that hugs my bones and says, it's beginning. I try to love fall. I do love the changing colors and the warm drinks and the cozy sweaters. But I don't love the thought of gloom for the next eight months. And in fall, I see the death of things, and I'm not reconciled to that either.
Sunday, October 9th
Inspiration is days that begin with a good word from a wise man that challenges a congregation. Inspiration is writers who bust their butts to do what they must, and never give up, even though they are told one hundred times that their love, their writing, is no good. Inspiration is a community that helps, supports, laughs with, and makes each other better in their craft. Inspiration is chocolate-covered waffles and honest conversations about God and lateness and boys near the window of a cafe. Inspiration is a peal of laughter I haven't heard in a year as we reminisce about high school and life since then over garden burgers. Inspiration is old theaters and cheap movies and getting lost on the way home. Inspiration is being alone, being with old and friends, and being in the car, hearing the voices of my family. I am inspired by perfect days.
Saturday, October 8th
After much conversation, it finally happened. My former boss Rick and I finally hosted a reunion at my alma mater of folks who worked at the writing center, doing consultations with their fellow students on papers and studying and the like. It was a small turn-out, but it was composed of people who really like each other and have fine memories of the work they did. And then I went and had another reunion with a group of girls who surround a soon-to-be bride with love and kisses and cookies. I hadn't seen most of these ladies in a while - life gets in the way - but we laughed and decorated wedding cookies and just generally loved each other. That's what I think of when I think of reunions - not those awkward high school reunions where everyone tries to one-up each other. No, I think of love.
Friday, October 7th
Today, I had every intention of going to the gym. My gym bag was packed, I had blocked out the time, and I knew it wouldn't be too busy, as only lame people work out on Fridays (sigh). I just wanted to avoid I-5 because the Friday traffic turns me into an incredibly angry and homicidal individual. So I went the back way. Without directions. Well, I used directions for part of it, but then thought I remembered the route. I deviated. And I missed the turn. And I found myself way past the gym. So it took me twice as long to reach home, I didn't go to the gym, and I didn't work out at home. Instead, I ate macaroni and cheese and chocolate for dinner, and sat on my couch like a lazy bum. Glad I avoided being lame!
Thursday, October 6th
It's that time of year: fall television is back, and I'm a little too excited about it. Sometimes, I fear my attachment to fictional characters is stronger than it should be. I was pleased to see my characters come back, like seeing old friends who have been gone for the summer. Greeting Leslie Knope, finding out how she plans to run her campaign. Finding out who the new manager of the Office is. Predicting how the study group is going to handle Biology. And yet I just love stories. I love learning and growing with characters. Granted, they can never replace real interaction with real people; it's just that real people are messy, and TV people learn lessons in 25 minutes, and I can celebrate that and learn from it. It usually takes me a bit longer than 25 minutes, though.
Wednesday, October 5th
Tonight Hannah and I rode the MAX into downtown Portland to see a movie. The movie was about cancer. I wanted to see it, because I have this strange relationship with the disease. I guess I view it somewhat like how people view their family trees. They want to see where they come from, ultimately how they came to be who they are. They have a detachment, and yet they're insanely curious, digging up details, factoids that might explain this or that. They need a connection - they need it to feel whole. And while I don't have an insane curiosity about the whole cancer experience, I feel like it's part of me that I want to understand, to feel something about. It makes me unique, different, and a little broken. We all have those things, I guess. Something to think about.
Tuesday, October 4th
There's this project that I've been putting off for ages. There are many reasons, the main one being that I'm afraid. This project could turn into something great, and because I'm afraid of failing, I keep it in a state of limbo. For some reason I think that if I don't start, I can't fail. Tonight, I made myself sit down at my new desk and work. Of course, as soon as I did, a million things I "needed" to do popped up. Some I rejected - like doing the dishes - and some I indulged - like getting tea. I am my own worst enemy, and this whole discipline thing is hard and not that much fun. And yet - I have to try. I have to work and cultivate this habit of discipline. I need to do something that matters. Even if I fail, I'll have done something.
Monday, October 3rd
Sunday, October 2nd
There's this project that I've been putting off for ages. There are many reasons, the main one being that I'm afraid. This project could turn into something great, and because I'm afraid of failing, I keep it in a state of limbo. For some reason I think that if I don't start, I can't fail. Tonight, I made myself sit down at my new desk and work. Of course, as soon as I did, a million things I "needed" to do popped up. Some I rejected - like doing the dishes - and some I indulged - like getting tea. I am my own worst enemy, and this whole discipline thing is hard and not that much fun. And yet - I have to try. I have to work and cultivate this habit of discipline. I need to do something that matters. Even if I fail, I'll have done something.
Monday, October 3rd
On my way to work, there used to be a field. It wasn't a very big field, but it was grassy and weedy and just a general field. Then, all of a sudden, big machines appeared and started digging. Men showed up, wearing hard hats. They worked most of the time, not just standing around like many construction guys I've seen. And a big concrete mixer came and the foundation was laid, and then one day I drove past and there were walls, rising up out of the ground. It was like magic. Suddenly, it looked like it would be a building. One with walls and a ceiling and a floor, doors and windows and hallways. I might have cheered. Today, we see so little made. It's all done in factories in China. We so easily lose sight of what our hands can do, with a little work and knowledge.
Sunday, October 2nd
It's October already. I feel like September just honked its horn at me as it raced by. It's feeling like fall in Oregon - the rain clicking on the windows, the air crisp when it isn't wet. The trees are changing their green outfits for more flamboyant ones of red and gold. And I'm still being brave. That's what this year is about. It's working - I'm learning to try new things and actually like it. This weekend, I consented to try something new that scares me, I went roller-skating (scary - and potentially painful, though I never fell and just shuffled around the rink like a child), and I went to a new church service. All of these things take great emotional effort for me, but somehow, it's getting easier. I'm still scared, but I know that it'll be worth it. And if it isn't, well, that's okay too.
Saturday, October 1st
The Doctor Who season finale aired tonight. It was a bit of a letdown. I’m a forever fan; I’ve poured too much of my heart and soul into the show. But the episode didn’t live up to the hype, in my humble opinion. I realize that I’ve never watched the show live – I watched all five previous seasons in the space of about six weeks after my best friend moved out last summer. This was the first season when I watched each episode as it aired. Basically, it was a lot of anticipation, a lot of overflowing of emotion. And I didn’t quite get the payoff my emotions needed. I wanted to laugh and cry, be afraid and ecstatic. And it didn’t happen. I am thankful for how things ended up. And I’ll love the Doctor forever. So that’s where we leave season six. See you at Christmas, Doctor!
Friday, September 30th
I’m redecorating, and I decided to make a main wall a pictorial tribute to some of my recent travels. So I started looking through some old photos from my time in Papua New Guinea. It was…unreal. Literally. I felt like it had never happened, like these were photos from someone else’s trip. The memories are simply a fog, like a movie I saw once but can hardly remember. Did it actually happen? Was I actually there? If I didn’t have the photos and the eyewitness testimony of my fellow teammates, I would have trouble confirming. It’s an experience I don’t have a “box” for – it wasn’t a vacation, it wasn’t a school trip, and it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. As I looked through those photos, though, I remembered glimpses of the beauty and the pain. While it wasn’t enough, it’s what I have for now.
Thursday, September 29th
I was told tonight by a good friend that I am one of the most stubborn people she knows. I had to laugh, because she knows some pretty stubborn people and I don’t often get called out on my stubbornness. It’s probably because I’m not belligerently stubborn. I’m quietly stubborn. Part of it I call loyalty, and part of it I call “needing my own way,” but it’s all done under the radar. If I really believe something, there is no moving me. If I feel like my way is correct and I’m being ignored, I usually do my own thing. And mostly, I’ve become more independent than I ever though I could be. That in itself is a type of stubbornness, the belief that one can be alone and be strong, while not being what society deems “whole.” I’m going to live well, right, and strong, and that’s that.
Wednesday, September 28th
They keep playing that song – “If I die young, bury me in satin” – and I cannot get used to it. It gives me the creeps and makes me sad (also I sing along to it loudly). I always think of the funerals it has been/will be played at, funerals of young girls who were hit by drunk drivers, or had cancer, or were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It glorifies young death, just like Housman’s poem “To An Athlete Dying Young,” and is filled with fluffy spirituality like you often hear at funerals. Also, it’s extremely catchy. Because of these things, I hate it. But I also remember being certain as a youngster that I would die an early, tragic death. I was afraid and yet I craved it. To be remembered such… Now, I’m realizing it’s braver to live. Death is easy, but life is hard.
Tuesday, September 27th
My mom always complains that when all of her kids go back to school after Christmas break, the dog can't handle it. Gracie, our boxer, wanders the house aimlessly, whining and wanting to be played with. It drives my mother insane. I always assume that she projected her own emotions onto the dog, as I imagined it is quite quiet after the bustling week before, full of warmth and sweetness. And I got to experience it myself today, as I watched my parents' car get smaller in the distance as they headed up to Canada. The silence of my apartment seems so deafening, and instead of feeling cramped and cozy, it feels dark and a little big. But this too will pass - I'm glad they could visit my home. I just understand the sadness of puppies and mommas now.
Monday, September 26th
My parents are some of my favorite people. I'm lucky in that regard. Even in high school, I never hated them - I fought with them, on occasion, and they irked me, but I have always been immensely thankful to have been raised by people who love me with a supernatural love. I look around me at the broken relationships some of my friends have with their parents and the pain that those losses cause both parties. And then I looked at my mom and dad, sitting in my furniture in my apartment, after a long day of exploring and shopping, watching Inspector Lewis on PBS, eating M&Ms. Sure, it's tricky trying to figure out how to be friends and parents/child when I'm 24 and both very independent and very much wanting to not feel alone in my decisions. But I'm thankful for their patience, their grace, and their love.
Sunday, September 25th
I've never been a great lover of change. I prefer comfort and familiarity and nostalgia. What I know, I trust and I love. But every once in a while, I get a hankering to try something different. It usually coincides with some other life change, and so far it's mostly involved furniture. Thank God for my dear parents, who drove me back and forth to Goodwill and Target this weekend, giving me input on what essential items I need to complete my living space. And then they did the grunt work, picking up the furniture and moving it here or there. And it looks excellent. The energy flow is better, it feels more spacious, and I actually use all of my furniture now. My desk sits near a window, I have more counter space, and it just feels better. Change is good.
Saturday, September 24th
I was at the beach today, for the first time in over a year. Stepping onto the sand was seeing it like the last and first times all over again. It's different grains of sand, different drops of the ocean, but the same beach. Today the wind was strong, like the wind when we visited Manzanita several years ago, like the wind that buffeted me on the pier in Scotland. That same wind drove sand across the ground like spirits, pelting our legs and arms. Our hairs were whipped in a frenzy, and somehow the grittiness got into our mouths. My heart finds rest on the beach. There are plenty of folks who don't like it - sand gets everywhere, children get wet - and I understand these frustrations. But where else can you feel so small and so large at all once, so in control and out of it?
Friday, September 23rd
Eighty miles north of Portland, I am sitting in the backseat of a SUV, feeling like the small girl I thought I grew out of. It’s been a while since I’ve driven a long distance with my parents, and it’s fine, just odd. Especially after this day – watching my baby sister walk alone back to her dorm room, wishing my brother a happy 21st birthday. They are so grown, and right now I feel so young. Most of the time, I feel so grown and I think they are so young. I never want this to level out – I never want to feel stuck as an adult without feeling the strange newness and anticipation of childhood. And it’s a pleasure to watch my younger siblings take tentative steps into the real world, where I am confident of their imminent success. They were taught well, and they are strong. Like me.
Thursday, September 22nd
I’m writing this on a train. I love trains. They fill my head with romantic notions of time gone by. I want an attractive man in a suit and fedora sitting next to me, smoking a cigarette (herbal, of course) reading a paper. I want to be wearing a dress with long sleeves, and I want the eyes of men to brush past me like a whisper. The man next to me would hold my elbow as I disembark, and doff his hat and disappear into the mist that often swirls around train stations. Well, in reality, I have an empty seat next to me – which is good in reality. No smoking on trains these days, also good in reality. But the sounds are still there. The rhythmic clacking of the wheels beneath me, the abrupt corners, and every once in a while, a whistle bursts out. And I smile.
Wednesday, September 21st
Small great things happened today on my commutes. On my way to work, I saw just hanging in the sky as if on hooks, were three large hot air balloons. They transported me back to my childhood, hearing Mollie barking at the sky and rushing outside to see the air filled with hot air balloons, rising up over the cornfields. We could just barely hear the whoosh of the flames, and we waved, hoping for a glimpse of a hand. On my commute home, I was again returned to childhood by the song "Kiss Me," sung by Sixpence None the Richer. The song is probably at least a decade old, but the happy melody and cheerful lyrics ring just as true today. Obviously, they were ahead of their time, because the song fits in today's musical culture easily. It's a beautiful song, and it made me smile
Tuesday, September 20th
I'm a big fan of stores filled with books. Every time one closes, I feel a little piece of my heart shrivel up (I miss you, Borders). The most epic bookstore is probably Powell's City of Books. When I arrive, I feel like I could live in that city, the stacks crammed with new and used books of obscure and commonplace tomes. Here's my problem: I'm instantly overwhelmed. I don't know how to pick, how to choose among the thousands of titles. I always struggle to make a purchase. I much prefer libraries, to be frank With libraries, there's no commitment. I can just...browse. Regardless, I spent a bit of time today in Powell's with a coupon, and agonized over my purchase, which turned out to be swell: a postcard for a friend, a gorgeous mug for myself, plus three books, one of poems, one novel, and one nonfiction.
Monday, September 19th
Her mom asked her if she could count the swifts circling in the sky. Excitedly, she bellowed, "One, two, three," continuing until reaching "Eleven-teen! There are eleven-teen!" She was right. The sky was full of swirling, whirling birds, making patterns of cyclones and whirlpools in the sky. Tiny birds, together they created black smudges over the setting sky. Too many to count, so a made-up number was most appropriate. They went around and around, preparing to enter their resting place, an old school chimney where they would cling to the walls to sleep until daylight when they would continue to migrate. We watched them, a hundred of us, sitting on blankets, drinking wine, eating pizza, mesmerized by the motion. I wonder what we looked like to them, small dots on a green blanket, sitting very still. The opposite. Eleven-teen of us all, fascinated by the other.
Sunday, September 18th
Today I was tired. I'm realizing how much I need to regulate myself and my activities. Blame The Introvert Advantage - it made me more cognizant of how my energy levels fluctuate. I knew it'd be a long week. It was lovely, because I saw so many of my favorite people, mostly in just small groups, but still - I got to Sunday and I was exhausted. Church was a strain, and I even left during the fellowship time to avoid people and do some grocery shopping. And so, on my day off when I was supposed to be productive, I was lazy. I was tired. I laid on my couch and took in media like I was thirsty. While I regret not getting a bit more done, I don't regret taking the time for myself, to unwind. I need that downtime - otherwise, I struggle to function effectively.
Saturday, September 17th
I really like to look like I have it all together - things are easier that way. People don't ask how you are with that knowing look. I also feel pressure to know where my life is going and pretend like I'm not completely baffled about my next steps. The truth is ugly. It shows me to be a whiny, indecisive slacker marked with apathy and a lack of self-control. And so today I did not put my best foot forward. I was honest instead of perfect, and I came out looking like a mess. I know this friend wasn't expecting so much ... revelation. And I know this friend does not admire the qualities I displayed today. Because I want this person to love me, I should have lied...but I didn't. And while it hurt like the blazes, it also soothes.
Friday, September 16th
Watching Sherlock tonight with my friend Koh, I could almost pretend that I was back in the U.K. Never mind that I watched Sherlock on my flight home, and that Koh's room was vastly different from my Oregon apartment. It was more the feeling - seeing places you recognize, talking about things you remember, and feeling that it's not so far away right now. I can't believe it's been four months since I've been back. Might as well be a million years for how close I feel to London and Edinburgh now. But in all my life, I will never regret going to Great Britain. Sure, I could have bought a new car or paid off my loans. Those things never could have given me what my U.K. trip gave me - joy. Freedom. Strength. And a love for people I don't understand. Overly sentimental, yes. But true.
Thursday, September 15th
I was glad to be sitting in the back row tonight, because I admit I wept through the first fifteen minutes of the first act. The story itself was beautiful, I couldn't deny that. It's just that I was watching a dream come true. A literal dream that was actually happening. I remember when they said the words, "We're going to start a theatre company." And then they said it again. And then they chose a name. Created some incredible connections. Chose a season. Held auditions. Started rehearsals. Painted a room into a stage. Started selling tickets. And suddenly, after aches and pains and money and stress and no sleep - it was on its feet. Actors were saying Caleb's lines and moving where Stephen told them. And the most beautiful part? The characters were real, telling real stories. It was everything. It was beautiful.
Wednesday, September 14th
Today was all about Michael and Amy. Thank God for Groupon, because at 7 p.m., I was sitting in a seat, waiting to see Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith make their grand entrance. The crowd was a little different from my usual concert: stately, composed, gray-haired (or tastefully dyed), suits and skirts. Everyone there looked like they were probably an elder at their local church. But every once in a while, I caught glimpses of them as they were, listening to Amy and Michael on vinyl or 8-track or cassette tape, young and energetic. I have my own story, though of course in mine, I am much younger, dancing around the kitchen to "Baby Baby" while my mother dances with my baby brother. We all had grown up with these two people, these strangers. These friends. And the concert tonight reminded us why we love them so much.
Tuesday, September 13th
I watched part of The Biggest Loser last season. I've never been big on sports or working out, so it was fascinating how much psychology, the real life junk of people, impacts their view of themselves and their bodies. I'm not thin, but I'm working (suddenly motivated) at becoming more healthy: going to the gym, eating less chocolate, more veggies and other green things. I also bought Jillian Michael's 30. Day. Shred. Jillian is the scary trainer on the Biggest Loser, and she's just as scary when she's shouting at you about lunges and push-ups and jumping jacks. I kept praying for Bob to pop out and tell me I was doing a good job, but no luck. Well, today, I can barely move. Are you happy, Jillian? Is this what you wanted? (Somehow I imagine she'd be pleased)
Monday, September 12th
For me, part of the joy of doing fun things is the anticipation. I plan things because I'm rigid and controlling (semi-joking), but also because you can't anticipate spontaneity. You can't look forward to it. That defeats the purpose. I love feeling the excitement grow day by day, feeling the date on the calendar eek ever closer. That jittery feeling in your stomach as you get in the car. Bouncing up and down as you wait in line. Finding your seat and waiting for the lights to go down. And once they do, your face is vibrant with expectation. I have things to look forward to this week and next. It's good to have things that are coming up, things to feel excited about. Life is more excellent with anticipation.
Sunday, September 11th
Today, I cried while hearing names. I took care of myself. I prayed for a connection. I was challenged by a song, a sermon, a community. I was taken under a wing. I ate sweet watermelon. I read a book. I laughed aloud at a television show. I wrote thank you cards and a note to someone who is dying. I texted, "I love you." I watered flowers and trees. I ate frozen yogurt, rich with berries. I ran a mile outside. I did the dishes. I listened to my favorite songs. I made plans. None of those things are amazing or new or exotic. But they are how I commemorated the 10-year anniversary of the death of thousands. They can't do these things themselves; they are gone. I can, and so in their memory, I lived. Oh, the blessings of a simple life. The blessings of life itself.
Saturday, September 10th
Saturday means biking to the library. I place books in my bike basket, strap on my ridiculous bike helmet, and put in my headphones (so I can listen to my audiobook). Today, I was nearly home when I realized what I was doing. I was riding a bike. I was balancing a metal frame with two wheels and moving forward. Crazy. It was a hard thing to learn. All of those skinned knees and bruised elbows once Dad took off the training wheels. How afraid I was that he would let go of the seat. How hard it was to steer and balance at the same time. And now, I just do it without a second thought. And for that, I gave a silent "thanks" to my parents for their patience, to my body for balancing, and to my bike for getting me to the library each week.
Friday, September 9th
I love my workplace in general because it encourages employee camaraderie. Today, I had a lovely conversation with one of my co-workers. Cindy is my fellow Anglophile - we generally talk about British media, gleefully sharing our latest British gossip and television show recommendations. We started there today, but soon veered off into a deep conversation about our impressions of the culture: the black humor, the homosexuality and femininity of male comedians, and the perceived spiritual dryness of the country. Obviously, neither she nor I have any expertise in British culture, but the darker side of the culture is something I've been wrestling with lately, and it seems like she has as well. I walked away from her office feeling refreshed in the way that only a conversation of depth can produce, and with more wonderings than concrete answers. The treasure of like-minded friends.
Thursday, September 8th
Tonight I watched a movie about high schoolers. Spoiler: it ends with the quirky girl getting a dreamboat guy and the best party/prom of her life. I hate these movies because 1) they create a false expectation of high school, and 2) they make me feel like I missed out. In some ways, I did. I never had a boyfriend, and I really didn't do dances. I didn't go to parties, and I was never kissed in the rain by a quarterback. I think I went to two football games my entire high school career. Parts of me wish I had that quintessential high school experience. Then I'm reminded that it doesn't exist, and if it does, it wouldn't have made me happy. I was quite content with my AP classes, my stage managing of a 100 member cast musical, my choir gigs and youth group events. No regrets.
Wednesday, September 7th
Some days adulthood descends on me like a heavy blanket. Days like today when I have multiple returns to do at multiple stores, a shower to scrub, three loads of laundry to do. I'm trying to be healthy, to exercise and eat well, but there's only so many hours in the day. I don't know how my married friends get it all done, and I'm boggled at my friends with children. I have only me, and that's too much sometimes. I'm utterly spent tonight. Yet, it's a good tired, one that speaks to jobs well done. It wasn't all work - I watched my favorite episodes of Community while I did the dishes, and David Walliams spurred me on via Youtube while I did push-ups. Let's not forget Harry Potter, my companion as I water a friend's plants. Now, to bed. After I get the laundry out of the dryer.
Tuesday, September 6th
New theory: you can tell a lot about a man by which of the women on Mad Men he finds most attractive. Does he go for Joan, the hourglass and a half with complete power? Betty, the quintessential housewife, blonde and poised? Peggy, slightly dumpy but brilliant and confidant? Midge, the artist? Rachel, the powerful businesswoman? Trudy, the spoiled naive newlywed? I'm only on season one, but in my mind, for the men, there's little contest. I mean, Pete's a jerk, and Stirling's a cad. Cooper's strange, and I can never remember the other three guys' names. I do like the one with glasses. Don Draper outshines them all. Why, oh why? Sure, he looks fabulous in a suit and fedora, cigarette in one hand, scotch in the other. But he's a cheater and a liar. And yet...he's broken and attractive. The power of a good suit cannot be overemphasized.
Monday, September 5th
Jess and I tried a new recipe. It was an easy recipe. Also, a disaster. Being late, we took it out of the oven too early and it was burning hot on the way to rehearsal. When it had finally cooled enough, we found the bars were far more dough than cookie. I took it home to re-bake it. The pan didn't fit in my baby oven, so I had to cut it up and separate it into two other pans - easier said than done. To fit, one of the dishes had to be very close to the top of the oven, so the tops of the bars got browned while the bottoms were ignored. Also, I set my potholder on fire. Finally, I brought it back to the rehearsal, where people ate the bars and pretended they were delicious. It's the thought that counts. I have great friends.
Sunday, September 4th
The internet is bad for me. There are multiple reasons, time-wasting being number one. Also, it makes me care about people I don't know. Twitter, Facebook, and blogs give us insight into people. I enjoy learning about other people, feeling connected in a increasingly disconnected world. But, on occasion, I start worrying about complete strangers. A writer I follow on Twitter has the common depressive writer tendencies, and he recently broke up with a long-term girlfriend. Over Twitter and blog posts, I saw him spiral into a funk fueled by alcohol and self-pity. I wanted to comfort him and remind him about joy in the world, but then I remembered - I don't actually know him. He doesn't need my pity, because it means nothing without love attached. I have to let go of the people I do not know and give all I have to the people I love.
Saturday, September 3rd
I look ridiculous in a bike helmet. In these last few days of summer, I'm riding my bike around town as much as possible. My little hometown is only about five miles across at the most, so everything is within biking distance. On the weekends, when the sun is high and the days are warm, I have few excuses to make. I do actually enjoy it quite a bit. But it's not the cute little hipster version of biking that I have in my head. Sure, I have the old-style cruiser and bike basket, and I'm usually wearing pinstripe shorts and a cardigan, but the helmet ruins it all. Too bad I was scared horribly by the "Don't Thump Your Melon" bicycle safety initiative South Dakota had in the early 90s. I guess I'll take the nerdy helmet over dying on the pavement. Not the hipster way to go.
Friday, September 2nd
My Friday nights usually end around 11pm - I'm a wild animal, I know - but tonight was an exception. My friends are all busy, as am I, and so we grabbed a chance to hang out after chores and rehearsals. Ice cream at midnight, laughing like life had never been so funny. We took turns pulling up our favorite classic Youtube video - all stupid, most involving animals - and had that laugh we had been waiting for all week. I was struck by how different all of our senses of humor are. Different things tickle our funny bones. But one person laughing made the rest of us laugh, and it didn't matter anymore. I personally don't think talking cats are funny, but because Jessie does, I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. Friends who are different than you are good. Laughter is beautiful.
Thursday, September 1st
We take walks twice a day, 11 am and 4 pm. It's a varied bunch, whoever is dying to get out of the office or doesn't have a meeting at that time. We have a route we walk, exactly one mile. We also have our landmarks that we note on every walk that mean nothing to the casual observer, but everything to us: Hacker, Sad Tree, Camper, Dog Work, Pimp Corner, Mormonland, the Widowmaker. And now we have Google lane. We saw the Google car, the one that maps out the Google Earth view of neighborhoods and streets. We celebrated with delight at the possibility that we might be on Google maps. Of course, they'll blur our faces out and we'll be unrecognizable, but hey, fame is fame. In a world where nothing is permanent, we'll take our 15 minutes (seconds) of glory wherever we can get them.
Wednesday, August 31st
I've always been sad about August ending. It meant summer was dying, waning, bringing on cold and winter and the baggage it brings. Granted, where I grew up, it was often bitterly cold by the end of October. Halloween costumes needed to fit over snowsuits. School also started mid to late August, and so adios August meant hello to the stress and anxiety of school. This year, though, I'm not in school. The semester has started and my work is slowing down. The first leaves are turning colors other than green. And while I'm not anxious for the rain to start up again, I am excited for the cooler weather, the cardigans and hot cider. A change. Change can be good and needed and anticipated. And to herald that change, I even changed the background on my computer. Yeah. I'm changing too. September, I'm glad you're here.
Tuesday, August 30th
There's this episode of a show I really like (fine, it's Doctor Who) called "Turn Left," and it's all about what would happen if a woman had turned right instead of left. It messes up the entire universe. I think about what-ifs on occasion. Today, I nearly didn't go to the gym because the interstate was backed up. I had a choice - turn left for the gym and right for home. I doubt the world would have ended or my life would have been changed significantly, but I had a decision to make. I firmly believe that God sees all of time and space, that he has the foreknowledge of our future actions. What we choose is what we choose - there are no alternate options. Life could have gone differently, but wasting time on what may have been is fruitless, because it simply is not. I turned left.
Monday, August 29th
I get attached to characters and moments. This goes for television and movies, perhaps more than books. I watch too much television, but I also believe that good can come from a shining box. I am not often a passive consumer. Each episode I watch brings a different perspective to my table, and I sit with it, eat with it, try to understand it. Take Doctor Who, for example. It has taught me more about life and how we as humans interpret it - with or without God - than many books I've read. Its stories and characters help me look at life in a different way, challenging me with how I interpret the universe, and showing glimpses of Divine Truth]. I understand the need for discretion when it comes to media, for self-control and caution. But I also understand that if I am thinking, I am learning.
Sunday, August 28th
I went to a church today where the pastor spoke on Psalm 19. Towards the middle of the passage, the psalmist writes about how wonderful are the decrees of God. The pastor then spoke about the power of God's word when it dwells within. He invited the congregation to share different phrases, passages, and verses from the Bible that have impacted them. Because I went to an earlier service, there were a lot of grey-haired folks there, people who have been attending that church for many years. I heard gravelly voices ring out all over the sanctuary as, one at a time, they shared the words that had carried them through marriage, children, jobs, homes, moving, loss, scarcity and plenty. They had lived with those words for many years, and this fact made the words live and sing in a rich and moving way. It was a privilege to hear.
Saturday, August 27th
Finally this day arrived. I had been waiting and waiting for three long months: the return of Doctor Who. I do love this British brilliant bonkers sci-fi television show about a madman with a box. I blocked out basically my entire afternoon to reacquaint myself with the Who-verse in preparation for the new episode. Jessie stopped by, and ended up staying for a bit to escape her too-warm apartment. She knows of my love for Doctor Who, rolling her eyes many a time. But she had never watched it. Long story short, she is HOOKED. This, of course, gives me great delight. Someone else who knows about Amy and Rory and the Doctor, the TARDIS and the Daleks. Someone who sees the hope wrapped in a silly television serial, Someone else who understands the magic of possibility and promise, of rescuing and loving and traveling through time. Validation!
Friday, August 26th
I work for a program that - in short - awards college credit to students for life experiences. Part of my job is to distribute and record the essays for evaluators. In order to send the essays to the appropriate evaluator, I need to read or at least skim the essays. In doing so, I realize just how blessed my life has been. Yes, I was - and still am, in some ways - sheltered from the bleakness of the world. But my heart is in one piece and life is a peaceful one. Some students have been abused, struggled through loss, seen children broken. Still, hey are who they are because of these painful experiences. I am thankful to have an unbroken heart, but I am also in awe of those brave enough to survive the cracks and tears. To learn from life is a beautiful thing.
Thursday, August 25th
I now have a gym membership. It was free. The gym is a fancy part of town, right across from an expensive and stylish shopping center. The well-lit arena walls are plastered with pictures of Lance Armstrong that are far larger than life. The women on the machines are tanned and toned, with dry-fit workout tops and skin-tight leggings. They are running hard but not too hard, not sweating somehow. The men are worse, bronzed gods of fitness, scoping the ellipticals for cute girls. Well, these are the folks that my eyes are drawn to, anyways. There are also middle-aged men, working off their paunches and risk of heart attack. Women who are just now, after kids are grown up healthy and strong, worrying about their own health and fitness. Married couples who do crunches together. These people remind me that it's not a competition - it's just a gym.
Wednesday, August 24th
I've been spending a fair amount of time in the small town of Dibley lately, and I quite enjoy it. I think, though, I've been spending less time being present in my hometown. I'm quite good at being dull and quiet, but I'm realizing I'm not good at just being. I always need some sort of noise, something in the background. I don't want to waste away, consuming stories and flickering lights but not producing anything of value...or anything at all. I love media - it teaches me about the world and helps me think about things in a different way - but I'm tired of it feeding me truth that doesn't taste good. Needless to say, I'm committed to cutting back my time sitting in front of a screen. Instead, I want to sit in the sunshine, a page in front of my eyes, a notebook by my side.
Tuesday, August 23rd
I admit it: there's something about a man in uniform. Today I was at Fred Meyer over lunch, milling about the produce section while my friends did their grocery shopping. Three men in uniforms from the local firehouse, fairly close by, were checking out the watermelons (cue bawdy jokes here). And they were attractive. Not just because they were fit and confident - there's something incredibly sexy about a man who wears his profession on his chest as a passion. Now I don't know if those men love their jobs, but they can't pretend to be anything else while wearing their uniforms. They are marked as doing a specific task, and everyone can see it. These men wore their clothes as if they were proud of their profession, and that sort of confidence in purpose is extremely attractive. Let's hear it for men in uniform!
Monday, August 22nd
I woke up on a couch in a living room finally free from the yesterday's heat. Hannah dozed to my left on the white couch, and Jen and Anna sprawled over the floor. My belly was still full with chocolate peanut butter fondue and the assortment of items we scrounged from Anna's kitchen to dip in the melty goodness. We all ate far too much, then lay on the floor gawking at videos of how to place and remove glass eyes. Too full to move, we played Mad Gabs until our eyes felt too heavy -- only around 11, but we're working girls now and morning came early, No one said that sleepovers had to end in middle school, or high school, or even college. Work can't ruin our fun, nor marriage, nor adulthood. There's always room for chocolate and laughter and Mad Gabs in the last heat of summer.
Sunday, August 21st
Reading back through these diary entries makes me smile. So many of them end with gratefulness for what I have and who I am. The little things in life really make it lovely - good tea, chocolate desserts, live jazz, silly friends with silly inside jokes and much laughter. I grew up in a family that valued thankfulness, evidenced in the requirements of writing thank-you notes after every birthday and Christmas. In longhand, we were expected to share our gratitude: not just for the actual item, but for the thought, the expense, and the care showed in even giving a gift. And so I am writing little notes to people for little things they have given me, because I want them to know that I am thankful for them, for their friendship, and their love, not just one day a year but the other 364 as well. Thank you.
Saturday, August 20th
Mark the GRE as conquered. It's been a long while since I've been so academically nervous. I never worried about standardized tests as a student. I've always tested well, and the SAT gave me few qualms. I felt it was supposed to be a summary of what I already knew, so I didn't study at all. I did just fine. The GRE had a different feel, like it was trying to trick me, trip me up. Since it is a new test version, the practice books really had nothing to go on. So I walked in blind. Three hours later, I stood in the bright sunlight a little lighter. I don't know how I did. I answered most of the questions, and I feel pretty confident about the questions that matter. I did my best, and as my mother says, that's what matters. Now, on to graduate school applications.
Friday, August 19th
Once a year, everyone within driving distance of the main campus gathers for an all-employee meeting. It's rather like a family reunion. Faculty, staff, and administrators meet together to hear about the goals and visions for the future, with a few running stories from the president and generally some optimistic propaganda. I love it. It's easy to feel separate from the institution as a whole, because I'm on a small campus in a small program that is easily overlooked. But there, I believed I was part of something bigger. Maybe it's foolish and naive, but with so much criticism and cynicism around and inside of me, I'll hold tight to hope and love - not for the institution itself but for the people who make it up and the students it will impact. Students like who I was five years ago.
Thursday, August 18th
The other day I came across a notebook from my high school Creative Writing class. I loved that class. In this notebook was a novel I started. I hadn't written much fiction before, but I really took to my story and my idea. My dream was to be the next teenage superstar. We had a young adult novel writer come critique our stories. He said it wasn't edgy enough. It frustrated me, because I was just writing about things I liked and knew - neither of which were edgy, I suppose. I lost my chance to become a wunderkind - far too old at this point. But I have some consolation in the fact that I love my life, I love to write, and looking back at the barely-started novel now, it was actually a pretty good concept. Never too late to start again, eh?
Wednesday, August 17th
I generally have to say "I think I'll go running" for multiple days before I actually go running. I made the mistake of saying it to my friend Jen today, a lovely woman who is actually a real runner though I do not hold that against her. She said we should go running together, but then I asked her if she runs for more than a mile. Also, does she run that whole mile? As I fear our answers for both questions would differ, I'm not quite ready to run with Jen. I did run by myself today. It nearly killed me, to be frank. Ah, but geting better at something takes practice...including breathing while moving my legs. So I'll try to get up the willpower again to go tomorrow...or the next day...and maybe someday I'll be able to run with Jen. Probably not, though.
Tuesday, August 16th
I only waited a few days to find a new television show. Luckily, this one is much shorter than the last, much funnier, and talks about faith, gender, and traditions. It's a BBC comedy from the mid-90s called The Vicar of Dibley. The residents of Dibley, a small town in the UK, are shocked when they find that Gerry, the name of their new vicar, is short for Geraldine. She's a confident, honest, and self-aware woman who challenges what the the town believes about God and his people. Gerry is certain of her calling and unafraid of what others think of her. She is able to love the town, see their needs and meet them, as good if not better than any man. Plus, she is hilarious, someone I would love to chat with about love, life, and God. Her dirty jokes are too good to be true.
Monday, August 15th
I spent two hours tonight talking to my favorite blonde. It's nights like this when I am thankful to God for Skype, webcams, and the ability to see her face. She's so grown up and beautiful, ready to move out and move on. Calgary can no longer contain her, so she's moving down to be closer to me. Getting a degree also has something to do with her move, something that I can't believe she's old enough to do. I feel like it was only yesterday, or a year ago, that I was packing up my room to go to college, and her steps in that direction show me that it's been five years. I'm excited for her, for the person she will become, because these next years will shape her like none other since those first years. It'll be a beautiful thing to see, and she's more than ready.
Sunday, August 14th
So You Think You Can Dance technically ended three days ago, but schedules did not allow us to watch it together, and so we didn't. That's tradition. We avoided all news sites and skimmed over Twitter and Facebook updates, until we could all be together in one room, tonight around 9pm. We caught up briefly - birthdays, wedding plans, broken feet, moving plans - and then sat to watch the final performance show and the finale. There was a slight hiccup - the DVR we staked all of our hopes upon let us down by not recording the finale. Thanks to the Internet, we found it uploaded and ignored the jolting, grainy picture. We relived the best moments, and then, all four of us crammed on the couch, we held hands and shrieked with joy as our favorite contestant was crowned the winner around 12:30am. With that, the summer ends.
Saturday, August 13th
On this date 28 years ago, a beautiful woman with light brown hair finished a cheeseburger, touched up her lipstick, fixed her veil, and walked down an aisle towards a man in a white suit. He wanted to wear white too, because he was just as pure as she was. I saw them today over Skype. He was dancing in the background, while she showed me how long her hair was getting, her finger that she injured, and the dog. And I think about love stories, how they start out very sweet and uncertain, with neither party knowing how they'll end up. Will it work? If it does work, what will my - our - life become? This love story took them all over North America, but I'm certain that as long as they had each other, they were okay. That is something to celebrate. Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.
Friday, August 12th
I love to clean. I kick and scream on my way to the cleaning supplies, because it is SO much work and I put it off until the very last minute. But once I get started, I start to relax and calm down. My friends always knew when I was upset, because I did the dishes with fury and intensity. Somehow, working with my hands on a project, even if it's just scrubbing the sink, makes me feel accomplished and poised. I've heard this about intellectuals who do ceramics or carve wood or even run marathons. Getting out of the headspace and into the physical is so necessary. I like to have a clean house - it helps me feel in control and mature. Seeing my space shine makes me feel like I have done something of value.
Thursday, August 11th
Today, my friend had her name and role changed. I have seen friends become wives after signing a white sheet of paper, but this is different. She will always be Tara but now she is mostly Mom. This being grew inside of her for nine months, but she just met him today. She knew his every move, but now she sees his eyes, his hair, his little fists and feet. And he sees her, and he knows with that instinctual God-given knowing that she belongs to him. Her purpose in life has shifted. No longer must she survive for herself, but she must help this little helpless boy become a strong and loving man. Jordan has this calling too, and together they will learn to be parents. Mom and Dad. God on High, bless them tonight and always as they learn to be one: Tara, Jordan, and Ewan.
Wednesday, August 10th
Sick days are no fun as an adult. They never come at a convenient time for business. They make you sit back and relax, which I'm usually a huge fan of, but not when my head is throbbing and my stomach perpetually making strange noises. I prefer to actually enjoy days off - not a high priority on sick days. So instead, I just lay on my bed, watching Netflix and drinking glass upon glass of water. I was watching my British spy show, and I wondered if spies get sick. How do they manage that? I mean, they probably take extensive preventative measures. No sense sniffling through an undercover op. I don't have the constitution to be a spy. One little overtired stomach, and I'm down for the count. Also, I'm bad at keeping secrets. Mark that one off of the possible career list.
Tuesday, August 9th
Koh once called me a delightfully shameless Anglophile. I've talked about this before, but I crave British culture, pop or otherwise. It's died down a bit in the three months since I've been back (WHAT? How has it been that long?), but I still feel a kinship with those people. London has been burned, scarred and maimed. Other towns have felt the effects of looting and pillaging. It's a rape, a stripping of decency and respect. And while I know there is injustice, I firmly believe that rioting gets absolutely nothing done. It makes people angry, polarizes a nation, and punishes the innocents. Riots are agression put to motion, frustration turned into counter-production, blame assigned to people who shouldn't have to shoulder it. It makes me sad to hear about such beauty being betrayed. Can we please learn from the past? Can we learn that destruction cannot lead to creation?
Monday, August 8th
I'm big on birthdays. They're an amazing excuse to tell someone that she means something to you. I'm big on words of affirmation, so when I have nearly 50 people write on my Facebook wall to tell me happy birthday, I am completely and utterly filled with joy. It only took them a second, but it makes me feel loved, remembered, and blessed. Even more than that, if someone happens to write me a card or even just a note, I will keep it until forever as a reminder that someone cares about me. Today, I was not forgotten. I got tea, lunch, gifts from home, chocolate and peanut butter fondue, a banner, and a call from my oldest friend and his wife, who I haven't spoken to in months. Birthdays are the best - thank you for your part in making mine special. Here's to 24!
Sunday, August 7th
I needed to reclaim my Les Miserables experience. I didn't fully appreciate it the first time, despite seeing it in freaking London. While I enjoyed it, I missed out on some vital aspects that would have made my joy complete. I blamed it mostly on the understudy that I saw, which was unfair (and a bit true). Regardless, my joy was made complete tonight. On arrival to the theatre, I found I would be seeing another Valjean understudy. I said aloud, "I can't win." Well, I can and did, because this guy was fantastic. He was spot-on, with a beautiful clear voice that hit all of my favorite notes. The show was unbelievable, and in loving this version, I learned I could love the other. What a lucky girl I am, to see my favorite musical twice in one summer! I don't take that blessing for granted.
Saturday, August 6th
Portland Saturday Market is one of my favorite places to go on a quiet weekend morning. It's grown larger over the last few years, with booths from the river to the fountain and beyond. I rarely buy anything, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of pottery and photography and spoon creations. But to wander the stalls and see peoples' passions. It's a lot of work to set up and tear down out in the heat or the cold, depending on the month. But they all do it - and it can't be for the money. They have to do it because they love to create and want to share it with everyone else. Some of them even work as they sit and wait for customers - bending wire, setting rings, drawing or painting. It's wonderful to see artists at work, surrounded by other artists, on the waterfront.
Friday, August 5th
I don't go to many dinner parties. Most of the friend + dinner combinations involve pizza or a restaurant. I'm not complaining, but tonight I got to go to a dinner party. It was outside, in a backyard that smells of flowers and dirt, while the sun set behind the house. Becky's niece from Brasil made a Brasilian feast, and we drank Mexican soda pop while indulging on rice and beans, cheese balls, perfectly seasoned meat. I didn't know most of the people there, but that made it all the more better as we settled into a comfortable discussion about traveling, families, and who would be the spy among us, if there was a spy. It was not proved conclusively that there was not. The dinner party was everything summer should be, ending in the dusk with sweet Brasilian coffee and blueberries. Lovely evening with lovely women.
Thursday, August 4th
I've had some pretty good birthday parties. When I was eight or so, my party was Noah's Ark themed. My mom made an arc out of cardboard. When I was thirteen, it was Flower Power and my cake was a flower with Twinkies-petals. Turning 16 starred karaoke and live music by that really attractive guy who lead worship. But tonight's impromptu birthday party ranks up there. Birthdays are imporant to me, so I was filled with joy at a night with dear friends: pizza, wine coolers, and Father of the Bride. We paused the movie right before she goes down the aisle, and I blew out candles on the Funfetti cake, all 24 of them (okay, it took two blows). It made my night, as we walked around the Village, peering in the windows of closed shops and laughing at each other. Happy birthday to me, four days early.
Wednesday, August 3rd
I'm not sure if my headache tonight is due to a) lack of water, b) the bowl of ice cream I had, or c) the enormous amounts of vocabulary words I'm trying to cram into my tiny brain for the GRE in three weeks. I've been diligent about studying (okay, sort of), but there are too many and they are hard. Mostly, I want to give up on this whole grad school situation. It's hard and there are no guarantees and I just don't know what to do with my life. My answer has always been to just give up. But this past year has been about trying new things and not giving up when it's hard. So, though I don't know the outcome, I'm going to keep walking forward and trying. I might fail, but will that be so terrible? To try and fail? Okay, vocab book. Let's go.
Tuesday, August 2nd
I've read Divine Right's Trip by Gurney Norman three times now. I've written papers and discussed it in class, and it's only now when I'm trying to write the biggest paper of my "career" that I really understand D.R. and am touched by who he becomes. It's a trippy novel, man, about the hippie counterculture. It stars lots of drugs, a little sex, some far-out ideas, and a brightly painted VW bus called Urge. Throughout the book's first half - the part I'm studying - D.R. is broken. He's a self-described "balance freak," and he looks everywhere for this balance: hypnotic funerals, losing his name, picking up hitchhikers. He loses his girl and then goes home for the first time in years to Kentucky, the land of his ancestors, to learn about death, about community and hard work. And then he's balanced, and then he can seek Estelle again. Beautiful.
Monday, August 1st
August is my favorite month. It's only because it's my birthday month. Truthfully, it's often too warm and feels too much like the end. For most of my life, August has meant the end of summer. Schoolwork and classrooms waited , taking hold anywhere from the third week of August to the first week of September. While I loved school, I loved freedom more, self-sufficiency and reading at will. School was laced with anxiety and self-imposed pressure and crippling fears, usually concerning gym class and who to sit next to at lunch. Those things didn't change until I walked across that stage a year and a half ago. On a deeper level, I imagine August feels like what the later middle-aged years feel like: still warm, still full of life, but every once in a while, you feel the hairs on your neck prickle at the deathly cold to come.
Sunday, July 31st
I just watched the latest version of Sense and Sensibility, and I find myself so much in Elinor's character. The sense of propriety. Responsibility. Taking care of others before one's self. The suppression of feelings so that people assume they do not exist. And because of this, I will admit: some days, I find that I very much want to be married. I want someone to celebrate things with. I want someone to go to movies with. I want someone who will watch my suitcase at the airport when I go to the restroom. I want someone to help me fold towels. And I want someone to tell me I look lovely when I have tried to look so. But there is a time and a season, and I am thankful for this season. I am thankful, and like Elinor, I will wait, holding my emotions close to my heart.
Saturday, July 30th
I love small town festivals. They are wonderfully cheesy and full of that hometown folk-y goodness that you either scoff at or embrace fully. I got to be in my small town's parade, as part of my friends' new theatre company. Caleb borrowed giant puppets from his work. These are puppets that people operate from inside. Two large cone-shaped birds with giant hooked beaks had to duck under power lines. Behind them strode a raptor, his mouth opening to show teeth, his tail whipping. Children were both delighted and frightened, and their parents cheered, as the birds dipped down inches from their faces and the raptor snuck up behind them. We were the talk of the parade, and besides the excellent publicity it was for the company, it was amazing seeing the smiles on people's faces, the pure joy and excitement we left in our wake. Wonderful small town parades.
Friday, July 29th
Every afternoon's commute, I forgo my audiobook to listen to the hilarity of 105.1 The Buzz's afternoon show with Daria, Mitch, and Ted. Sure, they're occasionally ribald but they are always funny, especially Daria. I delight in their camaraderie; despite how they laugh at each other, they seem to genuinely like each other. Friday afternoons boast the Big Gay Dance Party. I don't really care what your perspective is about homosexuality and gay marriage; if the BGDP doesn't make you wiggle in your car seat, you probably have a heart of stone and I want nothing to do with you. They play the best songs: Cher, Grease, Tina Turner, the BeeGees, anything with a great disco beat. And sometimes I forget myself and do the best little dance I can while operating a motorized vehicle. It's the most fun you can have while driving on a Friday afternoon. You can quote me on that.
Thursday, July 28th
It's been over a year since she's been my roommate, but on those extremely rare nights when we are able to hang out, just the two of us, it feels like no time has passed at all. She sits on her side of the couch, and I sit on mine, curled up with feet in the middle. We eat a box of mac and cheese at 9:00 pm, while watching the premiere of Project Runway and being overly critical about the contestant's offerings and Heidi Klum's outfits. And I just feel so thankful that, even while all of my friends are transitioning into new phases of lives, finding boyfriends and fiances and husbands and homes and jobs, that some things never change. That the history we have shared is not void, but rather informs our present relationship. It's an exquisite thing, friendship. I never want to take it for granted.
Wednesday, July 27th
Today, bowling happened. We were there with a whole passel of DARE kids - you know, the drug resistance program. I guess the police do some sort of DARE summer camp. We were surrounded by incredibly energetic counselors and students, all in insanely bright t-shirts and all screaming and cheering loudly every time a ball got even close to a pin. It made me remember what I was like at that age, how I coveted the attention of the older counselors, how I wanted someone to notice me and to affirm who I was becoming. Thank God for those in youth ministry. You'll never know what you mean to those kids, and they won't be able to tell you until they are much older and perhaps far away. But you will change their lives. In related news, I'm a terrible bowler.
Tuesday, July 26th
Cindy's my British friend. I don't mean she's actually a Brit, but rather an Anglophile like me. She's a big fan of the BBC and we have long discussions about Armitage and Tennant,. Well, she's turned me on to a new show, all 9 seasons of which happen to be on Netflix instant streaming. In other news, my productivity level has dropped down to alarmingly low levels. It's interesting to see the difference between US story-telling and British. We milk moments; they tend to let them happen and move on. For instance, the death of a major character. They put it in the middle of an episode, in the middle of a season, let it happen quickly with little drama and then they continue forward. I like it, but it's jarring. I keep waiting for the sappiness, and it doesn't come. I'm always surprised - sometimes I even miss it.
Monday, July 25th
I am in love with Sherlock Holmes once again. I know I've already written about him, but I can't help it - he's my fictional crush. I always come back to him, regardless of what new fellow - actor and/or character - is en vogue. I just watched the newest interpretation - not the blockbuster one, which I could only stomach because I just let myself enjoy it and not think about that man being my Sherlock, but the BBC version, which ran as a three-part miniseries. Benedict Cumberbatch is just the perfect Sherlock - cool, lean, egotistical but endearingly naive about it. I am attracted to genius (who isn't?), so Sherlock's my man. Well, he has a few flaws - drug use, blowing holes in walls while bored, complete disregard for others' feelings. But somehow he's still endearing. And the new incarnation texts! I find that adorable.
Sunday, July 24th
We are the Finer Things Club: British Chapter. We say "capitol," drink tea, and eat digestives. Often, we eat pizza, but it isn't very distinguished or British so we don't talk about that much. We watch long BBC period dramas, discussing character choices, costumes, and what they left out from the book. It goes without saying that we also gush over men who ride horses, wear top hats, and stand when women enter the room. We are a merry little band that enjoys having an excuse to get away mentally, to go back and over to Great Britain in the late-1700s. Yes, we know that the tales are far-fetched and oppressive and unrealistic and silly. Valid for some perspectives, but not quite right. Our celebration of those stories is a celebration of what was and also a celebration of what is: our friendship here and now. Capitol, capitol.
Saturday, July 23rd
This wedding was such a joyful, blessed time to celebrate the union of two God-lovers in the midst of a huge community. And then we danced, and ate, and got burned by the sun. Heidi glowed, Caleb gleamed, and then they were off and left us with the clean-up. One of the most beautiful images from the day, though, was while most of the friends and family were lining the road, waiting for the lovely couple to come out, get in the car, and drive off to their new wedded life, I looked back at the reception area. Four or five ladies of the church were silently tearing down tables, gathering decorations, tablecloths, trash. Without being asked, they saw a need and they filled it with their hands and with their love. That is community the way Jesus intended it.
Friday, July 22nd
They're all getting married. Very soon, of my four best college friends, I will be the lone single one at the ripe old age of 24. Sometimes I stop and wonder how this happened. When did they start down a road that I haven't even found the sign for? If I'm not careful, I start to panic that I'm missing out, that I'm late, that I won't catch up. Then I catch my breath and realize, yes, they are the lucky ones; they will live their whole lives with their other half. But I am lucky too, in that I get to continue to refine myself and make myself into the best person and Christ-lover that I can be. Maybe someday, I'll find myself to be a half. But perhaps I'll find that I've always been whole.
Thursday, July 21st
And I'm roommate-less once again. I knew it was happening, obviously, but it's difference once there are gaps in the closet, and her desk is cleared off, and there's more room in the refrigerator. I've been blessed to share intimate space with two lovely girls, and share extended space with more. I'm very lucky in the people who have allowed me to walk life with them, and I'm thankful that the ones that matter have stayed in my life. It's never easy, living with another human being, as anyone can tell you, but it's quite often rewarding and certainly stretching. These women have been delights to live with ... and to marry off, apparently. I guess it's good news that they only ever leave me for boys, right?
Wednesday, July 20th
A reason that being single is the best? Sleepovers. One could argue that being married is the ultimate sleepover, but what's the fun in a perpetual sleepover? Anyway, Hannah is a great sleepover buddy. We always eat bad (read: delicious) food, have crazy adventures, and stay up late talking. Or sometimes we just lay on her sister's couch, play Disney Scene-It, and end the night with a rousing Bollywood Just Dance number on the Wii. And then we go to bed at 11. I'm realizing just how lovely it is to have a night in with someone; to relax and watch a movie, make a pizza, live cheaply and leave the exotic adventures for another day. It's a blessing in disguise as dullness.
Tuesday, July 19th
At what point you are supposed to have your own individual home-decorating style? Maybe it's when you feel you have a true home and not just a place to live in. I admit, I'm caught somewhere between the two. I've lived in the same apartment for over two years now - crazy - and I'm still figuring out how to make it feel like my space. Mostly, it's just packed with random articles - a 8x10 photo of Paul Newman titled "Paul Newman is watching you," shadow birds on the wall in the living room, a ridiculous amount of books, records hanging in the window, and a possum fur headband around the temperature control. I should grow up and consolidate and pick colors for rooms and the like, right? Well, right now I'm just enjoying being surrounded by things that make me happy. I'll be fancy later.
Monday, July 18th
I greatly admire a man named Stephen Fry. It's strange to me how few people know who he is here; on a little island in the North Sea, he's beyond famous. He's witty, ridiculously intelligent, and a good actor. Fry also has been open about his struggle with bipolar disorder, describing it as waking up in the morning and feeling absolutely worthless for no reason whatsoever. Nothing had changed since yesterday, but you've fallen to the depths of self-loathing and hatred. In an instant. It makes me thankful that my brain chemistry - despite its depressive tendencies - works and carries me through, that it helps me reason and feel in healthy ways. My brain works with me, not against me, even on days like today when I wake up afraid. There are many things in this world to be thankful for, and balanced brain chemicals is one of them.
Sunday, July 17th
I have some church issues. I feel like most Jesus-lovers do, because churches are full of broken people and broken promises. My biggest issue is that I'm not sure how much to expect from a church versus what it can expect from me. I'm not sure how to connect, having been insanely connected to churches for the first 18 years of my life. I'm just not sure where I belong. I have a good community, but I always wonder what God has for me, if this is where I should land. How much do I give? How do I give it? All I know is that today I was 20 minutes late for church, arrived soaking wet. Just my luck that Pastor John was standing at the door to the sanctuary. He gave me a smile and a hug, wet and all. That's God's love right there. And I'm thankful.
Saturday, July 16th
Today I was all over the map, saying hello to people, drinking tea, buying produce, borrowing books, flitting from here to another. I ended in the most beautiful place. Though it had rained earlier briefly, we waited for the Avett Brothers under a clear and lovely sky among hipsters, balding men, and little girls with loose teeth. It was one of the most joyful concerts I had ever been to, and I'm not certain why. The lyrics of the Avetts aren't particularly happy, but the melodies and the banjo and the personalities made us want to dance. So we did. The good ole Southern boys gave us everything they had, and we gave them what we had in return. I think we all had a wonderful time, both those on the stage and us below, and so we shared in a night of smiles and singing and rock music.
Friday, July 15th
I am a sentimental old fool. After waiting in line for four hours, and then sitting in a dark theater wearing round 3D spectacles, I found myself watching the last shot of the movie I had waited many years to see. I could hear the music swell, see the close-up on those wistful faces I had watch grow up as these characters even while I myself got older. The faces quickly became blurred under a cascade of tears. I cry at the end of things; I cry at saying good-bye, even to characters. Maybe especially to characters, because with them, it's really over. And after a decade of getting to know a world of people, it's hard to leave them behind. But ah, that's the joy of story. It invades your heart and you have to close the book. Then you realize it's burrowed too deep to fully leave behind.
Thursday, July 14th
Savoring is something I wish I could master. But even me saying that shows how far I am from understanding the concept. I've never been good at it - I eat meals too quickly, I stick to my schedule instead of enjoying the moment, and I read the entire Hunger Games trilogy in less than two weeks. I don't know how to enjoy things - I blame my culture. But I want to learn. I want to taste things, and know things, and feel things. I want to be satisfied with little, with as much as I can have at any moment but not wishing for more. I want to learn to love the process instead of just loving the completion. It's a paradigm shift, and one that is hard to break. But I'm starting out small, and maybe those little choices will start to shape my life.
Wednesday, July 13th
I'm sorry to those who love me but do not care about Harry Potter. I have been talking about the premiere of the final film non-stop for weeks. I recognize that it's annoying, but I can't help it. I am so. excited. I laugh at those who take these sorts of things far too seriously. But this movie is kind of a big deal. It is the culmination of a long journey. The first book came out in 1997 - I was 10. The first movie came out in 2001 - I was 14, and the actors were all 10 and 11. And now, we're all adults but there's this final piece, this gap in our childhood that is filled tomorrow night. It's going to be bittersweet for us all. The tagline says it best: It all ends. I'm bringing tissues.
Tuesday, July 12th
I've been talking with a few of my friends, and it's decided: we all love audiobooks. It seems very middle-aged, but we all have commutes now, like real adults, and they are long and boring and pointless. I hate feeling like I waste an hour or more each day, just going to and from work. But with audiobooks, commutes are suddenly storytime. I don't mind going half hour each way, because that's a half hour more of the story that I get to consume. I started out with nonfiction, memoir, my cup of tea. Soon I'll dive into fiction that I've read already, and then maybe, fiction I haven't. It's good practice for me, as I pride myself on my visual skills. Now, I'm exercising my audio skills, different territory for me. Put exercise with story, and I'm sold. Hence the audiobook-while-jogging I'm attempting. I'm just full of surprises!
Monday, July 11th
Some random thoughts from today: 1) It's amazing to me that some folks blog with having very little writing capability whatsoever. Put your best foot forward; spell-check. Write something of meaning. And forgive me when I ignore my own advice. 2) I love So You Think You Can Dance. I see the same emotions I feel from poetry evoked by motion. I'm impressed and always a little in love. Deep down, I wish I had something base and earthy, physical to express myself with. But I've distrusted my body ever since I was a girl. 3) Why is British television so much better than American television? It's the accents, isn't it? I love a good ole USA sitcom, but the BBC is pretty wonderful. Maybe it's because they don't let their shows linger. They enjoy what is good and then let it go before it spoils.
Sunday, July 10th
I like superhero movies. I am not impressed at all by CGI or special effects, but I do like good characters. Usually, the protagonist's arc is pretty obvious: normal guy, major tragedy, powers, how-to-use-them montage, major fight (lose), crisis/girl stolen, major fight (win), setting up the sequel. Even so, I'm intrigued by the different characters, their abilities, and how their abilities affects how they cope with change and/or tragedy. Today, I saw X-Men: When the Old Guys Were Kids (my title, obviously). The future-antagonist, Erik, has terrible baggage, but he can only use his powers well when he's enraged. His buddy Xavier says that most intense focus comes between rage and serenity. This precedes a touching moment when Erik taps into a forgotten moment of peace and is able to be awesome. Interesting idea about focus and how it works. I like it when summer blockbusters make me think.
Saturday, July 9th
Today I took my first GRE practice exam. I took an unexpected break in the middle to eat a mango. Unfortunately, I don't think mangoes are allowed during the actual exam. The test results informed me that I have much studying to do. My life these next two months will be full of academia, which scares me more than I can say. I'm moving toward that life again, and I'm not sure I can do it. Even more, I realized that my life is on a different trajectory than most of my friends. No one else is preparing for grad school; they're all getting married. While I need to be bold to follow the path laid in front of me, many times I still wish that I could be walking parallel to someone else, so they could urge me on. Alas, I walk alone - with some semblance of confidence.
Friday, July 8th
I have some really good friends. I just don't have any really old friends, ones from childhood, elementary schoole. I literally just have one, and he lives in North Dakota. I moved around a lot as a kid, and friendships were fairly transitory. We didn't have Facebook then, so once you lost touch with someone, you actually had no idea what was happening in their lives. Anyway, one of my longest friends had her birthday today. She was the first person I met that first Sunday after my family moved to the area a decade ago. She got me my first myspace page. She was the first person I knew to have an iPod. And she was always there for me. She still is, even though now she's got a husband, a dog, birds, and some crazy awesome future plans. I'm thankful for this long-time friend. Happy birthday, Jen.
Thursday, July 7th
Today was a significant day for thousands all over this world: the London premiere of the final Harry Potter movie. I have a lot of life tied with this movie, and I'll probably explore that later. The red carpet was broadcast live from Trafalgar Square. Besides the fact that I've BEEN there (still mind-blowing), I was touched to see the actors who play characters I have gotten to know so well over the last 10+ years. They were hugely emotional, knowing this long journey was about to come to an end. It's like when your mom takes your safety blanket away, saying no, you can't even take it in your backpack to school. You have to carry on without it. And somehow we'll carry on too, and these movies'll fade in the background. But not for another week - oh no, there is still many tears and joys to come.
Wednesday, July 6th
I had a minor break-though tonight. A happily single woman in her 50s for once did not scare me. I may have mentioned how older single women make me anxious, because I fear becoming them. But I am them. We're in similar life positions, and that is a very good thing, to share life experiences with someone. I am young, I realize this, but it doesn't matter. If God sees fit to bless/curse me with a husband at some point down this crazy path, I will welcome him with open and longing arms. And if not, I will use my free arm-space to love others who need me - friends, family, strangers. I pray God will begin cultivating this desire to love at all costs now, so that I'll be really good at it when I'm 50, single, and so full of joy that people will be forced to notice.
Tuesday, July 5th
Real life has hit me hard since being back. I had bills to pay, household supplies to buy, a doctor (mechanic) appointment for Hugo, and a schedule that I'm failing miserably to keep, filled with academic essays, research, studying, editing - all things I love doing, but they all are clamoring so loudly for my attention that I'm shutting the door on them. To watch Jane Austen movies. It's called escapism, my dears, and it works deliciously well. Although, Austen would be confused to see a few of these movies that bear the names of her novels. How far does one have to be from the actual plotline of a story and still say they are part of it? Because these two Mansfield Parks I saw bear little resemblance to the book at all, save for the main character being named Fanny.
Monday, July 4th
When I touched down in Portland today, it ended my sixth trip in about six months. I've been in 4 countries, 9 states, 2 provinces. I don't say this to brag. I know I've been lucky and I am very grateful to have been able to go on vacation, to a family reunion, to a funeral, a graduation. But I say this to tell you how tired I am. I am bone tired. My soul is weary of traveling. I never truly get used to saying good-bye. I cried today, in the bathroom stall at Minneapolis International after I waved good-bye for the hundredth time to my heart as four pieces of it watched me walk through the rotating doors. I am tired of being gone and tired of wanting to go. So for now, I stay. This year has been about new things more than I ever had imagined.
Sunday, July 3rd
Honestly, I was dreading Family Church Service Day at the family reunion. I was hoping to go to my grandparent's church, see the attractive men that they've been hand-picking for me. But my grandfather, always a pastor in his soul, decided we were to have a family service on Sunday morning. I was drafted to sing with my uncle, cousin, and sister - I did so, dutifully, and then Grandpa started talking about all of the prayer needs of our family. Praise for baby Zeke's brain. Prayer for Adolf's stomach cancer that is spreading. Prayer for Heather and Mark and the unborn baby they are praying to term. Prayer for Art and the tumor on his brain. I started to care and to love this family I have but do not hold to the light often enough. So now they are on my heart.
Saturday, July 2nd
Today I met a little boy named Zeke. Ten months old, he has the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. When he smiles, his whole face exudes the joy only babies have. I think I love him so much because he doesn't have much hair, just like my Cabbage Patch doll, just like me when I was his age. Like me, it's because he was sick, encephalitis. And like me, he'll keep physical reminders with him for the rest of his life. I met a man named Artie. He had a stroke three years ago, and he has been working hard to re-learn his life: how to speak, how to write, how to count and add. But now, the doctors fear he may have a brain tumor. He'll find out this week. And I find myself somewhere in the middle of these two, but alike. We are all damaged.
Friday, July 1st
My car is really dirty. I'm pretty sure things are growing on it. Honestly, I don't ever think about getting a car wash, and then the automatic car wash never does a good enough job, but it's too much work to do it myself....the whining never stops. Sometimes I think, if only it would magically get completely cleaned, perfectly spic-and-span, then I would be able to maintain it. If only it would somehow become perfect, then I could actually keep it that way. Which is a lie. I wouldn't keep it that way - it would find itself back to its normal mess. I think this way about my bathtub too, and my weight. But there is no magic - the hard work is what motivates us to keep things under control. Because we know how much it sucks when it isn't.
Thursday, June 30th
I don't hurt myself often. I work in a controlled environment; I am cautious and stationary. Last night, I smashed my knee into a motorcycle headlight. I did not break the lamp nor my knee, but I have a heck of a bruise. I had to be aware of my small injury at various points today: when I crossed my knees, when I leaned into something, when balancing things on my legs. And to my dismay, I grew a little frightened of hurting myself again. I became wary walking next to furniture or nervous when there were cracks in the sidewalk. But I can't start living like this. I don't want to be afraid of getting hurt; I don't want it to stop me from doing things I love. Because these bones will break as time goes by, but my soul and mind - God willing - will remain intact.
Wednesday, June 29th
I have now read the first chapter of six different books. I've read farther in some, but I have not finished a single one. I used to be a one-book girl, never reading more than one book at a time if I could help it. It's rather how I lived my life - one thing at a time and then move to the next. Now look at me - playing the field, trying things out, starting a new book before finishing the old one. Who am I becoming?!? The problem is that the books are all GOOD and in such different ways. I love them all, and the only thing I want to do all day, every day, is read. Instead, I am packing. Again. And the hardest packing decision will be this: which of the six to take with me on my trip? Oh, the agony.
Tuesday, June 28th
I don't know what to say about today. It was literally all over the place, in terms of emotion, situations, and just general life-ness. I worked hard and slacked off, ate too much and not enough, became very brave and very scared, spoke and kept quiet. And all on a normal Tuesday. Tonight, the apartment is quiet, with roommate out on the town with her girlfriends and the family below not watching an action flick with bass booming. I'm able to think and to feel just tired. It takes a lot of energy, this being brave and working hard. And yet here I am, doing both and supporting other who are doing the same. Good for us, good for all of us. May we sleep the sleep of hearty and tired souls who have done their best.
Monday, June 27th
I am reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy, the most beautiful prose I have ever read. His descriptions, imagery, sparseness, repetition, fragments - they all work together to create a sense of utter desolation and hopelessness. I'm not a fan of post-apocalyptic anything. It scares me; it shoots coldness straight to my bones. Because I can imagine it. I can see it happening. I'm afraid that grayness and ash is our future. This book is profoundly affecting me. I read 50 pages, nearly falling to tears as the loneliness and utter despair seeped into my fingertips and spread to my heart. I have to read something fun and light - and hopeful. Because I believe in hope reigning over despair, and a future over ash. I believe in newness and light and joy. At least I will once I read something lighter. What'll it be, L'Engle or Doyle?
Sunday, June 26th
I'm planning out my study schedule for the next two months. You see, I'm taking the GRE and working on an academic paper. At the same time. After a year and a half of mindless television shows and youtube marathons and books-just-for-fun. It's going to be painful. Additionally, at present I am reading my huge tome of The Complete Sherlock Holmes. I have massive admiration for the character of Holmes. He is incredibly focused. He knows what he is good at and he does not try to do anything else. Holmes believes there is a limited amount of room in your memory, so you may as well fill it with things you need. Not dumb stuff like the solar system. I wish I could be that focused; instead, I feel like my mind is always filled with nonsense that no one needs. Like who Justin Bieber is dating.
Saturday, June 25th
It's amazing to watch two people come together to create a home. It's the outward manifestation of an inward joining. I saw it happening a year ago, with my former roommate and her now-husband, and now I'm seeing it happen again with my current roommate and her fiance. I went over to his apartment last night, where they will be moving in less than a month, and I saw little touches: the taupe walls, the cast-iron shelf in the bathroom, the photo frames filled and hung. She proudly displayed to me the changes that they have been working on, and I saw the glow of a great change in her eyes. Little by little, she is moving her life into his. They are melding their plans, meshing their lifestyles. A beautiful thing to watch from the outside.
Friday, June 24th
I'm reading this book which is itself rather "meh," but the setting is intriguing: London just after the first World War. Europe has a very different view of WWI. They lost vast numbers of men and boys. America has little concept of how that war decimated their land and the populations. It was a modern war, with huge casualties, and it changed everything. The more I hear and read about Great Britain, England in particular, the more intrigued I am by the history and the culture. I feel like they're our cousins - we're close enough to speak the same language and have the same bloodline, but we grew up in completely different households. We have different worldviews, histories. Our childhoods were different. And so I treat the UK like this fascinating relative I wish I knew better. I wish I understood. I want to understand.
Thursday, June 23rd
There's just something about vinyl. Before I go further, I need to mention I had a record player before hipster was even a word. I got one in middle school from Value Village, jimmy-rigged it to speakers, and bought $1 records at Goodwill. This was in South Dakota, folks. Anyway, I have never bought any vinyl new - why would I pay for the same music twice? Well, as I found out, because it's better on vinyl. I love the feeling of it pervading the entire house, muffled and in the background. It feels more communal, more scratchy, more temporal and permanent. It requires more work: to turn the record over, to put the needle on the plastic. And it requires touch, finesse - not just the push of a button. It's that smell wafting through the room. And now I have to re-buy all of my music on vinyl.
Wednesday, June 22nd
Tonight I saw a Broadway touring musical called Mary Poppins. To be honest, the first act disappointed. It was me. Somehow, subconsciously, I was expecting to attend and be taken away into Mary's World, just like a child. I was, at times. But most of the time, I was analyzing the feasibility of the special effects, figuring out where the projections, how they do quick changes. I was figuring out the magic. I watched the show through a trained theatre artist's eyes, looking at the production as a whole. I couldn't turn off the thinking....until the Banks children's room flew away to reveal the rooftops of London and chimney sweeps in tap shoes. I don't want to give it all away, but the entire number, my face was in a dumb grin. I had found the magic - or it had found me. I was like a little girl again.
Tuesday, June 21st
I crave live music. It fills a part of my stomach that food can't get to. And tonight I heard fantastic live music. I could listen to the Civil Wars forever: their smooth harmonies, southern rock/acoustic chords, mellow lyrics about love and loss. They may even sound better live then they do recorded - a rare feat these days. It was the most stripped-down concert I've attended - one man with a guitar, one woman sometimes with a keyboard and once with a mini accordion. And they just sang. The music behaved like perfumes do in animation - it slinks through the air, wraps around your head, and enters into your brain. Eventually, it starts coming out of your pores, the sweet sound of perfectly in-tune voices singing songs about things that hurt, free, and matter. When it was over, I felt bereft - the best compliment I can give.
Monday, June 20th
It is a travesty. Take a fairly self-confident young woman, proud of her accomplishments and certain that people admire her for her intellect, and put her in a swimsuit. In a matter of moments, the self-loathing begins. A perfectly normal and beautiful body is rendered hideous by swimsuits not big enough for toddlers or baby chimpanzees. Today, I might have wandered into the swimsuit section at Target. It was my own fault for trying on the baby swimsuits when I know there are other stores that have swimsuits for actual people. I was just hoping for some magic. And although the magic did not happen, I'm okay with it all. The self-loathing passes once I put real clothes on again and I realize - my thighs are still thick, but damned if my heart is going to break over it. Damned if I'm going to let it define me.
Sunday, June 19th
Northanger Abbey gives me such joy. I think it may be my favorite Austen book, especially due to the 2007 movie. It is a lovely commentary about the power of literature - how it changes perspectives and heightens imagination. What we read impacts our perceptions of the world, so we need to be careful what we put in our heads. Catherine is so innocent and taken in by the Gothic romances of the day that every part of her normal life is viewed with that lens. Of course, it all ends well for Catherine, which is why it's an Austen novel. With this knowledge I should probably limit the Austenian romance literature, but I can't help it - it's like a drug. The Mr. Darcys and Tilneys and Knightleys and Bingleys and Edmunds and Edwards - they're all appealing in various ways. Moderation is key. With that, on to Persuasion!
Saturday, June 18th
I had the most lovely morning with two wonderful women. Sheila showed Hannah and I her garden, her pride and joy. She has a passion for plants, for creating an environment for them to grow in. We ate fresh blueberry muffins with homemade peach jam and pear honey, along with strawberries and snap peas -- all fruits from her garden. She told us stories about how she met her husband, how he was so different from her. Now they have mellowed each other out. I learned a lot of things in those two hours. I left with homemade jam, applesauce, salsa, bread, and this lesson: be generous with the bounty the Lord has given me. Canning and saving is good for you, but it is better if you share it with other people. If you give it away, you will find blessings under every bush.
Friday, June 17th
I turned on TLC the other day, and watched NY Ink. It may be a new show, but it stars one of the tattoo artists from their first tattoo reality show, Miami Ink. Seeing Ami brought me back to high school - summer before senior year, house-sitting for Mrs. James. Hearing every creak in that big house as a possible threat, and the wind outside brushing the unfamiliar trees by my window. I crawled into the giant bed in the master bedroom because of the dog, restless in his bed in the bathroom. So what's a girl to do when sleep is absent? Watch Miami Ink. I'm oddly fascinated by the art of tattooing, by the need people have to permanently decorate their bodies. The culture is alternative and yet it's on the TLC channel and 50-year-old mothers and 18-year-old blonde girls. I eventually slept and dreamed of tattoos.
Thursday, June 16th
It was just a small bug that David found scooting across my desk. He mischievously dropped the little guy in my fishbowl, knowing that beta fish are carnivorous. Unfortunately, Hunnicut nipped at the quickly sinking bug but could not consume him, which would have made me feel better. Instead, I watched the little bug move his antennae and legs, attempting to swim up to air, breath, and life. He was not made for the water. As his legs mercifully stopped moving, framed in the clear glass of the fishbowl, my face was very warm and near to tears. I've killed bugs before that found their way into my home and scared me by zooming across my kitchen floor. But I never watched one die like that, and I know God's eye is on the sparrow, and I know he saw and I felt very sad and very sorry.
Wednesday, June 15th
Maybe what I miss most is the feeling of freedom - doing what I wished when I wished it, to have no schedule except the one I imposed on myself. I was free from budgets, driving, to-do lists. And I was in the most lovely country touching the land of my dreams in 3D. It was life-changing, and coming back to real life and trying to mold this new me into the old frame is tricky. I fit, but not as well as I used to. It's like when I put my retainer in after a few days (weeks?) of not wearing it. It hurts, but the pain dulls after a while and the teeth shift. Only in this case, I want my mold to shift to accommodate the change in position. I don't want to go back to the norm, to being satisfied. I want to keep being brave, and I miss being brave there. Being brave here is harder and less fun.
Tuesday, June 14th
On Sunday, Norbert Leo Butz won the Tony award for Best Actor in a Musical (yes, that's his real name). He performed a song as Carl Hanratty from the show Catch Me if You Can. His performance was full of energy and precision and abandon. And in 2009, while he was in Seattle for previews of Catch Me if You Can, his sister - who lived in the same city - was raped and murdered inside her home. Her suspected killer is on trial, with a verdict imminent. The story is severely tragic, and the pain that family must feel is unimaginable. But Norbert Leo Butz took that pain, filtered it through a sieve of professionalism, and used what he could to create an unforgettable performance. The role saved him, and so, he threw that broken heart into Carl Hanratty. And on Sunday, he was rewarded for his pain.
Monday, June 13th
Tonight I did not get anything done and I am going to bed late. All because I got scared. Earlier, I had said no media, because I needed to get things done, but I convinced myself to watch a movie while I uploaded pictures. I put in Grey Gardens, a HBO movie about a crazy mother and daughter who don’t have any of their dreams come true and end up living together in a dirty Hoarder situation, with the raccoons and the cats and the dirt. And I irrationally went off, thinking that no husband equals crazy hoarder with cats. I am terrified of losing my way, of giving up too much and not pursuing it all. So I started filling out of those free dating site questionnaires, and then realized I wouldn’t want to date me. This is bigger than just the diary, so I’ll unpack it soon.
Sunday, June 12th
Today was filled with many things I love. Let me list them for you: church with friends. Free tea. Lengthy discussion about God and faith with people I trust. Getting errands done. Kenneth Braunagh and a Shakespearean musical. Getting dressed up…and complimented. Wearing heels and feeling awesome in them. Laughing with friends I haven’t seen in months. Talking about my trip and finally feeling like one of the most interesting people in the room. Chocolate-covered tuxedo strawberries. Live theatre. Good stories about hard things. Seeing dreams come true and. Helping out friends. Changing out of fancy clothes into comfy clothes. Being all together. The Tony Awards. And the latter entertained me beyond any other awards show ever, thanks to NPH, Lin-Manuel, Daniel Radcliffe, Hugh Jackman, Sutton Foster, uncomfortable songs about Mormons, and Norbert Leo Butz. Sometimes, the Lord just sends days that have that WOW factor. Thanks, Big Guy.
Saturday, June 11th
Summertime, finally. I rode my bike this morning to the library, down the side streets of my little hometown, avoiding the parked cars and the better bikers, and the moving cars. I try to avoid the main roads out of embarrassment, but I think the side streets are more dangerous. Biking brings out most of my insecurities – my difficulties with balance, my desire not to fail, my fear of falling, my lack of physical fitness. And the helmet messes up your hair. So I don’t like biking much, even though I have a detachable basket that, yes, I have used in the grocery store. But today was so lovely, and I’m trying to work this body I have and it felt so much like summertime when school was out and there was nothing to do but ride your bike to the library. And today biking felt like wind and freedom.
Friday, June 10th
On my commute down the state highway, there’s a patch of woods that transports you far and away. It’s easy to forget yourself, which means most mornings, a sheriff waits in hidden driveways. I know this from experience. Yesterday, I saw slowing ahead of me in the wooded area of the highway. I looked for the sheriff, but only saw brown movement on the side of the road. Approaching, I realized it was a deer – not one, but two, a mother and her baby. They were walking single file down the side of the road, not worried or hurried, but carefully making their way. The momma would look back at her baby, confirming his continued existence. It took my breath away. This morning, I held my breath once again, scanning the side of the road. There were no deer carcasses, and I felt a grateful prickle of tears.
Thursday, June 9th
Summer has officially begun. How do I know? It sure isn’t the weather outside – blasted Oregon cloudiness ruins my summer skies. No, it’s summer because So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD) has premiered. The show has become a tradition – nay, an obsession – among me and my best girlfriends. It started four years ago, when Nicole forced me to watch. I scoffed (side note: I should never scoff when it comes to reality television) but soon I was hooked. Jess was added and since then, it’s been the three of us, screaming for our favorites over the last five seasons, not to mention the analyzing, clapping, and gushing over our bff (we wish) Cat Deeley. Even voting…once the finale nears, but not before. We have invited a few to join our merry gang, but it’s always been the three of us, and sunshiney skies, and the watching of dancing. Summertime.
Wednesday, June 8th
I was talking with a friend, and she complimented me on a certain success, which I brushed off in my way. She straight-up told me, “Don’t make my compliment into a to-do list, “ which jolted me. It’s true; I tend to accept a compliment but deflect by mentioning my to-dos. Oh, I’m going to send it off to another publication, or I haven’t had a chance to edit it yet. That is my own way of downplaying and ignoring what I’ve done. I was raised to be extremely humble, and even though my parents constantly praise me (not really), I am a confidently humble gal with a Midwestern work ethic and a Northwest desire for individualism. I’ve never been good at accepting compliments. Somehow, it pushes all of my insecure buttons. I crave it, but don’t know how to deal with it. Like a drug, an addiction.
Tuesday, June 7th
I had this crazy dream. Star Wars baddies in full alien garb and dinosaurs escaped from George Lucas’s workshop to mount an attack on humanity. I hid behind a bush, realizing it was a crappy hiding place,. They all passed – for the moment – and I rushed out from my hiding place to see Martin Freeman (duh, British actor) who hugged me. That is what stays with me. The feeling of utter terror, and then that hug, that envelopment of arms and warmth and comfort even though the dinosaurs weren’t far off. I’m an adult. I don’t get scared in public and need a hug. If I do, it comes from a girl, which is nice but honestly a little small and boney. But sometimes I wish I could get just scared enough to deserve a firm and secure hug from a guy…named Martin Freeman. Seriously, though, he’s a great hugger.
Monday, June 6th
Sometimes days just aren't good. Sometimes they are pretty terrible: people are mean, or things break down, or bad news wins out. And sometimes they are just mildly bad: people are irritating, or things sort of break, or the bad news weighs slightly more than the good news. Today was the latter. I made a few stupid decisions which gave me an anxious chest. On my commute, I tried to cry, thinking it would do me good. But instead all I kept thinking was, "At least I don't have the Plague, and I'm not a farmer during the Dust Bowl, and I've never been beaten." Then, I was cheered by a dear friend who always provides good conversations and is brave enough to ask for cookies. So life's pretty good. My feelings are valid, but I have a luxury: I get to move on.
Wednesday, May 4th
It is almost tomorrow so I will write more then.
Tuesday, May 3rd
There's a billboard I see every day on my commute that proclaims emphatically the Second Coming is occurring on May 21, 2011. A gold seal on the billboard says, "The Bible guarantees it." I shake my head every time I go past - no wonder the world thinks Christians are nutters - but a little prayer escapes with my next exhale - Lord Jesus, come soon. There is much I haven't done, much I'd like to do, but this planet gets more saturated with pain by the hour. There are tornadoes in the south, genocide overseas, and cancer creeping into our bodies. We celebrate murder and applaud stupidity, while babies die of thirst and disease. And I think, Why oh why will you not come, my Jesus? Why oh why will you not save us from ourselves? Maybe we'll know on May 21 - or maybe we will wait.
Monday, May 2nd
Yesterday, Facebook said Osama bin Laden was killed. In a matter of minutes, the news spread and links were posted. Then the president confirmed all of the rumors. There are supposedly pictures of the man with a bullet in his head. They buried him at sea. And to this news, people partied in Times Square. I didn't feel like rejoicing - instead, I just felt sick. I know he was a terrible man under whose leadership many people were brutally killed. I know of the threats he made. I just can't celebrate repaying evil for evil, the murder of a man who murdered. I am thankful for troops who keep me and those I love safe. And I am forever saddened for the families of those lost in New York and abroad since then. But vengeance does not bring closure, and death of a figurehead does not bring peace.
Sunday, May 1st
It's May Day in Great Britain, a national holiday that involves singing choirs, early-morning breakfast, and dancing, from what I can gather from Karith's photos on Facebook. It also means that I leave for that island in six days. That fact is more horrifying to me than exciting, because all I can think about is the packing and the planning and the details. But that's why I'm going on this trip: to be challenged, to grow, and to teach myself that I am capable - if I have a smartphone, a credit card, and a guidebook. I'm embarking on a trip of a lifetime, and while it doesn't seem that way to me yet, I know when I see gorgeous Gothic cathedrals and red double-decker buses, and the crags of the Scottish coastline, I'll be struck with the magnitude of my undertaking. And I'll be pretty dang impressed with myself.
Saturday, April 30th
I love working commencement. It's a long Saturday, but the ceremony is such an exciting celebration. This year, I got to hold the power position: I stood at the steps leading up to the platform. In order to keep a rhythm, I asked students to hop onto the first step while they waited their turn. So many nervous and excited eyes met mine, and begged for some encouragement. I smiled at them, and said, "One step for me, please." After a while, it became simply one step, one step, one step. It was a profoundly simple moment, as I realized I was asking them to just take a step up into their future. It always takes one step. I've found it doesn't end there, with that diploma. Life is a series of steps, always just one more step, that takes us into the unknown where God is waiting.
Friday, April 29th
This is the most tired I've ever been. In college, I never stayed up past 3 am. Today at work, I am running on 2.5 hours of sleep and much caffeine. Why did I do it? I knew that with today's technology, I could watch anything tomorrow on youtube. But that's not a good story. I wanted to have a story to tell my children, just like the story that Sheila told me yesterday in the break room, about how she and her husband watched the wedding of Princess Diana and Prince Charles. I'll be able to tell my little girls that I watched a normal (multi-millionaire) girl become a (not-quite) princess. Then I'll tell them that they can pretend to be princesses if they want, or they can pretend to be semi-truck drivers. Just as long as they listen to my stories. That goes for the boys too.
Thursday, April 28th
Weddings are celebrations, regardless of who is getting hitched. There is a big one tonight/tomorrow morning. A lot of grumps want the coverage to be over, because they simply do not care. I understand their point. The monarchy is little more than an outdated figurehead, and the pomp and circumstance of their every motion is unfamiliar in a world where celebrities tweet what cereal they are eating for breakfast. And even so, I'm intrigued. Sure, it's not my wedding or one of anyone I love. But it's a celebration of two becoming one, and the hope that is deeply embedded within that ceremony. So I am lying on the floor in my living room, two of my best girlfriends sitting up with me, ready for a long night ahead. We're eating ice cream and watching Princess Diaries before coverage starts at 1 am. And we're giddy with excitement.
Wednesday, April 27th
I was about to say nothing notable happened today, but then I remembered: I got to go on the roof of my office building. I had permission - our site supervisor took myself and a few coworkers up there on our afternoon break. We had to climb a tall skinny ladder before emerging into the filtered sunlight. Everything felt different. We could peer down through the skylight, waving like children at our coworkers below. We looked at our cars in the parking lot. We tiptoed near the edge, before skittering away. We ran on the top of the building, safely in the center. I wish I could say that the view was something to behold, but it wasn't really. We weren't that high up, but it was nice to have a different perspective, do something vaguely dangerous, and then head back to work in the afterglow of roof-time.
Tuesday, April 26th
Today was confirmation. And confirmation is free chocolate chip muffins. A London Fog as a thank-you for a ride to work. Giving a student her regalia she's waited over ten years for. Solving discrepancies with a wave of my hand. Hearing good things about someone else. Singing in the car to Britney Spears. Giving expert advice amidst an enormous wall of brightly colored shirts. Pretending to be high schoolers on lunch break. Peach froyo with strawberries. The smell of a roast cooking in Williams-Sonoma as we played with the banana slicers. Hearing about a loved one lost and the new perspective it brings. Four o'clock walk with some sunshine thrown in for good measure. Improving small things with the click of a keyboard. The people you work with make your job. And I work with good people.
Monday, April 25th
I'm a bit stressed right now. Before you shower me with sorrowful understanding, let me tell you that this stress is good for me. The stress I had last week? Crippling. This current stress is the stress of life, of busyness, of having much to do and little time. Granted, I don't want to live my entire life like this, but it's only for a short time. And I'm carving out my days so that things get done. This kind of stress is something I used to live underneath, and while it was taxing and exhausting, it was also exhilarating. This is the stress of anticipation and excitement and doing things you love. Many things. All at the same time. I might be prone to grumpiness in this inbetween-time, but trust me, this stress is challenging me and teaching me and forcing me to move. That is a good thing.
Sunday, April 24th
Growing up in a pastor's home away from extended family meant that we had strange holiday traditions. They revolve around church services and the fact that Dad (and usually Mom) is bone-tired afterwards. But I like the pizza on Christmas Eve and the basketball games we used to go on Christmas day and the Easter eggs we'd find in October when we moved the couch. Today was an unconventional Easter, but one I'll always cherish. It involved sweet and sour pork, buy-one-get-one Burgerville strawberry milkshakes, RedBox, and a sleep-deprived but buoyant blonde who borrows my facial expressions. We watched movies and took silly pictures of each other, while wearing our pajama pants at 6pm. Then we took alternating bites of cookie dough and cookies straight from the oven while watching Zack Galifinakis in a mental hospital. He (not Zach Galifinakis) is risen. He is risen indeed.
Saturday, April 23rd
Every year, I wonder about this Saturday. What a terrible day this was for the disciples. Beyond seeing the man for whom you gave up everything brutally executed (and by "see," I mean completely abandon him and run away from the whole situation), now you have to continue living after he's gone. How that sharp stabbing pain of utter despair must have mellowed into a dull throb, like that headache you get when you haven't drunk enough water. How they must have seen their lives as over - no families, no occupations, no Jesus. The dream was over, and I'm sure as they sat in that room, locked away in fear for their own lives and in fear that their lives were for nothing, they prayed to God for some comfort. It wouldn't come until Sunday.
Friday, April 22nd
I celebrated Good Friday twice today. The first time, I walked more miles than I usually do to a noon-time community service at a local church. Different pastors of the town took turns reading the crucifixion story, with reading and response, prayers, and much silence. Attendance was sparse, given that 5+ churches were represented, but the older folks and I sat in silence and pondered Jesus's death. After the conclusion, we walked out in to pure holy sunshine. Then I spent time with some dear friends, as we ate pizza and watched Ben Hur, before ending the evening with communion together. We thanked the Father for sacrificing his son, the Son for giving his life, the Holy Spirit for helping us understand this all. And both celebrations were vital, and both were somber, and both had an undercurrent of latent joy, because without Friday, Sunday means nothing.
Thursday, April 21st
On Maundy Thursday, the liturgical church - and progressive evangelicals - celebrate the Last Supper, where the oblivious disciples joined their weighed-down Master for a final meal. Jesus told them everything to prepare them for the days ahead, and they missed every clue. Today, I ate dinner at Red Robin with two close girlfriends. We talked much too loudly, took far too long to decide our meals, and ate way too much. We poked fun at each other and covered the most important life changes. God willing, it wasn't our last supper, but it was eating and drinking together. So we celebrated Maundy Thursday, the night that Jesus enjoyed the company of this disciples, gaining strength both emotional and physical for the pain to come. I hope that the pain to inevitably come in my life will be buffeted by the strength I'm gathering now from those I love.
Wednesday, April 20th
In a meeting today, we talked about our favorite Easter memories. Like the time we didn't find the plastic egg in the lamp...until the smell of burning plastic made it unmistakable. Or the year I stayed home from school on Good Friday because my parents said I could decide to stay home. It was a meaningful day for me, not because I wasn't at school, but because my parents respected my spiritual growth enough to let me decide for myself. And so, today was a peaceful day. Some things happened that were not peaceful - people's feelings got hurt, work was crazy, errands took precedence over the gym - but peace is not the absence of conflict. It's finding a place of calm and rest within the craziness. I know now what I am to be doing, the direction in which I should be facing: it's toward the light.
Tuesday, April 19th
If you know me well, you would not describe me as a talker. I can babble on and on if I'm nervous, but mostly I'm quiet, perhaps a bit witty and/or snarky at moments, when the muse strikes. Today, I spent a lot of time talking. I've never been a verbal processor, but I've learned from some greats: my friends. And they are always willing to repay the kindness of a listening ear. So today I've talked to the best of my friends about things both silly and serious, superficial and weighty, glorious and painful. In doing so, I was heard, and I think they were too. I realize the blessing of good friends who know me well, and how I need to hold tightly to those types of friends wherever I can find them. They are a valuable resource, and I don't want to take them for granted.
Monday, April 18th
I always say spring is my favorite season, but it's kind of awful. It's beautiful and joyous, because the flowers are coming up, the days are getting warmer, and here in the Pacific Northwest, we start seeing glimmers of sunshine we forgot were up above the cloud layer. But spring is a flirt - she's here one hour and gone the next, plunging us into the deepest gloom. It's easier to bear when we don't realize what we're missing. When the earth reminds us and then takes away the soft, warm rays, it's a bitter loss. But spring is also about hope, the hope that the next second will bring bluer skies, and today - when it was bright, then sprinkling wet, then hail, then the loudest fattest drops, then sunshine again - was a great reminder that things always change, but the sunshine is coming; just wait and see.
Sunday, April 17th
I believe God works in all by holding everything, but the choices are our own. Sometimes, though, things just work out better than possible, and then I say, "Hello, God. Thanks!" Last night I was up late, so I didn't go to first service with my roommate and her fiance. I finally dragged myself out of bed, got to church, and sat in the corner of the church. After the service, I happened to run into my landlords. I haven't spoken to them in weeks, just because of our schedules, but all of my recent struggles came out and I confided in them my turmoils. They were just who I needed. Polly especially was incredibly encouraging, investing the wisdom she has built up over years and speaking directly into my bruised spirit. And all because I was too lazy to go to first service! Hello, God. Thanks!
Saturday, April 16th
I fell in love with Mumford and Sons today again. They played at Coachella, and the set was livestreamed through YouTube. I hate to go on and on about them, but as a band, they are near perfection. Their music is exquisitely now, with all of the gravelly voices and banjos that we love these days. More than that, they seem to genuinely enjoy playing music with each other. Somehow, the boys missed the memo that they're supposed to look cool while playing and not grin like little schoolboys. It delights me to see them delighted. My favorite song of theirs is "Timshel," a Hebrew word which means "Thou may'est" and describes the choices we have as humans. I'm in the midst of some choices in my own life, and listening to that song with that framework and life experience makes it extraordinarily rich.
Friday, April 15th
Lovely day, today. It rained all day, which made folks at work grumpy and gloomy. It's busy season for most of us, so we were all glued to those glowing boxes that hold our entire professions. Halfway through the day, though, I got to go help set up for our graduation banquet. I love the banquet - I love to celebrate people's accomplishments, throw a big party, and eat delicious food. And I got to spend time with some of my favorite people - it was one of those moments where I can't believe I would ever think of leaving them. A year ago, I was in a very different work environment due to some shifts that occurred. It was a painful time, but now I see - now I see why. And I'm very thankful to work where I do and help students. It's a blessing.
Thursday, April 14th
Today I broke my Lenten fast. I watched television on a weeknight on my television alone in my house. I also did not go to the gym, but I did eat an enormous amount of chocolate chips and peanut butter. It was a bit of an off-day. I have some decisions to make, and I'm terrible at making decisions so I'm kind of floundering. But it's okay sometimes to flounder. To wonder and pray and wish and have no idea what to do next. And sometimes it's okay to break your fast, and to indulge, and to let go in order to rest your fingers so they can grab on stronger the next time. I don't feel bad. And I know Jesus understands and loves me despite the fact that I spent all night being a lazy bum on the couch. Maybe he loves me because of it.
Wednesday, April 13th
I've never been too good at being in two places at once. I'm a singular-type person, like to be focused on one thing at a time. I can multitask fairly well, but I do my best work with my attention narrowed in - and I prefer to be doing my best work whenever possible. Right now, I feel like I'm divided as I'm thinking about the future while maintaining my grasp on the present. I feel like part of me is walking the streets of London, riding the Tube, visiting castles while the other me is here, driving to work, spending my day looking at a computer screen and participating in earthquake drills. Because my attention is split, I'm not fully present. But hey - work can probably deal with a slightly absent-minded and distant employee for a few more weeks.
Tuesday, April 12th
The stress came back today, like a gray cloud following me around, dampening my shoes just enough that they're annoyingly wet and squelchy. I couldn't take it anymore, so I called my mom and unloaded on her about money and credit cards and transportation and eyeglasses and relationships. Like any good mom, she just took it as I babbled while sitting in my gym's parking lot. As I sat there, I noticed a bush next to my car, with wide branches, spaced out green leaves, and little birds jumping from branch to branch. I'm not a bird person, so all I know is they were small, round, and black and white...and maybe blue. They hopped around those bushes, suddenly dropping six inches to a lower branch, then skipping back up, hanging on upside down. I thought - how much more does the Lord care about me, whiny old stresspot me?
Monday, April 11th
I don't think about Papua New Guinea often. Most of the time I don't believe I actually visited it, the memories so hazy with heat and sweat that they seem like dreams involving a prehistoric landscape, dotted with woven huts, palm trees, and billboards for cell phone companies. But a few days ago, a neighbor was turning over her garden, preparing to plant perennials, and the damp smell of the earth washed over me as I ran past. It was the smell through shimmering humidity of wet dirt, of ground, of the ties the New Guineans have to the soil. Then in church, photos of dark Ugandan children with white teeth. And I saw Mainu and Jerri and Davis - different features, same curly hair and mischievous eyes. I don't forget them - they just fall under the rim of daily life, until they are stirred to the top again.
Sunday, April 10th
Today began with burdens so suffered by "adults," with budgets to balance and relationships to maintain and decisions to make. The stress squelched the quiet voice of God saying, "peace, be still," and though I heard, I could not follow. Waves crashed against my skull, and the fear rose like the floodwaters. But today ended with a Disney movie. I was captivated by the bright colors and the comical creatures and the story about dreams and healing and love. By the end, I was giggling, behaving much like I did watching these movies as a child. It is different now, though, because it is a choice. I have seen the world and it is hard and scary, but I choose to believe in love and colors and silly untrue stories that contain truth. The joy is more beautiful because of the choice. And so the waters subsided and I smiled.
Saturday, April 9th
We started out as five, in a booth at that same 24-hour Shari's after study parties and shows and finals. And now we're seven - married, engaged, dating, single. I thought it might be hard or terrible, but we were just the same as we have always been, just a few newer faces. It's comforting that, in a world of change, some things are solid because the foundation has been poured and built. That doesn't mean that the buildings up above stay the same, but the base is difficult to break. We were easily the loudest table at Shari's tonight, louder than the college kids or even the post-prom high-schoolers. Wrappers were thrown into cups, french fries were stolen, and at one point, a lamp was put askew. Beautiful.
Friday, April 8th
Today was the day I needed, filled with blue sky and sunshine. My doctor did say that I have a vitamin D deficiency, like 75% of Oregonians, so I'm using that as my excuse to go outside whenever I can. The daffodils are sprouting up everywhere, like little long-nosed gangly teenagers, just loitering out on the sidewalk. The air right now smells like blossoms, and I think I'm minorly allergic, because my nose starts running underneath the pink fragrant trees. There was another smell I noticed while running - the smell of the earth. Neighbors were outside planting or turning up the dirt, and it pervaded the air, the earthy, woody, damp smell of cultivation and growth. Honestly, it reminded me of Papua New Guinea, a country that smells like that all the time, just waiting for growth, for cultivation and planting. Spring holds so much.
Thursday, April 7th
I went to the doctor for a physical recently. Most folks my age don't bother, but I figure I have the insurance and I should find out how I'm doing before anything gets too serious. The doctor did all the normal things: took my blood and my history, checked my body parts, hemmed and hawed before she said I was healthy. Those beautiful words. Many people don't get to hear those words. I have a co-worker who is afraid her cancer is coming back, a friend with chronic pain, another who is afraid to go to the doctor and find out what is causing her dizzy spells. Being able to move and breathe is nothing less than a miracle, a gift to be thankful for. I am thankful, and while I am, I think about those I love who are not, and I give them what I can spare.
Wednesday, April 6th
There are these two geese that I see on my way to work. They are in the last part of my commute, grazing by the side of the road in a little wooded, undeveloped area strangely placed in a business park, the grassy space bordered by a Costco and a Winco. I see them almost every day, and they always surprise me, like they're this little gift that is given to me each morning. They seem content, those geese, just munching away on the green grass, oblivious to the cars whizzing past them. Seeing them takes me out of the city, to the most peaceful times I've had - in the woods, by a lake, walking monastery trails. The geese tell me there is more to this life than the daily grind, than simply going to work and going home and doing it all again.
Tuesday, April 5th
Often, I drive without any music on, the radio quiet, the iPod away. I always think I'm going to pray in the stillness, and sometimes I do, but sometimes I forget halfway through and instead just think about life and plans. I see that as a kind of prayer. The silence isn't absolute, though. I hear every clunk dear Hugo has for me. That is a prayer too, reminding me of the freedom and the safety that Hugo gives me. When it's a quiet car ride, I notice things - the color of the clouds, the obnoxious squeal of my brakes, the number of Starbucks I pass. We forget to pay attention to our surroundings, to the unique setting at the precise time we are placed. It can be good to take note, to breathe in, to just simply exist in a particular spot for a moment before moving on.
Monday, April 4th
I just finished a book on Scottish history. I'm not thankful enough for religious freedom. The extreme religious right would protest that the secularization of America is to blame for its turmoil. But from what I can see historically, the pushing of religion onto governments just hurt both the government and the name of Jesus. So many people died in trying to make Catholicism or Protestantism the national religion over hundreds of years, and it was all done out of fear that "if I don't crush your practices and supplant mine, then you'll do it to me." It's horrifying. Granted, I'm not saying we're much better. I can't pretend that prejudice isn't rampant and that other religions are not battered and bruised by those who bear Christ's name. But I can be thankful for those who seek peace between those of faith. It is a greater gift than I realize.
Sunday, April 3rd
I started the day with a sacrament and ended it with one - or at least the celebration of another to come. I always prefer wine in communion, because I dislike the bitterness, the metallic taste of alcohol, and I think that's fitting. Grape juice is a little too sweet, a little too Saturday morning cartoons, but since I go to a Protestant church, I get sweet Jesus blood. Communion has always been special for me, and then this evening, I celebrated the engagement of two dear friends. Marriage, too, is a sacrament, according to the Catholic church, and that intrigues me. Just as you see God and feel his presence, imbibe his being in communion, so too marriage is a way of seeing God, of feeling his presence. It is a holy joining together, and to celebrate the engagement, the commitment of two before God, was a blessing.
Saturday, April 2nd
I got to be the dumbest girl in the room tonight - of course, it was all pretend and I was dressing up as a character from Glee. Regardless, I found that leg warmers actually make sense to wear on your arms, and a big fuzzy hat keeps you cozy when you're wearing shorts on a cold Spring night. Social events bring out all of my insecurities, and they remind me of how life changes so quickly when you don't see people everyday. And at the same time, life doesn't change much at all. New boyfriends, new babies, new jobs - same sunshine, same commute to work, same inside jokes. The comfort is in the challenge, and the challenge is in the comfort. To find the newness and celebrate it, while being thankful for constancy and dependability. That's life.
Friday, April 1st
I don't particularly like to be fooled. Luckily, I survived today with my pride intact. It was warm today, even sunny. I felt summer approaching. I'm starting to plan for the summer, buying tickets for events and getting excited. It will probably be the best summer ever. It's raining now, which is fine, since it's night. I had a wonderful evening with a dear friend, and I'm happy to hear her life and talk about Jesus and be tired in the same room. I want a man with a British accent - is that shallow? I'm reading the history of Scotland now. They just figured out how to make iron weapons, so I have a ways to go. I'm also reading a funny book by Jane Austen. She doesn't get enough credit for her wit and ability. Thus ends the random thoughts of April 1st, 2011. Good night all.
Thursday, March 31st
Somehow, two different reputable institutions allowed me to graduate without taking a stitch of European history. So I'm new to all of this British empire stuff, unless it relates to America (viva la revolucion!) or was covered in a movie (i.e. The King's Speech). The history of England book itself was dry as all getout, and it was so shallow. Granted, it was only 280 pages, so they crammed thousands of years of really complicated history into a very small space. The stories were also fascinating - the corruption, the use of women as political bargaining tools, the manipulation of religion to assist political power. It's all of the same things we're dealing with today, just minus the plague and adding in running water. And they were just people back then. People without the internet.
Wednesday, March 30th
Today I turned a corner. I ran even though I was tired and full and tired and exhausted. I hadn't worked out since Saturday, and my body was craving to move - a rare thing for me, a most sedentary person. But my heart wanted to beat faster, and my legs wanted to ache, and my lungs wanted to gasp. It was the strangest thing. I came home from working 10 hours to put in my laundry, and I put on my runners and ran my neighborhood loop 6 times. I'm realizing the power of routine. I'm at nearly four weeks of writing 150 words a night, eight weeks of working out 3x a week, and the third month of reading four books a month. I know 2011 is still young, but I'm starting out strong. I'm proud of that. Now, to stop eating so many donuts...maybe next year.
Tuesday, March 29th
In my part of the world, it's the time known as graduation season. We had our Grad Night tonight, with students coming to hear about grad school, diploma covers, and regalia pick-up. It's fun for us as employees to cheer on those we've helped gain their degrees. And then it's fun to eat chocolate covered strawberries and sing along to musical soundtracks, shouting across the room. It's funny because I've started to measure time in these Grad Nights. The first was when Robby shared his painful story, and Jen was pregnant, and the three RO employees took a funny PhotoBooth picture together. The second is when we had karaoke, and Patrick talked about musical preferences, and we discussed the anatomical incorrectness of the statuettes. And this time...well, we're still working on it. Cycles are good, healthy. It's good to see the time pass and to be thankful for it.
Monday, March 28th
I'm divided in many directions these days under my calm exterior. Part of me is in Great Britain, as I'm planning buses and pounds and castles. Part of me is at a loss about the future, thinking about how to incorporate my Christian worldview into scholarship - if I even want to be a scholar. Part of me is wondering who to be for the Glee party on Saturday. Part of me wants to read Northanger Abbey, the other part wants to watch Doctor Who, the other part wants to sleep. One part of me wants to eat an entire box of Thin Mints, and the other desperately wants to go running. And the last part of me wants to flirt with an old crush who I found on Facebook. One of these is going to win after I press Publish - guess which one!
Sunday, March 27th
In a time when our evangelical church still looks so warily on symbols, I love baptisms. Sure, there's communion, but we try to make that individual, and confession is mostly between you and God, but baptism is still communal, wet, and celebratory. There's something powerful about sharing in the outward confession of faith of fellow church-goers, watching them do uncomfortable things: mainly, be dunked in a pool of water with a hundred people watching. But Jesus did this, and his followers, and many followers since then. "Upon this confession of faith, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." And the heavens rejoice. So did Newberg Foursquare Church this morning.
Saturday, March 26th
The weather today was mad. It started out sunny, then turned cloudy just as I was going out for a jog. While jogging, it alternated between clouds and sun, meaning I was either boiling or chilly. Not long after I got home, the rain started, and then the hail, which pounded on my few windows with the passion of pebbles thrown by a child's arm. The noise echoed through my apartment, disrupting all peaceful thought. On and off it went through the day, unpredictable. That's spring in the Pacific Northwest. We are taunted with the beauty of sunshine and warmth to come, but it flees before our eyes under the cover of rain-soaked gray skies. It's just a teaser, getting us anxious and ready for the beautiful summer that awaits. We just have to be patient, endure these final days of cold and wet before we can celebrate the sun.
Friday, March 25th
On my day off today, I saw two dear friends at two dear coffee shops, ran outside, ate veggie pizza, talked to my favorite Canadians, and read about England's history. And I didn't wear makeup. It's obvious I'm not a girlie-girl (please note: frizzy wavy hair that takes approximately four minutes), but I always wear makeup. Reasoning? My blonde eyelashes sans mascara make my eyes sink into my face under a curtain of dark eyebrows. I think the last time my face went au natural probably was sometime in Canada when I was a foreigner and no one cared. Funny thing? No one cared today either. Not at Starbucks, not at Coffee Cottage, not at the library. I'm pretty sure neither of my friends cared...or noticed. I'll probably wear mascara again tomorrow, but I don't need to. I just don't. I learned today my eyes work just fine without it.
Thursday, March 24th
Thursday/Fridays are the best. Today was a day that convinced me wherever I work next will be far inferior to the love and fun I have with my Portland center folks. We celebrated Spring Break with magnetic poetry, pizza from the Pizza Caboose and Oreos, and so much laughter. Granted, stress and frustration also occurred, but kind words and funny stories overshadowed the negatives. We work hard and we play hard, and we have a good time. I'm blessed by and challenged by those I work with, and I'm very thankful for such an incredible first workplace experience. My coworkers encourage and celebrate my writing as some of my biggest supporters. And they push me to think about what's next, because they believe in me and believe that this is only the beginning. Plus, free pizza on occasion. Best workplace ever.
Wednesday, March 23rd
The adventures are happening in everyone else's lives these days, so here is a list of things the British television show Top Gear has taught me. I love Top Gear - it doesn't make sense, but I do. 1) If you name a car, you get laughed at. 2) The louder a car's engine is, the better. 3) A car can be pretty and fast, but it better handle well around corners. 4) Brits call the hood the "bonnet" and the trunk the "boot." 5) Sometimes skiiers beat a car down a mountain, but that's all right - cars are still best. 6) You can cheat at your own games. 7) In order of best modes of transportation, it goes: car, speedboat, public transport, bikes. And 8) only cocks drive certain cars. That's a bad name in Britain, but I'm not a Brit so it doesn't count.
Tuesday, March 22nd
Tonight was a dark restaurant where the Mel Brown sextet jazzed their way to blissfulness. Mel plays those drums like they're extensions of his legs and arms; he knows them like his own body. Gordon feels the keys reverberating through his chest as he pounds those 88s. Derek stands for his trumpet solos, arching his back, on his tip-toes to reach the high ones before coming back down to earth. Andre sings along with the bass line, as his fingers pluck for hours, holding the jazz world steady. John's serious face belies the passionate rise and fall of his alto sax, while Renato's tenor sax screams with joy with the highest squeals. And jazz isn't only in the runs of notes; it's in the pauses, the stops, and in the stops, they laugh with each other, and shout encouragement, and feel the music through their fingertips. Me too. Me too.
Monday, March 21st
Today, there was sun for a brief moment. I live above a garage, so I have few windows, the two I have slanted toward the sky. And so, I saw it there, in the sky, emerging from the clouds that have held us captive this long winter. I was home early this day, due to Spring Break and earlier hours, and so I saw its face. I pulled my turquoise armchair out of the stuffy corner it resides in, and dragged it to the middle of my kitchen, smack dab in the middle of that square of sunshine. I put my face to it and drank in the light. It wasn't enough, so I went outside to stand in it, the light dripping down my face, pooling around my ankles. It gave my thirsty soul some refreshment.
Sunday, March 20th
I am incredibly indecisive. My friends pretend to "help" me by making me choose movies or dinners, but I think they just like watching me squirm. Part of my trouble is I can see things from multiple angles, and all of those scenarios fly around my head constantly. Well, I'm planning a trip. A trip by myself to visit two dear friends on the isle of Great Britain come May. I've avoided my guidebooks for months now, after having bought my plane ticket (thus confirming the fact that I'm actually going), and it's because I'm such a wuss. I want to see everything and fear missing things, and so I avoid any planning whatsoever. Not exactly rational. Today, I got out my guidebooks. I wrestled, made lots of notes, and decided very little. But progress is being made, and that's why I'm doing this crazy thing. I want to grow.
Saturday, March 19th
My day doesn't seem like it was very important. I don't feel like I "did much." People always ask me what I did yesterday or last night or over the weekend, and sometimes I reply, "Not much," ducking my head a little in shame. Implicitly, I believe that my days are not worth anything unless they were "so busy" or "I didn't have any time for myself." But that's not what fills me. I am filled by reading a book. Going to the library and unexpectedly running into an old friend. Buying a train ticket with my mother encouraging me over the phone. Jogging in the only rays of sunlight we've seen in weeks. Sweeping the floor, and then leaving the dirt pile in the middle of the kitchen floor to lay down and take a nap. I was filled by today, and I am thankful for it.
Friday, March 18th
Sometimes you just want to try something new and slightly dangerous with a large group of people who you trust. Today I went to a roller derby bout. It was the Portland Break Neck Betties from Portland playing the Tacoma Femme Fiannas. I was clearly out of place - all around me were tattoos, piercings, brilliant hair colors, andryogenous folks, and fishnet tights. Lots of fishnets. The game itself looks simple but is actually complicated. Suffice to say, there was a lot of shoving and falling. The star of the Femme Fiannas was Snickerbrutal, my friend Anna's older sister. My group cheered her on loudly and energetically, with little care for what the home team fans thought. They may have cared more if the Betties didn't win by over 100 points. Regardless, what a game. It was great fun, another thing to add to the "firsts of 2011" list.
Thursday, March 17th
God gives me silly, happy things sometimes. I really wanted to watch my Doctor today, but I couldn't watch him at home. And I didn't want to go to the gym because I hate it and I was grumpy and tired. I just wanted to go home, get in my jammies, and watch the telly. I decided to go to the gym anyway, begrudgingly, thinking that maybe instead of running, I'd just walk for a bit. Right when I enter the gym, what is on the television over the ellipticals? My Doctor! My Doctor with the bowtie! I broke into a dumb, huge smile, like I was seeing an old friend unexpectedly. I got on the elliptical and happily walked for nearly an hour, watching my Doctor and Amy Pond and Rory and the TARDIS and aliens. Papa God gives his silly little girl sweet trifles to make her smile.
Wednesday, March 16th
I accomplished a personal goal of mine today, and I am quite content. A whole new population of folks get to read my little words. I love it when people read my work. I'm not good at reacting to it when people come up to me and say, "I've been reading your blog," because I'm never sure what to say. I'm beyond grateful for anyone whose eyes take in my words and whose hearts feel mine, because to read these words is to know my heart. It's true that readers can know my inner thoughts and anxieties well without me having met them, and that is strange. But it is good if you see me and somehow you see yourself and somehow you see God too. So when I say "thank you" and duck my head, know that I am more thankful than those words can convey.
Tuesday, March 15th
I'm reading a biography of Louisa May Alcott. She's not really who I thought she would be, though I'm not sure how much of that is the bias of the biographer and how much of that is pure Louisa. I'm thinking majority the latter. What we know of her life is compiled from journals and letters - the most inward and the most outward. She's fascinating, her life is thrilling, and she had none of our modern conveniences. I'm scared about how my generation will be remembered, with our copious amounts of blogs, facebook photos, and dumb youtube videos. Nothing's secret anymore. Have we lost the intriguing lives along with the secrets? Or are the dullards who we worship drowning out the truly fascinating? I don't know, but I need to write more letters. I can't be Louisa, but I can try to be an interesting version of Sara.
Monday, March 14th
Well, today I exploded something in the microwave and had to open all of the windows so the fire alarm wouldn't go off. I deleted something on accident. I said some things I didn't mean. I meant some things I couldn't say. I was more focused on "doing" than "loving" or "being." And yet, I don't live within 20 kilometers of a nuclear plant that was demolished by a tsunami so I do not need to be evacuated from my home and pray my cells to live. I also don't live in a country that tried to overthrow a dictator but instead is being tormented and murdered by their own government, so I don't need to try to fall asleep to gunfire and fear. I have a job, a community, a warm bed, and good food - even though I burn it. My life is beautiful, and gratitude is the only response. Why is it so hard to be thankful?
Sunday, March 13th
I dare you to find a better on-screen pairing than late-90s Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. "You've Got Mail" is a masterpiece, not because it's edgy or cinematically brilliant but because it's simply fun, witty, and adorable. Sure, the technology is outdated (does AOL even exist anymore?) and the sweater sets less pervasive, but the story rings true and hasn't grown old. Chick flicks these days are filled with cheesiness, terrible characters, and drunken sex, and are tired after even one viewing. In YGM, Tom and Meg fall in love over email, displaying their true selves without fear, and then in person, even after being terrible people to each other. It's a beautiful story of redemption and stories and the power of being truly yourself. I wish my email would still say those three little words, "You've Got Mail," so I could pretend my own late-90s Tom is writing me.
Saturday, March 12th
I have little to say tonight. I spent the majority of the day in silence, doing some chores but mostly reading. I like the silence - it envelopes me like a warm blanket. It's true that, like a warm blanket, too much silence can get stifling so then I find some conversation, something to get me out of my head and into the external world. Today, I had an out, with a senior composition recital of a dear friend, a very gifted man who has a tremendous path ahead paved with notes and bars of music. He communicates through building magical cities of melodies, and I could see him sitting in the music at the piano, much like I sit within the silence, in his element and at his ease. Seeing things like that make me feel not so alone, not so freakish. We all have our blankets.
Friday, March 11th
I started out today with my heart crushed under the weight of the water covering Japan and the Pacific islands. Watching the footage, I saw the waves roll out with a vengeance, like thick black smoke of evil in movies. It consumed the man-made lives of the Japanese people with heart-wrenching ease. I ended today in a dark movie theater watching a film imagining that our lives are not ours to lead, that we are destined to live a particular way and that everything happens as it should. Instead of the comfort I am used to when thinking of a Supreme Planner, it churned my soul to picture the Japanese, feet wet and eyes wet as they wonder what is left, what can ever be dry again. And I don't know why their destiny brought them to water. I don't like it much. I don't like it at all.
Thursday, March 10th
I've written essays about how I hate the gym. I do hate it. I don't like to sweat, and I don't like being bad at things. The smell of the gym - dampness and machinery - makes me anxious and nauseous. And all those fit people in short shorts reading People magazine while they run 16 miles make me uncomfortable. But I've started going. Often. And I daresay I'm getting used to it. I'm starting to like my routine of running, crunches, machines, and then home for dinner. The repetition is almost like a prayer, like a liturgy to the God of my body. The beat of my footsteps thanking God for motion. The curling of my body thanking God for everything my torso holds. And working out on the machines thanking God for strength, however small, to lift this life onto my shoulders. Then I am thankful for dinner.
Wednesday, March 9th
Today, again, I was confronted with the fact that people's lives are changing like the tides, and their changes crash against me, reshaping my beaches. I am not the waves, but I am affected by them. My life shifts a little as things go and come with the push and pull of the water that is not me. I was determined not to be the sand this year, to let my own waves crash against others, see how they react and adjust. But this is not to be, not yet. My waves are still to come. I will not rise up against them, creating waves for the sake of the battle against the tides. Instead, I will wait until it is my turn to change and change big, and pray that these people, my beaches, will become safe havens for me as my waves crash against them.
Tuesday, March 8th
Stories are really important to me, and today I got to hear many of them. Our lives are composed of stories, and sometimes all you need is someone to listen to them, to affirm and validate them. Some days you don't even realize that you are that listener and your attention is vital to someone else. It's a precious gift to hear co-workers talk about the grace of their dying friends or the hope in a jobless situation. And to hear a singer's story about chances taken and dreams coming true. Or a mother who misses her son but cannot save him from the consequences of his actions. Or a happy/tired friend relaying events involving good food, a sweet boy, and a long-awaited kiss. I am thankful for stories, and I am thankful for those who listen to mine. Today, I was thankful to be the one who listened.
Monday, March 7th
I didn’t realize Lent started on Wednesday. These holy days always sneak up on me, and I’m caught unawares. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by people who either don’t care a whit because their “spiritual lives aren’t ruled by a church calendar” or by others who name something to cast aside that will bring them closer to God. More often than not, though, it seems the latter folks treat Lent like a game, like a challenge that they have to win instead of it being a spiritual exercise that brings them closer to God, freeing up their life from something holding them back. I’m playing the cynic, like usual. Maybe I should give that up for Lent. Or I could just do chocolate and Facebook like everyone else. No, no. It’s good to stop and change. I just want to do it for Christ’s sake, not my own desire for achievement.
Sunday, March 6th
It was on my calendar - "Les Miserables 25th Anniversary Concert - PBS 7pm." Otherwise I forget these important events. I watched the concert with both Heidi and Caleb. Caleb was the one who first showed me the beauty of Les Mis, but soon I found my own love for the music and the story. It is a gorgeous and moving story, and this performance struck straight to my heart. Though it was just a concert version, I was moved by the notes hit and the strength portrayed by the performers - particularly Alfie Boe as Valjean. I felt both a deep admiration for the skill of the singers and a deep affection for the characters they are playing. Needless to say, I spent an exorbitant amount of time on Wikipedia and was chagrined to find the majority of the male leads are married. Kills that pipe dream. Oh well.
Saturday, March 5th
I attended a liturgical wedding today to celebrate the two-becoming-one of Angela and Cash. I work with Angela, and myself and a bunch of our co-worker friends helped to set up: arranging the favors, putting on tablecloths, setting out plastic wineglasses. The church was little and had so many quirks and hidey places. I had never been to an Episcopalian wedding before, and the program they gave us was a literal book. We were asked to participate: stand up, sit down, read, respond, and then ultimately take communion. I loved it, which is funny because I appear so very Protestant, Baptist to the max. But I love the tradition. I love the fact that thousands upon millions of couples across space and time said the exact same thing to each other, though their lives were vastly different. They took the same vows. And that binds them all together.
Friday, March 4th
The song "Gone" by my boys, Switchfoot, emerged from the shuffle on my iPod on my morning commute. It took me back to the summer before sophomore year. Erika and I had just gotten Jamba Juices and we were driving around town. We shouted out the lyrics: "Like summer break is gone!" because it was. One more summer gone. Back in the present, driving to work today, I thought about that song and what it meant. What if I died today? My biggest regret would be that I didn’t write it all down. I have so many things in my head that I feel like other people need to know. What if I never got to write them down? The same thought emerged while I drove home in the rain, water falling hard upon my windshield. There are too many things to write. Too many things to write still.
Summer has officially begun. How do I know? It sure isn’t the weather outside – blasted Oregon cloudiness ruins my summer skies. No, it’s summer because So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD) has premiered. The show has become a tradition – nay, an obsession – among me and my best girlfriends. It started four years ago, when Nicole forced me to watch. I scoffed (side note: I should never scoff when it comes to reality television) but soon I was hooked. Jess was added and since then, it’s been the three of us, screaming for our favorites over the last five seasons, not to mention the analyzing, clapping, and gushing over our bff (we wish) Cat Deeley. Even voting…once the finale nears, but not before. We have invited a few to join our merry gang, but it’s always been the three of us, and sunshiney skies, and the watching of dancing. Summertime.
Wednesday, June 8th
I was talking with a friend, and she complimented me on a certain success, which I brushed off in my way. She straight-up told me, “Don’t make my compliment into a to-do list, “ which jolted me. It’s true; I tend to accept a compliment but deflect by mentioning my to-dos. Oh, I’m going to send it off to another publication, or I haven’t had a chance to edit it yet. That is my own way of downplaying and ignoring what I’ve done. I was raised to be extremely humble, and even though my parents constantly praise me (not really), I am a confidently humble gal with a Midwestern work ethic and a Northwest desire for individualism. I’ve never been good at accepting compliments. Somehow, it pushes all of my insecure buttons. I crave it, but don’t know how to deal with it. Like a drug, an addiction.
Tuesday, June 7th
I had this crazy dream. Star Wars baddies in full alien garb and dinosaurs escaped from George Lucas’s workshop to mount an attack on humanity. I hid behind a bush, realizing it was a crappy hiding place,. They all passed – for the moment – and I rushed out from my hiding place to see Martin Freeman (duh, British actor) who hugged me. That is what stays with me. The feeling of utter terror, and then that hug, that envelopment of arms and warmth and comfort even though the dinosaurs weren’t far off. I’m an adult. I don’t get scared in public and need a hug. If I do, it comes from a girl, which is nice but honestly a little small and boney. But sometimes I wish I could get just scared enough to deserve a firm and secure hug from a guy…named Martin Freeman. Seriously, though, he’s a great hugger.
Monday, June 6th
Sometimes days just aren't good. Sometimes they are pretty terrible: people are mean, or things break down, or bad news wins out. And sometimes they are just mildly bad: people are irritating, or things sort of break, or the bad news weighs slightly more than the good news. Today was the latter. I made a few stupid decisions which gave me an anxious chest. On my commute, I tried to cry, thinking it would do me good. But instead all I kept thinking was, "At least I don't have the Plague, and I'm not a farmer during the Dust Bowl, and I've never been beaten." Then, I was cheered by a dear friend who always provides good conversations and is brave enough to ask for cookies. So life's pretty good. My feelings are valid, but I have a luxury: I get to move on.
Wednesday, May 4th
It is almost tomorrow so I will write more then.
Tuesday, May 3rd
There's a billboard I see every day on my commute that proclaims emphatically the Second Coming is occurring on May 21, 2011. A gold seal on the billboard says, "The Bible guarantees it." I shake my head every time I go past - no wonder the world thinks Christians are nutters - but a little prayer escapes with my next exhale - Lord Jesus, come soon. There is much I haven't done, much I'd like to do, but this planet gets more saturated with pain by the hour. There are tornadoes in the south, genocide overseas, and cancer creeping into our bodies. We celebrate murder and applaud stupidity, while babies die of thirst and disease. And I think, Why oh why will you not come, my Jesus? Why oh why will you not save us from ourselves? Maybe we'll know on May 21 - or maybe we will wait.
Monday, May 2nd
Yesterday, Facebook said Osama bin Laden was killed. In a matter of minutes, the news spread and links were posted. Then the president confirmed all of the rumors. There are supposedly pictures of the man with a bullet in his head. They buried him at sea. And to this news, people partied in Times Square. I didn't feel like rejoicing - instead, I just felt sick. I know he was a terrible man under whose leadership many people were brutally killed. I know of the threats he made. I just can't celebrate repaying evil for evil, the murder of a man who murdered. I am thankful for troops who keep me and those I love safe. And I am forever saddened for the families of those lost in New York and abroad since then. But vengeance does not bring closure, and death of a figurehead does not bring peace.
Sunday, May 1st
It's May Day in Great Britain, a national holiday that involves singing choirs, early-morning breakfast, and dancing, from what I can gather from Karith's photos on Facebook. It also means that I leave for that island in six days. That fact is more horrifying to me than exciting, because all I can think about is the packing and the planning and the details. But that's why I'm going on this trip: to be challenged, to grow, and to teach myself that I am capable - if I have a smartphone, a credit card, and a guidebook. I'm embarking on a trip of a lifetime, and while it doesn't seem that way to me yet, I know when I see gorgeous Gothic cathedrals and red double-decker buses, and the crags of the Scottish coastline, I'll be struck with the magnitude of my undertaking. And I'll be pretty dang impressed with myself.
Saturday, April 30th
I love working commencement. It's a long Saturday, but the ceremony is such an exciting celebration. This year, I got to hold the power position: I stood at the steps leading up to the platform. In order to keep a rhythm, I asked students to hop onto the first step while they waited their turn. So many nervous and excited eyes met mine, and begged for some encouragement. I smiled at them, and said, "One step for me, please." After a while, it became simply one step, one step, one step. It was a profoundly simple moment, as I realized I was asking them to just take a step up into their future. It always takes one step. I've found it doesn't end there, with that diploma. Life is a series of steps, always just one more step, that takes us into the unknown where God is waiting.
Friday, April 29th
This is the most tired I've ever been. In college, I never stayed up past 3 am. Today at work, I am running on 2.5 hours of sleep and much caffeine. Why did I do it? I knew that with today's technology, I could watch anything tomorrow on youtube. But that's not a good story. I wanted to have a story to tell my children, just like the story that Sheila told me yesterday in the break room, about how she and her husband watched the wedding of Princess Diana and Prince Charles. I'll be able to tell my little girls that I watched a normal (multi-millionaire) girl become a (not-quite) princess. Then I'll tell them that they can pretend to be princesses if they want, or they can pretend to be semi-truck drivers. Just as long as they listen to my stories. That goes for the boys too.
Thursday, April 28th
Weddings are celebrations, regardless of who is getting hitched. There is a big one tonight/tomorrow morning. A lot of grumps want the coverage to be over, because they simply do not care. I understand their point. The monarchy is little more than an outdated figurehead, and the pomp and circumstance of their every motion is unfamiliar in a world where celebrities tweet what cereal they are eating for breakfast. And even so, I'm intrigued. Sure, it's not my wedding or one of anyone I love. But it's a celebration of two becoming one, and the hope that is deeply embedded within that ceremony. So I am lying on the floor in my living room, two of my best girlfriends sitting up with me, ready for a long night ahead. We're eating ice cream and watching Princess Diaries before coverage starts at 1 am. And we're giddy with excitement.
Wednesday, April 27th
I was about to say nothing notable happened today, but then I remembered: I got to go on the roof of my office building. I had permission - our site supervisor took myself and a few coworkers up there on our afternoon break. We had to climb a tall skinny ladder before emerging into the filtered sunlight. Everything felt different. We could peer down through the skylight, waving like children at our coworkers below. We looked at our cars in the parking lot. We tiptoed near the edge, before skittering away. We ran on the top of the building, safely in the center. I wish I could say that the view was something to behold, but it wasn't really. We weren't that high up, but it was nice to have a different perspective, do something vaguely dangerous, and then head back to work in the afterglow of roof-time.
Tuesday, April 26th
Today was confirmation. And confirmation is free chocolate chip muffins. A London Fog as a thank-you for a ride to work. Giving a student her regalia she's waited over ten years for. Solving discrepancies with a wave of my hand. Hearing good things about someone else. Singing in the car to Britney Spears. Giving expert advice amidst an enormous wall of brightly colored shirts. Pretending to be high schoolers on lunch break. Peach froyo with strawberries. The smell of a roast cooking in Williams-Sonoma as we played with the banana slicers. Hearing about a loved one lost and the new perspective it brings. Four o'clock walk with some sunshine thrown in for good measure. Improving small things with the click of a keyboard. The people you work with make your job. And I work with good people.
Monday, April 25th
I'm a bit stressed right now. Before you shower me with sorrowful understanding, let me tell you that this stress is good for me. The stress I had last week? Crippling. This current stress is the stress of life, of busyness, of having much to do and little time. Granted, I don't want to live my entire life like this, but it's only for a short time. And I'm carving out my days so that things get done. This kind of stress is something I used to live underneath, and while it was taxing and exhausting, it was also exhilarating. This is the stress of anticipation and excitement and doing things you love. Many things. All at the same time. I might be prone to grumpiness in this inbetween-time, but trust me, this stress is challenging me and teaching me and forcing me to move. That is a good thing.
Sunday, April 24th
Growing up in a pastor's home away from extended family meant that we had strange holiday traditions. They revolve around church services and the fact that Dad (and usually Mom) is bone-tired afterwards. But I like the pizza on Christmas Eve and the basketball games we used to go on Christmas day and the Easter eggs we'd find in October when we moved the couch. Today was an unconventional Easter, but one I'll always cherish. It involved sweet and sour pork, buy-one-get-one Burgerville strawberry milkshakes, RedBox, and a sleep-deprived but buoyant blonde who borrows my facial expressions. We watched movies and took silly pictures of each other, while wearing our pajama pants at 6pm. Then we took alternating bites of cookie dough and cookies straight from the oven while watching Zack Galifinakis in a mental hospital. He (not Zach Galifinakis) is risen. He is risen indeed.
Saturday, April 23rd
Every year, I wonder about this Saturday. What a terrible day this was for the disciples. Beyond seeing the man for whom you gave up everything brutally executed (and by "see," I mean completely abandon him and run away from the whole situation), now you have to continue living after he's gone. How that sharp stabbing pain of utter despair must have mellowed into a dull throb, like that headache you get when you haven't drunk enough water. How they must have seen their lives as over - no families, no occupations, no Jesus. The dream was over, and I'm sure as they sat in that room, locked away in fear for their own lives and in fear that their lives were for nothing, they prayed to God for some comfort. It wouldn't come until Sunday.
Friday, April 22nd
I celebrated Good Friday twice today. The first time, I walked more miles than I usually do to a noon-time community service at a local church. Different pastors of the town took turns reading the crucifixion story, with reading and response, prayers, and much silence. Attendance was sparse, given that 5+ churches were represented, but the older folks and I sat in silence and pondered Jesus's death. After the conclusion, we walked out in to pure holy sunshine. Then I spent time with some dear friends, as we ate pizza and watched Ben Hur, before ending the evening with communion together. We thanked the Father for sacrificing his son, the Son for giving his life, the Holy Spirit for helping us understand this all. And both celebrations were vital, and both were somber, and both had an undercurrent of latent joy, because without Friday, Sunday means nothing.
Thursday, April 21st
On Maundy Thursday, the liturgical church - and progressive evangelicals - celebrate the Last Supper, where the oblivious disciples joined their weighed-down Master for a final meal. Jesus told them everything to prepare them for the days ahead, and they missed every clue. Today, I ate dinner at Red Robin with two close girlfriends. We talked much too loudly, took far too long to decide our meals, and ate way too much. We poked fun at each other and covered the most important life changes. God willing, it wasn't our last supper, but it was eating and drinking together. So we celebrated Maundy Thursday, the night that Jesus enjoyed the company of this disciples, gaining strength both emotional and physical for the pain to come. I hope that the pain to inevitably come in my life will be buffeted by the strength I'm gathering now from those I love.
Wednesday, April 20th
In a meeting today, we talked about our favorite Easter memories. Like the time we didn't find the plastic egg in the lamp...until the smell of burning plastic made it unmistakable. Or the year I stayed home from school on Good Friday because my parents said I could decide to stay home. It was a meaningful day for me, not because I wasn't at school, but because my parents respected my spiritual growth enough to let me decide for myself. And so, today was a peaceful day. Some things happened that were not peaceful - people's feelings got hurt, work was crazy, errands took precedence over the gym - but peace is not the absence of conflict. It's finding a place of calm and rest within the craziness. I know now what I am to be doing, the direction in which I should be facing: it's toward the light.
Tuesday, April 19th
If you know me well, you would not describe me as a talker. I can babble on and on if I'm nervous, but mostly I'm quiet, perhaps a bit witty and/or snarky at moments, when the muse strikes. Today, I spent a lot of time talking. I've never been a verbal processor, but I've learned from some greats: my friends. And they are always willing to repay the kindness of a listening ear. So today I've talked to the best of my friends about things both silly and serious, superficial and weighty, glorious and painful. In doing so, I was heard, and I think they were too. I realize the blessing of good friends who know me well, and how I need to hold tightly to those types of friends wherever I can find them. They are a valuable resource, and I don't want to take them for granted.
Monday, April 18th
I always say spring is my favorite season, but it's kind of awful. It's beautiful and joyous, because the flowers are coming up, the days are getting warmer, and here in the Pacific Northwest, we start seeing glimmers of sunshine we forgot were up above the cloud layer. But spring is a flirt - she's here one hour and gone the next, plunging us into the deepest gloom. It's easier to bear when we don't realize what we're missing. When the earth reminds us and then takes away the soft, warm rays, it's a bitter loss. But spring is also about hope, the hope that the next second will bring bluer skies, and today - when it was bright, then sprinkling wet, then hail, then the loudest fattest drops, then sunshine again - was a great reminder that things always change, but the sunshine is coming; just wait and see.
Sunday, April 17th
I believe God works in all by holding everything, but the choices are our own. Sometimes, though, things just work out better than possible, and then I say, "Hello, God. Thanks!" Last night I was up late, so I didn't go to first service with my roommate and her fiance. I finally dragged myself out of bed, got to church, and sat in the corner of the church. After the service, I happened to run into my landlords. I haven't spoken to them in weeks, just because of our schedules, but all of my recent struggles came out and I confided in them my turmoils. They were just who I needed. Polly especially was incredibly encouraging, investing the wisdom she has built up over years and speaking directly into my bruised spirit. And all because I was too lazy to go to first service! Hello, God. Thanks!
Saturday, April 16th
I fell in love with Mumford and Sons today again. They played at Coachella, and the set was livestreamed through YouTube. I hate to go on and on about them, but as a band, they are near perfection. Their music is exquisitely now, with all of the gravelly voices and banjos that we love these days. More than that, they seem to genuinely enjoy playing music with each other. Somehow, the boys missed the memo that they're supposed to look cool while playing and not grin like little schoolboys. It delights me to see them delighted. My favorite song of theirs is "Timshel," a Hebrew word which means "Thou may'est" and describes the choices we have as humans. I'm in the midst of some choices in my own life, and listening to that song with that framework and life experience makes it extraordinarily rich.
Friday, April 15th
Lovely day, today. It rained all day, which made folks at work grumpy and gloomy. It's busy season for most of us, so we were all glued to those glowing boxes that hold our entire professions. Halfway through the day, though, I got to go help set up for our graduation banquet. I love the banquet - I love to celebrate people's accomplishments, throw a big party, and eat delicious food. And I got to spend time with some of my favorite people - it was one of those moments where I can't believe I would ever think of leaving them. A year ago, I was in a very different work environment due to some shifts that occurred. It was a painful time, but now I see - now I see why. And I'm very thankful to work where I do and help students. It's a blessing.
Thursday, April 14th
Today I broke my Lenten fast. I watched television on a weeknight on my television alone in my house. I also did not go to the gym, but I did eat an enormous amount of chocolate chips and peanut butter. It was a bit of an off-day. I have some decisions to make, and I'm terrible at making decisions so I'm kind of floundering. But it's okay sometimes to flounder. To wonder and pray and wish and have no idea what to do next. And sometimes it's okay to break your fast, and to indulge, and to let go in order to rest your fingers so they can grab on stronger the next time. I don't feel bad. And I know Jesus understands and loves me despite the fact that I spent all night being a lazy bum on the couch. Maybe he loves me because of it.
Wednesday, April 13th
I've never been too good at being in two places at once. I'm a singular-type person, like to be focused on one thing at a time. I can multitask fairly well, but I do my best work with my attention narrowed in - and I prefer to be doing my best work whenever possible. Right now, I feel like I'm divided as I'm thinking about the future while maintaining my grasp on the present. I feel like part of me is walking the streets of London, riding the Tube, visiting castles while the other me is here, driving to work, spending my day looking at a computer screen and participating in earthquake drills. Because my attention is split, I'm not fully present. But hey - work can probably deal with a slightly absent-minded and distant employee for a few more weeks.
Tuesday, April 12th
The stress came back today, like a gray cloud following me around, dampening my shoes just enough that they're annoyingly wet and squelchy. I couldn't take it anymore, so I called my mom and unloaded on her about money and credit cards and transportation and eyeglasses and relationships. Like any good mom, she just took it as I babbled while sitting in my gym's parking lot. As I sat there, I noticed a bush next to my car, with wide branches, spaced out green leaves, and little birds jumping from branch to branch. I'm not a bird person, so all I know is they were small, round, and black and white...and maybe blue. They hopped around those bushes, suddenly dropping six inches to a lower branch, then skipping back up, hanging on upside down. I thought - how much more does the Lord care about me, whiny old stresspot me?
Monday, April 11th
I don't think about Papua New Guinea often. Most of the time I don't believe I actually visited it, the memories so hazy with heat and sweat that they seem like dreams involving a prehistoric landscape, dotted with woven huts, palm trees, and billboards for cell phone companies. But a few days ago, a neighbor was turning over her garden, preparing to plant perennials, and the damp smell of the earth washed over me as I ran past. It was the smell through shimmering humidity of wet dirt, of ground, of the ties the New Guineans have to the soil. Then in church, photos of dark Ugandan children with white teeth. And I saw Mainu and Jerri and Davis - different features, same curly hair and mischievous eyes. I don't forget them - they just fall under the rim of daily life, until they are stirred to the top again.
Sunday, April 10th
Today began with burdens so suffered by "adults," with budgets to balance and relationships to maintain and decisions to make. The stress squelched the quiet voice of God saying, "peace, be still," and though I heard, I could not follow. Waves crashed against my skull, and the fear rose like the floodwaters. But today ended with a Disney movie. I was captivated by the bright colors and the comical creatures and the story about dreams and healing and love. By the end, I was giggling, behaving much like I did watching these movies as a child. It is different now, though, because it is a choice. I have seen the world and it is hard and scary, but I choose to believe in love and colors and silly untrue stories that contain truth. The joy is more beautiful because of the choice. And so the waters subsided and I smiled.
Saturday, April 9th
We started out as five, in a booth at that same 24-hour Shari's after study parties and shows and finals. And now we're seven - married, engaged, dating, single. I thought it might be hard or terrible, but we were just the same as we have always been, just a few newer faces. It's comforting that, in a world of change, some things are solid because the foundation has been poured and built. That doesn't mean that the buildings up above stay the same, but the base is difficult to break. We were easily the loudest table at Shari's tonight, louder than the college kids or even the post-prom high-schoolers. Wrappers were thrown into cups, french fries were stolen, and at one point, a lamp was put askew. Beautiful.
Friday, April 8th
Today was the day I needed, filled with blue sky and sunshine. My doctor did say that I have a vitamin D deficiency, like 75% of Oregonians, so I'm using that as my excuse to go outside whenever I can. The daffodils are sprouting up everywhere, like little long-nosed gangly teenagers, just loitering out on the sidewalk. The air right now smells like blossoms, and I think I'm minorly allergic, because my nose starts running underneath the pink fragrant trees. There was another smell I noticed while running - the smell of the earth. Neighbors were outside planting or turning up the dirt, and it pervaded the air, the earthy, woody, damp smell of cultivation and growth. Honestly, it reminded me of Papua New Guinea, a country that smells like that all the time, just waiting for growth, for cultivation and planting. Spring holds so much.
Thursday, April 7th
I went to the doctor for a physical recently. Most folks my age don't bother, but I figure I have the insurance and I should find out how I'm doing before anything gets too serious. The doctor did all the normal things: took my blood and my history, checked my body parts, hemmed and hawed before she said I was healthy. Those beautiful words. Many people don't get to hear those words. I have a co-worker who is afraid her cancer is coming back, a friend with chronic pain, another who is afraid to go to the doctor and find out what is causing her dizzy spells. Being able to move and breathe is nothing less than a miracle, a gift to be thankful for. I am thankful, and while I am, I think about those I love who are not, and I give them what I can spare.
Wednesday, April 6th
There are these two geese that I see on my way to work. They are in the last part of my commute, grazing by the side of the road in a little wooded, undeveloped area strangely placed in a business park, the grassy space bordered by a Costco and a Winco. I see them almost every day, and they always surprise me, like they're this little gift that is given to me each morning. They seem content, those geese, just munching away on the green grass, oblivious to the cars whizzing past them. Seeing them takes me out of the city, to the most peaceful times I've had - in the woods, by a lake, walking monastery trails. The geese tell me there is more to this life than the daily grind, than simply going to work and going home and doing it all again.
Tuesday, April 5th
Often, I drive without any music on, the radio quiet, the iPod away. I always think I'm going to pray in the stillness, and sometimes I do, but sometimes I forget halfway through and instead just think about life and plans. I see that as a kind of prayer. The silence isn't absolute, though. I hear every clunk dear Hugo has for me. That is a prayer too, reminding me of the freedom and the safety that Hugo gives me. When it's a quiet car ride, I notice things - the color of the clouds, the obnoxious squeal of my brakes, the number of Starbucks I pass. We forget to pay attention to our surroundings, to the unique setting at the precise time we are placed. It can be good to take note, to breathe in, to just simply exist in a particular spot for a moment before moving on.
Monday, April 4th
I just finished a book on Scottish history. I'm not thankful enough for religious freedom. The extreme religious right would protest that the secularization of America is to blame for its turmoil. But from what I can see historically, the pushing of religion onto governments just hurt both the government and the name of Jesus. So many people died in trying to make Catholicism or Protestantism the national religion over hundreds of years, and it was all done out of fear that "if I don't crush your practices and supplant mine, then you'll do it to me." It's horrifying. Granted, I'm not saying we're much better. I can't pretend that prejudice isn't rampant and that other religions are not battered and bruised by those who bear Christ's name. But I can be thankful for those who seek peace between those of faith. It is a greater gift than I realize.
Sunday, April 3rd
I started the day with a sacrament and ended it with one - or at least the celebration of another to come. I always prefer wine in communion, because I dislike the bitterness, the metallic taste of alcohol, and I think that's fitting. Grape juice is a little too sweet, a little too Saturday morning cartoons, but since I go to a Protestant church, I get sweet Jesus blood. Communion has always been special for me, and then this evening, I celebrated the engagement of two dear friends. Marriage, too, is a sacrament, according to the Catholic church, and that intrigues me. Just as you see God and feel his presence, imbibe his being in communion, so too marriage is a way of seeing God, of feeling his presence. It is a holy joining together, and to celebrate the engagement, the commitment of two before God, was a blessing.
Saturday, April 2nd
I got to be the dumbest girl in the room tonight - of course, it was all pretend and I was dressing up as a character from Glee. Regardless, I found that leg warmers actually make sense to wear on your arms, and a big fuzzy hat keeps you cozy when you're wearing shorts on a cold Spring night. Social events bring out all of my insecurities, and they remind me of how life changes so quickly when you don't see people everyday. And at the same time, life doesn't change much at all. New boyfriends, new babies, new jobs - same sunshine, same commute to work, same inside jokes. The comfort is in the challenge, and the challenge is in the comfort. To find the newness and celebrate it, while being thankful for constancy and dependability. That's life.
Friday, April 1st
I don't particularly like to be fooled. Luckily, I survived today with my pride intact. It was warm today, even sunny. I felt summer approaching. I'm starting to plan for the summer, buying tickets for events and getting excited. It will probably be the best summer ever. It's raining now, which is fine, since it's night. I had a wonderful evening with a dear friend, and I'm happy to hear her life and talk about Jesus and be tired in the same room. I want a man with a British accent - is that shallow? I'm reading the history of Scotland now. They just figured out how to make iron weapons, so I have a ways to go. I'm also reading a funny book by Jane Austen. She doesn't get enough credit for her wit and ability. Thus ends the random thoughts of April 1st, 2011. Good night all.
Thursday, March 31st
Somehow, two different reputable institutions allowed me to graduate without taking a stitch of European history. So I'm new to all of this British empire stuff, unless it relates to America (viva la revolucion!) or was covered in a movie (i.e. The King's Speech). The history of England book itself was dry as all getout, and it was so shallow. Granted, it was only 280 pages, so they crammed thousands of years of really complicated history into a very small space. The stories were also fascinating - the corruption, the use of women as political bargaining tools, the manipulation of religion to assist political power. It's all of the same things we're dealing with today, just minus the plague and adding in running water. And they were just people back then. People without the internet.
Wednesday, March 30th
Today I turned a corner. I ran even though I was tired and full and tired and exhausted. I hadn't worked out since Saturday, and my body was craving to move - a rare thing for me, a most sedentary person. But my heart wanted to beat faster, and my legs wanted to ache, and my lungs wanted to gasp. It was the strangest thing. I came home from working 10 hours to put in my laundry, and I put on my runners and ran my neighborhood loop 6 times. I'm realizing the power of routine. I'm at nearly four weeks of writing 150 words a night, eight weeks of working out 3x a week, and the third month of reading four books a month. I know 2011 is still young, but I'm starting out strong. I'm proud of that. Now, to stop eating so many donuts...maybe next year.
Tuesday, March 29th
In my part of the world, it's the time known as graduation season. We had our Grad Night tonight, with students coming to hear about grad school, diploma covers, and regalia pick-up. It's fun for us as employees to cheer on those we've helped gain their degrees. And then it's fun to eat chocolate covered strawberries and sing along to musical soundtracks, shouting across the room. It's funny because I've started to measure time in these Grad Nights. The first was when Robby shared his painful story, and Jen was pregnant, and the three RO employees took a funny PhotoBooth picture together. The second is when we had karaoke, and Patrick talked about musical preferences, and we discussed the anatomical incorrectness of the statuettes. And this time...well, we're still working on it. Cycles are good, healthy. It's good to see the time pass and to be thankful for it.
Monday, March 28th
I'm divided in many directions these days under my calm exterior. Part of me is in Great Britain, as I'm planning buses and pounds and castles. Part of me is at a loss about the future, thinking about how to incorporate my Christian worldview into scholarship - if I even want to be a scholar. Part of me is wondering who to be for the Glee party on Saturday. Part of me wants to read Northanger Abbey, the other part wants to watch Doctor Who, the other part wants to sleep. One part of me wants to eat an entire box of Thin Mints, and the other desperately wants to go running. And the last part of me wants to flirt with an old crush who I found on Facebook. One of these is going to win after I press Publish - guess which one!
Sunday, March 27th
In a time when our evangelical church still looks so warily on symbols, I love baptisms. Sure, there's communion, but we try to make that individual, and confession is mostly between you and God, but baptism is still communal, wet, and celebratory. There's something powerful about sharing in the outward confession of faith of fellow church-goers, watching them do uncomfortable things: mainly, be dunked in a pool of water with a hundred people watching. But Jesus did this, and his followers, and many followers since then. "Upon this confession of faith, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." And the heavens rejoice. So did Newberg Foursquare Church this morning.
Saturday, March 26th
The weather today was mad. It started out sunny, then turned cloudy just as I was going out for a jog. While jogging, it alternated between clouds and sun, meaning I was either boiling or chilly. Not long after I got home, the rain started, and then the hail, which pounded on my few windows with the passion of pebbles thrown by a child's arm. The noise echoed through my apartment, disrupting all peaceful thought. On and off it went through the day, unpredictable. That's spring in the Pacific Northwest. We are taunted with the beauty of sunshine and warmth to come, but it flees before our eyes under the cover of rain-soaked gray skies. It's just a teaser, getting us anxious and ready for the beautiful summer that awaits. We just have to be patient, endure these final days of cold and wet before we can celebrate the sun.
Friday, March 25th
On my day off today, I saw two dear friends at two dear coffee shops, ran outside, ate veggie pizza, talked to my favorite Canadians, and read about England's history. And I didn't wear makeup. It's obvious I'm not a girlie-girl (please note: frizzy wavy hair that takes approximately four minutes), but I always wear makeup. Reasoning? My blonde eyelashes sans mascara make my eyes sink into my face under a curtain of dark eyebrows. I think the last time my face went au natural probably was sometime in Canada when I was a foreigner and no one cared. Funny thing? No one cared today either. Not at Starbucks, not at Coffee Cottage, not at the library. I'm pretty sure neither of my friends cared...or noticed. I'll probably wear mascara again tomorrow, but I don't need to. I just don't. I learned today my eyes work just fine without it.
Thursday, March 24th
Thursday/Fridays are the best. Today was a day that convinced me wherever I work next will be far inferior to the love and fun I have with my Portland center folks. We celebrated Spring Break with magnetic poetry, pizza from the Pizza Caboose and Oreos, and so much laughter. Granted, stress and frustration also occurred, but kind words and funny stories overshadowed the negatives. We work hard and we play hard, and we have a good time. I'm blessed by and challenged by those I work with, and I'm very thankful for such an incredible first workplace experience. My coworkers encourage and celebrate my writing as some of my biggest supporters. And they push me to think about what's next, because they believe in me and believe that this is only the beginning. Plus, free pizza on occasion. Best workplace ever.
Wednesday, March 23rd
The adventures are happening in everyone else's lives these days, so here is a list of things the British television show Top Gear has taught me. I love Top Gear - it doesn't make sense, but I do. 1) If you name a car, you get laughed at. 2) The louder a car's engine is, the better. 3) A car can be pretty and fast, but it better handle well around corners. 4) Brits call the hood the "bonnet" and the trunk the "boot." 5) Sometimes skiiers beat a car down a mountain, but that's all right - cars are still best. 6) You can cheat at your own games. 7) In order of best modes of transportation, it goes: car, speedboat, public transport, bikes. And 8) only cocks drive certain cars. That's a bad name in Britain, but I'm not a Brit so it doesn't count.
Tuesday, March 22nd
Tonight was a dark restaurant where the Mel Brown sextet jazzed their way to blissfulness. Mel plays those drums like they're extensions of his legs and arms; he knows them like his own body. Gordon feels the keys reverberating through his chest as he pounds those 88s. Derek stands for his trumpet solos, arching his back, on his tip-toes to reach the high ones before coming back down to earth. Andre sings along with the bass line, as his fingers pluck for hours, holding the jazz world steady. John's serious face belies the passionate rise and fall of his alto sax, while Renato's tenor sax screams with joy with the highest squeals. And jazz isn't only in the runs of notes; it's in the pauses, the stops, and in the stops, they laugh with each other, and shout encouragement, and feel the music through their fingertips. Me too. Me too.
Monday, March 21st
Today, there was sun for a brief moment. I live above a garage, so I have few windows, the two I have slanted toward the sky. And so, I saw it there, in the sky, emerging from the clouds that have held us captive this long winter. I was home early this day, due to Spring Break and earlier hours, and so I saw its face. I pulled my turquoise armchair out of the stuffy corner it resides in, and dragged it to the middle of my kitchen, smack dab in the middle of that square of sunshine. I put my face to it and drank in the light. It wasn't enough, so I went outside to stand in it, the light dripping down my face, pooling around my ankles. It gave my thirsty soul some refreshment.
Sunday, March 20th
I am incredibly indecisive. My friends pretend to "help" me by making me choose movies or dinners, but I think they just like watching me squirm. Part of my trouble is I can see things from multiple angles, and all of those scenarios fly around my head constantly. Well, I'm planning a trip. A trip by myself to visit two dear friends on the isle of Great Britain come May. I've avoided my guidebooks for months now, after having bought my plane ticket (thus confirming the fact that I'm actually going), and it's because I'm such a wuss. I want to see everything and fear missing things, and so I avoid any planning whatsoever. Not exactly rational. Today, I got out my guidebooks. I wrestled, made lots of notes, and decided very little. But progress is being made, and that's why I'm doing this crazy thing. I want to grow.
Saturday, March 19th
My day doesn't seem like it was very important. I don't feel like I "did much." People always ask me what I did yesterday or last night or over the weekend, and sometimes I reply, "Not much," ducking my head a little in shame. Implicitly, I believe that my days are not worth anything unless they were "so busy" or "I didn't have any time for myself." But that's not what fills me. I am filled by reading a book. Going to the library and unexpectedly running into an old friend. Buying a train ticket with my mother encouraging me over the phone. Jogging in the only rays of sunlight we've seen in weeks. Sweeping the floor, and then leaving the dirt pile in the middle of the kitchen floor to lay down and take a nap. I was filled by today, and I am thankful for it.
Friday, March 18th
Sometimes you just want to try something new and slightly dangerous with a large group of people who you trust. Today I went to a roller derby bout. It was the Portland Break Neck Betties from Portland playing the Tacoma Femme Fiannas. I was clearly out of place - all around me were tattoos, piercings, brilliant hair colors, andryogenous folks, and fishnet tights. Lots of fishnets. The game itself looks simple but is actually complicated. Suffice to say, there was a lot of shoving and falling. The star of the Femme Fiannas was Snickerbrutal, my friend Anna's older sister. My group cheered her on loudly and energetically, with little care for what the home team fans thought. They may have cared more if the Betties didn't win by over 100 points. Regardless, what a game. It was great fun, another thing to add to the "firsts of 2011" list.
Thursday, March 17th
God gives me silly, happy things sometimes. I really wanted to watch my Doctor today, but I couldn't watch him at home. And I didn't want to go to the gym because I hate it and I was grumpy and tired. I just wanted to go home, get in my jammies, and watch the telly. I decided to go to the gym anyway, begrudgingly, thinking that maybe instead of running, I'd just walk for a bit. Right when I enter the gym, what is on the television over the ellipticals? My Doctor! My Doctor with the bowtie! I broke into a dumb, huge smile, like I was seeing an old friend unexpectedly. I got on the elliptical and happily walked for nearly an hour, watching my Doctor and Amy Pond and Rory and the TARDIS and aliens. Papa God gives his silly little girl sweet trifles to make her smile.
Wednesday, March 16th
I accomplished a personal goal of mine today, and I am quite content. A whole new population of folks get to read my little words. I love it when people read my work. I'm not good at reacting to it when people come up to me and say, "I've been reading your blog," because I'm never sure what to say. I'm beyond grateful for anyone whose eyes take in my words and whose hearts feel mine, because to read these words is to know my heart. It's true that readers can know my inner thoughts and anxieties well without me having met them, and that is strange. But it is good if you see me and somehow you see yourself and somehow you see God too. So when I say "thank you" and duck my head, know that I am more thankful than those words can convey.
Tuesday, March 15th
I'm reading a biography of Louisa May Alcott. She's not really who I thought she would be, though I'm not sure how much of that is the bias of the biographer and how much of that is pure Louisa. I'm thinking majority the latter. What we know of her life is compiled from journals and letters - the most inward and the most outward. She's fascinating, her life is thrilling, and she had none of our modern conveniences. I'm scared about how my generation will be remembered, with our copious amounts of blogs, facebook photos, and dumb youtube videos. Nothing's secret anymore. Have we lost the intriguing lives along with the secrets? Or are the dullards who we worship drowning out the truly fascinating? I don't know, but I need to write more letters. I can't be Louisa, but I can try to be an interesting version of Sara.
Monday, March 14th
Well, today I exploded something in the microwave and had to open all of the windows so the fire alarm wouldn't go off. I deleted something on accident. I said some things I didn't mean. I meant some things I couldn't say. I was more focused on "doing" than "loving" or "being." And yet, I don't live within 20 kilometers of a nuclear plant that was demolished by a tsunami so I do not need to be evacuated from my home and pray my cells to live. I also don't live in a country that tried to overthrow a dictator but instead is being tormented and murdered by their own government, so I don't need to try to fall asleep to gunfire and fear. I have a job, a community, a warm bed, and good food - even though I burn it. My life is beautiful, and gratitude is the only response. Why is it so hard to be thankful?
Sunday, March 13th
I dare you to find a better on-screen pairing than late-90s Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. "You've Got Mail" is a masterpiece, not because it's edgy or cinematically brilliant but because it's simply fun, witty, and adorable. Sure, the technology is outdated (does AOL even exist anymore?) and the sweater sets less pervasive, but the story rings true and hasn't grown old. Chick flicks these days are filled with cheesiness, terrible characters, and drunken sex, and are tired after even one viewing. In YGM, Tom and Meg fall in love over email, displaying their true selves without fear, and then in person, even after being terrible people to each other. It's a beautiful story of redemption and stories and the power of being truly yourself. I wish my email would still say those three little words, "You've Got Mail," so I could pretend my own late-90s Tom is writing me.
Saturday, March 12th
I have little to say tonight. I spent the majority of the day in silence, doing some chores but mostly reading. I like the silence - it envelopes me like a warm blanket. It's true that, like a warm blanket, too much silence can get stifling so then I find some conversation, something to get me out of my head and into the external world. Today, I had an out, with a senior composition recital of a dear friend, a very gifted man who has a tremendous path ahead paved with notes and bars of music. He communicates through building magical cities of melodies, and I could see him sitting in the music at the piano, much like I sit within the silence, in his element and at his ease. Seeing things like that make me feel not so alone, not so freakish. We all have our blankets.
Friday, March 11th
I started out today with my heart crushed under the weight of the water covering Japan and the Pacific islands. Watching the footage, I saw the waves roll out with a vengeance, like thick black smoke of evil in movies. It consumed the man-made lives of the Japanese people with heart-wrenching ease. I ended today in a dark movie theater watching a film imagining that our lives are not ours to lead, that we are destined to live a particular way and that everything happens as it should. Instead of the comfort I am used to when thinking of a Supreme Planner, it churned my soul to picture the Japanese, feet wet and eyes wet as they wonder what is left, what can ever be dry again. And I don't know why their destiny brought them to water. I don't like it much. I don't like it at all.
Thursday, March 10th
I've written essays about how I hate the gym. I do hate it. I don't like to sweat, and I don't like being bad at things. The smell of the gym - dampness and machinery - makes me anxious and nauseous. And all those fit people in short shorts reading People magazine while they run 16 miles make me uncomfortable. But I've started going. Often. And I daresay I'm getting used to it. I'm starting to like my routine of running, crunches, machines, and then home for dinner. The repetition is almost like a prayer, like a liturgy to the God of my body. The beat of my footsteps thanking God for motion. The curling of my body thanking God for everything my torso holds. And working out on the machines thanking God for strength, however small, to lift this life onto my shoulders. Then I am thankful for dinner.
Wednesday, March 9th
Today, again, I was confronted with the fact that people's lives are changing like the tides, and their changes crash against me, reshaping my beaches. I am not the waves, but I am affected by them. My life shifts a little as things go and come with the push and pull of the water that is not me. I was determined not to be the sand this year, to let my own waves crash against others, see how they react and adjust. But this is not to be, not yet. My waves are still to come. I will not rise up against them, creating waves for the sake of the battle against the tides. Instead, I will wait until it is my turn to change and change big, and pray that these people, my beaches, will become safe havens for me as my waves crash against them.
Tuesday, March 8th
Stories are really important to me, and today I got to hear many of them. Our lives are composed of stories, and sometimes all you need is someone to listen to them, to affirm and validate them. Some days you don't even realize that you are that listener and your attention is vital to someone else. It's a precious gift to hear co-workers talk about the grace of their dying friends or the hope in a jobless situation. And to hear a singer's story about chances taken and dreams coming true. Or a mother who misses her son but cannot save him from the consequences of his actions. Or a happy/tired friend relaying events involving good food, a sweet boy, and a long-awaited kiss. I am thankful for stories, and I am thankful for those who listen to mine. Today, I was thankful to be the one who listened.
Monday, March 7th
I didn’t realize Lent started on Wednesday. These holy days always sneak up on me, and I’m caught unawares. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by people who either don’t care a whit because their “spiritual lives aren’t ruled by a church calendar” or by others who name something to cast aside that will bring them closer to God. More often than not, though, it seems the latter folks treat Lent like a game, like a challenge that they have to win instead of it being a spiritual exercise that brings them closer to God, freeing up their life from something holding them back. I’m playing the cynic, like usual. Maybe I should give that up for Lent. Or I could just do chocolate and Facebook like everyone else. No, no. It’s good to stop and change. I just want to do it for Christ’s sake, not my own desire for achievement.
Sunday, March 6th
It was on my calendar - "Les Miserables 25th Anniversary Concert - PBS 7pm." Otherwise I forget these important events. I watched the concert with both Heidi and Caleb. Caleb was the one who first showed me the beauty of Les Mis, but soon I found my own love for the music and the story. It is a gorgeous and moving story, and this performance struck straight to my heart. Though it was just a concert version, I was moved by the notes hit and the strength portrayed by the performers - particularly Alfie Boe as Valjean. I felt both a deep admiration for the skill of the singers and a deep affection for the characters they are playing. Needless to say, I spent an exorbitant amount of time on Wikipedia and was chagrined to find the majority of the male leads are married. Kills that pipe dream. Oh well.
Saturday, March 5th
I attended a liturgical wedding today to celebrate the two-becoming-one of Angela and Cash. I work with Angela, and myself and a bunch of our co-worker friends helped to set up: arranging the favors, putting on tablecloths, setting out plastic wineglasses. The church was little and had so many quirks and hidey places. I had never been to an Episcopalian wedding before, and the program they gave us was a literal book. We were asked to participate: stand up, sit down, read, respond, and then ultimately take communion. I loved it, which is funny because I appear so very Protestant, Baptist to the max. But I love the tradition. I love the fact that thousands upon millions of couples across space and time said the exact same thing to each other, though their lives were vastly different. They took the same vows. And that binds them all together.
Friday, March 4th
The song "Gone" by my boys, Switchfoot, emerged from the shuffle on my iPod on my morning commute. It took me back to the summer before sophomore year. Erika and I had just gotten Jamba Juices and we were driving around town. We shouted out the lyrics: "Like summer break is gone!" because it was. One more summer gone. Back in the present, driving to work today, I thought about that song and what it meant. What if I died today? My biggest regret would be that I didn’t write it all down. I have so many things in my head that I feel like other people need to know. What if I never got to write them down? The same thought emerged while I drove home in the rain, water falling hard upon my windshield. There are too many things to write. Too many things to write still.
