Filling Shoes with Creativity

I feel that if I do not write, than I may explode.

It is not from a passion of unfortunate circumstance as such a claim would warrant. It is more out of an intense creative surge within me. I have music pulsing through me ears, the dream of travel on my mind, and the anticipation of new things in my heart.


I am sitting in a sterile mechanical engineering room- cold pizza to my right and dried out white board markers to my left. Despite these monotonous surroundings I feel full of color and filled with a creative verve that has a hint of snarkiness to it. The snarky factor may be a result of feeling the upcoming transition. It is making me a tad more edgy than usual. It is not a bad edge, but enough of one to make my creativity a bit more fiery, and a tad less fanciful.


I feel that I am a hodgepodge of artistry. I have melodies creating themselves within my mind waiting to escape onto ivories. I see portraits of blues, reds, yellows, and a subtle mint green swirling around, creating grand scenes just waiting to hit a canvas.
None of these things I can actualize at this moment. I have homework. I have work. But one thing I can do is put pen to paper (or in this case thoughts to keys on a computer).


I have often made the excuse that I cannot exercise creativity because I lack the appropriate means or environment. But I have found that my capacity for creativity is expanding and I can no longer give that excuse power. My creative soul must come out, in one way or another. It is strange to me that this is happening now, during a time when I have limited outlets for innovation. Perhaps the limitations are driving me to expand. Or perhaps its because I am stepping into more of who I am.


I am changing.
I am becoming more Merri. I can actually feel it.
What an odd thing, feeling more and more like oneself. Shouldn't I have always been me? Well yes of course, but there are times when I just haven't. These past two years I've been filling the shoes that I've been given. Now it seems like my feet are finally big enough to walk comfortably in those shoes. It's time to get walking...

There are great adventures to be had.

For the Love of Public Transportation.

You can learn a lot about someone for 25 cents.

I've always been a fan of public transit, not only because it is convenient but for the people factor. There is something relaxing and artistic about riding a bus or a light-rail train. You don't have to worry about stop signs or hooligans cutting you off in traffic. Instead you can quietly fold your hands, take a seat, and let your brain mull over your day.

I began to write strangers's stories when I was fourteen years old. With change rattling around in my pocket I would head to the MAX train. I carried a notebook and pencil, prepared for anything interesting and just overall good people watching. I would sit on those plastic chairs and watch the scenery go by as I looked and listened to my fellow transit goers. I would imagine that their name was _______ and what their life was like. At the time I thought maybe this was preparation for being a secret agent. That thought was short-lived, having a love for telling stories is not a good secret agent quality. Besides I would hate a life of sneaking around and secrecy. So I then used it more as an exercise of creative writing. By no means was I there to judge anyone, I was simply there to observe and let creativity flow from my pencil.

The best moments (and at times the most frightening) were when I actually got to hear someone's story, first hand. For one reason or another I'd end up chatting with another rider. Often times their stories far exceeded what I would have imagined. Then my stop, or perhaps theirs, would come and with a farewell that was it. Never again to take part in one another's life, save the blip of time spent on public transit.

Needless to say I have dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of stories from riding public transportation in Portland, Seattle, Boston, New York, Washington DC, and now Klamath Falls. As far as other cities go, those big city stories will have to wait, because I just exited the Northbound bus to OIT and this story is fresh in my brain.

Sean had a meeting at school this evening. Since I am back taking classes I have homework that needs tending to, which never seems to get done at home. So with Sean already at OIT I whipped up some potato soup, threw it in the thermos with two spoons and ran down to catch the bus. The bus was surprisingly on time. As we began to pull away from the station a woman came hurrying up to the door, paper bag and purse in hand. She greeted the bus driver with a warm raspy hello and fumbled for change. She was probably in her sixties. Her face was creased with that of a hard but full life. The bus driver kindly said she could have a seat while she looked for change. And so we were off. The lady was cackling and after a few minutes leaned over my way and asked if I had change for a dollar. She had two one dollar bills, the fare was $1.25. I smiled pulled out a quarter and handed it over. Her hands matched her face in that they were worn and withered. But make no mistake this was no timid woman, she was animated, gracious, and a talker.

After throwing in her fare she came right next to me and sat down.

"You know I had to sneak out and escape! My kids and honey won't let me go nowhere without someone else!"

I wasn't sure if I should have been scared.

My gut didn't give off any warning lurches so I proceeded to ask why she had escaped.

"Well this is my second bout with cancer, first time cervical, and now liver. They say I got five years. Well that was five and a half years ago, so I figure its in the Lord's hands when I'm supposed to go! And my boys and my ol' honey man are always thinkin I need to be with someone 24/7, it drives me crazy. So I just gone and fed them and sent them to bed and snuck out," She guffawed and commented on how my earrings must be heavier than hell. I proceeded to ask where she made her getaway to.

"To the liquor store of course, I just love that apricot brandy and now is my chance! If them boys of mine ask I'll just say I went for a walk." She chuckled again and then made a duck noise.

"Quack, quack, quack thats what them boy's do. Telling me no one makes a grilled cheese like their momma...Oh shit that is my stop! Sorry I don't mean to curse now, I should have said 'shoot'. Thanks for the quarter!" On her way out she tousled the hat on my head. "Something to remember me by, thanks girly!

And she was gone.

I straightened my hat and smiled. A quarter can open doors. You take that quarter and add it to a bus ride and you've got grand potential for some phenomenal stories. So although buses and max trains, the subway and so forth get a bad rep for being dirty, not on time, rickety, and uncomfortable, I like to look at them as opportunities.

Public transit is a vault of stories waiting to be shared. My one practical piece of advice: make sure you have a valid ticket that has not expired. If you don't you could get busted with a hundred dollar fine...not that I would know from personal experience...

*Pictures in order: Philadelphia, riding the MAX in Portland with my two best friends, and public transportation in Haiti (we are so fortunate).

Recharging the Batteries

My mind is continually dancing around with hundreds of ideas, thoughts, and songs. My mind is especially active when change is in the wind. Tis such a time. Through the busyness of the week it is sometime hard to find time to think. I am grateful for quieter weekends.

So yesterday, midday, I had to take my imagination out for a walk.

I have to do this periodically, mostly for sanity's sake, and also for inspiration. Just over a week ago Sean and I enjoyed Spring Break via a road trip through the Redwoods, up Hwy. 101 and over to Portland. After a busy term of work and school it was a lovely getaway and our first vacation together (not counting the honeymoon of course). It was a trip of much laughter, catching up with friends and family, and an overall recharge of life's battery. The scenic drive provided fond reflection on the first three months of marriage. A realization came upon us that in just two generous months, we will be making another significant transition. Coming out of the jovial and restful break I feel like I have a more clear vision--an added zest for life.

Zest in life, like a good seasoning on a savory meal, adds intensity to ones outlook. This new-found zestiness is not only a result of rest and a good dose of Mom's home-cooked meals and Dad's encouraging demeanor, but it is also a result of coming into a more developed comfort of marriage. While Sean and I are still "newlyweds", we are past the initial "everything is new" stage in which you figure out routines and what it looks like to merge two lives. There is a whole new level of ease and exhilaration. There was something about returning to our Portland home where our roots grow deep with friends and family for the first time since getting married. It was marvelous.

This maturing comfort in my marriage and thereby myself has allowed my imagination to flourish to new heights. And so we get back to yesterday's walk....

There has been a ghastly chill in the Basin lately. So although the sun shone through the window, I was not going to be fooled. I dawned a series of three jackets, a scarf, and an earwarmer headband. I slung my bag around my shoulder and prepared to let my imagination loose on the downtown streets of Klamath Falls.

Two blocks into it I was sweating like a pig in a blanket (turns out it was the hottest day we'd had in weeks). But I wasn't going to let that slow down my creativity. There was still wind on the air. I didn't bother to pull up my hair for it seemed to represent my swirling mind, going this way and that, blocking my face here and there. As strange as it seems, my dancing wind-blown hair served as a reminder to think outside the box.

Often when I let my imagination loose I find myself creating wild and inventive scenes or ideas. However this time I did not see bizarre, artistic ideas, instead I felt.

As I walked I felt old. Not in the sense of aches and pains or even in the way of having years experience under my belt. It was a feeling of great appreciation, as if I was looking back on a long lifetime and felting content. Perhaps it was just my already nostalgic soul taking a deep breath. However I can't help but think it is something more. I looked at a teenage couple walking down the street hand in hand, a group of 10 year old giggling girls gazing through a shop window. It induced a feeling of wanting to love more. The feeling was still but strong. It made me reflect on the life I am living, on how capable of love we are. What a beautiful thing it is, thank you Lord. What more do people want than to be loved? I wonder how much more love I am capable of but have simply not tapped in to. How often do I let my emotions, my tiredness, my just-being-a-pain-in-the-butt, stop me from smiling, taking the extra time to ask how someone is really doing, making someone feel cared about.

I guess in my optimistic mind getting older means learning how to love more. And in that instance I was able to be old and look at my life from a different perspective. Now that may not make a ton of sense, I'm not sure if I even understand it fully. But I feel that I have been given a glimpse of the potential I have to show love and be content in that. Oh how incredible it is that we've been given imagination and the ability to grow in Love.

So cheers to going growing old, and living today.

*(picture) A tag my mom made for Sean and I-thanks momma!