Fog Horn Encourages Creative Mind.

I drove up and it was obvious that they had already been there for a couple of hours, despite my clock blinking 6:47am. The white dusty fog provided a back drop for their charcoal gray silhouettes. I stepped out of my car and looked down at my sneakers, both were tied so I put one foot in front of the other. I gradually gained speed that matched the beat of the music playing in my head. I hastened beside the moody water; each breath of salty air felt like a pulse of new life. With each stride I pierced the heavy mist before me, I was swept away  to a whole new world. 

The burst of the cargo ship horn, calling out in the dark sea smoke returned me momentarily to reality. I became aware of the sweat beading across my forehead and pivoted to head back to the car. I looked across the water, it appeared endless, mysteriously cloaked in the morning's haze. On mornings like this one would never suspect a bustling city waking up just across the Sound. 

Looking out over Seattle 

They were still there, the shadows against the lifting fog. The cast their lines into the water, many in sync with next. From the wooden bench where I sat it was as if they were conducting the waters, which accompanied the music on the land. As the sun began to seep through the low clouds I caught a glimpse of the high rise buildings across the waters. It has been a long time since I have taken the time to let life speak to me like this... I have had my head down in order to plough forward with finishing college and growing in my career. But finally my journey of five colleges in five years has concluded. Sean and I just moved to West Seattle, he began a new job, and together we have entered a new season. 

Just about the same spot later in the afternoon

I want to live life with that continual awareness of beauty that I've long lived by but have been to busy as of late to perceive. I feel a sense of refreshment with living in this new place. Partaking in the vibrant, diverse energy of the city, while also soaking up untroubled mornings of natural grandeur-watching the fishermen pursue the salty waters with verve and dedication. Life and beauty is worth pursuing with such dedication as those early anglers. After several months of creative absence I feel like I am returning to that place of whimsy I love so much-letting my imagination soar, dreaming big, and writing again. 

And if you can enjoy the beauty around you with the one you love, that makes it all the more lovely! I'd like to thank my patient husband for helping me get through these last few months of school!

Yard Debris and a Ladder

The other day I was at Safeway and found myself discussing my cereal choices with the checker; Yes, I had an entire analysis(or verbal vomit depending on who you ask) regarding my selection of cocoa puffs and oatmeal squares. That poor checker. As I grabbed my bags and walked out the door I sighed. It had been such am overwhelming day that my interpersonal capacity had been reduced to cereal scrutiny. But some days are just like that.
On such days I find sanguine reflections the best remedy... because sometimes it is better to mull over past delights and triumphs then wallow in the dregs of the day.

So here are my grasps at sanity via the reflection of memorable moments over the past two (busy) months.

December began with a lovely visit from Sean's parents. They happened to arrive on a sunny Seattle day (remarkable being December) and we roamed the various charms the city had to offer. The weekend continued to be filled with gladness...that is until we decided to go Christmas tree hunting. This being our first Christmas together in our own home we were dedicated to making it as Christmas cozy as our penny-pinching tendencies would allow. For those of you that don't know, the State of Washington is labeled the "Evergreen State" due to its bounty of evergreen trees and lustrous forests. This would lead most to believe that a humble 6 foot Christmas tree would be easy to come by at an affordable price. Four Christmas tree farms later we discovered the quest for our tree would not be cheap nor easy...on average a scraggly tree was $60. Seeing as we were going out of town the next weekend for our anniversary then spending the week of Christmas at our families homes, it hardly seemed worth the price to have it grace our living room for a mere couple weeks.
Despite leaving empty handed the weekend was a marvelous adventure of starting the Christmas season right: exploring the city and trudging through the forest with family.

Monday came and I kept thinking our living room lacked the Christmas Cheer I have always been so fond of. It was time to get creative. A dear friend of mine had shown me a picture on Pinterest of a Christmas Tree ladder. I explored this pin and found out that they had simply put a tree inside a wooden ladder...cool but didn't help my situation. I went in out backyard for inspiration. In the far corner was a pile of evergreen trimmings from the giant trees surrounding our house that Sean had cut down months ago. Thanks to all the rain the branches/trimmings were still green.
Bingo.
Armed with twine, scissors, a ladder,  and a CD of Christmas music, I began to create a tree and was pleasantly surprised.

The following weekend Sean and I celebrated One Year of being married! It was a marvelous weekend of celebrating at a cozy cottage up in Bellingham right on the Bay. We ate well, had fun learning how to blow glass, and toured some fun back roads. On our wedding day we had our bridal parties and parents write notes and put them in a bottle for us to open on our anniversary. It was SO delightful to read (by candle light of course) through everyones notes of advice, recalling of stories, and words of encouragement. It quickly brought us back to how we met, the commencement of our dating, and then all the wild and wonderful emotions and stories that led up to our wedding day.I feel so blessed to get to live life with that man-Cheers to many more years!

Christmas time was filled with laughter, eating, family, games, more eating, and friends. Sean and I were able to take a good chunk of time off to escape to Oregon for some good time celebrating of the season. We then rang in the new year with our dearest of friends, on a mountain, in the snow. Fabulous.

Then it was time to get in the groove again. Switching from holiday fun, playing in the snow, eating turkey dinners, staying up late mode to wake up at 5:30 a.m. for work and routine mode is not always the most smooth of transitions. The most difficult part of this was realizing how hard the holidays are for many people, especially the dear families I work with. Many have lost loved ones and feel like they have little, depression kicks in and instability rises. I came back from my joyous holiday to a very heavyhearted scene. As far as work goes, January has been a time of helping families pick up the pieces from a very difficult point in a year full of trying circumstances. It has put me in a very contemplative state but has also prompted me to really look at what matters in life. Relationships. Although I heard some very tough stories one thing remained constant, this person who reached out, that person who cared. Each family I interact with have at least one person in their life that they feel supported by or cared for. For some it is the grocery clerk that they see every time they go get food for their family who helps them bring their bags to the car. For others its a sister or a neighbor. People want to be cared for and recognized, even if it is by the friendly greeting of a total stranger. 

I am incredibly thankful for the beautiful souls that are my dear friends and family, and for moments to reflect on these blessings of life. 

 I am also thankful for the kindness of the Safeway checker, humoring a stressed human being by talking about cocoa puffs. Because sometimes the seemingly insignificant acts of smiling, listening, holding the door open, help people realize there is more to life than present stress or pain. There is love and there is hope. 

The Benefits a Good Chortle

There is an old saying that laugher is the best medicine; a theory which I whole-heartedly support. And assuming this theory is correct then I plan on (Lord willing) living to a ripe ol' age. Laughter, true belly-aching laughter is one of the most invigorating and happy feelings ever felt, I'm sure of it. Mind you I don't think it is a common kind of laughter but it is a memorable one. In fact it is exactly the kind of thing that got me in trouble in high school. I was a fairly good high school kid, save bringing a pen that looked like a cigarette to school (that one landed me time in the office...for those of you that don't know I went to a private school and those kind of things were frowned upon...but I digress). One of the most memorable trouble making times for me was when I disrupted the class. In fact it was not only me but my dear friend, we both came down with belly-aching laughter and were sent out of class for being disruptive. Years later I have no recollection of what we were chortling about, only that is was straight up hilarious. Another thing you should know about me is that my laughs tend to be, well, a bit loud, more of a "whoop" than a chuckle when I really get going. This whoop became a signature of mine I guess you could say. It became known as "the war whoop" apparently ( I was told by the boys in my class) because it sounded like a battle cry. I know, flattering. 

After high school I spent my first year going to college in Boston. I didn't know anyone there and thats one of the main reasons I went-to seek adventure in the unknown. And that I did. I have many tales from my adventure year on the East Coast, (including taking a three hour bus ride to NYC next to a Russian poker player, and the time I wound up in the heart of Brooklyn's gang activity on a dreary night) but they will have to wait. Something I've come to realize is that since beginning college the "war whoop", my frequent moments of deep cackling, have lessened. More specifically my first two years of college. Don't get me wrong I still laugh. A lot.  I feel especially blessed because I get to spend the rest of my life with someone who cracks me up every day.  

In fact tonight Sean made me laugh so hard I started laughing out my eyes, then my sides began to laugh (and by laugh I mean ache). After about ten minutes of solid laughter from the two of us we were finally able to catch out breath. Soon after I tried to sleep but I was just so filled with joviality I couldn't stand closing my eyes on such a lovely moment. So I began reflecting. Then typing.  



College is viewed as a time to "grow up" and "figure out life". When I left for college I stepped into a role of more personal responsibility and life challenges- I was becoming an adult. There are certain expectations people put on themselves and that culture puts on them to "grow up, get a job". Two very good things. However in this elusive passage from child to adult I think something gets lost. The appreciation for the simple things in life. Children are best at appreciating the small things, taking joy, and laughing. It is much easier to get a child to laugh than an "adult". I believe we have a lot to learn from children. Their hope in the future, their joy in the present, and their ever-active imagination is inspiring. Too often people equate being "child-like" with immaturity-But they are quite different and I am by no means suggesting the latter. Immaturity is an unwillingness to accept responsibility. Being child-like is maintaining the ability to dream big, unchaining your creativity and finding joy and laughter in the beauty and hilarity of life.   

I remember my dad lovingly running to store after store looking for the perfect pair of glasses. My mom let me borrow her grandmothers shawl. I made use of an old cane found at our beach house. I climbed on a chair to get the baby powder from the cabinet. With the discovery of an old black and white frock I became my best Halloween costume: an old lady. I got to go to my second grade class and participated in a costume contest. I remember right before I set foot in the classroom I curled my lips over my teeth and pretended not to have any, I arched my back and walked slowly in the room. That whole day I played an old woman. But just as I was a giggling spunky seven year old, I was a chuckling old lady. I guess it was my true old soul coming out for everyone to see. I remember laughing a lot that day with my fellow classmates. I hope to carry such a spirit of laughter and joy throughout life. Even when it gets covered up by life's expectations it never goes away and is easily resurrected. It is not too hard to get burdened by difficult circumstances, sorrow, fear, hatred and hurt. But despite the depth of pain those bring I stand firm that joy can overcome it, with laughter as its voice. So as I grow older each day, as my responsibilities increase (and when the day come that I really do need that cane) I hope to remember  to laugh, to notice the small lovely things, and to not take life too seriously. Life is serious enough as is, let yourself be a kid sometimes, it helps. 

Clocks Have Too Much Power.

Isn't it odd that time has hands?

I remember learning how to tell time as a child. My parents took a paper plate, wrote the numbers of the clock on the outside, then fashioned two thin strips of card-stock to the middle that were capable of moving around; one short, the other a little longer.  

It took me awhile but I got it. After much practice I was a whiz at telling time. Many years later I still have a fondness for old clocks. However unlike when I was a child, nowadays clocks have a substantial amount of control my life: I have a pickiness for being prompt and scheduling my days full.

"Time means nothing", a fairly common concept, one which I agree with in some circumstances. But then again if time is nothing then what do we say to our past, how to we gage our future? Time is often most things (I won't go as far as to say "everything", that seems so extreme). It is the boundary around our life that dictates when we rise, rest, and eat. It is so fickle. 

Time has hands, and a face. It is so human, yet so mysteriously unearthly. Clocks,whether visible or unseen, are the bearers of time that represent it's human qualities. It is so  selfish, and always anxious to move forward. It is a friend but an enemy as well. It's hands reach out and cradle the moments of life. Then it moves on, rather quickly, to the next second, minute, hour, and day. 
Then on some rare occasion time appears to stop, its hand grasping tightly to the moment before it. But time stopping is like holding one's breath. Hold it too long and life concludes, release it and your lungs must work extra hard to return to their full state. Time is no different, it too must speed by even faster to catch up with itself. 

Perhaps it is not worth fusing about, time that is, because it is inescapable, we all grow older. But my mind can't help but grapple with it. I want my time to matter. I want to spend my life not letting time fly by without notice. This belief both drives me to success and utter exhaustion. I have always been one to jam pack my days with activities, meetings, work, school, and the seemingly endless amount of hobbies I have acquired over the years. 

But what about taking the time to reflect? What about "counting ones blessings", "stopping to smell the roses", the concept of "resting". I have the tendency to believe I can "rest" while on the go. It is a similar concept to stopping at the gas station and convincing yourself you just had a gourmet meal, then hitting the road again to your next destination. After awhile you get sick from eating pringles and granola bars and realize that maybe you should actually stop and be filled on good eatin'. Silly example I know (but I am constantly thinking about food and cooking so naturally edible analogies come to mind). To take the analogy a tad further- not taking time for contemplation is like taking a road trip solely to get to the destination and neglecting the actual journey itself. 

These journey moments in life are the ones that dazzle me:

Flipping through pictures from 1996 and knowing that those little spunky girls are like sisters to me today.

Seeing a long ago friend and picking up as if no time was lost and feeling so close.  

Having a wretched day at work that seemed to last light years to then come home to the love of my life playing the accordion with the hot water boiling for tea.



Forming friendships that are newer in time but are deeply established in connection and care. 

Talking with my mom and dad and knowing they helped me grow into the person I am today. 

And the list rolls on. The point is I want to continue to be aware of the moments in life and not discount the seemingly ordinary days when in fact those can sometimes be the most lovely. 

Sean and I have been married almost a year now. We have already moved twice and are now in a house that is our home. I have begun a job I've dreamed about and feel like I'm in a place of great purpose. The crazy part is, is that I have no trouble whisking my thoughts back to the days Lizzie and I would chase down the ice-cream man on our scooters (or cop cars as we called them) just hoping that he would have a Bubble Play popsicle in stock. As I sit here my mind pours forth a myriad of memories. Today I am reveling about the blessings of the past and present. It is very easy for me to feel hurried, to fill a day, and still feel like I don't have enough time. But the truth is time wants to be embraced. I want to stop worrying about not having enough of it and take its hands as I live in the moments I've been given.

Easier said than done no doubt. But I will continue musing on the idea none the less...and go start making butternut squash soup and some garlic bread. I'm hungry and Sean should be home soon. 

Goblets, Coffee Mugs and Chinaware

Do you find that drinking out of a unique cup makes whatever you're drinking taste better?
I may be riding this train of thought alone but it is something I've believed ever since I can recall.

As a small child I would beg my mom to let me drink out of the "fancy" teacups she had collected and aligned beautifully on the top shelf in the kitchen. Once I was old enough to climb on the counter and reach the teacups I didn't bother to ask, I just went for it. Oh how wonderful apple juice tasted as it flowed, elegantly I might add, from the china my great grandmother sipped her tea from.

I am convinced if you have a snazzy cup/mug/glass to drink from then you enjoy whatever you are swallowing more. I have always liked drinking from strange (but tasteful) glassware. Although I did go through a "cat phase" as a wee kiddo where I only wanted to drink from bowls...that is another story (and certainly not a tasteful one).
My delight in collecting glassware from antique stores, garage sales, and thrift shops has only increased...possibly to the woe of my husband... 
What has prompted my ranting on drinking vessels you may wonder? Well I'd like to think it is a small illustration of how the little things in life can help keep you sane and it is those little things that make up who you are.

As of late I feel like my mind has been a bull in a china shop. The past three weeks it has not stopped clamoring with new ideas, learning the skills of a new job, and taking deep looks at life. Even when I sleep it doesn't settle. I have the most bizarre dreams each night, without fail. Bull in a china shop-crashing around, never stopping to rest, fascinating content but not without porcelain casualties.


I love my new job and know that this is what I am supposed to be doing. I now work in a field where it is my job to hear people's stories, care for them, and help them work through their struggles. In such a field as Social Work one quickly realizes that you must properly care for oneself or else you cannot genuinely care for others (I believe this concept is true beyond the realm of social work). You cannot hear traumatizing stories of people's lives and carry them as your own. The weight is too much to try and carry. The other extreme is what I'd call "stonewall listening". Someone shares with you the struggles of their soul and the horror that was their past and you proceed to block it with emotionlessness or calloused remarks.

Oh finding a beautiful balance, isn't that always the trick in life? Well the fact is sometimes finding that symmetry is about as easy as walking on a balance beam wearing one high heel and one steel-toed boot.

I know I tend to error on the side of trying to carry other people's problems. It has not been a helpful trait throughout the years. But I am learning to balance, I have to learn or I will fall hard, and at time I have. But continually falling hard is not something I want to do. I am meeting with ten families on a weekly basis. Some of them have seen the darkest times a life could handle. Already in the past week I have heard stories that I could write whole books on, the depth, the sorrow, the complexity, the pain-only something a raw hard life could make up. Part of my job is to listen, but taking on other people's problems is not. Compassion is part of my fiber and I hope to exude it freely. In order to do so I must not get dragged down into other people's plight but be a person in their journey that helps them stand strong and move forward.

 

This starts by examining my own heart. I must make sure I take care of myself, that I sleep, laugh, pursue my passions and pray hard. This is a common revelation I have but find it, at times, hard to sustain. This is where good teamwork comes in. Sean has been an incredible encouragement to me. The past week we have spent more time in our newly converted garage-to-studio, painting. We've set out on more daring culinary endeavors in our kitchen (we have fresh Gnocchi coming out our ears), and we are taking the time to walk or run to the beach and enjoy the setting of the sun. Our dear friends and family have also been an amazing sounding board for wisdom and joviality. We've hit the country rodeo scene in Ellensburg (thank you Alex and Marie for opening our eyes to a whole new world), had movie nights, gardened, made late night trips to the grocery store, stayed overnight at the farm, made brunch with new friends, galavanted around Seattle trying new restaurants, and basked in fervent laughter.

Life is difficult, there is no denying that. But even more than that, life is beautiful. I am learning so much for those who have seen more than I could imagine. I am developing a new sense of what hardship is and what care looks like. As time continues to give me lemons, no matter how tart or sweet, I plan on taking the time to make and pour myself a crisp glass of lemonade into one of my 25 cent glasses (circa 1962) from Treasures Thrift Shop and ruminate on life's mysteries.

Let the Lettuce Speak

I am inspired by simple and sometimes strange things. Fresh produce, for example, makes my mind run wild with color schemes and textures- it makes me want to paint, cook, and puts me in an overall lively mood. This time of year in the Pacific Northwest is prime for farmers markets, and garden food. 

A forest walk by our house

The past two weeks I have been walking, a lot. It was prompted by the beautiful weather and also by the fact that we only had one car. So while Sean would be at work I would take it upon myself and walk. Everywhere. I would dawn my sneakers and walk to the grocery store ( walking back was always more challenging...), walk miles to the bus stop and go into the big city, walk in the park, walk to the sandy shores of the Sound,  walk walk walk. Walking always allows me to process, and pray. I often find myself not walking alone but feeling the very real presence of Jesus walking beside me. It is in these times my walking turns to great reflection and I plunge into deep thought.    

Amid great change comes a reevaluation of purpose. What in the world am I doing with my life. Yes I am enjoying living in this new place, and even more so I am loving being married and having a chance to stay at home for awhile. But what about my deep soul dreams?- The pulling on my heart I've had for years to reach out and walk beside those who are hurting. How does that get fulfilled?  During this particularly long walk  I begged the question, what am I supposed to do with my life that can make a difference, that can show love to those around me. 

In these two months of living in Everett I have had the chance to settle in and rest. It has been a beautiful time of fellowship with my husband and our friends and family. I have never not worked so it was an odd (but wonderful) time of just being, resting, and setting up house. However I know me well enough to know I like to work and I need to have some working outlet to stay sane. So I started looking for jobs a few weeks ago and applied for a couple positions. I knew my heart was in social work so I threw all doubt to the wind and applied for some openings. One in particular I had my heart set on. I was able to get an interview (which went great) but would have to wait awhile till I heard the verdict. Patience is a virtue. That is what I kept telling myself. 

Beach walk by our house

In the course of this walk to the store my change/purpose seeking endeavor was on high, questions were racing in my head throughout the walk, into Trader Joes, and back home. It clung to my brain and I continued to mull over deep thoughts. I really wanted the job I had interviewed for; it would start me out on a career path that I have had been dreaming about for years. It would allow me to pursue something that I feel is knit into who I am. I know I am supposed to help people rise up from brokenness and step into healthier lifestyles that are wrought with hope and love. I have always felt that part of why I am walking on fresh soil today is to fulfill just that. But when, where, how, and why? At this point in the walk I began to battle between filing my head with doubt, getting frustrated at not knowing the specifics, and also getting excited because I could feel purpose growing. 

This is where the produce comes in. I came home from that long walk  and chopped up tomatoes, onions, fresh basil, and peppers. It sounds ridiculous but I felt like my mind had gone through a proverbial car wash. I was able to take a deep breath and let the pressure of getting a job (which I had put on myself) roll away. I let the olive oil simmer in the pan and added fresh minced garlic and fresh ground pepper. Next came the onions, bell peppers, and tomatoes. In another pan I cracked two eggs and stirred them up into a scramble. When all was finished cooking I topped with fresh basil from our windowsill and parmesan cheese. I could almost hear my dad saying "just take one day at a time" as I savored each bite.

Yesterday , August 20th, 2012, I had my first day of work as a Case Manager for a local organization in Everett. I get to work with several families as they go through transitional housing and recovery. I get to meet with them and walk with them as they gain new skills, seek employment, and begin living more enriched lives in their new found communities. I get to work with an amazing team of like-minded people who are committed to serving others. 

I am stepping into a place of purpose, this is where I belong. 

Curlers, Coffee and Other Morning Deliberations.

 It was a typical morning, I walked outside to water the plants while I was waiting for my coffee to finish brewing. I stepped out barefooted and then had an amusing realization. I had just stepped out in my bright kimono (aka my circa 1950s flowered silk robe) with curlers in my hair piled on top of my head. Great. I am now that neighbor...I quickly looked around to see if there were any people I would have to avoid from now on and dashed in the house, clinging to my kimono. Fortunately, I did not spot anyone, and hopefully, no one spotted me.

Ever since I was a little girl I have taken a liking to vintage silk robes. If my memory serves me correctly, my slight obsession began upon meeting our Japanese exchanged student, Yoshimi, who lived with us for several months when I was about five years old. I recall her parting gift to my mother, a beautiful light green true Japanese Kimono. I thought it was one of the most beautiful pieces of clothing I had ever laid eyes on. In fact I remember sneaking into my parents closet when they were out gardening just to take a peak at that marvelous garment. While I have never had a true kimono to my name I have since acquired many "kimonos" of sorts. 



Others will tell you, as I will also say, that I am an old soul. This morning with the curlers in my hair, '50s robe on, early jazz music humming through my speakers, sitting in our 1943 yellow kitchen, and black coffee in hand, I feel as nostalgic as ever. 


Life is full of constant transition. Moving, meeting new people, going new places, and even daily change makes one realize how important it is to be oneself. To let you be you. It is so easy to let others define you, or to simply let the culture around you dictate who you are. But what about the talents and passions that are uniquely you? I'll be the first to admit that there have been times where I have been totally floundering in trying to be someone I'm not, or putting expectations on myself that are unrealistic and foolish. 


Moving into an actual "home" home has propelled me into a role in which I actually feel more myself. I greet and get greeted by the mailwoman each day, we get the pleasure of having friends and family come stay, and Sean and I can come home to a place where we cook dinner and then get to go paint and collage, or recently in Sean's case, wood work. This morning, in my nostalgic state, I can't help but reflect on the people, life circumstances, and history that has helped form who I am today. Oh how many people I have to thank! Life is truly about relationships. I have been blessed with incredible friends, family, teachers, coworkers, bosses, and with various encounters with strangers you meet that give you a slice of wisdom in the brief moments that your lives collide. 

So yes, I am an old soul, a hopeless romantic. I am constantly marveling at the mysteries of life, the sorrow and beauty of humanity, and I tend to think in metaphor. I like old floral prints, mason jars, early jazz, and my coffee black. I swoon over poetry and have the tendency to get carried away with how alluring the moon is or how majestic the ocean shore can be. I am not a stranger to tragedy and have a ferocity toward the unjust. I know I still have much to learn in life, which both thrills and humbles me. I am excited to be growing old with the love of my life but plan on always being youthful in spirit. 

I'm sure this morning won't be the first time I'll get caught looking like I belong in an era other than my own. But you know something? I think it is time to stop being so concerned about what others think and confidently step into the person that the Lord created me to be: an old soul that is learning, loving, and living life one bubble off center. 

*Above photo of Sean and I courtesy of Heidi Helser-Photography