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  

Changing Cities and Barry Manilow.

I don't think you can fully ( or begin to) appreciate Barry Manilow until you have seen a hundred people, from four years to sixty-five, throw their hands up in the air and shake their hips to "Everything's Gonna Be Alright".


This is how my life in Klamath Falls ended: Dancing among a hundred fellow free spirits in tutus and leotards during the final performance with Carla's Dance Studio. Never would I have guessed I would have picked up dancing again, let alone in Klamath Falls. But I've always felt it is best to bloom where one is planted and live life with a little kick in your step, or in this case a leap and twirl.


I've taken a month and a half hiatus from blogging, not out of a lack of story or desire to share but simply out of internet deficiency. But we now have internet and are settling into our next chapter of life, marriage, and creativity.

It is hard to believe that our time in Klamath has already come and gone. Sean graduated and we celebrated with both sets of our parents, his siblings and our dear Klamath friends. The day after graduation we drove twelve hours north to drop off all our worldly belongings in the garage of our new cozy home in Everett Washington. Seeing as both our lease and Sean's job did not start for another several weeks we embraced our vagabond scenario and wandered the great Northwest. The past month has been a lively exploration of Canada, the beach, Portland, Seattle, and places in between.

We had signed our lease without having seen the house first. We had some pictures to go off of and google map assured us that it was a few miles from Sean's work and about a half mile jaunt to the sandy shores of the Sound. We could have not been placed in a better spot. Two bedrooms, open living space and a huge yard tucked away in the most precious (and quiet) neighborhood. The first step in the door and it felt like home. Sean didn't start work until the second week of July so we were able to play house together and get it all set up.


Life is so much about contrast, in the good, bad, ugly, and redeemed. Our first night we crawled in bed and there were no sounds of cars, drunken brawls, shared apartment walls, sirens, or metal music playing at one in the morning. Silence. It was so beautiful I hardly slept that night, I just laid awake reveling in it's splendor.


When it came time to move Sean and I both agreed we wanted a place that was marked by peace, creativity, and rejuvenation. Not simply for our enjoyment, but for others to come and find such things as well. In our discussion we were brought back to many late night talks when we were dating and asking the questions as to why we wanted to get married. A major commonality was we both wanted to live a lifestyle where our home was open for others to come recharge their batteries, slow down and savor life. I feel so incredibly blessed because we have been given the means to do that in our new dwelling. I am so elated to be living here in this home, in this city, with Sean. We are embarking on a new phase in life and already in our couple weeks here we have been graced with marvelous company, stimulating conversation, and good food. 

So cheers to new places, faces and dreams,that will walk through these doors.

 I can only imagine what this adventure will hold.

Moving Break

Assembling our new table-thanks Doug & Terry!

Daily Characters

"I've died. Twice. The pull of gravity, the beating of your heart pulsing in your chest is all gone. Have you ever been in a group hug of people you really care about? That is how it felt. I was surrounded by hundreds of people from life that cared about me and I was weightless, being lifted up to a beam of light. " 


Life is about relationships, about the road you travel and the people along it. Some walk with you for a lifetime and you on their road. Others it is a blip of time, a short skip down the paved road or a long trudge through the mud. I have worked in a coffee shop setting for about four years of my life and have had many people walk with me for short legs of the road. 
Daily characters are one of the best parts of working in a coffee shop. The regulars walk in and you already have their drink made up. They sit at the counter and you exchange a long moment in one another's day and establish a bizarre camaraderie of sorts. 
Then there are moments like today in which you are challenged and inspired by conversation with your coffee camrade.  

I came to work not to work but to write a paper on a United States Supreme Court civil rights case for my Political Science class. After being there for four hours I had completed one paragraph that will surely need revision. Although my day lacked studious success it was filled with beautiful contemplation, all thanks to one of my favorite Daily Characters. 

He sat down next to me a gave me that look of "you're hanging out at work?'. Somehow we rather quickly came to the topic of dreams. Since moving to Klamath almost every night has housed a dream. Upon sharing my strange dreaming state he said "when you dream like that each night it makes you wonder if you ever really sleep. I fly in mine and I own a spaceship that was given to me by aliens that look like humans." 

At this point I set my laptop down and was all ears.

"You see it is like a time machine where I can type in any age I want and then I become that age for the remainder of the dream."

Our dream musing then morphed into the topic of the meaning of life and why we are here. He shared his first encounter with death, a kayaking trip in the grand canyon. At one point his old but vivacious eyes welled with tears "... the pull of gravity, the beating of your heart pulsing in your chest is all gone. Have you ever been in a group hug of people you really care about? That is how it felt. I was surrounded by hundreds of people from life that cared about me and I was weightless, being lifted up to a beam of light For the first time I felt completely accepted and loved for who I was. " 

I was so used to this old man's comical spirit that the tears in his eyes caught me by surprise.
He continued the story, which was quite riveting, and then gave a pensive pause. 

"You know, a few years later it hit me why we are each here. Simply to love and to treat our fellow man with care." 

From his story it was so obvious that he had been given a second chance at life. And I realized we shared such a similar outlook on life but it stemmed from two different sources. Mine from the God I feel so intimately connected to, and his from a nameless source that drives him to action. We truly are here for a deeper intention:

To Love and Care for Those Around Us.

Beautiful little girls in Haiti-you can learn a lot about love from those who have little

Our conversation on purpose and life continued on for another hearty hour. The coffee shop was at closing time so he got up with a grin. "It has been an honor to know you kid, even for just a short time." And with that he grabbed his coffee, gave a wave and walk out the door.  Since then my head has been swirling with thoughts of dreams and visions, the spirit that lies within people, the purpose and peace found in both life and death. 

Daily Characters. Oh how many I've met, how many stories I have heard-they will have to wait for another time. Right now I have enough pondering to do, I think a spot of star gazing will help me work some of these thoughts out.

Dinner Rolls Turn to Stone, and Other May Happenings.

Cooking is typically an avenue for me to de-stress. Key word here being "typically".

This evening I managed to burn rice past the point of no return, kill the yeast in my dinner rolls (which resulted in rocks with butter), overcook chicken by twenty degrees, and turn cookie dough into crispy lumps.


Now for a person who currently cooks for a living and finds great passion in food, this can be slightly demoralizing. And sure enough, it was. My husband, seeing my culinary demise (and the smoke filled kitchen) kindly gave me a hug and whisked me out of the kitchen as he cleaned up. We decided it was a "going out" sort of evening and headed down the street for mojitos.


This evening I was humbly reminded of the little failures in life that are often blown out of proportion.  Through the smell of burning rice and the touch of solid rolls I contemplated (dramatically of course) never cooking again. Now several hours later I feel somewhat childish about my thoughts but  was able to come to a reflective none the less.


Have you ever been in one of those McDonalds play places with all the small plastic balls in a pit? That is how the past month has been. Now don't think germs and kids with runny noses. Instead think of the chaotic fun and not quite being stand on your feet but enjoying life none the less. Now this may be a muddled analogy but bear with me, I'm recovering from a food crisis.


May.

I've strapped another lively year under my belt and was able to celebrate with dear friends and family. I awoke on my birthday to the smell of coffee, waffles and the beautiful sight of fresh strawberries, homemade whipping cream and the smile of the man of my dreams. The weekend was full of adventure and lovely surprises from Sean. We road tripped to hippie watch in Ashland and took the most beautiful route to get there, highway 66.  We went out camping only to find out that the majority of camp ground were still closed for the season. That didn't stop us thought. We found an old service road to hike down and pitch our tent. Unfortunately we forgot pillows and a pump for our air mattress. After both almost passing out we finally got that puppy filled with hot air. While the day had been sunny and warm the snow still laying on the ground suggested we were in for a chilly night. By the wee early hours of the morning we were packed up and headed home to defrost our toes. We're still working out the kinks of two person camping...in hindsight warm sweatshirts would have been a good idea too...it was an adventure to remember and ultimately that weekend was one of the best I've lived. 


In other monthly news- the cafe I work at won best dessert  at the Taste of Klamath-an evening of wining and dining with samples from all the local restaurants. The Vanilla Poppyseed Cake with a Raspberry Chantilly Cream Frosting literally, took the cake. It was a fun, busy, and proud moment. That same award winning weekend Klamath Falls was graced with the presence of my nearest and dearest friend, t'was a blast indeed!


This past weekend Sean and I took a day trip up from Klamath to Seattle (with my parents joining us in Portland) and began the search for our new home. My father labeled it a "treasure hunt" as the four of us spent all day sipping coffee and driving around Everett and Mukilteo scouring the land for a cozy O'Brien abode. In a week and a half I will be done working. In two and a half weeks we will be packed and galavanting up to the Evergreen State!




Thus I blame my meal failures on the busyness of my mind. It could also have to do with the fact that I was attempting to make three separate things at once in a kitchen the size of most people's coat closet... Despite the food foundering and lame McDonalds analogy I am excited for the transition ahead and to live out these next two weeks to the fullest. I just need to finish work strong, pass my classes, pack, and pray because I know the next seventeen days are going to fly.

*A Few May Highlights*

We got to spent the first week of May in Bend visiting family! It was a beautiful weekend of walks along the river, amazing food, and getting competitive in board games! 

Sean and I rescued this dog, John, who was wandering the freeway on our way to Ashland. We enjoyed the ten minutes of having a dog and were sad to say goodbye, but thankfully sweet John made it home safe.

We got our wedding photos!! 

Matteo's Taste of Klamath Crew

Sean and I have been biking the Klamath countryside! 

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!