Lists

So, I am back from a trip. I went to a friend's wedding in Sedona, then up to my beloved Flagstaff (summer afternoon monsoons, I love you), and then my folks and I drove the lovely highway through Reservation territory (red mesas, endless blue sky, lots of horizon) up to Cedar City, Utah, where we saw six different plays at the Utah Shakespearean Festival. It was a fantastic week. Lots of open road -- the kind that stretches out alongside your thoughts, that gives you neutral, transitory space to just *be*.

But now I'm back.

And I have a couple of lists to share with you:

List #1: Indicators That You've Just Come Back From A Trip

1. You eat oatmeal with a fork, because the rest of the silverware sits in the dishwasher, and you forgot to turn it on. Oh, and one other thing, you put coffee creamer on your oatmeal, because you don't have any milk.
(Vanilla coffee creamer is actually quite good on oatmeal; is that gross?)
2. You have a new vigor for housecleaning. You believe that you really can tackle those little piles after all.
3. You have a stack of mail to go through, and as you do so, you realize just how much paper gets wasted in junk mail. And then you sigh. And you recycle.
4. Your doggy greets you with even more gusto than normal. His whole body shakes, his ears go back, and he looks at you as if to say, "I am so happy, I may explode!"
5. You have to take a trip to the dollar store to buy toothpaste because you forgot about that whole 4 oz. or less toiletry rule for flights.
6. Your computer sits full of photos to download. And you try to decided between downloading photos, laundry, or homework....

...which takes me to list #2...

List #2: Indicators That You Are Procrastinating Homework

1. You search the cleaning supplies for bleach, and then bleach your kitchen sink and countertops.
2. You watch the Olympics and wonder what the body fat percentage of an Olympic gymnist must be.
3. You get the munchies.
4. You take the dog to the dogpark because he needs the exercise.
5. You spend way too much time looking at people's photos on facebook.
6. You water and trim all the houseplants.
7. You'd much rather blog than write that essay, even though they both offer you a blank page for your thoughts. :)

OK, well, now that that confession is out, I'll go do the homework. Maybe....

meandering thoughts on faith....

And perhaps, this is faith....
that as I walk upstairs -- the nightly ritual that graduates me from daily living to slumber,
with thoughts of impossibly complex conversations still ruminating,
with thoughts of complex life,
weighted down by the burden of not knowing, not seeing,

that I open up a space for You,
infront, behind, beside, within,
that I wait to see You face to face,
that I trust -- even though my heart is bewildered at this thing called life, the tangible and mystery of it all -- that not only are You with me (though I cannot feel or hear You),

but that You Are.

And because of that, I have an orbit. I am not reeling, freefalling into empty space (even when it feels that way). You are my Sun, the Maker of my seasons, the One who tucks me in and wakes me again in the morning, to start anew, who greets me with a sunrise and bird songs, "Good morning, my darling, my beloved one...."

Perhaps this is faith.
I hope that it is faith.
It is small, tarnished, a humble offering.
But I give it to You, from my heart.

A Few Of My Favorite Things

So yesterday, I was reading a post from my friend's blog (you can find her at: http://www.learnaswegrow.blogspot.com/). In it, she shared a story in which she asked her little boy what he was thinking about, and he responded, "good." Just as she was about to ask him again -- assuming he hadn't understood -- she realized that he had, in fact, understood ... better than most of us do. He was simply thinking about good.

This story struck a cord in me, as I believe that we are actually called to be proactive in our thinking, to choose to think about good things. It's harder said than done, I know. And I recognize that this is not to say that the occasional (or frequent) mean, hostile, jealous, resentful, or otherwise unpleasant thought won't meander in as well. But, I wonder, if perhaps we should just escort those thoughts right out the door through which they came, without allowing them too much time in the home of our mind.

Anyway, in her post -- in an effort to think about good -- she followed the story up with a list of 10 of her current favorite things ... sort of like Oprah's favorite things ... only without the maniacal crying.

And I thought it would be a good idea for me to follow suit.

So, without further ado, ten "goods" from life these days:

1. As a grad student -- which equates to being low on the income spectrum :) -- I tend not to splurge on too many nonnecessities. So, I was thrilled when I happened upon a store full of inexpensive, really fun earrings. I adore earrings. You can be feeling so-so, and then -- with the right pair of earrings -- vwahlah. You feel fab. I bought a few pairs, but my favorite pair look like they're from India ... gold, ornate, cascading. They are lovely, and they make me just a lil' bit happier when I put them on. Plus, the Indian cashier at Wal-Mart complimented them recently, asked me if they were from India. I took that as a good sign.

2. Since starting summer school again, and still being in the midst of practicum at my clinic, I have been making a concerted effort to take my pup, Charlie -- who stays couped up in the house while I'm gone -- to the dog park three times a week. On our way there, I roll the window down, and he sticks his head out. There is something that feels so carefree about that drive. The sun lays heavy upon us, Charlie's head sticks as far out the window as I'll allow, wind in his face, blowing the edges of his mouth back so one would swear he is smiling. And then, of course, there's his tail, which wags emphatically until we reach the park.

3. The long days, and that golden hour each night, when things quiet down, the earth cools, and leaves become translucent.

4. Five dollar footlong subs from Subway sandwich. Half for lunch, half for dinner. Five dollars a day. Wahoo!

5. Music. I've been accompanying many moments from my days with soothing, beautiful, soul awakening music. My current favorites are "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap, Jon Foreman's song, "Your Love Is Strong," and Gary Jules, "Falling Awake."

6. My new one-fun-thing-each-weekend rule. In my classes, there is all this talk about self-care. Over and over again, we hear the mantra: Therapists must take care of themselves if they are to be able to offer their energy sufficiently to those they counsel. For a long time, I thought my professors were perhaps being a bit overzealous with their insistence. And then, about mid-May (and almost half way through my program), I felt as I were walking around in a world full of sludge, as if slow-motion was my fastest pace. I was burned out. So, this summer, I've been trying to do one fun thing each weekend, the key word there being DO. I tend to dwell in my head quite a bit, which isn't a bad thing. But I need balance. We all do. So, the last few weekends, I have attended concerts (see previous blog:), dined at an Egyptian Huka bar/restaurant in Hollywood, and gone to the beach. It's amazing how much happier and able to "be" in the room with my clients I've been since this new rule came to fruition.

7. Lip gloss. Love me some lip gloss.

8. San Dimas ... where I live. It's this quiet little community, where streets go silent after 9 pm, people on horseback ride alongside traffic (not kidding), and mom and pop businesses are alive and kicking. It's a solace amidst the chaos and cluster of Los Angeles, calm amidst the storm.

9. A new recipe I just got of another new blog friend's website (you can find her at: http://flyfishesfly.com/). She is living in India with her family and shared a recipe for Aloo Ghobi. I think it's safe to say that I luu-uu-uve Indian food, and I am so excited to make it!

10. Love. My friends, my family, my Abba.

Here's to the good in your life, to naming it, celebrating it, living it. Anyone have any "goods" they want to share?

The Post I've Been "Post"poning.... (bad pun acknowledged)

Because it's about a date I went on with a barefoot bassist from Jerusalem. And the date was one of those sparkly moments in life. The kind that you know is real because your senses tell you so. You can taste the wine as it hits your lips, feel the band of your shoe pressed against toes, trace the texture of tablecloth with your fingertips. But, it's so darn sparkly that you're sort of in your head, watching it all, taken in by the shiny, and so you might think it never happened if your senses hadn't told you otherwise. It was that kind of moment. And trying to translate the sparkliness to you all seems, well, daunting.

But, nevertheless....

Well, there's good news and bad news. Generally, when someone offers me both, I pick the bad news first. Good news is too hard to enjoy while anticipating bad.

So, the bad news:

It was one date. He's back in Jerusalem. We probably won't ever see each other again. Probably.

There. Now, the good news:

the date.

I have become friends with this fabulous gal recently. And she invited my roomie and I to a concert in downtown LA. Well, actually, she came over to my house to shoot photos of me, pregnant. Sidenote: I am not pregnant. Breathe out. I had a beach ball belly. It's a whole other story that involves a new photography business she is starting, geared toward pregnant women who want exotic, Middle Eastern type photos. I posed for some pamphlet pics. I do have to say, however, that even having a deflated beach ball taped to my belly brought out these strong maternal instincts I never knew I had. I walked carefully, guarding my belly from objects that might injure it. Strange. Anyway, I digress....

OK, so she came over to shoot some photos. And after we'd finished, she invited us both to join her at a concert by a Jewish band, their first time in LA. She knew one of the band members.

I fought my homebody instinct (which pretty much always encourages me to stay home, do laundry, watch a movie, and walk my dog -- all of which are wonderful, important things to do, but may keep me single till I'm 40 if I'm not careful), and I went. :)

The concert was fabulous, different, a blend of Liturgy sung to rock, some in Hebrew, some in English. It was a whole new world being at that club. A new world full of people of devout faith, a faith I feel connected to, but don't know too much about. There were lots of men in yamakas, women in dresses, and prayer shawls hanging out from under t-shirts. These little tangible expressions of faith were lovely to me.

After the concert, I sat by myself waiting while my friends chatted and restroomed. And as I peered backstage, I saw the bassist's head, poking out from around the corner and made out his hand, index finger motioning in my direction, the "come here" motion. No ... he couldn't be talking to me. I looked away, searching out who he might be motioning to. Hmm. I stayed planted. A few minutes later, again, I peered backstage. Again. That head, that hand, "come here." I wondered who he's motioning to? Hmm. I stayed planted. Well, finally, after a good while had passed, I began to wonder what had become of my friend, who had gone backstage to visit with her friend from the band. And, fearing that perhaps I was supposed to meet her out back, I decided just to peer backstage to see if she was still there (almost everyone was now gone). Sure enough, she was backstage still, visiting. And that same man who had been motioning was now standing in the doorway.

"Hello."
"Hi."
"Did you enjoy the concert?" he asks,
"Yes. Very much."

Pause.

Smile.

"I know this might sound surprising," he says, "but I was thinking maybe we could get together and talk. I saw you, and there was something about your spirit. You look like a woman I could talk to. Does it seem OK to you that I would ask you out?"

And thus began our conversation, because how can you NOT talk to a man who is so bold and yet respectful at the same time?

And that's how I ended up the very next night on a date with a man named Jonathan -- a barefoot bassist from Jerusalem,(he was not barefoot on the date, by the way, only on the stage). That's how I ended up in the home of a Jewish family, listening to an Orthodox rabbi talk about the history of music -- from Tchaicovsky to Bob Dylan -- and the Torah. It's the reason I foolishly stuck out my hand to shake the hand of the father of the house -- a standard ritual of introduction in my book -- only to realize that in conservative Judaism, unmarried/unrelated men and women don't touch. That's how I ended up waiting for Jonathan, eating Kosher salmon, and talking pediatrics with a woman while my date went into the kitchen for evening prayer with the other men. It's the reason I drove around downtown LA for half an hour in search of a nice Kosher restaurant at 9:30 on a Sunday night. And it's why I ended up going instead to the home of a Hollywood movie producer (because that's where the band was staying) and eating leftovers from Saturday's Sabbath meal because we couldn't find a Kosher restaurant. It pretty much explains why I melted when my date tasted the wine before pouring a glass for me, saying, "Yes, this is good. I can serve this to you." And why I melted even more when he whispered a quick prayer in Hebrew before raising the glass to his lips. And why, when I asked him what he said, he repeated it slowly ... for me to follow, "Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha-alam, ha-motzi lehem min ha-aretz,” why I went home and Wikipedia-ed the phrase and found out that it says simply, "Blessed are you, Lord, our God, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.” Yep. That's why.

It was a good date. A great date, actually. A date with a tealight on a tablecloth, with thoughts exchanged, and silence permitted.

And after all was said and done, when I lay in my bed that night, pondering the new world I'd lived in (if even for a night), the new eyes I'd met, the new ways of thinking, I felt alive. And I thought back to a moment from earlier that evening, at the table, in the silence. He was just smiling at me, saying nothing. And then, a new word slipped from his lips, a word unfamiliar to my ears,

"L'Chaim," he said.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

A long pause, and then his answer,

"To life."

j'taime summer

It's summertime. for sure.

I can feel it in the slightly sticky air. I see it in the array of colors that mix like a Picasso painting as I meander rows of fruit at San Dimas' weekly Farmer's Market. It's in the evening concerts, blankets spread out in parks, kids running, laughing, giddy with promises of long evenings and bare feet on grass. It's in the dogs out walking their owners, in their panting tongues, bellies pressed hard to cool earth, reaching out for solace from the heat.

I can feel summer in the stifling temperature of my second story bedroom, count it in the number of evenings I go to sleep on top of covers.

I can feel summer on the inside of me as well. It's as if the long days implant themselves in my bones. Sun shines down on my worries, my wounds, my wonderings. And, though I still look at them, I do so barefoot. I lean into them like a hammock, finding strength in the wide open space of it all. Summer is often a healing time for me.

It's summertime.

Cadence of sprinklers. Hot car interiors. The blessed welcoming hug of air conditioning.

Sweet summer reverie, thank you for reminding me that winter is a season.

a few supplemental photos

So, I figured I'd add a few photos of the fourth ... a lil' supplemental info.

I'm starting with the ending ... here we are happily at the beach, ready for some fireworks! I am so grateful for my lovely roommates! :)



Now, back to the beginning. This was the group that greeted us upon arrival. Though we might look like best o' friends, we'd known them about 1.7 min. by this point...



And this is the infamous offender. Though Jaime might look like she's getting his digits, really she's trying to figure out how quickly we can leave, as well as trying to keep her palm away from his face. ha!



This is Julie, looking all sort of cute, and Bob ... who, incidentally, I actually talked to about faith! As I was sitting there, awkward, he just started talking. He told me about his fear of dying, and about how that made him think that maybe he needed to know God a bit more. He shared about being an atheist his whole life, but about how he was started to have church on Sunday mornings, just him and God. We talked about how sometimes it's hard to have faith, to really truly believe. Yes, believe it or not, an actually substantive conversation happened in spite of it all!



The parking space....



Contentedly at the beach, we awaited a fireworks show!



And although this is a firework, I think it looks like some sort of slow-mo, brainwave, neuro-transmitter activity. Don't 'cha think?



Well, my face says it. Happily celebrating our country's independence! :)



And, one more thing, I haven't forgotten to blog about a few of those other stories I mentioned. They are coming, day by day, one by one. :)

MUCH LOVE to you!!!

about those ass slaps.....

well, that may be the most "creative" post title I've used yet :)....

Before I tell that story, though, I just want to thank you for the love and prayers you've sent my way. I feel them, and though I still have some lingering heavy-heartedness (which, I think, is probably normal) from the past few days, my spirit is very peaceful. And I am so grateful! So, thank you! What a blessing friends are!!!!!!

OK, now on to a much more serious topic:

ass slaps.

In a previous post, I mentioned several stories I need to tell. And this was one of them.
So... as the fourth of July approached, I tried to keep my expectations down. You see, I LUH-UH-UUUUV the 4th o' July. The barbeques, the friends, the long days, the fireworks. I love all that the holiday represents. And, as a child, my fourth of July's were as good as it gets. Every year we went to this big neighborhood picnic on the Woods' front lawn. We grilled. All the kids in the neighborhood made on-the-spot bicycle parades and did silly dances that the adults pretended were absolutely fabulous. The day was full of smokey grills, potato salad, watermelon juice, homemade ice cream, barefeet and lots of grass. And the day was always wrapped nicely with a bow with a trip out to East Flagstaff for fireworks. I can still feel the booms of exploding light in my chest. And I can remember how small I felt under a canopy of color, tracing fading sparks through the black sky. As a child, the fourth of July was pure bliss.

But, as an adult, well ... the stories have been a bit different. And I think that BECAUSE my expectations have been so high, the suckiness (when it happens) is even more, well ... sucky. One year, I didn't know anyone where I was living. But I got invited to a barbeque. So, I baked a banana cake with cream cheese frosting, and I made a US flag on the top out of blueberries and strawberries (because I'm really that sort of 4th of July happy). And then, not long after, I got a call saying that the barbeque had been cancelled. Who cancels a barbeque on the 4th of July?? Anyway, so I stayed home by myself, ate my cake and then went and saw The Notebook ... by myself. Another year, I went to the zoo with my boyfriend at the time and my sis and bro-in-law. It was sweltering hot (San Antonio in July!), too hot for many animals to brave the sunshine. Anyway, as we were leaving, I kidd you not, I got divebombed, and stung, by a bee. I watched him fly directly toward my arm and then, OUCH. Well, to shorten a long story, my boyfriend dropped me off at home to care for my arm, told me to call him when I felt better (!) and the sting quickly swelled up my whole arm until it was purple and hot. And I figured purple and hot are both bad adjectives for an arm, so I went to the doctor the next morning, and the sting had turned into Cellulitus, and my arm was swollen and red for about 3 weeks thereafter. And, then there was the 4th where I I told my sister how much I loved barbeques and missed having them, and because she is a sweet heart of a person, she said, "Suz, we'll barbeque this year! We'll have an awesome 4th!" And, she meant it ... until the morning of the 4th when we all woke up to realize that it was going to hit 100 degrees that day and 85 percent humidity. So, instead, we ate chicken around the table in the cool comfort of air conditioning. Don't get me wrong, I know that I am so blessed to have spent the fourth of July with family, to have had good cake to eat when I was alone :), to have lived in a country where one doesn't lose her arm because of Cellulitus. I know that. But, my fourths haven't been ... stellar.

Anyway, ALLL of that to say that THIS year, I decided to lower my expectations for the day ... for obvious reasons. My roomies and I decided to head out to Huntington Beach because we'd read that there were going to be lots of booths, a little street fair, and then fireworks over the ocean. Still, no expectations. Upon arriving on the scene, we discovered there were, in fact, lots of booths, and a street fair. And there were also atleast 50,000 people in a 5 or 6 block radius. So, after searching out a parking space for a solid half hour (and being offered one for $50 dollars!!!!), we were losing hope. But, as we drove by a row of homes, several men were out on the porch of one of them, and this guy waved us down, "you can park in my driveway!!! Come on in!" Split decision. Free parking space? We'll take it.

However, as he rushed over to greet us, I think all of us realized, ruh roh, we can't just park and run. That would be rude. Ruh Roh. And within a few moments, we were shaking hands and exchanging names with several middle-aged, barely sober, very friendly men! Disclaimer: we stayed out in the front yard. Don't worry, Mom and Dad. LOOOOONG story short, one of the men was particularly fond of my roommate, Jaime, and I won't forget the look on her face when he simply reached over and, well, smacked her on the bum. She just looked at me, and calmly, slightly wild-eyed, said, "Susan, I just got my ass slapped for a free parking space."

We learned a few of their stories. How one of them lost his job, and was driving home from his mother's funeral, feeling lost, and spotted a plot of land for sale. We learned about how he bought it that day for $600,000 and sold it the next for 2.3 million. We learned that he bought and sold his way to a fortune so that now, he doesn't work, and that he's "pretty good at doing nothing." We learned stories. And then, we departed, thanking them for the parking space, and headed down to the beach for fireworks ... but not before each of us received an unexpected ass slap. Anyway, I've talked your ear off. But that's the story. The fireworks were lovely. The crowds were worth it. The ass slaps were ... unfortunate.

But, it was a memorable fourth. A good fourth. I spent it with my roomies. We got In'N'Out Burger. And we watched fireworks over the ocean. And we even got ... ahem ... a free parking space.