the fight

So, apparently, you could spend your whole life "taking care of the details."  Or, apparently, I can.  But I don't think it's just me.  I think it's true for everyone.  You know the details: oil changes, mail opening, email responding, phone answering, clothes sorting, dog walking, dish-washing, cabinet-organizing, errand-running, blah, blah, blahdiddy-blah.

I've had several days off of work, as I'm waiting to start my new job (same kind of work, but a promotion! Woohoo!).  And when I found out that I was going to get a little time off, I made plans.  Massage?  Yes please.  A trip up the coast?  Uh-huh.  A day of just movies and reading?  Yep.  I'm now five days in, and guess how much of that I've done?  Zilch.  Zero.  Zip.  Nada.

I've done stuff.  Important stuff.  Bills must be paid.  Cars must be fixed.  But man...I'm getting angry.  And I'm not sure exactly what I'm angry at.  I suppose I'm just angry at how easy it is to fill your ... my ... life up with meaningless stuff.  Because it's not just a phenomenon of the last few days.  I think this kind of thing can happen for years at a time.  And before one knows it, a decade has past.  And they've still never taken that trip.

This is what's infront of me right now:

Files to be sorted, clothes to be washed, tedium and minutia.  I'm aware that you can't live a successful life without taking care of the tedium.  But, finding the balance is hard. 

And today, feels like an uphill battle.  

Hopefully, I'll be posting about a massage, or pictures of the coast, very soon.

Thoughts From The Tree

Guess what can make a sad girl feel better?

Starting out a Saturday with a dear friend and this.  That's right.  There are four soft, chewy carbohydrates here, and there are only two of us to eat them:

And then going to an orange grove with her friend and her puppy:

Her puppy - who happens to be looking up because that's where the sad girl - who doesn't feel so sad at that point - is, because she climbed up into a tree and picked some oranges.  It's harder to feel sad when you pick oranges in a tree.

In fact, you tend to feel victorious:

And, then, coming home to this package, sent to you by your sister, who has seen you when you were crying and snotty, who remembers that time you physically body-slammed her because you believed she had stolen your kaleidoscope, who knows your weaknesses because they've hurt her in the past, and yet, who still loves you fiercely, and sees the best in you, and sends you packages to remind you of that.  AND!! now ... now, her two daughters - your nieces - made you homemade Valentines.  And in one of them, your niece actually wrote the words, "You are a heart shining bright like no other!  Your heart is shining!"  And this niece has a bright, shining heart, herself.  And she's still young enough that she doesn't have that obligation-bound way of complimenting people.  She still only says what she means, so her words mean that much more.  And, actually, they make you cry:

Yep, that can all make a sad girl feel better.  Maybe a part of growing up means learning how to keep your eyes open to all the good that awaits you, even when they're full of tears.

So I Made It To The Beach

...as promised in a previous post.

And it was so worth it.  Worth the 45 minutes in LA traffic.  Worth the Saturday.  Worth the little edging fear that always arises before I go somewhere to retreat alone for a time.  My soul often squirms a little; as much as I claim to ache for quiet and solitude, it takes me a while to adjust to it.  And I almost always fear alone time, before I remember again how much I love it.  Anyway, it was worth it.  All worth it.

I read.  I watched two very patient and loving dads play volleyball with their two young daughters.  I thought about the kindness of God, my Father, always rooting for me, always teaching me, always cheering me on.  I set some goals.  And I wrote.  I wrote out a prayer, actually.  Or maybe it's a poem, after staring at this for a long, long time (my recommendation? click on the photo to make it bigger in order to get the full grandiosity of the view):

And though it feels vulnerable, I'd like to share it.  I suppose the only preface I can offer for it is this: the older I get, the less I like neat, clean, pretty ideas that fit into a precise package, topped with a bow, (because that doesn't honestly feel very congruent with this imperfect, broken, but precious world) and the more I appreciate just being able to ask questions and trust in a good God, even when I don't get all the answers.

My Offering

Is it enough, Lord?  That I delight

in the beauty wrought of Your fingertips,

of the intentions of Your heart? Can it be faith - 

pleasing to You - that the way

late afternoon sun turns the air golden - a whisper -

and the crashing waves, the surges of water

toward my bare feet, washing over them

and then retreating

causes me to worship You?  Even though 

the ocean is an unkind world to plankton 

and other small sea creatures

who didn't choose their place at the bottom 

of the food chain?

Can it be enough, Father?  That I hang on

to hope - sometimes by fingertips -

and watch seagulls spread their wings and glide upon invisible cradles of air, 

and that I love 

You....

with feeble,

fickle

love - as the Author of this enchanting, but unjust world?

That I could stand and watch the dance

of colliding waves -

water, flung up

recklessly, in every direction-

for hours?

That I wish I were a wave, could come crashing down,

without thought of where I'd land,

that I wish I could collide with something - anything -

and go hurtling upwards,

outwards,

outside of myself, if only to feel

that I am alive.

Can this desire?

This honesty? This reaching out....

be a prayer, 

falling softly

upon a tender spot

in Your heart?

CB 1-22-11

Change and A Lazy Saturday

It is 78 degrees outside.  I don't share this to brag, for anyone who may be reading this in much colder conditions.  Well, actually, maybe I am bragging just a little.  But I take no credit for it.

Nonetheless, them's the temps, and so I'm taking advantage of the temperate weather and sitting outside, revisiting this dear old friend of a blog, and drinking a cup of coffee on a very lazy Saturday.

And to set the scene, I thought I'd share a few pictures of my current environs....

Wide blue sky in front of me....

And golden sky behind.

Meet Jasper.  

He is sitting below me staring up at me with all of the world's sufferings in his eyes.

He is a wise old soul trapped in a dog's body that very closely resembles 

Gandalph from Lord of the Rings.  Check it out:

And then, of course, there's Charlie.  I put him on the coffee table to slow him down and to keep him from barking incessantly at the rustling of leaves that apparently poses a great threat to our home's welfare.  He finds standing on glass frightening.  And he tends to sit there, motionless, until I bring him down.  Also, notice the aforementioned coffee.  Yum.

And here's me ... or atleast, one half of me.....

So, that's the current scene.

I have to say, I'm loving this sunshiney day ... just as much as I loved Christmas, just as much as I loved the snow that fell endlessly on Flagstaff a few weeks ago as I headed back to California, just as much I loved the beautiful, peach flesh leaves of Fall.

I think what it comes down to is that I am a Seasons Girl through and through.  I need them, the seasons.  I really do.  I need the visible, tangible reminders about cycles of life.  I need the too-hotness of Summer (remind me of this when I am blogging about third degree burns from my seat belt, ok?) to make me all the more grateful for the sweet cooling down of Fall.  I need Fall's golds and reds to remind me that even the process of loss can have so much beauty in it.  I need the way the world grows quiet during Winter.  I need the blossoms that form without anyone knowing it when all around seems dead, and then bloom one day - unexpectedly - into bright, bursting, colorful shouts of glory that life is back, that Winter was just a comma, not the period.

Sometimes I wonder about the juxtapositions of life, about how often true, deep appreciation for what we have requires the contrast with what we don't have.  It's that whole mantra about how sometimes you have to lose something in order to know how much it meant to you.  Summer makes you appreciate Fall, and Winter does the same for Spring, and around and around we go.  Why is that?  Why can't we see things for what they are while we have them?  I don't know.  I don't know that I'll ever know.  But I do know that this seems to be the case.  I do know that absence really does make the heart grow fonder, and that, for whatever reason, we humans seem to need the tension of loss and emptiness in order to enjoy the blessing of gain and fullness.  I don't always like that reality, but I've found it to be true.

My days, as of late, have felt more empty than full.  I know this sounds terribly depressing, and I suppose it sort of is.  But, it's where I'm at.  And I'm an honest gal.  So, there you have it.  It's not that I don't have really beautiful blessings in my life.  I do.  I really do.  I have dearer than dear friends.  I have a good job in which I get to help people.  I have health and intelligence and a supportive family.  I've got lazy Saturdays.  I've got my mother's full lips.  I've got hope.

But some significant parts of my life are changing, and other parts that I wish would change keep droning on, always staying the same, no matter how hard I cajole, no matter how much I try to manipulate them otherwise, no matter how many pennies I throw into the fountain.  And that makes the change that I see coming around the bend that much harder to hold.  Sometimes, it is this kind of change - the kind that happens subtley and slowly - that can be hardest to process.  Because it's hard to grieve something that is still in front of you.  Am I sounding all cryptic and mysterious?  I don't mean to be.  I just don't really wanna write about the details of the matter, because, really, it's more about the experience of recognizing that nothing is permanent that I'm trying to process.

And, these days, this lack of permanence has been feeling like a sad thing, because it's leaving me with the empty spaces of Winter.  And the world is too quiet.  And I long for Spring.  Which is why today's clear blue skies feel like such a sweet mercy.

But, yesterday, I had a new realization, a little blossom of spring in my soul, amidst the too-quiet.  Yesterday, I felt a new kind of hope growing in me about this lack of permanence, about the ever-changingness-of-life.  Life sort of forces you to keep your hands open, if you're honest.  It sort of forces you to hold all things loosely, even the things and people you love the most.  And, all of us, when honest, will admit that loss is a scary thing.  But, the other side of this coin is that change is always possible.  And, as scary as it can be to uproot, it's the only act that will eventually allow one to plant something new.  I know these are platitudes, the kind of platitudes that would probably make me want to smack someone in the face if they said them to me in the wrong moment.  I know that.  But I feel like - in learning how to live with empty spaces - I'm earning the right to say them, at least to say them to myself.  Because I'm living out their truth.  I can't explain why the realization hit me yesterday; nothing specific triggered it.  I think maybe I just walked out far enough into the pain of the unknown that I started to sense it.  Like a star peaking out through the darkness, I could feel in a new way the world of possibility that comes with open-handedness.  And I felt less afraid of it, because as temporary as joy is, so also is pain and loss a temporary thing.  And uprootedness holds a new kind of freedom. 

So, that is how I'm holding the longing.  I'm trying to take flight with it, to rest upon what I can't see, upon Who I can't see, and to hold my palms wide open and let good come and go and then come again.  There's a freedom in it, when one looks loss square enough in the face.  Because it doesn't kill you, no matter how much it hurts.  It doesn't kill you.  And you become less afraid of it and start to see the potential.  That was the hope that snuck into my heart and caught me by surprise yesterday.  Who knows what awaits....

What I do know is that today, I feel less like a tree and more like a bird.  I'm falling out into wide open space, trusting in what I cannot see, waiting for what I don't yet know.

2 Things

1) My view right now...

Can I just say how much I love Christmas and all that goes with it?!  I LOVE having a white-lighted Christmas tree in my house.  Makes me want to own a fake one and just keep it up all year long.  Life is more soothing with a tree in the house, especially a tree with lights.  And red bows.  And fires are soothing too.  I am soothed....

2) ... which is a good thing, because today sucked.  I'm not normally willing to throw an entire day into the "sucky" category.  And actually, now that I think about it, I'm not willing to throw this whole day into the sucky category.  In fact, what I want, no, need to write about is how much good can come out of the bad.  But in order to write about that, first, I have to tell you about the sucky.  A supervisor at work told me some things today that really stung me.  Now, I'm all for constructive criticism, and I try really hard to be a good receiver of criticism ... believing the words in the book of Proverbs that talk about a wise man (or woman, in my case) being willing to take a rebuke. But the way in which the supervisor said the things - and even the things themselves - felt wrong and ... unnecessary.  And kind of unkind.

After the conversation, I went back to my desk and stared at my computer screen and took in some deep breaths and calmed myself down.  But inside I was all wounded and trying not to cry.  And so I reached out to a few of my closest friends, wrote to them, told them what happened, and asked for their prayers.  And here's where I get to tell you about the good.  Love came pouring back to me.  Affirmations about who I am created to be.  Encouragement.  Honest feedback (Truth spoken in love is sooo much better than just truth, btw).  Words of so much love from people who *see* me and have known me at my worst.  And it's a funny thing.  As I read my friends' encouragements, my spirit slowly got lighter.  And I began to almost feel thankful that this had happened.  I treasure the words I got today.  I'll probably print up the emails and keep them and pull them out when I need reminding.

Before I go, I need to digress a moment ... to go back to a very distant memory I have that occurred when I was about 6 or 7.  Around that age, my city got a big snow storm.  The thing with snow is that it eventually melts, and then - as winter is so inclined to do - if it freezes again, you end up with a nice, thick layer of ice.  I'm kidding.  Ice is not nice.  And I did not just mean to rhyme.  Geez... it's getting late, and I'm tired.  Sorry for the rambling.  Anyway, back to the ice.  So, when one ends up with a thick layer of ice, one has to use an ice pick to break it up.  So, on this occasion, my mother was ice-picking, and I was outside hanging out with her.  I don't remember asking my mother if I could do a little of the ice picking, but I'm sure I must have begged her, because - against her better judgment - my mother agreed to let me do a few whacks of the ice and then give it back to her.  Let this be a comfort to any mommy who might be reading this.  My mother - a fantastic mother, a larger than life mother, a write-love-notes-on-napkins-in-my-school-lunches mother - gave me the ice pick.  And I proceeded to ice pick my big toe.  Not on purpose of course.  Just too young to be ice picking (Sorry Mom; totally not trying to rat you out on this one. ;).  

But here's the funny thing: I don't remember the pain.  What I remember is that she immediately scooped me up and carried me inside and held me in her lap and rocked with me in her rocking chair until all crying had ceased.  I remember laying there, against her chest and having her wipe my tears.  And I remember it feeling very warm and quiet.  And I remember feeling loved.  That's what I remember.

Maybe, sometimes, the blows of life are worth it ... just so we can experience the special kinds of tenderness and love that are especially drawn out by hard knocks.  Maybe.  But, either way, good comes from bad.  And love always seems to have the final word.

an ode to fall, an ode to life

So, you know that thing that happens? You know, that thing? That thing that happens when you're looking at somebody else's life from the outside, and it often looks way better than yours?...especially if you're even remotely discontented with your own in any way. (I know, I know, we should not compare our lives to one another, and it's not even about better and worse. But, still, sometimes, it happens.) How, if you're not careful and you...I mean I spend too much time on Facebook, and I start looking through people's travel pictures, and family pictures, and my-life-is-just-generally-fabulous pictures, how I begin to feel like no one else has lonely moments, or lost moments, or simple what-the-heck? moments.  You know how that happens?

So, I thought I'd share an ordinary moment from my day. I worked most of today, at the coffee shop...trying to catch up on notes and such so that I don't have a big monkey on my back when I spend time feasting and being grateful this upcoming week.  And this was my view for much of the day.  It's a plain old coffee shop.  On ordinary day.

I have lots of those, ordinary days, I mean.  And I've learned to be really, really thankful for them.  Because I've also had some not so ordinary days that are not so good.  I'm really, really grateful for ordinary days.  Love 'em.  But here's the thing: I've been realizing that I don't do that thing with my own life enough.  I was looking through photos from this Fall, and when I looked at them, one event after another - which automatically removes all the ordinary days in between - I was struck by the goodness of my life.  I was struck by how - when I string together all the photo-worthy moments - how blessed I really am.  And maybe sometimes it's good to remember all the photo-worthy moments.  Maybe sometimes it's good to take a macro look at your life, to remember all the good times you've had.

So, I offer these moments NOT to make it look like my life is purely fantastic, with one fun hangout after another (and in so doing, to make you, my dear reader, feel badly about your own ... or maybe I'm the only one who does that?).  :)  I can assure you my life is full of ordinary days, I have lot of what-the-heck? moments).  Rather, I offer them as a reminder to myself to stop and remember, to take stalk every now and again and look at all the photo-worthy moments.  I offer them to honor the goodness of life, and of Fall (my favorite season), and to encourage you to reflect on the good moments in your own beautiful life.  So, without further ado.....

Pumpkin-Patching

And then pumpkin-carving

And steamrolling with two of my dearest friends at a church retreat this past weekend

And then Christmas ornament-making.

And here's the other thing, even though I went to a coffee shop and worked on an *ordinary* Saturday, I also enjoyed the rain, and laughed with a friend, and had conversations that made me feel known and entertained and reminded me that the most ordinary of days can be filled with unexpected blessings.  And in that way, today was not so ordinary.  So, life is good, with all of the simple little moments and the picture-worthy ones decorating all of my days.

muddy buddy

I was seriously freaked out around 6:55am this morning. Because around that time, the buckle to my bike helmet - while I was trying to loosen it - came right off. And it was a brand new helmet too. I bought it yesterday. For the bike race today. At 7:15 am. So, it was a bit of problem when the buckle came off about 20 minutes before I was to ride.

But a faithful friend fixed it for me. And all was well. Except it wasn't. Because, if you read this carefully, by now you will have realized that I bought a bike helmet for a bike race the day before I was to ride it. Oh yeah, and I bought bike gloves too. Because people who actually train on mountain bikes for races told me to. And I went out on the bike I was supposed to ride last night. For the first time. In like 14 years. Or something like that.

But this wasn't just any bike race. It was a running race too. And had obstacle courses. And I haven't run more than a couple of miles at any one time in weeks. Maybe months.

So, I was a bit freaked out.

I thought it was a brilliant idea when my roommates and I signed up for the Muddy Buddy race several months ago. One of my roommates has done the race twice, and swore up and down that it is a good time. Not stressful. Just silly.

The Muddy Buddy race is a leap-frog race. You do it with a partner, as the name connotes. And you take turns running a leg/biking a leg and trade off at the end of each leg of the race. And in between each leg, an obstacle awaits you ... climbing a wall, walking across a balance beam, you know, all of those ROTC boot camp type of drills. And at the end of the seven miles of hills and dirt, you reconnect with your partner to climb under netting and through a mud pit to the finish. And when I say mud pit, I mean MUD pit. As in, up to your elbows, all over your clothes, try-not-to-get-it-in-your-teeth-because-other-people-have-done-this-before-you-and-crap !! -who-knows-what's-in-this-MUD PIT.

So, I was a bit freaked out. And around 7:15 am this morning, I was thinking that perhaps this was not such a brilliant idea after all. Around 7:15am this morning, I stood with my roommate, Nikki, in bright pink, glittery shirts (purchased for the race, because seriously, if you don't know what you're doing, you at least have to look like you know what you're doing). And we vacillated back and forth between hysterical laughter and verge of tears. And we reviewed our goals: (1) Don't break anything. (2) Don't hurt anyone else. (3) Finish. And then the race started. And we were off. No looking back.

And a funny thing happened. Although, yes, it did hurt at times, although - on the last rocky hill - with my legs screaming back at me, I was definitely ready to be done, although Nikki and I almost peed our pants (I wish I were kidding, but I'm really not - we, um, literally kind of peed our pants. just a little.) while trying to push the bike up a muddy hill and falling not once, but 3 times, although all those things happened...

It was glorious. The air had a chill in it, but the sun was out. My legs worked. The brakes on my bike worked. I did not take out any innocent runners. My muscle memory came back, and I bounced along the trails. My lungs faithfully heaved in oxygen. And Nikki and I were able to run/bike alongside one another for much of the race. And we laughed. Man, did we laugh. Especially when we were trying to get that damn bike up that muddy hill. And we did the obstacles. And we enjoyed the scenic views. And I felt alive. And grateful.

And, in the end, we climbed through that mud pit and came out the other side unashamedly covered in mud. I'd forgotten how good it feels to just get dirty sometimes.

So, although I plan to train for it next year, and to NOT buy my bike helmet the night before the race, I write with a thankful, happy heart. And really, really, REALLY sore muscles.

And all really is well.

Here we are before the race started, pretending we are confident:

My two roomies and me. Kristin ran with her boyfriend - my old roommate and dear friend - Joey. I think this was probably pre bike-helmet-strap-breakage, and pre-mud:

This is my dear friend, Amy. She is wise and funny and also totally hoss. And she did her best to calm Nikki and I down before the race began. It should be stated that she and her buddy went on to win the race in our division:

And then, this happened. Check out my roommate's shocked face at the pit being a little deeper than anticipated. And check out my face of hysterical laughter upon watching my roommate's shock and seeing droplets of mud hit her teeth:

And then we were not so clean and fresh, but much happier. Funny how that works:

And this is what accomplishing your goals looks like:

On This, The Eve Of My 31st Birthday

"Can I get a do-over?" the little girl asked her mom, and waited to hear her response.

"A do-over?" her mom questioned, puzzling at where she'd learned the expression, at what had prompted her to want the chance to repeat a bit of life, to change what she'd done previously.

"Yes, a do-over," she repeated, making it quite certain she'd known what she was asking.

"Why would you want a do-over, honey?" her mom asked. "Do you regret something you already did? Are you scared about what is to come?"

The little girl thought for a little while. And when she was thinking, it was quite quiet, so the minutes passed, and her mom waited.

And after a little while, she answered.

"Yes mom," she said, "I do have regrets. There are moments I wish I would have done differently. There are choices I'd re-choose if I could. I've made mistakes. And I am scared about what is to come. I don't usually like that I can't see around the bend. But that's not why I'd want a do-over."

At this her mom was even more puzzled.

"Well then, my darling, why do you want a do-over?"

"I want a do-over," the little girl went on, "Because life has been so good. If I could - for even a moment - rewind and watch my life... the people I've loved, the Saturday morning breakfasts, the places I've seen, the bowls of ice cream in summer, and pasta before a big race, and chili on a snowy day, the birthday parties and pets I've loved, and Christmas morning cinnamon rolls, the church camp roommates and college roommates and graduate school roommates and so much late night laughter, the feel of hugs from you and Dad, the Fall colors, the sacred knowings of my bestest friends, the weddings and bike rides and mountaintops reached and waterfalls seen and the moments that can only be fully shared and understood by my sisters..."

And as she went on, her voice got louder, her eyes lighting up and she stared off into the space of remembering....

"The boys I've liked, the men I've loved, the fears I've faced, the hills I've climbed, the steps I've danced, the first job and first kiss and first apartment all on my own and first nephew and first niece and first day of school," and then she paused,

"But it's not just the good stuff Mom, or even all the 'firsts,'" she said, though it seemed like maybe she was realizing it herself as she spoke, "There's been lots of lasts ... too many...the last day with my childhood pet, the last sight of one of my favorite people, the last time we all slept in the same house. There's been hard stuff, you know? But, strangely, it's all the hard stuff too, all the ways the hardest moments of my life have been inextricably knit together with the best moments, so that I've learned never to despair ... even when it's so dark you can't imagine sunrise. I've learned how to endure winter, trusting in summer. I've learned, Mom. I've learned so much from the hard stuff. And somehow, in the end, there's still good ... even in the hard stuff."

And by now, her mom was quiet, looking at her little girl, wondering at how grown up she'd become, wondering at how much growing she still had left to do.

But it wasn't just her mom. As she spoke, the little girl realized, too, that she wasn't so little anymore. She sat there, all full to the brim with memories, knowing too that those were just the highlights. There were days, weeks, months, and years full of ordinary moments she'd lived that she didn't remember, moments that had accumulated like snowfall, one after the other, to build a great big beautiful life.

She looked down at her hands and realized that they were the hands of a woman, and had her stories in them. They held the callouses from hours of playing harp, the scar from that cut from her old refrigerator she'd gotten during one of her many moves, the thousands of words typed as she'd pressed on toward her degree. They weren't sticky with popsicle juice anymore, didn't have dirt under the nails from playing in the backyard.

And then she looked at herself in the mirror. Wrinkles spread out from the corners of her eyes, etchings of laughter carved into the wall of her soul. Her hair was no longer fine and straight, like it had been she was little. And the mole on her cheek had faded since childhood.

"Huh," she thought, looking at the woman in the mirror. "Well hello, you," she spoke to herself.

And at that, she turned around, certain of just a few things.

One, she'd still love that do-over, would love to watch her life like a movie.

Two, knowing what she knew now, there were a few things she would've changed.

Three, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that rather than wasting time on regret, her energy was much better spent living fully in today.

Four, she also knew that all of her life, the good and the bad, had brought her to this moment, and none of it was wasted. It all served a purpose because God has this amazing capacity to make all things new, to bring beauty from pain and good from evil.

Five, every day, full of opportunity, is a do-over. We write the stories of life in this moment.

Six, she wasn't as afraid of the unknowns any more.

Seven, but she was still a little afraid of them.

Eight, she'd been loved so much.

Nine, she'd loved so much.

Ten, and that had made all the difference.

And then she realized one other thing...although she'd grown into a woman, that little girl was still inside her and would remain there her whole life through. And that's why -- when she celebrated her birthday with her friends, and they gave her a crown -- she wore it ... just like she'd worn that paper crown at Burger King 25 years ago, celebrating her 6th birthday, with her friend Jenny.

Because this she also knew: no matter how old you get, life is too short to turn down a crown on your birthday.

Dear Rain,

I love you.

A lot.

I love the way you sound.

I love the way you make the air feel.

I love the way colors get brighter after you leave.

I love the way hot drinks taste on the days you are here.

I love that you enable me to wear scarves.

I even love when you surprise me, such that, while out on my morning walk with Charlie, he and I both end up soaked, trying to race home halfway through the walk, before you get us completely drenched.

I love that we got drenched anyway. And that I ended up laughing and humble, like a little kid, wiping water from my face as we splashed along.

But now I am warm again, bundled up at a coffee shop.

And I love that too.

And you made it all possible.

Thanks for showing up today.

Your fan,

Charlotte

I know, I know.....

I totally broke my promise to blog by Sunday. What can I say? I'm still in process and just don't have it all together yet. That's the honest truth. And, in actuality, this weekend ended up being fuller than I'd imagined it would be. So, trying not to dwell in the negative, I'm going to jump straight into fun stories from the aforementioned weekend.

...those cowboy dog pictures I promised?

Here's the story. When I first moved to LA, the small town I moved to (LA is composed of MANY small cities that all run into each other and become one big metropolis) was about to have its annual celebration. Every year, my town has a Western Days weekend, complete with rodeo, small town parade, farmer's markets, closed roads, pedestrians everywhere ... well, you get the drift. Anyhoo, so, three years ago, when I moved here, a kind lady suggested that Charlie and I walk in the parade, as there is a portion of the parade set aside just for dogs (yep, small town). Always one for silliness and fun times, I created a little Western costume for Charlie and off we went. Now let me just tell you, people, there is nothing to boost your Seratonin like walking your very cute doggie in a small town parade. People wave, kids smile, dog tails wag, sun shines ... I swear that Julie Andrews might as well just come around the corning singing "The Hills Are Alive." It's really that magical. So, needless to say, we've walked in it every year since. And it just never gets old. So, here are a few pics from this Saturday's annual parade, and now -- hopefully -- the cowboy/dog comments will make a bit more sense.

He's really such a good sport. I swear sometimes that I really think he likes wearing clothes. But that may just be my justification for my own obsession with dressing him. But really, life is just a little better when a dog wears a cowboy, is it not?!




Charlie and his most favorite girl ever, Emmie, and of course, Emmie's mom and I :)



Can you even put bunny ears on a dog?!



And, I think, perhaps, it just doesn't actually get any cuter than this. Maybe....



So, I know that -- in posting these pictures -- I am walking dangerously close to the line of being one of those "crazy, pet people." Or maybe I've already crossed it, and i'm just in denial. But here's to hoping that these brought a smile to your face, and that I haven't completely scared you away. Hope to meet you here again tomorrow. :)

And Did I Mention That My Neighbor Found A Bag Of My Pants On The Street?

It was moving day today in my household, which means a few things.

One, it means that I can't wait for a shower. It'll be a lingering shower tonight as I try to soak the heat up into my tired muscles and get my fingernails clean again (TMI?), as well as getting my feet back to their original, much pinker, color. It will be glorious.

Two, it means that we are now drinking out of plastic cups and that I'll be sleeping on a mattress on my floor for the next week. It also means that napkins will once again become a commodity, that I'll constantly be searching for something, and that when I go to cook that frozen pizza I bought (my attempt at "thinking ahead,") I'll realize the cookie sheets are packed. I'll improvise. There will be lots of improvisation in this here household until we finish moving everything and shut the door for good next weekend.

Three, it means that very soon, the three amigos (i.e. my roomies and I) will be splitting up, which is a sad thing. I know that musician Jackson Brown sings about all good things coming to an end. And I know that every beginning means another beginning's end. I know that, as Tom Petty puts it, "It's time to move on, it's time to get goin', what lies ahead I have no way of knowin', but under my feet the grass is growin'; it's time to move on; it's time to get goin'." I know all that song-lyric-ey philosophizing crap about change. But, still, it's sad. And I don't really mean that it's crap. I know that all of that stuff is actually very true. And I honestly have a deep peace that it's time for each of us to go our new ways ... two of us, to new jobs, and one, to school. It's just that I really love my roomies. We laugh together every day, see each other at our worst, get in the occasional "debate" (i.e. argument) about this or that, and then we always work it out. And did I mention that we laugh together everyday? And that we genuinely like each other? Last night, when we should have been packing, we took a break and sat together and belly-laughed until we were all laughed out ... about the most ridiculous things no less. Literally, we exHAUSTed ourselves laughing. And then we had no energy to pack anymore, because we were too tired from all the laughing. But it was worth it.

I think that's got to be at least one reliable mark of a good friend ... the ability to amuse one another and create fun no matter where you are or what you're doing. So, in their honor, a compilation of pictures taken recently at IHOP, at 2:30 am. You know you're good friends when you can be genuinely entertained at taking posed pictures at IHOP.

The Cast of Characters:

The Sleeper:



She and I have been friends for 10 years and share the same affinity for sleeping. So, it's only fitting that that's the position she chose for her pic.

The Jon Elway:



Not really sure that this picture describes much of anything actually true about him (as he's not even all that in to sports), other than the fact that he is a totally hilarious person who thinks nothing of striking a pose in IHOP when we request it. He and The Sleeper have been best friends since 7th grade, and I'm so thankful I got to know him through her.

The Butter Pecan:



Yep, that's me. And I DID just name myself after my favorite flavor of pancake syrup. You guys, if you have not tried the butter pecan syrup at IHOP, GO THERE. RIGHT NOW. Drop what you're doing. Quit reading this. And go eat pancakes with butter pecan syrup. It's not on the table; you have to ask for it, which really makes you feel all in the know, btw. But, seriously, it is deLICious. And, last time we were there, when I told the server how much I love it, he gave me a little container full to take home. That's my giddy butter pecan face.

Anyway, so we're moving, which means lots of things.

But for now, what it means is that I'm off to shower, and then, to bed.

And, I Have Another One Of Him In A Black Spanish Mantilla

Hi friends,

So, I took a few days off from typing very much at all ... for obvious reasons. I just couldn't get myself to open up that keyboard. I counted up the amount of pages I typed last week during the one-last-push-grad-school-frenzie ... 62. Yowza. That's a lot of pages. No wonder I got tired. SO. GLAD. TO. BE. DONE. ... only it hasn't totally kicked in yet, because, well, one of the things I found out last week was that the house I'm living in has sold, and I have approximately 10 days to be out. Another yowza.

But, God provides, and I've already got a storage unit and a VERY kind friend who's welcoming sweet Charlie and I into their home for a few weeks so that I can get living details figured out without the pressures of homelessness :) looming. I wouldn't really go homeless, just joking. I'm really, really blessed, and have got people in my life that would never let me go homeless.

So, as I'm typing, I'm realizing I haven't got too much to say. Well, that's not entirely true, actually; I have lots swirling around in me, just no thoughts that are ready to be born into words yet. After last week, and all of its too-fullness, I guess I'm just a bit quiet. Does that ever happen to you?

Anyway, before I go, I'll leave you with this photo. Because how can a photo like this NOT make anyone's day that much better?! It's the product of massive bouts of cleaning, plus the need my soul has these days for a good dose of silliness. You know how, when you clean and sort before a move, you find all that stuff you forgot you had? You know ... that stuff in those drawers you never opened because they had THAT stuff in it? I'm kinda famous for wearing whatever I'm cleaning. I can't help it; it's the dress up girl in me. I sort, clean, wear ... Poor Charlie, now he's getting the product of my sorting:

Ole!

Friday's Final Foto

Well friends, I'm happy (even if a bit bedraggled) to report that I am done, done, done.

I'm a little in shock, actually ... have been working so long toward this end. And here it is.

I officially have my Master's degree.

Wow.

...

...

...

that was me taking a few deep breaths.

I've got more stuff coming round the bend ... news of both the good and bad variety to process, a cracked car windshield to have replaced, a trip to the DMV, jobs to search for, living situations to figure out, you know, LIFE ... all that stuff that I said, "When I finish with classes, I'll deal with that." But I'm not gonna open that closet just yet. I'll open it tomorrow.

Tonight, I'm gonna celebrate in a way that is near and dear to my heart.

Tonight, I'm gonna partake of as much of this as I want:

Are you tired of photobooth yet?

The view this morning ... pretty much the same as yesterday, only now I've got different books, and I've moved to the kitchen.

My fingers are clickety-clickety-clacking away ... type type type ... but I'm feeling a renewed vigor for finishing, as I realize that this is my LAST day as a grad school student!! (unless I get all whacky and go back again later ;)

I've got A LOT to accomplish in the next 9 hours ... only by His grace and lots of stamina! Woohoo ... finish line's in sight!

This sitting in front of the computer all day thing is really helping with my blogging consistency

Hi friends! How's it hanging? As for me, I'm hanging in.

Just a little snippet, before I get back to work....

Here's what I wanna be doing:



And here's what I'm gonna be doing:



Don't I look happy??

Only 22.5 more hours. Getting excited!!! :)

A lil' update

That's right. I'm back to the chia-pet hair and pjs. That means crunch time. The VERY. LAST. CRUNCH. TIME. ... until, of course, life happens. Anyway, this is how Charlie and I are rolling these days. He's a faithful little companion, until he decides he's bored and starts barking. But no one's perfect, right? He's been sleeping on my typing-bobbing arm all morning, not sure how he does that. And the picture's in black and white, to save the small amount of dignity I have left after posting it. The B&W cuts down on the under eye circles, or at least a girl can hope. :) Anyway, I'm happy and healthy over here...brain's just a little academia-logged these days.

But... one big chunk of work is done. Two more big chunks to go. I promise there will be a day when I am no longer complaining to you about schoolwork. I may be complaining to you about another kind of work, come to think of it, though. Or, I'll just try not to complain too much. How 'bout that? :)

The Whole Picture

So, I've been debating ... about whether or not to post these pictures I took of my nieces and let you feel all warm inside at the sweet innocence of childhood (and all the good stuff that goes along with little kids, rainstorms, and umbrellas), OR to tell you what was ACTUALLY happening as I took these photos.

I'm a truth-loving girl. I think that usually the truth of a situation, though more complex, and often times more flawed, is better than any seemingly perfect quasi-truth.

So....

Although I am totally in love with these photos and these little girls,



And although they ARE, in fact, little angels some of the time,



As I took these photos, I definitely pulled my eye away from the viewfinder a few times to shout, "Callie, please stop intentionally swinging your umbrella toward your sister's face. You could poke her eye out."



And, I more than once intervened into the knock-down, drag-out fight over who got which umbrella.



And that's the way life is, ya' know? Beauty runs right alongside imperfection. And the most simple moments still have their strife. I have to catch myself -- as I walk through life -- looking at the situations of others and thinking that they (meaning, anyone ELSE but me) have it all together; they have the discipline, the organization, the house, the car, the husband, the financial stability, the ability to NOT be awkward at parties, the ability to keep their car clean, the amazing vacation pictures, the umph to return phone calls promptly, or to make others feel welcomed, or, or, or, well...you get the point. There's a myriad of things that -- if I'm not careful -- I'll compare myself to, and wind up feeling incredibly incompetent. But the truth of the matter is that none of us has it all together. And maybe that's not even the point really. If I may venture -- in my short 30 years of life -- to suggest that there is a point, I think that at least, in part, it must be this: We don't have it all together. I sure don't. And growth, life, love ... they show up in the muck and mire of things, in forgiving, in being forgiven, in owning our mistakes, in making up after a fight, in being possessive at first, but then deciding instead to give your sister the umbrella that you wanted, because you love her. And all of this, because He first loved us. Maybe that's the point.

So, I say, see the beauty, the smiles, the amazing sky and light-skimmed puddles. But see also the tears; hear the words that cut; make the mistakes. And then learn to love through them. And for goodness' sake, go out with an umbrella after the storm has passed.



"Be kinder than you need to be, because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle." -- unknown

"Home Again Flannigan"

That's what my Dad always said to us kids when we'd pull into the garage after a road trip.

I am home, after three weeks of travel. No more trips for a while.

And I'm also exhausted. So I'll be succinct and to the point (and I'll also include a couple pics of the darling nieceys I talked about in my previous post.)

This post should be officially called:

Everything I Ever Needed To Know In Life, I Learned From...COOKIES!!!

1. It's important, sometimes, to strategize.



2. Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty.



3. You can never have too much color.



4. When it comes to something really yummy, calories shmalories.



5. When you're really in love, let it show.