FIRST OFF:
If there were a competition to see who kicked the most Lenten booty, I would have totally sucked at it. I might not have come in last, but I definitely wouldn't have been at the front of the pack either. Consistency is tough. And after a few weeks - I can't try to sugarcoat it - I just got tired. And one morning, I decided that certainly God would understand that I needed to sleep, and I didn't get up at 6. And the next morning, I did the same. And then it was Easter. I did a few devotions here and there in between, but I fizzled out at the every-day-6 a.m.-devotional-and-blog-post plan. Clearly, I need to continue to strive for discipline and consistency.
And I was feeling pretty guilty about it heading into Easter, until the Thursday before Easter weekend. On that night, I went to my small group (the one I've been meeting with for the last 3 years now ... they are my family here in LA). And we all talked about how we were feeling spiritually and emotionally entering into Easter. Several of us were feeling similarly ashamed of our Lenten ... lackluster. And then, my dear friend, Kristin, had an epiphany. She very simply said, "I was trying to clean my heart and mind for Easter during Lent. But, maybe that's what Jesus does. Maybe EASTER is what cleans out my heart and mind."
Sitting there, listening to her, I realized that the coolest thing is, whether I felt ready and prepared to celebrate Christ's resurrection, or whether I felt like I was running around all crazy-like, until emotional whiplash jerked my head back around to the empty tomb on Easter day, Jesus died and rose and made all things new. Including me. And my struggles to stay focused on him were just further proof of my need for him. I needed Easter. I NEED Easter. And He did it. It's late, and I'm tired, so I'm not sure if I'm explaining myself well. But, suffice it to say, though I still very much want to work on the character qualities of discipline and consistency, I just felt so much gratitude to Jesus on Easter morning. Because I don't deserve His selfless love. And yet, here it is.
So, happy belated Easter, beloved reader.
SECOND:
I guess I don't have a second point. I think I did, at the start of this, but now, my eyelids are heavy, and the pillow beckons to me ... sweet promises of dreamy reverie. Or at least a solid 8 hours. Wahoo!
Showing posts with label I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
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.
Friday, February 4, 2011
It Takes A Village
And then, when life just seems kind of monotonous and lonely and dark, and I feel too-tired, light breaks through. And I find myself looking around at this group of women I've been meeting with - every week - for 3 years. We've sat side by side together through weddings and cancer and loss and breakups and heart attacks and career changes and depression and falling in love and moving and graduating, and job searching, and job finding, and, and, and....
And now, we are reminiscing. And trying on purses. And laughing...about the simplest things. About life's small moments, stories that only we know. We're just sitting in her living room and eating peanut butter M&Ms and pizza....
...but, the crinkle of their eyes and the pure joy of moments re-lived, and the way we can say just about anything, and so many years of memories stacked underneath us, the roots of a tree... well, tonight, just laughing with these women makes it seem like everything might be alright.
I didn't forget to keep laughing, after all.
And now, we are reminiscing. And trying on purses. And laughing...about the simplest things. About life's small moments, stories that only we know. We're just sitting in her living room and eating peanut butter M&Ms and pizza....
...but, the crinkle of their eyes and the pure joy of moments re-lived, and the way we can say just about anything, and so many years of memories stacked underneath us, the roots of a tree... well, tonight, just laughing with these women makes it seem like everything might be alright.
I didn't forget to keep laughing, after all.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Dating Is Not For Sissies
Sometimes, I talk to myself ... not in the schizophrenic way, of course. It's just that sometimes, I have to sit down and pretend that I'm talking to someone else in order to learn how to be kind to myself. Why is that? Why is it so much easier to be gentler with others than with ourselves?
Well, either way, before bed, a short letter from me ... to me:
Today's been a hard one, I know.
He doesn't want you, I know.
And for so long, it's felt like nobody does ... well, no man, at least.
And even though you know that God is looking out for you, and even though You believe He has a plan, and even though you're trying to be strong and trust that this is just your time to wait, well, this whole dating world seems incredibly random and confusing, and ... not for the faint of heart.
Your friends and family have seen your pain and tried to help ease it as best they can. They've said things like:
"The waiting is so hard, but when you finally meet the right one, it will all feel worth it."
"32 is still young!"
"I'm so sorry, friend."
"Maybe this is just part of dating, the bitter with the sweet."
Or, my personal favorite....
"He's a douche bag."
****
You are so blessed to have such amazing friends. But, still, there's the wound. Of not feeling wanted. Because every woman needs to feel wanted.
I could tell you so many things. I could tell you that it just takes one. I could tell you that you are the 567th billion person to experience the pain of unrequited affection for another, so, welcome to the club of humanity. I could tell you to get busy living, and he'll show up when you're not looking for him. I could tell you that he WILL be worth it. I could tell you so many things.
And they're probably all true.
But, tonight, I just want you to know that I love you. And that I think you're worth it. And that someday, he will too.
And don't forget to keep laughing,
me
Monday, January 17, 2011
Planning or Bust
Guess what I learned today? Thinking about planning doesn't actually equate to planning.
That's one of my goals this year. To become a planner. And when I realized that was a goal, I felt all proud of myself for it, for deciding to do it, for planning to plan. Because, the flip side of being a very in-the-moment-all-present person is that I'm often not a very good planner. One minute it's Sunday, and the next thing I know, it's Friday. And it goes from being August to April in about 2-point-5 seconds. So, I bought a calendar this year, hung it on my closet door where I must look at it every day a couple of times, and decided to mark each day off every night. I figured, at a bare minimum, that would at least force me to anchor into where I'm at in the month, in the year, in the week ... or at least remember what day it is. And I have high hopes I might actually get some birthday cards out on time this year. Hope springs eternal in the human heart....
So, one of my goals for this weekend, this beautiful MLK Jr. holiday weekend, was to go to the beach. I wanted to sit by the water, watch the waves, spend some time talking to God, and then take out a pen and paper and think about bigger goals for this year, for my 30s, for what kind of person I want to become. I planned to plan.
And then, I had a lazy Saturday, went to two birthday parties Saturday night, and felt the need to veg out when I got home, staying up to watch OC reruns. So, Sunday morning I decided I'd sleep in and go to the beach this morning. And then last night, I stayed up late watching the Golden Globes, and then somehow felt that it was very important that I also watch interviews from the red carpet rerunning on the E! channel. And then I slept in this morning, and by the time I put two and two together about commitments for my day, I realized I'd have about 1.5 hours of beach time in which I was to reflect and plan and pray. And somehow, rushed reflection time seems oxymoronic.
So, I had a little planning crisis meeting with me, myself, and I this afternoon. Members who showed up to the meeting included, in no particular order: shame, regret, self-punishment, and anxiety. They are terrible candidates to have at a meeting with yourself, by the way. "Self?!" I thought, "How is it, self, that you've had an entire 3 day weekend, and that one of your only goals for it was to have a planning/prayer session at the beach, and here it is, almost over, and you never did it?! What is WRONG with you, self???!" Like I said, not fun. But, thanks to the gracious comfort and company of my roommate, who I invited to the meeting as well, realizing the ambush I was experiencing, I had a new realization.
Thinking about planning does not actually equal planning. And maybe I needed to hit a little "mini-rock-bottom" as my roomie and I laughingly called it in order to actually do this planning thing. Because I have never been much of a planner. So, I realized it makes sense that I'm not all that good at it yet. And, as my very wise mother always tells me, "most things are difficult before they are easy." So, maybe I'm still a toddler in my development as a planner, falling down more than I stand.
But, I'm learning how to do it. Slowly. With lots of mistakes. Eventually, Grace and Patience stepped into the meeting and performed a little coup' d'etat. They are very strong, and it only takes a couple of them to boot the others out the door. Now, I'm scratching this whole experience off as a little planning-rock-bottom.
So, the planning session is yet to happen. But, it will. It will. Very soon, I will go to bed at a decent hour and get up in morning sunlight and grab my Bible, a notepad, and a cup of coffee. I'll drive to the ocean and watch the waves and pray. Maybe I'll have a couple more setbacks. Maybe another episode or two of The OC will have their way before I triumph. Change is difficult, after all. But, just like the waves, my soul is connected to a Bigger Gravity, a gracious, loving Gravity. And He, this God of mine, is teaching me patience, and persistence, and how to get up each time I fall. And over and over again, He pulls me back to Himself.
Before I go - because I've made new plans for this day, you know :) - I must share a quote from the rock of a soul that is MLK Jr., in honor of his incredible and inspiring life today. I've been chewing on these words all week long, ever since a dear friend shared them with me. They are some of the most profound, truth-filled words I've read in a very long time. Thank you, Martin Luther King Jr.....
"When our days become dreary with clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of no way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows. Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice."
Happy MLK Jr. Day, beloveds.
That's one of my goals this year. To become a planner. And when I realized that was a goal, I felt all proud of myself for it, for deciding to do it, for planning to plan. Because, the flip side of being a very in-the-moment-all-present person is that I'm often not a very good planner. One minute it's Sunday, and the next thing I know, it's Friday. And it goes from being August to April in about 2-point-5 seconds. So, I bought a calendar this year, hung it on my closet door where I must look at it every day a couple of times, and decided to mark each day off every night. I figured, at a bare minimum, that would at least force me to anchor into where I'm at in the month, in the year, in the week ... or at least remember what day it is. And I have high hopes I might actually get some birthday cards out on time this year. Hope springs eternal in the human heart....
So, one of my goals for this weekend, this beautiful MLK Jr. holiday weekend, was to go to the beach. I wanted to sit by the water, watch the waves, spend some time talking to God, and then take out a pen and paper and think about bigger goals for this year, for my 30s, for what kind of person I want to become. I planned to plan.
And then, I had a lazy Saturday, went to two birthday parties Saturday night, and felt the need to veg out when I got home, staying up to watch OC reruns. So, Sunday morning I decided I'd sleep in and go to the beach this morning. And then last night, I stayed up late watching the Golden Globes, and then somehow felt that it was very important that I also watch interviews from the red carpet rerunning on the E! channel. And then I slept in this morning, and by the time I put two and two together about commitments for my day, I realized I'd have about 1.5 hours of beach time in which I was to reflect and plan and pray. And somehow, rushed reflection time seems oxymoronic.
So, I had a little planning crisis meeting with me, myself, and I this afternoon. Members who showed up to the meeting included, in no particular order: shame, regret, self-punishment, and anxiety. They are terrible candidates to have at a meeting with yourself, by the way. "Self?!" I thought, "How is it, self, that you've had an entire 3 day weekend, and that one of your only goals for it was to have a planning/prayer session at the beach, and here it is, almost over, and you never did it?! What is WRONG with you, self???!" Like I said, not fun. But, thanks to the gracious comfort and company of my roommate, who I invited to the meeting as well, realizing the ambush I was experiencing, I had a new realization.
Thinking about planning does not actually equal planning. And maybe I needed to hit a little "mini-rock-bottom" as my roomie and I laughingly called it in order to actually do this planning thing. Because I have never been much of a planner. So, I realized it makes sense that I'm not all that good at it yet. And, as my very wise mother always tells me, "most things are difficult before they are easy." So, maybe I'm still a toddler in my development as a planner, falling down more than I stand.
But, I'm learning how to do it. Slowly. With lots of mistakes. Eventually, Grace and Patience stepped into the meeting and performed a little coup' d'etat. They are very strong, and it only takes a couple of them to boot the others out the door. Now, I'm scratching this whole experience off as a little planning-rock-bottom.
So, the planning session is yet to happen. But, it will. It will. Very soon, I will go to bed at a decent hour and get up in morning sunlight and grab my Bible, a notepad, and a cup of coffee. I'll drive to the ocean and watch the waves and pray. Maybe I'll have a couple more setbacks. Maybe another episode or two of The OC will have their way before I triumph. Change is difficult, after all. But, just like the waves, my soul is connected to a Bigger Gravity, a gracious, loving Gravity. And He, this God of mine, is teaching me patience, and persistence, and how to get up each time I fall. And over and over again, He pulls me back to Himself.
Before I go - because I've made new plans for this day, you know :) - I must share a quote from the rock of a soul that is MLK Jr., in honor of his incredible and inspiring life today. I've been chewing on these words all week long, ever since a dear friend shared them with me. They are some of the most profound, truth-filled words I've read in a very long time. Thank you, Martin Luther King Jr.....
"When our days become dreary with clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of no way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows. Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice."
Happy MLK Jr. Day, beloveds.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
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.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
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.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
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:
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:
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Pineapple Fizz
So, we are officially all moved out of our house. The three amigos now abide in three different casas.
On my 42nd trip upstairs during the move, after carrying approximately 158 boxes out to my car (OK, maybe it was just my 14th trip, and there were only 20 or 30 boxes, but my back would testify otherwise), I pretty much decided that -- to put it delicately -- moving sucks. I also remembered that while I love clothes, I hate moving them. And I don't use "hate" lightly. I almost never use the word "hate," in fact, because I think life is too good to let hatred sap any of its energy. But I hate moving clothes. Hangers, apart from their very handy use as clothing organizers, may very well be a tool of the devil used to induce rage in otherwise peace-loving people, i.e., me. OK, OK, maybe I'm getting a little carried away, but seriously, it's like hangers hold secret meetings at night, while they're tucked away in the closet, us people sleeping innocently in our beds. They hang there, whispering quietly to one another, smirking at their uncanny ability to link curves at just the right moment when one is trying to separate them. They smile slyly at their brilliant design, which allows them to become intertwined multiple hangers at a time, such that even if one separate two hangers, they very well may be linked to other hangers at the same time. It's like their sole purpose, apart from holding clothes, is to make a sane person crazy. That's what I think about hangers, at least for today.
And, my body now carries the story of my move on its landscape ... you know, the moving bruises you find on arms and legs a few days later, the moving ache in one's lower back, the moving pulled muscle you find the very first morning you wake up in your new place. And the moving nail polish, or rather lack thereof ... the nails finally chipped.
So, yes, we are moved. And sweet Charlie and I are sojourners for the next few weeks, living off of the generosity of dear friends and family. I decided it was time for a few weeks of much-needed rest. So we are staying with a friend for a little while here in LA, and then I'm headed to back Flagstaff for a couple weeks of Fall leaves, coffee, and downtime. I'm going to be job-searching still, and internet apartment searching, but there'll be rest. Sweet, slow, hours of rest. In fact, that's what we're doing right now. It's cool here, and I'm sitting at an outdoor cafe, having treated myself to a latte. Lattes and fall days ... that's pretty much all this girl needs to be happy. The internet connection isn't working at the place I'm staying, so I kinda HAD to come here, HAD to buy a latte ... you know, in order to get internet. :) So, that being said, I'm still gonna try to blog every day that I can. But if it's sporadic for the next week, now you'll know why.
So, a little reflection (cause you know, that's what I do). We left our house in mint condition. We spackled and repainted all the holes in the walls, washed the baseboards, washed the windows, vacuumed the cobwebs, took all those piles that had been sitting around for months to Goodwill, cleaned out the closet we'd stopped using because it was full of things we never used, cut back the bushes, had that tree that dropped pounds of pollen (I'm into hyperbole today) onto our cars for the last two years trimmed back, reseeded the patch of dead grass, painted that one corner patch of turquoise wall that had been in my bedroom since I moved in, a remnant of the previous owner's artistic dreaming. Do you see a thread here? We basically fixed all the things that had bugged us while living here. And as I was painting over that turquoise patch with the much less offensive and much warmer ivory color, "Pineapple Fizz," I started thinking about how often we, as humans, do things just a little too late. Why do we fix our homes when we're about to leave them?? Why do we wait to empty the closets until someone else is going to use them? Why don't we throw those things away sooner? You know, those things we eventually throw away upon the realization that we don't value them enough to pack them. But the trend doesn't just hold true for moving. It's sort of a trend for much of life. Example: why do we bring people flowers at their funerals when they can no longer enjoy them? And ... to get really serious on you, why do we talk about how much we love one another after one of us is gone? Why do we gush about what makes other people so phenomenal when it can no longer sink into their hearts, make them walk differently. Why do we do that?
I think we do it, in part, because it's so easy to get caught up in the waves of life. There's so much to do every day. There's always laundry to be done, an RSVP to be sent, a bill to paid, a phone call to be returned, a thank you note to be sent, an oil filter to be changed, a trip to the supermarket to be made, a present to be bought, a lunch to be packed, a purchase to be returned, a picture to be framed, a receipt to be found, a recipe to be sent, an email to respond to, a floor to be swept. There's just always something. And to-do lists never end; they run from one day to the next. And then there are the seasons. And we go from eating Halloween candy to buying pumpkin for Thanksgiving pies, and then we hiccup and swallow, and it's time to buy Christmas presents and keep the Christmas commitments straight on the calendar. And just as you're getting the crumpled balls of Christmas wrapping paper thrown out, and the ornaments re-stored, it's New Year's, then Valentines, then you're thinking toward Spring Break and wondering whether it'd be more restful to stay home or go somewhere. And then you start seeing Memorial Day ads, and thinking toward summer. And you buy fans and plan trips, or you stay home and barbeque and watch for sales on strawberries and watermelon. And then school starts, and it all starts all over again. And you really only catch your breath long enough to remark to one another, "Where did the year go?" I think that's why. I think life just moves a little too fast, and gets a little too full, and before you know it, you're painting Pineapple Fizz over turquoise as you move out.
I don't expect this revelation to change my life -- or yours -- overnight. But I would challenge you and me to do one thing today that we've been putting off. Because life really is short. And why live with turquoise when you can enjoy Pineapple Fizz? Or better yet, why not gush about how much we love one another while we're all alive, while we can still see the crinkles that form in one another's eyes, feel the love that's almost tangible, watch one another walk away a little lighter, a little fuller? Why not? That was the one redeeming realization from my move.
So, we're onward and forward, Charlie and I. I wish you a beautiful day full of love and moments seized, wherever you are.
On my 42nd trip upstairs during the move, after carrying approximately 158 boxes out to my car (OK, maybe it was just my 14th trip, and there were only 20 or 30 boxes, but my back would testify otherwise), I pretty much decided that -- to put it delicately -- moving sucks. I also remembered that while I love clothes, I hate moving them. And I don't use "hate" lightly. I almost never use the word "hate," in fact, because I think life is too good to let hatred sap any of its energy. But I hate moving clothes. Hangers, apart from their very handy use as clothing organizers, may very well be a tool of the devil used to induce rage in otherwise peace-loving people, i.e., me. OK, OK, maybe I'm getting a little carried away, but seriously, it's like hangers hold secret meetings at night, while they're tucked away in the closet, us people sleeping innocently in our beds. They hang there, whispering quietly to one another, smirking at their uncanny ability to link curves at just the right moment when one is trying to separate them. They smile slyly at their brilliant design, which allows them to become intertwined multiple hangers at a time, such that even if one separate two hangers, they very well may be linked to other hangers at the same time. It's like their sole purpose, apart from holding clothes, is to make a sane person crazy. That's what I think about hangers, at least for today.
And, my body now carries the story of my move on its landscape ... you know, the moving bruises you find on arms and legs a few days later, the moving ache in one's lower back, the moving pulled muscle you find the very first morning you wake up in your new place. And the moving nail polish, or rather lack thereof ... the nails finally chipped.
So, yes, we are moved. And sweet Charlie and I are sojourners for the next few weeks, living off of the generosity of dear friends and family. I decided it was time for a few weeks of much-needed rest. So we are staying with a friend for a little while here in LA, and then I'm headed to back Flagstaff for a couple weeks of Fall leaves, coffee, and downtime. I'm going to be job-searching still, and internet apartment searching, but there'll be rest. Sweet, slow, hours of rest. In fact, that's what we're doing right now. It's cool here, and I'm sitting at an outdoor cafe, having treated myself to a latte. Lattes and fall days ... that's pretty much all this girl needs to be happy. The internet connection isn't working at the place I'm staying, so I kinda HAD to come here, HAD to buy a latte ... you know, in order to get internet. :) So, that being said, I'm still gonna try to blog every day that I can. But if it's sporadic for the next week, now you'll know why.
So, a little reflection (cause you know, that's what I do). We left our house in mint condition. We spackled and repainted all the holes in the walls, washed the baseboards, washed the windows, vacuumed the cobwebs, took all those piles that had been sitting around for months to Goodwill, cleaned out the closet we'd stopped using because it was full of things we never used, cut back the bushes, had that tree that dropped pounds of pollen (I'm into hyperbole today) onto our cars for the last two years trimmed back, reseeded the patch of dead grass, painted that one corner patch of turquoise wall that had been in my bedroom since I moved in, a remnant of the previous owner's artistic dreaming. Do you see a thread here? We basically fixed all the things that had bugged us while living here. And as I was painting over that turquoise patch with the much less offensive and much warmer ivory color, "Pineapple Fizz," I started thinking about how often we, as humans, do things just a little too late. Why do we fix our homes when we're about to leave them?? Why do we wait to empty the closets until someone else is going to use them? Why don't we throw those things away sooner? You know, those things we eventually throw away upon the realization that we don't value them enough to pack them. But the trend doesn't just hold true for moving. It's sort of a trend for much of life. Example: why do we bring people flowers at their funerals when they can no longer enjoy them? And ... to get really serious on you, why do we talk about how much we love one another after one of us is gone? Why do we gush about what makes other people so phenomenal when it can no longer sink into their hearts, make them walk differently. Why do we do that?
I think we do it, in part, because it's so easy to get caught up in the waves of life. There's so much to do every day. There's always laundry to be done, an RSVP to be sent, a bill to paid, a phone call to be returned, a thank you note to be sent, an oil filter to be changed, a trip to the supermarket to be made, a present to be bought, a lunch to be packed, a purchase to be returned, a picture to be framed, a receipt to be found, a recipe to be sent, an email to respond to, a floor to be swept. There's just always something. And to-do lists never end; they run from one day to the next. And then there are the seasons. And we go from eating Halloween candy to buying pumpkin for Thanksgiving pies, and then we hiccup and swallow, and it's time to buy Christmas presents and keep the Christmas commitments straight on the calendar. And just as you're getting the crumpled balls of Christmas wrapping paper thrown out, and the ornaments re-stored, it's New Year's, then Valentines, then you're thinking toward Spring Break and wondering whether it'd be more restful to stay home or go somewhere. And then you start seeing Memorial Day ads, and thinking toward summer. And you buy fans and plan trips, or you stay home and barbeque and watch for sales on strawberries and watermelon. And then school starts, and it all starts all over again. And you really only catch your breath long enough to remark to one another, "Where did the year go?" I think that's why. I think life just moves a little too fast, and gets a little too full, and before you know it, you're painting Pineapple Fizz over turquoise as you move out.
I don't expect this revelation to change my life -- or yours -- overnight. But I would challenge you and me to do one thing today that we've been putting off. Because life really is short. And why live with turquoise when you can enjoy Pineapple Fizz? Or better yet, why not gush about how much we love one another while we're all alive, while we can still see the crinkles that form in one another's eyes, feel the love that's almost tangible, watch one another walk away a little lighter, a little fuller? Why not? That was the one redeeming realization from my move.
So, we're onward and forward, Charlie and I. I wish you a beautiful day full of love and moments seized, wherever you are.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
October 6, I Love You
I was going to write a much longer, more philosophical post about some of my reflections as I transition from this home I've lived in since moving to LA to, well, wherever I end up going next. But, then life happened. And now it's late, and I'm off to bed so I can wake up early. So, the philosophizing will have to wait. But it will come. No worries. With me, it always makes it back around. :)
So, instead, I'm going to make you a list of my favorite things from today:
1. The fact that I got to eat red vegetable tofu curry TWICE today. I LOVE me some vegetable curry.
2. The fact that both of those meals were shared with two different, very precious, friends.
3. The way the day felt when I walked outside this morning -- crisp but warm, fresh, FALL.....
4. Did I mention it felt like fall today?! Makes me soooo happy. Fall is my absolute, hands down, favorite season of the year. I pretty much have this deep, underlying, giddy joy throughout the entire season ... even on the bad days.
5. The fact that my dog wore a sweater today, and wore it happily, and well.
6. The fact that I got to spend a good chunk of quiet, uninterrupted time with my best friend, talking about all things silly and serious.
7. I got some good mom advice today. I am soo thankful I can call my mom up, so thankful for that voice that is home.
8. I painted my nails and toes four days ago, and still, NO chipping! (Hey, it's the small stuff, right?!)
9. I get to go see Ingrid Michaelson in concert tomorrow night, and I am SOO excited! I know that's not technically today, but the anticipation occurred today, so that counts I say....
10. I'm on my way to sleepland. Any day I get to end with a good night's sleep, well, that's a good day.
Night all ... more philosophizing coming soon. ;)
So, instead, I'm going to make you a list of my favorite things from today:
1. The fact that I got to eat red vegetable tofu curry TWICE today. I LOVE me some vegetable curry.
2. The fact that both of those meals were shared with two different, very precious, friends.
3. The way the day felt when I walked outside this morning -- crisp but warm, fresh, FALL.....
4. Did I mention it felt like fall today?! Makes me soooo happy. Fall is my absolute, hands down, favorite season of the year. I pretty much have this deep, underlying, giddy joy throughout the entire season ... even on the bad days.
5. The fact that my dog wore a sweater today, and wore it happily, and well.
6. The fact that I got to spend a good chunk of quiet, uninterrupted time with my best friend, talking about all things silly and serious.
7. I got some good mom advice today. I am soo thankful I can call my mom up, so thankful for that voice that is home.
8. I painted my nails and toes four days ago, and still, NO chipping! (Hey, it's the small stuff, right?!)
9. I get to go see Ingrid Michaelson in concert tomorrow night, and I am SOO excited! I know that's not technically today, but the anticipation occurred today, so that counts I say....
10. I'm on my way to sleepland. Any day I get to end with a good night's sleep, well, that's a good day.
Night all ... more philosophizing coming soon. ;)
Sunday, September 27, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Allen and Elizabeth
You notice friendly people when you live in L.A. They stand out. That's why, when 3 or 4 months ago Miss Elizabeth ran out the front door of her home to catch Charlie and I as we passed by on our morning walk through the neighborhood, I was so surprised.
"Hey there," she yelled.
"Hi,"
"I just wanted to let you know that I keep this bowl out in front of my house for all the dogs that pass by. The hose is right here. You just feel free to turn it on and fill the bowl up anytime you want!"
"Thank you! How nice!" (me)
"No, thank you," she said, "I love dogs, but I can't stand to love and lose another. This is my way of still having dogs to love."
"My name's Susan," I said, "and this is Charlie."
Miss Elizabeth must be creeping up on 80 years old. But every facet of her face shines warmth, and there's still a youthful beauty that emerges from her snow white hair, ruby lips, and smiling eyes. You can almost picture her as a young girl in front of her bureau, brushing her hair, dreaming of who she'd marry. She radiates a kindness and serenity that can only come from a life well lived and lots of love known. But when I introduced Charlie and I, her face dropped a little. And sadness flashed out and then back quickly, windshield wipers across her eyes. And then it was gone. She smiled, "Oh honey, I won't remember your names. I've still got my body, but my mind's gone."
Startled, I reassured her, "Well that's OK. I'll remind you next time. And what's your name?"
"Elizabeth."
Charlie didn't seem to realize the importance to Miss Elizabeth that he drink her freely-offered water, and he gave it only a lick or two.
"Well, maybe when it gets hotter," she said. We smiled, and Charlie and I walked on.
That was several months ago.
Charlie and I have stopped in Elizabeth's yard too many times to count since then. And often, she comes out to greet us.
Almost every time, it goes like this:
"Hey there!"
"Hi Elizabeth!"
"Oh honey, have I met you?"
"Yes, I'm Susan, and this is Charlie."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I won't remember. I've still got my body, but my mind's gone."
"That's OK Elizabeth; I don't mind reminding you."
And then Charlie takes his drinks, and I thank her.
"No, thank you," she always says, "this is my way of still getting to have a dog."
Charlie seems to know how much she loves him, because he runs up to her, takes some very love-filled pats on the back, and off we go.
But yesterday, yesterday was different. It started out the same:
"Hey there!"
"Hi Elizabeth!"
"Susan? Charlie?"
"Yes! That's us! Look at you! You remembered!" I say, stunned.
"Well, not really, but I put a post-it on the back of my door." She smiles. Meanwhile, Charlie is sniffing toward her still-open front door.
"He wants to come in!" she says, "Can I?" she says, reaching toward his leash. "Sure," I say ... even though I am itching to keep moving on because I have to get home and pack for my flight to Denver.
With a girlish joy, she grabs Charlie's leash and runs him into the house, and I follow.
And that's when I met her husband, Allen. Though all-man (I later learned he was a construction worker for most of his life), he, too, possesses that peaceful contentedness. "Come on in," he says, "I'm Allen."
Allen and Elizabeth's home is a book of stories. Allen starts to tell me the history of their home while Miss Elizabeth runs Charlie around to all the rooms in the house, smiling as wide as a child on Christmas morning. She is laughing.
"This home," Allen says, "was an old fruit shed built in the 1800s."
"Wow!" I exclaim, "You guys have done a lot of work." And they have. It could easily be a museum of California life between 1800something and 2009. One wall is entirely cedar and has that unfinished look of some old workspace or garage. I later learn that's the only original wall in the house. They sanded it and refinished it. But the wood still has holes in it, such that you get little peepholes into the adjacent rooms. Elizabeth has returned, thanks me for letting her take Charlie, and pulls out a scrap book.
I sweat a little. Flight's in 4 hours. But, I can't leave. They are too eager to tell me their stories. And I am too aware of the honor I am receiving in hearing them.
So, I look through their home renovation scrapbook. They removed a full inch of layers of wallpaper from the home. And Elizabeth's kept a square of every layer. Flipping through them is like watching decades pass in a moment. She's also got old newspapers that used to line the walls; they're deteriorating, but still readable. They look like they must be from the early 1900s. And they've got a chunk of the old cardboard and plaster that used to make up the entirety of their walls.
And then they move on to showing me the relics on their walls and the cast-iron wood-burning stove they found at a flea market.
"It needed some cleaning up," Allen states, "But we sanded it and repainted it and polished it, and now, it's good as new."
"Bargain shoppers!" I exclaim. And they stand proud. Allen proceeds to show me their office. "Almost everything in here was free. I found those file cabinet doors in an old classroom at UCLA when we were tearing it down. And I got the ceiling tiles from a bank in Glendale that was closing. And the shelves were out with someone's trash." And the room is lovely and clean, and you'd never know.
And the conversation goes on and on and meanders as conversations so often do. I find out that Allen and Elizabeth met twenty years ago, when they were both living in boats with their spouses. And then Elizabeth's husband died, and Allen's wife left him "for bigger and better things." And the rest is literally history; they've been together ever since. And before I know it, I'm holding framed photos of each of their old boats. "I spent 13 years on that boat," she says. Again, that windshield wiper flash of sad ... gone as quickly as it came. And I become aware, in that moment, that they aren't handing me framed photos of their boats. They're allowing me to hold the very fiber of their lives. And because us humans live in the here and now, in finite time, we are forced to try to fit all these infinite things like love and life into tangible objects, into frames ... to help us hold them.
Fairly soon after, Charlie and I head out. He is eager to keep moving on, and Miss Elizabeth can see it. But, as we walk toward her door, she shows me,
"See here, this is your post-it." The back of her door is covered with 15 or 20 post-its, her attempt to fight her failing mind. Ours' is blue, and on it, the words:
small red poodle
Charlie
tall brown-hair woman
Susan
"I hope we didn't tell you too many stories," Alan states,
"Yes," says Elizabeth, "You may never want to come back!"
They laugh, but I know they aren't actually joking.
"No, no," I say, "Just the opposite. I really appreciate you telling me your stories. You know, with the changes in technology and all the ways we have to reach each other, I think we're all getting lonelier and lonelier!"
"Yes," Allen agrees, "People forget that it's important to look someone in the eye and just talk to 'em."
"Thanks!" I say, "Have a good day."
"No, thank you," says Miss Elizabeth, "You've just helped us start it well."
Charlie and I walk away, and Allen and Elizabeth go back into their home.
And for the rest of the walk home, I think about Allen and Elizabeth and the uncommon kindness and trust they display. I think about facebook and cell phones and all the million different bits of "progress" we've made as a society and wonder if it's really progress. I make a mental note, "that is the kind of person you want to be."
It's hard, you know, in this age of garage door openers and locked doors. But then, there's Allen and Elizabeth.
I've still so much to learn.
"Hey there," she yelled.
"Hi,"
"I just wanted to let you know that I keep this bowl out in front of my house for all the dogs that pass by. The hose is right here. You just feel free to turn it on and fill the bowl up anytime you want!"
"Thank you! How nice!" (me)
"No, thank you," she said, "I love dogs, but I can't stand to love and lose another. This is my way of still having dogs to love."
"My name's Susan," I said, "and this is Charlie."
Miss Elizabeth must be creeping up on 80 years old. But every facet of her face shines warmth, and there's still a youthful beauty that emerges from her snow white hair, ruby lips, and smiling eyes. You can almost picture her as a young girl in front of her bureau, brushing her hair, dreaming of who she'd marry. She radiates a kindness and serenity that can only come from a life well lived and lots of love known. But when I introduced Charlie and I, her face dropped a little. And sadness flashed out and then back quickly, windshield wipers across her eyes. And then it was gone. She smiled, "Oh honey, I won't remember your names. I've still got my body, but my mind's gone."
Startled, I reassured her, "Well that's OK. I'll remind you next time. And what's your name?"
"Elizabeth."
Charlie didn't seem to realize the importance to Miss Elizabeth that he drink her freely-offered water, and he gave it only a lick or two.
"Well, maybe when it gets hotter," she said. We smiled, and Charlie and I walked on.
That was several months ago.
Charlie and I have stopped in Elizabeth's yard too many times to count since then. And often, she comes out to greet us.
Almost every time, it goes like this:
"Hey there!"
"Hi Elizabeth!"
"Oh honey, have I met you?"
"Yes, I'm Susan, and this is Charlie."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I won't remember. I've still got my body, but my mind's gone."
"That's OK Elizabeth; I don't mind reminding you."
And then Charlie takes his drinks, and I thank her.
"No, thank you," she always says, "this is my way of still getting to have a dog."
Charlie seems to know how much she loves him, because he runs up to her, takes some very love-filled pats on the back, and off we go.
But yesterday, yesterday was different. It started out the same:
"Hey there!"
"Hi Elizabeth!"
"Susan? Charlie?"
"Yes! That's us! Look at you! You remembered!" I say, stunned.
"Well, not really, but I put a post-it on the back of my door." She smiles. Meanwhile, Charlie is sniffing toward her still-open front door.
"He wants to come in!" she says, "Can I?" she says, reaching toward his leash. "Sure," I say ... even though I am itching to keep moving on because I have to get home and pack for my flight to Denver.
With a girlish joy, she grabs Charlie's leash and runs him into the house, and I follow.
And that's when I met her husband, Allen. Though all-man (I later learned he was a construction worker for most of his life), he, too, possesses that peaceful contentedness. "Come on in," he says, "I'm Allen."
Allen and Elizabeth's home is a book of stories. Allen starts to tell me the history of their home while Miss Elizabeth runs Charlie around to all the rooms in the house, smiling as wide as a child on Christmas morning. She is laughing.
"This home," Allen says, "was an old fruit shed built in the 1800s."
"Wow!" I exclaim, "You guys have done a lot of work." And they have. It could easily be a museum of California life between 1800something and 2009. One wall is entirely cedar and has that unfinished look of some old workspace or garage. I later learn that's the only original wall in the house. They sanded it and refinished it. But the wood still has holes in it, such that you get little peepholes into the adjacent rooms. Elizabeth has returned, thanks me for letting her take Charlie, and pulls out a scrap book.
I sweat a little. Flight's in 4 hours. But, I can't leave. They are too eager to tell me their stories. And I am too aware of the honor I am receiving in hearing them.
So, I look through their home renovation scrapbook. They removed a full inch of layers of wallpaper from the home. And Elizabeth's kept a square of every layer. Flipping through them is like watching decades pass in a moment. She's also got old newspapers that used to line the walls; they're deteriorating, but still readable. They look like they must be from the early 1900s. And they've got a chunk of the old cardboard and plaster that used to make up the entirety of their walls.
And then they move on to showing me the relics on their walls and the cast-iron wood-burning stove they found at a flea market.
"It needed some cleaning up," Allen states, "But we sanded it and repainted it and polished it, and now, it's good as new."
"Bargain shoppers!" I exclaim. And they stand proud. Allen proceeds to show me their office. "Almost everything in here was free. I found those file cabinet doors in an old classroom at UCLA when we were tearing it down. And I got the ceiling tiles from a bank in Glendale that was closing. And the shelves were out with someone's trash." And the room is lovely and clean, and you'd never know.
And the conversation goes on and on and meanders as conversations so often do. I find out that Allen and Elizabeth met twenty years ago, when they were both living in boats with their spouses. And then Elizabeth's husband died, and Allen's wife left him "for bigger and better things." And the rest is literally history; they've been together ever since. And before I know it, I'm holding framed photos of each of their old boats. "I spent 13 years on that boat," she says. Again, that windshield wiper flash of sad ... gone as quickly as it came. And I become aware, in that moment, that they aren't handing me framed photos of their boats. They're allowing me to hold the very fiber of their lives. And because us humans live in the here and now, in finite time, we are forced to try to fit all these infinite things like love and life into tangible objects, into frames ... to help us hold them.
Fairly soon after, Charlie and I head out. He is eager to keep moving on, and Miss Elizabeth can see it. But, as we walk toward her door, she shows me,
"See here, this is your post-it." The back of her door is covered with 15 or 20 post-its, her attempt to fight her failing mind. Ours' is blue, and on it, the words:
small red poodle
Charlie
tall brown-hair woman
Susan
"I hope we didn't tell you too many stories," Alan states,
"Yes," says Elizabeth, "You may never want to come back!"
They laugh, but I know they aren't actually joking.
"No, no," I say, "Just the opposite. I really appreciate you telling me your stories. You know, with the changes in technology and all the ways we have to reach each other, I think we're all getting lonelier and lonelier!"
"Yes," Allen agrees, "People forget that it's important to look someone in the eye and just talk to 'em."
"Thanks!" I say, "Have a good day."
"No, thank you," says Miss Elizabeth, "You've just helped us start it well."
Charlie and I walk away, and Allen and Elizabeth go back into their home.
And for the rest of the walk home, I think about Allen and Elizabeth and the uncommon kindness and trust they display. I think about facebook and cell phones and all the million different bits of "progress" we've made as a society and wonder if it's really progress. I make a mental note, "that is the kind of person you want to be."
It's hard, you know, in this age of garage door openers and locked doors. But then, there's Allen and Elizabeth.
I've still so much to learn.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Love and Messes
And then, just when you feel like cursing because you stepped on a medicine bottle and the cap had surprisingly sharp edges, and you had to dodge a pair of shoes to avoid twisting your ankle, and you noticed that those shoes were right by your bra, which was also on the floor, next to the bottle of dog shampoo, which was on top of a book, which was next to your stack of mail, which was right beside your backpack, which was on top of a clean stack of clothes that was ALSO on the floor, you looked up and saw this:
And a little tear welled up in your eye, because your roommate made your bed. She took that laundry tub full of clean sheets that had been sitting in the same spot for a week now. She put the sheets back in the dryer to plump them up. And then, she braved the tornado of your room and made your bed. So that, when you crawled in, with papers still to do, with all sorts of unrelated things everywhere, you crawled into a soft space. You took a deep breath and thought to yourself, "OK, that's enough for today. I'll start again tomorrow." And then you said a prayer of thanks for the gift of having such kind souls in your life.
And the next day, you finished those papers. And you took another deep breath. And you looked at your little dog, sitting in the middle of everything, looking up at you, loving you, despite your mess, and you went to work on the next pile. Because if there's one thing you've learned (though, hopefully, there is more), it's that there will always be messes to clean up. But, if you've got people loving you in the midst of them, well, that's all you really need. You couldn't ask for more.
And a little tear welled up in your eye, because your roommate made your bed. She took that laundry tub full of clean sheets that had been sitting in the same spot for a week now. She put the sheets back in the dryer to plump them up. And then, she braved the tornado of your room and made your bed. So that, when you crawled in, with papers still to do, with all sorts of unrelated things everywhere, you crawled into a soft space. You took a deep breath and thought to yourself, "OK, that's enough for today. I'll start again tomorrow." And then you said a prayer of thanks for the gift of having such kind souls in your life.
And the next day, you finished those papers. And you took another deep breath. And you looked at your little dog, sitting in the middle of everything, looking up at you, loving you, despite your mess, and you went to work on the next pile. Because if there's one thing you've learned (though, hopefully, there is more), it's that there will always be messes to clean up. But, if you've got people loving you in the midst of them, well, that's all you really need. You couldn't ask for more.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
#8 - What I've Been Doing The Last Few Weeks
8. I thought I'd post a few pics from my last few weeks.
They've been good, full of life. And that's always worthy of celebration....
Well, for starters, I've been to two weddings back in Arizona. Unfortunately, I don't have pictures at the ready to show you. But they were such blessings. And for my dear friend Gretchen and her fiance, Dennis, I even got to take the photos. They were married in Sedona, and the whole day was so lovely and intimate and breathtaking.
And while I was there, I went up to Flagstaff. I got my haircut, played some rousing games of Nerts with Mom and Dad. Soaked up the place. My favorite city on earth.
I took several walks at Buffalo Park while I was there. I've always felt really peaceful there. REALLY PEACEFUL. Plus, it's got lots of great memories for me. I've run cross country races there. Been kissed there. Watched meteor showers there. Prayed there. Eaten Dairy Queen Blizzards with my sister and cousin after swimming lessons on a summer day there. Taken family photos there. Buffalo park is home.
Mom and Dad and I went to Macy's, one of my all time favorite FLG locales.
Last weekend, the city I live in had a "Western Days" weekend. Rodeo. Small town parade. The works. Well, a bunch of the dogs from the dog park (including Charlie and I) walked in it. And seriously, you absolutely CANNOT be sad walking your dog in a parade. Kids smile from ear to ear. Adults take a break from being adults and smile as big as the kids. Dogs' tails wag hysterically. It's really one of the funnest things to do ever. Plus, I sewed a cowboy onto a "poncho" and turned my sweet Charlie into a "horse." And, when you walk your dog, dressed as a horse, in a small town parade, you REALLY cannot be sad.
I think Charlie is probably the cutest "horse" I've ever seen.
One of my oldest and best friends in the whole wide world came to Los Angeles this weekend for work. And that meant I got to see her. And that made me very happy.... I think that's why I forgot to post this weekend, actually. Because I was too busy eating frozen yogurt with her, and drinking coffee, and taking in sacred hours of "catch up time," and going with her to Warm Hearth dinners and feeling so happy to spend time with a friend who is home....
So, that's my number 8. :)
They've been good, full of life. And that's always worthy of celebration....
Well, for starters, I've been to two weddings back in Arizona. Unfortunately, I don't have pictures at the ready to show you. But they were such blessings. And for my dear friend Gretchen and her fiance, Dennis, I even got to take the photos. They were married in Sedona, and the whole day was so lovely and intimate and breathtaking.
And while I was there, I went up to Flagstaff. I got my haircut, played some rousing games of Nerts with Mom and Dad. Soaked up the place. My favorite city on earth.
I took several walks at Buffalo Park while I was there. I've always felt really peaceful there. REALLY PEACEFUL. Plus, it's got lots of great memories for me. I've run cross country races there. Been kissed there. Watched meteor showers there. Prayed there. Eaten Dairy Queen Blizzards with my sister and cousin after swimming lessons on a summer day there. Taken family photos there. Buffalo park is home.
Mom and Dad and I went to Macy's, one of my all time favorite FLG locales.
Last weekend, the city I live in had a "Western Days" weekend. Rodeo. Small town parade. The works. Well, a bunch of the dogs from the dog park (including Charlie and I) walked in it. And seriously, you absolutely CANNOT be sad walking your dog in a parade. Kids smile from ear to ear. Adults take a break from being adults and smile as big as the kids. Dogs' tails wag hysterically. It's really one of the funnest things to do ever. Plus, I sewed a cowboy onto a "poncho" and turned my sweet Charlie into a "horse." And, when you walk your dog, dressed as a horse, in a small town parade, you REALLY cannot be sad.
I think Charlie is probably the cutest "horse" I've ever seen.
One of my oldest and best friends in the whole wide world came to Los Angeles this weekend for work. And that meant I got to see her. And that made me very happy.... I think that's why I forgot to post this weekend, actually. Because I was too busy eating frozen yogurt with her, and drinking coffee, and taking in sacred hours of "catch up time," and going with her to Warm Hearth dinners and feeling so happy to spend time with a friend who is home....
So, that's my number 8. :)
Saturday, July 26, 2008
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?
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?
Friday, July 11, 2008
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!!!
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!!!
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