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.

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.

winding down

I did some math today and figured out that I've worked approximately 32 hours in the last 3 days and slept 18 hours over the last 3 nights.  That means I've worked almost twice as many hours as I've slept, which can't be a good ratio.  That would explain why - when I woke up this morning - the first word out of my lips was (warning: salty language ahead) "Shit."  I can honestly say I think that might be the first time that's happened.  I was horrified at myself.  One should never wake up with such vulgarity on their lips.  That should be reserved for much later in the day, on the freeway, in traffic.  Just kidding.  (Kind of.)  But I was mad, just plain old mad that I had to wake up.  And I was ready to go back to bed as I stepped out of it, which is really not how I like to live my life, not how I believe the gift of life should ever really be lived.

But, here I am, all imperfect and unfinished.

I prayed today (a much better way to start the day), that God would be strength in my weakness, that He would sustain me and help me to give to my clients, despite the feeling of exhaustion that sat on my eyelids and shoulders.  And, although I can't say the day was easy, and that I had all kinds of wisdom and insight in my work today, I can say this.  When I get tired enough, I stop depending on me.  And I start offering my clients just plain old love, because that's what I've still got, tired or not.  And I've discovered I often have some of my best sessions on those days.  Interesting....

Love has a way of never running out.  When I stop worrying about paperwork and the to do list, and I just sit with clients, look them in the eyes, listen, try to understand, be present in the moment, I often find that my soul is quieted, and something expands in me big enough to hold their stories.  Because they are my stories.  They are human stories.  They are all of our stories.  We all feel pain.  Afraid.  Alone.  Sometimes, at least.  And it's a really beautiful thing, to take my tired old self into a session, and to connect with the soul sitting across from me.  Because, in that connection, I think we both come out the better for it.  Less alone.  With more hope.  I'm grateful for that tender mercy, for the truth of Christ's promise that in giving, we receive.

So, tonight, I've got praises on my lips.  Praises for God's endless well of love in Christ.  Happiness after ending my day with an incredible concert (I got to see my most favorite Iron and Wine tonight at The Wiltern)!!  And a whole lot of excitement about the pillow that awaits my heavy head.

Good night moon.

2 Things

1) My view right now...

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

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

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

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

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

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

an ode to fall, an ode to life

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

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

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

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

Pumpkin-Patching

And then pumpkin-carving

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

And then Christmas ornament-making.

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

muddy buddy

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

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

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

So, I was a bit freaked out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And all really is well.

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

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

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

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

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

And this is what accomplishing your goals looks like:

On This, The Eve Of My 31st Birthday

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

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

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

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

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

And after a little while, she answered.

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

At this her mom was even more puzzled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eight, she'd been loved so much.

Nine, she'd loved so much.

Ten, and that had made all the difference.

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

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

Meandering Monday

These days are blissful. These days. These last few days and the few to come. They are full of nothing. Well, almost nothing. Well, actually, that's not entirely true. Actually, on Saturday morning, when I woke up in the new place, the first thing I did upon sitting down in the big fluffy chair and trying to organize my day in my head was to make a list. A list of all the things I haven't had time to do until now. And, in truth, I plan on accomplishing a few of them over these next few days.

But, still, after I made that list, I put it down. And I knitted. Or is it knit? I get confused. Anyway, knit or knitted, that's what I did, for a good solid hour. And I'm wondering if maybe there's nothing more luxurious, other than chocolate, than knitting in the quiet on a Saturday morning. One, because it's a Saturday, and Saturdays already feel kind of lazy. And two, because knitting is usually a nighttime activity one does after the work of the day is accomplished, and I got to do it first thing in the morning. It's like going to see a morning movie or something. It's that kind of luxury. So, I knit.

You know how, when you run on a treadmill for a while, and then you stop, how your legs still feel like they're moving even after you get off ... at least for a little while? Well, that's kind of how my soul feels. I have this forward motion still (which is good, I suppose, because, like I said, I still have the list). But at the same time, I'm starting to be able to slow down. And this morning, on my walk, I was praying. And as I began to pray for all the concerns, for all the people I know who are hurting, I had this very clear sense that I needed just to celebrate today, just to enjoy a day to be grateful. It's not that the needs of others aren't very real. It's not that I'm not supposed to pray for them. It's not that God doesn't care. It just became very clear in my soul that rest is important. And it's OK to rest from striving and working. It's OK to have days where you truly leave it all to Him, trust that He still cares, that He's still working, even when you aren't. It's important actually ... this thing called rest ... which feels pretty foreign because it's so countercultural. Work is the thing here. Rest is for sissies. But today, as I walked along, I almost felt God press an index finger to my lips and "shhhh" me gently. Just enjoy. Just walk. Just be. It's OK.

So, that's what I'm doing. I've got peppermint tea on the table next to me, a cloudy sky threatening rain above me, and these hours to just be. And all I can say, all there is to say, is thank You.

-Charlotte

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.

My Day In A Nutshell

It's late Thursday night. I should be sleeping; and I will be, in just a few minutes.

But before I do, here's the nutshell:


Crickets chirping,
and freeway noise in the distance
through open windows,
windows opened in a desperate attempt
to flee the heat of autumn in Los Angeles.
All is quiet yet again,
another day done.
Another day given.
Another day spent cultivating life and relationships,
laughing and apologizing,
tasting tangy on my tongue,
salsa and chips
and drinking lots of water,
and remembering moments
and smiling to myself,
packing boxes and sorting piles,
and doing all the mundane things that are no less sacred
for their ordinary quality,
washing dishes,
watering plants,
returning phone calls,
and laundry,
there's always laundry....
and then prayer,
whispers from my soul to Yours--
a getting outside of myself again
--this daily striving
to remember that what is most important
is not what is seen
and to lean into Your love....
then toothbrushing,
and hairbrushing,
and blog-writing.
And bed.
Oh sweet bed.
Ordinay day,
Ordinary life (which, by the way, there is no such thing-life IS extraordinary),
I love you.

"Home Again Flannigan"

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

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

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

This post should be officially called:

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

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



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



3. You can never have too much color.



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



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

A Little Thank You Note

Fingers, thank you for typing, for bending whichever direction I ask you to, following the thoughts of my mind so loyally. Thank you for keeping your tenderness, such that you can touch a sleeping baby without awakening her, and your strength, so that you can carry groceries and move furniture and win thumb wars.

Toes, thank you for keeping me balanced, for squeezing into my shoes without complaining too much, for helping me to jump.

Lungs, thank you for taking air in and for oxygenating my blood like you're supposed to. Thank you for slowing down to help me breath deep, healing breaths at night, and for speeding up to get me plenty of oxygen when I run. Which brings me to my legs...

Oh Legs, thank you. You are my treasured companions. Don't tell the others, but you just might be my favorite. Thank you for carrying me faithfully through so many streets, both foreign and familiar. Thank you for bending to the pulsating rhythm of a song and for staying steady as I stood beside sisters and friends at the altar on their wedding day. Thank you for lifting me up mountains and bending me low so that I can pray to the Maker of them. Thank you for skipping and jumping and jogging and lunging and supporting and stretching and bending ... and for looking pretty fierce in a pair of heels. I hope you can sense how much I love you, because I really do.

Ears, thank you for hearing...for catching the vibrations and transmitting them to my brain. Thank you for linking me to babies laughing and wind rustling and ocean waves pounding and thunder clapping and rain dancing and the cello mourning and the cricket singing and the sounds of my favorite voices....

Lips, thank you. Thank you for speaking and kissing and praying. Thank you.

Tongue, thank you. Thank you for all the tantalizing tastes you treat me to. And I suppose I must include you in the kissing gratitude as well....

Eyes, thank you. Thank you for opening each morning to another day, and for the chance to see the golden hour that happens every evening before nightfall, and the vivid violet of hydrangea, a color that could make me cry. Thank you for seeing the spirit in another's eyes and for capturing the way trees whisper. Thank you for opening to my favorite faces, faces that feel like home. And thank you for filling with tears when my soul needs to spill out a bit, in either sorrow or joy.

Heart, thank you. Thank you for your steady beat; you are perhaps one of my most loyal companions. Thank you for carrying on even when I need to rest, and for cooperating when I need to run, for pounding so hard I can feel you in my chest. And thank you ... for squeezing blood all through me, blood that keeps me warm and nourished and alive.

Brain, thank you. You do more than I could ever know or understand. You give me dreams and words and emotions; you help me solve problems and keep all my systems at the ready. You organize and sort and take in, even when I tire. And you hold my life, every smell and sound and sight, so tightly and carefully and tenderly.

Oh, I have so much more gratitude to share. But it is late. And I must give you all rest.

I'll end with this:

Father, thank you for designing me and my fellow brothers and sisters around the world entire. We really are fearfully and wonderfully made. Forgive me when my heart gets mean or critical, and I insult the goodness of Your work in myself or another. I could thank you every day all my life, and it still wouldn't be enough.

An Ode

There is nothing else quite like you, all the promise you hold.
I wake up at look at you, so unassuming, undemanding,
and I am happy.
How did I get so blessed?
Liberation and the smell of coffee.
I stretch and feel my muscles and say hello to myself, and to my Father, who never sleeps. And then I say hello to you.
I greet you with a dance, a dance I can't stop from doing, because I am just THAT happy that you are finally here.
For a few moments, I am a child without a to-do list.
It will come; it always does. But not now....
I eat with you, peanut butter and jelly oatmeal,
And then we go to Yoga class and laugh at how inflexible I am and try to breath instead of scream.
I roll the windows down and turn the music on and don't care one iotta what happens to my hair.
Sunshine and blue sky and so many open minutes inviting me to play, to breathe, to be.
Saturday Morning, this is my ode to you. Thank you for coming....

C-A-D-E-N-C-E

Cadence ... K-A-D-E-N-C-E

That's how I spelled it in my 4th grade spelling bee. I used a K. And I lost. And I was sad. But not for too long, because then my mom took me and my friend to frozen yogurt, and I got frozen yogurt with those little mini gummy bears that get all hard and chewy next to the yogurt, and I was happy.

But, I never have forgotten how to spell "cadence," and I learned very quickly what it meant. It refers to rhythm, to a constant, steady beat.

And I have to tell you, even though it's the word that bumped me out of the spelling bee, I love it. I love that it sounds like what it is. "CA-DENCE." Two syllables. Evenly measured. Like a heartbeat. And I love what it symbolizes. Constancy, steady, rhythm. And I love things with cadence. They make me feel connected to something larger than myself. Ocean tides, heartbeats, the turn of hands around a clock. They make me feel connected to God somehow, because they are far more dependable than any of us humans. Anyhow...

So, why all this talk about one silly word?

Well, because all day long, I have been serenaded by the cadence of rain. ALL DAY LONG. And let me tell you, this is no small feat for California. Weather in California means that it is not between 75-90 degrees. And I am jubilant. That's right ... down right jubilant about it. It is SUCH a gift to have days off, finals over, Christmas coming, and rain ... on a day where I didn't have to be anywhere.

So, I had to share. Because when you are jubilant, sharing is a necessity.

It's Raining Outside...

And I'm listening to music, after having spent a lovely long evening with a dear friend (much love to you Mavilicious!) (Mavilicious is my friend. That's not really her name. Her name is Mav. But I call her Mavilicious for self-explanatory reasons.)

I was struck tonight ... to spend several hours with a friend. It felt foreign. Life has been so full of hustle and bustle in this grad school season of life. Time, a precious commodity ... has been dosed out in the smallest doses to the most places. Me, spread thin. And then, finals ended, and I find myself with long stretches of hours that don't yet have a dosage or a destination. It's blissful.

It makes me think about abundance and shortage ... or, as my mom taught me, plethora and dearth. It feels to me like they both carry a blessing.

Shortage (or dearth) lends value to things. When I can't have it all, what I choose becomes more precious ... because inherent in the gain of one thing is the loss of another. Shortage shows me what really matters to me. It challenges incorrect notions I might have about my priorities and shows me what they actually are. And, shortage allows me to savor the simplest of things because there isn't all kinds of clutter to keep me from seeing.

Abundance, on the other hand, fills things up. Like a river, it finds the nooks and crannies, the dips in the path, and pours in. It releases the tension of living like every moment counts and allows for ordinary moments ... which end up being some of the most precious of them all. It is gracious and generous and creates kindness.

I've found, in my own life, that I am kinda' unhappy if I live in either of those lands to an extreme. I am restless and metaphorically fat when I live in abundance without any shortage. And I am weak and ineffective when I run on the fumes of shortage for too long. As with many things in life, I'm finding it's the balance that counts.

But tonight, serenaded by raindrops and guitar strings and the voice of one very sexy John Mayer, I sit on the couch under covers and soak in abundance. The taste of peppermint marshmellow brownie madness (which potentially deserves its own blog entry) lingers on my tongue. And I smile at all the little and big things Mavilicious and I mulled over in long hours of not bothering to look at the clock.

Tonight, the rain is metaphor. I am dry soil. Pour down. Pour down.

In The Quiet

...after the chopping,
and stirring and smelling,
after the waking,
and baking,
after the hugging,
and greeting,
after the turkey,
and pie,
and coffee,
and unbuttoning...

the house is quiet.
little full tummies sleep.
big full tummies sleep too.

i sat down a few moments ago, by the bookshelf in my childhood room and pulled journals off the shelf. pages and pages of moments lived, questions explored, feelings felt.

i carry so much within, joy and laughter, irreplacable moments, and grief for what is no more. and all of it, ALL of the stories, make me feel rich indeed. And sometimes I wonder at how much life I've lived.

but tonight, as i read, i began to feel heavy (and it wasn't just the pecan pie). there are a few unanswered questions in my life that i've learned to live with ... pieces of myself i've thrown out into the great unknown, trusting that answers would come eventually. but still i wait. and sometimes i feel fragmented, with pieces of me remaining in the past, and pieces of me trying to find a home in the now. i think i'm starting to sound all cryptic, and I don't mean to. suffice it to say, i eventually put the journals back in their niche and breathed a sigh.

i climbed in to bed, in the dark, and whispered a prayer:

"God?"

"Would you meet me here? Would you meet me now? I've looked back on my life, and I can see you clearly there. But I can't see you now. Would you meet me here? Please don't give up on me."

Tears came.

"God, I'm a mess."

"But you're My mess."

"But I don't want to be a mess."

"But you're a lovable mess."

"Thanks God. I needed that...."

And now, I sleep.

#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. :)

Roots

I am headed to Tucson this weekend. I've been going to Tucson every Labor Day weekend since I was an infant. But this will probably the last Labor Day that I will go.

30 years ago, four sets of young marrieds (one of the them being my parents) decided to meet up at one of the couple's homes over Labor Day weekend. They had so much fun together that they decided to make it an annual gathering. The next year, I got to go, as a 10 month old baby. I don't remember it. :) And I've gone every year since. The gathering has seen all the little babies grow into adults. And those adults started having babies. And now some of those babies are entering college. We've named each generation in alphabetical order, such that the original four married couples constitute Generation A, their children are Generation B, and their children are Generation C. The group of families has walked through big life moments together: marriages, divorces, betrayals, suicides, engagements, new babies, you name it. The mother of the house is getting tired ... the group, after all has grown from 8 to about 48! And she's decided that this will be the last year she invites everyone. I completely understand. But still, I am sad.

I was telling one of my colleagues at work about it today, and he teared up. That's right. HE. A man ... teared up.

"That's really special, Susan, that you have a group of people like that in your history."

I've always known it was special, this village of people that raised me. But, somehow, seeing the way it impacted him, well, I was hit by a fresh realization of it's worth. In this fast-paced, ever changing world, roots are harder and harder to come by. I am flooded with gratitude to have this set of roots, these voices and life stories and personality idiosyncrasies carved into my heart, my story.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for forming deep, abiding friendships, for raising us in their shade and shelter. I pray that as I grow, I might plant roots myself ... that the next generation might be blessed....

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?

j'taime summer

It's summertime. for sure.

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

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

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

It's summertime.

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

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