'nuff said

Flip-flops. January. Warm toes. Happy girl.

[more to come later ...

just getting warmed up here]

Check out photos from today's neighborhood wanderings here.

snowflakes & flip-flops

Don't get me wrong: I am so ready to go to Florida to visit my dear friend (and yours), Christianne. According to Accuweather.com, I can expect temperatures in the mid- to high-70s during my stay. I do so need to thaw out. Here in my corner of the world, the red line of the thermometer has not been able to push much past 20 degrees. My attire these days is regularly comprised of gloves, scarves, thick socks, and my favorite black puffer vest. I come home with icy white hands and toes purple and tingling from the cold. So it seems ironic to be packing a suitcase with short-sleeved tops and contemplating the question of whether or not to pack flip-flops (in which case my agenda for today had better include a pedicure) when there is a fresh dusting of snow in my backyard, resting on the flat and frozen surface of the little pond outside my window.

We got some more snow here yesterday. Having had a couple of unfortunate driving experiences in this kind of weather over the past year or so (nothing major, just those slippery and icy situations you don't want to get into), I typically respond to those first few flakes like an old and wrinkly Scrooge, crossing my arms and sticking out my lower lip, thinking bah humbug. I don't want to drive in this stuff (said with spit and disdain), or I will most certainly slide into a ditch (which, for the record, has not happened).

Yesterday wasn't like that. I ran outside to the snow like a nine-year-old, wondering if this means school is going to be canceled. As those first flakes fell, resting on my arms and eyelashes and nose, something playful and mischievious was awakened in me. My brother and sister felt it too. We played right along with our littlest neighbors. We knew it was magic.

So we just went with it.

see all the 27 jan 08 snow day photos by kirsten.michelle

the bedside movie reviews

During the week I was off sick, I wasn't good for much except taking up space on the sofa. That flu bug took my body hostage on Saturday and didn't let go for quite a few days. My head hurt too much for reading and it wasn't long before I had watched every movie I had any desire to watch from my own DVD collection.

On about Day 5 of my house arrest, I mustered up the energy for a trip outside the house and to the video store. If you're anything like me, sometimes the movies you pick up are such duds that you regret even having taken the time and fuel to go to the video store to get them. I am happy to report that my selections this time were worth the extra energy required for a trip out of the house and find them worth recommending here. The four films I chose could not be more different, each offering something unique unto itself.


Miss Potter
Starring: Renee Zellweger, Ewan MacGregor, Emily Watson
Director: Chris Noonan

Miss Potter is a delightful film adaptation about the life of the creator of the Peter Rabbit books, Beatrix Potter. Thirty years old and single, living in London with social-climbing parents who are frustrated with her refusal of any number of "acceptable" suitors, Beatrix's friends were often ones of her own creation. In the film's opening scenes, you see Beatrix gathering her porfolio of stories and drawings in preparation to visit publishers in London. She speaks to her drawings, urging them to behave and be good for their big trip out. The drawings come alive on screen as they move through her imagination, taking on a life of their own as they must have appeared in her own mind.

Ewan MacGregor portrays Norman Warne, the youngest of the three brothers who run the publishing house that finally agrees to publish her "bunny book". Norman is delighted with the tale and eager to please both the author and prove to his brothers that he can help this little children's book succeed. The ensuing publication and developing relationships with Norman and his sister Millie point Beatrix toward a life of her own, one outside London and beyond the social standards she refuses to adopt as her own.


Once
Starring: Glen Hansard, Markéta Irglová
Director: John Carney

Once has a distinctly documentary-feel about it as it follows the unnamed Guy, who repairs vacuum cleaners with his dad during the day and plays his guitar and sings in the streets of Dublin by night. When paths cross with the also unnamed Czech Girl who holds a variety of odd jobs, takes care of her mother and young daughter, and plays piano and sings when she can, the two get to know one another on the streets of Dublin.

The music that is created over the course of their developing relationship is as much a character in the film as the Guy and Girl are themselves. As they work through past loves and rehearse together in order to put together a professional recording in hopes of securing a music contract in London, a love of their own develops, one that is neither contrived or polished in that Hollywood way.

Some call this film a "musical" and while strictly speaking that designation is correct, it is also a simplification of the role music plays. Raw, passionate, heartrending, and humorous, the music is woven into the narrative organically, such that there would be no story without the songs that tell the story of Once. Of all the films I rented, this one by far moved me the most.

Check out the trailer:

Stardust
Starring: Claire Danes, Sienna Miller, Michelle Pfeiffer, Robert DeNiro, Charlie Cox
Director: Matthew Vaughn

Stardust playfully vacillates between the realms of fantasy world of Stormhold and a reality set in 19th century England. In the film's opening narration, the voice asks if we gaze at the stars because we are human, or if we're human because we gaze upon the stars. And then the voice wonders alound if the stars gaze back. The film's answer to that question is that yes, they do.

When Tristan (Charlie Cox) crosses the wall that demarcates the line between the village of Wall and the fantastical realm of Stormhold in pursuit of a fallen star to bring back to his beloved Victoria (Sienna Miller), he embarks upon an adventure that has him crossing paths with witches and the sons of the lately deceased king of Stormhold who are also in pursuit of the star. When the star falls in the land of Stormhold, it lands as Yvaine (Claire Danes). Upon finding her, Tristan is determined to return her to Victoria as he promised he would.

The bulk of the film portrays Tristan and Yvaine's journey toward the wall and the obstacles they face upon their return, namely with the witch (Michelle Pfeiffer) who is after the heart of the star so her youth can be renewed and the sons of the late king who need to secure the star in order to claim the throne of Stormhold. As they make their way home, they are aided by a pirate (Robert DeNiro) whose ship sails in the air; here, Tristan also acquires swordfighting skills that make him a force to reckon with as he strives to keep Yvaine safe.

Stardust is an unabashedly fantastical film, requiring a sense of playfulness to enjoy fully. The story it tells is the classic one of love, adventure, and good versus evil, told with lightness of heart and great imagination.

3:10 to Yuma

Starring: Christian Bale, Russell Crowe

Director: James Mangold

This particular selection was one I knew I would enjoy, given I had seen it in the theater. 3:10 to Yuma is a western in a style that is new, but also familiar in its rendering, a remake of one by the same name initially released in 1957. Dan Evans (Christian Bale) is a struggling rancher who witnesses the robbery of a bank coach by the infamous outlaw Ben Wade (Russell Crowe) with his sons.

When Wade is captured, Dan is promised enough money to save his ranch and support his family by assisting to escort Wade to the train that will take him to the prison in Yuma. The task proves to be a difficult one as Wade's band of outlaws is hot on the trail of the party escorting Wade to the train. Things get more complicated when Dan's eldest son flees home to join his father.

As the party makes their way toward the city where the train is scheduled to pick up the notorious outlaw to take him to prison, Dan Evans and Ben Wade circle each other cautiously, Wade sinister and affable and charming, and Evans tough, idealistic, a man of strong morals. Neither gives the other an inch, neither flinches at the other's strength.

While all markedly different from one another, each of these films offered something to compel and delight, going beyond mere entertainment to powerful storytelling. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time I got started packing my bags for Florida ... :o)

celebrating with friends

On Saturday night, a few friends joined me for a birthday dinner at Impromptu Wine Bar in Seattle. This restaurant is a very special place; with only twenty-five seats in the entire restaurant, my birthday dinner took up nearly one-third of the restaurant's available seats. My friend Peggy introduced me to the restaurant when she found a piece in the Seattle Times about Gluten-Free Girl whose husband is executive chef at Impromptu. This is a place where someone with food allergies like mine may dine with complete and utter abandon and enjoy a sumptuous meal; the restaurtant is almost entirely gluten-free.

Not only were the food and wine ridiculously [as in close your eyes & moan] delicious, but I could not have been surrounded by better company. I was joined by my sister Kaari, my friend Peggy and her husband Adam, my friend Ilse and her boyfriend Brian, as well as Taylor, one of my good friends and partners in crime from work. It was a cold night, but I was enveloped in love, laughter, and warmth. I am every bit as fortunate with my friends here as I am in the blogosphere; and that, my friends, is a lot of love. And who could ask for a better celebration of life than that?

peggy & me

inside the restaurant

from inside the restaurant

getting ready @ the hotel

the wine list

kaari & me getting ready @ the hotel

L to R: adam, peggy, me, taylor

everyone! clockwise from L: adam, peggy, me, taylor, kaari, ilse, brian

see all 30th birthday dinner photos

the plans of mice & birthday girls

Thanks to all who took the time to send me notes and e-cards yesterday on my birthday; they were much appreciated! Because I've been spending all my time at home alone this week, e-mails, blog comments, and phone calls are the bulk of the human contact I've had.

I didn't have any grand plans for my actual birthday since it fell on a weekday and had I been at work, I would have been working overtime anyway. But I definitely did not intend on being sick.

If you had not heard, I came down with the flu on Saturday and have been home ever since. It started out as a tickle in my throat and quickly escalated into alternating fever and chills, fatigue, an aching body, a splitting headache, sinus congestion, coughing, and nausea every time I dared to remove myself from the couch. Sunday and Monday were by far the worst days. By Tuesday I was feeling a little more human, but knew I should probably take Wednesday also. Since I would have missed three consecutive days of work, I called the doctor's office first thing Wednesday morning to get an appointment to obtain the requisite note required to come back to work. My trip to the doctor Wednesday afternoon was the first time I had left my house since Saturday.

I've been anticipating this birthday for some time; I'm excited to be thirty! Over a month ago, I designed a t-shirt for this day so I could advertise the fact it was my birthday: I'd wear it to work, and out to dinner later making sure everyone who walked by me knew. And why not? Even though I was only going to the doctor, I saw no reason not to wear it. So I put it on over a long-sleeved white t-shirt, put on my favorite pair of jeans, and headed out the door.

the birthday t-shirt, designed with the help of cafepress.com

I sat in the patient room for a few minutes before Erica (my doctor) came in. I was on the brink of tears; my good mood diminished when the nurse took my temperature just minutes earlier: at 101 degrees, I was still running a fever. I have no thermometer at home, but I knew this had gone down considerably from what it was on Sunday and Monday, and I wondered what kind of fever I had been running those two days.

waiting in the patient room

so happy about that 101 fever, really. can you tell?

She came in and examined me and noticed a fever rash all over my back, neck, and stomach that had completely escaped my notice. She said that she'd give me a note for the whole week and that I shouldn't go back to work until Monday. Perhaps many would be fine with a full week off, but I was already unhappy about the prospect of seeing all my hard-earned personal/vacation time dwindling because I work in a cubicle farm/petri dish where people think they're heroes for coming to work when they don't feel well. I have a lot of time saved up and glad I have it for situations such as these, but to see 40 hours gone so I could sit at home alone on the couch under a blanket exhausting my DVD collection and feeling sick? Ugh.

I went straight home and called my manager on the way to let him know. Since I have the best kind of manager you could ask for, I was not concerned in the least about letting him know that the doctor required me to stay home and rest for the remainder of the week. He said to take care of myself, that I was missed, and that half of our leadership team was out sick with the flu also.

When I arrived home, I fixed a small lunch of fried tempeh and green vegetables. When my sister called to ask if our dinner & movie plans for the night with Mom were still on, I lost it. I felt like my birthday was shot because I had gotten kicked hard in the rear with this infernal flu bug. While I was thankful I could stay home and rest, spending another day alone and on the couch, drinking fluids and spacing out in front of the TV was not how I wanted to spend my birthday. I couldn't even go enjoy a dinner and a movie, for crying out loud! I was so angry. I knew there wasn't a thing that could be done about it (the flu offers no special treatment for those with birthdays, apparently), but I was suddenly feeling miserable about the whole thing. I went back to my sickbay [aka: the couch], meanly flattened my food with the fork, and ate it begrudgingly between sobs. I don't say this kind of thing often, but for how the day had gone so far, I could not gloss it over: this totally sucked.

my sickbay

my lunch before i attacked it

Kaari came home about an hour later and told me to close my eyes. I heard her walk over to me and felt her place something on my head. I went and looked in the mirror to find a pink feathered tiara had been put on my head, a perfect complement to the "birthday girl." t-shirt I still wore. She had picked up a movie, and my Mom would be coming shortly with some soup.

And then my phone rang; it was Christin, my roommate from college calling to wish me a happy birthday. It was so great to hear her voice and tell her about my sad day, but how it was getting better already. My Mom came through the door while I was on the phone and brought red tulips (my favorite) with her and a cute get well card: Even germs find you irresistible, it says. I had to laugh.

Kaari proceeded to act as photographer, taking pictures of me as I was only too happy to pose (I've always been a bit of a ham for the camera). We ate our split pea soup, watched a movie, and laughed together. A few more friends called and wished me a happy birthday. After Mom went home, I shook vodka-crans for me, my sister, and our roommate Michelle.

I certainly would not have planned to spend my birthday this way, but am happy with the way it turned out. I'm glad I have this week to rest and sleep in and feel and think and give my body a break after seven months of going a hundred miles an hour. When I celebrate with friends for a birthday dinner in Seattle this coming weekend, I will be able to be fully present and engaged, soaking in every moment of that night. When I go to Florida, I will already be rested and able to fully enjoy the time that I'll have there, the time that already feels too short.

e-mailing Christianne!

There have been so many surprises and blessings in this week, some of which I'll expand upon in future posts, and some of which I'll ponder in my own heart for a time. God has been speaking, and I've been still and listening. I'm so excited to see what He has for me this year. I feel as though I'm standing at the edge of a precipice, His hand covering my eyes, with the landscape of His plan in front of me. I can't wait until He lifts the hand, or at least allows me a peek through His fingers.

sharing the love

When I first began blogging in November of 2006, it was only after a couple months of blog voyeurism. I was constantly peeping in anonymously at the blogs of a few college friends, silently admiring their ability to share and express in so public a sphere. It only occurred to me a couple months later that I could start my own. When I finally started lattes & rainy days [after a day or two of agonizing over what my blog should be titled and then over whether I had anything blogworthy to publish], it was primarily as a way of reconnecting with those friends from college, hearing about weddings, seeing pictures of their growing babies, being reintroduced to them in their everydays, and welcoming them into my own.

And now it has become something so much fuller and more rewarding than I ever expected it to be; I have reconnected with old friends and formed new connections that are soul-deep and life-transforming. I have been stunned by the perceptions and insights of those who, whether or not they've met me, somehow get me, know me from the inside out. It is utterly disarming to be confronted with the reality that someone else has shared your doubts, fears, questions, and not only doesn't judge you or look down on you for it, but offers ways of looking at at the whole sweep of things that you hadn't thought of before. These are people who offer themselves with transparency and honesty, and in doing so, gift me a gift unlike any other. In short, these are people that give me a glimpse at the face of God.

Little things [like blogs] in the hands of a great big God ... this is nothing I have created, but something that has been handed to me, this amazing gift I treat with great care as something precious that I don't want to break.

There are so many I can think of who I could recognize and who would be deserving of such recognition; much of my blogroll, in fact. But if I consider who I've leaned on most, who has provided more support than I'd dare ask for, who act as a mirror for me, who have unabashedly offered me the gifts of themselves, who offer me a glimpse at the face of God, and encompass all those things described above, then the answer is obvious: I am passing the love on to Christianne and Terri: never were more kindred spirits found. Both fast friends, writers and artists, tender-hearted and humorous, honest, beautiful women who manage to understand me when all I offer is a confused spew of words usually followed up by "you know?" or something equally intelligent. These are two people for whom I weep with gratitude, who have come alongside when I needed it most, who add fuel to my fire.

Others who most definitely make my day (and fit all those descriptions as described in the second paragraph):
23 Degrees: Insightful, humorous, honest. So perceptive and encouraging, often giving me the gift of words where my own have failed me.
Nathan: As raw and real a person as you'll ever meet; honest, terribly insightful, and one heck of a writer.
Carl: Always ready with a thoughtful word and frequently lightens my day with his humor.

I am delighted to know you all!

P.S. Have you noticed that it's less than 2 weeks until I go to Florida to visit Christianne?!!?

an anatomy of exhaustion

I am positively spent. Exhausted. Part of me wonders why I’m here typing when I could be slipping into unconsciousness on the couch or staring off into space, absentmindedly sipping a glass of wine and fantasizing about a twenty-first century Mr. Darcy.

I don’t speak often of my work here; like many people, the means by which I secure a paycheck is not fulfilling any childhood dreams or lifelong goals. But I am fortunate in that I do like my job and the people I work with. I am challenged, I am stretched, and I am making positive contributions in my current role. Knowing that God has plans for me as a writer, I am content with my current employment.

The past seven to eight months have been challenging. Workloads have increased and department staffing has decreased. A new product offering launched in July was rushed, creating unanticipated challenges and demands across the organization; we are still reeling from the fallout, eyes widening like deer caught in the headlights as the numbers continue to rise. As a result, I’ve been working 50-60 hour weeks fairly consistently for the past six months at least.

Add to that my efforts to maintain my overall health, experiencing a breakup, attempting to maintain friendships, developing my writing, delving into deep explorations of faith, and you have a recipe for one extremely tired blogger.

Today was one of those days where moments of stillness were achieved only by periodic trips to the restroom. My team was busy preparing our department for a magnificent push of mandatory overtime tomorrow in addition to participating in the requisite meetings (five in all), maintaining daily responsibilities, and ensuring our new-hires were supported appropriately.

Bleh. Bland stuff, I know.

Knowing all the busyness of this week and the weeks that preceded it demanded a deliberate act of relaxation on my part, I went to my favorite coffeeshop after work, ordered a tall soy chai, and planted myself near the fireplace. I opened the book I’ve been toting around with me all week, but have not had a chance to open until this afternoon. I curled my hands around the cup, allowing the moist heat of the drink to seep through the cup and translate its warmth to my hands. I savored my drink, closing my eyes and took pleasure in the mild and unassuming balance of vanilla and cinnamon.

When I returned home, I was faced with a new set of realities and my mind began to reel again. It went something like this:

I see a small pile of my things that have been taking up space in the corner of my dining room for the past few weeks newly deposited at the bottom of the stairs leading up to my bedroom. I suddenly feel that perhaps despite my best efforts not to be a slacker, I am shirking my responsibilities as a housemate, but frankly don’t think I could possibly handle their response if the two who live with me agree with my inkling of guilt. When I get to my bedroom, I am confronted with the laundry basket full of folded laundry that has been sitting there, begging to be put away since last week. I see the clothes I bought over a week ago (also neatly folded), tags still attached and still not put away. I see that my bookshelves are in desperate need of dusting and that I have that huge poinsettia gift bag sitting on my floor, stuffed with remnants of wrapping paper and gift receipts. Clearly, I need to relax. Relax, relax, relax!! I think that maybe taking a bath will do the trick, so I walk into the bathroom and look at the tub. It was six days since I last cleaned it, and odd strands of long curly red hair (whose could they be?) are strewn across the surface of the tub. Who cares, it’s my hair anyway, I reason, so I brave it anyway. I run the water and pour in the pomegranate-scented bubble bath. I light a couple candles, turn off the lights, and slip into a tub full of water that is neither too hot nor too tepid and feel a brief moment of physical and mental release. Perfect! Ah, relaxation! I stretch my hands down the length of my tired shins and calves and realize that it’s been far too long since they had any sort of acquaintance with a razor. Why does that clock tick so loudly? I'm really getting lax in my bathroom cleaning. I start to think about all the witty and insightful comments I’ve read on various blog posts today and wonder why I bothered when my own wit was substandard and my insight on par with a houseplant. I start to think about writing my own post about this dilemma of mine and start to wonder if I really should be including the bit about needing to shave my legs. Is that too much information? How could I describe the perfect chai latte? I really need to go back to yoga. Bubble bath makes a funny sound as it disappears into the tubwater. What will Elyse wear for her picture on Sunday? I hate it when people talk on their cell phones in restroom stalls. Does that sign with the cell phone in the center of that bold red circle/slash mean nothing? I really like the color orange. I wonder what Nathan looks like. I really need a pedicure. But I think green is still my favorite.

And it went downhill from there:

yoga mat digital camera purple shirt havarti cheese frizzy hair seven-up camel pose savasana locust simultaneous charley horses olives red skirt hair do skinny pants kombucha orange shirt Julia Roberts green beans pirates fuzzy socks and do I like the color pink birthday party kleenex wine cork Ireland training wheels evolution Hilary Clinton cute Starbucks crossword guy gym dues StoryCorps dripping faucet spaghetti sauce teapot jet lag sushi Scrabble nail clippers yellow monkey hoop skirts monkey monkey underpants amen

What the … ?

[really, it’s okay to laugh]

Realizing now would be a good time to invoke my own advice, I went to my bedroom and turned off the lights. I stretched out on the floor and took several slow and deliberate breaths. With my mind reeling like it was, it took an enormous act of the will to

just
stay
still

I stayed that way for some time, concentrating on my breathing. I shoved away every intrusion that demanded I be conscious of the passing time and instead focused my energy on every single slow and intentional breath. Gradually, the mind and the pulse slowed. I felt my belly rise and thought of how the blood circulated through my body with every miracle of a heartbeat. I thought of the electrical signals coming from my brain, the rhythmic squeezing of the heart muscle, the valves in countless blood vessels opening and closing the way God designed them to open and close without our needing to will it. Slowly, my mind and my body intersected again. I allowed myself to move my body into a few remembered yoga postures and enjoyed the feeling of lengthening and stretching, of defying frenzy. I stayed in the darkness and simply breathed. When I finally left my room, I discovered I had been in there a full hour.

And now here I am, telling you all about it, telling you I actually succeeded employing my own advice. I will have to say no to some good things. Didn’t I say that? I really do love how things have taken off with blogging lately. I love visiting new blogs and having new visitors find my own. But with my fifty and sixty hour workweeks, attempting to maintain my health and my sanity, do something to develop my own writing, attempting to stay in communication with everyone, and finding the time to squeeze in some sleep and teeth-brushing, something’s gotta give. I trust that with my friends here, no apologies are necessary if I don’t wave my arm and interject myself into all the conversations and goings-on.

I am here breathing and doing my best to stay on the right side of insanity. If I don’t, there will be an increasing number of houseplant insights and many more instances of monkey monkey underpants.

Good night, dear friends. Know I hold you in my thoughts and in my heart and in my prayers. Much love to you all.

facing the day photo by kirsten.michelle

a thrilling & unexpected turn of events!!

See how my socks have been knocked off?? And they're not just any socks. They're the cozy, supersoft green ones with a blue star on the side. Not just anyone or anything can knock these socks off.

So much has been transpiring in my little corner of the world lately, I hardly know what to do with myself. I feel like the fact that I possess a body and that those pesky laws of gravity just won't let up are the only things contributing to the sad reality that I'm not orbiting the stars at this very moment.

Thank you all -- each and every one of you -- for sharing your hearts and thoughts in your comments on my previous post. You've touched me, moved me, and inspired me immeasurably. Honestly and sincerely. To brand new visitors and those of you who have been here from day one, and to everyone in between. You own words have made me excited, giddy, and wanting to spend a small fortune buying plane tickets to give each of you big hugs in person. It's so exciting to me to be witness to the ways in which my own story intersects and resonates and rings with yours. And I love that you allow me a bleacher seat to see what's going on in your worlds, too. I consider myself ridiculously blessed these days.

Deep breaths now ... I have some very exciting news to share with you!

About a month ago, one innocent little blogger [that would be me] shared with her audience about a wonderful gift she stumbled upon at Starbucks one day: the StoryCorps Listening is An Act of Love boxed gift set (see original post here). Not long after the post was published, I received an e-mail from Marisa, a marketing & communications coordinator at StoryCorps thanking me for sharing the news about StoryCorps and the book and letting me know that they had linked back to my blog from their website. Too cool, right?!

Now wait. It gets better.

Today, Christianne and I had the good fortune of receiving an e-mail from Marisa letting us know that she had found Christianne's blog through my own and that StoryCorps was going to be in Orlando -- just a hop, skip, and a jump away. There is a book-reading event on January 12 and the mobile recording booth will be stationed in Orlando from January 10 through February 2.

You might also remember from yet another post that I will be visiting Christianne in Florida from January 29 - February 2.

What?! HOLD. THE. PHONE.

Allow me to do that math for you. It seems that in a beautiful twist of events, the following has transpired: I secured an amazingly good deal on a round trip plane ticket from Seattle to Orlando, for dates which also happen to work well with Christianne's school schedule. We're both deeply passionate about story and have fallen in love with the work StoryCorps is doing in particular, both desiring to be involved with that work. During the time I'll be there, it just so happens that StoryCorps is going to be there, recording people's stories. And we've been invited to participate in our own mobile booth recording session.

Thank you both for your very kind words of encouragement and support. I'm very excited for you to interview together in Orlando. If you are unable to get a spot by calling on the morning of 1/11, email or call me and I will see what I can do. We will get you in there!

I've been squealing since I found out [and I am not normally the squealing type]; we most certainly could not have orchestrated or coordinated all this so perfectly ourselves. I've lost track of how many times I've used the phrase over the moon today [those words are not a regular part of my vocabulary]. I am blissed and blessed, my socks are knocked off [see photo above]. It all seems incredibly surreal.

I can't help but think this is only the beginning of something big and amazing for us both; that somehow God is at work directing our paths as we surrender ourselves and our gifts to Him [as the One who gave them in the first place], using our collective love for story while simultaneously weaving us into the great and glistening fabric of His own.

fabulous green socks on my bed photo by kirsten.michelle

If you're at all interested in StoryCorps & the wonderful work they're up to, I encourage you to find one of the links in this post or on my sidebar and take a listen. You'll be moved, I promise. Please support the work they do & if so inclined, share the love and tell others about it too!

more fiercely me

God utters me like a word containing a partial thought of himself. A word will never be able to comprehend the voice that utters it. But if I am true to the concept God utters in me, if I am true to the thought in him I was meant to embody, I shall be full of his actuality and find him everywhere in myself, and find myself nowhere. I shall be lost in him.

Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation

I have been doing a fair amount of peering back over my shoulder these days, considering what the past year has been for me. I am doing this not for the sake of nostalgia so much as wanting to pause to consider the hard-won lessons this year brought so I can move forward with the wisdom they brought.

Like so many people I know, I learn best the hard way; heartache is a fierce and unrelenting teacher, but its lessons are rarely forgotten. Much of what I learned is so blaringly obvious on an intellectual level that when you read what is on my list, you might be tempted to think this girl is dumb as a pile of rocks (but I know you are all far too kind to say or think such things). It was only when I learned these lessons through making my own blunders and recovering from them that I could live to the truth of these authentically and from my heart. If you ask me, there's no other way to live and walk through the world.

I am continuing to learn to listen to and to be good to my body. I was often in the habit of exercising when I desperately needed rest, pushing myself past stiffness and exhaustion. When faced with an extended and unexplained illness, I had to pay close attention to what I put into my body, to the messages it sent me (such as need rest! or don't eat that!), and to heed them. When I am good to my body, it is good to me. I am continually amazed at the capacities with which God endowed it for strengthening, healing, and adapting.

This year saw the end of two dating relationships with men who couldn't be more different (one with no religious faith, the other high-church) or more the same. So many hard lessons came to the fore with these relationships. The long and the short of it was that I bent myself to become who they wanted me to be, made myself so pliable as to try and fit the molds of what they each bore in mind as ideal. It was only in hindsight that I see it this way; at the time I justified it as making those sorts of compromises that were necessary for the health of any relationship. While I always want to be challenged, developing myself, and learning new things, I learned (in a soul-deep, very gut-wrenching sort of way) that any relationship that asks me to be someone other than myself is a relationship not worth having. [Can I get an AMEN?!]

I am learning the delicate and appropriate balance between transparency and vulnerability on one hand and appropriate and healthy boundaries on the other. There were times this year where my transparency invited heartache that was ultimately avoidable and unnecessary. I've learned that the people who love me will respect and observe my boundaries when I declare and enforce them. With this, I am learning not to feel defensive or apologetic about drawing these lines, by limiting access in my life where I once permitted others to roam freely.

I am more aware of my heart than ever before. Just because my heart is not intellectual does not mean it is not wise; the mind and the heart are not opposed to one another as I often seemed to think. This lesson was won with months of tears, sweat, and prayers and ultimately came about when I gave up on the need to understand it all and simply opened my hands, allowing my heart what it needed, letting it speak, and paying attention to what it said. I really had no idea how much I stifled it until I came to a place where I was suffocating it completely. In the giving up, in that sweet wake of surrender, it was as if two long-going parallel lines intersected in the wilderness inside me. I don't know how else to describe it. Long in the habit of giving the intellect precedence, I am learning (like the tab on the Yogi teabag says) to have my head bow to my heart. This one was and is earthshaking and recent enough for me that I will expect that this lesson is one that I will continue to return to, distill, and approach from different vantage points as I progress in my journey. I know this lesson is only the beginning of something, that as this lesson unfolds and blooms inside me, I will better be able to live fully in the present moment. I will be learning to live with arms and heart wide open.

I think I am falling in love with myself. I don't mean this in a vain or self-centered way. What I mean is that as God's unique design in me continues to unfold and reveal itself, I'm liking what I see. I'm excited! In my more insecure moments in life, I have co-opted and puppeted traits in others I thought were cool or admirable, either because I did not like or did not know myself. Some of these borrowed characteristics were more ill-fitting than others. As I continue to see those false and borrowed things scraped away, I am thrilled to discover the me that lies beneath, to nurture this person as the truth of her is uncovered.

All these lessons (and the others too numerous to list here) have revealed more to me about myself and have granted me as strong an appreciation as I have ever had for being uniquely me: unlike anyone else in all creation, as singular as a snowflake or a thumbprint and infinitely more precious. I am a word spoken by God just once in all eternity, containing a partial thought of Himself; I am part of the story He is telling.

And speaking of singularity, there are a few more things you might be interested in knowing about me, truths that are neither deep nor hard-won (but amusing, I hope!) ...

• I use no less than three styling products on my hair.
• I'm very vigilant about eating healthfully, but admit I have a weakness for Kettle brand Sea Salt & Vinegar potato chips.
• When frustrated or flustered, the exclamation most likely to escape my lips is, oh for Pete's sake! You might also hear good gravy!
• If asked to name a favorite color, there's a 99% chance I'll say "green", but I recently starting flirting with the color orange. We like each other quite a bit & our future together looks promising.
• I keep red flannel sheets and a down comforter on my bed year-round.
• I actually enjoy doing laundry; few things give me as much domestic pleasure as folding my towels perfectly and stacking my washcloths into color-coordinated piles.
• I still like blowing bubbles and seeing how high I can swing on the swingset.
• I was the kid who colored the hallways of her childhood home with crayon, who lifted her dress over her head in the church Christmas program, and who wrote her name in the side of her Dad's car with his keys.
• I cannot watch Love Actually, Mona Lisa Smile, or Moulin Rouge without crying.
• I am a bit of a music addict, but were I ever in the unlikely & unfortunate position of being able to listen to just one CD for the rest of my life, it would be Deb Talan's A Bird Flies Out. No contest!

I want to thank those of you who journey with me, whether you are new friends or old, whether or not I've ever seen your face ... thank you for walking with me, for laughing with me, for crying with me, and praying with me. Thank you for joining me on my journey, and for inviting me to be a part of your own.

Blessings!

mug o' wisdom photo by kirsten.michelle

remembering grandpa rocky

Today my family gathered at my parents' home for a New Year's Day meal together. I think it has something to do with turning 30 soon, but I have long been wanting to go through the many albums and boxes of family photos: to see photos from my childhood, to have memories triggered by photographs.

So we went downstairs and pulled out the old albums and poured through the photos, laughing and remembering. Mom pulled out a photo I had never seen before. It was her dad, my Grandpa Rocky (whose real name was Clarence) holding me as a baby. I cannot be more than a month old; probably even younger than that.

with grandpa rocky, january 1978

Grandpa Rocky died in Feburary 1993 when I was barely fifteen years old; he has been gone just as long as I knew him. It's such a strange feeling. Grandpa Rocky was a full-blooded Dane and not afraid to let you know it. He had a bold, brash, and dry sense of humor. He loved sneaking up on us and cracking our toes, or asking me to play "Who hit Nelly in the belly with the spade?" on the piano. I remember riding in his big white pick-up with him and how he would open the door while driving and spit outside. He often ended up wearing at least part of whatever meal he might be eating, an unfortunate trait I've inherited. The man had a variety of colorful careers in his life including Navy sailor, bartender, longshoreman, and dock-worker. He always made us laugh.

It was a year or two ago I learned that he was married before he met my grandmother. They had a son together, my Mom's half-brother. His first wife cheated on him while he was deployed and serving in the Navy; she flaunted herself about town with a variety of other men. Receiving the news via telegram from his mother while in the middle of the ocean, he was devastated and heartbroken. His despair was so profound and sent him into such a deep depression, it rendered him unfit for active duty. Consequently, he was given an honorable discharge.

Some time after he returned home, he went to a restaurant one day where my grandmother was waitressing. Finding her attractive he said to her, "Hey there Blue Eyes, you can call me Rocky", and though Grandma was tempted not to give him the time of day, she had to appreciate his humor. And that was how their courtship began. "Rocky" was a nickname he had never had before, but bestowed upon himself in that moment and carried with him through the remainder of his life.

He has often shown up in dreams I've had, and sometimes the oddest things will trigger memories of him, moving me to tears. Though he was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, I think I've understood recently how much I am like him, how much my heart is like his own, how deeply he felt things even though he rarely showed it. I wonder if like me, he felt deeply but often held back, afraid to come out from behind the tough outer shell. I understand now better than while he was alive how much he loved us all, and how much he loved me. Sometimes I'll get the oddest feeling, like he's still nearby, looking over my shoulder.

I think I am so moved by this picture because it is such a rare moment where his tender heart and gentleness are on display. So many things come flooding into my heart when I see this. I still miss him. And I can't help but think too that this might as well be a picture of me and my Heavenly Father, in whose arms I gently rest. I am held and I am safe and I am loved.