Friday, July 25, 2008

wild at heart.

If you liked Jon Krakauer's novel "Into the Wild" checkout:

"I live," Eustace said, "in nature, where everything is connected, circular. The seasons are circular. The planet is circular, and so is its passage around the sun. The course of water over the earth is circular, coming down from the sky and circulating through the world to spread life and then evaporating up again. I live in a circular teepee and I build my fire in a circle, and when my loved ones visit me, we sit in a circle and talk. The life cycles of plants and animals are circular. I live outside where I can see this. The ancient people understood that our world is a circle, but we modern people have lost sight of that. I don't live inside buildings, because buildings are dead places where nothing grows, where water doesn't flow, and where life stops. I don't want to live in a dead place. People say that I don't live in the real world, but it's modern Americans who live in a fake world, because they've stepped outside the natural circle of life...Do people live in circles today? No. They live in boxes. They wake up every morning in the box of their bedroom because a box next to them started making beeping noises to tell them it was time to get up. They eat their breakfast out of a box and then they throw that box away into another box. Then they leave the box where they live and get into a box with wheels and drive to work, which is just another big box broken up into lots of little cubicle boxes where a bunch of people spend their days sitting and staring at the computer boxes in front of them. When the day is over, everyone gets into the box with wheels again and goes home to their house boxes and spends the evening staring at the television boxes for entertainment. They get their music from a box, they get their food from a box, they keep their clothing in a box, they live their lives in a box! Does that sound like anybody you know?"
Eustace Conway is awesome! Who said nothing good came outta Gastonia, North Carolina!?
Elizabeth Gilbert also wrote "Eat, Pray, Love" and if you haven't read it...you should!

John Vaillant was my next-door neighbor in highschool. This book is ridiculously detailed and informative. I loved it.

Many a man proclaims his own loyalty, but who can find a trustworthy man? Proverbs 20:6

This verse suggests something important about unfailing love. Paul described agape love as a supernatural love that only God fully possesses and only God can give. It's the New Testament word for God-love, just like chesed is the Old Testament word for God-love.
The only way we can love with agape is to pour everything else from our hearts and ask God to make them pitchers of His agape. Before we can even begin to give God-love away, we've got to fully accept it ourselves. To love others with anything close to God's love, we must be convinced that He loves us with perfect love.
-Beth Moore

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

sugar & spice and everything nice.

It has been discussed that a desirable woman should possess a gentle and quiet spirit and also maintain an air of mystery.
I have or do neither of the above.
I am loud and independent.
My heart is worn precariously on my sleeve, and my emotions can be read across my face like headings in The New York Times.

But what I lack in mystery, I make up for with quirkiness.
I'm just so darn weird people never know what I'm gonna come up with next.
Weird. Eccentric. Whatever.
I think I like it. I think I'm okay with it.

well, i was born in an abundance of inherited sadness.

My mom came to visit me this past December. She drove down from Maine with a cooler full of lobsters for my friends and me. A Christmas feast. It was wonderful. And we drove to Ashville to see the mountains. And ate biscuits and jam at Tupalo Honey. She came to The Visualite for the Christmas service. I could feel her eyes on me. Taking me in. And she elbowed me when Naiem mentioned anal retentive people. Over-organizers.
And I cringed. I know it's true, but it's my defense.
My defense against becoming like...her.
I told her this.
We had made it through to Monday without any arguments, but I was on my last nerve. It was all I could do to hold it together that long. I wanted to jump out of my skin. The months prior to this visit had been excrutiating. She told me I felt distant.
I agreed. I was. I wanted to be anywhere she wasn't. Talking with her frustrated and angered me beyond belief. I would only spend minutes on the phone with her at a time, where we used to be able to chat for hours.
And when she came out of my room with her bags packed, crying because I had hurt her feelings and she didn't know why I was so angry, I couldn't give her anything.
Me. The girl who cries on demand, stood there in my kitchen watching my grown mother sniffle like a scared child.
And I didn't flinch. I was so shocked by my reaction. My non-reaction.
I was so detatched. That when she asked me what I was so scared of my brutally honest, unfiltered response was:

"I am afraid of ending up like you."

I couldn't believe I had said it. That was the most aweful thing I think I could have said. But she stopped crying. And she looked at me in a way I have never been looked at before. And she told me I would never be like her. That I would never end up alone. That she had pushed people away. That her relationships were not mine. That I was so loved and I didn't even recognize it. She confessed to watching me at church the night before. Watching me cross the street and enter the theater. I could remember the feeling of her eyes on me, as she said these things. I don't know how I could tell she was watching me, but I could feel it.
She came over to me, where I was standing. Stoic. Quiet. She stood in front of me. A mirror image, plus twenty-five years.

"I was watching you last night. With all your friends. You are so beautiul, and you have absolutely no idea, and that makes me so sad," she said.

And I lost it. Tears streamed down my face, but I couldn't let her touch me. I couldn't hug her. I had to keep her at a distance still. I had given her the gravest insult, and she had paid me the greatest complement. I am a horrible daughter.
But it opened up the door for discussion. And as we talked I could feel my muscles relaxing a bit. I could feel my chest begin to losen. And she heard my concrns and my fears. And she comforted me. And all that tension we had built began to disipate. There was healing. The very beginnings of healing.

I was running some time after this. Training for the Nashville Marathon. And her words rang through my head. I don't remember what I was thinking about or what was playing on my ipod, or if either had anything to do with triggering our conversation, but I heard her like she was saying it to me all over again. "You are so beautiful..."
I gasped and keeled over.
Bent at the waist, with hands on my thighs.
I choked through tears to catch my breath.
And I could feel it. What it was like to be seen. To be actually seen. To be noticed. And I felt so much saddness because I felt God tell me "this is what I think of you also, and you continue to brush me off." I am a horrible daughter. I continue to break His heart. I continue to break her heart.

I caught my breath. And I ran back to my car and I drove home in silence. And I felt different. I had seen myself in a different light for a few moments. I could feel the sincerety encased in my mother's eyes. I could feel warm arms around me on the nights I couldn't sleep. I had spent my entire life feeling invisible. I had been noticed. And it was for no great feat. Or inherited name or trait. The wounds of my family's past do not determine my future. Although they may shape it and mold it, I have the power to change that. I have some say as to what directions the roots grow. Knowing this has given me an entirely different perspective. It has lightened the burden I have unknowingly been carrying around. And it gives me hope that I may be able to put an end to some of the generational curses that have been passed down through the years from my grandparents and great grand parents. That my children may have a chance at a fresh start. A little less mess to pass onto them.

It's amazing how perspective can change in a wave. How new information makes a world of difference. How it all helps to put the puzzle together. The details make people more real. Character traits. Character flaws. Call them what you will, but a life is flat without them. And knowing these details can bring you more alive too.

I just spent an entire month living in a very small town with my mom. In the same house. Sharing a bathroom. We spent most of the day, everyday, together, cooking, gardening, looking through old photographs, running, and talking. I survived. And when I left a very strange thing happened.
I missed her.
And I realized after spending all those moments with her in her little artsy fishing village, that I am a lot like her. I could see it so clearly sometimes that it made me laugh out loud. And although there are also many difference in our personalities, seeing her life, the state she loves, the business she has created for herself, and the friends who love and care so dearly for her, I have to say, ending up like her would be an honor.

see i'm all about them words, over numbers, unencumbered numbered words, hundreds of pages, pages, pages for words, more words than i have ever heard.

I am finally getting paid to write.
Well, sort of.
As you may have heard, my car was involved in an accident on Saturday. (Parked at a gas pump when a drunk woman backed into it) And after filing a report with the uhaul company's insurance, they seemed more than happy to cover the damages, considering their rentor was under the influence and operating said uhaul under false pretenses and without proper insurance.
So along with matching the estimated damages, the company has agreed to pay me $30/day as an inconveniece fee. And since I am with my aunt and uncle (they have three cars and the EL station is two blocks from their house) ) I don't need a rental...so that money is going right back into my gas tank and giving me a few extra days to hang out in Chicago and write and take pictures.
Not exactly what I had in mind, but it's a pretty sweet deal!
So I see more gardening, cooking, good wine, and lounging by Lake Michigan in my near future.
I know, you feel very bad for me :)

Saturday, July 19, 2008

a theme song. an anthem.

if i bent like you said was best, would that change a thing? if I spent myself til nothing's left would you still leave me here? you're so sorry about it all, now that it's over. should I thank you for that dear?
-matt nathanson

dance. even if you have no where to do it but in your own livingroom.

there's no need to complicate. our time is short.

drinking & driving don't mix. (insert fargo accent->here) dontcha-know?

Have I ever told you about my unsubstantiated fear of stray bullets? I have never been shot at. Or known any one who has been shot or shot at, but I have this bizzare fear that some day I will be driving/walking/running down the street and...WHAM! Hit by a stray bullet. I also have a fear that I will over inflate my car tires and they will explode, crushing me and pumeling me with rubber tire schrapnel.
Tonight I thought my tire exploded. I was pumping gas in beautiful St. Charles, Minnesota and my car shook beyond recconing. I was bent over at the pump, stretching my hamstrings, and I ducked at the loud blow. I opened my eyes and stood up to see a large U-Haul truck pulling away.
Running around the driverside I found my door crushed in and dented.
I ran after the U-Haul leaving the gas pump hanging out of my tank.

The woman driving assured me she wasn't fleeing the scene, and when she opened the door she stumbled to the ground followed by two orange tabby kittens, three kids, and her very intoxicated husband.
"Don't call the police," was the first thing she said. I froze, unaware of how to proceed. A lovely woman named Lea (from Normal, Illinois) had her husband call the police while we distracted the entourage.
After an hour of questioning and exchanging and waiting I was free to get on my way.
Officer Josh was very helpful and sweet. He had that accent. And everytime he spoke I wanted to ask him to say "dontcha know". But I figured that would probably be disrespectful.

So now marley and I are in the Radisson Hotel in downtown Rochester. My aunt and uncle put me up for the night. I know, I know. You thought this trip was gonna be me and a tent and stinky armpits. There's plenty of time for that, ladies and gentlemen. But for tonight, Marley gets his own sleep number bed and I get fresh hot coffee in the morning.
And then I get to call GEICO and figure out the best way to proceed with my car repairs.
Aint life grand!
(St. Charles had gas for $3.89/gallon. I thought I was in heaven for a moment).


Friday, July 18, 2008

over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder.

This is a true story.

His name was Otto Titsling.
What happened to Otto Titsling shouldn't happen to a schnauzer.
It's a very sad story. I feel I have to share it with you.'
Otto Titsling, inventor and kraut,
had nothing to get very worked up about.
His inventions were failures, his future seemed bleak.
He fled to the opera at least twice a week.
One night at the opera he saw an Aida
who's t-ts were so big they would often impede her.
Bug-eyed he watched her fall into the pit,
done in by the weight of those terrible t-ts.
Oh, my god! There she blows!
Aerodynamically this bitch was a mess.
Otto eyeballed the diva lying comatose amongst the reeds,
and he suddenly felt the fire of inspiration
flood his soul. He knew what he had to do!
He ran back to his workshop
where he futzed and futzed and futzed.
For Otto Titsling had found his quest:
to lift and mold the female breast;
to point the small ones to the sky;
to keep the big ones high and dry!
Every night he'd sweat and snort
searching for the right support.
He tried some string and paper clips.
Hey! He even tried his own two lips!
Well, he stitched and he slaved
and he slaved and he stitched
until finally one night, in the wee hours of morning,
Otto arose from his workbench triumphant.
Yes! He had invented the worlds first
over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder. Hooray!
Exhausted but ecstatic he ran
down the street to the diva's house
bearing the prototype in his hot little hand.
Now, the diva did not want to try the darn thing on.
But, after many initial misgivings,
she finally did.
And the sigh of relief that issued forth
from the diva's mouth
was so loud that it was mistaken by some
to be the early onset of the Siroccan Winds
which would often roll through the Schwarzwald
with a vengeance!
Ahhhhh-i!
But little did Otto know,
at the moment of his greatest triumph,
lurking under the diva's bed
was none other than the very worst
of the French patent thieves,
Philippe DeBrassiere.
And Phil was watching the scene
with a great deal of interest!
Later that night, while our Brun Hilda slept,
into the wardrobe Philippe softly crept.
He fumbled through knickers and corsets galore,
'til he found Otto's titsling and he ran out the door.
Crying, 'Oh, my god! What joy! What bliss!
I'm gonna make me a million from this!
Every woman in the world will wanna buy one.
I can have all the goods manufactured in Taiwan.'
'Oh, thank you!'
The result of this swindle is pointedly clear:
Do you buy a titsling or do you buy a brassiere?
-Beaches (Bette Midler)
----------------------------------------

The Real Story:
In an attempt to minimize my hips and thighs I have subsequently sacrificed my heaving boosom (if anyony would ever call an A-cup heaving, that is). Small breasts are a genetic "gift" that has been passed through my family, and while mine have always been small, all the running I have done over the past couple years have left me prepubescently endowed. I traded Victoria's Secret for Johnson & Johnson. An entire "box of bras" for $2.99.
You can't beat that :)
But as I was sharing photos of the bridesmaid's dress I will be wearing in my BFF's wedding my aunt inquired about my intended undergarments. And when I shrugged innocently, she seized the moment to fulfill a mother/daughter moment she was never privledged enough to enjoy as the mother of an "only son".
She took me bra shopping.
And not just at the mall or target,
but to a boutique where I was wisked into a dressing room,
spun around,
and investigated with a quick peak down the front of my dress.
45 seconds flat. (no pun intended)
and the attendant turned on her heels and announced she would return promptly.

Enter attendant holding ONE black strapless bra:
(in past experiences I have tried armloads of bras with NO positive outcome)
Instructions on placement, shimmy-ing, bending, and lifting, and...
Ta-Da!!!! I was in. To my amazement and my aunt's delight I had been transformed into a "real girl". It actually fit.
And when my aunt inquired about its size and cut the attendant excitedly reported that, while it looked good now, it still had room for me to "grow" and that I should return in a few months when I needed a larger size. Laughing hysterically I concluded the sale announcing that I had given up all hope on that ever happening. She attempted to console me, informing me that at my age I was still developing and not to give up hope.
My aunt bust out laughing and fitfully explained that I was about to be twenty-nine. I thought I was going to have to break out my driver's license.
Too hilarious.

P.S. Earlier that day my aunt's co=worker called me "sweet-girl" and asked me how I was enjoying my "summer vacation". Apparently this trip agrees with me...I've regressed back to highschool :)
And my uncle downloaded Juno for me because he thinks I look like Ellen Page. How old is she ?! :)

Thursday, July 17, 2008

family ties & growing pains








There's no Michael J. Fox or Kirk Cameron, but my family is entertaining in their own right.

À bout de souffle

If Disney World had a Paris ride it would look like Quebec City. Clean and colorful but a poor replacement for the city that so gracefully captured my heart. I went there the other day, I drove through the entire state of Maine and crossed the border into la tres belle ville de Quebec not knowing exactly what to expect. I was looking forward to speaking French and seeing the architecture, buildings crowed together along narrow streets, up hills, along the river. And eating nutella crepes.
But I have to say I was a bit disappointed.

It was festival. And a little to busy for my liking. Although 400 years of independence is not too shabby. People crowded the squares and climbed the steep staired alley ways. Salsa music (performed by aband from Texas) pumped through the air. Bodies moving. Rythem. Beat. Step, step, turn.
It was beautiful to watch them perfect their moves. Perched along the edge just ouside the crowds, I admired people's outfits (pants with a dress is apparently the "it" thing up here...who knew!?) from the steps of a local hotel.

I was unable to find even one crepe vendor (saddest news ever!) but I did manage to witness the most amazing hula-hoop performance. Very inspirational:) When I told my mom about her she told me I should try something like that in Portland.
I am convinced my mom is not a "real" mom. Who encourages stuff like that!? Yay! I love her. But that's not my career path. Although it would be super handy to be able to play guitar right about now...a little strumming on the street corner...i could make some bank. But alas...

I was pleased to find I didn't have the same breathless, heavy chest feeling I had the last time I was in Paris. The circustances of which are emotionally tangled and clumsy. It was hard to be in my favorite city and be so sad. But Quebec didn't feel like Paris enough to make gasp. Or maybe I'm just okay. I guess I'll just have to stroll the cobblestone streets of Montmartre again to really find out.
Okay by me.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

if i told you a secret you wont tell a soul. will you hold it and keep it alive?

To a very brave friend:
I read something yesterday that made my heart sink.
And I thought this would be appropriate to share with its author.
And all of you.

Here is an excerpt from what I've been scribbling.
It's part of a memoir.
I think it's the beginning.
As good a place to start as any, I suppose.
::The Absence of Me::

"I don’t know what it’s like to want to die. But I do know what it feels like not to care if I go on living. There is a difference, I think. Between the two feelings. Between the anger and sadness of actively trying to kill yourself and the empty hopelessness of giving up. The apathy. That hollow invisible feeling. Every breath hurts. The burn of tears in my eyes. If I breathe to deep they will come. I’m alive, but not really. I might have tried to kill myself if I could have mustered up the courage or the energy. I was weak and lonely and so sad. If I had been stronger I might have done it. I might have ended all that pain.

Sometimes I thank God for weakness.

There is a stretch of road that I used to drive daily on my way to West Chester University. I always imagined driving my car head on into this one particular telephone pole. That would be it. Fifty-five miles per hour in a Ford Tempo. I think that would have been enough impact to get the job done. I would stare at the yellow lines in the road. My foot would press down on the accelerator as I approached the target. I would imagine it. The car crossing over the lines and veering into the pole. I pictured the impact. The broken glass. The splintered wood. But I couldn’t picture myself. I couldn’t see the lifeless body that I would leave behind. I couldn’t picture her pressed against the steering wheel, eyes glazed, bleeding. There would be too many questions. Too many people involved. What if I hit someone else? Who would find me? It would be an awful mess to clean up. And it would mean totaling my grandmother’s car. And she had been so generous to let me use it everyday to get to school. I couldn’t repay her by leaving her stranded. That was enough to keep all four ties on the road.

The stupidest ideas have saved my life."


I know now that taking your own life is not courageous. It's selfish.
Courage is the fight that cleaves you to hope. Even if it's just a fraction of hope. Just for a second. Sometimes it may mean the difference betweenparking your car in the driveway...or wrapping it around a telephone pole.

Monday, July 7, 2008

What's your stance on Pancakes?

::Stranger Than Fiction::

Dr. Jules Hilbert: Hell Harold, you could just eat nothing but pancakes if you wanted.

Harold Crick: What is wrong with you? Hey, I don't want to eat nothing but pancakes, I want to live! I mean, who in their right mind in a choice between pancakes and living chooses pancakes?

Dr. Jules Hilbert: Harold, if you pause to think, you'd realize that that answer is inextricably contingent upon the type of life being led... and, of course, the quality of the pancakes.

Harold Crick: This isn't a philpsophy or a literary theory or a stroy to me. It's my life.

Dr. Jules Hilbert: Absolutely. SO JUST GO MAKE IT THE ONE YOU ALWAYS WANTED.

I love this movie.
I have watched it three times in the past month.
I would be a very happy girl if I could have Dustin Hoffman read to me every night while I fall asleep.
His voice is hypnotic.
That would be a little piece of heaven.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

{i}tinerary

So here is the plan folks.
I reserve the right to change/revise/terminate said plan at any moment.
But for right now I'm planning on departing for Quebec City tomorrow and then picking up Marley on my way back through and heading west!
This is the abridged version. I wanna see lots of random stuff and photograph it all.

CANADA
-Montreal
-Quebec City
~it's the 400th anniversary
~Nutella Crepes!!!
~Speak a little french with the natives

USA
-Pick up Marley Dog
-Boston
-NYC (maybe but probably wont have time. Sorry Sarah!)
-Chicago
~Visit my Cousin, Aunt, & Uncle
-Wisconsin
-Omaha, Nebraska
~I wanna see whay this city encourages so many songs :)
-Minisota
-South Dakota
~Banlands
~Mt. Rushmore
-Wyoming
~Yellowstone
-Montana
~Into the Sun Road
~Missoula
~Glacier National Park
-Idaho
-Washington
~Mt. Ranier
~Seattle
~Islands
~Rain Forrest
-Oregon
~Portland (Meeting Kelly here August 8th for my birthday!)
~Eugene
~Mt. Hood
~Columbia River Gorge
~Crater Lake National Park
-California (Driving the Pacific Coast Highway with Kelstar!)
~Redwood National PArk
~San Fransisco
~Golden Gate Bridge
~Yosemite National Park
~Big Sur
~Napa Valley
~Los Angeles (Meet up with Lindsey & Jacob!)
~San Diego (Meet up with Katie Senior!)
~Joshua Tree National Park
~Slab City
-Nevada
~Las Vegas
~Lake Mead
-Utah
~Zion Park
~Bryce Canyon
~Canyonlands National Park
~Moab
~Park City
~Salt Lake City
-Colorado
~Teluride
~Colorado Springs
~Great Sandunes National Park
-Texas
~Austin (ACL Festival 9.26- 9.28)
-New Mexico
~Albuqurque (International Hot Air Balloon Festival 10.5-10.12)

As far as new homes...Portland, OR is at the top of the list right now.
Austin, TX and Asheville, NC are also ideas. Who knows :)