Faith in Freedom

The sky is gray, I think it will rain soon
But the clouds are polite
And unassuming
The sun has just about gone down
That shady dusk lingers.

I look at that vast gray ocean
From inside my car
I'm parked at the top of a hill
I've got my window down
And my head is out
And it's resting on my folded arms.

Power lines stretch like
Horizontal prison bars
And they're blocking my view of that ocean
They're blocking my flight
To what is all unbound
Blocking my flight
And I am not unbound

Right now, I've got to have faith in freedom
Right now, I've got to have a little bit of faith
In freedom for me
There's got to be some freedom
From myself,
This life.

When I was a girl, I loved to sink
Into deep water
With my eyes closed
Sink into deep water
With my eyes closed
And every muscle relaxed.

When I released and
Surrendered control
When everything just everything had all been let go
I felt safe
I felt peace.

This is the blog where I tell you about what I did on January 1st.

I wrote that poem a couple years ago, the year I lived in California.

The other day, I told my friend that I felt like driftwood in the ocean. "Like... I bob, and I get tossed back and forth and all over the place... But I'm still AFLOAT, you know? I haven't SUNK yet. And I have no control. The funny thing is though, is that I've always associated the ocean with the idea of God, and of peace--"

My friend made a noise like she'd had a THOUGHT, and said, "You've given up being anchored."

And I thought, "Well."

"That is sort of true."

Last New Year's Day was about getting back to "me," getting back to center, getting back to Him. This New Year's was not about that. I have me. I have Him. This New Year's was about letting myself be blown blown blown about and rained rained rained upon and tossed tossed tossed around, and saying, "Okay. I can hope. I can believe. I can trust. I can let go. I will be okay. I can keep going."

But I didn't realize that when I woke up on January 1st.

When I woke up on New Year's, I felt the same as the day before. Maybe not quite the same. Maybe an inch different. But not leaps and bounds different. Not transformed, different. Not a whole new calendar different. And I thought, "What. Lame. This is my big new start. What the heck."

And I looked out at the weather and it was AWFUL. It was dark dark dark, like oppressively dark, and COLD, and rainy, and windy. And I thought, "Ew. I don't want My Big New Year's Walk out in that. That will not be a sparkly walk."

So I took a long time eating breakfast, and I took a long time getting dressed, and I took a long time looking out the window, and I took a long time playing my guitar, and I took a long time getting my plan together.

I'm not sure if I want to tell you the plan yet. I might keep what the plan was a secret.

I took a long time, is my point. And finally it was 12:30pm and I knew that if I wanted to make My Big New Year's Walk happen, I needed to get going. The plan this year was to get to Golden Gardens, which-- I would discover-- is about 11 miles away from Grandpa's house. I had already decided that the walk would probably not be as incredible as last year, because last year's walk was just like a zip-line into the land of rainbows and fairy dust and sparkle lollipops and baby sea otters that wink. I couldn't expect that to just replicate itself. So I made the plan more about what I would DO at the final destination.

That part of the plan is what I haven't told you yet. I still don't know if I want to tell you.

I got my backpack together, and bundled up, and left.

I saw people and waited for last year's twinkling to happen. "Happy New Year!" I called. But they did not become my instantaneous friends. They gave me a bemused smile, or a nod of acknowledgment, or a short, "Hello." "What...??" I wondered. "Why are these not fabulous New Year's interactions...?"

I did not see silly men pulling rick-shaws on bicycles, or the ladies in their matching track suits. I ran into no friends at Starbucks, and I gave up taking pictures just out of my neighborhood. The day was just DRAB. I knew it wouldn't be last year, but it was just ESPECIALLY drab. Annie called at one point to ask how it was going and all I could get out was, "Well... It's just not very magical!" And then I cried.

(I know. Silly.)

But I kept walking. And walking. And my legs started getting sore, because I really don't make a habit of being physically active, but I knew the dark day would get ACTUALLY dark at an earlier time than usual, so I picked up the pace and hurried up hills and down hills and up hills and down hills. And finally, I reached Golden Gardens.

Golden Gardens, for those of you unfamiliar with Seattle, is not really a gardeny place at all. It is a beach. It looks like this:

Kind of like a normal beach.

And I made my way out onto rocks that led to where the water was deeper, and I took a glass mason jar out of my back-pack. And I took one more look at the duct taping job to ensure the jar would be water-tight, and I took one more peek through the glass at the letter inside. I thought about what I'd written.

And then I chucked the jar out into the Pacific.

That is the part of the plan I've only decided to tell you about just now.

Environmentalists: forgive me. The romantic notion overrode more realistic musings until the jar was already bobbing away from me. I know that it may very well end up just down the beach. I know it might hit a rock and break and sink. But the throw and the arc and the release of all those soul scrawlings was such a breath-filled feeling. It was a physical representation of letting myself be unanchored. Off I go, and it felt like flying. I don't know where it will end up, nor do I: me. But after years and years of begging for answers, and grasping for control, and clutching at the future: it was such a good feeling to just LET IT GO.

When I was a girl, I loved to sink
Into deep water
With my eyes closed
Sink into deep water
With my eyes closed
And every muscle relaxed.

When I released and
Surrendered control
When everything just everything had all been let go
I felt safe
I felt peace.

I felt faith.
I felt freedom.

2008 Sing-A-Long

At the end of every year, I make a list in my journal of all the SIGNIFICANT events that transpired over the last 365 days. THAT list would be a little too personal for a publicly accessed blog, but I'll provide a little teaser. I've realized when looking through playlists in my I-Tunes that so many moments of this year have had a song to accompany them-- one that I played on repeat during the days when one of these specific situations took over. Therefore, I'll give you the list of significant events, month by month-- but instead of naming the happenings, I'll just provide the relevant lyrics. I didn't write a ton of songs this year, but where they apply, I put included some of my own lyrics. Forgive the earlier months for being a little skimpier on the songs-- there was less happening then!

JANUARY:
I'm a new soul
I came to this strange world
Hoping I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take
Yael Naim, "New Soul"

FEBRUARY:
We made speculation
On the who's and the when's of our futures
And how everyone's lonely
But still we just couldn't complain

And how we just hate being alone
Could I have missed my only chance
And now I'm just wasting my time
By looking around

But you know I know better
I'm not gonna worry 'bout nothing
Cause if the birds and the flowers survive
Then I'll make it okay
I'm given a chance and a rock
see which one breaks a window
See which one keeps me up all night and into the day

Because I'm so scared of being alone
That I forget what house I live in
...

And You know the plans that You have for me
And You can't plan the end and not plan the means
And so I suppose I just need some peace
Just to get me to sleep.
Caedmon's Call, "Table for Two"

MARCH:
Its time to move on, time to get going
What lies ahead I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
Its time to move on, it's time to get going
Tom Petty, "Time to Move On"

But I, I think I've tried to make the best of it
So why would you chastise me for the rest of it?
Escaping and capering to some far off place seems like the grace I need;
I've made a ladder out of confused gray matter and tied up bedroom sheets
I'm leaving this place, I'm going to outer space.
My song, "Outer Space"

APRIL:
I had no choice but to hear you
You stated your case time and again
I thought about it
...
You're so much braver than I gave you credit for
That's not lip service
...
You held your breath and the door for me
Thanks for your patience

You've already won me over in spite of me
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are
I couldn't help it
It's all your fault.
Alanis Morissette, "Head Over Feet"

Hello blackbird, hello starling
Winter's over: be my darling
It's been a long time coming
But now the snow is gone!
Josh Ritter, "Snow is Gone"

Gotta spend some time, love
Gotta spend some time with me
Gotta spend some time, love
I will possess your heart.
Death Cab for Cutie, "I Will Possess Your Heart"

MAY:
Kiss me once, kiss me twice
Kiss me once again
It's been a long, long time.
Keely Smith, "It's Been A Long, Long Time"

For being brave and following when I ran away,
For showing me that trusting you might just be safe,
For knowing when to kiss me and when to stop and pray
I think I should thank you.

For seeing me as the woman that I want to be,
For recognizing the girl that is simply me,
For letting go and holding on and being free,
I think I should thank you.

For having the respect to treat me honestly,
For fighting to be the man that he's asked you to be,
For thinking of my heart when you are on your knees,
I think I should thank you.
My song, "Thank You"

JUNE:
Freedom is ours to hold
It's just a struggle in your mind to keep your soul
Keep your soul
Beautiful Girls, "Freedom (Part 2)"

Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you'd gone
and let the world spin madly on

I let the day go by
I always say goodbye
I watch the stars from my window sill
The whole world is moving and I'm standing still
The Weepies, "The World Spins Madly On"

I’ve seen my future slip through my hands
Watched the wind whip through desert sands
Then I remember I’m no ordinary man and I’m
Going somewhere
Going somewhere
Colin Hay, "Going Somewhere"

JULY:
And I ask you, friend, what's a fella to do
'Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue
So I took her hand and I gave her a twirl
And I lost my heart to a Galway girl
The Town Pants, "Galway Girl"

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free
Tom Petty, "Wildflowers"

Even when the rain falls
Even when the flood starts rising
Even when the storm comes
I am washed by the water
Needtobreathe, "Washed by the Water"

AUGUST:
What if we stop having a ball?
What if the paint chips from the wall?
What if there's always cups in the sink?
What if I'm not what you think I am?

What if I fall further than you?
What if you dream of somebody new?
What if I never let you win, chase you with a rolling pin?
Well what if I do?

cause...
I am giving up on making passes and
I am giving up on half empty glasses and
I am giving up on greener grasses.
I am giving up.

I am giving up for you,
I am giving up.
Ingrid Michaelson, "Giving Up"

SEPTEMBER:
I've seen love go by my door
It's never been this close before
Never been so easy or so slow.
Been shooting in the dark too long
When somethin's not right it's wrong
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.

Dragon clouds so high above
I've only known careless love,
It's always hit me from below.
This time around it's more correct
Right on target, so direct,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.

Purple clover, Queen Anne lace,
Crimson hair across your face,
You could make me cry if you don't know.
Can't remember what I was thinkin' of
You might be spoilin' me too much, love,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.

Flowers on the hillside, bloomin' crazy,
Crickets talkin' back and forth in rhyme,
Blue river runnin' slow and lazy,
I could stay with you forever
And never realize the time.

Situations have ended sad,
Relationships have all been bad.
Mine've been like Verlaine's and Rimbaud.
But there's no way I can compare
All those scenes to this affair,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go
Madeleine Peyroux's cover of Bob Dylan, "You're Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go"

Another day goes by, it goes by.
Still I am far away
From your side, from your side.
And oh my heart, how it aches sometimes
It aches sometimes
And though we're apart
I've got you on my mind.

The end of this road
You'll never know, you'll never know.
And all that we have
We'll never hold, we'll never hold
And somedays I, just can't seem to find
Seem to find
Not a single way
To get you off my mind.

You're on my mind
You're on my mind
You're on my mind.
The Beautiful Girls, "When I Had You With Me"

OCTOBER:
I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok
I just want to be ok today
I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok
I just want to be ok today

Open me up and you will see
I'm a gallery of broken hearts
I'm beyond repair, let me be
And give me back my broken heart
Ingrid Michaelson, "Be OK"

Hold on love
Even when I cry all night
Even when I say i don't love you
Just hold on love
So my head gets a little cloudy
And the drink goes straight to my heart
The the words come like a runaway train
In the dark
Just hold on love
Even when I scream and fight
Even when I swear i don't love you
Just hold on tight
And when the darkness falls over
Like a storm cloud in my head
Something inside says it's easier
To push you away but stay and
Hold on love
Even when I cry all night
Even when I swear i don't love you
Just hold on love
Just hold on love
Just hold on love
Azure Ray, "Hold On Love"

Godspeed to you,
Keep the lighthouse in sight.
Jenny Lewis, "Godspeed"

NOVEMBER:
My life,
Has led me down the road that's so uncertain
And now I am left alone and I am broken,
Trying to find my way,
Trying to find the faith that's gone
This time,
I know that you are holding all the answers
I'm tired of losing hope and taking chances,
On roads that never seem,
To be the ones that bring me home

Give me a revelation,
Show me what to do
Cause I've been trying to find my way,
I haven't got a clue
Tell me should I stay here,
Or do I need to move
Give me a revelation
I've got nothing without You
I've got nothing without You
Third Day, "Revelation"

I'll keep lookin' up, awaitin' your return
My greatest fear will be that you will crash and burn
And I won't feel your fire
I'll be the other hand that always holds the line
Connectin' in between your sweet heart and mine
I'm strung out on that wire

I'll still be there
When you come back down
When you come back down
Nickel Creek, "When You Come Back Down"

Someday I'll be good,
Someday I'll be good for you
Well someday I'll run right out of it all
And right into you
Justin Hopkins, "Someday"

DECEMBER:
I would tell you I am happy
If I wasn't so damn sad.
Mindy Smith, "Down in Flames"

Don't give up on me
...It's never too late for reaching out
When things can't be perfect
And everyone starts to doubt
Oh don't give up on me.
Neal Carpenter, "Don't Give Up On Me"

Last night I took the long way home
Clearing my head in the car, all alone
I saw a man walking down the road,
And I could have sworn it was you.

It took me back to the way it was,
Falling for you 'neath the stars up above,
I was an innocent girl looking for true love,
And I could have sworn it was you.
Annie Parsons, "I Could Have Sworn It Was You"

One thought, has me turning back
A dozen point the other way
We act upon desire
To reach your hand for higher
And patience isn't worth the wait

You've got knives in your eyes
You would be happy not to change your mind
I can't defend you truly
When I worry about smoke instead of putting out the fire

And if we work it out
Chances are bound we'd be standing around
For no one's better sake
Good-bye
Little Joy, "No One's Better Sake"

Keep your eyes on the prize
Don't be dismayed
Don't be dismayed
Deep in your heart
You must believe
Everything is going to be alright
Everything is going to be alright
Everything is going to be alright
Someday.
Hans Zimmer, Green Card sountrack, "Eyes on the Prize"

Self-Portrait

This is, I think, my favorite picture of myself. It's a self-portrait-- I took it last New Years Day.

I found myself lost last December. As I looked ahead to the New Year, I realized I had completely wandered away from the parts of me that I felt proud of; I had drifted from the essences, from the gumption, from the truth, from the deep-down twinkling. Like a cloud in the sky on a windy day, I had shape-shifted and chased after breezes, leaving wispy vapors where there should have been pictures to name. It's a poetic way to say that I had bought into the idea that many single 20-somethings believe: that I wasn't enough without someone ELSE. And in looking for the "elses," I led my heart out onto ledges, onto tight-ropes, onto rotten bridges. I offered it to sky-divers and shark-feeders-- men that made no promises of safe-keeping. I led it so far away that I'd soon lost track of it completely, and I was hazy eyed. I couldn't see me anymore.

My Dad called me out last Christmas; he said that I wasn't the Greta he knew-- the Greta that knew where she was going, that had dreams, and ambitions, and found jokes all by herself to giggle at. He said, "You seem like a ping pong ball, bouncing back and forth between these GUYS." I pictured myself as the metal ball inside a pinball machine: bouncing, and zinging, and making loud noises, and all the while heading for that clanging pit at the bottom.

Dad was right, and it made me cry. I missed me. I missed God, and I missed ME.

New Years Eve, I went out. I got dressed up in high-heeled boots, and a black dress, and drank wine with some girlfriends and all the while felt frustrated and empty. On a whim, I mentioned to one of them, "I think I'll go for a walk tomorrow. A big walk. I think I'll maybe walk all over the city."

As the night progressed, and I danced, and I watched guys shmooze girls that they didn't know and didn't care about, the idea beckoned more strongly. I would take a walk. A big walk. I would walk all over Seattle. I went to sleep just a few hours into the New Year-- tired, but no longer bleary eyed. I had a plan, and it was the most Greta-like thing I'd had in a long time.

I woke up new.

It took miles to find my way back to me; I walked all day. I got up early, and put on an outfit that was for no one to look at. I wore comfortable tennis shoes, a warm jacket, my blue glasses for LOOKING, and a warm hat which had been a Christmas present from my little brother. I filled a back-pack with essentials, and tucked my camera into my coat-pocket. And I started walking.

I found so many things.










And at one point, I found a No Trespassing sign.

And past the No Trespassing sign, I found a long dock with house-boats on either side. And at the end of the dock I looked across the water to a park I often ride my bike to in the summer-time-- but this time, I was on the other side of the looking glass. I was IN the view I normally gazed at from a distance, and this view was transformed. I was transformed.

And I found a house that perfectly matched the color of my jacket.


And that's when I took my favorite picture of myself.

I like the picture because I didn't take it to be pretty. I like it because my coat matches a house and they are both fabulous raspberry. I like it because my hair is covered up with a hat and my mouth is covered up with my coat, and I like it because even though I covered up my mouth to attain maximum pinkage, you can still tell that I'm grinning. I like it because I could have only taken it after disobeying a rule-- which is a very Greta thing to do-- and because I took it after walking on firm ground for miles and miles, and because I took it after having so many fun conversations with so many strangers, and because I took it after chuckling and congratulating God on his funny, beautiful world all day long. I like it because I took it-- I wasn't asking for anyone else's approval, or validation, or opinion. I like it because it was a silly moment. I like it because I have my glasses on, so I know that I was able to see the world with radiant clarity. And I like that, even with the glasses on, you can see that the twinkling is back.

I woke up that day. It was, and remains, one of the best days of my life.

2008 has been a doozy. No sooner had I gotten a grip on me than circumstances did everything they could to knock me loose again. I have hoped, and hurt, and tried, and failed, and guarded, and exposed. I have been overjoyed, and I have been utterly dismayed. I worried over Grandpa through a health-scare. I entered and exited two different relationships. I swash-buckled my way across Europe with Heidi. I reeled through family distress. I became an aunt for the second time. I started grad school in an effort to realize my dream of being a teacher, and encountered the significant stress entailed. It's been loaded. Several times I've said, "I feel the weakest that I've ever been in my life. I feel crazy right now. I really feel crazy."

But through it all-- through ALL the ups and downs-- it's been ME. I've clutched hold of the dreams I remembered on January 1st of this year. I haven't often FELT as twinkly or giggly or adventurous or delighted as I did in that picture, but I've remembered that that's who I really AM, and that that's the girl I belong to. I've held tight to the closeness with God I felt on that walk, and as the world has crumbled, He has grown in strength and immediacy to compensate.

Tonight the sermon was about hope. I thought, "I could give that sermon." Because, you see, after a year of flirting with soul-marring cynicism, I still am hoping. I'm not writing off men, or love. I'm not writing off family. I'm not writing off ME. After a hard, hard year: I have my head up. I believe in so many things!! I DO, I believe in things! My eyes have cried a lot this year, but damn it, they're clear when they look back at me in the mirror. I still understand the deep-downs. I have been crazy: true. But I have been ME-crazy-- if that makes any sense. In the worst of it, I called people who loved me, and hugged them til the crying stopped, and then we prayed together, and then I was ready to try again.

I feel stronger, I guess is what I'm trying to say. Like-- exhausted. But ready to try again. I mean, not READY. But.

Ready to believe I WILL be ready.

And, as 2009 approaches (she noted with a resilient twinkle in her eye): I'm ready for another New Years walk.

Seven Decades for Several Dates...

For Christmas, Grandpa bought four tickets to Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, which is the current broadway show in town, and without question one of my favorite musicals all throughout growing up. Originally, it was supposed to be a girls' night out, the tickets going to my mom, my aunt, my sister, and I. However, Seattle's "Arctic Blast" has literally snowed everyone in, and Mom and Heidi decided there was no way they were going to make the 200+ mile trip to Seattle when things like this were happening. So, at the last minute, Grandpa decided to call up two of his friends to use the remaining tickets.

Which meant that last night, I went out to dinner and a Broadway show with three very elderly dates.

Gramps, Bill, and Jane are all intelligent, charming, and funny-- but there were several moments where I couldn't help but notice the 50+ year age difference...

Honorable Mention Old People Moment:
(When waiting for the valet to bring around our car.)
Bill: I used to shag cars when I was a college student.
Greta: Did you make pretty good tips?
Bill: Oh yes. We would make... 15 to 20 dollars a night. Which back then... (grins proudly)... was doin' alright.

Third Best Old People Moment:
Grandpa: "Bill, you're a very fine looking gentleman."
Bill: "What?"
Grandpa: "I'm telling you, you're a very handsome gentleman."
Bill: "What?"
Jane: "He has trouble hearing."
Grandpa: "Can you hear me Bill?"
Bill: "I just heard part of it."
Jane: "Probably all he needs to hear."

Second Best Old People Moment:
Bill: "THIS snowstorm is bad, but I've seen worse. Craig, were you in Seattle during January of... 1950?"

And, from last night, my favorite:
Best Old People Moment:
Bill: Did you know, I'm taking fifteen pills a day now? Fifteen!
Grandpa: Well, Jane's been ahead of you there for some time now, haven't you Jane?
Jane: Oh yes. I'm still ahead of him.
Grandpa: (With a victorious glint in his eye.) I only take six.

Haha! The rest of the time, I just basked in the wisdom. And tried to say, "Grandpa" loudly enough to avoid being thought of by strangers as Gramps' trophy wife!

The Man in My Life

Grandpa woke me up this morning with a holler. "School is CANCELLED!!"
"Woo hoo!" I cried sleepily, and fell back asleep.

I got up at 8:30. The world outside was dreamy and still and covered in snow. My view down to the lake was obscured by a hushed gray wash. "I think you're snowed in today, sweetheart!" Gramps called. Yet he was bustling, putting on shoes and a jacket.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"I have my haircut," he said.
"Gramps... Can't you reschedule? Our driveway's totally covered."
"Oh no, I've got to go!" he said, determined. "She made it in to work for me, so I've got to go! I'll just clear the driveway."

So we did, together: him with a wide broom, and me with a wide dust-bin, industriously clearing in my pajamas, snow boots, and an overcoat. Before he left, he gave instructions: "Now you dig out around your car, and pull it into the garage. I've got chains for my car, so I'll be fine." I watched him inch backwards up the steep driveway, making sure he cleared it. We waved goodbye at each other, and he headed off. As instructed, I swept the snow away from around my car, and pulled it into the garage.

I went down to the kitchen and made myself pancakes with Grandpa's waffle batter, left over from his elaborate breakfast from yesterday. He called at one point, seeing if I needed anything from the store. "How about popcorn?!" I asked. "That would be yummy on a day like today."
"Popcorn it is!" he said.

When he got home, gray hairs freshly trimmed, I bemoaned the fact that I wouldn't be able to get to the art store for Christmas-present-art-project supplies. He thought out loud about different driving routes I could try and then said, "Well. Why don't I just drive you."

So he did, taking us slowly and carefully through the covered, quiet streets: first to Kinkos, so that I could make copies for the art project, then to Blockbuster, where we picked out this movie, then on to the art store. Grandpa waited patiently while I made my selections, and helped when he had the opportunity. We chatted about many things, and wondered at the swirling flakes that floated ever more eagerly down. Stopped off at the grocery store on the way back, and got some crackers, wine, and Ghiardellis double-chocolate-chip brownie mix. When we got back home, he parked on the street below the house, leaving my Honda's cushy garage abode unrivaled. "Well. I'm glad I drove you," he said. "That way I didn't have to worry about how you were doing."

Back home, we made lunch: creamy tomato soup, and english muffins with ham and melted cheese on top. He told me about the story he's listening to on tape-- a gruesome crime mystery. After lunch, he took a nap, and I worked on my arts and crafts. He woke up just in time to catch me feeling very discouraged about the clumsy results.

"Sweetheart, I think they look wonderful!" he retorted.
I looked out at the snow and wished for a hand-hold, and began to feel a little heart-sick. I called to Grandpa that I was feeling awfully sad about things.
"Greta..." he said. "That's only natural." And he said kind things to ease the hurt.
Then he moved into stories about his trips to Europe with my Grandma. He told me about an amphitheater they had found in southern England that overlooked a cliff over the channel, and I began to forget about feeling sad. "Sweetheart, you'll just have to go there someday, " he said. "It was absolutely one of the most spectacular things I've ever seen."

Then he got out our cheese and crackers and drinks: wine for me, and gin for him. I moved to take a sip, and he said, "Wait wait!" Then finished pouring his. "Now. Cheers to the season." And we clinked glasses.

I cut my thumb trying to free the cheese from its plastic wrap. "Oh, oh, oh," he said, and whisked me upstairs. I thought again about the hand-hold, and felt heart-sick again, and I began to cry. I let Grandpa think it was because of my thumb, and he didn't comment. He put Neosporin on a band-aid, and layered it with a second one when blood started to seep through. "You take these band-aids down to your bathroom now and just use as many as you need. Because you know, you'll get your thumb wet, and you'll probably need another one."

Back in our kitchen nook, we watched the snow continue to drift down, and ate our cheese and crackers. I made the brownies, and he told me about his childhood in Eastern Washington.

Now he's making dinner, and afterwards we'll watch the 6:00 news, and then our movie, and then we'll watch "The Office." Grandpa will cringe at Michael Scott's antics and mutter things like, "He is just an idiot! The things he says!!" But he'll watch it with me anyway, because he knows I love it. When we go to bed, we'll holler goodnight, and when I wake up, he'll already be down in the kitchen and will have coffee ready for me.

I'm 24 years old. I know how to cook for myself, and make my coffee, and get myself a band-aid, and I bet I could even figure out driving in the snow if I needed to.

But Grandpa loves this. He loves taking care of me like this. And every time he does, I feel my heart getting bigger and growing softer in the dearest way. I wish I could express how much this man means to me.

The Shape of an Ending

A two-hour late start for school today leaves me with nothing to do at 9am. The huge ghastly project that was so vehemently decried in the last post was finished last night; there's nothing to do to prepare for school today. There have been many thoughts swirling, battering, racing around in my head over the last several weeks, but for today, it's easier to let the past do the talking.

I wrote this on February 1st, of this last year. It speaks to much of what I'm feeling today.

----------------------------

Last night, I got home to find my Grandpa at his antique desk in our living room, with papers and calendars all around him. This is unusual: Grandpa is reliably watching the news or Jeopardy at 7:30pm. And if he's doing bill-paying or letter writing, he sits on the couch at the coffee table. The desk is more decorative than anything else. "Grandpa, what are you doing?" I asked him, amused. "What is all this?" He mumbled a few things, but didn't directly answer. I went into the kitchen to fix myself a late dinner. I called to him from the kitchen, a few things about the day, and my drive home.

He followed me into the kitchen with a calendar. It was a large Norwegian calendar, with foreign words and numerals, and brightly colored paintings. He and my Grandma always found these calendars on their trips overseas; it is one example of the classy antique European taste they cultivated for over 52 years.

Grandpa started murmering about dates on the calendar. "I found this old calendar sweetheart..." He showed me July 18th: an appointment to examine spots on my Grandma's lungs. We looked earlier; a check-in appointment to assess her knee-replacement surgery when my Grandma had mentioned her recent breathing troubles. In between the two: an appointment for a lung x-ray. We looked at later dates: an appointment with Dr. Henry Lee, the physician that would end up administering her chemotherapy and radiation. We didn't look ahead to the following year, but if we had, the month of October would have marked the date of her funeral.

It occurred to me in the kitchen, that my Grandpa was holding a type of graveyard, in the form of that bright Norwegian calendar. Date by date, there was chronologically depicted each step that would eventually lead to my Grandma's passing away. July 18th was the day I got the call, when working at my church kiosk, from Grandpa, telling me she had cancer. I vividly remember running into the sanctuary and sobbing; I remember trying to be quiet. I remember my dear co-worker Scott telling me to go home for the rest of the day. I remember the angry, fervent prayers later on, the capsizing hope. I remember hearing from my Dad when I was in Africa on a crackling intermittent cell phone call that she was terminal. These moments illustrate the tiny markers, the flagstones in my memory, that led to that ending.

It's odd to remember these unlikely markers. The most clear image of an ending I can remember from my last lengthy relationship was a silver tube of lavender lotion finally running out. Ted had given me that lotion when we were together, he'd sent it to me from California in a spontaneous act of affection, and I'd kept it for a long time, not wanting to use up the sweet present. After we broke up, I was even more reluctant to use it, even though it was such nice lotion, and smelled like soap and summer. What good thing would there be left of us when it was finally gone? But eventually it was. And by then, we had been over for some time.

I remember the marker for Africa ending. i was in the courtyard with Erica, and we were washing our clothes and hanging them on the line. I remember laughing at the surreal experience it still seemed to me: to be in AFRICA, and to be washing our clothes in big plastic tubs that always ended up with floating ants in the water. I said to Erica, "You know what's weird to think... that one day, all these little kiddos will just be pictures from far away. And this will just be 'that one summer I spent in Africa.'" I pictured myself in my 30's, meeting some Deputee that would be leaving for their big summer trip. I pictured myself commenting, "I did that once. I went to Malawi. I spent a summer there." In that Malawian courtyard, with my arms wet and my back warm, it was the most harrowing realization: to think that the children I had come to so enjoy, who I would give piggy-backs to that night, and who I would sing to in an hour or two, would someday only be shiny 3x5 pictures, and that my summer would only tug at my memory in passing.

I know beginnings have their own shapes too. I can recall many flagstones that would have marked the start of a path, of a journey, of a relationship. But today my thoughts are with the endings. Today, honestly: I wish for July 17th. I wish for something left of that lavender lotion. I wish for a hug from Tikambe, and for Clayton to be swinging from my back. I wish for floating ants in the laundry tub.

I CAN'T STAND IT ANYMORE.

I don't want to do my homework. I DON'T WANNA DO IT. I am tired of filling out templates, and looking up research strategies, and pulling reflective verbosity out of my bum, and reading books, and writing papers, and coming up with creative stimulating lesson plans that will save the world. I am TIRED OF NOT BEING ABLE TO RELAX, and I HATEitchygritchyitchyHATE that I still a c t u a l l y h a v e t o d o o o o o i t.

And Facebook?? Is too distracting.

And Saturdays?? Should not be spent whispering sweet nothings to my laptop.

And The Office Online?? Is calling my name. Constantly.

The problem, people, is that I don't have time to take the breaks I would just LOVE to take. I really have to get this done. I have a lot to get done tomorrow. I am going to church in the morning, and I have core group in the evening, and I'm going for a walk before church with a friend, and in between then I have to do A LOT OF WORK.

And I should save myself tomorrow by doing more now, but I DON'T WANNNNNNAAAAA DOOOOOO IIITTTTTT.


BLECH.

Winter Walk

Last night, after school, I went for a cold walk as the sun went down.

I walked up my hill to the very top, and climbed the stairs of a house that is halfway constructed. I walked through vertical 2x4s marking future walls and I walked past piles of plywood, and I leaned out of the open gaps that will be windows. I found the mountains across the lake, and I found Rainier: breathless, cold, and lavender in the fading light. I thought about climbing, and I thought about cold, and I thought about unfinished buildings. I thought about saws splitting wood that came from the same tree, and of those boards being nailed down in locations far from one another. I thought about leaping, and I thought about flying, and I thought about falling, and I thought about being safe. I thought about past conversations on unfinished walls, and I thought about future families talking, eating, laughing, fighting in these presently plywood rooms.

And then I walked down another road, and I thought about feet being cold, and I saw a mother taking pictures of her babies in a stroller with a fancy camera, and I thought of happy families.

And I tried to follow the sunset over the other side of the hill, because the sun was setting now behind the other set of mountains, and so I ran because it was setting quickly, and the sky was already deep purples and oranges. I found another unfinished house, and I ran up the stairs to get as high as I could. I met the owner of the house on the way up, and he told me to be careful of the 2x4s sticking out over the third floor stairwell, and then he left. I thought of strangers, and I thought of how I must look to people I don't know, and I wondered if he would mind me being in his house if I was something other than a small female in a red wool coat.

I climbed over boards and plywood on the top floor, and leaned out of the vast hole that will eventually be an elegant window, and I offered myself to the air. And the mountains were dark silhouettes, and the city glimmered in the distance, and it was cold, and it was bright. I thought of frost, and how it glitters, and how it is cold, and how it makes things brittle. I thought of Christmas lights and how they feel like bars keeping me out of something this year. I thought of the way that things used to be, and how they have irrevocably changed. I thought of being afraid, and of being too small, and of spinning out of control. I hugged the unfinished wall, and thought of how the sun had already set by the time I climbed to my viewpoint; I had missed it going down, and was only seeing the fading colors of what had been a beautiful day. I looked down at the street, and looked at the sidewalk, and saw that it ended on either side of this halfway built house, and saw a gap of dirt where the path didn't connect. I missed things. I shivered and felt cold.

I climbed down, and went out front, and stood on the hard cold dirt where the sidewalk should have been. I picked up a scrap of wood and tried to etch my name in the ground. I thought of cement being poured, and my mark being hidden underneath, and of people forgetting, and of life moving on, and of people passing through, and of archeology, and of people discovering pieces of lives that have ended.

I walked home in the dark, and I wrote lyrics for a song. And I wished for days that had not already ended, and I wished for a home that was more future than past, and I wished for wings that could carry me away to mountain tops in the distance.

The 100 Secret Senses

At school, we're finishing up Amy Tan's, The One Hundred Secret Senses, which I've decided I love. Remember when I made fancy, applicable-to-life conclusions about Gilgamesh? I have fancy, applicable-to-life conclusions about this book too.

In this book, Amy Tan creates a world of ghost stories, and premonitions, and past lives, and dual identities. And, like any good story that involves other-worldly elements, she creates rules for how characters see the ghosts, experience the premonitions, relate to the past lives, etc. But for every "rule" in the worlds she creates, she provides an exception. Characters that are blood related turn out to not be blood related, or are semi-blood related. We find out that one character sees ghosts, except for the time that she thinks she does when she actually didn't. Premonitions are real, except for the times when they're not. Characters' past lives predict what must happen in the present ones-- except when they don't. Names are shifting and unreliable. The whole book continually asks WHO these people actually are-- and for the most part, we never really know for sure. Tan leaves us with very few SURE answers.

For me, the book boils down to issues of faith. The main character, Olivia, is trying to figure out who SHE belongs to; who her sister Kwan actually is; what Kwan is actually capable of seeing; whether or not her husband, Simon, really is her soul mate. She's looking for a name that will provide her with a history, an identity, a sense of place. But she doesn't get any conclusive answers. In the end, she must decide for herself. She must collect her answers from what she knows, from what she hopes for, from what she wants, from what she senses. She must take a leap of faith, and say-- without any real proof-- that this is what she chooses to believe.

My faith in God has been met with unwavering closeness from Him-- except... when it hasn't. He has answered my prayers in the ways I have asked Him to-- except... when He hasn't. I have felt resounding strength, and sureness, and confidence in my faith-- except... when those feelings have eluded me.

I don't believe God gives us anything as easy as proof. I think He rarely ever spells it out for us. In the end, we must collect our faith from what we know, what we hope for, what we want, what we sense-- what we BELIEVE.

If you're looking for a good book, read this one. The story-telling is unreal.

Caddywampus Clarity

I think I may have had a thought.

I had counseling tonight. Mondays are counseling. I told my counselor that my trip to California to see Beau went well. (My trip to California to see Beau went so well.) I told her that Thanksgiving was hard. (Thanksgiving was hard.) I told her about my reluctant approach to the holidays. (I am reluctantly approaching the holidays.) And then we talked about need.

And we agreed that it seems I really just don't, do NOT, just don't like the idea of needing people. I wrote a blog about this: if that blog was a flag, we waved the blog flag tonight, that PARTICULAR blog flag. In that blog, I wrote,

"Humans are flawed... Humans, even the best ones, let you down, they LEAVE you, they hurt you, and once you need them, you're doomed. No one, and I mean NO ONE that I had needed... had kept me safe. Only God then. Only ever safe to need Him.

And yet... I look at those words that I've written, and I feel shocked.

Really? IS that the truth? Is it completely wrong and foolish to let yourself need others?

I love people, I've always loved people. I collect warmth from kind interactions with strangers the way other people do in front of a wood-burning fire. Does refusing to need people shut me out from that example of God's love and care-taking?

Or... Is that wisdom?"

Does God call us to need each other? Or does He ask to be our only sustainment? Is it "idol-worship" (to get real "Christiany" on us all) if we feel a need for things other than God?"

As my counselor and I discussed this idea of need, those same questions came up. I drove home still clueless, still wondering, still unsure. Is it right to need others, or does that take us away from God? Is it necessary to need others, or is that an unnecessary risk? Is it foolish to need others, or does avoiding it set us up for permanent loneliness?

Then, under a stoplight, in the rain, to the soundtrack of my wiper blades, watching the world through my blurred non-glasses-wearing vision: the light turned green. And I had a thought.

This is what I wrote in my journal when I got home:

I suppose, the fact that God DOES provide this permanent safety net should give me all the freedom in the world to toss my heart around. After all-- it's not a matter of us holding on to HIM-- HE holds on to US. It's not a matter of us refusing to give our hearts away to anyone else with the attitude that if we DID, we would no longer be connected with God... We ARE His. We just ARE His. That doesn't change. There's nothing we can do to sever that belonging, or to break that hold, or to risk that love, that protection, that closeness, that safety. "Nothing can separate us from the love of God." So, if I let myself need someone: so what? If I do, that doesn't mean God goes AWAY, or that I've swapped Him out for something infinitely less sure. It means I've taken a risk-- I've stepped out in faith. And I think God likes it when we do that. And if the person I've let myself need lets me down-- so what? God is still there. Because HE DOESN'T GO AWAY.

Understanding that God is what makes me whole should, theoretically, give me every reason in the world to offer the pieces to someone else. Because it is Him that swims in the cracks. It is Him that can float the intermingling parts into new formations. It is Him that works in risks and leaps and movements-- not stagnation.

It is HIM that holds on to ME-- no matter how reckless my leaping might be.