What It's All About

I use to keep this notebook in my very early 20's.  And when I say "keep", I mean not only would I write in it, I would take it everywhere with me.  A free moment on the ferry: I would reflect.  Run across an inspirational quote or relevant comic?  Add it to the pages.  Frustrated with what it all means?  Jot it down and return to it in a few months.  The leather bounding was multicolored, with a warning inside the front cover.  "This leather will fade and change colors throughout the years" due to it's fine craftsmanship or something like that.  Perfect, I thought.  I will too.

The notebook came about at a very tumultuous time in my life.  I was madly in love with a boy (though I know know it wasn't like that at all) who I thought was madly in love with me too.  Except, he was both terrible at showing me towards the end nor able to break things off.  We went back and forth for months.  Holidays and birthdays would bring about a renewal, things would be just okay for awhile, and then it would start all over again.  I hated myself knowing I was the one keeping this charade going.  So I bought the notebook and began to write, really write for once in my newly acquired adult life.

A page use to exist towards the front of this notebook.  It has escaped me long ago what prompted the writing on that page, but it became a moment of lucidity addressed to my future self.  Because of the last few months, I knew the time would come again when I would cave.  The pain would follow.  So I wrote a message to myself filled with self-worthy praise, love, and hope.

I ripped it out later.

The evidence remained: it wasn't a clean rip.  A corner of tattered paper stayed behind, blank, but nonetheless loud and clear.  I remembered why I had placed the message and could see clearly I had fallen for the trap anyways.


It wasn't until I threw all of his mementos and love notes into the dumpster did I become free.  The writing was the fuel, a reminder to not forget to light the match.

Writing via blogging replaced the notebook slowly a few years ago.  Equate it to all the other times in my life when I started a new journal.  In some form, writing has stayed with me.  Never perfect, often grammatically awkward, trying to be honest, I write to stay grounded.  Sometimes, even unconsciously, the words appear months later and have new meaning as if it was message from a lucid moment or a torn corner.

I looked everywhere for that notebook today.  I can't find it.  It's here somewhere, most likely in a box unpacked, surrounded by my real love's letters and treasures.  The cover surely changed but so gradual I may not notice.

It should be on the bookshelf, but might not have a place right now.

Every year I would write about what it's like to be that age.  20, confused about the path to take, alone in a studio apartment in Seattle, walking across to grab take-out Mexican, I am hopeful about the future but not sure if I will be loved again.  23, trying to work out the kinks, this is real love--I get it now, how do I define myself on the other side of the country?  27, hand me down furniture, dog hair everywhere, our plates still in boxes, moving back is not as easy as I thought it would be.

30.

I thought a lot about what I am about the last few days. It began with confidence, followed by doubt, reflection, and total dialysis.

I am most aware in the car and the shower.  Times when recording my thoughts are difficult.

Sometimes I can be out of my mind with anger, intensity, and misguided passion.  And then I feel really guilty.

I am a quietly opinionated mix of liberal ideas and conservative intentions.

When I have an idea or plan, I become too focused on the details and outcome.

I try to give the benefit of the doubt.  I really do try.

I am passionate about my community, new ways of doing things, and pursuing more educational opportunities.  I think that sentence is very preachy and self-righteous.

Before I met my husband, I had a narrow view of how the world and families function.  Since him, I have a system of checks and balances.

I can be stubborn and crass.  But I am not stubborn nor crass.

I have made mistakes.  I make some people crazy.

I do not prolong suffering.

Nostalgia makes me both emotional and wary.

Expectations for others are high but highest for myself.

The core weaknesses have remained: music, cooking, gardening, photography, writing, exercise, gift giving, Labradors, forests, bodies of water, long drives, and rice krispy treats.

I am sarcastic but intending to show love.

This all feels too exposed but I make myself do it.

Often, I give too much and set myself up for disappointment.

I am a valued nurse, loving wife, devoted daughter, and awkward friend.  I would like to work on the last one but am hesitant to try.

I am changing.  I have changed.  I am well intentioned and constantly self-evaluating.

This abbreviated version is how I am at 30, so far.  Aware this is all determinant against the filters, perspectives, and experiences of those I encounter in the world.


I am not always what I was.  But, I am always, always, working on it.

I'll keep evolving.  I'll keep writing, knowing I may read the words differently down the road.  The good will always outweigh the bad, I believe.   The notebook will show up again in a place where I had already checked.  The bookshelves will fill.  We will buy more and unpack another box.  A mixture of mine, his, ours, the past, the future we haven't discovered yet.  I'll read the words of the 23 year old again and smile at how it all turned out, proud of myself for trying.   Someday, I'll reflect upon this post and gawk at what I didn't know.

I can't always put thoughts or feelings into the right words.  This blog serves the purpose to simply maintain focus, create perspective for myself, and preserve the reflections I would otherwise forget about.  It has exactly two readers, who will correct sentence structure, understand lines on the screen, and recognize the progress.  It is not a weapon, statement, or podium.

It is a message to myself to remember who you are.  Where you've been.  What you've seen.  What you've learned.  What you hope to discover.  Keep taking photos of the land you love.  Try new restaurants in every corner of the state.  Create lists and mock your attempts at completing them.  Review your years and see how far you've come.  Remember the lessons you gained in Pennsylvania.  Make mistakes. Fill your shelves and walls with a well-lived life.  Regret, then understand, then regret nothing.  Say your good-byes and look for opened arms. Hug trees.  Jump in lakes.  Don't jump in canals anymore, it's kinda dangerous.   Be honest.  Be open to it all

Keep writing. Jot it all down and see what happens.

Summer 2015

It is so hot.

Too hot.

The grass is dormant, not dead.  And no, I won't water it anymore.

But the tomatoes, they are doing very well!

Sometimes I hug the tomato plants so the smell of the vines carry inside.

I may try planting more beans and peas.  Maybe we'll have another round?

It has just begun and will end soon.

Let's keep working.

No popsicles for the neighbors this year.

But there are sunflowers for the whole neighborhood to enjoy.

Fireworks at the resort with a front row seat.

Coming home to music and pasta.

Very tan shoulders. And legs and left arm.

We will wait on a house.  We are young, wild, and free.

I write.  He reads.

The dahlias are coming.

I check my work email every few weeks.  I do miss it.

This will be the shortest summer on record.

Chamomile and rehabilitated nasturtiums.

I take pictures again.

There is a season, turn, turn, turn.

We made a list, but it can carry into the year.

I hope fall brings cooler weather.

To recap, I gardened a lot.

Down the Oregon Coast

We found our beach last December after a few summers away from our old beach.  Part of living on the East Coast is vacationing to the shore.  For us, it was always and will forever be Ocean City, MD.  I miss the soft shell crabs, rainbow umbrellas, and late night boardwalk brawls.  I knew we needed to find two important locations for K when we moved here: our bar and our beach.  The first was crossed off the list within months and now the beach is officially ours.

The day after Christmas, in between unwrapping presents and packing moving boxes, we made our first trip to Lincoln City, Oregon.  It was a trip planned way before we knew we would have to move or experience the frustration of trying to find a new place.  The trip was bad timing but it was just what we needed.   This time around, we brought our family and the dogs came along again because they did so well in the car in December.  

My dad mentioned a few times the suitable beaches we were passing on our way down.  But getting there is half the fun, I reminded myself.  It took a few hours to get to Ocean City, we should expect just as much in our new beach.

This beach does not have a boardwalk and I doubt there are soft shell crabs near by.  But it has soft, warm sand and steady waves, so it will just have to do.

We stayed for only a few days but managed to pack in some special memories.  My dad and I took the yellow pup to the beach the first night and captured the only sunset of the trip.  I joined my mom twice in the ocean, the second time we sat down on the shore letting the waves cover us.  After quite awhile on the shore, the yellow pup of mine came bounding up to us and it felt like we had bumped into a friend for a few seconds.  K and I got away and fit in an afternoon date at the local driving range. His surgically repaired wrist is doing quite well according to his golf swing.  We all slept, lounged, got sand everywhere, and took it all in.

The morning of the last day, I woke early and ventured down to the beach myself.  I dreaded the walk back up the hill but kept walking along the beach.  It was foggy, with a light drizzle, and nearly empty on the sand.  In the distance stood tall, dark rocks with promises of full tide pools.  I kept walking, knowing the distance and effort usually produced exciting results.  A local woman pointed out hidden star fish, pink and orange, clinging to the mussel laden rocks.  And as always, I was glad I walked a little farther.

We've been back a few days.  The weekend was heavy with Mike's funeral and without the constant hum of the ocean around us.  But we will be back, beach.

This Night

On this night, an old friend is dying and a new friend labors.  I toss and turn.  My husband sleeps soundly next to me, strong and resilient from the day.  The dogs, warm and tucked under the covers between us, have years promised by our side.  Counting flocks will not be sufficient tonight.  Maybe I'll keep vigil instead.

Tonight, I think about Mike exclusively.  The friend who labors is just fine, especially with the hope of a baby in her arms.  Still, to compare the birth of a baby with a life ending too soon, it is all too much.  We rushed to the hospital tonight, our plan to see him Friday eliminated.  I stroked his forehead, whispered "we are going now Mike, we will miss you, but we will see you again" in his ear, and gently kissed his hand before leaving.  His wife, Pat, so positive and sturdy, hugged us tightly.

I swallowed the tears until Pat laid in the bed with Mike and told him who had come to visit.  "You brought so many people into my life, you did so well my love," she shared. Poetic.  K later thanked me for the same, though indirectly, by moving here.  "Look at this circle of friends we have, almost like family," he said.  Though some have moved in and out, he was right.  I replied I wished we had met them all a bit sooner and danced with them at our wedding.  It seemed only right these people should be part of our biggest day.  But, our big days don't begin and end there.  The days like this night, with the friends who will stay even when gone, are just as important.  I think too often of the friendships which are lost, what had happened, what could have been done differently.  I dwell on them too much, because I miss the connection and regret the outcome.  But, that's life.  Loved ones will come and go, through choice or circumstances.  Tonight, we said good bye to one friend who will leave with our love in his ear, and I couldn't ask for anything more than that.

Tomorrow, we will be greeted with good and bad news.  Like most days.  We will continue to do the best we can with what we have and try to expect the same in those around us.  Life will march on and most of the time we will take things for granted.  This is the nature of us all.  But whenever I look down at a cup of coffee, or see a Navy hat, or hear about New Orleans cuisine, I'll think about Mike-- his booming voice, unrelenting determination, and strong embrace.  And I'll think about making the day count before I run out of opportunity. I'll look up at the sky and promise to keep fighting the fight.  Keep bringing new members into my world.  Keep trying to make my community better.  Keep counting the blessings before me.

My heart is engraved with the sights and sounds of this night.  Sleep peacefully and go forth, Councilman.  We will take it from here.