mush

My brain is mush.

nerves

Nervous.

Nervous.

Nervous.

Three things left to do:
1. Finish my personal statement.
2. Write a cover letter for each application.
3. Fill out the basic application for each school.

It seems so basic, and yet I'm scared shitless. I worry about writers block. I worry that I should have gone to get lunch before finding the perfect spot in a coffee shop that is the perfect blend of noise, people watching, and espresso. I worry about being worried. I worry that, even with verses reminding me NOT to worry tattooed on my body, I won't be able to stop.

Perhaps all I need is a deep breath of fresh air, my headphones, and the peace that comes with reminding myself to, "be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you."

this is a story about a girl named lucky*

I don't know how I got so lucky. I don't know how I ended up with so many amazing friends. Sometimes I feel like I'm being greedy, like I've taken all the legos so I can build the most amazing house and now none of the other kids have enough to build even a simple lego car.

I am, of course, too selfish to actually give any of them up. And can't imagine my life without a single one of them. And just when I think I've reached my quota, that I've maxed out my friend limit, another person finds their way into my heart over nothing more than a simple cup of coffee or a conversation about swim team and philosophy.

I really don't know how I got so lucky, but I do know that I am forever thankful for each of these amazing people. My life would not be the same without you. I would not be who I am without each and every one of you.

*Oh Britney...

beauty on the bridge

One of the things I love about Portland it its bridges. I love coming around the curve on I-5, just after I-405 splits off and takes you over the Fremont Bridge, and you can see all the bridges lined up, ready to take you from the east side of the Willamette to the west.

This morning on the bus, even before seeing the Fremont, Broadway, Steel, Burnside, Morrison, Hawthorne, Marquam, and Ross Island Bridges lined up like a welcoming committee, ready to wish me a lovely day in Portland, I happened to look up as we crossed the Columbia River via the Interstate Bridge from Washington to Oregon. Through the green I-beams I could see the silhouette of Mt. Hood back lit by this morning's sunrise. It left me speechless, not that I'm one to chat up folks on the bus, but you get the idea. I wanted to stop the bus. I wanted to ask every rider to put away their books, morning sudoku, daily crossword or paper and just LOOK. I wanted to remind them to take a deep breath and forget about what was ahead and simply enjoy the subtle changes in the pinks and oranges, to appreciate the contrast between the dark navy of the mountain and the clouds and the rich golds, pinks and blues.

As the bus rounded that favorite corner of my and proceeded along the east side of the Willamette to the Marquam Bridge I found myself searching for one last glimpse of the mountain, one last reminder that today was about more than my to-do list. But the sky was dark, and the clouds that had framed the mountain now shielded it, making me all the more grateful for the short time I was allowed to enjoy something so jaw-droppingly, mouth-shuttingly, totally-forget-your-morning-routiningly beautiful.

personal statement

I sit, winter sunlight streaming through the windows, at Ground, the closest place with wi-fi to Glenwood, Washington. I am here to write my personal statement. I arrived with the goal of a first draft, no more than 500 words, that sums up:
Me
My areas of research interest
The faculty with whom I am interested in working

I have all the necessary tools for a successful day of writing:
Headphones [currently playing my most recent purchase from iTunes]
A cup of coffee [with free refills]
Glasses [for tired eyes that squint in concentration]



Here goes nothing....

ome*

No intentional plot spoilers, especially if you've read the book. That said, read at your own risk.



Yes, of course the book was better than the movie.

That said, THE MOVIE WAS WONDERFUL! Everyone was standing outside in the freezing Northwest night air with books in hand. Some were wrapped up in blankets, others, like myself, appeared to have been so excited about getting to the theatre that they forgot their coats and gloves. [Oops.] Once they let us inside, at 9:45, I began to thaw as I passed the time by rereading New Moon, chatting occasionally with my neighbors about our opinions on who was best for Bella [EDWARD, duh], our favorite book from the saga, and, of course, the casting choices. I was able to get to my favorite chapter in New Moon [20: Volterra] just as the lights dimmed and the screen readjusted to the appropriate size for something other than multitudinous versions of the same message, "You're at a movie, don't use your phone!"

Let me break, briefly, from the Twilight love and say that the new trailer for Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince was delightful, but I still begrudge the decision to wait on the release of the movie simply for profit's sake.

And then...the production company's logo fills the screen, fades and the voice-over begins.... I thought Catherine Hardwicke did a wonderful job capturing the awkward way in which Bella and Edward's relationship evolves. While I think Edward and Bella, and the rest of the characters for that matter, look different for each person as they find themselves engrossed in the pages of Stephanie Meyer's novels, the casting was believable and...good. I was pleasantly surprised. I think my biggest disappointment in the casting department was the Cullen's house. It is described as, “painted a soft, faded white, three stories tall, rectangular and well proportioned,” with a, “deep porch that wrap[s] around the first story.” Bella guesses it is a hundred years old and characterizes it as, “timeless, graceful.” The house they chose was beautiful, but almost the antithesis of Bella's description in everything but the openness and exceptional number of windows.

It was a wonderful way to spend an evening turned very early morning. I loved the scenic shout-outs to places that I see on a semi-frequent basis [Haystack Rock, Multnomah Falls and the Columbia River Gorge to name a few]. I loved that the sweetly chaste relationship between Edward and Bella [mostly] survived Hollywood. I loved it, all of it, including the tired eyes that greeted me in the mirror this morning.



*Oh My Edward

obsessed

Okay. I admit it. I'm a little obsessed with The Twilight Saga. I know, I know, me and every other 14 year old, and of course all the Twilight Moms. I've read the books. I'm working my way through the saga for a second time having finally gotten the first book back from my Sister. You also may have noticed that I have a little counter on my blog. Yes, I do realize that it's set to EST. Whatever. I don't even care. I can add three hours even in the midst of my excitement.

And I'm going to the midnight showing tonight.

seagulls

Whenever it's stormy on the Oregon coast you can tell because the seagulls decide to make their home further inland. I used to get annoyed because they'd fly everywhere, dig through the trash cans and I was always worried they'd poop on my head [because my sister Clare had seagulls poop on her twice in one day years ago]. Now the sound of seagulls elicits a different response. I hear their squawking and it tugs at my heart just a little. I am reminded of walks down the the village with BFF, cups of coffee from Toot's warming our wind chilled hands. I think of early morning runs with Mat Karney in my ears and the sunrise along East Cliff to encourage me and keep me company. I'm not so worried that they'll poop on my head any more either, but I think that has to do more with familiarity and less to do with statistical probability.

come down to the water

Over a year ago a friend introduced me, through brief and thought provoking quotes posted on MySpace pages and as signature lines at the ends of emails, to the beautiful words of Annie Dillard. I will confess that I have yet to read an entire book or essay of hers. Regardless of that fact I still manage to catch snippets of her insightful observations of the world around us. This morning I picked up Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, a Father's Day gift I gave my dad this year. The corner of page 10 was bent, and I turned to see what Annie had to say. Half way through page 11 I stumbled upon something that resonated with me and with the drive I made to and from White Salmon yesterday.

"At the time of Lewis and Clark, setting the prairies on fire was a well-know signal that meant, 'Come down to the water.' It was an extravagant gesture, but we can't do less. If the landscape reveals one certainty, it is that the extravagant gesture is the very stuff of creation. After the one extravagant gesture of creation in the first place, the universe has continued to deal exclusively in extravagances, flinging intricacies and colossi down aeons of emptiness, heaping profusions on profligacies with ever-fresh vigor. The whole show has been on fire from the word go. I come down to the water to cool my eyes, but everywhere I go I see fire; that which isn't flint is tinder, and the whole world sparks and flames."






Doesn't that just...leave you speechless?

Doesn't that just make you want to run outside and take everything in!?

Remember when you were little and you would examine everything? There's that picture of you from when you were three and you're squatting above the driveway with a rock inches from your nose. Or maybe your shoulder deep in grass with a leaf pinched between your chubby two year old fingers. Or you've got one of those cheap plastic magnifying glasses and you're examining a flower.

What happened? When did the extravagant intricacies of life become common place? When did I begin focusing on the center line and staying in my lane? Why did I stop pulling over to the side of the road so I could really stop and take in the beauty around me?

I have realized, after being back in the Pacific NW, how beautiful the leaves are as their changing colors marks the changing of the seasons. The leaves of the trees are these incredibly rich shades of gold, auburn, maroon, and orange. Some are all four and still manage to have a hint of green at the stem. How did I forget that leaves did this? It took removing myself from them for three years to reintroduce the response of profound amazement at their fantastical beauty.

And it's not just the leaves.

It.
Is.
Everywhere.

We just have to look, to notice the extravagances of creation, to notice that "the whole world is sparks and flames."

daydreams

I can still remember the first time I doodled my first name and someone else's last name. I was in my freshmen IB English class at Columbia River High School and my bird shaped / faced [ostrich / toucan] teacher was rambling on about...I don't know...english? Since that spring day in 1997 I've gone from being Mrs. Haley _______ to being Mrs. Haley Cloyd-_______ [or Mrs. Haley _______-Cloyd]. Two weeks ago I scrawled out the most exciting one of them all: Dr. Haley Cloyd. Not Dr. Haley ________ or Dr. Haley Cloyd-_______ [or Dr. Haley _______-Cloyd]. Simply Dr. Haley Cloyd. Me. Just as I am, at least in first and last name, and who I am aspiring to become, a doctor, a PhD.

The idea is terrifying and exhilarating. Walking through the campus of one of the schools to which I am applying today, I was struck by this thought: "Professor Cloyd, how long does our mid-term paper have to be?" My breath caught in my chest and I smiled remembering the response of a favorite college professor: "As long as it needs to be for you to make your point." The next thought almost made me trip: "Students will call me Dr. Cloyd."

I used to imagine altered daily routines that included another person,a husband--my husband. And while those daydreams still exist and still occur, these new dreams exist. Now I am playing out scenarios that involve office hours spent meeting with nervous undergrads and grading stacks of papers. I imagine observational studies and I find myself contemplating various areas of research interest. I make mental lists of academics I could partner with in my research. I imagine wearing [attractive, fashion forward] tweed jackets with trouser jeans and boots as I walk around the front of a lecture hall extolling the positives and negatives of behavioral psychology. I picture the shocked looks on the faces of my students as I regale them with tales of psychological experiments prior to the introduction of ethical standards and committees.

I am terrified because every day I am actively pursuing this dream.

I am exhilarated because every day I am actively pursuing this dream.

GREat

I just scheduled my GRE. My heart was beating so fast the entire time. I think I even got a little sweaty. I have decided to take it on a Friday, and I have decided to take that day off of work.

Did you know it costs $140 to take the GRE?! I know. Me either. I was a little shocked.

Is it worth it? Of course it is.

Here is an excerpt from an email I wrote to Rosemary a few weeks ago. It pretty accurately describes how this whole GRE / applying to grad school / pursuing my dreams experience feels for me:

"Studying for the GREs...sort of. I hate studying for tests that I don't want to take. I hate studying for tests that I don't want to take but know I HAVE to take even more. But the more I think about going back to school and the more I walk through the Portland State campus, which I do every day on my way to and from the bus to work, I get more and more excited about going back. Really what it all boils down to is being afraid. Yes. I am afraid of applying to grad school. Why? Because I want it so badly that I'm scared they will say no. Why would they say no? Because they get hundreds of applicants. Or at least more than their program can hold. So I am scared. And it feels a little like I'm at the edge of this amazing cliff looking down into the deepest most beautiful pool of water. All I want to do is jump in. It's hot up on the cliff and the water is so cool and inviting. But it's quite a distance from the cliff to the water, and I'm not sure I can jump. I go back and forth between being ready to jump, scared and screaming out of fear, excitement and exhilaration, and staying on the ledge, somewhat safe, but altogether annoyed with life on the ledge."

ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh

Just met with the head of the Applied Psychology Graduate Admissions Committee.

I was SO NERVOUS.

It went SO WELL. [So good?]

I'm all jittery and nervous, but in a much better way than I was before meeting with him.

Holy crap.

furious

There are plenty of things to get riled up about as the election draws near. I can't even begin to get into it because I will be here until November 4. At least. But here's what I know, this:



makes me furious.

And in case you want to know what other Alaskan women think about Sarah Barracuda, check out what another Alaskan I am so proud to call my dear friend has to say.

More rantin' later. You folks have a great weekend. Wink!

ravelry

I. AM. OBSESSED.

SERIOUSLY.

I recently discovered Ravelry, like a Facebook for knitters and crocheters. And now all I want to do is look up patterns and see what other people are making. I have too many other things to do right now to be looking up knitting patterns and starting [MORE] projects.

To Do Instead of Ravelry List:
Study for the GREs
Fill out grad school apps
Find an apartment

But Ravelry, and knitting, bring me so much JOY!

If only I could clone myself. Or be independently wealthy. I guess for now I will have to content myself with Raveling on my lunch breaks and during the weekend when I can't possibly click on another Craigslist link or complete another GRE practice test without going [even more] crazy.

dates

The very first movie I went to see by myself was Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, or maybe it was The Two Towers. Regardless, I went by myself to the only movie theatre in St Andrews, and I remember being so aware every time I jumped or laughed. It was so different being at a movie by myself. I wouldn't consider myself a big talker at the movies, but I definitely like to confer with whoever is with me. Instead when I was scared or startled I would squeeze my own hand rather than my friend's.

Since then I've come to love going to movies by myself. There are movies that, after seeing the previews, I designate as movies to see by myself. Sometimes I see movies alone because I want to escape from what ever's going on around me:
The Devil Wears Prada
Miss Potter

Others I see because I know no one else wants to see them:
National Treasure: Book of Secrets [don't judge me]

And others I see because there's no one else I'd rather see it with. Because I know that I am in need of some quality Haley Time:
Mona Lisa Smile
Love Actually
Sex and the City
Burn After Reading

Two weekends ago I took my movie dates to a whole new level. I took myself out to dinner first.

It was amazing. I spent a good hour trying to decide what to wear. Hey, I wanted to look good for my date. I wore heels. I did my make up. I wore perfume. And I chose a nice restaurant. I got a bit of a thrill as I said, "Table for one," to the hostess.

I'm not saying I don't like going to movies or dinner or dinner and a movie with friends, or even with someone else in a situation that would qualify as a date. I do. There are just times when girl needs to get dressed up for no one but herself.

care package

I have this friend who has done--who IS DOING--this amazing thing. She is following her dreams, she is pursuing passions.

We had a conversation almost two months ago about the courage it takes to chase after that which inspires you. And after our conversation I decided she might need some tangible encouragement.

So I set about putting together a little care package (one could also call it an "I'm so proud of you package") for her. Among other things her care package contains these handwarmers:

She asked about my ability to make them several months before I moved away, and I told her I wasn't sure that I could, but I would try.

To be honest I didn't know if I could make them when I first picked up my needles and started casting on what would become the cuff of the first handwarmer. But the thing about Erica Stubblefield is that by going after her dreams she inspires me to chase after mine...knitting or otherwise.

PS. Sending the package tomorrow, so don't say anything if you see her.

ten more

BOSS: Instead of 30 hours a week, how about 40?
HKC: Definitely.

you are here

The passage of time is something that has always amazed me. A minute can pass so incredibly slowly, and yet it seems as though all I've done is blink and an entire year has gone by. How on earth did that happen?

I look at where my life was a year ago, what I thought I saw when I looked off into the distance, squinting my eyes to see the horizon.

Where I am is not what I thought I saw.

While 365 days ago my current location was not something I considered, I am so thankful for the journey that brought me from there to here.

It has been a process of putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes a sprint, straining to go as far as my legs would carry me as fast as they would carry me. At other times I've struggled on hands and knees, laboring to see the ground beneath me as tears blurred my tired vision. Now I walk, not too fast, but with purpose.

This difficult, beautiful, arduous journey has taught me to be where I am, to look at my surroundings. Because this place that I am, it may be the only time I get to be here. So I breathe deep, remember the smells, listen intently, and try to be content with being here.

It is not where I thought I would be, but I cannot pretend to be anywhere else but where I am, and so: I am here.

um...yes.

Conversation with boss yesterday:
HKC I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be looking for another part-time job. I would, of course, love to have all my hours be here, but I know you're not in a position to do that yet.
Boss Thank you for the heads up. We're just not at a place we can bring you on full-time. I think we will in the future though. Thank you for letting me know.

Conversation with cousin this morning:
HKC Hey, if you think of it you could pray for me this afternoon. I'm heading into Powell's to see if they have any part-time jobs. Their website says they don't, but maybe that's just because they haven't met me yet.
EAC Of course! That'd be so great if you got to work there. Then you could walk to both of your jobs.
HKCI know!

Conversation with boss this morning:
Boss Did you have a good night.
HKC I did, very relaxing. Thanks.
Boss[sits down] So...would you like more hours?
HKC Umm...yes!
Boss I talked with Other Boss yesterday and she said she really thinks she's going to need your help. How does 30 hours sound to you?
HKC Thirty sounds great! That would be wonderful!
Boss It might even turn into 40, but it will start at 30. Does next week work for you?
HKC Next week is perfect! Oh my goodness! Can I give you a hug?

Conversation with God this morning:
HKC:thankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYou
thankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYou!!!!!

Dreams as a result of all the aforementioned conversations:
Cute little studio [NoPo, SE, The Pearl]
Decorating cute little studio [curtains, art, photos]
Bookshelves [most of my books have been locked up in boxes for far too long]
My bed [it's literally been years since I slept in it]
Having you over for dinner

enlightenment

Nothing like my cousin Lizzy, and the Pacific Ocean crashing at Windwhistle's feet to enlighten my thoughts and put my heart at ease...