day 1: a perfect excuse

I awoke this morning to the sound of rain on my window. "Cold," I thought. "Wet," I thought. "Maybe Erin won't want to go running because it's raining," I thought.

"NO." The voice of reason broke through the excuses. "You are FROM Portland. You LOVE working out in the rain. Don't you remember bragging to all your friends in California how rain always made you feel like going for a nice long run? Today is your day to PROVE IT."

"Well," I thought, "when you put it that way, IT IS ON."

As I got ready for work this morning I packed my bag with all my favorite gear for running in the rain. I smiled as I walked out the door, dressed for work, with my gym bag over my shoulder, knowing that at the end of the day, after polite phone conversations and long task lists were completed, I would get to be muddy, wet and tough.

And that is the perfect excuse for a run in the rain.

brief introduction

Randomly surfing the interweb a week or so ago I came upon the website Social Workout. They had an interesting post up about the April Body of Work Challenge in which those participating agree to work out for 26 of the 30 days of April, and then blog about it.

I had three thoughts almost simultaneously:
1. I've been wanting an extra push to get in shape for Ultimate.
2. I've been wanting to challenge myself when I write.
3. Twenty-six days is A LOT of days.

But I signed up anyway.

Today is April first and I have my gym bag sitting in the corner of my office awaiting my 5:30 workout date.

The site has it's own blogging forum, so I will be posting there. But I will be reposting my blogs here as well.

peas in a pod

I love these two. Clare. Lizzy. They are amazing. The best. Two of my best and closest friends. We are all related in some way or another, but really I'm pretty sure God made us triplets and then gave us to different mothers because He knew that finding our way back into each others lives was part of what would make us so close.

At a time when my life feels BEYOND crazy, these two ground me and understand me when I feel like I'm floating off into space speaking anything but coherently. Even though we live in different states, have different jobs, different relationship statuses, somehow our lives overlap just enough that we totally get it. Lizzy can call me upside down and empty and I get it. I can email Clare devastated and lonely and she gets it. Clare calls just needing to hear the voice of someone who loves her and we get it.

It is SO GOOD to get and to be gotten.

life plans

A texting conversation with Lizzy:

Me: What on earth am I doing with my life?

Lizzy: Waiting

Me: Today I am discouraged by all the waiting.

Lizzy: Understandable

Me: Can you fix it?

Lizzy: What can you change this week?

Me: Actively praying about my next step, not just when I'm overwhelmed.*

Lizzy: What can you physically do that would make you feel better? Spend an evening at a restaurant with friends, go to Powell's and dream, etc?

Me: Go to the gym. Dreaming I think is a good idea as well. It's weird to think about something was so assuredly going to happen...and then it doesn't.

Lizzy: I thought I was going to marry Jason for sure. So so so glad I was wrong.

Me: Very good point. So much good has come from things I wanted not happening. Maybe this is another one of those times.

Me: Also, I am going to blog our conversation. Is it okay if I include what you said about Jason?

Lizzy: Absolutely. I don't think he reads your blog. :)

Me: Ha. Good point. Some days it's so easy to see that this is part of the plan. Today doesn't feel like one of those days.

Lizzy: I'm exhausted too. Mentally and emotionally

Me: See, you're really who I want to meet up with and have time with this week.


*While I will be actively praying about all of this, prayer being my answer to her question was a total cop-out/BS answer, and Lizzy knew it. Man, I love her.

robert frost

Two roads converged in a wood and I,
I took the one less traveled by...

And that has made all the difference.

I find myself not so much feeling lost as floating, drifting.

On the phone today my mom told me she would love to hear my timeline for future school plans whenever I was ready to share them. I told her, without trying to hide any of the exhaustion [emotional, physical and spiritual] that has enveloped me today like a blanket, that I did not currently have a timeline.

I recognize that at this point in my life I am at a crossroads. I have the option of putting one foot in front of the other and continuing on in the day-to-day things that routinely present themselves [get up, make my bed, make breakfast, shower, do my dishes, go to work, go to the gym, come home, make dinner, do my dishes, go to bed, repeat]. And I have the option of looking up, looking around, and finding the scenery that calls to me, that invites me in, that suits me most, suits me best.

It is easier to, when so plagued by exhaustion, look down and put one foot in front of the other and continue with my daily routine. It is easy to rest in the comfort of my daily routine, even when it is not what I genuinely desire to do now or in the future. My displeasure in the day to day takes its tole, yes, but it is slow, and seemingly painless [at least at first, like a small internal wound that slowly leaches blood into your cranial cavity, the sort of unattended bleeding that leads to strokes and aneurysm].

The effort of searching for that path in the wood that is best suited to who I am is taxing almost instantly [like the sudden blood loss that results from a flesh wound, messy and difficult to control at first, but easily healed with proper attention]. It takes its tole blatantly, unapologetically draining my energy. But not my strength.

proof

I am a nerd. I am. And I have decided it is time to stop hiding my nerdiness from you. For some of you, as you read this you're thinking, "Yeah, cause you really had me fooled. How many times did you see/read Twilight again?" Others of you are thinking, "Really?"

REALLY.

Area you ready for proof? You may want to sit down.

I LOVE Battlestar Galactica [heretofore referred to as BSG].

I will pause as you commence with as many Jim ridiculing Dwight for his love of BSG quotes fromThe Office as you can possibly come up with. Ready? Go...

...

...

Okay. Now, I know you think that was it. You think I'm done. You're saying to yourself, "Wow. That's pretty nerdy." But it gets nerdier my friends. Are you ready? If you've already sat down, maybe just recline a bit. Or perhaps get yourself a glass of water or some smelling salts. Because...

I am knitting myself Viper Pilot Socks. Socks inspired by the end of Season Three of BSG. Now if I had discovered this pattern and BSG sooner, I would most likely be attempting to make them for this Friday's BSG two hour series finale, just like my current favorite knitting blogger Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. Unfortunately that did not happen. The good news is that I have all of BSG: Razor, BSG Seasons 4.0 and 4.2.

Maybe you're asking yourself why on earth this could possibly be good news. Why is this further immersion into nerd-dom a good idea? Well, firstly because it's important to be who you are. [HA! Didn't know I was going to go all big-life-lesson on you, did you?] And secondly it will give me plenty of time to frack up and still be able to wear them when I have my own little BSG series finale party.

...or today

"Thank you for your application to graduate studies in the Department of Psychology at Portland State University. This past year the Department received a very large and well-qualified pool of applicants for its Masters and Doctorate programs in Psychology. Due to funding limitations, it was only possible to accept a small portion of these applicants into our program. Unfortunately, despite your strengths, we are not able to accept you into the program at this time."

Well...there you have it.

Yes, of course I've cried. Just shortly after writing to my dear friend Sarah that I hadn't cried yet, I closed my office door and let a few out. I'm sure there will be more later.

But here is what I know. I KNOW that being rejected by the University of Oregon and Portland State University is no accident. I KNOW that there is purpose behind all of this. There are things laid out before me to do that I would not have done if I were enrolled in either of those programs. I am equally and simultaneously overwhelmed by disappointment and peace.

Thank you all for your support, prayers, excellent editing skills, encouragement, and love. While I may have threatened relocation to foreign countries, fear not. It is not [yet] time for that particular adventure.

And so I leave you with the words that were the first I sought and clung to after reading Portland State's letter:

Psalm 13--For the director of music. A psalm of David.

How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;

my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing to the LORD,
for he has been good to me.

within the week

I just called Portland State.

I will know whether or not I have been accepted to grad school within the week.

I will now go hyperventilate.

community

I have been longing for community. Close-knit, like a warm sweater made from Malabrigo's kettle dyed merinos. Inviting and familiar, like a favorite coffee shop on Saturday morning, or a favorite book with bent page corners and a creased spine. Safe and warm, like a bed with cozy sheets and a thick down comforter. And authentic, like something so genuine it is without simile.

I am, after moving away from just such a community 290 days ago [has it really been that long dear friends?], finally starting to find, create and build that here, in my old / new hometown. And it is GOOD. Good in an "and it was good" God creating the universe sort of way. I mean, I am most certainly NOT God, but this community, these people are surely gifts from Him. These people, though not many, are incredible. Some are new friends, recently discovered. Others are old, and we are slowly learning how we fit into each others lives again.

The process is beautiful, painful, breathtaking, and arduous. But most of all it is worth it. Because I do not just believe we were created for community, I KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt that we were created to be in community with one another from our first breath to our last. And, as someone who loves her community fiercely, passionately, loyally, it is GOOD to be part of one again.

pop secret

I love popcorn. Seriously. I love it. Not crappy movie popcorn. Not those ridiculously large tins of popcorn that ALWAYS, no matter what they look like on the outside, contain cheesey popcorn, buttered popcorn, and caramel popcorn. Plain microwave popcorn will do in a pinch. BUT really what I love is popping corn in a thick bottomed pan with plenty of vegetable oil.

A few weeks ago I was headed out to meet some friends to see a movie [cough "Twilight" for the fourth time cough, cough]. Knowing I did NOT want movie popcorn* I considered making and bringing my own, but was dissuaded not by ethics but difficulty of transport. What that trip to the movies did do [along with further cementing my obsession with Twilight...cause I needed help] was give me the following gem of an idea: vegetable oil infused with cumin.

It wasn't until last night that I actually tried the idea. And you know what? It was even better than I expected.



*Did you know a small bag of movie popcorn WITHOUT butter has more calories AND fat than a BIG MAC? And in case you have an extra $17.50 to spring for the large popcorn, you just ate more calories than if you'd chowed down on ONE DOZEN Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts. Just thought you should know.

cloud

I feel sorry for the Pitney Bowes employee I spoke with yesterday. Not because I was rude, or difficult. I was never, nor am I ever [wink] either of those things when dealing with customer service [wink, wink] representatives. I feel sorry for her because she had no idea the can of worms she opened when she said, "I bet you can't wait to get married so you can change your last name to your husband's."

Poor girl.

She didn't, of course, say it unprompted. The conversation went something like this:

PB Rep: Thank you for calling Pitney Bowes, please tell me your name and how I can assist you."

HKC: My name is Haley Cloyd, and I'm calling about our account.

PB Rep: Alright, and can you spell that for me Haley?

HKC: Sure. It's H-A-L-E-Y C-L-O-Y-D.

PB Rep: Alright Ms. Cloud, how can I help you today?

HKC: Oh, actually it's pronounced Cloyd, you know, rhymes with Lloyd.

PB Rep: Oh, sorry.

HKC: No worries. It's happened my whole life.

PB Rep: I bet you can't wait to get married so you can change your last name to your husband's.

Long pause...

HKC: Oh, well actually I plan on hyphenating, ideally both of us would hyphenate.

Longer pause...

PB Rep: Oh...well...um...yeah. I guess people are doing that these days...

Us crazy girls and our new fangled ideas these days. An additional note on this topic, Sarah Swanson-Dexel [yes, she AND her lovely husband, AND their darling daughters all have hyphenated last names] said to me in one of our first conversations, "not every guy will. But the right ones will." Love her. Love them. Love these new fangled ideas floating around inside my head.

ready

I never thought I would say this, but...

I AM READY FOR SPRING.

Me. Haley Kristine Cloyd. Who LOVES the rainy, cold, wet weather of the Pacific Northwest. Who loves sweaters, and blankets, and wool socks, and skirts with boots and tights [obsessed with that combo actually].

Or maybe it is that I am simply dissatisfied with the warm clothing options available to me on a regular basis. I only have a few skirts. There are only a small number of really warm sweaters [that I like] on my shelves. Perhaps if I had one or two more skirts, and another wool [or cashmere] sweater [or six]...perhaps this would nip this longing for spring in the bud.

Or perhaps California has ruined me. Or maybe not so much me as my wardrobe. There were plenty of adorable sweaters and wool skirts for sale there, but much less reason to purchase and wear them. It could also be that Vogue and Elle and all my favorite fashion blogs are highlighting the spring and summer trends [trends: there is no trend.].

Whatever the culprit, I want short sleeves, gauzy jersey cotton dresses, leather sandals, and cuffed jeans that show off painted toes just visible through peep-toe slingbacks. But alas, I will don my wool trench over my two long sleeved shirts, my sweater, my skirt, my tights, and my boots [inside which you will find warm socks tucked away for extra warmth]. I will make sure I have both gloves and hat waiting inside my purse, just in case. And I will hope and pray that it doesn't rain because wet and cold or not, I still CANNOT bring myself to purchase an umbrella.

sublet

I think that by now most of you who read my ramblings already know this, but in case you don't, I moved. FINALLY. I moved to Portland. Not just the Portland area which really meant living in Vancouver with my parents. But really moved to Portland.

I am living in a house, subletting a room while the home's owner and room's occupant is in Guatemala with his girlfriend enjoying The WWOOF program and the rest of the wonderful things Guatemala has to offer.

I have two roommates and a cat. I see the cat more than I see my roommates, and I clean the house more than I see my roommates.

The house is in a great location. My roommates, though not as clean as I might like, are very nice. The cat, named Bunny, is crazy and sleeps on my bed every night. The entire experience has instilled in me an enormous desire to find my own place and fill it with roommates I love, art we all enjoy, and clean every Saturday.

The house also has a mailbox. If you would like something from you to arrive in said mailbox here is my address:
Haley Cloyd
3630 SE 37th Ave
Portland, OR 97202

I [almost] always write back.

fafsa

Guess what.

Today I finished filling out and submitted my FAFSA. To me it feels like a really big deal. Now I feel like I can call Portland State and say, "Dude. When do I get to know?"

Okay, I probably won't say it quite like that. But I feel like I have ALL of my ducks, not just my application ducks, in a row. I have done everything on my end to prepare for acceptance into their program.

An incomplete and unsubmitted FAFSA has also been my excuse for NOT calling to ask Portland Sate, "Dude. When do I get to know?" I guess that means I no longer have any excuses.

Okay. That's not entirely true. I could make the excuse that I want to wait for Tom to check the post office box in case they sent it between now and the last time he checked it.

Maybe you're wondering why on earth I would sit here and make excuses. Maybe you think it's silly. Maybe you would have called them ages ago. Guess what? You're not me. And if you WERE me I were you I would probably tell you the same thing. But it's different when you're the one--when I'm the one sitting here quaking in my boots that today are actually laceless Chuck Taylors embellished with men's ties.

Will report on aforementioned quaking, possible excuses, and "Dude. When do I get to know?" soon.

lentil soup

It is Lent. And, other than knowing people sometimes give stuff up for Lent, I've never really looked into what the season of Lent is all about. A few weeks ago a fleeting thought brought the upcoming Lenten season to mind. My next thought was, "what should I give up?" My thought after that was, "should I really give something up if I don't really understand the reason for the practice?"

I'm a fairly intelligent person. It was easy enough to deduce the basic idea behind Lent. It lasts 40 days. Jesus went to the desert and was tempted and fasted for 40 days. Ta da. But I wanted to REALLY get what I was participating in. It is too easy to blindly participate in just about everything, including religious tradition. I am tired of blindly participating. If I am part of something I want to know why.

We took a break from the current series at church last week and I learned enough about the Lenten season to feel like I could participate and tell someone why I was participating in this season of fasting. I even went to the Ash Wednesday service last week, something I'd never done. It was something I didn't understand and had never participated in. Having had my questions about Lent answered I figured I would go and find out more about why everyone left the services with black crosses smudged onto their foreheads.

Here is what I know thus far: I do not often sit and consider my sinful nature. I do not often think about just how far from God I am without the grace and sacrifice of Jesus to reconcile me to God. But I have decided that it is a very good thing to be told, "remember you are dust and to dust you shall return." Just as it is good to be told, "go forth and be faithful unto Christ."

erica sue

About two months before I finished working at Mount Hermon, right around the time I realized that almost all the people I knew in Santa Cruz were leaving, I went to Starbucks. I went to Starbucks to meet this girl, Erica, who would be one of my bosses for the Summer Intern Program at Twin Lakes Church. I was sure she was quiet, conservative both politically and socially, and that I would just have to make the best of the summer I spent working under her. Approximately two minutes into our first, of many coffee date I realized I was completely wrong.

It is almost three years later and I still marvel at the gift her friendship is, THE GIFT ERICA IS. I am not going to try to put into words why I love her, why I'm so happy she was born 26 years ago TODAY. Not because I don't want to. I just can't. I've been sitting here trying to, and all the words I put together into these things we call sentences fall short of the mark.

Here is what I know:
Erica is so amazing at loving people, including the people who are hard for her to love. It is inspiring to experience.

Erica is an incredible photographer. It's not just that her pictures are beautiful, it's that she captures the essence of a relationship in her photographs.

Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers is one of Erica's favorite books.

Erica loves to listen to the same song over and over and over [and over and over].

Erica came into my life at the perfect time. I didn't think I had room for another close friend, and then we met for coffee. I realized that I had this place in my life, in my heart just waiting patiently for her to arrive.

My dear sweet friend, Erica Sue, I adore you. I cannot imagine my life without you, without your friendship. A very, very happy birthday to you BFF.

forget the scrubbing bubbles

We repainted and rearranged the office last week. Doing so meant we got to clean under, on top of, and around much that rarely sees a vacuum or dusting cloth. I loved it. Because I love cleaning. Especially when I am cleaning something other than my room / house. This major cleaning project brought to my attention my two new favorite cleaning products:
WHITE VINEGAR:
White vinegar cleans surfaces, floors, windows [oh my goodness, they sparkle!]. You need an empty spray bottle, white vinegar and water. Fill the bottle with a 1:1 ratio of vinegar and water [that means half vinegar and half water]. Spray on your dirtiest surfaces and enjoy the fact that you don't to wear gloves because it's just vinegar and water. You can also use it in your laundry! Add it to the rinse cycle [or be lazy and just add it at the beginning and you'll be fine]. It acts as a fabric softener and reduces static cling! It can also be used to pre-treat stains. Bonus: Enjoy the fact that vinegar is approximately $4.00 / gallon.

BAKING SODA:
Baking soda is an abrasive. It cleans things you would normally clean with Ajax or Comet [except maybe toilets*]. It is also incredibly satisfying to use in white sinks or tubs because it becomes this really grimy color as whatever you are cleaning gets brighter and whiter. It's also fantastic at making stainless steel pans gleam. Bonus: It's a deodorizer so instead of a kitchen or bathroom that smells like bleach, it just smells so fresh and so clean, clean.

Seriously. These two products are incredible. Buy them.

Use them.

Love them.




*Method makes wonderful toilet cleaner and soap scum spray. They're natural and don't hurt the groundwater. With all the money you'll save buying baking soda and white vinegar you can splurge a bit on the Method products.

dreary and tired

It is dreary out today. And I am tired.

I think most of this tiredness would go away if I could just enjoy this dreary day the way it is meant to be enjoyed: outside, wearing rainboots, stomping through puddles, with a hot cup of cocoa waiting at the end.

When my sister Lauren and I were little we would go outside and play in the rain together. We had this idea that if we were soaking wet enough our mom would make us hot chocolate. So as we made our way home, no matter how wet we were from playing in the rain, we would stop under trees and take turns shaking water from the leaves onto one another. We would find hedges and roll along them, attempting to absorb as much water into our already wet clothes as we could.

Sometimes we got hot chocolate. Sometimes we didn't. I wonder why we didn't just ask if we could have some.

her morning elegance

I was made aware of this beautiful piece of creativity after reading Reb's most recent blog post. I have been listening to it over and over all day. I have been sneaking glances at it in between projects.




It makes me dream of love, makes me long for love.

It makes me wish I was surrounded by yarn instead of files, makes me wish I had paintbrushes in my hands instead of a keyboard under my fingers.

It makes me want to nest, makes me want to create.

It makes me want to surround myself with sweet music, beautiful people, and lovely things.

It makes me want to have you over for tea and scones while the rain drops fall and time passes by, deliciously sweet, as it can only pass for those who understand the precious dreams written in each others hearts.

they say it's your birthday

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR SISTERPOOP!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!



I am beyond thankful for you. There are no words that come close to describing just how very much I love you and how much you mean to me. But, of course, I am going to try. You are such an incredible human being. It is a privilege to be your sister, your friend, and to accompany you on your journey. I cannot believe you are TWENTY-THREE. I'm not quite sure how that happened.

I love you. By some miracle I go not just what I wanted, but what I needed. Thank you so much for who you are.

thomas kinkade

I cannot stand the paintings of Thomas Kinkade*. Painter of light my ass. They always seem so phoney. Like really bad photoshopping, but with paint. Really, have you ever seen a Tudor cottage with a working waterwheel in a meadow with the sun shining just so? Neither have I. Also, he looks creepy.

But. This morning, on my way to work. I saw it. I saw what good old Tom has been trying to paint for years. But it was beautiful because it was real. There was no Tudor style cottage. No ridiculous meadow or century old street with glowing gas lamps. Just pinks and oranges peeking through gray clouds and fog that hovered above the small sail, house, and motorboats docked on a small tributary of the Columbia River. The sunlight was splayed out in front of these various boats as it was reflected on the water.

Just real sunlight. Real clouds. Real fog. Real boats. And real beauty.



*If Thomas Kinkade is your favorite painter then I have two things to say to you:
1. No offense.
2. Let's go to a real art museum sometime and get you educated.

no ducks

I heard back from the University of Oregon last week. By email.

"Dear Haley Cloyd,
We regret to inform you that your application for admission to the Counseling Psychology Program at the University of Oregon was not accepted."

Et cetera.

Eight spots. One hundred sixty applicants. Statistically speaking it makes sense.

I am still a little pissed. My ego is [definitely] still a little bruised. But people get rejected from graduate programs all the time.

I was just hoping I would be one of the few who was spared from that particular form of rejection.

It is far too easy to wallow when I think about that email. [Yes, email.] But the fact of the matter is that I DO NOT WANT TO WALLOW.

I want to continue looking forward, squinting at the sun that is slowly rising above my horizon, shedding light onto my future that has been waiting in shadow.

like dogs with peanut butter

what i read...

Why does it take so long for those blogs to update?

Because I KNOW that Erica has new pictures up. But it says that her site was updated three days ago. Lies.

Grrr.

oh my gosh! it's eight o'clock!

I was never much for sleeping in. Even when I was a teenager. Sure, I had my days where I managed to sleep till 10:00 or even 11:00. There may have even been a day or two where I actually woke up when the post meridian hours, but those few instances were usually due to my staying up until 3:00 or 4:00.

After a week full of falling asleep after 23:00 [11:00PM] and mornings of my alarm waking me before 5:30, it was delightful to know there would be no semi-melodic-bad-90s-synth music coming from my phone at hours too early for pretty faces to be awake. Instead I fell asleep to "Arrested Development" next to my wonderful sister Clare.

Really, she is delightful and one of my favorite people in the whole wide world, and also one of my favorite bed buddies. When we [both] still lived at home we had separate rooms, but frequently ended up having mid-week sleep overs. It was something our parents would not have allowed with any other friend because it was a school night, but we were sisters, so it was like a loophole.

Last night after a long work week I huffed it over to the train station dragging my too-full suitcase, laptop and purse. One on time [for once], three and a half hour train ride later my lovely sister met me at the King Street Train Station in Seattle, Washington. There were hugs, love, Arrested Development, and we even managed to sleep in until the beautiful hour of 8:00.

particular

I am very particular, when given the option, about the mug from which I drink my coffee [and maybe about a few...okay more than a few other things]. There was a time when Genesis had a large bin full of old mugs. The Genesis family members could drink their Sunday morning coffee from those mugs instead of using styrofoam, and later paper, cups. I had a favorite mug in those days. I used to keep it at my desk during the week because I enjoyed drinking from it so much.

Then one day it disappeared. I was sad, but in the chaos of packing to leave I didn't think too much about it. And it saved me the guilt I would have felt if I'd taken the mug as a souvenir. I discovered later that one of those near and dear to me had a similar thought and kept if for herself in memory of me and my love for it:



That would be Mrs. Erica Sue Stubblefield, folks. I remember discovering her thievery after leaving California and being so touched.

This last weekend while staying at her house I went to the cupboard to find the perfect mug for tea [throat coat in particular because I did so much talking with friends my throat was sore]. I had completely forgotten that she had the mug at her house and was so excited to revisit it. I used it for all my beverages that weekend. I even took a commemorative picture:



Yes. It is [almost] exactly like Erica's. Yes. That is on purpose.

I love you friend, in all your thievery. And even though Santa Cruz was lonely without you, this mug helped keep my metaphorical cup very full.

santa cruz, l + c, and sunshine

I had the chance to go to Santa Cruz this last weekend to celebrate two of my friends getting married. It was wonderful, and amazing, and sunny, and full of time with places I love and have missed. Most importantly though it was filled with PEOPLE I love and miss.

I spent Friday mostly by myself enjoying [too much] coffee from Verve, tacos from the Palomar taco bar, and the sights and sounds of downtown Santa Cruz. I'd forgotten about all the drum circles and impromptu jam sessions that take place on all available street corners and benches, and what a willing audience they find in the folks that stroll along Pacific. I also ran into [a.k.a. total divine appointment] to Kim Brunenger at Verve. I was starting my third cup of coffee and just on my way out when I saw her. It was...a gift really. Our conversation was an incredible introduction to my weekend in Santa Cruz.

Lacy and Christian's wedding was the impetus for my trip, and it was such a beautiful celebration of their love and commitment to each other. Highlights from the wedding:
Chance [Lacy's nephew, the ring bearer] walking dejectedly down the aisle pulling faces at every camera trying to get a decent picture of him in a six year old sized tux.
The look on Christian and Lacy's faces when they saw each other at opposite ends of the church as she walked down the aisle to him.
The vows they wrote for each other.
Communion AND footwashing.
Lacy's beautiful song/toast for Christian. Over half of the words were "I love you" and she belted them out beautifully, unashamed to proclaim her love for him to any and everyone who would listen.
The look on Christian's face as Lacy sang to him, you could tell there was no one else in the room.



Saturday was a whirlwind. Coffee and breakfast with Rebs. Lunch with Hannah and a nap on their couch that saved my life. A walk in 70 degree weather along West Cliff with Smarsh. Dinner at Malabar with Jody. It was a day full of hugs, laughter, and love. I could not have asked for a more perfect Saturday.



Sunday was coffee with Amy, Genesis, and old friends I've missed so much. [Nancy Broxton, I am talking about YOU my dear!] It was such a gift to hear Charlie teach in person rather than with earbuds shoved in my ears on the bus as I do with the Genesis podcasts. Then Charlie Hong Kong's with Jamie and Adrian...LOVE them!

The entire weekend was made wonderfully bittersweet by the physical absence/emotional presence of the Stubblefields. They were down south for a different wedding and were so generous with their home [where I stayed] and their car [which I drove]. They provided me with a place to be quiet and to process all the emotions that went along with visiting my old home.

patronage

When I was in fourth grade Maggie Ross's dad [not Bob Ross, sorry] would come and teach us about art, artists, and art history. One of the many things we learned, and one of the few things I can remember along with the fact that Van Gogh cut his ear off because of a woman, was that it was common for artists to be sponsored by popes, monarchs and the aristocracy. During long days at the office while attempting to encourage brain function through stimulation of the creative juices, I wander to various fashion blogs, knitting sites, and flickr pages. In one such wandering this morning I started thinking about patronage of the arts and what a shame it is that such practices have, aside from politics, gone by the wayside. I would love it if someone would pay me to knit, pay me to be creatively inspired. I know it is possible to do these things without some exorbitantly wealthy benefactor, but then it lacks a certain romanticism. And, along with spending my days engrossed in creative pursuits, it is the romanticism that attracts me.

recap

At the dawn of 2008 I looked at the new year in front of me and saw 366 days [it was a leap year] playing out differently than they actually did. I thought I would be engaged. I thought I would be living in my own miraculously affordable studio somewhere in Santa Cruz. I thought I would be enrolled part-time in Western Seminary's MFT program. I thought a thousand other things I no longer recall because as 2008 progressed I felt upside down, inside out, and backward--every direction but right side up and forward facing.

Here are the highlights of 2008, and by highlights I do not necessarily mean bright, shiny, and happy. I mean significant, transformative, and necessary.
PRESIDENTS' DAY WEEKEND: I brought my significant other with me to Portland to meet and spend more time with people I believed he would one day soon call his family. Instead of ending the weekend together, excited about what lay ahead of US, I ended the weekend by separating myself from him and and returning to Santa Cruz as a ME instead of a WE. Erica met me at the airport and before we'd spent even an hour together she asked me when I'd be moving away from Santa Cruz. The blunt honesty, love, and truth present in that evening helped me make sense of what lay ahead and assured me that I had at least one person who understood me and what were my inevitable next steps.

ANNE LAMOTT, LIZ GILBERT, AND THE HAIRCUT: My mom, her best friend, my cousin Lizzy, my aunt Margie, Erica, and I were all able to meet up and listen to Anne Lamott and Liz Gilbert speak one night in April. Prior to listening to the wonderful Anne and Liz, Margie, Lizzy, Erica and I met up and had lunch and I chopped off a large portion of my golden locks. The importance of each of those relationships, and the outward symbol of change that new haircut conveyed helped me survive my last month in Santa Cruz. My heart wasn't ready to let go, but the time with each of them and the constant visual reminder that my life had changed course helped in the healing.

FROM SJC TO PDX: Just recalling the experience of standing in the security line, looking over my shoulder at Erica and Craig as they watched me leave makes me cry. Willingly leaving friends who became, who still are, family, is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Leaving not because I necessarily wanted to, but because it was what life required if I wanted to move forward, was terrifying.

LETTERS: The written correspondence between people in Santa Cruz and me has been wonderful, hard, and healing. Their letters always seemed to arrive at just the right [though sometimes it seemed wrong] time. Their letters remind[ed] me that the people I left behind in Santa Cruz are here to stay.

GRES AND GRAD SCHOOL APPLICATIONS: I have written more than a few words on the process of studying for, worrying about, and taking the GREs. I have spent more than a few hours writing and editing my applications for Portland State and the University of Oregon. Both processes terrified me, and the completion of each was encouraging and still more terrifying. With applications complete and in the hands of the appropriate committees, I await acceptance and rejection, unsure of which I will receive and hoping and praying only for the former.

The year 2008 has been more than I ever imagined. It has been a hard year. But it has also been a good year. It has been a year of trust, faith, and perseverance. I could not have made it through 2008 alone. Even if by some miracle I had been able to, I would not have wanted to do it without the friends and family who have walked alongside me, pushed me forward, and guided me when my eyes were squeezed shut out of fear or blinded by tears.

I don't know what I did to deserve any of you, and I cannot imagine my life without you. In alphabetical order, because it would be impossible to organize you all any other way [except perhaps by date of acquaintance]
CLARE: Thank you for reminding me to trust myself. Thank you for reminding me that I shine.

ERICA: Thank you for picking me up from the airport. Thank you for letters, phone calls, and long distance love that makes it feel like you're sitting right next to me. Thank you for being unafraid of walking down the paths of "what if." Thank you for creatively and spiritually inspiring me each and every day.

HEATHER: Thank you for our VCOCs. Thank you for your intellectual inspiration and encouragement. Thank you for wanting to wait to visit me until I have my own place. Thank you for getting me.

KITZ: Thank you for the phone calls and the phone tag. Thank you for being brave. Thank you for our conversation as we walked along the beach this summer. Thank you for calling last night.

LIZZY: Thank you for every single text message, phone call, and kick in the ass. Thank you for tough love and gentle honesty. Thank you for pointing out my excessive use of passive voice and reminding me to confidently communicate who I am.

REBS: Thank you for your friendship. I did not expect that moving away would bring us closer. Thank you for sitting through the whole wonderfully rainy Avett Brothers show and for loving every minute of it. Thank you for asking the hard questions and actually wanting to know the answers.

SARE: Thank you for moving back to Portland at just the right time. Thank you for always wanting me to spend the night. Thank you for almost 27 years of friendship. Thank you for holding my hand, picking out my haircuts, and setting the bar high by marrying someone so wonderful.

SISTER: Thank you for holding my hand at the funeral. Thank you for coming to the beach. Thank you for being honest. There is no way I could ever be disappointed with you.

YONERS: Thank you for all the walks. They got me through those last months at TLC, seriously. Thank you for pig talk, heehars, kicking my butt at Cribiage, and being brave enough to move away from the familiar. You inspire me.

Thank you 2008 for kicking my ass and forcing me forward even when I was scared shitless.

update V: good news!

Today has been another wonderfully calm and quiet day with steady progress. Isaac continues to breathe with the tube, but the respiratory therapist said that he is doing most of the work on his own. He is waking more, although today he is sleeping very well in between rousing. We can all only imagine how tired he must be from willing his body to make it through the events of the last two weeks. Today they took him off of the sedatives, so he is down to nutrients, antibiotics and pain medicine. His body is performing all other functions on its own. Now he is able to get some much needed rest as his body heals.

Tomorrow they plan to wean him off the IV pain medicine, and try to focus on his breathing so that he can be off the tube and breathing on his own. His swelling is down dramatically and he looks like Isaac again. Even his coloring looks healthy.

Thank you all so much for your prayers. Lizzy's told me several times how deeply they've felt them. It is so good to come together and lift each other up to the Lord, in the good times as well as the bad.

Thank you friends. Love you so.

update IV

Isaac is going to have surgery today to finish some repairs that needed to be done which could not be done when he was unstable. Today his Blood pressure is stable and his heart rate is still a little irregular but mostly stable. He is only on one medication to maintain his blood pressure normal. His blood count is up but his platelets (used for clotting blood) are slightly down. He is still on the respirator.

He opened his eyes today when Bebe [Isaac's niece, I think] was singing to him. Praise the Lord.

God has done so many miracles over the past week! Thank you all so much for your continued prayer!

update III

The following was posted by Drea Canales, Lizzy's sister-in-law, on a website they've created for Isaac:

_______________________________
Good Morning!
Praise Report:
1. Papa made it through day 1 after 2nd surgery
2. His kidney's have started working quicker than expected.
3. His blood pressure is staying normal with less medicines.
4. Heart rate lower and body temperature is normal without heating blanket.
5. When the nurse tilted him to the side some fluids were released that were building up.
6. His blood count is stable/ bleeding stopped.
7. Papa is responding to stimulation although heavily sedated.
8. Papa wanted to get his appendectomy incision hernia repaired next summer. During his surgery, his doctor saw the need to repair most of that hernia. Unexpected bonus!

Prayer Request:
1. That papa continues to fight and improve.
2. Kidneys keep getting stronger.
3. Blood pressure to be normal without medication.
4. Heart rate and temperature to be stable.
5. Blood clotting to return to normal.
6. Pray for continued normal responses.
7. Pray for his nurses and doctors as they care for him.

Thank you all SO MUCH for all of your prayers!

update II

This morning at 3:30 I received a text from Lizzy saying that Isaac was hemorrhaging. Then at 6:30 I received another text saying that he was out of surgery. They took more of his color and his spleen. Isaac is back in the ICU. He is stable but on life support. After talking with Lizzy yesterday I am even more convinced that, while there are physical issues going on, this is a spiritual battle and it is God's battle to fight.

Please continue to lift the family up in your prayers.
Please continue to pray for God's victory over the evil one.
Please pray that God's peace that surpasses all understanding would fill the body and spirit of Isaac, as well as his family.

Thank you for all of your prayers.

from the front porch

I stand outside on the front porch and watch the snow mixed with rain fall sideways to the ground. The frigid wind whips through the trees and through my sweater and thin cotton pants. I tuck my fists into my armpits attempting to warm my fingers, as I gaze over the rooftops and grin and marvel at just how beautiful this scene is.

The temperature is below 40, there is snow and rain, it is windy, and I could not be happier with the weather.

update

Please continue to pray for Isaac Canales, Lizzy's father-in-law. He had emergency surgery to try and stabilize his kidneys [which have been failing] and his blood pressure [which has been dropping]. He is an incredible man of God who loves his family and his Father so much. Everyone, myself included, who knows him has an overwhelming sense that this is not his time to go. It feels very much like a spiritual battle that is manifesting itself in physical form. I know that can sound "woo-woo", please know I don't take the concept of spiritual warfare lightly.

Pray for physical and spiritual healing in Isaac Canales.
Pray that his body would start functioning like it is supposed to.
Pray that his blood pressure would stabilize.
Pray that his kidneys start to function, cleaning out the toxins that have built up inside of him.
Pray for his tired body that is working so hard.
Pray for his family who are emotionally as well as physically exhausted.
Pray that hope and peace would replace fear and doubt.
Pray that Isaac would feel only peace and hope.
Pray that Isaac would be able to rest.
Pray for Isaac's wife Ritha who is tired and does not want to lose her husband.
Pray for miracles that come only from God.
Please pray.

pray

The following is from a blog my cousin Lizzy posted this morning. Her father-in-law has been in the hospital with diverticulitis and kidney issues. Please pray for him and his family.
_________________
The bible says pray without ceasing.

Pray for Isaac who is in the hospital and not doing well.
Pray for his kidneys to improve.
Pray for the infection to subside.
Pray for all of my friends that are pregnant.
Pray for a job.
Pray for the future.
Pray for my cheerleaders who need so much more than a coach.
Pray for my mother in law who works without ceasing.
Pray for Dave's family who is afraid.
Pray for Miracles.
Pray for Judah James to keep gaining weight and get stronger.

1 Corinthians 13:12 (New Living Translation)
12 Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.
Praise for my home.
Praise for my husband.
Praise for opportunity.
Praise for a good pathology report for my dad.
Praise for new life in our family.
Praise for healthy babies and healthy moms.
Praise for the season.
Praise for the child that took the weight of the world on his shoulders and made everything somehow eventually ok.

relief

Slight GRE mishap MANAGED!

Here's the gist of what happened, after taking the GREs you enter the different school codes for the institutions to which you'd like ETS to send your scores. I [thought I] entered Portland State and the University of Oregon. Apparently [though I am NOT thoroughly convinced of this] I entered Portland State University and Oregon State University [yes, there is a difference]. I didn't realize this mistake until early Monday morning when I was making copies of my GRE scores to include with my applications. I said a few choice words [not pretty ones like "love" or "kittens" or "rainbows"] and then continued assembling my application packets.

Tuesday morning, at 6:05AM according to my cell phone, I called ETS intending to have a new set of official GRE scores sent to U of O as quickly as possible, and I was prepared to pay whatever I needed to. Because if my scores don't arrive at U of O by December 15, then they don't look at my application. They just throw it away--well, probably recycle it since it's Eugene.

My phone conversation with the very delightful [I know sarcasm is hard to read, but very delightful is DRIPPING with it] agent from ETS was frustrating, unhelpful and tear-inducing. I was told that ALL test scores, no matter what, take five to ten business days to arrive at the schools. Well, except of course for electronic GRE scores, but U of O doesn't accept those. [Oh gee, thanks for getting my hopes up.] So after my conversation with the terse agent, tears and a, "No thankyouverymuch I would NOT like to take a customer service survey!" I ordered a second set of scores and tried to calm down.

I called U of O [at 6:10AM] and asked the person from their psychology department who handles applications to please call me back as soon as possible. By noon she hadn't called back, so I called again. And again at 1:30PM. And again at 3:45PM. Then I emailed her.

And at around 4:00PM I got a wonderful email saying that because I included a photocopy of my results in my application they would be more than happy to accept my GRE scores after December 15, and would be glad to review my application to their program.

BIG, HUGE SIGH OF RELIEF.

I actually received the email just after I received two text messages from Lizzy:
"Oh Lord you know me. You formed me in the secret place. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely. You know my going out and my coming in."
"You know the plans I have for you..."

So, I might still get to be a Duck after all.

lists [part deux]

TO DO:
Mail envelopes
Fix minor GRE score mishap

DONE:
Final versions of personal statements
Final versions of cover letters
Printed cover letters
Printed personal statements
Printed resumes
Application form for PSU
Application form for U of O
Stuffed, addressed, sealed, and ready to be mailed application packets

NUMBER OF TIMES I REPRINTED MY:
PSU cover letter [2]
My O of O cover letter [1]
PSU personal statement [2]
Resume [1]
Second page of PSU application [1]

THANKFUL FOR:
Heather's fantastic editing skills and answers to all questions grad school and application related, and our three hour v.c.o.c. on Saturday
Lizzy's amazing editing skills and the steady stream of texts that get me through my banal work days, and for WOD.FAM.CHOC.SOD
Erica's constant encouragement and inspiration
The encouragement of friends and family who remind me that I am smart even when I can't form coherent sentences
Stephenie Meyer for the mental, intellectual, and emotional escape

lists

TO DO:
Make final edits on personal statements
Complete cover letters
Fill out applications
Stuff envelopes
Seal envelopes
Mail envelopes

I AM:
Unmotivated
Hungry
Cold
Thirsty
Housesitting
Glad I bought this green sweatshirt



I WANT:
A soynog latte
Hot chocolate
Warm hands
Finished grad school applications

THIS POST WAS INSPIRED BY:
Sarah Swanson-Dexel [I always love her lists]
Cold hands
The prospect of completion

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...

awaiting the appointed time

I think the anticipation makes it worse.

I think I would just like to know and be done with it.

[Be done with it? Really Haley? You want to be done with it?]

Okay. Maybe not done with it. But the next step.

[Plenty of next steps lately my dear. Job, GRE classes, friends, the list continues, should I?]

Okay.

Fine.

I'm whiney and impatient.

I wanna know when I wanna know.

[And the faith in that would be where?]

No. Where.

Did you ever see that movie, "Camp Nowhere"? Loved it. Christopher Lloyd...what a character.

[Back to the topic at hand perhaps?]

Perhaps.

Or I could just knock off the pouty child thing and trust You.

[You could do that. But it's okay if you don't.]

No. I think I'm good for tonight.

Thanks for giving me a choice.

[There is always a choice dear one.]

respite

The work on the cabin has slowed. I have time [and energy] on the weekends to go for a run [which I did this morning, and got chased by a dog...not fun], to stay up a little later and read, to knit. It is possible to linger over morning cups of coffee and the view of Mount Adams or the hummingbird feeder, depending on which porch I sit.

And yet there is now more work to be done. There is more work to be done Monday through Friday. There is work to be done at The Neighborhood Partnership Fund each day when I walk into their offices and into my very own office [no more sharing desk space, no more straining to hear the person on the other end of the phone, no more plugging my ears with music because now I can fill the whole room up with whatever I want to hear]. There is work to be done financially, bills to be paid, money for first and last months rent to be saved, apartments and houses to hunt for now that I, again, have an income. There is studying to be done. I have 300+ words to learn, test formats to become acustomed to, prefixes, roots and suffixes to familiarize myself with all in preparation for something I am trying to love and not dread: THE GRE.

But the programs at Portland State and The University of Oregon [which is not in Portland, but still on my list for its size and structure] both require it; therefore, I will overcome my awing [definition: an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, fear, etc. produced by that which is grand, sublime, extremely powerful. This is one of my words to study/learn] fear of THE GRE and remember how good it feels to walk into a test knowing I am about to kick its ass. And then I will kick THE GRE's ass.

But I digress...the respite from work at the cabin is synchronized with the need for more effort/work elsewhere. Most likely this is no accident. It is so good to be known by One who knows what I need exactly when I need it. Ideally I think I should be relieved of the need to continue living in a 33 foot Airstream with my parents at the age of 26. But I trust the One who sees beyond my immediate frustrations [coffee being ground feet from my head, no place for clothing, an ever growing pile of books read and letters received and no place to lovingly store them, ants that never seem to realize they are unwanted, a door that occasionaly locks me inside said 33 foot Airstream, etc.]. I trust that, "though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay."

And so now I will continue to enjoy my respite. I will leisurly shop for wild salmon for tonight's dinner. I will smile, sunglasses on, arm out the window so I can feel the breeze, singing at the top of my lungs as I enjoy the almost hour long drive back to the cabin.

employed

I have a job.

Goal one of three accomplished.

i feel comfortable with my heart exhilarated

As a result of moving so far away from friends I have begun writing them letters. One might wonder why on earth I would choose letters when email is so much faster. True it is faster, but it is so much less romantic. It is fingers on a keyboard, not pen to paper. And in turn friends have been writing letters to me. The purpose of the letters I've sent is not the receipt of letters from them, although I welcome and treasure their postmarked responses. Even longer letters with more purpose than a simple hello, while typed first so my written words keep up with my thoughts, are eventually written down on paper before they are sent off.

And the anticipation...Oh! The anticipation! The stack of mail on the table beckons me as much as it taunts me. "Look through the letters! See who has written you!" And again, "Look through the letters. Only bills for you!" When there are letters from friends the joy is...incredible. Sometimes I even sing the mail song from "Blue's Clues." Without looking at the name or the return address I know who the letter is from. And everytime I am elated. The handwriting conjures memories of notes--which would arrive unexpectedly on my desk or car and were their own source of joy--written when we lived closer.

And then of course there is the excitement I feel as I place the stamp in the upper right-hand corner of the envelope, I cannot wait to hear they have received it. Images of friends opening mailboxes or sifting through stacks of bills and unwanted catologues only to find a hand addressed envelope nestled in the midst of it all never fails to bring a smile to my face.

All of this for a mere $0.42. A bargain price for friendship that lives on across miles.

adjectives

Eloquent.
Passionate.
Unexpected.
Brilliant.
Honest.
Perspicacious.

buy a child

I was at the gym this morning going nowhere on one of the many elliptical machines. I had my headphones in, as I always do, and was enjoying the soundtrack from "Across the Universe." There are TVs all over the place, but most of them do not have subtitles which means that as I sweat, grit my teeth, try to go just a little harder, I generally do so without any regard to what is on each of these TVs.

This morning was different.

This morning I was in front of the TV showing reruns of ER. [I had completely forgotten that George Clooney used to be on that show!] Directly to the left of ER was Good Morning America [heretofore referred as GMA]. This TV was the only one I could see that had subtitles and the words "child slavery" happened to catch my eye as I was in the middle of mouthing the words to "She's So Heavy" and pondering the youthful good looks of George. Immediately all other thoughts were forgotten and I was glued to GMA.

They did a story on child slavery, and more specifically they looked at just how easy it is to BUY A CHILD.
Not adopt a child.
BUY a child.
Buy a CHILD.
The reporter started out for JFK at 7:10A and within 10 hours had made it to Haiti and back. During that time he met with two different people who were each willing to sell him a child of around 10 or 11. Although the first person he met with recommended a child of closer to age 15 because she would be "more developed." During the first meeting the reporter, undercover of course, and the man selling children bartered over the price of the child he hoped to purchase. The seller started out at the bargain price of $300. [THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR A HUMAN LIFE.] But he was talked down to $150, including all the necessary forged paperwork. The second seller's price was a bit steeper, $10,000. Although he more than implied that in purchasing the child she became yours and would then have to do WHATEVER it was you required of her and was much more open about the sexual nature of the transaction they discussed.

And we all just kept on doing what we were doing. We kept running on our treadmills, going nowhere on our elliptical machines, climbing imaginary stairs. Maybe because we were too engrossed in whatever workout mix we'd chosen for that morning. Maybe because we were to enamored with George and his incredible medicinal skills. Maybe because learning something like that feels so overwhelming that all one can do is go into shock.

But what happens when the shock wears off? What then? Not knowing the answer to those questions I kept on sweating. I poured my anger and my broken heartedness into the rest of my work out. I listened to Delta Spirit's "Streetwalker" as I stretched out tired muscles. And then I crammed myself into one of the showers that, until this morning, seemed so spacious. And I cried. I cried big, hot, silent tears as I struggled to keep myself upright. I cried and I prayed for an end to injustice, or as much of one as we can hope to see here and now.

Let us not be silent. Let us not be content to simply sit and allow these things to happen. Let us not be more concerned about the rising cost of gas than we are about the bartered price of a human life. Let us respond in a way that honors the One who came before us, who came to seek and save the lost.

a change in the winds

I don't know the exact moment or the cause of it, but early Thursday afternoon things changed. I do not mean to say that all of a sudden the sky and the ground were inverted and everyone suddenly spoke Piglatin. What I do mean is that, as I was sitting at the table in the Airstream trailer enjoying a nice cold glass of water I looked up from the magazine I was reading and realized that things had changed. The change was not a result of profound insights gained from the July/August issue of Women's Health. It was not a result of being a little too full from the nachos I'd eaten for lunch, nor was it a result of imagining just how cute I would look in all the clothes in the most recent Anthropology catalogue. I cannot say what caused this shift. But I can say I am grateful for it. I have needed to feel it. I have needed to know that all this emotional tumult, this moving and uprooting myself was for more than just obedience's sake. [Though of course if I truly believe what I say I do then obedience's sake is enough.] And that realization that things are changing, though small and without apparent cause has lifted my spirits, has encouraged me to be more honest with myself and with those around me, has given me courage, has renewed my trust and the belief that, though difficult to see too far ahead, I am on my path.

santa cruz sightings

I am bombarded, in the best ways possible, by Santa Cruz. First there is the haze in the sky. It has been here since I got back from the cabin on Monday afternoon. It is the haze from all the fires in California. Now I know that Santa Cruz is not the only place that fires are ablaze, but in some weird way I am comforted that the smoke from the Santa Cruz mountains has followed me all this way.

Second there are all the people I see who look like people I know from Santa Cruz. There was a girl at the gym yesterday who looked just like Jenny Baker. I could've sworn I saw Jamie Moreno walking down the street the other day in Portland. And then there is this girl who works somewhere downtown, I forget where, and she could be sisters with the lovely lady who works at the FedEx/Kinko's where I shipped everything from when I moved. This guy just ordered a coffee and then said something about being totally stoked and I almost asked him if he was from Santa Cruz just for answering that way, not even because he looks like anyone I know there. And then this girl who looked exactly like Jody Mason showed up--oh wait that really was Jody!

Then there are the cars. I see cars that look like the cars of my friends everywhere. You would not believe how many beat up green Toyota Camrys there are out there. It has to be one of the most popular cars ever made. And the silver Pontiac Vibes. And the black Honda CRVs. And the faded purple minivans like Nancy Broxton drives. I know that there are tens of thousands of each of these cars in existence between here and Santa Cruz. But I keep hoping that one time, randomly, it will actually be Nancy or Jamie or Erica or whomever else I think I see.

And music. All the songs that remind me of people I miss so much. The coffee shop I'm in has been playing The Beatles all morning. Last week "Fergalicious" came on the radio and I almost had to pull over I was laughing so hard. Then there was the Jack Johnson song Erica loves so much that we listened to it over and over and over. And that song by One Republic. And the new Coldplay album. And Rush in Rolling Stone. And the list just goes on.

So my friends, my Santa Cruz family, I miss you. I miss you so much that I think I see you everywhere.