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.

get outside

Tuesday was the day of gloom and doom. It was a day of doubt and discouragement. It was a day where it seemed all I heard was no. The voice that says loving, encouraging things to me was drowned out by the voice that kept reminding me, just a little too loudly, of my shortcomings, my downfalls, and my fears.

After dinner and some tears my mom said, "Let's walk to the end of the road." What I wanted to do was climb into bed fully clothed, something I can't stand doing unless it's really bad, pull the covers over my head and cry until I was exhausted and dehydrated. But I agreed to a walk simply because disagreeing would mean prolonging the inevitable trip outside the 33 foot Airstream I currently call home and I just wanted to get it over with so I could commence with the crying until exhausted/dehydrated plan.

We stepped outside and she said, "David Van Raden always says, 'When it gets to big get outside.'" David is my godfather and one of the men I am blessed to call a father figure. He is a wise man, someone who knows about things getting too big and about going outside. And that fresh air, the sunset filled sky, Mount Adams with it's rose tinted evening snow, and the wild roses lining the road were exactly what I needed.

Smart guy.

Good advice.

Try it sometime. Even if there are no mountains, no sunsets, no roses and the air isn't really that fresh.

ugly / bad / good

UGLY / BAD
I want to curl up into a ball and cry.
I am tired.
I am hot.
I am frustrated.
I love my parents and am overwhelmed by their generosity [a car whenever I need it, a bed, good food, french press every morning, help with bills, and the list goes on]. But I don't want to live in a 33ft trailer with them.
I am tired of the endless to do list.
I don't want to feel like I'm stalking the head of the Applied Psychology Graduate Committee. I just would love it if he'd return my phone call/email.
I don't want all of these things to take so long. I follow up, I follow through. I return emails and phone calls promptly. I am doing as much as I can as fast as I can and it's all going far too slow for my taste.
I just want to be in control. I want to have everything go according to MY plan, not His.

GOOD
I have had time to visit my friends and sisters because I have not yet found a job.
I have been up to the cabin almost every weekend since moving back to the Pacific NW and I cannot imagine a more beautiful place to work my ass off/work out my frustrations.
After four years of pretty solid work it is good to have a break. A real break. Not a vacation with a concrete end date but a break.
The difficulties this time presents are constant reminders that I am not in control and all I can do is present my requests to Him and do the things I'm asked...no matter how crazy they seem.
I think I have breathed more deeply in the past three going on four weeks than I have in quite a long time.

things i love about today by topic

TATTOOS
1. The way tattoos start conversations.
2. Some chick [with a rad full sleeve] from LA by way of Portland has heard of Verve.
3. Same chick has also heard of O'Reilley's and Dan and this makes the world seem just a little smaller.
4. Tanktop weather and tattoos are a delightful combination.

COFFEE / COFFEE SHOPS
1. French press is so easy to find in Portland.
2. Free wi-fi. I realize it's not so strange to find a good independent coffee shop with free wi-fi anymore, but I still enjoy it oh so much.
3. The sounds of espresso being ground.
4. Cheap refills of delicious, recently locally roasted coffee.

JOB OPPORTUNITY
1. Non-profit.
2. Part time.
3. Full benefits.
4. Yes please.

BLOGS
1. I love that my friends blog.
2. I love reading your blogs.
3. I miss you and reading these blogs helps to, today, shorten the distance between us.

FOOD
1. I brought my lunch today [cheese and tomato on gluten free bread].
2. I stopped by New Seasons Market on my way to Albina Press and got some vegetarian gummie bears and they are delightful.
3. I love cooking and planning meals with my mom.

EXERCISE
1. One of the first things I did when I moved here was buy a gym membership.
2. I've used it more in the past three weeks than I think I used the gym memebership I had in Santa Cruz for eight months.
3. I hate the Stairmaster, but it just hurts so good.
4. Each time they scan my card as I enter I think about climbing, summitting Mount Saint Helens on August 23.

toilet seat covers

I never used to use toilet seat covers. Maybe that's gross. Whatever. It was an attempt to be something other than a germ-o-phobe. But now that this coffee shop I'm loving doesn't have them in their bathroom I find myself a bit disconcereted. I mean I love Portland, I love the people here, but I would also like the opportunity to have a bit of separation from them when I use the loo.

Pictures of new life here coming soon...er...ish.

briefly

I can't believe home is in the Pacific NW.
There are so many changes.
I am tired and grouchy.
I love physical labor.
I want to find a home and nest.
I miss you.