What I did over my summer vacation OR Guat's up?

Eee Gads.  In case you haven't noticed, we've been gone.  Holiest of all Holy Cows.  We've been gone.
I wish I could tell you when we're going to be out of town, but land sakes, my record player is a hot commodity.

 Telling people when we're not home = Someone's going to steal it

I'm convinced.

All joking aside, Tim and I spent the week in Guatemala with a team from our church and a few others.

One word?

How about seven?  How about a million?

Amazing.  Inspiring.  Humbling.  So very much fun.

The list continues.

They are, as Jonathan Safran Foer would say, stories the mouths can't tell fast enough.

It's a beautiful country.  Really.

I came home and almost immediately set to work.  Writing.  Cleaning up This Space.  Cleaning OUT my Google Reader.

And then I was just stumped.

I got stuck.

So, here I am in my pink and white polka dotted p.j.'s with a belly full of take out and a clock that reads well past 1am.  Struggling to get It All down.

Tonight, I realized that I just keep waiting for lightning to strike.  Some wave of inspiration.  Some magic light bulb moment that will help me convey the whole rip, the whole story in just the perfect light.

And I don't think that lightning strike is ever going to happen.

This is what I know so far.

Tim and I are called to lead a simple life.  I'm not saying I don't want a new camera...a new ipod...the list goes on.

I'm just saying that I went to get a new cell phone (I was due for an upgrade and having technical issues with my old one) and the choices about knocked me down.

Us Americans? We love our toys. I ended up with A Little Guy, and I actually love it. He is not “smart.” There is not an app that will tell me how much plaque is on my teeth or when we need to buy bread.

But he keeps things simple, and right now, we're really into that.

This trip opened our eyes to things like simple living, further missions work, and international adoption.

In all honesty, no one should give 2 craps about what we wear. Pardon my language. But for realz, ya'll. I am guilty of this. I am guilty.of.this. There was a point in time this week where all I really wanted to do was go home and paint my toenails. OPI's Bogota Blackberry, to be exact. What this says about me, I'm not sure.

I'm kidding. Kind of.  

I'm not going to tell you that I came home and shut off our cable and quit wearing make up. I'm not. I'm not going to tell you that I threw my Favorite Coach Clutch out the window or that I donated my car to The Goodwill.

But I am going to tell you that as a society and as a community of believers, we are not doing enough to help people in poverty, and we need to do better.   

Isn't that just what you wanted to hear on your Saturday Night?  That you are not doing enough?  

Ha.  My apologies for the abruptness, but not for the message in general.  

I better get off this soapbox lest you see up my aforementioned pajamas.  

I saw Guatemala...you saw London, you saw France, you saw...well. Nevermind.  

Love and enough for now, 

H.  

How much do you just absolutely love life?  Please say, "Lots." 


Lots and Lots.  




Love and I think I've posted this video before, 
H.  

*Video Courtesy of Mindy Gledhill and Christian Nielson via nieniedialogues

Sister, Daughter, Wife, Carrot

This is a post about Christmas.  An unbearably late post about Christmas.  For some reason, what with everyone setting New Year's Resolutions, and all...it just felt...necessary. Maybe you'll see what I mean.  An Unbearably Late Post About Christmas.  Please Forgive.  

     This year, I was bound and determined to blow everyone's minds with Christmas Craftiness.  I was going to do something really outside-the box like find a way to make a really rad color like mustard yellow look Christmas-y.  I was going to gather all kinds of things from outside and spray paint them so everything would look super clean yet still kind of woodsy.


I was going to decorate in mono chromatics.  All white....all blue...all silver.


Boo-yah.


And then I started actually decorating, and I realized...all that was a lot for one christmas.  It was too much pressure.


I feel like we are still setting up house, to a certain extent.  So much of our decor, for a long time, has been things that were given to us or things I purchased, on a whim, at the dollar store.  Of course, many of these things have value.  We appreciate people's generosity, and of course the opportunity to find a good bargain.  However, I have had a really hard time feeling like our house is "us."  After nearly 2 and 1/2 years, I think we are finally catching our stride.


With that being said, you know I have a tendency to struggle with The Glumps.  You know I have a tendency to look at people and things in life as "me-upgrades."   This does not mean I have a low self-esteem.  (Let's face it, I rock and so do you).  This just means I am honest.  We all want to feel like we are putting our best, most-true-to-self foot forward- like we are expressing ourselves as we really are whether that's a blog layout, a pair of boots or a set of candlesticks.  The danger lies in the constant second guessing.  It's true.


So, I got out our Christmas decor and went to work.  I was a crazy person.  Moving things.  Sorting things.  MESSING with "things."  I was dangerously close to using words like "aesthetically pleasing" and "symmetrical."


And then it hit me.


This is not what Christmas is about.  


I heard, quite clearly, the words, "Less is more."


I think my friend, Carmen refers to it as "a call to simplicity."


So, that is what we did.


And then I went to one of my favorite antique stores and found this little number. (The Antique Tobacco tin in the right hand corner) 

And a light went on.


Tim and I?  We like old things.  Very old things.  We gushed over a set of antique model airplane replicas we recently spotted.  Our last Netflix we watched together featured Kathrine Hepburn.*  We'll take old, solid wood over plastic any day (although we do love IKEA)!


So, here we are.  The decor is not "clean."  It is not modern.  There's no glitter.  But it's us.


I remember reading a book called "Reviving Ophelia...."  which, in hindsight was very "late 90's-lilith-fair-Sarah Mchlachlan-grunge"of me, but it's still a good read nonetheless.


In said book, there is a quote from a girl who states, "I'm a perfectly good carrot that everyone is trying to turn into a rose.  As a carrot, I have good color and a nice, leafy top.  When I'm carved into a rose, I turn brown and whither."


And I recall thinking, "Yes.  That is so me."


I had to laugh as I thought about that now, because I don't feel like anyone is trying to "make" me be anything anymore ((sigh of relief)).  I think my late 20's/early 30's are going to really be about finding myself, cheesy as it sounds.


Nay, finding myself and owning it.


"Me upgrades" be darned!


So, there you have it.


And I leave you with this, my cousin's daughter Norah on Halloween!  Yet another shining example of a perfectly good carrot!  Have you ever seen a more adorable vegetable!?!?!   Yes, for this post, a child in a carrot costume just seemed fitting.

Love and antique tobacco tins,
H: Sister, Daughter, Wife, Proud Carrot


*The movie we watched was called Desk Set.  You should watch it.  

All the way from San Francisco as I chased the end of your rope

Call me overly-dramatic, but....

sometimes my entire body aches for California.  

Pictures just can't do it justice. 


What do you find yourself aching for these days?  


Love and feeling 'home'sick, 
H. 

They Made a Statue of Us

photo sources here  here and here  

    


  My book is so good.  That's right.  It.is.so.good.  It is the kind of book that makes me lose all my social skills- to the point where I am adding those five out-of-the-blue-words to any conversation I can squeeze them into.  


Tim: (cleaning out the DVR)  This episode of How I Met Your Mother...is it old? Is it a re-run? 

Me:  Yes. Yes it is.  Tim...

Tim:  What, baby?

Me:  My book is so good.

Tim: Good baby.  Good. I'm glad your book is so good.  What about Property Ladder...?  Is this new...?



     I'm not going to give you the summary.  You can go here for that.  Oh yea, and watch the video.  Based on his picture in the "About the Author" section, I expected JSF to be boring and pretentious, but he's not. In the video, he is simply delightful.  


Just read it.  


    It is a sad book, but it is necessary if that makes any sense at all.  Maybe someday, you will know what I mean.  I think I mean it is sad in a way that is necessary because it is honest.  It is true.  


(sigh)


Maybe someday. 


     On the way home in the car, we had A Talk.  There was yelling, but not "I am so mad at you" yelling.  It was DON'T YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN?!?!?  kind of yelling.  


I have come to the conclusion that Tim and I are both very passionate.  Which I like.  

     I told him this car ride was like a marathon.  Some runners need a marathon a year- a race in which they think they are going to throw up or pass out or die or maybe all of the above, but that is what keeps them motivated to run the rest of the year.  


Our talk?  It was kind of like that.  


     At one point, I looked down at my open book and glanced down to find this quote from Oskar, the main character.  

     I tried the key in all all of the doors, even though he said he didn't recognize it.  It's not that I didn't trust him, because I did.  It's that at the end of my search I wanted to be able to say: I don't know how I could have tried harder.    Oskar Schell Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, Johnathan Safran Foer 

And a light went on.

     If I were writing a letter to someone else on their wedding day- someone who is asking for advice, I would say to them- marriage is about trying harder.  Marriage is about always trying harder.

     And I thought about Tim and I and the claw marks we had left on our marriage, not out of malice or spite but out of simply trying to hold on- a cat who has almost missed the next window sill.

And then I felt better.

Read the book.  It has nothing and everything to do with marriage.

Love and probably more claw marks,

The Rest is History

     Oh, Blog.  Oh tiny-and-neglected-for-five-days-blog.  


     Honestly, there hasn't been a lot going on around here.  We are upgrading our house...right down to the switch plates.  So, needless to say, the place feels like a war-zone.  But I can see that someday in the not-so-distant future, it will all be good.  


     Yesterday, I was cleaning out some things and found the extra pet bedding I had intended to use for Beezus.  Tons and tons leftover.  So, I did what any good clean-sweeper would do....I put it on craigslist.  


     Dragging it out to the driveway to give to the lady who responded (quite promptly, I might add), I couldn't help but feel a little devastated.  


     I think I am the kind of person who always needs something delicate and cuddly to have around.  Maybe having a baby will change that.  


What can I say? I still miss that little guy.  


     So, in honor of moving on and growing up and letting go, here are 10 Things I learned from a tiny, spotted mouse. 

1.  Know what you like, know what you don't like and don't be afraid to own up to it.
Beezus was never too proud to munch on a free cheeto, but was also bold enough to turn down anything he wasn't too crazy about.  

2.  Be cuddle-y. 

3.  Next time someone lets you sit on their table, enjoy the view. 

4.  Run a little bit everyday, even if the only time you can squeeze it in is late at night

5.  Get enough sleep. Lots of sleep.  Don't let anyone make you feel strange or out of place or guilty for the copious amount of sleep you require.


6.  When you've got something good, enjoy it.  Don't be so worried about the day it's gone that you forget to relish the good stuff.  


7.  Keep a clean house.  Life is better managed when all your stuff is in neat piles.


8.  Explore everything.  Even if it doesn't immediately appear to be interesting.  You never know what you'll find.  


9.  Be flexible.  On several occasions, we moved Beezus from cage to cage, room to room.  He never complained. 

10. Never rob anyone of the opportunity to comfort you.  


     So, there you have it.  


     Yesterday, Scarlett Ball was on the floor, enjoying the afternoon sun that was streaming through the windows and we just sat for a good long while.  She likes being petted, and I like to pet so we are a good pair, Scarlett and I.  


     Sometimes, when we are together, I think about a time in my life when she will no longer be with us.  I have to be careful because sometimes, my brain goes to That Place.  That very dark and scary and worrisome place and I start to fret about doggie cancer, and cars and broken fences and dog-nappers.  Then I feel extremely guilty because I think if Tim spent the entire time cuddling with ME secretly worrying about MY demise, I would probably not like that very much.  


     So instead, I chose to think about Good Things.  Lots and lots of good things this dog has yet to see.  A someday-new-house, a baby, a bigger bed to sleep in (Queen size, please), more bugs to chase, new friends at the dog park, the list goes on.  


Love and better outlooks, 


H.

A post in which I try not to be ridiculous.

     I should probably tell you that I wrote this a few days ago.  Well, five days to be exact.  Who has the time to post things in a timely manner anyway, right?  Not this girl.  


Well, now is the time.  



     Today is a special day.  For today marks the five year anniversary of a strange and interesting accident involving hundreds of kids, a walking field trip, a van that couldn't stop, and me.  That's right.  Me.


     If you've got a large cup of coffee, and a comfy chair, you can read my story in it's entirety here.  However, if you don't have hours and hours of time on your hands to go scrolling through old blogs (I don't blame you), then I will tell you my version in the quickest way I know how.

     The spring of my first year of teaching, my school took a walking field trip to a nearby playhouse to see a production of The Jungle Book.  On the way home, we crossed the street that had been closed for the safety of the children.  As I crossed at the back of my line, I was hit by an oncoming van that had lost power in it's brakes.  I remember waking up to the most gorgeous blue sky and a massive headache.  I walked away with some cuts and bruises.  Physically, for the most part, I was fine, but mentally, I was cuh-razy.  It was a sad and interesting time.  I spent my summer making regular visits to see a counselor named Charlie who usually treated people with drug and alcohol addictions (and sometimes maniacal teachers).  **edit: I was NOT addicted to drugs or alcohol.  He took me on as a "special PTSD case" per a mutual friend's request.** :)   


Maybe someday, I will tell you about all the amazing things I learned and the silly thoughts I had while staring at the poster on his wall.  Someday, but not now.

     So, here we are, five years later and "normal" as ever.  I will probably have to take a valium every Halloween when we take our kids trick-or-treating...too much traffic... and there are other little "quirks" I've acquired along the way, but that is just life.  That is par for the course. (I love saying that).

      In no way am I comparing an accident to the death of a child, a failed marriage, or burying a spouse.  I don't think I can even begin to fathom that kind of pain BUT...

      It taught me that a trauma is a trauma no matter how seemingly large or small.  Trauma is the great equalizer; I found that I was able to relate to people who had been divorced, lost a child, been in accidents, had loved ones survive accidents, and that opened a new avenue to God.  It gave me an edge.  It made me a bit more raw.  It was like taking sand paper to my edges.  And somehow, it was good.  

     I was able to say, "I have so been there."  When you just know you have suffered a great loss, even if you can't identify exactly what is missing.  That is the worst.

I think this guy says it best.  

"Pain is pain.  Brokenness is brokenness."
Nick Vujicic

      So, I am tempted to get on here and tell you that we are having company and my house is messy and I am stressed out for silly reasons and feeling incredibly guilty for feeling such concerns, on this day of all days, no less.

But instead, I will try not to be ridiculous.

     Instead, I will tell you that I drove home with the windows down and admired how wonderfully our rhododendron is blooming.  I will tell you that I am trying to STOP simply staying alive.

     I am trying to LIVE.

     Sometimes, when the children are telling me stories, I find myself listening so closely, but feeling quite distracted.  I find myself sometimes-sort-of-scowling from all the work and the hard-ness and the listening and then my heart has to tell my brain to tell my mouth to smile.  It says, "Here is a child who is being kind and silly and good.  Smile."  And then later I think to myself, "What is that all about?"

     I feel such a pull.  Such a desire to live.  I think about Hawaii and the decision we have made to spend a little money and abandon all other obligations and just explore.  I do not want to live the kind of life where a sense of adventure and wonder is reserved for such occasions...for two week vacations to tropical islands. No siree.


I am trying to LIVE.  I am trying to LIVE and enjoy the process.

P.S. How much do you love this nose?

Grudges, Dresses, and Other Things That Don't Go Together

or,  A Letter to Amy.  

Hello. 

Come in. Sit down.  Have some coffee. 

      It has been a long time since I have done that.  Since I have pretended that we are pals and you are here for a chat and a warm cup of joe or a smoothie, whichever you prefer.  I kind of like it. 

     That's right, get comfy.  Get comfy because I am about to tell you a story.  It started as an email and then got too "post-ish" so it is ending as an entry by yours truly.  I hope you don't mind.  

     This is scary for me.  This is scary for me because I sometimes try to be a tad bit vague here (hard to believe, right?) and tonight I realize if you are clever enough and up-to-date-on-my-life-enough, you can find the bread crumbs.  You can trace the edges on the map of my life and use the ever-so-subtle details to figure out the exact name of the person and the situation I am referring to.  (sometimes I like ending my sentences in prepositions, cause I'm rebellious like that. I have also heard this is a common habit of people from Ohio.  Well then color me Scarlet. Color me Gray. Go Bucks).  

     However, this is the truth the way I see it.  It is my truth, and I think that probably all truth is God's truth.  So, here it is.  

I am having a hard time forgiving.  

I always thought that people who were "unforgiving"  looked like this: 

and I don't look like that. I look like this. 

       I like dogs and coffee and the color of a lemon when you cut it open and I work with tiny kids who sometimes say "th" instead of "s." Adorable.    

     I think that is such a work of the devil...trying to make us believe that we don't do All The Things Other People Do because we are different.  We are nice.  We like kittens.  We let old ladies check out in front of us at the grocery store.  

     Kind of like how some kids think that "strangers" look like old men with black capes and handlebar mustaches. 

When technically, the nice cashier at the supermarket is really a "stranger."  

But alas...sometimes we just let these things happen.   

And then we get really off topic.   

     Last week, I was having dinner with some friends and I heard a name come up out of nowhere and my stomach did this very strange roller-coaster-type-thing and then I wanted to throw up.  I wanted to throw up because years and years ago, the aforementioned person was not very nice to me.  Looking back, I now realize it was just a series of dumb choices on this person's part (and a few on my own).  The stab(bing) was not intentional, but I felt it nonetheless.  

      So there is an upcoming event.  And this other-human-being will be there.  And, after nearly 4 years (give or take), we will be breathing the same room's oxygen.  

Oh, geez.   

     And I decide, right then and there, that I am buying a new dress.  I am buying a new dress even if it costs me a gazillion dollars.  And while wearing said dress, I will pout and be grumpy and ignore this human being unless I am shooting "I am so much better than you" glances in his (or her) general direction.  So there.  Take that. 

     Did I mention that I am not an unforgiving person? I mean, you saw the pictures, right?  Did I mention that I love Jesus and hot pink ballet flats and the fact that A Baby Story makes me cry?  So, we're good, right?  I'm still "nice."  I'm still "Jesus-y."  

Right.  

Right...?  

     I go home and I vent loudly to Amy via email (cause you can be loud in an email, true?)  I say that I wish I was one of those "cool girls" who can say, "I have a great life, I'm over it.  I'm past it."  

     But, I'm not.  I am grumpy.  I feel yicky.  I have rehashed things I haven't thought of in years.  I have climbed out of this place of forgiveness and peace and taken up residence in the land of "People who need to stop complaining and get over it."    

And I remember a quote I read from Mother Teresa, "  

  People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.  Forgive them anyway.

 If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you.  Be honest and sincere anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.  Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God.  It was never between you and them anyway.

*I encourage you to read the full version here.

And it rolls around in my head all day.  

And then I go to church, and I hear not one, but TWO lessons on forgiveness.  

God is an excellent teacher:

 Introduce/pretest/instruct/assess/intervene/reassess/hit you over the head if all else fails.  

     So, I sit on that for a few days.  And I start to compose an email and think about how, as Clarice Bean would say, my mind is a blanket.  

     I am the soil in April.  I need to let things seep in when it starts to rain.  I need to let things seep instead of always trying.to.get.everything.out.  

     And I think about how I wanted, so badly, to react like one of the "cool girls." But then I realize that being cool has nothing to do with it.  These girls have finally managed to forgive.  They have done what I have yet to do.  They have made the choice.  Because that's what it is, you know?  Forgiveness.  It is a choice.  

(unfortunately).  

     So I will go to this event and I will start making wiser choices instead of tricking myself into thinking that TIME will eventually throw me into forgiveness like a tiny, well-placed slingshot. I will do a lot of polite smiling and perhaps just a little bit of "grinning and baring it."  Tim and I will eat entirely too much cake, and he will dance in a way that makes me laugh (and blush).   I will kiss his cheeks and maybe he will dip me if I play my cards right.  Then we will go home and cuddle with the dogs.  And it will be just fine.  

It will be fine because in the final analysis,  it was never between me and this person, anyway. 

Love and no more grudges, 

H. 

*I don't want to be a jerk.  I didn't cite the cartoons.  This bothers me a bit b/c technically, it IS artwork.  If you find a source or REALLY want me to cite one, say "pretty please with a cherry on top," and consider it done.  ;)  

Swim until you can't see the land

I have discovered that I love prunes. Don't hate.  I put them in the same category as Clementines.  Fruit that doubles as dessert.  Look for them in the raisin aisle. They look like this.  

Your life will never be the same.

I have been quite a gym rat the past few days, and I.Love.It.  However, everything hurts.  And I do mean everything....so tonight, I swam laps in the pool and loved every minute of it.  No impact...just the water.  I got in, waist deep and actually sighed, "hmmmm....."  once my feet hit the bottom.  And then I actually started to swim...now, that is HARD work!

 My goggles fogged, as almost all goggles usually do (right?).

Life was blurry.

I have always loved water and am a decent swimmer.  When I was little, the stages of development in my family were as follows:

sit up. walk. run. swim.

 It came as second nature to us.  I never remember LEARNING to swim.  I just remember...swimming.  

However, tonight, I couldn't seem to keep my head IN the water.  Any semi-experienced swimmer will tell you that things go much smoother if you just dunk your head every once in a while.

But tonight, I was having a hard time remembering to breathe.  This is true in life as well, I suppose.

I still ache, but I feel good.  Tired.  But the good kind of tired.

Before the gym, we went to look at Guitars.  That's right, with a capital "G."

On the way there, Tim commented on my driving (twice!) and I pouted like a Big Fat Baby.  Then I saw him hold a BreedLove and he made The Face He Always Makes While Playing Acoustics.  He looks so relaxed.  Like he is thinking really hard, but not in a way that is 'work.' Do you know what I mean?  He looks calm.

Then I started wondering if that is the way he will look when he bottle feeds our babies and my heart softened and we did that

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry."

thing that couples sometimes do and everything was okay again.

I have come to the conclusion that Good Photography is maybe 20% skill, 10% good equipment, and 70% Opportunity.  The Fine Art of Being at the Right Place at the Right Time.

Time will tell.


Love, H.