December is my thankful month (and this year it wasn't easy)

I do this post every year.

Basically what happens is i spend the entirety of November trying to pinpoint exactly what it means to be thankful, and by the time i actually get around to being thankful, its December. This year, it hasn't been easy. There's stuff happening in my world that leaves me exasperated and exhausted and to be honest, i'm the closest i've ever been to buying a plane ticket for Iceland and never coming back.

BUT - i can't do that. So i'm going to try to be thankful, and i'm thinking maybe if i write it out enough, i will begin to actually feel it. Fake it 'til i make it, essentially. These are things that i'm thankful for, that i don't exactly want to be thankful for, but its what i'm dealing with. I'm trying to be thankful in all situations. So this year -

i'm thankful for figurative brick walls that fly up in my face at the last second of a plan. I'm thankful for the trees (again, figurative) that grow up in my way, and that i grow strong cutting them down, or figuring out ways to get around them.

Im thankful that i've had to learn to be independent, that i'm learning to grow up, because i will not, and cannot, be a child forever, however much i wish it.

I'm thankful for community - the kind that you build up from when you were a baby, when its really your parents community, your parents connections, but you get to build off of them, and it really does feel like everyone knows you. (Which - i'm sorry, my desired superpower is invisibility, so having everyone recognize me is my worst nightmare), but it's really helpful because then you let people know - i'm looking for work, i'm looking for someone to apprentice under, i'm looking for support in prayer, i'm looking, looking, looking and i cannot turn over all the rocks by myself.

I'm thankful for realizing that i'm a loner. I mean, i knew i was an introvert. But spending time with people constantly for three months, i realized that i was weaker there. I needed alone time, i needed alone space, i needed alone in order to be me, in order to be my own person, to recognize where my boundaries were and how i needed to strengthen them.

I'm thankful for staying in MT. I thought I wanted to go to OR (i still do) but money doesn't come by me easily (i swear, its a negative magnetic field between us) so going there became not an option. And i was really sad. But then - i came home. And i discovered that there are 11 midwives in a state of 1 million people. i got completely infuriated for 3 days because that's a stupidly low number, and i decided that i was going to become the 12th midwife in MT if it killed me. There's something about staying where you came from - maybe its that community thing i talked about earlier - that gives you an extra measure of confidence. You know where everything is. You know who the people are. You are familiar with it and with people's viewpoints and opinions. Its home. Why wouldn't i stay here?

Basically - i'm thankful for those things that happened this year that took my breath away like i'd been kicked in the gut. Betrayal of life - that's what it felt like. Swimming upstream, hiking through 5 feet of snow, getting vinegar on a wound, accidentally inhaling a lung-full of chlorine water from the pool - we all know how these feel. Like, why me? What have i done to deserve this pain, even though i know i'll live through it?

This year, I'm thankful for the pain. For the frustrations. For the growth. Because that is how we become better versions of ourselves: through struggle. On my "the plan" page, I have this thing about how pearls and diamonds are made. Essentially, through discomfort, and pressure, and time. And this year has been full of those. So i'm choosing to be thankful for that.

God doesn't do anything without a reason. My mom (seriously i missed her waaaay too much. She's another reason i'm SUPER thankful to be home) keeps saying to me (and freaking me out because 10 years in the future scares me) "i wonder how this will affect you 10 years down the road?" And that's made me think about all of what's happened and how i'm going to let it affect me. Will i let it make me bitter and turn me away from my goal? or will it make me stronger, and more able?

Being thankful wasn't easy this year. The plane ticket would have been easier. (TBH it still is.) But I have little holding me back other than my own hesitations. I have little in front of me other than the problem itself. 

Talk about a perfect set-up for getting this job done.

who's who

Hi guys. This one's kind of...well...ugly. Its one of those things where you feel something deeply, and in this case its a struggle between being good, and light, and helpful, and sweet, or giving into my flesh and being the nasty, selfish, hard, broken person that would be so much easier to be. Both people can feel like shells, like masks, but other days they can feel like the most natural thing in the world, second skins, each one separate...or maybe not. Sometimes they meld and its a mess. How do i choose between the two? How do i make them separate? How do i stay in one character so that my mind doesn't go crazy from the back and forth?

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

you're so sweet.
what an angel.
thanks for your help.

your mother taught you well.
what a wonderful friend.
what a wonderful person.
you always have a smile on your face.

thanks for listening.
thanks for being you.


why can't you be more like her.
why can't you try harder.
why did you do that?
why are you so mean?

oh, i'm sorry.
you don't seem to be doing well.
you should really see someone for this.


that's so nice of you!
hmm, (with a smile,) thanks so much!
(i only do it so i can sleep at night.)

you're a good freind too (although you don't really know me. you don't know anything about me.)
i'm only this way because of Him.
its been a good day.
(but get me out of here. i need food and sleep and quiet.)

you needed someone to listen...could i do anything else? (like i said...so i can sleep at night.)
i'm the only one who could be me. and i'm not good at being anyone else.


because i'm not perfect.
because i can't. i'm stuck.
i don't know.
i don't know. i wasn't thinking.

don't be. its life.
i'm fine. there's nothing to do.
i'm fine. i'm fine.
i know. i am.
i don't need to. i don't want to.
i'm fine.

somehow, we're both fine. but we're not. 

somehow, we're both acting, and we suck at it. 

somehow, someday. some way.

things will change. 

but i don't see it. 

it's over three or four horizons, around 

five or six bends, over

a mountain range or two.

i'd say that reality is a long ways away.

except that we're in it. 

in it, and drowning. 

two bodies that should really be one 

and i'm thinking that i'll always be cut in half

and no one will see it except me.

because i'm the one that has to leave half of me behind every day.

if places were people no. 4

   

your eyes are blue. 

as blue as the rest of you, 

ranting and raging and throwing your wave arms up in the air with every 

gust of teasing wind. 

you told me once

green was your favorite color.

i doubt it.

it's not just one blue. 

but layers. 

almost black-blue, like sleeping heavens 

and then the cerulean lighter Caribbean pools,

streaked with the almost white of ripped denim and 

the deceptive brownish of sea foam. 

your waves are uneven, 

and they ripple across the surface of the sand like your skin

ripples across you 

the dips and curves making tide pools 

for crabs and sea anemones to take refuge. 

most people don't like you 

"too chilly. can't swim there. 

and there's too much wind and rain."

i like you. that's my kind 

of weather - messy and dirty and sad and yet simple

with only sand and water to get in the way of itself - the way you let the mist 

lounge about, 

sauntering from tree to tree, street to street,

storefront to storefront,

enveloping, muffling the distant song of water's heartbeat,

and it makes my jacket and jeans damp with its heaviness.  

when i walk down to your shore you throw wind at me

thinking i'll walk back  to the house for warmer shoes and some hot chocolate. 

but that's the thing

you don't know me. 

i'm a mountain girl. 

mountain girls climb mountains just to find wind that carries new scent.

i face that wind, 

and i let the water make my feet go numb,

it's iciness is threatening but

i'm not afraid of you. 

beach length waves shove against each other, 

racing to reach my ankles

a bet against time

a wager for the pretty lady. 

i think of what the jovial nature hides - 

harshness and honesty. 

chasms. 

doldrums. 

hurricanes. 

shelter to the water beasts

raging against the coasts. 

the way you never stop - 

you're a constant of wave, water, depth, shallows, 

somehow you cover every aspect and the sheer 

immensity makes me feel small. 

i think of

the way man has wanted to tame you

and yet you have remained just as dangerous as before 

they tied some sticks together and tried

to cross you. 

"we'll win the pretty lady,

pretty lady come home in our tub"

but you pulled them down in maelstrom and reef 

sent an extra breath of wind to make the waves psychotic

carved graves out of the feasting table

that sharks so often watch.

and yet how like man you are, 

those long waves equalling strong shoulders, 

bringing the wind and blocking it at the same time, 

gritty hands pulling at my feet, digging sand around,

kissing locks of my hair, mingling my blonde strands with your sandy ones,

light and bleached from salt and sun

and then kissing my lips with

your salty ones. scratching

my check with the bit of stubble, grit at the top of 

your cheekbone, sharp.

i can't tell if it's a scar that's yet to heal from 

the tiff with that shark last week

or if it's because you never shave when 

you're supposed to. 

you leave gifts on the shoreline:

seaweed, driftwood, pretty stones and shells 

and even the occasional sea star or jelly fish. 

some days you bring me sea foam in your hands, but 

it spills over, all over the bland sand and makes me laugh 

when it flies in your face. 

the perpetual lullaby, 

murmuring sweet things in a language i do not understand,

shhshh shhshh,

others say be careful. 

that you're dangerous. 

that i shouldn't swim too deep. 

you'll pull me away from them. 

i think of our differences. 

me climbing heights and you diving depths. 

both breathing oxygen but yours is in water and mine is in air

and i imagine your sandy hands pulling at my feet again, 

deeper, love, deeper, let me show you something beautiful. 

and how you love to tease the seagulls. 

i think of how you send me sunsets and 

i think of the way i found the mountain looking at the stream instead of at me

and i think of how i'm tired of air, 

and i'm tired of the brown and green of mountains and the mocking 

humhumhum

of the wind in the ponderosas 

you send a salty kiss my way 

and pull me deeper beneath your waves and i can see the 

sand dollar cities and 

a wall of sea stars and 

families of fish 

and a shark says hello

and how the water feels different in my lungs and 

how it feels different in my hair,

and I see the danger 

and I see your anger

but I also see the way you smile 

at me and i think i like your little gifts and the shades

of blue in your eyes. 

i think i like your lullaby 

and your allure

and the way you send me winds filled with new smells 

i like the way your hands are not big enough to hold the sea foam and how

you're wild, but you're mine. 

if places were people no.3

I thought you were a shortcut.

You took us the long way 'round.
With stops at every station.
Pauses after every sentence.

We never went
faster than
50 miles an hour.

26 hours is a long time to sit and stare
memorize each other's faces, skin lit up by
dimness of walkway lights, reflecting off the scratched, plastic-y windows.

Maniacal laughing clatter of steel wheel against steel track
annoying complaint of rubber window lining against foggy glass to the outside
Almost distant stubborn stomach grumble of the machine taking us to somewhere

You are that in-between place
That interpretation
That 'please wait while document loads' symbol.

You will always come back
But sometimes you will sleep
And Destination will take your place

Sometimes you will go on holiday
And Preparation will visit
To get us ready for you again.

Sometimes your face will change.
You'll grow a beard, or something else ridiculous will happen,
Like the time your eyes changed colors.
And sometimes I will need to memorize that face
Over again.
Take the journey twice.

Sometimes you don't make sense.
And yet you are almost constant and consistent
But you are nothing twice
You are never the same
You are In-between

We had better get used to it because
Consistent is different than static
And change is different from chaos

And sometimes you will drive the train backwards
And north will be west
And east will be south.

And I don't mind.
I love you very much, more than I thought I would,
Because I thought you were a shortcut, someone
I could pass by without a second glance
And you very much weren't.

Which is to say
I like your scenic routes better.

In-between is nice.
Even though it is the definition of patience
and You never had a dictionary.

Which is to say
I thought you were a shortcut
And you showed me the world
And stole my calendar
And my time
And my heart
And now,
I live for the limbo
The in-between
The changing
The unexpected hairpin curve that says
Pay attention.
You don't have time for second glances.
You may not come this way again.

(WHAAAAATTTT. Yeah. Hi. I'm not dead or anything I just haven't posted in FOREVER. Sorry 'bout that. But anyway, if you're interested, the idea for this one was from the train trip we took last October. Fun stuff. LOVE Y'ALL. I'm going to post again soon so stay tuned.)

(ANOTHER NOTE BECAUSE I FORGET THINGS: remember last year when i did that blogtober series? I NEVER DID DAY 18 (the horror) but it was supposed to be "This week I..." and really, that week before the 18th i had gone on a train trip, which is what this post was based on. basically: i finally finished blogtober and its july. isn't that great?)

writing (because i need it) 4.21.16

some days you feel like you have to scream.
and since you're at
________________ *insert public place where you
are expected to behave like an adult*  you can't.

so you scream in other ways.
you wear the crazy dress and the flats.
who cares?

you text your grand total of TWO friends,
and you tell them all your wierdest jokes again
and you laugh hysterically in your head, mostly at yourself
but also...well yes, just at yourself, and you feel a little mad
the losing-your-mind kind of mad
when you do it.

and you use
BIG
EXPRESSIVE
GESTURES
AND ENTIRELY TOO MUCH capslock.

you be wierd.

you mentally scream and you write it out
you sing and dance along to songs in your head
intermittent stops to go "wow that is such a good song"
and you daydream  to get away
and you wonder how far you could get on what's left
of the gas in the tank of your car

you write out the crazy
fill white space with typed black

eat lunch somberly
greet clients quietly
with perfect smile
practiced phrases

still mentally yelling incoherently; still screaming like a banshee
and you wonder how people would react if they had mind readers
and they could watch yours

you wonder what they would say

would they be like:
wow she never stops.

no seriously. make the screaming stop.

or more like
why on earth does she think about this? i thought she was above that.

or maybe
yep, it really is time to put her in a mental institution. 

the good thing is they don't have a reading-your-mind machine yet
and so i'm safe
from everything except my own weirdness
and my mental noise
and there's nothing to stop me
so i keep on going.

i write out the crazy.
it just keeps coming and coming
and i know i sound incredibly calm about the whole
ordeal but
i'm not
its too noisy to be anything but
indifferent.
an adult in a room of three-year-olds on caffeine.
that's what its like.

it will die down, die out,
like cotton from the cottonwoods only come around once a year
the puff balls, snow of the summer, they blow away
eventually.
just not right now.
and probably not tomorrow.

not until i write it out.

i'll go on a binge of taking in:
art and music
poetry
nature
soaking in rays of sunshine
and warm summer breezes and
digging my feet into garden dirt
and then washing them in the muddy water of the pond
and i will end up with brown skin criss-crossed with tan lines and a clear mind

after i write out the crazy.

but not until i have drowned the scream in the sound of everything else
flushing it, taking in, and writing out all of it, good and bad
waiting until it quiets like a babe who needs rock music in the car to silence the wails.
blurring like sharp pictures of summertime
because you can only take the blur
not the sharp because the sharp is too specific.

and you feel like those photos because you know
what the picture looks like behind the blur.
specific. colorful. purposeful.
the prints are there, confident and mocking.
you're the picture, all those. the purpose radiating from you,
like you could lead it into battle and win, every time.
but you can't take it. and neither can anyone else,
so you blur.
you blur the pictures.
you blur yourself.
dulling it like alcohol on the senses,
like the stuff they use to numb your teeth at the dentist
like the 'snow' that used to show up on tv screens when you hit the wrong channel.

write out the crazy, the noise
the screaming.
don't blur it, dull it.
use the pointy end of your pencil, the
click of your fingernails on the keyboard.
use the sharp to dig out the stubborn rocks.
push out the crazy so it don't build up.

(ON A SIDE NOTE: SPEAKING OF INTERNAL DEMONS...CHECK OUT KATE'S POST. IT'S AWESOME. )

writing (because I need it) 2.16.16

they say to write until you can't NOT write
they say to write until it hurts when you don't
until you write better than you talk, think, and see
how?

describe what a jellyfish looks like to a blind person

what does music sound like, to the deaf?

how does heat feel to one who has lost the nerve endings in their fingers?

give a voice to someone who has never said a word

make ice cream for someone who has only ever eaten cake

give it the soul and sixth sense that everyone has

take life and offer it to the dying
lend vision and sound
share some taste buds

that's what writing is

how do i breathe? 
how do i see, taste
how do i feel and touch
what is the meaning of emotion?

my voice is my own language
some sentences come out like i've pasted them into google translate
the basic meaning comes through
but some words just aren't the same.

some languages have words that English doesn't
some languages don't translate into mine and vice versa

komorebi - sunlight filtered through leaves
meraki - to leave a piece of yourself in your work
hanyuaku - to walk on tiptoes across hot sand
bimyou - "meh", "not bad"

and i feel that when i write
talk and create people see part of it
but they also see the underneath description that says
Sami-ese, number of  speakers: 1
all they understand is the
butchered explanation of what i'm really trying to say
one that doesn't even come close

UNTRANSLATABLE
LITERAL
"ALMOST"

but not quite

write it anyway
write it because it hurts.
write it because if you don't it might write itself
on the walls of your brain in big black
bold letters that will never ever ever come off.

write so that it does not become permanent
toska: unexplained spiritual anguish

write to get it out

write to keep clean.

neon

^ it isn't neon. but it's light. same change. same difference.^

there's a tipping point.
a spot in the journey where it is realized
that change must happen, or we'll
slip off the edge of an ever-tilting world.

we get slapped in the face and realize
that its not right.
for once, realize
that something has to give,
and that something is self.

in that moment
we are not infinite
we are not finite
we are not average
we are not special
we are merely changing.
we are neon.
we are bright
like new-born stars
like dying stars

we change.
flashes, on-off-off-on-on-off
inside to out
out to in all of the above
back again
and we
change
to neon.

like flares in the wilderness
distress signals
black boxes.

send out the warning,
the message
the decleration.
i've changed
i'm lit up.
i'm neon.

NOTE TO SELF: twelve

NOTE TO SELF: the sticky notes series

i am feeling SO overwhelmed.

i love to blog. really really really love to blog. i would do this all day every day if i could make a living off it.

unfortunately i can't.

so - i'm cutting down. you may have noticed already that i'm not posting as much as i have been. (october was kind of a post overload...so aside from that.) i want my blogging to be real - not just something i pump out every once in a while because i feel like i should keep this up.

i want to post the highlights. the stuff that sticks.
old stuff that i love, new things i think are awesome.

things i would change, things i love and hate at the same time.

i would love to have red hair.
i fail at bible time but its a new years resolution to remedy that.
as much as it tries to kill me, i want to start running.
and i want to look at the good things.
i want to learn the little things and remember them.

i therefore introduce to you:

i will be doing two series at the same time. Note to Self as they come, and then If Places Were People every other week.

Note to Self  will be the little lessons that i learn that i don't want to forget. these lessons are actually written in my horrid handwriting on my bedroom walls, but i want to share them with you.

because somedays we just need little sticky notes that say it's gonna be okay.

I may not post as much. but hopefully these posts will be less of me blabbering and more of
look what i learned today! what do you think? 

plus - you know - these are probably gonna be on canva things so AWESOMENESS.

stay tuned, lovelies.

Leibster Blog Award

SO - here I get this Pinterest message from Abbiee at her music blog. (This alone was enough to make my day.) (#pinterestaddict) 

And this message says that she has tagged me for the Leibster Blog Award. 

I have seen this award. 

It floats about the internet like gold stars on a European restaurant.  (Go watch The Hundred-Foot Journey. SO GOOD.) 

and I love tags. 

Incentive + ability + TOTAL EPICNESS = BEST

What could possibly be wrong about any of this combination??
So i give to you:

Here's the rules:

1. Steal the logo thingy. Yep, go ahead, take it! (Or, you can dig around on the big wide Web and see if you can find another one that somehow fits your blog better. Or you could make one. This one is from Abbiee. It's pretty awesome. i don't see why you would need a different one.)
2. Link back to the person that tagged you. (Hello. That would be me.)

3. Answer the 11 questions that I provide for you at the end of this post. (So. Many. Questions.) 
4. I looked up the official rules for the Liebster award, since i had never done it before and i wanted to LEARN about it (because i love to learn.) and guess what? You're supposed to provide 11 random facts about yourself. (yesssss.....) so do that. tell us about how you eat nutella at midnight and only use slippers on christmas and have only ever had two pets at any given time. 
5. Tag 5 – 11 bloggers that you think deserve to be Liebster of the Year (i don't think that's actually a thing but shhhhh - don't tell anyone :), who have a less than 1000 followers. (apparently you can get a little widget for your blog that lets people know how many people have followed your blog. or you could just ask the blogger. Or you could just guess. Because really....who's counting?) i was confused on the number of nominations you could give so i googled the original liebster blog award and basically the rules have morphed over the years. some people say 11 bloggers, some say 5, some say 10, some say as many as possible. I JUST THINK ITS FUN TO FIND OUT ABOUT PEOPLE. so do however many nominations you want. TAG AWAY.

6. Ask them 11 questions. (or more. or less. but why would we ask less questions? this is an interrogation, right?) (kidding. its actually not. but if it was it would be the coolest interrogation ever.)
7. List these rules in your post. (if you want you can copy and paste from here, or you can do your own interpretation.)

8. Let your tagged bloggers know you've tagged them, via social media or their blog. (IMPORTANT STEP. and give them a link to your blog post that nominates them because if they don't have that then they can't see the questions.) (lol, no i'm not talking from experience. that would be ridiculous.)

9. Also, just as kind of an afterthought...you should really leave your nominator a link to the post you write. Because that's why you were nominated: someone loved your blog. 

So my answers to the phenomenal questions asked by the phenomenal Abbiee:

>>> Best childhood memory?

I don't think I can actually choose just one......maybe the time our friends came over from Portland and we had "Camp LongWalk", which included homemade toy boat races, and lots of bug spray, and sardines, and vienna sausages, and water fights? Or maybe the time we went on the road trip with my aunt to Mount Rushmore? Or maybe the time that Lexy, Dad, and I were home without Mom and Dani and there was a thunder storm so we hung out in the kitchen with all of the doors to the house open and drank chocolate milk and watched the rain come down in sheets? Or the time that we took an unexpected adventure to the coast just because we could? All of it. Really. CHILDHOOD WAS AWESOME.

>>> What is your opinion of Tumbler?
My opinion is a generalization:  Tumblr is full of awesome people who are probably less awesome in person and have less than awesome lives but make them seem awesome by presenting facades on this social media column. They are also often obsessed with some movie or TV series, and this is the subject of much of their circles. (Truth: I would probably have a tumblr if I had more time. God knew that I could only actually live life if he put 24 hours in a day. If he had put in 25, I would have a tumblr, and it would be terrifying. And time consuming. And I would rule the world through tumblr, which would be a disaster. Thus 24 hour days.)

>>> Current Favorite Song?
Hello, My Old Heart by The Oh Hellos - THIS SONG IS AWESOME. AND THE ARTISTS ARE AWESOME. GO LISTEN TO THEM. 

>>> Spirit Animal?? (it can also be a person)
 Tea. Tea is my spirit animal. Either that or a manatee. I like those things. 

>>> What is that thing that, when you do it, you feel ALIVE?
Traveling, especially when it involves public transportation. It's like all of my senses are turned onto super-mode, so I see and hear and feel and taste and smell everything 10 TIMES MORE INTENSE THAN I NORMALLY WOULD. It's like having the volume turned up. (Second choice: running. Because it is then that I realize how close to death I am.) (Thus why I never run.)

>>> Are GIFs life or annoying? Both.  I love them because there are some really incredible GIFs out there that make me react like Exhibit A. But then there are also some really lame ones that people say are awesome and my reaction is something like Exhibit B.

>>> Do you stare at them forever just to read lips with the caption?
Yes. Especially when they only get half-words in there and you're start thinking WHAT DID THEIR FACE LOOK LIKE FOR THE REST OF THE WORD? #problemswithgifs  #lovehaterelationship

>>> Was that last question confusing?
No. Not at all. I get that.

>>> Dream job?
Midwife or Librarian.  Or official tea taster. Or I would love to be a professional hybernator. (That one is still in the works but I think we can make it happen.)

>>> Who is your greatest spiritual influence?
MMM. MY MOM. She's the best.

>>> If you had access to a time machine, where would you go?
I would go back. way way way way way back to when i was just a kid, and the worst thing that happened was sunburns and blisters on my feet because i wore that stupid pair of flipflops for too many days in a row. I would go back to when breakfast meant sitting in the strawberry patch stuffing my face with the red fruit, brushing off the umber dirt if there was any stuck on the scarlet, seed-speckled surface. I would go back to when sitting in the hottub in the winter ALWAYS included running out into the snow and rolling around and then jumping back into the tub and the slicing, stinging skin pain that made us shriek with hysterical joy. (and as weird as that sounds, we had a GREAT TIME.) i would go back to before life meant bad things happened too. i would go back to when life meant that summer would always come around and the lawn mower doubled as a 4-wheeler in the wintertime so we could pull the sled around because we didn't have a hill in our yard. i would go back to when my brain wasn't clouded by the everyday mundane fog of lists of things to do and think and say and be and look forward to and worry about. i would go back to simpler times.

and that is quite possibly the most depressing thing i have written since this little downer. 

MOVING ON.

11 random facts about me: (and my sister helped me with these so beware...hehehe)

>>>  blood orange gelato is my greatest weakness. (Shhh...don't tell.)

>>> I have only ever broken one bone, and that was my middle toe on my right foot. (We were playing Disney tag in a narrow hallway...weird things happen.)

>>>apparently I "gulp" my water.

>>> and "viciously" brush my teeth. 

>>> and my driving...you know in the movies where the edge of the world is falling off and the people are running on the little pieces and they have to not fall of the edge of the world and it's really intense and kinda scary??? That's how I drive....or so I've been told. 

>>> the ocean/seaside/beach is my most favoritest place to be. 

>>> despite the beach being my favorite place...I despise swimsuits. 

>>>  I think music is super awesome. And I think the passion that people have for music and arts is really epic. And people who love to do music....they're pretty superb. 

>>> this is not my first blog. I started doing a food blog like, four years ago, and there's maybe 8 posts on it...and I never really do anything with it, but I'm thinking about ressurecting it. 

>>> I do actually eat Nutella late at night.....*sigh*...confession. 

>>> I am a completely unique person. I am an introvert, but I like people. (Sometimes they're stupid, but all of us are at some point.) I don't like fish or chicken legs or good earth tea. Cooking is a stress relief for me. I like music that I like, not any specific band or any specific genre. I like clothes that are kinda hippie, kinda cool, kinda grunge. (Like boyfriend jeans and tunics and combat boots and leather jackets with simple necklaces and fun socks and almost curly hair.) If I could fast forward or rewind, I would think long and hard about actually doing it. But you know what? I wouldn't actually do it. Because I like where I'm at right NOW. And I like my life and who I've become and what I've learned. I am unique. But so are you. So we are both different, but we have similarities. We are grown the same way...with lots of water and food and sleep and laughter and hard work and tears and life. Unique, and beautiful. (Wow....okay #chillsam #endofrant). 

My questions for you...hehehe....

1. cake, ice cream, or pie?
2. where do you go to think?
3. if you were sick in bed and you could ask someone from any time period to come visit you, who would you ask?
4. favorite word?
5. what is your perfect pizza?
6. favorite thing to do with friends?
7. how do you exercise?
8. Do you like yourself? 
9. Who is your fictional tv show character? (I know I'm not supposed to comment on these but I had to on this one.) (for example: my sister is certain that I am Sheldon off of The Big Bang Theory. Which is probably the closest we can get to making me a fictional character, although I would be a really nice version of Sheldon and I swear I don't complain that much.)
10. Why did you start blogging?
11. If Godzilla came crashing through your hometown, or wherever your living, what would you do? 

AND NOW? THE NOMINATIONS. MWAHAHA. (Please excuse this poorly executed linking...I'm still trying to figure out my blogger app and let me be quite frank: I HATE IT SO FAR.)

Jana @ http://janasfaith.blogspot.com/

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Olivia @ http://summerof1999.blogspot.com/

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Adelaide @ http://downbythewillows.blogspot.com/

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Kryn @ http://gardenofhappiness-kryn.blogspot.com/

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Sara @ http://www.glitteringambiguity.com/blog

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Bridget @ https://adventuresofasoul.wordpress.com/

Alright my pretty little peaches: don't forget the rules, feel free to paste and copy as needed, and don't forget to leave me a link to your blog when you're done with this doozy. I LOVE ALL YOUR BLOGS. They seriously make my days so nice, because they're so cute and cheerful and thoughtful and adventurous and basically shisihgUTJYRTDRCjnasljdhfkasjdhf ........yeah. I love them. :) 

Thanks to Abbiee once again! This was so fun! 

Happy blogging, Leibsters!

p.s. I apologize for the length of this post.....but never fear. I have faith in your eyes. :)

Adventure is out there

Adventure is out there, I tell myself as I step into solidly cold wind 

wee hours of the morning, not enough coffee and a heavy suitcase.

Light heart. Anticipatory, open brain.

Adventure is out there, I say, as I leave my bag with the man and his cart, up the steps into the cylindrical tube that will be hurtling me through the air 600 miles every hour

6 miles up there.

6 miles. I can't even run that far.

I am a fifth of a century old and I have never flown in an airplane. 

I'm beginning to hate the Wright brothers. What is wrong with horse and carriage?

What is wrong with car? Train? Roller skating? Land travel is SO MUCH SAFER. 

But no. Onto the plane. Into my seat.

Seatbelt, even though we won't be leaving the ground for another twenty minutes.

Breath. Adventure is out there

The words chasing my terror around my head,

Children in a game of tag.

Terror? ...pretty sure that's what that is.

Adventure is out there

Black dawn yawning hungrily at me through tiny window.

Adventure is out there

Taxiing down the runway

Adventure is out there 

Engine noise overpowers all other senses until it is all I know.

Adventure is out there

Heart and stomach switching places with my esophagus and 

Tongue turning to sandpaper

Adventure is out there

Lights flicker

Adventure is out there

Plane begins to tilt

Wheels begin to lift

I think for a moment that there is no way that we will not crash, tail over wings

27 casualties, 48 wounded, remainder of passengers and crew in critical condition

Adventure is out there

Mocking me from its seat belted position in my brain

Adventure is out there

Wheels lift off the ground and 

Adventure is out there, in the air:

WE ARE FLYING.

Two airports later (one landing, one takeoff, one landing later - let's face it: the landings feel like roller coaster rides gone wrong) - we have arrived on time.

We have arrived alive,

We have nurtured my traveling soul we have located our taxi and obtained coffee

We have moved forward in control

Confident travelers.

Our bus fills with smoke.

Nothing to do.

Gauges fine, gas fine, heaters and airconditioning fine

Everything is fine

And yet I can trail my hand through the sunshine lit fumes that swirl plentifully.

We open windows.

We wait, amid flying hair and silent mouths, surrounded by strangers.

We arrive at the hotel, 

70s style room...it has gold light fixtures. 

Rest. 

Before I sleep, before my father wakes me with his dead-raising snore,

Before I cleanse myself of the dirt of travel.

I am haunted, greeted, wrapped in a thought:

Adventure is out there.

But adventure is not always without trouble. Adventure is not always pure. Adventure is not always what we think it will be. Adventure will trick us - 

For that is the essence of adventure: to not know, yet plunge in. 

All the Light We Cannot See (book review #6)

WINNER OF THE PULITZER PRIZE
From the highly acclaimed, multiple award-winning Anthony Doerr, the beautiful, stunningly ambitious instant New York Times bestseller about a blind French girl and a German boy whose paths collide in occupied France as both try to survive the devastation of World War II.

Marie-Laure lives with her father in Paris near the Museum of Natural History, where he works as the master of its thousands of locks. When she is six, Marie-Laure goes blind and her father builds a perfect miniature of their neighborhood so she can memorize it by touch and navigate her way home. When she is twelve, the Nazis occupy Paris and father and daughter flee to the walled citadel of Saint-Malo, where Marie-Laure’s reclusive great-uncle lives in a tall house by the sea. With them they carry what might be the museum’s most valuable and dangerous jewel.

In a mining town in Germany, the orphan Werner grows up with his younger sister, enchanted by a crude radio they find. Werner becomes an expert at building and fixing these crucial new instruments, a talent that wins him a place at a brutal academy for Hitler Youth, then a special assignment to track the resistance. More and more aware of the human cost of his intelligence, Werner travels through the heart of the war and, finally, into Saint-Malo, where his story and Marie-Laure’s converge.

Doerr’s “stunning sense of physical detail and gorgeous metaphors” (San Francisco Chronicle) are dazzling. Deftly interweaving the lives of Marie-Laure and Werner, he illuminates the ways, against all odds, people try to be good to one another. Ten years in the writing, a National Book Award finalist, All the Light We Cannot See is a magnificent, deeply moving novel from a writer “whose sentences never fail to thrill” (Los Angeles Times).

GOOD: STOP EVERYTHING AND GO READ THIS BOOK. seriously guys, it was amazing. it is now the best stand-alone book i have ever read. like, gaaaaahhhh.... *flails* *falls over* *cries silently* *lays still* *takes a deep breath* GAAAAAHHH. Here's why: 
a) this book is written from two different view points. you may have heard me rant about the difficulty of this. Doerr NAILS this. i've never read better. Werner is quiet and thoughtful, a constant battleground for good and evil. Marie-Laure is a forest clearing filled with forget-me-nots and daisies, always seeing the good even though her eyes don't let in the light.
b) description: one character is blind, the other is not. seriously, the chapters switch like that. Marie goes by smell, taste, touch, and hearing. She goes by memory, she goes by instinct. she is a sponge for knowledge and her chapters in the book are steeped in it. she is also obsessed with 3-D maps (you'll get that later) and the ocean. Werner, on the other hand, sees everything. His eyes are the sponges, flitting about, pulling in information and analyzing not only the facts but the feelings, the emotions, wondering why at every opportunity. and his chapters. oh golly. his chapters make me cry. and he loves radios. seriously, this kid makes. my. world. although he kinda breaks my heart at the same time.

BAD: there's some language. there's also some really heavy real life stuff. which is difficult to swallow sometimes. one girl gets raped. one character is willing to blow up half of Europe (oh wait, that was Hitler. okay, blowing up the continent would be an exaggeration but you get my point) in order to heal himself. characters are blown up, shot down, impaled, frozen by water in the middle of the night, and some are taken to prison camps. you know what? i fully expected all of that. this is a book written in the middle of the Second World War. There were bad things happening then. a book that doesn't detail these would be lacking historical accuracy and depth. 

DIFFICULTY: the undaunted book queen in me says not hard at all. i mean yeah the book was more than an inch thick BUT HEY who's counting? however, the tiny little girl in me disagrees. for it was indeed a difficult book to read considering the fact that there would be one sentence describing how the field was full of daisies and you could hear a cow's bell in the distance and you could smell the sea and life was normal, and the next sentence would be talking about how the character hadn't eaten in three days and they were on the brink of wishing for death. this wasn't an easy book to read as far as content goes. definitely not for the weak of heart. 

1-10 SCORE: 10. All the way. This book won 6 awards. and it won 6 awards for a reason. it will break your heart and then heal it again. for me, it is forever on my favorites shelf. 
let me put it this way: i normally don't buy books. normally i just borrow them from the library. 
i bought this book. 

OVERVIEW: All the Light We Cannot See is intense, a web of stories and people and facts and myth and time that weave together into one grand climax and leaves you wondering what the purpose of life is. It makes you wonder how you are living today. It makes you think about what you notice, what you give into the world. It changed the way i think. i don't see bad things anymore. i see empty voids capable of good or bad, equally equipped and with equal opportunity to take over that space. at one point in the story Werner is trapped in a basement, listening to a radio. there's absolutely no light, and yet he doesn't feel scared, because the voice that is transmitting over the radio carries light with it. it lights Werner's soul. this scene left me wondering if physical light is not the most important. maybe it is the light that's felt, and heard, the kind that changes our hearts, i think that's what matters. and oh how much there is of it, all the light we cannot see. 

that's what i got out of it.

62 posts

on this blog, i have posted 62 times in the year of 2015.
Everything from rants and passion
to here's my boring stick-in-the-mud life.

the thing is, so much more has happened.
more than those 62 posts.
broken hearts, broken memories.
slow healing.
laughter that goes on and on until your gut aches.
a goal has been set.
multiple goals, actually.
and boundaries abound,
but our comfort zones have been stretched beyond belief.

i think i thought that life could be summed up.
that we could package life, and even people. and even
events, those summer vacations and
spur-of-the-moment road trips. the year after year of
christmas tree hunting in the woods and countless sledding and skiing days.
but we can't. because those things weren't made to be packaged.
they were meant to sit out, draped over the rocking chair like grandma's quilt.
somehow life wasn't meant to fit in a box. it was meant to spread out and run over everything.
Life isn't poptarts. its microwaved nutella.

but that's how life is best served. warm and gushy.
have you ever had frozen nutella?
worst ever.
frozen life. stuck in ice, no responses, cold and stiff.
what would be the point?

so yes - we'll try to fit life into our blog posts.
we'll try to fit it into a box.
but somehow the smell of sand and slightly damp carpet seeps out through the tape.
somehow, broken pine needles don't do bubble wrap.
somehow, somehow, snow doesn't package.

smiles don't fade in my head but printing out memories make them lose their color.
songs get stuck on replay in our brains even though they make us cry and when we try to record them they come out flat.

i try to type out words but they're two-d.
they're just words.
it seems that all i have to do, though, is read them and the mental images come flooding back, like a re-living of my life.
my eyelids are the screen - on them i can see the flash of red as fireworks go off in the fog.
dad throws up a sparkler and it lands in the snow, turning it neon green for a moment before going black.
lexy waltzing into my room at 5 o'clock christmas morning.
dani making me sit in the dirt so i can sit right in the saddle.
chris and the rubber chocolate cake.
joelle: 'its your happy birthday! its YOUR happy birthday! its your HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
eliza, round body, cooing and making me think that maybe, maybe i could have kids one day.
mom, dragging me along on hiking trips that were my idea and helping me salvage recipes gone wrong. me not having problems with chemistry and she just throws up her hands. me freaking out about basically anything and her say "Sam. CHILL. JUST DO IT. you're only holding yourself back."

and i can't write that on paper.
i can't write any of that on paper.
my mind is absolutely tick tight full of every memory i've ever had.

and i can't get it out.
not on paper.
not on this blog.
i can't recreate the scenes and take pictures.
its stuck in my head.

so yes. i've posted a lot this year.
personally, i feel like i've developed a lot in my writing.
i like my photography.
i'm getting better at arting.
but still -

it lacks that life.
i cannot capture life in my art.
in my writing.
in my pictures.

or maybe i can.
maybe i can and i just can't see it.
because in comparison to the product i see in my head,
the vivid world with so many colors,
in comparison, my output is wan. it is drab and empty.
if only you could see the real thing.

there is a species of shrimp that lives in the ocean. it can see 16 different color cones.
we can see three.
i wonder what that shrimp's world looks like.
it must be vivid.
i wish what i put out there was vivid. 16 color cone vivid.
but its not.
(or maybe i only have 3 color cones.)

i shall continue to write though. i will continue to post.
i will keep snapping photos.
and if next year holds 300 posts instead of 62, well, then grand.
if it only holds 12, that's okay too.

but i must recognise that life is not 2-d.
what we put out might be 2-d.
we probably won't be able to capture essencces. and mists. and 16 different color cones.
but we can capture 3. so why not?
why not do what we can, saturate ourselves in life.
breathe it. right now, its all we have.

a wandering post about winter.

note: this also counts as day 19 of blogtober: share a diy. (you should be proud of this little blogger, doing it herself and hibernating. or if that's not good enough for you, i scrape my own windows when there's frost and snow on them.)

there is snow on the ground.
christmas music can make me either disgruntled or gruntled. (its a word, look it up.)
and it's so COLD.
its winter.
winter means scraping ice spiders off my windshield and
the dull thud of my boots on the frozen ground.
it means that the house gets cold at night anyway
but this year its colder than normal.
when i woke up this morning, my nose was cold. cold as if i'd been outside for 10 minutes.
i hate cold noses.

it means waiting for my car to warm up but lets face it, the heater sucks.
(you had one job, heater...one job.)
and the house, even though its almost 80 degrees, still feels like its only 55, and the cold beats at the windows like a chant.
cold cold cold cold cold
the sun seems so much brighter in the winter, taunting us.
"come outside and play...it's lovely out here!"
but then you open the door and BOOM
winter shoves in like an army at the gate,
like the uninvited to the party
the cold air billows in like snow before the plow.
everyone seems to be strapping their snow-pushers to the front of their mud-splattered pick-up trucks
the minute we get a skiff of the white stuff.

its my second favorite season (autumn is first). i love the white stuff.
i love the tingles you get in your toes whenever you see the christmas lights
and the giddy laughter that bubbles up when you think of your family's faces on christmas morning
because you got them some awesome gifts this year.

i love the bonfires that you have in the snow,
and life-threatening sledding in the dark - or even in the daytime.
i love the way the streams freeze over but then bits of the ice break off
and you can see the black water tirelessly sprinting on beneath the white cover.
the rivers do the same, but bigger water means faster water means thinner ice,
so its more like elephant skin, wrinkled but white, edging up on other ridges, pushing up the banks.

i love christmas. i love the holiday season. even in january, there's skiing and
there's hot tea and leggings (so awesome)
and you have the perfect excuse to bundle up and cover your skin
and you don't have to worry about finding tank tops that fit
because "what the heck ITS SWEATER SEASON frumpyness is actually semi-acceptable and visual comfort is expected"
and reading for hours on end is legit because what else are we gonna do? sunbathe?

the snow keeps coming and then it melts and the ground turns into one cohesive puddle of mud and yucky water.
the garden is kind of melted, but the sunflower stalks from last summer are still standing
and when the wind rustles their leaves it sounds like brittle newspaper being torn.
they wait like dirty giants, non-anticipatory of their fate, unmoving and solidly firm,
dead to the world around them.

sometimes we get rain, but it can't decide whether it wants to be rain or snow.
somehow i got all my christmas present shopping done before thanksgiving
but i can't buy anything because both my birthday and christmas come this month, dang it.
so i sit here, and i read, and i write, and i work, and i wait
because its winter.

but dang it dang it dang it 
why does it have to be so cold?

screw it all.
i'm going to hibernate.
don't wake me.
(unless its food time. or you plan on kidnapping me and taking me to somewhere lovely. or you've found a dragon and you want to give it to me. *whispers* someone please get me a dragon...)