Lost and Found

Special Friday Night Post.

I just remembered Athens. Breathing is easier there. More dreams, more distractions. And the air is sharper, more cutting. I probably spend too much time indoors.

Bittersweet Farewell.

The year is coming to a close. A sigh of relief. 2007, I’m done with you.

One of my favorite things about the Bible is that it emphasizes the fact that struggles, pain and the unexpected do not go unrewarded. My septuagenarian friends in the Women’s Club could pass along this wisdom as well. Each trial in life comes with strength in character. Living is not easy, and it never has been, no matter how our minds distort the truth. The kids open their Christmas toys with joy and vigor while dad records. When the fights begin, the machine is turned off. Video cameras and snapshots rarely record the devastating.

2007 was a raw year. Insides came to the outside without the facades of decorum, gracefulness, togetherness. Like the laundry I didn’t do, the piles I didn’t organize, my shit was there for all to see. When the shit piles up, the realizations about self, the bad choices, the mistakes, the bruises, it’s difficult to sort through it, to imagine it organized, cleaned up, shiny. All I could see was a mess. How despairing it can be to only see your own mess, to think that yours is worse than others. How silly.

I’m grateful for the mess, though. How could I not be? Things unresolved have a way of growing, like the dark stuff that is living on the caulking of my bathtub. What if 2007 had never happened? How would I have learned about perspective? How would I have witnessed, first-hand, how gratitude makes a difference? How would I have learned to place my entire life into the hands of a loving God? Me, in the fetal position, whimpering prayers, slowly remembering to breathe, slowly taking in love that I never knew I had.

There are good memories, of course. I have photographs of these things: riding horses on the beach in Northern California with Liz, going through a corn maze with half a dozen high school girls on a beautiful Autumn day, wedding shots with Sarah, sailing with Beth in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Tanzania. But the most intimate times were never captured in film; they were not beautiful photo opportunities. These times did not come with the elaborate planning that I am apt to do. These were the times that I just stopped. My thoughts, my plans, my words came to a halt. And I listened. And my Creator said, “Come to me. I understand. I love you.”

If things were pretty, if things had worked the way I’d planned, if I was together, graceful and my life was shiny, those words wouldn’t have shed light into my heart, my mess.

And so I prepare to say goodbye to the year. The piles are starting to be cleaned up, put away. The laundry is done and I’m ready to create again. To move forward with hope, with a smile. And with just a little more knowledge about life. It’s not easy. But it sure beats the alternative.

A Look Inside the Minds of Men.

My male coworkers have been the source of much amusement as of late. Today, one of them purchased flowers - a nicely arranged assortment of wildflowers - for his lady friend.

"Clint!" I screamed across the front of the grocery store, "You're buying flowers! Flowers! For a girl! We should make a big deal about this."

"No," Clint sighed, "We shouldn't."

I looked at the flowers and asked, "Is she colorblind?"

"No."

"Great! Then she'll love them!"

He actually laughed. My coworker actually laughed at my joke.

"She said that wildflowers are non-commital," he explained.

"Yeah, I can see that. I mean roses are pretty pretentious and they don't leave a lot of room for interpretation," I thought out loud.

That's when David, who was ringing up the flower order chimed in. Before I enter him into the dialogue, I want you to imagine David in wrinkly pants and a store shirt with gaping holes in each armpit, as well as a cigarette burn in the front. He wears this shirt every day, even though new shirts have been given to him and he's been strongly encouraged to wear them.

Back to the conversation...

That's when David, who was ringing up the flower order chimed in, "Yep. Roses mean too much and carnations... Well, carnations just say you're cheap."

And that is how men buy flowers for girls that they like, without spending too much, saying too much, or risking looking cheap.

The end.

Girl/Adult.

Ryan woke me up this morning to tell me about the snow. I didn't mind; a fresh clean blanket of snow is worth losing a little sleep. My mind whirled through thoughts as I processed the fact that the Malibu is half covered and winter is finally here.

It went something like this:

1. This snow will look good with my new finnish mittens from the thrift store! (Seriously; these mittens were a find. Never been worn before and only ninety cents.)

2. These snow will look cute around my flowery boots that I've been wearing for two months straight. Yay! Finally a reason to wear my boots!

3. I should have raked the leaves in the front yard. Now it will be even harder to get them up.

4. I need to disconnect the hoses. I wonder if it's too late.

5. The shed door is open and I'm pretty sure that possum is living in there. I wonder what else is living in there. Mice probably. But not rats. I don't want rats living in my shed. Why couldn't I just be responsible and shut the door back in June, before the Clintonville wildlife decided to take refuge next to old bicycles, gardening stuff and a John Kerry yard sign?

And then I looked at the snow again and my mind was cleared. Wiped away in white.

I took stock of my thoughts and decided that I'm definitely a little girly. And I'm definitely a little adulty. And, probably, I'm definitely going back to bed.

Existential Moment at the Gas Station.

"This is the first time I've seen you smile."

I looked up at the gas station guy. I had no idea who he was, no idea that he'd been monitoring my facial expressions from afar. My face must have contorted to confusion because he explained himself.

"I used to work at the coffee shop," he said, "And you would come in and never smile."

I didn't know what to say, how to answer him, so I smiled.

So many questions. Do people smile before they get their coffee? Do I have a smile deficiency? And when did people start paying attention to me? How many other people do I see on a daily basis without noticing their existence? Do they keep track of me as well? And was the move from barista to gas station attendant one of choice or one of consequence for my new friend?

I was so floored by the interaction that I didn't notice the "Diet" missing from my Coca-Cola products until I got back to the car.

Not knowing how to handle another exchange, I did what I (apparently) do best: I willed away a blush and went back into the store, brow furrowed and eyes to the ground. I mumbled and apology, made the switch and drove home, smiling in the rear view mirror every few minutes to see what it looked like.

Things I Learned About Last Night While Talking to Complete Strangers at a Cowboy and Indian Themed Birthday Party.

The history of the pipe organ.
The progression of the Mennonite church.
Jam Bands are a musical marriage of rock and roll and jazz.
My college choir teacher was apparently "a douche".