{ two years ago today }

Two years ago today Derek and I were walking down the aisle at twelve thirty in the afternoon, pledging our hearts to one another. The day was as beautiful outside as it also is today--the sun was beaming down, all the fragrant lilacs and maydays were in full bloom (as I had hoped), and there was honestly not a cloud in the sky. Today, with the weather nearly an exact replication of that description, it is a nice reminder to transport me back to that special day.

Honestly, the day itself flew by so fast. It was a day we had spent nearly twelve full months planning for. Every detail had been plotted out beforehand so that the day would (hopefully) go by without a hitch; in the end it did, and we had no disasters, either major or minor. We were surrounded by our friends and family, we both radiated the love that we felt for one another, and we had nothing but the rest of our vast life together to look forward to. As for more specific fun-filled memories of the day itself, we rode in a limosine around town with our bridal party, waving our the sunroof at red lights; we went for a spontaneous stroll down a lilac-covered lane that we passed; we fed each other nibbles of our rather delicious wedding cake. I feel like nothing of that day has slipped out of my memory, and for that I am so glad. It was a perfect day, unlike any other.

And we have had many perfect days since then--with imperfect ones peppered inbetween, of course. We have had arguments, but have always made up for them (sometimes with gentle words, sometimes with joking around, sometimes with dancing together in the livingroom at one o'clock in the morning). When we went to premarital counselling, our marriage counselor warned us that the first year of marriage is what he affectionately refers to as "the rollercoaster from Hell." I think I would agree with that statement. There were times when I couldn't have loved Derek more and there were times when I couldn't have seemingly have been any angrier with him than I was at that moment. It was a year of stubborn power struggles, of feeling one another out, of making some major decisions (we were forced because of circumstance to buy a new car together and we also decided to purchase a condominium), and of still continuing that blissful honeymoon period that has the ability to wrap everything up and make it "okay" again. I'd say that we are past our honeymoon stage now, but we have emerged from it with more realistic expectations and insights. We no longer stand in the middle of the grocery aisle bickering about what kind of cereal we will buy; instead, I pick what I want and he picks what he wants and sometimes we laugh at what one another choose, but it ends there. I honestly remember our early days when grocery shopping caused so many petty but escalated arguments between us! And now we reminisce and look back and laugh.

These two years feel like some strange, suspended period trapped somehow outside the realms of time. Of course time has passed, but I cannot gauge how little or how much has passed. Have we really been married for as long as two years? Somehow I can hardly believe it if I look back and count the months. But at the same time, I can't remember ever living at my parents house, sleeping in a bed alone, making all my decisions independently, without his input. It all seems to be contained in another lifetime althogether. Really, it was only two years ago. How strange.

When we were dating, we would celebrate our monthly "anniversaries" with huge to-do's and a very expensive dinner bill. Last year for our first wedding anniversary, we had a casually romantic dinner in mellow spring clothing at a cheap local pasta joint. For our tiny budget we were able to get two glorious dinners, fresh appetizers, drinks and dessert. It was more fun than any of our previous blowouts had ever been. This year we decided to do the same thing and to pick another low-key Italian bistro that we've never been to. I can wear my sundress and he can wear his khakis. We can share a huge Italian salad with cucumbers and tomatoes and olives and a tasty vinagrette. We can come away stuffed with oodles of noodles that can be slurped over relaxed hours of pleasant chattering. I am learning that these simple pleasures, when looking back, are far more romantic than the dimly lit steakhouse with its millionaire's menu. I am so looking forward to tonight. Tonight will be a night to celebrate!

{ earplugs: my new best friends }

Well, this whole weekend has thus far been consumed with the huge annual Youth Conference that is in town. The conference is a series of concerts, seminars, and speakers geared toward Christian youth in the province. This year 16,000 youth are in attendance, 36 of which are from our church. Out of all the rows in the massive hockey arena that could have been had, we ended up with row 11 on the floor, which is actually quite unbelievable. We have a great view of the stage with its witty preachers and hip rockers, but we are situated directly below the largest speakers presently known to man. Because of this, my 2 for $1.00 earplugs have become my new best friends. On hand in my jeans pocket at all times for the past 24 hours, they are at the ready for anytime a band's electric guitar licks get a little out of hand, or for when the speaker decides to go off on raving (loud) tangents.

The conference is fun; that said, however, it definitely is geared towards the junior high/high school aged teens. I feel a little out of place as a University grad, but I am there to watch the kids. And I have been getting a lot out of some of the speakers--as with anything, you walk away with what you WANT to walk away with. You have to keep an open mind and prick up your ears a little more to find what you're looking for.

Well, we are home for only a brief afternoon rest before the other evening sessions and night concerts begin ... then tomorrow it's on to Round 3 ...

{ perusing the local library }

Yesterday I took a trip to my local public library, somewhere which is always fun to visit. I always have such high hopes for my trips there, but always still seem to come home empty handed or, worse, with duds in hand.

Perhaps I am a complete insult to the old addage "Do not judge a book by its cover" because that is precisely how I navigate my way through the book shelves when I am there: I look for books with interesting titles, covers, or spines. Unfortunately, if one of those three things does not jump out at me, book after book gets passed on by. Perhaps I am missing all the treasures in the process? Yes, perhaps. But let me ask you--how else are you supposed to choose two or three books from stacks of thousands?

I think I need more recommendations from friends. However, I know very few people who have my particular (read: picky) taste when it comes to books. So, when I read books that they have loved, I tend to not feel a mutual enthusiasm alongside with them. Sigh. What a difficult creature I am sometimes.

At any rate, I came home with a small handful of books, one of which I at least know I will love and have already been enjoying while flipping through it in the car. Barefoot Contessa Parties! by Ina Garten depicts with nice descriptions, photos and recipes a handful of recipes that have been featured in the past on Barefoot Contessa's TV show on the Food Network. I remember last summer that I saw this one show which featured a whole gorgeous luncheon to take on a picnic: Pesto Pasta with Peas and a new take on Shrimp Salad were just two of the six dishes that intrigued me. I went to find these recipes in some archives online the other day but found that they had been removed because they were nearly a year old. However, through my clever sleuthing skills I discovered that they had also been featured in this one book of hers, so I navigated my way to the library's page and requested that it be brought in to my branch. Yesterday I got the call that it was in, and after our quick supper of Szechuan grilled wraps, we hurried across the parking lot to the library and spent a pleasant half hour just poking around inside.

I find my most successful reads are cookbooks and magazines. Sometimes I am sure that it is because my life has enough action lately--I don't need to be an escapist and read fiction that takes me to places where I'd rather be. Frankly, I am so contented and excited with this point of my life. There is no way I'd want to escape it--maybe that's why I'm not all that into movies or TV these days either. I'm happy to just abide in the present, which is something that I've been waiting to be able to do (since, as I've mentioned, I have a tendancy to live more of my life in the past or in the future, which is no way to fully live).

At any rate, before I head to work late this afternoon, I will have a chance (after a few loads of laundry and dishes) to just sunbathe (the clouds have drifted away today) and to read through my cookbooks and magazines that are always my favorite library finds. And maybe I will give my one blindly-chosen book a go, too. I will let you know if it is a keeper.

* * * * *

"I myself spent hours in the Columbia library as intimidated and embarrassed as a famished gourmet invited to a dream restaurant where every dish from all of the world's cuisines, past and present, was available on request."
- Luigi Barzini

"The walls of books around him, dense with the past, formed a kind of insulation against the present world of disasters."
- Ross MacDonald

{ verdant earth beneath gloomy skies }

When such severe springtime joy and springtime gloom are caught up in a tempestuous struggle for domination, which one will win out? These past few days have been a strange sight, indeed; life abounds in quivering leaflets and too-tall blades of grass--the leaves cannot stretch out and fully grow because of the wind and cloud cover, and no one would dare venture to cut the lawn this week when below it lurks a layer of boggy, soggy, spongey earth (it drank more than its fill; perhaps its eyes were bigger than its stomach!)

All of life around me looks like a photo from some clever photographer's eye. I enjoy feeling caught up in the two powerful forces at work around me: the force of life that rebounds against hard conditions, and the force of those hard conditions, nature's stormy wrath. I feel like I am caught in the middle of a melodramatic, metaphoric soap opera, turning my head from the one side to another, wondering who will win, all the time unsure of who I am cheering for.

I love stormy springs. I love the overcast that urges me to put on my thickest socks, baggiest sweater, and comfiest (read: ugliest) shoes to venture out in the mucky goodness that is the seasonal rebirth of life. I can stand in the middle of the sparse forest and smell Persephone's perfume all around me, goosebumps on my neck, but with my feet still warm.

On the other hand I cheer for life and for the sun it cries for. Everything is at its greenest--life is explosive! Each leaf is born in its own time, grass reaches up to form a natural shag carpet, even rabbits are out--and are everywhere!--exploring bravely as their brownish summer coats overtakes the wintery white ones.

Soon enough the sun will be blazing down in its unchallenged glory, scorching the earth, the unsheltered plants, and my delicate skin. Lake days of motorboat cruising and wakeboarder cheering and hotdog roasting will soon be upon us, there is no mistaking that. Before they overtake us again, I wanted to be sure to appreciate this underappreciated transitional week of brooding storms and peeking life. Within a day or two, it will have passed, and it won't come again for another year.

Here's to the last few days of bookworming around the house, of indugling in expensive caramel macchiatos, of thick socks and fleecy hoodies. Let's hear it for spring!

{ book tag }

I've been tagged with a book meme by Amy at ever so humble.

1. Total Number of Books I've Owned: In my lifetime, probably about 400 total. Some have come and gone, some have been replaced, and a few trustworthy ones have stood the test of time.

2. Last Book I Bought: Last month I stopped into Costco and snagged myself a copy of The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. It's been getting a lot of attention lately, so Karel and I decided to read it for our first ever book club book. To be frank, however, so far I'm not enjoying it all that much ...

3. Last Book I Read: Last book I completed and am not still currently working through was Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge. It brought up so many amazing points that it actually changed the way I look at the world around me as well as the way I feel about myself and other women that I know. You can see my full review in the "Read" section above.

4. Five Books That Mean A Lot to Me:

One: Paradise Lost by John Milton. I read it in my third year of University for a Milton course I was taking. I love his long, descriptive lines of detailed poetry. He painted scenes that have never stopped living in my memory and imagination, even to this day.

Two: Any baby names books--I have two on my shelves that have come from garage sales. Whenever I'm at Chapters or Indigo and I have extra time, I always take a peek at baby names books too. I don't know what it is--no, I'm not expecting; I've always enjoyed trying to find interesting names to use in my writing. I can also never resist looking up the meanings for the names of almost everyone I know. It's a fun rainy day (or late night) pasttime that perhaps I'll never get over.

Three: Among Schoolchildren by Tracy Kidder. This is a marvelous true story that my mom picked up for me at a garage sale when I was about 12 years old. Even knowing I wanted to be a teacher back then, I gobbled it up quickly. Kidder details the life of Christine Zajac, a teacher in a very poor and challenging school. Anyone even somewhat interested in education should definitely read this one.

Four: Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown, illustrated by Clement Hurd. This was my favorite storybook when I was younger. When Derek and I started dating, I rewrote and redrew the whole book with items that meant something special to us. I have a copy of it on my shelf even now as an adult, and it is the one book I give to all new moms at baby showers. "Good night bowl of mush." Classic.

Five: My dad's massive old copy of the Oxford English Dictionary. I have always been keen on learning new words or searching for etymologies of common words that I already know. I know--I am a nerd.

5. Tag five people and have them do this on their blog.

bellechanson
Just a Feeling
Struggle in a Bungalow Kitchen
Switched at Birth
Wish Jar Journal

{ nostalgia finds new ways of breaking my heart }

There is something that chokes me up every time artists attempt to tackle our human inability to revisit times past.

I already posted the song Older Chests by Damien Rice back in January.

I have just discovered this moving song by Jack Johnson that addresses the same issue; in this case, this song is even closer to my heart because it addresses something that most of us can absolutely relate to: relationships, our memories of them, and how they perhaps change over time.

Do You Remember Do you remember when we first met? I sure do, it was some time in early September You were lazy about it, you made me wait around I was so crazy about you I didn’t mind So I was late for class, I locked my bike to yours It wasn’t hard to find, you painted flowers on it I guess that I was afraid that if you rolled away You might not roll back my direction real soon Well I was crazy about you then and now The craziest thing of all is over ten years have gone by And you’re still mine, we’re locked in time Let’s Rewind Do you remember when we first moved in together? The piano took up the living room You played me boogie-woogie I played you love songs You’d say we’re playing house now you still say we are We built our getaway up in a tree we found We felt so far away but we were still in town Now I remember watching that old tree burn down I took a picture that I don’t like to look at Well all these times they come and go And alone don’t seem so long Over ten years have gone by We can’t rewind, we’re locked in time But you’re still mine Do you remember?

"We can't rewind, we're locked in time."

I often try so hard to rewind. I love to revisit things in my mind, to turn them round and round, to relive them. Perhaps this is part of my vivid and active imagination that I've already mentioned. This imagination is my blessing and my curse. It brings me such deep joy and such deep sorrow at the same time.

I find I am nostalgic about nearly everything--even things that are taking place in the present. It is almost as if I see the present through the eyes of my future. I look at a current moment as it begins to slip away, and I think to myself what this instant will look like to me in a day, a week, a year, ten years. I can see the beauty of it now--how will it look then? More beautiful, less beautiful? Will it be forgotten altogether?

I don't know what has programmed me this way--I latch so wholeheartedly onto these moments in my life. I attempt to memorize things precisely as they hang in an instant in time so that I can lock them away, and rehang them somewhere in my memory so that I can revisit them later, again and again.

The passage of time is something that has always made me sad. People in intriguing sepia photographs are long gone--I cannot know them anymore; the "me" wrapped up in the pages of my eight year old journal is no longer me; I look at my playful three year old puppy but can't help but remember fondly when she could fit in my pocket at only two weeks old. I buy buns at the store but remember a day when my Nana was still around to bake fresh buns for us; I remember people I used to work with at dull jobs--I didn't care about them at the time, but for some reason I care about them now.

Jack Johnson recalls how he and his wife had a piano that took up their living room. She played him boogie-woogie and he played her love songs.

I can remember every inch of the starter apartment that Derek and I lived in when we were first married. At the time, we wanted nothing more than to get out of that place, to have a place that would feel like our own, to have a place that would have windows bigger and brighter than the old, tiny ones in that humble abode. I cried a lot over that old apartment while we lived there--I cried because it was too dark, too dirty, first too cold and then too hot; it was too broken down. I also cried a lot over that old apartment when we moved out. Of course, I could not wait to have the new home I had always dreamed of--with nearly a dozen sunny windows, fresh carpet and appliances, paintable walls and a spare room! But at the same time, as I walked out the door to our lonely, emptied out apartment, I knew I could never come back to this place or this time. Our entire first year of marriage had been caught up between these closed-in walls. We were shutting the door on an entire period of our life--on a period of loud, heated arguments and dancing in the livingroom to make-up; on a time of buying what we could at garage sales to make the most of our tiny space in life; on a time of learning how to cook together (very poorly, at first); on a time when we snuggled together on our donated couch and watched Shakespeare in Love while I was terribly ill.

There was no coming back to any of that. When I shut the door to that home, I could never physically return to it. I could never look at the corner where our small Christmas tree stood, I could never look into the kitchen cupboards or our first bedroom. Those things would only exist in some abstract form in my memory. Let me tell you, it was hard to close that door.

And frankly, that is how I see most of my life--as a process of closing doors. Yes, of course, I know that to close one door means to open another one (which, in my case, has often led to an even better place), but for some reason I am always hung up on closing even the tiniest doors in life. Foolish, isn't it?

In fact, I recently discovered a verse from the Bible that made me think; it reminded me:

"Do not say, 'Why were the old days better than these?'
For it is not wise to ask such questions."

(Ecclesiastes 7:10)

So I will think on that one a while more.

{ don't close your eyes }

Sometimes I am unsure whether my vivid imagination has been my life's greatest gift or its greatest downfall.

I can imagine myself into any scenerio; I play out both epics and vignettes in my mind's eye without ever having lived through these exotic happenings.

I still have that childlike ability to transport myself immediately through time and space, away from the doldrums of grilling burgers and scooping ice cream to the misty Brazilian rainforest, the beaches of Cancun, the city of Bethlehem. Anything my mind has ever latched on to can be revisited (and, sometimes, reshaped) in my imagination. Even the dullest moments of life can become an adventure, a melodrama, a comedy.

This morning, I was all alone in my parents' house, dogsitting. The dog was napping, the house was peaceful and quiet, and although the sun was shining brilliantly outside the window, I was a little chilled and didn't want to venture out quite so early. Snacking on some banana bread, I found myself staring at the cottage cheese container that sat before me, first subconsciously reading the label, then the ingredients, then noticing the sketched-in image that was the backdrop to the printed words. Immediately, without the slightest period of transition, I was transported into that sketched landscape; around me was a quaint English cottage with a thatched roof and a babbling brook. The green, rolling hills sported wildflowers and were home to gentle, roaming sheep. There were some clouds overhead, but the sun just peeked out to say hello. I was wearing a quaint skirt, weaving together clover to make a linked crown for my little daughter, who was at my side.

I snapped back to reality, not even fully knowing how long I had been away. With just this tiny illustration, you can see how my imagination works, how powerful it is, and how detailed.

I do feel privileged to still retain this childlike spirit of fantasy that too often flees from adults (or that adults too often flee from). At the same time, however, I worry about the amount of time that I spend living vicariously as opposed to just living.

I watch tv shows like Survivor and the Amazing race, movies like Under the Tuscan sun and Beyond Rangoon. When I feel like writing, I read books about other people who have written; when I want to cook I read books about other people who have cooked.

Yesterday I heard a song by Switchfoot on the radio. The lyrics in the chorus really made me think:

"Don't close your eyes
Don't close your eyes
This is your life
Are you who you want to be?
This is your life
Are you who you want to be?
This is your life
Is it everything you've dreamed it would be
When the world was younger
and you had everything to lose?" (listen)

"This is your life / Are you who you want to be?" -- am I who I want to be? I am happy and contented with my life, but of course I want more. Don't we all want to do more with our life? To see more, to experience more, to love more? Not necessarily to acquire more because there is nothing material left that I desire. But I do desire to walk through other amazing things (some of the things I daydream about, even).

Today I've been thinking about the little ways in which I can live my own life to the fullest. During moments I previously would have tried to mentally escape from, I am now trying to stay in the present, trying to bring new meaning to the beautiful and exciting things of life that already surround me. There must be things around me that others only dream of.

Rather than using my imagination as an escape, I can use it as a supplement to my daily living, as something that casts new light in the shadows that I previously overlooked.

{ how mindset changes everything }

Her book makes me pause and think. Her book makes me pick up a pen and write. Her words stir my heart because they are words that I feel I wanted to utter all along--I just couldn't find them.

{ glazed lemon pound cake }

I just spent the morning baking it and it turned out wonderfully! I added the recipe to the EAT section.

{ untimely irony }

Just now Derek and I were removing the last of our clutter from the haven that I have been working to create (and it is coming along nicely, I must say). We packed up all the obscure and seasonal items into cardboard boxes and made our way downstairs to our underground parkade storage locker to stow them away until we need them again.

One of the boxes contained, among other things, the two homemade Christmas stockings that my mom handmade for each of us. These stockings have been a long-standing tradition in our family--made out of red and green felt, my Nana (great grandmother) began the tradition and created an original stocking for all her children and grandchildren, stitching their names on them. Underneath every personalized name are 10-12 representative items, created also out of felt, sequins, and thread, that help demonstrate a little about the individual's personality, character, and hobbies.

When my Nana passed away, my mom picked up the tradition and created stockings for our whole family, Derek and myself included. My stocking has items such as a teddy bear (I used to collect them when I was young), a rocking horse, a book (these are all items that represented things surrounding me as a child). When Derek joined our family, he was already 22, and so my mom represented him with things that are a part of his life now: a Bible (because he's a youth pastor), a surfboard, and a good imitation of his golden '87 Honda Accord, which he drove for years when we were dating and engaged.

These stockings are so precious. They can never be duplicated. Every year I carefully tuck them somewhere where they are completely out of harm's way. However, Derek firmly insisted that out of harm's way was not good enough in our small condo space; he felt that they just needed to be out of the way period. So, into a labelled cardboard box they went, and were whisked downstairs to the parkade only twenty minutes ago.

We stacked the pile of boxes on the dusty cement floor.

"Derek," I wavered, "Do you really think these boxes are safe down here? This box has my scarves and our Christmas stockings in it ... don't you think the mice might get at it and ruin them all?"

"I doubt there's mice down here," he rebutted firmly.

I resignedly signed and went to set down another box. On the dusty floor nearby there was a dried up leaf, so I went to kick it aside.

Only it wasn't a dried up leaf. It was a dead mouse. I screamed and nearly dropped the box.

"What?" Derek asked, a little stunned. I pointed to the mouse. He only laughed. But, he moved the most precious box to the top of the pile and then piled something else on top of it for good measure.

"Don't worry," he assured me. "They'll never get in there."

Perhaps they won't. Even so, I'm picking up a Rubbermaid bin tomorrow at Walmart.

{ a life in a flash }

My younger brother is 17 and has been working harder than every other 17 year old I know for the past year to save up for his dream car. Back in February, he finally bought this car, a stylin' Honda CRX, parked it for the winter season, got his driver's license, registration, and insurance in line. Two weeks ago he was finally able to climb into his car for the first time and truly drive on his own. I was so proud of him! He had worked so hard for this--his hard work had converted into cold hard cash and had somehow magically converted into this babe of a car, which sat parked in front of my parents' house, giving me a tender surge of pride every time I saw its gorgeos greenish-blue paint glinting in the sun.

"That's my brother's car!" I would think to myself, or sometimes tell Derek in incredulous belief. "I'm so proud of him!"

Last night, with his best buddy in the passenger seat, my brother was heading home from a night out when he was t-boned in an intersection as he was completing a left-hand turn.

Derek and I were out at Denny's with all of our friends after a fun-filled Friday night bible study at church. We had just (finally!) finished deciding what we wanted to order and had just placed our order when Derek's cell phone rang.

He answered the phone and I watched his face change, heard the concerned lilt in his voice, heard the words "accident ... is he okay? ... where are you? ... when did this all happen?"

I can't describe the feeling that surged through me. It was an instant in time I somehow knew would come one day, but was not expecting to come anytime soon. My heart leapt into my throat and I unconsciously gripped my napkin so tightly that afterwards I found it permanently wadded into the exact shape of my clenched hand.

Derek, calm as always, finished the phone call with my mom and told me that my brother had been in a car accident. He had been t-boned by an S.U.V. He was okay and his friend was safe, but his car was totalled.

At that moment, everything happened: I started crying, my hands and arms and legs started shaking, and I didn't know what to think. My brother was okay. He was fine. He could have been killed. HE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED. But he was okay. But his car was totalled. His car was totalled.

I felt so horrible. I absolutely didn't know what to do, what to think.

The waitress brought our food. We had paid almost $20 for that food, and I didn't think I could even touch a morsel of it.

"Let's just go ... it doesn't matter ..." I urged Derek.

"There's nothing we can do right now anyways. Just eat a few bites. You'll feel better. It will settle your stomach," he convinced me.

I ate everything in front of me without remembering a single bite. I had calmed my tears and around me normal conversations continued: people talked about their weeks, about funny segments they had seen on t.v., about Harry Potter. I could think of nothing but my brother. I had to be with him. I had to see him for myself. I had to know for myself that he was okay.

We ate and ran and met my shaken up family at their house. I saw my brother's crestfallen face but he saw my red eyes and forgot about his car for a moment. He came up to me, all his pride and "coolness" gone, as nothing but my brother who, although two full heads taller than me, was still my baby brother. He gave me the tightest hug he has ever given me and kissed me on the head.

"I'm just glad you're okay," I whispered.

We all sat together for a while in stunned silence. The boys went off to the wrecker's lot armed with flashlights and heavy sweaters to salvage what they could, to dig out the stereo, and to look for my brother's cell phone that had been lost in the crash.

Us girls stayed home and read through the carbon copied police reports over midnight tea. We cried, we cast blame, we uttered sympathies for my brother's loss, we laughed a little. We all slithered off to bed and had lousy sleeps. My brother's loss was huge--he had lost his first car, all he had spent the last year working for. The police had been unsympathetic and had sided with the middle aged woman driver who had run the red but had claimed not to have. He had lost so much, and we did grieve for that, but we couldn't help but think how much more we would have lost if we had lost him. We became aware how much we had taken him for granted, how much more we should have told him we loved him lately, how much more we should have paid attention when he wanted to talk to us (even if only in his teenage boy sort of way). We thought about what our night would be like if he wasn't in it anymore. We played the mental "What if?" game and tortured ourselves a little bit.

Today was the sort of somber day that follows any sort of tramatic event like that. My brother was bummed out because he had to call my parents for a ride home from work. He found out that his best friend has cracked ribs and whiplash. He found out that indeed his car is a complete write-off, with no hope of being repaired. We all had headaches from stress and lack of sleep.

Despite all that however, I couldn't help but look at my brother today and see so much more in him that I haven't noticed enough lately: how good looking he is, how soft his eyes still are--even behind his stern face and hard muscles, how good a friend he is, how responsible and grown up he has become.

This post is for my brother and for how much I love him. There is no one else like him, and there is no one who could ever take the place he holds in my heart.

{ postscript (re: adventure) }

Interestingly enough, tonight, after my little earlier posted note on adventure, I discovered a lovely page entitled adventure journalist which had the loveliest quote on adventure. I thought I must share it with you:


"Adventure isn't hanging on a rope off the side of a mountain. Adventure is an
attitude that we must apply to the day to day obstacles of life--facing new
challenges, seizing new opportunities, testing our resources against the unknown--
and in the process--discovering our own true potential."

- John Amatt

{ homebound }

Being confined to home all the time is not always the most fun; because my husband takes the car to work and there are no daytime buses in this newly built community of ours, it makes getting around impossible. Thus, my home has become my new best friend. Only, even like new friendships, sometimes the excitement wears off and you run out of ideas about what you should do together. (I am reminded of the three buzzards in The Jungle Book movie: "Whatcha wanna do?" "I dunno, what you wanna do?")

I can only take so many bubble baths per day, only do so many loads of laundry per day, only listen to Star Jones' voice for so many seconds per day.

On the other hand, I have been putting a lot of effort into building this haven of mine; the bookshevles are up and I have managed to fill 14/25 cubes with actual books that I've been stowing. I've also been going through my University notebooks and purging the vast majority of drivel that I so committedly took down at the time.

Outside the sun is shining and is sneakily slanting through my windows to kiss me all over until I'm down to nothing but a tanktop and shorts (a rare occurance for me, even in the summertime). I look out to see what potential excitement could possibly await me outside: we have our green, green lawns dotted by dozens of still-baby trees. Next door and directly below this window is the empty lot next door--it is full of nothing but dust and rubble and garbage that the springtime melt left behind. Nearby the street is one massive real estate sign that lies on its side, toppled over. The other day some young boys from the neighborhood discovered that this sign could support their tender weight and were using it as a trampoline. I looked on and giggled, astonished that they could, in fact, bounce quite high--nearly two feet off the board!--by just using the momentum and sway of the sagging wooden sign. What an adventure for them!

I have never been brought up to think of adventure only as something glorious that happens as far away from home as possible. There is adventure lurking around every corner--we just have to look for it! Look for it and use a little imagination, that is.

I made a little poem the other day while contemplating the nature of adventure:

every day
can be
an adventure;
an adventure
can be
everyday

These days I've been having fun reversing certain statements to see if they still ring with any note of truth. It was a pastime that Oscar Wilde also found particularily amusing. One of his most famous statements was: "Work is the curse of the drinking classes." Why not give these flipped little phrases a try for yourself?

At any rate, I am not homebound because of illness or fear, and that is a major blessing to count. I need not stray far from home to find adventure or beauty or pleasure; after all, life is what you make it. And I will make the most of my tiny environment here before I move out to take on the world.

{ creating a haven }

ha·ven (n.) (hā'vƏn) A harbor or anchorage; a port. A place of refuge or rest; a sanctuary.

isn't it interesting to think of how every person's haven is so unique and interesting? to some, it's a quaint pub overlooking the coast, to others, it's a horse corral with wildflowers and nothing but fresh, clean air. to my mother, a haven is her moroccan-inspired bedroom with a grand four-poster bed, exotic bed linens of a nearly uncountable thread count, and decorative lanterns that cast a goldish glow.

although i've had my makeshift havens over the past two years of our "just-setting-out" marriage, i have been yearning this whole time to finally be able to set up a haven of my own, and this week that is finally what i will have the chance to do: i will be setting up my own little office.

we have a spare bedroom in this cute 900 square foot condo of ours; up till this point it has been neither a bedroom nor a haven, but has merely sufficed as our dumping ground. we still have 12 full boxes that have never been unpacked from our old apartment (they are filled mainly with my books--both reading books and stuffed writing notebooks). because of this, our spare room has become not only an eyesore, but also a headache (in that it is just a huge task waiting to be tackled).

this week, i am up for the challenge! and, seeing that i am graduated and now working (although only part time), i finally have the time and the money to begin the overhaul. yesterday derek and i made a spontaneous trip to ikea where we picked up our very own Expidit (see left). now that i have a focal point for the room, i can begin what will soon become the big dumpster event, where our old ratty bookcase (bought for $5 at a garage sale) and our old torn-up chest of drawers (acquired for free from my mom's nursing friend) can finally be bid adieu. that being said and done, my haven will be born! our giant new cubed-off bookcase will allow me to finally unpack and move in the last of my precious things (many of the books and piles of paper from my youth and even my childhood will now have their very own space within my adult life). some items will be parted with amidst tearful farewells, but all goodbyes will be spoken for the sake of creating this orderly sanctuary that is to become my resting place. i cannot wait.

other than loading up the bookshelf, i also intend to organize and sort my old magazines, deciding which bits and pieces i can keep, which bits and pieces i can convert (into the greeting cards and zines i have been dreaming of), and which scraps can merely be stowed away for my future classroom (kids are always needing scraps for collage assignments).

i can finally create a space that will have mood lighting, a cozy window seat by the gloriously sunny window overlooking the empty lot nextdoor, artwork covering the walls (we have kept several paintings hiding behind the door for over a year now).

i will have place where the realms of inspiration are limitless, because i am the kind of person that feels most free within the safety of an orderly and tidy space. this next week will be one of tearing down and breaking up, of hammering and putting together, and of--finally--finding my own little space in the world that will welcome me home at the end of the day. this room, however tiny, will be my port, my anchorage.

where is your haven?

{ 10 things i've done (that you probably haven't) }

(this meme was taken from Pratie Place)

1. Got dysentry during my honeymoon while staying at a 5 star resort in Mexico (and was hospitalized).

2. Played Street Fighter with the Moffatts at a local arcade.

3. Cracked my molar tooth right in half when I bit down on a single Nerd candy.

4. Only ever kissed one guy (and probably only ever will).

5. Thrown a container of water into the air and actually saw it freeze before it hit the ground (it was colder than -50'C that day)

6. Eaten an entire chocolate cream pie by myself. In the car. While it was still frozen. (I was very depressed when Derek went to Africa for two months).

7. Shopped in the world's largest shopping mall.

8. Got my braces caught in the plush carpet while wrestling with my brother (my mom had to cut me free!)

9. Studied French, Mandarin, Russian, and Korean.

10. Sent audiotaped letters to my penpal in America for a year.

Please let me know if you *have* actually done any of these things as well!

{ so, whaddya think? }

anybody have opinions on the new layout? i figured it was time for a change, seeing that spring had already "sprung" ... i am moving into my summer mode ... oh, i love summer!!

{ kindling a fire, a passion }

there is something magnificently touching about spending time in what feels like the essential human life.

tonight i spent a few hours outdoors with friends, breathing the fresh air, observing spring's awakening before my eyes, stoking a fire by myself for the very first time. there is something mesmerizing about fire; everybody seems to realize that. i think that part of it just comes from the fact that a human realizes that he can still engage with raw nature, provide for himself and for others, create and sustain something productive and useful. when we sit at home surrounded by switches and dials and bills, we forget the independence given to us as humans. we forget the potential we have for survival, for the sustaining of life, for the creating and stoking of something pleasant, productive, or powerful. we spend our days asking permission to do things, seeking advice instead of trying things for ourselves, and living beneath a cloak of defeatism.

i have never built a fire before, and yet tonight, i held nothing back. i refused to absorb myself in a lie that told me i should not risk it in case i failed; after all, what did i actually have to lose? i tried several unsuccessful ways that only served to stoke my case of laughter; however, despite my failures, my fourth try (with a little extra guidance from derek) turned out to be the charm.

our society recommends and even commands that we live a type of sterile life, a life devoid of risk and vitality and exhilaration. danger, excitement, joys and sorrows have all been somewhat sanitized until they begin to blend into one another and until their artificial nature begins to stifle our souls.

tonight, in however tiny a way it was, i was able to realize that life is still very much thriving all around me. the breeze blew the chatters of squirrels towards my ears, the sun and wind competed furiously for my attention, and the tongues of the fire which i brought to life licked every which way under their own powerful intent. the glimpse of life that i experienced was far from sterile, and was also far from merely serene: life is passionate, and is meant to be lived passionately.

i have been reading a book (as a matter of fact, i just finished it this afternoon) entitled Captivating (by John and Stasi Eldredge) which talks about the "secrets of a woman's soul". it sounds cliche, i know, and i did not even want to initially flip open the cover. however, as i begrudgingly began to make my way through it, i found that my heart, my mentality, my whole perspective on life itself was beginning to be rediscovered. i say rediscovered and not reshaped because i think that i have always thought (or have always wanted to think) all of the things that this book emphasizes; however, because of society, people, institutions, and media, i have felt all along that i was wrong, that i was a failure, as a human being and as a young woman. this book has been such a source of encouragement to me--it even moved me to tears, which a book has never done before.

it has not only opened my eyes on who i am as a young woman, but it has also opened my eyes to the truth about life that i have been kept blind to all this time. now that i can finally see clearly, i want to see as much of real life as i can. i guarantee that as the next few days, weeks, months pass, i will have many more excited observations to share with you all.

{ your true love snapshot? }

here is the challenge, and here is my response.

how about you? post your response in the comments section, or link to your own blogged response.

{ sweet scent of spring }

At this point of today, I only desire to be somewhere where the mayday trees are flowering. In front of the hospital where I work, the first four trees are in bloom; they always seem to proudly boast the first blossoms in the city when every fresh springtime rolls around. Today is absolutely gorgeous; the sun is shining and the air is sweet with the perfume of spring. I only want to lie beneath the snowy blossoms of a cheerful tree, daydreaming about Persephone's soft touches all around me.

{ think happy thoughts. why? because: }

{ death by sore muscles? }

every muscle in my body aches (and some of my bones, too). yesterday i followed through on the risk that i had proclaimed i would take, and i did it:

i played softball.

i have steered away from team sports for years and years, mostly because my phys. ed. experiences from junior high would be nearly enough to traumatize anyone (taking twice the amount of time of everyone else to run the 2km run, hitting my knees on EVERY hurdle until my skinny legs bled, and somehow fouling up every good team opportunity until i was the last one picked for everything). yes, i was that kid, i'm sure that all of you have an equivalent of me in your memories of grades 7 to 9.

anyways, i decided to get over my fear of playing team sports by joining our church slopitch team. last night was our first practice. i was not as good as i hoped i would be, but apparently i was better than everyone else thought i would be, so i guess that's a good thing! haha. i *was* really good at catching (my dad did teach me well when i was a kid) ... i was one of the only girls who wasn't afraid of the ball. so at least i have the heart, i suppose.

the only downside: literally every muscle in my body aches so terribly this morning! was i that out of shape? apparently so. the worst ache, though, comes on my ultra skinny and knobby wrist bone, where i took a full-speed ball in the outfield. the whole area aches, even when touched with a feather-light touch. hopefully that pain will die down quickly so that it doesn't interfere with my evening part time job (preparing food).

so, as much as i will spend the next day whining and griping to those closest to me, i really did have a good time, and i really am very proud of myself. no one realizes how big a fear this actually was for me, but i overcame it, and all on my own motivation. so yes, i am proud of myself :)

and now it's off to staples to photocopy my teaching evaluations so that i can complete my application to the public school board tomorrow ... i will post an update on that whole job situation sometime in the next few days.