{ meet Seattle VIII }

women's/men's washroom signs from inside the
Science Fiction Museum, Seattle, WA

{ meet Seattle VII }

The Space Needle, Seattle, WA

{ meet Seattle VI }

a portion of the Experience Music Project/Science Fiction Museum
building in Seattle, WA

{ meet Seattle V }

the underside of the roof at the Experience Music Project/Science Fiction Museum
building, Seattle, WA

{ meet Seattle IV }

Seattle's Experience Music Project
and Science Fiction Museum building. Space needle in reflection.

{ meet Seattle III }

a corner newsstand in Seattle, WA

{ meet Seattle II }

a vegetable stand from Pike's Market, Seattle WA

{ meet Seattle }

Pike's market in Seattle, WA
Despite all of the sadness that we've had to deal with in the past two weeks, Derek and I, with his family, had the opportunity to get away and to find some excitement within the foreign city of Seattle. I'd never been there, and Derek had only ever passed through. His mom and dad decided to take us to some places that they thought would tickle our fancy. When they took us down to Pike's marketplace (a fish market, among other things), I was thrilled. Having hardly ever even seen the ocean, I am completely amazed by the coastal life. Just seeing how big prawns can grow to be and watching the men in rubber boots throw giant salmon back and forth was better than any other sight we took in.

I've decided, since my words are few these days, to do a photo series of the parts of Seattle that we saw (we only saw a few places, but I found so much to capture with my tiny little camera). I am definitely looking forward to returning to this unique city to see more of it.

So please, stay tuned for more photos by the day.

*******
An update on our personal situation: We returned from British Columbia back to Alberta yesterday, hopping two planes to get here. The flight was beautiful as I could finally see the Rocky Mountains in all their glory. On the second flight home, we flew so low that you could also make out all the beautiful patterns created by the endless farmlands that we flew over. The swirls of the wheat and barley fields were mesmerizing.

Once we were home, we are amazed and depressed by how everything was exactly as we'd left it. The blender, still with some drink mix in the bottom, is on the counter, untouched. The clothes we were wearing two weeks ago are still laid out on the laundry basket. We still have dirty dishes out from the night of Sunday the 8th, the night we entertained two couples, and the night we found out about Danny's missing person status.

I wish, in a way, that I could snap my fingers and it would all be clean, therapeutic to the eye. However, I can not underestimate the therapeutic process that comes with having to clean it myself. Scrubbing and arranging is a good time-consumer and a good escape from sitting and overthinking. As a teacher, we have one type of work that we give our students called "Busy Work". Basically, it has little purpose other than to keep students busy and out of mischief (think back to things you did in school like useless crossword puzzles or coloring maps). As a substitute teacher, I give out a lot of busy work, and most of the time it does the trick. Well, I've assigned myself my own busy work at this time. I will clean my bathrooms, arrange my tupperware cupboard, vacuum the drapes in my bedroom. I will take down the Christmas tree and pack all the ornaments nicely; I will get caught up on piles of laundry (maybe even ironing). Tonight I return to my hospital job. Making Starbucks coffees all night will be another therapy. Strangly, I hope my one friend is working tonight, the one who is studying to be a funeral director. Talking to him will be another sort of therapy, I'm sure.

I also wanted to say thank you to all of you who have expressed your kind and sympathetic sentiments to me, whether via blog comments, emails, or even phone calls. I feel very touched by all your warm thoughts and prayers.

{ the end of a mourning period }

It feels like today is our last official day of mourning; however, I know there will still be many more mournful days to come. It is our last day that will be spent out west here with Derek's family; tomorrow we fly back to the prairies bright and early. We will say our last goodbyes to the things that now represent Danny to us--his bedroom, filled with all his things, and his quaint resting place in the cemetery, by the cherry trees. It is sad, but still not real to me.

The past two days were a nice breather for the five of us--Derek, me, Mom, Dad, and younger brother, Patrick. Since we are so close to the American border, we decided to take a short, two-day trip to Seattle. We did it to honor and strengthen our family bond, and also just to escape the craziness of living in a house in mourning. There was no greater gift than to just be able to get away from all the phone calls, visitors, flower arrangements, and donated lasagnas (although all these sentiments are very kind and appreciated, they become overwhelming very quickly). Our Seattle trip was filled with lots of laughter and memories. We remembered Danny and we created some new memories of our own, taking pictures together and seeing some new sights. Over the next while I am sure I will share some breathtaking photos of Seattle with you all.

In the meantime, it feels stressful to be going home. I was not anticipating this. Last night I could not sleep as worry engulfed me. We've been away for two weeks, and when we left, everything stayed behind in its normal state of disarray. We will walk in to the usual explosion of laundry, the Christmas tree still all decked out, and who knows what rotting in the refrigerator. Besides that, we've missed some bill payments, and I've missed the deadline to confirm my paystub hours for teaching during this pay period. That means I might not get paid this month, but only next month. Of course, I'm sure there are ways (long, complicated ways involving long, complicated phone calls and faxes) to remedy these problems, but I am frankly not looking forward to them, either. It's also sad to leave and get on with things, because you feel guilty in a way. I feel like somehow I am putting Danny behind me, getting on with life and with mundane things. And, although it is terribly cliched, I know Danny would want us to get on with life. While we were viewing his body last week, so many people were of course openly crying and mourning, myself included. However, I couldn't help but shake the feeling that if Danny's spirit somehow remained in that body, he would cause himself to sit up and scold us all, saying, "Please, stop crying. Don't worry about me. Just be happy." That was his general motto in life--don't worry, be happy--and the only thing he liked even less than general worry was when people were worrying about him.

And so, it is sad but inevetable to go on, to pick up the pieces, and to find and create beauty in life again. We will find our own ways of remembering Danny. Derek plans to get a tattoo that is reminiscent of the three tattoos that Danny had. He's already drawn it out and will look into it further when we're back home. As for me, tattoos aren't my thing, but pictures and memories do the trick. It's the stupid little conversations that I had with Danny that I loved so much.

When we were driving in the car at Christmas, I jokingly turned around and called him my "brotha from anotha motha." Well, quick as ever, he retorted with one I'd never heard before. "Sure thing, my sista from a different mista." We laughed about it for days. That was Danny--always witty, always smiling, and always with those wildfire eyes. The twinkle in his eyes is not something that is easy to forget. I know it will stay with me, and remind me of the fullness of life that Danny enjoyed.

I read a quote by Abraham Lincoln. He said: "And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years." I do believe that. And in that case, Danny's life really counts. His years were filled with the most life that any twenty-two year old could ask for. He made the most of what he was given. And because of the impactful life he led, I really do feel like he'll be with us still, for long time to come, whether we're on the mountains, at the coast, or back home in the prairies.

{ to Danny }

Logging back onto my blog today, I realized my last post was January 8, which makes sense. January 8 was a Sunday, and in the evening, we had some friends over for dinner and board games. Then, around 10:30 pm, we got the most devastating phone call we've ever had to date. Derek's parents called to say that his brother Danny, younger than him by two years, had gone missing while snowboarding in the mountains. They detailed the situation that was unfolding on the mountain near Vancouver. Long story short, search and rescue teams from all over BC had started searching for Danny. Derek and I were ill with anxiety. We hardly slept at all as we waited beside the phone through the night for any news. No news came. Monday morning Derek flew into Vancouver to meet with his family and to be there for moral support for his parents as the searchers continued searching. A blizzard and fog moved into the mountain. The search was called off for hours at a time because of the trecherous conditions. Still no Danny on Monday night. Tuesday morning came and there was still no sight of him. However, the weather was breaking a little, and the teams could move back out in full force. Around 1:45 pm they found Danny, but he hadn't made it. Later autopsies would show that it was not the suspected potential of hypothermia that had killed him; rather, he had done everything right. He had become lost and trapped in a steep gully; he had waited for help and gathered his thoughts; he had made the smart move to try and move down the mountain once the weather worsened. However, the blinding snow conditions caused him to take a nasty fall off a steep ledge, and he was killed (quickly and peacefully) from his injuries. Once the word was final, I flew out to Vancouver to be with everyone as well. It's where I've been since the eighth.

The whole ordeal is surreal; it is a bad dream that we can't wake up from. Flying out here on the plane alone, my mind was going a thousand miles an hour. Danny is gone, I had to keep telling myself. I knew I was flying out all that way for Danny's sake, but somehow I couldn't shake the feeling that it was something special for Danny that we were all gathering for--a surprise birthday party or a graduation, maybe. It couldn't possibly be his funeral. Danny was only 22 years old, the same age as me. Although I factually know that he is gone, I really think I can't comprehend what that fully means. Of course I find myself thinking of all the things he'll never do. He'll never know our kids, he'll never get married, he'll never graduate from college. On the other hand, Danny died in the arms of God and I know, truly, that he is more alive today than he was only days ago. He's enjoying a life truer than the life we currently know. I'm sure he presently has no regrets about the things in this life that he's had to leave behind; I try to tell myself that I shouldn't feel sorry for him, either. Nevertheless, a tragedy is a tragedy. We miss him in little ways. We still talk about him as if he's here, after all, he was here not long ago at all. A week and a half ago, he was still encountering hilarious stories at his job. We talk about them at the dinner table and laugh. I find I keep waiting for Danny to walk in and deliver the punch line. I will remember him best for his wild sense of humor. Every memory I have with him involves laughter.

We all spent this past Christmas together, if you'll remember from some of my holiday blog posts. I realize now what a timely and precious gift it was. Just weeks ago, Danny slept right here, on this very couch I found myself thinking as I got word of his death. It all seemed too impossible to be real. We'd just seen each other; how could he really be gone?

They recovered his body that Tuesday, which was a sad sort of blessing. It brought a finality and a reality to the whole situation, and a sense of closure. Despite his injuries, he still looked just the same. We picked out his favorite clothes--some cords, a Billabong shirt, and an Old Navy sweater--for him to wear in the casket. When we went as a family to view his body before the funeral, he did look like a sleeping version of himself. Somehow, though, despite the resemblance, he looked so unlike himself. Seeing a body made me realize how much of a mere shell it really is; all that Danny is as an individual is so wrapped up in his spirit, which is absent now from that shell of a body. We said goodbye to the face we knew as his, but in a way I felt like I was looking at a stranger. Where were those wildfire eyes that captured Danny's essence? Somewhere off, dashing through the heavenlies with his spirit, I know.

I didn't want to blog about this. I didn't want to make a spectacle of his life to create a sense of drama in my little corner of the internet. I am not fishing for sympathy. I also do not want to assume that this could do justice as a tribute to Danny's life. I suppose I only wish to say how much I miss him, although I never knew him for long. I suppose I have to attempt to put in words how devastating death is, even if it is only a temporary part of this temporary earth.

I am pleasantly and bitterly haunted by Danny's smile, by his short, raspy laugh, by his life of peace that presently encourages me to embrace a peaceful nature, also. I am drawn into photos by his eyes, still so very alive, and held there, a hostage to his liveliness. I wish he could count our tears and measure our love by them. I wish he could read the letter that I tucked into the crook of his body's elbow, a letter to be forever unread. I wish he could have joined us tonight as we celebrated his life at his favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Whether these are regrets or hopes, I am no longer sure. All lines seem strangely blurred.

{ random-ness }

Well, it's been a week since I last posted, and I suppose I have little to report, even now. It's been a relaxing week. I had the flu and rested, I worked my hospital job, I hung out with Derek, I cleaned my house. Today I got the chance to get my skates heat-molded and sharpened (Derek got them for me for Christmas). Sometime this week we'll try to find him a pair of skates so that we can go skating together for the first time ever.

------
Things to do and to look forward to this week:
* find Derek some skates
* go skating
* look at paint chips for Derek's office
* paint Derek's office
* check out some coffee tables at IKEA
* try out my new paint by numbers kit that I got for Christmas
* distribute my subbing business cards to new schools
* figure out an organizational system for some church business
* book an appointment for my travel immunizations
* look into getting a new passport
* take down the Christmas tree
* find a new book to read
------

Want to see something hilarious? Over the Christmas break we went to the mall and staged a mall hunt for the junior high kids at church. We leaders positioned ourselves at various points in the mall and the kids had to find us (like a human scavenger hunt) and get us to sign their papers. I, however, decided that finding familiar people was much too easy. So, I disguised myself as a teenage boy and walked around. Want to take a look at my before and after pictures? Go check them out, then.

{ satisfied enough for slumber }

There's a night every couple of months where I nearly feel manic. I get in this frenzy, in this desperate state of having to feel productive, of having to do something with my hands, and feel satisfied with myself before I am able to lie down and actually sleep. Tonight I skipped the dishwasher and washed several hodgepodge items by hand (a starbucks mug, one spoon, four small wasabi dishes, a broiler pan, three wooden salad bowls, an espresso scoop). I organized the fridge. I started a black and white puzzle (it's difficult). I folded my towels and washed my jeans. I wrote a handwritten letter to an old friend. I walked through the nighttime fog to get the stamped letter in the mailbox for tomorrow morning's pickup. I started making muffins at 11:30 pm. But the house looks good, smells good, and I feel I've accomplished enough to have earned a well-deserved night's sleep.

{ isn't life a splendid adventure? }

Just before Christmas I read a book written by my husband's mentor, Graydon Bishop. His book, a novella-length piece of writing, is titled "The City of God". It is a spiritual allegory of sorts (think The Pilgrim's Progress), and it documents a dream or vision that Graydon had regarding the state of our spiritual selves as we go throughout this physical world. Although we think we may see things clearly through our actual eyes, this story suggests that we are not seeing things as they truly are (we are not seeing things through our spirits).

So many parts of his book left me reeling. I even noticed a dissection between my physical and spiritual selves as I read it; I found myself agreeing mentally with everything he wrote. Yes, I've thought this before; I've heard this before; I've believed this all along. Naturally, through my religious mind I would agree that there are forces of good and evil at play, that there are evil things mascarading as good things, that prayer has a significant power over the physical, that we are called to have a personal relationship with God through His Son, Jesus Christ. My religious mind inside of me nodded in agreement with all these things. However, the problem lies in this fact: religion, and all that is tied up in it, still remains in the physical. Religion is a man-made thing. It is a set of icons, of created value statements, of rituals and rites. Christianity as a religion is not excluded from this. Christianity as a religion falls within the physical realm; thus, it can be toyed with, it can be manipulated, it can be used to deceive. While reading this book it was my religious (and physical) self that agreed with Graydon's allegorically reflected truths. However, where was my spiritual self in all these interactions? If these are spiritual truths, then surely my spirit must be required in order to truly understand them. To be fair, however, it is much more difficult to understand something through the spirit. This is not because our spirit is slow to understand or is frequently complicating things; rather, our spirit requires a complete act of surrender before it is able to begin to function in all of its glory. We have to turn from our physical selves and face our spiritual selves to begin functioning in a deeper sort of reality.

I say all this to return to my original point: although I could agree with Graydon's uttered and verbally demonstrated truths in my physical mind, I was not allowing my spirit to agree. Spiritual agreement requires surrender, as I said; it also requires obedience. After all, how can you say you believe something is true if you live as though it is not true? I realized, in reading this book, that although I profess certain things are true (for example, that prayer can powerfully change physical and spiritual things in our lives), I don't live as though they are true (I don't practice prayer with a burning passion to demonstrate how much I believe in it).

Again, how can I say I believe these things are true if I don't act as though they are true? I do believe these things. Now I need to start acting as if I do. This was the main concept that this book opened up for me, even though it didn't address it directly.

Aside from that, I was also reminded how much of a battle, a quest, and a journey our life is. We stumble and fall, we encounter foes and allies, we are strengthened and encouraged by friends, we see good and evil forces battling all day long. It really is as if we are walking inside a tale like The Lord of the Rings or The Chronicles of Narnia.

The day I finished Graydon's book, I stumbled across a quote on the internet that only reinforced my refreshed belief that life is a great journey and a splendid adventure:

"Never forget that life can only be nobly inspired and rightly lived if you take it bravely
and gallantly, as a splendid adventure in which you are setting out into an unknown
country, to meet many a joy, to find many a comrade, to win and lose many a battle."
- Annie Besant
I encourage you to take a moment to consider your own life in this context.

For any of you who are interested in Graydon's book, "The City of God", it can be ordered privately or through this website. Contact me if you'd like to find out more about it.