life is but a dream

cliff jumping, codependency, and the amish.

2012-01-27T09:30:00.000-08:00

So, I cut my hair.

Needed to jump off a cliff.

Jumping off one cliff usually leads to another cliff.

Now I feel like I need to disclaim that – like I’m just some thrill seeking, erratic adventure addict.

Perhaps I am a little. I just find that bravery leads to more bravery. And, I don’t mean bravery to be stupid or reckless. I mean bravery to become whoever it is you want to be. I understand why Eleanor Roosevelt said do something everyday that scares you. Because when you start retreating from life, it becomes easier and easier to retreat. And, before you know it, you're over thinking everything. Analysis Paralysis.

Maybe I feel so gung ho about cliff jumping because I used to live a life of retreating. I just…stopped fighting. After fighting in and for my marriage for years, I gradually became numb. I just wanted peace so badly that I stopped. I complied, pieces of my Self slowly dying as I became who I thought he needed me to be, who I thought I was supposed to be. Behaved. Submissive. Compliant. Anything – just to be liked, loved.

And, that identity fits me now about as well as the midriff bearing shirts I used to wear just to please a man.

Back to cliff jumping. It’s more than thrill seeking. It’s this curiosity – it’s wondering what I’m capable of. It’s this realization in my thirties that life is short and all the dreams of younger years don’t just happen. It’s this realization that some nebulous will of god isn’t going to just miraculously find me, like I once thought. It’s this…hunger….to do more…to be more. And, the only way more happens is, well, is if I make it happen.

Maybe this is just what happens when you get in your thirties. Or maybe it’s the beauty of losing my identity…

pastor’s wife.

stay-at-home mom.

perfect couple.

good decorator.

cute house.

cute kids.

Not that those things are bad – because they aren’t, especially if the core is real. It’s just that the core of mine wasn’t. I was caught up in the picture. The idea. And, so I just kept patching up holes in some shitty, shiny, veneer.

But, I think I knew the kind of person I wanted to be, even knew deep down what had to be done to be that. But, it just seemed too hard and patching holes so much easier.

So, codependent I remained.

You see, if someone else is in control of my life, then I have someone to blame. Nothing is my fault. I don’t have to be responsible.

Until the pain of staying the same became more painful than the pain of change.

I filed for divorce.

I lost my reputation.

I lost friends.

I traded the land of Ikea and fabricated furniture for Amish wood.

That sounded really bad.

I should probably leave the metaphors to my sister.

You know what I mean.

I mean I was suffocating in an American Dream with no substance.

I was preoccupied with the appearance of my life and not my life.

I loved what people thought of me – or what I thought they thought of me, anyway. Never mind what I thought of myself. Life was for other people. The doctrines of my youth – or at least how they were presented – only seemed to perpetuate my dysfunction…“If any man would come after me, he must deny himself….” Luke 9:23.

And, it wasn’t about leaving my marriage and finding a better one. It was about reclaiming self-respect. Finding my voice. It was about discovering what I believed, not just what I was told to believe. And, I think this is possible within a relationship – I do. But, sometimes, it just isn’t. And, you just know it. You feel it in your gut. You’ve exhausted tears and hours and hours in counseling. It’s just…fundamentally broken. And, there comes a time when closing the store is the brave thing to do.

I guess I write all that because it’s the kind of stuff I would have wanted to read back when I was patching holes, not because I think everyone should all go leave their marriage. And, I love Ikea, by the way. And, I’m not dating an Amish guy, though I dig beards.

So, I’ll leave it at that and stop explaining myself.

Because maybe you’re patching holes. Or maybe you have a badass relationship. Awesome. Either way, I find that writing about it is redemptive and somehow gives the mess some order.

Once again, I started writing about one thing and ended up writing about another. The ADHD meds are clearly not a cure-all. And, now I’m rereading trying to figure out how I got from point A to point B.

I guess what I really want to say is I like my hair.

short.

2012-01-26T19:28:00.001-08:00

on hair.

2012-01-26T18:30:00.001-08:00

Life is short. As my hair will be in an hour.

wounds.

2012-01-23T13:22:00.000-08:00

Just when I’m forging ahead, feeling my footing and feeling as though the rebuilding of this new life is really taking shape, something triggers the past.

I found Somer’s password protected journal the other day while cleaning. I was just about to lay it on her dresser, when just for fun, I thought I’d see if I knew the password. I held it to my mouth and took a guess, trying not to laugh as I slowly spoke the words, “Somer Rocks” into the speaker.

And, on my first try, it unlatched.

I held it to the light, expecting to smile and read about iCarley, soccer games, and sleepovers.

I wish my mom and dad weren’t divorced.

I wanted to throw the damn journal. I wanted to drive to her dad’s as fast I could, grab her, and hold her tight. I wanted to explain everything. I wanted to apologize for the years of yelling and fighting she may have overheard. I wanted to curse the courts for granting week on/week off custody. I wanted to blame my parents for allowing me to marry at eighteen. I wanted to blame the church. I wanted to blame myself.

It was one of those moments when I knew I could spiral downward – I could look around at my little house, my Sat – and, let fear seep in – fear that I’ll never get my degree, fear that I’ll always be a secretary, fear that we’ll forever live in a house with crooked floors and cheap carpet, fear that maybe I really can’t do it on my own, fear that my kids will be messed up. Or I could look around and see how far I’ve come - regardless of what other women are doing at 35.

For everything you’ve lost, you’ve gained something else. For everything you’ve gained, you’ve lost something else. Emerson

I set the journal on her dresser and kept cleaning, choosing instead to look at all I’ve gained. I walked through my house, touching the periwinkle walls of her room that she’d picked out - walls that I’d stayed up late to finish painting on a work night. I walked into the living room and saw the Ungame cards, still scattered on the coffee table. In my bedroom, I saw my textbook on the dresser, numbers from races I’d run, pictures of Barb, Kathy, and other strong women who seemed to arrive on this journey just when I needed them.

I can remember difficult times I once considered losses…moving away from friends and neighborhoods I loved…but, looking back, I see the gain…I see the new friends, new experiences, all of which helped me grow and become who I am today.

Steve Jobs said “You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

And, so…I resolve…to trust that even as I write, the dots are connecting. That this rebuilding is taking shape. That the Ungame discussions and periwinkle walls will count for something. That I am finding my footing. That all that feels crooked will, in time, straighten itself out and that my girls will be ok.

stay up late.

2012-01-22T14:05:00.000-08:00

nellsies.

2012-01-22T07:16:00.001-08:00

Sending love to my niece on her birthday...

fail.

2012-01-20T08:23:00.001-08:00

I had to give an "entertaining speech" yesterday, a departure from my typical introspective, I have a dream speech. It was about The Sat. I thought it was funny. I even had a Powerpoint presentation with pictures. I was anticipating raucous laughter. Heads back, mouths open, hands slapping knees. I was confident it was in the bag. Done deal.

No one laughed.
Blank stares.

It was so awkward I started laughing in the middle of it.

Still,
No laughter.

Complete fail.

on post offices.

2012-01-18T15:49:00.000-08:00

5pm. Leave work. Call friend. Tell her I feel a little cray today. Like, can’t get out of my head. Like, erratic. You are erratic, she says. “I know. I’m working on it."

5:20. Stop by post office to mail borrowed flash drive. My sister and I agree that post offices make us feel like the productive, efficient adults we aren’t. I leave post offices feeling Type A. Like I can run a marathon or climb Everest. Seriously, there is power in the post office. Like, going to the post office is the procrastination of all procrastinations and crossing it off my list unleashes amazing possibility and potential. When my sister calls and says, “You know why it’s going to be a good day today?” I immediately know the answer. “Yeah. You went to the post office.”

5:26. Text from Savannah as I’m leaving post office: I came home and the house was a COMPLETE mess. The kitchen was worse. Bowls. Cups. Everywhere. Syd had a huge mess in the kitchen, and it was clean this morning. I’m not cleaning her mess.

5:28. I respond: Work it out. Not leaving post office parking lot until house is clean. I’ll be in the driveway in fifteen to take Somer to basketball practice.

5:50. The Sat pulls in driveway. I think I hear new tinny noise. I do not get out of car, but allow every opportunity for cleaning redemption. Somer exits house and enters The Sat. I drive her to practice and pray engine doesn't fall out in the presence of basketball parents.

6:05. I brave the threshold of 131. Thankfully, clean. I go right to the kitchen and start frying hamburger. The burner is lopsided; stovetop, stained. “What are you making?” Sav asks. “Spaghetti.” “Not to be mean or anything,” she says, “but in the future can you never buy noodles and sauce again?” This is somehow worse than a proverbial ‘we always have spaghetti’ and makes me want to slam cupboard doors and pots and pans. But, I refrain as during our last family discussion, they said such behavior makes them want to commit. I can't help but go a little cray, though, despite the presence of Sydney’s friend, Kate, in the living room.

6:40. Sav finishes the noodles while I change clothes and head to school to pick up Somer. I get there early to watch her practice. I start to feel better.

7:15. Somer and I return home and we all grab plates and load up buffet style. Kate’s older sister Clare, arrives. “Hi, Momma!” she says as she takes her coat off and grabs a plate. I am endeared, my need to slam cupboard doors slowly subsiding.

Despite subsiding frustrations, I still want to retreat to my room for spaghetti with silence. I instead grab Ungame, family edition, which is basically, discussion prompts for families who are trying to be functional, and join the five girls in my living room. “Everyone pick a card,” I say as I take a mouthful of noodles. “And, no cell phones.”

“Seriously, mom? This is embarrassing.”

We eat spaghetti and take turns reading and responding to the questions on our cards. They’re feeling it, giving deep thought to their answers while trying to hide their enjoyment.

It was my turn. “How would your daughter describe you to someone else?”

“Can I have a new card?” I ask. They tell me no and add, “Be honest, mom.”

“I think she’d say that I’m beautiful, brilliant, and have an amazing personality,” I say, trying not to laugh. “MOM,” they say. “Be serious.” I stop laughing. “Ok…if Savannah were talking to her counselor, I think she’d say that I’m stressed when I get home from work. And, that I have a hard time being consistent - I’m all or nothing. I can adapt to mess and then I can’t stand it and go a little cray.”

“Mom, can you please not say cray?”

“I think she’d also say that I’m involved in her life,” I add. “Honest. That I try really hard to be a good mom.”

She says nothing, seemingly surprised by my honesty and lack of defensiveness.

Clare is next. She reads her card, “What bothers you about your mom?" I feel suddenly bonded to the woman who bore these children and decide these cards were written by fourteen year old girls.

“She’s a little cray. She’s spastic. She’s stressed a lot.”

“Talk about stress,” I say, becoming therapist.

“She’s stressed about work. Money. Bills.” She elaborates, “And, she’s strict. She takes our phones away when our rooms are messy or grades are bad.” The younger sister chimes in, “We have chores every day because she thinks walking the dogs and sweeping the kitchen floor should be the least of her worries.”

Their mom is also divorced and has spent the last several years in Medical School.

As the friends elaborate on their mom’s cleaning expectations and rules, I see my girls shake their heads and silently mouth to their friends, No. Stop now. Abort.

We all laugh. We talk about what it’s like to be a single mom, or parent, for that matter. What it means to be a family. We talk about responsibility. Independence. And, for a minute, I think they get it, as much as they possibly can with their teen-aged brains. If nothing else, they feel camaraderie. They feel normal.

And, so did I.

The friends left and my eldest started cleaning her room without being asked.

Sydney followed.

I didn’t feel cray anymore.

I felt like a good mom.

This was long. Clearly the result of unleashed power at the post office.

first pair.

2012-01-17T15:10:00.001-08:00

skinny jeans.
I feel cool.

unsolved.

2012-01-17T07:58:00.001-08:00

"Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And, the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will find them gradually, without noticing it, and live along some distant day into the answer." Rainer Maria Rilke

lazy morning.

2012-01-15T09:15:00.001-08:00

“To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June” Jean-Paul Sartre

(first post from iphone app)

a smattering.

2012-01-13T22:45:00.000-08:00

for elliot.

2012-01-11T19:20:00.000-08:00

this post is dedicated to elliot.

after much procrastination, I return again.

I am, at this moment, listening to Loner, by Stay Ali. Check it.

Since my last post,
I had a lovely Thanksgiving and an even lovelier Christmas.
I shot a wedding.
I shot some of my favorite senior pics ever inside a grocery store.
I got an iphone.
The iphone inspired me to clean my car.
You see, I felt it wrong to drive around with a T-pinned Sat ceiling and a bottle of maple syrup in my drink holder while talking on an iphone.

A friend of mine made a deal with me today. For the next week, we are forgoing our vices and writing instead. So, here I am. Not easy, seeing as I'm now on Instagram, the effects of which I find hypnotic.

Rex Pickett, the writer of Sideways, is one of my eight followers on Twitter. It matters little to me that he is following 4,078 others; he is following me.

I'm out of beer.

I've been told I'm an over-sharer. Impulsive. Must work on this. Then, perhaps I won't return to my post days later thinking damn, why did I write all that? Why did I expose the ceiling of my car and cracker barrel syrup? Not attractive. Speaking of The Sat again, sometimes when I go to happy hour, I park off the beaten path, especially since my muffler is getting louder, but not so far that it looks like I'm hiding my car, because that's not cool either. I tell myself it's not at all fraudulent to swag in with heels and my thrift pea coat collar all popped, work a crowd, and then start up The Sat.

I suppose one could say we're all frauds, inadvertently contradicting ourselves. But, I'd like to at least try and live congruently.

Sometimes when I'm walking laps in the atrium of my work building and this song comes on my Sansa MP3 player, it takes all I have not to break out into dance. I think I'd start in slow motion and then crescendo into some really awesome moves. I can just see everyone setting aside their cafeteria burgers and talking amongst themselves. Their whispers would fuel me for my finale. And, then I'd humbly walk back to my cubicle.

How cool would it be if MC Frontalot was single and lived near me? Way cool.

This made me laugh this week.

More later.

G'nite.

On Vulnerability.

2011-11-17T06:39:00.000-08:00

This is good.

peace up, yo.

2011-11-13T14:33:00.000-08:00

As promised, edits of my ride. The Sat.

(if you're reading in google reader, it just won't be the same without the music.)

Mumford, T-Pins, and Coffee Cream.

2011-11-11T20:22:00.000-08:00

Lost in thought listening to Mumford…

They’ve got good lyrics. They seem like…feelers. Deep. Introspective and philosophical. Like I want to have a beer with them. Like they’ve got some substance. I like substance. When I was on Match (gasp), I told potential suitors (whatEV) that if their screen name was anything reminiscent of 2hot4u, then they probably were. I would not argue. And, if they were shirtless in their profile picture, not to bother. (So then I got all these "winks" from these large, large 55 year old men with starter jackets and double bar transition glasses...ok, so substance with a little swag).

Needless to say, I’m not on Match anymore. So, no looking for my profile. After a while, I felt, I don’t know…exposed. Not that people don't find success on there, as I'm sure they do. And, kudos to them. I just wasn't one of them.

Back to last week. It was better. Karen G at work said I must follow up on the last post and not leave people hanging. Karen G is a rock. My voice of reason. She has a chair in her office dedicated to me and my problems.

Back to introspective and philosophical. We waxed a bit last night, work pals and I, during happy hour. As the group diminished, conversation turned to God and religion, as it often does. It was good. I liked.

Anyway. The week was just better. Some stuff happened that gave me hope. Light at the end of the tunnel. Possibilities in my work life. Bonding moments with my girls. Reassurance from friends. Reassurance from the blog world. It felt almost supernatural. Which was weird, because the week before, I was literally in The Sat (my 95 navy Saturn I intend to blog about soon, including some fancy edits of the T pins that are holding up the car's "upholstery" above our heads. The girls say it's like our car has curtains) saying stuff like, “God? Mary? Universe? Somebody? I could use some help right now.

That was last week. This week is good, too. Went to Toastmasters today. I spoke last week…Truth vs. Comfort, based on a C.S. Lewis quote. I didn't prepare as much as I hoped. And then got comments like, “Amazing preparation." “Great order.” Ha. Imagine what it would be like if I didn't wait until the last minute. Then again, my brain doesn't often work until the last minute. It's not fun unless it's at the last minute. There's no challenge. No magic. I have hyper focus in the last minute. The stars align. I can do anything. I’ve been leading meetings lately which is good for me. Great practice. I find that when my back is up against the wall, with nothing or no one to fall back on, I have no choice but to come through. Deliver. I'm convinced growth lies in scary situations. I want to grow. I don't want to get to the end of my life and wish I would have been the person I knew I could have been. And, I figure, I really have nothing to lose. No, really. I don't. My circumstances (like The Sat, for instance) are such that I can't worry about what people think. I just can't. It's almost like being naked. Not that I don't frantically run out and buy T-pins and spray adhesive for the sagging car upholstery before a date, but still...

My friend, Carrie, who has a similar divorce story, said once, "You know, losing everything is so freeing. You're not afraid anymore." I agree. It's like you're forced to define yourself strictly by who you are. Reminds me of Steve Jobs and how, when he learned he was dying, he didn't care anymore. He was already naked, had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Also reminds me of one of the best movies ever, infinity and beyond, Bridesmaids. I'm trying to think of the relevance of the comparison...it isn't coming to me. Sigh. Still...a great movie.

Thanks to recent ADHD meds, I just finished a book. Dry, by Augusten Burroughs. Loved. It was honest and raw. He is a kindred spirit, indeed.

I'm feeling happy. I have half and half in my fridge for coffee along with a bundle of wood. Laughing. That sounded so...Boxcar Children. I'm envisioning early morning coffee and a fire. And, then an afternoon hike at Lake Lansing North. Or maybe a solo kayak ride down the Grand River. I hear it's supposed to be 60 degrees...

G'nite.

“We don’t get a chance to do that many things, and every one should be really excellent. Because this is our life. Life is brief, and then you die, you know? And we’ve all chosen to do this with our lives. So it better be damn good. It better be worth it.” Steve Jobs

“Almost everything–all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure–these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.” Steve Jobs

Vulnerability = Community = Peace = Life.

2011-11-02T19:36:00.000-07:00

I had a good day today. In fact, I've had a good week so far.

Last week was kinda...crappy.

Like Thursday.

I was shooting the Green Chemistry Conference all day in Ann Arbor. The flash on my camera was broken and the lighting was horrible. I was pushing buttons and changing settings left and right. Automatic. Manual. The director of the DEQ, who apparently knows me by name, was there. "Hey, Carin!" he said, with a big smile, "Ya gettin' some good shots?"

Sigh.

The governor was there.
Governor.
Of Michigan.

Along with press people with cameras and lenses much fancier than mine.
And, they were young.
Male.
Twentyish.
Hottish.

I can just hear them laughing on their way back to the newsroom. "Did you hear the shutter speed on that poor girl's camera?!" "Dude! She didn't know what the F she was doing!" Followed by...raucous laughter. And, then all these award recipients were coming up to me with big smiles and business cards, asking me to send them the pictures I took of them with the governor. Damn, I kept thinking. Damn. Nevertheless, I smiled. And, tried to act like a badass.

During an off-duty breakout session, I found an empty room and called my mom in tears. And, then I rattled on about the rest of my life - which, quite frankly, feels anything but a dream, unless it's one where I'm running like hell and not moving. And, she listened. Like she always does. Because she's a badass mom who never closes her eyes to my pain, even though I know it causes her the same.

Ok, here is the point in my post where I reread. And, then I delete. Because I worry someone is going to think I'm a victim or think that I perpetuate my circumstances. Or, I'm afraid of rereading the next day and feeling, well...dumb. But, so often, I wish I'd blogged more throughout the last two years - just to look back and see how far I've come. It would have been therapeutic. And then, of course, to help people. There's got to be another single mom out there with no money, shitty car, and not a lot of support who is up at midnight in tears googling single mom blogs - anything - just to feel like she's normal. Not alone. And not the cause of her circumstances. (Or maybe you're married...or without kids...fill in the blank...)

Because, let's face it.
Misery. Loves. Company.
No, I'm not miserable.
But, sometimes...life isn't dreamlike. Yes, we get back up. We brush ourselves off. We smile. But, what helps me through the crap is company.
Community.
Knowing...I'm not alone.

Scott Peck said, “There can be no vulnerability without risk; there can be no community without vulnerability; there can be no peace, and ultimately no life, without community.”

I'm confident my circumstances will change. But, in the meantime, there are tough times. I will keep smiling. I will bust A to get ahead. But, the beauty lies in knowing I am not alone, even though a lot of times, I feel like it.

So, here's to community. Vulnerability. Peace. And, ultimately, this badass life.

Cheers.

More about this week later...

someday, I'll be as legit as my socks.

2011-10-30T09:23:00.000-07:00

My last soccer game is in forty minutes. I don't really feel like going.
Though, I could score today.
And, there could be fifa scouts there.
You never know.

(I wish I could tell you I did something really sweet with the ball in this pic)

green up.

2011-10-27T11:40:00.000-07:00

Taking pics today of the Green Chemistry Conference at U of M Ann Arbor.

Check out the Governor's shoes.

stuck.

2011-10-26T06:59:00.000-07:00

This is my cousin. He's kind of a badass. As are the lyrics to this song.
Like this one,
"...it's just hard to leave these cages that we're stuck in."
I'm feeling a little stuck today.
Stuck in my head.
Stuck in the 9-5.
Just...stuck.
My therapist said she senses a big disconnect between what I feel and what is reality.
You feel like this, she says. But here is what I see. I see...
Damn feelings.
I'm sensing a flood of posts in the near future, perhaps.
To unleash the stuckness.

Happy Wednesday.

he who hears music,

2011-10-23T21:52:00.000-07:00

...feels his solitude peopled at once."

Concluded my weekend with a trip downtown to The Loft where my solitude was indeed peopled by some great local indie bands.

switch up.

2011-10-19T10:13:00.000-07:00

Stuff I'm thinking about right now...

"To change one's life: Start immediately. Do it flamboyantly."

"So what do we do? Anything. Something. So long as we just don't sit there. If we screw it up, start over. Try something else. If we wait until we've satisfied all the uncertainties, it may be too late."
Lee Iacocca

"Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul." Henry Van Dyke

"Every morning I start with a drink from my cup of sunshine, to remind myself of who I am before I step into the world of 'this is who we think you are.'" Dodinsky

"All men are sculptors, constantly chipping away the unwanted parts of their lives, trying to create their idea of a masterpiece." Eddie Murphy

"Renew thyself completely each day; do it again, and again, and forever again." Thoreau in Walden

I believe in self reinvention. Switching it all up sometimes. Pull something out of the back of your closet. Pop your collar. Rearrange the furniture. Cut your hair. Join roller derby. Get some new music. Pick up a self help book. Audition for a play. Learn guitar.

Speaking of self help books, I'm reading this book right now. It's awesome. It will make you want to be more kind. Get up earlier. Go for a walk in the woods. Laugh more. Go buy it.

Speaking of learning guitar, my eldest is teaching herself. I sat outside her bedroom door listening to this with tears running down my face. I was proud. She is starting lessons in the next few weeks.

A friend sent me this today. It made me smile.

I've gone on a few dates lately. I want to start an anonymous blog and tell about them. My sister says older men is where it's at. I've found older men seem to lack...swag. I like some swag.

My friend Chris says I'm too old to use the word swag and that it makes me sound like a middle-aged woman with teen-agers. He is 26 and keeps a stack of cardigans in his office like Mr. Rogers.

I'm listening to Interpol right now. Cage the Elephant. Silversun Pickups and Middle Class Rut.

I need to pay my parking tickets. They're waking me up in the night.

Here's a good article. I'm doing it. Till I cry.

Have a great Wednesday.

morning of somer.

2011-09-10T11:42:00.000-07:00

Sav and Syd spent the night with friends last night so Somer and I biked downtown this morning for coffee and game day hype.

I love where we live.

Sweet Solomons and the District.

2011-08-12T14:30:00.000-07:00

(background....I met rosa through this blog about a year ago. We've been corresponding but hadn't formally met until this trip)
After last minute packing the morning of and a mad dash to Detroit Metro, I boarded my flight, settled in, and awaited my complimentary spicy tomato juice that always tastes better on a plane. I put my headphones on and sipped slowly, looking out my window as flight 138 ascended high above the clouds, en route to the District. When we landed, I texted Mario, Rosa’s son, who responded with his location. I jumped on the metro and got off near U street, found a Starbucks, and waited. The locale suddenly felt hip and cool and had me immediately questioning my attire and luggage, the latter of which was especially juvenile. Why the hell did I bring this damn bag? Why don't I care about such things other women care about like cool luggage? My thoughts were soon interrupted by a musical food truck which stopped and deposited Mario and two friends at the corner of U and 13th. What the hell am I doing, I thought for a split second. And, then I reached out my hand to shake his and he instead, gave me a hug. The four of us walked to Mario’s so they could grab bikes and I, wait for Rosa’s arrival. They took off while I browsed bookshelves and artwork. Rosa soon arrived in green cargo shorts, a sheer, off-the-shoulder white shirt, and gladiator sandals. She was tan, with big, expressive green eyes and the most beautiful eyebrows I think I’ve ever seen. Around her neck were funky necklaces from her travels – each of which I’m sure had meaning or some sort of story – because you can just tell she’s like that. We threw my adolescent tote into the back of her brown Camry, and headed to Arlington, Virginia, just a stones throw from DC, where she and ~~Dr. Bob~~ Bob were living in a furnished, state issued apartment for just a few more days until their move to Bangladesh. “I’m so glad you’re here!” she said, talking a mile a minute, stopping occasionally for a drag on her Misty or to light up another. “So am I!” I replied. And I was.

We soon arrived at Oakwood Apartments and took the elevator to the seventh floor. Rosa knocked at the door and her husband opened it, warmly greeting me with, “Hi, Carin! I’m Bob,” followed by, “Well, that’s a girly looking bag.”

Sigh.

I don’t really remember what we did for the rest of the day. Maybe that was the night we sat on the couch and ate salads Bob made and served in big, mismatched Tupperware bowls. Endearing. Especially since he’s a doctor for the U.S. Embassy and had just returned from an assignment in Africa where he was Hillary Clinton’s personal doctor. They’re going to kill me for writing that as they’re the most humble, unpretentious people I know, but it adds to the story and I’m all about story. It sounds silly, but I felt trusted by this simple Tupperware gesture – like I was family. Anyway. Back to our evening. We chatted a lot, the three of us. We laughed. And then in true Rosa fashion, she showered me with trinkets, like Tibetan necklaces, cool journals, and the book, “Go the Fuck to Sleep”. And sooner than later, I did.

I awoke Sunday morning to fresh coffee and Rosa brushing her hand softly through my hair saying, “Get the fuck up. You and Bob are going kayaking.” So, we all got ready and Rosa chauffeured us to Georgetown. “Ok," she said, "I’m just going to stop in the middle of the intersection (drag on the Misty) and then you guys are going to have to jump out quickly and walk the rest of the way.” I can’t really remember what the reason for this was, but it made sense at the time and adds to the story. So, we walked across the Key Bridge, passing General Petraeus on our way(!), until we arrived at Jack’s Boat House, a charming establishment with colorful Adirondack chairs, paper lanterns, and lots of locals. I was very glad I wasn’t dragging my childish rolling contraption that holds my clothes with me as I tried to conceal my tourist excitement and pretend I was a local. I’m sure Bob will attest that I didn’t do a very good job of this as I’d frequently stop and say, “Bob! We’re kayaking the Potomac!” “Bob! Look! Washington Monument!” And, then every once in awhile, we’d stop and Dr. Bob would point out sights like the Watergate Hotel or the Kennedy Center, or we’d just quit paddling and chat. He asked me a lot about my life, Syd’s diabetes. And when a helicopter passed overhead, he broke into story about flying over the city and trying to sneak peeks of the monuments while trying to keep a patient alive. I guess the poor guy died as the doctor let go of the bag and stole a glance of the Reflecting Pool. (Not really, but wouldn't that be awful?) After a few hours, we concluded our watery jaunt and met Rosa right where she’d dropped us off, jumping quickly into the Camry before the light turned green.

And then there was thrifting. Ah, sweet thrifting. Resale Goes Upscale on the main drag in Georgetown. $10 BCBG dresses. Where Rosa brought me dress after dress and shoe after shoe, nixing my ill choices, adding, “That is so Marble Mom, and you, are so not Marble Mom.” (Marble = East Lansing Elementary School). I felt like Pretty Woman. Serious thrifting calls for serious coffee and people watching. Which meant one thing. Dean and Deluca. And people watch, we did.

By the time Monday morning had arrived, Bob had learned I liked fresh ground coffee with half and half, so instead of the chicory blend I had enjoyed my first two mornings, he actually made a trip down to the lobby for my morning brew. After hot coffee was consumed, Rosa and I once again headed to Georgetown -for cupcakes this time, sans long weekend lines, where we acted like shameless tourists, snapping silly pics left and right. The blueberry cheesecake cupcake, btw, is where it’s at. Totally.

And then there were the dinners. Vietnamese. Mideastern. Thai. More conversations. More laughter. And a trip to Bob's Army Base. And, Arlington National Cemetary.

And then on my last day, a midday run by the monuments. Bob was quick to point out the building where Hillary worked, adding, “Yeah, they called me today. Apparently, I left my shirt in Tanzania.” Modesty my ass, Dr. Bob. Seriously, though, I think that should be the title of his book someday. I Left My Shirt in Tanzania. I’m so feelin it. After two miles or so, our run was slowed to a walk as I was “displaying signs of heat stroke”. Well, it was either that, or Bob wanted me to think that so he could get a breather in as he checked my pulse.

I departed much like I arrived…in a mad dash. But I just didn’t want to leave. So I just kept squeezing in one more moment - until the cabbie was flying down the highway offering to wait in the parking lot while I showered and packed (I was still in running clothes). So my departure was this big joint effort. We were literally running into the apartment building,the three of us, and then I jumped in the shower while Bob and Rosa frantically packed the Disney duffel – not an easy task when I was leaving with twice as much stuff as I had arrived with.

In record time (ten minutes), I showered, packed, and said a quick good bye with a lump in my throat as I got into the cab. “Reagan Airport. As fast as you can.”

Surprisingly, I got to the gate with time to spare and found a seat. Despite the pubescent fortnighter at my side, I was feeling like a cool person this time, likely due to the new free people sundress I was wearing, compliments of Rosa. I put my headphones on and reflected on the Solomons. And their goodness. And how I want to be good...pay it forward...and make a difference in people's lives like they had done in mine.

A few people have since asked, so, did you go to dc to see…a guy? And I tell them about the Solomons. Humble Bob and the lovely Rosa, whose comments adorn my blog and whose love adorns my soul.

behold,

2011-08-08T21:54:00.000-07:00

My first installment of pictures from a long weekend in DC.

Exhibit A: Rosa and Dr. Bob, my loving hosts who renewed my hope in the goodness of people.

rainy night.

2011-07-28T06:04:00.000-07:00

...enjoying some solitude tonight along with an evening summer rain, low lighting, and bon iver tunes.

Delicious.

joy.

2011-07-27T09:20:00.000-07:00

phone shot.

2011-07-25T20:06:00.000-07:00

"The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware." Henry Miller

she lives in paris.

2011-07-20T19:23:00.000-07:00

"We do not need magic to transform our world. We carry all the power we need inside ourselves already. We have the power to imagine..." J.K. Rowling

corners.

2011-07-19T04:48:00.001-07:00

bike ride.

2011-07-16T17:52:00.000-07:00

simple.

2011-07-16T06:50:00.000-07:00

home.

2011-07-13T09:24:00.000-07:00

I am digging life at 131, along with the symmetry of said address. We’re just a half mile from campus and a quick bike ride away from Barnes and Noble, Starbucks, Kresge Art Museum and more. I’m finally within district of all three girls’ schools which means no more drop offs and pick ups which means no more day care costs. The neighborhood is the bomb, full of charm and little girls galore. I’ve already been invited over for a beer by one neighbor, a cookout at another, and received a hosta from a third. And lemonade stands have proven to be profitable as Somer’s little business venture brought in more than $30. Ah…sweet community.

I am giddy for fall…sweatshirted walks through the neighborhood peering into cozy lit houses followed by a fire in my own...'twill be bliss.

unavoidably detained.

2011-07-12T07:21:00.000-07:00

Here lies the reason for my absence.
Still painting, thrifting, nesting.
A few pics of the progression.
More to follow...

badass loveseat and random happenings.

2011-06-24T21:24:00.000-07:00

Behold, my $30 badass loveseat from local thrift store.
In my house.
Well, it's not like, my house.
I'm actually renting.
But, I pretend it's mine, slanted floors and all.
Which is why I've spent the last week painting ceilings, trim, and walls.
Farewell, apartment.
Hello, little house.
A friend and I are moving the bare necessities in tomorrow.
And then treating ourselves to Golden Harvest.
Breakfast will be followed by nesting.
I am giddy.
So much so, I might even pop my collar.

"Stay, stay at home and rest...homekeeping hearts are happiest." Longfellow

limitless.

2011-06-19T21:27:00.001-07:00

"The artist's world is limitless. It can be found anywhere, far from where
he lives or a few feet away. It is always on his doorstep." Paul Strand

almost fourteen.

2011-06-19T20:13:00.000-07:00

lunch hour bliss.

2011-06-06T21:56:00.000-07:00

words later...for now, just pics.

she moodles.

2011-03-27T21:29:00.000-07:00

Great weekend.
Dinner with Barb Friday night in which we did this. Copiously.
Seriously, I could be feeling like this.
And then in the presence of her fierceness, I suddenly feel like this.
Met another friend for breakfast on Saturday.
Where I cannot seem to stray from the killer sandwich.
Except, when I eat it, I don't look like her, but more like her.
Post breakfast agenda included moving a craigslist bed I bought on a whim, a pint of porter, and a parking ticket, the latter of which made me feel like this.
The evening that followed was completely inefficient and thus, blissful.
I did not finish my laundry or clean my car that is starting to feel like this.
Instead, I dawdled and puttered, moving from one unfinished task to another, stopping occasionally to order used books on amazon or make a pot of coffee.
And, now I am feeling imaginative.
G'nite.

"So you see, imagination needs moodling - long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering.” Brenda Ueland

rhythm and line.

2011-03-23T08:20:00.000-07:00

2011-03-05T06:09:00.001-08:00

sunbeams.

2011-01-23T12:18:00.000-08:00

8am...the sun arrives at my bedroom window like unexpected inlaws at the door of a messy house. I am not ready. It is negative eight degrees outside and presumably, negative seven in my apartment. But, I...am warm and toasty under my covers. "Lay down," I say to my dog, hoping for just a few more minutes of sleepy bliss.

But, alas, the dog wins and I awaken. I cannot say no to this face, regardless of my recently destroyed down comforter. and pillow. and bathroom wall trim.

After feeding the dog and starting my coffee, laundry is next on the agenda because I am wearing dirty socks.

My growing amaryllis and prayer flags from Rosa make me happy.

And now,
it is time for homework.

Happy Sunday.

she rambles...imperfectly.

2011-01-09T17:01:00.000-08:00

sipping a glass of pinot...wishing I had some cabot seriously sharp cheddar or some aged black diamond to go along with.

finally...
some motivation.
the inescapable drive to write.

I went to church today...I'm not what you would call a "regular attender". I grew up in church...I was submersed in church...I was the daughter of a pastor...the wife of a pastor...the grandaughter of a pastor...the niece of a pastor...the cousin of a pastor...you name it...but as I've said before...when a bomb goes off in your life, you question everything.

But, every once in a great while, I go...and I get frustrated...it doesn't...make sense...doesn't add up...and, I can't help but question everything as I see the masses beside me shaking their heads in agreement.

Tangent.
I'm a perfectionist....if I can't have my apartment perfect in an hour, I do nothing. No 15 minute clean up to prevent it from really getting out of hand.
No.
Nothing.
And so it snowballs into this distrastrous, insurmountable...problem.
The kind where I feel like I have to call in troops to dig me out.  Beth tells me this so called "perfectionism" is just an excuse to make myself sound better. I love her. I love that she can say whatever she thinks and know I'll still love her. But, despite this almost accurate assumption, I still think I'm a perfectionist...not that I don't do things to make myself sound better. Because I do.  But, honestly, I can get OCD. I know exactly how I want it. Perfect. Which, quite frankly, is completely impossible. And I think I know this...subconsciously...and so I honestly do...nothing...because this ideal can be paralyzing...whether it's my apartment, the kind of mom I want to be, the kind of student, even my theology. You see, part of me knows my expectations are completely ridiculous and says, come on, accept your limitations. And then part of me says anything is possible. Push yourself. Kelly Ripa changes her sheets daily. I just get...distracted. Badly. Exhibit A: I am cleaning the bathroom. Empty beer bottle sits on side of tub. (Cold brew in hot bath with The Sun Magazine is the bomb). I go put empty beer bottle away. I realize I don't have a good system for empty bottles/cans. I ponder this. I wonder...what kind of container should I use? So and so uses cardstock and badass penmanship to label everything and then attaches with twine. Hmmm. Where will I put it? I will put it in coat closet. And so, I open coat closet. Favorite Marmot mitten falls from top shelf. I frantically spend the next hour hunting for missing mitten and determine I need a good system for keeping winter gear together, completely forgetting about system for empty bottles/cans, not to mention, bathroom that is still a mess and wet towel ridden. If you give a mouse a cookie....

End of tangent.

Back to faith.

I still have a lot of questions. It seems the older I get, the more I have. I want to know what I believe...why I believe it....not just regurgitate what I've been taught because it's all I've ever known.

But it was good today.

Alone.
Not knowing anyone.
Yearning for community and at the same time, comforted by the anonymity and the lukewarm cup of dunkin in my hands....and the hymns of my childhood.

Might not have been church that was good.

Might have been me.

Might have been both.

Either way....I am feeling close to God today.  A God I choose to believe in, regardless of what has been lost in my life...regardless of scientific arguments that might prove otherwise.

Back to my perfectionism.
One of my resolutions for this year is to try and let go...
My apartment will be imperfect.
Churches will be imperfect.
My parents will be imperfect.
My children will be imperfect.
I will be imperfect.

And it is ok.

So...
Merry Christmas.
Happy New Year.

I will post some pics soon.
My tree.
My kids.
My friends.
My blue ribbon award from my Honors Composition class.

Some people feel guilty about their anxieties and regard them as a defect of faith but they are afflictions, not sins. Like all afflictions, they are, if we can so take them, our share in the passion of Christ. C. S. Lewis
If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things. Rene Descartes

g'nite.

washed away.

2010-12-19T21:11:00.000-08:00

"Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life." Picasso

It is late and I'm reflecting on my weekend and one of the highlights...a trip to The Flint Institute of Arts... where we indeed washed away the dust of everyday life as we browsed galleries, laughed hard in the library, lunched in the cafe, and forgot the troubles of the night before.

“Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again. And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are? We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel. And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel? You must work, we must all work, to make the world worthy of its children.” Picasso

I love these girls.

we pass the baton.

2010-12-14T20:57:00.000-08:00

So much for gung ho blogging.

I often have grand ideas, hearing violins as I get completely caught up in the moment...in feelings...big ideas...and then my alarm clock goes off and reality sets in.

But here I am again...elated at 119 followers. Do I need to be followed? Do I need to have an audience? Am I enough? These are the too-deep questions I ask myself at 9:53pm on a Tuesday night, in between munching Stacy's pita chips and checking the dog at my feet who deeply loves me. "Am I wanting an ego life?" I asked my friend. Because I don't want to live a life driven by ego. I want substance and depth. No, she told me, it's human nature...we're wired to be relational...to connect beyond facebook refreshing.

Lots of people are retiring at my place of employment - The State of Michigan. I got teary eyed today...as I watched these really good people pass the baton after many years of state service. The older I get, the more I see life is just that...a sort of...relay race...handing off the baton. And when we have the baton, we run like hell, give it all we've got, and then hand off, cheering on our predecessors as we grab the next baton and move on to the new phase. My friend sent me a text the other day. She was already having the sads, with her oldest graduating from MSU...and then she went to the doctor...to talk about hormones and stuff. And while she waited alone, country music crooning love lyrics in the background, a young couple joined her in the waiting room, awaiting their first ultraound. They were happy and eager, while my friend fought back tears. But, such is life. A time for everything. Nothing stays the same. We grow up. We get married. We have babies. We have teen-agers. We go to work. We move. We lose friends...parents...spouses. And in spite of the rough transitions, I believe it's all good - every stage of life....and with every loss, we gain something else.

My friend Mary closed the retirement party with a toast and this quote: "To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded." Emerson

In her memoir, Brenda Ueland said she so often struggles between the desire to be really good and really remarkable. And I so get that. Not that you can't be both - because I think you can - it's just that some days I want to serve...give...be this silent influence of good. And then some days I want to...visibly matter...to be really great and have people think I'm great, even though I know being great and valuable doesn't have to include being visible. Hrmph. This isn't coming out right.

But I left work so inspired today...to laugh more...to appreciate beauty in simple things...to kneel down when I talk to my seven year old....to find the best in others and leave the world a better place.

I've now eaten too many pita chips and can recite the lyrics to every bon iver song.

g'nite.

nature vs. nurture, gung ho, and other such nonsense.

2010-12-02T21:10:00.000-08:00

I am popping in for 88 89 92 99! lovely followers and 38 beloved commenters. I don't know why I haven't blogged in so long. I have an all or nothing personality that is a blessing and a curse. More often than not, the pendulum is way over here or way over there as opposed to resting nicely in the middle. I work very hard at finding balance, though my sister says this is just the way we are. And instead of accepting this and going merrily on my way, I think deep, exploring nature vs. nurture, wondering if I'm just wired this way, or if it's just all I know - and in that case, perhaps I should push myself to be different...better. And such is the madness of my mind. Madness that takes up time. Time that could be otherwise spent doing other things. Like blogging. Bettering myself. Where is that line between embracing myself and pushing myself....

But here is what happened. I was going gung ho. Gung ho working. Gung ho school. Gung ho kids. Gung ho speech class. Gung ho blogging. Gung ho running. And this often equates to gung ho mess. Gung ho chaos. And then I have to regroup. Slam on the brakes. Reign it back in. Restore some order. Do some laundry. Clean my bathrooms. Feed my soul. Not that all those other things don't feed my soul - because they do. It's just that one day I wake up and I'm bored. Have to change it all up. Some people are the same all the time. I'm not, no matter how hard I try. I'm kind of a fly-by-nighter. Even though I always wanted to be that girl that always buys the same lipstick at the Clinique counter when hers runs out or who cleans her bathrooms every Thursday. But I'm not. I'm just never the same.

So, that's what happened. I woke up and had to change it all up. Had to just stop. Pick up a real journal with a real pen. Buy new crayons. Read a novel. Had to watch a movie. Had to organize. Had to try a new recipe. Had to go to bed early.

But, I'm kinda ready to change it up again. Go gung ho blogging again. Write about my dog and the unabridged journals of Sylvia Plath. Thrift store finds.

So, that is where I've been.

That and a little kayak researching.

I will buy kayaks.

2010-11-02T09:09:00.000-07:00

The golden harvest high has come and gone. And now I am sitting in my apartment, thinking about my life again. I think too much. Week on week off custody is different. For one week, you are all there is…the weight of the world on your shoulders…barely a minute to breathe. Soccer practices, volleyball games, sleepovers, doctor appointments, pharmacy stops, healthy dinners. Money for the movies. And as crazy as it is, I love every minute of it.

And then, an abrupt stop. Another life. And it’s sometimes hard to reconcile the two.

When a bomb blows up in your life, whether it is divorce, a death, a move, a diagnosis, etc., you question everything. You question your faith. You question God. You question the institution of marriage. You question yourself. You question all you’ve ever known. I feel cynical sometimes....towards happy, shiny people. But I don’t want to feel like that. I don't want to be damaged. I don't want to feel displaced. My friend said he sometimes feels like the guy with one arm at the party and he doesn’t want to be the guy with one arm. Neither do I.

While it is just within me to make my life great no matter what and rock out the one arm, I miss the feeling of roots. I miss the sense of family. I miss sitting at the hearth of my old house in my old neighborhood, knowing everyone who drove by. I miss not wondering what I’m going to do for Thanksgiving or Christmas or for the rest of my life, for that matter.

And now I’m laughing. Because this is sounding so mopey. So, I will think about kayaks. Because I’m going to buy them someday. And the day I strap them atop my car en route to the Pictured Rocks of Michigan, tears will roll down my face.

So, amidst all my uncertainty today, I will relish in the fact that I do have one thing figured out.

I will buy kayaks.

Meet,

2010-10-31T22:30:00.000-07:00

The food was so good it gave me chills.

dharma, tableside.

great bathroom literature....

why languish in the shadow of a standard we cannot personify, an ideal we cannot live?

To see beauty, is simply to learn the private language of meaning which is
another's life - to recognize and relish what is.

Cash only. Good thing I had laundry quarters.

Golden Harvest.

A rather hipster breakfast joint in downtown Lansing you want to tell the world about and at the same time want to keep secret and underground, it's that cool.
I've spent the last hour trying to articulate my Saturday morning, but the words just aren't coming.
And, I'm bummed.
Because a simple Saturday morning breakfast turned out to be such a meaningful time with my friend.
If it wasn't 11:44 at night, I would linger and putz...stopping for a bowl of cereal, cold beer and facebook refreshing, relishing that precious idleness necessary to bring about just the right words....those words that I just know are right around the corner...but tomorrow's workday looms, so these words must suffice.
So, what do I really want to say?
How do I skip the shit and just sum up that morning so I can climb into bed and begin my fabulous week?
What was it about that morning?
Hmm.....
Part of it was the establishment.
The idea that this place, this quirky, techno-blaring diner, reminscent of someplace in Chicago or Manhattan, was mine. In my town.
We arrived to find fellow patrons waiting outside. There really wasn't a system - no leaving your name with the hostess inside. Instead, you just kind of worked it out amongst yourselves...a sort of, "whose next?" "Well, we were next, but we have five and you guys have two, so go ahead..."
We went inside to go the bathroom and get some coffee. They were busy and had us get our own...and so we did, taking our hot cups of goodness outside, where we sat in the cold, at Turner and Dwight, enjoying our steamy beverages, good conversation, and people watching.

It was just...one of those movie moments.
Connecting with my friend and with strangers.
The world felt smaller.
I felt like I had worked hard all week for this moment we hadn't even planned.
So, maybe it was the restaurant...real... raw...imperfect.
Tattooed chefs and waitresses, moms and dads with gages in their ears, living these lives unlike you're "supposed to live".
Maybe it was the fabulous food.
And, maybe it was connection.
With the fellow patrons.
With my friend.
Who is as real as they come.
Who knows my pain.
Who has lived my pain.
Who, time after time, turns that pain into joy.
Who, literally, cannot stop dancing, even with takeout in her hands.

I got home between one and two and putzed...perusing home magazines, rearranging stuff on my walls, feeling myself come alive. We had planned to go out that night, but our souls were so filled and inspired that we each opted to stay in...relishing in the memories of our morning.
I lit candles.
Played loud music.
Hung stuff on my walls.
Took pictures to make my apartment look cooler than it really does.

I never put my vacuum away.

And that is all.

crazy creative wheels turning madly.

2010-10-30T16:39:00.000-07:00

the faucet is on. and I like. all began at hip breakfast joint this morning. and now apartment is tore up and I am in the zone. blaring My Morning Jacket and The Avett Brothers. creating creative space. moving things around and hanging things on the wall. devouring old decorating magazines, feeling myself come alive. I love the zone. I haven't been in the zone in awhile. big things can happen when I am in the zone. blog posts are written. laundry gets put away. more pics and words from fabulous morning at hip breakfast joint coming soon.

Savannah was here.

2010-10-26T17:29:00.000-07:00

Savannah was here. Yes, Savannah. Was. Here.

Kbyenow.

speech.

2010-10-22T23:28:00.000-07:00

You can feel the heat on your face...you can see it...in the distance. Smoke...from a forest fire...drifting to the sky and then quickly disappearing...like a ghost. But what you don't see...is the quiet regeneration...the seeds...enveloped in their cones...safe...comfortable...until the heat of the fire...melts the resin and primes them for release....for rebirth...and for growth.

No one ever promised that life would be easy. About a year and a half ago, my marriage of fourteen years ended and I watched that which I gave my life to...fall apart. It wasn't supposed to happen. It never is. He was a pastor. And I, a stay-at-home mom. We were the perfect family...at least on the outside. New words were quickly added to my vocabulary. Words like...custody. Ex-husband. It was a vocabulary I never wanted...no one ever does. Months later, my middle daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, adding yet more unwanted words to my vocabulary. Insulin. Sharps. So, I'm not on page 67 in the book that is my life. I'm on page 46. But's it's ok. The book is still really good. Because it's a choose your own adventure book. And this is a great chapter. No longer defined by my white picket fence...safe...comfortable...I am rediscovering who I am...finding joy in writing...in photography...and in all that is Savannah, Sydney, and Somer, my three daughters who make me a better person. Our days are filled with volleyball games and soccer practices where I am that embarrassing mom who screams and yells while they pretend not to hear. We go home to crock pot meals, games of scattergories, along with fights over clothes and time on the internet. I'm in school again, pursuing an English or Journalism degree, and made the Dean's list last semster. I enjoy intermittent running and hope to someday complete a triathlon...because I have so much time on my hands. I love a night out with friends...singing bad karaoke or dancing like a fool at The Green Door. John Heywood said, "If you will call your troubles experiences and remember that every experience develops some latent force within you, you....will....grow....vigorous and happy, however adverse your circumstances may seem to be."

The fire is passing now...faint smoke still remains. I still feel the heat sometimes, but it fuels me...priming me...for rebirth...for growth. And beneath the surface, there is quiet regeneration as a small seedling... slowly...breaks free.

(and thank you to my dad who gave me the jack pine inspiration)

fierce, indeed.

2010-10-19T21:41:00.000-07:00

My weekend began in a heap of tears on my living room floor. When I had had enough, I picked myself up, blared some Madonna, and broke out the Lacura Beauty, compliments of Aldi Discount Grocery. Feeling my fierceness return, I met up with a friend in Old Town for PBR and live music. Awoke Saturday morning to a call from Kathy who commanded my presence at the MSU homecoming tailgate. I obliged, dressing quickly and grabbing a coffee as I headed for campus. I took mental pictures as I walked...the marching band, getting louder as I neared the stadium...sweatshirted almuni carrying thermoses filled with warm goodness...bright leaves, up above and underfoot. I found Kathy and together we joined old friends and met new ones. And it was bliss. Every bit of it. The game ended. We went out on the field. The Spartan Field. I know. I'm still not even sure how it happened, other than the hook-up gene and a man named Eagle. And it didn't stop there. Our fun moved from the stadium to Dublins, a hip Irish pub on campus, where I ran into my fabulous cousins Drew and Maddie. And Gerard Butler. Yes. Gerard Butler.

Fast forward. Monday. Mom came to town for Sav's volleyball game. Afterwards, we went to dinner, just my mom and I. It was the bomb. She treated. Glass of wine, creme brulee, the whole shabang. "Isn't this so much fun?" she said. And it was. I love her.

Fast forward. Tuesday. Remember that speech? Well, it was today. I won.

For now, I'm tired and off to bed.
More about my speech later.
Along with another photoshoot.

Aveda shampoo, squash soup, and frump girl.

2010-10-14T21:40:00.000-07:00

Here I am again. On my couch. Refreshing facebook. My alarm went off around 6:15 am. I quickly showered and dressed. Aveda shampoo makes me feel rich, I've decided. Put whole chicken in crock pot. Made lunches. Decorated lunch bags with markers. Grabbed my coffee and made it out the door by 7:25 to drop girls off and head to work. "Make a difference today! Befriend the lonely girls! Be the change you wish to see in the world!" I yelled cheerfully to my middle schooler, as she walked off annoyed, yet trying very hard not to smile. "Eat your carrots," I said to the others, "And call me with your sugar counts!" Work was fine. Brought carton of squash soup that tasted nast. Note to self, Aldi and Trader Joes are not created equal. Created Web form in Adobe Designer where one simple task can take an hour...though I rather love the trial and error. Videotaping and photographing conference next week. I've never videotaped. But I will learn. And pretend to know more than I do. Called it a day at 4:30 and headed off to pick up girls. Baby-sitter met us at apartment. I scrambled to finish dinner - cheesy potatoes, squash, and green beans. I know. I was pretty pleased with myself. That was, until I got to class. I've come to the conclusion that some people just might not be meant to be teachers. Either that, or I'm just too impressionable...still...even at 34. Or maybe I just happen to have these existential crises...on Thursday nights. He talked about the environment. Consumerism. The breakdown of the family unit. Nature deficit disorder among children. Total doom and gloom. Scary, negative stuff that was supposed to inspire great writing. Not that he didn't have some great points - because he did. Not that I don't feel passionate about consumerism - hell, I shop at Goodwill and Dicker and Deal. It was just that all I could think about was my three girls that I hadn't seen all day, at home in our apartment, most likely watching iCarly, texting, or playing DS. I can tell you what they were not doing. Exploring nature with their happy family unit. A few classmates chimed in, trying to offer some optimism, perhaps, though the professor seemed to prefer his own voice, his own opinions. Why do I have to be such a feeler? Why can't I just not care? I called Barb as soon as I got in the car.... "He kept talking about the breakdown of the family unit," I told her. And she seemed to know what I was feeling even before I told her. She said all the right things, everything I needed her to say. I know, baby, she said, I get it. And I know she did.

On my way home, I stopped at Forever 21 to grab a gift for Savannah's friend. I caught a glimpse in a mirror and sighed. I looked like frump girl. My jeans were hanging off me and my hair...sigh. So, me thinks I need a night out. Smokey eyes. Good friends. Cheese fries. And maybe even a fabulous new shirt that's not from Goodwill.

Sigh...I've done it again. Stayed up too late when I said I wasn't going to. But I feel better. And tomorrow is Friday. And, let me tell you, there is nothing like Friday when you work full time. It is a simple pleasure, indeed.

My next post will be fabulous.
No rantings about my teacher.
Or gross soup.
No self-deprecation.
Just fierceness.
Fabulosity at its finest.

G'nite.

on bravery.

2010-10-12T19:28:00.000-07:00

I had a really good day.
On days like this, I step back and wonder why it was good.
Was it really the circumstances, or was it my attitude?
What was different?
And now that I step back, I suppose I can think of one thing.

I was brave today.

I went to a class at work.
Speechcraft 101.
I was nervous.
But it was exhiliarating.
Just getting out of my comfort zone.
Just the mere act of being brave.
We paired up and had to introduce our partner.
"Carin is here because it scares her," my partner said.
Oh, I could have given her a bunch of other pretty reasons.
Reasons that would make me look more secure than I really am.
But this was my real reason.
So, that's what I told her.
I'm going to rock this out.
I give a speech next week and it's going to be kickass.
Single mom secretary amidst educated environmentalists.
Artist among rule keepers.
Square peg in round hole.
And I can't wait.
My inspiration?
Running chatter.
I think she gets me.

I was going to write about a bunch of other stuff tonight.
Like Natasha Bedingfield's new song that gives me chills.
Or human connection and how we all desperately need it.
And, I wanted to elaborate on said connection.
And talk about the comments on my rambling post and how good they made me feel.
How I love to "get and be gotten".
How a simple "I get you" practically brings tears to my eyes and fills me up more than I want to admit.

But, this is what came out.

And, I won't delete.

Succinct?
Maybe.
Parting words?

Be brave.

carley.

2010-10-11T19:56:00.000-07:00

sunbeams.

2010-10-10T06:26:00.000-07:00

G'morning...enjoying morning sun while I sip and read...feeling
thankful for this day...fresh, with no mistakes in it yet, full of possibility.
I loved the comments on my last post and felt connected...much more
so than all my facebook refreshes. It's been such a good weekend...
lazy and still. And, now I'm off to make french toast and sausage.
And maybe another pot of coffee.

Enjoy your Sunday.

she rambles.

2010-10-07T20:14:00.000-07:00

just type...don't reread...don't delete...

class tonight. I didn't want to go. I am a bit behind. so, technically, I should not be on my blog. I don't like my writing class. tonight was actually great, though, because I connected. with joan, who sits beside me. human connection is rather limited these days. except for hitting refresh on facebook. need to change this. need to get brave again. meet some people. but, back to class. I didn't want to go. because I didn't go last week. because professor sent email saying get to class. but I am so busy. and, it's boring. he reads from powerpoints. two hours of MLA rules tonight. why not a controversial writing prompt to stir our minds...not just about writing, but about life? I like my history class. really like my history class. teacher is cool. if I can connect with teacher, I work harder. history teacher likes me. history teacher gets me. do I need everyone to like me? my sister would tell me I'm looking too deep. I need a little positive feedback. more than I thought. too much criticism paralyzes me. yes, I want to get better. just build me up a bit first. believe in me. I'm rereading. wanting to delete. the killers just came on pandora. turning up music. I should turn it down. but it is the killers. neighbors will understand. and normally on thursday nights, neighbors sound like they are jump roping. with tow truck chains. in wooden shoes. back to class. we meet in the computer lab. I was bored. again. I ducked below the screen and whispered to joan, "how many classes have you missed?" "Three," she whispered back, before adding, "I'm bored out of my mind." and I wanted to jump up and down. because I felt understood. I love feeling understood. holly understands me. eating cucumbers right now. joan rocks. my dad is going to call and tell me not to miss class. but then I will tell him about my history class. and how my professor told me I make him think. that sounded vain. I don't like vain. but I can't delete. ate lunch on a bench just outside of the capital. or is it capitol. can't delete. back to lunch. street vendor. I got the cart special. thick pita...with grilled chicken, bleu cheese, dried cherries and walnuts. lunched in good company. three of us sat on the bench under a cloudless sky, eating cart specials. I took a mental picture. and another at Sav's volleyball game. where she hugged me. and called me mama.

it was a good day.

g'nite.

photoshoot.

2010-10-03T16:04:00.000-07:00

from a photoshoot this weekend with Sara...so much fun we had.

drizzly.

2010-10-02T13:28:00.000-07:00

“I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

Enjoy your Saturday. Here is a pic from mine....cold and drizzly...and I like.

not my type.

2010-09-30T19:53:00.000-07:00

My Syd has diabetes. She was diagnosed with Type 1, out of no where, this last May. We now have a sharps container. And insulin in the fridge. We go to monthly endocrinology appointments where we talk about nutrition, blood glucose levels, and insulin-to-carb ratios. She routinely checks her blood sugar and gives herself injections. She has stickers on her meter and a cool bag to hold her supplies. She wants an insulin pump...blue to be exact...and draws them in her notebook.

I was impatient with her today. It all started at the pharmacy where we waited in line forever for insulin. And then they messed up our order. Twice. They gave us the wrong insulin pens, which are basically the same as the ones we normally get, just distributed differently. She was frustrated. And I, insensitive. And now it is late and I am feeling bad. Because she is such a trooper, never letting this disease get her down. I am so proud of her.

"However mean your life is, meet it and live it." Thoreau

raindrops on roses

2010-09-26T08:29:00.000-07:00

my favorite mug
zen tea
my music
lemon and dill
my $60 couch from dicker and deal

these are a few of my favorite things.

snapshots.

2010-09-20T17:42:00.000-07:00

from naples.
and, happy 60th to my dad.
I love you.

for art's sake.

2010-09-19T18:39:00.000-07:00

five dollar frames from walmart + magazine scraps = inexpensive wall art.

essays, fruit flies, and thirteen years.

2010-09-17T23:06:00.000-07:00

It is late...1:42am, to be exact. Just submitted an essay that took a pot of coffee to complete. It's funny, when homework looms, it seems even the most undesirable tasks become desirable. Like killing fruit flies. Sorting mail. Even an episode of Hannah Montana would have seemed more appealing. But, I managed to finish and now I can't sleep. So, I will post this pic of my eldest who just turned thirteen. I am now the mother of a teen-ager. She is the coolest. Happy 13th, Savannah Joy. I love you. Deeply.

slacking.

2010-09-15T19:43:00.000-07:00

I am officially,

a slacker.

good day today. returned last night from trip to naples, florida. I'm convinced one of the best things about going away is coming home.

plane arrived around 6:30 last night. had to stop at ikea on the way home. it was on the way, the swedish meatball meal was on special for $2.49, and I needed a light for above my table.

pulled into apartment complex around 10, hung lamp, and climbed into bed.

awoke to crisp breeze. starbucks in the french press. happy for the resume of routine.

work was good. girls went to Joel's for three hours while I passed up yoga for an offer to meet friends at the tavern. good move. we laughed, waxed philosophical, and dreamed about the future. big dreams. like trekking through europe with nary a plan.

ran to grocery store with Somer to find pumpkins and mums have now replaced watermelon and corn on the cob. I like. Picked up white albacore tuna, pringles, baby carrots and cookies for lunch tomorrow, saving ten percent as shopping on Wednesdays means 10% off with a student id. Deli was closed, hence the tuna.

just prayed with girls. actually cheered them tonight as tomorrow is a special day. my oldest turns thirteen. "here comes her herkie," sydney said, laughing. I was rather pleased with it tonight. For a home-schooled girl who knows nothing of cheerleading, it wasn't too shabby.

and now I am tired.

feeling thankful for a regular day.

and heading to bed.

g'nite.

cosmic dance.

2010-09-07T21:12:00.000-07:00

"When we are alone on a starlit night, when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children, when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet, Basho, we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash - at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the "newness," the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, all these provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance." Thomas Merton

gaga

2010-09-06T21:17:00.000-07:00

I took my two eldest and their super cool friend, Sami, to a Lady Gaga concert Saturday night.
It was the bomb.
We screamed.
We danced.
We laughed nervously at the swear words.
And, later, teared up at her message.
Yes.
She had a message.
A really good one.
About love.
About being enough for yourself.
About being brave and being whoever it is you want to be.

Afterwards, we headed to Papa's for the night, where, just before bed, we we lit a big sky lantern and watched it soar into the night...all accompanied by Bad Romance, of course.

It was a really good night.

day 11

2010-09-03T22:04:00.000-07:00

Apartment is quiet...feeling thankful I am, at this moment, at the brink of my long weekend and not the close....got home from work and stopped to pick up my girls at friends....returned home with my three, plus two extras...and headed to the pool. I ran on the treadmill while they swam. Our complex has both an outdoor pool and an indoor pool...so, while they swam outside, I finished my run, jumped in the indoor pool and managed to swim a few laps before they spotted me. Upon their sighting, they all screamed and joined me in the indoor pool where we had handstand contests (apparently, my straddle handstand is shaky, however, my standard straight is a bit stronger), somewhat synchronized routines, and a warm up in the sauna. I so needed it. I always get sad right about this time....the weekend just before school starts...just looking back at the summer...wondering if it was good enough...wondering what they might write about on the first day of school and so hoping their back to school report doesn't include the letters, TV...so, it felt good to give them a good send-off , especially since yesterday was kind of a poopy day. I have class on Thursday evenings and I can tell they're going to be difficult days. Big picture, I tell myself, big picture.

Went to Barb's last night as she watched the girls while I was in class. She is getting married soon. I cannot attend and I am sad. You, see, I love her. We are the same person. We have jenga cupboards; the contents of which not only spill out upon opening, but are often not related and ill appointed. But, outside of the cupboards, her house is a sanctuary...Henry Bendel candles. Low-lit lamps. Good music. Imperfect beds with heavenly linens, handmade quilts and fluffy pillows. She played songs from the wedding playlist and we did what anyone would do upon hearing Etta James croon At Last...we stood on the bed and, well, we joined her, as loud as we could.

As I conclude, I look around my empty apartment and see evidence of three girls...fiber one bar wrappers, wet towels (sigh), drawings of peace signs...and I like...and I miss them. Some of these Friday nights are harder than others. Big picture, I tell myself, big picture.

“If you will call your troubles experiences, and remember that every experience develops some latent force within you, you will grow vigorous and happy, however adverse your circumstances may seem to be.” John Heywood

Cheers...to experiences....to latent forces within us...to vigorous and happy.

day 10.

2010-09-02T20:26:00.000-07:00

Long day.
Work.
Class.
Irritable.
Post later.

day 9. September, I greet thee.

2010-09-01T19:35:00.000-07:00

"The breezes taste

Of apple peel.

The air is full

Of smells to feel-

Ripe fruit, old footballs,

Burning brush,

New books, erasers,

Chalk, and such.

The bee, his hive,

Well-honeyed hum,

And Mother cuts

Chrysanthemums.

Like plates washed clean

With suds, the days

Are polished with

A morning haze."

John Updike, September

day 8, a [feeble] attempt at profound.

2010-08-31T20:19:00.000-07:00

“A great attitude does much more than turn on the lights in our worlds; it seems to magically connect us to all sorts of serendipitous opportunities that were somehow absent before...”

So tired...wanting this to be fluent, so wanting to seamlessly weave all my thoughts together tonight, but I keep backspacing and deleting and it's just...not there....so feeling this song...so wanting to write about connection... and yet my thoughts just aren't...connecting.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh said, “I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living.” I am enjoying my blogging community...my family...my friends...and, the connections I am making...all because of writing the little insignificant details of my life....becoming more aware...more conscious of my living....and how when I'm more aware, I do notice these serendipitous connections.

Every choice we make
And every road we take
Every interaction
Starts a chain reaction

This is not feeling seamless. Forget woven tapestry. I'm thinking more like exposed threads. Frayed edges. I'm laughing now. I think I'm trying too hard. Should have canned the song. Or just blared it, danced with my girls, and left it at that. I think if I were you and I was reading this, I would so be like, Ok, this girl is trying way too hard to be profound.

And, I kind of am.

I guess what I really want to say is I like this song. And, by writing my life this week, I have become more conscious of my life. I have felt community. I have felt connected.

And, I like.

day 7.

2010-08-30T21:41:00.000-07:00

my dog ate my blog.
I need an extension.

day 6

2010-08-29T20:34:00.000-07:00

"This is what I learned: that everybody is talented, original and has something important to say." Brenda Ueland

But not tonight.

Off to bed.

day 5, funk farewell.

2010-08-28T20:59:00.000-07:00

Forty five minutes to post before the day concludes, which I might add, began blissfully with a french press of dunkin coffee, my favorite mug, and warm sunbeams as the five girls slept in. Morning bliss turned into afternoon bliss as I dozed poolside, serenaded by dreamy sounds of happy girls. Blissful afternoon turned into evening funk. So, I grabbed my music and went for a run. Ran my two miles, though it felt like fifty. Funk remained. Sent help text to Barb and sister, both of whom responded promptly, reminding me I am fierce. I love them. Made homemade pizza. Power went out. Lit candles and pretended to watch tv as we waited for maintenance man. "Shh, my favorite part is coming up," one of us would say. And, then we'd all laugh really hard. "Wouldn't it be weird if our bodies ran on electricity and we were frozen right now?" Somer said. "How about we act frozen when the man gets here and, then when the light flickers, we'll jerk our bodies." More pretending. More laughter. Maintenance man finally arrived 45 minutes later, restored our power, and ruined our fun.

My funk was gone.

random musings of day 4.

2010-08-27T21:08:00.000-07:00

11:31. House full of five girls taking turns singing karaoke with confidence and courage. And it makes me smile. I managed to slip away from the madness with my laptop and cup of green tea. Long day. Didn't feel well. Took really long nap and have been in a haze ever since. Managed to fight through the ugly perfectionist and submit small writing assignment. I think I bombed it. Wore my favorite jeans today and fake converse all stars. I felt alternative. I believe in truth. Bad smell coming from behind fridge and can't figure out what it is. Need new profile pic for facebook. Something artsy. Karaoke is calling me. I love organic milk. I want to play piano. Someone is off pitch. Apartment living is freeing. Must write about it soon. I like watches. I'm rather pleased with mine. $5, Big Lots. Wet towels on floor again. Must install hooks tomorrow. I hear dishes being washed. Must be Syd. I like tan hands. Oldest just came in to chat. I like. These are the nights we will remember, I tell myself. I need to paint my toenails. It was Syd. And I didn't even ask. Courage moves me. Must write about it soon.

Until then,

G'nite.

rough drafts.

2010-08-26T20:17:00.000-07:00

Chilly morning...brought back stay-at-home mom memories...those mornings I'd grab a hoodie and linger a bit longer with my coffee, feeling sorry for all those who were employed. Oh, I was insanely happy at home...I'd wake every day with such anticipation...what will I do today, I wonder? Mmmm....I rather like the word linger....a charming word, is it not? It is nearing 10 and again....I've got nothing. Though a few hours ago, a million perfect posts were swirling in my mind and I could hardly contain myself. So, I will just shoot from the hip and let 'er rip.

I am sorry to report, the Gap Chinos are too big. Drove me crazy all day. Every time I got up from my desk, I had to put my hands in my pockets to secretly hold them up. You see, that is the potential problem with thrifting. There is this tendency of....shopping out of context, shall I say. You tend to measure all your discoveries against the thrift store standard, as opposed to your normal standard. I've come home with a loot before, really thinking I hit the jackpot. Mind you, there are those times when I have, in fact, struck gold. And, then, there are times when I get home and say, what the hell was I thinking? This shirt is like, five sizes too big and I was so suckered by the jcrew tag.

Went to class at 6:10. I had to act cool and hold back my enthusiasm. You would, too, if you entered the classroom as the professor was writing, "You don't know what you think until you write it," on the whiteboard. I wanted to stand on top of the desk, salute, and say, "Oh, captain, my captian." (Dead Poet Society). I felt like I was in a movie. Then again, I feel like that a lot. Tangent. Sara Bareilles just came on Pandora. Gravity. Song always makes me cry. I love that I'm not who I was. I love how strong I feel. How strong I am. And then a song like this comes on and I can't stop the tears. While I am quite happy with who I am today, I still remember who I was yesterday. And I am sad for that girl.

But, back to big, strong girl (another weepies song).
I like this class. Honors Composition. Honors! Am I showing off? I was taught to be so...meek and humble...to "let another man praise you", but yet I felt like yelling to the lady at the post office that I'm taking an honors course! Oh, I admit, I may truly hate the class in a month as I tend to fall in love with the idea of things more than the actual harsh reality....but, still....I am choosing to relish this moment, despite how I think I might feel in a month.

This professor has a novel in his drawer....150 pages...and, then he realized it was crap. And he went on to say that he spent days....weeks...months....on these 150 pages....only to realize the novel should actually begin at page 151 and that he had spent precious moments of his life creating 150 pages of...dookey. And, then he went on to talk about the whole process of writing....and how those months were not in vain....but necessary...and, how they only made him better....only helped him arrive at what he really wanted to write about and that he would have never arrived at his final draft without creating his rough draft...his 150 pages of dookey. Oh, I am not doing this justice at all....but, all I could think of was life...with all its "mistakes" and lessons...and how they're never in vain....but how they just make us better and help us arrive at our final draft... Oh, I was so feeling it...so hearing violin crescendos somewhere in the Arts and Sciences building, and yet was so trying to sit cool and slouchey in my MSU tshirt (that was for you, Holly), hip jeans and old navy flip flops, much like all the other young twenty somethings.

And, speaking of these young twenty somethings....they are so cool....with big, huge dreams in the midst of their purple hair, abercrombie shirts and coach purses....and i just wanted to cheer them on....and tell them to never give up...no matter how many rough drafts it takes...and, that every detour is good...just a part of their journey...and will only lead them, in time, closer to their final draft.

And, that is all for tonight.

Day 2

2010-08-25T19:43:00.000-07:00

Completely unmotivated.
Snacking on a bit of Cabot Seriously Sharp White cheddar while watching Being Julia.
And it makes me want to act.

My classes start back up tomorrow.
Twelve credit hours this semester.
Deadlines make me giddy.
I may freelance for the school paper.
Meeting with editor this week.
I love saying that.
Makes me feel...
Writerly.
Speaking of which,
My sister just got back from NY.
To meet with real editors.
As in, Harper Collins editors.
I know.
A real writer.

My Weepies are on tour this fall.
Ann Arbor and Grand Rapids
Or better yet, New York or Seattle.
I must go.

Talked to Somer's principal today.
She said wonderful things about my girls that made me cry.
Even added, "I knew immediately they have an amazing mom."
Maybe she tells this to every mom.
Or maybe not.

Speaking of those girls,
I miss them.

G'nite.

Day 1

2010-08-24T19:30:00.000-07:00

Here goes.
No rereading.
No judgement.

Sitting here at my laptop. A limey, slushy brew to my right.  I know it's so not how you're supposed to drink a beer, but I don't care. I like it this way. Besides, I do a lot of things much unlike I'm supposed to.  I watched Capote last night and loved it.  That didn't flow at all and was completely irrelevant. Not that I'm judging or anything.

I woke up to a clean French press this morning. I love when I take the time to clean it the night before. I showered, slathered on a generous amount of Lovespell, and made a pot of French Roast. My favorite mug, a mottled piece of pottery with no handle, sat clean and waiting. I moussed, scrunched my hair and then sat, hands cupped around my coffee, and sipped...enjoying my apartment and it's simplicity. Tangent. Remember the pictures of that cute little house a few posts back? Well, I don't live there anymore. I know. Long story. I told you I don't do a lot of things much like I'm supposed to. Maybe I will write about it someday. Maybe not.

Back to my coffee. I poured the remainder of my french roast in my travel mug. I just love sipping on the way to work. It makes for the most enjoyable fifteen minute commute. I look forward to it every day. Seriously. Every day.

I got a good parking space and joined all the other 7:30 am employees as we began yet another day at the Department of Natural Resources and Environment. I peeked into the breakroom on the way to my desk. I smiled. More tomatoes. Big, beefy beefsteaks today. And then at my desk, a big bag of grape tomatoes. There's just something so old fashioned and good hearted about people bringing in surplus veggies from their garden. It makes me feel so...I don't know...midwestern. It is a simple pleasure I relish, indeed.   Especially since I'd be enjoying my own if I was still living in that cute little house I wrote about a few posts back.

Roughly two hours after my arrival at work, I ate my breakfast.  Stoneyfield yogurt (the full fat kind) with the cream on top. Chocolate bear naked granola on top. In the words of Amy March, "divinity."

You're probably wondering what I wore. Ok, now I am laughing because I know that was the furthest thing from your mind and I'm really not that frivolous. But, since you asked, I wore a gray silk blouse. Short, capped sleeves. Pleats down the front. Black Express pants. Both of which were purchased at my favorite thrift store, Volunteers of America (VOA for future reference). Once, my girls and I were shopping there and the phone rang just as we were checking out. The woman ringing our purchase picked up the phone and said, "Volunteers of America, Stacey speaking," and my girls had to run off they were laughing so hard. But, at the time, I was very embarrassed and gave the three daughters the evil eye trying to shush their laughter, even though I was having a rather terrible time muffling my own.

Speaking of VOA, I stopped by there today and bought three pairs of pants....Gray cotton Gap chinos for 50 cents, BCBG capris (I know) for $3, and Limited capris for $1. All of which were practically brand new and fit like a glove. I also left with a $2 pair of patent, open-toe sling backs. Badass.

I arrived home at roughly 4:15, quickly changed into my shorts, tank and nikes, and headed to the complex gym (rather nice, I might add) to get my little two mile run out of the way. I look forward to this. There is nothing quite like blasting a Killers remix on the ipod and running like hell at the end of the day. I am such a wannabee jock and feel like such a badass when I am done. You laugh, but, I'm serious.

My girls are with their dad this week (still hate saying that...seems so...divorsish and....I don't know...shitty, I guess) which means I get them for three hours on Tuesdays. But you have to pick them up and "return" them at a certain time which is just...weird....you almost feel like you're baby-sitting your own kids...but it is what it is...and believe me, it's all how you look at it. So, you rock it out and make it as wonderful as you possibly can. So...I picked them up and we came home and had BLT's with our beefy, beefsteak tomatoes, compliments of my trusty colleagues. Afterwards, we headed to the complex pool. A few games of sharks and minnows later, it was time to "return" the daughters, and, now, here I am.

The lime now sits at the bottom of my once slushy beer. MGMT plays from my computer speakers. I like my life.

And, that is all.

No rereading (ok, maybe just a little).
No judgement.

Take that, self-doubt.
In yo face.

an experiment

2010-08-23T18:42:00.000-07:00

we inhabit ourselves
without valuing ourselves
unable to see that here, now
this very moment is sacred
but once it's gone
it's value is incontestable.
Joyce Carol Oates

here I am again. my life whizzing by without record. another blog post about how I want to write more. I started doubting again. "And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." Sylvia Plath. I know this, dammit. When I am writing regularly, I am not afraid. There is no judgement. But, when I procrastinate, my perfectionist comes out. I start judging what I write. Because I want to write well. And I want everything to fit and flow with sequence. But one will never write well if one isn't willing to write badly. I sit down and think there is this... perfect post out there...and then I start thinking of every angle I could start from. And then finding just the right song. And making sure my subjects and verbs agree. And then wanting it to be real and authentic. And, then I am paralyzed. It's not like I think people care that much. It's just that I care.

But, I must move past this. Because I'm tired of writing the same damn blog. I want to leave more for my girls. Recorded memories of all the adventures we did together. Even if it's just a night of scattergories and frozen burritoes. I want to write about my life. My triumphs and mistakes. What I had for dinner. My love for thrifting. I want them to look back someday and see me as a real person, not just their mom.

So, here I go. I'm going to try and write every day. I think I will start with thirty days. Might even put it on my calendar. Without thought or judgement. Because this very moment, no matter how insignificant, is sacred.

So much of life is just...showing up. I believe that. So, that is what I'm going to do. Show up. With outgoing guts and the imagination to improvise.

So, without further ado, without rereading, judgement, or self-doubt, I will publish this post. The same damn post I've published a million times.

somertime.

2010-07-17T07:55:00.000-07:00

be free....love that.

Tuesday night I had somer all to myself
so we went to art unlimited and painted
"vincent van gogh is my favorite artist," she told me
"I didn't know that," I said
"yeah," she added, I love starry night."
it was like we were two adults having a conversation about art
I love this girl
pensive, comtemplative, and just delightful
afterwards, we went out to dinner and ice cream
and it was the bomb

in praise of west michigan and fine footwear

2010-07-14T15:09:00.000-07:00

a few pics
from a spontaneous trip to Holland and Saugatuck, Michigan
because I believe in spontaneity
we perused quaint shops and galleries
walked the boat docks
and browsed a lovely imperfect upstairs bookstore
we got lost in a shoe store
well, not really
but you would have thought so
I think it's a gene
a fine footwear gene
that came from my mom
who loves her keens and merrells
while her children roll their eyes
this was not intended to be a shoe post
but you should have seen the orange, high heeled borns
who knew born even made a heel
but I can't stop thinking about them
and that is all

magic.

2010-07-07T07:08:00.000-07:00

There are those moments in our unpredictable lives that don’t make sense…And then there are those moments when life just seems clear. When the stars are aligned and all is exactly as it should be...

Exhibit A: McCormick Family Reunion. Leesburg, Virginia. A celebration of Grandpa and Grandma’s sixty years of marriage. And, it was magic...It had been so many years since we've all been together and it was everything I'd hoped it be...chatting late into the night with cousins and Uncle Mark...falling asleep so excited to wake up to the sound of my aunts' laughter...sitting jammied around the breakfast table long into the morning with hands wrapped around lukewarm cups of coffee and never wanting to leave...dancing with my 81 year old Grandma with all my cousins - because all she wanted was to dance with her grandkids…singing the doxology before dinner and later, hymns with Grandpa around the piano for what could be the last time…seeing tears run down the faces of my cousins while brushing away my own…oh, it was good…so, so good.

There were new faces…brave spouses and significant others, including Chad, who embraced these moments as their own, undaunted by the chaos…such sweet chaos…with air mattresses and make-shift beds everywhere you looked. Lost flip flops, empty toilet paper rolls, and lots of spills. “Nothing was tidy, but everything was perfect,” my cousin’s wife Maddie said.

And it was perfect….a sweet reminder of where I came from, who I am, and who I want to be…a reminder to embrace and celebrate my life with all its imperfections, believing that, like my weekend, it is exactly as it should be.

alone, but not lonely.

2010-06-29T19:51:00.000-07:00

I had the evening alone last night.
I went to DSW and bought shoes.
I went to a counseling appointment and worked out all my issues.
And then,
home.
where I made myself a steak salad with lettuce from the garden
and then sat on my yellow porch chair
and watched the world go by
and it was bliss.

behold,

2010-06-09T20:03:00.000-07:00

a little bit of goodness...

and this is just scratching the surface.

tidbits of my year will be next.

including happy, smiling faces.

happier.

2010-06-08T21:16:00.000-07:00

I miss writing (geez. then write, carin.). While I feel happy, I have come to the conclusion over the last several months, that I am even happier when I write. Blogging the everyday is like therapy. It is a way of talking to myself. making sense at the end of the day of all that which doesn't make sense. weaving magic into the mundane. finding significance in the insignificant. giving order to the random. remembering what I have. remembering who I am. and the whole creative process of it all is incredibly exhilarating - I've gotten more sleep since my blogging has taken a hiatus, and yet, am more tired now, than when I stayed up late finding exactly the right words for what I was feeling at that moment. I feel more confident when I write, even if my words indicate otherwise - because there is something courageous about putting your thoughts out there as though you think you have something to say...not worrying about what anyone thinks - like what if your photos suck, or if you're writing poorly.

I think I just jinxed myself.
I should have knocked on wood.
Because all of a sudden, I am incredibly tired.
So much for incredibly exhilarating.

More tomorrow....

testing,

2010-05-27T18:58:00.000-07:00

testing,
1
2
3

is this on?
this feels awkward.
maybe it will be like riding a bike.
hmmm...
where were we, dear blogger?
hiking trip in glacier?
ah, yes, that was a great trip.
I felt strong and capable.
I'm 34 now.
and feeling very grown up.
we will catch up, you and I.
yes,
I am confident we will.

for bernie

2010-02-19T15:57:00.000-08:00

as is customary,
I stopped by my mailbox after work...
the contents of which included:
A comcast bill.
A Rite-Aid ad.
Another Veterinarian scrubs catalog that seems to arrive weekly.
And a letter.
A real letter.
From Bernie.
Thank you....
You made my day.

well, now my life.

2010-01-04T18:00:00.000-08:00

"but my inner life, like everyone's in the world, is interesting. I have much to say about that. I have many thoughts about how I and others might become better and happier; about how it feels to be a woman and the limitations of that (which are most of them our own making and not imposed on us, as the old-fashioned, aggrieved feminists like to think); and about what women might become, and how, when they see this light and act upon it, in one generation the world will be filled with the most wonderful children...but there is this delemma about the book. I have been divorced and have had a very unconventional life...Now since it is my inward life that is interesting, these experiences have affected me very much and should be told...well, now my life. Now I begin..." Brenda Ueland

from a book I'm reading that, on occasion, gives me chills.

more later...

so,

2010-01-03T17:16:00.000-08:00

I was feeling all defeated today...I stayed up too late and then had too much coffee today. And then I was rereading stuff I wrote and it just sounded so...wishy washy...so...introspective and morose. It's been so long that I've had internet that I find myself obsessing over stuff I write...if I write this then everyone will think such and such (geez...when is this poor girl going to get on with her life? or, geez, she's sure moved on fast) and all that just paralyzes me and then I don't say what I want to say.

so...what is it I want to say?

I have had a good year.
I have.

There is no rule book for life...people get cancer. People lose their jobs. People get divorced. It is all a part of life. And you cannot find peace by avoiding life.

"Most people have come to prefer certain of life’s experiences and deny and reject others, unaware of the value of the hidden things that may come wrapped in plain and even ugly paper. In avoiding all pain and seeking comfort at all costs, we may be left without intimacy or compassion; in rejecting change and risk we often cheat ourselves of the quest; in denying our suffering we may never know our strength or our greatness."

My life, on paper, doesn't look like how I thought it would. But it is good. And it is honest and it is true. And yes, I know my strength and my greatness. I'm not afraid anymore.

I've met someone.
I don't know why I struggle to talk about it, but I do.
Maybe because I don't think relationships are the "end-all".
I don't see a significant other as Jesus.
I am responsible for my own happiness.

And maybe it is because I am afraid.
Or because of my pride.

Either way, it is what it is.
And...tears...it is good.

recap

2010-01-02T16:54:00.000-08:00

sitting here at my computer with a just brewed french press, a pint of cream, and my favorite mug that reads grow. I should be cleaning my apartment, especially since I'm kind of inspired. I bought a $3 room spray at the bath and body clearance...sometimes I have to go buy something like that to get me inspired to clean. Because it's so much more fun to clean when you feel like cleaning...when you have $3 of spearmint eucalyptus to spray when you're finished. But...I'm even more inspired to write than clean.

so write I shall...

or maybe not. that first paragraph was at least an hour ago. my coffee is cold, though I keep taking sips. I find myself wanting to come up with this...really great recap of my year...but it just feels like I'm, I don't know, trying to polish a turd....because in a lot of ways, it sucked. Try and romanticize saying good bye to your kids every other week. And yet at the same time, it was so good...so much so that all the words I've written and deleted just don't seem to do it justice...

maybe the words will come tomorrow...

g'nite.

that good

2009-12-31T21:19:00.000-08:00

nineteen minutes into 2010...feeling exhilarated and at peace...one of those moments when even if you were told tomorrow was going to be downright shitty, it wouldn't even matter...because it's just one of those moments when it's that good. sleeping children lay beside me on hand-me-down mattresses I brought out just for the event, uno cards abandoned mid-game, leftover pieces of Somer's "pixos" (the modern day equivalent of lite-bright (sigh))...a glass of champagne to my left...empty glasses of "kid wine" (sparkling juice)...kt tunstall crooning "heal over" on my headphones...and I reminisce...thinking of last year at this time and where I was...all that I felt...the fear...the uncertainty....wondering what I was going to do with my life...where I was going to go...where I was going to work, live....had no idea I would be where I am today.

2010.

bring it.

cheers.

www.

2009-12-30T16:11:00.000-08:00

blogger.com

behold,
I have internet.

those sweet, familiar keys
feel so good beneath my fingers.

hello pandora.
hello facebook.
hello apartment therapy,
amazon,
and google.

hello inspiration and
community.

I've missed you.

9:55 am, September 21, 2009

2009-10-13T14:36:00.000-07:00

As we were preparing to leave our little visitor's center, a park ranger stopped by and offered to take us the rest of the way to the trailhead. At that point (cold and tired), we were planning on stopping at reynold's campsite, only a half-mile in from the trailhead. However, once we arrived at reynold's, we decided to continue on to our original destination, Gunsight Pass campground, approximately 6 miles from the trailhead. And that is where I sit now...cozy on a log with my hot taster's choice in the nalgene, surrounded by mountains on all sides. I'm looking at Gunsight Pass, approx. 1700 ft higher than the 5300 ft elevation of the log I am sitting on, my body sore, wondering how the hell I will cross it tomorrow. We arrived just before dark last night...had planned on dinner, but opted to go right to sleep. I was chilled as I fell asleep, but awoke toasty warm around 1:30am having to go to the bathroom. That meant braving the icy ground outside...barefoot...and for a split second, I wondered why we hadn't gone to Florida. I returned to my toasty sleeping bag and slept until 7:30. Awoke to sun and cloudless skies and huevos rancheros (aka, really good powdered scrambled eggs) and topped it off with my taster's choice. Cleaned up breakfast and headed back to my toasty sleeping bag to get warm and fell asleep. It is now 2:30 and I await Pad Thai. Just prior to meal prep, we opened a bottle of port, taking turns sipping from the nalgene. And now I am feeling the tawny goodness, soaking in my surroundings...the weeds seem to move on command as the wind blows, waterfalls rush all around me, the mountains...regal and still...and I remember why I didn't go to Florida.

3:00pm...I am happy to report that "Backpacker's Pantry" Pad Thai was nothing less than divine. And I am now finishing it off with a chocolate brownie clif bar. Lunch is now packed up and naptime looms...again. To be stripped of all amenities has been bliss...there is nothing I "should" be doing other than just...being...and I rather love the feeling.

5:30pm...Awoke from an outdoor nap to the sound of voices. We have now been joined five other hikers, one of whom has a very annoying voice. Chad may very well have to consume the rest of the porto tonight. I am back at the meal prep area (because of bears, it is actually illegal to have any food at our campsite) with my journal and book. The sun still shines, though the temp is noticeably dropping.

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves." ~John Muir

1:55 pm, September 20, 2009

2009-10-10T13:24:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting under an overhang at Logan's Pass, Glacier National Park, Montana. This spot is also known as the visitor's center, though currently, there are no visitors. We arrived at the park last night, set up camp and took a walk. This morning, we donned our packs and hitchhiked from our car, intending to be dropped off at our trailhead, but the road was closed due to snow. So, our kind drivers dropped let us off at the gate and thus began our hike through Glacier. From the gate, we walked 2-3 miles to this vacant visitor's center. As we neared this overhang, we met Shelly, a weary hiker we most assumedly rescued from an untimely death. On her way out from a six day hike, she was soaked, alone and without food. We fed her a cliff bar, hot taster's choice, and wrapped her up in my marmot, hat and sleeping bag. Next, arrives brother and sister, Devon and Erin. After passing around hot taster's choice in the nalgene, the sibling duo took the freezing hiker to their car where by now they have offered her heat and homemade banana bread. which brings me to right now...Chicken Cashew Curry heats on the "stove". I want more taster's choice. Heavy snow is falling, temperature is a chilly 32 degrees.

It's 3am,

2009-09-24T22:28:00.000-07:00

and I'm giddy.
Because I'm here.
On my way home from here.
I can't wait to write about it and post my pics.
But I'm behind.
With so many things to write about.
And every time I sit down to blog, I feel like this.
Because this has been my problem.
Which means no facebook.
No apartment therapy.
No music browsing.
No late night rituals of writing and deleting and rewriting that I love.
And then I get like this.
And then it didn't help when on a whim one day I used this.
Except I didn't look like her.
But more like her.
I'm serious.
I might as well get this hair cut.
Come ON.

Sigh.

It's not coming out right.

This was meant to be a fabulous, inspiring post about montana, but I ended up talking about Kate Gosselin's front mullet and how much I miss the internet and my blonde hair. I just have so many things to write about. I need to write - as in imperative to my existence. Which is why I'm looking into the internet this week.

That, and highlights.

Montana pics and more soon.

I miss

2009-08-17T16:27:00.000-07:00

my blog.

You can’t write without living fully and you can’t live fully and still have time to write.

Such has been the paradox of my life over the last few months. But I’ve wanted to write about all of it…every detail, every feeling. The pain. The relief. I can’t help but view all of life as…story. I can’t help but see every moment as a page in my book…something to be recorded. Because it’s all a journey and all beautiful…Sitting alone in tears on the floor of my empty apartment the day I got the keys. Getting my job and running outside to call my mom and dad and tell them. Getting my own car insurance. Hiking the pictured rocks. My first week without my kids and missing them like crazy. Meeting really great people. More trips to the capitol. The day my divorce was final. Accepting and dealing with the D on my forehead and the suspected disapproval it brings from others. People who don’t know what to say, so they say nothing…or they say that God still loves me… Though I can’t say that I blame them…because when you’ve been raised a certain way, sometimes it is all you know. And all of that comes back when I sit down to write…what if someone reads this and doesn’t understand. Because not everyone will…and that is ok, because how can they…especially mutual friends…and family…it gets complicated. I feel like I’ve really tried to be careful…sensitive. But then I feel like I write best when I can freely write uncensored….and I can’t always do that….so, then…I don’t write. And time passes. And then like anything, the longer you don’t write, the harder it is to start back up. But, because I want so badly to record my life, I will keep writing…going back a bit, and for the sake of posterity…say what I need to say.

pride

2009-06-15T18:45:00.000-07:00

you may say that I'm a dreamer, but i'm not the only one...

oh, I had a great weekend...lansing celebrated gay pride this weekend...i was alone and so, as is customary, I grabbed my camera and headed for the capitol. how fabulous is joyce....in her chaps, pearl tie, harley and complete zest for life...and jocelyn benson...(in the red)...who is running for secretary of state and stole my heart with her passion for equality and civil rights...and I think I want to join the peace team...and then the highlight...when the band softly played jesus loves me...afterwards, I headed to old town and perused quaint shops and galleries. it was a really good day.

I moved today

2009-05-30T18:55:00.000-07:00

I moved today.

to my own place.

I think something just kicks in...almost biologically, when you go through something like this. And I find myself hesitant as I write that...because I'm not a victim. Moving, under even normal circumstances, is humbling...but even more so, when you're ill-prepared, as I was. Its not that I didn't think about it every day for months, because I did. Its not that I didn't put the word out at work for copy paper boxes, because I did. Its not that I didn't stop what I was doing altogether and attempt to pack, because I did. Its just that each time I did, I'd come across pictures...ornaments...baby blankets....remnants of another life. it was almost paralyzing. like I didn't know what happened to my life. a life that I tried so hard to make work. so, needless to say, there was little accomplished when help arrived - help that basically showed up, because I suck at asking for help. and there's nothing left to do at that point, but swallow your pride as you watch friends carry out casserole dishes, with a bottle of hair mousse inside, a phone charger, and a lone spoon. And I sit here now, alone, amongst boxes and paint cans, a myriad of thoughts and feelings inside. I am relieved. empowered. ecstatic. proud. sad. wishing I could peek in on sleeping babies.

but, it is what it is. and I move on. with hope. much, much hope.

behold,

2009-05-16T06:34:00.000-07:00

my first Red Wings game (last thursday night)...
we danced.
screamed this song at the last goal.
went downstairs after the game.
bypassed security.
went out onto the ice.
and met the players.
yes. I said met the players.
I'm afraid it cannot be topped.
go wings.

capitol, take 3

2009-05-07T16:17:00.000-07:00

Somer had a field trip yesterday at the steps of the capitol for "ACES",
All Children Exercising Simultaneously. I work within walking
distance, so I ran over on my break to join in and catch a few
pics. You should have seen her...she was so into it.