Two Months.

you make me happy.

On Beginning

6/6/10

i cannot speak to the you that you have been
cannot witness the unnumbered hours you lived
well before me
they are not and will not become mine to point to
and the pages and volumes that make up your once was
i can read only in fragments
scraping up sentences and coveting chapters
i may never see

but here, in this you and me standing
my face and your fingers
your laugh and my eyes
these few pieces of you are mine and mine only
your words and my hoping
my arms and your smile
they are only nothings, the smallest of moments
but into them i will start to carve my picture of you
upon them i will build my earliest knowings
the things in you i am sure of
the most in you i can see

these pieces of you i will use to begin it
add them to seconds, and somewheres, and time
and watch as the spaces that loom in my learning you
crowd up with memory
render you mine

love.

Dive! Dive! Dive!

I'm the victim of a relentless, painful, and humiliating attack. I am the target of unrelenting harassment and completely unjustified, but remarkably specific, vengeance. I'm being violently subjugated. By crows.

Three out of my four workdays find me trying to be a good Portlander and use the wealth of public transportation with which I have been provided. For the last year, I've hoofed the uneventful blocks between our house and the MAX station without a care or a second thought. I've enjoyed the pretty trees and the self-proclaimed "sexy coffee" stand that sits delightfully halfway to my destination. I've walked in rain and storms and almost snow, and it's never really been that bad. Until...

Until I did something to anger the local wildlife. About three weeks ago, I was walking along, minding my own, when from behind I heard the jarring "caaahhh caaaahhh" of crows. Two crows. Two seemingly angry crows who seemed to be aiming their anger squarely in my direction. "Strange," thought me, " I wonder if they have a nest or something. Oh well." I proceeded then to turn back around and continue along my way. Worst. Idea. Ever.

Turns out crows are the minions of Satan. They are evil little buggers who wait until your back is turned to unleash their dive-bombing fury on your unsuspecting head. You know the dungeon levels in Super Mario games with the ghosts that only move if you look away from them, then sneak up from behind you and kill you dead? Based on these crows. The moment my back was turned, I heard the swoosh of wings and the unnerving sound of a "caaaahhh" closing in and fwaaaack! Crow wings to the back of the head. Not even kidding.

At this point I become a rather sorry version of my former self, the self that loves all creatures and fears no beaks or talons. The new me is ducking and inching down the sidewalk, completely terrified and completely without a clue as to why I've suddenly become the target of choice for the crow militia. It took everything in me not to pound on the door of the nearest house and seek sanctuary until they went away. Instead, I sort of hop-ran until I made it to the MAX shelter where they finally relented. Four blocks. They hounded me for four blocks. Bullies.

Traumatic though the experience was, I chalked it up to crazy timing and freakish coincidence, until it happened the next day... and the next. It was then that I started to notice the crows weren't attacking other pedestrians. Call me crazy, but those jerks were waiting, and watching, and targeting me. This is unfair for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the amount of time I've actually devoted to rescuing birds of all kinds. I've fed their abandoned kindred, plopped babies back into nests, shielded wayward waterfowl, and for what? To be abused by a couple of lousy ne'er do wells who seem to think we're on the set of a Hitchcock film? Uncalled for, I say.

I'm not sure what to do about this crow problem. They don't seem to be tiring of the fun in the slightest. I have a theory that involves a strategically timed umbrella opening, but so far the presence of the umbrella in my purse seems to be the only thing that will keep the attacks from happening. They're nowhere to be found on days I'm prepared for the ambush, but on days like today, when I finally decide they've moved on and boldly leave my umbrella at home, they're back in force. Three of them this morning. Thunked me on the noggin. Made me miss my MAX. Uncalled for.

Please tell me I'm not the only person this has happened to.

love.

Cheap Thrills: Comfort Food

I didn't go to Home Community tonight. Instead, I took a dog and a book and a blanket and a sandwich and sat myself down on the lawn at Mt. Tabor and enjoyed just being outside and peaceful for awhile. Which was lovely. But if I had gone to Home Community, I would have needed to bring my favorite food for the "Favorite Foods" potluck. And I would have brought this:

Oh, Haagen-Dazs vanilla raspberry swirl frozen yogurt - I love thee with a love that is more than love.

Now, make no mistake, this frozen yogurt isn't good for you. Its list of ingredients, though refreshingly short, has both sugar and corn syrup (not really any better than its high fructose cousin) in the first four spots. But it isn't terrible for you. And if you're going to eat ice cream, I mean, come on. We'll settle for "not terrible."

Calorie wise, if you eat this whole pint, it'll only set you back 510. Which is, ya know, a meal, and though you probably shouldn't eat the whole pint if you can help it, (though you may not be able to help it. I understand.) it still beats the heck outta the 1000 calories you'd be downing in a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

And for crying out loud, this isn't a blog about nutrition, it's a blog about cheap happiness. And at around $3, a pint of this will make you super happy on a hot summer day. Because it is super, super yummy - just the right blend of vanilla and berry to achieve total summery bliss. It's pink, it's sweet, it's cold, it's just about perfect. It might even be perfect. Whatever it is, it's too darn good to be yogurt.

Yum.

love.

In Other Words...

Donald Miller's blog has gone to the dogs. One dog in particular. Her name is Lucy, and she's lovely, and delightfully insightful, and Caper has a big crush on her. You should read them all, but this one made me smile:

How to Love and Be Loved

I saw Donald Miller at the Doug Fir the other night, but didn't say anything so as not to be one of the hundreds of Blue Like Jazzers clambering to inform him that we'd probably be best friends because he just soooo gets it. But I will say: Good taste in concerts, Don Miller. And way to let your dog take over your blog.

Hope you had a good Monday, friends. Go forth and love and be loved.

love. ;)

A little link lovin...

I didn't blog yesterday. You can be mad at me if you want to.

Here are some lovely things I've seen this week:

I want to make these tables and put them, well, I'll figure that out later.

Coporate prayer nights are one of the many things I love about Imago. Here's a good argument for why you should come.

I mean, the man is a genius.

Oh Winona... you're my favorite best friend I haven't met yet. And this post made me smile.

My friend Rachelle has a beautiful soul.

These t-shirts made me drool just a little...

Shameless plug: I heart Claire Pettibone, and whisper sweet nothings to her in this post.

Speaking of souls, if mine has a color pallette, this is it.

I hope you have a beautiful weekend!

love.

A long, long time ago...

Vintage poetry today...

10/29/06

you who has been always, and nothing...

you appear here in lines yet unwritten
offering a vocabulary i couldn't have anticipated

the heart of me knows what follows
it recognizes in you the ancient-once it has loved equally -
curiosity, undeterred by self-preservation, requests you

mildly

just behind my eyes
so subtle, your arrival there at the front of all daydreams
quietly quickly and
firmly denied

there are risks my body still cannot fathom
parts of my heart it can no longer trust, and justly

i who have broken you always, and never
can't be selfless enough not to risk you again

an improbable proposition - yours is the safest rejection, all silence and miles
would you hate to know there are parts of me that still wake up with your name

my lastly well-loved boy, imagine...

i may be sonnet to your prose
you, all irreverent language
i, always, the fear to oppose

love.

On time and the lack thereof...

I've been reminded this week that we're mortal, each and every one of us - broken and breakable, fragile and flawed. As reminders go, I can't say this one is my favorite, but I think it's important.

I like to pretend I'm going to live forever. As long as I can remember, and much to my mother's dismay, I've been relatively unconcerned about my own safety. I'll gladly jump out of a plane, or climb that treacherous rock, or wander around dark neighborhoods at unwise hours of the night. I like to believe that I'm wandering through life in some sort of protective bubble, impervious to evil or accident or fate. I wear my confidence in a good God like it's physical armor instead of spiritual, as though faith alone can save me from tripping and scraping my knee.

But faith doesn't guarantee safety - in the Bible and in many parts of the world it has almost the opposite effect. God doesn't promise safe passage for my physical person along with His permanent destination for my soul. I felt the weight of that this week as I counted my father's heartbeats when I hugged him on Sunday and rested in the rhythm of his newly reset self. I witnessed it in the words of a wife who sat and prayed open-eyed at the end of her husband's hospital bed, kissing his feet through the blankets and smiling, beautiful and brave. I watched her, I hugged my father, and I remembered that these moments that we have here are fleeting - they are nothings, echoes, beginnings, vapor, dust in the wind. We have only the time we're given.

You know I believe in heaven, and I believe that when we leave this place we go back to our home, our God, our wholeness. I wish I could say I was anxious to get there. But always I remember all the things I want to do still, the words I want to say, the things I want to feel, and I can't help but hope I'll have the time to live them. Because while we're here, this thing we're doing is beautiful... it's violent and messy and hard and lovely and human, but it's our story. Today I'm reminded that I need to live every day as though the story is concluding- every hour the potential climax and every conversation the potent last that will be remembered. It's good to remember that fear is a liar, that we should be a little wasteful and extravagant sometimes with our words and our feelings, that we should shower each other with truth, with heart, with sappy praise, with helpful thoughts, with words of love. Because we were born already beginning to run out of time.

Don't hold back, friends. Don't hold back, self. Do that thing you've always wanted to do, tell that person you've been wanting to tell, try that impossible something you've been avoiding all this time. We are fools not to harness these moments. We are fools not to saturate them with joy.

love.

Cheap Thrills: Start a War

The following is my all time favorite cheap thing to do on a random weeknight. I'm fairly convinced that 90% of what is wrong with the world today could be solved if grownups would simply remember how, and find time, to play. This week's thrill is offered with the intention to ignite that dormant spirit of playfulness. Go forth and be goofballs.

Here's your plan:

Step 1: Choose a target. Ideally, an easy going friend or couple or collection of friends who live near you, have a front door with at least a few feet of yard in front of it, and might be willing to engage in some shenanigans.

Step 2: Choose an accomplice. Who wants to run around in the middle of the night on a school night making mischief by themselves? Plus, having an accomplice doubles your buying budget.

Step 3: Head to your local Dollar Store. If you don't have a Dollar Store, a Walgreen's or Fred Meyer or Rite Aid will usually do. Find the toy aisle and locate the army men - you know, the cheap little plastic ones kids used to play with way back before Nintendo DS. At the Dollar Store, you should be able to purchase a package of 100 army men (or firefighters or police officers if you're the pacifist type) for $1. Buy five. We're maxing out the budget on this one. If you have an accomplice, this would be the best time to use them and their five dollars and buy 10 packs of army men.

Step 4: Giggle a little. This whole thing is very silly.

Step 5: Don't miss this step: OPEN ALL THE PLASTIC BAGS OF ARMY MEN and put them into one big, soft, canvas bag. Crinkly plastic negates any and all efforts to be sneaky.

Step 6: Go time. Wait until you suspect your targets are sleeping and set up a battle in their front yard. Aim all the men at the door if you want to be belligerent, or create two armies and have them war with each other. If it's windy, curse a few times as you fail to get the darn dudes to stand up on their own. Get creative. Put them in mailboxes, suspend them in midair, line them up in patterns or spell words. Let the spirit move you.

Step 7: Stand back and admire your work. Take a picture in case a squirrel or cat knocks the whole display over and you need to prove how awesome and artistic your original concept was.

Step 8: Try not to say anything doofy to your friends the next day like: "So, how was YOUR morning? Anything unUsual happen?" so as not to have the spotlight of suspicion aimed squarely at your forehead. Though, if you're me, you're the first one they'll blame anyway.

Step 9: Sit back and wait for your target to retaliate. Reduce, reuse, and recycle those little guys. Spread the love through your social circle. Attack each other. It's what friends do.

Go play. And send me pictures if you do. :)

love.

In other words...

Not quite sure what the format will be for the Monday post just yet, but today, since the day has gotten away from me and there are only two minutes left till Tuesday, we'll start with e. e. cummings. Because I've never loved anyone else's words more consistently than I've loved his.

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secret of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

-e. e. cummings

I think I'll let this be my mantra for the week. What's yours?

love.

A Friday Game for You

Ah, facial perception- the exciting and useful ability to recognize faces and read the emotions on them. Are you perceiving faces at your best possible level? You may test your skills and/or practice and refine them by guessing the emotions my handydandyassistant Favorite and I are portraying in the following photos. To the victor go the spoils (or "to the person who guesses the most correctly go the bragging rights")

Good luck.

love.

Thursdays I'm a poet.

7/13/10

some nights i believe i've only ever written what i fear
only ever recorded the ends or beginnings of feeling
the lost and the losing
the broken and the unclaimed
written only the empty space born of loving alone
of the restless elation that accompanies your hand on my shoulder
of the silence that follows the abrogated beating of breakable hearts

i am constantly to wonder if theses thoughts and the fears that bore them
are merely dog-eared pages of someone else's novel
tadpoles in the widest river
a wriggling army of identical echoes and photocopied emotion
my mind here written only the same drumbeat
heard by a thousand others a thousand times before

some mornings i believe i've only ever given what i lack
only ever offered empty vases and blank pages
the vague and the unworthy
the hopeless and the unnamed
given only the shadows of things you have left me
a woebegone recital of pieces i've cherished
a slapstick production of a symphony i can't begin to claim

i would have you dance where i can see you
in rooms where you have always played me songs
i would wrap your stories around my fingertips
and squeeze them into pencils
and rejoice in knowing i have nothing left to say

love.

In which Solomon basically says "Just Do It"

In my beautiful friend Jodi's Bible, Proverbs 4:7 reads:

The beginning of wisdom is this: get wisdom.

Helpful, right? Does anyone else feel like Solomon seems a little snarky here? Our group reaction to this last night at Home Community was essentially "Gee, thanks a lot for the tip." I mean, it's a lot like saying "The way to be cool is to be cool" or chirping "Remember to ____" exactly 30 seconds after someone tells you to remind them of ____ later - accurate, sure, but not exactly helpful. This passage, standing all on its lonesome, seems to require a basic understanding of what wisdom is and how to get it. Which requires wisdom. It's sort of one big biblical catch 22.

But maybe, just maybe, the beginning of wisdom, or in my Bible, the recognition that wisdom is supreme and worth giving up your life for, starts with discussion. Because as confusing as this little verse is, it did bring up some pretty interesting talk about what wisdom is and how we go about pursuing it.

Through our talk, I decided I like to use the word "perspective" as a synonym for wisdom in this chapter of Proverbs. I think that we as a culture tend to define wisdom as knowledge, as having all the right answers and knowing what to do in all situations- the ability to apply a wealth of accumulated information to the making of good decisions. I'm not sure that's the whole picture. I think it's worth thinking about seeking God's wisdom and understanding as seeking the ability to see the world, your situations, other people, with God's perspective. Maybe wisdom isn't learning all there is to know, but learning to become of one mind with the Master, and in doing so, beginning to embody all of the character traits that come along with that - humility, grace, mercy, compassion, love, virtue, honesty, general strength of character. Peace and humility are so closely linked to wisdom in my mind- I think the people I believe are closest to the heart of God are the first to admit that there is a lot they don't know for sure, but are still somehow able to approach the world with the God lens in place, receiving it with patience, with kindness, with understanding and love.

I'm certainly not saying that I think the quest for knowledge is a bad one. I think the Bible is pretty clear that we should use the resources we've been given to search actively and desperately for the truth. However, I think after last night I'm looking at wisdom differently. I'm seeing it as a way of being, a way of viewing life, instead of as an encyclopedicreferencemanuallike eight ball of answers in your brain. The idea of pursuing wisdom as trying to become part of the mind of God, seeing through His eyes, approaching the world with His almighty, just, and perfect perspective - that's a goal to which I'd like to aspire. That's a journey I know I'll never complete, but one that I'm happy to be on.

My prayer for you, and for me, today is that we are able to get a few steps closer to seeing our world, our God, and each other with His wisdom, His perspective. May you look with God's eyes and love with His heart, and may you be seen by others as He sees you - whole, holy by grace, and wholly loved.

love.

Cheap Thrills Tuesday, Inaugural Post

Ok, so I'm not usually the sort of girl who gets all married to beauty products, as in "OMG, this moisturizer is life changing" or "I have not lived before this mascara." If anything, I'm sort of fickle... I gravitate toward whatever is new and shiny and on sale at Target and very rarely maintain any sort of brand loyalty. I'm fairly certain that most eyeliner is created equal. However...

I love, love, love, love, LOVE... Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers.

I know this isn't the first time you've heard about the magic or DPLS- I've heard many a celebrity rave about it and read about it on other blogs- but just in case you didn't believe it then, I'm telling you now. Holy cow, Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers will change your life. It tastes good (not really like Dr. Pepper at all, but good) and is perfectly pink (in an "I'm not wearing anything my lips are just naturally this sexy and kissable" way) and perfectly subtly shiny without being any stickier than Chapstick. I got some for Christmas several years ago and ignored it for awhile, but I'm telling you, I didn't know what I was missing.

Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers will cost you exactly $1.75 at the Lip Smacker website, which is where I lifted this picture. That $1.75 will buy you at least a solid month of satisfaction that won't dry out on your lips, make your hair stick to you, or smear all over your significant other. Trust me on this one.

Of course, this could be just another step in my lifelong journey to become Felicity:

I'm obsessed with Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers too, it's been my guilty pleasure for years! - Keri Russell via lipsmacker.com

You be the judge.

love.

Suppose we added a bit of structure to this thing...

So I like Tuesdays. Tuesdays are currently the first day of my weekend, my Saturday. I generally don't try to get much done on Tuesdays, apart from planning what I'm going to get done on Wednesday, which, let's face it, often doesn't wind up getting done at all. Today, for example, I've done a lot of cleaning and laundry (productive, but sort of stress relieving and restful in its own way) and a bit of knitting and dog loving and now I'm thinking about blogging. As in, what do I want to do with this blog? How do I be better at paying attention to the blog? How do I make this a regular part of my day?

I think the answer is structure. I follow a lot, I mean, a LOT of blogs, and most of the ones I like best are just a little bit predictable. I'd like to be the sort of girl who blogs something five days a week (ohhh, ambition), and I'd like to have the sort of blog that follows a pattern of sorts. Here's what I'm thinking:

Mondays will be the day for other people's words. I'd like to use Mondays to link to other articles I think are interesting, or post other people's poetry, or invite friends to write something. Plus I won't have to think much on Monday. Not that Mondays are all that difficult for me, but still.

Tuesdays, I want to post things I like. More specifically, cheap things I like. Many of the fashion and lifestyle blogs I follow are constantly telling me that I can achieve happiness by purchasing $300 dresses and $45 mascara and $1500 pairs of shoes. No offense, fashion blogging masses - I adore you, but let's face it. Buying those shoes will not make me happier in the long run. Buying those shoes will make me poor. So, on Tuesdays, I'm going to present you with one silly, superficial, short term way you, yes you, can buy a little happiness for $5 or less. The perfect price for a temporary retail high. :)

Wednesdays I'll try to write a good God observation for the week, as has been my usual routine so far.

Thursdays will be poetry days. Mostly to force me to write.

And Fridays I get to do whatever the heck I want. Cause that's what Fridays are for. Knitting, or linking, or rambling, or lists, or fun things to do in PDX... Friday is choose my own adventure day.

What do you think? I'm going to give it a shot, anyhow... we'll see how well we do.

love.

Springtime Love Song

6/30/10

i will begin, as always, with words already written
unqualified, i, to redefine spring
but today portland is the sun-hungry skin of Your body
that something always that glistens justly
and i am
glad for the prick of grass blades on bare ankles
tempered by the nearly violent sting of midday on the back of my neck
composed of only lazy almosts and flirtatious possibility
cradled merely by a swaddling of wildly vibrating mazarine sky

i am captive to the birth of hand-drawn freckles
arriving on my shoulders like a signature
like stars

every miracle is You and You only
there is he, there is spring
and i am for You wholly
i will place Your songs in evaporating puddles and watch the city breathe them
i will write Your name on the pavement
i will wear You home