Here's why God is cool (in case you didn't know)

I had the best full circle blessing today.

So I've been toying with the idea of selling my wedding gown for the past several years (if you don't know the back story here, call me sometime and we'll chat). It's been an emotional struggle for me, letting that go, because I've attached a lot of doubt to it, and a lot of guilt - "What if I never have another wedding dress?" etc. I thought about donating it, but I wanted to be able to give my parents some of their money back... so finally, with the move and the physical and emotional "stuff" purging that came along with it, I mustered the guts to post an ad on Craigslist and let it go.

This is the email I received tonight:

"Hi,

This is the dress of my dreams.....I saw this dress two years ago and I have done everything to get my hands on it. The wedding store in Portland that carried this dress actually closed the weekend before my appointment to go try it on. I was devastated.....once I saw this dress, I have never looked at another dress.....I want this dress!

I am fine with the price although I do not need the veil. I do not have all the money but was interested in possibly making payments. I will do whatever it takes to get this dress.....this will make my wedding dream come true.

I look forward to your response,

Jessica"

(tear) I replied to her email and told her of course we'd make it work and the sweetheart called me back in about three minutes... she'd been waiting at the computer because she wanted it so badly. She's coming tomorrow to try it on and (I'm quite sure) take it home. I'm trying to talk myself out of just giving it to her for Christmas. :)

I am just so floored by things like that. It isn't so much the miracle of the two of us finding each other, or the emotion that surrounds wedding gowns, or the joy of being able to solve someone's problem... it's the details, the tiny, intricate patterns that had to be crafted in order for it all to line up. I could have sold that dress in San Jose anytime, before it was practically discontinued... but I hauled it all the way here before I was ready to let go, so some girl I've never met in Eugene who has looked for it for almost as long as I've had it could find me on Craigslist and be able to afford her dream dress. Do you get it? What are the odds of that? It's a white and red dress, for crying out loud!

It's such a small series of tiny happenings, but those patterns are everything to me. It's the genesis of beauty out of pain... the end becoming the beginning. It's a story that might not mean anything to anyone else, but is such an affirmation in my mind. Who am I that I've been given such extraordinary grace, to have been offered joy where I had been clinging to regret and shame.

It's just that I've been stuck on this one silly choice for so long - to sell or not to sell - and I chose and was so rewarded. I don't really know how to explain how grateful I am...

It just... hope. It's so crazy beautiful, and always so much more than I could imagine or deserve. No matter how stubbornly I forget it, He reminds me that I'm forgiven again and again, often through many of you, sometimes through strangers and even through silly old dresses.

yeah. God is good all the time. ;)

"ehhh.." or "what i really thought of the Rent movie"

I'm having a hard time with this one. I'm not exactly disappointed... it was absolutely as good as I thought it would be. At the same time, it could have been better.

If I were Chris Colombus, I would have spent a hell of a lot more time in the teeny tiny relationship building scenes and less time in the plot progressing musical production numbers. I would have honored Jonathan Larson's extraordinary gift for subtlety instead of trying so darn hard to make the movie easier to follow (e.g. the constant use of the word AIDS - how many times can we replace a moderately genius phrasing like "this body provides a comfortable home for the acquired immune deficiency syndrome" or "close on Roger his girlfriend April left a note" etc. with an obvious and borderline cheesy "I have AIDS" declaration? I would have started the movie with Mark's documentary, I would have spent much more time in Mark's documentary vision, which is raw and beautiful and accurate to the mood of the play, dang it, and I would have saved the "Seasons of Love" number for the end of the movie when we had established some sort of emotional connection to the characters instead of putting it in the beginning to confuse the heck out of anyone who hadn't seen the play. I would have seriously considered not replacing filler songs with dialogue that makes the transition into singing seem abrupt and unnecessary. I would have remembered that the friendship between Roger and Mark is the driving force behind the plot, and that the audience needs to be grounded in that force so as not to feel like their heads are going to exploded as they try to understand everything else that's going on. I would have, I dunno, I would have done a lot of things differently. Of course, if I were Chris Colombus, I'd also have a much nicer car and more of a right to be such an obnoxious know it all.

That said, I thought it was pretty good. Tango was awesome, Santa Fe was super fun, and I dug the funeral scene... but I dunno. I am, sadly, a bit "ehhh..." about the whole thing.

Go see it and argue with me already.

On productivity, and being tragically un-cool...

So, many things were accomplished today:

Sold a bunch of old clothes to the Buffalo Exchange, which brought fear into my heart. It's an interesting sensation, having the Urban Outfitteresque trendster buyer girls rifle through things you have chosen, things you have paid for, things you have worn of your own free will, and tell you what they're worth - if they deem them worth anything at all. In the end, they took about 1/3 of what I offered, to the tune of $25 (35% of what they'll charge) - significantly more than I would have gotten at a garage sale, anyhow. At least a third of me is cool enough for hipster resale ;).

Found one of the greatest yarn stores I've ever been in. Happy face. Broke face.

We went to the Saturday Market, a regular occurrence here in Eugene. If you haven't figured it out, Eugene is kind of a hub for all things crafty - there is some sort of street fair or art show or whatnot almost daily. This one was a huge indy art maze adventure into the center of the peace-love commune subculture... the kind of place that makes you feel like even if you swear to never, ever shop at the Gap again, you'll never be quite cool enough to hang out with the in-crowd. This sort of place appeals to the quiet little rebel in me - the one who wants to dye her hair funny colors and pierce her face and make found-object art for a living. But, tragically and chronically un-cool, I don't have the guts or the devil-may-care attitude that are required for that sort of lifestyle. So I'm content to wander through the homemade candles and clothing, breathing other people's incense and revelling in the life I might have had.

If only I'd managed to buy better clothes.

C'est la vie. :)

having a song stuck in your head actually means you're smart

I'm being stalked by a song.

Is this the sort of thing that happens to other people, or is it just me? I'm being haunted, followed, sought out by this song... which I haven't heard in years, mind, and all of a sudden BAM! It's playing in Target, on my friend's car stereos, in the grocery store, on the television, on the radio... even my iTunes is obsessed with it and insists on including it in every random play list. Not that I mind. I like the song.

But when you're "signs and wonders" me, and you don't necessarily believe in coincidence, and the song in question holds some emotional significance in your past, a song-stalking episode can make you crazy. "What does it mean," you wonder, "is someone trying to tell me something?" WHY SONG, WHY? See? Crazy.

Good news is, at least I have a job :)

eulogy.

My grandfather held us on his lap and taught us to drive before our feet could reach the pedals. He taught me to speak by carrying me around the house for hours, pointing at objects, repeating their sounds. He taught me to stop and look before I was old enough to pay attention. His office always smelled like rubber bands.

Most of you never met my Grandpa Peters, or if you did, it was after his mind had already begun to fold in on itself, camouflaging so much of what I loved in him. He was the smartest man I've ever met -- a teacher, by profession and by nature. I've felt compelled in the past few days to try and explain him, to write it down and make sure someone is reading... he always wanted me to write everything down. I'm trying to listen.

He would insist that my white shoes were purple with so much conviction my small self actually believed I knew something he didn't. He'd sit on the floor and let us knock him over again and again and again... we were exhausting, I'm sure. We'd pull his hair, tickle him, untie his shoe laces... he'd try to explain static electricity.

My grandfather loved to walk. I had the privilege of walking with him, often, and these journeys are the substance of my earliest and most vivid memories. He was a storyteller... he spoke to animals, conjured fairies, chatted with gangsters, and understood the whys of everything I questioned. He would explain life and God to me with relentless patience. He loved exceptionally well, and he loved this world without exception.

At night, his hands were possessed by the spirits of two friendly, tickling creatures... they would creep- boompee doompee doompadee doompdee -down the hall, across the floor, and up over the edge of my bed to tuck squealing, protesting me in. I must have been at least 7 or 8 when I realized that Nipper and Napper were not independent personalities, but simply another incarnation of his extraordinary imagination.

I've had many conversations in my life about belief - the pros and cons and power of the simple act of believing in something. Often, I've heard people say that when they discovered the things they believed in childhood weren't necessarily true - the existence of Santa, Cinderella, etc. - they felt disheartened, disillusioned, betrayed. I don't share this experience. For me, that same discovery was simple, undeniable proof of how truly and abundantly I was loved. Entire kingdoms were imagined in my honor, and for my betterment- that I might know what it felt like to grow up in a world that radiated magic.

My grandfather passed away last week. He was not well here, nor very happy... there are a thousand reasons to be glad for him... he's whole again, somewhere, with the God he loved so much.

I am selfishly devastated, because I wanted to keep him.

The last time I sat and talked with my Grandpa, he told me about his uncle the trapeze artist, his dinner with Roy Disney, his first serious girlfriend. He wanted to know what I was planning to do with myself: was I planning to teach? Any new boys? He asked me what it would be like when I was sitting with my grandchild the way we were sitting then and I gave him some silly answer about space stations and holograms. The simple truth is, I'll be telling her, or him, about Sammy the Squirrel and Freddy the Fox, who live in the trees at West Valley College, or explaining the stock market, or Nipping and Napping her till she laughs herself to sleep, or helping her see the fairies in the bushes on the walks we take.

Or, most likely, I'll be telling her about her great-grandfather: how he held me on his lap and taught me to drive before my feet could reach the pedals, taught me to speak by carrying me around the house for hours, pointing at objects, repeating the sounds.

I'll tell her how very much I loved him, and how very wonderfully I was loved.

Cinderella came to my house!

Let's talk about how I get TTTTTTTTHHHHHHHIIIIIIIISSSSSSSS excited about trick-or-treaters... it's a little ridiculous. Tonight, Katelyn and I were sitting around the Los Gatos house (yes, I'm here, but only until tomorrow morning... long sad story) moaning and groaning because no one was knocking on our door. So we developed a strategy: we turned on all the lights, we put out some not-so-subtle signs that say "WE HAVE CANDY!!!!"... I put on a costume, and we tried to think lots of kid friendly, welcoming, happy-happy thoughts. Nothin'. Then we thought maybe all the "WE HAVE CANDY!!!!!" signs made us look a little too eager, like we were no longer the happy-cool-kid-friendly house, but the a-little-TOO-kid-friendly house, if you know what I'm saying. We were sad. We lamented: "Why don't the children love us?" " We are nice people" "Alas, Alack" etc.

Then......... !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So we've had like, five thousand trick-or-treaters in a row now. And every single Disney princess. And we try not to scare them with our relentless and somewhat suspicious enthusiasm. And I pretty much love Halloween for this reason: your neighbors come to your door... you smile and exchange good wishes and get to talk to their kids without seeming like a weirdo. And it's just nice. Well, that and costumes. Those are nice too.

Hey artist... you got a dollar?

There is an unusually high concentration of hitchhikers in this city, and they are ALL good looking, clean cut young men. There are 4,129 people who live in my town. Burrito Boy makes what is possibly the second best burrito of all time, for cheapo (it's almost Ricardos. Almost.) We drove to the coast yesterday, which takes about an hour, and it's breathtaking from the start of the drive all the way to the cliffs and the sea. The ocean smells like home :). Saturday we found the "World's Largest Indoor Garage Sale," which made me almost as giddy as iced venti nonfat white mocha. Spoils: One broken but beautiful watch ($2), one silly little vase ($2), and one perfect Louis the whatever chair for me to take apart and put back together ($40... that's cheap, really it is). Left behind: perfect beautiful vintage coat ($15)... too short sleeves. Dang arms. There are WAY more stars than I remember there ever being, anywhere. There are WAY more bugs than there should ever be, anywhere. A suicidal bird flew into our window and I collected it and felt like I've officially transitioned into the attitude of this place. Our neighbors have horses they never ride, and I'm welcome to ride them, but there are three and they are a herd so I need friends. We are invited to a Halloween Party in a barn :). We went to the most amazing church on Sunday and they did my two favorite songs in a row (God is good all the time). www.ecf.org.

So, speaking of artists (yes, we were, check the title)... I'm going to have a house of my own soon, and I know I've already expressed to a few of you my desire to fill it with artwork by people I know and love... I'm so blessed to know so many talented people, and I think it'd be fabulous to have a gallery of a house, a piece of each of you up here with me. I'm not picky, sketch me something on a napkin or go crazy, send me wacky photos or poetry or whatever...I'll even frame a letter... I promise to send you back a dang good Christmas present. Really. Something really good :)