On Never Making My Point

Do you ever feel like you just can't say what you want to say? I often feel like I'm on the edge of explaining something important and just can't quite find the words. It feels as though if I could just get it out of my head, onto a page or a screen somewhere, I could stop thinking about the same things over and over.

I think this selfish struggle is why I blog so repetitively. Try as I may, I can never seem to make the point I want to make. So you, whoever you are, get the same blog every five posts or so, as I explore the same turf, and fail again to explain it. They look like this:

A) The "Moment" posts... in which I try to capture that crazy moment that I'm still not sure other people ever share with me. I tend to meet certain new people and know, just know, that they'll be important people in my life. Anyone else have this instinct? It's frighteningly accurate, and literally instant. Perhaps it's where the phrase "love at first sight" comes from, but I wouldn't call it love, just, I dunno, anticipation? Recognition? Argh, it makes me nuts. I can, and do, go on all day.

B) The "Identity" posts... in which I go on and on: "Why is it so hard for me to just be me around people? If you knew me you would like me. Why can't I be less self-aware? Which version of me am I anyhow?" Blah, blah, blah...they make me a little nauseated, actually. Which will cause me to write another blog.

C) The "Gratitude" posts... I'm not apologizing for these. The world needs more gratitude posts.

I'm not sure why I'm so hell-bent on trying to explain myself to the world. I'm not sure why I'm still, at 26, struggling with an irrational fear of being misunderstood. I'm not sure why on earth I think it matters so much, why I'm always at the center of my universe. I'm not sure of much, really.

But I am sure of this: I am grateful this Easter for a savior... for a Someone who knows my thoughts, understands my point and how silly and small it probably is, and loves me anyhow, loves me for it, loves me through it. I'm thankful for a God who is bigger than my self-obsession, who died to bridge the gap between my failure and the Divine, who will put a new song in my heart. I am humbled by His patience with my whining, my questions, my weak and wild little soul. I'm praying that I may become less, so that He may become more.

love.

Puppy Love

Sometimes Caper and I have important heart-to-hearts:




love. :).

I thank you God...

As you well may know, e.e. cummings was certainly not a religious man. He did, however, write one of my all-time favorite pieces of worship, and it is perfectly, eloquently, exactly that which has been bouncing around my head and heart all day:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

happy Sun Day. :)

So, I like Portland...

The man with the over-amplified guitar stops strumming as I pass:

"Hey, you, that's my coat!"

"I'm sorry?" I stop. I'm a glutton for crazy person conversations. I regularly approach picketers and soap-box preachers. By myself, by choice. That's another story.

"Yeah, that's my coat!"

"This is your coat?"

"Yeah!" People are starting to watch. "Remember, you came to my house last night, you punched me in the face, and you took my coat?"

"This coat? With the flower?" My friend Claire made me this awesome fabric flower I wear pinned to my lapel. "Is this your flower?"

"Hell yeah. Now gimme back my coat"

"Sorry, man... I like your coat. I worked hard for it. I'm totally keeping it."

He smiles. Apparently I've passed my standard Portland insta-banter test. "Alright." He picks up the guitar, the impossibly loud guitar, and I continue my walk home.

I love this city. I love it for its wackos and its artists and its incredible walk-ability. I love the lost little girl feeling I get from wandering, the countless tiny neighborhoods, the chalk on the sidewalk, the posters on the walls. I love the man with the blanket and the police on their horses and the churches on every corner, filed neatly between the Planned Parenthoods and strip clubs. I love that everyone talks to me, for whatever reason... I'm so thankful that everyone talks.

The girl with the acid wash skinny jeans stopped me on the street the other night to tell me she liked my outfit. Why am I the only person with passive-aggressive karma? God is cool.

Wish you were here. Wish I could walk with you.

love.

Forest & Frill & Spring in the air...

Today is the most perfectly lovely day in Portland. I spent the morning in full on spring cleaning mode, and then Boyfriend, Doggo, and I hit Forest Park for a mini hike/photo shoot. Introducing the Forest & Frill Cardigan:



Pattern: Forest & Frill Yarn: KnitPicks Wool of the Andes Bulky, held double for the knit body and single for the crochet edging... Clasp is from the Button Emporium here in Ptown.





This is officially the first non-scarf FO that I've been brave enough to wear to work... and I think it went over well! I like it, anyhow... Took a few tries to get it perfect. The body was pretty bunchy, but I managed to force it into submission, and the armholes have been re-crocheted a few times to get them to stop looking so little girl ruffly (is that how you spell ruffley? ruffly? I dunno). Anyhow, done and done.

Doggo wants me to also share with you the terrible thing that happened to him today:


What can I say? It's muddy in them there woods.

love.

Baby Sophie's Things

Here are the promised pictures of Baby Sophie's Shower Set. They are Elizabeth Zimmerman's February Baby Sweater (appropriate for a February Baby Shower, no?) and the Pea Pod Sweater from Kate Gilbret's Pea Pod Set... also some Saartje's Bootees, because I've been dying to make them. Yarns are GGH Scarlet (purple cotton) and some old school Lion Brand Wool Ease (undyed stuff) The buttons were an Etsy find... gotta love Etsy. Without further ado:





On the subject of babies, please continue to pray for little Riley... she seems to be doing so well, and I have to believe it's because she's surrounded by so very many thoughts and prayers and so much love.

Hugs!

Rant.

I understand that the following may expose me as the not-so-hipster not-one-of-the-cool-kids girl that I am, but I don't care. It simply has to be said.

People.

Please, please, please, stop sagging your skinny jeans. Please.

I understand that skinny jeans have persevered through fad status and general unflatteringness to become a remarkably lasting trend. I understand that boys in tight jeans have a certain rocker appeal, and that some girls with remarkably low body fat actually look quite appealing in them. I get that they're convenient to tuck into boots, or wear under tunics, or just look all Ashlee and Pete'd out. But for the love of God, people, don't sag them.

Sagging your skinny jeans does every wrong thing possible for the human body. Lately, it seems I am surrounded by assless, carmel-apple shaped teens and twenties, in acid wash no less, who look as though they've forgotten to do laundry and had to borrow their ten year old brother's pants for the day. It's the ultimate in cruel fashion - cruel to those of us on the sidelines, and to the fairly decent figure of the poor sucker with the crotch of his denim leggings suctioning his knees together.

You know the scene in Mary Poppins where Dick van Dyke is dancing with the penguins and pulls his pants down to waddle? THAT'S WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE! Only less goofy and Dick van Dykey charming and just basically more dumb.

Commit any other fashion crimes you need to. Wear your mini skirts and Ugg boots with pride, bring back the worst of the eighties with your flourescent yellow and crimped side pony. Live in velour jumpsuits. But for God's sake, people, for ALL of our sakes, please... pull them up. Just pull them up.