Small Bright Light

freedom and security

2010-05-31T23:29:00.001-04:00

Happy Memorial Day. Probably because I come from a military family (myself, my husband, my brother, my sister, my dad, my mom, several uncles, both grandfathers...), this holiday has always meant much more to me than just cookouts and concerts and a day off work. It's a time to remember those who have fought and sacrificed to win and protect our nation's freedom - especially those who paid the ultimate price. So I try to take some time every Memorial Day to say a prayer for those who are serving in uniform, and for the families of those who won't make it home. Freedom is so valuable, and so costly.

Cashel's been getting a little taste of freedom this last week, as he's started to crawl (!). Maybe I should say he's started to scoot... it's more grabbing the floor and pulling with his fingers while he pushes with his toes, powered by a heavy dose of pure stubbornness. But he does get where he wants to go, and he's getting pretty darn fast. As I've watched him and encouraged him, I've noticed a couple things: first, that my floors need to be swept much more often/thoroughly than I've apparently been doing, and second, that my baby needs to balance this little taste of freedom with a healthy serving of security. He loves to be on his tummy, scooting around and chasing after his toys, but every few minutes he looks around to find me in the room and orient himself, and every ten minutes or so he makes his way over to wherever I am to grab my foot and ask to be picked up. He usually doesn't want to stay long; he just wants a hug and to know that I'm right there if he needs me. He's just touching base. Making sure I'm still within reach. And when he gets tired or scared or hurt, he wants to know that I'll come rescue him. As long as he can see me, he's a pretty happy kiddo; chattering away and exploring everything he can get his hands on.

Being a parent has taught me more about God and His relationship with us than I ever understood before. Concepts I might have gotten in my head before are now firmly rooted in my heart. The idea that He loves us more than we can comprehend, no matter what we do? I just have to think about that sweet little boy to understand that. Knowing that when I cry out, when I'm hurting or scared or tired, He's there to comfort me? I have a much better picture of that now. The idea that even though we have the freedom to go off on our own, do our own thing, it's always better to keep a connection to Him and "touch base" throughout the day? Okay. Got that one too.

Freedom is always linked to security - for our nation, we only have the one because we maintain the other. For Cashel, he only feels comfortable enough to explore this new freedom when he also feels safe and connected to me or Karl. And in our relationship with God, it's only in the security of His love and the sureness of His rescue that we have the freedom to be able to really live.

Today I'm thankful for the men and women who sacrificed their lives to protect my freedom. And for this scooting, squirming little baby who preaches me a sermon every day. May God make me worthy of both.

defining normal

2010-05-11T20:29:00.003-04:00

A few weeks ago, we took Cashel to the Eastern Market area in DC. It's such a great place with an indoors, more permanent farmers' market feel to it, and one of our favorite spots is a lunch counter in one corner called, appropriately, "Market Lunch." You wait in line (usually pretty long) until you get to the counter, give the guy your order and he shouts it to the cooks diner-style. Then you have to wait until you actually get the food in-hand to claim a seat at the long counter. We happened to be there at lunchtime, and had been walking around a bit with C in his front carrier. He loves shopping that way - I think it makes him feel safe and secure, like I'm holding him, but at the same time lets him look out at everything and take it all in. He did great the whole time standing in line, but when we gave our order and the guy turned and yelled it back loudly, Cashel jumped, looked up at Karl, and burst into tears. I realized that I don't think he's ever heard yelling like that before - neither Karl nor I are yellers, and he's just not been around that. It scared him! In his world, grown-ups might talk, or sing, or make funny animal noises, or laugh - but no one yells. (At least, no one over the age of one.)

It hit me that I have the enormous responsibility of defining what "normal" is for Cashel and any other children we may have. As he grows, it will be the rhythms and routines and traditions and actions and words he encounters regularly in our home that shape his world, and that impact who he is and what kind of man he becomes. Will "dinner" mean sitting down together as a family, eating something I've cooked and talking about our day? Or will it more often mean grabbing something quickly, with the TV on? Will the words he hears around him and to him every day be kind, hopeful and loving, or critical, negative and hurtful? Will he have more memories of us reading together, or running around outside, or of playing video games? Some friends of ours recently adopted a little girl from eastern Europe. She has had no boundaries at all in her young life, and had periods of time where no one really cared about her at all. Our friends are faced with the challenge now of redefining all those previous memories and habits and behaviors, and giving her a new "normal." God is good, and is already working great things in her life, but how much better would it have been if she had started with such loving structure from the beginning?

I'm trying to be very deliberate now about what the "normal" I define for Cashel looks like on a daily basis. I know he's only seven months old, and he won't remember any of this later, but I watch him taking it all in every day, and I know he's starting to build those ideas and thoughts about this world of ours. Someday he'll come smack up against the harshness, the dirtiness and sinfulness and meanness that's out there, but for now, I want to make sure that his "normal" is full of lots of hugs and kisses and cuddles and giggles, safety and warmth, prayer time and Bible stories every night, singing silly songs in the car, coming with me to take a meal to friends with a new child or helping him learn how to be gentle and kind to other kids. I want his "normal" to look nothing like the "normal" that the world accepts. I want him to live a life that's extraordinary in its compassion, kindness, and integrity - and I want him to see it as being absolutely, unremarkably normal.

breathe

2010-04-16T23:36:00.002-04:00

I've been meaning to start posting again for... oh, about a year now, but it seemed every time I'd think about it the list of things to update and write about had grown longer. But since most readers would probably be the same people who keep updated on Facebook, there's probably not a need to do a huge explanation. Here's the whirlwind rundown of what's happened in my life since Nov 2008 (has it really been THAT long?? Wow - I'm embarrassed.):

*Jan 2009 - Karl and I started the process to become foster parents, looking at eventual adoption as a possible way to expand our family. We joined a new church with a heart for adoption and immediately felt at home, and started making some great friends. Then... I'd been feeling especially tired and a little, well, strange. Just to rule it out, took a pregnancy test - surprise!! We were thrilled beyond words to have those years of prayers answered. We decided adoption would wait, but that it was definitely in our plans for the future.

*Summer 2009 - I LOVED being pregnant. I felt great, better than I had in years. It all felt so right, somehow, like everything physically was exactly as it should be. Sharing my days with this little person, feeling kicks and movement and reading every week about how big the baby was and what was happening developmentally... it was a magical time.

*Late summer - My mom's cancer gets worse. She doesn't ever give up hope or lose heart, and continues to try all the treatment options out there. I decided to head to Colorado to visit before it's too late in the pregnancy to fly. It's such a sweet time with her, and she loves feeling the baby kicking. Two days after I got home from the visit, I got a call - they're putting my mom on hospice at home, and she's not expected to last too long. My sweet husband suggested that we have the baby in Colorado so that I can be with my mom, so with three weeks to go to our due date I pack up, kiss Karl goodbye and fly across the country. My dear friend Gayleen helped me find and get an appointment with a great midwife, we got everything worked out with insurance and the new hospital, and I was able to spend my time with my mother, praying, singing songs, telling stories, laughing, crying, making her comfortable, telling her we love her.

*2 Sept 2009 - My sweet, wonderful mother is finally freed from the pain of her cancer and got to go home to be with Jesus. She was at home, surrounded by family and those who love her.

*22 Sept 2009 - I go into labor, a week past my due date.

*24 Sept 2009 - After 30 hours of labor, Cashel Joseph is born - he has a head full of dark brown hair and blue eyes, and weighs 8 lbs 14 oz. We fall immediately head over heels in love with him. He gives us a little scare when he isn't breathing well at first, so after a few seconds on my chest they rushed him off to the NICU with Karl close behind. Twelve hours, several chest x-rays, an IV and many prayers later, he's released back to us, a perfectly healthy baby. (You can see the little splint on his right hand for the IV tubes in the first picture - it makes me so sad! He was such a trooper about everything.)

The past few months have been a mixture of grief and joy, tears and laughter, happiness and pain. The wonder of a new life, following so soon on the heels of a dear life ending. Cashel keeps me firmly planted in the present, and makes sure that I give thanks for each new day. He is a joy and a gift. I feel like I've been changed in some elemental, indefinable ways this past year, and I'm still learning who this new Kristin is. I'm learning to be a mother without my mom, best friend and confidante, but with this precious, sweet little boy who loves to grab my neck for a hug and giggle when I tickle him or make a funny face. I have so many memories of exactly the kind of mother I want to be.

I'm hoping to post more often, both as a way of keeping family and friends updated on what's going on with Cashel and as a way for me to process things - I always think better on paper. So. Here we are... it's a wild ride.

salute

2008-11-12T14:45:00.001-05:00

Veteran's Day, 2002. It was cold on the side of the street, but she gloried in the perfect view she had of her beloved mountains, the presence of her family and their almost tangible pride, the knowledge that her brother would soon be marching down the street she watched and the honor she felt in wearing her blue uniform. She’d chosen to wear the skirt and heels instead of the trousers, and had taken special care to make sure her ribbons and shiny metal insignia were all attached appropriately – this was Veteran’s day, and today she could stand as a member of the military wearing her uniform and be proud. That knowledge always made her want to laugh and smile and cry all at the same time… and confirmed for her the decision two years earlier to attend OTS and join the Air Force. She reached up to slightly adjust her blue flight cap, brushing her fingers over the small, hard-won gold bar on the left-hand side and sliding her hand down habitually to tuck her short blonde hair behind her ears. She smiled as she watched the parade go by – chrome-encrusted Chevrolettes and loud Harleys, many of them carrying those who had gone before her in the service of their country, men whom she had never met but who were all her brothers, fathers, uncles. She saluted each car she could, pleased that she could show this small measure of respect to the heroes passing before her.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant…”

She turned and found herself facing an old man with the whole story of his service and sacrifice emblazoned on his veteran’s hat and proclaimed by the pride in his stance and the set of his chin. Before she had time to open her mouth, the man snapped to attention and saluted her. Instinctively her fingertips flew up to her eyebrow and she returned his salute, still without words. His eyes locked with hers intently, as if he had something very important to say.

“Lieutenant, I served in Viet Nam.” Pointing at his cap he told her the name and location of his unit, then continued. “I was a POW for five years over there. When I came back they made me a First Lieutenant and I retired here as a Captain. If they’d let me, I’d put the uniform back on and do it all over again. I just wanted to thank you for your service, and for everything you’re doing. Thank you, Lieutenant; we’re proud of you.”

As soon as he finished speaking he saluted sharply again, and again she instinctively returned the salute, then as quickly as he had come he was gone. Her eyes filled with tears and she felt incredibly humbled and unworthy and honored and proud. Her mother’s smile caught her eye, and she realized that both her mother and father – veterans themselves – had tears in their eyes as well. She was doing the one thing she wanted to…needed to do: she was making a difference.

high school romance

2008-11-11T13:21:00.069-05:00

Once, in 1952, a very nice young girl graduated high school and headed off to make her way in the world.

Perhaps she met a nice young man, and he fell in love with her charming manner . He somehow looked a little bit like a young Nicholas Cage, but since this was 1952, she didn't know that. He did have a delightful sense of humor.

Or perhaps it's 1956, and our heroine is a young girl who longs to meet a nice young man and settle down to raise a family. In a little house with a white picket fence. And flower boxes, of course.

Working afternoons at the drug store she meets a very nice young man, a returning war hero, who loves how her eyes sparkle and her hair curls. They make plans to be married at the courthouse, where she wears her gray suit and carries orange blossoms.

Or perhaps it's 1964 and she's a studious, ambitious girl who longs to earn her BA and become a teacher or a librarian. Something that will allow her long hours to read and learn.

This girl might meet a studious young man with ambitions of being a scientist, and engineer, an economist, or perhaps eventually even working in the new space program. The world is their oyster, as you can plainly see.

Or maybe it's 1966, when these two meet. She's clearly very devoted to hair volume and teasing, and he seems to be a big fan of Brylcreem. Obviously, this too is a match made in heaven.

Perhaps the two of them will go to the drive in, and he'll keep a comb in his back pocket, just in case. They'll watch the latest space invader or beach scene movie, and share Milk Duds and popcorn. Every so often, she'll borrow his comb.

Or it's 1968, and this sweet young girl meets an aspiring musician who reminds her of the Beatles. Her father isn't sure about his long hair, Volkswagon bus and guitar-playing, but he's a nice young man at heart, and the two of them are very happy.

Eventually, his band gets a few gigs up and down the east coast, and she spends her weekends on buses watching him play and telling all her friends that he's cuter than any other musician around.

Or it's 1974, and she spends an hour every morning ironing her hair. This young man doesn't spend much time on his hair at all, but he's a brilliant student and she has a feeling he's going to change the world someday.

He's interested in world events and diplomacy, and even dreams about becoming a Foreign Service officer himself someday. After college, of course. By their fourth class together, he always saves a seat for her and they study together.

Or it's 1976, and a case of opposites attract. They come from different groups - she's a cheerleader and member of the drama club, he's more of a rebel - but they walk home together most days, and she finds their conversations something she looks forward to more and more.

By the end of the year, he's holding her hand and writing her poems, and sending her flowers on opening night of the school play.

Or it's 1984, and these two are the coolest kids in school. They're an item all through high school, and are on the homecoming court together. She wears his letter sweater as soon as it gets cold out, and he makes her mix tapes of all their favorite songs.

He talks about going into politics someday, and having her by his side. She dreams of success as an actress, or maybe a singer. But whatever they do, they promise it will be together.

Or it's 1994, and they go to rival high schools. He sees her at the football game, and spends the entire second half attempting to get her attention. Her friends giggle, but she smiles at him warmly and he finally sits down beside her. When her fingers get cold he buys her a cup of cider, and they are together from that point forward.

They are both accepted to the same college, and have big plans about their life ahead and where they will go.

I spent far, FAR too much time playing with all this this afternoon. Ah, well... laundry can wait, right?

They are the future

2008-08-14T13:20:00.007-04:00

This is beautiful.

word art

2008-06-24T16:22:00.001-04:00

This is very cool...

house!

2008-06-11T10:39:00.005-04:00

We bought our first house! It's scary and exciting and so, so wonderful to think that we now own our own house... along with about half an acre, and twenty or so trees (including a beautiful magnolia off to the left). I found a patch of strawberries growing on the side of the house, and there's a chipmunk who lives in the backyard and likes to come say hello. How fun to get to know this house, and make friends with it.

We'll do the big move on Saturday, and have been doing a load or two in the car over every evening after work with smaller things like kitchen stuff, clothes, and pictures. I've also been painting the master bedroom... or rather, will paint now that I've finally gotten a good coat of primer over everything. The previous color was a gray/lavender purply color with darker purple trim... and since there is a lot of trim everywhere - floorboards, crown molding, around the window, door, bathroom door, and closet door - it's taken 2-3 coats to generally cover up the darker color. When I finish the walls will be a pale, sunshiny yellow called "spun honey," with very white paint on the trim. It's a smaller room, and I think that will make it feel warm, and peaceful. And most important, it will make it feel like ours! Karl doesn't quite get why we (I) need to paint at all, since the old paint was "perfectly good," but I think it's important for me to make this mine. And it's been fun... and so nice to be there in the quiet house by myself, praying over our lives in that room and that house.

I am VERY thankful that the thyroid medication seems to be helping, since I have a ton more energy than I did a month ago... I don't know how we'd do this if I still felt that tired (painting would probably be out, anyway). I go back to the doctor in two weeks to see where my numbers are, and we'll go from there... we're homeowners!

what life throws at us...

2008-06-05T09:04:00.003-04:00

This is what happens when the weather advisory is saying things like "storms will produce strong damaging winds that may come on quickly" and someone left a random orange traffic cone in a neighboring parking lot. Life here is not boring.

answers

2008-05-08T15:48:00.003-04:00

For almost the past year, Karl and I have been trying to get pregnant, without success. In February and March, we had some tests done to see if we could figure out what was causing the problem, and a month ago we got the answer: I have Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, a form of hypothyroidism where my immune system has attacked my thyroid, and it has stopped producing enough thyroid hormone. Since the thyroid helps regulate metabolism, every cell in the body depends on those thyroid hormones to properly function. When there isn't enough, this causes all kinds of things like chronic fatigue, achiness, difficulty concentrating/memory problems (I've seen this described as "brain fog"; my mom calls it "chemo brain"), and increased susceptibility to getting sick because of a weakened immune system, as well as infertility. I had all those symptoms, but had just assumed it was because we were busy, or had a lot of stress in our lives, or I needed to get more sleep - so I was hugely relieved to have an answer for not only the infertility but all the rest, too! It's really, really exciting for me to think that I might not have to live this way, being tired all the time. It's sobering, since this is a chronic autoimmune disease that will require medication every day for the rest of my life. BUT, it's so very good to have a name for it, and hope for the way ahead.

They did some more bloodwork today, and on Monday or Tuesday I should be able to get the first prescription. It will most likely take several months to find the right dosage, so that means a date with me and a needle every 4-6 weeks until my blood levels are in the normal range. After that, I'll just need to be checked every 6-12 months to make sure the dosage is still working.

One unexpected blessing with all this is the fact that we haven't been able to get pregnant - untreated hypothyroidism can cause impaired cognitive development, greater risk of miscarriage, and other problems for the mother and the baby. Now that I've been diagnosed, we're waiting until my levels are normal before we start that process again, and once I do become pregnant they'll know to check my levels every month and adjust the meds as needed to make sure the baby and I are both healthy. For the last eleven months we've been praying so hard for a baby, and didn't understand why God seemed to be saying, "not yet..." Now it's clear that He was protecting us, and making sure everything was safe for our little one. Yet another example of why I need to remember to trust Him and His timing!

Thanks to everyone who's been praying for me, and for us... I'll keep you posted.

superhero

2008-04-04T16:07:00.001-04:00

All that superhero/sci fi stuff may not be so far off after all... at least that's what this article says. So, anyone for teleportation?

compulsive behavior

2008-03-25T22:17:00.004-04:00

Several months ago Karl was introduced to Craigslist.org, the gigantic online yard sale searchable by item or category or even words like "conversation piece" or "vintage." He immediately began checking for computer games, and we spent multiple evenings after work finding an address where he would trade $20 for a box or bag full of treasures. He thoroughly enjoys the whole process, from finding a good set of games and negotiating a price to exploring different neighborhoods to actually pulling out the games and playing with them. I teased him a lot about his Craigslist addiction... until, with this whole house thing, I got hooked too.

At least once I day I seem to find myself searching for sofas and armchairs, desks, tables, a guest room bed, dining room set, patio chairs, rugs... it's so fun to plan out the different ways I could arrange the new rooms, to think about our life there and the feeling it will have. I usually keep the tabs open for all the pieces I particularly like, leaving them in a row across the top of the screen so I can take them all in at one glance. I like to see what I could buy for $500, or $1,000 - budgeting whether this chair is worth the price, or if it would be better to get that cheaper one and pay more for a bedroom set. I think what's really so great about the whole thing is the sense of possibility, of creativity and treasures waiting to be found. It has been mostly imaginary so far (there is very little room for additional furniture in this apartment) but there is a new coffee table in our living room, and a rug and bench on the porch, and a plant in the dining room.

Karl watches all this and laughs, teasing me when he sees my neat row of finds sitting there on the laptop; but then we both look at each other and smile, understanding.

a marriage of heart and mind

2008-03-24T15:17:00.003-04:00

Falling in love with a house is, I think, a lot like falling in love with a person - there's something there that immediately catches your attention, makes you come in for a closer look. Maybe the appearance, or the character, or just how open and friendly they seem... imperfections or flaws can be endearing, or a welcome challenge. As you get to know them a little better, it's really all the possibilities you see that pull you in. With Karl, it was the way I could imagine him spending time with my family, and interacting with people at a party, and playing with our kids, and working with me on a project... my imagined life with him just fit, and the reality has proved even better.

We're now in the negotiations phase of our house hunting process - a phase made slightly more difficult by the fact that I've fallen in love with this house (more info when - if! - we actually have a contract). Karl loves it too, but in a more rational, thought-out way; mine is an instinct-driven, impression-based, emotional, visceral, powerful love. At this point, not only is it hard for me to imagine us in any other house (certainly not any of the others we've seen), it's also painful for me to imagine anyone else in this one. And that doesn't exactly make for a hard-nosed negotiating position. Karl keeps whispering "poker face, poker face!" to me under his breath whenever we're interacting with our realtor, or having anything to do with the sellers, and I do try... not for nothing was I an actress! We've both been praying over this decision, and the house that we do eventually get, quite a bit - and I really do believe that God has His hand on this process for us. I also know, though, that He needs me to be willing to give up this house if it's not the one for us... and most of the time, I know I can.

My parents used to get very worried whenever I'd get my heart firmly and unshakeably set on something as inevitably there would be disappointment, and tears. One Christmas when I was about three, my answer to the "what do you want for Christmas?" question was invariably "A candy cane!" My parents, knowing already the force of my stubborn will, went out and found the biggest candy cane they could - it was a solid stick probably as big around as my little arm. I was absolutely delighted Christmas morning, until I got the wrapping off and took a lick - somehow I'd had an idea in my head of what a candy cane would taste like, and this was NOT it! I have gotten better with this, and do try to check myself, but my first tendency is always to let my emotions run away with me, to immediately start imagining whatever situation playing out perfectly, perhaps with a delightful surprise or two, and maybe a little underlying music swelling up at key moments, as if I lived in a movie (which happened to be another dream of mine. A musical, of course). Mom and Dad used to dread birthdays and Christmases, since the picture in my head would rarely be matched by the actual day. Karl's learned this lesson too, and his calm, collected rational logic goes a long way in balancing my soaring, hopeful dreams.

For now, I'm just hoping that this is OUR house, and that some of those dreams of mine can become reality there. If not, well... Karl may need to deal with the tears, that's all.

house-hunting

2008-02-29T10:27:00.003-05:00

Karl and I are currently in the middle of the whole "house-hunting/becoming-home-owners/achieving-the-American-Dream" process. It's been alternatively exciting and discouraging, stressful and fun, and a new perspective on the many differences between the two of us and how we do things. Karl likes to have all the facts laid out first: price, exact location, miles to work, number of bedrooms/bathrooms, parking, etc. Then and ONLY then does he look at aesthetics, and he never, ever considers how the house "makes him feel." My technique tends to start with the feeling a place gives me, moving immediately on to mentally arranging all my furniture, painting walls and hanging pictures. Then I re-evaluate how my menally decorated house makes me feel, and imagine daily life there. Karl just shakes his head when he sees me doing this, and worries that my mental furniture arranging means I've fallen in love with a particular house and will be heartbroken if we don't end up buying it. In reality, though, it's just my way of measuring the livability of a place, and getting the most fun possible out of this process.

I've always loved open houses, home tours, visiting someone's house for the first time, or just looking in lighted windows at night to catch a glimpse of a room. I have stacks of pictures and ideas clipped from home decorating magazines starting from when I was ten or so, and somewhere a pile of graph paper with painstakingly drawn house plans (usually with at least five bedrooms, a "theater room," a library, and a guest house). Growing up, I'd rearrange the furniture in my room about every six months or so; usually starting, for some unknown reason, late at night. For me, all these possibilities are almost as exciting as the idea of actually finding our first home. I've been spending some time on craigslist seeing how much furniture I could buy for $500 or less, and trying out various arrangments in my head. There's a lot of no-nonsense practicality in it, too - from the lists of "must-haves" and "would likes" I wrote out for our realtor to my need to know that a house is livable.

We've been looking in DC itself (around the Capitol Hill area), and in a few little communities just outside the District. Karl grew up in the middle of the city in Philadelphia, so he's very comfortable with the row homes, tiny (or non-existent) yards, walking and urban feel. I've never really lived in a city, so there's a lot for me to wrap my brain around when we consider those options. Houses outside the city give Karl more to think about, especially the idea of lawn care and what that entails. We're not sure where we'll end up yet, but we're both really excited about all the possibilities... and the idea that we'll be in our own house in another two months or so. Owning a house - it feels like such a big, grown-up step to take! And it's just a short mental step from there for me to imagine babies, and family visiting, and parties with our friends, and a garden, and a dog... I think I see exactly why home-ownership has always been such a big part of the "American Dream."

kindred spirits

2008-02-12T18:50:00.001-05:00

You know when you meet someone and immediately "click" with them? As if you've known them for years, even if you've only just said hello. Something in you recognizes something in them, and your very soul rises up to meet theirs? L.M. Montgomery called these people "kindred spirits," and finding one is a true joy. I've written before about how difficult it can be for me to make friends - this is something I've struggled with all my life, questioning whether there isn't a flaw in my own character that makes it so difficult for me to really connect with people. This is difficult for me, an odd mixture of shyness, a desperate need to be liked and that basic extroverted demand for social contact to recharge me. In marriage, I have found a best friend and playmate who meets so many of those needs, but I still find myself longing for girlfriends and other social interaction.

Since Karl and I moved to DC, we've spent a lot of time looking for a church home - trying each church for several months before ultimately deciding it wasn't the right place for us, and moving to the next. Both of us have been frustrated with this, and wanting greatly to find where God wanted us to be. Within the last two months, we've found ourselves suddenly a part of a "church plant" in the local area, currently made up of about twenty folks. Sundays have become one long playtime, with lunch together and church services and often boardgames or talking until late at night. All of a sudden, we have friends to share with, talk to, cry with, and plan outings and activities with... it is exactly what I believe was meant in Acts 2, and what Christian community should look like.

I struggle occasionally with doubt and despair, and with the weight of my burdens every day - having kindred spirits surrounding me now gives me strength, and peace, and hope for where we are now and where God is taking us. Even being so far from family now doesn't hurt quite as sharply as it did just eight weeks ago. Thank God for answered prayers!

*As a side note, I am writing this from just outside LA where I'm putting on a conference for work, and one of the attendees - whom I'd never met before - just struck up a conversation with me that sequed seamlessly into a discussion of Christ in marriage, church planting, and spiritual growth. Neither of us know each other, neither of us said anything outright to indicate our spiritual state, but somehow... we just knew. Family, recognizing family. I just LOVE that.

Rest

2008-01-16T11:20:00.000-05:00

Something I need to be reminded of:

God built rest into the very rhythm of creation. Keeping a day of rest made
His top-10 list. And believe it or not, rest serves a purpose -- a divine
purpose. It reminds us that God is in control. What happens when you cannot
finish everything that you think you need to get done and your body is
telling you, "you have to go to sleep"? You are thrown into a situation
in which you must depend on God.

Rest reminds us that there is Someone we can rest in. And our need for
rest is a daily reminder that we are finite creatures and must trust in an
infinite God.
- Mark Earley, Breakpoint 1.16.08

I've always been, as Karl says, a "champion sleeper." If I let my body dictate things, I'd be sleeping for 9 or 10 hours a night... and if I go for too long on less than 7 hours a night, I start to get really grumpy. It's definitely not fun (for me or those around me!).

I read recently about a sleep study done where participants were told to get lots of exposure to natural light, use no artificial means of waking up (i.e. alarm clocks, etc.), and go to sleep and get up as their body demands. The average person ended up sleeping something like 10-11 hours a night for almost three weeks while their body recovered, then they fell into a natural rhythm of 7-8 hours a night. We're just so driven today, and since most of us spend all day in our houses or offices or stores or restaurants or driving from one to the other, we're just not used to matching that day/night rhythm.

In my head I know I should go to bed earlier - the getting up part is pretty inflexible, since I have a job to be at by a certain time - but by the time we're both home from work, dinner is made and eaten and the dishes cleaned up, the time seems so precious. We need that time to either spend together watching a movie or talking, or in "de-stress" mode (him at the computer, me with my book), and after an hour or two it's past ten and time to start the pre-bed rituals. It's hard to find ways to get the sleep we need without shortening that time together too much, or totally ignoring all the little things that pile up around the house to do.

Perhaps thinking about it in terms of trusting God rather than "just a little later" will help... it does put it into perspective.

Ponderings

2008-01-04T16:16:00.000-05:00

"When we lack proper time for the simple pleasures of life, for the enjoyment of
eating, drinking, playing, creating, visiting friends, and watching children at
play, then we have missed the purpose of life. Not on bread alone do we live,
but on all these human and heart-hungry luxuries." - Ed Hayes

I like this quote. I've been thinking a lot lately about priorities, where my time goes, and what really matters, and I've come to exactly the same conclusions as Mr. Hayes. It's so easy to get caught up in schedules and goals and projects... or even lose track of the days in laundry and errands and watching TV. "Heart-hungry" is exactly what I feel right now - hungry for dear friends to sit and talk with, hungry for more of a connection to the passing of the seasons than I feel now in my city apartment, hungry for children.

Growing up as an Army brat I've gotten used to moving every few years, and there are many things about that lifestyle I love, like the chance to rearrange furniture and the necessity of regularly purging things you don't want to pack. But the best part was exploring a new place with my family - my brother, Peter, especially was my comrade , and our family ambassador to all the neighbors. (He used to walk house to house to knock on doors and introduce himself, "Hi, my name is Peter and I'm five years old. I just moved into that house over there. Do you have any kids here to play with?" and report back to me where likely playmates lived. My parents were usually known as "Peter's parents" for several weeks before they made their own inroads.) No matter how uncertain the changes were, or how unfamiliar the community, we always had each other. My parents were great about making family the top priority for us, and it affected how I handled each move.

In the Air Force myself, I moved alone - and that was harder. Each new location meant starting completely over again to develop some kind of support network or social group. It helped that I could get involved with a local Bible study, but I still usually had about six months where I ached for someone who really knew me, and loved me. Karl and I lived in separate states for nearly all of our courtship and engagement, and the first four months of our marriage, so he wasn't there to make the moves any easier then. What did help was regular trips home to Colorado, where I could be with family and people who did love me. I went home whenever I could schedule the vacation time.

Married life has given me a best friend to move with, an immediate partner to go to the movies, or out to dinner, or just exploring. Karl is wonderful for this, and I am so glad we were best friends before we fell in love. And being on the east coast has also meant that we're only a couple hours from Karl's family. That's been really wonderful - to be able to drive up to Pennsylvania for the weekend to see his brother, Eric, and his wife Meala, or his mom. We were there when our niece Macey was born last month, and are excited about being able to be close to her as she grows. But as close as we are now to my in-laws, we're farther than I've ever been from my family. And now there's a pull in another direction for holidays or vacations.

I'm not sure yet how I bring back more of a sense of balance to my life... but I know I need to find out. I'm heart-hungry for balance, for those "simple pleasures," for renewed creativity, for a sense of peace and contentment.

"Not on bread alone..." Maybe I'll start in where that phrase began.

Happy 2008!

2008-01-02T16:15:00.000-05:00

Well Happy New Year, everyone. I can't believe how fast the time flies between Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's Eve - of course, a few work trips, the birth of our new niece Macey, various social and work obligations and parties didn't slow things down any, either.

One of my New Year's Resolutions is to write more often, and I'm hoping this blog will provide an easy way for me to do that. So keep me honest, please.

More to come... for now, I'll leave you with the thought-provoking tidbit that my darling husband has informed me his name can be rearranged to spell several interesting word combinations - his favorites are "Dark Truck Howl" and "Wrath Luck Dork." Hmm. What ever did I do without him?

Happy 2008 - may this next year bring peace, laughter, time with family and friends, emotional, spiritual and physical growth and both long-awaited and unexpected blessings.

Thankful

2007-11-27T15:16:00.000-05:00

A little late for the usual Thanksgiving musings, but still... here are some things I am especially thankful for this year:

Cold morning weather to encourage snuggling under the covers with Karl
Living so close to my brother- and sister-in-law that I get to really be part of the anticipation of our new little niece (who should be arriving within the next few weeks!)
All those gorgeous colors on the trees here on the east coast! How have I ever lived without such splendor!
Lovely little twinkle lights up and down King Street in Old Town Alexandria - delightful and charming
Finding new friends out there in the cybersphere, being inspired and encouraged from across the world
The strength of old friendships with friends dear but not-so-near
Memories from my New England adventure with Mom, and the promise of another trip in the future
Hopes of a baby
Friendly neighbors don't speak English all that well but who collect our papers while we're out of town and smile when they see us
Reconnecting with an old friend, and finding a wonderful new mentoring relationship
Sisters who make me laugh, and who make me VERY proud
My brother being in Israel instead of Iraq

These are just a few. There are definitely challenges in my life right now, but overall I am so thankful for everything God has blessed us with, and excited to face the future. May you have more blessings than you can count this year!

confusion

2007-09-25T09:50:00.001-04:00

A conversation Karl had recently with a co-worker:

K: So, Rob, at what point in a marriage do you completely understand your wife, knowing what she means and why she does things? Year two? It's year two, isn't it?

R: Yeah, Karl. Year two.

K: That's what I thought.

trip

2007-09-16T21:17:00.001-04:00

I'm writing this from Concord, Massachusetts, where we're indulging in our one "splurge night" hotel. After last night, the beautiful surroundings are very appreciated! But first things first...

Maine was beautiful. After we landed in Portland, we rented our car and drove up the coast to Freeport. Mom had read about a little old-fashioned "motor lodge" with individual cabins called the Maine Idyll Motor Inn, so we went there first to try and get a cabin. When we pulled in the "no vacancy" sign was on, but something told me we should at least ask, so we parked the car and went into the office. Tracy, who was running the desk, told us they had been sold out for months (a wedding party had rented the entire place) but she'd just discovered one couple's names down for two different cabins, and if we wanted to wait a few minutes while she solved the mystery, we might be in luck. We waited, she solved, and after about twenty minutes of phone calls and Tracy running out to check both cabins while we chatted with the owner (grandson of the man who had built the place in 1923), we had the key to Cabin 11 and a warm welcome. The place reminded me of all the little motor inns from "It Happened One Night" with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert; there was romance and adventure and charm everywhere. I especially loved the poems written by an ancestress of the owner and Friends minister tacked on the walls of the cabin, lovely little old-fashioned verses about family and friends and trusting in God. We lit a fire, made hot chocolate on the little hot plate and popcorn in the microwave, and sat up talking until very late. It was a wonderful start to the adventure.

The second day we left Freeport to drive up to Bar Harbor and see Acadia National Park on Mt Desert Island. Seeing how connected most people there are to the ocean was fascinating - from the boats at almost every house to the lobster "pounds" by the side of the road, there was an absolute sense of being aware of the rhythms of the season and the sea. There is something so valuable in such a life - I think maybe it makes you more consciously aware of a dependence on God, and on our connection to the earth. I feel the need for more of this connection in my own life, which is what makes me long for a garden to grow my own herbs and vegetables, or a place to walk away from buildings and city where the small, subtle changes of each week and month can be noticed and celebrated as the year goes on. Acadia was majestic and rugged, proud and beautiful. It was gray and 0vercast, which actually made it all feel somewhat mystical. The fog kept descending lower and lower as we made our way around the island, and when we stopped for tea and popovers at Jordan Pond, it was hard to see much beyond the green of the trees. We felt almost as if we had found our way into an enchanted forest, that there was something wild and magical around us. We stayed in another small cottage that night, right on the shore where we watched the tide come in and go out.

The third day we intended to drive across the state line to the New Hampshire lakes region, staying in one of the little towns around Lake Winnipesauke or Squam Lake. It rained the entire way there, which always makes driving a little more stressful, and when we got there we realized that the guidebook description of "quaint little town" really meant "TINY little town." Nothing jumped out at us for a place to stay, so we kept driving... and eventually decided to head down to Concord, NH. By the time we got there it was early evening, and we soon found out that a NASCAR race was only a few miles away and every hotel for quite a ways was completely full. We kept driving south, eventually deciding to head to Portsmouth. There was nothing available anywhere we checked (in addition to the car race, there was a bike race, a car show, and the beginnings of fall foliage season we were unwittingly competing with). At nearly ten o'clock, we saw a little motor court with a vacancy sign, pulled in, and grabbed one of two remaining rooms. The place was probably built in the '50s, and I'm sure the mattresses hadn't been replaced since then (along with most of the other furniture). Everything had that funny smell you find where old people live, the heat didn't work, and we were sharing the room with at least two fairly impressive spider webs. It was NOT the best night's sleep I've ever had.

This morning we headed out to explore Portsmouth, and did a self-paced walking tour of the downtown and waterfront area. We had breakfast at a a quirky, creative and very delicious place called "Friendly Toast," where we shared pumpkin pancakes and scrambled eggs with feta, spinach, sun-dried tomatoes and kalamata olives. As we were walking around they were setting up for the bike race; we were too early for the adult competitive race but did get to see the kids racing - there were a couple who were really determined and pedaling their little legs as fast as they could, and it was fun to cheer them all on. We drove down to Hampton Beach, which is a 1940's era seaside amusement center, with fried dough (or "fried doe," according to the signs) stands, arcade games, sand and ramshackle summer rentals on the ocean. It was so easy to imagine sailors from the nearby Porstmouth Naval facility taking their current sweethearts out for a good time on the boardwalk, buying corndogs and ice slush drinks and winning stuffed animals or having their fortunes told.

We left New Hampshire and drove down to Concord, Massachusetts this afternoon, getting a room at the Colonial Inn, built in 1716 and where Thoreau, FDR, J.P. Morgan, and others have stayed. We used the late afternoon sunlight to explore Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, looking at the graves on "Author's Ridge" and in the other corners of the hill-covered place. We're looking forward to sleeping in our pretty little room tonight, which feels safe and warm compared to last night. Tomorrow we'll head out to see the other sights here in Concord and nearby Lexington, before driving down for a day or so in Cape Cod and then circling up to Boston. So far, it's been a great adventure -it's been so good to have the time to talk and just be together. I love New England, and keep talking about future vacations here, or eventual retirement locations, or places to move to when I make it as a writer and can live anywhere I want. It's beautiful, and seems to be calling to something in my heart... and seeing all this with Mom has been just perfect.

vip treatment

2007-09-12T16:19:00.000-04:00

Right now I'm sitting in my office looking out the window at the sun shining on the leaves of the tree outside, and my mother is in an airplane on her way here. She should land in less than an hour, and we'll start our trip tomorrow morning. Yesterday I went through my usual pre-visitor frenzied cleaning session, while my patient husband calmly asked for instructions and helped wherever needed (even if he doesn't get the purpose of such a ritual). It took a while, but I made it through my whole list - moving some boxes and random things-we're-keeping-but-have-no-space-for into the tiny storage bin we rent, washing and folding a load of laundry, making that wonderful Barefoot Contessa Chinese Chicken Salad for dinner tonight, dusting, vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom and kitchen, getting the guest room/"Karl's Cave" ready for Mom, and all the other general straightening up and organizing that needed to be done. Karl complimented me today on being "less crazy" than usual, and I know what he meant: most of our guests are there to see us and spend time together, not to inspect my house. Making myself (and him) crazy by stressing over getting every detail perfect isn't really a good trade-off. As I've thought about it, though, I've decided that cleaning and preparing everything like I do is my way of saying "I love you, and I'm so glad you're here. You're important to me." It's a way of showing respect, and of doing what I can to make guests feel welcomed. And for me, that's worth all the beforehand preparation. (Although I will try to minimize the pain and aggravation for Karl.)

journey

2007-09-10T09:43:00.000-04:00

In three days, my mom and I will be hitting the road for a long-awaited adventure together. We'd originally planned to go to England - a place she's never been and always wanted to visit, but with the flooding there and her doctors' concerns about the long plane ride and her being so far away, we decided to make it New England instead. Neither of us have ever spent much time in that part of the country, and the beginnings of autumn seem the perfect time to go (I'm hoping for some of that famous color). We're leaving Thursday to fly into Portland, Maine, then renting a car and driving around through Maine, New Hampshire, and down into Massachusetts, spending a few days in Boston before taking the train back to D.C next Friday. We're planning to go hiking, eat good food, explore the coastline and countryside, shop (or at least window shop), maybe see a show, take lots of pictures and talk even more.

My mom has been my best friend my whole life. Even in the midst of teenage angst and drama, she was my sounding board, my touch stone, and my confidante. I'm not sure if it's because I'm the oldest (and therefore the closest thing to adult companionship she had while at home with all of us), or if it's because her own mom lost her battle with breast cancer when Mom was 16, or if it's just how well our personalities seem to mesh and compliment each other, but our relationship has always been something special. In high school, she became a speech and debate judge when I was competing, so we'd travel together to and from meets all across the state - it got to the point where the entire team called her "Mom" and looked for her encouragement and support, but I was the one who would quietly make my way up to her seat at the front of the bus on the way home to lean my head on her shoulder and talk about the day. When our interest in sign language and interpreting grew, she and I decided to begin an associate's degree program in interpreter preparation at the local community college, attending evening classes during my senior year of high school and then moving to full-time the next year. The rest of the students in the class nick-named us "twin" (me) and "twin-mom" (her) because of how much we were together. The hardest thing for me about growing up and flying away from home has been being far away from her. Especially now.

For the last three years, my mother has been battling ovarian cancer. She's just completing her second round of chemotherapy (after a period of remission) and the doctors are optimistic about "controlling" it for the near future - but there's an aspect of uncertainty about the future in these post-diagnosis days that may have always been there, but is now undeniable, constant, forceful. It's such a strange thing... even when I'm not consciously thinking about the disease, or what's happening, or what may lie ahead, it's still there somehow in the back of my thoughts. This shouldn't have been such a drastic change for me - really, we never know what the future has for us, what God has planned, how things will work out or when or why - all we can do is hold on to Him and believe in His love. But nothing had smashed into my world before this to make me so aware of that. The blessing this cancer has given me is a consciousness about what is valuable and precious, and a sense of gratitude for every day we have. It's forced me to trust God more, to hold on even tighter to those promises. And it's shown me just how dear my mother is to me.

These next two weeks are about making memories, about talking and sharing and spending time with each other. About affirmation and love, family and friendship. And about hope.

2007-08-27T16:11:00.000-04:00

An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered.

- G.K. Chesterton

lovebirds

2007-08-21T16:08:00.000-04:00

Although Karl and I were married in April of 2006, it was August before we were actually living in the same city (I still had a few months to serve in the Air Force before I could move out to Alabama, where he was living, so we continued our long-distance marathon for a while). So, although we officially celebrated our one year anniversary in April, this month marks one year of actually sharing a house together.

I have to admit, this has been an adjustment for me. I'd lived the last four years completely on my own, the sole decision maker when it came to where things go, what to buy, whether to make the bed or not, and how to order my life. In many ways, I still am - Karl doesn't seem to really notice clutter or mess unless it somehow disrupts his life ("Where are all the coffee mugs? Aren't there any clean coffee mugs?") - but it's gotten much more complicated now that there's this OTHER PERSON in my home messing things up and leaving clothes and papers everywhere. I've had to adjust some standards, and learn to give him space to let things pile - the reason our spare bedroom is commonly known as "Karl's Cave". One of his quirkier tendencies is to leave almost all the kitchen cabinets open after he's been in there. I'm not sure what the reasoning is for this, but I can always tell if he's been in there before me. It bothered me a little until I heard a great word of advice: whenever I see those open cabinets (or the socks on the bedroom floor, or papers laid out over every flat surface) I just use it to remind myself how glad I am to have this man in my world, and to be building a home with him. All those annoying things are really just signs marking his presence in my life, and reminding me to say a little prayer thanking God for my cabinet-opening man.

In the last year we've had six different mailing addresses between the two of us, made it through an extremely tough move without the help of any friendly government-contracted moving men (a first for me), started new jobs, began putting down tiny roots in our new state, helped each other with frustrations and disappointments and successes, and learned a lot about communication and cooperation. Now I can't imagine my life without him, and I'm so excited to see what the next years bring! Happy one year TOGETHER, Karl.

kindred spirits

2007-08-08T14:34:00.000-04:00

It's always been tough for me to make friends - at least the really good kind, the kind you can call up in tears who will listen and encourage, the kind you can be completely silly with, the kind you can really talk to about hopes and dreams and life. I'm not sure if I have such a hard time because of how much I've moved over the years, if I'm too selective about the people I allow to get close, or if it's just something instinctual in me that maintains that reserve so much. Every once in a while, though, someone comes along and it seems like I've known them forever... something in me recognizes something in them, and we're immediately connected. These special people stay in my life no matter how far away I move, or how often we talk - they are each such a gift.

When I was ten, it was my friend Christina. She was also the oldest of a homeschooling family, and she, I and our brothers used to play very involved games of capture the flag or pioneers. We met on an historic tour where the costumed guide made a speech about her 18-inch waist (which she clearly didn't have), and Christina and I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to suck in our own little stomachs and check our measurements with my mom's measuring tape. She and I wrote plays and songs together, crafted dolls, rode horses, drew plans for our dream houses and wrote out lists of what we would name all our children. Christina always seemed so comfortable with who she was, so at ease in her own skin and with her life that I felt free to also be myself.

In high school it was Katie - we sat next to each other in gym class that first day of freshman year, and all day no one could remember who was Katie and who was Kristin. After that, we were inseparable. We invented private names for people around us, wrote notes in our own code, whispered secrets between classes and sang a duet in the talent show. Katie was creative, talented and smart, and made it okay for me to be my best, too.

I met Ronda at my first duty station with the Air Force as a young lieutenant. She was a pilot and had a lot more experience than me, and she became a mentor as I tried to navigate leadership as a young officer, military rules and regulations, and a whole lot of questions about guys, kids, and womanhood. She is amazingly creative and executes every project with the same precision she demonstrated as an officer - her frosted sugar cookies are a work of art, and when she made the cakes at my wedding they were the talk of the reception.

I get to see Ronda this weekend - a work trip is taking me to the city she and her husband are living in, and I'm staying over a few extra days. I can't wait to see her, to talk, to catch up, and to just enjoy being with one of these special ladies. Somehow having just one friend like her makes up for not having fistfuls of other girlfriends around me all the time.

visitors!

2007-08-02T15:55:00.000-04:00

Karl's gearing up for Girl OVERLOAD this weekend: my youngest sister Susan and her best friend Nicole (and hence my adopted sister) are stopping here for a few days on their Great Road Trip of 2007 journey - we hope. They're driving down from New Hampshire today in Nicole's old boat of a car, and are at a garage waiting on repairs at the moment in some town in Connecticut. Hopefully it'll be fixed soon, but knowing these two it's all part of the Adventure of it all.

Susan and Nicole are both very vivacious, outgoing, talkative girls on their own, but put them together and you get that peppy, frenetic, joyful conversation multiplied, with LOTS of exclamation marks. It can be overwhelming for the uninitiated, but I think it's great to have them around. Sue is the kind of girl who makes friends as easily as most people breathe in and out, and seems to effortlessly make everyone around her feel like they're involved in some great adventure. She was Homecoming Queen and on Student Council in high school, has about a million friends on Facebook and MySpace, and is absolutely beautiful. Nicole is her blonde twin, and together they're a riot. They spent three months together this spring in Uganda working in an orphanage, and I can't wait to hear the stories.

Karl's thrilled to see them too, although the big drawback about female guests for him is that he can't walk around in his boxer shorts for a few days. He also has to expend more energy convincing me that no, we don't need to clean all the grout with a toothbrush just because someone besides the two of us will be in the apartment (I get a little crazy about cleaning for company). We've got plans to go walk around the monuments and memorials, eat Ethiopian food in honor of Susan's birthday (twenty!) and take lots of pictures.

The one thing I miss more than any other living on the east coast is how far away from my family I am - I can't wait to see these two.

uninvited visitor

2007-07-30T16:29:00.000-04:00

This weekend as Karl and I were starting our Saturday by lounging around in our pajamas and eating cereal, I noticed what looked like stuffing from the couch on the floor. We started pulling cushions off, and realized with horror that there was a small hole apparently gnawed into the bottom of the seat... and a corresponding little hole in the corner by the patio door. Yikes. We called the apartment management folks, who promised someone would come out "by Monday at the latest."

Rodents give me the creeps in a special, particular way: when I was ten and we were living in Germany next to some farmland, a large rat managed to chew its way through one of the window sills and take up residence in our kitchen and dining room. My mom, wanting to impress upon her young children the dangers such rodents could pose, assigned us to research and write a report on rats, particularly the diseases they carry and their threat to humans, as part of our homeschooling. Do you have any idea how many horrible-sounding diseases you can catch from a rat? I don't think I slept well for a week - even after I made my sister share the top bunk of the bunk bed with me. (There was no WAY I was sleeping on the bottom, that close to the floor - rats can climb!)

I'm hoping our particular situation will be resolved soon, but in the meantime neither Karl nor I will sit on the couch until I can clean the cushions. Not even seeing "Ratatouille" can convince me that rodents are our friends.

heels

2007-07-26T16:27:00.000-04:00

Since I hit 5'8" when I was about twelve (and added another half inch in the next couple of years), for a long time I was very hesitant to wear any shoes that added to my seemingly freakish height. I stuck to flats, even going through a phase where I switched out my shoes for ballet slippers (the flattest things I could find besides just socks) every day at high school. I felt like somehow I was sized incorrectly, especially beside some of my tiny, petite friends. It didn't help that I'm somewhat of a klutz and can't seem to go more than a day or so without running into, dropping or spilling something. As a teenager, I felt like this Amazon woman towering over everyone and breaking things - not exactly the graceful, beautiful girl I so wanted to be.

At some point, though, I figured out that there's actually a certain amount of power in being tall. People seem to respect you more, listen to you better, and pay attention to you. I remember the first time I dared to wear heels higher than an inch or so - it was actually fun to get the attention, and unbelievably exhilarating to finally start to feel comfortable in my skin. I now routinely wear high heels to work, to church, and especially for fancy evenings out, and I love feeling so feminine, confident and... well, tall. And the best part is that since I married a man who's over 6'2" I can strap on those 3 inch heels and still feel small and protected next to him. And THAT is just about perfect.

homecoming

2007-07-23T14:06:00.000-04:00

What is it that makes some landscapes just feel like "home" so much? I grew up moving all over as an Army brat, and didn't even live in Colorado until I was in high school, but somehow the mountains always calm a part of me that nothing else does - it's like returning to a place that has some sort of hold on me. I don't know if this is because the Colorado mountains were always home to my dad, a part of his conversations and the destination for our family vacations, or if it's something innate in me. I read once that there's a certain age growing up where your surroundings are embedded into your subconscious as what "home" will always mean for you, be that prairie or forest, city or seacoast, mountains or desert or valley. As much as I love the wildness of the ocean, the mysteries of the forest or the glory of the plains, it's the mountains that hold my heart.

learning my lesson

2007-07-23T13:49:00.000-04:00

So can anyone guess what happened with our luggage flying into Colorado? Yep, that's right - lost. Since we were driving from the Springs (Colorado Springs, for those of you non-natives) up to the mountains, we didn't want to trust the airlines to deliver the suitcase (a process that would have invovled transfering it to another airline, flying it to Denver, transfering it back to the orignial guys and then to a delivery service to drive up into the mountains to the YMCA of the Rockies and, hopefully, get it to the right lodge where someone could accept it since we were in the campground... you can make your own assumptions about the likelihood of us ever seeing our things again if we went this route) and so decided to stick around for the extra half-day until it came in on the next flight. Any guesses whether or not it did in fact come in? Right again - no suitcase, and now we'd spent half a day of our very limited reunion time. Karl and I rolled our eyes, drove to Target, split up to grab crucial items like underwear, shorts, t-shirts, toothbrushes and mascara, then jumped in the car to drive the 3.5 hours up to Winter Park.

The great part was getting to spend time with my sisters, and my brother Peter who came home from Iraq a week early. He'd e-mailed me beforehand about the possibility, but no one else except for my Grandma knew - one of the best parts of the reunion was watching my mom's face when she saw him walk in. It was so good to see him, and spend some time with him! Overall, great reunion: the mountains were beautiful, it was fun to see all my cousins' little kiddos, and catch up with people I don't see often enough. There's something about family - you gotta love 'em.

And in case you were wondering, the suitcase made it home with us.

family reunion

2007-07-17T09:09:00.001-04:00

Every three years, my dad's family gets together for a reunion up in the Colorado mountains - since he was one of eight kids, this gets to be quite a crowd. I have something along the lines of 26 first cousins - not counting cousins' spouses, kids (first cousins once removed? Second cousins?) or miscellaneous pets.

Since our wedding was fairly small, this will be the first time for Karl to meet a good portion of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. He's not sure if he's excited, nervous, or just resigned to three days of small talk, goofy jokes, and trying to remember names. As one way of providing a bit of a buffer, we've decided to camp nearby instead of staying in the lodge with everyone else. This lets us babysit my sister's puppy - which also gives Karl the perfect get-away excuse: "Sorry, I'd love to stay, but the puppy needs someone to go check on her/walk her/feed her." Should work beautifully.

We fly out tonight, and I've been trying to calculate the odds of my bag being lost for the third time in two weeks...

irony

2007-07-17T09:04:00.000-04:00

After all my talk about learning my lesson and packing necessities in my carry-on, I failed to actually follow through for my flight home... and of course, my bag was lost again. Fortunately, my husband is sweet enough not to mind the mascara-less version of me, and since I managed to catch a horrific cold on the way home that knocked me out for a few days, I didn't care much either.

first impressions

2007-07-12T15:42:00.000-04:00

Being the obsessive planner that I am, there's always a nagging little voice that cautions me to pack some "necessities" (i.e. clean underwear, deodorant, toothbrush/toothpaste and mascara) when flying, just in case they lose my luggage. Being the optimist that I am, I usually ignore that little voice. This week I'm re-thinking that policy.

On my way to Oklahoma City for a workshop I'm running I ended up checking every box on the "Frustrating Things that Can Happen to Delay, Complicate or Hinder Your Travel Plans" checklist. Stuck in the plane for two hours on the tarmack in a massive thunderstorm waiting for weather to clear up so we can take off? Check. Missing the time for my connecting plane? Check. Finding out the connection was also delayed due to weather, going to that gate, realizing the gate had switched to a totally different terminal, finding the new gate and waiting another hour before hearing the announcement that the flight is cancelled? Check. Spending an hour and a half in line waiting to re-book? Check. Realizing that all along I had been re-booked automatically and could have just gone to the mysterious, unlabeled machine sitting ten feet from me and printed a new boarding pass? Check. New, re-booked plane being delayed an hour and a half (making the total time spent in this second airport nearly 6 hours)? Check. Finally arriving at my destination, only to spend forty minutes watching every single piece of luggage wobble by on the conveyer belt - except mine? Check. Standing in line for another twenty minutes to file a claim? Check. Being assured that my bag would arrive "on the next flight, or at the latest early tomorrow morning," and that the delivery service would bring it to my hotel right away? Check. Finding out that the delivery service collected my bag by 7am, yet not getting it until after 3pm? Check.

I can certainly understand all the weather delays (after all, I don't particularly want to be flying in a massive thunderstorm, anyway), but losing my bag meant not only that I didn't have the projector needed for the presentations, but that I'd have to welcome 33 workshop attendees wearing the sandals, jean skirt and t-shirt I wore on the plane, with washed but otherwise unstyled hair, and (gasp!) no make-up. I'm not kidding when I say that mascara is critical to my sense of peace with the world, so this last bit was particularly horrifying.

I'm not sure how I came across to all these folks, but it wasn't exactly the professional, suit-wearing, put-together image I wanted. And, once my suitcase did arrive and I snuck upstairs to change and remedy the lack of mascara, I noticed a definite difference in their interaction with me. Isn't it funny how first impressions are formed? Karl teases me for caring so much about what I wear, even changing clothes multiple times in the morning because "it just didn't feel right," but it's so clear to me that it does make a difference.

Next time I pay attention to the little voice. At least about the mascara.