around these parts

 

 

 

1. on the way to study scripture by the lake. pablo had just woken up, so excuse his bedhead.
2.  springtime, everyone loves you already. you can stop showing off now. 
3. hotel room in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of nowhere, north carolina. getting ready to see a community play that ended up blowing us away.
4. one of many pit stops on the way home this weekend. cliffs of the neuse state park. a playground in the fifties, it sits empty in these cool spring months. perfect for frolicking and wasting time.

i love weekends, and getaways. and weekend getaways. life is moving slow these days, and that's good by me.

waiting for one day

i have an old leather journal my friend brought back from italy my senior year of high school.

i wrote john mayer lyrics in it at first, then sonnets from that shakespeare class i took my first year of college. when the dogwoods were enchanting and every walk to that old brick building was pretty. then, somewhere in that span of time after college and before now, i wrote a quote along the lines of "everything will be okay in the end. if it isn't okay, it isn't the end." i thought it was the sweetest thought. such optimism!

but as i was making the bed yesterday morning, i thought about that. waiting for the end. waiting until that day when it's all okay. when i don't stammer or when my grandfather isn't sick anymore. holding out for a change in course, a veer to the right that will straighten out to a direct path of delightfulness. not death, mind you. just a moment when that challenge is over. a sunny weekend morning when nothing is on our plate or hanging over our shoulders.

but what about the in-between? the moments of struggle and perseverance. the late nights and early morning prayers. the search. those are beautiful too and they might slip by if we discount them as time spent reaching toward the "end." the time when we can rest. collapse into an overstuffed arm chair, content. i spent so much time last night wrapping up my homework so i could relax. so i could sit on the couch and watch my strange addiction and veg out for a minute.

i worked so hard it was almost midnight before i looked up. or rather, looked down. pablo had been lying on the hard wood floor with a toy in his mouth the entire time. waiting to play. i reached down to pick up the little stuffed elephant and threw it across the hall, yelling fetch. the tired pup just dragged his sleepy self to bed.

it's okay now. it's gorgeous now. and if it's not, time will reveal that maybe the hard part was the beautiful part of it, after all. chalk it up to my impatience and inability to wait, but this isn't one-day. it's monday and it's waiting on me.

on saying yes

 

 via

if involves a corner booth, in that pocket of morning before the world awakes, with a hot mug of coffee against your lips, say yes.

if there's a meadow, with wildflowers shin high and queen anne's lace and renegade weeds, on the side of an old county road and no cars for miles and it's time to stretch your legs and he grabs your hand to dance, say yes.

if there is a sliver of sun against the clean carpet, in that spot beneath the living room window, and your dog is stretched out inside it inviting you to lay there and rest, say yes.

if you're leaning against his car and the stars are parading around the ceiling of night and he tells you those three words that every date, phone call and late night movie have slowly, steadily been inching toward, and he asks you back, when you feel it in your gut, say yes.

say yes to sleeping late on saturday when the windows are open and there is nothing on the calendar until supper, to getting on your knees in the dead of night when your household is asleep and asking the Lord for things that escape you in the bustle of the day, to chocolate and red wine and poorly acted movies, to guttural laughs and nights in the kitchen with your sister.

to ignoring the e-mail, homework, deadlines and commitments for an hour and laying on the bed with a pup that will one day walk slow and hobble, not run toward the tennis ball. to sending flowers and snail mail, and driving all day just to see someone for a few hours. to walking on rocks in the ocean, taking too many pictures that only you appreciate, and humming in your cubicle.

say yes to enough of the right, good things, and the nos will reveal themselves in due time. peek their little heads out and remind you, not now, my dear one, not quite yet. you've still got some dancing to do.

waiting to exhale (not the whitney movie)

i actually felt guilty yesterday for sneaking into the company kitchen for a cup of coffee.

with deadlines piling up and the stack of paper and bills on my desk growing with each passing second, time seemed too precious, too fleeting, to waste waiting in front of the keurig machine, listening for the water to gurgle then pour, the steam rising then disappearing into the arctic, conditioned air.

there hasn't been a night in the past two weeks that i have sunk into bed before eleven. that i haven't hushed pablo when he whined to play ball, as i crunched over my little red desk and pecked away at the keyboard. life has been so hurried, so rushed, so fluid that stopping to take a time out has seemed too luxurious. (on an unrelated note, i'm getting "winter hair"--dry, crunchy lifeless locks. this has been the cause of a bit of my stress as well.)

but this morning is hazy and overcast and drizzly and, i declare, it almost feels like winter, with its gorgeous gloom. and work has, for the sweet split-second moment, given me a breath. a deep, gutteral sigh. a chance to slip away during lunch and sink into an overstuffed chair at the coffee shop downtown. and for a little bit, just a little bit, read a book i want to read instead of a textbook. apply my lipstick slowly and let the foam stay on my lips for a little while. daydream into the gray noon.

because life is furiously fast, but those special moments are golden and delicious and every good thing wrapped into one. and its those reprieves that keep me chugging along, at least until the first good rain or snowfall comes and everyone can finally exhale.

the picture above was taken atop the astoria column in astoria, oregon. one place i took a crazy deep, rib bursting breath last october.

hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away

baby flower buds are one of my favorite things in the world. stretching their little faces toward the sunshine. there are few more innocent, simple things. and i always watch for it. wait for green leaves to open and reveal their treasures. that's why monday night was disheartening.

i was walking behind our house, picking up sticks from the storm, when i noticed it. at first, it was only a glimmer. a tinge of magenta against brick. then i walked closer and saw it. our azalea bush. pregnant with beautiful blooms. the bush that was here when this house's original owners were. the one they planted in the ground. and i missed its opening act. and it's strange, but something so beautiful stirred in me such a sadness.

that life's going by like a movie, and i'm stuck in the theater holding stale popcorn. sometimes it just hits me. how breathtaking, achingly beautiful this life is. and how often i'm indoors. how the azalea put on a show for me and i missed all but the finale.

so i went to the store. i bought some little red begonias. with tiny buds just starting to bloom. i planted them and put them on the windowsill, where i can watch them every morning.

and morning by morning, the soul returns.

like a cat on a hot tin roof

then jump off the roof, maggie, jump off it. now cats jump off roofs and they land uninjured. do it. jump.

 

 xxx

we browsed netflix around eleven. with the television glowing, mummering. pablo curled up with his nose at his toes, slumbering, sighing.

and we were in one of those moods. those indecisive, can't-make-our-minds-up-to-save-our-life kind of mood. twenty minutes later, we found it. cat on a hot tin roof. i'd never seen it, and with the recent passing of liz, i thought it apt.

and i sat. never has a movie so mesmerized and enchanted me. at not since marlon brando in a streetcar named desire, have i so swooned over a fifties leading man. paul newman is glowing in this movie. seriously so strong, complex and beautifully tormented. i ate it up.

and there is a line near the beginning of the movie. where maggie is standing near the fence with big daddy, and she tells him that she has a million emotions running around in her mind. waiting to be lived. waiting to be felt.

and how beautiful. to think there are still some emotions i haven't tapped into yet. haven't felt in my core. i've felt sadness, but i'll feel it deeper one day. i've been scared, hurt and overjoyed, but there are elements of those feelings that i've still yet to process. and there are emotions i haven't given names to yet, because they haven't entered my life.

what do you call the emotion when your child drives away to college? standing alone on the campus lawn, watching your world get smaller as the footsteps between you grow. or walking away from your retirement party. pulling out of that parking space for the last time. looking into your baby's eyes for the first time. getting unexpected phone calls in the middle of the afternoon that change your life.

there are emotions i've yet to feel. some i hope i never do, and some i can't wait to experience. but like elizabeth so passionately declares later in the movie, i'm alive. and as long as i am, i'll get the glorious honor of feeling. deeply. ferverantly. and without fear. because the tin on this roof is hot, and i'm not afraid of heights.

preserving the stains

i cleaned on saturday morning. that kind of deep clean that takes a few hours. i opened all the blinds, turned up ray lamontagne on pandora, and got to work in the sunshine. feeling like my mama and my grandma with my spray bottle and washrag.

and it was good. it was fulfilling and easygoing and productive. but i tell you, there are few things more fabulous than relaxing on the couch, taking in a clean home, putting your feet on a freshly dusted table and just stopping. satisfied that the work is done. i took in that moment. turned to face the sunshine smiling down on me, and laid my head on a floral pillow.

then i looked down.

at my couch. and saw the stains. the spots and scratches. the smudges and smears. and my heart sank. it didn't matter how much i vacuumed the rug it sat on, or mopped the floor around it, that couch wasn't going to look any better. i've cleaned it, scrubbed it and swept the crumbs out of its deep folds and crevices. but it's still marred.

i gave in to a little pity party by myself in the morning light. then i thought some more.

about the late afternoon in september when we first brought the couch home. to our first house on the grassy cul-de-sac. on the back of robert's grandfather's truck, on a wooden trailer. it took three grown men to carry the sectional inside the doorframe. the same doorframe robert carried me over as a newlywed. and later, when we moved into the little cottage, taking the couch apart piece by piece and spending an entire night trying to fit it into our new tiny living room, collapsing into exhaustion, frustration and laughter on the cold floor.

and i thought about the late nights in both houses. staying up far  past a reasonable hour just to be with each other, to soak up this new sleepover called marriage. the movies we watched nestled into it, and the greasy popcorn we devoured on its arms.

when we first got pablo, he was shaved and cold. we wrapped him up in a big crocheted blanked and let him sleep on the chaise lounge portion. that's still his favorite spot. a majority of the stains are from his dirty, wet paws. his licks and his nose nudges spattered all over.

so my couch is stained, but all is not lost.

all is not lost, indeed.

one day, we will inevitably get rid of that sofa, the one the salesman said would "wear like iron." we'll replace it with a new one, and make new memories on its cushions. but saturday morning, with noon rising outside and a little bird perched outside my window,

this couch was impeccable.

guest post: five things: life in general, by lynn

Adoration salutations fellow vintch readers! I'm Lynn from hearted girl and Courtney has graciously invited me to guest post here today. I am honored that someone I respect so much and who has in many ways assumed the role of depth coach, in my mind, asked me to consciously create a little list for you all. I've been spinning my wheels and pruning my answers on the topic of:

Five Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me About...Life in General

1. Record your meaningfuls.

Time isn't just a magazine, but it could be a video! The older I get the faster time seems to move. We aren't always sitting on the edge of our seats with excitement, counting the days until "the next" big WOW or plunged by the suction of a light bulb moment. Reflectively speaking, various occasions in our lives have a dullness which somehow seeps into our highlighted hours and can chill them out.

I experienced this wane of energy in the weeks leading up to the day my Dad died. No amount of preparation can brace you for the impact of a parent’s death but we were thankfully given 6 months with the knowledge that they would be his last. This was a stress filled juncture, mostly for Dad, who tried his best to be "uppy" while assuming the lead role on our life's stage.

Blessed with the knowing still didn't equip me for what I would miss after; the way his brow would furl into a lined formation across his forehead, the wisdom in his eyes when he was about to impart some noble information but mostly the sound of his voice. Just the very tone and timber which was his alone.

I have but one regret; the limited recordings I have that document these irreplaceable things. Back then it was a VHS world, we didn't have the kinds of gadgets we do today. The something I wish I knew then would be put it on tape! Have something on video in case there comes a time when they aren't around anymore. Yes, moments together are precious but you won't be able to retrieve them off the coffee table one day, those stacks of magazines from the memories in your mind will eventually fade and tatter as their counterparts would. On the days that you need them, you'll be thankful that the option of pressing play is there.

2. Put yourself in a place where comparison isn't a go-to option.
The trappings of comparison - we all do it; look at others and feel less about ourselves. "Comparison is the thief of joy" The whereabouts of this quote I'm unable to determine but it's been something I've said to myself every day since the first time I heard it.

Many a self-pity-party was held because of this toxic "c" word. My folks embedded a bit of peace treaty knowledge by helping me understand that you are inevitably who you surround yourself with. So if you are feeling a comparative study coming on one too many times it may have something to do with your setting. Take a good look and be mindful of the ambiance. Moving to a new neighborhood, symbolically speaking, could be a step towards a sturdier stance for your psyche.

3. Develop deal-breakers.

Leaving a person or situation can be extremely difficult and sometimes paralysis sets in, making it impossible to move out of the way. If you already have an established personal manifesto with easy to follow rules in place than you are one step ahead of the game. 

People make lists all the time: grocery lists, to do lists and of course "ideal love" lists but the one I'm talking about making is specifically targeting the "nope, this isn't good enough for me" list and sticking to it with all your might. This kind of a guarded fence provides enough self-awareness against the culprits who try to scale it. A good, solid NO is as effective as a figurative ZAP.

4. Friendship isn't based on a mood.

Circuits misfire sometimes and your cluster of bf's or bff's shift courses. Whether a reason is given or not, it can suck when you're left to wonder the whys while performing an autopsy of the situation. I wish I'd known not to have sweated over a definitive answer, it's usually a waste of time and energy but the basic fact being a true friend always has your back. Winds of change may blow and distance or years apart happen; still when a bona fide temple is built you can return to visit and it is as it always was. That's how you know the rest were only a mirage.

5. Be careful about the trends you follow.

Oh boy, I've been through a potpourri of hair styles, make-up techniques and fashion cataclysms. Most have understandably stunk! Attempts to create the perfectly fabulous carbonated look fell flat and I'm sure Mr. Blackwell would have had a hay day upon reviewing these disasters.

I wish someone had told me that it's okay to have blunders so I wouldn't have beaten myself up so much in the moment and taken to tossing out some unperceived treasures. Just because they were once flops doesn't mean they can't make a reinterpreted comeback. There's undeniable logic behind why men are the hunters and we ladies are the gatherers. I should have used that wisdom, maybe then I'd still have my Elizabeth Taylor-like slip dresses that cost practically pennies; now sold at hot spots like La Perla for centuplicate amounts. 

“Wherever I go low or high places, I have to represent the truth…once the lights are turned on you realize you’ve been in the dark for a long time…I want to let young people know that it is not a burden to love him & to represent him & to be who you are as fly & as hot & as whatever & to still love God & to serve him…it’s not a contradiction…It Is Not A Contradiction!”

~ Lauryn Hill ~

images via weheartit

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thank you, lynn! be sure to check out her blog and leave her some weekend love:)