jesus, the short-order cook

so they went out in the boat, but they caught nothing all night...at dawn, Jesus was standing on the beach, but the disciples couldn't see who he was...when they got there, they found breakfast waiting for them--fish cooking over a charcoal fire, and some bread...Simon Peter went aboard and dragged the net to the shore. there were 153 large fish, and yet the net hadn't torn.

"now come and have some breakfast!" Jesus said. none of the disciples dared to ask him,"who are you?" because they knew it was the Lord. -john 21:1-12 

he walked on water. consumed a burning bush. rose a man (and himself) from the dead and gave a blind man sight. but one morning by the ocean, Jesus was just a man in a robe, cooking some fish and inviting his friends for breakfast. i found this passage a few weeks ago and it has since become one of my favorite in the entire Bible. because it presents Jesus in ways i don't often think of him. 

the great savior who knows the length and number of every hair on my head also enjoys cooking with charcoal, like my dad did in the nineties on his old black grill out back. and as i slink into the very back corner booth during my lunch break, he stood and shouted, not wanting to eat alone. the lover of my soul loves company. and fellowship. and good meat and bread in the morning. i can see the mist of dawn rising over the sea, the sun and moon in that celestial tug-of-war that happens every sunrise. i bet it was chilly, as seaside meals can be. i spent one morning two octobers ago on cannon beach, oregon. robert and i ate scones and looked at haystack rock in the distance. i dipped my toes into the pacific ocean for the first time. a thick haze covered the ground below and in front of us. i like to picture that scene in this story. a master in the mist.

oh but listen to the rest of it! yes, this is one of the most human accounts of Jesus in the Bible. i also love the passage where he prays in the olive grove, bowing down to his Father but also asking if maybe, just maybe, the cup of suffering may be willingly taken from him. but this is a more than mortal experience.

the disciples weren't catching fish. they were out all night scavenging the ocean bottom to no avail. but as soon as they see Jesus and he suggests throwing their net to the other side, they catch more than their net should allow. but it doesn't break. of course it doesn't. as he fed the thousands, he fed his friends. more than enough, but never too much to handle. that's a miracle.

i didn't get too far past the first ripple of the pacific ocean that morning on cannon beach. it was freezing and my toes were bare. but the disciples ran off the boat to Jesus. not only had their savior returned, he was ready with a warm fire and food. alive in the realest sense. and even on the mistiest of mornings, no truth is clearer than this.

forgive me sweet baby, but i always take the long way home

it took us six hours to take a two-hour route home last night. this was to robert's chagrin and my utter, utmost delight.

we did not take the highway. that was my one caveat. we took wandering back roads that meandered past neighborhoods and diners and little boys on bicycles after school. we stopped to take long winery tours and visit the mount olive pickle factory. we held hands across tables with checkered tablecloths and sipped warm coffee late into the afternoon.

it could have been a straight shot down interstate 40. just one right turn and hundreds of miles of straight.

but then we wouldn't have seen the four deer in the meadow. and we wouldn't have been reminded how pickles are made (i say reminded because we watch the same 10-minute video twice a year. you get a free jar of pickles each, people. need i say more?)

we wouldn't driven past my dad's old high school, and taken a picture in front of the sign (go southern wayne fighting saints!) or have met the tour guide at the winery, who wore flip flops in february and spoke in a define, practiced surfer boy accent. who suggested we try this type of wine, then this type, then just for good measure, this type. who snuck us extra crackers and showed us a picture of the oldest grape vine in the world.

yes, we would have made it home before sundown. and our weary, traveling faces would have hit the pillows of our own bed before midnight. but the day of traveling home is still a day of travel. and that means a day of experiences. of getting away from screens. of blasting the heat in an old sedan and cranking up some country jams from the early nineties (doug stone, anyone?)

because putting off tuesday and the workweek ahead is part of why we take these little getaways. to act for a second like vagabonds with no real responsibilities. and a true vagabond would never take the road most traveled.

an open call for suggestions and travel tips

she is ready. after a few months of preparation, our new england road trip travel itinerary has been set. in a bulging one-inch binder complete with sheet protectors. i even broke out my special "birds edition" post it notes from anthropologie, the ones that cost as much as a new hardback book, for the occasion.

i've managed to condense the intricate details into very broad overviews of travel stops along our way, outlined below. we leave very soon!

and though the big plans are set, i've left a little room for adventure. for exploration. for back roads and little roadside diners. for spontaneity in a land unknown. the most fun we had on our west coast road trip last year was at midnight in a denny's near fort bragg, california.

**post edit: i totally realize the ben & jerry's headquarters is in VT. we've got it planned that way. sorry for the typo!

and here's where you come in! please, please share your new england must-sees. i'd absolutely love to hear them. because though i'm from the east coast, bear in mind that i am from a small town that only recently got a stoplight and a wendy's. and growing up, we only went to myrtle beach, and as lively of a time as that is, i'm certain you guys could show me a better one!

good ol' volks

like the colors of bubble gum pink and baby blue swirled on my tie-dyed top, so the people of the high country bus festival blended. there were past-the-glory-days hippies walking around with dream catchers and headbands. there were sweet mamas and papas bathing their babies in the river. there were great danes and labrador retrievers swimming in the warm water and teenagers sitting in a circle on the great big rocks that broke up the current.

and then there was us. my bearded husband, intelligent brother and his devastatingly fashionable girlfriend. just a couple of kids from the triad, deep in the heart of the carolina mountains. we hopped on intertubes and spent two hours floating lazily down the river, warming our faces in the morning sunshine. we listened to live music (you've got to check out the honeycutters--a delicious blend of patti griffin and emmylou harris and all sorts of good folksy roots).

on the particularly balmy saturday afternoon, we drug our air mattresses onto the riverbank and slept under the shade trees. we woke to raindrops.

then, from 4 pm. until midnight, the sky let loose in a thunderous, dramatic and loud display of prowess. it absolutely poured. so hard that our little tent shook. we crammed ourselves inside and dove under warm blankets. then, for the next six hours, we stayed there. we ate pop-tarts and drank bottled water. we read books and my brother played his mandolin. we talked and told stories and stayed awake long past quiet hours, the next night's live music, an old bluegrass band, playing in the distance.

then, when night fell on the camp and the bluegrass started to fade, we got out some speakers and played cat power in the darkness. and lying there, three people i love to the left of me, listening to cat's deep rasp float between us, i closed my eyes and finally slept.

it was a fabulous weekend, and integrating myself back into reality has proved quite cumbersome. yes, for many it was a weekend of parties. for some, it was a weekend of children and animals and music. but for me, it was a weekend of beauty. of God's great nature and man's great machine. co-existing and cohabitating the same blessed space.

with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair

 via

  

robert and i are off this weekend to the high country bus festival. we're loading up our bus with our suitcases, camp gear, my brother and his girlfriend. for two days spent high in the mountains of north carolina. where we will be among more than 250 volkswagen buses, forestland, live music and a long river. i've packed up my tie-dyed tops, long dresses and aviators, leaving the practical items, such as a camp stove, lantern, citronella candle, etc. up to robert.

i'll give you three guesses who doesn't want us to go.

i also have a label maker

 via

i didn't have a blog last september. the month i spent creating my travel binder for our west coast road trip. the one with the sheet protectors and the tabbed dividers. with the cover illustrations and spine decoration. it was a beauty, and i'll keep it forever. it's got ticket stubs, copies of plane tickets, pictures and reservation numbers in its clutches. what started as a way to organize all the chaos that comes with a long journey turned into a scrapbook without my intention.

and i've started another one. for our october 2011 trip. this time, we want to head up the east coast on route 1. to explore everything our side of the nation has to offer. from philly to atlantic city. from NYC to cape cod. i want to see the leaves turn as we head north and pull on jeans and heavy boots to walk around old city streets at night. i want to stay in little, inexpensive motels and save our money for the food. to stay up late and get up early and pack and shove all we can into about one week.

it's such a process, planning. but when it comes to life, man oh man. when that scanned, black and white picture of the golden gate bridge is replaced with the real, towering structure itself, and when the reservation number for that special cafe only the locals know about transforms into a bowl of steaming chowder on the misty oregon coast, it makes it all worth it.

in college, i once assembled a massive binder of 65 daily news clippings for an extra credit assignment in my sophomore year journalism class. when i pulled it out of my book bag, contents poking out of the edges, thick with effort and time and long nights with glue sticks, my professor looked at me in disbelief. i didn't think anyone was seriously going to do that assignment, he said as he took my project.

don't underestimate the power of a girl who loves organization.

(and extra credit in a terribly difficult class.)

the conga line

once a year, my family vacations on the coast. at my great aunt's house, with the overstuffed couches that you just sink into, the big long wooden dinner table and the hundreds of movies. it's a treat, really. one that we look forward to all year.

robert and i headed down a night early and soaked up a little adventure before we met my parents. we spent a balmy afternoon strolling around historic new bern, n.c. beautiful, brick storefronts. a glistening river. we could see why nicholas sparks lives here. the place is a novel.

on the way back to our car, we walked past a little catholic church. the oldest one in the state, according to the bronze plaque. and we stopped. just across the street, a little crowd was gathered. we stood behind the trees as a beautiful bride waltzed out the old doors. we watched in silence (and attempted anonymity) as she ran into the arms of her new husband, greeted him with a kiss saved for newlyweds (that second kiss where no one is supposed to be looking), and drove off in a horse drawn carriage.

and as the clamor died down, we slipped on. and i was reminded that we're all on little adventures. whether its a detour on the way to the beach, or teetering on the cusp of life changing jumps, we're traveling. all traveling. and when we travel together, when those moments of momentum intersect and serendipitously we become spectators in the sojourns of one another, that's pure magic. and the earth bursts at the seam with happiness as we join dancing under the heavenly ceiling, changing partners with the tempo and moving together in this beautiful conga line called life.

back in my arms again

 

i bet you thought this post would be about robert, and the fact that he's home from his weekend in virginia. and he is. he came back with a thunderstorm quick on his heels this sunday. and when he pulled into the gravel driveway, i dropped the mixing  bowl on the kitchen counter and ran out in  my dress and bare feet. i gathered his scruffy face in my hands and breathed him in.

but someone else was gone this weekend, and has also returned.

and as he napped on my chest last night, and curled his little toes onto my stomach, i felt the steady rise of his stomach, followed by a sweet drop and sigh escaping from his wet nose. and i thought about how, years from now, i will sit on that same sofa. and stroke back baby hair. and wrap my bare arms around a warm little person and feel the same rhythmic beat of breath.

but for now, puppies are enough. especially one who knocked me down with joy the second i walked in from the rain.

the bed's too big, the frying pan's too wide

robert left this morning to spend a weekend with his cousin in virginia.

as i left the house, driving away on the gravel road washed me with a memory. back when he was in college and i was still in high school. he used to come home every weekend on the train, and every sunday around three, i would walk outside with him, kiss him goodbye, and prepare to face another week of being eighteen without him. i would envision his fabulous life in college, and in my head, all the girls in college were buxom  blonds in tiny shorts and tinier tops. it was quite an awful (and incredibly inaccurate) picture that i painted.

i felt that again this morning.

and it's not that i'm clingy. i love, trust and adore him enough to let him leave for a few days. i just don't prefer it, that's all. and i don't quite know what to do with the next few days. there's suddenly a whole weekend in front of me to fill, and, without the promise of our friday movie night and sleeping in on saturday and walking under the country stars, it just seems a little daunting to tackle it all by myself.

that last line i just wrote reminded me of celine dion's classic rendition of "all by myself," which is exactly the wrong type of song to have in my head right now. alas. at least there are no buxom blonds where he's headed.

the day there were no seals at san simeon

 look behind us. no seals.

last october, robert and i drove down the west coast. let it be known that we are both from the tiny town of wallburg, and are not experienced travelers. myrtle beach was a big time to us. so to be out west? absolutely exhilarating. i spent months making a travel binder. that is a blog post in and of itself, my friends. i even used sheet protectors. sheet protectors!

one of the highlights of the trip was supposed to be the seals lying along the banks of san simeon, just up from hearst castle. we drove into the little town around 11:00 at night. the only restaurant open was the empty one in the motel. we slunk into a little table on the side, right by the window, black with midnight. we ate oyster stew that cost $8 a cup. we went to bed excited with the promise of seals in the morning.

but morning came. and with it, our trek along the muddy waterside. our peering over the guardrails and driving along the shore. and there were no seals. i think we went at the wrong time of the year. either way, my heart sunk as we drove away.

but later that day, we came upon santa barbara. with its gorgeous old mission and taquerias. and i forgot all about the seals, or lack thereof.

i was taught a lesson that day. that looking forward to things is fabulous. my office calendar is littered with yellow and purple highlights, markings of things to come. but sometimes, expectations fail. and it's fine. sometimes there are no seals, no matter how hard you look. but sometimes, yes sometimes, you come upon a santa barbara, something even better than you were looking for. ten times better, even.

has anyone seen the seals at san simeon? are they real? a myth? please do tell.

writing home

i could write about the circus.
the way the cotton candy smell danced around the stadium and the children smiled and spun their lighted wands in the air. the peanut shells at our feet and the trapeze artists with their eyeliner and glitter.

and i could write about the food we ate. 
the creamy ricotta cheese pizza, oreo ice cream and crispy scallops. the crab cake sandwich i waited for since last february. at that little cafe by the sea, with windows on every wall. the movie popcorn and pepsi. the sweet indulgence of vacation.

or i could write about the ocean.
the emptiness of the shore in winter. the shell fragments under my bare feet and the wet sand between my toes. holding my shoes by the side of my rolled up jeans. the warm, salty wind blowing my ponytail. 


or the images. the beautiful, unforgettable images.

but really, the best way to sum up this long weekend happened on the drive back.

i had my bare feet on the dashboard. my seat leaned back. i shut my eyes and felt the sun, hidden for so long. the darkness behind my eyelids turned to a shade of honey, then amber, then ruby. and i felt the warmth on my cheek.

i turned and looked over at robert, driving us home in the sunset. and i knew. this was my favorite part of the trip. driving home together. knowing that no matter how much fun we have on vacation, nothing beats the day-in, day-out beauty of our normal life and the happiness it brings us. and trips are awesome. but no hot tub, dinner special, or late check-out time can trump the simple joy of coming home.

and that's the only thing worth writing about at all.

making an adventure

california road trip 2010

yesterday was one of those effortless days. even with the onset of grad school, it was a day where the sunrise, high noon, sunset and nightfall just sort of happen. in a smooth, flowing sequence. without any major events, emotions or commotions. i love days like that. days that don't require any heavy thinking, decision making or choices. i rode yesterday like a wave and when i finally crashed in bed, it felt natural and organic. simple as it should be.


but days like yesterday, anchored in routine, make me long for another day that was anything but ordinary. as i stirred the mashed potatoes in the stove top, i let my mind drift. to coasts decorated with boulders. late-night mexican food in a little town that shut down around five. cerulean blue skies and redwoods. california.


for all my meticulous, months-long planning, i messed up. we drove through big sur, with all its acclaimed beauty and ruggedness, at night. we saw nothing of the mountains and jagged coastline i had read tomes about. i was disappointed. then i saw a sign.


for julia pfeiffer burns state park. my former co-worker had listed it, and its glorious waterfall, as a top must-see in big sur. but we were too late. the sun was down, the chill was setting in, and storefronts, restaurants, and offices were slowly, one by one, shutting down. 


but the park entrance was still open. i begged robert to turn in, much to his chagrin. "courtney, this is crazy," he argued. "we won't even be able to see the waterfall-it's almost dark outside." but we pulled in anyway. i hurriedly changed from flats to tennis shoes, grabbed robert's oversized wind breaker, and we set off on the trail.


it should be noted that i am not, by any means, a risk taker or one who seizes opportunities like this. but there was something about california that changed me, if only for that week.


but my adventurous spirit was brought down to size when we came upon a covered walkway, decorated with bats, their wings thudding against the walls. there was no other way on the trail besides straight through their little makeshift den. and i couldn't do it. we turned around in defeat. just when we reached the top of the parking lot, close enough to our car that robert had already unlocked it from a few yards away, we came upon another couple, just setting out. i felt the need to warn them. "it's not worth it," i spoke into the darkness, "there's bats down there."


i heard the girl shudder and the boy drew a deep breath, but they set out anyway. we got back to our car and i turned to robert. "let's go back. if they can do it, we can do it." there was obviously no arguing with me, robert could sense it. 


we ran down the dirt path. the wind was ripping at my jeans and my hair was a mess. i was so, so many miles from home and comfort. we reached the couple just as they were approaching the bats.


after quick introductions and a little conversation, we decided to go in together. i slipped my hands around the girl's tiny fingers. robert pulled out a flashlight with one hand and shielded by head with the other. and we ran. with strangers. in the dark. with bats flying mere inches above our heads.


it was exhilarating. scary. a bit dangerous. 


and there, right outside the cave, was the waterfall. illuminated by the stars and ever so gorgeous. a precious reward for trusting. in human decency and goodness. in thrills and california. in facing fears together.


but mainly, most of all, in seeking adventure, even in the most unlikely of places.

i can breathe in a small town

i'm from a little town in the piedmont triad region of north carolina. i was raised on a rural road, with barns on both ends. a crop field sits vacant behind and in front of my childhood home. i can always tell what season is coming, and which is quietly making its gentle exit, by the height of the corn that stretches to the sky.


i left this town for a while. spread my wings in the big city. only to return the day after graduation to that same rural road, just a few miles down from where i was raised. because that's home. and i can't pretend it's somewhere else, even on days when boredom strikes and the nearest city is 25 minutes away. and the thing is, i love big cities. i feel a deep excitement and stir in the most untouched parts of my heart when visiting friends and family in places where shopping is outside your front door and the sweet hum of nightlife lulls you to sleep. i really do revere it, and the folks who call it home. because home isn't an address, after all.


this post, however, is not about my small town, but another little hub about 45 minutes from my little cottage. lexington, north carolina. barbecue is typically associated with this spot, but when i visit, i steer clear of the little smokehouse restaurants, with their lines out the door and porcelain pigs on the stoop. of their homemade sauces and sky-high banana splits.


instead, i head toward lexington's hidden treasures. every small town has them, you know.


the little diner that only locals know about. that fills up with folks looking for an early bird special around four in the afternoon. where a pitcher of sweet tea is left on the table. where teenagers work after school and during the summer. places tourists overlook on their quest for the nation's best barbecue {and i agree, you can't find any better than lexington.}


first, we stopped at the local thrift store. where i stocked up. yes, my goods are in a {clean} trash bag. this is the country, folks! i found some delicate teal nighties, gorgeous pencil skirts and maybe even a christian dior blouse that will be in my shop soon.

from there, we went a few yards south to the lexington pharmacy. a real, live drug store that looks like the 1940s never left its black and white storefront. inside sits one of the treasures of my heart. a soda shop. with well-loved stools and sweet girls who will ask you if you want your limeade "sweet, sour or in between."

one of our last stops was right beside the pharmacy. a little pastry shop that hits you with a delicious, sweet icing heaven overload as soon as you walk in. it's brightly lit, with dozens of warm goodies waiting patiently behind the counter, hoping you'll break those pesky new years resolutions and indulge. and indulge we did. on french cream eclairs. homemade oatmeal creme pies. and my favorite, warm sugar and apple fritters.

as we drove home, with our bellies full of sugar and the sun turning gold behind us, i smiled as i passed the barbecue crowd. not because they were tourists following a billboard, though undoubtedly most of them were.


but because a hometown is more than its attractions, its shopping, its regional treasures. its carving out that little niche for yourself, which may or may not be the same niche as your neighbor.


and that's the beauty of it. no matter how small the town, its always got room for every person's dreams, aspirations and idealizations. its just big enough.

today i finally overcame trying to fit the world inside a picture frame

this picture was taken three years ago.


there are many things you can gather from this picture alone. my long sleeves and the auburn leaves hint at fall. we're driving somewhere, but my seat is pushed back, so we're stopped. for the moment. there is obviously, quite plainly, an element of surprise. i am being led. on a scavenger hunt, perhaps?


but what this picture can't tell you--what you can't possibly know or see--is that i was indeed on a little scavenger hunt. one that led me through our sleepy little town and all the special little places and holes in the wall that were crucial in my relationship with robert. under the guise of a fun afternoon spent reminiscing, he picked me up around three. 


we went to local gas station where we always got slushies. the golf course community where we fished together for the first time and broke both our poles. sonic, where we loved to get limeades. the field near my house where we drove his granddad's pickup truck, headlights off, into the woods and ate chinese takeout by candlelight.


and our last stop. the local library. a huge white mansion flanked by towering magnolias and long stretches of gorgeous lawn. the place we fell in love as we danced under the moon to an outdoor big band concert. a little spell of silence came. robert pulled out a boombox and in a style that put "say anything" to shame, started playing our song, a whimsical, string-heavy version of somewhere over the rainbow.


a ring. a proposal. 


and then, my family and friends inside the library. around 40 people. a private meal and party.

-------
photography is an art. a beautiful, special talent that allows me to relive my special memories forever . i cherish my pictures. in their wooden, silver, and gold frames. in their collages and scrapbooks. tucked inside my Bible. 


and the mark of a great photographer is taking those emotions, those feelings that come from the gut and personify themselves in our eyes, and capturing them. freezing them in time. the beautiful mix of joy and nerves in a pregnant woman's smile. the amorous bliss of a newlywed. i know photographers like that, and envy their skills. 


yet, sometimes life just happens. and because it's not a big event, it's not captured on film. we didn't break out the tripod when i made pasta last sunday night, so years from now, we might not remember that we collapsed on couch in laughter a few moments after eating. at least once an hour, pablo looks at me with an expression so innocent and priceless, but my camera is in the other room, and by the time i tiptoe to get it, his head is turned.


so they pass. those special seconds and memorable evenings. those sweet half smiles and big bear hugs. we might not remember every single one, but we lived it. without pause or hesitation. without posing.


yes, a picture is worth a thousand words, but some things just leave me speechless.

my heart on my sleeve

it's snowing here in north carolina. by snowing i  mean a nasty slush of rain/snow/sleet, just enough to deem the roads undriveable, and warrant a two-hour delay from work. yesterday, the air around my town was getting ready for this. this beautiful, once-or-twice a year treat of long mornings spent sleeping under quilts, snowman-building in the afternoon sun, and sipping hot coffee in front of the television.

the air dipped into freezing yesterday. my car struggled to start in this newfound chill. my toes were ice blocks as soon as i stepped onto the wooden floorboards beneath my bed. when i left the house yesterday morning, i remembered leaving my favorite jacket at mama and dad's. my cream white pea coat with oversized buttons. it sat warm and unused, a mere few miles away.

so i reached for another coat, then quickly put it back and went for a different one. i couldn't take this one. my vintage, waffle-texture long coat with a single gold clasp at the neck. i didn't leave it behind because of the weather. a little rain wouldn't hurt it. i didn't leave it because of its weight. it's plenty heavy enough to shield me from the winds that sang through my trees.

honestly, i left it behind because i really don't like it anymore. it's not that soft. there's a slight yellow circle-shaped stain on the back. the clasp is hard to manage and tends to come undone easily.

but i'd never give it away.  i can't even put it in my shop. because every time i look at it, i remember.

dipping my toes in the pacific ocean for the first time this past autumn. standing in my bare feet in the hazy, gray glow that permeated cannon beach, oregon. i swear, the scene was almost european, with birds decorating the sand and water the color of slate. it was gorgeous.

as we hastily pulled into our motel, i grabbed that coat out of the trunk and ran, hand in hand, with robert. literally chasing the sunset, we hurried to the beach, over cobblestone streets and a cove of sea brush, finally arriving to this:

i was wearing the coat then, and so i will hold onto it now. on it is the sea spray and memories of my trip, and perhaps a few crumbs from the boysenberry scone i devoured moments before that picture of me was taken.

so i'll keep it in my closet. for that reason alone.

like the curious george boxer shorts i got in the 7th grade, on our family's only trip to disneyworld. they have a flap in the front and i'm certain they are for boys, but i've held onto them. because when i look at the image of george, wearing his spacesuit and floating around on the fabric, i remember that vacation. the heat that just sat on top of the atmosphere and almost suffocated us. riding the rock n' roller coaster with my mama, my hips hurting the entire rest of the trip after that initial jolt. my dad's sweet laugh and my sister's fright and nerves as we approached each ride. 

isn't it funny how we associate so many memories with clothes? i think that's why i love vintage so much, because you can almost feel the decades in the fibers. and i'm so happy and thankful for those precious souls who donate their clothes to thrift stores, so i can happily snatch them up and make my own memories in them.

so the coat sits in the closet. 

smashed between my jeans and winter sweaters. collecting dust. 

maybe one day i can pass it down to my daughter, and tell her, over a steaming pot of coffee, how her mama and daddy interlocked fingers and ran into the ocean. how we chased  the sun and raced with nature together. i hope she'll be able to feel the love, my heart, on the sleeves.

because it's there. and just because i don't wear it anymore doesn't mean it's gone. just like when i close my eyes, i can still see oregon.

because memories embed themselves in the most unexpected of places. in the chipped red paint of my desk, the one i painted outside one warm spring evening. in the pupils of pablo's eyes. and in the threads of clothing.

yes, especially in the threads of clothing.

love is a mixed tape

source

i have a 25 minute drive home from work. not too long, just the exact right amount of time to really get into a mixed cd. to let the songs wash over me, free me of deadline-induced stress and coffee-induced anxiety.

yesterday was one of those days. i was driving on the highway, with dusk chasing me outside my window. the air was arctic outside, but my heater was on at my toes, and i was enveloped in my pea coat and scarf. then, i looked up.

the sky was baby pink with swirls of iris. the setting sun gave off a full-sky glow as it sank, illuminating the colors and deepening their brilliance. it was magnificent. the kind of beautiful you want your sunsets to be.

and my mixed cd was playing iron and wine's "passing afternoon." the sunset's magic was intensified. peace and serenity were restored in my weary heart. and i was reminded. of the power of music. to restore, humor, lighten and soothe. to conjure up old memories and heal new hurts.

so i began to think. of the songs that mean the most to me. and i came up with this playlist. now, it should be noted these are iconic songs in my life right now. if i would have made a playlist 10 years ago, it would have included such gems as "jumpin' jumpin'" by destiny's child and "story of a girl" by nine days. both great songs. both should remain circa the year 2000.

so please take a listen:

1.florida: patty griffin. my former co-worker ellie used to listen to patty while we worked on proposals. ellie is the kind of girl you always want to be. she's elegant, kind-hearted and has the sweetest speaking voice. this song reminds me of her, and of my first real job. in my first real office. with my first real co-worker. later, robert and i put this song on one of our favorite mixed cds, and have played it so.many.times in the car since.


2. la cienega just smiled: ryan adams. because ryan adams songs make me feel melancholy in a strangely pleasant way. because this song is haunting and gorgeous. because a few months ago, i went to los angeles and stood at the top of la cienega boulevard and thought about these lyrics.


3. passing afternoon: iron and wine. this is my all-time favorite song. similar to the way i remember where i was when i learned princess diana, JFK jr, heath ledger, and michael jackson died, i remember exactly what i was doing when this song first came on. i was studying with robert. in the secret space behind the book stacks in the library. the clandestine room with leather chairs that only cool kids knew about. this song encapsulates my college years. i love it for this line alone: "there are things that drift away, like our endless, numbered days."


4. california: joni mitchell. i played this as robert and i crossed over the california state line on our road trip a few months ago. with the windows down on our rental car and my bare feet hanging out the window, i threw my hands in the air and robert laid on the horn. i've never felt more alive.


5. cape canaveral: conor oberst. our first road trip as a married couple was to myrtle beach. nothing fancy, especially not in the middle of winter, when we sneaked there for our valentine's day getaway. i played this song on the way down, in the middle of the night after the circus. we had learned all the words by the time we arrived, we played it so many times. this song reminds me of that sweet, nerve-wracking feeling of being on the cusp of something great. we were just starting out and getting our toes wet together, and this song was the beginning.


6. so-so: brooke waggoner. this is one of my little brother's favorite artists. i took him to brooke's concert once, but we got there late and almost missed the entire show. we didn't even get to see her perform this song. this one reminds me of clint, and his incredible zest for life and excellent taste in music. all the concerts we've traveled to together, and all the unexpected fun we've had.


7. shape of a heart: jackson browne. i played this the first autumn we got pablo. i remember dancing in the kitchen in my socks, with his furry body in my arms, tail dangling against my stomach. still unsure how to hold him, still awkwardly wrapping my arms around his torso. we danced together to this song and in the course of those three minutes, i became a mama.


8. the book of right-ON: joanna newsom. see #6. we made the concert this time, in asheville. thanks, clint!


9. something good this way comes: jakob dylan. jakob has had my heart since the wallflowers sang "one headlight." there's something so distinctively beautiful about his voice. so different from his father's, but with that same gorgeous gravel. i also played this song on our first road trip to the beach. it reminds me of salty air, ferry rides, and dinner boat cruises.


10. clean getaway: maria taylor. because the honesty in her voice is heartbreaking. simple as that.


so there you have it! enjoy. i hope these songs bring as much comfort and happiness to your day as they have brought to my 20s. i love how songs are soundtracks, as corny as that may sound. when you can't go back in time, at least you can press rewind.

i go where the trees go

there is a little cottage in the mountains. it's a tiny little thing nestled between high arching trees. there are rhododendrons on its sidewalk and rosebushes decorate its split rail fence. the rooms aren't large, but there are flannel sheets, a soft floral couch, perfect showerhead water pressure, and heat that echoes off the floorboards.

i spent the weekend here with robert and my brother. the cottage, owned by robert's parents, is on lake junaluska, near asheville, north carolina. robert's dad is a methodist minister, and the lake community serves as a retreat center for the methodist church. there is peace here. this is a place where street lights stay on all night. bed and breakfasts, with their faint evening glow and dimly lit dining rooms, are scattered along the water's edge. old men talk on rocking chairs on front porches. people walk the "prayer circle" outside the little waterside chapel, praying for someone different with each turn and arc.

this weekend, i took my two favorite boys up here to soak in the glory. highlights of our weekend include:

• walking around the lake at 1 a.m., finally reaching the mountainside cross around 2:00 in the morning.
• seeing the fabulous joanna newsom live at the orange peel in asheville
• eating all the fabulous diner food we could manage (hot dogs, BLTs, homemade vegetable soup)
• seeing the movie unstoppable at the rocky mountain cinema, a little hole in the wall that hasn't changed in about 20 years, with only a few rows of chairs for each screen

and finally, venturing to this book store:

this store was crazy. it was about two miles off the beaten path in the heart of the mountains. it was a total fire hazard, with thousands of books packed into this trailer outside a house. all the books were ridiculously overpriced because we believe the woman doesn't really want to sell them. she just wants to live in them.

the owner, an older woman with short hair and strong country accent, was hard to find at first. then we spotted her. she had created a little cubby inside all the books, where she would poke her little head out. please notice our shocked expressions:

it was all fun and games until we saw the millions of no-stealing signs the woman had posted up. all were handwritten, scribbled on plain white paper. one said "attention thieves: if you steal from me, your blood will flow." this seemed a bit much, so we got scared and left. my brother managed to find a book of wordsworth poetry for less than $5, which he quickly purchased.

overall, the weekend was awesome. packed with tranquility, peace and relaxation. with just the right amount of adventure.

1,700 miles

joni mitchell said her heart cried out for it. the mamas & the papas dreamt about it.

and...i'd never seen it. 

never even been close. california was unreal to me-a glittery dreamscape of imagery that i could only think about, but never truly touch. even now, home from my trip armed with a suitcase full of memories, i don't think i really touched it. there was no way to. no way to wrap my mind around the beauty and savor it.

robert and i are from the south. and in north carolina, if you're vacationing, chances are you're headed south to myrtle beach. though there's something to be said of the fabulous kitsch that has permeated those shores, we wanted -- dreamed of--something more. we have a tradition of taking one big vacation a year before children come to bless our lives. last year-the hot air ballon festival in albuquerque, new mexico. this was something else. it was here i fell in love with green chile sauce, old churches bursting at the seams with history, and adobe architecture.

 albuquerque hot air balloon fiesta-2009

this trip was special. we started in seattle, washington and drove to los angeles, california. 1,700 miles, all along the pacific coast highway. when i wasn't gripping the sterring wheel out of sheer fear of falling off the edge of the cliffs, it was a sight to behold. 

mountains married to the sea-what an idea.

 

but you know what? home is equally as lovely. because it's just  that-home. and traveling is fabulous. truly one of the most wonderful things in the world. but nothing beats sleeping in your own bed.