little black journal

I started baby-sitting Shane’s cousin Elizabeth when she was just two or three years old.  A couple of years later, her parents introduced me to their super-hot nephew, who was visiting from Minnesota for a summer job and looking for friends (“friends“) in the area.  Seven years later, I married that guy.  And six years after that, sweet little Biz is visiting Seattle to tour UW in hopes that she’ll start there as a Freshman next Fall.  Where do the years go?  It was tough not to dwell on the fact that I’m gettin’ so dang old, but I put my vanity aside for the weekend and set out to woo Shane’s cousin and her best friend with our city’s finest charms.  We dined on fresh pasta at Tavolata and desserted with waffle cones from Molly Moon’s. Shane showed them around the U-District and gave them their first lesson in chopsticks at Thai Tom. We did the whole market shebang – gum wall and brass pig and mini-donuts and all.  We walked along the waterfront to the sculpture park and then headed over to Capitol Hill to warm up with coffee at Bauhaus.  It was fun to do the grand tour and hit a couple of our old favorites.  We’re hoping that a year from now, Biz will be coming over on Sunday afternoons to do her laundry and fill us in on what’s actually cool in Seattle.  Fingers crossed!

After dropping the girls off at the airport on Sunday morning, we set out for our annual trip to North Bend for our Christmas tree.  It was cold and drizzly and I almost bailed on our tradition, thinking it would be so much easier to just hit up the tree lot in front of Home Depot, but I’m glad my sentimental spirit (with Shane’s prodding) won out.  Snow-dusted Mount Si was beautiful, and we found our perfect tree in record time.  Plus, Shane makes a cute lumberjack.

This is one of those times when I could really use a post-weekend weekend to catch my breath, but I’ll have to settle for a quiet Monday evening reading by the light of the Christmas tree.  Not too shabby…

There are a list of things I’ve developed over the years as sure-fire “pick-me-ups” – a pampering massage, a bout of retail therapy at the mall, a long chat with a girlfriend…  And then there are perfect weekends like this past one, when all of these little pleasures were wrapped up into a couple of epic days of relaxation and fun:

Nancy, La Verne, and I had such a good time on our trip to Woodinville last year that we declared the getaway an annual tradition and named it L-Dub (short for Ladies Weekend).  After much anticipation, L-Dub 2 kicked off on Saturday at Truce Spa in Bellevue.  Massages, facials, manicures, oh my – we walked in there with our crazy internet deal vouchers and walked out three hours later with perfect nails and glowing skin.  My joy overflowed when Nancy suggested that we do some shopping before heading up to Kirkland to check into our hotel.  Nance is not a shopper – I don’t know if I’ve set foot inside a store with her, ever, but she must have taken a drink of La Verne’s and my Kool-Aid, because she was wanting to hit the mall hard.  We wandered from store to store, offering each other advice on the perfect wallet or the best deal off the sale rack.  I didn’t buy much, but there’s something about shopping with girlfriends that seriously tugs at my female bonding heartstrings.  As we sat on that mall bench together and ate our frozen yogurt, shopping bags tucked between us, I felt so content, so close with those two.

We checked into our lake-view room at the Woodward around 7:00 and settled in for a wild night of room service and chick flicks.  The food was so-so, the movie was kind of terrible (Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones in a romantic comedy?  What were we thinking?), but the late-night conversation was the perfect way to round out a perfect day.  It’s nice to know that I’m not too old to enjoy a good slumber party.

Breakfast was delivered right to our door on Sunday morning (room service – so brilliant!) and we ate our pancakes in bed.  Coffee, toenail painting, a bit more lounging, and then that dreaded check-out time rolled around and it was time for us to hit the road.  I was ready to get home to Shane and show off my fancy French manicure, but still, it was hard to see this little escapade come to a close.  We had taken “pick-me-up” to a whole new level.

This past Spring was the first time that I made a Lenten resolution. I grew up thinking Lent was only for Catholics or for people seeking motivation to lose a few pounds by giving up soda or chocolate or fast food. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I really began to absorb the significance of the season, the fact that it’s a chance for all followers of Christ to reflect more deeply on His sacrifice. And so in February I started searching for some sort of appropriate 40-day fast. What I settled upon, after wading through several not-quite-meaningful-enough ideas, was actually additive rather than subtractive: I committed to 40 days of prayer journaling, spending 10 or 15 minutes a day putting pen to paper in a series of “letters” to God.  My prayer life often takes a nose dive when I get busy or tired or swept up in the daily grind – I caught myself forgetting to turn to God when things were going too well (no thanks, God, I got this!), and then resisting Him when things felt utterly crappy (c’mon, God, do you even hear me?). Days (weeks, even?) would go by without a peep from me to Him.  This disciplined Lenton practice of giving Him my full attention, putting written words to my heart’s praises/longings/fears/questions proved to be the kick in the pants I needed to get us back on track.  One week into my resolution, I was already seeing His work more clearly in my life and in the lives of my friends and family.  I was turning to Him first, rather than last, when I needed comfort or encouragement.  And then Easter rolled around and Lent was over… But surely, surely, I would keep up this practice that had brought such richness to my life – I was hitting some serious high spots on that spiritual roller-coaster I’ve ridden for the last 20 years.  This had the makings of a permanent resolution.

At least, that’s what I told myself as I watched my neglected Moleskine collect dust on my bedside table – I would pick it up again tomorrow. Tomorrow, I would make the effort.  After five months of tomorrow’s, I recently started cracking open that little black journal and rediscovering the goodness of writing to God.  Somehow my prayers feel more real when I see them on paper, as opposed to that 30-second jumble of requests that drifts through my head as I’m falling asleep each night.  I think God values the intentionality of written words.  And I like having a record of what’s been on my heart.  The names of our friends and family are in there, as we’ve walked alongside them through ups and downs.  There are a handful of gushy praises, and there are countless pages of “please, please, please”.  There are a few tear-smudged entries.  There are bits of songs or Bible verses that have struck me at my core.  I look back and I see that some of these prayers have so clearly been answered with a resounding “yes”.  Others have drawn forth a “no”, or “wait”, or “how about we do it My way instead?”.  And then there are those prayers that seem to have been met with silence.  These are the ones where hurt and doubt and anxiety creep in.  But after each spiral of feeling lost and forlorn, I circle back to the belief that I follow a God that cares enough to read every last word, and that is wise enough to answer according to his perfect timing.  And so I will keep on writing.

Shane boarded a plane bound for Minnesota yesterday to attend his grandfather’s funeral, so it’s been a pretty quiet weekend at Chez Schnell. And I’ve been a bit down – missing my husband, grieving for his family’s loss, battling that monthly funk…  But I’m finding comfort in the smallest of pleasures.  Like gingerbread pancakes.  And brownies.  And an afternoon spent knitting and watching Serendipity with Nance.  Coffee and a soul-baring catch-up with La Verne.  A couple of head-clearing runs on the treadmill with Shakira and Sia.  Copious amounts of mint tea and far too many episodes of Dawson’s Creek.  Yep, home alone and I’m livin’ large.

Sometimes a girl, even a girl in her thirties, just needs her mom.  I’ve been longing for that special kind of comfort and encouragement that only my mom can offer, so I was thrilled when she rolled into town on the Thursday afternoon train.  The weekend was full of so much quality mother-daughter time – we made the grand tour de Southcenter and shopped till we dropped, we cooked dinner together, we curled up on the couch to read or watch chick flicks.  She hugged me tight when I poured out my heart, and made chicken soup when Shane and I craved a good rainy-evening meal.  We spent yesterday afternoon strolling through Kubota Gardens, wanting to soak up those last bits of Fall color clinging to the trees (and also walk off our earlier visit to the Theo chocolate factory…).

I said a teary good-bye to her this morning as she boarded her train to Portland – there was no chicken soup for dinner tonight, no one to share my pot of peppermint tea.  At least I can count on Shane to take in a good chick flick with me (he’s sensitive like that).  I miss you already, Mom – thanks for the home-cooked meals, the words of wisdom, and most of all, the hugs.

We’ve been studying the book of John in our small group and read the passage on Tuesday in which John is asked by the Pharisees if he is the Messiah.  He denies being the Messiah, Elijah, or the Prophet – they become frustrated and finally ask, “Who are you?”.  I love his response:  “I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord’ ” (John 1:23).  As we unpacked this passage, Nancy asked each of us to define ourselves with a metaphor.  What would you say if someone asked, “Who are you?”.  People shared articulately about mindsets and anxieties and life themes, but I was stumped, struggling to describe the state of my soul in simple terms.  Shane said he feels like he’s playing the role of a DH (designated hitter) these days – his focus feels narrow and limited, like he’s not able to take the field and stand in for a whole game.  It being World Series time and all, I was especially drawn to this analogy and have been reflecting all week on where exactly I fit in this great ball game of life.

I tried to imagine myself excitedly taking the field with my teammates and high-fiving them after a 1-2-3 inning, but when it really came down to putting on that uniform and leather glove, I fell short.  These days, I’m feeling much more bat boy than I am starting lineup.  I’m that scrawny kid in the dugout that wants so badly to go pro someday, but is currently stuck with the less-than-glamorous tasks of filling the Gatorade jug and fetching bats as real players run the bases.  The gig may have been fun for awhile, but now I’m just frustrated and antsy and so, so tired of feeling held back.  I’m longing to trade places with the pitcher – she kicks ass at her job and knows exactly what she wants her career to look like in 5, 10, 15 years.  The second baseman has it pretty good, too – she’s an artist and had been wildly inspired and productive as of late.  That beautiful shortstop works out five days a week and has arms like Michelle Obama.  Oh, and the right fielder – she’s a new mom whose understanding of love has been made new by her little baby.  And here I sit, wondering when or how or if I’ll ever make it onto the roster.

Am I wallowing?  Probably.  I’m finding out how easy it is for me to lose the joy of dreaming and goal-setting and fall instead into a funk of ungratefulness and discontent.  In the words of our pastor, I need to spend less time gazing at the green, green grass on the other side of the fence and more time watering the grass beneath my feet.  Because my yard is full of some pretty amazing stuff.  It’s a husband that offers hugs, encouragement, and goofy faces when I’m down, always knowing the best medicine for the worst blues.  Amazing and supportive friends and family.  Weekends packed with perfect getaways and food-filled parties with the gang.  I know these blessings should be cherished and nurtured.  I know this.  But man, that patch of grass out in right field just won’t stop calling my name…

The rest of our weekend was full of all kinds of goodies, like a Saturday morning spent doing the crossword and eating bagels at Eltana…

And our 5th annual dumpling-making pumpkin-carving party at Chez Hickory.  There’s nothing more Fall-feeling than being up to your elbows in pumpkin guts!

And on Sunday, an epic birthday party for Shane, La Verne, and I, courtesy of Jack Chen’s generous brilliance.  When Jack said he had a really good idea for our joint party (a.k.a. “Schnell-La-Palooza”), my stomach growled and my mouth started watering – I knew we were in for a treat.  And my word, he went BIG.  The four of us have been wolfing down the crazy-good Malaysian fare at Kedai Makan’s farmer’s market food stands all summer, and we were thrilled to find out that Kevin and Alysson themselves would be setting up shop in the Chen’s kitchen for the evening, preparing us a birthday meal to top all birthday meals.  We gathered with 30 of our closest friends and feasted on stewed lamb and fish curry and delicious little shrimp-topped crackers.  The combination of a killer meal, another Giants win, and the company of so many people that we love so much made for an evening of total perfection.  Gracias, Jack.  You rock.

The birthday peeps with the Kedai Makan folks – I think we have officially been elevated to “food groupie” status…

And then, just as I was about to fall into the depths of post-weekend letdown, we watched the Giants clinch their spot in the World Series tonight. Way to turn my Monday frown upside down, boys!  Have I mentioned how much I love October?

October is here! This is one of my favorite months, in a three-way tie with July (sunshine!) and December (Christmas!). A few reasons why I’m particularly stoked about this flip of the calendar:

Travel time! We both have our birthdays in October and think it’s important to grow older with a bang – last year, we celebrated in Amsterdam and Paris. This year, we’re off to New England to take in the foliage and stuff ourselves with lobster rolls.  Bon anniversaire, baby.

Color. Gold and orange and bright, bright red. Add to that the satisfying sound of dried leaves crunching underfoot, and you’ve got the makings of a perfect Sunday afternoon stroll.

Makin’ stuff.  I’m spending less time out on the back patio and more time inside with my yarn and my beads and my tubes of paint.  It started with my weekend bonanza of knitting and basket-painting – now I’m into jewelry making and maybe, possibly art-making again.  My crusty watercolor set has been giving me the sad, neglected stink-eye.

Boot weather. And comfy sweaters. I like my flip-flops and tank tops, but I love my leather boots and chunky knit turtlenecks.  I’m giving the pedicures and the push-ups a rest for now – pressure’s off for the next six nine months!

Fresh Fall fare.  Honeycrisp apples (puts those Fujis I like to shame), acorn squash roasted with butter and brown sugar, my favorite pumpkin muffins (ok, so it’s a stretch to say that canned pumpkin is “in season”, but mmm…).

Happy October, friends!

What. A. Week.  More jury duty trial on Monday, two days of the most painful deliberation ever on Tuesday and Wednesday (it was a conflict-avoider’s worst nightmare), and a brief but jam-packed work conference in Utah on Thursday and Friday.  And so this weekend was all about taking a breather – lots of naps, coffee dates and dinner with friends, and some solid progress on Dawson’s Creek Season 1 (don’t judge!).  I barely scratched the surface of my lengthy to-do list and am battling that sense of relaxer’s remorse that often sets in at the end of a particularly lazy weekend – I get a little funky when the leisure-productivity scale tips toward the latter.  I suppose there’s still time to peel myself from the couch and do that load of laundry, scrub that toilet.  Or there’s time to pour myself a cup of tea, bust out the Toblerone, and sink farther into this Joey-Jen-Dawson love triangle…  Happy Sabbath, folks.

Happy Labor Day, folks!  Happy, indeed – it’s been a pretty glorious long weekend.  Things were slow for me at work last week, so I took advantage of my open schedule and took Friday off to jump-start the holiday.  It was the “me-day” to top all me-days – coffee at Cafe Fiore, a massage to work those blues out of my shoulders, tacos at Oaxaca (and a whole side of chips and guac all to myself!), a little shopping and crafting in the afternoon, and then a perfectly chill movie night at home with Shane.  It was, in a word, grand (but don’t bother renting Friends with Kids – completely awful).

On Saturday I was tasked just with one vitally important mission:  Shane and Jack were making their annual Red Hook Ride out to the Woodinville Brewery (joined by Jordan and Bees – welcome to the club!) and needed La Verne and I to meet them out there with our cars around lunchtime (apparently, this is not a round-trip kind of bike ride).  We scored a sunny table on the patio and the bikers restocked those burned calories with monster burgers and pitchers of beer.  La Verne and I joined in the beef-fest, and we all stumbled out of there a little heavier than when we’d gone in.

We met up with the gang for drinks at The Bottle House that evening and marveled at the fact that we were just discovering this little gem of a bar in nearby Madrona.  Their patio is amazing – like something right out of a romantic movie with it’s twinkly lights and vine-covered railings.  It was the perfect place to toast to the last glimmerings of summer.

Sunday was mellow – church, our ritual lunch at Kedai Makan, and then a couple of hours spent laying on a blanket in Jefferson Park, dozing and reading and watching the kids at the nearby birthday party beat the heck out of a fire engine pinata.  I could have laid there until the sun went down, if not for the lure of dinner hot off Jack and La V’s grill (and the season 5 Breaking Bad finale!).

Today started quietly, with an easy jog at the lake and a couple of hours at Mioposto with a latte and my dusty old sketchbook.

I hated to waste the last of our Labor Day sunshine and started feeling antsy this afternoon.  Just as I was telling Shane that we needed to get out and do something to end the weekend with a bang, he got a phone call from Jack.  “Dude – we’re renting a boat today.  Want to go for a ride?”  Heck yes, we want to go for a ride!  We made our way to a little dock in Kirkland and were promptly picked up by the Chens in their super-posh power-boat.  The Rust clan was along for the ride, and we had a blast cruising around Lake Washington, sun skimming our shoulders and hair blowing in the wind.

And with that, this long, perfect weekend is over.  Tomorrow I report for my first-ever summons to jury duty – how’s that for reality slappin’ you in the face?