little black journal

For me, an ideal afternoon is one spent in a cozy cafe, sipping a latte and reading or writing or sketching. This pleasure harks back to my time in Paris, where I found that cafe-hopping is a reasonably affordable way to really experience the vibe of a street or neighborhood (I couldn’t afford to eat out very often, but for the bargain price of 2 euros, I could get a cup of espresso and a chance to sit and soak in a cafe’s ambiance for a couple of hours). And so when I moved to Seattle, coffee capitol, USA, I immediately started asking around about where to find the city’s best cafes. I was living in Capitol Hill at the time and frequented Bauhaus, Espresso Vivace, Cafe Vita, and Joe Bar. Then I did a bad thing. I started taking all this urban, espresso-filled goodness for granted. I started filling up my Saturday and Sunday afternoons with errands and house-cleaning and tv-watching and naps. But I’m back on the wagon and am sitting in Stumptown Coffee on Pine Street as I type. And I like it. It’s nice here – warmly lit with comfy seating and clean, modern decor. Fellow Seattle-ites: any suggestions on where to spend next Sunday afternoon?

I don’t want to dwell too much on this “Where is my home?” question, but it’s something that weighed on my mind throughout the past couple of days in Turlock. I took my seat on the plane back to Seattle a few hours ago and the gentleman next to me asked, “Heading home?”, and I caught myself hesitating before I responded with an emphatic “Yes”. That 90-minute plane ride was host to a number of emotions for me: one part sadness over having just said good-bye to my parents and girlfriends; one part thankfulness for the time I got to spend shopping and hanging out with Amanda and Francine (dearest friends), chatting with my parents, and stuffing myself with some absolutely fabulous burritos from the local Mexican joints; one part (or maybe two parts?) excitement over returning to Seattle and seeing Shane; and one part bitter-sweet acceptance that Turlock really isn’t home to me anymore. That town holds sooo many memories for me, and there’s comfort of the familiarity of it all, but I was reminded throughout the weekend that it just doesn’t “fit” me anymore. This is largely due to the fact that my parents have sold the house in which I spent many of my adolescent years and are moving up to Oregon later this month, but that’s really only part of the reason for my emotional departure from this small town in the Central Valley. I’ve realized that I belong in a city where new construction consists of high-rises rather than strip malls, where I have a choice of spending my Saturday morning in a local cafe or an art museum, and where I can have Thai food for lunch on Monday, Indian on Tuesday, and Greek on Wednesday (though Turlock’s Mexican food trumps Seattle’s any day). I’m not knocking my small-town roots – my two closest friends lead very fulfilling lives in Turlock, surrounded by people they’ve known and loved for years, and they’ve proved that staying there has its advantages. Shane and I don’t get to run into old friends from high school all the time, and we can’t pull together an impromptu family-wide picnic on a Sunday afternoon. But still, I’m happy in Seattle, because God has wired me with this “urban craving” that I just can’t suppress. There are people and things in California that I will forever miss – which is completely ok, but I can’t let these things keep me from further rooting myself in Seattle. Next steps? Stop obsessing about this whole singular definition of “home” (why is this such a big deal to me?) and simply enjoy the transition from Californian to Seattle-ite…

I’m heading back to California next weekend for a quick visit with friends and family, and I’ve caught myself telling people that I’m “going home” for a couple days; then I pause and think to myself “isn’t it about time that you start thinking of Seattle as home?” And then I realize that finally (after 2 1/2 years), I think I’m getting there – this past week has contained several reminders that we are slowly but surely rooting ourselves here.

Being involved in our church has been hugely meaningful in our connection to Seattle. The small group that we host every Tuesday is a source of so much joy and encouragement (and calories – we’ve shared a number of pretty indulgent desserts over the past few months!). We took a break from our regular Bible study this past week and decided to just kick back and enjoy a movie together. And as much as I enjoy the depth that comes out of our studies and discussions, this night was a reminder that the greatest thing about about this church-based community is that we have really become a group of friends who really like just hanging out together. Six months ago, most of us didn’t even know each other. I also volunteer a couple of times a month in one of the Sunday School classes and got together with several of the other teachers last Thursday. Nothing big – just a couple of hours of catching up with one another and sharing ideas about children’s ministry, but I left that meeting feeling so supported and uplifted. Again and again, I am inspired the passion and sincerity of the people we’ve met at Quest.

Another one of these root-setting reminders came in the form of the wonderful dinner we shared last night with some friends. Thanks to Jack (lawyer-by-day, chef-by-night), the food was incredible. But the conversations we had that night were what sent me home with a smile on my face. We spent several hours at the table sharing about our families, our travel experiences, our restaurant recommendations… We pondered the origins of chapstick, Shane revealed his dreams of opening up a fast-food Indian restaurant, we reminisced about the days of Atari… Good times. It is encouraging to see these much-needed “local” friendships growing and deepening.

And finally, a couple of simple experiences this weekend reaffirmed how much we really love our neighborhood. Shane spent much of yesterday and part of today helping our neighbors lay new sod – not a “fun” task per-se, but still, it’s nice to have someone just around the corner that he can play in the dirt with. And we had our first backyard barbeque of the year this afternoon when our neighbor a few doors down pulled out his grill and called us over for hot dogs. A few other neighbors wandered over and we sat around in our lawn chairs and chatted for awhile, pretending that it was much warmer than it actually was. I love being a part of a community where these spontaneous gatherings are so natural – Shane and I lived in our previous apartment for a full year without meeting anyone else in the building. We have been so blessed here by the warmth and generosity of the people that live around us.

So are we home yet? I’d say yes – actually, we’ve been home for awhile now.

The beauty of God’s creation astounds me sometimes. I was ecstatic to wake up to a sunshiny day this morning and so I jetted straight over to Seward Park for a jog. Is it really possible that we live just two miles away from all this? Glistening water, dense green forests, a view of snow-capped mountains in the distance, and lots of happy, happy people. Nothing unites Seattle-ites like a little sunshine. I saw 70-year-old couples strolling hand-in-hand, young families playing on the beach, people walking their dogs, people pushing strollers, people riding bikes… I even saw a couple of elderly gentlemen sweeping for valuables together along one of the trails with their matching metal detectors. And everyone was smiling, basking in the beauty around them (a stark contrast to way that people tend to retreat into themselves on rainy and windy days, putting their heads down and just focusing on getting from point A to B as quickly as possible). What a glorious day… Spring is so close I can smell it.

It is surprising and shaming to find out how much power money can have over your mood. Shane and I have been incredibly blessed in that we have always been able to buy the things that we need. We certainly have to pass from time to time on the things that we want, but I’ve accepted that as perfectly normal. Healthy, even. I’m ok with the fact that I need to make my 5-year old laptop last a little longer. I’m ok with not going out to dinner every weekend. I’m even ok with skipping the Nordstrom semi-annual sale (well, “ok” with it is a stretch, but willing to do it, nonetheless). I’ve accepted self-restraint as a good thing. It makes the occasional indulgences that much sweeter. A healthy and well-adjusted outlook on money, right? But when Shane and I were handed a $557 repair estimate this morning for our Honda Civic, I was less than cool and casual. I would have loved to say, “Hey, it’s only money…” But that was far from how I actually reacted. Frustration and anger filled me to the point of tears. That sucks. We can pull this money out of savings, but those hard-earned, carefully-saved dollars were not sitting in the bank so that we could spend them on something like car repairs. That money was supposed to go towards the trip to Europe that we hope to take later this year. That money could buy that new bed I’ve been eyeing in the West Elm catalog. That money was being saved to allow me to take a decent amount of time off from work when we have a baby. Somehow “unexpected car repairs” was not on my 2008 wish list. I keep reminding myself that I should be thankful that we can actually afford unexpected expenses such as these. But it’s hard. The real kicker? After being given our $557 estimate, I came into work this morning and was asked by a group of my female coworkers to come along on a 5-day trip to Hawaii in April. They had found some deals on airfare and hotels and estimated that the whole trip would come out to somewhere between $550-$600. Shoot. Sometimes I wish the voice of reason wasn’t so dang loud.

I hate to complain about the weather, since I did technically choose to leave San Luis Obispo for Seattle, but these cold, gray, rainy days are starting to wear on me. I feel so cooped up and lethargic. I went to the gym tonight in an effort to get my endorphins flowing, but I was only reminded that I am so dang tired of running in place. Spending half an hour on a treadmill in a stuffy room with sweaty strangers on my left and right is no substitute for a jog around Seward Park. I’m tired of getting up when it’s dark and leaving work when its dark. I’m tired of shivering in the cold while waiting for the bus. And I’m really tired of the pasty white color of my skin (vain, I know, but it’s true). I can’t wait for the days when Shane and I can hop on our bikes after work and ride over to Lake Washington. I’m looking forward to spending time in the backyard, drinking white wine and barbequing with the neighbors. And more than anything, I just want to remember what it feels like to step outside in a short-sleeved shirt and feel warmth. But for now, I suppose I must be content with curling up on the couch with a blanket and a cup of hot tea. There are worse things.

Tonight was the night of the Ryan Adams concert at the Paramount (wanted to jot down my thoughts while I’m still on this post-concert high). I knew the show was going to be good when Ryan lit a cigarette and sat down at the piano to play “Rescue Blues”. But I had no idea it was going to be sooooo good. Whenever Shane and I are in the car and Led Zeppelin comes on the radio, Shane starts drumming on the steering wheel and says that he can “feel the music in his bones”. I usually just laugh at him for being silly, but when Ryan busted out the harmonica for “Oh My Sweet Carolina”, I knew exactly what Shane was talking about. I felt the music in my bones, my gut, my head, everywhere. Sooooo good. There were several times during the night where I caught myself grinning stupidly (the sure sign of a good show). And I hate to be one of those people that goes “Woooo!!!” at the beginning of every song, but tonight I just couldn’t help myself… It’s rare that I sit down and just listen to music; music is something I listen to while I’m cleaning the house or reading on the bus.  It was such a treat tonight to sit back for 2 1/2 hours and do nothing but soak up the songs. The concert was a reminder that listening to music can be an action in and of itself – I should pop in an album once in awhile and commit to doing nothing but closing my eyes and opening my ears.

I was really encouraged by this article in the Seattle Times: “Riders Pack Buses in Record Numbers“. I am a huge supporter of mass transit – major props to anyone who takes the bus to work every day. However, doing this favor for the environment can sometimes come at a cost. I have had some less-than-pleasant experiences lately while on my way to and from work. Cases in point:

A few days ago, a rather large, not-so-good-smelling man hopped on the bus and was absolutely convinced that he could fit into the 6-inch space on the bench seat between me and the woman next to me (this was a 3-person bench and he was #4). It wasn’t pretty. I ended up standing, while he and the woman I’d been sitting next to shared a number of 4-letter words with each other.

My bus driver was reading the newspaper while he was driving one morning last week. This made me nervous.

I took a seat next to a nice-looking gentleman one night a couple of weeks ago. I pulled out my book and before I could get my headphones on (yes, I am one of those anti-social bus-riders), he asked what I was reading. I told him it was a collection of poems by Sylvia Plath. He launched into a speech about the merits of strong, intelligent, well-read women. I buried my nose deeper in my book and tried to make it apparent that I wasn’t up for chatting. He took the hint and stopped talking to me, but then began to mutter to himself about how much he loves Yeats’ poetry and about how his high school English teacher was such a bastard. Creepy.

But, woes aside, taking the bus has its definite perks. I get a lot more reading done now than I did in my pre-bus days, I never have to worry about finding a parking spot downtown, and I’m decreasing my ecological footprint. And so I ride.

things that are bringing me joy these days:

cooking something, then watching Shane wolf it down (this is the only sure-fire sign that he likes it)

Sunday afternoon naps

having an empty laundry basket (this does not happen very often, but it’s amazing when it does)

thinking about being able to hold my soon-to-be-born niece or nephew in my arms

SUNSHINE (even if it’s cold sunshine)

walking through our house and thinking “wow! we own this!” (well, techincally we won’t “own” it for another 29 years and 2 months, but at least we’re slowly getting there)

the view of the Olympic mountains as seen from Beacon Hill on my way to work in the morning

the falafel plate from Falafel King on 1st Ave, complete with the most garlicky hummus you will ever taste

the soundtrack of “Once” piping through my ipod

coming home each night to a husband that is always eager to greet me with a hug and a kiss

the buttery, flaky deliciousness of a pain au chocolat at Cafe Besalu in Ballard (this is a recent discovery – thank you Jack and LaVerne!)

new episodes of Project Runway

the sound of French being spoken

occasionally taking time to sit back and breathe deeply

I’m getting itchy. Not wool-sweater-itchy, but stuck-in-one-place-itchy. Maybe it’s all of this staying indoors lately (due to the incessant rain which feels like it will NEVER STOP), but now more than ever, I want to go someplace. Someplace far away. Like Paris, or Portugal, or maybe Switzerland? The European vacation that Shane and I promised ourselves we would take before we start a family seems to keep getting pushed back. I know that this is largely due to the fact that we chose to pursue a different dream several months ago and bought a house, and I wouldn’t take back that decision for the world, since our home and our neighbors have been such an incredible blessing to us, but a mortgage payment does seem to make a significant dent in the travel fund. Thus the itchiness. I keep reminiscing about the year I spent in Paris, which was so enlightening and wonderful and full of surprises. Around every corner was a fantastic cafe or a beautiful cathedral or an old tile-roofed, stone-walled, wrought-iron railinged apartment building. And I was able to do things like hop on a train to Brussels at a moment’s notice, to keep from letting that one remaining day on my Euro-Rail pass go to waste. The luxuries of student life abroad… But for now, we must be patient. And save. And dream about that picture-perfect day that we will someday spend again in Paris. It might go something like this:

Roll out of bed sometime between the hours of 9 and 10 (in typical Parisian fashion), shower, and step out onto the narrow sidewalk outside our room on Rue de Rosiers. Grab a pain au chocolat at any of the dozens of bakeries at our fingertips and walk across the Pont Marie to take a seat along the bank of the Seine to enjoy our flaky, buttery, chocolaty croissants. Find the very spot there on Ile Saint-Louis where Shane proposed (the first time), and enjoy a sappy-but-precious romantic moment. Part of the afternoon would have to be spent at the Centre Pompidou (a contemporary-art-lover’s dream). There are paintings there that have the ability to literally take my breath away… The rest of the afternoon would be devoted to aimlessly wandering and sitting on cafe terraces, sipping espresso. Maybe grab a falafel sandwich and swing by Place de Vosges to lay on the grass and people-watch for awhile. And once darkness falls, seeing the Eiffel Tower is a must. Touristy as it is, it is still beautiful, especially at night. A 2 or 3-hour dinner of French cuisine, a stop at the courtyard of the Louvre (this building lit up at night = wow!), and we will fall into bed contentedly exhausted. How lovely it is to dream…

Taken from the top of one of the towers of Notre Dame. So many gems to be found within those narrow streets…

Mmmmmm-hmmmmm…