little black journal

Shane and I celebrated our second wedding anniversary yesterday. It was nice to hit “pause” on our busy week and enjoy a special dinner together at La Medusa. 2 years… I find that anniversaries are a good time to take a “marital inventory” and reflect on how we’re doing. There have been days when being married to Shane feels like the most natural thing in the world, like we’re living the life that was always meant to be. Then there are days when I think to myself, “Holy crap! Who is this man in my bed? There is still so much I don’t know about him! Are we seriously married?” These moments can freak me out a bit, but I have to remind myself that I will never know every little detail of my husband’s inner workings. And do I really want to, when the journey of getting to know him better is so much fun? For example, in the car on the way down to Silverlake last Saturday, Shane spent awhile telling me about the mischief he used to get into as a kid. I love discovering these things about his past – I hope he never runs out of new material to share with me. So as far as the current state of our marriage goes, I’d say we’re doing pretty well. I’m freaking out less and less these days. And we’ve genuinely enjoyed each other’s company lately, even more than usual. We met for lunch at our favorite Thai restaurant on Monday and I caught myself grinning as I watched Shane approach the restaurant from a block away. I was so thrilled to be able to spend just 30 minutes with him in the middle of the day. He has this uncanny power to calm my stressed-out mind, to pull me out of a stubborn pout, to make me laugh when what I am mad/frustrated/sad/etc. It is both comforting and unsettling to be aware of the influence that he has over the state of my spirit. I occasionally try to put my guard up against this influence, but then I remember that I am blessed to be married to a man that treats my vulnerable heart with such tenderness. So, we’re doing well. Do we still have room for growth? Of course. We continue to work on finding our “rhythm” and have set these goals: pray together more regularly; eat dinner at the dining room table together more regularly; talk about our finances together more regularly; foster relationships with other couples who can encourage us, and vice versa.

I look back on this photo of our first moment of prayer as a married couple, and I think about how we’ve grown over the past two years. And I look forward to the journey ahead of us…

I got that phone call last night that anyone with a sick family member dreads – it was my mom and dad, calling to tell me that my grandmother (“Nannie”), who has been quite ill for several months, had taken a turn for the worse and seemed to be nearing the end of her life. I was upset, but I somehow believed that she would pull through this decline, as she has done in the past. Dreaded phone call #2 came this morning – Nannie passed away sometime during the night. Emotional numbness allowed me to make it through the work day (“keep busy, don’t let the tears start”, is what I kept telling myself). But the second I stepped off the bus this evening and turned the corner onto our street, the floodgates broke and I began to sob. This hurts. This is my first adult experience with the loss of a loved one, and I am frustratingly fumbling through what it means to grieve. I know that the grieving process looks different for everyone, but that is what’s so difficult. I want a formula to follow, steps to go through, milestones to accomplish. I have spent an evening curled up in bed, crying while Shane rubs my back and prays for my family. I have called my dad and cried with him over the phone. I have cried on the couch. I have cried in the shower. And just when I think I’m about cried out, my eyes start burning and the tears start falling again. I am of course saddened by my loss of my grandmother, but what pains me so deeply is the knowledge that my grandfather has had to say good-bye to his wife of over 60 years. Their marriage was a testament to the meaning of devotion. Nannie spent so many years nurturing her husband and children, taking care of the house, preparing meals, being an active and attentive wife, mother, and grandmother. But as she became weaker and was able to do less and less, Grandaddy didn’t hesitate a bit to fill in where he was needed. When Shane and I visited them back in Maryland last fall, I was touched and humbled by how lovingly he prepared her breakfast, helped her to the bathroom, made sure that at any moment she had everything she needed and desired. We woke up one morning to find him baking cookies, rolling snickerdoodle dough in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar. He said that although Nannie rarely had much of an appetite anymore, she did love those cookies, and so he would gladly bake them faster than she could eat them. It was clear that he wasn’t doing these things out of habit or obligation – these were genuine labors of love. Devotion is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

So…what now? Do I cry some more? Do I try to distract myself? I suppose the best I can do is allow myself to feel sadness, but rejoice in the fact that my grandmother lived a life in which she gave and received so much love.

It was inevitable. With all these babies being had in our neighborhood, our church, and our family, I am starting to feel the slightest twinge of baby fever. I want a little one of my own. I want to decorate a nursery and pick out baby names and make homemade baby food. I want to know what it feels like to love a child in ways that I can’t even begin to imagine now. And hearing my brother talk with such tenderness about his newborn daughter has made me excited to see what fatherhood will look like for Shane. I can’t wait to see him change diapers and rock our baby to sleep and eventually throw the baseball around with our future son or daughter. And yet… I am so not ready yet for the responsibility of parenthood. I have no doubt that the joys will far outweigh the sacrifices, but I am still a very selfish person – I like operating on my own schedule. I like taking naps, going out to dinner on a whim, having a clean house. These things don’t necessarily have to fall by the wayside when a child enters the picture, but they certainly become more difficult. And are we financially ready for a child? Can we afford for me to leave my job for a significant amount of time? And what about that trip to Europe we want to take within the next year? Won’t that be difficult with an infant? So many questions still… And so for now, we will wait, and pray, and plan. And dote on all these new babies around us!

Shane got back last night from his 5-day business trip down to Tuscon, and it is wonderful to have him home again. While I enjoyed having some time to myself, and appreciated being able to spend my Saturday afternoon watching chick flicks instead of the NCAA tournament, I was starting to get a little lonely. Spending a few days on my own has caused me to appreciate all over again just how integral Shane is to my day-to-day life. He keeps the blankets from falling off the side of the bed in the middle of the night. He is that shoulder I need to lean on after a stressful day at work. He doesn’t let me spend all morning watching reruns of Beverly Hills, 90210 (I found I need someone to call me out on my trash-TV binges). He makes sure that I laugh deeply and regularly. He remembers to always close the garage door and turn the heat down at bedtime. He keeps me from being freaked out by the noises that the house makes at night. He takes the garbage out when it’s cold and raining outside. He makes certain that I always feel loved, appreciated, and pursued. He leaves his socks on the floor and his empty glasses on the coffee table (wait – that might be another post…).  Anyhow, I’m happy he’s home.  Life is so much better when he’s around.

It’s been a busy week at work. No, I haven’t been sitting at a table engaging in intense design discussions and sketching ideas for the next Dezeen-bound project. I’ve been meeting with scientists to help them determine how their research equipment would best be arranged in the lab spaces we’ve designed for them. I never thought that the words “Biosafety Cabinet” and “Fume Hood” would become part of my regular vocabulary. My last two years of college were a time of such incredible creative growth and exploration. Little did I know the amount of unglamorous practicalities that must go into putting a real-life building together – fire codes, handicap accessibility, budgets, time constraints, door hardware schedules, etc. I spent my thesis year at Cal Poly pouring my heart into a project that was very conceptual and sculptural (see the image of part of my thesis model below), and so it’s been an adjustment to make the shift from architectural student to architectural professional. Don’t get me wrong – I have been blessed with some amazing opportunities at my current job and it is extremely rewarding to actually walk down the halls of a project that I’ve worked on. I’m just still getting into the groove of things. And I suppose there’s something to be said for becoming well-rounded…

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.

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.

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.

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…