little black journal

The past few weekends have been full of so much sunshine and warmth and afternoons spent outside, swimming, or sun-soaking, or drinking white wine while snacking on on ripe, juicy berries.  Our Northwestern sun-shiny fantasy skidded to a screeching halt on Monday, with the arrival of gray skies and sweater weather. This weekend was full of clouds and drizzle and rain – I believe we’ve officially bid adieu to summer in Seattle. Part of me wants to cry over the shorter days and the chilly temps and my oncoming Vitamin D deficiency.  But another part of me is really looking forward to Fall and all its goodness.  Our crock pot is full of simmering beef stew tonight, I busted out my favorite pair of boots today, and it’s actually really convenient when Mother Nature waters the yard for me.  And really, more than anything, I’m looking forward to slowing down a bit – our calendar has felt kind of full lately, and right now settling into the couch with my favorite blanket and a steaming cup of tea while we watch the Emmys (go, Coach!) feels really, really good.  There is a slight (ok, more-than-likely) chance that I’ll be singing a different tune come November, but for now, consider me cozy and content.

Today marks Shane’s and my fifth wedding anniversary. FIVE. Hard to believe it’s been half a decade since the two of us stood in front of our most favorite people on that California farm and promised to love each other for ever and ever. I remember the butterflies in my stomach that morning, as I realized I was just about to go through with one of the biggest decisions of my life. I remember the fun of getting my hair done with my mom and my girlfriends, and then the nervous rush to get my dress on and my makeup done and my veil placed ‘just so’. And then I remember the peace and the joy that I felt when I saw Shane waiting for me out on the lawn, and the assurance that came as we took a quiet moment to pray with each other before the flurry of the photos and the ceremony and the hellos to family and friends. That day was everything we wanted it to be – the perfect beginning to our new life together.

It’s not uncommon for people to refer to marriage as “hard work”. When Shane and I were dating, if I heard someone mention just how much it takes to maintain a good marriage, I always acknowledged those comments with a thoughtful nod and a murmur of agreement. But inwardly, I was thinking, “What can be so hard about spending your life with the person you love?” Marriage sounded pretty great  – you always have a date on Friday nights, you get help with housework and bills and stuff of the daily grind, and at those times when you really need a back rub, there’s someone there to give it to you. And I was lucky – I had found a man that made me indescribably happy, someone who made me feel safe and loved and excited about the future. Five years into this grand adventure, I still won’t say it feels like work. But being close, truly doing life together, does take effort. Some days I fail miserably – like the other night, when I snapped at Shane after a long day because his schedule and priorities did not align exactly with what I had on my to-do list.  But on other days I succeed at letting him know that he’s pretty damn special – I bake him muffins, or tell him that I’m so thankful for the man that is, or give him one of my for-Shane-only extra huge bear hugs and ask him to tell me about whatever is on his mind.  Sometimes these expressions of love come easily, and sometimes I have to remind myself that I can’t let my investment in him be based solely on feelings.  Even when I’m grumpy, he still needs affirmation.  And hugs.  So here’s to 50 more years of hugs, through the good times and the bad.  And if the past five years are any indication of what’s to come, there are plenty of good times in store for us.

Shane and I were in the middle of our Sunday evening routine (60 minutes and an end-of-the-weekend cocktail) when the news blurb started flashing across the bottom of the screen – ‘stay tuned for an important update from President Obama regarding Osama bin Laden’. I looked over at Shane and he raised his eyebrows before darting for the laptop, ready to scour the Internet for the nation’s latest headlines. I crossed my fingers, praying that the news would be good – after the segment we’d just watched on Lara Logan’s horrific experience with sexual assault by an Egyptian mob, I didn’t know how I’d handle more heavy news. Fifteen seconds of web-surfing was all it took for Shane to give me the late-breaking report – Osama bin Laden had been killed by American troops. Hoo…ray? I would have expected to feel immediate relief from such news – I would have imagined myself clapping my hands with the sweet taste of justice being served, celebrating with anti-terrorists across America as we learned that we could finally rest easy in knowing this terrible man was no longer a threat. But I wasn’t inclined to clap, or shout from the rooftops, or even breathe a sigh of relief. I was unsettled, for reasons I couldn’t put into words. I suppose there was disappointment in knowing that despite this leader’s demise, the war on terror would still rage on, claiming more lives and perpetuating more fear and more racism and more cultural divisiveness. There was sadness in knowing that his death would not bring back the loved ones whose lives were lost in the attacks of September 11th. And ultimately, after hearing from friends that encouraged us to view the situation through the lens of a Christian American, rather than just an American, I realized the root of my uneasiness – as a follower of Christ, I am called to love my enemies, no matter the circumstance. Is there room for justice and retribution in this love? Absolutely. I’m not saying bin Laden should have been allowed to walk free; but rejoicing in another man’s death feels far from Christ-like. So instead of celebrating, I will pray for reconciliation among nations, for our country’s leaders to be richer in wisdom than in ‘intelligence’, and for a future where the atrocities of terrorism can be fought with means other than violence.

‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven.’ -Matthew 5:44

The sun has finally made an appearance in Seattle - the flowers are blooming, the trees are bursting with vibrant shades of green, and extended daylight hours mean that I am no longer making the trek to and from work in the dark.  After what felt like an exceptionally long winter (although if I say that every year, are any of them really ‘exceptionally’ long?), I am thrilled by the promise of Spring in the air.  But somehow, even as Seattle sheds its misty veil and shines in all its Springtime glory, all I can think about is getting out of town.  Maybe it’s a bit of travel envy – our friends Jack and La Verne have headed off on their 2-week voyage through China; and I just sent Brian and Nicole a list of Parisian sights to see, as they’re stopping in France on their way back from Africa.  Maybe it’s restlessness, as I’ve been spending my weekends cooped up in the living room or the print studio, working on my art.  Or maybe it’s the knowledge that this time last year, I was camped out under a beach umbrella in Mexico, reading David Sedaris and drinking margaritas; and this time two years ago, we were just returning from our romp through Paris and Portugal and Spain.  Whatever the reason, I am downright antsy.  Fortunately, we are just a couple of weeks away from our trip to Chicago/Minneapolis/Alexandria (Shane’s Minnesotan hometown), and thanks to my husband the trip planner, our Midwestern vacation is looking like it will be pretty fabulous, full of delicious food, artisan cocktails, good art, plenty of baseball, and some quality time with the family.  Can’t. Hardly. Wait.  But lately, I’m dreaming of places farther and farther from home.  First it was a long Autumn weekend in New York, where we’d frolic through Central Park and dine on patios in Greenwich Village.  Then it was a few days in a cozy little cottage on the coast of Maine, where we’d bask in the Fall colors and smell the ocean air.  From there, I progressed to visions of ringing in my next birthday in Paris, where we’d drink wine at sidewalk tables in the Marais and eat Nutella crepes on the banks of the Seine.  Then Shane started talking about a desire to see St. Petersburg and southern Finland, and my head really started to spin.  It’s hard to say where our Fall trip will take us – work schedules, rising ticket prices, and other priorities might mean that we end up settling for a weekend getaway in Washington’s wine country.  But for now, I’m going to let my mind wander, and remember those dreamy evening picnics on the Seine and that afternoon I dozed on a bench in the Jardin des Plantes…

You know those funny little segments on Jay Leno where they prove just how uninformed the American public is by asking random strangers on the street if they know the name of the Speaker of the House, or who lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?  My worst nightmare is that I would be one of those unfortunate interviewees, that I would stumble over answers to embarrassingly simple questions about our nation or current events, and then people would cringe as the facade I maintain of being well-rounded, well-informed, ‘in the know’ is shattered.  I am married to a man that checks the New York Times headlines on his iPhone before he even gets out of bed in the morning, and although I know he loves me unconditionally, I’m sure he shakes his head a little when he sees that I don’t catch the simplest of political jokes on 30 Rock, or that I scan the headlines of Us Weekly rather than Time when in line at the grocery store.  Yes, it’s true.  And so, in an attempt to stop being the person at the dinner table that is constantly steering the conversation away from anything to do with government or war or late-breaking news, I’ve been making a solid effort at enlightenment. I’m checking news websites, I’m asking questions, I’m scanning the Seattle Times rather than the pretty design magazines while getting my morning coffee in the kitchen at work.

I spent quite awhile last night going through the past month’s posts on Boston Globe’s Big Picture, scanning the amazing collections of photos that depict what is going on in the world at large.  And when I was done, rather than wanting to pin a gold star on my chest for being up-to-speed on the world’s latest happenings, I instead wanted to cry.  Had I known the pain that would shake my soul by seeing image after image of suffering, destruction, loss, and unrest, I probably would have chosen to go to bed early, saying a short-but-sweet prayer for Japan before I drifted off to sleep, thinking to myself that really, that was the best I had to offer.  I wouldn’t have been faced with the truth that I should also be pouring out prayers for Libya, as missiles fly overhead, and people tremble with fear as they flee their homes and hope their lives will be spared.  I wouldn’t have even known to pray for residents of Ivory Coast, where people are looting and killing wreaking havoc on the country over opposition to its leadership.  I wouldn’t have been shaken by the image of a father in Miyagi Prefecture weeping over his lost son as he kneels in the debris that was once his home.  So…now I know.  I know that I should be praying with fervor.  I know that I should be angry and saddened, full of compassion and desperation.  I know that I am undeservedly fortunate, with my warm home and my stable government, and my life full of so many comforts.  But I wish I knew how to bring peace to Libya, how to reunite a missing child with her grief-stricken parents, how to rebuild a city from absolute ruin.  There is so much more that I wish I knew.

After a particularly dreary week in Seattle, my mom and I boarded our plane yesterday morning and landed in tropical Florida last night. Although I love the Pacific Northwest, with its distinct seasons and chilly Winter evenings that can be spent snuggled up on the couch with my favorite blankie and a cup of tea, I was feelin’ due for some Vitamin D, ready to trade in my puffy down jacket for the cute sleeveless tops buried at the back of my closet. Looking forward to:
– Soaking up some sun, and giving even just the slightest tint to my disturbingly pale skin.
– Painting my toenails hot pink. Then actually being able to wear toe-revealing shoes.
– Catching up with my grandma, who happens to be the sweetest, kindest woman I’ve ever met.
– Ordering iced lattes from the Coffee Mill (this is the coffee/gift shop that my grandma and aunt have owned for years, and I have loads of fond memories of visiting this place as a kid).
– Staking out a perfect patch of sand on the beach, spending hours there reading, relaxing, listening to the waves wash all my worries away (how’s that for idealistic?!).

Peace out, Seattle. Try to get all that rain out of your system while I’m gone.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my plate. Figuratively, I mean. How big is my plate, how much stuff is on it, am I filling it too full, or failing to maximize its area? My life is in need of a minor re-org, as I’ve been feeling swamped but also unproductive, and unable to take on anything new, or even successfully maintain the relationships and activities that I already hold dear. So, I’m taking inventory…what’s on my plate, can any of it be pushed aside and fed to the dog, and what do I want/need to make room for?

Work is…work.  My job obviously consumes more hours than anything else; I am a full-time architect and have accepted the time commitments and responsibilities associated with that.  The best I can do is minimize night and weekend work, which I’m usually able to do, although duty still calls more often than I’d like for it to.  Exercise is another one of those necessary time-consumers – I’ll call those evening runs at the gym ‘eating my broccoli’. As much as I detest that treadmill, with it’s countdown clock that seems to run at about one-third of the speed of normal time, missing my work-outs puts me in a physical and emotional funk, so I just gotta suck it up and make sure they happen. Kind of like housework – I’ve just gotta do it, and as much as I hate tackling those piles of dirty laundry or that sink full of dishes, I sure am glad I made the effort once it’s done.

Then there’s the stuff on the ‘want more of it’ list, like my creative outlets – taking pictures and blogging and art-making.  I get so much satisfaction from an afternoon spent drawing in my sketchbook or putting together a good blog post, but these are some of the first things to get pinched when I’m running low on time or energy. And even when I do pretty well about keeping up with things (setting goals like my weekly sketching exercise have helped a lot), I am still left wishing there was time for more.  Maybe it will always be that way, and I should just be thankful for my creative thirst.  Then again, thirst can be irritating, exhausting, unsettling.  Not sure if/how/when to quench it.  And there’s Shane, my most favorite person in the world, who I’m always wishing I could spend more time with. If I were to assign him a place on my plate, he would be my double chocolate fudge brownie, served with a scoop of perfect vanilla gelato (if you know how much I like dessert, you will understand what a compliment this is). All in all, we do a pretty good job of being aware when there’s a lack of quality time, and making sure that we set aside an evening or a weekend to reconnect when we get off-track.  It just feels unfortunate that the disconnect has to happen in the first place.  I have several friendships that would also benefit from a bigger time investment – I want to have the kind of schedule that allows for mid-week Happy Hour meet-ups, or Saturday afternoon outings to the cafe.  Workin’ on it.  Other ‘want-more’ activities include cooking, traveling, reading, participating in neighborhood events, sewing, being more involved in our church, gardening, and staying closer in touch with family.  Phew!

I want a tapas-style life – lots of little plates of varied and balanced flavors.  I don’t want to let work be that giant serving of heavy Pasta Alfredo that doesn’t leave room for anything else.  And I don’t want to-do’s like exercise and housework to keep me from enjoying my dessert or that after-dinner glass of wine.  So…what to do?  I’m realizing that there’s not a lot (or anything) that I’m willing or able to push off my plate at the moment.  But I could make better use of the limited hours that exist in a day.  I’m going to give morning work-outs a go, to free up my evenings for other things.  And I’m going to scale back on the TV time-wasting – there’s nothing wrong with indulging in some quality veg-out time as needed, but I watched 8 episodes of Grey’s Anatomy when Shane was out of town a couple of weekends ago. That was quite possibly not the best use of an open Saturday afternoon (damn you, MacDreamy!).  So, here’s to hoping that few small steps can make a big difference.  And to promising that there will always, always be room for brownies.

(Random aside:  I made my (ok, Martha’s) mint fudge brownies today, and they are quite possibly the best thing ever.  Worth every single gooey calorie…)

Tonight I was tasked with taking down our beloved Christmas tree – one of my most un-favorite things about the holiday season.  There are few things sadder than a pile of dried-up pine needles where a fresh, green, well-lit beacon of holiday joy once stood.  But time moves on, and if I have to wait another 11 months for the scent of pine and the glow of twinkle lights to grace our living room, so be it.  ‘Cause this year is showing some definite promise.  Shane and I have been talking a lot lately about things we want to do this year – places we want to go, people we want to see, books that we want to read, etc, etc…  It’s fun to dream and to goal-set and to populate our calendar with things to look forward to.  It’s even more fun to hop on-line and buy plane tickets to far-off places, so I called my mom the other day and asked her if she’d be up for a trip to Florida to visit our family out there and take a mini-break from the Northwest winter.  She hesitated for all of…1 second, then gave me the go-ahead to book it.  So in a couple of months, I’m off to the sunshine state!  Shane and I have a couple of other vacation options up our sleeve for later in the year, and are enjoying a temporary detour into the land of endless possibilities – we’ll see where this little jaunt actually lands us.  Is life about the journey, or about the destination?  Hard to say sometimes…

And here we go: cheers to a brand new year!  We kicked of 2011 at home, with a crock pot of mulled wine, a few of our closest friends, and an X-box dance party that will go down in the books as…laughable.  Our chill little get-together turned into something of a slumber party, and we had a good time making breakfast together this morning and getting out to enjoy a walk in the cold-but-lovely sunshine.

I spent the afternoon putting together our 2011 calendar – one photo from each month of 2010 to welcome us into 2011.  As I sorted through a year’s worth of pictures, I came to two realizations:  1) I have waaaaay too many pictures of Shane skipping stones and hitting rocks with sticks, and 2)  2010 was stuffed with all kinds of awesome.  From our frugal January walks in the park to our May anniversary getaway in Bainbridge Island to the December arrival of my precious niece, the past year was filled with so many simple pleasures, grand adventures, and extra-special moments.  Looking forward to seeing what the next 12 months will hold…

Yes, the past several days have been filled with a heaping helping of Holiday comfort and joy.  Last weekend, we participated in our C-group’s 4th annual fondue party, complete with gluttonous amounts of melted cheese and chocolate, a white elephant gift exchange in which everyone unloaded their tacky, odd, or just plain laugh-able belongings, and, of course, our 12 Days of Christmas sing-along charade (I played the part of the French Hen; Shane starred as the Drummer Drumming).

The next morning, Shane and I gathered with the tried-and-true few to run our 3rd annual post-fondue 5k, making at least a small step toward offsetting the previous night’s caloric overload.  But any caloric burn was then offset by a post-run brunch at Both Ways Cafe.  Ah, well, we tried…  Much of the remaining weekend was spent enjoying the warmth of our home, watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy, doing a little baking, and reading by the light of our Christmas tree.

Last night, Shane and I shared an epic steak dinner with Jack and La Verne downtown – three hours after we set foot into the restaurant, we rolled out of there, fatter, happier, and brimming with thankfulness for good food and good friends.  I left work early today to come home and whip up another batch of Christmas goodies, get the family’s gifts wrapped, and generally revel in the joy and anticipation that is Advent.

I will admit, as the wrapping paper littered the living room floor and the batter-caked mixing bowls piled up the sink, my pre-Christmas comfort and joy temporarily turned into pre-Christmas frazzle and backache.  But everything eventually came together, my to-do’s got done, and I’m enjoying the chance for a quiet moment to sit down and re-read the Christmas story.

“The angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid.  I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  Today in the town of David a savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.'”  – Luke 2:10-11

Joy, indeed.