Some Thoughts, Because That's What Blogs Are For

I didn't know my spirit was adventurous until college, but now that I know, it is hard to stay.
      I couldn't see the sunset well tonight, though I knew it was brilliant, orange like fire and pink like bubblegum, and that made me restless.
      Yesterday's strong wind made my soul ache for mountains of firs, pines, the evergreens.
      I tell myself, you shouldn't be restless. you just went. But it isn't something I can stop. Every taste of independence and adventure leaves me wanting for more.

I grew up across the river from a shooting range. The sound of gunshots always felt like home, especially at night. After I went away and met refugees, after I learned of riots and wars, I think twice when I hear them. Not out of fear, but out of wonder. How the sound of controlled gunshots is sweet to my ears, and for many others it is a sound of trauma.

My mother said to me tonight, as she washed the dishes and I dried, Maybe you're lonely here. I am lonely here, though it's not the painful lonely I've experienced many times. It is more a knowledge that I have three friends in this city. Most of the people I would call to talk about life live far, far away. I am lonely for fun, I am lonely for adventure. I am lonely to be doing things. Like George Bailey, I wanna shake the dust off this town and see the world. Only, it's less about seeing the world, and more about DOING SOMETHING.

waiting. 

And then I mentioned that I am HAVING PMS, I said it rather loud because it makes my father uncomfortable, and I rather like making him uncomfortable when I am in this mood. I would think after three daughters and a wife it would be old hat. But it's not, apparently. And that annoys me.

there are pockets of time after tragic events
when this nation of comfort-worshippers wakes up
for a time.
like now, we watch riots on the news and our hearts ache,
for a bit.

A long paragraph with no break. ha! sorry!

I was in Panera today and I overheard three mamas talking about their kids. They were talking about the technology struggle, how their children only wanted to play video games and watch netflix. How their children wanted laptops and ipads for Christmas. I couldn't tell how old their kids were, but they didn't sound old enough to need laptops. Anyway, it doesn't matter. That's not the point. The point is that my family barely even had a computer when I was growing up. (Macintosh, black and white. Sometimes we played duck hunter or the Oregon trail :) ) I was only allowed to watch PBS, and there were time limits. But I realize that now, I know a lot about certain things. I read books upon books upon books about dogs. "Boring," full of words books. I read them, cover to cover. I studied animals and I watched the squirrel family outside, I took notes about their behavior. I studied things. The TV shows I watched were truly educational. And now, I have a decent amount of knowledge about dogs and other animals. I don't credit that to school. I credit that to the reality that my life wasn't swallowed by technology.

Nanowrimo Alternative

It's NaNoWriMo! (National Novel Writing Month) I decided not to write a novel this month, but I still wanted to challenge myself somehow. I'm writing a poem a day instead (at least). Part of the joy of NaNoWriMo is there's no pressure to write well, just write. So that's what I'm trying to do with my poems. They're exercises, and I'm trying out some forms I don't usually use to write. It's a good challenge. Of my current 24 poems, I might have three good lines. This is good. It's not a concerto, it's a scale. :)

The last one I wrote was about the couple at the library today who were frustrated with the copy machine. I wrote three today, and one of them took me about an hour. It feels good to work at words.

productive

feeling rather culturally productive today. (not much productive in any other way :/ )

I'm drinking tea, I played cello and flute, read a couple of books, watched snow flurries, wrote a poem, doodled.

to wait is agony.

When I was small, people often told me that I was very patient. For a while I believed them, but then I realized that perhaps though outwardly I was good at hiding my impatience, standing still without wandering eyes or tapping toes, inwardly I was cringing, tapping my fingers against the wall, drawing a  picture.

I hate to wait.

That's not to say I hate transitions or want something to always be happening, no, I love the feeling in the air just before it snows, I love watching winter approach, whether it be with a shout from the treetops or a whisper along the river bank. I love the minutes before sunrise, as the birds awake and the sky turns gray. I am quite able to do nothing, to lay about on the couch for an afternoon, basking in the sunlight, listening to soft music or nothing at all. I like airports, train stations, and bus stops. I don't mind long grocery lines, stop lights, or speed limits.

If I have planned to wait in the grocery line, I do not mind. Or driving, I always approach with a, "I'll get there when I get there" mentality. But I hate being late, because I'm waiting on myself. I hate waiting for others who are late, because, they might not come. I hate to wait for something I don't know will happen or not. I hate to wait for a place I have chosen, and God has chosen for me, but I can't get there yet.

wrestle

I had a hard time falling asleep last night, and woke up to the sound of tension.

I had a dream that I need space to ponder, haven't gotten that yet.

I went to a friend's house. We were supposed to walk, but she felt ill and so we just sat instead, drank tea, talked ideas. In high school, she led a bible study for a small group of my friends, and I've always considered her a sort of mentor. The house is warm, full of books and paintings. (She's an artist; a painter.) Though now I've grown into myself and my ideas and I sometimes disagree now, with everyone, there is much to be learned from just listening, just resting in the knowledge that we both know Jesus, there is a safety there. She brews green tea and we drink it plain. She gives me When Helping Hurts to borrow. Another book to add to my long pile. (I love it that way though.)

When I leave an hour and a half later, I drive through the woods, an extra detour along my favorite winding road. It looks much like Fót and makes my heart positively ache each time I drive through.

I'm having a funk day. I think that's normal, sometimes you gotta take a break from being happy and wrestle the ideas, and the experiences, and God. And for me, I need alone time and space to do that. In college it worked great. Today is my first funk day here (after five months, so it's not like it happens all the time) and there is not space.